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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..55d59c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60168 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60168) diff --git a/old/60168-0.txt b/old/60168-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4247451..0000000 --- a/old/60168-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10043 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Ames, by E. F. Benson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Mrs. Ames - -Author: E. F. Benson - -Release Date: August 25, 2019 [EBook #60168] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. AMES *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - MRS. AMES - - BY - - E. F. BENSON - - AUTHOR OF - “DODO,” “THE ANGEL OF PAIN,” “THE CLIMBER,” - “JUGGERNAUT,” ETC., ETC. - - TORONTO - THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED - LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON - - RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, - BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET. S. F., - AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Certainly the breakfast tongue, which was for the first time that -morning, was not of the pleasant reddish hue which Mrs. Altham was -justified in expecting considering that the delicacy in question was not -an ordinary tinned tongue (you had to take things as you found them, if -your false sense of economy led you to order tinned goods) but one that -came out of a fine glass receptacle with an eminent label on it. It was -more of the colour of cold mutton, unattractive if not absolutely -unpleasant to the eye, while to the palate it proved to be singularly -lacking in flavour. Altogether it was a great disappointment, and for -reason, when Mr. Altham set out at a quarter-past twelve to stroll along -to the local club in Queensgate Street with the ostensible purpose of -seeing if there was any fresh telegram about the disturbances in -Morocco, his wife accompanied him to the door of that desirable mansion, -round which was grouped a variety of chained-up dogs in various states -of boredom and irritation, and went on into the High Street in order to -make in person a justifiable complaint at her grocer’s. She would be -sorry to have to take her custom elsewhere, but if Mr. Pritchard did not -see his way to sending her another tongue (of course without further -charge) she would be obliged.... - -So this morning there was a special and imperative reason why Mrs. -Altham should walk out before lunch to the High Street, and why her -husband should make a morning visit to the club. But to avoid -misconception it may be stated at once that there was, on every day of -the week except Sunday, some equally compelling cause to account for -these expeditions. If it was very wet, perhaps, Mrs. Altham might not go -to the High Street, but wet or fine her husband went to his club. And -exactly the same thing happened in the case of most of their friends and -acquaintances, so that Mr. Altham was certain of meeting General -Fortescue, Mr. Brodie, Major Ames, and others in the smoking-room, while -Mrs. Altham encountered their wives and sisters on errands like her own -in the High Street. She often professed superior distaste for gossip, -but when she met her friends coming in and out of shops, it was but -civil and reasonable that she should have a few moments’ chat with them. -Thus, if any striking events had taken place since the previous -afternoon, they all learned about them. Simultaneously there was a -similar interchange of thought and tidings going on in the smoking-room -at the club, so that when Mr. Altham had drunk his glass of sherry and -returned home to lunch at one-thirty, there was probably little of -importance and interest which had not reached the ears of himself or his -wife. It could then be discussed at that meal. - -Queensgate Street ran at right-angles to the High Street, debouching -into that thoroughfare at the bottom of its steep slope, while the -grocer’s shop lay at the top of it. The morning was a hot day of early -June, but to a woman of Mrs. Altham’s spare frame and active limbs, the -ascent was no more than a pleasurable exercise, and the vivid colour of -her face (so unlike the discouraging hues of the breakfast tongue) was -not the result of her exertions. It was habitually there, and though -that and the restlessness of her dark and rather beady eyes might have -made a doctor, on a cursory glance (especially if influenza was about), -think that she suffered from some slight rise of temperature, he would -have been in error. Her symptoms betokened not an unnatural warmth of -the blood, but were the visible sign of her eager and slightly impatient -mind. Like the inhabitants of ancient Athens, she was always on the -alert to hear some new thing (though she disliked gossip), but her mind -appreciated the infinitesimal more than the important. The smaller a -piece of news was, the more vivid was her perception of it, and the -firmer her grip of it: large questions produced but a vague impression -on her. - -Her husband, a retired solicitor, was singularly well-adapted to be the -partner of her life, for his mind very much akin to hers, and his -appetite for news was no less rapacious. Indeed, the chief difference -between them in this respect was that she snapped at her food like a -wolf in winter, whereas he took it quietly, in the manner of a leisurely -boa-constrictor. But his capacity was in no way inferior to hers. -Similarly, they practised the same harmless hypocrisies on each other, -and politely forbore to question each other’s sincerity. An instance has -already been recorded where such lack of trust might have been -manifested, but it never entered Mrs. Altham’s head to tell her husband -just now that he cared nothing whatever about the disturbances in -Morocco, while she would have thought it very odd conduct on his part to -suggest a sharply worded note to Mr. Pritchard would save her the walk -uphill on this hot morning. But it was only sensible to go on their -quests; had they not ascertained if there was any news, they would have -had nothing to talk about at lunch. As it was, conversation never failed -them, for this little town of Riseborough was crammed with interest and -incident, for all who felt a proper concern in the affairs of other -people. - -The High Street this morning was very full, for it was market-day, and -Mrs. Altham’s progress was less swift than usual. Barrows of itinerant -vendors were crowded into the road from the edge of the pavements, -leaving a straitened channel for a traffic swelled by farmers’ carts and -occasional droves of dusty and perplexed looking cattle, being driven in -from the country round. More than once Mrs. Altham had to step into the -doorway of some shop to avoid the random erring of a company of pigs or -sheep which made irruption on to the pavement. But it was interesting to -observe, in one such enforced pause, the impeded passage of Sir James -Westbourne’s motor, with the owner, broad-faced and good-humoured, -driving himself, and to conjecture as to what business brought him into -the town. Then she saw that there was his servant sitting in the body of -the car, while there were two portmanteaus on the luggage-rail behind. -There was no need for further conjecture: clearly he was coming from the -South-Eastern station at the top of the hill, and was driving out to his -place four miles distant along the Maidstone road. Then he caught sight -of somebody on the pavement whom he knew, and, stopping the car, entered -into conversation. - -For the moment Mrs. Altham could not see who it was; then, as the car -moved on again, there appeared from behind it the tall figure of Dr. -Evans. Mrs. Altham was not so foolish as to suppose that their -conversation had necessarily anything to do with medical matters; she -did not fly to the conclusion that Lady Westbourne or any of the -children must certainly be ill. To a person of her mental grasp it was -sufficient to remember that Mrs. Evans was Sir James’ first cousin. She -heard also the baronet’s cheerful voice as the two parted, saying, -“Saturday the twenty-eighth, then. I’ll tell my wife.” That, of course, -settled it; it required only a moment’s employment of her power of -inference to make her feel convinced that Saturday the twenty-eighth -would be the date for Mrs. Evans’ garden-party. There were a good many -garden-parties in Riseborough about then, for strawberries might be -expected to be reasonably cheap. Probably the date had been settled only -this morning; she might look forward to receiving the “At-Home” card -(four to seven) by the afternoon post. - -The residential quarters of Riseborough lay both at the top of the hill, -on which the town stood, clustering round the fine old Norman church, -and at the bottom, along Queensgate Street, which passed into the -greater spaciousness of St. Barnabas Road. On the whole, that might be -taken to be the Park Lane of the place, and commanded the highest rents; -every house there, in addition to being completely detached, had a small -front garden with a carriage drive long enough to hold three carriages -simultaneously, if each horse did not mind putting its nose within -rubbing distance of the carriage in front of it, while the foremost -projected a little into the road again. But there were good houses also -at the top of the hill, where Dr. Evans lived, and those who lived -below naturally considered themselves advantageously placed in being -sheltered from the bleak easterly winds which often prevailed in spring, -while those at the top wondered among themselves in sultry summer days -how it was possible to exist in the airless atmosphere below. The middle -section of the town was mercantile, and it was here that the ladies of -the place, both from above and below, met each other with such -invariable fortuitousness in the hours before lunch. To-day, however, -though the street was so full, it was for purposes of news-gathering -curiously deserted, and apart from the circumstance of inferentially -learning the date of Mrs. Evans’ garden-party, Mrs. Altham found nothing -to detain her until she had got to the very door of Mr. Pritchard’s -grocery. But there her prolonged fast was broken; Mrs. Taverner was -ready to give and receive, and after the business of the colourless -tongue was concluded in a manner that was perfectly creditable to Mr. -Pritchard, the two ladies retraced their steps (for Mrs. Taverner was of -St. Barnabas Road) down the hill again. - -Mrs. Taverner quite agreed about the strong probability of Mrs. Evans’ -garden-party being on the twenty-eighth; and proceeded to unload herself -of far more sensational information. She talked rather slowly, but -without ever stopping of her own accord, so that she got as much into a -given space of time as most people. Even if she was temporarily stopped -by an interruption, she kept her mouth open, so as to be able to proceed -at the earliest possible moment. - -“Yes, three weeks, as you say, is a long notice, is it not?” she said; -“but I’m sure people are wise to give long notice, otherwise they will -find all their guests are already engaged, such a quantity of parties -as there will be this summer. Mrs. Ames has sent out dinner-cards for -exactly the same date, I am told. I daresay they agreed together to have -a day full of gaiety. Perhaps you are asked to dine there on the -twenty-eighth, Mrs. Altham?” - -“No, not at present.” - -“Well, then, it will be news to you,” said Mrs. Taverner, “if what I -have heard is true, and it was Mrs. Fortescue’s governess who told me, -whom I met taking one of the children to the dentist.” - -“That would be Edward,” said Mrs. Altham unerringly. “I have often -noticed his teeth are most irregular: one here, another there.” - -She spoke as if it was more usual for children to have all their teeth -on the same spot, but Mrs. Taverner understood. - -“Very likely; indeed, I think I have noticed it myself. Well, what I -have to tell you seems very irregular, too; Edward’s teeth are nothing -to it. It was talked about, so Miss--I can never recollect her name, -and, from what I hear, I do not think Mrs. Fortescue finds her very -satisfactory--it was talked about, so Mrs. Fortescue’s governess told -me, at breakfast time, and it was agreed that General Fortescue should -accept, for if you are asked three weeks ahead it is no use saying you -are engaged. No doubt Mrs. Ames gave that long notice for that very -reason.” - -“But what is it that is so irregular?” asked Mrs. Altham, nearly dancing -with impatience at these circumlocutions. - -“Did I not tell you? Ah, there is Mrs. Evans; I was told she was asked -too, without her husband. How slowly she walks; I should not be -surprised if her husband had told her never to hurry. She did not see -us; otherwise we might have found out more.” - -“About what?” asked the martyred Mrs. Altham. - -“Why, what I am saying. Mrs. Ames has asked General Fortescue to dine -that night, without asking Mrs. Fortescue, and has asked Mrs. Evans to -dine without asking Dr. Evans. I don’t know who the rest of the party -are. I must try to find time this afternoon to call on Mrs. Ames, and -see if she lets anything drop about it. It seems very odd to ask a -husband without his wife, and a wife without her husband. And we do not -know yet whether Dr. Evans will allow his wife to go there without him.” - -Mrs. Altham was suitably astounded. - -“But I never heard of such a thing,” she said, “and I expect my memory -is as” (she nearly said “long,” but stopped in time) “clear and -retentive as that of most people. It seems very strange: it will look as -if General Fortescue and his wife are not on good terms, and, as far as -I know, there is no reason to suppose that. However, it is none of my -business, and I am thankful to say that I do not concern myself with -things that do not concern me. Had Mrs. Ames wanted my advice as to the -desirability of asking a husband without a wife, or a wife without a -husband, I should have been very glad to give it her. But as she has not -asked it, I must suppose that she does not want it, and I am sure I am -very thankful to keep my opinion to myself. But if she asked me what I -thought about it, I should be compelled to tell her the truth. I am very -glad to be spared any such unpleasantness. Dear me, here I am at home -again. I had no idea we had come all this way.” - -Mrs. Taverner seemed inclined to linger, but the other had caught sight -of her husband’s face looking out of the window known as his study, -where he was accustomed to read the paper in the morning, and go to -sleep in the evening. This again was very irregular, for the watch on -her wrist told her that it was not yet a quarter-past one, the hour at -which he invariably ordered a glass of sherry at the club, to fortify -him for his walk home. Possibly he had heard something about this -revolutionary social scheme in the club, and had hastened his return in -order to be able to talk it over with her without delay. For a moment it -occurred to her to ask Mrs. Taverner to join them at lunch, but, after -all, she had heard what that lady had to tell, and one of the smaller -bundles of asparagus could not be considered ample for more than two. So -she checked the hospitable impulse, and hurried into his study, alert -with suppressed information, though she did not propose to let it -explode at once, for the method of them both was to let news slip out as -if accidentally. And, even as she crossed the hall, an idea for testing -the truth of what she had heard, which was both simple and ingenious, -came into her head. She despised poor Mrs. Taverner’s scheme of calling -on Mrs. Ames, in the hope of her letting something drop, for Mrs. Ames -never let things drop in that way, though she was an adept at picking -them up. Her own plan was far more effective. Also it harmonized well -with the system of mutual insincerities. - -“I have been thinking, my dear,” she said briskly, as she entered his -study, “that it is time for us to be asking Major and Mrs. Ames to -dinner again. Yes: Pritchard was reasonable, and will send me another -tongue, and take back the old one, which I am sure I am quite glad that -he should do, though it would have come in for savouries very handily. -Still, he is quite within his rights, since he does not charge for it, -and I should not think of quarrelling with him because he exercises -them.” - -Mr. Altham was as keen a housekeeper as his wife. - -“Its colour would not have signified in a savoury,” he said. - -“No, but as Pritchard supplies a new tongue without charge, we cannot -complain. About Mrs. Ames, now. We dined with them quite a month ago: I -do not want her to think we are lacking in the exchange of -hospitalities, which I am sure are so pleasant on both sides.” - -Mr. Altham considered this question, caressing the side of his face. -There was no doubt that he had a short pointed beard on his chin, but -about half-way up the jawbone the hair got shorter and shorter, and he -was quite clean-shaven before it got up to his ear. It was always a -question, in fact, among the junior and less respectful members of the -club, whether old Altham had whiskers or not. The general opinion was -that he had whiskers, but was unaware of that possession. - -“It is odd that the idea of asking Mrs. Ames to dinner occurred to you -to-day,” he said, “for I was wondering also whether we did not owe her -some hospitality. And Major Ames, of course,” he added. - -Mrs. Altham smiled a bright detective smile. - -“Next week is impossible, I know,” she said, “and so is the week after, -as there is a perfect rush of engagements then. But after that, we might -find an evening free. How would it suit you, if I asked Mrs. Ames and a -few friends to dine on the Saturday of that week? Let me count--seven, -fourteen, twenty-one, yes; on the twenty-eighth. I think that probably -Mrs. Evans will have her garden-party on that day. It would make a -pleasant ending to such an afternoon. And it would be less of an -interruption to both of us, if we give up that day. It would be better -than disarranging the week by sacrificing another evening.” - -Mr. Altham rang the bell before replying. - -“It is hardly likely that Major and Mrs. Ames would have an engagement -so long ahead,” he said. “I think we shall be sure to secure them.” - -The bell was answered. - -“A glass of sherry,” he said. “I forgot, my dear, to take my glass of -sherry at the club. Young Morton was talking to me, though I don’t know -why I call him young, and I forgot about my sherry. Yes, I should think -the twenty-eighth would be very suitable.” - -Mrs. Altham waited until the parlour-maid had deposited the glass of -sherry, and had completely left the room with a shut door behind her. - -“I heard a very extraordinary story to-day,” she said, “though I don’t -for a moment believe it is true. If it is, we shall find that Mrs. Ames -cannot dine with us on the twenty-eighth, but we shall have asked her -with plenty of notice, so that it will count. But one never knows how -little truth there may be in what Mrs. Taverner says, for it was Mrs. -Taverner who told me. She said that Mrs. Ames has asked General -Fortescue to dine with her that night, without asking Mrs. Fortescue, -and has invited Mrs. Evans also without her husband. One doesn’t for a -moment believe it, but if we asked Mrs. Ames for the same night we -should very likely hear about it. Was anything said at the club about -it?” - -Mr. Altham affected a carelessness which he was very far from feeling. - -“Young Morton did say something of the sort,” he said. “I was not -listening particularly, since, as you know, I went there to see if there -was anything to be learned about Morocco, and I get tired of his -tittle-tattle. But he did mention something of the kind. There is the -luncheon-bell, my dear. You might write your note immediately and send -it by hand, for James will be back from his dinner by now, and tell him -to wait for an answer.” - -Mrs. Altham adopted this suggestion at once. She knew, of course, -perfectly well that the thrilling quality of the news had brought her -husband home without waiting to take his glass of sherry at the club, a -thing which had not happened since that morning a year ago, when he had -learned that Mrs. Fortescue had dismissed her cook without a character, -but she did not think of accusing him of duplicity. After all, it was -the amiable desire to talk these matters over with her without the loss -of a moment which was the motive at the base of his action, and so -laudable a motive covered all else. So she had her note written with -amazing speed and cordiality, and the boot-and-knife boy, who also -exercised the function of the gardener, was instructed to wash his hands -and go upon his errand. - -Criticism of Mrs. Ames’ action, based on the hypothesis that the news -was true, was sufficient to afford brisk conversation until the return -of the messenger, and Mrs. Altham put back on her plate her first stick -of asparagus and tore the note open. A glance was sufficient. - -“It is all quite true,” she said. “Mrs. Ames writes, ‘We are so sorry to -be obliged to refuse your kind invitation, but General Fortescue and -Millicent Evans, with a few other friends, are dining with us this -evening.’ Well, I am sure! So, after all, Mrs. Taverner was right. I -feel I owe her an apology for doubting the truth of it, and I shall slip -round after lunch to tell her that she need not call on Mrs. Ames, which -she was thinking of doing. I can save her that trouble.” - -Mr. Altham considered and condemned the wisdom of this slipping round. - -“That might land you in an unpleasantness, my dear,” he said. “Mrs. -Taverner might ask you how you were certain of it. You would not like to -say that you asked the Ames’ to dinner on the same night in order to -find out.” - -“No, that is true. You see things very quickly, Henry. But, on the other -hand, if Mrs. Taverner does go to call, Mrs. Ames might let drop the -fact that she had received this invitation from us. I would sooner let -Mrs. Taverner know it myself than let it get to her in roundabout ways. -I will think over it; I have no doubt I shall be able to devise -something. Now about Mrs. Ames’ new departure. I must say that it seems -to me a very queer piece of work. If she is to ask you without me, and -me without you, is the other to sit at home alone for dinner? For it is -not to be expected that somebody else will on the very same night always -ask the other of us. As likely as not, if there is another invitation -for the same night, it will be for both of us, for I do not suppose that -we shall all follow Mrs. Ames’ example, and model our hospitalities on -hers.” - -Mrs. Altham paused a moment to eat her asparagus, which was getting -cold. - -“As a matter of fact, my dear, we do usually follow Mrs. Ames’ example,” -he said. “She may be said to be the leader of our society here.” - -“And if you gave me a hundred guesses why we do follow her example,” -said Mrs. Altham rather excitedly, picking up a head of asparagus that -had fallen on her napkin, “I am sure I could not give you one answer -that you would think sensible. There are a dozen of our friends in -Riseborough who are just as well born as she is, and as many more much -better off; not that I say that money should have anything to do with -position, though you know as well as I do that you could buy their house -over their heads, Henry, and afford to keep it empty, while, all the -time, I, for one, don’t believe that they have got three hundred a year -between them over and above his pay. And as for breeding, if Mrs. Ames’ -manners seem to you so worthy of copy, I can’t understand what it is you -find to admire in them, except that she walks into a room as if it all -belonged to her, and looks over everybody’s head, which is very -ridiculous, as she can’t be more than two inches over five feet, and I -doubt if she’s as much. I never have been able to see, and I do not -suppose I ever shall be able to see, why none of us can do anything in -Riseborough without asking Mrs. Ames’ leave. Perhaps it is my stupidity, -though I do not know that I am more stupid than most.” - -Henry Altham felt himself to blame for this agitated harangue. It was -careless of him to have alluded to Mrs. Ames’ leadership, for if there -was a subject in this world that produced a species of frenzy and a -complete absence of full-stops in his wife, it was that. Desperately -before now had she attempted to wrest the sceptre from Mrs. Ames’ podgy -little hands, and to knock the crown off her noticeably small head. She -had given parties that were positively Lucullan in their magnificence on -her first coming to Riseborough; the regimental band (part of it, at -least) had played under the elm-tree in her garden on the occasion of a -mere afternoon-party, while at a dance she had given (a thing almost -unknown in Riseborough) there had been a cotillion in which the presents -cost up to five and sixpence each, to say nothing of the trouble. She -had given a party for children at which there was not only a -Christmas-tree, but a conjuror, and when a distinguished actor once -stayed with her, she had, instead of keeping him to herself, which was -Mrs. Ames’ plan when persons of eminence were her guests, asked -practically the whole of Riseborough to lunch, tea and dinner. To all of -these great parties she had bidden Mrs. Ames (with a view to her -deposition), and on certainly one occasion--that of the cotillion--she -had heard afterwards unimpeachable evidence to show that that lady had -remarked that she saw no reason for such display. Therefore to this day -she had occasional bursts of volcanic amazement at Mrs. Ames’ undoubted -supremacy, and made occasional frantic attempts to deprive her of her -throne. There was no method of attack which she had not employed; she -had flattered and admired Mrs. Ames openly to her face, with a view to -be permitted to share the throne; she had abused and vilified her with a -view to pulling her off it; she had refrained from asking her to her -own house for six months at a time, and for six months at a time she had -refused to accept any of Mrs. Ames’ invitations. But it was all no use; -the vilifications, so she had known for a fact, had been repeated to -Mrs. Ames, who had not taken the slightest notice of them, nor abated -one jot of her rather condescending cordiality, and in spite of Mrs. -Altham’s refusing to come to her house, had continued to send her -invitations at the usual rate of hospitality. Indeed, for the last year -or two Mrs. Altham had really given up all thought of ever deposing her, -and her husband, though on this occasion he felt himself to blame for -this convulsion, felt also that he might reasonably have supposed the -volcano to be extinct. Yet such is the disconcerting habit of these -subliminal forces; they break forth with renewed energy exactly when -persons of exactly average caution think that there is no longer any -life in them. - -He hastened to repair his error, and to calm the tempest, by fulsome -agreement. - -“Well, my dear,” he said, “certainly there is a great deal in what you -say, for we have no reason to suppose that everybody will ask husband -and wife singly, or that two of this new set of invitations will always -come for the same night. Then, too, there is the question of -carriage-hire, which, though it does not much matter to us, will be an -important item to others. For, every time that husband and wife dine -out, there will be two carriages needed instead of one. I wonder if Mrs. -Ames had thought of that.” - -“Not she,” said Mrs. Altham, whose indignation still oozed and spurted. -“Why, as often as not, she comes on foot, with her great goloshes over -her evening shoes. Ah, I have it!” - -A brilliant idea struck her, which did much to restore her equanimity. - -“You may depend upon it,” she said, “that Mrs. Ames means to ask just -husband or wife, as the case may be, and make that count. That will save -her half the cost of her dinners, and now I come to think of it, I am -sure I should not be surprised to learn that they have lost money -lately. Major Ames may have been speculating, for I saw the _Financial -News_ on the table last time I was there. I daresay that is it. That -would account, too, for the very poor dinner we got. Salmon was in -season, I remember, but we only had plaice or something common, and the -ordinary winter desert, just oranges and apples. You noticed it, too, -Henry. You told me that you had claret that couldn’t have cost more than -eighteenpence a bottle, and but one glass of port afterwards. And the -dinner before that, though there was champagne, I got little but foam. -Poor thing! I declare I am sorry for her if that is the reason, and I am -convinced it is.” - -Mrs. Altham felt considerably restored by this explanation, and got -briskly up. - -“I think I will just run round to Mrs. Taverner’s,” she said, “to tell -her there is no need for her to call on Mrs. Ames, since you have heard -the same story at club, so that we can rest assured that it is true. -That will do famously; it will account for everything. And there is -Pritchard’s cart at the gate. That will be the tongue. I wonder if he -has told his man to take away the pale one. If not, as you say, it will -serve for savouries.” - -Summer had certainly come in earnest, and Mr. Altham, when he went out -on to the shaded verandah to the east of the house, in order to smoke -his cigar before going up to the golf-links, found that the thermometer -registered eighty degrees in the shade. Consequently, before enjoying -that interval of quiescence which succeeded his meals, and to which he -felt he largely owed the serenity of his health, he went upstairs to -change his cloth coat for the light alpaca jacket which he always wore -when the weather was really hot. Last year, he remembered, he had not -put it on at all until the end of July, except that on one occasion he -wore it over his ordinary coat (for it was loosely made) taking a drive -along an extremely dusty road. But the heat to-day certainly called for -the alpaca jacket, and he settled himself in his chair (after tapping -the barometer and observing with satisfaction that the concussion -produced an upward tremor of the needle, which was at “Set Fair” -already) feeling much more cool and comfortable. - -Life in general was a very cool and comfortable affair to this contented -gentleman. Even in youth he had not been of very exuberant vitality, and -he had passed through his early years without giving a moment’s anxiety -to himself or his parents. Like a good child who eats and digests what -is given him, so Mr. Altham, even in his early manhood, had accepted -life exactly as he found it, and had seldom wondered what it was all -about, or what it was made of. His emotions had been stirred when he met -his wife, and he had once tried to write a poem to her--soon desisting, -owing to the obvious scarcity of rhymes in the English language, and -since then his emotional record had been practically blank. If happiness -implies the power to want and to aspire, that quality must be denied -him, but his content was so profound that he need not be pitied for the -lack of the more effervescent emotions. All that he cared about was -abundantly his: there was the _Times_ to be read after breakfast, news -to be gleaned at the club before lunch, golf to be played in the -afternoon, and a little well-earned repose to be enjoyed before dinner, -while at odd moments he looked at the thermometer and tapped the -aneroid. He was distinctly kindly by nature, and would no doubt have -cheerfully put himself to small inconveniences in order to lighten the -troubles of others, but he hardly ever found it necessary to practise -discomfort, since those with whom he associated were sunk in precisely -the same lethargy of content as himself. Being almost completely devoid -of imagination, no qualms or questionings as to the meaning of the -dramas of life presented themselves to him, and his annual subscriptions -to the local hospital and certain parish funds connoted no more to him -than did the money he paid at the station for his railway ticket. He -was, in fact, completely characteristic of the society of Riseborough, -which largely consisted of men who had retired from their professions -and spent their days, with unimportant variations, in precisely the same -manner as he did. Necessarily they were not aware of the amazing -emptiness of their lives, for if they had been, they would probably have -found life very dull, and have tried to fill it with some sort of -interest. As it was, golf, gardening, and gossip made the days pass so -smoothly and quickly that it would really have been hazardous to attempt -to infuse any life into them, for it might have produced upset and -fermentation. But these chronicles would convey a very false impression -if they made it seem as if life at Riseborough appeared dull or empty at -Riseborough. The affairs of other people were so perennial a source of -interest that it would only be a detached or sluggish mind that was not -perpetually stimulated. And this stimulus was not of alcoholic -character, nor was it succeeded by reaction and headache after undue -indulgence. Mr. Altham woke each morning with a clean palate, so to -speak, and an appetite and digestion quite unimpaired. As yet, he had -not to seek to fill the hours of the day with gardening, like Major -Ames, or with continuous rubbers of bridge in the card-room at the club; -his days were full enough without those additional distractions, which -he secretly rather despised as signs of senility, and wondered that -Major Ames, who was still, he supposed, not much more than forty-five, -should so soon have taken to a hobby that was better fitted for ladies -and septuagenarians. It was not that he did not like flowers; he thought -them pretty enough things in their place, and was pleased when he looked -out of the bathroom window in the morning, and saw the neat row of red -geraniums which ran along the border by the wall, between calceolarias -and lobelias. Very likely when he was older, and other interests had -faded, he might take to gardening, too; at present he preferred that the -hired man should spend two days a week in superintending the operations -of James. Certainly there would be some sense in looking after a -vegetable garden, for there was an intelligible end in view -there--namely, the production of early peas and giant asparagus for the -table, but since the garden at Cambridge House was not of larger -capacity than was occupied with a croquet lawn and a couple of flower -borders, it was impossible to grow vegetables, and the production of a -new red sweet-pea, about which Major Ames had really rendered himself -tedious last summer, was quite devoid of interest to him, especially -since there were plenty of other red flowers before. - -His cigar was already half-smoked before he recalled himself from this -pleasant vacancy of mind which had succeeded the summer resumal of his -alpaca jacket, and for the ten minutes that still remained to him before -the cab from the livery-stables which was to take him up the long hill -to the golf-links would be announced, he roused himself to a greater -activity of brain. It was natural that his game with Mr. Turner this -afternoon should first occupy his thoughts. He felt sure he could beat -him if only he paid a very strict attention to the game, and did not let -his mind wander. A few days ago, Mr. Turner had won merely because he -himself had been rather late in arriving at the club-house, and had -started with the sense of hurry about him. But to-day he had ordered the -cab at ten minutes to three, instead of at the hour. Thus he could both -start from here and arrive there without this feeling of fuss. Their -appointed hour was not till a quarter-past three, and it took a bare -fifteen minutes to drive up. Also he had on his alpaca jacket; he would -not, as on the last occasion of their encounter, be uncomfortably hot. -As usual, he would play his adversary for the sum of half-a-crown; that -should pay both for cab and caddie. - -His thoughts took a wider range. Certainly it was a strange thing that -Mrs. Ames should ask husbands without their wives, and wives without -their husbands. Of course, to ask Mrs. Evans without the doctor was less -remarkable than to ask General Fortescue without his wife, for it -sometimes happened that Dr. Evans was sent for in the middle of dinner -to attend on a patient, and once, when he was giving a party at his own -house, he had received a note which led him to get up at once, and say -to the lady on his right, “I am afraid I must go; maternity case,” which -naturally had caused a very painful feeling of embarrassment, succeeded -by a buzz of feverish and haphazard conversation. But to ask General -Fortescue without his wife was a very different affair; it was not -possible that Mrs. Fortescue should be sent for in the middle of dinner, -and cause dislocation in the party. He felt that if any hostess except -Mrs. Ames had attempted so startling an innovation, she would, even with -her three-weeks’ notice, have received chilling refusals coupled with -frankly incredible reasons for declining. Thus with growing radius of -thought he found himself considering the case of Mrs. Ames’ undoubted -supremacy in the Riseborough world. - -Most of what his wife had said in her excited harangue had been -perfectly well-founded. Mrs. Ames was not rich, and a marked parsimony -often appeared to have presided over the ordering of her dinners; while, -so far as birth was concerned, at least two other residents here were -related to baronets just as much as she was; Mrs. Evans, for instance, -was first cousin of the present Sir James Westbourne, whereas Mrs. Ames -was more distant than that from the same fortunate gentleman by one -remove. Her mother, that is to say, had been the eldest sister of the -last baronet but one, and older than he, so that beyond any question -whatever, if Mrs. Ames’ mother had been a boy, and she had been a boy -also, she would now have been a baronet herself in place of the cheerful -man who had been seen by Mrs. Altham driving his motor-car down the High -Street that morning. As for General Fortescue, he was the actual -brother of a baronet, and there was the end of the matter. But though -Riseborough in general had a very proper appreciation of the deference -due to birth, Mr. Altham felt that Mrs. Ames’ supremacy was not really -based on so wholesale a rearrangement of parents and sexes. Nor, again, -were her manners and breeding such as compelled homage; she seemed to -take her position for granted, and very seldom thanked her hostess for -“a very pleasant evening” when she went away. Nor was she remarkable for -her good looks; indeed, she was more nearly remarkable for the absence -of them. Yet, somehow, Mr. Altham could not, perhaps owing to his lack -of imagination, see anybody else, not even his own wife, occupying Mrs. -Ames’ position. There was some force about her that put her where she -was. You felt her efficiency; you guessed that should situations arise -Mrs. Ames could deal with them. She had a larger measure of reality than -the majority of Mr. Altham’s acquaintances. She did not seem to exert -herself in any way, or call attention to what she did, and yet when Mrs. -Ames called on some slightly doubtful newcomer to Riseborough, it was -certain that everybody else would call too. And one defect she had of -the most glaring nature. She appeared to take the most tepid interest -only in what every one said about everybody else. Once, not so long ago, -Mrs. Altham had shown herself more than ready to question, on the best -authority, the birth and upbringing of Mrs. Turner, the election of -whose husband to the club had caused so many members to threaten -resignation. But all Mrs. Ames had said, when it was clear that the -shadiest antecedents were filed, so to speak, for her perusal, was, “I -have always found her a very pleasant woman. She is dinning with us on -Tuesday.” Or again, when he himself was full of the praise of Mrs. -Taverner, to whom Mrs. Ames was somewhat coldly disposed--(though that -lady had called three times, and was perhaps calling again this -afternoon, Mrs. Ames had never once asked her to lunch or dine, and was -believed to have left cards without even inquiring whether she was -in)--Mrs. Ames had only answered his panegyrics by saying, “I am told -she is a very good-natured sort of woman.” - -Mr. Altham, hearing the stopping of a cab at his front-door, got up. It -was still thirteen minutes to three, but he was ready to start. Indeed, -he felt that motion and distraction would be very welcome, for there had -stolen into his brain a strangely upsetting idea. It was very likely -quite baseless and ill-founded, but it did occur to him that this defect -on the part of Mrs. Ames as regards her incuriousness on the subject of -the small affairs of other people was somehow connected with her -ascendency. He had so often thought of it as a defect that it was quite -a shock to find himself wondering whether it was a quality. In any case, -it was a quality which he was glad to be without. The possession of it -would have robbed him of quite nine points of the laws that governed his -nature. He would have been obliged to cultivate a passion for gardening, -like Major Ames. Of course, if you married a woman quite ten years your -senior, you had to take to something, and it was lucky Major Ames had -not taken to drink. - - * * * * * - -He felt quite cynical, and lost the first four holes. Later, but too -late, he pulled himself together. But it was poor consolation to win the -bye only. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Mrs. Ames put up her black and white sunshade as she stepped into the -hot street outside Dr. Evans’ house, about half-past six on the evening -of the twenty-eighth of June, and proceeded afoot past the half-dozen -houses that lay between it and the High Street. In appearance she was -like a small, good-looking toad in half-mourning; or, to state the -comparison with greater precision, she was small for a woman, but -good-looking for a toad. Her face had something of the sulky and -satiated expression of that harmless reptile, and her mourning was for -her brother, who had mercifully died of delirium tremens some six months -before. This scarcely respectable mode of decease did not curtail his -sister’s observance of the fact, and she was proposing to wear mourning -for another three months. - -She had not seen him much of late years, and, as a matter of fact, she -thought it was much better that his inglorious career, since he was a -hopeless drunkard, had been brought to a conclusion, but her mourning, -in spite of this, was a faithful symbol of her regret. He had had the -good looks and the frailty of her family, while she was possessed of its -complementary plainness and strength, but she remembered with remarkable -poignancy, even in her fifty-fifth year, birds’-nesting expeditions with -him, and the alluring of fish in unpopulous waters. They had shared -their pocket-money together, also, as children, and she had not been -the gainer by it. Therefore she thought of him with peculiar tenderness. - -It would be idle to deny that she was not interested in the Riseborough -view of his blackness. It was quite well known that he was a drunkard, -but she had stifled inquiry by stating that he had died of “failure.” -What organ it was that failed could not be inquired into: any one with -the slightest proper feeling--and she was well aware that Riseborough -had almost an apoplexy of proper feeling--would assume that it was some -organ not generally mentioned. She felt that there was no call on her to -gratify any curiosity that might happen to be rampant. She also felt -that the chief joy in the possession of a sense of humour lies in the -fact that others do not suspect it. Riseborough would certainly have -thought it very heartless of her to derive any amusement from things -however remotely connected with her brother’s death; Riseborough also -would have been incapable of crediting her with any tenderness of -memory, if it had known that he had actually died of delirium tremens. - -In this stifling weather she almost envied those who, like Dr. Evans, -lived at the top of the town, where, in Castle Street, was situated the -charming Georgian house in the garden of which he for a little while -only, and his wife for three hours, had been entertaining their friends -and detractors at the garden-party. Though the house was in a “Street,” -and not a “Road,” it had a garden which anybody would expect to belong -to a “Road,” if not a “Place.” Streets seemed to imply small backyards -looking into the backs of other houses, whereas Dr. Evans’ house did -not, at its back, look on other houses at all, but extended a full -hundred yards, and then looked over the railway cutting of the -South-Eastern line, on open fields. Should you feel unkindly disposed, -it was easy to ask whether the noise of passing trains was not very -disagreeable, and indeed, Mrs. Taverner, in a moment of peevishness -arising from the fact that what she thought was champagne cup was only -hock cup, had asked that very question of Millicent Evans this afternoon -in Mrs. Ames’ hearing. But Millicent, in her most confiding and -child-like manner, had given what Mrs. Ames considered to be a wholly -admirable and suitable answer. “Indeed we do,” she had said, “and we -often envy you your beautiful big lawn.” For everybody, of course, knew -that Mrs. Taverner’s beautiful big lawn was a small piece of black earth -diversified by plantains, and overlooked and made odorous by the new -gasworks. Mrs. Taverner had, as was not unnatural, coloured up on -receipt of this silken speech, until she looked nearly as red as Mrs. -Altham. For herself, Mrs. Ames would not, even under this provocation, -have made so ill-natured a reply, though she was rather glad that -Millicent had done so, and to account for her involuntary smile, she -instantly Mrs. Altham to lunch with her next day. Indeed, walking now -down the High Street, she smiled again at the thought, and Mr. -Pritchard, standing outside his grocery store, thought she smiled at -him, and raised his hat. And Mrs. Ames rather hoped he saw how different -a sort of smile she kept on tap, so to speak, for grocers. - -Mrs. Ames knew very well the manner of speeches that Mrs. Altham had -been indulging in during the last three weeks, about the little -dinner-party she was giving this evening, for she had been indiscreet -enough to give specimens of them to Millicent Evans, who had promptly -repeated them to her, and it is impossible adequately to convey how -unimportant she thought was anything that Mrs. Altham said. But the fact -that she had said so much was indirectly connected with her asking Mrs. -Altham (“and your husband, of course,” as she had rather pointedly -added) to lunch to-morrow, for she knew that Mrs. Altham would be -bursting with curiosity about the success of the new experiment, and she -intended to let her burst. She disliked Mrs. Altham, but that lady’s -hostility to herself only amused her. Of course, Mrs. Altham could not -refuse to accept her invitation, because it was a point of honour in -Riseborough that any one bidden to lunch the day after a dinner-party -must, even at moderate inconvenience, accept, for otherwise what was to -happen to the remains of salmon and of jelly too debilitated to be -served in its original shape, even though untouched, but still excellent -if eaten out of jelly-glasses? So much malice, then, must be attributed -to Mrs. Ames, that she wished to observe the febrile symptoms of Mrs. -Altham’s curiosity, and not to calm them, but rather excite them -further. - -Mrs. Ames would not naturally have gone for social purposes to the house -of her doctor, had he not married Millicent, whose father was her own -first cousin, and would have been baronet himself had he been the eldest -instead of the youngest child. As it was, Dr. Evans was on a wholly -different footing from that of an ordinary physician, for by marriage -he, as she by birth, was connected with “County,” which naturally was -the crown and cream of Riseborough society. Mrs. Ames was well aware -that the profession of a doctor was a noble and self-sacrificing one, -but lines had to be drawn somewhere, and it was impossible to -contemplate visiting Dr. Holmes. A dentist’s profession was -self-sacrificing, too, but you did not dine at your dentist’s, though -his manipulations enabled you to dine with comfort and confident smiles -elsewhere. Such lines as these she drew with precision, but automatic -firmness, and the apparently strange case of Mr. Turner, whom she had -induced her husband to propose for election at the club, whom, with his -wife, she herself asked to dinner, was really no exception. For it was -not Mr. Turner who had ever been a stationer in Riseborough, but his -father, and he himself had been to a public school and a university, and -had since then purged all taint of stationery away by twenty years’ -impartiality as a police magistrate in London. True, he had not changed -his name when he came back to live in Riseborough, which would have -shown a greater delicacy of mind, and the present inscription above the -stationer’s shop, “Burrows, late Turner,” was obnoxious, but Mrs. Ames -was all against the misfortunes of the fathers being visited on the -children, and Riseborough, with the exception of Mrs. Altham, had quite -accepted Mr. and Mrs. Turner, who gave remarkably good dinners, which -were quite equal to the finest efforts of the (Scotch) chef at the club. -Mrs. Altham said that the Turners had eaten their way into the heart of -Riseborough society, which sounded almost witty, until Mrs. Ames pointed -out that it was Riseborough, not the Turners, who had done the eating. -On which the wit in Mrs. Altham’s _mot_ went out like a candle in the -wind. It may, perhaps, be open to question whether Mrs. Altham’s rooted -hostility to the Turners did not predispose Mrs. Ames to accept them -before their quiet amiability disposed her to do so, for she was neither -disposed nor predisposed to like Mrs. Altham. - -Mrs. Ames’ way led through Queensgate Street, and she had to hold her -black skirt rather high as she crossed the road opposite the club, for -the dust was thick. She felt it wiser also to screw her small face up -into a tight knot in order to avoid inhaling the fetid blue smoke from -an over-lubricated motor-car that very rudely dashed by just in front of -her. She did not regard motors with any favour, since there were -financial reasons, whose validity was unassailable, why she could not -keep one; indeed, partly no doubt owing to her expressed disapproval of -them, but chiefly owing to similar financial impediments, Riseborough -generally considered that hired flies were a more gentlemanly and -certainly more leisurely form of vehicular transport. Mrs. Altham, as -usual, raised a dissentient voice, and said that she and her husband -could not make up their minds between a Daimler and a Rolles-Royce. This -showed a very reasonable hesitancy, since at present they had no data -whatever with regard to either. - -Mrs. Ames permitted herself one momentary glance at the bow-window of -the club, as she regained the pavement after this dusty passage, and -then swiftly looked straight in front of her again, since it was not -quite _quite_ to look in at the window of a man’s club. But she had seen -several things: her husband was standing there with face contorted by -the imminent approach of a sneeze, which showed that his hayfever was -not yet over, as he hoped it might be. There was General Fortescue with -a large cigar in his mouth, and a glass, probably of sherry, in his -hand; there was also the top of a bald head peering over the geraniums -in the window like a pink full moon. That no doubt was Mr. Turner (for -no one was quite so bald as he), enjoying the privilege which she had -been instrumental in securing for him. Then Mrs. Altham passed her -driving, and Mrs. Ames waved and kissed her black-gloved hand to her, -thinking how very angular curiosity made people, while Mrs. Altham waved -back thinking that it was no use trying to look important if you were -only five foot two, so that honours were about divided. Finally, just -before she turned into her own gate, she saw coming along the road, -walking very fast, as his custom was, the man she respected and even -revered more than any one in Riseborough. She would have liked to wave -her hand to him too, only the Reverend Thomas Pettit would certainly -have thought such a proceeding to be very odd conduct. He was county -too--very much county, although a clergyman--being the son of that -wealthy and distressing peer, Lord Evesham, who occasionally came into -Riseborough on county business. On these occasions he lunched at the -club, instead of going to his son’s house, but did not eat the club -lunch, preferring to devour in the smoking-room, like an ogre with false -teeth, sandwiches which seemed to be made of fish in their decline. Mrs. -Ames, who could not be called a religious woman, but was certainly very -high church, was the most notable of Mr. Pettit’s admirers, and, indeed, -had set quite a fashion in going to the services at St. Barnabas’, -which were copiously embellished by banners, vestments and incense. -Indeed, she went there in adoration of him as much as for any other -reason, for he seemed to her to be a perfect apostle. He was rich, and -gave far more than half his goods to feed the poor; he was eloquent, and -(she would not have used so common a phrase) let them all “have it” from -his pulpit, and she was sure he was rapidly wearing himself out with -work. And how thrilling it would be to address her rather frequent notes -to him with the title ‘The Reverend The Lord Evesham!’... She gave a -heavy sigh, and decided to flutter her podgy hand in his direction for a -greeting as she turned into her gate. - - * * * * * - -The little dinner which had so agitated Riseborough for the last three -weeks gave Mrs. Ames no qualms at all. Whatever happened at her house -was right, and she never had any reason to wonder, like minor -dinner-givers, if things would go off well, since she and no other was -responsible for the feast; it was Mrs. Ames’ dinner party. It was -summoned for a quarter to eight, and at half-past ten somebody’s -carriage would be announced, and she would say, “I hope nobody is -thinking of going away yet,” in consequence of which everybody would go -away at twenty minutes to eleven instead. If anybody expected to play -cards or smoke in the drawing-room, he would be disappointed, because -these diversions did not form part of the curriculum. The gentlemen had -one cigarette in the dining-room after their wine and with their coffee: -then they followed the ladies and indulged in the pleasures of -conversation. Mrs. Ames always sat in a chair by the window, and always -as the clock struck ten she re-sorted her conversationalists. That was -(without disrespect) a parlour-trick of the most supreme and -unfathomable kind. There was always some natural reason why she should -get up, and quite as naturally two or three people got up too. Then a -sort of involuntary general post took place. Mrs. Ames annexed the seat -of the risen woman whose partner she intended to talk to, and instantly -said, “Do tell me, because I am so much interested ...” upon which her -new partner sat down again. The ejected female then wandered -disconsolately forward till she found herself talking to some man who -had also got up. Therefore they sat down again together. But no one in -Riseborough could do the trick as Mrs. Ames could do it. Mrs. Altham had -often tried, and her efforts always ended in everybody sitting down -again exactly where they had been before, after standing for a moment as -if an inaudible grace was being said. But Mrs. Ames, though not socially -jealous (for, being the queen of Riseborough society, she had nobody to -be jealous of), was a little prone to spoil this parlour-trick when she -was dining at other houses, by suddenly developing an earnest -conversation with her already existing partner, when she saw that her -hostess contemplated a copy of her famous manœuvre. Yet, after all, she -was within her rights, for the parlour-trick was her own patent, and it -was quite proper to thwart the attempted infringement of it. - -Having waggled her hand in the direction of Mr. Pettit, she went -straight to the dining-room, where the dinner-table was being laid. -There was to be a company of eight to-night, and accordingly she took -three little cardboard slips from the top left-hand drawer of her -writing-table, on each of which was printed-- - - PLEASE TAKE IN - . . . . . . . . . . . . - TO DINNER. - -These were presented in the hall to the men before dinner (it was -unnecessary to write one for her husband), each folded, with the name of -the guest in question being written on the back, while the name of the -woman he was to take in filled the second line. Thus there were no -separate and hurried communications to be made in the drawing-room, as -everything was arranged already. This was not so original as the other -parlour-trick, but at present nobody else in Riseborough had attempted -it. Then out of the same drawer she took--what she took requires a fresh -paragraph. - -Printed Menu-cards. There were a dozen packets of them, each packet -advertising a different dinner: an astounding device, requiring -enlargement of explanation. She discovered them by chance in the -Military Stores in London, selected a dozen packets containing fifty -copies each, and kept the secret to herself. The parlour-maids had -orders to tweak them away as soon as the last course was served, so that -no menu-collector, if there was such retrospective glutton in -Riseborough, could appropriate them, and thus, perhaps, ultimately get a -clue which might lead him to the solution. For by a portent of ill-luck, -it might then conceivably happen that a certain guest would find -himself bidden for the third or fourth time to eat precisely the same -dinner as his odious collection told him that he had eaten six months -before. But the tweaking parlour-maids obviated that risk, and if the -menu-cards were still absolutely “unsoiled,” Mrs. Ames used them again. -There was one very sumptuous dinner among the twelve, there were nine -dinners good enough for anybody, there were two dinners that might be -described as “poor.” It was one of these, probably, which Mrs. Altham -had in her mind when she was so ruthless in respect to Mrs. Ames’ food. -But, poor or sumptuous, it appeared to the innocent Riseborough world -that Mrs. Ames had her menu-cards printed as required; that, having -constructed her dinner, she sent round a copy of it to the printer’s to -be set up in type. Probably she corrected the proofs also. She never -called attention to these menus, and seemed to take them as a matter of -course. Mrs. Altham had once directly questioned her about them, asking -if they were not a great expense. But Mrs. Ames had only shifted a -bracelet on her wrist and said, “I am accustomed to use them.” - -Mrs. Ames took four copies of one of these dinners which were good -enough for anybody, and propped them up, two on each of the long sides -of the table. Naturally, she did not want one herself, and her husband, -also naturally, sometimes said, “What are you going to give us to-night, -Amy?” In which case one of them was passed to him. But he had a good -retentive memory with regard to food, and with a little effort he could -remember what the rest of the dinner was going to be, when the nature of -the soup had given him his cue. Occasionally he criticized, saying in -his hearty voice (this would be in the autumn or winter), “What, what? -Partridge again? _Perdrix repetita_, isn’t it, General, if you haven’t -forgotten your Latin.” And Amy from the other end of the table replied, -“Well, Lyndhurst, we must eat the game our friends are so kind as to -send us.” And yet Mrs. Altham declared that she had seen partridges from -the poulterers delivered at Mrs. Ames’ house! “But they are getting -cheap now,” she added to her husband, “particularly the old birds. I got -a leg, Henry, and the bird must have roosted on it for years before Mrs. -Ames’ friends were so kind as to send it her.” - -So Mrs. Ames propped up the printed menu-cards, and spoke a humorous -word to her first parlour-maid. - -“I have often told you, Parker, to wear gloves when you are putting out -the silver. I am not a detective: I am not wanting to trace you by your -finger-prints.” - -Parker giggled discreetly. Somehow, Mrs. Ames’ servants adored their -rather exacting mistress, and stopped with her for years. They did not -get very high wages, and a great deal was required of them, but Mrs. -Ames treated them like human beings and not like machines. It may have -been only because they were so far removed from her socially; but it may -have been that there was some essential and innate kindliness in her -that shut up like a parasol when she had to deal with such foolish and -trying folk as Mrs. Altham. Mrs. Altham, indeed, had tried to entice -Parker away with a substantial rise in wages, and the prospect of less -arduous service. But that admirable serving-maid had declined to be -tempted. Also, she had reported the occurrence to her mistress. It only -confirmed what Mrs. Ames already thought of the temptress. She did not -add any further black mark. - -The table at present was devoid of any floral decoration, but that was -no part of Mrs. Ames’ province. Her husband, that premature gardener, -was responsible for flowers and wine when Mrs. Ames gave a party, and -always returned home half-an-hour earlier, to pick such of his treasures -as looked as if they would begin to go off to-morrow, and make a -subterranean excursion with a taper and the wine book to his cellar. In -the domestic economy of the house he paid the rent, the rates and taxes, -the upkeep of the garden, the wine bills, and the cost of their annual -summer holiday, while Mrs. Ames’ budget was responsible for coal, -electric light, servants’ wages, and catering bills. Arising out of this -arrangement there occasionally arose clouds (though no bigger than Mrs. -Ames’ own hand) that flecked the brightness of their domestic serenity. -Occasionally--not often--Mrs. Ames would be pungent about the -possibility of putting out the electric light on leaving a room, -occasionally her husband had sent for his coat at lunch-time, to -supplement the heat given out on a too parsimonious hearth. But such -clouds were never seen by other eyes than theirs: the presence of guests -led Major Ames to speak of the excellence of his wife’s cook and say, -“‘Pon my word, I never taste better cooking than what I get at home,” -and suggested to his wife to say to Mrs. Fortescue, “My husband so much -enjoys having the General to dinner, for he knows a glass of good wine.” -She might with truth have said that he knew a good many glasses. - -Finally, the two shared in equal proportions the upkeep of a rather -weird youth who was the only offspring of their marriage, and was -mistakenly called Harry, for the name was singularly ill-suited to him. -He had lank hair, protuberant eyes, and a tendency to write poetry. Just -now he was at home from Cambridge, and had rather agitated his mother -that afternoon by approaching her dreamily at the garden-party and -saying, “Mother, Mrs. Evans is the most wonderful creature I ever saw!” -That seemed to her so wild an exaggeration as to be quite senseless, and -to portend poetry. Harry made his father uncomfortable, too, by walking -about with some quite common rose in his hand, and pretending that the -scent of it was meat and drink to him. Also he had queer notions about -vegetarianism, and said that a hunch of brown bread, a plate of beans, -and a lump of cheese, contained more nourishment than quantities of -mutton chops. But though not much of a hand at victuals, he found -inspiration in what he called “yellow wine,” and he and a few similarly -minded friends belonged to a secret Omar Khayyam Club at Cambridge, the -proceedings of which were carried on behind locked doors, not for fear -of the Jews, but of the Philistines. A large glass salad-bowl filled -with yellow wine and sprinkled with rose-leaves was the inspirer of -these mild orgies, and each Omarite had to write and read a short poem -during the course of the evening. It was a point of honour among members -always to be madly in love with some usually unconscious lady, and -paroxysms of passion were punctuated by Byronic cynicism. Just now it -seemed likely that Mrs. Evans would soon be the fount of aspiration and -despair. That would create quite a sensation at the next meeting of the -Omar Club: nobody before had been quite so daring as to fall in love -with a married woman. But no doubt that phenomenon has occurred in the -history of human passion, so why should it not occur to an Omarite? - - * * * * * - -The wine at Mrs. Ames’ parties was arranged by her husband on a scale -that corresponded with the food. At either of the two “poor” dinners, -for instance, a glass of Marsala was accorded with the soup, a light -(though wholesome) claret moistened the rest of the meal, and a single -glass of port was offered at dessert. The course of the nine dinners -good enough for anybody was enlivened by the substitution of sherry for -Marsala, champagne for claret, and liqueurs presented with coffee, while -on the much rarer occasions of the one sumptuous dinner (which always -included an ice) liqueur made its first appearance with the ice, and a -glass of hock partnered the fish. To-night, therefore, sherry was on -offer, and when, the dinner being fairly launched, Mrs. Ames took her -first disengaged look round, she observed with some little annoyance, -justifiable, even laudable, in a hostess, that Harry was talking in the -wrong direction. In fact, he was devoting his attention to Mrs. Evans, -who sat between him and his father, instead of entertaining Elsie, her -daughter, whom he had taken in, and who now sat isolated and silent, -since General Fortescue, who was on her other side, was naturally -conversing with his hostess. Certainly it was rubbish to call Mrs. Evans -a most wonderful creature; there was nothing wonderful about her. She -was fair, with pretty yellow hair (an enthusiast might have called it -golden), she had small regular features, and that look of distinction -which Mrs. Ames (drawing herself up a little as she thought of it) -considered to be inseparable from any in whose veins ran the renowned -Westbourne blood. She had also that slim, tall figure which, though -characteristic of the same race, was unfortunately not quite inseparable -from its members, for no amount of drawing herself up would have -conferred it on Mrs. Ames, and Harry took after her in this respect. - -Dr. Evans had not long been settled in Riseborough--indeed, it was only -last winter that he had bought his practice here, and taken the -delightful house in which his wife had given so populous a garden-party -that afternoon. Their coming, as advertised by Mrs. Ames, had been -looked forward to with a high degree of expectancy, since a fresh tenant -for the Red House, especially when he was known to be a man of wealth -(though only a doctor), was naturally supposed to connote a new and -exclusive entertainer, while his wife’s relationship to Sir James -Westbourne made a fresh link between the “town” and the “county.” -Hitherto, Mrs. Ames had been the chief link, and though without doubt -she was a genuine one (her mother being a Westbourne), she had been a -little disappointing in this regard, as she barely knew the present head -of the family, and was apt to talk about old days rather than glorify -the present ones by exhibitions of the family to which she belonged. But -it was hoped that with the advent of Mrs. Evans a more living intimacy -would be established. - -Mrs. Evans was the fortunate possessor of that type of looks which wears -well, and it was difficult to believe that Elsie, with her eighteen -years and elderly manner, was her daughter. She was possessed of that -unemotional temperament which causes the years to leave only the -faintest traces of their passage, and they had graven on her face but -little record of joys and sorrows. Her mouth still possessed the -softness of a girl’s, and her eyes, large and blue, had something of the -shy, unconscious wonder of childhood in their azure. To judge by -appearances (which we shall all continue to do until the end of time, -though we have made proverbs to warn us against the fallibility of such -conclusions), she must have had the tender and innocent nature of a -child, and though Mrs. Ames saw nothing wonderful about her, it was -really remarkable that a woman could look so much and mean so little. -She did not talk herself with either depth or volume, but she had, so to -speak, a deep and voluminous way of listening which was immensely -attractive. She made the man who was talking to her feel himself to be -interesting (a thing always pleasant to the vainer sex), and in -consequence he generally became interested. To fire the word “flirt” at -her, point-blank, would have been a brutality that would have astounded -her--nor, indeed, was she accustomed to use the somewhat obvious arts -which we associate with those practitioners, but it is true that without -effort she often established relations of intimacy with other people -without any giving of herself in return. Both men and women were -accustomed to take her into their confidence; it was so easy to tell her -of private affairs, and her eyes, so wide and eager and sympathetic, -gave an extraordinary tenderness to her commonplace replies, which -accurately, by themselves, reflected her dull and unemotional mind. She -possessed, in fact, as unemotional but comely people do, the -potentiality of making a great deal of mischief without exactly meaning -it, and it would be safe to predict that, the mischief being made, she -would quite certainly acquit herself of any intention of having made it. -It would be rash, of course, to assert that no breeze would ever stir -the pearly sleeping sea of her temperament: all that can be said is that -it had not been stirred yet. - -Mrs. Ames could not permit Elsie’s isolation to continue, and she said -firmly to Harry, “Tell Miss Evans all about Cambridge,” which -straightened conversation out again, and allowed Mrs. Evans to direct -all her glances and little sentences to Major Ames. As was usual with -men who had the privilege of talking to her, he soon felt himself a -vivid conversationalist. - -“Yes, gardening was always a hobby of mine,” he was saying, “and in the -regiment they used to call me Adam. The grand old gardener, you know, as -Tennyson says. Not that there was ever anything grand about me.” - -Mrs. Evans’ mouth quivered into a little smile. - -“Nor old, either, Major Ames,” she said. - -Major Ames put down the glass of champagne he had just sipped, in order -to give his loud, hearty laugh. - -“Well, well,” he said, “I’m pretty vigorous yet, and can pull the heavy -garden roller as well as a couple of gardeners could. I never have a -gardener more than a couple of days a week. I do all the work myself. -Capital exercise, rolling the lawn, and then I take a rest with a bit of -weeding, or picking a bunch of flowers for Amy’s table. Weeding, too-- - - ‘An hour’s weeding a day - Keeps the doctor away.’ - -I defy you to get lumbago if you do a bit of weeding every morning.” - -Again a little shy smile quivered on Millie Evans’ mouth. - -“I shall tell my husband,” she said. “I shall say you told me you spend -an hour a day in weeding, so that you shouldn’t ever set eyes on him. -And then you make poetry about it afterwards.” - -Again he laughed. - -“Well, now, I call that downright wicked of you,” he said, “twisting my -words about in that way. General, I want your opinion about that glass -of champagne. It’s a ’96 wine, and wants drinking.” - -The General applied his fish-like mouth to his glass. - -“Wants drinking, does it?” he said. “Well, it’ll get it from me. -Delicious! Goo’ dry wine.” - -Major Ames turned to Millie Evans again. - -“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Evans,” he said, “but General Fortescue likes to -know what’s before him. Yes, downright wicked of you! I’m sure I wish -Amy had asked Dr. Evans to-night, but there--you know what Amy is. She’s -got a notion that it will make a pleasanter dinner-table not to ask -husband and wife always together. She says it’s done a great deal in -London now. But they can’t put on to their tables in London such -sweet-peas as I grow here in my bit of a garden. Look at those in front -of you. Black Michaels, they are. Look at the size of them. Did you ever -see such sweet-peas? I wonder what Amy is going to give us for dinner -to-night. Bit of lamb next, is it? and a quail to follow. Hope you’ll -go Nap, Mrs. Evans; I must say Amy has a famous cook. And what do you -think of us all down at Riseborough, now you’ve had time to settle down -and look about you? I daresay you and your husband say some sharp things -about us, hey? Find us very stick-in-the-mud after London?” - -She gave him one of those shy little deprecating glances that made him -involuntarily feel that he was a most agreeable companion. - -“Ah, you are being wicked now!” she said. “Every one is delightful. So -kind, so hospitable. Now, Major Ames, do tell me more about your -flowers. Black Michaels, you said those were. I must go in for -gardening, and will you begin to teach me a little? Why is it that your -flowers are so much more beautiful than anybody’s? At least, I needn’t -ask: it must be because you understand them better than anybody.” - -Major Ames felt that this was an uncommonly agreeable woman, and for -half a second contrasted her pleasant eagerness to hear about his garden -with his wife’s complete indifference to it. She liked flowers on the -table, but she scarcely knew a hollyhock from a geranium. - -“Well, well,” he said; “I don’t say that my flowers, which you are so -polite as to praise, don’t owe something to my care. Rain or fine, I -don’t suppose I spend less than an average of four hours a day among -them, year in, year out. And that’s better, isn’t it, than sitting at -the club, listening to all the gossip and tittle-tattle of the place?” - -“Ah, you are like me,” she said. “I hate gossip. It is so dull. -Gardening is so much more interesting.” - -He laughed again. - -“Well, as I tell Amy,” he said, “if our friends come here expecting to -hear all the tittle-tattle of the place, they will be in for a -disappointment. Amy and I like to give our friends a hearty welcome and -a good dinner, and pleasant conversation about really interesting -things. I know little about the gossip of the town; you would find me -strangely ignorant if you wanted to talk about it. But politics now--one -of those beastly Radical members of Parliament lunched with us only the -week before last, and I assure you that Amy asked him some questions he -found it hard to answer. In fact, he didn’t answer them: he begged the -question, begged the question. There was one, I remember, which just -bowled him out. She said, ‘What is to happen to the parks of the landed -gentry, if you take them away from the owners?’ Well, that bowled him -out, as they say in cricket. Look at Sir James’s place, for instance, -your cousin’s place, Amy’s cousin’s place. Will they plant a row of -villas along the garden terrace? And who is to live in them if they do? -Grant that Lloyd George--she said that--grant that Lloyd George wants a -villa there, that will be one villa. But the terrace there will hold a -dozen villas. Who will take the rest of them? She asked him that. They -take away all our property, and then expect us to build houses on other -people’s! Don’t talk to me!” - -The concluding sentence was not intended to put a stop on this pleasant -conversation; it was only the natural ejaculation of one connected with -landed proprietors. Mrs. Evans understood it in that sense. - -“Do tell me all about it,” she said. “Of course, I am only a woman, and -we are supposed to have no brains, are we not? and to be able to -understand nothing about politics. But will they really take my cousin -James’s place away from him? I think Radicals must be wicked.” - -“More fools than knaves, I always say,” said Major Ames magnanimously. -“They are deluded, like the poor Suffragettes. Suffragettes now! A -woman’s sphere of influence lies in her home. Women are the queens of -the earth; I’ve often said that, and what do queens want with votes? -Would Amy have any more influence in Riseborough if she had a vote? Not -a bit of it. Well, then, why go about smacking the faces of policemen -and chaining yourself to a railing? If I had my way----” - -Major Ames became of lower voice and greater confidence. - -“Amy doesn’t wholly agree with me,” he said; “and it’s a pleasure to -thrash the matter out with somebody like yourself, who has sensible -views on the subject. What use are women in politics? None at all, as -you just said. It’s for women to rock the cradle, and rule the world. I -say, and I have always said, that to give them a vote would be to wreck -their influence, God bless them. But Amy doesn’t agree with me. I say -that I will vote--she’s a Conservative, of course, and so am I--I will -vote as she wishes me to. But she says it’s the principle of the thing, -not the practice. But what she calls principle, I call want of -principle. Home: that’s the woman’s sphere.” - -Mrs. Evans gave a little sigh. - -“I never heard it so beautifully expressed,” she said. “Major Ames, why -don’t you go in for politics?” - -Major Ames felt himself flattered; he felt also that he deserved the -flattery. Hence, to him now, it ceased to be flattery, and became a -tribute. He became more confidential, and vastly more vapid. - -“My dear lady,” he said, “politics is a dirty business now-a-days. We -can serve our cause best by living a quiet and dignified life, without -ostentation, as you see, but by being gentlemen. It is the silent -protest against these socialistic ideas that will tell in the long run. -What should I do at Westminster? Upon my soul, if I found myself sitting -opposite those Radical louts, it would take me all my time to keep my -temper. No, no; let me attend to my garden, and give my friends -good dinners,--bless my soul, Amy is letting us have an ice -to-night--strawberry ice, I expect; that was why she asked me whether -there were plenty of strawberries. _Glace de fraises_; she likes her -menu-cards printed in French, though I am sure ‘strawberry ice’ would -tell us all we wanted to know. What’s in a name after all?” - -Conversation had already shifted, and Major Ames turned swiftly to a -dry-skinned Mrs. Brooks who sat on his left. She was a sad high-church -widow who embroidered a great deal. Her dress was outlined with her own -embroideries, so, too, were many altar-cloths at the church of St. -Barnabas. She and Mrs. Ames had a sort of religious rivalry over its -decoration; the one arranged the copious white lilies that crowned the -cloth made by the other. Their rivalry was not without silent jealousy, -and it was already quite well known that Mrs. Brooks had said that -lilies of the valley were quite as suitable as Madonna lilies, which -shed a nasty yellow pollen on the altar-cloth. But Madonna lilies were -larger; a decoration required fewer “blooms.” In other moods also she -was slightly acid. - -Mrs. Evans turned slowly to her right, where Harry was sitting. She -might almost be supposed to know that she had a lovely neck, at least it -was hard to think that she had lived with it for thirty-seven years in -complete unconsciousness of it. If she moved her head very quickly, -there was just a suspicion of loose skin about it. But she did not move -her head very quickly. - -“And now let us go on talking,” she said. “Have you told my little girl -all about Cambridge? Tell me all about Cambridge too. What fun you must -have! A lot of young men together, with no stupid women and girls to -bother them. Do you play a great deal of lawn-tennis?” - -Harry reconsidered for a moment his verdict concerning the wonderfulness -of her. It was hardly happy to talk to a member of the Omar Club about -games and the advantages of having no girls about. - -“No; I don’t play games much,” he said. “The set I am in don’t care for -them.” - -She tilted her head a little back, as if asking pardon for her -ignorance. - -“I didn’t know,” she said. “I thought perhaps you liked games--football, -racquets, all that kind of thing. I am sure you could play them -beautifully if you chose. Or perhaps you like gardening? I had such a -nice talk to your father about flowers. What a lot he knows about them!” - -Flowers were better than games, anyhow; Harry put down his spoon without -finishing his ice. - -“Have you ever noticed what a wonderful colour _La France_ roses turn at -twilight?” he asked. “All the shadows between the petals become blue, -quite blue.” - -“Do they really? You must show me sometime. Are there some in your -garden here?” - -“Yes, but father doesn’t care about them so much because they are -common. I think that is so strange of him. Sunsets are common, too, -aren’t they? There is a sunset every day. But the fact that a thing is -common doesn’t make it less beautiful.” - -She gave a little sigh. - -“But what a nice idea,” she said. “I am sure you thought of it. Do you -talk about these things much at Cambridge?” - -Mrs. Ames began to collect ladies’ eyes at this moment, and the -conversation had to be suspended. Millie Evans, though she was rather -taller than Harry, managed, as she passed him on the way to the door, to -convey the impression of looking up at him. - -“You must tell me all about it,” she said. “And show me those delicious -roses turning blue at twilight.” - -Dinner had been at a quarter to eight, and when the men joined the women -again in the drawing-room, light still lingered in the midsummer sky. -Then Harry, greatly daring, since such a procedure was utterly contrary -to all established precedents, persuaded Mrs. Evans to come out into the -garden, and observe for herself the chameleonic properties of the roses. -Then he had ventured on another violation of rule, since all rights of -flower-picking were vested in his father, and had plucked her -half-a-dozen of them. But on their return with the booty, and the -establishment of the blue theory, his father, so far from resenting this -invasions of his privileges, had merely said-- - -“The rascal might have found you something choicer than that, Mrs. -Evans. But we’ll see what we can find you to-morrow.” - -She had again seemed to look up at Harry. - -“Nothing can be lovelier than my beautiful roses,” she said. “But it is -sweet of you to think of sending me some more. Cousin Amy, look at the -roses Mr. Harry has given me.” - -Carriages arrived as usual that night at half-past ten, at which hour, -too, a gaunt, grenadier-like maid of certain age, rapped loudly on the -front door, and demanded Mrs. Brooks, whom she was to protect on her way -home, and as usual carriages and the grenadier waited till twenty -minutes to eleven. But even at a quarter to, no conveyance, by some -mischance, had come for Mrs. Evans, and despite her protests, Major Ames -insisted on escorting her and Elsie back to her house. Occasionally, -when such mistakes occurred, it had been Harry’s duty to see home the -uncarriaged, but to-night, when it would have been his pleasure, the -privilege was denied him. So, instead, after saying good-night to his -mother, he went swiftly to his room, there to write a mysterious letter -to a member of the Omar Club, and compose a short poem, which should, -however unworthily, commemorate this amorous evening. - -There is nothing in the world more rightly sacred than the first -dawnings of love in a young man, but, on the other hand, there is -nothing more ludicrous if his emotions are inspired, or even tinged, by -self-consciousness and the sense of how fine a young spark he is. And -our unfortunate Harry was charged with this absurdity; all through the -evening it had been present to his mind, how dashing and Byronic a tale -this would prove at the next meeting of the Omar Khayyam Club; with what -fine frenzy he would throw off, in his hour of inspiration after the -yellow wine, the little heart-wail which he was now about to compose, as -soon as his letter to Gerald Everett was written. And lest it should -seem unwarrantable to intrude in the spirit of ridicule on a young man’s -rapture and despair, an extract from his letter should give solid -justification. - -“Of course, I can’t give names,” he said, “because you know how such -things get about; but, my God, Gerald, how wonderful she is. I saw her -this afternoon for the first time, and she dined with us to-night. She -understands everything--whatever I said, I saw reflected in her eyes, as -the sky is reflected in still water. After dinner I took her out into -the garden, and showed her how the shadows of the _La France_ roses turn -blue at dusk. I quoted to her two lines-- - - ‘O, thou art fairer than the evening air, - Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.’ - -And I _think_ she saw that I quoted _at_ her. Of course, she turned it -off, and said, ‘What pretty lines!’ but I think she saw. And she carried -my roses home. Lucky roses! - -“Gerald, I am miserable! I haven’t told you yet. For she is married. She -has a great stupid husband, years and years older than herself. She has, -too, a great stupid daughter. There’s another marvel for you! Honestly -and soberly she does not look more than twenty-five. I will write again, -and tell you how all goes. But I think she likes me; there is clearly -something in common between us. There is no doubt she enjoyed our -little walk in the dusk, when the roses turned blue.... Have you had any -successes lately?” - -He finished his letter, and before beginning his poem, lit the candle on -his dressing-table, and examined his small, commonplace visage in the -glass. It was difficult to arrange his hair satisfactorily. If he -brushed it back it revealed an excess of high, vacant-looking forehead; -if he let it drop over his forehead, though his resemblance to Keats was -distinctly strengthened, its resemblance to seaweed was increased also. -The absence of positive eyebrow was regrettable, but was there not fire -in his rather pale and far-apart eyes? He rather thought there was. His -nose certainly turned up a little, but what, if not that, did tip-tilted -imply? A rather long upper-lip was at present only lightly fledged with -an adolescent moustache, but there was decided strength in his chin. It -stuck out. And having practised a frown which he rather fancied, he went -back to the table in the window again, read a few stanzas of _Dolores_, -in order to get into tune with passion and bitterness (for this poem was -not going to begin or end happily) and wooed the lyric muse. - - * * * * * - -Major Ames, meantime, had seen Mrs. Evans to her door, and retraced his -steps as far as the club, where he was in half-a-mind to go in, and get -a game of billiards, which he enjoyed. He played in a loud, hectoring -and unskilful manner, and it was noticeable that all the luck (unless, -as occasionally happened, he won) was invariably on the side of his -opponent. But after an irresolute pause, he went on again, and let -himself into his own house. Amy was still sitting in the drawing-room, -though usually she went to bed as soon as her guests had gone. - -“Very pleasant evening, my dear,” he said; “and your plan was a great -success. Uncommonly agreeable woman Mrs. Evans is. Pretty woman, too; -you would never guess she was the mother of that great girl.” - -“She was not considered pretty as a girl,” said his wife. - -“No? Then she must have improved in looks afterwards. Lonely life -rather, to be a doctor’s wife, with your husband liable to be called -away at any hour of the day or night.” - -“I have no doubt Millie occupies herself very well,” said Mrs. Ames. -“Good-night, Lyndhurst. Are you coming up to bed?” - -“Not just yet. I shall sit up a bit, and smoke another cigar.” - -He sat in the window, and every now and then found himself saying, half -aloud, “Uncommonly agreeable woman.” Just overhead Harry was tearing -passion to shreds in the style (more or less) of Swinburne. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Dr. Evans was looking out of the window of his dining-room as he waited -the next morning for breakfast to be brought in, jingling a pleasant -mixture of money and keys in his trouser pockets and whistling a tune -that sounded vague and De Bussy-like until you perceived that it was -really an air familiar to streets and barrel-organs, and owed its -elusive quality merely to the fact that the present performer was a -little uncertain as to the comparative value of tones and semitones. But -this slightly discouraging detail was more than compensated for by the -evident cheerfulness of the executant; his plump, high-coloured face, -his merry eye, the singular content of his whole aspect betokened a -personality that was on excellent terms with life. - -His surroundings were as well furnished and securely comfortable as -himself. The table was invitingly laid; a Sheffield-plate urn (Dr. Evans -was an amateur in Georgian decoration and furniture) hissed and steamed -with little upliftings of the lid under the pressure within, and a -number of hot dishes suggested an English interpretation of breakfast. -Fine mezzotints after the great English portrait-painters hung on the -walls, and a Chippendale sideboard was spread with fruit dishes and -dessert-plates. The morning was very hot, but the high, spacious room, -with its thick walls, was cool and fresh, while its potentialities for -warmth and cosiness in the winter were sponsored for by the large open -fireplace and the stack of hot-water pipes which stood beneath the -sideboard. Outside, the windows at which Dr. Evans stood looked out on -to the large and secluded lawn, which had been the scene of the -garden-party the day before. Red-brick walls ran along the two sides of -it at right angles to the house: opposite, a row of espaliered -fruit-trees screened off the homeliness of the kitchen-garden beyond, -and the railway cutting which formed the boundary of this pleasant -place. - -Wilfred Evans had whistled the first dozen bars of the “Merry Widow -Waltz” some six or seven times through, before, with the retarded -consciousness that it was Sunday, he went on to “The Church’s One -Foundation,” and though, with his usual admirable appetite, he felt the -allure of the hot dishes, he waited, still whistling, for some other -member of his household, wife or daughter, to appear. He was one of the -most gregarious and clubbable of men, and no hecatomb of stalled oxen -would have given him content, if he had had to eat his beef alone. A -firm attachment to his domestic circle, combined with the not very -exacting calls of his practice, but truly fervent investigations in the -laboratory at the end of the garden, of the habits and economy of -phagocytes, comfortably filled up, to the furthest horizon, the scenery -of his mental territories. - -He had not to wait long for his wife to appear, and he hailed her with -his wonted cordiality. - -“Morning, little woman,” he said. “Slept well, I hope?” - -Mrs. Evans did not practice at home all those arts of pleasing with -which she was so lavish in other people’s houses. Also, this morning -she felt rather cross, a thing which, to do her justice, was rare with -her. - -“Not very,” she said. “I kept waking. It was stiflingly hot.” - -“I’m sorry, my dear,” said he. - -Mrs. Evans busied herself with tea-making; her long, slender hands moved -with extraordinary deftness and silence among clattering things, and her -husband whistled the “Merry Widow Waltz” once or twice more. - -“Oh, Wilfred, do stop that odious tune,” she said, without the slightest -hint of impatience in her voice. “It is bad enough on your pianola, -which, after all, is in tune!” - -“Which is more than can be said for my penny whistle?” asked he, -good-humouredly. “Right you are, I’m dumb. Tell me about your party last -night.” - -“My dear, haven’t you been to enough Riseborough parties to know that -there is nothing to tell about any party?” she asked. “I sat between -Major Ames and the son. I talked gardening on one side with the father, -and something which I suppose was enlightened Cambridge conversation on -the other. Harry Ames is rather a dreadful sort of youth. He took me -into the garden afterwards to show me something about roses. And the -carriage didn’t come. Major Ames saw me home. When did you get in?” - -“Not till nearly three. Very difficult maternity case. But we’ll pull -them both through.” - -Millie Evans gave a little shudder, which was not quite entirely -instinctive. She emphasized it for her husband’s benefit. Unfortunately, -he did not notice it. - -“Will you have your tea now?” she asked. - -He looked at her with an air mainly conjugal but tinged with -professionalism. - -“Bit upset with the heat, little woman?” he asked. “You look a trifle -off colour. We can’t have you sleeping badly, either. Show me the man -who sleeps his seven hours every night, and I’ll show you who will live -to be ninety.” - -This prospect did not for the moment allure his wife. - -“I think I would sooner sleep less and die earlier,” she said in her -even voice, “though I’m sure Elsie will live to a hundred at that rate. -You encourage her to be lazy in the morning, Wilfred. I’m sure any one -can manage to be in time for breakfast at a quarter past nine.” - -He shook his head. - -“No, no, little woman,” he said. “Let a growing girl sleep just as much -as she feels inclined. I would sooner stint a girl’s food than her -sleep. Give the red corpuscles a chance, eh?” - -Millie got up from the table, and went to the sideboard to get some -fruit. Then suddenly it struck her all this was hardly worth while. It -seemed a stupid business to come down every morning and eat breakfast, -to manage the household, to go for a walk, perhaps, or sit in the -garden, and after completing the round of these daily futilities, to go -to bed again and sleep, just for the recuperation that sleep gave, to -enable her to do it all over again. But the strawberries looked cool and -moist, and standing by the sideboard she ate a few of them. Just above -it hung the oblong Sheraton mirror, which her husband had bought so -cheaply at a local sale and had brought home so triumphantly. That, too, -seemed to tell her a stale story, and the reflection of her young face, -crowned with the shimmer of yellow hair, against the dark oak background -of the panelling seemed without purpose or significance. She was doing -nothing with her beauty that stayed so long with her. But it would not -stay many years longer: this morning even there seemed to be a shadow -over it, making it dim.... Soon nobody would care if she had ever been -pretty or not; indeed, even now Elsie seemed by her height and the -maturity of her manner to be reminding everybody of the fact that she -herself must be approaching the bar which every woman has to cross when -she is forty or thereabouts.... And, strange enough it may appear, these -doubts and questionings which looked at Millie darkly from the Sheraton -glass above the sideboard, selfish and elementary as they were, -resembled “thought” far more closely than did the generality of those -surface impressions that as a rule mirrored her mind. They were, too, -rather actively disagreeable, and generally speaking, nothing -disagreeable occurred to her. The experiences of every day might be -mildly exhilarating, or mildly tedious. But, whatever they were, she was -not accustomed to think closely about them. Now, for the moment, it -seemed to her that some shadow, some vague presence confronted her, and -menacingly demanded her attention. - -Riseborough is notable for the number of its churches, and before long -the air was mellow with bells. As a rule, Millie Evans went to church on -Sunday morning with the same regularity as she ate hot roast beef for -lunch when it was over, but this morning she easily let herself be -persuaded to refrain from any act of public worship. It seemed quite -within the bounds of possibility that she might feel faint during the -psalms and, on her husband’s advice, she settled to stop at home, -leaving him and Elsie, who was quite unaware what faintness felt like, -to attend. But it was not the fear of faintness that prompted her -absence: she wanted, almost for the first time in her life, to be alone -and to think. Even on the occasion of her marriage, she had not found it -necessary to employ herself with original thought: her mother had done -the thinking for her, and had advised her, as she felt quite sure, -sensibly and well. Nor had she needed to think when she was expecting -her only child, for on that occasion she had been perfectly content to -do exactly as her husband told her. But now, at the age of thirty-seven, -the sight of her own face in the glass had suggested to her certain -possibilities, certain limitations. - -Ill-health had, on infrequent Sundays, prevented her attendance at -church, and now, following merely the dictates of habit, she took out -with her to a basket chair below the big mulberry-tree in the garden, a -Bible and prayer-book, out of which she supposed that she would read the -psalms and lessons for the day. But the Bible remained long untouched, -and when she opened it eventually at random, she read but one verse. It -was at the end of Ecclesiastes that the leaves parted, and she read, -“When desire shall fail, because man goeth to his long home.” - -That was enough, for it was that, here succinctly expressed, which had -been troubling her this morning, though so vaguely, that until she saw -her symptoms written down shortly and legibly, she had scarcely known -what they were. But certainly this line and a half described them. No -doubt it was all very elementary; by degrees one ceased to care, and -then one died. But her case was rather different from that, for she -felt that with her desire had not failed, simply because she never had -had desire. She had waked and slept, she had eaten and walked, she had -had a child; but all these things had been of about the same value. Once -she had had a tooth out, without gas; that was a slightly more vivid -experience. But it was very soon over: she had not really cared. - -But though she had not cared for any of those things, she had not been -bored with the repetition of them. It had seemed natural that one thing -should follow another, that the days should become weeks, and the weeks -should become months, insensibly. When the months added themselves into -years, she took notice of that fact by having a birthday, and Wilfred, -as he gave her some little present in a morocco case, told her that she -looked as young as when they first met, which was very nearly true. She -had a quantity of these morocco cases now: he never omitted the punctual -presentation of each. And the mental vision of all these morocco cases, -some round, some square, some oblong, and the thought of their -contents--a little pearl brooch, a sapphire brooch, a pair of emerald -ear-rings, a jewelled hat-pin--suddenly came upon her with their -cumulative effect. A lot of time had gone by; it chiefly lived in her -now through the memory of the morocco cases. - -By virtue of her unemotional temperament and serene bodily health she -looked very young still, and certainly did not feel old. But as the -bells for church ceased to jangle and clash in the hot still air, -leaving only for the ear the hum of multitudinous bees in the long -flower-bed, it dawned on her that whatever she felt, and however she -looked, she would soon be on the other side of that barrier which for -women marks the end of their essential and characteristic life. There -were a few years left her yet out of the years of which she made so -little use, and with a spasm, the keenest perhaps she had ever known, -even including the extraction of the tooth without gas, the horror of -middle-age fell upon her, making her shiver. All her life she had felt -nothing: soon she would be incapable of feeling, except in so far as -regret, that pale echo of what might once have been emotion, can be -considered an affair of the heart. To feel, she readily perceived, -implied the existence of something or somebody to feel about. But she -did not know where to look for her participant. Long ago her husband had -become as much part of that dead level of life as had her breakfast or -her dressing for dinner. Never had he stirred her from her placid -passivity, she had never yearned for him, in the sense in which a -thirsty man desires water. She had no love of nature: “the primrose by -the river’s brim” might have been a violet for anything that she cared; -charity, in its technical sense, was distasteful to her, because the -curious smell in the houses of the poor made her only long to get away. -It was hard to know where to turn to find an outlet for that drowsily -awakening recognition of life that to-day, so late and as yet so feebly, -stirred within her. Yet, though it stirred but feebly, there was -movement there: it wanted to be alive for a little, before it was -indubitably dead. - -Her thoughts went back to the topic concerning which she had told her -husband that there was nothing to be told--namely, the dinner-party at -the Ames’ last night. Certainly there was nothing remarkable about it: -she had conducted herself as usual, with the usual result. She was -accustomed to deal out her little smiles and deferential glances and -flattering speeches to those who sat next her at dinner, because in -herself a mild amiability prompted her to make herself pleasant, and -because, with so little trouble to herself, she could make a man behave -as agreeably as he was capable of behaving. She attracted men very -easily, cursorily one might say, without attaching any importance to the -interest she aroused, and without looking further than the dinner-table -for the fruits of the attraction she exercised. But this morning, this -tardy and drowsy recognition of life, beside which, so to speak, lay the -shadow of middle-age, gave her pause. Was there some fruition and -development of herself, before the withered and barren years came to -her, to be found there? It would be quite beyond the mark to say that, -sitting here, she definitely proposed to herself to try to make herself -emotionally interested in somebody else, in case that might add a zest -to life, but she considered the effect which she so easily produced in -others, and wondered what it meant to feel like that. Certainly Major -Ames had enjoyed escorting her home; certainly Harry had felt a touch of -_gauche_ romance when he showed her the effect of twilight on the -complexion of some rose or other. He had given her a whole bunch of -roses, with an attempt at a pretty speech. Yes, that was it--the shadows -in them looked pale-blue, and he had said that they were just the colour -of her eyes. But the roses were pretty: she hoped that somebody had put -them in water. - -She was already more than a little interested in her reflections: there -was something original and exciting to her in them, and it was annoying -to have them broken in upon by the parlour-maid who came towards her -from the house. Personally, she thought it absurd not to keep -men-servants, but Wilfred always maintained that a couple of good -parlour-maids produced greater comfort with less disturbance, and -yielding to him, as she always yielded to anybody who expressed a -definite opinion, she had acquiesced in female service. But she always -called the head parlour-maid Watkins, whereas her husband called her -Mary. - -“Major Ames wants to know if you will see him, ma’am,” said Watkins. - -The interest returned. - -“Yes, ask him to come out,” she said. - -Watkins went back to the house and returned with Major Ames in tow, who -carried a huge bouquet of sweet-peas. There then followed the difficulty -of meeting and greeting gracefully and naturally which is usual when the -visitor is visible a long way off. The Major put on a smile far too -soon, and had to take it off again, since Mrs. Evans had not yet decided -that it was time to see him. Then she began to smile, while he (without -his smile) was looking abstractedly at the top of the mulberry-tree, as -if he expected to find her there. He looked there a moment too long, for -one of the lower branches suddenly knocked his straw hat off his head, -and he said, “God bless my soul,” and dropped the sweet-peas. However, -this was not an unmixed misfortune, for the recognition came quite -naturally after that. She hoped he was not hurt, was he _sure_ that -silly branch had not hit his face? It must be taken off! _What_ lovely -flowers! And were they for her? They were. - -Major Ames replaced his hat rather hastily, after a swift manœuvre with -regard to his hair which Mrs. Evans did not accurately follow. The fact -was (though he believed the fact not to be generally known) that the top -of Major Ames’ head was entirely destitute of hair, and that the smooth -crop which covered it was the produce of the side of his head--just -above the ear--grown long, and brushed across the cranium so as to adorn -it with seemingly local wealth and sleekness. The rough and unexpected -removal of his hat by the bough of the mulberry-tree had caused a -considerable portion of it to fall back nearly to the shoulder of the -side on which it actually grew, and his hasty manœuvre with his gathered -tresses was designed to replace them. Necessarily he put back his hat -again quickly, in the manner of a boy capturing a butterfly. - -His mind, and the condition of it, on this Sunday morning, would repay a -brief analysis. Briefly, then, a sort of _aurora borealis_ of youth had -visited him: his heaven was streaked with inexplicable lights. He had -told himself that a man of forty-seven was young still, and that when a -most attractive woman had manifested an obvious interest in him, it was -only reasonable to follow it up. He was not a coxcomb, he was not a -loose liver; he was only a very ordinary man, well and healthy, married -to a woman considerably older than himself, and living in a town which, -in spite of his adored garden, presented but moderate excitements. But -indeed, this morning call, paid with this solid tribute of sweet-peas, -was something of an adventure, and had not been mentioned by him to his -wife. He had seen her start for St. Barnabas, and then had hastily -gathered his bouquet and set out, leaving Harry wandering dreamily about -the cinder-paths in the kitchen garden, in the full glory of the -discovery that the colour of the scarlet runners was like a clarion. -Major Ames had plucked almost his rarest varieties, for to pluck the -rarest, since he wished to save their first bloom for seed, would have -been on the further side of quixotism and have verged on imbecility, but -he had brought the best of his second-best. Last night, too, he had -hinted at his own remissness in the matter of church attendance on -Sunday morning, and on his way up here had permitted himself to wonder -whether Millie would prove (in consequence, perhaps, of that) to have -abstained from worship also, expecting, or at least considering -possible, a morning call from him. As a matter of fact she had not -indulged in any such hopes, since it had been a matter of pure -indifference to her whether he went to church on Sunday or not. But when -he found on inquiry at the door that she was at home, it was scarcely -unreasonable, on the part of a rather vain and gallantly minded man, to -connect the fact with the information he had given. - -So he hastily readjusted his hat. - -“My own stupidity entirely,” he said; “do not blame the tree. Yes, I -have brought you just a few flowers, and though they are not worthy of -your acceptance, they are not the worst bunch of sweet-peas I have ever -seen, not the worst. These, Catherine the Great, for instance, are -not--well--they do not grow quite in every garden.” - -Mrs. Evans opened her blue eyes a little wider. - -“And are they really for me, Major Ames?” she asked again. “It is good -of you. My precious flowers! They must be put in water at once. Watkins, -bring me one of the big flower-bowls out here. I will arrange them -myself.” - -“Lucky flowers, lucky flowers,” chuckled Major Ames. - -“It’s I who am lucky,” said she, acknowledging this subtle compliment -with a little smile. “I stop away from church rather lazily, and am -rewarded by a pleasant visit and a beautiful nosegay. And what a -charming party we had last night! I could hardly believe it when I came -back here and found it was nearly half-past eleven. Such hours!” - -Major Ames gave his great loud laugh. - -“You are making fun of us, Mrs. Evans,” he said; “‘pon my word you are -making fun of us and our quiet ways down at Riseborough. I’ll be bound -that when you were in London, half-past eleven was more the sort of time -when you began to go out to your dances.” - -“I used to go out a good deal when I was quite young,” she said. -“Wilfred used quite to urge me to go out, and certainly people were very -kind in asking me. I remember one night in the season, I was asked to -two dinner-parties and a ball and an evening party. After all, it is -natural to take pleasure in innocent gaiety when one is young.” - -Major Ames felt very hot after his walk, and, forgetting the adventure -of his hair, nearly removed his straw hat. But providentially he -remembered it again just in time. - -“Upon my word, Mrs. Evans,” he said jovially, “you make me feel a -hundred years old when you talk like that, as if your days of youth and -success were over. Why, some one at your garden-party yesterday -afternoon told me for a fact that Miss Elsie was the daughter of your -husband’s first wife. Wouldn’t believe me when I said she was your -daughter. Poor Sanders--it was Mr. Sanders who said it--had to pay ten -shillings to me for his positiveness. He betted, you know, he insisted -on betting. But really, any one who didn’t happen to know would be -right to make such a bet ninety-nine times out of a hundred.” - -She gave him a little smile with lowered eyelids. - -“Dear Elsie!” she said. “She is such a comfort to me. She quite manages -the house for me, and spares me all the trouble. She always knows how -much asparagus ought to cost, and what happens to strawberry ice after a -party. I never was a good housekeeper. Wilfred always used to say to me, -‘Go out and enjoy yourself, my dear, and I’ll pay the bills.’ Of course, -it was all his kindness, I know, but sometimes I wonder if it would not -have been truer kindness to have made me think and contrive more. Elsie -does it all now, but when my little girl marries it will be my turn -again. Tell me, Major Ames, is it you or cousin Amy who makes everything -go so beautifully at your house? I think--shall I say it--I think it -must be you. When a man manages a house there is always more precision -somehow: you feel sure that everything has been foreseen and provided -for. Printed menu-cards, for instance--so _chic_, so perfectly -_comme-il-faut_.” - -Watkins had brought out a large dish, rather like a sponging-tin, for -the sweet-peas, and Mrs. Evans had begun the really Herculean labour of -putting them in water. A grille of wire network fitted over the rim of -it: each pea was stuck in separately. She looked up from her task at -him. - -“Am I right?” she asked. - -Major Ames was not really an untruthful man, but many men who are not -really untruthful get through a wonderful lot of misrepresentation. - -“Oh, you mustn’t give me credit for that,” he said (truthfully so far); -“it’s a dodge we always used to have at mess, so why not at one’s own -house also? It’s better than written cards, which take a lot of time to -copy out again and again, and then, you see, my dear Amy is not very -strong at French, and doesn’t want always to be bothering me to tell her -whether there’s an accent in one word, or two ‘s’s’ in another. Saves -time and trouble.” - -Mrs. Evans applauded softly with pink finger-tips. - -“Ah, I knew it was you!” she said. - -Now, clearly (though almost without intention) Major Ames had gone too -far to retreat: also retreat implied a flat contradiction of what Mrs. -Evans said she knew, which would have been a rudeness from which his -habitual gallantry naturally revolted. Consequently, being unable to -retreat, he had to make himself as safe as possible, to entrench -himself. - -“Perhaps it’s a little extravagance,” he said. “Indeed, Amy thinks it -is, and I never mention the subject of menu-cards to her. She’s apt to -turn the subject a bit abruptly on the word menu-card. Dear Amy! After -all, it would be a very dull affair, our pleasant life down here, if we -all completely agreed with each other.” - -She gave a little sigh, shaking her head, and smiling at her sweet-peas. - -“Ah, how often I think that too,” she said. “At least, now you say it, I -feel I have often thought it. It is so true. Dear Wilfred is such an -angel to me, you see! Whatever I do, he is sure to think right. But -sometimes you wonder whether the people who know you best, really -understand you. It is like--it is like learning things by heart. If you -learn a thing by heart, you so often cease to think what it means.” - -Mrs. Evans, it must be confessed, did not mean anything very precisely -by this: her life, that is to say, was not at all circumstanced in the -manner that her speech implied it to be, except in so far that she often -wished that more amusing things happened to her, and that she would not -so soon be forty years old. But she certainly intended Major Ames to -attach to her words their natural implication: she wanted to seem -vaguely unappreciated. At the same time, she desired him to see that she -in no way blamed her dear unconscious Wilfred. If Major Ames thought -that, it would spoil a most essential feature of the picture she wished -to present of herself. Why she wished to present it was also quite easy -of comprehension. She wanted to be interesting, and was by nature silly. -The fact that she was close on thirty-eight largely conduced to her -speech. - -Major Ames made a perfectly satisfactory interpretation of it. He saw -all the things he was meant to see, and nothing else. And it was -deliciously delivered, so affectionately as regarded Wilfred, so shyly -as regarded herself. He instantly made the astounding mental discovery -that she was somehow not very happy, owing to a failure in domestic -affinities. He felt also that it was intuitive of him to have guessed -that, since she had not actually said it. And he was tremendously -conscious of the seduction of her presence, as she sat there, cool and -white on this hot morning, putting in the last of the sweet-peas he had -brought her. She looked enchantingly young and fresh, and evidently -found something in him which disposed her to confidences. In justice to -him, it may be said that he did not inquire in his own mind as to what -that was, but it was easy to see she trusted him. - -“I think we all must feel that at times, my dear lady,” he said, anxious -to haul the circumstance of his own home into the discussion. “I -suppose that all of us who are not quite old yet, not quite quite old -yet, let us say, in order to include me, feel at times that life is not -giving us all that it might give; that people do not really understand -us. No doubt many people, and I daresay those, as you said, who know one -best, do not understand one. And then we mustn’t mind that, but march -straight on, march straight on, according to orders.” - -He sat up very straight in his chair as if about to march, as he made -thrillingly noble remarks, and hit himself a couple of sounding blows -with his clenched fist on his broad chest. Then a sudden suspicion -seized him that he had displayed an almost too Spartan unflinchingness, -as if soldiers had no hearts. - -“And then perhaps we shall meet some one who does understand us,” he -added. - -The critical observer, the cynic, and that rarest of all products, the -entirely sincere and straightforward person, would have found in this -conversation nothing that would move anything beyond his raillery or -disgust. Here sitting under the mulberry-tree in this pleasant garden, -on a Sunday morning, were two people, the man nearly fifty, the woman -nearly forty, both trying, with God knows how many little insincerities -by the way, to draw near to each other. Both had reached ages that were -dangerous to such as had lived (even as they had) extremely respectable -and well-conducted lives, without any paramount reason for their -morality. About Major Ames’ mode of life before he married, which, after -all, was at the early age of twenty-five, nothing need be said, because -there is really very little to say, and in any case the conduct of a -young man not yet in his twenty-fifth year has almost nothing to do with -the character of the same man when he is forty-seven. In that very long -interval he had conducted himself always as a married man should, and -those years, married as he was to a woman much his senior, had not been -at all discreditably passed. This chronicle does not in the least intend -to impute to him any high principled character, for he had nothing of -Galahad in his composition. But he was not a satyr. Consequently, for -this is part of the ironical composition of a man--just in the years -with which we are dealing, at a time of life when a man might have been -condoned for having sown wild oats and seen the huskiness of them, he -was in that far more precarious position of not having sown them -(except, so to speak, in the smallest of flower-pots), nor of having -experienced the jejune quality of such a crop. But it is not implied -that he now regretted the respectability of those twenty-two years. He -did not do so: he had had a happy and contented life, but he would soon -be old. Nor did he now at all contemplate adventure. Merely an Odysseus -who had never voyaged wondered what voyaging was like. He was not in -love with this seductive long-lashed face that bent over the sweet-peas -had brought her. But if he had the picking of those sweet-peas over -again, he would probably have picked the very best, regardless of the -fact that he wanted the seeds for next year’s sowing. So as regards him -the cynic’s sneers would have been out of place; he contemplated nothing -that the cynic would have called “a conquest.” The sincere, -straight-forward gentleman would have been equally excessive in his -disgust. There was nothing, except the slight absurdity of Major Ames’ -nature, to justify either laughter or tears. He was a moderate man of -middle-age, about as well intentioned as most of us. - -Mrs. Evans, perhaps, was less laudable, and more deserved laughter and -tears. She had consciously tried to produce a false impression without -saying false things--a lamentable posture. She had wanted, as was her -nature, to attract without being correspondingly attracted. She was -prepared for him to go a little further, which is characteristic of the -flirt. She succeeded, as the flirt usually does. - -His last sentence was received in silence, and he thought well to repeat -it with slight variation. The theme was clear. - -“We may meet some one who understands us,” he said. “Who looks into us, -not at us, eh? Who sees not what we wish only, but what we want.” - -She put the last sweet-pea into the wire-netting. - -“Oh, yes, yes,” she said; “how beautiful that distinction is.” - -He was not aware of its being particularly beautiful, until she -mentioned it, but then it struck him that it was rather fine. Also the -respectability of all his long years tugged at him, as with a chain. He -was quite conscious that he was encouraged, and so he was slightly -terrified. He had not much power of imagination, but he could picture to -himself a very uncomfortable home.... - -Providence came to his aid--probably Providence. Church time was spent, -and two black Aberdeen terriers, followed by Elsie, followed by Dr. -Evans, came out of the drawing-room door on to the lawn. They were all -in the genial exhilaration that accompanies the sense of duty done. The -dogs had been let out from the house, where they were penned on Sunday -morning to prevent their unexpected appearance in church; the other two -had been let out from church. - -Wilfred Evans had most clearly left church behind him: he had also left -in the house not only his top hat but his coat, as befitted the heat of -the morning, and appeared, stout, and strong, and brisk. Elsie was less -vigorous: she sat down on the grass as soon as she reached the shade of -the tree. She had the good sense to shake hands with Major Ames first: -otherwise her mother would have made remarks to him about her manners. -But she was markedly less elderly now than she had been at the formal -dinner-party of the night before. - -Dr. Evans arrived last at the mulberry-tree. - -“Jove! what jolly flowers,” he said. “That’s you, Major Ames, isn’t it? -How de’do? Well, little woman, how goes it? You did well not to come to -church. Awfully hot it was.” - -“And a very long sermon, Daddy,” said Elsie. - -“Twenty-two minutes: I timed it. Very interesting, though. You’ll stop -to lunch, Major Ames, won’t you? We lunch at one always on Sunday.” - -Now Major Ames knew quite well that there was going to be at his house -the lunch that followed parties, the resurrection lunch of what was dead -last night. There would be little bits of salmon slightly greyer than on -the evening before, peeping out from the fresh salad that covered them. -There would be some sort of _chaud-froid_; there would be a pink and -viscous fluid which was the debilitated descendant of the strawberry ice -which Amy had given them. There would also be several people, including -Mrs. Altham, who had not been bidden to the feast last night, but who, -since they came according to the authorized Riseborough version of -festivities, to the lunch next day, would certainly be bidden to dinner -on the next occasion. Also, he knew well, he would have to say to Mrs. -Altham, “Amy has given us cold luncheon to-day. Well, I don’t mind a -cold luncheon on as hot a day as it is. _Chaud-froid_ of chicken, Mrs. -Altham. I think you’ll find that Amy’s cook understands _chaud-froid_.” - -And all the time he knew that _chaud-froid_ meant a dinner-party on the -night before. So did the viscous fluid in the jelly glasses, so did -everything else. And of course Mrs. Altham knew: everybody knew all -about the lunch that followed a dinner-party. Even if the dinner-party -last night had been as secret as George the Fourth’s marriage with Mrs. -Fitzherbert, the lunch to-day would have made it as public as any -function at St. Peter’s, Eaton Square. - -He thought over the unimaginable dislocation in all this routine that -his absence would entail. - -“I wonder if I ought to,” he said. “I fancy Amy told me she had a few -friends to lunch.” - -Millie Evans looked up at him. Infinitesimal as was the point as to -whether he should lunch here or at home, she knew that she definitely -entered herself against his wife at this moment. - -“Ah, do stop,” she said. “If Cousin Amy has a few friends why shouldn’t -we have one?” - -He got up: he nearly took off his hat again, but again remembered. - -“I take it as a command,” he said. “Am I ordered to stop?” - -“Certainly. Telephone to Mrs. Ames, Wilfred, and say that Major Ames is -lunching with us.” - -“_À les ordres de votre Majesté_,” said he brightly, forgetting for the -moment that his wife came to him for help with the elusive language of -our neighbours. But the Frenchness of his bearing and sentiment, -perhaps, diverted attention from the curious character of his grammar. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -It was, of course, as inevitable as the return of day that Mrs. Altham -should start half-an-hour earlier than was necessary to go to church -that morning, in order to return to Mrs. Brooks, who had been dining -last night at the Ames’, a couple of books that had been lent her a -month or two ago, and that Mrs. Brooks should recount to her the unusual -incident of Harry’s taking Mrs. Evans into the garden after dinner, and -giving her a gradually growing bouquet of roses torn from his father’s -trees. Indeed, it was difficult to settle satisfactorily which part of -Harry’s conduct was the most astounding, with such completeness had he -revolted against both beneficiaries of the fifth commandment. - -“They can’t have been out in the garden for less than twenty minutes,” -said Mrs. Brooks; “and I shouldn’t wonder if it was more. For we had -scarcely settled ourselves after the gentlemen came in from the -dining-room, when they went out, and I’m sure we had hardly got talking -again after they came back, before my maid was announced. To be sure the -gentlemen sat a long time after dinner before joining us, which I notice -is always the case when General Fortescue is at a party, but it can’t -have been less than half-an-hour that they were in the garden now one -comes to add it up.” - -Mrs. Brooks surveyed for a moment in silence her piece of embroidery. -Not for a moment must it be supposed that she would have done -embroidery for her own dress on Sunday morning; this was a frontal for -the lectern at St. Barnabas, which would make it impossible for Mrs. -Ames to decorate the lectern any more with her flowers. There was a -cross, and a crown, and some initials, and some rays of light, and a -heart, and some passion flowers, and a dove worked on it, with a -profusion of gold thread that was positively American in its opulence. -Hitherto, the lectern had always been the field of one of Mrs. Ames’ -most telling embellishments. When this embroidery was finished (which it -soon would be) she would be driven from the lectern in disorder and -discomfiture. - -“A very rich effect,” said Mrs. Altham sympathetically. “Half-an-hour! -Dear me! And then I think you said she came back with a dozen roses.” - -Mrs. Brooks closed her eyes, and made a short calculation. - -“More than a dozen,” she said. “I daresay there were twenty roses. It -was very marked, very marked indeed. And if you ask me what I think of -Mrs. Ames’ plan of asking husband without wife and wife without husband, -I must say I do not like it at all. Depend upon it, if Dr. Evans had -come too, there would have been no walking about in the garden with our -Master Harry. But far be it from me to say there was any harm in it, -far! I hope I am not one who condemns other people’s actions because I -would not commit them myself. All I know is that the first time my late -dear husband asked me to walk about the garden after dinner with him, he -proposed to me; and the second time he asked me to walk in the garden -with him he proposed again, and I accepted him. But then I was not -engaged to anybody else at the time, far less married, like Mrs. Evans. -But it is none of my business, I am glad to say.” - -“Indeed, no, it does not concern us,” said Mrs. Altham, with avidity; -“and as you say, there may be no harm in it at all. But young men are -very impressionable, even if most unattractive, and I call it distinct -encouragement to a young man to walk about after dinner in the garden -with him, and receive a present of roses. And I’m sure Mrs. Evans is old -enough to be his mother.” - -Mrs. Brooks tacked down a length of gold thread which was to form part -of the longest ray of all, and made another little calculation. It was -not completely satisfactory. - -“Anyhow, she is old enough to know better,” she said; “but I have -noticed that being old enough to know better often makes people behave -worse. Mind, I do not blame her: there is nothing I detest so much as -this censorious attitude; and I only say that if I gave so much -encouragement to any young man I should blame myself.” - -“And the dinner?” asked Mrs. Altham. “At least, I need not ask that, -since I am going to lunch there, so I shall soon know as well as you -what there was.” - -Mrs. Brooks smiled in a rather superior manner. - -“I never know what I am eating,” she said. And she looked as if it -disagreed with her, too, whatever it was. - -This was not particularly thrilling, for though it was generally known -that Harry had an emotional temperament and wrote amorous poems, he -appeared to Mrs. Altham an improbable Lothario. In any case, the slight -interest that this aroused in her was nothing compared to that which -awaited her and her husband when they arrived for lunch at Mrs. Ames’. - -There had been a long-standing feud between Mrs. Altham and her hostess -on the subject of punctuality. About two years ago Mrs. Ames had arrived -at Mrs. Altham’s at least ten minutes late for dinner, and Mrs. Altham -had very properly retorted by arriving a quarter of an hour late when -next she was bidden to dinner with Mrs. Ames, though that involved -sitting in a dark cab for ten minutes at the corner of the next turning. -So, next time that Mrs. Altham “hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you -and Major Ames at dinner on Thursday at a quarter to eight,” she asked -the rest of her guests at eight. With the effect that Mrs. Ames and her -husband arrived a few minutes before anybody else, and Riseborough -generally considered that Mrs. Altham had scored. Since then there had -been but a sort of desultory pea-shooting kept up, such as would harm -nobody, and to-day Mrs. Altham and her husband arrived certainly within -ten minutes of the hour named. Mr. Pettit, who generally lunched with -Mrs. Ames or Mrs. Brooks on Sunday, was already there with his sister. -Harry was morosely fidgeting in a corner, and Mrs. Ames was the only -other person present in the small sitting-room where she received her -guests, instead of troubling them to go up to the drawing-room and -instantly to go down again. She gave Mrs. Altham her fat little hand, -and then made this remarkable statement. - -“We are not waiting for anybody else, I think.” - -Upon which they went into lunch, and Harry sat at the head of the table, -instead of his father. - -Mrs. Ames was in her most conversational mood, and it was not until the -_chaud-froid_, consisting mainly of the legs of chickens pasted over -with a yellow sauce that concealed the long blue hair-roots with which -Nature has adorned their lower extremities, was being handed round, that -Mrs. Altham had opportunity to ask the question that had been -effervescing like an antiseptic lozenge on the tip of her tongue ever -since she remarked the Major’s absence. - -“And where is Major Ames?” she asked. “I hope he is not ill? I thought -he looked far from well at Mrs. Evans’ garden-party yesterday.” - -Mrs. Ames set her mind at rest with regard to the second point, and -inflamed it on the first. - -“Oh, no!” she said. “Did you think he looked ill? How good of you to ask -after him. But Lyndhurst is quite well. Mr. Pettit, a little more -chicken? After your sermon.” - -Mr. Pettit had a shrewd, ugly, delightful face, very lean, very capable. -Humanly speaking, he probably abhorred Mrs. Ames. Humanely speaking, he -knew there was a great deal of good in her, and a quantity of debateable -stuff. He smiled, showing thick white teeth. - -“Before and after my sermon,” he said. “Also before a children’s service -and a Bible class. I cannot help thinking that God forgot his poor -clergymen when he defined the seventh day as one of rest.” - -Mrs. Ames hid a small portion of her little face with her little hand. -She always said that Mr. Pettit was not like a clergyman at all. - -“How naughty of you,” she said. “But I must correct you. The seventh day -has become the first day now.” - -Harry gave vent to a designedly audible sigh. The Omar Club were -chiefly atheists, and he felt bound to uphold their principles. - -“That is the sort of thing that confuses me,” he said. “Mr. Pettit says -Sunday was called a day of rest, and my mother says that God meant what -we call Monday, or Saturday. I have been behaving as if it was Tuesday -or Wednesday.” - -Mr. Pettit gave him a kindly glance. - -“Quite right, my dear boy,” he said. “Spend your Tuesday or Wednesday -properly and God won’t mind whether it is Thursday or Friday.” - -Harry pushed back his lank hair, and became Omar-ish. - -“Do you fast on Friday, may I ask?” he said. - -Mrs. Ames looked pained, and tried to think of something to say. She -failed. But Mrs. Altham thought without difficulty. - -“I suppose Major Ames is away, Mr. Harry?” she said. - -Even then, though her intentions might easily be supposed to be amiable, -she was not allowed the privilege of being replied to, for Mr. Pettit -cheerfully answered Harry’s question, without a shadow of embarrassment, -just as if he did not mind what the Omar Khayyam Club thought. - -“Of course I do, my dear fellow,” he said, “because our Lord and dearest -friend died that day. He allows us to watch and pray with Him an hour or -two.” - -Harry appeared indulgent. - -“Curious,” he said. - -Mr. Pettit looked at him for just the space of time any one looks at the -speaker, with cheerful cordiality of face, and then turned to his mother -again. - -“I want you at church next Sunday,” he said, “with a fat purse, to be -made thin. I am going to have an offertory to finance a children’s -treat. I want to send every child in the parish to the sea-side for a -day.” - -Harry interrupted in the critical manner. - -“Why the sea-side?” he asked. - -Mr. Pettit turned to him with unabated cordiality. - -“How right to ask!” he said. “Because the sea is His, and He made it! -Also, they will build sand-castles, and pick up shells. You must come -too, my dear Harry, and help us to give them a nice day.” - -Harry felt that this was a Philistine here, who needed to be put in his -place. He was not really a very rude youth, but one who felt it -incumbent on to oppose Christianity, which he regarded as superstition. -A bright idea came into his head. - -“But His hands prepared the dry land,” he said, “on the same -supposition.” - -“Certainly; and as the dear mites have always seen the dry land,” said -Mr. Pettit, with the utmost good-humour, “we want to show them that God -thought of something they never thought of. And then there are the -sand-castles.” - -Harry was tired, and did not proceed to crush Mr. Pettit with the -atheistical arguments that were but commonplace to the Omar Khayyam -Club. He was not worth argument: you could only really argue with the -enlightened people who fundamentally agreed with you, and he was sure -that Mr. Pettit did not fulfil that requirement. So, indulgently, he -turned to Mrs. Altham. - -“I saw you at Mrs. Evans’ garden-party yesterday,” he said. “I think -she is the most wonderful person I ever met. She was dining here last -night, and I took her into the garden----” - -“And showed her the roses,” said Mrs. Altham, unable to restrain -herself. - -Harry became a parody of himself, though that might seem to be a feat of -insuperable difficulty. - -“I supposed it would get about,” he said. “That is the worst of a little -place like this. Whatever you do is instantly known.” - -The slightly viscous remains of the strawberry ice were being handed, -and Mr. Pettit was talking to Mrs. Ames and his sister from a pitiably -Christian standpoint. - -“What did you hear?” asked Harry, in a low voice. - -“Merely that she and you went out into the garden after dinner, and that -you picked roses for her----” - -Harry pushed back his lank hair with his bony hand. - -“You have heard all,” he said. “There was nothing more than that. I did -not see her home. Her carriage did not come: there was some mistake -about it, I suppose. But it was my father who saw her home, not I.” - -He laid down the spoon with which he had been consuming the viscous -fluid. - -“If you hear that I saw her home, Mrs. Altham,” he said, “tell them it -is not true. From what you have already told me, I gather there is talk -going on. There is no reason for such talk.” - -He paused a moment, and then a line or two of the intensely Swinburnian -effusion which he had written last night fermented in his head, making -him infinitely more preposterous. - -“I assure you that at present there is no reason for such talk,” he said -earnestly. - -Now Mrs. Altham, with her wide interest in all that concerned anybody -else, might be expected to feel the intensest curiosity on such a topic, -but somehow she felt very little, since she knew that behind the talk -there was really very little topic, and the gallant misgivings of poor, -ugly Harry seemed to her destitute of any real thrill. On the other -hand, she wanted very much to know where Major Ames was, and being -endowed with the persistence of the household cat, which you may turn -out of a particular arm-chair a hundred times, without producing the -slightest discouragement in its mind, she reverted to her own subject -again. - -“I am sure there is no reason for such talk, Mr. Harry,” she said, with -strangely unwelcome conviction, “and I will be sure to contradict it if -ever I hear it. I am so glad to hear Major Ames is not ill. I was afraid -that his absence from lunch to-day might mean that he was.” - -Now Harry, as a matter of fact, had no idea where his father was, since -the telephone message had been received by Mrs. Ames. - -“Father is quite well,” he said. “He was picking sweet-peas half the -morning. He picked a great bunch.” - -Mrs. Altham looked round: the table was decorated with the roses of the -dinner-party of the evening before. - -“Then where are the sweet-peas?” she asked. - -But Harry was not in the least interested in the question. - -“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps they are in the next room. I showed -Mrs. Evans last night how the La France roses looked blue when dusk -fell. She had never noticed it, though they turn as blue as her eyes.” - -“How curious!” said Mrs. Altham. “But I didn’t see the sweet-peas in the -next room. Surely if there had been a quantity of them I should have -noticed them. Or perhaps they are in the drawing-room.” - -At this moment, Mrs. Ames’ voice was heard from the other end of the -table. - -“Then shall we have our coffee outside?” she said. “Harry, if you will -ring the bell----” - -There was the pushing back of chairs, and Mrs. Altham passed along the -table to the French windows that opened on to the verandah. - -“I hear Major Ames has been picking the loveliest sweet-peas all the -morning,” she said to her hostess. “It would be such a pleasure to see -them. I always admire Major Ames’ sweet-peas.” - -Now this was unfortunate, for Mrs. Altham desired information herself, -but by her speech she had only succeeded in giving information to Mrs. -Ames, who guessed without the slightest difficulty where the sweet-peas -had gone, which she had not yet known had been picked. She was already -considerably annoyed with her husband for his unceremonious desertion of -her luncheon-party, and was aware that Mrs. Altham would cause the fact -to be as well known in Riseborough as if it had been inserted in the -column of local intelligence in the county paper. But she felt she would -sooner put it there herself than let Mrs. Altham know where he and his -sweet-peas were. She had no greater objection (or if she had, she -studiously concealed it from herself even) to his going to lunch in -this improvising manner with Mrs. Evans than if he had gone to lunch -with anybody else; what she minded was his non-appearance at an -institution so firmly established and so faithfully observed as the -lunch that followed the dinner-party. But at the moment her entire mind -was set on thwarting Mrs. Altham. She looked interested. - -“Indeed, has he been picking sweet-peas?” she said. “I must scold him if -it was only that which kept him away from church. I don’t know what he -has done with them. Very likely they are in his dressing-room: he often -likes to have flowers there. But as you admire his sweet-peas so much, -pray walk down the garden, and look at them. You will find them in their -full beauty.” - -This, of course, was not in the least what Mrs. Altham wanted, since she -did not care two straws for the rest of the sweet-peas. But life was -scarcely worth living unless she knew where those particular sweet-peas -were. As for their being in his dressing-room, she felt that Mrs. Ames -must have a very poor opinion of her intellectual capacities, if she -thought that an old wife’s tale like that would satisfy it. In this she -was partly right: Mrs. Ames had indeed no opinion at all of her mind; on -the other hand, she did not for a moment suppose that this suggestion -about the dressing-room would content that feeble organ. It was not -designed to: the object was to stir it to a wilder and still unsatisfied -curiosity. It perfectly succeeded, and from by-ways Mrs. Altham emerged -full-speed, like a motor-car, into the high-road of direct question. - -“I am sure they are lovely,” she said. “And where is Major Ames -lunching?” - -Mrs. Ames raised the pieces of her face where there might have been -eyebrows in other days. She told one of the truths that Bismarck loved. - -“He did not tell me before he went out,” she said. “Perhaps Harry knows. -Harry, where is your father lunching?” - -Now this was ludicrous. As if it was possible that any wife in -Riseborough did not know where her husband was lunching! Harry -apparently did not know either, and Mrs. Ames, tasting the joys of the -bull-baiter, goaded Mrs. Altham further by pointedly asking Parker, when -she brought the coffee, if she knew where the Major was lunching. Of -course Parker did not, and so Parker was told to cut Mrs. Altham a nice -bunch of sweet-peas to carry away with her. - -This pleasant duty of thwarting undue curiosity being performed, Mrs. -Ames turned to Mr. Pettit, though she had not quite done with Mrs. -Altham yet. For she had heard on the best authority that Mrs. Altham -occasionally indulged in the disgusting and unfeminine habit of -cigarette smoking. Mrs. Brooks had several times seen her walking about -her garden with a cigarette, and she had told Mrs. Taverner, who had -told Mrs. Ames. The evidence was overwhelming. - -“Mr. Pettit, I don’t think any of us mind the smell of tobacco,” she -said, “when it is out of doors, so pray have a cigarette. Harry will -give you one. Ah! I forgot! Perhaps Mrs. Altham does not like it.” - -Mrs. Altham hastened to correct that impression. At the same time she -had a subtle and not quite comfortable sense that Mrs. Ames knew all -about her and her cigarettes, which was exactly the impression which -that lady sought to convey. - -These tactics were all sound enough in their way, but a profounder -knowledge of human nature would have led Mrs. Ames not to press home her -victory with so merciless a hand. In her determination to thwart Mrs. -Altham’s odious curiosity, she had let it be seen that she was thwarting -it: she should not, for instance, have asked Parker if she knew of the -Major’s whereabouts, for it only served to emphasize the undoubted fact -that Mrs. Ames knew (that might be taken for granted) and that she knew -that Parker did not, for otherwise she would surely not have asked her. - -Consequently Mrs. Altham (erroneously, as far as that went) came to the -conclusion that the Major was lunching alone where his wife did not wish -him to lunch alone. And in the next quarter of an hour, while they all -sat on the verandah, she devoted the mind which her hostess so despised, -to a rapid review of all houses of this description. Instantly almost, -the wrong scent which she was following led her to the right quarry. She -argued, erroneously, the existence of a pretty woman, and there was a -pretty woman in Riseborough. It is hardly necessary to state that she -made up her mind to call on that pretty woman without delay. She would -be very much surprised if she did not find there an immense bunch of -sweet-peas and perhaps their donor. - -Mrs. Ames’ guests soon went their ways, Mr. Pettit and his sister to the -children’s service at three, the Althams on their detective mission, and -she was left to herself, except in so far as Harry, asleep in a basket -chair in the garden, can be considered companionship. She was not gifted -with any very great acuteness of imagination, but this afternoon she -found herself capable of conjuring up (indeed, she was incapable of not -doing so) a certain amount of vague disquiet. Indeed, she tried to put -it away, and refresh her mind with the remembrance of her thwarting Mrs. -Altham, but though her disquiet was but vague, and was concerned with -things that had at present no real existence at all, whereas her victory -over that inquisitive lady was fresh and recent, the disquiet somehow -was of more pungent quality, and at last she faced it, instead of -attempting any longer to poke it away out of sight. - -Millie Evans was undeniably a good-looking woman, undeniably the Major -had been considerably attracted last night by her. Undeniably also he -had done a very strange thing in stopping to have his lunch there, when -he knew perfectly well that there were people lunching with them at home -for that important rite of eating up the remains of last night’s dinner. -Beyond doubt he had taken her this present of sweet-peas, of which Mrs. -Altham had so obligingly informed her; beyond doubt, finally, she was -herself ten years her husband’s senior. - -It has been said that Mrs. Ames was not imaginative, but indeed, there -seemed to be sufficient here, when it was all brought together, to -occupy a very prosaic and literal mind. It was not as if these facts -were all new to her: that disparity of age between herself and her -husband had long lain dark and ominous, like a distant thunder-cloud on -the horizon of her mind. Hitherto, it had been stationary there, not -apparently coming any closer, and not giving any hint of the potential -tempest which might lurk within it. But now it seemed to have moved a -little up the sky, and (though this might be mere fancy on her part), -there came from it some drowsy and distant echo of thunder. - -It must not be supposed that her disquiet expressed itself in Mrs. Ames’ -mind in terms of metaphor like this, for she was practically incapable -of metaphor. She said to herself merely that she was ten years older -than her husband. That she had known ever since they married (indeed, -she had known it before), but till now the fact had never seemed likely -to be of any significance to her. And yet her grounds for supposing that -it might be about to become significant were of the most unsubstantial -sort. Certainly if Lyndhurst had not gone out to lunch to-day, she would -never have dreamed of finding disquiet in the happenings of the evening -before; indeed, apart from Harry’s absurd expedition into the garden, -the party had been a markedly successful one, and she had determined to -give more of those undomestic entertainments. But the principle of them -assumed a strangely different aspect when her husband accepted an -invitation of the kind instead of lunching at home, and that aspect -presented itself in vivid colours when she reflected that he was ten -years her junior. - -Mrs. Ames was a practical woman, and though her imagination had run -unreasonably riot, so she told herself, over these late events, so that -she already contemplated a contingency that she had no real reason to -anticipate, she considered what should be her practical conduct if this -remote state of affairs should cease to be remote. She had altogether -passed from being in love with her husband, so much so, indeed, that she -could not recall, with any sense of reality, what that unquiet sensation -was like. But she had been in love with him years ago, and that still -gave her a sense of possession over him. She had not been in the habit -of guarding her possession, since there had never been any reason to -suppose that anybody wanted to take it away, but she remembered with -sufficient distinctness the sense that Lyndhurst’s garden was becoming -to him the paramount interest in his life. At the time that sense had -been composed of mixed feelings: neglect and relief were its -constituents. He had ceased to expect from her that indefinable -sensitiveness which is one of the prime conditions of love, and the -growing atrophy of his demands certainly corresponded with her own -inclinations. At the same time, though this cessation on his part of the -imperative need of her, was a relief, she resented it. She would have -wished him to continue being in love with her on credit, so to speak, -without the settlement of the bill being applied for. Years had passed -since then, but to-day that secondary discontent assumed a primary -importance again. It was more acute now than it had ever been, for her -possession was not being quietly absorbed into the culture of impersonal -flowers, but, so it seemed possible, was directly threatened. - -There was the situation which her imagination presented her with, -practically put, and she proceeded to consider it from a practical -standpoint. What was she to do? - -She had the justice to acknowledge that the first clear signals of -coolness in their mutual relations, now fifteen years ago, had been -chiefly flown by her: she had essentially welcomed his transference of -affection to his garden, though she had secretly resented it. At the -least, the cooling had been condoned by her. Probably that had been a -mistake on her part, and she determined now to rectify it. She, -pathetically enough, felt herself young still, and to confirm herself in -her view, she took the trouble to go indoors, and look at herself in the -glass that hung in the hall. It was inevitable that she should see there -not what she really saw, but what, in the main, she desired to see. Her -hair, always slightly faded in tone, was not really grey, and even if -there were signs of greyness in it there was nothing easier, if you -could trust the daily advertisements in the papers, than to restore the -colour, not by dyes, but by “purely natural means.” There had been an -advertisement of one such desirable lotion, she remembered, in the paper -to-day, which she had noticed was supplied by any chemist. Certainly -there was a little grey in her hair: that would be easy to remedy. That -act of mental frankness led on to another. There were certain -premonitory symptoms of stringiness about her throat and of loose skin -round her mouth and eyes. But who could keep abreast of the times at -all, and not know that there were skin-foods which were magical in their -effect? There was one which had impressed itself on her not long before: -an actress had written in its praise, affirming that her wrinkles had -vanished with three nights’ treatment. Then there was a little, just a -little, sallowness of complexion, but after all, she had always been -rather sallow. It was a fortunate circumstance: when she got hot she -never got crimson in the face like poor Mrs. Taverner.... She was going -to town next week for a night, in order to see her dentist, a yearly -precaution, unproductive of pain, for her teeth were really excellent, -regular in shape, white, undecayed. Lyndhurst, in his early days, had -told her they were like pearls, and she had told him he talked -nonsense. They were just as much like pearls still, only he did not tell -her so. He, poor fellow, had had great trouble in this regard, but it -might be supposed his trouble was over now, since artifice had done its -utmost for him. She was much younger than him there, though his last set -fitted beautifully. But probably Millie had seen they were not real. And -then he was distinctly gouty, which she was not. Often had she heard his -optimistic assertion that an hour’s employment with the garden-roller -rendered all things of rheumatic tendency an impossibility. But she, -though publicly she let these random statements pass, and even endorsed -them, knew the array of bottles that beleaguered the washing-stand in -his dressing-room, where the sweet-peas were not. - -The silent colloquy with the mirror in the hall occupied her some ten -minutes, but the ten minutes sufficed for the arrival of one -conclusion--namely, that she did not intend to be an old woman yet. -Subtle art, the art of the hair-restorer (which was not a dye), the art -of the skin-feeder must be invoked. She no longer felt at all old, now -that there was a possibility of her husband’s feeling young. And -lip-salve: perhaps lip-salve, yet that seemed hardly necessary: a few -little bitings and mumblings of her lips between her excellent teeth -seemed to restore to them a very vivid colour. - -She went back to the verandah, where her little luncheon-party had had -their coffee, and pondered the practical manœuvres of her campaign of -invasion into the territory of youth which had once been hers. The -lotion for the hair, as she verified by a consultation with the Sunday -paper, took but a fortnight’s application to complete its work. The -wrinkle treatment was easily comprised in that, for it took, according -to the eminent actress, no more than three days. It might therefore be -wiser not to let the work of rejuvenation take place under Lyndhurst’s -eye, for there might be critical passages in it. But she could go away -for a fortnight (a fortnight was the utmost time necessary for the -wonderful lotion to restore faded colour) and return again after -correspondence that indicated that she felt much better and younger. -Several times before she had gone to stay alone with a friend of hers on -the coast of Norfolk: there would be nothing in the least remarkable in -her doing it again. - -An objection loomed in sight. If there was any reality in the -supposition that prompted her desire to seem young again--namely, a -possible attraction of her husband towards Millie Evans, she would but -be giving facility and encouragement to that by her absence. But then, -immediately the wisdom of the course, stronger than the objection to it, -presented itself. Infinitely the wiser plan for her was to act as if -unconscious of any such danger, to disarm him by her obvious rejection -of any armour of her own. She must either watch him minutely or not at -all. Mr. Pettit had alluded in his sermon that morning to the finer of -the two attitudes when he reminded them that love thought no evil. It -seemed to poor Mrs. Ames that if by her conduct she appeared to think no -evil, it came to the same thing. - -Her behaviour towards Lyndhurst, when he should come back from Millie’s -house, followed as a corollary. She would be completely genial: she -would hope he had had a pleasant lunch, and, if he made any apology for -his absence, assure him that it was quite unnecessary. Her charity would -carry her even further than that: she would say that his absence had -been deplored by her guests, but that she had been so glad that he had -done as he felt inclined. She would hope that Millie was not tired with -her party, and that she and her husband would come to dine with them -again soon. It must be while Harry was at home, for he was immensely -attracted by Millie. So good for a boy to think about a nice woman like -that. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Ames carried out her programme with pathetic fidelity. Her husband -did not get home till nearly tea-time, and she welcomed him with a -cordiality that would have been unusual even if he had not gone out to -lunch at all. And to do him justice, it must be confessed that his -wife’s scheme, as already recounted, was framed to meet a situation -which at present had no real existence, except in the mind of a wife -wedded to a younger husband. There were data for the situation, so to -speak, rather than there was danger of it. He, on his side, was well -aware of the irregularity of his conduct, and was prepared to accept, -without retaliation, a modicum of blame for it. But no blame at all -awaited him; instead of that a cordiality so genuine that, in spite of -the fact that a particularly good dinner was provided him, the possible -parallel of the prodigal son did not so much as suggest itself to his -mind. - -Harry had retired to his bedroom soon after dinner with a certain -wildness of eye which portended poetry rather than repose, and after he -had gone his father commented in the humorous spirit about this. - -“Poor old Harry!” he said. “Case of lovely woman, eh, Amy? I was just -the same at his age, until I met you, my dear.” - -This topic of Harry’s admiration for Mrs. Evans, which his mother had -intended to allude to, had not yet been touched on, and she responded -cordially. - -“You think Harry is very much attracted by Millie, do you mean?” she -said. - -He chuckled. - -“Well, that’s not very difficult to see,” he said. “Why, the rascal tore -off a dozen of my best roses for her last night, though I hadn’t the -heart to scold him for it. Not a bad thing for a young fellow to burn a -bit of incense before a charming woman like that. Keeps him out of -mischief, makes him see what a nice woman is like. As I said, I used to -do just the same myself.” - -“Tell me about it,” said she. - -“Well, there was the Colonel’s wife. God bless me, how I adored her. I -must have been just about Harry’s age, for I had only lately joined, and -she was a woman getting on for forty. Good thing, too, for me, as I say, -for it kept me out of mischief. They used to say she encouraged me, but -I don’t believe it. Every woman likes to know that she’s admired, eh? -She doesn’t snub a boy who takes her out in the garden, and picks his -father’s roses for her. But we mustn’t have Harry boring her with his -attentions. That’ll never do.” - -It seemed to Mrs. Ames of singularly little consequence whether Harry -bored Millie Evans or not. She would much have preferred to be assured -that her husband did. But the subsequent conversation did not reassure -her as to that. - -“Nice little woman, she is,” he said. “Thoroughly nice little woman, and -naturally enough, my dear, since she is your cousin, she likes being -treated in neighbourly fashion. We had a great talk after lunch to-day, -and I’m sorry for her, sorry for her. I think we ought to do all we can -to make life pleasant for her. Drop in to tea, or drop in to lunch, as I -did to-day. A doctor’s wife, you know. She told me that some days she -scarcely set eyes on her husband, and when she did, he could think of -nothing but microbes. And there’s really nobody in Riseborough, except -you and me, with whom she feels--dear me, what’s that French word--yes, -with whom she feels in her proper _milieu_. I should like us to be on -such terms with her--you being her cousin--that we could always -telephone to say we were dropping in, and that she would feel equally -free to drop in. Dropping in, you know: that’s the real thing; not to be -obliged to wait till you are asked, or to accept weeks ahead, as one has -got to do for some formal dinner-party. I should like to feel that we -mightn’t be surprised to find her picking sweet-peas in the garden, and -that she wouldn’t be surprised to find you or me sitting under her -mulberry-tree, waiting for her to come in. After all, intimacy only -begins when formality ceases. Shall I give you some soda water?” - -Mrs. Ames did not want soda-water: she wanted to think. Her husband had -completely expressed the attitude she meant to adopt, but her own -adoption of it had presupposed a certain contrition on his part with -regard to his unusual behaviour. But he gave her no time for thought, -and proceeded to propose just the same sort of thing as she (in her -magnanimity) had thought of suggesting. - -“Dinner, now,” he said. “Up till last night we have always been a bit -formal about dinner here in Riseborough. If you asked General Snookes, -you asked Mrs. Snookes; if you asked Admiral Jones, you asked Lady -Jones. You led the way, my dear, about that, and what could have been -pleasanter than our little party last night? Let us repeat it: let us be -less formal. If you want to see Mr. Altham, ask him to come. Mrs. -Altham, let us say, wants to ask me: let her ask me. Or if you meet Dr. -Evans in the street, and he says it is lunch time, go and have lunch -with him, without bothering about me. I shall do very well at home. I’m -told that in London it is quite a constant practice to invite like that. -And it seems to me very sensible.” - -All this had seemed very sensible to Mrs. Ames, when she had thought of -it herself. It seemed a little more hazardous now. She was well aware -that this plan had caused a vast amount of talk in Riseborough, the -knowledge of which she had much enjoyed, since it was of the nature of -subjects commenting on the movements of their queen, without any danger -to her of dethronement. But she was not so sure that she enjoyed her -husband’s cordial endorsement of her innovation. Also, in his -endorsement there was some little insincerity. He had taken as instance -the chance of his wishing to dine without his wife at Mrs. Altham’s, and -they both knew how preposterous such a contingency would be. But did -this only prepare the way for a further solitary excursion to Mrs. -Evans’? Had Mrs. Evans asked him to dine there? She was immediately -enlightened. - -“Of course, we talked over your delightful dinner-party of last night,” -he said, “and agreed in the agreeableness of it. And she asked me to -dine there, _en garçon_, on Tuesday next. Of course, I said I must -consult you first; you might have asked other people here, or we might -be dining out together. I should not dream of upsetting any existing -arrangement. I told her so: she quite understood. But if there was -nothing going on, I promised to dine there _en garçon_.” - -That phrase had evidently taken Major Ames’ fancy; there was a ring of -youth about it, and he repeated it with gusto. His wife, too, perfectly -understood the secret smack of the lips with which he said it: she knew -precisely how he felt. But she was wise enough to keep the consciousness -of it completely out of her reply. - -“By all means,” she said; “we have no engagement for that night. And I -am thinking of proposing myself for a little visit to Mrs. Bertram next -week, Lyndhurst. I know she is at Overstrand now, and I think ten days -on the east coast would do me good.” - -He assented with a cordiality that equalled hers. - -“Very wise, I am sure, my dear,” he said. “I have thought this last day -or two that you looked a little run down.” - -A sudden misgiving seized her at this, for she knew quite well she -neither looked nor felt the least run down. - -“I thought perhaps you and Harry would take some little trip together -while I was away,” she said. - -“Oh, never mind us, never mind us,” said he. “We’ll rub along, _en -garçon_, you know. I daresay some of our friends will take pity on us, -and ask us to drop in.” - -This was not reassuring: nor would Mrs. Ames have been reassured if she -could have penetrated at that moment unseen into Mrs. Altham’s -drawing-room. She and her husband had gone straight from Mrs. Ames’ -house that afternoon to call on Mrs. Evans, and had been told she was -not at home. But Mrs. Altham of the eagle-eye had seen through the -opened front door an immense bowl of sweet-peas on the hall table, and -by it a straw hat with a riband of regimental colours round it. -Circumstantial evidence could go no further, and now this indefatigable -lady was looking out Major Ames in an old army list. - -“Ames, Lyndhurst Percy,” she triumphantly read out. “Born 1860, and I -daresay he is older than that, because if ever there was a man who -wanted to be thought younger than his years, that’s the one. So in any -case, Henry, he is over forty-seven. And there’s the front-door bell. It -will be Mrs. Brooks. She said she would drop in for a chat after -dinner.” - -There was plenty to chat about that evening. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Mrs. Ames might or might not have been run down when she left -Riseborough the following week, but nothing can be more certain than -that she was considerably braced up seven days after that. The delicious -freshness of winds off the North Sea, tempering the heat of brilliant -summer suns, may have had something to do with it, and she certainly had -more colour in her face than was usual with her, which was the -legitimate effect of the felicitous weather. There was more colour in -her hair also, and though that, no doubt, was a perfectly legitimate -effect too, being produced by purely natural means, as the label on the -bottle stated, the sun and wind were not accountable for this -embellishment. - -She had spent an afternoon in London--chiefly in Bond Street--on her way -here, and had gone to a couple of addresses which she had secretly -snipped out of the daily press. The expenditure of a couple of pounds, -which was already yielding her immense dividends in encouragement and -hope, had put her into possession of a bottle with a brush, a machine -that, when you turned a handle, quivered violently like a motor-car that -is prepared to start, and a small jar of opaque glass, which contained -the miraculous skin-food. With these was being wrought the desired -marvels; with these, as with a magician’s rod, she was conjuring, so she -believed, the remote enchantments of youth back to her. - -After quite a few days change became evident, and daily that change grew -greater. As regards her hair, the cost, both of time and material, in -this miracle-working, was of the smallest possible account. Morning and -evening, after brushing it, she rubbed in a mere teaspoonful of a thin -yellow liquid, which, as the advertisement stated, was quite free from -grease or obnoxious smell, and did not stain the pillow. This was so -simple that it really required faith to embark upon the treatment, for -from the time of Hebrew prophets, mankind have found it easier to do -“some great thing” than merely to wash in the Jordan. But Mrs. Ames, -luckily, had shown her faith, and by the end of a week the marvellous -lotion had shown its works. Till now, though her hair could not be -described as grey, there was a considerable quantity of grey in it: now -she examined it with an eye that sought for instead of shutting itself -to such blemish, and the reward of its search was of the most meagre -sort. There was really no grey left in it: it might have been, as far as -colour could be taken as a test of age, the hair of a young woman. It -was not very abundant in quantity, but the lotion had held out no -promises on that score; quality, not quantity, was the sum of its -beckoning. The application of the skin-food was more expensive: she had -to use more and it took longer. Nightly she poured a can of very hot -water into her basin, and with a towel over her head to concentrate the -vapour, she steamed her face over it for some twenty minutes. Emerging -red and hot and stifled, she wiped off the streams of moisture, and with -finger-tips dipped in this marvellous cream, tapped and dabbed at the -less happy regions between her eyebrows, outside her eyes, across her -forehead, at the corners of her mouth, and up and down her neck. Then -came the use of the palpitating machine; it whirred and buzzed over her, -tickling very much. For half-an-hour she would make a patient piano of -her face, then gently remove such of the skin-food as still stayed on -the surface, and had not gone within to do its nurturing work. Certainly -this was a somewhat laborious affair, but the results were highly -prosperous. There was no doubt that to a perfectly candid and even -sceptical eye, a week’s treatment had produced a change. The wrinkles -were beginning to be softly erased: there was a perceptible plumpness -observable in the leaner places. Between the bouts of tapping and -dabbing she sipped the glass of milk which she brought up to bed with -her, as the deviser of the skin-food recommended. She drank another such -glass in the middle of the morning, and digested them both perfectly. - -As these external signs appeared and grew there went on within her an -accompanying and corresponding rejuvenation of spirit. She felt very -well, owing, no doubt, to the brisk air, the milk, the many hours spent -out-of-doors, and in consequence she began to feel much younger. An -unwonted activity and lightness pervaded her limbs: she took daily a -walk of a couple of hours without fatigue, and was the life and soul of -the dinner-table, whose other occupants were her hosts, Mrs. Bertram, a -cold, grim woman with a moustache, and her husband, milder, with -whiskers. Their only passion was for gardening, and they seldom left -their grounds; thus Mrs. Ames took her walks unaccompanied. - -Miles of firm sands, when the tide was low, subtended the cliffs on -which Mr. Bertram’s house stood, and often Mrs. Ames preferred to walk -along the margin of the sea rather than pursue more inland routes, and -to-day, after her large and wholesome lunch (the physical stimulus of -the east coast, combined with this mental stimulus of her object in -coming here, gave her an appetite of dimensions unknown at Riseborough) -she took a maritime way. The tide was far out, and the lower sands, -still shining and firm from the retained moisture of its retreat, made -uncommonly pleasant walking. She had abandoned heeled footgear, and had -bought at a shop in the village, where everything inexpensive, from -wooden spades to stamps and sticking plaster was sold, a pair of canvas -coverings technically known as sand-shoes. They laced up with a piece of -white tape, and were juvenile, light, and easily removable. They, and -the great sea, and the jetsam of stranded seaweed, and the general sense -of youth and freshness, made most agreeable companions, and she felt, -though neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bertram was with her, charmingly -accompanied. Her small, toadlike face expressed a large degree of -contentment, and piercing her pleasant surroundings as the smell of -syringa pierces through the odour of all other flowers, was the sense of -her brown hair and fast-fading wrinkles. That gave her an inward -happiness which flushed with pleasure and interest all she saw. In the -lines of pebbles left by the retreating tide was an orange-coloured -cornelian, which she picked up, and put in her pocket. She could have -bought the same, ready polished, for a shilling at the cheap and -comprehensive shop, but to find it herself gave her a pleasure not to be -estimated at all in terms of silver coinage. Further on there was an -attractive-looking shell, which she also picked up, and was about to -give as a companion to the cornelian, when a sudden scurry of claw-like -legs about its aperture showed her that a hermit-crab was domiciled -within, and she dropped it with a little scream and a sense of danger -escaped both by her and the hermit-crab. There were attractive pieces of -seaweed, which reminded her of years when she collected the finer sorts, -and set them, with the aid of a pin, on cartridge-paper, spreading out -their delicate fronds and fern-like foliage. There were creamy ripples -of the quiet sea, long-winged gulls that hovered fishing; above all -there was the sense of her brown hair and smoothed face. She felt years -younger, and she felt she looked years younger, which was scarcely less -solid a satisfaction. - -It pleased her, but not acutely or viciously, to think of Mrs. Altham’s -feelings when she made her rejuvenated appearance in Riseborough. It was -quite certain that Mrs. Altham would suspect that she had been “doing -something to herself,” and that Mrs. Altham would burst with envy and -curiosity to know what it was she had done. Although she felt very -kindly towards all the world, she did not deceive herself to such an -extent as to imagine that she would tell Mrs. Altham what she had done. -Mrs. Altham was ingenious and would like guessing. But that lady -occupied her mind but little. The main point was that in a week from now -she would go home again, and that Lyndhurst would find her young. She -might or might not have been right in fearing that Lyndhurst was -becoming sentimentally interested in Millie Evans, and she was quite -willing to grant that her grounds for that fear were of the slenderest. -But all that might be dismissed now. She herself, in a week from now, -would have recaptured that more youthful aspect which had been hers -while he was still of loverlike inclination towards her. What might be -called regular good looks had always been denied her, but she had once -had her share of youth. To-day she felt youthful still, and once again, -she believed, looked as if she belonged to the enchanted epoch. She had -no intention of using this recapture promiscuously: she scarcely desired -general admiration: she only desired that her husband should find her -attractive. - -For a little while, as she took her quick, short steps along these -shining sands, she felt herself grow bitter towards Millie Evans. A sort -of superior pity was mixed with the bitterness, for she told herself -that poor Millie, if she had tried to flirt with Lyndhurst, would -speedily find herself flirting all alone. Very likely Millie was -guiltless in intention; she had only let her pretty face produce an -unchecked effect. Men were attracted by a pretty face, but the owners of -such faces ought to keep a curb on them, so to speak. Their faces were -not their faults, but rather their misfortunes. A woman with a pretty -face would be wise to make herself rather reserved, so that her manner -would chill anybody who was inclined.... But the whole subject now was -obsolete. If there had been any danger, there would not be any more, and -she did not blame Millie. She must ask Millie to dine with them _en -famille_, which was much nicer than _en garçon_, as soon as she got -back. - -It might be gathered from this account of Mrs. Ames’ self-communings -that deep down in her nature their lay a strain of almost farcical -fatuousness. But she was not really fatuous, unless it is fatuous to -have preserved far out into the plains of middle-age some vision of the -blue mountains of youth. It is true that for years she had been -satisfied to dwell on these plains; now, her fear that her husband, so -much younger than herself, was turning his eyes to blue mountains that -did not belong to him, made her desire to get out of the plains and -ascend her own blue mountains again and wave to him from there, and -encourage his advance. She felt exceedingly well, and in consequence -told herself that in mind, as well as physical constitution, she was -young still, while the effect of the bottles which she used with such -regularity made her believe that the outward signs of age were erasible. -She seemed to have been granted a new lease of life in a tenement that -it was easy to repair. Her whole nature felt itself to be quickened and -vivified. - -She had gone far along the sands, and the tide was beginning to flow -again. All round her were great empty spaces, a shipless sea, a -cloudless sky, a beach with no living being in sight. A sudden -unpremeditated impulse seized her, and without delay she sat down on the -shore, and took off her shoes and stockings. Then, pulling up her -skirts, she hastily ran down to the edge of the water, across a little -belt of pebbles that tickled and hurt her soft-soled feet, and waded out -into the liquid rims of the sea. She was astonished and amazed at -herself that the idea of paddling had ever come into her head, and more -amazed that she had had the temerity to put it into execution. For the -first minute or two the cold touch of the water on her unaccustomed -ankles and calves made her gasp a little, but for all the strangeness -of these sensations she felt that paddling, playing like a child in the -shallow waters, expressed the tone of her mind, just as the melody of a -song expresses the words to which it is set. If she had had a spade, she -would certainly have built a sand-castle and dug moats about it, and a -smile lit up her small face at the thought of purchasing one at the -universal shop, and furtively conveying it to these unfrequented -beaches. And the smile almost ended in a blush when she tried to imagine -what Riseborough society would say if it became known that their queen -not only paddled in the sea, but seriously contemplated buying a wooden -spade in order to conduct building operations on lonely shores. - -The paddling, though quite pleasant, was not so joyous as the impulse to -paddle had been, and it was not long before she sat down again on the -beach and tried to get the sand out of the small, tight places between -her toes, and to dry her feet and plump little legs with a most exiguous -handkerchief. But even in the midst of these troublesome operations, her -mind still ran riot, and she planned to secrete about her person one of -her smaller bedroom towels when she went for her walk next day. And she -felt as if this act of paddling must have aided in the elimination of -wrinkles. For who except the really young could want to paddle? To find -that she had the impulse of the really young was even better than to -cultivate, though with success, the appropriate appearance. All the way -home this effervescence of spirit was hers, which, though it definitely -sprang from the effects of the lotion, the skin-food and the tonic air, -produced in her an illusion that was complete. She was certainly -ascending her remote blue mountains again, and through a clarified air -she could look over the plains, and see how very flat they had been. -That must all be changed: there must be more variety and gaiety -introduced into her days. For years, as she saw now, her life had been -spent in small, joyless hospitalities, in keeping her place as -accredited leader of Riseborough’s socialities, in paying her share -towards the expenses of the house. They did not laugh much at home: -there had seemed nothing particular to laugh about, and certainly they -did not paddle. She was forming no plan for paddling there now, -irrespective of the fact that a muddy canal, which was the only water in -the neighbourhood, did not encourage the scheme, but there must be -introduced into her life and Lyndhurst’s more of the spirit that had -to-day prompted her paddling. Exactly what form it should take she did -not clearly foresee, but when she had recaptured the spirit as well as -the appearance of youth, there was no fear that it would find any -difficulty in expressing itself suitably. All aglow, especially as to -her feet, which tingled pleasantly, she arrived at her host’s house -again. They were both at work in the garden: Mrs. Bertram was killing -slugs in the garden beds, Mr. Bertram worms on the lawn. - -Major Ames proved himself during the next week to be a good -correspondent, if virtue in correspondents is to be measured by the -frequency of their communications. His letters were not long, but they -were cheerful, since the garden was coming on well in this delightful -weather, which he hoped embraced Cromer also, and since he had on two -separate occasions made a grand slam when playing Bridge at the club. He -and Harry were jogging along quite pleasantly, but there had been no -gaieties to take them out, except a tea-party with ices at Mrs. Brooks’. -Unfortunately, some disaster had befallen the ices: personally, he -thought it was salt instead of sugar, but Harry had been unwell -afterwards, which suggested sour cream. But his indisposition had been -but short, though violent. He himself had dropped in to dine _en garçon_ -with the Evans’, and the doctor was very busy. Finally (this came at the -end of every letter), as the place was doing her so much good, why not -stop for another week? He was sure the Bertrams (poor things!) would be -delighted if she would. - -But that suggestion did not commend itself to Mrs. Ames. She had come -here for a definite purpose, and when on the morning before her -departure she looked very critically at herself in the glass, she felt -that her purpose had been accomplished. Her skin had not, so much she -admitted, the unruffled smoothness of a young woman’s, but she had not -been a young woman when she married. But search where she might in her -hair, there was no sign of greyness in it all, while the contents of the -bottle were not yet half used. But she would take back the more than -moiety with her, since an occasional application when the hair had -resumed its usual colour was recommended. It appeared to her that it -undoubtedly had resumed its original colour: the change, though slight -(for grey had never been conspicuous), was complete; she felt equipped -for youth again. And psychologically she felt equipped: every day since -the first secret paddling she had paddled again in secret, and from a -crevice in a tumble of fallen rock she daily extracted a small wooden -spade, by aid of which, with many glancings around for fear of possible -observers, she dug in the sand, making moats and ramparts. The “first -fine careless rapture” of this, it must be admitted, had evaporated: -after one architectural afternoon she had dug not because this -elementary pursuit expressed what she felt, so much as because it -expressed what she desired to feel. After all, she did not propose to -rejuvenate herself to the extent of being nine or ten years old -again.... - - * * * * * - -The manner of her return to Riseborough demanded consideration: it was -not sufficient merely to look up in a railway guide the swiftest mode of -transit and adopt it, for this was not quite an ordinary entry, and it -would never do to take the edge off it by making a travel-soiled and -dusty first appearance. So she laid down a plan. - -The bare facts about the trains were these. A train starting at a -convenient hour would bring her to London a short half-hour before -another convenient train from another and distant terminus started for -Riseborough. It was impossible to make certain of catching this, so she -wrote to her husband saying that she would in all probability get to -Riseborough by a later train that arrived there at eight. She begged him -not to meet her at the station, but to order dinner for half-past eight. -It would be nice to be at home again. Then came the plan. Clearly it -would never do to burst on him like that, to sit down opposite him at -the dinner-table beneath the somewhat searching electric light there, -handicapped by the fatigues of a hot journey only imperfectly repaired -by a hasty toilet. She must arrive by the early train, though not -expected till the later. Thus she would secure a quiet two hours for -bathing, resting and dressing. If Lyndhurst did not expect her to -arrive till eight it was a practical certainty that he would be at the -club till that hour, and walk home in time to welcome her arrival. He -would then learn that she had already come and was dressing. She would -be careful to let him go downstairs first, and a minute later she would -follow. He should see.... - -So in order to catch this earlier train from town she left Cromer while -morning was yet dewy, and had the peculiar pleasure, on her arrival at -Riseborough, of seeing her husband, from the windows of her cab, passing -along the street to the club. She had a moment’s qualm that he would see -her initialled boxes on the top, but by grace of a punctual providence -Mrs. Brooks came out of her house at the moment, and the Major raised a -gallant hat and spoke a cheerful word to her. Certainly he looked very -handsome and distinguished, and Mrs. Ames felt a little tremor of -anticipation in thinking of the chapters of life that were to be re-read -by them. She felt confident also; it never entered her head to have any -misgivings as to what the last fortnight, which had contained so much -for her, might have contained for him. - -Harry had gone back to Cambridge for the July term the day before, and -she found on her arrival that she had the house to herself. The -afternoon had turned a little chilly, and she enjoyed the invigoration -of a hot bath, and a subsequent hour’s rest on her sofa. Then it was -time to dress, and though the dinner was of the simplest conjugal -character, she put on a dress she had worn but some half-dozen of times -before, but which on this one occasion it was meet should descend from -the pompous existence that was its destiny for a year or two to come. -It was of daring rose-colour, the most resplendent possible, and never -failed to create an impression. Indeed, she had, on one of its -infrequent appearances, heard Lyndhurst say to his neighbour in an -undertone, “Upon my soul, Amy looks very well to-night.” And Amy meant -to look very well again. - -All happened as she had planned. Shortly after eight Lyndhurst tapped at -her door on his return from the club, but could not be admitted, and at -half-past, having heard him go downstairs, she followed him. He had not -dressed, according to their custom when they were alone. - -Major Ames was writing a note when she entered, and only turned round in -his chair, not getting up. - -“Glad to see you home, my dear,” he said. “Excuse me one moment. I must -just direct this.” - -She kissed him and waited while he scrawled an address. Then he got up -and rang the bell. - -“Just in time to catch the post,” he said. “By Jove! Amy, you’ve put on -the famous pink gown. I would have dressed if I had known. You’re tired -with your journey, I expect. It was a very hot day here, until a couple -of hours ago.” - -He gave the note to the servant. - -“And dinner’s ready, I think,” he said. - -They sat down opposite each other at ends of the rather long table. -There were no flowers on it, for it had not occurred to him to get the -garden to welcome her home-coming, and the whole of her resplendency was -visible to him. He began eating his soup vigorously. - -“Capital plan in summer to have dinner at half-past eight,” he said. -“Gives one most of the daylight and not so long an evening afterwards. -Excellent pea-soup, this. Fresh peas from my garden. The Evans’ dine at -eight-thirty. And how have you been, Amy?” - -Some indefinable chill of misgiving, against which she struggled, had -laid cold fingers on her. Things were not going any longer as she had -planned them. He had noticed her gown, but he had noticed nothing else. -But then he had scarcely looked up since they had come into the -dining-room. But now he finished his soup, and she challenged his -attention. - -“I have been very well indeed,” she said. “Don’t I look it?” - -He looked her straight in the face, saw all that had seemed almost a -miracle to her--the softened wrinkles, the recovered colour of her hair. - -“Yes, I think you do,” he said. “You’ve got a bit tanned too, haven’t -you, with the sun?” - -The cold fingers closed a little more tightly on her. - -“Have I?” she said. “That is very likely. I was out-of-doors all day. I -used to take quite long walks every afternoon.” - -He glanced at the menu-card. - -“I hope you’ll like the dinner I ordered you,” he said. “Your cook and I -had a great talk over it this morning. ‘She’ll have been in the train -all day,’ I said, ‘and will feel a little tired. Appetite will want a -bit of tempting, eh?’ So we settled on a grilled sole, and a chicken and -a macédoine of fruit. Hope that suits you, Amy. So you used to take long -walks, did you? Is the country pretty round about? Bathing, too. Is it a -good coast for bathing?” - -Again he looked at her as he spoke, and for the moment her heart-beat -quickened, for it seemed that he could not but see the change in her. -Then his sole required dissection, and he looked at his plate again. - -“I believe it is a good coast,” she said. “There were a quantity of -bathing-machines. I did not bathe.” - -“No. Very wise, I am sure. One has to be careful about chills as one -gets on. I should have been anxious about you, Amy, if I had thought you -would be so rash as to bathe.” - -Some instinct of protest prompted her. - -“There would have been nothing to be anxious about,” she said. “I seldom -catch a chill. And I often paddled.” - -He laid down his knife and fork and laughed. - -“You paddled!” he asked. “Nonsense, nonsense!” - -She had not meant to tell him, for her reasonable mind had informed her -all the time that this was a secret expression of the rejuvenation she -was conscious of. But it had slipped out, a thoughtless assertion of the -youthfulness she felt. - -“I did indeed,” she said, “and I found it very bracing and -invigorating.” - -Then for a moment a certain bitterness welled up within her, born from -disappointment at his imperceptiveness. - -“You see I never suffer from gout or rheumatism like you, Lyndhurst,” -she said. “I hope you have been quite free from them since I have been -away.” - -But his amusement, though it had produced this spirit of rancour in her, -had not been in the least unkindly. It was legitimate to find -entertainment in the thought of a middle-aged woman gravely paddling, so -long as he had no idea that there was a most pathetic side to it. Of -that he had no inkling: he was unaware that this paddling was expressive -of her feeling of recaptured youth, just as he was unaware that she -believed it to be expressed in her face and hair. But this remark was -distinctly of the nature of an attack: she was retaliating for his -laughter. He could not resist one further answer which might both soothe -and smart (like a patent ointment) before he changed the subject. - -“Well, my dear, I’m sure you are a wonderful woman for your years,” he -said. “By Jove! I shall be proud if I’m as active and healthy as you in -ten years’ time.” - - * * * * * - -Dinner was soon over after this, and she left him, as usual, to have his -cigarette and glass of port, and went into the drawing-room, and stood -looking on the last fading splendour of the sunset in the west. The -momentary bitterness in her mind had quite died down again: there was -nothing left but a vague, dull ache of flatness and disappointment. He -had noticed nothing of all that had caused her such tremulous and secret -joy. He had looked on her smoothed and softened face, and seen no -difference there, on her brown unfaded hair and found it unaltered. He -had only seen that she had put her best gown on, and she had almost -wished that he had not noticed that, since then she might have had the -consolation of thinking that he was ill. It was not, it must be -premised, that she meant she would find pleasure in his indisposition, -only that an indisposition would have explained his imperceptiveness, -which she regretted more than she would have regretted a slight headache -for him. - -For a few minutes she was incapable of more than blank and empty -contemplation of the utter failure of that from which she had expected -so much. Then, like the stars that even now were beginning to be lit in -the empty spaces of the sky, fresh points in the dreary situation -claimed her attention. Was he preoccupied with other matters, that he -was blind to her? His letters, it is true, had been uniformly cheerful -and chatty, but a preoccupied man can easily write a letter without -betraying the preoccupation that is only too evident in personal -intercourse. If this was so, what was the nature of his preoccupation? -That was not a cheerful star: there was a green light in it.... Another -star claimed her attention. Was it Lyndhurst who was blind, or herself -who saw too much? She had no idea till she came to look into the matter -closely, how much grey hair was mingled with the brown. Perhaps he had -no idea either: its restoration, therefore, would not be an affair of -surprise and admiration. But the wrinkles.... - -She faced round from the window as he entered, and made another call on -her courage and conviction. Though he saw so little, she, quickened -perhaps by the light of the green star, saw how good-looking he was. For -years she had scarcely noticed it. She put up her small face to him in a -way that suggested, though it did not exactly invite a kiss. - -“It is so nice to be home again,” she said. - -The suggestion that she meant to convey occurred to him, but, very -reasonably, he dismissed it as improbable. A promiscuous caress was a -thing long obsolete between them. Morning and evening he brushed her -cheek with the end of his moustaches. - -“Well, then, we’re all pleased,” he said good-humouredly. “Shall I ring -for coffee, Amy?” - -She was not discouraged. - -“Do,” she said, “and when we have had coffee, will you fetch a shawl for -me, and we will stroll in the garden. You shall show me what new flowers -have come out.” - -The intention of that was admirable, the actual proposal not so happy, -since a glimmering starlight through the fallen dusk would not conduce -to a perception of colour. - -“We’ll stroll in the garden by all means,” he said, “if you think it -will not be risky for you. But as to flowers, my dear, it will be easier -to appreciate them when it is not dark.” - -Again she put up her face towards him. This time he might, perhaps, have -taken the suggestion, but at the moment Parker entered with the coffee. - -“How foolish of me,” she said. “I forgot it was dark. But let us go out -anyhow, unless you were thinking of going round to the club.” - -“Oh, time for that, time for that,” said he. “I expect you will be going -to bed early after your long journey. I may step round then, and see -what’s going on.” - -Without conscious encouragement or welcome on her part, a suspicion -darted into her mind. She felt by some process, as inexplicable as that -by which certain people are aware of the presence of a cat in the room, -that he was going round to see Mrs. Evans. - -“I suppose you have often gone round to the club in the evening since I -have been away,” she said. - -“Yes, I have looked in now and again,” he said. “On other evenings I -have dropped in to see our friends. Lonely old bachelor, you know, and -Harry was not always very lively company. It’s a good thing that boy has -gone back to Cambridge, Amy. He was always mooning round after Mrs. -Evans.” - -That was a fact: it had often been a slightly inconvenient one. Several -times the Major had “dropped in” to see Millie, and found his son -already there. - -“But I thought you were rather pleased at that, Lyndhurst,” she said. -“You told me you considered it not a bad thing: that it would keep Harry -out of mischief.” - -He finished his coffee rather hastily. - -“Yes, within reason, within reason,” he said. “Well, if we are to stroll -in the garden, we had better go out. You wanted a shawl, didn’t you? -Very wise: where shall I find one?” - -That diverted her again to her own personal efforts. - -“There are several in the second tray of my wardrobe,” she said. “Choose -a nice one, Lyndhurst, something that won’t look hideous with my pink -silk.” - -The smile, as you might almost say, of coquetry, which accompanied this -speech, faded completely as soon as he left the room, and her face -assumed that business-like aspect, which the softest and youngest faces -wear, when the object is to attract, instead of letting a mutual -attraction exercise its inevitable power. Even though Mrs. Ames’ object -was the legitimate and laudable desire to attract her own husband, it -was strange how common her respectable little countenance appeared. She -had adorned herself to attract admiration: coquetry and anxiety were -pitifully mingled, even as you may see them in haunts far less -respectable than this detached villa, and on faces from which Mrs. Ames -would instantly have averted her own. She hoped he would bring a certain -white silk shawl: two nights ago she had worn it on the verandah after -dinner at Overstrand, and the reflected light from it, she had noticed, -as she stood beneath a light opposite a mirror in the hall, had made her -throat look especially soft and plump. She stood underneath the light -now waiting for his return. - -Fortune was favourable: it was that shawl that he brought, and she -turned round for him to put it on her shoulders. Then she faced him -again in the remembered position, underneath the light, smiling. - -“Now, I am ready, Lyndhurst,” she said. - -He opened the French window for her, and stood to let her pass out. -Again she smiled at him, and waited for him to join her on the rather -narrow gravel path. There was actually room for two abreast on it, for, -on the evening of her dinner-party, Harry had walked here side by side -with Mrs. Evans. But there was only just room. - -“You go first, Amy,” he said, “or shall I? We can scarcely walk abreast -here.” - -But she took his arm. - -“Nonsense, my dear,” she said. “There: is there not heaps of room?” - -He felt vaguely uncomfortable. It was not only the necessity of putting -his feet down one strictly in front of the other that made him so. - -“Anything the matter, my dear?” he asked. - -The question was not cruel: it was scarcely even careless. He could -hardly be expected to guess, for his perceptions were not fine. Also he -was thinking about somebody else, and wondering how late it was. But -even if he had had complete knowledge of the situation about which he -was completely ignorant, he could not have dealt with it in a more -peremptory way. The dreary flatness to which she had been so impassive a -prey directly after dinner, the sense of complete failure enveloped her -like impenetrable fog. Out of that fog, she hooted, so to speak, like an -undervitalized siren. - -“I am only so glad to get back,” she said, pressing his arm a little. “I -hoped you were glad, too, that I was back. Tell me what you have been -doing all the time I have been away.” - -This, like banns, was for the third time of asking. He recalled for her -the days one by one, leaving out certain parts of them. Even at the -moment, he was astonished to find how vivid his recollection of them -was. On Thursday, when he had played golf in the morning, he had lunched -with the Evans’ (this he stated, for Harry had lunched there too) and he -had culled probably the last dish of asparagus in the afternoon. He had -dined alone with Harry that night, and Harry had toothache. Next day, -consequently, Harry went to the dentist in the morning, and he himself -had played golf in the afternoon. That he remembered because he had gone -to tea with Mrs. Evans afterwards, but that he did not mention, for he -had been alone with her, and they had talked about being misunderstood -and about affinities. On Saturday Harry had gone back to Cambridge, but, -having missed his train, he had made a second start after lunch. He had -met Dr. Evans in the street that day, going up to the golf links, and -since he would otherwise be quite alone in the evening, he had dined -with them, “_en garçon_.” - -This catalogue of trivial happenings took quite a long time in the -recitation. But below the trivialities there was a lurking significance. -He was not really in love with Millie Evans, and his assurance to -himself on that point was perfectly honest. But (this he did not put so -distinctly to himself) he thought that she was tremendously attracted by -him. Here was an appeal to a sort of deplorable sense of gallantry--so -terrible a word only can describe his terrible mind--and mentally he -called her “poor little lady.” She was pretty, too, and not very happy. -It seemed to be incumbent on him to interest and amuse her. His -“droppings in” amused her: when he got ready to drop out again, she -always asked when he would come to see her next. These “droppings in” -were clearly bright spots to her in a drab day. They were also bright -spots to him, for he was more interested in them than in all his -sweet-peas. There was a “situation” come into his life, something -clandestine. It would never do, for instance, to let Amy or the -estimable doctor get a hint of it. Probably they would misunderstand it, -and imagine there was something to conceal. He had the secret joys of a -bloodless intrigue. But, considering its absolute bloodlessness, he was -amazingly wrapped up in it. It was no wonder that he did not notice the -restored colour of Amy’s hair. - -He, or rather Mrs. Evans, had made a conditional appointment for -to-night. If possible, the possibility depending on Amy’s fatigue, he -was going to drop in for a chat. Primarily the chat was to be concerned -with the lighting of the garden by means of Chinese lanterns, for a -nocturnal fête that Mrs. Evans meant to give on her birthday. The whole -garden was to be lit, and since the entertainment of an illuminated -garden, with hot soup, quails and ices, under the mulberry-tree was -obviously new to Riseborough, it would be sufficiently amusing to the -guests to walk about the garden till supper-time. But there would be -supererogatory diversions beyond that, bridge-tables in the verandah, a -small band at the end of the garden to intervene its strains between the -guests and the shrieks of South-Eastern expresses, and already there was -an idea of fancy dress. Major Ames favoured the idea of fancy dress, for -he had a red velvet garment, sartorially known as a Venetian cloak, -locked away upstairs, which was a dazzling affair if white tights peeped -out from below it. He knew he had a leg, and only lamented the scanty -opportunities of convincing others of the fact. But the lighting of the -garden had to be planned first: there was no use in having a leg in a -garden, if the garden was not properly lit. But the whole affair was as -yet a pledged secret: he could not, as a man of honour, tell Amy about -it. Short notice for a fête of this sort was of no consequence, for it -was to be a post-prandial entertainment, and the only post-prandial -entertainment at present existent in Riseborough was going to bed. Thus -everybody would be able to be happy to accept. - -A rapid _résumé_ of this made an undercurrent in his mind, as he went -through, in speaking voice, the history of the last days. Up and down -the narrow path they passed, she still with her hand in his arm, -questioning, showing an inconceivable interest in the passage of the -days from which he had left out all real points of interest. His -patience came to an end before hers. - -“Upon my word, my dear,” he said, “it’s getting a little chilly. Shall -we go in, do you think? I’m sure you are tired with your journey.” - -There was nothing more coming: she knew that. But even in the midst of -her disappointment, she found consolation. Daylight would show the -re-establishment of her youthfulness more clearly than electric light -had done. Every one looked about the same by electric light. And though, -in some secret manner, she distrusted his visit to the club, she knew -how impolitic it would be to hint, however remotely, at such distrust. -It was much better this evening to acquiesce in the imputation of -fatigue. Nor was the imputation groundless; for failure fatigues any one -when under the same conditions success would only stimulate. And in the -consciousness of that, her bitterness rose once more to her lips. - -“You mustn’t catch cold,” she said. “Let us go in.” - -It was still only half-past ten: all this flatness and failure had -lasted but a couple of hours, and Major Ames, as soon as his wife had -gone upstairs, let himself out of the house. His way lay past the doors -of the club, but he did not enter, merely observing through its lit -windows that there were a good many men in the smoking-room. On arrival -at the Doctor’s he found that Elsie and her father were playing chess in -the drawing-room, and that Mrs. Evans was out in the garden. He chose to -go straight into the garden, and found her sitting under the mulberry, -dressed in white, and looking rather like the Milky Way. She did not get -up, but held out her hand to him. - -“That is nice of you,” she said. “How is Cousin Amy?” - -“Amy is very well,” said he. “But she’s gone to bed early, a little -tired with the journey. And how is Cousin Amy’s cousin?” - -He sat down on the basket chair close beside her which creaked with his -weight. - -“I must have a special chair made for you,” she said. “You are so big -and strong. Have you seen Cousin Amy’s cousin’s husband?” - -“No: I heard you were out here. So I came straight out.” - -She got up. - -“I think it will be better, then, if we go in, and tell him you are -here,” she said. “He might think it strange.” - -Major Ames jumped up with alacrity: with his alacrity was mingled a -pleasing sense of adventure. - -“By all means,” he said. “Then we can come out again.” - -She smiled at him. - -“Surely. He is playing chess with Elsie. I do not suppose he will -interrupt his game.” - - * * * * * - -Apparently Dr. Evans did not think anything in the least strange. On the -whole, this was not to be wondered at, since he knew quite well that -Major Ames was coming to talk over garden illumination with his wife. - -“Good evening, Major,” he said; “kind of you to come. You and my little -woman are going to make a pauper of me, I’m told. There, Elsie, what do -you say to my putting my knight there? Check.” - -“Pig!” said Elsie. - -“Then shall we go out, Major Ames?” said Millie. “Are you coming out, -Wilfred?” - -“No, little woman. I’m going to defeat your daughter indoors. Come and -have a glass of whisky and soda with me before you go, Major.” - -They went out again accordingly into the cool starlight. - -“Wilfred is so fond of chess,” she said. “He plays every night with -Elsie, when he is at home. Of course, he is often out.” - -This produced exactly the effect that she meant. She did not comment or -complain: she merely made a statement which arose naturally from what -was going on in the drawing-room. - -But Major Ames drew the inference that he was expected to draw. - -“Glad I could come round,” he said. “Now for the lanterns. We must have -them all down the garden wall, and not too far apart, either. Six feet -apart, eh? Now I’ll step the wall and we can calculate how many we shall -want there. I think I step a full yard still. Not cramped in the joints -yet.” - - * * * * * - -It took some half hour to settle the whole scheme of lighting, which, -since Major Ames was not going to pay for it, he recommended being done -in a somewhat lavish manner. With so large a number of lanterns, it -would be easily possible to see his leg, and he was strong on the -subject of fancy dress. - -“There’ll be some queer turn-outs, I shouldn’t wonder,” he said; “but I -expect there will be some creditable costumes too. By Jove! it will be -quite the event of the year. Amy and I, with our little dinners, will -have to take a back seat, as they say.” - -“I hope Cousin Amy won’t think it forward of me,” said Millie. - -Major Ames said that which is written “Pshaw.” “Forward?” he cried. -“Why, you are bringing a bit of life among us. Upon my word, we wanted -rousing up a bit. Why, you are a public benefactor.” - -They had sat down to rest again after their labour of stepping out the -brick walls under the mulberry-tree, where the grass was dry, and only a -faint shimmer of starlight came through the leaves. At the bottom of the -garden a train shrieked by, and the noise died away in decrescent -thunder. She leaned forward a little towards him, putting up her face -much as Amy had done. - -“Ah, if only I thought I was making things a little pleasant,” she said. - -Suddenly it struck Major Ames that he was expected to kiss her. He -leaned forward, too. - -“I think you know that,” he said. “I wish I could thank you for it.” - -She did not move, but in the dusk he could see she was smiling at him. -It looked as if she was waiting. He made an awkward forward movement and -kissed her. - -There was silence a moment: she neither responded to him nor repelled -him. - -“I suppose people would say I ought not to have let you,” she said. “But -there is no harm, is there? After all, you are a--a sort of cousin. And -you have been so kind about the lanterns.” - -Major Ames was thinking almost entirely about himself, hardly at all -about her. An adventure, an intrigue had begun. He had kissed somebody -else’s wife and felt the devil of a fellow. But with the wine of this -emotion was mingled a touch of alarm. It would be wise to call a halt, -take his whisky and soda with her husband, and get home to Amy. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Mrs. Altham waited with considerable impatience next day for the return -of her husband from the club, where he went on most afternoons, to sit -in an arm-chair from tea-time to dinner and casually to learn what had -happened while he had been playing golf. She had been to call on Mrs. -Ames in the afternoon, and in consequence had matter of considerable -importance to communicate. She could have supported that retarded spate -of information, though she wanted to burst as soon as possible, but she -had also a question to ask Henry on which a tremendous deal depended. At -length she heard the rattle of his deposited hat and stick in the hall, -and she went out to meet him. - -“How late you are, Henry,” she said; “but you needn’t dress. Mrs. -Brooks, if she does come in afterwards, will excuse you. Dinner is -ready: let us come in at once. Now, you were at the club last night, -after dinner. You told me who was there; but I want to be quite sure.” - -Mr. Altham closed his eyes for a moment as he sat down. It looked as if -he was saying a silent grace, but appearances were deceptive. He was -only thinking, for he knew his wife would not ask such a question unless -something depended on it, and he desired to be accurate. - -Then he opened them again, and helped the soup with a name to each -spoonful. - -“General Fortescue,” he said. “Young Morton. Mr. Taverner, Turner, Young -Turner.” - -That was five spoonfuls--three for his wife, two for himself. He was not -very fond of soup. - -“And you were there all the time between ten and eleven?” asked his -wife. - -“Till half-past eleven.” - -“And there was no one else?” - -Mr. Altham looked up brightly. - -“The club waiter,” he said, “and the page. The page has been dismissed -for stealing sugar. The sugar bill was preposterous. That was how we -found out. Did you mean to ask about that?” - -“No, my dear. Nor do I want to know.” - -At the moment the parlour-maid left the room, and she spoke in an eager -undertone. - -“Mrs. Ames told me that Major Ames went up to the club last night, when -she went to bed at half-past ten,” she said. “You told me at breakfast -whom you found there, but I wanted to be sure. Call them Mr. and Mrs. -Smith and then we can go on talking.” - -The parlour-maid came back into the room. - -“Yes, Mr. Smith apparently went up to the club at half-past ten,” she -said. “But he can’t have gone to the club, for in that case you would -have seen him. It has occurred to me that he didn’t feel well, and went -to the doctor’s.” - -“It seems possible,” said Mr. Altham, not without enthusiasm, -understanding that “doctor” meant “doctor,” and which doctor. - -“We have all noticed how many visits he has been paying to--to Dr. -Jones,” said Mrs. Altham, “during the time Mrs. Smith was away. But to -pay another one on the very evening of her return looks as if--as if -something serious was the matter.” - -“My dear, there’s nothing whatever to show that Major Ames went to the -doctor’s last night,” he said. - -Mrs. Altham gave him an awful glance, for the parlour-maid was in the -room, and this thoughtless remark rendered all the diplomatic -substitution of another nomenclature entirely void and useless. - -“Mrs. Smith, I should say,” added Mr. Altham in some confusion, -proceeding to make it all quite clear to Jane, in case she had any -doubts about it. - -“Suggest to me any other reasonable theory as to where he was, then,” -said Mrs. Altham. - -“I can’t suggest where he was, my dear,” said Mr. Altham, finding his -legal training supported him, “considering that there is no evidence of -any kind that bears upon the matter. But to know that a man was not in -one given place does not show with any positiveness that he was at any -other given place.” - -“No doubt, then, he went shopping at half-past ten last night,” said -Mrs. Altham, with deep sarcasm. “There are so many shops open then. The -High Street is a perfect blaze of light.” - -Mr. Altham could be sarcastic, too, though he seldom exercised this -gift. - -“It quite dazzles one,” he observed. - -Mrs. Altham no doubt was vexed at her husband’s sceptical attitude, and -she punished him by refraining from discussing the point any further, -and from giving him the rest of her news. But this severity punished -herself also, for she was bursting to tell him. When Jane had finally -withdrawn, the internal pressure became irresistible. - -“Mrs. Ames has done something to her hair, Henry,” she said; “and she -has done something to her face. I had a good mind to ask her what she -had used. I assure you there was not a grey hair left anywhere, and a -fortnight ago she was as grey as a coot!” - -“Coots are bald, not grey,” remarked her husband. - -“That is mere carping, Henry. She is brown now. Is this another fashion -she is going to set us at Riseborough? What does it all mean? Shall we -all have to plaster our faces with cold cream, and dye our hair blue?” - -Mr. Altham was in a painfully literal mood this evening and could not -disentangle information from rhetoric. - -“Has she dyed her hair blue?” he asked in a slightly awestricken voice. - -“No, my dear: how can you be so stupid? And I told you just now she was -brown. But at her age! As if anybody cared what colour her hair was. Her -face, too! I don’t deny that the wrinkles are less marked, but who cares -whether she is wrinkled or not?” - -These pleasant considerations were discontinued by the sound of the -postman’s tap on the front door, and since the postman took precedence -of everybody and everything, Mr. Altham hurried out to see what -excitements he had piloted into port. Unfortunately, there was nothing -for him, but there was a large, promising-looking envelope for his wife. -It was stiff, too, and looked like the receptacle of an invitation card. - -“One for you, my dear,” he said. - -Mrs. Altham tore it open, and gave a great gasp. - -“You would not guess in a hundred tries,” she said. - -“Then be so kind as to tell me,” remarked her husband. - -Mrs. Altham read it out all in one breath without stops. - -“Mrs. Evans at home Thursday July 20 10 p.m. Shakespeare Fancy Dress -well I never!” - -For a while little the silence of stupefaction reigned. Then Mr. Altham -gave a great sigh. - -“I have never been to a fancy dress ball,” he said. “I think I should -feel very queer and uncomfortable. What are we meant to do when we get -there, Julia? Just stand about and look at each other. It will seem very -strange. What would you recommend me to be? I suppose we ought to be a -pair.” - -Mrs. Altham, to do her justice, had not thought seriously about her -personal appearance for years. But, as she got up from the table, and -consciously faced the looking-glass over the chimney-piece, it is idle -to deny that she considered it now. She was not within ten years of Mrs. -Ames’ age, and it struck her, as she carefully regarded herself in a -perfectly honest glass, that even taking into full consideration all -that Mrs. Ames had been doing to her hair and her face, she herself -still kept the proper measure of their difference of years between them. -But it was yet too early to consider the question of her impersonation. -There were other things suggested by the contemplation of a fancy-dress -ball to be considered first. There was so much, in fact, that she hardly -knew where to begin. So she whisked everything up together, in the -manner of a sea-pie, in which all that is possibly edible is put in the -oven and baked. - -“There will be time enough to talk over that, my dear,” she said, “for -if Mrs. Evans thinks we are all going to lash out into no end of -expense in getting dresses for her party, she is wrong as far as I, for -one, am concerned. For that matter you can put on your oldest clothes, -and I can borrow Jane’s apron and cap, and we can go as Darby and Joan. -Indeed, I do not know if I shall go at all--though, of course, one -wouldn’t like to hurt Mrs. Evans’ feelings by refusing. Do you know, -Henry, I shouldn’t in the least wonder if we have seen the last of Mrs. -Ames and all her airs of superiority and leadership. You may depend upon -it that Mrs. Evans did not consult her before she settled to give a -fancy dress party. It is far more likely that she and Major Ames -contrived it all between them, while Mrs. Ames was away, and settled -what they should go as, and I daresay it will be Romeo and Juliet. I -should not be in the least surprised if Mrs. Ames did not go to the -party at all, but tried to get something up on her own account that very -night. It would be like her, I am sure. But whether she goes or not, it -seems to me that we have seen the last of her queening it over us all. -If she does not go, I should think she would be the only absentee, and -if she does, she goes as Mrs. Evans’ guest. All these years she has -never thought of a fancy dress party----” - -Mrs. Altham broke off in the middle of her address, stung by the -splendour of a sudden thought. - -“Or does all this staying away on her part,” she said, “and dyeing her -hair, and painting her face, mean that she knew about it all along, and -was going to be the show-figure of it all? I should not wonder if that -was it. As likely as not, she and Major Ames will come as Hamlet and -Ophelia, or something equally ridiculous, though I am sure as far as the -‘too too solid flesh’ goes, Major Ames would make an admirable Hamlet, -for I never saw a man put on weight in the manner he does, in spite of -all the garden rolling, which I expect the gardener does for him really. -But whatever is the truth of it all, and I’m sure every one is so -secretive here in Riseborough nowadays, that you never know how many -dined at such a place on such a night unless you actually go to the -poulterer’s and find out whether one chicken or two was sent,--what was -I saying?” - -She had been saying a good deal. Mr. Altham correctly guessed the train -of thought which she desired to recall. - -“In spite of the secretiveness----” he suggested. - -That served the purpose. - -“No, my dear Henry,” said his wife rapidly, “I accuse no one of -secretiveness: if I did, you misunderstood me. All I meant was that when -we have settled what we are to go as, we will tell nobody. There is very -little sense in a fancy dress entertainment if you know exactly what you -may expect, and as soon as you see a Romeo can say for certain that it -is Major Ames, for instance; and I’m sure if he is to go as Romeo, it -would be vastly suitable if Mrs. Ames went as Juliet’s nurse.” - -“I am not sure that I shall like so much finery,” said Mr. Altham, who -was thinking entirely about his own dress, and did not care two straws -about Major or Mrs. Ames. “It will seem very strange.” - -“Nonsense, my dear; we will dine in our fancy dresses for an evening or -two before, and you will get quite used to it, whatever it is. Henry, do -you remember my white satin gown, which I scarcely wore a dozen times, -because it seemed too grand for Riseborough? It was too, I am sure: you -were quite right. It has been in camphor ever since. I used to wear my -Roman pearls with it. There are three rows, and the clasp is of real -pearls. The very thing for Cleopatra.” - -“I recollect perfectly,” said Mr. Altham. His mind instantly darted off -again to the undoubted fact that whereas Major Ames was stout, he -himself was very thin. If he had been obliged to describe his figure at -that moment, he would have said it was boyish. The expense of a wig -seemed of no account. - -“Well, my dear, white dress and pearls,” said his wife. “You are not -very encouraging. With that book of Egyptian antiquities, I can easily -remodel the dress. And I remember reading in a Roman history that -Cleopatra was well over thirty when Julius Cæsar was so devoted to her. -And by the busts he must have been much balder than you!” - -It is no use denying that this was a rather heavy blow. Ever since the -mention of the word Cleopatra, he had seen himself complete, with a wig, -in another character. - -“But Julius Cæsar was sixty,” he observed, with pardonable asperity. “I -do not see how I could make up as a man of sixty. And for that matter, -my dear, though I am sure no one would think you were within five years -of your actual age, I do not see how you could make up as a mere girl of -thirty. Why should we not go as ‘Antony and Cleopatra, ten years later’? -It would be better than to go as Julius Cæsar and Cleopatra ten years -before!” - -Mrs. Altham considered this. It was true that she would find it -difficult to look thirty, however many Roman pearls she wore. - -“I do not know that it is such a bad idea of yours, Henry,” she said. -“Certainly there is no one in the world who cares about her age, or -wants to conceal it, less than I. And there is something original about -your suggestion--Antony and Cleopatra ten years later--Ah, there is the -bell, that will be Mrs. Brooks coming in. And there is the telephone -also. Upon my word, we never have a moment to ourselves. I should not -wonder if half Riseborough came to see us to-night. Will you go to the -telephone and tell it we are at home? And not a word to anybody, Henry, -as to what we are thinking of going as. There will be our surprise, at -any rate, however much other people go talking about their dresses. If -you are being rung up to ask about your costume, say that you haven’t -given it a thought yet.” - - * * * * * - -For the next week Mrs. Altham was thoroughly in her element. She had -something to conceal, and was in a delicious state of tension with the -superficial desire to disclose her own impersonation, and the -deep-rooted satisfaction of not doing so. To complete her happiness, the -famous white satin still fitted her, and she was nearly insane with -curiosity to know what Major and Mrs. Ames “were going to be,” and what -the whole history of the projected festivity was. In various other -respects her natural interest in the affairs of other people was -satiated. Mrs. Turner was to be Mistress Page, which was very suitable, -as she was elderly and stout, and did not really in the least resemble -Miss Ellen Terry. Mr. Turner had selected Falstaff, and could be -recognized anywhere. Young Morton, with unwonted modesty, had chosen the -part of the Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet. Mrs. Taverner was to be -Queen Catherine, and--almost more joyous than all--she had persuaded -Mrs. Brooks not to attempt to impersonate Cleopatra. What Mrs. Brooks’ -feelings would be when it dawned on her, as it not inconceivably might, -that Mrs. Altham had seen in her a striking likeness to her conception -of Hermione, because she did not want there to be two Cleopatras, did -not particularly concern her. She had asked Mrs. Brooks to dinner the -day after the entertainment, and her acceptance would bury the hatchet, -if indeed there was such a thing as a hatchet about. Finally, she had -called on Mrs. Evans, who had vaguely talked about Midsummer Night’s -Dream. Mrs. Altham had taken that to be equivalent to the fact that she -would appear as Titania, and Mrs. Evans had distinctly intended that she -should so take it. Indeed, the idea had occurred to her, but not very -vividly. Her husband was going to be Timon of Athens. That, again, was -quite satisfactory: nobody knew at all distinctly who Timon of Athens -was, and nobody knew much about Dr. Evans, except that he was usually -sent for in the middle of something. Probably the same thing happened to -Timon of Athens. - -Indeed, within a couple of hours of the reception of Mrs. Evans’ -invitations, which all arrived simultaneously by the local evening post, -a spirit of demoniacal gaiety, not less fierce than that which inspired -Mrs. Altham, possessed the whole of those invited. Though it was gay, it -was certainly demoniacal, for a quite prodigious amount of ill-feeling -was mingled with it which from time to time threatened to wreck the -proceedings altogether. For instance, only two days after all the -invitations had been accepted, Mrs. Evans had issued a further -intimation that there was to be dancing, and that the evening would open -at a quarter past ten precisely with a quadrille in which it was -requested that everybody would take part. It is easy to picture the -private consternation that presided over that evening; how in one house, -Mrs. Brooks having pushed her central drawing-room table to one side, -all alone and humming to herself, stepped in perplexed and forgotten -measures, and how next door Mrs. and Mr. Altham violently wrangled over -the order of the figures, and hummed different tunes, to show each -other, or pranced in different directions. For here was the bitter -affair: these pains had to be suffered in loneliness, for it was clearly -impossible to confess that the practice of quadrilles was so long past -that the memory of them had vanished altogether. But luckily (though at -the moment the suggestion caused a great deal of asperity in Mrs. -Altham’s mind) Mrs. Ames came to the rescue with the suggestion that as -many of them, no doubt, had forgotten the precise manner of quadrilles, -she proposed to hold a class at half-past four to-morrow afternoon, when -they would all run through a quadrille together. - -“There! I thought as much!” said Mrs. Altham. “That means that neither -Major nor Mrs. Ames can remember how the quadrille goes, and we, -forsooth, must go and teach them. And she puts it that she is going to -teach us! I am sure she will never teach me: I shall not go near the -house. I do not require to be taught quadrilles by anybody, still less -by Mrs. Ames. There is no answer,” she added to Jane. - -Mr. Altham fidgeted in his chair. Last night he had been quite sure he -was right, in points where he and his wife differed, and that the -particular “setting partners” which they had shown each other so often -did not come in the quadrille at all, but occurred in lancers, just -before the ladies’ chain. But she had insisted that both the setting to -partners and ladies’ chain came in quadrilles. This morning, however, he -did not feel quite so certain about it. - -“You might send a note to Mrs. Ames,” he observed, “and tell her you are -not coming.” - -“No answer was asked for,” said his wife excitedly. “She just said there -was to be a quadrille practice at half-past four. Let there be. I am -sure I have no objection, though I do think you might have thought of -doing it first, Henry.” - -“But she will like to know how many to expect,” said Henry. “If it is to -be at half-past four, she must be prepared for tea. It is equivalent to -a tea-party, unless you suppose that the class will be over before -five.” - -During the night Mrs. Altham had pondered her view about the ladies’ -chain. It would be an awful thing if Henry happened to be right, and if, -on the evening of the dance itself, she presented her hand for the -ladies’ chain, and no chain of any sort followed. She decided on a -magnanimous course. - -“Upon my word, I am not sure that I shall not go,” she said, “just to -see what Mrs. Ames’ idea of a quadrille is. I should not wonder if she -mixed it up with something quite different, which would be laughable. -And after all, we ought not to be so unkind, and if poor Mrs. Ames feels -she will get into difficulties over the quadrille, I am sure I shall be -happy to help her out. No doubt she has summoned us like this, so that -she need not show that she feels she wants to be helped. We will go, -Henry, and I daresay I shall get out of her what she means to dress up -as! But pray remember to say that we, at any rate, have not given a -thought to our costumes yet. And on our way, we may as well call in at -Mr. Roland’s, for if I am to wear my three rows of pearls, he must get -me a few more, since I find there is a good deal of string showing. I -daresay that ordinary pearl beads would answer the purpose perfectly. I -have no intention of buying more of the real Roman pearls. They belonged -to my mother, and I should not like to add to them. And if you will -insist on having some red stone in your cap, to make a buckle for the -feather, I am sure you could not do better than get a piece of what he -called German ruby that is in his shop now. I do not suppose anybody in -Riseborough could tell it from real, and after all this is over, I would -wear it as a pendant for my pearls. If you wish, I will pay half of it, -and it is but a couple of pounds altogether.” - -It did not seem a really handsome offer, but Henry had the sense to -accept it. He wanted a stone to buckle the feather in a rather -coquettish cap that they had decided to be suitable for Mark Antony, and -did not really care what happened to it after he had worn it on this -occasion, since it was unlikely that another similar occasion would -arise. Deep in his mind had been an idea of turning it into a solitaire, -but he knew he would not have the practical courage of this daring -conception. It would want another setting, also. - -In other houses there were no fewer anticipatory triumphs and past -perplexities. There was also, in some cases, wild and secret intrigue. -For instance, a few evenings after, Mrs. Brooks next door, sorting out -garments in her wardrobe from which she might devise a costume that -should remind the beholder of Hermione, looked from her bedroom window, -where her quest was in progress, and saw a strange sight in the next -garden. There was a lady in white satin with pearls; there was a -gentleman in Roman toga with a feathered cap. The Roman gentleman was a -dubious figure; the lady indubitable. If ever there was an elderly -Cleopatra, this was she. - -Mrs. Brooks sat heavily down, after observing this sight. It certainly -was Cleopatra in the next garden: as certainly it was a snake in the -grass. In a moment her mind was made up. She saw why she had been -discouraged from being Cleopatra; the false Mrs. Altham had wanted to be -Cleopatra herself, without rival. But she would be Cleopatra too. -Riseborough should judge between the effectiveness of the two -representations. Of course, every one knew that Mrs. Altham had three -rows of Roman pearls, which were nothing but some sort of vitreous -enamel. But Mrs. Brooks, as Riseborough also knew, had five or six rows -of real seed-pearls. It was impossible to _denigrer_ seed-pearls: they -were pearls, though small, and did not pretend to be anything different -to what they were. But the Roman prefix, to any fair-minded person, -invalidated the word “pearls.” Besides, even as Cleopatra without -pearls, she would have been willing to back herself against Mrs. Altham. -Cleopatra ought to be tall, which she was. Also Cleopatra ought to be -beautiful, which neither was. And Mrs. Altham had urged her to go as -Hermione! Of course, she had to revise her toilet, but luckily it had -progressed no further than the sewing of white rosettes on to a pair of -slightly worn satin shoes, which were equally suitable for any of -Shakespeare’s heroines. - -The week which had passed for Mr. and Mrs. Altham in a succession of so -pleasing excitements and anxieties, had not been without incident to -Mrs. Ames. When (by the same post that bore their invitations to the -other guests) the announcement of the fancy dress ball reached her, and -she read it out to her husband (even as Mrs. Altham had done) towards -the end of dinner, he expressed his feelings with a good deal of -pooh-ing and the opinion that he, at any rate, was past the years of -dressing-up. This attitude (for it had been settled that the invitation -was to come as a surprise to him) he somewhat overdid, and found to his -dismay that his wife quite agreed with him, and was prepared as soon as -dinner was over to write regrets. The reason was not far to seek. - -“I hope I am not what--what the servants call ‘touchy,’” she said (and -indeed, it was difficult to see what else the servants could call it), -“but I must say that, considering the length of time we have been in -Riseborough, and the number of entertainments we have provided for the -people here, I think dear Millie might have consulted me--or you, of -course, Lyndhurst, in my absence--as to any such novelty as a fancy -dress ball. I have no wish to interfere in any way with any little party -that dear Millie may choose to give, but I suppose since she can plan it -without me, she can also enjoy it without me. I am aware I am by no -means necessary to the success of any party. And since you think that -you are a little beyond the age of dressing up, Lyndhurst--though I do -not say I agree with you--I think we shall be happier at home that -night. I will write quite kindly to dear Millie, and say we are engaged. -No doubt the Althams would dine with us, as I do not imagine that she -would care to get up in fancy dress.” - -Major Ames was not a quick thinker, but he saw several things without a -pause. One was that he, at any rate, must certainly go, but that he did -not much care whether Amy went or not. A second was that, having -expressed surprise at the announcement of the party, it was too late now -to say that he knew about it from the first, and was going to -impersonate Antony, while Mrs. Evans was to be Cleopatra. A third was -that something had to be done, a fourth that he did not know what. - -“I will leave you to your cigarette, Lyndhurst,” said his wife, rising, -“and will write to dear Millie. Let us stroll in the garden again -to-night.” - -She passed out of the dining-room, he closed the door behind her, and -she went straight to her writing-table in the drawing-room. Above it -hung a looking-glass, and (still not in the frame of mind which servants -call “touchy”) she sat down to write the kind note. A considerable -degree of sunset still lingered in the western sky, and there would be -no need to light a candle to write by. There was light enough also for -her to see a rosy-tinted image of herself in the glass, and she paused. -She saw there, what she was aware Mrs. Altham had seen this -afternoon--namely, the absence of grey in her hair, and the softened and -liquated wrinkles of her face. True, not even yet had her husband -observed, or at any rate commented on those refurbished signals of her -youth, but Mrs. Ames had by no means yet despaired, and daily (as -directed) tapped in the emollient cream. This rosy light of sunset gave -her face a flush of delicate colour, and she unconsciously claimed for -her own the borrowed enchantment of the light.... Then that which was -not touchiness underwent a similar softening to that of her wrinkles. -She knew she had been guilty of sarcastic intention when she said she -was aware that her presence was not necessary to the success of any -party. It would be unkind to dear Millie if she refused to go, for a -dinner-party at home was no excuse at all; she could perfectly well go -on there when carriages came at twenty minutes to eleven. Also it was -absurd for Lyndhurst to say that he was past the age when “dressing up” -is seemly. In spite of his hair, which he managed very well, he was -still young enough in face to excuse the yielding to the temptation of -embellishing himself, and a Venetian mantle would naturally conceal his -tendency to corpulence. No doubt dear Millie had not meant to put -herself forward in any way; no doubt she had not yet really grasped the -fact that Mrs. Ames was acknowledged autocrat in all that concerned -festivity. - -All this train of thought needed but a few seconds for passage, and, as -she still regarded herself, the name of the heroines of enchantment -sounded delicately in her brain. Juliet and Ophelia she passed over -without a pang, for she was not so unfocussed of imagination as to see -her reflection capable of recapturing the budding spring of those, or -the slim youthfulness of Rosalind. She wanted no girlish rôle, nor did -she read into herself the precocious dignity of Portia. But was there -not one who came down the green Nile to the sound of flutes in a gilded -barge--no girl, but a woman in the charm of her full maturity? - -The idea detailed itself in plan and manœuvre. She wanted to burst on -Lyndhurst like that, to let him see in a flash of revelation how bravely -she could support the rôle of that sorceress.... At the moment the -drawing-room door opened, and simultaneously they both began a sentence -in identical words. - -“Do you know, my dear, I’ve been thinking....” - -They both stopped, and he gave his genial laugh. - -“Upon my soul, my dear Amy,” he said, “I believe we always have the same -thoughts. I’ll tell you what you were going to say. You were going to -say, ‘I’ve been thinking it wouldn’t be very kind to dear Millie’--that -is what _you_ would say, of course--not very kind to Mrs. Evans if we -declined. And I agree with you, my dear. No doubt she should have -consulted you first, or if you were away she might even, as you -suggested, have mentioned it to me. But you can afford to be indulgent, -my dear--after all, she is your cousin--and you wouldn’t like to spoil -her party, poor thing, by refusing to go. And if you go, why, of course, -I shall put on one side my natural feelings about an old fogey like -myself making a guy of himself, and I shall dress up somehow. I think I -have an old costume with a Venetian cloak laid aside somewhere, though I -daresay it’s moth-eaten and rusty now, and I’ll dress myself up somehow -and come with you. I suppose there are some old stagers in -Shakespeare--I must have a look at the fellow’s plays again--which even -a retired old soldier can impersonate. Falstaff, for instance--some -stout old man of that sort.” - -Some of this speech, to say the least of it, was not, it is to be -feared, quite absolutely ingenuous. But then, Major Ames was not -naturally quite ingenuous. He had already satisfied himself that the old -costume in question had been perfectly preserved by the naphthaline -balls which he was careful to renew from time to time, and was not in -the least moth-eaten or rusty. Again, since he had settled to go as -Antony, it was not perfectly straightforward to make allusion to -Falstaff. But after all, the speech expressed all he meant to say, and -it is only our most fortunate utterances that can do as much. Indeed, -perhaps it leaned over a little to the further side of expression, for -it struck Mrs. Ames at that moment (struck her as violently and -inexplicably as a cocoanut falling on her head) that the question of the -Venetian cloak had not come into her husband’s mind for the first time -that evening. She felt, without being able to explain her feeling, that -the idea of the fancy dress ball was not new to him. But it was -impossible to tax him with so profound a duplicity; indeed, when she -gave a moment’s consideration to the question, she dismissed her -suspicion. But the suspicion had been there. - -She met him quite half-way. - -“You have guessed quite right, Lyndhurst,” she said; “I think it would -be unkind to dear Millie if you and I did not go. I dare say she will -have difficulty enough as it is to make a gathering. I will write at -once.” - -This was soon done, and even as she wrote, poor Mrs. Ames’ vision of -herself grew more roseate in her mind. But she must burst upon her -husband, she must burst upon him. Supposing her preposterous suspicion -of a moment before was true, there was all the more need for bursting -upon him, for Cleopatraizing herself.... He, meantime, was wondering how -on earth to keep the secret of his costume and his hostess’s, should Amy -proceed to discuss costumes, or suggest the King and Queen of Denmark as -suitable for themselves. It might even be better to accept the situation -as such, and tell Mrs. Evans that his wife wanted to go as “a pair” (so -Mrs. Altham expressed it) and that it was more prudent to abandon the -idea of a stray Antony and a stray Cleopatra meeting on the evening -itself unpremeditatedly. But her next words caused all these -difficulties to disappear; they vanished as completely as a watch or a -rabbit under the wave of the conjurer’s wand. - -Mrs. Ames never licked envelopes; she applied water on a camel’s-hair -brush, from a little receptacle like a tear-bottle. - -“What nonsense, my dear Lyndhurst,” she said. “Fancy you going as -Falstaff! You must think of something better than that! Dear me, it is a -very bold idea of Millie’s, but really it seems to me that we might have -great fun. I do hope that all Riseborough will not talk their costumes -over together, so that we shall know exactly what to expect. There is -little point in a fancy dress ball unless there are some surprises. I -must think over my costume too. I am not so fortunate as to have one -ready.” - -She got up from the table, still with the roseate image of herself in -her mind. - -“I think I shall not tell you who I am going to be,” she said, “even -when I have thought of something suitable. I shall keep myself as a -surprise for you. And keep yourself as a surprise for me, Lyndhurst. -Let us meet for the first time in our costumes when the carriage is at -the door ready to take us to the party. Do you not think that would be -fun? But you must promise me, my dear, that you will not make yourself -up as Falstaff, or any old guy. Else I shall be quite ashamed of you.” - -He rang the bell effusively (the heartiness of the action was typical of -the welcome he gave to his wife’s suggestion), and ordered the note to -be sent. - -“By Jove! Amy,” he said, “what a one you always are for thinking of -things. And if you wish it, I’ll try to make a presentable figure of -myself, though I’m sure I should be more in place at home waiting for -your return to hear all about it. But I’ll do my best, I’ll do my best, -and I dare say the Venetian cloak isn’t so shabby after all. I have -always been careful to keep a bit of naphthaline in the box with it.” - - * * * * * - -Flirtation may not be incorrectly defined as making the pretence of -being in love, and yet it is almost too solid a word to apply to Major -Ames’ relations with Mrs. Evans during the week or two before the ball, -and it would be more accurate to say that he was making the pretence of -having a flirtation. Even as when he kissed her on that daring evening -already described, he was thinking entirely about himself and the -dashingness of this proceeding, so in the days that succeeded, this same -inept futility and selfsatisfaction possessed him. He made many secret -visits to the house, entering like a burglar, in the middle of the -afternoon, by an unfrequented passage from the railway cutting, at hours -when she told him that her husband and daughter would certainly be out, -and the secrecy of those meetings added spice to them. He felt--so -deplorable a frame of mind almost defies description--he felt a pleasing -sense of wickedness which was endorsed, so to speak, by the certificate -which attested to his complete innocence. As far as he was concerned, it -was a mere farce of a flirtation. But the farce filled him with a kind -of childish glee; he persuaded himself that his share in it was real, -and that by a tragic fate he and the woman who were made for each other -were forbidden to find the fruition of their affinity. It was an -adventure without danger, a mine without gunpowder. For even on two -occasions when he was paying one of these clandestine visits, Dr. Evans -had unexpectedly returned and found them together. The poor blind man, -it seemed, suspected nothing; indeed, his welcome had been extremely -cordial. - -“Good of you to come and help my wife over her party,” he said. “What -you’d do without Major Ames, little woman, I don’t know. Won’t you stop -for dinner, Major?” - -Then, after a suitable reply, and a digression to other matters, the -Major’s foolish eye would steal a look at Millie, and for a moment her -eyes would meet his, and flutter and fall. And considering that there -was not in all the world probably a worse judge of human nature than -Major Ames, it is a strange thing that his mental comment was -approximately true. - -“Dear little woman,” he said to himself; “she’s deuced fond of me!” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Jupiter Pluvius, or Mr. J. Pluvius, by which name Major Ames was -facetiously wont to allude to the weather, seemed amiably inclined to -co-operate with Mrs. Evans’ scheme, for the evening of her party -promised to be ideal for the purpose. The few days previous had been -very hot, and no particle of moisture lurked in the baked lawns, so that -her guests would be able to wander at will without risk of contracting -catarrh, or stains on such shoes as should prove to be white satin. -Moreover, by a special kindness of Providence, there was no moon, so -that the illumination of fairy-lights and Chinese lanterns would suffer -no dispiriting comparison with a more potent brightness. Over a large -portion of the lawn Mrs. Evans, at Major Ames’ suggestion (not having to -pay for these paraphernalia he was singularly fruitful in suggestions), -had caused a planked floor to be laid; here the opening procession and -quadrille and the subsequent dances would take place, while conveniently -adjacent was the mulberry-tree under shade of which were spread the more -material hospitalities. Tree and dancing-floor were copiously outlined -with lanterns, and straight rows of fairy-lights led to them from the -garden door of the house. Similarly outlined was the garden wall and the -hedge by the railway-cutting, while the band (piano, two strings and a -cornet of amazingly piercing quality) was to be concealed in the small -_cul-de-sac_ which led to the potting shed and garden roller. The -shrubbery was less vividly lit; here Hamlets and Rosalinds could stray -in sequestered couples, unharassed by too searching an illumination. -Major Ames had paid his last clandestine visit this afternoon, and had -expressed himself as perfectly pleased with the arrangements. Both Elsie -and the doctor had been there. - - * * * * * - -The party had been announced to begin at half-past ten, and it was -scarcely that hour when Mrs. Ames came downstairs from her bedroom where -she had so long been busy since the end of the early dinner. Her arms -were bare from finger-tip to her little round shoulders, over which were -clasped, with handsome cairngorm brooches, the straps of her long tunic. -But there was no effect of an excessive display of human flesh, since -her arms were very short, and in addition they were plentifully -bedecked. On one arm a metallic snake writhed from wrist to elbow, on -the other there was clasped above the elbow a plain circlet of some very -bright and shining metal. A net of blue beads altogether too magnificent -to be turquoises, was pinned over her unfaded hair, and from the front -of it there depended on her forehead a large pear-shaped pearl, -suggestive of the one which the extravagant queen subsequently dissolved -in vinegar. Any pearl, so scientists tell us, which is capable of -solution in vinegar must be a curious pearl; that which Mrs. Ames wore -in the middle of her forehead was curious also. Art had been specially -invoked, over and above the normal skin-food to-night, in the matter of -Mrs. Ames’ face, and a formal Egyptian eyebrow, as indicated in the -illustration to “Rameses” in the _Encyclopædia_, decorated in charcoal -the place where her own eyebrow once was. Below her eye a touch of the -same charcoal added brilliancy to the eye itself; several touches of -rouge contributed their appropriate splendour to her cheeks. - -The long tunic which was held up over her shoulders by the cairngorm -brooches, reached to her knee. It was a little tight, perhaps, but when -you have only one Arab shawl, shot with copious gold thread, you have to -make it go as far as it can, and after all, it went to her knees. A -small fold of it was looped up, and fell over her yellow girdle, it was -parted at the sides below the hips, and disclosed a skirt made of two -Arab shawls shot with silver, which, stitched together, descended to her -ankle. She did not mean to dance anything except the opening quadrille. -Below this silver-streaked skirt appeared, as was natural, her pretty -plump little feet. On them she wore sandals which exhibited their -plumpness and prettiness and smallness to the fullest extent. A correct -strap lay between the great toe and the next, and the straps were -covered with silver paper. For years Riseborough had known how small -were her shoes; to-night Riseborough should see that those shoes had -been amply large enough for what they contained. Round her neck, -finally, were four rows of magnificent pearl beads; no wonder Cleopatra -thought nothing of dissolving one pearl, when its dissolution would -leave intact so populous a company of similar treasures. - -As she came downstairs she heard a sudden noise in the drawing-room, as -if a heavy man had suddenly stumbled. It required no more ingenuity than -was normally hers to conjecture that Lyndhurst was already there, and -had tripped himself up in some novel accoutrement. And at that, a sudden -flush of excitement and anticipation invaded her, and she wondered what -he would be like. As regards herself she felt the profoundest confidence -in the success of her garniture. He could scarcely help being amazed, -delighted. And an emotion never keenly felt by her, but as such long -outworn, shook her and made her knees tremulous. She felt so young, so -daring. She wished that at this moment he would come out, for as she -descended the stairs he could not but see how small and soft were her -feet.... - -Almost before her wish was formed, it was granted. A well-smothered oath -succeeded the stumbling noise, and Major Ames, in white Roman toga and -tights came out into the hall. There was no vestige of Venetian cloak -about him; he was altogether different from what she had expected. A -profuse wig covered his head, the toga completely masked what the -exercise with the garden roller had not completely removed, and below, -his big calves rose majestic over his classical laced shoes. If ever -there was a Mark Antony with a military moustache, he was not in Egypt -nor in Rome, but here; by a divine chance, without consultation, he had -chosen for himself the character complementary to hers. He looked up and -saw her, she looked down and saw him. - -“Bless my soul,” he said. “Amy! Cleopatra!” - -She gave him a happy little smile. - -“Bless my soul,” she said. “Lyndhurst! Mark Antony!” - -There was a long and an awful pause. It was quite clear to her that -something had occurred totally unexpected. She had wanted to be -unexpected, but there was something wrong about the quality of his -surprise. Then such manliness as there was in him came to his aid. - -“Upon my word,” he said, “you have got yourself up splendidly, Amy. -Cleopatra now, pearls and all, and sandals! Why, you’ll take the shine -out of them all! Here we go, eh? Antony and Cleopatra! Who would have -thought of it! The cab’s round, dear. We had better be starting, if -we’re to take part in the procession. Not want a cloak or anything? -Antony and Cleopatra; God bless my soul!” - -That was sufficient to allay the immediate embarrassment. True, he had -not been knocked over by this apparition of her in the way she had -meant, and the astonished pause, she was afraid, was not one of -surrendering admiration. And yet, perhaps, he was feeling shy, even as -she was; standing here in all this splendour of shining pantomime he -might well feel her to be as strange to him, as she felt him to be to -her. Moreover, she had not only to look Cleopatra, but to be Cleopatra, -to behave herself with the gaiety and youth which her appearance gave -him the right to expect. In the meantime he also had earned her -compliments, for no man who thinks it worth while to assume a fancy -dress has a soul so unhuman as to be unappreciative of applause. - -She fell back a step or two to regard him comprehensively. - -“My dear,” she said, “you are splendid; that toga suits you to -admiration. And your arms look so well coming out of the folds of it. -What great strong arms, Lyndhurst! You could pick up your little -Cleopatra and carry her back--back to Egypt so easily.” - -Something of their irresponsibility which, as by a special Providence, -broods over the audacity of assuming strange guises, descended on her. -She could no more have made such a speech to him in her ordinary -morning-clothes, nor yet in the famous rose-coloured silk, than she -could have flown. But now her costume unloosed her tongue. And despite -the dreadful embarrassment that he knew would await him when they got to -the party, and a second Cleopatra welcomed them, this intoxication of -costume (liable, unfortunately, to manifest itself not only in _vin -gai_) mounted to his head also. - -“_Ma reine!_” he said, feeling that French brought them somehow closer -to the appropriate Oriental atmosphere. - -She held up her skirt with one hand, and gave him the other. - -“We must be off, my Antony,” she said. - -They got into the cab; a somewhat jaded-looking horse was lashed into a -slow and mournful trot, and they rattled away down the hard, dry road. - -A queue of carriages was already waiting to disembark its cargoes when -they drew near the house, and leaning furtively and feverishly from the -window, Mrs. Ames saw a Hamlet or two and some Titanias swiftly and -shyly cross the pavement between two rows of the astonished proletariat. -Beside her in the cab her husband grunted and fidgeted; she guessed that -to him this entrance was of the nature of bathing on a cold day; however -invigorating might be the subsequent swim, the plunge was chilly. But -she little knew the true cause of his embarrassment and apprehension; -had his military career ever entailed (which it had not) the facing of -fire, it was probable, though his courage was of no conspicuous a kind, -that he would have met the guns with greater blitheness than he awaited -the moment that now inevitably faced him. Then came their turn; there -was a pause, and then their carriage door was flung open, and they -descended from the innocent vehicle that to him was as portentous as a -tumbril. In a moment Cleopatra would meet Cleopatra, and he could form -no idea how either Cleopatra would take it. The Cleopatra-hostess, as he -knew, was going to wear sandals also; snakes were to writhe up her long -white arms.... - -Mrs. Ames adjusted the pear-shaped pearl on her forehead. - -“I think if we say half-past one it will be late enough, Lyndhurst,” she -said. “If we are not ready he can wait.” - -It seemed to Lyndhurst that half-past one would probably be quite late -enough. - - * * * * * - -The assemblage of guests took place in the drawing-room which opened -into the garden; a waiter from the “Crown” inn, with a chin beard and -dressed in a sort of white surplice and carrying a lantern in his hand, -who might with equal reasonableness be supposed to be the Man in the -Moon out of the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, or a grave-digger out of -_Hamlet_, said “Character names, please, ma’am,” and preceded them to -the door of this chamber. He bawled out “Cleopatra and Mark Antony.” - -Another Cleopatra, a “different conception of this part,” as the _Kent -Chronicle_ said in its next issue, a Cleopatra dim and white and -willowy, advanced to them. She looked vexed, but as she ran her eyes up -and down Mrs. Ames’ figure, like a practised pianist playing a chromatic -scale, her vexation seemed completely to clear. - -“Dear Cousin Amy,” she said, “how perfectly lovely! I never -saw--Wilfred, make your bow to Cleopatra. And Antony! Oh, Major Ames!” - -Again she made the chromatic scale, starting at the top, so to speak -(his face), with a long note, and dwelling there again when she returned -to it. - -Other arrivals followed, and this particular Antony and Cleopatra -mingled with such guests as were already assembled. The greater part had -gathered, and Mrs. Ames’ habitual manner and bearing suited excellently -with her regal rôle. The Turner family, at any rate, who were standing a -little apart from the others, not being quite completely “in” -Riseborough society, and, feeling rather hot and feverish in the thick -brocaded stuffs suitable to Falstaff, Mistress Page and King Theseus, -felt neither more nor less uncomfortable when she made a few -complimentary remarks to them than they did when, with her fat -prayer-book in her hand, she spoke to them after church on Sunday. -Elsewhere young Morton, with a white face and a red nose, was the -traditional Apothecary, and Mrs. Taverner was so copiously apparalled as -Queen Catherine that she was looking forward very much indeed to the -moment when the procession should go forth into the greater coolness of -the night air. Then a stentorian announcement from the waiter at the -Crown made every one turn again to the door. - -“Antony and Cleopatra ten years later,” he shouted. - -There was a slight pause. Then entered Mr. and Mrs. Altham with -high-held hands clasped at finger-tips. They both stepped rather high, -she holding her skirt away from her feet, and both pointing their toes -as if performing a _pavanne_. This entry had been much rehearsed, and it -was arresting to the point of producing a sort of stupefaction. - -Mrs. Evans ran her eye up and down the pair, and was apparently -satisfied. - -“Dear Mrs. Altham,” she said, “how perfectly lovely! _And_ Mr. Altham. -But ten years later! You must not ask us to believe that.” - -She turned to her husband and spoke quickly, with a look on her face -less amiable than she usually wore in public. - -“Wilfred,” she said, “tell the band to begin the opening march at once -for the procession, in case there are any more----” - -But he interrupted-- - -“Here’s another, Millie,” he said cheerfully. “Yes, we’d better begin.” - -His speech was drowned by the voice of the brazen-lunged waiter. - -“Cleopatra!” he shouted. - -Mrs. Brooks entered with all the rows of seed-pearls. - - * * * * * - -Riseborough, if the census papers were consulted, might perhaps not -prove to have an abnormally large percentage of inhabitants who had -reached middle-age, but certainly in the festivities of its upper -circles, maturity held an overwhelming majority over youth. It was so -to-night, and of the half-hundred folk who thus masqueraded, there were -few who were not, numerically speaking, of thoroughly discreet years. -The diffused knowledge of this undoubtedly gave confidence to their -gaiety, for there was no unconscious standard of sterling youth by which -their slightly mature exhilaration could be judged and found deficient -in genuine and natural effervescence. Thus, despite the somewhat -untoward conjunction of four matronly Cleopatras, a spirit of -extraordinary gaiety soon possessed the entire party. Odious comparisons -might conceivably spring up mushroom-like to-morrow, and -(unmushroom-like) continue to wax and flourish through many days and -dinners, but to-night so large an environment of elderly people gave to -every one of those elderly people a pleasant sense of not suffering but -rather shining in comparison with the others. Even the Cleopatras -themselves were content; Mrs. Ames, for instance, saw how sensible it -was that Mrs. Altham should announce herself as a Cleopatra of ten years -later, while Mrs. Altham, observing Mrs. Ames, saw how supererogatory -her titular modesty had been, and wondered that Mrs. Ames cared to show -her feet like that, while Mrs. Brooks knew that everybody was mentally -contrasting her queenliness of height with Mrs. Ames’ paucity of inches, -and her abundance of beautiful hair with Mrs. Altham’s obvious wig. -While, all the time, Mrs. Evans, whom the appearance of a fourth -Cleopatra had considerably upset for the moment, felt that at this rate -she could easily continue being Cleopatra for more years than “the ten -after,” so properly assumed by Mrs. Altham. In the same way Major Ames, -with his six feet of solid English bone and muscle, and his fifth decade -of years still but half-consumed, felt that Mr. Altham had but provided -a scale of comparison uncommonly flattering to himself. Simultaneously, -Mr. Altham, with a laurel-wreath round his head, reflected how -uncomfortable he would have felt if his laurel-wreath was anchored on no -sounder a foundation than a wig, and wondered if gardening (on the -principle that all flesh is grass) invariably resulted in so great a -growth of tissue. But all these pleasant self-communings were, indeed, -but a minor tributary to the real river of enjoyment that danced and -chattered through the starlit hours of this July night. Somehow the -whole assembly seemed to have shifted off themselves the natural and -inevitable burden of their years; they danced and mildly flirted, they -sat out in the dim shrubbery, and played on the sea-shore of life again, -finding the sand-castles had become real once more. Mrs. Ames, for -instance, had intended to dance nothing but the opening quadrille, but -before the second dance, which was a waltz, had come to a close, she had -accepted Mr. Altham’s offer, and was slowly capering round with him. A -little care was necessary in order not to put too unjust a strain on the -sandal straps, but she exercised this precaution, and was sorry, though -hot, when the dance came to an end. Then Major Ames, who had been -piloting Mrs. Altham, joined them at the moselle-cup table. - -“‘Pon my word, Altham,” he said, “I don’t know what to say to you. -You’ve taken my Cleopatra, but then I’ve taken yours. Exchange no -robbery, hey?” - -His wife tapped him on the arm with her palmette fan. - -“Lyndhurst, go along with you!” she said, employing an expression, the -mental equivalent of which she did not know ever existed in her mind. - -“I’ll go along,” he said. “But which is my Cleopatra?” - -At the moment, Mrs. Evans approached. - -“My two Cleopatras must excuse me,” said this amazing man. “I am engaged -for this next dance to the Cleopatra of us all. Ha! Ha!” - -He offered his arm to Mrs. Evans, and they went out of the cave of the -mulberry-tree again. - -The band had not yet struck up for the next dance, the majority of the -guests were flocking under the mulberry-tree at the conclusion of the -last, and for the moment they had the cool starlit dusk to themselves. -And then, all at once, the Major’s sense of boisterous enjoyment -deserted him; he felt embarrassed with a secret knowledge that he was -expected to say something in tune with this privacy. How that -expectation was conveyed he hardly knew; the slight pressure on his arm -seemed to announce it unmistakably. It reminded him that he was a man, -and yet with all that gaiety and gallantry that were so conspicuous a -feature in his behaviour to women in public, he felt awkward and ill at -ease. He embarked on a course of desperate and fulsome eulogy, longing -in his private soul for the band to begin. - -“‘Pon my soul, you are an enchantress, Millie!” he said. “You come to -our staid, respectable old Riseborough, and before you have been here -six months you take us all into fairyland. Positively fairyland. -And--and I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as to-night.” - -“Let us stroll all round the garden,” she said. “I want you to see it -all now it is lit up. And the shrubbery is pretty, too, with--with the -filter of starlight coming through the trees. Do tell me truthfully, -like a friend, is it going all right? Are they enjoying themselves?” - -“Kicking up their heels like two-year-olds,” said Major Ames. - -“How wicked of you to say that! But really I had one bad moment, -when--when the last Cleopatra came in.” - -She paused a moment. Then in her clear, silky voice-- - -“Dear old things!” she said. - -Now Mrs. Evans was not in any way a clever woman, but had she had the -brains and the wit of Cleopatra herself, she could not have spoken three -more consummately chosen words. All the cool, instinctive confidence of -a younger woman, and a pretty woman speaking of the more elderly and -plain was there; there, too, was the deliberate challenge of the -coquette. And Major Ames was quite helpless against the simplicity of -such art. Mere manners, the ordinary code of politeness, demanded that -he should agree with his hostess. Besides, though he was not in any way -in love with her, he could not resist the assumption that her words -implied, and, after all, she was a pretty woman, whom he had kissed, and -he was alone in the star-hung dusk with her. - -“Poor dear Amy!” he said. - -Millie Evans gave a soft little sigh, as of a contented child. He had -expressed with the most ruthless accuracy exactly what she wished him to -feel. Then, in the manner of a woman whose nature is warped throughout -by a slight but ingrained falsity, she spoke as if it was not she who -had prompted the three words which she had almost made him say. - -“She is enjoying herself so,” she said. “I have never seen Cousin Amy -look so thoroughly pleased and contented. I thought she looked so -charming, too, and what dear, plump little feet she has. But, my dear, -it was rather a surprise when you and she were announced. It looked as -if this poor Cleopatra was going to be Antony-less! Dear me, what a -word.” - -Here was a more direct appeal, and again Major Ames was powerless in her -soft clutch. Hers was not exactly an iron hand in a velvet glove, but a -hand made of fly-catching paper. She had taken her glove off now. And he -was beginning to stick to her. - -“Pshaw!” he said. - -That, again, had a perfectly satisfactory sound to her ears. The very -abruptness and bluffness of it pleased her more than any protestation -could have done. He was so direct, so shy, so manly. - -She laughed softly. - -“Hush, you mustn’t say those things,” she said. “Ah, there is the band -beginning, and it is our dance. But let us just walk through the -shrubbery before we go back. The dusk and quiet are such a relief after -the glare. Lyndhurst--ah, dear me. Cousin Lyndhurst I ought to say--you -really must not go home till my little dance is quite finished. You make -things go so well. Dear Wilfred is quite useless to me. Does he not look -an old darling as Timon of Athens? A sort of mixture between George the -Fourth in tights and a lion-tamer.” - -Mrs. Evans was feeling more actively alive to-night than she had felt -for years. Her tongue, which was generally a rather halting adjutant to -her glances and little sinuous movements, was almost vivified to wit. -Certainly her description of her husband had acuteness and a sense of -the ludicrous to inspire it. Through the boughs of laburnums in the -shrubbery they could see him now, escorting the tallest and oldest -Cleopatra, who was Mrs. Brooks, to the end of the garden. Dimly, through -the curtain of intervening gloom, they saw the populous wooden floor -that had been laid down on the grass; Mrs. Ames--the dance was a -polka--was frankly pirouetting in the arms of a redoubtable Falstaff. -Mrs. Altham was wrestling with the Apothecary, and Elsie Evans, one of -the few young people present, was vainly trying to galvanize General -Fortescue, thinly disguised as Henry VII, into some semblance of -activity. - -Mrs. Evans gave another sigh, a sigh of curious calibre. - -“It all seems so distant,” she said. “All the lights and dancing are -less real than the shadows and the stillness.” - -That was not quite extemporaneous; she had thought over something of the -sort. It had the effect of making Major Ames feel suddenly hot with an -anxious kind of heat. He was beginning to perceive the truth of that -which he had foppishly imagined in his own self-communings, namely, that -this “poor little lady” was very, very much attached to him. He had -often dwelt on the thought before with odious self-centred satisfaction; -now the thought was less satisfactory; it was disquieting and mildly -alarming. Like the fly on the fly-paper, with one leg already englued, -he put down a second to get leverage with which to free the first, and -found that it was adhering also. - -Mrs. Evans spoke again. - -“I took such pleasure in all the preparations,” she said. “You were so -much interested in it all. Tell me, Cousin Lyndhurst, that you are not -disappointed.” - -It was hardly possible for him to do less than what he did. What he did -was little enough. He pressed the arm that lay in his rather close to -his white toga, and an unwonted romanticism of speech rose to his lips. - -“You have enchanted me,” he said. “Me, us, all of us.” - -She gave a little laugh; in the dusk it sounded no louder than a breeze -stirring. - -“You needn’t have added that,” she said. - -Where she stood a diaper of light and shadow played over her. A little -spray of laburnum between her face and the lights on the lawn outside, -swaying gently in a breeze that had gone astray in this calm night, cast -wavering shadows over her. Now her arms shone white under freckles of -shadow, now it was her face that was a moon to him. Or again, both -would be in shade and a diamond star on her bright yellow hair -concentrated all the light into itself. All the elusive mysterious charm -of her womanhood was there, made more real by the fantastic setting. He -was kindled to a greater warmth than he had yet known, but, all the -time, some dreadful creature in his semi-puritanical semi-immoral brain, -told him that this was all “devilish naughty.” He was as unused to such -scruples as he was unused to such temptations, and in some curious -fashion he felt as ashamed of the one as he felt afraid of the other. At -length he summed up the whole of these despicable conclusions. - -“Will you give me just one kiss, Millie!” he said; “just one -cousin-kiss, before we go and dance?” - - * * * * * - -Such early worms next morning in Major Ames’ garden as had escaped the -early bird, must certainly have all been caught and laid out flat by the -garden roller, so swift and incessant were its journeyings. For though -the dawn had overspread the sky with the hueless tints of approaching -day when Antony and Cleopatra were charioteered home again by a -somnolent cabman; though Major Ames’ repose had been of the most -fragmentary kind, and though breakfast, in anticipation of late hours, -had been ordered the night before at an unusual half-past nine, he found -his bed an intolerable abode by seven o’clock, and had hoped to -expatriate somewhat disquieting thoughts from his mind by the -application of his limbs to severe bodily exertion. - -He and his wife had been the last guests to leave; indeed, after the -others had gone they lingered a little, smoking a final cigarette. Even -Mrs. Ames had been persuaded to light one, but a convulsive paroxysm of -coughing, which made the pear-shaped pearl to quiver and shake like an -aspen-leaf, led her to throw it away, saying she enjoyed it very much. -He had danced with Mrs. Evans three or four times; three or four times -they had sat in the cool darkness of the shrubbery, and he had said to -her several things which at the moment it seemed imperative to say, but -which he did not really mean. But as the evening went on he had meant -them more; she had a helpless, childlike charm about her that began to -stir his senses. And yet below that childlike confiding manner he was -dimly aware that there was an eager woman’s soul that sought him. Her -charm was a weapon; a very efficient will wielded it. All the same, he -reflected as the honest dews of toil poured from his forehead this -morning in the hot early sunlight, he had not said very much ... he had -said that Riseborough was a different place since she--or had he said -“they”? had come there; that her eyes looked black in the starlight, -that--honestly, he could not remember anything more intimate than this. -But that which had made his bed intolerable was the sense that the -situation had not terminated last night, that his boat, so to speak, had -not been drawn up safely ashore, but was still in the midst of -accelerating waters. And yet it was in his own power to draw the boat -ashore at any moment; he had but to take a decisive stroke to land, to -step out and beach it, to return--surely it was not difficult--to his -normal thoughts and activities. For years his garden, his club, his -domestic concerns, his daily paper, had provided him with a sufficiency -of pursuits; he had but to step back into their safe if monotonous -circle, and look upon these disturbances as episodic. But already he had -ceased to think of Mrs. Evans as “dear little woman” or “poor little -woman”; somehow it seemed as if she had got her finger--to use a prosaic -metaphor--into his works. She was prodding about among the internal -wheels and springs of his mechanism. Yet that was stating his case too -strongly; it was that of contingency that he was afraid. But with the -curious irresponsibility of a rather selfish and unimaginative man, the -fact that he had allowed himself to prod about in her internal mechanism -represented itself to him as an unimportant and negligible detail. It -was only when she began prodding about in him, producing, as it were, -extraordinary little whirrings and racings of wheels that had long gone -slow and steady, that he began to think that anything significant was -occurring. But, after all, there was nothing like a pull at the garden -roller for giving a fellow an appetite for breakfast and for squashing -worms and unprofitable reflections. - -Though half-past nine had seemed “late enough for anybody,” as Mrs. Ames -had said the evening before, it was not till nearly ten that she put an -extra spoonful of tea into her silver teapot, for she felt that she -needed a more than usually fortifying beverage, to nullify her -disinclination for the day’s routine. The sight of her Cleopatra costume -also, laid upon the sofa in her bedroom, and shone upon by a cheerful -and uncompromising summer sun, had awakened in her mind a certain -discontent, a certain sense of disappointment, of age, of grievance. The -gilt paper had moulted off one of the sandal-straps, a spilt dropping of -strawberry-ice made a disfiguring spot on the tunic of Arab shawl, and -she herself felt vaguely ungilded and disfigured. - -The cigarette, too--she had so often said in the most liberal manner -that she did not think it wicked of women to smoke, but only horrid. -Certainly she did not feel wicked this morning, but as certainly she -felt disposed to consider anybody else horrid, and--and possibly wicked. -Decidedly a cup of strong tea was indicated. - -Major Ames had gone upstairs again to have his bath, and to dress after -his exercise in the garden, and came down a few minutes later, smelling -of soap, with a jovial boisterousness of demeanour that smelt of -unreality. - -“Good-morning, my dear Amy,” he said. “And how do you feel after the -party? I’ve been up a couple of hours; nothing like a spell of exercise -to buck one up after late hours.” - -“Will you have your tea now, Lyndhurst?” she asked. - -“Have it now, or wait till I get it, eh? I’ll have it now. Delicious! I -always say that nobody makes tea like you.” - -Now boisterous spirits at breakfast were not usual with Major Ames, and, -as has been said, his wife easily detected a false air about them. Her -vague sense of disappointment and grievance began to take more solid -outlines. - -“It is delightful to see you in such good spirits, Lyndhurst,” she -observed, with a faint undertone of acidity. “Sitting up late does not -usually agree with you.” - -There was enough here to provoke repartee. Also his superficial -boisterousness was rapidly disappearing before his wife’s acidity, like -stains at the touch of ammonia. - -“It does not, in this instance, seem to have agreed with you, my dear,” -he said. “I hope you have not got a headache. It was unwise of you to -stop so late. However, no doubt we shall feel better after breakfast. -Shall I give you some bacon? Or will you try something that appears to -be fish?” - -“A little kedjeree, please,” said Mrs. Ames, pointedly ignoring this -innuendo on her cook. - -“Kedjeree, is it? Well, well, live and learn.” - -“If you have any complaint to make about Jephson,” said she, “pray do -so.” - -“No, not at all. One does not expect a _cordon bleu_. But I dare say -Mrs. Evans pays no more for her cook than we do, and look at the supper -last night.” - -“I thought the quails were peculiarly tasteless,” said Mrs. Ames; “and -if you are to be grand and have _pêches à la Melba_, I should prefer to -offer my guests real peaches and proper ice-cream, instead of tinned -peaches and custard. I say nothing about the champagne, because I -scarcely tasted it.” - -“Well then, my dear, I’m sure you are quite right not to criticize it. -All I can say is that I never want to eat a better supper.” - -Suddenly Mrs. Ames became aware that another piece of solid outline had -appeared round her vague discontent and reaction. - -“No doubt you think that all Millie’s arrangements are perfect in every -way,” she observed. - -“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said he, rather hotly; “but I do -know that when a woman has been putting herself to all that trouble and -expense to entertain her friends, her friends would show a nicer spirit -if they refrained from carping and depreciating her.” - -“No amount of appreciation would make tinned peaches fresh, or turn -custard into ice-cream,” said Mrs. Ames, laying down the fork with which -she had dallied with the kedjeree, which indeed was but a sordid sort of -creation. “It is foolish to pretend that a thing is perfect when it is -not. Nor do I consider her manners as a hostess by any means perfect. -She looked as cross as two sticks when poor Mrs. Brooks appeared. I -suppose she thought that nobody had a right to be Cleopatra besides -herself. To be sure poor Mrs. Brooks looked very silly, but if everybody -who looked silly last night should have stayed away, there would not -have been much dancing done.” - -She took several more sips of the strong tea, while he unfolded and -appeared engrossed in the morning paper, and under their stimulating -influence saw suddenly and distinctly how ill-advised was her attack. -She had yielded to temporary ill-temper, which is always a mistake. It -was true that in her mind she was feeling that Lyndhurst last night had -spent far too much with his hostess; in a word, she felt jealous. It -was, therefore, abominably stupid, from a merely worldly point of view, -to criticize and belittle Millie to him. If there was absolutely no -ground for her jealousy--which at present was but a humble little green -bud--such an attack was uncalled for; if there was ground it was most -foolish, at this stage, at any rate, to give him the least cause for -suspecting that it existed. But she was wise enough now, not to hasten -to repair her mistake, but to repair it slowly and deliberately, as if -no repair was going on at all. - -“But I must say the garden looked charming,” she said after a pause. -“Did she tell you, Lyndhurst, whether it was she or her husband who saw -to the lighting? The scheme was so comprehensive; it took in the whole -of the lawn; there was nothing patchy about it. I suspect Dr. Evans -planned it; it looked somehow more like a man’s work.” - -A look of furtive guilt passed over the Major’s face; luckily it was -concealed by the _Daily Mail_. - -“No; Evans told me himself that he had nothing to do with it,” he said. -“It was pretty, I thought; very pretty.” - -“If the nights continue hot,” said she, “it would be nice to have the -garden illuminated one night, if dear Millie did not think we were -appropriating her ideas. I do not think she would; she is above that -sort of thing. Well, dear, I must go and order dinner. Have you any -wishes?” - -Clearly it was wiser, from the Major’s point of view, to accept this -bouquet of olive branches. After all, Amy was far too sensible to -imagine that there could be anything to rouse the conjugal watch-dog. -Nor was there; hastily he told himself that. A cousinly kiss, which at -the moment he would willingly have foregone. - -Certainly last night he had been a little super-stimulated. There was -the irresponsibility of fancy dress, there was the knowledge that Millie -was not insensitive to him; there was the sense of his own big, shapely -legs in tights, there was dancing and lanterns, and all had been potent -intoxicants to Riseborough, which for so long had practised teetotalism -with regard to such excitements. Amy herself had been so far carried -away by this effervescence of gaiety as to smoke a cigarette, and Heaven -knew how far removed from her ordinary code of conduct was such an -adventure. Generously, he had forborne to brandish that cigarette as a -weapon against her during this acrimonious episode at breakfast, and he -had no conscious intention of hanging it, like Damocles’ sword over her -head, in case she pursued her critical and carping course against -Millie. But whatever he had said last night, she had done that. Without -meaning to make use of his knowledge, he knew it was in his power to do -so. What would not Mrs. Altham, for instance, give to be informed by an -eye-witness that Mrs. Ames had blown--it was no more than that--on the -abhorred weed? So, conscious of a position that he could make offensive -at will, he accepted the olive branch, and suggested a cold curry for -lunch. - - * * * * * - -Breakfast at Mrs. Altham’s reflected less complicated conditions of -mind. Both she and her husband were extremely pleased with themselves, -and in a state of passion with regard to everybody else. Since their -attitude was typical of the view that Riseborough generally took of last -night’s festivity, it may be given compendiously in a rhetorical flight -of Mrs. Altham’s, with which her husband was in complete accord. - -In palliation, it may be mentioned that they had both partaken of large -quantities of food at an unusual hour. It is through the body that the -entry is made by the subtle gateways of the soul, and vitriolic comments -in the morning are often the precise equivalent of unusual indulgence -the night before. - -“Well, I’m sure if I had known,” said Mrs. Altham, “I should not have -taken the trouble I did. Of course, everybody said ‘How lovely your -dress is,’ simply to make one say the same to them. And I never want to -hear the word Cleopatra again, Henry, so pray don’t repeat it. Fancy -Mrs. Ames appearing as Cleopatra, and us taking the trouble to say we -were Antony and Cleopatra ten years later! Twenty years before would -have been more the date if we had known. Perhaps I am wrong, but when a -woman arrives at Mrs. Ames’ time of life, whether she dyes her hair or -not, she is wiser to keep her feet concealed, not to mention what she -must have looked like in the face of half the tradesmen of Riseborough -who were lining the pavements when she stepped out of her cab. I thought -I heard a great roar of laughter as we were driving up the High Street; -I should not wonder if it was the noise of them all laughing as she got -out of her carriage. Of course, it was all very prettily done, as far as -poor Mrs. Evans was concerned, but I wonder that Dr. Evans likes her to -spend money like that, for, however unsuitable the supper was, I feel -sure it was very expensive, for it was all truffles and aspic. There -must have been a sirloin of beef in the cup of soup I took between two -of the dances, and strong soup like that at dead of night fills one up -dreadfully. And Mrs. Brooks appearing as another Cleopatra, after all I -had said about Hermione! Well, I’m sure if she chooses to make a silly -of herself like that, it is nobody’s concern but hers. She looked like -nothing so much as a great white mare with the staggers. If you are -going up to the club, Henry, I should not wonder if I came out with you. -It seems to me a very stuffy morning, and a little fresh air would do me -good. As for the big German ruby in your cap, I don’t believe a soul -noticed it. They were all looking at Mrs. Evans’ long white arms. Poor -thing, she is probably very anæmic; I never saw such pallor. I saw -little of her the whole evening. She seemed to be popping in and out of -the shrubbery like a rabbit all the time with Major Ames. I should not -wonder if Mrs. Ames was giving him a good talking-to at this moment.” - -Then, like all the rest of Riseborough, and unlike the scorpion, there -was a blessing instead of a sting in her tail. - -“But certainly it was all very pretty,” she said; “though it all seemed -very strange at the time. I can hardly believe this morning that we were -all dressed up like that, hopping about out of doors. Fancy dress balls -are very interesting; you see so much of human nature, and though I -looked the procession up and down, Henry, I saw nobody so well dressed -as you. But I suppose there is a lot of jealousy everywhere. And anyhow, -Mrs. Evans has quite ousted Mrs. Ames now. Nobody will talk about -anything but last night for the next fortnight, and I’m sure that when -Mrs. Ames had the conjurer who turned the omelette into the watch, we -had all forgotten about it three days afterwards. And after all, Mrs. -Evans is a very pleasant and hospitable woman, and I wouldn’t have -missed that party for anything. If you hear anything at the club about -her wanting to sell her Chinese lanterns and fairy-lights second-hand, -Henry, or if you find any reason to believe that she had hired them out -for the night from the Mercantile Stores, you might ask the price, and -if it is reasonable get a couple of dozen. If the weather continues as -hot as this we might illuminate the garden when we give our August -dinner-party. At least, I suppose Mrs. Evans does not consider that she -has a monopoly of lighting up gardens!” - -Henry found himself quite in accord with the spirit of this address. - -“I will remember, my dear,” he said; “if I hear anything said at the -club. I shall go up there soon, for I should not be surprised if most of -the members spent their morning there. I think I will have another cup -of tea.” - -“You have had two already,” said his wife. - -He was feeling a little irritable. - -“Then this will make three,” he observed. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Evans, finally, had breakfast in her room. When she came -downstairs, she found that her husband had already left the house on his -visits, which was a relief. She felt that if she had seen his cheerful -smiling face this morning, she would almost have hated it. - -She ordered dinner, and then went out into the garden. Workmen were -already there, removing the dancing-floor, and her gardener was -collecting the fairy-lights in trays, and carrying them indoors. Here -and there were charred, burnt places on the grass, and below the -mulberry-tree the _débris_ of supper had not yet been removed. But the -shrubbery, as last night, was sequestered and cool, and she sat for an -hour there on the garden bench overlooking the lawn. Little flakes of -golden sunlight filtered down through the foliage, and a laburnum, -delicate-sprayed, oscillated in the light breeze. She scarcely knew -whether she was happy or not, and she gave no thought to that. But she -felt more consciously alive than ever before. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Discussion about the fancy dress ball, as Mrs. Altham had said, was -paramount over all other topics for at least a fortnight after the -event, and the great question which annually became of such absorbing -interest during July--namely, as to where to spend August, was dwarfed -and never attained to its ordinary proportions till quite late on in the -month. These discussions did not, as a rule, bear fruit of any kind, -since, almost without exception, everybody spent August exactly where -August had been spent by him for the last dozen years or so, but it was -clearly wise to consider the problem afresh every year, and be prepared, -in case some fresh resort suggested itself, to change the habit of -years, or at least to consider doing so. The lists of hotels at the end -of Bradshaw, and little handbooks published by the South-Eastern Railway -were, as a rule, almost the only form of literature indulged in during -these evenings of July, and Mr. Altham, whose imagination was always -fired by pictures of ships, often studied the sailings of River Plate -steamers, and considered that the fares were very reasonable, especially -steerage. The fact that he was an appallingly bad sailor in no way -diminished the zest with which he studied their sailings and the prices -thereof. Subsequently he and Mrs. Altham always spent August at -Littlestone-on-Sea, in a completely detached villa called Blenheim, -where a capable Scotchwoman, who, to add colour to the illusion, -maintained that her name really was Churchill, boarded and lodged them -on solid food and feather beds. During July, it may be remarked, Mrs. -Altham usually contrived to quarrel with her cook, who gave notice. Thus -there was one mouth less to feed while they were away, and yearly, on -their return, they had the excitement of new and surprising confections -from the kitchen. - -Mrs. Ames, it may be remembered, had already enjoyed a fortnight’s -holiday at Overstrand this year, and the last week of July saw her still -disinclined to make holiday plans. They had taken a sort of bungalow -near Deal for the last year or two, which, among other advantages, was -built in such a manner that any remark made in any part of the house -could be heard in any other part of the house. It was enough almost for -her to say, as she finished dressing, “We are ready for breakfast,” to -hear Parker replying from the kitchen, “The kettle’s just on the boil, -ma’am.” This year, however, she had been late in inquiring whether it -was vacant for August, and she found, when her belated letter was -answered, that it was already engaged. - -This fact she broke to her husband and Harry, who had returned from -Cambridge with hair unusually wild and lank, with tempered indignation. - -“Considering how many years we have taken it,” she said, “I must say -that I think they should have told us before letting it over our heads -like this. But I always thought that Mrs. Mackenzie was a most grasping -sort of person who would be likely to take the first offer that turned -up, and I’m sure the house was never very comfortable. I have no doubt -we can easily find a better without much bother!” - -“My bedroom ceiling always leaked,” said Harry; “and there was nowhere -to write at!” - -Mrs. Ames had finished her breakfast and got up. She felt faintly in her -mind that after the fancy dress ball it was time for her to do something -original. Yet the whole idea was so novel.... Riseborough would be sure -to say that they had not been able to afford a holiday. But, after all, -that mattered very little. - -“I really don’t know why we always take the trouble to go away to an -uncomfortable lodging during August,” she said, “and leave our own -comfortable house standing vacant.” - -Major Ames, had he been a horse, would have pricked up his ears at this. -But the human ear being unadapted to such movements, he contented -himself with listening avidly. He had seen little of Millie this last -fortnight, and was beginning to realize how much he missed her presence. -Between them, it is true, they had come near to an intimacy which had -its dangers, which he really feared more than he desired, but he felt, -with that self-deception that comes so easily to those who know nothing -about themselves, that he was on his guard now. Meantime, he missed her, -and guessed quite truly that she missed him. And, poor prig, he told -himself that he had no right to cut off that which gave her pleasure. He -could be Spartan over his own affairs, if so minded, but he must not -play Lycurgus to others. And an idea that had privately occurred to him, -which at the time seemed incapable of realization, suddenly leaped into -the possible horizons. - -“And you always complain of the dampness of strange houses, Lyndhurst,” -she added; “and as Harry says, he has no place for writing and study. -Why should we go away at all? I am sure, after the excitement of the -last month, it would be a complete rest to remain here when everybody -else is gone. I have not had a moment to myself this last month, and I -should not be at all sorry to stop quietly here.” - -Major Ames knew with sufficient accuracy the influence he had over his -wife. He realized, that is to say, as far as regarded the present -instance, that slight opposition on his part usually produced a -corresponding firmness on hers. Accentuated opposition produced various -results; sometimes he won, sometimes she. But mild remonstrance always -confirmed her views in opposition to his. He had a plan of his own on -this occasion, and her determination to remain in Riseborough would -prove to be in alliance with it. Therefore he mildly remonstrated. - -“You would regret it before the month was out,” he said. “For me, I’m an -old campaigner, and I hope I can make myself comfortable anywhere. But -you would get bored before the end of August, Amy, and when you get -bored your digestion is invariably affected.” - -“I should like to stop in Riseborough,” said Harry. “I hate the sea.” - -“You will go wherever your mother settles to go, my boy,” said Major -Ames, still pursuing his plan. “If she wishes to go to Sheffield for -August, you and I will go too, and--and no doubt learn something useful -about cutlery. But don’t try stopping in Riseborough, my dear Amy. At -least, if you take my advice, you won’t.” - -Major Ames was not very intelligent, but the highest intelligence could -not have done better. He had learned the trick of slight opposition, -just as a stupid dog with a Conservative master can learn to growl for -Asquith by incessant repetition. When it has learned it, it does it -right. The Major had done it right on this occasion. - -“I do not see why Harry should not have a voice in the question of where -we spend his vacation,” she said. “Certainly your room at the bungalow, -Lyndhurst, was comfortable enough, but that was the only decent room in -the house. In any case we cannot get the bungalow for this August. Have -you any other plans as to where we should go?” - -There was room for a little more of his policy of opposition. - -“Well, now, Brighton,” he said. “Why not Brighton? There’s a club there; -I dare say I should get a little Bridge in the evening, and no doubt you -would pick up some acquaintances, Amy. I think the Westbournes went -there last year.” - -This remarkable reason for going to Brighton made Mrs. Ames almost -epigrammatic. - -“And then we could go on to Margate,” she remarked, “and curry favour -there.” - -“By all means, my dear,” said he. “I dare say the curry would be quite -inexpensive.” - -Mrs. Ames opened the door on to the verandah. - -“Pray let me know, Lyndhurst,” she said, “if you have any serious -proposition to make.” - -It was Major Ames’ custom to start work in the garden immediately after -breakfast, but this morning he got out one of his large-sized cheroots -instead (these conduced to meditation), and established himself in a -chair on the verandah. His mental development was not, in most regards, -of a very high or complex order, but he possessed that rather rare -attainment of being able to sit down and think about one thing to the -exclusion of others. With most of us to sit down and think about one -thing soon resolves itself into a confused survey of most other things; -Major Ames could do better than that, for he could, and on this occasion -did exclude all other topics from his mind, and at the end return, so to -speak, “bringing his sheaves with him.” He had made a definite and -reasonable plan. - - * * * * * - -Harry had communicated the interesting fact of his passion for Mrs. -Evans to the Omar Khayyam Club, and was, of course, bound to prosecute -his nefarious intrigue. He had already written several galloping lyrics, -a little loose in grammar and rhyme, to his enchantress, which he had -copied into a small green morocco note-book, the title-page of which he -had inscribed as “Dedicated to M. E.” This looked a Narcissus-like -proceeding to any one who did not remember what Mrs. Evans’ initials -were. This afternoon, feeling the poetic afflatus blowing a gale within -him, but having nothing definite to say, he decided to call on the -inspirer of his muse, in order to gather fresh fuel for his fire. -Arrayed in a very low collar, which showed the full extent of his rather -scraggy neck, and adorned with a red tie, for socialism was no less an -orthodoxy in the club than atheistic principles and illicit love, he set -secretly out, and had the good fortune to find the goddess alone, and -was welcomed with that rather timid, childlike deference that he had -found so adorable before. - -“But how good of you to come and see me,” she said, “when I’m sure you -must have so many friends wanting you. I think it is so kind.” - -Clearly she was timid; she did not know her power. Her eyes were bluer -than ever; her hair was of palest gold, “As I remembered her of old,” he -thought to himself, referring to the evening at the end of June. Indeed, -there was a poem dated June 28, rather a daring one. - -“The kindness is entirely on your side,” he said, “in letting me come, -and”--he longed to say--“worship,” but did not quite dare--“and have tea -with you.” - -“Dear me, that is a selfish sort of kindness,” she said. “Let us go into -the garden. I think it was very unkind of you, Mr. Harry, not to come to -my dance last week. But of course you Cambridge men have more serious -things to think about than little country parties.” - -“I thought about nothing else but your dance for days,” said he; “but my -tutor simply refused to let me come down for it. A narrow, pedantic -fellow, who I don’t suppose ever danced. Tell me about your dress; I -like to picture you in a fancy dress.” - -She could not help appearing to wish to attract. It was as much the -fault of the way her head was set on to her neck, of the colour of her -eyes, as of her mind. - -“Oh, quite a simple white frock,” she said; “and a few pearls. -They--they wanted me to go as Cleopatra. So silly--me with a grown-up -daughter. But my husband insisted.” - -The fancy dress ball had not been talked about at Mrs. Ames’ lately, and -he had heard nothing about it in the two days he had been at home. Both -his parents had reason for letting it pass into the region of things -that are done with. - -“Did mother and father go?” he asked. “I suppose they felt too old to -dress up?” - -“Oh, no. They came as Antony and Cleopatra. Have they not told you? -Cousin Amy looked so--so interesting. And your father was splendid as -Mark Antony.” - -“Then was Dr. Evans Mark Antony too?” asked Harry. - -“No; he was Timon of Athens.” - -“Then who was your Mark Antony?” he asked. - -Mrs. Evans felt herself flushing, and her annoyance at herself made her -awkward in the pouring out of tea. She felt that Harry’s narrow, -gimlet-like eyes were fixed on her. - -“See how stupid I am,” she said. “I have spilled your tea in the saucer. -Dear Mr. Harry, we had heaps of Cleopatras: Mrs. Altham was one, Mrs. -Brooks was another. We danced with Hamlets, and--and anybody.” - -But this crude, ridiculous youth, she felt, had some idea in his head. - -“And did father and mother dance together all the evening?” he asked. - -She felt herself growing impatient. - -“Of course not. Everybody danced with everybody. We had quadrilles; all -sorts of things.” - -Then, with the mistaken instinct that makes us cautious in the wrong -place, she determined to say a little more. - -“But your father was so kind to me,” she said. “He helped me with all -the arrangements. I could never have managed it except for him. We had -tremendous days of talking and planning about it. Now tell me all about -Cambridge.” - -But Harry was scenting a sonnet of the most remarkable character. It -might be called The Rivals, and would deal with a situation which the -Omar Khayyam Club would certainly feel to be immensely “parful.” - -“I suppose mother helped you, too?” he said. - -This was Byronic, lacerating. She had to suffer as well as he ... there -was a pungent line already complete. “But who had suffered as much as -me?” was the refrain. There were thrills in store for the Omar Khayyam -Club. After a sufficiency of yellow wine. - -“Cousin Amy was away,” said Mrs. Evans. “She was staying at Cromer till -just before my little dance. That is not far from Cambridge, is it? I -suppose she came over to see you.” - -Harry spared her, and did not press these questions. But enough had been -said to show that she had broken faith with him. “Rivals” could suitably -become quite incoherent towards the close. Incoherency was sometimes a -great convenience, for exclamatory rhymes were not rare. - -He smoothed the lank hair off his forehead, and tactfully changed the -subject. - -“And I suppose you are soon going away now,” he said. “I am lucky to -have seen you at all. We are going to stop here all August, I think. My -mother does not want to go away. Nor do I; not that they either of them -care about that.” - -Mrs. Evans’ slight annoyance with him was suddenly merged in interest. - -“How wise!” she said. “It is so absurd to go to stay somewhere -uncomfortably instead of remaining comfortably. I wish we were doing the -same. But my husband always has to go to Harrogate for a few weeks. And -he likes me to be with him. I shall think of you all and envy you -stopping here in this charming Riseborough.” - -“You like it?” asked Harry. - -“How should I not with so many delightful people being friendly to me? -Relations too; Cousin Amy, for instance, and Major Ames, and, let me -see, if Mrs. Ames is my cousin, surely you are cousin Harry?” - -Harry became peculiarly fascinating, and craned his long neck forward. - -“Oh, leave out the ‘cousin,’” he said. - -“How sweet of you--Harry,” she said. - -That, so to speak, extracted the poison-fangs from the projected -“Rivals,” and six mysterious postcards were placed by the author’s hand -in the pillar-box that evening. Each consisted of one mystic sentence. -“She calls me by my Christian name.” By a most convenient circumstance, -too apt to be considered accidental, there had here come to birth an -octo-syllabic line, of honeyed sweetness and simplicity. He was not slow -to take advantage of it, and the moon setting not long before daybreak -saw another completed gem of the M. E. series. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Evans that afternoon, like Major Ames that morning, “sat and -thought,” after Harry had left her. Independently of the fact that all -admirers, even the weirdest, always found welcome in her pale blue eyes, -she felt really grateful to Harry, for he had given her the information -on which she based a plan which was quite as sound and simple as Major -Ames’, and was designed to secure the same object. Since the night of -the fancy dress ball she had only seen him once or twice, and never -privately, and the greater vitality which, by the wondrous processes of -affinity, he had stirred in her, hungered for its sustenance. It cannot -be said that she was even now really conscious in herself of disloyalty -to her husband, or that she actually contemplated any breach of faith. -She had not at present sufficient force of feeling to imagine a decisive -situation; but she could at most lash her helm, so to speak, so that the -action of the wind would take her boat in the direction in which she -wished to go, and then sit idly on deck, saying that she was not -responsible for the course she was pursuing. The wind, the tide, the -currents were irresistibly impelling her; she had nothing to do with the -rudder, having tied it, she did not touch it. Like the majority in this -world of miserable sinners, she did not actively court the danger she -desired, but she hung about expectant of it. At the same time she kept -an anxious eye on the shore towards which she was driving. Was it really -coming closer? If so, why did she seem to have made no way lately? - -To-day her plan betokened a more active hand in what she thought of as -fate, but unfortunately, though it was as sound in itself as Major -Ames’, it was made independently and ignorantly of that which had -prompted his slight opposition this morning, so that, while each plan -was admirable enough in itself, the two, taken in conjunction, would, if -successful, result in a fiasco almost sublime in its completeness. The -manner of which was as follows. - -Elsie, it so happened, was not at home that evening, and she and her -husband dined alone, and strolled out in the garden afterwards. - -“You will miss your chess this evening, dear,” she said. “Or would it -amuse you to give me a queen and a few bishops and knights, and see how -long it takes you to defeat me? Or shall we spend a little cosy chatty -evening together? I hope no horrid people will be taken ill, and send -for you.” - -“So do I, little woman,” he said (she was getting to detest -appellation). “And as if I shouldn’t enjoy a quiet evening of talk with -you more than fifty games of chess! But, dear me, I shall be glad to get -away to Harrogate this year! I need a month of it badly. I shall -positively enjoy the foul old rotten-egg smell.” - -She gave a little shudder. - -“Oh, don’t talk of it,” she said. “It is bad enough without thinking of -it beforehand.” - -“Poor little woman! Almost a pity you are not gouty too. Then we should -both look forward to it.” - -She sat down on one of the shrubbery seats, and drew aside her skirts, -making room for him to sit beside her. - -“Yes, but as I am not gouty, Wilfred,” she said. “It is no use wishing I -was. And I do hate Harrogate so. I wonder----” - -She gave a little sigh and put her arm within his. - -“Well, what’s the little woman wondering now?” he asked. - -“I hardly like to tell you. You are always so kind to me that I don’t -know why I am afraid. Wilfred, would you think it dreadful of me, if I -suggested not going with you this year? I’m sure it makes me ill to be -there. You will have Elsie; you will play chess as usual with her all -evening. You see all morning you are at your baths, and you usually are -out bicycling all afternoon with her. I don’t think you know how I hate -it.” - -She had begun in her shy, tentative manner. But her voice grew more cold -and decided. She put forward her arguments like a woman who has thought -it all carefully over, as indeed she had. - -“But what will you do with yourself, my dear?” he said. “It seems a -funny plan. You can’t stop here alone.” - -She sat up, taking her hand from his arm. - -“Indeed, I should not be as lonely here as I am at Harrogate,” she said. -“We don’t know anybody there, and if you think of it, I am really alone -most of the time. It is different for you, because it is doing you good, -and, as I say, you are bicycling with Elsie all the afternoon, and you -play chess together in the evening.” - -A shade of trouble and perplexity came over the doctor’s face; the -indictment, for it was hardly less than that, was as well-ordered and -digested as if it had been prepared for a forensic argument. And the -calm, passionless voice went on. - -“Think of my day there,” she said, going into orderly detail. “After -breakfast you go off to your baths, and I have to sit in that dreadful -sitting-room while they clear the things away. Even a hotel would be -more amusing than those furnished lodgings; one could look at the people -going in and out. Or if I go for a stroll in the morning, I get tired, -and must rest in the afternoon. You come in to lunch, and go off with -Elsie afterwards. That is quite right; the exercise is good for you, but -what is the use of my being there? There is nobody for me to go to see, -nobody comes to see me. Then we have dinner, and I have the excitement -of learning where you and Elsie have been bicycling. You two play chess -after dinner, and I have the excitement of being told who has won. Here, -at any rate, I can sit in a room that doesn’t smell of dinner, or I can -sit in the garden. I have my own books and things about me, and there -are people I know whom I can see and talk to.” - -He got up, and began walking up and down the path in front of the bench -where they had been sitting, his kindly soul in some perplexity. - -“Nothing wrong, little woman?” he asked. - -“Certainly not. Why should you think that? I imagine there is reason -enough in what I have told you. I do get so bored there, Wilfred. And I -hate being bored. I am sure it is not good for me, either. Try to -picture my life there, and see how utterly different it is from yours. -Besides, as I say, it is doing you good all the time, and as you -yourself said, you welcome the thought of that horrible smelling water.” - -He still shuffled up and down in the dusk. That, too, got on her nerves. - -“Pray sit down, Wilfred,” she said. “Your walking about like that -confuses me. And surely you can say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to me. If you insist -on my going with you, I shall go. But I shall think it very unreasonable -of you.” - -“But I can’t say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ like that, little woman,” he said. “I -don’t imagine you have thought how dull Riseborough will be during -August. Everybody goes away, I believe.” - -For a moment she thought of telling him that the Ames’ were going to -stop here: then, with entirely misplaced caution, she thought wiser to -keep that to herself. She, guilty in the real reason for wishing to -remain here, though coherent and logical enough in the account she had -given him of her reason, thought, grossly wronging him, that some seed -of suspicion might hereby enter her husband’s mind. - -“There is sure to be some one here,” she said. “The Althams, for -instance, do not go away till the middle of August.” - -“You do not particularly care for them,” said he. - -“No, but they are better than nobody. All day at Harrogate I have -nobody. It is not companionship to sit in the room with you and Elsie -playing chess. Besides, the Westbournes will be at home. I shall go over -there a great deal, I dare say. Also I shall be in my own house, which -is comfortable, and which I am fond of. Our lodgings at Harrogate -disgust me. They are all oilcloth and plush; there is nowhere to sit -when they are clearing away.” - -His face was still clouded. - -“But it is so odd for a married woman to stop alone like that,” he said. - -“I think it is far odder for her husband to want her to spend a month of -loneliness and boredom in lodgings,” she said. “Because I have never -complained, Wilfred, you think I haven’t detested it. But on thinking it -over it seems to me more sensible to tell you how I detest it, and ask -you that I shouldn’t go.” - -He was silent a moment. - -“Very well, little woman,” he said at length. “You shall do as you -please.” - -Instantly the cold precision of her speech changed. She gave that little -sigh of conscious content with which she often woke in the morning, and -linked her arm into his again. - -“Ah, that is dear of you,” she said. “You are always such a darling to -me.” - -He was not a man to give grudging consents, or spoil a gift by offering -it except with the utmost cordiality. - -“I only hope you’ll make a great success of it, little woman,” he said. -“And it must be dull for you at Harrogate. So that’s settled, and we’re -all satisfied. Let us see if Elsie has come in yet.” - -She laughed softly. - -“You are a dear,” she said again. - - * * * * * - -Wilfred Evans was neither analytical regarding himself nor curious about -analysis that might account for the action of others. Just as in his -professional work he was rather old-fashioned, but eminently safe and -sensible, so in the ordinary conduct of his life he did not seek for -abstruse causes and subtle motives. It was quite enough for him that his -wife felt that she would be excruciatingly bored at Harrogate, and less -acutely desolate here. On the other hand, it implied violation of one of -the simplest customs of life that a wife should be in one place and her -husband in another. That was vaguely disquieting to him. Disquieting -also was the cold, precise manner with which she had conducted her case. -A dozen times only, perhaps, in all their married life had she assumed -this frozen rigidity of demeanour; each time he had succumbed before it. -In the ordinary way, if their inclinations were at variance, she would -coax and wheedle him into yielding or, though quietly adhering to her -own opinion, she would let him have his way. But with her calm rigidity, -rarely assumed, he had never successfully combated; there was a -steeliness about it that he knew to be stronger than any opposition he -could bring to it. Nothing seemed to affect it, neither argument nor -conjugal command. She would go on saying “I do not agree with you,” in -the manner of cool water dripping on a stone. Or with the same -inexorable quietness she would repeat, “I feel very strongly about it: I -think it very unkind of you.” And a sufficiency of that always had -rendered his opposition impotent: her will, when once really aroused, -seemed to paralyse his. Once or twice her line had turned out -conspicuously ill. That seemed to make no difference: the cold, precise -manner was on higher plane than the material failure which had resulted -therefrom. She would merely repeat, “But it was the best thing to do -under the circumstances.” - -In this instance he wondered a little that she had used this manner over -a matter that seemed so little vital as the question of Harrogate, but -by next morning he had ceased to concern himself further with it. She -was completely her usual self again, and soon after breakfast set off to -accomplish some little errands in the town, looking in on him in his -laboratory to know if there were any commissions she could do for him. -His eye at the moment was glued to his microscope: a culture of -staphylococcus absorbed him, and without looking up, he said-- - -“Nothing, thanks, little woman.” - -He heard her pause: then she came across the room to him, and laid her -cool hand on his shoulder. - -“Wilfred, you are such a dear to me,” she said. “You’re not vexed with -me?” - -He interrupted his observations, and put his arm round her. - -“Vexed?” he said. “I’ll tell you when I’m vexed.” - -She smiled at him, dewily, timidly. - -“That’s all right, then,” she said. - -So her plan was accomplished. - - * * * * * - -The affair of the staphylococcus did not long detain the doctor, and -presently after Major Ames was announced. He had come to consult Dr. -Evans with regard to certain gouty symptoms into which the doctor -inquired and examined. - -“There’s nothing whatever to worry about,” he said, after a very short -investigation. “I should recommend you to cut off alcohol entirely, and -not eat meat more than once a day. A fortnight’s dieting will probably -cure you. And take plenty of exercise. I won’t give you any medicine. -There is no use in taking drugs when you can produce the same effect by -not taking other things.” - -Major Ames fidgeted and frowned a little. - -“I was thinking,” he said at length, “of taking myself more thoroughly -in hand than that. I’ve never approved of half-measures, and I can’t -begin now. If a tooth aches have it out, and be done with it. No -fiddling about for me. Now my wife does not want to go away this August, -and it seemed to me that it would be a very good opportunity for me to -go, as you do, I think, and take a course of waters. Get rid of the -tendency, don’t you know, eradicate it. What do you say to that? -Harrogate now; I was thinking of Harrogate, if you approved. Harrogate -does wonders for gout, does it not?” - -The doctor laughed. - -“I am certainly hoping that Harrogate will do wonders for me,” he said. -“I go there every year. And no doubt many of us who are getting on in -years would be benefited by it. But your symptoms are very slight. I -think you will soon get rid of them if you follow the course I suggest.” - -But Major Ames showed a strange desire for Harrogate. - -“Well, I like to do things thoroughly,” he said. “I like getting rid of -a thing root and branch, you know. You see I may not get another -opportunity. Amy likes me to go with her on her holiday in August, but -there is no reason why I should stop in Riseborough. I haven’t spoken to -her yet, but if I could say that you recommended Harrogate, I’m sure she -would wish me to go. Indeed, she would insist on my going. She is often -anxious about my gouty tendencies, more anxious, as I often tell her, -than she has any need to be. But an aunt of hers had an attack which -went to her heart quite unexpectedly, and killed her, poor thing. I -think, indeed, it would be a weight off Amy’s mind if she knew I was -going to take myself thoroughly in hand, not tinker and peddle about -with diet only. So would you be able to recommend me to go to -Harrogate?” - -“A course of Harrogate wouldn’t be bad for any of us who eat a good -dinner every night,” said Dr. Evans. “But I think that if you tried----” - -Major Ames got up, waving all further discussion aside. - -“That’s enough, doctor,” he said. “If it would do me good, I know Amy -would wish me to go; you know what wives are. Now I’m pressed for time -this morning, and so I am sure are you. By the way, you needn’t mention -my plan till I’ve talked it over with Amy. But about lodgings, now. Do -you recommend lodgings or an hotel?” - -Dr. Evans did not mention that his wife was not going to be with him -this year, for, having obtained permission to say that Harrogate would -do him good, Major Ames had developed a prodigious hurry, and a few -moments after was going jauntily home, with the address of Dr. Evans’ -lodgings in his pocket. He trusted to his own powers of exaggeration to -remove all possible opposition on his wife’s part, and felt himself the -devil of a diplomatist. - -So his plan was arranged. - -The third factor in this network of misconceived plots occurred the same -morning. Mrs. Ames, visiting the High Street on account of an advanced -melon, met Cousin Millie on some similar errand to the butcher’s on -account of advanced cutlets, for the weather was trying. It was natural -that she announced her intention of remaining in Riseborough with her -family during August: it was natural also that Cousin Millie signified -the remission from Harrogate. Cousin Amy was cordial on the subject, and -returned home. Probably she would have mentioned this fact to her -husband, if he had given her time to do it. But he was bursting with a -more immediate communication. - -“I didn’t like to tell you before, Amy,” he said, “because I didn’t want -to make you unnecessarily anxious. And there’s no need for anxiety now.” - -Mrs. Ames was not very imaginative, but it occurred to her that the -newly-planted magnolia had not been prospering. - -“No real cause for anxiety,” he said. “But the fact is that I went to -see Dr. Evans this morning--don’t be frightened, my dear--and got -thoroughly overhauled by him, thoroughly overhauled. He said there was -no reason for anxiety, assured me of it. But I’m gouty, my dear, there’s -no doubt of it, and of course you remember about your poor Aunt -Harriet. Well, there it is. And he says Harrogate. A bore, of course, -but Harrogate. But no cause for anxiety: he told me so twice.” - -Mrs. Ames gave one moment to calm, clear, oyster-like reflection, -unhurried, unalarmed. There was no shadow of reason why she should tell -him what Mrs. Evans’ plans were. But it was odd that she should suddenly -decide to stop in Riseborough, instead of going to Harrogate, having -heard from Harry that the Ames’ were to remain at home, and Lyndhurst as -suddenly be impelled to go to Harrogate, instead of stopping in -Riseborough. A curious coincidence. Everybody seemed to be making plans. -At any rate she would not add to their number, but only acquiesce in -those which were made. - -“My dear Lyndhurst, what an upset!” she said. “Of course, if you tell me -there is no cause for anxiety, I will not be anxious. Does Dr. Evans -recommend you to go to Harrogate now? You must tell me all he said. They -always go in August, do they not? That will be pleasant for you. But I -am afraid you will find the waters far from palatable.” - -Major Ames felt that he had not made a sufficiently important -impression. - -“Of course, I told Dr. Evans I could decide nothing till I had consulted -you,” he said. “It seems a great break-up to leave you and Harry here -and go away like this. It was that I was thinking of, not whether waters -a palatable or not. I have more than half a mind not to go. I daresay I -shall worry through all right without.” - -Again Mrs. Ames made a little pause. - -“You must do as Dr. Evans tells you to do,” she said. “I am sure he is -not faddy or fussy.” - -Major Ames’ experience of him this morning fully endorsed this. -Certainly he had been neither, whatever the difference between the two -might be. - -“Well, my dear, if both you and Dr. Evans are agreed,” he said, “I -mustn’t set myself up against you.” - -“Now did he tell you where to go?” - -“He gave me the address of his own lodgings.” - -“What a convenient arrangement! Now, my dear, I beg you to waste no -time. Send off a telegram, and pay the reply, and we’ll pack you off -to-morrow. I am sure it is the right thing to do.” - - * * * * * - -A sudden conviction, painfully real, that he was behaving currishly, -descended on Major Ames. The feeling was so entirely new to him that he -would have liked to put it down to an obsession of gout in a new -place--the conscience, for instance, for he could hardly believe that he -should be self-accused of paltry conduct. He felt as if there must be -some mistake about it. He almost wished that Amy had made difficulties; -then there would have been the compensatory idea that she was behaving -badly too. But she could not have conducted herself in a more -guilelessly sympathetic manner; she seemed to find no inherent -improbability in Dr. Evans having counselled Harrogate, no question as -to the advisability of following his advice. It was almost unpleasant to -him to have things made so pleasant. - -But then this salutary impression was effaced, for anything that -savoured of self-reproach could not long find harbourage in his mind. -Instead, he pictured himself at Harrogate station, welcoming the Evans’. -She would probably be looking rather tired and fragile after the -journey, but he would have a cab ready for her, and tea would be -awaiting them when they reached the lodgings.... - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -A week later Mrs. Ames was sitting at breakfast, with Harry opposite -her, expecting the early post, and among the gifts of the early post a -letter from her husband. He had written one very soon after his arrival -at Harrogate, saying that he felt better already. The waters, as Amy had -conjectured, could not be described as agreeable, since their -composition chiefly consisted of those particular ingredients which gave -to rotten eggs their characteristic savour, but what, so said the -valiant, did a bad taste in the mouth matter, if you knew it was doing -you good? An excellent band encouraged the swallowing of this -disagreeable fluid, and by lunch-time baths and drinking were over for -the day. He was looking forward to the Evans’ arrival; it would be -pleasant to see somebody he knew. He would write again before many days. - -The post arrived; there was a letter for her in the Major’s large -sprawling handwriting, and she opened it. But it scarcely a letter: a -blister of expletives covered the smoking pages ... and the Evans’--two -of them--had arrived. - -Mrs. Ames’ little toadlike face seldom expressed much more than a -ladylike composure, but had Harry been watching his mother he might have -thought that a shade of amusement hovered there. - -“A letter from your father,” she said. “Rather a worried letter. The -cure is lowering, I believe, and makes you feel out of sorts.” - -Harry was looking rather yellow and dishevelled. He had sat up very late -the night before, and the chase for rhymes had been peculiarly fatiguing -and ineffectual. - -“I don’t feel at all well, either,” he said. “And I don’t think Cousin -Millie is well.” - -“Why?” asked Mrs. Ames composedly. - -“I went to see her yesterday and she didn’t attend. She seemed -frightfully surprised to hear that father had gone to Harrogate.” - -“I suppose Dr. Evans had not told her,” remarked Mrs. Ames. “Please -telephone to her after breakfast, Harry, and ask her to dine with us -this evening.” - -“Yes. How curious women are! One day they seem so glad to see you, -another you are no more to them than foam on a broken wave.” - -This was one of the fragments of last night. - -“On a broken what?” asked Mrs. Ames. The rustling of the turning leaf of -the _Morning Post_ had caused her not to hear. There was no sarcastic -intention in her inquiry. - -“It does not matter,” said Harry. - -His mother looked up at him. - -“I should take a little dose, dear,” she said, “if you feel like that. -The heat upsets us all at times. Will you please telephone now, Harry? -Then I shall know what to order for dinner.” - -Mrs. Ames’ nature was undeniably a simple one; she had no misty -profundities or curious dim-lit clefts on the round, smooth surface of -her life, but on occasion simple natures are capable of curious -complexities of feeling, the more elusive because they themselves are -unable to register exactly what they do feel. Certainly she saw a -connection between the non-arrival of dear Millie at Harrogate and the -inflamed letter from her husband. She had suspected also a connection -between dear Millie’s decision to spend August at Riseborough and her -belief that Major Ames was going to do so too. But the completeness of -the fiasco sucked the sting out of the resentment she might otherwise -have felt: it was impossible to be angry with such sorry conspirators. -At the same time, with regard to her husband, she felt the liveliest -internal satisfaction at his blistering communication, and read it -through again. The thought of her own slighted or rather unperceived -rejuvenescence added point to this; she felt that he had been “served -out.” Not for a moment did she suspect him of anything but the most -innocent of flirtations, and she was disposed to credit dear Millie with -having provoked such flirtation as there was. By this time also it must -have been quite clear to both the thwarted parties that she was in full -cognizance of their futile designs; clearly, therefore, her own _beau -rôle_ was to appear utterly unconscious of it all, and, unconsciously, -to administer nasty little jabs to each of them with a smiling face. -“They have been making sillies of themselves,” expressed her indulgent -verdict on the whole affair. Then in some strange feminine way she felt -a sort of secret pride in her husband for having had the manhood to -flirt, however mildly, with somebody else’s wife; but immediately there -followed the resentment that he had not shown any tendency to flirt with -his own, when she had encouraged him. But, anyhow, he had chosen the -prettiest woman in Riseborough, and he was the handsomest man. - -But her mood changed; the thought at any rate of administering some -nasty little jabs presented itself in a growingly attractive light. The -two sillies had been wanting to dance to their own tune; they should -dance to hers instead, and by way of striking up her own tune at once -she wrote as follows, to her husband. - - “MY DEAREST LYNDHURST, - - “I can’t tell you how glad I was to get your two letters, and to - know how much good Harrogate is doing you. What an excellent thing - that you went to Dr. Evans (please remember me to him), and that he - insisted so strongly on your taking yourself thoroughly in hand.” - -She paused a moment, wondering exactly how strong this insistence had -been. It was possible that it was not very strong. So much the more -reason for letting the sentence stand. She now underlined the words “so -strongly.” - - “Of course the waters are disgusting to take, and I declare I can - almost smell them when I read your vivid description, but, as you - said in your first letter, what is a bad taste in the mouth when - you know it is doing you good? And your second letter convinces me - how right you were to go, and when things like gout begin to come - out, it naturally makes you feel a little low and worried. I want - you to stop there the whole of August, and get thoroughly rid of - it. - - “Here we are getting along very happily, and I am so glad I did not - go to the sea. Millie is here, as you will know, and we see a great - deal of her. She is constantly dropping in, _en fille_, I suppose - you would call it, and is in excellent spirits and looks so - pretty. But I am not quite at ease about Harry (this is private). - He is very much attracted by her, and she seems to me not very wise - in the way she deals with him, for she seems to be encouraging him - in his silliness. Perhaps I will speak to her about it, and yet I - hardly like to.” - -Again Mrs. Ames paused: she had no idea she had such a brilliant touch -in the administration of these jabs. What she said might not be strictly -accurate, but it was full of point. - - “I remember, too, what you said, that it was so good for a boy to - be taken up with a thoroughly nice woman, and that it prevented his - getting into mischief. I am sure Harry is writing all sorts of - poems to her, because he sighs a great deal, and has a most inky - forefinger, for which I give him pumice-stone. But if she were not - so nice a woman, and so far from anything like flirtatiousness, I - should feel myself obliged to speak to Harry and warn him. She - seems very happy and cheerful. I daresay she feels like me, and is - rejoiced to think that Harrogate is doing her husband good. - - “Write to me soon again, my dear, and give me another excellent - account of yourself. Was it not queer that you settled to go to - Harrogate just when Millie settled not to? If you were not such - good friends, one would think you wanted to avoid each other! Well, - I must stop. Millie is dining with us, and I must order dinner.” - -She read through what she had written with considerable content. “That -will be nastier than the Harrogate waters,” she thought to herself, -“and quite as good for him.” And then, with a certain largeness which -lurked behind all her littlenesses, she practically dismissed the whole -silly business from her mind. But she continued the use of the purely -natural means for restoring the colour of the hair, and tapped and -dabbed the corners of her eyes with the miraculous skin-food. That was a -prophylactic measure; she did not want to appear “a fright” when -Lyndhurst came back from Harrogate. - -Mrs. Ames was well aware that the famous fancy dress ball had caused her -a certain loss of prestige in her capacity of queen of society in -Riseborough. It had followed close on the heels of her innovation of -asking husbands and wives separately to dinner, and had somewhat taken -the shine out of her achievement, and indeed this latter had not been as -epoch-making as she had expected. For the last week or two she had felt -that something new was required of her, but as is often the case, she -found that the recognition of such a truth does not necessarily lead to -the discovery of the novelty. Perhaps the paltriness of Lyndhurst’s -conduct, leading to reflections on her own superior wisdom, put her on -the path, for about this time she began to take a renewed interest in -the Suffragette movement which, from what she saw in the papers, was -productive of such adventurous alarums in London. For herself, she was -essentially law-abiding by nature, and though, in opposition to -Lyndhurst, sympathetically inclined to women who wanted the vote, she -had once said that to throw stones at Prime Ministers was unladylike in -itself, and only drew on the perpetrators the attention of the police to -themselves, rather than the attention of the public to the problem. But -a recrudescence of similar acts during the last summer had caused her -to wonder whether she had said quite the last word on the subject, or -thought the last thought. Certainly the sensational interest in such -violent acts had led her to marvel at the strength of feeling that -prompted them. Ladies, apparently, whose breeding--always a word of -potency with Mrs. Ames--she could not question, were behaving like -hooligans. The matter interested her in itself apart from its possible -value as a novelty for the autumn. Also an election was probably to take -place in November. Hitherto that section of Riseborough in which she -lived had not suffered its tranquillity to be interrupted by political -excitements, but like a man in his sleep, drowsily approved a -Conservative member. But what if she took the lead in some political -agitation, and what if she introduced a Suffragette element into the -election? That was a solider affair than that a quantity of Cleopatras -should skip about in a back garden. - -She had always felt a certain interest in the movement, but it was the -desire to make a novelty for the autumn, peppered, so to speak, by an -impatience at the futile treachery of her husband’s Harrogate plans, and -an ambition to take a line of her own in opposition to him, presented -their crusade in a serious light to her. The militant crusaders she had -hitherto regarded as affected by a strange lunacy, and her husband’s -masculine comment, “They ought to be well smacked, by Jove!” had the -ring of common-sense, especially since he added, for the benefit of such -crusaders as were of higher social rank, “They’re probably mad, poor -things.” - -But during this tranquil month of August her more serious interest was -aroused, and she bought, though furtively, such literature in the form -of little tracts and addresses as was accessible on the subject. And -slowly, though still the desire for an autumn novelty that would eclipse -the memory of the congregations of Cleopatras was a moving force in her -mind, something of the real ferment began to be yeasty within her, and -she learned by private inquiry what the Suffragette colours were. -Naturally the introduction of an abstract idea into her mind was a -laborious process, since her life had for years consisted of an endless -chain of small concrete events, and had been lived among people who had -never seen an abstract idea wild, any more than they had seen an -elephant in a real jungle. It was always tamed and eating buns, as in -the Zoo, just as other ideas reached them peptonized by the columns of -daily papers. But a wild thing lurked behind the obedient trunk; a wild -thing lurked behind the reports of ludicrous performances in the Palace -Yard at Westminster. - -August was still sultry, and Major Ames was still at Harrogate, when one -evening she and Harry dined with Millie. Since nothing of any -description happened in Riseborough during this deserted month, the -introductory discussion of what events had occurred since they last met -in the High Street that morning was not possible of great expansion. -None of them had seen the aeroplane which was believed to have passed -over the town in the afternoon, and nobody had heard from Mrs. Altham. -Then Mrs. Ames fired the shot which was destined to involve Riseborough -in smoke and brimstone. - -“Lyndhurst and I,” she said, “have never agreed about the Suffragettes, -and now that I know something about them, I disagree more than ever.” - -Millie looked slightly shocked: she thought of Suffragettes as she -thought of the persons who figure in police news. Indeed, they often -did. She knew they wanted to vote about something, but that was -practically all she knew except that they expressed their desire to vote -by hitting people. - -“I know nothing about them,” she said. “But are they not very -unladylike?” - -“They are a disgrace to their sex,” said Harry. “We soon made them get -out of Cambridge! They tried to hold a meeting in the backs, but I and a -few others went down there, and--well, there wasn’t much more heard of -them. I don’t call them women at all. I call them females.” - -Mrs. Ames had excellent reasons for suspecting romance in her son’s -account of his exploits. - -“Tell me exactly what happened in the backs at Cambridge, Harry,” she -said. - -Harry slightly retracted. - -“There is nothing much to tell,” he said. “Our club felt bound to make a -protest, and we went down there, as I said. It seemed to cow them a -bit!” - -“And then did the proctors come and cow you?” asked his inexorable -mother. - -“I believe a proctor did come; I did not wait for that. They made a -perfect fiasco, anyhow. They told me it was all a dead failure, and we -heard no more about it.” - -“So that was all?” said Mrs. Ames. - -“And quite enough. I agree with father. They disgrace their sex!” - -“My dear, you know as little about it as your father,” she said. - -“But surely a man’s judgment----” said Millie, making weak eyes at -Harry. - -“Dear Millie, a man’s judgment is not of any value, if he does not know -anything about what he is judging. We have all read accounts in the -papers, and heard that they are very violent and chain themselves up to -inconvenient places like railings, and are taken away by policemen. -Sometimes they slap the policemen, but surely there must be something -behind that makes them like that. I am finding out what it is. It is all -most interesting. They say that they have to pay their rates and taxes, -but get no privileges. If a man pays rates and taxes he gets a vote, and -why shouldn’t a woman? It is all very well expressed. They seem to me to -reason just as well as a man. I mean to find out much more about it all. -Personally I don’t pay rates and taxes, because that is Lyndhurst’s -affair, but if we had arranged differently and I paid for the house and -the rates and taxes, why shouldn’t I have a vote instead of him? And -from what I can learn the gardener has a vote, just the same as -Lyndhurst, although Lyndhurst does all the garden-rolling, and won’t let -Parkins touch the flowers.” - -Mrs. Evans sighed. - -“It all seems very confused and upside down,” she said. “Do smoke, -Harry, if you feel inclined. Will you have a cigarette, Cousin Amy? I am -afraid I have none. I never smoke.” - -Harry was a little sore from his mother’s handling, and was not -unwilling to hit back. - -“I never knew mother smoked,” he said. “Do you smoke, mother? How -delightful! How Eastern! I never knew you were Eastern. I always thought -you said it was not wicked for women to smoke, but only horrid. Do be -horrid. I am sure Suffragettes smoke.” - -Mrs. Ames turned a swift appealing eye on Millie, entreating confidence. -Then she lied. - -“Dear Millie, what are you thinking of?” she said. “Of course I never -smoke, Harry.” - -But the appeal of the eyes had not taken effect. - -“But on the night of my little dance, Cousin Amy,” she said, “surely you -had a cigarette. It made you cough, and you said how nice it was!” - -Mrs. Ames wished she had not been so ruthless about the Suffragettes at -Cambridge. - -“There is a great difference between doing a thing once,” she said, “and -making a habit of it. I think I did want to see what it was like, but I -never said it was nice, and as for its being Eastern, I am sure I am -glad to belong to the West. I always thought it unfeminine, and then I -knew it. I did not feel myself again till I had brushed my teeth and -rinsed my mouth. Now, dear Millie, I am really interested in the -Suffragettes. Their demands are reasonable, and if we are unreasonable -about granting them, they must be unreasonable too. For years they have -been reasonable and nobody has paid any attention to them. What are they -to do but be violent, and call attention to themselves? It is all so -well expressed; you cannot fail to be interested.” - -“Wilfred would never let me hit a policeman,” said Milly. “And I don’t -think I could do it, even if he wanted me to.” - -“But it is not the aim of the movement to hit policemen,” said Mrs. -Ames. “They are very sorry to have to----” - -“They are sorrier afterwards,” said Harry. - -Mrs. Ames turned a small, withering eye upon her offspring. - -“If you had waited to hear what they had to say instead of running away -before the proctor came,” she said, “you might have learnt a little -about them, dear. They are not at all sorry afterwards; they go to -prison quite cheerfully, in the second division, too, which is terribly -uncomfortable. And many of them have been brought up as luxuriously as -any of us.” - -“I could not go to prison,” said Mrs. Evans faintly, but firmly. “And -even if I could, it would be very wrong of me, for I am sure it would -injure Wilfred’s practice. People would not like to go to a doctor whose -wife had been in prison. She might have caught something. And Elsie -would be so ashamed of me.” - -Mrs. Ames gave the suppressed kind of sigh which was habitual with her -when Lyndhurst complained that the water for his bath was not hot, -although aware that the kitchen boiler was being cleaned. - -“But you need not go to prison in order to be a Suffragette, dear -Millie,” she said. “Prison life is not one of the objects of the -movement.” - -Mrs. Evans looked timidly apologetic. - -“I didn’t know,” she said. “It is so interesting to be told. I thought -all the brave sort went to prison, and had breakfast together when they -were let out. I am sure I have read about their having breakfast -together.” - -A faint smile quivered on her mouth. She was aware that Cousin Amy -thought her very stupid, and there was a delicate pleasure in appearing -quite idiotic like this. It made Cousin Amy dance with irritation in -her inside, and explain more carefully yet. - -“Yes, dear Millie,” she said, “but their having breakfast together has -not much to do with their objects----” - -“I don’t know about that,” said Harry; “there is a club at Cambridge to -which I belong, whose object is to dine together.” - -“Then it is very greedy of you, dear,” said Mrs. Ames, “and the -Suffragettes are not like that. They go to prison and do all sorts of -unladylike things for the sake of their convictions. They want to be -treated justly. For years they have asked for justice, and nobody has -paid the least attention to them; now they are making people attend. I -assure you that until I began reading about them, I had very little -sympathy with them. But now I feel that all women ought to know about -them. Certainly what I have read has opened my eyes very much, and there -are a quantity of women of very good family indeed who belong to them.” - -Harry pulled his handkerchief out of the sleeve of his dress-coat; he -habitually kept it there. Just now the Omar Khayyam Club was rather -great on class distinctions. - -“I do not see what that matters,” he said. “Because a man’s -great-grandmother was created a duchess for being a king’s mistress----” - -Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Ames got up simultaneously; if anything Mrs. Ames -got up a shade first. - -“I do not think we need go into that, Harry,” said Mrs. Ames. - -Millie tempered the wind. - -“Will you join us soon, Harry?” she said. “If you are too long I shall -come and fetch you. We have been political to-night! Will it be too cold -for you in the garden, Cousin Amy?” - -Left to himself, Harry devoted several minutes’ pitiful reflection to -his mother’s state of mind. In spite of her awakened interest in the -Suffragette movement, she seemed to him deplorably old-fashioned. But -with his second glass of port his thoughts assumed a rosier tone, and he -determined to wait till Cousin Millie came to fetch him. Surely she -meant him to do that: no doubt she wanted to have just one private word -with him. She had often caught his eye during dinner, with a deprecating -look, as if to say this tiresome rigmarole about Suffragettes was not -her fault. He felt they understood each other.... - -There was a large Chippendale looking-glass above the sideboard, and he -got up from the table and observed the upper part of his person which -was reflected in it. A wisp of hair fell over his forehead; it might -more rightly be called a plume. He appeared to himself to have a most -interesting face, uncommon, arresting. He was interestingly and -characteristically dressed, too, with a collar Byronically low, a soft -frilled shirt, and in place of a waistcoat a black cummerbund. Then -hastily he mounted on a chair in order to see the whole of his lean -figure that seemed so slender. It was annoying that at this moment of -critical appreciation a parlour-maid should look in to see if she could -clear away.... - - * * * * * - -There is nothing that so confirms individualism in any character as -periods of comparative solitude. In men such confirmation is liable to -be checked by the boredom to which their sex is subject, but women, -less frequently the prey of this paralysing emotion, when the demands -made upon them by household duties and domestic companionship are -removed, enter very swiftly into the kingdoms of themselves. This -process was very strongly at work just now with Millie Evans; -superficially, her composure and meaningless smoothness were unaltered, -so that Mrs. Ames, at any rate, almost wondered whether she had been -right in crediting her with any hand in the Harrogate plans, so -unruffled was her insipid and deferential cordiality, but down below she -was exploring herself and discovering a capacity for feeling that -astonished her by its intensity. All her life she had been content to -arouse emotion without sharing it, liking to see men attentive to her, -liking to see them attracted by her and disposed towards tenderness. -They were more interesting like that, and she gently basked in the -warmth of their glow, like a lizard on the wall. She had not wanted more -than that; she was lizard, not vampire, and to sun herself on the wall, -and then glide gently into a crevice again, seemed quite sufficient -exercise for her emotions. Luckily or unluckily (those who hold that -calm and complete respectability is the aim of existence would prefer -the former adverb, those who think that development of individuality is -worth the risk of a little scorching, the latter) she had married a man -who required little or nothing more than she was disposed to give. He -had not expected unquiet rapture, but a comfortable home with a “little -woman” always there, good-tempered, as Millie was, and cheerful and -pliable as, with a dozen exceptions when the calm precision came into -play, she had always been. Temperamentally, he was nearly as -undeveloped as she, and the marriage had been what is called a very -sensible one. But such sensible marriages ignore the fact that human -beings, like the shores of the bay of Naples, are periodically volcanic, -and the settlers there assume that their little property, because no -sulphurous signs have appeared on the surface, is essentially quiescent, -neglecting the fact that at one time or another emotional disturbances -are to be expected. But because many quiet years have passed -undisturbed, they get to believe that the human and natural fires have -ceased to smoulder, and are no longer alive down below the roots of -their pleasant vines and olive trees. All her life up till now, Millie -Evans had been like one of these quiescent estates; now, when middle-age -was upon her, she began to feel the stir of vital forces. The surface of -her life was still undisturbed, she went about the diminished business -of the household with her usual care, and in the weeks of this solitary -August knitted a couple of ties for her husband, and read a couple of -novels from the circulating library, with an interest not more markedly -tepid than usual. But subterranean stir was going on, though no -fire-breathing clefts appeared on the surface. Subconsciously she wove -images and dreams, scarcely yet knowing that it is out of such dreams -that the events and deeds of life inevitably spring. She had scarcely -admitted even to herself that her projects for August had gone -crookedly: the conviction that Lyndhurst Ames had found himself gouty -and in need of Harrogate punctually at the date when he knew that she -might be expected there, sufficiently straightened them. The intention -more than compensated the miscarriage of events. - -To-night, when her two guests had gone, the inevitable step happened: -her unchecked impulses grew stronger and more definite, and out of the -misty subconsciousness of her mind the disturbance flared upwards into -the light of her everyday consciousness. With genuine flame it mounted; -it was no solitary imagining of her own that had kindled it; he, she -knew, was a conscious partner, and she had as sign the memory that he -had kissed her. Somehow, deep in her awakening heart, that meant -something stupendous to her. It had been unrealized at the time, but it -had been like the touch of some corrosive, sweet and acid, burrowing -down, eating her and yet feeding her. Up till now, it seemed to have -signified little, now it invested itself with a tremendous significance. -Probably to him it meant little; men did such things easily, but it was -that which had burrowed within her, making so insignificant an entry, -but penetrating so far. It was not a proof that he loved her, but it had -become a token that she loved him. Otherwise, it could not have -happened. There was something final in the beginning of it all. Then he -had kissed her a second time on the night of the fancy dress ball. He -had called that a cousinly kiss, and she smiled at the thought of that, -for it showed that it required to be accounted for, excused. She felt a -sort of tenderness for that fluttering, broken-winged subterfuge, so -transparent, so undeceptive. If cousins kissed, they did not recollect -their relationship afterwards, especially if there was no relationship. -He had not kissed her because she was some sort of cousin to his wife. - -Yet it hardly stating the case correctly to say that he had kissed her. -Doubtless, on that first occasion below the mulberry-tree it was his -head that had bent down to hers, while she but remained passive, -waiting. But it was she who had made him do it, and she gloried in the -soft compulsion she had put on him. Even as she thought of it this -evening, her eye sparkled. “He could not help it,” she said to herself. -“He could not help it.” - -Out of the sequestered cloistral twilight of her soul there had stepped -something that had slumbered there all her life, something pagan, -something incapable of scruples or regrets, as void of morals as a nymph -or Bacchanal on a Greek frieze. It did not trouble, so it seemed, to -challenge or defy the traditions and principles in which she had lived -all these years; it appeared to be ignorant of their existence, or, at -the most, they were but shadows that lay in unsubstantial bars across a -sunlit pavement. At present, it stood there trembling and quiescent, -like a moth lately broken out from its sheathed chrysalis, but momently, -now that it had come forth, it would grow stronger, and its crumpled -wings expand into pinions feathered with silver and gold. - -But she made no plans, she scarcely even turned her eyes towards the -future, for the future would surely be as inevitable as the past had -been. One by one the hot August days dropped off like the petals of -peach blossom, which must fall before the fruit begins to swell. She -neither wanted to delay or hurry their withering. There were but few -days left, few petals left to fall, for within a week, so her husband -had written, he would be back, vastly better for his cure, and Major -Ames was coming with him. “I shall be so glad to see my little woman -again,” he had said. “Elsie and I have missed her.” - -Occasionally she tried to think about her husband, but she could not -concentrate her mind on him. She was too much accustomed to him to be -able to fix her thoughts on him emotionally. She was equally well -accustomed to Elsie, or rather equally well accustomed to her complete -ignorance about Elsie. She could no more have drawn a chart of the -girl’s mind than she could have drawn a picture of the branches of the -mulberry-tree under which she so often sat, beholding the interlacement -of its boughs but never really seeing them. Never had she known the -psychical bond of motherhood; even the physical had meant little to her. -She was Elsie’s mother by accident, so to speak; and she was but as a -tree from which a gardener has made a cutting, planting it near, so that -sapling and parent stem grow up in sight of each other, but quite -independently, without sense of their original unity. Even when her baby -had lain at her breast, helpless, and still deriving all from her, the -sweet intimate mystery of the life that was common to them both had been -but a whispered riddle to her; and that was long ago, its memory had -become a faded photograph that might really have represented not herself -and her baby, but any mother and child. It was very possible that before -long Elsie would be transplanted by marriage, and she herself would have -to learn a little more about chess in order to play with her husband in -the evening. - -Such, hitherto, had been her emotional life: this summary of it and its -meagre total is all that can justly be put to credit. She liked her -husband, she knew he was kind to her, and so, in its inanimate manner, -was the food which she ate kind to her, in that it nourished and -supported her. But her gratitude to it was untinged with emotion; she -was not sentimental over her breakfast, for it was the mission of food -to give support, and the mission of her husband had not been to her much -more than that. Neither wifehood nor motherhood had awakened her -womanhood. Yet, in that she was a woman, she was that most dangerous of -all created or manufactured things, an unexploded shell, liable to blow -to bits both itself and any who handled her. The shell was alive still, -its case uncorroded, and its contents still potentially violent. That -violence at present lay dark and quiet within it; its sheath was smooth -and faintly bright. It seemed but a play-thing, a parlour-ornament; it -could stand on any table in any drawing-room. But the heart of it had -never been penetrated by the love that could transform its violence into -strength: now its cap was screwed and its fuse fixed. Until the damp and -decay of age robbed it of its power, it would always be liable to wreck -itself and its surroundings. - - * * * * * - -These same days that for her were kindling dangerous stuff, passed for -Mrs. Ames in a _crescendo_ of awakening interest. All her life she had -been wrapped round like the kernel of a nut, in the hard, dry husk of -conventionalities, her life had been encased in a succession of minute -happenings, and, literally speaking, she had never breathed the outer -air of ideas. As has been noticed, she gave regular patronage to St. -Barnabas’ Church, and spent a solid hour or two every week in decorating -it with the produce of her husband’s garden, from earliest spring, when -the faint, shy snowdrops were available, to late autumn, when October -and November frosts finally blackened the salvias and chrysanthemums. -But all that had been of the nature of routine: a certain admiration for -the vicar, a passionless appreciation of his nobly ascetic life, his -strong, lean face, and the fire of his utterances had made her -attendance regular, and her contributions to his charities quite -creditably profuse in proportion to her not very ample means. But she -had never denied herself anything in order to increase them, while the -time she spent over the flowers was amply compensated for when she saw -the eclipse they made of Mrs. Brooks’ embroideries, or when the lilies -dropped their orange-staining pollen on to the altar-cloth. Stranger, -perhaps, from the emotional point of view, had been her recently -attempted rejuvenescence, but even that had been a calculated and -materialistic effort. It had not been a manifestation of her love for -her husband, or of a desire to awaken his love for her. It was merely a -decorative effort to attract his attention, and prevent it wandering -elsewhere. - -But now, with her kindled sympathy for the Suffragette movement, there -was springing up in her the consciousness of a kinship with her sex -whom, hitherto, she had regarded as a set of people to whom, in the -matter of dinner-giving and entirely correct social behaviour, she must -be an example and a law, while even her hospitalities had not been -dictated by the spirit of hospitality but rather by a sort of pompous -and genteel competition. Now she was beginning to see that behind the -mere events of life, if they were to be worth anything, must lie an -idea, and here behind this woman’s crusade, with all its hooliganism, -its hysteria, its apish fanaticism, lay an idea of justice and -sisterhood. They seemed simple words, and she would have said off-hand -that she knew what they meant. But, as she began faintly to understand -them, she knew that she had been as ignorant of them as of what -Australia really was. To her, as it was a geographical expression only, -so justice was an abstract expression. But the meaning of justice was -known to those who gave up the comforts and amenities of life for its -sake, and for its sake cheerfully suffered ridicule and prison life and -misunderstanding. And the fumes of an idea, to one who had practically -never tasted one, intoxicated her as new wine mounts to the head of a -teetotaler. - -Ideas are dangerous things, and should be kept behind a fireguard, for -fear that the children, of whom this world largely consists, should burn -their fingers, thinking that these bright, sparkling toys are to be -played with. Mrs. Ames, in spite of her unfamiliarity with them, did not -fall into this error. She realized that if she was to warm herself, to -get the glow of the fire in her cramped and frozen limbs, she must treat -it with respect, and learn to handle it. That, at any rate, was her -intention, and she had a certain capacity for thoroughness. - - * * * * * - -It was in the last week of August that Major Ames was expected back, -after three weeks of treatment. At first, as reflected in his letters, -his experiences had been horrifying; the waters nauseated him, and the -irritating miscarriage of the plan which was the real reason for his -going to Harrogate, caused him fits of feeble rage which were the more -maddening because they had to be borne secretly and silently. Also the -lodgings he had procured seemed to him needlessly expensive, and all -this efflux of bullion was being poured out on treatment which Dr. -Evans had told him was really quite unnecessary. Regular and sparkling -letters from his wife, in praise of August spent at Riseborough, -continued to arrive and filled him with impotent envy. He, too, might be -spending August at Riseborough if he had not been quite so precipitate. -As it was, his mornings were spent in absorbing horrible draughts and -gently stewing in the fetid waters of the Starbeck spring: his meals -were plain to the point of grotesqueness, his evenings were spent in -playing inane games of patience, while Elsie and the doctor pored -silently over their chessboard, saying “Check” to each other at -intervals. But through the days and their tedious uniformity there ran a -certain unquietness and desire. It was clear that Millie, no less than -he, had planned that they should be together in August, but his desire -did not absorb him, rather it made him restless and anxious about the -future. He did not even know if he was in love with her; he did not even -know if he wanted to be. The thought of her kindled his imagination, and -he could picture himself in love with her: at the same time he was not -certain whether, if the last two months could be lived over again, he -would let himself drift into the position where he now found himself. -There was neither ardour nor anything imperative in his heart; -something, it is true, was heated, but it only smouldered and smoked. It -was of the nature of such fire as bursts out in haystacks: it was born -of stuffiness and packed confinement, and was as different as two things -of the same nature can be, from the swift lambency and laudable flame of -sun-kindled and breeze-fed flame. It disquieted and upset him; he could -not soberly believe in the pictures his imagination drew of his being -irresistibly in love with her: their colour quickly faded, their -outlines were wavering and uncertain. And the background was even more -difficult to fill in ... how was the composition to be arranged? Where -would Amy stand? What aspect would Riseborough wear? And then, after a -long silence, Elsie said “Check.” - -Major Ames was due to arrive at Riseborough soon after four in the -afternoon, and Mrs. Ames was at pains to be at home by that hour to -welcome him and give him tea, and had persuaded Harry to go up to the -station to meet him. She had gathered a charming decoration of flowers -to make the room bright, and had put a couple more vases of them in his -dressing-room. Before long a cab arrived from the station bearing his -luggage, but neither he nor Harry occupied it. So it was natural to -conclude that they were walking down, and she made tea, since they would -not be many minutes behind the leisurely four-wheeler. She wanted very -particularly to give him an auspicious and comfortable return: he must -not think that, because this Suffragette movement occupied her thoughts -so much, she was going to become remiss in care for him. But still the -minutes went on, and she took a cup of tea herself, and found it already -growing astringent. What could have detained him she could not guess, -but certainly he should have another brew of tea made for him, for he -hated what in moments of irritation he called tincture of tannin. Five -o’clock struck, and the two quarters that duly followed it. Before that -a conjecture had formed itself in her mind. - -Then came the rattle of his deposited hat and stick in the hall, and the -rattle of the door-handle for his entry. - -“Well, Amy,” he said, “and here’s your returned prodigal. Train late as -usual, and I walked down. How are you?” - -She got up and kissed him. - -“Very well indeed, Lyndhurst,” she said; “and there is no need to ask -you how you are.” - -She paused a moment. - -“Your luggage arrived nearly an hour ago,” she said. - -He had forgotten that detail. - -“An hour ago? Surely not,” he said. - -She gave him one more pause in which he could say more, but nothing -came. - -“You have had tea, I suppose,” she said. - -“Yes; Evans insisted on my dropping in to his house, and taking a cup -there. That rogue Harry has stopped on. Well, well: we were all young -once! You remember the old story I told you about the Colonel’s wife -when I was a lad.” - -She remembered it perfectly. She felt sure also that he had not meant to -tell her where he had been since his arrival at the station. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -The day was of early October, and Dr. Evans, who was driving his swift, -steady cob, harnessed to the light dogcart, along the flat road towards -Norton, had leisure to observe the beauty of the flaming season. He had -but a couple of visits to make, and neither of the cases caused him any -professional anxiety. But it was with conscious effort that he commanded -his obedient mind to cease worrying, and drink in the beneficent -influence of this genial morning that followed on a night that had given -them the first frost of the year. The road, after leaving Riseborough, -ran through a couple of level miles of delectable woodland; ditches -filled and choked with the full-grown grass and herbage of the summer -bordered it on each side. On the left, the sun had turned the frozen -night-dews into a liquid heraldry, on the right where the roadside -foliage was still in shadow, the faceted jewels of the frost that hinted -of the coming winter still stiffened the herbage, and was white on the -grey beards of the sprawling clematis in the hedges. But high above -these low-growing tangles of vegetation, an ample glory flamed, and the -great beech forest was all ablaze with orange and red flame tremulous in -the breeze. Here and there a yew-tree, tawny-trunked and green-velveted -with undeciduous leaf, seemed like a black spot of unconsumed fuel in -the fire of the autumn; here a company of sturdy oaks seemed like a -group of square-shouldered young men amid the maidens of the woodland. -It had its fairies too, the sylph-like birches, whose little leaves -seemed shed about their white shapeliness like a shower of confetti. -Then, in the more open glades, short and rabbit-cropped turf sparkled -emerald-like amid the sober greys and browns of the withering heather -and the russet antlers of the bracken. Now and then a rabbit with white -scutt, giving a dot-and-dash signal of danger to his family, would -scamper into shelter at the rattle of the approaching dogcart. Now and -then a pheasant, whose plumage seemed to reproduce in metal the tints of -the golden autumn, strode with lowered head and tail away from the -dangerous vicinity of man. Below the beeches the ground was uncarpeted -by any vegetation, but already the “fallen glories” of the leaf were -beginning to lie there, and occasionally a squirrel ran rustling across -them, and having gained the security of his lofty ways among the trees, -scolded Puck-like at the interruption that had made him leave his -breakfast of the burst beech-nuts. To the right, below the high-swung -level road, the ground declined sharply, and gave glimpses of the -distant sun-burnished sea; above, small companies of feathery clouds, -assembled together as if migrating for the winter, fluttered against the -summer azure of the sky. - -Dr. Evans’ alert and merry eye dwelt on those delectable things, and in -obedience to his brain, noted and appreciated the manifold festivity of -the morning, but it did so not as ordinarily, by instinct and eager -impulses, but because he consciously bade it. It needed the spur; its -alertness and its merriness were pressed on it, and by degrees the spur -failed to stimulate it, and he fell to regarding the well-groomed -quarters of his long-stepping cob, which usually afforded him so -pleasant a contemplation of strong and harmonious muscularity. But this -morning even they failed to delight him, and the rhythm of its firm trot -made no music in his mind. There came a crease which deepened into a -decided frown between his eyes, and he communed with the trouble in his -mind. - -There were various lesser worries, not of sufficient importance to -disturb seriously the equanimity of a busy and well-balanced man, and -though each was trivial enough in itself, and distinctly had a humorous -side to a mind otherwise content, the cumulative effect of them was not -amusing. In the first place, there was the affair of Harry Ames, who, in -a manner sufficiently ludicrous and calfish, had been making love to his -wife. As any other sensible man would have done, Wilfred Evans had seen -almost immediately on his return to Riseborough that Harry was disposed -to make himself ridiculous, and had given a word of kindly warning to -his wife. - -“Snub him a bit, little woman,” he had said. “We’re having a little too -much of him. It’s fairer on the boy, too. You’re too kind to him. A -woman like you so easily turns a boy’s head. And you’ve often said he is -rather a dreadful sort of youth.” - -But for some reason she took the words in ill part, becoming rather -precise. - -“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Will you explain, please?” - -“Easy enough, my dear. He’s here too much; he’s dangling after you. -Laugh at him a little, or yawn a little.” - -“You mean that he’s in love with me?” - -“Well, that’s too big a word, little woman, though I’m sure you see what -I mean.” - -“I think I do. I think your suggestion is rather coarse, Wilfred, and -quite ill-founded. Is every one who is polite and attentive supposed to -be in love with me? I only ask for information.” - -“I think your own good sense will supply you with all necessary -information,” he said. - -But her good sense apparently had done nothing of the kind, and -eventually Dr. Evans had spoken to Harry’s father on the subject. The -visits had ceased with amazing abruptness after that, and Dr. Evans had -found himself treated to a stare of blank unrecognition when he passed -Harry in the street, and a curl of the lip which he felt must have been -practised in private. But the Omar Khayyam Club would be the gainers, -for they owed to it those stricken and embittered stanzas called -“Parted.” - -Here comedy verged on farce, but the farce did not amuse him. He knew -that his own interpretation of Harry’s assiduous presence was correct, -so why should his wife have so precisely denied that those absurd -attentions meant nothing? There was nothing to resent in the sensible -warning that a man was greatly attracted by her. Nor was there warrant -for Colonel Ames’ horror and dismay at the suggestion, when the doctor -spoke to him about it. “Infamous young libertine” was surely a -hyperbolical expression. - -Dr. Evans unconsciously flicked the cob rather sharply with his -whip-lash, to that excellent animal’s surprise, for he was covering his -miles in five minutes apiece, and the doctor conveyed his apologies for -his unintentional hint with a soothing remark. Then his thoughts -drifted back again. That was not all the trouble with the Ames’ family, -for his wife had had a quarrel with Mrs. Ames. This kindly man hated to -quarrel with anybody, and, for his part, successfully refused to do so, -and that his wife should find herself in such a predicament was equally -distressing to him. No doubt it was all a storm in a tea-cup, but if you -happen to be living in the tea-cup too, a storm there is just as -upsetting as a gale on the high seas. It is worse, indeed, for on the -high seas a ship can run into fairer weather, but there is no escape -from these tea-cup disturbances. The entire tea-cup was involved: all -Riseborough, which a year ago had seemed to him so suitable a place in -which to pursue an unexacting practice, to conduct mild original work, -in the peace and quiet of a small society and domestic comfort, was -become a tempest of conflicting winds. “And all arising from such a pack -of nonsense,” as the doctor thought impatiently to himself, only just -checking the whip-lash from falling again on the industrious cob. - -The interest of Mrs. Ames in the Suffragette movement had given rise to -all this. She had announced a drawing-room meeting to be held in her -house, now a fortnight ago, and the drawing-room meeting had exploded in -mid-career, like a squib, scattering sparks and combustible material -over all Riseborough. It appeared that Mrs. Ames, finding that the -comprehension of Suffragette aims extended to the middle-class circles -in Riseborough, had asked the wives and daughters of tradesmen to take -part in it. It wanted but little after that to make Mrs. Altham remark -quite audibly that she had not known that she was to have the privilege -of meeting so many ladies with whom she was not previously acquainted, -and the sarcastic intention of her words was not lost upon her new -friends. Tea seemed but to increase the initial inflammation, and the -interest Mrs. Ames had intended to awake on the subject of votes for -women was changed into an interest in ascertaining who could be most -offensively polite, a very pretty game. It is not to be wondered at -that, before twenty-four hours had passed, Mrs. Altham had started an -anti-Suffragette league, and Millie, still strong in the conviction that -under no circumstances could she go to prison, had allowed herself to be -drawn into it. Next night at dinner she softly made a terrible -announcement. - -“I passed Cousin Amy in the street just now,” she said; “she did not -seem to see me.” - -“Perhaps she didn’t see you, little woman,” said her husband. - -“So I did not seem to see her,” added Millie, who had not finished her -sentence. “But if she cares to come to see me and explain, I shall -behave quite as usual to her.” - -“Come, come, little woman!” said Dr. Evans in a conciliating spirit. - -“And I do not see what is the good of saying ‘Come, come,’” she said, -with considerable precision. - -All this was sufficient to cause very sensible disquiet to a man who -attached so proper an importance to peaceful and harmonious conditions -of life, yet it was but a small thing compared to a far deeper anxiety -that brooded over him. Till now he had not let himself directly -contemplate it, but to-day, as he returned from his two visits, he made -himself face this last secret trouble. He felt it was necessary for him -to ascertain, for the sake of others no less than himself, what part, -if any, of his disquiet was grounded on certainty, what part, if any, -might be the figment of an over-anxious imagination. But he knew he was -not anxious by temperament, nor given to imagine troubles. If anything, -he was more prone, in his desire for a pleasant and studious life, to -shut his eyes to the apparent approach of storm, trusting that it would -blow by. He was anxious about Millie, not without cause; a hundred -symptoms justified his anxiety. She who for so long had been of such -imperturbable serenity of temper that a man who did not feel her charm -might have called her jelly-fish was the prey of fifty moods a day. She -had strange little fits of tenderness to him, with squalls of -peevishness quite as strange. She was restless and filled with an energy -that flamed and flickered and vanished, leaving her indolent and inert. -She would settle herself for a morning of letter writing, and after -tearing up a couple of notes, put on her gardening gloves and get as far -as the herbaceous bed. Then she would find an imperative reason for -going into the town, and so sit down at her piano to practise. Her -appetite, usually of the steady reliable order, failed her, and she -passed broken and tossing nights. Had she been a girl, he would have -said those symptoms all pointed one way; and it would probably not have -been difficult to guess who was the young man in question. Yet he could -scarcely face the conclusion applied to his wife. It was a hideous thing -that a husband should harbour such a suspicion, more hideous that the -husband should be himself. And perhaps more hideous of all, that he -should guess--again without difficulty--who was the man in question. - -He had no conception what to do, or whether to do nothing; it seemed -that action and inaction might alike end in disaster. And, again, the -whole of his explanation of Millie’s symptoms might be erroneous. There -might be other explanations--indeed, there were others possible. As to -that, time would show; at present the best course, perhaps the only -right course, was to be watchful, yet not suspicious, observant, not -prying. Rather than pry or be suspicious he would go to Millie herself, -and without reservation tell her all that had been in his mind. He was -well aware what the heroic attitude, the attitude of the virile, -impetuous Englishman, dear to melodrama, would have been. It was quite -easy for him to “tax” Major Ames with baseness, to grind his teeth at -his wife, and then burst into manly tears, each sob of which seemed to -rend him. But to his quiet, sensible nature, it seemed difficult to see -what was supposed to happen next. In melodrama the curtain went down, -and you started ten years later in Queensland with regenerated natures -distributed broadcast. But in actual life it was impossible to start -again ten years later, or ten minutes later. You had to go on all the -time. Willingly would he, on this divine October morning, have started -again, indefinitely later. The difficulty was how to go on now. - - * * * * * - -His cases had not long detained him, and it was still not long after -noon when the cob, still pleased and alert with motion, but with smoking -flanks, drew up at his door. The clear chill of the morning had -altogether passed, and the air in the basin or tea-cup of a town was -still and sultry. There was a familiar hat on the table in the hall, a -bunch of long-stemmed tawny chrysanthemums lay by it. And at that sight -some distant echo of barbaric and simple man, deplorable to the -smoothness of civilization and altogether obsolete, was resonant in him. -He pitched the chrysanthemums into the street, where they flew like a -shooting star close by the head of General Fortescue, who was tottering -down to the club, and slammed the door. It was melodramatic and foolish -enough, but the desire that prompted it was quite sincere and -irresistible, and if at the moment Major Ames had been in that cool -oak-panelled hall, there is little doubt that Dr. Evans would have done -his best to pitch him out after his flowers. - -The doctor gave himself a moment to recover from his superficial -violence, and then went out into the garden. They were sitting together -on the bench under the mulberry-tree, and Major Ames got up with his -usual briskness as he approached. Somehow Dr. Evans felt as if he was -being welcomed and made to feel at home. - -“Good morning,” said Major Ames. “Glorious day, isn’t it? I just stepped -over with a handful of flowers, and we’ve been having a bit of a chat, a -bit of a chat.” - -“Cousin Lyndhurst has very kindly come to talk over all these little -disturbances,” said Millie. - -She looked at him. - -“Shall I explain?” she asked. - -Dr. Evans took the seat that Major Ames had vacated, leaving him free to -sit down in a garden chair opposite, or to stand, just as he pleased. - -“It is like this, Wilfred,” she said. “Cousin Amy did not like my -joining the anti-Suffragette league which Mrs. Altham started, and I -have told Lyndhurst that I did not care a straw one way or the other, -except that I could not go to prison to please Cousin Amy or any one -else. But it looked like taking sides, she thought. So Lyndhurst thought -it would make everything easy if I didn’t join any league at all. I -think it very clever and tactful of him to think of that, and I will -certainly tell Mrs. Altham I find I am too busy. Of course, there is no -quarrel between Cousin Amy and me, and Lyndhurst wants to assure us that -he isn’t mixed up in it, though there isn’t any--and, of course, if -Cousin Amy didn’t see me the other day when I thought she pretended not -to, it makes a difference.” - -Millie delivered herself of these lucid statements with her usual -deferential air. - -“I think it is very kind of Cousin Lyndhurst to take so much trouble,” -she added. “He is stopping to lunch.” - -Major Ames made a noble little gesture that disclaimed any credit. - -“It’s nothing, a mere nothing,” he said, quite truly. “But I’m sure you -hate little domestic jars as much as I do. As Amy once said, my -profession was to be a man of war, but my instinct was to be a man of -peace. Ha! Ha! I’m only delighted my little olive branch has--has met -with success,” he added rather feebly, being unable to think of any -botanical metaphor. - -The doctor got up. It is to be feared that, in his present state of -mind, he felt not the smallest admiration or gratitude for the work of -Lyndhurst the Peacemaker, but only saw in it a purely personal desire to -secure an uninterrupted _va et vient_ between the two houses. - -“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest intention of quarrelling with -anybody,” he said. “It seems to me the most deplorable waste of time and -energy, besides being very uncomfortable. Let us go in to lunch, Millie; -I have to go out again at two o’clock.” - - * * * * * - -Millie wrote an amiable and insincere little note to Mrs. Altham, which -Major Ames undertook to deliver on his way home, explaining how, since -Elsie had gone to Dresden to perfect herself in the German language, she -herself had become so busy that she did not know which way to turn, -besides missing Elsie very much. She felt, therefore, that since she -would not be able to give as much time as she wished to this very -interesting anti-Suffragette movement, it would be better not to give to -it any time at all. This she wrote directly after her husband had gone -out again, and brought to Major Ames, who was waiting for it. He, too, -had said he would have to be off at once. She gave him the note. - -“There it is,” she said; “and so many thanks for leaving it. But you are -not hurrying away at once, are you?” - -“Am I not keeping you in?” he asked. - -She pulled down the lace blinds over the window that looked into the -street; the October sun, it is true, beat rather hotly into the room, -but the instinct that dictated her action was rather a desire for -privacy. - -“As if I would not sooner sit and talk to you,” she said, “than go out. -I have no one to go out with. I am rather lonely since Elsie has gone, -and I daresay I shall not see Wilfred again till dinner-time. It is -rather amusing that I have just written to Mrs. Altham to say how busy I -am.” - -He came and sat a little closer to her. - -“Upon my word,” he said, “I am in the same boat as you. I haven’t set -eyes on Amy all morning, and this afternoon I know she has a couple of -meetings. It’s extraordinary how this idea of votes for women has taken -hold of her. Not a bad thing, though, as long as she doesn’t go making a -fool of herself in public, and as long as she doesn’t have any more -quarrels with you.” - -“What would you have done if she had really wished to quarrel with me -over Mrs. Altham’s league?” she asked. - -“Just what I told her. I said I would be no partner to it, and as long -as you would receive me here _en garçon_ I should always come.” - -“That was dear of you,” she said softly. - -She paused a moment. - -“Sometimes I think we made a mistake in coming to settle here,” she -said; “but you know how obstinate Wilfred is, and how little influence I -have with him. But then, again, I think of our friendship. I have not -had many friends. I think, perhaps, I am too shy and timid with people. -When I like them very much I find it difficult to express myself. It is -rather sad not to be able to show what you feel quite frankly. It -prevents your being understood by the people whom you most want to -understand you.” - -But beneath this profession of incompetence, it seemed to Major Ames -that there lurked a very efficient strength. He felt himself being -gradually overpowered by a superior force, a force that did not strike -and disable and overbear, but cramped and paralysed the power of its -adversary, enfolding him, clinging to him. There was still something in -him, some part of his will which was hostile and opposed to her: it was -just that which she assailed. And in alliance with that paralysing force -was her attraction and charm--soft, yielding, feminine; the two advanced -side by side, terrible twins. - -He did not answer for a moment, and it flashed across his mind that this -cool room, shaded from the street glare by the lace curtains, and -suffused with the greenish glow of the sunlight reflected from the lawn -outside, was like a trap.... She gave a little laugh. - -“See how badly I express myself,” she said. “You are puzzling, frowning. -Don’t frown, you look best when you are laughing. I get so tired of -frowning faces. Wilfred so often frowns all dinner-time when he is -thinking over something connected with microbes. And he frowns over his -chess, when he cannot make up his mind whether to exchange bishops. We -play chess every evening.” - -Instinctively she had drawn back a little, when she saw he did not -advance to meet her, and spoke as if chess and the pathos of her -dumbness to express friendship were things of equal moment. There was no -calculation about it: it was the expression of one type, the eternal -feminine attracted and wishing to attract. Her descent to these -commonplaces restored his confidence; the room was a trap no longer, but -the pleasant drawing-room he knew so well, with its charming mistress -seated by him. It was almost inevitable that he should contrast the hot -plushes and saddle-bag cushions of his own, its angular chairs and -Axminster carpets with the cool chintzes here, the lace-shrouded -windows, the Persian rugs. More marked was the contrast between the -mistresses of the two houses. Amy had been writing at her davenport a -good deal lately, and her short, stiff back had been the current -picture of her. Here was a woman, dim in the half light, wanting to talk -to him, to make timid confidences, to make him realize how much his -friendship meant to her. His confidence returned with disarming -completeness. - -“Well, I’m sure I should find it dismal enough at home,” he said, “if I -hadn’t somewhere to go to, knowing I should find a welcome. Mind you, I -don’t blame Amy. For years now, when we’ve been alone in the evening, -she has done her work, and I have read the paper, and I daresay we -haven’t said a dozen words till Parker brought in the bedroom candles, -or sometimes we play picquet--for love. But now evenings spent like that -seem to me very prosy and dismal. Perhaps it’s Harrogate that has made -me a bit more supple and youthful, though I’m sure it’s ridiculous -enough that a tough old campaigner like me should feel such things----” - -Mrs. Evans put forward her chin, raising her face towards him. - -“But why ridiculous?” she asked. “You must be so much younger than dear -Cousin Amy. I wonder--I wonder if she feels that too?” - -There was there a very devilish suggestion, the more so because, in -proportion to the suggestion, so very little was stated. It succeeded -admirably. - -“Poor dear Amy!” said he. - -He had said that once before, when Cleopatra-Amy was contrasted with -Cleopatra-Millie. But there was a significance in the repetition of it. -Once the assumed identity of character had suggested the comment, now -there was no assumed character. It concerned Millie and Amy themselves. - -Mrs. Evans put back her chin. - -“I am sure Cousin Amy ought to be very happy,” she said softly. “You are -so devoted to her, and all. I almost think you spoil her, Lyndhurst. It -is all so romantic. Fancy being a woman, and as old as Cousin Amy, and -yet having a young man so devoted. Harry, too!” - -Again a billow of confidence tinged with self-appreciation surged over -Major Ames. After all, his wife was much older than him, for he was -still a young man, and his youth was being expanded on sweet-peas and -the garden roller. And he was stirred into a high flight of -philosophical conjecture. - -“My God, what a puzzle life is!” he observed. - -She rose to this high-water mark. - -“And it might be so simple,” she said. “It should be so easy to be -happy.” - -Then Major Ames knew where he was. In one sense he was worthy of the -occasion, in another he did not feel up to all that it implied. He rose -hastily. - -“I had better go,” he said rather hoarsely. - -But he had smoked five cigarettes since lunch. The hoarseness might -easily have been the result of this indulgence. - -She did not attempt to keep him, nor did she make it incumbent on him to -give her a kiss, however cousinly. She did not even rise, but only -looked up at him from her low chair as she gave him her hand, smiling a -little secretly, as Monna Lisa smiles. But she felt quite satisfied with -their talk; he would think over it, and find fresh signals and private -beckonings in it. - -“Come and see me again,” she said. There was a touch of imperativeness -in her tone. - -She looked through the lace curtain and saw him go out into the street. -There was something in the gutter of the roadway which he inquired into -with the end of his stick. It looked like a withered bunch of dusty -chrysanthemums. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Ames, meantime, had lunched at home, and gone off immediately -afterwards, as her husband had conjectured, to a meeting. In the last -month the membership of her league had largely increased, and it was no -longer possible to convene its meetings in her own drawing-room, for it -numbered some fifty persons, including a dozen men of enlightened -principles. Even at first, as has been seen, she had welcomed (thereby -incurring Mrs. Altham’s disapproval) several ladies with whom she did -not usually associate, and now the gathering was entirely independent of -all class distinctions. The wife of the station-master, for instance, -was one of the most active members and walked up and down the platform -with a large rosette of Suffragette colours selling current copies of -the _Clarion_. And no less remarkable than this growth of the league was -the growth of Mrs. Ames. She was neither pompous nor condescending to -those persons whom, a couple of months ago, she would have looked upon -as being barely existent, except if they were all in church, when she -would very probably have shared a hymn-book with any of them, the “Idea” -for which they had assembled galvanizing them, though strictly -temporarily, into the class of existent people. Now, the idea which -brought them together in the commodious warehouse, kindly lent and -sufficiently furnished by Mr. Turner, had given them a permanent -existence, and they were not automatically blotted out of her book of -life the moment these meetings were over, as they would have been so -short a time ago in church, when the last “Amen” was said. The bonds of -her barren and barbaric conventionality were bursting; indeed, it was -not so much that others, not even those of “her class,” were becoming -women to her, as that she was becoming a woman herself. She had scarcely -been one hitherto; she had been a piece of perfect propriety. And how -far she had travelled from her original conception of the Suffragette -movement as suitable to supply a novelty for the autumn that would -eclipse the memory of the Shakespearean ball, may be gathered from the -fact that she no longer took the chair at these meetings, but was an -ordinary member. Mr. Turner had far more experience in the duties of a -chairman: she had herself proposed him and would have seconded him as -well, had such a step been in order. - -To-day the meeting was assembled to discuss the part which the league -should take in the forthcoming elections. The Tory Government was at -present in power, and likely to remain in office, while Riseborough -itself was a fairly safe seat for the Tory member, who was Sir James -Westbourne. Before polemical or obstructive measures could be decided -on, it had clearly been necessary to ascertain Sir James’ views on the -subject of votes for women, and to-day his answer had been received and -was read to the meeting. It was as unsatisfactory as it was brief, and -their “obedient servant” had no sympathy with, and so declined to -promise any support to, their cause. Mr. Turner read this out, and laid -it down on his desk. - -“Will ladies or gentlemen give us their views on the course we are to -adopt?” he said. - -A dozen simultaneously rose, and simultaneously sat down again. The -chairman asked Mrs. Brooks to address the meeting. Another and another -succeeded her, and there was complete unanimity of purpose in their -suggestions. Sir James’ meetings and his speeches to his constituents -must not be allowed to proceed without interruption. If he had no -sympathy with the cause, the cause would show a marked lack of sympathy -with him. Thereafter the league resolved itself into a committee of ways -and means. The President of the Board of Trade was coming to support Sir -James’ candidature at a meeting the date of which was already fixed for -a fortnight hence, and it was decided to make a demonstration in force. -And as the discussion went on, and real practical plans were made, that -strange fascination and excitement at the thought of shouting and -interrupting at a public meeting, of becoming for the first time of some -consequence, began to seethe and ferment. Most of the members were -women, whose lives had been passed in continuous self-repression, who -had been frozen over by the narcotic ice of a completely conventional -and humdrum existence. Many of them were unmarried and already of -middle-age; their natural human instincts had never known the blossoming -and honey which the fulfilment of their natures would have brought. To -the eagerness and sincerity with which they welcomed a work that -demanded justice for their sex, there was added this excitement of doing -something at last. There was an opportunity of expansion, of stepping -out, under the stimulus of an idea, into an experience that was real. In -kind, this was akin to martyrs who rejoiced and sang when the prospects -of prosecution came near; as martyrs for the sake of their faith -thought almost with glee of the rack and the burning, so, minutely, the -very prospect of discomfort and rough handling seemed attractive, if, by -such means, the cause was infinitesimally advanced. To this, a sincere -and wholly laudable desire, was added the more personal stimulus. They -would be doing something, instead of suffering the tedium of passivity, -acting instead of being acted on. For it is only through centuries of -custom that the woman, physically weak and liable to be knocked down, -has become the servant of the other sex. She is fiercer at heart, more -courageous, more scornful of consequences than he; it is only muscular -inferiority of strength that has subdued her into the place that she -occupies, that, and the periods when, for the continuance of the race, -she must submit to months of tender and strong inaction. There she finds -fruition of her nature, and there awakes in her a sweet indulgence for -the strange, childish lust of being master, of parading, in making of -laws and conventions, his adventitious power, of the semblance of -sovereignty that has been claimed by man. At heart she knows that he has -but put a tinsel crown on his head, and robed himself in spangles that -but parody real gold. She lays a woman’s hand on his child-head, and to -please him says, “How wise you are, how strong, how clever.” And the -child is pleased, and loves her for it. And there is her weakness, for -the most dominant thing in her nature is the need of being loved. From -the beginning it must have been so. When Adam’s rib was taken from him -in sleep, he lost more than was left him, and woke to find all his finer -self gone from him. He was left a blundering bumble-bee: to the rib that -was taken from him clung the courage of the lioness, the wisdom of the -serpent, the gentleness of the dove, the cunning of the spider, and the -mysterious charm of the firefly that dances in the dusk. But to that rib -also clung the desire to be loved. Otherwise, in the human race, the -male would be slain yearly like the drone of the hive. But the strange -thing that grew from the rib, like flowers from buried carrion, desired -love. There was its strength and its weakness. - -It desired love, and in its desire it suffered all degradation to obtain -it. And no leanness of soul entered into the gratification of its -desire. Only when its desire was pinched and rationed, or when, by the -operation of civilized law, all fruit of desire was denied it, so that -the blossom of sex was made into one unfruitful bud, did revolt come. -Long generations produced the germ, long generations made it active. At -length it swam up to sight, from subaqueous dimnesses, feeble and -violent, conscious of the justice of its cause and demanding justice. -But what helped to make the desire for justice so attractive was the -violence, the escape from self-repression that the demand gave -opportunity for, to many who, all their lives, had been corked or wired -down in comfort, which no woman cares about, or sealed up in -spinsterhood and decorous emptiness of days. There was justice in the -demand, and hysterical excitement in demanding. - - * * * * * - -To others, and in this little league of Riseborough there were many -such, the prospect of making those demands was primarily appalling, and -to none more than to poor Mrs. Ames, when the plan of campaign was -discussed, decided on, and entrusted to the members of the league. It -required almost more courage than the idea was capable of inspiring to -face, even in anticipation, the thought of shouting “Votes for Women” -when good-humoured Cousin James rose and said “Ladies and gentlemen!” -Very possibly, as had often happened in Cousin James’ previous -candidatures, Lyndhurst would wish his wife to ask him and the President -of the Board of Trade to dinner before the meeting, an occasion which -would warrant the materialization of the most sumptuous of all the -dinners tabulated on the printed menu-cards, while sherry would be given -with soup, hock with fish, and a constant flow of champagne be kept up -afterwards, until port time. In that case Cousin James would certainly -ask them to sit on the platform, and they would roll richly to the town -hall in his motor, all blazing with Conservative colours, while she, in -a small bag, would be surreptitiously conveying there her great -Suffragette rosette, and a small steel chain with a padlock. She would -be sitting probably next the Mayor, who would introduce the speakers, -and no doubt refer to “the presence of the fair sex” who graced the -platform. During this she would have to pin her colours on her dress, -chain herself up like Andromeda, snap the patent spring-lock of the -padlock, and when Sir James rose ... her imagination could not grapple -with the picture: it turned sickly away, refusing to contemplate. And -this to a cousin and a guest, who had just eaten the best salt, so to -speak, of her table, from one who all her life had been so perfect a -piece of propriety! She felt far too old a bottle for such new wine. -Sitting surrounded by fellow-crusaders, and infected by the proximity of -their undiluted enthusiasm, it would be difficult enough, but that she -should chain herself, perhaps, to the very leg of the table which Cousin -James would soon thump in the fervour of his oratory, as he announced -all those Tory platitudes in which she so firmly believed, and which she -must so shrilly interrupt, while sitting solitary in the desert of his -sleek and staid supporters, was not only an impossible but an -unthinkable achievement. Whatever horrors fate, that gruesome weaver of -nightmares, might have in store for her, she felt that here was -something that transcended imagination. She could not sit on the -platform with Lyndhurst and Cousin James and the Mayor and Lady -Westbourne, and do what was required of her, for the sake of any -crusade. Curfew, so to speak, would have to ring that night. - -She and Lyndhurst were dining alone the evening after this meeting of -“ways and means,” he in that state of mind which she not inaptly -described as “worried” when she felt kind, and “cross” when she felt -otherwise. He had come home hot from his walk, and, having sat in his -room where there was no fire, when evening fell chilly, had had a smart -touch of lumbago. Thus there were clearly two causes for complaint -against Amy, and a third disturbing topic, for there was no shadow of -doubt that it was his bouquet of chrysanthemums that he had found in the -road outside Dr. Evans’ house, and even before the lumbago had produced -its characteristic pessimism, he had been unable to find any encouraging -explanation of this floral castaway. - -“I’m sure I don’t know what was the good of my spending all August,” he -said, “in that filthy hole of a Harrogate, at no end of expense, too, if -I’m to be crippled all winter. But you urged me to so strongly: should -never have thought of going there otherwise.” - -“My dear, you have only been crippled for half-an-hour at present,” she -observed. “It is a great bore, but if only you will take a good hot bath -to-night, and have a very light dinner, I expect you will be much better -in the morning. Parker, tell them to see that there is plenty of hot -water in the kitchen boiler.” - -“It’ll be the only warm thing in the house, if there is,” said he. “My -room was like an ice-house when I came in. Positively like an ice-house. -Enough to give a man pneumonia, let alone lumbago. Soup cold, too.” - -“My dear, you should take more care of yourself,” said Mrs. Ames -placidly. “Why did you not light the fire instead of being cold? I’m -sure it was laid.” - -“And have it just burning up at dinner-time,” said he, “when I no longer -wanted it.” - -It was still early in the course of dinner. - -“Light the fire in the drawing-room, Parker,” said Mrs. Ames. “Let there -be a good fire when we come out of dinner.” - -“Get roasted alive,” said Major Ames, half to himself, but intending to -be heard. - -But Mrs. Ames’ mind had been feasting for weeks past on things which had -a solider existence than her husband’s unreasonable strictures. Since -this new diet had been hers, his snaps and growls had produced no -effect: they often annoyed her into repartee, and as likely as not, a -few months ago, she would have said that his claret seemed a very poor -kind of beverage. But to-night she felt not the smallest desire to -retort. She was very sorry for his lumbago, but felt no inclination to -carry the war into his territories, or to tell him that if people, -perspiring freely, and of gouty habit, choose to sit down without -changing, and get chilly, they must expect reprisal for their -imprudence. - -“Then we will open the window, dear,” she said, “if we find we are -frizzling. But I don’t think it will be too hot. Evenings are chilly in -October. Did you have a pleasant lunch, Lyndhurst? Indeed, I don’t know -where you lunched. I ordered curry for you. I sat down at a quarter to -two as you did not come in.” - -It was all so infinitesimal ... yet it was the mental diet which had -supported her for years. Perhaps after dinner they would play picquet. -The garden, the kitchen, for years, except for gossip infinitely less -real, these had been the topics. There had been no joy for him in the -beauty of the garden, only a pleased sense of proprietorship, if a rare -plant flowered, or if there were more roses than usual. For her, she had -been vaguely pleased if Lyndhurst had taken two helpings of a dish, and -both of them had been vaguely disquieted if Harry quoted Swinburne. - -“I lunched with the Evans’,” he said. “By the way, I met your cousin -James Westbourne this afternoon, when I was on my walk. Extraordinarily -cordial he gets when there’s business ahead that brings him into -Riseborough, and he wants to cadge a dinner or two. It’s little notice -he takes of us the rest of the year, and I’m sure it’s a couple of years -since he so much as sent us a brace of pheasants, and more than that -since he asked me to shoot there. But as I say, when he wants to pick up -a dinner or two in Riseborough, he’s all heartiness, and saying he -doesn’t see half enough of us. He doesn’t seem to strain himself in -trying to see more, and there’s seldom a week-end when he and that -great guy of a wife of his don’t have the house packed with people. I -suppose we’re not smart enough for them, except when it’s convenient to -dine in Riseborough. Then he’s not above drinking a bottle of my -champagne.” - -Mrs. Ames was eager in support of her husband. - -“I’m sure there’s no call for you to open any more bottles for him, my -dear,” she said. “If Cousin James wants to see us, he can take his turn -in asking us. And Harriet is a great guy, as you say, with her big -fiddle-head.” - -Major Ames shrugged his shoulders rather magnificently. - -“I’m sure I don’t grudge him his dinner,” he said, “and, in point of -fact, I told him he could come and dine with us before his first -meeting. He’s got some Cabinet Minister with him, and I said he could -bring him too. You might get up a little party, that’s to say if I’m not -in bed with this infernal lumbago. And Cousin James will return our -hospitality by giving us seats on the platform to hear him stamp and -stammer and rant. An infernal bad speaker. Never heard a worse. Wretched -delivery, nothing to say, and says it all fifty times over. Enough to -make a man turn Radical. However, he’ll have made himself at home with -my Mumm, and perhaps he’ll go to sleep himself before he sends us off.” - -This, of course, represented the lumbago-view. Major Ames had been -fulsomely cordial to Cousin James, and had himself urged the dinner that -he represented now as being forced on him. - -“Have you actually asked him, Lyndhurst?” said Mrs. Ames rather faintly. -“Did he say he would come?” - -“Did you ever know your Cousin James refuse a decent dinner?” asked -Lyndhurst. “And he was kind enough to say he would like it at a quarter -past seven. Cool, upon my word! I wish I had asked him if he’d have -thick soup or clear, and if he preferred a wing to a leg. That’s the -sort of thing one never thinks of till afterwards.” - -Mrs. Ames was not attending closely: there was that below the surface -which claimed all her mind. Consequently she missed the pungency of this -irony, hearing only the words. - -“Cousin James never takes soup at all,” she said. “He told me it always -disagreed.” - -Major Ames sighed; his lumbago felt less acute, his ill-temper had found -relief in words, and he had long ago discovered that women had no sense -of humour. On the whole, it was gratifying to find the truth of this so -amply endorsed. For the moment it put him into quite a good temper. - -“I’m afraid I’ve been grumbling all dinner,” he said. “Shall we go into -the other room? There’s little sense in my looking at the decanters, if -I mayn’t take my glass of port. Eh! That was a twinge!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -“It is no use, Henry,” said Mrs. Altham on that same evening, “telling -me it is all stuff and nonsense, when I’ve seen with my own eyes the -parcel of Suffragette riband being actually directed to Mrs. Brooks; for -pen and ink is pen and ink, when all is said and done. Tapworth measured -off six yards of it on the counter-measure that gives two feet, for he -gave nine lengths of it and put it in paper and directed it. Of course, -if nine lengths of two feet doesn’t make eighteen feet, which is six -yards, I am wrong and you are right, and twice two no longer makes four. -And there were two other parcels already done up of exactly the same -shape. You will see if I am not right. Or do you suppose that Mrs. -Brooks is ordering it just to trim her nightgown with it?” - -“I never said anything about Mrs. Brooks’ nightgown,” said Henry, who, -to do him justice, had been goaded into slightly Rabelaisian mood: “I -never thought about Mrs. Brooks’ nightgown. I didn’t know she wore -one--I mean----” - -Mrs. Altham made what children would call “a face.” Her eyes grew -suddenly fixed and boiled, and her mouth assumed an acidulated -expression as if with a plethora of lemon-juice. The “face” was due to -the entry of the parlour-maid with the pudding. It was jelly, and was -served in silence. Mrs. Altham waited till the door was quietly closed -again. - -“It is not a question of Mrs. Brooks’ nightgown,” she said, “since we -both agree that she would not order six yards of Suffragette riband to -trim it. I spoke sarcastically, Henry, and you interpreted me literally, -as you often do. It was the same at Littlestone in August, when the -bacon was so salt one day that I said to Mrs. Churchill that a little -bacon in the bath would be equivalent to sea-bathing. Upon which you -must needs tell her next morning to send your bacon to the bath-room, -which she did, and there was a plate of bacon on the sponge-tray, so -extraordinary. But all that is beside the point, though what she can -have thought of you I can’t imagine. After all, your gift of being -literal may help you now. Why does Mrs. Brooks want six yards of -Suffragette riband, and why are there two similar parcels on Tapworth’s -counter? If I had had a moment alone I would certainly have looked at -the other addresses, and seen where they were being sent. But young -Tapworth was there all the time--that one with the pince-nez, and the -ridiculous chin--and he put them into the errand-boy’s basket, and told -him to be sharp about it. So I had no chance of seeing.” - -“You might have strolled along behind the boy to see where he went,” -suggested Mr. Altham. - -“He went on a bicycle,” said Mrs. Altham, “and it is impossible to -stroll behind a boy on a bicycle and hope to get there in time. But he -went up the High Street. I should not in the least wonder if Mrs. Evans -had turned Suffragette, after that note to me about her not having time -to attend the anti-Suffragette meetings.” - -“Especially since there was only one,” said Henry, in the literal mood -that had been forced on him, “and nobody came to that. It would not have -sacrificed very much of her time. Not that I ever heard it was -valuable.” - -“What she can do with her day I can’t imagine,” said Mrs. Altham, her -mind completely diverted by this new topic. “Her cook told Griffiths -that as often as not she doesn’t go down to the kitchen at all in the -morning, and she’s hardly ever to be seen shopping in the High Street -before lunch, and what with Elsie gone to Dresden, and her husband away -on his rounds all day, she must be glad when it’s bedtime. And she’s a -small sleeper, too, for she told me herself that she considers six hours -a good night, though I expect she sleeps more than she knows, and I -daresay has a nap after lunch as well. Dear me, what were we talking -about? Ah, yes, I was saying I should not wonder if she had turned -Suffragette, though I can’t recall what made me think so.” - -“Because Tapworth’s boy went up the High Street on a bicycle,” said Mr. -Altham, who had a great gift of picking out single threads from the -tangle of his wife’s conversation; “though, after all, the High Street -leads to other houses besides Mrs. Evans’. The station, for instance.” - -“You seem to want to find fault with everything I say, to-night, Henry. -I don’t know what makes you so contrary. But there it is: I saw eighteen -yards of Suffragette riband being sent out when I happened to be in -Tapworth’s this morning, and I daresay that’s but a tithe of what has -been ordered, though I can’t say as to that, unless you expect me to -stand in the High Street all day and watch. And as to what it all means, -I’ll let you conjecture for yourself, since if I told you what I -thought, you would probably contradict me again.” - -It was no wonder that Mrs. Altham was annoyed. She had been thrilled to -the marrow by the parcels of Suffragette riband, and when she -communicated her discovery, Henry, who usually was so sympathetic, had -seen nothing to be thrilled about. But he had not meant to be -unsympathetic, and repaired his error. - -“I’m sure, my dear, that you will have formed a very good guess as to -what it means,” he said. “Tell me what you think.” - -“Well, if you care to know,” said she, “I think it all points to there -being some demonstration planned, and I for one should not be surprised -if I looked out of the window some morning, and saw Mrs. Ames and Mrs. -Brooks and the rest of them marching down the High Street with ribands -and banners. They’ve been keeping very quiet about it all, at least not -a word of what they’ve been doing has come to my ears, and I consider -that’s a proof that something is going on and that they want to keep it -secret.” - -Mr. Altham’s legal mind cried out to him to put in the plea that a -complete absence of news does not necessarily constitute a proof that -exciting events are occurring, but he rightly considered that such logic -might be taken to be a sign of continued “contrariness.” So he gave an -illogical assent to his wife’s theory. - -“Certainly it is odd that nothing more has been heard of it all,” he -said. “I wonder what they are planning. The election coming on so soon, -too! Can they be planning anything in connection with that?” - -Mrs. Altham got up, letting her napkin fall on the floor. - -“Henry, I believe you have hit it,” she said. “Now what can it be? Let -us go into the drawing-room, and thresh it out.” - -But the best threshing-machines in the world cannot successfully fulfil -their function unless there is some material to work upon; they can but -show by their whirling wheels and rattling gear that they are capable of -threshing should anything be provided for them. The poor Althams were -somewhat in this position, for their rations of gossip were sadly -reduced, their two chief sources being cut off from them. For ever since -the mendacious Mrs. Brooks had appeared as Cleopatra, when she had as -good as promised to be Hermione, chill politeness had taken the place of -intimacy between the two houses, since there was no telling what trick -she might not play next, while the very decided line which Mrs. Altham -had taken when she found she was expected to meet people like -tradesmen’s wives had caused a complete rupture in relations with the -Ames’. That Suffragette meetings were going on was certain, else what -sane mind could account for the fact that only to-day a perfect stream -of people, some of them not even known by sight to Mrs. Altham, and -therefore probably of the very lowest origin, with Mrs. Ames and the -wife of the station-master among them, had been seen coming out of Mr. -Turner’s warehouse. It was ridiculous “to tell me” that they had been -all making purchases (nobody had told her), and such a supposition was -thoroughly negatived by the subsequent discovery that the warehouse in -question contained only a quantity of chairs. All this, however, had -been threshed out at tea-time, and the fly-wheels buzzed emptily. -Against the probability of an election-demonstration was the fact that -the Unionist member, to whom these attentions would naturally be -directed, was Mrs. Ames’ cousin, though “cousin” was a vague word, and -Mrs. Altham would not wonder if he was a very distant sort of cousin -indeed. Still, it would be worth while to get tickets anyhow for the -first of Sir James’ meetings, when the President of the Board of Trade -was going to speak, so as to be certain of a good place. _He_ was not -Mrs. Ames’ cousin, so far as Mrs. Altham knew, though she did not -pretend to follow the ramifications of Mrs. Ames’ family. - -The fly-wheels were allowed to run on in silence for some little while -after this meagre material had been thoroughly sifted, in case anything -further offered itself; then Mr. Altham proposed another topic. - -“You were saying that you wondered how Mrs. Evans got through her time,” -he began. - -But there was no need for him to say another word, not any opportunity. - -Mrs. Altham stooped like a hawk on the quarry. - -“You mean Major Ames,” she said. “I’m sure I never pass the house but -what he’s either going in or coming out, and he does a good deal more of -the going in than of the other, in my opinion.” - -Henry penetrated into the meaning of what sounded a rather curious -achievement and corroborated. - -“He was there this morning,” he said, “on the doorstep at eleven -o’clock, or it might have been a quarter-past, with a bouquet of -chrysanthemums big enough to do all Mrs. Ames’ decorations at St. -Barnabas. What is the matter, my dear?” - -For Mrs. Altham had literally bounced out of her chair, and was pointing -at him a forefinger that trembled with a nameless emotion. - -“At a quarter-past one, or a few minutes later,” she said, “that bouquet -was lying in the middle of the road. Let us say twenty minutes past one, -because I came straight home, took off my hat, and was ready for lunch. -It was more like a haystack than a bouquet: I’m sure if I hadn’t stepped -over it, I should have tripped and fallen. And to think that I never -mentioned it to you, Henry! How things piece themselves together, if you -give them a chance! Now did you actually see Major Ames carry it into -the house?” - -“The door was opened to him, just as I came opposite,” said Henry -firmly, “and in he went, bouquet and all.” - -“Then somebody _must_ have thrown it out again,” said Mrs. Altham. - -She held up one hand, and ticked off names on its fingers. - -“Who was then in the house?” she said. “Mrs. Evans, Dr. Evans, Major -Ames. Otherwise the servants--how they can find work for six servants in -that house I can’t understand--and servants would never have thrown -chrysanthemums into the street. So we needn’t count the servants. Now -can you imagine Mrs. Evans throwing away a bouquet that Major Ames had -brought her? If so, I envy you your power of imagination. Or----” - -She paused a moment. - -“Or can there have been a quarrel, and did she tell him she had too -much of him and his bouquets? Or----” - -“Dr. Evans,” said Henry. - -She nodded portentously. - -“Turned out of the house, he and his bouquet,” she said. “Dr. Evans is a -powerful man, and Major Ames, for all his size, is mostly fat. I should -not wonder if Dr. Evans knocked him down. Henry, I have a good mind to -treat Mrs. Ames as if she had not been so insulting to me that day (and -after all that is only Christian conduct) and to take round to her after -lunch to-morrow the book she said she wanted to see last July. I am sure -I have forgotten what it was, but any book will do, since she only wants -it to be thought that she reads. After all, I should be sorry to let -Mrs. Ames suppose that anything she can do should have the power of -putting me out, and I should like to see if she still dyes her hair. -After the chrysanthemums in the road I should not be the least surprised -to be told that Major Ames is ill. Then we shall know all. Dear me, it -is eleven o’clock already, and I never felt less inclined to sleep.” - -Henry stepped downstairs to drink a mild whisky and soda after all this -conversation and excitement, but while it was still half drunk, he felt -compelled to run upstairs and tap at his wife’s door. - -“I am not coming in, dear,” he said, in answer to her impassioned -negative. “But if you find Major Ames is not ill?” - -“No one will be more rejoiced than myself, Henry,” said she, in a -disappointed voice. - -Henry went gently downstairs again. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Ames was at home when the forgiving Mrs. Altham arrived on the -following afternoon, bearing a copy of a book of which there were -already two examples in the house. But she clearly remembered having -wanted to see some book of which they had spoken together, last July, -and it was very kind of Mrs. Altham to have attempted to supply her with -it. Beyond doubt she had ceased to dye her hair, for the usual grey -streaks were apparent in it, a proof (if Mrs. Altham wanted a proof, -which she did not) that artificial means had been resorted to. And even -as Mrs. Altham, with her powerful observation, noticed the difference in -Mrs. Ames’ hair, so also she noticed a difference in Mrs. Ames. She no -longer seemed pompous: there was a kindliness about her which was -utterly unlike her usual condescension, though it manifested itself only -in the trivial happenings of an afternoon call, such as putting a -cushion in her chair, and asking if she found the room, with its -prospering fire, too hot. This also led to interesting information. - -“It is scarcely cold enough for a fire to-day,” she said, “but my -husband is laid up with a little attack of lumbago.” - -“I am so sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Altham feverishly. “When did he -catch it?” - -“He felt it first last night before dinner. It is disappointing, for he -expected Harrogate to cure him of such tendencies. But it is not very -severe: I have no doubt he will be in here presently for tea.” - -Mrs. Altham felt quite convinced he would not, and hastened to glean -further enlightenment. - -“You must be very busy thinking of the election,” she said. “I suppose -Sir James is safe to get in. I got tickets for the first of his meetings -this morning.” - -“That will be the one at which the President of the Board of Trade -speaks,” said Mrs. Ames. “My cousin and he dine with us first.” - -Mrs. Altham determined on more direct questions. - -“Really, it must require courage to be a politician nowadays,” she said, -“especially if you are in the Cabinet. Mr. Chilcot has been hardly able -to open his mouth lately without being interrupted by some Suffragette. -Dear me, I hope I have not said the wrong thing! I quite forgot your -sympathies.” - -“It is certainly a subject that interests me,” said Mrs. Ames, “though -as for saying the wrong thing, dear Mrs. Altham, why, the world would be -a very dull place if we all agreed with each other. But I think it -requires just as much courage for a woman to get up at a meeting and -interrupt. I cannot imagine myself being bold enough. I feel I should be -unable to get on my feet, or utter a word. They must be very much in -earnest, and have a great deal of conviction to nerve them.” - -This was not very satisfactory; if anything was to be learned from it, -it was that Mrs. Ames was but a tepid supporter of the cause. But what -followed was still more vexing, for the parlour-maid announced Mrs. -Evans. - -“So sorry to hear about Major Ames, dear cousin Amy,” she said. “Wilfred -told me he had been to see him.” - -Mrs. Ames made a kissing-pad, so to speak, of her small toad’s face, and -Millie dabbed her cheek on it. - -“Dear Millie, how nice of you to call! Parker, tell the Major that tea -is ready and that Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Altham are here.” - -But by the time Major Ames arrived Mrs. Altham was there no longer. She -was thoroughly disgusted with the transformation into chaff of all the -beautiful grain that they had taken the trouble to thresh out the night -before. She summed it up succinctly to her husband when he came back -from his golf. - -“I don’t believe the Suffragettes are going to do anything at all, -Henry,” she said, “and I shouldn’t wonder if these chrysanthemums had -nothing to do with anybody. The only thing is that her hair is dyed, -because it was all speckled with grey again as thickly as yours, and I -declare I left _The Safety of the Race_ behind me, instead of bringing -it back again, as I meant to do.” - -Henry, who had won his match at golf, was naturally optimistic. - -“Then you didn’t actually see Major Ames?” he asked. - -“No, but there was no longer any doubt about it all,” she said. “I do -not think I am unduly credulous, but it was clear there was nothing the -matter with him except a touch of lumbago. And all this Suffragette -business means nothing at all, in spite of the yards of riband. You may -take my word for it.” - -“Then there will be no point in going to Sir James’ meeting,” said -Henry, “though the President of the Board of Trade is going to speak.” - -“Not unless you want to hear the biggest windbag in the country -buttering up the greatest prig in the county. I should be sorry to waste -my time over it; and he is dining with the Ames’, and so I suppose all -there will be to look at will be the row of them on the platform, all -swollen with one of Mrs. Ames’ biggest dinners. We might have gone to -bed at our usual time last night, for all the use that there has been -in our talk. And it was you saw the chrysanthemums, from which you -expected so much and thought it worth while to tell me about them.” - -And Henry felt too much depressed at the utter flatness of all that had -made so fair a promise, to enter any protest against the palpable -injustice of these conclusions. - - * * * * * - -Major Ames’ lumbago was of the Laodicean sort, neither hot nor cold. It -hung about, occasionally stabbing him shrewdly, at times retreating in -the Parthian mode, so that he was encouraged to drink a glass of port, -upon which it shot at him again, and he had to get back to his stew of -sloppy diet and depressing reflections. Most of all, the relations into -which he had allowed himself to drift with regard to Millie filled him -with a timorous yet exultant agitation, but he almost, if not quite, -exaggerated his indisposition, in order to escape from the -responsibility of deciding what should come of it. Damp and boisterous -weather made it prudent for him to keep to the house, and she came to -see him daily. Behind her demure quietness he divined a mind that was -expectant and sure: there was no doubt as to her view of the situation -that had arisen between them. She had played with the emotions of others -once too often, and was caught in the agitation which she had so often -excited without sharing in it. Mrs. Ames was generally present at these -visits, but when it was quite certain that she was not looking, Millie -often raised her eyes to his, and this disconcerting conviction lurked -behind them. Her speech was equally disconcerting, for she would say, -“It will be nice when you are well again,” in a manner that quite belied -the commonplace words. And this force that lay behind strangely -controlled him. Involuntarily, almost, he answered her signals, gave -himself the lover-like privilege of seeming to understand all that was -not said. All the time, too, he perfectly appreciated the bad taste of -the affair--namely, that a woman who was in love with him, and to whom -he had given indications of the most unmistakable kind that he was on -her plane of emotion, should play these unacted scenes in his wife’s -house, coming there to make pass his invalid hours, and that he should -take his part in them. It was common, and he could not but contrast that -commonness with the unconsciousness of his wife. Occasionally he was -inclined to think, “Poor Amy, how little she sees,” but as often it -occurred to him that she was too big to be aware of such smallnesses as -he and Milly were guilty of. And, in reality, the truth lay between -these extreme views. She was not too big to be aware of it; she was -quite aware of it, but she was big enough to appear too big to be aware -of it. She watched, and scorned herself for her watching. She fed -herself with suspicions, but was robust enough to spew them forth again. -Also, and this allowed the robuster attitude to flourish, she was -concerned with a nightmare of her own which daily grew more vivid and -unescapable. - -A decade of streaming October days passed in this trying atmosphere of -suspicion and uncertainty and apprehension. Of the three of them it was -Major Ames who was most thoroughly ill at ease, for he had no -inspiration which enabled him to bear this sordid martyrdom. He divined -that Millie was evolving some situation in which he would be expected -to play a very prominent part, and such ardour as was his he felt not to -be of the adequate temperature, and he looked back over the peaceful -days when his garden supplied him not only with flowers, but with the -most poignant emotions known to his nature, almost with regret. It had -all been so peaceful and pleasant in that land-locked harbour, and now -she, like a steam-tug, was slowly towing him out past the pier-head into -a waste of breakers. Strictly speaking, it was possible for him at any -moment to cast the towing-rope off and return to his quiet anchorage, -but he was afraid he lacked the moral power to do so. He had let her -throw the rope aboard him, he had helped to attach it to the bollard, -thinking, so to speak, that he was the tug and she the frail little -craft. But that frail little craft had developed into an engined -apparatus, and it was his turn to be towed, helpless and at least -unwilling, and wholly uninspired. The others, at any rate, had -inspiration to warm their discomfort: Mrs. Ames the sense of justice and -sisterhood which was leavening her dumpy existence, Mrs. Evans the fire -which, however strange and illicit are its burnings, however common and -trivial the material from which it springs, must still be called love. - - * * * * * - -It was the evening of Sir James’ first meeting, and Mrs. Ames at six -o’clock was satisfying herself that nothing had been omitted in the -preparations for dinner. The printed menu cards were in place, -announcing all that was most sumptuous; the requisite relays of knives, -spoons and forks were on the sideboard; the plates of opalescent glass -for ice were to hand, and there was no longer anything connected with -this terrible feast, that to her had the horror of a murderer’s -breakfast on the last morning of his life, which could serve to distract -her mind any more. Millie was to dine with them and with them come to -the meeting, but just now it did not seem to matter in the slightest -what Millie did. All day Mrs. Ames had been catching at problematic -straws that might save her: it was possible that Mr. Chilcot would be -seized with sudden indisposition, and the meeting be postponed. But she -herself had seen him drive by in Cousin James’ motor, looking -particularly hearty. Or Cousin James might catch influenza: Lady -Westbourne already had it, and it was pleasantly infectious. Or -Lyndhurst might get an attack of really acute lumbago, but instead he -felt absolutely well again to-day, and had even done a little -garden-rolling. One by one these bright possibilities had been -extinguished--now no reasonable anchor remained except that dinner would -acutely disagree with her (and that was hardly likely, since she felt -incapable of eating anything) or that the motor which was to take them -to the town hall would break down. - -At half-past six she went upstairs to dress; she would thus secure a -quarter of an hour before the actual operation of decking herself began, -in which to be alone and really face what was going to happen. It was no -use trying to face it in one piece: taken all together the coming -evening had the horror and unreality of nightmare brooding over it. She -had to take it moment by moment from the time when she would welcome her -guests, whom, so it seemed to her, she was then going to betray, till -the time when, perhaps four hours from now, she would be back again -here in her room, and everything that had happened had woven itself into -the woolly texture of the past, in place of being in the steely, -imminent future. There was dinner to be gone through; that was only -tolerable to think of because of what was to follow: in itself it would -please her to entertain her cousin and so notable a man as a Cabinet -Minister. Clearly, then, she must separate dinner from the rest, and -enjoy it independently. But when she went down to dinner she must have -left here in readiness the little black velvet bag ... that was not so -pleasant to think of. Yet the little black velvet bag had nothing to do -yet. Then there would follow the drive to the town hall: that would not -be unpleasant: in itself she would rather enjoy the stir and pomp of -their arrival. Sir James would doubtless say to the scrutinizing -doorkeeper, “These ladies are with me,” and they would pass on amid -demonstrations of deference. Probably there would be a little procession -on to the platform ... the Mayor would very likely lead the way with -her, her and her little black velvet bag.... - - * * * * * - -And then poor Mrs. Ames suddenly felt that if she thought about it any -more she would have a nervous collapse. And at that thought her -inspiration, so to speak, reached out a cool, firm hand to her. At any -cost she was going through with this nightmare for the sake of that -which inspired it. It was no use saying it was pleasant, nor was it -pleasant to have a tooth out. But any woman with the slightest -self-respect, when once convinced that it was better to have the tooth -out, went to the dentist at the appointed hour, declined gas (Mrs. Ames -had very decided opinions about those who made a fuss over a little -pain), opened her mouth, and held the arms of the chair very firmly. One -wanted something to hold on to at these moments. She wondered what she -would find to hold on to this evening. Perhaps the holding on would be -done by somebody else--a policeman, for instance. - -There was one more detail to attend to before dressing, and she opened -the little black velvet bag. In it were two chains--light, but of steel: -they had been sold her with the gratifying recommendation that either of -them alone would hold a mastiff, which was more than was required. One -was of such length as to go tightly round her waist: a spring lock with -hasp passing through the last link of it, closing with an internal snap, -obviated the necessity of a key. This she proposed to put on below the -light cloak she wore before they started. The second chain was rather -longer but otherwise similar. It was to be passed through the one -already in place on her waist, and round the object to which she desired -to attach herself. Another snap lock made the necessary connection. - -She saw that all was in order and, putting the big Suffragette rosette -on top of the other apparatus, closed the bag: it was useless to try to -accustom herself to it by looking; she might as well inspect the -dentist’s forceps, hoping thus to mollify their grip. Cloak and little -velvet bag she would leave here and come up for them after dinner. And -already the quarter of an hour was over, and it was time to dress. - -The daring rose-coloured silk was to be worn on this occasion, and she -hoped that it would not experience any rough treatment. Yet it hardly -mattered: after to-night she would very likely never care to set eyes on -it again, and emphatically Lyndhurst would find it full of disagreeable -associations. And then she felt suddenly and acutely sorry for him and -for the amazement and chagrin that he was about to feel. He could not -fail to be burningly ashamed of her, to choke with rage and -mortification. Perhaps it would bring on another attack of lumbago, -which she would intensely regret. But she did not anticipate feeling in -the least degree ashamed of herself. But she intensely wished it had not -got to be. - -And now she was ready: the rose-coloured silk glowed softly in the -electric light, the pink satin shoes which “went with it” were on her -plump, pretty little feet, the row of garnets was clasped round her -neck. There was a good deal of colour in her face, and she was pleased -to see she looked so well. The last time she had worn all these fine -feathers was on the evening she returned home with brown hair and -softened wrinkles from Overstrand. That was not a successful evening: it -seemed that the rose-coloured silk was destined to shine on inauspicious -scenes. But now she was ready: this was her last moment alone. And she -plumped down on her knees by the bedside, in a sudden access of despair -at what lay before her, and found her lips involuntarily repeating the -words that were used in the hugest and most holy agony that man’s spirit -has ever known, when for one moment He felt that even He could not face -the sacrifice of Himself or to drink of the cup. But next moment she -sprang from her knees again, her face all aflame with the shame at her -paltriness. “You wretched little coward!” she said to herself. “How dare -you?” - -Dinner, that long expensive dinner, brought with it trouble -unanticipated by Mrs. Ames. Mr. Chilcot, it appeared, was a teetotaler -at all times, and never ate anything but a couple of poached eggs before -he made a speech. He was also, owing to recent experiences, a little -nervous about Suffragettes, and required reiterated assurances that -unaccountable females had not been seen about. - -“It’s true that a week or two ago I received a letter asking me my -views,” said Sir James, “but I wrote a fairly curt reply, and have heard -nothing more about it. My agent’s pretty wide awake. He would have known -if there was likely to be any disturbance. No thanks, Major, one glass -of champagne is all I allow myself before making a speech. Capital wine, -I know; I always say you give one the best glass of wine to be had in -Kent. How’s time, by the way? Ah, we’ve got plenty of time yet.” - -“I like to have five minutes’ quiet before going on to the platform,” -said Mr. Chilcot. - -“Yes, that will be all right. Perhaps we might have the motor five -minutes earlier, Cousin Amy. No, no sweetbread thanks. Dear me, what a -great dinner you are giving us.” - -An awful and dismal atmosphere descended. Mr. Chilcot, thinking of his -speech, frowned at his poached eggs, and, when they were finished, at -the table-cloth. Cousin James refused dish after dish, Mrs. Ames felt -herself incapable of eating, and Major Ames and Mrs. Evans, who was -practically a vegetarian, were left to do the carousing. Wines went -round untouched, silences grew longer, and an interminable succession of -dishes failed to tempt anybody except Major Ames. At this rate, not one, -but a whole series of luncheon-parties would be necessary to finish up -the untouched dainties of this ill-starred dinner. Outside, a brisk -tattoo of rain beat on the windows, and the wind having got up, the fire -began to smoke, and Mr. Chilcot to cough. A readjustment of door and -window mended this matter, but sluiced Cousin James in a chilly draught. -Mr. Chilcot brightened up a little as coffee came round, but the coffee -was the only weak spot in an admirable repast, being but moderately -warm. He put it down. Mrs. Ames tried to repair this error. - -“I’m afraid it is not hot enough,” she said. “Parker, tell them to heat -it up at once.” - -Cousin James looked at his watch. - -“Really, I think we ought to be off,” he said. “I’m sure they can get a -cup of coffee for Mr. Chilcot from the hotel. We might all go together -unless you have ordered something, Cousin Amy. The motor holds five -easily.” - - * * * * * - -A smart, chill October rain was falling, and they drove through blurred -and disconsolate streets. A few figures under umbrellas went swiftly -along the cheerless pavements, a crowd of the very smallest dimensions, -scarce two deep across the pavement opposite the town hall, watched the -arrival of those who were attending the meeting. There was an -insignificant queue of half-a-dozen carriages awaiting their -disembarkments, but as the hands of the town hall clock indicated that -the meeting was not timed to begin for twenty minutes yet, even Mr. -Chilcot could not get agitated about the possibility of a cup of coffee -before his effort. Through the rain-streaked windows Mrs. Ames could see -how meagre, owing no doubt to the inclement night, was the assembly of -the ticket-holders. It was possible, of course, that crowds might soon -begin to arrive, but Riseborough generally made a point of being in its -place in plenty of time, and she anticipated a sparsely attended room. -Mrs. Brooks hurried by in mackintosh and goloshes, the cheerful Turner -family, who were just behind them in a cab, dived into the wet night, -and emerged again under the awning. Mrs. Currie (wife of the -station-master), with her Suffragette rosette in a paper parcel, had a -friendly word with a policeman at the door, and at these sights, since -they indicated a forcible assemblage of the league, she felt a little -encouraged. Then the car moved on and stopped again opposite the awning, -and their party dismounted. - -A bustling official demanded their tickets, and was summarily thrust -aside by another, just as bustling but more enlightened, who had -recognized Sir James, and conducted them all to the Mayor’s parlour, -where that dignitary received them. There was coffee already provided, -and all anxiety on that score was removed. Mr. Chilcot effaced himself -in a corner with his cup and his notes, while the others, notably Sir -James, behaved with that mixture of social condescension and official -deference which appears to be the right attitude in dealing with mayors. -Then the Mayoress said, “George, dear, it has gone the half-hour; will -you escort Mrs. Ames?” - -George asked Mrs. Ames if he might have the honour, and observed-- - -“We shall have but a thin meeting, I am afraid. Most inclement for -October.” - -Mrs. Ames pulled her cloak a little closer round her, in order to hide -a chain that was more significant than the Mayor’s, and felt the little -black velvet bag beating time to her steps against her knee. - -They walked through the stark bare passages, with stone floors that -exuded cold moisture in sympathy with the wetness of the evening, and -came out into a sudden blaze of light. - -A faint applause from nearly empty benches heralded their appearance, -and they disposed themselves on a row of plush arm-chairs behind a long -oak table. The Mayor sat in the centre, to right and left of him Sir -James and Mr. Chilcot. Just opposite Mrs. Ames was a large table-leg, -which had for her the significance of the execution-shed. - -She put her bag conveniently on her knees, and quietly unloosed the -latch that fastened it. There were no more preparations to be made just -yet, since the chain was quite ready, and in a curious irresponsible -calm she took further note of her surroundings. Scarcely a hundred -people were there, all told, and face after face, as she passed her eyes -down the seats, was friendly and familiar. Mrs. Currie bowed, and the -Turner family, in a state of the pleasantest excitement, beamed; Mrs. -Brooks gave her an excited hand-wave. They were all sitting in -encouraging vicinity to each other, but she was alone, as on the -inexorable seas, while they were on the pier.... Then the Mayor cleared -his throat. - - * * * * * - -It had been arranged that the Mayor was to be given an uninterrupted -hearing, for he was the local grocer, and it had, perhaps, been tacitly -felt that he might adopt retaliatory measures in the inferior quality of -the subsequent supplies of sugar. He involved himself in sentences that -had no end, and would probably have gone on for ever, had he not, with -commendable valour, chopped off their tails when their coils threatened -to strangle him, and begun again. The point of it all was that they had -the honour to welcome the President of the Board of Trade and Sir James -Westbourne. Luckily, the posters, with which the town had been placarded -for the last fortnight, corroborated the information, and no reasonable -person could any longer doubt it. - -He was rejoiced to see so crowded an assembly met together--this was not -very happy, but the sentence had been carefully thought out, and it was -a pity not to reproduce it--and was convinced that they would all spend -a most interesting and enjoyable evening, which would certainly prove to -be epoch-making. Politics were taken seriously in Riseborough, and it -was pleasant to see the gathering graced by so many members of the fair -sex. He felt he had detained them all quite long enough (no) and he -would detain them no longer (yes), but call on the Right Honourable Mr. -Chilcot (cheers). - -As Mr. Chilcot rose, Mr. Turner rose also, and said in a clear, cheerful -voice, “Votes for Women.” He had a rosette, pinned a little crookedly, -depending from his shoulder. Immediately his wife and daughter rose too, -and in a sort of Gregorian chant said, “Women’s rights,” and a rattle of -chains made a pleasant light accompaniment. From beneath her seat Mrs. -Currie produced a banner trimmed with the appropriate colours, on which -was embroidered “Votes for Women.” But the folds clung dispiritingly -together: there was never a more dejected banner. Two stalwart porters -whom she had brought with her also got up, wiped their mouths with the -backs of their hands, and said in low, hoarse tones, “Votes for Women.” - -This lasted but a few seconds, and there was silence again. It was -impossible to imagine a less impressive demonstration: it seemed the -incarnation of ineffectiveness. Mr. Chilcot had instantly sat down when -it began, and, though he had cause to be shy of Suffragettes, seemed -quite undisturbed; he was smiling good-naturedly, and for a moment -consulted his notes again. And then, suddenly, Mrs. Ames realized that -she had taken no share in it; it had begun so quickly, and so quickly -ended, that for the time she had merely watched. But then her blood and -her courage came back to her: it should not be her fault, in any case, -if the proceedings lacked fire. The Idea, all that had meant so much to -her during these last months, seemed to stand by her, asking her aid. -She opened the little black velvet bag, pinned on her rosette, passed -the second chain (strong enough to hold a mastiff) through the first, -and round the leg of the table in front of her, heard the spring lock -click, and rose to her feet, waving her hand. - -“Votes for Women!” she cried. “Votes for Women. Hurrah!” - -Instantly every one on the platform turned to her: she saw Lyndhurst’s -inflamed and astonished face, with mouth fallen open in incredulous -surprise, like a fish in an aquarium: she saw Cousin James’ frown of -distinguished horror. Mrs. Evans looked as if about to laugh, and the -Mayoress said, “Lor’!” Mr. Chilcot turned round in his seat, and his -good-humored smile faded, leaving an angry fighting face. But all this -hostility and amazement, so far from cowing or silencing her, seemed -like a draught of wine. “Votes for Women!” she cried again. - -At that the cry was taken up in earnest: by a desperate effort Mrs. -Currie unfurled her banner, so that it floated free, her porters roared -out their message with the conviction they put into their announcements -to a stopping train that this was Riseborough, the Turner family -gleefully shouted together: Mrs. Brooks, unable to adjust her rosette, -madly waved it, and a solid group of enthusiasts just below the platform -emitted loud and militant cries. All that had been flat and lifeless a -moment before was inspired and vital. And Mrs. Ames had done it. For a -moment she had nothing but glory in her heart. - -Mr. Chilcot leaned over the table to her. - -“I had no idea,” he said, “when I had the honour of dining with you that -you proposed immediately afterwards to treat me with such gross -discourtesy.” - -“Votes for Women!” shouted Mrs. Ames again. - -This time the cry was less vehemently taken up, for there was nothing to -interrupt. Mr. Chilcot conferred a moment quietly with Sir James, and -Mrs. Ames saw that Lyndhurst and Mrs. Evans were talking together: the -former was spluttering with rage, and Mrs. Evans had laid her slim, -white-gloved hand on his knee, in the attempt, it appeared, to soothe -him. At present the endeavour did not seem to be meeting with any -notable measure of success. Even in the midst of her excitement, Mrs. -Ames thought how ludicrous Lyndhurst’s face was; she also felt sorry for -him. As well, she had the sense of this being tremendous fun: never in -her life had she been so effective, never had she even for a moment -paralysed the plans of other people. But she was doing that now; Mr. -Chilcot had come here to speak, and she was not permitting him to. And -again she cried “Votes for Women!” - -An inspector of police had come on to the platform, and after a few -words with Sir James, he vaulted down into the body of the hall. Next -moment, some dozen policemen tramped in from outside, and immediately -afterwards the Turner family, still beaming, were being trundled down -the gangway, and firmly ejected. Sundry high notes and muffled shoutings -came from outside, but after a few seconds they were dumb, as if a tap -had been turned off. There was a little more trouble with Mrs. Currie, -but a few smart tugs brought away the somewhat flimsy wooden rail to -which she had attached herself, and she was taken along in a sort of -tripping step, like a cheerful dancing bear, with her chains jingling -round her, after the Turners, and quietly put out into the night. Then -Sir James came across to Mrs. Ames. - -“Cousin Amy,” he said, “you must please give us your word to cause no -more disturbance, or I shall tell a couple of men to take you away.” - -“Votes for Women!” shouted Mrs. Ames again. But the excitement which -possessed her was rapidly dying, and from the hall there came no -response except very audible laughter. - -“I am very sorry,” said Cousin James. - -And then with a sudden overwhelming wave, the futility of the whole -thing struck her. What had she done? She had merely been extremely rude -to her two guests, had seriously annoyed her husband, and had aroused -perfectly justifiable laughter. General Fortescue was sitting a few -rows off: he was looking at her through his pince-nez, and his red, -good-humoured face was all a-chink with smiles. Then two policemen, one -of whom had his beat in St. Barnabas Road, vaulted up on to the -platform, and several people left their places to look on from a more -advantageous position. - -“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” said the St. Barnabas policeman, touching his -helmet with imperturbable politeness. “She’s chained up too, Bill.” - -Bill was a slow, large, fatherly-looking man, and examined Mrs. Ames’ -fetters. Then a broad grin broke out over his amiable face. - -“It’s only just passed around the table-leg,” he said. “Hitch up the -table-leg, mate, and slip it off.” - -It was too true ... patent lock and mastiff-holding chain were slipped -down the table-leg, and Mrs. Ames, with the fatherly-looking policeman -politely carrying her chains and the little velvet bag, was gently and -inevitably propelled through the door which, a quarter of an hour ago, -she had entered escorted by the Mayor, and down the stone passage and -out into the dripping street. The rain fell heavily on to the -rose-coloured silk dress, and the fatherly policeman put her cloak, -which had half fallen off, more shelteringly round her. - -“Better have a cab, ma’am, and go home quietly,” he said. “You’ll catch -cold if you stay here, and we can’t let you in again, begging your -pardon, ma’am.” - -Mrs. Ames looked round: Mrs. Currie was just crossing the road, -apparently on her way home, and a carriage drove off containing the -Turner family. A sense of utter failure and futility possessed her: it -was cold and wet, and a chilly wind flapped the awning, blowing a -shower of dripping raindrops on to her. The excitement and courage that -had possessed her just now had all oozed away: nothing had been -effected, unless to make herself ridiculous could be counted as an -achievement. - -“Call a cab for the lady, Bill,” said her policeman soothingly. - -This was soon summoned, and Bill touched his helmet as she got in, and -before closing the door pulled up the window for her. The cabman also -knew her, and there was no need to give him her address. The rain -pattered on the windows and on the roof, and the horse splashed briskly -along through the puddles in the roadway. - -Parker opened the door to her, surprised at the speediness of her -return. - -“Why, ma’am!” she exclaimed, “has anything happened?” - -“No, nothing, Parker,” said she, feeling that a dreadful truth underlay -her words. “Tell the Major, when he comes in, that I have gone to bed.” - -She looked for a moment into the dining-room. So short a time had passed -that the table was not yet cleared: the printed menu-cards had been -collected, but the coffee, which had not been hot enough, still stood -untasted in the cups, and the slices of pineapple, cut, but not eaten, -were ruinously piled together. The thought of all the luncheons that -would be necessary to consume all this expensive food made her feel -sick.... These little things had assumed a ridiculous size to her mind; -that which had seemed so big was pitifully dwindled. She felt -desperately tired, and cold and lonely. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -“And what’s to be done now?” said Major Ames, chipping his bacon high -into the air above his plate. “If you didn’t hear me, I said, ‘What’s to -be done now?’ I don’t know how you can look Riseborough in the face -again, and, upon my word, I don’t see how I can. They’ll point at me in -the street, and say, ‘That’s Major Ames, whose wife made a fool of -herself.’ That’s what you did, Amy. You made a fool of yourself. And -what was the good of it all? Are you any nearer getting the vote than -before, because you’ve screamed ‘Votes for Women’ a dozen times? You’ve -only given a proof the more of how utterly unfit you are to have -anything at all of your own, let alone a vote. I passed a sleepless -night with thinking of your folly, and I feel infernally unwell this -morning.” - -This clearly constituted a climax, and Mrs. Ames took advantage of the -rhetorical pause that followed. - -“Nonsense, Lyndhurst,” she said; “I heard you snoring.” - -“It’s enough to make a man snore,” he said. “Snore, indeed! Why couldn’t -you even have told me that you were going to behave like a silly -lunatic, and if I couldn’t have persuaded you to behave sanely, I could -have stopped away, instead of looking on at such an exhibition? Every -one will suppose I must have known about it, and have countenanced you. -I’ve a good mind to write to the _Kent Chronicle_ and say that I was -absolutely ignorant of what you were going to do. You’ve disgraced us; -that’s what you’ve done.” - -He took a gulp of tea, imprudently, for it was much hotter than he -anticipated. - -“And now I’ve burned my mouth!” he said. - -Mrs. Ames put down her napkin, left her seat, and came and stood by him. - -“I am sorry you are so much vexed,” she said, “but I can’t and I won’t -discuss anything with you if you talk like that. You are thinking about -nothing but yourself, whether you are disgraced, and whether you have -had a bad night.” - -“Certainly you don’t seem to have thought about me,” he said. - -“As a matter of fact I did,” she said. “I knew you would not like it, -and I was sorry. But do you suppose I liked it? But I thought most about -the reason for which I did it.” - -“You did it for notoriety,” said Major Ames, with conviction. “You -wanted to see your name in the papers, as having interrupted a Cabinet -Minister’s speech. You won’t even have that satisfaction, I am glad to -say. Your cousin James, who is a decent sort of fellow after all, spoke -to the reporters last night and asked them to leave out all account of -the disturbance. They consented; they are decent fellows too; they -didn’t want to give publicity to your folly. They were sorry for you, -Amy; and how do you like half-a-dozen reporters at a pound a week being -sorry for you? Your cousin James was equally generous. He bore no malice -to me, and shook hands with me, and said he saw you were unwell when he -sat down to dinner. But when a man of the world, as your Cousin James -is, says he thinks that a woman is unwell, I know what he means. He -thought you were intoxicated. Drunk, in fact. That’s what he thought. He -thought you were drunk. My wife drunk. And it was the kindest -interpretation he could have put upon it. Mad or drunk. He chose drunk. -And he hoped I should be able to come over some day next week and help -him to thin out the pheasants. Very friendly, considering all that had -happened.” - -Mrs. Ames moved slightly away from him. - -“Do you mean to go?” she asked. - -“Of course I mean to go. He shows a very generous spirit, and I think I -can account for the highest of his rocketters. He wants to smoothe -things over and be generous, and all that--hold out the olive branch. He -recognizes that I’ve got to live down your folly, and if it’s known that -I’ve been shooting with him, it will help us. Forgive and forget, hey? I -shall just go over there, _en garçon_, and will patch matters up. I dare -say he’ll ask you over again some time. He doesn’t want to be hard on -you. Nor do I, I am sure. But there are things no man can stand. A man’s -got to put his foot down sometimes, even if he puts it down on his wife. -And if I was a bit rough with you just now, you must realize, Amy, you -must realize that I felt strongly, strongly and rightly. We’ve got to -live down what you have done. Well, I’m by you. We’ll live it down -together. I’ll make your peace with your cousin. You can trust me.” - -These magnificent assurances failed to dazzle Mrs. Ames, and she made no -acknowledgement of them. Instead, she went back rather abruptly and -inconveniently to a previous topic. - -“You tell me that Cousin James believed I was drunk,” she said. “Now you -knew I was not. But you seem to have let it pass.” - -Major Ames felt that more magnanimous assurances might be in place. - -“There are some things best passed over,” he said. “Let sleeping dogs -lie. I think the less we talk about last night the better. I hope I am -generous enough not to want to rub it in, Amy, not to make you more -uncomfortable than you are.” - -Mrs. Ames sat down in a chair by the fireplace. A huge fire burned -there, altogether disproportionate to the day, and she screened her face -from the blaze with the morning paper. Also she made a mental note to -speak to Parker about it. - -“You are making me very uncomfortable indeed, Lyndhurst,” she said; “by -not telling me what I ask you. Did you let it pass, when you saw James -thought I was drunk?” - -“Yes; he didn’t say so in so many words. If he had said so, well, I dare -say I should have--have made some sort of answer. And, mind you, it was -no accusation he made against you; he made an excuse for you!” - -Mrs. Ames’ small, insignificant face grew suddenly very firm and fixed. - -“We do not need to go into that,” she said. “You saw he thought I was -drunk, and said nothing. And after that you mean to go over and shoot -his pheasants. Is that so?” - -“Certainly it is. You are making a mountain out of----” - -“I am making no mountain out of anything. Personally, I don’t believe -Cousin James thought anything of the kind. What matters is that you let -it pass. What matters is that I should have to tell you that you must -apologize to me, instead of your seeing it for yourself.” - -Major Ames got up, pushing his chair violently back. - -“Well, here’s a pretty state of things,” he cried; “that you should be -telling me to apologize for last night’s degrading exhibition! I wonder -what you’ll be asking next? A vote of thanks from the Mayor, I shouldn’t -wonder, and an illuminated address. You teaching me what I ought to do! -I should have thought a woman would have been only too glad to trust to -her husband, if he was so kind, as I have been, as to want to get her -out of the consequences of her folly. And now it’s you who must sit -there, opposite a fire fit to roast an ox, and tell me I must apologize. -Apologies be damned! There! It’s not my habit to swear, as you well -know, but there are occasions---- Apologies be damned!” - -And a moment later the house shook with the thunder of the slammed front -door. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Ames sat for a couple of minutes exactly where she was, still -shielding her face from the fire. She felt all the chilling effects of -the reaction that follows on excitement, whether the excitement is -rapturous or as sickening as last night’s had been, but not for a moment -did she regret her share either in the events of the evening before or -in the sequel of this morning. Last night had ended in utter fiasco, but -she had done her best; this morning’s talk had ended in a pretty sharp -quarrel, but again she found it impossible to reconsider her share in -it. Humanly she felt beaten and ridiculed and sick at heart, but not -ashamed. She had passed a sleepless night, and was horribly tired, with -that tiredness that seems to sap all pluck and power of resistance, and -gradually her eyes grew dim, and the difficult meagre tears of middle -age, which are so bitter, began to roll down her cheeks, and the hard -inelastic sobs to rise in her throat.... Yet it was no use sitting here -crying, lunch and dinner had to be ordered whether she felt unhappy or -not; she had to see how extensive was the damage done to her pink satin -shoes by the wet pavements last night; she had to speak about this -ox-roasting fire. Also there was appointed a Suffragette meeting at Mr. -Turner’s house for eleven o’clock, at which past achievements and future -plans would be discussed. She had barely time to wash her face, for it -was unthinkable that Parker or the cook should see she had been crying, -and get through her household duties, before it was time to start. - -She dried her eyes and went to the window, through which streamed the -pale saffron-coloured October sunshine. All the stormy trouble of the -night had passed, and the air sparkled with “the clear shining after -rain.” But the frost of a few nights before had blackened the autumn -flowers, and the chill rain had beaten down the glory of her husband’s -chrysanthemums, so that the garden-beds looked withered and dishevelled, -like those whose interest in life is finished, and who no longer care -what appearance they present. The interest of others in them seemed to -be finished also; it was not the gardener’s day here, for he only came -twice in the week, and Major Ames, who should have been assiduous in -binding up the broken-stemmed, encouraging the invalids, and clearing -away the havoc wrought by the storm, had left the house. Perhaps he had -gone to the club, perhaps even now he was trying to make light of it -all. She could almost hear him say, “Women get queer notions into their -heads, and the notions run away with them, bless them. You’ll take a -glass of sherry with me, General, won’t you? Are you by any chance going -to Sir James’ shoot next week? I’m shooting there one day.” Or was he -talking it over somewhere else, perhaps not making light of it? She did -not know; all she knew was that she was alone, and wanted somebody who -understood, even if he disagreed. It did not seem to matter that -Lyndhurst utterly disagreed with her, what mattered was that he had -misunderstood her motives so entirely, that the monstrous implication -that she had been intoxicated seemed to him an excuse. And he was not -sorry. What could she do since he was not sorry? It was as difficult to -answer that as it was easy to know what to do the moment he was sorry. -Indeed, then it would be unnecessary to do anything; the reconciliation -would be automatic, and would bring with it something she yearned after, -an opportunity of making him see that she cared, that the woman in her -reached out towards him, in some different fashion now from that in -which she had tried to recapture the semblance of youth and his awakened -admiration. To-day, she looked back on that episode shamefacedly. She -had taken so much trouble with so paltry a purpose. And yet that -innocent and natural coquetry was not quite dead in her; no woman’s -heart need be so old that it no longer cares whether she is pleasing in -her husband’s eyes. Only to-day, it seemed to Mrs. Ames that her pains -had been as disproportionate to her purpose as they had been to its -result; now she longed to take pains for a purpose that was somewhat -deeper than that for which she softened her wrinkles and refreshed the -colour of her hair. - -She turned from the window and the empty garden, wishing that the rain -would be renewed, so that there would be an excuse for her to go to Mr. -Turner’s in a shut cab. As it was, there was no such excuse, and she -felt that it would require an effort to walk past the club window, and -to traverse the length of the High Street. Female Riseborough, on this -warm sunny morning, she knew would be there in force, popping in and out -of shops, and holding little conversations on the pavement. There would -be but one topic to-day, and for many days yet; it would be long before -the autumn novelty lost anything of its freshness. She wondered how her -appearance in the town would be greeted; would people smile and turn -aside as she approached, and whisper or giggle after she had gone by? -What of the Mayor who, like an honest tradesman, was often to be seen at -the door of his shop, or looking at the “dressing” of his windows? A -policeman always stood at the bottom of the street, controlling the -cross-traffic from St. Barnabas Road. Would he be that one who had -helped to further her movements last night?... She almost felt she ought -to thank him.... And then quite suddenly her pluck returned again, or it -was that she realized that she did not, comparatively speaking, care two -straws for any individual comment or by-play that might take place in -the High Street, or for its accumulated weight. There were other things -to care about. For them she cared immensely. - - * * * * * - -The High Street proved to be paved with incident. Turning quickly round -the corner, she nearly ran into Bill, the policeman, off duty at this -hour, and obviously giving a humorous recital of some sort to a small -amused circle outside the public-house. It was abruptly discontinued -when she appeared, and she felt that the interest that his audience -developed in the sunny October sky, which they contemplated with faint -grins, would be succeeded by stifled laughter after she had passed. A -few paces further on, controlling the traffic of market-day, was her -other policeman Bill, who smiled in a pleasant and familiar manner to -her, as if there was some capital joke private to them. Twenty yards -further along the street was standing the Mayor, contemplating his -shop-window; he saw her, and urgent business appeared to demand his -presence inside. After that there came General Fortescue tottering to -the club; he crossed the street to meet her, and took off his hat and -shook hands. - -“By Jove! Mrs. Ames,” he said, “I never enjoyed a meeting so much, and -my wife’s wild that she didn’t go. What a lark! Made me feel quite young -again. I wanted to shout too, and tell them to give the ladies a vote. -Monstrously amusing! Just going to the club to have a chat about it -all.” - -And he went on his way, with his fat old body shaking with laughter. -Then, feeling rather ill from this encounter, she heard rapid steps in -pursuit of her, and Mrs. Altham joined her. - -“Oh, Mrs. Ames,” she said. “I could die of vexation that I was not -there. Is it really true that you threw a glass of water at Mr. Chilcot -and hit the policeman? Fancy, that it should have been such a terribly -wet night, and Henry and I just sat at home, never thinking that five -minutes in a cab would make such a difference. We sat and played -patience; I should have been most impatient if I had known. And what is -to happen next? It was so stupid of me not to join your league; I wonder -if it is too late.” - -This was quite dreadful; Mrs. Ames had been prepared for her husband’s -anger, and for pride and aversion from people like Mrs. Altham. What was -totally unexpected and unwelcome was that she was supposed to have -scored a sort of popular success, that Riseborough considered the -dreadful fiasco of last night as an achievement, something not only to -talk about, but a kind of new game, more exciting than croquet or -criticism. She had begun by thinking of the Suffragette movement as an -autumn novelty, but leanness came very near her soul when she found that -it now appeared to others as she had first thought of it herself. She -had travelled since then; she had seen the _hinterland_ of it; the idea -that rose up behind it, austere and beautiful and wise. All that these -others saw was just the hysterical jungle that bounded the coast. To her -this morning, after her experience of it, the hysterical jungle -seemed--an hysterical jungle. If it was only by that route that the -heights could be attained, then that route must be followed. She was -willing to try it again. But was there not somewhere and somehow a -better road? - -It was not necessary to be particularly cordial to Mrs. Altham, and she -held out no certain prospect of an immediate repetition of last night’s -scenes, nor of a desire for additional recruits. But further trials -awaited her in this short walk. Dr. Evans, driving the high-stepping -cob, wheeled round, and dismounted, throwing the reins to the groom. - -“I must just congratulate you,” he said, “for Millie told me about last -night. I’ve been telling her that if she had half your pluck, she would -be the better for it. I hope you didn’t catch cold; beastly night, -wasn’t it? Do let me know when it will come on again. I hate your -principles, you know, but I love your practise. I shall come and shout, -too!” - -This was perfectly awful. Nobody understood; they all sympathized with -her, but cared not two straws for that which had prompted her to do -these sensational things.... They liked the sensational things ... it -was fun to them. But it was no fun to those who believed in the -principles which prompted them. They thought of her as a clown at a -pantomime; they wanted to see Dan Leno. - - * * * * * - -She was some minutes late when she reached Mr. Turner’s house, depressed -and not encouraged by this uncomprehending applause that took as an -excellent joke all the manifestations which had been directed by so -serious a purpose. What to her was tragic and necessary, was to them a -farce of entertaining quality. But now she would meet her -co-religionists again, those who knew, those whose convictions, of the -same quality as hers, were of such weight as to make her feel that even -her quarrel with Lyndhurst was light in comparison. - -The jovial Turner family, father, mother, daughter, were in the -drawing-room, and they hailed her as a heroine. If it had not been for -her, there would have been no “scene” at all. Did the policemen hurt? -Mr. Turner had got a small bruise on his knee, but it was quite doubtful -whether he got it when he was taken out. Mrs. Turner had lost a small -pearl ornament, but she was not sure whether she had put it on before -going to the meeting. Miss Turner had a cold to-day, but it was certain -that she had felt it coming on before they were all put out into the -rain. None of them had seen the end; it was supposed that Mrs. Ames had -thrown a glass of water at a policeman, and had hit Mr. Chilcot. They -were all quite ready for Sir James’ next meeting; or would he be a -coward, and cause scrutiny to be held on those who desired admittance? - -Mrs. Brooks arrived; she had not been turned out last night, but she had -caught cold, and did not think that much had been achieved. Mr. Chilcot -had made his speech, apparently a very clever one, about Tariff Reform, -and Sir James had followed, without interruption, telling the half empty -but sympathetic benches about the House of Lords. There had been no -allusion made to the disturbance, or to the motives that prompted it. -Also she had lost her Suffragette rosette. It must have been torn off -her, though she did not feel it go. - -Mrs. Currie brought more life into the proceedings. She could get four -porters to come to the next meeting, and could make another banner, as -well as ensuring the proper unfurling of the first, which had stuck so -unaccountably. It had waved quite properly when she had tried it an hour -before, and it had waved quite properly (for it had been returned to -her after she had been ejected) when she tried it again an hour later -at home. Two banners expanding properly would be a vastly different -affair from one that did not expand at all. Her husband had laughed fit -to do himself a damage over her account of the proceedings. - -A dozen more only of the league made an appearance, for clearly there -was a reaction and a cooling after last night’s conflagration, but all -paid their meed of appreciation to Mrs. Ames. Their little rockets had -but fizzed and spluttered until she “showed them the way,” as Mrs. -Currie expressed it. But to them even it was the ritual, so to speak, -the disturbance, the shouting, the sense of doing something, rather than -the belief that lay behind the ritual, which stirred their imaginations. -Could the cause be better served by the endurance of an hour’s solitary -toothache, than by waving banners in the town hall, and being humanely -ejected by benevolent policemen, there would have been less eagerness to -suffer. And Mrs. Ames would so willingly have passed many hours of -physical pain rather than suffer the heartache which troubled her this -morning. And nobody seemed to understand; Mrs. Currie with her four -porters and two banners, Mrs. Brooks with her cold in the head and odour -of eucalyptus, the cheerful Turners who thought it would be such a good -idea to throw squibs on to the platform, were all as far from the point -as General Fortescue, chatting at the club, or even as Lyndhurst with -the high-chipped bacon and the slammed front door. It was a game to -them, as it had originally presented itself to her, an autumn novelty -for, say, Thursday afternoon from five till seven. If only the opposite -effects had been produced; if they all had taken it as poignantly as -Lyndhurst, and he as cheerily as they! - -He, meantime, after slamming the front door, had stormed up St. Barnabas -Road, in so sincere a passion that he had nearly reached the club before -he remembered that he had hardly touched his breakfast or glanced at the -paper. So, as there was no sense in starving himself (the starvation -consisting in only having half his breakfast), he turned in at those -hospitable doors, and ordered himself an omelette. Never in his life had -he been so angry, never in the amazing chronicle of matrimony, so it -seemed to him, had a man received such provocation from his wife. She -had insulted the guests who had dined with her, she made a public and -stupendous ass of herself, and when, next morning, he, after making such -expostulations as he was morally bound to make, had been so nobly -magnanimous as to assure her that he would patch it all up for her, and -live it down with her, he had been told that it was for him to -apologize! No wonder he had sworn; Moses would have sworn; it would have -been absolutely wrong of him not to swear. There were situations in -which it was cowardly for a man not to say what he thought. Even now, as -he waited for his omelette, he emitted little squeaks and explosive -exclamations, almost incredulous of his wrongs. - -He ate his omelette, which seemed but to add fuel to his rage, and went -into the smoking-room, where, over a club cigar, for he had actually -forgotten to bring his own case with him, he turned to the consideration -of practical details. It was not clear how to re-enter his house again. -He had gone out with a bang that made the windows rattle, but it was -hardly possible to go on banging the door each time he went in and out, -for no joinery would stand these reiterated shocks. And what was to be -done, even if he could devise an effective re-entry? Unless Amy put -herself into his hands, and unreservedly took back all that she had -said, it was impossible for him to speak to her. Somehow he felt that -there were few things less likely to happen than this. Certainly it -would be no good to resume storming operations, for he had no guns -greater than those he had already fired, and if they were not of -sufficient calibre, he must just beleaguer her with silence--dignified, -displeased silence. - -He looked up and saw that Mr. Altham was regarding him through the glass -door; upon which Mr. Altham rapidly withdrew. Not long afterwards young -Morton occupied and retired from the same observatory. A moment’s -reflection enabled Major Ames to construe this singular behaviour. They -had heard of his wife’s conduct, and were gluttonously feeding on so -unusual a spectacle as himself in the club at this hour, and -reconstructing in their monkey-minds his domestic disturbances. They -would probably ascertain that he had breakfasted here. It was all -exceedingly unpleasant; there was no sympathy in their covert glances, -only curiosity. - -No one who is not a brute, and Major Ames was not that, enjoys a quarrel -with his wife, and no one who is not utterly self-centred, and he was -not quite that either, fails to desire sympathy when such a quarrel has -occurred. He wanted sympathy now; he wanted to pour out into friendly -ears the tale of Amy’s misdeeds, of his own magnanimity, to hear his own -estimation of his conduct confirmed, fairly confirmed, by a woman who -would see the woman’s point of view as well as his. The smoking-room -with these peeping Toms was untenable, but he thought he knew where he -could get sympathy. - - * * * * * - -Millie was in and would see him; from habit, as he crossed the hall he -looked to the peg where Dr. Evans hung his hat and coat, and, seeing -they were not there, inferred that the doctor was out. That suited him; -he wanted to confide and be sympathized with, and felt that Evans’ -breezy optimism and out-of-door habit of mind would not supply the kind -of comfort he felt in need of. He wanted to be told he was a martyr and -a very fine fellow, and that Amy was unworthy of him.... - -Millie was in the green, cool drawing-room, where they had sat one day -after lunch. She rose as he entered and came towards him with a -tremulous smile on her lips, and both hands outstretched. - -“Dear Lyndhurst,” she said. “I am so glad you have come. Sit down. I -think if you had not come I should have telephoned to ask if you would -not see me. I should have suggested our taking a little walk, perhaps, -for I do not think I could have risked seeing Cousin Amy. I know how you -feel, oh, so well. It was abominable, disgraceful.” - -Certainly he had come to the right place. Millie understood him: he had -guessed she would. She sat down close beside him, and for a moment held -her hand over her eyes. - -“Ah, I have been so angry this morning,” she said; “and it has given me -a headache. Wilfred laughed about it all; he said also that what Amy did -showed a tremendous lot of pluck. It was utterly heartless. I knew how -you must be suffering, and I was so angry with him. He did not -understand. Oh no, my headache is nothing; it will soon be gone--now.” - -She faintly emphasized the last word, stroked it, so to speak, as if -calling attention to it. - -“I’m broken-hearted about it,” said Major Ames, which sounded better -than to say, “I’m in a purple rage about it.” “I’m broken-hearted. She’s -disgraced herself and me----” - -“No, not you.” - -“Yes; a woman can’t do that sort of thing without the world believing -that her husband knew about it. And that’s not all. Upon my word I’m not -sure whether what she did this morning isn’t worse than what you saw -last night.” - -Millie leaned forward. - -“Tell me,” she said, “if it doesn’t hurt you too much.” - -He decided it did not hurt him too much. - -“Well, I came down this morning,” he said, “willing and eager to make -the best of a bad job. So were we all: James Westbourne last night was -just as generous, and asked the reporters to say nothing about it, and -invited me to a day’s shooting next week. Very decent of him. As I say, -I came down this morning, willing to make it as easy as I could. Of -course, I knew I had to give Amy a good talking to: I should utterly -have failed in my duty to her as a husband if I did not do that. I gave -her a blowing-up, though not half of what she deserved, but a blowing -up. Even then, when I had said my say I told her we would live it down -together, which was sufficiently generous, I think. But, for her good, I -told her that James Westbourne said he saw she was unwell, and that when -a man says that he means that she is drunk. Perhaps Westbourne didn’t -mean that, but that’s what it sounded like. And would you believe it, -just because I hadn’t knocked him down and stamped on his face, she -tells me I ought to apologize to her for letting such a suggestion pass. -Well, I flared up at that: what man of spirit wouldn’t have flared up? I -left the house at once, and went and finished my breakfast at the club. -I should have choked--upon my word, I should have choked if I had -stopped there, or got an apoplexy. As it is, I feel devilish unwell.” - -Millie got up, and stood for a moment in silence, looking out of the -window, white and willowy. - -“I can never forgive Cousin Amy,” she said at length. “Never!” - -“Well, it is hard,” said Major Ames. “And after all these years! It -isn’t exactly the return one might expect, perhaps.” - -“It is infamous,” said Millie. - -She came and sat down by him again. - -“What are you going to do?” she asked. - -“I don’t know. If she apologizes, I shall forgive her, and I shall try -to forget. But I didn’t think it of her. And if she doesn’t apologize--I -don’t know. I can’t be expected to eat my words: that would be -countenancing what she has done. I couldn’t do it: it would not be -sincere. I’m straight, I hope: if I say a thing it may be taken for -granted that I mean it.” - -She looked up at him with her chin raised. - -“I think you are wonderful,” she said, “to be able even to think of -forgiving her. If I had behaved like that, I should not expect Wilfred -to forgive me. But then you are so big, so big. She does not understand -you: she can’t understand one thing about you. She doesn’t know--oh, how -blind some women are!” - -It was little wonder that by this time Major Ames was beginning to feel -an extraordinarily fine fellow, nor was it more wonderful that he basked -in the warm sense of being understood. But from the first Millie had -understood him. He felt that particularly now, at this moment, when Amy -had so hideously flouted and wronged him. All through this last summer, -the situation of to-day had been foreshadowed; it had always been in -this house rather than in his own that he had been welcomed and -appreciated. He had been the architect and adviser in the Shakespeare -ball, while at home Amy dealt out her absurd printed menu-cards without -consulting him. And the garden which he loved--who had so often said, -“These sweet flowers, are they really for me?” Who, on the other hand, -had so often said, “The sweet-peas are not doing very well, are they?” -And then he looked at Millie’s soft, youthful face, her eyes, that -sought his in timid, sensitive appeal, her dim golden hair, her mouth, -childish and mysterious. For contrast there was the small, strong, -toad’s face, the rather beady eyes, the hair--grey or brown, which was -it? Also, Millie understood; she saw him as he was--generous, perhaps, -to a fault, but big, big, as she had so properly said. She always made -him feel so comfortable, so contented with himself. That was the true -substance of a woman’s mission, to make her husband happy, to make him -devoted to her, instead of raising hell in the town hall, and insisting -on apologies afterwards. - -“You’ve cheered me up, Millie,” he said; “you’ve made me feel that I’ve -got a friend, after all, a friend who feels with me. I’m grateful; -I’m--I’m more than grateful. I’m a tough old fellow, but I’ve got a -heart still, I believe. What’s to happen to us all?” - -It was emotion, real and genuine emotion, that made Millie clever at -that moment. Her mind was of no high order; she might, if she thought -about a thing, be trusted to exhibit nothing more subtle than a fair -grasp of the obvious. But now she did not think: she was prompted by an -instinct that utterly transcended any achievement of which her brain was -capable. - -“Go back to your house,” she said, “and be ready for Cousin Amy to say -she is sorry. Very likely she is waiting for you there now. Oh, -Lyndhurst----” - -He got up at once: those few words made him feel completely noble; they -made her feel noble likewise. The atmosphere of nobility was almost -suffocating.... - -“You are right,” he said; “you are always all that is right and good and -delicious? Ha!” - -There was no question about the cousinly relations between them. So -natural and spontaneous a caress needed no explanation. - - * * * * * - -The house was apparently empty when he got back, but he made -sufficiently noisy an entry to advise the drawing-room, in any case, -that he was returned, and personally ready, since he did not enter “full -of wrath,” like Hyperion, to accept apologies. Eventually he went in -there, as if to look for a paper, in case of its being occupied, and, -with the same pretext, strolled into his wife’s sitting-room. Then, -still casually, he went into his dressing-room, where he had slept last -night, and satisfied himself that she was not in her bedroom. Her -penitence, therefore, which would naturally be manifested by her -waiting, dim-eyed, for his return, had not been of any peremptory -quality. - -He went out into the garden, and surveyed the damage of last night’s -rain. There was no need to punish the plants because Amy had been -guilty of behaviour which her own cousin said was infamous: he also -wanted something to employ himself with till lunch-time. As his hands -worked mechanically, tying up some clumps of chrysanthemums which had a -few days more of flame in their golden hearts, removing a débris of dead -leaves and fallen twigs, his mind was busy also, working not -mechanically but eagerly and excitedly. How different was the sympathy -with which he was welcomed and comforted by Millie from the -misunderstandings and quarrels which made him feel that he had wasted -his years with one who was utterly unappreciative of him. Yet, if Amy -was sorry, he was ready to do his best. But he wondered whether he -wanted her to be sorry or not. - -At half-past one the bell for lunch sounded, and, going into the -drawing-room, he found that she had returned and was writing a note at -her table. She did not look up, but said to him, just as if nothing had -happened-- - -“Will you go in and begin, Lyndhurst? I want to finish my note.” - -He did not answer, but passed into the dining-room. In a little while -she joined him. - -“There seems to have been a good deal of rain in the night,” she said. -“I am afraid your flowers have suffered.” - -Certainly this did not look like penitence, and he had no reply for her. -In some strange way this seemed to him the dignified and proper course. - -Then Mrs. Ames spoke for the third time. - -“I think, Lyndhurst, if we are not going to talk,” she said, “I shall -see what news there is. Parker, please fetch me the morning paper.” - -At that moment he hated her. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Three days later Major Ames was walking back home in the middle of the -afternoon, returning from the house in which he had lately spent so -considerable a portion of his time. But this was the last day on which -he would go there, nor would he, except for this one time more, cross -the threshold of his own house. The climax had come, and within an hour -or two he and Millie were going to leave Riseborough together. - -Now that their decision had been made, it seemed to him that it had been -inevitable from the first. Ever since the summer, when, from some -mixture of genuine liking and false gallantry, he had allowed himself to -drift into relations with her, the force that drew and held him had -steadily increased in strength, and to-day it had proved itself -irresistible. The determining factor no doubt had been his quarrel with -his wife; that gave the impulse that had been still lacking, the final -push which upset the equilibrium of that which was tottering and ready -to fall over. - -The scene this afternoon had been both short and quiet, as such scenes -are. Dr. Evans had been called up to town on business yesterday morning, -returning possibly this evening but more probably to-morrow, and they -had lunched alone. Afterwards Major Ames had again spoken of his wife. - -“The situation is intolerable,” he had said. “I can’t stand it. If it -wasn’t for you, Millie, I should go away.” - -She had come close to him. - -“I’m not very happy, either,” she said. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t -think I could stand it.” - -And then it was already inevitable. - -“It’s too strong for us,” she said. “We can’t help it. I will face -anything with you. We will go right away, Lyndhurst, and live, instead -of being starved like this.” - -She took both his hands in hers, completely carried away for the first -time in her life by something outside herself. Treacherous and mean as -was that course on which she was determined, she was, perhaps, a finer -woman at this moment of supreme disloyalty than in all the years of her -blameless married life. - -“I’ve never loved before, Lyndhurst,” she said quietly, “nor have I ever -known what it meant. Now I can’t consider anything else; it doesn’t -matter what happens to Wilfred and Elsie. Nothing matters except you.” - -This time it was not he who kissed her; it was she who pressed her mouth -to his. - -There was but little to settle, their plans were perfectly simple and -ruthless. They would cross over to Boulogne that night, and, as soon as -the law set them free, marry each other. A train to Folkestone left -Riseborough in a little over an hour’s time, running in connection with -the boat. They could easily catch it. But it was wiser not to go to the -station together: they would meet there. - - * * * * * - -As he walked home through the gleaming October afternoon, Major Ames was -conscious neither of struggle nor regret. The power which Millie had -had over him all these months, so that it was she always who really took -the lead, and urged him one step forward and then another, gripped him -and led him on here to the last step of all. He still obeyed and -followed that slender, fragile woman who so soon would be his; it was as -necessary to do her bidding here as it had been to kiss her, when first, -under the mulberry-tree, she had put up her face towards his. These last -days seemed to have killed all sense of loyalty and manhood within him; -he gave no thought at all to his wife, and thought of Harry only as -Amy’s son. Besides, he was not responsible: man though he was, he was -completely in the hands of this woman. All his life he had had no real -principles to direct him, he had lived a decent life only because no -temptation to live otherwise had ever really come near him, and even now -it was in no way the wickedness of what he purposed that at all dragged -him back; it was mere timidity at taking an irrevocable step. - -Amy, he knew, was out: at breakfast she had announced to him that she -did not expect to be in till dinner-time, and he had told her that he -would be out for dinner. Such sentences dealing with household -arrangements had been the sum of their discourse for the last days, and -they were spoken not so much to each other as to the air, heard by, -rather than addressed to any one in particular. - -And yet the prospect of the life that should open for him, when once -this irrevocable step had been taken, did not fill him with the -resistless longing which, though it cannot excuse, at any rate accounts -for the step itself. Millie, though throughout she had led him on until -the climax was reached, had at least the authentic goad to drive her: -life with him seemed to her to be real life: it was passionately that -she desired it. But with him, apart from the force with which she -dominated him, it was the escape from the very uncomfortable -circumstances of home that chiefly attracted him. In a way, he loved -her; he felt for her a warmth and a tenderness of stronger quality than -he could remember having ever experienced before, and since it is not -given to all men to love violently, it may be granted that he was -feeling the utmost fire of which his nature was capable. But it was of -sufficient ardour to burn up in his mind the rubbish of minor -considerations and material exigencies. - -Cabs were of infrequent occurrence at this far end of St. Barnabas Road, -and meeting one by hazard just outside his house, he told the driver to -wait. Then, letting himself in, he went straight up to his -dressing-room. There was not time for him to pack his whole wardrobe, -and a moderate portmanteau would be all he really needed. And here the -trivialities began to wax huge and engrossing: though the afternoon was -warm, it would no doubt be fresh, if not chilly on the boat, and it -would certainly be advisable to take his thick overcoat, which at -present had not left its summer quarters. Those were in a big cupboard -in the passage outside, overlooking the garden, where it was packed away -with prophylactic little balls of naphthaline. These had impregnated it -somewhat powerfully, but it was better to be odorously than -insufficiently clad. Passing the window he saw that the chrysanthemums -had responded bravely to his comforting a few mornings ago: if there was -no more frost they would be gay for another fortnight yet. Should he -take a bouquet of them with him? He did not see why he should not have -the enjoyment of them. Yet there was scarcely time to pick them: he must -hurry on with the packing of his small portmanteau, which presented -endless problems. - -A panama hat should certainly be included; also a pair of white tennis -shoes, in which he saw himself promenading on the parade: a white -flannel suit, though it was October, seemed to complete the costume. He -need not cumber himself with a dress coat: a dinner jacket was all that -would be necessary. She had told him she had six hundred a year of her -own: he had another three. It was annoying that his sponge was rather -ragged; he had meant to buy a new one this morning. Perhaps Parker could -draw it together with a bit of thread. An untidy sponge always vexed -him: it was unsoldierly and slovenly. “Show me a man’s washhand-stand,” -he had once said, “and I’ll tell you about the owner.” His own did not -invite inspection, with its straggly sponge. - -Then for a moment all these trivialities stood away from him, and for an -interval he saw where he stood and what he was doing--the vileness, the -sordidness, the vulgarity of it. High principles, nobility of life were -not subjects with which hitherto he had much concerned himself, and it -would be useless to expect that they should come to his rescue now, but -for this moment his kindliness, such as it was, his affection for his -wife, such as it was, but above all the continuous, unbroken smug -respectability of his days read him a formidable indictment. What could -he plead against such an accusation? No irresistible or imperative -necessity of soul that claimed Millie as his by right of love. He knew -that his desire for her was not of that fiery order, for he could see, -undazzled and unburned, the qualities which attracted him. He admired -her frail beauty, the youth that still encompassed her, he fed with the -finest appetite on the devotion and admiration which she brought him. He -loved being the god and the hero of this attractive woman, and it was -this, far more than the devotion he brought her, that dominated him. - -Respectability cried out against him and his foolishness. There would be -no more strutting and swelling about the club among the mild and -honourable men who frequented it, and looked up to him as an authority -on India and gardening, nor any more of those pompous and satisfactory -evenings when General Fortescue assured him that there was not such a -good glass of port in Kent as that with which the Major supplied his -guests. To be known as Major Ames, late of the Indian Army, had been to -command respect; now, the less that he was known as Major Ames, late of -Riseborough, the better would be the chance of being held in esteem. And -to what sort of life would he condemn the woman, who for his sake was -leaving a respectability no less solid than his own? To the -companionship of such as herself, to the soiled doves of a French -watering-place. That, of course, would be but a temporary habitation, -but after that, what? Where was the society which would receive them, by -which there would be any satisfaction in being received? Neither of them -had the faintest touch of Bohemianism in their natures: both were of the -school that is accustomed to silver teapots and life in houses with a -garden behind. For a moment he hesitated as he folded back the sleeves -of his dinner-jacket: then the tide of trivialities swept over him -again, and he noticed that there was a spot of spilled wax on the cuff. - - * * * * * - -Among other engagements that Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Ames was occupied -with the decoration of St. Barnabas’ Church for the Sunday service next -day, and she had gone there after lunch with an adornment of foliage -tinted red by October, for she had not felt disposed to ask Lyndhurst if -she might pick the remnant of his chrysanthemums. She, too, like him, -felt the impossibility of the present situation, and, as she worked, she -asked herself if it was in any way in her power to end this parody of -domestic life. Every day she had made the attempt to begin the breaking -of this ridiculous and most uncomfortable silence which lay between -them, by the introduction of ordinary topics, hoping by degrees to build -up again the breach that yawned between them, but at present she had got -no sense of the slightest answering effort on his side. Psychically no -less than conversationally he had nothing whatever to say to her. If in -the common courtesies of daily life he had nothing for her, it seemed -idle to hope to find further receptiveness if she opened discussion of -their quarrel. Besides, a certain very natural pride blocked her way: he -owed her an apology, and when she indicated that, he had sworn at her. -It did not seem unreasonable (even when decorating a church) to expect -the initiatory step to be taken by him. But what if he did not do so? - -Mrs. Ames gave a little sigh, and her mouth and throat worked -uncomfortably. The quarrel was so childish, yet it was serious, for it -was not a light thing, whatever her provocation might have been, to -pass days like these. Half-a-dozen times she went over the -circumstances, and half-a-dozen times she felt that it was only just -that he should make the advance to her, or at any rate behave with -ordinary courtesy in answer to her ordinary civilities. It was true that -the original dissension was due to her, but she believed with her whole -heart in the cause for which she provoked it. All these last months she -had felt her nature expand under the influence of this idea: she knew -herself to be a better and a bigger woman than she had been. She -believed in the rights of her sex, but had they not their duties too? It -was nearly twenty-five years since she had voluntarily undertaken a -certain duty. What if that came first, before any rights or privileges? -What if that which she had undertaken then as a duty was in itself a -right? - -Yet even then, what could she do? In itself, she was very far from being -ashamed of the part she had taken, yet was it possible to weigh this -independently, without considering the points at which it conflicted -with duties which certainly concerned her no less? She could not hope to -convince her husband of the justice of the cause, nor of the expediency -of promoting it in ways like these. For herself, she knew the justice of -it, and saw no other expedient for promoting it. Those who had worked -for the cause for years said that all else had been tried, that there -remained only this violent crusading. But was not she personally, -considering what her husband felt about it, debarred from taking part in -the crusade? She had deeply offended and vexed him. Could anything but -the stringency of moral law justify that? Nothing that he had done, -nothing that he could do, short of the violation of the essential -principles of married life, could absolve her from the accomplishment of -one tittle of her duty towards him. - -For a moment, in spite of her perplexity and the difficulty of her -decision, Mrs. Ames smiled at herself for the mental use of all these -great words like duty and privilege, over so small an incident. For what -had happened? She had been a militant Suffragette on one occasion only, -and at breakfast next morning he had, in matters arising therefrom, -allowed himself to swear at her. Yet it seemed to her that, with all the -pettiness and insignificance of it, great laws were concerned. For the -law of kindness is broken by the most trumpery exhibition of -inconsiderateness, the law of generosity by the most minute word of -spite or backbiting. Indeed, it is chiefly in little things, since most -of us are not concerned with great matters, that these violations occur, -and in cups of cold water that they are fulfilled. And for once Mrs. -Ames did not finish her decoration with tidiness and precision, a fact -clearly noted by Mrs. Altham next day. - -There was a Suffragette meeting at four, but she was prepared to be late -for that, or, if necessary, to fail in attendance altogether. In any -case, she would call in at home on her way there, on the chance that her -husband might be in. She made no definite plan: it was impossible to -forecast her share in the interview. But she had determined to try to -suffer long, to be kind ... to keep the promise of twenty-five years -ago. There was a cab drawn up at the entrance, and it vaguely occurred -to her that Millie might be here, for she had not seen her for some -days, and it was possible she might have called. Yet it was hardly -likely that she would have waited, since the servants would have told -her that she herself was not expected home till dinner-time. Or was -Lyndhurst giving her tea? And Mrs. Ames grew suddenly alert again about -matters to which she had scarcely given a thought during these last -months. - -She let herself in, and went to the drawing-room: there was no one -there, nor in the little room next it where they assembled before dinner -on nights when they gave a party. But directly overhead she heard steps -moving: that was in Lyndhurst’s dressing-room. - -She went up there, knocked, and in answer to his assent went in. The -portmanteau was nearly packed, he stood in shirt-sleeves by it. In his -hand was his sponge-bag--he had anticipated the entry of Parker with the -stitched sponge. - -She looked from the portmanteau to him, and back and back again. - -“You are going away, Lyndhurst?” she asked. - -He made a ghastly attempt to devise a reasonable answer, and thought he -succeeded. - -“Yes, I’m going--going to your cousin’s to shoot. I told you he had -asked me. You objected to my going, but I’m going all the same. I should -have left you a note. Back to-morrow night.” - -Then she felt she knew all, as certainly as if he had told her. - -“Since when has Cousin James been giving shooting parties on Sunday?” -she asked. “Please don’t lie to me, Lyndhurst. It makes it much worse. -You are not going to Cousin James, and--you are not going alone. Shall I -tell you any more?” - -She was not guessing: all the events of the last month, the Shakespeare -ball, Harrogate, their own quarrel, and on the top this foolish lie -about a shooting party made a series of data which proclaimed the -conclusion. And the suddenness of the discovery, the magnitude of the -issues involved, but served to steady her. There was an authentic valour -in her nature; even as she had stood up to interrupt the political -meeting, without so much as dreaming of shirking her part, so now her -pause was not timorous, but rather the rallying of all her forces, that -came eager and undismayed to her summons. - -Apparently Lyndhurst did not want to be told any more: he did not, at -any rate, ask for it. Just then Parker came in with the mended sponge. -She gave it him, and he stood with sponge-bag in one hand, sponge in the -other. - -“Shall I bring up tea, ma’am?” she said to Mrs. Ames. - -“Yes, take it to the drawing-room now. And send the cab away. The Major -won’t want it.” - -Lyndhurst crammed the sponge into its bag. - -“I shall want the cab, Parker,” he said. “Don’t send it away.” - -Mrs. Ames whisked round on Parker with amazing rapidity. - -“Do as I tell you, Parker,” she said, “and be quick!” - -It was a mere conflict of will that, for the next five seconds, silently -raged between them, but as definite and as hard-hitting as any affair of -the prize ring. And it was impossible that there should be any but the -one end to it, for Mrs. Ames devoted her whole strength and will to it, -while from the first her husband’s heart was not in the battle. But she -was fighting for her all, and not only her all, but his, and not only -his, but Millie’s. Three existences were at stake, and the ruin of two -homes was being hazarded. And when he spoke, she knew she was winning. - -“I must go,” he said. “She will be waiting at the station.” - -“She will wait to no purpose,” said Mrs. Ames. - -“She will be”--no word seemed adequate--“be furious,” he said. “A man -cannot treat a woman like that.” - -Any blow would do: he had no defence: she could strike him as she -pleased. - -“Elsie comes home next week,” she said. “A pleasant home-coming. And -Harry will have to leave Cambridge!” - -“But I love her!” he said. - -“Nonsense, my dear,” she said. “Men don’t ruin the women they love. Men, -I mean!” - -That stung; she meant that it should. - -“But men keep their word,” he said. “Let me pass.” - -“Keep your word to me,” said she, “and try to help poor Millie to keep -hers to her husband. It is not a fine thing to steal a man’s wife, -Lyndhurst. It is much finer to be respectable.” - -“Respectable!” he said. “And to what has respectability brought us? You -and me, I mean?” - -“Not to disgrace, anyhow,” she said. - -“It’s too late,” said he. - -“Never quite too late, thank God,” she said. - -Mrs. Ames gave a little sigh. She knew she had won, and quite suddenly -all her strength seemed to leave her. Her little trembling legs refused -to uphold her, a curious buzzing was in her ears, and a crinkled mist -swam before her eyes. - -“Lyndhurst, I’m afraid I am going to make a goose of myself and faint,” -she said. “Just help me to my room, and get Parker----” - -She swayed and tottered, and he only just caught her before she fell. He -laid her down on the floor and opened the door and window wide. There -was a flask of brandy in his portmanteau, laid on the top, designed to -be easily accessible in case of an inclement crossing of the Channel. He -mixed a tablespoonful of this with a little water, and as she moved, and -opened her eyes again, he knelt down on the floor by her, supporting -her. - -“Take a sip of this, Amy,” he said. - -She obeyed him. - -“Thank you, my dear,” she said. “I am better. So silly of me.” - -“Another sip, then.” - -“You want to make me drunk, Lyndhurst,” she said. - -Then she smiled: it would be a pity to lose the opportunity for a -humorous allusion to what at the time had been so far from humour. - -“Really drunk, this time,” she said. “And then you tell Cousin James he -was right.” - -She let herself rest longer than was physically necessary in the -encircling crook of his arm, and let herself keep her eyes closed, -though, if she had been alone, she would most decidedly have opened -them. But those first few minutes had somehow to be traversed, and she -felt that silence bridged them over better than speech. It was -appropriate, too, that his arm should be round her. - -“There, I am better,” she said at length. “Let me get up, Lyndhurst. -Thank you for looking after me.” - -She got on to her feet, but then sat down again in his easy-chair. - -“Not quite steady yet?” he said. - -“Very nearly. I shall be quite ready to come downstairs and give you -your tea by the time you have unpacked your little portmanteau.” - -She did not even look at him, but sat turned away from him and the -little portmanteau. But she heard the rustle of paper, the opening and -shutting of drawers, the sound of metallic articles of toilet being -deposited on dressing-table and washing-stand. After that came the click -of a hasp. Then she got up. - -“Now let us have tea,” she said. - -“And if Millie comes?” he asked. - -She had been determined that he should mention her name first. But when -once he had mentioned it she was more than ready to discuss the -questions that naturally arose. - -“You mean she may come back here to see what has happened to you?” she -asked. “That is well thought of, dear. Let us see. But we will go -downstairs.” - -She thought intently as they descended the staircase, and busied herself -with tea-making before she got to her conclusion. - -“She will ask for you,” she said, “if she comes, and it would not be -very wise for you to see her. On the other hand, she must be told what -has happened. I will see her, then. It would be best that way.” - -Major Ames got up. - -“No, I can’t have that,” he said. “I can’t have that!” - -“My dear, you have got to have it. You are in a dreadful mess. I, as -your wife, am the only person who can get you out of it. I will do my -best, anyhow.” - -She rang the bell. - -“I am going to tell Parker to tell Millie that you are at home if she -asks for you, and to show her in here,” she said. “There is no other way -that I can see. I do not intend to have nothing more to do with her. At -least I want to avoid that, if possible, for that is a weak way out of -difficulties. I shall certainly have to see her some time, and there is -no use in putting it off. I am afraid, Lyndhurst, that you had better -finish your tea at once, or take it upstairs. Take another cup upstairs; -you have had but one, and drink it in your dressing-room, in the -comfortable chair.” - -There was an extraordinary wisdom in this minute attention to detail, -and it was by this that she was able to rise to a big occasion. It was -necessary that he should feel that her full intention was to forgive -him, and make the best of the days that lay before them. She had no -great words and noble sentiment with which to convey this impression, -but, in a measure, she could show him her mind by minute arrangements -for his comfort. But he lingered, irresolute. - -“You have got to trust me,” she said. “Do as I tell you, my dear.” - -She had not long to wait after he had gone upstairs. She heard the ring -at the bell, and next moment Millie came into the room. Her face was -flushed, her breathing hurried, her eyes alight with trouble, suspense, -and resentment. - -“Lyndhurst,” she began. “I waited----” - -Then she saw Mrs. Ames, and turned confusedly about, as if to leave the -room again. But Amy got up quickly. - -“Come and sit down at once, Millie,” she said. “We have got to talk. So -let us make it as easy as we can for each other.” - -Millie was holding her muff up to her face, and peered at her from above -it, wild-eyed, terrified. - -“It isn’t you I want,” she said. “Where is Lyndhurst? I--I had an -appointment with him. He was late--we--we were going a drive together. -What do you know, Cousin Amy?” she almost shrieked; “and where is he?” - -“Sit down, Millie, as I tell you,” said Mrs. Ames very quietly. “There -is nothing to be frightened at. I know everything.” - -“We were going a drive,” began Millie again, still looking wildly about. -“He did not come, and I was frightened. I came to see where he was. I -asked you if you knew--if you knew anything about him, did I not? Why do -you say you know everything?” - -Suddenly Mrs. Ames saw that there was something here infinitely more -worthy of pity than she had suspected. There was no question as to the -agonized earnestness that underlay this futile, childish repetition of -nonsense. And with that there came into her mind a greater measure of -understanding with regard to her husband. It was not so wonderful that -he had been unable to resist the face that had drawn him. - -“Let us behave like sensible women, Millie,” she said. “You have come -down from the station. Lyndhurst was not there. Do you want me to tell -you anything more?” - -Millie wavered where she stood, then she stumbled into a chair. - -“Has he given me up?” she said. - -“Yes, if you care to put it like that. It would be truer to say that he -has saved you and himself. But he is not coming with you.” - -“You made him?” she asked. - -“I helped to make him,” said Mrs. Ames. - -Millie got up again. - -“I want to see him,” she said. “You don’t understand, Cousin Amy. He has -got to come. I don’t care whether it is wicked or not. I love him. You -don’t understand him either. You don’t know how splendid he is. He is -unhappy at home; he has often told me so.” - -Mrs. Ames took hold of the wretched woman by both hands. - -“You are raving, Millie,” she said. “You must stop being hysterical. You -hardly know whom you are talking to. If you do not pull yourself -together, I shall send for your husband, and say you have been taken -ill.” - -Millie gave a sudden gasp of laughter. - -“Oh, I am not so stupid as you think!” she said. “Wilfred is away. Where -is Lyndhurst?” - -Mrs. Ames did not let go of her. - -“Millie,” she said, “if you are not sensible at once, I will tell you I -shall do. I shall call Parker, and together we will put you into your -cab, and you shall be driven straight home. I am perfectly serious. I -hope you will not oblige me to do that. You will be much wiser to pull -yourself together, and let us have a talk. But understand one thing -quite clearly. You are not going to see Lyndhurst.” - -The tension of those wide, childish eyes slowly relaxed, and her head -sank forward, and there came the terrible and blessed tears, in wild -cataract and streaming storm. And Mrs. Ames, looking at her, felt all -her righteousness relax; she had only pity for this poor destitute soul, -who was blind to all else by force of that mysterious longing which, in -itself, is so divine that, though it desires the disgraceful and the -impossible, it cannot wholly make itself abominable, nor discrown itself -of its royalty. Something of the truth of that, though no more than mere -fragments and moulted feather, came to Mrs. Ames now, as she sat waiting -till the tempest of tears should have abated. The royal eagle had passed -over her; as sign of his passage there was this feather that had fallen, -and she understood its significance. - -Slowly the tears ceased and the sobs were still, and Millie raised her -dim, swollen eyes. - -“I had better go home,” she said. “I wonder if you would let me wash my -face, Cousin Amy. I must be a perfect fright.” - -“Yes, dear Millie,” said she; “but there is no hurry. See, shall I send -your cab back to your house? It has your luggage on it; yes? Then Parker -shall go with it, and tell them to take it back to your room and unpack -it, and put everything back in place. Afterwards, when we have talked a -little, I will walk back with you.” - -Again the comfort of having little things attended to reached Millie, -that and the sense that she was not quite alone. She was like a child -that has been naughty and has been punished, and she did not much care -whether she had been naughty or not. What she wanted primarily was to be -comforted, to be assured that everybody was not going to be angry with -her for ever. Then, returning, Mrs. Ames made her some fresh tea, and -that comforted her too. - -“But I don’t see how I can ever be happy again,” she said. - -There was something childlike about this, as well as childish. - -“No, Millie,” said the other. “None of us three see that exactly. We -shall all have to be very patient. Very patient and ordinary.” - -There was a long silence. - -“I must tell you one thing,” said Millie, “though I daresay that will -make you hate me more. But it was my fault from the first. I led him -on--I--I didn’t let him kiss me, I made him kiss me. It was like that -all through!” - -She felt that Mrs. Ames was waiting for something more, and she knew -exactly what it was. But it required a greater effort to speak of that -than she could at once command. At last she raised her eyes to those of -Mrs. Ames. - -“No, never,” she said. - -Mrs. Ames nodded. - -“I see,” she said baldly. “Now, as I said, we have got to be patient and -ordinary. We have got, you and I, to begin again. You have your husband, -so have I. Men are so easily pleased and made happy. It would be a shame -if we failed.” - -Again the helpless, puzzled look came over Millie’s face. - -“But I don’t see how to begin,” she said. “To-morrow, for instance, what -am I to do all to-morrow? I shall only be thinking of what might have -happened.” - -Mrs. Ames took up her soft, unresisting, unresponsive hand. - -“Yes, by all means, think what might have happened,” she said. “Utter -ruin, utter misery, and--and all your fault. You led him on, as you -said. He didn’t care as you did. He wouldn’t have thought of going away -with you, if he hadn’t been so furious with me. Think of all that.” - -Some straggler from that host of sobs shook Millie for a moment. - -“Perhaps Wilfred would take me away instead,” she said. “I will ask him -if he cannot. Do you think I should feel better if I went away for a -fortnight, Cousin Amy?” - -Mrs. Ames’ twisted little smile played about her mouth. - -“Yes,” she said. “I think that is an excellent plan. I am quite sure you -will feel better in a fortnight, if you can look forward like that, and -want to be better. And now would you like to wash your face? After that, -I will walk home with you.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -It was a brisk morning in November, and Mr. and Mrs. Altham, who -breakfasted at half-past eight in the summer, and nine in the winter, -were seated at breakfast, and Mr. Altham was thinking how excellent was -the savour of grilled kidneys. But he was not sure if they were really -wholesome, and he was playing an important match at golf this afternoon. -Perhaps two kidneys approached the limits of wisdom. Besides, his wife -was speaking of really absorbing things; he ought to be able to distract -his mind from the kidneys he was proposing to deny himself, under the -sting of so powerful a counter-interest. - -“And to think that Mrs. Ames isn’t going to be a Suffragette any more!” -she said. “I met Mrs. Turner when I took my walk just now, and she told -me all about it.” - -A word of explanation is necessary. The fact was that Swedish exercises, -and a short walk on an empty stomach, were producing wonderful results -in Riseborough at the moment, especially among its female inhabitants. -They now, instead of meeting in the High Street before lunch, to stand -about on the pavement and exchange news, met there before breakfast, -when on these brisk autumn mornings it was wiser not to stand about. -They therefore skimmed rapidly up and down the street together, in short -skirts and walking boots. Rain and sunny weather, in this first glow of -enthusiasm, were alike to them, and they had their baths afterwards. -These exercises gave a considerable appetite for breakfast, and produced -a very pleasant and comfortable feeling of fatigue. But this fatigue was -a legitimate, indeed, a desirable effect, for their systems naturally -demanded repose after exertion, and an hour’s rest after breakfast was -recommended. Thus this getting up earlier did not really result in any -actual saving of time, though it made everybody feel very busy, and they -all went to bed a little earlier. - -Mr. Altham found he got on very nicely without these gymnastics, but -then he played golf after lunch. It was no use playing tricks with your -health if it was already excellent: you might as well poke about in the -works of a punctual watch. He had already had a pretty sharp lesson on -this score, over the consumption of sour milk. It had made him -exceedingly unwell, and he had sliced his drive for a fortnight -afterwards. Just now he weaned his mind from the thoughts of kidneys, -and gave it in equitable halves to marmalade and his wife’s -conversation. To enjoy either, required silence on his part. - -“She went to a meeting yesterday,” said Mrs. Altham, “so Mrs. Turner -told me, and said that though she had the success of the cause so deeply -at heart as ever, she would not be able to take any active part in it. -That is a very common form of sympathy. I suppose, from what one knows -of Mrs. Ames, we might have expected something of the sort. Do you -remember her foolish scheme of asking wives without husbands, and -husbands without wives? I warned you at the time, Henry, not to take any -notice of it, because I was sure it would come to nothing, and I think -I may say I am justified. I don’t know what _you_ think.” - -Mr. Altham, by a happy coincidence, had finished masticating his last -piece of toast at this moment, and was at liberty to reply. - -“I do not think anything about it at present,” said he. “I daresay you -are quite right, but why?” - -Mrs. Altham gave a little shrill laugh. The sprightliness at breakfast -produced by this early walk and the exercises was very marked. - -“I declare,” she said, “that I had forgotten to tell you. Mrs. Ames -wrote to ask us both to dine on Saturday. I had quite forgotten! There -is something in the air before breakfast that makes one forgetful of -trifles. It says so in the pamphlet. Worries and household cares vanish, -and it becomes a joy to be alive. I don’t think we have any engagement. -Pray do not have a third cup of tea, Henry. Tannin combines the effects -of stimulants and narcotics. A cup of hot water, now--you will never -regret it. Let me see! Yes, dinner at the Ames’ on Saturday, and she -isn’t a Suffragette any longer. As I said, one might have guessed. I -daresay her husband gave her a good talking-to, after the night when she -threw the water at the policeman. I should not wonder if there was -madness in the family. I think I heard that Sir James’ mother was very -queer before she died!” - -“She lived till ninety,” remarked Mr. Altham. - -“That is often the case with deranged people,” said Mrs. Altham. -“Lunatics are notoriously long-lived. There is no strain on the brain.” - -“And she wasn’t any relation of Mrs. Ames,” continued Henry. “Mrs. Ames -is related to the Westbournes. She has no more to do with Sir James’ -mother than I have to do with yours. I will take tea, my dear, not hot -water.” - -“You want to catch me up, Henry,” said she, “and prove I am wrong -somehow. I was only saying that very likely there is madness in Mrs. -Ames’ family, and I was going to add that I hoped it would not come out -in her. But you must allow that she has been very flighty. You would -have thought that an elderly woman like that could make up her mind once -and for all about things, before she made an exhibition of herself. She -thinks she is like some royal person who goes and opens a bazaar, and -then has nothing more to do with it, but hurries away to Leeds or -somewhere to unveil a memorial. She thinks it is sufficient for her to -help at the beginning, and get all the advertisement, and then drop it -all like cold potatoes.” - -“Hot,” said Henry. - -“Hot or cold: that is just like her. She plays hot and cold. One day she -is a Suffragette and the next day she isn’t. As likely as not she will -be a vegetarian on Saturday, and we shall be served with cabbages.” - -“Major Ames went over to Sir James’ to shoot,--she wasn’t asked,” said -Henry, reverting to a previous topic. - -“There you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Altham. “That will account for her -abandoning this husband and wife theory. I am sure she did not like -that, she being Sir James’ relative and not being asked. But I never -could quite understand what the relationship is, though I daresay Mrs. -Ames can make it out. There are people who say they are cousins, -because a grandmother’s niece married the other grandmother’s nephew. We -can all be descendants of Queen Elizabeth or of Charles the Second at -that rate.” - -“It would be easier to be a descendant of Charles the Second than of -Queen Elizabeth, my dear,” remarked Henry. - -Mrs. Altham pursed her lips up for a moment. - -“I do not think we need enter into that,” she said. “I was asking you if -you wished to accept Mrs. Ames’ invitation for Saturday. She says she -expects Sir James and his wife, so perhaps we shall hear some more about -this wonderful relationship, and Dr. Evans and his wife and one or two -others. To my mind that looks rather as if the husband and wife plan was -not quite what she expected it would be. And giving up all active part -in the Suffragette movement, too! But I daresay she feels her age, -though goodness only knows what it is. However, it is clearly going to -be a grand party on Saturday, and the waiter from the Crown will be -there to help Parker, going round and pouring a little foam into -everybody’s glass. I do not know where Major Ames gets his champagne -from, but I never get anything but foam. But I am sure I do not wish to -be unkind, and certainly poor Major Ames does not look well. I daresay -he has worries we do not know of, and, of course, there is no reason why -he should speak of them to us. The Evans’, too! I never satisfied myself -as to why they went away in October. They must have been away nearly -three weeks, for it was only yesterday that I saw them driving down from -the station, with so much luggage on the top of the cab I wonder it did -not fall over.” - -“It can’t have been yesterday, my dear,” said Mr. Altham, “because you -spoke of it to me two days ago.” - -“You shall have it your own way, Henry,” said she. “I am quite willing -that you should think it was a twelvemonth ago, if you choose. But I -suppose you will not dispute that they went away in October, which is a -very odd time to take for a holiday. Of course, Mrs. Evans stopped here -all August, or so she says, and she might answer that she wanted a -little change of air. But for my part, I think there must have been -something more, though, as I say, I cannot guess what it is. Luckily, it -is no concern of mine, and I need not worry my head about it. But I have -always thought Mrs. Evans looked far from strong, and it seems odd that -a doctor’s wife should not be more robust, when she has all his -laboratory to choose from.” - -Henry lit his cigarette, and strolled to the window. The lawn was still -white with the unmelted hoar-frost, and the gardener was busy in the -beds, putting things tidy for the winter. This consisted in plucking up -anything of vegetable origin and carrying it off in a wheelbarrow. Thus -the beds were ready to receive the first bedded-out plants next May. - -“I remember, my dear,” said Henry, “that you once thought that there had -been some--some understanding between Mrs. Evans and Major Ames, and -some misunderstanding between Major Ames and Dr. Evans.” - -Mrs. Altham brought her eyebrows together and put her finger on her -forehead. - -“I seem to remember some ridiculous story of yours, Henry, about a bunch -of chrysanthemums in the road outside Dr. Evans’ house, how you had -seen Major Ames take them in, and there they were afterwards in the -road. I seem to remember your being so much excited about it that I made -a point of going round to Mrs. Ames’ next day with--with a book. I think -that at the time--correct me if I am wrong--I convinced you that there -was nothing whatever in it.... Or have you seen or heard anything since -that makes you think differently?” she added rather more briskly. - -“No, my dear, nothing whatever,” said he. - -Mrs. Altham got up. - -“I am glad, very glad,” she said. “At any rate, we know in Riseborough -that we are safe from that sort of thing. I declare when I went to -London last week, I hardly slept with thinking of the dreadful things -that might be going on round me. Dear me, it is nearly ten o’clock. I do -not know whether the hours or the days go quickest! It is always -half-an-hour later than I expect it to be, and here we are in November -already. I shall rest for an hour, Henry, and I will write to Mrs. Ames -before lunch saying we shall be delighted to come on Saturday. November -the twelfth, too! Nearly half November will be gone by then, and that -leaves us but six weeks to Christmas, and it will be as much as we shall -be able to manage to get through all that has to be done before that. -But with these Swedish exercises, I declare I feel younger every day, -and more able to cope with everything. You should take to them, Henry; -by eleven o’clock they are finished and you have had your rest. With a -little management you would find time for everything.” - -Henry sat over the dining-room fire, considering this. As has been -mentioned, he did not want to make any change in his excellent health, -but, on the other hand, a little rest after breakfast would be pleasant, -and when that was over it would be almost time to go to the club. - -But it was impossible to settle a question like that offhand. After he -had read the paper he would think about it. - -Mrs. Altham came hurrying back into the room. - -“Henry, you would never guess what I have seen!” she said. “I glanced -out of the window in the hall on the way to my room, and there was Mrs. -Ames wobbling about the road on a bicycle. Major Ames was holding it -upright with both hands, and it looked to be as much as he could manage. -Yet she has no time for Suffragettes! I should be sorry if I thought I -should ever make such a hollow excuse as that. And at her age, too! I -had no time to call you, but I dare say she will be back soon if you -care to watch. The window-seat in the hall is quite comfortable.” - -Henry took his paper there. - - THE END - - _Richard Clay & Sons, Ltd., London and Bungay._ - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Ames, by E. F. Benson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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F. Benson. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.cd {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -margin:1em auto 1em auto;} - -.indd {text-indent:8%;} - -.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -margin-top:2em;} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:normal;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Ames, by E. F. Benson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Mrs. Ames - -Author: E. F. Benson - -Release Date: August 25, 2019 [EBook #60168] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. AMES *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="306" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:2px solid gray;padding:1em;"> -<tr class="c"><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">Chapter</span>: I, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV.</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h1>MRS. AMES</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /><br /> -<big>E. F. BENSON</big><br /> -<small> -AUTHOR OF -“DODO,” “THE ANGEL OF PAIN,” “THE CLIMBER,” -“JUGGERNAUT,” ETC., ETC.</small><br /><br /><br /> -TORONTO<br /> -THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED<br /> -LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON<br /><br /><br /> -<small><span class="smcap">Richard Clay & Sons, Limited</span>,<br /> -BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET. S. F.,<br /> -AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.</small> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Certainly</span> the breakfast tongue, which was for the first time that -morning, was not of the pleasant reddish hue which Mrs. Altham was -justified in expecting considering that the delicacy in question was not -an ordinary tinned tongue (you had to take things as you found them, if -your false sense of economy led you to order tinned goods) but one that -came out of a fine glass receptacle with an eminent label on it. It was -more of the colour of cold mutton, unattractive if not absolutely -unpleasant to the eye, while to the palate it proved to be singularly -lacking in flavour. Altogether it was a great disappointment, and for -reason, when Mr. Altham set out at a quarter-past twelve to stroll along -to the local club in Queensgate Street with the ostensible purpose of -seeing if there was any fresh telegram about the disturbances in -Morocco, his wife accompanied him to the door of that desirable mansion, -round which was grouped a variety of chained-up dogs in various states -of boredom and irritation, and went on into the High Street in order to -make in person a justifiable complaint at her grocer’s. She would be -sorry to have to take her custom elsewhere, but if Mr. Pritchard did not -see his way to sending her another tongue (of course without further -charge) she would be obliged....</p> - -<p>So this morning there was a special and imperative reason why Mrs. -Altham should walk out before lunch<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> to the High Street, and why her -husband should make a morning visit to the club. But to avoid -misconception it may be stated at once that there was, on every day of -the week except Sunday, some equally compelling cause to account for -these expeditions. If it was very wet, perhaps, Mrs. Altham might not go -to the High Street, but wet or fine her husband went to his club. And -exactly the same thing happened in the case of most of their friends and -acquaintances, so that Mr. Altham was certain of meeting General -Fortescue, Mr. Brodie, Major Ames, and others in the smoking-room, while -Mrs. Altham encountered their wives and sisters on errands like her own -in the High Street. She often professed superior distaste for gossip, -but when she met her friends coming in and out of shops, it was but -civil and reasonable that she should have a few moments’ chat with them. -Thus, if any striking events had taken place since the previous -afternoon, they all learned about them. Simultaneously there was a -similar interchange of thought and tidings going on in the smoking-room -at the club, so that when Mr. Altham had drunk his glass of sherry and -returned home to lunch at one-thirty, there was probably little of -importance and interest which had not reached the ears of himself or his -wife. It could then be discussed at that meal.</p> - -<p>Queensgate Street ran at right-angles to the High Street, debouching -into that thoroughfare at the bottom of its steep slope, while the -grocer’s shop lay at the top of it. The morning was a hot day of early -June, but to a woman of Mrs. Altham’s spare frame and active limbs, the -ascent was no more than a pleasurable exercise, and the vivid colour of -her face (so unlike the discouraging hues of the breakfast<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> tongue) was -not the result of her exertions. It was habitually there, and though -that and the restlessness of her dark and rather beady eyes might have -made a doctor, on a cursory glance (especially if influenza was about), -think that she suffered from some slight rise of temperature, he would -have been in error. Her symptoms betokened not an unnatural warmth of -the blood, but were the visible sign of her eager and slightly impatient -mind. Like the inhabitants of ancient Athens, she was always on the -alert to hear some new thing (though she disliked gossip), but her mind -appreciated the infinitesimal more than the important. The smaller a -piece of news was, the more vivid was her perception of it, and the -firmer her grip of it: large questions produced but a vague impression -on her.</p> - -<p>Her husband, a retired solicitor, was singularly well-adapted to be the -partner of her life, for his mind very much akin to hers, and his -appetite for news was no less rapacious. Indeed, the chief difference -between them in this respect was that she snapped at her food like a -wolf in winter, whereas he took it quietly, in the manner of a leisurely -boa-constrictor. But his capacity was in no way inferior to hers. -Similarly, they practised the same harmless hypocrisies on each other, -and politely forbore to question each other’s sincerity. An instance has -already been recorded where such lack of trust might have been -manifested, but it never entered Mrs. Altham’s head to tell her husband -just now that he cared nothing whatever about the disturbances in -Morocco, while she would have thought it very odd conduct on his part to -suggest a sharply worded note to Mr. Pritchard would save her the walk -uphill on this hot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> morning. But it was only sensible to go on their -quests; had they not ascertained if there was any news, they would have -had nothing to talk about at lunch. As it was, conversation never failed -them, for this little town of Riseborough was crammed with interest and -incident, for all who felt a proper concern in the affairs of other -people.</p> - -<p>The High Street this morning was very full, for it was market-day, and -Mrs. Altham’s progress was less swift than usual. Barrows of itinerant -vendors were crowded into the road from the edge of the pavements, -leaving a straitened channel for a traffic swelled by farmers’ carts and -occasional droves of dusty and perplexed looking cattle, being driven in -from the country round. More than once Mrs. Altham had to step into the -doorway of some shop to avoid the random erring of a company of pigs or -sheep which made irruption on to the pavement. But it was interesting to -observe, in one such enforced pause, the impeded passage of Sir James -Westbourne’s motor, with the owner, broad-faced and good-humoured, -driving himself, and to conjecture as to what business brought him into -the town. Then she saw that there was his servant sitting in the body of -the car, while there were two portmanteaus on the luggage-rail behind. -There was no need for further conjecture: clearly he was coming from the -South-Eastern station at the top of the hill, and was driving out to his -place four miles distant along the Maidstone road. Then he caught sight -of somebody on the pavement whom he knew, and, stopping the car, entered -into conversation.</p> - -<p>For the moment Mrs. Altham could not see who it was; then, as the car -moved on again, there appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> from behind it the tall figure of Dr. -Evans. Mrs. Altham was not so foolish as to suppose that their -conversation had necessarily anything to do with medical matters; she -did not fly to the conclusion that Lady Westbourne or any of the -children must certainly be ill. To a person of her mental grasp it was -sufficient to remember that Mrs. Evans was Sir James’ first cousin. She -heard also the baronet’s cheerful voice as the two parted, saying, -“Saturday the twenty-eighth, then. I’ll tell my wife.” That, of course, -settled it; it required only a moment’s employment of her power of -inference to make her feel convinced that Saturday the twenty-eighth -would be the date for Mrs. Evans’ garden-party. There were a good many -garden-parties in Riseborough about then, for strawberries might be -expected to be reasonably cheap. Probably the date had been settled only -this morning; she might look forward to receiving the “At-Home” card -(four to seven) by the afternoon post.</p> - -<p>The residential quarters of Riseborough lay both at the top of the hill, -on which the town stood, clustering round the fine old Norman church, -and at the bottom, along Queensgate Street, which passed into the -greater spaciousness of St. Barnabas Road. On the whole, that might be -taken to be the Park Lane of the place, and commanded the highest rents; -every house there, in addition to being completely detached, had a small -front garden with a carriage drive long enough to hold three carriages -simultaneously, if each horse did not mind putting its nose within -rubbing distance of the carriage in front of it, while the foremost -projected a little into the road again. But there were good houses also -at the top of the hill,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> where Dr. Evans lived, and those who lived -below naturally considered themselves advantageously placed in being -sheltered from the bleak easterly winds which often prevailed in spring, -while those at the top wondered among themselves in sultry summer days -how it was possible to exist in the airless atmosphere below. The middle -section of the town was mercantile, and it was here that the ladies of -the place, both from above and below, met each other with such -invariable fortuitousness in the hours before lunch. To-day, however, -though the street was so full, it was for purposes of news-gathering -curiously deserted, and apart from the circumstance of inferentially -learning the date of Mrs. Evans’ garden-party, Mrs. Altham found nothing -to detain her until she had got to the very door of Mr. Pritchard’s -grocery. But there her prolonged fast was broken; Mrs. Taverner was -ready to give and receive, and after the business of the colourless -tongue was concluded in a manner that was perfectly creditable to Mr. -Pritchard, the two ladies retraced their steps (for Mrs. Taverner was of -St. Barnabas Road) down the hill again.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Taverner quite agreed about the strong probability of Mrs. Evans’ -garden-party being on the twenty-eighth; and proceeded to unload herself -of far more sensational information. She talked rather slowly, but -without ever stopping of her own accord, so that she got as much into a -given space of time as most people. Even if she was temporarily stopped -by an interruption, she kept her mouth open, so as to be able to proceed -at the earliest possible moment.</p> - -<p>“Yes, three weeks, as you say, is a long notice, is it not?” she said; -“but I’m sure people are wise to give long notice, otherwise they will -find all their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> guests are already engaged, such a quantity of parties -as there will be this summer. Mrs. Ames has sent out dinner-cards for -exactly the same date, I am told. I daresay they agreed together to have -a day full of gaiety. Perhaps you are asked to dine there on the -twenty-eighth, Mrs. Altham?”</p> - -<p>“No, not at present.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, it will be news to you,” said Mrs. Taverner, “if what I -have heard is true, and it was Mrs. Fortescue’s governess who told me, -whom I met taking one of the children to the dentist.”</p> - -<p>“That would be Edward,” said Mrs. Altham unerringly. “I have often -noticed his teeth are most irregular: one here, another there.”</p> - -<p>She spoke as if it was more usual for children to have all their teeth -on the same spot, but Mrs. Taverner understood.</p> - -<p>“Very likely; indeed, I think I have noticed it myself. Well, what I -have to tell you seems very irregular, too; Edward’s teeth are nothing -to it. It was talked about, so Miss—I can never recollect her name, -and, from what I hear, I do not think Mrs. Fortescue finds her very -satisfactory—it was talked about, so Mrs. Fortescue’s governess told -me, at breakfast time, and it was agreed that General Fortescue should -accept, for if you are asked three weeks ahead it is no use saying you -are engaged. No doubt Mrs. Ames gave that long notice for that very -reason.”</p> - -<p>“But what is it that is so irregular?” asked Mrs. Altham, nearly dancing -with impatience at these circumlocutions.</p> - -<p>“Did I not tell you? Ah, there is Mrs. Evans; I was told she was asked -too, without her husband. How slowly she walks; I should not be -surprised if her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> husband had told her never to hurry. She did not see -us; otherwise we might have found out more.”</p> - -<p>“About what?” asked the martyred Mrs. Altham.</p> - -<p>“Why, what I am saying. Mrs. Ames has asked General Fortescue to dine -that night, without asking Mrs. Fortescue, and has asked Mrs. Evans to -dine without asking Dr. Evans. I don’t know who the rest of the party -are. I must try to find time this afternoon to call on Mrs. Ames, and -see if she lets anything drop about it. It seems very odd to ask a -husband without his wife, and a wife without her husband. And we do not -know yet whether Dr. Evans will allow his wife to go there without him.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham was suitably astounded.</p> - -<p>“But I never heard of such a thing,” she said, “and I expect my memory -is as” (she nearly said “long,” but stopped in time) “clear and -retentive as that of most people. It seems very strange: it will look as -if General Fortescue and his wife are not on good terms, and, as far as -I know, there is no reason to suppose that. However, it is none of my -business, and I am thankful to say that I do not concern myself with -things that do not concern me. Had Mrs. Ames wanted my advice as to the -desirability of asking a husband without a wife, or a wife without a -husband, I should have been very glad to give it her. But as she has not -asked it, I must suppose that she does not want it, and I am sure I am -very thankful to keep my opinion to myself. But if she asked me what I -thought about it, I should be compelled to tell her the truth. I am very -glad to be spared any such unpleasantness. Dear me, here I am at home -again. I had no idea we had come all this way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Taverner seemed inclined to linger, but the other had caught sight -of her husband’s face looking out of the window known as his study, -where he was accustomed to read the paper in the morning, and go to -sleep in the evening. This again was very irregular, for the watch on -her wrist told her that it was not yet a quarter-past one, the hour at -which he invariably ordered a glass of sherry at the club, to fortify -him for his walk home. Possibly he had heard something about this -revolutionary social scheme in the club, and had hastened his return in -order to be able to talk it over with her without delay. For a moment it -occurred to her to ask Mrs. Taverner to join them at lunch, but, after -all, she had heard what that lady had to tell, and one of the smaller -bundles of asparagus could not be considered ample for more than two. So -she checked the hospitable impulse, and hurried into his study, alert -with suppressed information, though she did not propose to let it -explode at once, for the method of them both was to let news slip out as -if accidentally. And, even as she crossed the hall, an idea for testing -the truth of what she had heard, which was both simple and ingenious, -came into her head. She despised poor Mrs. Taverner’s scheme of calling -on Mrs. Ames, in the hope of her letting something drop, for Mrs. Ames -never let things drop in that way, though she was an adept at picking -them up. Her own plan was far more effective. Also it harmonized well -with the system of mutual insincerities.</p> - -<p>“I have been thinking, my dear,” she said briskly, as she entered his -study, “that it is time for us to be asking Major and Mrs. Ames to -dinner again. Yes: Pritchard was reasonable, and will send me another<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> -tongue, and take back the old one, which I am sure I am quite glad that -he should do, though it would have come in for savouries very handily. -Still, he is quite within his rights, since he does not charge for it, -and I should not think of quarrelling with him because he exercises -them.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham was as keen a housekeeper as his wife.</p> - -<p>“Its colour would not have signified in a savoury,” he said.</p> - -<p>“No, but as Pritchard supplies a new tongue without charge, we cannot -complain. About Mrs. Ames, now. We dined with them quite a month ago: I -do not want her to think we are lacking in the exchange of -hospitalities, which I am sure are so pleasant on both sides.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham considered this question, caressing the side of his face. -There was no doubt that he had a short pointed beard on his chin, but -about half-way up the jawbone the hair got shorter and shorter, and he -was quite clean-shaven before it got up to his ear. It was always a -question, in fact, among the junior and less respectful members of the -club, whether old Altham had whiskers or not. The general opinion was -that he had whiskers, but was unaware of that possession.</p> - -<p>“It is odd that the idea of asking Mrs. Ames to dinner occurred to you -to-day,” he said, “for I was wondering also whether we did not owe her -some hospitality. And Major Ames, of course,” he added.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham smiled a bright detective smile.</p> - -<p>“Next week is impossible, I know,” she said, “and so is the week after, -as there is a perfect rush of engagements then. But after that, we might -find<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> an evening free. How would it suit you, if I asked Mrs. Ames and a -few friends to dine on the Saturday of that week? Let me count—seven, -fourteen, twenty-one, yes; on the twenty-eighth. I think that probably -Mrs. Evans will have her garden-party on that day. It would make a -pleasant ending to such an afternoon. And it would be less of an -interruption to both of us, if we give up that day. It would be better -than disarranging the week by sacrificing another evening.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham rang the bell before replying.</p> - -<p>“It is hardly likely that Major and Mrs. Ames would have an engagement -so long ahead,” he said. “I think we shall be sure to secure them.”</p> - -<p>The bell was answered.</p> - -<p>“A glass of sherry,” he said. “I forgot, my dear, to take my glass of -sherry at the club. Young Morton was talking to me, though I don’t know -why I call him young, and I forgot about my sherry. Yes, I should think -the twenty-eighth would be very suitable.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham waited until the parlour-maid had deposited the glass of -sherry, and had completely left the room with a shut door behind her.</p> - -<p>“I heard a very extraordinary story to-day,” she said, “though I don’t -for a moment believe it is true. If it is, we shall find that Mrs. Ames -cannot dine with us on the twenty-eighth, but we shall have asked her -with plenty of notice, so that it will count. But one never knows how -little truth there may be in what Mrs. Taverner says, for it was Mrs. -Taverner who told me. She said that Mrs. Ames has asked General -Fortescue to dine with her that night, without asking Mrs. Fortescue, -and has invited Mrs. Evans also without her husband. One doesn’t for a -moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> believe it, but if we asked Mrs. Ames for the same night we -should very likely hear about it. Was anything said at the club about -it?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham affected a carelessness which he was very far from feeling.</p> - -<p>“Young Morton did say something of the sort,” he said. “I was not -listening particularly, since, as you know, I went there to see if there -was anything to be learned about Morocco, and I get tired of his -tittle-tattle. But he did mention something of the kind. There is the -luncheon-bell, my dear. You might write your note immediately and send -it by hand, for James will be back from his dinner by now, and tell him -to wait for an answer.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham adopted this suggestion at once. She knew, of course, -perfectly well that the thrilling quality of the news had brought her -husband home without waiting to take his glass of sherry at the club, a -thing which had not happened since that morning a year ago, when he had -learned that Mrs. Fortescue had dismissed her cook without a character, -but she did not think of accusing him of duplicity. After all, it was -the amiable desire to talk these matters over with her without the loss -of a moment which was the motive at the base of his action, and so -laudable a motive covered all else. So she had her note written with -amazing speed and cordiality, and the boot-and-knife boy, who also -exercised the function of the gardener, was instructed to wash his hands -and go upon his errand.</p> - -<p>Criticism of Mrs. Ames’ action, based on the hypothesis that the news -was true, was sufficient to afford brisk conversation until the return -of the messenger, and Mrs. Altham put back on her plate her first stick<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> -of asparagus and tore the note open. A glance was sufficient.</p> - -<p>“It is all quite true,” she said. “Mrs. Ames writes, ‘We are so sorry to -be obliged to refuse your kind invitation, but General Fortescue and -Millicent Evans, with a few other friends, are dining with us this -evening.’ Well, I am sure! So, after all, Mrs. Taverner was right. I -feel I owe her an apology for doubting the truth of it, and I shall slip -round after lunch to tell her that she need not call on Mrs. Ames, which -she was thinking of doing. I can save her that trouble.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham considered and condemned the wisdom of this slipping round.</p> - -<p>“That might land you in an unpleasantness, my dear,” he said. “Mrs. -Taverner might ask you how you were certain of it. You would not like to -say that you asked the Ames’ to dinner on the same night in order to -find out.”</p> - -<p>“No, that is true. You see things very quickly, Henry. But, on the other -hand, if Mrs. Taverner does go to call, Mrs. Ames might let drop the -fact that she had received this invitation from us. I would sooner let -Mrs. Taverner know it myself than let it get to her in roundabout ways. -I will think over it; I have no doubt I shall be able to devise -something. Now about Mrs. Ames’ new departure. I must say that it seems -to me a very queer piece of work. If she is to ask you without me, and -me without you, is the other to sit at home alone for dinner? For it is -not to be expected that somebody else will on the very same night always -ask the other of us. As likely as not, if there is another invitation -for the same night, it will be for both of us, for I do not suppose that -we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> shall all follow Mrs. Ames’ example, and model our hospitalities on -hers.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham paused a moment to eat her asparagus, which was getting -cold.</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact, my dear, we do usually follow Mrs. Ames’ example,” -he said. “She may be said to be the leader of our society here.”</p> - -<p>“And if you gave me a hundred guesses why we do follow her example,” -said Mrs. Altham rather excitedly, picking up a head of asparagus that -had fallen on her napkin, “I am sure I could not give you one answer -that you would think sensible. There are a dozen of our friends in -Riseborough who are just as well born as she is, and as many more much -better off; not that I say that money should have anything to do with -position, though you know as well as I do that you could buy their house -over their heads, Henry, and afford to keep it empty, while, all the -time, I, for one, don’t believe that they have got three hundred a year -between them over and above his pay. And as for breeding, if Mrs. Ames’ -manners seem to you so worthy of copy, I can’t understand what it is you -find to admire in them, except that she walks into a room as if it all -belonged to her, and looks over everybody’s head, which is very -ridiculous, as she can’t be more than two inches over five feet, and I -doubt if she’s as much. I never have been able to see, and I do not -suppose I ever shall be able to see, why none of us can do anything in -Riseborough without asking Mrs. Ames’ leave. Perhaps it is my stupidity, -though I do not know that I am more stupid than most.”</p> - -<p>Henry Altham felt himself to blame for this agitated harangue. It was -careless of him to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> alluded to Mrs. Ames’ leadership, for if there -was a subject in this world that produced a species of frenzy and a -complete absence of full-stops in his wife, it was that. Desperately -before now had she attempted to wrest the sceptre from Mrs. Ames’ podgy -little hands, and to knock the crown off her noticeably small head. She -had given parties that were positively Lucullan in their magnificence on -her first coming to Riseborough; the regimental band (part of it, at -least) had played under the elm-tree in her garden on the occasion of a -mere afternoon-party, while at a dance she had given (a thing almost -unknown in Riseborough) there had been a cotillion in which the presents -cost up to five and sixpence each, to say nothing of the trouble. She -had given a party for children at which there was not only a -Christmas-tree, but a conjuror, and when a distinguished actor once -stayed with her, she had, instead of keeping him to herself, which was -Mrs. Ames’ plan when persons of eminence were her guests, asked -practically the whole of Riseborough to lunch, tea and dinner. To all of -these great parties she had bidden Mrs. Ames (with a view to her -deposition), and on certainly one occasion—that of the cotillion—she -had heard afterwards unimpeachable evidence to show that that lady had -remarked that she saw no reason for such display. Therefore to this day -she had occasional bursts of volcanic amazement at Mrs. Ames’ undoubted -supremacy, and made occasional frantic attempts to deprive her of her -throne. There was no method of attack which she had not employed; she -had flattered and admired Mrs. Ames openly to her face, with a view to -be permitted to share the throne; she had abused and vilified her with a -view to pulling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> her off it; she had refrained from asking her to her -own house for six months at a time, and for six months at a time she had -refused to accept any of Mrs. Ames’ invitations. But it was all no use; -the vilifications, so she had known for a fact, had been repeated to -Mrs. Ames, who had not taken the slightest notice of them, nor abated -one jot of her rather condescending cordiality, and in spite of Mrs. -Altham’s refusing to come to her house, had continued to send her -invitations at the usual rate of hospitality. Indeed, for the last year -or two Mrs. Altham had really given up all thought of ever deposing her, -and her husband, though on this occasion he felt himself to blame for -this convulsion, felt also that he might reasonably have supposed the -volcano to be extinct. Yet such is the disconcerting habit of these -subliminal forces; they break forth with renewed energy exactly when -persons of exactly average caution think that there is no longer any -life in them.</p> - -<p>He hastened to repair his error, and to calm the tempest, by fulsome -agreement.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear,” he said, “certainly there is a great deal in what you -say, for we have no reason to suppose that everybody will ask husband -and wife singly, or that two of this new set of invitations will always -come for the same night. Then, too, there is the question of -carriage-hire, which, though it does not much matter to us, will be an -important item to others. For, every time that husband and wife dine -out, there will be two carriages needed instead of one. I wonder if Mrs. -Ames had thought of that.”</p> - -<p>“Not she,” said Mrs. Altham, whose indignation still oozed and spurted. -“Why, as often as not, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> comes on foot, with her great goloshes over -her evening shoes. Ah, I have it!”</p> - -<p>A brilliant idea struck her, which did much to restore her equanimity.</p> - -<p>“You may depend upon it,” she said, “that Mrs. Ames means to ask just -husband or wife, as the case may be, and make that count. That will save -her half the cost of her dinners, and now I come to think of it, I am -sure I should not be surprised to learn that they have lost money -lately. Major Ames may have been speculating, for I saw the <i>Financial -News</i> on the table last time I was there. I daresay that is it. That -would account, too, for the very poor dinner we got. Salmon was in -season, I remember, but we only had plaice or something common, and the -ordinary winter desert, just oranges and apples. You noticed it, too, -Henry. You told me that you had claret that couldn’t have cost more than -eighteenpence a bottle, and but one glass of port afterwards. And the -dinner before that, though there was champagne, I got little but foam. -Poor thing! I declare I am sorry for her if that is the reason, and I am -convinced it is.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham felt considerably restored by this explanation, and got -briskly up.</p> - -<p>“I think I will just run round to Mrs. Taverner’s,” she said, “to tell -her there is no need for her to call on Mrs. Ames, since you have heard -the same story at club, so that we can rest assured that it is true. -That will do famously; it will account for everything. And there is -Pritchard’s cart at the gate. That will be the tongue. I wonder if he -has told his man to take away the pale one. If not, as you say, it will -serve for savouries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Summer had certainly come in earnest, and Mr. Altham, when he went out -on to the shaded verandah to the east of the house, in order to smoke -his cigar before going up to the golf-links, found that the thermometer -registered eighty degrees in the shade. Consequently, before enjoying -that interval of quiescence which succeeded his meals, and to which he -felt he largely owed the serenity of his health, he went upstairs to -change his cloth coat for the light alpaca jacket which he always wore -when the weather was really hot. Last year, he remembered, he had not -put it on at all until the end of July, except that on one occasion he -wore it over his ordinary coat (for it was loosely made) taking a drive -along an extremely dusty road. But the heat to-day certainly called for -the alpaca jacket, and he settled himself in his chair (after tapping -the barometer and observing with satisfaction that the concussion -produced an upward tremor of the needle, which was at “Set Fair” -already) feeling much more cool and comfortable.</p> - -<p>Life in general was a very cool and comfortable affair to this contented -gentleman. Even in youth he had not been of very exuberant vitality, and -he had passed through his early years without giving a moment’s anxiety -to himself or his parents. Like a good child who eats and digests what -is given him, so Mr. Altham, even in his early manhood, had accepted -life exactly as he found it, and had seldom wondered what it was all -about, or what it was made of. His emotions had been stirred when he met -his wife, and he had once tried to write a poem to her—soon desisting, -owing to the obvious scarcity of rhymes in the English language, and -since then his emotional record had been practically blank. If happiness -implies the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> power to want and to aspire, that quality must be denied -him, but his content was so profound that he need not be pitied for the -lack of the more effervescent emotions. All that he cared about was -abundantly his: there was the <i>Times</i> to be read after breakfast, news -to be gleaned at the club before lunch, golf to be played in the -afternoon, and a little well-earned repose to be enjoyed before dinner, -while at odd moments he looked at the thermometer and tapped the -aneroid. He was distinctly kindly by nature, and would no doubt have -cheerfully put himself to small inconveniences in order to lighten the -troubles of others, but he hardly ever found it necessary to practise -discomfort, since those with whom he associated were sunk in precisely -the same lethargy of content as himself. Being almost completely devoid -of imagination, no qualms or questionings as to the meaning of the -dramas of life presented themselves to him, and his annual subscriptions -to the local hospital and certain parish funds connoted no more to him -than did the money he paid at the station for his railway ticket. He -was, in fact, completely characteristic of the society of Riseborough, -which largely consisted of men who had retired from their professions -and spent their days, with unimportant variations, in precisely the same -manner as he did. Necessarily they were not aware of the amazing -emptiness of their lives, for if they had been, they would probably have -found life very dull, and have tried to fill it with some sort of -interest. As it was, golf, gardening, and gossip made the days pass so -smoothly and quickly that it would really have been hazardous to attempt -to infuse any life into them, for it might have produced upset and -fermentation. But these chronicles would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> convey a very false impression -if they made it seem as if life at Riseborough appeared dull or empty at -Riseborough. The affairs of other people were so perennial a source of -interest that it would only be a detached or sluggish mind that was not -perpetually stimulated. And this stimulus was not of alcoholic -character, nor was it succeeded by reaction and headache after undue -indulgence. Mr. Altham woke each morning with a clean palate, so to -speak, and an appetite and digestion quite unimpaired. As yet, he had -not to seek to fill the hours of the day with gardening, like Major -Ames, or with continuous rubbers of bridge in the card-room at the club; -his days were full enough without those additional distractions, which -he secretly rather despised as signs of senility, and wondered that -Major Ames, who was still, he supposed, not much more than forty-five, -should so soon have taken to a hobby that was better fitted for ladies -and septuagenarians. It was not that he did not like flowers; he thought -them pretty enough things in their place, and was pleased when he looked -out of the bathroom window in the morning, and saw the neat row of red -geraniums which ran along the border by the wall, between calceolarias -and lobelias. Very likely when he was older, and other interests had -faded, he might take to gardening, too; at present he preferred that the -hired man should spend two days a week in superintending the operations -of James. Certainly there would be some sense in looking after a -vegetable garden, for there was an intelligible end in view -there—namely, the production of early peas and giant asparagus for the -table, but since the garden at Cambridge House was not of larger -capacity than was occupied with a croquet lawn and a couple of flower -borders, it was impossible to grow vegetables,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span> and the production of a -new red sweet-pea, about which Major Ames had really rendered himself -tedious last summer, was quite devoid of interest to him, especially -since there were plenty of other red flowers before.</p> - -<p>His cigar was already half-smoked before he recalled himself from this -pleasant vacancy of mind which had succeeded the summer resumal of his -alpaca jacket, and for the ten minutes that still remained to him before -the cab from the livery-stables which was to take him up the long hill -to the golf-links would be announced, he roused himself to a greater -activity of brain. It was natural that his game with Mr. Turner this -afternoon should first occupy his thoughts. He felt sure he could beat -him if only he paid a very strict attention to the game, and did not let -his mind wander. A few days ago, Mr. Turner had won merely because he -himself had been rather late in arriving at the club-house, and had -started with the sense of hurry about him. But to-day he had ordered the -cab at ten minutes to three, instead of at the hour. Thus he could both -start from here and arrive there without this feeling of fuss. Their -appointed hour was not till a quarter-past three, and it took a bare -fifteen minutes to drive up. Also he had on his alpaca jacket; he would -not, as on the last occasion of their encounter, be uncomfortably hot. -As usual, he would play his adversary for the sum of half-a-crown; that -should pay both for cab and caddie.</p> - -<p>His thoughts took a wider range. Certainly it was a strange thing that -Mrs. Ames should ask husbands without their wives, and wives without -their husbands. Of course, to ask Mrs. Evans without the doctor was less -remarkable than to ask General Fortescue without his wife, for it -sometimes happened that Dr. Evans<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> was sent for in the middle of dinner -to attend on a patient, and once, when he was giving a party at his own -house, he had received a note which led him to get up at once, and say -to the lady on his right, “I am afraid I must go; maternity case,” which -naturally had caused a very painful feeling of embarrassment, succeeded -by a buzz of feverish and haphazard conversation. But to ask General -Fortescue without his wife was a very different affair; it was not -possible that Mrs. Fortescue should be sent for in the middle of dinner, -and cause dislocation in the party. He felt that if any hostess except -Mrs. Ames had attempted so startling an innovation, she would, even with -her three-weeks’ notice, have received chilling refusals coupled with -frankly incredible reasons for declining. Thus with growing radius of -thought he found himself considering the case of Mrs. Ames’ undoubted -supremacy in the Riseborough world.</p> - -<p>Most of what his wife had said in her excited harangue had been -perfectly well-founded. Mrs. Ames was not rich, and a marked parsimony -often appeared to have presided over the ordering of her dinners; while, -so far as birth was concerned, at least two other residents here were -related to baronets just as much as she was; Mrs. Evans, for instance, -was first cousin of the present Sir James Westbourne, whereas Mrs. Ames -was more distant than that from the same fortunate gentleman by one -remove. Her mother, that is to say, had been the eldest sister of the -last baronet but one, and older than he, so that beyond any question -whatever, if Mrs. Ames’ mother had been a boy, and she had been a boy -also, she would now have been a baronet herself in place of the cheerful -man who had been seen by Mrs. Altham driving his motor-car down the High -Street that morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> As for General Fortescue, he was the actual -brother of a baronet, and there was the end of the matter. But though -Riseborough in general had a very proper appreciation of the deference -due to birth, Mr. Altham felt that Mrs. Ames’ supremacy was not really -based on so wholesale a rearrangement of parents and sexes. Nor, again, -were her manners and breeding such as compelled homage; she seemed to -take her position for granted, and very seldom thanked her hostess for -“a very pleasant evening” when she went away. Nor was she remarkable for -her good looks; indeed, she was more nearly remarkable for the absence -of them. Yet, somehow, Mr. Altham could not, perhaps owing to his lack -of imagination, see anybody else, not even his own wife, occupying Mrs. -Ames’ position. There was some force about her that put her where she -was. You felt her efficiency; you guessed that should situations arise -Mrs. Ames could deal with them. She had a larger measure of reality than -the majority of Mr. Altham’s acquaintances. She did not seem to exert -herself in any way, or call attention to what she did, and yet when Mrs. -Ames called on some slightly doubtful newcomer to Riseborough, it was -certain that everybody else would call too. And one defect she had of -the most glaring nature. She appeared to take the most tepid interest -only in what every one said about everybody else. Once, not so long ago, -Mrs. Altham had shown herself more than ready to question, on the best -authority, the birth and upbringing of Mrs. Turner, the election of -whose husband to the club had caused so many members to threaten -resignation. But all Mrs. Ames had said, when it was clear that the -shadiest antecedents were filed, so to speak, for her perusal, was, “I -have always found her a very pleasant woman. She is dinning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> with us on -Tuesday.” Or again, when he himself was full of the praise of Mrs. -Taverner, to whom Mrs. Ames was somewhat coldly disposed—(though that -lady had called three times, and was perhaps calling again this -afternoon, Mrs. Ames had never once asked her to lunch or dine, and was -believed to have left cards without even inquiring whether she was -in)—Mrs. Ames had only answered his panegyrics by saying, “I am told -she is a very good-natured sort of woman.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham, hearing the stopping of a cab at his front-door, got up. It -was still thirteen minutes to three, but he was ready to start. Indeed, -he felt that motion and distraction would be very welcome, for there had -stolen into his brain a strangely upsetting idea. It was very likely -quite baseless and ill-founded, but it did occur to him that this defect -on the part of Mrs. Ames as regards her incuriousness on the subject of -the small affairs of other people was somehow connected with her -ascendency. He had so often thought of it as a defect that it was quite -a shock to find himself wondering whether it was a quality. In any case, -it was a quality which he was glad to be without. The possession of it -would have robbed him of quite nine points of the laws that governed his -nature. He would have been obliged to cultivate a passion for gardening, -like Major Ames. Of course, if you married a woman quite ten years your -senior, you had to take to something, and it was lucky Major Ames had -not taken to drink.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>He felt quite cynical, and lost the first four holes. Later, but too -late, he pulled himself together. But it was poor consolation to win the -bye only.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ames</span> put up her black and white sunshade as she stepped into the -hot street outside Dr. Evans’ house, about half-past six on the evening -of the twenty-eighth of June, and proceeded afoot past the half-dozen -houses that lay between it and the High Street. In appearance she was -like a small, good-looking toad in half-mourning; or, to state the -comparison with greater precision, she was small for a woman, but -good-looking for a toad. Her face had something of the sulky and -satiated expression of that harmless reptile, and her mourning was for -her brother, who had mercifully died of delirium tremens some six months -before. This scarcely respectable mode of decease did not curtail his -sister’s observance of the fact, and she was proposing to wear mourning -for another three months.</p> - -<p>She had not seen him much of late years, and, as a matter of fact, she -thought it was much better that his inglorious career, since he was a -hopeless drunkard, had been brought to a conclusion, but her mourning, -in spite of this, was a faithful symbol of her regret. He had had the -good looks and the frailty of her family, while she was possessed of its -complementary plainness and strength, but she remembered with remarkable -poignancy, even in her fifty-fifth year, birds’-nesting expeditions with -him, and the alluring of fish in unpopulous waters. They had shared -their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> pocket-money together, also, as children, and she had not been -the gainer by it. Therefore she thought of him with peculiar tenderness.</p> - -<p>It would be idle to deny that she was not interested in the Riseborough -view of his blackness. It was quite well known that he was a drunkard, -but she had stifled inquiry by stating that he had died of “failure.” -What organ it was that failed could not be inquired into: any one with -the slightest proper feeling—and she was well aware that Riseborough -had almost an apoplexy of proper feeling—would assume that it was some -organ not generally mentioned. She felt that there was no call on her to -gratify any curiosity that might happen to be rampant. She also felt -that the chief joy in the possession of a sense of humour lies in the -fact that others do not suspect it. Riseborough would certainly have -thought it very heartless of her to derive any amusement from things -however remotely connected with her brother’s death; Riseborough also -would have been incapable of crediting her with any tenderness of -memory, if it had known that he had actually died of delirium tremens.</p> - -<p>In this stifling weather she almost envied those who, like Dr. Evans, -lived at the top of the town, where, in Castle Street, was situated the -charming Georgian house in the garden of which he for a little while -only, and his wife for three hours, had been entertaining their friends -and detractors at the garden-party. Though the house was in a “Street,” -and not a “Road,” it had a garden which anybody would expect to belong -to a “Road,” if not a “Place.” Streets seemed to imply small backyards -looking into the backs of other houses, whereas Dr. Evans<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span>’ house did -not, at its back, look on other houses at all, but extended a full -hundred yards, and then looked over the railway cutting of the -South-Eastern line, on open fields. Should you feel unkindly disposed, -it was easy to ask whether the noise of passing trains was not very -disagreeable, and indeed, Mrs. Taverner, in a moment of peevishness -arising from the fact that what she thought was champagne cup was only -hock cup, had asked that very question of Millicent Evans this afternoon -in Mrs. Ames’ hearing. But Millicent, in her most confiding and -child-like manner, had given what Mrs. Ames considered to be a wholly -admirable and suitable answer. “Indeed we do,” she had said, “and we -often envy you your beautiful big lawn.” For everybody, of course, knew -that Mrs. Taverner’s beautiful big lawn was a small piece of black earth -diversified by plantains, and overlooked and made odorous by the new -gasworks. Mrs. Taverner had, as was not unnatural, coloured up on -receipt of this silken speech, until she looked nearly as red as Mrs. -Altham. For herself, Mrs. Ames would not, even under this provocation, -have made so ill-natured a reply, though she was rather glad that -Millicent had done so, and to account for her involuntary smile, she -instantly Mrs. Altham to lunch with her next day. Indeed, walking now -down the High Street, she smiled again at the thought, and Mr. -Pritchard, standing outside his grocery store, thought she smiled at -him, and raised his hat. And Mrs. Ames rather hoped he saw how different -a sort of smile she kept on tap, so to speak, for grocers.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames knew very well the manner of speeches that Mrs. Altham had -been indulging in during the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> last three weeks, about the little -dinner-party she was giving this evening, for she had been indiscreet -enough to give specimens of them to Millicent Evans, who had promptly -repeated them to her, and it is impossible adequately to convey how -unimportant she thought was anything that Mrs. Altham said. But the fact -that she had said so much was indirectly connected with her asking Mrs. -Altham (“and your husband, of course,” as she had rather pointedly -added) to lunch to-morrow, for she knew that Mrs. Altham would be -bursting with curiosity about the success of the new experiment, and she -intended to let her burst. She disliked Mrs. Altham, but that lady’s -hostility to herself only amused her. Of course, Mrs. Altham could not -refuse to accept her invitation, because it was a point of honour in -Riseborough that any one bidden to lunch the day after a dinner-party -must, even at moderate inconvenience, accept, for otherwise what was to -happen to the remains of salmon and of jelly too debilitated to be -served in its original shape, even though untouched, but still excellent -if eaten out of jelly-glasses? So much malice, then, must be attributed -to Mrs. Ames, that she wished to observe the febrile symptoms of Mrs. -Altham’s curiosity, and not to calm them, but rather excite them -further.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames would not naturally have gone for social purposes to the house -of her doctor, had he not married Millicent, whose father was her own -first cousin, and would have been baronet himself had he been the eldest -instead of the youngest child. As it was, Dr. Evans was on a wholly -different footing from that of an ordinary physician, for by marriage -he, as she by birth, was connected with “County,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span>” which naturally was -the crown and cream of Riseborough society. Mrs. Ames was well aware -that the profession of a doctor was a noble and self-sacrificing one, -but lines had to be drawn somewhere, and it was impossible to -contemplate visiting Dr. Holmes. A dentist’s profession was -self-sacrificing, too, but you did not dine at your dentist’s, though -his manipulations enabled you to dine with comfort and confident smiles -elsewhere. Such lines as these she drew with precision, but automatic -firmness, and the apparently strange case of Mr. Turner, whom she had -induced her husband to propose for election at the club, whom, with his -wife, she herself asked to dinner, was really no exception. For it was -not Mr. Turner who had ever been a stationer in Riseborough, but his -father, and he himself had been to a public school and a university, and -had since then purged all taint of stationery away by twenty years’ -impartiality as a police magistrate in London. True, he had not changed -his name when he came back to live in Riseborough, which would have -shown a greater delicacy of mind, and the present inscription above the -stationer’s shop, “Burrows, late Turner,” was obnoxious, but Mrs. Ames -was all against the misfortunes of the fathers being visited on the -children, and Riseborough, with the exception of Mrs. Altham, had quite -accepted Mr. and Mrs. Turner, who gave remarkably good dinners, which -were quite equal to the finest efforts of the (Scotch) chef at the club. -Mrs. Altham said that the Turners had eaten their way into the heart of -Riseborough society, which sounded almost witty, until Mrs. Ames pointed -out that it was Riseborough, not the Turners, who had done the eating. -On which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> the wit in Mrs. Altham’s <i>mot</i> went out like a candle in the -wind. It may, perhaps, be open to question whether Mrs. Altham’s rooted -hostility to the Turners did not predispose Mrs. Ames to accept them -before their quiet amiability disposed her to do so, for she was neither -disposed nor predisposed to like Mrs. Altham.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames’ way led through Queensgate Street, and she had to hold her -black skirt rather high as she crossed the road opposite the club, for -the dust was thick. She felt it wiser also to screw her small face up -into a tight knot in order to avoid inhaling the fetid blue smoke from -an over-lubricated motor-car that very rudely dashed by just in front of -her. She did not regard motors with any favour, since there were -financial reasons, whose validity was unassailable, why she could not -keep one; indeed, partly no doubt owing to her expressed disapproval of -them, but chiefly owing to similar financial impediments, Riseborough -generally considered that hired flies were a more gentlemanly and -certainly more leisurely form of vehicular transport. Mrs. Altham, as -usual, raised a dissentient voice, and said that she and her husband -could not make up their minds between a Daimler and a Rolles-Royce. This -showed a very reasonable hesitancy, since at present they had no data -whatever with regard to either.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames permitted herself one momentary glance at the bow-window of -the club, as she regained the pavement after this dusty passage, and -then swiftly looked straight in front of her again, since it was not -quite <i>quite</i> to look in at the window of a man’s club. But she had seen -several things: her husband was standing there with face contorted by -the imminent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> approach of a sneeze, which showed that his hayfever was -not yet over, as he hoped it might be. There was General Fortescue with -a large cigar in his mouth, and a glass, probably of sherry, in his -hand; there was also the top of a bald head peering over the geraniums -in the window like a pink full moon. That no doubt was Mr. Turner (for -no one was quite so bald as he), enjoying the privilege which she had -been instrumental in securing for him. Then Mrs. Altham passed her -driving, and Mrs. Ames waved and kissed her black-gloved hand to her, -thinking how very angular curiosity made people, while Mrs. Altham waved -back thinking that it was no use trying to look important if you were -only five foot two, so that honours were about divided. Finally, just -before she turned into her own gate, she saw coming along the road, -walking very fast, as his custom was, the man she respected and even -revered more than any one in Riseborough. She would have liked to wave -her hand to him too, only the Reverend Thomas Pettit would certainly -have thought such a proceeding to be very odd conduct. He was county -too—very much county, although a clergyman—being the son of that -wealthy and distressing peer, Lord Evesham, who occasionally came into -Riseborough on county business. On these occasions he lunched at the -club, instead of going to his son’s house, but did not eat the club -lunch, preferring to devour in the smoking-room, like an ogre with false -teeth, sandwiches which seemed to be made of fish in their decline. Mrs. -Ames, who could not be called a religious woman, but was certainly very -high church, was the most notable of Mr. Pettit’s admirers, and, indeed, -had set quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> a fashion in going to the services at St. Barnabas’, -which were copiously embellished by banners, vestments and incense. -Indeed, she went there in adoration of him as much as for any other -reason, for he seemed to her to be a perfect apostle. He was rich, and -gave far more than half his goods to feed the poor; he was eloquent, and -(she would not have used so common a phrase) let them all “have it” from -his pulpit, and she was sure he was rapidly wearing himself out with -work. And how thrilling it would be to address her rather frequent notes -to him with the title ‘The Reverend The Lord Evesham!’... She gave a -heavy sigh, and decided to flutter her podgy hand in his direction for a -greeting as she turned into her gate.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The little dinner which had so agitated Riseborough for the last three -weeks gave Mrs. Ames no qualms at all. Whatever happened at her house -was right, and she never had any reason to wonder, like minor -dinner-givers, if things would go off well, since she and no other was -responsible for the feast; it was Mrs. Ames’ dinner party. It was -summoned for a quarter to eight, and at half-past ten somebody’s -carriage would be announced, and she would say, “I hope nobody is -thinking of going away yet,” in consequence of which everybody would go -away at twenty minutes to eleven instead. If anybody expected to play -cards or smoke in the drawing-room, he would be disappointed, because -these diversions did not form part of the curriculum. The gentlemen had -one cigarette in the dining-room after their wine and with their coffee: -then they followed the ladies and indulged in the pleasures of -conversa<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span>tion. Mrs. Ames always sat in a chair by the window, and always -as the clock struck ten she re-sorted her conversationalists. That was -(without disrespect) a parlour-trick of the most supreme and -unfathomable kind. There was always some natural reason why she should -get up, and quite as naturally two or three people got up too. Then a -sort of involuntary general post took place. Mrs. Ames annexed the seat -of the risen woman whose partner she intended to talk to, and instantly -said, “Do tell me, because I am so much interested ...” upon which her -new partner sat down again. The ejected female then wandered -disconsolately forward till she found herself talking to some man who -had also got up. Therefore they sat down again together. But no one in -Riseborough could do the trick as Mrs. Ames could do it. Mrs. Altham had -often tried, and her efforts always ended in everybody sitting down -again exactly where they had been before, after standing for a moment as -if an inaudible grace was being said. But Mrs. Ames, though not socially -jealous (for, being the queen of Riseborough society, she had nobody to -be jealous of), was a little prone to spoil this parlour-trick when she -was dining at other houses, by suddenly developing an earnest -conversation with her already existing partner, when she saw that her -hostess contemplated a copy of her famous manœuvre. Yet, after all, she -was within her rights, for the parlour-trick was her own patent, and it -was quite proper to thwart the attempted infringement of it.</p> - -<p>Having waggled her hand in the direction of Mr. Pettit, she went -straight to the dining-room, where the dinner-table was being laid. -There was to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> a company of eight to-night, and accordingly she took -three little cardboard slips from the top left-hand drawer of her -writing-table, on each of which was printed—</p> - -<p class="cd"> -PLEASE TAKE IN<br /> -. . . . . . . . . . . .<br /> -TO DINNER.<br /> -</p> - -<p>These were presented in the hall to the men before dinner (it was -unnecessary to write one for her husband), each folded, with the name of -the guest in question being written on the back, while the name of the -woman he was to take in filled the second line. Thus there were no -separate and hurried communications to be made in the drawing-room, as -everything was arranged already. This was not so original as the other -parlour-trick, but at present nobody else in Riseborough had attempted -it. Then out of the same drawer she took—what she took requires a fresh -paragraph.</p> - -<p>Printed Menu-cards. There were a dozen packets of them, each packet -advertising a different dinner: an astounding device, requiring -enlargement of explanation. She discovered them by chance in the -Military Stores in London, selected a dozen packets containing fifty -copies each, and kept the secret to herself. The parlour-maids had -orders to tweak them away as soon as the last course was served, so that -no menu-collector, if there was such retrospective glutton in -Riseborough, could appropriate them, and thus, perhaps, ultimately get a -clue which might lead him to the solution. For by a portent of ill-luck, -it might then conceivably happen that a certain guest would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> find -himself bidden for the third or fourth time to eat precisely the same -dinner as his odious collection told him that he had eaten six months -before. But the tweaking parlour-maids obviated that risk, and if the -menu-cards were still absolutely “unsoiled,” Mrs. Ames used them again. -There was one very sumptuous dinner among the twelve, there were nine -dinners good enough for anybody, there were two dinners that might be -described as “poor.” It was one of these, probably, which Mrs. Altham -had in her mind when she was so ruthless in respect to Mrs. Ames’ food. -But, poor or sumptuous, it appeared to the innocent Riseborough world -that Mrs. Ames had her menu-cards printed as required; that, having -constructed her dinner, she sent round a copy of it to the printer’s to -be set up in type. Probably she corrected the proofs also. She never -called attention to these menus, and seemed to take them as a matter of -course. Mrs. Altham had once directly questioned her about them, asking -if they were not a great expense. But Mrs. Ames had only shifted a -bracelet on her wrist and said, “I am accustomed to use them.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames took four copies of one of these dinners which were good -enough for anybody, and propped them up, two on each of the long sides -of the table. Naturally, she did not want one herself, and her husband, -also naturally, sometimes said, “What are you going to give us to-night, -Amy?” In which case one of them was passed to him. But he had a good -retentive memory with regard to food, and with a little effort he could -remember what the rest of the dinner was going to be, when the nature of -the soup had given him his cue. Occasionally he criticized, saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> in -his hearty voice (this would be in the autumn or winter), “What, what? -Partridge again? <i>Perdrix repetita</i>, isn’t it, General, if you haven’t -forgotten your Latin.” And Amy from the other end of the table replied, -“Well, Lyndhurst, we must eat the game our friends are so kind as to -send us.” And yet Mrs. Altham declared that she had seen partridges from -the poulterers delivered at Mrs. Ames’ house! “But they are getting -cheap now,” she added to her husband, “particularly the old birds. I got -a leg, Henry, and the bird must have roosted on it for years before Mrs. -Ames’ friends were so kind as to send it her.”</p> - -<p>So Mrs. Ames propped up the printed menu-cards, and spoke a humorous -word to her first parlour-maid.</p> - -<p>“I have often told you, Parker, to wear gloves when you are putting out -the silver. I am not a detective: I am not wanting to trace you by your -finger-prints.”</p> - -<p>Parker giggled discreetly. Somehow, Mrs. Ames’ servants adored their -rather exacting mistress, and stopped with her for years. They did not -get very high wages, and a great deal was required of them, but Mrs. -Ames treated them like human beings and not like machines. It may have -been only because they were so far removed from her socially; but it may -have been that there was some essential and innate kindliness in her -that shut up like a parasol when she had to deal with such foolish and -trying folk as Mrs. Altham. Mrs. Altham, indeed, had tried to entice -Parker away with a substantial rise in wages, and the prospect of less -arduous service. But that admirable serving-maid had declined to be -tempted. Also, she had reported the occurrence to her mistress.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> It only -confirmed what Mrs. Ames already thought of the temptress. She did not -add any further black mark.</p> - -<p>The table at present was devoid of any floral decoration, but that was -no part of Mrs. Ames’ province. Her husband, that premature gardener, -was responsible for flowers and wine when Mrs. Ames gave a party, and -always returned home half-an-hour earlier, to pick such of his treasures -as looked as if they would begin to go off to-morrow, and make a -subterranean excursion with a taper and the wine book to his cellar. In -the domestic economy of the house he paid the rent, the rates and taxes, -the upkeep of the garden, the wine bills, and the cost of their annual -summer holiday, while Mrs. Ames’ budget was responsible for coal, -electric light, servants’ wages, and catering bills. Arising out of this -arrangement there occasionally arose clouds (though no bigger than Mrs. -Ames’ own hand) that flecked the brightness of their domestic serenity. -Occasionally—not often—Mrs. Ames would be pungent about the -possibility of putting out the electric light on leaving a room, -occasionally her husband had sent for his coat at lunch-time, to -supplement the heat given out on a too parsimonious hearth. But such -clouds were never seen by other eyes than theirs: the presence of guests -led Major Ames to speak of the excellence of his wife’s cook and say, -“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Pon my word, I never taste better cooking than what I get at home,” -and suggested to his wife to say to Mrs. Fortescue, “My husband so much -enjoys having the General to dinner, for he knows a glass of good wine.” -She might with truth have said that he knew a good many glasses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span></p> - -<p>Finally, the two shared in equal proportions the upkeep of a rather -weird youth who was the only offspring of their marriage, and was -mistakenly called Harry, for the name was singularly ill-suited to him. -He had lank hair, protuberant eyes, and a tendency to write poetry. Just -now he was at home from Cambridge, and had rather agitated his mother -that afternoon by approaching her dreamily at the garden-party and -saying, “Mother, Mrs. Evans is the most wonderful creature I ever saw!” -That seemed to her so wild an exaggeration as to be quite senseless, and -to portend poetry. Harry made his father uncomfortable, too, by walking -about with some quite common rose in his hand, and pretending that the -scent of it was meat and drink to him. Also he had queer notions about -vegetarianism, and said that a hunch of brown bread, a plate of beans, -and a lump of cheese, contained more nourishment than quantities of -mutton chops. But though not much of a hand at victuals, he found -inspiration in what he called “yellow wine,” and he and a few similarly -minded friends belonged to a secret Omar Khayyam Club at Cambridge, the -proceedings of which were carried on behind locked doors, not for fear -of the Jews, but of the Philistines. A large glass salad-bowl filled -with yellow wine and sprinkled with rose-leaves was the inspirer of -these mild orgies, and each Omarite had to write and read a short poem -during the course of the evening. It was a point of honour among members -always to be madly in love with some usually unconscious lady, and -paroxysms of passion were punctuated by Byronic cynicism. Just now it -seemed likely that Mrs. Evans would soon be the fount of aspiration and -despair. That would create<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> quite a sensation at the next meeting of the -Omar Club: nobody before had been quite so daring as to fall in love -with a married woman. But no doubt that phenomenon has occurred in the -history of human passion, so why should it not occur to an Omarite?</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The wine at Mrs. Ames’ parties was arranged by her husband on a scale -that corresponded with the food. At either of the two “poor” dinners, -for instance, a glass of Marsala was accorded with the soup, a light -(though wholesome) claret moistened the rest of the meal, and a single -glass of port was offered at dessert. The course of the nine dinners -good enough for anybody was enlivened by the substitution of sherry for -Marsala, champagne for claret, and liqueurs presented with coffee, while -on the much rarer occasions of the one sumptuous dinner (which always -included an ice) liqueur made its first appearance with the ice, and a -glass of hock partnered the fish. To-night, therefore, sherry was on -offer, and when, the dinner being fairly launched, Mrs. Ames took her -first disengaged look round, she observed with some little annoyance, -justifiable, even laudable, in a hostess, that Harry was talking in the -wrong direction. In fact, he was devoting his attention to Mrs. Evans, -who sat between him and his father, instead of entertaining Elsie, her -daughter, whom he had taken in, and who now sat isolated and silent, -since General Fortescue, who was on her other side, was naturally -conversing with his hostess. Certainly it was rubbish to call Mrs. Evans -a most wonderful creature; there was nothing wonderful about her. She -was fair, with pretty yellow hair (an enthusiast might have called it -golden), she had small regular<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> features, and that look of distinction -which Mrs. Ames (drawing herself up a little as she thought of it) -considered to be inseparable from any in whose veins ran the renowned -Westbourne blood. She had also that slim, tall figure which, though -characteristic of the same race, was unfortunately not quite inseparable -from its members, for no amount of drawing herself up would have -conferred it on Mrs. Ames, and Harry took after her in this respect.</p> - -<p>Dr. Evans had not long been settled in Riseborough—indeed, it was only -last winter that he had bought his practice here, and taken the -delightful house in which his wife had given so populous a garden-party -that afternoon. Their coming, as advertised by Mrs. Ames, had been -looked forward to with a high degree of expectancy, since a fresh tenant -for the Red House, especially when he was known to be a man of wealth -(though only a doctor), was naturally supposed to connote a new and -exclusive entertainer, while his wife’s relationship to Sir James -Westbourne made a fresh link between the “town” and the “county.” -Hitherto, Mrs. Ames had been the chief link, and though without doubt -she was a genuine one (her mother being a Westbourne), she had been a -little disappointing in this regard, as she barely knew the present head -of the family, and was apt to talk about old days rather than glorify -the present ones by exhibitions of the family to which she belonged. But -it was hoped that with the advent of Mrs. Evans a more living intimacy -would be established.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans was the fortunate possessor of that type of looks which wears -well, and it was difficult to believe that Elsie, with her eighteen -years and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> elderly manner, was her daughter. She was possessed of that -unemotional temperament which causes the years to leave only the -faintest traces of their passage, and they had graven on her face but -little record of joys and sorrows. Her mouth still possessed the -softness of a girl’s, and her eyes, large and blue, had something of the -shy, unconscious wonder of childhood in their azure. To judge by -appearances (which we shall all continue to do until the end of time, -though we have made proverbs to warn us against the fallibility of such -conclusions), she must have had the tender and innocent nature of a -child, and though Mrs. Ames saw nothing wonderful about her, it was -really remarkable that a woman could look so much and mean so little. -She did not talk herself with either depth or volume, but she had, so to -speak, a deep and voluminous way of listening which was immensely -attractive. She made the man who was talking to her feel himself to be -interesting (a thing always pleasant to the vainer sex), and in -consequence he generally became interested. To fire the word “flirt” at -her, point-blank, would have been a brutality that would have astounded -her—nor, indeed, was she accustomed to use the somewhat obvious arts -which we associate with those practitioners, but it is true that without -effort she often established relations of intimacy with other people -without any giving of herself in return. Both men and women were -accustomed to take her into their confidence; it was so easy to tell her -of private affairs, and her eyes, so wide and eager and sympathetic, -gave an extraordinary tenderness to her commonplace replies, which -accurately, by themselves, reflected her dull and unemotional<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> mind. She -possessed, in fact, as unemotional but comely people do, the -potentiality of making a great deal of mischief without exactly meaning -it, and it would be safe to predict that, the mischief being made, she -would quite certainly acquit herself of any intention of having made it. -It would be rash, of course, to assert that no breeze would ever stir -the pearly sleeping sea of her temperament: all that can be said is that -it had not been stirred yet.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames could not permit Elsie’s isolation to continue, and she said -firmly to Harry, “Tell Miss Evans all about Cambridge,” which -straightened conversation out again, and allowed Mrs. Evans to direct -all her glances and little sentences to Major Ames. As was usual with -men who had the privilege of talking to her, he soon felt himself a -vivid conversationalist.</p> - -<p>“Yes, gardening was always a hobby of mine,” he was saying, “and in the -regiment they used to call me Adam. The grand old gardener, you know, as -Tennyson says. Not that there was ever anything grand about me.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans’ mouth quivered into a little smile.</p> - -<p>“Nor old, either, Major Ames,” she said.</p> - -<p>Major Ames put down the glass of champagne he had just sipped, in order -to give his loud, hearty laugh.</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” he said, “I’m pretty vigorous yet, and can pull the heavy -garden roller as well as a couple of gardeners could. I never have a -gardener more than a couple of days a week. I do all the work myself. -Capital exercise, rolling the lawn, and then I take a rest with a bit of -weeding, or picking a bunch of flowers for Amy’s table. Weeding, too<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span>—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘An hour’s weeding a day<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Keeps the doctor away.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">I defy you to get lumbago if you do a bit of weeding every morning.”</p> - -<p>Again a little shy smile quivered on Millie Evans’ mouth.</p> - -<p>“I shall tell my husband,” she said. “I shall say you told me you spend -an hour a day in weeding, so that you shouldn’t ever set eyes on him. -And then you make poetry about it afterwards.”</p> - -<p>Again he laughed.</p> - -<p>“Well, now, I call that downright wicked of you,” he said, “twisting my -words about in that way. General, I want your opinion about that glass -of champagne. It’s a ’96 wine, and wants drinking.”</p> - -<p>The General applied his fish-like mouth to his glass.</p> - -<p>“Wants drinking, does it?” he said. “Well, it’ll get it from me. -Delicious! Goo’ dry wine.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames turned to Millie Evans again.</p> - -<p>“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Evans,” he said, “but General Fortescue likes to -know what’s before him. Yes, downright wicked of you! I’m sure I wish -Amy had asked Dr. Evans to-night, but there—you know what Amy is. She’s -got a notion that it will make a pleasanter dinner-table not to ask -husband and wife always together. She says it’s done a great deal in -London now. But they can’t put on to their tables in London such -sweet-peas as I grow here in my bit of a garden. Look at those in front -of you. Black Michaels, they are. Look at the size of them. Did you ever -see such sweet-peas? I wonder what Amy is going to give us for dinner -to-night. Bit of lamb next, is it? and a quail to follow. Hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> you’ll -go Nap, Mrs. Evans; I must say Amy has a famous cook. And what do you -think of us all down at Riseborough, now you’ve had time to settle down -and look about you? I daresay you and your husband say some sharp things -about us, hey? Find us very stick-in-the-mud after London?”</p> - -<p>She gave him one of those shy little deprecating glances that made him -involuntarily feel that he was a most agreeable companion.</p> - -<p>“Ah, you are being wicked now!” she said. “Every one is delightful. So -kind, so hospitable. Now, Major Ames, do tell me more about your -flowers. Black Michaels, you said those were. I must go in for -gardening, and will you begin to teach me a little? Why is it that your -flowers are so much more beautiful than anybody’s? At least, I needn’t -ask: it must be because you understand them better than anybody.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames felt that this was an uncommonly agreeable woman, and for -half a second contrasted her pleasant eagerness to hear about his garden -with his wife’s complete indifference to it. She liked flowers on the -table, but she scarcely knew a hollyhock from a geranium.</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” he said; “I don’t say that my flowers, which you are so -polite as to praise, don’t owe something to my care. Rain or fine, I -don’t suppose I spend less than an average of four hours a day among -them, year in, year out. And that’s better, isn’t it, than sitting at -the club, listening to all the gossip and tittle-tattle of the place?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you are like me,” she said. “I hate gossip. It is so dull. -Gardening is so much more interesting.”</p> - -<p>He laughed again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, as I tell Amy,” he said, “if our friends come here expecting to -hear all the tittle-tattle of the place, they will be in for a -disappointment. Amy and I like to give our friends a hearty welcome and -a good dinner, and pleasant conversation about really interesting -things. I know little about the gossip of the town; you would find me -strangely ignorant if you wanted to talk about it. But politics now—one -of those beastly Radical members of Parliament lunched with us only the -week before last, and I assure you that Amy asked him some questions he -found it hard to answer. In fact, he didn’t answer them: he begged the -question, begged the question. There was one, I remember, which just -bowled him out. She said, ‘What is to happen to the parks of the landed -gentry, if you take them away from the owners?’ Well, that bowled him -out, as they say in cricket. Look at Sir James’s place, for instance, -your cousin’s place, Amy’s cousin’s place. Will they plant a row of -villas along the garden terrace? And who is to live in them if they do? -Grant that Lloyd George—she said that—grant that Lloyd George wants a -villa there, that will be one villa. But the terrace there will hold a -dozen villas. Who will take the rest of them? She asked him that. They -take away all our property, and then expect us to build houses on other -people’s! Don’t talk to me!”</p> - -<p>The concluding sentence was not intended to put a stop on this pleasant -conversation; it was only the natural ejaculation of one connected with -landed proprietors. Mrs. Evans understood it in that sense.</p> - -<p>“Do tell me all about it,” she said. “Of course, I am only a woman, and -we are supposed to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> no brains, are we not? and to be able to -understand nothing about politics. But will they really take my cousin -James’s place away from him? I think Radicals must be wicked.”</p> - -<p>“More fools than knaves, I always say,” said Major Ames magnanimously. -“They are deluded, like the poor Suffragettes. Suffragettes now! A -woman’s sphere of influence lies in her home. Women are the queens of -the earth; I’ve often said that, and what do queens want with votes? -Would Amy have any more influence in Riseborough if she had a vote? Not -a bit of it. Well, then, why go about smacking the faces of policemen -and chaining yourself to a railing? If I had my way——”</p> - -<p>Major Ames became of lower voice and greater confidence.</p> - -<p>“Amy doesn’t wholly agree with me,” he said; “and it’s a pleasure to -thrash the matter out with somebody like yourself, who has sensible -views on the subject. What use are women in politics? None at all, as -you just said. It’s for women to rock the cradle, and rule the world. I -say, and I have always said, that to give them a vote would be to wreck -their influence, God bless them. But Amy doesn’t agree with me. I say -that I will vote—she’s a Conservative, of course, and so am I—I will -vote as she wishes me to. But she says it’s the principle of the thing, -not the practice. But what she calls principle, I call want of -principle. Home: that’s the woman’s sphere.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans gave a little sigh.</p> - -<p>“I never heard it so beautifully expressed,” she said. “Major Ames, why -don’t you go in for politics?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Major Ames felt himself flattered; he felt also that he deserved the -flattery. Hence, to him now, it ceased to be flattery, and became a -tribute. He became more confidential, and vastly more vapid.</p> - -<p>“My dear lady,” he said, “politics is a dirty business now-a-days. We -can serve our cause best by living a quiet and dignified life, without -ostentation, as you see, but by being gentlemen. It is the silent -protest against these socialistic ideas that will tell in the long run. -What should I do at Westminster? Upon my soul, if I found myself sitting -opposite those Radical louts, it would take me all my time to keep my -temper. No, no; let me attend to my garden, and give my friends good -dinners,—bless my soul, Amy is letting us have an ice -to-night—strawberry ice, I expect; that was why she asked me whether -there were plenty of strawberries. <i>Glace de fraises</i>; she likes her -menu-cards printed in French, though I am sure ‘strawberry ice’ would -tell us all we wanted to know. What’s in a name after all?”</p> - -<p>Conversation had already shifted, and Major Ames turned swiftly to a -dry-skinned Mrs. Brooks who sat on his left. She was a sad high-church -widow who embroidered a great deal. Her dress was outlined with her own -embroideries, so, too, were many altar-cloths at the church of St. -Barnabas. She and Mrs. Ames had a sort of religious rivalry over its -decoration; the one arranged the copious white lilies that crowned the -cloth made by the other. Their rivalry was not without silent jealousy, -and it was already quite well known that Mrs. Brooks had said that -lilies of the valley were quite as suitable as Madonna lilies, which -shed a nasty yellow pollen on the altar-cloth. But Madonna lilies were -larger; a decoration<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> required fewer “blooms.” In other moods also she -was slightly acid.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans turned slowly to her right, where Harry was sitting. She -might almost be supposed to know that she had a lovely neck, at least it -was hard to think that she had lived with it for thirty-seven years in -complete unconsciousness of it. If she moved her head very quickly, -there was just a suspicion of loose skin about it. But she did not move -her head very quickly.</p> - -<p>“And now let us go on talking,” she said. “Have you told my little girl -all about Cambridge? Tell me all about Cambridge too. What fun you must -have! A lot of young men together, with no stupid women and girls to -bother them. Do you play a great deal of lawn-tennis?”</p> - -<p>Harry reconsidered for a moment his verdict concerning the wonderfulness -of her. It was hardly happy to talk to a member of the Omar Club about -games and the advantages of having no girls about.</p> - -<p>“No; I don’t play games much,” he said. “The set I am in don’t care for -them.”</p> - -<p>She tilted her head a little back, as if asking pardon for her -ignorance.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know,” she said. “I thought perhaps you liked games—football, -racquets, all that kind of thing. I am sure you could play them -beautifully if you chose. Or perhaps you like gardening? I had such a -nice talk to your father about flowers. What a lot he knows about them!”</p> - -<p>Flowers were better than games, anyhow; Harry put down his spoon without -finishing his ice.</p> - -<p>“Have you ever noticed what a wonderful colour <i>La France</i> roses turn at -twilight?” he asked. “All<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span> the shadows between the petals become blue, -quite blue.”</p> - -<p>“Do they really? You must show me sometime. Are there some in your -garden here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but father doesn’t care about them so much because they are -common. I think that is so strange of him. Sunsets are common, too, -aren’t they? There is a sunset every day. But the fact that a thing is -common doesn’t make it less beautiful.”</p> - -<p>She gave a little sigh.</p> - -<p>“But what a nice idea,” she said. “I am sure you thought of it. Do you -talk about these things much at Cambridge?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames began to collect ladies’ eyes at this moment, and the -conversation had to be suspended. Millie Evans, though she was rather -taller than Harry, managed, as she passed him on the way to the door, to -convey the impression of looking up at him.</p> - -<p>“You must tell me all about it,” she said. “And show me those delicious -roses turning blue at twilight.”</p> - -<p>Dinner had been at a quarter to eight, and when the men joined the women -again in the drawing-room, light still lingered in the midsummer sky. -Then Harry, greatly daring, since such a procedure was utterly contrary -to all established precedents, persuaded Mrs. Evans to come out into the -garden, and observe for herself the chameleonic properties of the roses. -Then he had ventured on another violation of rule, since all rights of -flower-picking were vested in his father, and had plucked her -half-a-dozen of them. But on their return with the booty, and the -establishment of the blue theory, his father, so far from resenting this -invasions of his privileges, had merely said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span>—</p> - -<p>“The rascal might have found you something choicer than that, Mrs. -Evans. But we’ll see what we can find you to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>She had again seemed to look up at Harry.</p> - -<p>“Nothing can be lovelier than my beautiful roses,” she said. “But it is -sweet of you to think of sending me some more. Cousin Amy, look at the -roses Mr. Harry has given me.”</p> - -<p>Carriages arrived as usual that night at half-past ten, at which hour, -too, a gaunt, grenadier-like maid of certain age, rapped loudly on the -front door, and demanded Mrs. Brooks, whom she was to protect on her way -home, and as usual carriages and the grenadier waited till twenty -minutes to eleven. But even at a quarter to, no conveyance, by some -mischance, had come for Mrs. Evans, and despite her protests, Major Ames -insisted on escorting her and Elsie back to her house. Occasionally, -when such mistakes occurred, it had been Harry’s duty to see home the -uncarriaged, but to-night, when it would have been his pleasure, the -privilege was denied him. So, instead, after saying good-night to his -mother, he went swiftly to his room, there to write a mysterious letter -to a member of the Omar Club, and compose a short poem, which should, -however unworthily, commemorate this amorous evening.</p> - -<p>There is nothing in the world more rightly sacred than the first -dawnings of love in a young man, but, on the other hand, there is -nothing more ludicrous if his emotions are inspired, or even tinged, by -self-consciousness and the sense of how fine a young spark he is. And -our unfortunate Harry was charged with this absurdity; all through the -evening it had been present to his mind, how dashing and Byronic a tale<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> -this would prove at the next meeting of the Omar Khayyam Club; with what -fine frenzy he would throw off, in his hour of inspiration after the -yellow wine, the little heart-wail which he was now about to compose, as -soon as his letter to Gerald Everett was written. And lest it should -seem unwarrantable to intrude in the spirit of ridicule on a young man’s -rapture and despair, an extract from his letter should give solid -justification.</p> - -<p>“Of course, I can’t give names,” he said, “because you know how such -things get about; but, my God, Gerald, how wonderful she is. I saw her -this afternoon for the first time, and she dined with us to-night. She -understands everything—whatever I said, I saw reflected in her eyes, as -the sky is reflected in still water. After dinner I took her out into -the garden, and showed her how the shadows of the <i>La France</i> roses turn -blue at dusk. I quoted to her two lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘O, thou art fairer than the evening air,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">And I <i>think</i> she saw that I quoted <i>at</i> her. Of course, she turned it -off, and said, ‘What pretty lines!’ but I think she saw. And she carried -my roses home. Lucky roses!</p> - -<p>“Gerald, I am miserable! I haven’t told you yet. For she is married. She -has a great stupid husband, years and years older than herself. She has, -too, a great stupid daughter. There’s another marvel for you! Honestly -and soberly she does not look more than twenty-five. I will write again, -and tell you how all goes. But I think she likes me; there is clearly -something in common between us. There is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> no doubt she enjoyed our -little walk in the dusk, when the roses turned blue.... Have you had any -successes lately?”</p> - -<p>He finished his letter, and before beginning his poem, lit the candle on -his dressing-table, and examined his small, commonplace visage in the -glass. It was difficult to arrange his hair satisfactorily. If he -brushed it back it revealed an excess of high, vacant-looking forehead; -if he let it drop over his forehead, though his resemblance to Keats was -distinctly strengthened, its resemblance to seaweed was increased also. -The absence of positive eyebrow was regrettable, but was there not fire -in his rather pale and far-apart eyes? He rather thought there was. His -nose certainly turned up a little, but what, if not that, did tip-tilted -imply? A rather long upper-lip was at present only lightly fledged with -an adolescent moustache, but there was decided strength in his chin. It -stuck out. And having practised a frown which he rather fancied, he went -back to the table in the window again, read a few stanzas of <i>Dolores</i>, -in order to get into tune with passion and bitterness (for this poem was -not going to begin or end happily) and wooed the lyric muse.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Major Ames, meantime, had seen Mrs. Evans to her door, and retraced his -steps as far as the club, where he was in half-a-mind to go in, and get -a game of billiards, which he enjoyed. He played in a loud, hectoring -and unskilful manner, and it was noticeable that all the luck (unless, -as occasionally happened, he won) was invariably on the side of his -opponent. But after an irresolute pause, he went on again, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> let -himself into his own house. Amy was still sitting in the drawing-room, -though usually she went to bed as soon as her guests had gone.</p> - -<p>“Very pleasant evening, my dear,” he said; “and your plan was a great -success. Uncommonly agreeable woman Mrs. Evans is. Pretty woman, too; -you would never guess she was the mother of that great girl.”</p> - -<p>“She was not considered pretty as a girl,” said his wife.</p> - -<p>“No? Then she must have improved in looks afterwards. Lonely life -rather, to be a doctor’s wife, with your husband liable to be called -away at any hour of the day or night.”</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt Millie occupies herself very well,” said Mrs. Ames. -“Good-night, Lyndhurst. Are you coming up to bed?”</p> - -<p>“Not just yet. I shall sit up a bit, and smoke another cigar.”</p> - -<p>He sat in the window, and every now and then found himself saying, half -aloud, “Uncommonly agreeable woman.” Just overhead Harry was tearing -passion to shreds in the style (more or less) of Swinburne.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dr. Evans</span> was looking out of the window of his dining-room as he waited -the next morning for breakfast to be brought in, jingling a pleasant -mixture of money and keys in his trouser pockets and whistling a tune -that sounded vague and De Bussy-like until you perceived that it was -really an air familiar to streets and barrel-organs, and owed its -elusive quality merely to the fact that the present performer was a -little uncertain as to the comparative value of tones and semitones. But -this slightly discouraging detail was more than compensated for by the -evident cheerfulness of the executant; his plump, high-coloured face, -his merry eye, the singular content of his whole aspect betokened a -personality that was on excellent terms with life.</p> - -<p>His surroundings were as well furnished and securely comfortable as -himself. The table was invitingly laid; a Sheffield-plate urn (Dr. Evans -was an amateur in Georgian decoration and furniture) hissed and steamed -with little upliftings of the lid under the pressure within, and a -number of hot dishes suggested an English interpretation of breakfast. -Fine mezzotints after the great English portrait-painters hung on the -walls, and a Chippendale sideboard was spread with fruit dishes and -dessert-plates. The morning was very hot, but the high, spacious room, -with its thick walls, was cool and fresh, while<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> its potentialities for -warmth and cosiness in the winter were sponsored for by the large open -fireplace and the stack of hot-water pipes which stood beneath the -sideboard. Outside, the windows at which Dr. Evans stood looked out on -to the large and secluded lawn, which had been the scene of the -garden-party the day before. Red-brick walls ran along the two sides of -it at right angles to the house: opposite, a row of espaliered -fruit-trees screened off the homeliness of the kitchen-garden beyond, -and the railway cutting which formed the boundary of this pleasant -place.</p> - -<p>Wilfred Evans had whistled the first dozen bars of the “Merry Widow -Waltz” some six or seven times through, before, with the retarded -consciousness that it was Sunday, he went on to “The Church’s One -Foundation,” and though, with his usual admirable appetite, he felt the -allure of the hot dishes, he waited, still whistling, for some other -member of his household, wife or daughter, to appear. He was one of the -most gregarious and clubbable of men, and no hecatomb of stalled oxen -would have given him content, if he had had to eat his beef alone. A -firm attachment to his domestic circle, combined with the not very -exacting calls of his practice, but truly fervent investigations in the -laboratory at the end of the garden, of the habits and economy of -phagocytes, comfortably filled up, to the furthest horizon, the scenery -of his mental territories.</p> - -<p>He had not to wait long for his wife to appear, and he hailed her with -his wonted cordiality.</p> - -<p>“Morning, little woman,” he said. “Slept well, I hope?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans did not practice at home all those arts of pleasing with -which she was so lavish in other<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> people’s houses. Also, this morning -she felt rather cross, a thing which, to do her justice, was rare with -her.</p> - -<p>“Not very,” she said. “I kept waking. It was stiflingly hot.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, my dear,” said he.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans busied herself with tea-making; her long, slender hands moved -with extraordinary deftness and silence among clattering things, and her -husband whistled the “Merry Widow Waltz” once or twice more.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Wilfred, do stop that odious tune,” she said, without the slightest -hint of impatience in her voice. “It is bad enough on your pianola, -which, after all, is in tune!”</p> - -<p>“Which is more than can be said for my penny whistle?” asked he, -good-humouredly. “Right you are, I’m dumb. Tell me about your party last -night.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, haven’t you been to enough Riseborough parties to know that -there is nothing to tell about any party?” she asked. “I sat between -Major Ames and the son. I talked gardening on one side with the father, -and something which I suppose was enlightened Cambridge conversation on -the other. Harry Ames is rather a dreadful sort of youth. He took me -into the garden afterwards to show me something about roses. And the -carriage didn’t come. Major Ames saw me home. When did you get in?”</p> - -<p>“Not till nearly three. Very difficult maternity case. But we’ll pull -them both through.”</p> - -<p>Millie Evans gave a little shudder, which was not quite entirely -instinctive. She emphasized it for her husband’s benefit. Unfortunately, -he did not notice it.</p> - -<p>“Will you have your tea now?” she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span></p> - -<p>He looked at her with an air mainly conjugal but tinged with -professionalism.</p> - -<p>“Bit upset with the heat, little woman?” he asked. “You look a trifle -off colour. We can’t have you sleeping badly, either. Show me the man -who sleeps his seven hours every night, and I’ll show you who will live -to be ninety.”</p> - -<p>This prospect did not for the moment allure his wife.</p> - -<p>“I think I would sooner sleep less and die earlier,” she said in her -even voice, “though I’m sure Elsie will live to a hundred at that rate. -You encourage her to be lazy in the morning, Wilfred. I’m sure any one -can manage to be in time for breakfast at a quarter past nine.”</p> - -<p>He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No, no, little woman,” he said. “Let a growing girl sleep just as much -as she feels inclined. I would sooner stint a girl’s food than her -sleep. Give the red corpuscles a chance, eh?”</p> - -<p>Millie got up from the table, and went to the sideboard to get some -fruit. Then suddenly it struck her all this was hardly worth while. It -seemed a stupid business to come down every morning and eat breakfast, -to manage the household, to go for a walk, perhaps, or sit in the -garden, and after completing the round of these daily futilities, to go -to bed again and sleep, just for the recuperation that sleep gave, to -enable her to do it all over again. But the strawberries looked cool and -moist, and standing by the sideboard she ate a few of them. Just above -it hung the oblong Sheraton mirror, which her husband had bought so -cheaply at a local sale and had brought home so triumphantly. That, too, -seemed to tell her a stale story, and the reflection of her young face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> -crowned with the shimmer of yellow hair, against the dark oak background -of the panelling seemed without purpose or significance. She was doing -nothing with her beauty that stayed so long with her. But it would not -stay many years longer: this morning even there seemed to be a shadow -over it, making it dim.... Soon nobody would care if she had ever been -pretty or not; indeed, even now Elsie seemed by her height and the -maturity of her manner to be reminding everybody of the fact that she -herself must be approaching the bar which every woman has to cross when -she is forty or thereabouts.... And, strange enough it may appear, these -doubts and questionings which looked at Millie darkly from the Sheraton -glass above the sideboard, selfish and elementary as they were, -resembled “thought” far more closely than did the generality of those -surface impressions that as a rule mirrored her mind. They were, too, -rather actively disagreeable, and generally speaking, nothing -disagreeable occurred to her. The experiences of every day might be -mildly exhilarating, or mildly tedious. But, whatever they were, she was -not accustomed to think closely about them. Now, for the moment, it -seemed to her that some shadow, some vague presence confronted her, and -menacingly demanded her attention.</p> - -<p>Riseborough is notable for the number of its churches, and before long -the air was mellow with bells. As a rule, Millie Evans went to church on -Sunday morning with the same regularity as she ate hot roast beef for -lunch when it was over, but this morning she easily let herself be -persuaded to refrain from any act of public worship. It seemed quite -within the bounds of possibility that she might feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> faint during the -psalms and, on her husband’s advice, she settled to stop at home, -leaving him and Elsie, who was quite unaware what faintness felt like, -to attend. But it was not the fear of faintness that prompted her -absence: she wanted, almost for the first time in her life, to be alone -and to think. Even on the occasion of her marriage, she had not found it -necessary to employ herself with original thought: her mother had done -the thinking for her, and had advised her, as she felt quite sure, -sensibly and well. Nor had she needed to think when she was expecting -her only child, for on that occasion she had been perfectly content to -do exactly as her husband told her. But now, at the age of thirty-seven, -the sight of her own face in the glass had suggested to her certain -possibilities, certain limitations.</p> - -<p>Ill-health had, on infrequent Sundays, prevented her attendance at -church, and now, following merely the dictates of habit, she took out -with her to a basket chair below the big mulberry-tree in the garden, a -Bible and prayer-book, out of which she supposed that she would read the -psalms and lessons for the day. But the Bible remained long untouched, -and when she opened it eventually at random, she read but one verse. It -was at the end of Ecclesiastes that the leaves parted, and she read, -“When desire shall fail, because man goeth to his long home.”</p> - -<p>That was enough, for it was that, here succinctly expressed, which had -been troubling her this morning, though so vaguely, that until she saw -her symptoms written down shortly and legibly, she had scarcely known -what they were. But certainly this line and a half described them. No -doubt it was all very elementary; by degrees one ceased to care, and -then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> one died. But her case was rather different from that, for she -felt that with her desire had not failed, simply because she never had -had desire. She had waked and slept, she had eaten and walked, she had -had a child; but all these things had been of about the same value. Once -she had had a tooth out, without gas; that was a slightly more vivid -experience. But it was very soon over: she had not really cared.</p> - -<p>But though she had not cared for any of those things, she had not been -bored with the repetition of them. It had seemed natural that one thing -should follow another, that the days should become weeks, and the weeks -should become months, insensibly. When the months added themselves into -years, she took notice of that fact by having a birthday, and Wilfred, -as he gave her some little present in a morocco case, told her that she -looked as young as when they first met, which was very nearly true. She -had a quantity of these morocco cases now: he never omitted the punctual -presentation of each. And the mental vision of all these morocco cases, -some round, some square, some oblong, and the thought of their -contents—a little pearl brooch, a sapphire brooch, a pair of emerald -ear-rings, a jewelled hat-pin—suddenly came upon her with their -cumulative effect. A lot of time had gone by; it chiefly lived in her -now through the memory of the morocco cases.</p> - -<p>By virtue of her unemotional temperament and serene bodily health she -looked very young still, and certainly did not feel old. But as the -bells for church ceased to jangle and clash in the hot still air, -leaving only for the ear the hum of multitudinous bees in the long -flower-bed, it dawned on her that whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> she felt, and however she -looked, she would soon be on the other side of that barrier which for -women marks the end of their essential and characteristic life. There -were a few years left her yet out of the years of which she made so -little use, and with a spasm, the keenest perhaps she had ever known, -even including the extraction of the tooth without gas, the horror of -middle-age fell upon her, making her shiver. All her life she had felt -nothing: soon she would be incapable of feeling, except in so far as -regret, that pale echo of what might once have been emotion, can be -considered an affair of the heart. To feel, she readily perceived, -implied the existence of something or somebody to feel about. But she -did not know where to look for her participant. Long ago her husband had -become as much part of that dead level of life as had her breakfast or -her dressing for dinner. Never had he stirred her from her placid -passivity, she had never yearned for him, in the sense in which a -thirsty man desires water. She had no love of nature: “the primrose by -the river’s brim” might have been a violet for anything that she cared; -charity, in its technical sense, was distasteful to her, because the -curious smell in the houses of the poor made her only long to get away. -It was hard to know where to turn to find an outlet for that drowsily -awakening recognition of life that to-day, so late and as yet so feebly, -stirred within her. Yet, though it stirred but feebly, there was -movement there: it wanted to be alive for a little, before it was -indubitably dead.</p> - -<p>Her thoughts went back to the topic concerning which she had told her -husband that there was nothing to be told—namely, the dinner-party at -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> Ames’ last night. Certainly there was nothing remarkable about it: -she had conducted herself as usual, with the usual result. She was -accustomed to deal out her little smiles and deferential glances and -flattering speeches to those who sat next her at dinner, because in -herself a mild amiability prompted her to make herself pleasant, and -because, with so little trouble to herself, she could make a man behave -as agreeably as he was capable of behaving. She attracted men very -easily, cursorily one might say, without attaching any importance to the -interest she aroused, and without looking further than the dinner-table -for the fruits of the attraction she exercised. But this morning, this -tardy and drowsy recognition of life, beside which, so to speak, lay the -shadow of middle-age, gave her pause. Was there some fruition and -development of herself, before the withered and barren years came to -her, to be found there? It would be quite beyond the mark to say that, -sitting here, she definitely proposed to herself to try to make herself -emotionally interested in somebody else, in case that might add a zest -to life, but she considered the effect which she so easily produced in -others, and wondered what it meant to feel like that. Certainly Major -Ames had enjoyed escorting her home; certainly Harry had felt a touch of -<i>gauche</i> romance when he showed her the effect of twilight on the -complexion of some rose or other. He had given her a whole bunch of -roses, with an attempt at a pretty speech. Yes, that was it—the shadows -in them looked pale-blue, and he had said that they were just the colour -of her eyes. But the roses were pretty: she hoped that somebody had put -them in water.</p> - -<p>She was already more than a little interested in her reflections: there -was something original and exciting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> to her in them, and it was annoying -to have them broken in upon by the parlour-maid who came towards her -from the house. Personally, she thought it absurd not to keep -men-servants, but Wilfred always maintained that a couple of good -parlour-maids produced greater comfort with less disturbance, and -yielding to him, as she always yielded to anybody who expressed a -definite opinion, she had acquiesced in female service. But she always -called the head parlour-maid Watkins, whereas her husband called her -Mary.</p> - -<p>“Major Ames wants to know if you will see him, ma’am,” said Watkins.</p> - -<p>The interest returned.</p> - -<p>“Yes, ask him to come out,” she said.</p> - -<p>Watkins went back to the house and returned with Major Ames in tow, who -carried a huge bouquet of sweet-peas. There then followed the difficulty -of meeting and greeting gracefully and naturally which is usual when the -visitor is visible a long way off. The Major put on a smile far too -soon, and had to take it off again, since Mrs. Evans had not yet decided -that it was time to see him. Then she began to smile, while he (without -his smile) was looking abstractedly at the top of the mulberry-tree, as -if he expected to find her there. He looked there a moment too long, for -one of the lower branches suddenly knocked his straw hat off his head, -and he said, “God bless my soul,” and dropped the sweet-peas. However, -this was not an unmixed misfortune, for the recognition came quite -naturally after that. She hoped he was not hurt, was he <i>sure</i> that -silly branch had not hit his face? It must be taken off! <i>What</i> lovely -flowers! And were they for her? They were.</p> - -<p>Major Ames replaced his hat rather hastily, after a swift manœuvre with -regard to his hair which Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> Evans did not accurately follow. The fact -was (though he believed the fact not to be generally known) that the top -of Major Ames’ head was entirely destitute of hair, and that the smooth -crop which covered it was the produce of the side of his head—just -above the ear—grown long, and brushed across the cranium so as to adorn -it with seemingly local wealth and sleekness. The rough and unexpected -removal of his hat by the bough of the mulberry-tree had caused a -considerable portion of it to fall back nearly to the shoulder of the -side on which it actually grew, and his hasty manœuvre with his gathered -tresses was designed to replace them. Necessarily he put back his hat -again quickly, in the manner of a boy capturing a butterfly.</p> - -<p>His mind, and the condition of it, on this Sunday morning, would repay a -brief analysis. Briefly, then, a sort of <i>aurora borealis</i> of youth had -visited him: his heaven was streaked with inexplicable lights. He had -told himself that a man of forty-seven was young still, and that when a -most attractive woman had manifested an obvious interest in him, it was -only reasonable to follow it up. He was not a coxcomb, he was not a -loose liver; he was only a very ordinary man, well and healthy, married -to a woman considerably older than himself, and living in a town which, -in spite of his adored garden, presented but moderate excitements. But -indeed, this morning call, paid with this solid tribute of sweet-peas, -was something of an adventure, and had not been mentioned by him to his -wife. He had seen her start for St. Barnabas, and then had hastily -gathered his bouquet and set out, leaving Harry wandering dreamily about -the cinder-paths in the kitchen garden, in the full glory of the -discovery that the colour of the scarlet runners was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> like a clarion. -Major Ames had plucked almost his rarest varieties, for to pluck the -rarest, since he wished to save their first bloom for seed, would have -been on the further side of quixotism and have verged on imbecility, but -he had brought the best of his second-best. Last night, too, he had -hinted at his own remissness in the matter of church attendance on -Sunday morning, and on his way up here had permitted himself to wonder -whether Millie would prove (in consequence, perhaps, of that) to have -abstained from worship also, expecting, or at least considering -possible, a morning call from him. As a matter of fact she had not -indulged in any such hopes, since it had been a matter of pure -indifference to her whether he went to church on Sunday or not. But when -he found on inquiry at the door that she was at home, it was scarcely -unreasonable, on the part of a rather vain and gallantly minded man, to -connect the fact with the information he had given.</p> - -<p>So he hastily readjusted his hat.</p> - -<p>“My own stupidity entirely,” he said; “do not blame the tree. Yes, I -have brought you just a few flowers, and though they are not worthy of -your acceptance, they are not the worst bunch of sweet-peas I have ever -seen, not the worst. These, Catherine the Great, for instance, are -not—well—they do not grow quite in every garden.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans opened her blue eyes a little wider.</p> - -<p>“And are they really for me, Major Ames?” she asked again. “It is good -of you. My precious flowers! They must be put in water at once. Watkins, -bring me one of the big flower-bowls out here. I will arrange them -myself.”</p> - -<p>“Lucky flowers, lucky flowers,” chuckled Major Ames.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s I who am lucky,” said she, acknowledging this subtle compliment -with a little smile. “I stop away from church rather lazily, and am -rewarded by a pleasant visit and a beautiful nosegay. And what a -charming party we had last night! I could hardly believe it when I came -back here and found it was nearly half-past eleven. Such hours!”</p> - -<p>Major Ames gave his great loud laugh.</p> - -<p>“You are making fun of us, Mrs. Evans,” he said; “<span class="lftspc">’</span>pon my word you are -making fun of us and our quiet ways down at Riseborough. I’ll be bound -that when you were in London, half-past eleven was more the sort of time -when you began to go out to your dances.”</p> - -<p>“I used to go out a good deal when I was quite young,” she said. -“Wilfred used quite to urge me to go out, and certainly people were very -kind in asking me. I remember one night in the season, I was asked to -two dinner-parties and a ball and an evening party. After all, it is -natural to take pleasure in innocent gaiety when one is young.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames felt very hot after his walk, and, forgetting the adventure -of his hair, nearly removed his straw hat. But providentially he -remembered it again just in time.</p> - -<p>“Upon my word, Mrs. Evans,” he said jovially, “you make me feel a -hundred years old when you talk like that, as if your days of youth and -success were over. Why, some one at your garden-party yesterday -afternoon told me for a fact that Miss Elsie was the daughter of your -husband’s first wife. Wouldn’t believe me when I said she was your -daughter. Poor Sanders—it was Mr. Sanders who said it—had to pay ten -shillings to me for his positiveness. He betted, you know, he insisted -on betting. But really, any one who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> didn’t happen to know would be -right to make such a bet ninety-nine times out of a hundred.”</p> - -<p>She gave him a little smile with lowered eyelids.</p> - -<p>“Dear Elsie!” she said. “She is such a comfort to me. She quite manages -the house for me, and spares me all the trouble. She always knows how -much asparagus ought to cost, and what happens to strawberry ice after a -party. I never was a good housekeeper. Wilfred always used to say to me, -‘Go out and enjoy yourself, my dear, and I’ll pay the bills.’ Of course, -it was all his kindness, I know, but sometimes I wonder if it would not -have been truer kindness to have made me think and contrive more. Elsie -does it all now, but when my little girl marries it will be my turn -again. Tell me, Major Ames, is it you or cousin Amy who makes everything -go so beautifully at your house? I think—shall I say it—I think it -must be you. When a man manages a house there is always more precision -somehow: you feel sure that everything has been foreseen and provided -for. Printed menu-cards, for instance—so <i>chic</i>, so perfectly -<i>comme-il-faut</i>.”</p> - -<p>Watkins had brought out a large dish, rather like a sponging-tin, for -the sweet-peas, and Mrs. Evans had begun the really Herculean labour of -putting them in water. A grille of wire network fitted over the rim of -it: each pea was stuck in separately. She looked up from her task at -him.</p> - -<p>“Am I right?” she asked.</p> - -<p>Major Ames was not really an untruthful man, but many men who are not -really untruthful get through a wonderful lot of misrepresentation.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you mustn’t give me credit for that,” he said (truthfully so far); -“it’s a dodge we always used to have at mess, so why not at one’s own -house also?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> It’s better than written cards, which take a lot of time to -copy out again and again, and then, you see, my dear Amy is not very -strong at French, and doesn’t want always to be bothering me to tell her -whether there’s an accent in one word, or two ‘s’s’ in another. Saves -time and trouble.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans applauded softly with pink finger-tips.</p> - -<p>“Ah, I knew it was you!” she said.</p> - -<p>Now, clearly (though almost without intention) Major Ames had gone too -far to retreat: also retreat implied a flat contradiction of what Mrs. -Evans said she knew, which would have been a rudeness from which his -habitual gallantry naturally revolted. Consequently, being unable to -retreat, he had to make himself as safe as possible, to entrench -himself.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it’s a little extravagance,” he said. “Indeed, Amy thinks it -is, and I never mention the subject of menu-cards to her. She’s apt to -turn the subject a bit abruptly on the word menu-card. Dear Amy! After -all, it would be a very dull affair, our pleasant life down here, if we -all completely agreed with each other.”</p> - -<p>She gave a little sigh, shaking her head, and smiling at her sweet-peas.</p> - -<p>“Ah, how often I think that too,” she said. “At least, now you say it, I -feel I have often thought it. It is so true. Dear Wilfred is such an -angel to me, you see! Whatever I do, he is sure to think right. But -sometimes you wonder whether the people who know you best, really -understand you. It is like—it is like learning things by heart. If you -learn a thing by heart, you so often cease to think what it means.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans, it must be confessed, did not mean anything very precisely -by this: her life, that is to say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> was not at all circumstanced in the -manner that her speech implied it to be, except in so far that she often -wished that more amusing things happened to her, and that she would not -so soon be forty years old. But she certainly intended Major Ames to -attach to her words their natural implication: she wanted to seem -vaguely unappreciated. At the same time, she desired him to see that she -in no way blamed her dear unconscious Wilfred. If Major Ames thought -that, it would spoil a most essential feature of the picture she wished -to present of herself. Why she wished to present it was also quite easy -of comprehension. She wanted to be interesting, and was by nature silly. -The fact that she was close on thirty-eight largely conduced to her -speech.</p> - -<p>Major Ames made a perfectly satisfactory interpretation of it. He saw -all the things he was meant to see, and nothing else. And it was -deliciously delivered, so affectionately as regarded Wilfred, so shyly -as regarded herself. He instantly made the astounding mental discovery -that she was somehow not very happy, owing to a failure in domestic -affinities. He felt also that it was intuitive of him to have guessed -that, since she had not actually said it. And he was tremendously -conscious of the seduction of her presence, as she sat there, cool and -white on this hot morning, putting in the last of the sweet-peas he had -brought her. She looked enchantingly young and fresh, and evidently -found something in him which disposed her to confidences. In justice to -him, it may be said that he did not inquire in his own mind as to what -that was, but it was easy to see she trusted him.</p> - -<p>“I think we all must feel that at times, my dear lady,” he said, anxious -to haul the circumstance of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> his own home into the discussion. “I -suppose that all of us who are not quite old yet, not quite quite old -yet, let us say, in order to include me, feel at times that life is not -giving us all that it might give; that people do not really understand -us. No doubt many people, and I daresay those, as you said, who know one -best, do not understand one. And then we mustn’t mind that, but march -straight on, march straight on, according to orders.”</p> - -<p>He sat up very straight in his chair as if about to march, as he made -thrillingly noble remarks, and hit himself a couple of sounding blows -with his clenched fist on his broad chest. Then a sudden suspicion -seized him that he had displayed an almost too Spartan unflinchingness, -as if soldiers had no hearts.</p> - -<p>“And then perhaps we shall meet some one who does understand us,” he -added.</p> - -<p>The critical observer, the cynic, and that rarest of all products, the -entirely sincere and straightforward person, would have found in this -conversation nothing that would move anything beyond his raillery or -disgust. Here sitting under the mulberry-tree in this pleasant garden, -on a Sunday morning, were two people, the man nearly fifty, the woman -nearly forty, both trying, with God knows how many little insincerities -by the way, to draw near to each other. Both had reached ages that were -dangerous to such as had lived (even as they had) extremely respectable -and well-conducted lives, without any paramount reason for their -morality. About Major Ames’ mode of life before he married, which, after -all, was at the early age of twenty-five, nothing need be said, because -there is really very little to say, and in any case the conduct of a -young man not yet in his twenty-fifth year has almost nothing to do with -the character of the same man when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> is forty-seven. In that very long -interval he had conducted himself always as a married man should, and -those years, married as he was to a woman much his senior, had not been -at all discreditably passed. This chronicle does not in the least intend -to impute to him any high principled character, for he had nothing of -Galahad in his composition. But he was not a satyr. Consequently, for -this is part of the ironical composition of a man—just in the years -with which we are dealing, at a time of life when a man might have been -condoned for having sown wild oats and seen the huskiness of them, he -was in that far more precarious position of not having sown them -(except, so to speak, in the smallest of flower-pots), nor of having -experienced the jejune quality of such a crop. But it is not implied -that he now regretted the respectability of those twenty-two years. He -did not do so: he had had a happy and contented life, but he would soon -be old. Nor did he now at all contemplate adventure. Merely an Odysseus -who had never voyaged wondered what voyaging was like. He was not in -love with this seductive long-lashed face that bent over the sweet-peas -had brought her. But if he had the picking of those sweet-peas over -again, he would probably have picked the very best, regardless of the -fact that he wanted the seeds for next year’s sowing. So as regards him -the cynic’s sneers would have been out of place; he contemplated nothing -that the cynic would have called “a conquest.” The sincere, -straight-forward gentleman would have been equally excessive in his -disgust. There was nothing, except the slight absurdity of Major Ames’ -nature, to justify either laughter or tears. He was a moderate man of -middle-age, about as well intentioned as most of us.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans, perhaps, was less laudable, and more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> deserved laughter and -tears. She had consciously tried to produce a false impression without -saying false things—a lamentable posture. She had wanted, as was her -nature, to attract without being correspondingly attracted. She was -prepared for him to go a little further, which is characteristic of the -flirt. She succeeded, as the flirt usually does.</p> - -<p>His last sentence was received in silence, and he thought well to repeat -it with slight variation. The theme was clear.</p> - -<p>“We may meet some one who understands us,” he said. “Who looks into us, -not at us, eh? Who sees not what we wish only, but what we want.”</p> - -<p>She put the last sweet-pea into the wire-netting.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, yes,” she said; “how beautiful that distinction is.”</p> - -<p>He was not aware of its being particularly beautiful, until she -mentioned it, but then it struck him that it was rather fine. Also the -respectability of all his long years tugged at him, as with a chain. He -was quite conscious that he was encouraged, and so he was slightly -terrified. He had not much power of imagination, but he could picture to -himself a very uncomfortable home....</p> - -<p>Providence came to his aid—probably Providence. Church time was spent, -and two black Aberdeen terriers, followed by Elsie, followed by Dr. -Evans, came out of the drawing-room door on to the lawn. They were all -in the genial exhilaration that accompanies the sense of duty done. The -dogs had been let out from the house, where they were penned on Sunday -morning to prevent their unexpected appearance in church; the other two -had been let out from church.</p> - -<p>Wilfred Evans had most clearly left church behind him: he had also left -in the house not only his top<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> hat but his coat, as befitted the heat of -the morning, and appeared, stout, and strong, and brisk. Elsie was less -vigorous: she sat down on the grass as soon as she reached the shade of -the tree. She had the good sense to shake hands with Major Ames first: -otherwise her mother would have made remarks to him about her manners. -But she was markedly less elderly now than she had been at the formal -dinner-party of the night before.</p> - -<p>Dr. Evans arrived last at the mulberry-tree.</p> - -<p>“Jove! what jolly flowers,” he said. “That’s you, Major Ames, isn’t it? -How de’do? Well, little woman, how goes it? You did well not to come to -church. Awfully hot it was.”</p> - -<p>“And a very long sermon, Daddy,” said Elsie.</p> - -<p>“Twenty-two minutes: I timed it. Very interesting, though. You’ll stop -to lunch, Major Ames, won’t you? We lunch at one always on Sunday.”</p> - -<p>Now Major Ames knew quite well that there was going to be at his house -the lunch that followed parties, the resurrection lunch of what was dead -last night. There would be little bits of salmon slightly greyer than on -the evening before, peeping out from the fresh salad that covered them. -There would be some sort of <i>chaud-froid</i>; there would be a pink and -viscous fluid which was the debilitated descendant of the strawberry ice -which Amy had given them. There would also be several people, including -Mrs. Altham, who had not been bidden to the feast last night, but who, -since they came according to the authorized Riseborough version of -festivities, to the lunch next day, would certainly be bidden to dinner -on the next occasion. Also, he knew well, he would have to say to Mrs. -Altham, “Amy has given us cold luncheon to-day. Well, I don’t mind a -cold luncheon on as hot a day as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> it is. <i>Chaud-froid</i> of chicken, Mrs. -Altham. I think you’ll find that Amy’s cook understands <i>chaud-froid</i>.”</p> - -<p>And all the time he knew that <i>chaud-froid</i> meant a dinner-party on the -night before. So did the viscous fluid in the jelly glasses, so did -everything else. And of course Mrs. Altham knew: everybody knew all -about the lunch that followed a dinner-party. Even if the dinner-party -last night had been as secret as George the Fourth’s marriage with Mrs. -Fitzherbert, the lunch to-day would have made it as public as any -function at St. Peter’s, Eaton Square.</p> - -<p>He thought over the unimaginable dislocation in all this routine that -his absence would entail.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if I ought to,” he said. “I fancy Amy told me she had a few -friends to lunch.”</p> - -<p>Millie Evans looked up at him. Infinitesimal as was the point as to -whether he should lunch here or at home, she knew that she definitely -entered herself against his wife at this moment.</p> - -<p>“Ah, do stop,” she said. “If Cousin Amy has a few friends why shouldn’t -we have one?”</p> - -<p>He got up: he nearly took off his hat again, but again remembered.</p> - -<p>“I take it as a command,” he said. “Am I ordered to stop?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly. Telephone to Mrs. Ames, Wilfred, and say that Major Ames is -lunching with us.”</p> - -<p>“<i>À les ordres de votre Majesté</i>,” said he brightly, forgetting for the -moment that his wife came to him for help with the elusive language of -our neighbours. But the Frenchness of his bearing and sentiment, -perhaps, diverted attention from the curious character of his grammar.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was, of course, as inevitable as the return of day that Mrs. Altham -should start half-an-hour earlier than was necessary to go to church -that morning, in order to return to Mrs. Brooks, who had been dining -last night at the Ames’, a couple of books that had been lent her a -month or two ago, and that Mrs. Brooks should recount to her the unusual -incident of Harry’s taking Mrs. Evans into the garden after dinner, and -giving her a gradually growing bouquet of roses torn from his father’s -trees. Indeed, it was difficult to settle satisfactorily which part of -Harry’s conduct was the most astounding, with such completeness had he -revolted against both beneficiaries of the fifth commandment.</p> - -<p>“They can’t have been out in the garden for less than twenty minutes,” -said Mrs. Brooks; “and I shouldn’t wonder if it was more. For we had -scarcely settled ourselves after the gentlemen came in from the -dining-room, when they went out, and I’m sure we had hardly got talking -again after they came back, before my maid was announced. To be sure the -gentlemen sat a long time after dinner before joining us, which I notice -is always the case when General Fortescue is at a party, but it can’t -have been less than half-an-hour that they were in the garden now one -comes to add it up.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brooks surveyed for a moment in silence her piece of embroidery. -Not for a moment must it be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> supposed that she would have done -embroidery for her own dress on Sunday morning; this was a frontal for -the lectern at St. Barnabas, which would make it impossible for Mrs. -Ames to decorate the lectern any more with her flowers. There was a -cross, and a crown, and some initials, and some rays of light, and a -heart, and some passion flowers, and a dove worked on it, with a -profusion of gold thread that was positively American in its opulence. -Hitherto, the lectern had always been the field of one of Mrs. Ames’ -most telling embellishments. When this embroidery was finished (which it -soon would be) she would be driven from the lectern in disorder and -discomfiture.</p> - -<p>“A very rich effect,” said Mrs. Altham sympathetically. “Half-an-hour! -Dear me! And then I think you said she came back with a dozen roses.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brooks closed her eyes, and made a short calculation.</p> - -<p>“More than a dozen,” she said. “I daresay there were twenty roses. It -was very marked, very marked indeed. And if you ask me what I think of -Mrs. Ames’ plan of asking husband without wife and wife without husband, -I must say I do not like it at all. Depend upon it, if Dr. Evans had -come too, there would have been no walking about in the garden with our -Master Harry. But far be it from me to say there was any harm in it, -far! I hope I am not one who condemns other people’s actions because I -would not commit them myself. All I know is that the first time my late -dear husband asked me to walk about the garden after dinner with him, he -proposed to me; and the second time he asked me to walk in the garden -with him he proposed again, and I accepted him. But then I was not -engaged to anybody else at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span> time, far less married, like Mrs. Evans. -But it is none of my business, I am glad to say.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, no, it does not concern us,” said Mrs. Altham, with avidity; -“and as you say, there may be no harm in it at all. But young men are -very impressionable, even if most unattractive, and I call it distinct -encouragement to a young man to walk about after dinner in the garden -with him, and receive a present of roses. And I’m sure Mrs. Evans is old -enough to be his mother.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brooks tacked down a length of gold thread which was to form part -of the longest ray of all, and made another little calculation. It was -not completely satisfactory.</p> - -<p>“Anyhow, she is old enough to know better,” she said; “but I have -noticed that being old enough to know better often makes people behave -worse. Mind, I do not blame her: there is nothing I detest so much as -this censorious attitude; and I only say that if I gave so much -encouragement to any young man I should blame myself.”</p> - -<p>“And the dinner?” asked Mrs. Altham. “At least, I need not ask that, -since I am going to lunch there, so I shall soon know as well as you -what there was.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brooks smiled in a rather superior manner.</p> - -<p>“I never know what I am eating,” she said. And she looked as if it -disagreed with her, too, whatever it was.</p> - -<p>This was not particularly thrilling, for though it was generally known -that Harry had an emotional temperament and wrote amorous poems, he -appeared to Mrs. Altham an improbable Lothario. In any case, the slight -interest that this aroused in her was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> nothing compared to that which -awaited her and her husband when they arrived for lunch at Mrs. Ames’.</p> - -<p>There had been a long-standing feud between Mrs. Altham and her hostess -on the subject of punctuality. About two years ago Mrs. Ames had arrived -at Mrs. Altham’s at least ten minutes late for dinner, and Mrs. Altham -had very properly retorted by arriving a quarter of an hour late when -next she was bidden to dinner with Mrs. Ames, though that involved -sitting in a dark cab for ten minutes at the corner of the next turning. -So, next time that Mrs. Altham “hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you -and Major Ames at dinner on Thursday at a quarter to eight,” she asked -the rest of her guests at eight. With the effect that Mrs. Ames and her -husband arrived a few minutes before anybody else, and Riseborough -generally considered that Mrs. Altham had scored. Since then there had -been but a sort of desultory pea-shooting kept up, such as would harm -nobody, and to-day Mrs. Altham and her husband arrived certainly within -ten minutes of the hour named. Mr. Pettit, who generally lunched with -Mrs. Ames or Mrs. Brooks on Sunday, was already there with his sister. -Harry was morosely fidgeting in a corner, and Mrs. Ames was the only -other person present in the small sitting-room where she received her -guests, instead of troubling them to go up to the drawing-room and -instantly to go down again. She gave Mrs. Altham her fat little hand, -and then made this remarkable statement.</p> - -<p>“We are not waiting for anybody else, I think.”</p> - -<p>Upon which they went into lunch, and Harry sat at the head of the table, -instead of his father.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames was in her most conversational mood, and it was not until the -<i>chaud-froid</i>, consisting mainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> of the legs of chickens pasted over -with a yellow sauce that concealed the long blue hair-roots with which -Nature has adorned their lower extremities, was being handed round, that -Mrs. Altham had opportunity to ask the question that had been -effervescing like an antiseptic lozenge on the tip of her tongue ever -since she remarked the Major’s absence.</p> - -<p>“And where is Major Ames?” she asked. “I hope he is not ill? I thought -he looked far from well at Mrs. Evans’ garden-party yesterday.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames set her mind at rest with regard to the second point, and -inflamed it on the first.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” she said. “Did you think he looked ill? How good of you to ask -after him. But Lyndhurst is quite well. Mr. Pettit, a little more -chicken? After your sermon.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Pettit had a shrewd, ugly, delightful face, very lean, very capable. -Humanly speaking, he probably abhorred Mrs. Ames. Humanely speaking, he -knew there was a great deal of good in her, and a quantity of debateable -stuff. He smiled, showing thick white teeth.</p> - -<p>“Before and after my sermon,” he said. “Also before a children’s service -and a Bible class. I cannot help thinking that God forgot his poor -clergymen when he defined the seventh day as one of rest.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames hid a small portion of her little face with her little hand. -She always said that Mr. Pettit was not like a clergyman at all.</p> - -<p>“How naughty of you,” she said. “But I must correct you. The seventh day -has become the first day now.”</p> - -<p>Harry gave vent to a designedly audible sigh. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> Omar Club were -chiefly atheists, and he felt bound to uphold their principles.</p> - -<p>“That is the sort of thing that confuses me,” he said. “Mr. Pettit says -Sunday was called a day of rest, and my mother says that God meant what -we call Monday, or Saturday. I have been behaving as if it was Tuesday -or Wednesday.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Pettit gave him a kindly glance.</p> - -<p>“Quite right, my dear boy,” he said. “Spend your Tuesday or Wednesday -properly and God won’t mind whether it is Thursday or Friday.”</p> - -<p>Harry pushed back his lank hair, and became Omar-ish.</p> - -<p>“Do you fast on Friday, may I ask?” he said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames looked pained, and tried to think of something to say. She -failed. But Mrs. Altham thought without difficulty.</p> - -<p>“I suppose Major Ames is away, Mr. Harry?” she said.</p> - -<p>Even then, though her intentions might easily be supposed to be amiable, -she was not allowed the privilege of being replied to, for Mr. Pettit -cheerfully answered Harry’s question, without a shadow of embarrassment, -just as if he did not mind what the Omar Khayyam Club thought.</p> - -<p>“Of course I do, my dear fellow,” he said, “because our Lord and dearest -friend died that day. He allows us to watch and pray with Him an hour or -two.”</p> - -<p>Harry appeared indulgent.</p> - -<p>“Curious,” he said.</p> - -<p>Mr. Pettit looked at him for just the space of time any one looks at the -speaker, with cheerful cordiality of face, and then turned to his mother -again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I want you at church next Sunday,” he said, “with a fat purse, to be -made thin. I am going to have an offertory to finance a children’s -treat. I want to send every child in the parish to the sea-side for a -day.”</p> - -<p>Harry interrupted in the critical manner.</p> - -<p>“Why the sea-side?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Mr. Pettit turned to him with unabated cordiality.</p> - -<p>“How right to ask!” he said. “Because the sea is His, and He made it! -Also, they will build sand-castles, and pick up shells. You must come -too, my dear Harry, and help us to give them a nice day.”</p> - -<p>Harry felt that this was a Philistine here, who needed to be put in his -place. He was not really a very rude youth, but one who felt it -incumbent on to oppose Christianity, which he regarded as superstition. -A bright idea came into his head.</p> - -<p>“But His hands prepared the dry land,” he said, “on the same -supposition.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly; and as the dear mites have always seen the dry land,” said -Mr. Pettit, with the utmost good-humour, “we want to show them that God -thought of something they never thought of. And then there are the -sand-castles.”</p> - -<p>Harry was tired, and did not proceed to crush Mr. Pettit with the -atheistical arguments that were but commonplace to the Omar Khayyam -Club. He was not worth argument: you could only really argue with the -enlightened people who fundamentally agreed with you, and he was sure -that Mr. Pettit did not fulfil that requirement. So, indulgently, he -turned to Mrs. Altham.</p> - -<p>“I saw you at Mrs. Evans’ garden-party yester<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span>day,” he said. “I think -she is the most wonderful person I ever met. She was dining here last -night, and I took her into the garden——”</p> - -<p>“And showed her the roses,” said Mrs. Altham, unable to restrain -herself.</p> - -<p>Harry became a parody of himself, though that might seem to be a feat of -insuperable difficulty.</p> - -<p>“I supposed it would get about,” he said. “That is the worst of a little -place like this. Whatever you do is instantly known.”</p> - -<p>The slightly viscous remains of the strawberry ice were being handed, -and Mr. Pettit was talking to Mrs. Ames and his sister from a pitiably -Christian standpoint.</p> - -<p>“What did you hear?” asked Harry, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“Merely that she and you went out into the garden after dinner, and that -you picked roses for her——”</p> - -<p>Harry pushed back his lank hair with his bony hand.</p> - -<p>“You have heard all,” he said. “There was nothing more than that. I did -not see her home. Her carriage did not come: there was some mistake -about it, I suppose. But it was my father who saw her home, not I.”</p> - -<p>He laid down the spoon with which he had been consuming the viscous -fluid.</p> - -<p>“If you hear that I saw her home, Mrs. Altham,” he said, “tell them it -is not true. From what you have already told me, I gather there is talk -going on. There is no reason for such talk.”</p> - -<p>He paused a moment, and then a line or two of the intensely Swinburnian -effusion which he had written last night fermented in his head, making -him infinitely more preposterous.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I assure you that at present there is no reason for such talk,” he said -earnestly.</p> - -<p>Now Mrs. Altham, with her wide interest in all that concerned anybody -else, might be expected to feel the intensest curiosity on such a topic, -but somehow she felt very little, since she knew that behind the talk -there was really very little topic, and the gallant misgivings of poor, -ugly Harry seemed to her destitute of any real thrill. On the other -hand, she wanted very much to know where Major Ames was, and being -endowed with the persistence of the household cat, which you may turn -out of a particular arm-chair a hundred times, without producing the -slightest discouragement in its mind, she reverted to her own subject -again.</p> - -<p>“I am sure there is no reason for such talk, Mr. Harry,” she said, with -strangely unwelcome conviction, “and I will be sure to contradict it if -ever I hear it. I am so glad to hear Major Ames is not ill. I was afraid -that his absence from lunch to-day might mean that he was.”</p> - -<p>Now Harry, as a matter of fact, had no idea where his father was, since -the telephone message had been received by Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>“Father is quite well,” he said. “He was picking sweet-peas half the -morning. He picked a great bunch.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham looked round: the table was decorated with the roses of the -dinner-party of the evening before.</p> - -<p>“Then where are the sweet-peas?” she asked.</p> - -<p>But Harry was not in the least interested in the question.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps they are in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> the next room. I showed -Mrs. Evans last night how the La France roses looked blue when dusk -fell. She had never noticed it, though they turn as blue as her eyes.”</p> - -<p>“How curious!” said Mrs. Altham. “But I didn’t see the sweet-peas in the -next room. Surely if there had been a quantity of them I should have -noticed them. Or perhaps they are in the drawing-room.”</p> - -<p>At this moment, Mrs. Ames’ voice was heard from the other end of the -table.</p> - -<p>“Then shall we have our coffee outside?” she said. “Harry, if you will -ring the bell——”</p> - -<p>There was the pushing back of chairs, and Mrs. Altham passed along the -table to the French windows that opened on to the verandah.</p> - -<p>“I hear Major Ames has been picking the loveliest sweet-peas all the -morning,” she said to her hostess. “It would be such a pleasure to see -them. I always admire Major Ames’ sweet-peas.”</p> - -<p>Now this was unfortunate, for Mrs. Altham desired information herself, -but by her speech she had only succeeded in giving information to Mrs. -Ames, who guessed without the slightest difficulty where the sweet-peas -had gone, which she had not yet known had been picked. She was already -considerably annoyed with her husband for his unceremonious desertion of -her luncheon-party, and was aware that Mrs. Altham would cause the fact -to be as well known in Riseborough as if it had been inserted in the -column of local intelligence in the county paper. But she felt she would -sooner put it there herself than let Mrs. Altham know where he and his -sweet-peas were. She had no greater objection (or if she had, she -studiously concealed it from herself even) to his going to lunch<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> in -this improvising manner with Mrs. Evans than if he had gone to lunch -with anybody else; what she minded was his non-appearance at an -institution so firmly established and so faithfully observed as the -lunch that followed the dinner-party. But at the moment her entire mind -was set on thwarting Mrs. Altham. She looked interested.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, has he been picking sweet-peas?” she said. “I must scold him if -it was only that which kept him away from church. I don’t know what he -has done with them. Very likely they are in his dressing-room: he often -likes to have flowers there. But as you admire his sweet-peas so much, -pray walk down the garden, and look at them. You will find them in their -full beauty.”</p> - -<p>This, of course, was not in the least what Mrs. Altham wanted, since she -did not care two straws for the rest of the sweet-peas. But life was -scarcely worth living unless she knew where those particular sweet-peas -were. As for their being in his dressing-room, she felt that Mrs. Ames -must have a very poor opinion of her intellectual capacities, if she -thought that an old wife’s tale like that would satisfy it. In this she -was partly right: Mrs. Ames had indeed no opinion at all of her mind; on -the other hand, she did not for a moment suppose that this suggestion -about the dressing-room would content that feeble organ. It was not -designed to: the object was to stir it to a wilder and still unsatisfied -curiosity. It perfectly succeeded, and from by-ways Mrs. Altham emerged -full-speed, like a motor-car, into the high-road of direct question.</p> - -<p>“I am sure they are lovely,” she said. “And where is Major Ames -lunching?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames raised the pieces of her face where there might have been -eyebrows in other days. She told one of the truths that Bismarck loved.</p> - -<p>“He did not tell me before he went out,” she said. “Perhaps Harry knows. -Harry, where is your father lunching?”</p> - -<p>Now this was ludicrous. As if it was possible that any wife in -Riseborough did not know where her husband was lunching! Harry -apparently did not know either, and Mrs. Ames, tasting the joys of the -bull-baiter, goaded Mrs. Altham further by pointedly asking Parker, when -she brought the coffee, if she knew where the Major was lunching. Of -course Parker did not, and so Parker was told to cut Mrs. Altham a nice -bunch of sweet-peas to carry away with her.</p> - -<p>This pleasant duty of thwarting undue curiosity being performed, Mrs. -Ames turned to Mr. Pettit, though she had not quite done with Mrs. -Altham yet. For she had heard on the best authority that Mrs. Altham -occasionally indulged in the disgusting and unfeminine habit of -cigarette smoking. Mrs. Brooks had several times seen her walking about -her garden with a cigarette, and she had told Mrs. Taverner, who had -told Mrs. Ames. The evidence was overwhelming.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Pettit, I don’t think any of us mind the smell of tobacco,” she -said, “when it is out of doors, so pray have a cigarette. Harry will -give you one. Ah! I forgot! Perhaps Mrs. Altham does not like it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham hastened to correct that impression. At the same time she -had a subtle and not quite comfortable sense that Mrs. Ames knew all -about her and her cigarettes, which was exactly the impression which -that lady sought to convey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span></p> - -<p>These tactics were all sound enough in their way, but a profounder -knowledge of human nature would have led Mrs. Ames not to press home her -victory with so merciless a hand. In her determination to thwart Mrs. -Altham’s odious curiosity, she had let it be seen that she was thwarting -it: she should not, for instance, have asked Parker if she knew of the -Major’s whereabouts, for it only served to emphasize the undoubted fact -that Mrs. Ames knew (that might be taken for granted) and that she knew -that Parker did not, for otherwise she would surely not have asked her.</p> - -<p>Consequently Mrs. Altham (erroneously, as far as that went) came to the -conclusion that the Major was lunching alone where his wife did not wish -him to lunch alone. And in the next quarter of an hour, while they all -sat on the verandah, she devoted the mind which her hostess so despised, -to a rapid review of all houses of this description. Instantly almost, -the wrong scent which she was following led her to the right quarry. She -argued, erroneously, the existence of a pretty woman, and there was a -pretty woman in Riseborough. It is hardly necessary to state that she -made up her mind to call on that pretty woman without delay. She would -be very much surprised if she did not find there an immense bunch of -sweet-peas and perhaps their donor.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames’ guests soon went their ways, Mr. Pettit and his sister to the -children’s service at three, the Althams on their detective mission, and -she was left to herself, except in so far as Harry, asleep in a basket -chair in the garden, can be considered companionship. She was not gifted -with any very great acuteness of imagination, but this afternoon she -found<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> herself capable of conjuring up (indeed, she was incapable of not -doing so) a certain amount of vague disquiet. Indeed, she tried to put -it away, and refresh her mind with the remembrance of her thwarting Mrs. -Altham, but though her disquiet was but vague, and was concerned with -things that had at present no real existence at all, whereas her victory -over that inquisitive lady was fresh and recent, the disquiet somehow -was of more pungent quality, and at last she faced it, instead of -attempting any longer to poke it away out of sight.</p> - -<p>Millie Evans was undeniably a good-looking woman, undeniably the Major -had been considerably attracted last night by her. Undeniably also he -had done a very strange thing in stopping to have his lunch there, when -he knew perfectly well that there were people lunching with them at home -for that important rite of eating up the remains of last night’s dinner. -Beyond doubt he had taken her this present of sweet-peas, of which Mrs. -Altham had so obligingly informed her; beyond doubt, finally, she was -herself ten years her husband’s senior.</p> - -<p>It has been said that Mrs. Ames was not imaginative, but indeed, there -seemed to be sufficient here, when it was all brought together, to -occupy a very prosaic and literal mind. It was not as if these facts -were all new to her: that disparity of age between herself and her -husband had long lain dark and ominous, like a distant thunder-cloud on -the horizon of her mind. Hitherto, it had been stationary there, not -apparently coming any closer, and not giving any hint of the potential -tempest which might lurk within it. But now it seemed to have moved a -little up the sky, and (though this might be mere fancy on her part),<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> -there came from it some drowsy and distant echo of thunder.</p> - -<p>It must not be supposed that her disquiet expressed itself in Mrs. Ames’ -mind in terms of metaphor like this, for she was practically incapable -of metaphor. She said to herself merely that she was ten years older -than her husband. That she had known ever since they married (indeed, -she had known it before), but till now the fact had never seemed likely -to be of any significance to her. And yet her grounds for supposing that -it might be about to become significant were of the most unsubstantial -sort. Certainly if Lyndhurst had not gone out to lunch to-day, she would -never have dreamed of finding disquiet in the happenings of the evening -before; indeed, apart from Harry’s absurd expedition into the garden, -the party had been a markedly successful one, and she had determined to -give more of those undomestic entertainments. But the principle of them -assumed a strangely different aspect when her husband accepted an -invitation of the kind instead of lunching at home, and that aspect -presented itself in vivid colours when she reflected that he was ten -years her junior.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames was a practical woman, and though her imagination had run -unreasonably riot, so she told herself, over these late events, so that -she already contemplated a contingency that she had no real reason to -anticipate, she considered what should be her practical conduct if this -remote state of affairs should cease to be remote. She had altogether -passed from being in love with her husband, so much so, indeed, that she -could not recall, with any sense of reality, what that unquiet sensation -was like. But she had been in love with him years ago, and that still<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> -gave her a sense of possession over him. She had not been in the habit -of guarding her possession, since there had never been any reason to -suppose that anybody wanted to take it away, but she remembered with -sufficient distinctness the sense that Lyndhurst’s garden was becoming -to him the paramount interest in his life. At the time that sense had -been composed of mixed feelings: neglect and relief were its -constituents. He had ceased to expect from her that indefinable -sensitiveness which is one of the prime conditions of love, and the -growing atrophy of his demands certainly corresponded with her own -inclinations. At the same time, though this cessation on his part of the -imperative need of her, was a relief, she resented it. She would have -wished him to continue being in love with her on credit, so to speak, -without the settlement of the bill being applied for. Years had passed -since then, but to-day that secondary discontent assumed a primary -importance again. It was more acute now than it had ever been, for her -possession was not being quietly absorbed into the culture of impersonal -flowers, but, so it seemed possible, was directly threatened.</p> - -<p>There was the situation which her imagination presented her with, -practically put, and she proceeded to consider it from a practical -standpoint. What was she to do?</p> - -<p>She had the justice to acknowledge that the first clear signals of -coolness in their mutual relations, now fifteen years ago, had been -chiefly flown by her: she had essentially welcomed his transference of -affection to his garden, though she had secretly resented it. At the -least, the cooling had been condoned by her. Probably that had been a -mistake on her part, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span> she determined now to rectify it. She, -pathetically enough, felt herself young still, and to confirm herself in -her view, she took the trouble to go indoors, and look at herself in the -glass that hung in the hall. It was inevitable that she should see there -not what she really saw, but what, in the main, she desired to see. Her -hair, always slightly faded in tone, was not really grey, and even if -there were signs of greyness in it there was nothing easier, if you -could trust the daily advertisements in the papers, than to restore the -colour, not by dyes, but by “purely natural means.” There had been an -advertisement of one such desirable lotion, she remembered, in the paper -to-day, which she had noticed was supplied by any chemist. Certainly -there was a little grey in her hair: that would be easy to remedy. That -act of mental frankness led on to another. There were certain -premonitory symptoms of stringiness about her throat and of loose skin -round her mouth and eyes. But who could keep abreast of the times at -all, and not know that there were skin-foods which were magical in their -effect? There was one which had impressed itself on her not long before: -an actress had written in its praise, affirming that her wrinkles had -vanished with three nights’ treatment. Then there was a little, just a -little, sallowness of complexion, but after all, she had always been -rather sallow. It was a fortunate circumstance: when she got hot she -never got crimson in the face like poor Mrs. Taverner.... She was going -to town next week for a night, in order to see her dentist, a yearly -precaution, unproductive of pain, for her teeth were really excellent, -regular in shape, white, undecayed. Lyndhurst, in his early days, had -told her they were like pearls, and she had told him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> he talked -nonsense. They were just as much like pearls still, only he did not tell -her so. He, poor fellow, had had great trouble in this regard, but it -might be supposed his trouble was over now, since artifice had done its -utmost for him. She was much younger than him there, though his last set -fitted beautifully. But probably Millie had seen they were not real. And -then he was distinctly gouty, which she was not. Often had she heard his -optimistic assertion that an hour’s employment with the garden-roller -rendered all things of rheumatic tendency an impossibility. But she, -though publicly she let these random statements pass, and even endorsed -them, knew the array of bottles that beleaguered the washing-stand in -his dressing-room, where the sweet-peas were not.</p> - -<p>The silent colloquy with the mirror in the hall occupied her some ten -minutes, but the ten minutes sufficed for the arrival of one -conclusion—namely, that she did not intend to be an old woman yet. -Subtle art, the art of the hair-restorer (which was not a dye), the art -of the skin-feeder must be invoked. She no longer felt at all old, now -that there was a possibility of her husband’s feeling young. And -lip-salve: perhaps lip-salve, yet that seemed hardly necessary: a few -little bitings and mumblings of her lips between her excellent teeth -seemed to restore to them a very vivid colour.</p> - -<p>She went back to the verandah, where her little luncheon-party had had -their coffee, and pondered the practical manœuvres of her campaign of -invasion into the territory of youth which had once been hers. The -lotion for the hair, as she verified by a consultation with the Sunday -paper, took but a fortnight’s application to complete its work. The -wrinkle treat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span>ment was easily comprised in that, for it took, according -to the eminent actress, no more than three days. It might therefore be -wiser not to let the work of rejuvenation take place under Lyndhurst’s -eye, for there might be critical passages in it. But she could go away -for a fortnight (a fortnight was the utmost time necessary for the -wonderful lotion to restore faded colour) and return again after -correspondence that indicated that she felt much better and younger. -Several times before she had gone to stay alone with a friend of hers on -the coast of Norfolk: there would be nothing in the least remarkable in -her doing it again.</p> - -<p>An objection loomed in sight. If there was any reality in the -supposition that prompted her desire to seem young again—namely, a -possible attraction of her husband towards Millie Evans, she would but -be giving facility and encouragement to that by her absence. But then, -immediately the wisdom of the course, stronger than the objection to it, -presented itself. Infinitely the wiser plan for her was to act as if -unconscious of any such danger, to disarm him by her obvious rejection -of any armour of her own. She must either watch him minutely or not at -all. Mr. Pettit had alluded in his sermon that morning to the finer of -the two attitudes when he reminded them that love thought no evil. It -seemed to poor Mrs. Ames that if by her conduct she appeared to think no -evil, it came to the same thing.</p> - -<p>Her behaviour towards Lyndhurst, when he should come back from Millie’s -house, followed as a corollary. She would be completely genial: she -would hope he had had a pleasant lunch, and, if he made any apology for -his absence, assure him that it was quite unnecessary. Her charity would -carry her even further<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> than that: she would say that his absence had -been deplored by her guests, but that she had been so glad that he had -done as he felt inclined. She would hope that Millie was not tired with -her party, and that she and her husband would come to dine with them -again soon. It must be while Harry was at home, for he was immensely -attracted by Millie. So good for a boy to think about a nice woman like -that.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames carried out her programme with pathetic fidelity. Her husband -did not get home till nearly tea-time, and she welcomed him with a -cordiality that would have been unusual even if he had not gone out to -lunch at all. And to do him justice, it must be confessed that his -wife’s scheme, as already recounted, was framed to meet a situation -which at present had no real existence, except in the mind of a wife -wedded to a younger husband. There were data for the situation, so to -speak, rather than there was danger of it. He, on his side, was well -aware of the irregularity of his conduct, and was prepared to accept, -without retaliation, a modicum of blame for it. But no blame at all -awaited him; instead of that a cordiality so genuine that, in spite of -the fact that a particularly good dinner was provided him, the possible -parallel of the prodigal son did not so much as suggest itself to his -mind.</p> - -<p>Harry had retired to his bedroom soon after dinner with a certain -wildness of eye which portended poetry rather than repose, and after he -had gone his father commented in the humorous spirit about this.</p> - -<p>“Poor old Harry!” he said. “Case of lovely woman, eh, Amy? I was just -the same at his age, until I met you, my dear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>This topic of Harry’s admiration for Mrs. Evans, which his mother had -intended to allude to, had not yet been touched on, and she responded -cordially.</p> - -<p>“You think Harry is very much attracted by Millie, do you mean?” she -said.</p> - -<p>He chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s not very difficult to see,” he said. “Why, the rascal tore -off a dozen of my best roses for her last night, though I hadn’t the -heart to scold him for it. Not a bad thing for a young fellow to burn a -bit of incense before a charming woman like that. Keeps him out of -mischief, makes him see what a nice woman is like. As I said, I used to -do just the same myself.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me about it,” said she.</p> - -<p>“Well, there was the Colonel’s wife. God bless me, how I adored her. I -must have been just about Harry’s age, for I had only lately joined, and -she was a woman getting on for forty. Good thing, too, for me, as I say, -for it kept me out of mischief. They used to say she encouraged me, but -I don’t believe it. Every woman likes to know that she’s admired, eh? -She doesn’t snub a boy who takes her out in the garden, and picks his -father’s roses for her. But we mustn’t have Harry boring her with his -attentions. That’ll never do.”</p> - -<p>It seemed to Mrs. Ames of singularly little consequence whether Harry -bored Millie Evans or not. She would much have preferred to be assured -that her husband did. But the subsequent conversation did not reassure -her as to that.</p> - -<p>“Nice little woman, she is,” he said. “Thoroughly nice little woman, and -naturally enough, my dear, since she is your cousin, she likes being -treated in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> neighbourly fashion. We had a great talk after lunch to-day, -and I’m sorry for her, sorry for her. I think we ought to do all we can -to make life pleasant for her. Drop in to tea, or drop in to lunch, as I -did to-day. A doctor’s wife, you know. She told me that some days she -scarcely set eyes on her husband, and when she did, he could think of -nothing but microbes. And there’s really nobody in Riseborough, except -you and me, with whom she feels—dear me, what’s that French word—yes, -with whom she feels in her proper <i>milieu</i>. I should like us to be on -such terms with her—you being her cousin—that we could always -telephone to say we were dropping in, and that she would feel equally -free to drop in. Dropping in, you know: that’s the real thing; not to be -obliged to wait till you are asked, or to accept weeks ahead, as one has -got to do for some formal dinner-party. I should like to feel that we -mightn’t be surprised to find her picking sweet-peas in the garden, and -that she wouldn’t be surprised to find you or me sitting under her -mulberry-tree, waiting for her to come in. After all, intimacy only -begins when formality ceases. Shall I give you some soda water?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames did not want soda-water: she wanted to think. Her husband had -completely expressed the attitude she meant to adopt, but her own -adoption of it had presupposed a certain contrition on his part with -regard to his unusual behaviour. But he gave her no time for thought, -and proceeded to propose just the same sort of thing as she (in her -magnanimity) had thought of suggesting.</p> - -<p>“Dinner, now,” he said. “Up till last night we have always been a bit -formal about dinner here in Riseborough. If you asked General Snookes, -you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> asked Mrs. Snookes; if you asked Admiral Jones, you asked Lady -Jones. You led the way, my dear, about that, and what could have been -pleasanter than our little party last night? Let us repeat it: let us be -less formal. If you want to see Mr. Altham, ask him to come. Mrs. -Altham, let us say, wants to ask me: let her ask me. Or if you meet Dr. -Evans in the street, and he says it is lunch time, go and have lunch -with him, without bothering about me. I shall do very well at home. I’m -told that in London it is quite a constant practice to invite like that. -And it seems to me very sensible.”</p> - -<p>All this had seemed very sensible to Mrs. Ames, when she had thought of -it herself. It seemed a little more hazardous now. She was well aware -that this plan had caused a vast amount of talk in Riseborough, the -knowledge of which she had much enjoyed, since it was of the nature of -subjects commenting on the movements of their queen, without any danger -to her of dethronement. But she was not so sure that she enjoyed her -husband’s cordial endorsement of her innovation. Also, in his -endorsement there was some little insincerity. He had taken as instance -the chance of his wishing to dine without his wife at Mrs. Altham’s, and -they both knew how preposterous such a contingency would be. But did -this only prepare the way for a further solitary excursion to Mrs. -Evans’? Had Mrs. Evans asked him to dine there? She was immediately -enlightened.</p> - -<p>“Of course, we talked over your delightful dinner-party of last night,” -he said, “and agreed in the agreeableness of it. And she asked me to -dine there, <i>en garçon</i>, on Tuesday next. Of course, I said I must -consult you first; you might have asked other people<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> here, or we might -be dining out together. I should not dream of upsetting any existing -arrangement. I told her so: she quite understood. But if there was -nothing going on, I promised to dine there <i>en garçon</i>.”</p> - -<p>That phrase had evidently taken Major Ames’ fancy; there was a ring of -youth about it, and he repeated it with gusto. His wife, too, perfectly -understood the secret smack of the lips with which he said it: she knew -precisely how he felt. But she was wise enough to keep the consciousness -of it completely out of her reply.</p> - -<p>“By all means,” she said; “we have no engagement for that night. And I -am thinking of proposing myself for a little visit to Mrs. Bertram next -week, Lyndhurst. I know she is at Overstrand now, and I think ten days -on the east coast would do me good.”</p> - -<p>He assented with a cordiality that equalled hers.</p> - -<p>“Very wise, I am sure, my dear,” he said. “I have thought this last day -or two that you looked a little run down.”</p> - -<p>A sudden misgiving seized her at this, for she knew quite well she -neither looked nor felt the least run down.</p> - -<p>“I thought perhaps you and Harry would take some little trip together -while I was away,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, never mind us, never mind us,” said he. “We’ll rub along, <i>en -garçon</i>, you know. I daresay some of our friends will take pity on us, -and ask us to drop in.”</p> - -<p>This was not reassuring: nor would Mrs. Ames have been reassured if she -could have penetrated at that moment unseen into Mrs. Altham’s -drawing-room. She and her husband had gone straight from Mrs. Ames’ -house that afternoon to call on Mrs. Evans,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> and had been told she was -not at home. But Mrs. Altham of the eagle-eye had seen through the -opened front door an immense bowl of sweet-peas on the hall table, and -by it a straw hat with a riband of regimental colours round it. -Circumstantial evidence could go no further, and now this indefatigable -lady was looking out Major Ames in an old army list.</p> - -<p>“Ames, Lyndhurst Percy,” she triumphantly read out. “Born 1860, and I -daresay he is older than that, because if ever there was a man who -wanted to be thought younger than his years, that’s the one. So in any -case, Henry, he is over forty-seven. And there’s the front-door bell. It -will be Mrs. Brooks. She said she would drop in for a chat after -dinner.”</p> - -<p>There was plenty to chat about that evening.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ames</span> might or might not have been run down when she left -Riseborough the following week, but nothing can be more certain than -that she was considerably braced up seven days after that. The delicious -freshness of winds off the North Sea, tempering the heat of brilliant -summer suns, may have had something to do with it, and she certainly had -more colour in her face than was usual with her, which was the -legitimate effect of the felicitous weather. There was more colour in -her hair also, and though that, no doubt, was a perfectly legitimate -effect too, being produced by purely natural means, as the label on the -bottle stated, the sun and wind were not accountable for this -embellishment.</p> - -<p>She had spent an afternoon in London—chiefly in Bond Street—on her way -here, and had gone to a couple of addresses which she had secretly -snipped out of the daily press. The expenditure of a couple of pounds, -which was already yielding her immense dividends in encouragement and -hope, had put her into possession of a bottle with a brush, a machine -that, when you turned a handle, quivered violently like a motor-car that -is prepared to start, and a small jar of opaque glass, which contained -the miraculous skin-food. With these was being wrought the desired -marvels; with these, as with a magician’s rod, she was conjuring, so she -believed, the remote enchantments of youth back to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span></p> - -<p>After quite a few days change became evident, and daily that change grew -greater. As regards her hair, the cost, both of time and material, in -this miracle-working, was of the smallest possible account. Morning and -evening, after brushing it, she rubbed in a mere teaspoonful of a thin -yellow liquid, which, as the advertisement stated, was quite free from -grease or obnoxious smell, and did not stain the pillow. This was so -simple that it really required faith to embark upon the treatment, for -from the time of Hebrew prophets, mankind have found it easier to do -“some great thing” than merely to wash in the Jordan. But Mrs. Ames, -luckily, had shown her faith, and by the end of a week the marvellous -lotion had shown its works. Till now, though her hair could not be -described as grey, there was a considerable quantity of grey in it: now -she examined it with an eye that sought for instead of shutting itself -to such blemish, and the reward of its search was of the most meagre -sort. There was really no grey left in it: it might have been, as far as -colour could be taken as a test of age, the hair of a young woman. It -was not very abundant in quantity, but the lotion had held out no -promises on that score; quality, not quantity, was the sum of its -beckoning. The application of the skin-food was more expensive: she had -to use more and it took longer. Nightly she poured a can of very hot -water into her basin, and with a towel over her head to concentrate the -vapour, she steamed her face over it for some twenty minutes. Emerging -red and hot and stifled, she wiped off the streams of moisture, and with -finger-tips dipped in this marvellous cream, tapped and dabbed at the -less happy regions between her eyebrows, outside<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> her eyes, across her -forehead, at the corners of her mouth, and up and down her neck. Then -came the use of the palpitating machine; it whirred and buzzed over her, -tickling very much. For half-an-hour she would make a patient piano of -her face, then gently remove such of the skin-food as still stayed on -the surface, and had not gone within to do its nurturing work. Certainly -this was a somewhat laborious affair, but the results were highly -prosperous. There was no doubt that to a perfectly candid and even -sceptical eye, a week’s treatment had produced a change. The wrinkles -were beginning to be softly erased: there was a perceptible plumpness -observable in the leaner places. Between the bouts of tapping and -dabbing she sipped the glass of milk which she brought up to bed with -her, as the deviser of the skin-food recommended. She drank another such -glass in the middle of the morning, and digested them both perfectly.</p> - -<p>As these external signs appeared and grew there went on within her an -accompanying and corresponding rejuvenation of spirit. She felt very -well, owing, no doubt, to the brisk air, the milk, the many hours spent -out-of-doors, and in consequence she began to feel much younger. An -unwonted activity and lightness pervaded her limbs: she took daily a -walk of a couple of hours without fatigue, and was the life and soul of -the dinner-table, whose other occupants were her hosts, Mrs. Bertram, a -cold, grim woman with a moustache, and her husband, milder, with -whiskers. Their only passion was for gardening, and they seldom left -their grounds; thus Mrs. Ames took her walks unaccompanied.</p> - -<p>Miles of firm sands, when the tide was low, subtended<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> the cliffs on -which Mr. Bertram’s house stood, and often Mrs. Ames preferred to walk -along the margin of the sea rather than pursue more inland routes, and -to-day, after her large and wholesome lunch (the physical stimulus of -the east coast, combined with this mental stimulus of her object in -coming here, gave her an appetite of dimensions unknown at Riseborough) -she took a maritime way. The tide was far out, and the lower sands, -still shining and firm from the retained moisture of its retreat, made -uncommonly pleasant walking. She had abandoned heeled footgear, and had -bought at a shop in the village, where everything inexpensive, from -wooden spades to stamps and sticking plaster was sold, a pair of canvas -coverings technically known as sand-shoes. They laced up with a piece of -white tape, and were juvenile, light, and easily removable. They, and -the great sea, and the jetsam of stranded seaweed, and the general sense -of youth and freshness, made most agreeable companions, and she felt, -though neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bertram was with her, charmingly -accompanied. Her small, toadlike face expressed a large degree of -contentment, and piercing her pleasant surroundings as the smell of -syringa pierces through the odour of all other flowers, was the sense of -her brown hair and fast-fading wrinkles. That gave her an inward -happiness which flushed with pleasure and interest all she saw. In the -lines of pebbles left by the retreating tide was an orange-coloured -cornelian, which she picked up, and put in her pocket. She could have -bought the same, ready polished, for a shilling at the cheap and -comprehensive shop, but to find it herself gave her a pleasure not to be -estimated at all in terms of silver coinage. Further<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> on there was an -attractive-looking shell, which she also picked up, and was about to -give as a companion to the cornelian, when a sudden scurry of claw-like -legs about its aperture showed her that a hermit-crab was domiciled -within, and she dropped it with a little scream and a sense of danger -escaped both by her and the hermit-crab. There were attractive pieces of -seaweed, which reminded her of years when she collected the finer sorts, -and set them, with the aid of a pin, on cartridge-paper, spreading out -their delicate fronds and fern-like foliage. There were creamy ripples -of the quiet sea, long-winged gulls that hovered fishing; above all -there was the sense of her brown hair and smoothed face. She felt years -younger, and she felt she looked years younger, which was scarcely less -solid a satisfaction.</p> - -<p>It pleased her, but not acutely or viciously, to think of Mrs. Altham’s -feelings when she made her rejuvenated appearance in Riseborough. It was -quite certain that Mrs. Altham would suspect that she had been “doing -something to herself,” and that Mrs. Altham would burst with envy and -curiosity to know what it was she had done. Although she felt very -kindly towards all the world, she did not deceive herself to such an -extent as to imagine that she would tell Mrs. Altham what she had done. -Mrs. Altham was ingenious and would like guessing. But that lady -occupied her mind but little. The main point was that in a week from now -she would go home again, and that Lyndhurst would find her young. She -might or might not have been right in fearing that Lyndhurst was -becoming sentimentally interested in Millie Evans, and she was quite -willing to grant that her grounds for that fear were of the slenderest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> -But all that might be dismissed now. She herself, in a week from now, -would have recaptured that more youthful aspect which had been hers -while he was still of loverlike inclination towards her. What might be -called regular good looks had always been denied her, but she had once -had her share of youth. To-day she felt youthful still, and once again, -she believed, looked as if she belonged to the enchanted epoch. She had -no intention of using this recapture promiscuously: she scarcely desired -general admiration: she only desired that her husband should find her -attractive.</p> - -<p>For a little while, as she took her quick, short steps along these -shining sands, she felt herself grow bitter towards Millie Evans. A sort -of superior pity was mixed with the bitterness, for she told herself -that poor Millie, if she had tried to flirt with Lyndhurst, would -speedily find herself flirting all alone. Very likely Millie was -guiltless in intention; she had only let her pretty face produce an -unchecked effect. Men were attracted by a pretty face, but the owners of -such faces ought to keep a curb on them, so to speak. Their faces were -not their faults, but rather their misfortunes. A woman with a pretty -face would be wise to make herself rather reserved, so that her manner -would chill anybody who was inclined.... But the whole subject now was -obsolete. If there had been any danger, there would not be any more, and -she did not blame Millie. She must ask Millie to dine with them <i>en -famille</i>, which was much nicer than <i>en garçon</i>, as soon as she got -back.</p> - -<p>It might be gathered from this account of Mrs. Ames’ self-communings -that deep down in her nature their lay a strain of almost farcical -fatuousness. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> she was not really fatuous, unless it is fatuous to -have preserved far out into the plains of middle-age some vision of the -blue mountains of youth. It is true that for years she had been -satisfied to dwell on these plains; now, her fear that her husband, so -much younger than herself, was turning his eyes to blue mountains that -did not belong to him, made her desire to get out of the plains and -ascend her own blue mountains again and wave to him from there, and -encourage his advance. She felt exceedingly well, and in consequence -told herself that in mind, as well as physical constitution, she was -young still, while the effect of the bottles which she used with such -regularity made her believe that the outward signs of age were erasible. -She seemed to have been granted a new lease of life in a tenement that -it was easy to repair. Her whole nature felt itself to be quickened and -vivified.</p> - -<p>She had gone far along the sands, and the tide was beginning to flow -again. All round her were great empty spaces, a shipless sea, a -cloudless sky, a beach with no living being in sight. A sudden -unpremeditated impulse seized her, and without delay she sat down on the -shore, and took off her shoes and stockings. Then, pulling up her -skirts, she hastily ran down to the edge of the water, across a little -belt of pebbles that tickled and hurt her soft-soled feet, and waded out -into the liquid rims of the sea. She was astonished and amazed at -herself that the idea of paddling had ever come into her head, and more -amazed that she had had the temerity to put it into execution. For the -first minute or two the cold touch of the water on her unaccustomed -ankles and calves made her gasp a little, but for all the strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span>ness -of these sensations she felt that paddling, playing like a child in the -shallow waters, expressed the tone of her mind, just as the melody of a -song expresses the words to which it is set. If she had had a spade, she -would certainly have built a sand-castle and dug moats about it, and a -smile lit up her small face at the thought of purchasing one at the -universal shop, and furtively conveying it to these unfrequented -beaches. And the smile almost ended in a blush when she tried to imagine -what Riseborough society would say if it became known that their queen -not only paddled in the sea, but seriously contemplated buying a wooden -spade in order to conduct building operations on lonely shores.</p> - -<p>The paddling, though quite pleasant, was not so joyous as the impulse to -paddle had been, and it was not long before she sat down again on the -beach and tried to get the sand out of the small, tight places between -her toes, and to dry her feet and plump little legs with a most exiguous -handkerchief. But even in the midst of these troublesome operations, her -mind still ran riot, and she planned to secrete about her person one of -her smaller bedroom towels when she went for her walk next day. And she -felt as if this act of paddling must have aided in the elimination of -wrinkles. For who except the really young could want to paddle? To find -that she had the impulse of the really young was even better than to -cultivate, though with success, the appropriate appearance. All the way -home this effervescence of spirit was hers, which, though it definitely -sprang from the effects of the lotion, the skin-food and the tonic air, -produced in her an illusion that was complete. She was certainly -ascending her remote blue mountains again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> and through a clarified air -she could look over the plains, and see how very flat they had been. -That must all be changed: there must be more variety and gaiety -introduced into her days. For years, as she saw now, her life had been -spent in small, joyless hospitalities, in keeping her place as -accredited leader of Riseborough’s socialities, in paying her share -towards the expenses of the house. They did not laugh much at home: -there had seemed nothing particular to laugh about, and certainly they -did not paddle. She was forming no plan for paddling there now, -irrespective of the fact that a muddy canal, which was the only water in -the neighbourhood, did not encourage the scheme, but there must be -introduced into her life and Lyndhurst’s more of the spirit that had -to-day prompted her paddling. Exactly what form it should take she did -not clearly foresee, but when she had recaptured the spirit as well as -the appearance of youth, there was no fear that it would find any -difficulty in expressing itself suitably. All aglow, especially as to -her feet, which tingled pleasantly, she arrived at her host’s house -again. They were both at work in the garden: Mrs. Bertram was killing -slugs in the garden beds, Mr. Bertram worms on the lawn.</p> - -<p>Major Ames proved himself during the next week to be a good -correspondent, if virtue in correspondents is to be measured by the -frequency of their communications. His letters were not long, but they -were cheerful, since the garden was coming on well in this delightful -weather, which he hoped embraced Cromer also, and since he had on two -separate occasions made a grand slam when playing Bridge at the club. He -and Harry were jogging along quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> pleasantly, but there had been no -gaieties to take them out, except a tea-party with ices at Mrs. Brooks’. -Unfortunately, some disaster had befallen the ices: personally, he -thought it was salt instead of sugar, but Harry had been unwell -afterwards, which suggested sour cream. But his indisposition had been -but short, though violent. He himself had dropped in to dine <i>en garçon</i> -with the Evans’, and the doctor was very busy. Finally (this came at the -end of every letter), as the place was doing her so much good, why not -stop for another week? He was sure the Bertrams (poor things!) would be -delighted if she would.</p> - -<p>But that suggestion did not commend itself to Mrs. Ames. She had come -here for a definite purpose, and when on the morning before her -departure she looked very critically at herself in the glass, she felt -that her purpose had been accomplished. Her skin had not, so much she -admitted, the unruffled smoothness of a young woman’s, but she had not -been a young woman when she married. But search where she might in her -hair, there was no sign of greyness in it all, while the contents of the -bottle were not yet half used. But she would take back the more than -moiety with her, since an occasional application when the hair had -resumed its usual colour was recommended. It appeared to her that it -undoubtedly had resumed its original colour: the change, though slight -(for grey had never been conspicuous), was complete; she felt equipped -for youth again. And psychologically she felt equipped: every day since -the first secret paddling she had paddled again in secret, and from a -crevice in a tumble of fallen rock she daily extracted a small wooden -spade, by aid of which, with many glancings around for fear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> of possible -observers, she dug in the sand, making moats and ramparts. The “first -fine careless rapture” of this, it must be admitted, had evaporated: -after one architectural afternoon she had dug not because this -elementary pursuit expressed what she felt, so much as because it -expressed what she desired to feel. After all, she did not propose to -rejuvenate herself to the extent of being nine or ten years old -again....</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The manner of her return to Riseborough demanded consideration: it was -not sufficient merely to look up in a railway guide the swiftest mode of -transit and adopt it, for this was not quite an ordinary entry, and it -would never do to take the edge off it by making a travel-soiled and -dusty first appearance. So she laid down a plan.</p> - -<p>The bare facts about the trains were these. A train starting at a -convenient hour would bring her to London a short half-hour before -another convenient train from another and distant terminus started for -Riseborough. It was impossible to make certain of catching this, so she -wrote to her husband saying that she would in all probability get to -Riseborough by a later train that arrived there at eight. She begged him -not to meet her at the station, but to order dinner for half-past eight. -It would be nice to be at home again. Then came the plan. Clearly it -would never do to burst on him like that, to sit down opposite him at -the dinner-table beneath the somewhat searching electric light there, -handicapped by the fatigues of a hot journey only imperfectly repaired -by a hasty toilet. She must arrive by the early train, though not -expected till the later. Thus she would secure a quiet two hours for -bathing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> resting and dressing. If Lyndhurst did not expect her to -arrive till eight it was a practical certainty that he would be at the -club till that hour, and walk home in time to welcome her arrival. He -would then learn that she had already come and was dressing. She would -be careful to let him go downstairs first, and a minute later she would -follow. He should see....</p> - -<p>So in order to catch this earlier train from town she left Cromer while -morning was yet dewy, and had the peculiar pleasure, on her arrival at -Riseborough, of seeing her husband, from the windows of her cab, passing -along the street to the club. She had a moment’s qualm that he would see -her initialled boxes on the top, but by grace of a punctual providence -Mrs. Brooks came out of her house at the moment, and the Major raised a -gallant hat and spoke a cheerful word to her. Certainly he looked very -handsome and distinguished, and Mrs. Ames felt a little tremor of -anticipation in thinking of the chapters of life that were to be re-read -by them. She felt confident also; it never entered her head to have any -misgivings as to what the last fortnight, which had contained so much -for her, might have contained for him.</p> - -<p>Harry had gone back to Cambridge for the July term the day before, and -she found on her arrival that she had the house to herself. The -afternoon had turned a little chilly, and she enjoyed the invigoration -of a hot bath, and a subsequent hour’s rest on her sofa. Then it was -time to dress, and though the dinner was of the simplest conjugal -character, she put on a dress she had worn but some half-dozen of times -before, but which on this one occasion it was meet should descend from -the pompous existence that was its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> destiny for a year or two to come. -It was of daring rose-colour, the most resplendent possible, and never -failed to create an impression. Indeed, she had, on one of its -infrequent appearances, heard Lyndhurst say to his neighbour in an -undertone, “Upon my soul, Amy looks very well to-night.” And Amy meant -to look very well again.</p> - -<p>All happened as she had planned. Shortly after eight Lyndhurst tapped at -her door on his return from the club, but could not be admitted, and at -half-past, having heard him go downstairs, she followed him. He had not -dressed, according to their custom when they were alone.</p> - -<p>Major Ames was writing a note when she entered, and only turned round in -his chair, not getting up.</p> - -<p>“Glad to see you home, my dear,” he said. “Excuse me one moment. I must -just direct this.”</p> - -<p>She kissed him and waited while he scrawled an address. Then he got up -and rang the bell.</p> - -<p>“Just in time to catch the post,” he said. “By Jove! Amy, you’ve put on -the famous pink gown. I would have dressed if I had known. You’re tired -with your journey, I expect. It was a very hot day here, until a couple -of hours ago.”</p> - -<p>He gave the note to the servant.</p> - -<p>“And dinner’s ready, I think,” he said.</p> - -<p>They sat down opposite each other at ends of the rather long table. -There were no flowers on it, for it had not occurred to him to get the -garden to welcome her home-coming, and the whole of her resplendency was -visible to him. He began eating his soup vigorously.</p> - -<p>“Capital plan in summer to have dinner at half-past eight,” he said. -“Gives one most of the day<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span>light and not so long an evening afterwards. -Excellent pea-soup, this. Fresh peas from my garden. The Evans’ dine at -eight-thirty. And how have you been, Amy?”</p> - -<p>Some indefinable chill of misgiving, against which she struggled, had -laid cold fingers on her. Things were not going any longer as she had -planned them. He had noticed her gown, but he had noticed nothing else. -But then he had scarcely looked up since they had come into the -dining-room. But now he finished his soup, and she challenged his -attention.</p> - -<p>“I have been very well indeed,” she said. “Don’t I look it?”</p> - -<p>He looked her straight in the face, saw all that had seemed almost a -miracle to her—the softened wrinkles, the recovered colour of her hair.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think you do,” he said. “You’ve got a bit tanned too, haven’t -you, with the sun?”</p> - -<p>The cold fingers closed a little more tightly on her.</p> - -<p>“Have I?” she said. “That is very likely. I was out-of-doors all day. I -used to take quite long walks every afternoon.”</p> - -<p>He glanced at the menu-card.</p> - -<p>“I hope you’ll like the dinner I ordered you,” he said. “Your cook and I -had a great talk over it this morning. ‘She’ll have been in the train -all day,’ I said, ‘and will feel a little tired. Appetite will want a -bit of tempting, eh?’ So we settled on a grilled sole, and a chicken and -a macédoine of fruit. Hope that suits you, Amy. So you used to take long -walks, did you? Is the country pretty round about? Bathing, too. Is it a -good coast for bathing?”</p> - -<p>Again he looked at her as he spoke, and for the moment her heart-beat -quickened, for it seemed that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> he could not but see the change in her. -Then his sole required dissection, and he looked at his plate again.</p> - -<p>“I believe it is a good coast,” she said. “There were a quantity of -bathing-machines. I did not bathe.”</p> - -<p>“No. Very wise, I am sure. One has to be careful about chills as one -gets on. I should have been anxious about you, Amy, if I had thought you -would be so rash as to bathe.”</p> - -<p>Some instinct of protest prompted her.</p> - -<p>“There would have been nothing to be anxious about,” she said. “I seldom -catch a chill. And I often paddled.”</p> - -<p>He laid down his knife and fork and laughed.</p> - -<p>“You paddled!” he asked. “Nonsense, nonsense!”</p> - -<p>She had not meant to tell him, for her reasonable mind had informed her -all the time that this was a secret expression of the rejuvenation she -was conscious of. But it had slipped out, a thoughtless assertion of the -youthfulness she felt.</p> - -<p>“I did indeed,” she said, “and I found it very bracing and -invigorating.”</p> - -<p>Then for a moment a certain bitterness welled up within her, born from -disappointment at his imperceptiveness.</p> - -<p>“You see I never suffer from gout or rheumatism like you, Lyndhurst,” -she said. “I hope you have been quite free from them since I have been -away.”</p> - -<p>But his amusement, though it had produced this spirit of rancour in her, -had not been in the least unkindly. It was legitimate to find -entertainment in the thought of a middle-aged woman gravely paddling, so -long as he had no idea that there was a most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> pathetic side to it. Of -that he had no inkling: he was unaware that this paddling was expressive -of her feeling of recaptured youth, just as he was unaware that she -believed it to be expressed in her face and hair. But this remark was -distinctly of the nature of an attack: she was retaliating for his -laughter. He could not resist one further answer which might both soothe -and smart (like a patent ointment) before he changed the subject.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, I’m sure you are a wonderful woman for your years,” he -said. “By Jove! I shall be proud if I’m as active and healthy as you in -ten years’ time.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Dinner was soon over after this, and she left him, as usual, to have his -cigarette and glass of port, and went into the drawing-room, and stood -looking on the last fading splendour of the sunset in the west. The -momentary bitterness in her mind had quite died down again: there was -nothing left but a vague, dull ache of flatness and disappointment. He -had noticed nothing of all that had caused her such tremulous and secret -joy. He had looked on her smoothed and softened face, and seen no -difference there, on her brown unfaded hair and found it unaltered. He -had only seen that she had put her best gown on, and she had almost -wished that he had not noticed that, since then she might have had the -consolation of thinking that he was ill. It was not, it must be -premised, that she meant she would find pleasure in his indisposition, -only that an indisposition would have explained his imperceptiveness, -which she regretted more than she would have regretted a slight headache -for him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span></p> - -<p>For a few minutes she was incapable of more than blank and empty -contemplation of the utter failure of that from which she had expected -so much. Then, like the stars that even now were beginning to be lit in -the empty spaces of the sky, fresh points in the dreary situation -claimed her attention. Was he preoccupied with other matters, that he -was blind to her? His letters, it is true, had been uniformly cheerful -and chatty, but a preoccupied man can easily write a letter without -betraying the preoccupation that is only too evident in personal -intercourse. If this was so, what was the nature of his preoccupation? -That was not a cheerful star: there was a green light in it.... Another -star claimed her attention. Was it Lyndhurst who was blind, or herself -who saw too much? She had no idea till she came to look into the matter -closely, how much grey hair was mingled with the brown. Perhaps he had -no idea either: its restoration, therefore, would not be an affair of -surprise and admiration. But the wrinkles....</p> - -<p>She faced round from the window as he entered, and made another call on -her courage and conviction. Though he saw so little, she, quickened -perhaps by the light of the green star, saw how good-looking he was. For -years she had scarcely noticed it. She put up her small face to him in a -way that suggested, though it did not exactly invite a kiss.</p> - -<p>“It is so nice to be home again,” she said.</p> - -<p>The suggestion that she meant to convey occurred to him, but, very -reasonably, he dismissed it as improbable. A promiscuous caress was a -thing long obsolete between them. Morning and evening he brushed her -cheek with the end of his moustaches.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, then, we’re all pleased,” he said good-humouredly. “Shall I ring -for coffee, Amy?”</p> - -<p>She was not discouraged.</p> - -<p>“Do,” she said, “and when we have had coffee, will you fetch a shawl for -me, and we will stroll in the garden. You shall show me what new flowers -have come out.”</p> - -<p>The intention of that was admirable, the actual proposal not so happy, -since a glimmering starlight through the fallen dusk would not conduce -to a perception of colour.</p> - -<p>“We’ll stroll in the garden by all means,” he said, “if you think it -will not be risky for you. But as to flowers, my dear, it will be easier -to appreciate them when it is not dark.”</p> - -<p>Again she put up her face towards him. This time he might, perhaps, have -taken the suggestion, but at the moment Parker entered with the coffee.</p> - -<p>“How foolish of me,” she said. “I forgot it was dark. But let us go out -anyhow, unless you were thinking of going round to the club.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, time for that, time for that,” said he. “I expect you will be going -to bed early after your long journey. I may step round then, and see -what’s going on.”</p> - -<p>Without conscious encouragement or welcome on her part, a suspicion -darted into her mind. She felt by some process, as inexplicable as that -by which certain people are aware of the presence of a cat in the room, -that he was going round to see Mrs. Evans.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you have often gone round to the club in the evening since I -have been away,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I have looked in now and again,” he said. “On other evenings I -have dropped in to see our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> friends. Lonely old bachelor, you know, and -Harry was not always very lively company. It’s a good thing that boy has -gone back to Cambridge, Amy. He was always mooning round after Mrs. -Evans.”</p> - -<p>That was a fact: it had often been a slightly inconvenient one. Several -times the Major had “dropped in” to see Millie, and found his son -already there.</p> - -<p>“But I thought you were rather pleased at that, Lyndhurst,” she said. -“You told me you considered it not a bad thing: that it would keep Harry -out of mischief.”</p> - -<p>He finished his coffee rather hastily.</p> - -<p>“Yes, within reason, within reason,” he said. “Well, if we are to stroll -in the garden, we had better go out. You wanted a shawl, didn’t you? -Very wise: where shall I find one?”</p> - -<p>That diverted her again to her own personal efforts.</p> - -<p>“There are several in the second tray of my wardrobe,” she said. “Choose -a nice one, Lyndhurst, something that won’t look hideous with my pink -silk.”</p> - -<p>The smile, as you might almost say, of coquetry, which accompanied this -speech, faded completely as soon as he left the room, and her face -assumed that business-like aspect, which the softest and youngest faces -wear, when the object is to attract, instead of letting a mutual -attraction exercise its inevitable power. Even though Mrs. Ames’ object -was the legitimate and laudable desire to attract her own husband, it -was strange how common her respectable little countenance appeared. She -had adorned herself to attract admiration: coquetry and anxiety were -pitifully mingled, even as you may see them in haunts far less -respectable than this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> detached villa, and on faces from which Mrs. Ames -would instantly have averted her own. She hoped he would bring a certain -white silk shawl: two nights ago she had worn it on the verandah after -dinner at Overstrand, and the reflected light from it, she had noticed, -as she stood beneath a light opposite a mirror in the hall, had made her -throat look especially soft and plump. She stood underneath the light -now waiting for his return.</p> - -<p>Fortune was favourable: it was that shawl that he brought, and she -turned round for him to put it on her shoulders. Then she faced him -again in the remembered position, underneath the light, smiling.</p> - -<p>“Now, I am ready, Lyndhurst,” she said.</p> - -<p>He opened the French window for her, and stood to let her pass out. -Again she smiled at him, and waited for him to join her on the rather -narrow gravel path. There was actually room for two abreast on it, for, -on the evening of her dinner-party, Harry had walked here side by side -with Mrs. Evans. But there was only just room.</p> - -<p>“You go first, Amy,” he said, “or shall I? We can scarcely walk abreast -here.”</p> - -<p>But she took his arm.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, my dear,” she said. “There: is there not heaps of room?”</p> - -<p>He felt vaguely uncomfortable. It was not only the necessity of putting -his feet down one strictly in front of the other that made him so.</p> - -<p>“Anything the matter, my dear?” he asked.</p> - -<p>The question was not cruel: it was scarcely even careless. He could -hardly be expected to guess, for his perceptions were not fine. Also he -was thinking about somebody else, and wondering how late it was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> But -even if he had had complete knowledge of the situation about which he -was completely ignorant, he could not have dealt with it in a more -peremptory way. The dreary flatness to which she had been so impassive a -prey directly after dinner, the sense of complete failure enveloped her -like impenetrable fog. Out of that fog, she hooted, so to speak, like an -undervitalized siren.</p> - -<p>“I am only so glad to get back,” she said, pressing his arm a little. “I -hoped you were glad, too, that I was back. Tell me what you have been -doing all the time I have been away.”</p> - -<p>This, like banns, was for the third time of asking. He recalled for her -the days one by one, leaving out certain parts of them. Even at the -moment, he was astonished to find how vivid his recollection of them -was. On Thursday, when he had played golf in the morning, he had lunched -with the Evans’ (this he stated, for Harry had lunched there too) and he -had culled probably the last dish of asparagus in the afternoon. He had -dined alone with Harry that night, and Harry had toothache. Next day, -consequently, Harry went to the dentist in the morning, and he himself -had played golf in the afternoon. That he remembered because he had gone -to tea with Mrs. Evans afterwards, but that he did not mention, for he -had been alone with her, and they had talked about being misunderstood -and about affinities. On Saturday Harry had gone back to Cambridge, but, -having missed his train, he had made a second start after lunch. He had -met Dr. Evans in the street that day, going up to the golf links, and -since he would otherwise be quite alone in the evening, he had dined -with them, “<i>en garçon</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>This catalogue of trivial happenings took quite a long time in the -recitation. But below the trivialities there was a lurking significance. -He was not really in love with Millie Evans, and his assurance to -himself on that point was perfectly honest. But (this he did not put so -distinctly to himself) he thought that she was tremendously attracted by -him. Here was an appeal to a sort of deplorable sense of gallantry—so -terrible a word only can describe his terrible mind—and mentally he -called her “poor little lady.” She was pretty, too, and not very happy. -It seemed to be incumbent on him to interest and amuse her. His -“droppings in” amused her: when he got ready to drop out again, she -always asked when he would come to see her next. These “droppings in” -were clearly bright spots to her in a drab day. They were also bright -spots to him, for he was more interested in them than in all his -sweet-peas. There was a “situation” come into his life, something -clandestine. It would never do, for instance, to let Amy or the -estimable doctor get a hint of it. Probably they would misunderstand it, -and imagine there was something to conceal. He had the secret joys of a -bloodless intrigue. But, considering its absolute bloodlessness, he was -amazingly wrapped up in it. It was no wonder that he did not notice the -restored colour of Amy’s hair.</p> - -<p>He, or rather Mrs. Evans, had made a conditional appointment for -to-night. If possible, the possibility depending on Amy’s fatigue, he -was going to drop in for a chat. Primarily the chat was to be concerned -with the lighting of the garden by means of Chinese lanterns, for a -nocturnal fête that Mrs. Evans meant to give on her birthday. The whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> -garden was to be lit, and since the entertainment of an illuminated -garden, with hot soup, quails and ices, under the mulberry-tree was -obviously new to Riseborough, it would be sufficiently amusing to the -guests to walk about the garden till supper-time. But there would be -supererogatory diversions beyond that, bridge-tables in the verandah, a -small band at the end of the garden to intervene its strains between the -guests and the shrieks of South-Eastern expresses, and already there was -an idea of fancy dress. Major Ames favoured the idea of fancy dress, for -he had a red velvet garment, sartorially known as a Venetian cloak, -locked away upstairs, which was a dazzling affair if white tights peeped -out from below it. He knew he had a leg, and only lamented the scanty -opportunities of convincing others of the fact. But the lighting of the -garden had to be planned first: there was no use in having a leg in a -garden, if the garden was not properly lit. But the whole affair was as -yet a pledged secret: he could not, as a man of honour, tell Amy about -it. Short notice for a fête of this sort was of no consequence, for it -was to be a post-prandial entertainment, and the only post-prandial -entertainment at present existent in Riseborough was going to bed. Thus -everybody would be able to be happy to accept.</p> - -<p>A rapid <i>résumé</i> of this made an undercurrent in his mind, as he went -through, in speaking voice, the history of the last days. Up and down -the narrow path they passed, she still with her hand in his arm, -questioning, showing an inconceivable interest in the passage of the -days from which he had left out all real points of interest. His -patience came to an end before hers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Upon my word, my dear,” he said, “it’s getting a little chilly. Shall -we go in, do you think? I’m sure you are tired with your journey.”</p> - -<p>There was nothing more coming: she knew that. But even in the midst of -her disappointment, she found consolation. Daylight would show the -re-establishment of her youthfulness more clearly than electric light -had done. Every one looked about the same by electric light. And though, -in some secret manner, she distrusted his visit to the club, she knew -how impolitic it would be to hint, however remotely, at such distrust. -It was much better this evening to acquiesce in the imputation of -fatigue. Nor was the imputation groundless; for failure fatigues any one -when under the same conditions success would only stimulate. And in the -consciousness of that, her bitterness rose once more to her lips.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t catch cold,” she said. “Let us go in.”</p> - -<p>It was still only half-past ten: all this flatness and failure had -lasted but a couple of hours, and Major Ames, as soon as his wife had -gone upstairs, let himself out of the house. His way lay past the doors -of the club, but he did not enter, merely observing through its lit -windows that there were a good many men in the smoking-room. On arrival -at the Doctor’s he found that Elsie and her father were playing chess in -the drawing-room, and that Mrs. Evans was out in the garden. He chose to -go straight into the garden, and found her sitting under the mulberry, -dressed in white, and looking rather like the Milky Way. She did not get -up, but held out her hand to him.</p> - -<p>“That is nice of you,” she said. “How is Cousin Amy?”</p> - -<p>“Amy is very well,” said he. “But she’s gone to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> bed early, a little -tired with the journey. And how is Cousin Amy’s cousin?”</p> - -<p>He sat down on the basket chair close beside her which creaked with his -weight.</p> - -<p>“I must have a special chair made for you,” she said. “You are so big -and strong. Have you seen Cousin Amy’s cousin’s husband?”</p> - -<p>“No: I heard you were out here. So I came straight out.”</p> - -<p>She got up.</p> - -<p>“I think it will be better, then, if we go in, and tell him you are -here,” she said. “He might think it strange.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames jumped up with alacrity: with his alacrity was mingled a -pleasing sense of adventure.</p> - -<p>“By all means,” he said. “Then we can come out again.”</p> - -<p>She smiled at him.</p> - -<p>“Surely. He is playing chess with Elsie. I do not suppose he will -interrupt his game.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Apparently Dr. Evans did not think anything in the least strange. On the -whole, this was not to be wondered at, since he knew quite well that -Major Ames was coming to talk over garden illumination with his wife.</p> - -<p>“Good evening, Major,” he said; “kind of you to come. You and my little -woman are going to make a pauper of me, I’m told. There, Elsie, what do -you say to my putting my knight there? Check.”</p> - -<p>“Pig!” said Elsie.</p> - -<p>“Then shall we go out, Major Ames?” said Millie. “Are you coming out, -Wilfred?”</p> - -<p>“No, little woman. I’m going to defeat your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> daughter indoors. Come and -have a glass of whisky and soda with me before you go, Major.”</p> - -<p>They went out again accordingly into the cool starlight.</p> - -<p>“Wilfred is so fond of chess,” she said. “He plays every night with -Elsie, when he is at home. Of course, he is often out.”</p> - -<p>This produced exactly the effect that she meant. She did not comment or -complain: she merely made a statement which arose naturally from what -was going on in the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>But Major Ames drew the inference that he was expected to draw.</p> - -<p>“Glad I could come round,” he said. “Now for the lanterns. We must have -them all down the garden wall, and not too far apart, either. Six feet -apart, eh? Now I’ll step the wall and we can calculate how many we shall -want there. I think I step a full yard still. Not cramped in the joints -yet.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>It took some half hour to settle the whole scheme of lighting, which, -since Major Ames was not going to pay for it, he recommended being done -in a somewhat lavish manner. With so large a number of lanterns, it -would be easily possible to see his leg, and he was strong on the -subject of fancy dress.</p> - -<p>“There’ll be some queer turn-outs, I shouldn’t wonder,” he said; “but I -expect there will be some creditable costumes too. By Jove! it will be -quite the event of the year. Amy and I, with our little dinners, will -have to take a back seat, as they say.”</p> - -<p>“I hope Cousin Amy won’t think it forward of me,” said Millie.</p> - -<p>Major Ames said that which is written “Pshaw.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span>” “Forward?” he cried. -“Why, you are bringing a bit of life among us. Upon my word, we wanted -rousing up a bit. Why, you are a public benefactor.”</p> - -<p>They had sat down to rest again after their labour of stepping out the -brick walls under the mulberry-tree, where the grass was dry, and only a -faint shimmer of starlight came through the leaves. At the bottom of the -garden a train shrieked by, and the noise died away in decrescent -thunder. She leaned forward a little towards him, putting up her face -much as Amy had done.</p> - -<p>“Ah, if only I thought I was making things a little pleasant,” she said.</p> - -<p>Suddenly it struck Major Ames that he was expected to kiss her. He -leaned forward, too.</p> - -<p>“I think you know that,” he said. “I wish I could thank you for it.”</p> - -<p>She did not move, but in the dusk he could see she was smiling at him. -It looked as if she was waiting. He made an awkward forward movement and -kissed her.</p> - -<p>There was silence a moment: she neither responded to him nor repelled -him.</p> - -<p>“I suppose people would say I ought not to have let you,” she said. “But -there is no harm, is there? After all, you are a—a sort of cousin. And -you have been so kind about the lanterns.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames was thinking almost entirely about himself, hardly at all -about her. An adventure, an intrigue had begun. He had kissed somebody -else’s wife and felt the devil of a fellow. But with the wine of this -emotion was mingled a touch of alarm. It would be wise to call a halt, -take his whisky and soda with her husband, and get home to Amy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Altham</span> waited with considerable impatience next day for the return -of her husband from the club, where he went on most afternoons, to sit -in an arm-chair from tea-time to dinner and casually to learn what had -happened while he had been playing golf. She had been to call on Mrs. -Ames in the afternoon, and in consequence had matter of considerable -importance to communicate. She could have supported that retarded spate -of information, though she wanted to burst as soon as possible, but she -had also a question to ask Henry on which a tremendous deal depended. At -length she heard the rattle of his deposited hat and stick in the hall, -and she went out to meet him.</p> - -<p>“How late you are, Henry,” she said; “but you needn’t dress. Mrs. -Brooks, if she does come in afterwards, will excuse you. Dinner is -ready: let us come in at once. Now, you were at the club last night, -after dinner. You told me who was there; but I want to be quite sure.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham closed his eyes for a moment as he sat down. It looked as if -he was saying a silent grace, but appearances were deceptive. He was -only thinking, for he knew his wife would not ask such a question unless -something depended on it, and he desired to be accurate.</p> - -<p>Then he opened them again, and helped the soup with a name to each -spoonful.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span></p> - -<p>“General Fortescue,” he said. “Young Morton. Mr. Taverner, Turner, Young -Turner.”</p> - -<p>That was five spoonfuls—three for his wife, two for himself. He was not -very fond of soup.</p> - -<p>“And you were there all the time between ten and eleven?” asked his -wife.</p> - -<p>“Till half-past eleven.”</p> - -<p>“And there was no one else?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham looked up brightly.</p> - -<p>“The club waiter,” he said, “and the page. The page has been dismissed -for stealing sugar. The sugar bill was preposterous. That was how we -found out. Did you mean to ask about that?”</p> - -<p>“No, my dear. Nor do I want to know.”</p> - -<p>At the moment the parlour-maid left the room, and she spoke in an eager -undertone.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Ames told me that Major Ames went up to the club last night, when -she went to bed at half-past ten,” she said. “You told me at breakfast -whom you found there, but I wanted to be sure. Call them Mr. and Mrs. -Smith and then we can go on talking.”</p> - -<p>The parlour-maid came back into the room.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mr. Smith apparently went up to the club at half-past ten,” she -said. “But he can’t have gone to the club, for in that case you would -have seen him. It has occurred to me that he didn’t feel well, and went -to the doctor’s.”</p> - -<p>“It seems possible,” said Mr. Altham, not without enthusiasm, -understanding that “doctor” meant “doctor,” and which doctor.</p> - -<p>“We have all noticed how many visits he has been paying to—to Dr. -Jones,” said Mrs. Altham, “during the time Mrs. Smith was away. But to -pay another<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> one on the very evening of her return looks as if—as if -something serious was the matter.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, there’s nothing whatever to show that Major Ames went to the -doctor’s last night,” he said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham gave him an awful glance, for the parlour-maid was in the -room, and this thoughtless remark rendered all the diplomatic -substitution of another nomenclature entirely void and useless.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Smith, I should say,” added Mr. Altham in some confusion, -proceeding to make it all quite clear to Jane, in case she had any -doubts about it.</p> - -<p>“Suggest to me any other reasonable theory as to where he was, then,” -said Mrs. Altham.</p> - -<p>“I can’t suggest where he was, my dear,” said Mr. Altham, finding his -legal training supported him, “considering that there is no evidence of -any kind that bears upon the matter. But to know that a man was not in -one given place does not show with any positiveness that he was at any -other given place.”</p> - -<p>“No doubt, then, he went shopping at half-past ten last night,” said -Mrs. Altham, with deep sarcasm. “There are so many shops open then. The -High Street is a perfect blaze of light.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham could be sarcastic, too, though he seldom exercised this -gift.</p> - -<p>“It quite dazzles one,” he observed.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham no doubt was vexed at her husband’s sceptical attitude, and -she punished him by refraining from discussing the point any further, -and from giving him the rest of her news. But this severity punished -herself also, for she was bursting to tell him. When Jane had finally -withdrawn, the internal pressure became irresistible.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Ames has done something to her hair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> Henry,” she said; “and she -has done something to her face. I had a good mind to ask her what she -had used. I assure you there was not a grey hair left anywhere, and a -fortnight ago she was as grey as a coot!”</p> - -<p>“Coots are bald, not grey,” remarked her husband.</p> - -<p>“That is mere carping, Henry. She is brown now. Is this another fashion -she is going to set us at Riseborough? What does it all mean? Shall we -all have to plaster our faces with cold cream, and dye our hair blue?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham was in a painfully literal mood this evening and could not -disentangle information from rhetoric.</p> - -<p>“Has she dyed her hair blue?” he asked in a slightly awestricken voice.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear: how can you be so stupid? And I told you just now she was -brown. But at her age! As if anybody cared what colour her hair was. Her -face, too! I don’t deny that the wrinkles are less marked, but who cares -whether she is wrinkled or not?”</p> - -<p>These pleasant considerations were discontinued by the sound of the -postman’s tap on the front door, and since the postman took precedence -of everybody and everything, Mr. Altham hurried out to see what -excitements he had piloted into port. Unfortunately, there was nothing -for him, but there was a large, promising-looking envelope for his wife. -It was stiff, too, and looked like the receptacle of an invitation card.</p> - -<p>“One for you, my dear,” he said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham tore it open, and gave a great gasp.</p> - -<p>“You would not guess in a hundred tries,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then be so kind as to tell me,” remarked her husband.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham read it out all in one breath without stops.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Evans at home Thursday July 20 10 p.m. Shakespeare Fancy Dress -well I never!”</p> - -<p>For a while little the silence of stupefaction reigned. Then Mr. Altham -gave a great sigh.</p> - -<p>“I have never been to a fancy dress ball,” he said. “I think I should -feel very queer and uncomfortable. What are we meant to do when we get -there, Julia? Just stand about and look at each other. It will seem very -strange. What would you recommend me to be? I suppose we ought to be a -pair.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham, to do her justice, had not thought seriously about her -personal appearance for years. But, as she got up from the table, and -consciously faced the looking-glass over the chimney-piece, it is idle -to deny that she considered it now. She was not within ten years of Mrs. -Ames’ age, and it struck her, as she carefully regarded herself in a -perfectly honest glass, that even taking into full consideration all -that Mrs. Ames had been doing to her hair and her face, she herself -still kept the proper measure of their difference of years between them. -But it was yet too early to consider the question of her impersonation. -There were other things suggested by the contemplation of a fancy-dress -ball to be considered first. There was so much, in fact, that she hardly -knew where to begin. So she whisked everything up together, in the -manner of a sea-pie, in which all that is possibly edible is put in the -oven and baked.</p> - -<p>“There will be time enough to talk over that, my dear,” she said, “for -if Mrs. Evans thinks we are all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span> going to lash out into no end of -expense in getting dresses for her party, she is wrong as far as I, for -one, am concerned. For that matter you can put on your oldest clothes, -and I can borrow Jane’s apron and cap, and we can go as Darby and Joan. -Indeed, I do not know if I shall go at all—though, of course, one -wouldn’t like to hurt Mrs. Evans’ feelings by refusing. Do you know, -Henry, I shouldn’t in the least wonder if we have seen the last of Mrs. -Ames and all her airs of superiority and leadership. You may depend upon -it that Mrs. Evans did not consult her before she settled to give a -fancy dress party. It is far more likely that she and Major Ames -contrived it all between them, while Mrs. Ames was away, and settled -what they should go as, and I daresay it will be Romeo and Juliet. I -should not be in the least surprised if Mrs. Ames did not go to the -party at all, but tried to get something up on her own account that very -night. It would be like her, I am sure. But whether she goes or not, it -seems to me that we have seen the last of her queening it over us all. -If she does not go, I should think she would be the only absentee, and -if she does, she goes as Mrs. Evans’ guest. All these years she has -never thought of a fancy dress party——”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham broke off in the middle of her address, stung by the -splendour of a sudden thought.</p> - -<p>“Or does all this staying away on her part,” she said, “and dyeing her -hair, and painting her face, mean that she knew about it all along, and -was going to be the show-figure of it all? I should not wonder if that -was it. As likely as not, she and Major Ames will come as Hamlet and -Ophelia, or something equally ridiculous, though I am sure as far as the -‘too<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> too solid flesh’ goes, Major Ames would make an admirable Hamlet, -for I never saw a man put on weight in the manner he does, in spite of -all the garden rolling, which I expect the gardener does for him really. -But whatever is the truth of it all, and I’m sure every one is so -secretive here in Riseborough nowadays, that you never know how many -dined at such a place on such a night unless you actually go to the -poulterer’s and find out whether one chicken or two was sent,—what was -I saying?”</p> - -<p>She had been saying a good deal. Mr. Altham correctly guessed the train -of thought which she desired to recall.</p> - -<p>“In spite of the secretiveness——” he suggested.</p> - -<p>That served the purpose.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear Henry,” said his wife rapidly, “I accuse no one of -secretiveness: if I did, you misunderstood me. All I meant was that when -we have settled what we are to go as, we will tell nobody. There is very -little sense in a fancy dress entertainment if you know exactly what you -may expect, and as soon as you see a Romeo can say for certain that it -is Major Ames, for instance; and I’m sure if he is to go as Romeo, it -would be vastly suitable if Mrs. Ames went as Juliet’s nurse.”</p> - -<p>“I am not sure that I shall like so much finery,” said Mr. Altham, who -was thinking entirely about his own dress, and did not care two straws -about Major or Mrs. Ames. “It will seem very strange.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, my dear; we will dine in our fancy dresses for an evening or -two before, and you will get quite used to it, whatever it is. Henry, do -you remember my white satin gown, which I scarcely wore a dozen times, -because it seemed too grand for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> Riseborough? It was too, I am sure: you -were quite right. It has been in camphor ever since. I used to wear my -Roman pearls with it. There are three rows, and the clasp is of real -pearls. The very thing for Cleopatra.”</p> - -<p>“I recollect perfectly,” said Mr. Altham. His mind instantly darted off -again to the undoubted fact that whereas Major Ames was stout, he -himself was very thin. If he had been obliged to describe his figure at -that moment, he would have said it was boyish. The expense of a wig -seemed of no account.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, white dress and pearls,” said his wife. “You are not -very encouraging. With that book of Egyptian antiquities, I can easily -remodel the dress. And I remember reading in a Roman history that -Cleopatra was well over thirty when Julius Cæsar was so devoted to her. -And by the busts he must have been much balder than you!”</p> - -<p>It is no use denying that this was a rather heavy blow. Ever since the -mention of the word Cleopatra, he had seen himself complete, with a wig, -in another character.</p> - -<p>“But Julius Cæsar was sixty,” he observed, with pardonable asperity. “I -do not see how I could make up as a man of sixty. And for that matter, -my dear, though I am sure no one would think you were within five years -of your actual age, I do not see how you could make up as a mere girl of -thirty. Why should we not go as ‘Antony and Cleopatra, ten years later’? -It would be better than to go as Julius Cæsar and Cleopatra ten years -before!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham considered this. It was true that she would find it -difficult to look thirty, however many Roman pearls she wore.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I do not know that it is such a bad idea of yours, Henry,” she said. -“Certainly there is no one in the world who cares about her age, or -wants to conceal it, less than I. And there is something original about -your suggestion—Antony and Cleopatra ten years later—Ah, there is the -bell, that will be Mrs. Brooks coming in. And there is the telephone -also. Upon my word, we never have a moment to ourselves. I should not -wonder if half Riseborough came to see us to-night. Will you go to the -telephone and tell it we are at home? And not a word to anybody, Henry, -as to what we are thinking of going as. There will be our surprise, at -any rate, however much other people go talking about their dresses. If -you are being rung up to ask about your costume, say that you haven’t -given it a thought yet.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>For the next week Mrs. Altham was thoroughly in her element. She had -something to conceal, and was in a delicious state of tension with the -superficial desire to disclose her own impersonation, and the -deep-rooted satisfaction of not doing so. To complete her happiness, the -famous white satin still fitted her, and she was nearly insane with -curiosity to know what Major and Mrs. Ames “were going to be,” and what -the whole history of the projected festivity was. In various other -respects her natural interest in the affairs of other people was -satiated. Mrs. Turner was to be Mistress Page, which was very suitable, -as she was elderly and stout, and did not really in the least resemble -Miss Ellen Terry. Mr. Turner had selected Falstaff, and could be -recognized anywhere. Young Morton, with unwonted modesty, had chosen the -part of the Apothecary in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> Romeo and Juliet. Mrs. Taverner was to be -Queen Catherine, and—almost more joyous than all—she had persuaded -Mrs. Brooks not to attempt to impersonate Cleopatra. What Mrs. Brooks’ -feelings would be when it dawned on her, as it not inconceivably might, -that Mrs. Altham had seen in her a striking likeness to her conception -of Hermione, because she did not want there to be two Cleopatras, did -not particularly concern her. She had asked Mrs. Brooks to dinner the -day after the entertainment, and her acceptance would bury the hatchet, -if indeed there was such a thing as a hatchet about. Finally, she had -called on Mrs. Evans, who had vaguely talked about Midsummer Night’s -Dream. Mrs. Altham had taken that to be equivalent to the fact that she -would appear as Titania, and Mrs. Evans had distinctly intended that she -should so take it. Indeed, the idea had occurred to her, but not very -vividly. Her husband was going to be Timon of Athens. That, again, was -quite satisfactory: nobody knew at all distinctly who Timon of Athens -was, and nobody knew much about Dr. Evans, except that he was usually -sent for in the middle of something. Probably the same thing happened to -Timon of Athens.</p> - -<p>Indeed, within a couple of hours of the reception of Mrs. Evans’ -invitations, which all arrived simultaneously by the local evening post, -a spirit of demoniacal gaiety, not less fierce than that which inspired -Mrs. Altham, possessed the whole of those invited. Though it was gay, it -was certainly demoniacal, for a quite prodigious amount of ill-feeling -was mingled with it which from time to time threatened to wreck the -proceedings altogether. For instance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> only two days after all the -invitations had been accepted, Mrs. Evans had issued a further -intimation that there was to be dancing, and that the evening would open -at a quarter past ten precisely with a quadrille in which it was -requested that everybody would take part. It is easy to picture the -private consternation that presided over that evening; how in one house, -Mrs. Brooks having pushed her central drawing-room table to one side, -all alone and humming to herself, stepped in perplexed and forgotten -measures, and how next door Mrs. and Mr. Altham violently wrangled over -the order of the figures, and hummed different tunes, to show each -other, or pranced in different directions. For here was the bitter -affair: these pains had to be suffered in loneliness, for it was clearly -impossible to confess that the practice of quadrilles was so long past -that the memory of them had vanished altogether. But luckily (though at -the moment the suggestion caused a great deal of asperity in Mrs. -Altham’s mind) Mrs. Ames came to the rescue with the suggestion that as -many of them, no doubt, had forgotten the precise manner of quadrilles, -she proposed to hold a class at half-past four to-morrow afternoon, when -they would all run through a quadrille together.</p> - -<p>“There! I thought as much!” said Mrs. Altham. “That means that neither -Major nor Mrs. Ames can remember how the quadrille goes, and we, -forsooth, must go and teach them. And she puts it that she is going to -teach us! I am sure she will never teach me: I shall not go near the -house. I do not require to be taught quadrilles by anybody, still less -by Mrs. Ames. There is no answer,” she added to Jane.</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham fidgeted in his chair. Last night he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> had been quite sure he -was right, in points where he and his wife differed, and that the -particular “setting partners” which they had shown each other so often -did not come in the quadrille at all, but occurred in lancers, just -before the ladies’ chain. But she had insisted that both the setting to -partners and ladies’ chain came in quadrilles. This morning, however, he -did not feel quite so certain about it.</p> - -<p>“You might send a note to Mrs. Ames,” he observed, “and tell her you are -not coming.”</p> - -<p>“No answer was asked for,” said his wife excitedly. “She just said there -was to be a quadrille practice at half-past four. Let there be. I am -sure I have no objection, though I do think you might have thought of -doing it first, Henry.”</p> - -<p>“But she will like to know how many to expect,” said Henry. “If it is to -be at half-past four, she must be prepared for tea. It is equivalent to -a tea-party, unless you suppose that the class will be over before -five.”</p> - -<p>During the night Mrs. Altham had pondered her view about the ladies’ -chain. It would be an awful thing if Henry happened to be right, and if, -on the evening of the dance itself, she presented her hand for the -ladies’ chain, and no chain of any sort followed. She decided on a -magnanimous course.</p> - -<p>“Upon my word, I am not sure that I shall not go,” she said, “just to -see what Mrs. Ames’ idea of a quadrille is. I should not wonder if she -mixed it up with something quite different, which would be laughable. -And after all, we ought not to be so unkind, and if poor Mrs. Ames feels -she will get into difficulties over the quadrille, I am sure I shall be -happy to help her out. No doubt she has summoned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> us like this, so that -she need not show that she feels she wants to be helped. We will go, -Henry, and I daresay I shall get out of her what she means to dress up -as! But pray remember to say that we, at any rate, have not given a -thought to our costumes yet. And on our way, we may as well call in at -Mr. Roland’s, for if I am to wear my three rows of pearls, he must get -me a few more, since I find there is a good deal of string showing. I -daresay that ordinary pearl beads would answer the purpose perfectly. I -have no intention of buying more of the real Roman pearls. They belonged -to my mother, and I should not like to add to them. And if you will -insist on having some red stone in your cap, to make a buckle for the -feather, I am sure you could not do better than get a piece of what he -called German ruby that is in his shop now. I do not suppose anybody in -Riseborough could tell it from real, and after all this is over, I would -wear it as a pendant for my pearls. If you wish, I will pay half of it, -and it is but a couple of pounds altogether.”</p> - -<p>It did not seem a really handsome offer, but Henry had the sense to -accept it. He wanted a stone to buckle the feather in a rather -coquettish cap that they had decided to be suitable for Mark Antony, and -did not really care what happened to it after he had worn it on this -occasion, since it was unlikely that another similar occasion would -arise. Deep in his mind had been an idea of turning it into a solitaire, -but he knew he would not have the practical courage of this daring -conception. It would want another setting, also.</p> - -<p>In other houses there were no fewer anticipatory triumphs and past -perplexities. There was also,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> in some cases, wild and secret intrigue. -For instance, a few evenings after, Mrs. Brooks next door, sorting out -garments in her wardrobe from which she might devise a costume that -should remind the beholder of Hermione, looked from her bedroom window, -where her quest was in progress, and saw a strange sight in the next -garden. There was a lady in white satin with pearls; there was a -gentleman in Roman toga with a feathered cap. The Roman gentleman was a -dubious figure; the lady indubitable. If ever there was an elderly -Cleopatra, this was she.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brooks sat heavily down, after observing this sight. It certainly -was Cleopatra in the next garden: as certainly it was a snake in the -grass. In a moment her mind was made up. She saw why she had been -discouraged from being Cleopatra; the false Mrs. Altham had wanted to be -Cleopatra herself, without rival. But she would be Cleopatra too. -Riseborough should judge between the effectiveness of the two -representations. Of course, every one knew that Mrs. Altham had three -rows of Roman pearls, which were nothing but some sort of vitreous -enamel. But Mrs. Brooks, as Riseborough also knew, had five or six rows -of real seed-pearls. It was impossible to <i>denigrer</i> seed-pearls: they -were pearls, though small, and did not pretend to be anything different -to what they were. But the Roman prefix, to any fair-minded person, -invalidated the word “pearls.” Besides, even as Cleopatra without -pearls, she would have been willing to back herself against Mrs. Altham. -Cleopatra ought to be tall, which she was. Also Cleopatra ought to be -beautiful, which neither was. And Mrs. Altham had urged her to go as -Hermione! Of course, she had to revise her toilet, but luckily it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span> had -progressed no further than the sewing of white rosettes on to a pair of -slightly worn satin shoes, which were equally suitable for any of -Shakespeare’s heroines.</p> - -<p>The week which had passed for Mr. and Mrs. Altham in a succession of so -pleasing excitements and anxieties, had not been without incident to -Mrs. Ames. When (by the same post that bore their invitations to the -other guests) the announcement of the fancy dress ball reached her, and -she read it out to her husband (even as Mrs. Altham had done) towards -the end of dinner, he expressed his feelings with a good deal of -pooh-ing and the opinion that he, at any rate, was past the years of -dressing-up. This attitude (for it had been settled that the invitation -was to come as a surprise to him) he somewhat overdid, and found to his -dismay that his wife quite agreed with him, and was prepared as soon as -dinner was over to write regrets. The reason was not far to seek.</p> - -<p>“I hope I am not what—what the servants call ‘touchy,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> she said (and -indeed, it was difficult to see what else the servants could call it), -“but I must say that, considering the length of time we have been in -Riseborough, and the number of entertainments we have provided for the -people here, I think dear Millie might have consulted me—or you, of -course, Lyndhurst, in my absence—as to any such novelty as a fancy -dress ball. I have no wish to interfere in any way with any little party -that dear Millie may choose to give, but I suppose since she can plan it -without me, she can also enjoy it without me. I am aware I am by no -means necessary to the success of any party. And since you think that -you are a little beyond the age of dressing up, Lyndhurst—though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> I do -not say I agree with you—I think we shall be happier at home that -night. I will write quite kindly to dear Millie, and say we are engaged. -No doubt the Althams would dine with us, as I do not imagine that she -would care to get up in fancy dress.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames was not a quick thinker, but he saw several things without a -pause. One was that he, at any rate, must certainly go, but that he did -not much care whether Amy went or not. A second was that, having -expressed surprise at the announcement of the party, it was too late now -to say that he knew about it from the first, and was going to -impersonate Antony, while Mrs. Evans was to be Cleopatra. A third was -that something had to be done, a fourth that he did not know what.</p> - -<p>“I will leave you to your cigarette, Lyndhurst,” said his wife, rising, -“and will write to dear Millie. Let us stroll in the garden again -to-night.”</p> - -<p>She passed out of the dining-room, he closed the door behind her, and -she went straight to her writing-table in the drawing-room. Above it -hung a looking-glass, and (still not in the frame of mind which servants -call “touchy”) she sat down to write the kind note. A considerable -degree of sunset still lingered in the western sky, and there would be -no need to light a candle to write by. There was light enough also for -her to see a rosy-tinted image of herself in the glass, and she paused. -She saw there, what she was aware Mrs. Altham had seen this -afternoon—namely, the absence of grey in her hair, and the softened and -liquated wrinkles of her face. True, not even yet had her husband -observed, or at any rate commented on those refurbished signals of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> her -youth, but Mrs. Ames had by no means yet despaired, and daily (as -directed) tapped in the emollient cream. This rosy light of sunset gave -her face a flush of delicate colour, and she unconsciously claimed for -her own the borrowed enchantment of the light.... Then that which was -not touchiness underwent a similar softening to that of her wrinkles. -She knew she had been guilty of sarcastic intention when she said she -was aware that her presence was not necessary to the success of any -party. It would be unkind to dear Millie if she refused to go, for a -dinner-party at home was no excuse at all; she could perfectly well go -on there when carriages came at twenty minutes to eleven. Also it was -absurd for Lyndhurst to say that he was past the age when “dressing up” -is seemly. In spite of his hair, which he managed very well, he was -still young enough in face to excuse the yielding to the temptation of -embellishing himself, and a Venetian mantle would naturally conceal his -tendency to corpulence. No doubt dear Millie had not meant to put -herself forward in any way; no doubt she had not yet really grasped the -fact that Mrs. Ames was acknowledged autocrat in all that concerned -festivity.</p> - -<p>All this train of thought needed but a few seconds for passage, and, as -she still regarded herself, the name of the heroines of enchantment -sounded delicately in her brain. Juliet and Ophelia she passed over -without a pang, for she was not so unfocussed of imagination as to see -her reflection capable of recapturing the budding spring of those, or -the slim youthfulness of Rosalind. She wanted no girlish rôle, nor did -she read into herself the precocious dignity of Portia. But was there -not one who came down the green<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> Nile to the sound of flutes in a gilded -barge—no girl, but a woman in the charm of her full maturity?</p> - -<p>The idea detailed itself in plan and manœuvre. She wanted to burst on -Lyndhurst like that, to let him see in a flash of revelation how bravely -she could support the rôle of that sorceress.... At the moment the -drawing-room door opened, and simultaneously they both began a sentence -in identical words.</p> - -<p>“Do you know, my dear, I’ve been thinking....”</p> - -<p>They both stopped, and he gave his genial laugh.</p> - -<p>“Upon my soul, my dear Amy,” he said, “I believe we always have the same -thoughts. I’ll tell you what you were going to say. You were going to -say, ‘I’ve been thinking it wouldn’t be very kind to dear Millie’—that -is what <i>you</i> would say, of course—not very kind to Mrs. Evans if we -declined. And I agree with you, my dear. No doubt she should have -consulted you first, or if you were away she might even, as you -suggested, have mentioned it to me. But you can afford to be indulgent, -my dear—after all, she is your cousin—and you wouldn’t like to spoil -her party, poor thing, by refusing to go. And if you go, why, of course, -I shall put on one side my natural feelings about an old fogey like -myself making a guy of himself, and I shall dress up somehow. I think I -have an old costume with a Venetian cloak laid aside somewhere, though I -daresay it’s moth-eaten and rusty now, and I’ll dress myself up somehow -and come with you. I suppose there are some old stagers in -Shakespeare—I must have a look at the fellow’s plays again—which even -a retired old soldier can impersonate. Falstaff, for instance—some -stout old man of that sort.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Some of this speech, to say the least of it, was not, it is to be -feared, quite absolutely ingenuous. But then, Major Ames was not -naturally quite ingenuous. He had already satisfied himself that the old -costume in question had been perfectly preserved by the naphthaline -balls which he was careful to renew from time to time, and was not in -the least moth-eaten or rusty. Again, since he had settled to go as -Antony, it was not perfectly straightforward to make allusion to -Falstaff. But after all, the speech expressed all he meant to say, and -it is only our most fortunate utterances that can do as much. Indeed, -perhaps it leaned over a little to the further side of expression, for -it struck Mrs. Ames at that moment (struck her as violently and -inexplicably as a cocoanut falling on her head) that the question of the -Venetian cloak had not come into her husband’s mind for the first time -that evening. She felt, without being able to explain her feeling, that -the idea of the fancy dress ball was not new to him. But it was -impossible to tax him with so profound a duplicity; indeed, when she -gave a moment’s consideration to the question, she dismissed her -suspicion. But the suspicion had been there.</p> - -<p>She met him quite half-way.</p> - -<p>“You have guessed quite right, Lyndhurst,” she said; “I think it would -be unkind to dear Millie if you and I did not go. I dare say she will -have difficulty enough as it is to make a gathering. I will write at -once.”</p> - -<p>This was soon done, and even as she wrote, poor Mrs. Ames’ vision of -herself grew more roseate in her mind. But she must burst upon her -husband, she must burst upon him. Supposing her preposterous sus<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span>picion -of a moment before was true, there was all the more need for bursting -upon him, for Cleopatraizing herself.... He, meantime, was wondering how -on earth to keep the secret of his costume and his hostess’s, should Amy -proceed to discuss costumes, or suggest the King and Queen of Denmark as -suitable for themselves. It might even be better to accept the situation -as such, and tell Mrs. Evans that his wife wanted to go as “a pair” (so -Mrs. Altham expressed it) and that it was more prudent to abandon the -idea of a stray Antony and a stray Cleopatra meeting on the evening -itself unpremeditatedly. But her next words caused all these -difficulties to disappear; they vanished as completely as a watch or a -rabbit under the wave of the conjurer’s wand.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames never licked envelopes; she applied water on a camel’s-hair -brush, from a little receptacle like a tear-bottle.</p> - -<p>“What nonsense, my dear Lyndhurst,” she said. “Fancy you going as -Falstaff! You must think of something better than that! Dear me, it is a -very bold idea of Millie’s, but really it seems to me that we might have -great fun. I do hope that all Riseborough will not talk their costumes -over together, so that we shall know exactly what to expect. There is -little point in a fancy dress ball unless there are some surprises. I -must think over my costume too. I am not so fortunate as to have one -ready.”</p> - -<p>She got up from the table, still with the roseate image of herself in -her mind.</p> - -<p>“I think I shall not tell you who I am going to be,” she said, “even -when I have thought of something suitable. I shall keep myself as a -surprise for you. And keep yourself as a surprise for me, Lynd<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span>hurst. -Let us meet for the first time in our costumes when the carriage is at -the door ready to take us to the party. Do you not think that would be -fun? But you must promise me, my dear, that you will not make yourself -up as Falstaff, or any old guy. Else I shall be quite ashamed of you.”</p> - -<p>He rang the bell effusively (the heartiness of the action was typical of -the welcome he gave to his wife’s suggestion), and ordered the note to -be sent.</p> - -<p>“By Jove! Amy,” he said, “what a one you always are for thinking of -things. And if you wish it, I’ll try to make a presentable figure of -myself, though I’m sure I should be more in place at home waiting for -your return to hear all about it. But I’ll do my best, I’ll do my best, -and I dare say the Venetian cloak isn’t so shabby after all. I have -always been careful to keep a bit of naphthaline in the box with it.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Flirtation may not be incorrectly defined as making the pretence of -being in love, and yet it is almost too solid a word to apply to Major -Ames’ relations with Mrs. Evans during the week or two before the ball, -and it would be more accurate to say that he was making the pretence of -having a flirtation. Even as when he kissed her on that daring evening -already described, he was thinking entirely about himself and the -dashingness of this proceeding, so in the days that succeeded, this same -inept futility and selfsatisfaction possessed him. He made many secret -visits to the house, entering like a burglar, in the middle of the -afternoon, by an unfrequented passage from the railway cutting, at hours -when she told him that her husband and daughter would certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> be out, -and the secrecy of those meetings added spice to them. He felt—so -deplorable a frame of mind almost defies description—he felt a pleasing -sense of wickedness which was endorsed, so to speak, by the certificate -which attested to his complete innocence. As far as he was concerned, it -was a mere farce of a flirtation. But the farce filled him with a kind -of childish glee; he persuaded himself that his share in it was real, -and that by a tragic fate he and the woman who were made for each other -were forbidden to find the fruition of their affinity. It was an -adventure without danger, a mine without gunpowder. For even on two -occasions when he was paying one of these clandestine visits, Dr. Evans -had unexpectedly returned and found them together. The poor blind man, -it seemed, suspected nothing; indeed, his welcome had been extremely -cordial.</p> - -<p>“Good of you to come and help my wife over her party,” he said. “What -you’d do without Major Ames, little woman, I don’t know. Won’t you stop -for dinner, Major?”</p> - -<p>Then, after a suitable reply, and a digression to other matters, the -Major’s foolish eye would steal a look at Millie, and for a moment her -eyes would meet his, and flutter and fall. And considering that there -was not in all the world probably a worse judge of human nature than -Major Ames, it is a strange thing that his mental comment was -approximately true.</p> - -<p>“Dear little woman,” he said to himself; “she’s deuced fond of me!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Jupiter Pluvius</span>, or Mr. J. Pluvius, by which name Major Ames was -facetiously wont to allude to the weather, seemed amiably inclined to -co-operate with Mrs. Evans’ scheme, for the evening of her party -promised to be ideal for the purpose. The few days previous had been -very hot, and no particle of moisture lurked in the baked lawns, so that -her guests would be able to wander at will without risk of contracting -catarrh, or stains on such shoes as should prove to be white satin. -Moreover, by a special kindness of Providence, there was no moon, so -that the illumination of fairy-lights and Chinese lanterns would suffer -no dispiriting comparison with a more potent brightness. Over a large -portion of the lawn Mrs. Evans, at Major Ames’ suggestion (not having to -pay for these paraphernalia he was singularly fruitful in suggestions), -had caused a planked floor to be laid; here the opening procession and -quadrille and the subsequent dances would take place, while conveniently -adjacent was the mulberry-tree under shade of which were spread the more -material hospitalities. Tree and dancing-floor were copiously outlined -with lanterns, and straight rows of fairy-lights led to them from the -garden door of the house. Similarly outlined was the garden wall and the -hedge by the railway-cutting, while the band (piano, two strings and a -cornet of amazingly piercing quality) was to be concealed in the small -<i>cul-de-sac</i> which led to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> potting shed and garden roller. The -shrubbery was less vividly lit; here Hamlets and Rosalinds could stray -in sequestered couples, unharassed by too searching an illumination. -Major Ames had paid his last clandestine visit this afternoon, and had -expressed himself as perfectly pleased with the arrangements. Both Elsie -and the doctor had been there.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The party had been announced to begin at half-past ten, and it was -scarcely that hour when Mrs. Ames came downstairs from her bedroom where -she had so long been busy since the end of the early dinner. Her arms -were bare from finger-tip to her little round shoulders, over which were -clasped, with handsome cairngorm brooches, the straps of her long tunic. -But there was no effect of an excessive display of human flesh, since -her arms were very short, and in addition they were plentifully -bedecked. On one arm a metallic snake writhed from wrist to elbow, on -the other there was clasped above the elbow a plain circlet of some very -bright and shining metal. A net of blue beads altogether too magnificent -to be turquoises, was pinned over her unfaded hair, and from the front -of it there depended on her forehead a large pear-shaped pearl, -suggestive of the one which the extravagant queen subsequently dissolved -in vinegar. Any pearl, so scientists tell us, which is capable of -solution in vinegar must be a curious pearl; that which Mrs. Ames wore -in the middle of her forehead was curious also. Art had been specially -invoked, over and above the normal skin-food to-night, in the matter of -Mrs. Ames’ face, and a formal Egyptian eyebrow, as indicated in the -illustration to “Rameses” in the <i>Encyclopædia</i>, decorated in charcoal -the place where her own eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span>brow once was. Below her eye a touch of the -same charcoal added brilliancy to the eye itself; several touches of -rouge contributed their appropriate splendour to her cheeks.</p> - -<p>The long tunic which was held up over her shoulders by the cairngorm -brooches, reached to her knee. It was a little tight, perhaps, but when -you have only one Arab shawl, shot with copious gold thread, you have to -make it go as far as it can, and after all, it went to her knees. A -small fold of it was looped up, and fell over her yellow girdle, it was -parted at the sides below the hips, and disclosed a skirt made of two -Arab shawls shot with silver, which, stitched together, descended to her -ankle. She did not mean to dance anything except the opening quadrille. -Below this silver-streaked skirt appeared, as was natural, her pretty -plump little feet. On them she wore sandals which exhibited their -plumpness and prettiness and smallness to the fullest extent. A correct -strap lay between the great toe and the next, and the straps were -covered with silver paper. For years Riseborough had known how small -were her shoes; to-night Riseborough should see that those shoes had -been amply large enough for what they contained. Round her neck, -finally, were four rows of magnificent pearl beads; no wonder Cleopatra -thought nothing of dissolving one pearl, when its dissolution would -leave intact so populous a company of similar treasures.</p> - -<p>As she came downstairs she heard a sudden noise in the drawing-room, as -if a heavy man had suddenly stumbled. It required no more ingenuity than -was normally hers to conjecture that Lyndhurst was already there, and -had tripped himself up in some novel accoutrement. And at that, a sudden -flush of excitement and anticipation invaded her, and she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> wondered what -he would be like. As regards herself she felt the profoundest confidence -in the success of her garniture. He could scarcely help being amazed, -delighted. And an emotion never keenly felt by her, but as such long -outworn, shook her and made her knees tremulous. She felt so young, so -daring. She wished that at this moment he would come out, for as she -descended the stairs he could not but see how small and soft were her -feet....</p> - -<p>Almost before her wish was formed, it was granted. A well-smothered oath -succeeded the stumbling noise, and Major Ames, in white Roman toga and -tights came out into the hall. There was no vestige of Venetian cloak -about him; he was altogether different from what she had expected. A -profuse wig covered his head, the toga completely masked what the -exercise with the garden roller had not completely removed, and below, -his big calves rose majestic over his classical laced shoes. If ever -there was a Mark Antony with a military moustache, he was not in Egypt -nor in Rome, but here; by a divine chance, without consultation, he had -chosen for himself the character complementary to hers. He looked up and -saw her, she looked down and saw him.</p> - -<p>“Bless my soul,” he said. “Amy! Cleopatra!”</p> - -<p>She gave him a happy little smile.</p> - -<p>“Bless my soul,” she said. “Lyndhurst! Mark Antony!”</p> - -<p>There was a long and an awful pause. It was quite clear to her that -something had occurred totally unexpected. She had wanted to be -unexpected, but there was something wrong about the quality of his -surprise. Then such manliness as there was in him came to his aid.</p> - -<p>“Upon my word,” he said, “you have got yourself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> up splendidly, Amy. -Cleopatra now, pearls and all, and sandals! Why, you’ll take the shine -out of them all! Here we go, eh? Antony and Cleopatra! Who would have -thought of it! The cab’s round, dear. We had better be starting, if -we’re to take part in the procession. Not want a cloak or anything? -Antony and Cleopatra; God bless my soul!”</p> - -<p>That was sufficient to allay the immediate embarrassment. True, he had -not been knocked over by this apparition of her in the way she had -meant, and the astonished pause, she was afraid, was not one of -surrendering admiration. And yet, perhaps, he was feeling shy, even as -she was; standing here in all this splendour of shining pantomime he -might well feel her to be as strange to him, as she felt him to be to -her. Moreover, she had not only to look Cleopatra, but to be Cleopatra, -to behave herself with the gaiety and youth which her appearance gave -him the right to expect. In the meantime he also had earned her -compliments, for no man who thinks it worth while to assume a fancy -dress has a soul so unhuman as to be unappreciative of applause.</p> - -<p>She fell back a step or two to regard him comprehensively.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” she said, “you are splendid; that toga suits you to -admiration. And your arms look so well coming out of the folds of it. -What great strong arms, Lyndhurst! You could pick up your little -Cleopatra and carry her back—back to Egypt so easily.”</p> - -<p>Something of their irresponsibility which, as by a special Providence, -broods over the audacity of assuming strange guises, descended on her. -She could no more have made such a speech to him in her ordinary -morning-clothes, nor yet in the famous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> rose-coloured silk, than she -could have flown. But now her costume unloosed her tongue. And despite -the dreadful embarrassment that he knew would await him when they got to -the party, and a second Cleopatra welcomed them, this intoxication of -costume (liable, unfortunately, to manifest itself not only in <i>vin -gai</i>) mounted to his head also.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ma reine!</i>” he said, feeling that French brought them somehow closer -to the appropriate Oriental atmosphere.</p> - -<p>She held up her skirt with one hand, and gave him the other.</p> - -<p>“We must be off, my Antony,” she said.</p> - -<p>They got into the cab; a somewhat jaded-looking horse was lashed into a -slow and mournful trot, and they rattled away down the hard, dry road.</p> - -<p>A queue of carriages was already waiting to disembark its cargoes when -they drew near the house, and leaning furtively and feverishly from the -window, Mrs. Ames saw a Hamlet or two and some Titanias swiftly and -shyly cross the pavement between two rows of the astonished proletariat. -Beside her in the cab her husband grunted and fidgeted; she guessed that -to him this entrance was of the nature of bathing on a cold day; however -invigorating might be the subsequent swim, the plunge was chilly. But -she little knew the true cause of his embarrassment and apprehension; -had his military career ever entailed (which it had not) the facing of -fire, it was probable, though his courage was of no conspicuous a kind, -that he would have met the guns with greater blitheness than he awaited -the moment that now inevitably faced him. Then came their turn; there -was a pause, and then their carriage door was flung open, and they -descended from the innocent vehicle<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> that to him was as portentous as a -tumbril. In a moment Cleopatra would meet Cleopatra, and he could form -no idea how either Cleopatra would take it. The Cleopatra-hostess, as he -knew, was going to wear sandals also; snakes were to writhe up her long -white arms....</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames adjusted the pear-shaped pearl on her forehead.</p> - -<p>“I think if we say half-past one it will be late enough, Lyndhurst,” she -said. “If we are not ready he can wait.”</p> - -<p>It seemed to Lyndhurst that half-past one would probably be quite late -enough.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The assemblage of guests took place in the drawing-room which opened -into the garden; a waiter from the “Crown” inn, with a chin beard and -dressed in a sort of white surplice and carrying a lantern in his hand, -who might with equal reasonableness be supposed to be the Man in the -Moon out of the <i>Midsummer Night’s Dream</i>, or a grave-digger out of -<i>Hamlet</i>, said “Character names, please, ma’am,” and preceded them to -the door of this chamber. He bawled out “Cleopatra and Mark Antony.”</p> - -<p>Another Cleopatra, a “different conception of this part,” as the <i>Kent -Chronicle</i> said in its next issue, a Cleopatra dim and white and -willowy, advanced to them. She looked vexed, but as she ran her eyes up -and down Mrs. Ames’ figure, like a practised pianist playing a chromatic -scale, her vexation seemed completely to clear.</p> - -<p>“Dear Cousin Amy,” she said, “how perfectly lovely! I never -saw—Wilfred, make your bow to Cleopatra. And Antony! Oh, Major Ames!”</p> - -<p>Again she made the chromatic scale, starting at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> the top, so to speak -(his face), with a long note, and dwelling there again when she returned -to it.</p> - -<p>Other arrivals followed, and this particular Antony and Cleopatra -mingled with such guests as were already assembled. The greater part had -gathered, and Mrs. Ames’ habitual manner and bearing suited excellently -with her regal rôle. The Turner family, at any rate, who were standing a -little apart from the others, not being quite completely “in” -Riseborough society, and, feeling rather hot and feverish in the thick -brocaded stuffs suitable to Falstaff, Mistress Page and King Theseus, -felt neither more nor less uncomfortable when she made a few -complimentary remarks to them than they did when, with her fat -prayer-book in her hand, she spoke to them after church on Sunday. -Elsewhere young Morton, with a white face and a red nose, was the -traditional Apothecary, and Mrs. Taverner was so copiously apparalled as -Queen Catherine that she was looking forward very much indeed to the -moment when the procession should go forth into the greater coolness of -the night air. Then a stentorian announcement from the waiter at the -Crown made every one turn again to the door.</p> - -<p>“Antony and Cleopatra ten years later,” he shouted.</p> - -<p>There was a slight pause. Then entered Mr. and Mrs. Altham with -high-held hands clasped at finger-tips. They both stepped rather high, -she holding her skirt away from her feet, and both pointing their toes -as if performing a <i>pavanne</i>. This entry had been much rehearsed, and it -was arresting to the point of producing a sort of stupefaction.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans ran her eye up and down the pair, and was apparently -satisfied.</p> - -<p>“Dear Mrs. Altham,” she said, “how perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> lovely! <i>And</i> Mr. Altham. -But ten years later! You must not ask us to believe that.”</p> - -<p>She turned to her husband and spoke quickly, with a look on her face -less amiable than she usually wore in public.</p> - -<p>“Wilfred,” she said, “tell the band to begin the opening march at once -for the procession, in case there are any more——”</p> - -<p>But he interrupted—</p> - -<p>“Here’s another, Millie,” he said cheerfully. “Yes, we’d better begin.”</p> - -<p>His speech was drowned by the voice of the brazen-lunged waiter.</p> - -<p>“Cleopatra!” he shouted.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brooks entered with all the rows of seed-pearls.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Riseborough, if the census papers were consulted, might perhaps not -prove to have an abnormally large percentage of inhabitants who had -reached middle-age, but certainly in the festivities of its upper -circles, maturity held an overwhelming majority over youth. It was so -to-night, and of the half-hundred folk who thus masqueraded, there were -few who were not, numerically speaking, of thoroughly discreet years. -The diffused knowledge of this undoubtedly gave confidence to their -gaiety, for there was no unconscious standard of sterling youth by which -their slightly mature exhilaration could be judged and found deficient -in genuine and natural effervescence. Thus, despite the somewhat -untoward conjunction of four matronly Cleopatras, a spirit of -extraordinary gaiety soon possessed the entire party. Odious comparisons -might conceivably spring up mushroom-like to-morrow, and -(unmushroom-like) continue to wax and flourish through many days and -dinners, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> to-night so large an environment of elderly people gave to -every one of those elderly people a pleasant sense of not suffering but -rather shining in comparison with the others. Even the Cleopatras -themselves were content; Mrs. Ames, for instance, saw how sensible it -was that Mrs. Altham should announce herself as a Cleopatra of ten years -later, while Mrs. Altham, observing Mrs. Ames, saw how supererogatory -her titular modesty had been, and wondered that Mrs. Ames cared to show -her feet like that, while Mrs. Brooks knew that everybody was mentally -contrasting her queenliness of height with Mrs. Ames’ paucity of inches, -and her abundance of beautiful hair with Mrs. Altham’s obvious wig. -While, all the time, Mrs. Evans, whom the appearance of a fourth -Cleopatra had considerably upset for the moment, felt that at this rate -she could easily continue being Cleopatra for more years than “the ten -after,” so properly assumed by Mrs. Altham. In the same way Major Ames, -with his six feet of solid English bone and muscle, and his fifth decade -of years still but half-consumed, felt that Mr. Altham had but provided -a scale of comparison uncommonly flattering to himself. Simultaneously, -Mr. Altham, with a laurel-wreath round his head, reflected how -uncomfortable he would have felt if his laurel-wreath was anchored on no -sounder a foundation than a wig, and wondered if gardening (on the -principle that all flesh is grass) invariably resulted in so great a -growth of tissue. But all these pleasant self-communings were, indeed, -but a minor tributary to the real river of enjoyment that danced and -chattered through the starlit hours of this July night. Somehow the -whole assembly seemed to have shifted off themselves the natural and -inevitable burden of their years;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> they danced and mildly flirted, they -sat out in the dim shrubbery, and played on the sea-shore of life again, -finding the sand-castles had become real once more. Mrs. Ames, for -instance, had intended to dance nothing but the opening quadrille, but -before the second dance, which was a waltz, had come to a close, she had -accepted Mr. Altham’s offer, and was slowly capering round with him. A -little care was necessary in order not to put too unjust a strain on the -sandal straps, but she exercised this precaution, and was sorry, though -hot, when the dance came to an end. Then Major Ames, who had been -piloting Mrs. Altham, joined them at the moselle-cup table.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Pon my word, Altham,” he said, “I don’t know what to say to you. -You’ve taken my Cleopatra, but then I’ve taken yours. Exchange no -robbery, hey?”</p> - -<p>His wife tapped him on the arm with her palmette fan.</p> - -<p>“Lyndhurst, go along with you!” she said, employing an expression, the -mental equivalent of which she did not know ever existed in her mind.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go along,” he said. “But which is my Cleopatra?”</p> - -<p>At the moment, Mrs. Evans approached.</p> - -<p>“My two Cleopatras must excuse me,” said this amazing man. “I am engaged -for this next dance to the Cleopatra of us all. Ha! Ha!”</p> - -<p>He offered his arm to Mrs. Evans, and they went out of the cave of the -mulberry-tree again.</p> - -<p>The band had not yet struck up for the next dance, the majority of the -guests were flocking under the mulberry-tree at the conclusion of the -last, and for the moment they had the cool starlit dusk to themselves. -And then, all at once, the Major’s sense of boisterous enjoyment -deserted him; he felt embar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span>rassed with a secret knowledge that he was -expected to say something in tune with this privacy. How that -expectation was conveyed he hardly knew; the slight pressure on his arm -seemed to announce it unmistakably. It reminded him that he was a man, -and yet with all that gaiety and gallantry that were so conspicuous a -feature in his behaviour to women in public, he felt awkward and ill at -ease. He embarked on a course of desperate and fulsome eulogy, longing -in his private soul for the band to begin.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Pon my soul, you are an enchantress, Millie!” he said. “You come to -our staid, respectable old Riseborough, and before you have been here -six months you take us all into fairyland. Positively fairyland. -And—and I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Let us stroll all round the garden,” she said. “I want you to see it -all now it is lit up. And the shrubbery is pretty, too, with—with the -filter of starlight coming through the trees. Do tell me truthfully, -like a friend, is it going all right? Are they enjoying themselves?”</p> - -<p>“Kicking up their heels like two-year-olds,” said Major Ames.</p> - -<p>“How wicked of you to say that! But really I had one bad moment, -when—when the last Cleopatra came in.”</p> - -<p>She paused a moment. Then in her clear, silky voice—</p> - -<p>“Dear old things!” she said.</p> - -<p>Now Mrs. Evans was not in any way a clever woman, but had she had the -brains and the wit of Cleopatra herself, she could not have spoken three -more consummately chosen words. All the cool, instinctive confidence of -a younger woman, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> pretty woman speaking of the more elderly and -plain was there; there, too, was the deliberate challenge of the -coquette. And Major Ames was quite helpless against the simplicity of -such art. Mere manners, the ordinary code of politeness, demanded that -he should agree with his hostess. Besides, though he was not in any way -in love with her, he could not resist the assumption that her words -implied, and, after all, she was a pretty woman, whom he had kissed, and -he was alone in the star-hung dusk with her.</p> - -<p>“Poor dear Amy!” he said.</p> - -<p>Millie Evans gave a soft little sigh, as of a contented child. He had -expressed with the most ruthless accuracy exactly what she wished him to -feel. Then, in the manner of a woman whose nature is warped throughout -by a slight but ingrained falsity, she spoke as if it was not she who -had prompted the three words which she had almost made him say.</p> - -<p>“She is enjoying herself so,” she said. “I have never seen Cousin Amy -look so thoroughly pleased and contented. I thought she looked so -charming, too, and what dear, plump little feet she has. But, my dear, -it was rather a surprise when you and she were announced. It looked as -if this poor Cleopatra was going to be Antony-less! Dear me, what a -word.”</p> - -<p>Here was a more direct appeal, and again Major Ames was powerless in her -soft clutch. Hers was not exactly an iron hand in a velvet glove, but a -hand made of fly-catching paper. She had taken her glove off now. And he -was beginning to stick to her.</p> - -<p>“Pshaw!” he said.</p> - -<p>That, again, had a perfectly satisfactory sound to her ears. The very -abruptness and bluffness of it pleased her more than any protestation -could have done. He was so direct, so shy, so manly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span></p> - -<p>She laughed softly.</p> - -<p>“Hush, you mustn’t say those things,” she said. “Ah, there is the band -beginning, and it is our dance. But let us just walk through the -shrubbery before we go back. The dusk and quiet are such a relief after -the glare. Lyndhurst—ah, dear me. Cousin Lyndhurst I ought to say—you -really must not go home till my little dance is quite finished. You make -things go so well. Dear Wilfred is quite useless to me. Does he not look -an old darling as Timon of Athens? A sort of mixture between George the -Fourth in tights and a lion-tamer.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans was feeling more actively alive to-night than she had felt -for years. Her tongue, which was generally a rather halting adjutant to -her glances and little sinuous movements, was almost vivified to wit. -Certainly her description of her husband had acuteness and a sense of -the ludicrous to inspire it. Through the boughs of laburnums in the -shrubbery they could see him now, escorting the tallest and oldest -Cleopatra, who was Mrs. Brooks, to the end of the garden. Dimly, through -the curtain of intervening gloom, they saw the populous wooden floor -that had been laid down on the grass; Mrs. Ames—the dance was a -polka—was frankly pirouetting in the arms of a redoubtable Falstaff. -Mrs. Altham was wrestling with the Apothecary, and Elsie Evans, one of -the few young people present, was vainly trying to galvanize General -Fortescue, thinly disguised as Henry VII, into some semblance of -activity.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans gave another sigh, a sigh of curious calibre.</p> - -<p>“It all seems so distant,” she said. “All the lights and dancing are -less real than the shadows and the stillness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>That was not quite extemporaneous; she had thought over something of the -sort. It had the effect of making Major Ames feel suddenly hot with an -anxious kind of heat. He was beginning to perceive the truth of that -which he had foppishly imagined in his own self-communings, namely, that -this “poor little lady” was very, very much attached to him. He had -often dwelt on the thought before with odious self-centred satisfaction; -now the thought was less satisfactory; it was disquieting and mildly -alarming. Like the fly on the fly-paper, with one leg already englued, -he put down a second to get leverage with which to free the first, and -found that it was adhering also.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans spoke again.</p> - -<p>“I took such pleasure in all the preparations,” she said. “You were so -much interested in it all. Tell me, Cousin Lyndhurst, that you are not -disappointed.”</p> - -<p>It was hardly possible for him to do less than what he did. What he did -was little enough. He pressed the arm that lay in his rather close to -his white toga, and an unwonted romanticism of speech rose to his lips.</p> - -<p>“You have enchanted me,” he said. “Me, us, all of us.”</p> - -<p>She gave a little laugh; in the dusk it sounded no louder than a breeze -stirring.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t have added that,” she said.</p> - -<p>Where she stood a diaper of light and shadow played over her. A little -spray of laburnum between her face and the lights on the lawn outside, -swaying gently in a breeze that had gone astray in this calm night, cast -wavering shadows over her. Now her arms shone white under freckles of -shadow, now it was her face that was a moon to him. Or again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> both -would be in shade and a diamond star on her bright yellow hair -concentrated all the light into itself. All the elusive mysterious charm -of her womanhood was there, made more real by the fantastic setting. He -was kindled to a greater warmth than he had yet known, but, all the -time, some dreadful creature in his semi-puritanical semi-immoral brain, -told him that this was all “devilish naughty.” He was as unused to such -scruples as he was unused to such temptations, and in some curious -fashion he felt as ashamed of the one as he felt afraid of the other. At -length he summed up the whole of these despicable conclusions.</p> - -<p>“Will you give me just one kiss, Millie!” he said; “just one -cousin-kiss, before we go and dance?”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Such early worms next morning in Major Ames’ garden as had escaped the -early bird, must certainly have all been caught and laid out flat by the -garden roller, so swift and incessant were its journeyings. For though -the dawn had overspread the sky with the hueless tints of approaching -day when Antony and Cleopatra were charioteered home again by a -somnolent cabman; though Major Ames’ repose had been of the most -fragmentary kind, and though breakfast, in anticipation of late hours, -had been ordered the night before at an unusual half-past nine, he found -his bed an intolerable abode by seven o’clock, and had hoped to -expatriate somewhat disquieting thoughts from his mind by the -application of his limbs to severe bodily exertion.</p> - -<p>He and his wife had been the last guests to leave; indeed, after the -others had gone they lingered a little, smoking a final cigarette. Even -Mrs. Ames had been persuaded to light one, but a convulsive<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> paroxysm of -coughing, which made the pear-shaped pearl to quiver and shake like an -aspen-leaf, led her to throw it away, saying she enjoyed it very much. -He had danced with Mrs. Evans three or four times; three or four times -they had sat in the cool darkness of the shrubbery, and he had said to -her several things which at the moment it seemed imperative to say, but -which he did not really mean. But as the evening went on he had meant -them more; she had a helpless, childlike charm about her that began to -stir his senses. And yet below that childlike confiding manner he was -dimly aware that there was an eager woman’s soul that sought him. Her -charm was a weapon; a very efficient will wielded it. All the same, he -reflected as the honest dews of toil poured from his forehead this -morning in the hot early sunlight, he had not said very much ... he had -said that Riseborough was a different place since she—or had he said -“they”? had come there; that her eyes looked black in the starlight, -that—honestly, he could not remember anything more intimate than this. -But that which had made his bed intolerable was the sense that the -situation had not terminated last night, that his boat, so to speak, had -not been drawn up safely ashore, but was still in the midst of -accelerating waters. And yet it was in his own power to draw the boat -ashore at any moment; he had but to take a decisive stroke to land, to -step out and beach it, to return—surely it was not difficult—to his -normal thoughts and activities. For years his garden, his club, his -domestic concerns, his daily paper, had provided him with a sufficiency -of pursuits; he had but to step back into their safe if monotonous -circle, and look upon these disturbances as episodic. But already he had -ceased to think of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> Mrs. Evans as “dear little woman” or “poor little -woman”; somehow it seemed as if she had got her finger—to use a prosaic -metaphor—into his works. She was prodding about among the internal -wheels and springs of his mechanism. Yet that was stating his case too -strongly; it was that of contingency that he was afraid. But with the -curious irresponsibility of a rather selfish and unimaginative man, the -fact that he had allowed himself to prod about in her internal mechanism -represented itself to him as an unimportant and negligible detail. It -was only when she began prodding about in him, producing, as it were, -extraordinary little whirrings and racings of wheels that had long gone -slow and steady, that he began to think that anything significant was -occurring. But, after all, there was nothing like a pull at the garden -roller for giving a fellow an appetite for breakfast and for squashing -worms and unprofitable reflections.</p> - -<p>Though half-past nine had seemed “late enough for anybody,” as Mrs. Ames -had said the evening before, it was not till nearly ten that she put an -extra spoonful of tea into her silver teapot, for she felt that she -needed a more than usually fortifying beverage, to nullify her -disinclination for the day’s routine. The sight of her Cleopatra costume -also, laid upon the sofa in her bedroom, and shone upon by a cheerful -and uncompromising summer sun, had awakened in her mind a certain -discontent, a certain sense of disappointment, of age, of grievance. The -gilt paper had moulted off one of the sandal-straps, a spilt dropping of -strawberry-ice made a disfiguring spot on the tunic of Arab shawl, and -she herself felt vaguely ungilded and disfigured.</p> - -<p>The cigarette, too—she had so often said in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span> most liberal manner -that she did not think it wicked of women to smoke, but only horrid. -Certainly she did not feel wicked this morning, but as certainly she -felt disposed to consider anybody else horrid, and—and possibly wicked. -Decidedly a cup of strong tea was indicated.</p> - -<p>Major Ames had gone upstairs again to have his bath, and to dress after -his exercise in the garden, and came down a few minutes later, smelling -of soap, with a jovial boisterousness of demeanour that smelt of -unreality.</p> - -<p>“Good-morning, my dear Amy,” he said. “And how do you feel after the -party? I’ve been up a couple of hours; nothing like a spell of exercise -to buck one up after late hours.”</p> - -<p>“Will you have your tea now, Lyndhurst?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Have it now, or wait till I get it, eh? I’ll have it now. Delicious! I -always say that nobody makes tea like you.”</p> - -<p>Now boisterous spirits at breakfast were not usual with Major Ames, and, -as has been said, his wife easily detected a false air about them. Her -vague sense of disappointment and grievance began to take more solid -outlines.</p> - -<p>“It is delightful to see you in such good spirits, Lyndhurst,” she -observed, with a faint undertone of acidity. “Sitting up late does not -usually agree with you.”</p> - -<p>There was enough here to provoke repartee. Also his superficial -boisterousness was rapidly disappearing before his wife’s acidity, like -stains at the touch of ammonia.</p> - -<p>“It does not, in this instance, seem to have agreed with you, my dear,” -he said. “I hope you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> not got a headache. It was unwise of you to -stop so late. However, no doubt we shall feel better after breakfast. -Shall I give you some bacon? Or will you try something that appears to -be fish?”</p> - -<p>“A little kedjeree, please,” said Mrs. Ames, pointedly ignoring this -innuendo on her cook.</p> - -<p>“Kedjeree, is it? Well, well, live and learn.”</p> - -<p>“If you have any complaint to make about Jephson,” said she, “pray do -so.”</p> - -<p>“No, not at all. One does not expect a <i>cordon bleu</i>. But I dare say -Mrs. Evans pays no more for her cook than we do, and look at the supper -last night.”</p> - -<p>“I thought the quails were peculiarly tasteless,” said Mrs. Ames; “and -if you are to be grand and have <i>pêches à la Melba</i>, I should prefer to -offer my guests real peaches and proper ice-cream, instead of tinned -peaches and custard. I say nothing about the champagne, because I -scarcely tasted it.”</p> - -<p>“Well then, my dear, I’m sure you are quite right not to criticize it. -All I can say is that I never want to eat a better supper.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly Mrs. Ames became aware that another piece of solid outline had -appeared round her vague discontent and reaction.</p> - -<p>“No doubt you think that all Millie’s arrangements are perfect in every -way,” she observed.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said he, rather hotly; “but I do -know that when a woman has been putting herself to all that trouble and -expense to entertain her friends, her friends would show a nicer spirit -if they refrained from carping and depreciating her.”</p> - -<p>“No amount of appreciation would make tinned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> peaches fresh, or turn -custard into ice-cream,” said Mrs. Ames, laying down the fork with which -she had dallied with the kedjeree, which indeed was but a sordid sort of -creation. “It is foolish to pretend that a thing is perfect when it is -not. Nor do I consider her manners as a hostess by any means perfect. -She looked as cross as two sticks when poor Mrs. Brooks appeared. I -suppose she thought that nobody had a right to be Cleopatra besides -herself. To be sure poor Mrs. Brooks looked very silly, but if everybody -who looked silly last night should have stayed away, there would not -have been much dancing done.”</p> - -<p>She took several more sips of the strong tea, while he unfolded and -appeared engrossed in the morning paper, and under their stimulating -influence saw suddenly and distinctly how ill-advised was her attack. -She had yielded to temporary ill-temper, which is always a mistake. It -was true that in her mind she was feeling that Lyndhurst last night had -spent far too much with his hostess; in a word, she felt jealous. It -was, therefore, abominably stupid, from a merely worldly point of view, -to criticize and belittle Millie to him. If there was absolutely no -ground for her jealousy—which at present was but a humble little green -bud—such an attack was uncalled for; if there was ground it was most -foolish, at this stage, at any rate, to give him the least cause for -suspecting that it existed. But she was wise enough now, not to hasten -to repair her mistake, but to repair it slowly and deliberately, as if -no repair was going on at all.</p> - -<p>“But I must say the garden looked charming,” she said after a pause. -“Did she tell you, Lyndhurst, whether it was she or her husband who saw -to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> lighting? The scheme was so comprehensive; it took in the whole -of the lawn; there was nothing patchy about it. I suspect Dr. Evans -planned it; it looked somehow more like a man’s work.”</p> - -<p>A look of furtive guilt passed over the Major’s face; luckily it was -concealed by the <i>Daily Mail</i>.</p> - -<p>“No; Evans told me himself that he had nothing to do with it,” he said. -“It was pretty, I thought; very pretty.”</p> - -<p>“If the nights continue hot,” said she, “it would be nice to have the -garden illuminated one night, if dear Millie did not think we were -appropriating her ideas. I do not think she would; she is above that -sort of thing. Well, dear, I must go and order dinner. Have you any -wishes?”</p> - -<p>Clearly it was wiser, from the Major’s point of view, to accept this -bouquet of olive branches. After all, Amy was far too sensible to -imagine that there could be anything to rouse the conjugal watch-dog. -Nor was there; hastily he told himself that. A cousinly kiss, which at -the moment he would willingly have foregone.</p> - -<p>Certainly last night he had been a little super-stimulated. There was -the irresponsibility of fancy dress, there was the knowledge that Millie -was not insensitive to him; there was the sense of his own big, shapely -legs in tights, there was dancing and lanterns, and all had been potent -intoxicants to Riseborough, which for so long had practised teetotalism -with regard to such excitements. Amy herself had been so far carried -away by this effervescence of gaiety as to smoke a cigarette, and Heaven -knew how far removed from her ordinary code of conduct was such an -adventure. Generously, he had for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span>borne to brandish that cigarette as a -weapon against her during this acrimonious episode at breakfast, and he -had no conscious intention of hanging it, like Damocles’ sword over her -head, in case she pursued her critical and carping course against -Millie. But whatever he had said last night, she had done that. Without -meaning to make use of his knowledge, he knew it was in his power to do -so. What would not Mrs. Altham, for instance, give to be informed by an -eye-witness that Mrs. Ames had blown—it was no more than that—on the -abhorred weed? So, conscious of a position that he could make offensive -at will, he accepted the olive branch, and suggested a cold curry for -lunch.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Breakfast at Mrs. Altham’s reflected less complicated conditions of -mind. Both she and her husband were extremely pleased with themselves, -and in a state of passion with regard to everybody else. Since their -attitude was typical of the view that Riseborough generally took of last -night’s festivity, it may be given compendiously in a rhetorical flight -of Mrs. Altham’s, with which her husband was in complete accord.</p> - -<p>In palliation, it may be mentioned that they had both partaken of large -quantities of food at an unusual hour. It is through the body that the -entry is made by the subtle gateways of the soul, and vitriolic comments -in the morning are often the precise equivalent of unusual indulgence -the night before.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m sure if I had known,” said Mrs. Altham, “I should not have -taken the trouble I did. Of course, everybody said ‘How lovely your -dress is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span>’ simply to make one say the same to them. And I never want to -hear the word Cleopatra again, Henry, so pray don’t repeat it. Fancy -Mrs. Ames appearing as Cleopatra, and us taking the trouble to say we -were Antony and Cleopatra ten years later! Twenty years before would -have been more the date if we had known. Perhaps I am wrong, but when a -woman arrives at Mrs. Ames’ time of life, whether she dyes her hair or -not, she is wiser to keep her feet concealed, not to mention what she -must have looked like in the face of half the tradesmen of Riseborough -who were lining the pavements when she stepped out of her cab. I thought -I heard a great roar of laughter as we were driving up the High Street; -I should not wonder if it was the noise of them all laughing as she got -out of her carriage. Of course, it was all very prettily done, as far as -poor Mrs. Evans was concerned, but I wonder that Dr. Evans likes her to -spend money like that, for, however unsuitable the supper was, I feel -sure it was very expensive, for it was all truffles and aspic. There -must have been a sirloin of beef in the cup of soup I took between two -of the dances, and strong soup like that at dead of night fills one up -dreadfully. And Mrs. Brooks appearing as another Cleopatra, after all I -had said about Hermione! Well, I’m sure if she chooses to make a silly -of herself like that, it is nobody’s concern but hers. She looked like -nothing so much as a great white mare with the staggers. If you are -going up to the club, Henry, I should not wonder if I came out with you. -It seems to me a very stuffy morning, and a little fresh air would do me -good. As for the big German ruby in your cap, I don’t believe a soul -noticed it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> They were all looking at Mrs. Evans’ long white arms. Poor -thing, she is probably very anæmic; I never saw such pallor. I saw -little of her the whole evening. She seemed to be popping in and out of -the shrubbery like a rabbit all the time with Major Ames. I should not -wonder if Mrs. Ames was giving him a good talking-to at this moment.”</p> - -<p>Then, like all the rest of Riseborough, and unlike the scorpion, there -was a blessing instead of a sting in her tail.</p> - -<p>“But certainly it was all very pretty,” she said; “though it all seemed -very strange at the time. I can hardly believe this morning that we were -all dressed up like that, hopping about out of doors. Fancy dress balls -are very interesting; you see so much of human nature, and though I -looked the procession up and down, Henry, I saw nobody so well dressed -as you. But I suppose there is a lot of jealousy everywhere. And anyhow, -Mrs. Evans has quite ousted Mrs. Ames now. Nobody will talk about -anything but last night for the next fortnight, and I’m sure that when -Mrs. Ames had the conjurer who turned the omelette into the watch, we -had all forgotten about it three days afterwards. And after all, Mrs. -Evans is a very pleasant and hospitable woman, and I wouldn’t have -missed that party for anything. If you hear anything at the club about -her wanting to sell her Chinese lanterns and fairy-lights second-hand, -Henry, or if you find any reason to believe that she had hired them out -for the night from the Mercantile Stores, you might ask the price, and -if it is reasonable get a couple of dozen. If the weather continues as -hot as this we might illuminate the garden when we give our August -dinner-party.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> At least, I suppose Mrs. Evans does not consider that she -has a monopoly of lighting up gardens!”</p> - -<p>Henry found himself quite in accord with the spirit of this address.</p> - -<p>“I will remember, my dear,” he said; “if I hear anything said at the -club. I shall go up there soon, for I should not be surprised if most of -the members spent their morning there. I think I will have another cup -of tea.”</p> - -<p>“You have had two already,” said his wife.</p> - -<p>He was feeling a little irritable.</p> - -<p>“Then this will make three,” he observed.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans, finally, had breakfast in her room. When she came -downstairs, she found that her husband had already left the house on his -visits, which was a relief. She felt that if she had seen his cheerful -smiling face this morning, she would almost have hated it.</p> - -<p>She ordered dinner, and then went out into the garden. Workmen were -already there, removing the dancing-floor, and her gardener was -collecting the fairy-lights in trays, and carrying them indoors. Here -and there were charred, burnt places on the grass, and below the -mulberry-tree the <i>débris</i> of supper had not yet been removed. But the -shrubbery, as last night, was sequestered and cool, and she sat for an -hour there on the garden bench overlooking the lawn. Little flakes of -golden sunlight filtered down through the foliage, and a laburnum, -delicate-sprayed, oscillated in the light breeze. She scarcely knew -whether she was happy or not, and she gave no thought to that. But she -felt more consciously alive than ever before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Discussion</span> about the fancy dress ball, as Mrs. Altham had said, was -paramount over all other topics for at least a fortnight after the -event, and the great question which annually became of such absorbing -interest during July—namely, as to where to spend August, was dwarfed -and never attained to its ordinary proportions till quite late on in the -month. These discussions did not, as a rule, bear fruit of any kind, -since, almost without exception, everybody spent August exactly where -August had been spent by him for the last dozen years or so, but it was -clearly wise to consider the problem afresh every year, and be prepared, -in case some fresh resort suggested itself, to change the habit of -years, or at least to consider doing so. The lists of hotels at the end -of Bradshaw, and little handbooks published by the South-Eastern Railway -were, as a rule, almost the only form of literature indulged in during -these evenings of July, and Mr. Altham, whose imagination was always -fired by pictures of ships, often studied the sailings of River Plate -steamers, and considered that the fares were very reasonable, especially -steerage. The fact that he was an appallingly bad sailor in no way -diminished the zest with which he studied their sailings and the prices -thereof. Subsequently he and Mrs. Altham always spent August at -Littlestone-on-Sea, in a completely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> detached villa called Blenheim, -where a capable Scotchwoman, who, to add colour to the illusion, -maintained that her name really was Churchill, boarded and lodged them -on solid food and feather beds. During July, it may be remarked, Mrs. -Altham usually contrived to quarrel with her cook, who gave notice. Thus -there was one mouth less to feed while they were away, and yearly, on -their return, they had the excitement of new and surprising confections -from the kitchen.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames, it may be remembered, had already enjoyed a fortnight’s -holiday at Overstrand this year, and the last week of July saw her still -disinclined to make holiday plans. They had taken a sort of bungalow -near Deal for the last year or two, which, among other advantages, was -built in such a manner that any remark made in any part of the house -could be heard in any other part of the house. It was enough almost for -her to say, as she finished dressing, “We are ready for breakfast,” to -hear Parker replying from the kitchen, “The kettle’s just on the boil, -ma’am.” This year, however, she had been late in inquiring whether it -was vacant for August, and she found, when her belated letter was -answered, that it was already engaged.</p> - -<p>This fact she broke to her husband and Harry, who had returned from -Cambridge with hair unusually wild and lank, with tempered indignation.</p> - -<p>“Considering how many years we have taken it,” she said, “I must say -that I think they should have told us before letting it over our heads -like this. But I always thought that Mrs. Mackenzie was a most grasping -sort of person who would be likely to take the first offer that turned -up, and I’m sure the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> house was never very comfortable. I have no doubt -we can easily find a better without much bother!”</p> - -<p>“My bedroom ceiling always leaked,” said Harry; “and there was nowhere -to write at!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames had finished her breakfast and got up. She felt faintly in her -mind that after the fancy dress ball it was time for her to do something -original. Yet the whole idea was so novel.... Riseborough would be sure -to say that they had not been able to afford a holiday. But, after all, -that mattered very little.</p> - -<p>“I really don’t know why we always take the trouble to go away to an -uncomfortable lodging during August,” she said, “and leave our own -comfortable house standing vacant.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames, had he been a horse, would have pricked up his ears at this. -But the human ear being unadapted to such movements, he contented -himself with listening avidly. He had seen little of Millie this last -fortnight, and was beginning to realize how much he missed her presence. -Between them, it is true, they had come near to an intimacy which had -its dangers, which he really feared more than he desired, but he felt, -with that self-deception that comes so easily to those who know nothing -about themselves, that he was on his guard now. Meantime, he missed her, -and guessed quite truly that she missed him. And, poor prig, he told -himself that he had no right to cut off that which gave her pleasure. He -could be Spartan over his own affairs, if so minded, but he must not -play Lycurgus to others. And an idea that had privately occurred to him, -which at the time seemed incapable of realization, suddenly leaped into -the possible horizons.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span></p> - -<p>“And you always complain of the dampness of strange houses, Lyndhurst,” -she added; “and as Harry says, he has no place for writing and study. -Why should we go away at all? I am sure, after the excitement of the -last month, it would be a complete rest to remain here when everybody -else is gone. I have not had a moment to myself this last month, and I -should not be at all sorry to stop quietly here.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames knew with sufficient accuracy the influence he had over his -wife. He realized, that is to say, as far as regarded the present -instance, that slight opposition on his part usually produced a -corresponding firmness on hers. Accentuated opposition produced various -results; sometimes he won, sometimes she. But mild remonstrance always -confirmed her views in opposition to his. He had a plan of his own on -this occasion, and her determination to remain in Riseborough would -prove to be in alliance with it. Therefore he mildly remonstrated.</p> - -<p>“You would regret it before the month was out,” he said. “For me, I’m an -old campaigner, and I hope I can make myself comfortable anywhere. But -you would get bored before the end of August, Amy, and when you get -bored your digestion is invariably affected.”</p> - -<p>“I should like to stop in Riseborough,” said Harry. “I hate the sea.”</p> - -<p>“You will go wherever your mother settles to go, my boy,” said Major -Ames, still pursuing his plan. “If she wishes to go to Sheffield for -August, you and I will go too, and—and no doubt learn something useful -about cutlery. But don’t try stopping in Riseborough, my dear Amy. At -least, if you take my advice, you won’t.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Major Ames was not very intelligent, but the highest intelligence could -not have done better. He had learned the trick of slight opposition, -just as a stupid dog with a Conservative master can learn to growl for -Asquith by incessant repetition. When it has learned it, it does it -right. The Major had done it right on this occasion.</p> - -<p>“I do not see why Harry should not have a voice in the question of where -we spend his vacation,” she said. “Certainly your room at the bungalow, -Lyndhurst, was comfortable enough, but that was the only decent room in -the house. In any case we cannot get the bungalow for this August. Have -you any other plans as to where we should go?”</p> - -<p>There was room for a little more of his policy of opposition.</p> - -<p>“Well, now, Brighton,” he said. “Why not Brighton? There’s a club there; -I dare say I should get a little Bridge in the evening, and no doubt you -would pick up some acquaintances, Amy. I think the Westbournes went -there last year.”</p> - -<p>This remarkable reason for going to Brighton made Mrs. Ames almost -epigrammatic.</p> - -<p>“And then we could go on to Margate,” she remarked, “and curry favour -there.”</p> - -<p>“By all means, my dear,” said he. “I dare say the curry would be quite -inexpensive.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames opened the door on to the verandah.</p> - -<p>“Pray let me know, Lyndhurst,” she said, “if you have any serious -proposition to make.”</p> - -<p>It was Major Ames’ custom to start work in the garden immediately after -breakfast, but this morning he got out one of his large-sized cheroots -instead (these conduced to meditation), and estab<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span>lished himself in a -chair on the verandah. His mental development was not, in most regards, -of a very high or complex order, but he possessed that rather rare -attainment of being able to sit down and think about one thing to the -exclusion of others. With most of us to sit down and think about one -thing soon resolves itself into a confused survey of most other things; -Major Ames could do better than that, for he could, and on this occasion -did exclude all other topics from his mind, and at the end return, so to -speak, “bringing his sheaves with him.” He had made a definite and -reasonable plan.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Harry had communicated the interesting fact of his passion for Mrs. -Evans to the Omar Khayyam Club, and was, of course, bound to prosecute -his nefarious intrigue. He had already written several galloping lyrics, -a little loose in grammar and rhyme, to his enchantress, which he had -copied into a small green morocco note-book, the title-page of which he -had inscribed as “Dedicated to M. E.” This looked a Narcissus-like -proceeding to any one who did not remember what Mrs. Evans’ initials -were. This afternoon, feeling the poetic afflatus blowing a gale within -him, but having nothing definite to say, he decided to call on the -inspirer of his muse, in order to gather fresh fuel for his fire. -Arrayed in a very low collar, which showed the full extent of his rather -scraggy neck, and adorned with a red tie, for socialism was no less an -orthodoxy in the club than atheistic principles and illicit love, he set -secretly out, and had the good fortune to find the goddess alone, and -was welcomed with that rather timid, childlike deference that he had -found so adorable before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span></p> - -<p>“But how good of you to come and see me,” she said, “when I’m sure you -must have so many friends wanting you. I think it is so kind.”</p> - -<p>Clearly she was timid; she did not know her power. Her eyes were bluer -than ever; her hair was of palest gold, “As I remembered her of old,” he -thought to himself, referring to the evening at the end of June. Indeed, -there was a poem dated June 28, rather a daring one.</p> - -<p>“The kindness is entirely on your side,” he said, “in letting me come, -and”—he longed to say—“worship,” but did not quite dare—“and have tea -with you.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, that is a selfish sort of kindness,” she said. “Let us go into -the garden. I think it was very unkind of you, Mr. Harry, not to come to -my dance last week. But of course you Cambridge men have more serious -things to think about than little country parties.”</p> - -<p>“I thought about nothing else but your dance for days,” said he; “but my -tutor simply refused to let me come down for it. A narrow, pedantic -fellow, who I don’t suppose ever danced. Tell me about your dress; I -like to picture you in a fancy dress.”</p> - -<p>She could not help appearing to wish to attract. It was as much the -fault of the way her head was set on to her neck, of the colour of her -eyes, as of her mind.</p> - -<p>“Oh, quite a simple white frock,” she said; “and a few pearls. -They—they wanted me to go as Cleopatra. So silly—me with a grown-up -daughter. But my husband insisted.”</p> - -<p>The fancy dress ball had not been talked about at Mrs. Ames’ lately, and -he had heard nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> about it in the two days he had been at home. Both -his parents had reason for letting it pass into the region of things -that are done with.</p> - -<p>“Did mother and father go?” he asked. “I suppose they felt too old to -dress up?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no. They came as Antony and Cleopatra. Have they not told you? -Cousin Amy looked so—so interesting. And your father was splendid as -Mark Antony.”</p> - -<p>“Then was Dr. Evans Mark Antony too?” asked Harry.</p> - -<p>“No; he was Timon of Athens.”</p> - -<p>“Then who was your Mark Antony?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans felt herself flushing, and her annoyance at herself made her -awkward in the pouring out of tea. She felt that Harry’s narrow, -gimlet-like eyes were fixed on her.</p> - -<p>“See how stupid I am,” she said. “I have spilled your tea in the saucer. -Dear Mr. Harry, we had heaps of Cleopatras: Mrs. Altham was one, Mrs. -Brooks was another. We danced with Hamlets, and—and anybody.”</p> - -<p>But this crude, ridiculous youth, she felt, had some idea in his head.</p> - -<p>“And did father and mother dance together all the evening?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She felt herself growing impatient.</p> - -<p>“Of course not. Everybody danced with everybody. We had quadrilles; all -sorts of things.”</p> - -<p>Then, with the mistaken instinct that makes us cautious in the wrong -place, she determined to say a little more.</p> - -<p>“But your father was so kind to me,” she said. “He helped me with all -the arrangements. I could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span> never have managed it except for him. We had -tremendous days of talking and planning about it. Now tell me all about -Cambridge.”</p> - -<p>But Harry was scenting a sonnet of the most remarkable character. It -might be called The Rivals, and would deal with a situation which the -Omar Khayyam Club would certainly feel to be immensely “parful.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose mother helped you, too?” he said.</p> - -<p>This was Byronic, lacerating. She had to suffer as well as he ... there -was a pungent line already complete. “But who had suffered as much as -me?” was the refrain. There were thrills in store for the Omar Khayyam -Club. After a sufficiency of yellow wine.</p> - -<p>“Cousin Amy was away,” said Mrs. Evans. “She was staying at Cromer till -just before my little dance. That is not far from Cambridge, is it? I -suppose she came over to see you.”</p> - -<p>Harry spared her, and did not press these questions. But enough had been -said to show that she had broken faith with him. “Rivals” could suitably -become quite incoherent towards the close. Incoherency was sometimes a -great convenience, for exclamatory rhymes were not rare.</p> - -<p>He smoothed the lank hair off his forehead, and tactfully changed the -subject.</p> - -<p>“And I suppose you are soon going away now,” he said. “I am lucky to -have seen you at all. We are going to stop here all August, I think. My -mother does not want to go away. Nor do I; not that they either of them -care about that.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans’ slight annoyance with him was suddenly merged in interest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span></p> - -<p>“How wise!” she said. “It is so absurd to go to stay somewhere -uncomfortably instead of remaining comfortably. I wish we were doing the -same. But my husband always has to go to Harrogate for a few weeks. And -he likes me to be with him. I shall think of you all and envy you -stopping here in this charming Riseborough.”</p> - -<p>“You like it?” asked Harry.</p> - -<p>“How should I not with so many delightful people being friendly to me? -Relations too; Cousin Amy, for instance, and Major Ames, and, let me -see, if Mrs. Ames is my cousin, surely you are cousin Harry?”</p> - -<p>Harry became peculiarly fascinating, and craned his long neck forward.</p> - -<p>“Oh, leave out the ‘cousin,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> he said.</p> - -<p>“How sweet of you—Harry,” she said.</p> - -<p>That, so to speak, extracted the poison-fangs from the projected -“Rivals,” and six mysterious postcards were placed by the author’s hand -in the pillar-box that evening. Each consisted of one mystic sentence. -“She calls me by my Christian name.” By a most convenient circumstance, -too apt to be considered accidental, there had here come to birth an -octo-syllabic line, of honeyed sweetness and simplicity. He was not slow -to take advantage of it, and the moon setting not long before daybreak -saw another completed gem of the M. E. series.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans that afternoon, like Major Ames that morning, “sat and -thought,” after Harry had left her. Independently of the fact that all -admirers, even the weirdest, always found welcome in her pale blue eyes, -she felt really grateful to Harry, for he had given her the information -on which she based a plan<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span> which was quite as sound and simple as Major -Ames’, and was designed to secure the same object. Since the night of -the fancy dress ball she had only seen him once or twice, and never -privately, and the greater vitality which, by the wondrous processes of -affinity, he had stirred in her, hungered for its sustenance. It cannot -be said that she was even now really conscious in herself of disloyalty -to her husband, or that she actually contemplated any breach of faith. -She had not at present sufficient force of feeling to imagine a decisive -situation; but she could at most lash her helm, so to speak, so that the -action of the wind would take her boat in the direction in which she -wished to go, and then sit idly on deck, saying that she was not -responsible for the course she was pursuing. The wind, the tide, the -currents were irresistibly impelling her; she had nothing to do with the -rudder, having tied it, she did not touch it. Like the majority in this -world of miserable sinners, she did not actively court the danger she -desired, but she hung about expectant of it. At the same time she kept -an anxious eye on the shore towards which she was driving. Was it really -coming closer? If so, why did she seem to have made no way lately?</p> - -<p>To-day her plan betokened a more active hand in what she thought of as -fate, but unfortunately, though it was as sound in itself as Major -Ames’, it was made independently and ignorantly of that which had -prompted his slight opposition this morning, so that, while each plan -was admirable enough in itself, the two, taken in conjunction, would, if -successful, result in a fiasco almost sublime in its completeness. The -manner of which was as follows.</p> - -<p>Elsie, it so happened, was not at home that evening,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span> and she and her -husband dined alone, and strolled out in the garden afterwards.</p> - -<p>“You will miss your chess this evening, dear,” she said. “Or would it -amuse you to give me a queen and a few bishops and knights, and see how -long it takes you to defeat me? Or shall we spend a little cosy chatty -evening together? I hope no horrid people will be taken ill, and send -for you.”</p> - -<p>“So do I, little woman,” he said (she was getting to detest -appellation). “And as if I shouldn’t enjoy a quiet evening of talk with -you more than fifty games of chess! But, dear me, I shall be glad to get -away to Harrogate this year! I need a month of it badly. I shall -positively enjoy the foul old rotten-egg smell.”</p> - -<p>She gave a little shudder.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t talk of it,” she said. “It is bad enough without thinking of -it beforehand.”</p> - -<p>“Poor little woman! Almost a pity you are not gouty too. Then we should -both look forward to it.”</p> - -<p>She sat down on one of the shrubbery seats, and drew aside her skirts, -making room for him to sit beside her.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but as I am not gouty, Wilfred,” she said. “It is no use wishing I -was. And I do hate Harrogate so. I wonder——”</p> - -<p>She gave a little sigh and put her arm within his.</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s the little woman wondering now?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I hardly like to tell you. You are always so kind to me that I don’t -know why I am afraid. Wilfred, would you think it dreadful of me, if I -suggested not going with you this year? I’m sure it makes me ill to be -there. You will have Elsie; you will play chess as usual with her all -evening. You see all morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> you are at your baths, and you usually are -out bicycling all afternoon with her. I don’t think you know how I hate -it.”</p> - -<p>She had begun in her shy, tentative manner. But her voice grew more cold -and decided. She put forward her arguments like a woman who has thought -it all carefully over, as indeed she had.</p> - -<p>“But what will you do with yourself, my dear?” he said. “It seems a -funny plan. You can’t stop here alone.”</p> - -<p>She sat up, taking her hand from his arm.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, I should not be as lonely here as I am at Harrogate,” she said. -“We don’t know anybody there, and if you think of it, I am really alone -most of the time. It is different for you, because it is doing you good, -and, as I say, you are bicycling with Elsie all the afternoon, and you -play chess together in the evening.”</p> - -<p>A shade of trouble and perplexity came over the doctor’s face; the -indictment, for it was hardly less than that, was as well-ordered and -digested as if it had been prepared for a forensic argument. And the -calm, passionless voice went on.</p> - -<p>“Think of my day there,” she said, going into orderly detail. “After -breakfast you go off to your baths, and I have to sit in that dreadful -sitting-room while they clear the things away. Even a hotel would be -more amusing than those furnished lodgings; one could look at the people -going in and out. Or if I go for a stroll in the morning, I get tired, -and must rest in the afternoon. You come in to lunch, and go off with -Elsie afterwards. That is quite right; the exercise is good for you, but -what is the use of my being there? There is nobody for me to go to see,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span> -nobody comes to see me. Then we have dinner, and I have the excitement -of learning where you and Elsie have been bicycling. You two play chess -after dinner, and I have the excitement of being told who has won. Here, -at any rate, I can sit in a room that doesn’t smell of dinner, or I can -sit in the garden. I have my own books and things about me, and there -are people I know whom I can see and talk to.”</p> - -<p>He got up, and began walking up and down the path in front of the bench -where they had been sitting, his kindly soul in some perplexity.</p> - -<p>“Nothing wrong, little woman?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Certainly not. Why should you think that? I imagine there is reason -enough in what I have told you. I do get so bored there, Wilfred. And I -hate being bored. I am sure it is not good for me, either. Try to -picture my life there, and see how utterly different it is from yours. -Besides, as I say, it is doing you good all the time, and as you -yourself said, you welcome the thought of that horrible smelling water.”</p> - -<p>He still shuffled up and down in the dusk. That, too, got on her nerves.</p> - -<p>“Pray sit down, Wilfred,” she said. “Your walking about like that -confuses me. And surely you can say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to me. If you insist -on my going with you, I shall go. But I shall think it very unreasonable -of you.”</p> - -<p>“But I can’t say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ like that, little woman,” he said. “I -don’t imagine you have thought how dull Riseborough will be during -August. Everybody goes away, I believe.”</p> - -<p>For a moment she thought of telling him that the Ames’ were going to -stop here: then, with entirely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> misplaced caution, she thought wiser to -keep that to herself. She, guilty in the real reason for wishing to -remain here, though coherent and logical enough in the account she had -given him of her reason, thought, grossly wronging him, that some seed -of suspicion might hereby enter her husband’s mind.</p> - -<p>“There is sure to be some one here,” she said. “The Althams, for -instance, do not go away till the middle of August.”</p> - -<p>“You do not particularly care for them,” said he.</p> - -<p>“No, but they are better than nobody. All day at Harrogate I have -nobody. It is not companionship to sit in the room with you and Elsie -playing chess. Besides, the Westbournes will be at home. I shall go over -there a great deal, I dare say. Also I shall be in my own house, which -is comfortable, and which I am fond of. Our lodgings at Harrogate -disgust me. They are all oilcloth and plush; there is nowhere to sit -when they are clearing away.”</p> - -<p>His face was still clouded.</p> - -<p>“But it is so odd for a married woman to stop alone like that,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I think it is far odder for her husband to want her to spend a month of -loneliness and boredom in lodgings,” she said. “Because I have never -complained, Wilfred, you think I haven’t detested it. But on thinking it -over it seems to me more sensible to tell you how I detest it, and ask -you that I shouldn’t go.”</p> - -<p>He was silent a moment.</p> - -<p>“Very well, little woman,” he said at length. “You shall do as you -please.”</p> - -<p>Instantly the cold precision of her speech changed. She gave that little -sigh of conscious content with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> which she often woke in the morning, and -linked her arm into his again.</p> - -<p>“Ah, that is dear of you,” she said. “You are always such a darling to -me.”</p> - -<p>He was not a man to give grudging consents, or spoil a gift by offering -it except with the utmost cordiality.</p> - -<p>“I only hope you’ll make a great success of it, little woman,” he said. -“And it must be dull for you at Harrogate. So that’s settled, and we’re -all satisfied. Let us see if Elsie has come in yet.”</p> - -<p>She laughed softly.</p> - -<p>“You are a dear,” she said again.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Wilfred Evans was neither analytical regarding himself nor curious about -analysis that might account for the action of others. Just as in his -professional work he was rather old-fashioned, but eminently safe and -sensible, so in the ordinary conduct of his life he did not seek for -abstruse causes and subtle motives. It was quite enough for him that his -wife felt that she would be excruciatingly bored at Harrogate, and less -acutely desolate here. On the other hand, it implied violation of one of -the simplest customs of life that a wife should be in one place and her -husband in another. That was vaguely disquieting to him. Disquieting -also was the cold, precise manner with which she had conducted her case. -A dozen times only, perhaps, in all their married life had she assumed -this frozen rigidity of demeanour; each time he had succumbed before it. -In the ordinary way, if their inclinations were at variance, she would -coax and wheedle him into yielding or, though quietly adhering to her -own opinion, she would let him have his way. But with her calm rigidity, -rarely assumed, he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span> never successfully combated; there was a -steeliness about it that he knew to be stronger than any opposition he -could bring to it. Nothing seemed to affect it, neither argument nor -conjugal command. She would go on saying “I do not agree with you,” in -the manner of cool water dripping on a stone. Or with the same -inexorable quietness she would repeat, “I feel very strongly about it: I -think it very unkind of you.” And a sufficiency of that always had -rendered his opposition impotent: her will, when once really aroused, -seemed to paralyse his. Once or twice her line had turned out -conspicuously ill. That seemed to make no difference: the cold, precise -manner was on higher plane than the material failure which had resulted -therefrom. She would merely repeat, “But it was the best thing to do -under the circumstances.”</p> - -<p>In this instance he wondered a little that she had used this manner over -a matter that seemed so little vital as the question of Harrogate, but -by next morning he had ceased to concern himself further with it. She -was completely her usual self again, and soon after breakfast set off to -accomplish some little errands in the town, looking in on him in his -laboratory to know if there were any commissions she could do for him. -His eye at the moment was glued to his microscope: a culture of -staphylococcus absorbed him, and without looking up, he said—</p> - -<p>“Nothing, thanks, little woman.”</p> - -<p>He heard her pause: then she came across the room to him, and laid her -cool hand on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Wilfred, you are such a dear to me,” she said. “You’re not vexed with -me?”</p> - -<p>He interrupted his observations, and put his arm round her.</p> - -<p>“Vexed?” he said. “I’ll tell you when I’m vexed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She smiled at him, dewily, timidly.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, then,” she said.</p> - -<p>So her plan was accomplished.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The affair of the staphylococcus did not long detain the doctor, and -presently after Major Ames was announced. He had come to consult Dr. -Evans with regard to certain gouty symptoms into which the doctor -inquired and examined.</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing whatever to worry about,” he said, after a very short -investigation. “I should recommend you to cut off alcohol entirely, and -not eat meat more than once a day. A fortnight’s dieting will probably -cure you. And take plenty of exercise. I won’t give you any medicine. -There is no use in taking drugs when you can produce the same effect by -not taking other things.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames fidgeted and frowned a little.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking,” he said at length, “of taking myself more thoroughly -in hand than that. I’ve never approved of half-measures, and I can’t -begin now. If a tooth aches have it out, and be done with it. No -fiddling about for me. Now my wife does not want to go away this August, -and it seemed to me that it would be a very good opportunity for me to -go, as you do, I think, and take a course of waters. Get rid of the -tendency, don’t you know, eradicate it. What do you say to that? -Harrogate now; I was thinking of Harrogate, if you approved. Harrogate -does wonders for gout, does it not?”</p> - -<p>The doctor laughed.</p> - -<p>“I am certainly hoping that Harrogate will do wonders for me,” he said. -“I go there every year. And no doubt many of us who are getting on in -years would be benefited by it. But your symptoms are very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span> slight. I -think you will soon get rid of them if you follow the course I suggest.”</p> - -<p>But Major Ames showed a strange desire for Harrogate.</p> - -<p>“Well, I like to do things thoroughly,” he said. “I like getting rid of -a thing root and branch, you know. You see I may not get another -opportunity. Amy likes me to go with her on her holiday in August, but -there is no reason why I should stop in Riseborough. I haven’t spoken to -her yet, but if I could say that you recommended Harrogate, I’m sure she -would wish me to go. Indeed, she would insist on my going. She is often -anxious about my gouty tendencies, more anxious, as I often tell her, -than she has any need to be. But an aunt of hers had an attack which -went to her heart quite unexpectedly, and killed her, poor thing. I -think, indeed, it would be a weight off Amy’s mind if she knew I was -going to take myself thoroughly in hand, not tinker and peddle about -with diet only. So would you be able to recommend me to go to -Harrogate?”</p> - -<p>“A course of Harrogate wouldn’t be bad for any of us who eat a good -dinner every night,” said Dr. Evans. “But I think that if you tried——”</p> - -<p>Major Ames got up, waving all further discussion aside.</p> - -<p>“That’s enough, doctor,” he said. “If it would do me good, I know Amy -would wish me to go; you know what wives are. Now I’m pressed for time -this morning, and so I am sure are you. By the way, you needn’t mention -my plan till I’ve talked it over with Amy. But about lodgings, now. Do -you recommend lodgings or an hotel?”</p> - -<p>Dr. Evans did not mention that his wife was not going to be with him -this year, for, having obtained<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> permission to say that Harrogate would -do him good, Major Ames had developed a prodigious hurry, and a few -moments after was going jauntily home, with the address of Dr. Evans’ -lodgings in his pocket. He trusted to his own powers of exaggeration to -remove all possible opposition on his wife’s part, and felt himself the -devil of a diplomatist.</p> - -<p>So his plan was arranged.</p> - -<p>The third factor in this network of misconceived plots occurred the same -morning. Mrs. Ames, visiting the High Street on account of an advanced -melon, met Cousin Millie on some similar errand to the butcher’s on -account of advanced cutlets, for the weather was trying. It was natural -that she announced her intention of remaining in Riseborough with her -family during August: it was natural also that Cousin Millie signified -the remission from Harrogate. Cousin Amy was cordial on the subject, and -returned home. Probably she would have mentioned this fact to her -husband, if he had given her time to do it. But he was bursting with a -more immediate communication.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t like to tell you before, Amy,” he said, “because I didn’t want -to make you unnecessarily anxious. And there’s no need for anxiety now.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames was not very imaginative, but it occurred to her that the -newly-planted magnolia had not been prospering.</p> - -<p>“No real cause for anxiety,” he said. “But the fact is that I went to -see Dr. Evans this morning—don’t be frightened, my dear—and got -thoroughly overhauled by him, thoroughly overhauled. He said there was -no reason for anxiety, assured me of it. But I’m gouty, my dear, there’s -no doubt of it, and of course you remember about your poor Aunt -Harriet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> Well, there it is. And he says Harrogate. A bore, of course, -but Harrogate. But no cause for anxiety: he told me so twice.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames gave one moment to calm, clear, oyster-like reflection, -unhurried, unalarmed. There was no shadow of reason why she should tell -him what Mrs. Evans’ plans were. But it was odd that she should suddenly -decide to stop in Riseborough, instead of going to Harrogate, having -heard from Harry that the Ames’ were to remain at home, and Lyndhurst as -suddenly be impelled to go to Harrogate, instead of stopping in -Riseborough. A curious coincidence. Everybody seemed to be making plans. -At any rate she would not add to their number, but only acquiesce in -those which were made.</p> - -<p>“My dear Lyndhurst, what an upset!” she said. “Of course, if you tell me -there is no cause for anxiety, I will not be anxious. Does Dr. Evans -recommend you to go to Harrogate now? You must tell me all he said. They -always go in August, do they not? That will be pleasant for you. But I -am afraid you will find the waters far from palatable.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames felt that he had not made a sufficiently important -impression.</p> - -<p>“Of course, I told Dr. Evans I could decide nothing till I had consulted -you,” he said. “It seems a great break-up to leave you and Harry here -and go away like this. It was that I was thinking of, not whether waters -a palatable or not. I have more than half a mind not to go. I daresay I -shall worry through all right without.”</p> - -<p>Again Mrs. Ames made a little pause.</p> - -<p>“You must do as Dr. Evans tells you to do,” she said. “I am sure he is -not faddy or fussy.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames’ experience of him this morning fully<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> endorsed this. -Certainly he had been neither, whatever the difference between the two -might be.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, if both you and Dr. Evans are agreed,” he said, “I -mustn’t set myself up against you.”</p> - -<p>“Now did he tell you where to go?”</p> - -<p>“He gave me the address of his own lodgings.”</p> - -<p>“What a convenient arrangement! Now, my dear, I beg you to waste no -time. Send off a telegram, and pay the reply, and we’ll pack you off -to-morrow. I am sure it is the right thing to do.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>A sudden conviction, painfully real, that he was behaving currishly, -descended on Major Ames. The feeling was so entirely new to him that he -would have liked to put it down to an obsession of gout in a new -place—the conscience, for instance, for he could hardly believe that he -should be self-accused of paltry conduct. He felt as if there must be -some mistake about it. He almost wished that Amy had made difficulties; -then there would have been the compensatory idea that she was behaving -badly too. But she could not have conducted herself in a more -guilelessly sympathetic manner; she seemed to find no inherent -improbability in Dr. Evans having counselled Harrogate, no question as -to the advisability of following his advice. It was almost unpleasant to -him to have things made so pleasant.</p> - -<p>But then this salutary impression was effaced, for anything that -savoured of self-reproach could not long find harbourage in his mind. -Instead, he pictured himself at Harrogate station, welcoming the Evans’. -She would probably be looking rather tired and fragile after the -journey, but he would have a cab ready for her, and tea would be -awaiting them when they reached the lodgings....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">A week</span> later Mrs. Ames was sitting at breakfast, with Harry opposite -her, expecting the early post, and among the gifts of the early post a -letter from her husband. He had written one very soon after his arrival -at Harrogate, saying that he felt better already. The waters, as Amy had -conjectured, could not be described as agreeable, since their -composition chiefly consisted of those particular ingredients which gave -to rotten eggs their characteristic savour, but what, so said the -valiant, did a bad taste in the mouth matter, if you knew it was doing -you good? An excellent band encouraged the swallowing of this -disagreeable fluid, and by lunch-time baths and drinking were over for -the day. He was looking forward to the Evans’ arrival; it would be -pleasant to see somebody he knew. He would write again before many days.</p> - -<p>The post arrived; there was a letter for her in the Major’s large -sprawling handwriting, and she opened it. But it scarcely a letter: a -blister of expletives covered the smoking pages ... and the Evans’—two -of them—had arrived.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames’ little toadlike face seldom expressed much more than a -ladylike composure, but had Harry been watching his mother he might have -thought that a shade of amusement hovered there.</p> - -<p>“A letter from your father,” she said. “Rather a worried letter. The -cure is lowering, I believe, and makes you feel out of sorts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Harry was looking rather yellow and dishevelled. He had sat up very late -the night before, and the chase for rhymes had been peculiarly fatiguing -and ineffectual.</p> - -<p>“I don’t feel at all well, either,” he said. “And I don’t think Cousin -Millie is well.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Mrs. Ames composedly.</p> - -<p>“I went to see her yesterday and she didn’t attend. She seemed -frightfully surprised to hear that father had gone to Harrogate.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose Dr. Evans had not told her,” remarked Mrs. Ames. “Please -telephone to her after breakfast, Harry, and ask her to dine with us -this evening.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. How curious women are! One day they seem so glad to see you, -another you are no more to them than foam on a broken wave.”</p> - -<p>This was one of the fragments of last night.</p> - -<p>“On a broken what?” asked Mrs. Ames. The rustling of the turning leaf of -the <i>Morning Post</i> had caused her not to hear. There was no sarcastic -intention in her inquiry.</p> - -<p>“It does not matter,” said Harry.</p> - -<p>His mother looked up at him.</p> - -<p>“I should take a little dose, dear,” she said, “if you feel like that. -The heat upsets us all at times. Will you please telephone now, Harry? -Then I shall know what to order for dinner.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames’ nature was undeniably a simple one; she had no misty -profundities or curious dim-lit clefts on the round, smooth surface of -her life, but on occasion simple natures are capable of curious -complexities of feeling, the more elusive because they themselves are -unable to register exactly what they do feel. Certainly she saw a -connection between<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> the non-arrival of dear Millie at Harrogate and the -inflamed letter from her husband. She had suspected also a connection -between dear Millie’s decision to spend August at Riseborough and her -belief that Major Ames was going to do so too. But the completeness of -the fiasco sucked the sting out of the resentment she might otherwise -have felt: it was impossible to be angry with such sorry conspirators. -At the same time, with regard to her husband, she felt the liveliest -internal satisfaction at his blistering communication, and read it -through again. The thought of her own slighted or rather unperceived -rejuvenescence added point to this; she felt that he had been “served -out.” Not for a moment did she suspect him of anything but the most -innocent of flirtations, and she was disposed to credit dear Millie with -having provoked such flirtation as there was. By this time also it must -have been quite clear to both the thwarted parties that she was in full -cognizance of their futile designs; clearly, therefore, her own <i>beau -rôle</i> was to appear utterly unconscious of it all, and, unconsciously, -to administer nasty little jabs to each of them with a smiling face. -“They have been making sillies of themselves,” expressed her indulgent -verdict on the whole affair. Then in some strange feminine way she felt -a sort of secret pride in her husband for having had the manhood to -flirt, however mildly, with somebody else’s wife; but immediately there -followed the resentment that he had not shown any tendency to flirt with -his own, when she had encouraged him. But, anyhow, he had chosen the -prettiest woman in Riseborough, and he was the handsomest man.</p> - -<p>But her mood changed; the thought at any rate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> of administering some -nasty little jabs presented itself in a growingly attractive light. The -two sillies had been wanting to dance to their own tune; they should -dance to hers instead, and by way of striking up her own tune at once -she wrote as follows, to her husband.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">My Dearest Lyndhurst</span>,</p> - -<p class="indd">“I can’t tell you how glad I was to get your two letters, and to -know how much good Harrogate is doing you. What an excellent thing -that you went to Dr. Evans (please remember me to him), and that he -insisted so strongly on your taking yourself thoroughly in hand.”</p></div> - -<p>She paused a moment, wondering exactly how strong this insistence had -been. It was possible that it was not very strong. So much the more -reason for letting the sentence stand. She now underlined the words “so -strongly.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“Of course the waters are disgusting to take, and I declare I can -almost smell them when I read your vivid description, but, as you -said in your first letter, what is a bad taste in the mouth when -you know it is doing you good? And your second letter convinces me -how right you were to go, and when things like gout begin to come -out, it naturally makes you feel a little low and worried. I want -you to stop there the whole of August, and get thoroughly rid of -it.</p> - -<p>“Here we are getting along very happily, and I am so glad I did not -go to the sea. Millie is here, as you will know, and we see a great -deal of her. She is constantly dropping in, <i>en fille</i>, I suppose -you would call it, and is in excellent spirits and looks so -pretty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> But I am not quite at ease about Harry (this is private). -He is very much attracted by her, and she seems to me not very wise -in the way she deals with him, for she seems to be encouraging him -in his silliness. Perhaps I will speak to her about it, and yet I -hardly like to.”</p></div> - -<p>Again Mrs. Ames paused: she had no idea she had such a brilliant touch -in the administration of these jabs. What she said might not be strictly -accurate, but it was full of point.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“I remember, too, what you said, that it was so good for a boy to -be taken up with a thoroughly nice woman, and that it prevented his -getting into mischief. I am sure Harry is writing all sorts of -poems to her, because he sighs a great deal, and has a most inky -forefinger, for which I give him pumice-stone. But if she were not -so nice a woman, and so far from anything like flirtatiousness, I -should feel myself obliged to speak to Harry and warn him. She -seems very happy and cheerful. I daresay she feels like me, and is -rejoiced to think that Harrogate is doing her husband good.</p> - -<p>“Write to me soon again, my dear, and give me another excellent -account of yourself. Was it not queer that you settled to go to -Harrogate just when Millie settled not to? If you were not such -good friends, one would think you wanted to avoid each other! Well, -I must stop. Millie is dining with us, and I must order dinner.”</p></div> - -<p>She read through what she had written with considerable content. “That -will be nastier than the Harrogate waters,” she thought to herself, -“and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span> quite as good for him.” And then, with a certain largeness which -lurked behind all her littlenesses, she practically dismissed the whole -silly business from her mind. But she continued the use of the purely -natural means for restoring the colour of the hair, and tapped and -dabbed the corners of her eyes with the miraculous skin-food. That was a -prophylactic measure; she did not want to appear “a fright” when -Lyndhurst came back from Harrogate.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames was well aware that the famous fancy dress ball had caused her -a certain loss of prestige in her capacity of queen of society in -Riseborough. It had followed close on the heels of her innovation of -asking husbands and wives separately to dinner, and had somewhat taken -the shine out of her achievement, and indeed this latter had not been as -epoch-making as she had expected. For the last week or two she had felt -that something new was required of her, but as is often the case, she -found that the recognition of such a truth does not necessarily lead to -the discovery of the novelty. Perhaps the paltriness of Lyndhurst’s -conduct, leading to reflections on her own superior wisdom, put her on -the path, for about this time she began to take a renewed interest in -the Suffragette movement which, from what she saw in the papers, was -productive of such adventurous alarums in London. For herself, she was -essentially law-abiding by nature, and though, in opposition to -Lyndhurst, sympathetically inclined to women who wanted the vote, she -had once said that to throw stones at Prime Ministers was unladylike in -itself, and only drew on the perpetrators the attention of the police to -themselves, rather than the attention of the public to the problem. But -a recrudescence of similar acts during<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> the last summer had caused her -to wonder whether she had said quite the last word on the subject, or -thought the last thought. Certainly the sensational interest in such -violent acts had led her to marvel at the strength of feeling that -prompted them. Ladies, apparently, whose breeding—always a word of -potency with Mrs. Ames—she could not question, were behaving like -hooligans. The matter interested her in itself apart from its possible -value as a novelty for the autumn. Also an election was probably to take -place in November. Hitherto that section of Riseborough in which she -lived had not suffered its tranquillity to be interrupted by political -excitements, but like a man in his sleep, drowsily approved a -Conservative member. But what if she took the lead in some political -agitation, and what if she introduced a Suffragette element into the -election? That was a solider affair than that a quantity of Cleopatras -should skip about in a back garden.</p> - -<p>She had always felt a certain interest in the movement, but it was the -desire to make a novelty for the autumn, peppered, so to speak, by an -impatience at the futile treachery of her husband’s Harrogate plans, and -an ambition to take a line of her own in opposition to him, presented -their crusade in a serious light to her. The militant crusaders she had -hitherto regarded as affected by a strange lunacy, and her husband’s -masculine comment, “They ought to be well smacked, by Jove!” had the -ring of common-sense, especially since he added, for the benefit of such -crusaders as were of higher social rank, “They’re probably mad, poor -things.”</p> - -<p>But during this tranquil month of August her more serious interest was -aroused, and she bought, though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span> furtively, such literature in the form -of little tracts and addresses as was accessible on the subject. And -slowly, though still the desire for an autumn novelty that would eclipse -the memory of the congregations of Cleopatras was a moving force in her -mind, something of the real ferment began to be yeasty within her, and -she learned by private inquiry what the Suffragette colours were. -Naturally the introduction of an abstract idea into her mind was a -laborious process, since her life had for years consisted of an endless -chain of small concrete events, and had been lived among people who had -never seen an abstract idea wild, any more than they had seen an -elephant in a real jungle. It was always tamed and eating buns, as in -the Zoo, just as other ideas reached them peptonized by the columns of -daily papers. But a wild thing lurked behind the obedient trunk; a wild -thing lurked behind the reports of ludicrous performances in the Palace -Yard at Westminster.</p> - -<p>August was still sultry, and Major Ames was still at Harrogate, when one -evening she and Harry dined with Millie. Since nothing of any -description happened in Riseborough during this deserted month, the -introductory discussion of what events had occurred since they last met -in the High Street that morning was not possible of great expansion. -None of them had seen the aeroplane which was believed to have passed -over the town in the afternoon, and nobody had heard from Mrs. Altham. -Then Mrs. Ames fired the shot which was destined to involve Riseborough -in smoke and brimstone.</p> - -<p>“Lyndhurst and I,” she said, “have never agreed about the Suffragettes, -and now that I know something about them, I disagree more than ever.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Millie looked slightly shocked: she thought of Suffragettes as she -thought of the persons who figure in police news. Indeed, they often -did. She knew they wanted to vote about something, but that was -practically all she knew except that they expressed their desire to vote -by hitting people.</p> - -<p>“I know nothing about them,” she said. “But are they not very -unladylike?”</p> - -<p>“They are a disgrace to their sex,” said Harry. “We soon made them get -out of Cambridge! They tried to hold a meeting in the backs, but I and a -few others went down there, and—well, there wasn’t much more heard of -them. I don’t call them women at all. I call them females.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames had excellent reasons for suspecting romance in her son’s -account of his exploits.</p> - -<p>“Tell me exactly what happened in the backs at Cambridge, Harry,” she -said.</p> - -<p>Harry slightly retracted.</p> - -<p>“There is nothing much to tell,” he said. “Our club felt bound to make a -protest, and we went down there, as I said. It seemed to cow them a -bit!”</p> - -<p>“And then did the proctors come and cow you?” asked his inexorable -mother.</p> - -<p>“I believe a proctor did come; I did not wait for that. They made a -perfect fiasco, anyhow. They told me it was all a dead failure, and we -heard no more about it.”</p> - -<p>“So that was all?” said Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>“And quite enough. I agree with father. They disgrace their sex!”</p> - -<p>“My dear, you know as little about it as your father,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span></p> - -<p>“But surely a man’s judgment——” said Millie, making weak eyes at -Harry.</p> - -<p>“Dear Millie, a man’s judgment is not of any value, if he does not know -anything about what he is judging. We have all read accounts in the -papers, and heard that they are very violent and chain themselves up to -inconvenient places like railings, and are taken away by policemen. -Sometimes they slap the policemen, but surely there must be something -behind that makes them like that. I am finding out what it is. It is all -most interesting. They say that they have to pay their rates and taxes, -but get no privileges. If a man pays rates and taxes he gets a vote, and -why shouldn’t a woman? It is all very well expressed. They seem to me to -reason just as well as a man. I mean to find out much more about it all. -Personally I don’t pay rates and taxes, because that is Lyndhurst’s -affair, but if we had arranged differently and I paid for the house and -the rates and taxes, why shouldn’t I have a vote instead of him? And -from what I can learn the gardener has a vote, just the same as -Lyndhurst, although Lyndhurst does all the garden-rolling, and won’t let -Parkins touch the flowers.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans sighed.</p> - -<p>“It all seems very confused and upside down,” she said. “Do smoke, -Harry, if you feel inclined. Will you have a cigarette, Cousin Amy? I am -afraid I have none. I never smoke.”</p> - -<p>Harry was a little sore from his mother’s handling, and was not -unwilling to hit back.</p> - -<p>“I never knew mother smoked,” he said. “Do you smoke, mother? How -delightful! How Eastern! I never knew you were Eastern. I always thought -you said it was not wicked for women to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> smoke, but only horrid. Do be -horrid. I am sure Suffragettes smoke.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames turned a swift appealing eye on Millie, entreating confidence. -Then she lied.</p> - -<p>“Dear Millie, what are you thinking of?” she said. “Of course I never -smoke, Harry.”</p> - -<p>But the appeal of the eyes had not taken effect.</p> - -<p>“But on the night of my little dance, Cousin Amy,” she said, “surely you -had a cigarette. It made you cough, and you said how nice it was!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames wished she had not been so ruthless about the Suffragettes at -Cambridge.</p> - -<p>“There is a great difference between doing a thing once,” she said, “and -making a habit of it. I think I did want to see what it was like, but I -never said it was nice, and as for its being Eastern, I am sure I am -glad to belong to the West. I always thought it unfeminine, and then I -knew it. I did not feel myself again till I had brushed my teeth and -rinsed my mouth. Now, dear Millie, I am really interested in the -Suffragettes. Their demands are reasonable, and if we are unreasonable -about granting them, they must be unreasonable too. For years they have -been reasonable and nobody has paid any attention to them. What are they -to do but be violent, and call attention to themselves? It is all so -well expressed; you cannot fail to be interested.”</p> - -<p>“Wilfred would never let me hit a policeman,” said Milly. “And I don’t -think I could do it, even if he wanted me to.”</p> - -<p>“But it is not the aim of the movement to hit policemen,” said Mrs. -Ames. “They are very sorry to have to——”</p> - -<p>“They are sorrier afterwards,” said Harry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames turned a small, withering eye upon her offspring.</p> - -<p>“If you had waited to hear what they had to say instead of running away -before the proctor came,” she said, “you might have learnt a little -about them, dear. They are not at all sorry afterwards; they go to -prison quite cheerfully, in the second division, too, which is terribly -uncomfortable. And many of them have been brought up as luxuriously as -any of us.”</p> - -<p>“I could not go to prison,” said Mrs. Evans faintly, but firmly. “And -even if I could, it would be very wrong of me, for I am sure it would -injure Wilfred’s practice. People would not like to go to a doctor whose -wife had been in prison. She might have caught something. And Elsie -would be so ashamed of me.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames gave the suppressed kind of sigh which was habitual with her -when Lyndhurst complained that the water for his bath was not hot, -although aware that the kitchen boiler was being cleaned.</p> - -<p>“But you need not go to prison in order to be a Suffragette, dear -Millie,” she said. “Prison life is not one of the objects of the -movement.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans looked timidly apologetic.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know,” she said. “It is so interesting to be told. I thought -all the brave sort went to prison, and had breakfast together when they -were let out. I am sure I have read about their having breakfast -together.”</p> - -<p>A faint smile quivered on her mouth. She was aware that Cousin Amy -thought her very stupid, and there was a delicate pleasure in appearing -quite idiotic like this. It made Cousin Amy dance with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> irritation in -her inside, and explain more carefully yet.</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear Millie,” she said, “but their having breakfast together has -not much to do with their objects——”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know about that,” said Harry; “there is a club at Cambridge to -which I belong, whose object is to dine together.”</p> - -<p>“Then it is very greedy of you, dear,” said Mrs. Ames, “and the -Suffragettes are not like that. They go to prison and do all sorts of -unladylike things for the sake of their convictions. They want to be -treated justly. For years they have asked for justice, and nobody has -paid the least attention to them; now they are making people attend. I -assure you that until I began reading about them, I had very little -sympathy with them. But now I feel that all women ought to know about -them. Certainly what I have read has opened my eyes very much, and there -are a quantity of women of very good family indeed who belong to them.”</p> - -<p>Harry pulled his handkerchief out of the sleeve of his dress-coat; he -habitually kept it there. Just now the Omar Khayyam Club was rather -great on class distinctions.</p> - -<p>“I do not see what that matters,” he said. “Because a man’s -great-grandmother was created a duchess for being a king’s mistress——”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Ames got up simultaneously; if anything Mrs. Ames -got up a shade first.</p> - -<p>“I do not think we need go into that, Harry,” said Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>Millie tempered the wind.</p> - -<p>“Will you join us soon, Harry?” she said. “If<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> you are too long I shall -come and fetch you. We have been political to-night! Will it be too cold -for you in the garden, Cousin Amy?”</p> - -<p>Left to himself, Harry devoted several minutes’ pitiful reflection to -his mother’s state of mind. In spite of her awakened interest in the -Suffragette movement, she seemed to him deplorably old-fashioned. But -with his second glass of port his thoughts assumed a rosier tone, and he -determined to wait till Cousin Millie came to fetch him. Surely she -meant him to do that: no doubt she wanted to have just one private word -with him. She had often caught his eye during dinner, with a deprecating -look, as if to say this tiresome rigmarole about Suffragettes was not -her fault. He felt they understood each other....</p> - -<p>There was a large Chippendale looking-glass above the sideboard, and he -got up from the table and observed the upper part of his person which -was reflected in it. A wisp of hair fell over his forehead; it might -more rightly be called a plume. He appeared to himself to have a most -interesting face, uncommon, arresting. He was interestingly and -characteristically dressed, too, with a collar Byronically low, a soft -frilled shirt, and in place of a waistcoat a black cummerbund. Then -hastily he mounted on a chair in order to see the whole of his lean -figure that seemed so slender. It was annoying that at this moment of -critical appreciation a parlour-maid should look in to see if she could -clear away....</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>There is nothing that so confirms individualism in any character as -periods of comparative solitude. In men such confirmation is liable to -be checked by the boredom to which their sex is subject, but women,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span> -less frequently the prey of this paralysing emotion, when the demands -made upon them by household duties and domestic companionship are -removed, enter very swiftly into the kingdoms of themselves. This -process was very strongly at work just now with Millie Evans; -superficially, her composure and meaningless smoothness were unaltered, -so that Mrs. Ames, at any rate, almost wondered whether she had been -right in crediting her with any hand in the Harrogate plans, so -unruffled was her insipid and deferential cordiality, but down below she -was exploring herself and discovering a capacity for feeling that -astonished her by its intensity. All her life she had been content to -arouse emotion without sharing it, liking to see men attentive to her, -liking to see them attracted by her and disposed towards tenderness. -They were more interesting like that, and she gently basked in the -warmth of their glow, like a lizard on the wall. She had not wanted more -than that; she was lizard, not vampire, and to sun herself on the wall, -and then glide gently into a crevice again, seemed quite sufficient -exercise for her emotions. Luckily or unluckily (those who hold that -calm and complete respectability is the aim of existence would prefer -the former adverb, those who think that development of individuality is -worth the risk of a little scorching, the latter) she had married a man -who required little or nothing more than she was disposed to give. He -had not expected unquiet rapture, but a comfortable home with a “little -woman” always there, good-tempered, as Millie was, and cheerful and -pliable as, with a dozen exceptions when the calm precision came into -play, she had always been. Temperamentally, he was nearly as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> -undeveloped as she, and the marriage had been what is called a very -sensible one. But such sensible marriages ignore the fact that human -beings, like the shores of the bay of Naples, are periodically volcanic, -and the settlers there assume that their little property, because no -sulphurous signs have appeared on the surface, is essentially quiescent, -neglecting the fact that at one time or another emotional disturbances -are to be expected. But because many quiet years have passed -undisturbed, they get to believe that the human and natural fires have -ceased to smoulder, and are no longer alive down below the roots of -their pleasant vines and olive trees. All her life up till now, Millie -Evans had been like one of these quiescent estates; now, when middle-age -was upon her, she began to feel the stir of vital forces. The surface of -her life was still undisturbed, she went about the diminished business -of the household with her usual care, and in the weeks of this solitary -August knitted a couple of ties for her husband, and read a couple of -novels from the circulating library, with an interest not more markedly -tepid than usual. But subterranean stir was going on, though no -fire-breathing clefts appeared on the surface. Subconsciously she wove -images and dreams, scarcely yet knowing that it is out of such dreams -that the events and deeds of life inevitably spring. She had scarcely -admitted even to herself that her projects for August had gone -crookedly: the conviction that Lyndhurst Ames had found himself gouty -and in need of Harrogate punctually at the date when he knew that she -might be expected there, sufficiently straightened them. The intention -more than compensated the miscarriage of events.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span></p> - -<p>To-night, when her two guests had gone, the inevitable step happened: -her unchecked impulses grew stronger and more definite, and out of the -misty subconsciousness of her mind the disturbance flared upwards into -the light of her everyday consciousness. With genuine flame it mounted; -it was no solitary imagining of her own that had kindled it; he, she -knew, was a conscious partner, and she had as sign the memory that he -had kissed her. Somehow, deep in her awakening heart, that meant -something stupendous to her. It had been unrealized at the time, but it -had been like the touch of some corrosive, sweet and acid, burrowing -down, eating her and yet feeding her. Up till now, it seemed to have -signified little, now it invested itself with a tremendous significance. -Probably to him it meant little; men did such things easily, but it was -that which had burrowed within her, making so insignificant an entry, -but penetrating so far. It was not a proof that he loved her, but it had -become a token that she loved him. Otherwise, it could not have -happened. There was something final in the beginning of it all. Then he -had kissed her a second time on the night of the fancy dress ball. He -had called that a cousinly kiss, and she smiled at the thought of that, -for it showed that it required to be accounted for, excused. She felt a -sort of tenderness for that fluttering, broken-winged subterfuge, so -transparent, so undeceptive. If cousins kissed, they did not recollect -their relationship afterwards, especially if there was no relationship. -He had not kissed her because she was some sort of cousin to his wife.</p> - -<p>Yet it hardly stating the case correctly to say that he had kissed her. -Doubtless, on that first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> occasion below the mulberry-tree it was his -head that had bent down to hers, while she but remained passive, -waiting. But it was she who had made him do it, and she gloried in the -soft compulsion she had put on him. Even as she thought of it this -evening, her eye sparkled. “He could not help it,” she said to herself. -“He could not help it.”</p> - -<p>Out of the sequestered cloistral twilight of her soul there had stepped -something that had slumbered there all her life, something pagan, -something incapable of scruples or regrets, as void of morals as a nymph -or Bacchanal on a Greek frieze. It did not trouble, so it seemed, to -challenge or defy the traditions and principles in which she had lived -all these years; it appeared to be ignorant of their existence, or, at -the most, they were but shadows that lay in unsubstantial bars across a -sunlit pavement. At present, it stood there trembling and quiescent, -like a moth lately broken out from its sheathed chrysalis, but momently, -now that it had come forth, it would grow stronger, and its crumpled -wings expand into pinions feathered with silver and gold.</p> - -<p>But she made no plans, she scarcely even turned her eyes towards the -future, for the future would surely be as inevitable as the past had -been. One by one the hot August days dropped off like the petals of -peach blossom, which must fall before the fruit begins to swell. She -neither wanted to delay or hurry their withering. There were but few -days left, few petals left to fall, for within a week, so her husband -had written, he would be back, vastly better for his cure, and Major -Ames was coming with him. “I shall be so glad to see my little woman -again,” he had said. “Elsie and I have missed her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Occasionally she tried to think about her husband, but she could not -concentrate her mind on him. She was too much accustomed to him to be -able to fix her thoughts on him emotionally. She was equally well -accustomed to Elsie, or rather equally well accustomed to her complete -ignorance about Elsie. She could no more have drawn a chart of the -girl’s mind than she could have drawn a picture of the branches of the -mulberry-tree under which she so often sat, beholding the interlacement -of its boughs but never really seeing them. Never had she known the -psychical bond of motherhood; even the physical had meant little to her. -She was Elsie’s mother by accident, so to speak; and she was but as a -tree from which a gardener has made a cutting, planting it near, so that -sapling and parent stem grow up in sight of each other, but quite -independently, without sense of their original unity. Even when her baby -had lain at her breast, helpless, and still deriving all from her, the -sweet intimate mystery of the life that was common to them both had been -but a whispered riddle to her; and that was long ago, its memory had -become a faded photograph that might really have represented not herself -and her baby, but any mother and child. It was very possible that before -long Elsie would be transplanted by marriage, and she herself would have -to learn a little more about chess in order to play with her husband in -the evening.</p> - -<p>Such, hitherto, had been her emotional life: this summary of it and its -meagre total is all that can justly be put to credit. She liked her -husband, she knew he was kind to her, and so, in its inanimate manner, -was the food which she ate kind to her, in that it nourished and -supported her. But her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> gratitude to it was untinged with emotion; she -was not sentimental over her breakfast, for it was the mission of food -to give support, and the mission of her husband had not been to her much -more than that. Neither wifehood nor motherhood had awakened her -womanhood. Yet, in that she was a woman, she was that most dangerous of -all created or manufactured things, an unexploded shell, liable to blow -to bits both itself and any who handled her. The shell was alive still, -its case uncorroded, and its contents still potentially violent. That -violence at present lay dark and quiet within it; its sheath was smooth -and faintly bright. It seemed but a play-thing, a parlour-ornament; it -could stand on any table in any drawing-room. But the heart of it had -never been penetrated by the love that could transform its violence into -strength: now its cap was screwed and its fuse fixed. Until the damp and -decay of age robbed it of its power, it would always be liable to wreck -itself and its surroundings.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>These same days that for her were kindling dangerous stuff, passed for -Mrs. Ames in a <i>crescendo</i> of awakening interest. All her life she had -been wrapped round like the kernel of a nut, in the hard, dry husk of -conventionalities, her life had been encased in a succession of minute -happenings, and, literally speaking, she had never breathed the outer -air of ideas. As has been noticed, she gave regular patronage to St. -Barnabas’ Church, and spent a solid hour or two every week in decorating -it with the produce of her husband’s garden, from earliest spring, when -the faint, shy snowdrops were available, to late autumn, when October -and November frosts<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> finally blackened the salvias and chrysanthemums. -But all that had been of the nature of routine: a certain admiration for -the vicar, a passionless appreciation of his nobly ascetic life, his -strong, lean face, and the fire of his utterances had made her -attendance regular, and her contributions to his charities quite -creditably profuse in proportion to her not very ample means. But she -had never denied herself anything in order to increase them, while the -time she spent over the flowers was amply compensated for when she saw -the eclipse they made of Mrs. Brooks’ embroideries, or when the lilies -dropped their orange-staining pollen on to the altar-cloth. Stranger, -perhaps, from the emotional point of view, had been her recently -attempted rejuvenescence, but even that had been a calculated and -materialistic effort. It had not been a manifestation of her love for -her husband, or of a desire to awaken his love for her. It was merely a -decorative effort to attract his attention, and prevent it wandering -elsewhere.</p> - -<p>But now, with her kindled sympathy for the Suffragette movement, there -was springing up in her the consciousness of a kinship with her sex -whom, hitherto, she had regarded as a set of people to whom, in the -matter of dinner-giving and entirely correct social behaviour, she must -be an example and a law, while even her hospitalities had not been -dictated by the spirit of hospitality but rather by a sort of pompous -and genteel competition. Now she was beginning to see that behind the -mere events of life, if they were to be worth anything, must lie an -idea, and here behind this woman’s crusade, with all its hooliganism, -its hysteria, its apish fanaticism, lay an idea of justice and -sisterhood. They seemed simple words, and she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> would have said off-hand -that she knew what they meant. But, as she began faintly to understand -them, she knew that she had been as ignorant of them as of what -Australia really was. To her, as it was a geographical expression only, -so justice was an abstract expression. But the meaning of justice was -known to those who gave up the comforts and amenities of life for its -sake, and for its sake cheerfully suffered ridicule and prison life and -misunderstanding. And the fumes of an idea, to one who had practically -never tasted one, intoxicated her as new wine mounts to the head of a -teetotaler.</p> - -<p>Ideas are dangerous things, and should be kept behind a fireguard, for -fear that the children, of whom this world largely consists, should burn -their fingers, thinking that these bright, sparkling toys are to be -played with. Mrs. Ames, in spite of her unfamiliarity with them, did not -fall into this error. She realized that if she was to warm herself, to -get the glow of the fire in her cramped and frozen limbs, she must treat -it with respect, and learn to handle it. That, at any rate, was her -intention, and she had a certain capacity for thoroughness.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>It was in the last week of August that Major Ames was expected back, -after three weeks of treatment. At first, as reflected in his letters, -his experiences had been horrifying; the waters nauseated him, and the -irritating miscarriage of the plan which was the real reason for his -going to Harrogate, caused him fits of feeble rage which were the more -maddening because they had to be borne secretly and silently. Also the -lodgings he had procured seemed to him needlessly expensive, and all -this efflux of bullion was being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> poured out on treatment which Dr. -Evans had told him was really quite unnecessary. Regular and sparkling -letters from his wife, in praise of August spent at Riseborough, -continued to arrive and filled him with impotent envy. He, too, might be -spending August at Riseborough if he had not been quite so precipitate. -As it was, his mornings were spent in absorbing horrible draughts and -gently stewing in the fetid waters of the Starbeck spring: his meals -were plain to the point of grotesqueness, his evenings were spent in -playing inane games of patience, while Elsie and the doctor pored -silently over their chessboard, saying “Check” to each other at -intervals. But through the days and their tedious uniformity there ran a -certain unquietness and desire. It was clear that Millie, no less than -he, had planned that they should be together in August, but his desire -did not absorb him, rather it made him restless and anxious about the -future. He did not even know if he was in love with her; he did not even -know if he wanted to be. The thought of her kindled his imagination, and -he could picture himself in love with her: at the same time he was not -certain whether, if the last two months could be lived over again, he -would let himself drift into the position where he now found himself. -There was neither ardour nor anything imperative in his heart; -something, it is true, was heated, but it only smouldered and smoked. It -was of the nature of such fire as bursts out in haystacks: it was born -of stuffiness and packed confinement, and was as different as two things -of the same nature can be, from the swift lambency and laudable flame of -sun-kindled and breeze-fed flame. It disquieted and upset him; he could -not soberly believe in the pictures<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> his imagination drew of his being -irresistibly in love with her: their colour quickly faded, their -outlines were wavering and uncertain. And the background was even more -difficult to fill in ... how was the composition to be arranged? Where -would Amy stand? What aspect would Riseborough wear? And then, after a -long silence, Elsie said “Check.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames was due to arrive at Riseborough soon after four in the -afternoon, and Mrs. Ames was at pains to be at home by that hour to -welcome him and give him tea, and had persuaded Harry to go up to the -station to meet him. She had gathered a charming decoration of flowers -to make the room bright, and had put a couple more vases of them in his -dressing-room. Before long a cab arrived from the station bearing his -luggage, but neither he nor Harry occupied it. So it was natural to -conclude that they were walking down, and she made tea, since they would -not be many minutes behind the leisurely four-wheeler. She wanted very -particularly to give him an auspicious and comfortable return: he must -not think that, because this Suffragette movement occupied her thoughts -so much, she was going to become remiss in care for him. But still the -minutes went on, and she took a cup of tea herself, and found it already -growing astringent. What could have detained him she could not guess, -but certainly he should have another brew of tea made for him, for he -hated what in moments of irritation he called tincture of tannin. Five -o’clock struck, and the two quarters that duly followed it. Before that -a conjecture had formed itself in her mind.</p> - -<p>Then came the rattle of his deposited hat and stick in the hall, and the -rattle of the door-handle for his entry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, Amy,” he said, “and here’s your returned prodigal. Train late as -usual, and I walked down. How are you?”</p> - -<p>She got up and kissed him.</p> - -<p>“Very well indeed, Lyndhurst,” she said; “and there is no need to ask -you how you are.”</p> - -<p>She paused a moment.</p> - -<p>“Your luggage arrived nearly an hour ago,” she said.</p> - -<p>He had forgotten that detail.</p> - -<p>“An hour ago? Surely not,” he said.</p> - -<p>She gave him one more pause in which he could say more, but nothing -came.</p> - -<p>“You have had tea, I suppose,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Yes; Evans insisted on my dropping in to his house, and taking a cup -there. That rogue Harry has stopped on. Well, well: we were all young -once! You remember the old story I told you about the Colonel’s wife -when I was a lad.”</p> - -<p>She remembered it perfectly. She felt sure also that he had not meant to -tell her where he had been since his arrival at the station.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> day was of early October, and Dr. Evans, who was driving his swift, -steady cob, harnessed to the light dogcart, along the flat road towards -Norton, had leisure to observe the beauty of the flaming season. He had -but a couple of visits to make, and neither of the cases caused him any -professional anxiety. But it was with conscious effort that he commanded -his obedient mind to cease worrying, and drink in the beneficent -influence of this genial morning that followed on a night that had given -them the first frost of the year. The road, after leaving Riseborough, -ran through a couple of level miles of delectable woodland; ditches -filled and choked with the full-grown grass and herbage of the summer -bordered it on each side. On the left, the sun had turned the frozen -night-dews into a liquid heraldry, on the right where the roadside -foliage was still in shadow, the faceted jewels of the frost that hinted -of the coming winter still stiffened the herbage, and was white on the -grey beards of the sprawling clematis in the hedges. But high above -these low-growing tangles of vegetation, an ample glory flamed, and the -great beech forest was all ablaze with orange and red flame tremulous in -the breeze. Here and there a yew-tree, tawny-trunked and green-velveted -with undeciduous leaf, seemed like a black spot of unconsumed fuel in -the fire of the autumn; here a company of sturdy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span> oaks seemed like a -group of square-shouldered young men amid the maidens of the woodland. -It had its fairies too, the sylph-like birches, whose little leaves -seemed shed about their white shapeliness like a shower of confetti. -Then, in the more open glades, short and rabbit-cropped turf sparkled -emerald-like amid the sober greys and browns of the withering heather -and the russet antlers of the bracken. Now and then a rabbit with white -scutt, giving a dot-and-dash signal of danger to his family, would -scamper into shelter at the rattle of the approaching dogcart. Now and -then a pheasant, whose plumage seemed to reproduce in metal the tints of -the golden autumn, strode with lowered head and tail away from the -dangerous vicinity of man. Below the beeches the ground was uncarpeted -by any vegetation, but already the “fallen glories” of the leaf were -beginning to lie there, and occasionally a squirrel ran rustling across -them, and having gained the security of his lofty ways among the trees, -scolded Puck-like at the interruption that had made him leave his -breakfast of the burst beech-nuts. To the right, below the high-swung -level road, the ground declined sharply, and gave glimpses of the -distant sun-burnished sea; above, small companies of feathery clouds, -assembled together as if migrating for the winter, fluttered against the -summer azure of the sky.</p> - -<p>Dr. Evans’ alert and merry eye dwelt on those delectable things, and in -obedience to his brain, noted and appreciated the manifold festivity of -the morning, but it did so not as ordinarily, by instinct and eager -impulses, but because he consciously bade it. It needed the spur; its -alertness and its merriness were pressed on it, and by degrees the spur -failed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> stimulate it, and he fell to regarding the well-groomed -quarters of his long-stepping cob, which usually afforded him so -pleasant a contemplation of strong and harmonious muscularity. But this -morning even they failed to delight him, and the rhythm of its firm trot -made no music in his mind. There came a crease which deepened into a -decided frown between his eyes, and he communed with the trouble in his -mind.</p> - -<p>There were various lesser worries, not of sufficient importance to -disturb seriously the equanimity of a busy and well-balanced man, and -though each was trivial enough in itself, and distinctly had a humorous -side to a mind otherwise content, the cumulative effect of them was not -amusing. In the first place, there was the affair of Harry Ames, who, in -a manner sufficiently ludicrous and calfish, had been making love to his -wife. As any other sensible man would have done, Wilfred Evans had seen -almost immediately on his return to Riseborough that Harry was disposed -to make himself ridiculous, and had given a word of kindly warning to -his wife.</p> - -<p>“Snub him a bit, little woman,” he had said. “We’re having a little too -much of him. It’s fairer on the boy, too. You’re too kind to him. A -woman like you so easily turns a boy’s head. And you’ve often said he is -rather a dreadful sort of youth.”</p> - -<p>But for some reason she took the words in ill part, becoming rather -precise.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Will you explain, please?”</p> - -<p>“Easy enough, my dear. He’s here too much; he’s dangling after you. -Laugh at him a little, or yawn a little.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You mean that he’s in love with me?”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s too big a word, little woman, though I’m sure you see what -I mean.”</p> - -<p>“I think I do. I think your suggestion is rather coarse, Wilfred, and -quite ill-founded. Is every one who is polite and attentive supposed to -be in love with me? I only ask for information.”</p> - -<p>“I think your own good sense will supply you with all necessary -information,” he said.</p> - -<p>But her good sense apparently had done nothing of the kind, and -eventually Dr. Evans had spoken to Harry’s father on the subject. The -visits had ceased with amazing abruptness after that, and Dr. Evans had -found himself treated to a stare of blank unrecognition when he passed -Harry in the street, and a curl of the lip which he felt must have been -practised in private. But the Omar Khayyam Club would be the gainers, -for they owed to it those stricken and embittered stanzas called -“Parted.”</p> - -<p>Here comedy verged on farce, but the farce did not amuse him. He knew -that his own interpretation of Harry’s assiduous presence was correct, -so why should his wife have so precisely denied that those absurd -attentions meant nothing? There was nothing to resent in the sensible -warning that a man was greatly attracted by her. Nor was there warrant -for Colonel Ames’ horror and dismay at the suggestion, when the doctor -spoke to him about it. “Infamous young libertine” was surely a -hyperbolical expression.</p> - -<p>Dr. Evans unconsciously flicked the cob rather sharply with his -whip-lash, to that excellent animal’s surprise, for he was covering his -miles in five minutes apiece, and the doctor conveyed his apologies for -his unintentional hint with a soothing remark. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> his thoughts -drifted back again. That was not all the trouble with the Ames’ family, -for his wife had had a quarrel with Mrs. Ames. This kindly man hated to -quarrel with anybody, and, for his part, successfully refused to do so, -and that his wife should find herself in such a predicament was equally -distressing to him. No doubt it was all a storm in a tea-cup, but if you -happen to be living in the tea-cup too, a storm there is just as -upsetting as a gale on the high seas. It is worse, indeed, for on the -high seas a ship can run into fairer weather, but there is no escape -from these tea-cup disturbances. The entire tea-cup was involved: all -Riseborough, which a year ago had seemed to him so suitable a place in -which to pursue an unexacting practice, to conduct mild original work, -in the peace and quiet of a small society and domestic comfort, was -become a tempest of conflicting winds. “And all arising from such a pack -of nonsense,” as the doctor thought impatiently to himself, only just -checking the whip-lash from falling again on the industrious cob.</p> - -<p>The interest of Mrs. Ames in the Suffragette movement had given rise to -all this. She had announced a drawing-room meeting to be held in her -house, now a fortnight ago, and the drawing-room meeting had exploded in -mid-career, like a squib, scattering sparks and combustible material -over all Riseborough. It appeared that Mrs. Ames, finding that the -comprehension of Suffragette aims extended to the middle-class circles -in Riseborough, had asked the wives and daughters of tradesmen to take -part in it. It wanted but little after that to make Mrs. Altham remark -quite audibly that she had not known that she was to have the privilege -of meeting so many ladies with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> whom she was not previously acquainted, -and the sarcastic intention of her words was not lost upon her new -friends. Tea seemed but to increase the initial inflammation, and the -interest Mrs. Ames had intended to awake on the subject of votes for -women was changed into an interest in ascertaining who could be most -offensively polite, a very pretty game. It is not to be wondered at -that, before twenty-four hours had passed, Mrs. Altham had started an -anti-Suffragette league, and Millie, still strong in the conviction that -under no circumstances could she go to prison, had allowed herself to be -drawn into it. Next night at dinner she softly made a terrible -announcement.</p> - -<p>“I passed Cousin Amy in the street just now,” she said; “she did not -seem to see me.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps she didn’t see you, little woman,” said her husband.</p> - -<p>“So I did not seem to see her,” added Millie, who had not finished her -sentence. “But if she cares to come to see me and explain, I shall -behave quite as usual to her.”</p> - -<p>“Come, come, little woman!” said Dr. Evans in a conciliating spirit.</p> - -<p>“And I do not see what is the good of saying ‘Come, come,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> she said, -with considerable precision.</p> - -<p>All this was sufficient to cause very sensible disquiet to a man who -attached so proper an importance to peaceful and harmonious conditions -of life, yet it was but a small thing compared to a far deeper anxiety -that brooded over him. Till now he had not let himself directly -contemplate it, but to-day, as he returned from his two visits, he made -himself face this last secret trouble. He felt it was necessary for him -to ascertain, for the sake of others no less than himself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> what part, -if any, of his disquiet was grounded on certainty, what part, if any, -might be the figment of an over-anxious imagination. But he knew he was -not anxious by temperament, nor given to imagine troubles. If anything, -he was more prone, in his desire for a pleasant and studious life, to -shut his eyes to the apparent approach of storm, trusting that it would -blow by. He was anxious about Millie, not without cause; a hundred -symptoms justified his anxiety. She who for so long had been of such -imperturbable serenity of temper that a man who did not feel her charm -might have called her jelly-fish was the prey of fifty moods a day. She -had strange little fits of tenderness to him, with squalls of -peevishness quite as strange. She was restless and filled with an energy -that flamed and flickered and vanished, leaving her indolent and inert. -She would settle herself for a morning of letter writing, and after -tearing up a couple of notes, put on her gardening gloves and get as far -as the herbaceous bed. Then she would find an imperative reason for -going into the town, and so sit down at her piano to practise. Her -appetite, usually of the steady reliable order, failed her, and she -passed broken and tossing nights. Had she been a girl, he would have -said those symptoms all pointed one way; and it would probably not have -been difficult to guess who was the young man in question. Yet he could -scarcely face the conclusion applied to his wife. It was a hideous thing -that a husband should harbour such a suspicion, more hideous that the -husband should be himself. And perhaps more hideous of all, that he -should guess—again without difficulty—who was the man in question.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span></p> - -<p>He had no conception what to do, or whether to do nothing; it seemed -that action and inaction might alike end in disaster. And, again, the -whole of his explanation of Millie’s symptoms might be erroneous. There -might be other explanations—indeed, there were others possible. As to -that, time would show; at present the best course, perhaps the only -right course, was to be watchful, yet not suspicious, observant, not -prying. Rather than pry or be suspicious he would go to Millie herself, -and without reservation tell her all that had been in his mind. He was -well aware what the heroic attitude, the attitude of the virile, -impetuous Englishman, dear to melodrama, would have been. It was quite -easy for him to “tax” Major Ames with baseness, to grind his teeth at -his wife, and then burst into manly tears, each sob of which seemed to -rend him. But to his quiet, sensible nature, it seemed difficult to see -what was supposed to happen next. In melodrama the curtain went down, -and you started ten years later in Queensland with regenerated natures -distributed broadcast. But in actual life it was impossible to start -again ten years later, or ten minutes later. You had to go on all the -time. Willingly would he, on this divine October morning, have started -again, indefinitely later. The difficulty was how to go on now.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>His cases had not long detained him, and it was still not long after -noon when the cob, still pleased and alert with motion, but with smoking -flanks, drew up at his door. The clear chill of the morning had -altogether passed, and the air in the basin or tea-cup of a town was -still and sultry. There was a familiar hat on the table in the hall, a -bunch of long-stemmed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> tawny chrysanthemums lay by it. And at that sight -some distant echo of barbaric and simple man, deplorable to the -smoothness of civilization and altogether obsolete, was resonant in him. -He pitched the chrysanthemums into the street, where they flew like a -shooting star close by the head of General Fortescue, who was tottering -down to the club, and slammed the door. It was melodramatic and foolish -enough, but the desire that prompted it was quite sincere and -irresistible, and if at the moment Major Ames had been in that cool -oak-panelled hall, there is little doubt that Dr. Evans would have done -his best to pitch him out after his flowers.</p> - -<p>The doctor gave himself a moment to recover from his superficial -violence, and then went out into the garden. They were sitting together -on the bench under the mulberry-tree, and Major Ames got up with his -usual briskness as he approached. Somehow Dr. Evans felt as if he was -being welcomed and made to feel at home.</p> - -<p>“Good morning,” said Major Ames. “Glorious day, isn’t it? I just stepped -over with a handful of flowers, and we’ve been having a bit of a chat, a -bit of a chat.”</p> - -<p>“Cousin Lyndhurst has very kindly come to talk over all these little -disturbances,” said Millie.</p> - -<p>She looked at him.</p> - -<p>“Shall I explain?” she asked.</p> - -<p>Dr. Evans took the seat that Major Ames had vacated, leaving him free to -sit down in a garden chair opposite, or to stand, just as he pleased.</p> - -<p>“It is like this, Wilfred,” she said. “Cousin Amy did not like my -joining the anti-Suffragette league which Mrs. Altham started, and I -have told Lyndhurst that I did not care a straw one way or the other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> -except that I could not go to prison to please Cousin Amy or any one -else. But it looked like taking sides, she thought. So Lyndhurst thought -it would make everything easy if I didn’t join any league at all. I -think it very clever and tactful of him to think of that, and I will -certainly tell Mrs. Altham I find I am too busy. Of course, there is no -quarrel between Cousin Amy and me, and Lyndhurst wants to assure us that -he isn’t mixed up in it, though there isn’t any—and, of course, if -Cousin Amy didn’t see me the other day when I thought she pretended not -to, it makes a difference.”</p> - -<p>Millie delivered herself of these lucid statements with her usual -deferential air.</p> - -<p>“I think it is very kind of Cousin Lyndhurst to take so much trouble,” -she added. “He is stopping to lunch.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames made a noble little gesture that disclaimed any credit.</p> - -<p>“It’s nothing, a mere nothing,” he said, quite truly. “But I’m sure you -hate little domestic jars as much as I do. As Amy once said, my -profession was to be a man of war, but my instinct was to be a man of -peace. Ha! Ha! I’m only delighted my little olive branch has—has met -with success,” he added rather feebly, being unable to think of any -botanical metaphor.</p> - -<p>The doctor got up. It is to be feared that, in his present state of -mind, he felt not the smallest admiration or gratitude for the work of -Lyndhurst the Peacemaker, but only saw in it a purely personal desire to -secure an uninterrupted <i>va et vient</i> between the two houses.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest intention of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> quarrelling with -anybody,” he said. “It seems to me the most deplorable waste of time and -energy, besides being very uncomfortable. Let us go in to lunch, Millie; -I have to go out again at two o’clock.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Millie wrote an amiable and insincere little note to Mrs. Altham, which -Major Ames undertook to deliver on his way home, explaining how, since -Elsie had gone to Dresden to perfect herself in the German language, she -herself had become so busy that she did not know which way to turn, -besides missing Elsie very much. She felt, therefore, that since she -would not be able to give as much time as she wished to this very -interesting anti-Suffragette movement, it would be better not to give to -it any time at all. This she wrote directly after her husband had gone -out again, and brought to Major Ames, who was waiting for it. He, too, -had said he would have to be off at once. She gave him the note.</p> - -<p>“There it is,” she said; “and so many thanks for leaving it. But you are -not hurrying away at once, are you?”</p> - -<p>“Am I not keeping you in?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She pulled down the lace blinds over the window that looked into the -street; the October sun, it is true, beat rather hotly into the room, -but the instinct that dictated her action was rather a desire for -privacy.</p> - -<p>“As if I would not sooner sit and talk to you,” she said, “than go out. -I have no one to go out with. I am rather lonely since Elsie has gone, -and I daresay I shall not see Wilfred again till dinner-time. It is -rather amusing that I have just written to Mrs. Altham to say how busy I -am.”</p> - -<p>He came and sat a little closer to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Upon my word,” he said, “I am in the same boat as you. I haven’t set -eyes on Amy all morning, and this afternoon I know she has a couple of -meetings. It’s extraordinary how this idea of votes for women has taken -hold of her. Not a bad thing, though, as long as she doesn’t go making a -fool of herself in public, and as long as she doesn’t have any more -quarrels with you.”</p> - -<p>“What would you have done if she had really wished to quarrel with me -over Mrs. Altham’s league?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Just what I told her. I said I would be no partner to it, and as long -as you would receive me here <i>en garçon</i> I should always come.”</p> - -<p>“That was dear of you,” she said softly.</p> - -<p>She paused a moment.</p> - -<p>“Sometimes I think we made a mistake in coming to settle here,” she -said; “but you know how obstinate Wilfred is, and how little influence I -have with him. But then, again, I think of our friendship. I have not -had many friends. I think, perhaps, I am too shy and timid with people. -When I like them very much I find it difficult to express myself. It is -rather sad not to be able to show what you feel quite frankly. It -prevents your being understood by the people whom you most want to -understand you.”</p> - -<p>But beneath this profession of incompetence, it seemed to Major Ames -that there lurked a very efficient strength. He felt himself being -gradually overpowered by a superior force, a force that did not strike -and disable and overbear, but cramped and paralysed the power of its -adversary, enfolding him, clinging to him. There was still something in -him, some part of his will which was hostile and opposed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> to her: it was -just that which she assailed. And in alliance with that paralysing force -was her attraction and charm—soft, yielding, feminine; the two advanced -side by side, terrible twins.</p> - -<p>He did not answer for a moment, and it flashed across his mind that this -cool room, shaded from the street glare by the lace curtains, and -suffused with the greenish glow of the sunlight reflected from the lawn -outside, was like a trap.... She gave a little laugh.</p> - -<p>“See how badly I express myself,” she said. “You are puzzling, frowning. -Don’t frown, you look best when you are laughing. I get so tired of -frowning faces. Wilfred so often frowns all dinner-time when he is -thinking over something connected with microbes. And he frowns over his -chess, when he cannot make up his mind whether to exchange bishops. We -play chess every evening.”</p> - -<p>Instinctively she had drawn back a little, when she saw he did not -advance to meet her, and spoke as if chess and the pathos of her -dumbness to express friendship were things of equal moment. There was no -calculation about it: it was the expression of one type, the eternal -feminine attracted and wishing to attract. Her descent to these -commonplaces restored his confidence; the room was a trap no longer, but -the pleasant drawing-room he knew so well, with its charming mistress -seated by him. It was almost inevitable that he should contrast the hot -plushes and saddle-bag cushions of his own, its angular chairs and -Axminster carpets with the cool chintzes here, the lace-shrouded -windows, the Persian rugs. More marked was the contrast between the -mistresses of the two houses. Amy had been writing at her davenport a -good deal lately, and her short, stiff back<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span> had been the current -picture of her. Here was a woman, dim in the half light, wanting to talk -to him, to make timid confidences, to make him realize how much his -friendship meant to her. His confidence returned with disarming -completeness.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m sure I should find it dismal enough at home,” he said, “if I -hadn’t somewhere to go to, knowing I should find a welcome. Mind you, I -don’t blame Amy. For years now, when we’ve been alone in the evening, -she has done her work, and I have read the paper, and I daresay we -haven’t said a dozen words till Parker brought in the bedroom candles, -or sometimes we play picquet—for love. But now evenings spent like that -seem to me very prosy and dismal. Perhaps it’s Harrogate that has made -me a bit more supple and youthful, though I’m sure it’s ridiculous -enough that a tough old campaigner like me should feel such things——”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans put forward her chin, raising her face towards him.</p> - -<p>“But why ridiculous?” she asked. “You must be so much younger than dear -Cousin Amy. I wonder—I wonder if she feels that too?”</p> - -<p>There was there a very devilish suggestion, the more so because, in -proportion to the suggestion, so very little was stated. It succeeded -admirably.</p> - -<p>“Poor dear Amy!” said he.</p> - -<p>He had said that once before, when Cleopatra-Amy was contrasted with -Cleopatra-Millie. But there was a significance in the repetition of it. -Once the assumed identity of character had suggested the comment, now -there was no assumed character. It concerned Millie and Amy themselves.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Evans put back her chin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am sure Cousin Amy ought to be very happy,” she said softly. “You are -so devoted to her, and all. I almost think you spoil her, Lyndhurst. It -is all so romantic. Fancy being a woman, and as old as Cousin Amy, and -yet having a young man so devoted. Harry, too!”</p> - -<p>Again a billow of confidence tinged with self-appreciation surged over -Major Ames. After all, his wife was much older than him, for he was -still a young man, and his youth was being expanded on sweet-peas and -the garden roller. And he was stirred into a high flight of -philosophical conjecture.</p> - -<p>“My God, what a puzzle life is!” he observed.</p> - -<p>She rose to this high-water mark.</p> - -<p>“And it might be so simple,” she said. “It should be so easy to be -happy.”</p> - -<p>Then Major Ames knew where he was. In one sense he was worthy of the -occasion, in another he did not feel up to all that it implied. He rose -hastily.</p> - -<p>“I had better go,” he said rather hoarsely.</p> - -<p>But he had smoked five cigarettes since lunch. The hoarseness might -easily have been the result of this indulgence.</p> - -<p>She did not attempt to keep him, nor did she make it incumbent on him to -give her a kiss, however cousinly. She did not even rise, but only -looked up at him from her low chair as she gave him her hand, smiling a -little secretly, as Monna Lisa smiles. But she felt quite satisfied with -their talk; he would think over it, and find fresh signals and private -beckonings in it.</p> - -<p>“Come and see me again,” she said. There was a touch of imperativeness -in her tone.</p> - -<p>She looked through the lace curtain and saw him go out into the street. -There was something in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> gutter of the roadway which he inquired into -with the end of his stick. It looked like a withered bunch of dusty -chrysanthemums.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames, meantime, had lunched at home, and gone off immediately -afterwards, as her husband had conjectured, to a meeting. In the last -month the membership of her league had largely increased, and it was no -longer possible to convene its meetings in her own drawing-room, for it -numbered some fifty persons, including a dozen men of enlightened -principles. Even at first, as has been seen, she had welcomed (thereby -incurring Mrs. Altham’s disapproval) several ladies with whom she did -not usually associate, and now the gathering was entirely independent of -all class distinctions. The wife of the station-master, for instance, -was one of the most active members and walked up and down the platform -with a large rosette of Suffragette colours selling current copies of -the <i>Clarion</i>. And no less remarkable than this growth of the league was -the growth of Mrs. Ames. She was neither pompous nor condescending to -those persons whom, a couple of months ago, she would have looked upon -as being barely existent, except if they were all in church, when she -would very probably have shared a hymn-book with any of them, the “Idea” -for which they had assembled galvanizing them, though strictly -temporarily, into the class of existent people. Now, the idea which -brought them together in the commodious warehouse, kindly lent and -sufficiently furnished by Mr. Turner, had given them a permanent -existence, and they were not automatically blotted out of her book of -life the moment these meetings were over, as they would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> been so -short a time ago in church, when the last “Amen” was said. The bonds of -her barren and barbaric conventionality were bursting; indeed, it was -not so much that others, not even those of “her class,” were becoming -women to her, as that she was becoming a woman herself. She had scarcely -been one hitherto; she had been a piece of perfect propriety. And how -far she had travelled from her original conception of the Suffragette -movement as suitable to supply a novelty for the autumn that would -eclipse the memory of the Shakespearean ball, may be gathered from the -fact that she no longer took the chair at these meetings, but was an -ordinary member. Mr. Turner had far more experience in the duties of a -chairman: she had herself proposed him and would have seconded him as -well, had such a step been in order.</p> - -<p>To-day the meeting was assembled to discuss the part which the league -should take in the forthcoming elections. The Tory Government was at -present in power, and likely to remain in office, while Riseborough -itself was a fairly safe seat for the Tory member, who was Sir James -Westbourne. Before polemical or obstructive measures could be decided -on, it had clearly been necessary to ascertain Sir James’ views on the -subject of votes for women, and to-day his answer had been received and -was read to the meeting. It was as unsatisfactory as it was brief, and -their “obedient servant” had no sympathy with, and so declined to -promise any support to, their cause. Mr. Turner read this out, and laid -it down on his desk.</p> - -<p>“Will ladies or gentlemen give us their views on the course we are to -adopt?” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span></p> - -<p>A dozen simultaneously rose, and simultaneously sat down again. The -chairman asked Mrs. Brooks to address the meeting. Another and another -succeeded her, and there was complete unanimity of purpose in their -suggestions. Sir James’ meetings and his speeches to his constituents -must not be allowed to proceed without interruption. If he had no -sympathy with the cause, the cause would show a marked lack of sympathy -with him. Thereafter the league resolved itself into a committee of ways -and means. The President of the Board of Trade was coming to support Sir -James’ candidature at a meeting the date of which was already fixed for -a fortnight hence, and it was decided to make a demonstration in force. -And as the discussion went on, and real practical plans were made, that -strange fascination and excitement at the thought of shouting and -interrupting at a public meeting, of becoming for the first time of some -consequence, began to seethe and ferment. Most of the members were -women, whose lives had been passed in continuous self-repression, who -had been frozen over by the narcotic ice of a completely conventional -and humdrum existence. Many of them were unmarried and already of -middle-age; their natural human instincts had never known the blossoming -and honey which the fulfilment of their natures would have brought. To -the eagerness and sincerity with which they welcomed a work that -demanded justice for their sex, there was added this excitement of doing -something at last. There was an opportunity of expansion, of stepping -out, under the stimulus of an idea, into an experience that was real. In -kind, this was akin to martyrs who rejoiced and sang when the prospects -of prosecution came near;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> as martyrs for the sake of their faith -thought almost with glee of the rack and the burning, so, minutely, the -very prospect of discomfort and rough handling seemed attractive, if, by -such means, the cause was infinitesimally advanced. To this, a sincere -and wholly laudable desire, was added the more personal stimulus. They -would be doing something, instead of suffering the tedium of passivity, -acting instead of being acted on. For it is only through centuries of -custom that the woman, physically weak and liable to be knocked down, -has become the servant of the other sex. She is fiercer at heart, more -courageous, more scornful of consequences than he; it is only muscular -inferiority of strength that has subdued her into the place that she -occupies, that, and the periods when, for the continuance of the race, -she must submit to months of tender and strong inaction. There she finds -fruition of her nature, and there awakes in her a sweet indulgence for -the strange, childish lust of being master, of parading, in making of -laws and conventions, his adventitious power, of the semblance of -sovereignty that has been claimed by man. At heart she knows that he has -but put a tinsel crown on his head, and robed himself in spangles that -but parody real gold. She lays a woman’s hand on his child-head, and to -please him says, “How wise you are, how strong, how clever.” And the -child is pleased, and loves her for it. And there is her weakness, for -the most dominant thing in her nature is the need of being loved. From -the beginning it must have been so. When Adam’s rib was taken from him -in sleep, he lost more than was left him, and woke to find all his finer -self gone from him. He was left a blundering bumble-bee: to the rib that -was taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> from him clung the courage of the lioness, the wisdom of the -serpent, the gentleness of the dove, the cunning of the spider, and the -mysterious charm of the firefly that dances in the dusk. But to that rib -also clung the desire to be loved. Otherwise, in the human race, the -male would be slain yearly like the drone of the hive. But the strange -thing that grew from the rib, like flowers from buried carrion, desired -love. There was its strength and its weakness.</p> - -<p>It desired love, and in its desire it suffered all degradation to obtain -it. And no leanness of soul entered into the gratification of its -desire. Only when its desire was pinched and rationed, or when, by the -operation of civilized law, all fruit of desire was denied it, so that -the blossom of sex was made into one unfruitful bud, did revolt come. -Long generations produced the germ, long generations made it active. At -length it swam up to sight, from subaqueous dimnesses, feeble and -violent, conscious of the justice of its cause and demanding justice. -But what helped to make the desire for justice so attractive was the -violence, the escape from self-repression that the demand gave -opportunity for, to many who, all their lives, had been corked or wired -down in comfort, which no woman cares about, or sealed up in -spinsterhood and decorous emptiness of days. There was justice in the -demand, and hysterical excitement in demanding.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>To others, and in this little league of Riseborough there were many -such, the prospect of making those demands was primarily appalling, and -to none more than to poor Mrs. Ames, when the plan of campaign was -discussed, decided on, and entrusted to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> members of the league. It -required almost more courage than the idea was capable of inspiring to -face, even in anticipation, the thought of shouting “Votes for Women” -when good-humoured Cousin James rose and said “Ladies and gentlemen!” -Very possibly, as had often happened in Cousin James’ previous -candidatures, Lyndhurst would wish his wife to ask him and the President -of the Board of Trade to dinner before the meeting, an occasion which -would warrant the materialization of the most sumptuous of all the -dinners tabulated on the printed menu-cards, while sherry would be given -with soup, hock with fish, and a constant flow of champagne be kept up -afterwards, until port time. In that case Cousin James would certainly -ask them to sit on the platform, and they would roll richly to the town -hall in his motor, all blazing with Conservative colours, while she, in -a small bag, would be surreptitiously conveying there her great -Suffragette rosette, and a small steel chain with a padlock. She would -be sitting probably next the Mayor, who would introduce the speakers, -and no doubt refer to “the presence of the fair sex” who graced the -platform. During this she would have to pin her colours on her dress, -chain herself up like Andromeda, snap the patent spring-lock of the -padlock, and when Sir James rose ... her imagination could not grapple -with the picture: it turned sickly away, refusing to contemplate. And -this to a cousin and a guest, who had just eaten the best salt, so to -speak, of her table, from one who all her life had been so perfect a -piece of propriety! She felt far too old a bottle for such new wine. -Sitting surrounded by fellow-crusaders, and infected by the proximity of -their undiluted enthusiasm, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span> would be difficult enough, but that she -should chain herself, perhaps, to the very leg of the table which Cousin -James would soon thump in the fervour of his oratory, as he announced -all those Tory platitudes in which she so firmly believed, and which she -must so shrilly interrupt, while sitting solitary in the desert of his -sleek and staid supporters, was not only an impossible but an -unthinkable achievement. Whatever horrors fate, that gruesome weaver of -nightmares, might have in store for her, she felt that here was -something that transcended imagination. She could not sit on the -platform with Lyndhurst and Cousin James and the Mayor and Lady -Westbourne, and do what was required of her, for the sake of any -crusade. Curfew, so to speak, would have to ring that night.</p> - -<p>She and Lyndhurst were dining alone the evening after this meeting of -“ways and means,” he in that state of mind which she not inaptly -described as “worried” when she felt kind, and “cross” when she felt -otherwise. He had come home hot from his walk, and, having sat in his -room where there was no fire, when evening fell chilly, had had a smart -touch of lumbago. Thus there were clearly two causes for complaint -against Amy, and a third disturbing topic, for there was no shadow of -doubt that it was his bouquet of chrysanthemums that he had found in the -road outside Dr. Evans’ house, and even before the lumbago had produced -its characteristic pessimism, he had been unable to find any encouraging -explanation of this floral castaway.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I don’t know what was the good of my spending all August,” he -said, “in that filthy hole of a Harrogate, at no end of expense, too, if -I’m to be crippled all winter. But you urged me to so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> strongly: should -never have thought of going there otherwise.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, you have only been crippled for half-an-hour at present,” she -observed. “It is a great bore, but if only you will take a good hot bath -to-night, and have a very light dinner, I expect you will be much better -in the morning. Parker, tell them to see that there is plenty of hot -water in the kitchen boiler.”</p> - -<p>“It’ll be the only warm thing in the house, if there is,” said he. “My -room was like an ice-house when I came in. Positively like an ice-house. -Enough to give a man pneumonia, let alone lumbago. Soup cold, too.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, you should take more care of yourself,” said Mrs. Ames -placidly. “Why did you not light the fire instead of being cold? I’m -sure it was laid.”</p> - -<p>“And have it just burning up at dinner-time,” said he, “when I no longer -wanted it.”</p> - -<p>It was still early in the course of dinner.</p> - -<p>“Light the fire in the drawing-room, Parker,” said Mrs. Ames. “Let there -be a good fire when we come out of dinner.”</p> - -<p>“Get roasted alive,” said Major Ames, half to himself, but intending to -be heard.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Ames’ mind had been feasting for weeks past on things which had -a solider existence than her husband’s unreasonable strictures. Since -this new diet had been hers, his snaps and growls had produced no -effect: they often annoyed her into repartee, and as likely as not, a -few months ago, she would have said that his claret seemed a very poor -kind of beverage. But to-night she felt not the smallest desire to -retort. She was very sorry for his lumbago, but felt no inclination to -carry the war into his territories, or to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span> tell him that if people, -perspiring freely, and of gouty habit, choose to sit down without -changing, and get chilly, they must expect reprisal for their -imprudence.</p> - -<p>“Then we will open the window, dear,” she said, “if we find we are -frizzling. But I don’t think it will be too hot. Evenings are chilly in -October. Did you have a pleasant lunch, Lyndhurst? Indeed, I don’t know -where you lunched. I ordered curry for you. I sat down at a quarter to -two as you did not come in.”</p> - -<p>It was all so infinitesimal ... yet it was the mental diet which had -supported her for years. Perhaps after dinner they would play picquet. -The garden, the kitchen, for years, except for gossip infinitely less -real, these had been the topics. There had been no joy for him in the -beauty of the garden, only a pleased sense of proprietorship, if a rare -plant flowered, or if there were more roses than usual. For her, she had -been vaguely pleased if Lyndhurst had taken two helpings of a dish, and -both of them had been vaguely disquieted if Harry quoted Swinburne.</p> - -<p>“I lunched with the Evans’,” he said. “By the way, I met your cousin -James Westbourne this afternoon, when I was on my walk. Extraordinarily -cordial he gets when there’s business ahead that brings him into -Riseborough, and he wants to cadge a dinner or two. It’s little notice -he takes of us the rest of the year, and I’m sure it’s a couple of years -since he so much as sent us a brace of pheasants, and more than that -since he asked me to shoot there. But as I say, when he wants to pick up -a dinner or two in Riseborough, he’s all heartiness, and saying he -doesn’t see half enough of us. He doesn’t seem to strain himself in -trying to see more, and ther<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span>e’s seldom a week-end when he and that -great guy of a wife of his don’t have the house packed with people. I -suppose we’re not smart enough for them, except when it’s convenient to -dine in Riseborough. Then he’s not above drinking a bottle of my -champagne.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames was eager in support of her husband.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure there’s no call for you to open any more bottles for him, my -dear,” she said. “If Cousin James wants to see us, he can take his turn -in asking us. And Harriet is a great guy, as you say, with her big -fiddle-head.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames shrugged his shoulders rather magnificently.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I don’t grudge him his dinner,” he said, “and, in point of -fact, I told him he could come and dine with us before his first -meeting. He’s got some Cabinet Minister with him, and I said he could -bring him too. You might get up a little party, that’s to say if I’m not -in bed with this infernal lumbago. And Cousin James will return our -hospitality by giving us seats on the platform to hear him stamp and -stammer and rant. An infernal bad speaker. Never heard a worse. Wretched -delivery, nothing to say, and says it all fifty times over. Enough to -make a man turn Radical. However, he’ll have made himself at home with -my Mumm, and perhaps he’ll go to sleep himself before he sends us off.”</p> - -<p>This, of course, represented the lumbago-view. Major Ames had been -fulsomely cordial to Cousin James, and had himself urged the dinner that -he represented now as being forced on him.</p> - -<p>“Have you actually asked him, Lyndhurst?” said Mrs. Ames rather faintly. -“Did he say he would come?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Did you ever know your Cousin James refuse a decent dinner?” asked -Lyndhurst. “And he was kind enough to say he would like it at a quarter -past seven. Cool, upon my word! I wish I had asked him if he’d have -thick soup or clear, and if he preferred a wing to a leg. That’s the -sort of thing one never thinks of till afterwards.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames was not attending closely: there was that below the surface -which claimed all her mind. Consequently she missed the pungency of this -irony, hearing only the words.</p> - -<p>“Cousin James never takes soup at all,” she said. “He told me it always -disagreed.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames sighed; his lumbago felt less acute, his ill-temper had found -relief in words, and he had long ago discovered that women had no sense -of humour. On the whole, it was gratifying to find the truth of this so -amply endorsed. For the moment it put him into quite a good temper.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I’ve been grumbling all dinner,” he said. “Shall we go into -the other room? There’s little sense in my looking at the decanters, if -I mayn’t take my glass of port. Eh! That was a twinge!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">It</span> is no use, Henry,” said Mrs. Altham on that same evening, “telling -me it is all stuff and nonsense, when I’ve seen with my own eyes the -parcel of Suffragette riband being actually directed to Mrs. Brooks; for -pen and ink is pen and ink, when all is said and done. Tapworth measured -off six yards of it on the counter-measure that gives two feet, for he -gave nine lengths of it and put it in paper and directed it. Of course, -if nine lengths of two feet doesn’t make eighteen feet, which is six -yards, I am wrong and you are right, and twice two no longer makes four. -And there were two other parcels already done up of exactly the same -shape. You will see if I am not right. Or do you suppose that Mrs. -Brooks is ordering it just to trim her nightgown with it?”</p> - -<p>“I never said anything about Mrs. Brooks’ nightgown,” said Henry, who, -to do him justice, had been goaded into slightly Rabelaisian mood: “I -never thought about Mrs. Brooks’ nightgown. I didn’t know she wore -one—I mean——”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham made what children would call “a face.” Her eyes grew -suddenly fixed and boiled, and her mouth assumed an acidulated -expression as if with a plethora of lemon-juice. The “face” was due to -the entry of the parlour-maid with the pudding. It was jelly, and was -served in silence. Mrs. Altham waited till the door was quietly closed -again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is not a question of Mrs. Brooks’ nightgown,” she said, “since we -both agree that she would not order six yards of Suffragette riband to -trim it. I spoke sarcastically, Henry, and you interpreted me literally, -as you often do. It was the same at Littlestone in August, when the -bacon was so salt one day that I said to Mrs. Churchill that a little -bacon in the bath would be equivalent to sea-bathing. Upon which you -must needs tell her next morning to send your bacon to the bath-room, -which she did, and there was a plate of bacon on the sponge-tray, so -extraordinary. But all that is beside the point, though what she can -have thought of you I can’t imagine. After all, your gift of being -literal may help you now. Why does Mrs. Brooks want six yards of -Suffragette riband, and why are there two similar parcels on Tapworth’s -counter? If I had had a moment alone I would certainly have looked at -the other addresses, and seen where they were being sent. But young -Tapworth was there all the time—that one with the pince-nez, and the -ridiculous chin—and he put them into the errand-boy’s basket, and told -him to be sharp about it. So I had no chance of seeing.”</p> - -<p>“You might have strolled along behind the boy to see where he went,” -suggested Mr. Altham.</p> - -<p>“He went on a bicycle,” said Mrs. Altham, “and it is impossible to -stroll behind a boy on a bicycle and hope to get there in time. But he -went up the High Street. I should not in the least wonder if Mrs. Evans -had turned Suffragette, after that note to me about her not having time -to attend the anti-Suffragette meetings.”</p> - -<p>“Especially since there was only one,” said Henry,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> in the literal mood -that had been forced on him, “and nobody came to that. It would not have -sacrificed very much of her time. Not that I ever heard it was -valuable.”</p> - -<p>“What she can do with her day I can’t imagine,” said Mrs. Altham, her -mind completely diverted by this new topic. “Her cook told Griffiths -that as often as not she doesn’t go down to the kitchen at all in the -morning, and she’s hardly ever to be seen shopping in the High Street -before lunch, and what with Elsie gone to Dresden, and her husband away -on his rounds all day, she must be glad when it’s bedtime. And she’s a -small sleeper, too, for she told me herself that she considers six hours -a good night, though I expect she sleeps more than she knows, and I -daresay has a nap after lunch as well. Dear me, what were we talking -about? Ah, yes, I was saying I should not wonder if she had turned -Suffragette, though I can’t recall what made me think so.”</p> - -<p>“Because Tapworth’s boy went up the High Street on a bicycle,” said Mr. -Altham, who had a great gift of picking out single threads from the -tangle of his wife’s conversation; “though, after all, the High Street -leads to other houses besides Mrs. Evans’. The station, for instance.”</p> - -<p>“You seem to want to find fault with everything I say, to-night, Henry. -I don’t know what makes you so contrary. But there it is: I saw eighteen -yards of Suffragette riband being sent out when I happened to be in -Tapworth’s this morning, and I daresay that’s but a tithe of what has -been ordered, though I can’t say as to that, unless you expect me to -stand in the High Street all day and watch. And as to what it all means, -I’ll let you conjecture for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span> yourself, since if I told you what I -thought, you would probably contradict me again.”</p> - -<p>It was no wonder that Mrs. Altham was annoyed. She had been thrilled to -the marrow by the parcels of Suffragette riband, and when she -communicated her discovery, Henry, who usually was so sympathetic, had -seen nothing to be thrilled about. But he had not meant to be -unsympathetic, and repaired his error.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure, my dear, that you will have formed a very good guess as to -what it means,” he said. “Tell me what you think.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if you care to know,” said she, “I think it all points to there -being some demonstration planned, and I for one should not be surprised -if I looked out of the window some morning, and saw Mrs. Ames and Mrs. -Brooks and the rest of them marching down the High Street with ribands -and banners. They’ve been keeping very quiet about it all, at least not -a word of what they’ve been doing has come to my ears, and I consider -that’s a proof that something is going on and that they want to keep it -secret.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham’s legal mind cried out to him to put in the plea that a -complete absence of news does not necessarily constitute a proof that -exciting events are occurring, but he rightly considered that such logic -might be taken to be a sign of continued “contrariness.” So he gave an -illogical assent to his wife’s theory.</p> - -<p>“Certainly it is odd that nothing more has been heard of it all,” he -said. “I wonder what they are planning. The election coming on so soon, -too! Can they be planning anything in connection with that?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham got up, letting her napkin fall on the floor.</p> - -<p>“Henry, I believe you have hit it,” she said. “Now what can it be? Let -us go into the drawing-room, and thresh it out.”</p> - -<p>But the best threshing-machines in the world cannot successfully fulfil -their function unless there is some material to work upon; they can but -show by their whirling wheels and rattling gear that they are capable of -threshing should anything be provided for them. The poor Althams were -somewhat in this position, for their rations of gossip were sadly -reduced, their two chief sources being cut off from them. For ever since -the mendacious Mrs. Brooks had appeared as Cleopatra, when she had as -good as promised to be Hermione, chill politeness had taken the place of -intimacy between the two houses, since there was no telling what trick -she might not play next, while the very decided line which Mrs. Altham -had taken when she found she was expected to meet people like -tradesmen’s wives had caused a complete rupture in relations with the -Ames’. That Suffragette meetings were going on was certain, else what -sane mind could account for the fact that only to-day a perfect stream -of people, some of them not even known by sight to Mrs. Altham, and -therefore probably of the very lowest origin, with Mrs. Ames and the -wife of the station-master among them, had been seen coming out of Mr. -Turner’s warehouse. It was ridiculous “to tell me” that they had been -all making purchases (nobody had told her), and such a supposition was -thoroughly negatived by the subsequent discovery that the warehouse in -question contained only a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span> quantity of chairs. All this, however, had -been threshed out at tea-time, and the fly-wheels buzzed emptily. -Against the probability of an election-demonstration was the fact that -the Unionist member, to whom these attentions would naturally be -directed, was Mrs. Ames’ cousin, though “cousin” was a vague word, and -Mrs. Altham would not wonder if he was a very distant sort of cousin -indeed. Still, it would be worth while to get tickets anyhow for the -first of Sir James’ meetings, when the President of the Board of Trade -was going to speak, so as to be certain of a good place. <i>He</i> was not -Mrs. Ames’ cousin, so far as Mrs. Altham knew, though she did not -pretend to follow the ramifications of Mrs. Ames’ family.</p> - -<p>The fly-wheels were allowed to run on in silence for some little while -after this meagre material had been thoroughly sifted, in case anything -further offered itself; then Mr. Altham proposed another topic.</p> - -<p>“You were saying that you wondered how Mrs. Evans got through her time,” -he began.</p> - -<p>But there was no need for him to say another word, not any opportunity.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham stooped like a hawk on the quarry.</p> - -<p>“You mean Major Ames,” she said. “I’m sure I never pass the house but -what he’s either going in or coming out, and he does a good deal more of -the going in than of the other, in my opinion.”</p> - -<p>Henry penetrated into the meaning of what sounded a rather curious -achievement and corroborated.</p> - -<p>“He was there this morning,” he said, “on the doorstep at eleven -o’clock, or it might have been a quarter-past, with a bouquet of -chrysanthemums<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span> big enough to do all Mrs. Ames’ decorations at St. -Barnabas. What is the matter, my dear?”</p> - -<p>For Mrs. Altham had literally bounced out of her chair, and was pointing -at him a forefinger that trembled with a nameless emotion.</p> - -<p>“At a quarter-past one, or a few minutes later,” she said, “that bouquet -was lying in the middle of the road. Let us say twenty minutes past one, -because I came straight home, took off my hat, and was ready for lunch. -It was more like a haystack than a bouquet: I’m sure if I hadn’t stepped -over it, I should have tripped and fallen. And to think that I never -mentioned it to you, Henry! How things piece themselves together, if you -give them a chance! Now did you actually see Major Ames carry it into -the house?”</p> - -<p>“The door was opened to him, just as I came opposite,” said Henry -firmly, “and in he went, bouquet and all.”</p> - -<p>“Then somebody <i>must</i> have thrown it out again,” said Mrs. Altham.</p> - -<p>She held up one hand, and ticked off names on its fingers.</p> - -<p>“Who was then in the house?” she said. “Mrs. Evans, Dr. Evans, Major -Ames. Otherwise the servants—how they can find work for six servants in -that house I can’t understand—and servants would never have thrown -chrysanthemums into the street. So we needn’t count the servants. Now -can you imagine Mrs. Evans throwing away a bouquet that Major Ames had -brought her? If so, I envy you your power of imagination. Or——”</p> - -<p>She paused a moment.</p> - -<p>“Or can there have been a quarrel, and did she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span> tell him she had too -much of him and his bouquets? Or——”</p> - -<p>“Dr. Evans,” said Henry.</p> - -<p>She nodded portentously.</p> - -<p>“Turned out of the house, he and his bouquet,” she said. “Dr. Evans is a -powerful man, and Major Ames, for all his size, is mostly fat. I should -not wonder if Dr. Evans knocked him down. Henry, I have a good mind to -treat Mrs. Ames as if she had not been so insulting to me that day (and -after all that is only Christian conduct) and to take round to her after -lunch to-morrow the book she said she wanted to see last July. I am sure -I have forgotten what it was, but any book will do, since she only wants -it to be thought that she reads. After all, I should be sorry to let -Mrs. Ames suppose that anything she can do should have the power of -putting me out, and I should like to see if she still dyes her hair. -After the chrysanthemums in the road I should not be the least surprised -to be told that Major Ames is ill. Then we shall know all. Dear me, it -is eleven o’clock already, and I never felt less inclined to sleep.”</p> - -<p>Henry stepped downstairs to drink a mild whisky and soda after all this -conversation and excitement, but while it was still half drunk, he felt -compelled to run upstairs and tap at his wife’s door.</p> - -<p>“I am not coming in, dear,” he said, in answer to her impassioned -negative. “But if you find Major Ames is not ill?”</p> - -<p>“No one will be more rejoiced than myself, Henry,” said she, in a -disappointed voice.</p> - -<p>Henry went gently downstairs again.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames was at home when the forgiving Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> Altham arrived on the -following afternoon, bearing a copy of a book of which there were -already two examples in the house. But she clearly remembered having -wanted to see some book of which they had spoken together, last July, -and it was very kind of Mrs. Altham to have attempted to supply her with -it. Beyond doubt she had ceased to dye her hair, for the usual grey -streaks were apparent in it, a proof (if Mrs. Altham wanted a proof, -which she did not) that artificial means had been resorted to. And even -as Mrs. Altham, with her powerful observation, noticed the difference in -Mrs. Ames’ hair, so also she noticed a difference in Mrs. Ames. She no -longer seemed pompous: there was a kindliness about her which was -utterly unlike her usual condescension, though it manifested itself only -in the trivial happenings of an afternoon call, such as putting a -cushion in her chair, and asking if she found the room, with its -prospering fire, too hot. This also led to interesting information.</p> - -<p>“It is scarcely cold enough for a fire to-day,” she said, “but my -husband is laid up with a little attack of lumbago.”</p> - -<p>“I am so sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Altham feverishly. “When did he -catch it?”</p> - -<p>“He felt it first last night before dinner. It is disappointing, for he -expected Harrogate to cure him of such tendencies. But it is not very -severe: I have no doubt he will be in here presently for tea.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham felt quite convinced he would not, and hastened to glean -further enlightenment.</p> - -<p>“You must be very busy thinking of the election,” she said. “I suppose -Sir James is safe to get in. I got tickets for the first of his meetings -this morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“That will be the one at which the President of the Board of Trade -speaks,” said Mrs. Ames. “My cousin and he dine with us first.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham determined on more direct questions.</p> - -<p>“Really, it must require courage to be a politician nowadays,” she said, -“especially if you are in the Cabinet. Mr. Chilcot has been hardly able -to open his mouth lately without being interrupted by some Suffragette. -Dear me, I hope I have not said the wrong thing! I quite forgot your -sympathies.”</p> - -<p>“It is certainly a subject that interests me,” said Mrs. Ames, “though -as for saying the wrong thing, dear Mrs. Altham, why, the world would be -a very dull place if we all agreed with each other. But I think it -requires just as much courage for a woman to get up at a meeting and -interrupt. I cannot imagine myself being bold enough. I feel I should be -unable to get on my feet, or utter a word. They must be very much in -earnest, and have a great deal of conviction to nerve them.”</p> - -<p>This was not very satisfactory; if anything was to be learned from it, -it was that Mrs. Ames was but a tepid supporter of the cause. But what -followed was still more vexing, for the parlour-maid announced Mrs. -Evans.</p> - -<p>“So sorry to hear about Major Ames, dear cousin Amy,” she said. “Wilfred -told me he had been to see him.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames made a kissing-pad, so to speak, of her small toad’s face, and -Millie dabbed her cheek on it.</p> - -<p>“Dear Millie, how nice of you to call! Parker, tell the Major that tea -is ready and that Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Altham are here.”</p> - -<p>But by the time Major Ames arrived Mrs. Altham<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span> was there no longer. She -was thoroughly disgusted with the transformation into chaff of all the -beautiful grain that they had taken the trouble to thresh out the night -before. She summed it up succinctly to her husband when he came back -from his golf.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe the Suffragettes are going to do anything at all, -Henry,” she said, “and I shouldn’t wonder if these chrysanthemums had -nothing to do with anybody. The only thing is that her hair is dyed, -because it was all speckled with grey again as thickly as yours, and I -declare I left <i>The Safety of the Race</i> behind me, instead of bringing -it back again, as I meant to do.”</p> - -<p>Henry, who had won his match at golf, was naturally optimistic.</p> - -<p>“Then you didn’t actually see Major Ames?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No, but there was no longer any doubt about it all,” she said. “I do -not think I am unduly credulous, but it was clear there was nothing the -matter with him except a touch of lumbago. And all this Suffragette -business means nothing at all, in spite of the yards of riband. You may -take my word for it.”</p> - -<p>“Then there will be no point in going to Sir James’ meeting,” said -Henry, “though the President of the Board of Trade is going to speak.”</p> - -<p>“Not unless you want to hear the biggest windbag in the country -buttering up the greatest prig in the county. I should be sorry to waste -my time over it; and he is dining with the Ames’, and so I suppose all -there will be to look at will be the row of them on the platform, all -swollen with one of Mrs. Ames’ biggest dinners. We might have gone to -bed at our usual time last night, for all the use<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span> that there has been -in our talk. And it was you saw the chrysanthemums, from which you -expected so much and thought it worth while to tell me about them.”</p> - -<p>And Henry felt too much depressed at the utter flatness of all that had -made so fair a promise, to enter any protest against the palpable -injustice of these conclusions.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Major Ames’ lumbago was of the Laodicean sort, neither hot nor cold. It -hung about, occasionally stabbing him shrewdly, at times retreating in -the Parthian mode, so that he was encouraged to drink a glass of port, -upon which it shot at him again, and he had to get back to his stew of -sloppy diet and depressing reflections. Most of all, the relations into -which he had allowed himself to drift with regard to Millie filled him -with a timorous yet exultant agitation, but he almost, if not quite, -exaggerated his indisposition, in order to escape from the -responsibility of deciding what should come of it. Damp and boisterous -weather made it prudent for him to keep to the house, and she came to -see him daily. Behind her demure quietness he divined a mind that was -expectant and sure: there was no doubt as to her view of the situation -that had arisen between them. She had played with the emotions of others -once too often, and was caught in the agitation which she had so often -excited without sharing in it. Mrs. Ames was generally present at these -visits, but when it was quite certain that she was not looking, Millie -often raised her eyes to his, and this disconcerting conviction lurked -behind them. Her speech was equally disconcerting, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span> she would say, -“It will be nice when you are well again,” in a manner that quite belied -the commonplace words. And this force that lay behind strangely -controlled him. Involuntarily, almost, he answered her signals, gave -himself the lover-like privilege of seeming to understand all that was -not said. All the time, too, he perfectly appreciated the bad taste of -the affair—namely, that a woman who was in love with him, and to whom -he had given indications of the most unmistakable kind that he was on -her plane of emotion, should play these unacted scenes in his wife’s -house, coming there to make pass his invalid hours, and that he should -take his part in them. It was common, and he could not but contrast that -commonness with the unconsciousness of his wife. Occasionally he was -inclined to think, “Poor Amy, how little she sees,” but as often it -occurred to him that she was too big to be aware of such smallnesses as -he and Milly were guilty of. And, in reality, the truth lay between -these extreme views. She was not too big to be aware of it; she was -quite aware of it, but she was big enough to appear too big to be aware -of it. She watched, and scorned herself for her watching. She fed -herself with suspicions, but was robust enough to spew them forth again. -Also, and this allowed the robuster attitude to flourish, she was -concerned with a nightmare of her own which daily grew more vivid and -unescapable.</p> - -<p>A decade of streaming October days passed in this trying atmosphere of -suspicion and uncertainty and apprehension. Of the three of them it was -Major Ames who was most thoroughly ill at ease, for he had no -inspiration which enabled him to bear this sordid martyrdom. He divined -that Millie was evolving<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> some situation in which he would be expected -to play a very prominent part, and such ardour as was his he felt not to -be of the adequate temperature, and he looked back over the peaceful -days when his garden supplied him not only with flowers, but with the -most poignant emotions known to his nature, almost with regret. It had -all been so peaceful and pleasant in that land-locked harbour, and now -she, like a steam-tug, was slowly towing him out past the pier-head into -a waste of breakers. Strictly speaking, it was possible for him at any -moment to cast the towing-rope off and return to his quiet anchorage, -but he was afraid he lacked the moral power to do so. He had let her -throw the rope aboard him, he had helped to attach it to the bollard, -thinking, so to speak, that he was the tug and she the frail little -craft. But that frail little craft had developed into an engined -apparatus, and it was his turn to be towed, helpless and at least -unwilling, and wholly uninspired. The others, at any rate, had -inspiration to warm their discomfort: Mrs. Ames the sense of justice and -sisterhood which was leavening her dumpy existence, Mrs. Evans the fire -which, however strange and illicit are its burnings, however common and -trivial the material from which it springs, must still be called love.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>It was the evening of Sir James’ first meeting, and Mrs. Ames at six -o’clock was satisfying herself that nothing had been omitted in the -preparations for dinner. The printed menu cards were in place, -announcing all that was most sumptuous; the requisite relays of knives, -spoons and forks were on the sideboard; the plates of opalescent glass -for ice were to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span> hand, and there was no longer anything connected with -this terrible feast, that to her had the horror of a murderer’s -breakfast on the last morning of his life, which could serve to distract -her mind any more. Millie was to dine with them and with them come to -the meeting, but just now it did not seem to matter in the slightest -what Millie did. All day Mrs. Ames had been catching at problematic -straws that might save her: it was possible that Mr. Chilcot would be -seized with sudden indisposition, and the meeting be postponed. But she -herself had seen him drive by in Cousin James’ motor, looking -particularly hearty. Or Cousin James might catch influenza: Lady -Westbourne already had it, and it was pleasantly infectious. Or -Lyndhurst might get an attack of really acute lumbago, but instead he -felt absolutely well again to-day, and had even done a little -garden-rolling. One by one these bright possibilities had been -extinguished—now no reasonable anchor remained except that dinner would -acutely disagree with her (and that was hardly likely, since she felt -incapable of eating anything) or that the motor which was to take them -to the town hall would break down.</p> - -<p>At half-past six she went upstairs to dress; she would thus secure a -quarter of an hour before the actual operation of decking herself began, -in which to be alone and really face what was going to happen. It was no -use trying to face it in one piece: taken all together the coming -evening had the horror and unreality of nightmare brooding over it. She -had to take it moment by moment from the time when she would welcome her -guests, whom, so it seemed to her, she was then going to betray, till -the time when, perhaps four hours from now, she would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span> back again -here in her room, and everything that had happened had woven itself into -the woolly texture of the past, in place of being in the steely, -imminent future. There was dinner to be gone through; that was only -tolerable to think of because of what was to follow: in itself it would -please her to entertain her cousin and so notable a man as a Cabinet -Minister. Clearly, then, she must separate dinner from the rest, and -enjoy it independently. But when she went down to dinner she must have -left here in readiness the little black velvet bag ... that was not so -pleasant to think of. Yet the little black velvet bag had nothing to do -yet. Then there would follow the drive to the town hall: that would not -be unpleasant: in itself she would rather enjoy the stir and pomp of -their arrival. Sir James would doubtless say to the scrutinizing -doorkeeper, “These ladies are with me,” and they would pass on amid -demonstrations of deference. Probably there would be a little procession -on to the platform ... the Mayor would very likely lead the way with -her, her and her little black velvet bag....</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>And then poor Mrs. Ames suddenly felt that if she thought about it any -more she would have a nervous collapse. And at that thought her -inspiration, so to speak, reached out a cool, firm hand to her. At any -cost she was going through with this nightmare for the sake of that -which inspired it. It was no use saying it was pleasant, nor was it -pleasant to have a tooth out. But any woman with the slightest -self-respect, when once convinced that it was better to have the tooth -out, went to the dentist at the appointed hour, declined gas (Mrs. Ames -had very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span> decided opinions about those who made a fuss over a little -pain), opened her mouth, and held the arms of the chair very firmly. One -wanted something to hold on to at these moments. She wondered what she -would find to hold on to this evening. Perhaps the holding on would be -done by somebody else—a policeman, for instance.</p> - -<p>There was one more detail to attend to before dressing, and she opened -the little black velvet bag. In it were two chains—light, but of steel: -they had been sold her with the gratifying recommendation that either of -them alone would hold a mastiff, which was more than was required. One -was of such length as to go tightly round her waist: a spring lock with -hasp passing through the last link of it, closing with an internal snap, -obviated the necessity of a key. This she proposed to put on below the -light cloak she wore before they started. The second chain was rather -longer but otherwise similar. It was to be passed through the one -already in place on her waist, and round the object to which she desired -to attach herself. Another snap lock made the necessary connection.</p> - -<p>She saw that all was in order and, putting the big Suffragette rosette -on top of the other apparatus, closed the bag: it was useless to try to -accustom herself to it by looking; she might as well inspect the -dentist’s forceps, hoping thus to mollify their grip. Cloak and little -velvet bag she would leave here and come up for them after dinner. And -already the quarter of an hour was over, and it was time to dress.</p> - -<p>The daring rose-coloured silk was to be worn on this occasion, and she -hoped that it would not experience any rough treatment. Yet it hardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span> -mattered: after to-night she would very likely never care to set eyes on -it again, and emphatically Lyndhurst would find it full of disagreeable -associations. And then she felt suddenly and acutely sorry for him and -for the amazement and chagrin that he was about to feel. He could not -fail to be burningly ashamed of her, to choke with rage and -mortification. Perhaps it would bring on another attack of lumbago, -which she would intensely regret. But she did not anticipate feeling in -the least degree ashamed of herself. But she intensely wished it had not -got to be.</p> - -<p>And now she was ready: the rose-coloured silk glowed softly in the -electric light, the pink satin shoes which “went with it” were on her -plump, pretty little feet, the row of garnets was clasped round her -neck. There was a good deal of colour in her face, and she was pleased -to see she looked so well. The last time she had worn all these fine -feathers was on the evening she returned home with brown hair and -softened wrinkles from Overstrand. That was not a successful evening: it -seemed that the rose-coloured silk was destined to shine on inauspicious -scenes. But now she was ready: this was her last moment alone. And she -plumped down on her knees by the bedside, in a sudden access of despair -at what lay before her, and found her lips involuntarily repeating the -words that were used in the hugest and most holy agony that man’s spirit -has ever known, when for one moment He felt that even He could not face -the sacrifice of Himself or to drink of the cup. But next moment she -sprang from her knees again, her face all aflame with the shame at her -paltriness. “You wretched little coward!” she said to herself. “How dare -you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Dinner, that long expensive dinner, brought with it trouble -unanticipated by Mrs. Ames. Mr. Chilcot, it appeared, was a teetotaler -at all times, and never ate anything but a couple of poached eggs before -he made a speech. He was also, owing to recent experiences, a little -nervous about Suffragettes, and required reiterated assurances that -unaccountable females had not been seen about.</p> - -<p>“It’s true that a week or two ago I received a letter asking me my -views,” said Sir James, “but I wrote a fairly curt reply, and have heard -nothing more about it. My agent’s pretty wide awake. He would have known -if there was likely to be any disturbance. No thanks, Major, one glass -of champagne is all I allow myself before making a speech. Capital wine, -I know; I always say you give one the best glass of wine to be had in -Kent. How’s time, by the way? Ah, we’ve got plenty of time yet.”</p> - -<p>“I like to have five minutes’ quiet before going on to the platform,” -said Mr. Chilcot.</p> - -<p>“Yes, that will be all right. Perhaps we might have the motor five -minutes earlier, Cousin Amy. No, no sweetbread thanks. Dear me, what a -great dinner you are giving us.”</p> - -<p>An awful and dismal atmosphere descended. Mr. Chilcot, thinking of his -speech, frowned at his poached eggs, and, when they were finished, at -the table-cloth. Cousin James refused dish after dish, Mrs. Ames felt -herself incapable of eating, and Major Ames and Mrs. Evans, who was -practically a vegetarian, were left to do the carousing. Wines went -round untouched, silences grew longer, and an interminable succession of -dishes failed to tempt anybody except Major Ames. At this rate, not one, -but a whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span> series of luncheon-parties would be necessary to finish up -the untouched dainties of this ill-starred dinner. Outside, a brisk -tattoo of rain beat on the windows, and the wind having got up, the fire -began to smoke, and Mr. Chilcot to cough. A readjustment of door and -window mended this matter, but sluiced Cousin James in a chilly draught. -Mr. Chilcot brightened up a little as coffee came round, but the coffee -was the only weak spot in an admirable repast, being but moderately -warm. He put it down. Mrs. Ames tried to repair this error.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid it is not hot enough,” she said. “Parker, tell them to heat -it up at once.”</p> - -<p>Cousin James looked at his watch.</p> - -<p>“Really, I think we ought to be off,” he said. “I’m sure they can get a -cup of coffee for Mr. Chilcot from the hotel. We might all go together -unless you have ordered something, Cousin Amy. The motor holds five -easily.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>A smart, chill October rain was falling, and they drove through blurred -and disconsolate streets. A few figures under umbrellas went swiftly -along the cheerless pavements, a crowd of the very smallest dimensions, -scarce two deep across the pavement opposite the town hall, watched the -arrival of those who were attending the meeting. There was an -insignificant queue of half-a-dozen carriages awaiting their -disembarkments, but as the hands of the town hall clock indicated that -the meeting was not timed to begin for twenty minutes yet, even Mr. -Chilcot could not get agitated about the possibility of a cup of coffee -before his effort. Through the rain-streaked windows Mrs. Ames could see -how meagre,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span> owing no doubt to the inclement night, was the assembly of -the ticket-holders. It was possible, of course, that crowds might soon -begin to arrive, but Riseborough generally made a point of being in its -place in plenty of time, and she anticipated a sparsely attended room. -Mrs. Brooks hurried by in mackintosh and goloshes, the cheerful Turner -family, who were just behind them in a cab, dived into the wet night, -and emerged again under the awning. Mrs. Currie (wife of the -station-master), with her Suffragette rosette in a paper parcel, had a -friendly word with a policeman at the door, and at these sights, since -they indicated a forcible assemblage of the league, she felt a little -encouraged. Then the car moved on and stopped again opposite the awning, -and their party dismounted.</p> - -<p>A bustling official demanded their tickets, and was summarily thrust -aside by another, just as bustling but more enlightened, who had -recognized Sir James, and conducted them all to the Mayor’s parlour, -where that dignitary received them. There was coffee already provided, -and all anxiety on that score was removed. Mr. Chilcot effaced himself -in a corner with his cup and his notes, while the others, notably Sir -James, behaved with that mixture of social condescension and official -deference which appears to be the right attitude in dealing with mayors. -Then the Mayoress said, “George, dear, it has gone the half-hour; will -you escort Mrs. Ames?”</p> - -<p>George asked Mrs. Ames if he might have the honour, and observed—</p> - -<p>“We shall have but a thin meeting, I am afraid. Most inclement for -October.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames pulled her cloak a little closer round<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span> her, in order to hide -a chain that was more significant than the Mayor’s, and felt the little -black velvet bag beating time to her steps against her knee.</p> - -<p>They walked through the stark bare passages, with stone floors that -exuded cold moisture in sympathy with the wetness of the evening, and -came out into a sudden blaze of light.</p> - -<p>A faint applause from nearly empty benches heralded their appearance, -and they disposed themselves on a row of plush arm-chairs behind a long -oak table. The Mayor sat in the centre, to right and left of him Sir -James and Mr. Chilcot. Just opposite Mrs. Ames was a large table-leg, -which had for her the significance of the execution-shed.</p> - -<p>She put her bag conveniently on her knees, and quietly unloosed the -latch that fastened it. There were no more preparations to be made just -yet, since the chain was quite ready, and in a curious irresponsible -calm she took further note of her surroundings. Scarcely a hundred -people were there, all told, and face after face, as she passed her eyes -down the seats, was friendly and familiar. Mrs. Currie bowed, and the -Turner family, in a state of the pleasantest excitement, beamed; Mrs. -Brooks gave her an excited hand-wave. They were all sitting in -encouraging vicinity to each other, but she was alone, as on the -inexorable seas, while they were on the pier.... Then the Mayor cleared -his throat.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>It had been arranged that the Mayor was to be given an uninterrupted -hearing, for he was the local grocer, and it had, perhaps, been tacitly -felt that he might adopt retaliatory measures in the inferior quality of -the subsequent supplies of sugar. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span> involved himself in sentences that -had no end, and would probably have gone on for ever, had he not, with -commendable valour, chopped off their tails when their coils threatened -to strangle him, and begun again. The point of it all was that they had -the honour to welcome the President of the Board of Trade and Sir James -Westbourne. Luckily, the posters, with which the town had been placarded -for the last fortnight, corroborated the information, and no reasonable -person could any longer doubt it.</p> - -<p>He was rejoiced to see so crowded an assembly met together—this was not -very happy, but the sentence had been carefully thought out, and it was -a pity not to reproduce it—and was convinced that they would all spend -a most interesting and enjoyable evening, which would certainly prove to -be epoch-making. Politics were taken seriously in Riseborough, and it -was pleasant to see the gathering graced by so many members of the fair -sex. He felt he had detained them all quite long enough (no) and he -would detain them no longer (yes), but call on the Right Honourable Mr. -Chilcot (cheers).</p> - -<p>As Mr. Chilcot rose, Mr. Turner rose also, and said in a clear, cheerful -voice, “Votes for Women.” He had a rosette, pinned a little crookedly, -depending from his shoulder. Immediately his wife and daughter rose too, -and in a sort of Gregorian chant said, “Women’s rights,” and a rattle of -chains made a pleasant light accompaniment. From beneath her seat Mrs. -Currie produced a banner trimmed with the appropriate colours, on which -was embroidered “Votes for Women.” But the folds clung dispiritingly -together: there was never a more dejected banner. Two stalwart porters -whom she had brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span> with her also got up, wiped their mouths with the -backs of their hands, and said in low, hoarse tones, “Votes for Women.”</p> - -<p>This lasted but a few seconds, and there was silence again. It was -impossible to imagine a less impressive demonstration: it seemed the -incarnation of ineffectiveness. Mr. Chilcot had instantly sat down when -it began, and, though he had cause to be shy of Suffragettes, seemed -quite undisturbed; he was smiling good-naturedly, and for a moment -consulted his notes again. And then, suddenly, Mrs. Ames realized that -she had taken no share in it; it had begun so quickly, and so quickly -ended, that for the time she had merely watched. But then her blood and -her courage came back to her: it should not be her fault, in any case, -if the proceedings lacked fire. The Idea, all that had meant so much to -her during these last months, seemed to stand by her, asking her aid. -She opened the little black velvet bag, pinned on her rosette, passed -the second chain (strong enough to hold a mastiff) through the first, -and round the leg of the table in front of her, heard the spring lock -click, and rose to her feet, waving her hand.</p> - -<p>“Votes for Women!” she cried. “Votes for Women. Hurrah!”</p> - -<p>Instantly every one on the platform turned to her: she saw Lyndhurst’s -inflamed and astonished face, with mouth fallen open in incredulous -surprise, like a fish in an aquarium: she saw Cousin James’ frown of -distinguished horror. Mrs. Evans looked as if about to laugh, and the -Mayoress said, “Lor’!” Mr. Chilcot turned round in his seat, and his -good-humored smile faded, leaving an angry fighting face. But all this -hostility and amazement, so far from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span> cowing or silencing her, seemed -like a draught of wine. “Votes for Women!” she cried again.</p> - -<p>At that the cry was taken up in earnest: by a desperate effort Mrs. -Currie unfurled her banner, so that it floated free, her porters roared -out their message with the conviction they put into their announcements -to a stopping train that this was Riseborough, the Turner family -gleefully shouted together: Mrs. Brooks, unable to adjust her rosette, -madly waved it, and a solid group of enthusiasts just below the platform -emitted loud and militant cries. All that had been flat and lifeless a -moment before was inspired and vital. And Mrs. Ames had done it. For a -moment she had nothing but glory in her heart.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chilcot leaned over the table to her.</p> - -<p>“I had no idea,” he said, “when I had the honour of dining with you that -you proposed immediately afterwards to treat me with such gross -discourtesy.”</p> - -<p>“Votes for Women!” shouted Mrs. Ames again.</p> - -<p>This time the cry was less vehemently taken up, for there was nothing to -interrupt. Mr. Chilcot conferred a moment quietly with Sir James, and -Mrs. Ames saw that Lyndhurst and Mrs. Evans were talking together: the -former was spluttering with rage, and Mrs. Evans had laid her slim, -white-gloved hand on his knee, in the attempt, it appeared, to soothe -him. At present the endeavour did not seem to be meeting with any -notable measure of success. Even in the midst of her excitement, Mrs. -Ames thought how ludicrous Lyndhurst’s face was; she also felt sorry for -him. As well, she had the sense of this being tremendous fun: never in -her life had she been so effective, never had she even for a moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> -paralysed the plans of other people. But she was doing that now; Mr. -Chilcot had come here to speak, and she was not permitting him to. And -again she cried “Votes for Women!”</p> - -<p>An inspector of police had come on to the platform, and after a few -words with Sir James, he vaulted down into the body of the hall. Next -moment, some dozen policemen tramped in from outside, and immediately -afterwards the Turner family, still beaming, were being trundled down -the gangway, and firmly ejected. Sundry high notes and muffled shoutings -came from outside, but after a few seconds they were dumb, as if a tap -had been turned off. There was a little more trouble with Mrs. Currie, -but a few smart tugs brought away the somewhat flimsy wooden rail to -which she had attached herself, and she was taken along in a sort of -tripping step, like a cheerful dancing bear, with her chains jingling -round her, after the Turners, and quietly put out into the night. Then -Sir James came across to Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>“Cousin Amy,” he said, “you must please give us your word to cause no -more disturbance, or I shall tell a couple of men to take you away.”</p> - -<p>“Votes for Women!” shouted Mrs. Ames again. But the excitement which -possessed her was rapidly dying, and from the hall there came no -response except very audible laughter.</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry,” said Cousin James.</p> - -<p>And then with a sudden overwhelming wave, the futility of the whole -thing struck her. What had she done? She had merely been extremely rude -to her two guests, had seriously annoyed her husband, and had aroused -perfectly justifiable laughter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span> General Fortescue was sitting a few -rows off: he was looking at her through his pince-nez, and his red, -good-humoured face was all a-chink with smiles. Then two policemen, one -of whom had his beat in St. Barnabas Road, vaulted up on to the -platform, and several people left their places to look on from a more -advantageous position.</p> - -<p>“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” said the St. Barnabas policeman, touching his -helmet with imperturbable politeness. “She’s chained up too, Bill.”</p> - -<p>Bill was a slow, large, fatherly-looking man, and examined Mrs. Ames’ -fetters. Then a broad grin broke out over his amiable face.</p> - -<p>“It’s only just passed around the table-leg,” he said. “Hitch up the -table-leg, mate, and slip it off.”</p> - -<p>It was too true ... patent lock and mastiff-holding chain were slipped -down the table-leg, and Mrs. Ames, with the fatherly-looking policeman -politely carrying her chains and the little velvet bag, was gently and -inevitably propelled through the door which, a quarter of an hour ago, -she had entered escorted by the Mayor, and down the stone passage and -out into the dripping street. The rain fell heavily on to the -rose-coloured silk dress, and the fatherly policeman put her cloak, -which had half fallen off, more shelteringly round her.</p> - -<p>“Better have a cab, ma’am, and go home quietly,” he said. “You’ll catch -cold if you stay here, and we can’t let you in again, begging your -pardon, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames looked round: Mrs. Currie was just crossing the road, -apparently on her way home, and a carriage drove off containing the -Turner family. A sense of utter failure and futility possessed her: it -was cold and wet, and a chilly wind flapped the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span> awning, blowing a -shower of dripping raindrops on to her. The excitement and courage that -had possessed her just now had all oozed away: nothing had been -effected, unless to make herself ridiculous could be counted as an -achievement.</p> - -<p>“Call a cab for the lady, Bill,” said her policeman soothingly.</p> - -<p>This was soon summoned, and Bill touched his helmet as she got in, and -before closing the door pulled up the window for her. The cabman also -knew her, and there was no need to give him her address. The rain -pattered on the windows and on the roof, and the horse splashed briskly -along through the puddles in the roadway.</p> - -<p>Parker opened the door to her, surprised at the speediness of her -return.</p> - -<p>“Why, ma’am!” she exclaimed, “has anything happened?”</p> - -<p>“No, nothing, Parker,” said she, feeling that a dreadful truth underlay -her words. “Tell the Major, when he comes in, that I have gone to bed.”</p> - -<p>She looked for a moment into the dining-room. So short a time had passed -that the table was not yet cleared: the printed menu-cards had been -collected, but the coffee, which had not been hot enough, still stood -untasted in the cups, and the slices of pineapple, cut, but not eaten, -were ruinously piled together. The thought of all the luncheons that -would be necessary to consume all this expensive food made her feel -sick.... These little things had assumed a ridiculous size to her mind; -that which had seemed so big was pitifully dwindled. She felt -desperately tired, and cold and lonely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">And</span> what’s to be done now?” said Major Ames, chipping his bacon high -into the air above his plate. “If you didn’t hear me, I said, ‘What’s to -be done now?’ I don’t know how you can look Riseborough in the face -again, and, upon my word, I don’t see how I can. They’ll point at me in -the street, and say, ‘That’s Major Ames, whose wife made a fool of -herself.’ That’s what you did, Amy. You made a fool of yourself. And -what was the good of it all? Are you any nearer getting the vote than -before, because you’ve screamed ‘Votes for Women’ a dozen times? You’ve -only given a proof the more of how utterly unfit you are to have -anything at all of your own, let alone a vote. I passed a sleepless -night with thinking of your folly, and I feel infernally unwell this -morning.”</p> - -<p>This clearly constituted a climax, and Mrs. Ames took advantage of the -rhetorical pause that followed.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, Lyndhurst,” she said; “I heard you snoring.”</p> - -<p>“It’s enough to make a man snore,” he said. “Snore, indeed! Why couldn’t -you even have told me that you were going to behave like a silly -lunatic, and if I couldn’t have persuaded you to behave sanely, I could -have stopped away, instead of looking on at such an exhibition? Every -one will suppose I must have known about it, and have countenanced<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span> you. -I’ve a good mind to write to the <i>Kent Chronicle</i> and say that I was -absolutely ignorant of what you were going to do. You’ve disgraced us; -that’s what you’ve done.”</p> - -<p>He took a gulp of tea, imprudently, for it was much hotter than he -anticipated.</p> - -<p>“And now I’ve burned my mouth!” he said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames put down her napkin, left her seat, and came and stood by him.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry you are so much vexed,” she said, “but I can’t and I won’t -discuss anything with you if you talk like that. You are thinking about -nothing but yourself, whether you are disgraced, and whether you have -had a bad night.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly you don’t seem to have thought about me,” he said.</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact I did,” she said. “I knew you would not like it, -and I was sorry. But do you suppose I liked it? But I thought most about -the reason for which I did it.”</p> - -<p>“You did it for notoriety,” said Major Ames, with conviction. “You -wanted to see your name in the papers, as having interrupted a Cabinet -Minister’s speech. You won’t even have that satisfaction, I am glad to -say. Your cousin James, who is a decent sort of fellow after all, spoke -to the reporters last night and asked them to leave out all account of -the disturbance. They consented; they are decent fellows too; they -didn’t want to give publicity to your folly. They were sorry for you, -Amy; and how do you like half-a-dozen reporters at a pound a week being -sorry for you? Your cousin James was equally generous. He bore no malice -to me, and shook hands with me, and said he saw you were unwell when he -sat down<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span> to dinner. But when a man of the world, as your Cousin James -is, says he thinks that a woman is unwell, I know what he means. He -thought you were intoxicated. Drunk, in fact. That’s what he thought. He -thought you were drunk. My wife drunk. And it was the kindest -interpretation he could have put upon it. Mad or drunk. He chose drunk. -And he hoped I should be able to come over some day next week and help -him to thin out the pheasants. Very friendly, considering all that had -happened.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames moved slightly away from him.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to go?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Of course I mean to go. He shows a very generous spirit, and I think I -can account for the highest of his rocketters. He wants to smoothe -things over and be generous, and all that—hold out the olive branch. He -recognizes that I’ve got to live down your folly, and if it’s known that -I’ve been shooting with him, it will help us. Forgive and forget, hey? I -shall just go over there, <i>en garçon</i>, and will patch matters up. I dare -say he’ll ask you over again some time. He doesn’t want to be hard on -you. Nor do I, I am sure. But there are things no man can stand. A man’s -got to put his foot down sometimes, even if he puts it down on his wife. -And if I was a bit rough with you just now, you must realize, Amy, you -must realize that I felt strongly, strongly and rightly. We’ve got to -live down what you have done. Well, I’m by you. We’ll live it down -together. I’ll make your peace with your cousin. You can trust me.”</p> - -<p>These magnificent assurances failed to dazzle Mrs. Ames, and she made no -acknowledgement of them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> Instead, she went back rather abruptly and -inconveniently to a previous topic.</p> - -<p>“You tell me that Cousin James believed I was drunk,” she said. “Now you -knew I was not. But you seem to have let it pass.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames felt that more magnanimous assurances might be in place.</p> - -<p>“There are some things best passed over,” he said. “Let sleeping dogs -lie. I think the less we talk about last night the better. I hope I am -generous enough not to want to rub it in, Amy, not to make you more -uncomfortable than you are.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames sat down in a chair by the fireplace. A huge fire burned -there, altogether disproportionate to the day, and she screened her face -from the blaze with the morning paper. Also she made a mental note to -speak to Parker about it.</p> - -<p>“You are making me very uncomfortable indeed, Lyndhurst,” she said; “by -not telling me what I ask you. Did you let it pass, when you saw James -thought I was drunk?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; he didn’t say so in so many words. If he had said so, well, I dare -say I should have—have made some sort of answer. And, mind you, it was -no accusation he made against you; he made an excuse for you!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames’ small, insignificant face grew suddenly very firm and fixed.</p> - -<p>“We do not need to go into that,” she said. “You saw he thought I was -drunk, and said nothing. And after that you mean to go over and shoot -his pheasants. Is that so?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly it is. You are making a mountain out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span>——”</p> - -<p>“I am making no mountain out of anything. Personally, I don’t believe -Cousin James thought anything of the kind. What matters is that you let -it pass. What matters is that I should have to tell you that you must -apologize to me, instead of your seeing it for yourself.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames got up, pushing his chair violently back.</p> - -<p>“Well, here’s a pretty state of things,” he cried; “that you should be -telling me to apologize for last night’s degrading exhibition! I wonder -what you’ll be asking next? A vote of thanks from the Mayor, I shouldn’t -wonder, and an illuminated address. You teaching me what I ought to do! -I should have thought a woman would have been only too glad to trust to -her husband, if he was so kind, as I have been, as to want to get her -out of the consequences of her folly. And now it’s you who must sit -there, opposite a fire fit to roast an ox, and tell me I must apologize. -Apologies be damned! There! It’s not my habit to swear, as you well -know, but there are occasions—— Apologies be damned!”</p> - -<p>And a moment later the house shook with the thunder of the slammed front -door.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames sat for a couple of minutes exactly where she was, still -shielding her face from the fire. She felt all the chilling effects of -the reaction that follows on excitement, whether the excitement is -rapturous or as sickening as last night’s had been, but not for a moment -did she regret her share either in the events of the evening before or -in the sequel of this morning. Last night had ended in utter fiasco, but -she had done her best; this morning’s talk had ended in a pretty sharp -quarrel, but again she found<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span> it impossible to reconsider her share in -it. Humanly she felt beaten and ridiculed and sick at heart, but not -ashamed. She had passed a sleepless night, and was horribly tired, with -that tiredness that seems to sap all pluck and power of resistance, and -gradually her eyes grew dim, and the difficult meagre tears of middle -age, which are so bitter, began to roll down her cheeks, and the hard -inelastic sobs to rise in her throat.... Yet it was no use sitting here -crying, lunch and dinner had to be ordered whether she felt unhappy or -not; she had to see how extensive was the damage done to her pink satin -shoes by the wet pavements last night; she had to speak about this -ox-roasting fire. Also there was appointed a Suffragette meeting at Mr. -Turner’s house for eleven o’clock, at which past achievements and future -plans would be discussed. She had barely time to wash her face, for it -was unthinkable that Parker or the cook should see she had been crying, -and get through her household duties, before it was time to start.</p> - -<p>She dried her eyes and went to the window, through which streamed the -pale saffron-coloured October sunshine. All the stormy trouble of the -night had passed, and the air sparkled with “the clear shining after -rain.” But the frost of a few nights before had blackened the autumn -flowers, and the chill rain had beaten down the glory of her husband’s -chrysanthemums, so that the garden-beds looked withered and dishevelled, -like those whose interest in life is finished, and who no longer care -what appearance they present. The interest of others in them seemed to -be finished also; it was not the gardener’s day here, for he only came -twice in the week, and Major Ames, who should have been assiduous in -binding up the broken-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span>stemmed, encouraging the invalids, and clearing -away the havoc wrought by the storm, had left the house. Perhaps he had -gone to the club, perhaps even now he was trying to make light of it -all. She could almost hear him say, “Women get queer notions into their -heads, and the notions run away with them, bless them. You’ll take a -glass of sherry with me, General, won’t you? Are you by any chance going -to Sir James’ shoot next week? I’m shooting there one day.” Or was he -talking it over somewhere else, perhaps not making light of it? She did -not know; all she knew was that she was alone, and wanted somebody who -understood, even if he disagreed. It did not seem to matter that -Lyndhurst utterly disagreed with her, what mattered was that he had -misunderstood her motives so entirely, that the monstrous implication -that she had been intoxicated seemed to him an excuse. And he was not -sorry. What could she do since he was not sorry? It was as difficult to -answer that as it was easy to know what to do the moment he was sorry. -Indeed, then it would be unnecessary to do anything; the reconciliation -would be automatic, and would bring with it something she yearned after, -an opportunity of making him see that she cared, that the woman in her -reached out towards him, in some different fashion now from that in -which she had tried to recapture the semblance of youth and his awakened -admiration. To-day, she looked back on that episode shamefacedly. She -had taken so much trouble with so paltry a purpose. And yet that -innocent and natural coquetry was not quite dead in her; no woman’s -heart need be so old that it no longer cares whether she is pleasing in -her husband’s eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span> Only to-day, it seemed to Mrs. Ames that her pains -had been as disproportionate to her purpose as they had been to its -result; now she longed to take pains for a purpose that was somewhat -deeper than that for which she softened her wrinkles and refreshed the -colour of her hair.</p> - -<p>She turned from the window and the empty garden, wishing that the rain -would be renewed, so that there would be an excuse for her to go to Mr. -Turner’s in a shut cab. As it was, there was no such excuse, and she -felt that it would require an effort to walk past the club window, and -to traverse the length of the High Street. Female Riseborough, on this -warm sunny morning, she knew would be there in force, popping in and out -of shops, and holding little conversations on the pavement. There would -be but one topic to-day, and for many days yet; it would be long before -the autumn novelty lost anything of its freshness. She wondered how her -appearance in the town would be greeted; would people smile and turn -aside as she approached, and whisper or giggle after she had gone by? -What of the Mayor who, like an honest tradesman, was often to be seen at -the door of his shop, or looking at the “dressing” of his windows? A -policeman always stood at the bottom of the street, controlling the -cross-traffic from St. Barnabas Road. Would he be that one who had -helped to further her movements last night?... She almost felt she ought -to thank him.... And then quite suddenly her pluck returned again, or it -was that she realized that she did not, comparatively speaking, care two -straws for any individual comment or by-play that might take place in -the High Street, or for its accumulated weight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span> There were other things -to care about. For them she cared immensely.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The High Street proved to be paved with incident. Turning quickly round -the corner, she nearly ran into Bill, the policeman, off duty at this -hour, and obviously giving a humorous recital of some sort to a small -amused circle outside the public-house. It was abruptly discontinued -when she appeared, and she felt that the interest that his audience -developed in the sunny October sky, which they contemplated with faint -grins, would be succeeded by stifled laughter after she had passed. A -few paces further on, controlling the traffic of market-day, was her -other policeman Bill, who smiled in a pleasant and familiar manner to -her, as if there was some capital joke private to them. Twenty yards -further along the street was standing the Mayor, contemplating his -shop-window; he saw her, and urgent business appeared to demand his -presence inside. After that there came General Fortescue tottering to -the club; he crossed the street to meet her, and took off his hat and -shook hands.</p> - -<p>“By Jove! Mrs. Ames,” he said, “I never enjoyed a meeting so much, and -my wife’s wild that she didn’t go. What a lark! Made me feel quite young -again. I wanted to shout too, and tell them to give the ladies a vote. -Monstrously amusing! Just going to the club to have a chat about it -all.”</p> - -<p>And he went on his way, with his fat old body shaking with laughter. -Then, feeling rather ill from this encounter, she heard rapid steps in -pursuit of her, and Mrs. Altham joined her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mrs. Ames,” she said. “I could die of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285">{285}</a></span> vexation that I was not -there. Is it really true that you threw a glass of water at Mr. Chilcot -and hit the policeman? Fancy, that it should have been such a terribly -wet night, and Henry and I just sat at home, never thinking that five -minutes in a cab would make such a difference. We sat and played -patience; I should have been most impatient if I had known. And what is -to happen next? It was so stupid of me not to join your league; I wonder -if it is too late.”</p> - -<p>This was quite dreadful; Mrs. Ames had been prepared for her husband’s -anger, and for pride and aversion from people like Mrs. Altham. What was -totally unexpected and unwelcome was that she was supposed to have -scored a sort of popular success, that Riseborough considered the -dreadful fiasco of last night as an achievement, something not only to -talk about, but a kind of new game, more exciting than croquet or -criticism. She had begun by thinking of the Suffragette movement as an -autumn novelty, but leanness came very near her soul when she found that -it now appeared to others as she had first thought of it herself. She -had travelled since then; she had seen the <i>hinterland</i> of it; the idea -that rose up behind it, austere and beautiful and wise. All that these -others saw was just the hysterical jungle that bounded the coast. To her -this morning, after her experience of it, the hysterical jungle -seemed—an hysterical jungle. If it was only by that route that the -heights could be attained, then that route must be followed. She was -willing to try it again. But was there not somewhere and somehow a -better road?</p> - -<p>It was not necessary to be particularly cordial to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286">{286}</a></span> Mrs. Altham, and she -held out no certain prospect of an immediate repetition of last night’s -scenes, nor of a desire for additional recruits. But further trials -awaited her in this short walk. Dr. Evans, driving the high-stepping -cob, wheeled round, and dismounted, throwing the reins to the groom.</p> - -<p>“I must just congratulate you,” he said, “for Millie told me about last -night. I’ve been telling her that if she had half your pluck, she would -be the better for it. I hope you didn’t catch cold; beastly night, -wasn’t it? Do let me know when it will come on again. I hate your -principles, you know, but I love your practise. I shall come and shout, -too!”</p> - -<p>This was perfectly awful. Nobody understood; they all sympathized with -her, but cared not two straws for that which had prompted her to do -these sensational things.... They liked the sensational things ... it -was fun to them. But it was no fun to those who believed in the -principles which prompted them. They thought of her as a clown at a -pantomime; they wanted to see Dan Leno.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>She was some minutes late when she reached Mr. Turner’s house, depressed -and not encouraged by this uncomprehending applause that took as an -excellent joke all the manifestations which had been directed by so -serious a purpose. What to her was tragic and necessary, was to them a -farce of entertaining quality. But now she would meet her -co-religionists again, those who knew, those whose convictions, of the -same quality as hers, were of such weight as to make her feel that even -her quarrel with Lyndhurst was light in comparison.</p> - -<p>The jovial Turner family, father, mother, daughter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287">{287}</a></span> were in the -drawing-room, and they hailed her as a heroine. If it had not been for -her, there would have been no “scene” at all. Did the policemen hurt? -Mr. Turner had got a small bruise on his knee, but it was quite doubtful -whether he got it when he was taken out. Mrs. Turner had lost a small -pearl ornament, but she was not sure whether she had put it on before -going to the meeting. Miss Turner had a cold to-day, but it was certain -that she had felt it coming on before they were all put out into the -rain. None of them had seen the end; it was supposed that Mrs. Ames had -thrown a glass of water at a policeman, and had hit Mr. Chilcot. They -were all quite ready for Sir James’ next meeting; or would he be a -coward, and cause scrutiny to be held on those who desired admittance?</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brooks arrived; she had not been turned out last night, but she had -caught cold, and did not think that much had been achieved. Mr. Chilcot -had made his speech, apparently a very clever one, about Tariff Reform, -and Sir James had followed, without interruption, telling the half empty -but sympathetic benches about the House of Lords. There had been no -allusion made to the disturbance, or to the motives that prompted it. -Also she had lost her Suffragette rosette. It must have been torn off -her, though she did not feel it go.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Currie brought more life into the proceedings. She could get four -porters to come to the next meeting, and could make another banner, as -well as ensuring the proper unfurling of the first, which had stuck so -unaccountably. It had waved quite properly when she had tried it an hour -before, and it had waved quite properly (for it had been returned to -her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288">{288}</a></span> after she had been ejected) when she tried it again an hour later -at home. Two banners expanding properly would be a vastly different -affair from one that did not expand at all. Her husband had laughed fit -to do himself a damage over her account of the proceedings.</p> - -<p>A dozen more only of the league made an appearance, for clearly there -was a reaction and a cooling after last night’s conflagration, but all -paid their meed of appreciation to Mrs. Ames. Their little rockets had -but fizzed and spluttered until she “showed them the way,” as Mrs. -Currie expressed it. But to them even it was the ritual, so to speak, -the disturbance, the shouting, the sense of doing something, rather than -the belief that lay behind the ritual, which stirred their imaginations. -Could the cause be better served by the endurance of an hour’s solitary -toothache, than by waving banners in the town hall, and being humanely -ejected by benevolent policemen, there would have been less eagerness to -suffer. And Mrs. Ames would so willingly have passed many hours of -physical pain rather than suffer the heartache which troubled her this -morning. And nobody seemed to understand; Mrs. Currie with her four -porters and two banners, Mrs. Brooks with her cold in the head and odour -of eucalyptus, the cheerful Turners who thought it would be such a good -idea to throw squibs on to the platform, were all as far from the point -as General Fortescue, chatting at the club, or even as Lyndhurst with -the high-chipped bacon and the slammed front door. It was a game to -them, as it had originally presented itself to her, an autumn novelty -for, say, Thursday afternoon from five till seven. If only the opposite -effects had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289">{289}</a></span> produced; if they all had taken it as poignantly as -Lyndhurst, and he as cheerily as they!</p> - -<p>He, meantime, after slamming the front door, had stormed up St. Barnabas -Road, in so sincere a passion that he had nearly reached the club before -he remembered that he had hardly touched his breakfast or glanced at the -paper. So, as there was no sense in starving himself (the starvation -consisting in only having half his breakfast), he turned in at those -hospitable doors, and ordered himself an omelette. Never in his life had -he been so angry, never in the amazing chronicle of matrimony, so it -seemed to him, had a man received such provocation from his wife. She -had insulted the guests who had dined with her, she made a public and -stupendous ass of herself, and when, next morning, he, after making such -expostulations as he was morally bound to make, had been so nobly -magnanimous as to assure her that he would patch it all up for her, and -live it down with her, he had been told that it was for him to -apologize! No wonder he had sworn; Moses would have sworn; it would have -been absolutely wrong of him not to swear. There were situations in -which it was cowardly for a man not to say what he thought. Even now, as -he waited for his omelette, he emitted little squeaks and explosive -exclamations, almost incredulous of his wrongs.</p> - -<p>He ate his omelette, which seemed but to add fuel to his rage, and went -into the smoking-room, where, over a club cigar, for he had actually -forgotten to bring his own case with him, he turned to the consideration -of practical details. It was not clear how to re-enter his house again. -He had gone out with a bang that made the windows rattle, but it was -hardly possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290">{290}</a></span> to go on banging the door each time he went in and out, -for no joinery would stand these reiterated shocks. And what was to be -done, even if he could devise an effective re-entry? Unless Amy put -herself into his hands, and unreservedly took back all that she had -said, it was impossible for him to speak to her. Somehow he felt that -there were few things less likely to happen than this. Certainly it -would be no good to resume storming operations, for he had no guns -greater than those he had already fired, and if they were not of -sufficient calibre, he must just beleaguer her with silence—dignified, -displeased silence.</p> - -<p>He looked up and saw that Mr. Altham was regarding him through the glass -door; upon which Mr. Altham rapidly withdrew. Not long afterwards young -Morton occupied and retired from the same observatory. A moment’s -reflection enabled Major Ames to construe this singular behaviour. They -had heard of his wife’s conduct, and were gluttonously feeding on so -unusual a spectacle as himself in the club at this hour, and -reconstructing in their monkey-minds his domestic disturbances. They -would probably ascertain that he had breakfasted here. It was all -exceedingly unpleasant; there was no sympathy in their covert glances, -only curiosity.</p> - -<p>No one who is not a brute, and Major Ames was not that, enjoys a quarrel -with his wife, and no one who is not utterly self-centred, and he was -not quite that either, fails to desire sympathy when such a quarrel has -occurred. He wanted sympathy now; he wanted to pour out into friendly -ears the tale of Amy’s misdeeds, of his own magnanimity, to hear his own -estimation of his conduct confirmed, fairly confirmed, by a woman who -would see the woma<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291">{291}</a></span>n’s point of view as well as his. The smoking-room -with these peeping Toms was untenable, but he thought he knew where he -could get sympathy.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Millie was in and would see him; from habit, as he crossed the hall he -looked to the peg where Dr. Evans hung his hat and coat, and, seeing -they were not there, inferred that the doctor was out. That suited him; -he wanted to confide and be sympathized with, and felt that Evans’ -breezy optimism and out-of-door habit of mind would not supply the kind -of comfort he felt in need of. He wanted to be told he was a martyr and -a very fine fellow, and that Amy was unworthy of him....</p> - -<p>Millie was in the green, cool drawing-room, where they had sat one day -after lunch. She rose as he entered and came towards him with a -tremulous smile on her lips, and both hands outstretched.</p> - -<p>“Dear Lyndhurst,” she said. “I am so glad you have come. Sit down. I -think if you had not come I should have telephoned to ask if you would -not see me. I should have suggested our taking a little walk, perhaps, -for I do not think I could have risked seeing Cousin Amy. I know how you -feel, oh, so well. It was abominable, disgraceful.”</p> - -<p>Certainly he had come to the right place. Millie understood him: he had -guessed she would. She sat down close beside him, and for a moment held -her hand over her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Ah, I have been so angry this morning,” she said; “and it has given me -a headache. Wilfred laughed about it all; he said also that what Amy did -showed a tremendous lot of pluck. It was utterly heartless. I knew how -you must be suffering, and I was so angry with him. He did not -understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292">{292}</a></span> Oh no, my headache is nothing; it will soon be gone—now.”</p> - -<p>She faintly emphasized the last word, stroked it, so to speak, as if -calling attention to it.</p> - -<p>“I’m broken-hearted about it,” said Major Ames, which sounded better -than to say, “I’m in a purple rage about it.” “I’m broken-hearted. She’s -disgraced herself and me——”</p> - -<p>“No, not you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; a woman can’t do that sort of thing without the world believing -that her husband knew about it. And that’s not all. Upon my word I’m not -sure whether what she did this morning isn’t worse than what you saw -last night.”</p> - -<p>Millie leaned forward.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” she said, “if it doesn’t hurt you too much.”</p> - -<p>He decided it did not hurt him too much.</p> - -<p>“Well, I came down this morning,” he said, “willing and eager to make -the best of a bad job. So were we all: James Westbourne last night was -just as generous, and asked the reporters to say nothing about it, and -invited me to a day’s shooting next week. Very decent of him. As I say, -I came down this morning, willing to make it as easy as I could. Of -course, I knew I had to give Amy a good talking to: I should utterly -have failed in my duty to her as a husband if I did not do that. I gave -her a blowing-up, though not half of what she deserved, but a blowing -up. Even then, when I had said my say I told her we would live it down -together, which was sufficiently generous, I think. But, for her good, I -told her that James Westbourne said he saw she was unwell, and that when -a man says that he means that she is drunk. Perhaps Westbourne didn’t -mean that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293">{293}</a></span> but that’s what it sounded like. And would you believe it, -just because I hadn’t knocked him down and stamped on his face, she -tells me I ought to apologize to her for letting such a suggestion pass. -Well, I flared up at that: what man of spirit wouldn’t have flared up? I -left the house at once, and went and finished my breakfast at the club. -I should have choked—upon my word, I should have choked if I had -stopped there, or got an apoplexy. As it is, I feel devilish unwell.”</p> - -<p>Millie got up, and stood for a moment in silence, looking out of the -window, white and willowy.</p> - -<p>“I can never forgive Cousin Amy,” she said at length. “Never!”</p> - -<p>“Well, it is hard,” said Major Ames. “And after all these years! It -isn’t exactly the return one might expect, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“It is infamous,” said Millie.</p> - -<p>She came and sat down by him again.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. If she apologizes, I shall forgive her, and I shall try -to forget. But I didn’t think it of her. And if she doesn’t apologize—I -don’t know. I can’t be expected to eat my words: that would be -countenancing what she has done. I couldn’t do it: it would not be -sincere. I’m straight, I hope: if I say a thing it may be taken for -granted that I mean it.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him with her chin raised.</p> - -<p>“I think you are wonderful,” she said, “to be able even to think of -forgiving her. If I had behaved like that, I should not expect Wilfred -to forgive me. But then you are so big, so big. She does not understand -you: she can’t understand one thing about you. She doesn’t know—oh, how -blind some women are!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294">{294}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>It was little wonder that by this time Major Ames was beginning to feel -an extraordinarily fine fellow, nor was it more wonderful that he basked -in the warm sense of being understood. But from the first Millie had -understood him. He felt that particularly now, at this moment, when Amy -had so hideously flouted and wronged him. All through this last summer, -the situation of to-day had been foreshadowed; it had always been in -this house rather than in his own that he had been welcomed and -appreciated. He had been the architect and adviser in the Shakespeare -ball, while at home Amy dealt out her absurd printed menu-cards without -consulting him. And the garden which he loved—who had so often said, -“These sweet flowers, are they really for me?” Who, on the other hand, -had so often said, “The sweet-peas are not doing very well, are they?” -And then he looked at Millie’s soft, youthful face, her eyes, that -sought his in timid, sensitive appeal, her dim golden hair, her mouth, -childish and mysterious. For contrast there was the small, strong, -toad’s face, the rather beady eyes, the hair—grey or brown, which was -it? Also, Millie understood; she saw him as he was—generous, perhaps, -to a fault, but big, big, as she had so properly said. She always made -him feel so comfortable, so contented with himself. That was the true -substance of a woman’s mission, to make her husband happy, to make him -devoted to her, instead of raising hell in the town hall, and insisting -on apologies afterwards.</p> - -<p>“You’ve cheered me up, Millie,” he said; “you’ve made me feel that I’ve -got a friend, after all, a friend who feels with me. I’m grateful; -I’m—I’m more than grateful. I’m a tough old fellow, but I’ve got a -heart still, I believe. What’s to happen to us all?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295">{295}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>It was emotion, real and genuine emotion, that made Millie clever at -that moment. Her mind was of no high order; she might, if she thought -about a thing, be trusted to exhibit nothing more subtle than a fair -grasp of the obvious. But now she did not think: she was prompted by an -instinct that utterly transcended any achievement of which her brain was -capable.</p> - -<p>“Go back to your house,” she said, “and be ready for Cousin Amy to say -she is sorry. Very likely she is waiting for you there now. Oh, -Lyndhurst——”</p> - -<p>He got up at once: those few words made him feel completely noble; they -made her feel noble likewise. The atmosphere of nobility was almost -suffocating....</p> - -<p>“You are right,” he said; “you are always all that is right and good and -delicious? Ha!”</p> - -<p>There was no question about the cousinly relations between them. So -natural and spontaneous a caress needed no explanation.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The house was apparently empty when he got back, but he made -sufficiently noisy an entry to advise the drawing-room, in any case, -that he was returned, and personally ready, since he did not enter “full -of wrath,” like Hyperion, to accept apologies. Eventually he went in -there, as if to look for a paper, in case of its being occupied, and, -with the same pretext, strolled into his wife’s sitting-room. Then, -still casually, he went into his dressing-room, where he had slept last -night, and satisfied himself that she was not in her bedroom. Her -penitence, therefore, which would naturally be manifested by her -waiting, dim-eyed, for his return, had not been of any peremptory -quality.</p> - -<p>He went out into the garden, and surveyed the damage of last night’s -rain. There was no need to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296">{296}</a></span> punish the plants because Amy had been -guilty of behaviour which her own cousin said was infamous: he also -wanted something to employ himself with till lunch-time. As his hands -worked mechanically, tying up some clumps of chrysanthemums which had a -few days more of flame in their golden hearts, removing a débris of dead -leaves and fallen twigs, his mind was busy also, working not -mechanically but eagerly and excitedly. How different was the sympathy -with which he was welcomed and comforted by Millie from the -misunderstandings and quarrels which made him feel that he had wasted -his years with one who was utterly unappreciative of him. Yet, if Amy -was sorry, he was ready to do his best. But he wondered whether he -wanted her to be sorry or not.</p> - -<p>At half-past one the bell for lunch sounded, and, going into the -drawing-room, he found that she had returned and was writing a note at -her table. She did not look up, but said to him, just as if nothing had -happened—</p> - -<p>“Will you go in and begin, Lyndhurst? I want to finish my note.”</p> - -<p>He did not answer, but passed into the dining-room. In a little while -she joined him.</p> - -<p>“There seems to have been a good deal of rain in the night,” she said. -“I am afraid your flowers have suffered.”</p> - -<p>Certainly this did not look like penitence, and he had no reply for her. -In some strange way this seemed to him the dignified and proper course.</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. Ames spoke for the third time.</p> - -<p>“I think, Lyndhurst, if we are not going to talk,” she said, “I shall -see what news there is. Parker, please fetch me the morning paper.”</p> - -<p>At that moment he hated her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297">{297}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> days later Major Ames was walking back home in the middle of the -afternoon, returning from the house in which he had lately spent so -considerable a portion of his time. But this was the last day on which -he would go there, nor would he, except for this one time more, cross -the threshold of his own house. The climax had come, and within an hour -or two he and Millie were going to leave Riseborough together.</p> - -<p>Now that their decision had been made, it seemed to him that it had been -inevitable from the first. Ever since the summer, when, from some -mixture of genuine liking and false gallantry, he had allowed himself to -drift into relations with her, the force that drew and held him had -steadily increased in strength, and to-day it had proved itself -irresistible. The determining factor no doubt had been his quarrel with -his wife; that gave the impulse that had been still lacking, the final -push which upset the equilibrium of that which was tottering and ready -to fall over.</p> - -<p>The scene this afternoon had been both short and quiet, as such scenes -are. Dr. Evans had been called up to town on business yesterday morning, -returning possibly this evening but more probably to-morrow, and they -had lunched alone. Afterwards Major Ames had again spoken of his wife.</p> - -<p>“The situation is intolerable,” he had said. “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298">{298}</a></span> can’t stand it. If it -wasn’t for you, Millie, I should go away.”</p> - -<p>She had come close to him.</p> - -<p>“I’m not very happy, either,” she said. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t -think I could stand it.”</p> - -<p>And then it was already inevitable.</p> - -<p>“It’s too strong for us,” she said. “We can’t help it. I will face -anything with you. We will go right away, Lyndhurst, and live, instead -of being starved like this.”</p> - -<p>She took both his hands in hers, completely carried away for the first -time in her life by something outside herself. Treacherous and mean as -was that course on which she was determined, she was, perhaps, a finer -woman at this moment of supreme disloyalty than in all the years of her -blameless married life.</p> - -<p>“I’ve never loved before, Lyndhurst,” she said quietly, “nor have I ever -known what it meant. Now I can’t consider anything else; it doesn’t -matter what happens to Wilfred and Elsie. Nothing matters except you.”</p> - -<p>This time it was not he who kissed her; it was she who pressed her mouth -to his.</p> - -<p>There was but little to settle, their plans were perfectly simple and -ruthless. They would cross over to Boulogne that night, and, as soon as -the law set them free, marry each other. A train to Folkestone left -Riseborough in a little over an hour’s time, running in connection with -the boat. They could easily catch it. But it was wiser not to go to the -station together: they would meet there.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>As he walked home through the gleaming October afternoon, Major Ames was -conscious neither of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299">{299}</a></span> struggle nor regret. The power which Millie had -had over him all these months, so that it was she always who really took -the lead, and urged him one step forward and then another, gripped him -and led him on here to the last step of all. He still obeyed and -followed that slender, fragile woman who so soon would be his; it was as -necessary to do her bidding here as it had been to kiss her, when first, -under the mulberry-tree, she had put up her face towards his. These last -days seemed to have killed all sense of loyalty and manhood within him; -he gave no thought at all to his wife, and thought of Harry only as -Amy’s son. Besides, he was not responsible: man though he was, he was -completely in the hands of this woman. All his life he had had no real -principles to direct him, he had lived a decent life only because no -temptation to live otherwise had ever really come near him, and even now -it was in no way the wickedness of what he purposed that at all dragged -him back; it was mere timidity at taking an irrevocable step.</p> - -<p>Amy, he knew, was out: at breakfast she had announced to him that she -did not expect to be in till dinner-time, and he had told her that he -would be out for dinner. Such sentences dealing with household -arrangements had been the sum of their discourse for the last days, and -they were spoken not so much to each other as to the air, heard by, -rather than addressed to any one in particular.</p> - -<p>And yet the prospect of the life that should open for him, when once -this irrevocable step had been taken, did not fill him with the -resistless longing which, though it cannot excuse, at any rate accounts -for the step itself. Millie, though throughout she had led him on until -the climax was reached, had at least the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300">{300}</a></span> authentic goad to drive her: -life with him seemed to her to be real life: it was passionately that -she desired it. But with him, apart from the force with which she -dominated him, it was the escape from the very uncomfortable -circumstances of home that chiefly attracted him. In a way, he loved -her; he felt for her a warmth and a tenderness of stronger quality than -he could remember having ever experienced before, and since it is not -given to all men to love violently, it may be granted that he was -feeling the utmost fire of which his nature was capable. But it was of -sufficient ardour to burn up in his mind the rubbish of minor -considerations and material exigencies.</p> - -<p>Cabs were of infrequent occurrence at this far end of St. Barnabas Road, -and meeting one by hazard just outside his house, he told the driver to -wait. Then, letting himself in, he went straight up to his -dressing-room. There was not time for him to pack his whole wardrobe, -and a moderate portmanteau would be all he really needed. And here the -trivialities began to wax huge and engrossing: though the afternoon was -warm, it would no doubt be fresh, if not chilly on the boat, and it -would certainly be advisable to take his thick overcoat, which at -present had not left its summer quarters. Those were in a big cupboard -in the passage outside, overlooking the garden, where it was packed away -with prophylactic little balls of naphthaline. These had impregnated it -somewhat powerfully, but it was better to be odorously than -insufficiently clad. Passing the window he saw that the chrysanthemums -had responded bravely to his comforting a few mornings ago: if there was -no more frost they would be gay for another<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301">{301}</a></span> fortnight yet. Should he -take a bouquet of them with him? He did not see why he should not have -the enjoyment of them. Yet there was scarcely time to pick them: he must -hurry on with the packing of his small portmanteau, which presented -endless problems.</p> - -<p>A panama hat should certainly be included; also a pair of white tennis -shoes, in which he saw himself promenading on the parade: a white -flannel suit, though it was October, seemed to complete the costume. He -need not cumber himself with a dress coat: a dinner jacket was all that -would be necessary. She had told him she had six hundred a year of her -own: he had another three. It was annoying that his sponge was rather -ragged; he had meant to buy a new one this morning. Perhaps Parker could -draw it together with a bit of thread. An untidy sponge always vexed -him: it was unsoldierly and slovenly. “Show me a man’s washhand-stand,” -he had once said, “and I’ll tell you about the owner.” His own did not -invite inspection, with its straggly sponge.</p> - -<p>Then for a moment all these trivialities stood away from him, and for an -interval he saw where he stood and what he was doing—the vileness, the -sordidness, the vulgarity of it. High principles, nobility of life were -not subjects with which hitherto he had much concerned himself, and it -would be useless to expect that they should come to his rescue now, but -for this moment his kindliness, such as it was, his affection for his -wife, such as it was, but above all the continuous, unbroken smug -respectability of his days read him a formidable indictment. What could -he plead against such an accusation? No irresistible or imperative -necessity of soul that claimed Millie as his by right of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302">{302}</a></span> love. He knew -that his desire for her was not of that fiery order, for he could see, -undazzled and unburned, the qualities which attracted him. He admired -her frail beauty, the youth that still encompassed her, he fed with the -finest appetite on the devotion and admiration which she brought him. He -loved being the god and the hero of this attractive woman, and it was -this, far more than the devotion he brought her, that dominated him.</p> - -<p>Respectability cried out against him and his foolishness. There would be -no more strutting and swelling about the club among the mild and -honourable men who frequented it, and looked up to him as an authority -on India and gardening, nor any more of those pompous and satisfactory -evenings when General Fortescue assured him that there was not such a -good glass of port in Kent as that with which the Major supplied his -guests. To be known as Major Ames, late of the Indian Army, had been to -command respect; now, the less that he was known as Major Ames, late of -Riseborough, the better would be the chance of being held in esteem. And -to what sort of life would he condemn the woman, who for his sake was -leaving a respectability no less solid than his own? To the -companionship of such as herself, to the soiled doves of a French -watering-place. That, of course, would be but a temporary habitation, -but after that, what? Where was the society which would receive them, by -which there would be any satisfaction in being received? Neither of them -had the faintest touch of Bohemianism in their natures: both were of the -school that is accustomed to silver teapots and life in houses with a -garden behind. For a moment he hesitated as he folded back the sleeves<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303">{303}</a></span> -of his dinner-jacket: then the tide of trivialities swept over him -again, and he noticed that there was a spot of spilled wax on the cuff.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Among other engagements that Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Ames was occupied -with the decoration of St. Barnabas’ Church for the Sunday service next -day, and she had gone there after lunch with an adornment of foliage -tinted red by October, for she had not felt disposed to ask Lyndhurst if -she might pick the remnant of his chrysanthemums. She, too, like him, -felt the impossibility of the present situation, and, as she worked, she -asked herself if it was in any way in her power to end this parody of -domestic life. Every day she had made the attempt to begin the breaking -of this ridiculous and most uncomfortable silence which lay between -them, by the introduction of ordinary topics, hoping by degrees to build -up again the breach that yawned between them, but at present she had got -no sense of the slightest answering effort on his side. Psychically no -less than conversationally he had nothing whatever to say to her. If in -the common courtesies of daily life he had nothing for her, it seemed -idle to hope to find further receptiveness if she opened discussion of -their quarrel. Besides, a certain very natural pride blocked her way: he -owed her an apology, and when she indicated that, he had sworn at her. -It did not seem unreasonable (even when decorating a church) to expect -the initiatory step to be taken by him. But what if he did not do so?</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames gave a little sigh, and her mouth and throat worked -uncomfortably. The quarrel was so childish, yet it was serious, for it -was not a light<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304">{304}</a></span> thing, whatever her provocation might have been, to -pass days like these. Half-a-dozen times she went over the -circumstances, and half-a-dozen times she felt that it was only just -that he should make the advance to her, or at any rate behave with -ordinary courtesy in answer to her ordinary civilities. It was true that -the original dissension was due to her, but she believed with her whole -heart in the cause for which she provoked it. All these last months she -had felt her nature expand under the influence of this idea: she knew -herself to be a better and a bigger woman than she had been. She -believed in the rights of her sex, but had they not their duties too? It -was nearly twenty-five years since she had voluntarily undertaken a -certain duty. What if that came first, before any rights or privileges? -What if that which she had undertaken then as a duty was in itself a -right?</p> - -<p>Yet even then, what could she do? In itself, she was very far from being -ashamed of the part she had taken, yet was it possible to weigh this -independently, without considering the points at which it conflicted -with duties which certainly concerned her no less? She could not hope to -convince her husband of the justice of the cause, nor of the expediency -of promoting it in ways like these. For herself, she knew the justice of -it, and saw no other expedient for promoting it. Those who had worked -for the cause for years said that all else had been tried, that there -remained only this violent crusading. But was not she personally, -considering what her husband felt about it, debarred from taking part in -the crusade? She had deeply offended and vexed him. Could anything but -the stringency of moral law justify that? Nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305">{305}</a></span> that he had done, -nothing that he could do, short of the violation of the essential -principles of married life, could absolve her from the accomplishment of -one tittle of her duty towards him.</p> - -<p>For a moment, in spite of her perplexity and the difficulty of her -decision, Mrs. Ames smiled at herself for the mental use of all these -great words like duty and privilege, over so small an incident. For what -had happened? She had been a militant Suffragette on one occasion only, -and at breakfast next morning he had, in matters arising therefrom, -allowed himself to swear at her. Yet it seemed to her that, with all the -pettiness and insignificance of it, great laws were concerned. For the -law of kindness is broken by the most trumpery exhibition of -inconsiderateness, the law of generosity by the most minute word of -spite or backbiting. Indeed, it is chiefly in little things, since most -of us are not concerned with great matters, that these violations occur, -and in cups of cold water that they are fulfilled. And for once Mrs. -Ames did not finish her decoration with tidiness and precision, a fact -clearly noted by Mrs. Altham next day.</p> - -<p>There was a Suffragette meeting at four, but she was prepared to be late -for that, or, if necessary, to fail in attendance altogether. In any -case, she would call in at home on her way there, on the chance that her -husband might be in. She made no definite plan: it was impossible to -forecast her share in the interview. But she had determined to try to -suffer long, to be kind ... to keep the promise of twenty-five years -ago. There was a cab drawn up at the entrance, and it vaguely occurred -to her that Millie might be here, for she had not seen her for some -days, and it was possible she might have called. Yet it was hardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306">{306}</a></span> -likely that she would have waited, since the servants would have told -her that she herself was not expected home till dinner-time. Or was -Lyndhurst giving her tea? And Mrs. Ames grew suddenly alert again about -matters to which she had scarcely given a thought during these last -months.</p> - -<p>She let herself in, and went to the drawing-room: there was no one -there, nor in the little room next it where they assembled before dinner -on nights when they gave a party. But directly overhead she heard steps -moving: that was in Lyndhurst’s dressing-room.</p> - -<p>She went up there, knocked, and in answer to his assent went in. The -portmanteau was nearly packed, he stood in shirt-sleeves by it. In his -hand was his sponge-bag—he had anticipated the entry of Parker with the -stitched sponge.</p> - -<p>She looked from the portmanteau to him, and back and back again.</p> - -<p>“You are going away, Lyndhurst?” she asked.</p> - -<p>He made a ghastly attempt to devise a reasonable answer, and thought he -succeeded.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m going—going to your cousin’s to shoot. I told you he had -asked me. You objected to my going, but I’m going all the same. I should -have left you a note. Back to-morrow night.”</p> - -<p>Then she felt she knew all, as certainly as if he had told her.</p> - -<p>“Since when has Cousin James been giving shooting parties on Sunday?” -she asked. “Please don’t lie to me, Lyndhurst. It makes it much worse. -You are not going to Cousin James, and—you are not going alone. Shall I -tell you any more?”</p> - -<p>She was not guessing: all the events of the last<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307">{307}</a></span> month, the Shakespeare -ball, Harrogate, their own quarrel, and on the top this foolish lie -about a shooting party made a series of data which proclaimed the -conclusion. And the suddenness of the discovery, the magnitude of the -issues involved, but served to steady her. There was an authentic valour -in her nature; even as she had stood up to interrupt the political -meeting, without so much as dreaming of shirking her part, so now her -pause was not timorous, but rather the rallying of all her forces, that -came eager and undismayed to her summons.</p> - -<p>Apparently Lyndhurst did not want to be told any more: he did not, at -any rate, ask for it. Just then Parker came in with the mended sponge. -She gave it him, and he stood with sponge-bag in one hand, sponge in the -other.</p> - -<p>“Shall I bring up tea, ma’am?” she said to Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>“Yes, take it to the drawing-room now. And send the cab away. The Major -won’t want it.”</p> - -<p>Lyndhurst crammed the sponge into its bag.</p> - -<p>“I shall want the cab, Parker,” he said. “Don’t send it away.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames whisked round on Parker with amazing rapidity.</p> - -<p>“Do as I tell you, Parker,” she said, “and be quick!”</p> - -<p>It was a mere conflict of will that, for the next five seconds, silently -raged between them, but as definite and as hard-hitting as any affair of -the prize ring. And it was impossible that there should be any but the -one end to it, for Mrs. Ames devoted her whole strength and will to it, -while from the first her husband’s heart was not in the battle. But she -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308">{308}</a></span> fighting for her all, and not only her all, but his, and not only -his, but Millie’s. Three existences were at stake, and the ruin of two -homes was being hazarded. And when he spoke, she knew she was winning.</p> - -<p>“I must go,” he said. “She will be waiting at the station.”</p> - -<p>“She will wait to no purpose,” said Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>“She will be”—no word seemed adequate—“be furious,” he said. “A man -cannot treat a woman like that.”</p> - -<p>Any blow would do: he had no defence: she could strike him as she -pleased.</p> - -<p>“Elsie comes home next week,” she said. “A pleasant home-coming. And -Harry will have to leave Cambridge!”</p> - -<p>“But I love her!” he said.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, my dear,” she said. “Men don’t ruin the women they love. Men, -I mean!”</p> - -<p>That stung; she meant that it should.</p> - -<p>“But men keep their word,” he said. “Let me pass.”</p> - -<p>“Keep your word to me,” said she, “and try to help poor Millie to keep -hers to her husband. It is not a fine thing to steal a man’s wife, -Lyndhurst. It is much finer to be respectable.”</p> - -<p>“Respectable!” he said. “And to what has respectability brought us? You -and me, I mean?”</p> - -<p>“Not to disgrace, anyhow,” she said.</p> - -<p>“It’s too late,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Never quite too late, thank God,” she said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames gave a little sigh. She knew she had won, and quite suddenly -all her strength seemed to leave her. Her little trembling legs refused -to uphold her, a curious buzzing was in her ears, and a crinkled mist -swam before her eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309">{309}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Lyndhurst, I’m afraid I am going to make a goose of myself and faint,” -she said. “Just help me to my room, and get Parker——”</p> - -<p>She swayed and tottered, and he only just caught her before she fell. He -laid her down on the floor and opened the door and window wide. There -was a flask of brandy in his portmanteau, laid on the top, designed to -be easily accessible in case of an inclement crossing of the Channel. He -mixed a tablespoonful of this with a little water, and as she moved, and -opened her eyes again, he knelt down on the floor by her, supporting -her.</p> - -<p>“Take a sip of this, Amy,” he said.</p> - -<p>She obeyed him.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, my dear,” she said. “I am better. So silly of me.”</p> - -<p>“Another sip, then.”</p> - -<p>“You want to make me drunk, Lyndhurst,” she said.</p> - -<p>Then she smiled: it would be a pity to lose the opportunity for a -humorous allusion to what at the time had been so far from humour.</p> - -<p>“Really drunk, this time,” she said. “And then you tell Cousin James he -was right.”</p> - -<p>She let herself rest longer than was physically necessary in the -encircling crook of his arm, and let herself keep her eyes closed, -though, if she had been alone, she would most decidedly have opened -them. But those first few minutes had somehow to be traversed, and she -felt that silence bridged them over better than speech. It was -appropriate, too, that his arm should be round her.</p> - -<p>“There, I am better,” she said at length. “Let me get up, Lyndhurst. -Thank you for looking after me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310">{310}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She got on to her feet, but then sat down again in his easy-chair.</p> - -<p>“Not quite steady yet?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Very nearly. I shall be quite ready to come downstairs and give you -your tea by the time you have unpacked your little portmanteau.”</p> - -<p>She did not even look at him, but sat turned away from him and the -little portmanteau. But she heard the rustle of paper, the opening and -shutting of drawers, the sound of metallic articles of toilet being -deposited on dressing-table and washing-stand. After that came the click -of a hasp. Then she got up.</p> - -<p>“Now let us have tea,” she said.</p> - -<p>“And if Millie comes?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She had been determined that he should mention her name first. But when -once he had mentioned it she was more than ready to discuss the -questions that naturally arose.</p> - -<p>“You mean she may come back here to see what has happened to you?” she -asked. “That is well thought of, dear. Let us see. But we will go -downstairs.”</p> - -<p>She thought intently as they descended the staircase, and busied herself -with tea-making before she got to her conclusion.</p> - -<p>“She will ask for you,” she said, “if she comes, and it would not be -very wise for you to see her. On the other hand, she must be told what -has happened. I will see her, then. It would be best that way.”</p> - -<p>Major Ames got up.</p> - -<p>“No, I can’t have that,” he said. “I can’t have that!”</p> - -<p>“My dear, you have got to have it. You are in a dreadful mess. I, as -your wife, am the only person<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311">{311}</a></span> who can get you out of it. I will do my -best, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>She rang the bell.</p> - -<p>“I am going to tell Parker to tell Millie that you are at home if she -asks for you, and to show her in here,” she said. “There is no other way -that I can see. I do not intend to have nothing more to do with her. At -least I want to avoid that, if possible, for that is a weak way out of -difficulties. I shall certainly have to see her some time, and there is -no use in putting it off. I am afraid, Lyndhurst, that you had better -finish your tea at once, or take it upstairs. Take another cup upstairs; -you have had but one, and drink it in your dressing-room, in the -comfortable chair.”</p> - -<p>There was an extraordinary wisdom in this minute attention to detail, -and it was by this that she was able to rise to a big occasion. It was -necessary that he should feel that her full intention was to forgive -him, and make the best of the days that lay before them. She had no -great words and noble sentiment with which to convey this impression, -but, in a measure, she could show him her mind by minute arrangements -for his comfort. But he lingered, irresolute.</p> - -<p>“You have got to trust me,” she said. “Do as I tell you, my dear.”</p> - -<p>She had not long to wait after he had gone upstairs. She heard the ring -at the bell, and next moment Millie came into the room. Her face was -flushed, her breathing hurried, her eyes alight with trouble, suspense, -and resentment.</p> - -<p>“Lyndhurst,” she began. “I waited——”</p> - -<p>Then she saw Mrs. Ames, and turned confusedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312">{312}</a></span> about, as if to leave the -room again. But Amy got up quickly.</p> - -<p>“Come and sit down at once, Millie,” she said. “We have got to talk. So -let us make it as easy as we can for each other.”</p> - -<p>Millie was holding her muff up to her face, and peered at her from above -it, wild-eyed, terrified.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t you I want,” she said. “Where is Lyndhurst? I—I had an -appointment with him. He was late—we—we were going a drive together. -What do you know, Cousin Amy?” she almost shrieked; “and where is he?”</p> - -<p>“Sit down, Millie, as I tell you,” said Mrs. Ames very quietly. “There -is nothing to be frightened at. I know everything.”</p> - -<p>“We were going a drive,” began Millie again, still looking wildly about. -“He did not come, and I was frightened. I came to see where he was. I -asked you if you knew—if you knew anything about him, did I not? Why do -you say you know everything?”</p> - -<p>Suddenly Mrs. Ames saw that there was something here infinitely more -worthy of pity than she had suspected. There was no question as to the -agonized earnestness that underlay this futile, childish repetition of -nonsense. And with that there came into her mind a greater measure of -understanding with regard to her husband. It was not so wonderful that -he had been unable to resist the face that had drawn him.</p> - -<p>“Let us behave like sensible women, Millie,” she said. “You have come -down from the station. Lyndhurst was not there. Do you want me to tell -you anything more?”</p> - -<p>Millie wavered where she stood, then she stumbled into a chair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313">{313}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Has he given me up?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, if you care to put it like that. It would be truer to say that he -has saved you and himself. But he is not coming with you.”</p> - -<p>“You made him?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I helped to make him,” said Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>Millie got up again.</p> - -<p>“I want to see him,” she said. “You don’t understand, Cousin Amy. He has -got to come. I don’t care whether it is wicked or not. I love him. You -don’t understand him either. You don’t know how splendid he is. He is -unhappy at home; he has often told me so.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames took hold of the wretched woman by both hands.</p> - -<p>“You are raving, Millie,” she said. “You must stop being hysterical. You -hardly know whom you are talking to. If you do not pull yourself -together, I shall send for your husband, and say you have been taken -ill.”</p> - -<p>Millie gave a sudden gasp of laughter.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am not so stupid as you think!” she said. “Wilfred is away. Where -is Lyndhurst?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames did not let go of her.</p> - -<p>“Millie,” she said, “if you are not sensible at once, I will tell you I -shall do. I shall call Parker, and together we will put you into your -cab, and you shall be driven straight home. I am perfectly serious. I -hope you will not oblige me to do that. You will be much wiser to pull -yourself together, and let us have a talk. But understand one thing -quite clearly. You are not going to see Lyndhurst.”</p> - -<p>The tension of those wide, childish eyes slowly relaxed, and her head -sank forward, and there came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314">{314}</a></span> the terrible and blessed tears, in wild -cataract and streaming storm. And Mrs. Ames, looking at her, felt all -her righteousness relax; she had only pity for this poor destitute soul, -who was blind to all else by force of that mysterious longing which, in -itself, is so divine that, though it desires the disgraceful and the -impossible, it cannot wholly make itself abominable, nor discrown itself -of its royalty. Something of the truth of that, though no more than mere -fragments and moulted feather, came to Mrs. Ames now, as she sat waiting -till the tempest of tears should have abated. The royal eagle had passed -over her; as sign of his passage there was this feather that had fallen, -and she understood its significance.</p> - -<p>Slowly the tears ceased and the sobs were still, and Millie raised her -dim, swollen eyes.</p> - -<p>“I had better go home,” she said. “I wonder if you would let me wash my -face, Cousin Amy. I must be a perfect fright.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear Millie,” said she; “but there is no hurry. See, shall I send -your cab back to your house? It has your luggage on it; yes? Then Parker -shall go with it, and tell them to take it back to your room and unpack -it, and put everything back in place. Afterwards, when we have talked a -little, I will walk back with you.”</p> - -<p>Again the comfort of having little things attended to reached Millie, -that and the sense that she was not quite alone. She was like a child -that has been naughty and has been punished, and she did not much care -whether she had been naughty or not. What she wanted primarily was to be -comforted, to be assured that everybody was not going to be angry<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315">{315}</a></span> with -her for ever. Then, returning, Mrs. Ames made her some fresh tea, and -that comforted her too.</p> - -<p>“But I don’t see how I can ever be happy again,” she said.</p> - -<p>There was something childlike about this, as well as childish.</p> - -<p>“No, Millie,” said the other. “None of us three see that exactly. We -shall all have to be very patient. Very patient and ordinary.”</p> - -<p>There was a long silence.</p> - -<p>“I must tell you one thing,” said Millie, “though I daresay that will -make you hate me more. But it was my fault from the first. I led him -on—I—I didn’t let him kiss me, I made him kiss me. It was like that -all through!”</p> - -<p>She felt that Mrs. Ames was waiting for something more, and she knew -exactly what it was. But it required a greater effort to speak of that -than she could at once command. At last she raised her eyes to those of -Mrs. Ames.</p> - -<p>“No, never,” she said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames nodded.</p> - -<p>“I see,” she said baldly. “Now, as I said, we have got to be patient and -ordinary. We have got, you and I, to begin again. You have your husband, -so have I. Men are so easily pleased and made happy. It would be a shame -if we failed.”</p> - -<p>Again the helpless, puzzled look came over Millie’s face.</p> - -<p>“But I don’t see how to begin,” she said. “To-morrow, for instance, what -am I to do all to-morrow? I shall only be thinking of what might have -happened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316">{316}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames took up her soft, unresisting, unresponsive hand.</p> - -<p>“Yes, by all means, think what might have happened,” she said. “Utter -ruin, utter misery, and—and all your fault. You led him on, as you -said. He didn’t care as you did. He wouldn’t have thought of going away -with you, if he hadn’t been so furious with me. Think of all that.”</p> - -<p>Some straggler from that host of sobs shook Millie for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps Wilfred would take me away instead,” she said. “I will ask him -if he cannot. Do you think I should feel better if I went away for a -fortnight, Cousin Amy?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ames’ twisted little smile played about her mouth.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said. “I think that is an excellent plan. I am quite sure you -will feel better in a fortnight, if you can look forward like that, and -want to be better. And now would you like to wash your face? After that, -I will walk home with you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317">{317}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a brisk morning in November, and Mr. and Mrs. Altham, who -breakfasted at half-past eight in the summer, and nine in the winter, -were seated at breakfast, and Mr. Altham was thinking how excellent was -the savour of grilled kidneys. But he was not sure if they were really -wholesome, and he was playing an important match at golf this afternoon. -Perhaps two kidneys approached the limits of wisdom. Besides, his wife -was speaking of really absorbing things; he ought to be able to distract -his mind from the kidneys he was proposing to deny himself, under the -sting of so powerful a counter-interest.</p> - -<p>“And to think that Mrs. Ames isn’t going to be a Suffragette any more!” -she said. “I met Mrs. Turner when I took my walk just now, and she told -me all about it.”</p> - -<p>A word of explanation is necessary. The fact was that Swedish exercises, -and a short walk on an empty stomach, were producing wonderful results -in Riseborough at the moment, especially among its female inhabitants. -They now, instead of meeting in the High Street before lunch, to stand -about on the pavement and exchange news, met there before breakfast, -when on these brisk autumn mornings it was wiser not to stand about. -They therefore skimmed rapidly up and down the street together, in short -skirts and walking boots. Rain and sunny<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318">{318}</a></span> weather, in this first glow of -enthusiasm, were alike to them, and they had their baths afterwards. -These exercises gave a considerable appetite for breakfast, and produced -a very pleasant and comfortable feeling of fatigue. But this fatigue was -a legitimate, indeed, a desirable effect, for their systems naturally -demanded repose after exertion, and an hour’s rest after breakfast was -recommended. Thus this getting up earlier did not really result in any -actual saving of time, though it made everybody feel very busy, and they -all went to bed a little earlier.</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham found he got on very nicely without these gymnastics, but -then he played golf after lunch. It was no use playing tricks with your -health if it was already excellent: you might as well poke about in the -works of a punctual watch. He had already had a pretty sharp lesson on -this score, over the consumption of sour milk. It had made him -exceedingly unwell, and he had sliced his drive for a fortnight -afterwards. Just now he weaned his mind from the thoughts of kidneys, -and gave it in equitable halves to marmalade and his wife’s -conversation. To enjoy either, required silence on his part.</p> - -<p>“She went to a meeting yesterday,” said Mrs. Altham, “so Mrs. Turner -told me, and said that though she had the success of the cause so deeply -at heart as ever, she would not be able to take any active part in it. -That is a very common form of sympathy. I suppose, from what one knows -of Mrs. Ames, we might have expected something of the sort. Do you -remember her foolish scheme of asking wives without husbands, and -husbands without wives? I warned you at the time, Henry, not to take any -notice of it, because I was sure it would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319">{319}</a></span> come to nothing, and I think -I may say I am justified. I don’t know what <i>you</i> think.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Altham, by a happy coincidence, had finished masticating his last -piece of toast at this moment, and was at liberty to reply.</p> - -<p>“I do not think anything about it at present,” said he. “I daresay you -are quite right, but why?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham gave a little shrill laugh. The sprightliness at breakfast -produced by this early walk and the exercises was very marked.</p> - -<p>“I declare,” she said, “that I had forgotten to tell you. Mrs. Ames -wrote to ask us both to dine on Saturday. I had quite forgotten! There -is something in the air before breakfast that makes one forgetful of -trifles. It says so in the pamphlet. Worries and household cares vanish, -and it becomes a joy to be alive. I don’t think we have any engagement. -Pray do not have a third cup of tea, Henry. Tannin combines the effects -of stimulants and narcotics. A cup of hot water, now—you will never -regret it. Let me see! Yes, dinner at the Ames’ on Saturday, and she -isn’t a Suffragette any longer. As I said, one might have guessed. I -daresay her husband gave her a good talking-to, after the night when she -threw the water at the policeman. I should not wonder if there was -madness in the family. I think I heard that Sir James’ mother was very -queer before she died!”</p> - -<p>“She lived till ninety,” remarked Mr. Altham.</p> - -<p>“That is often the case with deranged people,” said Mrs. Altham. -“Lunatics are notoriously long-lived. There is no strain on the brain.”</p> - -<p>“And she wasn’t any relation of Mrs. Ames,” continued Henry. “Mrs. Ames -is related to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320">{320}</a></span> Westbournes. She has no more to do with Sir James’ -mother than I have to do with yours. I will take tea, my dear, not hot -water.”</p> - -<p>“You want to catch me up, Henry,” said she, “and prove I am wrong -somehow. I was only saying that very likely there is madness in Mrs. -Ames’ family, and I was going to add that I hoped it would not come out -in her. But you must allow that she has been very flighty. You would -have thought that an elderly woman like that could make up her mind once -and for all about things, before she made an exhibition of herself. She -thinks she is like some royal person who goes and opens a bazaar, and -then has nothing more to do with it, but hurries away to Leeds or -somewhere to unveil a memorial. She thinks it is sufficient for her to -help at the beginning, and get all the advertisement, and then drop it -all like cold potatoes.”</p> - -<p>“Hot,” said Henry.</p> - -<p>“Hot or cold: that is just like her. She plays hot and cold. One day she -is a Suffragette and the next day she isn’t. As likely as not she will -be a vegetarian on Saturday, and we shall be served with cabbages.”</p> - -<p>“Major Ames went over to Sir James’ to shoot,—she wasn’t asked,” said -Henry, reverting to a previous topic.</p> - -<p>“There you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Altham. “That will account for her -abandoning this husband and wife theory. I am sure she did not like -that, she being Sir James’ relative and not being asked. But I never -could quite understand what the relationship is, though I daresay Mrs. -Ames can make it out. There are people who say they are cousins,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321">{321}</a></span> -because a grandmother’s niece married the other grandmother’s nephew. We -can all be descendants of Queen Elizabeth or of Charles the Second at -that rate.”</p> - -<p>“It would be easier to be a descendant of Charles the Second than of -Queen Elizabeth, my dear,” remarked Henry.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham pursed her lips up for a moment.</p> - -<p>“I do not think we need enter into that,” she said. “I was asking you if -you wished to accept Mrs. Ames’ invitation for Saturday. She says she -expects Sir James and his wife, so perhaps we shall hear some more about -this wonderful relationship, and Dr. Evans and his wife and one or two -others. To my mind that looks rather as if the husband and wife plan was -not quite what she expected it would be. And giving up all active part -in the Suffragette movement, too! But I daresay she feels her age, -though goodness only knows what it is. However, it is clearly going to -be a grand party on Saturday, and the waiter from the Crown will be -there to help Parker, going round and pouring a little foam into -everybody’s glass. I do not know where Major Ames gets his champagne -from, but I never get anything but foam. But I am sure I do not wish to -be unkind, and certainly poor Major Ames does not look well. I daresay -he has worries we do not know of, and, of course, there is no reason why -he should speak of them to us. The Evans’, too! I never satisfied myself -as to why they went away in October. They must have been away nearly -three weeks, for it was only yesterday that I saw them driving down from -the station, with so much luggage on the top of the cab I wonder it did -not fall over.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322">{322}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It can’t have been yesterday, my dear,” said Mr. Altham, “because you -spoke of it to me two days ago.”</p> - -<p>“You shall have it your own way, Henry,” said she. “I am quite willing -that you should think it was a twelvemonth ago, if you choose. But I -suppose you will not dispute that they went away in October, which is a -very odd time to take for a holiday. Of course, Mrs. Evans stopped here -all August, or so she says, and she might answer that she wanted a -little change of air. But for my part, I think there must have been -something more, though, as I say, I cannot guess what it is. Luckily, it -is no concern of mine, and I need not worry my head about it. But I have -always thought Mrs. Evans looked far from strong, and it seems odd that -a doctor’s wife should not be more robust, when she has all his -laboratory to choose from.”</p> - -<p>Henry lit his cigarette, and strolled to the window. The lawn was still -white with the unmelted hoar-frost, and the gardener was busy in the -beds, putting things tidy for the winter. This consisted in plucking up -anything of vegetable origin and carrying it off in a wheelbarrow. Thus -the beds were ready to receive the first bedded-out plants next May.</p> - -<p>“I remember, my dear,” said Henry, “that you once thought that there had -been some—some understanding between Mrs. Evans and Major Ames, and -some misunderstanding between Major Ames and Dr. Evans.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham brought her eyebrows together and put her finger on her -forehead.</p> - -<p>“I seem to remember some ridiculous story of yours, Henry, about a bunch -of chrysanthemums<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323">{323}</a></span> in the road outside Dr. Evans’ house, how you had -seen Major Ames take them in, and there they were afterwards in the -road. I seem to remember your being so much excited about it that I made -a point of going round to Mrs. Ames’ next day with—with a book. I think -that at the time—correct me if I am wrong—I convinced you that there -was nothing whatever in it.... Or have you seen or heard anything since -that makes you think differently?” she added rather more briskly.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear, nothing whatever,” said he.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham got up.</p> - -<p>“I am glad, very glad,” she said. “At any rate, we know in Riseborough -that we are safe from that sort of thing. I declare when I went to -London last week, I hardly slept with thinking of the dreadful things -that might be going on round me. Dear me, it is nearly ten o’clock. I do -not know whether the hours or the days go quickest! It is always -half-an-hour later than I expect it to be, and here we are in November -already. I shall rest for an hour, Henry, and I will write to Mrs. Ames -before lunch saying we shall be delighted to come on Saturday. November -the twelfth, too! Nearly half November will be gone by then, and that -leaves us but six weeks to Christmas, and it will be as much as we shall -be able to manage to get through all that has to be done before that. -But with these Swedish exercises, I declare I feel younger every day, -and more able to cope with everything. You should take to them, Henry; -by eleven o’clock they are finished and you have had your rest. With a -little management you would find time for everything.”</p> - -<p>Henry sat over the dining-room fire, considering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324">{324}</a></span> this. As has been -mentioned, he did not want to make any change in his excellent health, -but, on the other hand, a little rest after breakfast would be pleasant, -and when that was over it would be almost time to go to the club.</p> - -<p>But it was impossible to settle a question like that offhand. After he -had read the paper he would think about it.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Altham came hurrying back into the room.</p> - -<p>“Henry, you would never guess what I have seen!” she said. “I glanced -out of the window in the hall on the way to my room, and there was Mrs. -Ames wobbling about the road on a bicycle. Major Ames was holding it -upright with both hands, and it looked to be as much as he could manage. -Yet she has no time for Suffragettes! I should be sorry if I thought I -should ever make such a hollow excuse as that. And at her age, too! I -had no time to call you, but I dare say she will be back soon if you -care to watch. The window-seat in the hall is quite comfortable.”</p> - -<p>Henry took his paper there.</p> - -<p class="fint"> -THE END<br /><br /> -<br /><small> -<i>Richard Clay & Sons, Ltd., London and Bungay.</i></small><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Ames, by E. F. 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