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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..c826a22 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60346 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60346) diff --git a/old/60346-0.txt b/old/60346-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a8f0c7a..0000000 --- a/old/60346-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9545 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, I Pose, by Stella Benson - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: I Pose - - -Author: Stella Benson - - - -Release Date: September 23, 2019 [eBook #60346] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I POSE*** - - -E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/iposebenson00bens - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -I POSE - - -[Illustration] - -The Macmillan Company -New York · Boston · Chicago · Dallas Atlanta · San Francisco -Macmillan & Co., Limited -London · Bombay · Calcutta Melbourne -The Macmillan Co. Of Canada, Ltd. -Toronto - - -I POSE - -by - -STELLA BENSON - - - - - - -New York -The Macmillan Company -1916 -All rights reserved - -Copyright 1916 -by the Macmillan Company -Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1916. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - My eyes are girt with outer mists, - My ears sing shrill—and this I bless, - My finger-nails do bite my fists - In ecstasy of loneliness. - This I intend, and this I want,— - That, passing, you may only mark - A dumb soul and its confidante - Entombed together in the dark. - - The hoarse church-bells of London ring, - The hoarser horns of London croak, - The poor brown lives of London cling - About the poor brown streets like smoke; - The deep air stands above my roof, - Like water to the floating stars; - My Friend and I—we sit aloof, - We sit and smile, and bind our scars. - - For you may wound and you may kill— - It’s such a little thing to die— - Your cruel God may work his will, - We do not care—my Friend and I,— - Though, at the gate of Paradise, - Peter the Saint withhold his keys, - My Friend and I—we have no eyes - For Heaven ... or Hell ... or dreams like these.... - - - - - PREFACE - - - Sometimes I pose, but sometimes I - pose as posing. - - - - - I POSE - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -There was once a gardener. Not only was, but in all probability is, for -as far as I know you may meet him to this day. There are no death-bed -scenes in this book. The gardener was not the sort of person to bring a -novel to a graceful climax by dying finally in an atmosphere of elevated -immorality. He was extremely thin, but not in the least unhealthy. He -never with his own consent ran any risk of sudden death. Nobody would -ever try to introduce him into a real book, for he was in no way -suitable. He was not a philosopher. Not an adventurer. Not a gay dog. -Not lively: but he lived, and that at least is a great merit. - -In appearance the gardener was a fairly mediocre study in black and -white. He had a white and wooden face, black hair as smooth as a wet -seal’s back, thin arms and legs, and enormous hands and feet. He was not -indispensable to any one, but he believed that he was a pillar -supporting the world. It sometimes makes one nervous to reflect what -very amateur pillars the world seems to employ. - -He lived in a boarding-house in Penny Street, W. A boarding-house is a -place full of talk, it has as many eyes as a peacock, and ears to -correspond. It is lamentably little, and yet impossible to ignore. It is -not a dignified foundation for a pillar. - -The gardener was twenty-three. Twenty-three is said to be the prime of -life by those who have reached so far and no farther. It shares this -distinction with every age, from ten to three-score and ten. - -On the first of June, in his twenty-fourth year, the gardener broke his -boot-lace. The remains of the catastrophe dangled from his hand. String -was out of the question; one cannot be decent dressed in string, he -thought, with that touch of exaggeration common to victims of disasters. -The world was a sordid and sardonic master, there was no heart in the -breast of Fate. He was bereft even of his dignity, there is no dignity -in the death of a boot-lace. The gardener’s twenty-three years were -stripped from him like a cloak. He felt little and naked. - -He was so busy with his emotions that he had forgotten that the door of -his room was open. - -It was rather like the girl Courtesy to stand on the landing boldly -staring in at a man sitting on his bedroom floor crushed by -circumstances. She had no idea of what was fitting. Any other woman -would have recognised the presence of despair, and would have passed by -with head averted. - -But the girl Courtesy said, “Poor lamb, has it broken its boot-lace?” - -The gardener continued in silence to watch the strangling of his vanity -by the corpse of the boot-lace. His chief characteristic was a whole -heart in all that he did. - -A tear should have appeared in Courtesy’s eye at the sight of him. But -it did not. - -“Give me the boot,” she said, advancing into the room in the most -unwomanly manner. And she knotted the boot-lace with a cleverness so -unexpected—considering the sort of girl she was—that the difference in -its length was negligible, and the knot was hidden beneath the other -lace. - -“Women have their uses,” thought the gardener. But the thought was -short-lived, for Courtesy’s next remark was: - -“There, boy, run along and keep smilin’. Somebody loves you.” And she -patted him on the cheek. - -Now it has been made clear that the gardener was a Man of Twenty-three. -He turned his back violently on the woman, put on his boot, and walked -downstairs bristling with dignity. - -The girl Courtesy not only failed to be cut to the heart by the silent -rebuke, but she failed to realise that she had offended. She was rather -fat, and rather obtuse. She was half an inch taller than the gardener, -and half a dozen years older. - -The gardener’s indignation rode him downstairs. It spurred him to force -his hat down on his head at a most unbecoming angle, it supplied the -impetus for a passionate slamming of the door. But on the door-step it -evaporated suddenly. It was replaced by a rosy and arresting thought. - -“Poor soul, she loves me,” said the gardener. He adjusted his hat, and -stepped out into London, a breaker of hearts, a Don Juan, unconscious of -his charm yet conscious of his unconsciousness. “Poor thing, poor -thing,” he thought, and remembered with regret that Courtesy had not -lost her appetite. On the contrary, she had been looking even plumper of -late. But then Courtesy never quite played the game. - -“I begin to be appreciated,” reflected the gardener. “I always knew the -world would find out some day....” - -The gardener was a dreamer of dreams, and a weaver of many theories. His -theories were not even tangible enough to make a philosophy, yet against -them he measured his world. And any shortcomings he placed to the -world’s account. He wrapped himself in theories to such an extent that -facts were crowded from his view, he posed until he lost himself in a -wilderness of poses. He was not the victim of consistency, that most -ambiguous virtue. The dense and godly wear consistency as a flower, the -imaginative fling it joyfully behind them. - -Imagination seems to be a glory and a misery, a blessing and a curse. -Adam, to his sorrow, lacked it. Eve, to her sorrow, possessed it. Had -both been blessed—or cursed—with it, there would have been much keener -competition for the apple. - -The million eyes of female London pricked the gardener, or so he -imagined, as he threaded the Strand. He felt as if a glance from his eye -was a blessing, and he bestowed it generously. The full blaze of it fell -upon one particular girl as she walked towards him. She seemed to the -gardener to be almost worthy. Her yellow hair suffered from Marcelle -spasms at careful intervals of an inch and a half, every possible tooth -enjoyed publicity. The gardener recognised a kindred soul. A certain -shade of yellow hair always at this period thatched a kindred soul for -the gardener. - -He followed the lady. - -He followed her even into the gaping jaws of an underground station. -There she bought cigarettes at a tobacco stall. - -“She smokes,” thought the gardener. “This is life.” - -He went close to her while she paid. She was not in the least miserly of -a certain cheap smell of violets. The gardener was undaunted. - -“Shall we take a taxi, Miss?” he suggested, his wide eager smile a -trifle damped by self-consciousness. For this was his first attempt of -the kind. “They say Kew is lovely just now.” - -It was his theory that spoke. In practice he had but threepence in his -pocket. - -She replied, “Bless you, kid. Run ’ome to mammy, do.” - -Her voice sounded like the scent she wore. It had a hard tone which -somehow brought the solitary threepence to mind. - -The gardener returned at great speed to Penny Street. - -It was lunch-time at Number Twenty-one. The eternal hash approached its -daily martyrdom. Hash is a worthy thing, but it reminds you that you are -not at the Ritz. There is nothing worse calculated to make you forget a -lonely threepenny bit in your pocket. - -The gardener had a hundred a year. He was apparently the only person in -London with a hundred a year, for wherever he went he always found -himself the wealthiest person present. His friends gave his natural -generosity a free rein. After various experiments in social economy, he -found it cheapest to rid himself of the hundred a year immediately on -its quarterly appearance, and live on his expectations for the rest of -the time. There are drawbacks about this plan, as well as many -advantages. But the gardener was a pillar, and he found it easier to -support the world than to support himself. - -It was on this occasion that his neighbour at luncheon, unaware of his -pillar-hood, asked him what he was doing for a living. - -“Living,” replied the gardener. He was not absolutely sure that it made -sense, but it sounded epigrammatic. He was, in some lights, a shameless -prig. But then one often is, if one thinks, at twenty-three. - -“It’s all living,” he continued to his neighbour. “It’s all life. Being -out of a job is life. Being kicked is life. Starving’s life. Dying’s -life.” - -The neighbour did not reply because he was busy eating. One had to keep -one’s attention fixed on the food problem at 21 Penny Street. There was -no time for epigrams. It was a case of the survival of the most silent. -The gardener was very thin. - -The girl Courtesy, however, was one who could do two things at once. She -could support life and impart information at the same time. - -“I do believe you talk for the sake of talking,” she said; and it was -true. “How can dying be living?” - -It is most annoying to have the cold light of feminine logic turned on -to an impromptu epigram. The gardener pushed the parsnips towards her as -a hint that she was talking too much. But Courtesy had the sort of eye -that sees no subtlety in parsnips. Her understanding was of the black -and white type. - -“Death is the door to life,” remarked Miss Shakespeare, nailing down the -golden opportunity with eagerness. 21 Penny Street very rarely gave Miss -Shakespeare the satisfaction of such an opening. There was, however, a -lamentable lack of response. The subject, which had been upheld contrary -to the laws of gravitation, fell heavily to earth. - -“Is this your threepenny bit or mine?” asked the girl Courtesy. For that -potent symbol, the victim of its owner’s absence of mind, in the course -of violent exercise between the gardener’s plate and hers, had fallen -into her lap. - -Whose idea was it to make money round? I sometimes feel certain I could -control it better if it were square. - -“It is mine,” said the gardener, still posing as a philosopher. “A -little splinter out of the brimstone lake. Feel it.” - -Courtesy smelt it without repulsion. - -“Talk again,” she said. “Where would you be without money?” - -“Where would I be without money? Where would I be without any of the -vices? Singing in Paradise, I suppose.” - -“If I pocket this threepenny bit,” said Courtesy, that practical girl, -“what will you say?” - -“Thank you—and good-bye,” replied the gardener. “It is my last link with -the world.” - -Courtesy put it in her purse. “Good-bye,” she said. “So sorry you must -go. Reserve a halo for me.” - -The gardener rose immediately and walked upstairs with decision into his -bedroom, which, by some freak of chance, was papered blue to match his -soul. It was indeed the anteroom of the gardener’s soul. Nightly he went -through it into the palace of himself. - -He took out of it now his toothbrush, a change of raiment, and Hilda. It -occurs to me that I have not yet mentioned Hilda. She was a nasturtium -in a small pot. - -On his way downstairs he met Miss Shakespeare, who held the destinies of -21 Penny Street, and did not hold with the gardener’s unexpected ways. - -“Your weekly account ...” she began. - -“I have left everything I have as hostages with fate,” said the -gardener. “When I get tired of Paradise I’ll come back.” - -On the door-step he exclaimed, “I will be a merry vagabond, -tra-la-la ...” and he stepped out transfigured—in theory. - -As he passed the dining-room window he caught sight of the red of -Courtesy’s hair, as she characteristically continued eating. - -“An episode,” he thought. “Unscathed I pass on. And the woman, as women -must, remains to weep and grow old. Courtesy, my little auburn lover, I -have passed on—for ever.” - -But he had to return two minutes later to fetch a pocket-handkerchief -from among the hostages. And Courtesy, as she met him in the hall, -nodded in an unsuitably unscathed manner. - -The gardener walked, with Hilda in his hand. It became night. -Practically speaking, it is of course impossible for night to occur -within three paragraphs of luncheon-time. But actually the day is often -to me as full of holes as a Gruyère cheese. - -To the gardener the beginnings of a walk which he felt sure must -eventually find a place in history were torn ruthlessly out of his -experience. He was thinking about red hair, and all things red. - -He hoped that Hilda, when she flowered, would be the exact shade of a -certain head of hair he had lately seen. - -“Hoping and planning for Hilda like a mother-to-be,” he thought, but -that pose was impossible to sustain. - -Red hair. - -He did not think of the girl Courtesy at all. Only her hair flamed in -his memory. The remembrance of the rest of her was as faint and lifeless -as a hairdresser’s dummy. - -It struck him that auburn, with orange lights in the sunlight, was the -colour of heat, the colour of heaven, the colour of life and love. He -looked round at the characteristic London female passer-by, the -thin-breasted girl, with hair the colour of wet sand, and reflected that -Woman is a much rarer creature than she appears to be. - -He recovered consciousness in Kensington Gardens at dusk. He remembered -that he was a merry vagabond. - -“Tra-la-la ...” he sang as he passed a park-keeper. - -People in authority seem as a rule to be shy of the pose. The -park-keeper was not exactly shy, but he made a murmured protest against -the Tra-la-la, and saw the gardener to the gate with most offensive -care. - -In theory the gardener spent the night at the Ritz. In practice he slept -on the Embankment. He was a man of luck in little things, and the night -was the first fine night for several weeks. The gardener followed the -moon in its light fall across the sky. Several little stars followed it -too, in and out of the small smiling clouds. - -The moon threaded its way in and out of the gardener’s small smiling -dreams. Oh mad moon, you porthole, looking up into a fantastic Paradise! - -The gardener did not dream of red hair. That subject was exhausted. - -When an undecided sun blinked through smoked glasses at the Thames, and -at the little steamers sleeping with their funnels down like sea-gulls -on the water with their heads under their wings, the gardener rose. He -had a bath and a shave—in theory—and walked southward. Tra-la-la. - -He walked very fast when he got beyond the tramways, but after a while a -woman who was walking behind him caught him up. Women are apt to get -above themselves in these days, I think. - -“I’m going to walk with you,” said the woman. - -“Why?” asked the gardener, who spent some ingenuity in saying the thing -that was unexpected, whether possible or impossible. - -“Because you’re carrying that flower-pot,” replied the woman. “It’s such -absurd sort of luggage to be taking on a journey.” - -“How do you know I’m going on a journey?” asked the gardener, astonished -at meeting his match. “By the expression of your heels.” - -The gardener could think of nothing more apt to say than “Tra-la-la ...” -so he said it, to let her know that he was a merry vagabond. - -The woman was quite plain, and therefore worthy only of invisibility in -the eyes of a self-respecting young man. She had the sort of hair that -plays truant over the ears, but has not vitality enough to do it -prettily. Her complexion was not worthy of the name. Her eyes made no -attempt to redeem her plainness, which is the only point of having eyes -in fiction. Her only outward virtue was that she did not attempt to -dress as if she were pretty. And even this is not a very attractive -virtue. - -She carried a mustard-coloured portmanteau. - -“I know what you are,” said the gardener. “You are a suffragette, going -to burn a house down.” - -The woman raised her eyebrows. - -“How curious of you!” she said. “You are perfectly right. Votes for -women!” - -“Tra-la-la ...” sang the gardener wittily. - -(You need not be afraid. There is not going to be so very much about the -cause in this book.) - -They walked some way in silence. The gardener, of course, shared the -views of all decent men on this subject. One may virtuously destroy life -in a good cause, but to destroy property is a heinous crime, whatever -its motive. - -(Yes, I know that made you tremble, but there are not many more -paragraphs of it.) - -Presently they passed a car, pillowed against a grassy bank. Its -attitude, which looked depressed, was not the result of a catastrophe, -but of a picnic. In the meadow, among the buttercups, could be seen four -female hats leaning together over a little square meal set forth in the -grass. - -“Look,” said the suffragette, in a voice thin with scorn. - -The gardener looked, but could see nothing that aroused in him a horror -proportionate to his companion’s tone. - -“Listen,” said the suffragette half an octave higher. - -The gardener listened. But all he heard was, “Oh, my dear, it was too -killing....” - -Then, because the chauffeur on the bank paused in mid-sandwich, as if -about to rebuke their curiosity, they walked on. - -“One is born a woman,” said the suffragette. “A woman in her -sphere—which is the home. One starts by thinking of one’s dolls, later -one thinks about one’s looks, and later still about one’s clothes. But -nobody marries one. And then one finds that one’s sphere—which is the -home—has been a prison all along. Has it ever struck you that the -tragedy of a woman’s life is that she has time to think—she can think -and organise her sphere at the same time. Her work never lets her get -away from herself. I tell you I have cried with disgust at the sound of -my own name—I won’t give it to you, but it might as well be Jane Brown. -I have gasped appalled at the banality of my Sunday hat. Yet I kept -house excellently. And now I have run away, I am living a wide and -gorgeous life of unwomanliness. I am trying to share your simplest -privilege—the privilege you were born to through no merit of your own, -you silly little boy—the privilege of having interests as wide as the -world if you like, and of thinking to some purpose about England’s -affairs. My England. Are you any Englisher than I?” - -“You are becoming incoherent,” said the gardener. “You are enjoying a -privilege which you do not share with me—the privilege of becoming -hysterical in public and yet being protected by the law. You are a -woman, and goodness knows that is privilege enough. It covers everything -except politics. Also you have wandered from the point, which at one -time appeared to be a picnic.” - -(Courage. There is only a little more of this. But you must allow the -woman the privilege of the last word. It is always more dignified to -allow her what she is perfectly certain to take in any case.) - -“The picnic was an example of that sphere of which ‘Oh, my dear, too -killing ...’ is the motto. You educate women—to that. I might have been -under one of those four hats—only I’m not pretty enough. You have done -nothing to prevent it. I might have been an ‘Oh, my dear’ girl, but -thank heaven I’m an incendiary instead.” - -That was the end of that argument. The gardener could not reply as his -heart prompted him, because the arguments that pressed to his lips were -too obvious. - -Obviousness was the eighth deadly sin in his eyes. He would have agreed -with the Devil rather than use the usual arguments in favour of virtue. -That was his one permanent pose. - -A little way off, on a low green hill, the suffragette pointed out the -home of a scion of sweated industry, the house she intended to burn -down. High trees bowed to each other on either side of it, and a little -chalky white road struggled up to its door through fir plantations, like -you or me climbing the world for a reward we never see. - -“I’m sorry,” said the gardener. “I love a house that looks up as that -one does. I don’t like them when they sit conceitedly surveying their -‘well-timbered acres’ under beetle brows that hide the sky. Don’t burn -it. Look at it, holding up its trees like green hands full of -blessings.” - -“In an hour or two the smoke will stand over it like a tree—like a -curse....” - -When they parted the gardener liked her a little because she was on the -wrong side of the law. There is much more room for the wind to blow and -the sun to shine beyond the pale—or so it seems to the gardener and me -standing wistful and respectable inside. It is curious to me that one of -the few remaining illusions of romance should cling to a connection with -that most prosy of all institutions—the law. - -I forgot to mention that the gardener borrowed a shilling from the -suffragette, thus rashly forming a new link with the world in place of -the one he had relinquished to the girl Courtesy. The worst of the world -is that it remains so absurdly conservative, and rudely ignores our -interesting changes of pose and of fantasy. I have been known to crave -for a penny bun in the middle of a visit from my muse, and that is not -my fault, but Nature’s, who created appetites and buns for the common -herd, and refused to adapt herself to my abnormal psychology. - -It was interesting to the gardener to see how easily the suffragette -parted with such an important thing as a shilling. Superfluity is such -an incredible thing to the hungry. The suffragette gave Holloway Gaol as -her permanent address. - -Thus accidentally bribed, the gardener, feasting on a cut from the joint -in the next village, refrained from discussing women, their rights or -wrongs, or their local intentions, with the village policeman. “She -won’t really dare do it,” he thought. - -(I may here add that I was not asked by a militant society to write this -book. I am writing it for your instruction and my own amusement.) - -The gardener did not sleep under a hedge as all merry vagabonds -do—(Tra-la-la)—but he slept in the very middle of a large field, much to -the surprise of the cows. One or two of these coffee-coloured matrons -awoke him at dawn by means of an unwinking examination that would have -put a lesser man out of countenance. But the gardener, as becomes a man -attacked by the empty impertinences of females, turned the other way and -presently slept again. - -He washed next morning near to where the cows drank. He had no soap and -the cows had no tumblers,—nothing could have been more elemental than -either performance. - -“I am very near to the heart of nature—tra-la-la,” trilled the gardener. -But the heart of nature eludes him who tries to measure the distance. -The only beat that the gardener heard was the soft thud of his own feet -along the thick dust of the highway. - -About the next day but one he came to a place where the scenery changed -its mind abruptly, flung buttercups and beeches behind it, and drew over -its shoulders the sombre cloak of heather and pines. - -Under an unremarkable pine tree, listening to the impatient summons of -the woodpecker (who, I think, is the feathered soul of the foolish -virgin outside the bridegroom’s door), sat a man. He was so fair that he -might as well have been white-haired. His eyes were like two copper -sequins set between white lashes, beneath white brows, in a white face. -His lips were very red, and if he had seemed more detached and less -friendly, he would have looked like harlequin. But he rose from his seat -on the pine needles, and came towards the gardener, as though he had -been waiting for him. - -The gardener steeled himself against the stranger’s first word, fearing -lest he should say, “What a glorious day!” - -But the stranger, making a spasmodic attempt to remove a hat which had -been left at home, said, “My name is Samuel Rust, a hotel-keeper. Won’t -you come and look at my place?” - -It was impossible for the gardener to do otherwise, for Mr. Samuel -Rust’s place framed itself in a gap in the woods to the right, and was -introduced by a wave of its owner’s hand. - -“What a red place!” said the gardener. - -“Of course. No other name is possible for it,” said Mr. Rust. - -The house was built of red brick that had much tangerine colour in it. -The flowering heather surged to its very door-step. And thick around it -the slim pine tree-trunks shot up, like flame, whispered flame. - -The gardener smiled at it. If only Hilda might be the colour of those -tree-trunks when she flowered. - -Mr. Rust acknowledged the smile in the name of his red place. “It’s -an—inoffensive little hole,” he said. - -What he meant was of course, “It’s a perfectly exquisite spot.” What is -becoming of our old eloquence and enthusiasm? The full-blooded -conventions are dying, and we have already replaced them by a code of -shadows. But whether the life beneath the code is as vivid as ever, -remains to be seen. I think myself that manners are changing, but not -man. In all probability we shall live to greet the day when “fairly -decent” will express the most ecstatic degree of rapture. - -The gardener was not intentionally modern. It is the tendency of his -generation to be modern—it is difficult to believe that it has been the -tendency of every generation from the prehistoric downwards. And it was -the gardener’s ambition to walk in the opposite direction to the -tendency of his generation. He shared the common delusion that by -walking apart he could be unique. This arises from the divine fallacy -that man makes man, that he has the making of himself in his own hands. - -I am glad that I share this pathetic illusion with my gardener. - -So, as he thought the Red Place very beautiful, he said, “I think it is -very beautiful.” - -But even so he was not sincere throughout. He posed even in his honesty. -For he posed purposely as an honest man. - -Of course you know that one of the most effective poses is to pose as -one who never poses. A rough diamond with a heart of gold. - -The first moment Mr. Samuel Rust heard the gardener say Tra-la-la he -ceased to have a doubt as to the species of citadel he had invaded. - -“You are one of these insouciant wanderers, what?” he suggested. “A -light-hearted genius going to make a fortune grow out of the twopence in -your pocket. You got yourself out of a book. I think your sort make your -hearts light by blowing them up with gas.” - -True to his code, he then feared that he had spoken with insufficient -mediocrity, and blushed. A small circular patch of red, like a rose, -appeared high up on either cheek, suddenly bringing the rest of his face -into competition with his vivid lips. - -“You are wrong about the twopence,” said the gardener, “I have three -halfpence.” - -“Come and see my Red Place,” said Mr. Rust. “That is, if you’re not -bored.” - -Boredom and the gardener were strangers. One can never be bored if one -is always busy creating oneself with all the range of humanity as model. - -“This is an hotel,” said the owner, as they approached the door. “It is -my hotel, and it promised to make my fortune. So far it has confined -itself to costing a fortune. When I remind it of its promise it puts its -tongue in its cheek—what?” - -The northern side of the Red Place was quite different in character from -the side which first smiled on the gardener. This was because one -essential detail was lacking—the heather. Fire had passed over the -little space at some recent date in its sleepy history, and had left it -sinister. Tortured roots and branches appealed from the black ground to -a blue heaven. The surrounding pine trees, with their feet charred and -blistered, and their higher limbs still fiercely red, still looked like -flames now turned into pillars of delight in answer to the prayer of the -beseeching heather. - -“Is there anybody in your hotel?” asked the gardener, smoothing his hair -hopefully—the young man’s invariable prelude to romance. - -“Nobody, except the gods,” replied the host. “We sit here waiting, the -divine and I. There is a blessing on the place, and I intend to make -money out of it. You can see for yourself how wonderfully good it is. If -people knew of the peace and the delight.... The table is excellent -too—I am the chef as well as the proprietor. Our terms are most -moderate.” - -“All the same you need advertisement,” said the gardener, who, in -unguarded moments, was more modern than he knew. “I can imagine most -sensational advertising of a place with such a pronounced blessing on -it. Buy up the front page of the _Daily Mail_, and let’s compose a -series of splashes.” - -“I am penniless,” began Mr. Rust dramatically, and interrupted himself. -“A slight tendency towards financial inadequacy—what?” - -“I have three halfpence,” said the gardener, but not hopefully. - -“Come in for the night,” begged the host. “I have twelve bedrooms for -you to sleep in, and three bathrooms tiled in red. Terms a halfpenny, -_tout compris_.” - -“Tra-la-la ...” trilled the gardener, for as he followed his host the -heather tingled and tossed beneath his feet, and the gods came out to -meet him with a red welcome. - -“You have nothing to do—what?” said Mr. Samuel Rust, when they were -sitting in the high russet hall. - -“We-ll ...” answered the gardener, feeling that the suggestion of -failure lurked there. “I am a rover, you know. Busy roving.” - -“To say that shows you haven’t roved sixty miles yet. When you’ve roved -six hundred you’ll see there’s nothing to be got out of roving. When -you’ve roved six thousand you’ll join the Travellers’ Club and be glad -it’s all over.” - -“Six thousand miles ...” said the gardener, as if it were a prayer. His -heart looked and leapt towards the long, crowded perspective that those -words hinted. - -“You’ve never been to sea,” continued Mr. Samuel. And the gardener -discovered with a jerk that he was a blue man born for the sea, and that -he had never yet felt the swing of blue water beneath his feet. - -“No,” he said, “I believe I must go there now.” - -And he jumped to his feet. - -“If you stay here for the night,” said Mr. Rust, “to-morrow I’ll suggest -to you something that—may possibly interest you to some slight extent.” - -With a clumsy blood-red pottery candlestick, which was so careless in -detail as to seem to be the unconscious production of a drunken -master-potter, the gardener found his room. - -(I know it is a shock to you to find it bedtime at this point, but the -gardener and I forgot to notice those parts of the day which I have not -mentioned.) - -He dreamt of red hair, redder than natural, as red as a sunset, seen at -close quarters from Paradise. At midnight he awoke, in the clutch of -perfectly irrelevant thoughts. - -The room was a velvet cube, with the window plastered at one side of it, -a spangled square. And the silken moonlight was draped across the floor. - -“I am myself,” said the gardener. “I am my world. Nothing matters except -me. I am the creator and the created.” - -With which happy thought he returned to sleep again. - -The Red Place lost its flame-like life at night. Night, that blind -angel, has no dealings with colour, and turns even the auburn of the -pine-trunks to cold silver. But before the gardener awoke again, the sun -had roused the gods of the place to discover the theft of their red -gold, and to replace it. - -The gardener, as he trilled like a lark in one of the red-tiled -bathrooms, was suddenly reminded that he was a merry vagabond. - -“I must disappear,” he thought. “No true vagabond ever says, ‘Good-bye, -and thank you for my pleasant visit.’” - -So he prepared to disappear. From his bedroom window he could see, as he -dressed, the pale head of Mr. Samuel Rust on a far fir-crowned slope, -looking away over the green land towards London, waiting, side by side -with the divine. - -The gardener took three slices of dry bread from the breakfast which -waited expectantly on a table in the hall, and went out. But under a -gorse bush amongst the heather, he found some tiny scarlet flowers. He -picked two or three, and returning put them on the breakfast plate of -Mr. Samuel Rust. He put a halfpenny there too. - -“Very vagabondish—tra-la-la ...” he murmured tunefully, and studied the -infinitesimal effect with his head on one side. - -Then he disappeared. He did it straightforwardly along the open road, as -the best vagabonds do, and he was pleased with his fidelity to the part. - -Presently he recalled for the first time Mr. Samuel Rust’s promise of a -happy suggestion for that morning. For a moment he wondered, for a -second he regretted, but he posed as being devoid of curiosity. This is -a good pose, for in time it comes true. It eventually withers the little -silly tentacles which at first it merely ignores. Curiosity needs food -as much as any of us, and dies soon if denied it. And I am glad, for it -seems to me that curiosity and spite are very closely akin, and that -spite is very near to the bottom of the pit. - -The memory of Mr. Rust’s remark, however, kept the gardener for some -moments busy being incurious. He was not altogether successful in his -pose, for when the pallid owner of the Red Place stepped out of a -thicket in front of him, he thought with a secret quiver, “Now I shall -know what it was....” - -“Taking a morning walk—what?” remarked Mr. Rust, achieving his ambition, -the commonplace, for once in perfection. - -“No,” replied the gardener (one who never told a lie unless he was -posing as a liar), “I was leaving you. I have left a smile of thanks and -a halfpenny on your plate. You know I’m a rover, an incurable vagabond, -and my fraternity never disappears in an ordinary way in the station -fly.” - -It is rather tiresome to have to explain one’s poses. It is far worse -than having to explain one’s witticisms, and that is bad enough. - -“Come back to breakfast,” said Samuel. “I can let you into a much more -paying concern than vagabondage.” - -It is not in the least impressive to disappear by brute force in public, -so the gardener turned back. - -The gods did not run out to meet the returning vagabond, as they had run -out to meet him arriving. The gardener did not look for them. He was too -much occupied in thinking of small cramping things like “paying -concerns.” The expression sounded to him like a foggy square room -papered in a drab marbled design. - -“A paying concern does not interest me at all,” he said, feeling rather -noble. - -“It won’t as long as you’re a merry vagabond. But your situation as such -is not permanent, I think. Wouldn’t you like to go and strike attitudes -upon the sea?” - -The gardener was intensely interested in what followed. - -Mr. Samuel Rust was penniless, owing, as he frankly admitted, to -propensities which he shared with the common sieve. But in other -directions he was well supplied with blessings. He had, for instance, a -mother. And the mother—well, you know, she managed to scrape along on -nine thousand a year—what? The said mother, excellent woman though she -was, had refused to finance the Red Place. She had not come within the -radius of its blessing. She had no idea that it was under the direct -patronage of the gods, and that it promised a fortune in every facet. -Samuel had explained these facts to her, but she had somehow gathered -the impression that he was not unbiassed. In her hand she held the life -of the Red Place, and at present held it checked. A little money for -advertisement, a few hundred pounds to set the heart of the place -beating, and Samuel Rust saw himself a successful man, standing with his -gods on terms of equality. But his mother had become inaccessible, she -had in fact become so wearied by the conversation of Samuel upon the -subject that she had made arrangements to emigrate to Trinity Islands, -somewhere on the opposite side of the world. - -“And what is it to do with me?” asked the gardener, who suffered from -the drawbacks of his paramount virtue, enthusiasm, and never could wait -for the end of anything. “Do you want me to turn into an unscrupulous -rogue and dog her footsteps because——” - -“You can have scruples or not as you choose,” said Mr. Rust. “But rogue -is a word that exasperates me. It’s much the same as ‘naughty-naughty,’ -and that is worse than wickedness. The wicked live on brimstone, which -is at least honest; but the naughty-naughty play with it, which is -irreverent. With or without your scruples, armed only with the blessing -and the promise of this place, I want you to cross the Atlantic on the -_Caribbeania_ with my mother, and tell her what it is the gods and I are -waiting for. That is—just try and talk the old lady round—don’t you -know. Any old twaddle would do—what?” - -The gardener produced two halfpennies, one of which he placed on each -knee. - -“And the fare first-class is ...” he said. - -“I have a cousin whose only virtue is that he occasionally serves the -purpose of coin,” said Mr. Rust. “That is—I know a fellow I can bleed to -a certain extent—what? He is the son of—well, a middling K-nut at the -top of the shipping tree—what?” - -The gardener had visions of an unscrupulous rogue, neatly packed into a -crate labelled champagne, being smuggled on board the _Caribbeania_. -Truly the pose had possibilities. The affair was, however, vague at -present, and the gardener retained, whatever the rôle he was playing, an -accurate mind and a profound respect for the exactness of words. - -“Will he stow me away?” he asked. - -“Not in the way you mean. But there’ll be room for you on the -_Caribbeania_. Come down to Southampton with me now. There’s a train at -noon.” - -“I have my own feet, and a good white road,” replied the gardener in a -poetic voice. “I’ll join you in Southampton this evening.” - -“It’s thirty-five miles,” said Mr. Rust. “And the boat sails to-morrow -morning. However.... We haven’t discussed the business side of the -affair yet.” - -“And we never will. I’ll take my payment out in miles—an excellent -currency.” - -In spite of the distance of his destination, the gardener stood by his -determination to go by road. A friendly farmer’s cart may always be -depended on to assist the pose of a vagabond. It would have been -extremely hackneyed to approach the opening door of life by train. So he -left his blessing with the Red Place, and shook the hand of its white -master, and set his face towards the sea. - -It was still early. The sun had set the long limbs of the tree-shadows -striding about the woods; the gorse, a tamed expression of flame, danced -in the yellow heat; the heather pressed like a pigmy army bathed in -blood about the serene groups of pines. There was great energy abroad, -which kept the air a-tingle. The gardener almost pranced along. - -Presently he came to a woman seated by the roadside engrossed in a box -of matches. - -“You again,” said the gardener to the suffragette, for he recognised her -by her hat. There was a bunch of promiscuous flowers attached to her -hat. They were of an unsuitable colour, and looked as though they had -taken on their present situation as an after-thought, when the hat was -already well advanced in years. _A mariage de convenance._ - -“Have you any matches?” was the suffragette’s characteristic reply. - -“I never give away my matches to people with political opinions without -making the fullest enquiries,” replied the gardener. “People are not -careful enough about the future morals of their innocent matches in -these days.” - -Forgetting the thirty-five miles, he sat down on the bank beside her, -and began to refresh Hilda by splashing the water into her pot out of a -tiny heathery stream that explored the roadside ditch. - -“I can supply you with all particulars at once,” said the suffragette in -a businesslike voice. “I am going to burn down a little red empty hotel -that stands in the woods behind you. There is only one man in charge.” - -“You are not,” said the gardener, descending suddenly to unfeigned -sincerity. - -“Certainly it is not the home of an Anti,” continued the suffragette, -ignoring his remark. “At least as far as I know. But you never can tell. -A Cabinet Minister might want to come and stay there any time; there are -good golf-links. I had hoped that the last affair, the burning of West -Grove—a most successful business—would have been my last protest for the -present. I meant to be arrested, and spend a month or two at the not -less important work of setting the teeth of the Home Office on edge. But -the police are disgracefully lax in this part of the world, and though I -left several clues and flourished my portmanteau in three neighbouring -villages, nothing happened. I do not like to give myself up, it is so -inartistic, and people are apt to translate it as a sign of repentance. -But the little hotel is a splendid opportunity.” - -One of the drawbacks of posing yourself is that you are apt to become a -little blind to the poses of others. Also you must remember that women, -and especially rebellious women, were an unexplored continent to the -gardener. - -“You are not going to take advantage of the opportunity,” said the -gardener, refreshing Hilda so violently that she stood up to her knees -in water. - -“I’ve heard the caretaker is constantly out ...” went on the -suffragette. - -“Possibly,” admitted the gardener. “But if the house were twenty times -alone, you should not light a match within a mile of it. How dare -you—you a great strong woman—to take advantage of the weak gods who -can’t defend themselves.” - -The great strong woman crinkled her eyes at him. She was absurdly small -and thin. - -“Well, if you won’t lend me any matches, I shall have to try and do with -the three I have. I am going to reconnoitre. Good-morning.” - -There is nothing so annoying as to have one’s really impressive remarks -absolutely ignored. I myself can bear a great deal of passing over. You -may with advantage fail to see my complexion and the cut of my clothes; -you may be unaware of the colour of my eyes without offending me; I do -not care if you never take the trouble to depress your eyes to my feet -to see if I take twos or sevens; you may despise my works of art—which -have no value except in the eyes of my relations; you may refuse to read -my writings—which have no value in any eyes but my own,—all these things -you may do and still retain my respect, but when I speak you must listen -to what I say. If you don’t, I hate you. - -The gardener felt like this, and the retreating form of the suffragette -became hateful to him. Somehow delightfully hateful. - -“Come back,” he shouted, but incredible though it may seem, the woman -shrugged one shoulder at him, and walked on towards the Red Place. - -It was most undignified, the gardener had to run after her to enforce -his will. He arrived by her side breathless, with his face the colour of -a slightly anæmic beetroot. It is very wrong of women to place their -superiors in such unsuperior positions. - -I hope I do not strike you as indulging my suffragettism at the expense -of the gardener. I am very fond of him myself, and because that is so, -his conceit seems to me to be one of his principal charms. There is -something immorally attractive in a baby vice that makes one’s heart -smile. - -The gardener closed his hand about the suffragette’s thin arm. - -“You will force me to take advantage of my privilege,” he said, and -looked at his own enormous hand. - -The suffragette stood perfectly still, looking in the direction she -wanted to go. - -“Turn back,” said the gardener. But she made a sudden passionate effort -to twist her arm out of his grasp. It was absurd, and very nearly -successful, like several things that women do. - -The gardener’s heart grew black. There seemed nothing to be done. No end -could be imagined to the incident. His blue sea future dissolved. He -pictured himself standing thus throughout eternity, with his hand closed -around the little splinter of life she called her arm. Time seemed to -pass so slowly that in a minute he found he knew her looks by heart. And -yet he was not weary of them. I suppose the feeling he found in himself -was due to a certain reaction from the exalted incident of the blue and -golden young lady who had divined the loneliness of the threepenny bit. -For he discovered that he did not so very much mind hair that had but -little colour in it, and that he found attractive a pointed chin, and an -under lip that was the least trifle more out-thrust than its fellow. - -“Do you know why I want to stop you?” he said at last. - -“Yes.” - -“Why?” - -“Because you are not a woman, and don’t understand.” - -“Because I am a man, and I understand.” - -She was silent. - -“Do you know what I mean?” - -“Yes.” - -“You don’t. I mean that I am a man, and I am not going to let you go, -because you must come with me to the uttermost ends of the earth.” - -“Why?” - -“Because I love the shape of your face, you dear little thing.” - -The gods should not be disturbed. Also there was something very potent -in the impotent trembling of her arm. - -There was an unnaturally long pause. Then she turned round. - -“Let us discuss this matter,” she said, and gave him her portmanteau to -carry. The gardener loosed her arm and walked beside her. Silence and a -distance of a yard and a half were maintained between them for some way. - -The gardener was gazing in blank astonishment at that ass, the gardener -of three minutes ago. Into what foolery had he not plunged? - -If I could always be the Woman I Am, I should be a most rational and -successful creature. It is the Woman I Was who makes a fool of me, and -leaves me nervous as to the possible behaviour of the Woman I Shall Be. - -There was something in the way the suffragette’s neck slipped loosely -into her collar which took a little of the sting out of the gardener’s -regrets. But the little plain eyes of her, and the aggressive manners of -her, and the misguided morals of her—that was the sequence in which the -gardener’s thoughts fell into line. - -As for the suffragette, her heart, in defiance of anatomy, had gone to -her head, and was thundering rhythmically there. She was despising -herself passionately, and congratulating herself passionately. How -grand—she thought: how contemptible—she thought. For she was a world’s -worker, a wronged unit seeking rights, a co-heritor of the splendour of -the earth, a challenger, a warrior. And now, quite suddenly, she -discovered a fact the existence of which she had seldom, even in weak -moments, suspected. She found that—taken off her guard—she was a young -woman of six-and-twenty. - -“How laughable,” she thought—and did not laugh—“I’m as bad as the ‘Oh my -dear’ girls.” - -“Now,” she said at last, “what did you mean by that?” - -“Only that you look like a good friend,” replied the gardener, who, poor -vagabond, was blushing furiously. “Mightn’t we be friends?” - -“I am a friend to women,” said the suffragette slowly. “I’m a lover of -women. But never of men. I wouldn’t stir an inch out of my way for a -man. Unless I wanted to.” - -“And do you want to?” - -She looked at the gardener’s profile with the eyes of the newly -discovered young woman of six-and-twenty. Hitherto she had seen him only -with the militant eyes of armed neutrality. She looked at the rather -pleasing restlessness of his eyes, and the high tilt of his head. His -eyes were not dark with meaning, as the eyes of heroes of novels should -be, they were light and quick. The black pupils looked out fierce and -sharp, like the pupils of a cat, which flash like black sparks out of -the twilight of its soul. The gardener’s eyes actually conveyed little, -but they looked like blinds, barely concealing something of great value. - -Presently the suffragette said: “Can you imagine what you feel like if -you had been running in a race, and you had believed you were winning. -The rest were miles behind wasting their breath variously; and then -suddenly your eyes were opened, and you saw that you had been running -outside the ropes of the course, for you were never given the chance to -enter for the competition.” - -“Good,” said the gardener enthusiastically. “So you’re tired of running -to no purpose, and you’re coming back to the starting-place to begin -again.” - -“No,” said the suffragette, as firmly as though she had the muscular -supremacy and could start back that moment to pit her three matches -against the gods. “Never. There’s no such thing as running to no -purpose. It’s excellent exercise—running, but I’ll never run with the -crowd. There are much better things than winning the prize. There’s more -of everything out here—more air, more light, more comedy, more tragedy. -Also I get there first, you know. When you get the law-abider and the -church-goer in a crowd, they increase its moral tone, but they lessen -its power of covering the ground.” - -“Personally I never was inside,” said the gardener, who had a natural -preference for talking about himself. “But then I am building a path of -my own.” - -“Anyway, what did you mean originally?” - -The gardener blushed again. He showered reproaches on himself. “Only -that we might walk into Southampton as friends. And if we liked it.... -Besides I owe you a shilling, and you’d better keep an eye on your -financial interests. My boat sails to-morrow. You know, it is a nice -shock to me to find that a militant suffragette is human at all. When I -held your arm, I was surprised to find it was not iron.” - -“Did you say your boat sailed to-morrow?” - -“I should have said, ‘Our boat sails to-morrow.’” - -“There’s no time to walk. We’ll hire a car in Aldershot.” - -So at sunset, side by side, they arrived in sight of Southampton’s -useful but hackneyed sheet of water. - -Even then they had no plans. In youth one likes the feeling of standing -on empty air with a blank in front of one. - -The suffragette paid for the car without question. “I am quite well -off,” she excused herself, as they traversed the smug and comfortless -suburbs of the town. “Has that shilling I lent you to invest brought in -any interest?” - -“I hate money,” posed the gardener; “but I have a profession, you know. -I am a gardener.” - -“And where is your garden?” - -“I have two. This is one”—and he held up Hilda, who was looking rather -round-shouldered owing to the exertions and emotions of the day—“and the -world is the other. It also happens that I have had three months’ -training in a horticultural college.” - -The gardener did not talk like this naturally, any more than you or I -do. But in addition to his many other poses he posed as being unique. -Unfortunately there is nothing entirely unique except insanity. Of -course there are better things than insanity. On the other hand, it is -rather vulgar to be perfectly sane. - -The suffragette went to an hotel, and the gardener went to meet Mr. -Samuel Rust at their appointed meeting-place. - -Mr. Rust looked even more colourless against the brownness of the town -than he had seemed against the redness of his place. He wore town -clothes, too, and one noticed them, which is what one does not do with a -well-dressed man. The ideal, of course, is to look as if the Almighty -made you to fit your clothes. There are a great many unfortunates whose -appearance persists in confessing the truth—that the tailor made their -clothes to fit them. - -Mr. Samuel Rust, however, was not self-conscious. He escaped that -pitfall, but left other people to be conscious of his appearance for -him. - -“Come along,” he said, skipping up to the gardener like a goat, or like -a little hill. “I’ve sounded my cousin on the telephone, and the outlook -is not otherwise than middling hopeful. He’s promised, in fact, to ship -you on board the _Caribbeania_. The question is—what as? What can you -do?” - -“I am a gardener—in theory.” - -“Unfortunately only facts are shipped on Abel’s line.” - -“Then all is over. For I am just a sheaf of theories held together by a -cage of bones. There is no fact in me at all.” - -“Don’t be humble. It’s waste of time in such a humiliating world.” - -“I’m not humble”—the gardener indignantly repudiated the suggestion. -“I’m proud of being what I am. I am more than worthy of the -_Caribbeania_.” - -“Then come and prove it,” said Mr. Rust, and dragged the gardener -passionately down the street. - -The gardener found himself placed on the door-step of an aspiring corner -house. Mr. Samuel Rust stood on a lower step with his back to the door. -It is part of the code of shadows to pretend, when you have rung the -bell, that you do not care whether the door is opened or not. - -The gardener, following the code of the socially simple, stood with his -nose nearly touching the knocker, and his eyes glued to the spot where -the head of the servant might be expected to appear. It therefore -devolved on him to draw Mr. Rust’s attention to the eventual appearance -of a black-frocked white-capped answer to his summons. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Samuel, “Mr. Abel in?” - -The maid, with fine dramatic feeling, stepped aside, thus opening up a -vista, at the end of which could be seen Mr. Abel advancing with both -hands outstretched. - -When people shake hands with both their hands and both their eyes and -all their teeth, and with much writhing of the lips, you at once know -something fairly important about them. They have acquired the letter of -enthusiasm without its spirit, and their effect on the really -enthusiastic is like the effect of artificial light and heat on a flower -that needs the sun. - -The gardener became as though he were not there. All that he vouchsafed -to leave at Mr. Rust’s side in the library of Mr. Abel was a white and -sleepy-looking young man, standing on one fourteen-inch foot while the -other carefully disarranged the carpet edge. The gardener was not shy, -though on such occasions he looked silly. He was really encrusted in -himself; loftily superior to Mr. Abel and his like he hung, levitated by -the medium of his own conceit, at a level far above Mr. Abel’s -house-top. - -Fortunately Mr. Abel and Mr. Rust both took his aloofness for the -sheepishness to be expected of one of his age. - -“This is the instrument of my designs, and the victim of your kindness, -Abel,” remarked Mr. Rust. “He doesn’t always look such an ass. He is a -gardener, by profession.” - -“In theory,” added the gardener, whose armour of aloofness had chinks. -There is something practical about this inconsistent young man which he -has never yet succeeded in smothering, and to this day, though he poses -as being superbly absent-minded, his mind is generally present—so to -speak—behind the door. - -“In theory,” repeated Mr. Abel, ecstatically amused. He made it his -business to shoot promiscuous appreciation at the conversation of his -betters, and though his aim was not good, he was at least gifted with -perseverance. If you shoot enough, you must eventually hit something. -Hereafter he kept his profile agog towards the gardener, a smile -hovering round that side of his mouth in readiness for his guest’s next -sally. - -One pose in which the gardener has never approached is that of the wag, -and he made renewed efforts to unhook his mind from this exasperating -interview. - -“Is there any opening for a gardener on the _Caribbeania_?” asked Mr. -Rust. - -“A gardener ...” said Mr. Abel, looking laboriously reflective. “We have -no gardener as yet on board.” - -“But is there a garden?” asked Mr. Samuel Rust acutely. - -“A garden,” repeated Mr. Abel, ruminating intensely. “There is the -winter garden. And a row of geraniums on the promenade deck. And some -trellis work with ivy. Yes, there is certainly a garden.” - -“Then the thing is settled,” said Mr. Rust, and at these hopeful words -the gardener rose loudly from his chair. - -“Wait a moment,” said Mr. Abel in the same voice as the voice in which -Important Note is printed in the Grammar Book. “What about the salary?” - -There was no reply and no sensation. The gardener was yearning towards -the door. - -“Of course....” said Mr. Abel. “The position is not one of any -responsibility, and therefore could hardly be expected to be a paying -one. Your passage out....” - -“I wouldn’t touch money. I hate the feel of it,” said the gardener -abruptly. That threw Mr. Abel into a paroxysm of humour. - -On the door-step the gardener did a heroic thing. He turned back and -found Mr. Abel in the hall, completely recovered from his paroxysm. - -“What about——” began the gardener, with the suffragette in his mind. -“Dangerous to lose sight of her,” he thought. - -“What about what?” asked Mr. Abel, and was again very much amused by the -symmetry of the phrase. He was a bright-mannered man. - -The gardener’s new pose lay suddenly clear before him. - -“What about my wife?” he asked. - -He was rather pleased with the sensation he made. - -“Your wife?” exclaimed Mr. Rust and Mr. Abel in duet (falsetto and -tenor). - -“What on earth did you do with her last night?” continued Samuel solo. - -“Can’t she ship as stewardess?” asked the gardener. - -Poor suffragette! But in the eyes of men one woman is much the same as -another. Every woman, I gather, is a potential stewardess. This is -woman’s sphere when it takes to the water. The gardener thought he knew -all about women. All her virtues he considered that she shared with man, -but her vices he looked upon as peculiarly her own. - -“The boat sails to-morrow,” Mr. Abel observed reproachfully. “The -stewardesses have been engaged for weeks.” - -“Why can’t you leave her behind, what?” asked Mr. Rust. “Women do far -too much travelling about nowadays. There’s such a thing as broadening -the mind too far, you know. Sometimes, like elastic, it snaps. A lot of -women I know have snapped.” - -“Yes,” said the gardener. “But it would be better for England if I took -her away.” - -This spark nearly put an end to the career of Mr. Abel. He squeezed the -gardener’s hand in an agony of appreciation. - -“I won’t go without her,” said the gardener, rather surprising himself. -He gave Mr. Abel no answering smile. He was too busy reproaching -himself. - -“Abel,” implored Mr. Rust. “I simply can’t let old Mrs. Paul go without -some one to keep the Red Place in her line of thought. This is obviously -the man for the job. My career hangs on you. Be worthy. That is—be a -sport, now, what?” - -“I’ll find your wife a berth,” said Mr. Abel, accompanying each word -with a dramatic tap on the gardener’s arm. “The boat is not full.” - -“Settled,” exclaimed Mr. Samuel, and after that, of course, escape -followed. The idea of dinner together hovered between the two as they -emerged into the principal street, but as both were penniless, the idea, -which originated chiefly in instinct, died. - -The gardener went to call on the suffragette. He was conscientious in -his own way, and fully realised that the woman had a right to know that -she was now a wife, and, if not a stewardess, an intending passenger on -a boat bound immediately for the uttermost ends of the earth. - -He found the suffragette, looking sad, playing a forlorn game of -solitaire in forlorn surroundings in the little hotel sitting-room. With -her hat off she looked not so ugly, but more insignificant. Her hair -seemed as if it would never decide whether to be fair or dark until -greyness overtook it and settled the question. It had been tidied under -protest, and already strands of it were creeping over her ears, like -deserters leaving a fortress by stealth. - -The room was papered and ceiled and upholstered in drab, there were also -drab photographs of unlovable bygones on the walls, and some drab -artificial flowers in a drab pot on the table. - -There are some colour schemes that kill romance. Directly the gardener -felt the loveless air of the place, he plunged headlong into the cold -interview. Like a bather who, on feeling the chill of the sea, hastens -desperately to throw it around him from head to foot. - -“I have been telling lies,” said the gardener. - -“I have been crying,” said the suffragette. - -They each thought that it was thoughtless of the other to be so -egotistical at this juncture. There is nothing that kills an effect so -infallibly as a collision in conversation. - -“I have been telling lies,” said the gardener, “about you.” - -“I have been crying—about you.” - -(These women....) - -The gardener took a deep breath, recoiled for a start, and ran upon his -subject. - -“I have told them that you are my wife, and that you are coming with me -on the _Caribbeania_, sailing to-morrow morning for Trinity Islands.” - -“Told who ... _Caribbeania_ ... Trinity Islands ...” gathered the -suffragette, with a woman’s instinct for tripping over the least -essential point. And then she interviewed herself laboriously on the -subject. - -There was ample motive for a militant protest, and that was a -comfortable thought. She was justified in throwing any article of the -drab furniture at the gardener’s sharp and doubtful face. This creature -had put himself in authority over her without the authority to do so; he -had decided to lead her to Trinity Islands, whereas her life’s work lay -in England. This cold and curious boy had twisted off its hinges the -destiny of an independent woman. She had hitherto closed the door of her -heart against to-morrow. She had momentarily liked the idea of having a -friend who loved the shape of her face, especially as he was leaving the -country to-morrow. The unconventionality of the friendship had crowned -as an ornament a life of dreadful refinement. She had meant to step for -a moment from the lonely path, and now she found that her way back was -barred—by this impenetrable trifle. It was infuriating. But the -suffragette searched in vain for a trace of real fury in her heart. She -tested the power of words. - -“It is infuriating,” she said. - -“Yes,” said the gardener, not apologetically. “I quite see that.” - -But she did not see it herself—except in theory. - -“All the same,” said the gardener, “you are an incendiary, not exactly a -woman. Can’t two friends, an incendiary and a horticultural expert, go -on a voyage of exploration together? Mutual exploration?” - -“One can be alone in couples,” thought the suffragette. “It would be -studying loneliness from a new angle. My life has been a lifeless thing, -run on the world’s principles; I shall try a new line, and run it on my -own principles.” - -But, as I may have mentioned, she was a woman, so she said: “What is to -prevent my going back to that house in the woods now, and burning it -down—if I ever meant to do it?” - -“Me,” said the gardener. - -“But you can’t sit there with your eyes pinned to me until the boat -sails.” - -“Unless you give me your word as a World’s Worker that you will not -leave the hotel, I shall stay here, and so will you.” - -For quite a long time the suffragette’s upbringing wrestled with all -comers, but it was a hopeless fight from the first. There is no strength -in the principles created out of a lifeless past. Besides, the woman of -six-and-twenty was very much flattered and fluttered, whatever the -militant suffragette might be. - -“I will come with you on your exploration tour,” she said, and her voice -sounded like the voice of the conqueror rather than the conquered. “I -will give my word as a—woman without principles that I will not leave -Southampton except to go on board the _Caribbeania_.” - -The gardener left her, he felt innocently drunk. He made his way out of -the amethyst light of electricity, into the golden light of the -outskirts of the town, and thence into the silver light of the -uncivilised moon. On the beach the tide was receding, despite the -groping, grasping hands of the sea, which contested every inch of the -withdrawal. The gardener stumbled upon the soft solidity of the sand -above high-water mark, and slept the sleep of the thoroughly confused. -He dreamt of a pearl-and-pink sea, and of unknown islands. - -I need hardly say, after all this preamble, that the suffragette and the -gardener sailed next day on the _Caribbeania_ for Trinity Islands. - -Mr. Samuel Rust, for some time before the boat started, was conspicuous -for a marked non-appearance on the wharf’s edge. - -The gardener, who had a vague feeling that tears should be shed in -England on his departure, stood feeling a little cold at heart on the -starboard side of the main deck, looking at the tears that were being -shed for other people. - -The suffragette, who was under the impression that her hand was against -all men, stood bleakly on the port side, looking at the hydro-aeroplanes -leaping self-consciously about the Solent in seven-league boots. She was -proud to stand thus aloof and unhampered on the threshold of a novelty. -The pride she had in her independence was one of her compensations. This -is a world of compensations, and that is what makes it the hollow world -it is sometimes. So seldom do we get the real thing that in this age we -congratulate ourselves upon our compensations. - -Mr. Samuel Rust made a late and dramatic appearance upon the gangway -after the first bell of preparation for departure had been rung. His -hat, inspired by the prevalent aviation craze, blew away. But Mr. Rust’s -thoughts were occupied with other things than the infidelity of hats. He -passed the gardener without noticing him, and with restrained fervour -addressed a square elderly woman, who stood leisurely on the deck, -surrounded by an officious maid, like a liner being attended to by a -tug. - -Mr. Samuel Rust did not seem like the sort of person who would have had -a mother. He gave the impression of having been created exactly as he -stood, with one stroke of the Almighty Finger, and not gradually evolved -like you or me. You could imagine the gardener, for instance, at every -stage of his existence. You could picture those light bright eyes under -those scowling brows looking out of lace and baby-ribbons in a proud -nurse’s arms. You could see him as the fierce little schoolboy, with -alternately too much to say and too little. You could imagine him as an -old man, with that thick hair turned into a white strong flame upon his -head, and those already deep-set eyes blazing out of hewn hollows above -his abrupt cheek-bones. But Mr. Samuel Rust seemed to have no past and -no future. - -He addressed the woman who, contrary to appearances, had played an -important part in the creating of him. - -“I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye to you, Mrs. Paul,” he -said. - -“Of course you couldn’t,” said Mrs. Rust, and the words seemed shot by -iron lips from above a chin like a ship’s ram. - -Something that might have usurped the name of a kiss passed between -them, and Mr. Samuel hurried to the impatient gangway. As he passed the -gardener he winked earnestly, conscious of his mother’s eyes on the back -of his head. The gardener, feeling delightfully unscrupulous and -roguish, made no sign. - -The vulgarly tuneful swan-songs of Cockney emotion trailed from the deck -to the wharf and back again. The sound was like thin beaten silver, -becoming thinner as the distance increased. There were tears among the -women on land, and the shivering water blurred the reflections of the -crowd until they looked as though they were seen through tears. The last -song fainted in the air, the crowd on the wharf ceased to be human, and -became a long suggestion of many colours, a-quiver with waving -handkerchiefs. - -The gardener looked at Mrs. Paul Rust. There was a tear following one of -the furious furrows that bracketed her hyphen of a mouth. - -The south of England is a land that reluctantly lets her deserters go. -For full twelve hours she stands on tiptoe on the sea-line, beckoning -their return. - -The gardener watched the land and felt the sea for long hours. He felt -no regret at having forsaken one for the other. For the moment he prided -himself on heartlessness, or rather on intactness of heart, for he had -left none of it behind. He was proud of the fact that he loved no one in -the world. He prided himself on his vices more than on his virtues. -There seems something more unique in vice than in virtue. - -The gardener had the convenient sort of memory that is fitted with -water-tight doors. His mind conducted a process by which the past was -not kept fresh and green, nor altogether left behind, but crystallised -and packed away on shelves in a businesslike manner. He could label it -and shut it away without emotion. He shut away England now, and rejoiced -to do so. Poor grey silly England that I am so glad to leave and so glad -to see again.... - -The gardener turned presently to look for his garden, and found—the girl -Courtesy. - -Her brilliant and magnetic hair. - -Her broad face with the abrupt flush on the cheeks, that was an -inartistic accompaniment to the red of her hair, and looked as if Nature -had become colourblind at the moment of giving Courtesy her complexion. - -She herself looked herself—simple yet sophisticated. - -“To think of seeing you here,” she said. “Who would have thought it.” - -The gardener was one of those who are never surprised without being -thunderstruck. He was very thorough in habit, and drank every emotion to -its dregs. - -His manners fell in ruins about him. His hat remained upon his head. His -words remained somewhere beneath his tongue. - -“I got a sudden invitation from a cousin in Trinity Island,” explained -Courtesy. “And Dad gave me my passage out as a birthday present. I gave -the threepenny bit to a porter, so I hope you don’t want it back. Have -you kept a halo for me in this Paradise?” - -“There is the glassy sea,” replied the gardener, recovering. “And the -halo is just flowering. It is exactly the colour of your hair.” - -“I hope the sea will be as you say,” said Courtesy, “for I’m a shockin’ -bad sailor.” - -And at that moment the sea ceased to be totally glassy. You could -suddenly feel the slow passionate heart of the sea beating. - -Courtesy did not look at the change in this poetic light at all. She -hurried along the deck and disappeared. - -Even if you are a good sailor there is, apart from a natural pride in -your sailorship, little joy about a first day on board. The climate of -the English seas is not adapted to ocean travel. If I could steam -straight out of Southampton Harbour into the strong yet restrained heat -that I love, if I could glide from the wharf—mottled with -regrets—straight to the silver and emerald coasts of a certain land I -know, where the cocoanut palms lean out over the strip of immaculate -sand, to see their reflections in the opal mirror of the sea, I think I -should love the first day as much as I love its successors. And yet I -would not have the voyage shortened by a minute. - -I wonder why nobody has ever brought forward as a conclusive -Anti-suffrage argument the fact that more women are sea-sick than men on -the first day of a sea-voyage. I can so well imagine the superb line the -logic of such a contention would take. If the basis of life is physical -ability, and if physical ability depends upon the digestion, then must -the strong digestion only constitute a right to citizenship. To the wall -with the weak digestion. - -Mrs. Paul Rust and the suffragette were the only women who scaled the -heights of the dining saloon for that evening’s meal. Mrs. Rust looked -supremely proud of her immunity from sea-sickness; all the men looked -laboriously unaware that such a thing as sea-sickness existed; the -suffragette looked frankly miserable. The gardener was obliged to remind -himself casually from time to time that there was no pose that included -sea-sickness. - -But any disastrous tendency he might have had to give too much thought -to his inner man was checked by the appearance of Mrs. Paul Rust, the -fortress he was there to besiege. She was a truly remarkable woman to -look at. The absence of her hat revealed a surprise. Her hair was dyed a -forcible crimson. And it might have been mud-coloured like mine for all -the self-consciousness she showed. It was so profoundly remarkable that -for a time one’s attention was chained to the hair, and one forgot to -study the impressive general effect, of which the hair was only the -culminating point. Mrs. Rust’s only real feature was her chin, but no -one ever realised this. Her eyes and nose were too small for her face, -and seemed to fit loosely into that great oval; her mouth was only -redeemed by the chin that shot from beneath it. Altogether she would -have been sufficiently insignificant-looking had it not been for her -hair. She proved the truism that the world takes people at their own -valuation. - -It is always a surprise to me when a truism is proved true. I have come -across the rock embedded in these truisms several times lately to my -cost. And each time it bruises my knuckles and shocks me. It almost -makes one wonder whether, after all, the ancients occasionally had their -flashes of enlightenment. - -The world thought of Mrs. Paul Rust what she thought of herself. It is -so often too busy to work out its own conclusions. - -Of a modest woman with a heavy jaw, the world would have said, “A dear -good creature, but dreadfully underhung.” Of a well-chinned woman with -dyed hair, it said, “There goes a strong character.” The hair did it, -and the hair was dyed by human agency. Providence had no hand in the -making of Mrs. Rust’s forcible reputation. Nowadays we leave it to our -dressmaker, and our manicurist, and our milliner, and our doctor, and -our vicar, to make us what we are. This is an age of luxury, and it is -so fatiguing to assert a home-made personality. Shall I go to my -hairdresser and say, “Here, take me, dye me heliotrope. Make an -influential woman of me”? - -The gardener did not quail before the terrifying outer wall of Mrs. -Rust’s fortress. Believing as he did that man makes himself, and that -the pose of victor is as easy to assume as any other, he was unaware of -the reality of the word ‘defeat.’ Whether woman also makes herself, I -never fully understood from the gardener at this stage. But I gathered -that woman takes the rôles that man rejects. - -The gardener, as a protégé of Mr. Abel, who, on the _Caribbeania_, was -respected because he was not personally known, found himself treated _à -la_ junior officer, streaked with a certain flavour of second-class -passenger, but distinctly suggesting ship’s orchestra. He was allowed to -have his meals in the first-class saloon, he was occasionally asked -about the weather by lady passengers, and the captain and officers -looked upon him good-naturedly, as a sort of example of poetic licence. - -It seemed a good thing when dinner was over. One had proved one’s -courage, and the strain was past. The suffragette, who had given a proof -rather of obstinacy than of courage, retired weakly to her cabin. And -the gardener stood on deck and looked at the sea, while the moon -followed the ship’s course with her eyes. A table companion, an Anglican -priest, with a weak chin and piercing eyes, came and leaned upon the -rail at the gardener’s side. - -“You smoke?” he asked, and you could hear that he was very conventional, -and that he believed that he was not. - -A man-to-man sort of man. - -“No,” said the gardener, and added, “I have no vices.” - -He said this sort of thing simply to exasperate. The pose of -indifference to the world’s opinion is apt, sooner or later, to lead to -the pose of wilful pricking of the world’s good taste. The gardener had -a morbid craving for unpopularity; it was part of the unique pose. -Unpopularity is an excellent salve to the conscience; it is delicious to -be misunderstood. - -The priest did not appear exasperated. He was tolerant. The man who aims -at unlimited tolerance, as a rule, only achieves the absorbent and -rather undecided status of spiritual blotting-paper. But he is a -dreadfully difficult man to anger. - -I hate talking to people who are occupied in reminding their conscience: -“After all this is my sister, albeit, a poor relation. I must be -tolerant.” Then they pray for strength, and turn to me, spiritually -renewed, with a brave patient smile. - -This was the priest’s pose. - -“You have no vices?” he said, in a slow earnest voice. “How I envy you!” - -The gardener was more concerned with the varied conversation of the sea. -Each wave of it flung back some magic unspeakable word over its shoulder -as it ran by. But he answered the priest: - -“You don’t really envy me, you would rather be yourself with virtues -than me without vices.” - -The priest smiled the inscrutable smile of the vague-minded. “You have a -very original way of talking. You interest me. Yerce, yerce. Tell me -what you were thinking about when I came up.” - -The gardener did so at once. Sometimes his imagination weighed heavily -upon his mind, and he expanded, regardless of his listeners. - -“I was thinking about the things I saw,” he said. “Things that I often -see before I have time to think. Snapshots of things that even I have -never actually imagined. Do you know, wonders crash across my eyes like -a blow, when I am thinking of something else. Ghosts out of my enormous -past, I suppose. There was a very white beach that I saw just now, with -opal-coloured waves running along it, and a mist whitening the sky. -There were very broad red men in grey wolf-skins, standing in the water, -dragging dead bodies from the sea. There were little children, blue and -thin, lying dead upon the beach. I know the way children’s ribs stand -out when they are dead. I have never seen a dead child, except -those....” - -“You ought to write fiction, yerce, yerce,” said the priest. “You have a -very strong imagination.” - -“I have,” admitted the gardener. “But not strong enough to control these -visions that besiege me.” - -The priest, who had preached more and known less about visions than any -one else I can think of, was constrained to silence. - -Next morning the gardener found his garden. He saw it under varied -aspects and at varied angles, for a gold and silver alternation of sun -and shower chequered the Atlantic, and inspired the _Caribbeania_ to a -slow but undignified dance, like the activities of a merry cow. The high -waves came laughing down from the high horizon, and curtseyed mockingly -at her feet. - -There was a bay tree in a tub on either side of the entrance to the -garden, and the gardener, as he stood between them, surveying his -territory, slid involuntarily from one to the other and back again, as -the world wallowed. The garden was conventionally conceived, by a -carpenter rather than a gardener. Grass-green trellis-work, which should -belong essentially to the background, here usurped undue prominence. -Arches in the trellis-work, looking to the sea, gave bizarre views, now -of the heavy hurried sky, now of the panting sea. Hanging drunkenly from -the apex of each arch was a chained wicker basket, from which sea-sick -canariensis waved weak protesting hands. A few creepers, lacking -sufficient initiative for the task set before them, clawed incompetently -at the lowest rungs of the trellis. A row of geraniums in pots shouted -in loud brick-red at the farther and more sheltered end of the garden. -It was impossible to tolerate the thought of Hilda associating with -those geraniums. She was a very vulnerable and emotional soul, was -Hilda. Deep orange is a colour beyond the comprehension of the vermilion -and vulgar. A few sodden-looking deck-chairs occupied the gardener’s -territory, and repelled advances. But on the farthest sat the -suffragette. She was crying. - -If you have ever crossed the Bay of Biscay while weakened by emotion, -you will not ask why she was crying. - -The gardener dropped his pose between the bay trees, and did something -extraordinarily pretty, considering the man he was. He sat on the next -deck-chair to hers, and patted her knee. - -“My fault ...” he said. “My fault....” - -Of course he did not really believe that it was his fault, but it was -unusually gracious of him to tell the lie. - -The suffragette turned her face from him. She had cried away all her -vanity. Her hair was lamentable, her small plain eyes were smaller than -ever, and her nose was the only pink thing in her face. - -“I’m very morbid,” she said. “And that at any rate is not your fault.” - -“Don’t let’s think either about you or me,” said the gardener, and it -would have been wise had he meant it. “We have all our lives to do that -in, and it is a pity to do it in the Bay. When one’s feeling weak, it’s -easier to fight the world than to fight oneself.” - -The suffragette was a grey thing, a snake-soul. To the eye of a grey -soul there is something forbidding about the many colours of the -universe, and you will always know snake-people by their defensive -attitude. It is an immensely lonely thing to be a snake, to have that -tortuous spirit, with no limbs for contact with the earth. And yet the -compensation is most generous, for there are few joys like the joy of -knowing yourself alone. - - In cubes of blue, in curves of mauve, - They spotted up my firmament; - And with my sharp grey heart I strove - To stab the colours as they went. - “Lou-_la_ ...” they said—“Lou-_la_, a thing - At war without a following.” - “Lou-_la_ ...” they cried—and now cry I— - “At war without an enemy....” - -“I can’t think how you dare to speak out your imagination,” said the -suffragette. “Most people hide it like a sin.” - -He was always willing to be the text of his own oratory. - -“Imagination is my Genesis, and my Book of Revelations,” he answered. -“There is nothing with more power. It is stronger than faith, for it can -really move mountains. It has moved mountains, it has moved England from -my path and left me this clear sea.” - -The suffragette walled herself more securely in. “I have no imagination -at all,” she lied, and then she added some truth: “I am very unhappy and -lonely.” - -“The other day ...” said the gardener, “you were happy to be independent -and alone.” - -“That’s why I’m now unhappy to be independent and alone. You can’t -discover the heaven in a thing without also tripping over the hell. I -like a black and white life.” - -“Don’t think,” said the gardener suddenly, and almost turned the patting -of her knee into a slap. “It’s a thing that should only be done in -moderation. Some day you won’t be able to control your craving for -thought, and then you’ll die of Delirium Tremens.” - -“It’s not such a dangerous drug as some,” smiled the suffragette. “I’d -rather have that craving than the drink craving, or the society craving, -or the love craving.” - -“Better to have nothing you can’t control.” - -“You hypocrite! You can’t control your imagination.” - -“You’re right,” said the gardener after a pause. He was a curiously -honest opponent in argument. Besides, she had stopped crying, and there -was no special reason for continuing the discussion. Also Mrs. Paul Rust -at that moment appeared between the bay trees. - -Mrs. Rust’s hair looked vicious in a garden, beside the geraniums, which -were at least sincere in colour, however blatant. - -“Is this private?” she asked. There was something in the shy look of the -garden, and in the reproachful look of the gardener, that made the -question natural. - -“No,” said the gardener. “This is the ship’s garden.” - -“Good,” said Mrs. Paul Rust. - -She always said “good” to everything she had not heard before. To her -the newest was of necessity the best. Originality was her ideal, and as -unattainable as most ideals are. For she was not in the least original -herself. She was doomed for ever to stand outside the door of her -temple. And “good” was her tribute of recognition to those who had free -passes into the temple. It owned that they had shown her something that -she would never have thought of for herself. For nothing had ever sprung -uniquely from her. Even in her son she could only claim half the -copyright. - -The suffragette tried to rearrange her looks, which certainly needed it. -There are two sorts of women, the women before whom you feel you must be -tidy and the women before whom such things don’t matter. Mrs. Rust all -her life had belonged to the former, all her life what charm she had, -had lain in the terror she inspired. - -For the first time the gardener questioned himself as to his plan of -attack. Hitherto he had pinned his faith to inspiration. He had left the -matter in the hands of his private god, Chance. His methods were very -simple, as well as bizarre. His mind was a tortuous path, but he -followed it straightforwardly, and never looked back. To do him justice, -however, I must say that he searched his repertoire for a suitable point -of conversational contact with Mrs. Rust. Finding none, he dispensed -with that luxury. - -“I am the ship’s gardener,” he said, smiling at his intended victim. - -Mrs. Rust was broad, and the deck-chair was narrow. It was some time -before a compromise between these two facts could be arrived at, so the -remark came upon her at a moment of some stress. - -“Now, then, what was that you were saying?” she asked at last, in an -unpromising voice. - -The gardener, who was very literal in very small things, repeated his -information, word for word, and inflection for inflection. “I am the -ship’s gardener.” - -Mrs. Rust grunted. She showed no tolerance for the thing that was not -sensational. Nor had she any discrimination in her search for the -novelty. Still, energy is something. - -“But I am only ship’s gardener in theory,” persisted the gardener. “In -practice I don’t even know where the watering-can is kept.” - -“Then you are here under false pretences,” retorted Mrs. Rust a little -more genially, for his last remark was not everybody’s remark. - -“I am,” said the gardener, suddenly catching a fleeting perspective of -the path to her good graces. - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust, and turned her little bright eyes upon him. - -When she opened her eyes very wide, it meant that she was on the track -of what she sought. When she shut them, as she often did, it meant that -she did not understand what was said. But it gave the fortunate -impression that she understood only too well. She was instinctively -ingenious at hiding her own limitations. - -It was the end of that interview, but a good beginning to the campaign. - -The sea to some extent recovered its temper within that day. Towards the -evening, when slate and silver clouds, with their backs to the -_Caribbeania_, were racing to be the first over the horizon, the garden -was invaded by passengers, racing to be the first over the boundary of -sea-sickness. The silence of the unintroduced at first lay, like a pall, -along the deck-chairs, but a mutual friend was quickly found in -Mothersill, whose excellent invention was represented in every work-bag. -The bright noise of women discussing suffering rippled along the garden. -Abuse of the _Caribbeania’s_ stewardesses sprang from lip to lip. It was -a pretty scene, and the gardener turned his back on it, and went below -to water Hilda. - -The gardener’s cabin, which was impertinently shared by a couple of -inferior souls, was as square as a box, and furnished with nautical -economy. The outlook from its porthole was as varied in character as it -was limited in size. At one moment one felt oneself the drunken brain -behind the round eye of a giant, staring into green and white obscurity; -at another one blinked, as a mist of spray like shivered opal spun up -over one’s universe; again one enjoyed an instantaneous glimpse of the -flat chequered floor of the Atlantic; and at rare intervals the curtain -of the sky slid over the porthole, and the setting sun dropped across -the eye like a rocket. - -Hilda sat wistfully on the recess of the porthole, leaning her forehead -against the glass. She had a bud, chosen to match Courtesy’s hair. Just -as Hilda’s stalk was necessary to hold her bud upright, so Courtesy -herself was necessary to support the conflagration of her hair on the -level of the onlooker’s eye. Both were necessities, and both were -artistically negligible. - -The gardener looked around the cabin. There is something depressing -about other people’s clothes. There is something depressing in an -incessant attack on one’s skull by inanimate objects. There is something -depressing in a feeling of incurable drunkenness unrelieved by the -guilty gaiety that usually accompanies such a condition. There is -something depressing about ocean life below decks at any time. The -gardener and Hilda sat in despair upon the hardhearted thing that -sea-going optimists accept as a bed. - -“Of course I don’t want to go home,” the gardener told himself. - -Hilda, poor golden thing of the soil, had no doubts as to what she was -suffering from. But the gardener wondered why despair had seized him. -Until he remembered that the spirit of the sea walks on deck alone, and -is never permitted by the stewards to enter the cabins. He climbed the -companion-way, like a tired angel returning to heaven after a stuffy day -on earth. He came upon Courtesy making a bad shot at the door that leads -to the Promenade deck. - -“Come and sit in the garden,” he said in a refreshed voice. - -On deck, a few enterprising spirits were playing deck quoits against the -elements. The general geniality whose rule only lasts for the first -three days of a voyage was reigning supreme. Young men were making -advances to young ladies with whom they would certainly quarrel in -forty-eight hours’ time, and young ladies were mocking behind their -hands at the young men they would be engaged to before land was reached. -The priest, with an appearance of sugared condescension, was showering -missiles upon the Bullboard as though they were blessings. (And they -were misdirected.) The inevitable gentleman who has crossed the Atlantic -thirty times and can play all known games with fatiguing perfection, was -straining like a greyhound on the leash towards the quoits which mere -amateurs were usurping. Captain Walters, who has a twin brother on every -liner that ever sailed, was brightly collecting signatures for a -petition to the Captain concerning a dance that very evening. - -The gardener, with unusual cordiality, gave the reeling Courtesy his -arm, as they threaded the maze of amusements towards the garden. - -There was only one deck-chair unoccupied. It was labelled loudly as -belonging to some one else, but Courtesy, always bold, even when -physically weakest, advanced straight upon it. It was next to the -suffragette’s. And the gardener became for the first time aware of a cat -in a bag, and of the fact that the cat was about to emerge. - -The suffragette was the sort of person next to whom empty chairs are -always to be found. She had plenty to say, and what she said was often -rather amusing, but it was always a little too much to the point, and -the point was a little too sharp. She had a certain amount of small -talk, but no tiny talk. She was not so much ignored as avoided. She had -altogether missed youth, and its glorious power of being amused by what -is not, correctly speaking, amusing. Her generation thought her -“brainy,” it was very polite to her. Do you know the terrible sensation -of being invariably the last to be chosen at Nuts in May? This was the -suffragette’s atmosphere. My poor suffragette! It is so much more -difficult to bear the snub than the insult. Insult is like a bludgeon -thrown at the inflated balloon of our conceit. With the very blunt force -of it we rebound. But the snub is a pin-prick, which lets our supporting -pride out, and leaves us numb and nothing. I always feel the insult is -founded on passion, while the snub springs from innate dislike. - -“May I introduce Miss Courtesy Briggs ...” began the gardener, hoping -for an inspiration before the end of the sentence. “Miss Courtesy -Briggs....” - -Both women looked expectant. - -“Miss Courtesy Briggs ... my wife.” - -“O Lor’!” said Courtesy, and then, with her healthy regard for -conventions, remembered that this was not the proper retort to an -introduction. - -“When you left Penny Street, a week ago ...” she said to the gardener, -as she shook the suffragette’s hand, “you didn’t tell me you were -engaged.” - -“I wasn’t,” said the gardener. - -Courtesy dropped the subject, because it was hardly possible to continue -it. She was not the girl to do what was conventionally impossible. -Besides the bugle was sounding to show that dinner was within hailing -distance. Courtesy was a slave of time. Her day was punctuated by the -strokes of clocks. Her life was a thing of pigeon-holes, and if some of -the pigeon-holes were empty they were all neatly labelled. She was the -sort of person who systematically allowed ten minutes every morning for -her prayers, and during that time, with the best intentions, mused upon -her knees about the little things of yesterday. It is a bold woman that -would squeeze Heaven into a pigeon-hole. - -Theresa stopped in front of the gardener’s chair. Theresa’s surname had -been blown away from her with the first Atlantic wind. So had the -shining system in her yellow hair. So had most of her land conventions. -She was not a thing of the ocean, but a thing of the ocean liner. She -had immediately become Everybody’s Theresa. I could not say that -everybody loved Theresa, but I know that everybody felt they ought to. - -“Captain said no dance this evening,” said Theresa, in her telegraphic -style. “Too much sea on. Doctor said broken legs. But I went and -wheedled. Called the Captain Sweet William. Dance at nine.” - -The dance was at nine. There were no limits to what Theresa could do—in -her sphere. - -A proud quartermaster was superintending the last touches of chalk upon -the deck, when the gardener and the suffragette led the exodus from the -dining-saloon. - -In Paradise I hope I shall be allowed a furious walk around a windy -rocking deck at frequent intervals throughout eternity. I know of -nothing more poetic, and yet more brilliantly prosaic. At such moments -you can feel the muscles of life trembling by reason of sheer strength. - -The suffragette and the gardener walked so fast that the smoke from the -suffragette’s cigarette lay out along the wind like the smoke behind a -railway train. The strong swing of the sea threw their feet along. There -was a moon in the sky and phosphorus in the sea. - -But there are people who go down to the sea in ships, and yet confine -their world to the promenade-deck. The heart of Theresa’s world, for -instance, was the shining parallelogram, silvered with chalk, on the -sheltered side of the deck. Theresa, looking extremely pretty, was -superintending the over-filling of her already full programme. - -“Mustn’t walk round like that,” she said in the polite tones that The -Generation always used to the suffragette. “Must find partners, because -the orchestra will soon begin to orch.” - -“We are not dancing,” said the gardener. One always took for granted -that the suffragette was not dancing. - -“If you will dance,” said Theresa, “I will give you number eight.” She -assumed with such confidence that this was an inducement, that somehow -it became one. - -“Thank you very much,” replied the gardener. “I’ll ask Courtesy Briggs -for one, too.” - -The suffragette sat down upon an isolated chair. - -“May I have a dance?” asked the gardener of Courtesy. “I can’t dart or -stagger, only revolve.” - -“I was sea-sick only three hours ago,” retorted Courtesy with -simplicity. “But I have a lot to talk to you about, so you can have -number one. And we’ll begin it now.” - -But the orchestra was still idling in the melancholy manner peculiar to -orchestras. Why—by the way—is there something so unutterably sad in the -expression of an orchestra about to play a jovial onestep? - -“I do want to know about your marriage,” pursued Courtesy, whose -curiosity was a daylight trait, like the rest of her characteristics. -“When did it happen, and where did you meet her, and why did you have a -wedding without me to help?” - -“I met her—on the way to Paradise,” said the gardener, posing -luxuriously as an enigma. “We got married on the way too. It was a -no-flowers-by-request sort of wedding, otherwise we would have invited -you.” - -“But I can’t understand it,” said Courtesy. “Only a week ago you were -snivelling over a broken boot-lace.” - -The gardener’s pose had a fall. He might have expected that Courtesy -would trip it up. - -The violins, relieving their feelings by a preliminary concerted yell, -settled down to a lamentation in ragtime. - -The gardener danced rather well, as his mother had taught him to dance. -Courtesy danced rather well, after the manner of The Generation. But the -_Caribbeania_ danced better than either. She reduced them to planting -their four feet wide and sliding up and down. The ship’s officers, with -their lucky partners, leaning to the undulations of the deck, like -willows bending to the wind, showed to immense advantage. They evidently -knew every wave of the Atlantic by heart. But among the remaining -dancers there was much unrest. Captain Walters, who was accustomed to be -one of the principal ornaments of a more stationary ballroom, at once -knocked his partner down and sat upon her. Theresa and a subaltern slid -helplessly at the mercy of the elements into a forest of chaperons. The -gardener and Courtesy leaned together and clung, with a tense look on -their faces. - -I dare not say what angle the deck had reached when the orchestra, with -an unpremeditated lapse into a Futurist style of melody, broke loose, -and glided in a heaving phalanx to join the turmoil. The piano, being -lashed to its post, remained a triumphant survivor, calmly surveying the -fallen estate of the less stable instruments. - -“I am not enjoying myself a bit,” said Courtesy, as she disentangled a -violin from her hair, and strove to dislodge the ’celloist from his -position on her lap. The gardener disliked agreeing with any one, but he -seemed by no means anxious to continue dancing. The orchestra also -seemed a little loth to risk its dignity again at once, and even -Theresa, though still plastered with a pink smile, was retiring on the -arm of her subaltern to a twilit deck-chair. - -In the distance, among her rows of empty chairs, the suffragette was -smiling. She had watched the dancing with that half-ashamed sort of -amusement which some of us feel when we see others making fools of -themselves. And because she smiled, the priest came and sat beside her. -He considered himself a temporary shepherd in charge of this maritime -flock, and you could see in his eye the craving for souls to save. He -had hardly noticed the suffragette until her smile caught his eye, but -directly he did notice her he saw that she was not among the saved. He -therefore approached her with the smile he reserved for the wicked. - -“Very amusing, is it not?” he said. - -Now the suffragette liked to see the young busy with their youth, but -because she was a snake she could not bear to say so. Especially in -answer to “Very amusing, is it not?” - -So she said, “Is it?” and immediately cursed herself for the inhuman -remark. Some people’s humanity takes this tardy form of hidden -self-reproach after expression, and then it strikes inward, like -measles. - -“Well, that’s as it may be, yerce, yerce,” said the priest, who was so -tolerant that he had no opinions of his own, and had hardly ever been -guilty of contradiction. “That is your husband, is it not?” he added, as -the gardener extricated himself from the knot of fallen dancers. - -The suffragette actually hesitated, and then she said, “Yes,” and -narrowly escaped adding, “More or less.” - -“A most interesting young man,” said the priest, who, with the keen eye -of the saver of souls, had noticed the hesitation. - -“Naturally he interests me,” said the suffragette. - -“He is so original,” continued the priest. “Even his occupation strikes -one as original. A gardener on an ocean liner. The march of science, -yerce, yerce. Most quaint. I suppose you also are interested in Nature. -I always think the care of flowers is an eminently suitable occupation -for ladies.” - -“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But I am not a lady. I am a militant -suffragette.” - -The priest’s smile changed from the saintly to the roguish. “Have you -any bombs or hatchets concealed about you?” he asked. - -“I wish I had,” she replied. I fully admit that her manners were not her -strong point. But the priest persisted. He noted the absence of any -answering roguishness, and recorded the fact that she had no sense of -humour. True to his plastic nature, however, he said, “Of course I am -only too well aware of the justice of many of women’s demands, yerce, -yerce. But you, my dear young lady, you are as yet on the threshold of -life; it is written plain upon your face that you have not yet come into -contact with the realities of life.” - -“In that case it’s a misprint,” said the suffragette. “I am twenty-six.” - -“Twenty-six,” repeated the priest. “I wonder why you are bitter—at -twenty-six?” - -“Because I have taken some trouble not to be sweet,” she said. “Because -I was not born blind.” - -As a matter of fact she had been born morally short-sighted. She had -never seen the distant delight of the world at all. - -The priest did not believe in anything approaching metaphor. He -considered himself to be too manly. So he deflected the course of the -conversation. “And your husband. What are his views on the Great -Question?” (A slight relapse into roguishness on the last two words.) - -“I have never asked him. I know he does not believe in concrete -arguments from women. Though he approves of them from men.” She fingered -a bruise on her arm. - -“The arguments about women’s lack of physical force are the most -incontrovertible ones your cause has to contend with,” said the priest. -“Say what you will, physical force is the basis of life.” - -“I think it is a confession of weakness.” - -“There is something in what you say,” said the priest. He did not really -think there was, for he had taken no steps to investigate. He was busy -thinking that this was an odd wife who did not know her husband’s views -on a question that obsessed her own thoughts. - -The gardener had by now extracted Courtesy from the tangle, and was -steering her towards a chair. - -“Your husband appears to know that young lady with the auburn hair,” -said the priest. “He knew her before he came on board, did he not?” - -“Apparently he did,” said the suffragette. “I didn’t.” - -She was providing him with so many clues that he was fairly skimming -along on the track of his prey. When he left her he felt like a -collector who has found a promising specimen. - -“Altogether on the wrong lines,” he told himself, and added, “Poor lost -lamb, how much she needs a helping hand”; not because he felt sorry for -her, but because word-pity was the chief part of his stock-in-trade. - -Next morning the _Caribbeania_ had flung the winds and waves behind her, -and had settled down to a passionless career along a silver sea under a -silver sky,—like man, slipping out of the turmoil of youth into the -excellent anti-climax of middle life. - -Similes apart, however, the _Caribbeania_ was now so steady that an -infant could have danced a jig upon her deck. Several infants tried. -Amusements rushed upon her passengers from every side. A week passed -like a wink. Hardly were you awake in the morning before you found -yourself pursuing an egg round your own ankles with a teaspoon. Sports -and rumours of sports followed you even unto your nightly bunk. -Everybody developed talents hitherto successfully concealed in napkins. -Courtesy found her life’s vocation in dropping potatoes into buckets. -She brought this homely pursuit to a very subtle art, and felt that she -had not lived in vain. Not that she ever suffered from morbid illusions -as to her value. The gardener brought to light a latent gift for sitting -astride upon a spar while other men tried with bolsters to remove him. -The suffragette, when nobody was looking, acquired proficiency in the -art of shuffling the board. When observed, she instinctively donned an -appearance of contempt. Mrs. Paul Rust settled herself immovably in a -chair and applauded solo at the moments when others were not applauding. -The priest, looking in an opposite direction, clapped when he heard -other hands being clapped, in order to show the kind interest he took in -mundane affairs. - -While occupied thus, one day, he found himself next to Courtesy. That -determined lady had her back to a Whisky and Soda Race then in progress, -and looked aggrieved. She had been beaten in the first heat, whereas she -was convinced that victory had been her due. Courtesy suffered from all -the faults that you and I—poetic souls—cannot love. She was greedy. She -was fat. She could not even lose a race without suspecting the -timekeeper of corruption. All the same, there was something so entirely -healthy and human about her, that nobody had ever pointed out to her her -lack of poetry, and of the more subtle virtues. - -The priest, who had also never been able to lose a game without losing -his temper too, sympathised with Courtesy, and employed laborious tact -in trying to lead her thoughts elsewhere. - -“Trinity Islands are your destination, are they not, yerce, yerce?” he -said. - -“Yes,” replied Courtesy. “And I wish this old tub would buck up and get -there.” - -“You have reasons of your own for being very anxious to arrive?” -suggested the priest archly. - -“Nothing special that I know of,” answered Courtesy. “I’m only an -ordinary globe-trotter.” - -Frankly, she was being sent out to get married. But this, of course, was -among the things that are not said. Her father had become tired of -supporting a daughter as determined to study art in London as she was -incapable of succeeding at it. He had accepted for her a casual -invitation from a cousin for a season in the Trinity Islands. The -invitation was so very casual that Courtesy had appreciated the whole -scheme as a matrimonial straw clutched at by an over-daughtered parent. -But her feelings were not hurt. She had bluff, tough feelings. - -“How curious that you should have found former friends on board!” said -the priest. “How small the world is, is it not?” - -“Yes, isn’t it?” assented Courtesy, whose heart always warmed towards -familiar phrases. “And so odd, too, him being married within the week -like this.” - -The priest pricked up his ears so sharply that you could almost hear -them click. “So quickly as that?” he encouraged her. - -“Yes, when he left the private hotel where he and I were both staying -just over a fortnight ago, he was not even engaged. He says such quaint -things about it, too. He says he picked her up on the way to Paradise.” - -The mention of Paradise confirmed the priest’s worst suspicions. But -“Yerce, yerce....” was his only reply to Courtesy. - -Late that night the priest walked round and round the deck trying to -peer into the face of his god, professional duty. His conscience was as -short-sighted as some people’s eyes, and he was often known to pursue a -shadow under the impression that he was pursuing his duty. - -“Of course I must warn the Captain,” he said. “And that bright young -lady who unconsciously gave me the news. And Mrs. Rust, who encourages -that misguided young man to talk. And Mrs. Cyrus Berry, who lets her -children play with him. As for the woman—I always think that women are -the most to blame in such cases.” - -Although he was altogether narrow his limits were indefinite, except -under great provocation. He had not strength enough to draw the line -anywhere. “Wicked” was too big a word for him; and although he believed -that the gardener and the suffragette were in immediate danger of -hell-fire, he could only call them “misguided.” This applies to him only -in his capacity as a priest. In his own interests he was very much more -sensitive than he was in the interest of his God. - -Sometimes I think that angels, grown old, turn into enemies to trap the -unwary. The angel of tolerance was the great saviour of history, but now -he saps the strength of every cause. Either I Am Right, or I May -Possibly Be Right. If I may only possibly be right, why should I dream -of burning at the stake for such a very illusory proposition? But if I -am right, then my enemy is Wrong, and is in danger of hell-fire. That is -my theory. My practice is to believe that belief is everything, and that -I may worship a Jove or a stone with advantage to my soul. Belief is -everything, and I believe. But if my enemy believes in nothing, then I -will condemn him. Why should I be tolerant of what I am convinced is -wrong? - -The priest, in the dark, found some one clinging round his knees. A -woman—a little woman—wrapped so tightly in a cloak that she looked like -a mummy. Her face was grey, and her lips looked dark. Her hair lay dank -and low upon her brow, and yet seemed as if it should have been wildly -on end about her head. The whole of her looked horribly restrained—bound -with chains—and her eyes, which should have given the key to the -entreaty which she embodied, were tightly shut. For five seconds the -priest tried to run away. But she held him round the knees and cried, -“Save me, save me!” - -Nobody had ever come to the priest with such a preposterous request -before. - -“Let me go, my good woman,” he said, audibly keeping his head. “Be calm, -let me beg you to be calm.” - -She let him go. But she was not calm. - -It was very late, and the deck-chairs had been folded up and stacked. As -the woman would not rise to the priest’s level, he saw nothing for it -but to sink to hers. They sat upon the deck side by side. He felt that -it was not dignified, but there was nobody looking. And otherwise, he -began to feel in his element. Here was a soul literally shrieking to be -saved. - -“What is it? Tell me. You have sinned?” he asked. - -“Certainly not,” replied the woman in a hard thin voice. “I have never -deserved what I’ve got. It seems to me that it’s God who has sinned.” - -“Hush, be calm,” the priest jerked out. “Be calm and tell me what has -upset you so much.” - -The woman began to laugh. Her laughter was absurdly impossible, like -frozen fire. It lasted for some time, and the world seemed to wait on -tiptoe for it to stop. It was too much for the priest’s nerves, and for -his own sake he gripped her arm to make her stop. She was silent at -once. The grip had been what she needed. - -“Now tell me,” said the priest. - -She paused a little while, and seemed trying to swallow her hysteria. -When she spoke it was in a sane, though trembling voice. “I am not -Church of England, sir, but you being a man of God, so to speak, I -thought ... I am suffering—terribly. There’s something gnawing at my -breast ... I’ve prayed to God, sir; I’ve prayed until I’ve fainted with -the pain of kneeling upright. But he never took no notice. I think he’s -mistaken me for a damned soul ... before my time. Why, I could see God -smiling, I could, and the pain grew worse. I’ve been a good woman in my -time; I’ve done my duty. But God smiled to see me hurt. So I prayed to -the Devil—I’d never have believed it three months ago. I prayed for -hell-fire rather than this. The pain grew worse....” - -“Have you seen the doctor?” - -“Oh, yes. And he said the sea-voyage would do me good. He couldn’t do -nothing.” - -“Poor soul!” said the priest, and found to his surprise that he was -inadequate to the occasion. “Poor soul, what can I say? It is, alas, -woman’s part to suffer in this world. Your reward is in heaven. You must -pin your faith still to the efficacy of prayer. You cannot have prayed -in the right spirit.” - -“But what a God—what a God ...” shouted the woman with a wild cry. “To -hide himself in a maze—and me too distracted to find out the way. Why, -my tears ought to reach him, let alone my prayers. I’ve sacrificed so -much for him—and he gives me over to this....” - -“This is terrible, yerce terrible,” said the priest. “My poor creature, -this is not the right spirit in which to meet adversity. Put yourself in -God’s hands, like a little child....” - -The woman dragged herself suddenly a yard or two from him. “Oh, you -talker—you talker ...” she cried, and writhed upon the deck. - -“Listen,” said the priest in a commanding voice. “Kneel with me now, and -pray to God. When we have prayed, I will take you to the doctor, and he -will give you something to make you sleep.” - -“I won’t touch drugs,” said the woman. “And I don’t hold with that young -doctor in brass buttons. If I pray now with you, will you promise that I -shall be better in the morning?” - -“Yes,” said the priest. It was spoken, not out of his faith, but because -that seemed the only way to put an end to the scene. And when he prayed, -in a musical clerical voice, he prayed not out of his heart, but out of -his sense of what was fitting. - -The stars bent their wise eyes upon the wise sea and bore witness that -the priest’s prayer never reached heaven’s gate. - -“Now you feel better, do you not?” he asked, when he had said all that -had occurred to him, and intoned a loud Amen, as if to give the prayer -an upward impetus. - -“No,” sobbed the woman. - -“Who are you? What is your name?” - -“I am Elizabeth Hammer, Mrs. Rust’s maid,” she replied, and staggered in -a lost way into the darkness of the companion-way. - -“To-morrow it will be better,” the priest called after her. And wished -that he could think so. - -The world smiled next morning, when the sports began again. Elizabeth -Hammer was invisible, probably concealed in some lowly place suitable to -her position. The sea was silver, the sky blazed blue, the sun smiled -from its height, like a father beaming upon his irresponsible family. -Mrs. Paul Rust looked incredible in a pale dress, designed for -peculiarity rather than grace; pink roses sprigged it so sparsely as to -give the impression of birth-mark afflictions rather than decorations. I -am not sure whether the feather in her hat was more like an explosion or -a palm tree. The gardener rolled upon a deck-chair with three children -using him as a switch-back railway. Theresa was smiling from her top -curl down to her toes. Even the suffragette was talking about the -transmigration of souls to the fourth officer. Everything on the surface -was highly satisfactory, and, on board ship, nothing except the surface -matters a bit. - -The priest had a leaky mind. He never poured out all that was in it, but -he could not help letting a certain proportion of its contents escape. -He paused in his daily walk of thirty times round the deck, and found a -seat beside Mrs. Paul Rust. - -“Your maid seems to be in a shocking state of health,” he said. - -“She suffers from indigestion,” replied Mrs. Rust. “Some fool of a -doctor has told her that she has cancer. She has quite lost her head -over it.” - -“At any rate she appears to be in great pain,” said the priest, who -considered that indigestion was rather too unclothed a word for ordinary -use. “And pain is a terrible thing, is it not?” - -“No,” said Mrs. Rust. - -“You mean that you consider it salubrious for the soul?” - -“No,” said Mrs. Rust. - -“Then I wonder in what way you consider pain desirable?” - -Mrs. Rust, who had meant nothing beyond contradiction, shut her eyes and -looked immovably subtle. The priest changed the subject. He had a real -gift for changing the subject. - -“Have you made the acquaintance of that dark young man who acts as the -ship’s gardener?” he asked. - -“An excellent young man,” said Mrs. Rust, immediately divining that the -priest did not approve of him. - -“Yerce, yerce, no doubt an excellent young man,” agreed the priest -mechanically. “But I have reason to believe that his morals are not -satisfactory.” - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. - -“I do not think he is really married to that aggressive young woman he -calls his wife.” - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. She did not approve of such irregularities any -more than the priest did, but she disapproved of disapprobation. - -The priest, being constitutionally incapable of argument, and yet unable -to broaden his view, was left wordless. But an interruption mercifully -rescued him from the necessity of attempting a reply. - -Elizabeth Hammer, Mrs. Rust’s maid, appeared at the companion door. Her -eyes were fixed hungrily upon the sea. - -There was a race about to be run, and the starter stood ready to say the -word. But Elizabeth Hammer brushed past him and walked across the empty -strip of deck. She climbed the rail as though she were walking upstairs, -and dropped into the sea. - -“Hammer,” barked Mrs. Rust hoarsely, as she heard the splash. That word -broke the spell. A woman shrieked, and Captain Walters shouted, “Man -Overboard.” - -The suffragette was not a heroine. What she did was undignified and -unconscious. The heroine should remove her coat, hand her watch to a -friend, send her love to a few relations, and bound gracefully into the -water. The suffragette, fully clothed, tumbled upside down after -Elizabeth Hammer. No noble impulse prompted her to do it. She did not -know of her intention until she found herself in the water, and then she -thought, “What a fool!” She could not swim. The _Caribbeania_ looked as -distant as heaven, and as high. She felt as if she had been dead a long -time since she saw it last. She paddled with her feet and hands like a -dog, her mouth was full of water and of hair. She had never felt so -abased in her life, she seemed crushed like a wafer into the sinking -surface of the nether pit. For centuries she wrestled with the sea, -sometimes for years and years on end a wave tore at her breath. She -never thought of Elizabeth Hammer. - -“This is absurd,” she thought, when eternity came to an end, and she had -time for consecutive thought. She felt sure her eyes were straining out -of their sockets, and tried to remember whether she had ever heard of -any one going blind through drowning. Then she cried, and remembered -that her head must be above water, if she could cry. She knew then that -there was some one on her side in the battle. The sea seemed to hold her -loosely now, instead of clutching her throat. She had a moment to -consider the matter from the _Caribbeania_’s point of view, and to -realise what a pathetic accident had occurred. It dawned upon her that -her own hand, wearing her mother’s wedding ring, was just in front of -her, holding the cord of a neat white life-buoy. “Caribbeania” painted -in black on the life-buoy seemed like a wide mad smile. - -“This is absurd,” bubbled the suffragette. “I shall wake up in a minute -now. It’s the air makes one sleepy.” And then she thought of something -else for ages and ages, and could not find out what she was thinking of, -though she tried all the time. - -On the promenade deck of the _Caribbeania_ the gardener stood dumb with -enormous astonishment. His soul was dumb, his limbs were numb, his -mental circulation was stopped. He had a sort of impression that the -Atlantic had been suddenly sprinkled with a shower of women, but he -could only think of one drop in the shower. - -“How red her face was as she went under—and what a dear she is!” - -The _Caribbeania_ had flung the two women behind her, and swept upon her -way, only for a second had the red face of the suffragette floated like -a cherry upon the water beside the black wall of the ship. The fourth -officer had flung a life-buoy. Theresa had fainted. There was a black -cork-like thing a thousand miles away which the fourth officer said was -the head of one of the women. The _Caribbeania_, checked in her scornful -attempt to proceed uncaring, was being brought round in a circle. A boat -was being lowered. - -There was a long silence on the promenade deck. - -Presently—“Is it—her?” asked Courtesy in a husky voice by the gardener’s -side. - -“Of course,” answered the gardener. - -Elizabeth Hammer had found the sleep she sought without recourse to -drugs. - -Everybody watched the distant boat receive the thin small warrior out of -the grasp of the sea, and then sweep in wide circles on its search for -Elizabeth Hammer. - -The dream ended. The boat drew alongside. The suffragette, who had to -some extent collected herself, made a characteristic attempt to step -unassisted from the boat. It failed. Everybody had come down to the main -deck to gratify their curiosity. The suffragette was carried on deck, -though she obviously supposed she was walking. She looked somehow out of -proportion to the elements with which she had battled. - -“You poor lamb,” said Courtesy, looking very dry and motherly beside -her. “How do you feel? I’m coming to help you into bed.” - -“I am perfectly well, thank you,” said the suffragette. - -“Why did you jump overboard if you couldn’t swim?” asked the fourth -officer, who was young and believed that there are always reasons for -everything. - -“It was a mistake,” said the suffragette testily, and was led below by -Courtesy and a stewardess. - -Tongues were loosened. Everybody reascended to the upper deck to vent -their sympathy on Mrs. Paul Rust. - -She had remained in her chair, because she felt that any other woman -would have retired below after witnessing the suicide of an -indispensable part of her travelling equipment. But she could not -control her complexion. Her face was blue-white like chalk, beneath her -incongruous hair. She would reply to no questions, and the priest, after -making several attempts to create for himself a speaking part in the -drama, was obliged to abandon his intention as far as she was concerned, -for lack of support. He turned to the gardener, whose stunned mind was -now regaining consciousness. - -“I do indeed congratulate you on the rescue of your—your wife,” said the -priest. “Yerce, yerce. As for that other poor soul, I was afraid she -might make some attempt of the sort. She was suffering from some -internal complaint, and had lost control of herself. Of course she had -confided in me—yerce, yerce. I was so fortunate as to be able to say a -few words of comfort. Perhaps it was a merciful release. But I hope she -was prepared at the last. I hope that in that awful moment she thought -upon her sins.” - -“I hope so too,” said the gardener. “It is good to die with a happy -memory in the heart.” - -The general impression was that Elizabeth Hammer had made a mistake, -poor thing. She was the subject of much conversation but little -conjecture. The big problem of her little mind was not so much buried as -never unearthed. She had made a mistake, poor thing. That was her -epitaph. - -The suffragette was of course a heroine. She was a heroine for the same -reason as Elizabeth Hammer was a poor thing—because nobody had analysed -her motives. It would have been heresy to suggest that the heroine’s -motive had been pure hysteria. She had done a very useless thing in a -very clumsy way, but because it had been dangerous she was promoted to -the rank of heroine. - -“I have been a damn fool,” mourned the suffragette, writhing profanely -on her bunk. - -“Nonsense,” said Courtesy briskly. “You have been frightfully brave. It -was only hard luck that you couldn’t save the woman.” - -“But I didn’t try. I had forgotten all about her until this moment.” - -“Nonsense,” repeated Courtesy, busy with a hot-water bottle. “You were -splendid. We didn’t know you had it in you.” - -The suffragette laughed her secret laugh, which she kept hidden beneath -her militant exterior. The sort of laughter that flies, not unsuitably, -in the very face of tragedy. - -“This is a change,” she said. - -“What is?” - -“To be respected.” - -“My dear gal, we all respected you all along. Personally I always told -them: ‘Mark my words,’ I said, ‘that gal’s got brains.’” - -“Yes, I expect they needed to be told.” - -“Nonsense,” said Courtesy. - -“For the last five years,” said the suffragette, “I have followed my -conscience over rough land. I have been suffragetting industriously all -that time. And every one laughed behind their hands at me. Not that I -care. But to-day I have been a fool, and they have promoted me to the -rank of heroine.” - -“Nonsense,” said Courtesy. “You’re not a fool. And surely you never were -a suffragette.” - -“I am a militant suffragette,” said the suffragette proudly. “It takes a -little courage and no hysteria to march through the city with drunk -medical students waiting to knock you down at the next corner; and it -takes hysteria and no courage to fall by mistake into the Atlantic.” - -“You quaint dear,” said Courtesy, who had not been giving undivided -attention to her patient’s remarks. “I do believe you’ve got something -in you besides brains after all. There now, you must try and sleep. -Pleasant dreams. And if you’re a good gal and wake up with some roses in -your cheeks, you shall have your husband to come and have tea with you.” - -“No,” said the suffragette. “Don’t call him that.” - -Courtesy wrenched the stopper of the hot-water bottle tightly on, as -though she were also corking up her curiosity. - -As she went upstairs Courtesy discovered that she quite liked the -suffragette—from a height. For a person suffering from brains, and from -a mystery, and from political fervour, and from lack of physical -stamina, the woman was quite surprisingly likeable. - -On deck, Courtesy’s friendly feeling was immediately put to the test. -Mrs. Paul Rust beckoned her to her side. - -“That woman who jumped into the water after Hammer ... she is quite well -again, of course?” It was rather difficult for Mrs. Rust to put this -question, because the most obvious form was, “How is she?” and that -would have been far too human. - -“She’ll be all right,” said Courtesy. “And even if she wasn’t she -wouldn’t say so. She keeps herself to herself. You’ve torn a button off -your coat. Shall I sew it on for you? You’ll miss your maid.” - -“I shall not,” said Mrs. Rust. “She was a fool to behave in that way. -Nothing but indigestion.” - -“You shouldn’t speak hardly of the dead,” said Courtesy, indomitably -conventional. - -“Stuff and nonsense,” retorted Mrs. Rust, and closed her eyes in order -to close the subject. “That young woman...” - -“I shall call her the suffragette,” said Courtesy. “She says she is one, -and she looks like one.” - -“At any rate, the priest tells me she is not married to the ship’s -gardener. Is that so?” - -“It’s not the priest’s business. Nor mine either.” - -“You would drop her like a red-hot coal if she were not married.” - -“Time enough to decide that later. I don’t approve of irregularity, of -course. Marriage after all is an excellent idea.” - -That turned the balance successfully in the suffragette’s favour. “You -are wrong,” said Mrs. Rust. “Marriage is an idiotic institution. It must -have been invented by a man, I feel sure. It is like using ropes where -only a silken thread is necessary.” - -“O Lor’,” said Courtesy. - -Mrs. Paul Rust decided to reach the truth by interrogating the gardener. -She always tried to approach a mystery by the high-road, rightly -considering that the high-road is the most untrodden way in these -tortuous days. - -“Come here,” she called to the gardener, when Courtesy disappeared to -see if her patient was asleep. - -“Is that young woman who foolishly jumped into the sea—your wife?” she -asked. - -The gardener had resisted hours of siege on the subject. He was tired. -Besides he instinctively understood Mrs. Rust. - -“In some ways she is,” he replied, after rather a blank pause. - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. - -“Is that young man who owns a little red hotel in the woods in Hampshire -your son?” asked the gardener, suddenly face to face with an -opportunity. - -“In some ways he is,” replied Mrs. Rust inevitably, without a smile. - -The gardener became more and more inspired. “Because if you are his -mother, I am his friend, and you may be interested to know that I put -your point of view clearly before him when I met him last. He told me -that you were unwilling to treat his hotel as an investment, and I said, -‘Why should she?’ I said, ‘You may take it from me that she won’t.’” - -“Then you had no business to take my intentions for granted,” retorted -Mrs. Rust. “What the dickens did you mean by it?” - -“I told him ...” continued the gardener, almost suffocating in the grasp -of his own cleverness, “that obviously you could take no notice of so -vague a scheme. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred, I said, would do as -you were doing.” - -“You had better have minded your own business,” interrupted Mrs. Rust -wrathfully. “And you had better mind it now. I shall do exactly what I -like with my money, no matter what the other ninety-nine women would -do.” - -“I was afraid you would be annoyed by my speaking like this,” said the -gardener humbly. “It is only natural.” - -“Stuff and nonsense. Do you know that the priest is shocked by his -suspicions about you and your suffragette?” - -“I don’t mind,” said the gardener. “Being a priest, I suppose he is paid -to be shocked sometimes. I don’t object to being his butt.” - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. “Then you don’t continue to assert that she is -your wife.” - -“I can’t be bothered to continue to assert it,” said the gardener. - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. - -The gardener felt that the reward of the successfully unscrupulous rogue -was within his reach. Lying in a good cause is a lovely exercise. The -warm feeling of duty begun surged over him. He had justified his -presence on board the _Caribbeania_, he had been true to Samuel Rust. -The suffragette was not drowned. The blue sea was all round him. There -was little else to be desired. - -“I shan’t be an unscrupulous rogue a moment longer than I can help,” -thought the gardener. “I shall pose as being good next. We will be -married on landing.” - -Courtesy at that moment returned and said, “Your wife would like you to -come and have tea with her.” - -“Don’t leave us alone,” begged the gardener of Courtesy as they went -below. “I don’t know how to behave to heroines.” - -He was obviously at a loss when he reached the suffragette’s cabin. He -had never seen her with her hair down, and that upset him from the -start. He shook her gently but repeatedly by the hand, and smiled his -well-meaning young smile. He did not know what to say, and this was -usually a branch of knowledge at which he was proficient. - -“Did you know that Captain Walters won the sweep yesterday on the -Captain’s number?” he asked. - -“Don’t be a donkey,” said Courtesy. There was a genial lack of sting -about Courtesy’s discourtesies, which kept her charm intact through all -vicissitudes. “She doesn’t want to hear about the sweep. Let her be just -now. She’s busy pouring out your tea.” - -For in the same spirit as the nurse allows a convalescent child to pour -out tea from its own teapot, Courtesy had encouraged the suffragette to -officiate. The headquarters of the meal, on a tray, were balanced upon -the invalid’s bunk. It was not a treat to the suffragette, who loathed -all the details of Woman’s Sphere, but for once she did not proclaim the -ungracious truth. - -“I’m sorry,” she said nervously. “It’s years since I did anything of -this sort. But I don’t know whether you take milk and sugar.” - -The gardener distrustfully eyed the hot water with vague aspirations -towards tea-dom that dripped into his cup. - -“I don’t take either milk or sugar, thank you,” he said, “I like my -troubles singly.” - -“Naughty boy,” said Courtesy, helping herself generously to cake. “You -are beastly rude. And you’re a naughty gal, too, you suffragette. You -ought to know how your husband likes his tea.” - -“But he’s not my husband,” said the suffragette. - -The gardener sat with a bun arrested half-way to his mouth. He had lived -a self-contained existence, and had never before had a pose of his -dismantled by an alien hand. The experience was most novel. He liked the -suffragette more and more because she was unexpected. - -“Nonsense,” said Courtesy. “You’re feverish. You’ll tell me what you’ll -be sorry for, in a minute.” - -“It’s true; and I’m far from sorry for it,” said the suffragette. “It’s -almost too good to be true, but it is. I’m still alone. But because he -thought I was a menace to England’s safety, he brought me away—by -force.” - -“Perfectly true,” corroborated the gardener. - -“You babies,” said Courtesy. “It’s lucky for you it’s only me to hear -you.” - -“It’s not a secret,” said the gardener. “I’ve just been talking about it -to Mrs. Rust.” - -“And what did she say?” asked Courtesy and the suffragette together. - -“She said, ‘Good.’” - -At that moment the voice of Mrs. Rust was heard in the passage outside. -“Miss Briggs.” - -Courtesy ran clumsily from the cabin. - -“That button,” said Mrs. Rust. “You said you would.... Myself I never -can remember which finger I ought to wear my thimble on, or at what -angle the needle should be held....” - -Anybody else, arrived within three feet of the suffragette’s door, would -have thrown a smile round the corner. But Mrs. Rust did not. She did -possess a heart, I am told, but a heart is such a hackneyed thing that -she concealed it. - -“What do you intend to do when you get to Trinity Islands?” asked the -suffragette. - -“I don’t know what we shall do,” replied the gardener. “I hate knowing -about the future. I am leaving it—not to fate, but to my future self.” - -“Don’t you believe in fate?” - -“No. I believe in myself. I believe I can do exactly what I like.” - -“And what about me? Can’t I do exactly what I like? Do you think you can -do exactly what you like with me?” asked the suffragette militantly. - -“So far I seem to have succeeded even in that.” - -She laughed. - -After a pause he said suddenly, “I am a brute to you, you dear, -unaccommodating little thing. Somehow my will and my deed have got -disconnected in my dealings with you. It is curious that having such -good intentions I should still remain the villain of the piece. Yet I -meant—if ever I had a woman—to make up to her for all I have seen my -mother go through.” - -“When you have a woman—perhaps you will ...” said the suffragette. “You -must wait and see.” - -“Come up and see land,” shouted Courtesy, running in with a -semi-buttoned coat in her hand. - -The gardener shot up the companion-way, and, behold, the gods had -touched the sea, and fairyland had uprisen. - -A long vivid island, afire in the ardent sun. Its mountain was golden -and eccentric in outline, its little town and fortresses had obviously -been built by a neat-fingered baby-god out of its box of bricks. The -tiny houses had green shutters and red roofs. There was no doubt that -the whole thing had only been created a minute or two before, it was so -neat and so unsullied. It was nonsense to call the place by the name of -a common liqueur, as the quartermaster did, any one could see it was too -sudden and too faery to have a name or to make a liqueur. There was -something very exciting in the way it had leapt out of a perfectly empty -sea, and in the way it sped over the horizon, as if shrinking from the -gaze of the proud _Caribbeania_. - -It passed. The gardener had looked at a dream. Courtesy had looked at -good dry land. Captain Walters had looked at the monastery from which -the liqueur emanated. Mrs. Rust had not looked at all. It is surprising -that there should be so much difference in the material collected by -such identical instruments as one pair of human eyes and another. - -Islands are gregarious animals, they decorate the ocean in conveys. The -_Caribbeania_, her appetite for speed checked, began to stalk them with -bated breath. - -“We’ll be going through the Hair’s Breadth to-morrow at seven,” said the -Captain, in a fat, selfcongratulatory voice, as though he had himself -created the channel he referred to. “You must all get up early to see -her do it.” - -There are few penances easier than early rising on board ship. There are -no inducements to stay upon the implacable plane that is your bunk, in -the hot square cube that is your cabin. Your ear is tickled by the sound -of the activities of food in the saloon outside; you can hear the sea -singing in a cheerful, beckoning way past your inadequate porthole. You -emerge from your cabin and find men in pyjamas, and ladies in flowered -dressing-gowns and (if possible) thick pig-tails, or (if impossible) -pleasing head-erections of lace, sitting in rows at sparkling tables, -and being fed by stewards with apples and sandwiches. There is scarcely -ever any need to remind the voyager by sea about the tiresome -superiority that distinguishes the ant. - -The Captain, therefore, had a large audience ready for his -sleight-of-nerve feat of threading the Hair’s Breadth. He looked very -self-conscious on the bridge. - -Land climbed slowly down the spangled sloped sea from the horizon. There -seemed to be no gap in the quivering line of it. Presently, however, as -if it had quivered itself to pieces, the line was shattered. Silver -channels appeared beckoning on every side. The _Caribbeania_, blind -except to her duty, headed towards the least likely-looking channel of -all. The most ignorant passenger on the ship could have told the Captain -that he was running into certain destruction. Many longed to take -command, and to point out to the Captain his mistake. Like a camel -advancing foolhardily upon the needle’s eye the _Caribbeania_ -approached. Her speed was slackened, she went on tiptoe, so to speak, as -if not to awaken the gods of ill-chance, but there was nothing faltering -about her. She thrust her shoulders into the opening. - -(It would be waste of time to inform me that in nautical language a ship -has no shoulders.) - -You could have whispered a confidence to the palm trees on either -side—except that you would have been afraid to draw enough breath to do -so, for fear of deflecting the ship an inch from her course. - -Courtesy was, as usual, bold. She spoke in quite an ordinary voice. -“Why, look, there’s a man with hardly anything on, paddling! How -killing! He’s the colour of brown paper!” - -“You’ll soon be dead in Trinity Islands if you find that killing,” -snapped Mrs. Rust. “The Captain evidently doesn’t know his business. -We’re at least six feet nearer to this shore than the other.” - -The first of Trinity Islands heaved before them quite abruptly when they -had traversed the channel. The land seemed to have been petrified in the -act of leaping up to meet them. I think the wind had changed upon it at -a moment of grotesque contortion. My nurse used always to warn me that -this climatic change might fatally occur when my anatomical experiments -became more than usually daring. - -Green woods had veiled the harsh shapes of the hills. Palms waved their -spread hands upon the sky-line. A tangle of green things tumbled to the -water’s edge. Far away to the right a faint blessing of pearl-coloured -smoke and a few diamonds flung among the velvet slopes of the hills -hinted at the watching windows of Port of the West. Shipping clustered -confidentially together on either side of the _Caribbeania_, like -gossips commenting jealously on the arrival of a princess of their kind. -The entering liner shook out little waves like messages to alight on the -calm shore. - -The whole scene looked too heavy to be painted on the delicate sea. It -was absurd to think that that pale opal floor should be trodden by the -rusty tramp-steamers, the tall red-and-black sailing ships, the panting -tugs, the blunt and bloated coal-tenders laden with compressed -niggerhood. There were broadheaded catfish, and groping jellyfish in the -water, and they alone looked fashioned from and throughout eternity for -the tender element that framed them. - -The suffragette, who had risen from her berth, contrary to the advice of -Courtesy and of the doctor, looked at the first of Trinity Islands with -her soul in her eyes and a compressed adoration in her breast. For there -was a silver sea, silver mist enclosing the island, and a silver shore -shining through the mist. Silver, of course, is idealised grey—grey with -the memory of black and white refined away. Silver is the halo of a -snake-soul. - -The day was mapped out in so many ways by the different passengers of -the _Caribbeania_, that, from their prophetic descriptions, you could -hardly recognise it as the same slice out of eternity. There were -globe-trotters, eager to trot this tiny section of the globe in hired -motor-cars, others anxious to buy souvenirs in Port of the West all day, -others nervously determined to call upon the Governor in search of a -Vice-regal luncheon, others without imagination desirous of fishing for -catfish from the poop, and a very few who dared to avow their intention -of spending the day in absorbing cold drinks on the verandah of the -King’s Garden Hotel. - -In theory the gardener wished to lie upon a chair on the shady side of -the deck, with a handkerchief over his face all day. Such a course would -have been flattering to his dignity and to his worship of aloofness. In -practice his unquenchable energy and that of the suffragette were too -much for him. He was vividly stirred by the strange land. The clawlike -hands of the palms beckoned him. - -Following the suffragette, he bounded on to the first launch as eagerly -as though he were not a man of theory. Behind him bounded Courtesy, and -behind her Mrs. Paul Rust strove to bound. Courtesy, the gardener, and -the suffragette sat squeezed in a row upon a dirty seat in the launch. -Mrs. Rust, because sitting in a squeezed row was against her principles, -stood. By these means she kept many men-passengers standing in wistful -politeness during the whole journey of three miles to the shore. - -The bay swept its wide arms farther and farther round them. The palm -trees on the promontories on either side of the town looked no longer -beckoning, but grasping. - -“Oh, isn’t it good!” said the gardener, thrilling so that Courtesy and -the suffragette, by reason of compressed propinquity, had to thrill too. -He took the suffragette’s hand violently, and waggled it to and fro. -“Isn’t it fine ...” and he jumped his feet upon the deck. - -“You babies,” said Courtesy. For the suffragette, even though she did -not jump her feet, was jumping her eyes, and obviously jumping the heart -in her breast. Most unorthodox for a snake. - -“We shall run head foremost into the wharf,” said Mrs. Rust in a final -voice. “What a pity it is that sailors never know their work.” - -“Yes, isn’t it,” agreed the gardener, as if he had been longing to say -something of the sort. “Extraordinary. Fine. Won’t it be fine if we run -head foremost into the wharf, and sink, to be sealed up in this blue -jewel here!” - -He tried to pat the bay with his hand. - -“Closed in the heart of it,” said the suffragette, “like flies in -amber.” - -“I shouldn’t like it at all,” sniffed Courtesy. - -“Not like flies in amber,” said the gardener. “Because flies spoil the -amber.” - -“Well, you and I wouldn’t exactly decorate the sea,” remarked the -suffragette. - -“Look at those cannibals waiting for us,” said Courtesy. “My dears, I’m -simply terrified.” - -The cannibals received them from the launch with the proverbial -eagerness of cannibals. In the first three minutes of their arrival on -land the travellers could have bought enough goods to furnish several -bazaars had they been so inclined. The suffragette, by tickling the chin -of a superb blue and yellow bird, was considered to have tacitly -concluded a bargain with the owner as to the possession of it, and there -was much discussion before she was disembarrassed of her unwelcome -protégé. The gardener bought two walking-sticks in the excitement of the -moment, before he remembered that he was devoid of money. The owner of -the walking-sticks, however, kindly reminded him of the one-sidedness of -the purchase, and he was obliged to borrow from the suffragette. - -The town, like a brazen beauty feigning modesty, was withdrawn a little -from the wharves. There was a dry-looking grass space with goats as its -only gardeners. This the party crossed, and the sensitive plant ducked -and dived into its inner remoteness as they passed. The streets in front -of them, hot and glaring, pointed to the hills, like fevered fingers -pointing to peace which is unattainable. - -The main street received them fiercely. The heat was like the blaring of -trumpets. The trams were intolerably noisy, clanking, and rattling like -a devil’s cavalry charge. Black, shining women, with the faces of -bull-dogs—only not so sincere—swung in a slow whirlwind of many -petticoats up and down the street, with vivid burdens of fruit piled in -ochre-coloured baskets on their heads. Little boys and girls, with their -clothes precariously slung on thin brown shoulders, and well aired by an -impromptu system of ventilation, ran by the gardener’s side, and -reminded him of the necessity of quatties and half-pinnies, even in this -paradise of the poor, where sustenance literally falls on your head from -every tree in the forest. - -“This is exhausting,” said Mrs. Paul Rust, forced by extreme heat into a -confession of the obvious. “Policeman, where can we get a cab?” - -“Yes, please, missis,” replied the policeman, who was tastefully dressed -in white, by way of a contrast to his complexion. - -“Nonsense, man,” said Mrs. Rust. “I repeat, where can a cab be found?” - -“No, please, missis,” replied the policeman, acutely divining that his -first answer had been found wanting. - -“You fool,” said Mrs. Rust, another unoriginal comment wrung from her by -the heat. - -The policeman understood this, and giggled bashfully in a high falsetto. - -“Missis wanta buggy?” asked a tobacconist, with a slightly less dense -complexion, from his shop door. “Policeman nevah understand missis, he -only a niggah.” - -The gardener, as ever prone to paint the lily, hurried into the breach. -“Ah yes, of course, we white men, we always hang together, eh?” - -It was The Moment of that tobacconist’s life. The gardener all unawares -had crossed in one lucky stride those bitter channels that divide the -brown man from the black, the yellow man from the brown, the white man -from the yellow, and the buckra, the man from England, from all the -world. - -Three buggies suddenly materialised noisily out of Mrs. Rust’s desire. -They were all first upon the scene, as far as one could judge from the -turmoil of conversation that immediately arose on the subject. The -gardener tried to look firm but unbiassed. The three women stood and -waited in a state of trance. - -The sun was working so hard at his daily task in the sky, that one could -almost have pitied him for being called to such a flaming vocation in -this flaming weather. - -Finally, Mrs. Rust awoke and, entering the nearest buggy, shook it to -its very core as she seated herself and said, “King’s Garden Hotel.” - -She could hardly have been recognised as the Mrs. Rust of the -_Caribbeania_. You could see her pride oozing out in large drops upon -her brow. Her hat was on one side, and completely hid her sensational -hair, but for one flat wisp, like an interrogation mark inverted, which -reached damply to her eyebrow. - -The buggy horse, which consisted of a few promiscuous bones, badly sewn -up in a second-hand skin, was more than willing to pause until the rest -of the party should be seated, and even then seemed desirous of waiting -on the chance of picking up yet another fare. It was, however, reminded -of its duty by its driver, and turned its drooping nose in the direction -of the King’s Garden Hotel. - -When they reached that heavenly verandah, they felt for a moment as -though they were suffering from delusions. The _Caribbeania_ seemed to -have arrived on shore bodily. A long vista of familiar profiles rocked -cheek by jowl, nose beyond nose, from end to end of the verandah. There -was Theresa, who had made no secret of her intention of accompanying -Captain Walters “for a lark” on a visit to a Trinity Island Picture -Palace. There was the priest, who had expressed a determination (which -nobody had tried to alter) to explore the famous botanical gardens all -by himself all day. There was the fourth officer, who had left the -_Caribbeania_ inspired by a vision of a long walk to a sandy beach with -a bathe at the end of it. There was the captain, who had set out to buy -his wife a stuffed alligator as a silver-wedding present. - -That cool strip of green rocking-chairs had acted on them all like a -spider’s web, with the manager of the King’s Garden sitting in the -middle of it, murmuring cool things concerning drinks in an iced voice. -Exquisite white linen suits of clothes, the only blot on whose -spotlessness was the nigger inside them, ambled up and down the line, -like field-marshals reviewing the household cavalry, armed humanely with -lemon squashes and whiskies and sodas. - -The gardener, Mrs. Rust, the suffragette, and Courtesy enlisted in this -force, and sat in a state of torpor only partially dispelled by -luncheon, until Mrs. Rust began to look herself again. Her hat -straightened and elevated itself to its normal position, and perched -upon her hair like a nest of flowers on a ripe hay-field. The curls -dried up like parsley after rain. - -Little by little the other tourists regained consciousness, and with -much show of energy set forth to the nearest buggy stand. - -At about five, Courtesy, who was never happy unless she was moving with -the crowd, became restless. - -“Let’s take a buggy and go back to the wharf,” she suggested. - -“We will hire a four-wheeler and return to the pier,” said Mrs. Rust in -a contradictory voice. - -Buggy or four-wheeler, there was only one sort of vehicle to be found in -Port of the West. They manned the nearest conveyance and quibbled not -over its title. - -“It would be frightful if we missed the boat,” said Courtesy, who always -said the thing that everybody else had already thought of saying, but -rejected. - -For the _Caribbeania_ had begun raking the atmosphere with hoarse calls -for its dispersed passengers. - -But at the wharf the launch was still fussily collecting the mails. - -There was a flame-coloured azalea leaning gorgeously out of the shade of -the eaves of a customs house. It was Courtesy’s colour—so obviously hers -that Courtesy herself unconsciously answered its call. - -“Ou—I say, that colour,” she said, and ceased, because she could not -voice the echo that streamed from her heart to the azalea’s. It bent -towards her like a torch blown by the wind. - -“It’s autumn,” said the gardener. “And that azalea is the only thing -that knows it on the island.” - -“Good,” commented Mrs. Rust. “All this green greenhouse rubbish has no -sense ...” she waved her hands to the palm trees that plaited their -fingers over the sky in the background. - -“Autumn, I think ...” began the gardener, addressing the azalea, “autumn -runs into the year, crying, ‘I’m on fire, I’m on fire ...’ and yet -glories all the while; just as I might say, ‘This is passion, this is -passion ...’ and so it is passion, and pain as well, but I love it....” - -“What a funny thing to say!” said Courtesy. “Do you say that sort of -thing by mistake, you quaint boy, or do you know what you’re talking -about?” - -“My lips say it by mistake,” said the gardener. “But my heart knows it, -especially when I see—a thing like that. Otherwise, why should I have -become a gardener?” - -He looked round for the suffragette to see if she had caught this spark -out of his heart, and whether the same torch had set her alight. She was -not there. - -“Come now, everybody,” said Courtesy. “The launch’ll be starting in a -minute.” - -“But the suffragette’s not here,” said the gardener. - -There was an instant’s blank as heavy as lead. - -“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “I can’t wait here all day. If she -wants to moon around and miss the boat, let her. I am going.” - -She gave a hand each to two niggers, and sprang like a detachable -earthquake into the launch. - -“I think I ought to wait,” said Courtesy. “She’s a little shaky after -yesterday, and you’re such an irresponsible boy, gardener. She may have -fainted, while we were looking the other way. Or she may be in that -crowd buying souvenirs.” - -The gardener looked in the crowd for that well-known round hat with the -faded flowers. But he knew that she would never buy a souvenir. - -“You jump in, gardener. I’ll wait,” said Courtesy. “Perhaps there’ll be -another launch.” - -“Lars’ launch, missis, please,” said one of the mariners of the vessel -in question. - -“Come at once, girl,” said Mrs. Rust’s harsh voice from the stern. - -Courtesy wavered. - -Mrs. Rust made a great effort. She became extremely red. “Don’t you -understand, girl, you must come?” she shouted. “I can’t spare you.... I -like you....” She cleared her throat and changed her voice. “Can’t -sew ... buttons ... companion ... large salary....” - -But the first part of the sentence reached Courtesy’s sympathy. She -jumped into the launch. - -The gardener stood on the hot wharf, and his heart turned upside down. -His plans were stripped from him once more by this disgracefully -militant creature who had broken into his life. He hovered on the brink -of several thoughts at once. - -“The little fool. The dear little thing. The little devil.” - -He ran round the customs house. He felt convinced that it was -interposing its broad person between him and his suffragette. He could -almost see it dodging to hide her from his sight. - -“I shall find her in a minute,” he thought. “I’m a lucky man.” He -thought that his hopes were pinned to the probability of arriving on the -_Caribbeania_ in time. - -On the brown grass space there were only the goats. The gardener was -astonished not to see the fleeing form of a woman making for the town. -Things can be done very quickly if they must. The gardener was at the -corner of the main street before he had time to think another thought. -He looked back, and saw in one fevered glance the launch only just -parting from the shore. - -“Have you seen a lady in white with a brown hat?” he asked of a -policeman. - -“Yes, please, sah.” - -“Which way?” - -The conversation was from beginning to end above the policeman’s head. -But such a very hot buckra man must be humoured. At random the policeman -pointed up the main street. The gardener was indeed a man of luck, for -that was the right direction. - -The main street on a fiery afternoon was as long as eternity, but in -certain states of mind a man may bridge eternity in a breath, and not -know what he has crossed. - -He was on the race-course. He looked back and the launch was approaching -the _Caribbeania_ in the far-off bay, like a dwarf panting defiance at a -giant. - -When he was half-way across the race-course, he saw a white figure -surmounted by a brown straw hat, in the Botanical Gardens, in the shade -of a banyan tree. - -The suffragette had lighted a cigarette in a laborious attempt to appear -calm, but she pressed her hand to her breast as though she had been -running. “I’m not coming,” she shouted, when he was within shouting -distance. - -He vaulted the railing of the race-course, and the railing of the -garden. “What a bore!” he said. “Then I must stop too.” - -“Why?” she asked. - -Very far off, the launch was nestling at the side of the _Caribbeania_. - -“For reasons I cannot be bothered to repeat to you.” - -She veiled herself in a cloud of smoke. - -“You know,” he added, “this is a repetition of the Elizabeth Hammer -episode. Pure hysteria. Darling.” - -There was an appreciable pause. - -“Why, you’re right. So it is,” said the suffragette. - -“Come on,” shouted the gardener. “We can catch it yet.” - -“If I come,” she said, “it will be strong, not weak.” - -“Of course,” said the gardener. “Come on.” - -“It would be much easier to stay here.” - -“Oh, much,” panted the gardener. “Come on, come on.” - -So they ran, and on the way back they discovered how interminable the -main street was, and how relentless is the sun of the West Atlantic. But -when they reached the wharf, the launch was still clinging to the liner. - -“A guinea,” shouted the suffragette, who was experiencing the joys of -very big-game hunting, “to the boatman who can get us up to the -_Caribbeania_ before she starts.” - -She spoke in the voice of one accustomed to speaking in Trafalgar -Square, and everybody understood her. A boat practically cut the feet -from under them before she had finished speaking, and in it they -splashed furiously out into the bay. - -“We shall catch it,” said the gardener, rowing energetically with one -finger. “I’m a man of luck.” - -He was posing as one who would not utter a reproach. It was a convenient -pose for all concerned. When they were about half-way, the suffragette -said, “You know—it takes a little courage to admit hysteria.” - -“Of course it does, my dear,” said the gardener. “I wouldn’t have done -it for the world.” - -Presently they were within bare shouting distance of the whale which had -threatened to make Jonahs of them. A liner’s farewells are like those of -a great many women I know, very elastic indeed. - -“You’ll do it,” shouted a voice from the high boat-deck. - -They did it. The Captain shook his finger at them from the bridge. - -“What happened?” asked Courtesy, meeting them on the main deck with a -shawl to put round the suffragette. Some women seem to think that a -shawl, or a hot bath, or a little drop of sal-volatile are equal to any -emergency under the sun. - -“She didn’t know that was the last launch,” said the gardener, still -posing as the magnanimous defender. - -“Yes, I did,” said the suffragette. - -“She was buying a souvenir round the corner,” persisted the gardener. - -“No, I wasn’t,” contradicted the lady. “I made up my mind not to come -back to the _Caribbeania_.” - -“Ou, I say, how killing of you!” said Courtesy. “But he changed your -mind?” - -“No. I overcame it.” - -“You quaint mite,” said Courtesy. - -The gardener’s pose momentarily ended here, for he was stricken with -whirling of the head and sickness, after running in the sun. Although -there was a touch of martyrdom about it, it was not a dignified ending -to a really effective pose. He had to seek the comfort of Hilda in his -cabin. - -Hilda had three flowers now, and they had cost her her independence, for -she leaned upon a stick. But among her round green leaves she held up -bravely her trinity of little gold suns. - -The gardener being thus removed, Courtesy and the suffragette sat on the -promenade-deck, and discussed the day. The suffragette was astonished to -find herself in this position, being addressed as “my dear,” by a -contemporary. “Just like a real girl,” she thought, for as she had never -passed through the mutual hair-brushing stage with other girls, she -always expected to be hated, and never to be loved. She found it rather -delightful to have Courtesy’s hand passed through her arm, but she also -found it awkward, and hardly knew how to adjust her own arm to the -unaccustomed contact. The very small details of intercourse are very -hard indeed to a snake, though pleasant by reason of novelty. - -“So you didn’t want to come back, and he bullied you?” said Courtesy, -frankly inquisitive. “After all, my dear, that’s what women are for.” - -“It is NOT!” shouted the suffragette. “Women are not born with a curse -on them like that. I chose to come back; I made a great effort, and -came.” - -“O Lor’!” said Courtesy, and tactfully changed the subject. Courtesy’s -tact was always easily visible to the naked eye. “My dear, I must tell -you what a killing interview I had with old Mrs. Rust. She clutched my -arm when I got into the launch—think of that, my dear—and presently she -said in a gruff sort of frightened voice, as if she was confessing a -crime, ‘Miss Courtesy, I refuse to part with you; you are what I have -been looking for; you are not to pay any attention to anybody else—do -you hear? I forbid it.’ I screamed with laughter—on the quiet, you know. -I said, ‘Do you want me to be a substitute for Hammer, Mrs. Rust?’ ‘No,’ -she said. ‘Hammer was only a stopgap; I was keeping the position open -for a person like you. I will give you two hundred a year if you will -promise to stay by me as long as you can bear me’—and then she shouted -as if she had made a mistake, and thought that noise could cover it—‘I -mean as long as I can bear you.’” - -“So what did you answer?” asked the suffragette. - -“My dear, two hundred a year—what could I say?” - -“But what were you originally going out to Trinity Island for?” asked -the suffragette. “To visit relatives, weren’t you? What will they say?” - -“Oh, they won’t say anything—to two hundred a year. I was really only -coming out as a globe-trotter. I loathe colonial relations.” - -The matrimonial motive was the skeleton in Courtesy’s cupboard. - -“But wasn’t it killing, my dear?” - -“Very killing,” agreed the suffragette gravely. She felt like one -speaking a foreign tongue. - -And then it occurred to Courtesy that she was squeezing the arm of one -who, after all, had a criminal disregard of convention. She withdrew her -arm, and proceeded to try and storm that house which she considered to -be built on sand. - -“I wish I could understand what you are up to, my dear?” she said. -“Can’t I persuade you to leave that naughty gardener, or to marry him? -You needn’t run away, or drown yourself or anything, just say to him, -‘THIS WON’T DO.’ I should be frightfully glad if I could feel you were -all right. Why don’t you get married on landing?” - -“We don’t want to,” said the suffragette, who was too inexperienced in -the ways of The Generation to feel offended. “We neither of us ever -pretended to want to.” - -“Ou yes, of course I know the catchwords. I know you just came together -as friends, and didn’t see any harm in it.” - -“But we didn’t come as friends—we came as enemies.” - -“Yes,” said Courtesy, with a furrowed brow. “But really, my dear, -enemies don’t do these things.” - -“They do. We do.” - -“But, my good girl, you must know—you can’t be as innocent as all that.” - -“Great Scott, no!” said the suffragette. “I’m not innocent!” - -“Then am I to conclude,” said Courtesy, suddenly frigid, “that you fully -realise the meaning of the life you are leading?” - -“You are to conclude that,” said the suffragette, in a voice of growing -militancy. “I realise its meaning much more fully than you do. I shall -leave the gardener directly it becomes convenient to me to do so. For an -utter stranger his behaviour has certainly been insufferable.” - -“O Lor’!” exclaimed Courtesy, falling back upon her original line of -defence. “An utter stranger ... I must go and button Mrs. Rust into her -evening gown.” - -There is something very annoying to a woman in being accused of -innocence. The suffragette was quite cross. - -For the next two days the _Caribbeania_ threaded her way cautiously -between shore and shore. The horizon was frilled with palm-embroidered -lands. Dry, terrible-looking beaches, backed by arid brown hills, marred -the soft character of those calm seas. It was as if the _Caribbeania_ -saluted the coast of South America, and South America turned her back -upon her visitor. At two or three ports in that forbidding land the boat -touched. Drake had passed that way, and had left his ill-gotten halo -upon the coast, but that was the only life of the land. The flat, dead -towns seemed brooding over flat, dead tragedies. - -It was almost a relief to the travellers when the last night fell, and -the ship was enclosed in darkness and its trivial insularity. There was -a great dance that night. Captain Walters called it the Veterans’ dance, -because the chalked deck was thick with non-combatants, who had -determined to cast care aside and join with youth, because after all it -was the last night, and one would never meet any of these people again. -As a matter of fact, there was no youth to be joined, for youth sat out -and began its farewells. Half a dozen hours is not an over-large -allowance of time for farewells between people who have known each other -three throbbing ocean weeks. - -The suffragette actually danced with the chief engineer. He always -danced with ladies who could not find partners, being a conscientious -young man of forty-two, with a brand-new bride at home. The suffragette -knew well that by his courtesy she was branded as one undesired, and she -laughed her invisible cynical laugh. - -I think men are akin to sheep as well as to monkeys, and the theory only -needs a Darwin to trace the connection. I have yet to meet the man who, -where women are concerned, does not follow in the track of others of his -kind. I think that very few men conceive an original preference for a -woman unbiassed by the public tendency. - -Directly the gardener saw the suffragette dancing with the chief -engineer, he wondered why he was not dancing with her himself, although -she danced rather badly. The gardener felt a mysterious call to go and -monopolise her directly she was at liberty. - -“I’m glad you have come to talk to me,” said the suffragette. “Because I -shall go on shore early to-morrow, and should like to say good-bye to -you.” - -“Good-bye?” questioned the gardener. - -“You didn’t really expect me to stay with you, did you?” she asked. - -“Yes,” said the gardener, and thought how peaceful and how stupid life -would be without her. “I shan’t dream of letting you go.” And even while -he said it, he experienced the awful feeling of being powerless to make -his words good. He realised for the first time how indispensable to a -man’s sight are soft straight hair that has never committed itself to -any real colour, and a small pointed face, and quick questioning eyes. -But there was something indescribable, peculiar to the suffragette, that -made it impossible to humble oneself before her. She was anything but a -queen among women; no man had ever wished to be trodden under her feet, -though they were small and pretty. Plain people often have pretty hands -and feet, a mark of Nature’s tardy self-reproach. - -To any other woman, the gardener might have said, “Please, my dear ...” -with excellent results. He had a good voice with a tenor edge to it, and -he could pose very nicely as a supplicator. But not to the suffragette. - -“I have not brought you all this way just to let you return to your -militant courses,” he said, with a sort of hollow firmness. “I owe a -duty to Trinity Island, after all, now that I have imported you.” - -The suffragette smiled and said she was tired and would go to -bed—good-bye. - -The gardener said Good-night. - -The _Caribbeania_ and the first ray of the sun reached the Island -simultaneously next morning. When the gardener came on deck at half-past -seven he found himself confronted by the town of Union, backed by its -sudden hills. The _Caribbeania_, like a robber’s victim, ignominiously -bound to the pier, was being relieved of its valuables. The air was -thick with talk. On the pier the over-dressed representatives of British -rule, in blue serge and gold braid, rubbed shoulders with the -under-dressed results of their kind tyranny, in openwork shirts and -three-quarters of a pair of trousers. - -“Your wife went off early,” said the fourth officer to the gardener. “I -asked her whether she were eloping all by herself, and she said you knew -all about it.” - -“Thanks,” said the gardener curtly. - -You will hardly believe me when I tell you that his first conscious -thought after this announcement was that he had no money to tip the -steward with. The suffragette meant a good deal to him, and among the -things she meant was temporary financial accommodation. - -I hope that you have noticed by now that he was not a money-lover, but a -steward was a steward, and this particular steward had been kind in -improvising a crutch for Hilda. Any assistance from the suffragette was, -of course, taken as temporary: independence was one of the gardener’s -chronic poses. He meant to change it from a rather hollow dream into -reality on arriving on the Island; he supposed that he would be able to -turn his brains into money. He considered that no such brain could ever -have landed at Union Town. Its price in coin, which had been rather at a -discount in the stupid turmoil of London, would be instantly appreciable -under this empty sky. His pose on the Island was to be The One Who -Arrives, in capital letters. - -He went down to his cabin to pack his little luggage. He had nothing -beloved to pack now; men’s clothes seem to be inhuman things without a -touch of the lovable, and they were all he had. For Hilda was dead. For -the last week of her life she had been a little concrete exclamation of -protest against her unnatural surroundings. One born to look simply at -the sun, from the shelter of a whitewashed cottage wall, with others of -her like jostling beautifully round her; a fantastic fate had willed -that she should reach the flower of her life in a tipsy cabin, with a -sea-wind singing outside the thick glass against which she leant. The -gardener had given her a sailor’s grave somewhere near the spot in the -Spanish Main to which I hope the spirit of Drake clings, for his -mother-sea received him there. It was hardly a suitable ending for -Hilda, but it was the best available. - -The gardener set himself to put his scanty property together stealthily, -and creep from the boat, that the stewards might not see him go. He had -an unposed horror of ungenerosity. To him, as to most men, the tip was -more of a duty than the discharge of a debt. He suffered keenly for a -while from the discovery that there was no escaping from the stewards -to-day, they were stationed with careful carelessness at every corner. -Presently the siege was raised unexpectedly by the arrival of the -boot-boy with a note. - -“The lady left it, sir.” - -It contained a five-pound note, and it was addressed in the -suffragette’s small defiant handwriting. - -Of course the hero of a novel should have thrown the whole missive into -the sea. He should have struck an attitude and explained to the admiring -boot-boy that such gifts from a woman could only be looked upon as an -insult. But you must remember the gardener considered that the fortunes -of the Island were at his feet. And he would not have gone so far as to -pose at his own expense—not to speak of the steward’s. He put the note -in his pocket, and went to the purser for change. - -When his duties were discharged, he came on deck to collect any plans -that might be in the air. It is a most annoying fact that theories will -not take the place of plans. In theory you may be The One Who Arrives, -but in practice you have to think about passing the customs and finding -a cheap hotel and getting yourself a sun-helmet. I think the world has -an antipathy to heroes; it certainly makes things very hard for them. - -On deck Courtesy was sitting calm and ready. Her plans had been made for -three days. She had only just stopped short of writing a time-table for -the hourly career of herself and Mrs. Rust throughout their sojourn on -the island. She had a genius for details. - -“The suffragette has disappeared,” said the gardener. A disarming -frankness was one of his weapons. - -“I’m jolly glad,” replied Courtesy. “I believe you owe that to me, you -naughty boy. I gave her a bit of my mind about it the other day.” - -The gardener uttered no reproaches. He felt none. For he had learnt by -now that the suffragette would never be affected by a bit of anybody’s -mind. - -“What are you going to do?” asked Courtesy. “We are going to the St. -Maurice Hotel for four days—Father Christopher told us of it—and at -mid-day on Saturday we go up to the hills for a fortnight, and then we -hire a car and tour round the Island, staying twenty-four hours at -Alligator Bay.” - -“I’m going to look for work,” said the gardener. - -“Sugar or bananas?” - -“Neither. Head-work.” - -“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “Nobody on the Island ever uses -their head except to carry luggage on.” - -“That’s why I shall find work. There’s no competition in my line.” - -“You funny ...” giggled Courtesy. “Isn’t he quaint, Father Christopher?” - -For the priest was passing on his twenty-second circuit of the deck. - -“Very droll, no doubt,” said the priest in the voice of a refrigerator, -and continued to pass. He was very much annoyed with the gardener’s -soul. - -The gardener waited till he came round again before saying to Courtesy, -“Besides, I have to look for the suffragette.” - -“I hope you won’t find her this time,” said Courtesy. “Will you come to -tea with us one day, and tell us which of your searches seems most -hopeful. You see, now the suffragette’s gone, you are respectable for -the moment, and I needn’t be afraid for Mrs. Rust’s morals.” - -When Courtesy giggled, her hair laughed in the most extraordinary way. -Everything she did was transmuted into something wonderful by that halo -of hers. - -“I’ll come to-day, if I may,” said the gardener, who had never mastered -the art of social diffidence. “You’d better have me to-day, for I hope I -shan’t be respectable to-morrow.” - -Courtesy did not want him to-day. In her code there was only one -programme for the first day in a strange land. It was made up of a visit -to the principal church, the principal shop, the principal public -gardens, and to a few “old-world relics of the past.” It did not include -ordinary five-o’clock tea with a familiar figure. But, on the other -hand, her invincible conventionality made it impossible for her to evade -the gardener’s suggestion. Courtesy was content to suffer for her -convictions. At any rate, you will notice that Mrs. Rust was not -consulted. - -“You may come,” Courtesy said. “At five. We are due back from the -cathedral at a quarter to.” - -Probably the reason why Mrs. Rust submitted to Courtesy’s tyranny from -the first was that no other woman in the world would have done so. - -The land reeled under the gardener’s feet as he arrived. The only -comfort in parting with the sea after a long intimacy is that for the -first day or two the land follows the example of its sister element. The -gardener found more difficulty in walking straight along Union High -Street than he had experienced along the deck of the _Caribbeania_. - -The morning was yet very young when he put his little luggage down at -the bamboo-tree arch of a house that proclaimed itself ready to receive -boarders at moderate terms. He relied much on impulse, and the little -house, which was lightly built on its own first story, so to speak, -beckoned to him. But only in theory, for when he mounted the flight of -wooden steps, and, through the open door, saw the dirty living-room, -seething with gaudy trifles, he knew that in practice it was better -suited to his means than to his mind. - -However, he had rung the bell. One has to pay penalties for acting on -impulse. A woman with black wire hair, a face the colour of varnished -deal, and a pale pink dressing-gown, appeared. Luckily she transpired to -be the hostess before the gardener had voiced the fact that he mistook -her for a drunken housemaid. - -“I want a room here,” began the gardener, who had never wanted anything -less in his life. But the three pounds lay very light in his pocket. - -“We can give you one,” said the lady, and took his portmanteau. She -could have given him several, but not one worth having. She conducted -him through one or two doors that led from the living-room. Each showed -a less attractive bedroom than the one before, but the cheapest was -barely within the range of prudence, as far as the gardener’s pocket was -concerned. In a leaden voice, proceeding from a heart of lead, he -concluded a bargain for the temporary possession of the least inviting. -And when it was done, and the portmanteau deposited drearily in the -middle of a dirty linoleum floor, he discovered that time had been -standing still, and that it was hardly nearer five o’clock than before. - -It was the first time he had realised the four thousand miles that lay -between him and the kindly grey pavements of Penny Street. He remembered -the look of the London lamps reflected in the slaty mirrors of London -streets ... the smile of the ridiculous little griffin who sits on a -pedestal at the top of Fleet Street, playing the ’cello with his -shield ... the shrugging shoulders of St. Paul’s on tiptoe on the peak -of Ludgate Hill ... the dead leaves blowing down the Broad Walk, in the -rain.... - -There is no pose that saves you from that awful longing for the things -that are no longer yours, and which you hated while you possessed. - -“I said I was enough for myself. And I am not,” said the gardener, and -hid his face in the mosquito net. - -Strange things in barbaric colours made the garden outside a whirlpool. -Sometimes these things say to you: “You are a very long way from home”; -and you exult, and think This is Life. But sometimes they say again: -“You are a very long way from home”; and you cry out, and think This is -Worse than Death. - -Now there are moral drawbacks about the posing habit. But there are also -advantages, though possibly none deserved. For after three minutes of -despair the gardener straightened himself, blinked, and began putting -his spare shirt into a drawer that would not shut. He was posing as One -Who was Seeing Life, and who was Making the Best of it. The vision that -inspired this brave pose was the ghost of a pair of small haggard eyes, -set in a short pointed face, eyes that cried easily and never -surrendered. A thin unbeautiful ghost with clenched fists, and in the -air, the ghost of a low and militant voice. - -“I am not enough,” the gardener admitted. “But together, we are enough.” - -He whistled a comic song tentatively. The Englishman never whistles or -sings to suit his feelings. He dies to the tune of “Tipperary,” or goes -to his wedding humming the “Dead March in Saul.” - -There was no more life to be seen in that hot little room, even by one -fixed in an optimistic pose. He emerged into the sitting-room, and -through an opposite and open door he could see the pink dressing-gown, -containing his landlady, heaving sleepily under a mosquito net. One of -her bare feet was drooping under the net. At this he had to swallow down -London again violently, and remember that he was Seeing Life, and that -he was Luckier than Most. - -Did you know that the surest way of ensuring luck is to be sure that you -are lucky? - -“Now I will find my suffragette,” he said, standing between the bamboos -at the gate. And he expelled an entering misgiving that he was perhaps -presuming on his luck. - -It was curiously cool in the shade of the high cactus hedge that ran -along one side of the way. A fresh breeze, like the unbidden guest at -the wedding, conscious that it was not attired in character, crept -guiltily in from the sea. The sun, which would have disclaimed even -distant relationship with the cool copper halfpenny that inhabits -English skies, fretted out the black shadows across and across the white -street. The gardener thought painfully of many glasses of cold water -that he had criminally wasted in England. He stiffened his long upper -lip, and tried to look for new worlds instead of remembering the old. - -He went into the Botanical Gardens, and sat on a seat opposite the mad -orchids. I think the Almighty was a little tired of His excellent system -by the time He came to the orchids, so He allowed them to fashion -themselves. For they are contrived, I think, and not spontaneously -created like the rest. - -On the other end of the seat were two children, so blessedly English -that for a moment the gardener smelt Kensington Gardens. The girl wore -very little between her soft neck and her long brown arms and legs, -except a white frill or two, and a passion flower in her sash. The boy, -more modest, was encased in a white sailor suit. Both were finished off -at the feet with sandals. - -Hardly had the gardener sat down when he was regretfully aware that he -had sat by mistake on a pirate-ship in mid-ocean. The two commanders -looked coldly at him from their end of the treasure-laden deck, and -there was an awkward silence which somehow left the impression that much -exciting talk had immediately preceded it on that vessel. - -“I beg your pardon,” said the gardener. “I forgot to tell you that I am -the prisoner you seized when you captured your last prize. There was a -desperate resistance, but in spite of heavy odds, you overcame me.” - -The boy, because he was a boy, looked for a second towards his -mahogany-coloured Nana, who was staring an orchid out of countenance -farther up the path. The girl, because she was a girl, looked neither -right nor left, but straight at the gardener, and said: “All right then. -But you mustn’t let your feet dangle into the sea. And you must be very -frightened.” - -The gardener restrained his feet, and became so frightened that the -whole vessel shook. The boy continued to look doubtful, until his sister -reminded him in a hoarse whisper: “It’s all right, Aitch, we were -wanting somebody to walk the plank.” - -In providing a willing villain, the gardener was supplying a long-felt -want in pirate-ships. So thoroughly did he do his duty that when he was -finally obliged as a matter of convention to walk the walking-stick -blindfolded, and die a miserable death by drowning in the gravel-path, -the pirate-ship seemed to have lost its point. - -“Let’s betend,” said the lady-pirate, “that Aitch and me are fairies, -and we touch you with our wand and you turn into a speckled pony.” - -“Greatscod, no,” said Aitch; for there are limits to what a fellow of -seven can betend in company. “Don’t let’s have any fairying, my good -Zed. Let’s betend we’re just Aitch and Zed, and we’ll show the prisoner -the Secret Tree.” - -So they set off, and the Nana, who might as well have been a -Nanning-machine for all the individuality she put into her work, trotted -behind them. - -The Secret Tree was one of those secrets that remain inviolate because -it occurs to nobody to lay them bare. It was an everyday little palm -tree, exquisitely bandaged by Nature in cocoanut matting; it was very -fairy-like, and when you looked up at its fronds in their infinite -intersections against the sky, you saw a thrill, like the thrill you see -on a cornfield curtseying in the wind, or in the light moving across -watered silk. In one of the folds of the palm tree’s garment a White -Pawn, belonging to Aitch, had made his home. He lived there for days at -a time—the gardener was told with bated breath—and the park-keeper never -knew he was there. At night he saw the fireflies light their lamps, and -heard the swift slither of the fearful scorpion; once he had reported an -adventure with a centipede three times his own size. That pawn was the -epitome of People Who Stay Up Late At Night, and Are Not Afraid of the -Dark. A super-grown-up. - -On their way to the garden gate, each child held a hand of the gardener, -and the automatic Nana walked behind. As they came out into the main -street, the gardener thought that the houses looked like skulls—so white -they were, and so soulless, and their windows so black and empty. - -“Greatscod,” said Aitch, “what is happening to the church steeple?” - -For it was reeling in front of them, to the tune of a paralysing open -roar from underground. - -Behind them the automaton blossomed madly into life, Nana fled shrieking -back into the garden. - -Those two things happened, one by one, like sparks struck out of a -flaming experience. Then everything happened at once, and yet lasted a -lifetime. There seemed not a second to spare, and yet nothing to be -done. - -The gardener felt unspeakably terrified, his mother earth shot away from -under him, truth was proved false. He discovered that he had seized -Aitch and Zed, one under each arm; and later on—his memory having -vaulted the blank—he found that he was lying on them in the gutter, and -that Aitch was yapping like a dog. Zed was crying, “Mother, Mother.” And -the gardener, with a quick vision of some one watering a cool English -herbaceous border, also said, “Mother, Mother.” - -After a while a green beetle ran past his eye, and he recalled the -moment, and raised himself upon his hands and knees. A fire of pain -burnt him suddenly, and he turned his head and saw a pyre of twisted -iron posts heaped upon his legs. - -The air was thick with strange sounds, muffled as if from a gramophone. -Some one quite near, but unseen, was shouting, “Oh, Oh,” as regularly as -a clock’s chime. There was a rending wheeze behind them, and the -gardener looked round in time to see a palm tree sink with dignity into -a trench that had been gashed at its feet. But that might have been a -dream. - -He felt absolutely sick with horror. His head seemed as though it were -all at once too big for his skin. His whole being throbbed terribly in a -sort of echo of the three throbs that had laid life by the heels. - -Yock—Yollock—Yollock. A pounce, and then two shakes, like a terrier -dealing with a rat. Why had one ever trusted oneself to such a risky -crumb of creation as this world? The gardener lost himself in -littleness. And presently found that he had insinuated himself into a -sitting position, and was feeling very sick indeed. - -“That was an earthquake,” remarked Zed, with the truly feminine trick of -jumping to foregone conclusions. And she burst into tears, wailing -still, “Mother, Mother.” - -“It is funny we should both have thought of her,” observed the gardener, -forgetting that there was room for more than one mother in this tiny -world. His eyes were fixed on a thin and fearful stream of blood that -was issuing from between two bricks in the mass of miscellany that had -once been a house. “Blood—from a skull?” he thought, and fainted. - -For centuries his mind skirted round some enormous joke. It was so big -that he could not see its point, and then again it was so little that he -lost it. At any rate it was round, and turned with a jovial hum. - -Later on he was aware of the solution of a problem which he felt had -been troubling him all his life. What colour was the face of a nigger -pale with fright? It was several colours, chiefly the shade of a wooden -horse he had once loved, but mottled. But the whites of the eyes were -more blue than white, they shone like electric light. With an effort he -fitted the various parts of his mind together. - -“Hullo, constable,” he said in a voice he could not easily control. -“This is a pretty business, isn’t it?” And he tried to rise, and to -whistle a bar or two, in an effort to assume the pose of the hero who -trifles in the face of death. But he could not rise. He was pinned to -the pavement by a leg that seemed somehow to have lost its identity. - -It is not in the least romantic to be hurt. There is something curiously -dirty in the feeling of one’s own pain, and in the sight of one’s own -blood, though wounds in others are rather dramatic. - -Now Courtesy was a person who, without ever trying to be sensational, -was often unexpected by mistake. Coincidence seemed to haunt her. Out of -the hundred streets that lay shattered in Union Town that afternoon, she -chose the one in which the gardener lay, and, accompanied by the priest, -she bore down upon that unheroic hero, laden with brandy and bandages. -The gardener saw her large face, frank as a sunflower, between him and -the yellow sky. - -The priest was quite obviously a saviour. You could see in his eye that -he was succouring the wounded. You could hear in his voice as he -addressed the terrified hotel porters who followed him that he was busy -rising nobly to an emergency. - -“Why, gardener,” said Courtesy, in the tones of one greeting a friend at -a garden party. “You here? I was wondering what had become of you. Now -what’s the matter with you?” - -She poured him out some brandy, as though it were the ordinary thing for -a lady to offer to a friend in the street. And the gardener’s world -regained its feet, he wondered why he had been so frightened. - -“Poor little mites,” said Courtesy to Aitch and Zed. “They won’t forget -this in a hurry, will they?” - -There is something very comforting in the utterly banal. That is why the -instinct is so strong in good women to make you a cup of tea, and poke -the fire, when you are crossed in love. - -“But if she had been the suffragette ...” thought the gardener. He knew -quite well that the thing would not have been so well done, had it been -the suffragette. He was fully aware that the operation of having his leg -put into improvised splints, and of being lifted upon a door, would have -been much more painful, had it been accomplished by the little nervous -hands of the suffragette, instead of the large excellent hands of -Courtesy. - -It is discouraging to those of us who have spent much money on becoming -fully efficient in first aid and hygiene and practical economy and all -the luxuries of the modern female intellect, to find how perfect -imperfection can seem. - -“Thank you—you little darling,” said the gardener with his eyes shut, -when, after a few spasms of red pain, he was safe upon the door. -White-clad hotel porters stood like tombstones at his head and feet. - -“Lor’ bless you,” said Courtesy. “Take him to the St. Maurice, porter. -It’s the only place left more or less standing, I should think.” - -“It is not,” said the priest. “Excuse me, Miss Briggs, there are -thousands in this stricken town in need of our help, and I should prefer -that only the gentler and worthier of the sufferers should come under -that roof. There are many excellent resting-places where our friend here -would be far more suitably placed. You ought to know his character by -now, and you must think of your own good name.” - -“Rot,” said Courtesy. “What do his morals matter when he’s broken his -leg?” - -“Remember you are also succouring these innocent children,” persisted -the priest. “Would you have them under the same roof?” - -“Rot,” repeated Courtesy. “The roof’ll be all right.” - -“Dose little children ...” said the policeman suddenly. “He covahed dem -when dat house was fallin’. Verree brave gentleman. I chahnced to be -runnin’ by....” - -“Of course he did,” said Courtesy. “The St. Maurice, porter.” And -seizing Aitch and Zed each by a hand, she started the procession. - -The High Street looked as if one side of it had charged the other with -equally disastrous results to both. At different points in it, fire and -heavy smoke were animating the scene. Distracted men and women panted -and moaned and tore at the wreckage with bleeding hands. A little crying -crowd was collected round a woman who lay nailed to the ground by a -mountain of bricks, with her face fixed in a glare of terrible surprise. -By the cathedral steps the dead lay in a row, shoulder to shoulder, with -the horrid uniformity of sprats upon a plate. Courtesy lifted up Zed and -called Aitch’s attention to the healthier distress of a little dog, -which ran around looking for its past in the extraordinary mazes of the -present. - -The gardener, swinging along painfully upon his door, opened his eyes -and saw the fires. To his surprise he recognised the house which could -boast the highest flames. Its wall had fallen to disclose the shattered -remains of the rooms in which the gardener had lately wrestled with -despair. The bamboos and the gorgeous garden watched unmoved the pillar -of fire that danced in their midst. There was no sign of the wire-haired -woman. - -But only one thought came to the gardener’s mind on the subject. “Why -she will see that. It is a beacon from me to her.” - -As a matter of fact she did not. - -A pretty woman, crying in a curious laughing voice, ran into Courtesy’s -arms. “My little babies ...” she quavered. “What a catastrophe. I don’t -know where my husband is. There is a grand piano on my bed.” - -“This is my mother,” said Aitch. - -“Come along to the St. Maurice,” said Courtesy. “That’s where I am -taking your babies to. Our piano there is still in its proper place.” - -So they all followed the gardener. - -“Somebody must go and find a doctor,” said Courtesy at the door of the -St. Maurice. She looked suggestively at the priest. - -But he replied, “I wash my hands of the matter, Miss Briggs. I consider -this to be a judgment on that young man.” - -“A judgment?” wept the mother of Aitch and Zed. “Why, what has he done?” - -“He saved the lives of your babies,” replied Courtesy. “And anyway, a -judgment needs a surgeon just as much as a simple fracture.” - -“Yerce, yerce, only don’t ask me to help,” said the priest. “I prefer to -succour those deserving of help.” And he went out into the street again. -He seemed wedded to the word succour. It is a pose word, and fitted him -exactly. Nothing but an earthquake could have made this worm turn. But -the effect of the disaster on the priest was an obstinate certainty that -there was a Jonah in the case, and that, as heaven was never to blame, -the wicked were entirely responsible. - -“Oh, Lor’,” said Courtesy. “I’ll have to go for a surgeon myself.” - -“I’ll go with you,” cried the mother of Aitch and Zed, whose name, for -the sake of brevity, was Mrs. Tring. “I don’t know what has become of my -Dally” (who was her husband). - -“Somebody must sit with the gardener,” said Courtesy, when she came back -from a successful search for an intact bed, into which, with the help of -a housemaid, she had inserted the gardener. - -“I will sit with him,” said the harsh voice of Mrs. Rust, as she rose -from a seat where she had been sitting with an enormous paper bag held -in a rigid hand. “I refuse to run about the streets with brandy. All the -old cats are doing that.” - -“Why, Mrs. Rust,” observed Courtesy, whose conventionality was not quite -so striking after an earthquake as it had been upon the comparatively -stable Atlantic. “I had clean forgotten that you existed.” - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. “I was buying mangoes when the incident -occurred. Perhaps the gardener would like a mango.” - -“Perhaps he would. I am so glad to see that you don’t take the same view -about the gardener as the——” - -“I never take the same view,” barked Mrs. Rust. “Show me the boy’s -room.” - -So the gardener saw that poisonous hair advance along a shaft of -sunlight that intruded through the broken shutter. - -“Your jug and basin are broken,” said Mrs. Rust. “Disgraceful.” - -“Oh, there are several things broken in this town,” he said feverishly. -“Windows and necks and a heart or two.” - -Mrs. Rust sat deliberately on a chair and burst into tears. - -“I was buying mangoes,” she sobbed stormily, “from a black man with -bleached hair. And the whole of a shop-front fell out on him. One brick -hit my toe. I looked at the man through a sort of cage of fallen things. -It was as if—one had trodden on red currants.” - -“What did you do?” panted the gardener. “How fine to live in a world -where things happen.” - -“I ran away,” said Mrs. Rust shakily. “I didn’t pay for the mangoes.” - -“I would rather have had this happen,” said the gardener after a pause, -“and have broken my leg, than have had an ordinary day to meet me on -Trinity Island.” - -After another pause, he added: “But I have lost the suffragette. And -that is another matter.” - -“Was she killed?” asked Mrs. Rust, steeling herself against the -commonplace duty of condolence. - -“Certainly not,” replied the gardener. “She is a militant suffragette.” - -“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. - -“How good the world is,” said the gardener, “to provide such excellent -material. The sea, and the earthquake, and a fighting woman to love. -Just think—an earthquake—on my first day. I am a man of luck.” - -“You have broken your leg,” Mrs. Rust informed him. - -“I have,” admitted the gardener rather fretfully. “But then everything -has its price.” - -“A good many other people have come off much worse,” said Mrs. Rust. -“I’m not complaining, mind, but any other woman would say you were -disgracefully selfish. A lot of people are dead, and a lot of other -people’s people are dead....” - -“The longer I live ...” said the gardener, from the summit of his -twenty-three years, “the surer I am that we make a fuss which is almost -funny over death. We run after it all over the world, and then we -grumble at it when it catches us up from behind. It’s an adventure, of -course, but then—so is—shaving every morning. Compare death with—love, -for instance.” - -He felt ashamed of this after he had said it, and tried to cover it with -a little laugh which shook him, and changed into a yelp. After breathing -hard for a little while he went on. - -“We who have survived this ordeal have gained much more than we risked. -I know that anything is worth a risk, the risk in itself is the gain, -and to risk everything for nothing is a fine thing. Why otherwise do we -climb Alps, or hunt the South Pole? In theory, I would run in front of -an express train to save a mou. In theory I don’t mind what I pay for -danger. That’s why I love the suffragette; she would risk her life for a -little vote, and her honour for a bleak thing like independence.” - -“Do you love the suffragette?” asked Mrs. Rust, who was at heart a -woman, although she believed herself to be a neutral intelligence. - -“I do, I do,” cried the gardener, suddenly and gloriously losing his -pose of One Who Evolves a New Scale of Values—in other words, the pose -of a Paradox. But his emotion awoke his nerves, and for a while, -although the suffragette obsessed his imagination, pain obsessed the -rest of the universe. - -When Courtesy and the doctor came in, they found the gardener with a -temperature well into three figures. So for some time Mrs. Rust was not -allowed to see the patient. - -By the time the gardener felt better, the earthquake, in the eyes of the -townspeople of Union, had become not so much of a horror as a disaster, -a thing possible to dilate upon and even to lie about. The homeless were -beginning to look upon homelessness as a state to be passed through -rather than the end of things, the bereaved were discovering little by -little that life may arise from ashes, and that sackcloth may be cut -quite becomingly. Those ghosts of dead hope who still searched among the -ruins were looked upon as “poor things” rather than companions in -sorrow. Young nigger ladies, dressed in pink and silver, flaunted their -teeth and their petticoats around the firemen who worked desultorily at -the little gaseous fires that broke out among the lamentable streets. -The one church that remained standing was constantly full. (The picture -palace had met the fate it perhaps deserved.) There is nothing in the -world so saved as a saved nigger. And nothing so lost as a lost nigger. -After an earthquake it always occurs to these light and child-like minds -that it is safer to be saved. The horse has fled from the stable, but -the door might as well be attended to, and the padlock of salvation is -not expensive. Fervent men and women throng the pews, shouting hymns -down the back of each other’s neck, and groaning away sins they do not -realise, to the accompaniment of words they do not understand. Those who -have lived together in innocent sin hurry to the altar for the ring, -which, to these harmless transgressors, is as the fig-leaf apron of -Eden, and heralds virtuous tragedy. - -When the gardener became well enough to resent being ill, he was allowed -visitors, among whom was one, by name Dallas Tring, Esquire. This was a -very honest man who, in spite of having an excellent heart, believed -that he always told the truth at all costs. The only lie he permitted -himself, however, was constantly on his lips. It was: “I take your -meaning.” - -It was obviously unnatural to him to be enthusiastic. It is to most very -honest people. He came into the gardener’s room like an actor emerging -from stage fright on to the stage. - -“You saved my children from being crushed to death,” he said, and seized -the gardener’s hands. “Thank you, thank you.” - -“Oh, not at all,” murmured the gardener. “I pretty nearly crushed them -to death myself. Have a whisky and soda.” - -This last is the Trinity Island retort to everything, its loophole, its -conversational salvation. The average Englishman takes several weeks to -acquire the habit in the real Island style, but the gardener was always -more adaptable than most. - -Privately he did feel unreasonably conceited about the rescue. He would -have admitted that the impulse to gather Aitch and Zed beneath his -prostrate form had been unconscious, but he considered that unconscious -heroism proves heroism deeply ingrained. Nevertheless, the people who -voice your conceit for you are only a little less trying than the people -who relieve you of the duty of being humble. One must do these things -for oneself. - -Mr. Dallas Tring was glad to have accomplished his duty, which was not -spontaneous, but had been impressed upon him by his wife. Left to -himself he would have said: “Say, that was good of you. I’d have been -cut up if anything had happened to the kids.” - -His wife not having warned him how to proceed, he began now to talk -about the banana crops. It was only towards the end of the interview -that he risked himself once more upon the quicksands of emotion. - -“Look here, you know, it’s altogether unspeakable—what I owe you. Those -are the only children we have. Aitch is a fine boy, don’t you think?” - -“Fine,” agreed the gardener, relieved to be allowed a loophole of escape -from, “Not at all.” - -“You’re a fine boy yourself,” added Mr. Tring. “When you get well, will -you come and help me?” - -“What to do?” - -“To start again.” - -“Oh, yes,” replied the gardener. “I love starting again. What I never -can do is to go on.” - -After this the gardener, considered to be stronger, was allowed to see -Mrs. Rust again. She was now but little better than a fretful echo of -Courtesy. - -Some people seem born to walk alone, and others there are who are never -seen without a group behind them. Courtesy was as far a leader of men as -can be compatible with having no destination to lead them to. She never -knew what it was to be without a “circle.” Acquaintances were as -necessary to her as air, and she used them, as she used air, innocently -for her own ends. - -Mrs. Rust never attained to the dignity either of being alone or the -leader of a group, though she worshipped independence. She believed she -had bought precedence of Courtesy for £200 a year. - -And on the occasion of this visit to the gardener, she believed that she -was about to shock and surprise that wise young man. - -“Do you know what I have done?” she asked, when she had to some extent -overcome the nervous cautiousness of behaviour impressed upon her by the -absent Courtesy. - -“I do not,” said the gardener, whose gently irreverent manner towards -her was his salvation in her eyes. “It’s sure to be something that any -one else would be ashamed of doing.” - -Mrs. Rust bridled. “It was partly to annoy you that I did it,” she said. -“Because you dared to advise me not to. I have sent my son Samuel a -cheque, so as to launch his hotel.” - -“Rash woman,” protested the gardener. “If you knew your son Samuel as -well as I do——” - -“I know he is my son, so he cannot be altogether a fool.” - -The gardener bent his thick threatening eyebrows upon her. - -“Do you know what else I have done?” she continued. - -“I tremble to think,” replied the invalid. - -“I have advertised for your suffragette in the Union Paper. Courtesy -said what a mercy it would be if she should have got safely away and -wouldn’t come back, so I advertised, just to show that I disagreed. I -never knew her name, so I described her appearance....” - -“Her little size ...” he said eagerly. “Her small and hollow eyes. Her -darling-coloured hair that always blew forward along her cheeks....” - -“Well, I didn’t put it like that,” said Mrs. Rust. - -“She had such wonderful little hands,” said the gardener, upon whom a -sick-bed had a softening, not to say maudlin effect. “You could see -everything she thought in her hands. They were not very white, but pale -brown. You might have mentioned them. But she is obviously mine. Nobody -could overlook that. Nobody could overlook her at all.” - -“On the contrary,” said Mrs. Rust, “she is a perfectly -insignificant-looking young woman. And I am sure that she would strongly -resent your describing her as though she were a dog with your name on -its collar. She had sensible views about women.” - -You have been intended to suppose all this time that the suffragette had -succumbed to the earthquake, but as she is the heroine—though an -unworthy one—of this book, I am sure you have not been deceived. Loth as -I am to admit that a friend of mine should have been so near to such an -experience without reaping the benefit of it, I am obliged by tiresome -truth to confess that she was never aware of the earthquake as an -earthquake at all. - -She was in the train when it happened, a little Christian the Pilgrim, -making her way through many difficulties up to the Delectable Mountains. -Far off they stood, defying the pale sea and the pale plains, shadowed -mountains, each with its cool brow crowned by a halo of cloud. - -The train service in Trinity Islands is not their chief attraction. -First, second, and third class alike may watch the vivid country from -the windows, otherwise there is no compensation for rich or poor. The -price of a first-class fare is supposed to guarantee your -fellow-passengers matching yourself as nearly as possible in complexion; -it also entitles you to a deformed wicker chair in a compartment that a -cow would appeal against in the Home Country. The wicker chair, -unsettled by its migratory life, amuses itself by travelling drunkenly -around the truck, unless you lash yourself to the door-handle with your -pocket-handkerchief, or evolve some other ingenious device. - -The suffragette was always without inspirations in the cause of comfort. -She was a petty ascetic, and never thought personal well-being worth the -acquiring. Her body was an unfortunate detail attached to her; she -resented its demands, and took but little more care if it than she did -of the mustard-coloured portmanteau, another troublesome but -indispensable part of her equipment. She put her body and the -portmanteau each into a wicker chair in the train, and promptly forgot -how uncomfortable they both were. - -(There is much fascination in the big world, but I think the most -wonderful thing in it is the passing of the little bubble worlds that -blow and burst in many colours around you and me every minute of our -lives. In a ’bus or at a ball, in a crowd around a fallen horse, meeting -for a moment as reader and writer of a book, or shoulder to shoulder in -church singing to a God we all look at with different eyes, these things -happen and will never happen exactly that way again. How I wondered at -the cut of your moustache, O stranger, how I wondered at the colour of -your tie.... But your little daughter with the thin straight legs and -the thin straight hair pressed to your side, her glorying face filled -with the light of novelty, and prayed that drive to heaven might never -cease. And next to you was the girl who had just discovered the man by -her side to be no saint, but a man. And he was trying by argument to -recover his sanctitude. “But strite now, Mibel, I never dremp you’d tike -it so ’ard. ’S only my bit of fun....” There was the man in khaki, next -to me, born an idler, brought up a grocer’s assistant, and latterly -shocked into becoming a hero.... There was the conductor, a man of -twisted humour, chanting the words of his calling in various keys -through the row of sixpences that he held between his lips, while the -little bell at his belt tolled the knell of one ticket after another.... -A little oblong world glazed in, ready to my hand. But I got out at the -Bank, and the world went on to Hammersmith Broadway.... These things -are, and never shall be again. The finest thing about life is its lack -of repetition. I hate to hear that history repeats itself. My comfort is -that history is never word-perfect in so doing. Fate has always some new -joke up her sleeve. Sometimes the joke is not funny, but certainly it is -always new.) - -There were two Eves and an Adam in the world which evolved from chaos -under the suffragette’s eyes, as the train moved out of Union station. -Also a dog. We are never told about Adam’s dog, but I am sure that he -had one, and that it wagged its tail at him as he awoke from being -created, and snapped at the serpent, and did its best to propitiate the -angel with the flaming sword. - -Dogs seldom ignored the suffragette. As a race they have either more or -less perspicacity than ourselves—you may look at it as you will—and they -seldom concur with the public verdict of humanity on its own species. -And in the suffragette a confiding dog was never disappointed, for she -knew the exact spot where the starched buckram of one’s ear is sewn on -to one’s skull, on which it is almost unbearably good to be scratched. - -This dog was the sort whose name is always Scottie when he is owned by -the unenterprising. He wore his forelegs so short and so bent that he -looked as though he were continually posing as being thoroughbred. When -he drew himself up to his full height, the under outline of his figure -was about three inches from the ground. When at leisure he walked -broadly and foursquare, as a table would walk, if endowed with life; -when speeding up, he cantered diagonally—forefeet together—hindfeet -together—no one foot moving independently of its twin. - -The sort of conversation that this dog and the suffragette immediately -began did not prevent the latter’s hearing the conversation that was -woven by her fellow-passengers across the loom of the train’s roaring. - -The fact that the dog’s name was really Scottie should give you a clue -as to his mistress’s character. It was perhaps malicious of me to -describe her as an Eve; that would have made her blush. For she was very -fully clothed in blue serge. It is almost impossible for the average -woman to conduct the business of life except in blue serge. We travel in -blue serge (thin for the tropics, thick and satin-lined for our native -climate), we sit at our desk in blue serge, we meet our Deity or our -stockbroker in blue serge, in blue serge we raid the House of Commons. -Perhaps the root of the feminist movement lies in blue serge. If I were -defended by a crinoline, or rustled in satin or gingham or poplin, I -might have been an exemplary spinster in my sphere to-day. - -The other Eve, attired (for she was obviously cosmopolitan) in fawn -tussore, occupied an undue fraction of the little universe. She was the -sort of person whose bosom enters a room first, closely followed by her -chin. Black eyes and a hooked Spanish nose led the rear not unworthily. -She intended to be looked at, and she hoped to be recognised as a -notorious novelist. For she was a momentary novelist with a contempt for -yesterday and no concern at all for to-morrow. A public of a hundred -thousand housemaids was all she asked. - -One of the virtues of men is that they are not intended for fancy -portrayal. Why should one ever describe the outward surface of a man, -unless he is the hero of one’s book, or unless one is engaged to marry -him? The particular Adam in this compartment comes under neither of -these headings. He is copiously reproduced all over the world, but -clusters thickest in Piccadilly. Possibly you see him at his best very -far away from Piccadilly. There is something that transfigures the -commonplace in the fact of having kissed the very hem of the Empire’s -wide-flung robe. - -“I say, Miss Brown, how’s Albert?” asked the young man. - -For the other occupants of the little world seemed mutually familiar. It -occurred to the suffragette that Fate always threw her with people who -knew each other and did not know her. - -Miss Brown, the Eve in blue serge, bridled. To all women so flawlessly -brought up as Miss Brown, there exists a sort of electricity in the -voice of man which sends a tremor across their manners, so to speak. - -“Albert, Mr. Wise, is still very weakly. I sometimes wonder whether I -shall rear him. His mental activities, I am told, have outgrown his -physical strength.” - -The young man fanned himself. And indeed mental activities sounded -unsuited to the climate. The sun spilt square flames upon the floor -through the window. The silhouette of the passing landscape scorched -itself across the sky-line. Tattered bananas looked like crowds of -creatures struck mad by a merciless sun. - -The voice of the lady novelist seemed to reach the suffragette through a -veil. - -“That child will make his mark. He has the most marvellous mental -grasp....” - -Two hills to the northwest moved apart in the middle distance, like the -curtains from a stage. And there was Union Town lying white beside her -sea, white, but veiled by her green gardens. Port King George, on an -attenuated isthmus, stretched its parallel form along to shield the -mother coast from the Atlantic. Even from here you could see the white -gleam of the ocean’s teeth, as they gnashed upon the reef. A spike of -calm steel water lay between Union Town and her defending reef. The -suffragette thought: “A skeleton in the grass with a sword beside -it....” She also looked at the toy figure of the _Caribbeania_, so close -to land as to be disguised as part of the island. Her two funnels -mingled with the factory chimneys by the wharf. - -“But he is sure to have landed by now,” thought the suffragette. She -felt unsentimentally interested in the fact. It was too hot to feel -more. - -“I happened to mention the Book of Genesis,” said the lady novelist. -“And Albert produced a most ingenious theory about the scientific -explanation of the fable of creation. I wish I had such a nephew. What a -marvellous link with the coming generation!” - -“On the other hand,” said Mr. Wise, “I happened to mention _Alice in -Wonderland_, and he said it was out of date, and, as a dream, most -improbable.” - -“I am sorry he criticised the Bible in your hearing,” apologised Miss -Brown. “I am afraid he has a tendency towards irreverence.” - -“I wish he had,” muttered Mr. Wise. - -Acres of sugar filed past the window. High waved the proud crests of it, -all innocent of its mean latter end as a common comestible. The -suffragette’s mind laboured under a rocking confusion of green tufted -miles,—and somewhere on the outskirts of her thoughts, a little sallow -Albert entrenched behind an enormous pair of spectacles. - -“A glorious child,” said the lady novelist, in her monopolising tones. -“Simply glorious. Quite an experience to have met him.” - -“Good copy, eh?” grinned Mr. Wise. - -“Excellent. You know I collect copy.” - -Now the suffragette collected copy, but she did it without -self-consciousness. There are several kinds of copy-collectors. Some of -us squeeze our copy into little six-shilling novels, or hack it into so -many columns for the benefit of an unfeeling press. Some of us live -three-score years and ten, and then wake suddenly to find our -copy-coffers full. Upon which we become bores, and our relations hasten -to engage a paid companion for us. But some of us carry our lives about -with us sealed up in our holy of holies, and take pride in hiding the -precious burden that we bear. Copy-collecting may become a religion; to -the suffragette, who never put pen to paper for any one else’s benefit, -and who never told an anecdote, this pursuit was the great consolation -for a bleak life. At the gate of death, or on the step of Paradise, such -a soul may be found filling its pockets with the gold of secret -experience. I think the mania is most acute when no thought of eventual -print intrudes. Its most encouraging characteristic to the lonely is the -sense of irresponsibility it brings. After all I may go and turn -cart-wheels down the Strand, I may murder you, or throw my last shilling -into the Thames, I may go half-way to Hell, and if I miscalculate the -distance and fall in—it’s all copy. To the lady novelist, however, copy -was but a currency to spend. Every experience in her eyes formed a part -of a printed page, surrounded by a halo of favourable reviews. She never -wrote a letter without an eye on her posthumous biography, never met a -notable individual without taking a mental note for the benefit of a -future series of “Jottings about my Generation.” Both she and the -suffragette kept diaries, but only the suffragette’s had a lock and key. - -The engine was approaching the climax of its daily task. It faltered. -Looking out of the window, Mr. Wise described its arrival at the foot of -a pronounced hill. The engine gazed up the perspective of its duty, and -panted prophetically, as pants an uncle before a game of stump-cricket. - -“This hill is always a surprise to the engine,” said Mr. Wise. “Every -day it has two or three tries, and yet it never learns the knack.” - -The suffragette’s fingers tore at the arm of her chair. It was not only -too hot to travel, it was also much too hot to cease to travel. She felt -a crisis approaching. - -Her window had stopped artistically opposite a little slice of distant -world, carved out between the trunks of two great cotton trees. Union -Town, perceptibly diminished since its last appearance, languished again -around its bay. Against the white water you could see the cathedral and -the factory chimneys, the spires of God and the spires of mammon. - -The suffragette, as she looked, saw the cathedral spire cock suddenly -awry and bend over, like a finger in three joints. - -“The heat,” she thought. “I believe I’m dying.” - -Almost at once after that the train suffered a great spasm, as though -yearning for the top of the hill. - -“She’s going to try again,” said Mr. Wise. - -The suffragette’s head cocked suddenly awry, she bent over in three -joints like a finger, and slid off her chair in a faint. - -A prostrated suffragette is a contradiction in terms. This one became a -child, lying in ungraceful angles, in need of its mother. - -“By Jove!” said Mr. Wise. Miss Brown, after lifting up her skirt -carefully, knelt upon her petticoat. - -An ebony ticket-inspector rushed into the compartment. - -“Ull right! Ull right!” he shouted. “Ull ovah! Nobuddy killed!” - -“Certainly not,” said Mr. Wise. “Why should they be? Only a faint.” - -“Earthquake, sah, earthquake!” yelled the inspector. “Jes’ look at the -steeple daown in taown!” - -There was no steeple to look at. - -“My—what an eventful journey!” said the lady novelist. - -“Poor little thing,” said Miss Brown to the suffragette, in almost human -tones. “Better now, better now?” - -The suffragette began to struggle a little. Even had she been in her -grave, I think pity would have aroused a spark of militant protest in -her bones. - -“Tell her to make an effort,” said the lady novelist, who had never in -her forty years been guilty of physical weakness. “Pretend not to notice -her. Probably hysteria.” - -This well-worn accusation touches a familiar chord in the ear of any -rebel. It opened one of the suffragette’s eyes. She had black eyebrows -which suggested that she might have fine eyes, but she had not. When her -eyes were shut you only saw the hopeful suggestion. - -“Come, come,” said Miss Brown, handing Mr. Wise’s brandy flask back to -him, and becoming aware that her petticoat was bare to the gaze of an -unmarried gentleman and a negro inspector. “Might I trouble you to lift -the young lady on to a chair?” she added, as she rose. - -Seven stone of political agitator takes but little time to move. - -“A most eventful journey,” said the lady novelist. - -Miss Brown, now decently seated on a chair, stroked the suffragette’s -hand. “Are you going to friends, my child?” she asked. - -“No, enemies, I expect,” said the suffragette drearily. - -“Where?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“You must know where you are going,” said the novelist severely. - -“Booked to Greyville,” said the inspector, who had picked up her ticket, -and was thoughtfully clipping it all over. - -“Do you know any one in Greyville?” asked Miss Brown. - -“No.” - -“Were you going to an hotel?” - -“I suppose so.” - -Some kind deeds are so obvious that they are impossible to escape. - -“Albert can move into the back room,” said Miss Brown. - -And the train, as if relieved to have this affair settled, moved on up -the hill. - -By the time the chapel bell, which Island engines always wear, had begun -to sound its warning to the pigs upon the line at Greyville Junction, -the suffragette’s independence was a thing dissolved. Her protests had -no weight. Constitutionally she was unable to be politely firm. She must -either be militant or acquiescent; she knew not the half measures of -civilisation. And it was impossible to be militant in the face of Miss -Brown’s impersonal sense of duty. - -“If only she had been a more interesting person this might have been -like the beginning of a novel,” murmured the lady novelist to Mr. Wise. -That young man, who was wearing the sheepish look peculiar to the -Englishman in the presence of matters which he considers to be feminine, -shrugged his shoulders. - -At Greyville station Miss Brown emerged like an empress from incognito. -A black coachman, with so generous an expanse of teeth that you -suspected them of being the only line of defence between you and the -inner privacies of his brain, was on the platform. He seemed torn -between acquired awe of Miss Brown, and an innate desire to conduct the -welcome heartily. The station-master bowed. The porter chirruped to -Scottie. - -“New visitor, missis?” gasped the coachman, looking at the suffragette. -He had taken some time to assimilate the visitorship of the lady -novelist. His mind was being educated at too great a speed. - -“Gorgeous fellow,” said the lady novelist, who considered all black -people gorgeous because they were not white. The conversation of John -the coachman had already filled two note-books, though he had never said -anything original in his life. - -There is so much superfluous sunshine in Trinity Islands that splashes -of it have been lavished upon all sorts of unnecessary details, the -lizards, and the birds, and the self-conscious orchids roosting in the -trees. Some of it has even been rolled into the roads, making them white -and merry and irresponsible. The buggy horses feel the tingle of it, for -they seldom walk; although the Creator specialised in hills on Trinity -Island. - -Down from some lofty market came the peasant women; their children, -their donkeys, their tawdry clothes, trappings and merchandise, soaked -with sun. Fantastic in outline, fairies of a midsummer day’s dream, the -little donkeys capered on spindle legs, bestridden by wide panniers, and -by the peasant women, riding defiantly like brigands, with bandanas -round their heads, and sun-coloured draperies. - -It is curious that fashion has not yet decreed a mania for dyeing one’s -complexion mahogany, that one might wear flame-colour with impunity. - -The buggy scattered the marketers. The Island horse, a plebeian creature -of humble stature, seldom meets with the luxury of feeling superior. But -the Island donkey is nothing but a door-mat on four legs, clogged red -with the hectic mud of its mother land. A cheap-jack’s pony would feel a -prince beside it. - -Mr. Wise, who had been met at the station by a very small brown boy with -a very tall brown horse, had cantered away in another direction, with a -message of greeting to Albert, the sincerity of which Miss Brown had -possibly overrated. - -A bungalow crouched behind a copper-coloured hedge upon the sky-line. -Two cotton trees surveyed it, one on each side. A drive of the violently -ambitious kind shot at an impossible angle up to its door-step. - -“That is Park View, my home,” said Miss Brown. - -“Of course, as your dog’s name is Scottie,” murmured the suffragette. - -Miss Brown looked surprised. The poor suffragette’s attempts at polite -interchange of fatuities never seemed to meet with the usual fate of -such efforts. Her trivialities somehow always fell upon silence; if she -ventured on the throwing of a light bridge over a gap in the -conversation, it seemed to snap communication instead of furthering it. -She was, of course, unlucky, but she was also, it must be admitted, too -earnest in intention for petty intercourse. She tried too hard. - -The buggy, commending its springs to the mercy of Providence, charged -the drive of Park View. - -On the door-step, carefully posed, Albert was reading a very large book. -He started laboriously as the buggy approached, and placed the book -under his arm, taking care that the title should be visible. An -emaciated child, with manners too old, and clothes too young, for his -years. - -“I have dot bissed you at all, Ah-Bargaret,” said Miss Brown’s genial -nephew. “I have been too idterested id by dew book od Chebistry. I ab -quite sorry you have cob back.” - -“Chemistry,” retailed Miss Brown to the lady novelist. “A child of ten. -And—did you notice, he was so deep in his book, he got quite a start -when we arrived.” - -Albert, at Park View, met with that appreciation of his poses which we -all hope to meet in heaven. - -“Albert, you are to move into the back room,” said Miss Brown. - -“Why?” asked Albert. - -“To make room for this lady.” - -“Priceless child,” said the lady novelist in brackets. - -“Because she needs somewhere to rest,” said Miss Brown in a voice of -tentative reproof. - -“But so do I.” - -“I had better move into the back room myself, then,” sighed his aunt. - -The suffragette began those hopeless protests which make the burden of -an obligation so heavy. It is so very much easier as well as more -blessed to give than to receive, that the wonder is that generosity -should retain the name of a virtue. Up to a certain point we are all -altruists, because it is too much trouble to be otherwise. - -Albert, who, having gained his point, was once more comparatively -genial, prepared to bring the suffragette to his feet. - -“I expect you are wudderig what is the dabe of the book I ab readig,” he -suggested to her as she stepped shakily from the buggy. - -“No, I was not,” she replied gently. “I’m afraid science bores me.” - -“Wha-t a lot you biss,” observed the child. “You probably spedd your -precious time id dancig, ad dressig yourself up, ad bakig berry. How -buch better——” - -“Albert,” said his aunt, “this lady is tired and waiting to pass.” - -“Yes, but I ab speaking to her.” - -The suffragette smiled at him, and gave him her portmanteau to carry. - -The earthquake at Union Town had shot the most lurid rumours into -Greyville. All the Park View servants had suddenly gone to church. The -whole village was enjoying an impromptu half-holiday. The triangular -village green, which held Greyville together and formed the pedestal of -the Court-house, echoed with news at every stage of exaggeration. One of -the mildest rumours was that Union Town had fallen into the sea. It was -said on the highest authority that the Devil had run along the streets, -throwing flames right and left. No actual news arrived, the sources of -news being wrecked, but towards evening all the Americans whose cars had -survived the ordeal suddenly invaded the hills, suffering from nerves -and a lack of luggage. - -Miss Brown says she does not believe in doing a thing unless you do it -thoroughly. She says this as if it had never been said before; she -propounds it as one propounds a revolutionary theory. But unlike most -theory makers, she always translates such boasts into action. She -performed the feat of keeping a militant suffragette in bed for the rest -of that day. - -The suffragette lay and imagined the gardener and the earthquake at -different stages of contact. She thought of him fighting to get out of a -falling house, and her eyes shone. She thought of him with his head -bound up, and wriggled where she lay. She thought of him unhurt, walking -with his usual gait as though he were marching to a band, and this -thought left her neutral. She never thought of him dead. - -She never believed in death either as a punishment or a reward. She had -either lost the art of faith, or else she had never found it. She -pictured death as a blink of the eyes, as an altering of the facet -turned towards life, never as a miracle. She was the only person I ever -knew who honestly looked on death as unworthy of contemplation. - -Of course if a friend steps round a corner, you lose sight of that -friend. But you must get used to the windings of the road. If you are a -suffragette, you have to be your own friend. You must not stretch out -your hands to find the hands of another; you must keep them clenched by -your side. On the other hand, even a suffragette is human—(I daresay you -have doubted this)—and my suffragette was only a little less human than -you or I. The fact must stand, therefore, that when she thought of the -gardener in pain, she forgot to clench her fists. - -It may still be a mystery to you why the suffragette should expend -ingenuity in running away from her only friend. - -If you are a rebel of thorough nature, you believe that your cause is -such a good cause that no supporter can be worthy of it. And, in the -effort to reach worth, you may possibly arrive, step by step, at the -Theory of the Hair Shirt, to which my suffragette had attained. For in -throwing her little weight on the side of the best cause she could see, -she cowed: “All my life long to discard everything superfluously -comfortable or easy. To despise peace, and to love loneliness....” - -This is the texture of the Hair Shirt worn beneath the armour of a -rebel. You may call it hysteria. And perhaps you are perfectly right. -But perhaps there are even better things than being perfectly right. - -The night on the Island falls as abruptly as though he who manages the -curtain had let go the string by mistake. - -With the night came a trayful of supper for the suffragette, and with -the supper came Albert, not of course in the useful rôle of supper -purveyor, but only as an ornament. - -“This earthquake id Udiod Towd seebs to have beed quite a catastrophe.” - -“Quite,” agreed the suffragette. - -“I caddot picture ad earthquake,” continued Albert. “I suppose doboddy -cad picture such ad urheard-of disaster.” - -“I can,” said the suffragette. “I expect my picture is all wrong, but -it’s certainly there. I see it red and grey, which is the most vicious -discord I know.” - -“Red ad grey?” repeated Albert. “Why red ad grey? What for idstadce is -red, ad what grey?” - -“Why,” said the suffragette rather lamely, “I suppose the quaking is -red, and the pain grey.” - -“You seeb to be talking dodsedse,” said Albert, with creditable -toleration. “I expect the flabes are red, ad the sboke grey. However, go -od with your picture.” - -“I think the world would suddenly give a lurch to one side, and you -would wonder what had happened, and why you felt so sick. Before you -realised anything else you would notice a sort of dazzle of chalk-white -faces all round you.” - -“The people are dearly all degroes id Udiod Towd.” - -“Then you would understand, but still you wouldn’t believe that this -thing was really happening to you. You would see the houses curtsey -sideways in a leaping dust, and a house front, with its windows, all -complete, would shoot across the street with an unbearable roar, pricked -by cracking noises....” - -“Why would it dot fall od you?” - -“Because things don’t. And there would be a great chord of screams. And -men running a few yards this way or that, and then back again, yelping, -with lighted pipes still in their mouths....” - -“What ad ugly picture. How cad you see it all so clearly?” - -“I have been thinking all day—of a friend of mine, who must have seen -it. I don’t expect an earthquake is a pretty thing, although there is -something beautiful about any curious happening.” - -“I doad’t agree with you,” said Albert. “There are oadly a few beautiful -thigs. Roses ... ad sudsets ... ad love....” - -“Really, Albert,” protested the suffragette, “what do you know about -love?” - -“Well, if it cobs to that—what do you dow about earthquakes? I cad -picture love, easily. A bad, kissing a girl, udder a cocoadut palb....” - -“Nonsense,” exclaimed the suffragette, bounding so violently in her bed -as to cause a serious storm in her soup. “Kissing’s not love. Everything -that was ever said or written about kissing, I think, must have been -said or written by a man. It’s only another of their tyrannies, to -which, for the sake of love, women have had to submit.” - -“You sowd like a suffragette whed you talk like that,” mocked Albert. - -“No wonder,” she replied. “I am one.” - -Albert looked shocked to find himself in the presence of such a -monstrosity. He went at once to warn his aunt. And she replied: “It -doesn’t matter, Albert dear, she’s only staying a few days, till she is -well enough to make other plans.” - -The suffragette, left to her cooling soup, reviewed her theories and her -practice. - -“What’s the good of being hard?” she asked herself, “if you are not hard -enough? Either you are harder than the world and can bruise it, or the -world is harder than you and bruises you. There is no point in just -having a hard crust. As well be dough.” - -In the middle of the night there was a loud wail from Albert’s room. The -suffragette, whose room adjoined his, was the first on the spot. - -“I seeb to have a bad paid,” cried Albert, who was always cautious in -his statements, “id the heart. It feels like cadcer, I thigk.” - -“I don’t think so,” said the suffragette. “Perhaps you are only in -love.” - -She went and knocked on Miss Brown’s door. - -“But I doad’t wadt Ah-Bargaret,” said Albert, as his aunt came in. “I -should hate to die lookig at Ah-Bargaret. I ab sure I ab going to die.” - -“We’ll see that you don’t,” said the suffragette, as she began to rub -his side, his poor little ribs, furrowed like a ploughed field. - -“But you are an invalid yourself,” objected Miss Brown jealously. “You -had better go back to bed.” - -“Doh, she is dot ad idvalid, she’s a suffragette,” whined Albert. “I -doad’t wish her to go back to bed.” - -Even Albert, with his wide range of scientific ways of being -inconvenient, could scarcely have chosen a more impossible moment for an -illness. Next day it became apparent that every doctor on the Island who -had survived the disaster had plunged into the whirlpool of its after -effects. Nursing on the Island is in a rudimentary stage at all times, -but what nurses existed were not to be dragged now from Union Town. - -The lady novelist said: “I know I must appear heartless, dear Margaret, -not to be helping to nurse him, but the sight of suffering gives me such -acute pain.... It’s not heartlessness, you see, it’s that my heart is -too tender.” - -“I wish she would go to an hotel then,” said the harassed Miss Brown to -the suffragette. “She wants her meals so good and so regular, and I seem -to hate the sight of food just now.” - -It was against the suffragette’s principles to hope anything so -desirable without translating her hope into action. It was also beyond -her powers to be diplomatic. - -“I think you had better go to the hotel,” she said militantly to the -lady novelist. “You would be better fed there, and we should be more -comfortable alone.” - -“In that case perhaps I had better, not being welcome in my friend’s -house,” replied the novelist. “I was going to suggest it myself, as the -sound of that priceless child’s cries wrings my heart.” - -The suffragette therefore gained her point at the expense of tact, -which, as future historians will note, is a characteristic of -suffragettes. - -Albert’s temperament was not that of the Spartan. He never ceased to cry -for a week. As for the pain, it was as if the god—whoever he may be—who -likes little children to suffer, sat beside him, and with a blunt shears -sliced off the top of each breath. - - There is a sword, a fatal blade, - Unthwarted, subtle as the air, - And I could meet it unafraid - If I might only meet it fair. - But how I wonder why the smith - Who wrought that steel of subtle grain - Should also be contented with - So blunt and mean a thing as pain.... - -Albert clung to the suffragette, the straw in his sea of troubles. His -constant wail rose an octave if she ventured from the room. - -The only holiday she had during that first week was half an hour on the -second evening of the ordeal, half an hour spent in carrying the lady -novelist’s majestic suit-case to the hotel. - -John the coachman could not do it, as the road to the hotel was infested -with “duppies” after dark. The probability of meeting a “rolling calf” -with a human head and green eyes, or the duppy of some regrettable -ancestor, robbed even a tip of its splendour. - -The carrying of the suit-case was a physical impossibility to one of the -suffragette’s lack of muscle. But to her impossibility was only an -additional “Anti” to fight, a rather worthier enemy than the rest. She -believed in the power of the thought over the deed, that was her -religion, and one is tempted to wonder whether any more complex belief -is needed. Has it ever been proved that the human will, if reverently -approached, is not omnipotent? - -At any rate the suit-case, borne by a thing that looked like the -suffragette, but was in reality a super-suffragette created for the -occasion, travelled to the hotel, unmolested by duppies, but followed by -a literary lady poisoned by injured pride. - -At the hotel were many Americans who said, “I guess” and “Bully” and “I -should worry,” and all the things that make a second-rate copy collector -swell with copy and feel exquisitely cosmopolitan. This collector’s -diary began to overflow to three or four foolscap sheets a day, closely -covered with dialogues on trivial subjects by very ordinary American -husbands and fathers; all Americanisms underlined and spattered with -liberal exclamation marks. - -At the end of the second week of the lady novelist’s stay at the hotel -arrived a millionaire, who immediately became the gem of the collection. -He was exactly modelled on the stock millionaire to be met with in the -pages of the comic papers. He was lean, self-made, and marvellously -dressed; he wore eyeglasses and a little stitched-linen hat tilted over -them. Also the beard of a goat. At the very outset he expressed himself, -“Vurry happy to meet you, madam, always happy to meet any of our -neighbours from across the duck-pond.” It was almost too good to be -true. The novelist followed him about, so to speak, with fountain pen -poised. - -His conversation was almost entirely financial. Neither the lady -novelist nor I understand such matters well enough to write them down, -but only I am wise enough not to try. - -“Do you mind if I say you are a treasure?” asked the lady novelist, -after listening for an hour to a dissertation on Wall Street. - -“Not at all, ma’am,” replied the millionaire politely, and drew breath -to continue his discourse. But he rewarded her by descending to the -level of her intelligence. - -“Say, talking of money, I guess there’ve been more fine opportunities -lorst in Union Town this last fortnight, than ever I missed since I -commenced collecting the dollars. Would you believe me—there’s a fellow, -by name Dallas Tring, who’s inherited the only flour dee-pot in Union -Town. Uncle’s orfice crumpled in on Uncle during the quake, and left -Tring his fill of dollars right there for the picking up, so to speak. -Union Town wants flour at this crisis, and if it was mine I’d say that -Union Town, or the British Government, had darn well got to pay for it. -We don’t calc’late in hearts, this side of heaven, but in hard dollars. -Philanthropy’s a fool-game.” - -“You are simply priceless,” said the lady novelist. “Please go on.” - -“I’m going right on, ma’am,” said the treasure. “Would you believe me, -this Tring e-volves a system (save the mark) by which he gives away this -flour—gives it away, mind you, gratis, free, for nothing, with a kiss -thrown in if required, to any nigger cute enough to rub his little tummy -and say he’s feeling empty. You may reckon I just couldn’t quit Union -Town without a call to see if the man was an imbecile or what. I found a -young cub with a curly smile playing around in the orfice. Say, what do -you suppose he answered me when I told him ‘Good-morning, and what’s -this sentimental money-chucking, anyway?’” - -“I am dying to know,” said the lady novelist. - -“Said it was the foyrst time he’d ever been led to think there might be -something in sentiment after all. I was fair rattled.” - -The young cub with the curly smile, as you may, with your customary -astuteness, have guessed, was the gardener. He had assumed the pose of -philanthropist, which, when conducted at some one else’s expense, is one -of the most delightful poses conceivable. The pleasure to be found in -helping the dirty destitute seems to need an explanation beyond the plea -of altruism. There is a real charm in domineering to good purpose. To -say unto one man Go and he goeth, and to another Come and he cometh, is -at all times pleasant, but when such a luxury as autocracy becomes a -virtue, there are few who disregard its glamour. - -The gardener’s broken leg recovered as quickly as any leg could have -done. He had an enthusiastic and healthy attitude towards suffering and -illness, an attitude which he took instinctively, and which mental -scientists and faith-healers try to produce artificially. He was always -serenely convinced that he would be better next day. He lived in a state -of secret disappointment in to-day’s progress, and unforced confidence -in to-morrow’s. He might be described as a discontented optimist; though -often convinced that the worst had happened, he was always sure that the -best was going to happen. Conversely, of course, you can be a contented -pessimist, happy in to-day, but entirely distrustful of to-morrow. - -To the gardener’s methods may perhaps be ascribed the fact that in a -fortnight he was able with the help of a stick, and with the -encouragement of Aitch and Zed, to walk about his room. His first -excursion was to the window. - -The houses opposite had fallen in on their own foundations. One complete -wall was standing starkly amid the mass. Portraits of the King and Queen -and a text or two still clung to their positions against the stained and -florid wall-paper. - -“Do you see that house that you just can’t see, the other side of that -wall?” asked Aitch. - -“Yes, I see,” said the gardener. “I mean I just can’t see.” - -“That’s where dead Uncle Jonathan lives,” said Aitch. “He’s left Father -the flour in his will.” - -“How good of him. I hope it was a pretty one.” - -“Father said, ‘There’s a fortune there.’ And Mother said, ‘Oh, Dally, -it’s as if it was left in trust for poor Union Town.’” - -When the gardener next met Mr. Tring, he discovered how entirely -sufficient for two are the opinions of one. - -“Of course I’m awfully lucky, in a way,” said Mr. Tring. “It’s a big -inheritance, and hardly damaged at all by the earthquake. But at -present, of course, it’s all responsibility and no returns. I feel as if -it’s sort of left me in trust for Union Town.” - -“That’s one way of looking at it,” said Courtesy—surely the least witty -comment ever invented. - -“I don’t agree with you at all,” said Mrs. Rust, who now made this -remark mechanically in any pause in the conversation. - -“You consider that Mr. Tring should pile up a big bill against the -British Government?” suggested the gardener. - -“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “I consider the niggers can -eat—mangoes.” - -“I sometimes wonder,” said the gardener, “whether one has a duty to -oneself. One feels as if one has, but I always—in theory—distrust a duty -that pays.” - -“Certainly one has a duty to oneself,” said Courtesy. “Duty begins at -home. That’s in the Bible, isn’t it?” - -“Most of the texts tell you your only duty is to the man next door,” -said Mr. Tring, blushing. - -“I entirely disagree with you,” said Mrs. Rust. - -Soon after this discussion Mr. Tring, inspired by his wife, produced a -plan for the benefit of the gardener. - -“When this business is over we shall—I mean I shall be a rich man and a -busy man. I need somebody young around. I’d like fine to buy your youth -(his wife’s words). What about being my secretary for the present? It -might give you a start in Island business.” - -“This is not a time for paid work,” said the gardener, “with half the -money on the Island gone to dust.” - -“I take your meaning,” said Mr. Tring. “But in my opinion the time’s all -right. Good work’s good work, whether it’s honorary or not. I never -liked the idea that there’s something heroic in refusing money, making -out that there’s something mean in accepting it. If you help you help, -and the help’s none the worse if it makes you self-supporting.” - -The word “self-supporting” was a sharp and accusing word to the -gardener. Most of us privately possess certain words that search out the -tender parts in our spiritual anatomy. The words “absolute -impossibility,” for instance, angered the suffragette to militant -protest; the mention of “narrow-mindedness” ruffled the priest’s -sensibilities; as for me, the expression “physical disability” hurts me -like a knife. It may or may not be out of place to add that the effect -on Courtesy—that practical girl—of an allusion to “banana fritters” was -to make her feel sick. You may know people better by their weaknesses -than by their strength. - -The word self-supporting, therefore, goaded the gardener into accepting -Mr. Tring’s offer. - -His stock of poses, though very wide in range, had not as yet extended -as far as practical business, in black and white, hours ten to five -daily. He had—I report it with disgust—a contempt for the pen as a -business implement. He was himself an artist without expression, a poet -caged; a musician in desire, he suffered from a mute worship of all art. -And he believed that the pen was as sacred an instrument as the violin, -or the palette. To make money by the pen in business was equal to -fiddling on a kerb-stone, or designing picture post cards. These -theories are pose-theories, of course, and untenable by the practical -man. But some of the gardener’s poses had crystallised into belief. He -was, as you may have noticed, anything but a practical man. - -“Perhaps,” said Mr. Tring, “you might be what my wife calls an -‘out-of-doors secretary.’ I have been officially asked to organise the -distributing of the flour. Enquiries will have to be made. The niggers -are awfully sly, you know; you’d have thought they’d be too silly to be -sly.” - -“I have noticed that the silly seem to be protected by Providence. -Slyness seems to be given as a sort of compensation. Otherwise, of -course, we should stamp out the silly, and a lot of valuable human -curiosities would become extinct.” - -“I take your meaning,” said Mr. Tring. “That being so, if we found you a -horse to ride about on, would you undertake the notification and -examination of the necessitous cases, the pruning away—as my wife would -say—of the dishonest applicants.” - -“I am a gardener,” said the gardener. “I love interfering with nature. -Mr. Tring, you are a most excellent friend to me. Thank you seems too -little a word.” - -There are only a few people to be met with who can do justice to such a -thankless task as the expression of thanks. Man under an obligation is -always convinced that the conventional words are not enough, and tries -to improve on them. This must always be a failure, however, as improving -on convention is a work that only genius can undertake with success. - -A horse was found for the gardener. He was what might be called an -anxious rider, and Courtesy, after watching his first equestrian -exhibition, went to some trouble to find him an elderly mare of sober -propensities. Mounted upon this excellent creature, the gardener one -morning threaded the little passes that had been made in and out of the -crags of ruined Union Town. It was early. The Olympians had not yet -begun to compound that horrible broth of sun and steam and dust which -they brew daily upon the plains of the Island. The sun’s eyes had not -yet opened even on the most ambitious of the hills, but the sky was -awake, and so clear that you might have thought you were looking through -crystal at a blue Zion. The dew was laughing in the crushed gardens. -Grey lizards with a purple bloom on them jumped from ruin to ruin over -chasms of ruin. A humming-bird, looking as though its tail and beak had -been added hurriedly out of the wrong box, stood in the air glaring into -the open eye of a passion flower. The air was shining cool. The songs of -the birds were like little fountains of cold water. - -There is always a pessimistic gloom about the woods of the Island. The -cotton tree, with its ashen blasted trunk, looks as if it had known a -bitter past. Logwood gives the impression of firewood left standing by -mistake. And the cocoanut palms, which are unstable souls, lean this way -and that, as though glancing over their shoulders for their enemy the -wind, against whom they have no defence. Only the great creepers throw -cables of hope from tree to tree, and the orchids nestle blood-red -against the colourless hearts of the cotton trees. - -The huts for the homeless had been built in a wide clearing in the -woods, only divided from the sea by the road, a belt of palms, and a -frill of sand so white that the word white sounded dirty as you looked -at it. The rocks leant out of opal water into pearl air. A pensive -pelican, resting its double chin upon its breast, stood waiting on a low -rock. - -The gardener dismounted with great care. A person of three summers or so -came to watch him do it. The only thing she wore that nature had not -from the first provided her with was a hair-ribbon. Her head looked like -a phrenologist’s chart. It was mapped out in squares by multiplied -partings at right angles to each other. From every square plot of wool -sprang a rigid plait of perhaps one inch in length. On the highest plait -was a scarlet hair-ribbon. The effect was not really beautiful, but -suggested a beautiful maternal patience. The person thus decorated was -gnawing a piece of bread. - -“That bread,” thought the gardener, who in flashes posed as Sherlock -Holmes, “must have been made with flour. That flour probably came from -Tring’s. Where did you get that bit of bread, Miss?” he added. - -The person, determined not to appear to overlook a joke for want of an -effort, gave a high fat chuckle, and danced the opening steps of a -natural tango. The gardener, unwilling to shatter the illusion of his -own humour, did not repeat the question. He gave the elderly mare in -charge of not more than a dozen little boys. It was an insult to the -mare, a creature with a deep sense of responsibility, who could much -more reasonably have taken charge of the little boys. - -“Dat Mrs. Morra’s pickney,” said one of the older boys, with a polite -desire to effect an introduction between the gardener and the dancing -person. On hearing herself thus described, Mrs. Morra’s pickney at once -led the way at great speed to Mrs. Morra. Now Mrs. Morra’s was the first -name on the gardener’s list of applications. - -She was discovered outside the door of her hut, submitting the head of -an elder daughter to that process of which the coiffure of the younger -was a finished example. The conversation was punctured by wails from the -victim. Wool does not adapt itself to painless combing. - -“Good morning, Mrs. Morra,” said the gardener, with his confiding smile. -Mrs. Morra screamed with amusement. - -“I hear the earthquake knocked down your home and didn’t leave you -anything to live on. You asked for some of the free bread, didn’t you? -The police gave us your name.” - -“P’leece?” questioned Mrs. Morra, who seemed amused by the mention of -her necessity. “Whe’ dat, please?” - -“The police—the big man in blue,” said the gardener, before he -remembered that on the Island the police was always a little man in -white. - -“P’leece?” persisted Mrs. Morra. - -“The policeman—the law,” said the gardener desperately. - -Every nigger is familiar with the law. Going to law is a vice that on -the Island takes the place of drink. The nigger’s idea of heaven is a -vast courthouse, with the Almighty sitting at a desk awarding him -damages and costs. - -“Oh, de law—de polizman, please sah,” said Mrs. Morra. - -“Right. Now how did your little girl get this bread?” - -“Beg a quattie from a lady, please,” said the mother. - -“Yes, but where did she buy the bread when she had the quattie. Bread is -free now, you can’t buy it.” - -“Bought it fim Daddy Hamilton, please, old man who live alone by himself -across opposite. But he ha’n’t got no more, please!” - -“I’ll go and see Daddy Hamilton,” said the gardener. “How many children -have you got, Mrs. Morra?” - -“Please?” - -“How many children?” - -“Please?” - -“How many pickneys?” said the gardener, inspired. - -“Pickneys please thank you,” said Mrs. Morra. “I got Dacia Maree Blanche -Rosabel Benjum Teodor Lionel.” - -“Seven,” panted the gardener, who had kept careful count. - -“Tree, please sah,” corrected the lady. - -“Me Dacia Maree,” explained the victim of maternal pride. - -“Have you a husband?” continued the gardener. - -“O la, no please sah.” - -“A widow?” he suggested. - -Mrs. Morra shrieked with laughter. - -“Nebber had no man mo’ dan tree monts,” she said. “Dacia Maree’s -fader—he on’y stop a week. Benjum’s dad bin in gaol two yahs. Blanche -Rosabel—her fader was a brown man, her grand-dad was a buckra.” - -The gardener blushed into his notebook. - -The police had certified that the family’s means of subsistence had been -swept away by the earthquake, and the gardener, by one glance into an -unsavoury hut, satisfied himself that no luxuries had been saved from -the wreck. He therefore noted the case as needy, and asked his way to -Daddy Hamilton. - -This gentleman, seated upon an upturned bucket, was studying a hymn-book -through a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. - -“God bless you, sah,” he said in the loud unmistakable voice of a joyous -Christian. - -The gardener thanked him. - -“I see, Mr. Hamilton, that you told the police you had two married -daughters whose husbands had been killed by the earthquake, and seven -grandchildren dependent on you.” - -“Yessah. De Lawd giveth, an’ de Lawd taketh away.” - -“Certainly. And you had an emergency grant of several loaves of bread on -Monday.” - -“Praise be to God, sah, I did. De Lawd giveth——” - -“On the contrary, in this case it was Mr. Tring that gave. Now, are -either of your married daughters or any of your grandchildren at home?” - -“No, sah. Dey all gone to chapel.” - -“Really? Now there seems to be an idea among your neighbours that you -live by yourself. How is it they have never noticed your two daughters -and seven grandchildren?” - -“Dunno, sah. Deir eyes dey hab closed, lest at any time dey should see -wid deir eyes, and hear wid deir ears——” - -“Do the whole ten of you sleep in that little hut?” - -“No, sah, I sleep on de graound aoutside. Foxes hab holes——” - -“Now, Mr. Hamilton, can you look me in the face and tell me that the -bread that was given you was really eaten by yourself, and two -daughters, and seven grandchildren?” - -“Yes, sah. To tell you de troot, sah, dey wasn’t ezackly -blood-grandchildren. All men are brudders, we are told, sah, and -derefore grandchildren, an’ daughters, an’ nieces too, sah. All de -pickneys call me Daddy Hamilton. Suffer de little children to come unto -me, saith de Lawd, so I suffer dem gladly.” - -“Yes, but do you ever charge anything for suffering them? Have you ever -sold any of the bread that was given you?” - -“Well, sah, a man mus’ live.” - -“Yes, but the bread was given you to live on.” - -“Well, sah, money is better dan bread. You ask for bread and dey give -you a stone.” - -“Not in this case. The bread was excellent. Do you know, Mr. Hamilton, I -believe you are liable to be prosecuted for obtaining Mr. Tring’s gift -under false pretences.” - -“No, sah, not false. I am a faitful sojer in de Lawd’s army, sah, -faitful an’ joyful. Old Joybells dey call me.” - -“Still, this time I’m afraid you stepped aside. I will ask Mr. Tring -what he would like done about it. At any rate, you won’t get any more -bread given you for the present. I’ll see to that.” - -“God bless you, sah. De Lawd giveth, an’ de Lawd taketh away.” - -All novelties are interesting to One Who is Seeing Life, but novelty is -unfortunately an elusive phantom to pursue. After a fortnight spent in -inquiry, the gardener began to feel his heart sink at the mention of -flour. He suffered from the gift of enthusiasm, in place of the gift of -interest, and enthusiasm is like the seed that fell upon stony ground, -the suns of monotony scorch it quickly. To do the gardener justice, it -must be admitted that there was very little left to do. Union Town was -not very long in adjusting itself to the emergency. Nigger huts are -quickly built, and even the villas of the coffee-coloured aristocracy, -the most serious sufferers from the disaster, are not the work of ages. -The Post Office continued to lie upon its face in the High Street, but -the bare feet of the people soon trod a path around it. Government House -remained huddled in a heap upon its own cellars, but Governors, after -all, are not human, and it makes but little difference to the population -to hear of its viceroy sleeping under canvas. - -In the gardener’s mind, during the past fortnight, the suffragette had -had Union Town as a serious rival. His vanity was a little hurt by her -continued lack of appreciation of a great man. He would have liked, -while still on crutches, to have met her searching among the ruins for -him. So for a little while he posed as being in love with his work. But -when Union Town began to retire into the background, the suffragette -stepped forward into insistent prominence. She triumphed finally one -night in the verandah of the St. Maurice Hotel, after dinner. It was a -night without a flaw, every star spoke the right word, and the moon was -a poem unspeakable. Fireflies starred the garden. - - The stars and fireflies dance in rings, - The fireflies set my heart alight, - Like fingers, writing magic things - In flame upon the wall of night. - There is high meaning in the skies - (The stars and fireflies—high and low), - And all the spangled world is wise - With knowledge that I almost know ... - -“I’ll have to return to the search,” said the gardener. - -“What for?” asked Courtesy, who always liked everything explained. - -“For the suffragette,” he replied. “I’m tired of being respectable and -in doubt.” - -Luckily the priest had changed his table since Courtesy had changed her -company. He sat at the far end of the verandah, with his back to every -one. His righteousness had subsided to some extent since the earthquake, -but he still looked on the gardener as a hopelessly lost lamb. Such a -shepherd as the priest may yearn towards the lost lamb, but would rather -not sit at the same table with it. - -“If you start that silly game again, gardener,” said Courtesy, “you’ll -have to throw over Mr. Twing’s job. Why can’t you leave the girl alone? -She can’t have been killed, because there are no white people left -unidentified. Why can’t you stick to one thing?” - -“I have no glue in me,” replied the gardener. “I’m glad of it; there -could be nothing duller than sticking to one thing. Besides, there’s -nothing left to stick to. There was only half an hour’s work to do -yesterday, although I spent three hours over it.” - -Mrs. Rust shot a fountain of tobacco smoke into the air as a sign that -she intended to speak. The priest liked Mrs. Rust, because his own -tolerance of her vagaries made him feel so broad-minded. He liked to -smile at her roguishly when she took a small whisky and soda; he liked -to hand her the matches when she smoked; he liked to write to his sister -at home: “One comes in contact with a worldly set out here, but if one -is careful to keep one’s mind open, one finds points of contact undreamt -of at home in one’s own more thoughtful set.” If the gardener had been a -drunkard instead of being in love, the priest would have liked him -better. But the gardener posed as being a non-drinker and a non-smoker -on principle. Really the taste of spirits or of tobacco smoke made him -feel sick. - -“I am going to leave Union Town myself,” said Mrs. Rust. “I know of a -car I could hire to-morrow. I will help you in your search, gardener, -although she strikes me as being a totally unattractive young woman.” - -“We had arranged to go to the hotel in Spanish City next Wednesday by -the nine train,” said Courtesy in a reproachful voice; “and from there -to Alligator Bay, and then in a car round the Island. I daresay other -plans might be made, but you should have let me know sooner.” - -“No plans need be made,” said the gardener rebelliously. “We might just -get the car, and start now in the cool.” - -“Ass!” observed Courtesy simply. “Mrs. Rust’s lace scarf won’t be dry -enough to iron till to-morrow. I will see whether we can start the next -day.” - -To disobey Courtesy was unthinkable. The gardener gritted his teeth at -the stars, because he would have to see them again before he could start -on his search. _Now_ was the only time for the gardener; _then_ hardly -counted; and _presently_ was a word he failed to acknowledge. - -“Anyway, you don’t either of you know where to look for her,” said -Courtesy, that practical girl. - -“She’ll be at Alligator Bay,” said Mrs. Rust. “They’ve got a picture -gallery there.” - -“She’ll be somewhere in the hills,” said the gardener. “She would always -go up.” - -“I entirely disagree with you,” retorted Mrs. Rust. - -“Anyway, it seems hot on sea-level,” said Courtesy. “We’d better go up -to where it’s supposed to be cool. I’m told the Ridge Pension, High -Valley, has a good cook, but the New Hotel, at Greyville, is also well -spoken of.” - -Fortunately thirty-six hours, though they may stretch half-way to -eternity, never succeed in covering the whole distance. A moment arrived -when the three, bristling with travellers’ trifles, met the waiting car -at the nearest spot in the ruined High Street to which cars could -penetrate. And then followed a long series of dancing moments. Little -village ports strung like beads along the coast; thatched huts thrown -together by a playful fate; waterfalls like torn shreds of gauze draped -on the nakedness of the hills; logwood plantations, banana plantations, -sugar plantations, yam plantations.... Then as the approaching hills -began to usurp more and more of the sky, the road cut through a high and -low land; hand in hand with a very blue river, it threaded a great grey -crack in the island; high cliffs yearned towards each other on either -side; a belt of pale sky followed the course from above. Then out into -the sun and wild woods, with ferns and flowering trees beckoning -beautifully from all sides. And then long hills, a road that doubled -back at every hundred yards, with a great changing view, growing bigger, -on the right hand or the left, as the course of the road decided. Little -brown villages clung desperately to the hill-side; gardens of absurd -size balanced themselves on almost perpendicular slopes; paths of red -mud, disdaining the winding subterfuges of the road, sprang from angle -to angle, like children playing at independence beside a plodding -mother. - -Towards the afternoon a blue-black cloud crept suddenly over a summit, -and emptied itself with passion upon the travellers. In a minute the -waterproof hood of the car was proved unworthy of its name; the screen -in front became less transparent than a whirlpool; the road went mad and -believed itself to be a mountain torrent. The wet wrath of heaven began -to make itself felt even down Mrs. Rust’s neck. - -“This is disgraceful,” said Mrs. Rust. “Courtesy, do something at once.” - -No doubt Courtesy would have risen to the occasion, but for once Heaven -was quicker. The sun suddenly shouldered its way round the intruding -cloud, and made one great shining jewel of the world. Park View, that -forward house, residence of the retiring Miss Brown, stood bold upon the -sky-line. - -The gardener’s heart did not leap within him when he saw Park View. Only -in books does Fate disguised stir the heart to such activity. In real -life, when I stumble on the little thing that is to change my life, I -merely kick it aside, and hurry on. - -In case you should think that by bringing my travellers to Greyville I -make the long arm of coincidence unduly attenuated, I must add that -there are only two tourist centres on the hills of the Island—Greyville -and High Valley—and that almost everybody visits both. - -The gardener was now posing as a Seeker, and instinctively his eyes took -on the haggard look that belongs to the pose. As he mounted the steps of -the New Hotel verandah, the lady novelist thought, “What an interesting -young man!” When, however, she saw Mrs. Rust’s hair, her notebook -trembled in her pocket. The Treasure had left, and as to the other -Americans, she had practically drunk their cup of copy dry. - -“Charles,” she said to the woolly black waiter when he brought her tea, -“will you put those new people at my table?” - -“No, please, missis,” replied Charles, who, being a head waiter at -seventeen, was suffering from the glamour of power. “Shall sit dem wid -Mistah Van Biene.” - -A fraction of the proceeds of the lady novelist’s last novel, however, -soon silenced the authority of Charles. - -And after all it was Mrs. Rust who sought acquaintance first, at -breakfast in the cool verandah next morning. - -“There was a lizard in my bath,” said Mrs. Rust. “Disgraceful! Why can’t -you exterminate your vermin?” - -This was hard on the lady novelist, who screamed for Charles whenever -she saw anything moving anywhere, but she bore the injustice with a -beautiful patience. - -“What do you think of the Island in general?” she asked. “I can tell by -your face that your opinion would be worth having.” - -She might have added that she could tell this, not so much by Mrs. -Rust’s face as by her hair. - -“I don’t think of the Island if I can help it,” retorted Mrs. Rust after -some thought, during which she sought in vain for some adequately -startling reply. “That earthquake—on my first day—a revolting -exhibition.” - -“Oh, were you in Union for the earthquake? I am collecting the reports -of intelligent people who were there. I am sure your adventures must -have been worth recording.” - -“On the contrary,” replied Mrs. Rust, “the whole thing was absurdly -overrated. My nerves remained perfectly steady throughout.” - -The gardener, the only person who might have cast a doubt upon this -statement, was not present. Still posing as the strenuous seeker, he had -gone for a walk before breakfast. - -There is a great glitter about morning in the hills which drags the -optimist for long walks in the small hours upon an empty stomach, and -causes even the pessimist to attack his grape fruit at breakfast with a -jovial trill. The little tables on the verandah of the New Hotel have a -glamour of heaped bright fruit upon white linen. In the garden the -tangerines grow radiantly among their shining sober green, the -butterflies blow across the pale young grass. There is a salmon-pink -azalea, whose smile attracts the humming-birds, and a riotous clump of -salvia. There is a benevolent John Crow, who strikes attitudes upon the -roof of the annex, and stands for hours with his ragged wings spread -open to the sun, as he surveys the diamond world. Really he is hoping -that you will fall dead over your breakfast, but you lose this thought -in the glitter of a hill morning. For the sake of your own peace of -mind, never get close enough to a John Crow to see his gargoyle face. -Content yourself with admiring his barbaric grace from a distance, and -forget why he is there. - -Courtesy was characteristically still in bed. She never was one to hear -the call of a singing world. - -The gardener came in with eyes crinkled by the sun, and his hair -standing up in a spirited way all over the top of his head. Did you know -that it is possible to be a specialist in posing without giving thought -to the appearance? - -“You look as if you had been fighting,” snapped Mrs. Rust. “Disgraceful -state of hair.” - -“I wish I had,” replied the gardener. “I could fight beautifully at this -moment. I never knew what it was to breathe until this morning.” - -“Air is indeed a blessing” said the lady novelist. “I have a passion for -air. I sometimes think I should die without it. How interesting to meet -any one who loves fighting. You ought to be a soldier. I myself am a -peace-loving woman, but I often have quarrels forced upon me.” - -“Let me conduct them for you,” suggested the gardener, wrestling with -his grape fruit. “Show me the enemy.” - -“I wish I could. I think I will,” said the lady. “I came to Greyville to -stay with a dear friend, and a young woman, of no standing whatever, -picked up anyhow and anywhere, not only turned me out of my friend’s -house, but now insists on my moving two of my trunks from the -sick-room.” - -“Oh, there is a sick-room, is there?” - -“Yes, my friend’s little nephew is ill.” - -“But didn’t your friend protest? Has the young woman a hypnotic power -over her?” - -“My friend is very weak. The young woman is only a sort of second-rate -children’s nurse, apparently.” - -“And do you want to go back there?” - -“No, I prefer to be here. But it is so undignified not to be consulted.” - -“That’s very true,” said the gardener, whose interest was beginning to -wane. - -“That road below is as crowded and as noisy as Piccadilly,” said Mrs. -Rust. “Disgraceful.” - -“Market day,” replied the novelist rapturously. “Such a blaze of colour. -Such a babel of tongues....” - -“And so smelly, I am sure,” said Mrs. Rust. “I am going to market.” - -“Let’s all go to market,” added the gardener. - -An hour had to be allowed for Courtesy to have her breakfast, and for -Mrs. Rust to don her panama. Mrs. Rust, though not averse to startling -any one of her own colour, had a secret distaste for the naïve -criticisms of the niggers on her strange hair. The Islanders were not -aware that dyed hair was the apex of modern fashion; they looked upon -it, poor things, as a deformity, and a most amusing one. Mrs. Rust had -been obliged to invest in a perfect beehive of a hat for wear in such -ignorant parts. - -So four more units joined the stream of marketers along the red road. In -spite of Mrs. Rust’s panama, the niggers laughed. Niggers always laugh -unless they cry, and the lunatic ways of white women provide a source of -amusement that never fails, although white women have been on the Island -for three hundred years. Some of the marketers actually had to remove -their baskets of fruit—crowned with boots—from their heads, to give free -play to their sense of humour. Every nigger wears his boots upon his -head. It is, I suppose, as much a disgrace not to own them as it is a -discomfort to wear them. - -The appearance of the market was like a maniac garden, and the sound of -it was like a maniac rookery. By way of compensation to the niggers for -their individual ugliness, Providence has granted to them an unconscious -beauty in the matter of grouping themselves. A nigger by herself looks -like a comic picture post card, a lot of niggers together look like the -picture that many master-hands have tried to paint. - -My senses tingle even now with the welter of sun and sound and smell and -colour, that constitutes an Island market. - -“You meet every one in Greyville here,” said the lady novelist to the -gardener. “I will introduce you to the enemy.” - -The gardener agreed absent-mindedly. He was helping Courtesy to buy -baskets. The Island is the paradise of basket lovers. Those hearts are -rare which do not thrill at the sight of a plaited basket in many -colours, and I believe that nobody ever left the Island without -succumbing to the charm. I suppose the reason why Island baskets never -get on to the market at home is that everybody loves them so much, they -never part with them. Courtesy, who always loved the popular thing, had -been very busy buying baskets since the first moment of her arrival. - -Mrs. Rust was busily occupied in refusing to buy anything. “Buy a pine? -Why should I? I loathe pines. Lace? No, I won’t buy lace, my -underclothes are already overcrowded with it. What’s that? A basket to -keep my letters in. I keep my letters behind the fire. Why, -gardener—look—here’s——” - -“Mr. Gardener,” tittered the novelist, “here is the enemy behind you.” - -“You dream,” said the gardener, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” - -With an amiable smile the suffragette allowed her hand to be shaken an -enormous number of times. She was looking plainer than the gardener had -expected. With the pretty obtuseness of men, he had in his dreams -forgotten that brown hat with the weary flowers in it. He had imagined -her dressed in blue, he had thought her eyes were blue to match, he had -created a little curl in her hair. Yet somehow he was not disappointed. -For he had also forgotten in his dreams the comfort that lies in lack of -ornament. It isn’t love that makes the world go round, it’s the optimism -of men. - -“Why, it’s quite nice to see you again,” said the suffragette in a voice -of surprise. - -“Courtesy,” shouted the gardener, “from this moment I’m not a fit -companion for Mrs. Rust. Courtesy says I’m not respectable when I’m with -you,” he added to the suffragette. - -“I don’t see anything very disreputable in your behaviour with me,” she -replied. “But it’s only for a little while, Courtesy.” - -“Oh, Lor’, no,” said Courtesy. “He’s come to stop.” - -“I haven’t,” said the suffragette. - -The gardener would never have put into words the appeal that came into -his eyes. - -“Yes,” said the suffragette, “you are thinking that I am growing more -and more militant every time you see me.” - -“I was not,” he answered, “I was wondering how I could manage to see you -apart from all this noise.” - -“Quite easily. You can walk back to Park View with me now. I have got -the oranges for Albert.” - -So they squeezed out of the market-place, and side by side paced the -avenue of donkeys which on market days lines the village street. - -“What are you waiting for?” asked the gardener. “What’s wrong with me? -When will you want me?” - -“It isn’t you I don’t want. It’s what you stand for. Possibly I haven’t -mentioned to you that I am a suffragette of a special kind. A cat that -walks by itself.... Or rather perhaps it is presumptuous of me to lay -claim to cathood. I have only walked such a little way. I am an elderly -kitten, say, walking by itself.” - -“But if all suffragettes were like you, it would certainly be an -argument against the franchise. For what would become of England?” - -“God forbid that all suffragettes should be like me. I am a fanatic, a -rather silly thing to be.” - -“I know what you are waiting for,” said the gardener. “Heaven! you want -so much beside the Vote, and you’ll never get what you want this side of -heaven.” - -“God forbid that I should want heaven,” said the suffragette. “Heaven is -not made for women. Why, the very archangels are men.” - -“Why won’t you have me? We could get married to-morrow. Why not?” - -“Because I am too busy. Because there is a superfluity of women, and as -I am not a real woman—only an idea—I’d better sit out. Because I am -conceited and couldn’t bear my pride to have a fall—at your expense. -Because you don’t know me and I don’t know you. Because it’s better to -live alone with an ideal than coupled with a fact. Now I’m sick of -talking about myself, it makes me feel sugary, as though I’d been -swallowing golden syrup neat.” - -“But before you retire into your militancy, tell me,” said the gardener, -“do you think you will ever recognise this bond between us?” - -“There is no bond between us.” - -“There is love between us.” - -“I’m sorry, but it’s not mutual.” - -“Love is an automatically mutual thing.” - -“Then I’m afraid that proves that whatever may be between us is not -love. Here is Park View.” - -“Damn Park View!” - -Words are supposed to be a woman’s luxury, but it always seems to me -that men put a more touching faith in argument than ever women did. I -believe the gardener thought that if Park View had been five miles -farther on, he might have made a woman of the suffragette. - -“And what do you expect me to do now?” he asked pathetically. - -“Get busy,” advised the suffragette, “somewhere else. Dear little -gardener, remember that this road has been trodden before. Being young -is a devastating time, anyway. It always comforts me to think that there -are crowds before and behind me, and that even a cow has had a delirious -calfhood. After all, the past is such a little thing, one can drown it -in a drop. And the future is so big.” - -“That’s what I complain of—the size of the future.” - -“Oh, no, don’t. Size is space and space is growth. Good gracious, what a -prig I am becoming!” - -“For God’s sake, come and fill up a little corner of my big future, -then. You little thing, I could hold you in my hand.... And you can hold -me with no hand at all, but only with your heart.” - -“Good-bye.” - -“But why? Why?” - -She was climbing the steep drive. She never looked round. She always -looked up. - -With excellent intentions the suffragette had, I think, succeeded in -killing her heart. She was so heartless that even the hole where her -heart should have been was a very shallow one. Some rudimentary emotion -turned in her breast as she walked up the drive, and if she could have -had the gardener as a friend, she would have turned even then and -tendered him the friendly mailed fist of the independent woman. But if -one is a fanatic, one cannot also be a lover. She suffered from the cold -humility that sometimes attacks women. Every morning she occupied three -minutes in the thankless task of pinning her hair into a shape -conformable with convention’s barest requirements, and was then -confronted with her own thin short face, white—but not white like a -flower as the face of a beloved woman should be; her small eyes, -grey—but not grey like the sea; her straight and drooping hair, made out -of the ashes of the flame that burns in real women’s hair; her thin -pressed lips, her hard set chin, the little defiant wrinkles over her -brows.... It was impossible for her to believe that such a thing could -be indispensable to any eyes. Her attitude towards the paradox was -always sceptical, and the idea that there is nothing a woman can offer -as a substitute for such a small gift as herself was beyond her. The -little ordinary fiery things of youth had been shorn out of her life, -she had been crushed by the responsibility of being a woman and a -devotee. - -No man would believe that such a woman exists. The pathetic vanity of -man would never be convinced that any woman could prefer her own -independence to his kisses. - -By the time the suffragette had reached the front door of Park View, the -interview with the gardener was but a pulse beating at the back of her -mind. - -Miss Brown, looking as nearly dishevelled as a persistently Real Lady -could possibly look, was standing in the hall, ankle-deep in her own -prostrate property. Trunks yawned on every side, highly respectable -dresses, like limp ghosts of Miss Brown herself, embellished every -chair. - -“And I haven’t even begun on Albert’s books yet.” - -“The more of Albert’s books we leave behind the better,” replied the -suffragette. “I have got him _Treasure Island_ to read on the boat, and -he might take that one on Chemistry for Sundays.” - -“I’m sure I don’t know how you manage Albert,” said Miss Brown. “I could -never even get him to read the Bible. It really looks as if Providence -had sent you to us at this crisis.” - -“Providence would never have chosen a militant suffragette.” - -“Well, but really one wouldn’t notice your opinions,” said Miss Brown in -an encouraging voice. - -“What about Scottie?” asked the suffragette. “Has anybody thought what -is going to happen to him?” - -“I haven’t thought of any details,” answered Miss Brown. “The doctor’s -orders were so sudden, they altogether upset me. I suppose Scottie can -be left with John.” - -“I hope he won’t,” said the suffragette. “I caught John using Scottie as -a target yesterday. He scored two bull’s-eyes before I got there.” - -“I can’t think what to do with him. There is nobody but Mr. Wise, and he -already has a fierce bulldog. Have you any ideas?” - -“Yes, one. I have a sort of friend on the Island. If I left Scottie with -him, he would act as a brake in the pursuit, because of the difficulties -of quarantine.” - -“I don’t quite follow your meaning,” said Miss Brown, not unnaturally. -“I didn’t know you had a gentleman friend on the Island.” - -“I haven’t. But I’m sure he will be kind to Scottie.” - -Very late that night, when Courtesy, Mrs. Rust, the gardener, and an -unknown young man picked up at the club by the gardener, were playing -Bridge in the verandah, a very young boy with a very fat dog appeared, -asking for Mr. Gardener. The boy was too well educated to be afraid of -duppies. The solid Scottie, too, was felt to be a sound defence against -the supernatural. - -“What is this?” asked the gardener, who had assumed the melancholy pose -of the Rejected One, and had unconsciously acquired a sad sweet smile to -correspond. Even on his death-bed the gardener will pose as a dying man. - -The young boy put a note into his hand, and dragged Scottie from the -shadow where he had modestly seated himself. - -“By Jove,” said the unknown young man, who happened to be Mr. Wise. -“It’s Scottie, the Park View dog.” - -The gardener literally burst the envelope open. The enclosure said: -“Dear Gardener—Will you please keep Scottie until I ask you for him -again.—Your fairly sincere suffragette.” - -The note went round the Bridge Table. - -“I have always wondered,” said Mrs. Rust, “whether politics were really -good for women. Now I am sure that they have an unhinging tendency. What -does it mean?” - -“It means that they are going on an expedition,” said Courtesy. “They -want the dog looked after for a day or two.” - -“Why, but Park View is a regular palace in Greyville,” said Mr. Wise. -“There are three servants in it, all competent to look after Scottie for -a day or two.” - -“I shall have to do what she says,” said the gardener. “The -suffragette’s only fault is that she leaves almost too much to the -imagination.” - -The boy had vanished. - -“Better go round and ask for an explanation,” said Courtesy. - -“He must play out these doubled lilies,” said Mrs. Rust. - -“It must be nearly twelve,” said Mr. Wise. “The cocks have been crowing -for an hour.” - -The Island cock proclaims the night rather than the day. Not even a cock -can feel much enthusiasm for such a tyrant as the Trinity Island sun. - -“I can’t go now,” said the gardener. - -But next morning at breakfast he said, “I daren’t go now.” He had hardly -slept at all, and looked white. The light of the Seeker had gone out of -his eyes, there had been no wish in him for a wild walk in the early -sun. He was not even posing. He had been pathetically late for -breakfast, and Mrs. Rust and the lady novelist had disappeared to read -the _English Review_ and the _Lady’s Pictorial_ respectively on the -front verandah. - -“Why daren’t you?” asked Courtesy. - -“Oh, Courtesy—she’s beaten me. She’s left me without hope.” - -Courtesy took several mouthfuls of porridge before she replied, “You’re -young yet, gardener. And she isn’t so extra unique, after all. If you -like, I’ll go round and ask for an explanation of the dog.” - -“You don’t know the way,” said the gardener tragically. - -It was lucky that Mr. Wise at that moment arrived in his buggy to invite -Courtesy and Mrs. Rust (if she wasn’t too tired) for a drive. The buggy -was a single one, and held two only, so there was a transparency about -his motives which did him credit. Courtesy never even passed on the -invitation to Mrs. Rust, and the owner of the vehicle failed to repeat -it. - -Armed with her inevitable box of sweets, Courtesy set forth on her -romance. - -“Ripping woods,” she said, as the sun winked through the delicate lace -of the forest. - -“Ripping,” agreed Mr. Wise. “But full of ticks.” - -Courtesy suffered that beautiful shock that attacks a woman when she -first realises that the man by her side is an uncommon person, and that -he holds the same view about herself. She offered him a chocolate cream. - -They went to Park View by the longest way possible, but I think the -nearest approach to romance that they reached was when Courtesy said, -“Oh, Lor’, I am enjoying myself!” - -And Mr. Wise replied, “So am I. I hope you’ll come again.” - -When they reached Park View they were neither of them observant enough -to notice the forsaken look of the house. - -“I’ll just go and tackle that funny little suffragette,” said Courtesy. -“I won’t be half a mo.” - -She looked back and smiled at him as she climbed the drive. - -“Dey all gone, missis,” said John, who was sitting in the hall, reading -the letters out of the waste-paper basket. - -“Gone? Where to?” - -“Gone to Lunnon Town to see a doctah man, please, missis.” - -“Union Town, you mean.” - -“No, please thank you, missis. Gone lars’ night to catch a big -steamboat.” - -“How many of them went?” - -“Missis Brown, and Mars’ Albert, an’ de visitor-missis.” - -“Do you know their address? Where are you forwarding their letters to?” - -John laughed shrilly at this joke. - -“Carn’t say, please, missis. Post-missis wouldn’t send me de letters, -now de fambly gone.” - -The Island is the home of elusive information. - -“What’s the matter with the woman, anyway?” said Courtesy, as she -remounted the buggy. “I never can understand a woman that doesn’t know -her vocation.” - -“What is her vocation?” asked Mr. Wise. - -“Ou, I don’t know,” giggled Courtesy. - -“I think all women ought to marry,” said Mr. Wise. “Somehow it keeps -them softer.” - -“It wouldn’t make a hard woman soft,” said Courtesy. “Only all the soft -women do marry.” - -“Do you consider——” - -“Ou, Lor’, this is a killing conversation!” interrupted the lady. “Let’s -talk about something else.” - -“All right. That’s a very pretty dress you’ve got on.” - -They found the gardener sitting on tenterhooks on the verandah, pulling -Scottie’s ears. - -“What did she say?” - -“She didn’t. She’s gone to London.” - -“I hope they’ll take care of Westminster Abbey,” said Mrs. Rust. - -The gardener said nothing. - -By this time the suffragette was putting romance behind her by means of -a little boat limping across a heavy sea. Compared to the _Caribbeania_, -this boat was like my suffragette compared with Mr. Shakespeare’s -Desdemona. There was rust on the little boat’s metal, and her paint -still bore memories of London smuts. The purser was occasionally to be -seen in his shirt sleeves, and the Captain had a button off his coat. - -The priest was on board, returning to his flock, overflowing with -material for sermons. By mutual consent he and the suffragette ignored -each other. He made an attempt to approach Albert, with his special -children’s manner, but that cultured youth quickly silenced him. So he -occupied himself in trying to save the soul of the second officer, a -docile youth, of humble and virtuous tendency. - -Within two days the little boat reached the Isthmus which has lately -been converted into one of the wonders of the world. - -“My poor Albert,” said the suffragette. “I’m afraid the doctor says you -mustn’t go to see the Canal. It’s so dusty. And you know such a lot -about it, don’t you? It is disappointing.” - -“I dow quite edough about it,” replied Albert. “I have do wish whatever -to see it. I dow every detail of its codstructiod.” - -“That’s all right, then. The doctor says when it’s cool after dark, you -may walk as far as the gardens behind the quay, and listen to the band.” - -“I do dot wish to hear the badd. I wish you ad Ah-Bargaret to go away -for the whole day, ad let the youggest stewardess cob ad sit with be. -She is a charbig persod, ad it would be very good for you to see the -Cadal.” - -In Albert’s eyes the halo of the suffragette was to some extent -evaporating. Her attitude towards science alienated him in his capacity -as an educated man, although as a child in pain he still clung to her. -And she had that morning offended him by buying him a bottle of sweets -from the barber’s shop. - -“I really thigk you sobetibes forget I ab do logger a baby,” he -observed, and forthwith began to lay great stress on the charm of the -youngest stewardess. - -Miss Brown was delighted at the fall of her nephew’s latest idol. - -“You’d better come away,” she said. “Let’s go and see the Canal. If you -stay with Albert when he is displeased, you get on his nerves.” - -So they landed on the quay of one of the two terrible towns that guard -the entrances of the Canal. They paid a great price and manned a train -that cost humanity a very great price indeed to create. That train is -built of dead men, the embankment on which it runs has largely peopled -purgatory, the very sleepers might as well be coffins, yet the train -moves with the same callous rhythm as the train from Surbiton to -Waterloo. In it you may see the calm inheritors of the fatal past sit -upon spread handkerchiefs upon the smutty seats, and stick their tickets -in their hats that the passing of the conductor may not disturb their -train of thought; and all as if there were no ghosts to keep them -company. Only outside the windows you can see the haunted land, white -water enveloping a dead forest, ashen trees suffering slow drowning, -tall grey birds standing amid floating desolation, and the Canal, a -strip of successful tragedy, creeping between its treacherous red banks. -The train leaves the Canal for a while, and returns to find it in a -different mood. The First Lock is the crown of that great endeavour. I -am assured that much more genius has been spent on the Cuts than on the -Locks, but to you and me, ignorantly seeking copy, the First Lock -triumphantly dominating the weary water-way, seems like the seal of -success, as if Man had built this stupendous thing as a barrier between -him and failure. - -When you see the Lock you feel like an ant seen through the wrong end of -a telescope. The suffragette, as she stood on the iron way that goes -along the top edge of one of the gates, had to think of all the biggest -things she had ever imagined to keep herself from dwindling out of -existence. Even Women’s Rights grew small in the light of this man-made -immensity. She was standing on the highest gate, and she could look -across a perspective of three empty cube-worlds, at the white Canal and -the white sea beyond it. - -“Really,” she said, “there is very little to choose between God and -Man.” - -“Good gracious me, what a thing to say!” said Miss Brown, bridling. “God -could knock all this down with one stroke.” - -“He couldn’t knock down the spirit that would make man build it up -again. Why do we pray to a Creator, if we can ourselves create?” - -“I think you had better come out of the sun,” said Miss Brown coldly. “I -am feeling a little sick myself.” - -But on their way across the gate back to the white paving that borders -the Lock, they found their way blocked by the priest, who was advancing -in the opposite direction. - -It is impossible for a stout Miss Brown and a stout priest to pass each -other on this route. Two suffragettes might have passed, but fortunately -for the Isthmus there was only one present. - -“I will retire,” said the priest. “Place aux dames, yerce, yerce.” - -“Oh, how good of you!” said Miss Brown, bridling. “I am sorry to put you -to such inconvenience.” - -With a jocular reference or two to goods trains at a shunting station -the priest retired from the dilemma. But when they had all reached the -safety of the broad paving again he seemed to have shed his desire to -cross the gate. He was by himself, which he detested; there were -countless morals to be humorously drawn from the Canal, and nobody to -point them out to. - -“This is a marvel of workmanship, is it not?” he said to Miss Brown, -pointedly excluding the suffragette. - -Miss Brown agreed, and asked whether he had felt pretty well on the -voyage so far. Thus the Canal introduced them, and when the acquaintance -was safely formed, Miss Brown strove to introduce the suffragette. - -“Yerce, yerce,” said the priest hurriedly. “We have met before. An -introduction is unnecessary.” - -Fortunately for the suffragette she saw a dog at a little distance, and -hurried to speak to it. The dog is blessedly cosmopolitan. Wherever you -may meet him he speaks your home tongue to you, and his eyes are the -eyes of a friend in a strange land. - -The suffragette and the dog walked along the side of the Lock some -twenty yards behind their elders and betters, and the suffragette -watched her character falling in shreds between them. Some people like -safe hunting, and there is no prey so defenceless as prey that is not -there. The priest’s conscience had been for some time accumulating -reasons why the modest Miss Brown should be warned of the true character -of her immodest companion. - -The suffragette allowed them half an hour to finish the destruction, and -joined them at the train, when the dog reluctantly remembered another -engagement. - -The party returned to the town in dead silence. At the station the -priest left them, with promises to come and read to Albert. The -suffragette and Miss Brown made their way across the gardens to the -quay. Under a great palm, Miss Brown stopped tragically, and spoke to -her companion for the first time since leaving the Lock. - -“I trusted you,” she said, rather dramatically, though, of course, she -was too ladylike for melodrama. “I gave you my hospitality, I succoured -you when you needed help (this was an echo of the priest), and all the -while you deceived me, you took advantage of my kindness.” - -“Certainly you were all that to me,” said the suffragette mildly, “and -certainly I am very grateful for all your kindness. But I don’t remember -deceiving you.” - -“You are an immoral woman,” said Miss Brown, with a great effort, “and -you never told me.” - -“It is hardly expected that I should have told you that. Partly because -it would have been silly, and partly because it would have been quite -untrue.” - -“No one could dislike gossip more than I do,” said Miss Brown, who loved -it. “But a priest is a priest, and this one is such a truly nice man, so -good-hearted, never said a word yesterday when the steward upset the -soup into his lap. Why did you never tell me that you travelled from -England in company with a man who was not your husband?” - -Now the suffragette, though she was distrustful of the reasoning of men, -seldom failed to see the point of view of a woman, even though that -woman was an anti. She specialised in feminism, and in her eyes to be a -woman was in itself a good argument. - -“Of course I ought to have told you, Miss Brown,” she said in a warmer -voice than was usual with her. “As a matter of fact it never occurred to -me that the thing was worth telling, but that, I admit, is no excuse. I -do see that I have been accepting your kindness under false pretences. -It is perhaps useless to say I am sorry, and worse than useless to tell -you that I would rather die than be married, and that I would rather be -hanged than live unmarried with a man. Still I admit I allowed all the -fools on the _Caribbeania_ to think I was also such a fool as to be -married. I will not bother you again, Miss Brown, I will keep out of -your way as much as possible on the boat. It’s only a fortnight.” - -Miss Brown was mollified, and when she spoke again it was like the angel -Gabriel sympathising with the difficulties of a beetle. “Of course if -you are penitent,” she said, “I should like to help you to retrace as -far as possible the false step you have taken. I believe there are -Homes.... But perhaps you had better not come near Albert.” - -The little boat was indulging in a two days’ rest at the Isthmus. It is -a problem worthy of the superwoman to avoid a fellow-passenger on a -small boat in port. The bearable space on board becomes limited to -inches. The side nearest the quay affords nothing but coal-dust to -breathe, the other side allows a small percentage of air to dilute the -coal-dust. There is no scope for choice. - -After-dinner, however, Miss Brown settled down to play chess with -Albert. Chess with Miss Brown is a most satisfactory game, a crescendo -of “Checks” leading to a triumphant “Mate” in a delightfully short time. - -So the suffragette went on shore to listen to the band. - -The Isthmus band is as gaudy in attire as it is sombre in complexion, -and it plays to a stratum of society as striking to the eye as any in -the world. The Isthmus is the centre of nigger fashion. Here, under the -glare and the flare of a hot night in the season, you may see the effect -of a layer of civilisation on an aboriginal worship of colour. Crimson, -gold, and silver are the prevailing motifs. As to the coiffure of the -ladies, for every plait to be found on a Trinity Island head there are -half a dozen on the Isthmus. There is something uniquely wicked in the -appearance of rouge and powder on a mahogany ground. The look of vice -which the Parisian or London lady strives to attain by means of a -shopful of cosmetics can be acquired by the lady-nigger with one dab of -the flour-dredger. Once more I pause to ask when we may expect the -decree that we must further conceal our incurable virtue by means of a -complexion dyed copper colour. - -There was a moon, and there were stars standing aloof in the sky; and -there were many lights about the garden. There were shrill brass voices -everywhere, and the band was playing that tune of resigned -sentimentality, “My Old Kentucky Home.” - -The suffragette felt slightly drunk. She had had a day of emotions, and -it was an unusual and intoxicating experience for her to find her -emotions escaping from the iron bound cask in which she kept them. She -felt totally irresponsible, and when the priest came along, looking as -conceited as the moon, and as sentimentally benign as the stars, she -discovered a lunatic longing to tear the hat from his head and stamp -upon it, to make him look a fool, to prick his pride; not because of any -personal enmity—or so she thought—but because he seemed eternally on the -side of sanity and of yesterday, and barred the path of young and mad -modernity. She approached him. - -The priest suddenly perceived in front of him a soul dangerously in need -of salvation. - -“My dear young lady, I have been seeking an opportunity for a quiet chat -with you, yerce, yerce. Whatever you may think of me, I assure you that -I am not the hard and inhuman man you think me. I should be only too -thankful to be of service to you. Let us sit on that quiet seat, away -from the crowd.” - -“It is good of you to risk contamination,” said the suffragette. - -“My calling leads me among the publicans and sinners,” said the priest. -“It is not my business to divide the sheep from the goats.” - -“Not your business, but your pleasure,” suggested the suffragette. - -The priest stiffened. - -“I wish you had not hardened your heart against my help,” he said. -“Believe me, I have every sympathy with a young and unprotected woman in -your position. I think sometimes life seems hard on the weaker sex, -yerce, yerce.” - -“It is a great honour to be a woman,” said the suffragette. “Your God -certainly turns his back on the individual, but he is very just to the -mass. The day of women is just dawning.” - -“There may be something in what you say,” observed the priest, feeling -that she was somehow erasing all that he had meant to say. “I am sure we -shall all be glad to see Woman come into her own. But....” - -“Men may possess the past, but women have the future,” continued the -suffragette, who was certainly very much excited. “We have suddenly -found what you have lost—the courage of our convictions. The art of -being a fanatic seems to me to be the pivot of progress; but men have -lost, and women have caught that blessed disease.” - -“I do not see how all this applies to the matter in hand,” said the -priest. “Unless you are trying to convey to me, by way of an excuse, the -craving which I am told possesses most women of your persuasion—the -craving for fame, the morbid wish to be talked about.” - -“I did not hope to convey anything at all to you. And certainly not -fame, for there is no such thing. I have seen pigeons sitting on the -heads of statues of great men in London, and I have seen little critics -sitting on their fame. This is a world of isolated people, and there can -be no fame where there is no mutual understanding.” - -“You are oddly pessimistic, and you are also wilfully evading the point. -When I saw you just now, I hoped that you had repented of your sin and -needed my help.” - -“I have committed no sin that would appeal to you,” said the -suffragette. “But that is, of course, beside the point. What you want is -that I should repent of being myself, and become a sort of inferior -female you.” - -“Indeed you have come to hasty and mistaken conclusions about my -intentions,” said the priest, whose principal virtue was perseverance. -“Regarding your political opinions, I have every sympathy with your -cause, though none for your methods. There is something so very coarse -about militancy.” - -“Have you ever tried denying a creature the food it needs? I think you -would find that even a white mouse would be coarse if you starved it.” - -“You may be right. My sister is a member of the Church League for -Women’s Suffrage. Perhaps you also belong to that sisterhood?” - -“No,” she answered. “I belong to the Shrieking Sisterhood.” - -“It seems useless for me to try and help you in this mood,” sighed the -priest. “I can only pray that I may be shown the way to your heart....” - -“I have none,” she said. - -In a garden not five hundred miles away from the garden in which she sat -was the Fact which she had Forgotten, set in a silver light among the -silver trees. The gardener stood among the pale grape-fruit trees, with -his head back in his usual conceited way, with his hands in his pockets -and his feet in the wet grass. - -“This is nonsense,” he thought. - -“She is only half human.” - -“Love for a thing only half human is only half love.” - -“You can’t build a world out of words, as she tries to do.” - -“In a thing like love, there is fact and there is theory. Theory is only -falsehood disguised as fact.” - -“She is not a bit pretty.” - -“I believe she would rather make an enemy than make a friend.” - -“Something has gone wrong with the woman of to-day. She has left the man -behind, but she has not gone forward.” - -“What have I been about to allow such a woman to disturb me? I came to -this island a king, and I have made myself a slave.” - -“It is youth that has burnt me. I am done with youth. It is fine to have -reached age in theory, and yet in practice still to have one’s life -ahead. My youth has been a fire in my path, and she has stamped it out.” - -The moon explored the spangled sky. The fireless interwove with the pale -purring noises of the night. The mad still shadows of the palms blotted -the grass. - -The gardener went into the verandah firmly posed as He Who has Passed -through Fire, and has emerged, cured of the silly disease of youth, into -a pale silver light. - -For the gardener made his theories, while the suffragette’s theories -made her. - -The gardener was awakened next morning by the loud noise of Scottie -chasing lizards across the room. Scottie was a bristly Northerner, and -never became really used to the conditions of tropical life. To this day -he labours under the delusion that lizards are only bald or naked mice, -that have deceitfully changed their smell and their taste. - -The gardener thought that he awoke perfectly light-hearted. He did not -recognise the curious thing that throbbed in the back of his -consciousness as his heart. - -He whistled in his bath. He whistled as he came out on to the verandah -for breakfast. - -Courtesy had risen for early breakfast by mistake. - -“Stopped brooding?” she asked. “Brave boy.” - -“Two and two is such a poor formation after all,” said the gardener. -“One and one is much more comfortable.” - -Courtesy giggled. “There are times,” she said, “when two and two is -ripping. Mr. Wise is coming up to lunch.” - -“He came up to lunch yesterday. And he’s coming up to tea to-morrow.” - -“Yesterday and to-morrow are not to-day,” said Courtesy, that practical -girl. - -The gardener had not time to ponder, for Mrs. Rust then appeared. Her -complexion was even more of a contrast to her hair than usual. - -“I had a letter last night,” she said. “I didn’t tell you at once, -because it’s such a vulgar habit to blurt out news. I don’t know whether -I have mentioned my son Samuel to you?” - -“You have,” said Courtesy. - -“So have I,” added the gardener. - -“His house has played him false—I knew it would. One of the ceilings -gave way—on to Samuel. Him and his house—he always was a fool. I believe -he thought the Almighty built his house for him.” - -“Yes, but what happened to Samuel?” - -“I told you—the ceiling fell on him.” - -“Yes, but what is the result?” - -“Oh, the rest of the house is still standing. It was only one of the -ceilings. He put the billiard table upstairs, and probably had his -rafters made of bamboo.” - -“Yes, but I mean what was the result as far as Samuel was concerned?” - -“He was concussion. There have been one or two people staying in the -house since he started the atrocious practice of advertising, and they -had him taken to a hospital. My letter is from the matron.” - -“Poor Mrs. Rust,” said Courtesy, “you must be terribly worried. I -suppose you’ll be wantin’ to get home by the next boat.” - -“Stuff and nonsense,” snapped the mother. “Haven’t you noticed by now -that I have iron nerves. Next boat—indeed.” - -“But I should have thought——” began Courtesy, and the gardener kicked -her under the table. - -“There is only one perfectly obvious thing to do,” said the gardener, -“and that is wait till the next mail, a fortnight hence. Knowing Mrs. -Rust as I do, Courtesy, I am sure she will follow this obvious course.” - -“Obvious course—indeed,” said Mrs. Rust, much relieved. “Stuff and -nonsense. I shall do exactly as I please, whether it’s obvious or not. -Suppose I decide to go home by Wednesday’s boat, what then, young man?” - -The gardener shook his head. “You won’t, I know,” he said. “You are too -reasonable.” - -“Reason be blowed,” said Mrs. Rust with spirit. “You don’t know me very -well, young man, if you think I’m like all the other old cats, to be -persuaded by that sort of argument.” - -The gardener was now an expert at saving Mrs. Rust from herself. -Although she entangled herself habitually in contradictions, her real -mind was not subtle enough to be well hidden, and to guide her action -into the path of her desire was a matter that only required a little -delicacy. The gardener, being a gardener, was always ready with tactful -guidance and unseen support in such matters. In this case, he would have -been surprised if you had told him that his secret desire pointed the -same way as Mrs. Rust’s. He thought he had killed desire. But he was -tired of the Island, and he had by that mail received a quarterly -instalment of his income. - -“Courtesy,” said Mrs. Rust, “we sail for home next Wednesday. -Unreasonable—indeed. And none the worse for that.” - -“We have engaged the car for a week from Friday,” said Courtesy. “Mr. -Wise is lunching with us on Thursday. And the hotel insists on a week’s -notice.” - -“I am paying you two hundred a year,” said Mrs. Rust brutally, “to save -me from these vulgar details.” - -“Oh, Lor’,” said Courtesy. - -“But what about Scottie?” asked the gardener. - -“Scottie’s your affair, not mine. I’m not paying you £200 a year to -follow me about.” - -The gardener is a very difficult person to snub. - -“Scottie and I are coming gratis.” - -And Mrs. Rust said, “Good.” - -But the little boat, with the suffragette on board of her, fled across -the Atlantic, as if aware of the projected pursuit of the great mail -steamer. - -The suffragette, a morose unit on a desert island of her own making, -stood separated from the world by a gulf of gossip. She used to sit on -the poop, where nobody else would sit, with the wind in her hair and the -sun in her eyes, building theories. - -There are some people who can never see a little cloud of fantasy float -across the horizon of their dreams without building a heavy castle in -the air upon it, and bringing it to earth. Whenever the suffragette -thought of the gardener, she broke the thought with a theory. It is sad -to be burdened with a brain that must always track illusion to -disillusionment. She had one consolation, one persistent and glorious -contradiction, one shining truth in a welter of self-questioning:—“I’m -alone—I’m alone—I’m alone....” - -It was not until they had passed the Azores that a voice from the outer -world spoke to her. They had reached those islands late one moonlit -night. The little square houses, climbing up the hill-side in orderly -ranks, looked like silver bricks in a castle of dreams. There was a -white fringe of breaking waves threaded between the black sea and the -black land. From the boats that hurried between the shore and the -steamer, little lamps swung and thin voices cut the darkness. Thundering -silence seemed to invade the emptiness left by the ceasing of the -propeller. The ceaseless loom that always sang behind the turmoil of the -suffragette’s consciousness spun the moon into a quiet melody. The still -lap of the sea against the ship’s stern struck the ear like a word never -spoken before. You could hear the gods creating new things. You could -hear the tread of the stars across the sky. - -“I am sorry to disturb you,” said Miss Brown; “it’s Albert. I knew -something would come of his going to the fancy-dress dance as Galileo, -with such a thin tunic on; but he is so wilful. And now he has a high -temperature, and a worse pain in his side than ever. He is crying for -you.” - -It was a strange sensation for the suffragette, after all these days of -loneliness, to be cried for. Tears, like all things that belong to -women, appealed to her beyond words. - -She found Albert beating on the wall of his cabin. When he cried—it -hurt. When he breathed—it hurt. When he moved—it hurt. And yet he had to -cry and pant and struggle. There was something in the suffragette’s -plain and ordinary face that acted as an antidote to Albert’s hectic -personality. She was a poor nurse; her only experience of the sick-room -had been from her own sick-bed. But she had a cold hand, an imagination -which she only allowed to escape at a crisis, and nerves very difficult -to excite. All that night, while the ship climbed the steep seas of the -Bay, she and the doctor kept something that was very big from invading -the little cabin. The battle was, of course, a losing one. There is -something almost funny in the futility of fighting Heaven on an issue -like this. - -I said there should be no death-bed scenes in this book, so I will only -add that after much battling Albert managed at last to get to sleep, and -he died before he woke. - -The suffragette was there, but she was not needed. She went away and -cried because no one would ever cry for her again. - -She marconied for Miss Brown’s brother to meet the bereaved aunt at -Southampton. And when the boat reached home, she carried her -mustard-coloured portmanteau up the gangway, and, by disappearing, -closed the incident. - -In this wonderful age we do our disappearing by machinery. Fairy -godmothers prefer Rolls-Royce cars to broomsticks, the pirate employs a -submarine instead of a gallant three-decker, the black sheep of the -piece, instead of donning a mask and confining the rest of his career to -Maidenhead Thicket, books his passage to a Transatlantic sheepfold on a -thirty-knot liner. - -The suffragette disappeared by the London train. By travelling third, -she hoped to escape the majority of her fellow-passengers, and it was -not until the train began to leave the station that she identified a -hitherto unnoticed person opposite to her as the priest. - -The priest was always overcome by a feeling of virtue when he travelled -third. - -“So our modesty is mutual,” he said jovially to the suffragette. “Yerce, -yerce, in England I travel third on principle. My parish, you know, is -in a poor part of London, and I think a shepherd should as far as -possible share the circumstances of his flock.” - -The suffragette hovered for a moment over a very crude flower of -repartee dealing with cattle-trucks, but discarded the idea. She was -always cautious, when she allowed herself time for caution. Her -principle in conversation was, “When in doubt—don’t.” But being a -militant suffragette, she was seldom in doubt. - -The priest was aggrieved with the suffragette, partly because he felt -obliged to speak to her. He would have preferred to ignore her, but she -had behaved too well during the last few days. She had tried as hard to -save a life as ever he had tried to save a soul, and had failed with -equal dignity. Inconsistency annoyed him very much. You must be one of -two things, a sheep or a goat, preferably the latter until the priest -himself had had time to lead you to the fold. For a confessed goat -suddenly to don wool without any help from him looked very much like -deliberate prevarication. He did not now know how to classify the -suffragette, and not knowing how to do a thing in which he had -specialised was naturally exasperating. - -“You were asking for my advice about the problem of your future,” he -said, leaning confidentially towards her. “I have been thinking much -about you, and I believe I have solved the problem.” - -I need hardly say that the suffragette never asked for advice. When -circumstances obliged her to follow the advisable course, she hid her -docility like a sin. - -“My future always looks after itself, thank you,” she said in a polite -voice, “and so does my past. It’s old enough.” - -The priest stiffened for a moment, but when on the track of a goat he -was hard to check. Besides, the suffragette’s voice was so low and calm -that her words seemed like a mistake, not to be taken seriously. - -“My idea is that you should join in the glorious campaign against -poverty and sin in the slums,” he continued. “I assure you that peace -lies that way. My sister once had a love affair with a freethinker; she -lost a great deal of weight at the time, and became almost hysterical. -But she followed my advice, and now runs several social clubs in -connection with my Church in the Brown Borough, North London, where the -poor may buy cocoa and cake and listen to discourses by earnest -Christian workers.” - -“And what does she weigh now?” asked the suffragette, after a pause. - -“She is a splendid example of a Christian woman,” said the priest, “a -woman of unwavering faith, indefatigable in charitable works.” - -“I think I shall come down to your parish as an antidote,” said the -suffragette, “the only sort of Anti I ever could tolerate.” - -Certainly my suffragette is not worthy to be the heroine of a book. I -must apologise for presenting a nature so undiluted by any of the -qualities that go to make good fiction. A pun, I admit, is the last -straw, but it is unfortunately a straw occasionally clutched at by -erring humanity, though rarely admitted by the novelist. - -“I should not advise you to choose the Brown Borough for the scene of -your endeavour,” said the priest hurriedly. “There is little scope for -workers unconnected with a church there. I had in my mind for you the -neighbourhood of Southwark, or Walworth, South London. Much more -suitable, yerce, yerce. The Brown Borough is very unhealthy for those -unaccustomed to London slums.” - -“Yet your sister gained weight and lost hysteria there,” said the -suffragette maliciously. “I myself might be said to have room for -improvement on both these points.” - -“I strongly advise you to choose another parish,” said the priest, -bitterly repenting of his zeal. “So much excellent work has been done in -the Brown Borough that the majority of the people ought by now to be on -the way to find salvation, both in body and soul.” - -“That’s why I propose to come as an antidote,” said the suffragette. - -The conversation closed itself. They opened the _Spectator_ and _Votes -for Women_ simultaneously. - -London provided the sort of weather it reserves for those who return -from sun-blessed lands. It was a day with rain in the past and rain in -the future, but never rain in the present. The sort of day that makes -you feel glad you thought of bringing your umbrella, and then sorry to -find you left it in the last bus. The streets looked like wet slates -splashed with tears. - -The suffragette kept a lonely flat not far from Covent Garden, -apparently with the object of ensuring herself the right to exercise a -vote when she should have procured that luxury. For she very seldom put -the flat to the ordinary uses of flats. It contained a table and two -chairs, as a provision against the unlikely event of its owner’s -succumbing to social weaknesses. It also contained a bed. Curtains and -carpets, and any cooking arrangement more elaborate than a gas-ring, are -not included in the Theory of the Hair Shirt, the motto of which is, “I -can very well do without.” - -The suffragette deposited the mustard-coloured portmanteau at this -Spartan abode, and went to report herself to her Society. She was not a -famous suffragette. If I told you her name, you would not raise your -eyebrows and laugh facetiously and say, “Oh—_that_ maniac....” She was -nominally one of the rank and file, although, being rebellious even -against co-rebels, she seldom acted under orders. - -There are, broadly speaking, two kinds of workers in the world, the -people who do all the work, and the people who think they do all the -work. The latter class is generally the busiest, the former never has -time to be busy. - -The Chief Militant Suffragette, who believed that she held feminism in -the hollow of her hand, was a born leader of women. She was familiar -with the knack of wringing sacrifices from other people. She was a -little lady in a minor key, pale and plaintive, with short hair, like -spun sand. She dressed as nearly as possible like a man, and affected an -eyeglass. She probably thought that in doing this she sacrificed enough -for the cause of women. She had safely found a husband before she cut -her hair. I suppose she had sent more women to prison than any one -magistrate in London, but she had never been to prison herself. - -The cause of the Suffrage, while attracting the finest women in the -country, also attracts those who consider themselves to be the finest. -It has an equal fascination for those who can work but can never lead -and for those who can lead but never work. - -“I have written to you three times,” said the Chief M.S. pathetically to -the suffragette. “I do think you might have answered.” - -“So do I,” admitted the suffragette, “only that I have been abroad. What -did you write to me about?” - -“Abroad?” said the Chief M.S., and raised her eyebrows. She had none -really, but she raised the place where they should have been. “Abroad? -Enjoying yourself at such a time as this?” - -“What do you mean?” asked the suffragette. “What has happened? Have we -got the Vote?” - -The eyeglass of the Chief M.S. fell out with annoyance. “Of course not,” -she said, “but it’s the great massed procession and deputation -to-morrow, and I wanted you to help with the North London section.” - -The suffragette loathed processions. She loathed working or walking with -a herd. She would rather have blown up Westminster Abbey than stewarded -at a meeting. A less honest woman would have flattered herself that -these are the signs of a great and lonely mind, but the suffragette knew -them as the signs of vanity. And to cure vanity is, of course, the -business of a hair shirt. - -“When have I got to be there? And where?” she asked. - -In the eyes of the Chief M.S. punctuality in other people was the ideal -virtue. The moment she named to her assistants was always an hour before -the correct time, and two hours before the one she chose for her own -appearance. - -The suffragette had long been a servant of the Society. By an -instinctive calculation she managed to arrive at Little South Lane next -day punctually at the moment when help began to be needed. She collected -some of the native enthusiasts who were adding fuel to their ardour on -the door-steps of neighbouring public-houses. She quelled the political -antagonism of a bevy of little boys who were vocally competing with a -Great Woman’s preliminary address. She soothed the objections of the -paid banner-bearers, who had not been led to expect the additional -opposition of a high wind. She eliminated from the procession as far as -possible all suffragists below the age of four. She lent a moment’s -friendly attention to the reasons why Woman’s Sphere is the Home, -expounded by a hoarse spinster from an upper window. She courageously -approached an enormous dock-hand, who had snatched a banner from its -rightful bearer, and was waving it with many oaths. - -“Might I trouble you for that banner?” said the suffragette. - -The gentleman’s reply was simple but obscene. - -“Might I trouble you at once to move out of my way, and let the -procession join up?” said the suffragette in a red voice. - -“Gaw-love yer, me gal, I’m comin’ along,” said the gentleman. “Wot price -me for a ... suffragette? You’ll need a few fists, if you git as fur as -the Delta way.” - -How very rare it is to mistake the staff for the broken reed. The -suffragette recovered herself quickly. - -“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I ought to have known from your face -that you were a sensible man. How good of you to carry a banner!” - -The procession, like a snake, reared its head and moved. In the van a -marching song was begun, in the rear—a ragtime. The police, looking -dignified, but feeling silly, marched in single file on either flank, -and kept an eye on the interests of the traffic. The one mounted -policeman obviously regretted the prominence of his position, his horse -was an anti, and showed a man-like tendency to argue with its hoofs. - -The suffragette walked between a little woman in a plush coat with a -baby and a person who might have been a poetess, or a philosopher, or a -Low Church missionary, but was certainly very earnest. The long brown -streets swung by. The flares on the coster’s barrows anchored to the -kerb, danced in the yellow air. A hum of barbaric voices, and the large -firm pulse of many feet marching, made a background to the few clear -curses and the fewer clearer blessings from the pavement. - -“I wish to Gawd my kiddie ’ed been a gel,” said the little mother beside -the suffragette. “Bein’ a woman—mikes yer proud-like....” - -The suffragette put her chin up and laughed. “As a man, your kiddie’ll -make you proud. There’s sure to be something splendid about a man whose -mother was proud to be a woman.” - -“Men ...” said the little mother, with more alliteration than -refinement, “are ... brute beasts.” - -“’Ere, draw it mild,” said the dock-hand, who was just in front. - -“There’s men, wytin’ for us, somewhere down the Delta wy now. Wytin’ to -mike us yell an’ run, wytin’ to ’urt us—jus’ becos we was proud to be -women.” - -“Waiting for us?” gasped the poetess. “Why—how dreadful.... I wasn’t -told there would be any fighting.” - -“You might have known there would be,” said the suffragette. “You can’t -assert facts without fighting for them.” - -The poetess, obviously wishing she had left such dangerous weapons as -facts to themselves, gave a hoarse giggle, and said, “I declare, I’m -quite frightened....” - -“It is frightening,” agreed the suffragette. “Not the bruises, but the -stone-wallness of men. I’m always frightened by opposition that I can’t -see through at all. I am frightened of Delta Street hooligans. I am also -frightened in exactly the same way by a polite enemy. You go into the -law courts, for instance, and watch those men wearing their wigs like -haloes and their robes like saints’ armour——” - -“You do talk nice, miss,” said the little mother. “I wish you’d come -down to the Brown Borough, an’ jaw my young man.” - -The suffragette, though a trifle damped, continued, “It isn’t that their -arguments are strong, nobody minds that, but it’s that they don’t bother -to have any arguments. Just like the hooligans, only in different words. -It’s no more an argument than it is one between God and Satan. One side -is established, the other doesn’t exist. It makes you see that to-morrow -is never strong enough to fight to-day. It would take an angel to admit -to-morrow as a fact at all, and unfortunately it’s men we’re up -against.” - -“Then what’s the good of all this?” asked the poetess, who was naturally -becoming more and more depressed. - -“Oh, a losing battle’s fine,” said the suffragette. “I’d rather wear a -black eye than a wig, or a crown, any day.” - -“’Ear, ’ear,” said the dock-hand. - -“Wiv Parliament, for instance,” said the little mother, who was -evidently accustomed to fill her sphere with her voice. “They sits an’ -argoos about Welsh Establishment, an’ all the while I ’ed my little gel -die of underfeeding, becos I wuz carryin’ this one, and couldn’t get -work.” - -“Thet’s all very well,” said the dock-hand; “but wot do you expec’? You -carn’t expec’ the lawyers to frow up their wig an’ say the Law’s a Liar. -(Not but wot it ain’t.) You carn’t expec’ the Prime Minister to tell -’isself ‘There’s Mrs. Smiff’s biby dyin’, I mus’ go dahn an’ see abaht -it.’ (Not but wot it ain’t ’ard.”) - -“There are lots of things you can’t kill,” said the suffragette. “But -you can always try. Men don’t try, because impossibility is one of the -things they believe in.” - -“You carn’t kill Votes fer Women,” shouted the little mother, with a -burst of enthusiasm. She waved her baby instead of a banner. - -At that moment a yelling horror dropped like a bomb upon the level -street. The suffragette saw the mounted policeman, complete with his -horse, fall sideways, like a toy. She saw a chequered crowd of -perspiring faces come upon her like a breaking wave. She saw the banners -ahead stagger like flowers before a wind. She saw the poetess fall, and -some one stamp on her shoulder. She saw a man with a fierce-coloured -handkerchief knotted round his throat seize the little mother’s chin and -wrench it up and down, as he cursed in her face. The suffragette, who -never could be angry in a dignified way, gave a hoarse croak and -snatched his arm. Possibly she felt like the child Hercules during his -interview with the serpents, but she did not look like that at all. The -man jerked his arm up, the suffragette’s seven stone went up too. She -was waved like a flag. The tears were shaken out of her eyes. Her feet -kicked the air. And then she alighted against a wall. She saw a chinless -and unshaven face heave into her upper vision, and a great hand, like -black lightning, cleft the fog. The knuckles of the hand cut like a -blunt knife. In North London we always repeat our arguments, when we -consider them good ones. The suffragette, who was a person of no -muscular ability at all, gave up hoping for the chance of a retort in -kind, after the third repetition. So the argument went on undisputed, -until the dock-hand perceived it, when it was successfully overborne. - -The suffragette picked up her hat. She hated it because it looked so -dirty. She hated her heart because it felt so sick. She picked up the -poetess and hated her because she was crying. She was crying herself, -but she thought she looked courageously wrathful. - -“What do we do now?” sobbed the poetess. - -“We walk on,” said the suffragette, and took her, not very gently, by -the arm. - -“But I can’t, I can’t. It may happen again,” wailed the poetess. -“Policeman, can’t I go home?” - -“Yes, miss,” said the policeman, wiping his brow. - -“But there are no taxis.” - -“No, miss,” said the policeman. - -You never can tell what strange thing you may do at a crisis. The -poetess slipped a confiding hand into that of the policeman, and walked -meekly by his side. - -“Murderers ...” exclaimed the little mother. “They might ’ev done biby -in. Your ’ead’s bleedin’, miss. So’s my gum, but I kin swaller that.” - -The suffragette felt as if she had been divided in two. Her militant -spirit, clothed in its hair shirt, seemed to be moving at a height, -undaunted, monopolised as usual by the splendour of its cause. And -below, very near the dust, a terribly tired woman, a unit among several -hundreds of other terribly tired women, put one foot before the other -along an endless road. - -You must stride over a gap here, as the procession did mentally. For a -very long time I don’t think anybody thought anything except—“How long, -O Lord, how long?” - -When I am very tired and see the high and friendly smile of St. Paul’s -curved across the sky, I feel as if I am near home. I always think St. -Paul’s is like a mother to all London, while Westminster Abbey is like a -nun, the bride of heaven, with an infinite scorn of you and me. St. -Paul’s stands at the top of the hill of difficulty, and after that your -feet walk by themselves down Ludgate Hill. - -There was a burst of song from all parts of the procession as it passed -that friendly doomed milestone. The burst was simultaneous, but the song -was too various to be really effective. - -“Votes for Women,” shouted the little mother. “I sy, miss, when are you -comin’ dahn to the Brown Borough to ’elp wiv votes for women? We ain’t -got nobody there as kin talk like you.” - -“Am I coming down?” asked the suffragette, who had a vague idea that she -had said many things, now forgotten. “I never speak at meetings now. My -brain is always wanting to say the next thing but one, and my tongue is -always saying the thing before last. There’s too much to be said about -Votes for Women.” - -“Meetin’s...” said the little mother in a voice of scorn. “Tain’t -meetin’s we want. It’s somebody jus’ to talk ornery, as if they was a -friend-like. Somebody to live up the street—if you unnerstan’ me—an’ -drop in, an’ be interested. When my little gel died, lars’ October, an’ -’ole lot of lidies made enquiries, an’ got me a few ’alfpence a week to -git on wiv till I could get back to the box-miking. I useter ’ave to go -to an orfice an’ answer questions, an’ the lidy useter sy she was sorry -to seem ’quisitive, but she ses—If some on yer cheat, you mus’ all on -yer suffer.... Bless you, I didn’ mind answering questions, but I was -very low then, an’ I useter tike it ’ard that none o’ them lidies never -seemed interested. Nobody never as’t wot was the nime o’ my little gel -that died, nor ’ow old she was, nor nothink about ’er pretty wys that -she useter ’ave.... ’Tisn’t that they ain’t kind, but it’s being treated -in a crowd-like as comes ’ard, an’ there’s many feels the sime....” - -“What do you expect?” asked the poetess, who was now detached from the -policeman. “I am myself a C.O.S. secretary, so I know something about -it. None of us have time to do more than is really necessary. And when -there’s public money in question—well, it’s all very well, but one can’t -be too careful.” - -“When there’s money in question you may be right, miss,” said the little -mother. “But it ain’t allus a question of money, an’ it seems to me as -’ow, wiv votes fer women, if some on them suffragettes ’ud stop talking -about women’s wiges at meetin’s, an’ come an’ look at wiges at ’ome, -they’d ’it a lot of women wot thinks now as ’ow votes for women is only -a public thing an’ don’t matter outside Trafalgar Square. It seems to -’it you ’arder if a person’s friendly than if they’re heloquent....” - -“Something is happening in front,” said the poetess, looking wildly -round for her policeman. - -“The police have turned on us,” said the suffragette. “They always do in -the Strand. Downing Street gets nervous when we get as near as this.” - -It was too true. The police, relieved to be at last freed from the -burden of their false position, were characteristic of their profession. - -“But I was told I was to walk to the Houses of Parliament,” said the -poetess, finding her quondam protector’s hand on her shoulder. - -“You may walk to Jericho, miss,” replied the policeman with a wit as -heavy as his hand. “Only not more than three in a group, _if_ you -please.” - -A great crowd of little groups trickled on to the Embankment and -followed the tide of the river towards Westminster. There was a moon. I -think the moon is really the heroine of this unheroic book. Half the -blessing of London belongs to the river, and half the blessing of the -river belongs to the moon. Do you know how beautifully a full moon bends -out of her sky to trail her fingers in the river? Do you know how -faerily she shoots shavings of her silver under the bridges, and how she -makes tender the blackness of the barges and the shadows of the little -wharves? I always think the moon has in her quiver of charms a special -shaft for the river of London. She never smiles like that elsewhere. - -It was no surprise to Westminster to see the deputation and procession -arrive, albeit in a less neat form than that in which it started. The -police force has moments of wonderful insight into the psychology of -law-breakers, and in this case it seemed aware that a procession of -women disbanded and told to go home in the Strand is nevertheless likely -to appear sooner or later in Parliament Square. The great space -resounded to the tramp of the feet of the law. A detachment of mounted -police strove to look unconcerned in the Whitehall direction. I always -think it is unjust to drag dumb animals into these political questions. -I wonder the S.P.C.A. doesn’t step in. Imagine the feelings of a grey -mare, for instance, on being called upon to charge into the ranks of a -female deputation to Downing Street. - -Neither the suffragette nor I are familiar with the great ways of -deputations. We are of the humble ranks which suffer physical buffetings -in the shadow of St. Stephen’s, while our superiors suffer moral -buffetings in the shadow of the English Constitution. There is very -little sport in being a shuttlecock anyway, but while the head gets the -straight hit, the feathers feel most the stress of adverse winds. - -The object of the police in a crowd is to keep it moving. The direction -in which it is to move is never explained to it. Whether you move to the -right or the left you are sure to be wrong in the eyes of the law. If -you weigh seven stone, your tendency is to move either upwards or -downwards. Correctly speaking, the suffragette never set foot in -Parliament Square for some time after she arrived there. She was caught -in a gust of crowd, and borne in an unexpected direction. She did not -mind which way she went, but she was human enough to mind whether her -ribs got broken. Even in a good cause, matters like these touch you -personally. The shoulders of partisans and martyrs, packed closely -against your ribs, feel just as hard as the shoulders of the less -enlightened. The suffragette began to feel a cold whiteness creeping up -from her boots to her heart. She began to take a series of last looks at -the moon and the spires of the Abbey. She reached the earth just when -she had decided that she had reached the door-step of Heaven, and found -herself cast by an eddy into a tiny peace. There, in an alcove, was the -Chief M.S., protected by a stout husband. The Chief M.S., whose hair was -too short to have been dragged down, and whose eyeglass was trembling on -her breast with pleasurable excitement, was looking cool and peaceful. - -“You do look a wreck,” she said brightly to the suffragette. “I have -been wanting to talk to you about something I want you to do for me.” - -This was such a frequent remark on the lips of the Chief M.S. that, as a -rule, it made no impression on her followers and acquaintances. But the -suffragette was incredibly tired, and the power of kicking against -pricks was taken from her. She had no spirit in her except the ghost of -her hair shirt theory, that fiend which croaks—“Go on, go on....” She -made a great effort. She pulled her hat down on her head, she put her -chin up, she wrapped her cloak of endurance more closely round her. -“Talk on,” she said. - -“Oh, not now, child,” said the Chief M.S. “Come and see me next -Wednesday. I shall be away for a long week-end after this.” - -It seemed like making an appointment for a hundred years hence. The -suffragette agreed, because it seemed impossible that she could live so -long as next Wednesday. - -At that moment the mounted police charged. The careful husband of the -Chief M.S. whisked her away. The forelegs of a horse entered the -suffragette’s alcove. The safest place in a police charge is under the -noses of the horses. These animals, usually anxious to preserve -neutrality, have mastered the art of playing upon the fleeing backs of -agitators as gently as the pianist plays upon the keys. I have had a -horse’s hoofs fanning my shoulder-blades for minutes on end, and yet -only suffered from the elbows of my fellow-fugitives. - -The suffragette, alone on the strip of pavement between the rearing -horses and the recoiling crowd, conceived the sensational idea of -charging the chargers. This is the sort of idea that comes to one after -a five-hour march and a series of street fights. I have never been drunk -with liquor, but I know what it is to be drunk all the same. The -suffragette determined that those horses should never see her coattails. -She heard a voice shouting, “Women ... women ... women ...” and on -finding it was her own, added, “Don’t run back—run forward.” And she -flung herself on the breast of the nearest horse. - -A foot-policeman caught her on the rebound. She was not in the least -hurt, but he picked her up and carried her across his shoulder. She hit -her fists against his helmet; it sounded like a drum. It seems hard to -believe, but I assure you that even on that high though humble perch, -she was revelling in the thought that it concerned nobody but herself -that she was going to prison. - -My poor heroine, I am afraid, has stepped beyond the limits of your -toleration, but if you look, you will find I never asked you to admire -her. - -The policeman lowered her, and stood her like a doll on the steps of the -Metropolitan Railway. That excellent institution, shocked at the doings -outside, had drawn its grill modestly across its entrance, and its -employés, like good lions at the Zoo watching the rampant behaviour of -the public, were gazing through the bars. - -“You’re not the right size for this job, young woman,” said the -policeman. - -The suffragette’s reply was a further struggle. The policeman held both -her arms. - -“You go ’ome,” he said. “The deputation’s goin’ ’ome now, like a good -gel. What’s your station?” - -A terrible exhaustion drooped like a weight released upon the -suffragette. The only retort that came to her mind was, “Leicester -Square, please.” - -“Change at the Embankment,” said a railway official, and opened eighteen -inches of the gate. The policeman pushed her in. She took her ticket, -and went home as meekly as any Anti. - -You may be surprised to hear that the suffragette spent the next day in -bed. A day in bed is not, of course, part of the Hair Shirt Theory, but -this was a Sunday, and Sunday is a day of weakness, though it seems -politer to the Old Testament to call it a day of relaxation. The -suffragette always spent Sunday as she liked, with the hair shirt doffed -and neatly folded on a chair beside her. She smoked as many cigarettes -as she pleased, instead of the strict two of ordinary life, she -occasionally ate as many as three large meals, she had been known to -invest in nougat. Sundays were the oases in her desert, and if the -gardener had chanced on one for the scene of one of his luckless spasms, -this story might have been much prettier. It is very tiring to be -yourself with such ardour as the suffragette employed, and to be -somebody else for twenty-four hours once a week becomes almost a -necessity. - -Besides, she had court plaster on her forehead, and the publicly -court-plastered pose was one that the suffragette loathed. - -If the Chief M.S. had had the luck to catch a painless black eye in the -Cause of the Vote, she would have flaunted it like a flag up and down -Piccadilly. But the husband had been almost too effective. She had not -even broken her eyeglass. - -One of the most striking differences between the suffragette and the -gardener was that the gardener told himself: “When I die, they will be -sorry, and they will perhaps understand.” But the suffragette thought: -“When I die, nobody except the charwoman will know.” - -The suffragette went to see the Chief M.S. on Wednesday. - -“How curious you should come this afternoon,” said the Chief M.S. “Some -one was here asking for you only this morning.” - -The suffragette hardly ever explained herself. She did not remind the -Chief M.S. that she was there by appointment. Nor did she ask who had -been inquiring for her. Perhaps she knew. - -“He asked for your address,” said the Chief M.S. “But as he was a man, I -didn’t give it to him. He didn’t leave his name, but he asked me to tell -you that your dog was now in the hands of the quarantine officials. I -attacked him on the suffrage question, as I always do strange men.” - -“What did he say?” - -“He had nothing to say. I pointed out to him how ludicrous was the -argument that just because a person wore two tubes on his legs instead -of one, he was competent to rule.” - -“I have never heard that argument used,” said the suffragette soberly. -“I didn’t know that even men——” - -“Why, you’re as dense as he was,” snapped the Chief M.S. “Of course they -don’t put it like that. He asked me which M.P. was responsible for the -tubular argument. I saw it was no use going on. He left his address for -me to give you.” - -“What was it you wanted to see me about?” asked the suffragette. - -“Did I want—Oh, yes.... Well, I have been thinking you have done nothing -for the Cause lately, have you?” - -The suffragette fingered a sore dint under the shadow of her hat. -“Hardly anything,” she admitted. - -“I think the slum districts want working up,” said the Chief M.S. -“Somebody who walked behind you in the procession said you hobnobbed -wonderfully with the North London women. How would it be if you were to -undertake a series of informal meetings——” - -“It isn’t meetings they want, they told me so themselves,” said the -suffragette. - -“It’s meetings everybody wants,” retorted the Chief M.S. “I thought also -that you might start a soup kitchen or a turkey club, or one of those -things that one does start in the slums. You can’t educate the poor -without feeding them, I’m sure.” - -“Nonsense!” said the suffragette, who was certainly no more -accommodating as a follower than as a woman. “I don’t believe the -anatomy of the poor is one bit different from the anatomy of the rich. -And I don’t believe the way to anybody’s soul lies through their -stomach. Only if one is hungry, one naturally pretends that blind alley -is a thoroughfare.” - -“How do you suggest that the slums should be worked up, then, may I -ask?” said the Chief M.S. coldly. There is no point in being a born -leader, if the rank and file refuses to behave suitably. - -The suffragette loathed the wording of this remark, but kindly refrained -from further criticism. “If you like ...” she said, “I’ll try an -experiment on the Brown Borough. I’ll give no meetings and I’ll give no -membership cards, but if you leave me time I’ll bring as many women to -the Cause as ever did a dozen meetings in Trafalgar Square.” - -To hear of other people busy always cheered the Chief M.S. - -“You will have done a good work,” she said warmly. - -The suffragette went out with those words singing in her head. A thing -that very seldom happened to other people’s words in the ears of this -self-absorbed young woman. - -“To have done a good work ...” she said, on the top of a west-bound -’bus. - -“To have done a good work.... But if it were a good work it could never -be done. The way of good work goes on for ever. And that’s why I swear -I’ll do this work till I die....” - -It was fine to feel busy again. The suffragette had always liked to have -the measure of her day pressed down and running over, but she had never -yet known the luxury of having enough of what she liked. In the -home—which is Woman’s Sphere—there is always time to think how little -time there is. Even the career of an incendiary, though hectic, often -fails to give the illusion of persistent industry. The suffragette was -so lost in enthusiasm over the discovery of a good long road under her -feet at last, that she presently found herself at Kew. - -If you must drift, there are few places better to drift to than Kew -Gardens. Only if you go there just when the months have reached the -bleak curve of the hill that runs down into spring, you must know where -to find the best and most secret snowdrops. The suffragette knew. She -was very familiar with the art of being alone in London. - -You will perhaps not be surprised to learn that never once in her life -had her leisure meant some one else’s pleasure. There had never been any -one who would have been in the least interested to know that the -suffragette had a few hours unbooked. She never regretted this fact, -because she never noticed it. With the exception of Excursion Agents, I -should think no one ever knew the holiday resorts around London better -than she did. She could enjoy herself very much indeed sitting seriously -on grass, watching a world dotted with sentimental cockneyism. It gave -her no pang to be one among many twos. - -To-day she found the seat that sits forever looking at the place where -the snowdrops should be, and only really lives when they come out. And -when she got there, it was most annoying, she thought of the gardener, -to the exclusion of everything else. After several minutes she found -that she had been occupied in committing the address she had been given -to memory. - -“Number Twenty-one Penny Street. Twenty-one Penny Street.” - -I cannot account for the occasional inconsistency of this woman except -by reminding you of a certain well-known natural phenomenon. Just as a -man whose arm has been amputated may still suffer from a phantom -finger-ache, so a woman who has killed her heart must, at certain points -in her life, feel the pain of a heart, as if the dead thing turned in -its grave. One of the most tragic things about loss is that it is never -annihilation. - -“This is absurd,” thought the suffragette, pulling herself together. “I -must make a plan of campaign, as the M.S. Society would say. How am I -going to start?” - -Brown Borough popularity is a slippery thing to seize. You must have a -handle to grasp it by. - -A robin appeared, like a fairy, between two snowdrops. He did not notice -the suffragette, nevertheless he looked self-conscious. He re-arranged a -perfectly neat feather, and glanced at his waistcoat to see whether its -curve was correct. He even tried to glance over his waistcoat at his -feet, but this was physically impossible. The suffragette loved him -until she realised that he was in love, on which she wearied of him. A -chirrup behind her drew her attention to the lady in the case. - -“I believe I’ll have to get hold of the priest,” said the suffragette. I -have told you that she was devoid of tact. She never took enough notice -of the world to sulk when the world was unkind, she was not human enough -to quarrel. I have seen her give great offence to the Chief M.S. by -borrowing a cigarette in the middle of a tempestuous scene of mutual -reproach. She never reviewed the past when arranging for the future, and -this, in human relations, is a fatal mistake. - -She had an apple and an oatmeal biscuit in her bag. In spite of the -robin’s sentimental drawbacks, she shared the biscuit with him and gave -him the apple core. He finished the biscuit, and when about -three-quarters through with the apple core, he remembered his affair of -the heart. With the laboured altruism of the man in love, he tore -himself away, and embodied the apple core theme in a little song, by way -of informing the lady. She came, she began. Looking up with her third -mouthful, she noticed the suffragette. With a hoarse chirp, she shot -over the horizon. - -“He forgot to warn her,” sighed the suffragette. “Men _are_ so -unimaginative.” - -The gentleman came back and finished the apple core. - -The suffragette’s mind, which was rather sleepy, turned to the occasion -when she too had shot away from destiny, over a blue horizon. - -“But I left Courtesy as an apple core,” she said. “Men ought to be as -good philosophers as robins, any day.” - -You and I are getting tired of this scene. And so was the suffragette. -She shook herself. - -“I must wake up,” she said. “The incident is closed. I’m glad it’s -closed. But I’m very glad it was once open. By mistake I came alive for -a little while. I don’t believe in God, and I don’t believe in love. But -I thank God I have met love—in a dream.” - -She might possibly have been referring to the robin drama. But I don’t -think she was. - -She put her chin up, and buttoned up the hair shirt, and exchanged the -snowdrops for a ’bus. - -It was the day after this that the priest was addressing his sister’s -Girls’ Club in the Brown Borough. He was supplying food for the soul -while his sister prepared food for the body. The girls were listening -with the polite though precarious attention which Brown Borough girls -always bring to bear on the first three hundred words of any address, -especially if the addresser be a man. Factory girls are amiable -creatures with something inborn that very closely resembles good -manners. Unless you are so unfortunate as to stumble upon their sense of -humour, they will always give you a hearing. Their sense of humour is -broad, but only touched by certain restricted means. If you have a smut -on your nose, or if your hat is on one side, or if you stammer in your -speech, or if it is obvious that you have just sat in a puddle on -alighting from your ’bus, you need cherish no hopes, but be sure that -every word you say is only adding to the comedy of the situation. - -The priest was extremely neat, as usual. His piercing eyes under his -grey hair looked dignified, and he was concealing moral quack remedies -in gilded anecdotes with marked success. He had reached the critical -point in a comic story about his recent adventures in the tropics, and -was just preparing to lead the roar of amusement, when, over the heads -of his audience, he saw a face that seemed terribly familiar. He -finished the story with such gravity that nobody dared to smile. - -“How unwise I was to put the idea into her head,” he told himself, and, -descending from his eminence, went to meet her. - -“This is indeed a surprise, yerce, yerce,” he said, shaking her coldly -by the hand. He thought that she would be cut to the heart by the fact -that he failed to qualify the surprise as pleasant. She did not notice -the omission. She was not accustomed to being made very welcome. - -“I have followed your advice,” she said. “I have come down to ask you -for work.” - -“How very well-timed,” said the priest’s sister just behind him. -“Christopher, introduce the young lady.” - -“We will talk of that later,” said the priest. “I have not finished my -address.” - -But he virtually had. For he could find nothing else to say, although he -continued speaking. The girls lost interest, and began passing each -other letters and photographs from their chaps. A little plain girl, -beside whom the suffragette had taken her seat, handed her one of these -documents. - -I have said that the suffragette had a hard face—it is worth noting that -no beggar ever begged of her unless he was blind. But I suppose she had -loved women so long and so fiercely that there was something in her look -that established confidence in the women she met. Nobody would have -handed a love-letter to Mrs. Rust to read, within five minutes of her -first appearance. - -“The cocoa is ready, Christopher,” said the priest’s sister audibly, -from an inner room. - -A remark like this, though trivial, will throw almost any orator off his -track. The priest stopped, with the resigned sigh of Christian -irritation. - -The suffragette handed the letter back to her neighbour. “What a nice -chap yours must be,” she said. - -“Are you the young woman wot’s come to ply the pianner?” asked the girl. - -“I’m not sure,” replied the suffragette, with a guarded look at the -priest. “I rather think I am.” - -This was luckily considered amusing, and over the cocoa the comments on -the new young woman were favourable. - -The priest’s sister came out from the inner room, whence proceeded the -loud bubbling squeaks of cocoa-drinkers. - -“Now, Christopher,” she said, “why didn’t you tell me you had found a -new helper?” - -“I do not know that I have, my dear,” replied the priest. “This young -lady has misinterpreted something I said to her.” - -“It’s very lucky that she did, then,” said the priest’s sister. “We are -so badly in need of a new voluntary helper.” - -“You oblige me to put the matter baldly, my dear,” said the priest, -keeping his temper with a creditable effort. “This is the young lady I -mentioned to you last night in the course of conversation. All our -helpers hitherto have been of the highest moral character.” - -“From your face...” said the priest’s sister to the suffragette. “I am -sure you mean well. I am sure you are not wicked. And if you have -slipped, there is nothing like hard work in the Brown Borough to make -you forget.” - -The suffragette was so much startled to hear herself addressed in this -unusual vein that she very nearly cried. It is rare to have tears so -near so horny a surface as hers. - -“My dear ...” said the priest. “I think you forget my position of -authority in this parish. You also forget the pure young souls committed -to your care in this club. Yerce, yerce.” - -He actually imagined the factory girls to be as innocent as himself. To -him the words youth and innocence were indivisible. - -“Oh, nonsense, Christopher,” said his sister. “She doesn’t necessarily -want to help with this club, and even if she did she can’t convey -infection to the girls by playing the piano to them.” - -“I do not expect she does play the piano,” said the priest lamely. - -“You do play, don’t you? You have such pretty hands.” - -After that, of course, the suffragette felt as though she could have -played Strauss to please her. As a matter of fact she had little real -articulate gift for music, but she never forgot a tune she had heard, -and found no difficulty in rendering the songs that always sang in her -head, outwardly instead of inwardly. - -The priest’s sister was not musical. Nor was she critical. She -considered that the Brown Borough had in this newcomer found something -it had lacked. The suffragette, who possessed certain secret springs of -conceit, was to some extent of the same opinion. And by the end of the -evening the majority of the girls shared this view. - -“Do you know a Mrs. Smith?” asked the suffragette, as she said good-bye. - -“I know perhaps five hundred Mrs. Smiths,” said the priest’s sister. - -“She wears a plush coat, and a baby, and a little girl of hers died in -October.” - -“About two hundred and fifty out of the five hundred wear plush coats, -and babies, and little girls that die.” - -“I wonder what surnames are for,” said the suffragette pettishly, “since -they have ceased to distinguish one person from another?” - -“If you come to me to-morrow,” said the priest’s sister, “I will give -you the names of various women who want visiting. If your Mrs. Smith -needs you, you will soon find her, if you live in the Brown Borough.” - -The suffragette was a rash woman. She always abode by her own first -choice. Before she went to see the priest’s sister in the morning, she -found herself a Brown Borough lodging. She did this by the simple device -of knocking on the door of the first house she saw that displayed a -notice, “Apartment.” - -“Now then, wot’s the matter?” asked the lady who opened the door. - -The suffragette, though impossible to silence, was easy to abash. And -there is certainly something disheartening in such a salutation. -However, she suggested that the notice in the window might excuse an -intrusion. - -She was very lucky; one always is when one doesn’t deserve to be so. She -might have found a room with a brown wet ceiling curtseying floorward -under the stress of many rains. She might have found a room peopled by a -smell incredible, with rags stuffed into panes that had been broken by a -merciful accident. She might have found walls discoloured by dark -patches that looked like old blood. All these things are apt to decorate -Woman’s Sphere in the Brown Borough. - -But the suffragette had, by mistake, knocked on the door of the most -respectable house in the most respectable street in the district. She -found a clean, though dark room, with a window blinking against the sun -at a back yard filled with snowdrops. The wall-paper talked in a loud -voice of tulips: wine-coloured tulips trampled on each other and -wrestled for supremacy over every inch of it. The tablecloth and carpet -were the colour of terra-cotta, and firmly disagreed with every word the -wall-paper said. Two horse-hair chairs, in sullen brown, looked moodily -at each other across the table. - -The suffragette never asked more than that her body might live in a -clean place. She kept her mind detachable from colour schemes. After -all, what is my body for but to enclose me? - -“I’ll have the room,” said the suffragette, as if it had been a cake of -soap. - -It was like a dream to the landlady, a dream she had never been -sufficiently feverish to indulge in. - -“You’ll have it?” she gasped. - -“Yes. Why not? What’s the rent, by the way?” - -The landlady, by means of a rapid mental process of multiplication, rose -manfully to the occasion. - -“All right, fifteen shillings,” said the suffragette. “I’ll come in -to-morrow.” - -She went to see the priest’s sister, but to her mild annoyance found the -priest instead. - -“My sister suggested that you should visit the Wigskys,” said the -priest, who never bore malice, as far as one could see. He never allowed -you for a moment to forget that he was a Christian. “Mrs. Wigsky’s -latest baby hasn’t been christened. Also I think the eldest girl must be -getting into bad ways; she has left the excellent place I found for -her.” - -“And must I persuade the baby to be christened?” - -“Not the child itself. You had better do your best to persuade the -mother.” - -“But supposing she refuses on principle?” - -The priest fixed her with his piercing eye. “There can be no principle -contrary to the Right,” he said. “The opposite to Right is Wrong.” - -“How simple!” said the suffragette. “But won’t Hell be terribly -overcrowded?” - -The priest sighed, and certainly with reason. But he remembered that he -was very broad-minded, and that he had often said that everybody had a -right to their own opinion. He remembered that the soft answer that -turneth away the fatuity of women had found a place even in the New -Testament. - -“No one would be more loth than I ...” he said, “to classify as -condemned all whose views do not coincide with the dictates of the -Church. Let us rather call them mistaken.” - -The suffragette shut in a renewed protest with a snap of her jaws. -Although she badly needed a handle by which to seize the Brown Borough, -surely there must be other handles than the Church. She determined -secretly on determination as her unaided weapon. - -But she went to see the Wigskys. She found them—a large family, red and -mutually wrathful in an atmosphere of hot smells ancient and modern. - -When she got inside the door she wondered why she had come. The baby -screaming on its mother’s breast looked incorrigibly heathen, the eldest -girl looked wholly unsuited to any “excellent place” discovered by the -priest. - -“Wooder _you_ want?” asked the harassed mother, a drab and dusty -creature, with the used look of cold ashes. - -“I’ve come from Father Christopher ...” began the suffragette, wishing -she had come from some one else. - -“’N you can go back to Farver Christopher,” said Mrs. Wigsky. “Becos I -ain’t goin’ to ’ave no more bibies christened. It’s ’eaven ’ere, an’ -’eaven there, this biby’s goin’ ter grow up ’eeven fer a chinge. It -carn’t get us into worse trouble nor wot we’ve ’ad.” - -“I haven’t come to bother you,” said the suffragette. “After all, it’s -your baby, not Father Christopher’s.” - -“That’s wot I ses,” said the mother, slightly mollified. “Well, if you -’aven’t come abaht Biby, wot ’ave you come for?” - -“I’ve come because I want to find friends in the Brown Borough. If you -don’t want me, please tell me to go.” - -The Brown Borough never protests if you surprise it; and in any case, -Mrs. Wigsky’s soul was too dead for consistent protest. Also it was -certainly a change to be visited by one who lacked the visitor’s -apprising eye, who seemed unaware of an unswept floor and an unmade bed. - -“As Father Christopher talked about the Brown Borough women ...” said -the suffragette, “I wanted more and more to know them, because it seems -to me so splendid to keep going at all in the Brown Borough. I must tell -you I always love women. So you must forgive me for coming.” - -“’Tain’t often as lidies come to admire us,” said Mrs. Wigsky. “They -allus comes to show us ’ow wrong we are.” - -“I’m not a lady,” said the suffragette. - -“Ow, yus you are,” said the eldest girl, speaking for the first time. - -“Are you the girl that’s out of a job?” asked the suffragette. - -“Yus. Farver Christopher got me a job as general to the lidy oo keeps -the post orfice. She give me three-an’-six a week an’ no food, an’ -mother ain’t earnin’ now, an’ Tom’s in ’orsbital, so it weren’t good -enough. I run awiy. She ’it me too, an’ mide me cerry up the coals. But -’er bein’ a lidy, I couldn’t siy much—I jus’ run awiy.” - -“I wish you’d hit her back,” said the suffragette. “And I wish the word -‘lady’ had never been invented.” - -“Lidies is lidies, an’ generals is generals,” said Mrs. Wigsky. “Gawd -mide it so, an’ you carn’t get over it.” - -“I’m sure God never made it so,” said the suffragette. “He made men and -women, and nothing else. He made man in His own image, and left woman to -make herself. And she’s doing it. That’s what makes us all so proud to -be women.” - -“I’m not proud of bein’ a woman. I’m sick of it,” said Mrs. Wigsky; but -the girl said, “You do talk beautiful, miss. I b’leeve I’m a little bit -proud. Anywiy, I wouldn’t be a man for somefink.” - -“Men,” sniffed Mrs. Wigsky. “It’s men wot does all the ’arm. An’ yet you -carn’ get along wivout ’em altogether. They’re so ’elpless.” - -(I hope you notice this truth, one of the few unposed truths in this -book. Man is potentially a son, and woman is potentially a mother; woman -depends on the dependence of man. The spinster, if pathetic at all, is -pathetic because she has no one to look after, not because there is no -one to look after her. Bear in mind that the conventional spinster keeps -a canary as a substitute for a husband.) - -“All the same,” said the suffragette, “men are proud of being men, and -that is one of the greatest virtues. I don’t suppose there is a man in -London who would be general to a Post Office lady at three-and-six a -week and no food.” - -This was thought to be supremely witty, and the suffragette rose to -depart on the crest of a ripple of popularity. The girl followed her -half-way downstairs. - -“You fink that I was roight then to chuck that job, miss?” - -The suffragette at that moment parted company with Father Christopher. - -“Certainly I think you were right. It’s very wrong to take less money -than you’re worth. I’d rather lend your mother money to get on with -until you can get a worth-while job than let a friend of mine go so -cheap as three-and-six a week. You can give your mother this address, -and tell her I’ll come to see her again very soon.” - -As she reached the first landing, she became aware of a fresh twist in -the maze. I think drama of a rather sombre variety is the very life of -the Brown Borough, and I defy you to thread its streets or climb its -stairways for half a day without meeting some Thing you never met -before. - -The doorway on the first landing was practically filled by a woman, -whose most surprising characteristic was that her right eye was filled -with blood. The blood was running down on to the breast of her dress. - -“I’m feelin’ that queer,” said the woman. “It’s the sight o’ blood allus -mikes me queer.” - -“You must let me help you,” said the suffragette. “You must let me put -you on your bed.” - -The woman laughed and remained swaying in the doorway. - -“Bedder standen’ ...” she mumbled hysterically. - -She was an enormous woman, and effectually blocked the doorway. For one -mad moment the suffragette meditated climbing over her. An obstacle -always had an irresistible fascination for her. - -“Don’t be so silly,” said the suffragette. “Let me come in at once. I am -here to help. Stand aside.” - -The woman laughed again, and her head suddenly lolled down upon her -breast. A little drip of blood ran down upon the floor. - -“You are making a mess on the floor,” said the suffragette. - -There was a magic in the words. I suppose their power lay in their utter -futility. The woman stood aside. - -“Now let me get you to bed,” said the suffragette as she entered. But -there was no bed. - -There were a dresser, a small table, and a chair. There was also a man, -noisily asleep upon the chair. - -“Ran me eye agin the corner of the tible,” said the woman. - -“How very unlucky,” said the suffragette, “considering the table’s -practically the only thing in the room. Except the man.” - -She took the back of the chair and tipped it forward. She tilted it to -such an angle that nobody in their senses could have remained seated in -it. But a guardian angel seems to look after the drunk at the expense of -the sober. When because she was not a professional weight-lifter, the -suffragette had to let the chair revert to its natural position, the man -was still comfortably asleep. - -The woman fainted in the corner. - -“Wake up, you damned pig!” said the suffragette, with the utmost -strength of her soft voice, and she struck his shoulder with all the -weight of a perfectly useless fist. - -“Shall I fetch a policeman?” asked Miss Wigsky. - -“The Law’s no good,” said the suffragette frowning. “I don’t believe -there is a law against a man being drunk in the only chair. Do you think -you could borrow a cushion or two from your mother, so that we could -make the woman comfy on the floor?” - -By the time Miss Wigsky returned with the relic of a pillow, the -suffragette had bathed the blood from the eye. - -“Woz this?” inquired the woman, opening the surviving eye upon the -appearance of Miss Wigsky. “Woz this? Pillers? Tike ’em awiy. I ’aven’t -bin to bed in the diytime for twenty years, nor I ain’t goin’ to begin -now....” - -“You must lie down,” said the suffragette. “And I will fetch the doctor -to sew up your eye.” - -“Bless yer ...” crowed the invalid. “S’long as I’ve got legs to walk to -the doctor on, you kin bet yer life ’e won’t walk to me. I’ll go’n see -’im, soon’s as I stop bein’ all of a tremble.” - -“I’ll come with you.” - -“As you please.” - -Miss Wigsky escaped. - -“Why do you allow that man to be drunk in here?” asked the suffragette -after a pause. - -“’E don’t arsk my leave.” - -“Is he your husband?” - -“No. ’E is in a manner of speakin’. But I wouldn’t really marry a soppy -bloke like thet.” - -“Then why do you have soppy blokes crowding you out of your own -furniture?” - -“Ow, one must ’ave a man about the plice. Feels more ’omely-like.” - -“Does he work for you?” - -“I don’t fink.” - -“Is he very good to you?” - -The woman, not unnaturally, began to get restive. “’Oo ye’re gettin’ at? -Nat’rally a man ain’t soothin’ syrup when ’e come ’ome as my young man -come ’ome an hour ago. ’E’s better’n some.” - -There was a long silence. Then the suffragette said, “Women seem to be -extraordinarily cheap in the market. They hire themselves out to the man -who hits the hardest. It makes one almost tired of being a woman.” - -“Look ’ere ...” said the patient wrathfully, but she stopped there. -Presently she sat up and said, “I’m goin’ to doctor’s now. And if you -ain’t still too _tired_, miss, perhaps you’ll see me as fur as the -’orspital....” - -So the suffragette laid hold of the Closed Door of the Brown Borough, by -the handle of her fanatic determination. She never saw the impossibility -of victory. It was the earliest of the early spring, and there was hope -in the air. For many weeks hope was her only luxury. With it she -sweetened her bread and margarine when she rose, to the tune of it she -munched her nightly tripe and onions. She saw the mirage of the end in -sight, and with her great faith she almost made it real. She was a blind -optimist where women were concerned. - -On the initiative of the priest’s sister, she attended the Church Girls’ -Club three evenings a week. On her own initiative she played the Church -false, and established in its own field of labour, behind its back, the -foundation of her task. - -It was originally Miss Wigsky’s fault. Miss Wigsky was a girl of -practical energy, a warring spirit, a potential suffragette. She had -long been a militant resister of the Church Club ideal, but when the -suffragette became one of its regular adherents, Miss Wigsky joined it -at once. Hers was the active responsibility for what followed, and -’Tilda’s the passive. I think I have mentioned ’Tilda before, though not -by name. She was a small white creature who had committed the absurdity -of losing her heart to the suffragette at first sight, and had sealed -her admiration by laying bare the letter of her chap at their first -meeting. - -The moment of cocoa-drinking was always the moment of confidences. It -was during this comparatively peaceful time that the suffragette made -friends, and it was at this point that ’Tilda one evening approached -her. - -“Jenny Wigsky’s a funny gel,” said ’Tilda. “She’s bin talkin’ about you, -miss. I got a new job the other day, very little money—piece-work—on’y -shillin’ a diy if I work ever so ’ard. I ses to Jenny, ‘I’m a good gel I -am, to tike less money than I’m worth just to ’elp my muvver.’ But Jenny -ses I’m a very bad gel—she ses you ses as it’s wicked to tike bad -money.” - -“I didn’t say it was wicked—I wouldn’t use the word,” said the -suffragette. “But I do think it’s selfish. Every time a girl takes too -little money, she may be forcing another girl to take less. You know -it’s partly your fault that women’s wages are so bad. You can feel now -that you’ve had a share in the work of sweating women, ’Tilda.” - -“Didn’t I tell you?” said Miss Wigsky. “Why don’t you do as I do, an’ -stick out for ten?” - -“But you’re not gettin’ it,” objected ’Tilda. - -“I’m goin’ to get it, I am. I’m goin’ back to my ol’ tride—box-miking. I -left it becos the work was so ’ard, but the money’s better.” - -“I don’t mind how hard people work, as long as they get paid for it,” -said the suffragette. “Of course, you have to do good work for good -money. What I mean is that I think it’s just as dishonest to take too -little money as it is to do too little work.” - -“But wot’s the good of one standin’ out?” - -“Very little good. But more good in a dozen standing out and more still -in a hundred.” - -“Le’s start a sassiety,” suggested the strenuous Miss Wigsky. “You could -be the Preserdink, miss, an’ I’ll ’elp yer. We’ll call ourselves the -‘Suffragette Gels,’ an’ we won’t allow none of us to tike less money -than ten shillin’.” - -“Garn ...” said ’Tilda. “Thet’s a Tride Union, thet is. A man’s gime. If -I chuck my job, ’oo’s goin’ to keep me til I get a better one. Muvver? I -don’t fink....” - -“I will,” said the suffragette. “If there’s anybody here earning less -than ten shillings a week, I’ll give them seven-and-six a week for a -fortnight if they have to chuck their job, and I’ll also give a prize of -seven-and-six at the end of the fortnight to the girl who’s increased -her wages the most.” - -No plan could ever have been less planned. She thought of it as she -spoke of it, a most rash method. But Miss Wigsky immediately set to work -to hew it into shape. - -“You’ll ’ave to arringe for piece-work, miss,” she said. “Anybody on -piece-work could increase their wiges by working for twenty-four hours a -diy, but it wouldn’t be fair.” - -“Nobody must work after eight at night,” said the suffragette. - -“An’ if two or three gets the sime rise?” suggested Miss Wigsky. - -“I’ll give them each seven-and-six,” said the suffragette. - -Of the twenty girls present, three were earning over ten shillings and -entered a different class of the competition, working for the prize -without the maintenance, if a rise should be found possible without loss -of employment. Of the remaining seventeen, two refused to compete, and -one was too small to be worth more than her present earnings. The other -fourteen determined on an immediate attack on their employers. Chances -were discussed instead of dances for the rest of the evening. - -“My boss’ll siy—the money’s there—you kin tike it or leave it. ’E’s said -that before.” - -“My boss’ll smile—’e allus calls me ’Tip-a-wink, becos I’m the smallest -gel there. ’E’s never cross—my boss ain’t.” - -“I think I’ll win the prize easy—don’t know why I never thought of it -before. Buster—my boss—ses I’ve got the ’andiest ’ands wiv the bristles -as ever ’e see.” - -“My missus’ll siy—there’s ’undreds of sluts in the Borough twice as good -as you, an’ I like yer imperence, an’ you kin tike the sack wivout -notice. She allus calls me a slut—we won’t be sorry to part.” - -“I shall stick to the fevver work, an’ tike up curlin’ an’ sewin’, as -well as the knotting. I bin too lizy up to now, but I’ve got an aunt in -the tride as ’ud learn me in no time.” - -At closing time the priest drew the suffragette aside. - -“I heard Jane Wigsky’s voice constantly raised in the dining-room this -evening. I want your opinion of that girl. Yerce, yerce. She seems to me -rough and coarse, and I am tempted to think she is a disturbing -influence in the Club.” - -“She’s not so disturbing as I am,” said the suffragette, with a spasm of -conscience. - -“Oh, don’t say that,” said the priest, whose sister had been readjusting -his manners. “Don’t be disheartened, you will soon get into our ways, -yerce, yerce. But to return to Jane Wigsky, I do not like the girl. She -is impertinent and self-assured. I feel sure she puts ideas into the -girls’ heads.” - -“I shouldn’t think an idea more or less would make much difference.” - -The priest sighed. I am not surprised. I quite admit that the -suffragette was an infuriating person. I yield to none in my admiration -for any one who could manage to keep their temper with her. - -“You know I mean harmful ideas. She has no staying power. She left -excellent employment, apparently simply through a whim. Her mistress, -the postmistress, is a great friend of mine. In short, I consider the -girl undesirable, and we are thinking of asking her to leave the Club.” - -The suffragette became red. - -“I’m sorry the postmistress is a friend of yours,” she said. “Because -she can’t be a very admirable friend. She herself admits that she only -paid the girl three-and-six a week, with no food except a cup of tea at -mid-day.” - -“Poor wages, yerce, yerce. But far better than idleness.” - -“Infinitely worse,” said the suffragette. - -A rather feverish silence fell for a moment. I think the priest said a -prayer. At any rate he thought he did. - -“Surely you have some sympathy with our aims in this Club. Surely you -agree that it is a worthy ideal to try to raise the level of the young -womanhood of the Borough. Surely you see that we cannot do this unless -we keep the girls in good uplifting company. Jane Wigsky is a bad girl. -One must draw the line between good and bad.” - -“One may draw a line, but one needn’t build a barrier. And even to draw -a line, one should have very good sight.” - -“I think I hardly need your advice on the management of a parish I have -served for twenty-two years. If this were my Club I should request you -to find some other outlet for your energies. But my sister is very -obstinate. Good evening.” - -A certain amount of success attended the efforts of the Suffragette -Girls. By the end of that week, three girls had been given a rise for -the asking, the extent of it varying from sixpence to two shillings. -Several had got a promise of a rise when work should be less slack, only -three had taken the drastic step of leaving their employment. The -piece-workers with few exceptions were working for a wage which seemed -unalterable. An envelope-folder raised her earnings from three halfpence -a thousand to twopence. But as a rule there is no labour groove so deep -as the piece-worker’s. - -It was on the Thursday night before Good Friday that the suffragette, -dressed in a dressing-gown, sat before her fire remembering the simplest -character in this simple book—Scottie Brown. - -“It’s dog-stealing,” she thought, “no less. Miss Brown may return to the -Island any time crying out for Scottie to come and comfort her. And -Scottie will be languishing in England, undergoing quarantine. We are -dog-thieves.” - -The “we” sent a little heat-wave over the place where her heart should -have been. - -She had been working very hard all day, walking about the Brown Borough -collecting its worries. She was so tired that she could not rest, could -not go to bed, could not do anything except sit on her hearthrug and -think feverishly of things that did not matter. - -Outwardly the suffragette, when in her dressing-gown, and with her hair -drawn into a small smooth plait, approached more nearly her vocation -than under any other circumstances. She was a nun, dedicated to an -unknown God. - -“A person to see you,” said the landlady, and flung open the door. The -suffragette shot to her feet, with a momentary terrible suspicion that -the landlady had said “parson.” Visions of a bashful curate brought face -to face with a militant suffragette in her dressing-gown, were, however, -swept away by the entrance of Miss Wigsky. - -“It’s a —— shime,” remarked the visitor loudly, discarding the -convention of greeting. - -“Sure to be,” said the suffragette, sinking down upon the hearthrug -again. “Nearly everything’s that kind of shame. Sit down and tell me.” - -“I tol’ you I’d got a job, you know, at Smiff’s—boot-uppers. A lucky -find it were, I thought, ten shillin’ a week an’ I was to be learnt ’ow -to work a machine. ’E ses ’e thought I was a likely sort on Monday when -I went, but ’e ses as ’e was goin’ to learn me somethink, an’ ’e wanted -a special sort of gel, like, ’e ars’t for references. Knowin’ as ’e was -a religious sort of gentleman, an’ give ’eaps of money to the Church, I -tol’ ’im Farver Christopher for my reference, because Farver -Christopher’s known Muvver sence she married, an’ allus said ’e would -’elp ’er whenever ’e could. So when I went agine yesterday, to Smiff’s, -’e ses as ’ow Farver Christopher ’adn’t spoke well of me—said I was -unreliable, an’ never stuck to one job. So Mr. Smiff ses in thet cise I -wouldn’t suit, but ’e ses as I looked likely ’e’d give me a job as -packer at six shillin’. I ses as I couldn’ afford to tike so little -money, an’ I tol’ ’im about you an’ the Suffragette Gels. ’E ses you -oughter be ashimed of yoursel’, an’ ’e’d write an’ tell Farver -Christopher as ’ow ’is Club was an ’otbed of somethink or other. I ’ites -Farver Christopher—curse ’im—an’ ’e miking belief to be so ’elpful. I -was in my first job free years, an’ jus’ because I chucked the —— job ’e -found for me, ’e does me dirty like this. Curse ’im.” - -“Don’t,” said the suffragette. “Suffragettes don’t waste breath in -cursing—even when there seems to be nothing to do but curse.” - -“This evenin’ ...” continued Miss Wigsky, “I went to the Club to see if -you was there, though it wasn’t your night. Farver Christopher turned me -out, ’e did. ’E’s turned out fifteen of the gels, an’ tol’ them never to -come back no more. ’E found out from the others which was the -suffragette gels, an’ turned ’em out. I stood up to ’im, and arsk’ ’im -wotever we’ve done that’s wrong, there ain’t no ’arm, I ses, in tryin’ -to get a livin’ wige. I arsk’ ’im ’ow ’e’d like to live under seven -shillin’ a week. ’E ses as ’ow God ’ad called us to this stite of life, -an’ it was wicked to try an’ alter it. ’E ses as women are pide what -they’re worth, an’ God mide rich an’ poor an’ men an’ women, an’ never -meant the poor to be rich, or women to be pretending they was as good as -men ... I spit at ’im, miss, I ’ope you’ll excuse me.” - -“I’ll excuse you,” said the suffragette, “though I don’t think it was a -very artistic protest. I am most awfully sorry for you, Jenny, but I’m -not surprised. For you know when you became a suffragette you agreed to -fight, and now you’ve found out what you’re fighting, that’s all. -Suffragettes are just soldiers—only more sober—and when they meet the -enemy, they just get more determined, not more excited. If you were a -soldier and got wounded, we should be sorry for you, but also rather -proud of you. We must collect the suffragette girls somewhere else, and -make the army grow.” - -“I don’t believe you can, miss. I went to see ’Tilda, an’ she was pretty -near soppy about it. She’s piece-work, an’ carn’ get ’er boss to rise -’er, so she ain’t done nothink to be turned out of the Club for, she -ses. She ses as ’ow she won’t never ’ave nuffink more to do wiv them -suffragettes. Then I met Lil, the tow-’aired gel—she was drunk—at the -corner of the Delta. She puts it all on you, miss.” - -“Do you feel like that?” asked the suffragette. - -“Ow well, in a manner o’ speakin’, it wouldn’ ’ave ’appened if it ’adn’t -bin for you, miss. But I don’t feel sore against you, not really. You -did it for the best. You miy be right about fightin’ the enemy, on’y the -enemy’s too strong. P’r’aps Farver Christopher’s right, an’ God mide -women to starve till they marry, an’ get beaten till they die....” - -“If there is a God,” said the suffragette in a low voice, “the only -possible conclusion is that he is an Anti. Still, even a God can be -fought.” - -“Ow, I’m sick o’ fightin’,” said Miss Wigsky. “I shall go orf wiv my -chap, though ’e is out of work....” - - -The gardener was at 21 Penny Street, waiting for an answer to his -message. To pass the time he had found work, or rather work had found -him, for he was a man of luck. Eventually, instead of an answer, Mrs. -Paul Rust called on him. - -“How’s your son?” asked the gardener, who was pleased to meet some one -who had met the suffragette. - -Beneath his superficial “unscathed” pose, there was a layer of deep -faithfulness. He knew by now that the suffragette was not worthy of the -love of a sober Assistant Secretary to a Society Which Believed Itself -of Great Importance (one of his latest practical poses). But the thing -one knows makes no difference to the thing one feels, if one is young. -The gardener was under the impression that his wisdom had dethroned the -suffragette from her eminence, but his heart, with the obstinacy -peculiar to hearts, continued to look up. - -“My son is bad. He gets no stronger. There is no reason why he shouldn’t -get up, except that he isn’t strong enough to walk.” - -“I’m sorry.” - -“I’m not,” said Mrs. Rust automatically, and stood checked by such a -decided lie. - -“What annoys me is Courtesy,” she said after a pause. “Courtesy indeed, -she hasn’t treated me fairly. She had the impertinence to tell me last -week that she was engaged to that ridiculous young Wise she picked up at -Greyville. Engaged indeed, it’s stuff and nonsense, pure defiance. She’s -treated me as a sort of matrimonial agent. I wasn’t paying her £200 a -year to look for a husband.” - -“No,” agreed the gardener. “Then why don’t you forbid the banns?” - -Poor Mrs. Rust’s helplessness in the hands of Courtesy rose vaguely to -her memory. “Stuff and nonsense,” she said. “I haven’t yet decided what -steps I shall take in the matter. There is no immediate hurry. She has -suggested letting the matter drop until Samuel is better. She has many -failings, but I think she is fond of me.” - -“That’s a very attractive failing,” admitted the gardener. - -“I didn’t come here to discuss Courtesy with you,” snapped Mrs. Rust, -suddenly remembering her temper. “I came because Samuel wanted me to -come. He seems to be under delusions about you, he thinks he owes you -gratitude. In fact—probably under the influence of delirium—he once said -you financed his hotel. As a matter of fact I financed it myself, it -owes its present success to me.” - -“It’s awfully good of you to come all this way to bring me misdirected -gratitude,” said the gardener. - -“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “I wouldn’t stir an inch out of my -way to make you more conceited than you are. But that is the worst of -having a son, you have to pay occasional attention to his wishes. -Besides, Courtesy brought me up to town and gave the address to the -chauffeur, so I really wasn’t consulted. Samuel wishes to see you. All -the time he was ill he was asking for the Tra-la-la young man, and now I -find he means you. I might have said that right at the beginning, and -not have wasted all this time listening to your chatter.” - -“I’m very glad you didn’t,” said the gardener. “I couldn’t bear a caller -who came straight to the point in five words and then left.” - -“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “Are you coming?” - -It was half-past three on Good Friday afternoon. There is something -about that little Easter cluster of Sundays that weighs your heart down, -if you are in postless London, and expecting a letter. - -“Where is your son?” he asked. - -“In Hampshire, in the Cottage Hospital, near the Red Place. You could -put up at the Red Place. Samuel, being a fool, said you might have the -big black and white room on the first floor. He might have let it for -five guineas over Bank Holiday.” - -“What time is the train?” asked the gardener. - -“My car is at the door. The chauffeur is a dangerous lunatic, and there -seems to me to be every likelihood that the back wheel will come off -before we get out of London. But—are you coming?” - -So the gardener came. Seated behind the dangerous lunatic, over the -dangerous back wheel, and beside a hostess in a musical comedy motor -bonnet, he followed once more the road that led to the gods. - -He had left his address with Miss Shakespeare for the forwarding of -letters. - -The great surprise of spring awaited them outside London. There were -lambs under a pale sky, and violets under pale green hedges. Gnarled -trees, like strong men’s muscles, curved out of roadside copses, lit -with a green radiance. There was lilac smiling across the cottage -gardens, there were wallflowers blotted dark against whitewashed walls. -But when they reached the pines and heath they left the spring behind. -Only the larches preached its gospel. - -“You had better come and see Samuel first,” said Mrs. Rust. “He is -anxious to see you. He always was a fool.” - -So they passed the Red Place. It flared out at them along a sombre ride -that cut the woods in two. - -“Samuel says his gods look after the place as well as any manager, while -he is away. But of course he has a chef now, and a competent bureau -clerk.” - -“I suppose you couldn’t ask the gods to dish up the dinner, or make out -the bills,” admitted the gardener regretfully. “But I wonder if there’s -room for the gods as well as the chef and the competent bureau clerk.” - -“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “A good dinner’s worth all the -gods in mythology.” - -They drove up to their destination. - -The cottage hospital had only recruited to the service of the sick in -later life. For a hundred years or so it had been the haunt of the -wicked landowner. Worldly squires’ wives had given tea in its paved -pergola to curates’ wives in their best hats. But as the house grew -older it reformed. Its walls, steeped in the purple village gossip of a -century, now echoed only to the innocent if technical prattle of nurses. -The only person who walked in its garden was Sister: she threw crumbs to -the goldfish as severely as though the crumbs were for their good. For -the blessing which the house inherited from its past was its garden. A -small garden, like a cut emerald, but reflecting all other jewels. It -was a garden that tried to enshrine sombre peace amid the vivid riot of -spring. Its high clipped hedges drew decorously angular reflections in -the pools. Brown wallflowers hid the feet of the hedges. The lilacs -seemed somehow turned to half mourning by the proximity of a copper -beech. A veil of tree seeds spinning down the wind fell diagonally -across the garden. The pink horse chestnut was very symmetrical. Only -the little saxifrages protested against the geometrical correctness of -the paving-stones, and forget-me-nots sang a shrill song in blue from -the restraining chaperonage of red pottery tubs. A little cupid with a -dislocated hip played a noiseless flute from a pedestal. The garden was -a prig, but it was the sort of prig that makes you wonder whether after -all it is worth while to be so exquisitely sinful. - -They found Samuel Rust, who was the only patient in the hospital, the -centre of a mist of nurses. He was lying in the shade of a great smooth -yew pyramid with a military-looking bird fashioned on the top of it. -Samuel Rust, that unusual young man, could never be much paler than he -had been when in health, but he was grey now, rather than white, and his -round sequins of eyes were set in a deeper setting. - -“The Tra-la-la young man,” he said as the gardener approached. “I have -been wondering why I wanted to see you.” - -“So have I,” said Mrs. Rust, who, after a momentary lapse into a -maternal expression, had turned her back on the invalid. - -“Let’s pretend I’m just an ordinary sick-bed visitor, then,” suggested -the gardener. “One never knows why—or whether—one wants to see that sort -of visitor. In that case I have to begin:—Dear Mr. Rust, I hope you are -much better.” - -“Still posing,” said Samuel. “What is your latest attitude?” - -“I never pose,” said the gardener. “I have a horror of the pose. My -mind’s eye sometimes changes the spectacles it wears, but that’s all. I -now find that all along the gods were intending me to be a business -man.” - -“Hard luck,” said Samuel. - -The nurses had melted away, and Mrs. Rust followed them into the house. -The sun was making ready for his triumph in the west and a diffident -moon perched on the peak of the pink horse chestnut. - -“Perhaps one ought to have foreseen the gods’ intention of making you a -business man,” said Samuel, “for you certainly carried out the -unscrupulous deceiver part with wonderful success—That is—jolly -well—what? My Red Place now sings a hymn of praise to you, to the tune -of ten pounds a week—clear.” - -“Don’t mention it,” said the gardener. “It didn’t need much unscrupulous -deceiving to persuade your mother to get her heart to work. And, to tell -you the truth, the end was rather drowned in the means on that journey. -I got so busy living—I only thought of you when absolutely necessary.” - -“I didn’t expect you to wear my image graven on your heart, what?” said -Samuel. “You are young, and living should certainly be your business. Is -that why you said you were a business man? I have often thought that -being young and only lately set up in business, you had no business to -saddle yourself with a wife.” - -“No business whatever,” admitted the gardener. - -“Then why did you?” - -“I didn’t.” - -“Good heavens,” said Samuel fretfully, “why was I born in such a cryptic -age?” - -“The truth is—I spoke in a futurist sense when I called her my wife.” - -“In other words, you lied,” suggested Samuel. “You just took a little -tame woman on a string for a trip, as many better men have done before -you?” - -“I dragged a woman by force across the Atlantic, and then she ran away. -She ran back home.” - -“The silly ass,” said Mr. Rust irritably. “Why did she do that?” - -“The attitude of women towards force ...” said the gardener -sententiously, “is not what psychologists make it out to be. By some of -the books I’ve read, I would have thought that women worshipped brute -force; I would have thought that they kept their hair long specially in -order to be dragged about by it.” - -“I have known very few women really well,” said Samuel; “and the ones I -knew didn’t wear hair that they could be dragged about by. I should -think the final disappearance of your post-impressionist wife was rather -a good riddance.” - -“It was neither good nor a riddance. In the same futurist sense I still -call her my wife. It’s an effort, I admit, to continue to be fond of a -militant suffragette, and yet somehow it’s an effort I can’t help -making.” - -Courtesy appeared, her hair an impudent rival to the sunset. - -“I’ve brought your book from the library,” she said. “I couldn’t get any -books by Somethingevsky, as you asked, so I brought _The Rosary_. - -“I ought to congratulate you on your engagement,” said the gardener. “In -fact—Mrs. Rust being out of earshot—I do.” - -“Thank you,” said Courtesy, looking wonderfully pretty. “I wish -everybody in the world was as happy as I am, though of course marriage -is an awful risk. How’s your young woman, gardener?” - -“As militant as ever,” said the gardener. “I’m expecting a letter from -her any day, or a telegram any minute.” - -“Why, is she coming down here?” - -“Probably,” said the gardener. He had absolutely no grounds for his -confidence except the ground of youth, and that, of course, is only a -quicksand. - -But the funny thing was she came. - -For she cried all her current stock of militancy away on Thursday night, -and by three o’clock on Good Friday afternoon she was on the door-step -of 21 Penny Street. - -“Even if slavery and polygamy become the fashion,” she argued -characteristically, “Scottie Brown will still be wrongfully detained in -quarantine.” - -It was not to Scottie Brown that her thoughts turned when the maid told -her that Mr. Gardener had gone to the country for Easter. - -“But I must see him,” said the suffragette, who was a little drunk with -the bitter beverage of tears. - -“It’s impossible,” said the maid. “I tell you—he’s away.” - -The word “impossible” as usual acted as a challenge. - -“Might I have his address?” said the caller. - -After consultation with Miss Shakespeare the address was produced, and -the suffragette’s decision made. - -“The Red Place.... His friend lives there—Mrs. Rust’s son. Anyway -there’s no harm in going to a country hotel for Easter.” - -It was quite an advance for the suffragette to be human enough to -consider whether there was any harm or not. - -So she went home and had a ten minutes’ interview with the -mustard-coloured portmanteau, and then she put it and herself into a -third-class carriage marked Girton Magna. - -At sunset she arrived at the Red Place, and by luck extraordinary -managed to procure a small attic which the tide of holiday-makers had -passed by. - -She saw the gardener first at dinner-time, and he looked almost as -incredible to her as she did to him. It always surprises me to see a -person looking exactly like themselves after absence. - -When the gardener first saw the suffragette, he swallowed a spoonful of -soup which was very much too hot, and rose. Courtesy was in the middle -of a remark, and looked surprised to see him go. - -“I knew I should hear or see something of you soon,” said the gardener, -shaking the suffragette’s hand as usual an excessive number of times. -“And yet I’m awfully surprised too,” admitted the suffragette. - -“Just an Easter holiday?” suggested the gardener carelessly. “But what -luck you chose the Red Place.” - -“It wasn’t exactly luck. I knew you were here.” - -Tears had been trembling in the gardener’s eyes since the swallowing of -the soup, he very nearly shed them now. - -“Waiter,” he called, “move that lady’s place to our table.” - -The suffragette was excited and flushed. She looked almost pretty. - -“I can’t imagine why I came,” she said when the change was effected and -greetings had been exchanged. “I think I must have come in delirium. The -woman I used to be never comes into the country except on business, and, -in the case of friends, makes a principle of ‘out of sight, out of -mind.’” - -“I hope you left that woman behind—permanently,” said the gardener. - -“No. That’s the worst of it. They’re both here. Each acts as conscience -while the other one’s in power. Why wasn’t one brought into the world by -oneself?” - -“Why, weren’t you?” asked Courtesy; “were you twins?” - -“I still am. One of me is quite a good sort, really, almost an ‘Oh, my -dear’ girl. She is the one who was described in the paper as ‘Boadicea -Smith, a young woman of prepossessing appearance.’ The reporter went on -to say that the name was probably assumed—(which it was)—and that he -knew who I really was—(which he didn’t). He hinted that I was a deluded -patrician incog. Do you know, I treasure that paragraph as if it were a -love-letter. It’s the only compliment I ever had.” - -“I should like to shake the hand of that reporter,” said the gardener. - -“But after that he referred to me all through as ‘Smith,’ without -prefix, which is the sign of a criminal.” - -“The puppy!” exclaimed the gardener. - -“What were you doing to get into the paper?” asked Courtesy sternly. “I -never get into the paper.” - -“It’s inconceivable that you should get into the paper, Courtesy dear,” -said the gardener, “except when you get born or married or dead.” - -“It’d be like a sultana in a seed-cake,” said the suffragette, “or like -a sunrise at tea-time. Or as if a Forty-nine ’bus went to the Bank.” - -I really think she was a little delirious, and perhaps she felt it -herself, for she added apologetically, “I always think Forty-nine is -such an innocent ’bus, it never knows the City.” - -Next morning it was raining in the persistently militant sort of way -reserved by the weather for public holidays. - -“A pity,” said the gardener at breakfast. “I meant to take you over to -the village to introduce you to Mr. Rust. And there are no ’buses or -taxis here.” - -“Let’s dispense with the ’buses and taxis,” suggested the suffragette. -“Let’s forget London and get country-wet.” - -“You’ll catch your death of cold,” said the gardener delightedly, and -presently they started. - -“I don’t really want to be introduced to your friend,” said the -suffragette. “Only I wanted a chance to speak to you alone. Do you know, -beneath a militant exterior I am horribly shy?” - -“It’s obvious,” retorted the gardener. - -“Is it?” asked the suffragette, annoyed, and relapsed into silence for a -moment. - -“I wanted to tell you ...” she began again presently, “that I beg your -pardon for coming here. It’s unforgivable of me. You know, as regards -men, I’m not a woman at all; I haven’t the unselfish instincts that -other women have. I came because I had—reached the limit—and I wanted a -friend....” - -“Well, you didn’t come far wrong,” said the gardener. “I love you.” - -“I didn’t think of your feelings at all, which is only another proof -that it is no good your loving me.” - -“May I take the risk?” - -The suffragette stopped, and stood leaning against the rain-whipped -wind. Rain was trapped in the mesh of her soft hair. She clenched her -fists upon her breast. - -“Won’t you believe me ...” she said, “when I tell you it would be best -to break up that poor little dream of yours—as I have broken mine. I -told you once that I had somehow been born the wrong side of the ropes -in the race. One can’t love across a barrier.” - -“Love is not a dream,” said the gardener. “It’s your barrier that’s a -dream. Why don’t you try breaking that?” - -“You are a man, little gardener, and I am a thing. Not a bad thing, -really, but certainly not a woman. And even a thing can reach the point -which I have reached, the point at which there seems nothing to do but -grope and cry....” - -They walked a little way in silence. - -“I seem to have come to the edge of the world by myself,” she went on. -“And I can’t go on—by myself. Oh, gardener, couldn’t we be friends -without being lovers?” - -“That has been suggested before,” said the gardener slowly. “And it has -never succeeded. But—we—might—try....” - -All the rest of the way to the village I suppose they were practising -being friends and not lovers. For neither spoke a word. - -“So this is the militant suffragette,” said Samuel Rust, who was sitting -in the hospital sitting-room. “I am most interested to meet you. I have -long wished to meet a suffragette to ask her why she wanted the vote.” - -“Why do men want it?” - -“Personally I don’t.” - -“Personally I do,” said the suffragette. “And mine is as good an answer -as yours.” - -“Both answers are very poor,” admitted Samuel. “You want the vote so -badly that you think it worth while to become hysterical over it.” - -“There is not much hysteria in the movement, only hysteria is the thing -that strikes a hysterical press as most worthy of note. What hysteria -there is, is a result—not a cause. Women never invented hysteria. How -should we be anything but irresponsible, since you have taken -responsibility from us? If we are bitter, you must remember that -somebody mixed the dose. If the womanliness you admire is dead, bear in -mind that nothing can be dead without being killed.” - -“But who is your enemy? Who are your murderers? I have never noticed -that the majority of men are fiends incarnate. You may not believe me, -but I do assure you that at frequent intervals in my life I have met -honest, just, and moral men. Have you met none?” - -“In the Brown Borough I meet excellent men. Older and wiser men, who sit -on committees and behave like one conglomerate uncle to the poor; young -lovers too hopelessly out of work to marry, and yet always gay and -good-hearted; large tired fathers who come in after a day’s work and sit -under dripping washing and never slap the children.... But that such -just men are not in a majority is proved by the fact that women continue -to suffer.” - -“Yes, but perhaps they suffer at the hands—not of men—but of -circumstances.” - -“Circumstances always favour people with a public voice.” - -“And do militant suffragettes really think that by smashing windows they -will attain to a public voice?” - -“In what we do, we’re a poor argument for the Franchise. In what we are, -we’re the very best. It’s not possible for the community to be hit -without deserving it. It must look round and find out why it is hit—not -how. Punishment is no good to a smasher of windows. Any woman can see if -she’s wrong without punishment. If she thinks she’s right, punishment -can never alter her opinion.” - -“Smashers must be punished. It would be impossible to allow even the -righteous to take the law into their own hands.” - -“In whose hands should we leave it? In the hands of those who declare -themselves to be our enemies? A fair question from a woman never gets a -fair answer. Windows are smashed—not as an argument, but as a protest.” - -“A protest strikes me as a futile thing. No one ever does anything that -looks unfair or tyrannical without being perfectly sure that was the -thing they meant to do. If a protest is successful it creates discord -without altering what is done. If it’s unsuccessful, it leaves you with -a high temperature and bruised hands, and what is gained by that?” - -“Protest isn’t a thing you argue about,” said the suffragette. “It’s a -thing you do when you see red. You seem to think that men have the -monopoly of the last straw.” - -“It is hard to believe that you have reached the last straw,” said -Samuel. “It is very hard for men to picture women as an oppressed race. -We are miles and miles away from each other. I can still think of a lot -of things to say, but I can’t say them without a moral megaphone. Shall -we call a draw?” - -“Let’s,” said the suffragette, relaxing her militant expression. “Only -let me have the last word—a rather long one. Of one thing I am -certain—when we have the vote, men will see what a small gift it was, -and future generations will ask why it was grudged so bitterly. Only to -us who have fought for it and suffered for it, it will always seem high -and splendid—like a flag captured in battle....” - -“The country is looking pretty just now, isn’t it?” said Mr. Samuel -Rust. - -The gardener was standing at the window, watching the clipped yew bird -outside curtseying to the wind. He had been pathetically silent, like a -snubbed child, ever since he had consented to be a friend and not a -lover. His white keen face was a striking illustration of enthusiasm -damped. His jaw looked as if he were clenching his teeth on something -bitter. I think he was regretting the days when gold hair with a ripple -in it as laboured as the ripples in an old Master’s seascape, wide blue -eyes alight with matrimonial instinct, and the very red lips of a very -small mouth, were all that his heart needed. - -And I wonder what the suffragette saw in his face that made her say in a -very non-militant voice, “Come, gardener.” - -They both shook hands in rather an absent-minded way with Mr. Samuel -Rust. They started from the door with the wind behind them. It was with -her hair blowing forward along her cheeks that the gardener always -remembered the suffragette most vividly. It brought a brave idea to his -mind, connected vaguely with a picture of Grace Darling with which he -had been in love fifteen years ago. - -“Gardener,” said the suffragette hurriedly. “Can you imagine me sitting -by the fire bathing a baby?” - -“Easily,” he replied. “I can imagine how the firelight would dance upon -your hair.” - -“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” she said, with a catch in her -voice. “Can you imagine me, looking sleepy and cross, giving you early -breakfast before you went to work?” - -“I can imagine you with the sun behind you, saying good-morning, so that -the word seemed like a blessing through the day.” - -“It’s a lie—you poet,” she said. “Why don’t you open your eyes and see -me as I am?” - -“I’ve had my eyes open all along. It’s you who are blind.” - -“Then—suppose we become both lovers and friends.... Suppose we get -married on Tuesday....” - - To-morrow I will don my cloak - Of opal-grey, and I will stand - Where the palm shadows stride like smoke - Across the dazzle of the sand. - To-morrow I will throw this blind - Blind whiteness from my soul away, - And pluck this blackness from my mind, - And only leave the medium—grey. - - To-morrow I will cry for gains - Upon the blue and brazen sky: - The precious venom in my veins - To-morrow will be parched and dry. - To-morrow it shall be my goal - To throw myself away from me, - To lose the outline of my soul - Against the greyness of the sea. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -The suffragette went up to London on Monday—Bank Holiday—to contemplate -finally the ruin of her work. For it was dead. I suppose if she had not -felt so old and tired she might have thought of a fresh beginning, but -she was always more passionate than persistent. - -I don’t think the Brown Borough ever made her suffer so much as it did -the day she came back to it and found no place for her. You must -remember she had always put work before pleasure, and a new joy born had -no place in her mind with the pain of work killed. The gardener of -yesterday retreated from the foreground of her mind, and for a while she -never thought at all of the gardener of to-morrow. - -Henceforward we part company with that suffragette whom I have loved -perhaps a good deal, and of whom you have wearied. Her heart seemed to -take on a different colour as she returned for the last time to the -Brown Borough. What she had preached for years conquered her beyond hope -at last, the world she had fought became suddenly victor. - -She went to Jenny Wigsky, and found her gone. - -She went to see ’Tilda, who was out. But ’Tilda’s mother spoke out -’Tilda’s mind. - -She went to see the priest’s sister, and she was away for Easter. But -the priest was at home. - -“I had no wish ever to see you again,” said the priest. “But it is as -well that we should meet, for I should like to make my position and that -of my sister perfectly clear to you, yerce, yerce.” - -“It is perfectly clear,” said the suffragette, who felt curiously numb. - -“Excuse me, but I do not wish that you should go away under the delusion -that you are in the right though persecuted, and in your self-absorption -proceed to make havoc of another field of work. Setting aside the fact -that you have been guilty of bad faith towards us, you have approached -the work from a wilfully wrong standpoint. You have mixed your -despicable little political jealousies with Christian work, to the -serious danger of young and innocent souls.” - -“I worked for the honour of women, and you—possibly—for the honour of -your God. Certainly your work sounds better—to men.” - -“If there is a thing that women excel in, it is the art of evading the -point,” said the priest bitterly. “The affair, bluntly put, is this: -Jane Wigsky, an idle, vicious, and immoral girl, had the impudence to go -to my very good friend, Mr. Smith, of Smith, Bird and Co., and, -presuming on her showy appearance, to apply for a responsible post, a -post which is in every way suited to be the reward of virtue, rather -than something for the covetous to grasp at. Mr. Smith is, as I say, a -friend of mine, and a most generous friend to the Church, having only -last week presented a beautiful carved chancel screen. Naturally it was -my duty to tell him all I knew about the girl.” - -“And what did you know?” - -“I am not obliged to answer to you for my statements, but, as a matter -of fact, I told him that the girl was not a ‘stayer’—in colloquial -language—and that she was of immoral tendency.” - -“That was only what you fancied. What did you know?” - -There was a swallowing sound in the priest’s throat, a sound as of one -keeping his temper. - -“May I ask if you are aware that the girl has now disappeared, with her -lover?” - -“But that was since you wrote.” - -“I have not worked for twenty-two years among the poor without reaching -a certain insight into character; I am not blind to such things, -whatever you may be, yerce, yerce. But that is beside the point. I -reminded Smith that he might be able to give her less important -employment—I was willing to help the girl up to a certain point. I -suggested a protégé of my own for the better post, to whom the generous -opportunity offered would be far more suitable, a very deserving young -man, who is debarred from ordinary employment by the loss of a leg. Mr. -Smith accepted my suggestion, and offered Jane Wigsky a post as packer, -at seven-and-six a week, a much larger wage than she has been getting -lately. She refused, and put the responsibility of her refusal on you. -She also mentioned that other girls in the Church Club were under your -influence on the question of wages. I made enquiries and found that my -sister’s club was in a fair way to turn into a female Trade Union, an -abominable anomaly. I took the only course possible. I dismissed all the -misguided girls from the Club. There is nothing more to be said.” - -“Nothing,” said the suffragette, who had become very white, “except—what -must your God be like to have a servant like you?” - -“If you are going to blaspheme,” said the priest, “kindly leave my house -at once.” - -“If God is like that ...” she said, “I pray the Devil may win.” - -She ran out of the house childishly, and slammed the door. - - -The gardener, on Tuesday morning, was parting his hair for the third -time, when he received a telegram: - -“Don’t come.—Suffragette.” - -It startled him, but not very much. He looked at the third attempt at a -parting in the glass, and saw that it was an excellent parting for a man -on his wedding-day. He reflected that a militant suffragette would -naturally tend to become ultra-militant on this final day. And if the -worst came to the worst, it could do no harm to go up and find out how -bad the worst was. So he went up to London by the eleven train. - -He was to meet her at the little bun-shop that clings for protection to -the Brown Borough Town Hall. There the suffragette had a fourpenny meal -daily, and there they had arranged to have an eightpenny meal together, -before assuming the married pose. There was a “wedding-shop” round the -corner. I don’t suppose any couple ever made less impressive plans. - -And the gardener pursued the plan. He entirely ignored the telegram. - -I don’t know whether the suffragette was confident that he would obey -it, or that he would ignore it. I am entirely doubtful about her state -of mind on that day. But I know that when the gardener arrived at the -bun-shop she was there, facing the door, already half-way through her -fourpenny lunch. Which appears to show that—if her telegram was -genuine—she put implicit faith in his obedience. In this case she was -presumably displeased to see him. Her face, however, looked too tired to -change its expression in any way. - -“Didn’t you get my wire?” she said. - -“What is a wire to me?” asked the gardener, sitting down. - -There was a long pause, during which he ordered a Welsh Rarebit from a -waitress who, six months ago, would have furnished him with an ideal of -womanhood. - -“Why did you wire?” he asked presently. - -“I have to go on a journey,” said the suffragette, waving at the -mustard-coloured portmanteau, which was seated on a chair beside her. - -“In that case, so have I,” said the gardener. “We’ll get married first, -and then go on the journey together.” - -No reply. Their talk was like broken fragments thrown upon a sea of ice. -It hurried, faltered, stopped, and then froze into a background of -silence. - -The gardener noticed that the suffragette was trembling violently, and -with a great effort he made no comment on this discovery. - -Finally she rose, leaving quite twopence-halfpenny worth of her meal -hiding beneath her knife and fork. - -“You’ll have to show me where this registry office is,” said the -gardener, “and also what to do. I don’t know how one gets married.” - -“Neither do I,” said the suffragette. - -“I’ll carry your bag.” - -“I like carrying things. I hate being helped. You must always remember -that I am a militant suffragette.” - -“I am never allowed to forget it,” sighed the gardener, his ardour -rather damped. “Are we getting near the place?” - -“Very near.” - -They stopped at the steps of a church. - -“We might have thought it our duty to be married in a church,” she said. -“What a merciful escape!” - -He was silent. - -“I hate God,” she added. - -“Don’t,” said the gardener. “You’re too excited. Don’t tremble like -that. Don’t hate God. After all, He made the world—a green sane -world—with you and me in it....” - -“He made it with you in it. But I got in by mistake.” - -“What a happy mistake!” said the gardener. “Come into the church, my -dear, and rest for a moment. Don’t try to look too deep into the reasons -of things, you’ll only get giddy.” - -He took her hand, and they went up the steps together. - -“It’s a fine church,” he said. “That screen’s a fine bit of carving.” He -felt as if he had taken charge of his suffragette’s nerves, and he -busied his brain in the composition of cool and commonplace remarks. - -“That chancel screen is dirty. It’s the gift of foul hands, bought with -foul money. Do you think me mad?” - -“You are, rather, you know. Pull yourself together. Surely you’re not -frightened of getting married to me?” - -The suffragette laughed. “You wonderfully faithful friend,” she said. - -The gardener was not a religious young man. He was not quite rare enough -in texture for that, and he was a little too clever for the religion of -his fathers. The Christian pose had never appealed to him, it was not -unique enough. All his life he had seen prayer used as a method of -commercial telegraphy. You wanted a thing, and from a kneeling position -you informed Heaven of your order. If it was complied with, you knew -that you must be appreciated in high quarters; if it was ignored, you -supposed that your message had miscarried, and despatched another. At -any rate it cost nothing. - -But the gardener had a vague reverence inborn in him. During his -everyday life he posed as an unbeliever. When in his own unposing -company he passively believed in something he had never defined. But -under stained-glass windows or the benediction of music, under arched -forests and a sinless sky, under the passionate sane spell of the sea, -under the charm of love, he knew that he worshipped. For he was a poet -without the means of proving it, and to such God is a secret mouthpiece, -and a salvation. - -So, at the back of the church, beside the suffragette, he pressed his -face into his hands, and his elbows on to his knees, and found to his -surprise that his heart was beating violently. Between his fingers he -could see the east window. Its blood-like splashes of red, its banners -of unearthly blue, its blur of golden haloes glorified the sunlight. It -seemed to have a colour for each of his days; he found his childhood in -it, and his little ambitions, his pale Tra-la-la days, and the babyhood -of his heart, red hair he found, and the ardour of the sea, and love.... -And presently he looked round and found his companion had gone from his -side. - -He could see her, with her chin up, looking defiantly at the altar. The -sunlight dramatically touched her distant face, and it was like a -pin-prick in the twilight of the church. It was but seldom that nature -provided a good setting for my suffragette. - -It was only when he saw her with the mustard-coloured portmanteau raised -shoulder high that he realised what she was doing. The knowledge tore a -gash across his dreams, and severed him from himself. He did not move. -He watched her throw the portmanteau at the foot of the chancel screen. -He saw her wrap her arms about her face and swing round on her heel. He -hardly heard the explosion, but directly afterwards he realised how loud -it had been. - -Smoke danced across the altar, smoke blotted out the window, smoke -threaded the lace of the shattered screen. Smoke.... Silver in the -sunlight ... blue round the altar ... and grey—dead grey—over the little -crumpled body of the criminal. Smoke stood over her, a transitory -monument—like a tree—like a curse. - -Yes, I pose of course. But the question is—how deep may a pose extend? - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - - +———————————————————————————————+ - | The following pages contain advertisements of a few of the | - | Macmillan novels. | - +———————————————————————————————+ - - _NEW MACMILLAN FICTION_ - - - - -The Research Magnificent - - - BY H. G. 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/* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, I Pose, by Stella Benson</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: I Pose</p> -<p>Author: Stella Benson</p> -<p>Release Date: September 23, 2019 [eBook #60346]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I POSE***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4>E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org">https://archive.org</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/iposebenson00bens"> - https://archive.org/details/iposebenson00bens</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<div class='tnotes covernote'> -<p class='c000'><b>Transcriber’s Note:</b></p> -<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> -</div> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class='section ph1'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>I POSE</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_logo.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</div> - <div class='c002'>NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO</div> - <div class='c002'>MACMILLAN & CO., <span class='sc'>Limited</span></div> - <div class='c002'>LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA MELBOURNE</div> - <div class='c002'>THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span class='sc'>Ltd.</span></div> - <div class='c002'>TORONTO</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='titlepage'> - -<div> - <h1 class='c003'>I POSE</h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>BY</div> - <div class='c002'><span class='xlarge'>STELLA BENSON</span></div> - <div class='c004'><span class='large'>New York</span></div> - <div><span class='xlarge'>THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span></div> - <div><span class='xlarge'>1916</span></div> - <div class='c002'><cite>All rights reserved</cite></div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>Copyright 1916</div> - <div class='c002'><span class='sc'>By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</div> - <div class='c002'>Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1916.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c005'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>My eyes are girt with outer mists,</div> - <div class='line'>My ears sing shrill—and this I bless,</div> - <div class='line'>My finger-nails do bite my fists</div> - <div class='line'>In ecstasy of loneliness.</div> - <div class='line'>This I intend, and this I want,—</div> - <div class='line'>That, passing, you may only mark</div> - <div class='line'>A dumb soul and its confidante</div> - <div class='line'>Entombed together in the dark.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>The hoarse church-bells of London ring,</div> - <div class='line'>The hoarser horns of London croak,</div> - <div class='line'>The poor brown lives of London cling</div> - <div class='line'>About the poor brown streets like smoke;</div> - <div class='line'>The deep air stands above my roof,</div> - <div class='line'>Like water to the floating stars;</div> - <div class='line'>My Friend and I—we sit aloof,</div> - <div class='line'>We sit and smile, and bind our scars.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>For you may wound and you may kill—</div> - <div class='line'>It’s such a little thing to die—</div> - <div class='line'>Your cruel God may work his will,</div> - <div class='line'>We do not care—my Friend and I,—</div> - <div class='line'>Though, at the gate of Paradise,</div> - <div class='line'>Peter the Saint withhold his keys,</div> - <div class='line'>My Friend and I—we have no eyes</div> - <div class='line'>For Heaven ... or Hell ... or dreams like these....</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c006'>PREFACE</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Sometimes I pose, but sometimes I pose as posing.</p> - -<div class='section ph1'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>I POSE</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span> - <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER I</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c008'>There was once a gardener. Not only was, but -in all probability is, for as far as I know you may -meet him to this day. There are no death-bed -scenes in this book. The gardener was not the sort -of person to bring a novel to a graceful climax by -dying finally in an atmosphere of elevated immorality. -He was extremely thin, but not in the least -unhealthy. He never with his own consent ran any -risk of sudden death. Nobody would ever try to -introduce him into a real book, for he was in no way -suitable. He was not a philosopher. Not an adventurer. -Not a gay dog. Not lively: but he lived, -and that at least is a great merit.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In appearance the gardener was a fairly mediocre -study in black and white. He had a white and -wooden face, black hair as smooth as a wet seal’s -back, thin arms and legs, and enormous hands and -feet. He was not indispensable to any one, but he -believed that he was a pillar supporting the world. -It sometimes makes one nervous to reflect what very -amateur pillars the world seems to employ.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>He lived in a boarding-house in Penny Street, W. -A boarding-house is a place full of talk, it has as -many eyes as a peacock, and ears to correspond. It -is lamentably little, and yet impossible to ignore. -It is not a dignified foundation for a pillar.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was twenty-three. Twenty-three is -said to be the prime of life by those who have reached -so far and no farther. It shares this distinction with -every age, from ten to three-score and ten.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the first of June, in his twenty-fourth year, the -gardener broke his boot-lace. The remains of the -catastrophe dangled from his hand. String was out -of the question; one cannot be decent dressed in -string, he thought, with that touch of exaggeration -common to victims of disasters. The world was a -sordid and sardonic master, there was no heart in -the breast of Fate. He was bereft even of his dignity, -there is no dignity in the death of a boot-lace. -The gardener’s twenty-three years were stripped -from him like a cloak. He felt little and naked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He was so busy with his emotions that he had -forgotten that the door of his room was open.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was rather like the girl Courtesy to stand on -the landing boldly staring in at a man sitting on his -bedroom floor crushed by circumstances. She had -no idea of what was fitting. Any other woman -would have recognised the presence of despair, and -would have passed by with head averted.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But the girl Courtesy said, “Poor lamb, has it -broken its boot-lace?”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>The gardener continued in silence to watch the -strangling of his vanity by the corpse of the boot-lace. -His chief characteristic was a whole heart in -all that he did.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A tear should have appeared in Courtesy’s eye at -the sight of him. But it did not.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Give me the boot,” she said, advancing into the -room in the most unwomanly manner. And she -knotted the boot-lace with a cleverness so unexpected—considering -the sort of girl she was—that the -difference in its length was negligible, and the knot -was hidden beneath the other lace.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Women have their uses,” thought the gardener. -But the thought was short-lived, for Courtesy’s next -remark was:</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There, boy, run along and keep smilin’. Somebody -loves you.” And she patted him on the cheek.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Now it has been made clear that the gardener was -a Man of Twenty-three. He turned his back violently -on the woman, put on his boot, and walked -downstairs bristling with dignity.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The girl Courtesy not only failed to be cut to the -heart by the silent rebuke, but she failed to realise -that she had offended. She was rather fat, and -rather obtuse. She was half an inch taller than the -gardener, and half a dozen years older.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s indignation rode him downstairs. -It spurred him to force his hat down on his head at -a most unbecoming angle, it supplied the impetus for -a passionate slamming of the door. But on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>door-step it evaporated suddenly. It was replaced -by a rosy and arresting thought.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Poor soul, she loves me,” said the gardener. -He adjusted his hat, and stepped out into London, -a breaker of hearts, a Don Juan, unconscious of his -charm yet conscious of his unconsciousness. “Poor -thing, poor thing,” he thought, and remembered -with regret that Courtesy had not lost her appetite. -On the contrary, she had been looking even plumper -of late. But then Courtesy never quite played the -game.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I begin to be appreciated,” reflected the gardener. -“I always knew the world would find out -some day....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was a dreamer of dreams, and a -weaver of many theories. His theories were not -even tangible enough to make a philosophy, yet -against them he measured his world. And any -shortcomings he placed to the world’s account. He -wrapped himself in theories to such an extent that -facts were crowded from his view, he posed until -he lost himself in a wilderness of poses. He was -not the victim of consistency, that most ambiguous -virtue. The dense and godly wear consistency as -a flower, the imaginative fling it joyfully behind them.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Imagination seems to be a glory and a misery, a -blessing and a curse. Adam, to his sorrow, lacked -it. Eve, to her sorrow, possessed it. Had both -been blessed—or cursed—with it, there would -have been much keener competition for the apple.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>The million eyes of female London pricked the -gardener, or so he imagined, as he threaded the -Strand. He felt as if a glance from his eye was a -blessing, and he bestowed it generously. The full -blaze of it fell upon one particular girl as she walked -towards him. She seemed to the gardener to be -almost worthy. Her yellow hair suffered from -Marcelle spasms at careful intervals of an inch and -a half, every possible tooth enjoyed publicity. The -gardener recognised a kindred soul. A certain -shade of yellow hair always at this period thatched -a kindred soul for the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He followed the lady.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He followed her even into the gaping jaws of an -underground station. There she bought cigarettes -at a tobacco stall.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She smokes,” thought the gardener. “This is -life.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He went close to her while she paid. She was -not in the least miserly of a certain cheap smell of -violets. The gardener was undaunted.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Shall we take a taxi, Miss?” he suggested, his -wide eager smile a trifle damped by self-consciousness. -For this was his first attempt of the kind. -“They say Kew is lovely just now.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was his theory that spoke. In practice he had -but threepence in his pocket.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She replied, “Bless you, kid. Run ’ome to -mammy, do.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Her voice sounded like the scent she wore. It -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>had a hard tone which somehow brought the solitary -threepence to mind.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener returned at great speed to Penny -Street.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was lunch-time at Number Twenty-one. The -eternal hash approached its daily martyrdom. -Hash is a worthy thing, but it reminds you that you -are not at the Ritz. There is nothing worse calculated -to make you forget a lonely threepenny bit -in your pocket.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener had a hundred a year. He was -apparently the only person in London with a hundred -a year, for wherever he went he always found -himself the wealthiest person present. His friends -gave his natural generosity a free rein. After various -experiments in social economy, he found it cheapest -to rid himself of the hundred a year immediately -on its quarterly appearance, and live on his expectations -for the rest of the time. There are drawbacks -about this plan, as well as many advantages. But -the gardener was a pillar, and he found it easier to -support the world than to support himself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was on this occasion that his neighbour at -luncheon, unaware of his pillar-hood, asked him what -he was doing for a living.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Living,” replied the gardener. He was not absolutely -sure that it made sense, but it sounded epigrammatic. -He was, in some lights, a shameless -prig. But then one often is, if one thinks, at twenty-three.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>“It’s all living,” he continued to his neighbour. -“It’s all life. Being out of a job is life. Being -kicked is life. Starving’s life. Dying’s life.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The neighbour did not reply because he was busy -eating. One had to keep one’s attention fixed on -the food problem at 21 Penny Street. There was -no time for epigrams. It was a case of the survival -of the most silent. The gardener was very thin.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The girl Courtesy, however, was one who could -do two things at once. She could support life and -impart information at the same time.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do believe you talk for the sake of talking,” -she said; and it was true. “How can dying be living?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is most annoying to have the cold light of feminine -logic turned on to an impromptu epigram. -The gardener pushed the parsnips towards her as -a hint that she was talking too much. But Courtesy -had the sort of eye that sees no subtlety in parsnips. -Her understanding was of the black and white type.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Death is the door to life,” remarked Miss -Shakespeare, nailing down the golden opportunity -with eagerness. 21 Penny Street very rarely gave -Miss Shakespeare the satisfaction of such an opening. -There was, however, a lamentable lack of response. -The subject, which had been upheld contrary -to the laws of gravitation, fell heavily to -earth.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is this your threepenny bit or mine?” asked the -girl Courtesy. For that potent symbol, the victim -<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>of its owner’s absence of mind, in the course of violent -exercise between the gardener’s plate and hers, -had fallen into her lap.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Whose idea was it to make money round? I -sometimes feel certain I could control it better if -it were square.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is mine,” said the gardener, still posing as a -philosopher. “A little splinter out of the brimstone -lake. Feel it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy smelt it without repulsion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Talk again,” she said. “Where would you be -without money?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Where would I be without money? Where -would I be without any of the vices? Singing in -Paradise, I suppose.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If I pocket this threepenny bit,” said Courtesy, -that practical girl, “what will you say?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Thank you—and good-bye,” replied the gardener. -“It is my last link with the world.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy put it in her purse. “Good-bye,” she -said. “So sorry you must go. Reserve a halo for -me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener rose immediately and walked upstairs -with decision into his bedroom, which, by some -freak of chance, was papered blue to match his soul. -It was indeed the anteroom of the gardener’s soul. -Nightly he went through it into the palace of himself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He took out of it now his toothbrush, a change -of raiment, and Hilda. It occurs to me that I have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>not yet mentioned Hilda. She was a nasturtium in -a small pot.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On his way downstairs he met Miss Shakespeare, -who held the destinies of 21 Penny Street, and did -not hold with the gardener’s unexpected ways.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Your weekly account ...” she began.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have left everything I have as hostages with -fate,” said the gardener. “When I get tired of -Paradise I’ll come back.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the door-step he exclaimed, “I will be a merry -vagabond, tra-la-la ...” and he stepped out transfigured—in -theory.</p> - -<p class='c009'>As he passed the dining-room window he caught -sight of the red of Courtesy’s hair, as she characteristically -continued eating.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“An episode,” he thought. “Unscathed I pass -on. And the woman, as women must, remains to -weep and grow old. Courtesy, my little auburn -lover, I have passed on—for ever.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But he had to return two minutes later to fetch -a pocket-handkerchief from among the hostages. -And Courtesy, as she met him in the hall, nodded in -an unsuitably unscathed manner.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener walked, with Hilda in his hand. It -became night. Practically speaking, it is of course -impossible for night to occur within three paragraphs -of luncheon-time. But actually the day is often to -me as full of holes as a Gruyère cheese.</p> - -<p class='c009'>To the gardener the beginnings of a walk which -he felt sure must eventually find a place in history -<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>were torn ruthlessly out of his experience. He was -thinking about red hair, and all things red.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He hoped that Hilda, when she flowered, would -be the exact shade of a certain head of hair he had -lately seen.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Hoping and planning for Hilda like a mother-to-be,” -he thought, but that pose was impossible to sustain.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Red hair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He did not think of the girl Courtesy at all. Only -her hair flamed in his memory. The remembrance -of the rest of her was as faint and lifeless as a hairdresser’s -dummy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It struck him that auburn, with orange lights in the -sunlight, was the colour of heat, the colour of heaven, -the colour of life and love. He looked round at the -characteristic London female passer-by, the thin-breasted -girl, with hair the colour of wet sand, and -reflected that Woman is a much rarer creature than -she appears to be.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He recovered consciousness in Kensington Gardens -at dusk. He remembered that he was a merry -vagabond.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Tra-la-la ...” he sang as he passed a park-keeper.</p> - -<p class='c009'>People in authority seem as a rule to be shy of the -pose. The park-keeper was not exactly shy, but he -made a murmured protest against the Tra-la-la, and -saw the gardener to the gate with most offensive care.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>In theory the gardener spent the night at the Ritz. -In practice he slept on the Embankment. He was a -man of luck in little things, and the night was the first -fine night for several weeks. The gardener followed -the moon in its light fall across the sky. Several -little stars followed it too, in and out of the small -smiling clouds.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The moon threaded its way in and out of the -gardener’s small smiling dreams. Oh mad moon, -you porthole, looking up into a fantastic Paradise!</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener did not dream of red hair. That -subject was exhausted.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When an undecided sun blinked through smoked -glasses at the Thames, and at the little steamers -sleeping with their funnels down like sea-gulls on the -water with their heads under their wings, the gardener -rose. He had a bath and a shave—in theory—and -walked southward. Tra-la-la.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He walked very fast when he got beyond the tramways, -but after a while a woman who was walking -behind him caught him up. Women are apt to get -above themselves in these days, I think.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m going to walk with you,” said the woman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why?” asked the gardener, who spent some -ingenuity in saying the thing that was unexpected, -whether possible or impossible.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because you’re carrying that flower-pot,” replied -the woman. “It’s such absurd sort of luggage to -be taking on a journey.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>“How do you know I’m going on a journey?” -asked the gardener, astonished at meeting his match. -“By the expression of your heels.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener could think of nothing more apt to -say than “Tra-la-la ...” so he said it, to let her -know that he was a merry vagabond.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman was quite plain, and therefore worthy -only of invisibility in the eyes of a self-respecting -young man. She had the sort of hair that plays -truant over the ears, but has not vitality enough to -do it prettily. Her complexion was not worthy of -the name. Her eyes made no attempt to redeem her -plainness, which is the only point of having eyes in -fiction. Her only outward virtue was that she did -not attempt to dress as if she were pretty. And even -this is not a very attractive virtue.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She carried a mustard-coloured portmanteau.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I know what you are,” said the gardener. -“You are a suffragette, going to burn a house down.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman raised her eyebrows.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How curious of you!” she said. “You are perfectly -right. Votes for women!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Tra-la-la ...” sang the gardener wittily.</p> - -<p class='c009'>(You need not be afraid. There is not going to -be so very much about the cause in this book.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>They walked some way in silence. The gardener, -of course, shared the views of all decent men on this -subject. One may virtuously destroy life in a good -cause, but to destroy property is a heinous crime, -whatever its motive.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>(Yes, I know that made you tremble, but there are -not many more paragraphs of it.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>Presently they passed a car, pillowed against a -grassy bank. Its attitude, which looked depressed, -was not the result of a catastrophe, but of a picnic. -In the meadow, among the buttercups, could be seen -four female hats leaning together over a little square -meal set forth in the grass.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Look,” said the suffragette, in a voice thin with -scorn.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener looked, but could see nothing that -aroused in him a horror proportionate to his companion’s -tone.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Listen,” said the suffragette half an octave -higher.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener listened. But all he heard was, -“Oh, my dear, it was too killing....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Then, because the chauffeur on the bank paused -in mid-sandwich, as if about to rebuke their curiosity, -they walked on.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“One is born a woman,” said the suffragette. -“A woman in her sphere—which is the home. -One starts by thinking of one’s dolls, later one thinks -about one’s looks, and later still about one’s clothes. -But nobody marries one. And then one finds that -one’s sphere—which is the home—has been a -prison all along. Has it ever struck you that the -tragedy of a woman’s life is that she has time to think—she -can think and organise her sphere at the same -time. Her work never lets her get away from herself. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>I tell you I have cried with disgust at the sound -of my own name—I won’t give it to you, but it -might as well be Jane Brown. I have gasped appalled -at the banality of my Sunday hat. Yet I kept -house excellently. And now I have run away, I am -living a wide and gorgeous life of unwomanliness. -I am trying to share your simplest privilege—the -privilege you were born to through no merit of your -own, you silly little boy—the privilege of having -interests as wide as the world if you like, and of -thinking to some purpose about England’s affairs. -My England. Are you any Englisher than I?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are becoming incoherent,” said the gardener. -“You are enjoying a privilege which you do -not share with me—the privilege of becoming hysterical -in public and yet being protected by the law. -You are a woman, and goodness knows that is privilege -enough. It covers everything except politics. -Also you have wandered from the point, which at one -time appeared to be a picnic.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>(Courage. There is only a little more of this. -But you must allow the woman the privilege of -the last word. It is always more dignified to allow -her what she is perfectly certain to take in any -case.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The picnic was an example of that sphere of -which ‘Oh, my dear, too killing ...’ is the motto. -You educate women—to that. I might have been -under one of those four hats—only I’m not pretty -enough. You have done nothing to prevent it. I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>might have been an ‘Oh, my dear’ girl, but thank -heaven I’m an incendiary instead.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>That was the end of that argument. The gardener -could not reply as his heart prompted him, because -the arguments that pressed to his lips were too -obvious.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Obviousness was the eighth deadly sin in his eyes. -He would have agreed with the Devil rather than -use the usual arguments in favour of virtue. That -was his one permanent pose.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A little way off, on a low green hill, the suffragette -pointed out the home of a scion of sweated industry, -the house she intended to burn down. High trees -bowed to each other on either side of it, and a little -chalky white road struggled up to its door through -fir plantations, like you or me climbing the world for -a reward we never see.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m sorry,” said the gardener. “I love a house -that looks up as that one does. I don’t like them -when they sit conceitedly surveying their ‘well-timbered -acres’ under beetle brows that hide the sky. -Don’t burn it. Look at it, holding up its trees like -green hands full of blessings.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In an hour or two the smoke will stand over it -like a tree—like a curse....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>When they parted the gardener liked her a little -because she was on the wrong side of the law. -There is much more room for the wind to blow and -the sun to shine beyond the pale—or so it seems to -the gardener and me standing wistful and respectable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>inside. It is curious to me that one of the few remaining -illusions of romance should cling to a connection -with that most prosy of all institutions—the -law.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I forgot to mention that the gardener borrowed a -shilling from the suffragette, thus rashly forming a -new link with the world in place of the one he had -relinquished to the girl Courtesy. The worst of the -world is that it remains so absurdly conservative, and -rudely ignores our interesting changes of pose and -of fantasy. I have been known to crave for a penny -bun in the middle of a visit from my muse, and that -is not my fault, but Nature’s, who created appetites -and buns for the common herd, and refused to adapt -herself to my abnormal psychology.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was interesting to the gardener to see how easily -the suffragette parted with such an important thing as -a shilling. Superfluity is such an incredible thing to -the hungry. The suffragette gave Holloway Gaol -as her permanent address.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Thus accidentally bribed, the gardener, feasting -on a cut from the joint in the next village, refrained -from discussing women, their rights or wrongs, or -their local intentions, with the village policeman. -“She won’t really dare do it,” he thought.</p> - -<p class='c009'>(I may here add that I was not asked by a militant -society to write this book. I am writing it for your -instruction and my own amusement.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener did not sleep under a hedge as all -merry vagabonds do—(Tra-la-la)—but he slept -<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>in the very middle of a large field, much to the surprise -of the cows. One or two of these coffee-coloured -matrons awoke him at dawn by means of an -unwinking examination that would have put a lesser -man out of countenance. But the gardener, as becomes -a man attacked by the empty impertinences of -females, turned the other way and presently slept -again.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He washed next morning near to where the cows -drank. He had no soap and the cows had no tumblers,—nothing -could have been more elemental -than either performance.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am very near to the heart of nature—tra-la-la,” -trilled the gardener. But the heart of nature -eludes him who tries to measure the distance. The -only beat that the gardener heard was the soft thud -of his own feet along the thick dust of the highway.</p> - -<p class='c009'>About the next day but one he came to a place -where the scenery changed its mind abruptly, flung -buttercups and beeches behind it, and drew over its -shoulders the sombre cloak of heather and pines.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Under an unremarkable pine tree, listening to the -impatient summons of the woodpecker (who, I -think, is the feathered soul of the foolish virgin outside -the bridegroom’s door), sat a man. He was -so fair that he might as well have been white-haired. -His eyes were like two copper sequins set between -white lashes, beneath white brows, in a white face. -His lips were very red, and if he had seemed more -detached and less friendly, he would have looked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>like harlequin. But he rose from his seat on the -pine needles, and came towards the gardener, as -though he had been waiting for him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener steeled himself against the -stranger’s first word, fearing lest he should say, -“What a glorious day!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But the stranger, making a spasmodic attempt to -remove a hat which had been left at home, said, -“My name is Samuel Rust, a hotel-keeper. -Won’t you come and look at my place?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was impossible for the gardener to do otherwise, -for Mr. Samuel Rust’s place framed itself in -a gap in the woods to the right, and was introduced -by a wave of its owner’s hand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What a red place!” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course. No other name is possible for it,” -said Mr. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The house was built of red brick that had much -tangerine colour in it. The flowering heather -surged to its very door-step. And thick around it -the slim pine tree-trunks shot up, like flame, whispered -flame.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener smiled at it. If only Hilda might -be the colour of those tree-trunks when she flowered.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Rust acknowledged the smile in the name of -his red place. “It’s an—inoffensive little hole,” -he said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>What he meant was of course, “It’s a perfectly -exquisite spot.” What is becoming of our old eloquence -and enthusiasm? The full-blooded conventions -<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>are dying, and we have already replaced them -by a code of shadows. But whether the life beneath -the code is as vivid as ever, remains to be seen. I -think myself that manners are changing, but not -man. In all probability we shall live to greet the -day when “fairly decent” will express the most -ecstatic degree of rapture.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was not intentionally modern. It -is the tendency of his generation to be modern—it -is difficult to believe that it has been the tendency -of every generation from the prehistoric downwards. -And it was the gardener’s ambition to walk -in the opposite direction to the tendency of his generation. -He shared the common delusion that by -walking apart he could be unique. This arises from -the divine fallacy that man makes man, that he has -the making of himself in his own hands.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I am glad that I share this pathetic illusion with -my gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>So, as he thought the Red Place very beautiful, he -said, “I think it is very beautiful.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But even so he was not sincere throughout. He -posed even in his honesty. For he posed purposely -as an honest man.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Of course you know that one of the most effective -poses is to pose as one who never poses. A rough -diamond with a heart of gold.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The first moment Mr. Samuel Rust heard the gardener -say Tra-la-la he ceased to have a doubt as to -the species of citadel he had invaded.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>“You are one of these insouciant wanderers, -what?” he suggested. “A light-hearted genius going -to make a fortune grow out of the twopence in -your pocket. You got yourself out of a book. I -think your sort make your hearts light by blowing -them up with gas.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>True to his code, he then feared that he had -spoken with insufficient mediocrity, and blushed. A -small circular patch of red, like a rose, appeared high -up on either cheek, suddenly bringing the rest of -his face into competition with his vivid lips.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are wrong about the twopence,” said the -gardener, “I have three halfpence.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come and see my Red Place,” said Mr. Rust. -“That is, if you’re not bored.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Boredom and the gardener were strangers. One -can never be bored if one is always busy creating -oneself with all the range of humanity as model.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is an hotel,” said the owner, as they approached -the door. “It is my hotel, and it -promised to make my fortune. So far it has confined -itself to costing a fortune. When I remind it -of its promise it puts its tongue in its cheek—what?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The northern side of the Red Place was quite different -in character from the side which first smiled -on the gardener. This was because one essential -detail was lacking—the heather. Fire had passed -over the little space at some recent date in its sleepy -history, and had left it sinister. Tortured roots -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>and branches appealed from the black ground to a -blue heaven. The surrounding pine trees, with -their feet charred and blistered, and their higher -limbs still fiercely red, still looked like flames now -turned into pillars of delight in answer to the prayer -of the beseeching heather.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is there anybody in your hotel?” asked the -gardener, smoothing his hair hopefully—the young -man’s invariable prelude to romance.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nobody, except the gods,” replied the host. -“We sit here waiting, the divine and I. There is -a blessing on the place, and I intend to make money -out of it. You can see for yourself how wonderfully -good it is. If people knew of the peace and -the delight.... The table is excellent too—I -am the chef as well as the proprietor. Our terms -are most moderate.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“All the same you need advertisement,” said the -gardener, who, in unguarded moments, was more -modern than he knew. “I can imagine most sensational -advertising of a place with such a pronounced -blessing on it. Buy up the front page of the <cite>Daily -Mail</cite>, and let’s compose a series of splashes.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am penniless,” began Mr. Rust dramatically, -and interrupted himself. “A slight tendency -towards financial inadequacy—what?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have three halfpence,” said the gardener, but -not hopefully.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come in for the night,” begged the host. “I -have twelve bedrooms for you to sleep in, and three -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>bathrooms tiled in red. Terms a halfpenny, <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tout -compris</span></i>.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Tra-la-la ...” trilled the gardener, for as he -followed his host the heather tingled and tossed beneath -his feet, and the gods came out to meet him -with a red welcome.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You have nothing to do—what?” said Mr. -Samuel Rust, when they were sitting in the high russet -hall.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We-ll ...” answered the gardener, feeling -that the suggestion of failure lurked there. “I am a -rover, you know. Busy roving.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To say that shows you haven’t roved sixty miles -yet. When you’ve roved six hundred you’ll see -there’s nothing to be got out of roving. When -you’ve roved six thousand you’ll join the Travellers’ -Club and be glad it’s all over.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Six thousand miles ...” said the gardener, as -if it were a prayer. His heart looked and leapt -towards the long, crowded perspective that those -words hinted.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’ve never been to sea,” continued Mr. -Samuel. And the gardener discovered with a jerk -that he was a blue man born for the sea, and that he -had never yet felt the swing of blue water beneath -his feet.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” he said, “I believe I must go there now.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>And he jumped to his feet.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If you stay here for the night,” said Mr. Rust, -“to-morrow I’ll suggest to you something that—may -<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>possibly interest you to some slight extent.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>With a clumsy blood-red pottery candlestick, -which was so careless in detail as to seem to be the -unconscious production of a drunken master-potter, -the gardener found his room.</p> - -<p class='c009'>(I know it is a shock to you to find it bedtime at -this point, but the gardener and I forgot to notice -those parts of the day which I have not mentioned.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>He dreamt of red hair, redder than natural, as -red as a sunset, seen at close quarters from Paradise. -At midnight he awoke, in the clutch of perfectly irrelevant -thoughts.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The room was a velvet cube, with the window -plastered at one side of it, a spangled square. And -the silken moonlight was draped across the floor.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am myself,” said the gardener. “I am my -world. Nothing matters except me. I am the creator -and the created.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>With which happy thought he returned to sleep -again.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Red Place lost its flame-like life at night. -Night, that blind angel, has no dealings with colour, -and turns even the auburn of the pine-trunks to cold -silver. But before the gardener awoke again, the -sun had roused the gods of the place to discover the -theft of their red gold, and to replace it.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, as he trilled like a lark in one of -the red-tiled bathrooms, was suddenly reminded that -he was a merry vagabond.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I must disappear,” he thought. “No true vagabond -<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>ever says, ‘Good-bye, and thank you for my -pleasant visit.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So he prepared to disappear. From his bedroom -window he could see, as he dressed, the pale head -of Mr. Samuel Rust on a far fir-crowned slope, looking -away over the green land towards London, waiting, -side by side with the divine.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener took three slices of dry bread from -the breakfast which waited expectantly on a table -in the hall, and went out. But under a gorse bush -amongst the heather, he found some tiny scarlet -flowers. He picked two or three, and returning put -them on the breakfast plate of Mr. Samuel Rust. -He put a halfpenny there too.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Very vagabondish—tra-la-la ...” he murmured -tunefully, and studied the infinitesimal effect -with his head on one side.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Then he disappeared. He did it straightforwardly -along the open road, as the best vagabonds -do, and he was pleased with his fidelity to the -part.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Presently he recalled for the first time Mr. Samuel -Rust’s promise of a happy suggestion for that morning. -For a moment he wondered, for a second he -regretted, but he posed as being devoid of curiosity. -This is a good pose, for in time it comes true. It -eventually withers the little silly tentacles which at -first it merely ignores. Curiosity needs food as -much as any of us, and dies soon if denied it. And -I am glad, for it seems to me that curiosity and spite -<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>are very closely akin, and that spite is very near to -the bottom of the pit.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The memory of Mr. Rust’s remark, however, -kept the gardener for some moments busy being -incurious. He was not altogether successful in his -pose, for when the pallid owner of the Red Place -stepped out of a thicket in front of him, he thought -with a secret quiver, “Now I shall know what it -was....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Taking a morning walk—what?” remarked -Mr. Rust, achieving his ambition, the commonplace, -for once in perfection.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” replied the gardener (one who never told -a lie unless he was posing as a liar), “I was leaving -you. I have left a smile of thanks and a halfpenny -on your plate. You know I’m a rover, an incurable -vagabond, and my fraternity never disappears in an -ordinary way in the station fly.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is rather tiresome to have to explain one’s -poses. It is far worse than having to explain one’s -witticisms, and that is bad enough.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come back to breakfast,” said Samuel. “I can -let you into a much more paying concern than vagabondage.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is not in the least impressive to disappear by -brute force in public, so the gardener turned back.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gods did not run out to meet the returning -vagabond, as they had run out to meet him arriving. -The gardener did not look for them. He was too -much occupied in thinking of small cramping things -<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>like “paying concerns.” The expression sounded -to him like a foggy square room papered in a drab -marbled design.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A paying concern does not interest me at all,” -he said, feeling rather noble.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It won’t as long as you’re a merry vagabond. -But your situation as such is not permanent, I think. -Wouldn’t you like to go and strike attitudes upon -the sea?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was intensely interested in what -followed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Samuel Rust was penniless, owing, as he -frankly admitted, to propensities which he shared -with the common sieve. But in other directions he -was well supplied with blessings. He had, for instance, -a mother. And the mother—well, you -know, she managed to scrape along on nine thousand -a year—what? The said mother, excellent woman -though she was, had refused to finance the Red -Place. She had not come within the radius of its -blessing. She had no idea that it was under the -direct patronage of the gods, and that it promised a -fortune in every facet. Samuel had explained these -facts to her, but she had somehow gathered the impression -that he was not unbiassed. In her hand she -held the life of the Red Place, and at present held it -checked. A little money for advertisement, a few -hundred pounds to set the heart of the place beating, -and Samuel Rust saw himself a successful man, -standing with his gods on terms of equality. But -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>his mother had become inaccessible, she had in fact -become so wearied by the conversation of Samuel -upon the subject that she had made arrangements -to emigrate to Trinity Islands, somewhere on the -opposite side of the world.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And what is it to do with me?” asked the gardener, -who suffered from the drawbacks of his paramount -virtue, enthusiasm, and never could wait for -the end of anything. “Do you want me to turn -into an unscrupulous rogue and dog her footsteps -because——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You can have scruples or not as you choose,” -said Mr. Rust. “But rogue is a word that exasperates -me. It’s much the same as ‘naughty-naughty,’ -and that is worse than wickedness. The -wicked live on brimstone, which is at least honest; -but the naughty-naughty play with it, which is irreverent. -With or without your scruples, armed only -with the blessing and the promise of this place, I -want you to cross the Atlantic on the <em>Caribbeania</em> -with my mother, and tell her what it is the gods and -I are waiting for. That is—just try and talk the -old lady round—don’t you know. Any old -twaddle would do—what?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener produced two halfpennies, one of -which he placed on each knee.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And the fare first-class is ...” he said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have a cousin whose only virtue is that he -occasionally serves the purpose of coin,” said Mr. -Rust. “That is—I know a fellow I can bleed to a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>certain extent—what? He is the son of—well, -a middling K-nut at the top of the shipping tree—what?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener had visions of an unscrupulous -rogue, neatly packed into a crate labelled champagne, -being smuggled on board the <em>Caribbeania</em>. -Truly the pose had possibilities. The affair was, -however, vague at present, and the gardener retained, -whatever the rôle he was playing, an accurate -mind and a profound respect for the exactness of -words.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Will he stow me away?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Not in the way you mean. But there’ll be room -for you on the <em>Caribbeania</em>. Come down to Southampton -with me now. There’s a train at noon.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have my own feet, and a good white road,” -replied the gardener in a poetic voice. “I’ll join -you in Southampton this evening.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s thirty-five miles,” said Mr. Rust. “And -the boat sails to-morrow morning. However.... -We haven’t discussed the business side of the affair -yet.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And we never will. I’ll take my payment out -in miles—an excellent currency.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>In spite of the distance of his destination, the gardener -stood by his determination to go by road. A -friendly farmer’s cart may always be depended on -to assist the pose of a vagabond. It would have -been extremely hackneyed to approach the opening -door of life by train. So he left his blessing with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>the Red Place, and shook the hand of its white master, -and set his face towards the sea.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was still early. The sun had set the long limbs -of the tree-shadows striding about the woods; the -gorse, a tamed expression of flame, danced in the -yellow heat; the heather pressed like a pigmy army -bathed in blood about the serene groups of pines. -There was great energy abroad, which kept the air -a-tingle. The gardener almost pranced along.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Presently he came to a woman seated by the roadside -engrossed in a box of matches.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You again,” said the gardener to the suffragette, -for he recognised her by her hat. There was a -bunch of promiscuous flowers attached to her hat. -They were of an unsuitable colour, and looked as -though they had taken on their present situation as -an after-thought, when the hat was already well -advanced in years. <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">A mariage de convenance.</span></i></p> - -<p class='c009'>“Have you any matches?” was the suffragette’s -characteristic reply.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I never give away my matches to people with -political opinions without making the fullest enquiries,” -replied the gardener. “People are not -careful enough about the future morals of their innocent -matches in these days.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Forgetting the thirty-five miles, he sat down on -the bank beside her, and began to refresh Hilda by -splashing the water into her pot out of a tiny heathery -stream that explored the roadside ditch.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I can supply you with all particulars at once,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>said the suffragette in a businesslike voice. “I am -going to burn down a little red empty hotel that -stands in the woods behind you. There is only one -man in charge.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are not,” said the gardener, descending -suddenly to unfeigned sincerity.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly it is not the home of an Anti,” continued -the suffragette, ignoring his remark. “At -least as far as I know. But you never can tell. A -Cabinet Minister might want to come and stay there -any time; there are good golf-links. I had hoped -that the last affair, the burning of West Grove—a -most successful business—would have been my last -protest for the present. I meant to be arrested, and -spend a month or two at the not less important work -of setting the teeth of the Home Office on edge. -But the police are disgracefully lax in this part of -the world, and though I left several clues and flourished -my portmanteau in three neighbouring villages, -nothing happened. I do not like to give myself -up, it is so inartistic, and people are apt to translate -it as a sign of repentance. But the little hotel -is a splendid opportunity.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>One of the drawbacks of posing yourself is that -you are apt to become a little blind to the poses of -others. Also you must remember that women, and -especially rebellious women, were an unexplored -continent to the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are not going to take advantage of the opportunity,” -said the gardener, refreshing Hilda so -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>violently that she stood up to her knees in water.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ve heard the caretaker is constantly out ...” -went on the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Possibly,” admitted the gardener. “But if the -house were twenty times alone, you should not light -a match within a mile of it. How dare you—you -a great strong woman—to take advantage of the -weak gods who can’t defend themselves.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The great strong woman crinkled her eyes at him. -She was absurdly small and thin.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, if you won’t lend me any matches, I shall -have to try and do with the three I have. I am -going to reconnoitre. Good-morning.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There is nothing so annoying as to have one’s -really impressive remarks absolutely ignored. I -myself can bear a great deal of passing over. You -may with advantage fail to see my complexion and -the cut of my clothes; you may be unaware of the -colour of my eyes without offending me; I do not -care if you never take the trouble to depress your -eyes to my feet to see if I take twos or sevens; you -may despise my works of art—which have no value -except in the eyes of my relations; you may refuse to -read my writings—which have no value in any eyes -but my own,—all these things you may do and still -retain my respect, but when I speak you must listen -to what I say. If you don’t, I hate you.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener felt like this, and the retreating -form of the suffragette became hateful to him. -Somehow delightfully hateful.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>“Come back,” he shouted, but incredible though -it may seem, the woman shrugged one shoulder at -him, and walked on towards the Red Place.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was most undignified, the gardener had to run -after her to enforce his will. He arrived by her -side breathless, with his face the colour of a slightly -anæmic beetroot. It is very wrong of women to -place their superiors in such unsuperior positions.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I hope I do not strike you as indulging my suffragettism -at the expense of the gardener. I am -very fond of him myself, and because that is so, his -conceit seems to me to be one of his principal -charms. There is something immorally attractive -in a baby vice that makes one’s heart smile.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener closed his hand about the suffragette’s -thin arm.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You will force me to take advantage of my privilege,” -he said, and looked at his own enormous -hand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette stood perfectly still, looking in -the direction she wanted to go.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Turn back,” said the gardener. But she made -a sudden passionate effort to twist her arm out of his -grasp. It was absurd, and very nearly successful, -like several things that women do.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s heart grew black. There seemed -nothing to be done. No end could be imagined to -the incident. His blue sea future dissolved. He -pictured himself standing thus throughout eternity, -with his hand closed around the little splinter of life -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>she called her arm. Time seemed to pass so slowly -that in a minute he found he knew her looks by -heart. And yet he was not weary of them. I suppose -the feeling he found in himself was due to a certain -reaction from the exalted incident of the blue -and golden young lady who had divined the loneliness -of the threepenny bit. For he discovered that -he did not so very much mind hair that had but little -colour in it, and that he found attractive a pointed -chin, and an under lip that was the least trifle more -out-thrust than its fellow.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you know why I want to stop you?” he said -at last.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because you are not a woman, and don’t understand.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because I am a man, and I understand.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She was silent.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you know what I mean?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You don’t. I mean that I am a man, and I -am not going to let you go, because you must come -with me to the uttermost ends of the earth.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because I love the shape of your face, you dear -little thing.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gods should not be disturbed. Also there -was something very potent in the impotent trembling -of her arm.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>There was an unnaturally long pause. Then she -turned round.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let us discuss this matter,” she said, and gave -him her portmanteau to carry. The gardener -loosed her arm and walked beside her. Silence and -a distance of a yard and a half were maintained between -them for some way.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was gazing in blank astonishment -at that ass, the gardener of three minutes ago. Into -what foolery had he not plunged?</p> - -<p class='c009'>If I could always be the Woman I Am, I should -be a most rational and successful creature. It is the -Woman I Was who makes a fool of me, and leaves -me nervous as to the possible behaviour of the -Woman I Shall Be.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was something in the way the suffragette’s -neck slipped loosely into her collar which took a little -of the sting out of the gardener’s regrets. But the -little plain eyes of her, and the aggressive manners -of her, and the misguided morals of her—that was -the sequence in which the gardener’s thoughts fell -into line.</p> - -<p class='c009'>As for the suffragette, her heart, in defiance of -anatomy, had gone to her head, and was thundering -rhythmically there. She was despising herself passionately, -and congratulating herself passionately. -How grand—she thought: how contemptible—she -thought. For she was a world’s worker, a -wronged unit seeking rights, a co-heritor of the -splendour of the earth, a challenger, a warrior. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>And now, quite suddenly, she discovered a fact the -existence of which she had seldom, even in weak moments, -suspected. She found that—taken off her -guard—she was a young woman of six-and-twenty.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How laughable,” she thought—and did not -laugh—“I’m as bad as the ‘Oh my dear’ girls.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now,” she said at last, “what did you mean by -that?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Only that you look like a good friend,” replied -the gardener, who, poor vagabond, was blushing -furiously. “Mightn’t we be friends?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am a friend to women,” said the suffragette -slowly. “I’m a lover of women. But never of -men. I wouldn’t stir an inch out of my way for a -man. Unless I wanted to.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And do you want to?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She looked at the gardener’s profile with the eyes -of the newly discovered young woman of six-and-twenty. -Hitherto she had seen him only with the -militant eyes of armed neutrality. She looked at -the rather pleasing restlessness of his eyes, and the -high tilt of his head. His eyes were not dark with -meaning, as the eyes of heroes of novels should be, -they were light and quick. The black pupils looked -out fierce and sharp, like the pupils of a cat, which -flash like black sparks out of the twilight of its soul. -The gardener’s eyes actually conveyed little, but -they looked like blinds, barely concealing something -of great value.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Presently the suffragette said: “Can you imagine -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>what you feel like if you had been running in a -race, and you had believed you were winning. The -rest were miles behind wasting their breath variously; -and then suddenly your eyes were opened, -and you saw that you had been running outside the -ropes of the course, for you were never given the -chance to enter for the competition.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said the gardener enthusiastically. -“So you’re tired of running to no purpose, and -you’re coming back to the starting-place to begin -again.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” said the suffragette, as firmly as though -she had the muscular supremacy and could start back -that moment to pit her three matches against the -gods. “Never. There’s no such thing as running -to no purpose. It’s excellent exercise—running, -but I’ll never run with the crowd. There are much -better things than winning the prize. There’s more -of everything out here—more air, more light, more -comedy, more tragedy. Also I get there first, you -know. When you get the law-abider and the -church-goer in a crowd, they increase its moral tone, -but they lessen its power of covering the ground.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Personally I never was inside,” said the gardener, -who had a natural preference for talking -about himself. “But then I am building a path of -my own.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Anyway, what did you mean originally?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener blushed again. He showered reproaches -on himself. “Only that we might walk -<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>into Southampton as friends. And if we liked -it.... Besides I owe you a shilling, and you’d better -keep an eye on your financial interests. My boat -sails to-morrow. You know, it is a nice shock to me -to find that a militant suffragette is human at all. -When I held your arm, I was surprised to find it was -not iron.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Did you say your boat sailed to-morrow?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I should have said, ‘Our boat sails to-morrow.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There’s no time to walk. We’ll hire a car in -Aldershot.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So at sunset, side by side, they arrived in sight -of Southampton’s useful but hackneyed sheet of -water.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Even then they had no plans. In youth one likes -the feeling of standing on empty air with a blank in -front of one.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette paid for the car without question. -“I am quite well off,” she excused herself, as they -traversed the smug and comfortless suburbs of the -town. “Has that shilling I lent you to invest -brought in any interest?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hate money,” posed the gardener; “but I have -a profession, you know. I am a gardener.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And where is your garden?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have two. This is one”—and he held up -Hilda, who was looking rather round-shouldered -owing to the exertions and emotions of the day—“and -the world is the other. It also happens that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>I have had three months’ training in a horticultural -college.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener did not talk like this naturally, any -more than you or I do. But in addition to his many -other poses he posed as being unique. Unfortunately -there is nothing entirely unique except insanity. -Of course there are better things than insanity. -On the other hand, it is rather vulgar to be perfectly -sane.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette went to an hotel, and the gardener -went to meet Mr. Samuel Rust at their appointed -meeting-place.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Rust looked even more colourless against the -brownness of the town than he had seemed against -the redness of his place. He wore town clothes, -too, and one noticed them, which is what one does -not do with a well-dressed man. The ideal, of -course, is to look as if the Almighty made you to -fit your clothes. There are a great many unfortunates -whose appearance persists in confessing the -truth—that the tailor made their clothes to fit -them.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Samuel Rust, however, was not self-conscious. -He escaped that pitfall, but left other -people to be conscious of his appearance for him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come along,” he said, skipping up to the gardener -like a goat, or like a little hill. “I’ve -sounded my cousin on the telephone, and the outlook -is not otherwise than middling hopeful. He’s -promised, in fact, to ship you on board the <em>Caribbeania</em>. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>The question is—what as? What can -you do?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am a gardener—in theory.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Unfortunately only facts are shipped on Abel’s -line.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then all is over. For I am just a sheaf of -theories held together by a cage of bones. There -is no fact in me at all.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t be humble. It’s waste of time in such a -humiliating world.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m not humble”—the gardener indignantly -repudiated the suggestion. “I’m proud of being -what I am. I am more than worthy of the <em>Caribbeania</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then come and prove it,” said Mr. Rust, and -dragged the gardener passionately down the street.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener found himself placed on the door-step -of an aspiring corner house. Mr. Samuel -Rust stood on a lower step with his back to the door. -It is part of the code of shadows to pretend, when -you have rung the bell, that you do not care whether -the door is opened or not.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, following the code of the socially -simple, stood with his nose nearly touching the -knocker, and his eyes glued to the spot where the -head of the servant might be expected to appear. -It therefore devolved on him to draw Mr. Rust’s -attention to the eventual appearance of a black-frocked -white-capped answer to his summons.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ah!” exclaimed Samuel, “Mr. Abel in?”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>The maid, with fine dramatic feeling, stepped -aside, thus opening up a vista, at the end of which -could be seen Mr. Abel advancing with both hands -outstretched.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When people shake hands with both their hands -and both their eyes and all their teeth, and with -much writhing of the lips, you at once know something -fairly important about them. They have acquired -the letter of enthusiasm without its spirit, and -their effect on the really enthusiastic is like the effect -of artificial light and heat on a flower that needs the -sun.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener became as though he were not there. -All that he vouchsafed to leave at Mr. Rust’s side in -the library of Mr. Abel was a white and sleepy-looking -young man, standing on one fourteen-inch -foot while the other carefully disarranged the carpet -edge. The gardener was not shy, though on -such occasions he looked silly. He was really encrusted -in himself; loftily superior to Mr. Abel and -his like he hung, levitated by the medium of his own -conceit, at a level far above Mr. Abel’s house-top.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Fortunately Mr. Abel and Mr. Rust both took -his aloofness for the sheepishness to be expected of -one of his age.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is the instrument of my designs, and the -victim of your kindness, Abel,” remarked Mr. Rust. -“He doesn’t always look such an ass. He is a -gardener, by profession.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>“In theory,” added the gardener, whose armour -of aloofness had chinks. There is something practical -about this inconsistent young man which he has -never yet succeeded in smothering, and to this day, -though he poses as being superbly absent-minded, his -mind is generally present—so to speak—behind -the door.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In theory,” repeated Mr. Abel, ecstatically -amused. He made it his business to shoot promiscuous -appreciation at the conversation of his betters, -and though his aim was not good, he was at least -gifted with perseverance. If you shoot enough, you -must eventually hit something. Hereafter he kept -his profile agog towards the gardener, a smile hovering -round that side of his mouth in readiness for -his guest’s next sally.</p> - -<p class='c009'>One pose in which the gardener has never approached -is that of the wag, and he made renewed -efforts to unhook his mind from this exasperating -interview.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is there any opening for a gardener on the -<em>Caribbeania</em>?” asked Mr. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A gardener ...” said Mr. Abel, looking laboriously -reflective. “We have no gardener as yet -on board.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But is there a garden?” asked Mr. Samuel Rust -acutely.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A garden,” repeated Mr. Abel, ruminating intensely. -“There is the winter garden. And a row -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>of geraniums on the promenade deck. And some -trellis work with ivy. Yes, there is certainly a garden.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then the thing is settled,” said Mr. Rust, and -at these hopeful words the gardener rose loudly -from his chair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Wait a moment,” said Mr. Abel in the same -voice as the voice in which Important Note is printed -in the Grammar Book. “What about the salary?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was no reply and no sensation. The gardener -was yearning towards the door.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course....” said Mr. Abel. “The position -is not one of any responsibility, and therefore -could hardly be expected to be a paying one. Your -passage out....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wouldn’t touch money. I hate the feel of it,” -said the gardener abruptly. That threw Mr. Abel -into a paroxysm of humour.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the door-step the gardener did a heroic thing. -He turned back and found Mr. Abel in the hall, completely -recovered from his paroxysm.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What about——” began the gardener, with the -suffragette in his mind. “Dangerous to lose sight -of her,” he thought.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What about what?” asked Mr. Abel, and was -again very much amused by the symmetry of the -phrase. He was a bright-mannered man.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s new pose lay suddenly clear before -him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What about my wife?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>He was rather pleased with the sensation he made.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Your wife?” exclaimed Mr. Rust and Mr. -Abel in duet (falsetto and tenor).</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What on earth did you do with her last night?” -continued Samuel solo.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Can’t she ship as stewardess?” asked the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Poor suffragette! But in the eyes of men one -woman is much the same as another. Every woman, -I gather, is a potential stewardess. This is woman’s -sphere when it takes to the water. The gardener -thought he knew all about women. All her virtues -he considered that she shared with man, but her -vices he looked upon as peculiarly her own.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The boat sails to-morrow,” Mr. Abel observed -reproachfully. “The stewardesses have been engaged -for weeks.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why can’t you leave her behind, what?” asked -Mr. Rust. “Women do far too much travelling -about nowadays. There’s such a thing as broadening -the mind too far, you know. Sometimes, like -elastic, it snaps. A lot of women I know have -snapped.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes,” said the gardener. “But it would be -better for England if I took her away.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>This spark nearly put an end to the career of -Mr. Abel. He squeezed the gardener’s hand in an -agony of appreciation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I won’t go without her,” said the gardener, -rather surprising himself. He gave Mr. Abel no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>answering smile. He was too busy reproaching himself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Abel,” implored Mr. Rust. “I simply can’t -let old Mrs. Paul go without some one to keep the -Red Place in her line of thought. This is obviously -the man for the job. My career hangs on you. Be -worthy. That is—be a sport, now, what?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll find your wife a berth,” said Mr. Abel, -accompanying each word with a dramatic tap on the -gardener’s arm. “The boat is not full.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Settled,” exclaimed Mr. Samuel, and after that, -of course, escape followed. The idea of dinner together -hovered between the two as they emerged -into the principal street, but as both were penniless, -the idea, which originated chiefly in instinct, died.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener went to call on the suffragette. He -was conscientious in his own way, and fully realised -that the woman had a right to know that she was -now a wife, and, if not a stewardess, an intending -passenger on a boat bound immediately for the uttermost -ends of the earth.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He found the suffragette, looking sad, playing a -forlorn game of solitaire in forlorn surroundings in -the little hotel sitting-room. With her hat off she -looked not so ugly, but more insignificant. Her hair -seemed as if it would never decide whether to be -fair or dark until greyness overtook it and settled -the question. It had been tidied under protest, and -already strands of it were creeping over her ears, -like deserters leaving a fortress by stealth.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>The room was papered and ceiled and upholstered -in drab, there were also drab photographs of unlovable -bygones on the walls, and some drab artificial -flowers in a drab pot on the table.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There are some colour schemes that kill romance. -Directly the gardener felt the loveless air of the -place, he plunged headlong into the cold interview. -Like a bather who, on feeling the chill of the sea, -hastens desperately to throw it around him from -head to foot.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have been telling lies,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have been crying,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>They each thought that it was thoughtless of the -other to be so egotistical at this juncture. There -is nothing that kills an effect so infallibly as a collision -in conversation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have been telling lies,” said the gardener, -“about you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have been crying—about you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>(These women....)</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener took a deep breath, recoiled for a -start, and ran upon his subject.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have told them that you are my wife, and that -you are coming with me on the <em>Caribbeania</em>, sailing -to-morrow morning for Trinity Islands.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Told who ... <em>Caribbeania</em> ... Trinity Islands -...” gathered the suffragette, with a woman’s -instinct for tripping over the least essential -point. And then she interviewed herself laboriously -on the subject.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>There was ample motive for a militant protest, -and that was a comfortable thought. She was justified -in throwing any article of the drab furniture -at the gardener’s sharp and doubtful face. This -creature had put himself in authority over her without -the authority to do so; he had decided to lead -her to Trinity Islands, whereas her life’s work lay -in England. This cold and curious boy had twisted -off its hinges the destiny of an independent woman. -She had hitherto closed the door of her heart against -to-morrow. She had momentarily liked the idea of -having a friend who loved the shape of her face, -especially as he was leaving the country to-morrow. -The unconventionality of the friendship had crowned -as an ornament a life of dreadful refinement. She -had meant to step for a moment from the lonely path, -and now she found that her way back was barred—by -this impenetrable trifle. It was infuriating. But -the suffragette searched in vain for a trace of real -fury in her heart. She tested the power of words.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is infuriating,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes,” said the gardener, not apologetically. -“I quite see that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But she did not see it herself—except in theory.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“All the same,” said the gardener, “you are an -incendiary, not exactly a woman. Can’t two friends, -an incendiary and a horticultural expert, go on a -voyage of exploration together? Mutual exploration?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“One can be alone in couples,” thought the suffragette. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>“It would be studying loneliness from a new -angle. My life has been a lifeless thing, run on the -world’s principles; I shall try a new line, and run it -on my own principles.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But, as I may have mentioned, she was a woman, -so she said: “What is to prevent my going back -to that house in the woods now, and burning it down—if -I ever meant to do it?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Me,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But you can’t sit there with your eyes pinned to -me until the boat sails.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Unless you give me your word as a World’s -Worker that you will not leave the hotel, I shall -stay here, and so will you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>For quite a long time the suffragette’s upbringing -wrestled with all comers, but it was a hopeless fight -from the first. There is no strength in the principles -created out of a lifeless past. Besides, the -woman of six-and-twenty was very much flattered -and fluttered, whatever the militant suffragette might -be.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I will come with you on your exploration tour,” -she said, and her voice sounded like the voice of the -conqueror rather than the conquered. “I will give -my word as a—woman without principles that I -will not leave Southampton except to go on board the -<em>Caribbeania</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener left her, he felt innocently drunk. -He made his way out of the amethyst light of electricity, -into the golden light of the outskirts of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>town, and thence into the silver light of the uncivilised -moon. On the beach the tide was receding, -despite the groping, grasping hands of the sea, which -contested every inch of the withdrawal. The gardener -stumbled upon the soft solidity of the sand -above high-water mark, and slept the sleep of the -thoroughly confused. He dreamt of a pearl-and-pink -sea, and of unknown islands.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I need hardly say, after all this preamble, that the -suffragette and the gardener sailed next day on the -<em>Caribbeania</em> for Trinity Islands.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Samuel Rust, for some time before the boat -started, was conspicuous for a marked non-appearance -on the wharf’s edge.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, who had a vague feeling that tears -should be shed in England on his departure, stood -feeling a little cold at heart on the starboard side -of the main deck, looking at the tears that were being -shed for other people.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette, who was under the impression -that her hand was against all men, stood bleakly on -the port side, looking at the hydro-aeroplanes leaping -self-consciously about the Solent in seven-league -boots. She was proud to stand thus aloof and unhampered -on the threshold of a novelty. The pride -she had in her independence was one of her compensations. -This is a world of compensations, and that -is what makes it the hollow world it is sometimes. -So seldom do we get the real thing that in this age -we congratulate ourselves upon our compensations.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>Mr. Samuel Rust made a late and dramatic appearance -upon the gangway after the first bell of -preparation for departure had been rung. His hat, -inspired by the prevalent aviation craze, blew away. -But Mr. Rust’s thoughts were occupied with other -things than the infidelity of hats. He passed the -gardener without noticing him, and with restrained -fervour addressed a square elderly woman, who -stood leisurely on the deck, surrounded by an officious -maid, like a liner being attended to by a tug.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Samuel Rust did not seem like the sort of -person who would have had a mother. He gave the -impression of having been created exactly as he -stood, with one stroke of the Almighty Finger, and -not gradually evolved like you or me. You could -imagine the gardener, for instance, at every stage of -his existence. You could picture those light bright -eyes under those scowling brows looking out of lace -and baby-ribbons in a proud nurse’s arms. You -could see him as the fierce little schoolboy, with alternately -too much to say and too little. You could -imagine him as an old man, with that thick hair -turned into a white strong flame upon his head, and -those already deep-set eyes blazing out of hewn -hollows above his abrupt cheek-bones. But Mr. -Samuel Rust seemed to have no past and no future.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He addressed the woman who, contrary to appearances, -had played an important part in the creating -of him.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>“I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye -to you, Mrs. Paul,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course you couldn’t,” said Mrs. Rust, and -the words seemed shot by iron lips from above a -chin like a ship’s ram.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Something that might have usurped the name of -a kiss passed between them, and Mr. Samuel hurried -to the impatient gangway. As he passed the gardener -he winked earnestly, conscious of his mother’s -eyes on the back of his head. The gardener, feeling -delightfully unscrupulous and roguish, made no -sign.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The vulgarly tuneful swan-songs of Cockney emotion -trailed from the deck to the wharf and back -again. The sound was like thin beaten silver, becoming -thinner as the distance increased. There -were tears among the women on land, and the shivering -water blurred the reflections of the crowd until -they looked as though they were seen through tears. -The last song fainted in the air, the crowd on the -wharf ceased to be human, and became a long suggestion -of many colours, a-quiver with waving handkerchiefs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener looked at Mrs. Paul Rust. There -was a tear following one of the furious furrows that -bracketed her hyphen of a mouth.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The south of England is a land that reluctantly -lets her deserters go. For full twelve hours she -stands on tiptoe on the sea-line, beckoning their return.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>The gardener watched the land and felt the sea -for long hours. He felt no regret at having forsaken -one for the other. For the moment he prided -himself on heartlessness, or rather on intactness of -heart, for he had left none of it behind. He was -proud of the fact that he loved no one in the world. -He prided himself on his vices more than on his -virtues. There seems something more unique in -vice than in virtue.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener had the convenient sort of memory -that is fitted with water-tight doors. His mind conducted -a process by which the past was not kept fresh -and green, nor altogether left behind, but crystallised -and packed away on shelves in a businesslike manner. -He could label it and shut it away without -emotion. He shut away England now, and rejoiced -to do so. Poor grey silly England that I am so glad -to leave and so glad to see again....</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener turned presently to look for his -garden, and found—the girl Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Her brilliant and magnetic hair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Her broad face with the abrupt flush on the cheeks, -that was an inartistic accompaniment to the red of -her hair, and looked as if Nature had become colourblind -at the moment of giving Courtesy her complexion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She herself looked herself—simple yet sophisticated.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To think of seeing you here,” she said. “Who -would have thought it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>The gardener was one of those who are never -surprised without being thunderstruck. He was -very thorough in habit, and drank every emotion to -its dregs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>His manners fell in ruins about him. His hat -remained upon his head. His words remained somewhere -beneath his tongue.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I got a sudden invitation from a cousin in Trinity -Island,” explained Courtesy. “And Dad gave -me my passage out as a birthday present. I gave -the threepenny bit to a porter, so I hope you don’t -want it back. Have you kept a halo for me in this -Paradise?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There is the glassy sea,” replied the gardener, -recovering. “And the halo is just flowering. It -is exactly the colour of your hair.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hope the sea will be as you say,” said Courtesy, -“for I’m a shockin’ bad sailor.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>And at that moment the sea ceased to be totally -glassy. You could suddenly feel the slow passionate -heart of the sea beating.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy did not look at the change in this poetic -light at all. She hurried along the deck and disappeared.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Even if you are a good sailor there is, apart from -a natural pride in your sailorship, little joy about a -first day on board. The climate of the English seas -is not adapted to ocean travel. If I could steam -straight out of Southampton Harbour into the strong -yet restrained heat that I love, if I could glide from -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>the wharf—mottled with regrets—straight to the -silver and emerald coasts of a certain land I know, -where the cocoanut palms lean out over the strip of -immaculate sand, to see their reflections in the opal -mirror of the sea, I think I should love the first day -as much as I love its successors. And yet I would -not have the voyage shortened by a minute.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I wonder why nobody has ever brought forward -as a conclusive Anti-suffrage argument the fact that -more women are sea-sick than men on the first day -of a sea-voyage. I can so well imagine the superb -line the logic of such a contention would take. If -the basis of life is physical ability, and if physical -ability depends upon the digestion, then must the -strong digestion only constitute a right to citizenship. -To the wall with the weak digestion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Paul Rust and the suffragette were the only -women who scaled the heights of the dining saloon -for that evening’s meal. Mrs. Rust looked supremely -proud of her immunity from sea-sickness; all -the men looked laboriously unaware that such a thing -as sea-sickness existed; the suffragette looked frankly -miserable. The gardener was obliged to remind -himself casually from time to time that there was no -pose that included sea-sickness.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But any disastrous tendency he might have had to -give too much thought to his inner man was checked -by the appearance of Mrs. Paul Rust, the fortress he -was there to besiege. She was a truly remarkable -woman to look at. The absence of her hat revealed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>a surprise. Her hair was dyed a forcible crimson. -And it might have been mud-coloured like mine for -all the self-consciousness she showed. It was so profoundly -remarkable that for a time one’s attention -was chained to the hair, and one forgot to study the -impressive general effect, of which the hair was only -the culminating point. Mrs. Rust’s only real -feature was her chin, but no one ever realised this. -Her eyes and nose were too small for her face, and -seemed to fit loosely into that great oval; her mouth -was only redeemed by the chin that shot from beneath -it. Altogether she would have been sufficiently -insignificant-looking had it not been for her -hair. She proved the truism that the world takes -people at their own valuation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is always a surprise to me when a truism is -proved true. I have come across the rock embedded -in these truisms several times lately to my cost. And -each time it bruises my knuckles and shocks me. It -almost makes one wonder whether, after all, the -ancients occasionally had their flashes of enlightenment.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The world thought of Mrs. Paul Rust what she -thought of herself. It is so often too busy to work -out its own conclusions.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Of a modest woman with a heavy jaw, the world -would have said, “A dear good creature, but dreadfully -underhung.” Of a well-chinned woman with -dyed hair, it said, “There goes a strong character.” -The hair did it, and the hair was dyed by human -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>agency. Providence had no hand in the making of -Mrs. Rust’s forcible reputation. Nowadays we -leave it to our dressmaker, and our manicurist, and -our milliner, and our doctor, and our vicar, to make -us what we are. This is an age of luxury, and it is -so fatiguing to assert a home-made personality. -Shall I go to my hairdresser and say, “Here, take -me, dye me heliotrope. Make an influential woman -of me”?</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener did not quail before the terrifying -outer wall of Mrs. Rust’s fortress. Believing as he -did that man makes himself, and that the pose of -victor is as easy to assume as any other, he was unaware -of the reality of the word ‘defeat.’ Whether -woman also makes herself, I never fully understood -from the gardener at this stage. But I gathered -that woman takes the rôles that man rejects.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, as a protégé of Mr. Abel, who, on -the <em>Caribbeania</em>, was respected because he was not -personally known, found himself treated <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à la</span></i> junior -officer, streaked with a certain flavour of second-class -passenger, but distinctly suggesting ship’s orchestra. -He was allowed to have his meals in the first-class -saloon, he was occasionally asked about the -weather by lady passengers, and the captain and -officers looked upon him good-naturedly, as a sort of -example of poetic licence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It seemed a good thing when dinner was over. -One had proved one’s courage, and the strain was -past. The suffragette, who had given a proof rather -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>of obstinacy than of courage, retired weakly to her -cabin. And the gardener stood on deck and looked -at the sea, while the moon followed the ship’s course -with her eyes. A table companion, an Anglican -priest, with a weak chin and piercing eyes, came and -leaned upon the rail at the gardener’s side.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You smoke?” he asked, and you could hear that -he was very conventional, and that he believed that -he was not.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A man-to-man sort of man.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” said the gardener, and added, “I have no -vices.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He said this sort of thing simply to exasperate. -The pose of indifference to the world’s opinion is apt, -sooner or later, to lead to the pose of wilful pricking -of the world’s good taste. The gardener had a -morbid craving for unpopularity; it was part of the -unique pose. Unpopularity is an excellent salve to -the conscience; it is delicious to be misunderstood.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest did not appear exasperated. He was -tolerant. The man who aims at unlimited tolerance, -as a rule, only achieves the absorbent and rather undecided -status of spiritual blotting-paper. But he is -a dreadfully difficult man to anger.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I hate talking to people who are occupied in reminding -their conscience: “After all this is my sister, -albeit, a poor relation. I must be tolerant.” -Then they pray for strength, and turn to me, spiritually -renewed, with a brave patient smile.</p> - -<p class='c009'>This was the priest’s pose.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>“You have no vices?” he said, in a slow earnest -voice. “How I envy you!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was more concerned with the varied -conversation of the sea. Each wave of it flung -back some magic unspeakable word over its shoulder -as it ran by. But he answered the priest:</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You don’t really envy me, you would rather be -yourself with virtues than me without vices.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest smiled the inscrutable smile of the -vague-minded. “You have a very original way of -talking. You interest me. Yerce, yerce. Tell me -what you were thinking about when I came up.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener did so at once. Sometimes his imagination -weighed heavily upon his mind, and he -expanded, regardless of his listeners.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I was thinking about the things I saw,” he said. -“Things that I often see before I have time to think. -Snapshots of things that even I have never actually -imagined. Do you know, wonders crash across my -eyes like a blow, when I am thinking of something -else. Ghosts out of my enormous past, I suppose. -There was a very white beach that I saw just now, -with opal-coloured waves running along it, and a -mist whitening the sky. There were very broad red -men in grey wolf-skins, standing in the water, dragging -dead bodies from the sea. There were little -children, blue and thin, lying dead upon the beach. -I know the way children’s ribs stand out when they -are dead. I have never seen a dead child, except -those....”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>“You ought to write fiction, yerce, yerce,” said -the priest. “You have a very strong imagination.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have,” admitted the gardener. “But not -strong enough to control these visions that besiege -me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest, who had preached more and known -less about visions than any one else I can think of, -was constrained to silence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Next morning the gardener found his garden. -He saw it under varied aspects and at varied angles, -for a gold and silver alternation of sun and shower -chequered the Atlantic, and inspired the <em>Caribbeania</em> -to a slow but undignified dance, like the activities of -a merry cow. The high waves came laughing down -from the high horizon, and curtseyed mockingly at -her feet.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a bay tree in a tub on either side of the -entrance to the garden, and the gardener, as he stood -between them, surveying his territory, slid involuntarily -from one to the other and back again, as the -world wallowed. The garden was conventionally -conceived, by a carpenter rather than a gardener. -Grass-green trellis-work, which should belong essentially -to the background, here usurped undue prominence. -Arches in the trellis-work, looking to the -sea, gave bizarre views, now of the heavy hurried -sky, now of the panting sea. Hanging drunkenly -from the apex of each arch was a chained wicker -basket, from which sea-sick <span lang="la" xml:lang="la">canariensis</span> waved weak -protesting hands. A few creepers, lacking sufficient -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>initiative for the task set before them, clawed -incompetently at the lowest rungs of the trellis. A -row of geraniums in pots shouted in loud brick-red -at the farther and more sheltered end of the garden. -It was impossible to tolerate the thought of Hilda -associating with those geraniums. She was a very -vulnerable and emotional soul, was Hilda. Deep -orange is a colour beyond the comprehension of the -vermilion and vulgar. A few sodden-looking deck-chairs -occupied the gardener’s territory, and repelled -advances. But on the farthest sat the suffragette. -She was crying.</p> - -<p class='c009'>If you have ever crossed the Bay of Biscay while -weakened by emotion, you will not ask why she was -crying.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener dropped his pose between the bay -trees, and did something extraordinarily pretty, considering -the man he was. He sat on the next deck-chair -to hers, and patted her knee.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My fault ...” he said. “My fault....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Of course he did not really believe that it was his -fault, but it was unusually gracious of him to tell the -lie.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette turned her face from him. She -had cried away all her vanity. Her hair was lamentable, -her small plain eyes were smaller than ever, -and her nose was the only pink thing in her face.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m very morbid,” she said. “And that at any -rate is not your fault.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t let’s think either about you or me,” said -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>the gardener, and it would have been wise had he -meant it. “We have all our lives to do that in, -and it is a pity to do it in the Bay. When one’s feeling -weak, it’s easier to fight the world than to fight -oneself.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was a grey thing, a snake-soul. -To the eye of a grey soul there is something forbidding -about the many colours of the universe, and you -will always know snake-people by their defensive attitude. -It is an immensely lonely thing to be a snake, -to have that tortuous spirit, with no limbs for contact -with the earth. And yet the compensation is -most generous, for there are few joys like the joy of -knowing yourself alone.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c005'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In cubes of blue, in curves of mauve,</div> - <div class='line'>They spotted up my firmament;</div> - <div class='line'>And with my sharp grey heart I strove</div> - <div class='line'>To stab the colours as they went.</div> - <div class='line'>“Lou-<em>la</em> ...” they said—“Lou-<em>la</em>, a thing</div> - <div class='line'>At war without a following.”</div> - <div class='line'>“Lou-<em>la</em> ...” they cried—and now cry I—</div> - <div class='line'>“At war without an enemy....”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>“I can’t think how you dare to speak out your -imagination,” said the suffragette. “Most people -hide it like a sin.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He was always willing to be the text of his own -oratory.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Imagination is my Genesis, and my Book of -Revelations,” he answered. “There is nothing with -more power. It is stronger than faith, for it can -<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>really move mountains. It has moved mountains, it -has moved England from my path and left me this -clear sea.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette walled herself more securely in. -“I have no imagination at all,” she lied, and then -she added some truth: “I am very unhappy and -lonely.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The other day ...” said the gardener, “you -were happy to be independent and alone.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s why I’m now unhappy to be independent -and alone. You can’t discover the heaven in a thing -without also tripping over the hell. I like a black -and white life.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t think,” said the gardener suddenly, and -almost turned the patting of her knee into a slap. -“It’s a thing that should only be done in moderation. -Some day you won’t be able to control your craving -for thought, and then you’ll die of Delirium Tremens.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s not such a dangerous drug as some,” smiled -the suffragette. “I’d rather have that craving than -the drink craving, or the society craving, or the love -craving.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Better to have nothing you can’t control.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You hypocrite! You can’t control your imagination.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’re right,” said the gardener after a pause. -He was a curiously honest opponent in argument. -Besides, she had stopped crying, and there was no -special reason for continuing the discussion. Also -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>Mrs. Paul Rust at that moment appeared between -the bay trees.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust’s hair looked vicious in a garden, beside -the geraniums, which were at least sincere in colour, -however blatant.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is this private?” she asked. There was something -in the shy look of the garden, and in the reproachful -look of the gardener, that made the question -natural.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” said the gardener. “This is the ship’s -garden.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Paul Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She always said “good” to everything she had not -heard before. To her the newest was of necessity -the best. Originality was her ideal, and as unattainable -as most ideals are. For she was not in the least -original herself. She was doomed for ever to stand -outside the door of her temple. And “good” was -her tribute of recognition to those who had free -passes into the temple. It owned that they had -shown her something that she would never have -thought of for herself. For nothing had ever -sprung uniquely from her. Even in her son she -could only claim half the copyright.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette tried to rearrange her looks, which -certainly needed it. There are two sorts of women, -the women before whom you feel you must be tidy -and the women before whom such things don’t matter. -Mrs. Rust all her life had belonged to the former, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>all her life what charm she had, had lain in the -terror she inspired.</p> - -<p class='c009'>For the first time the gardener questioned himself -as to his plan of attack. Hitherto he had pinned his -faith to inspiration. He had left the matter in the -hands of his private god, Chance. His methods -were very simple, as well as bizarre. His mind was -a tortuous path, but he followed it straightforwardly, -and never looked back. To do him justice, however, -I must say that he searched his repertoire for a suitable -point of conversational contact with Mrs. Rust. -Finding none, he dispensed with that luxury.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am the ship’s gardener,” he said, smiling at his -intended victim.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust was broad, and the deck-chair was narrow. -It was some time before a compromise between -these two facts could be arrived at, so the -remark came upon her at a moment of some stress.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now, then, what was that you were saying?” -she asked at last, in an unpromising voice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, who was very literal in very small -things, repeated his information, word for word, -and inflection for inflection. “I am the ship’s gardener.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust grunted. She showed no tolerance for -the thing that was not sensational. Nor had she -any discrimination in her search for the novelty. -Still, energy is something.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I am only ship’s gardener in theory,” persisted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>the gardener. “In practice I don’t even know -where the watering-can is kept.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then you are here under false pretences,” retorted -Mrs. Rust a little more genially, for his last -remark was not everybody’s remark.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am,” said the gardener, suddenly catching a -fleeting perspective of the path to her good graces.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust, and turned her little -bright eyes upon him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When she opened her eyes very wide, it meant that -she was on the track of what she sought. When she -shut them, as she often did, it meant that she did not -understand what was said. But it gave the fortunate -impression that she understood only too well. -She was instinctively ingenious at hiding her own -limitations.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was the end of that interview, but a good beginning -to the campaign.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The sea to some extent recovered its temper -within that day. Towards the evening, when slate -and silver clouds, with their backs to the <em>Caribbeania</em>, -were racing to be the first over the horizon, -the garden was invaded by passengers, racing to be -the first over the boundary of sea-sickness. The silence -of the unintroduced at first lay, like a pall, -along the deck-chairs, but a mutual friend was -quickly found in Mothersill, whose excellent invention -was represented in every work-bag. The bright -noise of women discussing suffering rippled along the -garden. Abuse of the <em>Caribbeania’s</em> stewardesses -<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>sprang from lip to lip. It was a pretty scene, and -the gardener turned his back on it, and went below -to water Hilda.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s cabin, which was impertinently -shared by a couple of inferior souls, was as square as -a box, and furnished with nautical economy. The -outlook from its porthole was as varied in character -as it was limited in size. At one moment one felt -oneself the drunken brain behind the round eye of a -giant, staring into green and white obscurity; at -another one blinked, as a mist of spray like shivered -opal spun up over one’s universe; again one enjoyed -an instantaneous glimpse of the flat chequered floor -of the Atlantic; and at rare intervals the curtain of -the sky slid over the porthole, and the setting sun -dropped across the eye like a rocket.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Hilda sat wistfully on the recess of the porthole, -leaning her forehead against the glass. She had a -bud, chosen to match Courtesy’s hair. Just as -Hilda’s stalk was necessary to hold her bud upright, -so Courtesy herself was necessary to support the conflagration -of her hair on the level of the onlooker’s -eye. Both were necessities, and both were artistically -negligible.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener looked around the cabin. There is -something depressing about other people’s clothes. -There is something depressing in an incessant attack -on one’s skull by inanimate objects. There is something -depressing in a feeling of incurable drunkenness -unrelieved by the guilty gaiety that usually accompanies -<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>such a condition. There is something -depressing about ocean life below decks at any time. -The gardener and Hilda sat in despair upon the hardhearted -thing that sea-going optimists accept as a -bed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course I don’t want to go home,” the gardener -told himself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Hilda, poor golden thing of the soil, had no doubts -as to what she was suffering from. But the gardener -wondered why despair had seized him. Until he -remembered that the spirit of the sea walks on deck -alone, and is never permitted by the stewards to enter -the cabins. He climbed the companion-way, like a -tired angel returning to heaven after a stuffy day on -earth. He came upon Courtesy making a bad shot -at the door that leads to the Promenade deck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come and sit in the garden,” he said in a refreshed -voice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On deck, a few enterprising spirits were playing -deck quoits against the elements. The general -geniality whose rule only lasts for the first three days -of a voyage was reigning supreme. Young men -were making advances to young ladies with whom -they would certainly quarrel in forty-eight hours’ -time, and young ladies were mocking behind their -hands at the young men they would be engaged to -before land was reached. The priest, with an appearance -of sugared condescension, was showering -missiles upon the Bullboard as though they were -blessings. (And they were misdirected.) The inevitable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>gentleman who has crossed the Atlantic -thirty times and can play all known games with fatiguing -perfection, was straining like a greyhound on -the leash towards the quoits which mere amateurs -were usurping. Captain Walters, who has a twin -brother on every liner that ever sailed, was brightly -collecting signatures for a petition to the Captain -concerning a dance that very evening.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, with unusual cordiality, gave the -reeling Courtesy his arm, as they threaded the maze -of amusements towards the garden.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was only one deck-chair unoccupied. It -was labelled loudly as belonging to some one else, but -Courtesy, always bold, even when physically weakest, -advanced straight upon it. It was next to the suffragette’s. -And the gardener became for the first time -aware of a cat in a bag, and of the fact that the cat -was about to emerge.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was the sort of person next to -whom empty chairs are always to be found. She -had plenty to say, and what she said was often rather -amusing, but it was always a little too much to the -point, and the point was a little too sharp. She had -a certain amount of small talk, but no tiny talk. She -was not so much ignored as avoided. She had altogether -missed youth, and its glorious power of being -amused by what is not, correctly speaking, amusing. -Her generation thought her “brainy,” it was very -polite to her. Do you know the terrible sensation of -being invariably the last to be chosen at Nuts in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>May? This was the suffragette’s atmosphere. My -poor suffragette! It is so much more difficult to -bear the snub than the insult. Insult is like a -bludgeon thrown at the inflated balloon of our conceit. -With the very blunt force of it we rebound. -But the snub is a pin-prick, which lets our supporting -pride out, and leaves us numb and nothing. I always -feel the insult is founded on passion, while the -snub springs from innate dislike.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“May I introduce Miss Courtesy Briggs ...” -began the gardener, hoping for an inspiration before -the end of the sentence. “Miss Courtesy -Briggs....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Both women looked expectant.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Miss Courtesy Briggs ... my wife.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“O Lor’!” said Courtesy, and then, with her -healthy regard for conventions, remembered that this -was not the proper retort to an introduction.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“When you left Penny Street, a week ago ...” -she said to the gardener, as she shook the suffragette’s -hand, “you didn’t tell me you were engaged.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wasn’t,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy dropped the subject, because it was -hardly possible to continue it. She was not the girl -to do what was conventionally impossible. Besides -the bugle was sounding to show that dinner was -within hailing distance. Courtesy was a slave of -time. Her day was punctuated by the strokes of -clocks. Her life was a thing of pigeon-holes, and if -some of the pigeon-holes were empty they were all -<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>neatly labelled. She was the sort of person who -systematically allowed ten minutes every morning for -her prayers, and during that time, with the best intentions, -mused upon her knees about the little things of -yesterday. It is a bold woman that would squeeze -Heaven into a pigeon-hole.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Theresa stopped in front of the gardener’s chair. -Theresa’s surname had been blown away from her -with the first Atlantic wind. So had the shining system -in her yellow hair. So had most of her land conventions. -She was not a thing of the ocean, but a -thing of the ocean liner. She had immediately become -Everybody’s Theresa. I could not say that -everybody loved Theresa, but I know that everybody -felt they ought to.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Captain said no dance this evening,” said -Theresa, in her telegraphic style. “Too much sea -on. Doctor said broken legs. But I went and -wheedled. Called the Captain Sweet William. -Dance at nine.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The dance was at nine. There were no limits to -what Theresa could do—in her sphere.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A proud quartermaster was superintending the last -touches of chalk upon the deck, when the gardener -and the suffragette led the exodus from the dining-saloon.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In Paradise I hope I shall be allowed a furious -walk around a windy rocking deck at frequent intervals -throughout eternity. I know of nothing more -poetic, and yet more brilliantly prosaic. At such -<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>moments you can feel the muscles of life trembling -by reason of sheer strength.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette and the gardener walked so fast -that the smoke from the suffragette’s cigarette lay -out along the wind like the smoke behind a railway -train. The strong swing of the sea threw their feet -along. There was a moon in the sky and phosphorus -in the sea.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But there are people who go down to the sea in -ships, and yet confine their world to the promenade-deck. -The heart of Theresa’s world, for instance, -was the shining parallelogram, silvered with chalk, -on the sheltered side of the deck. Theresa, looking -extremely pretty, was superintending the over-filling -of her already full programme.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Mustn’t walk round like that,” she said in the -polite tones that The Generation always used to the -suffragette. “Must find partners, because the orchestra -will soon begin to orch.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We are not dancing,” said the gardener. One -always took for granted that the suffragette was not -dancing.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If you will dance,” said Theresa, “I will give -you number eight.” She assumed with such confidence -that this was an inducement, that somehow it -became one.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Thank you very much,” replied the gardener. -“I’ll ask Courtesy Briggs for one, too.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette sat down upon an isolated chair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“May I have a dance?” asked the gardener of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>Courtesy. “I can’t dart or stagger, only revolve.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I was sea-sick only three hours ago,” retorted -Courtesy with simplicity. “But I have a lot to talk -to you about, so you can have number one. And -we’ll begin it now.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But the orchestra was still idling in the melancholy -manner peculiar to orchestras. Why—by the way—is -there something so unutterably sad in the expression -of an orchestra about to play a jovial onestep?</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do want to know about your marriage,” pursued -Courtesy, whose curiosity was a daylight trait, -like the rest of her characteristics. “When did it -happen, and where did you meet her, and why did -you have a wedding without me to help?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I met her—on the way to Paradise,” said the -gardener, posing luxuriously as an enigma. “We -got married on the way too. It was a no-flowers-by-request -sort of wedding, otherwise we would have -invited you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I can’t understand it,” said Courtesy. -“Only a week ago you were snivelling over a broken -boot-lace.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s pose had a fall. He might have -expected that Courtesy would trip it up.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The violins, relieving their feelings by a preliminary -concerted yell, settled down to a lamentation in -ragtime.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener danced rather well, as his mother -had taught him to dance. Courtesy danced rather -<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>well, after the manner of The Generation. But the -<em>Caribbeania</em> danced better than either. She reduced -them to planting their four feet wide and sliding up -and down. The ship’s officers, with their lucky partners, -leaning to the undulations of the deck, like willows -bending to the wind, showed to immense advantage. -They evidently knew every wave of the -Atlantic by heart. But among the remaining -dancers there was much unrest. Captain Walters, -who was accustomed to be one of the principal ornaments -of a more stationary ballroom, at once -knocked his partner down and sat upon her. -Theresa and a subaltern slid helplessly at the mercy -of the elements into a forest of chaperons. The -gardener and Courtesy leaned together and clung, -with a tense look on their faces.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I dare not say what angle the deck had reached -when the orchestra, with an unpremeditated lapse -into a Futurist style of melody, broke loose, and -glided in a heaving phalanx to join the turmoil. -The piano, being lashed to its post, remained a triumphant -survivor, calmly surveying the fallen estate -of the less stable instruments.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am not enjoying myself a bit,” said Courtesy, -as she disentangled a violin from her hair, and -strove to dislodge the ’celloist from his position on -her lap. The gardener disliked agreeing with any -one, but he seemed by no means anxious to continue -dancing. The orchestra also seemed a little loth to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>risk its dignity again at once, and even Theresa, -though still plastered with a pink smile, was retiring -on the arm of her subaltern to a twilit deck-chair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In the distance, among her rows of empty chairs, -the suffragette was smiling. She had watched the -dancing with that half-ashamed sort of amusement -which some of us feel when we see others making -fools of themselves. And because she smiled, the -priest came and sat beside her. He considered himself -a temporary shepherd in charge of this maritime -flock, and you could see in his eye the craving for -souls to save. He had hardly noticed the suffragette -until her smile caught his eye, but directly he did -notice her he saw that she was not among the saved. -He therefore approached her with the smile he reserved -for the wicked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Very amusing, is it not?” he said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Now the suffragette liked to see the young busy -with their youth, but because she was a snake she -could not bear to say so. Especially in answer to -“Very amusing, is it not?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So she said, “Is it?” and immediately cursed herself -for the inhuman remark. Some people’s humanity -takes this tardy form of hidden self-reproach -after expression, and then it strikes inward, like -measles.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, that’s as it may be, yerce, yerce,” said the -priest, who was so tolerant that he had no opinions of -his own, and had hardly ever been guilty of contradiction. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>“That is your husband, is it not?” he -added, as the gardener extricated himself from the -knot of fallen dancers.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette actually hesitated, and then she -said, “Yes,” and narrowly escaped adding, “More -or less.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A most interesting young man,” said the priest, -who, with the keen eye of the saver of souls, had noticed -the hesitation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Naturally he interests me,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He is so original,” continued the priest. “Even -his occupation strikes one as original. A gardener -on an ocean liner. The march of science, yerce, -yerce. Most quaint. I suppose you also are interested -in Nature. I always think the care of flowers -is an eminently suitable occupation for ladies.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But I am not a lady. -I am a militant suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest’s smile changed from the saintly to the -roguish. “Have you any bombs or hatchets concealed -about you?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish I had,” she replied. I fully admit that -her manners were not her strong point. But the -priest persisted. He noted the absence of any -answering roguishness, and recorded the fact that she -had no sense of humour. True to his plastic nature, -however, he said, “Of course I am only too well -aware of the justice of many of women’s demands, -yerce, yerce. But you, my dear young lady, you are -as yet on the threshold of life; it is written plain upon -<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>your face that you have not yet come into contact -with the realities of life.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In that case it’s a misprint,” said the suffragette. -“I am twenty-six.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Twenty-six,” repeated the priest. “I wonder -why you are bitter—at twenty-six?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because I have taken some trouble not to be -sweet,” she said. “Because I was not born blind.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>As a matter of fact she had been born morally -short-sighted. She had never seen the distant delight -of the world at all.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest did not believe in anything approaching -metaphor. He considered himself to be too manly. -So he deflected the course of the conversation. -“And your husband. What are his views on the -Great Question?” (A slight relapse into roguishness -on the last two words.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have never asked him. I know he does not -believe in concrete arguments from women. -Though he approves of them from men.” She fingered -a bruise on her arm.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The arguments about women’s lack of physical -force are the most incontrovertible ones your cause -has to contend with,” said the priest. “Say what -you will, physical force is the basis of life.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think it is a confession of weakness.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There is something in what you say,” said the -priest. He did not really think there was, for he -had taken no steps to investigate. He was busy -thinking that this was an odd wife who did not know -<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>her husband’s views on a question that obsessed her -own thoughts.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener had by now extracted Courtesy -from the tangle, and was steering her towards a -chair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Your husband appears to know that young lady -with the auburn hair,” said the priest. “He knew -her before he came on board, did he not?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Apparently he did,” said the suffragette. “I -didn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She was providing him with so many clues that he -was fairly skimming along on the track of his prey. -When he left her he felt like a collector who has -found a promising specimen.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Altogether on the wrong lines,” he told himself, -and added, “Poor lost lamb, how much she needs a -helping hand”; not because he felt sorry for her, but -because word-pity was the chief part of his stock-in-trade.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Next morning the <em>Caribbeania</em> had flung the winds -and waves behind her, and had settled down to a -passionless career along a silver sea under a silver -sky,—like man, slipping out of the turmoil of youth -into the excellent anti-climax of middle life.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Similes apart, however, the <em>Caribbeania</em> was now -so steady that an infant could have danced a jig upon -her deck. Several infants tried. Amusements -rushed upon her passengers from every side. A -week passed like a wink. Hardly were you awake -in the morning before you found yourself pursuing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>an egg round your own ankles with a teaspoon. -Sports and rumours of sports followed you even unto -your nightly bunk. Everybody developed talents -hitherto successfully concealed in napkins. Courtesy -found her life’s vocation in dropping potatoes into -buckets. She brought this homely pursuit to a very -subtle art, and felt that she had not lived in vain. -Not that she ever suffered from morbid illusions as -to her value. The gardener brought to light a latent -gift for sitting astride upon a spar while other men -tried with bolsters to remove him. The suffragette, -when nobody was looking, acquired proficiency in the -art of shuffling the board. When observed, she instinctively -donned an appearance of contempt. Mrs. -Paul Rust settled herself immovably in a chair and -applauded solo at the moments when others were not -applauding. The priest, looking in an opposite direction, -clapped when he heard other hands being -clapped, in order to show the kind interest he took in -mundane affairs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>While occupied thus, one day, he found himself -next to Courtesy. That determined lady had her -back to a Whisky and Soda Race then in progress, -and looked aggrieved. She had been beaten in the -first heat, whereas she was convinced that victory had -been her due. Courtesy suffered from all the faults -that you and I—poetic souls—cannot love. She -was greedy. She was fat. She could not even lose -a race without suspecting the timekeeper of corruption. -All the same, there was something so entirely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>healthy and human about her, that nobody had ever -pointed out to her her lack of poetry, and of the -more subtle virtues.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest, who had also never been able to lose a -game without losing his temper too, sympathised -with Courtesy, and employed laborious tact in trying -to lead her thoughts elsewhere.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Trinity Islands are your destination, are they -not, yerce, yerce?” he said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes,” replied Courtesy. “And I wish this old -tub would buck up and get there.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You have reasons of your own for being very -anxious to arrive?” suggested the priest archly.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nothing special that I know of,” answered -Courtesy. “I’m only an ordinary globe-trotter.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Frankly, she was being sent out to get married. -But this, of course, was among the things that are -not said. Her father had become tired of supporting -a daughter as determined to study art in London -as she was incapable of succeeding at it. He had -accepted for her a casual invitation from a cousin -for a season in the Trinity Islands. The invitation -was so very casual that Courtesy had appreciated the -whole scheme as a matrimonial straw clutched at by -an over-daughtered parent. But her feelings were -not hurt. She had bluff, tough feelings.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How curious that you should have found former -friends on board!” said the priest. “How small -the world is, is it not?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, isn’t it?” assented Courtesy, whose heart -<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>always warmed towards familiar phrases. “And so -odd, too, him being married within the week like -this.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest pricked up his ears so sharply that you -could almost hear them click. “So quickly as -that?” he encouraged her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, when he left the private hotel where he and -I were both staying just over a fortnight ago, he was -not even engaged. He says such quaint things about -it, too. He says he picked her up on the way to -Paradise.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The mention of Paradise confirmed the priest’s -worst suspicions. But “Yerce, yerce....” was his -only reply to Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Late that night the priest walked round and round -the deck trying to peer into the face of his god, professional -duty. His conscience was as short-sighted -as some people’s eyes, and he was often known to -pursue a shadow under the impression that he was -pursuing his duty.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course I must warn the Captain,” he said. -“And that bright young lady who unconsciously gave -me the news. And Mrs. Rust, who encourages that -misguided young man to talk. And Mrs. Cyrus -Berry, who lets her children play with him. As for -the woman—I always think that women are the -most to blame in such cases.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Although he was altogether narrow his limits were -indefinite, except under great provocation. He -had not strength enough to draw the line anywhere. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>“Wicked” was too big a word for him; and although -he believed that the gardener and the suffragette -were in immediate danger of hell-fire, he could only -call them “misguided.” This applies to him only in -his capacity as a priest. In his own interests he was -very much more sensitive than he was in the interest -of his God.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Sometimes I think that angels, grown old, turn -into enemies to trap the unwary. The angel of tolerance -was the great saviour of history, but now he -saps the strength of every cause. Either I Am -Right, or I May Possibly Be Right. If I may only -possibly be right, why should I dream of burning at -the stake for such a very illusory proposition? But -if I am right, then my enemy is Wrong, and is in -danger of hell-fire. That is my theory. My practice -is to believe that belief is everything, and that I -may worship a Jove or a stone with advantage to my -soul. Belief is everything, and I believe. But if -my enemy believes in nothing, then I will condemn -him. Why should I be tolerant of what I am convinced -is wrong?</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest, in the dark, found some one clinging -round his knees. A woman—a little woman—wrapped -so tightly in a cloak that she looked like a -mummy. Her face was grey, and her lips looked -dark. Her hair lay dank and low upon her brow, -and yet seemed as if it should have been wildly on -end about her head. The whole of her looked horribly -restrained—bound with chains—and her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>eyes, which should have given the key to the entreaty -which she embodied, were tightly shut. For five -seconds the priest tried to run away. But she held -him round the knees and cried, “Save me, save me!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Nobody had ever come to the priest with such a -preposterous request before.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let me go, my good woman,” he said, audibly -keeping his head. “Be calm, let me beg you to be -calm.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She let him go. But she was not calm.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was very late, and the deck-chairs had been -folded up and stacked. As the woman would not -rise to the priest’s level, he saw nothing for it but -to sink to hers. They sat upon the deck side by side. -He felt that it was not dignified, but there was nobody -looking. And otherwise, he began to feel in -his element. Here was a soul literally shrieking to -be saved.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What is it? Tell me. You have sinned?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly not,” replied the woman in a hard thin -voice. “I have never deserved what I’ve got. It -seems to me that it’s God who has sinned.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Hush, be calm,” the priest jerked out. “Be -calm and tell me what has upset you so much.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman began to laugh. Her laughter was -absurdly impossible, like frozen fire. It lasted for -some time, and the world seemed to wait on tiptoe -for it to stop. It was too much for the priest’s -nerves, and for his own sake he gripped her arm to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>make her stop. She was silent at once. The grip -had been what she needed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now tell me,” said the priest.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She paused a little while, and seemed trying to -swallow her hysteria. When she spoke it was in a -sane, though trembling voice. “I am not Church of -England, sir, but you being a man of God, so to -speak, I thought ... I am suffering—terribly. -There’s something gnawing at my breast ... I’ve -prayed to God, sir; I’ve prayed until I’ve fainted -with the pain of kneeling upright. But he never -took no notice. I think he’s mistaken me for a -damned soul ... before my time. Why, I could -see God smiling, I could, and the pain grew worse. -I’ve been a good woman in my time; I’ve done my -duty. But God smiled to see me hurt. So I prayed -to the Devil—I’d never have believed it three -months ago. I prayed for hell-fire rather than this. -The pain grew worse....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Have you seen the doctor?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, yes. And he said the sea-voyage would do -me good. He couldn’t do nothing.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Poor soul!” said the priest, and found to his -surprise that he was inadequate to the occasion. -“Poor soul, what can I say? It is, alas, woman’s -part to suffer in this world. Your reward is in -heaven. You must pin your faith still to the efficacy -of prayer. You cannot have prayed in the right -spirit.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But what a God—what a God ...” shouted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>the woman with a wild cry. “To hide himself in a -maze—and me too distracted to find out the way. -Why, my tears ought to reach him, let alone my prayers. -I’ve sacrificed so much for him—and he gives -me over to this....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is terrible, yerce terrible,” said the priest. -“My poor creature, this is not the right spirit in -which to meet adversity. Put yourself in God’s -hands, like a little child....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman dragged herself suddenly a yard or -two from him. “Oh, you talker—you talker ...” -she cried, and writhed upon the deck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Listen,” said the priest in a commanding voice. -“Kneel with me now, and pray to God. When we -have prayed, I will take you to the doctor, and he will -give you something to make you sleep.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I won’t touch drugs,” said the woman. “And -I don’t hold with that young doctor in brass buttons. -If I pray now with you, will you promise that I shall -be better in the morning?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes,” said the priest. It was spoken, not out -of his faith, but because that seemed the only way to -put an end to the scene. And when he prayed, in a -musical clerical voice, he prayed not out of his heart, -but out of his sense of what was fitting.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The stars bent their wise eyes upon the wise sea -and bore witness that the priest’s prayer never -reached heaven’s gate.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now you feel better, do you not?” he asked, -when he had said all that had occurred to him, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>intoned a loud Amen, as if to give the prayer an upward -impetus.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” sobbed the woman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Who are you? What is your name?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am Elizabeth Hammer, Mrs. Rust’s maid,” -she replied, and staggered in a lost way into the darkness -of the companion-way.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To-morrow it will be better,” the priest called -after her. And wished that he could think so.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The world smiled next morning, when the sports -began again. Elizabeth Hammer was invisible, -probably concealed in some lowly place suitable to -her position. The sea was silver, the sky blazed -blue, the sun smiled from its height, like a father -beaming upon his irresponsible family. Mrs. Paul -Rust looked incredible in a pale dress, designed for -peculiarity rather than grace; pink roses sprigged it -so sparsely as to give the impression of birth-mark -afflictions rather than decorations. I am not sure -whether the feather in her hat was more like an explosion -or a palm tree. The gardener rolled upon a -deck-chair with three children using him as a switch-back -railway. Theresa was smiling from her top -curl down to her toes. Even the suffragette was -talking about the transmigration of souls to the -fourth officer. Everything on the surface was highly -satisfactory, and, on board ship, nothing except the -surface matters a bit.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest had a leaky mind. He never poured -out all that was in it, but he could not help letting a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>certain proportion of its contents escape. He -paused in his daily walk of thirty times round the -deck, and found a seat beside Mrs. Paul Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Your maid seems to be in a shocking state of -health,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She suffers from indigestion,” replied Mrs. Rust. -“Some fool of a doctor has told her that she has cancer. -She has quite lost her head over it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“At any rate she appears to be in great pain,” -said the priest, who considered that indigestion was -rather too unclothed a word for ordinary use. -“And pain is a terrible thing, is it not?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You mean that you consider it salubrious for the -soul?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then I wonder in what way you consider pain -desirable?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust, who had meant nothing beyond contradiction, -shut her eyes and looked immovably subtle. -The priest changed the subject. He had a real gift -for changing the subject.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Have you made the acquaintance of that dark -young man who acts as the ship’s gardener?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“An excellent young man,” said Mrs. Rust, immediately -divining that the priest did not approve of -him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yerce, yerce, no doubt an excellent young man,” -agreed the priest mechanically. “But I have reason -<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>to believe that his morals are not satisfactory.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do not think he is really married to that aggressive -young woman he calls his wife.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. She did not approve -of such irregularities any more than the priest did, -but she disapproved of disapprobation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest, being constitutionally incapable of argument, -and yet unable to broaden his view, was left -wordless. But an interruption mercifully rescued -him from the necessity of attempting a reply.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Elizabeth Hammer, Mrs. Rust’s maid, appeared -at the companion door. Her eyes were fixed hungrily -upon the sea.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a race about to be run, and the starter -stood ready to say the word. But Elizabeth Hammer -brushed past him and walked across the empty -strip of deck. She climbed the rail as though she -were walking upstairs, and dropped into the -sea.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Hammer,” barked Mrs. Rust hoarsely, as she -heard the splash. That word broke the spell. A -woman shrieked, and Captain Walters shouted, -“Man Overboard.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was not a heroine. What she did -was undignified and unconscious. The heroine -should remove her coat, hand her watch to a friend, -send her love to a few relations, and bound gracefully -into the water. The suffragette, fully clothed, -tumbled upside down after Elizabeth Hammer. No -<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>noble impulse prompted her to do it. She did not -know of her intention until she found herself in the -water, and then she thought, “What a fool!” She -could not swim. The <em>Caribbeania</em> looked as distant -as heaven, and as high. She felt as if she had been -dead a long time since she saw it last. She paddled -with her feet and hands like a dog, her mouth was -full of water and of hair. She had never felt so -abased in her life, she seemed crushed like a wafer -into the sinking surface of the nether pit. For centuries -she wrestled with the sea, sometimes for years -and years on end a wave tore at her breath. She -never thought of Elizabeth Hammer.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is absurd,” she thought, when eternity came -to an end, and she had time for consecutive thought. -She felt sure her eyes were straining out of their -sockets, and tried to remember whether she had ever -heard of any one going blind through drowning. -Then she cried, and remembered that her head must -be above water, if she could cry. She knew then -that there was some one on her side in the battle. -The sea seemed to hold her loosely now, instead of -clutching her throat. She had a moment to consider -the matter from the <em>Caribbeania</em>’s point of -view, and to realise what a pathetic accident had -occurred. It dawned upon her that her own hand, -wearing her mother’s wedding ring, was just in front -of her, holding the cord of a neat white life-buoy. -“Caribbeania” painted in black on the life-buoy -seemed like a wide mad smile.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>“This is absurd,” bubbled the suffragette. “I -shall wake up in a minute now. It’s the air makes -one sleepy.” And then she thought of something -else for ages and ages, and could not find out what -she was thinking of, though she tried all the time.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the promenade deck of the <em>Caribbeania</em> the -gardener stood dumb with enormous astonishment. -His soul was dumb, his limbs were numb, his mental -circulation was stopped. He had a sort of impression -that the Atlantic had been suddenly sprinkled -with a shower of women, but he could only think of -one drop in the shower.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How red her face was as she went under—and -what a dear she is!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The <em>Caribbeania</em> had flung the two women behind -her, and swept upon her way, only for a second had -the red face of the suffragette floated like a cherry -upon the water beside the black wall of the ship. -The fourth officer had flung a life-buoy. Theresa -had fainted. There was a black cork-like thing a -thousand miles away which the fourth officer said -was the head of one of the women. The <em>Caribbeania</em>, -checked in her scornful attempt to proceed uncaring, -was being brought round in a circle. A boat -was being lowered.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a long silence on the promenade deck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Presently—“Is it—her?” asked Courtesy in a -husky voice by the gardener’s side.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course,” answered the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>Elizabeth Hammer had found the sleep she sought -without recourse to drugs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Everybody watched the distant boat receive the -thin small warrior out of the grasp of the sea, and -then sweep in wide circles on its search for Elizabeth -Hammer.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The dream ended. The boat drew alongside. -The suffragette, who had to some extent collected -herself, made a characteristic attempt to step unassisted -from the boat. It failed. Everybody had -come down to the main deck to gratify their curiosity. -The suffragette was carried on deck, though she -obviously supposed she was walking. She looked -somehow out of proportion to the elements with -which she had battled.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You poor lamb,” said Courtesy, looking very -dry and motherly beside her. “How do you feel? -I’m coming to help you into bed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am perfectly well, thank you,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why did you jump overboard if you couldn’t -swim?” asked the fourth officer, who was young and -believed that there are always reasons for everything.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It was a mistake,” said the suffragette testily, -and was led below by Courtesy and a stewardess.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Tongues were loosened. Everybody reascended -to the upper deck to vent their sympathy on Mrs. -Paul Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She had remained in her chair, because she felt -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>that any other woman would have retired below -after witnessing the suicide of an indispensable part -of her travelling equipment. But she could not control -her complexion. Her face was blue-white like -chalk, beneath her incongruous hair. She would reply -to no questions, and the priest, after making several -attempts to create for himself a speaking part -in the drama, was obliged to abandon his intention -as far as she was concerned, for lack of support. -He turned to the gardener, whose stunned mind was -now regaining consciousness.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do indeed congratulate you on the rescue of -your—your wife,” said the priest. “Yerce, yerce. -As for that other poor soul, I was afraid she might -make some attempt of the sort. She was suffering -from some internal complaint, and had lost control -of herself. Of course she had confided in me—yerce, -yerce. I was so fortunate as to be able to -say a few words of comfort. Perhaps it was a merciful -release. But I hope she was prepared at the -last. I hope that in that awful moment she thought -upon her sins.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hope so too,” said the gardener. “It is good -to die with a happy memory in the heart.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The general impression was that Elizabeth Hammer -had made a mistake, poor thing. She was the -subject of much conversation but little conjecture. -The big problem of her little mind was not so much -buried as never unearthed. She had made a mistake, -poor thing. That was her epitaph.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>The suffragette was of course a heroine. She was -a heroine for the same reason as Elizabeth Hammer -was a poor thing—because nobody had analysed her -motives. It would have been heresy to suggest that -the heroine’s motive had been pure hysteria. She -had done a very useless thing in a very clumsy way, -but because it had been dangerous she was promoted -to the rank of heroine.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have been a damn fool,” mourned the suffragette, -writhing profanely on her bunk.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense,” said Courtesy briskly. “You have -been frightfully brave. It was only hard luck that -you couldn’t save the woman.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I didn’t try. I had forgotten all about her -until this moment.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense,” repeated Courtesy, busy with a hot-water -bottle. “You were splendid. We didn’t -know you had it in you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette laughed her secret laugh, which -she kept hidden beneath her militant exterior. The -sort of laughter that flies, not unsuitably, in the very -face of tragedy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is a change,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What is?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To be respected.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My dear gal, we all respected you all along. -Personally I always told them: ‘Mark my words,’ -I said, ‘that gal’s got brains.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, I expect they needed to be told.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense,” said Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>“For the last five years,” said the suffragette, -“I have followed my conscience over rough land. -I have been suffragetting industriously all that time. -And every one laughed behind their hands at me. -Not that I care. But to-day I have been a fool, and -they have promoted me to the rank of heroine.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense,” said Courtesy. “You’re not a fool. -And surely you never were a suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am a militant suffragette,” said the suffragette -proudly. “It takes a little courage and no hysteria -to march through the city with drunk medical -students waiting to knock you down at the next corner; -and it takes hysteria and no courage to fall by -mistake into the Atlantic.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You quaint dear,” said Courtesy, who had not -been giving undivided attention to her patient’s remarks. -“I do believe you’ve got something in you -besides brains after all. There now, you must try -and sleep. Pleasant dreams. And if you’re a good -gal and wake up with some roses in your cheeks, -you shall have your husband to come and have tea -with you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” said the suffragette. “Don’t call him -that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy wrenched the stopper of the hot-water -bottle tightly on, as though she were also corking up -her curiosity.</p> - -<p class='c009'>As she went upstairs Courtesy discovered that she -quite liked the suffragette—from a height. For a -person suffering from brains, and from a mystery, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>and from political fervour, and from lack of physical -stamina, the woman was quite surprisingly likeable.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On deck, Courtesy’s friendly feeling was immediately -put to the test. Mrs. Paul Rust beckoned -her to her side.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That woman who jumped into the water after -Hammer ... she is quite well again, of course?” -It was rather difficult for Mrs. Rust to put this question, -because the most obvious form was, “How is -she?” and that would have been far too human.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She’ll be all right,” said Courtesy. “And even -if she wasn’t she wouldn’t say so. She keeps herself -to herself. You’ve torn a button off your coat. -Shall I sew it on for you? You’ll miss your maid.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I shall not,” said Mrs. Rust. “She was a fool -to behave in that way. Nothing but indigestion.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You shouldn’t speak hardly of the dead,” said -Courtesy, indomitably conventional.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” retorted Mrs. Rust, and -closed her eyes in order to close the subject. “That -young woman...”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I shall call her the suffragette,” said Courtesy. -“She says she is one, and she looks like one.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“At any rate, the priest tells me she is not married -to the ship’s gardener. Is that so?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s not the priest’s business. Nor mine either.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You would drop her like a red-hot coal if she -were not married.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Time enough to decide that later. I don’t approve -<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>of irregularity, of course. Marriage after all -is an excellent idea.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>That turned the balance successfully in the suffragette’s -favour. “You are wrong,” said Mrs. Rust. -“Marriage is an idiotic institution. It must have -been invented by a man, I feel sure. It is like using -ropes where only a silken thread is necessary.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“O Lor’,” said Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Paul Rust decided to reach the truth by interrogating -the gardener. She always tried to approach -a mystery by the high-road, rightly considering -that the high-road is the most untrodden way in -these tortuous days.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come here,” she called to the gardener, when -Courtesy disappeared to see if her patient was -asleep.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is that young woman who foolishly jumped into -the sea—your wife?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener had resisted hours of siege on the -subject. He was tired. Besides he instinctively understood -Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In some ways she is,” he replied, after rather -a blank pause.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is that young man who owns a little red hotel -in the woods in Hampshire your son?” asked the -gardener, suddenly face to face with an opportunity.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In some ways he is,” replied Mrs. Rust inevitably, -without a smile.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener became more and more inspired. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>“Because if you are his mother, I am his friend, and -you may be interested to know that I put your point -of view clearly before him when I met him last. He -told me that you were unwilling to treat his hotel -as an investment, and I said, ‘Why should she?’ -I said, ‘You may take it from me that she won’t.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then you had no business to take my intentions -for granted,” retorted Mrs. Rust. “What the -dickens did you mean by it?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I told him ...” continued the gardener, almost -suffocating in the grasp of his own cleverness, “that -obviously you could take no notice of so vague a -scheme. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred, I -said, would do as you were doing.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You had better have minded your own business,” -interrupted Mrs. Rust wrathfully. “And you had -better mind it now. I shall do exactly what I like -with my money, no matter what the other ninety-nine -women would do.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I was afraid you would be annoyed by my speaking -like this,” said the gardener humbly. “It is -only natural.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense. Do you know that the -priest is shocked by his suspicions about you and -your suffragette?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t mind,” said the gardener. “Being a -priest, I suppose he is paid to be shocked sometimes. -I don’t object to being his butt.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. “Then you don’t continue -to assert that she is your wife.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>“I can’t be bothered to continue to assert it,” said -the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener felt that the reward of the successfully -unscrupulous rogue was within his reach. Lying -in a good cause is a lovely exercise. The warm -feeling of duty begun surged over him. He had -justified his presence on board the <em>Caribbeania</em>, he -had been true to Samuel Rust. The suffragette was -not drowned. The blue sea was all round him. -There was little else to be desired.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I shan’t be an unscrupulous rogue a moment -longer than I can help,” thought the gardener. “I -shall pose as being good next. We will be married -on landing.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy at that moment returned and said, -“Your wife would like you to come and have tea -with her.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t leave us alone,” begged the gardener of -Courtesy as they went below. “I don’t know how -to behave to heroines.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He was obviously at a loss when he reached the -suffragette’s cabin. He had never seen her with -her hair down, and that upset him from the start. -He shook her gently but repeatedly by the hand, -and smiled his well-meaning young smile. He did -not know what to say, and this was usually a branch -of knowledge at which he was proficient.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Did you know that Captain Walters won the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>sweep yesterday on the Captain’s number?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t be a donkey,” said Courtesy. There was -a genial lack of sting about Courtesy’s discourtesies, -which kept her charm intact through all vicissitudes. -“She doesn’t want to hear about the sweep. Let -her be just now. She’s busy pouring out your tea.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>For in the same spirit as the nurse allows a convalescent -child to pour out tea from its own teapot, -Courtesy had encouraged the suffragette to officiate. -The headquarters of the meal, on a tray, were balanced -upon the invalid’s bunk. It was not a treat -to the suffragette, who loathed all the details of -Woman’s Sphere, but for once she did not proclaim -the ungracious truth.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m sorry,” she said nervously. “It’s years -since I did anything of this sort. But I don’t know -whether you take milk and sugar.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener distrustfully eyed the hot water with -vague aspirations towards tea-dom that dripped into -his cup.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t take either milk or sugar, thank you,” -he said, “I like my troubles singly.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Naughty boy,” said Courtesy, helping herself -generously to cake. “You are beastly rude. And -you’re a naughty gal, too, you suffragette. You -ought to know how your husband likes his tea.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But he’s not my husband,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener sat with a bun arrested half-way to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>his mouth. He had lived a self-contained existence, -and had never before had a pose of his dismantled -by an alien hand. The experience was most novel. -He liked the suffragette more and more because she -was unexpected.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense,” said Courtesy. “You’re feverish. -You’ll tell me what you’ll be sorry for, in a minute.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s true; and I’m far from sorry for it,” said -the suffragette. “It’s almost too good to be true, -but it is. I’m still alone. But because he thought -I was a menace to England’s safety, he brought me -away—by force.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Perfectly true,” corroborated the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You babies,” said Courtesy. “It’s lucky for -you it’s only me to hear you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s not a secret,” said the gardener. “I’ve just -been talking about it to Mrs. Rust.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And what did she say?” asked Courtesy and -the suffragette together.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She said, ‘Good.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>At that moment the voice of Mrs. Rust was heard -in the passage outside. “Miss Briggs.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy ran clumsily from the cabin.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That button,” said Mrs. Rust. “You said you -would.... Myself I never can remember which -finger I ought to wear my thimble on, or at what -angle the needle should be held....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Anybody else, arrived within three feet of the -suffragette’s door, would have thrown a smile round -the corner. But Mrs. Rust did not. She did possess -<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>a heart, I am told, but a heart is such a hackneyed -thing that she concealed it.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What do you intend to do when you get to Trinity -Islands?” asked the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t know what we shall do,” replied the -gardener. “I hate knowing about the future. I -am leaving it—not to fate, but to my future self.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t you believe in fate?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No. I believe in myself. I believe I can do -exactly what I like.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And what about me? Can’t I do exactly what -I like? Do you think you can do exactly what you -like with me?” asked the suffragette militantly.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“So far I seem to have succeeded even in that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She laughed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>After a pause he said suddenly, “I am a brute to -you, you dear, unaccommodating little thing. Somehow -my will and my deed have got disconnected in -my dealings with you. It is curious that having such -good intentions I should still remain the villain of -the piece. Yet I meant—if ever I had a woman—to -make up to her for all I have seen my mother go -through.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“When you have a woman—perhaps you -will ...” said the suffragette. “You must wait -and see.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come up and see land,” shouted Courtesy, -running in with a semi-buttoned coat in her -hand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener shot up the companion-way, and, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>behold, the gods had touched the sea, and fairyland -had uprisen.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A long vivid island, afire in the ardent sun. Its -mountain was golden and eccentric in outline, its -little town and fortresses had obviously been built -by a neat-fingered baby-god out of its box of bricks. -The tiny houses had green shutters and red roofs. -There was no doubt that the whole thing had only -been created a minute or two before, it was so neat -and so unsullied. It was nonsense to call the place -by the name of a common liqueur, as the quartermaster -did, any one could see it was too sudden and -too faery to have a name or to make a liqueur. -There was something very exciting in the way it had -leapt out of a perfectly empty sea, and in the way -it sped over the horizon, as if shrinking from the -gaze of the proud <em>Caribbeania</em>.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It passed. The gardener had looked at a dream. -Courtesy had looked at good dry land. Captain -Walters had looked at the monastery from which -the liqueur emanated. Mrs. Rust had not looked at -all. It is surprising that there should be so much -difference in the material collected by such identical -instruments as one pair of human eyes and another.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Islands are gregarious animals, they decorate the -ocean in conveys. The <em>Caribbeania</em>, her appetite -for speed checked, began to stalk them with bated -breath.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We’ll be going through the Hair’s Breadth to-morrow -at seven,” said the Captain, in a fat, selfcongratulatory -<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>voice, as though he had himself created -the channel he referred to. “You must all get -up early to see her do it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There are few penances easier than early rising -on board ship. There are no inducements to stay -upon the implacable plane that is your bunk, in the -hot square cube that is your cabin. Your ear is -tickled by the sound of the activities of food in the -saloon outside; you can hear the sea singing in a -cheerful, beckoning way past your inadequate porthole. -You emerge from your cabin and find men -in pyjamas, and ladies in flowered dressing-gowns -and (if possible) thick pig-tails, or (if impossible) -pleasing head-erections of lace, sitting in rows at -sparkling tables, and being fed by stewards with -apples and sandwiches. There is scarcely ever any -need to remind the voyager by sea about the tiresome -superiority that distinguishes the ant.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Captain, therefore, had a large audience -ready for his sleight-of-nerve feat of threading the -Hair’s Breadth. He looked very self-conscious on -the bridge.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Land climbed slowly down the spangled sloped sea -from the horizon. There seemed to be no gap in -the quivering line of it. Presently, however, as if -it had quivered itself to pieces, the line was shattered. -Silver channels appeared beckoning on every -side. The <em>Caribbeania</em>, blind except to her duty, -headed towards the least likely-looking channel of -all. The most ignorant passenger on the ship could -<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>have told the Captain that he was running into certain -destruction. Many longed to take command, -and to point out to the Captain his mistake. Like -a camel advancing foolhardily upon the needle’s eye -the <em>Caribbeania</em> approached. Her speed was slackened, -she went on tiptoe, so to speak, as if not to -awaken the gods of ill-chance, but there was nothing -faltering about her. She thrust her shoulders into -the opening.</p> - -<p class='c009'>(It would be waste of time to inform me that in -nautical language a ship has no shoulders.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>You could have whispered a confidence to the -palm trees on either side—except that you would -have been afraid to draw enough breath to do so, -for fear of deflecting the ship an inch from her -course.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy was, as usual, bold. She spoke in quite -an ordinary voice. “Why, look, there’s a man -with hardly anything on, paddling! How killing! -He’s the colour of brown paper!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’ll soon be dead in Trinity Islands if you -find that killing,” snapped Mrs. Rust. “The Captain -evidently doesn’t know his business. We’re at -least six feet nearer to this shore than the other.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The first of Trinity Islands heaved before them -quite abruptly when they had traversed the channel. -The land seemed to have been petrified in the act -of leaping up to meet them. I think the wind had -changed upon it at a moment of grotesque contortion. -My nurse used always to warn me that this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>climatic change might fatally occur when my anatomical -experiments became more than usually daring.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Green woods had veiled the harsh shapes of the -hills. Palms waved their spread hands upon the -sky-line. A tangle of green things tumbled to the -water’s edge. Far away to the right a faint blessing -of pearl-coloured smoke and a few diamonds flung -among the velvet slopes of the hills hinted at the -watching windows of Port of the West. Shipping -clustered confidentially together on either side of the -<em>Caribbeania</em>, like gossips commenting jealously on -the arrival of a princess of their kind. The entering -liner shook out little waves like messages to -alight on the calm shore.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The whole scene looked too heavy to be painted -on the delicate sea. It was absurd to think that that -pale opal floor should be trodden by the rusty tramp-steamers, -the tall red-and-black sailing ships, the -panting tugs, the blunt and bloated coal-tenders laden -with compressed niggerhood. There were broadheaded -catfish, and groping jellyfish in the water, -and they alone looked fashioned from and throughout -eternity for the tender element that framed -them.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette, who had risen from her berth, -contrary to the advice of Courtesy and of the doctor, -looked at the first of Trinity Islands with her soul -in her eyes and a compressed adoration in her breast. -For there was a silver sea, silver mist enclosing the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>island, and a silver shore shining through the mist. -Silver, of course, is idealised grey—grey with the -memory of black and white refined away. Silver is -the halo of a snake-soul.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The day was mapped out in so many ways by the -different passengers of the <em>Caribbeania</em>, that, from -their prophetic descriptions, you could hardly recognise -it as the same slice out of eternity. There were -globe-trotters, eager to trot this tiny section of the -globe in hired motor-cars, others anxious to buy -souvenirs in Port of the West all day, others nervously -determined to call upon the Governor in -search of a Vice-regal luncheon, others without imagination -desirous of fishing for catfish from the -poop, and a very few who dared to avow their intention -of spending the day in absorbing cold drinks on -the verandah of the King’s Garden Hotel.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In theory the gardener wished to lie upon a chair -on the shady side of the deck, with a handkerchief -over his face all day. Such a course would have -been flattering to his dignity and to his worship of -aloofness. In practice his unquenchable energy and -that of the suffragette were too much for him. He -was vividly stirred by the strange land. The clawlike -hands of the palms beckoned him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Following the suffragette, he bounded on to the -first launch as eagerly as though he were not a man -of theory. Behind him bounded Courtesy, and behind -her Mrs. Paul Rust strove to bound. Courtesy, -the gardener, and the suffragette sat squeezed in a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>row upon a dirty seat in the launch. Mrs. Rust, -because sitting in a squeezed row was against her -principles, stood. By these means she kept many -men-passengers standing in wistful politeness during -the whole journey of three miles to the shore.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The bay swept its wide arms farther and farther -round them. The palm trees on the promontories -on either side of the town looked no longer beckoning, -but grasping.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, isn’t it good!” said the gardener, thrilling -so that Courtesy and the suffragette, by reason -of compressed propinquity, had to thrill too. He -took the suffragette’s hand violently, and waggled it -to and fro. “Isn’t it fine ...” and he jumped his -feet upon the deck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You babies,” said Courtesy. For the suffragette, -even though she did not jump her feet, was -jumping her eyes, and obviously jumping the heart -in her breast. Most unorthodox for a snake.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We shall run head foremost into the wharf,” -said Mrs. Rust in a final voice. “What a pity it -is that sailors never know their work.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, isn’t it,” agreed the gardener, as if he had -been longing to say something of the sort. “Extraordinary. -Fine. Won’t it be fine if we run head -foremost into the wharf, and sink, to be sealed up -in this blue jewel here!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He tried to pat the bay with his hand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Closed in the heart of it,” said the suffragette, -“like flies in amber.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>“I shouldn’t like it at all,” sniffed Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Not like flies in amber,” said the gardener. -“Because flies spoil the amber.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, you and I wouldn’t exactly decorate the -sea,” remarked the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Look at those cannibals waiting for us,” said -Courtesy. “My dears, I’m simply terrified.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The cannibals received them from the launch with -the proverbial eagerness of cannibals. In the first -three minutes of their arrival on land the travellers -could have bought enough goods to furnish several -bazaars had they been so inclined. The suffragette, -by tickling the chin of a superb blue and yellow bird, -was considered to have tacitly concluded a bargain -with the owner as to the possession of it, and there -was much discussion before she was disembarrassed -of her unwelcome protégé. The gardener bought -two walking-sticks in the excitement of the moment, -before he remembered that he was devoid of money. -The owner of the walking-sticks, however, kindly -reminded him of the one-sidedness of the purchase, -and he was obliged to borrow from the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The town, like a brazen beauty feigning modesty, -was withdrawn a little from the wharves. There -was a dry-looking grass space with goats as its only -gardeners. This the party crossed, and the sensitive -plant ducked and dived into its inner remoteness -as they passed. The streets in front of them, -hot and glaring, pointed to the hills, like fevered -fingers pointing to peace which is unattainable.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>The main street received them fiercely. The heat -was like the blaring of trumpets. The trams were -intolerably noisy, clanking, and rattling like a devil’s -cavalry charge. Black, shining women, with the -faces of bull-dogs—only not so sincere—swung -in a slow whirlwind of many petticoats up and down -the street, with vivid burdens of fruit piled in ochre-coloured -baskets on their heads. Little boys and -girls, with their clothes precariously slung on thin -brown shoulders, and well aired by an impromptu -system of ventilation, ran by the gardener’s side, and -reminded him of the necessity of quatties and half-pinnies, -even in this paradise of the poor, where -sustenance literally falls on your head from every -tree in the forest.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is exhausting,” said Mrs. Paul Rust, forced -by extreme heat into a confession of the obvious. -“Policeman, where can we get a cab?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, please, missis,” replied the policeman, who -was tastefully dressed in white, by way of a contrast -to his complexion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense, man,” said Mrs. Rust. “I repeat, -where can a cab be found?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, please, missis,” replied the policeman, -acutely divining that his first answer had been found -wanting.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You fool,” said Mrs. Rust, another unoriginal -comment wrung from her by the heat.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The policeman understood this, and giggled bashfully -in a high falsetto.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>“Missis wanta buggy?” asked a tobacconist, with -a slightly less dense complexion, from his shop door. -“Policeman nevah understand missis, he only a niggah.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, as ever prone to paint the lily, hurried -into the breach. “Ah yes, of course, we white -men, we always hang together, eh?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was The Moment of that tobacconist’s life. -The gardener all unawares had crossed in one lucky -stride those bitter channels that divide the brown -man from the black, the yellow man from the brown, -the white man from the yellow, and the buckra, the -man from England, from all the world.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Three buggies suddenly materialised noisily out -of Mrs. Rust’s desire. They were all first upon the -scene, as far as one could judge from the turmoil of -conversation that immediately arose on the subject. -The gardener tried to look firm but unbiassed. The -three women stood and waited in a state of trance.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The sun was working so hard at his daily task in -the sky, that one could almost have pitied him for -being called to such a flaming vocation in this flaming -weather.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Finally, Mrs. Rust awoke and, entering the nearest -buggy, shook it to its very core as she seated -herself and said, “King’s Garden Hotel.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She could hardly have been recognised as the -Mrs. Rust of the <em>Caribbeania</em>. You could see her -pride oozing out in large drops upon her brow. Her -hat was on one side, and completely hid her sensational -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>hair, but for one flat wisp, like an interrogation -mark inverted, which reached damply to her eyebrow.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The buggy horse, which consisted of a few promiscuous -bones, badly sewn up in a second-hand skin, -was more than willing to pause until the rest of the -party should be seated, and even then seemed desirous -of waiting on the chance of picking up yet -another fare. It was, however, reminded of its -duty by its driver, and turned its drooping nose in -the direction of the King’s Garden Hotel.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When they reached that heavenly verandah, they -felt for a moment as though they were suffering -from delusions. The <em>Caribbeania</em> seemed to have -arrived on shore bodily. A long vista of familiar -profiles rocked cheek by jowl, nose beyond nose, from -end to end of the verandah. There was Theresa, -who had made no secret of her intention of accompanying -Captain Walters “for a lark” on a visit -to a Trinity Island Picture Palace. There was the -priest, who had expressed a determination (which -nobody had tried to alter) to explore the famous -botanical gardens all by himself all day. There was -the fourth officer, who had left the <em>Caribbeania</em> inspired -by a vision of a long walk to a sandy beach -with a bathe at the end of it. There was the captain, -who had set out to buy his wife a stuffed alligator -as a silver-wedding present.</p> - -<p class='c009'>That cool strip of green rocking-chairs had acted -on them all like a spider’s web, with the manager of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>the King’s Garden sitting in the middle of it, murmuring -cool things concerning drinks in an iced voice. -Exquisite white linen suits of clothes, the only blot -on whose spotlessness was the nigger inside them, -ambled up and down the line, like field-marshals reviewing -the household cavalry, armed humanely with -lemon squashes and whiskies and sodas.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, Mrs. Rust, the suffragette, and -Courtesy enlisted in this force, and sat in a state of -torpor only partially dispelled by luncheon, until -Mrs. Rust began to look herself again. Her hat -straightened and elevated itself to its normal position, -and perched upon her hair like a nest of flowers -on a ripe hay-field. The curls dried up like parsley -after rain.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Little by little the other tourists regained consciousness, -and with much show of energy set forth -to the nearest buggy stand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>At about five, Courtesy, who was never happy unless -she was moving with the crowd, became restless.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let’s take a buggy and go back to the wharf,” -she suggested.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We will hire a four-wheeler and return to the -pier,” said Mrs. Rust in a contradictory voice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Buggy or four-wheeler, there was only one sort of -vehicle to be found in Port of the West. They -manned the nearest conveyance and quibbled not over -its title.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It would be frightful if we missed the boat,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>said Courtesy, who always said the thing that everybody -else had already thought of saying, but rejected.</p> - -<p class='c009'>For the <em>Caribbeania</em> had begun raking the atmosphere -with hoarse calls for its dispersed passengers.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But at the wharf the launch was still fussily collecting -the mails.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a flame-coloured azalea leaning gorgeously -out of the shade of the eaves of a customs -house. It was Courtesy’s colour—so obviously -hers that Courtesy herself unconsciously answered its -call.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ou—I say, that colour,” she said, and ceased, -because she could not voice the echo that streamed -from her heart to the azalea’s. It bent towards her -like a torch blown by the wind.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s autumn,” said the gardener. “And that -azalea is the only thing that knows it on the island.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” commented Mrs. Rust. “All this -green greenhouse rubbish has no sense ...” she -waved her hands to the palm trees that plaited their -fingers over the sky in the background.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Autumn, I think ...” began the gardener, addressing -the azalea, “autumn runs into the year, -crying, ‘I’m on fire, I’m on fire ...’ and yet glories -all the while; just as I might say, ‘This is passion, -this is passion ...’ and so it is passion, and pain -as well, but I love it....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What a funny thing to say!” said Courtesy. -“Do you say that sort of thing by mistake, you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>quaint boy, or do you know what you’re talking -about?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My lips say it by mistake,” said the gardener. -“But my heart knows it, especially when I see—a -thing like that. Otherwise, why should I have -become a gardener?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He looked round for the suffragette to see if she -had caught this spark out of his heart, and whether -the same torch had set her alight. She was not -there.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come now, everybody,” said Courtesy. “The -launch’ll be starting in a minute.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But the suffragette’s not here,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was an instant’s blank as heavy as lead.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “I can’t -wait here all day. If she wants to moon around and -miss the boat, let her. I am going.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She gave a hand each to two niggers, and sprang -like a detachable earthquake into the launch.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think I ought to wait,” said Courtesy. “She’s -a little shaky after yesterday, and you’re such an irresponsible -boy, gardener. She may have fainted, -while we were looking the other way. Or she may -be in that crowd buying souvenirs.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener looked in the crowd for that well-known -round hat with the faded flowers. But he -knew that she would never buy a souvenir.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You jump in, gardener. I’ll wait,” said Courtesy. -“Perhaps there’ll be another launch.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>“Lars’ launch, missis, please,” said one of the -mariners of the vessel in question.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come at once, girl,” said Mrs. Rust’s harsh -voice from the stern.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy wavered.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust made a great effort. She became extremely -red. “Don’t you understand, girl, you -must come?” she shouted. “I can’t spare you.... -I like you....” She cleared her throat and -changed her voice. “Can’t sew ... buttons ... -companion ... large salary....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But the first part of the sentence reached Courtesy’s -sympathy. She jumped into the launch.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener stood on the hot wharf, and his -heart turned upside down. His plans were stripped -from him once more by this disgracefully militant -creature who had broken into his life. He hovered -on the brink of several thoughts at once.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The little fool. The dear little thing. The little -devil.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He ran round the customs house. He felt convinced -that it was interposing its broad person between -him and his suffragette. He could almost see -it dodging to hide her from his sight.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I shall find her in a minute,” he thought. “I’m -a lucky man.” He thought that his hopes were -pinned to the probability of arriving on the <em>Caribbeania</em> -in time.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the brown grass space there were only the -goats. The gardener was astonished not to see the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>fleeing form of a woman making for the town. -Things can be done very quickly if they must. The -gardener was at the corner of the main street before -he had time to think another thought. He looked -back, and saw in one fevered glance the launch only -just parting from the shore.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Have you seen a lady in white with a brown -hat?” he asked of a policeman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, please, sah.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Which way?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The conversation was from beginning to end above -the policeman’s head. But such a very hot buckra -man must be humoured. At random the policeman -pointed up the main street. The gardener was indeed -a man of luck, for that was the right direction.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The main street on a fiery afternoon was as long -as eternity, but in certain states of mind a man may -bridge eternity in a breath, and not know what he -has crossed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He was on the race-course. He looked back and -the launch was approaching the <em>Caribbeania</em> in the -far-off bay, like a dwarf panting defiance at a giant.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When he was half-way across the race-course, he -saw a white figure surmounted by a brown straw hat, -in the Botanical Gardens, in the shade of a banyan -tree.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette had lighted a cigarette in a laborious -attempt to appear calm, but she pressed her -hand to her breast as though she had been running. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>“I’m not coming,” she shouted, when he was within -shouting distance.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He vaulted the railing of the race-course, and the -railing of the garden. “What a bore!” he said. -“Then I must stop too.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Very far off, the launch was nestling at the side -of the <em>Caribbeania</em>.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“For reasons I cannot be bothered to repeat to -you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She veiled herself in a cloud of smoke.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You know,” he added, “this is a repetition of -the Elizabeth Hammer episode. Pure hysteria. -Darling.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was an appreciable pause.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why, you’re right. So it is,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come on,” shouted the gardener. “We can -catch it yet.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If I come,” she said, “it will be strong, not -weak.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course,” said the gardener. “Come on.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It would be much easier to stay here.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, much,” panted the gardener. “Come on, -come on.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So they ran, and on the way back they discovered -how interminable the main street was, and how relentless -is the sun of the West Atlantic. But when -they reached the wharf, the launch was still clinging -to the liner.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>“A guinea,” shouted the suffragette, who was -experiencing the joys of very big-game hunting, “to -the boatman who can get us up to the <em>Caribbeania</em> -before she starts.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She spoke in the voice of one accustomed to speaking -in Trafalgar Square, and everybody understood -her. A boat practically cut the feet from under -them before she had finished speaking, and in it they -splashed furiously out into the bay.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We shall catch it,” said the gardener, rowing -energetically with one finger. “I’m a man of luck.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He was posing as one who would not utter a reproach. -It was a convenient pose for all concerned. -When they were about half-way, the suffragette said, -“You know—it takes a little courage to admit hysteria.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course it does, my dear,” said the gardener. -“I wouldn’t have done it for the world.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Presently they were within bare shouting distance -of the whale which had threatened to make Jonahs -of them. A liner’s farewells are like those of a great -many women I know, very elastic indeed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’ll do it,” shouted a voice from the high -boat-deck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>They did it. The Captain shook his finger at -them from the bridge.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What happened?” asked Courtesy, meeting -them on the main deck with a shawl to put round -the suffragette. Some women seem to think that a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>shawl, or a hot bath, or a little drop of sal-volatile -are equal to any emergency under the sun.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She didn’t know that was the last launch,” said -the gardener, still posing as the magnanimous defender.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, I did,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She was buying a souvenir round the corner,” -persisted the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, I wasn’t,” contradicted the lady. “I made -up my mind not to come back to the <em>Caribbeania</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ou, I say, how killing of you!” said Courtesy. -“But he changed your mind?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No. I overcame it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You quaint mite,” said Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s pose momentarily ended here, for -he was stricken with whirling of the head and sickness, -after running in the sun. Although there was -a touch of martyrdom about it, it was not a dignified -ending to a really effective pose. He had to seek the -comfort of Hilda in his cabin.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Hilda had three flowers now, and they had cost -her her independence, for she leaned upon a stick. -But among her round green leaves she held up -bravely her trinity of little gold suns.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener being thus removed, Courtesy and -the suffragette sat on the promenade-deck, and discussed -the day. The suffragette was astonished to -find herself in this position, being addressed as “my -dear,” by a contemporary. “Just like a real girl,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>she thought, for as she had never passed through the -mutual hair-brushing stage with other girls, she always -expected to be hated, and never to be loved. -She found it rather delightful to have Courtesy’s -hand passed through her arm, but she also found it -awkward, and hardly knew how to adjust her own -arm to the unaccustomed contact. The very small -details of intercourse are very hard indeed to a snake, -though pleasant by reason of novelty.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“So you didn’t want to come back, and he bullied -you?” said Courtesy, frankly inquisitive. “After -all, my dear, that’s what women are for.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is <span class='fss'>NOT</span>!” shouted the suffragette. “Women -are not born with a curse on them like that. I chose -to come back; I made a great effort, and came.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“O Lor’!” said Courtesy, and tactfully changed -the subject. Courtesy’s tact was always easily visible -to the naked eye. “My dear, I must tell you what -a killing interview I had with old Mrs. Rust. She -clutched my arm when I got into the launch—think -of that, my dear—and presently she said in a gruff -sort of frightened voice, as if she was confessing -a crime, ‘Miss Courtesy, I refuse to part with you; -you are what I have been looking for; you are not -to pay any attention to anybody else—do you hear? -I forbid it.’ I screamed with laughter—on the -quiet, you know. I said, ‘Do you want me to be a -substitute for Hammer, Mrs. Rust?’ ‘No,’ she -said. ‘Hammer was only a stopgap; I was keeping -the position open for a person like you. I will -<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>give you two hundred a year if you will promise to -stay by me as long as you can bear me’—and then -she shouted as if she had made a mistake, and -thought that noise could cover it—‘I mean as long -as I can bear you.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“So what did you answer?” asked the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My dear, two hundred a year—what could I -say?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But what were you originally going out to Trinity -Island for?” asked the suffragette. “To visit -relatives, weren’t you? What will they say?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, they won’t say anything—to two hundred -a year. I was really only coming out as a globe-trotter. -I loathe colonial relations.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The matrimonial motive was the skeleton in Courtesy’s -cupboard.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But wasn’t it killing, my dear?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Very killing,” agreed the suffragette gravely. -She felt like one speaking a foreign tongue.</p> - -<p class='c009'>And then it occurred to Courtesy that she was -squeezing the arm of one who, after all, had a criminal -disregard of convention. She withdrew her -arm, and proceeded to try and storm that house -which she considered to be built on sand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish I could understand what you are up to, -my dear?” she said. “Can’t I persuade you to -leave that naughty gardener, or to marry him? You -needn’t run away, or drown yourself or anything, -just say to him, ‘<span class='sc'>This won’t do.</span>’ I should be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>frightfully glad if I could feel you were all right. -Why don’t you get married on landing?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We don’t want to,” said the suffragette, who was -too inexperienced in the ways of The Generation to -feel offended. “We neither of us ever pretended -to want to.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ou yes, of course I know the catchwords. I -know you just came together as friends, and didn’t -see any harm in it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But we didn’t come as friends—we came as -enemies.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes,” said Courtesy, with a furrowed brow. -“But really, my dear, enemies don’t do these things.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“They do. We do.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But, my good girl, you must know—you can’t -be as innocent as all that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Great Scott, no!” said the suffragette. “I’m -not innocent!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then am I to conclude,” said Courtesy, suddenly -frigid, “that you fully realise the meaning of the -life you are leading?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are to conclude that,” said the suffragette, -in a voice of growing militancy. “I realise its -meaning much more fully than you do. I shall leave -the gardener directly it becomes convenient to me -to do so. For an utter stranger his behaviour has -certainly been insufferable.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“O Lor’!” exclaimed Courtesy, falling back upon -her original line of defence. “An utter stranger -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>... I must go and button Mrs. Rust into her evening -gown.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There is something very annoying to a woman in -being accused of innocence. The suffragette was -quite cross.</p> - -<p class='c009'>For the next two days the <em>Caribbeania</em> threaded -her way cautiously between shore and shore. The -horizon was frilled with palm-embroidered lands. -Dry, terrible-looking beaches, backed by arid brown -hills, marred the soft character of those calm seas. -It was as if the <em>Caribbeania</em> saluted the coast of -South America, and South America turned her back -upon her visitor. At two or three ports in that forbidding -land the boat touched. Drake had passed -that way, and had left his ill-gotten halo upon the -coast, but that was the only life of the land. The -flat, dead towns seemed brooding over flat, dead -tragedies.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was almost a relief to the travellers when the -last night fell, and the ship was enclosed in darkness -and its trivial insularity. There was a great dance -that night. Captain Walters called it the Veterans’ -dance, because the chalked deck was thick with non-combatants, -who had determined to cast care aside -and join with youth, because after all it was the last -night, and one would never meet any of these people -again. As a matter of fact, there was no youth to -be joined, for youth sat out and began its farewells. -Half a dozen hours is not an over-large allowance -<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>of time for farewells between people who have -known each other three throbbing ocean weeks.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette actually danced with the chief engineer. -He always danced with ladies who could -not find partners, being a conscientious young man of -forty-two, with a brand-new bride at home. The -suffragette knew well that by his courtesy she was -branded as one undesired, and she laughed her invisible -cynical laugh.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I think men are akin to sheep as well as to monkeys, -and the theory only needs a Darwin to trace -the connection. I have yet to meet the man who, -where women are concerned, does not follow in the -track of others of his kind. I think that very few -men conceive an original preference for a woman -unbiassed by the public tendency.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Directly the gardener saw the suffragette dancing -with the chief engineer, he wondered why he was -not dancing with her himself, although she danced -rather badly. The gardener felt a mysterious call -to go and monopolise her directly she was at liberty.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m glad you have come to talk to me,” said the -suffragette. “Because I shall go on shore early to-morrow, -and should like to say good-bye to you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good-bye?” questioned the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You didn’t really expect me to stay with you, -did you?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes,” said the gardener, and thought how peaceful -and how stupid life would be without her. “I -shan’t dream of letting you go.” And even while -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>he said it, he experienced the awful feeling of being -powerless to make his words good. He realised for -the first time how indispensable to a man’s sight are -soft straight hair that has never committed itself to -any real colour, and a small pointed face, and quick -questioning eyes. But there was something indescribable, -peculiar to the suffragette, that made it -impossible to humble oneself before her. She was -anything but a queen among women; no man had -ever wished to be trodden under her feet, though -they were small and pretty. Plain people often -have pretty hands and feet, a mark of Nature’s tardy -self-reproach.</p> - -<p class='c009'>To any other woman, the gardener might have -said, “Please, my dear ...” with excellent results. -He had a good voice with a tenor edge to it, and he -could pose very nicely as a supplicator. But not to -the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have not brought you all this way just to let -you return to your militant courses,” he said, with a -sort of hollow firmness. “I owe a duty to Trinity -Island, after all, now that I have imported you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette smiled and said she was tired and -would go to bed—good-bye.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener said Good-night.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The <em>Caribbeania</em> and the first ray of the sun -reached the Island simultaneously next morning. -When the gardener came on deck at half-past seven -he found himself confronted by the town of Union, -backed by its sudden hills. The <em>Caribbeania</em>, like a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>robber’s victim, ignominiously bound to the pier, was -being relieved of its valuables. The air was thick -with talk. On the pier the over-dressed representatives -of British rule, in blue serge and gold braid, -rubbed shoulders with the under-dressed results of -their kind tyranny, in openwork shirts and three-quarters -of a pair of trousers.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Your wife went off early,” said the fourth officer -to the gardener. “I asked her whether she were -eloping all by herself, and she said you knew all -about it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Thanks,” said the gardener curtly.</p> - -<p class='c009'>You will hardly believe me when I tell you that -his first conscious thought after this announcement -was that he had no money to tip the steward with. -The suffragette meant a good deal to him, and -among the things she meant was temporary financial -accommodation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I hope that you have noticed by now that he was -not a money-lover, but a steward was a steward, and -this particular steward had been kind in improvising -a crutch for Hilda. Any assistance from the suffragette -was, of course, taken as temporary: independence -was one of the gardener’s chronic poses. He -meant to change it from a rather hollow dream into -reality on arriving on the Island; he supposed that -he would be able to turn his brains into money. He -considered that no such brain could ever have landed -at Union Town. Its price in coin, which had been -rather at a discount in the stupid turmoil of London, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>would be instantly appreciable under this empty sky. -His pose on the Island was to be The One Who -Arrives, in capital letters.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He went down to his cabin to pack his little luggage. -He had nothing beloved to pack now; men’s -clothes seem to be inhuman things without a touch -of the lovable, and they were all he had. For Hilda -was dead. For the last week of her life she had -been a little concrete exclamation of protest against -her unnatural surroundings. One born to look simply -at the sun, from the shelter of a whitewashed -cottage wall, with others of her like jostling beautifully -round her; a fantastic fate had willed that -she should reach the flower of her life in a tipsy -cabin, with a sea-wind singing outside the thick glass -against which she leant. The gardener had given -her a sailor’s grave somewhere near the spot in the -Spanish Main to which I hope the spirit of Drake -clings, for his mother-sea received him there. It -was hardly a suitable ending for Hilda, but it was -the best available.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener set himself to put his scanty property -together stealthily, and creep from the boat, that -the stewards might not see him go. He had an unposed -horror of ungenerosity. To him, as to most -men, the tip was more of a duty than the discharge -of a debt. He suffered keenly for a while from the -discovery that there was no escaping from the stewards -to-day, they were stationed with careful carelessness -at every corner. Presently the siege was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>raised unexpectedly by the arrival of the boot-boy -with a note.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The lady left it, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It contained a five-pound note, and it was addressed -in the suffragette’s small defiant handwriting.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Of course the hero of a novel should have thrown -the whole missive into the sea. He should have -struck an attitude and explained to the admiring -boot-boy that such gifts from a woman could only be -looked upon as an insult. But you must remember -the gardener considered that the fortunes of the -Island were at his feet. And he would not have -gone so far as to pose at his own expense—not to -speak of the steward’s. He put the note in his -pocket, and went to the purser for change.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When his duties were discharged, he came on deck -to collect any plans that might be in the air. It is -a most annoying fact that theories will not take the -place of plans. In theory you may be The One Who -Arrives, but in practice you have to think about passing -the customs and finding a cheap hotel and getting -yourself a sun-helmet. I think the world has an -antipathy to heroes; it certainly makes things very -hard for them.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On deck Courtesy was sitting calm and ready. -Her plans had been made for three days. She had -only just stopped short of writing a time-table for -the hourly career of herself and Mrs. Rust throughout -their sojourn on the island. She had a genius -for details.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>“The suffragette has disappeared,” said the gardener. -A disarming frankness was one of his -weapons.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m jolly glad,” replied Courtesy. “I believe -you owe that to me, you naughty boy. I gave her -a bit of my mind about it the other day.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener uttered no reproaches. He felt -none. For he had learnt by now that the suffragette -would never be affected by a bit of anybody’s -mind.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What are you going to do?” asked Courtesy. -“We are going to the St. Maurice Hotel for four -days—Father Christopher told us of it—and at -mid-day on Saturday we go up to the hills for a fortnight, -and then we hire a car and tour round the -Island, staying twenty-four hours at Alligator Bay.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m going to look for work,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Sugar or bananas?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Neither. Head-work.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “Nobody -on the Island ever uses their head except to carry -luggage on.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s why I shall find work. There’s no competition -in my line.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You funny ...” giggled Courtesy. “Isn’t he -quaint, Father Christopher?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>For the priest was passing on his twenty-second -circuit of the deck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Very droll, no doubt,” said the priest in the -voice of a refrigerator, and continued to pass. He -<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>was very much annoyed with the gardener’s soul.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener waited till he came round again before -saying to Courtesy, “Besides, I have to look -for the suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hope you won’t find her this time,” said Courtesy. -“Will you come to tea with us one day, and -tell us which of your searches seems most hopeful. -You see, now the suffragette’s gone, you are respectable -for the moment, and I needn’t be afraid for -Mrs. Rust’s morals.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>When Courtesy giggled, her hair laughed in the -most extraordinary way. Everything she did was -transmuted into something wonderful by that halo -of hers.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll come to-day, if I may,” said the gardener, -who had never mastered the art of social diffidence. -“You’d better have me to-day, for I hope I shan’t -be respectable to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy did not want him to-day. In her code -there was only one programme for the first day in -a strange land. It was made up of a visit to the -principal church, the principal shop, the principal -public gardens, and to a few “old-world relics of the -past.” It did not include ordinary five-o’clock tea -with a familiar figure. But, on the other hand, her -invincible conventionality made it impossible for her -to evade the gardener’s suggestion. Courtesy was -content to suffer for her convictions. At any rate, -you will notice that Mrs. Rust was not consulted.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You may come,” Courtesy said. “At five. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>We are due back from the cathedral at a quarter -to.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Probably the reason why Mrs. Rust submitted to -Courtesy’s tyranny from the first was that no other -woman in the world would have done so.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The land reeled under the gardener’s feet as he -arrived. The only comfort in parting with the sea -after a long intimacy is that for the first day or two -the land follows the example of its sister element. -The gardener found more difficulty in walking -straight along Union High Street than he had experienced -along the deck of the <em>Caribbeania</em>.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The morning was yet very young when he put his -little luggage down at the bamboo-tree arch of a -house that proclaimed itself ready to receive boarders -at moderate terms. He relied much on impulse, -and the little house, which was lightly built on its -own first story, so to speak, beckoned to him. But -only in theory, for when he mounted the flight of -wooden steps, and, through the open door, saw the -dirty living-room, seething with gaudy trifles, he -knew that in practice it was better suited to his means -than to his mind.</p> - -<p class='c009'>However, he had rung the bell. One has to pay -penalties for acting on impulse. A woman with -black wire hair, a face the colour of varnished deal, -and a pale pink dressing-gown, appeared. Luckily -she transpired to be the hostess before the gardener -had voiced the fact that he mistook her for a drunken -housemaid.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>“I want a room here,” began the gardener, who -had never wanted anything less in his life. But the -three pounds lay very light in his pocket.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We can give you one,” said the lady, and took -his portmanteau. She could have given him several, -but not one worth having. She conducted him -through one or two doors that led from the living-room. -Each showed a less attractive bedroom than -the one before, but the cheapest was barely within -the range of prudence, as far as the gardener’s pocket -was concerned. In a leaden voice, proceeding from -a heart of lead, he concluded a bargain for the temporary -possession of the least inviting. And when -it was done, and the portmanteau deposited drearily -in the middle of a dirty linoleum floor, he discovered -that time had been standing still, and that it was -hardly nearer five o’clock than before.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was the first time he had realised the four thousand -miles that lay between him and the kindly grey -pavements of Penny Street. He remembered the -look of the London lamps reflected in the slaty mirrors -of London streets ... the smile of the ridiculous -little griffin who sits on a pedestal at the top -of Fleet Street, playing the ’cello with his shield ... -the shrugging shoulders of St. Paul’s on tiptoe -on the peak of Ludgate Hill ... the dead -leaves blowing down the Broad Walk, in the -rain....</p> - -<p class='c009'>There is no pose that saves you from that awful -<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>longing for the things that are no longer yours, and -which you hated while you possessed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I said I was enough for myself. And I am not,” -said the gardener, and hid his face in the mosquito -net.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Strange things in barbaric colours made the garden -outside a whirlpool. Sometimes these things say -to you: “You are a very long way from home”; -and you exult, and think This is Life. But sometimes -they say again: “You are a very long way -from home”; and you cry out, and think This is -Worse than Death.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Now there are moral drawbacks about the posing -habit. But there are also advantages, though possibly -none deserved. For after three minutes of -despair the gardener straightened himself, blinked, -and began putting his spare shirt into a drawer that -would not shut. He was posing as One Who was -Seeing Life, and who was Making the Best of it. -The vision that inspired this brave pose was the -ghost of a pair of small haggard eyes, set in a short -pointed face, eyes that cried easily and never surrendered. -A thin unbeautiful ghost with clenched -fists, and in the air, the ghost of a low and militant -voice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am not enough,” the gardener admitted. -“But together, we are enough.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He whistled a comic song tentatively. The Englishman -never whistles or sings to suit his feelings. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>He dies to the tune of “Tipperary,” or goes to his -wedding humming the “Dead March in Saul.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was no more life to be seen in that hot -little room, even by one fixed in an optimistic pose. -He emerged into the sitting-room, and through an -opposite and open door he could see the pink dressing-gown, -containing his landlady, heaving sleepily -under a mosquito net. One of her bare feet was -drooping under the net. At this he had to swallow -down London again violently, and remember that he -was Seeing Life, and that he was Luckier than Most.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Did you know that the surest way of ensuring luck -is to be sure that you are lucky?</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now I will find my suffragette,” he said, standing -between the bamboos at the gate. And he expelled -an entering misgiving that he was perhaps presuming -on his luck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was curiously cool in the shade of the high -cactus hedge that ran along one side of the way. -A fresh breeze, like the unbidden guest at the wedding, -conscious that it was not attired in character, -crept guiltily in from the sea. The sun, which -would have disclaimed even distant relationship with -the cool copper halfpenny that inhabits English skies, -fretted out the black shadows across and across the -white street. The gardener thought painfully of -many glasses of cold water that he had criminally -wasted in England. He stiffened his long upper lip, -and tried to look for new worlds instead of remembering -the old.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>He went into the Botanical Gardens, and sat on -a seat opposite the mad orchids. I think the Almighty -was a little tired of His excellent system by -the time He came to the orchids, so He allowed -them to fashion themselves. For they are contrived, -I think, and not spontaneously created like the rest.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the other end of the seat were two children, -so blessedly English that for a moment the gardener -smelt Kensington Gardens. The girl wore very little -between her soft neck and her long brown arms -and legs, except a white frill or two, and a passion -flower in her sash. The boy, more modest, was encased -in a white sailor suit. Both were finished -off at the feet with sandals.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Hardly had the gardener sat down when he was -regretfully aware that he had sat by mistake on a -pirate-ship in mid-ocean. The two commanders -looked coldly at him from their end of the treasure-laden -deck, and there was an awkward silence which -somehow left the impression that much exciting talk -had immediately preceded it on that vessel.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I beg your pardon,” said the gardener. “I -forgot to tell you that I am the prisoner you seized -when you captured your last prize. There was a -desperate resistance, but in spite of heavy odds, you -overcame me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The boy, because he was a boy, looked for a second -towards his mahogany-coloured Nana, who was -staring an orchid out of countenance farther up the -path. The girl, because she was a girl, looked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>neither right nor left, but straight at the gardener, -and said: “All right then. But you mustn’t let -your feet dangle into the sea. And you must be very -frightened.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener restrained his feet, and became so -frightened that the whole vessel shook. The boy -continued to look doubtful, until his sister reminded -him in a hoarse whisper: “It’s all right, Aitch, we -were wanting somebody to walk the plank.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>In providing a willing villain, the gardener was -supplying a long-felt want in pirate-ships. So thoroughly -did he do his duty that when he was finally -obliged as a matter of convention to walk the walking-stick -blindfolded, and die a miserable death by -drowning in the gravel-path, the pirate-ship seemed -to have lost its point.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let’s betend,” said the lady-pirate, “that Aitch -and me are fairies, and we touch you with our wand -and you turn into a speckled pony.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Greatscod, no,” said Aitch; for there are limits -to what a fellow of seven can betend in company. -“Don’t let’s have any fairying, my good Zed. Let’s -betend we’re just Aitch and Zed, and we’ll show the -prisoner the Secret Tree.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So they set off, and the Nana, who might as well -have been a Nanning-machine for all the individuality -she put into her work, trotted behind them.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Secret Tree was one of those secrets that -remain inviolate because it occurs to nobody to lay -them bare. It was an everyday little palm tree, exquisitely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>bandaged by Nature in cocoanut matting; -it was very fairy-like, and when you looked up at its -fronds in their infinite intersections against the sky, -you saw a thrill, like the thrill you see on a cornfield -curtseying in the wind, or in the light moving across -watered silk. In one of the folds of the palm tree’s -garment a White Pawn, belonging to Aitch, had -made his home. He lived there for days at a time—the -gardener was told with bated breath—and -the park-keeper never knew he was there. At night -he saw the fireflies light their lamps, and heard the -swift slither of the fearful scorpion; once he had -reported an adventure with a centipede three times -his own size. That pawn was the epitome of People -Who Stay Up Late At Night, and Are Not -Afraid of the Dark. A super-grown-up.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On their way to the garden gate, each child held -a hand of the gardener, and the automatic Nana -walked behind. As they came out into the main -street, the gardener thought that the houses looked -like skulls—so white they were, and so soulless, and -their windows so black and empty.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Greatscod,” said Aitch, “what is happening to -the church steeple?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>For it was reeling in front of them, to the tune -of a paralysing open roar from underground.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Behind them the automaton blossomed madly into -life, Nana fled shrieking back into the garden.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Those two things happened, one by one, like sparks -struck out of a flaming experience. Then everything -<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>happened at once, and yet lasted a lifetime. There -seemed not a second to spare, and yet nothing to be -done.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener felt unspeakably terrified, his mother -earth shot away from under him, truth was proved -false. He discovered that he had seized Aitch and -Zed, one under each arm; and later on—his memory -having vaulted the blank—he found that he -was lying on them in the gutter, and that Aitch was -yapping like a dog. Zed was crying, “Mother, -Mother.” And the gardener, with a quick vision of -some one watering a cool English herbaceous border, -also said, “Mother, Mother.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>After a while a green beetle ran past his eye, and -he recalled the moment, and raised himself upon his -hands and knees. A fire of pain burnt him suddenly, -and he turned his head and saw a pyre of twisted -iron posts heaped upon his legs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The air was thick with strange sounds, muffled -as if from a gramophone. Some one quite near, but -unseen, was shouting, “Oh, Oh,” as regularly as a -clock’s chime. There was a rending wheeze behind -them, and the gardener looked round in time to see -a palm tree sink with dignity into a trench that had -been gashed at its feet. But that might have been -a dream.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He felt absolutely sick with horror. His head -seemed as though it were all at once too big for his -skin. His whole being throbbed terribly in a sort -<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>of echo of the three throbs that had laid life by the -heels.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Yock—Yollock—Yollock. A pounce, and then -two shakes, like a terrier dealing with a rat. Why -had one ever trusted oneself to such a risky crumb -of creation as this world? The gardener lost himself -in littleness. And presently found that he had -insinuated himself into a sitting position, and was -feeling very sick indeed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That was an earthquake,” remarked Zed, with -the truly feminine trick of jumping to foregone conclusions. -And she burst into tears, wailing still, -“Mother, Mother.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is funny we should both have thought of her,” -observed the gardener, forgetting that there was -room for more than one mother in this tiny world. -His eyes were fixed on a thin and fearful stream of -blood that was issuing from between two bricks in -the mass of miscellany that had once been a house. -“Blood—from a skull?” he thought, and fainted.</p> - -<p class='c009'>For centuries his mind skirted round some enormous -joke. It was so big that he could not see its -point, and then again it was so little that he lost it. -At any rate it was round, and turned with a jovial -hum.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Later on he was aware of the solution of a problem -which he felt had been troubling him all his life. -What colour was the face of a nigger pale with -fright? It was several colours, chiefly the shade of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>a wooden horse he had once loved, but mottled. -But the whites of the eyes were more blue than white, -they shone like electric light. With an effort he -fitted the various parts of his mind together.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Hullo, constable,” he said in a voice he could -not easily control. “This is a pretty business, isn’t -it?” And he tried to rise, and to whistle a bar -or two, in an effort to assume the pose of the hero -who trifles in the face of death. But he could not -rise. He was pinned to the pavement by a leg that -seemed somehow to have lost its identity.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is not in the least romantic to be hurt. There -is something curiously dirty in the feeling of one’s -own pain, and in the sight of one’s own blood, though -wounds in others are rather dramatic.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Now Courtesy was a person who, without ever -trying to be sensational, was often unexpected by -mistake. Coincidence seemed to haunt her. Out -of the hundred streets that lay shattered in Union -Town that afternoon, she chose the one in which -the gardener lay, and, accompanied by the priest, -she bore down upon that unheroic hero, laden with -brandy and bandages. The gardener saw her large -face, frank as a sunflower, between him and the -yellow sky.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest was quite obviously a saviour. You -could see in his eye that he was succouring the -wounded. You could hear in his voice as he addressed -the terrified hotel porters who followed him -that he was busy rising nobly to an emergency.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>“Why, gardener,” said Courtesy, in the tones of -one greeting a friend at a garden party. “You -here? I was wondering what had become of you. -Now what’s the matter with you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She poured him out some brandy, as though it -were the ordinary thing for a lady to offer to a -friend in the street. And the gardener’s world regained -its feet, he wondered why he had been so -frightened.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Poor little mites,” said Courtesy to Aitch and -Zed. “They won’t forget this in a hurry, will -they?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There is something very comforting in the utterly -banal. That is why the instinct is so strong in good -women to make you a cup of tea, and poke the fire, -when you are crossed in love.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But if she had been the suffragette ...” -thought the gardener. He knew quite well that the -thing would not have been so well done, had it been -the suffragette. He was fully aware that the operation -of having his leg put into improvised splints, and -of being lifted upon a door, would have been much -more painful, had it been accomplished by the little -nervous hands of the suffragette, instead of the large -excellent hands of Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is discouraging to those of us who have spent -much money on becoming fully efficient in first aid -and hygiene and practical economy and all the luxuries -of the modern female intellect, to find how perfect -imperfection can seem.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>“Thank you—you little darling,” said the gardener -with his eyes shut, when, after a few spasms -of red pain, he was safe upon the door. White-clad -hotel porters stood like tombstones at his head and -feet.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Lor’ bless you,” said Courtesy. “Take him to -the St. Maurice, porter. It’s the only place left more -or less standing, I should think.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is not,” said the priest. “Excuse me, Miss -Briggs, there are thousands in this stricken town in -need of our help, and I should prefer that only the -gentler and worthier of the sufferers should come -under that roof. There are many excellent resting-places -where our friend here would be far more suitably -placed. You ought to know his character by -now, and you must think of your own good name.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Rot,” said Courtesy. “What do his morals -matter when he’s broken his leg?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Remember you are also succouring these innocent -children,” persisted the priest. “Would you have -them under the same roof?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Rot,” repeated Courtesy. “The roof’ll be all -right.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Dose little children ...” said the policeman -suddenly. “He covahed dem when dat house was -fallin’. Verree brave gentleman. I chahnced to be -runnin’ by....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course he did,” said Courtesy. “The St. -Maurice, porter.” And seizing Aitch and Zed each -by a hand, she started the procession.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>The High Street looked as if one side of it had -charged the other with equally disastrous results to -both. At different points in it, fire and heavy smoke -were animating the scene. Distracted men and -women panted and moaned and tore at the wreckage -with bleeding hands. A little crying crowd was collected -round a woman who lay nailed to the ground -by a mountain of bricks, with her face fixed in a glare -of terrible surprise. By the cathedral steps the dead -lay in a row, shoulder to shoulder, with the horrid -uniformity of sprats upon a plate. Courtesy lifted -up Zed and called Aitch’s attention to the healthier -distress of a little dog, which ran around looking for -its past in the extraordinary mazes of the present.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, swinging along painfully upon his -door, opened his eyes and saw the fires. To his surprise -he recognised the house which could boast the -highest flames. Its wall had fallen to disclose the -shattered remains of the rooms in which the gardener -had lately wrestled with despair. The bamboos -and the gorgeous garden watched unmoved the -pillar of fire that danced in their midst. There was -no sign of the wire-haired woman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But only one thought came to the gardener’s mind -on the subject. “Why she will see that. It is a -beacon from me to her.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>As a matter of fact she did not.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A pretty woman, crying in a curious laughing voice, -ran into Courtesy’s arms. “My little babies ...” -she quavered. “What a catastrophe. I don’t -<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>know where my husband is. There is a grand piano -on my bed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is my mother,” said Aitch.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come along to the St. Maurice,” said Courtesy. -“That’s where I am taking your babies to. Our -piano there is still in its proper place.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So they all followed the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Somebody must go and find a doctor,” said -Courtesy at the door of the St. Maurice. She -looked suggestively at the priest.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But he replied, “I wash my hands of the matter, -Miss Briggs. I consider this to be a judgment on -that young man.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A judgment?” wept the mother of Aitch and -Zed. “Why, what has he done?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He saved the lives of your babies,” replied -Courtesy. “And anyway, a judgment needs a surgeon -just as much as a simple fracture.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yerce, yerce, only don’t ask me to help,” said -the priest. “I prefer to succour those deserving of -help.” And he went out into the street again. He -seemed wedded to the word succour. It is a pose -word, and fitted him exactly. Nothing but an earthquake -could have made this worm turn. But the -effect of the disaster on the priest was an obstinate -certainty that there was a Jonah in the case, and that, -as heaven was never to blame, the wicked were entirely -responsible.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, Lor’,” said Courtesy. “I’ll have to go for -a surgeon myself.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>“I’ll go with you,” cried the mother of Aitch and -Zed, whose name, for the sake of brevity, was Mrs. -Tring. “I don’t know what has become of my -Dally” (who was her husband).</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Somebody must sit with the gardener,” said -Courtesy, when she came back from a successful -search for an intact bed, into which, with the -help of a housemaid, she had inserted the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I will sit with him,” said the harsh voice of Mrs. -Rust, as she rose from a seat where she had been -sitting with an enormous paper bag held in a rigid -hand. “I refuse to run about the streets with -brandy. All the old cats are doing that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why, Mrs. Rust,” observed Courtesy, whose -conventionality was not quite so striking after an -earthquake as it had been upon the comparatively -stable Atlantic. “I had clean forgotten that you -existed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust. “I was buying mangoes -when the incident occurred. Perhaps the gardener -would like a mango.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Perhaps he would. I am so glad to see that you -don’t take the same view about the gardener as -the——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I never take the same view,” barked Mrs. Rust. -“Show me the boy’s room.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So the gardener saw that poisonous hair advance -along a shaft of sunlight that intruded through the -broken shutter.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>“Your jug and basin are broken,” said Mrs. Rust. -“Disgraceful.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, there are several things broken in this -town,” he said feverishly. “Windows and necks -and a heart or two.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust sat deliberately on a chair and burst -into tears.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I was buying mangoes,” she sobbed stormily, -“from a black man with bleached hair. And the -whole of a shop-front fell out on him. One brick hit -my toe. I looked at the man through a sort of cage -of fallen things. It was as if—one had trodden on -red currants.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What did you do?” panted the gardener. -“How fine to live in a world where things happen.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I ran away,” said Mrs. Rust shakily. “I didn’t -pay for the mangoes.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I would rather have had this happen,” said the -gardener after a pause, “and have broken my leg, -than have had an ordinary day to meet me on Trinity -Island.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>After another pause, he added: “But I have lost -the suffragette. And that is another matter.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Was she killed?” asked Mrs. Rust, steeling herself -against the commonplace duty of condolence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly not,” replied the gardener. “She is a -militant suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How good the world is,” said the gardener, “to -provide such excellent material. The sea, and the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>earthquake, and a fighting woman to love. Just -think—an earthquake—on my first day. I am a -man of luck.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You have broken your leg,” Mrs. Rust informed -him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have,” admitted the gardener rather fretfully. -“But then everything has its price.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A good many other people have come off much -worse,” said Mrs. Rust. “I’m not complaining, -mind, but any other woman would say you were disgracefully -selfish. A lot of people are dead, and a -lot of other people’s people are dead....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The longer I live ...” said the gardener, from -the summit of his twenty-three years, “the surer I am -that we make a fuss which is almost funny over -death. We run after it all over the world, and then -we grumble at it when it catches us up from behind. -It’s an adventure, of course, but then—so is—shaving -every morning. Compare death with—love, -for instance.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He felt ashamed of this after he had said it, and -tried to cover it with a little laugh which shook him, -and changed into a yelp. After breathing hard for a -little while he went on.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We who have survived this ordeal have gained -much more than we risked. I know that anything -is worth a risk, the risk in itself is the gain, and to -risk everything for nothing is a fine thing. Why -otherwise do we climb Alps, or hunt the South Pole? -In theory, I would run in front of an express train to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>save a mou. In theory I don’t mind what I pay for -danger. That’s why I love the suffragette; she -would risk her life for a little vote, and her honour -for a bleak thing like independence.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you love the suffragette?” asked Mrs. Rust, -who was at heart a woman, although she believed herself -to be a neutral intelligence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do, I do,” cried the gardener, suddenly and -gloriously losing his pose of One Who Evolves a -New Scale of Values—in other words, the pose of a -Paradox. But his emotion awoke his nerves, and -for a while, although the suffragette obsessed his imagination, -pain obsessed the rest of the universe.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When Courtesy and the doctor came in, they found -the gardener with a temperature well into three -figures. So for some time Mrs. Rust was not allowed -to see the patient.</p> - -<p class='c009'>By the time the gardener felt better, the earthquake, -in the eyes of the townspeople of Union, had -become not so much of a horror as a disaster, a thing -possible to dilate upon and even to lie about. The -homeless were beginning to look upon homelessness -as a state to be passed through rather than the end -of things, the bereaved were discovering little by -little that life may arise from ashes, and that sackcloth -may be cut quite becomingly. Those ghosts of -dead hope who still searched among the ruins were -looked upon as “poor things” rather than companions -in sorrow. Young nigger ladies, dressed in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>pink and silver, flaunted their teeth and their petticoats -around the firemen who worked desultorily at -the little gaseous fires that broke out among the -lamentable streets. The one church that remained -standing was constantly full. (The picture palace -had met the fate it perhaps deserved.) There is -nothing in the world so saved as a saved nigger. -And nothing so lost as a lost nigger. After an earthquake -it always occurs to these light and child-like -minds that it is safer to be saved. The horse has -fled from the stable, but the door might as well be attended -to, and the padlock of salvation is not expensive. -Fervent men and women throng the pews, -shouting hymns down the back of each other’s neck, -and groaning away sins they do not realise, to the -accompaniment of words they do not understand. -Those who have lived together in innocent sin hurry -to the altar for the ring, which, to these harmless -transgressors, is as the fig-leaf apron of Eden, and -heralds virtuous tragedy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When the gardener became well enough to resent -being ill, he was allowed visitors, among whom was -one, by name Dallas Tring, Esquire. This was a -very honest man who, in spite of having an excellent -heart, believed that he always told the truth at all -costs. The only lie he permitted himself, however, -was constantly on his lips. It was: “I take your -meaning.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was obviously unnatural to him to be enthusiastic. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>It is to most very honest people. He came into -the gardener’s room like an actor emerging from -stage fright on to the stage.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You saved my children from being crushed to -death,” he said, and seized the gardener’s hands. -“Thank you, thank you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, not at all,” murmured the gardener. “I -pretty nearly crushed them to death myself. Have -a whisky and soda.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>This last is the Trinity Island retort to everything, -its loophole, its conversational salvation. The -average Englishman takes several weeks to acquire -the habit in the real Island style, but the gardener was -always more adaptable than most.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Privately he did feel unreasonably conceited about -the rescue. He would have admitted that the impulse -to gather Aitch and Zed beneath his prostrate -form had been unconscious, but he considered that -unconscious heroism proves heroism deeply ingrained. -Nevertheless, the people who voice your conceit for -you are only a little less trying than the people who -relieve you of the duty of being humble. One must -do these things for oneself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Dallas Tring was glad to have accomplished -his duty, which was not spontaneous, but had been -impressed upon him by his wife. Left to himself he -would have said: “Say, that was good of you. I’d -have been cut up if anything had happened to the -kids.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>His wife not having warned him how to proceed, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>he began now to talk about the banana crops. It -was only towards the end of the interview that he -risked himself once more upon the quicksands of emotion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Look here, you know, it’s altogether unspeakable—what -I owe you. Those are the only children -we have. Aitch is a fine boy, don’t you think?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Fine,” agreed the gardener, relieved to be allowed -a loophole of escape from, “Not at all.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’re a fine boy yourself,” added Mr. Tring. -“When you get well, will you come and help me?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What to do?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To start again.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, yes,” replied the gardener. “I love starting -again. What I never can do is to go on.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>After this the gardener, considered to be stronger, -was allowed to see Mrs. Rust again. She was now -but little better than a fretful echo of Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Some people seem born to walk alone, and others -there are who are never seen without a group behind -them. Courtesy was as far a leader of men as can -be compatible with having no destination to lead -them to. She never knew what it was to be without -a “circle.” Acquaintances were as necessary to her -as air, and she used them, as she used air, innocently -for her own ends.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust never attained to the dignity either of -being alone or the leader of a group, though she -worshipped independence. She believed she had -bought precedence of Courtesy for £200 a year.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>And on the occasion of this visit to the gardener, -she believed that she was about to shock and surprise -that wise young man.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you know what I have done?” she asked, -when she had to some extent overcome the nervous -cautiousness of behaviour impressed upon her by the -absent Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do not,” said the gardener, whose gently irreverent -manner towards her was his salvation in her -eyes. “It’s sure to be something that any one else -would be ashamed of doing.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust bridled. “It was partly to annoy you -that I did it,” she said. “Because you dared to -advise me not to. I have sent my son Samuel a -cheque, so as to launch his hotel.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Rash woman,” protested the gardener. “If -you knew your son Samuel as well as I do——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I know he is my son, so he cannot be altogether -a fool.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener bent his thick threatening eyebrows -upon her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you know what else I have done?” she continued.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I tremble to think,” replied the invalid.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have advertised for your suffragette in the -Union Paper. Courtesy said what a mercy it would -be if she should have got safely away and wouldn’t -come back, so I advertised, just to show that I disagreed. -I never knew her name, so I described her -appearance....”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>“Her little size ...” he said eagerly. “Her -small and hollow eyes. Her darling-coloured hair -that always blew forward along her cheeks....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, I didn’t put it like that,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She had such wonderful little hands,” said the -gardener, upon whom a sick-bed had a softening, not -to say maudlin effect. “You could see everything -she thought in her hands. They were not very white, -but pale brown. You might have mentioned them. -But she is obviously mine. Nobody could overlook -that. Nobody could overlook her at all.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“On the contrary,” said Mrs. Rust, “she is a -perfectly insignificant-looking young woman. And I -am sure that she would strongly resent your describing -her as though she were a dog with your -name on its collar. She had sensible views about -women.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>You have been intended to suppose all this time -that the suffragette had succumbed to the earthquake, -but as she is the heroine—though an unworthy one—of -this book, I am sure you have not been deceived. -Loth as I am to admit that a friend of mine should -have been so near to such an experience without reaping -the benefit of it, I am obliged by tiresome truth to -confess that she was never aware of the earthquake -as an earthquake at all.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She was in the train when it happened, a little -Christian the Pilgrim, making her way through many -difficulties up to the Delectable Mountains. Far off -they stood, defying the pale sea and the pale plains, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>shadowed mountains, each with its cool brow -crowned by a halo of cloud.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The train service in Trinity Islands is not their -chief attraction. First, second, and third class alike -may watch the vivid country from the windows, otherwise -there is no compensation for rich or poor. -The price of a first-class fare is supposed to guarantee -your fellow-passengers matching yourself as nearly -as possible in complexion; it also entitles you to a -deformed wicker chair in a compartment that a cow -would appeal against in the Home Country. The -wicker chair, unsettled by its migratory life, amuses -itself by travelling drunkenly around the truck, unless -you lash yourself to the door-handle with your -pocket-handkerchief, or evolve some other ingenious -device.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was always without inspirations in -the cause of comfort. She was a petty ascetic, and -never thought personal well-being worth the acquiring. -Her body was an unfortunate detail attached -to her; she resented its demands, and took but little -more care if it than she did of the mustard-coloured -portmanteau, another troublesome but indispensable -part of her equipment. She put her body and the -portmanteau each into a wicker chair in the train, -and promptly forgot how uncomfortable they both -were.</p> - -<p class='c009'>(There is much fascination in the big world, but I -think the most wonderful thing in it is the passing of -the little bubble worlds that blow and burst in many -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>colours around you and me every minute of our lives. -In a ’bus or at a ball, in a crowd around a fallen -horse, meeting for a moment as reader and writer -of a book, or shoulder to shoulder in church singing -to a God we all look at with different eyes, these -things happen and will never happen exactly that way -again. How I wondered at the cut of your moustache, -O stranger, how I wondered at the colour of -your tie.... But your little daughter with the thin -straight legs and the thin straight hair pressed to your -side, her glorying face filled with the light of novelty, -and prayed that drive to heaven might never cease. -And next to you was the girl who had just discovered -the man by her side to be no saint, but a man. And -he was trying by argument to recover his sanctitude. -“But strite now, Mibel, I never dremp you’d tike it -so ’ard. ’S only my bit of fun....” There was -the man in khaki, next to me, born an idler, brought -up a grocer’s assistant, and latterly shocked into becoming -a hero.... There was the conductor, a -man of twisted humour, chanting the words of his -calling in various keys through the row of sixpences -that he held between his lips, while the little bell at -his belt tolled the knell of one ticket after another.... -A little oblong world glazed in, ready to my -hand. But I got out at the Bank, and the world -went on to Hammersmith Broadway.... These -things are, and never shall be again. The finest -thing about life is its lack of repetition. I hate to -hear that history repeats itself. My comfort is that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>history is never word-perfect in so doing. Fate has -always some new joke up her sleeve. Sometimes the -joke is not funny, but certainly it is always new.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>There were two Eves and an Adam in the world -which evolved from chaos under the suffragette’s -eyes, as the train moved out of Union station. Also -a dog. We are never told about Adam’s dog, but I -am sure that he had one, and that it wagged its tail at -him as he awoke from being created, and snapped at -the serpent, and did its best to propitiate the angel -with the flaming sword.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Dogs seldom ignored the suffragette. As a race -they have either more or less perspicacity than ourselves—you -may look at it as you will—and they -seldom concur with the public verdict of humanity on -its own species. And in the suffragette a confiding -dog was never disappointed, for she knew the exact -spot where the starched buckram of one’s ear is sewn -on to one’s skull, on which it is almost unbearably -good to be scratched.</p> - -<p class='c009'>This dog was the sort whose name is always -Scottie when he is owned by the unenterprising. He -wore his forelegs so short and so bent that he looked -as though he were continually posing as being thoroughbred. -When he drew himself up to his full -height, the under outline of his figure was about three -inches from the ground. When at leisure he walked -broadly and foursquare, as a table would walk, if -endowed with life; when speeding up, he cantered -diagonally—forefeet together—hindfeet together—no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>one foot moving independently of its twin.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The sort of conversation that this dog and the -suffragette immediately began did not prevent the -latter’s hearing the conversation that was woven by -her fellow-passengers across the loom of the train’s -roaring.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The fact that the dog’s name was really Scottie -should give you a clue as to his mistress’s character. -It was perhaps malicious of me to describe her as an -Eve; that would have made her blush. For she was -very fully clothed in blue serge. It is almost impossible -for the average woman to conduct the business -of life except in blue serge. We travel in blue serge -(thin for the tropics, thick and satin-lined for our -native climate), we sit at our desk in blue serge, we -meet our Deity or our stockbroker in blue serge, in -blue serge we raid the House of Commons. Perhaps -the root of the feminist movement lies in blue -serge. If I were defended by a crinoline, or rustled -in satin or gingham or poplin, I might have been an -exemplary spinster in my sphere to-day.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The other Eve, attired (for she was obviously -cosmopolitan) in fawn tussore, occupied an undue -fraction of the little universe. She was the sort of -person whose bosom enters a room first, closely followed -by her chin. Black eyes and a hooked Spanish -nose led the rear not unworthily. She intended -to be looked at, and she hoped to be recognised as a -notorious novelist. For she was a momentary novelist -with a contempt for yesterday and no concern at -<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>all for to-morrow. A public of a hundred thousand -housemaids was all she asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>One of the virtues of men is that they are not intended -for fancy portrayal. Why should one ever -describe the outward surface of a man, unless he is -the hero of one’s book, or unless one is engaged to -marry him? The particular Adam in this compartment -comes under neither of these headings. He is -copiously reproduced all over the world, but clusters -thickest in Piccadilly. Possibly you see him at his -best very far away from Piccadilly. There is something -that transfigures the commonplace in the fact -of having kissed the very hem of the Empire’s wide-flung -robe.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I say, Miss Brown, how’s Albert?” asked the -young man.</p> - -<p class='c009'>For the other occupants of the little world seemed -mutually familiar. It occurred to the suffragette that -Fate always threw her with people who knew each -other and did not know her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Brown, the Eve in blue serge, bridled. To -all women so flawlessly brought up as Miss Brown, -there exists a sort of electricity in the voice of man -which sends a tremor across their manners, so to -speak.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Albert, Mr. Wise, is still very weakly. I sometimes -wonder whether I shall rear him. His mental -activities, I am told, have outgrown his physical -strength.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The young man fanned himself. And indeed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>mental activities sounded unsuited to the climate. -The sun spilt square flames upon the floor through -the window. The silhouette of the passing landscape -scorched itself across the sky-line. Tattered -bananas looked like crowds of creatures struck mad -by a merciless sun.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The voice of the lady novelist seemed to reach the -suffragette through a veil.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That child will make his mark. He has the -most marvellous mental grasp....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Two hills to the northwest moved apart in the -middle distance, like the curtains from a stage. And -there was Union Town lying white beside her sea, -white, but veiled by her green gardens. Port King -George, on an attenuated isthmus, stretched its parallel -form along to shield the mother coast from the -Atlantic. Even from here you could see the white -gleam of the ocean’s teeth, as they gnashed upon the -reef. A spike of calm steel water lay between Union -Town and her defending reef. The suffragette -thought: “A skeleton in the grass with a sword beside -it....” She also looked at the toy figure of -the <em>Caribbeania</em>, so close to land as to be disguised as -part of the island. Her two funnels mingled with -the factory chimneys by the wharf.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But he is sure to have landed by now,” thought -the suffragette. She felt unsentimentally interested -in the fact. It was too hot to feel more.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I happened to mention the Book of Genesis,” -said the lady novelist. “And Albert produced a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>most ingenious theory about the scientific explanation -of the fable of creation. I wish I had such a nephew. -What a marvellous link with the coming generation!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“On the other hand,” said Mr. Wise, “I happened -to mention <em>Alice in Wonderland</em>, and he said it -was out of date, and, as a dream, most improbable.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am sorry he criticised the Bible in your hearing,” -apologised Miss Brown. “I am afraid he has -a tendency towards irreverence.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish he had,” muttered Mr. Wise.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Acres of sugar filed past the window. High -waved the proud crests of it, all innocent of its mean -latter end as a common comestible. The suffragette’s -mind laboured under a rocking confusion of -green tufted miles,—and somewhere on the outskirts -of her thoughts, a little sallow Albert entrenched behind -an enormous pair of spectacles.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A glorious child,” said the lady novelist, in her -monopolising tones. “Simply glorious. Quite an -experience to have met him.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good copy, eh?” grinned Mr. Wise.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Excellent. You know I collect copy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Now the suffragette collected copy, but she did it -without self-consciousness. There are several kinds -of copy-collectors. Some of us squeeze our copy -into little six-shilling novels, or hack it into so many -columns for the benefit of an unfeeling press. Some -of us live three-score years and ten, and then wake -suddenly to find our copy-coffers full. Upon which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>we become bores, and our relations hasten to engage -a paid companion for us. But some of us carry our -lives about with us sealed up in our holy of holies, -and take pride in hiding the precious burden that we -bear. Copy-collecting may become a religion; to the -suffragette, who never put pen to paper for any one -else’s benefit, and who never told an anecdote, this -pursuit was the great consolation for a bleak life. -At the gate of death, or on the step of Paradise, such -a soul may be found filling its pockets with the gold -of secret experience. I think the mania is most acute -when no thought of eventual print intrudes. Its -most encouraging characteristic to the lonely is the -sense of irresponsibility it brings. After all I may -go and turn cart-wheels down the Strand, I may murder -you, or throw my last shilling into the Thames, I -may go half-way to Hell, and if I miscalculate the distance -and fall in—it’s all copy. To the lady novelist, -however, copy was but a currency to spend. -Every experience in her eyes formed a part of a -printed page, surrounded by a halo of favourable reviews. -She never wrote a letter without an eye on -her posthumous biography, never met a notable individual -without taking a mental note for the benefit of -a future series of “Jottings about my Generation.” -Both she and the suffragette kept diaries, but only the -suffragette’s had a lock and key.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The engine was approaching the climax of its daily -task. It faltered. Looking out of the window, Mr. -Wise described its arrival at the foot of a pronounced -<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>hill. The engine gazed up the perspective of its -duty, and panted prophetically, as pants an uncle -before a game of stump-cricket.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This hill is always a surprise to the engine,” said -Mr. Wise. “Every day it has two or three tries, -and yet it never learns the knack.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette’s fingers tore at the arm of her -chair. It was not only too hot to travel, it was also -much too hot to cease to travel. She felt a crisis approaching.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Her window had stopped artistically opposite a -little slice of distant world, carved out between the -trunks of two great cotton trees. Union Town, perceptibly -diminished since its last appearance, languished -again around its bay. Against the white -water you could see the cathedral and the factory -chimneys, the spires of God and the spires of mammon.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette, as she looked, saw the cathedral -spire cock suddenly awry and bend over, like a finger -in three joints.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The heat,” she thought. “I believe I’m dying.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Almost at once after that the train suffered a great -spasm, as though yearning for the top of the hill.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She’s going to try again,” said Mr. Wise.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette’s head cocked suddenly awry, she -bent over in three joints like a finger, and slid off her -chair in a faint.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A prostrated suffragette is a contradiction in terms. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>This one became a child, lying in ungraceful angles, -in need of its mother.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“By Jove!” said Mr. Wise. Miss Brown, after -lifting up her skirt carefully, knelt upon her petticoat.</p> - -<p class='c009'>An ebony ticket-inspector rushed into the compartment.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ull right! Ull right!” he shouted. “Ull ovah! -Nobuddy killed!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly not,” said Mr. Wise. “Why should -they be? Only a faint.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Earthquake, sah, earthquake!” yelled the inspector. -“Jes’ look at the steeple daown in -taown!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was no steeple to look at.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My—what an eventful journey!” said the lady -novelist.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Poor little thing,” said Miss Brown to the suffragette, -in almost human tones. “Better now, better -now?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette began to struggle a little. Even -had she been in her grave, I think pity would have -aroused a spark of militant protest in her bones.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Tell her to make an effort,” said the lady novelist, -who had never in her forty years been guilty of -physical weakness. “Pretend not to notice her. -Probably hysteria.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>This well-worn accusation touches a familiar chord -in the ear of any rebel. It opened one of the suffragette’s -eyes. She had black eyebrows which suggested -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>that she might have fine eyes, but she had not. -When her eyes were shut you only saw the hopeful -suggestion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Come, come,” said Miss Brown, handing Mr. -Wise’s brandy flask back to him, and becoming aware -that her petticoat was bare to the gaze of an unmarried -gentleman and a negro inspector. “Might I -trouble you to lift the young lady on to a chair?” she -added, as she rose.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Seven stone of political agitator takes but little -time to move.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A most eventful journey,” said the lady novelist.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Brown, now decently seated on a chair, -stroked the suffragette’s hand. “Are you going to -friends, my child?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, enemies, I expect,” said the suffragette -drearily.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Where?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You must know where you are going,” said the -novelist severely.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Booked to Greyville,” said the inspector, who -had picked up her ticket, and was thoughtfully clipping -it all over.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you know any one in Greyville?” asked Miss -Brown.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Were you going to an hotel?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I suppose so.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>Some kind deeds are so obvious that they are impossible -to escape.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Albert can move into the back room,” said Miss -Brown.</p> - -<p class='c009'>And the train, as if relieved to have this affair settled, -moved on up the hill.</p> - -<p class='c009'>By the time the chapel bell, which Island engines -always wear, had begun to sound its warning to the -pigs upon the line at Greyville Junction, the suffragette’s -independence was a thing dissolved. Her -protests had no weight. Constitutionally she was -unable to be politely firm. She must either be militant -or acquiescent; she knew not the half measures -of civilisation. And it was impossible to be militant -in the face of Miss Brown’s impersonal sense of duty.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If only she had been a more interesting person -this might have been like the beginning of a novel,” -murmured the lady novelist to Mr. Wise. That -young man, who was wearing the sheepish look -peculiar to the Englishman in the presence of matters -which he considers to be feminine, shrugged his -shoulders.</p> - -<p class='c009'>At Greyville station Miss Brown emerged like an -empress from incognito. A black coachman, with -so generous an expanse of teeth that you suspected -them of being the only line of defence between you -and the inner privacies of his brain, was on the platform. -He seemed torn between acquired awe of -Miss Brown, and an innate desire to conduct the welcome -<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>heartily. The station-master bowed. The -porter chirruped to Scottie.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“New visitor, missis?” gasped the coachman, -looking at the suffragette. He had taken some time -to assimilate the visitorship of the lady novelist. -His mind was being educated at too great a speed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Gorgeous fellow,” said the lady novelist, who -considered all black people gorgeous because they -were not white. The conversation of John the -coachman had already filled two note-books, though -he had never said anything original in his life.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There is so much superfluous sunshine in Trinity -Islands that splashes of it have been lavished upon -all sorts of unnecessary details, the lizards, and the -birds, and the self-conscious orchids roosting in the -trees. Some of it has even been rolled into the -roads, making them white and merry and irresponsible. -The buggy horses feel the tingle of it, for -they seldom walk; although the Creator specialised -in hills on Trinity Island.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Down from some lofty market came the peasant -women; their children, their donkeys, their tawdry -clothes, trappings and merchandise, soaked with sun. -Fantastic in outline, fairies of a midsummer day’s -dream, the little donkeys capered on spindle legs, -bestridden by wide panniers, and by the peasant -women, riding defiantly like brigands, with bandanas -round their heads, and sun-coloured draperies.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is curious that fashion has not yet decreed a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>mania for dyeing one’s complexion mahogany, that -one might wear flame-colour with impunity.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The buggy scattered the marketers. The Island -horse, a plebeian creature of humble stature, seldom -meets with the luxury of feeling superior. But the -Island donkey is nothing but a door-mat on four legs, -clogged red with the hectic mud of its mother land. -A cheap-jack’s pony would feel a prince beside it.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Wise, who had been met at the station by a -very small brown boy with a very tall brown horse, -had cantered away in another direction, with a message -of greeting to Albert, the sincerity of which -Miss Brown had possibly overrated.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A bungalow crouched behind a copper-coloured -hedge upon the sky-line. Two cotton trees surveyed -it, one on each side. A drive of the violently ambitious -kind shot at an impossible angle up to its door-step.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That is Park View, my home,” said Miss Brown.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course, as your dog’s name is Scottie,” murmured -the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Brown looked surprised. The poor suffragette’s -attempts at polite interchange of fatuities -never seemed to meet with the usual fate of such -efforts. Her trivialities somehow always fell upon -silence; if she ventured on the throwing of a light -bridge over a gap in the conversation, it seemed to -snap communication instead of furthering it. She -was, of course, unlucky, but she was also, it must be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>admitted, too earnest in intention for petty intercourse. -She tried too hard.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The buggy, commending its springs to the mercy -of Providence, charged the drive of Park View.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the door-step, carefully posed, Albert was reading -a very large book. He started laboriously as -the buggy approached, and placed the book under -his arm, taking care that the title should be visible. -An emaciated child, with manners too old, and -clothes too young, for his years.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have dot bissed you at all, Ah-Bargaret,” said -Miss Brown’s genial nephew. “I have been too -idterested id by dew book od Chebistry. I ab quite -sorry you have cob back.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Chemistry,” retailed Miss Brown to the lady -novelist. “A child of ten. And—did you notice, -he was so deep in his book, he got quite a start -when we arrived.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Albert, at Park View, met with that appreciation -of his poses which we all hope to meet in heaven.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Albert, you are to move into the back room,” -said Miss Brown.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why?” asked Albert.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To make room for this lady.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Priceless child,” said the lady novelist in brackets.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because she needs somewhere to rest,” said Miss -Brown in a voice of tentative reproof.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But so do I.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I had better move into the back room myself, -then,” sighed his aunt.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>The suffragette began those hopeless protests -which make the burden of an obligation so heavy. -It is so very much easier as well as more blessed to -give than to receive, that the wonder is that generosity -should retain the name of a virtue. Up to a -certain point we are all altruists, because it is too -much trouble to be otherwise.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Albert, who, having gained his point, was once -more comparatively genial, prepared to bring the suffragette -to his feet.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I expect you are wudderig what is the dabe of -the book I ab readig,” he suggested to her as she -stepped shakily from the buggy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, I was not,” she replied gently. “I’m -afraid science bores me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Wha-t a lot you biss,” observed the child. -“You probably spedd your precious time id dancig, -ad dressig yourself up, ad bakig berry. How buch -better——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Albert,” said his aunt, “this lady is tired and -waiting to pass.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, but I ab speaking to her.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette smiled at him, and gave him her -portmanteau to carry.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The earthquake at Union Town had shot the most -lurid rumours into Greyville. All the Park View -servants had suddenly gone to church. The whole -village was enjoying an impromptu half-holiday. -The triangular village green, which held Greyville -together and formed the pedestal of the Court-house, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>echoed with news at every stage of exaggeration. -One of the mildest rumours was that Union Town -had fallen into the sea. It was said on the highest -authority that the Devil had run along the streets, -throwing flames right and left. No actual news arrived, -the sources of news being wrecked, but -towards evening all the Americans whose cars had -survived the ordeal suddenly invaded the hills, suffering -from nerves and a lack of luggage.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Brown says she does not believe in doing a -thing unless you do it thoroughly. She says this as -if it had never been said before; she propounds it as -one propounds a revolutionary theory. But unlike -most theory makers, she always translates such boasts -into action. She performed the feat of keeping a -militant suffragette in bed for the rest of that day.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette lay and imagined the gardener and -the earthquake at different stages of contact. She -thought of him fighting to get out of a falling house, -and her eyes shone. She thought of him with his -head bound up, and wriggled where she lay. She -thought of him unhurt, walking with his usual gait -as though he were marching to a band, and this -thought left her neutral. She never thought of him -dead.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She never believed in death either as a punishment -or a reward. She had either lost the art of faith, or -else she had never found it. She pictured death as -a blink of the eyes, as an altering of the facet turned -<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>towards life, never as a miracle. She was the only -person I ever knew who honestly looked on death as -unworthy of contemplation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Of course if a friend steps round a corner, you lose -sight of that friend. But you must get used to the -windings of the road. If you are a suffragette, you -have to be your own friend. You must not stretch -out your hands to find the hands of another; you -must keep them clenched by your side. On the other -hand, even a suffragette is human—(I daresay you -have doubted this)—and my suffragette was only -a little less human than you or I. The fact must -stand, therefore, that when she thought of the gardener -in pain, she forgot to clench her fists.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It may still be a mystery to you why the suffragette -should expend ingenuity in running away from her -only friend.</p> - -<p class='c009'>If you are a rebel of thorough nature, you believe -that your cause is such a good cause that no supporter -can be worthy of it. And, in the effort to reach -worth, you may possibly arrive, step by step, at the -Theory of the Hair Shirt, to which my suffragette -had attained. For in throwing her little weight on -the side of the best cause she could see, she cowed: -“All my life long to discard everything superfluously -comfortable or easy. To despise peace, and to love -loneliness....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>This is the texture of the Hair Shirt worn beneath -the armour of a rebel. You may call it hysteria. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>And perhaps you are perfectly right. But perhaps -there are even better things than being perfectly -right.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The night on the Island falls as abruptly as though -he who manages the curtain had let go the string by -mistake.</p> - -<p class='c009'>With the night came a trayful of supper for the -suffragette, and with the supper came Albert, not of -course in the useful rôle of supper purveyor, but only -as an ornament.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This earthquake id Udiod Towd seebs to have -beed quite a catastrophe.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Quite,” agreed the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I caddot picture ad earthquake,” continued -Albert. “I suppose doboddy cad picture such ad -urheard-of disaster.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I can,” said the suffragette. “I expect my picture -is all wrong, but it’s certainly there. I see it red -and grey, which is the most vicious discord I know.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Red ad grey?” repeated Albert. “Why red -ad grey? What for idstadce is red, ad what grey?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why,” said the suffragette rather lamely, “I -suppose the quaking is red, and the pain grey.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You seeb to be talking dodsedse,” said Albert, -with creditable toleration. “I expect the flabes are -red, ad the sboke grey. However, go od with your -picture.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think the world would suddenly give a lurch -to one side, and you would wonder what had happened, -and why you felt so sick. Before you realised -<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>anything else you would notice a sort of dazzle of -chalk-white faces all round you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The people are dearly all degroes id Udiod -Towd.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then you would understand, but still you -wouldn’t believe that this thing was really happening -to you. You would see the houses curtsey sideways -in a leaping dust, and a house front, with its windows, -all complete, would shoot across the street with an -unbearable roar, pricked by cracking noises....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why would it dot fall od you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because things don’t. And there would be a -great chord of screams. And men running a few -yards this way or that, and then back again, yelping, -with lighted pipes still in their mouths....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What ad ugly picture. How cad you see it all -so clearly?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have been thinking all day—of a friend of -mine, who must have seen it. I don’t expect an -earthquake is a pretty thing, although there is something -beautiful about any curious happening.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I doad’t agree with you,” said Albert. “There -are oadly a few beautiful thigs. Roses ... ad -sudsets ... ad love....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Really, Albert,” protested the suffragette, “what -do you know about love?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, if it cobs to that—what do you dow about -earthquakes? I cad picture love, easily. A bad, -kissing a girl, udder a cocoadut palb....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense,” exclaimed the suffragette, bounding -<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>so violently in her bed as to cause a serious storm in -her soup. “Kissing’s not love. Everything that -was ever said or written about kissing, I think, must -have been said or written by a man. It’s only another -of their tyrannies, to which, for the sake of -love, women have had to submit.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You sowd like a suffragette whed you talk like -that,” mocked Albert.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No wonder,” she replied. “I am one.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Albert looked shocked to find himself in the presence -of such a monstrosity. He went at once to -warn his aunt. And she replied: “It doesn’t matter, -Albert dear, she’s only staying a few days, till she -is well enough to make other plans.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette, left to her cooling soup, reviewed -her theories and her practice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What’s the good of being hard?” she asked -herself, “if you are not hard enough? Either you -are harder than the world and can bruise it, or the -world is harder than you and bruises you. There -is no point in just having a hard crust. As well be -dough.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>In the middle of the night there was a loud wail -from Albert’s room. The suffragette, whose room -adjoined his, was the first on the spot.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I seeb to have a bad paid,” cried Albert, who was -always cautious in his statements, “id the heart. It -feels like cadcer, I thigk.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t think so,” said the suffragette. “Perhaps -you are only in love.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>She went and knocked on Miss Brown’s door.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I doad’t wadt Ah-Bargaret,” said Albert, as -his aunt came in. “I should hate to die lookig at -Ah-Bargaret. I ab sure I ab going to die.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We’ll see that you don’t,” said the suffragette, as -she began to rub his side, his poor little ribs, furrowed -like a ploughed field.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But you are an invalid yourself,” objected Miss -Brown jealously. “You had better go back to bed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Doh, she is dot ad idvalid, she’s a suffragette,” -whined Albert. “I doad’t wish her to go back to -bed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Even Albert, with his wide range of scientific ways -of being inconvenient, could scarcely have chosen a -more impossible moment for an illness. Next day it -became apparent that every doctor on the Island who -had survived the disaster had plunged into the whirlpool -of its after effects. Nursing on the Island is in -a rudimentary stage at all times, but what nurses existed -were not to be dragged now from Union Town.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The lady novelist said: “I know I must appear -heartless, dear Margaret, not to be helping to nurse -him, but the sight of suffering gives me such acute -pain.... It’s not heartlessness, you see, it’s that -my heart is too tender.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish she would go to an hotel then,” said the -harassed Miss Brown to the suffragette. “She -wants her meals so good and so regular, and I seem -to hate the sight of food just now.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was against the suffragette’s principles to hope -<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>anything so desirable without translating her hope -into action. It was also beyond her powers to be -diplomatic.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think you had better go to the hotel,” she said -militantly to the lady novelist. “You would be better -fed there, and we should be more comfortable -alone.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In that case perhaps I had better, not being welcome -in my friend’s house,” replied the novelist. “I -was going to suggest it myself, as the sound of that -priceless child’s cries wrings my heart.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette therefore gained her point at the -expense of tact, which, as future historians will note, -is a characteristic of suffragettes.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Albert’s temperament was not that of the Spartan. -He never ceased to cry for a week. As for the pain, -it was as if the god—whoever he may be—who -likes little children to suffer, sat beside him, and with -a blunt shears sliced off the top of each breath.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c005'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>There is a sword, a fatal blade,</div> - <div class='line'>Unthwarted, subtle as the air,</div> - <div class='line'>And I could meet it unafraid</div> - <div class='line'>If I might only meet it fair.</div> - <div class='line'>But how I wonder why the smith</div> - <div class='line'>Who wrought that steel of subtle grain</div> - <div class='line'>Should also be contented with</div> - <div class='line'>So blunt and mean a thing as pain....</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Albert clung to the suffragette, the straw in his sea -of troubles. His constant wail rose an octave if she -ventured from the room.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>The only holiday she had during that first week -was half an hour on the second evening of the ordeal, -half an hour spent in carrying the lady novelist’s -majestic suit-case to the hotel.</p> - -<p class='c009'>John the coachman could not do it, as the road to -the hotel was infested with “duppies” after dark. -The probability of meeting a “rolling calf” with a -human head and green eyes, or the duppy of some -regrettable ancestor, robbed even a tip of its splendour.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The carrying of the suit-case was a physical impossibility -to one of the suffragette’s lack of muscle. -But to her impossibility was only an additional -“Anti” to fight, a rather worthier enemy than the -rest. She believed in the power of the thought over -the deed, that was her religion, and one is tempted to -wonder whether any more complex belief is needed. -Has it ever been proved that the human will, if reverently -approached, is not omnipotent?</p> - -<p class='c009'>At any rate the suit-case, borne by a thing that -looked like the suffragette, but was in reality a super-suffragette -created for the occasion, travelled to the -hotel, unmolested by duppies, but followed by a literary -lady poisoned by injured pride.</p> - -<p class='c009'>At the hotel were many Americans who said, “I -guess” and “Bully” and “I should worry,” and all -the things that make a second-rate copy collector -swell with copy and feel exquisitely cosmopolitan. -This collector’s diary began to overflow to three or -four foolscap sheets a day, closely covered with dialogues -<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>on trivial subjects by very ordinary American -husbands and fathers; all Americanisms underlined -and spattered with liberal exclamation marks.</p> - -<p class='c009'>At the end of the second week of the lady novelist’s -stay at the hotel arrived a millionaire, who immediately -became the gem of the collection. He -was exactly modelled on the stock millionaire to be -met with in the pages of the comic papers. He was -lean, self-made, and marvellously dressed; he wore -eyeglasses and a little stitched-linen hat tilted over -them. Also the beard of a goat. At the very outset -he expressed himself, “Vurry happy to meet you, -madam, always happy to meet any of our neighbours -from across the duck-pond.” It was almost too good -to be true. The novelist followed him about, so to -speak, with fountain pen poised.</p> - -<p class='c009'>His conversation was almost entirely financial. -Neither the lady novelist nor I understand such matters -well enough to write them down, but only I am -wise enough not to try.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you mind if I say you are a treasure?” asked -the lady novelist, after listening for an hour to a dissertation -on Wall Street.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Not at all, ma’am,” replied the millionaire politely, -and drew breath to continue his discourse. -But he rewarded her by descending to the level of -her intelligence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Say, talking of money, I guess there’ve been -more fine opportunities lorst in Union Town this -last fortnight, than ever I missed since I commenced -<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>collecting the dollars. Would you believe me—there’s -a fellow, by name Dallas Tring, who’s inherited -the only flour dee-pot in Union Town. Uncle’s -orfice crumpled in on Uncle during the quake, -and left Tring his fill of dollars right there for the -picking up, so to speak. Union Town wants flour -at this crisis, and if it was mine I’d say that Union -Town, or the British Government, had darn well -got to pay for it. We don’t calc’late in hearts, this -side of heaven, but in hard dollars. Philanthropy’s -a fool-game.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are simply priceless,” said the lady novelist. -“Please go on.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m going right on, ma’am,” said the treasure. -“Would you believe me, this Tring e-volves a system -(save the mark) by which he gives away this -flour—gives it away, mind you, gratis, free, for -nothing, with a kiss thrown in if required, to any -nigger cute enough to rub his little tummy and say -he’s feeling empty. You may reckon I just couldn’t -quit Union Town without a call to see if the man was -an imbecile or what. I found a young cub with a -curly smile playing around in the orfice. Say, what -do you suppose he answered me when I told him -‘Good-morning, and what’s this sentimental money-chucking, -anyway?’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am dying to know,” said the lady novelist.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Said it was the foyrst time he’d ever been led -to think there might be something in sentiment after -all. I was fair rattled.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>The young cub with the curly smile, as you may, -with your customary astuteness, have guessed, was -the gardener. He had assumed the pose of philanthropist, -which, when conducted at some one else’s -expense, is one of the most delightful poses conceivable. -The pleasure to be found in helping the dirty -destitute seems to need an explanation beyond the -plea of altruism. There is a real charm in domineering -to good purpose. To say unto one man Go -and he goeth, and to another Come and he cometh, -is at all times pleasant, but when such a luxury as -autocracy becomes a virtue, there are few who disregard -its glamour.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s broken leg recovered as quickly -as any leg could have done. He had an enthusiastic -and healthy attitude towards suffering and illness, -an attitude which he took instinctively, and which -mental scientists and faith-healers try to produce artificially. -He was always serenely convinced that -he would be better next day. He lived in a state -of secret disappointment in to-day’s progress, and -unforced confidence in to-morrow’s. He might be -described as a discontented optimist; though often -convinced that the worst had happened, he was always -sure that the best was going to happen. Conversely, -of course, you can be a contented pessimist, -happy in to-day, but entirely distrustful of to-morrow.</p> - -<p class='c009'>To the gardener’s methods may perhaps be ascribed -the fact that in a fortnight he was able with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>the help of a stick, and with the encouragement of -Aitch and Zed, to walk about his room. His first -excursion was to the window.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The houses opposite had fallen in on their own -foundations. One complete wall was standing -starkly amid the mass. Portraits of the King and -Queen and a text or two still clung to their positions -against the stained and florid wall-paper.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you see that house that you just can’t see, -the other side of that wall?” asked Aitch.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, I see,” said the gardener. “I mean I just -can’t see.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s where dead Uncle Jonathan lives,” said -Aitch. “He’s left Father the flour in his will.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How good of him. I hope it was a pretty one.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Father said, ‘There’s a fortune there.’ And -Mother said, ‘Oh, Dally, it’s as if it was left in -trust for poor Union Town.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>When the gardener next met Mr. Tring, he discovered -how entirely sufficient for two are the opinions -of one.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course I’m awfully lucky, in a way,” said -Mr. Tring. “It’s a big inheritance, and hardly -damaged at all by the earthquake. But at present, -of course, it’s all responsibility and no returns. I -feel as if it’s sort of left me in trust for Union -Town.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s one way of looking at it,” said Courtesy—surely -the least witty comment ever invented.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t agree with you at all,” said Mrs. Rust, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>who now made this remark mechanically in any pause -in the conversation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You consider that Mr. Tring should pile up a -big bill against the British Government?” suggested -the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “I consider -the niggers can eat—mangoes.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I sometimes wonder,” said the gardener, -“whether one has a duty to oneself. One feels as -if one has, but I always—in theory—distrust a -duty that pays.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly one has a duty to oneself,” said Courtesy. -“Duty begins at home. That’s in the Bible, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Most of the texts tell you your only duty is to -the man next door,” said Mr. Tring, blushing.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I entirely disagree with you,” said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Soon after this discussion Mr. Tring, inspired by -his wife, produced a plan for the benefit of the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“When this business is over we shall—I mean -I shall be a rich man and a busy man. I need somebody -young around. I’d like fine to buy your youth -(his wife’s words). What about being my secretary -for the present? It might give you a start in -Island business.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is not a time for paid work,” said the -gardener, “with half the money on the Island gone -to dust.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I take your meaning,” said Mr. Tring. “But -<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>in my opinion the time’s all right. Good work’s -good work, whether it’s honorary or not. I never -liked the idea that there’s something heroic in refusing -money, making out that there’s something -mean in accepting it. If you help you help, and the -help’s none the worse if it makes you self-supporting.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The word “self-supporting” was a sharp and accusing -word to the gardener. Most of us privately -possess certain words that search out the tender parts -in our spiritual anatomy. The words “absolute -impossibility,” for instance, angered the suffragette -to militant protest; the mention of “narrow-mindedness” -ruffled the priest’s sensibilities; as for me, the -expression “physical disability” hurts me like a -knife. It may or may not be out of place to add -that the effect on Courtesy—that practical girl—of -an allusion to “banana fritters” was to make her -feel sick. You may know people better by their -weaknesses than by their strength.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The word self-supporting, therefore, goaded the -gardener into accepting Mr. Tring’s offer.</p> - -<p class='c009'>His stock of poses, though very wide in range, -had not as yet extended as far as practical business, -in black and white, hours ten to five daily. He had—I -report it with disgust—a contempt for the pen -as a business implement. He was himself an artist -without expression, a poet caged; a musician in desire, -he suffered from a mute worship of all art. -And he believed that the pen was as sacred an instrument -<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>as the violin, or the palette. To make -money by the pen in business was equal to fiddling -on a kerb-stone, or designing picture post cards. -These theories are pose-theories, of course, and untenable -by the practical man. But some of the gardener’s -poses had crystallised into belief. He was, -as you may have noticed, anything but a practical -man.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Perhaps,” said Mr. Tring, “you might be what -my wife calls an ‘out-of-doors secretary.’ I have -been officially asked to organise the distributing of -the flour. Enquiries will have to be made. The -niggers are awfully sly, you know; you’d have -thought they’d be too silly to be sly.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have noticed that the silly seem to be protected -by Providence. Slyness seems to be given as a sort -of compensation. Otherwise, of course, we should -stamp out the silly, and a lot of valuable human -curiosities would become extinct.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I take your meaning,” said Mr. Tring. “That -being so, if we found you a horse to ride about on, -would you undertake the notification and examination -of the necessitous cases, the pruning away—as -my wife would say—of the dishonest applicants.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am a gardener,” said the gardener. “I love -interfering with nature. Mr. Tring, you are a most -excellent friend to me. Thank you seems too little -a word.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There are only a few people to be met with who -can do justice to such a thankless task as the expression -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>of thanks. Man under an obligation is always -convinced that the conventional words are not -enough, and tries to improve on them. This must -always be a failure, however, as improving on convention -is a work that only genius can undertake -with success.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A horse was found for the gardener. He was -what might be called an anxious rider, and Courtesy, -after watching his first equestrian exhibition, went -to some trouble to find him an elderly mare of sober -propensities. Mounted upon this excellent creature, -the gardener one morning threaded the little passes -that had been made in and out of the crags of ruined -Union Town. It was early. The Olympians had -not yet begun to compound that horrible broth of -sun and steam and dust which they brew daily upon -the plains of the Island. The sun’s eyes had not yet -opened even on the most ambitious of the hills, but -the sky was awake, and so clear that you might have -thought you were looking through crystal at a blue -Zion. The dew was laughing in the crushed gardens. -Grey lizards with a purple bloom on them -jumped from ruin to ruin over chasms of ruin. A -humming-bird, looking as though its tail and beak -had been added hurriedly out of the wrong box, -stood in the air glaring into the open eye of a passion -flower. The air was shining cool. The songs -of the birds were like little fountains of cold water.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There is always a pessimistic gloom about the -woods of the Island. The cotton tree, with its ashen -<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>blasted trunk, looks as if it had known a bitter past. -Logwood gives the impression of firewood left -standing by mistake. And the cocoanut palms, which -are unstable souls, lean this way and that, as though -glancing over their shoulders for their enemy the -wind, against whom they have no defence. Only -the great creepers throw cables of hope from tree to -tree, and the orchids nestle blood-red against the colourless -hearts of the cotton trees.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The huts for the homeless had been built in a -wide clearing in the woods, only divided from the -sea by the road, a belt of palms, and a frill of sand -so white that the word white sounded dirty as you -looked at it. The rocks leant out of opal water -into pearl air. A pensive pelican, resting its double -chin upon its breast, stood waiting on a low rock.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener dismounted with great care. A -person of three summers or so came to watch him -do it. The only thing she wore that nature had not -from the first provided her with was a hair-ribbon. -Her head looked like a phrenologist’s chart. It -was mapped out in squares by multiplied partings -at right angles to each other. From every square -plot of wool sprang a rigid plait of perhaps one -inch in length. On the highest plait was a scarlet -hair-ribbon. The effect was not really beautiful, -but suggested a beautiful maternal patience. The -person thus decorated was gnawing a piece of bread.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That bread,” thought the gardener, who in -flashes posed as Sherlock Holmes, “must have been -<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>made with flour. That flour probably came from -Tring’s. Where did you get that bit of bread, -Miss?” he added.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The person, determined not to appear to overlook -a joke for want of an effort, gave a high fat -chuckle, and danced the opening steps of a natural -tango. The gardener, unwilling to shatter the illusion -of his own humour, did not repeat the question. -He gave the elderly mare in charge of not more than -a dozen little boys. It was an insult to the mare, -a creature with a deep sense of responsibility, who -could much more reasonably have taken charge of -the little boys.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Dat Mrs. Morra’s pickney,” said one of the -older boys, with a polite desire to effect an introduction -between the gardener and the dancing person. -On hearing herself thus described, Mrs. Morra’s -pickney at once led the way at great speed to Mrs. -Morra. Now Mrs. Morra’s was the first name on -the gardener’s list of applications.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She was discovered outside the door of her hut, -submitting the head of an elder daughter to that -process of which the coiffure of the younger was a -finished example. The conversation was punctured -by wails from the victim. Wool does not adapt itself -to painless combing.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good morning, Mrs. Morra,” said the gardener, -with his confiding smile. Mrs. Morra -screamed with amusement.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hear the earthquake knocked down your home -<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>and didn’t leave you anything to live on. You asked -for some of the free bread, didn’t you? The police -gave us your name.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“P’leece?” questioned Mrs. Morra, who seemed -amused by the mention of her necessity. “Whe’ -dat, please?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The police—the big man in blue,” said the gardener, -before he remembered that on the Island the -police was always a little man in white.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“P’leece?” persisted Mrs. Morra.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The policeman—the law,” said the gardener -desperately.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Every nigger is familiar with the law. Going to -law is a vice that on the Island takes the place of -drink. The nigger’s idea of heaven is a vast courthouse, -with the Almighty sitting at a desk awarding -him damages and costs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, de law—de polizman, please sah,” said -Mrs. Morra.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Right. Now how did your little girl get this -bread?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Beg a quattie from a lady, please,” said the -mother.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, but where did she buy the bread when she -had the quattie. Bread is free now, you can’t buy -it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Bought it fim Daddy Hamilton, please, old man -who live alone by himself across opposite. But he -ha’n’t got no more, please!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll go and see Daddy Hamilton,” said the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>gardener. “How many children have you got, Mrs. -Morra?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Please?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How many children?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Please?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How many pickneys?” said the gardener, inspired.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Pickneys please thank you,” said Mrs. Morra. -“I got Dacia Maree Blanche Rosabel Benjum Teodor -Lionel.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Seven,” panted the gardener, who had kept careful -count.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Tree, please sah,” corrected the lady.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Me Dacia Maree,” explained the victim of maternal -pride.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Have you a husband?” continued the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“O la, no please sah.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A widow?” he suggested.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Morra shrieked with laughter.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nebber had no man mo’ dan tree monts,” she -said. “Dacia Maree’s fader—he on’y stop a -week. Benjum’s dad bin in gaol two yahs. -Blanche Rosabel—her fader was a brown man, her -grand-dad was a buckra.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener blushed into his notebook.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The police had certified that the family’s means of -subsistence had been swept away by the earthquake, -and the gardener, by one glance into an unsavoury -hut, satisfied himself that no luxuries had been -saved from the wreck. He therefore noted the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>case as needy, and asked his way to Daddy Hamilton.</p> - -<p class='c009'>This gentleman, seated upon an upturned bucket, -was studying a hymn-book through a pair of horn-rimmed -spectacles.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“God bless you, sah,” he said in the loud unmistakable -voice of a joyous Christian.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener thanked him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I see, Mr. Hamilton, that you told the police you -had two married daughters whose husbands had been -killed by the earthquake, and seven grandchildren -dependent on you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yessah. De Lawd giveth, an’ de Lawd taketh -away.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly. And you had an emergency grant of -several loaves of bread on Monday.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Praise be to God, sah, I did. De Lawd -giveth——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“On the contrary, in this case it was Mr. Tring -that gave. Now, are either of your married daughters -or any of your grandchildren at home?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, sah. Dey all gone to chapel.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Really? Now there seems to be an idea among -your neighbours that you live by yourself. How is -it they have never noticed your two daughters and -seven grandchildren?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Dunno, sah. Deir eyes dey hab closed, lest at -any time dey should see wid deir eyes, and hear wid -deir ears——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do the whole ten of you sleep in that little hut?”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>“No, sah, I sleep on de graound aoutside. Foxes -hab holes——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now, Mr. Hamilton, can you look me in the -face and tell me that the bread that was given you -was really eaten by yourself, and two daughters, and -seven grandchildren?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, sah. To tell you de troot, sah, dey wasn’t -ezackly blood-grandchildren. All men are brudders, -we are told, sah, and derefore grandchildren, an’ -daughters, an’ nieces too, sah. All de pickneys call -me Daddy Hamilton. Suffer de little children to -come unto me, saith de Lawd, so I suffer dem -gladly.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, but do you ever charge anything for suffering -them? Have you ever sold any of the bread -that was given you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, sah, a man mus’ live.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, but the bread was given you to live on.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, sah, money is better dan bread. You ask -for bread and dey give you a stone.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Not in this case. The bread was excellent. -Do you know, Mr. Hamilton, I believe you are -liable to be prosecuted for obtaining Mr. Tring’s -gift under false pretences.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, sah, not false. I am a faitful sojer in de -Lawd’s army, sah, faitful an’ joyful. Old Joybells -dey call me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Still, this time I’m afraid you stepped aside. -I will ask Mr. Tring what he would like done -about it. At any rate, you won’t get any more -<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>bread given you for the present. I’ll see to that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“God bless you, sah. De Lawd giveth, an’ de -Lawd taketh away.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>All novelties are interesting to One Who is Seeing -Life, but novelty is unfortunately an elusive -phantom to pursue. After a fortnight spent in inquiry, -the gardener began to feel his heart sink at -the mention of flour. He suffered from the gift of -enthusiasm, in place of the gift of interest, and enthusiasm -is like the seed that fell upon stony ground, -the suns of monotony scorch it quickly. To do the -gardener justice, it must be admitted that there was -very little left to do. Union Town was not very -long in adjusting itself to the emergency. Nigger -huts are quickly built, and even the villas of the -coffee-coloured aristocracy, the most serious sufferers -from the disaster, are not the work of ages. The -Post Office continued to lie upon its face in the High -Street, but the bare feet of the people soon trod a -path around it. Government House remained huddled -in a heap upon its own cellars, but Governors, -after all, are not human, and it makes but little difference -to the population to hear of its viceroy sleeping -under canvas.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In the gardener’s mind, during the past fortnight, -the suffragette had had Union Town as a serious -rival. His vanity was a little hurt by her continued -lack of appreciation of a great man. He would -have liked, while still on crutches, to have met her -searching among the ruins for him. So for a little -<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>while he posed as being in love with his work. But -when Union Town began to retire into the background, -the suffragette stepped forward into insistent -prominence. She triumphed finally one night in -the verandah of the St. Maurice Hotel, after dinner. -It was a night without a flaw, every star spoke the -right word, and the moon was a poem unspeakable. -Fireflies starred the garden.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c005'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>The stars and fireflies dance in rings,</div> - <div class='line'>The fireflies set my heart alight,</div> - <div class='line'>Like fingers, writing magic things</div> - <div class='line'>In flame upon the wall of night.</div> - <div class='line'>There is high meaning in the skies</div> - <div class='line'>(The stars and fireflies—high and low),</div> - <div class='line'>And all the spangled world is wise</div> - <div class='line'>With knowledge that I almost know ...</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll have to return to the search,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What for?” asked Courtesy, who always liked -everything explained.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“For the suffragette,” he replied. “I’m tired of -being respectable and in doubt.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Luckily the priest had changed his table since -Courtesy had changed her company. He sat at the -far end of the verandah, with his back to every one. -His righteousness had subsided to some extent since -the earthquake, but he still looked on the gardener -as a hopelessly lost lamb. Such a shepherd as the -priest may yearn towards the lost lamb, but would -rather not sit at the same table with it.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If you start that silly game again, gardener,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>said Courtesy, “you’ll have to throw over Mr. -Twing’s job. Why can’t you leave the girl alone? -She can’t have been killed, because there are no -white people left unidentified. Why can’t you stick -to one thing?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have no glue in me,” replied the gardener. -“I’m glad of it; there could be nothing duller than -sticking to one thing. Besides, there’s nothing left -to stick to. There was only half an hour’s work to -do yesterday, although I spent three hours over -it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust shot a fountain of tobacco smoke into -the air as a sign that she intended to speak. The -priest liked Mrs. Rust, because his own tolerance of -her vagaries made him feel so broad-minded. He -liked to smile at her roguishly when she took a small -whisky and soda; he liked to hand her the matches -when she smoked; he liked to write to his sister at -home: “One comes in contact with a worldly set -out here, but if one is careful to keep one’s mind -open, one finds points of contact undreamt of at -home in one’s own more thoughtful set.” If the -gardener had been a drunkard instead of being in -love, the priest would have liked him better. But -the gardener posed as being a non-drinker and a -non-smoker on principle. Really the taste of spirits -or of tobacco smoke made him feel sick.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am going to leave Union Town myself,” said -Mrs. Rust. “I know of a car I could hire to-morrow. -I will help you in your search, gardener, although -<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>she strikes me as being a totally unattractive -young woman.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We had arranged to go to the hotel in Spanish -City next Wednesday by the nine train,” said -Courtesy in a reproachful voice; “and from there -to Alligator Bay, and then in a car round the Island. -I daresay other plans might be made, but you should -have let me know sooner.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No plans need be made,” said the gardener rebelliously. -“We might just get the car, and start -now in the cool.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ass!” observed Courtesy simply. “Mrs. -Rust’s lace scarf won’t be dry enough to iron till to-morrow. -I will see whether we can start the next -day.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>To disobey Courtesy was unthinkable. The gardener -gritted his teeth at the stars, because he would -have to see them again before he could start on his -search. <em>Now</em> was the only time for the gardener; -<em>then</em> hardly counted; and <em>presently</em> was a word he -failed to acknowledge.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Anyway, you don’t either of you know where to -look for her,” said Courtesy, that practical girl.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She’ll be at Alligator Bay,” said Mrs. Rust. -“They’ve got a picture gallery there.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She’ll be somewhere in the hills,” said the gardener. -“She would always go up.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I entirely disagree with you,” retorted Mrs. -Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Anyway, it seems hot on sea-level,” said -<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>Courtesy. “We’d better go up to where it’s supposed -to be cool. I’m told the Ridge Pension, High -Valley, has a good cook, but the New Hotel, at Greyville, -is also well spoken of.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Fortunately thirty-six hours, though they may -stretch half-way to eternity, never succeed in covering -the whole distance. A moment arrived when -the three, bristling with travellers’ trifles, met the -waiting car at the nearest spot in the ruined High -Street to which cars could penetrate. And then followed -a long series of dancing moments. Little village -ports strung like beads along the coast; thatched -huts thrown together by a playful fate; waterfalls -like torn shreds of gauze draped on the nakedness of -the hills; logwood plantations, banana plantations, -sugar plantations, yam plantations.... Then as the -approaching hills began to usurp more and more of -the sky, the road cut through a high and low land; -hand in hand with a very blue river, it threaded a -great grey crack in the island; high cliffs yearned -towards each other on either side; a belt of pale sky -followed the course from above. Then out into the -sun and wild woods, with ferns and flowering trees -beckoning beautifully from all sides. And then -long hills, a road that doubled back at every hundred -yards, with a great changing view, growing bigger, -on the right hand or the left, as the course of the road -decided. Little brown villages clung desperately to -the hill-side; gardens of absurd size balanced themselves -<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>on almost perpendicular slopes; paths of red -mud, disdaining the winding subterfuges of the road, -sprang from angle to angle, like children playing at -independence beside a plodding mother.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Towards the afternoon a blue-black cloud crept -suddenly over a summit, and emptied itself with -passion upon the travellers. In a minute the waterproof -hood of the car was proved unworthy of its -name; the screen in front became less transparent -than a whirlpool; the road went mad and believed -itself to be a mountain torrent. The wet wrath of -heaven began to make itself felt even down Mrs. -Rust’s neck.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is disgraceful,” said Mrs. Rust. “Courtesy, -do something at once.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>No doubt Courtesy would have risen to the occasion, -but for once Heaven was quicker. The sun -suddenly shouldered its way round the intruding -cloud, and made one great shining jewel of the world. -Park View, that forward house, residence of the retiring -Miss Brown, stood bold upon the sky-line.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener’s heart did not leap within him when -he saw Park View. Only in books does Fate disguised -stir the heart to such activity. In real life, -when I stumble on the little thing that is to change -my life, I merely kick it aside, and hurry on.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In case you should think that by bringing my -travellers to Greyville I make the long arm of coincidence -unduly attenuated, I must add that there -<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>are only two tourist centres on the hills of the Island—Greyville -and High Valley—and that almost -everybody visits both.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was now posing as a Seeker, and instinctively -his eyes took on the haggard look that -belongs to the pose. As he mounted the steps of -the New Hotel verandah, the lady novelist thought, -“What an interesting young man!” When, however, -she saw Mrs. Rust’s hair, her notebook trembled -in her pocket. The Treasure had left, and as -to the other Americans, she had practically drunk -their cup of copy dry.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Charles,” she said to the woolly black waiter -when he brought her tea, “will you put those new -people at my table?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, please, missis,” replied Charles, who, being -a head waiter at seventeen, was suffering from -the glamour of power. “Shall sit dem wid Mistah -Van Biene.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>A fraction of the proceeds of the lady novelist’s -last novel, however, soon silenced the authority of -Charles.</p> - -<p class='c009'>And after all it was Mrs. Rust who sought acquaintance -first, at breakfast in the cool verandah -next morning.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There was a lizard in my bath,” said Mrs. Rust. -“Disgraceful! Why can’t you exterminate your -vermin?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>This was hard on the lady novelist, who screamed -for Charles whenever she saw anything moving anywhere, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>but she bore the injustice with a beautiful patience.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What do you think of the Island in general?” -she asked. “I can tell by your face that your opinion -would be worth having.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She might have added that she could tell this, not -so much by Mrs. Rust’s face as by her hair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t think of the Island if I can help it,” -retorted Mrs. Rust after some thought, during -which she sought in vain for some adequately startling -reply. “That earthquake—on my first day—a -revolting exhibition.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, were you in Union for the earthquake? I -am collecting the reports of intelligent people who -were there. I am sure your adventures must have -been worth recording.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“On the contrary,” replied Mrs. Rust, “the -whole thing was absurdly overrated. My nerves -remained perfectly steady throughout.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener, the only person who might have -cast a doubt upon this statement, was not present. -Still posing as the strenuous seeker, he had gone -for a walk before breakfast.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There is a great glitter about morning in the hills -which drags the optimist for long walks in the small -hours upon an empty stomach, and causes even the -pessimist to attack his grape fruit at breakfast with -a jovial trill. The little tables on the verandah of -the New Hotel have a glamour of heaped bright -fruit upon white linen. In the garden the tangerines -<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>grow radiantly among their shining sober green, the -butterflies blow across the pale young grass. There -is a salmon-pink azalea, whose smile attracts the -humming-birds, and a riotous clump of salvia. -There is a benevolent John Crow, who strikes attitudes -upon the roof of the annex, and stands for -hours with his ragged wings spread open to the sun, -as he surveys the diamond world. Really he is hoping -that you will fall dead over your breakfast, but -you lose this thought in the glitter of a hill morning. -For the sake of your own peace of mind, never get -close enough to a John Crow to see his gargoyle face. -Content yourself with admiring his barbaric grace -from a distance, and forget why he is there.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy was characteristically still in bed. She -never was one to hear the call of a singing world.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener came in with eyes crinkled by the -sun, and his hair standing up in a spirited way all -over the top of his head. Did you know that it is -possible to be a specialist in posing without giving -thought to the appearance?</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You look as if you had been fighting,” snapped -Mrs. Rust. “Disgraceful state of hair.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish I had,” replied the gardener. “I could -fight beautifully at this moment. I never knew -what it was to breathe until this morning.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Air is indeed a blessing” said the lady novelist. -“I have a passion for air. I sometimes think I -should die without it. How interesting to meet any -one who loves fighting. You ought to be a soldier. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>I myself am a peace-loving woman, but I often have -quarrels forced upon me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let me conduct them for you,” suggested the -gardener, wrestling with his grape fruit. “Show -me the enemy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish I could. I think I will,” said the lady. -“I came to Greyville to stay with a dear friend, and -a young woman, of no standing whatever, picked -up anyhow and anywhere, not only turned me out of -my friend’s house, but now insists on my moving -two of my trunks from the sick-room.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, there is a sick-room, is there?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, my friend’s little nephew is ill.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But didn’t your friend protest? Has the young -woman a hypnotic power over her?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My friend is very weak. The young woman is -only a sort of second-rate children’s nurse, apparently.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And do you want to go back there?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, I prefer to be here. But it is so undignified -not to be consulted.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s very true,” said the gardener, whose interest -was beginning to wane.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That road below is as crowded and as noisy as -Piccadilly,” said Mrs. Rust. “Disgraceful.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Market day,” replied the novelist rapturously. -“Such a blaze of colour. Such a babel of -tongues....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And so smelly, I am sure,” said Mrs. Rust. “I -am going to market.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>“Let’s all go to market,” added the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>An hour had to be allowed for Courtesy to have -her breakfast, and for Mrs. Rust to don her panama. -Mrs. Rust, though not averse to startling any one -of her own colour, had a secret distaste for the naïve -criticisms of the niggers on her strange hair. The -Islanders were not aware that dyed hair was the -apex of modern fashion; they looked upon it, poor -things, as a deformity, and a most amusing one. -Mrs. Rust had been obliged to invest in a perfect -beehive of a hat for wear in such ignorant parts.</p> - -<p class='c009'>So four more units joined the stream of marketers -along the red road. In spite of Mrs. Rust’s panama, -the niggers laughed. Niggers always laugh unless -they cry, and the lunatic ways of white women provide -a source of amusement that never fails, although -white women have been on the Island for -three hundred years. Some of the marketers actually -had to remove their baskets of fruit—crowned -with boots—from their heads, to give free -play to their sense of humour. Every nigger wears -his boots upon his head. It is, I suppose, as much a -disgrace not to own them as it is a discomfort to wear -them.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The appearance of the market was like a maniac -garden, and the sound of it was like a maniac rookery. -By way of compensation to the niggers for -their individual ugliness, Providence has granted -to them an unconscious beauty in the matter of grouping -themselves. A nigger by herself looks like a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>comic picture post card, a lot of niggers together look -like the picture that many master-hands have tried -to paint.</p> - -<p class='c009'>My senses tingle even now with the welter of -sun and sound and smell and colour, that constitutes -an Island market.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You meet every one in Greyville here,” said -the lady novelist to the gardener. “I will introduce -you to the enemy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener agreed absent-mindedly. He was -helping Courtesy to buy baskets. The Island is the -paradise of basket lovers. Those hearts are rare -which do not thrill at the sight of a plaited basket in -many colours, and I believe that nobody ever left -the Island without succumbing to the charm. I suppose -the reason why Island baskets never get on to -the market at home is that everybody loves them so -much, they never part with them. Courtesy, who -always loved the popular thing, had been very busy -buying baskets since the first moment of her arrival.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Rust was busily occupied in refusing to buy -anything. “Buy a pine? Why should I? I -loathe pines. Lace? No, I won’t buy lace, my underclothes -are already overcrowded with it. What’s -that? A basket to keep my letters in. I keep my -letters behind the fire. Why, gardener—look—here’s——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Mr. Gardener,” tittered the novelist, “here is -the enemy behind you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>“You dream,” said the gardener, “I’ve been -looking for you everywhere.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>With an amiable smile the suffragette allowed her -hand to be shaken an enormous number of times. -She was looking plainer than the gardener had expected. -With the pretty obtuseness of men, he had -in his dreams forgotten that brown hat with the -weary flowers in it. He had imagined her dressed -in blue, he had thought her eyes were blue to match, -he had created a little curl in her hair. Yet somehow -he was not disappointed. For he had also forgotten -in his dreams the comfort that lies in lack of -ornament. It isn’t love that makes the world go -round, it’s the optimism of men.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why, it’s quite nice to see you again,” said the -suffragette in a voice of surprise.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Courtesy,” shouted the gardener, “from this -moment I’m not a fit companion for Mrs. Rust. -Courtesy says I’m not respectable when I’m with -you,” he added to the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t see anything very disreputable in your -behaviour with me,” she replied. “But it’s only -for a little while, Courtesy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, Lor’, no,” said Courtesy. “He’s come to -stop.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I haven’t,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener would never have put into words -the appeal that came into his eyes.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes,” said the suffragette, “you are thinking -<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>that I am growing more and more militant every -time you see me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I was not,” he answered, “I was wondering how -I could manage to see you apart from all this noise.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Quite easily. You can walk back to Park View -with me now. I have got the oranges for Albert.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So they squeezed out of the market-place, and side -by side paced the avenue of donkeys which on market -days lines the village street.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What are you waiting for?” asked the gardener. -“What’s wrong with me? When will you -want me?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It isn’t you I don’t want. It’s what you stand -for. Possibly I haven’t mentioned to you that I am -a suffragette of a special kind. A cat that walks by -itself.... Or rather perhaps it is presumptuous of -me to lay claim to cathood. I have only walked -such a little way. I am an elderly kitten, say, walking -by itself.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But if all suffragettes were like you, it would -certainly be an argument against the franchise. For -what would become of England?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“God forbid that all suffragettes should be like -me. I am a fanatic, a rather silly thing to be.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I know what you are waiting for,” said the gardener. -“Heaven! you want so much beside the -Vote, and you’ll never get what you want this side of -heaven.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“God forbid that I should want heaven,” said the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>suffragette. “Heaven is not made for women. -Why, the very archangels are men.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why won’t you have me? We could get married -to-morrow. Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Because I am too busy. Because there is a superfluity -of women, and as I am not a real woman—only -an idea—I’d better sit out. Because I am -conceited and couldn’t bear my pride to have a fall—at -your expense. Because you don’t know me and -I don’t know you. Because it’s better to live alone -with an ideal than coupled with a fact. Now I’m -sick of talking about myself, it makes me feel sugary, -as though I’d been swallowing golden syrup neat.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But before you retire into your militancy, tell -me,” said the gardener, “do you think you will ever -recognise this bond between us?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There is no bond between us.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There is love between us.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m sorry, but it’s not mutual.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Love is an automatically mutual thing.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then I’m afraid that proves that whatever may -be between us is not love. Here is Park View.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Damn Park View!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Words are supposed to be a woman’s luxury, but -it always seems to me that men put a more touching -faith in argument than ever women did. I believe -the gardener thought that if Park View had been five -miles farther on, he might have made a woman of -the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>“And what do you expect me to do now?” he -asked pathetically.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Get busy,” advised the suffragette, “somewhere -else. Dear little gardener, remember that this road -has been trodden before. Being young is a devastating -time, anyway. It always comforts me to think -that there are crowds before and behind me, and that -even a cow has had a delirious calfhood. After all, -the past is such a little thing, one can drown it in a -drop. And the future is so big.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s what I complain of—the size of the future.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, no, don’t. Size is space and space is -growth. Good gracious, what a prig I am becoming!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“For God’s sake, come and fill up a little corner -of my big future, then. You little thing, I could -hold you in my hand.... And you can hold me with -no hand at all, but only with your heart.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good-bye.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But why? Why?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She was climbing the steep drive. She never -looked round. She always looked up.</p> - -<p class='c009'>With excellent intentions the suffragette had, I -think, succeeded in killing her heart. She was so -heartless that even the hole where her heart should -have been was a very shallow one. Some rudimentary -emotion turned in her breast as she walked -up the drive, and if she could have had the gardener -<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>as a friend, she would have turned even then and tendered -him the friendly mailed fist of the independent -woman. But if one is a fanatic, one cannot also -be a lover. She suffered from the cold humility that -sometimes attacks women. Every morning she occupied -three minutes in the thankless task of pinning -her hair into a shape conformable with convention’s -barest requirements, and was then confronted with -her own thin short face, white—but not white like -a flower as the face of a beloved woman should be; -her small eyes, grey—but not grey like the sea; her -straight and drooping hair, made out of the ashes of -the flame that burns in real women’s hair; her thin -pressed lips, her hard set chin, the little defiant wrinkles -over her brows.... It was impossible for her -to believe that such a thing could be indispensable to -any eyes. Her attitude towards the paradox was -always sceptical, and the idea that there is nothing a -woman can offer as a substitute for such a small gift -as herself was beyond her. The little ordinary fiery -things of youth had been shorn out of her life, she -had been crushed by the responsibility of being a -woman and a devotee.</p> - -<p class='c009'>No man would believe that such a woman exists. -The pathetic vanity of man would never be convinced -that any woman could prefer her own independence -to his kisses.</p> - -<p class='c009'>By the time the suffragette had reached the front -door of Park View, the interview with the gardener -was but a pulse beating at the back of her mind.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>Miss Brown, looking as nearly dishevelled as a -persistently Real Lady could possibly look, was -standing in the hall, ankle-deep in her own prostrate -property. Trunks yawned on every side, highly respectable -dresses, like limp ghosts of Miss Brown -herself, embellished every chair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And I haven’t even begun on Albert’s books -yet.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The more of Albert’s books we leave behind -the better,” replied the suffragette. “I have got -him <cite>Treasure Island</cite> to read on the boat, and he -might take that one on Chemistry for Sundays.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m sure I don’t know how you manage Albert,” -said Miss Brown. “I could never even get him to -read the Bible. It really looks as if Providence had -sent you to us at this crisis.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Providence would never have chosen a militant -suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, but really one wouldn’t notice your opinions,” -said Miss Brown in an encouraging voice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What about Scottie?” asked the suffragette. -“Has anybody thought what is going to happen to -him?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I haven’t thought of any details,” answered Miss -Brown. “The doctor’s orders were so sudden, they -altogether upset me. I suppose Scottie can be -left with John.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hope he won’t,” said the suffragette. “I -caught John using Scottie as a target yesterday. He -scored two bull’s-eyes before I got there.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>“I can’t think what to do with him. There is nobody -but Mr. Wise, and he already has a fierce bulldog. -Have you any ideas?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, one. I have a sort of friend on the Island. -If I left Scottie with him, he would act as a brake in -the pursuit, because of the difficulties of quarantine.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t quite follow your meaning,” said Miss -Brown, not unnaturally. “I didn’t know you had a -gentleman friend on the Island.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I haven’t. But I’m sure he will be kind to -Scottie.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Very late that night, when Courtesy, Mrs. Rust, -the gardener, and an unknown young man picked -up at the club by the gardener, were playing Bridge -in the verandah, a very young boy with a very fat -dog appeared, asking for Mr. Gardener. The boy -was too well educated to be afraid of duppies. The -solid Scottie, too, was felt to be a sound defence -against the supernatural.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What is this?” asked the gardener, who had -assumed the melancholy pose of the Rejected One, -and had unconsciously acquired a sad sweet smile to -correspond. Even on his death-bed the gardener -will pose as a dying man.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The young boy put a note into his hand, and -dragged Scottie from the shadow where he had -modestly seated himself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“By Jove,” said the unknown young man, who -happened to be Mr. Wise. “It’s Scottie, the Park -View dog.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>The gardener literally burst the envelope open. -The enclosure said: “Dear Gardener—Will you -please keep Scottie until I ask you for him again.—Your -fairly sincere suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The note went round the Bridge Table.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have always wondered,” said Mrs. Rust, -“whether politics were really good for women. -Now I am sure that they have an unhinging tendency. -What does it mean?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It means that they are going on an expedition,” -said Courtesy. “They want the dog looked after -for a day or two.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why, but Park View is a regular palace in Greyville,” -said Mr. Wise. “There are three servants -in it, all competent to look after Scottie for a day or -two.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I shall have to do what she says,” said the gardener. -“The suffragette’s only fault is that she -leaves almost too much to the imagination.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The boy had vanished.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Better go round and ask for an explanation,” -said Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He must play out these doubled lilies,” said -Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It must be nearly twelve,” said Mr. Wise. -“The cocks have been crowing for an hour.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Island cock proclaims the night rather than -the day. Not even a cock can feel much enthusiasm -for such a tyrant as the Trinity Island sun.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I can’t go now,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>But next morning at breakfast he said, “I daren’t -go now.” He had hardly slept at all, and looked -white. The light of the Seeker had gone out of his -eyes, there had been no wish in him for a wild walk in -the early sun. He was not even posing. He had -been pathetically late for breakfast, and Mrs. Rust -and the lady novelist had disappeared to read the -<cite>English Review</cite> and the <cite>Lady’s Pictorial</cite> respectively -on the front verandah.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why daren’t you?” asked Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, Courtesy—she’s beaten me. She’s left -me without hope.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy took several mouthfuls of porridge before -she replied, “You’re young yet, gardener. -And she isn’t so extra unique, after all. If you like, -I’ll go round and ask for an explanation of the dog.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You don’t know the way,” said the gardener -tragically.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was lucky that Mr. Wise at that moment arrived -in his buggy to invite Courtesy and Mrs. Rust -(if she wasn’t too tired) for a drive. The buggy -was a single one, and held two only, so there was a -transparency about his motives which did him credit. -Courtesy never even passed on the invitation to Mrs. -Rust, and the owner of the vehicle failed to repeat -it.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Armed with her inevitable box of sweets, Courtesy -set forth on her romance.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ripping woods,” she said, as the sun winked -through the delicate lace of the forest.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>“Ripping,” agreed Mr. Wise. “But full of -ticks.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy suffered that beautiful shock that attacks -a woman when she first realises that the man -by her side is an uncommon person, and that he holds -the same view about herself. She offered him a -chocolate cream.</p> - -<p class='c009'>They went to Park View by the longest way possible, -but I think the nearest approach to romance -that they reached was when Courtesy said, “Oh, -Lor’, I am enjoying myself!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>And Mr. Wise replied, “So am I. I hope you’ll -come again.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>When they reached Park View they were neither -of them observant enough to notice the forsaken look -of the house.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll just go and tackle that funny little -suffragette,” said Courtesy. “I won’t be half a -mo.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She looked back and smiled at him as she climbed -the drive.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Dey all gone, missis,” said John, who was sitting -in the hall, reading the letters out of the waste-paper -basket.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Gone? Where to?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Gone to Lunnon Town to see a doctah man, -please, missis.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Union Town, you mean.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, please thank you, missis. Gone lars’ night -to catch a big steamboat.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>“How many of them went?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Missis Brown, and Mars’ Albert, an’ de visitor-missis.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you know their address? Where are you -forwarding their letters to?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>John laughed shrilly at this joke.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Carn’t say, please, missis. Post-missis wouldn’t -send me de letters, now de fambly gone.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Island is the home of elusive information.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What’s the matter with the woman, anyway?” -said Courtesy, as she remounted the buggy. “I -never can understand a woman that doesn’t know her -vocation.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What is her vocation?” asked Mr. Wise.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ou, I don’t know,” giggled Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think all women ought to marry,” said Mr. -Wise. “Somehow it keeps them softer.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It wouldn’t make a hard woman soft,” said -Courtesy. “Only all the soft women do marry.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you consider——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ou, Lor’, this is a killing conversation!” interrupted -the lady. “Let’s talk about something else.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“All right. That’s a very pretty dress you’ve got -on.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>They found the gardener sitting on tenterhooks -on the verandah, pulling Scottie’s ears.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What did she say?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She didn’t. She’s gone to London.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hope they’ll take care of Westminster Abbey,” -said Mrs. Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>The gardener said nothing.</p> - -<p class='c009'>By this time the suffragette was putting romance -behind her by means of a little boat limping across -a heavy sea. Compared to the <em>Caribbeania</em>, this -boat was like my suffragette compared with Mr. -Shakespeare’s Desdemona. There was rust on the -little boat’s metal, and her paint still bore memories -of London smuts. The purser was occasionally to -be seen in his shirt sleeves, and the Captain had a -button off his coat.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest was on board, returning to his flock, -overflowing with material for sermons. By mutual -consent he and the suffragette ignored each other. -He made an attempt to approach Albert, with his -special children’s manner, but that cultured youth -quickly silenced him. So he occupied himself in trying -to save the soul of the second officer, a docile -youth, of humble and virtuous tendency.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Within two days the little boat reached the Isthmus -which has lately been converted into one of the -wonders of the world.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My poor Albert,” said the suffragette. “I’m -afraid the doctor says you mustn’t go to see the -Canal. It’s so dusty. And you know such a lot -about it, don’t you? It is disappointing.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I dow quite edough about it,” replied Albert. -“I have do wish whatever to see it. I dow every -detail of its codstructiod.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s all right, then. The doctor says when -it’s cool after dark, you may walk as far as the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>gardens behind the quay, and listen to the band.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do dot wish to hear the badd. I wish you ad -Ah-Bargaret to go away for the whole day, ad let -the youggest stewardess cob ad sit with be. She is -a charbig persod, ad it would be very good for you -to see the Cadal.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>In Albert’s eyes the halo of the suffragette was to -some extent evaporating. Her attitude towards science -alienated him in his capacity as an educated man, -although as a child in pain he still clung to her. And -she had that morning offended him by buying him a -bottle of sweets from the barber’s shop.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I really thigk you sobetibes forget I ab do -logger a baby,” he observed, and forthwith began -to lay great stress on the charm of the youngest -stewardess.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Brown was delighted at the fall of her -nephew’s latest idol.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’d better come away,” she said. “Let’s -go and see the Canal. If you stay with Albert when -he is displeased, you get on his nerves.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So they landed on the quay of one of the two -terrible towns that guard the entrances of the Canal. -They paid a great price and manned a train that cost -humanity a very great price indeed to create. That -train is built of dead men, the embankment on which -it runs has largely peopled purgatory, the very sleepers -might as well be coffins, yet the train moves with -the same callous rhythm as the train from Surbiton -to Waterloo. In it you may see the calm inheritors -<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>of the fatal past sit upon spread handkerchiefs upon -the smutty seats, and stick their tickets in their hats -that the passing of the conductor may not disturb -their train of thought; and all as if there were no -ghosts to keep them company. Only outside the -windows you can see the haunted land, white water -enveloping a dead forest, ashen trees suffering slow -drowning, tall grey birds standing amid floating desolation, -and the Canal, a strip of successful tragedy, -creeping between its treacherous red banks. The -train leaves the Canal for a while, and returns to find -it in a different mood. The First Lock is the crown -of that great endeavour. I am assured that much -more genius has been spent on the Cuts than on the -Locks, but to you and me, ignorantly seeking copy, -the First Lock triumphantly dominating the weary -water-way, seems like the seal of success, as if Man -had built this stupendous thing as a barrier between -him and failure.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When you see the Lock you feel like an ant seen -through the wrong end of a telescope. The suffragette, -as she stood on the iron way that goes along -the top edge of one of the gates, had to think of all -the biggest things she had ever imagined to keep -herself from dwindling out of existence. Even -Women’s Rights grew small in the light of this man-made -immensity. She was standing on the highest -gate, and she could look across a perspective of three -empty cube-worlds, at the white Canal and the white -sea beyond it.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>“Really,” she said, “there is very little to choose -between God and Man.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good gracious me, what a thing to say!” said -Miss Brown, bridling. “God could knock all this -down with one stroke.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He couldn’t knock down the spirit that would -make man build it up again. Why do we pray to a -Creator, if we can ourselves create?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think you had better come out of the sun,” said -Miss Brown coldly. “I am feeling a little sick myself.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But on their way across the gate back to the white -paving that borders the Lock, they found their way -blocked by the priest, who was advancing in the opposite -direction.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It is impossible for a stout Miss Brown and a stout -priest to pass each other on this route. Two suffragettes -might have passed, but fortunately for the -Isthmus there was only one present.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I will retire,” said the priest. “Place aux -dames, yerce, yerce.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, how good of you!” said Miss Brown, -bridling. “I am sorry to put you to such inconvenience.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>With a jocular reference or two to goods trains at -a shunting station the priest retired from the -dilemma. But when they had all reached the safety -of the broad paving again he seemed to have shed -his desire to cross the gate. He was by himself, -which he detested; there were countless morals to be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>humorously drawn from the Canal, and nobody to -point them out to.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is a marvel of workmanship, is it not?” -he said to Miss Brown, pointedly excluding the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Brown agreed, and asked whether he had -felt pretty well on the voyage so far. Thus the -Canal introduced them, and when the acquaintance -was safely formed, Miss Brown strove to introduce -the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yerce, yerce,” said the priest hurriedly. “We -have met before. An introduction is unnecessary.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Fortunately for the suffragette she saw a dog at -a little distance, and hurried to speak to it. The dog -is blessedly cosmopolitan. Wherever you may meet -him he speaks your home tongue to you, and his eyes -are the eyes of a friend in a strange land.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette and the dog walked along the side -of the Lock some twenty yards behind their elders -and betters, and the suffragette watched her character -falling in shreds between them. Some people like -safe hunting, and there is no prey so defenceless as -prey that is not there. The priest’s conscience had -been for some time accumulating reasons why the -modest Miss Brown should be warned of the true -character of her immodest companion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette allowed them half an hour to finish -the destruction, and joined them at the train, when -the dog reluctantly remembered another engagement.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The party returned to the town in dead silence. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>At the station the priest left them, with promises to -come and read to Albert. The suffragette and Miss -Brown made their way across the gardens to the quay. -Under a great palm, Miss Brown stopped tragically, -and spoke to her companion for the first time since -leaving the Lock.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I trusted you,” she said, rather dramatically, -though, of course, she was too ladylike for melodrama. -“I gave you my hospitality, I succoured you -when you needed help (this was an echo of the -priest), and all the while you deceived me, you took -advantage of my kindness.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly you were all that to me,” said the suffragette -mildly, “and certainly I am very grateful -for all your kindness. But I don’t remember deceiving -you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are an immoral woman,” said Miss Brown, -with a great effort, “and you never told me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is hardly expected that I should have told you -that. Partly because it would have been silly, and -partly because it would have been quite untrue.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No one could dislike gossip more than I do,” -said Miss Brown, who loved it. “But a priest is a -priest, and this one is such a truly nice man, so good-hearted, -never said a word yesterday when the steward -upset the soup into his lap. Why did you never -tell me that you travelled from England in company -with a man who was not your husband?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Now the suffragette, though she was distrustful of -the reasoning of men, seldom failed to see the point -<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>of view of a woman, even though that woman was an -anti. She specialised in feminism, and in her eyes to -be a woman was in itself a good argument.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Of course I ought to have told you, Miss -Brown,” she said in a warmer voice than was usual -with her. “As a matter of fact it never occurred to -me that the thing was worth telling, but that, I admit, -is no excuse. I do see that I have been accepting -your kindness under false pretences. It is perhaps -useless to say I am sorry, and worse than useless to -tell you that I would rather die than be married, and -that I would rather be hanged than live unmarried -with a man. Still I admit I allowed all the fools on -the <em>Caribbeania</em> to think I was also such a fool as to -be married. I will not bother you again, Miss -Brown, I will keep out of your way as much as possible -on the boat. It’s only a fortnight.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Brown was mollified, and when she spoke -again it was like the angel Gabriel sympathising with -the difficulties of a beetle. “Of course if you are -penitent,” she said, “I should like to help you to retrace -as far as possible the false step you have taken. -I believe there are Homes.... But perhaps you -had better not come near Albert.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The little boat was indulging in a two days’ rest -at the Isthmus. It is a problem worthy of the superwoman -to avoid a fellow-passenger on a small boat in -port. The bearable space on board becomes limited -to inches. The side nearest the quay affords nothing -but coal-dust to breathe, the other side allows a small -<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>percentage of air to dilute the coal-dust. There is no -scope for choice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>After-dinner, however, Miss Brown settled down -to play chess with Albert. Chess with Miss Brown -is a most satisfactory game, a crescendo of “Checks” -leading to a triumphant “Mate” in a delightfully -short time.</p> - -<p class='c009'>So the suffragette went on shore to listen to the -band.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Isthmus band is as gaudy in attire as it is -sombre in complexion, and it plays to a stratum of -society as striking to the eye as any in the world. -The Isthmus is the centre of nigger fashion. Here, -under the glare and the flare of a hot night in the -season, you may see the effect of a layer of civilisation -on an aboriginal worship of colour. Crimson, gold, -and silver are the prevailing motifs. As to the coiffure -of the ladies, for every plait to be found on a -Trinity Island head there are half a dozen on the -Isthmus. There is something uniquely wicked in the -appearance of rouge and powder on a mahogany -ground. The look of vice which the Parisian or -London lady strives to attain by means of a shopful -of cosmetics can be acquired by the lady-nigger with -one dab of the flour-dredger. Once more I pause to -ask when we may expect the decree that we must further -conceal our incurable virtue by means of a complexion -dyed copper colour.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a moon, and there were stars standing -aloof in the sky; and there were many lights about -<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>the garden. There were shrill brass voices everywhere, -and the band was playing that tune of resigned -sentimentality, “My Old Kentucky Home.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette felt slightly drunk. She had had -a day of emotions, and it was an unusual and intoxicating -experience for her to find her emotions escaping -from the iron bound cask in which she kept them. -She felt totally irresponsible, and when the priest -came along, looking as conceited as the moon, and as -sentimentally benign as the stars, she discovered a -lunatic longing to tear the hat from his head and -stamp upon it, to make him look a fool, to prick his -pride; not because of any personal enmity—or so -she thought—but because he seemed eternally on -the side of sanity and of yesterday, and barred the -path of young and mad modernity. She approached -him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest suddenly perceived in front of him a -soul dangerously in need of salvation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My dear young lady, I have been seeking an opportunity -for a quiet chat with you, yerce, yerce. -Whatever you may think of me, I assure you that I -am not the hard and inhuman man you think me. I -should be only too thankful to be of service to you. -Let us sit on that quiet seat, away from the crowd.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is good of you to risk contamination,” said the -suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My calling leads me among the publicans and -sinners,” said the priest. “It is not my business to -divide the sheep from the goats.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>“Not your business, but your pleasure,” suggested -the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest stiffened.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish you had not hardened your heart against -my help,” he said. “Believe me, I have every sympathy -with a young and unprotected woman in your -position. I think sometimes life seems hard on the -weaker sex, yerce, yerce.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is a great honour to be a woman,” said the -suffragette. “Your God certainly turns his back on -the individual, but he is very just to the mass. The -day of women is just dawning.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There may be something in what you say,” observed -the priest, feeling that she was somehow erasing -all that he had meant to say. “I am sure we -shall all be glad to see Woman come into her own. -But....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Men may possess the past, but women have the -future,” continued the suffragette, who was certainly -very much excited. “We have suddenly found what -you have lost—the courage of our convictions. -The art of being a fanatic seems to me to be the -pivot of progress; but men have lost, and women have -caught that blessed disease.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do not see how all this applies to the matter in -hand,” said the priest. “Unless you are trying to -convey to me, by way of an excuse, the craving which -I am told possesses most women of your persuasion—the -craving for fame, the morbid wish to be talked -about.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>“I did not hope to convey anything at all to you. -And certainly not fame, for there is no such thing. -I have seen pigeons sitting on the heads of statues of -great men in London, and I have seen little critics sitting -on their fame. This is a world of isolated people, -and there can be no fame where there is no -mutual understanding.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are oddly pessimistic, and you are also wilfully -evading the point. When I saw you just now, -I hoped that you had repented of your sin and needed -my help.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have committed no sin that would appeal to -you,” said the suffragette. “But that is, of course, -beside the point. What you want is that I should repent -of being myself, and become a sort of inferior -female you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Indeed you have come to hasty and mistaken conclusions -about my intentions,” said the priest, whose -principal virtue was perseverance. “Regarding -your political opinions, I have every sympathy with -your cause, though none for your methods. There -is something so very coarse about militancy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Have you ever tried denying a creature the food -it needs? I think you would find that even a white -mouse would be coarse if you starved it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You may be right. My sister is a member of -the Church League for Women’s Suffrage. Perhaps -you also belong to that sisterhood?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” she answered. “I belong to the Shrieking -Sisterhood.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>“It seems useless for me to try and help you in -this mood,” sighed the priest. “I can only pray that -I may be shown the way to your heart....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have none,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In a garden not five hundred miles away from the -garden in which she sat was the Fact which she had -Forgotten, set in a silver light among the silver trees. -The gardener stood among the pale grape-fruit trees, -with his head back in his usual conceited way, with -his hands in his pockets and his feet in the wet -grass.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is nonsense,” he thought.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She is only half human.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Love for a thing only half human is only half -love.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You can’t build a world out of words, as she tries -to do.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In a thing like love, there is fact and there is -theory. Theory is only falsehood disguised as fact.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She is not a bit pretty.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I believe she would rather make an enemy than -make a friend.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Something has gone wrong with the woman of -to-day. She has left the man behind, but she has not -gone forward.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What have I been about to allow such a woman -to disturb me? I came to this island a king, and I -have made myself a slave.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is youth that has burnt me. I am done with -youth. It is fine to have reached age in theory, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>yet in practice still to have one’s life ahead. My -youth has been a fire in my path, and she has stamped -it out.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The moon explored the spangled sky. The fireless -interwove with the pale purring noises of the -night. The mad still shadows of the palms blotted -the grass.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener went into the verandah firmly posed -as He Who has Passed through Fire, and has -emerged, cured of the silly disease of youth, into a -pale silver light.</p> - -<p class='c009'>For the gardener made his theories, while the -suffragette’s theories made her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was awakened next morning by -the loud noise of Scottie chasing lizards across the -room. Scottie was a bristly Northerner, and never -became really used to the conditions of tropical life. -To this day he labours under the delusion that lizards -are only bald or naked mice, that have deceitfully -changed their smell and their taste.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener thought that he awoke perfectly -light-hearted. He did not recognise the curious -thing that throbbed in the back of his consciousness -as his heart.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He whistled in his bath. He whistled as he came -out on to the verandah for breakfast.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy had risen for early breakfast by mistake.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stopped brooding?” she asked. “Brave boy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Two and two is such a poor formation after all,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>said the gardener. “One and one is much more -comfortable.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy giggled. “There are times,” she said, -“when two and two is ripping. Mr. Wise is coming -up to lunch.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He came up to lunch yesterday. And he’s coming -up to tea to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yesterday and to-morrow are not to-day,” said -Courtesy, that practical girl.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener had not time to ponder, for Mrs. -Rust then appeared. Her complexion was even -more of a contrast to her hair than usual.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I had a letter last night,” she said. “I didn’t -tell you at once, because it’s such a vulgar habit to -blurt out news. I don’t know whether I have mentioned -my son Samuel to you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You have,” said Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“So have I,” added the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“His house has played him false—I knew it -would. One of the ceilings gave way—on to -Samuel. Him and his house—he always was a -fool. I believe he thought the Almighty built his -house for him.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, but what happened to Samuel?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I told you—the ceiling fell on him.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, but what is the result?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, the rest of the house is still standing. It was -only one of the ceilings. He put the billiard table -upstairs, and probably had his rafters made of bamboo.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>“Yes, but I mean what was the result as far as -Samuel was concerned?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He was concussion. There have been one or -two people staying in the house since he started the -atrocious practice of advertising, and they had him -taken to a hospital. My letter is from the matron.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Poor Mrs. Rust,” said Courtesy, “you must be -terribly worried. I suppose you’ll be wantin’ to get -home by the next boat.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” snapped the mother. -“Haven’t you noticed by now that I have iron -nerves. Next boat—indeed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I should have thought——” began Courtesy, -and the gardener kicked her under the table.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There is only one perfectly obvious thing to do,” -said the gardener, “and that is wait till the next mail, -a fortnight hence. Knowing Mrs. Rust as I do, -Courtesy, I am sure she will follow this obvious -course.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Obvious course—indeed,” said Mrs. Rust, -much relieved. “Stuff and nonsense. I shall do -exactly as I please, whether it’s obvious or not. Suppose -I decide to go home by Wednesday’s boat, -what then, young man?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener shook his head. “You won’t, I -know,” he said. “You are too reasonable.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Reason be blowed,” said Mrs. Rust with spirit. -“You don’t know me very well, young man, if you -think I’m like all the other old cats, to be persuaded -by that sort of argument.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>The gardener was now an expert at saving Mrs. -Rust from herself. Although she entangled herself -habitually in contradictions, her real mind was -not subtle enough to be well hidden, and to guide her -action into the path of her desire was a matter that -only required a little delicacy. The gardener, being -a gardener, was always ready with tactful guidance -and unseen support in such matters. In this case, he -would have been surprised if you had told him that -his secret desire pointed the same way as Mrs. Rust’s. -He thought he had killed desire. But he was tired -of the Island, and he had by that mail received a -quarterly instalment of his income.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Courtesy,” said Mrs. Rust, “we sail for home -next Wednesday. Unreasonable—indeed. And -none the worse for that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We have engaged the car for a week from Friday,” -said Courtesy. “Mr. Wise is lunching with -us on Thursday. And the hotel insists on a week’s -notice.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am paying you two hundred a year,” said Mrs. -Rust brutally, “to save me from these vulgar details.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, Lor’,” said Courtesy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But what about Scottie?” asked the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Scottie’s your affair, not mine. I’m not paying -you £200 a year to follow me about.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener is a very difficult person to snub.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Scottie and I are coming gratis.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>And Mrs. Rust said, “Good.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>But the little boat, with the suffragette on board of -her, fled across the Atlantic, as if aware of the projected -pursuit of the great mail steamer.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette, a morose unit on a desert island -of her own making, stood separated from the world -by a gulf of gossip. She used to sit on the poop, -where nobody else would sit, with the wind in -her hair and the sun in her eyes, building theories.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There are some people who can never see a little -cloud of fantasy float across the horizon of their -dreams without building a heavy castle in the air -upon it, and bringing it to earth. Whenever the -suffragette thought of the gardener, she broke the -thought with a theory. It is sad to be burdened with -a brain that must always track illusion to disillusionment. -She had one consolation, one persistent and -glorious contradiction, one shining truth in a welter of -self-questioning:—“I’m alone—I’m alone—I’m -alone....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was not until they had passed the Azores that -a voice from the outer world spoke to her. They -had reached those islands late one moonlit night. -The little square houses, climbing up the hill-side in -orderly ranks, looked like silver bricks in a castle of -dreams. There was a white fringe of breaking -waves threaded between the black sea and the black -land. From the boats that hurried between the -shore and the steamer, little lamps swung and thin -voices cut the darkness. Thundering silence seemed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>to invade the emptiness left by the ceasing of the propeller. -The ceaseless loom that always sang behind -the turmoil of the suffragette’s consciousness spun the -moon into a quiet melody. The still lap of the sea -against the ship’s stern struck the ear like a word -never spoken before. You could hear the gods creating -new things. You could hear the tread of the -stars across the sky.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am sorry to disturb you,” said Miss Brown; -“it’s Albert. I knew something would come of his -going to the fancy-dress dance as Galileo, with such a -thin tunic on; but he is so wilful. And now he has a -high temperature, and a worse pain in his side than -ever. He is crying for you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was a strange sensation for the suffragette, after -all these days of loneliness, to be cried for. Tears, -like all things that belong to women, appealed to her -beyond words.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She found Albert beating on the wall of his cabin. -When he cried—it hurt. When he breathed—it -hurt. When he moved—it hurt. And yet he had -to cry and pant and struggle. There was something -in the suffragette’s plain and ordinary face that acted -as an antidote to Albert’s hectic personality. She -was a poor nurse; her only experience of the sick-room -had been from her own sick-bed. But she had -a cold hand, an imagination which she only allowed -to escape at a crisis, and nerves very difficult to excite. -All that night, while the ship climbed the steep -seas of the Bay, she and the doctor kept something -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>that was very big from invading the little cabin. -The battle was, of course, a losing one. There is -something almost funny in the futility of fighting -Heaven on an issue like this.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I said there should be no death-bed scenes in this -book, so I will only add that after much battling -Albert managed at last to get to sleep, and he died -before he woke.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was there, but she was not needed. -She went away and cried because no one would ever -cry for her again.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She marconied for Miss Brown’s brother to meet -the bereaved aunt at Southampton. And when the -boat reached home, she carried her mustard-coloured -portmanteau up the gangway, and, by disappearing, -closed the incident.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In this wonderful age we do our disappearing by -machinery. Fairy godmothers prefer Rolls-Royce -cars to broomsticks, the pirate employs a submarine -instead of a gallant three-decker, the black sheep of -the piece, instead of donning a mask and confining -the rest of his career to Maidenhead Thicket, books -his passage to a Transatlantic sheepfold on a thirty-knot -liner.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette disappeared by the London train. -By travelling third, she hoped to escape the majority -of her fellow-passengers, and it was not until the -train began to leave the station that she identified a -hitherto unnoticed person opposite to her as the -priest.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>The priest was always overcome by a feeling of -virtue when he travelled third.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“So our modesty is mutual,” he said jovially to -the suffragette. “Yerce, yerce, in England I travel -third on principle. My parish, you know, is in a -poor part of London, and I think a shepherd should -as far as possible share the circumstances of his -flock.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette hovered for a moment over a very -crude flower of repartee dealing with cattle-trucks, -but discarded the idea. She was always cautious, -when she allowed herself time for caution. Her -principle in conversation was, “When in doubt—don’t.” -But being a militant suffragette, she was -seldom in doubt.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest was aggrieved with the suffragette, -partly because he felt obliged to speak to her. He -would have preferred to ignore her, but she had behaved -too well during the last few days. She had -tried as hard to save a life as ever he had tried to -save a soul, and had failed with equal dignity. Inconsistency -annoyed him very much. You must be -one of two things, a sheep or a goat, preferably the -latter until the priest himself had had time to lead -you to the fold. For a confessed goat suddenly to -don wool without any help from him looked very -much like deliberate prevarication. He did not now -know how to classify the suffragette, and not knowing -how to do a thing in which he had specialised was -naturally exasperating.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>“You were asking for my advice about the problem -of your future,” he said, leaning confidentially -towards her. “I have been thinking much about -you, and I believe I have solved the problem.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>I need hardly say that the suffragette never asked -for advice. When circumstances obliged her to follow -the advisable course, she hid her docility like a -sin.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My future always looks after itself, thank you,” -she said in a polite voice, “and so does my past. -It’s old enough.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest stiffened for a moment, but when on -the track of a goat he was hard to check. Besides, -the suffragette’s voice was so low and calm that her -words seemed like a mistake, not to be taken -seriously.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My idea is that you should join in the glorious -campaign against poverty and sin in the slums,” -he continued. “I assure you that peace lies that -way. My sister once had a love affair with a freethinker; -she lost a great deal of weight at the time, -and became almost hysterical. But she followed my -advice, and now runs several social clubs in connection -with my Church in the Brown Borough, North -London, where the poor may buy cocoa and cake -and listen to discourses by earnest Christian -workers.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And what does she weigh now?” asked the suffragette, -after a pause.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She is a splendid example of a Christian -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>woman,” said the priest, “a woman of unwavering -faith, indefatigable in charitable works.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think I shall come down to your parish as an -antidote,” said the suffragette, “the only sort of -Anti I ever could tolerate.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Certainly my suffragette is not worthy to be the -heroine of a book. I must apologise for presenting -a nature so undiluted by any of the qualities that go -to make good fiction. A pun, I admit, is the last -straw, but it is unfortunately a straw occasionally -clutched at by erring humanity, though rarely admitted -by the novelist.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I should not advise you to choose the Brown -Borough for the scene of your endeavour,” said the -priest hurriedly. “There is little scope for workers -unconnected with a church there. I had in my mind -for you the neighbourhood of Southwark, or Walworth, -South London. Much more suitable, yerce, -yerce. The Brown Borough is very unhealthy for -those unaccustomed to London slums.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yet your sister gained weight and lost hysteria -there,” said the suffragette maliciously. “I myself -might be said to have room for improvement on -both these points.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I strongly advise you to choose another parish,” -said the priest, bitterly repenting of his zeal. “So -much excellent work has been done in the Brown -Borough that the majority of the people ought by -now to be on the way to find salvation, both in body -and soul.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>“That’s why I propose to come as an antidote,” -said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The conversation closed itself. They opened -the <cite>Spectator</cite> and <cite>Votes for Women</cite> simultaneously.</p> - -<p class='c009'>London provided the sort of weather it reserves -for those who return from sun-blessed lands. It was -a day with rain in the past and rain in the future, but -never rain in the present. The sort of day that -makes you feel glad you thought of bringing your -umbrella, and then sorry to find you left it in the last -bus. The streets looked like wet slates splashed -with tears.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette kept a lonely flat not far from -Covent Garden, apparently with the object of ensuring -herself the right to exercise a vote when she -should have procured that luxury. For she very -seldom put the flat to the ordinary uses of flats. It -contained a table and two chairs, as a provision -against the unlikely event of its owner’s succumbing -to social weaknesses. It also contained a bed. Curtains -and carpets, and any cooking arrangement more -elaborate than a gas-ring, are not included in the -Theory of the Hair Shirt, the motto of which is, “I -can very well do without.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette deposited the mustard-coloured -portmanteau at this Spartan abode, and went to report -herself to her Society. She was not a famous -suffragette. If I told you her name, you would not -raise your eyebrows and laugh facetiously and say, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>“Oh—<em>that</em> maniac....” She was nominally one -of the rank and file, although, being rebellious even -against co-rebels, she seldom acted under orders.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There are, broadly speaking, two kinds of workers -in the world, the people who do all the work, and the -people who think they do all the work. The latter -class is generally the busiest, the former never has -time to be busy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Chief Militant Suffragette, who believed that -she held feminism in the hollow of her hand, was a -born leader of women. She was familiar with the -knack of wringing sacrifices from other people. She -was a little lady in a minor key, pale and plaintive, -with short hair, like spun sand. She dressed as -nearly as possible like a man, and affected an eyeglass. -She probably thought that in doing this she -sacrificed enough for the cause of women. She had -safely found a husband before she cut her hair. I -suppose she had sent more women to prison than any -one magistrate in London, but she had never been to -prison herself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The cause of the Suffrage, while attracting the -finest women in the country, also attracts those -who consider themselves to be the finest. It has an -equal fascination for those who can work but can -never lead and for those who can lead but never -work.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have written to you three times,” said the Chief -M.S. pathetically to the suffragette. “I do think -you might have answered.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>“So do I,” admitted the suffragette, “only -that I have been abroad. What did you write to me -about?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Abroad?” said the Chief M.S., and raised her -eyebrows. She had none really, but she raised the -place where they should have been. “Abroad? -Enjoying yourself at such a time as this?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What do you mean?” asked the suffragette. -“What has happened? Have we got the Vote?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The eyeglass of the Chief M.S. fell out with annoyance. -“Of course not,” she said, “but it’s the -great massed procession and deputation to-morrow, -and I wanted you to help with the North London section.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette loathed processions. She loathed -working or walking with a herd. She would rather -have blown up Westminster Abbey than stewarded -at a meeting. A less honest woman would have flattered -herself that these are the signs of a great and -lonely mind, but the suffragette knew them as the -signs of vanity. And to cure vanity is, of course, the -business of a hair shirt.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“When have I got to be there? And where?” -she asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>In the eyes of the Chief M.S. punctuality in other -people was the ideal virtue. The moment she named -to her assistants was always an hour before the correct -time, and two hours before the one she chose for -her own appearance.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette had long been a servant of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>Society. By an instinctive calculation she managed -to arrive at Little South Lane next day punctually at -the moment when help began to be needed. She collected -some of the native enthusiasts who were adding -fuel to their ardour on the door-steps of neighbouring -public-houses. She quelled the political antagonism -of a bevy of little boys who were vocally -competing with a Great Woman’s preliminary address. -She soothed the objections of the paid banner-bearers, -who had not been led to expect the additional -opposition of a high wind. She eliminated -from the procession as far as possible all suffragists -below the age of four. She lent a moment’s friendly -attention to the reasons why Woman’s Sphere is the -Home, expounded by a hoarse spinster from an upper -window. She courageously approached an -enormous dock-hand, who had snatched a banner -from its rightful bearer, and was waving it with many -oaths.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Might I trouble you for that banner?” said the -suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gentleman’s reply was simple but obscene.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Might I trouble you at once to move out of my -way, and let the procession join up?” said the suffragette -in a red voice.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Gaw-love yer, me gal, I’m comin’ along,” said -the gentleman. “Wot price me for a ... suffragette? -You’ll need a few fists, if you git as fur as -the Delta way.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>How very rare it is to mistake the staff for the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>broken reed. The suffragette recovered herself -quickly.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I ought to -have known from your face that you were a sensible -man. How good of you to carry a banner!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The procession, like a snake, reared its head and -moved. In the van a marching song was begun, in -the rear—a ragtime. The police, looking dignified, -but feeling silly, marched in single file on either -flank, and kept an eye on the interests of the traffic. -The one mounted policeman obviously regretted the -prominence of his position, his horse was an anti, and -showed a man-like tendency to argue with its hoofs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette walked between a little woman in -a plush coat with a baby and a person who might -have been a poetess, or a philosopher, or a Low -Church missionary, but was certainly very earnest. -The long brown streets swung by. The flares on the -coster’s barrows anchored to the kerb, danced in the -yellow air. A hum of barbaric voices, and the large -firm pulse of many feet marching, made a background -to the few clear curses and the fewer clearer -blessings from the pavement.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish to Gawd my kiddie ’ed been a gel,” said -the little mother beside the suffragette. “Bein’ a -woman—mikes yer proud-like....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette put her chin up and laughed. -“As a man, your kiddie’ll make you proud. There’s -sure to be something splendid about a man whose -mother was proud to be a woman.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>“Men ...” said the little mother, with more -alliteration than refinement, “are ... brute -beasts.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“’Ere, draw it mild,” said the dock-hand, who was -just in front.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There’s men, wytin’ for us, somewhere down the -Delta wy now. Wytin’ to mike us yell an’ run, -wytin’ to ’urt us—jus’ becos we was proud to be -women.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Waiting for us?” gasped the poetess. “Why—how -dreadful.... I wasn’t told there would be -any fighting.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You might have known there would be,” said -the suffragette. “You can’t assert facts without -fighting for them.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The poetess, obviously wishing she had left such -dangerous weapons as facts to themselves, gave a -hoarse giggle, and said, “I declare, I’m quite frightened....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is frightening,” agreed the suffragette. “Not -the bruises, but the stone-wallness of men. I’m always -frightened by opposition that I can’t see -through at all. I am frightened of Delta Street -hooligans. I am also frightened in exactly the same -way by a polite enemy. You go into the law courts, -for instance, and watch those men wearing their wigs -like haloes and their robes like saints’ armour——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You do talk nice, miss,” said the little mother. -“I wish you’d come down to the Brown Borough, an’ -jaw my young man.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>The suffragette, though a trifle damped, continued, -“It isn’t that their arguments are strong, nobody -minds that, but it’s that they don’t bother to have -any arguments. Just like the hooligans, only in different -words. It’s no more an argument than it is -one between God and Satan. One side is established, -the other doesn’t exist. It makes you see that to-morrow -is never strong enough to fight to-day. It -would take an angel to admit to-morrow as a fact at -all, and unfortunately it’s men we’re up against.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then what’s the good of all this?” asked the -poetess, who was naturally becoming more and more -depressed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, a losing battle’s fine,” said the suffragette. -“I’d rather wear a black eye than a wig, or a crown, -any day.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“’Ear, ’ear,” said the dock-hand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Wiv Parliament, for instance,” said the little -mother, who was evidently accustomed to fill her -sphere with her voice. “They sits an’ argoos about -Welsh Establishment, an’ all the while I ’ed my little -gel die of underfeeding, becos I wuz carryin’ this one, -and couldn’t get work.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Thet’s all very well,” said the dock-hand; “but -wot do you expec’? You carn’t expec’ the lawyers to -frow up their wig an’ say the Law’s a Liar. (Not -but wot it ain’t.) You carn’t expec’ the Prime Minister -to tell ’isself ‘There’s Mrs. Smiff’s biby dyin’, -I mus’ go dahn an’ see abaht it.’ (Not but wot it -ain’t ’ard.”)</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>“There are lots of things you can’t kill,” said the -suffragette. “But you can always try. Men don’t -try, because impossibility is one of the things they -believe in.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You carn’t kill Votes fer Women,” shouted the -little mother, with a burst of enthusiasm. She waved -her baby instead of a banner.</p> - -<p class='c009'>At that moment a yelling horror dropped like a -bomb upon the level street. The suffragette saw the -mounted policeman, complete with his horse, fall -sideways, like a toy. She saw a chequered crowd of -perspiring faces come upon her like a breaking wave. -She saw the banners ahead stagger like flowers before -a wind. She saw the poetess fall, and some one -stamp on her shoulder. She saw a man with a fierce-coloured -handkerchief knotted round his throat seize -the little mother’s chin and wrench it up and down, as -he cursed in her face. The suffragette, who never -could be angry in a dignified way, gave a hoarse -croak and snatched his arm. Possibly she felt like -the child Hercules during his interview with the -serpents, but she did not look like that at all. The -man jerked his arm up, the suffragette’s seven stone -went up too. She was waved like a flag. The tears -were shaken out of her eyes. Her feet kicked the -air. And then she alighted against a wall. She -saw a chinless and unshaven face heave into her upper -vision, and a great hand, like black lightning, cleft -the fog. The knuckles of the hand cut like a blunt -knife. In North London we always repeat our arguments, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>when we consider them good ones. The suffragette, -who was a person of no muscular ability at -all, gave up hoping for the chance of a retort in kind, -after the third repetition. So the argument went on -undisputed, until the dock-hand perceived it, when it -was successfully overborne.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette picked up her hat. She hated it -because it looked so dirty. She hated her heart because -it felt so sick. She picked up the poetess and -hated her because she was crying. She was crying -herself, but she thought she looked courageously -wrathful.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What do we do now?” sobbed the poetess.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We walk on,” said the suffragette, and took her, -not very gently, by the arm.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I can’t, I can’t. It may happen again,” -wailed the poetess. “Policeman, can’t I go home?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes, miss,” said the policeman, wiping his brow.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But there are no taxis.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No, miss,” said the policeman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>You never can tell what strange thing you may do -at a crisis. The poetess slipped a confiding hand -into that of the policeman, and walked meekly by his -side.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Murderers ...” exclaimed the little mother. -“They might ’ev done biby in. Your ’ead’s bleedin’, -miss. So’s my gum, but I kin swaller that.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette felt as if she had been divided in -two. Her militant spirit, clothed in its hair shirt, -seemed to be moving at a height, undaunted, monopolised -<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>as usual by the splendour of its cause. And -below, very near the dust, a terribly tired woman, a -unit among several hundreds of other terribly tired -women, put one foot before the other along an endless -road.</p> - -<p class='c009'>You must stride over a gap here, as the procession -did mentally. For a very long time I don’t -think anybody thought anything except—“How -long, O Lord, how long?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>When I am very tired and see the high and -friendly smile of St. Paul’s curved across the sky, I -feel as if I am near home. I always think St. Paul’s -is like a mother to all London, while Westminster -Abbey is like a nun, the bride of heaven, with an infinite -scorn of you and me. St. Paul’s stands at the -top of the hill of difficulty, and after that your feet -walk by themselves down Ludgate Hill.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a burst of song from all parts of the -procession as it passed that friendly doomed milestone. -The burst was simultaneous, but the song -was too various to be really effective.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Votes for Women,” shouted the little mother. -“I sy, miss, when are you comin’ dahn to the Brown -Borough to ’elp wiv votes for women? We ain’t got -nobody there as kin talk like you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Am I coming down?” asked the suffragette, who -had a vague idea that she had said many things, now -forgotten. “I never speak at meetings now. My -brain is always wanting to say the next thing but one, -and my tongue is always saying the thing before last. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>There’s too much to be said about Votes for Women.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Meetin’s...” said the little mother in a voice -of scorn. “Tain’t meetin’s we want. It’s somebody -jus’ to talk ornery, as if they was a friend-like. -Somebody to live up the street—if you unnerstan’ -me—an’ drop in, an’ be interested. When my little -gel died, lars’ October, an’ ’ole lot of lidies made enquiries, -an’ got me a few ’alfpence a week to git on -wiv till I could get back to the box-miking. I useter -’ave to go to an orfice an’ answer questions, an’ the -lidy useter sy she was sorry to seem ’quisitive, but she -ses—If some on yer cheat, you mus’ all on yer suffer.... -Bless you, I didn’ mind answering questions, -but I was very low then, an’ I useter tike it ’ard -that none o’ them lidies never seemed interested. -Nobody never as’t wot was the nime o’ my little gel -that died, nor ’ow old she was, nor nothink about ’er -pretty wys that she useter ’ave.... ’Tisn’t that -they ain’t kind, but it’s being treated in a crowd-like -as comes ’ard, an’ there’s many feels the sime....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What do you expect?” asked the poetess, who -was now detached from the policeman. “I am myself -a C.O.S. secretary, so I know something about it. -None of us have time to do more than is really necessary. -And when there’s public money in question—well, -it’s all very well, but one can’t be too careful.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“When there’s money in question you may be -right, miss,” said the little mother. “But it ain’t -<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>allus a question of money, an’ it seems to me as ’ow, -wiv votes fer women, if some on them suffragettes ’ud -stop talking about women’s wiges at meetin’s, an’ -come an’ look at wiges at ’ome, they’d ’it a lot of -women wot thinks now as ’ow votes for women is -only a public thing an’ don’t matter outside Trafalgar -Square. It seems to ’it you ’arder if a person’s -friendly than if they’re heloquent....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Something is happening in front,” said the -poetess, looking wildly round for her policeman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The police have turned on us,” said the suffragette. -“They always do in the Strand. Downing -Street gets nervous when we get as near as this.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was too true. The police, relieved to be at last -freed from the burden of their false position, were -characteristic of their profession.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I was told I was to walk to the Houses -of Parliament,” said the poetess, finding her quondam -protector’s hand on her shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You may walk to Jericho, miss,” replied the -policeman with a wit as heavy as his hand. “Only -not more than three in a group, <em>if</em> you please.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>A great crowd of little groups trickled on to the -Embankment and followed the tide of the river towards -Westminster. There was a moon. I think -the moon is really the heroine of this unheroic book. -Half the blessing of London belongs to the river, -and half the blessing of the river belongs to the -moon. Do you know how beautifully a full moon -bends out of her sky to trail her fingers in the river? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>Do you know how faerily she shoots shavings of her -silver under the bridges, and how she makes tender -the blackness of the barges and the shadows of the -little wharves? I always think the moon has in her -quiver of charms a special shaft for the river of -London. She never smiles like that elsewhere.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was no surprise to Westminster to see the deputation -and procession arrive, albeit in a less neat form -than that in which it started. The police force has -moments of wonderful insight into the psychology -of law-breakers, and in this case it seemed aware that -a procession of women disbanded and told to go home -in the Strand is nevertheless likely to appear sooner -or later in Parliament Square. The great space resounded -to the tramp of the feet of the law. A detachment -of mounted police strove to look unconcerned -in the Whitehall direction. I always think it -is unjust to drag dumb animals into these political -questions. I wonder the S.P.C.A. doesn’t step in. -Imagine the feelings of a grey mare, for instance, on -being called upon to charge into the ranks of a female -deputation to Downing Street.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Neither the suffragette nor I are familiar with the -great ways of deputations. We are of the humble -ranks which suffer physical buffetings in the shadow -of St. Stephen’s, while our superiors suffer moral buffetings -in the shadow of the English Constitution. -There is very little sport in being a shuttlecock anyway, -but while the head gets the straight hit, the -feathers feel most the stress of adverse winds.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>The object of the police in a crowd is to keep it -moving. The direction in which it is to move is -never explained to it. Whether you move to the -right or the left you are sure to be wrong in the eyes -of the law. If you weigh seven stone, your tendency -is to move either upwards or downwards. Correctly -speaking, the suffragette never set foot in -Parliament Square for some time after she arrived -there. She was caught in a gust of crowd, and borne -in an unexpected direction. She did not mind which -way she went, but she was human enough to mind -whether her ribs got broken. Even in a good cause, -matters like these touch you personally. The shoulders -of partisans and martyrs, packed closely against -your ribs, feel just as hard as the shoulders of the -less enlightened. The suffragette began to feel a -cold whiteness creeping up from her boots to her -heart. She began to take a series of last looks at the -moon and the spires of the Abbey. She reached the -earth just when she had decided that she had reached -the door-step of Heaven, and found herself cast by -an eddy into a tiny peace. There, in an alcove, was -the Chief M.S., protected by a stout husband. The -Chief M.S., whose hair was too short to have been -dragged down, and whose eyeglass was trembling -on her breast with pleasurable excitement, was looking -cool and peaceful.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You do look a wreck,” she said brightly to the -suffragette. “I have been wanting to talk to you -about something I want you to do for me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>This was such a frequent remark on the lips of -the Chief M.S. that, as a rule, it made no impression -on her followers and acquaintances. But the suffragette -was incredibly tired, and the power of kicking -against pricks was taken from her. She had no -spirit in her except the ghost of her hair shirt theory, -that fiend which croaks—“Go on, go on....” -She made a great effort. She pulled her hat down -on her head, she put her chin up, she wrapped her -cloak of endurance more closely round her. “Talk -on,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, not now, child,” said the Chief M.S. -“Come and see me next Wednesday. I shall be -away for a long week-end after this.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It seemed like making an appointment for a hundred -years hence. The suffragette agreed, because -it seemed impossible that she could live so long as -next Wednesday.</p> - -<p class='c009'>At that moment the mounted police charged. The -careful husband of the Chief M.S. whisked her away. -The forelegs of a horse entered the suffragette’s alcove. -The safest place in a police charge is under -the noses of the horses. These animals, usually -anxious to preserve neutrality, have mastered the art -of playing upon the fleeing backs of agitators as -gently as the pianist plays upon the keys. I have -had a horse’s hoofs fanning my shoulder-blades for -minutes on end, and yet only suffered from the elbows -of my fellow-fugitives.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette, alone on the strip of pavement between -<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>the rearing horses and the recoiling crowd, -conceived the sensational idea of charging the -chargers. This is the sort of idea that comes to one -after a five-hour march and a series of street fights. -I have never been drunk with liquor, but I know what -it is to be drunk all the same. The suffragette determined -that those horses should never see her coattails. -She heard a voice shouting, “Women ... -women ... women ...” and on finding it was her -own, added, “Don’t run back—run forward.” -And she flung herself on the breast of the nearest -horse.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A foot-policeman caught her on the rebound. She -was not in the least hurt, but he picked her up and -carried her across his shoulder. She hit her fists -against his helmet; it sounded like a drum. It seems -hard to believe, but I assure you that even on that -high though humble perch, she was revelling in the -thought that it concerned nobody but herself that she -was going to prison.</p> - -<p class='c009'>My poor heroine, I am afraid, has stepped beyond -the limits of your toleration, but if you look, -you will find I never asked you to admire her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The policeman lowered her, and stood her like a -doll on the steps of the Metropolitan Railway. -That excellent institution, shocked at the doings outside, -had drawn its grill modestly across its entrance, -and its employés, like good lions at the Zoo watching -the rampant behaviour of the public, were gazing -through the bars.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>“You’re not the right size for this job, young -woman,” said the policeman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette’s reply was a further struggle. -The policeman held both her arms.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You go ’ome,” he said. “The deputation’s -goin’ ’ome now, like a good gel. What’s your station?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>A terrible exhaustion drooped like a weight released -upon the suffragette. The only retort that -came to her mind was, “Leicester Square, please.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Change at the Embankment,” said a railway official, -and opened eighteen inches of the gate. The -policeman pushed her in. She took her ticket, and -went home as meekly as any Anti.</p> - -<p class='c009'>You may be surprised to hear that the suffragette -spent the next day in bed. A day in bed is not, of -course, part of the Hair Shirt Theory, but this was a -Sunday, and Sunday is a day of weakness, though it -seems politer to the Old Testament to call it a day -of relaxation. The suffragette always spent Sunday -as she liked, with the hair shirt doffed and neatly -folded on a chair beside her. She smoked as many -cigarettes as she pleased, instead of the strict two of -ordinary life, she occasionally ate as many as three -large meals, she had been known to invest in nougat. -Sundays were the oases in her desert, and if the gardener -had chanced on one for the scene of one of -his luckless spasms, this story might have been much -prettier. It is very tiring to be yourself with such -ardour as the suffragette employed, and to be somebody -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>else for twenty-four hours once a week becomes -almost a necessity.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Besides, she had court plaster on her forehead, and -the publicly court-plastered pose was one that the -suffragette loathed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>If the Chief M.S. had had the luck to catch a -painless black eye in the Cause of the Vote, she would -have flaunted it like a flag up and down Piccadilly. -But the husband had been almost too effective. She -had not even broken her eyeglass.</p> - -<p class='c009'>One of the most striking differences between the -suffragette and the gardener was that the gardener -told himself: “When I die, they will be sorry, and -they will perhaps understand.” But the suffragette -thought: “When I die, nobody except the charwoman -will know.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette went to see the Chief M.S. on -Wednesday.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How curious you should come this afternoon,” -said the Chief M.S. “Some one was here asking -for you only this morning.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette hardly ever explained herself. -She did not remind the Chief M.S. that she was there -by appointment. Nor did she ask who had been inquiring -for her. Perhaps she knew.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He asked for your address,” said the Chief M.S. -“But as he was a man, I didn’t give it to him. -He didn’t leave his name, but he asked me to tell you -that your dog was now in the hands of the quarantine -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>officials. I attacked him on the suffrage question, as -I always do strange men.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What did he say?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He had nothing to say. I pointed out to him -how ludicrous was the argument that just because a -person wore two tubes on his legs instead of one, he -was competent to rule.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have never heard that argument used,” said -the suffragette soberly. “I didn’t know that even -men——”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why, you’re as dense as he was,” snapped the -Chief M.S. “Of course they don’t put it like that. -He asked me which M.P. was responsible for the -tubular argument. I saw it was no use going on. -He left his address for me to give you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What was it you wanted to see me about?” -asked the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Did I want—Oh, yes.... Well, I have been -thinking you have done nothing for the Cause lately, -have you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette fingered a sore dint under the -shadow of her hat. “Hardly anything,” she admitted.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think the slum districts want working up,” said -the Chief M.S. “Somebody who walked behind -you in the procession said you hobnobbed wonderfully -with the North London women. How would it be -if you were to undertake a series of informal meetings——”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>“It isn’t meetings they want, they told me so themselves,” -said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s meetings everybody wants,” retorted the -Chief M.S. “I thought also that you might start a -soup kitchen or a turkey club, or one of those things -that one does start in the slums. You can’t educate -the poor without feeding them, I’m sure.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nonsense!” said the suffragette, who was certainly -no more accommodating as a follower than as -a woman. “I don’t believe the anatomy of the poor -is one bit different from the anatomy of the rich. -And I don’t believe the way to anybody’s soul lies -through their stomach. Only if one is hungry, one -naturally pretends that blind alley is a thoroughfare.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How do you suggest that the slums should be -worked up, then, may I ask?” said the Chief M.S. -coldly. There is no point in being a born leader, if -the rank and file refuses to behave suitably.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette loathed the wording of this remark, -but kindly refrained from further criticism. -“If you like ...” she said, “I’ll try an experiment -on the Brown Borough. I’ll give no meetings -and I’ll give no membership cards, but if you leave -me time I’ll bring as many women to the Cause as -ever did a dozen meetings in Trafalgar Square.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>To hear of other people busy always cheered the -Chief M.S.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You will have done a good work,” she said -warmly.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette went out with those words singing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>in her head. A thing that very seldom happened -to other people’s words in the ears of this self-absorbed -young woman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To have done a good work ...” she said, on -the top of a west-bound ’bus.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“To have done a good work.... But if it were -a good work it could never be done. The way of -good work goes on for ever. And that’s why I -swear I’ll do this work till I die....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was fine to feel busy again. The suffragette -had always liked to have the measure of her day -pressed down and running over, but she had never -yet known the luxury of having enough of what she -liked. In the home—which is Woman’s Sphere—there -is always time to think how little time there is. -Even the career of an incendiary, though hectic, -often fails to give the illusion of persistent industry. -The suffragette was so lost in enthusiasm over the -discovery of a good long road under her feet at last, -that she presently found herself at Kew.</p> - -<p class='c009'>If you must drift, there are few places better to -drift to than Kew Gardens. Only if you go there -just when the months have reached the bleak curve -of the hill that runs down into spring, you must know -where to find the best and most secret snowdrops. -The suffragette knew. She was very familiar with -the art of being alone in London.</p> - -<p class='c009'>You will perhaps not be surprised to learn that -never once in her life had her leisure meant some one -else’s pleasure. There had never been any one who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>would have been in the least interested to know that -the suffragette had a few hours unbooked. She never -regretted this fact, because she never noticed it. -With the exception of Excursion Agents, I should -think no one ever knew the holiday resorts around -London better than she did. She could enjoy herself -very much indeed sitting seriously on grass, -watching a world dotted with sentimental cockneyism. -It gave her no pang to be one among many -twos.</p> - -<p class='c009'>To-day she found the seat that sits forever looking -at the place where the snowdrops should be, and -only really lives when they come out. And when -she got there, it was most annoying, she thought of -the gardener, to the exclusion of everything else. -After several minutes she found that she had been -occupied in committing the address she had been -given to memory.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Number Twenty-one Penny Street. Twenty-one -Penny Street.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>I cannot account for the occasional inconsistency of -this woman except by reminding you of a certain well-known -natural phenomenon. Just as a man whose -arm has been amputated may still suffer from a -phantom finger-ache, so a woman who has killed her -heart must, at certain points in her life, feel the pain -of a heart, as if the dead thing turned in its grave. -One of the most tragic things about loss is that it is -never annihilation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is absurd,” thought the suffragette, pulling -<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>herself together. “I must make a plan of campaign, -as the M.S. Society would say. How am I -going to start?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Brown Borough popularity is a slippery thing to -seize. You must have a handle to grasp it by.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A robin appeared, like a fairy, between two snowdrops. -He did not notice the suffragette, nevertheless -he looked self-conscious. He re-arranged a perfectly -neat feather, and glanced at his waistcoat to -see whether its curve was correct. He even tried -to glance over his waistcoat at his feet, but this was -physically impossible. The suffragette loved him -until she realised that he was in love, on which she -wearied of him. A chirrup behind her drew her attention -to the lady in the case.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I believe I’ll have to get hold of the priest,” said -the suffragette. I have told you that she was devoid -of tact. She never took enough notice of the -world to sulk when the world was unkind, she was -not human enough to quarrel. I have seen her give -great offence to the Chief M.S. by borrowing a -cigarette in the middle of a tempestuous scene of mutual -reproach. She never reviewed the past when -arranging for the future, and this, in human relations, -is a fatal mistake.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She had an apple and an oatmeal biscuit in her -bag. In spite of the robin’s sentimental drawbacks, -she shared the biscuit with him and gave him the -apple core. He finished the biscuit, and when about -three-quarters through with the apple core, he remembered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>his affair of the heart. With the laboured -altruism of the man in love, he tore himself -away, and embodied the apple core theme in a little -song, by way of informing the lady. She came, she -began. Looking up with her third mouthful, she -noticed the suffragette. With a hoarse chirp, she -shot over the horizon.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He forgot to warn her,” sighed the suffragette. -“Men <em>are</em> so unimaginative.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gentleman came back and finished the apple -core.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette’s mind, which was rather sleepy, -turned to the occasion when she too had shot away -from destiny, over a blue horizon.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I left Courtesy as an apple core,” she said. -“Men ought to be as good philosophers as robins, -any day.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>You and I are getting tired of this scene. And -so was the suffragette. She shook herself.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I must wake up,” she said. “The incident is -closed. I’m glad it’s closed. But I’m very glad it -was once open. By mistake I came alive for a little -while. I don’t believe in God, and I don’t believe in -love. But I thank God I have met love—in a -dream.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She might possibly have been referring to the -robin drama. But I don’t think she was.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She put her chin up, and buttoned up the hair shirt, -and exchanged the snowdrops for a ’bus.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>It was the day after this that the priest was addressing -his sister’s Girls’ Club in the Brown -Borough. He was supplying food for the soul while -his sister prepared food for the body. The girls -were listening with the polite though precarious attention -which Brown Borough girls always bring to -bear on the first three hundred words of any address, -especially if the addresser be a man. Factory girls -are amiable creatures with something inborn that -very closely resembles good manners. Unless you -are so unfortunate as to stumble upon their sense of -humour, they will always give you a hearing. Their -sense of humour is broad, but only touched by certain -restricted means. If you have a smut on your -nose, or if your hat is on one side, or if you stammer -in your speech, or if it is obvious that you have just -sat in a puddle on alighting from your ’bus, you need -cherish no hopes, but be sure that every word you say -is only adding to the comedy of the situation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest was extremely neat, as usual. His -piercing eyes under his grey hair looked dignified, -and he was concealing moral quack remedies in -gilded anecdotes with marked success. He had -reached the critical point in a comic story about his -recent adventures in the tropics, and was just preparing -to lead the roar of amusement, when, over -the heads of his audience, he saw a face that seemed -terribly familiar. He finished the story with such -gravity that nobody dared to smile.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>“How unwise I was to put the idea into her -head,” he told himself, and, descending from his -eminence, went to meet her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This is indeed a surprise, yerce, yerce,” he said, -shaking her coldly by the hand. He thought that -she would be cut to the heart by the fact that he -failed to qualify the surprise as pleasant. She did -not notice the omission. She was not accustomed to -being made very welcome.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have followed your advice,” she said. “I -have come down to ask you for work.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How very well-timed,” said the priest’s sister -just behind him. “Christopher, introduce the young -lady.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We will talk of that later,” said the priest. “I -have not finished my address.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>But he virtually had. For he could find nothing -else to say, although he continued speaking. The -girls lost interest, and began passing each other letters -and photographs from their chaps. A little -plain girl, beside whom the suffragette had taken her -seat, handed her one of these documents.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I have said that the suffragette had a hard face—it -is worth noting that no beggar ever begged of her -unless he was blind. But I suppose she had loved -women so long and so fiercely that there was something -in her look that established confidence in the -women she met. Nobody would have handed a -love-letter to Mrs. Rust to read, within five minutes -of her first appearance.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>“The cocoa is ready, Christopher,” said the -priest’s sister audibly, from an inner room.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A remark like this, though trivial, will throw almost -any orator off his track. The priest stopped, -with the resigned sigh of Christian irritation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette handed the letter back to her -neighbour. “What a nice chap yours must be,” she -said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Are you the young woman wot’s come to ply -the pianner?” asked the girl.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m not sure,” replied the suffragette, with a -guarded look at the priest. “I rather think I am.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>This was luckily considered amusing, and over the -cocoa the comments on the new young woman were -favourable.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest’s sister came out from the inner room, -whence proceeded the loud bubbling squeaks of -cocoa-drinkers.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now, Christopher,” she said, “why didn’t you -tell me you had found a new helper?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do not know that I have, my dear,” replied the -priest. “This young lady has misinterpreted something -I said to her.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s very lucky that she did, then,” said the -priest’s sister. “We are so badly in need of a new -voluntary helper.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You oblige me to put the matter baldly, my -dear,” said the priest, keeping his temper with a -creditable effort. “This is the young lady I mentioned -to you last night in the course of conversation. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>All our helpers hitherto have been of the highest -moral character.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“From your face...” said the priest’s sister to -the suffragette. “I am sure you mean well. I am -sure you are not wicked. And if you have slipped, -there is nothing like hard work in the Brown -Borough to make you forget.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was so much startled to hear herself -addressed in this unusual vein that she very -nearly cried. It is rare to have tears so near so -horny a surface as hers.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My dear ...” said the priest. “I think you -forget my position of authority in this parish. You -also forget the pure young souls committed to your -care in this club. Yerce, yerce.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He actually imagined the factory girls to be as -innocent as himself. To him the words youth and -innocence were indivisible.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, nonsense, Christopher,” said his sister. -“She doesn’t necessarily want to help with this club, -and even if she did she can’t convey infection to the -girls by playing the piano to them.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I do not expect she does play the piano,” said -the priest lamely.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You do play, don’t you? You have such pretty -hands.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>After that, of course, the suffragette felt as though -she could have played Strauss to please her. As a -matter of fact she had little real articulate gift for -music, but she never forgot a tune she had heard, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>and found no difficulty in rendering the songs that -always sang in her head, outwardly instead of inwardly.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest’s sister was not musical. Nor was she -critical. She considered that the Brown Borough -had in this newcomer found something it had lacked. -The suffragette, who possessed certain secret springs -of conceit, was to some extent of the same opinion. -And by the end of the evening the majority of the -girls shared this view.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you know a Mrs. Smith?” asked the suffragette, -as she said good-bye.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I know perhaps five hundred Mrs. Smiths,” said -the priest’s sister.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She wears a plush coat, and a baby, and a little -girl of hers died in October.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“About two hundred and fifty out of the five hundred -wear plush coats, and babies, and little girls -that die.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wonder what surnames are for,” said the suffragette -pettishly, “since they have ceased to distinguish -one person from another?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If you come to me to-morrow,” said the priest’s -sister, “I will give you the names of various women -who want visiting. If your Mrs. Smith needs you, -you will soon find her, if you live in the Brown -Borough.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was a rash woman. She always -abode by her own first choice. Before she went to -see the priest’s sister in the morning, she found herself -<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>a Brown Borough lodging. She did this by the -simple device of knocking on the door of the first -house she saw that displayed a notice, “Apartment.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now then, wot’s the matter?” asked the lady -who opened the door.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette, though impossible to silence, was -easy to abash. And there is certainly something disheartening -in such a salutation. However, she suggested -that the notice in the window might excuse an -intrusion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She was very lucky; one always is when one -doesn’t deserve to be so. She might have found a -room with a brown wet ceiling curtseying floorward -under the stress of many rains. She might have -found a room peopled by a smell incredible, with rags -stuffed into panes that had been broken by a merciful -accident. She might have found walls discoloured -by dark patches that looked like old blood. All these -things are apt to decorate Woman’s Sphere in the -Brown Borough.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But the suffragette had, by mistake, knocked on -the door of the most respectable house in the most -respectable street in the district. She found a clean, -though dark room, with a window blinking against -the sun at a back yard filled with snowdrops. The -wall-paper talked in a loud voice of tulips: wine-coloured -tulips trampled on each other and wrestled -for supremacy over every inch of it. The tablecloth -and carpet were the colour of terra-cotta, and -firmly disagreed with every word the wall-paper said. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>Two horse-hair chairs, in sullen brown, looked moodily -at each other across the table.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette never asked more than that her -body might live in a clean place. She kept her mind -detachable from colour schemes. After all, what is -my body for but to enclose me?</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll have the room,” said the suffragette, as if it -had been a cake of soap.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was like a dream to the landlady, a dream she -had never been sufficiently feverish to indulge in.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’ll have it?” she gasped.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yes. Why not? What’s the rent, by the -way?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The landlady, by means of a rapid mental process -of multiplication, rose manfully to the occasion.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“All right, fifteen shillings,” said the suffragette. -“I’ll come in to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She went to see the priest’s sister, but to her mild -annoyance found the priest instead.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My sister suggested that you should visit the -Wigskys,” said the priest, who never bore malice, as -far as one could see. He never allowed you for a -moment to forget that he was a Christian. “Mrs. -Wigsky’s latest baby hasn’t been christened. Also I -think the eldest girl must be getting into bad ways; -she has left the excellent place I found for her.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And must I persuade the baby to be christened?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Not the child itself. You had better do your -best to persuade the mother.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>“But supposing she refuses on principle?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest fixed her with his piercing eye. -“There can be no principle contrary to the Right,” -he said. “The opposite to Right is Wrong.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How simple!” said the suffragette. “But -won’t Hell be terribly overcrowded?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest sighed, and certainly with reason. -But he remembered that he was very broad-minded, -and that he had often said that everybody had a right -to their own opinion. He remembered that the soft -answer that turneth away the fatuity of women had -found a place even in the New Testament.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No one would be more loth than I ...” he -said, “to classify as condemned all whose views do -not coincide with the dictates of the Church. Let us -rather call them mistaken.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette shut in a renewed protest with a -snap of her jaws. Although she badly needed a -handle by which to seize the Brown Borough, surely -there must be other handles than the Church. She -determined secretly on determination as her unaided -weapon.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But she went to see the Wigskys. She found -them—a large family, red and mutually wrathful in -an atmosphere of hot smells ancient and modern.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When she got inside the door she wondered why -she had come. The baby screaming on its mother’s -breast looked incorrigibly heathen, the eldest girl -looked wholly unsuited to any “excellent place” discovered -by the priest.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>“Wooder <em>you</em> want?” asked the harassed mother, -a drab and dusty creature, with the used look of -cold ashes.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ve come from Father Christopher ...” began -the suffragette, wishing she had come from some -one else.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“’N you can go back to Farver Christopher,” -said Mrs. Wigsky. “Becos I ain’t goin’ to ’ave -no more bibies christened. It’s ’eaven ’ere, an’ -’eaven there, this biby’s goin’ ter grow up ’eeven fer -a chinge. It carn’t get us into worse trouble nor -wot we’ve ’ad.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I haven’t come to bother you,” said the suffragette. -“After all, it’s your baby, not Father Christopher’s.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s wot I ses,” said the mother, slightly mollified. -“Well, if you ’aven’t come abaht Biby, wot -’ave you come for?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ve come because I want to find friends in the -Brown Borough. If you don’t want me, please tell -me to go.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The Brown Borough never protests if you surprise -it; and in any case, Mrs. Wigsky’s soul was too -dead for consistent protest. Also it was certainly -a change to be visited by one who lacked the visitor’s -apprising eye, who seemed unaware of an unswept -floor and an unmade bed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“As Father Christopher talked about the Brown -Borough women ...” said the suffragette, “I -wanted more and more to know them, because it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>seems to me so splendid to keep going at all in the -Brown Borough. I must tell you I always love -women. So you must forgive me for coming.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“’Tain’t often as lidies come to admire us,” said -Mrs. Wigsky. “They allus comes to show us ’ow -wrong we are.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m not a lady,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ow, yus you are,” said the eldest girl, speaking -for the first time.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Are you the girl that’s out of a job?” asked the -suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Yus. Farver Christopher got me a job as general -to the lidy oo keeps the post orfice. She give -me three-an’-six a week an’ no food, an’ mother ain’t -earnin’ now, an’ Tom’s in ’orsbital, so it weren’t -good enough. I run awiy. She ’it me too, an’ mide -me cerry up the coals. But ’er bein’ a lidy, I couldn’t -siy much—I jus’ run awiy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wish you’d hit her back,” said the suffragette. -“And I wish the word ‘lady’ had never been invented.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Lidies is lidies, an’ generals is generals,” said -Mrs. Wigsky. “Gawd mide it so, an’ you carn’t -get over it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m sure God never made it so,” said the suffragette. -“He made men and women, and nothing -else. He made man in His own image, and left -woman to make herself. And she’s doing it. -That’s what makes us all so proud to be women.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m not proud of bein’ a woman. I’m sick of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>it,” said Mrs. Wigsky; but the girl said, “You do -talk beautiful, miss. I b’leeve I’m a little bit proud. -Anywiy, I wouldn’t be a man for somefink.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Men,” sniffed Mrs. Wigsky. “It’s men wot -does all the ’arm. An’ yet you carn’ get along wivout -’em altogether. They’re so ’elpless.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>(I hope you notice this truth, one of the few unposed -truths in this book. Man is potentially a son, -and woman is potentially a mother; woman depends -on the dependence of man. The spinster, if pathetic -at all, is pathetic because she has no one to look -after, not because there is no one to look after her. -Bear in mind that the conventional spinster keeps a -canary as a substitute for a husband.)</p> - -<p class='c009'>“All the same,” said the suffragette, “men are -proud of being men, and that is one of the greatest -virtues. I don’t suppose there is a man in London -who would be general to a Post Office lady at three-and-six -a week and no food.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>This was thought to be supremely witty, and the -suffragette rose to depart on the crest of a ripple of -popularity. The girl followed her half-way downstairs.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You fink that I was roight then to chuck that -job, miss?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette at that moment parted company -with Father Christopher.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Certainly I think you were right. It’s very -wrong to take less money than you’re worth. I’d -rather lend your mother money to get on with until -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>you can get a worth-while job than let a friend of -mine go so cheap as three-and-six a week. You can -give your mother this address, and tell her I’ll come -to see her again very soon.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>As she reached the first landing, she became aware -of a fresh twist in the maze. I think drama of a -rather sombre variety is the very life of the Brown -Borough, and I defy you to thread its streets or -climb its stairways for half a day without meeting -some Thing you never met before.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The doorway on the first landing was practically -filled by a woman, whose most surprising characteristic -was that her right eye was filled with blood. -The blood was running down on to the breast of her -dress.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m feelin’ that queer,” said the woman. “It’s -the sight o’ blood allus mikes me queer.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You must let me help you,” said the suffragette. -“You must let me put you on your bed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman laughed and remained swaying in the -doorway.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Bedder standen’ ...” she mumbled hysterically.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She was an enormous woman, and effectually -blocked the doorway. For one mad moment the -suffragette meditated climbing over her. An obstacle -always had an irresistible fascination for her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t be so silly,” said the suffragette. “Let -me come in at once. I am here to help. Stand -aside.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman laughed again, and her head suddenly -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>lolled down upon her breast. A little drip -of blood ran down upon the floor.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are making a mess on the floor,” said the -suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a magic in the words. I suppose their -power lay in their utter futility. The woman stood -aside.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Now let me get you to bed,” said the suffragette -as she entered. But there was no bed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There were a dresser, a small table, and a chair. -There was also a man, noisily asleep upon the -chair.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ran me eye agin the corner of the tible,” said -the woman.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How very unlucky,” said the suffragette, “considering -the table’s practically the only thing in the -room. Except the man.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She took the back of the chair and tipped it forward. -She tilted it to such an angle that nobody -in their senses could have remained seated in it. -But a guardian angel seems to look after the drunk -at the expense of the sober. When because she was -not a professional weight-lifter, the suffragette had -to let the chair revert to its natural position, the man -was still comfortably asleep.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman fainted in the corner.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Wake up, you damned pig!” said the suffragette, -with the utmost strength of her soft voice, -and she struck his shoulder with all the weight of a -perfectly useless fist.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>“Shall I fetch a policeman?” asked Miss Wigsky.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The Law’s no good,” said the suffragette frowning. -“I don’t believe there is a law against a man -being drunk in the only chair. Do you think you -could borrow a cushion or two from your mother, -so that we could make the woman comfy on the -floor?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>By the time Miss Wigsky returned with the relic -of a pillow, the suffragette had bathed the blood -from the eye.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Woz this?” inquired the woman, opening the -surviving eye upon the appearance of Miss Wigsky. -“Woz this? Pillers? Tike ’em awiy. I -’aven’t bin to bed in the diytime for twenty years, -nor I ain’t goin’ to begin now....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You must lie down,” said the suffragette. -“And I will fetch the doctor to sew up your -eye.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Bless yer ...” crowed the invalid. “S’long -as I’ve got legs to walk to the doctor on, you kin -bet yer life ’e won’t walk to me. I’ll go’n see ’im, -soon’s as I stop bein’ all of a tremble.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll come with you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“As you please.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Wigsky escaped.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why do you allow that man to be drunk in -here?” asked the suffragette after a pause.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“’E don’t arsk my leave.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is he your husband?”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>“No. ’E is in a manner of speakin’. But I -wouldn’t really marry a soppy bloke like thet.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then why do you have soppy blokes crowding -you out of your own furniture?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ow, one must ’ave a man about the plice. -Feels more ’omely-like.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Does he work for you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t fink.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is he very good to you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The woman, not unnaturally, began to get restive. -“’Oo ye’re gettin’ at? Nat’rally a man ain’t -soothin’ syrup when ’e come ’ome as my young -man come ’ome an hour ago. ’E’s better’n -some.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a long silence. Then the suffragette -said, “Women seem to be extraordinarily cheap in -the market. They hire themselves out to the man -who hits the hardest. It makes one almost tired of -being a woman.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Look ’ere ...” said the patient wrathfully, but -she stopped there. Presently she sat up and said, -“I’m goin’ to doctor’s now. And if you ain’t still -too <em>tired</em>, miss, perhaps you’ll see me as fur as the -’orspital....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So the suffragette laid hold of the Closed Door -of the Brown Borough, by the handle of her fanatic -determination. She never saw the impossibility of -victory. It was the earliest of the early spring, and -there was hope in the air. For many weeks hope -was her only luxury. With it she sweetened her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>bread and margarine when she rose, to the tune of -it she munched her nightly tripe and onions. She -saw the mirage of the end in sight, and with her great -faith she almost made it real. She was a blind -optimist where women were concerned.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On the initiative of the priest’s sister, she attended -the Church Girls’ Club three evenings a week. On -her own initiative she played the Church false, and -established in its own field of labour, behind its back, -the foundation of her task.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was originally Miss Wigsky’s fault. Miss -Wigsky was a girl of practical energy, a warring -spirit, a potential suffragette. She had long been a -militant resister of the Church Club ideal, but when -the suffragette became one of its regular adherents, -Miss Wigsky joined it at once. Hers was the active -responsibility for what followed, and ’Tilda’s the -passive. I think I have mentioned ’Tilda before, -though not by name. She was a small white creature -who had committed the absurdity of losing her -heart to the suffragette at first sight, and had sealed -her admiration by laying bare the letter of her chap -at their first meeting.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The moment of cocoa-drinking was always the -moment of confidences. It was during this comparatively -peaceful time that the suffragette made -friends, and it was at this point that ’Tilda one evening -approached her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Jenny Wigsky’s a funny gel,” said ’Tilda. -“She’s bin talkin’ about you, miss. I got a new -<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>job the other day, very little money—piece-work—on’y -shillin’ a diy if I work ever so ’ard. I ses to -Jenny, ‘I’m a good gel I am, to tike less money than -I’m worth just to ’elp my muvver.’ But Jenny ses -I’m a very bad gel—she ses you ses as it’s wicked -to tike bad money.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I didn’t say it was wicked—I wouldn’t use the -word,” said the suffragette. “But I do think it’s -selfish. Every time a girl takes too little money, -she may be forcing another girl to take less. You -know it’s partly your fault that women’s wages are -so bad. You can feel now that you’ve had a share -in the work of sweating women, ’Tilda.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Didn’t I tell you?” said Miss Wigsky. “Why -don’t you do as I do, an’ stick out for ten?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But you’re not gettin’ it,” objected ’Tilda.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m goin’ to get it, I am. I’m goin’ back to my -ol’ tride—box-miking. I left it becos the work -was so ’ard, but the money’s better.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t mind how hard people work, as long as -they get paid for it,” said the suffragette. “Of -course, you have to do good work for good money. -What I mean is that I think it’s just as dishonest to -take too little money as it is to do too little -work.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But wot’s the good of one standin’ out?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Very little good. But more good in a dozen -standing out and more still in a hundred.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Le’s start a sassiety,” suggested the strenuous -Miss Wigsky. “You could be the Preserdink, miss, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>an’ I’ll ’elp yer. We’ll call ourselves the ‘Suffragette -Gels,’ an’ we won’t allow none of us to tike -less money than ten shillin’.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Garn ...” said ’Tilda. “Thet’s a Tride Union, -thet is. A man’s gime. If I chuck my job, -’oo’s goin’ to keep me til I get a better one. Muvver? -I don’t fink....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I will,” said the suffragette. “If there’s anybody -here earning less than ten shillings a week, -I’ll give them seven-and-six a week for a fortnight -if they have to chuck their job, and I’ll also give a -prize of seven-and-six at the end of the fortnight to -the girl who’s increased her wages the most.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>No plan could ever have been less planned. She -thought of it as she spoke of it, a most rash method. -But Miss Wigsky immediately set to work to hew -it into shape.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’ll ’ave to arringe for piece-work, miss,” she -said. “Anybody on piece-work could increase their -wiges by working for twenty-four hours a diy, but it -wouldn’t be fair.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nobody must work after eight at night,” said -the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“An’ if two or three gets the sime rise?” suggested -Miss Wigsky.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll give them each seven-and-six,” said the -suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Of the twenty girls present, three were earning -over ten shillings and entered a different class of the -competition, working for the prize without the maintenance, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>if a rise should be found possible without -loss of employment. Of the remaining seventeen, -two refused to compete, and one was too small to be -worth more than her present earnings. The other -fourteen determined on an immediate attack on their -employers. Chances were discussed instead of -dances for the rest of the evening.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My boss’ll siy—the money’s there—you kin -tike it or leave it. ’E’s said that before.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My boss’ll smile—’e allus calls me ’Tip-a-wink, -becos I’m the smallest gel there. ’E’s never cross—my -boss ain’t.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think I’ll win the prize easy—don’t know why -I never thought of it before. Buster—my boss—ses -I’ve got the ’andiest ’ands wiv the bristles as ever -’e see.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My missus’ll siy—there’s ’undreds of sluts in -the Borough twice as good as you, an’ I like yer imperence, -an’ you kin tike the sack wivout notice. -She allus calls me a slut—we won’t be sorry to -part.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I shall stick to the fevver work, an’ tike up -curlin’ an’ sewin’, as well as the knotting. I bin -too lizy up to now, but I’ve got an aunt in the tride -as ’ud learn me in no time.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>At closing time the priest drew the suffragette -aside.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I heard Jane Wigsky’s voice constantly raised -in the dining-room this evening. I want your opinion -of that girl. Yerce, yerce. She seems to me -<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>rough and coarse, and I am tempted to think she is -a disturbing influence in the Club.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“She’s not so disturbing as I am,” said the suffragette, -with a spasm of conscience.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Oh, don’t say that,” said the priest, whose sister -had been readjusting his manners. “Don’t be -disheartened, you will soon get into our ways, yerce, -yerce. But to return to Jane Wigsky, I do not like -the girl. She is impertinent and self-assured. I -feel sure she puts ideas into the girls’ heads.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I shouldn’t think an idea more or less would -make much difference.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The priest sighed. I am not surprised. I quite -admit that the suffragette was an infuriating person. -I yield to none in my admiration for any one who -could manage to keep their temper with her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You know I mean harmful ideas. She has no -staying power. She left excellent employment, apparently -simply through a whim. Her mistress, the -postmistress, is a great friend of mine. In short, I -consider the girl undesirable, and we are thinking of -asking her to leave the Club.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette became red.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m sorry the postmistress is a friend of yours,” -she said. “Because she can’t be a very admirable -friend. She herself admits that she only paid the -girl three-and-six a week, with no food except a cup -of tea at mid-day.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Poor wages, yerce, yerce. But far better than -idleness.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>“Infinitely worse,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A rather feverish silence fell for a moment. I -think the priest said a prayer. At any rate he -thought he did.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Surely you have some sympathy with our aims -in this Club. Surely you agree that it is a worthy -ideal to try to raise the level of the young womanhood -of the Borough. Surely you see that we cannot -do this unless we keep the girls in good uplifting -company. Jane Wigsky is a bad girl. One must -draw the line between good and bad.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“One may draw a line, but one needn’t build a -barrier. And even to draw a line, one should have -very good sight.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I think I hardly need your advice on the -management of a parish I have served for twenty-two -years. If this were my Club I should request -you to find some other outlet for your energies. -But my sister is very obstinate. Good -evening.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>A certain amount of success attended the efforts -of the Suffragette Girls. By the end of that week, -three girls had been given a rise for the asking, the -extent of it varying from sixpence to two shillings. -Several had got a promise of a rise when work -should be less slack, only three had taken the drastic -step of leaving their employment. The piece-workers -with few exceptions were working for a wage -which seemed unalterable. An envelope-folder -raised her earnings from three halfpence a thousand -<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>to twopence. But as a rule there is no labour groove -so deep as the piece-worker’s.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was on the Thursday night before Good -Friday that the suffragette, dressed in a dressing-gown, -sat before her fire remembering the simplest -character in this simple book—Scottie -Brown.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s dog-stealing,” she thought, “no less. Miss -Brown may return to the Island any time crying out -for Scottie to come and comfort her. And Scottie -will be languishing in England, undergoing quarantine. -We are dog-thieves.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The “we” sent a little heat-wave over the place -where her heart should have been.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She had been working very hard all day, walking -about the Brown Borough collecting its worries. -She was so tired that she could not rest, could not -go to bed, could not do anything except sit on her -hearthrug and think feverishly of things that did not -matter.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Outwardly the suffragette, when in her dressing-gown, -and with her hair drawn into a small smooth -plait, approached more nearly her vocation than under -any other circumstances. She was a nun, dedicated -to an unknown God.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A person to see you,” said the landlady, and -flung open the door. The suffragette shot to her -feet, with a momentary terrible suspicion that the -landlady had said “parson.” Visions of a bashful -curate brought face to face with a militant suffragette -<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>in her dressing-gown, were, however, swept -away by the entrance of Miss Wigsky.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s a —— shime,” remarked the visitor loudly, -discarding the convention of greeting.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Sure to be,” said the suffragette, sinking down -upon the hearthrug again. “Nearly everything’s -that kind of shame. Sit down and tell me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I tol’ you I’d got a job, you know, at Smiff’s—boot-uppers. -A lucky find it were, I thought, ten -shillin’ a week an’ I was to be learnt ’ow to work -a machine. ’E ses ’e thought I was a likely sort on -Monday when I went, but ’e ses as ’e was goin’ to -learn me somethink, an’ ’e wanted a special sort of -gel, like, ’e ars’t for references. Knowin’ as ’e was -a religious sort of gentleman, an’ give ’eaps of money -to the Church, I tol’ ’im Farver Christopher for my -reference, because Farver Christopher’s known -Muvver sence she married, an’ allus said ’e would -’elp ’er whenever ’e could. So when I went agine -yesterday, to Smiff’s, ’e ses as ’ow Farver Christopher -’adn’t spoke well of me—said I was unreliable, -an’ never stuck to one job. So Mr. Smiff ses -in thet cise I wouldn’t suit, but ’e ses as I looked likely -’e’d give me a job as packer at six shillin’. I ses as -I couldn’ afford to tike so little money, an’ I tol’ ’im -about you an’ the Suffragette Gels. ’E ses you -oughter be ashimed of yoursel’, an’ ’e’d write an’ -tell Farver Christopher as ’ow ’is Club was an ’otbed -of somethink or other. I ’ites Farver Christopher—curse -’im—an’ ’e miking belief to be so ’elpful. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>I was in my first job free years, an’ jus’ because I -chucked the —— job ’e found for me, ’e does me -dirty like this. Curse ’im.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t,” said the suffragette. “Suffragettes -don’t waste breath in cursing—even when there -seems to be nothing to do but curse.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“This evenin’ ...” continued Miss Wigsky, “I -went to the Club to see if you was there, though it -wasn’t your night. Farver Christopher turned me -out, ’e did. ’E’s turned out fifteen of the gels, an’ -tol’ them never to come back no more. ’E found out -from the others which was the suffragette gels, an’ -turned ’em out. I stood up to ’im, and arsk’ ’im -wotever we’ve done that’s wrong, there ain’t no ’arm, -I ses, in tryin’ to get a livin’ wige. I arsk’ ’im ’ow -’e’d like to live under seven shillin’ a week. ’E ses -as ’ow God ’ad called us to this stite of life, an’ it -was wicked to try an’ alter it. ’E ses as women are -pide what they’re worth, an’ God mide rich an’ poor -an’ men an’ women, an’ never meant the poor to be -rich, or women to be pretending they was as good -as men ... I spit at ’im, miss, I ’ope you’ll excuse -me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll excuse you,” said the suffragette, “though -I don’t think it was a very artistic protest. I am -most awfully sorry for you, Jenny, but I’m not surprised. -For you know when you became a suffragette -you agreed to fight, and now you’ve found out -what you’re fighting, that’s all. Suffragettes are just -soldiers—only more sober—and when they meet -<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>the enemy, they just get more determined, not more -excited. If you were a soldier and got wounded, -we should be sorry for you, but also rather proud of -you. We must collect the suffragette girls somewhere -else, and make the army grow.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t believe you can, miss. I went to see -’Tilda, an’ she was pretty near soppy about it. She’s -piece-work, an’ carn’ get ’er boss to rise ’er, so she -ain’t done nothink to be turned out of the Club for, -she ses. She ses as ’ow she won’t never ’ave nuffink -more to do wiv them suffragettes. Then I met Lil, -the tow-’aired gel—she was drunk—at the corner -of the Delta. She puts it all on you, miss.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Do you feel like that?” asked the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ow well, in a manner o’ speakin’, it wouldn’ -’ave ’appened if it ’adn’t bin for you, miss. But I -don’t feel sore against you, not really. You did it -for the best. You miy be right about fightin’ the -enemy, on’y the enemy’s too strong. P’r’aps Farver -Christopher’s right, an’ God mide women to starve -till they marry, an’ get beaten till they die....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If there is a God,” said the suffragette in a low -voice, “the only possible conclusion is that he is an -Anti. Still, even a God can be fought.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Ow, I’m sick o’ fightin’,” said Miss Wigsky. -“I shall go orf wiv my chap, though ’e is out of -work....”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The gardener was at 21 Penny Street, waiting for -an answer to his message. To pass the time he had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>found work, or rather work had found him, for he -was a man of luck. Eventually, instead of an answer, -Mrs. Paul Rust called on him.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“How’s your son?” asked the gardener, who -was pleased to meet some one who had met the -suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Beneath his superficial “unscathed” pose, there -was a layer of deep faithfulness. He knew by now -that the suffragette was not worthy of the love of a -sober Assistant Secretary to a Society Which Believed -Itself of Great Importance (one of his -latest practical poses). But the thing one knows -makes no difference to the thing one feels, if -one is young. The gardener was under the impression -that his wisdom had dethroned the suffragette -from her eminence, but his heart, with -the obstinacy peculiar to hearts, continued to look -up.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My son is bad. He gets no stronger. There -is no reason why he shouldn’t get up, except that he -isn’t strong enough to walk.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m not,” said Mrs. Rust automatically, and -stood checked by such a decided lie.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What annoys me is Courtesy,” she said after -a pause. “Courtesy indeed, she hasn’t treated me -fairly. She had the impertinence to tell me last week -that she was engaged to that ridiculous young Wise -she picked up at Greyville. Engaged indeed, it’s -stuff and nonsense, pure defiance. She’s treated me -<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>as a sort of matrimonial agent. I wasn’t paying her -£200 a year to look for a husband.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No,” agreed the gardener. “Then why don’t -you forbid the banns?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Poor Mrs. Rust’s helplessness in the hands of -Courtesy rose vaguely to her memory. “Stuff and -nonsense,” she said. “I haven’t yet decided what -steps I shall take in the matter. There is no immediate -hurry. She has suggested letting the matter -drop until Samuel is better. She has many failings, -but I think she is fond of me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That’s a very attractive failing,” admitted the -gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I didn’t come here to discuss Courtesy with -you,” snapped Mrs. Rust, suddenly remembering -her temper. “I came because Samuel wanted me -to come. He seems to be under delusions about you, -he thinks he owes you gratitude. In fact—probably -under the influence of delirium—he once said -you financed his hotel. As a matter of fact I -financed it myself, it owes its present success to me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s awfully good of you to come all this way -to bring me misdirected gratitude,” said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “I -wouldn’t stir an inch out of my way to make you -more conceited than you are. But that is the worst -of having a son, you have to pay occasional attention -to his wishes. Besides, Courtesy brought me up -to town and gave the address to the chauffeur, so I -really wasn’t consulted. Samuel wishes to see you. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>All the time he was ill he was asking for the Tra-la-la -young man, and now I find he means you. I might -have said that right at the beginning, and not have -wasted all this time listening to your chatter.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’m very glad you didn’t,” said the gardener. -“I couldn’t bear a caller who came straight to the -point in five words and then left.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “Are you -coming?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was half-past three on Good Friday afternoon. -There is something about that little Easter cluster -of Sundays that weighs your heart down, if you are -in postless London, and expecting a letter.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Where is your son?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In Hampshire, in the Cottage Hospital, near -the Red Place. You could put up at the Red Place. -Samuel, being a fool, said you might have the big -black and white room on the first floor. He might -have let it for five guineas over Bank Holiday.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What time is the train?” asked the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“My car is at the door. The chauffeur is a dangerous -lunatic, and there seems to me to be every -likelihood that the back wheel will come off before -we get out of London. But—are you coming?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So the gardener came. Seated behind the dangerous -lunatic, over the dangerous back wheel, and beside -a hostess in a musical comedy motor bonnet, he -followed once more the road that led to the gods.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He had left his address with Miss Shakespeare for -the forwarding of letters.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>The great surprise of spring awaited them outside -London. There were lambs under a pale sky, and -violets under pale green hedges. Gnarled trees, like -strong men’s muscles, curved out of roadside copses, -lit with a green radiance. There was lilac smiling -across the cottage gardens, there were wallflowers -blotted dark against whitewashed walls. But when -they reached the pines and heath they left the spring -behind. Only the larches preached its gospel.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You had better come and see Samuel first,” said -Mrs. Rust. “He is anxious to see you. He always -was a fool.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>So they passed the Red Place. It flared out at -them along a sombre ride that cut the woods in two.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Samuel says his gods look after the place as well -as any manager, while he is away. But of course -he has a chef now, and a competent bureau clerk.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I suppose you couldn’t ask the gods to dish up -the dinner, or make out the bills,” admitted the gardener -regretfully. “But I wonder if there’s room -for the gods as well as the chef and the competent -bureau clerk.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “A good -dinner’s worth all the gods in mythology.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>They drove up to their destination.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The cottage hospital had only recruited to the -service of the sick in later life. For a hundred years -or so it had been the haunt of the wicked landowner. -Worldly squires’ wives had given tea in its paved -pergola to curates’ wives in their best hats. But -<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>as the house grew older it reformed. Its walls, -steeped in the purple village gossip of a century, now -echoed only to the innocent if technical prattle of -nurses. The only person who walked in its garden -was Sister: she threw crumbs to the goldfish as severely -as though the crumbs were for their good. -For the blessing which the house inherited from its -past was its garden. A small garden, like a cut -emerald, but reflecting all other jewels. It was a -garden that tried to enshrine sombre peace amid the -vivid riot of spring. Its high clipped hedges drew -decorously angular reflections in the pools. Brown -wallflowers hid the feet of the hedges. The lilacs -seemed somehow turned to half mourning by the -proximity of a copper beech. A veil of tree seeds -spinning down the wind fell diagonally across the -garden. The pink horse chestnut was very symmetrical. -Only the little saxifrages protested against -the geometrical correctness of the paving-stones, and -forget-me-nots sang a shrill song in blue from the -restraining chaperonage of red pottery tubs. A little -cupid with a dislocated hip played a noiseless flute -from a pedestal. The garden was a prig, but it -was the sort of prig that makes you wonder whether -after all it is worth while to be so exquisitely sinful.</p> - -<p class='c009'>They found Samuel Rust, who was the only patient -in the hospital, the centre of a mist of nurses. -He was lying in the shade of a great smooth yew -pyramid with a military-looking bird fashioned on -the top of it. Samuel Rust, that unusual young man, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>could never be much paler than he had been when -in health, but he was grey now, rather than white, -and his round sequins of eyes were set in a deeper -setting.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The Tra-la-la young man,” he said as the gardener -approached. “I have been wondering why -I wanted to see you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“So have I,” said Mrs. Rust, who, after a momentary -lapse into a maternal expression, had turned -her back on the invalid.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let’s pretend I’m just an ordinary sick-bed visitor, -then,” suggested the gardener. “One never -knows why—or whether—one wants to see that -sort of visitor. In that case I have to begin:—Dear -Mr. Rust, I hope you are much better.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Still posing,” said Samuel. “What is your latest -attitude?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I never pose,” said the gardener. “I have a -horror of the pose. My mind’s eye sometimes -changes the spectacles it wears, but that’s all. I now -find that all along the gods were intending me to -be a business man.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Hard luck,” said Samuel.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The nurses had melted away, and Mrs. Rust followed -them into the house. The sun was making -ready for his triumph in the west and a diffident -moon perched on the peak of the pink horse chestnut.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Perhaps one ought to have foreseen the gods’ -intention of making you a business man,” said Samuel, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>“for you certainly carried out the unscrupulous -deceiver part with wonderful success—That is—jolly -well—what? My Red Place now sings a -hymn of praise to you, to the tune of ten pounds a -week—clear.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t mention it,” said the gardener. “It -didn’t need much unscrupulous deceiving to persuade -your mother to get her heart to work. And, to tell -you the truth, the end was rather drowned in the -means on that journey. I got so busy living—I -only thought of you when absolutely necessary.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I didn’t expect you to wear my image graven on -your heart, what?” said Samuel. “You are young, -and living should certainly be your business. Is that -why you said you were a business man? I have -often thought that being young and only lately set -up in business, you had no business to saddle yourself -with a wife.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No business whatever,” admitted the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Then why did you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I didn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Good heavens,” said Samuel fretfully, “why -was I born in such a cryptic age?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The truth is—I spoke in a futurist sense when -I called her my wife.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In other words, you lied,” suggested Samuel. -“You just took a little tame woman on a string for -a trip, as many better men have done before you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I dragged a woman by force across the Atlantic, -and then she ran away. She ran back home.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>“The silly ass,” said Mr. Rust irritably. “Why -did she do that?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The attitude of women towards force ...” said -the gardener sententiously, “is not what psychologists -make it out to be. By some of the books I’ve -read, I would have thought that women worshipped -brute force; I would have thought that they kept -their hair long specially in order to be dragged about -by it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have known very few women really well,” said -Samuel; “and the ones I knew didn’t wear hair that -they could be dragged about by. I should think the -final disappearance of your post-impressionist wife -was rather a good riddance.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It was neither good nor a riddance. In the -same futurist sense I still call her my wife. It’s an -effort, I admit, to continue to be fond of a militant -suffragette, and yet somehow it’s an effort I can’t -help making.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Courtesy appeared, her hair an impudent rival to -the sunset.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ve brought your book from the library,” she -said. “I couldn’t get any books by Somethingevsky, -as you asked, so I brought <cite>The Rosary</cite>.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I ought to congratulate you on your engagement,” -said the gardener. “In fact—Mrs. Rust -being out of earshot—I do.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Thank you,” said Courtesy, looking wonderfully -pretty. “I wish everybody in the world was as -happy as I am, though of course marriage is an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>awful risk. How’s your young woman, gardener?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“As militant as ever,” said the gardener. “I’m -expecting a letter from her any day, or a telegram -any minute.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why, is she coming down here?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Probably,” said the gardener. He had absolutely -no grounds for his confidence except the -ground of youth, and that, of course, is only a quicksand.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But the funny thing was she came.</p> - -<p class='c009'>For she cried all her current stock of militancy -away on Thursday night, and by three o’clock on -Good Friday afternoon she was on the door-step of -21 Penny Street.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Even if slavery and polygamy become the fashion,” -she argued characteristically, “Scottie Brown -will still be wrongfully detained in quarantine.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was not to Scottie Brown that her thoughts -turned when the maid told her that Mr. Gardener -had gone to the country for Easter.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But I must see him,” said the suffragette, who -was a little drunk with the bitter beverage of tears.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s impossible,” said the maid. “I tell you—he’s -away.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The word “impossible” as usual acted as a challenge.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Might I have his address?” said the caller.</p> - -<p class='c009'>After consultation with Miss Shakespeare the address -was produced, and the suffragette’s decision -made.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>“The Red Place.... His friend lives there—Mrs. -Rust’s son. Anyway there’s no harm in going -to a country hotel for Easter.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was quite an advance for the suffragette to be -human enough to consider whether there was any -harm or not.</p> - -<p class='c009'>So she went home and had a ten minutes’ interview -with the mustard-coloured portmanteau, and -then she put it and herself into a third-class carriage -marked Girton Magna.</p> - -<p class='c009'>At sunset she arrived at the Red Place, and by -luck extraordinary managed to procure a small attic -which the tide of holiday-makers had passed by.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She saw the gardener first at dinner-time, and he -looked almost as incredible to her as she did to him. -It always surprises me to see a person looking exactly -like themselves after absence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>When the gardener first saw the suffragette, he -swallowed a spoonful of soup which was very much -too hot, and rose. Courtesy was in the middle of -a remark, and looked surprised to see him go.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I knew I should hear or see something of you -soon,” said the gardener, shaking the suffragette’s -hand as usual an excessive number of times. “And -yet I’m awfully surprised too,” admitted the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Just an Easter holiday?” suggested the gardener -carelessly. “But what luck you chose the -Red Place.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It wasn’t exactly luck. I knew you were here.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>Tears had been trembling in the gardener’s eyes -since the swallowing of the soup, he very nearly -shed them now.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Waiter,” he called, “move that lady’s place to -our table.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette was excited and flushed. She -looked almost pretty.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I can’t imagine why I came,” she said when the -change was effected and greetings had been exchanged. -“I think I must have come in delirium. -The woman I used to be never comes into the country -except on business, and, in the case of friends, -makes a principle of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hope you left that woman behind—permanently,” -said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“No. That’s the worst of it. They’re both -here. Each acts as conscience while the other one’s -in power. Why wasn’t one brought into the world -by oneself?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why, weren’t you?” asked Courtesy; “were you -twins?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I still am. One of me is quite a good sort, -really, almost an ‘Oh, my dear’ girl. She is the -one who was described in the paper as ‘Boadicea -Smith, a young woman of prepossessing appearance.’ -The reporter went on to say that the name was probably -assumed—(which it was)—and that he knew -who I really was—(which he didn’t). He hinted -that I was a deluded patrician incog. Do you know, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>I treasure that paragraph as if it were a love-letter. -It’s the only compliment I ever had.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I should like to shake the hand of that reporter,” -said the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But after that he referred to me all through as -‘Smith,’ without prefix, which is the sign of a criminal.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The puppy!” exclaimed the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What were you doing to get into the paper?” -asked Courtesy sternly. “I never get into the paper.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s inconceivable that you should get into the -paper, Courtesy dear,” said the gardener, “except -when you get born or married or dead.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’d be like a sultana in a seed-cake,” said the -suffragette, “or like a sunrise at tea-time. Or as -if a Forty-nine ’bus went to the Bank.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>I really think she was a little delirious, and perhaps -she felt it herself, for she added apologetically, -“I always think Forty-nine is such an innocent ’bus, -it never knows the City.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Next morning it was raining in the persistently -militant sort of way reserved by the weather for -public holidays.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A pity,” said the gardener at breakfast. “I -meant to take you over to the village to introduce -you to Mr. Rust. And there are no ’buses or taxis -here.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let’s dispense with the ’buses and taxis,” suggested -<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>the suffragette. “Let’s forget London and -get country-wet.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’ll catch your death of cold,” said the gardener -delightedly, and presently they started.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I don’t really want to be introduced to your -friend,” said the suffragette. “Only I wanted a -chance to speak to you alone. Do you know, beneath -a militant exterior I am horribly shy?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s obvious,” retorted the gardener.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Is it?” asked the suffragette, annoyed, and relapsed -into silence for a moment.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I wanted to tell you ...” she began again -presently, “that I beg your pardon for coming here. -It’s unforgivable of me. You know, as regards men, -I’m not a woman at all; I haven’t the unselfish instincts -that other women have. I came because -I had—reached the limit—and I wanted a -friend....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Well, you didn’t come far wrong,” said the gardener. -“I love you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I didn’t think of your feelings at all, which is -only another proof that it is no good your loving -me.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“May I take the risk?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette stopped, and stood leaning against -the rain-whipped wind. Rain was trapped in the -mesh of her soft hair. She clenched her fists upon -her breast.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Won’t you believe me ...” she said, “when I -tell you it would be best to break up that poor little -<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>dream of yours—as I have broken mine. I told -you once that I had somehow been born the wrong -side of the ropes in the race. One can’t love across -a barrier.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Love is not a dream,” said the gardener. “It’s -your barrier that’s a dream. Why don’t you try -breaking that?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are a man, little gardener, and I am a -thing. Not a bad thing, really, but certainly not -a woman. And even a thing can reach the point -which I have reached, the point at which there seems -nothing to do but grope and cry....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>They walked a little way in silence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I seem to have come to the edge of the world -by myself,” she went on. “And I can’t go on—by -myself. Oh, gardener, couldn’t we be friends -without being lovers?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That has been suggested before,” said the gardener -slowly. “And it has never succeeded. But—we—might—try....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>All the rest of the way to the village I suppose -they were practising being friends and not lovers. -For neither spoke a word.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“So this is the militant suffragette,” said Samuel -Rust, who was sitting in the hospital sitting-room. -“I am most interested to meet you. I have long -wished to meet a suffragette to ask her why she -wanted the vote.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Why do men want it?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Personally I don’t.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>“Personally I do,” said the suffragette. “And -mine is as good an answer as yours.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Both answers are very poor,” admitted Samuel. -“You want the vote so badly that you think it worth -while to become hysterical over it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There is not much hysteria in the movement, -only hysteria is the thing that strikes a hysterical -press as most worthy of note. What hysteria there -is, is a result—not a cause. Women never invented -hysteria. How should we be anything but irresponsible, -since you have taken responsibility from us? -If we are bitter, you must remember that somebody -mixed the dose. If the womanliness you admire is -dead, bear in mind that nothing can be dead without -being killed.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But who is your enemy? Who are your murderers? -I have never noticed that the majority of -men are fiends incarnate. You may not believe me, -but I do assure you that at frequent intervals in my -life I have met honest, just, and moral men. Have -you met none?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In the Brown Borough I meet excellent men. -Older and wiser men, who sit on committees and -behave like one conglomerate uncle to the poor; -young lovers too hopelessly out of work to marry, -and yet always gay and good-hearted; large tired -fathers who come in after a day’s work and sit under -dripping washing and never slap the children.... -But that such just men are not in a majority is proved -by the fact that women continue to suffer.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>“Yes, but perhaps they suffer at the hands—not -of men—but of circumstances.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Circumstances always favour people with a public -voice.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And do militant suffragettes really think that by -smashing windows they will attain to a public voice?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In what we do, we’re a poor argument for the -Franchise. In what we are, we’re the very best. -It’s not possible for the community to be hit without -deserving it. It must look round and find out -why it is hit—not how. Punishment is no good -to a smasher of windows. Any woman can see if -she’s wrong without punishment. If she thinks she’s -right, punishment can never alter her opinion.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Smashers must be punished. It would be impossible -to allow even the righteous to take the law -into their own hands.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In whose hands should we leave it? In the -hands of those who declare themselves to be our -enemies? A fair question from a woman never gets -a fair answer. Windows are smashed—not as an -argument, but as a protest.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A protest strikes me as a futile thing. No one -ever does anything that looks unfair or tyrannical -without being perfectly sure that was the thing they -meant to do. If a protest is successful it creates discord -without altering what is done. If it’s unsuccessful, -it leaves you with a high temperature and -bruised hands, and what is gained by that?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Protest isn’t a thing you argue about,” said the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>suffragette. “It’s a thing you do when you see red. -You seem to think that men have the monopoly of -the last straw.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is hard to believe that you have reached the -last straw,” said Samuel. “It is very hard for men -to picture women as an oppressed race. We are -miles and miles away from each other. I can still -think of a lot of things to say, but I can’t say them -without a moral megaphone. Shall we call a -draw?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Let’s,” said the suffragette, relaxing her militant -expression. “Only let me have the last word—a -rather long one. Of one thing I am certain—when -we have the vote, men will see what a small gift it -was, and future generations will ask why it was -grudged so bitterly. Only to us who have fought -for it and suffered for it, it will always seem high and -splendid—like a flag captured in battle....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“The country is looking pretty just now, isn’t it?” -said Mr. Samuel Rust.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was standing at the window, watching -the clipped yew bird outside curtseying to the -wind. He had been pathetically silent, like a -snubbed child, ever since he had consented to be a -friend and not a lover. His white keen face was a -striking illustration of enthusiasm damped. His jaw -looked as if he were clenching his teeth on something -bitter. I think he was regretting the days when -gold hair with a ripple in it as laboured as the ripples -in an old Master’s seascape, wide blue eyes -<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>alight with matrimonial instinct, and the very red -lips of a very small mouth, were all that his heart -needed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>And I wonder what the suffragette saw in his face -that made her say in a very non-militant voice, -“Come, gardener.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>They both shook hands in rather an absent-minded -way with Mr. Samuel Rust. They started from the -door with the wind behind them. It was with her -hair blowing forward along her cheeks that the gardener -always remembered the suffragette most vividly. -It brought a brave idea to his mind, connected -vaguely with a picture of Grace Darling with -which he had been in love fifteen years ago.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Gardener,” said the suffragette hurriedly. -“Can you imagine me sitting by the fire bathing a -baby?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Easily,” he replied. “I can imagine how the -firelight would dance upon your hair.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” she said, -with a catch in her voice. “Can you imagine me, -looking sleepy and cross, giving you early breakfast -before you went to work?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I can imagine you with the sun behind you, saying -good-morning, so that the word seemed like a -blessing through the day.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s a lie—you poet,” she said. “Why don’t -you open your eyes and see me as I am?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ve had my eyes open all along. It’s you who -are blind.”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>“Then—suppose we become both lovers and -friends.... Suppose we get married on Tuesday....”</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c005'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>To-morrow I will don my cloak</div> - <div class='line'>Of opal-grey, and I will stand</div> - <div class='line'>Where the palm shadows stride like smoke</div> - <div class='line'>Across the dazzle of the sand.</div> - <div class='line'>To-morrow I will throw this blind</div> - <div class='line'>Blind whiteness from my soul away,</div> - <div class='line'>And pluck this blackness from my mind,</div> - <div class='line'>And only leave the medium—grey.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>To-morrow I will cry for gains</div> - <div class='line'>Upon the blue and brazen sky:</div> - <div class='line'>The precious venom in my veins</div> - <div class='line'>To-morrow will be parched and dry.</div> - <div class='line'>To-morrow it shall be my goal</div> - <div class='line'>To throw myself away from me,</div> - <div class='line'>To lose the outline of my soul</div> - <div class='line'>Against the greyness of the sea.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span> - <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER II</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c008'>The suffragette went up to London on Monday—Bank -Holiday—to contemplate finally the ruin -of her work. For it was dead. I suppose if she -had not felt so old and tired she might have thought -of a fresh beginning, but she was always more passionate -than persistent.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I don’t think the Brown Borough ever made her -suffer so much as it did the day she came back to it -and found no place for her. You must remember -she had always put work before pleasure, and a new -joy born had no place in her mind with the pain of -work killed. The gardener of yesterday retreated -from the foreground of her mind, and for a while -she never thought at all of the gardener of to-morrow.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Henceforward we part company with that suffragette -whom I have loved perhaps a good deal, and of -whom you have wearied. Her heart seemed to take -on a different colour as she returned for the last time -to the Brown Borough. What she had preached for -years conquered her beyond hope at last, the world -she had fought became suddenly victor.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She went to Jenny Wigsky, and found her gone.</p> - -<p class='c009'>She went to see ’Tilda, who was out. But ’Tilda’s -mother spoke out ’Tilda’s mind.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>She went to see the priest’s sister, and she was -away for Easter. But the priest was at home.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I had no wish ever to see you again,” said the -priest. “But it is as well that we should meet, for -I should like to make my position and that of my -sister perfectly clear to you, yerce, yerce.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It is perfectly clear,” said the suffragette, who -felt curiously numb.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Excuse me, but I do not wish that you should -go away under the delusion that you are in the right -though persecuted, and in your self-absorption proceed -to make havoc of another field of work. Setting -aside the fact that you have been guilty of bad faith -towards us, you have approached the work from a -wilfully wrong standpoint. You have mixed your -despicable little political jealousies with Christian -work, to the serious danger of young and innocent -souls.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I worked for the honour of women, and you—possibly—for -the honour of your God. Certainly -your work sounds better—to men.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If there is a thing that women excel in, it is the -art of evading the point,” said the priest bitterly. -“The affair, bluntly put, is this: Jane Wigsky, an -idle, vicious, and immoral girl, had the impudence to -go to my very good friend, Mr. Smith, of Smith, -Bird and Co., and, presuming on her showy appearance, -to apply for a responsible post, a post which is -in every way suited to be the reward of virtue, rather -than something for the covetous to grasp at. Mr. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>Smith is, as I say, a friend of mine, and a most generous -friend to the Church, having only last week -presented a beautiful carved chancel screen. -Naturally it was my duty to tell him all I knew about -the girl.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“And what did you know?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am not obliged to answer to you for my statements, -but, as a matter of fact, I told him that the -girl was not a ‘stayer’—in colloquial language—and -that she was of immoral tendency.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That was only what you fancied. What did you -know?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a swallowing sound in the priest’s -throat, a sound as of one keeping his temper.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“May I ask if you are aware that the girl has -now disappeared, with her lover?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“But that was since you wrote.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have not worked for twenty-two years among -the poor without reaching a certain insight into character; -I am not blind to such things, whatever you -may be, yerce, yerce. But that is beside the point. -I reminded Smith that he might be able to give her -less important employment—I was willing to help -the girl up to a certain point. I suggested a protégé -of my own for the better post, to whom the generous -opportunity offered would be far more suitable, a -very deserving young man, who is debarred from -ordinary employment by the loss of a leg. Mr. -Smith accepted my suggestion, and offered Jane Wigsky -a post as packer, at seven-and-six a week, a much -<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>larger wage than she has been getting lately. She -refused, and put the responsibility of her refusal on -you. She also mentioned that other girls in the -Church Club were under your influence on the question -of wages. I made enquiries and found that my -sister’s club was in a fair way to turn into a female -Trade Union, an abominable anomaly. I took the -only course possible. I dismissed all the misguided -girls from the Club. There is nothing more to be -said.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Nothing,” said the suffragette, who had become -very white, “except—what must your God be like -to have a servant like you?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If you are going to blaspheme,” said the priest, -“kindly leave my house at once.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“If God is like that ...” she said, “I pray the -Devil may win.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>She ran out of the house childishly, and slammed -the door.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The gardener, on Tuesday morning, was parting his -hair for the third time, when he received a telegram:</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t come.—Suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>It startled him, but not very much. He looked at -the third attempt at a parting in the glass, and saw -that it was an excellent parting for a man on his wedding-day. -He reflected that a militant suffragette -would naturally tend to become ultra-militant on this -final day. And if the worst came to the worst, it -could do no harm to go up and find out how bad the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>worst was. So he went up to London by the eleven -train.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He was to meet her at the little bun-shop that -clings for protection to the Brown Borough Town -Hall. There the suffragette had a fourpenny meal -daily, and there they had arranged to have an eightpenny -meal together, before assuming the married -pose. There was a “wedding-shop” round the -corner. I don’t suppose any couple ever made less -impressive plans.</p> - -<p class='c009'>And the gardener pursued the plan. He entirely -ignored the telegram.</p> - -<p class='c009'>I don’t know whether the suffragette was confident -that he would obey it, or that he would ignore -it. I am entirely doubtful about her state of mind -on that day. But I know that when the gardener -arrived at the bun-shop she was there, facing the -door, already half-way through her fourpenny lunch. -Which appears to show that—if her telegram was -genuine—she put implicit faith in his obedience. -In this case she was presumably displeased to see him. -Her face, however, looked too tired to change its -expression in any way.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Didn’t you get my wire?” she said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What is a wire to me?” asked the gardener, -sitting down.</p> - -<p class='c009'>There was a long pause, during which he ordered -a Welsh Rarebit from a waitress who, six months -ago, would have furnished him with an ideal of -womanhood.</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>“Why did you wire?” he asked presently.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I have to go on a journey,” said the suffragette, -waving at the mustard-coloured portmanteau, which -was seated on a chair beside her.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“In that case, so have I,” said the gardener. -“We’ll get married first, and then go on the journey -together.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>No reply. Their talk was like broken fragments -thrown upon a sea of ice. It hurried, faltered, -stopped, and then froze into a background of silence.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener noticed that the suffragette was -trembling violently, and with a great effort he made -no comment on this discovery.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Finally she rose, leaving quite twopence-halfpenny -worth of her meal hiding beneath her knife and fork.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You’ll have to show me where this registry office -is,” said the gardener, “and also what to do. I -don’t know how one gets married.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Neither do I,” said the suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I’ll carry your bag.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I like carrying things. I hate being helped. -You must always remember that I am a militant suffragette.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I am never allowed to forget it,” sighed the gardener, -his ardour rather damped. “Are we getting -near the place?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Very near.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>They stopped at the steps of a church.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“We might have thought it our duty to be married -in a church,” she said. “What a merciful escape!”</p> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>He was silent.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I hate God,” she added.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Don’t,” said the gardener. “You’re too excited. -Don’t tremble like that. Don’t hate God. -After all, He made the world—a green sane world—with -you and me in it....”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“He made it with you in it. But I got in by mistake.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“What a happy mistake!” said the gardener. -“Come into the church, my dear, and rest for a moment. -Don’t try to look too deep into the reasons -of things, you’ll only get giddy.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>He took her hand, and they went up the steps together.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It’s a fine church,” he said. “That screen’s a -fine bit of carving.” He felt as if he had taken -charge of his suffragette’s nerves, and he busied his -brain in the composition of cool and commonplace -remarks.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“That chancel screen is dirty. It’s the gift of -foul hands, bought with foul money. Do you think -me mad?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“You are, rather, you know. Pull yourself -together. Surely you’re not frightened of getting -married to me?”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The suffragette laughed. “You wonderfully -faithful friend,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The gardener was not a religious young man. He -was not quite rare enough in texture for that, and he -was a little too clever for the religion of his fathers. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>The Christian pose had never appealed to him, it was -not unique enough. All his life he had seen prayer -used as a method of commercial telegraphy. You -wanted a thing, and from a kneeling position you informed -Heaven of your order. If it was complied -with, you knew that you must be appreciated in high -quarters; if it was ignored, you supposed that your -message had miscarried, and despatched another. -At any rate it cost nothing.</p> - -<p class='c009'>But the gardener had a vague reverence inborn in -him. During his everyday life he posed as an unbeliever. -When in his own unposing company he -passively believed in something he had never defined. -But under stained-glass windows or the benediction -of music, under arched forests and a sinless sky, under -the passionate sane spell of the sea, under the -charm of love, he knew that he worshipped. For -he was a poet without the means of proving it, and to -such God is a secret mouthpiece, and a salvation.</p> - -<p class='c009'>So, at the back of the church, beside the suffragette, -he pressed his face into his hands, and his elbows -on to his knees, and found to his surprise that his -heart was beating violently. Between his fingers he -could see the east window. Its blood-like splashes -of red, its banners of unearthly blue, its blur of -golden haloes glorified the sunlight. It seemed to -have a colour for each of his days; he found his -childhood in it, and his little ambitions, his pale Tra-la-la -days, and the babyhood of his heart, red hair -he found, and the ardour of the sea, and love.... -<span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>And presently he looked round and found his companion -had gone from his side.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He could see her, with her chin up, looking defiantly -at the altar. The sunlight dramatically -touched her distant face, and it was like a pin-prick in -the twilight of the church. It was but seldom that -nature provided a good setting for my suffragette.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was only when he saw her with the mustard-coloured -portmanteau raised shoulder high that he -realised what she was doing. The knowledge tore a -gash across his dreams, and severed him from himself. -He did not move. He watched her throw the -portmanteau at the foot of the chancel screen. He -saw her wrap her arms about her face and swing -round on her heel. He hardly heard the explosion, -but directly afterwards he realised how loud it had -been.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Smoke danced across the altar, smoke blotted out -the window, smoke threaded the lace of the shattered -screen. Smoke.... Silver in the sunlight ... -blue round the altar ... and grey—dead grey—over -the little crumpled body of the criminal. Smoke -stood over her, a transitory monument—like a tree—like -a curse.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Yes, I pose of course. But the question is—how -deep may a pose extend?</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div><span class='small'>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span></div> -<div class='bbox'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>The following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan novels.</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span><em>NEW MACMILLAN FICTION</em></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c011'><span class='xlarge'>The Research Magnificent</span></p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div><span class='sc'>By H. G. WELLS</span></div> - <div class='c002'>Author of “The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman,” etc.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><em>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50</em></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'><cite>The Research Magnificent</cite> is pronounced by those critics who -have read it to be the best work that Mr. Wells has done, realizing -fully the promises of greatness which not a few have found in its -immediate predecessors. The author’s theme—the research magnificent—is -the story of one man’s search for the kingly life. A -subject such as this is one peculiarly suited to Mr. Wells’s literary -genius, and he has handled it with the skill, the feeling, the vision, -which it requires.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“It has been over a month since <cite>The Research Magnificent</cite> came -from the press. In that month the book has been reviewed from -one end of the country to the other, but I have not written anything -about it for the good reason that I have been all of this time -reading it, a little at a time, with much thought spent between the -sentences, with all sorts of comments and memories and injunctions -crying to be written in the margins and with the towering immensity -of the thing awing me into either an incoherence of superlatives -or silence. I have waited for the clarity of impression that -comes with the closing of the covers of a book that has marked an -epoch in my literary life.... <cite>The Research Magnificent</cite> is a book -whose intensity of influence will be immeasurable in the lives of -those who read it. It is enthralling in its sheer literary magnificence.”</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><em>Fannie Butcher in the Chicago Tribune.</em></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span><span class='large'>The Star Rover</span></p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='sc'>By JACK LONDON</span></div> - <div class='c002'>Author of “The Call of the Wild,” “The Sea Wolf,” “The Mutiny of the Elsinore,” etc. With frontispiece in colors by Jay Hambidge.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><em>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50</em></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Daring in its theme and vivid in execution, this is one of the most -original and gripping stories Mr. London has ever written. The -fundamental idea upon which the plot rests—the supremacy of -mind over body—has served to inspire writers before, but rarely, -if indeed ever, has it been employed as strikingly or with as much -success as in this book. With a wealth of coloring and detail the -author tells of what came of an attempt on the part of the hero to -free his spirit from his body, of the wonderful adventures this -“star rover” had, adventures covering long lapses of years and -introducing strange people in stranger lands.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Jack London has done something original in the <cite>Star Rover</cite>, -and done it supremely well.”</p> - -<div class='c012'>—<cite>New York Times.</cite></div> - -<p class='c008'><span class='large'>Old Delabole</span></p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='sc'>By EDEN PHILLPOTTS</span></div> - <div class='c002'>Author of “Brunel’s Tower,” etc.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><em>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50</em></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Delabole is a Cornish slate mining town and the tale which -Mr. Phillpotts tells against it as a background, one in which a -matter of honor or conscience is the pivot, is dramatic in situation -and doubly interesting because of the moral problem which it -presents. Mr. Phillpotts’s artistry and keen perception of those -motives which actuate conduct have never been better exhibited.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“<cite>Old Delabole</cite>,” says Elia W. Peattie in the <cite>Chicago Tribune</cite>, -“is unusual. Its characters stand up boldly like monoliths against -a gray sky. The struggle of life and the philosophy of life, old -age as well as youth, dullness as well as quiet wisdom, play their -part in the tale.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span><span class='large'>The Extra Day</span></p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='sc'>By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><em>Dec. cloth, 12mo, $1.35</em></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The joyousness of life lived in an imaginative world is Mr. -Blackwood’s theme, a theme not unlike Maeterlinck’s <cite>The Bluebird</cite>. -His new story is fine in literary quality and in imaginative -conception.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A group of delightful children learn to gain for themselves an -“extra day” which, as a matter of time, does not count, and this -day is filled with wonderful adventures. As in some of his other -writings Mr. Blackwood plays about the idea that little children -are so close to the line that divides the mysteries of the spiritual -world from the actualities that in fancy they pass back and forth -across this line.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“A very charming flight of exquisite fancy, fascinating to grownups -who have the slightest spark of youth still flickering within -them,” is the <cite>Duluth Herald’s</cite> comment on <cite>The Extra Day</cite>. “It -fixes more firmly than ever the title that has been so well bestowed -upon Algernon Blackwood—‘artistic realist of the unseen world.’”</p> -<div class='c012'>—<cite>Duluth Herald.</cite></div> - -<p class='c008'><span class='large'>Heart’s Kindred</span></p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='sc'>By ZONA GALE</span></div> - <div class='c002'>Author of “Christmas,” “The Loves of Pelleas and Etarre,” etc.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><em>Cloth, 12mo, $1.35</em></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>There is much of timely significance in Miss Gale’s new book. -For example, one of the most interesting and powerful of its scenes -takes place at a meeting of the Women’s Peace Congress and in -the course of the action there are introduced bits of the actual -speeches delivered at the most recent session of this congress. But -<cite>Heart’s Kindred</cite> is not merely a plea for peace; it is rather the -story of the making of a man—and of the rounding out of a -woman’s character, too. In the rough, unpolished, but thoroughly -sincere Westerner and the attractive young woman who brings -out the good in the man’s nature, Miss Gale has two as absorbing -people as she has ever created. In <cite>Heart’s Kindred</cite> is reflected -that humanness and breadth of vision which was first found in -<cite>Friendship Village</cite> and <cite>The Loves of Pelleas</cite> and <cite>Etarre</cite> and made -Miss Gale loved far and wide.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</div> - <div>Publishers    64–66 Fifth Avenue     New York</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -<p> </p> -</div> -<div class='tnotes'> - -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c006'>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE</h2> -</div> - <ol class='ol_1 c004'> - <li>Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - - </li> - <li>Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - </li> - </ol> -</div> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I POSE***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 60346-h.htm or 60346-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/0/3/4/60346">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/3/4/60346</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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