diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/63448-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63448-0.txt | 9071 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9071 deletions
diff --git a/old/63448-0.txt b/old/63448-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 00b106d..0000000 --- a/old/63448-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9071 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Madame Claire, by Susan Ertz - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Madame Claire - -Author: Susan Ertz - -Release Date: October 13, 2020 [eBook #63448] -[Most recently updated: April 9, 2023] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Robert J. Homa, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADAME CLAIRE *** - - - - -MADAME CLAIRE - -by - -SUSAN ERTZ - - -[Illustration: D. Appleton Logo] - - - - - - -D. Appleton And Company. -New York -MCMXXIII - -Copyright, 1923, by -D. Appleton and Company - -Printed in the United States of America - - - - - Contents - - - Madame Claire - - Chapter I. 1 - Chapter II. 14 - Chapter III. 26 - Chapter IV. 41 - Chapter V. 50 - Chapter VI. 65 - Chapter VII. 76 - Chapter VIII. 85 - Chapter IX. 97 - Chapter X. 116 - Chapter XI. 120 - Chapter XII. 133 - Chapter XIII. 144 - Chapter XIV. 150 - Chapter XV. 170 - Chapter XVI. 176 - Chapter XVII. 191 - Chapter XVIII. 209 - Chapter XIX. 227 - Chapter XX. 243 - Chapter XXI. 260 - Chapter XXII. 266 - Chapter XXIII. 282 - Chapter XXIV. 303 - Chapter XXV. 319 - Chapter XXVI. 332 - Novels of Supreme Literary Art. - Transcriber's Note. - - - - -Madame Claire - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -If you wish to be relieved from the worries of housekeeping; if you wish -to cultivate the society of retired army folk, or that of blameless -spinsterhood, ask for a room (inclusive terms) at the Kensington Park -Hotel, Kensington. It is unprogressive, it is Early Victorian--though of -late that term has lost some of its reproach--but it is eminently safe -and respectable. - -Although neither of these qualities had ever particularly attracted Lady -Gregory--or Madame Claire, as her grandchildren called her--she found -herself at the age of seventy a candidate for admission. It was out of -the question for her to keep up the big house in Prince's Gardens after -her only son Eric married. Live with him she would not, valuing his love -for her and his own happiness too much to risk a ménage-à-trois with a -daughter-in-law--even a daughter-in-law of whom at that time she -approved. For Madame Claire not only faced facts squarely, but she had a -way of seeing under and around them as well, which greatly endeared her -to the more discriminating of her children and grandchildren. - -It was eight years since Eric had married Louise Broughton, and eight -years since Madame Claire had come to live at the Kensington Park Hotel. -Her little suite was arranged with charming taste. Guests of the hotel -were not encouraged to furnish their own rooms, but Madame Claire had -succeeded little by little in ousting the hotel atrocities and had put -in their place some favorite pieces left from the sale of the house in -Prince's Gardens. Her meals were served in her sitting-room by Dawson, -her elderly maid, and there too she held her little court. She had a -great pity for other old ladies less fortunately placed, who were -obliged to be in, yet not of, the homes of their children or -grandchildren--"Always there, like pieces of furniture. Whereas," she -would say, "if my family wish to see me they must come to me, and make -an occasion of it." - -A wonderful woman she was then at seventy-eight, with all her senses -very much on the alert. She read a great deal, but thought more, looking -out of her windows at the world. She usually dressed in gray or dark -blue, avoiding black which she said was only for the young. She was more -nearly beautiful at seventy-eight than at any other period of her life, -though she had always been a woman of great charm. She had been a loved -and invaluable wife to the late Sir Robert Gregory, whom the world knew -best as ambassador to Italy. She often said that for the connoisseur -there were only two countries, England and Italy. - -When Robert Gregory died, leaving her a widow of sixty, she was -speedily--too speedily some said--sought in marriage by their lifelong -friend, Stephen de Lisle. That was eighteen years ago. Refused by her, -and perhaps made to feel just a little an old fool, he went abroad in -one of his black tempers, and she had not heard one word from him since. -It was a great sorrow to her, for both she and her husband had loved him -devotedly. The grandchildren, especially Judy and Noel, thought it a -delightful romance. They liked having a grandmother who had refused a -famous man at sixty and broken his heart. But it was a subject on which -she would permit no affectionate comment. It would have meant so much to -her to have had him as a dear contemporary and friend. - -One foggy morning in late December when the whole world seemed bounded -by the thick yellow fog which pressed against her window panes, Dawson -brought her a letter bearing a French stamp. She knew the handwriting at -once, though it had been firmer in the old days. She read a few lines of -it, then stopped and turned to her maid who was busy about the room. - -"Dawson," said Madame Claire in a voice that was far from steady, -"here's a letter from Mr. de Lisle." - -"Oh, m'lady!" cried Dawson who loved surprises, "it's like a voice from -the grave, isn't it now?" - -"He's not well," continued her mistress, reading on. "Gout he says, poor -old thing. He writes from Cannes, where he's gone for the sunshine. He -has to have a nurse. How he must hate it!" - -"And you as strong and well as ever," exulted Dawson. It was a source of -peculiar joy to her when any of Madame Claire's contemporaries fell -victims to the maladies of old age, or that severest malady of all, -death. Her beloved mistress seemed to her then like the winner in a -great race, and who was she, Dawson, but the groom who tended and -groomed the racer? She thrilled with pride. - -Madame Claire read the letter through to the end, and then went at once -to her desk, with as free a step, Dawson thought, as she had ever had. - -"I must write to him immediately," she said, a flush on her old cheeks. - -The letter took her several hours to write, because there was so much to -tell him. He kept it, as he kept all her letters, and when he died they -came into Eric's possession, and finally into the writer's. - - "_My dear old Stephen,_" she wrote, - - "_Nothing that has happened to me in the last ten years has given me - as much pleasure as your letter from Cannes. After a silence a fifth - of a century long, you have come alive for me again. Stephen, - Stephen! How am I to forgive you for that silence? But I do forgive - you, as you knew I would, and I thank you for the happiness you have - given me by breaking it._ - - "_I don't believe you have changed much, though you say you are an - invalid--gout, phlebitis, rheumatism! Infirm, crotchety old Stephen! - Infirm as to legs, but very active, I gather, as to brain, heart, - and temper. How I wish we might see each other! But you cannot - travel, and I--yes, I can, but I will not. I motor gently down to - my little house in Sussex in the summer, and back again in the - autumn, and that is enough. The rest of the time I dwell in peace - and security in three rooms here at the Kensington Park Hotel, and - it suits me very well._ - - "_How good it is that we can pick up the threads of our friendship - again! As far as I am concerned it has neither lapsed nor waned. - You say I dealt you a great blow. But, Stephen, how could you - expect Robert's widow, already a grandmother, to have married - again? That, my dearest friend, would have been an elderly folly - for which I would never have forgiven myself. You sulked badly, - Stephen, and I think now you owe it to your years and mine to - laugh. Do laugh! There is nothing like the mirth of old age, for - old age knows why it laughs._ - - "_You say you want me to write you about everything that concerns - myself. I know you are only trying to cover up your tracks here, - for the one you really want to hear about is Judy. I am well aware - of your elderly partiality for my granddaughter, with whom you fell - in love when she was seven--twenty years ago. But I don't intend to - pander to it at the expense of the others. Judy must take her turn - along with the rest._ - - "_Stephen, would you be young again? You, thinking of your gout and - your phlebitis, would cry 'Yes!' But don't you see that you would - merely be inviting gout and phlebitis again? For myself, the answer - is no, no, no! And I have been happy, too, and with reason. Not for - anything would I be blind again, uncertain, groping; feeling my - way, wondering where my duty lay, dreading the blows of fate before - they struck, valuing happiness too highly. That is life. Now the - turmoil has died down, confusion is no more. It's like sitting on a - quiet hilltop in the light of the setting sun. Fate cannot harm - me--I have lived. There is nothing to be feared, and there is - nothing to be expected except the kindly hand of death, and the - opening of another door. Perhaps one is a little tired, but the - climb, after all, was worth it, and one can think here, and listen - to the cries of birds, and the sound of the wind in the grass. The - lie of the land over which one has come taken a different aspect - and falls into a pattern. Those woods where one felt so lost--how - little they were, and how many openings they had, if one had only - gone forward, instead of rushing in blind circles...._ - - "_Gordon, my tactless grandson, said the other day that no one would - dream I was nearly eighty if it were not for the evidence of the - family tree. That did not please me. I take as much pride in being - nearly eighty as I once took in being sixteen. After all, being an - old woman is my rôle at present, and naturally it is a rôle I wish - to play well. Perhaps you'll say that I would accept old age less - philosophically if I were blind, or deaf, or bedridden. I wonder? - Even without all one's faculties, surely there are thoughts and - memories enough to furnish the mind. (Why, why, Stephen, don't we - cultivate _+CONTEMPLATION+_?) And that tantalizing veil that shuts us - off from the beyond should be wearing thin at our age, so that by - watching and waiting one should be able to catch glimpses of what - it hides._ - - "_And now you will say, 'For Heaven's sake stop moralizing and tell - me about Judy.'_ - - "_I hate describing people--especially those I love, but I will try. - She is lovely in her strange way, with moments of real beauty. I - say strange, because she follows no accepted rules. She is somber, - but lights up charmingly when she smiles. I suppose her mouth is - too wide, but I like it. She, is dark--the sort of girl who wears - tawny colors well. She has brains and humor and in responsiveness - is not even second to Eric. Her mother, my daughter Millicent whom - you will of course remember, is foolishly trying to goad her into - marriage. How I pity youth! It's so vulnerable! Judy tells me she - sometimes wakes at night in a sort of fever, hagridden by the - thought that she may have made a mess of her life by not marrying - this man or that, fearful that she may never meet the right one at - all, hating the thought of spinsterhood, and, she says, seeing - nothing else for it._ - - "_'What,' you may ask, 'are all the young men about?' Well, we lost - many of our best in the war, as you and I know full well, and Judy - expects--everything--And why not, as she has everything to give? - She is not a girl to make concessions easily. Noel, her younger - brother, is a great joy to her. Do you remember Noel, or can you - only remember Judy? He was a dear little boy in those days, with - his prickly, unusual notions, and his elfishness. He is not exactly - good-looking, but his height, and his extremely attractive smile - make him at least noticeable. He lost his left arm in France, and - is now finding it very difficult to fit into a job. His health was - so bad before the war that he had never settled down to anything, - and the doctors had frightened him and all of us into the belief - that a severe winter cold would kill him. Then the war came, and - three winters in the trenches made a new man of him._ - - "_Gordon, of course, went back to the Foreign Office, where he seems - perfectly happy. He will never fit his grandfather's shoes, - however. Robert had more wit in his little finger than Gordon has - in his handsome head--but it is a very handsome head._ - - "_Do you know that I am practicing great self-restraint? I have - hardly mentioned your godson Eric--for fear, perhaps, of saying too - much. He was away at school when you were last here, so he must be - a very shadowy figure to you. He might have been like a son to you - all these years, if only you had not cut yourself adrift from us - all. For five years, you say, you have been almost within a day's - journey of England without once crossing the Channel. And yet time - was when London was like a ball at your feet. Your great fault, - Stephen, is that you take defeat badly. I still believe that you - could have turned your political reverse at least into victory if - you had stayed._ - - "_At forty-one Eric is very like what Robert was at that age, but - more dynamic. Keep that word in mind if you would know him. He - infuses life into me through his voice, through his smile, through - his intensely blue eyes. He is impetuous and headlong--but headlong - always on the side of fairness. He has his father's quick grasp of - things. He is tremendously interested in what you say--in what he - says--and in you. When he smiles he makes you smile, when he laughs - you must laugh too. He treats me as if I were an interesting old - friend whom he likes, as well as his mother whom he loves._ - - "_His wife--he married Louise Broughton, the daughter of old Admiral - Broughton--doesn't in the least understand him. If I have a regret - in the world it is that. But I will tell you more about her another - time._ - - "_And now a few words about Millicent whom you knew as a sedate - young matron. She is still sedate. She is in fact the very - embodiment of all that is correct and conventional (I almost said - and dull) in the English character. By that I mean that she is - always well-poised and completely mistress of herself whether at - Court or in her nightdress in an open boat. (Where indeed she was, - poor thing, for she was torpedoed crossing from America during the - war. She had gone there to raise funds for the Belgians. An - eye-witness told me she presided all the time, especially when it - came to handing round the rum and biscuits. She was always a good, - if stiff, hostess. He said that her nightdress, barely covered by a - waterproof and a lifebelt, became by some miracle of deportment a - quite proper and suitable garment, and made the women who were - wrapped in furs look overdressed. I can imagine it perfectly.)_ - - "_I have never outgrown a feeling of amazement at having achieved - anything as correct as Millicent. She is always certain she is - right, and she never sees obstacles. When Gordon, Eric, and Noel - went to the war she never worried, but looked quite calmly to their - safe return, completely ignoring the awful and uncertain ground - between. I believe she thought that the Almighty had a special - mission to look after Pendletons and Gregorys. It seems she had - some grounds for her belief, only Judy says she forgot to - concentrate on Noel's arm._ - - "_John, her husband, is as negligible as ever. I cannot think what - you found in him to dislike, unless you, like Nature, abhor a - vacuum._ - - "_As for Connie--my poor Connie! Stephen, I don't know where she is, - nor whether she's alive or dead._ - - "_Get better of your gout and the other things, and come to England. - After all, there is no place like it. Although we are in the midst - of winter and coal is scarce and dear, and though the descendants - of the daughters of the horseleech have multiplied exceedingly and - cry louder than ever, 'Give, give, give!' And although even the - children nowadays seem to lisp in grumbles, for the grumbles come, - it is still the best country in the world and you must come back to - it and take it to your heart again before--but you hate the thought - of that, so I won't say the words._ - - "_I will write again next week; there is so much to tell you. So - good-bye, for now._ - - "CLAIRE." - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Dawson thought her mistress must have begun to write her "memoyers," -she wrote so long. She said as much to Judy and Noel when they came to -pay Madame Claire a visit the next day. They were much interested in -the news. Judy remembered "Old Stephen," as she had called him years -ago, and identified him by describing a mole that he had on one cheek. -It was her first experience with moles, and for a long time after she -confused that little mound on his face, with the bigger mounds the -moles made in the lawn, and thought that a much smaller animal of the -same species must have been to blame for it. - -As a child she had an extraordinary memory--a memory that seemed to go -beyond the things of this life. She came trailing clouds of glory in a -way that used to alarm her mother and delight her grandmother. -Millicent was quite shocked at a question of hers when she was four. - -"Mummy, whose little girl was I before I was yours?" - -Of course Millicent answered: - -"Little silly, you've always been my little girl." - -But Judy wouldn't hear of it, and shook her head till the curls flew. - -When her grandmother questioned her about it, she would only repeat: - -"It was another mummy under the big tree." - -Millicent was convinced that she only said it to annoy. - -Noel too had little peculiarities as a child. Loud music always hurt -his eyes, he said, and when he heard a noisy brass band he would shut -them tightly and cry out: - -"It's hideous! It's so red. I hate that color." - -He always saw color in music and heard music in color, and never knew -that he was different from other people until he went to school, and -there the boys teased him out of it. Think of the individual oddnesses -that are strangled (for better or for worse) in school! Limbo must be -full of childish conceits and strange gleams of knowledge. - -On that particular afternoon the two of them amused their grandmother -even more than usual. They had no secrets from Madame Claire, which of -course is the greatest compliment the young can pay to the old. - -The subject of Judy's spinsterhood was introduced by her brother. She -had refused a friend of his a week before, and he pretended that the -situation seriously alarmed him. - -"There's not a man on the tapis at present," he told Madame Claire. -"She's given poor old Pat Enderby his walking papers, and I'm hanged if -I know what she's going to do now. There isn't even a nibble that I'm -aware of." - -"My dear boy," said Judy from the other end of the sofa, "I've got till -I'm thirty-five. That's nearly eight years. If I don't find somebody by -that time, I'll know I'm not intended for matrimony." - -"Every woman is intended for matrimony," said her brother judicially. - -"That's nonsense. And anyway," Judy defended herself, "I've no -intention of rushing about looking for a husband. I'm quite content to -stay single as long as I have you." - -"Rot," said Noel unfeelingly. "I want a lot of nephews and nieces, and -Gordon's would be such awful prigs." - -"So might mine be," she retorted. "There's no telling, apparently. -Who'd think that Mother was Madame Claire's daughter?" - -"Well, if they were prigs, their Uncle Noel would soon knock it out of -them. Besides, provided you don't marry a prig--which heaven forbid, -there's no reason why they shouldn't be regular young devils." - -"You seem to be well up in eugenics, Noel," observed Madame Claire, her -eyes twinkling. She was sitting near the fire in an old chair with a -high, carved back. She loved their nonsense, and liked to spur them on -to greater absurdities. - -"He thinks he is," Judy said. "But honestly, spinsterhood is fast -losing its terrors for me. One ought to be proud of it, and put it -after one's name, like an order of merit. I shall begin signing myself, -'Judy Pendleton, V.F.C.' Virgin From Choice. Doesn't it sound -charming?" - -"Horrible!" exclaimed Noel. "I certainly wouldn't advertise the fact. I -think spinsterhood is awful. I believe I'd rather see you a lady of -easy virtue than a spinster, Judy." - -"Really, Noel!" cried Judy. "And before Madame Claire!" - -"She doesn't mind," scoffed Noel. "Besides, she agrees with me. Don't -you, Madame Claire?" - -She appeared to consider the question. - -"I think spinsterhood would be less dull, in the long run," she -answered. "After all, no one is freer from ties--if that is a desirable -thing--than the modern unmarried woman." - -"Of course," Judy seconded her. "Noel's point of view is ridiculously -young. Personally I could be quite content if I had some money of my -own, freedom, and a few friends." - -"Bosh," spoke man through the mouth of Noel. "If you mean to include -men friends, let me tell you that men are afraid of unmarried women -over thirty-five or so. They can't make them out. Neither fish, flesh, -nor fowl." - -Judy did not pretend to dislike men. - -"That's rather a dreadful thought," said she. - -Tea arrived at this point, and Noel proceeded to make absurd -conversation with Dawson, who had known the brother and sister from -babyhood. Absurd, at least, on his part, but perfectly serious on hers. -She always asked him how his arm was, meaning, presumably, the place -where they took it off. - -"Splendid, thanks, Dawes," he replied. "They're going to give me a new -one soon, I'm glad to say. They make wonderful artificial limbs now, -that can do most anything." - -"So they tell me, Mr. Noel," said Dawson, arranging the tea things. - -"For instance," he went on, "the one I'm going to have knows all about -raising chickens. It's trained specially. I'm thinking of going in for -chicken farming, you know." - -"Is that a fact, Mr. Noel?" breathed Dawson. - -"Oh, yes," went on the deceiver of women. "You see, I don't know a -thing about chickens, and all I'll have to do will be just to follow my -arm about, so to speak. It can tell the age of a pullet to a day, just -by pulling its leg. That's why they call a young hen a pullet, you -know. As for eggs, it can find 'em anywhere. It doesn't matter how -cleverly the old hens hide them, this arm of mine can smell 'em out as -quick as winking." - -Dawson gaped with astonishment. - -"I never would have believed it, would you, m'lady?" exclaimed the dear -old London-bred soul. "They do invent wonderful things these days, -don't they now?" - -"Oh, that's nothing," went on Noel mercilessly. "A chap I know lost -both his legs in the war. He never was much of a sportsman, but he made -up his mind he'd like to go in for golf. So they made him a specially -trained pair of golf legs, and hang it all! the poor fellow has to play -all day long now. The worst of it is he doesn't care much about it, now -that he's had a taste of it. Bores him, he says. But those blessed legs -of his, they take him off to the golf links rain or shine, every day of -his life; and they won't let him off at nine holes, either. Has to play -the whole blooming eighteen." - -At this point, Dawson's slow mind gave birth to a faint suspicion. - -"Now, Mr. Noel," she said, her plain old face red with one of her easy -blushes, "I believe you're just having me on." - -"Nothing of the sort," said he, looking the picture of earnest candor, -"you haven't heard the half of it yet. Why, another chap I know had -even worse luck than that. Nice fellow, too--has a wife and family. He -lost his right arm. Well, they made a mistake with him and sent him an -arm that was specially designed for another chap--a Colonel in the War -Office--devil of a fellow and all that. Would you believe it, every -time my friend went near a Wraf or a Waac, that arm of his nearly -jumped out of its socket trying to get round the girl's waist? -Awkward, wasn't it?" - -Dawson's expression was almost too much for him. - -"Don't look so cut up about it, Dawes," he said, reaching for a cake. -"It all came out right in the end. He and the Colonel swapped arms, and -so he got his own, finally. It was specially designed for spanking the -kids, and as the Colonel was a bachelor it was no good to him. So they -both lived happy ever after." - -Dawson was on her way to the door. Before making her exit, she turned -her crimson face toward Madame Claire. - -"I do wish, m'lady," she said, "that you'd tell Mr. Noel there's some -things that ought to be sacred. And I'll say this, Mr. Noel. The arm -you want is one that'll pinch you when you tell fibs." - -"Good old Dawes," commented Noel between mouthfuls. "She generally -manages to get her own back." - -Judy and Noel were much interested at this time in Eric's matrimonial -affairs. Noel especially was convinced that he and Louise were on the -verge of a smash-up. - -"Something's got to happen," he said. "The tension in that house is too -awful. Dining there is like sitting over a live bomb and counting the -seconds." - -"I can't think how Eric stands it," said Judy. - -Madame Claire shook her head. - -"There won't be an explosion. Nothing so dramatic. What I dread most -isn't a smash-up, but a freezing-up. Like the Nortons', Judy. Do you -remember how they avoided each other's eyes, and never laughed, nor -even smiled? Their very faces became frozen. It was terrible." - -"It would take a considerable frost to freeze Eric," Judy remarked with -a laugh. - -"Fortunately," assented her grandmother. "What I most admire about him -is that he's always ready to discuss peace. He's always hoping for -signs of friendliness from the enemy." - -"She treats him like a red-headed stepson," Noel said indignantly. "If -he'd only begun by beating her now and then----" - -Madame Claire felt bound to make out a case for her daughter-in-law. - -"She married the wrong man--for her--that's all," she said. - -When Noel and Judy had gone, Madame Claire sat thinking about Eric and -his unfortunate marriage. He was, as she had called him in her letter, -dynamic. He was as impulsive and full of the love of life as his wife -was joyless and cold. His chief charm lay in his perfectly sincere -interest in everything and everybody. His mind was as elastic as his -muscles, which were famous at Oxford, and while his wife found most -things rather tedious, to him there was nothing old under the sun. - -He thought he had married a charming girl, and indeed, for a while, she -had charm. During his impetuous pursuit of her--for some instinct told -her that the more she eluded him, the more eagerly he would pursue--she -assumed a delicate sparkle that became her well. He could even remember -a day when she threw out an alluring glow at which a hopeful lover -might warm his hands, but it soon died, and the sparkle with it. Love -may have told her how to spread the net, but of the cage in which to -keep him she knew less than nothing. - -Madame Claire understood better than any one else that he felt ties of -the spirit far more than he felt ties of the flesh. That peculiarity he -had inherited from her, for she had often been heard to say that she -loved Eric because he was Eric and not because she had borne him. She -declared that her affection for Judy and Noel was entirely due to their -own charm and attraction for her, and had nothing to do with the fact -that they were her grandchildren. - -"Though I am very glad they were," she would say, "for in that way -intimacy has been made easy for us." - -With her daughter Millicent she had nothing in common but the blood -tie, and though she rarely confessed it, there were times when it -irked her. - -And so her son found it impossible to be the conventional husband who -takes his wife for granted. He never took Louise for granted for a -single instant, and it shocked her. He treated her with the same -courtesy and studied her moods as diligently as if she had been some -one else's wife. When he made her a present, which he liked to do, he -expected her to show the same pleasure in the gift that she would have -shown before their marriage. As for her, she would have asked for -nothing better than to settle down into the take-everything-for-granted -matrimonial jog-trot. When the clergyman pronounced them man and wife, -he said, so far as Louise was concerned, the last word on the subject. -Spiritual marriage was an undreamt of thing. She expected her husband -to be faithful to her and to look up to her, because, after all, she -came of one of the oldest families in England. So they were rapidly -growing apart. Threads had become twisted and lines of communication -broken. And there seemed no good reason for it all. There was still a -spark among the cooling embers, but some wind that was needed to blow -upon it had shifted and gone elsewhere. - -There were no children--which was a greater sorrow to Eric than to the -empty-handed Louise. - -"A figurehead of a wife," Judy called her, and it was true enough. - -They lived in a charming house in Brook Street, which Louise complained -wasn't big enough to entertain in, and was too big to say you couldn't -entertain in. She had left the furnishing of it to Eric, admitting her -own deficiency in the matter of taste. She bitterly resented his -unerring instinct for the best thing and the right thing; a gift, she -chose to maintain, it was unmanly to possess. - -"I didn't know I was marrying a decorator," she was fond of saying. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Stephen de Lisle's second letter, eagerly looked for by Madame Claire, -came the following week. - - "_Dear Claire,_ - - "_Thank God for your letter. It's put new life into me; and I assure - you, I needed it. Of course it's all tommyrot what you say about old - age. Who wouldn't want to run and jump about again, and be able to - digest anything, and sit up late at night? I think this having to be - coddled and looked after is an infernal nuisance._ - - "_Yes, I was a fool to take your refusal as I did, but that can't be - helped now. You forgive me, and besides, I know well enough the - loss was mine. But I couldn't have endured London all these years. - Too many people, too much noise, and too much dirt. Still, I may, - gout and rheumatism permitting, come to see you and my godson and - the grandchildren yet. I'm glad you remembered how fond I was of - that child Judy. Most attractive child I ever saw. Twenty-seven, - you say? It doesn't seem possible. Don't let her get married in a - hurry. She is perfectly right to wait for the real thing. Instinct - is the lead to follow, and hers is a right one._ - - "_That was a wonderful letter of yours, Claire. I hope there will be - many more. They give me something to look forward to. I haven't a - half dozen young people about me as you have. I've one niece, - Monica de Lisle. Ugly, churchy, uninteresting female. You may - remember her._ - - "_Cannes is delightful, but alas! I am too old to enjoy more than - the sun and the color of the sky. How do you manage to keep so - young in your mind? Bob used to say you'd die young if you lived to - be a hundred, and he was right._ - - "_I'm reading Shakespeare mostly. I find the old ones the best, and - he's the best of the old ones. Omniscient, he was._ - - "_Well, well, write again soon. Don't tire yourself, but--write - soon. Do you remember old Jock Wetherby? He's here at this hotel. - Tottering on the brink, and ten years my junior. Drink--women--all - the cheapening vices. Looks it, too._ - - "_Tell me about Judy and the others._ - - "_Yours ever,_ - - "STEPHEN." - - "_P.S.--I've got the ugliest nurse in Christendom._" - -Madame Claire read extracts from this letter to Judy, who was immensely -pleased at the impression she must have made. - -"Though what he saw in me, I can't think," she said. "My chief points, -judging from photographs, were shoe-button eyes, a fringe, and a -prominent stomach. But there's no accounting for these infatuations." - -"I do wish he would come to London," said Madame Claire as she folded -the letter. "After all, London is the best place for old people. They -get more consideration here than anywhere else in the world." - -The Kensington Park Hotel certainly harbored its share. On those rare -occasions when Madame Claire took a meal in the dining-room she was -always struck by the number of white, gray, or shining pink heads to be -seen. And the faces that went with them were usually placid and -content. In the lounge at tea-time they fought the war over again, -they made or unmade political reputations, they discussed the food, -the latest play, and most of all they discussed--the women at -least--Royalty and the nobility. Not even in the drawing-rooms of the -very great were exalted names so freely and intimately spoken of. One -old dame with an ear trumpet, who later comes into the story, had once -or twice, at Judy's or Noel's request, been invited into Madame -Claire's sitting room. Noel called her the Semaphore. From her they -learned what it was the Royal family had for breakfast the morning -war was declared, or what Princess Mary said to young Lord B---- when -he trod on her toe at a dance. How these stray bits of gossip or -surmise ever filtered their way down the old lady's ear trumpet was a -mystery to every one. She was an old woman of strange importance. She -envied no one under Heaven. She possessed a small black instrument -that seemed to be the focusing point of every fine wire of invention. -She seemed to be the central office of the world's "They Say" bureau. -No one was ever rude to her, and no one, except perhaps Madame Claire -and her grandchildren, ever really disbelieved her, because hardly any -one does altogether disbelieve rumors, even when they come from such -a source. Her greatness of course was at its height during the war, -when she was generously supplied with the most astounding pieces of -secret information by obliging young nephews. However, she bore the -flatness of peace with serenity, contenting herself with the doings of -the great. Of such, with variations, is the kingdom of Kensington! - -A day or two later Eric and Louise came together to see Madame Claire. -It was so long since they had done this that she felt a little flutter -of hope, believing that it indicated a better state of things between -them. But she found soon enough that she was wrong. Louise was -possessed--in the sense that people one reads of in the Bible were -possessed--by her own special demon of jealousy. - -She was not jealous of any other woman--it was far less simple than -that. She was jealous of the ease with which her husband made friends, -of his popularity, of his charm. They had been guests at a rather -political house party, where Eric was unmistakably the center of -attraction. She was aware that she had been more tolerated than liked, -and the knowledge did not contribute to her peace of mind. She was -determined to make him feel (on any grounds whatsoever) inferior to -her. She could understand and respect superiority of birth, but she -distrusted and resented superiority of intellect. - -"A most successful week-end," Eric told his mother, drawing up a chair -beside hers. "Their house is lovely, and I am very fond of them all. I -should like to think that I am one-half as good a host as Charles -Murray-Carstairs." - -"I am glad you both enjoyed it," said Madame Claire. - -"Both?" Her daughter-in-law gave a short laugh. "Candidly I was bored -to tears." - -Louise was meant to be a pretty woman, but having a regular profile and -an English wild rose complexion, she relied upon them to pull her -through, and wore her clothes as if she despised them. Her hair was -never quite tidy at the nape of her neck, and her hats of this season -were undistinguishable from those of two seasons ago. She took a pride -in her lack of smartness, and had a curious and mysterious belief that -it was both unladylike and unpatriotic to dress in the fashion. -Although she was only thirty-four, her girlishness had gone so -completely that it might never have existed. The thin nostrils and -small tight mouth suggested the woman of fifty. She met Eric's eyes -with a look of antagonism. - -"I'll tell you what the visit was like, Madame Claire. We couldn't go -out because of the rain, so Eric and Charles had time to ride all their -hobbies. We had old plate for luncheon, cricket for tea, and politics -for dinner. I don't know what we had for breakfast. I was spared that -by not coming down." - -"You see, mother," said Eric with a gesture of the hands, "the -sufferings of a woman who is married to a bore. I know of no case more -deserving of pity." - -"It's always the same," went on his wife, "whenever we go away -together. But there are always plenty of pretty women to hang upon his -words, Madame Claire, so it really doesn't matter." - -"Now there," interrupted Eric with a smile, "there you are wrong. -Never in my life have enough pretty women hung upon my words to satisfy -me. I should like to see hundreds of them so hanging, and the prettier -the better. Inaccuracy," he added, turning to his mother, "is one of -Louise's greatest faults." - -"Well, Louise," said Madame Claire, putting a hand in one of Eric's, -"time was when you led and others followed. You never used to be shy. -If you were bored with politics and old silver----" - -"I'm not shy," her daughter-in-law answered. "I think subjugated would -be nearer the mark." - -Eric took this up humorously. - -"I have subjugated Louise," he said with mock pride. "I'm willing to -wager that no other man could have done it under fifteen years, and it -has taken me only eight. And I've never once used the whip. Simply and -solely the power of the eye. I subjugate all my wives," he added. "I am -a terrible fellow." - -He picked up and examined an old spoon that lay on Madame Claire's -table, and was about to change the subject, when his wife's cold voice -interrupted him. - -"Oh, I don't claim that you're any worse than the general run of -husbands." - -"Thank you, my dear. I can only suppose that you took one to yourself -in a moment of weakness." Then, throwing off his annoyance: - -"What a charming spoon! It's Charles the Second. You've never shown me -this." - -"Judy gave it to me the other day," said Madame Claire, her face -brightening. "She's very clever at picking up these things. But -then--who taught her?" - -"Ah, well, you can't teach everybody," he answered, turning it over in -his fingers. - -"You can't, for instance, teach your wife," threw in Louise. "But -there's one thing I have learnt since my marriage, Madame Claire, and -that is my limitations." - -"You underrate yourself, Louise," said Madame Claire calmly. "Do tell -me about Gordon. Noel and Judy believe he's really interested in Helen -Dane. Do you think he is?" - -"He's there a great deal," answered Eric, "but then that may mean -nothing. Ottway, her father, is a good sort, but pompous." - -"Lord Ottway has dignity, if that's what you mean," said Louise. "I hope -Gordon does marry Helen. It would be very suitable." - -"As for suitable--I don't know," said Madame Claire, musingly. "The -girl seems a little hard--self-sufficient. Still, I don't dislike her." - -"I only wish Judy would do as well," Louise went on. "She's almost -certain to throw herself away on some nobody." - -"If he were a nice nobody I shouldn't mind," said Madame Claire. - -When Louise got up to go, Madame Claire followed her into the bedroom -where her fur coat was. She longed to say something to her. She felt -that the words existed that might soften that bitter mood, but she -could not find the right ones. She was sick at heart with anxiety. She -knew that Eric's patience was at breaking point, and that he found his -wife's sarcasm hard to bear. Louise had only lately resorted to -sarcasm--that passing bell of love--and yet, underneath it all, Madame -Claire felt that she loved him, and longed to be different, but that -something--some strange twist in her nature--would not let her. She -seemed to her like a woman pushing her frail boat farther and farther -out into a dangerous current, and all the time crying weakly and -piteously for help. She doubted if that cry reached any ears but hers. - -"I am the only one who can help her," she thought, and at the same time -sent up a prayer to the god who understands women--if such there be. - -A few days later she sent Louise a note, asking her to come and see -her. - -"If I can only avoid being mother-in-lawish," she thought, "I may be -able to accomplish something." - -Louise found her sitting in her high-backed chair beside a wood fire. -The room was full of the scent of freesias, and she wore a few of them -in the front of her gray dress. - -When Louise had put aside her wraps, Madame Claire began to say what -she had to say without any unnecessary preliminaries. - -"Louise, I particularly wanted a talk with you to-day. I hope you'll be -very frank with me, as I mean to be very frank with you." - -"I think you'll always find me quite willing to be frank," replied the -younger woman. - -"Very well then. Perhaps you'll tell me this. Is Eric doing everything -he possibly can to make you happy?" - -Louise raised her eyebrows. - -"What an odd question! Yes, I suppose he is--as well as he knows how. -Why?" - -"Because it isn't hard to see that you're not happy, and it makes me -very sad." - -"I suppose people do notice it," said Louise. "I can't help that. I'm -not happy." - -"Just what I thought. Well, can you tell me the cause of it? Eric has -succeeded in a good many things, and I don't like to see him make a -failure of his marriage." - -"I suppose not." - -"You two ought to be happy. You have everything; you married for love, -presumably. I'm sure you've done your part. It must be Eric's fault in -some way." - -Louise began pulling off her gloves, her chin suddenly trembling like -that of a child who is about to cry. - -"It's nobody's fault, I suppose. We're simply not suited to each other. -Eric should have had a wife who'd be willing to sit at his feet all day -long, and tell him how wonderful he is. A sort of echo." - -"Are you sure that would please him? And suppose it did--after all----" - -"No!" she said with determination. "There are plenty of other people to -tell him what fine speeches he makes, and how clever he is. I'm not -going to be one of them. He'll hear the truth from his wife, whether -he likes it or not." - -"So you don't think he makes good speeches?" persisted Madame Claire -gently. - -"I dare say he does, but----" - -"I thought you said he would hear the truth from you. If he does make a -good speech, I should think he'd love to hear you say so. If you do -believe in him and in his ability, Louise, I wish you would let him -know it. I don't believe you have any idea how much it would mean to -him." - -Louise got up and walked to the window. - -"I have his ability and his cleverness thrown at me by his admirers -year in and year out," she said. "I'm sick to death of it." - -"And are you the only one who never encourages or praises him?" asked -Madame Claire. "A man must find that rather bitter." - -Louise turned from the window with an abrupt movement. - -"I wish him to know that he can't have admiration and flattery from -every one. It will be the ruination of him." - -"Ah! I thought so. So it's really for his good?" - -"Well, as I promised to be frank, no; I don't suppose it is. But I -can't help it. Things have always been made too easy for him. Why -should he be such a darling of the gods? Life isn't easy and pleasant -for me. Why should it be for him?" - -"I see." Madame Claire laughed suddenly. "Forgive me, Louise, but -there's something rather funny in it." - -"In what?" - -"In your wanting to be a sort of hair shirt. Oh, dear me, I don't know -why I laughed. Only, my dear, there's so very little happiness in the -world. I'd forgotten there were good people going about trampling on -it." - -There was a moment's silence. - -"I think I'd better go away for a while," said Louise finally. - -"Do!" urged Madame Claire. "It would be an excellent thing for both of -you. Stay away from Eric long enough to be glad to see him when you get -back." - -"If I were," said Louise, "I'd never give him the satisfaction of -knowing it." - -Madame Claire called once more on the deity who understands women. - -"And yet, Louise," she said, with all her courage, "you love him. You -love Eric. I know you do. Some day you may find out how much, and it -may be too late. That will be the tragedy. You'll know that you had -only to reach out your hand--you're like a child, you know. Have you -ever seen a child while playing with other children, receive some -fancied slight, and withdraw, hurt? I have. The other children don't -even know what the trouble is, and they go on with their game. The hurt -child stands apart, lonely and miserable. They call her presently to -come and join them, and she longs to go, but can't--_can't_! Something -won't let her. Oh, I know, I know! I must have been that child once. I -know what she feels. She stands there kicking at a stone, longing, yes, -longing to go out into the sunshine again and play. She knows that game -better than they do. They even call to her to come and lead them. But -she can't. She sulks. She doesn't want to sulk. She suffers. And then -the nurse comes, and the play is over, and she is taken off to bed. It -is too late. It is finished.... Louise! You stupid child! Isn't it -something like that? Tell me, isn't it?" - -Madame Claire's finger had found the spot, evidently. Louise's -hardness, her bravado, suddenly left her. Madame Claire had never seen -her cry before, and the sight seemed to her very pitiful. Her tears -made her seem younger. - -"It is like that." Her voice came muffled from the handkerchief she was -pressing to her face. "But I'm helpless. I can't be different. I tell -you I can't. The more Eric tries to be nice to me, the more I harden -toward him. The more I want to meet him half way, the less I'm able to. -I'm not hard, really; I long to be different. But it's too late. It's -grown on me now. I can't stop it. I suppose I must go on like this -forever. My life is a misery to me." - - * * * * * * - -It was a prayer of thanksgiving that went up to the god who understands -women that night. Madame Claire felt that now all things were possible. -Where there had been a blank wall, there was now an open gate--for her, -at least. How long it would be before the gate would be open to Eric, -she dared not think. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - - "_My Dear Stephen,_ - - "_I was delighted with your letter, I believe you are feeling - better, for you sounded far more like your old self. Especially - the postscript, which I thought a most hopeful indication._ - - "_Yes, I remember old Jock Wetherby. Poor old thing! How perfectly - ghastly to approach the end of one's life as a mere elderly - libertine. For I feel there is very little else one could - truthfully carve on his tombstone. And what a commentary on free - will! He once had gifts and opportunities such as are given to few._ - - "_Last night I went with Judy and Noel to see that enchanting sprite - Karsavina. I shall never forget it. As a rule one watches people - dance, but last night I danced too. I swear that my spirit left its - rheumatic old body and sprang and whirled and darted in the midst - of all that color and movement with the music splashing and - rippling about it. For a few hours I bathed in the Fountain of - Youth--that fountain whose waters, I believe, are made up of music, - color, and some other ingredients that man with his slow mind has - not yet discovered. Certainly I was never less conscious of flesh - and bones._ - - "_And why is it, I ask myself, that only certain combinations of - sound and color can produce this effect, or give this measure of - delight? Suppose, one day, some one were to hit upon the utmost - perfection in arrangement of sound, color and form, would it open - up a straight path like a shaft of light for our spirits to glide - upon into some other world than this? For I feel we are very near - that other world when our senses are so stirred and lifted up by - beauty. I wonder! But perhaps there is already perfect beauty in - the world, and it is only that our spirits lack the necessary - freedom from earthly things--or why should we not drift into - Paradise itself upon the perfume of a rose?_ - - "_At the moment my mind is very full not of Paradise but of Eric and - Louise. She has decided to go and stay with her people in Norfolk - for a while, where, I fear, she will continue to be unhappy. Things - had come to a dangerous pass with them, and Eric is as sore and - puzzled as a man can be. Hers is a strange nature. I have tried hard - to find a chink in the armor of her bitterness. Poor Louise! And yet - I believe she would go to the stake vowing she had been a good wife - to him. There are a great many women, I find, who think that if they - neither leave nor deceive their husbands they are being good wives - to them. I pray that something--God knows what!--will happen, to - make a change of attitude easy for her. She would have been happy, - poor girl, with a dull fellow to whom she could have condescended._ - - "_I often say to myself, Stephen, that to realize the imperfection of - our relation to God, it is only necessary to realize the - imperfection of our relation to one another._ - - "_I have made a discovery of late. At least I think it is a - discovery. This is it. I believe that while the majority of men are - content to be merely themselves, the majority of women are busy - playing some rôle or other that takes their fancy or that - circumstances suggest. I think that most women are forever - conscious of an audience. I shall never forget a girl I once - knew--she would be a very old woman now--who pretended to have lost - her lover in the Crimean War. I knew--for she made me her - confidante--that it was a quite imaginary lover, and that she had - invented him to make people think her inconsolable, instead of - unsought, as was actually the case. So for years she played the rôle - of a bereaved woman, and if she is alive she is playing it yet. - Every word, every action was suited to the part, and eventually she - must of course have come to believe it herself. When she talked to a - girl about to be married or in love, there was always a trembling - smile upon her lips, and the brightness in her eye (as the novelists - say) of unshed tears._ - - "_'Ah, my dear, treasure your happiness. I pray you may be more - fortunate than I was.'_ - - "_And youth knew her for a woman with a sad, romantic story._ - - "_'A liar, pure and simple,' you may say. Not at all. Merely an - actress playing her part._ - - "_Take the case of Louise--a weak nature overshadowed by a stronger - one. What does she do? Creates a rôle for herself--the rôle of a - patient, slighted woman, married to a selfish and exacting man. Why? - Seen under the microscope we might discover it to be an attempt to - attract notice._ - - "_Take the case of my dear Judy. Most of her friends are married. - She, being very fastidious, and finding that falling in love is at - present quite beyond her, creates a little rôle for herself--the - rôle of a very modern, independent girl who finds that sort of - love unnecessary to her happiness._ - - "_Then there is Millicent. She too is playing a part, though she - would be horrified if I told her so. Hers is to be as much as - possible like her surroundings, and to imitate as closely as she can - the other women of her set. She has become as conventional and as - harmlessly snobbish as they. At heart she is a kindly creature, but - since marrying her John she has disguised herself so well as a - Pendleton that if I had not a good memory for faces I would find it - hard to distinguish her from all the other Pendletons._ - - "_And then there was Connie--poor Connie! Her rôle was that of a - woman of great emotions, of devastating loves--a sort of Camille. - But underneath it I imagine and hope is still the simple, credulous - woman who looked for happiness where happiness was not._ - - "_'And,' perhaps you'll ask, 'don't men make rôles for themselves?' - Rarely; and when they do they are insufferable._ - - "_I am very tired and must stop. Tell me who else is at Cannes._ - - "_Accept my affectionate greetings,_ - - "CLAIRE." - - "_P.S.--You tell me nothing of your life all these years._" - - * * * * * * - -Time never seemed to Madame Claire to pass slowly, but it had never -passed less slowly than now. Stephen de Lisle's letters undoubtedly -added a spice of excitement and anticipation to her days. She seldom -went out (for she disliked fog, and London seemed just then to have gone -to bed with a thick yellow blanket pulled over it) and she only asked -those people to come to see her who, she said, touched her at the most -points. She hated polite boredoms, and unless her visitors pleased or -amused her, she preferred to be left to her own thoughts. - -Of late her mind had run much upon her youngest daughter Connie, the -beauty of the family--Connie who had "thrown her bonnet over the mill," -as the saying was in those days, and run off with Petrovitch, who was at -that time first capturing London and Paris with his marvelous playing. - -The blow had nearly broken her father, but Madame Claire was made of -sterner stuff, and had long observed tendencies in her lovely daughter -which promised to lead to this very dénouement. Connie Gregory had one -of those entirely beautiful faces which seem so at variance with the -tragedies they evoke. She had the prettiest and weakest mouth, and the -most irresistible blue eyes that ever gave delight to a painter of -pretty women. And she was "done" by all the fashionable artists of the -day in every imaginable style of dress and posture. She had a very small -share of wit, but with women like Connie, a little wit goes a long way. -Her lovely head was forever turning to look down dark paths, and no one -but her mother ever observed those sidelong glances. When she was -twenty-two, she married a perfectly suitable young man, and Madame -Claire hoped that the then serious duties of wifehood and motherhood -would fill her shallow little head to the exclusion of dark romancing. -But they had been married less than a year when Petrovitch with his -leonine head and his matchless playing became the rage of London, and -Connie, in company with a good many other women of her type, threw her -youth and beauty, like a bouquet of flowers, at his feet. He was able to -resist much, but the sheer loveliness of Connie made such an onslaught -upon his bored indifference--wherein was mingled the most astonishing -conceit--that when his contracts in London expired, he returned to Paris -with the emotional and hysterical young wife clinging to his arm. - -It was just at the outbreak of the Boer War, and Leonard Humphries, her -husband, very naturally seized the opportunity of getting himself -honorably shot. When that event took place, as it did some months later, -people thought that Connie would at least legalize her irregular -attachment by marriage, but Petrovitch produced a sturdy German wife, -and scotched all such hopes. So London saw the lovely Connie no more. - -Madame Claire bore her trouble with all the philosophy at her disposal. -She never tried to avoid the subject, and was quite as willing to talk -about Connie as about Eric or Millicent, in the wise belief that wounds -exposed to the air now and then have the best chance of healing. For -years after she sent letters and often money to Connie through her -banker, for she knew well enough where a lack of funds might lead those -uncertain steps. For a while her letters were answered, but it was not -long before the answers ceased to come. She had heard nothing from -Connie for many years now, and she no longer expected to hear. She -thought of her as a foolish and unhappy woman, whose punishment would -be, here or hereafter, self-inflicted, and understanding human nature -as she did, she refrained from bitterness. - -As for Eric, he was of the opinion that the world suffers less on the -whole from women who love not wisely but too well, than from women who -love too little. Weighed in the perhaps faulty scales of a man's -judgment, therefore, Connie was a better woman than Louise. Connie gave -all and got nothing, while Louise took all without a thank you, and gave -nothing. But men are always more inclined to forgive the generous sins -than the ungenerous. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -"Old Stephen's" letter in answer to Madame Claire's second one, -contained a great deal that was of interest to her. - - "_Dear Claire,_ - - "_I didn't answer your last as promptly as I wanted to because of the - ills of the flesh. However, I feel freer of them to-day than I have - for some time past. Your letters get better and better. I wish I - could write like you. I've no gifts. I thought once I had a gift for - politics. Well, perhaps I had, but I hadn't the gift of - pleasing--for long. I offended the Great Cham of my day, and after - that it was like going down a greased slide. But better men than I - have set their feet upon it. I had my say, and I paid for it, and - I'd say it again if the chance came._ - - "_You want me to tell you something of my life all these years. Well, - here is an outline for you. After I left England I was in the - United States for five years. A country gloriously endowed by - nature, but somewhat spoilt by man. I like Americans individually; - I number several of them among my few friends, but I'm not sure I - like them as a race. They're not a race--that's the trouble--but - they will be some day. There's little racial breeding at present. - As for characteristics, if you find them in the South, you lose - them again in the East or West. You know more or less how an - Englishman or a Frenchman's going to act, because, exceptions - excluded, they run pretty true to form. But you can't guess how an - American's going to act until you know whether he's Irish, German, - British or Scandinavian American. Which complicates matters._ - - "_Then I was five years in South America--three of them in Peru which - I grew to love. After that--let me see--two in Burmah, one in - Ceylon, and the last five in sunny spots in France and Italy--a sad - spectator of war. I've enjoyed my travels. I have, I hope, learned - much. But I can't write about it. I'm no good at that. Can't think - how I used to write speeches once--and deliver them. I suppose - living alone all these years has made me inarticulate. Miss - McPherson's afraid of me, I believe. Silly little thing. That - annoys me._ - - "_You ask me who else is in Cannes. I'm not sure I ought to tell you, - but knowing you as I do, I think you'd want to be told. Connie's - here--with a man of course--and stopping at this hotel. Miss - McPherson wheels me about in a chair on my goodish days, and I came - upon them suddenly in the grounds this morning. Connie passed by - without speaking, but I'm certain she knew me. She looks the - unhappiest woman on God's earth. Later I sent Miss McPherson to make - inquiries, and it seems they call themselves Count and Countess - Chiozzi. They may be for all I know. At any rate, he looks a dirty - little cad. I'll try to speak to her, for I think you would like me - to. I will leave this letter open for a day or two, in case I do._ - - "_Next day._ - - "_I spoke to her to-day in the garden. She was alone. I said, - 'Connie, don't you know me?' She went a queer color, I thought, and - said, 'Yes, you're Mr. de Lisle.' I said, 'You knew me yesterday,' - and she admitted it. I was in my bath-chair (beastly thing!) and I - sent Miss McPherson away. Then I said, 'Well, Connie, I see you're - the Countess Chiozzi now. Are you in Cannes for the winter?' She - said she supposed she was; that Cannes did as well as another place. - She asked me if I'd been in England lately, and when I said, 'Not in - twenty years,' she exclaimed, 'Then you don't know whether----' and - stopped. I knew what she wanted to ask, and said, 'Yes, Connie, - she's alive and well, thank God. I heard from her only five days - ago.' She sat down on a bench, and we talked for some time. She was - evidently wondering how much I knew, so I put her at her ease by - saying I knew all about it, and I was afraid she was having a pretty - rotten time. She started to flare up at that, but thought better of - it, and said, 'I am. Chiozzi is a devil. I must get away from him - somehow. I'm at the end of my endurance.' She went on to tell me - about her life, and the gist of it is this. I'll tell it in as few - words as possible. She has always loved Petrovitch, she says, and - no one else. He was in love with her for a time, then tired of her, - as she interfered with his work. She wrote to her husband, asking - him to take her back, but before he could reply a bullet took his - life at Spion Kop. A year or two later she met a French officer who - fell in love with her. They were to have been married, but he found - out about Petrovitch and left her. Connie said bitterly that his - life had been what many men's lives are, but she wasn't good enough. - After that she went to Rome where she met an American named Freeman. - She married him, and they sailed for New York on the 'Titanic'. He - was drowned, but she reached New York without so much as a wetting. - She tired of New York, returned to Paris, and there met Chiozzi. - They were married about four years ago. She says he is evil - incarnate; but then women like Connie haven't much choice. I asked - her if I might tell you all this, and she said I might, and also - sent you her love, but said she couldn't possibly write to you - herself at present. She still loves that poltroon Petrovitch, and - would go around the world to see him, I believe. She ought to - leave Chiozzi, that much is certain. I can see she fears him as - much as she hates him._ - - "_What a lot of people chuck away their lives in learning that - passion's a boglantern! The thing that stands chiefly in the way of - human progress is the fact that we've each got to find things out - for ourselves. Women found out what Connie's finding out (I hope) - two thousand years ago. Does that help Connie forward? Not a whit._ - - "_I can't write more now._ - - "_God bless you!_ - - "STEPHEN." - -The next day, Madame Claire read the letter to Judy, who was keenly -interested. - -"Aunt Connie has always seemed rather a fabulous creature--a sort of -myth--to me," she said. "I can't quite realize her. Would you like me to -go to Cannes and fetch both her and 'Old Stephen' home?" - -Madame Claire thought not. - -"It's very odd you should have had three children so entirely -different," said Judy. "They all had exactly the same environment and -the same care. How on earth do you account for these things?" - -"I don't," replied her grandmother. "I can merely suppose that they all -require different experiences; and they're certainly getting them." Her -eyes rested on Judy in her brown dress and furs, and on her face with -its challenging dark eyes and the too wide mouth that she loved. She -wondered what experiences would be hers. Not Connie's; and even more -surely, not Millicent's. So far her life had been even and tranquil--too -tranquil for her own liking. She wanted to live. She had a great deal to -give to life--and so far she had not lived at all. - -"I suppose, like every one else," went on Madame Claire, "they are -working out something--I don't know what. After all, my children are -just people. So many mothers think of their own children as apart from -the rest of the world. I don't. Connie, Eric, Millicent--just people." - -"Eric isn't," protested Judy. "Eric is one of the gods come to earth -again." - -Madame Claire laughed. - -"Not Apollo!" she said. "I never liked his profile." - -"No, not Apollo. A youngish sort of Jove, but without his skittishness, -or his thunders." - -"I know what you mean. There is something simple and Greek about Eric. -It's nice of you to see it." - -"It's a great pity he's my uncle," remarked Judy. "Do you know, your -daughter Millicent has been extremely troublesome lately? I wish you'd -speak to her about it. It isn't only the marriage topic. She wants me to -pattern myself after the tiresome daughters of her most tiresome -friends. You know the sort of girls I mean. They come out in droves each -year, and play tennis in droves, and get married in droves, and have -offspring in droves, and get buried beside their forefathers in droves. -It's so dull. I hate doing things in droves." - -This amused Madame Claire. - -"Individualists have rather a bad time of it in your mother's particular -set," she said. "Of course even I want you to marry, because I think -you'd be happier in the long run; but not until you find some one you -can't do without." - -"I have a sort of presentiment," Judy told her, flushing, "that if I -ever do marry it will be some one undesirable. That is," she hastened to -explain, "undesirable from mother's point of view." - -"But not necessarily from mine?" inquired Madame Claire. - -"Not necessarily," returned Judy. - -She walked from the hotel to the house in Eaton Square where the -Pendletons had lived ever since Noel was born, feeling that the world -was a very blank sort of place at the moment. Having done vigorous war -work for nearly five years, she was missing it more than she knew. -Millicent could and did respond to the call of patriotism, and had seen -her sons go forth to war like a Spartan mother; but why her only -daughter should continue to do work long after the coming of peace, and -when she had a comfortable home, social duties and flowers to arrange, -was more than she could understand. So Judy, weary of argument, stayed -at home, paid calls and arranged flowers. She felt something of an -impostor, too, telling herself that she had cost her parents a great -deal, and they were not getting their money's worth. She had been -educated and given an attractive polish for one purpose--to attract and -wed a suitable man of a like education and polish. Being honest to the -backbone she was distressed about it. She had not fulfilled her side of -the contract, and her parents had, to the best of their belief, more -than fulfilled theirs. - -She avoided the drawing-room where there was tea and chatter, and -hurried to her room, which Noel called "The Nunnery," because of its -austere simplicity. The white walls, quaint bits of furniture, and -stiff little bed suggested the sixteenth century. The rest of the house -was Millicent's affair, and was "done" every few years in the prevailing -mode by a well-known firm of decorators. - -Noel wandered into her room soon after she reached it, and while she -took off her hat and coat, he sat on the foot of the bed, which, if any -one else had done it, would have seriously annoyed her. - -"How's Claire?" he asked. - -"Wonderful as ever. She's got more common sense, Noel, than the rest of -the family put together. What do you think? She's heard about Aunt -Connie, through 'Old Stephen.' He saw her in Cannes." - -"Connie?" He whistled his astonishment. "The erring aunt! What's she -doing in Cannes?" - -"She seems to have married some awful bounder, fairly recently. A Count -Somebody. And she's fearfully unhappy." - -"Why doesn't she come home? Afraid of public opinion, and mother?" - -"Well--can you wonder? She has no friends left, I suppose. It must be -pretty awful for her. Of course you'll say she's made her own bed----" - -"On the contrary, I wasn't going to say anything so trite. What do you -take me for? I'd trot her round like anything if she came here. It isn't -everybody who's got a beautiful, notorious aunt." - -"I'm rather curious to see her," admitted Judy. "Though I don't suppose -we'd like her particularly. She must be rather a fool to do what she -did." - -"She couldn't help it," Noel defended her. "If you're a certain -type--well, you just are that type, and you act accordingly. That's -what she did." - -"Nonsense, Noel," protested Judy. "That's a useless, easy sort of -philosophy. According to that, no one can help anything they do." - -"No more they can, if they're the sort of people who do that sort of -thing. When they get over being that sort of people they'll act -differently, but not before." - -"That's a hair-splitting sort of argument," said Judy. - -"Any more than you can help being a spinster," he explained, -developing his theory. "Being the spinster type, you act accordingly. -When you pull yourself together and make up your mind to be another -type, you'll cease to be a spinster. But not before." - -Judy sat down, facing him. It always amused her to discuss herself with -Noel. - -"Am I the spinster type?" she asked. - -"Well, aren't you? It's fairly obvious. Look at this room!..." - -"My dear boy," she retorted, "I'd have a room like this if I had ten -husbands--or even lovers, for that matter. You'll have to do better than -that. How else am I the spinster type, apart from my room?" - -"You're a spinster in your mind," he asserted. "You think celibately." - -"Oh, now you're being too ridiculous!" she scoffed. - -He crossed his long legs and lit a cigarette. - -"My dear girl, you don't understand thought. What you think, you are." - -"You think you're a second Solomon," said his sister, "but you're not." - -"No." He shook his head. "I disagree. I am entirely modern in my -thoughts. I don't wish to be anything else. I'm not like Eric. Eric -thinks we have had the best. I think we are always having the best. But -to return to you." - -"Yes, do return to me. I didn't mean to cause a digression. How can I -stop being the spinster type?" - -"By not hemming yourself in so much. You surround your femininity with -barbed-wire entanglements." - -"Really? They don't seem to have kept Pat Enderby out, and some others I -could mention." - -"They never got in. That's what I complain of." - -"Oh, but my dear Noel--you surely don't think I'm going to turn myself -into a sort of vampire just to please you? Not that I couldn't--I'm -almost certain I could...." - -"I never meant that. You willfully misunderstand me. Vampires are all -very well on the screen, or on some paving stone in Leicester Square, -but they don't go in our sort of life. No man would willingly marry -one." - -"They don't on the screen," she said. "They always marry the little -thing with curls and the baby smile. Is that what you'd like me to be? -Because I honestly don't think that's my type either." - -"I find arguing with women very trying," observed Noel. "They always -drag in unessentials, and dangle them before your eyes as if they were -main issues. Even you do it. As for mother----" - -"Never mind. Let's get back to the main issues. I am the main issue--or -my spinsterhood. What do you want me to do, exactly?" - -"Simply this. I want you to cut the barbed-wire entanglements and come -out into the open now and then. Men aren't wild animals, after all. -They're only human beings." - -Judy suddenly decided to drop nonsense. - -"Do you know why I keep inside the barbed wire?" - -"No. Why?" - -"Because any man that I meet in this house has been asked here in the -hope that I'll find him marriageable. And so the fairest--the only -decent thing I can do is to let him know as soon as possible that I'm -not in the market, so to speak. If he's a fairly good sort and seems to -find me at all interesting, I--well, I put up more barbed wire. Of -course I oughtn't to mind, but it's all so obvious. I hate it. It was -different with Pat. I liked him, and besides, he was your friend ... -but even then ..." - -"I think girls do have a rotten time of it," agreed Noel. - -"It's made me self-conscious," she went on. "This business of matrimony -always in the air. As it is, I wouldn't raise a finger to attract any -man." - -"Not even the right one?" - -"Least of all the right one." - -Noel got up and stretched himself. - -"Well, old dear," he said, "I'll make a prophecy. When you meet the -right man--hateful phrase--you'll cut the entanglements, climb the -barricades, and give yourself up to the enemy. That is, if I know -anything of my sister Judy." - -"You don't. But you're an old darling just the same. Are you in or out?" - -"Out. Dining at the club with Gordon. His show! But I'm coming home -early. Why?" - -"Oh, nothing. Only I'm dining with the Bennetts, and they usually send -me home in the Heavenly Chariot, so I think I may as well pick you up at -the club." - -"Do. I'll amuse myself somehow till you come." - -"About ten-thirty or eleven," she told him. "And be on the look-out." - -"Right-o." He walked to the door and then turned. "And think over what -I've said, old girl." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -The "Heavenly Chariot" was Judy's name for the Bennetts' shining gray -car. The Pendletons had one of their own, an elderly and dignified -Daimler, but for some reason unfathomable by the younger members of the -family, it was never allowed out at night, when it was most wanted. -Millicent thought that Forbes, the old chauffeur and ex-coachman, -required his evenings to himself, and as Forbes had never been known to -object to this arrangement, it stood, and the family relied on taxis, or -the underground. - -So that Judy was feeling uncommonly luxurious close on eleven that -night, when the beautiful gray nose of the Heavenly Chariot thrust its -way through the fog that had shut London from the sky for three days -past. She loved the movement, the mystery of the dark streets, the -soft menace of the fog. - -"This is the very essence of London," she thought. - -They turned into Pall Mall, and she was sorry to think that the perfect -motion would cease in a moment. What happened next, happened with such -amazing suddenness that in three seconds it became a problem already to -be reckoned with, a situation to be met as best one could. - -They had knocked some one down in the fog. An instant before she had -been reveling in that smooth slipping along--almost the annihilation of -friction--and now, between the ticks of a clock, some one, because of -this inconsequential little journey of theirs, was robbed of health -perhaps, or life. While her mind was struggling to accept a fact so -hateful, her feet had taken her to the front of the car almost before -the chauffeur had brought it to a standstill. Their victim had clung -to that long gray nose--clung for an instant and then gone down. -Another man was bending over him, drawing him gently into the pool of -radiance their lights made. - -"Chip!" the other man was saying. "Chip, old man, are you badly hurt?" - -There was no answer. Judy put her arm under the limp man's shoulder, and -they raised him up. He stood swaying between them. - -"Take him to the car," she said. - -A constable (who seemed nebulous all but his buttons, which the light -caught) loomed up out of the blackness, and demanded names and -addresses. Mills, the chauffeur, seemed unable to cope with the -disaster, which he considered had come upon them ready-made, out of the -night. - -"It was my friend's fault entirely," said the other man. "He started to -cross without looking." - -"Can't be too careful a night like this," remarked the constable, making -entries in his notebook. - -The victim suddenly straightened himself and said in a thick voice, -"I'm perfectly all right." Then he became limp again. - -It was at this moment that Noel arrived, having been keeping a -look-out, as instructed by Judy. The wail of metal-studded tires being -brought to a sudden stop had attracted his notice, and he came out to -see what was up. The constable, observing his empty sleeve, addressed -him as Captain, and things began to progress. Like many another -policeman who has to do with street crossings, this one considered -women biological absurdities. Mills and the victim's friend got "Chip" -into the car and made him as comfortable as possible. Noel sat outside -with Mills, and Judy sat beside the injured man, overcoming an almost -uncontrollable impulse to draw that bending head down to her shoulder. - -For the belief had come to her, at the moment when she saw Chip's white -face in the glare from their lamps, that they had chosen the nicest man -in all London to knock down. - -His friend, who sat sideways in one of the small seats, introduced -himself as Major Stroud, and the victim, on whom he kept an anxious -eye, as Major Crosby. - -"He'll be all right as soon as we get him home and to bed," he assured -Judy. "It's too bad, but you're not in any way to blame. Saw the whole -thing, so I know. Crosby's always walking into things. He's -everlastingly thinking about that book of his. I tried to grab his -arm, but it was too late." - -"How badly do you think he's hurt?" She could hear the injured man's -laborious breathing, and was heartsick. - -"Oh, just a knock on the head, I expect, against that curb. Thank Heaven -it was no worse. Your chauffeur did splendidly. Can't think how he -avoided running over him." - -"But a knock on the head may mean----" - -"Now don't you worry about it, Miss----" - -"Pendleton," Judy said. - -"Miss Pendleton. I'll ring up the doctor as soon as we get to his rooms. -He's pretty tough--aren't you, Chip old man?" - -He put an affectionate hand on his friend's knee. At that moment Chip -swayed suddenly toward Judy's fur-wrapped shoulder. - -"Better let me sit there, Miss Pendleton," suggested Major Stroud. "He's -no light weight." - -"It's all right," said Judy. "I was a V.A.D. for years." She slipped her -hand down to his wrist and felt his pulse. "Why do you say he's always -thinking about his book? What book?" - -"Oh, Chip's a writer, you see. He's always writing something. Just now -it's a book on religions. Queer hobby for a fighting chap, isn't it?" - -The car sang its way up Campden Hill while Judy listened to what Major -Stroud had to say about his friend. He was evidently devoted to him. -When they stopped at last, purring softly before a narrow house in a -narrow turning off Church Street, she felt she knew more about the two -of them than she did about many people she had known far longer. - -"Make short work of things now," said the Major in his brisk way as he -got out. "Come along, Chip old man." - -Very gently he and Mills lifted him out, and carried him into the house -and up three flights of excessively dark and narrow stairs, while Judy -and Noel followed behind. They had to pause once or twice as the weight -and length of their burden made getting round corners very difficult. - -"I'm going to wait till the doctor comes," said Noel. "Hadn't you better -go home in the car now, Judy?" - -"Why should I?" she demanded. "Can't I wait too? I dare say I can help. -Noel, isn't it ghastly?" - -"I like Chip," said Noel. "It's funny, but I did the moment I saw him. -Didn't you?" - -Judy nodded, unable to say much. Her throat ached, and she knew she was -not very far from tears. It was so grotesque and unreal, that they -should have caused this unnecessary suffering. - -Major Stroud telephoned to the doctor, and Mills went to fetch him, as -being the quickest way. Meanwhile Noel and the Major got Chip into bed. - -Judy, left to herself, explored the little flat. She lit a gas-ring in -the tiny kitchenette and put a kettle on. Then she found a small store -of brandy which she brought out in case it was wanted. As she busied -herself getting ready things the doctor might ask for she made herself -well acquainted with Chip's home. The sitting room possessed two solidly -comfortable chairs and a sofa, all covered in brown linen. There was a -gate-legged table, two etchings by Rops, and a vast number of books on -religious subjects. Except for the books and the etchings it was as -impersonal a room as a man could have. It touched her, it was so--she -searched for a word--so starved. - -"Man cannot live by books alone, my poor Chip," she thought. She seemed -to see again the kindly, tired lines about his mouth and eyes. She -imagined a lonely life for him, with Major Stroud as the only close -human tie. They had been through two campaigns together, the latter had -told her. Fancy calling the Great War a campaign! She smiled at the -thought. A hard-bitten man, the Major. She supposed the two were about -of an age--say, forty-three. Bachelors? Oh, undoubtedly. - -Then the doctor arrived--a cheerful, bustling man with a short gray -beard. He seemed to have known the two of them for years. - -"I helped to bring this young man into the world," he told Judy, -clapping an affectionate hand on the Major's solid shoulder. That -gentleman, who didn't look as though he could possibly have needed help -on that or any other occasion, smiled a little sheepishly, and then the -bedroom door closed upon them. Noel and Judy, left in unhappy suspense -in the sitting room looked at one another. - -"Why couldn't you have knocked down some drunken rotter?" asked Noel, -walking about the room with his hand in his pocket. "Why pick out Chip?" - -Strange how the name had made itself at home with both of them! - -"Why? Oh, Noel, I can't bear it to be true! Haven't we dreamt it all? If -anything happens to him----" - -"If only there are no beastly consequences," said Noel, frowning, "you -may have done everybody a good turn in the end. I mean--he seems such a -decent sort--I like him. And I think he might like us." - -Judy nodded. - -"But I'm afraid it's concussion, Noel." - -"It may be only very slight. Well, we'll know in a few minutes. There -was a terrible bump on his forehead, but we couldn't find any other -marks." - -"Suppose we'd killed him!" It wasn't like Judy to suppose ghastly -possibilities. "If I hadn't gone to the club to pick you up," she -mused, "if I'd gone straight home, it wouldn't have happened." - -"Oh, hush, Judy! What's the good of all that? Look here"--he paused in -front of her--"Chip evidently isn't well off. I intend to arrange with -the doctor, about bills. So you back me up, won't you?" - -"Of course. I'd thought of that too. And Noel----" - -"Well?" - -"Let's keep this to ourselves. I'd much rather not tell the family -anything about it. Wouldn't you?" - -"Much. It's our affair." - -"I've hardly spent any of my allowance lately. We'll go halves about the -bills.... Don't even tell Gordon, will you?" - -"Gordon? He's about the last person I'd tell." - -Here the doctor returned, followed by Major Stroud. They closed the -bedroom door softly. - -"Nothing to worry about," the doctor told them cheerfully, in that -hearty voice common to the medical profession. "A man might come off -worse in the hunting field any day, and no one make a fuss about it. -Slight concussion and bruises, and that's all, young lady." - -"Well, it's quite enough," said she. "I hate concussions. And there -really are no bones broken? You're not trying to spare our feelings?" - -"Word of honor as a father of seven. You can come and see your victim -with your own eyes in a day or two. Major Stroud will spend the night -here on the sofa, and the nurse will be on hand in the morning, if she's -wanted. So now, Miss Juggernaut, you may roll home with a peaceful -mind." - -"You've cheered us up a lot, sir," said Noel, shaking hands with him. - -Major Stroud took them to the door, after writing down their telephone -number on a pad that the methodical Chip had hanging over his desk. - -"You'll tell him, when he comes to, how sorry we are, and how ... how -anxious?" - -But the Major shook his head at her. - -"I'll leave that to you," he said as they parted. "He'll get the devil -of a talking to from me--careless beggar." - -They gave the news to the waiting Mills, and drove home with little -talk. When Judy reached the door of her room, she kissed Noel good -night. - -"I'm glad we decided not to tell any one," she whispered. "Mother would -look him up in _Who's Who_. It would be horrible." - -"What about Claire?" - -"Oh, we can tell her, of course." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Madame Claire was glad she was not included in the ban of silence. She -was much interested in the affair. She was also--though she took care -not to let Judy see it--a little excited. It was not, she felt, one of -those incidents that seem to have no consequences, nor leave any mark. -Something new, she believed, had been set in motion, and that something -new meant to poke a disturbing finger into Judy's life. But she forbore -to ask too many questions. - -She heard about it the next day, and Judy told her that Noel had already -talked to Major Stroud over the telephone, and had learned that Major -Crosby was still unconscious. - -"He told Noel we were not to worry--the doctor's orders I believe--and -then he went on to say that he'd once been unconscious for twenty-eight -hours himself, and had come to at the end of it as lively as a cricket. -But then he's a hopeless optimist, and you never can believe optimists." - -"You and Noel seem to have taken him to your hearts from the first," -commented Madame Claire. "Chip, I mean. Well, I'd back your judgments -against anybody's." - -"I think you would have felt like that too. But he isn't going to be -easy to know," said her granddaughter. - -"Isn't he? Why?" - -"He's very shy," answered Judy. "He had the shyest rooms I ever saw. -Not a photograph to be seen, nor an ornament, nor even a novel. You -know, you can guess at such a lot if there are things like that about -to help you. No, there wasn't a single clue. But the greatest clue, in -a way, was the lack of clues. As though, because of his shyness, he had -tried to cover up his tracks. I don't think he wants to be known." - -"If he had to be knocked down by a motor," said Madame Claire, "I -consider it a fortunate thing that you were in it. After all, it might -have been any Tom or Dick--or Miss Tom or Dick." - -"I only wish he might take that view of it," answered Judy. "What news -of Louise?" - -Madame Claire hoped to hear more about Chip, but she was always quick to -feel when a change of subject was wanted. - -"She's with her people in Norfolk. She wrote Eric that she was enjoying -the change, but that she felt it was her duty to come back at the end of -the week. Of course Eric wrote to her that she wasn't to think of him, -but that she must stay as long as she felt inclined." - -"How that must have annoyed her! For what she wanted was to come home -as a martyr before she was ready. What a woman! Don't you think it a -miracle that Eric doesn't fall in love with some one else?" - -Madame Claire shook her head. - -"I doubt if he ever will. He finds consolation in his friends, and in -his books, and in his work of course. Eric isn't a man who falls in love -easily. And besides, I can't help thinking that he still has hopes of -Louise." - -"You think he still loves her?" - -"Louise is his wife," answered Madame Claire, "and I believe that it -hurts Eric intolerably to feel that the one person in the world who -should be nearest to him, and who should understand him the best, -deliberately keeps aloof. He feels he has failed--and Eric hates -failure." - -"If he has failed, it isn't his fault," said Judy. "It isn't for lack of -trying. If he'd been just a nonentity she'd have enjoyed condescending -to him. As long as he is what he is--sought-after and charming--she'll -be what she is--jealous and bitter. I don't see how he stands it." - -"Like Eric," Madame Claire said gently, "I can't help hoping." - -A day or two later, Judy found her reading a letter from Old Stephen. - -"There's a good deal about Connie," she told her. "Isn't it odd the way -she seems to be coming into our lives again? Here's what he says: - - "_'And now a few words about Connie and her Count. I've talked to him - several times, and he's like some poisonous thing in a stagnant - pond. I do wish you could persuade her to leave him, for he insults - and humiliates her at every turn. She confessed to me yesterday what - I already suspected--that he had gambled away most of his money and - much of hers at Monte Carlo, and that he is constantly demanding - more. I think it would be advisable for Eric to come here if he - possibly can. She is frightened, and her nerves are on edge. I - suppose he threatens her, poor woman. What do you think ought to be - done?'_" - -"He stopped there," said Madame Claire, "and finished the letter next -day. I'll read you the rest. - - "_'I was interrupted yesterday by Miss McPherson, who wouldn't let me - write more. So I left the letter open, and I'm glad I did, for - there's a sequel. Connie left here this morning for Paris, without a - word to anybody. I thought she would have written me a letter to say - good-bye, but she hasn't. I don't know what brought matters to this - head, but I suspect it had something to do with Mademoiselle - Pauline, the dancer, with whom the Count has been spending much of - his time, and more, I imagine, of his money. Miss McPherson, who has - her human side, has taken a considerable interest in Connie's - affairs, and tells me she is sure there was a scene of some sort - last night. However that may be, Connie has gone. They told me at - the office that she went to Paris, but left no forwarding address. - Well, my dear Claire, I fear all this will distress you, but you - have a brave heart, and would wish to know. If you have any idea - where Connie would be likely to have gone, to what friends or to - what hotel, I cannot help thinking it would be wise to send Eric to - look for her. I say this because she seemed to me a desperately - unhappy woman.'_ - -"That's all about that," said Madame Claire, putting the letter away. - -"What do you think ought to be done?" Judy asked her. - -"Eric is coming here to-night, and I'll talk it over with him. If he can -spare the time to go to Paris, I think it would be a good thing." - -"But if he doesn't know where she is?" - -"I think I can guess," answered her grandmother. "Years ago, before the -children were grown up, we used to go and stay at a little private hotel -off the Avenue de la Grande Armée. In the autumn I recommended it to a -friend of your mother's, and she was delighted with it. Judging from her -description, I don't think it can have changed much. She told me that -the granddaughter of the old Madame Peritôt remembered me perfectly and -said that Connie, whom she described as 'la belle Madame,' often went -there when she wished to be quiet. I feel sure she would wish to be -quiet now, and I believe that if Eric goes there he will find her." - -"Do you want him to bring her to London?" inquired Judy. - -"I think I had better leave that to him," answered Madame Claire. - - * * * * * * - -Eric went to Paris the day following. He had no idea, when he left, -whether he would try to persuade Connie to come back to London or not. -He would decide that when he had seen her. Nor did he explain matters to -Louise, to whom the very name of his once beautiful sister was anathema. -He sent her a wire, however, which said merely, "Called out of town for -few days. Probably back Monday." - -He had been working very hard, and welcomed a change of scene. He had -not been out of England since serving with his regiment in France, and -later in Italy, from which campaign he was invalided home shortly before -the Armistice. He was now member for a London borough, having given up -soldiering for politics. His rather disconcerting honesty and policy of -no compromise won him more friends in the former calling than in the -latter, and though he had enthusiastic friends he had equally -whole-hearted enemies, among whom he began to fear he must number his -wife. - -The thought of a lifelong companionship with a woman who disliked, or -seemed to dislike his every attribute, appalled him. He had a way of -reducing problems to their simplest form, and being a clear thinker, -saw facts in all their nakedness. Louise was his wife. He had tried to -make her happy. She either liked him or she did not. If she did not like -him, why live with him? And if she did like him, why not show that she -did? It came to that. Other women liked him. Why could not his wife? -He had never tried to please any other woman as he had tried to please -her. The thing was an enigma. They could have had such delightful -times together, for they had everything--health, youth, money, friends. -Her coldness was inexplicable. She was not only cold to him, but to -all men, and to most women. If she had cared for any one else he would -have found a way to release her. He tried to put it out of his mind on -the journey to Paris, and thought instead of Connie. He had been so -proud of her beauty in the old days. He remembered her at dances, -surrounded by respectfully admiring young men. How she had queened it -for a while! And then--Petrovitch! - -From Calais he shared a compartment with a rather charming woman with -whom he fell easily into talk. He had a gift of nonsense which, when he -cared to use it, most people--his wife of course excepted--found -irresistible. So they sparred pleasantly till the train neared Paris. -But in the end she struck a too personal note, talking about herself and -her affairs with an astonishing lack of reserve, whereupon he liked her -less. When they separated she gave him her address, but he forgot both -it and her. She never forgot him. If he had liked her more they would -have parted friends, or on the way to friendship, which would have -annoyed Louise, who only made friends with people she had known or known -of for years. But her candor was without simplicity, and her -impulsiveness not without calculation, so she passed out of his life, -for he was fastidious about women. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Eric drove at once to the little hotel off the Avenue de la Grande -Armée, and made himself known. He had wired for a room at the Crillon, -preferring not to stay too near Connie lest he should find her -surrounded by sympathetic friends. He dreaded her friends. - -The granddaughter of old Madame Peritôt, a pleasant-faced woman named -Le Blanc, gave him a cordial welcome, asked immediately after Madame -Claire and then told him in answer to his question that Madame la -Comtesse was resting, but would undoubtedly see her brother. Who -indeed, she thought, would not be glad to see such a brother--a -brother with such delightful manners, whose blue eyes--Ciel! Madame -Le Blanc was enchanted by the blueness of his eyes. - -Eric waited in the little salon, remembering incidents of their -extremely happy childhood. Madame Claire had so often brought the -three of them there, during vacations. They had nearly always come to -Paris en route for the coast of Brittany or Normandy when the Roman -summers became unbearable. He remembered how he and Connie, an -exquisite, long-legged child of fifteen, had knocked over and broken a -Dresden group during a scrimmage. They had secretly substituted for it -another almost exactly like the first, except that the dress of the -shepherdess which had been blue with pink flowers, was now pink with -blue flowers. There it stood, just where their guilty hands had placed -it, so many years ago, and he could not resist taking it off the -mantelpiece and examining it. It was one of old Madame Peritôt's most -prized possessions, and how they laughed when they realized that she had -never noticed the difference! It might easily have met the fate just -then of its unlucky predecessor, for he nearly dropped it, so suddenly -and quietly did Connie enter--and such a Connie! - -It was characteristic of Eric that he never said anything suitable to -occasions. He kissed her cheek, and then said, holding her at arm's -length and looking at her: - -"You must come and dine with me. What do you say to a sole and a broiled -chicken somewhere?" - -But Connie felt that something more was due to the situation, so she -clung to his arm and found--or seemed to find--speech difficult. - -"Eric! Is it really you? My God! After all these years! Oh, Eric!" - -"Nearly twenty, isn't it? And thirty or more since we broke the Dresden -group there. Go and put your hat on. What a pretty dress!" - -"You like it?" She turned about with something of her old grace and -coquetry. "You were always quick to notice nice things. But how did you -know where to find me, and why did you come? This seems like a dream -to me. And you're still so good-looking!" - -"Thank you, my dear. No one has ever told me that. It is charming of -you. I came to see you. Mother guessed you would be here. And now go and -put on your hat, for I'm very hungry." - -"In a moment. I want to look at you.... I'd almost forgotten I had a -brother. But how did you know I was in Paris at all? That meddlesome old -Stephen de Lisle, I suppose, bless him!" Then her beautiful voice -deepened. "Eric, I've got very old, haven't I? Tell me the truth." - -Eric told it in his own way. - -"I'm afraid I never think about age," he said, "so it's no good asking -me. I think you look worried. Come, we'll dine early. There's a great -deal to talk about. And don't change. I like you in that." - -"I won't be long." She went to the door and then turned. "I'm being -taken out to dinner by my own brother," she said softly. "You make me -feel quite--respectable, Eric." - -Her last words hurt him. If there had been any one with him he would -have said as she left the room: - -"Good God! The pity of it!" - -It wasn't age he meant. He cared as little for that as most intelligent -men. Connie had lost her youth. That was to be expected. But she had -never gained its far more interesting successor, character. It was that -he missed. She was spiritually, mentally and morally down at the heel. -Her face was a weary mask, her yellow hair had known the uses of -peroxide as well as of adversity, and her blue eyes, paler than her -brother's, looked out, without expression, from a rim of carelessly -darkened lashes. The frank vulgarity of her scarlet lips revolted him. - -"All that," he said to himself, "to win a--Chiozzi!" He had hurried her -off to get her hat because he couldn't bear to talk to her in that room -of childish memories. It brought back to him too clearly the girl of -fifteen, with her exquisite, sparkling face, her laughter, and that -mane of fine golden hair that people in the streets too often turned to -stare at.... He meant to help her, he had come to help her--but how to -go about it? That he must leave to the inspiration of the moment. - -When she returned, handsomely furred and too youthfully hatted, he gave -her another kindly kiss to encourage her--for he could see that she was -really moved--and took her arm as they went to the door. An old woman in -another salon across the hall had observed their movements with the -keenest interest. She carried an ear trumpet, but thanked Heaven that -her eyes were as good as ever. Good enough to distinguish the paint on -that woman's cheeks--which had not prevented Mr. Gregory from kissing -her. Lady Gregory's only son! She knew he had married the youngest -daughter of old Admiral Broughton, a great friend of the late King's. He -had once been heard to say to him at a garden party--it must have been -in 1907--There, they are getting into a cab together. He has taken her -hand--off they go! Dear, dear! How very distressing! Poor Lady Gregory, -and poor neglected wife! It wasn't as if she hadn't seen it with her -own eyes. And she hadn't lived in this wicked old world for sixty-nine -years--even though most of them had been spent in Kensington--without -knowing a _demi-mondaine_ when she saw one. Odd she was to see Miss -Thomkinson, a cousin of the Broughtons, the very next day. No, shocked -as she was at the presence of such a woman in that house, she preferred -not to speak to Madame le Blanc about it. It didn't go to enter into -arguments with these French people, and besides, her vocabulary wasn't -equal to it. - -In the cab, Eric said gently: - -"Well, Connie, my dear, I've come to help you in any way that I can, and -to take you back to England with me if you wish to go. I gather that -your marriage is anything but happy. Tell me about it." - -Connie tried to speak but her efforts ended in a sudden burst of tears. -She sobbed openly and unbecomingly. Eric, his eyes full of pain and -concern, held her hand and looked out of the window at the once familiar -streets. She had lived on her emotions for so long that self-control, he -supposed, was utterly beyond her now. It was true that she had cried -whenever she had felt inclined, during the whole of her unhappy, stormy -life. But she usually cried for a purpose. This was different. -Something, probably the amazing matter-of-factness of her brother, had -touched the springs of her self-pity. At one step he had spanned all -that had happened in the last twenty years. He was so entirely -unchanged, while she--his eyes were as clear as ever, his fitness -obvious at a glance, and his face scarcely lined. He represented all -that she had lost, all that was sane and clean and wholesome. He -reminded her of childish cricket, and nursery teas, and days on the -river, and May Week, and clean young men in flannels. She had not met -a man of his type since she had left her husband. She loved the faint -scent of lavender that lingered in the fresh folds of the handkerchief -he presently offered her. She wondered if it would be possible for her -to go back with him, into the well-ordered life that he and his kind -led, away from the shoddy women who had been her companions for years -and the men who were rotten to the core. - -"It has been a shock to you," Eric said. "I should have warned you." - -She shook her head. It wasn't that. What it was she didn't feel -capable of telling him now. - -She wiped her eyes and cheeks recklessly with his handkerchief. Her -make-up was ruined, and for the moment she didn't care, but presently -at the sight of the well-filled restaurant she pulled herself together, -and while Eric ordered dinner she busied herself repairing her haggard -mask. No matter how badly Connie was looking, people always observed -that she was a woman who had once been very beautiful. She joined him at -the table in a few minutes, looking as though tears were as foreign to -her nature as to a statue's. - -It is characteristic of Connie's sort that they forget they have made a -scene two minutes after it is over, and imagine that others forget as -easily. She glanced about the crowded room as she sat down, hoping that -she might be seen in the company of such a man. She was proud of him, -and, to do her justice, proud of the fact that they were brother and -sister, forgetting that in twenty years a resemblance that had once been -remarkable had nearly vanished. - -Before dinner was over, she had given him an outline of her life down to -the present with commendable honesty. She had no wish, apparently, to -gild the ugly sordidness of some of it, though she made it appear that -her misfortunes had come to her more through the faithlessness and -selfishness of men than through her own weakness. And yet men, it was -obvious, were still her chief interest in life. As she talked to Eric -her glance often wandered, and she made much play with her still -beautiful hands. - -Her dread of Chiozzi and his treatment of her seemed to Eric the most -important part of her story. It was that he had to deal with now. She -said he had threatened her life more than once in order to extort money -from her. Her income had dwindled to barely seven hundred a year, all -that remained of the considerable fortune left her by Morton Freeman. -That much she had managed to keep intact, in spite of the efforts of her -greedy Count. - -"If I go back to him," she said with a shudder, "he'll have it all." - -Eric dreaded the idea of a divorce. Her affairs had already had so much -unsavory publicity. - -"You must not think of going back to him at present," he told her. -"Later we will see what can be done. You can write to him from London, -if you wish." - -"I dread London." - -"You will be safest there. And you will find that people have -forgotten. You must try to begin again, my dear, and be content with -contentment, and simple things. You will not find life exciting, but -you may find it pleasant. I will do what I can, and you will have -mother, who is a marvel of marvels. I would suggest a little house in -the country, or a small flat in town." - -She considered this, smoking a faintly perfumed cigarette. - -"What are Millicent's children like?" - -"They're delightful. You'll love Judy and Noel." - -"But Millie won't let them know me." - -"I doubt if Millie will have very much to say in the matter. If they -choose to know you, they will." - -"And your wife--Louise?" - -He hesitated. - -"You may find her difficult." - -"How difficult? One of those ... those good women, I suppose." This with -a sneer that made Eric wince. - -"Louise is very ... indifferent. Frankly, she doesn't care a straw for -me." - -"Not care for you? She must be a fool." - -He inclined his head in the slightest of bows. - -"You are my sister, and prejudiced." - -"I know a man when I see one, whether he's my brother or not." She gave -a short laugh. "Mon Dieu! I ought to, by this time." - -"My wife," said Eric, "considers me a tiresome and conceited fellow. She -dislikes a great many things about me; no doubt with reason." - -"Jealous," commented his sister, who could see through other women. - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -"So some of my friends say. I cannot understand it. But you needn't see -much of each other." - -"I think I know her sort," said Connie, watching the smoke from her -cigarette. "Well, we both seem to have made a mess of things." - -This struck Eric as humorous, but not a sign of his amusement appeared -in his face. - -"Where is Petrovitch now?" he asked her. - -She smiled to a passing acquaintance before she answered. - -"In America, I believe. Still lionized and applauded. It seems to me, -Eric, that men have nine lives to a woman's one. Look at me ... a -worn-out wreck, while he----" - -"A bad fellow, Connie," said Eric; at which she bit her lip. - -"I can't let you say that. I love him." - -"Still?" - -She nodded. - -Eric looked at her as though he would like to see into her mind. - -"Tell me this. I ask you as I might ask any woman in your place. Has it -been worth it?" - -Her eyes fell, and she seemed to be groping for words. Then she rose -from the table, gathering up her long gloves and beaded bag. - -"I would tell you, if I knew," she said at last. "But I don't know. I -suppose I have lost all sense of values." - -"That is answer enough," he replied. - - * * * * * * - -As they drove back to the hotel she turned to him and said: - -"When do you want me to be ready?" - -"I ought to go back to-morrow," he told her. "Would that be possible for -you?" - -"Yes." Then, a little dramatically, "I place myself in your hands, -Eric. Do with me what you will." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -It was just a week after the accident that Judy and Noel went to Campden -Hill to see Major Crosby. A message had come at last from Dr. Ferguson -to the effect that if Miss Juggernaut and her brother cared to see their -victim, they might do so between three and five that afternoon. - -Major Stroud had rung them up almost daily, and Noel had found it -difficult to account to the family for the sudden interest taken in him -by some one they had never heard of before. For it was a household in -which reticence was frowned upon and discouraged. Only Gordon, being the -eldest son, was permitted to go and come without explanations. He was -naturally secretive, and on the few occasions when he was pleased to -give an account of his doings, his mother listened to him with something -very like reverence. So Major Stroud became "a fellow at my club," -which, as it chanced, he was, and Millicent gave up the attempt to -penetrate further. - -Judy had never felt as shy as on that Wednesday afternoon in the middle -of January. She and Noel rode up Campden Hill on a bus, and walked -briskly, for it was a bitter day, from Church Street to Chip's rooms. - -On the way up the stairs she said: - -"Don't leave me to do all the talking, Noel. I feel idiotically -nervous. I don't know what to talk about." - -"Chuck maidenly modesty to the winds for once," he advised, "and talk -about the weather." - -"You're not very helpful." - -"And when you've done with the weather, there's always the climate." - -"Thank you." - -"What I mean is, why not just be natural? I expect he's safely -unmarriageable, from the money point of view. So you can let the barbed -wire alone." - -"Anyhow," she said thankfully, "Major Stroud will be there, and he's -always noisy and cheerful." - -He was there, and at their knock admitted them, looking very large and -out of place in the narrow hall. He was one of those men who seem to -belong astride a high, bony horse, or in the solid armchair of a -spacious London club. He shook hands with great heartiness, and led the -way to the sitting room with a loud and reassuring tread. - -"Visitors, Chip, old man," he announced, and flung open the door. - -Chip was lying stretched out on the sofa, pillows behind his head and a -striped rug across his knees. His quiet manner of welcoming them seemed -to Judy to contrast almost humorously with his friend's bluff -cheeriness. - -He had a nervous little speech all ready for them. - -"I'm ashamed," he said, "to be the cause of all this bother. It's most -awfully good of you to come. You'll forgive my not getting up, won't -you? I'm not allowed to, for some reason." - -"I should hope not," said Noel, as they shook hands. - -"As for being a bother," Judy told him, "that's the sort of thing -invalids say when they know they're not strong enough to be shaken. -Major Crosby, I can't--I can't tell you how sorry we are." She hurried -on, fearful of showing emotion. "Let's not say any more about that part -of it. You know what we feel...." - -"And after all," put in Major Stroud, after the manner of Major -Strouds, "accidents will happen, ye know, and as I tell Chip, he -simply barged into you." - -"Well," said Judy, "it's silly, both sides saying it's their fault. But -there are two good things about it. The doctor says you'll soon be all -right again, and--well, if it hadn't been for what happened that night, -we'd never have met, would we?" - -"That's a good effort, Judy," Noel encouraged her. "I second everything -you've said. But let's cut out speeches now." - -They all laughed, and after that it was easier to talk. - -Major Stroud monopolized Noel, to whom he seemed to have taken a great -fancy, and Judy found herself cut off from the other two, in a chair -beside the sofa. For there is no room so small that a party of four -cannot quite easily split up into twos. - -Major Crosby looked much as Judy had expected him to look. That first -sight of his face in the light from the car's lamps was, she knew, one -of those mind pictures that refuse to fade. She was uncertain about the -color of his eyes, which now proved to be gray, and though they smiled -and had a habit of smiling as the lines about them showed, there were -other lines about the forehead that spoke of anxiety. His hair was of -that fine and unreliable quality that abandons its owner early in life, -and Chip was already a little thin about the top. His long legs under -the rug displayed pointed knees, and he moved his thin, well-shaped -hands nervously. - -"If I can only put him at his ease with me!" thought Judy. - -They talked commonplaces at first, and then, stretching out her hand, -she said: - -"May I see what you were reading?" - -He picked up a finely bound book that lay beside him on the rug, and -gave it to her. - -"I don't know why it is," he said, smiling, "but one always feels -slightly apologetic when discovered reading poetry." - -It was _The Spirit of Man_, and Judy was conscious of a feeling of -satisfaction. They liked the same books, then. - -"It's a dear friend," she said. - -"Really? I'm glad of that." - -"I didn't see this," she went on, "when I was prowling about the room -the other night. For I did prowl, I admit it, and I found nothing but -books on religion. You see I had to do something while I was waiting -for the verdict." - -"I expect it was in my room," he explained. "When the book I'm working -on gets the better of me, or when I'm tired of it, I turn to that." - -"You're very wise." She put the book on a table. "Now tell me about your -own book. Major Stroud spoke of it the other night, and seemed to think -it was to blame for the accident." - -He laughed. - -"He thinks it's to blame for everything. It's very dull, I'm afraid. -It's about religions. They're my hobby. Not religion; religions. There's -a difference, you see. I've tried to write a book that ... well, how -shall I explain it? ... pulls them all together. Brings out their -similarities. Fuses them, so to speak. It's tremendously interesting -work and means a lot of research, and I like that." - -"How long have you been working on it?" - -"Oh ... not very long. Let me see.... I started it in 1910. Twelve -years. Well, I suppose that is a fairly long time. But you see the war -interrupted things." - -"There were four years when I suppose you did no work on it at all." - -"I managed to get in a lot of reading. I was studying Druidism when I -was in the trenches--most absorbing study. That was when things were -fairly peaceful, of course. And when they weren't peaceful, one was -... well, testing various beliefs, if you know what I mean. When there -was heavy shelling, for instance, and you had to sit tight." - -She smiled at him. - -"Is it nearly done?" - -"Well, the bulk of it's done, but I'm always adding things to it. You -see I want it to be a sort of book of reference. If you want to find out -where Mohammedanism resembles Buddhism you turn to where the two things -are compared, belief by belief. But all this is very boring for you." - -"It isn't. I like it. Don't you think it's extraordinary, with all the -guidance that it has, that mankind goes so frightfully astray?" - -"I suppose it is. But I always think that we expect too much of our -fellow man. He's all right. Only give him time. He's got such a lot to -unlearn." - -"You mean he has all his brutal beginnings to forget?" - -He nodded. - -"I imagine I see him evoluting all the way from brute to angel, or -something like it. He's about at Half Way House now, I think. Wars, -of course, give him a bit of a setback." - -"I suppose they do." - -"Oh, rather! I'm sure they do. Not necessarily for every individual, -you understand, but for the mass. I hate guns and noise and warfare -like the majority of my kind. I always have and I always shall. But at -the same time, when there's a fight on I've got to be there, and if -there's going to be a top dog, I want my fellows to be it. Half Way -House, you see!" - -"And you think we'll get beyond it?" - -"I don't doubt it for a moment. Do you?" - -"I don't know. I always think that mankind looks its best under the -microscope, so to speak, and that it's rather horrible when you see it -in the mass." - -"Like mold?" he suggested. "Ferns and flowers and lovely shapes when -you magnify it, but very nasty indeed when you look at it on a damp -wall." - -"Yes. Just like that." - -Her eyes smiled back at his eyes. It was at this moment that something -greater than interest awoke in her. She knew it was there; she was aware -of the very instant of its coming, and she meant, later, to examine it -at her leisure. - -Noel and Major Stroud were engaged in studying a map of the Somme, and -were oblivious to them. - -"You really must meet my grandmother, Lady Gregory--or Madame Claire, -as Noel and I call her. She's the most wonderful person. When you're -better you must come and have tea with us at her hotel." - -"I should like that very much," he said. "I get on quite well with old -ladies. I find young ones rather alarming nowadays, but perhaps it's -because I don't see much of them." - -Judy laughed at this. - -"Do I alarm you?" she challenged him. - -"No," he admitted. "It's very odd, but you don't." - -"What a blessing! Shy people--and I am one--usually have the most -devastating effect on other shy people. But you'll love Madame Claire. -She looks on the world from a kind of Olympus." - -"Yet most of us dread growing old," he remarked. - -"Yes. Isn't it ridiculous? But I don't. There are times when I envy her -her age, and her ... imperviousness. What a word!" - -"It's temperamental, that sort of thing. It's the people who are always -seeking gayety that dread old age most. Being Scotch I like grayness, -and austere hills, and quiet and mystery. All old things." - -Chip was surprised at the ease with which he could talk about himself. -He felt half apologetic and looked at Judy as if to say, "Forgive me, -but it must be some spell that you have cast upon me...." A look passed -between them then that was to both of them an unforgettable thing. - -Their words had meant nothing, but they were mutually aware of a -bond--a thing as fine as gossamer, and as strong as London Bridge. Judy -was conscious of a queer little electric thrill that she felt to the -very tips of her fingers. Their look had so plainly said: - -"You and I.... We are going to be something to each other. What will -that something be?" - -To cover the nakedness of that question that each was aware of in the -mind of the other, Judy turned away her head. - -"Noel," she said, raising her voice, "Major Crosby and Major Stroud must -come to tea at Madame Claire's one day. Can't we decide on an afternoon -now?" - -"Being one of the unemployed," Noel answered cheerfully, "all afternoons -are alike to me. When will they let you up again, Major Crosby?" - -"Oh," he said, "in three or four days I expect to be carrying on as -usual." - -They decided on the following Thursday, provided Madame Claire had no -other engagement, and soon Noel and Judy, for fear of tiring their -victim, got up to go. - -"But you'll come and see me again, won't you?" asked Chip, then added, -"but dash it all, I forgot! I'll be up soon." - -They laughed, and his regret that they might not come again was so real -that Judy said as they shook hands: - -"Don't forget; Madame Claire's on Thursday, at four." - -Major Stroud went out with them, leaving Chip looking after them rather -wistfully. - -Talking to her had been strangely easy as he lay there. It might never -be the same again. He had looked at her to his heart's content, a thing -he wouldn't have dared to do had they been talking in the ordinary way. -His recollections of the accident were very confused. He had been -conscious of some one at intervals--a sort of delightful presence. Major -Stroud had filled in the rest for him--badly enough. The Major did not -excel in word pictures. - -Was she pretty ... beautiful? He searched for the right word. She was -lovely, that was it ... lovely. She had taken off her gloves and her -long ringless hands had lain in her lap as she talked. She was tall, but -not too tall. He liked a woman to have height. He liked the paleness of -her oval face, and the wide mouth with its satisfactory curves. Her -dark brown eyes had a sparkle far at the back of them, like ... like -the reflection of a single star in a deep pool.... - -He had been damned dull, as he always was. - -"If she were only sitting there again," he thought, "I would say -everything differently. I would say things that she might remember -afterwards. I'm not such a dull fellow as all that." - -Was he not? At least no woman would ever find out that he was not. He -thought of his poverty and his book, that, in all probability, he alone -believed in. He realized that his head had begun to ache again, and he -closed his eyes. - -Major Stroud went with Noel and Judy as far as the street door. - -"He'll be all right," he assured them, indicating Chip upstairs. -"Nothing to worry about now. Rest's doin' him good. Awfully good of -you to come, Miss Pendleton, cheer him up. Terrible fellow for bein' -alone, Chip is. Neglects his friends." - -"Hasn't he any relations?" Noel asked. - -Major Stroud shook his head. - -"Orphan ... only child, too. He doesn't see enough people. Not like me; -I like to keep goin' ... gaddin' about." - -Judy was amused at this. Solid, heavy Major Stroud, picturing himself as -a sort of social butterfly! - -"But you two see a good deal of each other, don't you?" Judy wanted to -feel sure that Chip was not altogether alone. - -"Oh, Lord, yes! Good old Chip! Been through two campaigns together." -Then as Judy held out her hand, "'By, Miss Pendleton. I'll let you know -how he gets on. Ought to be out to-morrow." - -They walked briskly down Church Street, Judy with an arm through -Noel's, and her chin buried in her furs. - -"Well?" said Noel. - -"Well?" she echoed. - -"I said it first," remarked her brother. - -"Translated, I take it to mean, how do I like Chip? Is that it?" - -"Couldn't have put it better." - -"I like him immensely," said Judy obligingly. "Now it's your turn." - -"Same here." Then after a pause, "Feeling less spinsterish?" - -"I don't feel in the least spinsterish, thank you." - -"Well," he said, "I never saw you looking less so. Chip, poor devil, lay -there and gazed with his soul in his eyes." - -"Really, Noel!" - -"Fact. But you'll have to change your methods. You'll have to cut that -'he'll have to come all the way to me' business. Because he won't; he's -too shy." - -Judy would have been in a cold fury had any one else dared to speak so -to her, but she took it from Noel with perfect good humor. - -"I gather you'd like me to see more of him." - -"Well, why not? If ever a man needed some woman to take an interest in -him, that man is Chip." - -"He may need it, but from the little I've seen of him I don't think he -wants it." - -"Of course he wants it. He's human. I wouldn't mind having him in the -family." - -Judy had to laugh. - -"Don't you think it's rather soon to make up your mind? After all, you -hardly know him." - -"That's nothing. I liked him the first minute I saw him." - -"You have the impulsiveness of extreme youth." - -"That's so trite," he remarked, "to throw my youth at me. You only say -that when you can't think of anything else to say. You must cultivate -originality of thought." - -"I do," she retorted, "but it's good manners to adjust one's -conversation to suit one's hearers. Now let's continue about Chip." - -"He has no money," he went on, quite unruffled, "and that's a pity, -because you won't get much from the family. Gordon will get it all. But -you'd make a better poor man's wife than most girls. What about the -simple life for a change?" - -"You go too fast, my friend. I've nothing against the simple -life--though why they call it that I can't think; there's nothing less -simple than trying to live on nothing a year. But what I wish to point -out to you is that Major Crosby, to begin with, is not a marrying man." - -"Oh, Lord!" groaned Noel, "what a cliché! How can a man be a marrying -man until he marries?" - -"To put it into words of one syllable, Major Crosby is not the sort of -man who contemplates marriage. He is wedded to his bachelorhood and his -book." - -"That's tosh." - -"But," she went on, "I very much hope he will let us be his friends." - -"Oh, he'll let us right enough; if that's what you want. By the way, we -mustn't let the Bennetts know about the accident." - -"Didn't Mills tell them?" - -"Not he. I fixed it up with old Mills. Mrs. Bennett is a nice old -thing, but she'd fuss, and Chip would hate that. I'm glad we let him -think it was our car. We can explain to him some day. You see, it -really was his fault. He didn't look where he was going--didn't even -stop to listen, Mills says. But I don't want him to think we think -that." - -"I'll leave it to you, Noel. It's getting too complicated for me." Then -she remembered something. - -"Did you know Eric had gone to Paris to fetch Aunt Connie home?" - -He whistled. - -"No. Nobody told me." - -"Claire only told me this morning. Eric has wired for rooms for her in -some small hotel, in Half Moon Street, I think. They'll be back -to-morrow. Won't it be queer to have an aunt we've never seen since we -were children?" - -He agreed that it would. - -"I think I shall rather like having a dissipated aunt," he remarked. -"It's out of the common." - -"I expect people have exaggerated things," Judy said. "And besides, -she's getting on, you know. She's only a year or two younger than -mother." - -"Her sort never change," said the sage. "What about that rotten little -Count?" - -"I don't know what Eric means to do about him." - -"Well, I know two people at least who will raise a row about her coming -home. Mother and Louise." - -"Nobody's told them yet," said Judy. - -He whistled again. - -"I see trouble ahead." - -As they reached the house in Eaton Square the front door opened, and the -figure of an immaculately dressed young man was sharply silhouetted -against the yellow light. - -"Hello, you two!" said he. - -Gordon was extremely good-looking in his fair and rather wooden way. His -beautiful evening clothes looked resplendent, and the coat he carried -over one arm was there as a concession to his mother, for he was never -cold. - -"Hello, Gordon!" echoed the other two. - -"Where've you been?" demanded the elder brother. - -"Been to see a sick friend," said Noel. - -Gordon looked at his sister. - -"Are you coming to Lady Ottway's dance to-night? You were asked." - -"I know. But I'm not coming. I can't stand her dances. I may be slow, -but they're slower still." - -"Don't say you can't stand her," advised Gordon, bending his handsome -head to light a cigarette. - -"Why not? If I feel like it?" - -He threw away the match and puffed experimentally on the cigarette. -Then, satisfied of a light, he said casually: - -"Because she's going to be my mother-in-law. That's why." - -"Gordon!" they exclaimed together. - -"Fact. All arranged yesterday. Helen and I hope to be married early in -June. So congratulate me." - -"Gordon!" cried Judy again, "what a queer boy you are! I hadn't an -inkling it had happened." She raised her face to kiss him, but he drew -back. - -"Not on the front steps. Keep that for later." - -"That's so like you," she protested. "No one can see us. Anyway, -Gordon, consider yourself kissed, and I do congratulate you, my dear, -and I'm happy if you are. Does mother know?" - -"Oh, yes. She's delighted, of course." - -Noel put his hand on Gordon's shoulder. - -"I'm awfully glad, Gordon old man." - -"Thanks." He went down the steps and hailed a taxi that was crawling -toward them. "I'd have told you before," he said over his shoulder, -"only we don't keep the same hours. Never sure of seeing you. Well, so -long!" - -The taxi door shut with a bang that echoed loudly in the quiet square, -and he was off. - -"Isn't that Gordon all over?" asked Noel. - -As Judy entered the hall she gave a little laugh that was almost a sob, -and said: - -"Thank God for you, Noel!" - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Madame Claire was at her desk, writing. She was writing to Stephen, and -when she did that she gave her whole attention to it. - - "_I am so sorry you are feeling less well. How is the phlebitis? No - one ought to suffer from anything with such a pretty name. Did you - ever stop to think that the names of diseases and the names of - flowers are very similar? For instance, I might say, 'Do come and - see my garden. It is at its best now, and the double pneumonias are - really wonderful. I suppose the mild winter had something to do with - that. I'm very proud of my trailing phlebitis, too, and the - laryngitises and deep purple quinsies that I put in last year are a - joy to behold. The bed of asthmas and malarias that you used to - admire is finer than ever this summer, and the dear little dropsies - are all in bloom down by the lake, and make such a pretty showing - with the blue of the anthrax border behind them!'_ - - "_Enough of nonsense. There is a great deal to tell you. I wrote you - that Eric was on his way to Paris to fetch Connie. He found her, - where I thought he would, and they returned to London together. He - took rooms for her in a quiet little hotel, which I fear was a - mistake, for Connie loathes quiet little hotels, and only goes to - them when she must. However, we shall see. She came to see me the - other day--poor Connie! She is, to use her own words, a wreck of a - woman, but she trails the ghost of her beauty about with her, and - Eric tells me people still turn to stare after her in the streets. - She tried to talk to me as if we had parted only yesterday, and was - as unemotional as one could wish, for which I was thankful, for - emotions are only permissible when they are genuine, and not always - then._ - - "_I suppose I am a very odd old woman, Stephen, but I only felt for - her what I would have felt for any other woman in her position. I - had to keep reminding myself that this once beautiful, made-up woman - was my daughter. I have never known that feverish mother-love that - so many women experience. My children interested, amused and - disappointed me--when I was stupid enough to be disappointed. I know - better now. I would die for any of my children, but I cannot - sentimentalize over them._ - - "_How I digress! Connie is going to give London a try, and I hope to - Heaven she will find something to interest her. She has no friends, - so she will have to fall back, I suppose, on shops and theaters, and - of course clothes, which she still loves. But she is not a woman to - 'take up' things. I wish she were._ - - "_But you will be most interested in Judy. I wrote you about the - near-accident, and the man who was knocked down in the fog. He - appears to have captivated both Judy and Noel, and they are bringing - him here to tea this afternoon. I am most anxious to meet him, for - something tells me that Judy is more interested in him than she has - ever been in any man. But more of that in my next letter._ - - "_Louise returns of her own free will--which must annoy - her--to-morrow. I think she deferred her homecoming in the hope - that Eric would send for her, but instead of that he begged her to - stay as long as she wished. She has never met Connie, and of course - they will dislike each other. At present neither she nor Millie - know of Connie's return. I thought it better to let her take root - a little first, for I think any unpleasantness during the first - week or two would easily dislodge her._ - - "_I do hope to see you here, Stephen. Do you plan and hope for it - too?_ - - "_I will write again very soon._ - - "CLAIRE." - -She always sent Dawson out to post her letters to Stephen the moment -they were written. She knew he had not her vitality nor her interests. -There was little to hold him to life except her letters, and the hope -he had of seeing her and those about her again. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Louise returned to London in a strange state of mind. In the first -place, her family, who liked Eric, had not been disposed to listen -sympathetically to her rather vague complaints. She had found her -sister, an enthusiastic gardener, preoccupied and full of plans for -altering the gardens of Mistley; her mother too engrossed with -Theosophy to listen to earthly troubles, and her father too much upset -over the budget. So she had been left to herself more than she had -liked. She had made up her mind to stay until Eric expressed a desire -for her return, but as he did no such thing, and she felt she couldn't -stand another hour of boredom, she returned to town. - -And there was something else. The day before she left, a humble cousin -of her mother's came to tea. She had been to Paris for the first time -in her life, and was not to be denied the greater joy of relating her -impressions. The rest of the family, murmuring appropriate excuses, -drifted away after tea, and Louise was left alone with the caller. It -was then that Louise received a shock. - -She heard that her husband had been seen in Paris. It came out quite -naturally during the conversation. It also appeared that he had been -seen at some private hotel with a lady. "I dare say--a relation?" The -cousin's voice had an inquiring note. "I dare say you'll know who it was -if I describe her. A tall lady, my friend said, not very young. Fair." -And Louise said, with her brain whirling, "Oh, yes, a cousin." The -visitor nodded. "So odd, wasn't it, my friend having seen your husband? -One never expects to see any one one knows in Paris. It's not like dear -London." - -Louise was so amazed that she forgot to feel angry and outraged. She -thought of it most of the night, and in the train next morning, and she -thought of it--and it seemed stranger than ever then--when she was once -more in her own home, among the familiar things she had lived with for -eight years. - -Eric was at the House. She couldn't remember whether it was Divorce -Reform or the Plumage Bill. Anyway, he wasn't expected back till late. -She longed for some one to talk to. She had no intimate woman friend -with whom she could discuss her husband; in fact, she could think of -no better ear in which to pour her troubled amazement than that of her -husband's mother. - -Lady Gregory was in, Dawson said over the telephone, and was not -expecting visitors. She would be delighted to see Mrs. Eric. - -If Louise had been accustomed to self-examination, she would have -realized that she was less unhappy than she had been for some years. -She was indeed conscious of an odd satisfaction. Eric, then, was less -perfect than his friends and family believed. There was a chink in that -shining armor, his light had suddenly become dimmed. That woman in -Paris--she was not young--it had evidently been going on for years. Or -was it the renewal of some old affair? Her informant had managed to -convey to her that her husband's--"cousin did you say?"--had not -looked--well--quite of their world. She was thankful for that. When -Eric admired Lady Norah Thorpe-Taylor, or Mrs. Dennison, or that -hideous, clever Madame Fonteyn, she resented it bitterly, for she knew -they had what she had not--charm. So she scoffed at charm, and prided -herself on having none, nor wishing to have. - -But here was something different; here was a blemish in the fabric, a -rotten spot brought for the first time to light. It put her on a new -footing with him, a slightly elevated footing. Let him point, if he -could, to anything unworthy in her life. She had always believed him to -be fastidious. Well, he was not. But she was--perhaps she was too -fastidious; but then she had the defects of her qualities. Let others -touch pitch and be soiled. She could almost pity Eric for lacking what -she had. After all, he was merely common clay, and she had been -expected to prostrate herself before an idol. Ridiculous! She would try -to forgive him. Perhaps he had found her difficult to live up to. - -She grew greatly in her own eyes. She no longer felt herself dwarfed by -him. He must understand that. Then she would forgive and forget--except -at such times as it might suit her to remember. - - * * * * * * - -"My dear, how much better you look!" cried Madame Claire, as Louise came -into the room. "You're a different creature. Come and tell me all about -it." - -As Dawson took her hat and coat, Louise made a mental note that it was -time she had new ones. Later on, she might perhaps run over to Paris for -a few days, and buy clothes there. Why not? - -"Do I really look better? I feel it. It's been a delightful change, and -of course one's family do appreciate one. It's like renewing one's -girlhood." - -"What an affected speech!" thought Madame Claire. "Louise has something -on her mind." She then said aloud: - -"It amuses me to hear you talk about renewing your girlhood. How old are -you? I've a dreadful memory for these things. Thirty-five? Ridiculously -young. I always feel you don't make the most of your youth and good -looks." - -Louise gave a few touches to her hair before a mirror, and took a chair -on the other side of the fireplace. There was something very restful -about this room of Madame Claire's. And her mother-in-law was a woman -without prejudices, even where her own children were concerned. She felt -she had done the right thing in coming to her. - -"Would you be surprised to hear that I am going to turn over a new leaf? -I feel I've been very much to blame. I've allowed myself to play third -fiddle long enough." - -"Good!" said Madame Claire. "And what else?" - -"And," went on the younger woman, with a hint of defiance in her voice, -"I'm not going to stand in awe of Eric any longer." - -"In awe--of Eric?" Madame Claire laughed. "My dear Louise, that you've -certainly never done." - -"Well, it's what I was always expected to do. I've thought a good deal -about what you said the last time I was here. You were partly right. I -suppose I have sulked. Well, I'm not going to sulk any more. Eric isn't -a demi-god. I know now there's no earthly reason why I should look up to -him, and admire him. He's just like any other man." - -"But I could have told you that any time these last eight years!" cried -Madame Claire, more puzzled than amused. "And besides, you yourself seem -to have been well acquainted with his failings. I have sometimes thought -you saw nothing else." - -"That's because I was annoyed by his perfections." - -"Perfections! My dear, I could swear Eric has never been a prig!" - -"Well, he never seemed to make mistakes like other people. And he always -seemed to expect things of me that I wasn't capable of. It got on my -nerves." - -"Naturally." - -"He always made me feel I was disappointing him. And that isn't very -pleasant. But now," said Louise, coming to the crux of the matter, "he -has disappointed me. So we are quits at last." - -"Ah," said Madame Claire, still in the dark. "That must be a relief." - -"Oddly enough, it is a relief. Horrible as the whole thing is, I--I -could almost be glad of it." - -"I was wrong," thought Madame Claire, remembering a conversation she had -had with Judy. "Eric is interested in some other woman, at last." - -"And what is this horrible thing?" she asked. - -"You may as well hear it," said Louise recklessly. "If I can bear it, I -should think you could too. While I was away, Eric wired me he was going -out of town for a few days. He didn't say where. I know now. He was seen -at a small hotel in Paris with a--a questionable-looking woman. So our -idol has feet of clay." - -There was both bitterness and triumph in her voice. Madame Claire -gripped the arms of her chair and tried not to laugh. What should she -do? Good had been known to come out of evil. Should she and Eric let -Louise think--what she thought? Her crying need was evidently to find -Eric in the wrong. Should they let her? - -"I won't say it wasn't a shock to me," Louise went on. "It was. I heard -it while I was at Mistley. I know that it is true." - -Madame Claire was thinking: - -"She is bound to know the facts sooner or later, and then she'll feel -she has been made a fool of--a thing only saints can forgive. And yet, -it's an opportunity of a sort. But what a paltry business!" - -"Suppose this were really true, Louise," she said. "At the moment I am -neither denying the possibility of it, nor affirming it. But suppose it -were true. How would it affect your feeling for Eric?" - -"As a good woman--and I hope I am that--it revolts me. But ... perhaps -I've been hard ... perhaps he's found a lack in me.... I dare say he -has.... Oh!" she cried suddenly with real emotion, "I want to forgive -him! I would forgive him." - -Madame Claire felt she was hearing something she had no right to hear. -She must leave this to Eric. Stupid mistake as it was, it might be the -means of clearing the air. She would have nothing to do with it. - -"My dear," she said, "I am going to forget you have told me this. Later -you'll understand why. I think the whole thing can be explained, but for -your explanation I prefer you should go to Eric. It concerns him the -most." - -She would hear no more of it. There was something indecent in Louise's -willingness to forgive. While they talked of other things her -indignation grew. Eric's wife wanted to believe the worst of him. By the -time her visitor was ready to go, she found it difficult to be polite. - -"I am delighted to see you looking so much better, and so much more -cheerful," she told her, as she said good-by. "And should there prove to -be nothing in this story, don't be disheartened. You mustn't let one -disappointment discourage you." - -Louise, wondering what she meant, kissed her mechanically. - -"Good-by. I'll come and see you again in a few days if I may." - -"Do. I shall expect really good news from you then." - -When the door had closed on her, Madame Claire sat looking into the fire -with a flush on her cheeks. Presently she took from a bowl on the table -beside her a few violets, and after wiping their stems, tucked them into -her dress. - -"You deserve a bouquet," she said to herself, "for not having been -ruder. I expect they're writing in their book up aloft, 'January 30, -Madame Claire rather less pleasant to-day to her irritating -daughter-in-law.' Well, let them." - - * * * * * * - -Louise went home and dressed for dinner feeling like a warrior on the -eve of battle. There had been many coldnesses in that house, but, as far -back as she could remember, not a single contretemps. Dinner was at -half-past eight, and there was a possibility that Eric would be late. -They usually dined at eight, but the Plumage Bill--or was it the -Divorce Reform Bill?--would keep him. She did her hair in a way that he -had once admired, and put on a blue tea-gown that he had called -charming. In fact, she took far greater pains over her rôle as injured -wife than she had ever taken before. And saw no humor in it either. - -Eric thought he had never seen her look so well. Take away her coldness -and her pettiness, he said to himself, and she would be lovely. Perhaps -if she had married some one else she would have been neither cold nor -petty. He often felt very sorry for her, for though he had made the -mistake, she, no doubt, suffered the most. They talked commonplaces -during dinner, but once they were alone in the library, Louise -confronted him with heightened color and a voice she could barely -control. - -It was a pitiful little comedy. Her triumph was so short lived, and the -bubble of her advantage over him so soon pricked. At the end of it she -found refuge from her humiliation in tears. Eric had never seen her cry -like that before, and it moved him. He felt like confessing to things he -had never done, or abasing himself in some way. He understood her for -the first time, and though there was something ignoble in it all, and he -felt the prickings of anger, he nevertheless thought her very human, at -least, in wanting to find some weakness to forgive him for. - -He put his arm about her, half laughing. - -"Look here, Louise, don't be so cast down. There's always the stage -door--or I could forge a check to oblige, or elope with your maid. What -would you like me to do?" - -She made no answer, but buried her wet face in a cushion. - -"Or why not just forgive me on general principles for being a stupid -fellow, and not understanding you? I expect I often hurt you when I am -least aware of it. We humans are like that--we understand each other's -sensibilities so little. Why not forgive me for that? Forgive me for not -having known how to make you happier?" - -"You are making fun of me," she sobbed. "You are only sneering at me." - -Something told him that she was softening, that soon she would be -talking with him like a reasonable being. Was it possible that from -to-night he might feel he had a friend for a wife instead of an enemy? -He knew he must not let pride stand in the way of it--nor justice even. -There was nothing to be gained and much to be lost by telling her that -during the whole of their married life she had persistently played the -fool. - -"On my honor I am not," he said. "Louise, listen to me. I am a -blundering fellow. Somehow or other I have always failed to give you -what you wanted. That being so, I ask your help. Help me to be what you -wish me to be. We are young, and there is still time. I will do -anything. I beg you to help me." - -He made her raise her head, and looked her full in the face with all the -intensity those blazing blue eyes of his were capable of. - -"Will you help me?" - -It was undoubtedly the great moment of Louise's life. She knew it. Eric -had made it possible for her to be magnanimous. But the gods were not -kind. What she was going to say to him they alone knew, for at that -instant the maid came to the door, to say that Countess Chiozzi was on -the telephone and would like to speak to Mr. Gregory. For Louise the -interruption was maddening. Eric was about to send word that he would -ring her up in the morning, and so return as quickly as possible to the -business in hand, when Louise said in a stifled voice: - -"I want it clearly understood that that woman is not to come into this -house." - -It was hopeless, then. Eric turned to the maid. - -"I'll speak to her," he said, and left the room. They would have to -separate. There was nothing else for it. - -Louise sat with bent head, smoothing out a handkerchief on her knee. She -had not meant to say that. The words had come through sheer force of -habit. She knew her moment was gone now, and she believed that it would -never come again. If Eric had really loved her, he would have seen that -she longed to be different, and that under her coldness and bitterness -there was only unhappiness and longing! He ought to have _seen_! She -folded the handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes again. She was more -miserable than ever. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Major Stroud had also been invited to tea at Madame Claire's, but was to -be out of town, and as Noel had to see a man about a job, the party had -dwindled to three, and Chip found his way to the hotel alone. He was -prompt to the minute and feeling extremely nervous. He had so looked -forward to seeing Judy again that he felt sure everything--except Judy -herself--would be disappointing. Madame Claire would find him -uninteresting, and Judy would be kind but bored. He would very likely -upset his tea. He had been a fool to accept. He had far better have -stayed away and allowed himself to return to the comfortable oblivion -from which the accident had dislodged him. Better be a kindly memory -than a dull actuality. - -But there was something reassuring about the way the homely Dawson -opened the door to him and took his hat and coat. She received him like -an old friend and smiled as though she shared some secret with him. The -sight of Judy and his hostess bending over plans for a Pisé de Terre -cottage to be built for Judy on Madame Claire's little place in Sussex, -also gave him courage. He loved plans, and was soon making suggestions -and alterations in a way that, Judy said, was as domineering as an -architect's. - -"It's entirely furnished and decorated inside," she said. "I've thought -about it so much that I wouldn't be surprised to find it had -materialized. You must look next time you go down, Madame Claire. It -might look rather odd without its outsides of course." - -It had long been a dream of Judy's to have her own cottage--shared, -needless to say, with Noel--and if they could only get it built cheaply -enough, there was a chance that it might be fulfilled. At any rate, they -enjoyed planning it, and if it served no other purpose it put Chip at -his ease with them--a thing she had prayed for. - -Madame Claire guessed easily enough that he was on the way to falling -in love with Judy, and that Judy herself was on the same road. She -thought there was something very lovable about Chip, and felt sure that -he was as gallant a soldier as he was a modest one. Major Stroud had -more than hinted to Judy that his D.S.O. should have been a V.C. Madame -Claire loved a good soldier, for she had a theory that to be a good -soldier a man must be a great gentleman. And, like Judy, she felt the -charm of the man of forty--the age that lies like a savory filling -between what is callow in the young generation and outworn in the old. - -His poverty had kept him out of touch with things. She guessed that if -he danced at all, it would be in the stiff, uncompromising manner of the -late nineties. He should learn the new ways. He wasn't nearly old enough -to think of himself as on the shelf. - -Judy inquired about his injuries. Had the stiffness nearly gone? No, it -was no good his saying that it had entirely gone, because she had -noticed that he was limping slightly when he came in. - -"That's old age," he said. - -"Very well. Only don't forget to limp the next time we meet. And what -about your head?" - -"Oh, quite recovered, thanks! That is, it aches a bit, of course, if I -do much writing, but the doctor says that's bound to be so for a while. -Really," he said, turning to Madame Claire, "I feel I owe my life to -Miss Pendleton and her chauffeur. Any one else would have run gayly -over me and gone on. I think it was such amazingly good luck that it -happened to be that particular car." - -"I'm rather inclined to agree with you," laughed Madame Claire. "Some -day I'd like to hear something about your book. It sounds tremendously -interesting. But what I'd like to know now is this. Are all your eggs in -one basket? I mean, does this book occupy your whole time, or do you -work on it when other occupations permit?" - -"I'm afraid that ... well, that not only are all my eggs in one basket, -but that there's only one egg. You see," he explained, "I chucked the -army in order to give all my time to it. It meant as much to me as that. -To my mind, no one's ever written scientifically enough about -religions." - -"That may be, but I feel you need diversions. When people become so -obsessed by one idea that they walk under omnibuses and into motor cars, -it's time for an antidote." - -"That's just what I did," he admitted. - -"Very well then, I suggest diversions." - -"But what sort? I play golf now and then, but it doesn't take my mind -off the book. Why, I remember perfectly solving a problem once--it had -something to do, I think, with levitation--while I was trying to get my -ball out of a bunker." - -Madame Claire laughed heartily. - -"You're a most unusual man then. What else can we think of, Judy?" - -"There's always dancing," said Judy. - -"Dancing! Of course! He must learn to dance. You can't dance and think -about religions. I defy you to do it." - -"But I couldn't dance. I'm too old and stiff. Besides, no one would -dance with me." - -"Three excuses, and none of them any good." - -"I'll teach you," Judy said. "I might even dance with you." - -"Would you really? That's awfully kind. But I ought to tell you that I -really don't think I'm teachable." - -"You must let me judge of that. We might begin at Eaton Square one -night, in a small way. Gordon and Noel and I often ask a few friends in -for dancing, and there's a little anteroom reserved for practicing. -There will only be a few, and it won't be at all alarming even for -hermits." - -Chip looked pleased and dubious at the same time. - -"There won't be any flappers, will there? I'm terrified of flappers." - -"Nothing more flapperish than myself," laughed Judy. "Was I ever a -flapper, Madame Claire?" - -"Never. Millie kept you out of sight until you were able to fly. I -didn't altogether approve. After all, we must all try our wings some -time. You see, I like the present day, Major Crosby. I like it far -better than what people call my own day, though why this one isn't just -as much mine as it is anybody's, I really don't know." - -"You're very greedy," Judy told her. "You had Disraeli and Gladstone -and Jenny Lind, and now you want Lloyd George and Charlie Chaplin. All -the same, I don't wonder you like our age best. That one was so full -of hypocrisy and sentiment." - -Madame Claire agreed with this. - -"We were always pretending things. Men were always gentlemen or -monsters. Young girls were always innocent as flowers. We even tried to -believe that wars and poverty were picturesque and romantic." - -"And you talked too much about love," said Judy. "That sort of golden, -sticky, picture-book love that even we were taught to expect. And a -gigantic hoax it is!" - -"A hoax?" Chip looked at her to see if she were joking. - -"Of course it is. Oh, I believed in it too, once. It's like Santa -Claus. I never could see that the pleasure of believing in him was -worth the awfulness of finding out that he's only a myth." - -Chip wondered if she were making fun of love, or whether she was merely -holding the schoolgirl's idea of it up to scorn. He didn't know. He had -never expected to find a love that would transform the world, and he -had found it. What he had yet to discover was that women, after all, -are the terrible realists. Men manage to preserve their illusions -better. Few of them love with their eyes open, and women only really -love when their eyes are open. For women are meant to see faults, -being the mothers of children, and their critical faculties are more -on the alert. - -Judy had looked for a miracle. She had been searching for a fairy -castle, and now found herself becoming interested in an imperfect modern -dwelling. Chip had not asked for a miracle, and lo! it had come to -pass. He listened to Judy making fun of romantic love--which she did -with great satisfaction to herself until interrupted by tea--and -refused to believe that she meant what she said. For romantic love -does undoubtedly come to very simple people, and Chip was very simple. - -He didn't trouble to disagree with her. He was happy to be hearing from -her own lips that she had never been in love. Not that it made any -difference, beyond the pleasure that it gave him, for to love Judy was -not the same thing where he was concerned as to make love to her. That -was unthinkable. - -They left Madame Claire's together at six, and Chip, happily reckless as -well as recklessly happy, walked with Judy all the way to Eaton Square. -It was settled that he was to dine there and begin his rejuvenation the -following Wednesday night. For Judy told herself that she couldn't keep -Chip a secret from the family forever, and they might as well meet him -and get done with it. - -"I hope you won't be frightened of mother," she said. "I don't know why -it is, but she does frighten people. I don't think she wants to, -really. She and father are very keen on what Noel calls the 'kin -game.' You know the sort of thing I mean--who's related to who and -how." - -"I see," said Chip. - -"So perhaps you'd better tell me some of your family history. Then I -could tell them, and you won't be bothered. Because they're sure to want -to know." - -She colored as she said it, and Chip guessed that there were mortifying -experiences behind her warning. - -"With all the pleasure in the world," he said. "Only there isn't much to -tell." - -He made short work of what there was. His father, Graham Crosby, an -explorer well known to geographical societies, had lost his life from -fever in a South American jungle at the age of thirty-seven. His -mother, faced with the prospect of almost unendurable poverty, tried -her hand at novel writing. "The sentimental kind that you would have -hated," he said with a smile. However, they had an enormous success, -and enabled her to send her only son to Sandhurst. She died at the -close of the Boer War. They were not related to any Crosbys that he -knew of, except some excessively dull ones who lived somewhere near -Aberdeen. - -"Very poor pickings for your mother, I'm afraid," he said with a laugh. - -Chip left her at the door with his rather old-fashioned bow, and she -watched him until he reached the corner. There he turned, as she had -guessed he would, and looked back, and as the maid opened the door, she -waved her hand to him gayly. He walked stiffly, thanks to the accident, -and leaned a little on his stick. Dear old Chip!... - -So this was love! With her it took the form of a passionate tenderness. -She wanted him to have success, and happiness. She wanted to help him to -get them. - -For Chip, the impossible thing that had happened was too dazzling, as -yet, to be more than blinked at. It was as though an old dried stick had -burst into blossom and leaf. As though water had been turned into wine. -That Judy might be persuaded to care for him in return never entered his -head. To love her was wonderful enough. Let a man of her own world, a -man of wealth and standing, try to win her. Some day such a man would -succeed, and he would have to bear that as he had borne lesser things. -If his book received recognition, he might continue to enjoy this -delightful friendship. If not, he must quietly drop out of Judy's life. -For he believed that a man had no right to accept a charming woman's -friendship unless he could lay appropriate and frequent sacrifices upon -her altar. Which shows that the world had been rolling along under -Chip's very nose without his having observed the manner of its rolling. - -One pleasure he permitted himself that day. He went into a little flower -shop in Church Street and bought two dozen pink roses. It was one of his -happiest moments; he had been so denied the joy of giving. On his card -he wrote: - - "_I hope you will forgive me if I am doing a presumptuous thing in - sending you these few flowers. But if they give you a little - pleasure, I shall be well content._" - -He felt bold, because he had nothing to lose. It was early February, -too, with the softness of coming spring in the air, and hope dies hard -in the spring, even at forty. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Stephen's letter in reply to Madame Claire's last was brief. She -guessed that he was still suffering, and was not up to writing at any -length. - - "_Bronchitis and phlebitis,_" he wrote, "_are not as pretty as they - sound, although your garden amused me very much. Miss McPherson - would be happy in it, that's certain. When I'm feeling better I see - her casting longing glances at old Jock Wetherby, who's got more - ailments than the doctors can put names to. But when I'm at my - worst she clucks over me like a proud hen._ - - "_Connie's Count seems to suspect collusion. He tried to pump me - about her yesterday. I was out in the sun for five minutes, and he - appeared so promptly I think he'd been waiting for me. As soon as - he began asking questions I had a coughing fit, so he went away. - From what I hear--for I listen to gossip when it suits me to do - so--Connie could get a divorce ten times over. I expect he misses - her in a way. He found he could make her suffer--an occupation his - sort delights in._ - - "_Well, Claire, my dear, I cannot write more to-night. You are - wonderful, and your letters are my great joy. They soothe me. I - find myself growing less short-tempered, less out of love with my - fellow man._ - - "_There is a little poem that comes to my mind now and speaks of - you._ - - "'The world is young to-day: - Forget the gods are old, - Forget the years of gold - When all the months were May. - - A little flower of Love - Is ours, without a root, - Without the end of fruit, - Yet--take the scent thereof. - - There may be hope above, - There may be rest beneath; - We see them not, but Death - Is palpable--and Love.' - - "_It is a charming thing, and applies to old friends who love one - another and whose days are transient, as well as to young lovers, - whose love is perhaps transient._ - - "_Write soon. Tell me more about Judy._ - - "STEPHEN." - -Madame Claire answered almost at once: - - "_Dear Stephen,_ - - "_I have your little poem by heart. Thank you for it. The older I - grow, the more I value the poets. They are the bravest people I - know, for they sing in defiance of a world out of joint. Think of - touching the high peaks of rapture with coal at its present price, - in the midst of strikes, and a much advertised crime wave! It is - difficult to see that the world has improved since the war, but at - least one can see that it has changed, and I like to think that it - _+CAN+_ only change for the better. So I cling to that thought and - read the poets, not being one of those who can help to make it - better. I feel about the world as I might feel about an Inn where - I have supped and been kindly served. I hope it may flourish and - not fall into evil hands. Not that I expect to return. It was, after - all, only a night's stopping place. But I should like other - travelers to find it as I found it, or somewhat better._ - - "_Judy came here to tea a day or two ago, and there came also the - victim of the accident in the fog. He is, or soon will be, in love - with her, and something of the sort is happening to Judy. If - anything should come of it--and I feel that it may, things would not - be easy for them. Millie would give the clothes off her back, and so - would John, for the eldest son, but they expect their daughter to - marry for a living. I would do what I could, but that would be - little. My income since the war has dwindled surprisingly, and I - have some of Robert's poor relations to help. Of course, from - Millie's point of view, the man is utterly unsuitable, but he is a - gallant fellow, and life has been none too kind to him. I fear, - somehow, that he is one of life's inexplicable failures, but I like - him none the less for that._ - - "_Connie has conceived an extravagant admiration for Noel. I think I - said that she was not a woman to take up things, but I was wrong, - for she has 'taken up' Noel. And really, it is amazing the change - he has already wrought in her. She takes his frankness and frequent - scoldings in a way I never dreamed she would. He is kindness itself - to her, takes her to theaters and concerts, and seems to find her - an amusing companion. He thinks she has had a pretty bad time of - it--though he admits it's her own fault--and is bent on cheering - her up. She adores his brutal honesty and his entire lack of - respect for age, position, or human frailties. The first time they - lunched together, they met at the Ritz, and Connie, it appears, - was ablaze with paint. Noel refused to set foot in the dining room - until she had washed her face, and in the end she meekly sat down - with nothing more in the way of make-up than a dusting of powder - on her nose. Of course he is a godsend to her. Millie is very angry - with me, and Louise will have none of her. Judy gets on with her - well enough, but she doesn't amuse Judy as she does Noel._ - - "_Did I tell you Louise heard Eric was in Paris with a 'questionable - looking woman'? She was nobly prepared to forgive him, but when she - learned that it was only Connie, her humiliation knew no bounds. I - fear she is colder to him than ever now._ - - "_Well, well, they must all go through with it as we did. I thank - Heaven every day that Time has given me the right to sit quietly on - my hilltop. I can still hear the sounds of the conflict below, and - the cries of the wounded, but though they are my nearest and - dearest I am too conscious of the transience of things, too aware - of yesterdays and to-morrows--especially to-morrows--to concern - myself greatly. I want them to be happy, but I know they won't be, - and I am not God to confer or withhold. I can do nothing but laugh - at or comfort them a little. Do you think me hard? No, you know - that I am not. The happiest of them all is Noel, for he, like me, - is a looker-on. I don't know how he has managed to exchange the - arena for the spectators' gallery, but he has. I think it is - because he wants nothing for himself._ - - "_As for Gordon, he is too ambitious to be happy. He is marrying - partly to suit his mother, and partly to gratify his passion for - being among the big-wigs, where of course, as Lord Ottway's - son-in-law, he will be. But he doesn't know his Helen--yet. I think - I do. Her chin is too long and her nose too high._ - - "_Oh, the joy of wanting nothing! The joy of being eighty and - immune! But I, even I, have one wish. And that is to see you, my - old friend, again. But it is a pleasant want, like a hunger that - is soon to be satisfied. For I feel I cannot lose you. Here, or - there--what does it matter? I imagine you wince at that, foolish - old Stephen!_ - - "_Write to me soon. I do hope you are better._ - - "_Yours,_ - - "CLAIRE." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -It was February and it was sunny, and Noel had persuaded Connie to take -a little gentle exercise in the Park. - -She was finding London bearable, thanks to her nephew, and although she -had, she said, nothing to look forward to, she was content with the -present as long as the present remained as it was now. - -They were discussing men in general, a topic that never lost its -interest for Connie. - -"Can't think why you're so keen on foreigners," Noel remarked; then -said in his merciless way, "the only Englishman you ever had much to -do with you ran away from." - -Connie was quite soberly dressed in a dark blue coat and skirt, relieved -by furs, hat, shoes and gloves of her favorite gray. She was no more -made up than most of the other women who passed them. It was her -forty-eighth birthday, and to celebrate it they were going to lunch at -Claridge's later. - -"Foreigners interest me so much more," she replied. "They understand -women." - -"Too damn well," agreed Noel. "Besides, the sort of men you mean only -understand one sort of woman. They wouldn't understand Judy, for -instance." - -Connie smiled deprecatingly and put her head on one side. - -"Well, as to that, I'm not sure I understand her myself. Frankly, I'm a -little disappointed in Judy." - -"You can't appreciate her, Connie. That's why." - -"Perhaps." No one ever took offense at Noel. "To my mind she isn't -feminine enough. She's handsome, but she has no magnetism, no allure." - -"Nice English girls don't go in for allure," Noel said. - -"Pooh!" She laughed rather scornfully. "Because they don't know how." - -"Exactly," agreed her nephew. "And a good thing too. Look where it -landed you." - -"Now you're being rude and British, but I forgive you. And at any rate, -I have lived." - -It was Noel's turn to laugh scornfully. - -"Lived! You surely don't call that living? Junketing around Europe with -a lot of bounders! Why, Connie, you little innocent, you'd have lived a -whole lot more if you'd stuck to Humphries and brought up a family." - -She threw him an appealing look. - -"You might remember that it's my birthday," she protested. - -"Jove, that's so. And I'm hungry. Let's start walking toward -Claridge's." - -"Walk? It's too far. We must have a taxi." - -"No, we mustn't. Great Scott, Connie, we've only walked half a mile or -so. What'll you do in the next war?" - -"Well, be nice to me then." She gave in as she usually did. "You know -I'm horribly worried. I may have to go back to Chiozzi almost any day. -If he finds out where I am----" - -"Nonsense. He can't make you go. You ought to divorce the little beast. -I don't call that a marriage. And anyway, one more scandal won't matter -much." - -"I'm afraid of him." - -"Has he any money of his own, or are you supporting him?" - -"Oh, he has money of his own, but he's gambled away most of it. He -gambled away most of mine, too. I didn't know how to stop it. Morton -Freeman ought to have tied it up in some way, but you see he died so -suddenly ... that awful _Titanic_...." - -"What sort of a fellow was Freeman?" - -"Oh, very nice, and very fond of me. But you don't like foreigners." - -"I never said so. And besides, I don't call Americans foreigners." - -"He stayed on the ship," Connie went on. "He made me go. It was so -brave of him. I wasn't really in love with him. I've never really -loved anybody but Petrovitch. But I was sorry." - -"Where is Petrovitch now?" - -"In America, I think, but I'm not sure. He never writes to me." She -sighed. - -"How are you getting on with Louise?" Noel asked, thinking it was time -to change the subject. "I'd love to see you two together!" - -"You never will," Connie said with feeling. "Eric needn't try to bring -us together, either. I've seen her, and that's enough. How I hate -those thin-lipped, straw-colored women! How Eric could have married her -when he might have married any one, I cannot imagine." - -"People have these sudden fancies," said Noel. - -"What about Gordon? Is it true he's really engaged to Helen Dane? Not -that I care much, as he's never had the politeness to come and see me." - -"He's engaged right enough. I suppose he's happy. Gordon closes up like -an oyster if you touch on anything personal. We've never discussed -anything in our lives. Mother's frightfully pleased about it." - -"What's the girl like?" - -"Oh, she's all right, but she's cut to pattern." - -"Pretty?" - -"So so. Too bony, I think. But she suits Gordon. Related to everybody, -rich, correct, hasn't got an original thought in her head. Thinks she's -literary because young Shawn Bridlington the poet goes and reads his -verses in her mother's drawing-room. Affects the Bloomsbury people. -Opens bazaars and things. Jove! I'd rather marry a factory girl with a -harelip." - -Much of this was Greek to his aunt, who had the misfortune never to -have heard of the Bloomsbury people. - -"And what about Judy and that man she nearly ran over?" - -"Why?" Noel asked innocently, not wishing to discuss Judy and her -affairs with Connie. "What about them?" - -"Is there anything in it? I hope not, because the thing's ridiculous. -Who is he? What is he?" - -Noel gave an amused chuckle. - -"Connie, you really are a joy. _You_ to ask 'Who is he? What is he?' -Don't you try to take a leaf out of mother's book. It isn't your rôle." - -"Judy's my niece, after all," protested Connie. "Isn't it natural that -I should be interested?" - -"Natural enough," said Noel. "I hope you are. Ask me if he's a good -fellow, and if I think he could make her happy, and I'll be delighted -to answer you. But 'who is he?' ... that sort of tosh.... I should -think you'd earned the right to be human, if anybody had." - -"Very well," answered his chastened aunt. "Is he good enough?" - -"I think he's as near being good enough as any fellow I've met. If he -had any money at all, I should call it a match. But he hasn't, and I -don't know how Judy would like being downright poor." - -"All the same," Connie insisted, "I can't help wishing that my only -niece would make a good match." - -Noel raised his eyes heavenward, despairingly. - -"For a woman who deemed the world well lost for love...." - -"I know," interrupted Connie. "But you see Judy hasn't my temperament." - -"I'll refrain from saying 'Thank God!' because it's your birthday," -returned Noel. "Here we are, and I bet I do justice to the lunch." - -They both did, and Connie had occasion to congratulate the head waiter -on a very perfect Petite Marmite. She was always at her best in -restaurants. She loved the crowds and the chatter and the music, and -the feeling that she was being looked at, and was still worth looking -at. There was even a secret hope in her heart that people would take -Noel for her son. She liked to imagine them saying, "There's a son who -enjoys going about with his mother." And Noel, who really liked Connie -and pitied her, had hopes of knocking some sense into her foolish head -in time. It touched him, too, that she depended on him so. - -Two men came in and sat at a table at Connie's left, and somewhat -behind her. One was fat and old, with a round, coarse face. The other -was at least impressive, and Noel found himself watching him. He had a -dome-shaped head, rather flat at the back, and his hair, which began -high up at the very summit of his temples was long and carefully -brushed so as to fall slightly over the collar behind. A pair of level, -frowning eyes looked out scornfully from under projecting brows, and -the wide, thin lips protruded in a fierce pout. Presently, when -something annoyed him, he spoke with great brusqueness to the waiter, -scarcely moving his lips as he did so. - -Connie heard his voice and turned, and their eyes met. Noel heard her -draw in her breath sharply, and for a moment she sat staring, -motionless. There was not the slightest change in the man's expression, -as he stared back at Connie. There was an empty seat at his table, and -suddenly he raised a large hand with spade-shaped fingers, and beckoned. - -Connie started up from her chair like an automaton, and would have gone -to him, but Noel's muscular hand closed on her wrist and fastened it to -the table. - -"Keep your seat!" he commanded. "Are you a dog to obey that man's -whistle? If he wants to talk to you, let him come here." - -Then as if ashamed of taking part in such an intense little drama, he -dropped her hand and said lightly: - -"Who's your friend, Connie? I don't care for his manners." - -Connie strove to reach the normal again. - -"It's Petrovitch," she said, scarcely above a whisper. - -"Thought so. Do you realize he beckoned to you as though you were his -slave? I'd like to wring his beastly neck." - -"Noel! It's Petrovitch! What does he care about our silly little -conventions? He wants me. I must talk to him." - -"Then he can damn well come here. And for Heaven's sake don't make a -scene, Connie. Eat your lunch." - -"I can't eat. I haven't seen him for fifteen years. Oh, Noel, I've -never loved any one as I've loved him." - -"Well, I don't see that it's anything to have hysterics about. What of -it? He'll come and talk to you, I expect, when he's finished that -enormous lunch he's ordered. That is, if you're foolish enough to -wait." - -"I must. Oh, Noel, have pity on me!" - -Her lips trembled. - -"Cheer up!" he said. "I'll sit here all day, if you'll order another -Entre Côte. Have you ever noticed what queerly shaped heads some of -these fellows have? If I were a woman, I'd study phrenology a bit. -That's where you have the best of us. You women may--and I expect often -do--possess heads a congenital idiot would be proud of, but we never -find it out. Don't even show your ears, now. It isn't fair. But your -friend over there--I could tell you a whole lot about him just by -looking at the back of his head." - -"Oh, he's a devil if you like," said the unhappy Connie, "but I love -him. And he loved me, once. I'd die for him." - -"Neurotic," Noel told her. - -"Call it what you like. I'd rather spend five minutes with him than a -lifetime with any one else." - -"I'd like to spend five minutes with him myself," said Noel. "Alone. -Oh," remembering his empty sleeve, "I expect he'd wipe up the floor -with me, but I'd tell him a few simple, home truths first." - -"I tell you, Noel, ordinary rules of conduct don't apply to men like -Petrovitch. He's a genius, a heaven-born genius. You've never even -heard him play. There's nothing like it--there never has been anything -like it. Oh, yes, he's made me suffer, but I forgive him for it, -because he's a king among men." - -"A king! My good aunt, pull yourself together and observe the way he -eats asparagus. There! I knew it ... he's dribbled some of the melted -butter down his chin and on to his waist-coat. How would you like the -job of spot-remover to His Highness? I suppose some wretched woman--but -has he a wife? I forget." - -"He has had two," murmured Connie. - -"How any woman----" began Noel, and gave it up. - -"There are men like that. They are unattractive to other men perhaps, -but they have an irresistible fascination for some women. They -command--we obey." - -"Cut it, Connie!" exclaimed Noel. "Do you mean to tell me that if that -bounder, to satisfy his filthy vanity, said 'Come,' you'd go? Like a -wretched poodle on a string. Good Lord! Where is your pride?" - -She shook her head. - -"I only know that I must talk to him again." - -They finished lunch with little conversation. Noel was angry and -uncomfortable. As they drank their coffee, and he saw that Petrovitch -too was nearing the end, he made another effort. - -"Connie, let's get out before he's finished. Will you? You'll be glad -of it all your life. I promise you you will. It means a lot to me." - -His earnestness had no effect. He went on: - -"You've always followed the line of least resistance--that's why you're -what you are now. You've chucked away your life. Don't do it again, -Connie. You know what that man's opinion of you is. He showed it pretty -clearly when he beckoned to you just now. There's just one way you can -hurt him--and one way you can prove to him, and to yourself, that -you've got the right stuff in you. Leave here with me, without speaking -to him. Please, Connie. Will you?" - -She wavered. Then she seized upon some words of his, and he knew that he -had lost. - -"Hurt him? I wouldn't hurt him for anything in the world. I want to -show him that one woman at least is faithful to him, to the end." - -This was too much for Noel. He remembered the French officer, Freeman, -Chiozzi, and felt sick. His impulse was to get up and leave her then -and there, but he stayed with a set jaw and angry eyes. His hair seemed -to bristle with antagonism when Petrovitch pushed back his chair at -last and said to his companion: - -"Pardon--a moment. I go to speak to a lady." And in a second he was at -their table. - -Connie gave him both hands without speaking, and he bent over them with -a smile that was a mere widening of those protruding lips. - -"Connie! As beautiful as ever! My dear lady, the sight of you takes -ten--fifteen years from my age. I feel young again, and happy. You come -to my concert next week, eh? I play for you." - -"Same old stuff!" thought Noel. - -Connie released her hands, and when she spoke her voice was breathless -and unnatural, as if she had been running. - -"I ... I didn't know you were here.... I hadn't seen any notices. I -thought you were still in America. This is a great surprise to me, -Illiodor." Then, turning to Noel, "I want you to meet Monsieur -Petrovitch, Noel. My nephew ..." - -Noel, standing behind his chair and feeling younger and more intolerant -than he had ever felt in his life, inclined his head. - -"Eh? Your nephew? Charmed." The great man bowed, impressively. "Are you -too a lover of music?" He bent his frowning gaze upon the young man. -"But no, you are English. So, you will say, is the adorable aunt. But -she is different. She is of the world, eh? She loves beauty, art, -genius." He moved his large hands. "Ah, Connie, you and I had much in -common. They told me you had married again. Is it true?" - -"I married Count Chiozzi, four years ago," she told him. "My husband is -in the south of France." - -"Always the good cosmopolitan!" he approved. Then turning once more to -Noel: - -"You also will come to my concert." - -"Expects me to say, 'Yes, master!'" thought Noel. - -"No, thanks," he answered evenly and casually. "I don't care for -concerts." - -Petrovitch looked at Connie, working his prominent brows. - -"Philistine, eh? No matter, you are one of us. I am staying here. You -will do me the honor to dine with me to-morrow night. Good! We have -much to say to one another. Perhaps also my friend Silberstein, eh? He -is gourmet. He will eat, you will talk to me." He could frown and smile -at the same time, Noel observed. "At eight." - -"I'll come," said the fascinated Connie. - -He bent once more over her hands. - -"Au revoir, my dear friend," he said, in his strangely harsh voice. -"To-morrow night." Then with an indifferent nod of the head in Noel's -direction, he returned to his table. - -Connie paid the bill--she always insisted on that--in a sort of trance, -with a little excited smile on her lips. As they got up to go out she -threw a glance at Petrovitch, and left the room, still with that -trancelike smile. It irritated Noel beyond expression. It plainly said: - -"He is not indifferent to me. He has forgotten nothing. I shall live -again." - -Very little was said on the way to Connie's hotel. She was beyond speech -for the present--she was reliving the days when the world was at -Petrovitch's feet, and he, the master, was at hers. For she believed now -that it was the depth and tumult of his passion for her that had -carried her away. She had forgotten her notes, her flowers, the -interviews she had prayed for--forgotten all that. She won him by -deliberate assault, but once won, she became his slave, and it was as -his adoring slave in those first, brief, happy months, that she liked -to remember herself. - -Noel was disgusted and annoyed. Also, he was extremely disappointed. -Was all his scolding, his chaffing, his affection for her, the -influence he had gained, to go for nothing now? Simply because that -... brute ... had turned up again? Was there nothing he could say or -do to save her? What would Claire say? And then he asked himself, well, -what _would_ Claire say? Why not find out? That was an idea. He would -find out. - -"You'll come upstairs, won't you?" she asked when they were in the hall -of the hotel. Noel thought her invitation somewhat perfunctory. He -suspected she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Nevertheless, he -meant to come, presently. - -"Yes, I'll be up in a minute," he said. "You go on. I've got to ring up -somebody." - -The lift carried her up out of his sight and he went into the telephone -booth and rang up Madame Claire. Her telephone stood on a table close -beside her chair, and he had hardly a second to wait before she -answered. - -"Yes? Oh, it's you, Noel. Where are you?" - -He told her. Then he described briefly the luncheon at Claridge's and -what befell there. - -"I saw the announcement of his concert in last Sunday's paper," she -said. "Connie never reads the papers, or she would have seen it -herself. What is he like now?" - -"I don't want to use offensive language over the telephone," he -answered. - -He heard Madame Claire's laugh. - -"Well, Noel, I think the whole thing is in your hands. You are the only -one who can do anything with her. If I say anything she will only tell -me I am trying to rob her of her happiness. You know how she -talks--such sentimental nonsense!" - -"But I don't see that I can do anything either. What can I do?" - -"Of course you can do something. She knows well enough that Petrovitch -is here to-day and gone to-morrow, while you're her nephew for life. -Make her choose, Noel. It will appeal to her sense of the dramatic. -You'll see. Make her choose." - -"Him or me, you mean? I believe she'd choose him." - -"I'm not so sure. But try it, anyway. You're so good about managing -Connie." - -"All right," he said. "I'll try." - -"Oh, and Noel, if she chooses you, you might be magnanimous and offer -to take her to his concert next week. I think you could safely do that. -Good-by. I can't talk any more. Millie is just coming up to see me, and -she mustn't hear this. Good-by and good luck!" - -Noel remained for a thoughtful moment in the booth, and then went -upstairs. Claire was quite right. It was the only chance. - -He found his troublesome aunt waiting for him in her sitting room. She -was humming softly and looking out of the window. His indignation grew -as he looked at her. - -"Connie," he said quietly. "About this Petrovitch business. I'm pretty -angry about it, as you know perfectly well. I've made up my mind that -you'll have to choose between me and that fellow, and choose here and -now. You can't have us both. If you go out to dinner with Petrovitch -to-morrow night or any other night, or have anything further to do with -him, that's the end as far as I'm concerned. You won't see me again." - -Connie came swiftly back from dreams of Petrovitch and seized Noel's -arm. - -"Noel! You can't mean that! You can't mean that you'd drop me--have -nothing more to do with me? Oh, Noel!" - -"I've said it and I mean it. It's up to you. If you have anything more -to do with that bounder, I'll have nothing more to do with you. And -that's flat." - -She pleaded with him. He didn't understand Petrovitch. He didn't -understand her. Ordinary rules didn't apply to him because he was a -genius, nor to her because she loved him. If Noel were older---- - -That was more than he could bear. - -"That'll do, Connie. I'm not a fool. I've been sorry for you because -you were down on your luck; and anyway, I'm always sorry for people -like you. And I'm fond of you, too. But if you're going to be so damn -weak, and slop over with disgusting sentiment--well, I'm off." - -Connie looked out of the window again. - -"If you'll pull up and try to make something of your life, I'm with -you. If not, I'm through." - -"I can't give him up," moaned Connie. "I want to talk over old times -with him, and hear him say that he loved me once. It means everything to -me. I must talk to him, Noel!" - -"All right. Then that's that. Well, I'm walking home. I feel I need a -little air after all this. It's good-by then, Connie?" - -He held out his hand. She turned and looked at him wildly. - -"Noel, I never thought you could be so hard! You don't know how -miserable you're making me!" - -"There's Eric, too," he reminded her. "Don't forget he's got no love -for Petrovitch. Don't forget Humphries was his friend. Eric's been -pretty decent to you. As for ... as for Claire!..." - -Tears welled into her eyes. Noel, who, like many another man, found -them undermining the foundations of his wrath, softened a little. - -"Sleep on it, Connie," he said more kindly. "I'll give you until -to-morrow to make up your mind. Ring me up in the morning and let me -know what you've decided to do. So long!" - -And he turned and left her. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - - "_Bless you, Claire,_" began Stephen's next letter, "_you make even - my life worth living. Your letters are my one delight. All the - same, we are poles apart in some things. You say, 'Oh, the joy of - wanting nothing!' I would say, 'Oh, the misery of wanting nothing!' - But fortunately there is one great want that keeps my old bones - above ground, and that is the longing I have to see you and Judy - and Eric again. Of course I was a fool not to marry. It may be fun - to be a bachelor when you're young, but it's hell when you're old. - I marvel at the number of women who face a life of single - cussedness voluntarily. With me, there has been only one woman, and - she holds this letter in her hands, as she has always held the - writer's heart in her hands. But I've known plenty of women who - would have made good wives, and perhaps given me Judys and Erics._ - - "_Yes, you are right; I took defeat badly. My advice, now, would - always be to marry--as best one can. There is nearly always a - compromise to be made. There would have been no compromise, on my - part, had I married you. Therefore it was not to be, for the - perfect thing is always out of reach. Don't tell me your marriage - with Robert was perfect. Robert was my best friend and I knew his - faults. But he made you happy, and that is the great thing. It - ought to be carven on a man's tombstone, 'He made a woman happy.' - Well, at least, they can carve on mine, 'He made no woman unhappy.'_ - - "_I am feeling much better to-day, so Miss McPherson is - correspondingly gloomy. But she is a good, devoted soul, and has - borne with me wonderfully, and I have settled something on her. - Which brings me to your last letter. If Judy and that fellow want - to marry, I will gladly settle something on Judy. Don't tell her, - of course. People who really care for each other ought to be - endowed if they can't afford to marry. I don't see the good of - waiting till I'm dead. I will do what I should do if Judy were my - daughter. You must let me know how things go. There's only my niece - Monica to think of. She'll give what I leave her to the Church. I - don't mind that, for though the Church has never done much for - me--admittedly through my own fault--it has for other people._ - - "_And that brings me to a subject I approach with diffidence. Don't - think me in my dotage, Claire, if I tell you that I have become - interested in Spiritualism. I've been reading a great deal, and I - have come to the unalterable conclusion that men like Crooks, Myers, - Lodge and Doyle know what they are talking about. Some of us take - our religion on trust. Others of us want to find out. Having - floundered in a sea of agnosticism all my life long, I now begin to - feel the ground beneath my feet. I got more out of the 'Vital - Message' in an hour than I've got out of parsons in seventy years. - I believe that if Spiritualism were rightly understood, it would - fuse all religions and all sects. I need hardly tell you that the - Spiritualism I mean does not depend on knockings and rappings, and - the horrible fake-séances of the mercenary minded. Some day I must - talk to you about this. I have said enough here, perhaps too much; - but I wanted to tell you of the thing that has meant so much to me._ - - "_If I continue as well as this I may come to London next month. - London! Shall I know it, I wonder? It will not know me. But you - will, and that is all I ask._ - - "STEPHEN." - -To this, Madame Claire made immediate reply: - - "_My dear Stephen,_ - - "_Your long letter was all too short for my liking. I feel you are - really better, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. About - your coming I hardly dare to think. How good, how good it will be! - There is a brass band of sorts playing under my window, and I wish - it would stay and play all day. That shows how happy I am. And to - that end, I am wondering whether it would be better to pay or to - refrain from paying. I am uncritical enough at the moment to feel - that any music is good music._ - - "_How pleasant it would be if we could have appropriate music at all - crucial, or difficult, or delightful moments in our lives! When one - is first introduced to one's husband's relations, for instance. I - think Chopin would help to tide us over that. In a bloodless battle - with one's dressmaker over a bill, I would recommend Tchaikowsky, - or Rimsky-Korsakov. For moments of deep feeling, for love, we would - each, I imagine, choose something different. I think I would choose - Bach, for Bach is too great for sentiment. As for dying--every one - should die to music. I should think young people, for instance, - would choose to drift into eternity upon the strains of the - loveliest and latest waltz. At least I have often heard them say - they could die waltzing. There are bits of Wagner that I wouldn't - mind dying to. You'll say dying is too serious a subject for jest. - But I can't see that it's any more serious than living, which so - many people are entirely frivolous about._ - - "_Ah, no, Stephen, I don't think you are in your dotage. I too have - read a good deal about Spiritualism, and I believe that what these - men say is true. But I suppose I am one of those fortunate people - who have faith, and that being so I had no need of proof. I don't - know how my faith came to me. I have always had it, and so don't - deserve any credit for it. The credit goes to people like you, who - have had to struggle all their lives against unbelief. I believe, - too, that so long as there is a diversity of creatures on this - globe, so long will there be a diversity of religions. There is - only one God, but the roads to the understanding of God are many._ - - "_And so for you, and thousands like you, there is Crooks, with his - laboratories and his cameras and his proofs. And for others there is - Beauty. Hear what Tagore says:_ - - "'Thou art the sky and Thou art also the nest. - - O Thou Beautiful! How in the nest Thy love embraceth the soul - with sweet sounds and color and fragrant odors! - - Morning cometh there, bearing in her golden basket the wreath - of beauty, silently to crown the earth. - - And there cometh Evening, o'er lonely meadows deserted of the - herds, by trackless ways, carrying in her golden pitcher - cool draughts of peace from the ocean-calms of the west. - - But where Thine infinite sky spreadeth for the soul to take - her flight, a stainless white radiance reigneth; wherein is - neither day nor night, nor form nor color, nor ever any word.' - - "_And for others again, there is simply--_ - - "'I am the Resurrection and the Life....' - - "_Write again soon. I long to know how you are progressing._ - - "_Yours as ever,_ - - "CLAIRE." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -When Noel woke, the morning after his ultimatum to Connie, he was at -once aware that something was to make that day different from other -days, but for a moment he couldn't remember what that something was. -Then, as the happenings of the previous day came back to him, he said -to himself, "Connie and Petrovitch," and sprang out of bed. He dressed -quickly--for he had reduced the business of dressing himself with one -hand to an exact science--and knocked on Judy's door. He heard her -call, "Come in if it's Noel," and obeyed. Judy was standing before her -mirror, brushing her brown hair. Her bright red silk dressing gown made -a lovely splash of color in the restrained little room. - -"What are you up so early for?" she asked. "Something on your -conscience, old boy?" - -"Not on mine," he assured her. "Mind if I smoke? I bet you often do -before breakfast." - -"Never. You may though. You've evidently got something to tell me. Even -if I am the spinster type, I understand the workings of the male mind. -What's up?" - -"It's about Connie," he began; then broke off to say, "One of these days -I'll buy you a comfortable chair. This one's got a back like a pew in a -Quaker meetinghouse. However--you know yesterday was Connie's birthday?" - -"Of course I know. Didn't I send her a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley? -Lilies for purity. Well, what about it?" - -"Perhaps you are also aware that she asked me to lunch at Claridge's. -Before we'd been there ten minutes, who do you suppose came in and sat -at a table almost next to ours?" - -"Chiozzi?" - -"Guess again." - -"Noel, you know I hate these guessing games. Freeman? Oh, no, he's dead. -It was some one to do with Connie, I suppose. Petrovitch, then?" - -"No other. The dirty dog!" - -"The plot thickens!" exclaimed Judy. "What happened then?" - -"Connie saw him, and nearly swooned for joy. And then if you please, the -great brute saw her and beckoned. Beckoned, do you hear? And she'd have -gone to him if I'd let her." - -"How beastly!" - -"I talked to her gently but firmly, but she was up in the air. We got -through lunch somehow, and then I tried to persuade her to get out -before he could speak to her. But she wouldn't budge. He didn't move -either until he'd almost finished feeding. Then he came to our table. I -wish you could have seen Connie registering soulfulness. I can tell you, -a close-up of both of them would have been pleasing to a screen -audience. After twenty years the villain sees the heroine again. -Tableau!" - -"Yes. Well, go on." - -"We exchanged a pleasantry or two, and then he commanded Connie to dine -with him to-night. Connie of course was writhing on the mat for pure -joy, and barking short, happy barks. She licked his hand and meekly -indicated that his lightest wish was her law. Then we went. I wasn't -feeling full of love for human nature by that time, I can tell you. I -didn't know what to do, so I rang up Claire and she advised me to issue -an ultimatum. Which I did. I said that if she spoke to Petrovitch again, -all was over between us. Sob stuff from Connie. I really was sorry for -her. In the end I told her to sleep on it, and to ring me up in the -morning. Then I left her. Do you think I did right?" - -Judy considered. - -"It would half kill her not to see you again. She adores you, you know. -But I think Claire was right. If that won't pull her up, nothing will. -What do you think she'll do?" - -"Oh, she'll dine with Petrovitch, all right," prophesied Noel gloomily. -"Hang it all! I thought she'd learned something. I didn't expect her to -change her nature all at once, but I did think she'd begun to see the -silliness of that sort of behavior." - -"The way of the reformer is hard," said his sister. - -"Oh, I'm not trying to reform her. I only wanted to show her that she'd -get more out of life if she tried another tack. And I believe she was -beginning to see it, too. If only that--swine hadn't come along!----" - -"Well, stick to your guns," advised Judy. "I have a feeling that she'll -come round. But, Noel, if she doesn't come round?----" - -"Exactly. If she doesn't, ought I to keep my threat? After all, perhaps -I've no right ... I suppose it's difficult ... if I thought it would -cure her to see him a few times, I'd let her. But he's her hero for -life, spots and all." - -"Spots?" Judy paused with upraised arms. - -"Any number of 'em. On his clothes. A dirty feeder. As for his hair!..." - -"Isn't it queer, Noel? That sort of thing? I can't understand it, can -you?" - -"I don't want to," he said shortly. "I've thought of kidnapping Connie -and shutting her up somewhere till he goes. He'll only be here a week -or so. I saw it in the paper last night." - -Judy laughed as she pinned her hair into place. - -"Poor old Connie! She's sure to do the wrong thing, I suppose. She -always has. But there's just a chance. She's so fond of you." - -"I'm rather fond of her. She's a good sort, really, under all this -Camille business. She doesn't understand you though." - -"I can bear that," replied his sister. - -"It's a funny thing," remarked Noel, remembering her comments on the -subject of Judy and Chip, "but I believe that if Connie hadn't been ... -what she is ... she'd have been a terribly conventional woman. I think -she's a sort of Millie-gone-wrong." - -This amused Judy greatly. - -"If only mother could hear you say that!" she said. - -"What's on to-night?" he asked. "Anything doing here?" - -"Have you forgotten? Major Crosby's coming to dinner, and we promised to -give him a dancing lesson." - -"Chip! So he is! This bother about Connie put it out of my head for the -moment. What shall I do if she asks me to take her out to dinner? As -she may do, if she decides not to see Petrovitch." - -"Then I suppose you must take her." - -"We might dine early and come here after," he suggested. "Would mother -object, do you think?" - -"You'd better ask her," she said. "Mother has only seen her once since -she came back, and then she went to her hotel heavily veiled." - -Noel nodded appreciatively. - -"Well, I'll ask her. There's no harm in Connie, poor old thing. Will -Gordon be home?" - -"Yes. Helen's dining here too. I didn't want her a bit to-night. She's -so--patronizing. Not to me, but to strangers. And Chip will be shyer -than ever." - -"Well, remember," Noel cautioned her, "Chip's _my_ friend. We met at -the Club. It was only a few yards away, so that isn't much of a fib. -That's what I've given out." - -"Very well," said Judy. "I'm rather dreading to-night, really. I'd like -to have kept Chip to ourselves, if we could. But I suppose it wouldn't -have done." - -The gong boomed loudly, and Judy flew to get a dress out of her -wardrobe. - -When they met at breakfast a few minutes later, they said good morning -as though they hadn't seen each other before. In the midst of their -family, the brother and sister had from childhood maintained a sort of -Secret Society. Their two minds, critical and inquiring from the first, -had early found themselves in tune with each other and out of tune with -the rest. When Judy looked back on her childhood and girlhood, it -always seemed to her to be streaked with light and dark spots. The -light spots were Noel's vacations, and the times when they were -together, and the dark spots were the long school terms, and--darkest -spot of all--his absence at the war. But even as a child the joy of -having him with her was always faintly shadowed by the fear of some -day not having him. For years she had said to herself: - -"If I could only love some one else as much as I do Noel, then fate -would have a choice of two marks." - -And if the other members of the family objected to the brother and -sister's marked preference for each other's society, they kept it to -themselves remarkably well. - -The Pendletons always had family prayers. Mrs. Pendleton insisted on -them less from conviction than for the reason that all the other -Pendletons had them, and she believed they had a good effect on the -servants. So the entire household assembled in the dining room at a -quarter to nine, and if any one was late, he or she was waited for. -This morning Gordon was late, but when he was the offender, nothing -was said. - -Mr. Pendleton officiated. He was a little man, with what the Pendletons -chose to call a handsome nose. Most people thought it merely large. His -face barely escaped being intellectual, but something narrow about the -forehead and peevish about the mouth, spoiled the effect. Noel looked -the most like him, but Noel's forehead and mouth had what his father's -lacked. Fortunately he took after his mother in the matter of height, -for Millie was a good five inches taller than her husband. In her -large, charmless way she was handsome, and had regular and -uninteresting features. It was difficult to see in Judy the least trace -of likeness to either of her parents, while Gordon, on the contrary, -was the image of his mother, and she idolized him. She was prepared, -too, to find in Helen, when she became his wife, all that she found -lacking in Judy. - -Prayers over, breakfast immediately followed. It was usually a quiet -meal, enlivened only by excursions after food, and the rustle of -newspapers. But this morning there was an uncommon amount of talk. It -went as follows: - -Mr. Pendleton: "Gordon, I hope you haven't forgotten you are lunching -with Sir William to-day at his club." - -Gordon: "No, father. I hadn't forgotten. Won't you be there too?" - -Mr. Pendleton: "Unfortunately, it is not possible. I have a very trying -day ahead of me." (Mr. Pendleton was a barrister, but his large income -made work less a necessity than a hobby.) - -Millie: "I shall be glad when the summer comes, John, and you can take -a holiday. By the way, I wish you'd all make up your minds where you -want to go this year." - -Noel: "Must we decide six months ahead?" - -Millie: "We always have done so. I like to know in good time what I'm -going to do. We could go abroad, I suppose, but your father thinks we -ought to go to Scotland as usual." - -Judy: "Why can't we all go where we like? Must we have a holiday en -masse?" - -Mr. Pendleton: "You can hardly speak of a small party of five as going -'en masse.'" - -Gordon: "I won't be one of the party, so it's only four. You know, -Mother, Helen and I will be at Ottway Castle for July and August." - -Millie: "Of course, dear. I know you are provided for. It's Judy and -Noel I was thinking of." - -Judy: "But why don't you and father go to Scotland, and let Noel and me -go somewhere else--Devon or Cornwall for a change. It's so dull doing -the same thing every year." - -Mr. Pendleton: "I think we will all go together as usual." - -(Silence.) - -Judy: "Then why ask us to make up our minds where we want to go?" - -Mr. Pendleton: "Your mother asked. Personally, I am convinced that -Scotland is the most bracing." - -Judy: "I really don't feel I want to be braced. Do you, Noel?" - -Noel: "I loathe bracing places." - -Mr. Pendleton: "Then let us all go to Cornwall." - -Millie: "I find Cornwall so relaxing." - -Judy: "I think I'd like just to stay in Sussex with Claire." - -Mr. Pendleton: "You know, Judy, I dislike very much hearing you speak -of your grandmother as Claire." - -Judy: "Sorry, father. I forgot." - -(Silence.) - -Noel: "By the way, mother, I've got rather a good idea. I may be taking -Con--Aunt Connie out to dinner to-night. Suppose I bring her here -afterwards? It would cheer her up a lot. I know she likes seeing people -dance. You wouldn't mind, would you?" - -Gordon: "Noel, you really are a bit of an ass sometimes! You know -Helen's coming here to-night. How could I possibly ask her to meet -Aunt Connie?" - -Noel: "Why not?" - -Gordon: "If you don't know why not, you ought to." - -Noel: "Chuck it, Gordon! Don't be such a prig. What about Helen's -friend, Oriana Temple? If Connie can teach her anything!----" - -Gordon: "Please leave Helen and her friends out of the discussion." - -Noel: "Right. But you brought her in. Anyhow, I asked mother. Mother, -you don't mind if Connie comes here to-night, do you? After all, she's -your sister, and it would be doing her a kindness." - -Millie: "Gordon is quite right, Noel. There is no reason why we should -inflict our family skeleton on Helen. If Connie is an unhappy woman, -it's entirely her own fault. She has forfeited the right to be with -decent people. Don't you agree with me, John?" - -Mr. Pendleton (unexpectedly): "I think, my dear, that if we can help -Connie, we ought to do so. I feel she has a claim upon us, and as -Christian people we have no right to ignore it. It isn't as though the -children were growing up; and after all, Gordon, Helen is marrying into -our family." - -Noel: "Good for you, dad!" - -Gordon: "Let her come by all means. Helen and I will dine here another -night." - -Millie: "It's very tiresome of you, Noel, to upset everything like this. -And while we're on the subject of Aunt Connie, I want to say that I -don't mind your being polite to her, but I do not like your going about -with her so much. If you had to ask her here, some other night would -have done as well. I'm certain your friend Major Crosby won't want to -meet her." - -Noel: "He won't mind. Besides, he doesn't know anything about her. And -I had a particular reason for wanting to bring her to-night." - -Gordon: "That's settled, then. Helen and I will dine here to-morrow -night, mother." - -Judy and Noel were amazed at the stand their father had taken. - -"I never thought dad had it in him," Noel said later. - -"Influence of morning prayers," answered Judy. "Father's always nicest -just after prayers." - -At ten o'clock the maid sought out Noel with the message that Countess -Chiozzi was on the telephone and would like to speak to him. - -"I lose, I'll bet," said Noel to Judy as he left the room. - -"Hello, Connie!" he began cheerfully. "How's my aunt this morning? -Feeling better? Good! I was rather a beast yesterday, wasn't I?" - -"Yes, you were," a rather dejected voice replied. "I hardly slept a -wink all night. Noel, it's ... it's breaking my heart, but I know I -can't give _you_ up. There's no use.... I can't." - -"Right you are! You don't have to. Tell you what--we'll go for a bean-o -to-night. I'll dine you at a new place I wot of, and then I'll bring -you back here. There'll be just the family, and Major Crosby, and -perhaps one or two others. Oh, and I'll teach you to dance. What do you -say? Nothing like dancing to keep you young." - -Connie hesitated, then said rather dubiously: - -"But nobody wants me there. Does Millie----" - -"Just you come along and see. I'll call for you at seven. Make yourself -beautiful. The gray chiffon, with pearls--what?" - -"Oh, that? Very well. Noel, I shall be dreadfully nervous." - -"Nervous! Nonsense, Countess! Pull up your socks. And, by the way, -Connie, a light hand with the make-up. I'll inspect you at seven. -And--oh, one thing more. How would you like me to take you to -What's-His-Name's concert next Friday? You can feast your eyes and ears -on him then." - -"You _are_ generous, Noel! It would mean everything to me." - -"I'll get seats, then. You're a sport, Connie. So long!" - -He left the telephone, whistling jubilantly, and went to tell Judy the -news. Then he told his mother, who was less pleased. - -"It's a piece of impertinence, her coming to London at all. I don't -know what your grandmother could have been thinking of. I won't object -to her coming this once, but it mustn't happen again. We owe it to -Gordon to keep her in the background." - -Noel left it at that. He never argued with his mother. - -Gordon had reckoned without his Helen, who prided herself on being -modern. When he told her he would rather she dined there the following -night, she wanted to know the reason. - -"Not that beautiful Mrs. Humphries who ran off with Petrovitch? I'd -quite forgotten she was your aunt. What nonsense, Gordon! Of course I -shall come. As if her past made the slightest difference to me! I hear -she's still quite lovely." - -Gordon reported this new development to his mother in his own way. - -"Helen's been awfully nice about it," Millie told her husband later. -"She told Gordon she didn't mind meeting Connie at all, and that as she -was marrying into the family she intended taking the rough with the -smooth. She's such a sensible girl!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Judy had neither seen nor heard from Major Crosby since the day they -had tea together at Madame Claire's. She had written him a note to -thank him for his flowers, the sending of which had both pleased and -touched her. Knowing his poverty and his reserve, she read into his -gift, more, perhaps, than he had intended she should. Chip looked upon -the sending of flowers as the natural tribute to be paid to any -charming woman, and imagined in his simplicity, that she must receive -very many such gifts. She guessed this, but at the same time she also -guessed that never before in his life, probably, had he sent flowers -to a woman. Pink roses, too.... - -She wondered about him a good deal--wondered what he did with himself -evenings, and where and how he spent his Sundays. Like Madame Claire, -she felt that Chip was a man not marked for success, but at least she -was determined that, whatever happened, his life should be less empty -and colorless because of that accident in the fog. - -On the whole, however, she dreaded the evening for him. She felt that -he would be neither amused nor benefited by it. She knew she would get -little help from her mother, and as for Gordon and Helen, they never -bothered with people unless they mattered. - -Once more, Helen had not been reckoned with. She sat next to Chip -at table, and soon saw that he had eyes only for her future -sister-in-law--and a tongue only for her too, it seemed. Helen decided -to be bored at first, but as she was slightly annoyed with Gordon, who -sat on her left, she presently turned her batteries full on the -surprised Chip, who had no idea he was neglecting his neighbor. Helen -could be very charming when the spirit moved her. After inviting him to -her house to meet a writer whose work he admired, she went on to what -she had learned was his chief interest. That she lowered her voice to -discuss. - -"A tremendously important subject ... we moderns want to know ... made -rather a study of these things myself ... esoteric beliefs ..." were -scraps that Judy's ears couldn't ignore. And later, "I do wish we'd met -before. Why is it that people who do things that are worth while are -always so hard to get at? One has to hunt them out of their holes, -as," she laughed, "I mean to hunt you." - -Chip made some appropriate answer to this, and Helen was about to -continue her attack when Millie cut in with: - -"Is it the Crosbys of Crosby Steynes, or the Crosbys of Middle Regis -you're related to, Major Crosby? They're both such delightful people." - -And Chip was lost to the rest of the table for a good ten minutes while -he and Millie dived together into a sea of relationships. At the end of -it, Millie came to the surface with nothing better in the way of a -catch than some entirely unclassified Crosbys who lived somewhere near -Aberdeen. The ladies then departed to the drawing-room. - -Left alone with Mr. Pendleton, Gordon and a friend of his, a Captain -Stevens from the Foreign Office, Chip did some classifying on his own -account. Gordon, he decided, was a young man who had much to learn, but -the chances were that he would never learn it. He liked Mr. Pendleton, -who was determined to be a pleasant host. As for Captain Stevens, he -thought him a nice fellow, in spite of his admission that he spent his -nights dancing. He wondered at first if perhaps Judy--but five minutes' -conversation with the young man convinced him that he wasn't Judy's -sort. He missed Noel, with his easy manners, and his human touch. - -When they went up to the drawing-room, which was cleared for dancing, -he went straight to Judy, and sat beside her on a settee, thus -defeating Captain Stevens, who had intended doing the same thing. - -"Is this where I begin?" asked Chip, looking fearfully at the satiny -floor. - -"I don't know," said Judy. "I'm wondering that myself. Suppose we let -the young people dance to-night?" She laughed. "Somehow I haven't the -heart to make you. I'm afraid you'll hate it, after all, and I'm not a -bit in the mood for it myself." - -"I don't want you to think me a coward," Chip told her, "but I'd be -ever so much happier if I could stay just where I am. Perhaps I could -learn something by watching Captain Stevens. I expect he dances like a -wave of the sea." - -"He's marvelous," agreed Judy. "Hundreds of maidens have tried to marry -him for his dancing, but I understand he's never yet met his equal and -won't wed until he does." - -Chip shook his head. - -"I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I believe several generations have gone by -without my noticing it. But I've made up my mind to learn something -about this one. When do your brother and Miss Dane expect to be -married?" - -"In June. How do you like Helen?" - -"She was very kind. I shouldn't say it, perhaps, but wasn't there -something of the Lady Bountiful about it all?" - -Judy laughed. - -"Helen likes patronizing the arts. The arts are very fashionable just -now in her set. I like Helen, really. If only she and her friends -weren't so fond of posing--and they find new poses every year--one -would like them better. But it isn't as if Noel were marrying her. -Gordon has always seemed to belong to other people's families more than -to his own, and now of course he'll be entirely absorbed by Lord -Ottway's, and their friends and relations." - -"He's not a bit like your brother Noel. I think Noel is one of the most -attractive young men I ever met. He has such a way of making one feel -his friend at once." - -"Of course there's no one like him," said Judy, delighted at this -praise, "but Gordon's the one who'll succeed." - -"Ah, very likely. Success.... I wonder which is worse; to ignore it, or -to bow down to it? I've ignored it all my life. I've never thought -about it. And now I've suddenly discovered that I want it. Yes, I want -it badly. And I'm wondering if it's too late ... if it won't, perhaps, -ignore me, now?" - -His eyes met hers, frankly. What he meant was that without success he -felt he could not enjoy her friendship. At least he thought he meant -that. Judy thought he meant something quite different. - -Then Noel came in with Connie, and that ended their talk for the -present. Connie was looking wonderfully young and extremely handsome, -and was no more made up than was permissible. Her lovely gray gown and -her triple row of pearls--Morton Freeman's gift--became her to -perfection. She looked a different woman from the painted, haggard -creature Eric had first seen in Paris. Millie's greeting was formal, -while Mr. Pendleton's--he had expected something so very much -worse--was almost effusive. A look from Millie, however, soon put him -in his place, which, for the rest of the evening, was the smoking room. -Chip was talking to Noel, and Judy was just beginning to feel that the -evening might not be a fiasco after all, when Helen, assured and -smiling, bore down upon Chip. - -"Here's good dancing material, unless I'm much mistaken," she said. -"Any one who appreciates poetry must have a sense of rhythm, and if you -have that, you can dance." So she led him protesting helplessly, to the -floor. - -"Bother Helen," said Judy under her breath. "If he ever did learn to -dance, I intended teaching him myself." She felt a little ruffled, -although she realized perfectly that Helen's attentions to Chip were -probably occasioned by some little tiff with Gordon. - -As she danced with Captain Stevens, she watched Chip, and saw that he -was acquitting himself creditably. But it seemed to her all wrong that -he should be dancing at all. It didn't suit him. He wasn't a dancing -man and never would be. She was glad of it. There were plenty of -Captain Stevens' sort about. She suddenly felt a distaste for that -form of amusement. In the midst of the moving couples, and the raucous -voice of the gramophone, a wave of distaste and boredom came over her. -What was she doing with her life? Nothing. It was empty, useless, -senseless. She wasn't wanted anywhere. And now she was trying to drag -Chip into that emptiness. To what end? To be told by Helen how to point -his toes? Better have left him with his books. He was too good for that -sort of thing. - -If Chip wanted her, she would marry him. She liked everything about -him--even his oddly cut evening clothes, that reminded her of Du -Maurier's drawings. She caught his eyes just then, and there was a -rather pleading look in them. He evidently wasn't enjoying his lesson. -Well, the gramophone would run down in a minute, and then they could -all stop. She hadn't spoken a word to Captain Stevens, who, -fortunately, thought she was so thrilled by the perfection of his -dancing that she didn't want to spoil a perfect moment by speaking. - -She tried to picture herself married to Chip. It would mean managing on -nothing a year in that tiny flat, or one like it. To-night she was sure -she wouldn't mind. It would take them months--years perhaps, to know -each other well. It would be such fun finding out. And being modern and -willing to face facts, she tried to picture herself wheeling a -perambulator about Campden Hill on the nurse's day out. By that time -Chip would have had a great success with his book on religions or some -other book, and they would have a house. Yes, poverty and all, if Chip -wanted her, she would marry him. Only Noel was right. She would have to -be bold.... - -The gramophone ran down and the dancing stopped. Captain Stevens, full -of enthusiasm, exclaimed: - -"That was glorious! We must have another fox-trot." And went to put on -another record. - -Judy made her way to where Connie was sitting, and on hearing her say -she had not yet met Helen, she introduced them. Helen, who had already -decided she wouldn't be above asking Connie's advice about her -trousseau, sat beside her and talked about Cannes and Monte Carlo, -while Gordon, who had greeted his aunt with extreme coldness, stood a -few feet away and impersonated a young man in the sulks. Judy was about -to go to him, when the maid appeared in the doorway, and Judy, seeing -that she had something to say to her, crossed the room. - -"You're wanted on the telephone, Miss Judy," said the maid. "It's -Dawson, and she wants to speak to you most particularly, Miss." - -"Dawson!" exclaimed Judy. "I hope it doesn't mean ..." but without -finishing her sentence she ran to the telephone, which was downstairs. - -"Is that you, Miss Judy?" asked Dawson. "We're a little upset here -to-night. A telegram came from Miss McPherson about Mr. de Lisle, and -it seems the poor gentleman's quite ill, and wants to see you or Mr. -Eric. We've rung up Mr. Eric, and he says he can't possibly get away -this week. So we wondered if you could go, Miss. It would mean leaving -at once, Miss Judy." - -Judy didn't hesitate. - -"Of course I'll go. Tell Madame Claire I'll go to-morrow. Is she in -bed?" - -"She is, Miss. The telegram should have come two hours ago, but it was -sent to the wrong room. We do think, Miss, that it would be better in a -way for Mr. Eric to go, but we don't like to take any risks, in case -the old gentleman's very ill indeed. And it's out of the question for us -to go ourselves, Miss." - -"But of course I'll go!" Judy repeated. "Dawson, tell Madame Claire not -to worry, and that I'll be off the very minute I can get a passport. -I'm so sorry for poor old Mr. de Lisle. Is Madame Claire very much -upset?" - -"Well, not what you'd call upset," Dawson replied. "We do keep calm, -Miss, whatever happens. But it is sad, the time being so near when he -hoped to come to England." - -"He'll come yet, I feel sure. I'll send a wire to-morrow to say I'm -leaving. I'll probably come in the morning for a minute to say good-by. -Give Madame Claire my love, and tell her the trip will be a godsend to -me." - -She went straight to her mother with the news. Millie was thoroughly -annoyed. - -"I think your grandmother has taken leave of her senses," she said. -"First Connie and now this. You can't possibly go to Cannes alone." - -"Mother!" Judy exclaimed. "Please don't treat me as though I were a -child or an imbecile. You know perfectly well I can go--and must go. If -you and father won't help me, Claire will pay my expenses. I know -she'll offer to, anyway." - -"You had better speak to your father," said Millie with chilling -disapproval. - -It was undoubtedly one of Mr. Pendleton's best days. He looked almost -indulgently at his handsome, excited daughter, and said: - -"Well, Judith, I can see you're bent on going. I suppose you'll find -friends there. You might arrange to come back with some of them. My -only fear is that the old man will die, and that would be very awkward -for you. They make a considerable to-do in France, when people die. -Still, I suppose if your grandmother wants it ..." - -Considerably later, she found herself alone with Chip again. He had -been danced with twice by Helen, and felt that he had earned a respite. - -"How long do you think you'll be gone?" he asked, on hearing the news. - -"I suppose that depends on Mr. de Lisle." - -"Is he Stephen de Lisle? The man who was ... what was it? ... Home -Secretary, I think. A good many years ago. And I seem to remember some -tremendous quarrel, with the then Prime Minister. A man with a very -fine head. I remember his pictures quite well." - -"That's Old Stephen. He was a great, great friend of mine when I was -seven, and I haven't seen him since. But he's always been in love with -Madame Claire--since before she married my grandfather. People of their -generation did that sort of thing--loved for a lifetime. I wonder why -nobody does now?" - -"Are you sure they don't?" he asked. - -"Certain of it. The thing to do nowadays is to console oneself as -quickly as possible. And I think there is a good deal of prejudice -against wasting lives, and wasted lives. And rightly, too, I suppose." -Then, changing the subject: "I'll be away for several weeks, and I wish -you'd write to me and let me know if the headaches have stopped, and -how you're getting on, generally. I shall be at the Riviera Hotel, in -Cannes, where Old Stephen is." - -"May I write? But I'm afraid you'll find my letters very dull. I see -so few people. I suppose," he added, "I ought to have had more to do -with people. Only, when a man has nothing whatever to offer, he is apt -to retire into his shell. I did, and I should have remained there, if -it hadn't been for you...." - -"Promise me, then," she said, looking at him seriously, "that you won't -slip back into it again the moment my back is turned. I'd like you to -see something of Madame Claire, and of Noel. They both like you, you -know, and will want to see you. Will you promise me that?" - -"I'll do anything you think is good for me," he answered, smiling. Then -he too looked serious. - -"Miss Pendleton, you don't know what it means to a man to feel himself -tied by the lack of money. I suppose another man in my place would have -found some way of making it. No doubt I should have chucked writing -long ago, or tried to write something more lucrative than a book on -religion. But, on the other hand, should I? If I have written something -of any value, if the book is well received, I shall feel justified in -having spent so many years on it. If it isn't? Well, I don't know. I -don't think I'd have the heart to launch out into business, at -forty-four. But I hardly expect you to understand that. You're young -and happy. You have everything in front of you." - -"Happy?" asked Judy. "Did you say happy?" - -He looked quickly at her. - -"Aren't you?" - -She met his eyes squarely. - -"If a rat in a trap or a squirrel in a cage is happy, then perhaps I -am. I hate the life I'm living. Yes, I do, I hate it. If it weren't for -Noel and Madame Claire, I'd--I don't know what I'd do. Something pretty -desperate, just to get away from it." - -He sat looking at her as if he couldn't trust his own senses. She -couldn't be serious. - -"You're a sentimentalist," she went on. "You believe what you like to -believe. I suppose you've imagined all sorts of pretty things about me. -I assure you, that rather than go on living as I've been living, I'd -change places with the between-maid in our kitchen. It wasn't so bad -during the war. I did nursing then. But now, because I'm the only -daughter, mother and father won't hear of my taking up any sort of -work. I go once a week to Bermondsy to teach a class of girls -hat-trimming, and even that's frowned upon because I once got measles -there. No, I'm expected to sit with folded hands until some young man -comes along and marries me. Isn't it extraordinary, in this day and -age?" - -Chip was still speechless. - -"And I'll go on like this till I die, I suppose, or marry somebody out -of sheer boredom. And I keep asking myself what I ought to do. What -would some one else do in my place? Should I simply walk out of the -house, and try to live my own life? But where would I go, and what -would I do? I've no training except nursing, and I should hate -ordinary, peace-time nursing. And would it be fair to my family, who -after all have spent a great deal of money on me? And each year I -think, 'Next year is sure to be different,' but it isn't. It's exactly -the same, or worse, and I'm a year older and have accomplished nothing. -If it had been my lot to live in the country, I expect I would have -hunted, or perhaps kept a lot of dogs, or looked after a garden. But -as it is ..." - -She broke off. Captain Stevens descended on them to ask her to dance -again, but she shook her head. - -"I'm not a bit in the mood for it to-night. Look, the Winslow girls -have just come. They're heavenly dancers." - -Captain Stevens went, after a curious glance at Chip. Who was the -fellow in the antiquated evening clothes, who was so quiet at dinner? -A "oner" with the ladies, at any rate. - -Judy turned once more to Chip. - -"I've been perfectly beastly," she said. "But I feel better for it. And -if I've destroyed a lot of your illusions, I'm sorry, but at least you -know more of Judy Pendleton than you did." - -"What you have told me," he said slowly, "has made me feel very sad, -for your sake. I was so sure you were happy. But for my own sake ... I -don't know ... I think it has made you seem less terribly remote. I -felt before that we were in different hemispheres. Now ... well, we at -least inhabit the same imperfect planet. And it's a wonderful thing for -me to know any one like you. To-night has been ..." - -"I'm so glad if you haven't minded it. I was afraid you'd hate it, or -at least be bored." - -"Bored?" He smiled. - -"I suppose I must have made friends when I was young," he went on. "I -remember imagining myself in love once or twice, and I was exactly like -any other young man, no doubt. Then I went out to South Africa, and -after the war I came home to find my mother dead. I was very ill for a -long time, and I got out of the habit of seeing people. Then, when my -health improved, I began to write. Articles; all sorts of things. Then -I was sent out to India to join my regiment, and while I was there I -began the book on religions, but for some years I hardly did more than -make a beginning. But at last I got so interested in it that when I -returned from India I left the army and went to live in a lonely cottage -in Cornwall that belonged to my mother. I suppose I allowed the book to -become an obsession, as Lady Gregory said, for I spent weeks--months -sometimes--without seeing a soul except the village people, and Major -Stroud now and then. Then the war came, and until 1919 I was in France. -When I came home, I took the flat in Campden Hill. The night ... the -night of the accident, Major Stroud had dragged me out to dine at his -club. I remember he had been lecturing me for being such a hermit." - -"And rightly," said Judy. - -"Still, I should have gone on being a hermit, if you hadn't come just -when you did." He paused. "And yet there are people who deny that -there's a benevolent Deity who orders our lives." - -Captain Stevens might have said that and meant nothing by it, and if he -had said it, Judy would have had a retort ready. But coming from Chip, -it could not be treated so lightly. How much, she wondered, did he -mean? Oh, he meant what he said, of course, but how much did he mean -her to understand by it? And then she realized that had he meant to -express more than an appreciation of her friendship, he could never -have said it so easily. - -"Let's hope your Deity will take an interest in the book," she said, -and then was suddenly aware that she had spent the greater part of the -evening talking to Chip. She looked about her. Helen and Gordon were -dancing. Connie had boldly taken the floor with Noel a few minutes -previously, but was now watching him dance with one of the Winslow -girls, and Captain Stevens was dancing with the other. Millie was -nowhere to be seen. Not for a moment must Connie be allowed to regret -that she hadn't dined with Petrovitch. - -"Come and help me amuse my aunt," said Judy. Then, with a sparkle in -her eyes, "And if you can think of any pretty speeches to make her such -as you have just made me, so much the better." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -"It won't be wildly gay," said Noel as he saw Judy off at Victoria -Station two days later, "but you'll have sun and a change of scene. -Anyhow, I have a pretty good hunch that the old boy's going to get -better." - -Judy was talking to him through the window, feeling like anybody in the -world but Judy Pendleton. She, of all people, to be going to Cannes; -and alone! Well, nothing ever happened but the unexpected, and this -was the unexpected in one of its pleasantest forms. And if only Noel -should prove to be right about his "hunch"!... - -"He must get better! I should so love to see him and Claire hobnobbing -together. Write to me at least every other day, won't you? And tell me -all about Connie and Petrovitch--only I hope there won't be much to -tell--and Eric and Louise, and----" - -"Anything else?" - -"Yes," she said. "Find out what the family thought of Chip. I'm longing -to know." - -As the train moved off, he walked beside it for a few feet. - -"Oh, by the way, I think I've got a job." - -"Noel! Why didn't you tell me sooner? What is it? Quick!" - -"I'll write," he called out. "Not positive yet. Good-by!" - -"It's something that means going away," thought Judy, as she arranged -herself and her belongings. "That's why he wouldn't tell me sooner." - -The thought of it sent her spirits down considerably, but she made up -her mind not to borrow trouble. If he hadn't spoken of it before, it -was because he wasn't sure. Life without Noel would be ... no, it -didn't bear thinking of. Time enough to worry when she heard from him. -Wasn't she on her way to the Riviera, for the first time? The word had -always been a magical one, to her. It meant color, warmth, life. She -would see the Mediterranean. And it was her first adventure. Mr. -Pendleton had most unexpectedly presented her with fifty pounds, -telling her to buy herself some dresses in Cannes. It was very nearly -a fortune. Madame Claire herself was paying for the trip, and had given -her a little money to gamble with. - -"For of course you must play," she had said. "You're sure to find -friends there; and even if Stephen dies--which Heaven forbid!--I -don't see why you shouldn't stay on for a little and enjoy yourself." - -The next day the sight of Marseilles, golden in the sunshine, made her -forget every trouble, past and to come. She had an impression of old -houses with greeny-blue shutters, and bare plane trees, the twisted -limbs of which looked white and strange in the sunlight. And beyond, -the incredibly blue water. She could hardly keep her delight to herself -as the train wound its leisurely way along the lovely, broken coast. -She gloried in the greeny-gray of the olive trees, in the rich, red -earth, in the burning blue of sea and sky. - -"I should like to live here," she thought, as they passed some -blue-shuttered house behind its vines and its fig trees. Or, "no, -here!" as another even more alluring showed itself among its terraced -olive groves. She thought, with commiseration, of her parents who might -have been there too had they cared to make the effort, stuffily going -their rounds--"It isn't as though they couldn't afford it," she said to -herself. "I believe it's because they want to save for Gordon." - -Miss McPherson, a little, calm, thin-lipped Scotch woman, met her at -the station in Cannes. She seemed glad, in her quiet, professional way, -to see Judy, and as they drove to the hotel in the omnibus, she told -her about Stephen. - -"It was a slight stroke," she explained, "but we won't be calling it -that because Mr. de Lisle doesn't know, or doesn't want to know. He -will have it that it was an attack of some sort. But he's much better -to-day, and in a fortnight or so, he'll be as well as he was before. -Of course that isn't saying that he'll be enjoying robust health." - -"Does that mean that he can never come to London?" Judy asked. - -"Oh, dear me, no, I wouldn't say that. You'll do him good. And I think -he's been here long enough." Then she added with a twinkle in her -little gray eyes: - -"He was just determined to see you or Colonel Gregory. Between you and -me, Miss Pendleton, my poor old patient's very bored here." - -Judy nodded. - -"I see," she said. "I'm more than ever glad that I came. I'm thankful -to hear he's no worse; I was afraid of--something really desperate. We -must amuse him somehow. Doesn't he ever go motoring?" - -The little nurse shook her head. - -"He says it's so dull with just him and me. The poor old gentleman -should have had a family. It's dreadful for him being alone. It just -takes all the heart out of him." - -"Well, I've come to be the family," said Judy. "Oh, what wonderful -palms!" - -They turned into a driveway lined with them, and up to the hotel. It -was an imposing building, dazzling in fresh white paint; and glossy -orange trees, heavy with ripe fruit, stood on either side of the -entrance. - -"Mr. de Lisle's still in bed, of course," Miss McPherson told her, -"but you may see him after lunch. And I've promised him he may go out -with you in a day or two. In a bath-chair, at first." - -She left Judy to unpack, and have her lunch, and hurried back to her -patient. - -"I shall get on with her," Judy said to herself, "she's human." - -At about half-past two she knocked at Stephen's door. - -Miss McPherson had told her that he still complained of numbness in his -legs, so she was prepared for the sight of the long, gaunt figure -stretched out so inertly on a bed near the window. His head was turned -her way, and as he held out a long arm, a pair of searching, sunken -eyes met hers. - -"Judy! Good girl, good girl!" he cried. "I meant to turn my face to the -wall if you didn't come. Miss McPherson, place her chair a little -nearer. That's it. Judy, Judy!" - -"You're exactly the same 'Old Stephen' I remember," said Judy, -unexpectedly moved at this meeting, "only gray instead of iron-gray." -It was silly to feel tearful. "Do--do I look a bit as you thought I'd -look?" - -He answered in a lower voice, still holding her hand in a grip of -surprising strength: - -"You're like your grandmother, thank God! I prayed that you might be. -It's the eyes, I think--yes, it's the eyes and expression. I can build -her up, around your eyes. You always promised to be a little like her. -Ah, my dear, my dear, it was good of you to come!" - -"Good of me! You little know what you saved me from!" - -"Saved you from?" - -"Yes. You--I was simply desperate. I'd begun to hate myself and every -one else, except Madame Claire and Noel." - -"Madame Claire," he repeated. "Yes, I like that. And what then?" - -"I was longing to get away. You see I haven't been out of England since -I was sixteen. Except to Scotland, and I don't count that. And I -felt--stale. You've saved my life, I think, and now you say I'm going -to save yours.... We'll have a wonderful time, won't we, Miss -McPherson?" - -"It will be very nice," said she. - -"Miss McPherson tells me you'll be out in a day or two," Judy went on. -"I'm looking forward to the day when we can go motoring. There must be -glorious trips to be taken." - -He turned his eyes toward his nurse. - -"What else did you tell her?" he demanded. - -"Everything I thought necessary." She pressed her lips together but her -eyes smiled. - -"I thought you were Scotch enough to keep a secret." - -"I can keep them when I choose." - -"Judy," Stephen said, "I'm not as bad as I pretended I was. I had a -stroke. Yes, you needn't jump, you over there. Thought I didn't know, -I suppose. Pish! Of course I knew. It wasn't a bad one, Judy, but I -knew it meant no London for me for weeks, perhaps months. So I made up -my mind I was going to have you or Eric. You, preferably. Something -Claire said made me think you might welcome a change just now, so I -made Miss McPherson wire. And now you know." - -"You are even nicer than I thought you were," laughed Judy. "And what -about Madame Claire? Does she know too, that you're not--seriously -ill?" - -He moved his head slightly. - -"She knows." He smiled, and Judy noticed how his smile lightened his -face with its rather tragic lines and hollows. "She said nothing but -sudden death or an earthquake would get you away from your family. But -I've been pretty bad. Even Miss McPherson admits that. Very bad. And," -he said, glowering into the corner where Miss McPherson sat, "I may be -worse." - -"Well, you won't be while Miss Pendleton's here," said she, "so I'll -just be taking a little air. With your permission." - -"Bless you, run along! Poor child, she's hardly left me for a minute." - -As Miss McPherson went out, he watched her upright little figure -affectionately, from under his strikingly white eyebrows. - -"A plucky little soul," he said, "and she has borne with me -wonderfully. Now, Judy, tell me about your trip. Tell me about Claire, -everything you can think of, and about Noel and Eric. Good Lord, how -good this is!" - -Judy sat and talked till the sky turned from blue to deep orange, and -the sun, long after it had dropped behind the sea, sent beams like -yellow fingers raying up into the clear color its own going had made; -till the lovely Esterel Mountains had grown warmly, richly purple--a -purple that seemed mixed with gold dust, and the palms, untamed things -that they are, made wild and ragged silhouettes against the sunset. - -At half-past four a waiter brought in tea, and Miss McPherson, with -color in her cheeks, came in to officiate. Judy had talked herself out -for the present, so left the conversation to the other two, who sparred -in what appeared to be their customary way. She watched the sky deepen -to the larkspur blue of night, and saw the lights come pricking out in -the harbor, and heard the yacht bells and far-off voices, and knew that -she was very content. - -As for Stephen, he took her hand for an instant as she was about to go -to her room to rest before dressing for dinner, and said: - -"Bless you, Judy! I haven't been as happy as this for over twenty -years!" - - * * * * * * - -"Could anything be lovelier?" thought Judy as she stood at her window -the next morning. The wailing pipe of some street peddler had waked her -earlier--a weird, Oriental sound, pleasant to open one's eyes to. She -looked out over crooked red roofs and beyond them to gray-green hills, -while below, to her left, the white yachts rode in the harbor--the calm -blue surface of which was unmoved by a single ripple--beside less -aristocratic but more picturesque craft with pointed, dark red sails. - -The waiter had brought her her breakfast in bed, but she had carried it -to a table by the window, and was having it there. A few moments later -the postman walked in--the casual way people walked in and out of her -room she thought novel and charming--and handed her a letter from -Madame Claire, which was dated the same day she left London. - - "_Dearest Judy,_" wrote Madame Claire, - - "_This is just to reassure you, and explain a little. Stephen isn't - dangerously ill, thank Heaven! I expect you've discovered that by - now. But he had a slight stroke, and was lonely and bored, poor - old dear, and as I couldn't go to him, he wanted you. I've been - trying to persuade Millie for some time to let you go away - somewhere, but she wouldn't hear of it. Your health was quite - satisfactory, etc., etc. So I saw my chance and took it. I know - Stephen will take a new lease of life with you there. Have the very - happiest time possible, and don't worry about anything. I will be - thinking of you in the sun. I imagine almost that I can feel the - warmth of it myself; but perhaps it's only my hot water bottle. I - am writing this in bed, my rheumatism being still a little - troublesome. However, I am reading some delightful books._ - - "_Best love, dear Judy, from_ - - "CLAIRE." - -That wonderful old woman! Judy knew that she, from her two rooms at the -Kensington Park Hotel, had more influence on her life than any one else -in it. More even than Noel. - - * * * * * * - -Stephen was getting better slowly and with patient determination, but -although she could see an improvement in him from day to day, it was -not until the fifth day of her stay that he was considered well enough -to go out in a bath-chair--a vehicle he despised. His detestation of it -was somewhat mitigated by the fact that Judy was walking beside it, and -he was persuaded, before they had been out very long, to admit that he -was enjoying it. They went past the Casino as far as the harbor, which -seemed to Judy more Italian than French, and they walked under the -weird maze made by the tortured gray branches of the plane trees, that -reminded her of something in Dante's Inferno; then to the market place -where she bought persimmons bursting with over-ripeness, and ate them -then and there, ruining her handkerchief. Stephen bought flowers, and -chatted in his excellent French with the brown-faced peasant women who -sold them. They walked along the front again as far as La Reserve, -where he promised to take her for lobsters as soon as he was well -enough. Handsome cars flashed past them and Judy had just said, "I -didn't know the Rolls-Royce was a hibernating bird," when a -particularly fine one went slowly by. She saw a man's face looking back -at them through the little window at the rear, and in another second -the car stopped and began backing. - -"Who's that?" asked Stephen gruffly. He disliked bothering with people -he knew only slightly, and it annoyed him to have people continually -asking him how he was. - -A man got out of the car and walked toward them--a strange figure in -the sunlight. He gave the impression of heaviness and at the same time -of agility. His movements were quick and forceful. He wore a shapeless -black overcoat--a hideous enough garment at any time--but there, in the -gold light of the southern sun, it seemed to cast a Philistine gloom -all about it. He would have passed unnoticed in Wall Street or the -City, but on the Riviera in his bowler hat and his dark clothes, Judy -thought he insulted the day. - -He went straight to Stephen, and the moment he spoke, Judy knew he was -an American. - -"May I recall myself to your memory, sir?" he inquired, aware that he -was not immediately recognized. "I am Whitman Colebridge, whom you last -knew out in the Argentine." - -"Whitman Colebridge! Of course, of course!" exclaimed Stephen with some -geniality. "Well, well! That's more years ago than I like to remember." - -"It's a good spell," agreed the other. "But I never forget a face or a -name, once I've known them both pretty well. I'm glad of an opportunity -of renewing our acquaintance. You were very good to the young man I was -then, sir." - -"Was I? Was I indeed? That seems to have slipped my memory. But I am -delighted to hear it. Judy, my dear, allow me to introduce quite an -old friend, Mr. Whitman Colebridge, of ... of ... wait!" He held up a -thin hand, smiling. "Of Cincinnati." - -"Now that's pretty smart of you, sir, to remember that," exclaimed the -younger man, who had shaken hands strongly with Judy. - -"I don't know why it is," Stephen remarked to Judy, "but in America -it's always 'Mr. Jones of St. Louis,' or 'Mr. Smith of Council Bluffs,' -or 'Mr. Robinson of Denver.' One learns to associate the name with the -place." - -"Which shows," suggested Judy, "that a love of titles still lingers in -the Republican breast." - -"That's so, I expect," smiled Mr. Colebridge, in whose eyes Judy, it -seemed, had immediately found favor. "But what about this old-fashioned -vehicle of yours? This doesn't signify that you're an invalid, I -trust?" - -"I've been a miserable, good-for-nothing old man for some time," -Stephen answered, "with most of Job's ailments, but without his -virtues. Now, however, since Miss Pendleton of London has come to -lighten my darkness, I mean to get well. Yes, distinctly I mean to get -well." - -"That's fine!" approved Mr. Colebridge. "This one-man Victoria that -you've got here doesn't look good to me. I haven't forgotten our trip -over the Andes together, sir." - -"Ah!" agreed Stephen, nodding. "That was a trip! Pleasant to look back -upon." - -"Never mind," said Judy, "we'll take a trip over the Esterel Mountains -in a day or two. Mr. de Lisle hasn't been out of Cannes since he first -came here," she told Mr. Colebridge, "but we're planning some trips for -next week." - -"You have your own automobile here?" inquired Mr. Colebridge. - -"No, no," Stephen said. "We mean to hire one." - -"But why do that, sir? Here is mine"--he waved his hand toward his -property--"at your disposal. The chauffeur is a native of these parts, -and I needn't brag about the machine because you are well acquainted -with its virtues. So why not make use of it, with or without its -owner?" - -"Oh, that's very kind," said Stephen, "but really ... no, no, we -couldn't think of it. I don't see why you should burden yourself with -an irascible invalid. Do you, Judy?" - -"Perhaps Mr. Colebridge will take us out some day, and see how he likes -us," said Judy, who wasn't at all sure that she liked Mr. Colebridge. -"But we certainly couldn't commandeer your car, as you so kindly -suggest." - -"I'm here alone," said Mr. Colebridge, "the machine holds seven, and I -don't talk French. So you'd be doing me a real kindness. I'm staying at -the Hotel Beaulieu. May I ask where you----?" - -"We're stopping at the Riviera," Stephen told him. "Come and see us." - -"I shall avail myself of your kind invitation. I presume you play, Miss -Pendleton?" - -"Play? Oh, the Casino? I haven't been yet, but I mean to go, when Mr. -de Lisle is better. I've never gambled and I'm longing to." - -"I go there every night," said the heavy one. "I flatter myself I know -the game, sir. When I'm ahead I quit. And I generally quit ahead." He -clapped his hand to his pocket, and then felt inside his coat. Judy -expected bank notes to appear, but instead he produced a gold cigar -case. - -"Will you smoke, sir? I reckon these are superior to what you can -obtain hereabouts." - -The old man waved them away. - -"If they were made on Olympus for Jove himself, I couldn't smoke one," -he said. - -"Too bad!" commiserated the other, taking one himself. "You used to be -fond of a good cigar in the old days, sir." - -"Fond!" exclaimed Stephen. "Do you call that fond! I'd sell my immortal -soul for one now, if it weren't for my doctor." - -"Well," said Mr. Colebridge, turning to Judy, "I mustn't detain you. -It's been a real pleasure to meet you, Miss Pendleton, and to see you -again, sir. Suppose I come around Monday, and take you both to Grasse? -That's just a pleasant, easy little run. Say about two-thirty. I hope -you will do me the honor, Miss Pendleton." - -There seemed no reason to refuse. - -"If Mr. de Lisle's well enough--and I feel sure he will be," she said, -shaking Mr. Colebridge's proffered hand. "It's very kind of you." - -"On Monday, then. I shall look forward to that with real pleasure." - -They watched him, his long black cigar in his mouth, get into his -beautiful car again and go smoothly off. - -"Well, well!" said Stephen. "That's an odd thing! I haven't thought of -that fellow for over ten years." - -"Tell me about him. What is he? One of the 'Captains of Industry'?" - -"Something of that sort, I expect. We met in the Argentine." - -"Don't tell me he was there on a holiday! That man never took a holiday -in his life. Did you ever see such clothes? He looked as though he was -on his way to a directors' meeting." - -"He was just a younger edition in those days of what he is now. He told -me, I remember, that he was the forerunner of 'big business.' Connected -with some great exporting house, I think. Details have left my mind. -But he impressed me. Kind, full of bluff, pushing, selfish, likable. No -real humor. Oh, he can see a joke, but that doesn't always mean humor. -No philosophy of life--yet. No sense of _values_. Values, yes! It's an -interesting type. Egotistic. But powerful. I knew he'd get on. We had -some long talks, I remember. He liked me for some reason. I was able to -do him a good turn, I think, but I forget what it was." - -"His æsthetic or beauty-loving side is utterly undeveloped," laughed -Judy. "Hence those clothes. He's rather terrible in a way, and yet I -dare say I might like him if I knew him better." - -"You might," mused Stephen, "you might." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - - "_Dearest Claire,_" wrote Judy. - - "_Every moment that I spend here in this lovely place, I say to - myself, 'You have Claire to thank for this.' I know now how - cleverly you managed it all. A hint here, a word there. And I know - that you never intended to let Eric come, even if he could have - arranged it. That was merely to satisfy the family. Oh, I know your - little ways!_ - - "_As for your old Stephen, I adore him. And he's really making a - wonderful recovery. I'll bring him back to you, Claire. My one - object in life now is to help to bring you and him together again._ - - "_I wonder if you've seen Major Crosby again? I do hope you have, - for I feel you'd be so good for him, and it's absurd for him to be - so out of touch with things. I know you like him and I'm very glad, - for I like him, and I know Noel does too. I don't suppose for a - moment that he'll ever be anything but poor. Even if his book - should prove to be a classic, it would never bring him in much - money. All the same I feel sure that it's a remarkable book._ - - "_There is a man here who is the very opposite of Major Crosby. I - feel they can hardly be made of the same stuff. This man is an - American whom Stephen knew years ago in the Argentine. He's very - rich, and not afflicted with modesty. He has no moods, no reserves, - and no curiosity. I never realized before what an agreeable quality - curiosity was until I met him. Europe is a playground for him. Not - that he knows how to play--he doesn't. He merely does what other - people do, and spends prodigious sums of money, and when he tries - to be gay or facetious it's like watching a steam engine playing - with its tail. We spar a good deal, but he seems to like it. He - makes me ponderous compliments--oh, so ponderous! I tell him I'm - not used to compliments, and that in England the more we approve of - people the less we trouble to let them know it, and that the only - person who sometimes tells me I'm rather nice is my brother Noel._ - - "_'Say,' remarks Mr. Colebridge, 'that brother of yours must be - kinder human!'_ - - "_Mr. and Mrs. Assheton are here and they chaperon me at the Casino - evenings after Stephen has gone to bed. We usually make a foursome, - for Mr. Colebridge nearly always joins us._ - - "_You don't know how much I'm enjoying it all, Claire. I think I - must have died and gone to Heaven. Certainly the Channel wasn't - unlike the Styx. I feel all the time though that it's you who ought - to be here with Stephen instead of me. But he's going to get well, - and you're going to see him again. Miss McPherson is a dear. I - gathered that she was from Stephen's letters._ - - "_How are Eric and Louise getting on? But I expect Noel will tell me - all the news. You have all you can do to keep Stephen supplied with - letters._ - - "_Good-by, Madame Claire. Remember me to your daughter Millie when - you see her. Really, mother took my coming here as a personal - affront. She thinks that no one but Gordon should have any - advantages. Aren't some parents odd, sometimes?_ - - "_Your very loving,_ - - "JUDY." - -Very satisfactory, thought Madame Claire, as she finished reading the -letter. All sorts of ends were furthered by this visit. Stephen would -take a new lease on life with Judy there. It was just the tonic that -he needed. He would be certain to want to settle something on her. If -he had wished to before he knew her, how much more would he now! She -would, more or less unconsciously, present her own image to him, as she -was to-day. Heaven alone knew how he had been picturing her all these -years! And, too, Judy would meet--was meeting--new people. She already -had an admirer. Madame Claire was no matchmaker; she abhorred -matchmaking; but she knew that Judy was interested in Major Crosby and -it would help her to know how deeply she was interested if she could -compare him with other men. This Mr. Colebridge--he wasn't at all -Judy's sort, perhaps--and yet he might attract her by his very -differences. Or, if he failed to attract her, he might help her to -define her feelings for the other more clearly. - -Madame Claire was no advocate of marriage as the only career for women, -but Judy's gifts seemed all to be in that direction. She had charm, -tact, good sense. Her other qualities would emerge once she was away -from the suffocating atmosphere of Eaton Square and Millie. She had -never had a chance. Not that marriage with Major Crosby, for instance, -would offer much scope for her talents ... and yet, on the other hand, -it might ... it might. Well, well, Madame Claire told herself, she -wouldn't raise a finger to bring it about. But she meant the girl to -have a breathing space ... time to think, and a new environment to -think in. If she herself had had that at a certain period of her own -life.... - -She was expecting Eric this afternoon between five and six. Eric and -Louise ... there was a problem for her untangling! Two charming -people--for Louise could be charming--who were at heart fond of each -other, and yet were utterly at cross purposes. Madame Claire held the -remarkable belief that no problem existed without its solution--however -difficult that solution might be to come by--just as she believed that -every poison had its antidote, and every evil its complementary good. -Why, then, couldn't she think of a way to bring those two together? -Louise's mind wanted prying open. It had closed on its jealousies as a -pitcher plant closes on its food. Nothing that was in could get out, -and nothing that was out could get in. An unfortunate state of affairs! - -Eric came in bringing with him something fresh and vital that always -seemed to accompany him. Judy called it his aura. He was quick in all -his movements--the sort of man who gets through a great deal in a day -and without fuss or bustle. - -He advanced on Madame Claire and kissed her. - -"You look wonderful! I've half an hour to spend with you to-day." - -He drew up a chair beside hers. - -"Don't you get very tired of being always busy?" she asked him, smiling. - -"Yes. I do. But I must either be in the thick of things or out of them -altogether. And just now things are very thick indeed, and getting -thicker." - -"I really enjoy being outside," she said. "One sees so much better." - -"But are you outside?" He looked narrowly at her with humorous, -quizzical eyes. "Are you? I never knew you to be, puller of many -threads!" - -She laughed. - -"Oh, I give a feeble jerk now and then. It's all I can do. Tell me -about Louise. I haven't seen her for a week or more." - -"About Louise? But, my dear mother, if I once start talking about -Louise ..." - -"Yes? Well, why not? What am I here for? Is there any ... improvement, -do you think?" - -"Improvement? Let me tell you, then. You've brought it on yourself. I -warned you." He laughed. "I'll tell you about last night. Last night we -had Sir Henry Boyle-Stevens to dinner, and Mr. Stedman. About halfway -through dinner Sir Henry said to Louise, but looking at me and smiling, -'It's a great comfort to me to be working with your husband. He is -untiring and dependable.' Old Sir Henry does like me, and we've always -got on together like anything. Would you like to hear what Louise said -in reply? Would you? Very well. She said--I will give you her exact -words and their emphasis--'I suppose Eric _is_ dependable, -_politically_.' 'I suppose,' you observe, and then the accent on -'politically.' Sir Henry looked quickly at her, and then at me, and -changed the subject. She meant me to hear. Then the next thing. After -dinner the Lewis Pringles came in. We were still in the dining -room--the men, I mean--and when we joined the rest in the drawing-room -Louise greeted me with these words--for my ears alone--'You needn't -have hurried, Eric. I was just enjoying hearing my own voice for a -change.' You ask me if there's any improvement! What am I to do? We -can't go on like this much longer." - -"No. And I don't think you ought to." - -He flung himself back into his chair. - -"Why does she live in my house if she dislikes me as much as that?" - -"She doesn't dislike you, my dear. It's an extraordinary nature. Do you -remember the unfortunate girl in the fairy tale? Every time she opened -her mouth toads and snails and other horrid things came out of it. -Well, that's Louise. That old hag jealousy has bewitched her. She's not -happy, poor thing." - -"I don't suppose she is happy. I don't see how she can be. But I can't -make her happy, and she can't help making me miserable. I can't even -ignore her." - -"Try living apart for six months." - -"She suggested that herself. Of course she expects me to go down on my -knees and beg her to stay." - -"Don't you do it! Let her go. Make her go. Give it out to your friends -that the doctor says she must live in the country for a while. Insist -on her going." - -"And who would look after the house? I could shut it up I suppose and -go to a hotel." - -"No, no. Don't do that. I'll find some one," said Madame Claire. "You -leave that to me." - -"You mean a housekeeper?" - -"I don't know, at the moment. I'll think of somebody." - -"Louise may not come back," he said. - -"Of course she'll come back. She has no intention of letting any other -woman have you. You'll see ... only you must see that she stays away -six months this time. That last visit to Mistley wasn't long enough." - -"I think you understand her better than I do." - -"Oh, I do understand her. That's the curious thing about it. But it -always seems to me that odd people are much easier to understand than -simple people. Once you give people credit for being odd, nothing that -they do surprises you. What's so difficult is to give people credit -for being simple. Now if Louise would only understand that you are very -simple----" - -"Am I?" - -"Very. You're one of the least complex people I've ever known. None of -my children are complex. Not even Connie, who thinks she is. By the -way, have you seen her lately?" - -"Not for several days. I called at her hotel just before coming here, -but she was out." - -"Yes, didn't you know? This is the afternoon of Petrovitch's concert. -She's there, with Noel." - -"Ah! Feasting her eyes and ears." - -"You'd better stay and hear Noel's account of it." She looked at her -watch. "He promised he'd come in afterwards. I'm glad he took her. It -will be an outlet for her emotions. The papers just hint that -Petrovitch is on the downward grade, Eric. Not the master that he was. -He's not very young, you know." - -"I suppose not. He wasn't a young man when she first knew him. But if -the world were to reject and despise him, Connie would cling to him all -the more. So there's no hope in that direction." - -"Oh, yes," agreed Madame Claire. "She'd pride herself on it." - -They talked for nearly half an hour, and Eric was about to go when -Dawson opened the door to announce "Master Noel." - -"Hello!" exclaimed Noel. "Two birds with one stone. That's splendid. -Greetings, Claire. I'm bursting with talk. How are you, Eric?" - -"We're bursting to hear you talk," Madame Claire told him. "Sit down and -tell us all about it." - -"Whew!" Noel stretched himself out in a chair and ran his fingers -through his hair. "I feel a bit of a rag. Concerts always make me feel -like that, but this one was rather more exhausting than usual." - -"Was it a good concert?" - -"Well, of course I'm no musician, but it seemed all right to me. -Several thousand people had come to hear the lion roar, and they all -seemed pleased with his roaring. But first of all, I wish you could -have seen Connie, complete with dark shadows under her eyes, large -black hat and a bunch of gardenias. Petrovitch saw her at once--we had -seats almost under the piano--and they exchanged soul to soul looks. -And then he sat down to play. Gosh, the fellow can play! He even had me -spellbound. As for Connie--but I leave that to your imagination. I'll -bet Petrovitch played as never before. Sees nephew sitting beside -beautiful aunt. Tries to charm aunt away from nephew. Does so--or jolly -near it. Connie sat there with her soul in her eyes. I'm sorry to have -to mention souls so often, but the narrative seems to require it. Well, -I wish you could have heard the applause. People stood up and clapped -and clapped and clapped. The gallery yelled and shouted. -Illiodor--that's his unChristian name--tore off two or three encores -and bowed and bowed, and then gazed at Connie and bowed some more, and -then finally came back and played something very tender--you know the -sort of thing--a fragment, a thought, a tear--and then gazed some more -at Connie and that was the end of it. I sat there feeling proud all the -time. Proprietary, I suppose you'd call it. Something like this: 'You -like it? Good. Oh, yes, in a way he's one of the family. Fellow my aunt -ran off with. Quite one of the family.'" - -"How absurd you are, Noel!" laughed Madame Claire. - -"And then what happened?" asked Eric. - -"Well, we got out finally and headed for home. Connie hung on my arm -like a wilted flower, and I can tell you, she's no light weight. I -couldn't possibly put her in a 'bus in the state she was in--I have -some sense of the fitness of things--so we took a taxi and she sat in -it with her hands clasped and her eyes fixed before her, murmuring, -'Wasn't he divine, divine!' I felt that the situation was becoming a -bit too tense, so I said, 'Yes, he's all right, but I think Grock's -more amusing.' But it didn't annoy her a bit. She just kept on rocking -herself and murmuring, 'Divine, divine!'" - -"Did you leave her in that state?" Eric inquired. - -"Oh, she won't recover for several days. When we got back to the hotel -she thanked me as if I'd saved her from drowning--I didn't tell her it -was all your idea, Claire--and said she'd carry the memory of that -afternoon in her heart forever. I wonder? I'm pretty sure she will see -him, or write to him. But there's one thing about Connie--she's honest. -She won't see him and not tell me. I can trust her for that." - -Later on the conversation turned on Major Crosby. Madame Claire asked -Noel if he had seen him. - -"Oh, about that," said Noel. "I went to see his doctor ... the nice old -fellow who came in that night; and I asked him to please send the bill -to me. 'Bill?' he said. 'What bill?' When I said 'Major Crosby's,' he -clapped me on the back and said, 'I don't send bills to the man who -risked his life to get my son out of a shell-hole, under fire.' So now -we know. He seems to think the world of Chip." - -"Ah," said Madame Claire. "Yes, gallant.... I knew that. I hope he comes -to see me." - -"He said he meant to when I saw him last." - -"I seem to be the only one of the family who hasn't met him," said Eric. -"What do the others think of him?" - -"Well," Noel told him, "Gordon didn't think anything--or anyhow, didn't -say. Helen liked him--she's a good sort when she wants to be, and talks -about having him meet influential people--publishers, I suppose she -means. Mother said he wasn't connected with any Crosbys she ever heard -of, and dad looked him up in _Who's Who_ and not finding him asked me -how long I'd known him and what clubs he belonged to. Connie thinks -he's quite charming, but doesn't understand women! Yes, I thought you'd -smile. But what I want to know is, what does Judy think of him?" - -"She's rather interested," said Madame Claire. "What do you think of -him yourself, Noel?" - -"One of the decentest fellows I ever knew." - -"But hasn't a bob, I understand," remarked Eric. "Judy's a brave girl -if she doesn't funk it. If only she had something of her own...." - -Madame Claire nodded. - -"Yes, that would make all the difference. However, I'm certain nothing's -been said, and I rather think nothing will be said, unless ..." But she -changed her mind about finishing her sentence. - -"And what's your own news, Noel?" asked Eric. "Have you settled -everything with Teal, about going to Germany?" - -"Yes, thanks to you. Reparations Committee. And I haven't spoken a word -of German, except to Hun prisoners during the war, since I was at -school. I don't think it's my line, but the screw's fair, and it ought -to be interesting, and besides, there aren't too many things going for -a poor cripple. I like Cecil Teal, in spite of his name." - -"When do you go?" Madame Claire asked. - -"In three weeks. Do you think Judy'll be back?" - -"I'm certain she'll come back." - -"That's all right, then. Well, I must be off. Coming my way, Eric? I'm -going to the club." - -As they were leaving, Madame Claire called Noel back. - -"Noel, tell Connie that I want to see her to-morrow or the next day. As -soon as she's recovered. And, Eric, you'll let me know about Louise, -won't you? She's not to go without saying good-by to me ... if she does -go." - -"Oh, she's going," he said. "My wife," he explained, turning to Noel, -"finds life with me intolerable." - -"Well, there's divorce, thank Heaven!" Noel said. "I always feel about -marriage and divorce the way I feel about those illuminated signs in -theaters--the exits, you know, in case of fire. One simply wouldn't go -into a theater unless they were there." - -"In this case, however," said Madame Claire, "there isn't going to be a -fire, and Eric's only seen the first act of the play. Good night, my -dears." - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -Judy's letter was followed by one from Stephen. Madame Claire felt that -it was from some one very close at hand. He seemed to be coming nearer -to her daily, and she no longer visualized him as separated from her by -so many miles of land and water. He was accessible now. They were more -readily accessible to each other by thoughts. She felt more confidence -in his health, too, and in his determination to come to England again. -She had been wise in sending Judy to him! - - "_It's amazing,_" Stephen wrote, "_how much there is of you in Judy. - She has your way of understanding what one wants to say almost - before one has said it. She doesn't make me feel an old man. We - talk as equals. She is very human and is gifted with real humor, - which means that she enjoys the humorous side of mankind. I think - that her not very happy youth--for it's obvious that she has been - far from happy at home--has given her a certain depth and insight._ - - "_She is much amused by an old friend of mine, an American named - Colebridge. We met years ago in the Argentine, and he considers - that he has reason to be grateful for something in the past. - Together, the two are a source of great entertainment to me. Judy - becomes every moment more British, and he--well, he couldn't become - more American. He admires Judy enormously, and I think he is ready - to lay a not inconsiderable fortune at her feet. I wish I could - remember their talk. Yesterday we motored to Grasse, and coming - home we passed peasants returning from their work in the fields. - Simple, contented people, with clothes colored like the earth._ - - "_'In America,' says Mr. Colebridge, 'all these folks would own - Fords.'_ - - "_'Then thank God for Europe!' says Judy; and so they go on, until - at last Mr. Colebridge turns to me and says, 'Say, I guess I'm - ready to agree to anything Miss Pendleton says. She's got more - sense than any woman I ever met.' Which takes the wind out of - Judy's sails. They make me feel years younger. Colebridge wears - the most Philistine clothes, and never looks at the scenery. He - sees nothing._ - - "_Judy often goes to the Casino, and she tells me she saw Chiozzi - there last night. He was with Mlle. Pauline, whom Judy describes as - a most exquisite creature. She was struck with the contrast between - them--Chiozzi so dark and hideous, and the woman so fair and - pretty--and she asked some one who they were. She says Chiozzi is - extremely jealous and was constantly watching his companion. She - also says that he was losing a great deal of money--Connie's money, - perhaps?--at the tables. He has left this hotel, so I never see him - now._ - - "_Miss McPherson seems to think I will be able to travel in less - than a month. A month, Claire! Only thirty days. It's nothing. And - yet, it's an eternity. I might have another stroke--no, no! I feel - sure I won't. Not with Judy here. I think it was sheer boredom that - brought it on before. That, and a hopeless feeling that I should - never quite reach you. Now I seem to have accomplished half the - journey._ - - "_I have said nothing to Judy as yet about a settlement. It is a - difficult subject, and I feel I must tread lightly. All the same, - I mean to have my way. If the young deny us these pleasures, what - is left for us? Of course, if she were to marry Colebridge she - wouldn't want it, but that I feel almost certain she will not do. - They are poles apart. It's not because of their nationality. It's - because of their outlook on life. It wouldn't do. If Judy were - less sensitive, less feeling, less intelligent, it might._ - - "_Well, I am aweary of this eternal sunshine. And when the sun does - not shine, it all seems very drab. One is constantly reminded here - of too much that is rich--and gross. And yet it is lovely, I - suppose, very lovely._ - - "_It's you I want, Claire, and London. For the first time in my life - I'm unspeakably, unutterably homesick. I long to see the rain on - London streets, the lamps' yellow eyes through the deep blue haze - and smoke. I want crocuses and primroses instead of mimosa. I want - little, homely, decorous shops, and people who put on their clothes - merely to cover them and to keep warm. I want your fireside and you - and Dawson, and crumpets for tea. What an old fool I am! I would - like to hear the old talk of the London that I knew; these memoirs, - that play, such and such a speech; what So and So said to Blank - when he met him in the lobby of the House; who is talked of as the - next Speaker. I hardly dare look at the papers, Claire, for then I - know how many years there are between the old talk and the talk of - to-day. The jingle of hansom bells seem to run through it all, and - faint, forgotten old tunes._ - - "_But it will all be preserved, summed up, epitomized in you. I will - find it all again in you._ - - "_It is Judy who has brought back this love of London. It is she who - has made it fresh again._ - - "_She says your hair is perfectly white. How pretty it must be!_ - - "_Good-by! I grow verbose, lachrymose, and comatose._ - - "STEPHEN." - -Well, he would find London changed, though it had changed less than -most Western cities. But he would find that it had retained its old -character even though it had assumed new manners. And after all, why -pretend that it had not improved? It had improved. It was easier to get -about now than it had been in Stephen's day. There was more to do. -There was less misery among the poor. One needn't feel so suicidal on -Sundays. There were better shops, better libraries, and--yes--more and -better books. Better preachers in the pulpits, too, better food, better -music, better teachers in the schools. And if one regretted the hansom -bells and the old tunes, that was because one regretted one's youth, -and the friends of one's youth. But the present couldn't be blamed for -that. The present was full of promise, let the old fogies say what they -pleased. The sea was rougher, perhaps, but the port was nearer ... and -after all, seasickness wasn't often fatal, and was very often -beneficial. Not that there weren't alarming symptoms--there were.... - -Stephen and she could still go to the Temple and see the old, unchanged -gray stones, and the vivid grass making a carpet for the delicate feet -of spring when she visited London; and she loved to visit London, that -beloved guest, as though she delighted in contrasting her fleeting and -perennial loveliness with what was gray and immutable. The old, slow -river, too, and the towers of Westminster--they could look at them and -see little change there. - -And after all, they hadn't stood still themselves. They had gone on. -If they hadn't, she wouldn't have fitted into the picture to-day, as -she knew she did, nor would Stephen have found so much in common with -Judy. No, she had long ago said good-by to the hansom bells and the -bustles and the bad doctors and the inferior plumbing--let's be -honest--and the extremely uncomfortable traveling, and she had said -good-by without regret. - -She was writing to him the following afternoon, putting these thoughts -on paper while they were still fresh in her mind, when Major Crosby -called. She had hoped he would come. Certainly he wouldn't go to Eaton -Square for news of Judy. He would come to her. She wondered how far he -would commit himself. Here was another simple man, but simple in a -different way from Eric's way. Major Crosby's was the simplicity of the -hermit, Eric's of the clear thinking man of action who had no use for -subtleties. She hoped he would feel that he could unburden himself to a -woman of her age. - -That, evidently, was one of the things he had come for. Madame Claire -wanted to be able to make up her mind about him to-day. She had liked -him before, but to-day she hoped to be able to say, "Yes, that's the -man for Judy." - -He very soon asked for news of her. - -"She's being extraordinarily good for my old friend Stephen de Lisle," -she told him. "It's well, Major Crosby, to keep one's hold on the -present generation. Mr. de Lisle had almost lost his, and he was -slipping back. That's why I sent Judy to him." - -"Will she be back in time to see her brother before he goes?" he asked. - -"Oh, yes, I'm sure of it. She'll be very lonely without Noel." - -What nice eyes the man had! Blue-gray eyes, rather misty, like the eyes -of a kitten or a baby. The face was serious--a little too serious, she -thought. She liked it though. It was a good face. She liked the thin, -rather aquiline nose, the close-cut, brown mustache, the mouth with its -expression of peculiar sweetness. She could picture him performing acts -of curious bravery, unconscious of any heroism. A man who could study -Druidism in the trenches!... But life was passing him by, as it would -pass Judy by, unless she made up her mind to grasp it. - -"Tell me," she said, "how nearly finished is that prodigious book of -yours?" - -"It's practically done. I'm still polishing it up though. It won't be -a popular book, Lady Gregory. In fact I think it will be very -unpopular." - -"With whom will it be unpopular?" - -"Oh, with people who lay much stress upon ritual and creed. I think -they will dislike knowing how much of the pagan ritual has come down -to us, and how closely our own beliefs are bound up with those of -savage peoples. And there are others who don't like hearing that -Christianity is, comparatively speaking, modern, and that there are -other vastly more ancient revelations. And there are people who won't -like what I've said about the belief in reincarnation, nor be willing -to accede an important place to the so-called modern religions, such as -Christian Science, New Thought, and Spiritualism. The book will be -banned, undoubtedly, by one great church, and public libraries will -think twice before circulating it. And yet I had to write it, and I'm -glad I've written it. I only wish it were fuller and more convincing. -It lacks what print must always lack--the power to persuade." - -"And you wish to persuade us ... of what?" - -"The need for tolerance." - -"You think we are still intolerant? And yet there are plenty of people -who say we have grown too tolerant." - -He shook his head. - -"There is only one tolerance that I deplore." - -"And that is?" - -"Tolerance toward the man who believes in nothing at all." - -"Why have you singled out that unfortunate?" - -"Because we have much to fear from him." He got up and stood with his -back to the fire. "When men believe in nothing, they rot. If history -teaches us anything, it teaches us that. The world has had its greatest -moments at the times of its greatest faith. Then when belief goes, the -decline begins. But first these people who believe in nothing set up -idols of their own making. They call them by fine names--liberty, -perhaps, or communism, or the freedom of the proletariat, or the -gospel of anarchy, or mob rule. But they very soon tire of worshiping -even them. Then fear enters their hearts. They believe in no hereafter -and no god. They see that life here is short and uncertain. They see -that there are good things in the world--fine food, fine clothes, -money, power. They want the cash. The credit can go. The people who -lay up treasures in heaven are fools. Well then, let them lay up their -treasures in heaven--and let them go after them. They themselves mean -to have what they can see, feel, touch, smell. They begin trampling, -stampeding, cursing. Get, get, get, they cry. What do they attack -first? The churches. Away with restraint, away with rules, away with -sickly faith. They want more concrete things and they mean to get them. -Then blood incites them further. They kill and kill and kill. Killing -and grabbing--they are occupied with nothing else. Some for the sake -of appearances or because they like the sound of words go about -shouting their phrases. But sooner or later they turn on each other; -or their followers, sick of blood, turn upon them. And then, when there -is a little peace, faith creeps back into people's hearts again, and a -belief in God. And they wonder how the madness came, and they try to -wipe out the blood stains and live sanely again. And they go back to -work in the fields and stop hating each other. Perhaps they have -learned something. Not always. But they have got tolerance again, and -a belief. And with those two things they can begin once more. To -believe in something beyond this world, to have faith in the destiny -of the soul ... that's everything." - -He looked at her, suddenly abashed. - -"I've been talking to you," he said, "as if I were addressing a -meeting. I'm so sorry." - -"I've liked it. Go on. So your book shows----" - -"Shows that any faith is good. Shows that all beliefs are so -intermingled that they are almost inextricable. It shows that what -matters is their common foundation--the belief in a Divine Creator. -Without these various revelations that are the foundations of religion, -the world would have been chaos. Destroy them, and the world will be -chaos. Christianity is the light on the path of the Western world. -Other worlds, other lights. But to say that we can walk without light, -or to shut our eyes and say there is no light--that is the great -insanity, the great evil." - -"Yes, I think that's true," she agreed. - -"I'm not a religious fellow, in the ordinary sense of the word," he -explained, "and yet I'm more interested in religion than in any other -subject. I do go to church, but more as a student than a worshiper. I -like to think about the psychology of a congregation, and the -possible--the probable benefits of worshiping all together in a -building with four walls and a roof." - -It wasn't so difficult, after all, to draw him out. She liked making -him talk. And when she thought she had drawn him out enough she rang -for tea. - -"Of course this work of yours is tremendously interesting, but at the -same time I feel more than ever that you need diversions. The dancing -wasn't altogether a success, I gathered." - -"No," he agreed, smiling, "I'm afraid it wasn't. But when we were -discussing hobbies the other day, I forgot to tell you that I had -another, besides religions. And that's the stage." - -Madame Claire laughed. - -"You extraordinary man! What aspect of the stage?" - -"I like writing plays. I've written several, but I don't think they're -any good and I've never tried to do anything with them. I don't think -my people would be real--especially the women. I wonder--I'd -like--would you read them some time? You're critical, but you're very -kind, too." - -"I long to read them! Bring them. The sooner the better. I love plays -and I love the theater, and though my criticisms may not be valuable, -you shall have them. I often wish Judy had gone on the stage. She has -the looks and she has talent, too. But of course it would have killed -her parents." - -It was then that he took the plunge. She had felt for some time that he -was preparing to take it. - -"Miss Pendleton," he said, "is the only woman I have ever met who has -made me wish I were a rich man--or a successful man. Not that she would -consider me if I were." - -"I'm beginning to think you're human!" cried Madame Claire. "The stage; -and now you're in love with Judy. I'm delighted, Major Crosby! -Delighted. Now we have two excellent diversions for you. Plays, and -love." - -Her old eyes twinkled. - -"But I've no talent for either." - -"Oh, let some one else judge of that! Let Judy judge." - -He looked somewhat confused. - -"Perhaps I shouldn't have said what I did." - -"Why not? I sha'n't give you away." - -"If I had any prospects at all ..." - -"It's amazing," she interrupted, "how strong and how weak men can be! -There's my son Eric, for instance. A born fighter. In war, in politics, -no compromise. But in love--in love he has the courage of a ... of a -schoolgirl. If he had only _managed_ his wife! What he needs is a -course in nettle-grasping. And so do you, Major Crosby." - -"But I don't think for a minute that Miss Pendleton----" - -He paused, hoping, she saw, that she would help him out. - -"That Miss Pendleton is interested?" - -"Oh, interested ... she might be, just a little, out of the kindness of -her heart." - -"Major Crosby, let me tell you that women are only kind when it gives -them pleasure to be kind. A woman will rarely put herself out, I'm -afraid, for a man who bores her." - -"But even if she were--interested--even if she did think twice about -me, which I find it very difficult to believe, I've nothing whatever to -offer her." - -"You mean you can't offer her money." - -"That's only one of the things I haven't got." - -He stood in front of the fire again, as if to give himself the -advantage of higher ground. He wanted to be convincing even while he -hoped to be convinced. - -"All I ask you to do," said Madame Claire, "is, for your own sake, to -give yourself a chance. There are obstacles, admittedly, but don't begin -by throwing up earthworks as well. Don't _make_ obstacles. Mind you, -I'm not encouraging you. I only know that Judy likes you more than she -likes most people. Beyond that I'm completely in the dark. Yes, -Dawson?" - -"Please, m'lady," said Dawson from the doorway, "can you see Miss -Connie?" - -"Yes. Ask her to come in. No, don't go, Major Crosby. You've met my -daughter, Countess Chiozzi." - -"I must go," he said, holding out his hand. "But I'd like to come again -soon, if I may." - -"If you don't," she said, smiling up at him, "I shall think I have -lectured you too much. And the plays--don't forget them!" - -He exchanged a few words with Connie as he passed her in the hall, and -she was graciously polite to him. She never forgot for an instant, in -the presence of a man, that she was a charming woman. After she had -kissed her mother, however, she felt that a remonstrance was -justifiable. - -"Mother, you're not encouraging that man, I hope?" - -"No, Connie, my dear, I assure you I'm not. I think that the difference -in our ages is really too great." - -"Oh, mother! I meant for Judy, of course." - -"Ah! But before I answer that, let me tell you of something Eric and I -thought of a few days ago. Something to do with you." - -Before Connie had left her, an hour later, she had agreed to give up -her rooms at the hotel as soon as Noel went to Germany, and go and keep -house for Eric. - -She had been wondering how she was going to bear her life after Noel -left, she said. - -"If Eric really wants me, of course I'll go. I'm not a very good -housekeeper, I'm afraid. I'm so out of practice." - -"It will be a change for him," Madame Claire told her. "Louise is -rather too good. She fusses. And besides, Eric won't be difficult. He -has very simple tastes." - -"I think," said Connie, "that from what I've heard, I shall be a better -hostess than his wife has been." - -"I'm convinced of it," answered Madame Claire. - -When Connie had gone, she telephoned at once to Eric, to tell him what -she had done. - -"It's so obviously the best thing all round," he agreed, "that I simply -never thought of it. If it suits Connie, it suits me." - -"It suits Connie very well. But of course you'll say nothing to Louise. -It will be time enough for her to know when she's settled comfortably -at Mistley." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Two weeks later the following letter came from Judy: - - "_Dearest Claire,_ - - "_This is the last letter I'll write to you from here, as I'm coming - home so soon now. I wish I could bring Stephen with me, but Miss - McPherson says he won't be ready to travel for another week or so, - and of course I want to be back in time to spend a few days with - Noel before he goes. But Stephen is wonderfully better and quite - light-hearted, and, at the prospect of seeing you, light-headed._ - - "_Things have been happening here. Many things._ - - "_In the first place we heard this morning that a Count - Somebody--our informant, Mr. Colebridge, couldn't remember the - name--had been found murdered on the Upper Corniche Road. He says - it was an Italian name, and he is going to find out all he can - about it. I'm almost certain it will prove to be Chiozzi. He was - so fearfully jealous of that little dancer Mlle. Pauline. I can - quite imagine that he might have tried to kill her and that she - might have stabbed him in self-defense. The body, they say--or Mr. - Colebridge says--was dropped from a motor. They have a great way - of hushing things up here, but we will try to find out all about - it. Won't Connie adore being a widow again? Of course you won't - say anything to anybody yet, as it would be so awfully - disappointing if it should turn out to be some one else. How - callous I am! But if you could have seen him----!_ - - "_Well, Stephen and I have been seeing life, and rolling about in - Mr. Colebridge's car. The man won't take no for an answer when it - comes to going out with him. Yesterday we went to the most - wonderful little town--Gourdon, its name was--perched on top of a - mountain, like an eagle, and looking over the Mediterranean for - endless miles. I saw Italy, and I'm not at all sure I didn't see - Africa. It was really the place of my dreams; the town fifteenth - century, I imagine. I was in heaven there. I ran away from Mr. - Colebridge and looked over the edge alone--down into the olive - orchards. Not a sound but the cooing of pigeons and the far away - tinkle of mule bells. And then Mr. C. came, with his cigar in his - mouth and his black coat on, and talked about running a funicular - up the mountain and having a first-class hotel on the top. I - couldn't speak. Coming to earth with such a bump as that was too - much for me. He mistook my silence for something else, and when I - saw him take off his hat and remove his cigar from his mouth, I - knew what was coming. I'm afraid I was rather ruthless. If he - hadn't called me 'little girl' I might have been kinder. At any - rate I fled back to Stephen who couldn't climb the hill leading to - the town; and left Mr. Colebridge gazing into space. Probably - planning where the funicular should go. No, that's unfair. Anyhow, - I left him, and when he joined us he was silent for once. I do like - him, but marry him--oh, no, no! He has made me fall in love with - all modest, shy men. With all poor, unlucky men. With any one, in - fact, who is sensitive and perceptive._ - - "_Success isn't attractive in itself. It has to be offset by other - attributes. It can't be good for any one to own as many things as - Mr. Colebridge owns. A railroad, endless shares in companies, - factories, businesses, even theaters--no, he isn't a Jew. He's - terrific. I should be just a thing to hang clothes on. He doesn't - know anything about me. I don't believe he knows what color my eyes - are._ - - "_He has helped me to make up my mind about Major Crosby, who has - written me several charming letters. I've written him very nice - ones in return; as nice as I dared to write. And, oh, Claire! What - do you think Stephen means to do? He means to settle something on - me! I don't know exactly how much. But think of it! So that I can - marry a poor man or no one at all, just as I like. I can be - independent. I can't believe it yet. I think I shall marry Chip - with it, if what he tries not to say in his letters is true._ - - "_Mr. Colebridge is coming to London, about the same time that I am. - Business, he says. I only hope he doesn't take the same train. I've - been very definite, but his epidermis is thick. He says he is - anxious to meet you. One of the nice things about him is that he - admires Stephen._ - - "_Good-by, Claire. I will see you soon. Thanks to you and to - Stephen, I feel that life is just beginning for me._ - - "_Devotedly,_ - - "JUDY." - -Very satisfactory, thought Madame Claire. No one wants gratitude--no -one, except, perhaps, a bully--but when one does get it, how it warms -the heart! - -Callous or not, she couldn't help hoping, like Judy, that the murdered -Italian might prove to be Connie's entirely superfluous husband. No -other man, she felt, could so thoroughly deserve to die such a death, -if half the things Connie had told of him were true. And Connie was not -an untruthful woman. He was too evil to live ... too evil to die, -perhaps, but his fate in the next world concerned her less than his -activities in this. - -Then one more letter from Stephen--the last, he said, from Cannes. -"D.V.," murmured Madame Claire as she read the words. - - "_You don't know what you did for me when you lent me Judy,_" he - wrote. "_She has grown very dear to me, and I have persuaded her, I - think, to let me settle something on her. As I pointed out to her, - if you had married me, as she often says you ought to have done, - she would have been, to all practical purposes, my granddaughter. - My wants are simple, and I have only my niece Monica and Miss - McPherson to think of, and they are already arranged for. Judy has - given me an added interest in life, and as I tell her, I feel I'm - buying shares in the coming generation. I have every faith in the - company and mean to be godfather to all the dividends. You see I - am taking it for granted that she will marry the fellow she ran - over. If she doesn't marry him she will need some money of her own - all the more. The child says I have poured every good gift into her - lap!_ - - "_Well, well, I wish I could come back with her, but that tyrant - McPherson says no. It will not be long though, Claire, I promise - you. I am living on anticipation--unsatisfying fare. You don't - suppose, do you, that I shall have to go on living on it? You don't - suppose that anything could happen to prevent it? What a worrying - old fool I am! Of course it can't and won't._ - - "_Connie is a widow! Perhaps this is not breaking it gently, but - personally I think it is excellent news. Chiozzi died from a stab - over the heart. He was motoring from Cannes to Monte Carlo at night - along the Upper Corniche Road in Mlle. Pauline's car. That is all - that is known. The lady, her maid, her car and her chauffeur have - vanished. I think Judy prepared you for this. Will you tell Connie? - Perhaps she has already heard through her solicitors in Paris. I - don't think she will grieve._ - - "_I hope that a telegram to say I am leaving will be the next word - you receive from me. Pray that it may._ - - "_Yours,_ - - "STEPHEN." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Judy reached London at ten o'clock one night, tired but in the best of -spirits. She felt that she was returning, thanks to Stephen, to a new -life. Eaton Square no longer seemed to her a prison. Money had opened -the doors of that solemn house. Millie's powers of suppression and -repression had been lessened. Noel's departure for Germany no longer -hung over her like a tragedy. What was there to prevent her going to -see him half way through that interminable year? - -She felt that she had never appreciated money before. It cut binding -ropes like a knife. It gave one seven league boots. A pair of wings, -too. People who belittled its powers were either hypocrites or fools. -Why did old people prefer to make young people glad when they were dead -instead of glad while they were alive? - -After helping to disentangle her luggage, Noel took her back to the -dark house in Eaton Square. A light had been left burning half way up -the stairs, but Millie, as a protest against this trip that she had -never approved of--"It isn't as though Mr. de Lisle were a relation," -she had frequently said--had gone early to bed, followed by her -obedient John. - -The two crept up to Judy's room and talked until nearly two. Noel heard -all about Cannes and about the people she had met there, including Mr. -Colebridge, whom he at once decided he wanted to know. - -"He's coming to London in a few days," said Judy, "so your wish may be -granted." - -Finally he consented to talk about himself. He had heard that -afternoon that their departure had been postponed and that they were -not leaving for a week--he and his chief with the ridiculous name. He -thought he was going to like the job, and it was wonderful how his -German was beginning to come back to him at the very thought of the -journey. - -"The only drawback to the whole thing," he said, "is the feeling that -I'm leaving you to fight your battles alone." - -That was the moment she had waited for. She told him why she was not -utterly dashed to earth by his going. His delight was equal to her -own. - -"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Stephen's an old sportsman! I wish there -were more like him. I can hardly wait to tell him what I think of him. -Judy, with an income of her own! What will you do with it besides -coming to see me?" - -She hesitated, and then said flushing but meeting his eyes -courageously: - -"I'm thinking of marrying Chip with it, Noel." - -He wasn't altogether astonished, nor did he pretend to be; but -although he had discussed that possibility with her more or less -seriously before, he felt he ought now point out its very obvious -drawbacks. It would mean an arduous life, with few pleasures. - -"I'm almost afraid to encourage you to do it, old girl," he said. -"Only I like him so much. He may be a dreamer, and he may be -unpractical, and that book of his may not be worth the paper it's -written on, for all I know. But I do know that he's one of the very -best fellows I ever met. One of the very best. And he's hard hit." - -"It's awful--this deciding," said Judy. "That's where Claire and -Stephen have the advantage of us. They can just live from day to day -and take what the gods bring. And if they don't bring anything--well, -they've lived. But this not knowing what to do with your life--this -trying to make the most of it and not knowing how--it's hell, -sometimes." - -"Poor old Judy! 'Standing with reluctant feet----' Is that it? But I -know what you mean." - -"Tell me," she said, "are you sure, are you absolutely sure that -Chip----?" - -"Is hard hit? Good Lord! A baby could have seen it. All the same you'll -have your work cut out for you. He's so terribly modest. He doesn't -seem to think that you or any other woman would give him a thought." - -Later she remembered that she had news for him, and wondered how she -could have forgotten it. - -"Noel, I meant to have told you before. About Chiozzi. You haven't -heard, have you?" - -"Chiozzi? No. What about him?" - -"He's dead. He was stabbed--by that pretty dancer, Mlle. Pauline, they -think." - -Noel looked concerned. - -"That's the worst news I've heard in a long time." - -"The worst? What do you mean?" - -"It's most upsetting, in fact. Connie told me the other day that -Petrovitch's second wife, an American, had just divorced him." - -"Well? I'm not surprised at that." - -"Well, don't you see? She'll marry Petrovitch now, and be miserable -forever after." - -"Marry him?" Judy was incredulous. "She wouldn't be such a fool." - -"Ho! Wouldn't she? You don't know your Aunt Constance as well as I do. -And I won't be here to prevent it. Hang it all! I wish Chiozzi hadn't -got himself done in just now." - -"Let's not tell her," suggested Judy. - -"That's no good. She's probably heard from her solicitors in Paris -already. I haven't seen her for two or three days. She's at -Eastbourne and won't be back till the day after to-morrow. What's to -be done now, I wonder? I never guessed that a fallen aunt would be -such a responsibility." - -"But," said Judy, "suppose she does marry Petrovitch. Wouldn't that be -a solution, in a way?" - -Noel's jaw looked uncompromisingly firm at that moment. - -"Not in the way I would like. Connie's a fool, but she's not bad. -Petrovitch is a brute. If she marries him she's done for, for good." - -"Leave it to Claire. She'll find a way to stop it." - -"No, she won't. She can't. I've got more influence with Connie than -anybody, but if she sees a chance of marrying Petrovitch she won't -listen to me, even." - -He sat for a moment lost in thought, then looked at his watch. - -"Well, this wants thinking out. Get to bed, Judy. You're dead tired. -I hope they're pleasant to you at breakfast. They seemed to think you -had no right to go away and enjoy yourself." - -"What will they say when they hear I've accepted this settlement from -Stephen?" - -"You leave them to me," he said. - -Judy kissed him. - -"Good night, you wonderfullest of brothers!" - - * * * * * * - -Three days later, Judy was at Madame Claire's when Mr. Colebridge was -announced. - -"I knew he'd come," she whispered. - -He came, looking exactly as he had looked at Cannes. His heavy and -rather expressionless face never lost its look of solemn -imperturbability. No smile disturbed his features at sight of Judy, -though he could not have known he would meet her there. Madame Claire -extended a hand with lace at the wrist. - -"Mr. Colebridge! How nice of you to come and see an old lady! I've -heard so much about you from Mr. de Lisle and my granddaughter that -I feel I know you quite well." - -He took her hand. - -"It's real kind of you to welcome me like this." He turned to Judy. -"Well, Miss Pendleton, I'm glad to see you got here safe and sound. -Cannes seemed sorter dead after you left it, so I made up my mind to -pull up stakes and quit." - -"But you had to come on business," she reminded him. - -"That's so. There's a lot of different kinds of business. Seems as if -I kinder knew you too, Lady Gregory. Say, I'm just cracked about that -old Mr. de Lisle. He sure is a fine old gentleman." - -"I think he's rather nice," agreed Madame Claire. "You saw him the most -recently. Tell us how he was?" - -"Just living for the day when he can get back here. But improving right -along. I said to him, 'Mr. de Lisle,' I said, 'I guess you'll pine away -if you don't get to London soon.' And that's just what he'd do. He'd -pine away. Mind if I smoke a cigar, Lady Gregory?" - -"No, no. Do smoke. You were very kind to him and to Judy there. She's -told me about the delightful trips you took." - -"Well, say, it was a pleasure. I don't take much stock in scenery. I -like to have folks to talk to. Maybe we can take some rides around -London later on, Miss Pendleton." - -Judy was surprised. Surely she had made herself clear. Or was it that -he merely wished to continue friendly relations? She replied evasively, -and Madame Claire changed the subject for her. - -"How long will you be in London?" she asked. - -"A matter of six months or so, I shouldn't wonder. I'm not figuring on -going back just yet. We've got some factories over here that I want to -look into, and I may run over to Paris later on." - -"Do you know London at all?" - -"No, but my chauffeur does, so I don't worry. I picked up an English -chauffeur in Cannes, Miss Pendleton. The French fellow I had wouldn't -leave his wife and family, and anyway, he didn't speak any language -that I could understand. But with this English chauffeur, if I listen -real carefully, I can pick up a word now and then." - -They laughed at this. Madame Claire felt that she was going to enjoy -Mr. Colebridge. - -"You seem to be interested in a great many things," she remarked -presently. "Didn't I understand Judy to say that the theater was one -of them?" - -"Only from a business point of view," he explained. "I don't claim to -know anything about the stage. But when I see that a certain theater -is about to go smash because it's been managed by a lot of bone-heads, -why, I don't mind lending a hand. I practically own one in New York, -and one in Cincinnati. There's another one in New York that looks like -getting into difficulties pretty soon." - -"Ah! And then you step in. But does that mean that you can put on -certain plays, and have an actual voice in the production of them?" - -"Well, I don't concern myself much with that side of it. I don't know -a good play from a bad one. I like a good lively show now and then. -But if I wanted a certain play put on, I'd get it put on, all right." - -Judy wondered why it was that financial weight and an understanding of -the arts so seldom went hand in hand. Madame Claire pursued a line of -thought of her own for a moment or two while Mr. Colebridge enlarged -upon his powers. - -And then, most unexpectedly, Dawson opened the door and announced -Major Crosby. - -How strange that those two men should meet, thought Judy! She -remembered telling Claire in one of her letters that it was impossible -to imagine two men less alike. And now that she saw them together she -knew that what she had said was true. - -Major Crosby was introduced to Mr. Colebridge, who was pleased to make -his acquaintance, and Madame Claire ordered tea. - -"This is a wonderful afternoon for me," she said. "I don't often have -so many visitors. It's very exciting." - -It didn't take Chip more than a second or two to place the other -caller. Judy had mentioned an American she had met in Cannes, and lo! -Here he was. She had only been home two or three days. He hadn't -waited very long before following after. Judy tried to talk to him, -but Mr. Colebridge had the floor and meant to keep it. Chip retired -into his shell--that haven of refuge from which he seldom advanced -very far in company--and contented himself with looking and listening. -He looked chiefly at Judy. She was looking very lovely, he thought. -No wonder that people followed her from Cannes to London. Powerful, -authoritative-looking people, who booked large outside cabins on ocean -liners as a matter of course, and always gravitated to the most -expensive hotels. What a fool he had been! This man could give her -everything. Why not, as he seemed to own it? What was he saying? - -"So I told them I wasn't having any. I told them I had all the irons -in the fire I wanted. It was a good thing all right, but say, what's -the good of any more money to me? I've got all I want right now. And -if I ever do make any more, it will be just to turn it over to my wife -if I've got one"--he looked straight at Judy as he said it--"and say, -'There you are. It's yours to do as you like with. Throw it away, spend -it, it's all the same to me. So long as you have a good time with it, -and it makes you happy.'" - -"And of course it will," said Judy with faint sarcasm. - -"Sure it will," he agreed, taking her words at their face value. "I -guess it's what every woman wants. Isn't that so, Lady Gregory?" - -Madame Claire regarded him seriously. - -"You never can tell, Mr. Colebridge," she said. "Women are the most -unaccountable creatures. Sometimes it takes more than money to make -them happy." - -"Oh, well," Mr. Colebridge defended the sex, "when it comes to -unreasonableness, I guess men aren't all reasonable either." - -Judy glanced at Chip, hoping to catch a twinkle of amusement in his -eye, but he was looking at Mr. Colebridge. - -Chip stayed for an hour or more, saying very little, seeming to prefer -listening to talking. - -"You make me such very short visits," complained Madame Claire when he -got up to go. "I hardly have time to say five words to you before -you're off again. But perhaps you'll pay me another visit soon." - -"My plans are rather unsettled just now," said Chip vaguely. "May I -ring you up one day?" - -"Yes, do." - -He turned to Judy. - -"Tell me," she asked as she took his hand, "are you perfectly well -again? No more of those headaches?" - -"Oh, yes, I'm as well as ever, thank you. I've almost forgotten that -it ever happened--I mean as far as the injuries are concerned." - -Judy smiled at him, sorry because she knew he felt he had said -something stupid. - -"Noel wants to see you, too. We must meet again soon." - -"I want to see him. I'll write. It's just possible that I may go away -soon, but I'll let you know." - -He said good-by to Mr. Colebridge, who shook him by the hand, and in a -moment he was gone. - -"Could anything," Judy asked herself, "be more unsatisfactory?" - -She stayed half an hour longer, hoping for a few words alone with -Madame Claire, but as Mr. Colebridge made no move she presently got up -to go. - -"Good-by, Claire, dear. Let me know the moment you get a wire from -Stephen." - -Mr. Colebridge also rose. - -"My car's outside," he said. "I trust you'll allow me to drop you at -your home, Miss Pendleton." - -She was about to refuse on the grounds that she wanted a walk, but -thought better of it. It would be a good opportunity for a few words -with him. She kissed Madame Claire, and Mr. Colebridge, after -announcing his intention of coming again soon, followed her out. - -The same car, a different chauffeur, and very different surroundings. -Mr. Colebridge, however, was as unchanged as his car. - -"That's a lovely old lady," he remarked as they left the hotel. - -"Isn't she wonderful?" - -"I hope," he said, "that we can sorter meet there often. I don't mind -telling you, Miss Pendleton, that when I say I'm here on business, that -business is partly you. I don't get easily cast down. I kinder bob up -again. Now," he went on as she tried to interrupt, "I hope, little -girl, that you're going to reconsider. I'm here to try to persuade you -to reconsider." - -"It's quite out of the question, Mr. Colebridge. I told you so before. -Do, please, believe me this time." - -"It's that voice of yours that gets me," he replied. "You'd make a hit -in America, all right." - -"You're hopeless!" she exclaimed. "I simply don't understand American -men. But perhaps they're not all like you. You won't _learn_ anything! -It's like ... it's like trying to teach an elephant to dance." - -"Go ahead. Don't mind me." - -"Very well, I will. The trouble with you is, you've no diffidence. -You've never tried to see yourself as others see you. You're just Mr. -Whitman Colebridge of Cincinnati--wherever that is--and you're worth I -don't know and don't care how much, and as far as you're concerned, -that's enough. You've never asked yourself if you lack anything. -You're perfectly satisfied with yourself as you are. Perfectly. -Isn't that true?" - -He considered this, studying the end of a fresh cigar. - -"I can't see," he said, "that I'm any worse than the general run." - -"No. You don't see. You don't see anything that isn't business. You've -gone through life like a rocket, with a good deal of noise and a lot of -speed, and that's all." - -"Well, there's no harm in a rocket," he said easily. "It gives people -something to look at, and it's real pretty when it bursts." - -Judy laughed helplessly. - -"Perhaps if you'd do the same I might like you better. But at present -you're so swollen with success that you're intolerable." - -"Bully for you! That was straight from the shoulder." - -"But what's the good of it? It goes in one ear and out the other. -Well, here's something that will stick, perhaps. You met a Major -Crosby at my grandmother's this afternoon." - -"That his name? Quiet sorter fellow." - -"Yes. I'm going to marry him." - -She watched his face and saw that not a muscle of it changed. - -"That so? I guessed there must be some one. Well, you won't hear me -squeal. You've been fair and square with me, and I guess I can take my -medicine." - -"Now I'm beginning to like you better. I've liked some things about -you all the time, even when you irritated me most. I'm sorry we can't -be friends, but I see that's out of the question too." - -"I'm not so sure. I'll just stick around for a while and see what -happens, anyhow. You're the first woman who's ever taken enough -interest in me to criticize me, and I think it's a hopeful sign. You -engaged to that fellow?" - -They had reached the house in Eaton Square. - -"That," she said, shaking hands with him, "I prefer not to say." - -"Oh, well," he answered, returning to the car, "I just kinder thought -I'd ask." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Judy knocked on Noel's bedroom door before dinner the following -evening, and was invited to enter. - -"What's up?" asked Noel, who was sorting ties and socks. - -"This," she answered, displaying a letter. "The most disgusting thing's -happened." - -"What is it? It looks like Chip's writing." - -"It is. I told you he called on Claire yesterday when I was there, and -met Mr. Colebridge." - -"Yes." - -"Well, he seems to have jumped to conclusions. Listen to this. I'll -read it to you. - - "_'Dear Miss Pendleton,_ - - "_'I think I told you about a cottage my mother owned in Cornwall. - It's a very remote, quiet little place, and I've found it very - useful at different times. I think it will exactly suit my present - mood, and I'm going down there by an early train to-morrow. I hope - to be able to finish the book there. I don't seem to have been able - to get on with it lately._ - - "_'I want to thank you again for all your kindness to me, kindness - that few people would have shown to a careless individual who got - in the way of their car. I shall never forget it. There was a - time----'_ - -"Then," she broke off, "he goes on to say something about having been -foolish enough to hope something or other--I'll skip that. Then: - - "_'I think that your days of freedom and happiness are just - beginning, and I hope with all my heart that you may find in your - marriage all that you have so far missed in life. You will be - marrying a man who can give you everything--all the good things - that are so obviously yours by right._ - - "_'Will you say good-by to your brother for me? He has given me his - address in Germany, and I mean to write to him there._ - - "_'This is a stupid, stilted letter, but I feel confident that you - will understand the much that it fails to say, and forgive it its - shortcomings._ - - "_'Always yours sincerely,_ - - "'ANDREW CROSBY.' - -"Dated yesterday," she added. She put the letter back into its -envelope. "He must have left for Cornwall early this morning." - -Noel whistled. - -"Mr. Colebridge must have been a bit forthcoming yesterday." - -"Forthcoming isn't the word for it. He talked about the money he would -give his wife, and looked straight at me--oh, isn't it maddening! I -wouldn't have had this happen for anything!" - -"Have you told Claire?" - -"Yes. I took the letter there as soon as it came." - -"What did she say?" - -"A good deal, but I don't see how I can possibly act on her advice. She -says that if I don't go to Cornwall and straighten things out with him, -I'm a fool. She has a horror of misunderstandings. She begged me to -go." - -"But, hang it all! You can't go alone. If it weren't for this German -trip, I----" He broke off, frowning. "So she thinks you ought to go -down there?" - -"She was most emphatic about it." - -"Let's see--what day is to-day? By Jove, Judy! There's time if we go -to-morrow. What do you say? Shall we?" - -"Oh, Noel! I don't know what to say. I do want to talk to him. I -couldn't write anything--that would mean anything. I'd have to see -him. What do you think?" - -"I think old Claire's pretty generally right." - -"Then--shall we go?" - -"I'm ready if you are," he replied. "I'd like to see old Chip again -myself. It means the ten-thirty from Paddington, you know." - -"What will the family say?" Judy asked him. "Oh, well, let them say it! -I knew I could count on you, Noel!" - - * * * * * * - -Once in the swift and inexorable train, Judy was assailed with doubts. -What was she doing? Should she have let things take their own course? -Would it have been wiser to have stayed at home, and to have written -Chip a letter? - -Noel, observing her restlessness and guessing the cause, told her he -had won five pounds at bridge the day before, and that if she wanted to -pull the emergency cord and get out, he'd pay. But when she asked him -point blank, "Tell me, do you think I'm acting like a fool?" he -replied, "No, like a human being," and she felt calmer then and read -her magazine. - -But panic overwhelmed her once more in the jolting Ford with flapping -side curtains that took them from the inn in West Perranpool to Cliff -Cottage, where Chip lived. - -"Why did we come?" she cried. - -"Because," said Noel, the comforter, "I wanted to see Chip again before -I went to Germany, and I brought you with me. And besides, I saw his -doctor again the other day, and he said that what Chip needed more than -anything was cheering up. He said he'd been rather depressed since the -accident. So stop agonizing about it." - -She stopped agonizing after that, and watched the thin rain of early -spring that slanted steadily down from a darkening sky. The bleak -landscape had a peculiar charm. So, too, had the lonely, white cottages -they passed, their undrawn curtains showing fiery painted walls, for -dusk was upon them. They climbed a little hill and pulled up sharply -at the door of a low house that looked at the sea from its dormer -windows. Lights burned there, too. The driver of the Ford had assured -them that Major Crosby would be in, because, he said, there was never -anything to go out for. They told him to wait, and knocked at the door. - -Chip opened it himself. It was just dark enough to make it difficult -for him to recognize them, but when he did he was almost overcome with -surprise and pleasure. He stammered. He shook hands twice over. He -shut the door too quickly behind them--as though, Judy thought, he -were afraid they might go out again--and caught her skirt in it, at -which they all laughed. He pushed every chair in the room toward the -fire, as if they were capable of sitting in more than one apiece. - -"This is glorious!" he cried. "I can hardly believe it! I never dreamed -of it. You must stay to supper. No, I'm not my own cook; I'd starve if -I were. There's a Cornish char here somewhere. I'll tell her." - -He rushed off, and they heard him giving excited and confused -directions in the kitchen. Then he rushed back. - -"I'm going to send the car away. It's only a mile to the inn. I'll walk -back with you after supper. You're angels from heaven, both of you. -There's only fish and eggs and cheese. Can you bear that?" - -Judy saw a new Chip--a happy, hopeful one. Excitement and wholly -unexpected pleasure gave him confidence. He asked a hundred questions. -He made Judy take off her hat and coat and carried them away into his -room. He replenished the fire and hurled into it some papers that had -been lying on the table. - -"I was trying to write a letter," he explained. Judy thought she saw -her name on a blackening sheet before it puffed into flame. Another -letter, to her? Was he dissatisfied, perhaps, with the letter he had -written her before leaving London? How little he had guessed, while -writing it, that he would be interrupted half way through it, and by -her. His eyes shone, and his undisciplined hair stood up at the back -like a schoolboy's. He didn't know or care. He was happy. - -There in that cottage room, Judy felt the influence of the woman who -had furnished it. She had put into it all the little personal odds and -ends that she had loved. There was her work table, there her favorite -chair. There was the writing table where she had sat penning the novels -that had educated her son. Novels, Chip had said, that she would have -hated. But he was wrong. There, on the mantelpiece with its tasseled, -red velvet draping, were pictures of Chip as a baby, as a schoolboy, -as a youth at Sandhurst, where he had acquired that absurd nickname of -his, and as a First Lieutenant about to take his part in the South -African war, from which campaign he had returned to find her gone. He -had left everything as she had left it, and Judy was disposed to love -him for it. Books were scattered about the room, and it had the air of -being much lived in and much worked in. - -It was easy enough for him to talk to-day. His reserve seemed to have -melted away from him. Had he heard anything more from Helen about -meeting influential people, Judy asked? No, he hadn't. She had -forgotten all about it, no doubt. He was rather relieved that she had. - -"People have no time for failures," Chip said, "and quite right too. A -man who has reached the age of forty-four without accomplishing -anything is a failure." - -"That's tosh!" said Noel. "Every one's a failure at some time of their -lives. The thing is to see that it isn't chronic." - -The old Cornish woman came in and laid the table for supper, bringing -with her an extra lamp. She seemed very pleased that the Major had -company, and looked approvingly at Judy. They sat down presently to a -savory meal, and she waited on them with enthusiasm, putting in a word -now and then. - -Chip talked of the country round about. - -"It's beautiful," he said, "if you happen to like these rather bleak -and open places. I do, myself." - -"So do I," agreed Judy. "But I love trees, too; although I think -treeless places are better for one. I always imagine I can think better -where there aren't many trees. Perhaps they have thoughts of their own, -and they get mixed up with our thoughts." - -"Well, one can think here," Chip said. "There are some fine walks, too. -I'll take you for a walk over the cliffs to-morrow, if it's not too -cold and windy." - -"We'll come over after breakfast," said Noel. "You might walk half way -and meet us, Chip." - -"Right!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "I'll start out at about -half-past nine." - -After supper they sat by the fire and talked until Judy grew so sleepy -that she said she'd never be able to get to the inn if they didn't -start at once. - -When they went out they found it had stopped raining, but there was a -high wind blowing. It roared high up over their heads most of the time, -every now and then swooping down upon them and shaking their clothes, -then going crazily off to roar above their heads again. The moon looked -out occasionally through gaps in the flying clouds. A wild night that -made the blood go faster. The road was rough and stony and in order to -be guided better, Judy passed one arm through Chip's and the other -through Noel's, and they walked abreast. She felt Chip straighten -suddenly when she put her arm through his, and for some moments he -walked without speaking, holding her arm rigidly as though he were -abnormally conscious of her touch. - -He said good night to them at the door of the inn--a mere whitewashed -cottage, much added on to--and Judy marveled at the change in his face -when the light fell on it from the open door--the change wrought in it -by a few hours of happiness. It seemed to her that it was a different -being who had stared out at them from his own door earlier that -evening. - -"Good night," he said for the third time. "I won't try to thank you for -coming. I can't." - -And he vanished abruptly into the darkness. - - * * * * * * - -"The question before the house," said Noel the next morning at -breakfast, "is this: how am I going to lose myself to-day?" - -"Oh, no!" cried Judy in a panic at the thought. "You're not to, Noel. -Please don't leave me. I've quite changed my mind. I think it's much -better to let things take their own course." - -"All right, let them," he agreed. "All I mean to do is to clear the -course a bit. It's going to be rather difficult. I think I'd better -leave it to the inspiration of the moment." - -He said no more about it, and promptly at half-past nine they left the -inn together and made their way toward Cliff Cottage. They had gone -less than half way, however, when they met Chip walking toward them -with long strides. - -"Good morning!" he called out. "Did you sleep well?" - -"We never slept better," answered Judy, "and I feel as if I could walk -twenty miles." - -"So do I," said Noel, "but all the walking I shall do this morning will -be to the post office and back." - -"Why?" exclaimed the other two. - -"It's my own fault. I never sent the Chief word that I wouldn't be in -town to-day. Clean forgot it. I'll send him a wire to say what time -I'll be back to-morrow. Then I must write one or two letters I won't -have another chance to write before I go off on Thursday. Anyhow, I'll -meet you at the inn at one. You're lunching with us to-day, Chip. -Well," as he turned to leave them, "have a good walk. So long!" - -They stood watching his thin, upright figure. That empty sleeve of his, -tucked into the pocket of his coat, did not affect his easy, swinging -walk. He ignored it himself so utterly that he made other people ignore -it too. They waited until he looked back and waved at them, and then -they started on their way. - -"I almost believed him myself," thought Judy, admiring the ease with -which he had taken himself off. - -"Your brother Noel," said Chip, "is the best fellow I've ever known." - -Appreciation of Noel always touched Judy to the quick. - -"You don't know how that pleases me!" she cried. "I'm so glad you feel -that. There's no one like him." - -"You are like him," said Chip quietly. - -"I wish I were more like him." - -For a while they walked on without speaking. - -"Chip," said Judy at last, "I'm going to call you that. I have for a -long time in my own mind and to Noel. Please treat me like an old -friend and tell me about yourself and your plans. Don't let's be -reserved with each other. There's so much I want to know about you. -I promise you there's nothing I would hesitate to tell you about -myself, and I wish you would feel that you could discuss anything with -me." - -"I will," he replied. "I do." - -They still had with them the high wind of the night before. It was -fresh and bracing, but not cold, and it carried with it a smell of the -sea and of the turf, wet with yesterday's rain. - -"Tell me, then. What do you mean to do now?" - -"Finish the book, first of all. Beyond that I've no plans at all. The -worst of it is, I've rather lost faith in it lately. I suppose one is -apt to feel like that, after working on a thing for twelve years. Now -that it's nearly done, I want to chuck the whole blessed thing into the -fire. It would give me a queer sort of satisfaction to see it burn. -Remorse and despair would follow, of course." - -"Kindly resist any such impulse," she said. - -"Oh, I shan't give in to it, I promise you." - -"It's all wrong for you to live alone as you do," Judy told him. "Only -people who are very socially inclined ought to live alone, for they'd -take good care not to be alone any more than they could help. I think -loneliness is paralyzing." - -"I believe it is," he agreed. - -"Very well then. You must stop living this hermit's life." - -"That," he said smiling, "isn't as easy as it sounds." - -"It's fairly easy, I think. You must marry." - -Chip had no reply to make to that for some time. They walked on, along -a path that bordered the turfy cliff. The sea, its grayness whipped by -the wind into lines of white foam that advanced and retreated, was -worrying the rocks below them. Gulls flashed silver white against a -low and frowning sky. The day suited her mood. She felt bold, braced by -the wind and the sea. The high cliffs gave her courage. The space gave -her freedom. - -"For that," Chip said at last, "two things are necessary. The first is -love; the second is the means to keep that love from perishing." - -"Once you possess the first," said Judy, "you have more power to gain -the second." - -"But I don't possess it." - -"Do you mean that you have never loved any one?" - -"I mean that no one does or could care for me." - -"I wish you hadn't said that," she told him, turning her head to meet -his eyes. - -"Why? It's the truth." - -"No, it isn't the truth. Besides, no man ought to be as humble as that. -It's all wrong. You have never tried to make any one love you. Have -you?" - -"No." - -"Then how can you possibly know?" - -"I have no right to try." - -"As much right as any other man. More than most." - -"No, no! You don't understand. You're forgetting that----" - -"I wonder," interrupted Judy, "how many other men and women have had -this same argument? The woman putting love first, the man money. Or -vice versa. You, evidently, put money first." - -This was more than he could bear. - -"Don't say that!" he broke out. "Say that I put love first, every time, -and that I would sacrifice everything for it and to it, rather than do -it less than justice. A man has no right to snatch at love, regardless -of the consequences. To put it first is sometimes the supremest -selfishness. It's putting oneself first, one's own gain and good -first." - -"You're perfectly right, Chip," she answered. "I know you're right. -Only, if by putting it first you were adding to some one else's -happiness ... instead of taking away from it ..." - -She saw his lips tighten. - -"I am only hurting him," she thought. "It would be better to speak -out." - -"Chip," she said at last, "I want to talk to you about your letter. -The one you wrote before coming down here. You evidently took it for -granted I was going to marry Mr. Colebridge, and that soon. Don't you -think you rather jumped to conclusions? Because I've no intention of -marrying Mr. Colebridge, now or later. What made you think I had?" - -"He did." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Well, there he was--rich, successful, influential. A man of standing -and power ... and in love with you ... as any one could see. He had -followed you from the South of France ... you were together at Lady -Gregory's ... it all seemed so perfectly natural ... and suitable ..." - -"You think it would have been suitable?" - -"From a worldly point of view, yes. Though I prefer not to say what was -going on in my mind...." - -"And you think my point of view is a wholly worldly one?" - -"I never said that!" - -"You practically did. You must have thought it. I thought you knew me -better than that." - -"I saw no reason to suppose that you would have chosen him merely from -worldly motives. I judged him to be kind, generous, honest--a man a -woman might be very fond of----" - -"What sort of a woman? My sort?" - -"I didn't argue about it. I accepted it. There it was. I believed you -had decided to marry him. I knew that if you had done so, you must have -had good reasons for it. I was prepared to believe you were acting for -... for the best." - -"What else was going on in your mind as you sat there? You were very -quiet." - -"I would rather not say." - -"You understand that I am not going to marry him?" - -"I do, and I--selfishly and unreasonably--I can't help being thankful. -That's only human, I suppose. But even if I had known it that day, I -think I would have made up my mind to come here just the same." - -"But why?" - -"I think you must know why." - -Very gently and quietly said. One might speak so to a child who asks -foolish and tactless questions. Oh, Claire! It's all very well, thought -Judy, to say, have it out with him, but what would you do yourself, if -you were gently put aside like that, and chidden a little? "I think -you must know why." As if to say, "And now let's hear no more about -it." Claire had spoken as if it were going to be the easiest thing in -the world to have it out with him!... - -They rounded a curve in the path then and Judy cried out at the beauty -of the view. Far below them the sea pounded and foamed. The cliffs fell -away with a sheer drop that gave her an uneasy sensation of falling, -for an instant, and the wind buffeted them with such violence that -Chip took her by the arm and drew her back from the path that ran -dangerously close to the edge. For a moment, speech was impossible. - -"Can't we sit somewhere," she cried, when she could get her breath, -"out of the wind?" - -He pointed to a great bowlder that overhung the path a dozen yards -ahead, and they struggled toward it and crept into its shelter. There -the wind rushed by them but did not disturb them. - -"That's better," she said. "I can talk now without shouting." - -"And I can smoke," said Chip, filling a pipe, "which is a great help." - -"I said a few minutes ago," she told him quietly, "that there was -nothing I would hesitate to tell you about myself. I mean to prove, -now, that I'm as good as my word. I can't see that we gain anything by -... not speaking out to each other. We're both very inclined to be -reserved, and to-day ... to-day that sort of thing seems to me very -petty and artificial." - -He turned and looked at her, smiling. - -"You could never be either petty or artificial." - -"Yes, I could. I have been. But I don't mean to be so with you. What -will you think of me, Chip, if I tell you that I know ... yes, I know -... that you need me ... badly, and that I believe ... I know ... that -I need you." - -Her voice was unsteady, in spite of her courage. - -"I think," he answered in a low voice, "that it is your divine kindness -that makes you say that to me. I think you say it because you know well -enough that there's nothing on earth I would rather hear." - -But he did not dare to look at her, and stared out at the sea with his -pipe between his teeth. - -Judy laughed. A rather helpless laugh, with something of exasperation -in it. - -"Kindness! Oh, no. It's not that at all. I'll tell you what it is. I'm -telling you this because I'm one of those women who are possessed of an -insatiable vanity. I'm trying to make you say things of the same sort -to me. I exact it from every man. I like being made love to, on general -principles. I took the trouble to come down to Cornwall to see you -because I hoped to sit with you under this rock and be made love to. -Do you believe me?" - -"Not in the least." - -"Well, it's quite as true as that I said what I did just now out of -kindness. Kindness! I ... I could shake you!" - -His face was very troubled. - -"Don't you see that I cannot--I dare not--put any other interpretation -on it? You still feel an interest in the man who nearly fell under your -wheels that night. You want to know that he is not ... not too unhappy. -You want to leave him feeling that he can count on your friendship--and -he does, and will. And that is all. It is a great deal." - -"I think you are the most annoying, insulting, irritating of men! I -don't know why I came all this way to see you and talk to you ... -except that I had to, Chip. Do you hear me? I had to!" - -"Judy," he said, looking at her with eyes that seemed not to see her, -"I am perfectly certain of one thing. And that is, that if by some -miracle you could, that you must not ... you must not ... care for me. -But you cannot, you cannot!" - -He put out his hand toward her, gropingly, and she took it. - -"And I am equally certain of one thing, and that is that you care for -me. And I tell you, Chip, I don't care twopence for your self-respect, -or whatever you call it, that you think so much of. And I care even -less for my own, at the moment. And I am tired of your loneliness--your -awful loneliness--and I am tired to death of my own loneliness. And I -am tired of hearing you call yourself a failure, and I am frightened of -being a failure myself--and only you can save me from it. Only you! -And if you talk any more nonsense about my kindness now ..." - -"Judy!" he cried, in a voice that was like a warning. "Judy!" - -"Yes. I've done a dreadful thing. I know I have. And I don't care. I -want you to tell me all the things you haven't dared to tell me yet. I -want to hear them all ... now. Are you going to tell me, Chip? Are -you?" - -She was half frightened when she saw the look of exaltation on his -face. It was his great--his supreme moment. The moment that comes once -to nearly every man, of awe and ecstasy. - -"God forgive me!" he cried. "I will!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -Connie, of late, had been giving much thought to Petrovitch. - -That gentleman was well aware that she avoided seeing him because her -nephew had persuaded her to do so, and he was not pleased. There were -other things that did not please him. His concerts had been less -successful than they should have been--was it possible that his -popularity was on the wane?--and his wealthy American wife, who, up -till now, had been very prodigal with her money, had just obtained a -divorce from him. He had believed all along that she would relent. -However, the thing that most seriously disquieted him was the -unsatisfactory condition of the box office returns. He accused his -manager of failing to advertise. He said unkind things of the British -public. He said there wasn't a decent hall in London, from the point of -view of acoustics, and lastly he claimed that the food offered to him -at the many houses where he was entertained, was abominable, and was -ruining his digestion. - -He began writing letters to Connie, accusing her, tenderly and -regretfully, of faithlessness. He wrote in French, as that language -enabled him to use the endearing "tu" that Connie, he knew of old, -found irresistible. As she had made no promises concerning letters, -she felt free to exchange them with him as frequently as she desired. - - "_I am now,_" he wrote her one day, "_a free man. My wife has seen - fit to divorce me, and I do not regret it. Like most American and - English women (to this rule, you, my beautiful Connie, are a - notable exception) she must have her husband tied to her apron - string. He must have no existence of his own. I--I with my talents, - my work that is my life, I, if you please, must remain in America - at her side! She could not share me with the world. It is not - enough for her that she is the wife of Illiodor Petrovitch. He - must be a tame bear to perform tricks for her. Ah, Connie, you - understood! You, and only you, are a fit companion for a man like - myself, a man who cannot, who must not, even when he would, be put - in chains. Yet even you chained me once, but only with your love. - And I worshiped those chains. I would have bound them round me the - more closely, but my work was a cruel master and bade me leave you, - and though my heart broke, I obeyed. Yet, knowing this, knowing - that all my life I have regretted those sweet chains and longed - for them again, knowing this, you keep aloof. You refuse to see me. - You permit me to suffer at your hands. Why? Tell me why, my - beautiful Connie? You are not indifferent to me. You were moved - that first day. I saw all that. Well then, why?_" - -He wrote many such letters, and she answered them, and told him of -promises made to her relations, of obligations. She never mentioned -Noel. She said that life was very cruel, and that she did not want to -hurt him. He would never know, she said, what it cost her to refuse to -see him. - -When she wrote him of Chiozzi's sudden end, he at once saw the finger -of fate. They were both free. Here was the advertising he needed. In -these days of vulgar competition such means were not to be despised. He -would marry Connie. That old affair of theirs would be resurrected. So -much the better. A romance if you like. Connie was now a Countess, and -that also was to the good. The papers would seize upon it with joy. The -news would travel before him to America and pave the way for his next -concert tour there. His late wife would be chagrined at this speedy -remarriage. Everything was for the best. - -He wrote Connie an impassioned letter. He said that he lived but to -make her his wife. That he longed to make up to her for any injustice -his duty might have forced him to do her in the past. The way was clear -now. It was written. He laid his name, his fame, the devotion of a -lifetime, at her feet. - -Connie was not of the stuff that could resist such an appeal. She was -dazzled. Like many women who have once dispensed with the formality of -marriage, she had an almost superstitious respect for it. It would -reinstate her in the eyes of the world. It would prove that old affair -to have been indeed a great love. Illiodor would never leave her again. -They would grow old together. Not even Noel could raise the faintest -objection to anything so peculiarly respectable. - -Judy and Noel returned from Cornwall on the night train, and on -Wednesday morning--they had been gone since Monday--Noel, fearing the -worst, went straight to Connie and found that events had shaped -themselves exactly as he had anticipated. - -"Connie," he told Judy later, "looked like a cat who has eaten the -canary." - -When Noel was very angry he was very concise, and he was now in a very -fine anger indeed. - -"It is quite true," he said, "that you made no promises about letters. -What you promised me was to have nothing further to do with him. When -you gave me your word to give him up, it meant just that. You did not -give him up. You corresponded with him secretly. I thought you still -had a spark of loyalty in you. I counted on that. It was my mistake. If -you want to go to the devil, you may." - -He picked up his hat. Connie, who had subsided into a chair, gave a -wail of dismay, and running to the door put her back against it. - -"Noel! What do you mean? You can't go away and leave me like this. I -thought--I thought you would be--well, if not exactly pleased, at least -reconciled. He is going to marry me. We are both free now. It was -wrong of me to write to him. I didn't realize it at the time, but I do -now. I am sorry!" - -Noel stood looking at her as she leaned against the door. Was she worth -making further efforts for? Poor old Connie! She would go to the devil -now and no mistake! Those pretty, pale blue eyes and that weak mouth -had defeated him. - -"There's nothing more to be said," he replied more gently. "You've made -your choice. I'm leaving for Germany to-morrow, as you know. So, -good-by, Connie." - -Tears again. She wouldn't take his hand but clung instead to his arm, -sobbing. There was a knock at the door. Noel opened it, expecting to -see Petrovitch. But it was Madame Claire. - -She stood there smiling, observing Connie's tears and Noel's anger. She -leaned with one hand upon her ebony stick. With the other hand she held -about her the folds of a long, fur-trimmed cape. - -"Claire!" exclaimed Noel. "You out, and at this time of day? This is -marvelous!" - -"I wanted to see Connie," said Madame Claire, kissing her daughter on -the cheek. "Good morning, my dear. I hope you are properly flattered at -such a visit. I don't often get out as early as this. In fact I don't -often get out at all, these days. Were you going, Noel?" - -"Yes," he answered. "Connie has just informed me of her approaching -nuptials. I'll leave the congratulations to you." - -"I can't bear him to leave me like this!" cried Connie. "He won't -listen to me. I don't believe he wants me to be happy!" - -"Just a moment, Noel," said Madame Claire. "May I have a word in your -private ear? You won't mind, will you, Connie?" - -They went a few paces down the hall, away from the sitting room door. - -"Connie wrote me about it last night," said Madame Claire. "I received -her note this morning. I had an idea you would be here, and I meant to -kill two birds with one stone if possible. I suppose she's serious -about this ... this marriage?" - -"Oh, she means to marry him right enough," said Noel, "and I don't see -any way of preventing it. Short of fighting a duel. Hang it all----!" - -"I wonder," interrupted Madame Claire speaking very slowly and -thoughtfully, "I wonder whatever became of that little German wife of -his?" - -"The one he had when he ran off with Connie? Dead, I suppose. Or -divorced." - -"I think neither," she replied. - -"What do you mean?" - -"I had some correspondence with her at the time," said Madame Claire, -tracing a pattern on the carpet with her stick. "It was after Leonard -Humphries was killed in South Africa. I wrote to her--by an odd -coincidence I found out where she lived--and asked her if she would -divorce Petrovitch. I have her answer here." She touched the bag she -carried. "She lived in an obscure village in South Germany, was an -ardent Roman Catholic, and of course had no intention of divorcing him. -She went on to say that it was also extremely unlikely that she would -die, as she came of a long-lived family and enjoyed excellent health. -It was really quite an amusing letter. I think the woman had character. -And I think she still has." - -She looked up at him as she leaned on her stick. - -"What do you think?" - -"Great Scott!" exclaimed Noel. "A bigamist, eh? Claire, you're a -double-eyed sorceress. I believe there's something in it. Will you give -me the letter?" - -"I will." She took it out of her bag and gave it to him. - -"Don't say anything to Connie yet. I'm going to try a bit of bluff on -old What's-His-Name. Of course she may be dead as mutton, but on the -other hand she may not, as you say. Claire, you are----" Words failed -him. - -"It's very interesting," remarked Madame Claire. "Be careful of -Petrovitch, and don't say anything libelous. See what you can find out. -But I can trust you to manage the affair. By the way, is Judy----?" - -Noel nodded, smiling. - -"Bless her! That's really delightful! Stephen will be so pleased. I -dare say I shall see her this afternoon." - -She returned to Connie, and Noel, much excited, made his way with all -speed to Claridge's, reading the letter as he went. At the hotel he -wrote on his card: - - "I would like to see you on a matter that concerns you and your - immediate plans." - -In a few moments he was shown upstairs to Petrovitch's rooms. - -Petrovitch was standing frowning at the card in the middle of a large -and beautifully furnished sitting room. He threw up his head as an -animal does when Noel entered, and his protruding lips widened in an -unpleasant smile. - -"Ah! It is the nephew! The charming aunt's charming nephew. I guessed -as much. Well? You have come to say, 'Hands off!' eh? Am I right?" - -"Perfectly correct," said Noel. "That saves me a lot of trouble. I -merely dropped in to let you know that the marriage will not take -place." - -"Ah!" cried Petrovitch, rubbing his hands. "That is good. That is -excellent. You are--what do they say--the heavy father, eh? The -Countess, you will say, is not of age. She does not know her mind." -He laughed mirthlessly. "Well, I will risk all that, venerable sir!" - -"You'll be risking more than that," said Noel evenly. "By the way, may -I sit down? I think if we both sit down--thank you. As I said before, I -simply came in to tell you that the marriage will not take place. I -expect you to give me your word of honor before I leave this room that -you will not attempt to see Countess Chiozzi again on any pretext -whatsoever." - -"My good young man," said Petrovitch, too much amused to be angry, "I -will see your aunt, Countess Chiozzi, where and when I please, and I -will marry her by special license the day after to-morrow. What have -you to say to that?" - -"Only that it will have to be a very special license." - -"I do not know what you mean by that. But one thing I do know very -well, and that is that even if I did not wish to marry your aunt -before, I would do so now simply because you do not wish it. I do not -speak English well, but I think I have made my meaning clear, eh?" - -"Quite clear. I hope you are as well acquainted with the English law as -you are with the English language." - -"And why should I know English law?" - -Was he looking the least bit uncomfortable? Noel prayed that no sign, -no clue might escape him. - -"It might come in useful. We're a funny people. To run off with some -one else's wife is not, of course, a criminal offense. But there is -one thing that the law absolutely draws the line at. I wonder if you -know what that one thing is?" - -"I do not know," said Petrovitch looking at his watch, "and neither do -I care. I am to meet your delightful aunt at her hotel at one o'clock, -and it is now a quarter to that hour. If you will excuse me----" - -"In connection with that thing that I have not yet named," went on -Noel, "I want you to know that I am going to Germany at nine o'clock -to-morrow morning. Here are my passports." - -Touché! There was not the slightest doubt about it now. Petrovitch was -on his feet, his heavy head down like that of a charging buffalo, his -brows drawn together, his lips thrust out. - -"What do you mean, you----" - -His hands gripped the chair back. Noel went on in that casual, calm way -of his. - -"Look here, Petrovitch, I'm not going to make a row if I can help it. I -hate the whole business. You leave Connie alone, and you'll never hear -of this again. Only--I know what I know, and if you force me to do it, -I'll be obliged to produce all the necessary proofs, and you'll -be--dished. It's an ugly affair, and it would mean I don't know how -many years for you. Candidly now, is it worth it?" - -Petrovitch went a queer color and sat down suddenly. He had evidently -changed his mind about throwing anything. Noel felt drunk with the wine -of complete and unexpected success. He wondered what he would have done -in Petrovitch's place, and decided that he would have brazened it out -to the very end. Not so Petrovitch, evidently. His rage had gone as -quickly as it had come. But what Noel saw in his face was not fear. -No, it was certainly not fear. What was it? - -Petrovitch stared at him for some moments, and then said quite simply: - -"She is alive, then?" - -"Great snakes!" Noel said to himself. "Perhaps I've brought her to -life!" But his brain worked quickly. He touched his pocket. - -"I have a letter from her here," he said. - -Petrovitch did not even ask to see it. - -"Where is she?" - -"In the same old place. She has never been out of it all these years. -Why don't you go there and look her up the next chance you get? Do you -know"--he drew his chair forward an inch or two--"I believe she's still -fond of you?" - -Petrovitch straightened himself and passed a hand over his forehead. - -"I wrote her many letters. She has never replied. I thought she--I -believed she was dead. During the war I could not go to Germany. I have -not heard from her in twelve years." - -"Well, you see," said Noel, "she hadn't every reason to be pleased with -you, had she? You know what wives are." - -The man was almost himself again. He shrugged his shoulders and thrust -out his hands. - -"I know what all women are." - -Noel nodded. - -"True. Perfectly true. Well ... she's been a good wife to you, -Petrovitch. She's let you go your own way, she's never bothered you. -If you were to go back to her, I believe she'd welcome you with open -arms." - -"My poor Freda.... I believe she would. She was a good woman, a good -wife. Little Freda! Some day, who knows?" - -"Who knows?" echoed Noel. "You might do worse, Petrovitch. Think it - over." - -"Freda alive! Freda alive!" Petrovitch kept repeating. "My little -Freda!" He turned to Noel. "You have saved me from crime. From crime -against the law, and against that good woman who still loves me. I -thank you." - -"That's all right," said Noel, almost overcome by a variety of -emotions. To himself he said: - -"I'm beginning to like this fellow!" - -He got up and held out his hand. Petrovitch also rose. - -"Well, I'm afraid I must leave you now. Er ... about Connie ... she'll -feel this, of course, but I think I can make all the necessary -explanations. Will you trust me to break it to her as gently as -possible? Naturally, I've said nothing to her about ... Freda. I didn't -feel I could until I'd seen you." - -"Thank you. I will leave everything to you. Connie has a great heart, -and I think she will not grieve too much if she knows that I but return -to an old and faithful love. Soon I go to America to fulfill my -engagements, and then----!" - -"I understand," said Noel. "Well, good-by!" - -"May I ask," inquired Petrovitch, retaining his hand, "how you came to -hear that Freda----?" - -"Certainly," Noel answered promptly. "You see, years ago, when you and -Connie--well--just at that time, my grandmother ran across some one who -knew her--knew Freda. Naturally, my grandmother was unhappy about -Connie, her daughter, and thought that possibly a divorce--you -understand----?" - -"Perfectly." - -"So she wrote to her." - -"Ah! But my wife----" - -"Exactly! She wasn't having any. Well, she kept my grandmother's -address, and the other day, being anxious and unhappy about you, she -naturally thought we might be able to tell her something, and so----" - -Petrovitch made a gesture of the hands that showed a perfect -comprehension, gratitude, sympathy, a yielding to fate, and a -consciousness of his own power over women, wives and others. Noel -envied him that gesture. - -"My poor little Freda!" - -"And that's how it was," Noel concluded. They shook hands again, -strongly. - -"Well, good luck!" said Noel. - -Petrovitch bowed. - -They never saw each other again. - -In the cab, driving back to Connie's quiet little hotel, Noel wanted to -put his head out of the window and shout to the passers-by. He could -hardly contain himself. - -"Freda," he said aloud, "when I get to Berlin, whether you're alive or -dead I'm going to send you the biggest box of chocolates I can buy!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -At last a day came when Madame Claire received a wire from Paris: - - "_Arriving London to-night. Feeling very fit. Have engaged rooms - McPherson and self Langham Hotel. Will see you to-morrow afternoon - about four._ - - "STEPHEN." - -She thought it was one of the most perfect moments of her life. She -could taste to the full, in one mouthful, so to speak, the different -yet blending flavors of anticipation and realization. Dawson had never -seen her so happily excited, nor so difficult to please in the matter -of flowers for her room. Judy had wrought this miracle--had so revived -Stephen's flagging spirits that he felt at last able to make the -journey. Had they left him alone there in Cannes, he would have waited -dully and hopelessly for another stroke. He would probably have ended -his days there, without ever returning to England. And now, anything -was possible. She longed to share Noel with him, too, Eric, all of -them. He might find something to like in Gordon. He might continue to -find Connie and Connie's vagaries interesting. They could see each -other every day--or nearly every day. And when spring came, he could -stay with her in Sussex--he would love her little house and her -garden--and they could talk. There was so much to talk about! - -She hoped he had made an honest effort to picture her as she now was. -Men were so apt not to face the facts of change and decay in the women -they loved. Was he still picturing her as she looked when he last saw -her, nearly twenty years ago? Or--as is so often the way with age--was -he seeing her as she was when he first knew her, before she married -Robert? But she felt she could trust to his common sense about that. At -any rate, he would see her as he had always seen her, with the eyes of -the heart. And what would he be like? She believed that his -personality--that indefinable emanation that makes each one of us -different from any other one--would be unchanged. To her, nothing else -mattered. - - * * * * * * - -To-morrow came. She pictured Stephen looking out of his windows at -London, and getting used to the smell of it again. Madame Claire was -always dressed by eleven except on her bad days, and to-day, thank -Heaven! was not one of them. From eleven till four--five hours, five -long hours! Miss McPherson had telephoned that she would have her -patient there by four o'clock. She would leave him at the door, the -tactful creature had said, and go for a walk in the park. Madame Claire -agreed to this, on the condition that when she came for him again at -six, she stay for half an hour. Miss McPherson would be very pleased -indeed to do so. - -At four, Madame Claire was dressed in a wine-colored silk that spread -about her stiffly and richly as she sat in her straight-backed chair. -Her white hair was dressed high, and secured with a comb of carved -shell. She had given much thought to her appearance. She kept beside -her an old ebony stick of Robert's, for her rheumatism made it a little -difficult for her to rise. On the other side of the wood fire was -another chair, carefully placed so that the light would fall on the -face of the occupant, but not too strongly for his comfort. The room -was full of flowers; early tulips, richly dyed anemones, and here and -there her beloved freesias. On a small table at her right hand lay an -inlaid box, and the key to it hung on a bracelet she wore on her wrist. - -A bell rang, and she sat motionless, hardly moving her eyelids. Stephen -... Stephen was at her door ... fate was kind ... this was her moment -of moments, her day of days. - -The door opened, and Dawson said in a strange voice: - -"Mr. de Lisle, m'lady," and vanished. - -And Stephen came to her.... - -They brushed each other's cheeks lightly, for the first time in their -long lives. They moved the two chairs nearer together and sat with -clasped hands. Words for a time were beyond them, but at last Stephen -spoke. - -"You are wonderful," he said, "wonderful, wonderful!" - -"But you----!" cried Madame Claire. "I was prepared for some one much -older, some one bent and feeble ... you are so straight!" - -"As long as the Lord lets me walk at all," he told her, "I hope He'll -let me walk upright. And I'm better ... much better." - -"How I have longed for this!" Her voice rang out clearly. "My dear, -stubborn, too proud old Stephen!" - -"Less stubborn now, but still proud. Claire, you always had delightful -ways. It's your ways that have always held me--and your wits. But how -have you managed to become beautiful?" - -"Beautiful? My poor old Stephen--your eyes----!" - -"As good as they ever were, except for reading. No, you've got -something new ... what is it? Dignity, that's it. You were always too -gentle, too shy, to be properly dignified." - -"I was always shy," she agreed, "until lately." - -"I adored your shyness. A gentle, soft-voiced thing you were. Clever -... devilish clever! How you managed Robert! And me. And all the -chattering, brilliant, stupid, charming people of our day. You managed -'em all. And nobody knew it, but me. I used to tell Robert he'd have -been a government clerk somewhere, but for you." - -"That," she said, "was untrue, for Robert had wit and a good brain. His -fault was that he didn't understand people. He wasn't human enough. I -could help him there." - -"And you did help him. You made him; say what you will. You would have -made any man." - -They talked--how they talked! Never taking their eyes off each other's -faces. Remembering things that they had half forgotten, things that it -took the two of them together to remember completely. Stopping in their -talk every now and then to smile at each other, to realize that this -longed-for thing had come to pass. To savor these moments, these -perfect, winged moments, that would never be less than perfect; moments -that Time had brought to a fine flowering--"Without the end of -fruit"--without the end of disillusion, too, and what scent that -flowering had! No, there could be no falling off, no dimming of that -brightness. They could trust to Death for that. Their curtain would be -rung down on a fine gesture, on a perfect note. - -And then back to Robert again, and his qualities that Stephen so much -admired. They could even talk of him, frankly and simply. Twenty years -ago he had been too near, his claim to be regarded as an absent friend, -merely, had been too great. But now---- - -"I think he appreciated you, Claire." - -"Yes," she said. - -"If he had not--but he did. I have always remembered that. And he made -you happy." - -She lifted her head and looked squarely at him, holding his eyes with -hers, steadily. - -"I made myself happy," she said. - -"What do you mean?" - -There was not much time left to them. Let it be a completely happy -time, free of all pretense, of all misunderstanding. She wanted no -secrets from Stephen now. Even if she did Robert the least injustice, -his spirit must have reached heights of magnanimity very far beyond -the reach of such truths as were mere earthly truths. She owed -something to the living, and to her own spirit. She had kept her secret -well. She meant to permit herself the inestimable luxury of sharing it -now with Stephen. - -"I mean--I made myself as happy as a woman can be who is not married to -the man she loves." - -He had felt, when she looked at him so strangely, that he was on the -brink of some new knowledge. He almost dreaded what that knowledge -might be--dreaded the pain it might bring. He had hardly grasped her -meaning yet. - -"Claire! Then why--why----? Good God----!" - -She released the hand that he had clung to, and unfastened the little -gold key that hung from her wrist. She took the inlaid box on her knees -and opened it, Stephen watching her every movement. The box was lined -with red velvet and contained a single letter, yellow with age. She -took it out, delicately, and turned it over in her fingers so that he -saw both sides of it. It was unopened. The heavy seal on the flap of -the envelope was unbroken. She gave him the letter without a word. - -He studied it for a moment. - -"My writing!" he exclaimed. "Claire, what is this? What letter is -this?" - -"That letter," she said gently, putting a hand on his arm, "is a -proposal from the man I loved." - -He looked at her, uncomprehending. - -"I will tell you about it," she said. - -"Fifty-six years ago, Stephen, when that letter was written, I had two -admirers. Oh, more, perhaps but only two that counted. They were you -and Robert. Robert was serious and clever, and very much in love with -himself, and you were--everything that the heart of a girl like me -could desire. You were friends, you two; you were rivals, but friends -for all that. You were the better lover, Robert the more ingenious -wooer. Robert out-maneuvered you. It was he who got most of my dances -at balls, but it was always you I longed to give them to. It was Robert -who won the approval of my mother and father; it was you who won mine. -He was said to be a coming young man. They told me that you lacked -ambition and force--even in those days people talked about force--but -it was you I loved. You told my father that you wanted to marry me, and -he said you were too young for me. You were only twenty-two, and I was -twenty-three. He persuaded you to make the Grand Tour before settling -anything. You told him you would not go without speaking to me. And you -tried to speak to me--how often you tried!--but we were never left -alone in those days. My mother was fearful, for Robert, and Robert was -fearful for himself. So there were always interruptions. You were -almost maddened by them, and I--I was eating my heart out. If you could -only have passed me on the stairs and whispered, 'Marry me!' I would -have said 'Yes.' But the chance never came. And I--little fool--was too -shy to make it. And then, on the very eve of your Grand Tour, you wrote -me this letter. - -"I had almost despaired of your ever speaking. I was hurt and -miserable. Robert redoubled his efforts. And then one day he came to -the house--it was the day he meant to propose, and I knew that my -mother meant to receive him with me and then excuse herself, leaving -us together. It was the day before you were to go away, and I longed -for any word or sign from you. - -"You sent this letter, by hand. It reached the house at the same moment -that Robert did. He saw that it was from you, and he guessed, and was -jealous and afraid. He told the maid that he would give it to me -upstairs, and that as I was expecting him she needn't announce him. -Stephen--he put the letter in his pocket." - -Stephen made a sudden movement and leaned nearer to her. - -"Go on," he said in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. - -"He kept it in his pocket. Yes, Robert did that. I, hearing nothing, -thought you indifferent, and my heart seemed to break. He proposed to -me that afternoon, and the next evening, knowing that you had indeed -gone without a word, I gave him the answer he wanted." - -She paused a moment, looking into the fire. - -"I wrote to you to tell you of my engagement. You must have considered -that the letter I wrote to you then was in answer to the one you had -sent me. You thought that Robert had won fairly, and blamed yourself. -When you came back, Robert and I were already married, and you resumed -your friendship with him and with me. And I pretended--how well I -pretended you know--that you were no more to me than my husband's -friend. And you were the soul of honor, Stephen, for although I knew -you still loved me--I knew it the moment I saw you again--never by one -word or look did you try to show me that you did. - -"As I look back now, it seems to me that I saw almost as much of you as -I did of Robert. We were always together, we three. I used to try to -marry you to my friends, but although you were always charming to them, -you were never more than that. - -"And then, years later, Robert was made ambassador to Italy. It was a -tremendous step up, and you rejoiced with us, as you always did at our -good fortune. The first year we were in Rome, Robert was very ill with -fever. He thought he was going to die. He was always apt to exaggerate -his illnesses. He told me he had something on his mind, and he gave me -your letter, and told me what he had done. I forgave him, I had to -forgive him, and we never spoke of it again. But I never dared to read -it, Stephen. I put it away in this box. I didn't dare to open that -wound." - -There was silence again. Stephen felt he could say nothing. Robert had -been his closest friend--they had been like brothers--and he had done -this! What was there for him to say? - -"I am telling you this now," Madame Claire went on, "because I want the -time that remains to us to be as perfect as possible. I want you to -know that while I was a good and faithful wife to Robert, and made him, -I believe, very happy, I loved you. I bear him no ill will. He acted -according to his lights, believing, then, that all was fair in love. -That doesn't make his act less detestable, but I must weigh in the -scales against that, the fact that he was the best of husbands and -fathers. And I forgave him absolutely. But, oh, Stephen----! All those -years ... all those years were one long struggle against my love for -you!" - -There are moments too great or too poignant for speech. He did not -know, then, whether the pain or the happiness of this new knowledge was -the stronger. For a moment the pain had the upper hand. - -"It is a tragedy!" he said at last. "A tragedy!" - -Presently he turned to her again. - -"But when he died?" he asked. "When I came to you again? Why did you -say no?" - -Madame Claire hesitated before she spoke. - -"My reasons," she said, "may have seemed to you to be poor ones. I -pleaded my age, I remember, and the fact--or what I believed was a -fact--that it would have been an elderly folly for us to have married -then. But there was another reason, and a better one. Stephen ... I -dreaded an anti-climax. And it would have been that. After loving you -all my life, all my youth, to have married you at sixty ... it seemed -to me a desecration. I hoped for a dear friendship with you. It was -that I longed for. But you were angry and hurt. You left me. I thought -you would be gone six months, or possibly a year. You were away nearly -twenty years!... Oh, Stephen!..." - -His eyes begged her forgiveness. - -"I always tried to think that you were right, Claire," he said softly. -"Right or wrong, it all belongs to the past now. So does my loneliness. -I have been lonely, but I can bear that too, now that I know I have -been loved. That sheds a glory on my life ... a glory." - -His voice sank. She watched him turning the letter over in his hands, -remembering ... remembering. Then, with a gesture full of courtliness -and charm, he held it out to her. - -"Read it, my dear, now," he said. "Veux tu, toi?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -Late September had come, with its sad, too-mellow beauty. It had -ripened all the fruit, burnishing the apples to look like little suns, -and the sun to look like a ripe, burnished apple. It had woven its web -of blue over all the still countryside, so that the elms standing so -nobly in the Sussex meadows seemed draped in it, like tapestry trees; -the far hills had wrapped themselves in its hazy folds and gone to -sleep until some cold and later wind should strip them of it. - -In Madame Claire's garden a few roses bloomed somewhat blowsily, and -asters and Michaelmas daisies, dahlias and a brave company of -late-staying perennials made welcome color notes among the greens and -rust browns. - -She sat in her library, writing. Every now and then she looked out of -her French window at Stephen who was sitting on the lawn in one of the -garden chairs, reading, his long legs resting on another. Robins -visited him, perching on a chair or table, and he thought as his -sunken blue eyes regarded them humorously, that the robin was more -like a confiding little animal than a bird, with its friendly ways, -and its power--shared with no other small bird--of meeting the human -eye. - -He had lived in some of the beauty spots of the world, but he said to -himself that no beauty crept into the heart as this beauty of Sussex -did. Mingled with it was some of the charm of what was lovable in human -nature--the charm of gentleness and quiet and homeliness. Every wind -was tempered, the sun shone through a protecting haze, the verdure -harbored nothing more treacherous than a fluttering moth. To an eye -accustomed to the white and blue glare of the South, every tint, every -color seemed happily blended. And even the robins, he thought, -returning to his book, seemed to know and like him. - -Madame Claire was writing to Noel. - - "_I have often pointed out to you,_" she wrote, "_the enormous - advantages of old age over youth, but I have never felt them more - keenly myself than now. The world is at present in a state of flux, - and that state, while it may be beneficial, is rarely comfortable. - There are movements afoot that I am sure cause young mothers to - wonder fearfully what precarious and troubled lives are in store - for their little ones. I am not one of those who believe blindly - that all new movements are good ones. The world has seen many that - seemed great, happily defeat their own ends, leaving the - generations to come a legacy of knowledge that they seem, often - enough, to ignore. I believe that the struggle will be fierce, but - the world, in order to attend to the enormously important - businesses of increasing, eating and sleeping, requires in the long - run certain conventions and conformities, and to preserve these - has a way of weakening the ground under the feet of the shouting - and bloodthirsty reformer--even, alas! of the true spiritual - leader. The world has dedicated itself, I think, to the great law - of average--such an eternal warring of good and bad would seem to - bring that about naturally--and compromise would be the inevitable - end of every struggle._ - - "_You, and all those I love, will either be participators in or - spectators of that struggle. Not so Stephen and myself. We are - privileged by old age to ignore it if we can. Age has a right to - forget the evils that it can do nothing to lessen._ - - "_I still read my paper, but I get no pleasure from it. Who does? - One sees that the Empire for which one would cheerfully die, is - accused of making mistakes in every quarter of the globe. One hears - of millions of helpless people in another country brought to - starvation through a fiendish conspiracy of greed unexampled in the - world's cruel history. It is one long tale of dissatisfaction and - dissent, and it were better not to have turned a single page._ - - "_But let us leave all that and talk of people._ - - "_When you came back for Judy's wedding in June, Eric and Louise - were still living apart, though they came together of necessity on - that occasion; and things looked hopeless. But Eric, as I suppose - you must have heard by now, had a breakdown brought on from - overwork. He had made, I think, a hundred and forty speeches in - eight months, and traveled I forget how many thousand miles. His - fight with the I.L.P. over the Moorgate Division was a great fight - and he defeated them all along the line. But the strain was too - much for him. Louise was at Mistley when he was taken ill, and - Connie was still keeping house for him. She hurried him off to a - nursing home, and wrote Louise a scathing letter which brought that - lady hot-foot to London. The two met for the first time over the - sickbed, and oddly enough, neither dislikes the other as much as - they had expected to. Connie had given such a bad account of Eric - that I believe Louise came to get a deathbed forgiveness. At any - rate, she completely broke down and sobbed out her remorse on his - pillow, while Connie and the nurse stood in the hall and tried not - to hear. Eric accepted her repentance and forgave her on the sole - condition that she maintain that same friendly attitude when he was - well again. That, and that alone he insisted upon, that she treat - him like a friend instead of an enemy. This she gave him to - understand she would do, and they are now convalescing - together--for in a sense Louise must be convalescing too--in Chip's - cottage in Cornwall, looked after by an old Cornish woman. I had a - letter from her yesterday, and she says she has never been so happy - in her life. That is because she has him entirely to herself, and - there is no one there who could possibly interest him more than she - does. So far so good. What will happen when he is at work again, - surrounded by people who make claims upon him, I do not know. But - I do feel certain that things can never be as bad again._ - - "_Connie of course is merely marking time till your return. She has - lately made a number of perfectly desirable acquaintances, however, - and is not in the least unhappy. I think her thankfulness at her - narrow escape from a bigamous (?) marriage keeps her from cavilling - at her fate, or from dwelling on her inexplicable infatuation for - Petrovitch, who is in America. For she is not cured of that, nor - will she ever be. He is, as you once said, her hero for life, spots - and all. That is the rôle she has chosen for herself, and she will - play it to the end. I am longing to know whether or not you have - been able to find any traces of Freda. I sometimes feel that you - and I played a not altogether worthy part in that affair, but it - was worth it!_ - - "_You ask me for minute particulars concerning Judy. Is she happy, - you ask? What am I to say to that? If she is not happy, she will - always be too loyal to say so. I think she is clever enough to make - her own happiness, or at least to attain to an average of - contentment--an average that leans at moments toward the peaks of - happiness on one side and toward the abyss of unhappiness on the - other. And I think it is good for us to look both ways. Her love - for Chip--and a very real love it is--has much in it of the - maternal, a quality I think every woman's love is the better for. - As for him--dear, simple Chip!--he worships her, and is unutterably - happy. He may disappoint her in some ways. He lacks and will always - lack--in spite of the miracle of her love--self-confidence. He is - never quite comfortable with strangers, and never expects to be - liked, though when he finds that he is, he glows like a nice child - that is justly praised. If fame ever comes to Chip it will come in - spite of him._ - - "_Judy has made their small flat a really delightful place, but - entertaining, except in the most informal way, is of course - impossible. No one thinks less of human pomps than I do, but - given different opportunities, Judy might have been something of a - Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. Her charm is extraordinary. She has - 'come out' wonderfully since her marriage, and it is easy to see - that she will develop into an uncommon woman. If Chip will only - develop with her--but I pray that he will._ - - "_That little cottage in Cornwall that played such an important part - in their lives was the right setting for their honeymoon, for they - had much to learn about each other. You say that however it turns - out, you are bound to feel partly responsible. Possibly; but that - lovable and gentle face of Chip's with the lights shining through - the fog upon it, was far more responsible. Judy was bound to love - him. And whether she be happy or not, she will be all the better - for loving him. We make too much of happiness, Noel. It doesn't - much matter what our lives are; but it does matter whether or not - we live them finely. And that is possible to any of us. A certain - style is necessary for this; a certain gallant attitude. One finds - this style, this gallantry, in the most unlooked-for places - sometimes----_ - - "_And just now, I think, is the right moment for me to speak of Mr. - Colebridge. In spite of his undeniable limitations he loved Judy - sincerely, and he has proved it in a most agreeable way. You - remember I wrote you some time ago that I had been reading Chip's - plays. There were three, and two of them are charming--really - charming. I imagine Chip's knowledge of women to have been - extremely slight, but the ladies who existed in his imagination - are really the most delightful creatures! Delightful! These two - plays that I like so much are fanciful, but at the same time they - are wonderfully sympathetic and human, and I feel absolutely - certain that given half a chance they are bound to succeed. I at - once gave them to Mr. Colebridge to read--he owns theaters, you - know--and although he says he knows nothing about plays, I mistrust - him, for he knew enough to appreciate these. He is taking them to - New York with him soon, and launched and extensively advertised by - him, I feel sure they will flourish. He seems to know the very - actors and actresses for the leading parts. Isn't it lucky? Mr. - Colebridge seems almost as pleased about it as I am myself. Judy - says he is doing it for me, but of course that's nonsense. He says - he has no doubt that the plays will put Judy and Chip 'on Easy - Street.'_ - - "_Now that I call gallant. To make your rival's fortune is not the - end and aim of most disappointed lovers. There is style about that. - I like Mr. Colebridge. He comes here quite often to see Stephen and - me, and while I admit that I like him and--yes--even admire him, I - do not, I confess, like him best when he is sitting in my garden, - oblivious to its beauties and to the cajoleries of a most divine - autumn, talking about sugar stocks. I like him better when he has - gone, and I think how good-natured it was of him to have come, and - how nice he really is._ - - "_Chip's book on religions is in the hands of the publishers at - last. I haven't read it. Neither has Judy. He is extraordinarily - shy and sensitive about it, and Judy says she has twice saved it - from destruction at his hands. I feel it must be good. It may even - be great! Well, we shall know some day._ - - "_There's very little about Gordon that I can find to say. I know - that he had set his heart on a house in Mayfair, and that Helen had - decided on one in Bloomsbury, near certain friends of hers; - Bloomsbury, as you know, having become the fashion with a set of - people whom Helen considers very desirable. I guessed what that - high nose and long, unbeautiful chin indicated. Millie and John - tactfully sided with both, for they feel that while Gordon is of - course perfect, Helen can do no wrong. The little comedy has amused - me considerably, and----_" - -Stephen was calling to her. She put down her pen and stepped out of the -French window. She crossed the lawn with a pleasant rustle of long gray -skirts, and he got out of his chair as she came toward him. - -"What have you been doing all this long time?" - -"Writing to Noel," she answered. "Have I neglected you?" - -"I was beginning to think so. Come and take a walk round the garden -with me." - -"Where is Miss McPherson?" - -"She's perpetrating one of her atrocious and painstaking water colors -in the lane." - -"And you tell her they are beautiful!" - -"It's the only way I can make her blush." - -They walked between herbaceous borders where dying colors burned with -the deep, concentrated brilliance of embers. - -"I have never loved an autumn as I have loved this one," Stephen said. - -"Nor I. Do you know why that is, Stephen? It's because we are -untroubled by thoughts of other autumns." - -"Perhaps. I don't mind your saying those things as I once did." - -"All the fever," she went on, "has gone out of life. Each day is a -little book of hours. The opening and closing of each flower is an -event of prime and beautiful importance. The shape and movement of -clouds, the flight of birds, the shadows of the leaves on the -grass--all those things and a thousand other lovely things are -beginning to assume a right proportion in our lives. We are beginning -to be happy." - -"It's the wonderful peace of it all," said Stephen. - -"Yes. The peace of old age is something I have looked forward to all -my life. That, and the dignity of it." She looked up at him, smiling. -"For old age, Stephen, my dear, is almost as dignified as death." - - - THE END - - - - -NOVELS OF SUPREME LITERARY ART - - -=THE GLIMPSES OF THE MOON= - -By EDITH WHARTON - -"I can think of no American novel, written within the last few years, -and dealing with contemporary life, to compare with it. And not only -does Mrs. Wharton write better than anyone else, but she knows how to -unfold a more exciting tale."--Katherine Fullerton Gerould in the _New -York Times_. - -=THE MIRACLE= - -By E. TEMPLE THURSTON - -A keen, human story of the west coast of Ireland, with peculiar -fascination in the rich background of Irish folk lore. - -=THE VAN ROON= - -By J. C. SNAITH - -An unusual and totally absorbing plot, delightfully told, and a -remarkable set of characters, unmatched since Dickens. - -=THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL TEACHER= - -By MELVILLE DAVISSON POST - -How would Christ act if He appeared in the world today? Through Mr. -Post's story of the Kentucky mountains runs an impressive allegory. - -=ABBÉ PIERRE= - -By JAY WILLIAM HUDSON - -This charming novel of life in quaint Gascony has proved that a novel -that is a work of true literary art may be a best seller of the widest -popularity. - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - New York London - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE. - - -INTRODUCTION. - -Welcome to Project Gutenberg?s edition of Madame Claire, a novel by -Susan Ertz. - - -ABOUT THE AUTHOR. - -Susan Ertz published over twenty works in a career spanning six -decades. She was born February 13, 1887 and died on April 11, 1985. -Madame Claire was her first novel. - - -THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG VERSION. - -This production of the book is based on the first American edition of -the novel, published in 1923, by D. Appleton and Company. The source -is the scanned copy of the Library of Congress from the Internet -Archives. - - -DETAILED NOTES. - -One major issue in the transcription of this book is the rendering of -words hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing. For most -cases, words were silently rejoined based on other uses of the word in -this novel. Cases where there are few or no other uses of the word are -detailed in the Hyphenated Words section of these Detailed Notes. I -used Google's Ngram viewer when the book had no template. There were a -few cases where I'd love to check the author's other novels for -templates but her other works are not digitized. Any other issues in -rejoining these words may also be found in the Hyphenated Words -section. - -Other issues that have come up in transcribing the book are listed in -the Emendations and Issues section of these Detailed Notes. - - -EMENDATIONS AND ISSUES. - -On Page 89 and Page 211, there is a space between an em-dash and the -beginning of the next sentence on the printed page. These spaces were -removed. - -Page 2 The novel uses sitting-room here but four other times uses -sitting room. The novel also uses dining-room on Page 28, but later -has three uses of dining room. In both cases, the spelling as the -novel had it was retained. - -Page 58 and Page 141 use well-known and well known, respectively, but -the usage in both cases follows current styling guidelines. The Chicago -Manual of Style cites the following grammatical rule: use a hyphen to -join two or more words serving as a single adjective before a noun, but -not when those two words come after a noun. The AP Style Guide has a -more complex rule that hyphenates the words after the noun if the -adjectives appear after a form of to be. In the first sentence, by a -well-known firm of decorators, well-known is a single adjective before -a noun. In the second sentence, His father, Graham Crosby, an explorer -well known to geographical societies, well known is a single adjective -after the noun explorer, not followed by a verb form of to be. - -Page iii On the original title page, the city of Publication and the -year of Publication were on the same line. Because of a technical issue -associated with maintaining that structure, the city and year are -displayed on separate lines and the text centered, much like the -presentation of this publisher information on the title page of many -of our other books. - -Page v Added Table of Contents. This table of contents page replaces a -simple page with the title of the novel printed on it. - -Page 27, Page 149. As the complimentary closing of all other letters -was italicized, the complimentary closings for these two letters -were italicized too. These were Stephen's second letter in Chapter 3 and -Claire's reply to another of Stephen's letters in Chapter 13. - -On Page 172, the closing signatures of Stephen's letter was printed on -the last line of the letter in the book and right justified. On Page -265, the complimentary closing and closing signature were printed on -the last line of the letter and right justified. Both presentations -were standardized. - -Page 53 Titanic in Stephen's letter is in quotes, while Titanic on Page -153 is italicized. - -Who's Who is a reference work on contemporary prominent people in -Britain published annually since 1849. I removed the question mark -after Who's Who? in the citation on Page 240. No change was made to the -citation on Page 75. - -Page 165 Correct spelling of trying in this sentence: If I say anything -she will only tell me I am tryng to rob her of her happiness. - -Page 187 Change Is to It in the sentence: Is isn't as though the -children were growing up; - -Page 222 Add a left quote before Mr. Robinson of Denver.' - -Page 229 Remove right double quote after Mr. Colebridge nearly always -joins us." - -Page 241 Change pore to poor in the sentence: there aren't too many -things going for a pore cripple. - -On Page 256 Madame Claire says sha'n't while on Page 294 Chip says -shan't. - -Page 263 Remove the double right quote after me in the following -sentence: I feel that life is just beginning for me. The standard in -this book for letters with a closing address is to defer the trailing -right quote until after the closing signature. - -Page 274 Change single right quote to a double right quote in the -following sentence: "Didn't I understand Judy to say that the theater -was one of them?' - -Page 277 Change prefectly to perfectly in the sentence: "are you -prefectly well again? - -Page 283 Change the double right closing quote after Andrew Crobsy's -signature to a closing single right quote. Judy's narration -continues after the end of the letter. - -In the Novels promotional page, the book's practice of putting both -publishing cities on the same line were retained. - -The cover image was created by the transcriber and it is placed in -the public domain. - - -HYPHENATED WORDS. - -Page 3 lifelong, see Page 82. - -Page 10 self-restraint. - -Page 11 eye-witness. - -Page 28 photograph, see Page 77. - -Page 44 overshadowed. - -Page 53 bath-chair, see Page 213 and Page 219. - -Page 62 barbed-wire entanglements, see Page 61. - -Page 67 notebook. Another word with the same suffix, picture-book on -Page 138, was unsuitable as a template for notebook. - -Page 71 hard-bitten. - -Page 76 forbore. - -Page 82 nakedness, see Page 106. - -Page 87 meddlesome. - -Page 104 warfare. - -Page 135 stiffness. - -Page 139 schoolgirl, see Page 256. - -Page 148 hilltop, see Page 7. - -Page 160 waist-coat. - -Page 173 dressmaker. - -Page 183 household, see Page 097. - -Page 204 between-maid. - -Page 220 over-ripeness. - -Page 237 unChristian. - -Page 246 primroses. - -Page 252 hereafter, see Page 48. - -Page 257 doorway, see Page 199. - -Page 288 nickname. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADAME CLAIRE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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 will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: - -• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - -• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - -• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you “AS-IS”, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ - -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™'s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - |