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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e8ef73f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67622 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67622) diff --git a/old/67622-0.txt b/old/67622-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9b560f4..0000000 --- a/old/67622-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10360 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of No More Parades, by Ford Madox Ford - -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: No More Parades - A novel - -Author: Ford Madox Ford - -Release Date: March 13, 2022 [eBook #67622] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues (Images generously made available by - Hathi Trust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MORE PARADES *** - - -NO MORE -PARADES - - - - -by - - - - -FORD MADOX FORD - - - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP - -Publishers New York - -by arrangement with A. & C. BONI - - - - -_Copyright, 1925, By Albert y Charles Boni, Inc_ - - - - -To WILLIAM BIRD - -MY DEAR BIRD,-- - -I have always held--and I hold as strongly now as ever--that a novel -should have no preface. It should have no preface for æsthetico-moral -reasons, and because prefatory matter takes away from the reality of, -and therefore damages, a book. A dedicatory letter is a subterfuge. That -subterfuge I feel forced to adopt, and must take the consequences. - -The reason is this: All novels are historical, but all novels do not -deal with such events as get on to the pages of history. This _No More -Parades_ does. It becomes, therefore, necessary to delimit what, in it, -is offered as, on the author's responsibility, observed event. - -State, underline and emphasize the fact how you will it is impossible to -get into the heads of even intelligent public critics the fact that the -opinions of a novelist's characters as stated in any novel are not of -necessity the opinions of the novelist. It cannot be done. How it may be -with one's public one has no means of knowing. Perhaps they read one -with more generosity and care. Presumably they do, for they have either -spent money on, or taken some trouble to obtain, the volume. - -In this novel the events, such as it treats of, are vouched for by -myself. There was in France, at the time covered by this novel, an -immense base camp, unbelievably crowded with men whom we were engaged in -getting up the line, working sometimes day and night in the effort. That -immense army was also extremely depressed by the idea that those who -controlled it overseas would--I will not use the word betray, since that -implies volition--but "let us down." We were oppressed, ordered, -counter-ordered, commanded, countermanded, harassed, strafed, -denounced--and, above all, dreadfully worried. The never-ending sense of -worry, in fact, far surpassed any of the "exigencies of troops actually -in contact with enemy forces," and that applied not merely to the bases, -but to the whole field of military operations. Unceasing worry! - -We took it out in what may or may not have been unjust suspicions of the -all-powerful ones who had our lives in their hands--and seemed -indifferent enough to the fact. So this novel recounts what those -opinions were: it does not profess to dictate whether those opinions -were or were not justified. There is, I think, not one word in it which -records any opinions or words of mine as being my words or opinions. I -believe I may say that, as to the greater part of such public matters as -are here discussed, I have no opinions at all. After seven or eight -years I have been unable to form any. I present therefore only what I -observed or heard. - -Few writers can have engaged themselves as combatants in what, please -God, will yet prove to be the war that ended war, without the intention -of aiding with their writings, if they survived, in bringing about such -a state of mind as should end wars as possibilities. - -This obviously is a delicate task. If you overstate horrors you induce -in your reader a state of mind such as, by reaction, causes the horrors -to become matters of indifference. If you overstate heroisms you induce -indifference to heroisms--of which the late war produced, Heaven knows, -plenty enough, so that to be indifferent to them is villainy. Casting -about, then, for a medium through which to view this spectacle, I -thought of a man--by then dead--with whom I had been very intimate and -with whom--as with yourself--I had at one time discussed most things -under the sun. He was the English Tory. - -Even then--it must have been in September, 1916, when I was in a region -called the Salient, and I remember the very spot where the idea -came to me--I said to myself: How would all this look in the eyes of -X . . .--already dead, along with all English Tories? For, as a medium -through which to view struggles that are after all in the end mostly -emotional struggles--since as a rule for every twenty minutes of actual -fighting you were alone with your emotions, which, being English, you did -not express, for at least a month!--as a medium, what could be better than -the sceptical, not ungenerous, not cold, not unconvincible eyes of an -extinct frame of mind? For by the time of my relative youth when I knew -X . . . so intimately, Toryism had gone beyond the region of any -practising political party. It said for a year or two: A plague on all -your houses, and so expired. - -To this determination--to use my friend's eyes as a medium--I am -adhering in this series of books. _Some Do Not_--of which this one is -not so much a continuation as a reinforcement--showed you the Tory at -home during war-time; this shows you the Tory going up the line. If I am -vouchsafed health and intelligence for long enough I propose to show you -the same man in the line and in process of being re-constructed. - -There is nothing more to it: I no more back the political opinions of -General Campion than those of Sylvia Tietjens, who considered that the -World War was just an excuse for male agapemones; I no more accept -responsibility for the inaccuracies of Tietjens quoting King's -Regulations than for the inaccuracies of the general in quoting _Henry -V_. I was roundly taken to task by the only English critic whose review -of my last book I read--after he had _horribly_ misrepresented the plot -of the work at a crucial point--for _my_ inaccuracy in stating that poor -Roger Casement was shot. As a matter of fact, I had been struck by the -fact that a lady with whom I had been discussing Casement twice -deliberately referred to the shooting of Casement, and stated that she -did so because she could not bear to think that we had hanged him. In -making therefore a lady--who had loved Casement--refer to his execution -in the book in question, I let her say that Casement was shot. . . . -Indeed, I should prefer to think that he had been shot, myself. . . . Or -still more to think that we had allowed him to escape, or commit -suicide, or be imprisoned during His Majesty's pleasure. . . . The -critic preferred to rub in the hanging. It is a matter of relative -patriotism. - -Whilst we are chipping, I may as well say that I have been informed that -a lively controversy has raged over the same work in the United States, -a New York critic having stated that I was a disappointed man intent on -giving a lurid picture of present-day matrimonial conditions in England. -I hope I am no rabid patriot, but I pray to be preserved from the -aspiration of painting any nation's lurid matrimonial conditions. The -peculiar ones adumbrated in _Some Do Not_ were suggested by the fate of -a poor fellow living in a place in the south of France in which I -happened to be stopping when I began the book. His misfortunes were much -those of my central character, but he drank himself to death, it was -said deliberately, after he had taken his wife back. He came from -Philadelphia. - -So, in remembrance of our joint labours and conspiracies, and in token -of my admiration for your beautiful achievements in another art, - -I subscribe myself, my dear Bird, - - Your humble, obedient and obliged - - F. M. F. - -PARIS, 31 _October_, '24-- - -GUERMANTES, 25 _May_, '25. - - - -CONTENTS -PART I -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -PART II -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -PART III -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II - - - - -PART I - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -When you came in the space was desultory, rectangular, warm after the -drip of the winter night, and transfused with a brown-orange dust that -was light. It was shaped like the house a child draws. Three groups of -brown limbs spotted with brass took dim high-lights from shafts that -came from a bucket pierced with holes, filled with incandescent coke and -covered in with a sheet of iron in the shape of a tunnel. Two men, as if -hierarchically smaller, crouched on the floor beside the brazier; four, -two at each end of the hut, drooped over tables in attitudes of extreme -indifference. From the eaves above the parallelogram of black that was -the doorway fell intermittent drippings of collected moisture, -persistent, with glass-like intervals of musical sound. The two men -squatting on their heels over the brazier--they had been miners--began -to talk in a low sing-song of dialect, hardly audible. It went on and -on, monotonously, without animation. It was as if one told the other -long, long stories to which his companion manifested his comprehension -or sympathy with animal grunts. . . . - -An immense tea-tray, august, its voice filling the black circle of the -horizon, thundered to the ground. Numerous pieces of sheet-iron said, -"Pack. Pack. Pack." In a minute the clay floor of the hut shook, the -drums of ears were pressed inwards, solid noise showered about the -universe, enormous echoes pushed these men--to the right, to the left, -or down towards the tables, and crackling like that of flames among vast -underwood became the settled condition of the night. Catching the light -from the brazier as the head leaned over, the lips of one of the two men -on the floor were incredibly red and full and went on talking and -talking. . . . - -The two men on the floor were Welsh miners, of whom the one came from -the Rhondda Valley and was unmarried; the other, from Pontardulais, had -a wife who kept a laundry, he having given up going underground just -before the war. The two men at the table to the right of the door were -sergeants-major; the one came from Suffolk and was a time-serving man of -sixteen years' seniority as a sergeant in a line regiment. The other was -Canadian of English origin. The two officers at the other end of the hut -were captains, the one a young regular officer born in Scotland but -educated at Oxford; the other, nearly middle-aged and heavy, came from -Yorkshire, and was in a militia battalion. The one runner on the floor -was filled with a passionate rage because the elder officer had refused -him leave to go home and see why his wife, who had sold their laundry, -had not yet received the purchase money from the buyer; the other was -thinking about a cow. His girl, who worked on a mountainy farm above -Caerphilly, had written to him about a queer cow: a black-and-white -Holstein--surely to goodness a queer cow. The English sergeant-major was -almost tearfully worried about the enforced lateness of the draft. It -would be twelve midnight before they could march them off. It was not -right to keep men hanging about like that. The men did not like to be -kept waiting, hanging about. It made them discontented. They did not -like it. He could not see why the depot quartermaster could not keep up -his stock of candles for the hooded lamps. The men had no call to be -kept waiting, hanging about. Soon they would have to be having some -supper. Quarter would not like that. He would grumble fair. Having to -indent for suppers. Put his accounts out, fair, it would. Two thousand -nine hundred and thirty-four suppers at a penny half-penny. But it was -not right to keep the men hanging about till midnight and no suppers. It -made them discontented and them going up the line for the first time, -poor devils. - -The Canadian sergeant-major was worried about a pig-skin leather -pocket-book. He had bought it at the ordnance depot in the town. He -imagined himself bringing it out on parade, to read out some return or -other to the adjutant. Very smart it would look on parade, himself -standing up straight and tall. But he could not remember whether he had -put it in his kitbag. On himself it was not. He felt in his right and -left breast pockets, his right and left skirt pockets, in all the -pockets of his overcoat that hung from a nail within reach of his chair. -He did not feel at all certain that the man who acted as his batman had -packed that pocket-book with his kit, though he declared he had. It was -very annoying. His present wallet, bought in Ontario, was bulging and -split. He did not like to bring it out when Imperial officers asked for -something out of a return. It gave them a false idea of Canadian troops. -Very annoying. He was an auctioneer. He agreed that at this rate it -would be half-past one before they had the draft down to the station and -entrained. But it was very annoying to be uncertain whether that -pocket-book was packed or not. He had imagined himself making a good -impression on parade, standing up straight and tall, taking out that -pocket-book when the adjutant asked for a figure from one return or the -other. He understood their adjutants were to be Imperial officers now -they were in France. It was very annoying. - -An enormous crashing sound said things of an intolerable intimacy to -each of those men, and to all of them as a body. After its mortal -vomiting all the other sounds appeared a rushing silence, painful to -ears in which the blood audibly coursed. The young officer stood -violently up on his feet and caught at the complications of his belt -hung from a nail. The elder, across the table, lounging sideways, -stretched out one hand with a downwards movement. He was aware that the -younger man, who was the senior officer, was just upon out of his mind. -The younger man, intolerably fatigued, spoke sharp, injurious, inaudible -words to his companion. The elder spoke sharp, short words, inaudible -too, and continued to motion downwards with his hand over the table. The -old English sergeant-major said to his junior that Captain Mackenzie had -one of his mad fits again, but what he said was inaudible and he knew -it. He felt arising in his motherly heart that yearned at the moment -over his two thousand nine hundred and thirty-four nurslings a -necessity, like a fatigue, to extend the motherliness of his functions -to the orfcer. He said to the Canadian that Captain Mackenzie there -going temporary off his nut was the best orfcer in His Majesty's army. -And going to make a bleedin' fool of hisself. The best orfcer in His -Majesty's army. Not a better. Careful, smart, brave as an 'ero. And -considerate of his men in the line. You wouldn't believe. . . . He felt -vaguely that it was a fatigue to have to mother an officer. To a -lance-corporal, or a young sergeant, beginning to go wrong you could -mutter wheezy suggestions through your moustache. But to an officer you -had to say things slantways. Difficult it was. Thank God they had a -trustworthy, cool hand in the other captain. Old and good, the proverb -said. - -Dead silence fell. - -"Lost the -----, they 'ave," the runner from the Rhondda made his voice -startlingly heard. Brilliant illuminations flickered on hut-gables -visible through the doorway. - -"No reason," his mate from Pontardulais rather whined in his native -sing-song, "why the bleedin' searchlights, surely to goodness, should -light us up for all the ---- 'Un planes to see. I want to see my -bleedin' little 'ut on the bleedin' Mumbles again, if they don't." - -"Not so much swear words, O Nine Morgan," the sergeant-major said. - -"Now, Dai Morgan, I'm telling you," 09 Morgan's mate continued. "A queer -cow it must have been whatever. Black-and-white Holstein it was. . . ." - -It was as if the younger captain gave up listening to the conversation. -He leant both hands on the blanket that covered the table. He exclaimed: - -"Who the hell are you to give me orders? I'm your senior. Who the -hell . . . Oh, by God, who the hell . . . Nobody gives me orders . . ." -His voice collapsed weakly in his chest. He felt his nostrils to be -inordinately dilated so that the air pouring into them was cold. He felt -that there was an entangled conspiracy against him, and all round him. -He exclaimed: "You and your ---- pimp of a general . . .!" He desired to -cut certain throats with a sharp trench-knife that he had. That would -take the weight off his chest. The "Sit _down_" of the heavy figure -lumping opposite him paralysed his limbs. He felt an unbelievable -hatred. If he could move his hand to get at his trench-knife . . . - -09 Morgan said: "The ----'s name who's bought my bleedin' laundry is -Williams. . . . If I thought it was Evans Williams of Castell Goch, I'd -desert." - -"Took a hatred for its cawve," the Rhondda man said. "And look you, -before you could say . . ." The conversation of orfcers was a thing to -which they neither listened. Officers talked of things that had no -interest. Whatever could possess a cow to take a hatred of its calf? Up -behind Caerphilly on the mountains? On an autumny morning the whole -hillside was covered with spider-webs. They shone down the sun like spun -glass. Overlooked the cow must be. - -The young captain leaning over the table began a long argument as to -relative seniority. He argued with himself, taking both sides in an -extraordinarily rapid gabble. He himself had been gazetted after -Gheluvelt. The other not till a year later. It was true the other was in -permanent command of that depot, and he himself attached to the unit -only for rations and discipline. But that did not include orders to sit -down. What the hell, he wanted to know, did the other mean by it? He -began to talk, faster than ever, about a circle. When its circumference -came whole by the disintegration of the atom the world would come to an -end. In the millennium there would be no giving or taking orders. Of -course he obeyed orders till then. - -To the elder officer, burdened with the command of a unit of -unreasonable size, with a scratch headquarters of useless subalterns who -were continually being changed, with N.C.O.'s all unwilling to work, -with rank and file nearly all colonials and unused to doing without -things, and with a depot to draw on that, being old established, felt -that it belonged exclusively to a regular British unit and resented his -drawing anything at all, the practical difficulties of his everyday life -were already sufficient, and he had troublesome private affairs. He was -lately out of hospital; the sackcloth hut in which he lived, borrowed -from the Depot medical officer who had gone to England on leave, was -suffocatingly hot with the paraffin heater going, and intolerably cold -and damp without it; the batman whom the M.O. had left in charge of the -hut appeared to be half-witted. These German air-raids had lately become -continuous. The Base was packed with men, tighter than sardines. Down in -the town you could not move in the streets. Draft-finding units were -commanded to keep their men out of sight as much as possible. Drafts -were to be sent off only at night. But how could you send off a draft at -night when every ten minutes you had two hours of lights out for an -air-raid? Every man had nine sets of papers and tags that had to be -signed by an officer. It was quite proper that the poor devils should be -properly documented. But how was it to be done? He had two thousand nine -hundred and ninety-four men to send off that night and nine times two -thousand nine hundred and ninety-four is twenty-six thousand nine -hundred and forty-six. They would not or could not let him have a -disc-punching machine of his own, but how was the Depot armourer to be -expected to punch five thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight extra -identity discs in addition to his regular jobs? - -The other captain rambled on in front of him. Tietjens did not like his -talk of the circle and the millennium. You get alarmed, if you have any -sense, when you hear that. It may prove the beginnings of definite, -dangerous lunacy. . . . But he knew nothing about the fellow. He was too -dark and good-looking, too passionate, probably, to be a good regular -officer on the face of him. But he _must_ be a good officer: he had the -D.S.O. with a clasp, the M.C., and some foreign ribbon up. And the -general said he was: with the additional odd piece of information that -he was a Vice-Chancellor's Latin Prize man. . . . He wondered if General -Campion knew what a Vice-Chancellor's Latin Prize man was. Probably he -did not, but had just stuck the piece of information into his note as a -barbaric ornament is used by a savage chief. Wanted to show that he, -General Lord Edward Campion, was a man of culture. There was no knowing -where vanity would not break out. - -So this fellow was too dark and good-looking to be a good officer: yet -he _was_ a good officer. That explained it. The repressions of the -passionate drive them mad. He must have been being sober, disciplined, -patient, absolutely repressed ever since 1914--against a background of -hell-fire, row, blood, mud, old tins. . . . And indeed the elder officer -had a vision of the younger as if in a design for a full-length -portrait--for some reason with his legs astride, against a background of -tapestry scarlet with fire and more scarlet with blood. . . . He sighed -a little; that was the life of all those several millions. . . . - -He seemed to see his draft: two thousand nine hundred and ninety-four -men he had had command of for over a couple of months--a long space of -time as that life went--men he and Sergeant-Major Cowley had looked -after with a great deal of tenderness, superintending their morale, -their morals, their feet, their digestions, their impatiences, their -desires for women. . . . He seemed to see them winding away over a great -stretch of country, the head slowly settling down, as in the Zoo -you will see an enormous serpent slowly sliding down into its -water-tank. . . . Settling down out there, a long way away, up against that -impassable barrier that stretched from the depths of the ground to the -peak of heaven. . . . - -Intense dejection: endless muddles: endless follies: endless villainies. -All these men given into the hands of the most cynically care-free -intriguers in long corridors who made plots that harrowed the hearts of -the world. All these men toys: all these agonies mere occasions for -picturesque phrases to be put into politicians' speeches without heart -or even intelligence. Hundreds of thousands of men tossed here and there -in that sordid and gigantic mud-brownness of midwinter . . . by God, -exactly as if they were nuts wilfully picked up and thrown over the -shoulder by magpies. . . . But men. Not just populations. Men you -worried over there. Each man a man with a backbone, knees, breeches, -braces, a rifle, a home, passions, fornications, drunks, pals, some -scheme of the universe, corns, inherited diseases, a greengrocer's -business, a milk walk, a paper stall, brats, a slut of a wife. . . . The -Men: the Other Ranks! And the poor ---- little officers. God help them. -Vice-Chancellor's Latin Prize men. . . . - -This particular poor ---- Prize man seemed to object to noise. They -ought to keep the place quiet for him. . . . - -By God, he was perfectly right. That place was meant for the quiet and -orderly preparation of meat for the shambles. Drafts! A Base is a place -where you meditate: perhaps you should pray: a place where in peace the -Tommies should write their last letters home and describe 'ow the guns -are 'owling 'orribly. - -But to pack a million and a half of men into and round that small town -was like baiting a trap for rats with a great chunk of rotten meat. The -Hun planes could smell them from a hundred miles away. They could do -more harm there than if they bombed a quarter of London to pieces. And -the air defences there were a joke: a mad joke. They popped off, -thousands of rounds, from any sort of pieces of ordnance, like -schoolboys bombarding swimming rats with stones. Obviously your best -trained air-defence men would be round your metropolis. But this was no -joke for the sufferers. - -Heavy depression settled down more heavily upon him. The distrust of the -home Cabinet, felt by then by the greater part of that army, became like -physical pain. These immense sacrifices, this ocean of mental -sufferings, were all undergone to further the private vanities of men -who amidst these hugenesses of landscapes and forces appeared pigmies! -It was the worries of all these wet millions in mud-brown that worried -him. They could die, they could be massacred, by the quarter million, in -shambles. But that they should be massacred without jauntiness, without -confidence, with depressed brows: without parade. . . . - -He knew really nothing about the officer in front of him. Apparently the -fellow had stopped for an answer to some question. What question? -Tietjens had no idea. He had not been listening. Heavy silence settled -down on the hut. They just waited. The fellow said with an intonation of -hatred: - -"Well, what about it? That's what I want to know!" - -Tietjens went on reflecting. . . . There were a great many kinds of -madness. What kind was this? The fellow was not drunk. He talked like a -drunkard, but he was not drunk. In ordering him to sit down Tietjens had -just chanced it. There are madmen whose momentarily subconscious selves -will respond to a military command as if it were magic. Tietjens -remembered having barked: "About . . . turn," to a poor little lunatic -fellow in some camp at home and the fellow who had been galloping -hotfoot past his tent, waving a naked bayonet with his pursuers fifty -yards behind, had stopped dead and faced about with a military stamp -like a guardsman. He had tried it on this lunatic for want of any better -expedient. It had apparently functioned intermittently. He risked -saying: - -"What about what?" - -The man said as if ironically: - -"It seems as if I were not worth listening to by your high and -mightiness. I said: 'What about my foul squit of an uncle?' Your filthy, -best friend." - -Tietjens said: - -"The general's your uncle? General Campion? What's he done to you?" - -The general had sent this fellow down to him with a note asking him, -Tietjens, to keep an eye in his unit on a very good fellow and an -admirable officer. The chit was in the general's own writing, and -contained the additional information as to Captain Mackenzie's -scholastic prowess. . . . It had struck Tietjens as queer that the -general should take so much trouble about a casual infantry company -commander. How could the fellow have been brought markedly to his -notice? Of course, Campion was good-natured, like another man. If a -fellow, half dotty, whose record showed that he was a very good man, was -brought to his notice Campion would do what he could for him. And -Tietjens knew that the general regarded himself Tietjens, as a heavy, -bookish fellow, able reliably to look after one of his protégés. . . . -Probably Campion imagined that they had no work to do in that unit: they -might become an acting lunatic ward. But if Mackenzie was Campion's -nephew the thing was explained. - -The lunatic exclaimed: - -"Campion, _my_ uncle? Why, he's _yours_!" - -Tietjens said: - -"Oh, no, he isn't." The general was not even a connection of his, but he -did happen to be Tietjen's godfather and his father's oldest friend. - -The other fellow answered: - -"Then it's damn funny. _Damn_ suspicious. . . . Why should he be -interested in you if he's not your filthy uncle? You're no soldier. . . . -You're no sort of a soldier. . . . A meal sack, that's what you look -like. . . ." He paused and then went on very quickly: "They say up at -H.Q. that your wife has got hold of the disgusting general. I didn't -believe it was true. I didn't believe you were that sort of fellow. I've -heard a lot about you!" - -Tietjens laughed at this madness. Then, in the dark brownness, an -intolerable pang went all through his heavy frame--the intolerable pang -of home news to these desperately occupied men, the pain caused by -disasters happening in the darkness and at a distance. You could do -nothing to mitigate them! . . . The extraordinary beauty of the wife -from whom he was separated--for she was extraordinarily -beautiful!--might well have caused scandals about her to have penetrated -to the general's headquarters, which was a sort of family party! -Hitherto there had, by the grace of God, been no scandals. Sylvia -Tietjens had been excruciatingly unfaithful, in the most painful manner. -He could not be certain that the child he adored was his own. . . . That -was not unusual with extraordinarily beautiful--and cruel!--women. But -she had been haughtily circumspect. - -Nevertheless, three months ago, they had parted. . . . Or he thought -they had parted. Almost complete blankness had descended upon his home -life. She appeared before him so extraordinarily bright and clear in the -brown darkness that he shuddered: very tall, very fair, extraordinarily -fit and clean even. Thoroughbred! In a sheath gown of gold tissue, all -illuminated, and her mass of hair, like gold tissue too, coiled round -and round in plaits over her ears. The features very clean-cut and -thinnish; the teeth white and small; the breasts small; the arms thin, -long and at attention at her sides. . . . His eyes, when they were -tired, had that trick of reproducing images on their retinas with that -extreme clearness, images sometimes of things he thought of, sometimes of -things merely at the back of the mind. Well, to-night his eyes were very -tired! She was looking straight before her, with a little inimical -disturbance of the corners of her lips. She had just thought of a way to -hurt terribly his silent personality. . . . The semi-clearness became a -luminous blue, like a tiny gothic arch, and passed out of his vision to -the right. . . . - -He knew nothing of where Sylvia was. He had given up looking at the -illustrated papers. She had said she was going into a convent at -Birkenhead--but twice he had seen photographs of her. The first showed -her merely with Lady Fiona Grant, daughter of the Earl and Countess of -Ulleswater--and a Lord Swindon, talked of as next minister for -International Finance--a new Business Peer. . . . All three walking -straight into the camera in the courtyard of Lord Swindon's castle . . . -all three smiling! . . . It announced Mrs. Christopher Tietjens as -having a husband at the front. - -The sting had, however, been in the second picture--in the description -of it supplied by the journal! It showed Sylvia standing in front of a -bench in the park. On the bench in profile there extended himself in a -guffaw of laughter, a young man in a top hat jammed well on to his head, -which was thrown back, his prognathous jaw pointing upwards. The -description stated that the picture showed Mrs. Christopher Tietjens, -whose husband was in hospital at the Front, telling a good story to the -son and heir of Lord Brigham! . . . Another of these pestilential, -crooked newspaper-owning financial peers . . . - -It had struck him for a painful moment whilst looking at the picture in -a dilapidated mess anteroom after he had come out of hospital--that, -considering the description, the journal had got its knife into -Sylvia. . . . But the illustrated papers do not get their knives into -society beauties. They are too precious to the photographers. . . . Then -Sylvia must have supplied the information; she desired to cause comment by -the contrast of her hilarious companions and the statement that her husband -was in hospital at the Front. . . . It had occurred to him that she was -on the warpath. But he had put it out of his mind. . . . Nevertheless, -brilliant mixture as she was, of the perfectly straight, perfectly -fearless, perfectly reckless, of the generous, the kind even--and the -atrociously cruel, nothing might suit her better than positively to show -contempt--no, not contempt! cynical hatred--for her husband, for the -war, for public opinion . . . even for the interest of their child! . . . -Yet, it came to him, the image of her that he had just seen had been -the image of Sylvia, standing at attention, her mouth working a little, -whilst she read out the figures beside the bright filament of mercury in -a thermometer. . . . The child had had, with measles, a temperature -that, even then, he did not dare think of. And--it was at his sister's -in Yorkshire, and the local doctor hadn't cared to take the -responsibility--he could still feel the warmth of the little mummy-like -body; he had covered the head and face with a flannel, for he didn't -care for the sight, and lowered the warm, terrible, fragile weight into -a shining surface of crushed ice in water. . . . She had stood at -attention, the corners of her mouth moving a little: the thermometer -going down as you watched it. . . . So that she mightn't want, in -damaging the father, atrociously to damage the child. . . . For there -could not be anything worse for a child than to have a mother known as a -whore. . . . - -Sergeant-Major Cowley was standing beside the table. He said: - -"Wouldn't it be a good thing, sir, to send a runner to the depot -sergeant cook and tell him we're going to indent for suppers for the -draft? We could send the other with the 128's to Quarter. They're -neither wanted here for the moment." - -The other captain went on incessantly talking--but about his fabulous -uncle, not about Sylvia. It was difficult for Tietjens to get what he -wanted said. He wanted the second runner sent to the depot quartermaster -with a message to the effect that if G.S. candles for hooded lamps were -not provided for the use of his orderly room by return of bearer he -Captain Tietjens, commanding Number XVI Casual Battalion, would bring -the whole matter of supplies for his battalion that same night before -Base Headquarters. They were all three talking at once: heavy fatalism -overwhelmed Tietjens at the thought of the stubbornness showed by the -depot quartermaster. The big unit beside his camp was a weary obstinacy -of obstruction. You would have thought they would have displayed some -eagerness to get his men up into the line. Let alone that the men were -urgently needed, the more of his men went the more of _them_ stayed -behind. Yet they tried to stop his meat, his groceries, his braces, his -identification discs, his soldiers' small books. . . . Every imaginable -hindrance, and not even self-interested common sense! . . . He managed -also to convey to Sergeant-Major Cowley that, as everything seemed to -have quieted down, the Canadian sergeant-major had better go and see if -everything was ready for falling his draft in. . . . If things remained -quiet for another ten minutes, the "All Clear" might then be -expected. . . . He knew that Sergeant-Major Cowley wanted to get the Other -Ranks out of the hut with that captain carrying on like that, and he did -not see why the old N.C.O. should not have what he wanted. - -It was as if a tender and masculine butler withdrew himself. Cowley's -grey walrus moustache and scarlet cheeks showed for a moment beside the -brazier, whispering at the ears of the runners, a hand kindly on each of -their shoulders. The runners went; the Canadian went. Sergeant-Major -Cowley, his form blocking the doorway, surveyed the stars. He found it -difficult to realize that the same pinpricks of light through black -manifolding paper as he looked at, looked down also on his villa and his -elderly wife at Isleworth beside the Thames above London. He knew it to -be the fact, yet it was difficult to realize. He imagined the trams -going along the High Street, his missus in one of them with her supper -in a string bag on her stout knees. The trams lit up and shining. He -imagined her having kippers for supper: ten to one it would be kippers. -Her favourites. His daughter was in the W.A.A.C.'s by now. She had been -cashier to Parks's, the big butchers in Brentford, and pretty she had -used to look in the glass case. Like as if it might have been the -British Museum where they had Pharaohs and others in glass cases. . . . -There were threshing machines droning away all over the night. He always -said they were like threshing machines. . . . Crikey, if only they -were! . . . But they might be our own planes, of course. A good welsh -rarebit he had had for tea. - -In the hut, the light from the brazier having fewer limbs on which to -fall, a sort of intimacy seemed to descend, and Tietjens felt himself -gain in ability to deal with his mad friend. Captain Mackenzie--Tietjens -was not sure that the name was Mackenzie: it had looked something like -it in the general's hand--Captain Mackenzie was going on about the -wrongs he had suffered at the hands of some fabulous uncle. Apparently -at some important juncture the uncle had refused to acknowledge -acquaintanceship with the nephew. From that all the misfortunes of the -nephew had arisen. . . . Suddenly Tietjens said: - -"Look here, pull yourself together. Are you mad? Stark, staring? . . . -Or only just play-acting?" - -The man suddenly sank down on to the bully-beef case that served for a -chair. He stammered a question as to what--what--what Tietjens meant. - -"If you let yourself go," Tietjens said, "you may let yourself go a tidy -sight farther than you want to." - -"You're not a mad doctor," the other said. "It's no good your trying to -come it over me. I know all about you. I've got an uncle who's done the -dirty on me--the dirtiest dirty ever was done on a man. If it hadn't -been for him I shouldn't be here now." - -"You talk as if the fellow had sold you into slavery," Tietjens said. - -"He's your closest friend," Mackenzie seemed to advance as a motive for -revenge on Tietjens. "He's a friend of the general's, too. Of your -wife's as well. He's in with every one." - -A few desultory, pleasurable "pop-op-ops" sounded from far overhead to -the left. - -"They imagine they've found the Hun again," Tietjens said. "That's all -right; you concentrate on your uncle. Only don't exaggerate his -importance to the world. I assure you are mistaken if you call him -a friend of mine. I have not got a friend in the world." He added: "Are -you going to mind the noise? If it is going to get on your nerves you can -walk in a dignified manner to a dugout, now, before it gets bad. . . ." He -called out to Cowley to go and tell the Canadian sergeant-major to -get his men back into their shelters if they had come out. Until the -"All Clear" went. - -Captain Mackenzie sat himself gloomily down at table. - -"Damn it all," he said, "don't think I'm afraid of a little shrapnel. -I've had two periods solid of fourteen and nine months in the line. I -could have got out on to the rotten staff. . . . It's damn it: it's the -beastly row. . . . Why isn't one a beastly girl and privileged to -shriek? By God, I'll get even with some of them one of these days. . . ." - -"Why not shriek?" Tietjens asked. "You can, for me. No one's going to -doubt your courage here." - -Loud drops of rain spattered down all round the hut; there was a -familiar thud on the ground a yard or so away, a sharp tearing sound -above, a sharper knock on the table between them. Mackenzie took the -shrapnel bullet that had fallen and turned it round and round between -finger and thumb. - -"You think you caught me on the hop just now," he said injuriously. -"You're damn clever." - -Two stories down below some one let two hundred-pound dumb-bells drop on -the drawing-room carpet; all the windows of the house slammed in a race -to get it over; the "pop-op-ops" of the shrapnel went in wafts all over -the air. There was again sudden silence that was painful, after you had -braced yourself up to bear noise. The runner from the Rhondda came in -with a light step bearing two fat candles. He took the hooded lamps from -Tietjens and began to press the candles up against the inner springs, -snorting sedulously through his nostrils. . . . - -"Nearly got me, one of those candlesticks did," he said. "Touched my -foot as it fell, it did. I did run. Surely to goodness I did run, -cahptn." - -Inside the shrapnel shell was an iron bar with a flattened, broad nose. -When the shell burst in the air this iron object fell to the ground and, -since it came often from a great height, its fall was dangerous. The men -called these candlesticks, which they much resembled. - -A little ring of light now existed on the puce colour of the -blanket-covered table. Tietjens showed, silver-headed, fresh-coloured -and bulky; Mackenzie, dark, revengeful eyes above a prognathous jaw. A -very thin man; thirtyish. - -"You can go into the shelter with the Colonial troops, if you like," -Tietjens said to the runner. The man answered after a pause, being very -slow thinking, that he preferred to wait for his mate, 09 Morgan -whatever. - -"They ought to let my orderly room have tin hats," Tietjens said to -Mackenzie. "I'm damned if they didn't take these fellows' tin hats into -store again when they attached to me for service, and I'm equally damned -if they did not tell me that, if I wanted tin hats for my own -headquarters, I had to write to H.Q. Canadians, Aldershot, or some such -place in order to get the issue sanctioned." - -"Our headquarters are full of Huns doing the Huns' work," Mackenzie said -hatefully. "I'd like to get among them one of these days." - -Tietjens looked with some attention at that young man with the Rembrandt -shadows over his dark face. He said: - -"Do you believe that tripe?" - -The young man said: - -"No . . . I don't know that I do. . . . I don't know what to think. . . . -The world's rotten. . . ." - -"Oh, the world's pretty rotten, all right," Tietjens answered. And, in -his fatigue of mind caused by having to attend to innumerable concrete -facts like the providing of households for a thousand men every few -days, arranging parade states for an extraordinarily mixed set of troops -of all arms with very mixed drills, and fighting the Assistant Provost -Marshal to keep his own men out of the clutches of the beastly Garrison -Military Police who had got a down on all Canadians, he felt he had not -any curiosity at all left. . . . Yet he felt vaguely that, at the back -of his mind, there was some reason for trying to cure this young member -of the lower middle classes. - -He repeated: - -"Yes, the world's certainly pretty rotten. But that's not its particular -line of rottenness as far as we are concerned. . . . We're tangled up, -not because we've got Huns in our orderly rooms, but just because we've -got English. That's the bat in our belfry. . . . That Hun plane is -presumably coming back. Half a dozen of them. . . ." - -The young man, his mind eased by having got off his chest a confounded -lot of semi-nonsensical ravings, considered the return of the Hun -planes with gloomy indifference. His problem really was: could he stand -the ---- noise that would probably accompany their return? He had to get -really into his head that this was an open space to all intents and -purposes. There would not be splinters of stone flying about. He was -ready to be hit by iron, steel, lead, copper, or brass shell rims, but -not by beastly splinters of stone knocked off house fronts. That -consideration had come to him during his beastly, his beastly, his -infernal, damnable leave in London, when just such a filthy row had been -going on. . . . Divorce leave! . . . Captain McKechnie, second attached -ninth Glamorganshires, is granted leave from the 14/11 to the 29/11 for -the purpose of obtaining a divorce. . . . The memory seemed to burst -inside him with the noise of one of those beastly enormous tin-pot -crashes--and it always came when guns made that particular kind of -tin-pot crash: the two came together, the internal one and the crash -outside. He felt that chimney-pots were going to crash on to his head. -You protected yourself by shouting at damned infernal idiots; if you -could out-shout the row you were safe. . . . That was not sensible, but -you got ease that way! . . . - -"In matters of Information they're not a patch on us." Tietjens tried -the speech on cautiously, and concluded: "We know what the Enemy rulers -read in the sealed envelopes beside their breakfast bacon-and-egg -plates." - -It had occurred to him that it was a military duty to bother himself -about the mental equilibrium of this member of the lower classes. So he -talked . . . _any_ old talk, wearisomely, to keep his mind employed! -Captain Mackenzie was an officer of His Majesty the King: the property, -body and soul, of His Majesty and His Majesty's War Office. It was -Tietjens' duty to preserve this fellow as it was his duty to prevent -deterioration in any other piece of the King's property. That was -implicit in the oath of allegiance. He went on talking: - -The curse of the army, as far as the organization is concerned, was our -imbecile national belief that the game is more than the player. That was -our ruin, mentally, as a nation. We were taught that cricket is more -than clearness of mind, so the blasted quartermaster, O.C. Depot -Ordnance Stores next door, thought he had taken a wicket if he refused -to serve out tin hats to their crowd. That's the Game! And if any of -his, Tietjens', men were killed, he grinned and said the game was more -than the players of the game. . . . And of course if he got his bowling -average down low enough he got promotion. There was a quartermaster in a -west country cathedral city who'd got more D.S.O.'s and combatant medals -than anyone on active service in France, from the sea to Peronne, or -wherever our lines ended. His achievement was to have robbed almost -every wretched Tommie in the Western Command of several weeks' -separation allowance . . . for the good of the taxpayer, of course. The -poor ---- Tommies' kids went without proper food and clothing, and the -Tommies themselves had been in a state of exasperation and resentment. -And nothing in the world was worse for discipline and the army as a -fighting machine. But there that quartermaster sat in his office, -playing the romantic game over his A.F.B.'s till the broad buff sheets -fairly glowed in the light of the incandescent gas. "And," Tietjens -concluded, "for every quarter of a million sterling for which he bowls -out the wretched fighting men he gets a new clasp on his fourth D.S.O. -ribbon. . . . The game, in short, is more than the players of the game." - -"Oh, damn it!" Captain Mackenzie said. "That's what's made us what we -are, isn't it?" - -"It is," Tietjens answered. "It's got us into the hole and it keeps us -there." - -Mackenzie remained dispiritedly looking down at his fingers. - -"You may be wrong or you may be right," he said. "It's contrary to -everything that I ever heard. But I see what you mean." - -"At the beginning of the war," Tietjens said, "I had to look in on the -War Office, and in a room I found a fellow . . . What do you think he -was doing . . . what the hell do you think he was doing? He was devising -the ceremonial for the disbanding of a Kitchener battalion. You can't -say we were not prepared in one matter at least . . . Well, the end of -the show was to be: the adjutant would stand the battalion at ease: the -band would play _Land of Hope and Glory_, and then the adjutant would -say: _There will be no more parades_. . . . Don't you see how symbolical -it was: the band playing _Land of Hope and Glory_, and then the adjutant -saying _There will be no more parades_? . . . For there won't. There -won't, there damn well won't. . . . No more Hope, no more Glory, no more -parades for you and me any more. Nor for the country . . . Nor for the -world, I dare say . . . None . . . Gone . . . Na poo, finny! No . . . -more . . . parades!" - -"I dare say you're right," the other said slowly. "But, all the same, -what am I doing in this show? I hate soldiering. I hate this whole -beastly business. . . ." - -"Then why didn't you go on the gaudy Staff?" Tietjens asked. "The gaudy -Staff apparently was yearning to have you. I bet God intended you for -Intelligence: not for the footslogging department." - -The other said wearily: - -"I don't know. I was with the battalion. I wanted to stop with the -battalion. I was intended for the Foreign Office. My miserable uncle got -me hoofed out of that. I was with the battalion. The C.O. wasn't up to -much. _Someone_ had to stay with the battalion. I was not going to do -the dirty on it, taking any soft job. . . - -"I suppose you speak seven languages and all?" Tietjens asked. - -"Five," the other said patiently, "and read two more. And Latin and -Greek, of course." - -A man, brown, stiff, with a haughty parade step, burst into the light. -He said with a high wooden voice: - -"'Ere's another bloomin' casualty." In the shadow he appeared to have -draped half his face and the right side of his breast with crape. He -gave a high, rattling laugh. He bent, as if in a stiff bow, woodenly at -his thighs. He pitched, still bent, on to the iron sheet that covered -the brazier, rolled off that and lay on his back across the legs of the -other runner, who had been crouched beside the brazier. In the bright -light it was as if a whole pail of scarlet paint had been dashed across -the man's face on the left and his chest. It glistened in the -firelight--just like fresh paint, moving! The runner from the Rhondda, -pinned down by the body across his knees, sat with his jaw fallen, -resembling one girl that should be combing the hair of another recumbent -before her. The red viscousness welled across the floor; you sometimes -so see fresh water bubbling up in sand. It astonished Tietjens to see -that a human body could be so lavish of blood. He was thinking it was a -queer mania that fellow should have, that his uncle was a friend of -his, Tietjens. He had no friend in trade, uncle of a fellow who in -ordinary times would probably bring you pairs of boots on approval. . . . -He felt as he did when you patch up a horse that has been badly hurt. -He remembered a horse from a cut on whose chest the blood had streamed -down over the off foreleg like a stocking. A girl had lent him her -petticoat to bandage it. Nevertheless his legs moved slowly and heavily -across the floor. - -The heat from the brazier was overpowering on his bent face. He hoped he -would not get his hands all over blood, because blood is very sticky. It -makes your fingers stick together impotently. But there might not be any -blood in the darkness under the fellow's back where he was putting his -hand. There was, however: it was very wet. - -The voice of Sergeant-Major Cowley said from outside: - -"Bugler, call two sanitary lance-corporals and four men. Two sanitary -corporals and four men." A prolonged wailing with interruptions -transfused the night, mournful, resigned, and prolonged. - -Tietjens thought that, thank God, someone would come and relieve him of -that job. It was a breathless affair holding up the corpse with the fire -burning his face. He said to the other runner: - -"Get out from under him, damn you! Are you hurt?" Mackenzie could not -get at the body from the other side because of the brazier. The runner -from under the corpse moved with short sitting shuffles as if he were -getting his legs out from under a sofa. He was saying: - -"Poor ---- O Nine Morgan! Surely to goodness I did not recognice the -pore ---- . . . Surely to goodness I did not recognice the pore ----" - -Tietjens let the trunk of the body sink slowly to the floor. He was more -gentle than if the man had been alive. All hell in the way of noise -burst about the world. Tietjen's thoughts seemed to have to shout to him -between earthquake shocks. He was thinking it was absurd of that fellow -Mackenzie to imagine that he could know any uncle of his. He saw very -vividly also the face of his girl who was a pacifist. It worried him not -to know what expression her face would have if she heard of his -occupation, now. Disgust? . . . He was standing with his greasy, sticky -hands held out from the flaps of his tunic. . . . Perhaps disgust! . . . -It was impossible to think in this row. . . . His very thick soles moved -gluily and came up after suction. . . . He remembered he had not sent a -runner along to I.B.D. Orderly Room to see how many of his crowd would -be wanted for garrison fatigue next day, and this annoyed him acutely. -He would have no end of a job warning the officers he detailed. They -would all be in brothels down in the town by now. . . . He could not -work out what the girl's expression would be. He was never to see her -again, so what the hell did it matter? . . . Disgust, probably! . . . He -remembered that he had not looked to see how Mackenzie was getting on in -the noise. He did not want to see Mackenzie. He was a bore. . . . How -would her face express disgust? He had never seen her express disgust. -She had a perfectly undistinguished face. Fair . . . O God, how suddenly -his bowels turned over! . . . Thinking of the girl . . . The face below -him grinned at the roof--the half face! The nose was there, half the -mouth with the teeth showing in the firelight. . . . It was -extraordinary how defined the peaked nose and the serrated teeth were in -that mess . . . The eye looked jauntily at the peak of the canvas -hut-roof. . . . Gone with a grin. Singular the fellow should have -spoken! After he was dead. He must have been dead when he spoke. It had -been done with the last air automatically going out of the lungs. A -reflex action, probably, in the dead. . . . If he, Tietjens, had given -the fellow the leave he wanted he would be alive now! . . . Well, he was -quite right not to have given the poor devil his leave. He was, anyhow, -better where he was. And so was he, Tietjens. He had not had a single -letter from home since he had been out this time! Not a single letter. -Not even gossip. Not a bill. Some circulars of old furniture dealers. -They never neglected him! They had got beyond the sentimental stage at -home. Obviously so. . . . He wondered if his bowels would turn over -again if he thought of the girl. He was gratified that they had. It -showed that he had strong feelings. . . . He thought about her -deliberately. Hard. Nothing happened. He thought of her fair, -undistinguished, fresh face that made your heart miss a beat when you -thought about it. His heart missed a beat. Obedient heart! Like the -first primrose. Not _any_ primrose. The _first_ primrose. Under a bank with -the hounds breaking through the underwood. . . . It was sentimental to -say _Du bist wie eine Blume_. . . . Damn the German language! But that -fellow was a Jew. . . . One should not say that one's young woman was -like _a_ flower, _any_ flower. Not even to oneself. That was sentimental. -But one might say one special flower. A _man_ could say that. A man's job. -She smelt like a primrose when you kissed her. But, damn it, he had -never kissed her. So how did he know how she smelt! She was a little -tranquil, golden spot. He himself must be a ---- eunuch. By temperament. -That dead fellow down there must be one, physically. It was probably -indecent to think of a corpse as impotent. But he was, very likely. That -would be why his wife had taken up with the prize-fighter Red Evans -Williams of Castell Goch. If he had given the fellow leave the -prize-fighter would have smashed him to bits. The police of Pontardulais -had asked that he should not be let come home--because of the -prize-fighter. So he was better dead. Or perhaps not. Is death better -than discovering that your wife is a whore and being done in by her -cully? _Gwell angau na gwillth_, their own regimental badge bore the -words. "_Death is better than dishonour_" . . . No, not death, _angau_ -means pain. Anguish! Anguish is better than dishonour. The devil it is! -Well, that fellow would have got both. Anguish and dishonour. Dishonour -from his wife and anguish when the prize-fighter hit him. . . . That was -no doubt why his half-face grinned at the roof. The gory side of it had -turned brown. Already! Like a mummy of a Pharaoh, _that_ half looked. . . . -He was born to be a blooming casualty. Either by shell-fire or by the -fist of the prize-fighter. . . . Pontardulais! Somewhere in Mid-Wales. -He had been through it once in a car, on duty. A long, dull village. Why -should anyone want to go back to it? . . . - -A tender butler's voice said beside him: "This ain't your job, sir. -Sorry you had to do it. . . . Lucky it wasn't you, sir. . . . This was -what done it, I should say." - -Sergeant-Major Cowley was standing beside him holding a bit of metal -that was heavy in his hand and like a candlestick. He was aware that a -moment before he had seen the fellow, Mackenzie, bending over the -brazier, putting the sheet of iron back. Careful officer, Mackenzie. The -Huns must not be allowed to see the light from the brazier. The edge of -the sheet had gone down on the dead man's tunic, nipping a bit by the -shoulder. The face had disappeared in shadow. There were several men's -faces in the doorway. - -Tietjens said: "No: I don't believe that did it. Something bigger. . . . -Say a prize-fighter's fist. . . ." - -Sergeant Cowley said: - -"No, no prize-fighter's fist would have done that, sir. . . ." And then -he added, "Oh, I take your meaning, sir . . . O Nine Morgan's wife, -sir. . . ." - -Tietjens moved, his feet sticking, towards the sergeant-major's table. -The other runner had placed a tin basin with water on it. There was a -hooded candle there now, alight; the water shone innocently, a half-moon -of translucence wavering over the white bottom of the basin. The runner -from Pontardulais said: - -"Wash your hands first, sir!" - -He said: - -"Move a little out of it, cahptn." He had a rag in his black hands. -Tietjens moved out of the blood that had run in a thin stream under the -table. The man was on his knees, his hands rubbing Tietjens' boot welts -heavily, with the rags. Tietjens placed his hands in the innocent water -and watched light purple-scarlet mist diffuse itself over the pale -half-moon. The man below him breathed heavily, sniffing. Tietjens said: - -"Thomas, O Nine Morgan was your mate?" - -The man's face, wrinkled, dark and ape-like, looked up. - -"He was a good pal, pore old ----," he said. "You would not like, surely -to goodness, to go to mess with your shoes all bloody." - -"If I had given him leave," Tietjens said, "he would not be dead now." - -"No, surely not," One Seven Thomas answered. "But it is all one. Evans -of Castell Goch would surely to goodness have killed him." - -"So you knew, too, about his wife!" Tietjens said. - -"We thocht it wass that," One Seven Thomas answered, "or you would have -given him leave, cahptn. You are a good cahptn." - -A sudden sense of the publicity that life was came over Tietjens. - -"You knew that," he said. "I wonder what the hell you fellows don't know -and all!" he thought. "If anything went wrong with one it would be all -over the command in two days. Thank God, Sylvia can't get here!" - -The man had risen to his feet. He fetched a towel of the -sergeant-major's, very white with a red border. - -"We know," he said, "that your honour is a very goot cahptn. And Captain -McKechnie is a _fery_ goot cahptn. And Captain Prentiss, and Le'tennant -Jonce of Merthyr . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"That'll do. Tell the sergeant-major to give you a pass to go with your -mate to the hospital. Get someone to wash this floor." - -Two men were carrying the remains of O Nine Morgan, the trunk wrapped in -a ground sheet. They carried him in a bandy chair out of the hut. His -arms over his shoulders waved a jocular farewell. There would be an -ambulance stretcher on bicycle wheels outside. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The "All Clear" went at once after that. Its suddenness was something -surprising, the mournful-cheerful, long notes dying regretfully on a -night that had only just gone quiet after the perfectly astonishing row. -The moon had taken it into its head to rise; begumboiled, jocular and -grotesque, it came from behind the shoulder of one of the hut-covered -hills and sent down the lines of Tietjen's huts, long, sentimental rays -that converted the place into a slumbering, pastoral settlement. There -was no sound that did not contribute to the silence, little dim lights -shone through the celluloid casements. Of Sergeant-Major Cowley, his -numerals gilded by the moon in the lines of A Company, Tietjens, who was -easing his lungs of coke vapours for a minute, asked in a voice that -hushed itself in tribute to the moonlight and the now keen frost: - -"Where the deuce is the draft?" - -The sergeant-major looked poetically down a ribbon of whitewashed stones -that descended the black downside. Over the next shoulder of hill was -the blur of a hidden conflagration. - -"There's a Hun plane burning down there. In Twenty-Seven's parade -ground. The draft's round that, sir," he said. - -Tietjens said: - -"Good God!" in a voice of caustic tolerance. He added, "I did think we -had drilled some discipline into these blighters in the seven weeks we -have had them. . . . You remember the first time when we had them on -parade and that acting lance-corporal left the ranks to heave a rock at -a sea-gull. . . . And called you 'OI' Hunkey! . . . Conduct prejudicial -to good order and military discipline? Where's that Canadian -sergeant-major? Where's the officer in charge of the draft?" - -Sergeant-Major Cowley said: - -"Sergeant-Major Ledoux said it was like a cattle-stampede on the . . . -some river where they come from. You _couldn't_ stop them, sir. It was -their first German plane. . . . And they going up the line to-night, -sir." - -"To-night!" Tietjens exclaimed. "Next Christmas!" - -The sergeant-major said: - -"Poor boys!" and continued to gaze into the distance. "I heard another -good one, sir," he said. "The answer to the one about the King saluting -a private soldier and he not taking any notice is: when he's dead. . . . -But if you marched a company into a field through a gateway and you -wanted to get it out again but you did not know any command in the drill -book for change of direction, what would you do, sir? . . . You have to -get that company out, but you must not use About Turn, or Right or Left -Wheel. . . . There's another one, too, about saluting. . . . The officer -in charge of draft is Second-Lieutenant Hotchkiss. . . . But he's an -A.S.C. officer and turned of sixty. A farrier he is, sir, in civil life. -An A.S.C. major was asking me, sir, very civil, if you could not detail -someone else. He says he doubts if Second-Lieutenant Hitchcock . . . -Hotchkiss could walk as far as the station, let alone march the men, him -not knowing anything but cavalry words of command, if he knows them. -He's only been in the army a fortnight. . . ." - -Tietjens turned from the idyllic scene with the words: - -"I suppose the Canadian sergeant-major and Lieutenant Hotchkiss are -doing what they can to get their men to come back." - -He re-entered the hut. - -Captain Mackenzie in the light of a fantastically brilliant hurricane -lamp appeared to be bathing dejectedly in a surf of coiling papers -spread on the table before him. - -"There's all this bumph," he said, "just come from all the headquarters -in the bally world." - -Tietjens said cheerfully: - -"What's it all about?" There were, the other answered, Garrison -Headquarter orders, Divisional orders, Lines of Communication orders, -half a dozen A.F.B.W. two four two's. A terrific strafe from First Army -forwarded from Garrison H.Q. about the draft's not having reached -Hazebrouck the day before yesterday. Tietjens said: - -"Answer them politely to the effect that we had orders not to send off -the draft without its complement of four hundred Canadian Railway -Service men--the fellows in furred hoods. They only reached us from -Etaples at five this afternoon without blankets or ring papers. Or any -other papers for the matter of that." - -Mackenzie was studying with increased gloom a small buff memorandum -slip: - -"This appears to be meant for you privately," he said. "I can't make -head or tail of it otherwise. It isn't _marked_ private." - -He tossed the buff slip across the table. - -Tietjens sank down bulkily on to his bully-beef case. He read on the -buff at first the initials of the signature, "E.C. Genl.," and then: -"For God's sake keep your wife off me. I _will_ not have skirts round my -H.Q. You are more trouble to me than all the rest of my command put -together." - -Tietjens groaned and sank more deeply on to his beef case. It was as if -an unseen and unsuspected wild beast had jumped on his neck from an -overhanging branch. The sergeant-major at his side said in his most -admirable butler manner: - -"Colour-Sergeant Morgan and Lance-Corporal Trench are obliging us by -coming from depot orderly room to help with the draft's papers. Why -don't you and the other officer go and get a bit of dinner, sir? The -colonel and the padre have only just come in to mess, and I've warned -the mess orderlies to keep your food 'ot. . . . Both good men with -papers, Morgan and Trench. We can send the soldiers' small books to you -at table to sign. . . ." - -His feminine solicitude enraged and overwhelmed Tietjens with blackness. -He told the sergeant-major that he was to go to hell, for he himself was -not going to leave that hut till the draft was moved off. Captain -Mackenzie could do as he pleased. The sergeant-major told Captain -Mackenzie that Captain Tietjens took as much trouble with his rag-time -detachments as if he had been the Coldstream adjutant at Chelsea sending -off a draft of Guards. Captain Mackenzie said that was why they -damn well got their details off four days faster than any other I.B.D. -in that camp. He _would_ say that much, he added grudgingly and dropped -his head over his papers again. The hut was moving slowly up and down -before the eyes of Tietjens. He might have just been kicked in the -stomach. That was how shocks took him. He said to himself that by God he -must take himself in hand. He grabbed with his heavy hands at a piece of -buff paper and wrote on it in a column of fat, wet letters: - - - a - b - b - a - a - b - b - a and so on. - - -He said opprobriously to Captain Mackenzie: - -"Do you know what a sonnet is? Give me the rhymes for a sonnet. That's -the plan of it." - -Mackenzie grumbled: - -"Of course I know what a sonnet is. What's your game?" - -Tietjens said: - -"Give me the fourteen end-rhymes of a sonnet and I'll write the lines. -In under two minutes and a half." - -Mackenzie said injuriously: - -"If you do I'll turn it into Latin hexameters in three. In _under_ three -minutes." - -They were like men uttering deadly insults the one to the other. To -Tietjens it was as if an immense cat were parading, fascinated and -fatal, round that hut. He had imagined himself parted from his wife. He -had not heard from his wife since her four-in-the-morning departure from -their flat, months and eternities ago, with the dawn just showing up the -chimney-pots of the Georgian roof-trees opposite. In the complete -stillness of dawn he had heard her voice say very clearly "Paddington" -to the chauffeur, and then all the sparrows in the inn waking up in -chorus. . . . Suddenly and appallingly it came into his head that it -might not have been his wife's voice that had said "Paddington," but her -maid's . . . He was a man who lived very much by rules of conduct. He -had a rule: _Never think on the subject of a shock at a moment of -shock_. The mind was then too sensitized. Subjects of shock require to -be thought all round. If your mind thinks when it is too sensitized its -then conclusions will be too strong. So he exclaimed to Mackenzie: - -"Haven't you got your rhymes yet? Damn it _all_!" - -Mackenzie grumbled offensively: - -"No, I haven't. It's more difficult to get rhymes than to write -sonnets. . . . death, moil, coil, breath . . ." He paused. - -"Heath, soil, toil, staggereth," Tietjens said contemptuously. "That's -your sort of Oxford young woman's rhyme. . . . Go on . . . _What is -it_?" - -An extremely age-faded and unmilitary officer was beside the blanketed -table. Tietjens regretted having spoken to him with ferocity. He had a -grotesquely thin white beard. Positively, white whiskers! He must have -gone through as much of the army as he had gone through, with those -whiskers, because no superior officer--not even a field-marshal--would -have the heart to tell him to take them off! It was the measure of his -pathos. This ghost-like object was apologizing for not having been able -to keep the draft in hand: he was requesting his superior to observe -that these Colonial troops were without any instincts of discipline. -None at all. Tietjens observed that he had a blue cross on his right arm -where the vaccination marks are as a rule. He imagined the Canadians -talking to this hero. . . . The hero began to talk to, Major Cornwallis -of the R. A. S. C. - -Tietjens said apropos of nothing: - -"Is there a major Cornwallis in the A.S.C.? Good God!" - -The hero protested faintly: - -"The _R.A.S.C._" - -Tietjens said kindly: - -"Yes. Yes. The _Royal_ Army Service Corps." - -Obviously his mind until now had regarded his wife's "_Paddington_" as -the definite farewell between his life and hers. . . . He had imagined -her, like Eurydice, tall, but faint and pale, sinking back into the -shades. . . . "_Che faro senz' Eurydice_? . . ." he hummed. Absurd! And -of course it might have been only the maid that had spoken. . . . She -too had a remarkably clear voice. So that the mystic word "Paddington" -might perfectly well be no symbol at all, and Mrs. Sylvia Tietjens, far -from being faint and pale, might perfectly well be playing the very -devil with half the general officers commanding in chief from Whitehall -to Alaska. - -Mackenzie--he _was_ like a damned clerk--was transferring the rhymes -that he had no doubt at last found, onto another sheet of paper. -Probably he had a round, copy-book hand. Positively, his tongue followed -his pen round, inside his lips. These were what His Majesty's regular -officers of to-day were. Good God! A damned intelligent, dark-looking -fellow. Of the type that is starved in its youth and takes all the -scholarships that the board schools have to offer. Eyes too big and -black. Like a Malay's. . . . Any blasted member of any subject race. - -The A.S.C. fellow had been talking positively about horses. He had -offered his services in order to study the variation of pink-eye that -was decimating all the service horses in the lines. He had been a -professor--positively a professor--in some farriery college or other. -Tietjens said that, in that case, he ought to be in the A.V.C.--the -_Royal_ Army Veterinary Corps perhaps it was. The old man said he didn't -know. He imagined that the R.A.S.C. had wanted his service for their own -horses. . . . - -Tietjens said: - -"I'll tell you what to do, Lieutenant Hitchcock. . . . For, damn it, -you're a stout fellow. . . ." The poor old fellow, pushing out at that -age from the cloisters of some provincial university . . . He certainly -did not look a horsy sportsman. . . . - -The old lieutenant said: - -"Hotchkiss . . ." And Tietjens exclaimed: - -"Of course it's Hotchkiss . . . I've seen your name signing a -testimonial to Pigg's Horse Embrocation. . . . Then if you don't want to -take this draft up the line . . . Though I'd advise you to . . . It's -merely a Cook's Tour to Hazebrouck . . . No, Bailleul . . . And the -sergeant-major will march the men for you . . . And you will have been -in the First Army Lines and able to tell all your friends you've been on -active service at the real front. . . ." - -His mind said to himself while his words went on . . . - -"Then, good God, if Sylvia is actively paying attention to my career I -shall be the laughing-stock of the whole army. I was thinking that ten -minutes ago! . . . What's to be done? What in God's name is to be done?" -A black crape veil seemed to drop across his vision . . . Liver . . . - -Lieutenant Hotchkiss said with dignity: - -"I'm _going_ to the front. I'm going to the real front. I was passed A1 -this morning. I am going to study the blood reactions of the service -horse under fire." - -"Well, you're a damn good chap," Tietjens said. There was nothing to be -done. The amazing activities of which Sylvia would be capable were just -the thing to send laughter raging like fire through a cachinnating army. -She could not, thank God, get into France: to that place. But she could -make scandals in the papers that every Tommie read. There was no game of -which she was not capable. That sort of pursuit was called "pulling the -strings of shower-baths" in her circle of friends. Nothing. Nothing to -be done. . . . The beastly hurricane lamp was smoking. - -"I'll tell you what to do," he said to Lieutenant Hotchkiss. - -Mackenzie had tossed his sheet of rhymes under his nose. Tietjens read: -_Death, moil, coil, breath_. . . _Saith_--"The dirty Cockney!" _Oil, soil, -wraith_. . . . - -"I'd be blowed," Mackenzie said with a vicious grin, "if I was going to -give you rhymes you had suggested yourself . . ." - -The officer said: - -"I don't of course want to be a nuisance if you're busy." - -"It's no nuisance," Tietjens said. "It's what we're for. But I'd suggest -that now and then you say 'sir' to the officer commanding your unit. It -sounds well before the men. . . . Now you go to No. XVI I.B.D. -Mess ante-room . . . The place where they've got the broken -bagatelle-table. . . ." - -The voice of Sergeant-Major Cowley exclaimed tranquilly from outside: - -"Fall in now. Men who've got their ring papers and identity disks--three -of them--on the left. Men who haven't, on the right. Any man who has not -been able to draw his blankets tell Colour-Sergeant Morgan. Don't -forget. You won't get any where you're going. Any man who hasn't made -his will in his Soldier's Small Book or elsewhere and wants to, to -consult Captain Tietjens. Any man who wants to draw money, ask Captain -Mackenzie. Any R.C. who wants to go to confession after he has got his -papers signed can find the R.C. padre in the fourth hut from the left in -the Main Line from here. . . . And damn kind it is of his reverence to -put himself out for a set of damn blinking mustard-faced red herrings -like you who can't keep from running away to the first baby's bonfire -you sees. You'll be running the other way before you're a week older, -though what good they as asks for you thinks you'll be out there God -knows. You _look_ like a squad of infants' companions from a Wesleyan -Sunday school. That's what you look like and, thank God, we've got a -Navy." - -Under cover of his voice Tietjens had been writing: - -"Now we affront the grinning chops of _Death_," and saying to Lieutenant -Hotchkiss: "In the I.B.D. anteroom you'll find any number of dirty -little squits of Glamorganshires drinking themselves blind over _La Vie -Parisienne_. . . . Ask any one of them you like. . . ." He wrote: - - - "And in between our carcass and the _moil_ - Of marts and cities, toil and moil and _coil_. . ." - - -"You think this difficult!" he said to Mackenzie. "Why, you've written a -whole undertaker's mortuary ode in the rhymes alone," and went on to -Hotchkiss: "Ask anyone you like as long as he's a P.B. officer. . . . Do -you know what P.B. means? No, not Poor B----y, Permanent Base. Unfit . . . -If he'd like to take a draft to Bailleul." - -The hut was filling with devious, slow, ungainly men in yellow-brown. -Their feet shuffled desultorily; they lumped dull canvas bags along the -floor and held in unliterary hands small open books that they dropped -from time to time. From outside came a continuing, swelling and -descending chant of voices; at times it would seem to be all one laugh, -at times one menace, then the motives mingled fugally, like the sea on a -beach of large stones. It seemed to Tietjens suddenly extraordinary how -shut in on oneself one was in this life. . . . He sat scribbling fast: -"Old Spectre blows a cold protecting _breath_ . . . Vanity of vanities, -the preacher _saith_ . . . No more parades, Not any more, no _oil_ . . ." -He was telling Hotchkiss, who was obviously shy of approaching the -Glamorganshires in their ante-room . . . "Unambergris'd our limbs in the -naked _soil_ . . ." that he did not suppose any P.B. officer would -object. They would go on a beanfeast up into the giddy line in a -first-class carriage and get draft leave and command pay too probably . . . -"No funeral instruments cast before our wraiths . . ." If any fellow -does object, you just send his name to me and I will damn well shove it -into extra orders. . . . - -The advanced wave of the brown tide of men was already at his feet. The -extraordinary complications of even the simplest lives; . . . A fellow -was beside him . . . Private Logan, formerly, of all queer things for a -Canadian private, a trooper of the Inniskillings: owner, of all queer -things, of a milk-walk or a dairy farm, outside Sydney, which is in -Australia . . . A man of sentimental complications, jauntiness as became -an Inniskilling, a Cockney accent such as ornaments the inhabitants of -Sydney, and a complete distrust of lawyers. On the other hand, with the -completest trust in Tietjens. Over his shoulder--he was blonde, upright, -with his numerals shining like gold, looked a lumpish, _café-au-lait_, -eagle-nosed countenance: a half-caste member of one of the Six Nations, -who had been a doctor's errand boy in Quebec . . . He had his troubles, -but was difficult to understand. Behind him, very black-avised with a -high colour, truculent eyes and an Irish accent, was a graduate of -McGill University who had been a teacher of languages in Tokio and had -some sort of claim against the Japanese Government . . . And faces, two -and two, in a coil round the hut . . . Like dust: like a cloud of dust -that would approach and overwhelm a landscape: every one with -preposterous troubles and anxieties, even if they did not overwhelm you -personally with them . . . Brown dust . . . - -He kept the Inniskilling waiting while he scribbled the rapid sestet to -his sonnet which ought to make a little plainer what it all meant. Of -course the general idea was that, when you got into the line or near it, -there was no room for swank: typified by expensive funerals. As you -might say: No flowers by compulsion . . . No more parades! . . . He had -also to explain, while he did it, to the heroic veterinary sexagenarian -that he need not feel shy about going into the Glamorganshire Mess on a -man-catching expedition. The Glamorganshires were bound to lend him, -Tietjens, P.B. officers if they had not got other jobs. Lieutenant -Hotchkiss could speak to Colonel Johnson, whom he would find in the mess -and quite good-natured over his dinner. A pleasant and sympathetic old -gentleman who would appreciate Hotchkiss's desire not to go -superfluously into the line. Hotchkiss could offer to take a look at the -colonel's charger: a Hun horse, captured on the Marne and called -Schomburg, that was off its feed. . . . He added: "But don't do anything -professional to Schomburg. I ride him myself!" - -He threw his sonnet across to Mackenzie, who with a background of -huddled khaki limbs and anxious faces was himself anxiously counting out -French currency notes and dubious-looking tokens . . . What the deuce -did men want to draw money--sometimes quite large sums of money, the -Canadians being paid in dollars converted into local coins--when in an -hour or so they would be going up? But they always did and their -accounts were always in an incredibly entangled state. Mackenzie might -well look worried. As like as not he might find himself a fiver or more -down at the end of the evening for unauthorized payments. If he had only -his pay and an extravagant wife to keep, that might well put the wind up -him. But that was _his_ funeral. He told Lieutenant Hotchkiss to come and -have a chat with him in his hut, the one next the mess. About horses. He -knew a little about horse-illnesses himself. Only empirically, of -course. - -Mackenzie was looking at his watch. - -"You took two minutes and eleven seconds," he said. "I'll take it for -granted it's a sonnet . . . I have not read it because I can't turn it -into Latin here . . . I haven't got your knack of doing eleven things at -once. . . ." - -A man with a worried face, encumbered by a bundle and a small book, was -studying figures at Mackenzie's elbow. He interrupted Mackenzie in a -high American voice to say that he had never drawn fourteen dollars -seventy-five cents in Thrasna Barracks, Aldershot. - -Mackenzie said to Tietjens: - -"You understand. I have not read your sonnet. I shall turn it into Latin -in the mess: in the time stipulated. I don't want you to think I've read -it and taken time to think about it." - -The man beside him said: - -"When I went to the Canadian Agent, Strand, London, his office was shut -up . . ." - -Mackenzie said with white fury: - -"How much service have you got? Don't you know better than to interrupt -an officer when he is talking. You must settle your own figures with -your own confounded Colonial paymaster. I've sixteen dollars thirty -cents here for you. Will you take them or leave them?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I know that man's case. Turn him over to me. It isn't complicated. He's -got his paymaster's cheque, but doesn't know how to cash it and of -course they won't give him another. . . ." - -The man with slow, broad, brown features looked from one to the other -officer's face and back again with a keen black-eyed scrutiny as if he -were looking into a wind and dazed by the light. He began a long story -of how he owed Fat-Eared Bill fifty dollars lost at House. He was -perhaps half-Chinese, half-Finn. He continued to talk, being in a state -of great anxiety about his money. Tietjens addressed himself to the -cases of the Sydney Inniskilling ex-trooper and the McGill graduate who -had suffered at the hands of the Japanese Educational Ministry. It made -altogether a complicated effect. "You would say," Tietjens said to -himself, "that, all together, it ought to be enough to take my mind up." - -The upright trooper had a very complicated sentimental history. It was -difficult to advise him before his fellows. He, however, felt no -diffidence. He discussed the points of the girl called Rosie whom he had -followed from Sydney to British Columbia, of the girl called Gwen with -whom he had taken up in Aberystwyth, of the woman called Mrs. Hosier -with whom he had lived maritally, on a sleeping-out pass, at Berwick St. -James, near Salisbury Plain. Through the continuing voice of the -half-caste Chinaman he discussed them with a large tolerance, explaining -that he wanted them all to have a bit, as a souvenir, if he happened to -stop one out there. Tietjens handed him the draft of a will he had had -written out for him, asked him to read it attentively and copy it with -his own hand into his soldier's small book. Then Tietjens would witness -it for him. He said: - -"Do you think this will make my old woman in Sydney part? I guess it -won't. She's a sticker, sir. A regular July bur, God bless her." The -McGill graduate was beginning already to introduce a further -complication into his story of complications with the Japanese -Government. It appeared that in addition to his scholastic performances -he had invested a little money in a mineral water spring near Kobe, the -water, bottled, being exported to San Francisco. Apparently his company -had been indulging in irregularities according to Japanese law, but a -pure French Canadian, who had experienced some difficulties in obtaining -his baptismal certificate from a mission somewhere in the direction of -the Klondike, was allowed by Tietjens to interrupt the story of the -graduate; and several men without complications, but anxious to get -their papers signed so as to write last letters home before the draft -moved, overflowed across Tietjen's table. . . . - -The tobacco smoke from the pipes of the N.C.O.'s at the other end of the -room hung, opalescent, beneath the wire cages of the brilliant hurricane -lamps hung over each table; buttons and numerals gleamed in the air that -the universal khaki tinge of the limbs seemed to turn brown, as if into -a gas of dust. Nasal voices, throat voices, drawling voices, melted into -a rustle so that the occasional high, sing-song profanity of a Welsh -N.C.O.: Why the _hell_ haffn't you got your 124? Why the ---- hell -haffn't you got your 124? Don't you _know_ you haff to haff your -bleedin' 124's? seemed to wail tragically through a silence . . . The -evening wore on and on. It astounded Tietjens, looking at one time at -his watch to discover that it was only 21 hrs. 19. He seemed to have -been thinking drowsily of his own affairs for ten hours. . . . For, in -the end, these were his own affairs. . . . Money, women, testamentary -bothers. Each of these complications from over the Atlantic and round -the world were his own troubles: a world in labour: an army being moved -off in the night. Shoved off. Anyhow. And over the top. A lateral -section of the world. . . . - -He had happened to glance at the medical history of a man beside him and -noticed that he had been described as C1. . . . It was obviously a slip -of the pen on the part of the Medical Board, or one of their orderlies. -He had written C instead of A. The man was Pte. 197394 Thomas Johnson, a -shining-faced lump of beef, an agricultural odd jobman from British -Columbia where he had worked on the immense estates of Sylvia Tietjens' -portentous ducal second cousin Rugeley. It was a double annoyance. -Tietjens had not wanted to be reminded of his wife's second cousin, -because he had not wanted to be reminded of his wife. He had determined -to give his thoughts a field day on that subject when he got warm into -his flea-bag in his hut that smelt of paraffin whilst the canvas walls -crackled with frost and the moon shone. . . . He would think of Sylvia -beneath the moon. He was determined not to now! But 197394 Pte. Johnson, -Thomas, was otherwise a nuisance and Tietjens cursed himself for having -glanced at the man's medical history. If this preposterous yokel was C3 -he could not go on a draft . . . C1 rather! It was all the same. That -would mean finding another man to make up the strength and that would -drive Sergeant-Major Cowley out of his mind. He looked up towards the -ingenuous, protruding, shining, liquid, bottle-blue eyes of Thomas -Johnson. . . . The fellow had never had an illness. He could not have -had an illness--except from a surfeit of cold, fat, boiled pork--and for -that you would give him a horse's blue ball and drench which, ten to -one, would not remove the cause of the belly-ache. . . . - -His eyes met the non-committal glance of a dark, gentlemanly thin fellow -with a strikingly scarlet hatband, a lot of gilt about his khaki and -little strips of steel chain-armour on his shoulders. . . . Levin . . . -Colonel Levin, G.S.O. II, or something, attached to General Lord Edward -Campion. . . . How the hell did fellows get into these intimacies of -commanders of units and their men? Swimming in like fishes into the -brown air of a tank and there at your elbow . . .----spies! . . . The -men had all been called to attention and stood like gasping codfish. The -ever-watchful Sergeant-Major Cowley had drifted to his, Tietjens', -elbow. You protect your orfcers from the gawdy Staff as you protect your -infant daughters in lambswool from draughts. The dark, bright, cheerful -staffwallah said with a slight lisp: - -"Busy, I see." He might have been standing there for a century and have -a century of the battalion headquarters' time to waste like that. "What -draft is this?" - -Sergeant-Major Cowley, always ready in case his orfcer should not know -the name of his unit or his own name, said: - -"No. 16 I.B.D. Canadian First Division Casual Number Four Draft, sir." - -Colonel Levin let air lispingly out between his teeth. - -"No. 16 Draft not off yet . . . Dear, dear! Dear, dear! . . . We shall -be strafed to hell by First Army. . . ." He used the word hell as if he -had first wrapped it in eau-de-cologned cotton-wadding. - -Tietjens, on his feet, knew this fellow very well: a fellow who had been -a very bad Society water-colour painter of good family on the mother's -side: hence the cavalry gadgets on his shoulders. Would it then be -good . . . say good taste to explode? He let the sergeant-major do it. -Sergeant-Major Cowley was of the type of N.C.O. who carried weight -because he knew ten times as much about his job as any Staff officer. -The sergeant-major explained that it had been impossible to get off the -draft earlier. The colonel said: - -"But surely, sergeant-majah . . ." - -The sergeant-major, now a deferential shopwalker in a lady's store, -pointed out that they had had urgent instructions not to send up the -draft without the four hundred Canadian Railway Service men who were to -come from Etaples. These men had only arrived that evening at 5.30 . . . -at the railway station. Marching them up had taken three-quarters of an -hour. The colonel said: - -"But surely, sergeant-majah . . ." - -Old Cowley might as well have said "madam" as "sir" to the red -hat-band. . . . The four hundred had come with only what they stood up in. -The unit had had to wangle everything: boots, blankets, toothbrushes, -braces, rifles, iron-rations, identity disks out of the depot store. And -it was now only twenty-one twenty. . . . Cowley permitted his commanding -officer at this point to say: - -"You must understand that we work in circumstances of extreme -difficulty, sir. . . ." - -The graceful colonel was lost in an absent contemplation of his -perfectly elegant knees. - -"I know, of course. . . ." he lisped. "Very difficult . . ." He -brightened up to add: "But you must admit you're unfortunate. . . . You -must admit that. . . ." The weight settled, however, again on his mind. - -Tietjens said: - -"Not, I suppose, sir, any more unfortunate than any other unit working -under a dual control for supplies. . . ." - -The colonel said: - -"What's that? Dual . . . Ah, I see you're there, Mackenzie. . . . -Feeling well . . . feeling fit, eh?" - -The whole hut stood silent. His anger at the waste of time made Tietjens -say: - -"If you understand, sir, we are a unit whose principal purpose is -drawing things to equip drafts with. . . ." This fellow was delaying -them atrociously. He was brushing his knees with a handkerchief! "I've -had," Tietjens said, "a man killed on my hands this afternoon because we -have to draw tin-hats for my orderly room from Dublin on an A.F.B. -Canadian from Aldershot. . . . Killed here. . . . We've only just -mopped up the blood from where you're standing. . . ." - -The cavalry colonel exclaimed: - -"Oh, good gracious me! . . ." jumped a little and examined his -beautiful, shining, knee-high aircraft boots. "Killed! . . . . Here! . . . -But there'll have to be a court of inquiry. . . . You certainly are -_most_ unfortunate, Captain Tietjens. . . . Always these mysterious . . . -Why wasn't your man in a dug-out? . . . Most unfortunate. . . . We -cannot have casualties among the Colonial troops. . . . Troops from the -Dominions, I mean. . . ." - -Tietjens said grimly: - -"The man was from Pontardulais . . . not from any Dominion. . . . One of -my orderly room. . . . We are forbidden on pain of court martial to let -any but Dominion Expeditionary Force men go into the dugouts. . . . My -Canadians were all there. . . . It's an A.C.I. local of the eleventh of -November. . . ." - -The Staff officer said: - -"It makes, of course, a difference! . . . Only a Glamorganshire? You -say . . . Oh, well. . . . But these mysterious . . ." - -He exclaimed, with the force of an explosion, and the relief: - -"Look here . . . can you spare, possibly, ten . . . twenty . . . eh . . . -minutes? . . . It's not exactly a service matter . . . so per . . ." - -Tietjens exclaimed: - -"You see how we're situated, colonel . . ." and, like one sowing grass -seed on a lawn, extended both hands over his papers and towards his -men. . . . He was choking with rage. Colonel Levin had, under the -chaperonage of an English dowager, who ran a chocolate store down on the -quays in Rouen, a little French piece to whom he was quite seriously -engaged. In the most naïve manner. And the young woman, fantastically -jealous, managed to make endless insults to herself out of her almost too -handsome colonel's barbaric French. It was an idyll, but it drove the -colonel frantic. At such times Levin would consult Tietjens, who passed -for a man of brains and a French scholar as to really nicely turned -compliments in a difficult language. . . . And as to how you explained -that it was necessary for a G.S.O. II, or whatever the colonel was, to -be seen quite frequently in the company of very handsome V.A.D.'s and -female organizers of all arms . . . It was the sort of silliness as to -which no gentleman ought to be consulted. . . . And here was Levin with -the familiar feminine-agonized wrinkle on his bronzed-alabaster brow. . . . -Like a beastly soldier-man out of a revue. Why didn't the ass burst -into gesture and a throaty tenor. . . . - -Sergeant-Major Cowley naturally saved the situation. Just as Tietjens -was as near saying _Go to hell_ as you can be to your remarkably senior -officer on parade, the sergeant-major, now a very important solicitor's -most confidential clerk, began whispering to the colonel. . . . - -"The captain might as well take a spell as not. . . . We're through with -all the men except the Canadian Railway batch, and they can't be issued -with blankets not for half an hour . . . not for three-quarters. If -then! It depends if our runner can find where Quarter's lance-corporal -is having his supper, to issue them. . . ." The sergeant-major had -inserted that last speech deftly. The Staff officer, with a vague -reminiscence of his regimental days, exclaimed: - -"Damn it! . . . I wonder you don't break into the depot blanket store -and take what you want. . . ." - -The sergeant-major, becoming Simon Pure, exclaimed: - -"Oh, no, sir, we could never do that, sir. . . ." - -"But the confounded men are urgently needed in the line," Colonel Levin -said. "Damn it, it's touch and go! . . . We're rushing . . ." He -appreciated the fact again that he was on the gawdy Staff, and that the -sergeant-major and Tietjens, playing like left backs into each other's -hands, had trickily let him in. - -"We can only pray, sir," the sergeant-major said, "that these 'ere -bloomin' 'Uns has got quartermasters and depots and issuing departments, -same as ourselves." He lowered his voice into a husky whisper. "Besides, -sir, there's a rumour . . . round the telephone in depot orderly room . . . -that there's a W.O. order at 'Edquarters . . . countermanding this -and other drafts. . . ." - -Colonel Levin said: "Oh, my God!" and consternation rushed upon both him -and Tietjens. The frozen ditches, in the night, out there; the agonized -waiting for men; the weight upon the mind like a weight upon the brows; -the imminent sense of approaching unthinkableness on the right or the -left, according as you looked up or down the trench; the solid -protecting earth of the parapet then turns into pierced mist . . . and -no reliefs coming from here. . . . The men up there thinking naïvely -that they were coming, and they not coming. Why not? Good God, why not? -Mackenzie said: - -"Poor ---- old Bird . . . His crowd had been in eleven weeks last -Wednesday. . . . About all they could stick. . . ." - -"They'll have to stick a damn lot more," Colonel Levin said. "I'd like -to get at some of the brutes. . . ." It was at that date the settled -conviction of His Majesty's Expeditionary Force that the army in the -field was the tool of politicians and civilians. In moments of routine -that cloud dissipated itself lightly: when news of ill omen arrived it -settled down again heavily like a cloud of black gas. You hung your head -impotently. . . . - -"So that," the sergeant-major said cheerfully, "the captain could very -well spare half an hour to get his dinner. Or for anything else. . . ." -Apart from the domestic desire that Tietjens' digestion should not -suffer from irregular meals he had the professional conviction that for -his captain to be in intimate private converse with a member of the -gawdy Staff was good for the unit. ... "I suppose, sir," he added -valedictorily to Tietjens, "I'd better arrange to put this draft, and -the nine hundred men that came in this afternoon to replace them, twenty -in a tent. . . . It's lucky we didn't strike them. . . ." - -Tietjens and the colonel began to push men out of their way, going -towards the door. The Inniskilling-Canadian, a small open brown book, -extended deprecatingly stood, modestly obtrusive, just beside the -doorpost. Catching avidly at Tietjens' "Eh?" he said: - -"You'd got the names of the girls wrong in your copy, sir. It was Gwen -Lewis I had a child by in Aberystwyth that I wanted to have the lease of -the cottage and the ten bob a week. Mrs. Hosier that I lived with in -Berwick St. James, she was only to have five guineas for a soovneer. . . . -I've took the liberty of changing the names back again. . . ." - -Tietjens grabbed the book from him, and bending down at the -sergeant-major's table scrawled his signature on the bluish page. He -thrust the book back at the man and said: - -"There . . . fall out." The man's face shone. He exclaimed: - -"Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly, captain. . . . I wanted to get off -and go to confession. I did bad. . . ." The McGill graduate with his -arrogant black moustache put himself in the way as Tietjens struggled -into his British warm. - -"You won't forget, sir, . . ." he began. - -Tietjens said: - -"Damn you, I've told you I won't forget. I never forget. You instructed -the ignorant Jap in Asaki, but the educational authority is in Tokio. -And your flagitious mineral-water company had their headquarters at the -Tan Sen spring near Kobe. . . . Is that right? Well, I'll do my best for -you." - -They walked in silence through the groups of men that hung round the -orderly room door and gleamed in the moonlight. In the broad country -street of the main line of the camp Colonel Levin began to mutter -between his teeth: - -"You take enough trouble with your beastly crowd . . . a whole lot of -trouble. . . . Yet . . ." - -"Well, what's the matter with us?" Tietjens said. "We get our drafts -ready in thirty-six hours less than any other unit in this command." - -"I know you do," the other conceded. "It's only all these mysterious -rows. Now . . ." - -Tietjens said quickly: - -"Do you mind my asking: Are we still on parade? Is this a strafe from -General Campion as to the way I command my unit?" - -The other conceded quite as quickly and much more worriedly: - -"God forbid." He added more quickly still: "Old bean!" and prepared to -tuck his wrist under Tietjens' elbow. Tietjens, however, continued to -face the fellow. He was really in a temper. - -"Then tell me," he said, "how the deuce you can manage to do without an -overcoat in this weather?" If only he could get the chap off the topics -of his mysterious rows they might drift to the matter that had brought -him up there on that bitter night when he should be sitting over a good -wood fire philandering with Mlle Nanette de Bailly. He sank his neck -deeper into the sheepskin collar of his British warm. The other, slim, -was with all his badges, ribands and mail, shining darkly in a cold that -set all Tietjens' teeth chattering like porcelain. Levin became -momentarily animated: - -"You should do as I do. . . . Regular hours . . . lots of exercise . . . -horse exercise. . . . I do P.T. every morning at the open window of my -room . . . hardening. . . ." - -"It must be very gratifying for the ladies in the rooms facing yours," -Tietjens said grimly. "Is that what's the matter with Mlle Nanette, -now? . . . I haven't got time for proper exercise. . . ." - -"Good gracious, no," the colonel said. He now tucked his hand firmly -under Tietjens' arm and began to work him towards the left hand of the -road: in the direction leading out of the camp. Tietjens worked their -steps as firmly towards the right and they leant one against the other. -"In fact, old bean," the colonel said, "Campy is working so hard to get -the command of a fighting army--though he's indispensable here--that we -might pack up bag and baggage any day. . . . That is what has made -Nanette see reason. . . ." - -"Then what am I doing in this show?" Tietjens asked. But Colonel Levin -continued blissfully: - -"In fact I've got her almost practically for certain to promise that -next week . . . or the week after next at latest . . . she'll . . . damn -it, she'll name the happy day." - -Tietjens said: - -"Good hunting! . . . How splendidly Victorian!" "That's, damn it," the -colonel exclaimed manfully, "what I say myself. . . . Victorian is what -it is. . . . All these marriage settlements. . . . And what is it . . . -_Droits du Seigneur_? . . . And notaires . . . And the Count, having his -say . . . And the Marchioness . . . And two old grand aunts . . . But . . . -Hoopla! . . ." He executed with his gloved right thumb in the -moonlight a rapid pirouette . . . "Next week . . . or at least the week -after . . ." His voice suddenly dropped. - -"At least," he wavered, "that was what it was at lunch-time. . . . Since -then . . . something happened. . . ." - -"You've not been caught in bed with a V.A.D.?" Tietjens asked. - -The colonel mumbled: - -"No . . . not in bed. . . . Not with a V.A.D. . . . Oh, damn it, at the -railway station. . . . With . . . The general sent me down to meet -her . . . and Nanny of course was seeing off her grandmother, the -Duchesse . . . The giddy cut she handed me out. . . ." - -Tietjens became coldly furious. - -"Then it _was_ over one of your beastly imbecile rows with Miss de Bailly -that you got me out here," he exclaimed. "Do you mind going down with me -towards the I.B.D. headquarters? Your final orders may have come in -there. The sappers won't let me have a telephone, so I have to look in -there the last thing. . . ." He felt a yearning towards rooms in huts, -warmed by coke-stoves and electrically lit, with acting lance-corporals -bending over A.F.B.'s on a background of deal pigeon-holes filled with -returns on buff and blue paper. You got quiet and engrossment there. It -was a queer thing: the only place where he, Christopher Tietjens of -Groby, could be absently satisfied was in some orderly room or other. -The only place in the world. . . . And why? It was a queer thing. . . . - -But not queer, really. It was a matter of inevitable selection if you -came to think it out. An acting orderly-room lance-corporal was selected -for his penmanship, his power of elementary figuring, his -trustworthiness amongst innumerable figures and messages, his -dependability. For this he differed a hair's breadth in rank from the -rank and file. A hairbreadth that was to him the difference between life -and death. For, if he proved not to be dependable, back he -went--returned to duty! As long as he was dependable he slept under a -table in a warm room, his toilette arrangements and washing in a -bully-beef case near his head, a billy full of tea always stewing for -him on an always burning stove. . . . A paradise! . . . No! Not a -paradise: _the_ paradise of the Other Ranks! . . . He might be awakened at -one in the morning. Miles away the enemy might be beginning a strafe. . . . -He would roll out from among the blankets under the table amongst -the legs of hurrying N.C.O.'s and officers, the telephone going like -hell. . . . He would have to manifold innumerable short orders on buff -slips, on a typewriter. . . . A bore to be awakened at one in the -morning, but not unexciting: the enemy putting up a tremendous barrage -in front of the village of Dranoutre: the whole nineteenth division to -be moved into support along the Bailleul-Nieppe road. In case . . . - -Tietjens considered the sleeping army. . . . That country village under -the white moon, all of sackcloth sides, celluloid windows, forty men to -a hut . . . That slumbering Arcadia was one of . . . how many? -Thirty-seven thousand five hundred, say for a million and a half of -men. . . . But there were probably more than a million and a half in that -base. . . . Well, round the slumbering Arcadias were the fringes of -virginly glimmering tents. . . . Fourteen men to a tent. . . . For a -million. . . . Seventy-one thousand four hundred and twenty-one tents -round, say, one hundred and fifty I.B.D.'s, C.B.D.'s, R.E.B.D.'s. . . . -Base depots for infantry, cavalry, sappers, gunners, airmen, -anti-airmen, telephone-men, vets, chiropodists, Royal Army Service Corps -men, Pigeon Service men, Sanitary Service men, Women's Auxiliary Army -Corps women, V.A.D. women--what in the world did V.A.D. stand -for?--canteens, rest-tent attendants, barrack damage superintendents, -parsons, priests, rabbis, Mormon bishops, Brahmins, Lamas, Imams, Fanti -men, no doubt, for African troops. And all really dependent on the -acting orderly-room lance-corporals for their temporal and spiritual -salvation. . . . For, if by a slip of the pen a lance-corporal sent a -Papist priest to an Ulster regiment, the Ulster men would lynch him, and -all go to hell. Or, if by a slip of the tongue at the telephone, or a -slip of the typewriter, he sent a division to Westoutre instead of to -Dranoutre at one in the morning, the six or seven thousand poor devils -in front of Dranoutre might all be massacred and nothing but His -Majesty's Navy could save us. . . . - -Yet, in the end, all this tangle was satisfactorily unravelled; the -drafts moved off, unknotting themselves like snakes, coiling out of -inextricable bunches, sliding vertebrately over the mud to dip into -their bowls--the rabbis found Jews dying to whom to administer; the -vets, spavined mules; the V.A.D.'s, men without jaws and shoulders in -C.C.S.'s; the camp-cookers, frozen beef; the chiropodists, ingrowing -toenails; the dentists, decayed molars; the naval howitzers, camouflaged -emplacements in picturesquely wooded dingles. . . . Somehow they got -there--even to the pots of strawberry jam by the ten dozen! - -For if the acting lance-corporal, whose life hung by a hair, made a slip -of the pen over a dozen pots of jam, back he went, _Returned to duty_ . . . -back to the frozen rifle, the ground-sheet on the liquid mud, the -desperate suction on the ankle as the foot was advanced, the landscapes -silhouetted with broken church towers, the continual drone of the -planes, the mazes of duckboards in vast plains of slime, the unending -Cockney humour, the great shells labelled _Love to Little Willie_. . . . -Back to the Angel with the Flaming Sword. The wrong side of him! . . . So, -on the whole, things moved satisfactorily. . . . - -He was walking Colonel Levin imperiously between the huts towards the -mess quarters, their feet crunching on the freezing gravel, the colonel -hanging back a little; but a mere light-weight and without nails in his -elegant bootsoles, so he had no grip on the ground. He was remarkably -silent. Whatever he wanted to get out he was reluctant to come to. He -brought out, however: - -"I wonder you don't apply to be returned to duty . . . to your -battalion. I jolly well should if I were you. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Why? Because I've had a man killed on me? . . . There must have been a -dozen killed to-night." - -"Oh, more, very likely," the other answered. "It was one of our own -planes that was brought down. . . . But it isn't that. . . . Oh, damn -it! . . . Would you mind walking the other way? . . . I've the greatest -respect . . . oh, almost ... for you personally. . . . You're a man of -intellect. . . ." - -Tietjens was reflecting on a nice point of military etiquette. - -This lisping, ineffectual fellow--he was a very careful Staff officer or -Campion would not have had him about the place!--was given to moulding -himself exactly on his general. Physically, in costume as far as -possible, in voice--for his lisp was not his own so much as an -adaptation of the general's slight stutter--and above all in his -uncompleted sentences and point of view. . . . Now, if he said: - -"Look here, colonel . . ." or "Look here, Colonel Levin . . ." or "Look -here, Stanley, my boy . . ." For the one thing an officer may not say to a -superior whatever their intimacy was: "Look here, Levin . . ." If he -said then: - -"Look here, Stanley, you're a silly ass. It's all very well for Campion -to say that I am unsound because I've some brains. He's my godfather and -has been saying it to me since I was twelve, and had more brain in my -left heel than he had in the whole of his beautifully barbered skull. . . . -But when you say it you are just a parrot. You did not think that -out for yourself. You do not even think it. You know I'm heavy, short in -the wind, and self-assertive . . . but you know perfectly well that I'm -as good on detail as yourself. And a damned sight more. You've never -caught me tripping over a return. Your sergeant in charge of returns may -have. But not you. . . ." - -If Tietjens should say that to this popinjay, would that be going -farther than an officer in charge of detachment should go with a member -of the Staff set above him, though not on parade and in a conversation -of intimacy? Off parade and in intimate conversation all His Majesty's -poor ---- officers are equals . . . gentlemen having His Majesty's -commission: there can be no higher rank and all that Bilge! . . . For -how off parade could this descendant of an old-clo'man from Frankfurt be -the equal of him, Tietjens of Groby? He wasn't his equal in any -way--let alone socially. If Tietjens hit him he would drop dead; if he -addressed a little sneering remark to Levin, the fellow would melt so -that you would see the old spluttering Jew swimming up through his -carefully arranged Gentile features. He couldn't shoot as well as -Tietjens, or ride, or play a hand at auction. Why, damn it, he, -Tietjens, hadn't the least doubt that he could paint better water-colour -pictures. . . . And, as for returns . . . he would undertake to tear the -guts out of half a dozen new and contradictory A.C.I.'s--Army Council -Instructions--and write twelve correct Command Orders founded on them, -before Levin had lisped out the date and serial number of the first -one. . . . He had done it several times up in the room, arranged like a -French blue stocking's salon, where Levin worked at Garrison -headquarters . . . He had written Levin's blessed command orders while -Levin fussed and fumed about their being delayed for tea with Mlle de -Bailly . . . and curled his delicate moustache . . . Mlle de Bailly, -chaperoned by old Lady Sachse, had tea by a clear wood fire in an -eighteenth-century octagonal room, with blue-grey tapestried walls and -powdering closets, out of priceless porcelain cups without handles. Pale -tea that tasted faintly of cinnamon! - -Mlle de Bailly was a long, dark, high-coloured Provençale. Not heavy, -but precisely long, slow, and cruel; coiled in a deep arm-chair, saying -the most wounding, slow things to Levin, she resembled a white Persian -cat luxuriating, sticking out a tentative pawful of expanding claws. -With eyes slanting pronouncedly upwards and a very thin hooked nose . . . -Almost Japanese . . . And with a terrific cortège of relatives, swell -in a French way. One brother a chauffeur to a Marshal of France . . . An -aristocratic way of shirking! - -With all that, obviously even off parade, you might well be the social -equal of a Staff colonel: but you jolly well had to keep from showing -that you were his superior. Especially intellectually. If you let -yourself show a Staff officer that he _was_ a silly ass--you could say it -as often as you liked as long as you didn't prove it!--you could be -certain that you would be for it before long. And quite properly. It was -not English to be intellectually adroit. Nay, it was positively -un-English. And the duty of field officers is to keep messes as English -as possible. . . . So a Staff officer would take it out of such a -regimental inferior. In a perfectly creditable way. You would never -imagine the hash headquarters warrant officers would make of your -returns. Until you were worried and badgered and in the end either you -were ejected into, or prayed to be transferred to . . . any other -command in the whole service. . . . - -And that was beastly. The process, not the effect. On the whole Tietjens -did not care where he was or what he did as long as he kept out of -England, the thought of that country, at night, slumbering across the -Channel, being sentimentally unbearable to him. . . . Still, he was fond -of old Campion, and would rather be in his command than any other. He -had attached to his staff a very decent set of fellows, as decent as you -could be in contact with . . . if you had to be in contact with your -kind. . . . So he just said: - -"Look here, Stanley, you are a silly ass," and left it at that, without -demonstrating the truth of the assertion. - -The colonel said: - -"Why, what have I been doing now? . . . I _wish_ you would walk the other -way. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, I can't afford to go out of camp. . . . I've got to come to witness -your fantastic wedding-contract to-morrow afternoon, haven't I? . . . I -can't leave camp twice in one week. . . ." - -"You've got to come down to the camp-guard," Levin said. "I hate to keep -a woman waiting in the cold . . . though she _is_ in the general's -car. . . ." - -Tietjens exclaimed: - -"You've not been . . . oh, extraordinarily enough, to bring Miss de -Bailly out here? To talk to me?" - -Colonel Levin mumbled, so low Tietjens almost imagined that he was not -meant to hear: - -"It isn't Miss de Bailly!" Then he exclaimed quite aloud: "Damn it all, -Tietjens, haven't you had hints enough? . . ." - -For a lunatic moment it went through Tietjens' mind that it must be Miss -Wannop in the general's car, at the gate, down the hill beside the camp -guard-room. But he knew folly when it presented itself to his mind. He -had nevertheless turned and they were going very slowly back along the -broad way between the huts. Levin was certainly in no hurry. The broad -way would come to an end of the hutments; about two acres of slope would -descend blackly before them, white stones to mark a sort of coastguard -track glimmering out of sight beneath a moon gone dark with the frost. -And, down there in the dark forest, at the end of that track, in a -terrific Rolls-Royce, was waiting something of which Levin was certainly -deucedly afraid. . . . - -For a minute Tietjens' backbone stiffened. He didn't intend to interfere -between Mlle de Bailly and any married woman Levin had had as a -mistress. . . . Somehow he was convinced that what was in that car was a -married woman. . . . He did not dare to think otherwise. If it was not a -married woman it might be Miss Wannop. If it was, it couldn't be. . . . -An immense waft of calm, sentimental happiness had descended upon him. -Merely because he had imagined her! He imagined her little, fair, rather -pug-nosed face: under a fur cap, he did not know why. Leaning forward -she would be, on the seat of the general's illuminated car: glazed in: a -regular raree show! Peering out, shortsightedly on account of the -reflections on the inside of the glass. . . . - -He was saying to Levin: - -"Look here, Stanley . . . why I said you are a silly ass is because Miss -de Bailly has one chief luxury. It's exhibiting jealousy. Not feeling -it; exhibiting it." - -"_Ought_ you," Levin asked ironically, "to discuss my fiancée before -me? As an English gentleman. Tietjens of Groby and all." - -"Why, of course," Tietjens said. He continued feeling happy. "As a sort -of swollen best man, it's my duty to instruct you. Mothers tell their -daughters things before marriage. Best men do it for the innocent -Benedict. . . . And you're always consulting me about the young -woman. . . ." - -"I'm not doing it now," Levin grumbled direly. - -"Then what, in God's name, are you doing? You've got a cast mistress, -haven't you, down there in old Campion's car? . . ." They were beside -the alley that led down to his orderly room. Knots of men, dim, and -desultory, still half filled it, a little way down. - -"I _haven't_," Levin exclaimed almost tearfully. "I never _had_ a -mistress. . . ." - -"And you're not married?" Tietjens asked. He used on purpose the -schoolboy's ejaculation "Lummy!" to soften the jibe. "If you'll excuse -me," he said, "I must just go and take a look at my crowd. To see if -your orders have come down." - -He found no orders in a hut as full as ever of the dull mists and odours -of khaki, but he found in revenge a fine upstanding, blond, -Canadian-born lance-corporal of old Colonial lineage, with a moving -story as related by Sergeant-Major Cowley: - -"This man, sir, of the Canadian Railway lot, 'is mother's just turned up -in the town, come on from Eetarpels. Come all the way from Toronto where -she was bedridden." - -Tietjens said: - -"Well, what about it? Get a move on." - -The man wanted leave to go to his mother who was waiting in a decent -estaminet at the end of the tramline, just outside the camp where the -houses of the town began. - -Tietjens said: "It's impossible. It's absolutely impossible. You know -that." - -The man stood erect and expressionless; his blue eyes looked -confoundedly honest to Tietjens who was cursing himself. He said to the -man: - -"You can see for yourself that it's impossible, can't you?" - -The man said slowly: - -"Not knowing the regulations in these circumstances I can't say, sir. -But my mother's is a very special case. . . . She's lost two sons -already." - -Tietjens said: - -"A great many people have. . . . Do you understand, if you went absent -off my pass I might--I quite possibly might--lose my commission? I'm -responsible for you fellows getting up the line." - -The man looked down at his feet. Tietjens said to himself that it was -Valentine Wannop doing this to him. He ought to turn the man down at -once. He was pervaded by a sense of her being. It was imbecile. Yet it -was so. He said to the man: - -"You said good-bye to your mother, didn't you, in Toronto, before you -left?" - -The man said: - -"No, sir." He had not seen his mother in seven years. He had been up in -the Chilkoot when war broke out and had not heard of it for ten months. -Then he had at once joined up in British Columbia, and had been sent -straight through for railway work, on to Aldershot where the Canadians -have a camp in building. He had not known that his brothers were killed -till he got there and his mother, being bedridden at the news, had not -been able to get down to Toronto when his batch had passed through. She -lived about sixty miles from Toronto. Now she had risen from her bed -like a miracle and come all the way. A widow: sixty-two years of age. -Very feeble. - -It occurred to Tietjens as it occurred to him ten times a day that it -was idiotic of him to figure Valentine Wannop to himself. He had not the -slightest idea where she was: in what circumstances, or even in what -house. He did not suppose she and her mother had stayed on in that -dog-kennel of a place in Bedford Park. They would be fairly comfortable. -His father had left them money. "It is preposterous," he said to -himself, "to persist in figuring a person to yourself when you have no -idea of where they are." He said to the man: - -"Wouldn't it do if you saw your mother at the camp gate, by the -guard-room?" - -"Not much of a leave-taking, sir," the man said; "she not allowed in the -camp and I not allowed out. Talking under a sentry's nose very likely." - -Tietjens said to himself: - -"What a monstrous absurdity this is of seeing and talking, for a minute or -so! You meet and talk . . ." And next day at the same hour. Nothing. . . . -As well not to meet or talk. . . . Yet the mere fantastic idea of -seeing Valentine Wannop for a minute. . . . She not allowed in the camp -and he not going out. Talking under a sentry's nose, very likely. . . . -It had made him smell primroses. Primroses, like Miss Wannop. He said to -the sergeant-major: - -"What sort of a fellow is this?" Cowley, in openmouthed suspense, gasped -like a fish. Tietjens said: - -"I suppose your mother is fairly feeble to stand in the cold?" - -"A very decent man, sir," the sergeant-major got out, "one of the best. -No trouble. A perfectly clean conduct sheet. Very good education. A -railway engineer in civil life. . . . Volunteered, of course, sir." - -"That's the odd thing," Tietjens said to the man, "that the percentages -of absentees is as great amongst the volunteers as the Derby men or the -compulsorily enlisted. . . . Do you understand what will happen to you -if you miss the draft?" - -The man said soberly: - -"Yes, sir. Perfectly well." - -"You understand that you will be shot? As certainly as that you stand -there. And that you haven't a chance of escape." - -He wondered what Valentine Wannop, hot pacifist, would think of him if -she heard him. Yet it was his duty to talk like that: his human, not -merely his military duty. As much his duty as that of a doctor to warn a -man that if he drank of typhoid-contaminated water he would get typhoid. -But people are unreasonable. Valentine too was unreasonable. She would -consider it brutal to speak to a man of the possibility of his being -shot by a firing party. A groan burst from him. At the thought that -there was no sense in bothering about what Valentine Wannop would or -would not think of him. No sense. No sense. No sense. . . . - -The man, fortunately, was assuring him that he knew, very soberly, all -about the penalty for going absent off a draft. The sergeant-major, -catching a sound from Tietjens, said with admirable fussiness to the -man: - -"There, there! Don't you hear the officer's speaking? Never interrupt an -officer." - -"You'll be shot," Tietjens said, "at dawn. . . . Literally at dawn." Why -did they shoot them at dawn? To rub it in that they were never going to -see another sunrise. But they drugged the fellows so that they wouldn't -know the sun if they saw it: all roped in a chair. . . . It was really -the worse for the firing party. He added to the man: - -"Don't think I'm insulting you. You appear to be a very decent fellow. -But very decent fellows have gone absent. . . ." He said to the -sergeant-major: - -"Give this man a two-hours' pass to go to the . . . whatever's the name -of the estaminet. . . . The draft won't move off for two hours, will -it?" He added to the man: "If you see your draft passing the pub you run -out and fall in. Like mad, you understand. You'd never get another -chance." - -There was a mumble like applause and envy of a mate's good luck from a -packed audience that had hung on the lips of simple melodrama . . . an -audience that seemed to be all enlarged eyes, the khaki was so -colourless. . . . They came as near applause as they dared, but there -was no sense in worrying about whether Valentine Wannop would have -applauded or not. . . . And there was no knowing whether the fellow -would not go absent, either. As likely as not there was no mother. A -girl very likely. And very likely the man would desert. . . . The man -looked you straight in the eyes. But a strong passion, like that for -escape--or a girl--will give you control over the muscles of the eyes. A -little thing that, before a strong passion! One would look God in the -face on the day of judgment and lie, in that case. - -Because what the devil did he want of Valentine Wannop? Why could he not -stall off the thought of her? He could stall off the thought of his -wife . . . or his not-wife. But Valentine Wannop came wriggling in. At all -hours of the day and night It was an obsession. A madness. . . . What -those fools called "a complex"! . . . Due, no doubt, to something your -nurse had done, or your parents said to you. At birth . . . A strong -passion . . . or no doubt not strong enough. Otherwise he, too, would -have gone absent At any rate, from Sylvia . . . Which he hadn't done. -Which he hadn't done. Or hadn't he? There was no saying. . . . - -It was undoubtedly colder in the alley between the huts. A man was -saying: "Hoo . . . Hooo . . . Hoo . . ." A sound like that, and flapping -his arms and hopping . . . "Hand and foot, mark time! . . ." Somebody -ought to fall these poor devils in and give them that to keep their -circulations going. But they might not know the command. . . . It was a -Guards' trick, really. . . . What the devil were these fellows kept -hanging about here for? he asked. - -One or two voices said that they did not know. The majority said -gutturally: - -"Waiting for our mates, sir. . . ." - -"I should have thought you could have waited under cover," Tietjens said -caustically. "But never mind; it's your funeral, if you like it. . . ." -This getting together . . . a strong passion. There was a warmed -recreation-hut for waiting drafts not fifty yards away. . . . But they -stood, teeth chattering and mumbling "Hoo . . . Hooo . . ." rather than -miss thirty seconds of gabble. . . . About what the English -sergeant-major said and about what the officer said and how many dollars -did they give you. . . . And of course about what you answered back. . . . -Or perhaps not that. These Canadian troops were husky, serious -fellows, without the swank of the Cockney or the Lincolnshire -Moonrakers. They wanted, apparently, to learn the rules of war. They -discussed anxiously information that they received in orderly rooms, and -looked at you as if you were expounding the gospels. . . . - -But, damn it, he, he himself, would make a pact with Destiny, at that -moment, willingly, to pass thirty months in the frozen circle of hell, -for the chance of thirty seconds in which to tell Valentine Wannop what -he had answered back . . . to Destiny! . . . What was the fellow in the -Inferno who was buried to the neck in ice and begged Dante to clear the -icicles out of his eyelids so that he could see out of them? And Dante -kicked him in the face because he was a Ghibelline. . . . Always a bit -of a swine, Dante. . . . Rather like . . . like whom? . . . Oh, Sylvia -Tietjens. . . . A good hater! . . . He imagined hatred coming to him in -waves from the convent in which Sylvia had immured herself. . . . Gone -into retreat. . . . He imagined she had gone into retreat. She had said -she was going. For the rest of the war. . . . For the duration of -hostilities or life, whichever were the longer. . . . He imagined -Sylvia, coiled up on a convent bed. . . . Hating. . . . Her certainly -glorious hair all round her. . . . Hating. . . . Slowly and coldly. . . . -Like the head of a snake when you examined it. . . . Eyes motionless: -mouth closed tight. . . . Looking away into the distance and hating. . . . -She was presumably in Birkenhead. ... A long way to send your hatred. . . . -Across a country and a sea in an icy night. . .! Over all that -black land and water . . . with the lights out because of air-raids and -U-boats. . . . Well, he did not have to think of Sylvia at the moment. -She was well out of it. . . . - -It was certainly getting no warmer as the night drew on. . . . Even that -ass Levin was pacing swiftly up and down in the dusky moon-shadow of the -last hutments that looked over the slope and the vanishing trail of -white stones. . . . In spite of his boasting about not wearing an -overcoat: to catch women's eyes with his pretty Staff gadgets he was -carrying on like a leopard at feeding time. . . . - -Tietjens said: - -"Sorry to keep you waiting, old man. . . . Or rather your lady. . . . -But there were some men to see to. . . . And, you know . . . 'The -comfort and--what is it?--of the men comes before every--is it -"consideration"?--except the exigencies of actual warfare' . . . My -memory's gone phut these days. . . . And you want me to slide down this -hill and wheeze back again. . . . To see a woman! . . ." - -Levin screeched: "Damn you, you ass! It's your wife who's waiting for -you at the bottom there." - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -The one thing that stood out sharply in Tietjens' mind when at last, -with a stiff glass of rum punch, his officer's pocket-book complete with -pencil because he had to draft before eleven a report as to the -desirability for giving his unit special lectures on the causes of the -war, and a cheap French novel on a camp chair beside him he sat in his -flea-bag with six army blankets over him--the one thing that stood out -as sharply as Staff tabs was that ass Levin was rather pathetic. -His unnailed bootsoles very much cramping his action on the frozen -hillside, he had alternately hobbled a step or two, and, reduced to -inaction, had grabbed at Tietjens' elbow, while he brought out -breathlessly puzzled sentences. . . . - -There resulted a singular mosaic of extraordinary, bright-coloured and -melodramatic statements, for Levin, who first hobbled down the hill with -Tietjens and then hobbled back up, clinging to his arm, brought out -monstrosities of news about Sylvia's activities, without any sequence, -and indeed without any apparent aim except for the great affection he -had for Tietjens himself. . . . All sorts of singular things seemed to -have been going on round him in the vague zone, outside all this -engrossed and dust-coloured world--in the vague zone that held. . . . -Oh, the civilian population, tea-parties short of butter! . . . - -And as Tietjens, seated on his hams, his knees up, pulled the soft -woolliness of his flea-bag under his chin and damned the paraffin heater -for letting out a new and singular stink, it seemed to him that this -affair was like coming back after two months and trying to get the hang -of battalion orders. . . . You come back to the familiar, slightly -battered mess ante-room. You tell the mess orderly to bring you the last -two months' orders, for it is as much as your life is worth not to know -what is or is not in them. . . . There might be an A.C.I. ordering you -to wear your helmet back to the front, or a battalion order, that Mills -bombs must always be worn in the left breast pocket. Or there might be -the detail for putting on a new gas helmet! . . . The orderly hands you -a dishevelled mass of faintly typewritten matter, thumbed out of all -chance of legibility, with the orders for November 16 fastened -inextricably into the middle of those for the 1st of December, and those -for the 10th, 15th and 29th missing altogether. . . . And all that you -gather is that headquarters has some exceedingly insulting things to say -about A Company; that a fellow called Hartopp, whom you don't know, has -been deprived of his commission; that at a court of inquiry held to -ascertain deficiencies in C Company Captain Wells--poor Wells!--has been -assessed at £27 11_s_. 4_d_., which he is requested to pay forthwith -to the adjutant. . . . - -So, on that black hillside, going and returning, what stuck out for -Tietjens was that Levin had been taught by the general to consider that -he, Tietjens, was an extraordinarily violent chap who would certainly -knock Levin down when he told him that his wife was at the camp gates; -that Levin considered himself to be the descendant of an ancient Quaker -family. . . . (Tietjens had said _Good God_! at that); that the mysterious -"rows" to which in his fear Levin had been continually referring had -been successive letters from Sylvia to the harried general . . . -and that Sylvia had accused him, Tietjens, of stealing two pairs -of her best sheets. . . . There was a great deal more. But, having faced -what he considered to be the worst of the situation, Tietjens set -himself coolly to recapitulate every aspect of his separation from his -wife. He had meant to face every aspect, not that merely social one upon -which, hitherto, he had automatically imagined their disunion to rest. -For, as he saw it, English people of good position consider that the -basis of all marital unions or disunions, is the maxim: No scenes. -Obviously for the sake of the servants--who are the same thing as the -public. No scenes, then, for the sake of the public. And indeed, with -him, the instinct for privacy--as to his relationships, his passions, or -even as to his most unimportant motives--was as strong as the instinct -of life itself. He would, literally, rather be dead than an open book. - -And, until that afternoon, he had imagined that his wife, too, would -rather be dead than have her affairs canvassed by the other ranks. . . . -But that assumption had to be gone over. Revised. . . . Of course he -might say she had gone mad. But, if he said she had gone mad he would -have to revise a great deal of their relationships, so it would be as -broad as it was long. . . . - -The doctor's batman, from the other end of the hut, said: - -"Poor ---- O Nine Morgan! . . ." in a sing-song, mocking voice. . . . - -For though, hours before, Tietjens had appointed this moment of physical -ease that usually followed on his splurging heavily down on to his -creaking camp-bed in the doctor's lent hut, for the cool consideration -of his relations with his wife, it was not turning out a very easy -matter. The hut was unreasonably warm: he had invited Mackenzie--whose -real name turned out to be McKechnie, James Grant McKechnie--to occupy -the other end of it. The other end of it was divided from him by a -partition of canvas and a striped Indian curtain. And McKechnie, -who was unable to sleep, had elected to carry on a long--an -interminable--conversation with the doctor's batman. - -The doctor's batman also could not sleep and, like McKechnie, was more -than a little barmy on the crumpet--an almost non-English--speaking -Welshman from God knows what up-country valley. He had shaggy hair like -a Caribbean savage and two dark, resentful wall-eyes; being a miner he -sat on his heels more comfortably than on a chair and his almost -incomprehensible voice went on in a low sort of ululation, with an -occasionally and startlingly comprehensible phrase sticking out now and -then. - -It was troublesome, but orthodox enough. The batman had been blown -literally out of most of his senses and the VIth Battalion of the -Glamorganshire Regiment by some German high explosive or other, more -than a year ago. But before then, it appeared, he had been in -McKechnie's own company in that battalion. It was perfectly in order -that an officer should gossip with a private formerly of his own platoon -or company, especially on first meeting him after long separation caused -by a casualty to one or the other. And McKechnie had first re-met this -scoundrel Jonce, or Evanns, at eleven that night--two and a half hours -before. So there, in the light of a single candle stuck in a stout -bottle they were tranquilly at it: the batman sitting on his heel by the -officer's head; the officer, in his pyjamas, sprawling half out of bed -over his pillows, stretching his arms abroad, occasionally yawning, -occasionally asking: "What became of Company-Sergeant-Major Hoyt?" . . . -They might talk till half-past three. - -But that was troublesome to a gentleman seeking to recapture what -exactly were his relations with his wife. - -Before the doctor's batman had interrupted him by speaking startlingly -of O Nine Morgan, Tietjens had got as far as what follows with his -recapitulation: The lady, Mrs. Tietjens, was certainly without -mitigation a whore; he himself equally certainly and without -qualification had been physically faithful to the lady and their -marriage tie. In law, then, he was absolutely in the right of it. But -that fact had less weight than a cobweb. For after the last of her -high-handed divagations from fidelity he had accorded to the lady the -shelter of his roof and of his name. She had lived for years beside him, -apparently on terms of hatred and miscomprehension. But certainly in -conditions of chastity. Then, during the tenuous and lugubrious small -hours, before his coming out there again to France, she had given -evidence of a madly vindictive passion for his person. A physical -passion at any rate. - -Well, those were times of mad, fugitive emotions. But even in the -calmest times a man could not expect to have a woman live with him as -the mistress of his house and mother of his heir without establishing -some sort of claim upon him. They hadn't slept together. But was it not -possible that a constant measuring together of your minds was as proper -to give you a proprietary right as the measuring together of the limbs? -It was perfectly possible. Well then . . . - -What, in the eyes of God, severed a union? . . . Certainly he had -imagined--until that very afternoon--that their union had been cut, as -the tendon of Achilles is cut in a hamstringing, by Sylvia's clear voice, -outside his house, saying in the dawn to a cabman, "Paddington!" . . . -He tried to go with extreme care through every detail of their -last interview in his still nearly dark drawing-room at the other end of -which she had seemed a mere white phosphorescence. . . . - -They had, then, parted for good on that day. He was going out to France; -she into retreat in a convent near Birkenhead--to which place you go -from Paddington. Well then, that was one parting. That, surely, set him -free for the girl! - -He took a sip from the glass of rum and water on the canvas chair beside -him. It was tepid and therefore beastly. He had ordered the batman to -bring it him hot, strong and sweet, because he had been certain of an -incipient cold. He had refrained from drinking it because he had -remembered that he was to think cold-bloodedly of Sylvia, and he made a -practice of never touching alcohol when about to engage in protracted -reflection. That had always been his theory: it had been immensely and -empirically strengthened by his warlike experience. On the Somme, in the -summer, when stand-to had been at four in the morning, you would come -out of your dug-out and survey, with a complete outfit of pessimistic -thoughts, a dim, grey, repulsive landscape over a dull and much too thin -parapet. There would be repellent posts, altogether too fragile -entanglements of barbed wire, broken wheels, detritus, coils of mist -over the positions of revolting Germans. Grey stillness; grey horrors, -in front; and behind amongst the civilian populations! And clear, hard -outlines to every thought. . . . Then your batman brought you a cup of -tea with a little--quite a little--rum in it. In three or four minutes -the whole world changed beneath your eyes. The wire aprons became jolly -efficient protections that your skill had devised and for which you -might thank God; the broken wheels were convenient landmarks for raiding -at night in No Man's Land. You had to confess that, when you had -re-erected that parapet, after it had last been jammed in, your company -had made a pretty good job of it. And, even as far as the Germans were -concerned, you were there to kill the swine; but you didn't feel that -the thought of them would make you sick beforehand. . . . You were, in -fact, a changed man. With a mind of a different specific gravity. You -could not even tell that the roseate touches of dawn on the mists were -not really the effects of rum. . . . - -Therefore he had determined not to touch his grog. But his throat had -gone completely dry; so, mechanically, he had reached out for something -to drink, checking himself when he had realized what he was doing. But -why should his throat be dry? He hadn't been on the drink. He had not -even had any dinner. And why was he in this extraordinary state? . . . -For he was in an extraordinary state. It was because the idea had -suddenly occurred to him that his parting from his wife had set him free -for his girl. . . . The idea had till then never entered his head. - -He said to himself: We must go methodically into this! Methodically into -the history of his last day on earth. . . . - -Because he swore that when he had come out to France this time he had -imagined that he was cutting loose from this earth. And during the -months that he had been there he had seemed to have no connection with -any earthly things. He had imagined Sylvia in her convent and done with; -Miss Wannop he had not been able to imagine at all. But she had seemed -to be done with. - -It was difficult to get his mind back to that night. You cannot force -your mind to a deliberate, consecutive recollection unless you are in -the mood; then it will do whether you want it to or not. . . . He had -had then, three months or so ago, a very painful morning with his wife, -the pain coming from a suddenly growing conviction that his wife was -forcing herself into an attitude of caring for him. Only an attitude -probably, because, in the end, Sylvia was a lady and would not allow -herself really to care for the person in the world for whom it would be -least decent of her to care. . . . But she would be perfectly capable of -forcing herself to take that attitude if she thought that it would -enormously inconvenience himself. . . . - -But that wasn't the way, wasn't the way, wasn't the way his excited mind -said to himself. He was excited because it was possible that Miss -Wannop, too, might not have meant their parting to be a permanency. That -opened up an immense perspective. Nevertheless, the contemplation of -that immense perspective was not the way to set about a calm analysis of -his relations with his wife. The facts of the story _must_ be stated -before the moral. He said to himself that he must put, in exact -language, as if he were making a report for the use of garrison -headquarters, the history of himself in his relationship to his wife. . . . -And to Miss Wannop, of course. "Better put it into writing," he -said. - -Well then. He clutched at his pocket-book and wrote in large pencilled -characters: - -"When I married Miss Satterthwaite,"--he was attempting exactly to -imitate a report to General Headquarters--"unknown to myself, she -imagined herself to be with child by a fellow called Drake. I think she -was not. The matter is debatable. I am passionately attached to the -child who is my heir and the heir of a family of considerable position. -The lady was subsequently, on several occasions, though I do not know -how many, unfaithful to me. She left me with a fellow called Perowne, -whom she had met constantly at the house of my godfather, General Lord -Edward Campion, on whose staff Perowne was. That was long before the -war. This intimacy was, of course, certainly unsuspected by the general. -Perowne is again on the staff of General Campion, who has the quality of -attachment to his old subordinates, but as Perowne is an inefficient -officer, he is used only for more decorative jobs. Otherwise, obviously, -as he is an old regular, his seniority should make him a general, and he -is only a major. I make this diversion about Perowne because his -presence in this garrison causes me natural personal annoyance. - -"My wife, after an absence of several months with Perowne, wrote and -told me that she wished to be taken back into my household. I allowed -this. My principles prevent me from divorcing any woman, in particular -any woman who is the mother of a child. As I had taken no steps to -ensure publicity for the escapade of Mrs. Tietjens, no one, as far as I -know, was aware of her absence. Mrs. Tietjens, being a Roman Catholic, -is prevented from divorcing me. - -"During this absence of Mrs. Tietjens with the man Perowne, I made the -acquaintance of a young woman, Miss Wannop, the daughter of my father's -oldest friend, who was also an old friend of General Campion's. Our -station in Society naturally forms rather a close ring. I was immediately -aware that I had formed a sympathetic but not violent attachment for -Miss Wannop, and fairly confident that my feeling was returned. Neither -Miss Wannop nor myself being persons to talk about the state of our -feelings, we exchanged no confidences. . . . A disadvantage of being -English of a certain station. - -"The position continued thus for several years. Six or seven. After her -return from her excursion with Perowne, Mrs. Tietjens remained, I -believe, perfectly chaste. I saw Miss Wannop sometimes frequently, for a -period, in her mother's house or on social occasions, sometimes not for -long interval! No expression of affection on the part of either of us -ever passed. Not one. Ever. - -"On the day before my second going out to France I had a very painful -scene with my wife, during which, for the first time, we went into the -question of the parentage of my child and other matters. In the -afternoon I met Miss Wannop by appointment outside the War Office. The -appointment had been made by my wife, not by me. I knew nothing about -it. My wife must have been more aware of my feelings for Miss Wannop -than was I myself. - -"In St. James's Park I invited Miss Wannop to become my mistress that -evening. She consented and made an assignation. It is to be presumed -that was evidence of her affection for me. We have never exchanged -words of affection. Presumably a young lady does not consent to go to -bed with a married man without feeling affection for him. But I have no -proof. It was, of course, only a few hours before my going out to -France. Those are emotional sorts of moments for young women. No doubt -they consent more easily. - -"But we didn't. We were together at one-thirty in the morning, leaning -over her suburban garden gate. And nothing happened. We agreed that we -were the sort of persons who didn't. I do not know how we agreed. We -never finished a sentence. Yet it was a passionate scene. So I touched -the brim of my cap and said: _So long_! . . . Or perhaps I did not even -say _So long_. . . . Or she. . . . I don't remember. I remember the -thoughts I thought and the thoughts I gave her credit for thinking. But -perhaps she did not think them. There is no knowing. It is no good going -into them . . . except that I gave her credit for thinking that we were -parting for good. Perhaps she did not mean that. Perhaps I could write -letters to her. And live . . ." - -He exclaimed: - -"God, what a sweat I am in! . . ." - -The sweat, indeed, was pouring down his temples. He became instinct with -a sort of passion to let his thoughts wander into epithets and go about -where they would. But he stuck at it. He was determined to get it -expressed. He wrote on again: - -"I got home towards two in the morning and went into the dining-room in -the dark. I did not need a light. I sat thinking for a long time. Then -Sylvia spoke from the other end of the room. There was thus an -abominable situation. I have never been spoken to with such hatred. She -went, perhaps, mad. She had apparently been banking on the idea that if -I had physical contact with Miss Wannop I might satisfy my affection for -the girl. . . . And feel physical desires for _her_. . . . But she knew, -without my speaking, that I had not had physical contact with the girl. -She threatened to ruin me; to ruin me in the Army; to drag my name -through the mud. . . . I never spoke. I am damn good at not speaking. -She struck me in the face. And went away. Afterwards she threw into the -room, through the half-open doorway, a gold medallion of St. Michael, -the R.C. patron of soldiers in action that she had worn between her -breasts. I took it to mean the final act of parting. As if by no longer -wearing it she abandoned all prayer for my safety. . . . It might just -as well mean that she wished me to wear it myself for my personal -protection. . . . I heard her go down the stairs with her maid. The dawn -was just showing through the chimney-pots opposite. I heard her say: -_Paddington_. Clear, high syllables! And a motor drove off. - -"I got my things together and went to Waterloo. Mrs. Satterthwaite, her -mother, was waiting to see me off. She was very distressed that her -daughter had not come, too. She was of opinion that it meant we had -parted for good. I was astonished to find that Sylvia had told her -mother about Miss Wannop because Sylvia had always been extremely -reticent, even to her mother. . . . Mrs. Satterthwaite, who was _very_ -distressed--she likes me!--expressed the most gloomy forebodings as to -what Sylvia might not be up to. I laughed at her. She began to tell me a -long anecdote about what a Father Consett, Sylvia's confessor, had said -about Sylvia years before. He had said that if I ever came to care for -another woman Sylvia would tear the world to pieces to get at me. . . . -Meaning, to disturb my equanimity! . . . It was difficult to follow Mrs. -Satterthwaite. The side of an officer's train, going off, is not a good -place for confidences. So the interview ended rather untidily." - -At this point Tietjens groaned so audibly that McKechnie, from the other -end of the hut, asked if he had not said anything. Tietjens saved -himself with: - -"That candle looks from here to be too near the side of the hut. Perhaps -it isn't. These buildings are very inflammable." - -It was no good going on writing. He was no writer, and this writing gave -no sort of psychological pointers. He wasn't himself ever much the man -for psychology, but one ought to be as efficient at it as at anything -else. . . . Well then . . . What was at the bottom of all the madness -and cruelty that had distinguished both himself and Sylvia on his last -day and night in his native country? . . . For, mark! It was Sylvia who -had made, unknown to him, the appointment through which the girl had met -him. Sylvia had wanted to force him and Miss Wannop into each other's -arms. Quite definitely. She had said as much. But she had only said that -afterwards. When the game had not come off. She had had too much -knowledge of amatory manœuvres to show her hand before. . . . - -Why then had she done it? Partly, undoubtedly, out of pity for him. She -had given him a rotten time; she had undoubtedly, at one moment, wanted -to give him the consolation of his girl's arms. . . . Why, damn it, she, -Sylvia, and no one else, had forced out of him the invitation to the -girl to become his mistress. Nothing but the infernal cruelty of their -interview of the morning could have forced him to the pitch of sexual -excitement that would make him make a proposal of illicit intercourse to -a young lady to whom hitherto he had spoken not even one word of -affection. It was an effect of a Sadic kind. That was the only way to -look at it scientifically. And without doubt Sylvia had known what she -was doing. The whole morning, at intervals, like a person directing the -whiplash to a cruel spot of pain, reiteratedly, she had gone on and on. -She had accused him of having Valentine Wannop for his mistress. She had -accused him of having Valentine Wannop for his mistress. She had accused -him of having Valentine Wannop for his mistress. . . . With maddening -reiteration, like that. They had disposed of an estate; they had settled -up a number of business matters; they had decided that his heir was to -be brought up as a Papist--the mother's religion! They had gone, -agonizedly enough, into their own relationships and past history. Into -the very paternity of his child. . . . But always, at moments when his -mind was like a blind octopus, squirming in an agony of knife-cuts she -would drop in that accusation. She had accused him of having Valentine -Wannop for his mistress. . . . - -He swore by the living God. . . . He had never realized that he had a -passion for the girl till that morning; that he had a passion deep and -boundless like the sea, shaking like a tremor of the whole world, an -unquenchable thirst, a thing the thought of which made your bowels turn -over. . . . But he had not been the sort of fellow who goes into his -emotions. . . . Why, damn it, even at that moment when he thought of the -girl, there, in that beastly camp, in that Rembrandt beshadowed hut, -when he thought of the girl he named her to himself Miss Wannop. . . . - -It wasn't in that way that a man thought of a young woman whom he was -aware of passionately loving. He wasn't aware. He hadn't been aware. -Until that morning. . . . - -Then . . . that let him out . . . Undoubtedly that let him out. . . . A -woman cannot throw her man, her official husband, into the arms of the -first girl that comes along and consider herself as having any further -claims upon him. Especially if, on the same day, you part with him, he -going out to France! _Did_ it let him out? Obviously it did. - -He caught with such rapidity at his glass of rum and water that a little -of it ran over on to his thumb. He swallowed the lot, being instantly -warmed. . . . - -What in the world was he doing? Now? With all this introspection? . . . -Hang it all, he was not justifying himself. . . . He had acted perfectly -correctly as far as Sylvia was concerned. Not perhaps to Miss Wannop. . . . -Why, if he, Christopher Tietjens of Groby, had the need to justify -himself, what did it stand for to be Christopher Tietjens of Groby? That -was the unthinkable thought. - -Obviously he was not immune from the seven deadly sins. In the way of a -man. One might lie, yet not bear false witness against a neighbour; one -might kill, yet not without fitting provocation or for self-interest; -one might conceive of theft as reiving cattle from the false Scots which -was the Yorkshireman's duty; one might fornicate, obviously, as long as -you did not fuss about it unhealthily. That was the right of the -Seigneur in a world of Other Ranks. He hadn't personally committed any -of these sins to any great extent. One reserved the right so to do and -to take the consequences. . . . - -But what in the world had gone wrong with Sylvia? She was giving away -her own game, and that he had never known her do. But she could not have -made more certain, if she had wanted to, of returning him to his -allegiance to Miss Wannop than by forcing herself there into his private -life, and doing it with such blatant vulgarity. For what she had done -had been to make scenes before the servants! All the while he had been -in France she had been working up to it. Now she had done it. Before the -Tommies of his own unit. But Sylvia did not make mistakes like that. It -was a game. What game? He didn't even attempt to conjecture! She could -not expect that he would in the future even extend to her the shelter of -his roof. . . . What then was the game? He could not believe that she -could be capable of vulgarity except with a purpose. . . . - -She was a thoroughbred. He had always credited her with being that. And -now she was behaving as if she had every mean vice that a mare could -have. Or it looked like it. Was that, then, because she had been in his -stable? But how in the world otherwise could he have run their lives? -She had been unfaithful to him. She had never been anything but -unfaithful to him, before or after marriage. In a high-handed way so -that he could not condemn her, though it was disagreeable enough to -himself. He took her back into his house after she had been off with the -fellow Perowne. What more could she ask? . . . He could find no answer. -And it was not his business! - -But even if he did not bother about the motives of the poor beast of a -woman, she was the mother of his heir. And now she was running about the -world declaiming about her wrongs. What sort of a thing was that for a -boy to have happen to him? A mother who made scenes before the servants! -That was enough to ruin any boy's life. . . . - -There was no getting away from it that was what Sylvia had been -doing. She had deluged the general with letters for the last two months -or so, at first merely contenting herself with asking where he, -Tietjens, was and in what state of health, conditions of danger, and the -like. Very decently, for some time, the old fellow had said nothing -about the matter to him. He had probably taken the letters to be the -naturally anxious inquiries of a wife with a husband at the front; he -had considered that Tietjens' letters to her must have been -insufficiently communicative, or concealed what she imagined to be -wounds or a position of desperate danger. That would not have been very -pleasant in any case; women should not worry superior officers about the -vicissitudes of their menfolk. It was not done. Still, Sylvia was very -intimate with Campion and his family--more intimate than he himself was, -though Campion was his godfather. But quite obviously her letters had -got worse and worse. - -It was difficult for Tietjens to make out exactly what she had said. His -channel of information had been Levin, who was too gentlemanly ever to -say anything direct at all. Too gentlemanly, too implicitly trustful of -Tietjens' honour . . . and too bewildered by the charms of Sylvia, who -had obviously laid herself out to bewilder the poor Staff-wallah. . . . -But she had gone pretty far, either in her letters or in her -conversation since she had been in that city, to which--it was -characteristic--she had come without any sort of passports or papers, -just walking past gentlemen in their wooden boxes at pierheads and the -like, in conversation with--of all people in the world!--with Perowne, -who had been returning from leave with King's dispatches, or something -glorified of the Staff sort! In a special train very likely. That was -Sylvia all over. - -Levin said that Campion had given Perowne the most frightful dressing -down he had ever heard mortal man receive. And it really was _damn_ hard -on the poor general, who, after happenings to one of his predecessors, -had been perfectly rabid to keep skirts out of his headquarters. Indeed -it was one of the crosses of Levin's worried life that the general had -absolutely refused him, Levin, leave to marry Miss de Bailly if he would -not undertake that young woman should leave France by the first -boat after the ceremony. Levin, of course, was to go with her, but the -young woman was not to return to France for the duration of hostilities. -And a fine row all her noble relatives had raised over that It had cost -Levin another hundred and fifty thousand francs in the marriage -settlements. The married wives of officers in any case were not allowed -in France, though you could not keep out their unmarried ones. . . . - -Campion, anyhow, had dispatched his furious note to Tietjens after -receiving, firstly, in the early morning, a letter from Sylvia in which -she said that her ducal second-cousin, the lugubrious Rugeley, highly -disapproved of the fact that Tietjens was in France at all, and after -later receiving, towards four in the afternoon, a telegram, dispatched -by Sylvia herself from Havre, to say that she would be arriving by a -noon train. The general had been almost as much upset at the thought -that his car would not be there to meet Sylvia as by the thought that -she was coming at all. But a strike of French railway civilians had -delayed Sylvia's arrival. Campion had dispatched, within five minutes, -his snorter to Tietjens, who he was convinced knew all about Sylvia's -coming, and his car to Rouen Station with Levin in it. - -The general, in fact, was in a fine confusion. He was convinced that -Tietjens, as Man of Intellect, had treated Sylvia badly, even to the -extent of stealing two pair of her best sheets, and he was also -convinced that Tietjens was in close collusion with Sylvia. As Man of -Intellect, Campion was convinced, Tietjens was dissatisfied with his -lowly job of draft-forwarding officer, and wanted a place of an -extravagantly cooshy kind in the general's own entourage. . . . And -Levin had said that it made it all the worse that Campion in his -bothered heart thought that Tietjens really ought to have more exalted -employment. He had said to Levin: - -"Damn it all, the fellow ought to be in command of my Intelligence -instead of you. But he's unsound. That's what he is: unsound. He's too -brilliant. . . . And he'd talk both the hind legs off Sweedlepumpkins." -Sweedlepumpkins was the general's favourite charger. The general was -afraid of talk. He practically never talked with anyone except about his -job--certainly never with Tietjens--without being proved to be in the -wrong, and that undermined his belief in himself. - -So that altogether he was in a fine fume. And confusion. He was almost -ready to believe that Tietjens was at the bottom of every trouble that -occurred in his immense command. - -But, when all that was gathered, Tietjens was not much farther forward -in knowing what his wife's errand in France was. - -"She complains," Levin had bleated painfully at some point on the -slippery coastguard path, "about your taking her sheets. And about a -Miss . . . a Miss Wanostrocht, is it? . . . The general is not inclined -to attach much importance to the sheets. . . ." - -It appeared that a sort of conference on Tietjens' case had taken place -in the immense tapestried salon in which Campion lived with the more -intimate members of his headquarters, and which was, for the moment, -presided over by Sylvia, who had exposed various wrongs to the general -and Levin. Major Perowne had excused himself on the ground that he was -hardly competent to express an opinion. Really, Levin said, he was -sulking, because Campion had accused him of running the risk of getting -himself and Mrs. Tietjens "talked about." Levin thought it was a bit -thick of the general. Were none of the members of his staff ever to -escort a lady anywhere? As if they were sixth-form schoolboys. . . . - -"But you . . . you . . . you . . ." he stuttered and shivered together, -"certainly _do_ seem to have been remiss in not writing to Mrs. Tietjens. -The poor lady--excuse me!--really appears to have been out of her mind -with anxiety. . . ." That was why she had been waiting in the general's -car at the bottom of the hill. To get a glimpse of Tietjens' living -body. For they had been utterly unable, up at H.Q., to convince her that -Tietjens was even alive, much less in that town. - -She hadn't in fact waited even so long. Having apparently convinced -herself by conversation with the sentries outside the guard-room that -Tietjens actually still existed, she had told the chauffeur-orderly to -drive her back to the Hôtel de la Poste, leaving the wretched Levin to -make his way back into the town by tram, or as best he might. They had -seen the lights of the car below them, turning, with its gaily lit -interior, and disappearing among the trees along the road farther -down. . . . The sentry, rather monosyllabically and gruffly--you can tell -all right when a Tommie has something at the back of his mind!--informed -them that the sergeant had turned out the guard so that all his men -together could assure the lady that the captain was alive and well. The -obliging sergeant said that he had adopted that manœuvre which -generally should attend only the visits of general officers and, once a -day, for the C.O., because the lady had seemed so distressed at having -received no letters from the captain. The guard-room itself, which was -unprovided with cells, was decorated by the presence of two drunks who, -having taken it into their heads to destroy their clothing, were in a -state of complete nudity. The sergeant hoped, therefore, that he had -done no wrong. Rightly the Garrison Military Police ought to take drunks -picked up outside camp to the A.P.M.'s guard-room, but seeing the state -of undress and the violent behaviour of these two, the sergeant had -thought right to oblige the Red Caps. The voices of the drunks, singing -the martial anthem of the "Men of Harlech" could be heard corroborating -the sergeant's opinion as to their states. He added that he would not -have turned out the guard if it had not been for its being the captain's -lady. - -"A damn smart fellow, that sergeant," Colonel Levin had said. "There -couldn't have been any better way of convincing Mrs. Tietjens." - -Tietjens had said--and even whilst he was saying it he tremendously -wished he hadn't: - -"Oh, a _damned_ smart fellow," for the bitter irony of his tone had -given Levin the chance to remonstrate with him as to his attitude -towards Sylvia. Not at all as to his actions--for Levin conscientiously -stuck to his thesis that Tietjens was the soul of honour--but just as to -his tone of voice in talking of the sergeant who had been kind to -Sylvia, and, just precisely, because Tietjens' not writing to his wife -had given rise to the incident. Tietjens had thought of saying that, -considering the terms on which they had parted, he would have considered -himself as molesting the lady if he had addressed to her any letter at -all. But he said nothing and, for quarter of an hour, the incident -resolved itself into a soliloquy on the slippery hillside, delivered by -Levin on the subject of matrimony. It was a matter which, naturally, at -that moment very much occupied his thoughts. He considered that a man -should so live with his wife that she should be able to open all his -letters. That was his idea of the idyllic. And when Tietjens remarked -with irony that he had never in his life either written or received a -letter that his wife might not have read, Levin exclaimed with such -enthusiasm as almost to lose his balance in the mist: - -"I was sure of it, old fellow. But it enormously cheers me up to hear -you say so." He added that he desired as far as possible to model his -ideas of life and his behaviour on those of this his friend. For, -naturally, about as he was to unite his fortunes with those of Miss de -Bailly, that could be considered a turning point of his career. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -They had gone back up the hill so that Levin might telephone to -headquarters for his own car in case the general's chauffeur should not -have the sense to return for him. But that was as far as Tietjens got in -uninterrupted reminiscence of that scene. . . . He was sitting in his -flea-bag, digging idly with his pencil into the squared page of his -note-book which had remained open on his knees, his eyes going over and -over again over the words with which his report on his own case had -concluded--the words: _So the interview ended rather untidily_. Over the -words went the image of the dark hillside with the lights of the town, -now that the air-raid was finished, spreading high up into the sky below -them. . . . - -But at that point the doctor's batman had uttered, as if with a jocular, -hoarse irony, the name: - -"Poor ---- O Nine Morgan! . . ." and over the whitish sheet of paper on -a level with his nose Tietjens perceived thin films of reddish purple to -be wavering, then a glutinous surface of gummy scarlet pigment. Moving! -It was once more an effect of fatigue, operating on the retina, that was -perfectly familiar to Tietjens. But it filled him with indignation -against his own weakness. He said to himself: Wasn't the name of the -wretched O Nine Morgan to be mentioned in his hearing without his retina -presenting him with the glowing image of the fellow's blood? He watched -the phenomenon, growing fainter, moving to the righthand top corner of -the paper and turning a faintly luminous green. He watched it with a -grim irony. - -Was he, he said to himself, to regard himself as responsible for the -fellow's death? Was his inner mentality going to present that claim upon -him. That would be absurd. The end of the earth! The absurd end of the -earth. . . . Yet that insignificant ass Levin had that evening asserted -the claim to go into his, Tietjens of Groby's, relations with his wife. -That was an end of the earth as absurd! It was the unthinkable thing, as -unthinkable as the theory that the officer can be responsible for the -death of the man. . . . But the idea had certainly presented itself to -him. How could he be responsible for the death? In fact--in -literalness--he was. It had depended absolutely upon his discretion -whether the man should go home or not. The man's life or death had been -in his hands. He had followed the perfectly correct course. He had -written to the police of the man's home town, and the police had urged -him not to let the man come home. . . . Extraordinary morality on the -part of a police force! The man, they begged, should not be sent home -because a prize-fighter was occupying his bed and laundry. . . . -Extraordinary common sense, very likely. . . . They probably did not -want to get drawn into a scrap with Red Evans of the Red Castle. . . . - -For a moment he seemed to see . . . he actually saw . . . O Nine -Morgan's eyes, looking at him with a sort of wonder, as they had looked -when he had refused the fellow his leave. . . . A sort of wonder! -Without resentment, but with incredulity. As you might look at God, you -being very small and ten feet or so below His throne when He pronounced -some inscrutable judgment! . . . The Lord giveth home-leave, and the -Lord refuseth. . . . Probably not blessed, but queer, be the name of -God-Tietjens! - -And at the thought of the man as he was alive and of him now, dead, an -immense blackness descended all over Tietjens. He said to himself: _I am -very tired_. Yet he was not ashamed. . . . It was the blackness that -descends on you when you think of your dead. . . . It comes, at any -time, over the brightness of sunlight, in the grey of evening, in the -grey of the dawn, at mess, on parade; it comes at the thought of one man -or at the thought of half a battalion that you have seen, stretched out, -under sheeting, the noses making little pimples: or not stretched out, -lying face downwards, half buried. Or at the thought of dead that you -have never seen dead at all. . . . Suddenly the light goes out. . . . In -this case it was because of one fellow, a dirty enough man, not even -very willing, not in the least endearing, certainly contemplating -desertion. . . . But your dead . . . _Yours_ . . . Your own. As if -joined to your own identity by a black cord. . . . - -In the darkness outside, the brushing, swift, rhythmic pacing of an -immense number of men went past, as if they had been phantoms. A great -number of men in fours, carried forward, irresistibly, by the -overwhelming will of mankind in ruled motion. The sides of the hut were -so thin that it was peopled by an innumerable throng. A sodden voice, -just at Tietjens' head, chuckled: "For God's sake, sergeant-major, stop -these ----. I'm too ---- drunk to halt them. . . ." - -It made for the moment no impression on Tietjens' conscious mind. Men -were going past. Cries went up in the camp. Not orders, the men were -still marching. Cries. - -Tietjens' lips--his mind was still with the dead--said: - -"That obscene Pitkins! . . . I'll have him cashiered for this. . . ." He -saw an obscene subaltern, small, with one eyelid that drooped. - -He came awake at that. Pitkins was the subaltern he had detailed to -march the draft to the station and go on to Bailleul under a boozy field -officer of sorts. - -McKechnie said from the other bed: - -"That's the draft back." - -Tietjens said: - -"Good God! . . ." - -McKechnie said to the batman: - -"For God's sake go and see if it is. Come back at once. . . ." - -The intolerable vision of the line, starving beneath the moon, of grey -crowds murderously elbowing back a thin crowd in brown, zigzagged across -the bronze light in the hut. The intolerable depression that, in those -days, we felt--that all those millions were the playthings of ants busy -in the miles of corridors beneath the domes and spires that rise up over -the central heart of our comity, that intolerable weight upon the brain -and the limbs, descended once more on those two men lying upon their -elbows. As they listened their jaws fell open. The long, polyphonic -babble, rushing in from an extended line of men stood easy, alone -rewarded their ears. - -Tietjens said: - -"That fellow won't come back. . . . He can never do an errand and come -back. . . ." He thrust one of his legs cumbrously out of the top of his -flea-bag. He said: - -"By God, the Germans will be all over here in a week's time!" - -He said to himself: - -"If they so betray us from Whitehall that fellow Levin has no right to -pry into my matrimonial affairs. It is proper that one's individual -feelings should be sacrificed to the necessities of a collective entity. -But not if that entity is to be betrayed from above. Not if it hasn't -the ten-millionth of a chance. . . ." He regarded Levin's late incursion -on his privacy as inquiries set afoot by the general. . . . Incredibly -painful to him: like a medical examination into nudities, but perfectly -proper. Old Campion had to assure himself that the other ranks were not -demoralized by the spectacle of officers' matrimonial infidelities. . . . -But such inquiries were not to be submitted to if the whole show were -one gigantic demoralization! - -McKechnie said, in reference to Tietjens' protruded foot: - -"There's no good your going out. . . . Cowley will get the men into -their lines. He was prepared." He added: "If the fellows in Whitehall -are determined to do old Puffles in, why don't they recall him?" - -The legend was that an eminent personage in the Government had a great -personal dislike for the general in command of one army--the general -being nicknamed Puffles. The Government, therefore, were said to be -starving his command of men so that disaster should fall upon his -command. - -"They can recall generals easy enough," McKechnie went on, "or anyone -else!" - -A heavy dislike that this member of the lower middle classes should have -opinions on public affairs overcame Tietjens. He exclaimed: "Oh, that's -all tripe!" - -He was himself outside all contact with affairs by now. But the other -rumour in that troubled host had it that, as a political manœuvre, the -heads round Whitehall--the civilian heads--were starving the army of -troops in order to hold over the allies of Great Britain the threat of -abandoning altogether the Western Front. They were credited with -threatening a strategic manœuvre on an immense scale in the Near East, -perhaps really intending it, or perhaps to force the hands of their -allies over some political intrigue. These atrocious rumours -reverberated backwards and forwards in the ears of all those millions -under the black vault of heaven. All their comrades in the line were to -be sacrificed as a rearguard to their departing host. That whole land -was to be annihilated as a sacrifice to one vanity. Now the draft had -been called back. That seemed proof that the Government meant to starve -the line! McKechnie groaned: - -"Poor ---- old Bird! . . . He's booked. Eleven months in the front line, -he's been. . . . Eleven _months_! . . . I was nine, this stretch. With -him." - -He added: - -"Get back into bed, old bean. . . . I'll go and look after the men if -it's necessary. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"You don't so much as know where their lines are. . . ." And sat -listening. Nothing but the long roll of tongues came to him. He said: - -"Damn it! The men ought not to be kept standing in the cold like -that. . . ." Fury filled him beneath despair. His eyes filled with tears. -"God," he said to himself, "the fellow Levin presumes to interfere in my -private affairs. . . . Damn it," he said again, "it's like doing a -little impertinence in a world that's foundering. . . ." - -The world was foundering. - -"I'd go out," he said, "but I don't want to have to put that filthy -little Pitkins under arrest. He only drinks because he's shellshocked. -He's not man enough else, the unclean little Noncomformist. . . ." - -McKechnie said: - -"Hold on! . . . I'm a Presbyterian myself. . . ." - -Tietjens answered: - -"You would be! . . ." He said: "I beg your pardon. . . . There will be -no more parades. . . . The British Army is dishonoured for ever. . . ." - -McKechnie said: - -"That's all right, old bean. . . ." - -Tietjens exclaimed with sudden violence: - -"What the hell are you doing in the officers' lines? . . . Don't you -know it's a court-martial offence?" - -He was confronted with the broad, mealy face of his regimental -quartermaster-sergeant, the sort of fellow who wore an officer's cap -against the regulations, with a Tommie's silver-plated badge. A man -determined to get Sergeant-Major Cowley's job. The man had come in -unheard under the roll of voices outside. He said: - -"Excuse me, sir, I took the liberty of knocking. . . . The -sergeant-major is in an epileptic fit. . . . I wanted your directions -before putting the draft into the tents with the other men. . . ." -Having said that tentatively he hazarded cautiously: "The sergeant-major -throws these fits, sir, if he is suddenly woke up. . . . And -Second-Lieutenant Pitkins woke him very suddenly. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"So you took on you the job of a beastly informer against both of -them. . . . I shan't forget it." He said to himself: - -"I'll get this fellow one day . . ." and he seemed to hear with pleasure -the clicking and tearing of the scissors as, inside three parts of a -hollow square, they cut off his stripes and badges. - -McKechnie exclaimed: - -"Good God, man, you aren't going out in nothing but your pyjamas. Put -your slacks on under your British warm. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Send the Canadian sergeant-major to me at the double. . . ." to the -quarter. "My slacks are at the tailor's, being pressed." His slacks were -being pressed for the ceremony of the signing of the marriage contract -of Levin, the fellow who had interfered in his private affairs. He -continued into the mealy broad face and vague eyes of the -quartermaster: "You know as well as I do that it was the Canadian -sergeant-major's job to report to me. . . . I'll let you off this time, -but, by God, if I catch you spying round the officers' lines again you -are for a D.C.M. . . ." - -He wrapped a coarse, Red Cross, grey-wool muffler under the turned-up -collar of his British warm. - -"That swine," he said to McKechnie, "spies on the officers' lines in the -hope of getting a commission by catching out ---- little squits like -Pitkins, when they're drunk. . . . I'm seven hundred braces down. Morgan -does not know that I know that I'm that much down. But you can bet he -knows where they have gone. . . ." - -McKechnie said: - -"I wish you would not go out like that. . . . I'll make you some -cocoa. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I can't keep the men waiting while I dress. . . . I'm as strong as a -horse. . . ." - -He was out amongst the bitterness, the mist, and the moongleams on three -thousand rifle barrels, and the voices. . . . He was seeing the Germans -pour through a thin line, and his heart was leaden. . . . A tall, -graceful man swam up against him and said, through his nose, like any -American: - -"There has been a railway accident, due to the French strikers. The -draft is put back till three pip emma the day after to-morrow, sir." - -Tietjens exclaimed: - -"It isn't countermanded?" breathlessly. - -The Canadian sergeant-major said: - -"No, sir. . . . A railway accident. . . . Sabotage by the French, they -say. . . . Four Glamorganshire sergeants, all nineteen-fourteen men, -killed, sir, going home on leave. But the draft is not cancelled. . . ." -Tietjens said: - -"Thank God!" - -The slim Canadian with his educated voice said: - -"You're thanking God, sir, for what's very much to our detriment. Our -draft was ordered for Salonika till this morning. The sergeant in charge -of draft returns showed me the name _Salonika_ scored off in his draft -roster. Sergeant-Major Cowley had got hold of the wrong story. Now it's -going up the line. The other would have been a full two months' more -life for us." - -The man's rather slow voice seemed to continue for a long time. As it -went on Tietjens felt the sunlight dwelling on his nearly coverless -limbs, and the tide of youth returning to his veins. It was like -champagne. He said: - -"You sergeants get a great deal too much information. The sergeant in -charge of returns had no business to show you his roster. It's not your -fault, of course. But you are an intelligent man. You can see how useful -that news might be to certain people: people that it's not to your own -interest should know these things. . . ." He said to himself: "A -landmark in history. . . ." And then: "Where the devil did my mind get -hold of that expression at this moment?" - -They were walking in mist, down an immense lane, one hedge of which was -topped by the serrated heads and irregularly held rifles that showed -here and there. He said to the sergeant-major: "Call 'em to attention. -Never mind their dressing, we've got to get 'em into bed. Roll-call will -be at nine to-morrow." - -His mind said: - -"If this means the single command. . . . And it's bound to mean the -single command, it's the turning point. . . . Why the hell am I so -extraordinarily glad? What's it to me?" - -He was shouting in a round voice: - -"Now then, men, you've got to go six extra in a tent. See if you can -fall out six at a time at each tent. It's not in the drill book, but see -if you can do it for yourselves. You're smart men: use your -intelligences. The sooner you get to bed the sooner you'll be warm. I -wish I was. Don't disturb the men who're already in the tents. They've -got to be up for fatigues to-morrow at five, poor devils. You can lie -soft till three hours after that. . . . The draft will move to the left -in fours. . . . Form fours . . . Left . . ." Whilst the voices of the -sergeants in charge of companies yelped varyingly to a distance in the -quick march order he said to himself: - -"Extraordinarily glad. . . . A strong passion. . . . How damn well these -fellows move! . . . Cannon fodder. . . . Cannon fodder. . . . That's -what their steps say. . . ." His whole body shook in the grip of the -cold that beneath his loose overcoat gnawed his pyjamaed limbs. He could -not leave the men, but cantered beside them with the sergeant-major till -he came to the head of the column in the open in time to wheel the first -double company into a line of ghosts that were tents, silent and austere -in the moon's very shadowy light. . . . It appeared to him a magic -spectacle. He said to the sergeant-major: "Move the second company to B -line, and so on," and stood at the side of the men as they wheeled, -stamping, like a wall in motion. He thrust his stick half-way down -between the second and third files. "Now then, a four and half a four to -the right; remaining half-four and next four to the left. Fall out into -first tents to right and left. . . ." He continued saying "First four -and half, this four to the right. . . . Damn you, by the left! How can -you tell which beastly four you belong to if you don't march by the -left. . . . Remember you're soldiers, not new-chum lumbermen. . . ." - -It was sheer exhilaration to freeze there on the downside in the -extraordinarily pure air with the extraordinarily fine men. They came -round, marking time with the stamp of guardsmen. He said, with tears in -his voice: - -"Damn it all, I gave them that extra bit of smartness. . . . Damn it -all, there's something I've done. . . ." Getting cattle into condition -for the slaughterhouse. . . . They were as eager as bullocks running -down by Camden Town to Smithfield Market. . . . Seventy per cent, of -them would never come back. . . . But it's better to go to heaven with -your skin shining and master of your limbs than as a hulking -lout. . . . The Almighty's orderly room will welcome you better in all -probability. . . . He continued exclaiming monotonously . . . "Remaining -half-four and next four to the left. . . . Hold your beastly tongues when -you fall out. I can't hear myself give orders. . . ." It lasted a long -time. Then they were all swallowed up. - -He staggered, his knees wooden-stiff with the cold, and the cold more -intense now the wall of men no longer sheltered him from the wind, out -along the brink of the plateau to the other lines. It gave him -satisfaction to observe that he had got his men into their lines -seventy-five per cent, quicker than the best of the N.C.O.'s who had had -charge of the other lines. Nevertheless, he swore bitingly at the -sergeants: their men were in knots round the entrance to the alleys of -ghost-pyramids. . . . Then there were no more, and he drifted with -regret across the plain towards his country street of huts. One of them -had a coarse evergreen rose growing over it. He picked a leaf, pressed -it to his lips and threw it up into the wind. . . . "That's for -Valentine," he said meditatively. "Why did I do that? . . . Or perhaps -it's for England. . . ." He said: "Damn it all, this is patriotism! . . . -_This_ is patriotism. . . ." It wasn't what you took patriotism as a -rule to be. There were supposed to be more parades about that job! . . . -But this was just a broke to the wide, wheezy, half-frozen Yorkshireman, -who despised every one in England not a Yorkshireman, or from more to -the North, at two in the morning picking a leaf from a rose-tree and -slobbering over it, without knowing what he was doing. And then -discovering that it was half for a pug-nosed girl whom he presumed, but -didn't know, to smell like a primrose; and half for . . . England! . . . -At two in the morning with the thermometer ten degrees below zero. . . . -Damn, it was cold! . . . - -And why these emotions? . . . Because England, not before it was time, -had been allowed to decide not to do the dirty on her associates! . . . -He said to himself: "It is probably because a hundred thousand -sentimentalists like myself commit similar excesses of the subconscious -that we persevere in this glorious but atrocious undertaking. All the -same, I didn't know I had it in me!" A strong passion! . . . For his -girl and his country! . . . Nevertheless, his girl was a pro-German. . . . -It was a queer mix-up! . . . Not of course a pro-German, but -disapproving of the preparation of men, like bullocks, with sleek -healthy skins for the abattoirs in Smithfield. . . . Agreeing presumably -with the squits who had been hitherto starving the B.E.F. of men. . . . -A queer mix-up. . . . - - -At half-past one the next day, in chastened winter sunlight, he mounted -Schomburg, a coffin-headed, bright chestnut, captured from the Germans -on the Marne, by the second battalion of the Glamorganshires. He had not -been on the back of the animal two minutes before he remembered that he -had forgotten to look it over. It was the first time in his life that he -had ever forgotten to look at an animal's hoofs, fetlocks, knees, -nostrils and eyes, and to take a pull at the girth before climbing into -the saddle. But he had ordered the horse for a quarter to one and, even -though he had bolted his cold lunch like a cannibal in haste, there he -was three-quarters of an hour late, and with his head still full of -teasing problems. He had meant to clear his head by a long canter over -the be-hutted downs, dropping down into the city by a bypath. - -But the ride did not clear his head--rather, the sleeplessness of the -night began for the first time then to tell on him after a morning of -fatigues, during which he had managed to keep the thought of Sylvia at -arm's length. He had to wait to see Sylvia before he could see what -Sylvia wanted. And morning had brought the common-sense idea that -probably she wanted to do nothing more than pull the string of the -showerbath--which meant committing herself to the first extravagant -action that came into her head--and exulting in the consequences. - -He had not managed to get to bed at all the night before. Captain -McKechnie, who had had some cocoa--a beverage Tietjens had never before -tasted--hot and ready for him on his return from the lines, had kept him -till past half-past four, relating with a male fury his really very -painful story. It appeared that he had obtained leave to go home and -divorce his wife, who, during his absence in France, had been living -with an Egyptologist in Government service. Then, acting under -conscientious scruples of the younger school of the day, he had -refrained from divorcing her. Campion had in consequence threatened to -deprive him of his commission. . . . The poor devil--who had actually -consented to contribute to the costs of the household of his wife and -the Egyptologist--had gone raving mad and had showered an extraordinary -torrent of abuse at the decent old fellow that Campion was. . . . A -decent old fellow, really. For the interview, being delicate, had taken -place in the general's bedroom and the general had not felt it -necessary, there being no orderlies or junior officers present, to take -any official notice of McKechnie's outburst. McKechnie was a fellow with -an excellent military record; you could in fact hardly have found a -regimental officer with a better record. So Campion had decided to deal -with the man as suffering from a temporary brain-storm and had sent him -to Tietjen's unit for rest and recuperation. It was an irregularity, but -the general was of a rank to risk what irregularities he considered to -be of use to the service. - -It had turned out that McKechnie was actually the nephew of Tietjens' -very old intimate, Sir Vincent Macmaster, of the Department of -Statistics, being the son of his sister who had married the assistant to -the elder Macmaster, a small grocer in the Port of Leith in Scotland. . . . -That indeed had been why Campion had been interested in him. -Determined as he was to show his godson no unreasonable military -favours, the general was perfectly ready to do a kindness that he -thought would please Tietjens. All these pieces of information Tietjens -had packed away in his mind for future consideration and, it being after -four-thirty before McKechnie had calmed himself down, Tietjens had taken -the opportunity to inspect the breakfasts of the various fatigues -ordered for duty in the town, these being detailed for various hours -from a quarter to five to seven. It was a matter of satisfaction to -Tietjens to have seen to the breakfasts, and inspected his cook-houses, -since he did not often manage to make the opportunity and he could by no -means trust his orderly officers. - -At breakfast in the depot mess-hut he was detained by the colonel in -command of the depot, the Anglican padre and McKechnie; the colonel, -very old, so frail that you would have thought that a shudder or a cough -would have shaken his bones one from another, had yet a passionate -belief that the Greek Church should exchange communicants with the -Anglican: the padre, a stout, militant Churchman, had a gloomy contempt -for Orthodox theology. McKechnie from time to time essayed to define the -communion according to the Presbyterian rite. They all listened to -Tietjens whilst he dilated on the historic aspects of the various -schisms of Christianity and accepted his rough definition to the effect -that, in transubstantiation, the host actually became the divine -presence, whereas in consubstantiation the substance of the host, as if -miraculously become porous, was suffused with the presence as a sponge -is with water. . . . They all agreed that the breakfast bacon supplied -from store was uneatable and agreed to put up half a crown a week a -piece to get better for their table. - -Tietjens had walked in the sunlight down the lines, past the hut with -the evergreen climbing rose, in the sunlight, thinking in an interval, -good-humouredly about his official religion: about the Almighty as, on a -colossal scale, a great English Landowner, benevolently awful, a -colossal duke who never left his study and was thus invisible, but -knowing all about the estate down to the last hind at the home farm and -the last oak: Christ, an almost too benevolent Land-Steward, son of the -Owner, knowing all about the estate down to the last child at the -porter's lodge, apt to be got round by the more detrimental tenants: the -Third Person of the Trinity, the spirit of the estate, the Game as it -were, as distinct from the players of the game: the atmosphere of the -estate, that of the interior of Winchester Cathedral just after a Handel -anthem has been finished, a perpetual Sunday, with, probably, a little -cricket for the young men. Like Yorkshire of a Saturday afternoon; if -you looked down on the whole broad county you would not see a single -village green without its white flannels. That was why Yorkshire always -leads the averages. . . . Probably by the time you got to heaven you -would be so worn out by work on this planet that you would accept the -English Sunday, for ever, with extreme relief! - -With his belief that all that was good in English literature ended with -the seventeenth century, his imaginations of heaven must be -materialist--like Bunyan's. He laughed good-humouredly at his projection -of a hereafter. It was probably done with. Along with cricket. There -would be no more parades of that sort. Probably they would play some -beastly yelping game. . . . Like baseball or Association football. . . . -And heaven? . . . Oh, it would be a revival meeting on a Welsh hillside. -Or Chatauqua, wherever that was. . . . And God? A Real Estate Agent, -with Marxist views. . . . He hoped to be out of it before the cessation -of hostilities, in which case he might be just in time for the last -train to the old heaven. . . . - -In his orderly hut he found an immense number of papers. On the top an -envelope marked _Urgent_. Private with a huge rubber stamp. From Levin. -Levin, too, must have been up pretty late. It was not about Mrs. -Tietjens, or even Miss de Bailly. It was a private warning that Tietjens -would probably have his draft on his hands another week or ten days, and -very likely another couple of thousand men extra as well. He warned -Tietjens to draw all the tents he could get hold of as soon as -possible. . . . Tietjens called to a subaltern with pimples who was picking -his teeth with a pen-nib at the other end of the hut: "Here, you! . . . -Take two companies of the Canadians to the depot store and draw all the -tents you can get up to two hundred and fifty. . . . Have 'em put alongside -my D lines. . . . Do you know how to look after putting up tents? . . . -Well then, get Thompson . . . no, Pitkins, to help you. . . ." The -subaltern drifted out sulkily. Levin said that the French railway -strikers, for some political reason, had sabotaged a mile of railway, -the accident of the night before had completely blocked up all the -lines, and the French civilians would not let their own breakdown gangs -make any repairs. German prisoners had been detailed for that fatigue, -but probably Tietjens' Canadian railway corps would be wanted. He had -better hold them in readiness. The strike was said to be a manœuvre for -forcing our hands--to get us to take over more of the line. In that case -they had jolly well dished themselves, for how could we take over more -of the line without more men, and how could we send up more men without -the railway to send them by? We had half a dozen army corps all ready to -go. Now they were all jammed. Fortunately the weather at the front was -so beastly that the Germans could not move. He finished up "Four in the -morning, old bean, _à tantôt_!" the last phrase having been learned -from Mlle de Bailly. Tietjens grumbled that if they went on piling up -the work on him like this he would never get down to the signing of that -marriage contract. - -He called the Canadian sergeant-major to him. - -"See," he said, "that you keep the Railway Service Corps in camp with -their arms ready, whatever their arms are. Tools, I suppose. Are their -tools all complete? And their muster roll?" - -"Girtin has gone absent, sir," the slim dark fellow said, with an air of -destiny. Girtin was the respectable man with the mother to whom Tietjens -had given the two hours' leave the night before. - -Tietjens answered: - -"He would have!" with a sour grin. It enhanced his views of strictly -respectable humanity. They blackmailed you with lamentable and pathetic -tales and then did the dirty on you. He said to the sergeant-major: - -"You will be here for another week or ten days. See that you get your -tents up all right and the men comfortable. I will inspect them as soon -as I have taken my orderly room. Full marching order. Captain McKechnie -will inspect their kits at two." - -The sergeant-major, stiff but graceful, had something at the back of his -mind. It came out: - -"I have my marching orders for two-thirty this afternoon. The notice for -inserting my commission in depot orders is on your table. I leave for -the O.T.C. by the three train. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Your commission! . . ." It was a confounded nuisance. - -The sergeant-major said: - -"Sergeant-Major Cowley and I applied for our commissions three months -ago. The communications granting them are both on your table -together. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Sergeant-Major Cowley. . . . Good God! Who recommended you?" - -The whole organization of his confounded battalion fell to pieces. It -appeared that a circular had come round three months before--before -Tietjens had been given command of that unit--asking for experienced -first-class warrant officers capable of serving as instructors in -Officers' Training Corps, with commissions. Sergeant-Major Cowley had -been recommended by the colonel of the depot, Sergeant-Major Ledoux by -his own colonel. Tietjens felt as if he had been let down--but of course -he had not been. It was just the way of the army, all the time. You got -a platoon, or a battalion, or, for the matter of that, a dug-out or a -tent, by herculean labours into good fettle. It ran all right for a day -or two, then it all fell to pieces, the personnel scattered to the four -winds by what appeared merely wanton orders, coming from the most -unexpected headquarters, or the premises were smashed up by a chance -shell that might just as well have fallen somewhere else. . . . The -finger of Fate! . . . - -But it put a confounded lot more work on him. . . . He said to -Sergeant-Major Cowley, whom he found in the next hut where all the paper -work of the unit was done: - -"I should have thought you would have been enormously better off as -regimental sergeant-major than with a commission. I know I would rather -have the job." Cowley answered--he was very pallid and shaken--that -with his unfortunate infirmity, coming on at any moment of shock, he -would be better in a job where he could slack off, like an O.T.C. He had -always been subject to small fits, over in a minute, or couple of -seconds even. . . . But getting too near a H.E. shell--after Noircourt -which had knocked out Tietjens himself--had brought them on, violent. -There was also, he finished, the gentility to be considered. Tietjens -said: - -"Oh, the gentility! . . . That's not worth a flea's jump. . . . There -won't be any more parades after this war. There aren't any now. Look at -who your companions will be in an officer's quarters; you'd be in a -great deal better society in any self-respecting sergeants' mess." -Cowley answered that he knew the service had gone to the dogs. All the -same his missis liked it. And there was his daughter Winnie to be -considered. She had always been a bit wild, and his missis wrote that -she had gone wilder than ever, all due to the war. Cowley thought that -the bad boys would be a little more careful how they monkeyed with her -if she was an officer's daughter. . . . There was probably something in -that! - -Coming out into the open, confidentially with Tietjens, Cowley dropped -his voice huskily to say: - -"Take Quartermaster-Sergeant Morgan for R.S.M., sir." - -Tietjens said explosively: - -"I'm damned if I will." Then he asked: "Why?" The wisdom of old N.C.O.'s -is a thing no prudent officer neglects. - -"He can do the work, sir," Cowley said. "He's out for a commission, and -he'll do his best. . . ." He dropped his husky voice to a still greater -depth of mystery: - -"You're over two hundred--I should say nearer three hundred--pounds -down in your battalion stores. I don't suppose you want to lose a sum of -money like that?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I'm damned if I do. . . . But I don't see. . . . Oh, yes, I do. . . . -If I make him sergeant-major he has to hand over the stores all -complete. . . . To-day. . . . Can he do it?" - -Cowley said that Morgan could have till the day after to-morrow. He -would look after things till then. - -"But you'll want to have a flutter before you go," Tietjens said. "Don't -stop for me." - -Cowley said that he would stop and see the job through. He had thought -of going down into the town and having a flutter. But the girls down -there were a common sort, and it was bad for his complaint. . . . He -would stop and see what could be done with Morgan. Of course it was -possible that Morgan might decide to face things out. He might prefer to -stick to the money he'd got by disposing of Tietjens' stores to other -battalions that were down, or to civilian contractors. And stand a court -martial! But it wasn't likely. He was a Noncomformist deacon, or -pew-opener, or even a minister possibly, at home in Wales. . . . From -near Denbigh! And Cowley had got a very good man, a first-class man, an -Oxford professor, now a lance-corporal at the depot, for Morgan's place. -The colonel would lend him to Tietjens and would get him rated acting -quartermaster-sergeant unpaid. . . . Cowley had it all arranged. . . . -Lance-Corporal Caldicott was a first-class man, only he could not tell -his right hand from his left on parade. Literally could not tell -them. . . . - -So the battalion settled itself down. . . . Whilst Cowley and he were at -the colonel's orderly room arranging for the transfer of the -professor--he was really only a fellow of his college--who did not know -his right hand from his left, Tietjens was engaged in the remains of the -colonel's furious argument as to the union of the Anglican and Eastern -rites. The colonel--he was a full colonel--sat in his lovely private -office, a light, gay compartment of a tin-hutment, the walls being -papered in scarlet, with, on the purplish, thick, soft baize of his -table-cover, a tall glass vase from which sprayed out pale Riviera -roses, the gift of young lady admirers amongst the V.A.D.'s in the town -because he was a darling, and an open, very gilt and leather-bound -volume of a biblical encyclopædia beneath his delicate septuagenarian -features. He was confirming his opinion that a union between the Church -of England and the Greek Orthodox Church was the only thing that could -save civilization. The whole war turned on that. The Central Empires -represented Roman Catholicism, the Allies Protestantism and Orthodoxy. -Let them unite. The papacy was a traitor to the cause of civilization. -Why had the Vatican not protested with no uncertain voice about the -abominations practised on the Belgian Catholics? . . . - -Tietjens pointed out languidly objections to this theory. The first -thing our ambassador to the Vatican had found out on arriving in Rome -and protesting about massacres of Catholic laymen in Belgium was that -the Russians before they had been a day in Austrian Poland had hanged -twelve Roman Catholic bishops in front of their palaces. - -Cowley was engaged with the adjutant at another table. The colonel ended -his theologico-political tirade by saying: - -"I shall be very sorry to lose you, Tietjens. I don't know what we shall -do without you. I never had a moment's peace with your unit until you -came." - -Tietjens said: - -"Well, you aren't losing me, sir, as far as I know." - -The colonel said: - -"Oh, yes, we are. You are going up the line next week. . . ." He added: -"Now, don't get angry with me. . . . I've protested very strongly to old -Campion--General Campion--that I cannot do without you." And he made, -with his delicate, thin, hairy-backed, white hands a motion as of -washing. - -The ground moved under Tietjens' feet. He felt himself clambering over -slopes of mud with his heavy legs and labouring chest. He said: - -"Damn it all! ... I'm not fit. . . . I'm C3. . . . I was ordered to live -in an hotel in the town. . . . I only mess here to be near the -battalion." - -The colonel said with some eagerness: - -"Then you can protest to Garrison. . . . I hope you will. . . . But I -suppose you are the sort of fellow that won't." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir. . . . Of course I cannot protest . . . Though it's probably a -mistake of some clerk. . . . I could not stand a week in the line. . . ." -The profound misery of brooding apprehension in the line was less on -his mind than, precisely, the appalling labour of the lower limbs when -you live in mud to the neck. . . . Besides, whilst he had been in -hospital, practically the whole of his equipment had disappeared from -his kitbag--including Sylvia's two pair of sheets!--and he had no money -with which to get more. He had not even any trench-boots. Fantastic -financial troubles settled on his mind. - -The colonel said to the adjutant at the other purple baize-covered -table: - -"Show Captain Tietjens those marching orders of his. . . . They're from -Whitehall, aren't they? . . . You never know where these things come -from nowadays. I call them the arrow that flieth by night!" - -The adjutant, a diminutive, a positively miniature gentleman with -Coldstream badges up and a dreadfully worried brow, drifted a quarto -sheet of paper out of a pile, across his tablecloth towards Tietjens. -His tiny hands seemed about to fall off at the wrists; his temples -shuddered with neuralgia. He said: - -"For God's sake do protest to Garrison if you feel you can. . . . We -_can't_ have more work shoved on us. . . . Major Lawrence and Major -Halkett left the whole of the work of your unit to us. . . ." - -The sumptuous paper, with the royal arms embossed at the top, informed -Tietjens that he would report to his VIth battalion on the Wednesday of -next week in preparation for taking up the duties of divisional -transport officer to the XIXth division. The order came from room G 14 -R, at the War Office. He asked what the deuce G 14 R was, of the -adjutant, who in an access of neuralgic agony, shook his head miserably, -between his two hands, his elbows on the tablecloth. - -Sergeant-Major Cowley, with his air of a solicitor's clerk, said the -room G 14 R was the department that dealt with civilian requests for the -services of officers. To the adjutant who asked what the devil a -civilian request for the employment of officers could have to do with -sending Captain Tietjens to the XIXth division, Sergeant-Major Cowley -presumed that it was because of the activities of the Earl of Beichan. -The Earl of Beichan, a Levantine financier and race-horse owner, was -interesting himself in army horses, after a short visit to the lines of -communication. He also owned several newspapers. So they had been waking -up the army transport-animals' department to please him. The adjutant -would no doubt have observed a Veterinary-Lieutenant Hotchkiss or -Hitchcock. He had come to them through G 14 R. At the request of Lord -Beichan, who was personally interested in Lieutenant Hotchkiss's -theories. He was to make experiments on the horses of the Fourth -Army--in which the XIXth division was then to be found. . . . "So," -Cowley said, "you'll be under him as far as your horse lines go. If you -go up." Perhaps Lord Beichan was a friend of Captain Tietjens and had -asked for him, too: Captain Tietjens was known to be wonderful with -horses. - -Tietjens, his breath rushing through his nostrils, swore he would not go -up the line at the bidding of a hog like Beichan, whose real name was -Stavropolides, formerly Nathan. - -He said the army was reeling to its base because of the continual -interference of civilians. He said it was absolutely impossible to get -through his programmes of parades because of the perpetual extra drills -that were forced on them at the biddings of civilians. Any fool who -owned a newspaper, nay, any fool who could write to a newspaper, or any -beastly little squit of a novelist could frighten the Government and the -War Office into taking up one more hour of the men's parade time for -patent manœuvres with jampots or fancy underclothing. Now he was asked -if his men wanted lecturing on the causes of the war and whether he--he, -good God!--would not like to give the men cosy chats on the nature of -the Enemy nations. . . . - -The colonel said: - -"There, there, Tietjens! . . . There, there! . . . We all suffer alike. -_We've_ got to lecture our men on the uses of a new patent sawdust stove. -If you don't want that job, you can easily get the general to take you -off it. They say you can turn him round your little finger. . . ." - -"He's my godfather," Tietjens thought it wise to say. "I never asked him -for a job, but I'm damned if it isn't his duty as a Christian to keep me -out of the clutches of this Greek-'Ebrew pagan peer. . . . He's not even -Orthodox, colonel. . . ." - -The adjutant here said that Colour-Sergeant Morgan of their orderly room -wanted a word with Tietjens. Tietjens said he hoped to goodness that -Morgan had some money for him! The adjutant said he understood that -Morgan had unearthed quite a little money that ought to have been paid -to Tietjens by his agents and hadn't. - -Colour-Sergeant Morgan was the regimental magician with figures. -Inordinately tall and thin, his body, whilst his eyes peered into -distant columns of cyphers, appeared to be always parallel with the -surface of his table and, as he always answered the several officers -whom he benefited without raising his head, his face was very little -known to his superiors. He was, however, in appearance a very ordinary, -thin, N.C.O. whose spidery legs, when very rarely he appeared on a -parade, had the air of running away with him as a race-horse might do. -He told Tietjens that, pursuant to his instructions and the A.C.P. i 96 -b that Tietjens had signed, he had ascertained that command pay at the -rate of two guineas a day and supplementary fuel and light allowance at -the rate of 6_s_. 8_d_. was being paid weekly by the Paymaster-General's -Department to his, Tietjens', account at his agents'. He suggested that -Tietjens should write to his agents that if they did not immediately pay -to his account the sum of £194 13_s_. 4 _d_., by them received from the -Paymaster's Department, he would proceed against the Crown by Petition -of Right. And he strongly recommended Tietjens to draw a cheque on his -own bank for the whole of the money because, if by any chance the agents -had not paid the money in, he could sue them for damages and get them -cast in several thousand pounds. And serve the devils right. They must -have a million or so in hand in unpaid command and detention allowances -due to officers. He only wished he could advertise in the papers -offering to recover unpaid sums due by agents. He added that he had a -nice little computation as to variations in the course of Gunter's -Second Comet that he would like to ask Tietjen's advice about one of -these days. The colour-sergeant was an impassioned amateur astronomer. - -So Tietjens' morning went up and down. . . . The money at the moment, -Sylvia being in that town, was of tremendous importance to him and came -like an answer to prayer. It was not so agreeable, however, even in a -world in which, never, never, never for ten minutes did you know whether -you stood on your head or your heels, for Tietjens, on going back to the -colonel's private office, to find Sergeant-Major Cowley coming out of -the next room in which, on account of the adjutant's neuralgia, the -telephone was kept. Cowley announced to the three of them that the -general had the day before ordered his correspondence-corporal to send a -very emphatic note to Colonel Gillum to the effect that he was informing -the competent authority that he had no intention whatever of parting -with Captain Tietjens, who was invaluable in his command. The -correspondence-corporal had informed Cowley that neither he nor the -general knew who was the competent authority for telling Room G 14 R at -the War Office to go to hell, but the matter would be looked up and put -all right before the chit was sent off. . . . - -That was good as far as it went. Tietjens was really interested in his -present job, and although he would have liked well enough to have the -job of looking after the horses of a division, or even an army, he felt -that he would rather it was put off till the spring, given the weather -they were having and the state of his chest. And the complication of -possible troubles with Lieutenant Hotchkiss who, being a professor, had -never really seen a horse--or not for ten years!--was something to be -thought about very seriously. But all this appeared quite another matter -when Cowley announced that the civilian authority who had asked for -Tietjens' transfer was the permanent secretary to the Ministry of -Transport. . . . - -Colonel Gillum said: - -"That's your brother, Mark. . . ." And indeed the permanent secretary to -the Ministry of Transport was Tietjens' brother Mark, known as the -Indispensable Official. Tietjens felt a real instant of dismay. He -considered that his violent protest against the job would appear rather -a smack in the face for poor old wooden-featured Mark who had probably -taken a good deal of trouble to get him the job. Even if Mark should -never hear of it, a man should not slap his brother in the face! -Moreover, when he came to think of his last day in London, he remembered -that Valentine Wannop, who had exaggerated ideas as to the safety of -First Line Transport, had begged Mark to get him a job as divisional -officer. . . . And he imagined Valentine's despair if she heard that -he--Tietjens--had moved heaven and earth to get out of it. He saw her -lower lip quivering and the tears in her eyes. . . . But he probably had -got that from some novel, because he had never seen her lower lip -quiver. He had seen tears in her eyes! - -He hurried back to his lines to take his orderly room. In the long hut -McKechnie was taking that miniature court of drunks and defaulters for -him and, just as Tietjens reached it, he was taking the case of Girtin -and two other Canadian privates. . . . The case of Girtin interested -him, and when McKechnie slid out of his seat Tietjens occupied it. The -prisoners were only just being marched in by a Sergeant Davis, an -admirable N.C.O. whose rifle appeared to be part of his rigid body and -who executed an amazing number of stamps in seriously turning in front -of the C.O.'s table. It gave the impression of an Indian war dance. . . . - -Tietjens glanced at the charge sheet, which was marked as coming from -the Provost-Marshal's Office. Instead of the charge of absence from -draft he read that of conduct prejudicial to good order and military -discipline in that. . . . The charge was written in a very illiterate -hand; an immense beery lance-corporal of Garrison Military Police, with -a red hat-band, attended to give evidence. . . . It was a tenuous and -disagreeable affair. Girtin had not gone absent, so Tietjens had to -revise his views of the respectable. At any rate of the respectable -Colonial private soldier with mother complete. For there really had been -a mother, and Girtin had been seeing her into the last tram down into -the town. A frail old lady. Apparently, trying to annoy the Canadian, -the beery lance-corporal of the Garrison Military Police had hustled the -mother. Girtin had remonstrated; very moderately, he said. The -lance-corporal had shouted at him. Two other Canadians returning to camp -had intervened and two more police. The police had called the -Canadians ---- conscripts, which was almost more than the Canadians could -stand, they being voluntarily enlisted 1914 or 1915 men. The police--it was -an old trick--had kept the men talking until two minutes after the last -post had sounded and then had run them in for being absent off pass--and -for disrespect to their red hat-bands. - -Tietjens, with a carefully measured fury, first cross-examined and then -damned the police witness to hell. Then he marked the charge sheets with -the words "Case explained," and told the Canadians to go and get ready -for his parade. It meant he was aware a frightful row with the -provost-marshal, who was a port-winey old general called O'Hara and -loved his police as if they had been ewe-lambs. - -He took his parade, the Canadian troops looking like real soldiers in -the sunlight, went round his lines with the new Canadian sergeant-major, -who had his appointment, thank goodness, from his own authorities; wrote -a report on the extreme undesirability of lecturing his men on the -causes of the war, since his men were either graduates of one or other -Canadian university and thus knew twice as much about the causes of the -war as any lecturer the civilian authorities could provide, or else they -were half-breed Micamuc Indians, Esquimaux, Japanese, or Alaskan -Russians, none of whom could understand any English lecturer. . . . He -was aware that he would have to re-write his report so as to make it -more respectful to the newspaper proprietor peer who, at that time, was -urging on the home Government the necessity of lecturing all the -subjects of His Majesty on the causes of the war. But he wanted to get -that grouse off his chest and its disrespect would pain Levin, who would -have to deal with these reports if he did not get married first. Then he -lunched off army sausage-meat and potatoes, mashed with their skins -complete, watered with an admirable 1906 brut champagne which they -bought themselves, and an appalling Canadian cheese--at the headquarters -table to which the colonel had invited all the subalterns who that day -were going up the line for the first time. They had some h's in their -compositions, but in revenge they must have boasted of a pint of adenoid -growths between them. There was, however, a charming young half-caste -Goa second-lieutenant, who afterwards proved of an heroic bravery. He -gave Tietjens a lot of amusing information as to the working of the -purdah in Portuguese India. - -So, at half-past one Tietjens sat on Schomburg, the coffin-headed, -bright chestnut from the Prussian horse-raising establishment near -Celle. Almost a pure thoroughbred, this animal had usually the paces of -a dining-room table, its legs being fully as stiff. But to-day its legs -might have been made of cotton-wool, it lumbered over frosty ground -breathing stertorously and, at the jumping ground of the Deccan Horse, a -mile above and behind Rouen, it did not so much refuse a very moderate -jump as come together in a lugubrious crumple. It was, in the light of a -red, jocular sun, like being mounted on a broken-hearted camel. In -addition, the fatigues of the morning beginning to tell, Tietjens was -troubled by an obsession of O Nine Morgan which he found tiresome to -have to stall off. - -"What the hell," he asked of the orderly, a very silent private on a -roan beside him, "what the hell is the matter with his horse? . . . Have -you been keeping him warm?" He imagined that the clumsy paces of the -animal beneath him added to his gloomy obsessions. - -The orderly looked straight in front of him over a valley full of -hutments. He said: - -"No, sir." The 'oss 'ad been put in the 'oss-standings of G depot. By -the orders of Lieutenant 'Itchcock. 'Osses, Lieutenant 'Itchcock said, -'ad to be 'ardened. - -Tietjens said: - -"Did you tell him that it was my orders that Schomburg was to be kept -warm? In the stables of the farm behind No. XVI I.B.D." - -"The lieutenant," the orderly explained woodenly, "said as 'ow henny -departure f'm 'is orders would be visited by the extreme displeasure of -Lord Breech'em, K.C.V.O., K.C.B., etcetera." The orderly was quivering -with rage. - -"You will," Tietjens said very carefully, "when you fall out with the -horses at the Hôtel de la Poste, take Schomburg and the roan to the -stables of La Volonté Farm, behind No. XVI I.B.D." The orderly was to -close all the windows of the stable, stopping up any chinks with -wadding. He would procure, if possible, a sawdust stove, new pattern, -from Colonel Gillum's store and light it in the stables. He was also to -give Schomburg and the roan oatmeal and water warmed as hot as the -horses would take it. . . . And Tietjens finished sharply, "If -Lieutenant Hotchkiss makes any comments, you will refer him to me. As -his C.O." - -The orderly seeking information as to horse-ailments, Tietjens said: - -"The school of horse-copers, to which Lord Beichan belongs, believes in -the hardening of all horse-flesh other than racing cattle." They bred -racing-cattle; Under six blankets apiece! Personally Tietjens did not -believe in the hardening process and would not permit any animal over -which he had control to be submitted to it. . . . It had been observed -that if any animal was kept at a lower temperature than that of its -normal climatic condition it would contract diseases to which ordinarily -it was not susceptible. . . . If you keep a chicken for two days in a -pail of water it will contract human scarlet-fever or mumps if injected -with either bacillus. If you remove the chicken from the water, dry it, -and restore it to its normal conditions, the scarlet-fever or the mumps -will die out of the animal. . . . He said to the orderly: "You are an -intelligent man. What deduction do you draw?" - -The orderly looked away over the valley of the Seine. - -"I suppose, sir," he said, "that our 'osses, being kept alwise cold in -their standings, 'as hillnesses they wouldn't otherwise 'ave." - -"Well then," Tietjens said, "keep the poor animals warm." - -He considered that here was the makings of a very nasty row for himself -if, by any means, his sayings came round to the ears of Lord Beichan. -But that he had to chance. He could not let a horse for which he was -responsible be martyred. . . . There was too much to think about . . . -so that nothing at all stood out to be thought of. The sun was glowing. -The valley of the Seine was blue-grey, like a Gobelin tapestry. Over it -all hung the shadow of a deceased Welsh soldier. An odd skylark was -declaiming over an empty field behind the incinerators' headquarters. . . . -An odd lark. For as a rule larks do not sing in December. Larks sing -only when courting, or over the nest. . . . The bird must be oversexed. -O Nine Morgan was the other thing, that accounting for the -prize-fighter! - -They dropped down a mud lane between brick walls into the town. . . . - - - - -PART II - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -In the admirably appointed, white-enamelled, wickerworked, bemirrored -lounge of the best hotel of that town Sylvia Tietjens sat in a -wickerwork chair, not listening rather abstractedly to a staff-major who -was lachrymosely and continuously begging her to leave her bedroom door -unlocked that night. She said: - -"I don't know. . . . Yes, perhaps. . . . I don't know. . . ." And looked -distantly into a bluish wall-mirror that, like all the rest, was framed -with white-painted cork bark. She stiffened a little and said: - -"There's Christopher!" - -The staff-major dropped his hat, his stick and his gloves. His black -hair, which was without parting and heavy with some preparation of a -glutinous kind, moved agitatedly on his scalp. He had been saying that -Sylvia had ruined his life. Didn't Sylvia know that she had ruined his -life? But for her he might have married some pure young thing. Now he -exclaimed: - -"But what does he want? . . . Good God! . . . what does he want?" - -"He wants," Sylvia said, "to play the part of Jesus Christ." - -Major Perowne exclaimed: - -"Jesus Christ! . . . But he's the most foul-mouthed officer in the -general's command. . . ." - -"Well," Sylvia said, "if you had married your pure young thing she'd -have . . . What is it? . . . cuckolded you within nine months. . . ." - -Perowne shuddered a little at the word. He mumbled: - -"I don't see. ... It seems to be the other way . . ." - -"Oh, no, it isn't," Sylvia said. "Think it over. . . . Morally, _you're_ -the husband. . . . _Im_morally, I should say. . . . Because he's the man I -want. . . . He looks ill. . . . Do hospital authorities always tell -wives what is the matter with their husbands?" - -From his angle in the chair from which he had half-emerged Sylvia seemed -to him to be looking at a blank wall. - -"I don't see him," Perowne said. - -"I can see him in the glass," Sylvia said. "Look! From here you can see -him." - -Perowne shuddered a little more. - -"I don't want to see him. . . . I have to see him sometimes in the -course of duty. . . . I don't like to . . . ." - -Sylvia said: - -"_You_," in a tone of very deep contempt. "You only carry chocolate -boxes to flappers. . . . How can he come across you in the course of -duty? . . . You're not a _soldier_!" - -Perowne said: - -"But what are we going to do? What will _he_ do?" - -"I," Sylvia answered, "shall tell the page-boy when he comes with his -card to say that I'm engaged. . . . I don't know what _he'll_ do. Hit -you, very likely. . . . He's looking at your back now. . . ." - -Perowne became rigid, sunk into his deep chair. - -"But he _couldn't_!" he exclaimed agitatedly. "You said that he was -playing the part of Jesus Christ. Our Lord wouldn't hit people in an -hotel lounge. . . ." - -"Our Lord!" Sylvia said contemptuously. "What do you know about our -Lord? . . . Our Lord was a gentleman. . . . Christopher is playing at -being our Lord calling on the woman taken in adultery. . . . He's giving -me the social backing that his being my husband seems to him to call -for." - -A one-armed, bearded _maître d'hôtel_ approached them through groups -of arm-chairs arranged for _tête-à-tête_. He said: - -"Pardon . . . I did not see madame at first. . . ." And displayed a card -on a salver. Without looking at it, Sylvia said: - -"_Dîtes à ce monsieur_ . . . that I am occupied." The _maître -d'hôtel_ moved austerely away. - -"But he'll smash me to pieces . . ." Perowne exclaimed. "What am I to -do? . . . What the deuce am I to do?" There would have been no way of -exit for him except across Tietjens' face. - -With her spine very rigid and the expression of a snake that fixes a -bird, Sylvia gazed straight in front of her and said nothing until she -exclaimed: - -"For God's sake leave off trembling. . . . He would not do anything to a -girl like you. . . . He's a man. . . ." The wickerwork of Perowne's -chair had been crepitating as if it had been in a railway car. The sound -ceased with a jerk. . . . Suddenly she clenched both her hands and let -out a hateful little breath of air between her teeth. - -"By the immortal saints," she exclaimed, "I swear I'll make his wooden -face wince yet." - -In the bluish looking-glass, a few minutes before, she had seen the -agate-blue eyes of her husband, thirty feet away, over arm-chairs and -between the fans of palms. He was standing, holding a riding-whip, -looking rather clumsy in the uniform that did not suit him. Rather -clumsy and worn out, but completely expressionless! He had looked -straight into the reflection of her eyes and then looked away. He moved -so that his profile was towards her, and continued gazing motionless at -an elk's head that decorated the space of wall above glazed doors giving -into the interior of the hotel. The hotel servant approaching him, he -had produced a card and had given it to the servant, uttering three -words. She saw his lips move in the three words: Mrs. Christopher -Tietjens. She said, beneath her breath: - -"Damn his chivalry! . . . Oh, God damn his chivalry!" She knew what was -going on in his mind. He had seen her, with Perowne, so he had neither -come towards her nor directed the servant to where she sat. For fear of -embarrassing her! He would leave it to her to come to him if she wished. - -The servant, visible in the mirror, had come and gone deviously back, -Tietjens still gazing at the elk's head. He had taken the card and -restored it to his pocket-book and then had spoken to the servant. The -servant had shrugged his shoulders with the formal hospitality of his -class and, with his shoulders still shrugged and his one hand pointing -towards the inner door, had preceded Tietjens into the hotel. Not one -line of Tietjens' face had moved when he had received back his card. It -had been then that Sylvia had sworn that she would yet make his wooden -face wince. . . . - -His face was intolerable. Heavy; fixed. Not insolent, but simply gazing -over the heads of all things and created beings, into a word too distant -for them to enter. . . . And yet it seemed to her, since he was so -clumsy and worn out, almost not sporting to persecute him. It was like -whipping a dying bulldog. . . . - -She sank back into her chair with a movement almost of discouragement. -She said: - -"He's gone into the hotel. . . ." - -Perowne lurched agitatedly forward in his chair. He exclaimed that he -was going. Then he sank discouragedly back again: - -"No, I'm not," he said, "I'm probably much safer here. I might run -against him going out." - -"You've realized that my petticoats protect you," Sylvia said -contemptuously. "Of course, Christopher would never hit anyone in my -presence." - -Major Perowne was interrupting her by asking: - -"What's he going to do? What's he doing in the hotel?" - -Mrs. Tietjens said: - -"Guess!" She added: "What would you do in similar circumstances?" - -"Go and wreck your bedroom," Perowne answered with promptitude. "It's -what I did when I found you had left Yssingueux." - -Sylvia said: - -"Ah, that was what the place was called." - -Perowne groaned: - -"You're callous," he said. "There's no other word for it. Callous. -That's what you are." - -Sylvia asked absently why he called her callous at just that juncture. -She was imagining Christopher stumping clumsily along the hotel corridor -looking at bedrooms, and then giving the hotel servant a handsome tip to -ensure that he should be put on the same floor as herself. She could -almost hear his not disagreeable male voice that vibrated a little from -the chest and made her vibrate. - -Perowne was grumbling on. Sylvia was callous because she had forgotten -the name of the Brittany hamlet in which they had spent three blissful -weeks together, though she had left it so suddenly that all her outfit -remained in the hotel. - -"Well, it wasn't any kind of a beanfeast for me," Sylvia went on, when -she again gave him her attention. "Good heavens! . . . Do you think it -_would_ be any kind of a beanfeast with you, _pour tout potage_? Why -should I remember the name of the hateful place?" - -Perowne said: - -"Yssingueux-les-Pervenches, such a pretty name," reproachfully. - -"It's no good," Sylvia answered, "your trying to awaken sentimental -memories in me. You will have to make me forget what you were like if -you want to carry on with me. . . . I'm stopping here and listening to -your corncrake of a voice because I want to wait until Christopher goes -out of the hotel . . . Then I am going to my room to tidy up for Lady -Sachse's party and you will sit here and wait for me." - -"I'm _not_," Perowne said, "going to Lady Sachse's. Why, _he_ is going to be -one of the principal witnesses to sign the marriage contract. And Old -Campion and all the rest of the staff are going to be there. . . . You -don't catch _me_. . . . An unexpected prior engagement is my line. No -fear." - -"You'll come with me, my little man," Sylvia said, "if you ever want to -bask in my smile again. . . . I'm not going to Lady Sachse's alone, -looking as if I couldn't catch a man to escort me, under the eyes -of half the French house of peers. . . . If they've got a house of -peers! . . . You don't catch _me_. . . . No fear!" she mimicked his creaky -voice. "You can go away as soon as you've shown yourself as my -escort. . . ." - -"But, good God!" Perowne cried out, "that's just what I mustn't do. -Campion said that if he heard any more of my being seen about with you -he would have me sent back to my beastly regiment. And my beastly -regiment is in the trenches. . . . You don't see _me_ in the trenches, do -you?" - -"I'd rather see you there than in my own room," Sylvia said. "Any day!" - -"Ah, there you are!" Perowne exclaimed with animation. "What guarantee -have I that if I do what you want I shall bask in your smile as you call -it? I've got myself into a most awful hole, bringing you here without -any papers. You never told me you hadn't any papers. General O'Hara, the -P.M., has raised a most awful strafe about it. . . . And what have I got -for it? . . . Not the ghost of a smile. . . . And you should see old -O'Hara's purple face! . . . Someone woke him from his afternoon nap to -report to him about your heinous case and he hasn't recovered from the -indigestion yet. . . . Besides, he hates Tietjens . . . Tietjens is -always chipping away at his military police . . . O'Hara's lambs. . . ." - -Sylvia was not listening, but she was smiling a slow smile at an inward -thought. It maddened him. - -"What's your game?" he exclaimed. "Hell and hounds, what's your game? . . . -You can't have come here to see . . . _him_. You don't come here to -see me, as far as I can see. Well then . . ." - -Sylvia looked round at him with all her eyes, wide open as if she had -just awakened from a deep sleep. - -"I didn't know I was coming," she said. "It came into my head to come -suddenly. Ten minutes before I started. And I came. I didn't know papers -were wanted. I suppose I could have got them if I had wanted them. . . . -You never asked me if I had any papers. You just froze on to me and had -me into your special carriage. ... I didn't know you were coming." - -That seemed to Perowne the last insult. He exclaimed: - -"Oh, damn it, Sylvia! you _must_ have known. . . . You were at the -Quirks' squash on Wednesday evening. And _they_ knew. My best friends." - -"Since you ask for it," she said, "I didn't know. . . . And I would not -have come by that train if I had known you would be going by it. You -force me to say rude things to you." She added: "Why can't you be more -conciliatory?" to keep him quiet for a little. His jaw dropped down. - -She was wondering where Christopher had got the money to pay for a bed -at the hotel. Only a very short time before she had drawn all the -balance of his banking account, except for a shilling. It was the middle -of the month and he could not have drawn any more pay. . . . That, of -course, was a try on her part. He might be forced into remonstrating. In -the same way she had tried on the accusation that he had carried off her -sheets. It was sheer wilfulness, and when she looked again at his -motionless features she knew that she had been rather stupid. . . . But -she was at the end of her tether: she had before now tried making -accusations against her husband, but she had never tried inconveniencing -him. . . . Now she suddenly realized the full stupidity of which she had -been guilty. He would know perfectly well that those petty -frightfulnesses of hers were not in the least in her note; so he would -know, too, that each of them was just a try on. He would say: "She is -trying to make me squeal. I'm damned if I will!" - -She would have to adopt much more formidable methods. She said: "He -shall . . . he shall . . . he _shall_ come to heel." - -Major Perowne had now closed his jaw. He was reflecting. Once he -mumbled: "More _conciliatory_! Holy smoke!" - -She was feeling suddenly in spirits: it was the sight of Christopher had -done it: the perfect assurance that they were going to live under the -same roof again. She would have betted all she possessed and her -immortal soul on the chance that he would not take up with the Wannop -girl. And it would have been betting on a certainty! . . . But she had -had no idea what their relations were to be, after the war. At first she -had thought that they had parted for good when she had gone off from -their flat at four o'clock in the morning. It had seemed logical. But, -gradually, in retreat at Birkenhead, in the still, white, nun's room, -doubt had come upon her. It was one of the disadvantages of living as -they did that they seldom spoke their thoughts. But that was also at -times an advantage. She had certainly meant their parting to be for -good. She had certainly raised her voice in giving the name of her -station to the taxi-man with the pretty firm conviction that he would -hear her; and she had been pretty well certain that he would take it as -a sign that the breath had gone out of their union. . . . Pretty -certain. But not quite! . . . - -She would have died rather than write to him; she would die, now, rather -than give any inkling that she wanted them to live under the same roof -again. . . . She said to herself: - -"Is he writing to that girl?" And then: "No! . . . I'm certain that he -isn't." . . . She had had all his letters stopped at the flat, except -for a few circulars that she let dribble through to him, so that he -might imagine that all his correspondence was coming through. From the -letters to him that she did read she was pretty sure that he had given -no other address than the flat in Gray's Inn. . . . But there had been -no letters from Valentine Wannop. . . . Two from Mrs. Wannop, two from -his brother Mark, one from Port Scatho, one or two from brother officers -and some officials chits. . . . She said to herself that, if there _had_ -been any letters from that girl, she would have let all his letters go -through, including the girl's. . . . Now she was not so certain that she -would have. - -In the glass she saw Christopher marching woodenly out of the hotel, -along the path that led from door to door behind her. . . . It came to -her with extraordinary gladness--the absolute conviction that he was not -corresponding with Miss Wannop. The absolute conviction. . . . If he had -come alive enough to do that he would have looked different. She did not -know how he would have looked. But different . . . Alive! Perhaps -self-conscious: perhaps . . . satisfied . . . - -For some time the major had been grumbling about his wrongs. He said -that he followed her about all day, like a lap-dog, and got nothing for -it. Now she wanted him to be conciliatory. She said she wanted to have a -man on show as escort. Well then, an escort got something. . . . At just -this moment he was beginning again with: - -"Look here . . . will you let me come to your room to-night or will you -not?" - -She burst into high, loud laughter. He said: - -"Damn it all, it isn't any laughing matter! . . . Look here! You don't -know what I risk. . . . There are A.P.M.'s and P.M.'s and deputy -sub-acting A.P.M.'s walking about the corridors of all the hotels in -this town, all night long. . . . It's as much as my job is worth. . . ." - -She put her handkerchief to her lips to hide a smile that she knew would -be too cruel for him not to notice. And even when she took it away, he -said: - -"Hang it all, what a cruel-looking fiend you are! . . . Why the devil do -I hang around you? . . . There's a picture that my mother's got, by -Burne-Jones . . . A cruel-looking woman with a distant smile . . . Some -vampire ... La belle Dame sans Merci . . . That's what you're like." - -She looked at him suddenly with considerable seriousness. . . . - -"See here, Potty . . ." she began. He groaned: - -"I believe you'd like me to be sent to the beastly trenches. . . . Yet a -big, distinguished-looking chap like me wouldn't have a chance. . . . At -the first volley the Germans fired, they'd pick me off. . . ." - -"Oh, Potty," she exclaimed, "try to be serious for a minute. . . . I -tell you I'm a woman who's trying . . . who's desperately wanting . . . -to be reconciled to her husband! . . . I would not tell that to another -soul. . . . I would not tell it to myself. . . . But one owes -something . . . a parting scene, if nothing else. . . . Well, -something . . . to a man one's been in bed with. . . . I didn't give you a -parting scene at . . . ah, Yssingueux-les-Pervenches ... so I give you -this tip instead. . . ." - -He said: - -"Will you leave your bedroom door unlocked, or won't you?" - -She said: - -"If that man would throw his handkerchief to me, I would follow him -round the world in my shift! . . . Look here . . . see me shake when I -think of it. . . ." She held out her hand at the end of her long arm: -hand and arm trembled together, minutely, then very much. . . . "Well," -she finished, "if you see that and still want to come to my room . . . -your blood be on your own head. . . ." She paused for a breath or two -and then said: - -"You can come. . . . I won't lock my door. . . . But I don't say that -you'll get anything . . . or that you'll like what you get . . . That's -a fair tip. . . ." She added suddenly: "You _sale fat_ . . . take what -you get and be damned to you! . . ." - -Major Perowne had suddenly taken to twirling his moustaches; he said: - -"Oh, I'll chance the A.P.M.'s. . . ." - -She suddenly coiled her legs into her chair. - -"I know now what I came here for," she said. - - -Major Wilfrid Fosbrooke Eddicker Perowne of Perowne, the son of his -mother, was one of those individuals who have no history, no strong -proclivities, nothing, his knowledge seemed to be bounded by the -contents of his newspaper for the immediate day; at any rate, his -conversation never went any farther. He was not bold, he was not shy: he -was neither markedly courageous nor markedly cowardly. His mother was -immoderately wealthy, owned an immense castle that hung over crags, -above a western sea, much as a birdcage hangs from a window of a high -tenement building, but she received few or no visitors, her cuisine -being indifferent and her wine atrocious. She had strong temperance -opinions and, immediately after the death of her husband, she had -emptied the contents of his cellar, which were almost as historic as his -castle, into the sea, a shudder going through county-family and no, or -almost no, characteristics. He had done England. But even this was not -enough to make Perowne himself notorious. - -His mother allowed him--after an eyeopener in early youth--the income of -a junior royalty, but he did nothing with it. He lived in a great house -in Palace Gardens, Kensington, and he lived all alone with rather a -large staff of servants who had been selected by his mother, but they -did nothing at all, for he ate all his meals, and even took his bath and -dressed for dinner at the Bath Club. He was otherwise parsimonious. - -He had, after the fashion of his day, passed a year or two in the army -when young. He had been first gazetted to His Majesty's Forty-second -Regiment, but on the Black Watch proceeding to India he had exchanged -into the Glamorganshires, at that time commanded by General Campion and -recruiting in and around Lincolnshire. The general had been an old -friend of Perowne's mother, and, on being promoted to brigadier, had -taken Perowne on to his staff as his galloper, for, although Perowne -rode rather indifferently, he had a certain social knowledge and could -be counted on to know how correctly to address a regimental invitation -to a dowager countess who had married a viscount's third son. . . . As a -military figure otherwise he had a very indifferent word of command, a -very poor drill and next to no control of his men, but he was popular -with his batmen, and in a rather stiff way was presentable in the old -scarlet uniform or the blue mess jacket. He was exactly six foot, to a -hairbreadth, in his stockings, had very dark eyes, and a rather grating -voice; the fact that his limbs were a shade too bulky for his trunk, -which was not at all corpulent, made him appear a little clumsy. If in a -club you asked what sort of a fellow he was your interlocutor would tell -you, most probably, that he had or was supposed to have warts on his -head, this to account for his hair which all his life he had combed -back, unparted from his forehead. But as a matter of fact he had no -warts on his head. - -He had once started out on an expedition to shoot big game in Portuguese -East Africa. But on its arrival his expedition was met with the news -that the natives of the interior were in revolt, so Perowne had returned -to Kensington Palace Gardens. He had had several mild successes with -women, but, owing to his habits of economy and fear of imbroglios, until -the age of thirty-four, he had limited the field of his amours to young -women of the lower social orders. . . . - -His affair with Sylvia Tietjens might have been something to boast -about, but he was not boastful, and indeed he had been too hard hit when -she had left him even to bear to account lyingly for the employment of -the time he had spent with her in Brittany. Fortunately no one took -sufficient interest in his movements to wait for his answer to their -indifferent questions as to where he had spent the summer. When his mind -reverted to her desertion of him moisture would come out of his eyes, -undemonstratively, as water leaves the surface of a sponge. . . . - -Sylvia had left him by the simple expedient of stepping without so much -as a reticule on to the little French tramway that took you to the main -railway line. From there she had written to him in pencil on a closed -correspondence card that she had left him because she simply could not -bear either his dullness or his craking voice. She said they would -probably run up against each other in the course of the autumn season in -town and, after purchase of some night, things, had made straight for -the German spa to which her mother had retreated. - -At the later date Sylvia had no difficulty in accounting to herself for -her having gone off with such an oaf: she had simply reacted in a -violent fit of sexual hatred, from her husband's mind. And she could not -have found a mind more utterly dissimilar than Perowne's in any decently -groomed man to be found in London. She could recall, even in the French -hotel lounge, years after, the almost painful emotion of joyful hatred -that had visited her when she had first thought of going off with him. -It was the self-applause of one who has just hit upon an excruciatingly -inspiring intellectual discovery. In her previous transitory -infidelities to Christopher she had discovered that, however presentable -the man with whom she might have been having an affair, and however -short the affair, even if it were only a matter of a week-end . . . -Christopher had spoilt her for the other man. It was the most damnable -of his qualities that to hear any other man talk of any subject--any, -any subject--from stable form to the balance of power, or from the voice -of a given opera singer to the recurrence of a comet--to have to pass a -week-end with any other man and hear his talk after having spent the -inside of the week with Christopher, hate his ideas how you might, was -the difference between listening to a grown man and, with an intense -boredom, trying to entertain an inarticulate schoolboy. As beside him, -other men simply did not seem ever to have grown up. . . . - -Just before, with an extreme suddenness, consenting to go away with -Perowne, the illuminating idea had struck her: If I did go away with him -it would be the most humiliating thing I could do to Christopher. . . . -And just when the idea _had_ struck her, beside her chair in the -conservatory at a dance given by the general's sister, Lady Claudine -Sandbach, Perowne, his voice rendered more throaty and less disagreeable -than usual by emotion, had been going on and on begging her to elope -with him. . . . She had suddenly said: - -"Very well . . . let's. . . ." - -His emotion had been so unbridled in its astonishment that she had, even -at that, almost been inclined to treat her own speech as a joke and to -give up the revenge. . . . But the idea of the humiliation that -Christopher must feel proved too much for her. For, for your wife to -throw you over for an attractive man is naturally humiliating, but that -she should leave you publicly for a man of hardly any intelligence at -all, you priding yourself on your brains, must be nearly as mortifying a -thing as can happen to you. - -But she had hardly set out upon her escapade before two very serious -defects in her plan occurred to her with extreme force: the one that, -however humiliated Christopher might feel she would not be with him to -witness his humiliation; the other that, oaf as she had taken Perowne to -be in casual society, in close daily relationship he was such an oaf as -to be almost insufferable. She had imagined that he would prove a person -out of whom it might be possible to make _something_ by a judicious course -of alternated mothering and scorn: she discovered that his mother had -already done for him almost all that woman could do. For, when he had -been an already rather backward boy at a private school, his mother had -kept him so extremely short of pocket-money that he had robbed other -boys' desks of a few shillings here and there--in order to subscribe -towards a birthday present for the head master's wife. His mother, to -give him a salutary lesson, had given so much publicity to the affair -that he had become afflicted with a permanent bent towards shyness that -rendered him by turns very mistrustful of himself or very boastful and, -although he repressed manifestations of either tendency towards the -outside world, the continual repression rendered him almost incapable of -any vigorous thought or action. . . . - -That discovery did not soften Sylvia towards him: it was, as she -expressed it, _his_ funeral and, although she would have been ready for -any normal job of smartening up a roughish man, she was by no means -prepared to readjust other women's hopeless maternal misfits. - -So she had got no farther than Ostend, where they had proposed to spend -a week or so at the tables, before she found herself explaining to some -acquaintances whom she met that she was in that gay city merely for an -hour or two, between trains, on the way to join her mother in a German -health resort. The impulse to say that had come upon her by surprise, -for, until that moment, being completely indifferent to criticism, she -had intended to cast no veil at all over her proceedings. But, quite -suddenly, on seeing some well-known English faces in the casino it had -come over her to think that, however much she imagined Christopher to be -humiliated by her going off with an oaf like Perowne, that humiliation -must be as nothing compared with that which she might be expected to -feel at having found no one better than an oaf like Perowne to go off -with. Moreover . . . she began to miss Christopher. - -These feelings did not grow any less intense in the rather stuffy but -inconspicuous hotel in the Rue St. Roque in Paris to which she -immediately transported the bewildered but uncomplaining Perowne, who -had imagined that he was to be taken to Wiesbaden for a course of light -gaieties. And Paris, when you avoid the more conspicuous resorts, and -when you are unprovided with congenial companionship can prove nearly as -overwhelming as is, say, Birmingham on a Sunday. - -So that Sylvia waited for only just long enough to convince herself that -her husband had no apparent intention of applying for an immediate -divorce and had, indeed, no apparent intention of doing anything at all. -She sent him, that is to say, a postcard saying that letters and other -communications would reach her at her inconspicuous hotel--and it -mortified her not a little to have to reveal the fact that her hotel was -so inconspicuous. But, except that her own correspondence was forwarded -to her with regularity, no communications at all came from Tietjens. - -In an air-resort in the centre of France to which she next removed -Perowne, she found herself considering rather seriously what it might be -expected that Tietjens _would_ do. Through indirect and unsuspecting -allusions in letters from her personal friends she found that if -Tietjens did not put up, he certainly did not deny, the story that she -had gone to nurse or be with her mother, who was supposed to be -seriously ill. . . . That is to say, her friends said how rotten it was -that her mother, Mrs. Satterthwaite, should be so seriously ill; how -rotten it must be for her to be shut up in a potty little German kur-ort -when the world could be so otherwise amusing: and how well Christopher -whom they saw from time to time seemed to be getting on considering how -rotten it must be for him to be left all alone. . . . - -At about this time Perowne began to become, if possible, more irritating -than ever. In their air-resort, although the guests were almost entirely -French, there was a newly opened golf-course, and at the game of golf -Perowne displayed an inefficiency and at the same time a morbid conceit -that were surprising in one naturally lymphatic. He would sulk for a -whole evening if either Sylvia or any Frenchman beat him in a round, -and, though Sylvia was by then completely indifferent to his sulking, -what was very much worse was that he became gloomily and loud-voicedly -quarrelsome over his games with foreign opponents. - -Three events, falling within ten minutes of each other, made her -determined to get as far away from that air-resort as was feasible. In -the first place she observed at the end of the street some English -people called Thurston, whose faces she faintly knew, and the emotion -she suddenly felt let her know how extremely anxious she was that she -should let it remain feasible for Tietjens to take her back. Then, in -the golf club-house, to which she found herself fiercely hurrying in -order to pay her bill and get her clubs, she overheard the conversation -of two players that left no doubt in her mind that Perowne had been -detected in little meannesses of moving his ball at golf or juggling -with his score. . . . This was almost more than she could stand. And, at -the same moment, her mind, as it were, condescended to let her remember -Christopher's voice as it had once uttered the haughty opinion that no -man one could speak to would ever think of divorcing any woman. If he -could not defend the sanctity of his hearth he must lump it unless the -woman wanted to divorce him. . . . - -At the time when he had said it her mind--she had been just then hating -him a good deal--had seemed to take no notice of the utterance. But now -that it presented itself forcibly to her again it brought with it the -thought: Supposing he wasn't really only talking through his hat! - -. . . She dragged the wretched Perowne off his bed where he had been -lost in an after-lunch slumber and told him that they must both leave -that place at once, and, that as soon as they reached Paris or some -larger town where he could find waiters and people to understand his -French, she herself was going to leave him for good. They did not, in -consequence, get away from the air-resort until the six o'clock train -next morning. Perowne's passion of rage and despair at the news that she -wished to leave him took an inconvenient form, for instead of announcing -any intention of committing suicide, as might have been expected, he -became gloomily and fantastically murderous. He said that unless Sylvia -swore on a little relic of St. Anthony she carried that she had no -intention of leaving him he would incontinently kill her. He said, as he -said for the rest of his days, that she had ruined his life and caused -great moral deterioration in himself. But for her he might have married -some pure young thing. Moreover, influencing him against his mother's -doctrines, she had forced him to drink wine, by an effect of pure scorn. -Thus he had done harm, he was convinced, both to his health and to his -manly proportions. . . . It was indeed for Sylvia one of the most -unbearable things about this man--the way he took wine. With every glass -he put to his lips he would exclaim with an unbearable titter some such -imbecility as: Here is another nail in my coffin. And he had taken to -wine, and even to stronger liquor, very well. - -Sylvia had refused to swear by St. Anthony. She definitely was not going -to introduce the saint into her amorous affairs, and she definitely was -not going to take on any relic an oath that she meant to break at an -early opportunity. There was such a thing as playing it too low down: -there are dishonours to which death is preferable. So, getting hold of -his revolver at a time when he was wringing his hands, she dropped it -into the water-jug and then felt reasonably safe. - -Perowne knew no French and next to nothing about France, but he had -discovered that the French did nothing to you for killing a woman who -intended to leave you. Sylvia, on the other hand, was pretty certain -that, without a weapon, he could not do much to her. If she had had no -other training at her very expensive school she had had so much drilling -in calisthenics as to be singularly mistress of her limbs, and, in the -interests of her beauty she had always kept herself very fit. . . . - -She said at last: - -"Very well. We will go to Yssingueux-les-Pervenches. . . ." - -A rather pleasant French couple in the hotel had spoken of this little -place in the extreme west of France as a lonely paradise, they having -spent their honeymoon there. . . . And Sylvia wanted a lonely paradise -if there was going to be any scrapping before she got away from -Perowne. . . . - -She had no hesitation as to what she was going to do: the long journey -across half France by miserable trains had caused her an agony of -home-sickness! Nothing less! . . . It was a humiliating disease from -which to suffer. But it was unavoidable, like mumps. You had to put up -with it. Besides, she even found herself wanting to see her child, whom -she imagined herself to hate, as having been the cause of all her -misfortunes. . . . - -She therefore prepared, after great thought, a letter telling Tietjens -that she intended to return to him. She made the letter as nearly as -possible like one she would write announcing her return from a country -house to which she should have been invited for an indefinite period, -and she added some rather hard instructions about her maid, these being -intended to remove from the letter any possible trace of emotion. She -was certain that, if she showed any emotion at all, Christopher would -never take her under his roof again. . . . She was pretty certain that -no gossip had been caused by her escapade. Major Thurston had been at -the railway station when they had left, but they had not spoken--and -Thurston was a very decentish, brown-moustached fellow, of the sort that -does not gossip. - -It had proved a little difficult to get away, for Perowne during several -weeks watched her like an attendant in a lunatic asylum. But at last the -idea presented itself to him that she would never go without her frocks, -and, one day, in a fit of intense somnolence after a lunch, washed down -with rather a large quantity of the local and fiery cordial, he let her -take a walk alone. . . . - - -She was by that time tired of men . . . or she imagined that she was; -for she was not prepared to be certain, considering the muckers she saw -women coming all round her over the most unpresentable individuals. Men, -at any rate, never fulfilled expectations. They might, upon -acquaintance, turn out more entertaining than they appeared; but almost -always taking up with a man was like reading a book you had read when -you had forgotten that you had read it. You had not been for ten minutes -in any sort of intimacy with any man before you said: "But I've read all -this before. . . ." You knew the opening, you were already bored by the -middle, and, especially, you knew the end. . . . - -She remembered, years ago, trying to shock her mother's spiritual -adviser, Father Consett, whom they had lately murdered in Ireland, along -with Casement. . . . The poor saint had not in the least been shocked. -He had gone her one better. For when she had said something like that -her idea of a divvy life--they used in those days to say divvy--would be -to go off with a different man every week-end, he had told her that -after a short time she would be bored already by the time the poor dear -fellow was buying the railway tickets. . . . - -And, by heavens, he had been right. . . . For when she came to think of -it, from the day that poor saint had said that thing in her mother's -sitting-room in the little German spa--Lobscheid, it must have been -called--in the candle-light, his shadow denouncing her from all over the -walls, to now when she sat in the palmish wickerwork of that hotel that -had been new-whitely decorated to celebrate hostilities, never once had -she sat in a train with a man who had any right to look upon himself as -justified in mauling her about. . . . She wondered if, from where he sat -in heaven, Father Consett would be satisfied with her as he looked down -into that lounge. . . . Perhaps it was really he that had pulled off -that change in her. . . . - -Never once till yesterday. . . . For perhaps the unfortunate Perowne -might just faintly have had the right yesterday to make himself for -about two minutes--before she froze him into a choking, pallid snowman -with goggle eyes--the perfectly loathsome thing that a man in a railway -train becomes. . . . Much too bold and yet stupidly awkward with the -fear of the guard looking in at the window, the train doing over sixty, -without corridors. . . . No, never again for _me_, father, she addressed -her voice towards the ceiling. . . . - -Why in the world couldn't you get a man to go away with you and be -just--oh, light comedy--for a whole, a whole blessed week-end. For a -whole blessed life. . . Why not? . . . Think of it . . . A whole blessed -life with a man who was a good sort and yet didn't go all gurgly in the -voice, and cod-fish-eyed and all-overish--to the extent of not being -able to find the tickets when asked for them. . . . Father, dear, she -said again upwards, if I could find men like that, that would be just -heaven . . . where there is no marrying. . . . But, of course, she went -on almost resignedly, he would not be faithful to you. . . . And then: -one would have to stand it. . . . - -She sat up so suddenly in her chair that beside her, too, Major Perowne -nearly jumped out of his wickerwork, and asked if _he_ had come back. . . . -She explained: - -"No, I'd be damned if I would. . . . I'd be damned, I'd be damned, I'd -be damned if I would. . . . Never. Never. By the living God!" - -She asked fiercely of the agitated major: - -"Has Christopher got a girl in this town? . . . You'd better tell me the -truth!" - -The major mumbled: - -"He . . . No. . . . He's too much of a stick. . . . He never even goes -to Suzette's. . . . Except once to fetch out some miserable little squit -of a subaltern who was smashing up Mother Hardelot's furniture. . . ." - -He grumbled: - -"But you shouldn't give a man the jumps like that! . . . Be -conciliatory, you said. . . ." He went on to grumble that her manners -had not improved since she had been at Yssingueux-les-Pervenches, . . . -and then went on to tell her that in French the words _yeux des -pervenches_ meant eyes of periwinkle blue. And that was the only French -he knew, because a Frenchman he had met in the train had told him so and -he had always thought that if _her_ eyes had been periwinkle blue . . . -"But you're not listening. . . . Hardly polite, I call it," he had -mumbled to a conclusion. . . . - -She was sitting forward in her chair still clenching her hand under her -chin at the thought that perhaps Christopher had Valentine Wannop in -that town. That was perhaps why he elected to remain there. She asked: - -"Why does Christopher stay on in this God-forsaken hole? . . . The -inglorious base, they call it. . . - -"Because he's jolly well got to. . . ." Major Perowne said. "He's got to -do what he's told. . . ." - -She said: "Christopher! . . . You mean to say they'd keep a man like -_Christopher_ anywhere he didn't want to be . . ." - -"They'd jolly well knock spots off him if he went away," Major Perowne -exclaimed. . . . "What the deuce do you think your blessed fellow is? . . . -The King of England? . . ." He added with a sudden sombre ferocity: -"They'd shoot him like anybody else if he bolted. . . . What do _you_ -think?" - -She said: "But all that wouldn't prevent his having a girl in this -town?" - -"Well, he hasn't got one," Perowne said. "He sticks up in that blessed -old camp of his like a blessed she-chicken sitting on addled eggs. . . . -That's what they say of him. . . . I don't know anything about the -fellow. . . ." - -Listening vindictively and indolently, she thought she caught in his -droning tones a touch of the homicidal lunacy that had used to underlie -his voice in the bedroom at Yssingueux. The fellow had undoubtedly about -him a touch of the dull, mad murderer of the police-courts. With a -sudden animation she thought: - -"Suppose he tried to murder Christopher. . . ." And she imagined her -husband breaking the fellow's back across his knee, the idea going -across her mind as fire traverses the opal. Then, with a dry throat, she -said to herself: - -"I've got to find out whether he has that girl in Rouen. . . ." Men stuck -together. The fellow Perowne might well be protecting Tietjens. It would -be unthinkable that any rules of the service could keep Christopher in -that place. They could not shut up the upper classes. If Perowne had any -sense he would know that to shield Tietjens was the way not to get -her. . . . But he had no sense. . . . Besides, sexual solidarity was a -terribly strong thing. . . . She knew that she herself would not give a -woman's secrets away in order to get her man. Then . . . how was she to -ascertain whether the girl was not in that town? How? . . . She imagined -Tietjens going home every night to her. . . . But he was going to spend -that night with herself. . . . She knew that. . . . Under that roof. . . . -Fresh from the other. . . . - -She imagined him there, now. . . . In the parlour of one of the little -villas you see from the tram on the top of the town. . . . They were -undoubtedly, now, discussing her. . . . Her whole body writhed, muscle -on muscle, in her chair. . . . She must discover. . . . But how do you -discover? Against a universal conspiracy. . . . This whole war was an -agapemone. . . . You went to war when you desired to rape innumerable -women. . . . It was what war was for. . . . All these men, crowded in -this narrow space. . . . She stood up: - -"I'm going," she said, "to put on a little powder for Lady Sachse's -feast. . . . You needn't stay if you don't want to. . . ." She was going -to watch every face she saw until it gave up the secret of where in that -town Christopher had the Wannop girl hidden. . . . She imagined her -freckled, snubnosed face pressed--squashed was the word--against his -cheek. . . . She was going to investigate. . . . - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -She found an early opportunity to carry on her investigations. For, at -dinner that night, she found herself, Tietjens having gone to the -telephone with a lance-corporal, opposite what she took to be a small -tradesman, with fresh-coloured cheeks, and a great, grey, -forward-sprouting moustache, in a uniform so creased that the creases -resembled the veins of a leaf. . . . A very trustworthy small tradesman: -the grocer from round the corner whom, sometimes, you allow to supply -you with paraffin. . . . He was saying to her: - -"If, ma'am, you multiply two-thousand nine hundred and something by ten -you arrive at twenty-nine thousand odd. . . ." - -And she had exclaimed: - -"You really mean that my husband, Captain Tietjens, spent yesterday -afternoon in examining twenty-nine thousand toe-nails. . . . And two -thousand nine hundred toothbrushes. . . ." - -"I told him," her interlocutor answered with deep seriousness, "that -these being Colonial troops it was not so necessary to examine their -toothbrushes. . . . Imperial troops _will_ use the brush they clean -their buttons with for their teeth so as to have a clean toothbrush to -show the medical officer. . . ." - -"It sounds," she said with a little shudder, "as if you were all -schoolboys playing a game. . . . And you say my husband really occupies -his mind with such things. . . ." - -Second-Lieutenant Cowley, dreadfully conscious that the shoulder-strap -of his Sam Browne belt, purchased that afternoon at the Ordnance, and -therefore brand-new, did not match the abdominal part of the belt that -he had had for nearly ten years--a splendid bit of leather, -that!--answered nevertheless stoutly: - -"Madam! If the brains of an army aren't, the life of an army _is_ . . . -in its feet. . . . And nowadays, the medical officers say, in its -teeth. . . . Your husband, ma'am, is an admirable officer. . . . He says -that no draft he turns out shall. . . ." - -She said: - -"He spent three hours in . . . You say, foot and kit inspection. . . ." - -Second-Lieutenant Cowley said: - -"Of course he had other officers to help him with the kit . . . but he -looked at every foot himself. . . ." - -She said: - -"That took him from two till five. . . . Then he had tea, I suppose. . . . -And went to . . . What is it? . . . The papers of the draft. . . ." - -Second-Lieutenant Cowley said, muffledly through his moustache: - -"If the captain is a little remiss in writing letters . . . I _have_ -heard. . . . You might, madam . . . I'm a married man myself . . . with -a daughter. . . . And the army is not very good at writing letters. . . . -You might say, in that respect, that thank God we have got a navy, -ma'am. . . ." - -She let him stagger on for a sentence or two, imagining that, in his -confusion, she might come upon traces of Miss Wannop in Rouen. Then she -said handsomely: - -"Of course you have explained everything, Mr. Cowley, and I am very much -obliged. . . . Of course my husband would not have time to write very -full letters. . . . He is not like the giddy young subalterns who run -after . . ." - -He exclaimed in a great roar of laughter: - -"The captain run after skirts. . . . Why, I can number on my hands the -times he's been out of my sight since he's had the battalion!" - -A deep wave of depression went over Sylvia. - -"Why," Lieutenant Cowley laughed on, "if we _had_ a laugh against him it -was that he mothered the lot of us as if he was a hen sitting on addled -eggs. . . . For it's only a rag-time army, as the saying is, when you've -said the best for it that you can. . . . And look at the other -commanding officers we've had before we had him. . . . There was Major -Brooks. . . . Never up before noon, if then, and out of camp by -two-thirty. Get your returns ready for signing before then or never get -'em signed. . . . And Colonel Potter . . . Bless my soul . . . 'e -wouldn't sign any blessed papers at all. . . . He lived down here in -this hotel, and we never saw him up at the camp at all. . . . But the -captain. . . . We always say that . . . if 'e was a Chelsea adjutant -getting off a draft of the Second Coldstreams. . . ." - -With her indolent and gracious beauty--Sylvia knew that she was -displaying indolent and gracious beauty--Sylvia leaned over the -tablecloth listening for items in the terrible indictment that, -presently, she was going to bring against Tietjens. . . . For the morality -of these matters is this: . . . If you have an incomparably beautiful -woman on your hands you must occupy yourself solely with her. . . . -Nature exacts that of you . . . until you are unfaithful to her -with a snub-nosed girl with freckles: that, of course, being a reaction, -is still in a way occupying yourself with your woman! . . . But to -betray her with a battalion. . . . That is against decency, against -Nature. . . . And for him, Christopher Tietjens, to come down to the -level of the men you met here! . . . - -Tietjens, mooning down the room between tables, had more than his -usually aloof air since he had just come out of a telephone box. He -slipped, a weary mass, into the polished chair between her and the -lieutenant. He said: - -"I've got the washing arranged for . . ." and Sylvia gave to herself a -little hiss between the teeth, of vindictive pleasure! This was indeed -betrayal to a battalion. He added: "I shall have to be up in camp before -four-thirty to-morrow morning. . . ." - -Sylvia could not resist saying: - -"Isn't there a poem . . . _Ah me, the dawn, the dawn, it comes too -soon_! . . . said of course by lovers in bed? . . . Who was the poet?" - -Cowley went visibly red to the roots of his hair and evidently beyond. -Tietjens finished his speech to Cowley, who had remonstrated against his -going up to the camp so early by saying that he had not been able to get -hold of an officer to march the draft. He then said in his leisurely -way: - -"There were a great many poems with that refrain in the Middle Ages. . . . -You are probably thinking of an albade by Arnaut Daniel, which someone -translated lately. . . . An albade was a song to be sung at dawn when, -presumably, no one but lovers would be likely to sing. . . ." - -"Will there," Sylvia asked, "be anyone but you singing up in your camp -to-morrow at four?" - -She could not help it. . . . She knew that Tietjens had adopted his slow -pomposity in order to give the grotesque object at the table with them -time to recover from his confusion. She hated him for it. What right had -he to make himself appear a pompous ass in order to shield the confusion -of anybody? - -The second-lieutenant came out of his confusion to exclaim, actually -slapping his thigh: - -"There you are, madam. . . . Trust the captain to know everything! . . . -I don't believe there's a question under the sun you could ask him that -he couldn't answer. . . . They say up at the camp . . ." He went on with -long stories of all the questions Tietjens _had_ answered up at the -camp. . . . - -Emotion was going all over Sylvia . . . at the proximity of Tietjens. -She said to herself: "Is this to go on for ever?" Her hands were ice-cold. -She touched the back of her left hand with the fingers of her right. -It _was_ ice-cold. She looked at her hands. They were bloodless. . . . -She said to herself: "It's pure sexual passion . . . it's pure -sexual passion . . . God! Can't I get over this?" She said: "Father! . . . -You used to be fond of Christopher. . . . _Get_ our Lady to get me over -this. . . . It's the ruin of him and the ruin of me. But, oh _damn_, -don't! . . . For it's all I have to live for. . . ." She said: "When he -came mooning back from the telephone I thought it was all right. . . . I -thought what a heavy wooden-horse he looked. . . . For two minutes. . . . -Then it's all over me again. . . . I want to swallow my saliva and I -can't. My throat won't work. . . ." - -She leaned one of her white bare arms on the tablecloth towards the -walrus-moustache that was still snuffling gloriously: - -"They used to call him Old Sol at school," she said. "But there's one -question of Solomon's he could not answer. . . . The one about the way -of a man with . . . Oh, a maid! . . . Ask him what happened before the -dawn ninety-six--no, ninety-eight days ago. . . ." - -She said to herself: "I can't help it. . . . Oh, I _can't_ help it. . . ." - -The ex-sergeant-major was exclaiming happily: - -"Oh, no one ever said the captain was one of these thought-readers. . . . -It's real solid knowledge of men and things he has. . . . Wonderful -how he knows the men considering he was not born in the service. . . . -But there, your born gentleman mixes with men all his days and knows -them. Down to the ground and inside their puttees. . . ." - -Tietjens was looking straight in front of him, his face perfectly -expressionless. - -"But I bet I got him, . . ." she said to herself and then to the -sergeant-major: - -"I suppose now an army officer--one of your born gentlemen--when -a back-from-leave train goes out from any of the great -stations--Paddington, say--to the front . . . He knows how all the men -are feeling. . . . But not what the married women think . . . or the . . . -the girl. . . ." - -She said to herself: "Damn it, how clumsy I am getting! . . . I used to -be able to take his hide off with a word. Now I take sentences at a -time. . . ." - -She went on with her uninterrupted sentence to Cowley: - -"Of course he may never be going to see his only son again, so it makes -him sensitive. . . . The officer at Paddington, I mean. . . ." - -She said to herself: "By God, if that beast does not give in to me -to-night he never _shall_ see Michael again. . . . Ah, but I got him. . . ." -Tietjens had his eyes closed, round each of his high-coloured -nostrils a crescent of whiteness was beginning. And increasing. . . . -She felt a sudden alarm and held the edge of the table with her extended -arm to steady herself. . . . Men went white at the nose like that when -they were going to faint. . . . She did not want him to faint. . . . But -he _had_ noticed the word Paddington. . . . Ninety-eight days before. . . . -She had counted every day since. . . . She had got that much -information. . . . She had said _Paddington_ outside the house at dawn -and he had taken it as a farewell. He _had_ . . . He had imagined himself -free to do what he liked with the girl. . . . Well, he wasn't. . . . -That was why he was white about the gills. . . . - -Cowley exclaimed loudly: - -"Paddington! . . . It isn't from there that back-from-leave trains go. -Not for the front: the B.E.F. . . . Not from Paddington. . . . The -Glamorganshires go from there to the depot. . . . And the Liverpools. . . . -They've got a depot at Birkenhead. . . . Or is that the Cheshires? . . ." -He asked of Tietjens: "Is it the Liverpools or the Cheshires that -have a depot at Birkenhead, sir? . . . You remember we recruited a draft -from there when we were at Penhally. ... At any rate, you go to -Birkenhead from Paddington. . . . I was never there myself. . . . They -say it's a nice place. . . ." - -Sylvia said--she did not want to say it: - -"It's quite a nice place . . . but I should not think of staying there -for ever. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"The Cheshires have a training camp--not a depot--near Birkenhead. And -of course there are R.G.A.'s there. . . ." She had been looking away -from him. . . . Cowley exclaimed: - -"You were nearly off, sir," hilariously. "You had your peepers shut. . . ." -Lifting a champagne glass, he inclined himself towards her. "You must -excuse the captain, ma'am," he said. "He had no sleep last night. . . . -Largely owing to my fault. . . . Which is what makes it so kind of -him. . . . I tell you, ma'am, there are few things I would not do for the -captain. . . ." He drank his champagne and began an explanation: "You -may not know, ma'am, this is a great day for me. . . . And you and the -captain are making it the greatest day of my life. . . ." Why, at four -this morning there hadn't been a wretcheder man in Ruin town. . . . And -now . . . He must tell her that he suffered from an unfortunate--a -miserable--complaint. . . . One that makes one have to be careful of -celebrations. . . . And to-day was a day that he had to celebrate. . . . -But he dare not have done it where Sergeant-Major Ledoux is along with a -lot of their old mates. . . . "I dare not . . . I dussn't!" he -finished. . . . "So I might have been sitting, now, at this very moment, -up in the cold camp. . . . But for you and the captain. . . . Up in the -cold camp. . . . You'll excuse me, ma'am. . . ." - -Sylvia felt that her lids were suddenly wavering: - -"I might have been myself," she said, "in a cold camp, too . . . if I -hadn't thrown myself on the captain's mercy! . . . At Birkenhead, you -know. . . . I happened to be there till three weeks ago. . . . It's -strange that you mentioned it. . . . There _are_ things like signs . . . -but you're not a Catholic! They could hardly be coincidences. . . ." - -She was trembling. . . . She looked, fumblingly opening it, into the -little mirror of her powder-box--of chased, very thin gold with a small -blue stone, like a forget-me-not in the centre of the concentric -engravings. . . . Drake--the possible father of Michael--had given it to -her. . . . The first thing he had ever given her. She had brought it down -to-night out of defiance. She imagined that Tietjens disliked it. . . . -She said breathlessly to herself: "Perhaps the damn thing is an ill -omen. . . ." Drake had been the first man who had ever . . . A -hot-breathed brute! . . . In the little glass her features were -chalk-white. . . . She looked like . . . she looked like . . . She had a -dress of golden tissue. . . . The breath was short between her white set -teeth. . . . Her face was as white as her teeth. . . . And . . . Yes! -Nearly! Her lips. . . . What was her face like? . . . In the chapel of -the convent of Birkenhead there was a tomb all of alabaster. . . . She -said to herself: - -"He was near fainting. . . . I'm near fainting. . . . What's this -beastly thing that's between us? . . . If I let myself faint. . . . But -it would not make that beast's face any less wooden! . . ." - -She leaned across the table and patted the ex-sergeant-major's -black-haired hand: - -"I'm sure," she said, "you're a very good man. . . ." She did not try to -keep the tears out of her eyes, remembering his words: "Up in the cold -camp," . . . "I'm glad the captain, as you call him, did not leave you -in the cold camp. . . . You're devoted to him, aren't you? . . . There -are others he does leave . . . up in . . . the cold camp. . . . For -punishment, you know. . . ." - -The ex-sergeant-major, the tears in his eyes too, said: - -"Well, there _is_ men you 'as to give the C.B. to. . . . C.B. means -confined to barracks. . . ." - -"Oh, there are!" she exclaimed. "There are! . . . And women, too. . . . -Surely there are women, too? . . ." - -The sergeant-major said: - -"Wacks, per'aps. . . . I don't know. . . . They say women's discipline -is much like ours. . . . Founded on hours!" - -She said: - -"Do you know what they used to say of the captain? . . ." She said to -herself: "I pray to God the stiff, fatuous beast likes sitting here -listening to this stuff. . . . Blessed Virgin, mother of God, make him -take me. . . . Before midnight. Before eleven. ... As soon as we get rid -of this . . . No, he's a decent little man. . . . Blessed Virgin!" . . . -"Do you know what they used to say of the captain? ... I heard the -warmest banker in England say it of him. . . ." - -The sergeant-major, his eyes enormously opened, said: - -"Did you know the warmest banker in England? . . . But there, we always -knew the captain was well connected. . . ." She went on: - -"They said of him. . . . He was always helping people." . . . "Holy -Mary, mother of God! . . . He's my _husband_. . . . It's not a sin. . . . -Before midnight . . . Oh, give me a sign. . . . Or before . . . the -termination of hostilities. . . . If you give me a sign I could -wait." . . . "He helped virtuous Scotch students, and broken-down -gentry. . . . And women taken in adultery. . . . All of them. . . . -Like . . . You know Who. . . . That is his model. . . ." She said to -herself: "Curse him! . . . I hope he likes it. . . . You'd think the only -thing he thinks about is the beastly duck he's wolfing down." . . . And -then aloud: "They used to say: 'He saved others; himself he could not -save. . . .'" - -The ex-sergeant-major looked at her gravely: - -"Ma'am," he said, "we couldn't say exactly that of the captain. . . . -For I fancy it was said of our Redeemer. . . . But we _'ave_ said that -if ever there was a poor bloke the captain could 'elp, 'elp 'im 'e -would. . . . Yet the unit was always getting 'ellish strafe from -headquarters. . . ." - -Suddenly Sylvia began to laugh. . . . As she began to laugh she had -remembered . . . The alabaster image in the nun's chapel at Birkenhead -the vision of which had just presented itself to her, had been the -recumbent tomb of an honourable Mrs. Tremayne-Warlock. . . . She was -said to have sinned in her youth . . . And her husband had never -forgiven her. . . . That was what the nuns said. . . . She said aloud: - -"A sign. . . ." Then to herself: "Blessed Mary! . . . You've given it me -in the neck. . . . Yet you could not name a father for your child, and I -can name two'. . . . I'm going mad. . . . Both I and he are going to go -mad. . . ." - -She thought of dashing an enormous patch of red upon either cheek. Then -she thought it would be rather melodramatic. . . . - - -She made in the smoking-room, whilst she was waiting for both Tietjens -and Cowley to come back from the telephone, another pact. . . . This -time with Father Consett in heaven! She was fairly sure that Father -Consett--and quite possibly other of the heavenly powers--wanted -Christopher not to be worried, so that he could get on with the war--or -because he was a good sort of dullish man such as the heavenly -authorities are apt to like. . . . Something like that. . . . - -She was by that time fairly calm again. You cannot keep up fits of -emotion by the hour: at any rate, with her, the fits of emotion were -periodical and unexpected, though her colder passion remained always the -same. . . . Thus, when Christopher had come into Lady Sachse's that -afternoon, she had been perfectly calm. He had mooned through a number -of officers, both French and English, in a great octagonal, bluish salon -where Lady Sachse gave her teas, and had come to her side with just a -nod--the merest inflexion of the head! . . . Perowne had melted away -somewhere behind the disagreeable duchess. The general, very splendid -and white-headed and scarlet-tipped and gilt, had also borne down upon -her at that. . . . At the sight of Perowne with her he had been sniffing -and snorting whilst he talked to the young nobleman--a dark fellow in -blue with a new belt who seemed just a shade too theatrical, he being -chauffeur to a marshal of France and first cousin and nearest relative, -except for parents and grandparents, of the prospective bride. . . . - -The general had told her that he was running the show pretty strong on -purpose because he thought it might do something to cement the Entente -Cordiale. But it did not seem to be doing it. The French--officers, -soldiers and women--kept pretty well all on the one side of the -room--the English on the other. The French were as a rule more gloomy -than men and women are expected to be. A marquis of sorts--she -understood that these were all Bonapartist nobility--having been -introduced to her had distinguished himself no more than by saying that, -for his part, he thought the duchess was right, and by saying that to -Perowne who, knowing no French, had choked exactly as if his tongue had -suddenly got too big for his mouth. . . . - -She had not heard what the duchess--a very disagreeable duchess who sat -on a sofa and appeared savagely careworn--had been saying, so that she -had inclined herself, in the courtly manner that at school she had been -taught to reserve for the French legitimist nobility, but that she -thought she might expend upon a rather state function even for the -Bonapartists, and had replied that without the least doubt the duchess -had the right of the matter. . . . The marquis had given her from dark -eyes one long glance, and she had returned it with a long cold glance -that certainly told him she was meat for his masters. It extinguished -him. . . . - -Tietjens had staged his meeting with herself remarkably well. It was the -sort of lymphatic thing he _could_ do, so that, for the fifth of a -minute, she wondered if he had any feelings or emotions at all. But she -knew that he had. . . . The general, at any rate, bearing down upon them -with satisfaction, had remarked: - -"Ah, I see you've seen each other before to-day. . . . I thought perhaps -you wouldn't have found time before, Tietjens. . . . Your draft must be -a great nuisance. . . ." - -Tietjens said without expression: - -"Yes, we have seen each other before. . . . I made time to call at -Sylvia's hotel, sir." - -It was at Tietjens' terrifying expressionlessness, at that completely -being up to a situation, that the first wave of emotion had come over -her. . . . For, till that very moment, she had been merely sardonically -making the constatation that there was not a single presentable man in the -room. . . . There was not even one that you could call a gentleman . . . -for you cannot size up the French . . . ever! . . . But, suddenly, -she was despairing! . . . How, she said to herself, could she ever move, -put emotion into, this lump! It was like trying to move an immense -mattress filled with feathers. You pulled at one end, but the whole mass -sagged down and remained immobile until you seemed to have no strength -at all. . . . Until virtue went out from you. . . . - -It was as if he had the evil eye: or some special protector. He was so -appallingly competent, so appallingly always in the centre of his own -picture: - -The general said, rather joyfully: - -"Then you can spare a minute, Tietjens, to talk to the duchess! About -coal! . . . For goodness' sake, man, save the situation! I'm worn -out. . . ." - -Sylvia bit the inside of her lower lip--she never bit her lip -itself!--to keep herself from exclaiming aloud. It was just exactly what -should not happen to Tietjens at that juncture. . . . She heard the -general explaining to her in his courtly manner, that the duchess was -holding up the whole ceremony because of the price of coal. The general -loved her desperately. Her, Sylvia! In quite a proper manner for an -elderly general. . . . But he would go to no small extremes in her -interests! So would his sister! - -She looked hard at the room to get her senses into order again. She -said: - -"It's like a Hogarth picture. . . ." - -The undissolvable air of the eighteenth century that the French contrive -to retain in all their effects kept the scene singularly together. On a -sofa sat the duchess, relatives leaning over her. She was a duchess with -one of those impossible names: Beauchain-Radigutz or something like it. -The bluish room was octagonal and vaulted, up to a rosette in the centre -of the ceiling. English officers and V.A.D.'s of some evident presence -opened out to the left, French military and very black-clothed women of -all ages, but all apparently widows, opened out to the right, as if the -duchess shone down a sea at sunset. Beside her on the sofa you did not -see Lady Sachse; leaning over her you did not see the prospective bride. -This stoutish, unpresentable, coldly venomous woman, in black clothes so -shabby that they might have been grey tweed, extinguished other -personalities as the sun conceals planets. A fattish, brilliantined -personality, in mufti, with a scarlet rosette, stood sideways to the -duchess's right, his hands extended forward as if in an invitation to a -dance; an extremely squat lady, also apparently a widow, extended, on -the left of the duchess, both her black-gloved hands, as if she too were -giving an invitation to the dance. . . . - -The general, with Sylvia beside him, stood glorious in the centre of the -clearing that led to the open doorway of a much smaller room. Through -the doorway you could see a table with a white damask cloth; a -silver-gilt inkpot, fretted, like a porcupine with pens, a fat, flat -leather case for the transportation of documents and two notaires: one -in black, fat, and bald-headed; one in blue uniform, with a shining -monocle, and a brown moustache that he continued to twirl. . . . - -Looking round that scene Sylvia's humour calmed her and she heard the -general say: - -"She's supposed to walk on my arm to that table and sign the -settlement. . . . We're supposed to be the first to sign it together. . . . -But she won't. Because of the price of coal. It appears that she has -hothouses in miles. And she thinks the English have put up the price of -coal as if . . . damn it you'd think we did it just to keep her hothouse -stoves out." - -The duchess had delivered, apparently, a vindictive, cold, calm and -uninterruptible oration on the wickedness of her country's allies as -people who should have allowed France to be devastated, and the flower -of her youth slain in order that they might put up the price of a -comestible that was absolutely needed in her life. There was no arguing -with her. There was no British soul there who both knew anything about -economics and spoke French. And there she sat, apparently immovable. She -did not refuse to sign the marriage contract. She just made no motion to -go to it and, apparently, the resulting marriage would be illegal if -that document were brought to her! . . . - -The general said: - -"Now, what the deuce will Christopher find to say to her? He'll find -something because he could talk the hind legs off anything. But what the -deuce will it be? . . ." - -It almost broke Sylvia's heart to see how exactly Christopher did the -right thing. He walked up that path to the sun and made in front of the -duchess a little awkward nick with his head and shoulders that was -rather more like a curtsy than a bow. It appeared that he knew the -duchess quite well . . . as he knew everybody in the world quite well. -He smiled at her and then became just suitably grave. Then he began to -speak an admirable, very old-fashioned French with an atrocious English -accent Sylvia had no idea that he knew a word of the language--that she -herself knew very well indeed. She said to herself that upon her word it -was like hearing Chateaubriand talk--if Chateaubriand had been brought -up in an English hunting country. . . . Of course Christopher _would_ -cultivate an English accent: to show that he was an English county -gentleman. And he would speak correctly--to show that an English Tory -can do anything in the world if he wants to. . . . - -The British faces in the room looked blank: the French faces turned -electrically upon him. Sylvia said: - -"Who would have thought . . .?" The duchess jumped to her feet and took -Christopher's arm. She sailed with him imperiously past the general and -past Sylvia. She was saying that was just what she would have -expected of a _milor Anglais_ . . . _Avec un spleen tel que vous -l'avez_! - -Christopher, in short, had told the duchess that as his family owned -almost the largest stretch of hot-house coal-burning land in England and -her family the largest stretch of hothouses in the sister-country of -France, what could they do better than make an alliance? He would -instruct his brother's manager to see that the duchess was supplied for -the duration of hostilities and as long after as she pleased with all -the coal needed for her glass at the pit-head prices of the -Middlesbrough-Cleveland district as the prices were on the 3rd of -August, nineteen fourteen. . . . He repeated: "The pit-head price . . . -_livrable au prix de l'houille-maigre dans l'enceinte des puits de ma -campagne_." . . . Much to the satisfaction of the duchess, who knew all -about prices. - -. . . A triumph for Christopher was at that moment so exactly what -Sylvia thought she did not want that, she decided to tell the general -that Christopher was a Socialist. That might well take him down a peg or -two in the general's esteem . . . for the general's arm-patting -admiration for Tietjens, the man who did not argue but acted over the -price of coal, was as much as she could bear. . . . But, thinking it -over in the smoking-room after dinner, by which time she was a good deal -more aware of what she did want, she was not so certain that she _had_ -done what she wanted. . . . Indeed, even in the octagonal room during -the economical festivities that followed the signatures, she had been -far from certain that she had not done almost, exactly what she did not -want. . . . - -It had begun with the general's exclaiming to her: - -"You know your man's the most unaccountable fellow. . . . He wears the -damn-shabbiest uniform of any officer I ever have to talk to. He's said -to be unholily hard up. . . . I even heard he had a cheque sent back to -the club. . . . Then he goes and makes a princely gift like that--just -to get Levin out of ten minutes' awkwardness. . . . I wish to goodness I -could understand the fellow. . . . He's got a positive genius for -getting all sorts of things out of the most beastly muddles. . . . Why -he's even been useful to me. . . . And then he's got a positive genius -for getting into the most disgusting messes. . . . You're too young to -have heard of Dreyfus. . . . But I always say that Christopher is a -regular Dreyfus. . . . I shouldn't be astonished if he didn't end by -being drummed out of the army . . . which heaven forfend!" - -It had been then that Sylvia had said: - -"Hasn't it ever occurred to you that Christopher was a Socialist?" - -For the first time in her life Sylvia saw her husband's godfather look -grotesque. . . . His jaw dropped down, his white hair became disarrayed -and he dropped his pretty cap with all the gold oakleaves and the -scarlet. When he rose from picking it up his thin old face was purple -and distorted. She wished she hadn't said it: she wished she hadn't said -it. He exclaimed: - -"Christopher! . . . A So . . ." He gasped as if he could not pronounce -the word. He said: "Damn it all! . . . I've loved that boy. . . . He's -my only godson. . . . His father was my best friend. . . . I've watched -over him. . . . I'd have married his mother if she would have had me. . . . -Damn it all, he's down in my will as residuary legatee after a few -small things left to my sister and my collection of horns to the -regiment I commanded. . . ." - -Sylvia--they were sitting on the sofa the duchess had left--patted him -on the forearm and said: - -"But general . . . godfather. . . ." - -"It explains everything," he said with a mortification that was painful. -His white moustache drooped and trembled. "And what makes it all the -worse--he's never had the courage to tell me his opinions." He stopped, -snorted and exclaimed: "By God, I _will_ have him drummed out of the -service. . . . By God, I will. I can do that much. . . ." - -His grief so shut him in on himself that she could say nothing to -him. . . . - -"You tell me he seduced the little Wannop girl. . . . The last person in -the world he should have seduced. . . . Ain't there millions of other -women? . . . He got you sold up, didn't he? . . . Along with keeping a -girl in a tobacco-shop. . . . By jove, I almost lent him . . . offered -to lend him money on that occasion. . . . You can forgive a young man -for going wrong with women. . . . We all do. . . . We've all set up -girls in tobacco-shops in our time. . . . But, damn it all, if the -fellow's a Socialist it puts a different complexion. . . . I could -forgive him even for the little Wannop girl, if he wasn't . . . But . . . -Good God, isn't it just the thing that a dirty-minded Socialist would -do? . . . To seduce the daughter of his father's oldest friend, next to -me. . . . Or perhaps Wannop was an older friend than me. . . ." - -He had calmed himself a little--and he was not such a fool. He looked at -her now with a certain keenness in his blue eyes that showed no sign of -age. He said: - -"See here, Sylvia. . . . You aren't on terms with Christopher for all -the good game you put up here this afternoon. . . . I shall have to go -into this. It's a serious charge to bring against one of His Majesty's -officers. . . . Women do say things against their husbands when they are -not on good terms with them. . . ." He went on to say that he did not -say she wasn't justified. If Christopher had seduced the little Wannop -girl it was enough to make her wish to harm him. He had always found her -the soul of honour, straight as a die, straight as she rode to hounds. -And if she wished to nag against her husband, even if in little things -it wasn't quite the truth, she was perhaps within her rights as a woman. -She had said, for instance, that Tietjens had taken two pair of her best -sheets. Well, his own sister, her friend, raised Cain if he took -anything out of the house they lived in. She had made an atrocious row -because he had taken his own shaving-glass out of his own bedroom at -Mountsby. Women liked to have sets of things. Perhaps, she, Sylvia had -sets of pairs of sheets. His sister had linen sheets with the date of -the battle of Waterloo on them. . . . Naturally you would not want a set -spoiled. . . . But this was another matter. He ended up very seriously: - -"I have not got time to go into this now. . . . I ought not to be -another minute away from my office. These are very serious days. . . ." -He broke off to utter against the Prime Minister and the Cabinet at home -a series of violent imprecations. He went on: - -"But this will have to be gone into. . . . It's heartbreaking that my -time should be taken up by matters like this in my own family. . . . But -these fellows aim at sapping the heart of the army. . . . They say they -distribute thousands of pamphlets recommending the rank and file to -shoot their officers and go over to the Germans. . . . Do you seriously -mean that Christopher belongs to an organization? What is it you are -going on? What evidence have you? . . ." - -She said: - -"Only that he is heir to one of the biggest fortunes in England, for a -commoner, and he refuses to touch a penny. . . . His brother Mark tells -me Christopher could have . . . Oh, a fabulous sum a year. . . . But he -has made over Groby to me. . . ." - -The general nodded his head as if he were ticking off ideas. - -"Of course, refusing property is a sign of being one of these fellows. -By Jove, I must go. . . . But as for his not going to live at Groby: If -he is setting up house with Miss Wannop. . . . Well, he could not flaunt -her in the face of the county. . . . And, of course, those sheets! . . . -As you put it looked as if he'd beggared himself with his -dissipations. . . . But of course, if he is refusing money from Mark, -it's another matter. . . . Mark would make up a couple of hundred dozen -pairs of sheets without turning a hair. . . . Of course there are the -extraordinary things Christopher says. . . . I've often heard you -complain of the immoral way he looks at the serious affairs of life. . . . -You said he once talked of lethal-chambering unfit children." - -He exclaimed: - -"I must go. There's Thurston looking at me. . . . But what then is it -that Christopher has said? . . . Hang it all: what _is_ at the bottom of -that fellow's mind? . . ." - -"He desires," Sylvia said, and she had no idea when she said it, "to -model himself upon our Lord. . . ." - -The general leant back in the sofa. He said almost indulgently: - -"Who's that . . . our _Lord_?" - -Sylvia said: - -"Upon our Lord Jesus Christ. . . ." - -He sprang to his feet as if she had stabbed him with a hatpin. - -"Our . . ." he exclaimed. "Good God! . . . I always knew he had a screw -loose. . . . But . . ." He said briskly: "Give all his goods to the -poor! . . . But He wasn't a . . . Not a Socialist! What was it He said: -Render under Cæsar . . . It wouldn't be necessary to drum Him out of -the army . . ." He said: "Good Lord! . . . Good Lord! . . . Of course -his poor dear mother was a little . . . But, hang it! . . . The Wannop -girl! . . ." Extreme discomfort overcame him. . . . Tietjens was -half-way across from the inner room, coming towards them. - -He said: - -"Major Thurston is looking for you, sir. Very urgently. . . ." The -general regarded him as if he had been the unicorn of the royal arms, -come alive. He exclaimed: - -"Major Thurston! . . . Yes! Yes! . . ." and, Tietjens saying to him: - -"I wanted to ask you, sir . . ." He pushed Tietjens away as if he -dreaded an assault and went off with short, agitated steps. - - -So sitting there, in the smoking-lounge of the hotel which was cram-jam -full of officers, and no doubt perfectly respectable, but over-giggling -women--the sort of place and environment which she had certainly never -expected to be called upon to sit in; and waiting for the return of -Tietjens and the ex-sergeant-major--who again was certainly not the sort -of person that she had ever expected to be asked to wait for, though for -long years she had put up with Tietjens' protégé, the odious Sir -Vincent Macmaster, at all sorts of meals and all sorts of places . . . -but of course that was only Christopher's rights . . . to have in his -own house, which, in the circumstances, wasn't morally hers, any -snuffling, nervous, walrus-moustached or orientally obsequious protégé -that he chose to patronize. . . . And she quite believed that Tietjens, -when he had invited the sergeant-major to celebrate his commission with -himself at dinner, hadn't expected to dine with her. . . . It was the -sort of obtuseness of which he was disconcertingly capable, though at -other times he was much more disconcertingly capable of reading your -thoughts to the last hairsbreadth. . . . And, as a matter of fact, she -objected much less to dining with the absolute lower classes than with -merely snuffly little official critics like Macmaster, and the -sergeant-major had served her turn very well when it had come to flaying -the hide off Christopher. . . . So, sitting there, she made a new pact, -this time with Father Consett in heaven. . . . - -Father Consett was very much in her mind, for she was very much in the -midst of the British military authorities who had hung him. . . . She -had never seemed before to be so in the midst of these negligible, -odious, unpresentable, horse-laughing schoolboys. It antagonized her, -and it was a weight upon her, for hitherto she had completely ignored -them: in this place they seemed to have a coherence, a mass . . . almost -a life. . . . They rushed in and out of rooms occupied, as -incomprehensibly, as unpresentably, with things like boots, washing, -vaccination certificates. . . . Even with old tins! . . . A man with -prematurely white hair and a pasty face, with a tunic that bulged both -above and below his belt, would walk into the drawing-room of a lady who -superintended all the acid-drop and cigarette stalls of that city and -remark to a thin-haired, deaf man with an amazingly red nose--a nose -that had a perfectly definite purple and scarlet diagonal demarcation -running from the bridge to the upper side of the nostrils--that he had -got his old tins off his hands at last. He would have to repeat it in a -shout because the red-nosed man, his head hanging down, would have heard -nothing at all. The deaf man would say Humph! Humph! Snuffle. The woman -giving the tea--a Mrs. Hemmerdine, of Tarbolton, whom you might have met -at home, would be saying that at last she had got twelve reams of -notepaper with forget-me-nots in the top corners when the deaf-faced man -would begin, gruffly and uninterruptedly, a monologue on his urgent need -for twenty thousand tons of sawdust for the new slow-burning stoves in -the men's huts. . . . - -It was undeniably like something moving. . . . All these things going in -one direction. . . . A disagreeable force set in motion by gawky -schoolboys--but schoolboys of the Sixth Form, sinister, hobbledehoy, -waiting in the corners of playgrounds to torture someone, weak and -unfortunate. . . . In one or other corner of their world-wide playground -they had come upon Father Consett and hanged him. No doubt they tortured -him first. And, if he made an offering of his sufferings, then and there -to Heaven, no doubt he was already in paradise. . . . Or, if he was not -yet in heaven, certain of the souls in purgatory were yet listened to in -the midst of their torments. . . . - -So she said: - -"Blessed and martyred father, I know that you loved Christopher and wish -to save him from trouble I will make this pact with you. Since I have -been in this room I have kept my eyes in the boat--almost in my lap. I -will agree to leave off torturing Christopher and I will go into retreat -in a convent of Ursuline Dames Nobles--for I can't stand the nuns of -that other convent--for the rest of my life. . . . And I know that will -please you, too, for you were always anxious for the good of my soul. . . -She was going to do that if when she raised her eyes and really looked -round the room she saw in it one man that looked presentable. She did -not ask that he should more than look presentable, for she wanted -nothing to do with the creature. He was to be a sign: not a prey! - -She explained to the dead priest that she could not go all the world -over to see if it contained a presentable man, but she could not bear to -be in a convent for ever, and have the thought that there wasn't, for -other women, one presentable man in the world. . . . For Christopher -would be no good to them. He would be mooning for ever over the Wannop -girl. Or her memory. That was all one . . . He was content with love. . . . -If he knew that the Wannop girl was loving him in Bedford Park, and -he in the Khyber States with the Himalayas between them, he would be -quite content. . . . That would be correct in its way, but not very -helpful for other women. . . . Besides, if he were the only presentable -man in the world, half the women would be in love with him. . . . And -that would be disastrous, because he was no more responsive than a -bullock in a fatting pen. - -"So, father," she said, "work a miracle. . . . It's not very much of a -little miracle. . . . Even if a presentable man doesn't exist you could -put him there. . . . I'll give you ten minutes before I look. . . ." - -She thought it was pretty sporting of her, for, she said to herself, she -was perfectly in earnest. If in that long, dim, green-lamp-shaded, and -of course be-palm-leaved, badly-proportioned, glazed, ignoble public -room, there appeared one decentish man, as decentish men went before -this beanfeast began, she would go into retreat for the rest of her -life. . . . - -She fell into a sort of dim trance after she had looked at her watch. -Often she went into these dim trances . . . ever since she had been a -girl at school with Father Consett for her spiritual adviser! . . . She -seemed to be aware of the father moving about the room, lifting up a -book and putting it down. . . . Her ghostly friend! . . . Goodness, he -was unpresentable enough, with his broad, open face that always looked -dirtyish, his great dark eyes, and his great mouth. . . . But a saint -and a martyr. . . . She felt him there. . . . What had they murdered him -for? Hung at the word of a half-mad, half-drunk subaltern, because he -had heard the confession of some of the rebels the night before they -were taken. . . . He was over in the far corner of the room. . . . She -heard him say: they had not understood, the men that had hanged him. -That is what you would say, father . . . Have mercy on them, for they -know not what they do. . . . - -Then have mercy on me, for half the time I don't know what I'm doing! . . . -It was like a spell you put on me. At Lobscheid. Where my mother -was, when I came back from that place without my clothes. . . . You -said, didn't you, to mother, but she told me afterwards: The real hell -for that poor boy, meaning Christopher, will come when he falls in love -with some young girl--as, mark me, he will. . . . For she, meaning me, -will tear the world down to get at him. . . . And when mother said she -was certain I would never do anything vulgar you obstinately did not -agree. . . . You knew me. . . . - -She tried to rouse herself and said: He _knew_ me. . . . Damn it, he -knew me! . . . What's vulgarity to me, Sylvia Tietjens, born -Satterthwaite? I do what I want and that's good enough for any one. -Except a priest. Vulgarity! I wonder mother could be so obtuse. If I am -vulgar I'm vulgar with a purpose. Then it's not vulgarity. It may be -vice. Or viciousness. . . . But if you commit a mortal sin with your -eyes open it's not vulgarity. . . . You chance hell fire for ever. . . . -Good enough! - -The weariness sank over her again and the sense of the father's -presence. . . . She was back again in Lobscheid, thirty-six hours free -of Perowne with the father and her mother in the dim sitting-room, all -antlers, candle-lit, with the father's shadow waving over the pitchpine -walls and ceilings. . . . It was a bewitched place, in the deep forests -of Germany. The father himself said it was the last place in Europe to -be Christianized. Or perhaps it was never Christianized. . . . That was -perhaps why those people, the Germans, coming from those deep, -devil-infested woods, did all these wickednesses. Or maybe they were not -wicked. . . . One would never know properly. . . . But maybe the father -had put a spell on her. . . . His words had never been out of her mind, -much. ... At the back of her brain, as the saying was. . . . - -Some man drifted near her and said: - -"How do you do, Mrs. Tietjens? Who would have thought of seeing you -here?" - -She answered: - -"I have to look after Christopher now and then." He remained hanging -over her with a schoolboy grin for a minute, then he drifted away as an -object sinks into deep water. . . . Father Consett again hovered near -her. She exclaimed: - -"But the real point is, father. . . . Is it sporting? . . . Sporting or -whatever it is?" And Father Consett breathed: "Ah! . . ." with his -terrible power of arousing doubts. . . . She said: - -"When I saw Christopher . . . Last night? . . . Yes, it _was_ last -night . . . Turning back to go up that hill. . . . And I had been talking -about him to a lot of grinning private soldiers. . . . To _madden_ -him. . . . You _mustn't_ make scenes before the servants. . . . A heavy -man, tired . . . come down the hill and lumbering up again. . . . There was -a searchlight turned on him just as he turned. . . . I remembered the -white bulldog I thrashed on the night before it died. . . . A tired, -silent beast . . . with a fat white behind. . . . Tired out. . . . You -couldn't see its tail because it was turned down, the stump. . . . A -great, silent beast. . . . The vet said it had been poisoned with red -lead by burglars. . . . It's beastly to die of red lead. ... It eats up -the liver. . . . And you think you're getting better for a fortnight. -And you're always cold . . . freezing in the blood-vessels. . . . And -the poor beast had left its kennel to try and be let into the fire. . . . -And I found it at the door when I came in from a dance without -Christopher. . . . And got the rhinoceros whip and lashed into it. . . . -There's a pleasure in lashing into a naked white beast. . . . Obese and -silent . . . Like Christopher. . . . I thought Christopher might. . . . -That night. . . . It went through my head. . . . It hung down its -head. . . . A great head, room for a whole British encyclopædia of -misinformation, as Christopher used to put it. . . . It said: 'What a -hope!' ... As I hope to be saved, though I never shall be, the dog said: -'What a hope!' . . . Snow-white in quite black bushes. . . . And it went -under a bush. . . . They found it dead there in the morning. . . . You -can't imagine what it looked like, with its head over its shoulder, as -it looked back and said: What a hope! to me. . . . Under a dark bush. An -eu . . . eu . . . euonymus, isn't it? . . . In thirty degrees of frost -with all the blood-vessels exposed on the naked surface of the skin. . . . -It's the seventh circle of hell, isn't it? the frozen one . . . The -last stud-white bulldog of that breed. . . . As Christopher is the last -stud-white hope of the Groby Tory breed. . . . Modelling himself on our -Lord. . . . But our Lord was never married. He never touched on topics -of sex. Good for Him. . . ." - -She said: "The ten minutes is up, father . . ." and looked at the round, -starred surface between the diamonds of her wrist watch. She said: "Good -God! . . . Only one minute. . . . I've thought all that in only one -minute. . . . I understand how hell can be an eternity. . . ." - -Christopher, very weary, and ex-Sergeant-Major Cowley, very talkative by -now, loomed down between palms. Cowley was saying: "It's infamous! . . . -It's past bearing. . . . To re-order the draft at eleven. . . ." They -sank into chairs. . . . Sylvia extended towards Tietjens a small packet -of letters. She said: "You had better look at these. . . . I had your -letters sent to me from the flat as there was so much uncertainty about -your movements. . . ." She found that she did not dare, under Father -Consett's eyes, to look at Tietjens as she said that. She said to -Cowley: "We might be quiet for a minute or two while the captain reads -his letters. . . . Have another liqueur? . . ." - -She then observed that Tietjens just bent open the top of the letter -from Mrs. Wannop and then opened that from his brother Mark: - -"Curse it," she said, "I've given him what he wants! . . . He knows. . . . -He's seen the address . . . that they're still in Bedford Park. . . . -He can think of the Wannop girl as there. . . . He has not been able to -know, till now, where she is. . . . He'll be imagining himself in bed -with her there. . . ." - -Father Consett, his broad, unmodelled dark face full of intelligence and -with the blissful unction of the saint and martyr, was leaning over -Tietjens' shoulder. . . . He must be breathing down Christopher's back -as, her mother said, he always did when she held a hand at auction and -he could not play because it was between midnight and his celebrating -the holy mass. . . . - -She said: - -"No, I am not going mad. . . . This is an effect of fatigue on the -optic nerves. . . . Christopher has explained that to me . . . He -says that when his eyes have been very tired with making one of -his senior wrangler's calculations he has often seen a woman in a -eighteenth-century dress looking into a drawer in his bureau. . . . -Thank God, I've had Christopher to explain things to me. . . . I'll -never let him go. . . . Never, never, let him go. . . ." - -It was not, however, until several hours later that the significance of -the father's apparition came to her and those intervening hours were -extraordinarily occupied--with emotions, and even with action. To begin -with, before he had read the fewest possible words of his brother's -letter, Tietjens looked up over it and said: - -"Of course you will occupy Groby. . . . With Michael. . . . Naturally -the proper business arrangements will be made. . . ." He went on reading -the letter, sunk in his chair under the green shade of a lamp. . . . - -The letter, Sylvia knew, began with the words: "Your ---- of a wife has -been to see me with the idea of getting any allowance I might be minded -to make you transferred to herself. Of course she can have Groby, for I -shan't let it, and could not be bothered with it myself. On the other -hand, you may want to live at Groby with that girl and chance the -racket. I should if I were you. You would probably find the place worth -the . . . what is it? ostracism, if there was any. . . . But I'm -forgetting that the girl is not your mistress unless anything has -happened since I saw you. . . . And you probably would want Michael to -be brought up at Groby, in which case you couldn't keep the girl there, -even if you camouflaged her as governess. At least I think that kind of -arrangement always turns out badly: there's bound to be a stink, though -Crosby of Ulick did it and nobody much minded. . . . But it was mucky -for the Crosby children. Of course if you want your wife to have Groby -she must have enough to run it with credit, and expenses are rising -damnably. Still, our incomings rise not a little, too, which is not the -case with some. The only thing I insist on is that you make plain to -that baggage that whatever I allow her, even if it's no end of a hot -income, not one penny of it comes out of what I wish you would allow me -to allow you. I mean I want you to make plain to that rouged piece--or -perhaps it's really natural, my eyes are not what they were--that what -you have is absolutely independent of what she sucks up as the mother of -our father's heir and to keep our father's heir in the state of life -that is his due. . . . I hope you feel satisfied that the boy is your -son, for it's more than I should be, looking at the party. . . . But -even if he is not he is our father's heir all right and must be so -treated. . . . - -"But be plain about that, for the trollop came to me, if you please, -with the proposal that I should dock you of any income I might propose -to allow you--and to which of course you are absolutely entitled under -our father's will, though it is no good reminding you of that!--as a -token from me that I disapproved of your behaviour when, damn it, there -is not an action of yours that I would not be proud to have to my -credit. At any rate in this affair, for I cannot help thinking that you -could be of more service to the country if you were anywhere else but -where you are. But you know what your conscience demands of you better -than I, and I dare say these hell-cats have so mauled you that you are -glad to be able to get away into any hole. But don't let yourself die in -your hole. Groby will have to be looked after, and even if you do not -live there you can keep a strong hand on Sanders, or whoever you elect -to have as manager. That monstrosity you honour with your name--which is -also mine, thank you!--suggested that if I consented to let her live at -Groby she would have her mother to live with her, in which case her -mother would be good to look after the estate. I dare say she would, -though she has had to let her own place. But then almost every one else -has. She seems anyhow a notable woman, with her head screwed on the -right way. I did not tell the discreditable daughter that she--her -mother--had come to see me at breakfast immediately after seeing you -off, she was so upset. And she _keawert ho down i' th' ingle and had a -gradely pow_. You remember how Gobbles the gardener used to say that. A -good chap, though he came from Lancasheere! . . . The mother has no -illusions about the daughter and is heart and soul for you. She was -dreadfully upset at your going, the more so as she believes that it's -her offspring has driven you out of the country and that you purpose . . . -isn't stopping one the phrase? Don't do that. - -"I saw your girl yesterday. . . . She looked peaky. But of course I have -seen her several times, and she always looks peaky. I do not understand -why you do not write to them. The mother is clamorous because you have -not answered several letters and have not sent her military information -she wants for some article she is writing for a Swiss magazine. . . ." - -Sylvia knew the letter almost by heart as far as that because in the -unbearable white room of the convent near Birkenhead she had twice begun -to copy it out, with the idea of keeping the copies for use in some sort -of publicity. But, at that point, she had twice been overcome by the -idea that it was not a very sporting thing to do, if you really think -about it. Besides, the letter after that--she _had_ glanced through -it--occupied itself almost entirely with the affairs of Mrs. Wannop. -Mark, in his naïve way, was concerned that the old lady, although now -enjoying the income from the legacy left her by their father, had not -immediately settled down to write a deathless novel; although, as he -added, he knew nothing about novels. . . . - -Christopher was reading away at his letters beneath the green-shaded -lamp; the ex-quartermaster had begun several sentences and dropped into -demonstrative silence at the reminder that Tietjens was reading. -Christopher's face was completely without expression; he might have been -reading a return from the office of statistics in the old days at -breakfast. She wondered, vaguely, if he would see fit to apologize for -the epithets that his brother had applied to her. Probably he would not. -He would consider that she having opened the letter must take the -responsibility of the contents. Something like that. Thumps and rumbles -began to exist in the relative silence. Cowley said: "They're coming -again then!" Several couples passed them on the way out of the room. -Amongst them there was certainly no presentable man; they were all -either too old or too hobbledehoy, with disproportionate noses and -vacant, half-opened mouths. - -Accompanying Christopher's mind, as it were, whilst he read his letter -had induced in her a rather different mood. The pictures in her own mind -were rather of Mark's dingy breakfast-room in which she had had her -interview with him--and of the outside of the dingy house in which the -Wannops lived, at Bedford Park. . . . But she was still conscious of her -pact with the father and, looking at her wrist watch, saw that by now -six minutes had passed. . . . It was astonishing that Mark, who was a -millionaire at least, and probably a good deal more, should live in such -a dingy apartment--it had for its chief decoration the hoofs of several -deceased race-winners, mounted as ink-stands, as pen-racks, as -paper-weights--and afford himself only such a lugubrious breakfast of -fat slabs of ham over which bled pallid eggs. . . . For she too, like -her mother, had looked in on Mark at breakfast-time--her mother because -she had just seen Christopher off to France, and she because, after a -sleepless night--the third of a series--she had been walking about St. -James's Park and, passing under Mark's windows, it had occurred to her -that she might do Christopher some damage by putting his brother wise -about the entanglement with Miss Wannop. So, on the spur of the moment, -she had invented a desire to live at Groby with the accompanying -necessity for additional means. For, although she was a pretty wealthy -woman, she was not wealthy enough to live at Groby and keep it up. The -immense old place was not so immense because of its room-space, though, -as far as she could remember, there must be anything between forty and -sixty rooms, but because of the vast old grounds, the warren of -stabling, wells, rose-walks and fencing. . . . A man's place, really, -the furniture very grim and the corridors on the ground floor all -slabbed with great stones. So she had looked in on Mark, reading his -correspondence with his copy of _The Times_ airing on a chair-back -before the fire--for he was just the man to retain the eighteen-forty -idea that you can catch cold by reading a damp newspaper. His grim, -tight, brown-wooden features that might have been carved out of an old -chair, had expressed no emotion at all during the interview. He had -offered to have up some more ham and eggs for her and had asked one or -two questions as to how she meant to live at Groby if she went there. -Otherwise he had said nothing about the information she had given him as -to the Wannop girl having had a baby by Christopher--for purposes of -conversation she had adhered to that old story, at any rate till that -interview. He had said nothing at all. Not one word. . . . At the end of -the interview, when he had risen and produced from an adjoining room a -bowler hat and an umbrella, saying that he must now go to his office, he -had put to her without any expression pretty well what stood in the -letter, as far as business was concerned. He said that she could have -Groby, but she must understand that, his father being now dead and he a -public official, without children and occupied in London with work that -suited him, Groby was practically Christopher's property to do what he -liked with as long as--which he certainly would--he kept it in proper -style. So that, if she wished to live there, she must produce -Christopher's authorization to that effect. And he added, with an -equableness so masking the proposition that it was not until she was -well out of the house and down the street that its true amazingness took -her breath away: - -"Of course, Christopher, if what you say is true, might want to live at -Groby with Miss Wannop. In that case he would have to." And he had -offered her an expressionless hand and shepherded her, rather fussily, -through his dingy and awkward front passages that were lit only from -ground-glass windows giving apparently on to his bathroom. . . . - -It wasn't until that moment, really, that, at once with exhilaration and -also with a sinking at the heart, she realized what she was up against -in the way of a combination. For, when she had gone to Mark's, she had -been more than half-maddened by the news that Christopher at Rouen was -in hospital and, although the hospital authorities had assured her, at -first by telegram and then by letter, that it was nothing more than his -chest, she had not had any knowledge of to what extent Red Cross -authorities did or did not mislead the relatives of casualties. - -So it had seemed natural that she should want to inflict on him all the -injuries that she could at the moment, the thought that he was probably -in pain making her wish to add all she could to that pain. . . . -Otherwise, of course, she would not have gone to Mark's. . . . For it -was a mistake in strategy. But then she said to herself: "Confound it!. . . -What strategy was it a mistake in? What do I care about strategy? -What am I out for? . . ." She did what she wanted to, on the spur of the -moment! . . . - -Now she certainly realized. How Christopher had got round Mark she did -not know or much care, but there Christopher certainly was, although his -father had certainly died of a broken heart at the rumours that were -going round about his son--rumours she, almost as efficiently as the man -called Ruggles and more irresponsible gossips, had set going about -Christopher. They had been meant to smash Christopher: they had smashed -his father instead. . . . But Christopher had got round Mark, whom he -had not seen for ten years. . . . Well, he probably would. Christopher -was perfectly immaculate, that was a fact, and Mark, though he appeared -half-witted in a North Country way, was no fool. He could not be a fool. -He was a really august public official. And, although as a rule Sylvia -gave nothing at all for any public official, if a man like Mark had the -position by birth amongst presentable men that he certainly ought to -have and was also the head of a department and reputed absolutely -indispensable--you could not ignore him. . . . He said, indeed, in the -later, more gossipy parts of his letter that he had been offered a -baronetcy, but he wanted Christopher to agree with his refusing it. -Christopher would not want the beastly title after his death, and for -himself he would be rather struck with the pip than let that -harlot--meaning herself--become Lady T. by any means of his. He had -added, with his queer solicitude, "Of course if you thought of -divorcing--which I wish to God you would, though I agree that you are -right not to--and the title would go to the girl after my decease I'd -take it gladly, for a title is a bit of a help after a divorce. But as -it is I propose to refuse it and ask for a knighthood, if it won't too -sicken you to have me a Sir. . . . For I hold no man ought to refuse an -honour in times like these, as has been done by certain sickening -intellectuals because it is like slapping the sovereign in the face and -bound to hearten the other side, which no doubt was what was meant by -those fellows." - -There was no doubt that Mark--with the possible addition of the -Wannops--made a very strong backing for Christopher if she decided to -make a public scandal about him. . . . As for the Wannops . . . the girl -was negligible. Or possibly not, if she turned nasty and twisted -Christopher round her fingers. But the old mother was a formidable -figure--with a bad tongue, and viewed with a certain respect in places -where people talked . . . both on account of her late husband's position -and of the solid sort of articles she wrote. . . . She, Sylvia, had gone -to take a look at the place where these people lived . . . a dreary -street in an outer suburb, the houses--she knew enough about estates to -know--what is called tile-healed, the upper parts of tile, the lower -flimsy brick and the tiles in bad condition. Oldish houses really, in -spite of their sham artistic aspect, and very much shadowed by old trees -that must have been left to add to the picturesqueness. . . . The rooms -poky, and they must be very dark. . . . The residence of extreme -indigence, or of absolute poverty. . . . She understood that the old -lady's income had so fallen off during the war that they had nothing to -live on but what the girl made as a school-teacher, or a teacher of -athletics in a girls' school. . . . She had walked two or three times up -and down the street with the idea that the girl might come out: then it -had struck her that was rather an ignoble proceeding, really. . . . -It was, for the matter of that, ignoble that she should have a rival who -starved in an ashbin. . . . But that was what men were like: she might -think herself lucky that the girl did not inhabit a sweetshop. . . . And -the man, Macmaster, said that the girl had a good head and talked well, -though the woman Macmaster said that she was a shallow ignoramus. . . . -That last probably was not true; at any rate the girl had been the -Macmaster woman's most intimate friend for many years--as long as they -were sponging on Christopher and until, lower middle-class snobs as they -were, they began to think they could get into Society by carneying to -herself. . . . Still, the girl probably was a good talker and, if -little, yet physically uncommonly fit. . . . A good homespun article. . . . -She wished her no ill! - -What was incredible was that Christopher should let her go on starving -in such a poverty-stricken place when he had something like the wealth -of the Indies at his disposal. . . . But the Tietjens were hard people! -You could see that in Mark's rooms . . . and Christopher would lie on -the floor as lief as in a goose-feather bed. And probably the girl would -not take his money. She was quite right. That was the way to keep -him. . . . She herself had no want of comprehension of the stimulation to -be got out of parsimonious living. . . . In retreat at her convent she lay -as hard and as cold as any anchorite, and rose to the nuns' matins at -four. - -It was not, in fact, their fittings or food that she objected to--it was -that the lay-sisters, and some of the nuns, were altogether too much of -the lower classes for her to like to have always about her. . . . That -was why it was to the Dames Nobles that she would go, if she had to go -into retreat for the rest of her life, according to contract. . . . - -A gun manned by exhilarated anti-aircraft fellows, and so close that it -must have been in the hotel garden, shook her physically at almost the -same moment as an immense maroon popped off on the quay at the bottom of -the street in which the hotel was. She was filled with annoyance at -these schoolboy exercises. A tall, purple-faced, white-moustached -general of the more odious type, appeared in the doorway and said that -all the lights but two must be extinguished and, if they took his -advice, they would go somewhere else. There were good cellars in the -hotel. He loafed about the room extinguishing the lights, couples and -groups passing him on the way to the door. . . . Tietjens looked up from -his letter--he was now reading one of Mrs. Wannop's--but seeing that -Sylvia made no motion he remained sunk in his chair. . . . - -The old general said: - -"Don't get up, Tietjens. ... Sit down, lieutenant. . . . Mrs. Tietjens, -I presume. . . . But of course I know you are Mrs. Tietjens. . . . -There's a portrait of you in this week's . . . I forget the name. . . ." -He sat down on the arm of a great leather chair and told her of all the -trouble her escapade to that city had caused him. . . . He had been -awakened immediately after a good lunch by some young officer on his -staff who was scared to death by her having arrived without papers. His -digestion had been deranged ever since. . . . Sylvia said she was very -sorry. He should drink hot water and no alcohol with his lunch. She had -had very important business to discuss with Tietjens, and she had really -not understood that they wanted papers of grown-up people. The general -began to expatiate on the importance of his office and the number of -enemy agents his perspicacity caused to be arrested every day in that -city and the lines of communication. . . . - -Sylvia was overwhelmed at the ingenuity of Father Consett. She looked at -her watch. The ten minutes were up, but there did not appear to be a -soul in the dim place. . . . The father had--and no doubt as a Sign that -there could be no mistaking!--completely emptied that room. It was like -his humour! - -To make certain, she stood up. At the far end of the room, in the -dimness of the one other reading lamp that the general had not -extinguished, two figures were rather indistinguishable. She walked -towards them, the general at her side extending civilities all over her. -He said that she need not be under any apprehension there. He adopted -that device of clearing the room in order to get rid of the beastly -young subalterns who would use the place to spoon in when the lights -were turned down. She said she was only going to get a timetable from -the far end of the room. . . . - -The stab of hope that she had that one of the two figures would turn out -to be the presentable man died. . . . They were a young mournful -subaltern, with an incipient moustache and practically tears in his -eyes, and an elderly, violently indignant baldheaded man in evening -civilian clothes that must have been made by a country tailor. He was -smacking his hands together to emphasize what, with great agitation, he -was saying. - -The general said that it was one of the young cubs on his own staff -getting a dressing down from his dad for spending too much money. The -young devils would get amongst the girls--and the old ones too. There -was no stopping it. The place was a hotbed of . . . He left the sentence -unfinished. She would not believe the trouble it gave him. . . . That -hotel itself. . . . The scandals. . . . - -He said she would excuse him if he took a little nap in one of the -arm-chairs too far away to interfere with their business talk. He would -have to be up half the night. He seemed to Sylvia a blazingly -contemptible personage--too contemptible really for Father Consett to -employ as an agent, in clearing the room. . . . But the omen was given. -She had to consider her position. It meant--or did it?--that she had to -be at war with the heavenly powers! . . . She clenched her hands. . . . - -In passing by Tietjens in his chair the general boomed out the words: - -"I got your chit of this morning, Tietjens. . . . I must say . . ." - -Tietjens lumbered out of his chair and stood at attention, his -leg-of-mutton hands stiffly on the seams of his breeches. - -"It's pretty strong," the general said, "marking a charge-sheet sent -down from _my_ department: _Case explained_. We don't lay charges without -due thought. And Lance-Corporal Berry is a particularly reliable N.C.O. I -have difficulty enough to get them. Particularly after the late riots. -It takes courage, I can tell you." - -"If," Tietjens said, "you would see fit, sir, to instruct the G.M.P. not -to call Colonial troops damned conscripts, the trouble would be over. . . . -We're instructed to use special discretion, as officers, in dealing -with troops from the Dominions. They are said to be very susceptible of -insult. . . ." - -The general suddenly became a boiling pot from which fragments of -sentences came away: _damned_ insolence; court of inquiry; damned -conscripts they were too. He calmed enough to say: - -"They _are_ conscripts, your men, aren't they? They give me more -trouble . . . I should have thought you would have wanted . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir. I have not a man in my unit, as far as it's Canadian or -British Columbian, that is not voluntarily enlisted. . . ." - -The general exploded to the effect that he was bringing the whole matter -before the G.O.C.I.C.'s department. Campion could deal with it how he -wished: it was beyond himself. He began to bluster away from them; -stopped; directed a frigid bow to Sylvia who was not looking at him; -shrugged his shoulders and stormed off. - -It was difficult for Sylvia to get hold again of her thoughts in the -smoking-room, for the evening was entirely pervaded with military -effects that seemed to her the pranks of schoolboys. Indeed, after -Cowley, who had by now quite a good skinful of liquor, had said to -Tietjens: - -"By Jove, I would not like to be you and a little bit on if old Blazes -caught sight of you to-night," she said to Tietjens with real wonder: - -"You don't mean to say that a gaga old fool like that could have any -possible influence over you . . . _You_!" - -Tietjens said: - -"Well, it's a troublesome business, all this. . . ." - -She said that it so appeared to be, for before he could finish his -sentence an orderly was at his elbow extending, along with a pencil, a -number of dilapidated papers. Tietjens looked rapidly through them, -signing one after the other and saying intermittently: - -"It's a trying time." "We're massing troops up the line as fast as we -can go." "And with an endlessly changing personnel. . . ." He gave a -snort of exasperation and said to Cowley: "That horrible little Pitkins -has got a job as bombing instructor. He can't march the draft. . . . Who -the deuce am I to detail? Who the deuce is there? . . . You know all the -little . . ." He stopped because the orderly could hear. A smart boy. -Almost the only smart boy left him. - -Cowley barged out of his seat and said he would telephone to the mess to -see who was there. . . . Tietjens said to the boy: - -"Sergeant-Major Morgan made out these returns of religions in the -draft?" - -The boy answered: "No sir, I did. They're all right." He pulled a slip -of paper out of his tunic pocket and said shyly: - -"If you would not mind signing this, sir . . . I can get a lift on an -A.S.C. trolley that's going to Boulogne to-morrow at six. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, you can't have leave. I can't spare you. What's it for?" - -The boy said almost inaudibly that he wanted to get married. - -Tietjens, still signing, said: "Don't. . . . Ask your married pals what -it's like!" - -The boy, scarlet in his khaki, rubbed the sole of one foot on the instep -of the other. He said that saving madam's presence it was urgent. It was -expected any day now. She was a real good gel. Tietjens signed the boy's -slip and handed it to him without looking up. The boy stood with his -eyes on the ground. A diversion came from the telephone, which was at -the far end of the room. Cowley had not been able to get on to the camp -because an urgent message with regard to German espionage was coming -through to the sleeping general. - -Cowley began to shout: "For goodness' sake hold the line. . . . For -goodness' sake hold the line. . . . I'm not the general. . . . I'm _not_ -the general. . . ." Tietjens told the orderly to awaken the sleeping -warrior. A violent scene at the mouth of the quiescent instrument took -place. The general roared to know who was the officer speaking. . . . -Captain Bubbleyjocks. . . . Captain Cuddlestocks . . . what in hell's -name! And who was he speaking for? . . . Who? Himself? . . . Urgent was -it? . . . Didn't he know the proper procedure was by writing? . . . -Urgent damnation! . . . Did he not know where he was? . . . In the First -Army by the Cassell Canal. . . . Well then . . . But the spy was in L. -of C. territory, across the canal. . . . The French civilian authorities -were very concerned. . . . They were, damn them! . . . And damn the -officer. And damn the French _maire_. And damn the horse the supposed -spy rode upon. . . . And when the officer was damned let him write to -First Army Headquarters about it and attach the horse and the bandoliers -as an exhibit. . . . - -There was a great deal more of it. Tietjens reading his papers -still, intermittently explained the story as it came in fragments over -the telephone in the general's repetitions. . . . Apparently the French -civilian authorities of a place called Warendonck had been alarmed by a -solitary horseman in English uniform who had been wandering desultorily -about their neighbourhood for several days, seeming to want to cross the -canal bridges, but finding them guarded. . . . There was an immense -artillery dump in the neighbourhood, said to be the largest in the -world, and the Germans dropped bombs as thick as peas all over those -parts in the hopes of hitting it. . . . Apparently the officer speaking -was in charge of the canal bridgehead guards: but, as he was in First -Army country, it was obviously an act of the utmost impropriety to -awaken a general in charge of the spy-catching apparatus on the other -side of the canal. . . . The general, returning past them to an -arm-chair farther from the telephone, emphasized this point of view with -great vigour. - -The orderly had returned; Cowley went once more to the telephone, having -consumed another liqueur brandy. Tietjens finished his papers and went -through them rapidly again. He said to the boy: "Got anything saved up?" -The boy said: "A fiver and a few bob." Tietjens said: "How many bob?" -The boy: "Seven, sir." Tietjens, fumbling clumsily in an inner pocket -and a little pocket beneath his belt, held out one leg-of-mutton fist -and said: "There! That will double it. Ten pounds fourteen! But it's -very improvident of you. See that you save up a deuced lot more against -the next one. Accouchements are confoundedly expensive things, as you'll -learn, and ring money doesn't stretch for ever! . . ." He called out to -the retreating boy: "Here, orderly, come back. . . ." He added: "Don't -let it get all over camp. . . . I can't afford to subsidize all the -seven-months children in the battalion. . . . I'll recommend you for -paid lance-corporal when you return from leave if you go on as well as -you have done." He called the boy back again to ask him why Captain -McKechnie had not signed the papers. The boy stuttered and stammered -that Captain McKechnie was . . . He was . . . - -Tietjens muttered: "Good God!" beneath his breath. He said: - -"The captain has had another nervous breakdown. . . ." The orderly -accepted the phrase with gratitude. That was it. A nervous breakdown. -They say he had been very queer at mess. About divorce. Or the captain's -uncle. A barrow-night! Tietjens said: "Yes, yes!" He half rose in his -chair and looked at Sylvia. She exclaimed painfully: - -"You can't go. I insist that you can't go." He sank down again and -muttered wearily that it was very worrying. He had been put in charge of -this officer by General Campion. He ought not to have left the camp at -all perhaps. But McKechnie had seemed better. A great deal of the -calmness of her insolence had left her. She had expected to have the -whole night in which luxuriously to torment the lump opposite her. To -torment him and to allure him. She said: - -"You have settlements to come to now and here that will affect your -whole life. Our whole lives! You propose to abandon them because a -miserable little nephew of your miserable little friend. . . ." She -added in French: "Even as it is you cannot pay any attention to these -serious matters, because of these childish preoccupations of yours. That -is to be intolerably insulting to me!" She was breathless. - -Tietjens asked the orderly where Captain McKechnie was now. The orderly -said he had left the camp. The colonel of the depot had sent a couple of -officers as a search-party. Tietjens told the orderly to go and find a -taxi. He could have a ride himself up to camp. The orderly said taxis -would not be running on account of the air-raid. Could he order the -G.M.P. to requisition one on urgent military service? The exhilarated -air-gun pooped off thereupon three times from the garden. For the next -hour it went off every two or three minutes. Tietjens said: "Yes! Yes!" -to the orderly. The noises of the air-raid became more formidable. A -blue express letter of French civilian make was handed to Tietjens. It -was from the duchess to inform him that coal for the use of greenhouses -was forbidden by the French Government. She did not need to say that she -relied on his honour to ensure her receiving her coal through the -British military authority, and she asked for an immediate reply. -Tietjens expressed real annoyance while he read this. Distracted by the -noise, Sylvia cried out that the letter must be from Valentine Wannop in -Rouen. Did not the girl intend to let him have an hour in which to -settle the whole business of his life? Tietjens moved to the chair next -to hers. He handed her the duchess's letter. - -He began a long, slow, serious explanation with a long, slow, serious -apology. He said he regretted very much that when she should have taken -the trouble to come so far in order to do him the honour to consult him -about a matter which she would have been perfectly at liberty to settle -for herself, the extremely serious military position should render him -so liable to interruption. As far as he was concerned Groby was entirely -at her disposal with all that it contained. And of course a sufficient -income for the upkeep. - -She exclaimed in an access of sudden and complete despair: - -"That means that you do not intend to live there." He said that -must settle itself later. The war would no doubt last a good deal -longer. While it lasted there could be no question of his coming back. -She said that meant that he intended to get killed. She warned him -that, if he got killed, she should cut down the great cedar at the -south-west corner of Groby. It kept all the light out of the principal -drawing-room and the bed-rooms above it . . . He winced: he certainly -winced at that. She regretted that she had said it. It was along other -lines that she desired to make him wince. - -He said that, apart from his having no intention of getting himself -killed, the matter was absolutely out of his hands. He had to go where -he was ordered to go and do what he was told to do. - -She exclaimed: - -"You! _You_! Isn't it ignoble. That you should be at the beck and call of -these ignoramuses. You!" - -He went on explaining seriously that he was in no great danger--in no -danger at all unless he was sent back to his battalion. And he was not -likely to be sent back to his battalion unless he disgraced himself or -showed himself negligent where he was. That was unlikely. Besides his -category was so low that he was not eligible for his battalion, which, -of course, was in the line. She ought to understand that every one that -she saw employed there was physically unfit for the line. She said: - -"That's why they're such an awful lot. . . . It is not to this place -that one should come to look for a presentable man. . . . Diogenes with -his lantern was nothing to it." - -He said: - -"There's that way of looking at it. . . . It is quite true that most -of . . . let's say _your_ friends . . . were killed off during the early -days, or if they're still going they're in more active employments." -What she called presentableness was very largely a matter of physical -fitness. . . . The horse, for instance, that he rode was rather a -crock. . . . But though it was German and not thoroughbred it contrived to -be up to his weight. . . . Her friends, more or less, of before the war -were professional soldiers or of the type. Well, they were gone: dead or -snowed under. But on the other hand, this vast town full of crocks did -keep the thing going, if it could be made to go. It was not they that -hindered the show: if it was hindered, that was done by her much less -presentable friends, the ministry who, if they were professionals at all -were professional boodlers. - -She exclaimed with bitterness: - -"Then why didn't you stay at home to check them, if they _are_ -boodlers." She added that the only people at home who kept social -matters going at all with any life were precisely the more successful -political professionals. When you were with them you would not know -there was any war. And wasn't that what was wanted? Was the _whole_ of -life to be given up to ignoble horseplay? . . . She spoke with increased -rancour because of the increasing thump and rumble of the air-raid. . . . -Of course the politicians were ignoble beings that, before the war, -you would not have thought of having in your house. . . . But whose -fault was that, if not that of the better classes, who had gone away -leaving England a dreary wilderness of fellows without consciences or -traditions or manners? And she added some details of the habits at a -country house of a member of the Government whom she disliked. "And," -she finished up, "it's your fault. Why aren't _you_ Lord Chancellor, or -Chancellor of the Exchequer, instead of whoever is, for I am sure I -don't know? You could have been, with your abilities and your interests. -Then things would have been efficiently and honestly conducted. If your -brother Mark, with not a tithe of your abilities can be a permanent head -of a department, what could you not have risen to with your gifts, and -your influence . . . and your integrity?" And she ended up: "Oh, -Christopher!" on almost a sob. - -Ex-Sergeant-Major Cowley, who had come back from the telephone, and -during an interval in the thunderings, had heard some of Sylvia's light -cast on the habits of members of the home Government, so that his jaw -had really hung down, now, in another interval, exclaimed: - -"Hear, hear! Madam! . . . There is nothing the captain might not have -risen to. . . . He is doing the work of a brigadier now on the pay of an -acting captain. . . . And the treatment he gets is scandalous. . . . -Well, the treatment we all get is scandalous, tricked and defrauded as -we are all at every turn. . . . And look at this new start with the -draft. . . ." They had ordered the draft to be ready and countermanded -it, and ordered it to be ready and countermanded it, until no one knew -whether he stood on is 'ed or is 'eels. . . . It was to have gone off -last night: when they'd 'ad it marched down to the station they 'ad it -marched back and told them all it would not be wanted for six weeks. . . . -Now it was to be got ready to go before daylight to-morrow morning in -motor-lorries to the rail Ondekoeter way, the rail here 'aving been -sabotaged! . . . Before daylight so that the enemy aeroplanes should not -see it on the road. . . . Wasn't that a thing to break the 'arts of men -_and_ horderly rooms? It was outrageous. Did they suppose the 'Uns did -things like that? - -He broke off to say with husky enthusiasm of affection to Tietjens: -"Look 'ere old . . . I mean, sir . . . There's _no_ way of getting hold -of an officer to march the draft. Them as are eligible gets to 'ear of -what drafts is going and they've all bolted into their burries. Not a -man of 'em will be back in camp before five to-morrow morning. Not when -they 'ears there's a draft to go at four of mornings like this. . . . -Now . . ." His voice became husky with emotion as he offered to take the -draft hisself to oblige Captain Tietjens. And the captain knew he could -get a draft off pretty near as good as himself: or very near. As for the -draft-conducting major he lived in that hotel and he, Cowley, 'ad seen -'im. No four in the morning for 'im. He was going to motor to Ondekoeter -Station about seven. So there was no sense in getting the draft off -before five, and it was still dark then: too dark for the 'Un planes to -see what was moving. He'd be glad if the captain would be up at the camp -by five to take a final look and to sign any papers that only the -commanding officer could sign. But he knew the captain had had no sleep -the night before because of his, Cowley's, infirmity, mostly, so he -couldn't do less than give up a day and a half of his leave to taking -the draft. Besides, he was going home for the duration and he would not -mind getting a look at the old places they'd seen in 'fourteen, for the -last time as a Cook's tourist. . . . - -Tietjens, who was looking noticeably white, said: - -"Do you remember O Nine Morgan at Noircourt?" - -Cowley said: - -"No. . . . Was 'e there? In your company, I suppose? . . . The man you -mean that was killed yesterday. Died in your arms owing to my oversight. -I ought to have been there." He said to Sylvia with the gloating idea -N.C.O.'s had that wives liked to hear of their husband's near escapes: -"Killed within a foot of the captain, 'e was. An 'orrible shock it must -'ave been for the captain." A horrible mess. . . . The captain held him -in his arms while he died. ... As if he'd been a baby. Wonderful tender, -the captain was! Well, you're apt to be when it's one of your own -men. . . . No rank then! "Do you know the only time the King must salute a -private soldier and the private takes no notice? . . . When 'e's -dead. . . ." Both Sylvia and Tietjens were silent--and silvery white in the -greenish light from the lamp. Tietjens indeed had shut his eyes. The old -N.C.O. went on rejoicing to have the floor to himself. He had got on his -feet preparatory to going up to camp, and he swayed a little. . . . - -"No," he said and he waved his cigar gloriously, "I don't remember O -Nine Morgan at Noircourt. . . . But I remember . . ." - -Tietjens, with his eyes still shut, said: - -"I only thought he might have been a man. . . ." - -"No," the old fellow went on imperiously, "I don't remember 'im. . . . -But, Lord, I remember what happened to _you_!" He looked down gloriously -upon Sylvia: "The captain caught 'is foot in. . . . You'd never believe -what 'e caught 'is foot in! Never! . . . A pretty quiet affair it was, -with a bit of moonlight. . . . Nothing much in the way of artillery. . . . -Perhaps we surprised the 'Uns proper, perhaps they were wanting to -give up their front-line trenches for a purpose. . . . There was next to -no one in 'em. . . . I know it made me nervous. . . . My heart was fair -in my boots, because there was so little doing! . . . It was when there -was little doing that the 'Uns could be expected to do their worst. ... -Of course there was some machine-gunning. . . . There was one in -particular away to the right of us. . . . And the moon, it was shining -in the early morning. Wonderful peaceful. And a little mist. . . . And -frozen hard. . . . Hard as you wouldn't believe. . . . Enough to make -the shells dangerous." - -Sylvia said: - -"It's not always mud, then?" and Tietjens, to her: "He'll stop if you -don't like it." She said monotonously: "No . . . I want to hear." - -Cowley drew himself for his considerable effect: - -"Mud!" he said. "Not then. . . . Not by half. . . . I tell you, ma'am, -we trod on the frozen faces of dead Germans as we doubled. . . . A -terrible lot of Germans we'd killed a day or so before. . . . That was -no doubt the reason they give up the trenches so easy: difficult to -attack from, they was. . . . Anyhow, they left the dead for us to bury, -knowing probably they were going, with a better 'eart! . . . But it fair -put the wind up me anyhow to think of what their counter-attack was -going to be. . . . The counter-attack is always ten times as bad as the -preliminary resistance. They 'as you with the rear of their -trenches--the parades, we call it--as your front to boot. So I was precious -glad when the moppers-up and supports come and went through us. . . . -Laughing, they was. . . . Wiltshires. . . . My missus comes from -that county. . . . Mrs. Cowley, I mean. . . . So I'd seen the captain go -down earlier on and I'd said: 'There's another of the best stopped -one. . . .'" He dropped his voice a little: he was one of the noted yarners -of the regiment: "Caught 'is foot, 'e 'ad, between two 'ands. . . . -Sticking up out of the frozen ground. . . . As it might be in prayer. . . . -Like this!" He elevated his two hands, the cigar between the -fingers, the wrists close together and the fingers slightly curled -inwards: "Sticking up in the moonlight. . . . Poor devil!" - -Tietjens said: - -"I thought perhaps it was O Nine Morgan I saw that night. . . . -Naturally I looked dead. . . . I hadn't a breath in my body. . . . And I -saw a Tommy put his rifle to his pal's upper arm and fire. . . . As I -lay on the ground. . . ." - -Cowley said: - -"Ah, you saw that . . . I heard the men talking of it. . . . But they -naturally did not say who and where!" - -Tietjens said with a negligence that did not ring true: - -"The wounded man's name was Stilicho. . . . A queer name. . . . I -suppose it's Cornish. . . . It was B Company in front of us." - -"You didn't bring 'em to a court martial?" Cowley asked. Tietjens said: -No. He could not be quite certain. Though he _was_ certain. But he had -been worrying about a private matter. He had been worrying about it -while he lay on the ground and that rather obscured his sense of what he -saw. Besides, he said faintly, an officer must use his judgment. He had -judged it better in this case not to have seen the . . . His voice had -nearly faded away: it was clear to Sylvia that he was coming to a climax -of some mental torture. Suddenly he exclaimed to Cowley: - -"Supposing I let him off one life to get him killed two years after. My -God! That would be too beastly!" - -Cowley snuffled in Tietjens' ear something that Sylvia did not -catch--consolatory and affectionate. That intimacy was more than she -could bear. She adopted her most negligent tone to ask: - -"I suppose the one man had been trifling with the other's girl. Or -wife!" - -Cowley exploded: "God bless you, no! They'd agreed upon it between them. -To get one of them sent 'ome and the other, at any rate, out of _that_ -'ell, leading him back to the dressing-station." She said: - -"You mean to say that a man would do _that_, to get out of it? . . ." - -Cowley said: - -"God bless you, ma'am, with the _'ell_ the Tommies 'as of it. . . . For -it's in the line that the difference between the Other Ranks' life and -the officers' comes in. . . . I tell you, ma'am, old soldier as I am, -and I've been in seven wars one with another . . . there were times in -this war when I could have shrieked, holding my right hand down. . . ." - -He paused and said: "It was my idea. . . . And it's been a good many -others,' that if I 'eld my 'and up over the parapet with perhaps my hat -on it, in two minutes there would be a German sharpshooter's bullet -through it. And then me for Blighty, as the soldiers say. . . . And if -that could happen to me, a regimental sergeant-major, with twenty-three -years in the service . . ." - -The bright orderly came in, said he had found a taxi, and melted into -the dimness. - -"A man," the sergeant-major said, "would take the risk of being shot for -wounding his pal. . . . They get to love their pals, passing the love of -women. . . ." Sylvia exclaimed: "Oh!" as if at a pang of toothache. "They -do, ma'am," he said, "it's downright touching. . . ." - -He was by now very unsteady as he stood, but his voice was quite clear. -That was the way it took him. He said to Tietjens: - -"It's queer, what you say about home worries taking up your mind. ... I -remember in the Afghan campaign, when we were in the devil of a hot -corner, I got a letter from my wife, Mrs. Cowley, to say that our Winnie -had the measles. . . . And there was only one difference between me and -Mrs. Cowley: I said that a child must have flannel next its skin, and -she said flannelette was good enough. Wiltshire doesn't hold by wool as -Lincolnshire does. Long fleeces the Lincolnshire sheep have. . . . And -dodging the Afghan bullets all day among the boulders as we was, all I -could think of. . . . For you know, ma'am, being a mother yourself, that -the great thing with measles is to keep a child warm. . . . I kep' -saying to myself--'arf crying I was--'If she only keeps wool next -Winnie's skin! If she only keeps wool next Winnie's skin!' . . . But you -know that, being a mother yourself. I've seen your son's photo on the -captain's dressing-table. Michael, 'is name is. . . . So you see, the -captain doesn't forget you and 'im." - -Sylvia said in a clear voice: - -"Perhaps you would not go on!" - -Distracted as she was by the anti-air-gun in the garden, though it was -on the other side of the hotel and permitted you to get in a sentence or -two before splitting your head with a couple of irregular explosions, -she was still more distracted by a sudden vision--a remembrance of -Christopher's face when their boy had had a temperature of 105° with -the measles, up at his sister's house in Yorkshire. He had taken the -responsibility, which the village doctor would not face, of himself -placing the child in a bath full of split ice. . . . She saw him -bending, expressionless in the strong lamp-light, with the child in his -clumsy arms over the glittering, rubbled surface of the bath. . . . He -was just as expressionless then as now. . . . He reminded her now of how -he had been then: some strain in the lines of the face perhaps that she -could not analyse. . . . Rather as if he had a cold in the head--a -little suffocating, with suppressing his emotions, of course: his eyes -looking at nothing. You would not have said that he even saw the -child--heir to Groby and all that! . . . Something had said to her, just -in between two crashes of the gun "It's his own child. He went as you -might say down to hell to bring it back to life. . . ." She knew it was -Father Consett saying that. She knew it was true: Christopher had been -down to hell to bring the child back. . . . Fancy facing its pain in -that dreadful bath! . . . The thermometer had dropped, running down -under their eyes. . . . Christopher had said: "A good heart, he's got! -A good plucked one!" and then held his breath, watching the thin -filament of bright mercury drop to normal. . . . She said now, between -her teeth: "The child is his property as much as the damned estate. . . . -Well, I've got them both. . . ." - -But it wasn't at this juncture that she wanted him tortured over that. -So, when the second gun had done its crash, she had said to the bibulous -old man: - -"I wish you would not go on!" And Christopher had been prompt to the -rescue of the _convenances_ with: - -"Mrs. Tietjens does not see eye to eye with us in some matters!" - -She said to herself: "Eye to eye! My God! . . ." The whole of this -affair, the more she saw of it, overwhelmed her with a sense of -hatred. . . . And of depression! . . . She saw Christopher buried in this -welter of fools, playing a schoolboy's game of make-believe. But of a -make-believe that was infinitely formidable and infinitely sinister. . . . -The crashings of the gun and of all the instruments for making noise -seemed to her so atrocious and odious because they were, for her, the -silly pomp of a schoolboy-man's game. . . . Campion, or some similar -schoolboy, said: "Hullo! Some German airplanes about . . . That lets us -out on the air-gun! Let's have some pops!" . . . As they fire guns in -the park on the King's birthday. It was sheer insolence to have a gun in -the garden of an hotel where people of quality might be sleeping or -wishing to converse! - -At home she had been able to sustain the conviction that it was such a -game. . . . Anywhere: at the house of a minister of the Crown, at -dinner, she had only to say: "Do let us leave off talking of these -odious things. . . ." And immediately there would be ten or a dozen -voices, the minister's included, to agree with Mrs. Tietjens of Groby -that they had altogether too much of it. . . . - -But here! . . . She seemed to be in the very belly of the ugly -affair. . . . It moved and moved, under your eyes dissolving, yet always -there. As if you should try to follow one diamond of pattern in the coil of -an immense snake that was in irrevocable motion. . . . It gave her a sense -of despair: the engrossment of Tietjens, in common with the engrossment -of this disreputable toper. She had never seen Tietjens put his head -together with any soul before: he was the lonely buffalo. . . . Now! -Anyone: any fatuous staff-officer, whom at home he would never so much -as have spoken to: any trustworthy beer-sodden sergeant, any street -urchin dressed up as orderly. . . . They had only to appear and all his -mind went into a close-headed conference over some ignoble point in the -child's game: The laundry, the chiropody, the religions, the bastards . . . -of millions of the indistinguishable. . . . Or their deaths as well! -But, in heaven's name what hypocrisy, or what inconceivable -chicken-heartedness was this? They promoted this beanfeast of carnage -for their own ends: they caused the deaths of men in inconceivable -holocausts of pain and terror. Then they had crises of agony over the -death of one single man. For it was plain to her that Tietjens was in -the middle of a full nervous breakdown. Over one man's death! She had -never seen him so suffer; she had never seen him so appeal for sympathy: -him, a cold fiend of reticence! Yet he was now in an agony! _Now_! . . . -And she began to have a sense of the infinitely spreading welter of -pain, going away to an eternal horizon of night. . . . 'Ell for the -Other Ranks! Apparently it was hell for the officers as well. - -The real compassion in the voice of that snuffling, half-drunken old man -had given her a sense of that enormous wickedness. . . . These horrors, -these infinities of pain, this atrocious condition of the world had been -brought about in order that men should indulge themselves in orgies of -promiscuity. . . . That in the end was at the bottom of male honour, of -male virtue, observance of treaties, upholding of the flag. . . . An -immense warlock's carnival of appetites, lusts, ebrieties. . . . And -once set in motion there was no stopping it. . . . This state of things -would never cease. . . . Because once they had tasted of the joy--the -blood--of this game, who would let it end? . . . These men talked of -these things that occupied them there with the lust of men telling dirty -stories in smoking-rooms. . . . That was the only parallel! - -There was no stopping it, any more than there was any stopping the by -now all but intoxicated ex-sergeant-major. He was off! With, as might be -expected, advice to a young couple with differences of opinion! The wine -had made him bold! - -In the depth of her pictures of these horrors, snatches of his wisdom -penetrated to her intelligence. . . . Queer snatches. . . . She was -getting it certainly in the neck! . . . Someone, to add to the noise, -had started some mechanical musical instrument in an adjacent hall. - - - "Corn an' lasses - Served by Ras'us!" - - -a throaty voice proclaimed, - - - "I'd be tickled to death to know that I could go - And stay right there . . ." - - -The ex-sergeant-major was adding to her knowledge the odd detail that -when he, Sergeant-Major Cowley, went to the wars--seven of them--his -missus, Mrs. Cowley, spent the first three days and nights unpicking and -re-hemstitching every sheet and pillow-slip in the 'ouse. To keep -'erself f'm thinking. . . . This was apparently meant as a reproof or an -exhortation to her, Sylvia Tietjens. . . . Well, he was all right! Of -the same class as Father Consett, and with the same sort of wisdom. - -The gramophone howled: a new note of rumbling added itself to the -exterior tumult and continued through six mitigated thumps of the gun in -the garden. . . . In the next interval, Cowley was in the midst of a -valedictory address to her. He was asking her to remember that the -captain had had a sleepless night the night before. - -There occurred to her irreverent mind a sentence of one of the Duchess -of Marlborough's letters to Queen Anne. The duchess had visited the -general during one of his campaigns in Flanders. "My Lord," she wrote, -"did me the honour three times in his boots!" . . . The sort of thing -she would remember. . . . She would--she _would_--have tried it on the -sergeant-major, just to see Tietjens' face, for the sergeant-major would -not have understood. . . . And who cared if he did! . . . He was -bibulously skirting round the same idea. . . . - -But the tumult increased to an incredible volume: even the thrillings of -the near-by gramophone of two hundred horse-power, or whatever it was, -became mere shimmerings of a gold thread in a drab fabric of sound. She -screamed blasphemies that she was hardly aware of knowing. She had to -scream against the noise: she was no more responsible for the blasphemy -than if she had lost her identity under an anæsthetic. She _had_ lost -her identity. . . . She was one of this crowd! - -The general woke in his chair and gazed malevolently at their group as -if they alone were responsible for the noise. It dropped. Dead! You only -knew it, because you caught the tail end of a belated woman's scream -from the hall and the general shouting: "For God's sake don't start that -damned gramophone again!" In the blessed silence, after preliminary -wheezings and guitar noises an astonishing voice burst out: - - - "Less than the dust . . . - Before thy char . . ." - - -And then, stopping after a murmur of voices, began: - - "Pale hands I loved . . ." - - -The general sprang from his chair and rushed to the hall. . . . He came -back crestfallenly. - -"It's some damned civilian big-wig. . . . A novelist, they say. . . . I -can't stop _him_. . . ." He added with disgust: "The hall's full of -young beasts and harlots. . . . _Dancing_!". . . The melody had indeed, -after a buzz, changed to a languorous and interrupted variation of a -waltz. "Dancing in the dark!" the general said with enhanced disgust. . . . -"And the Germans may be here at any moment. ... If they knew what I -know! . . ." - -Sylvia called across to him: - -"Wouldn't it be fun to see the blue uniform with the silver buttons -again and some decently set-up men? . . ." - -The general shouted: - -"_I'd_ be glad to see them. . . . I'm sick to death of these. . . ." - -Tietjens took up something he had been saying to Cowley: what it was -Sylvia did not hear, but Cowley answered, still droning on with an idea -Sylvia thought they had got past: - -"I remember when I was sergeant in Quetta, I detailed a man--called -Herring--for watering the company horses, after he begged off it because -he had a fear of horses. . . . A horse got him down in the river and -drowned 'im. . . . Fell with him and put its foot on his face. . . . A -fair sight he was. . . . It wasn't any good my saying anything about -military exigencies. . . . Fair put me off my feed, it did. . . . Cost -me a fortune in Epsom salts. . . ." - -Sylvia was about to scream out that if Tietjens did not like men being -killed it ought to sober him in his war-lust, but Cowley continued -meditatively: - -"Epsom salts they say is the cure for it. . . . For seeing your dead. . . . -And of course you should keep off women for a fortnight. . . . I -know I did. Kept seeing Herring's face with the hoof-mark. And . . . -there was a piece: a decent bit of goods in what we called the -Government Compound. . . ." - -He suddenly exclaimed: - -"Saving your . . . Ma'am, I'm . . ." He stuck the stump of the cigar -into his teeth and began assuring Tietjens that he could be trusted with -the draft next morning, if only Tietjens would put him into the taxi. - -He went away, leaning on Tietjens' arm, his legs at an angle of sixty -degrees with the carpet. . . . - -"He can't . . ." Sylvia said to herself, "he can't, not . . . If he's a -gentleman. . . . After all that old fellow's hints. . . . He'd be a damn -coward if he kept off. . . . For a fortnight. . . . And who else is -there not a public . . ." She said: "O God! . . ." - -The old general, lying in his chair, turned his face aside to say: - -"I wouldn't, madam, not if I were you, talk about the blue uniform with -silver buttons here. . . . _We_, of course, understand. . . ." - -She said: "You see . . . even that extinct volcano . . . He's undressing -me with his eyes full of blood veins. . . . Then why can't _he_? . . ." - -She said aloud: - -"Oh, but even you, general, said you were sick of your companions!" - -She said to herself: - -"Hang it! . . . I will have the courage of my convictions. . . . No man -shall say I am a coward. . . ." - -She said: - -"Isn't it saying the same thing as you, general, to say that I'd rather -be made love to by a well-set-up man in blue and silver--or anything -else!--than by most of the people one sees here! . . ." - -The general said: - -"Of course, if you put it that way, madam. . . ." - -She said: - -"What other way should a woman put it?" . . . She reached to the table -and filled herself a lot of brandy. The old general was leering towards -her: - -"Bless me," he said, "a lady who takes liquor like that . . ." - -She said: - -"You're a Papist, aren't you? With the name of O'Hara and the touch of -the brogue you have . . . And the devil you no doubt are with. . . . You -know what. . . . Well, then . . . It's with a special intention! . . . -As you say your Hail, Maries. . . ." - -With the liquor burning inside her she saw Tietjens loom in the dim -light. - -The general, to her bitter amusement, said to him: - -"Your friend was more than a bit on. . . . Not the Society surely for -madam!" - -Tietjens said: - -"I never expected to have the pleasure of dining with Mrs. Tietjens -to-night . . . That officer was celebrating his commission and I could -not put him off. . . ." The general said: "Oh, ah! . . . Of course -not. . . . I dare say . . ." and settled himself again in his chair. . . . - -Tietjens was overwhelming her with his great bulk. She had still lost -her breath. ... He stooped over and said: It was the luck of the -half-drunk; he said: - -"They're dancing in the lounge. . . ." - -She coiled herself passionately into her wickerwork. It had dull blue -cushions. She said: - -"Not with anyone else. . . . I don't want any introductions. . . ." -Fiercely! . . . He said: - -"There's no one there that I could introduce you to. . . ." - -She said: - -"Not if it's a charity!" - -He said: - -"I thought it might be rather dull. . . . It's six months since I -danced. . . ." She felt beauty flowing over all her limbs. She had a -gown of gold tissue. Her matchless hair was coiled over her ears. . . -She was humming Venusberg music: she knew music if she knew nothing -else. . . . - -She said: "You call the compounds where you keep the W.A.A.C.'s -Venusberg's, don't you? Isn't it queer that Venus should be your own? . . . -Think of poor Elisabeth!" - -The room where they were dancing was very dark. . . . It was queer to be -in his arms. . . . She had known better dancers. . . . He had looked -ill. . . . Perhaps he was. . . . Oh, poor Valentine-Elisabeth. . . . What -a funny position! . . . The good gramophone played. . . . _Destiny_! . . . -You see, father! . . . In his arms! . . . Of course, dancing is -not really. . . . But so near the real thing! So near! . . . "Good luck -to the special intention! . . ." She had almost kissed him on the -lips. . . . All but! . . . _Effleurer_, the French call it. . . . But she -was not as humble. . . . He had pressed her tighter. . . . All these months -without . . . My lord did me honour . . . Good for Malbrouck _s'en -va-t-en guerre_. . . . He _knew_ she had almost kissed him on the -lips. . . . And that his lips had almost responded. . . . The civilian, the -novelist, had turned out the last light. . . . Tietjens said, "Hadn't we -better talk? . . ." She said: "In my room, then! I'm dog-tired. . . . I -haven't slept for six nights. . . . In spite of drugs. . . ." He said: -"Yes. Of course! Where else? . . ." Astonishingly. . . . Her gown of -gold tissue was like the colobium sidonis the King wore at the -coronation. . . . As they mounted the stairs she thought what a fat -tenor Tannhauser always was! . . . The Venusberg music was dinning in -her ears. . . . She said: "Sixty-six inexpressibles! I'm as sober as a -judge . . . I need to be!" - - - - -PART III - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -A shadow--the shadow of the General Officer Commanding in Chief--falling -across the bar of light that the sunlight threw in at his open door -seemed providentially to awaken Christopher Tietjens, who would have -thought it extremely disagreeable to be found asleep by that officer. -Very thin, graceful and gay with his scarlet gilt oak-leaves, and -ribbons, of which he had many, the general was stepping attractively -over the sill of the door, talking backwards over his shoulder, to -someone outside. So, in the old days, Gods had descended! It was, no -doubt, really the voices from without that had awakened Tietjens, but he -preferred to think the matter a slight intervention of Providence, -because he felt in need of a sign of some sort! Immediately upon -awakening he was not perfectly certain of where he was, but he had sense -enough to answer with coherence the first question that the general put -to him and to stand stiffly on his legs. The general had said: - -"Will you be good enough to inform me, Captain Tietjens, why you have no -fire-extinguishers in your unit? You are aware of the extremely -disastrous consequences that would follow a conflagration in your -lines?" - -Tietjens said stiffly: - -"It seems impossible to obtain them, sir." - -The general said: - -"How is this? You have indented for them in the proper quarter. Perhaps -you do not know what the proper quarter is?" - -Tietjens said: - -"If this were a British unit, sir, the proper quarter would be the Royal -Engineers." When he had sent his indent in for them to the Royal -Engineers they informed him that this being a unit of troops from the -Dominions, the quarter to which to apply was the Ordnance. On applying -to the Ordnance, he was informed that no provision was made of -fire-extinguishers for troops from the Dominions under Imperial -officers, and that the proper course was to obtain them from a civilian -firm in Great Britain, charging them against barrack damages. . . . He -had applied to several firms of manufacturers, who all replied that they -were forbidden to sell these articles to anyone but to the War Office -direct. . . . "I am still applying to civilian firms," he finished. - -The officer accompanying the general was Colonel Levin, to whom, over -his shoulder, the general said: "Make a note of that, Levin, will you? -and get the matter looked into." He said again to Tietjens: - -"In walking across your parade-ground I noticed that your officer in -charge of your physical training knew conspicuously nothing about it. -You had better put him on to cleaning out your drains. He was -unreasonably dirty." - -Tietjens said: - -"The sergeant-instructor, sir, is quite competent. The officer is an -R.A.S.C. officer. I have at the moment hardly any infantry officers in -the unit. But officers have to be on these parades--by A.C.I. They give -no orders." - -The general said dryly: - -"I was aware from the officer's uniform of what arm he belonged to. I am -not saying you do not do your best with the material at your command." -From Campion on parade this was an extraordinary graciousness. Behind -the general's back Levin was making signs with his eyes which he -meaningly closed and opened. The general, however, remained -extraordinarily dry in manner, his face having its perfectly -expressionless air of studied politeness which allowed no muscle of its -polished-cherry surface to move. The extreme politeness of the extremely -great to the supremely unimportant! - -He glanced round the hut markedly. It was Tietjens' own office and -contained nothing but the blanket-covered tables and, hanging from a -strut, an immense calendar on which days were roughly crossed out in red -ink and blue pencil. He said: - -"Go and get your belt. You will go round your cook-houses with me in a -quarter of an hour. You can tell your sergeant-cook. What sort of -cooking arrangements have you?" - -Tietjens said: - -"Very good cook-houses, sir." - -The general said: - -"You're extremely lucky, then. Extremely lucky! . . . Half the units -like yours in this camp haven't anything but company cookers and field -ovens in the open. . . ." He pointed with his crop at the open door. He -repeated with extreme distinctness "Go and get your belt!" Tietjens -wavered a very little on his feet. He said: - -"You are aware, sir, that I am under arrest." - -Campion imported a threat into his voice: - -"I gave you," he said, "an order. To perform a duty!" - -The terrific force of the command from above to below took Tietjens -staggering through the door. He heard the general's voice say: "I'm -perfectly aware he's not drunk." When he had gone four paces, Colonel -Levin was beside him. - -Levin was supporting him by the elbow. He whispered: - -"The general wishes me to go with you if you are feeling unwell. You -understand you are released from arrest!" He exclaimed with a sort of -rapture: "You're doing splendidly. . . . It's amazing. Everything I've -ever told him about you. . . . Yours is the only draft that got off this -morning. . . ." - -Tietjens grunted: - -"Of course I understand that if I'm given an order to perform a duty, it -means I am released from arrest." He had next to no voice. He managed to -say that he would prefer to go alone. He said: ". . . He's forced my -hand. . . . The last thing I want is to be released from arrest. . . ." - -Levin said breathlessly: - -"You _can't_ refuse. . . . You can't upset him. . . . Why, you -_can't_. . . . Besides, an officer cannot demand a court martial." - -"You look," Tietjens said, "like a slightly faded bunch of -wallflowers. . . . I'm sure I beg your pardon. . . . It came into my head!" -The colonel drooped intangibly, his moustache a little ragged, his eyes a -little rimmed, his shaving a little ridged. He exclaimed: - -"Damn it! . . . Do you suppose I don't _care_ what happens to you? . . . -O'Hara came storming into my quarters at half-past three. . . . I'm not -going to tell you what he said. . . ." Tietjens said gruffly: - -"No, don't! I've all I can stand for the moment. . . ." - -Levin exclaimed desperately: - -"I want you to understand. . . . It's impossible to believe anything -against . . ." - -Tietjens faced him, his teeth showing like a badger's. He said: - -"Whom? . . . Against whom? Curse you!" - -Levin said pallidly: - -"Against . . . Against . . . either of you. . . ." - -"Then leave it at that!" Tietjens said. He staggered a little until he -reached the main lines. Then he marched. It was purgatory. They peeped -at him from the corners of huts and withdrew. . . . But they always did -peep at him from the corners of huts and withdraw! That is the habit of -the Other Ranks on perceiving officers. The fellow called McKechnie also -looked out of a hut door. He too withdrew. . . . There was no mistaking -that! He had the news. . . . On the other hand, McKechnie too was under -a cloud. It might be his, Tietjens', duty, to strafe McKechnie to hell -for having left camp last night. So he might be avoiding him. . . . -There was no knowing. . . . He lurched infinitesimally to the right. The -road was rough. His legs felt like detached and swollen objects that he -dragged after him. He must master his legs. He mastered his legs. A -batman carrying a cup of tea ran against him. Tietjens said: "Put that -down and fetch me the sergeant-cook at the double. Tell him the -general's going round the cook-houses in a quarter of an hour." The -batman ran, spilling the tea in the sunlight. - -In his hut, which was dim and profusely decorated with the doctor's -ideals of female beauty in every known form of pictorial reproduction, -so that it might have been lined with peach-blossom, Tietjens had the -greatest difficulty in getting into his belt. He had at first forgotten -to remove his hat, then he put his head through the wrong opening; his -fingers on the buckles operated like sausages. He inspected himself in -the doctor's cracked shaving-glass: he was exceptionally well shaved. - -He had shaved that morning at six-thirty: five minutes after the draft -had got off. Naturally, the lorries had been an hour late. It was -providential that he had shaved with extra care. An insolently calm man -was looking at him, the face divided in two by the crack in the glass: a -naturally white-complexioned double-half of a face: a patch of high -colour on each cheekbone; the pepper-and-salt hair ruffled, the white -streaks extremely silver. He had gone very silver lately. But he swore -he did not look worn. Not careworn. McKechnie said from behind his back: - -"By Jove, what's this all about. The general's been strafing me to hell -for not having my table tidy!" - -Tietjens, still looking in the glass, said: - -"You should keep your table tidy. It's the only strafe the battalion's -had." - -The general, then, must have been in the orderly room of which he had -put McKechnie in charge. McKechnie went on, breathlessly: - -"They say you knocked the general. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Don't you know enough to discount what they say in this town?" He said -to himself: "That was all right!" He had spoken with a cool edge on a -contemptuous voice. - -He said to the sergeant-cook who was panting--another heavy, -grey-moustached, very senior N.C.O.: - -"The general's going round the cook-houses. . . . You be damn certain -there's no dirty cook's clothing in the lockers!" He was fairly sure -that otherwise his cook-houses would be all right. He had gone round -them himself the morning of the day before yesterday. Or was it -yesterday? . . . - -It was the day after he had been up all night because the draft had been -countermanded. . . . It didn't matter. He said: - -"I wouldn't serve out white clothing to the cooks. . . . I bet you've -got some hidden away, though it's against orders." - -The sergeant looked away into the distance, smiled all-knowingly over -his walrus moustache. - -"The general likes to see 'em in white," he said, "and he won't know the -white clothing has been countermanded." - -Tietjens said: - -"The snag is that the beastly cooks always will tuck some piece of -beastly dirty clothing away in a locker rather than take the trouble to -take it round to their quarters when they've changed." - -Levin said with great distinctness: - -"The general has sent me to you with this, Tietjens. Take a sniff of it -if you're feeling dicky. You've been up all night on end two nights -running." He extended in the palm of his hand a bottle of smelling-salts -in a silver section of tubing. He said the general suffered from vertigo -now and then. Really he himself carried that restorative for the benefit -of Miss de Bailly. - -Tietjens asked himself why the devil the sight of that smelling-salts -container reminded him of the brass handle of the bedroom door moving -almost imperceptibly . . . and incredibly. It was, of course, because -Sylvia had on her illuminated dressing-table, reflected by the glass, -just such another smooth, silver segment of tubing. . . . Was everything -he saw going to remind him of the minute movement of that handle? - -"You can do what you please," the sergeant-cook said, "but there will -always be one piece of clothing in a locker for a G.O.C.I.C.'s -inspection. And the general always walks straight up to that locker and -has it opened. I've seen General Campion do it three times." - -"If there's any found this time, the man it belongs to goes for a -D.C.M.," Tietjens said. "See that there's a clean diet-sheet on the -messing board." - -"The generals really like to find dirty clothing," the sergeant-cook -said; "it gives them something to talk about if they don't know anything -else about cook-houses. . . . I'll put up my own diet-sheet, sir. . . . -I suppose you can keep the general back for twenty minutes or so? It's -all I ask." - -Levin said towards his rolling, departing back: - -"That's a damn smart man. Fancy being as confident as that about an -inspection. . . . Ugh! . . ." and Levin shuddered in remembrance of -inspections through which in his time he had passed. - -"He's a damn smart man!" Tietjens said. He added to McKechnie: - -"You might take a look at dinners in case the general takes it into his -head to go round them." - -McKechnie said darkly: - -"Look here, Tietjens, are you in command of this unit or am I?" - -Levin exclaimed sharply, for him: - -"What's that? What the . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Captain McKechnie complains that he is the senior officer and should -command this unit." - -Levin ejaculated: - -"Of all the . . ." He addressed McKechnie with vigour: "My man, the -command of these units is an appointment at disposition of headquarters. -Don't let there be any mistake about that!" - -McKechnie said doggedly: - -"Captain Tietjens asked me to take the battalion this morning. I -understood he was under . . ." - -"You," Levin said, "are attached to this unit for discipline and -rations. You damn well understand that if some uncle or other of yours -were not, to the general's knowledge, a protégé of Captain Tietjens', -you'd be in a lunatic asylum at this moment. . . ." - -McKechnie's face worked convulsively, he swallowed as men are said to -swallow who suffer from hydrophobia. He lifted his fist and cried out: - -"My un . . ." - -Levin said: - -"If you say another word you go under medical care the moment it's said. -I've the order in my pocket. Now, fall out. At the double!" - -McKechnie wavered on the way to the door. Levin added: - -"You can take your choice of going up the line to-night. Or a court of -inquiry for obtaining divorce leave and then not getting a divorce. Or -the other thing. And you can thank Captain Tietjens for the clemency the -general has shown you!" - -The hut now reeling a little, Tietjens put the opened smelling bottle to -his nostrils. At the sharp pang of the odour the hut came to attention. -He said: - -"We can't keep the general waiting." - -"He told me," Levin said, "to give you ten minutes. He's sitting in your -hut. He's tired. This affair has worried him dreadfully. O'Hara is the -first C.O. he ever served under. A useful man, too, at his job." - -Tietjens leaned against his dressing-table of meat-cases. - -"You told that fellow McKechnie off, all right," he said. "I did not -know you had it in you. . . ." - -"Oh," Levin said, "it's just being with _him_. . . . I get his manner -and it does all right. . . . Of course I don't often hear him have to -strafe anybody in that manner. There's nobody really to stand up to him. -Naturally. . . . But just this morning I was in his cabinet doing -private secretary, and he was talking to Pe . . . Talking while he -shaved. And he said exactly that: You can take your choice of going up -the line to-night or a court martial! . . . So naturally I said as near -the same as I could to your little friend. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"We'd better go now." - -In the winter sunlight Levin tucked his arm under Tietjens', leaning -towards him gaily and not hurrying. The display was insufferable to -Tietjens, but he recognized that it was indispensable. The bright day -seemed full of things with hard edges--a rather cruel definiteness. . . . -Liver! . . . - -The little depot adjutant passed them going very fast, as if before a -wind. Levin just waved his hand in acknowledgment of his salute and went -on, being enraptured in Tietjens' conversation. He said: - -"You and . . . and Mrs. Tietjens are dining at the general's to-night. -To meet the G.O.C.I.C. Western Division. And General O'Hara. . . . We -understand that you have definitely separated from Mrs. Tietjens. . . ." -Tietjens forced his left arm to violence to restrain it from tearing -itself from the colonel's grasp. - -His mind had become a coffin-headed, leather-jawed charger, like -Schomburg. Sitting on his mind was like sitting on Schomburg at a dull -water-jump. His lips said: "Bub-bub-bub-bub!" He could not feel his -hands. He said: - -"I recognize the necessity. If the general sees it in that way. I saw it -in another way myself." His voice was intensely weary. "No doubt," he -said, "the general knows best!" - -Levin's face exhibited real enthusiasm. He said: - -"You decent fellow! You awfully decent fellow! We're all in the same -boat. . . . Now, will you tell me? For _him_. Was O'Hara drunk last -night or wasn't he?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I think he was not drunk when he burst into the room with Major -Perowne. . . . I've been thinking about it! I think he became drunk. . . . -When I first requested and then ordered him to leave the room he leant -against the doorpost. ... He was certainly then--in disorder! . . . I -then told him that I should order him under arrest, if he didn't go. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"Mm! Mm! Mm!" - -Tietjens said: - -"It was my obvious duty. . . . I assure you that I was perfectly -collected. . . . I beg to assure you that I was perfectly collected. . . ." - -Levin said: "I am not questioning the correctness. . . . But . . . we -are all one family. . . . I admit the atrocious . . . the unbearable -nature. . . . But you understand that O'Hara had the right to enter your -room. . . . As P.M.! . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I am not questioning that it was his right. I was assuring you that I -was perfectly collected because the general had honoured me by asking my -opinion on the condition of General O'Hara. . . ." - -They had by now walked far beyond the line leading to Tietjens' office -and, close together, were looking down upon the great tapestry of the -French landscape. - -"_He_," Levin said, "is anxious for your opinion. It really amounts to -as to whether O'Hara drinks too much to continue in his job! . . . And -he says he will take your word. . . . You could not have a greater -testimonial. . . ." - -"He could not," Tietjens said studiedly, "do anything less. Knowing me." - -Levin said: - -"Good heavens, old man, you rub it in!" He added quickly: "He wishes me -to dispose of this side of the matter. He will take my word and yours. -You will forgive . . ." - -The mind of Tietjens had completely failed: the Seine below looked -like an S on fire in an opal. He said: "Eh?" And then: "Oh, yes! I -forgive. . . . It's painful. . . . You probably don't know what you are -doing." - -He broke off suddenly: - -"By God! . . . Were the Canadian Railway Service to go with my draft? -They were detailed to mend the line here to-day. Also to go . . . I kept -them back. . . . Both orders were dated the same day and hour. I could -not get on to headquarters either from the hotel or from here. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"Yes, that's all right. He'll be immensely pleased. He's going to speak -to you about _that_!" Tietjens gave an immense sigh of relief. - -"I remembered that my orders were conflicting just before. . . . It was -a terrible shock to remember. . . . If I sent them up in the lorries, -the repairs to the railway might be delayed. . . . If I didn't, you -might get strafed to hell. . . . It was an intolerable worry. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"You remember it just as you saw the handle of your door moving. . . ." - -Tietjens said from a sort of a mist: - -"Yes. You know how beastly it is when you suddenly remember you have -forgotten something in orders. As if the pit of your stomach had . . ." - -Levin said: - -"All I ever thought about if I'd forgotten anything was what would be a -good excuse to put up to the adjutant . . . When I was a regimental -officer . . ." - -Suddenly Tietjens said insistently: - -"How did you know that? . . . About the door handle? Sylvia could not -have seen it. . . ." He added: "And she could not have known what I was -thinking. . . . She had her back to the door. . . . And to me. . . . -Looking at me in the glass. . . . She was not even aware of what had -happened. . . . So she could not have seen the handle move!" - -Levin hesitated: - -"I . . ." he said. "Perhaps I ought not to have said that. . . . You've -told us. . . . That is to say, you've told . . ." He was pale in the -sunlight. He said: "Old man . . . Perhaps you don't know. . . . Didn't -you perhaps ever, in your childhood? . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Well . . . what is it?" - -"That you talk . . . when you're sleeping!" Levin said. - -Astonishingly, Tietjens said: - -"What of that? . . . It's nothing to write home about! With the overwork -I've had and the sleeplessness. . . ." - -Levin said, with a pathetic appeal to Tietjens' omniscience: - -"But doesn't it mean . . . We used to say when we were boys . . . that -if you talk in your sleep . . . you're . . . in fact a bit dotty?" - -Tietjens said without passion: - -"Not necessarily. It means that one has been under mental pressure, but -all mental pressure does not drive you over the edge. Not by any -means. . . . Besides, what does it matter?" - -Levin said: - -"You mean you don't care. . . . Good God!" He remained looking at the -view, drooping, in intense dejection. He said: "This _beastly_ war! This -_beastly_ war! . . . Look at all that view. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"It's an encouraging spectacle, really. The beastliness of human nature -is always pretty normal. We lie and betray and are wanting in -imagination and deceive ourselves, always, at about the same rate. In -peace and in war! But, somewhere in that view there are enormous bodies -of men. . . . If you got a still more extended range of view over this -whole front you'd have still more enormous bodies of men. . . . Seven to -ten million. . . . All moving towards places towards which they -desperately don't want to go. Desperately! Every one of them is -desperately afraid. But they go on. An immense blind will forces them in -the effort to consummate the one decent action that humanity has to its -credit in the whole of recorded history. The one we are engaged in. That -effort is the one certain creditable fact in all their lives. . . . But -the _other_ lives of all those men are dirty, potty and discreditable -little affairs. . . . Like yours. . . . Like mine. . . ." - -Levin exclaimed: - -"Just heavens! _What_ a pessimist you are!" - -Tietjens said: "Can't you see that is optimism?" - -"But," Levin said, "we're being beaten out of the field. . . . You don't -know how desperate things are." - -Tietjens said: - -"Oh, I know pretty well. As soon as this weather really breaks we're -probably done." - -"We can't," Levin said, "possibly hold them. Not possibly." - -"But success or failure," Tietjens said, "have nothing to do with the -credit of a story. And a consideration of the virtues of humanity does -not omit the other side. If we lose they win. If success is necessary to -your idea of virtue--_virtus_--they then provide the success instead of -ourselves. But the thing is to be able to stick to the integrity of your -character, whatever earthquake sets the house tumbling over your -head. . . . That, thank God, we're doing. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"I don't know. ... If you knew what is going on at home . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Oh, I know. . . . I know that ground as I know the palm of my hand. I -could invent that life if I knew nothing at all about the facts." - -Levin said: - -"I believe you could." He added: "Of course you could. . . . And yet the -only use we can make of you is to martyrize you because two drunken -brutes break into your wife's bedroom. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"You betray your non-Anglo-Saxon origin by being so vocal. . . . And by -your illuminative exaggerations!" - -Levin suddenly exclaimed: - -"What the devil were we talking about?" - -Tietjens said grimly: - -"I am here at the disposal of the competent military -authority--You!--that is inquiring into my antecedents. I am ready to go -on belching platitudes till you stop me." - -Levin answered: - -"For goodness' sake help me. This is horribly painful. _He_--the -general--has given me the job of finding out what happened last night. -He won't face it himself. He's attached to you both." - -Tietjens said: - -"It's asking too much to ask me to help you. . . . What did I say in my -sleep? What has Mrs. Tietjens told the general?" - -"The general," Levin said, "has not seen Mrs. Tietjens. He could not -trust himself. He knew she would twist him round her little finger." - -Tietjens said: - -"He's beginning to learn. He was sixty last July, but he's beginning." - -"So that," Levin said, "what we do know we learnt in the way I have told -you. And from O'Hara of course. The general would not let Pe . . ., the -other fellow, speak a word, while he was shaving. He just said: 'I won't -hear you. I won't hear you. You can take your choice of going up the -line as soon as there are trains running or being broke on my personal -application to the King in Council." - -"I didn't know," Tietjens said, "that he could talk as straight as -that." - -"He's dreadfully hard hit," Levin answered; "if you and Mrs. Tietjens -separate--and still more if there's anything real against either of -you--it's going to shatter all his illusions. And . . ." He paused: "Do -you know Major Thurston? A gunner? Attached to our anti-aircraft -crowd? . . . The general is very thick with him. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"He's one of the Thurstons of Lobden Moorside. . . . I don't know him -personally. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"He's upset the general a good deal. . . . With something he told -him. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Good God!" And then: "He can't have told the general anything against -me. . . . Then it must be against . . ." - -Levin said: - -"Do you want the general always to be told things against you in -contradistinction to things about . . . another person." - -Tietjens said: - -"We shall be keeping the fellows in my cook-house a confoundedly long -time waiting for inspections. . . . I'm in your hands as regards the -general. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"The general's in your hut: thankful to goodness to be alone. He never -is. He said he was going to write a private memorandum for the Secretary -of State, and I could keep you any time I liked as long as I got -everything out of you. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Did what Major Thurston allege take place . . . Thurston has lived most -of his life in France. . . . But you had better not tell me. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"He's our anti-craft liaison officer with the French civilian -authorities. Those sort of fellows generally have lived in France a good -deal. A very decentish, quiet man. He plays chess with the general and -they talk over the chess. . . . But the general is going to talk about -what he said to you himself. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Good God! ... He going to talk as well as you. . . . You'd say the -coils were closing in. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"We can't go on like this. . . . It's my own fault for not being more -direct. But this can't last all day. We could neither of us stand it. . . . -I'm pretty nearly done. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Where _did_ your father come from, really? Not from Frankfurt? . . ." - -Levin said: - -"Constantinople. . . . His father was financial agent to the Sultan; my -father was his son by an Armenian presented to him by the Selamlik along -with the Order of the Medjidje, first class." - -"It accounts for your very decent manner, and for your common sense. If -you had been English I should have broken your neck before now." - -Levin said: - -"Thank you! I hope I always behave like an English gentleman. But I am -going to be brutally direct now. . . ." He went on: "The really queer -thing is that you should always address Miss Wannop in the language of -the Victorian _Correct Letter-Writer_. You must excuse my mentioning the -name: it shortens things. You said 'Miss Wannop' every two or three -half-minutes. It convinced the general more than any possible assertions -that your relations were perfectly . . ." - -Tietjens, his eyes shut, said: - -"I talked to Miss Wannop in my sleep. . . ." - -Levin, who was shaking a little, said: - -"It was very queer. . . . Almost ghostlike. . . . There you sat, your -arms on the table. Talking away. You appeared to be writing a letter to -her. And the sunlight streaming in at the hut. I was going to wake you, -but he stopped me. He took the view that he was on detective work, and -that he might as well detect He had got it into his mind that you were a -Socialist." - -"He would," Tietjens commented. "Didn't I tell you he was beginning to -learn things? . . ." - -Levin exclaimed: - -"But you aren't a So . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Of course, if your father came from Constantinople and his mother was a -Georgian, it accounts for your attractiveness. You _are_ a most handsome -fellow. And intelligent. . . . If the general has put you on to inquire -whether I am a Socialist I will answer your questions." - -Levin said: - -"No. . . . That's one of the questions he's reserving for himself to -ask. It appears that if you answer that you are a Socialist he intends -to cut you out of his will. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"His will! . . . Oh, yes, of course, he might very well leave me -something. But doesn't that supply rather a motive for me to say that I -_am_? I don't want his money." - -Levin positively jumped a step backwards. Money, and particularly money -that came by way of inheritance, being one of the sacred things of life -for him, he exclaimed: - -"I don't see that you _can_ joke about such a subject!" - -Tietjens answered good-humouredly: - -"Well, you don't expect me to play up to the old gentleman in order to -get his poor old shekels." He added "Hadn't we better get it over?" - -Levin said: - -"You've got hold of yourself?" - -Tietjens answered: - -"Pretty well. . . . You'll excuse my having been emotional so far. You -aren't English, so it won't have embarrassed you." - -Levin exclaimed in an outraged manner: - -"Hang it, I'm English to the backbone! What's the matter with me?" - -Tietjens said: - -"Nothing. . . . Nothing in the world. That's just what makes you -un-English. We're all . . . well, it doesn't matter what's wrong with -_us_. . . . What did you gather about my relations with Miss Wannop?" - -The question was so unemotionally put and Levin was still so concerned -as to his origins that he did not at first grasp what Tietjens had said. -He began to protest that he had been educated at Winchester and -Magdalen. Then he exclaimed, "_Oh_!" And took time for reflection. - -"If," he said finally, "the general had not let out that she was young -and attractive . . . at least, I suppose attractive . . . I should have -thought that you regarded her as an old maid. . . . You know, of course, -that it came to me as a shock, the thought that there was anyone. . . . -That you had allowed yourself . . . Anyhow . . . I suppose I'm -simple. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"What did the general gather?" - -"He . . ." Levin said, "he stood over you with his head held to one -side, looking rather cunning . . . like a magpie listening at a hole -it's dropped a nut into. . . . First he looked disappointed: then quite -glad. A simple kind of gladness. Just glad, you know. . . . When we got -outside the hut he said 'I suppose in _vino veritas_,' and then he asked -me the Latin for 'sleep' . . . But I had forgotten it too. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"What did I say?" - -"It's . . ." Levin hesitated, "extraordinarily difficult to say what you -_did_ say. . . . I don't profess to remember long speeches to the -letter. . . . Naturally it was a good deal broken up. . . . I tell you, you -were talking to a young lady about matters you don't generally talk to young -ladies about. . . . And obviously you were trying to let your . . . Mrs. -Tietjens, down easily. . . . You were trying to explain also why you had -definitely decided to separate from Mrs. Tietjens. . . . And you took it -that the young lady might be troubled ... at the separation. . . ." - -Tietjens said carelessly: - -"This is rather painful. Perhaps you would let me tell you exactly what -_did_ happen last night. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"If you only would!" He added rather diffidently: "If you would not mind -remembering that I am a military court of inquiry. It makes it easier -for me to report to the general if you say things dully and in the order -they happened." - -Tietjens said: - -"Thank you . . ." and after a short interval, "I retired to rest with my -wife last night at. . . . I cannot say the hour exactly. Say half-past -one. I reached this camp at half-past four, taking rather over half an -hour to walk. What happened, as I am about to relate, took place -therefore before four." - -"The hour," Levin said, "is not material. We know the incident occurred -in the small hours. General O'Hara made his complaint to me at -three-thirty-five. He probably took five minutes to reach my quarters." - -Tietjens asked: - -"The exact charge was . . ." - -"The complaints," Levin answered, "were very numerous indeed. . . . I -could not catch them all. The succinct charge was at first being drunk -and striking a superior officer, then merely that of conduct prejudicial -in that you struck . . . There is also a subsidiary charge of conduct -prejudicial in that you improperly marked a charge-sheet in your orderly -room. . . . I did not catch what all that was about. . . . You appear to -have had a quarrel with him about his red-caps. . . ." - -"That," Tietjens said, "is what it is really all about." He asked: "The -officer I was said to have struck was . . .?" - -Levin said: - -"Perowne . . ." dryly. - -Tietjens said: - -"You are sure it was not himself. I am prepared to plead guilty to -striking General O'Hara." - -"It is not," Levin said, "a question of pleading guilty. There is no -charge to that effect against you, and you are perfectly aware that you -are not under arrest. . . . An order to perform any duty after you have -been placed under arrest in itself releases you and dissolves the -arrest." - -Tietjens said coolly: - -"I am perfectly aware of that. And that was General Campion's -intention in ordering me to accompany him round my cook-houses. . . . -But I doubt. . . . I put it to you for your serious attention whether -that is the best way to hush this matter up. . . . I think it would be -more expedient that I should plead guilty to a charge of striking -General O'Hara. And naturally to being drunk. An officer does not strike -a general when he is sober. That would be a quite inconspicuous affair. -Subordinate officers are broken every day for being drunk." - -Levin had said "Wait a minute," twice. He now exclaimed with a certain -horror: - -"Your mania for sacrificing yourself makes you lose all . . . all sense -of proportion. You forget that General Campion is a gentleman. Things -cannot be done in a hole-and-corner manner in this command. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"They're done unbearably. . . . It would be nothing to me to be broke -for being drunk, but raking up all this is hell." - -Levin said: - -"The general is anxious to know exactly what has happened. You will -kindly accept an order to relate exactly what happened." - -Tietjens said: - -"That is what is perfectly damnable. . . ." He remained silent for -nearly a minute, Levin slapping his leggings with his riding-crop in a -nervously passionate rhythm. Tietjens stiffened himself and began: - -"General O'Hara came to my wife's room and burst in the door. I was -there. I took him to be drunk. But from what he exclaimed I have since -imagined that he was not so much drunk as misled. There was another man -lying in the corridor where I had thrown him. General O'Hara exclaimed -that this was Major Perowne. I had not realised that this was Major -Perowne. I do not know Major Perowne very well and he was not in -uniform. I had imagined him to be a French waiter coming to call me to -the telephone. I had seen only his face round the door: he was looking -round the door. My wife was in a state . . . bordering on nudity. I had -put my hand under his chin and thrown him through the doorway. I am -physically very strong and I exercised all my strength. I am aware of -that. I was excited, but not more excited than the circumstances seemed -to call for. . . ." - -Levin exclaimed: - -"But . . . At three in the morning! The telephone!" - -"I was ringing up my headquarters and yours. All through the night. The -O.I.C. draft, Lieutenant Cowley, was also ringing me up. I was anxious -to know what was to be done about the Canadian railway men. I had three -times been called to the telephone since I had been in Mrs. Tietjens' -room, and once an orderly had come down from the camp. I was also -conducting a very difficult conversation with my wife as to the disposal -of my family's estates, which are large, so that the details were -complicated. I occupied the room next door to Mrs. Tietjens and till -that moment, the communicating door between the rooms being open, I had -heard when a waiter or an orderly had knocked at my own door in the -corridor. The night porter of the hotel was a dark, untidy, surly sort -of fellow. . . . Not unlike Perowne." - -Levin said: - -"Is it necessary to go into all this? We . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"If I am to make a statement it seems necessary. I would prefer you to -question me . . ." - -Levin said: - -"Please go on. . . . We accept the statement that Major Perowne was not -in uniform. He states that he was in his pyjamas and dressing-gown. -Looking for the bathroom." - -Tietjens said: "Ah!" and stood reflecting. He said: - -"May I hear the . . . the purport of Major Perowne's statement?" - -"He states," Levin said, "what I have just said. He was looking for the -bathroom. He had not slept in the hotel before. He opened a door and -looked round it, and was immediately thrown with great violence down -into the passage with his head against the wall. He says that this dazed -him so that, not really appreciating what had happened, he shouted -various accusations against the person who had assaulted him. . . . -General O'Hara then came out of his room. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"What accusations did Major Perowne shout?" - -"He doesn't. . . ." Levin hesitated, "eh! . . . elaborate them in his -statement." - -Tietjens said: - -"It is, I imagine, material that I should know what they are. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"I don't know that. . . . If you'll forgive me . . . Major Perowne came -to see me, reaching me half an hour after General O'Hara. He was very . . . -extremely nervous and concerned. I am bound to say . . . for Mrs. -Tietjens. . . . And also very concerned to spare yourself! . . . It -appears that he had shouted out just anything. . . . As it might be -'Thieves!' or 'Fire!' . . . But when General O'Hara came out he told -him, being out of himself, that he had been invited to your wife's room, -and that . . . Oh, excuse me. . . . I'm under great obligations to -you . . . the very greatest . . . that you had attempted to blackmail him!" - -Tietjens said: - -"Well! . . ." - -"You understand," Levin said, and he was pleading, "that is what he -said to General O'Hara in the corridor. He even confessed it was -madness. . . . He did not maintain the accusation to me. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Not that Mrs. Tietjens had given him leave? . . ." - -Levin said with tears in his eyes: - -"I'll not go on with this. . . . I will rather resign my commission than -go on tormenting you. . . ." - -"You can't resign your commission," Tietjens said. - -"I can resign my appointment," Levin answered. He went on sniffling: -"This beastly war! . . . This beastly war! . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"If what is distressing you is having to tell me that you believe Major -Perowne came with my wife's permission I know it's true. It's also true -that my wife expected me to be there. She wanted some fun: not adultery. -But I am also aware--as Major Thurston appears to have told General -Campion--that Mrs. Tietjens was with Major Perowne. In France. At a -place called Yssingueux-les-Pervenches. . . ." - -"That wasn't the name," Levin blubbered. "It was Saint . . . Saint . . . -Saint something. In the Cevennes. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Don't, there! . . . Don't distress yourself. . . ." - -"But I'm . . ." Levin went on, "under great obligations to you. . . ." - -"I'd better," Tietjens said, "finish this matter myself." - -Levin said: - -"It will break the general's heart. He believes so absolutely in Mrs. -Tietjens. Who wouldn't? . . . How the devil could you guess what Major -Thurston told him?" - -"He's the sort of brown, trustworthy man who always does know that sort -of thing," Tietjens answered. "As for the general's belief in Mrs. -Tietjens, he's perfectly justified. . . . Only there will be no more -parades. Sooner or later it has to come to that for us all. . . ." He added -with a little bitterness: "Only not for you. Being a Turk or a Jew you -are a simple, Oriental, monogamous, faithful soul. . . ." He added -again: "I hope to goodness the sergeant-cook has the sense not to keep -the men's dinners back for the general's inspection. . . . But of course -he will not. . . ." - -Levin said: - -"What in the world would that matter?" fiercely. "He keeps men waiting -as much as three hours. On parade." - -"Of course," Tietjens said, "if that is what Major Perowne told General -O'Hara it removes a good deal of my suspicions of the latter's sobriety. -Try to get the position. General O'Hara positively burst in the little -sneck of the door that I had put down and came in shouting: 'Where is -the ---- blackmailer?' And it was a full three minutes before I could -get rid of him. I had had the presence of mind to switch off the light -and he persisted in asking for another look at Mrs. Tietjens. You see, -if you consider it, he is a very heavy sleeper. He is suddenly awakened -after, no doubt, not a few pegs. He hears Major Perowne shouting about -blackmail and thieves. . . . I dare say this town has its quota of -blackmailers. O'Hara might well be anxious to catch one in the act. He -hates me, anyhow, because of his Red Caps. I'm a shabby-looking chap he -doesn't know much about. Perowne passes for being a millionaire. I dare -say he is: he's said to be very stingy. That would be how he got hold of -the idea of blackmail and hypnotised the general with it. . . ." - -He went on again: - -"But I wasn't to know that. ... I had shut the door on Perowne and -didn't even know he was Perowne. I really thought he was the night -porter coming to call me to the telephone. I only saw a roaring satyr. -I mean that was what I thought O'Hara was. . . . And I assure you I kept -my head. . . . When he persisted in leaning against the doorpost and -asking for another look at Mrs. Tietjens, he kept on saying: 'The woman' -and 'The hussy.' Not 'Mrs. Tietjens.' . . . I thought then that there -was something queer. I said: 'This is my wife's room,' several times. He -said something to the effect of how could he know she was my wife, -and . . . that she had made eyes at himself in the lounge, so it might have -been himself as well as Perowne. . . . I dare say he had got it into his -head that I had imported some tart to blackmail someone. . . . But you -know. . . . I grew exhausted after a time. . . . I saw outside in the -corridor one of the little subalterns he has on his staff, and I said: -'If you do not take General O'Hara away I shall order you to put him -under arrest for drunkenness.' That seemed to drive the general crazy. I -had gone closer to him, being determined to push him out of the door, -and he decidedly smelt of whisky. Strongly. . . . But I dare say he was -thinking himself outraged, really. And perhaps also coming to his -senses. As there was nothing else for it I pushed him gently out of the -room. In going he shouted that I was to consider myself under arrest. I -so considered myself. . . . That is to say that, as soon as I had -settled certain details with Mrs. Tietjens, I walked up to the camp, -which I took to be my quarters, though I am actually under the M.O.'s -orders to reside in this hotel owing to the state of my lungs. I saw the -draft off, that not necessitating my giving any orders. I went to my -sleeping quarters, it being then about six-thirty, and towards seven -awakened McKechnie, whom I asked to take my adjutant's and battalion -parade and orderly-room. I had breakfast in my hut, and then went into -my private office to await developments. I think I have now told you -everything material. . . ." - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -General Lord Edward Campion, G.C.B., K.C. M.G., (military), D.S.O., -etc., sat, radiating glory and composing a confidential memorandum to -the Secretary of State for War, on a bully-beef case, leaning forward -over a military blanket that covered a deal table. He was for the moment -in high good humour on the surface, though his subordinate minds were -puzzled and depressed. At the end of each sentence that he wrote--and he -wrote with increasing satisfaction!--a mind that he was not using said: -"What the devil am I going to do with that fellow?" Or: "How the devil -is that girl's name to be kept out of this mess?" - -Having been asked to write a confidential memorandum for the information -of the home authorities as to what, in his opinion, was the cause of the -French railway strike, he had hit on the ingenious device of reporting -what was the opinion of the greater part of the forces under his -command. This was a dangerous line to take, for he might well come into -conflict with the home Government. But he was pretty certain that any -inquiries that the home Government could cause to be made amongst the -local civilian population would confirm what he was writing--which he -was careful to state was not to be taken as a communication of his own -opinion. In addition, he did not care what the Government did to him. - -He was satisfied with his military career. In the early part of the war, -after materially helping mobilisation, he had served with great -distinction in the East, in command mostly of mounted infantry. He had -subsequently so distinguished himself in the organising and transporting -of troops coming and going overseas that, on the part of the lines of -communication where he now commanded becoming of great importance, he -knew that he had seemed the only general that could be given that -command. It had become of enormous importance--these were open -secrets!--because, owing to divided opinions in the Cabinet, it might at -any moment be decided to move the bulk of H.M. Forces to somewhere in -the East. The idea underlying this--as General Campion saw it--had at -least some relation to the necessities of the British Empire and -strategy embracing world politics as well as military movements--a fact -which is often forgotten--there was this much to be said for it: The -preponderance of British Imperial interests might be advanced as lying -in the Middle and Far Easts--to the east, that is to say, of -Constantinople. This might be denied, but it was a feasible proposition. -The present operations on the Western front, arduous, and even -creditable, as they might have been until relatively lately, were very -remote from our Far-Eastern possessions and mitigated from, rather than -added to, our prestige. In addition, the unfortunate display in front of -Constantinople in the beginning of the war had almost eliminated our -prestige with the Mohammedan races. Thus a demonstration in enormous -force in any region between European Turkey and the north-western -frontiers of India might point out to Mohammedans, Hindus, and other -Eastern races, what overwhelming forces Great Britain, were she so -minded, could put into the field. It is true that would mean the -certain loss of the war on the Western front, with corresponding loss of -prestige in the West. But the wiping out of the French republic would -convey little to the Eastern races, whereas we could no doubt make terms -with the enemy nations, as a price for abandoning our allies that might -well leave the Empire, not only intact, but actually increased in -colonial extent, since it was unlikely that the enemy empires would wish -to be burdened with colonies for some time. - -General Campion was not overpoweringly sentimental over the idea of the -abandonment of our allies. They had won his respect as fighting -organisations and that, to the professional soldier, is a great deal; -but still he _was_ a professional soldier, and the prospect of widening -the bounds of the British Empire could not be contemptuously dismissed -at the price of rather sentimental dishonour. Such bargains had been -struck before during wars involving many nations, and doubtless such -bargains would be struck again. In addition, votes might be gained by -the Government from the small but relatively noisy and menacing part of -the British population that favoured the enemy nations. - -But when it came to tactics--which it should be remembered concerns -itself with the movement of troops actually in contact with enemy -forces--General Campion had no doubt that plan was the conception -of the brain of a madman. The dishonour of such a proceeding must of -course be considered--and its impracticability was hopeless. The -dreadful nature of what would be our debacle did we attempt to evacuate -the Western front might well be unknown to, or might be deliberately -ignored by, the civilian mind. But the general could almost see the -horrors as a picture--and, professional soldier as he was, his mind -shuddered at the picture. They had by now in the country enormous bodies -of troops who had hitherto not come into contact with the enemy forces. -Did they attempt to withdraw these in the first place the native -population would at once turn from a friendly into a bitterly hostile -factor, and moving troops through hostile country is to the _n_th power -a more lengthy matter than moving them through territory where the -native populations lend a helping hand, or are at least not obstructive. -They had in addition this enormous force to ration, and they would -doubtless have to supply them with ammunition on the almost certain -breaking through of the enemy forces. It would be impossible to do this -without the use of the local railways--and the use of these would at -once be prohibited. If, on the other hand, they attempted to begin the -evacuation by shortening the front, the operation would be very -difficult with troops who, by now, were almost solely men trained only -in trench warfare, with officers totally unused to that keeping up of -communications between units which is the life and breath of a -retreating army. Training, in fact, in that element had been almost -abandoned in the training camps where instruction was almost limited to -bomb-throwing, the use of machine-guns, and other departments which had -been forced on the War Office by eloquent civilians--to the almost -complete neglect of the rifle. Thus at the mere hint of a retreat the -enemy forces must break through and come upon the vast, unorganised, or -semi-organised bodies of troops in the rear. . . . - -The temptation for the professional soldier was to regard such a state -of things with equanimity. Generals have not infrequently enormously -distinguished themselves by holding up retreats from the rear when -vanguard commanders have disastrously failed. But General Campion -resisted the temptation of even hoping that this chance of -distinguishing himself might offer itself. He could not contemplate with -equanimity the slaughter of great bodies of men under his command, and -not even a successful retreating action of that description could be -carried out without horrible slaughter. And he would have little hope of -conducting necessarily delicate and very hurried movements with an army -that, except for its rough training in trench warfare, was practically -civilian in texture. So that although, naturally, he had made his plans -for such an eventuality, having indeed in his private quarters four -enormous paper-covered blackboards upon which he had changed daily the -names of units according as they passed from his hands or came into them -and became available, he prayed specifically every night before retiring -to bed that the task might not be cast upon his shoulders. He prized -very much his universal popularity in his command, and he could not bear -to think of how the eyes of the Army would regard him as he put upon -them a strain so appalling and such unbearable sufferings. He had, -moreover, put that aspect of the matter very strongly in a memorandum -that he had prepared in answer to a request from the home Government for -a scheme by which an evacuation might be effected. But he considered -that the civilian element in the Government was so entirely indifferent -to the sufferings of the men engaged in these operations, and was so -completely ignorant of what are military exigencies, that the words he -had devoted to that department of the subject were merely wasted. . . . - -So everything pushed him into writing confidentially to the Secretary of -State for War a communication that he knew must be singularly -distasteful to a number of the gentlemen who would peruse it. He -chuckled indeed as he wrote, the open door behind him and the sunlight -pouring in on his radiant figure. He said: - -"Sit down, Tietjens. Levin, I shall not want you for ten minutes," -without raising his head, and went on writing. It annoyed him that, from -the corner of his eye, he could see that Tietjens was still standing, -and he said rather irritably: "Sit down, sit down. . . ." - -He wrote: - -"It is pretty generally held here by the native population that the -present very serious derangement of traffic, if not actively promoted, -is at least winked at by the Government of this country. It is, that is -to say, intended to give us a taste of what would happen if I took any -measures here for returning any large body of men to the home country or -elsewhere, and it is said also to be a demonstration in favour of a -single command--a measure which is here regarded by a great weight of -instructed opinion as indispensable to the speedy and successful -conclusion of hostilities. . . ." - -The general paused over that sentence. It came very near the quick. For -himself he was absolutely in favour of a single command, and in his -opinion, too, it was indispensable to any sort of conclusion of -hostilities at all. The whole of military history, in so far as it -concerned allied operations of any sort--from the campaigns of Xerxes -and operations during the wars of the Greeks and Romans, to the -campaigns of Marlborough and Napoleon and the Prussian operations of -1866 and 1870--pointed to the conclusion that a relatively small force -acting homogeneously was, to the _n_th power again, more effective than -vastly superior forces of allies acting only imperfectly in accord or -not in accord at all. Modern developments in arms had made no shade at -all of difference to strategy and had made differences merely of time -and numbers to tactics. To-day, as in the days of the Greek Wars of the -Allies, success depended on apt timing of the arrival of forces at given -points, and it made no difference whether your lethal weapons acted from -a distance of thirty miles or were held and operated by hand; whether -you dealt death from above or below the surface of the ground, through -the air by dropped missiles or by mephitic and torturing vapours. What -won combats, campaigns, and, in the end, wars, was the brain which timed -the arrival of forces at given points--and that must be one brain which -could command their presence at these points, not a half-dozen -authorities requesting each other to perform operations which might or -might not fall in with the ideas or the prejudices of any one or other -of the half-dozen. . . . - -Levin came in noiselessly, slid a memorandum slip on to the blanket -beside the paper on which the general was writing. The general read: _T. -agrees completely, sir, with your diagnosis of the facts, except that he -is much more ready to accept General O'H.'s acts as reasonable. He -places himself entirely in your hands_. - -The general heaved an immense sigh of relief. The sunlight streaming in -became very bright. He had had a real sinking at the heart when Tietjens -had boggled for a second over putting on his belt. An officer may not -demand or insist on a court martial. But he, Campion, could not in -decency have refused Tietjens his court martial if he stood out for it. -He had a right to clear his character publicly. It would have been -impossible to refuse him. Then the fat would have been in the fire. For, -knowing O'Hara through pretty nearly twenty-five years--or it must be -thirty!--of service Campion was pretty certain that O'Hara had made a -drunken beast of himself. Yet he was very attached to O'Hara--one of the -old type of rough-diamond generals who swore your head off, but were -damn capable men! . . . It was a tremendous relief. - -He said sharply: - -"Sit down, can't you, Tietjens! You irritate me by standing there!" He -said to himself: "An obstinate fellow. . . . Why, he's gone!" and his -mind and eyes being occupied by the sentence he had last written, the -sense of irritation remained with him. He re-read the closing clause: -". . . a single command--a measure which is here regarded by a great weight -of instructed opinion as indispensable to the speedy and successful -termination of hostilities. . . ." - -He looked at this, whistling beneath his breath. It was pretty thick. He -was not asked for his opinion as to the single command: yet he decidedly -wanted to get in and was pretty well prepared to stand the consequences. -The consequences might be something pretty bad: he might be sent home. -That was quite possible. That, even, was better than what was happening -to poor Puffles, who was being starved of men. He had been at Sandhurst -with Puffles, and they had got their commissions on the same day to the -same regiment. A damn good soldier, but too hot-tempered. He was making -an extraordinarily good thing of it in spite of his shortage of men, -which was the talk of the army. But it must be damn agonizing for him, -and a very improper strain on his men. One day--as soon as the weather -broke--the enemy _must_ break through. Then he, Puffles, would be sent -home. That was what the fellows at Westminster and in Downing Street -wanted. Puffles had been a great deal too free with his tongue. They -would not send him home before he had a disaster because, unless he were -in disgrace, he would be a thorn in their sides: whereas if he were -disgraced no one much would listen to him. It was smart practice. . . . -_Sharp_ practice! - -He tossed the sheet on which he had been writing across the table and -said to Tietjens: - -"Look at that, will you?" In the centre of the hut Tietjens was sitting -bulkily on a bully-beef case that had been brought in ceremoniously by a -runner. "He _does_ look beastly shabby," the general said. "There are -three . . . four grease stains on his tunic. He ought to get his hair -cut!" He added: "It's a perfectly damnable business. No one but this -fellow would have got into it. He's a firebrand. That's what he is. A -regular firebrand!" - -Tietjens' troubles had really shaken the general not a little. He was -left up in the air. He had lived the greater part of his life with his -sister, Lady Claudine Sandbach, and the greater part of the remainder of -his life at Groby, at any rate after he came home from India and during -the reign of Tietjens' father. He had idolized Tietjens' mother, who was -a saint! What indeed there had been of the idyllic in his life had -really all passed at Groby, if he came to think of it. India was not so -bad, but one had to be young to enjoy that. . . . - -Indeed, only the day before yesterday he had been thinking that if this -letter that he was thinking out did result in his being sent back, he -should propose to stand for the half of the Cleveland Parliamentary -Division in which Groby stood. What with the Groby influence and his -nephew's in the country districts, though Castlemaine had not much land -left up there, and with Sandbach's interest in the ironworking -districts, he would have an admirable chance of getting in. Then he -would make himself a thorn in the side of certain persons. - -He had thought of quartering himself on Groby. It would have been easy -to get Tietjens out of the army and they could all--he, Tietjens and -Sylvia--live together. It would have been his ideal of a home and of an -occupation. . . . - -For, of course, he was getting old for soldiering: unless he got a -fighting army there was not much more to it as a career for a man of -sixty. If he _did_ get an army he was pretty certain of a peerage and -hefty political work could still be done in the Lords. He would have a -good claim on India and that meant dying a Field-Marshal. - -On the other hand, the only command that was at all likely to be -going--except for deaths, and the health rate amongst army commanders -was pretty high!--was poor Puffles'. And that would be no pleasant -command--with the men all hammered to pieces. He decided to put the -whole thing to Tietjens. Tietjens, like a meal-sack, was looking at him -over the draft of the letter that he had just finished reading. The -general said: - -"Well?" - -Tietjens said: - -"It's splendid, sir, to see you putting the matter so strongly. It must -be put strongly, or we're lost." - -The general said: - -"You think that?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I'm sure of it, sir. . . . But unless you are prepared to throw up your -command and take to politics. . . ." - -The general exclaimed: - -"You're a most extraordinary fellow. . . . That was exactly what I was -thinking about: this very minute." - -"It's not so extraordinary," Tietjens said. "A really active general -thinking as you do is very badly needed in the House. As your -brother-in-law is to have a peerage whenever he asks for it, West -Cleveland will be vacant at any moment, and with his influence and Lord -Castlemaine's--your nephew's not got much land, but the name is -immensely respected in the country districts. . . . And, of course, -using Groby for your headquarters. . . ." - -The general said: - -"That's pretty well botched, isn't it?" - -Tietjens said without moving a muscle: - -"Why, no, sir. Sylvia is to have Groby and you would naturally make it -your headquarters. . . . You've still got your hunters there. . . ." - -The general said: - -"Sylvia is really to have Groby. . . . Good God!" - -Tietjens said: - -"So it was no great conjuring trick, sir, to see that you might not -mind. . . ." - -The general said: - -"Upon my soul, I'd as soon give up my chance of heaven . . . no, not -heaven, but India, as give up Groby." - -"You've got," Tietjens said, "an admirable chance of India. . . . The -point is: which way? If they give you the sixteenth section. . . ." - -"I hate," the general said, "to think of waiting for poor Puffles' -shoes. I was at Sandhurst with him. . . ." - -"It's a question, sir," Tietjens said, "of which is the best way. For -the country and yourself. I suppose if one were a general one would like -to have commanded an army on the Western front. . . ." - -The general said: - -"I don't know. . . . It's the logical end of a career. . . . But I don't -feel that my career is ending. . . . I'm as sound as a roach. And in ten -years' time what difference will it make?" - -"One would like," Tietjens said, "to see you doing it. . . ." - -The general said: - -"No one will know whether I commanded a fighting army or this damned -Whiteley's outfitting store. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I know that, sir. . . . But the sixteenth section will desperately need -a good man if General Perry is sent home. And particularly a general who -has the confidence of all ranks. . . . It will be a wonderful position. -You will have every man that's now on the Western front at your back -after the war. It's a certain peerage. . . . It's certainly a sounder -proposition than that of a free-lance--which is what you'd be--in the -House of Commons." - -The general said: - -"Then what am I to do with my letter? It's a damn good letter. I don't -like wasting letters." - -Tietjens said: - -"You want it to show through that you back the single command for all -you are worth, yet you don't want them to put their finger on your -definitely saying so yourself?" - -The general said: - -". . . That's it. That's just what I do want. . . ." He added: "I -suppose you take my view of the whole matter. The Government's pretence -of evacuating the Western front in favour of the Middle East is probably -only a put-up job to frighten our Allies into giving up the single -command. Just as this railway strike is a counterdemonstration by way of -showing what would happen to us if we did begin to evacuate. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"It looks like that. . . . I'm not, of course, in the confidence of the -Cabinet. I'm not even in contact with them as I used to be. . . . But I -should put it that the section of the Cabinet that is in favour of the -Eastern expedition is very small. It's said to be a one-man party--with -hangers-on--but arguing him out of it has caused all this delay. That's -how I see it." - -The general exclaimed: - -"But, good God! . . . How is such a thing possible? That man must walk -along his corridors with the blood of a million--I mean it, of a -million--men round his head. He could not stand up under it. . . . That -fellow is prolonging the war indefinitely by delaying us now. And men -being killed all the time! . . . I can't. . . ." He stood up and paced, -stamping up and down the hut. . . . "At Bonderstrom," he said, "I had -half a company wiped out under me. . . . By my own fault, I admit. I had -wrong information . . ." He stopped and said: "Good God! . . . Good -God! . . . I can see it now. . . . And it's unbearable! After eighteen -years. I was a brigadier then. It was your own regiment--the -Glamorganshires. . . . They were crowded into a little nullah and shelled -to extinction. . . . I could see it going on and we could not get on to the -Boer guns with ours to stop 'em. . . . That's hell," he said, "that's the -real hell. . . . I never inspected the Glamorganshires after that for the -whole war. I could not bear the thought of facing their eyes. . . . -Buller was the same. . . . Buller was worse than I. . . . He never held -up his head again after. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"If you would not mind, sir, not going on . . ." - -The general stamped to a halt in his stride. He said: - -"Eh? . . . What's that? What's the matter with you?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I had a man killed on me last night. In this very hut; where I'm -sitting is the exact spot. It makes me . . . It's a sort of . . . -Complex, they call it now. . . ." - -The general exclaimed: - -"Good God! I beg your pardon, my dear boy. . . . I ought not to have . . . -I have never behaved like that before another soul in the world. . . . -Not to Buller. . . . Not to Gatacre, and they were my closest -friends. . . . Even after Spion Kop I never. . . ." He broke off and said: -"But those old memories won't interest you. . . ." He said: "I've such an -absolute belief in your trustworthiness. I _know_ you won't betray what -you've seen. . . . What I've just said. . . ." He paused and tried to adopt -the air of the listening magpie. He said: "I was called Butcher Campion in -South Africa, just as Gatacre was called Backacher. I don't want to be -called anything else because I've made an ass of myself before you. . . . -No, damn it all, not an ass. I was immensely attached to your sainted -mother. . . ." He said: "It's the proudest tribute any commander of men -can have. . . . To be called Butcher and have your men follow you in -spite of it. It shows confidence, and it gives you, as commander, -confidence! . . . One has to be prepared to lose men in hundreds at the -right minute in order to avoid losing them in tens of thousands at the -wrong! . . ." He said: "Successful military operations consist not in -taking or retaining positions, but in taking or retaining them with a -minimum sacrifice of effectives. . . . I wish to God you civilians would -get that into your heads. The men have it. They know that I will use -them ruthlessly--but that I will not waste one life. . . ." He -exclaimed: "Damn it, if I had ever thought I should have such troubles, -in your father's days . . .!" He said: "Let's get back to what we were -talking about . . . My memorandum to the secretary. . . ." He burst out: -"My God! . . . _What_ can that fellow think when he reads Shakespeare's -_When all those heads, legs, arms, joined together on the Last Day -shall_ . . . How does it run? Henry V's address to his soldiers . . . -_Every subject's body is the king's_ . . . _but every subject's soul is -his own_. . . . _And there is no king, be his cause ever so -just_. . . . My God! My God! . . . _as can try it out with all unspotted -soldiers_. . . . Have you ever thought of that?" - -Alarm overcame Tietjens. The general was certainly in disorder. But over -what? There was not time to think. Campion was certainly dreadfully -overworked. . . . He exclaimed: - -"Sir, hadn't you better! . . ." He said: "If we could get back to your -memorandum . . . I am quite prepared to write a report to the effect of -your sentence as to the French civilian population's attitude. That -would throw the onus on me. . . ." - -The general said agitatedly: - -"No! No! . . . You've got quite enough on your back as it is. Your -confidential report states that you are suspected of having too great -common interests with the French. That's what makes the whole position -so impossible. . . . I'll get Thurston to write something. He's a good -man, Thurston. Reliable. . . ." Tietjens shuddered a little. The general -went on astonishingly: - - - "'But at my back I always hear - Time's winged chariot hurrying near: - And yonder all before me lie - Deserts of vast eternity!' . . . - - -That's a general's life in this accursed war. . . . You think all -generals are illiterate fools. But I have spent a great deal of time in -reading, though I never read anything written later than the seventeenth -century." - -Tietjens said: - -"I know, sir. . . . You made me read Clarendon's _History of the Great -Rebellion_ when I was twelve." - -The general said: - -"In case we . . . I shouldn't like . . . In short . . ." He swallowed: -it was singular to see him swallow. He was lamentably thin when you -looked at the man and not the uniform. - -Tietjens thought: - -"What's he nervous about? He's been nervous all the morning." - -The general said: - -"I am trying to say--it's not much in my line--that in case we never met -again, I do not wish you to think me an ignoramus." - -Tietjens thought: - -"He's not ill . . . and he can't think me so ill that I'm likely to -die. . . . A fellow like that doesn't really know how to express himself. -He's trying to be kind and he doesn't know how to. . . ." - -The general had paused. He began to say: - -"But there are finer things in Marvell than that. . . ." - -Tietjens thought: - -"He's trying to gain time. . . . Why on earth should he? . . . What is -this all about?" His mind slipped a notch. The general was looking at -his finger-nails on the blanket. He said: - -"There's, for instance: - - - "'_The graves a fine and secret place - But none I think do there embrace_. . . .'" - - -At those words it came to Tietjens suddenly to think of Sylvia, with the -merest film of clothing on her long, shining limbs. . . . She was -working a powder-puff under her armpits in a brilliant illumination from -two electric lights, one on each side of her dressing-table. She was -looking at him in the glass with the corners of her lips just moving. A -little curled. . . . He said to himself: - -"One is going to that fine and secret place. . . . Why not have?" She -had emanated a perfume founded on sandalwood. As she worked her -swansdown powder-puff over those intimate regions he could hear her -humming. Maliciously! It was then that he had observed the handle of -the door moving minutely. She had incredible arms, stretched out amongst -a wilderness of besilvered cosmetics. Extraordinarily lascivious! Yet -clean! Her gilded sheath gown was about her hips on the chair. . . . - -Well! She had pulled the strings of one too many shower-baths! - -Shining; radiating glory but still shrivelled so that he reminded -Tietjens of an old apple inside a damascened helmet; the general had -seated himself once more on the bully-beef case before the blanketed -table. He fingered his very large, golden fountain-pen. He said: - -"Captain Tietjens, I should be glad of your careful attention!" - -Tietjens said: - -"Sir!" His heart stopped. - -The general said that afternoon Tietjens would receive a movement -order. He said stiffly that he must not regard this new movement order -as a disgrace. It was promotion. He, Major-General Campion, was -requesting the colonel commanding the depot to inscribe the highest -possible testimonial in his, Tietjens', small-book. He, Tietjens, had -exhibited the most extraordinary talent for finding solutions for -difficult problems.--The colonel was to write that!--In addition he, -General Campion, was requesting his friend, General Perry, commanding -the sixteenth section . . . - -Tietjens thought: - -"Good God. I am being sent up the line. He's sending me to Perry's -Army. . . . That's certain death!" - -. . . To give Tietjens the appointment of second in command of the VIth -Battalion of his regiment! - -Tietjens said, but he did not know where the words came from: - -"Colonel Partridge will not like that. He's praying for McKechnie to -come back!" - -To himself he said: - -"I shall fight this monstrous treatment of myself to my last breath." - -The general suddenly called out: - -"There you are. . . . There is another of your infernal worries. . . ." - -He put a strong check on himself, and, dryly, like the very great -speaking to the very unimportant, asked: - -"What's your medical category?" - -Tietjens said: - -"Permanent base, sir. My chest's rotten!" - -The general said: - -"I should forget that, if I were you. . . . The second in command of a -battalion has nothing to do but sit about in arm-chairs waiting for the -colonel to be killed." He added: "It's the best I can do for you. . . . -I've thought it out very carefully. It's the best I can do for you." - -Tietjens said: - -"I shall, of course, forget my category, sir. . . ." - -Of course he would never fight any treatment of himself! . . . - -There it was then: the natural catastrophe! As when, under thunder, a -dam breaks. His mind was battling with the waters. What would it pick -out as the main terror? The mud: the noise: dread always at the back of -the mind? Or the worry! The worry! Your eyebrows always had a slight -tension on them. . . . Like eye-strain! - -The general had begun, soberly: - -"You will recognize that there is nothing else that I can do." - -His answering: - -"I recognize, naturally, sir, that there is nothing else that you can -do . . ." seemed rather to irritate the general. He wanted opposition: he -_wanted_ Tietjens to argue the matter. He was the Roman father counselling -suicide to his son: but he wanted Tietjens to expostulate. So that he, -General Campion, might absolutely prove that he, Tietjens, was a -disgraceful individual. . . . It could not be done. Tietjens was not -going to give him the opportunity. The general said: - -"You will understand that I can't--no commander could!--have such things -happening in my command. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I must accept that, if you say it, sir." - -The general looked at him under his eyebrows. He said: - -"I have already told you that this is promotion. I have been much -impressed by the way you have handled this command. You are, of course, -no soldier, but you will make an admirable officer for the militia, that -is all that our troops now are. . . ." He said: "I will emphasize what I -am saying. . . . No officer could--without being militarily in the -wrong--have a private life that is as incomprehensible and embarrassing -as yours. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"He's hit it! . . ." - -The general said: - -"An officer's private life and his life on parade are as strategy to -tactics. . . . I don't want, if I can avoid it, to go into your private -affairs. It's extremely embarrassing. . . . But let me put it to you -that . . . I wish to be delicate. But you are a man of the world! . . . -Your wife is an extremely beautiful woman. . . . There has been a -scandal . . . I admit not of your making. . . . But if, on the top of -that, I appeared to show favouritism to you . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"You need not go on, sir. . . . I understand. . . ." He tried to -remember what the brooding and odious McKechnie had said . . . only two -nights ago. . . . He couldn't remember. . . . It was certainly a -suggestion that Sylvia was the general's mistress. It had then, he -remembered, seemed fantastic. . . . Well, what else _could_ they think? He -said to himself: "It absolutely blocks out my staying here!" He said -aloud: "Of course, it's my own fault. If a man so handles his womenfolk -that they get out of hand, he has only himself to blame." - -The general was going on. He pointed out that one of his predecessors -had lost that very command on account of scandals about women. He had -turned the place into a damned harem! . . . - -He burst out, looking at Tietjens with a peculiar goggle-eyed -intentness: - -"If you think I'd care about losing my command over Sylvia or any other -damned Society woman. . . ." He said: "I beg your pardon . . ." and -continued reasoningly: - -"It's the men that have to be considered. They think--and they've every -right to think it if they wish to--that a man who's a wrong 'un over -women isn't the man they can trust their lives in the hands of. . . ." -He added: "And they're probably right. . . . A man who's a real wrong -'un. . . . I don't mean who sets up a gal in a tea-shop. . . . But one -who sells his wife, or . . . At any rate, in _our_ army. . . . The French -may be different! . . . Well, a man like that usually has a yellow -streak when it comes to fighting. . . . Mind, I'm not saying always. . . . -Usually. . . . There was a fellow called . . ." - -He went off into an anecdote. . . . - -Tietjens recognized the pathos of his trying to get away from the -agonizing present moment, back to an India where it was all real -soldiering and good leather and parades that had been parades. But he -did not feel called upon to follow. He could not follow. He was going up -the line. . . . - -He occupied himself with his mind. What was it going to do? He cast back -along his military history: what had his mind done in similar moments -before? . . . But there had never been a similar moment! There had been -the sinister or repulsive-businesses of going up, getting over, standing -to--even of the casualty clearing-station! . . . But he had always been -physically keener, he had never been so depressed or overwhelmed. - -He said to the general: - -"I recognise that I cannot stop in this command. I regret it, for I have -enjoyed having this unit. . . . But does it necessarily mean the VIth -Battalion?" - -He wondered what was his own motive at the moment. Why had he asked the -general that! . . . The thing presented itself as pictures: getting down -bulkily from a high French train, at dawn. The light picked out for you -the white of large hunks of bread--half-loaves--being handed out to -troops themselves duskily invisible. . . . The ovals of light on the -hats of English troops: they were mostly West Countrymen. They did not -seem to want the bread much. . . . A long ridge of light above a wooded -bank: then suddenly, pervasively: a sound! . . . For all the world as, -sheltering from rain in a cottager's washhouse on the moors, you hear -the cottager's clothes boiling in a copper . . . Bubble . . . bubble . . . -bubbubbub . . . bubble . . . Not terribly loud--but terribly -demanding attention! . . . The Great Strafe! . . . - -The general had said: - -"If I could think of anything else to do with you, I'd do it. . . . But -all the extraordinary rows you've got into. . . . They block me -everywhere. . . . Do you realize that I have requested General O'Hara to -suspend his functions until now? . . ." - -It was amazing to Tietjens how the general mistrusted his -subordinates--as well as how he trusted them! . . . It was probably that -that made him so successful an officer. Be worked for by men that you -trust: but distrust them all the time--along certain lines of frailty: -liquor,' women, money! . . . Well, he had long knowledge of men! - -He said: - -"I admit, sir, that I misjudged General O'Hara. I have said as much to -Colonel Levin and explained why." - -The general said with a gloating irony: - -"A damn pretty pass to come to. . . . You put a general officer under -arrest. . . . Then you say you had misjudged him! . . . I am not saying -you were not performing a duty. . . ." He went on to recount the -classical case of a subaltern, cited in King's Regulations, temp. -William IV, who was court-martialled and broken for not putting under -arrest his colonel who came drunk on to parade. ... He was exhibiting -his sensuous delight in misplaced erudition. - -Tietjens heard himself say with great slowness: - -"I absolutely deny, sir, that I put General O'Hara under arrest! I have -gone into the matter very minutely with Colonel Levin." - -The general burst out: - -"By God! I had taken that woman to be a saint. . . . I swear she is a -saint. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"There is no accusation against Mrs. Tietjens, sir!" - -The general said: - -"By God, there is!" - -Tietjens said: - -"I am prepared to take all the blame, sir." - -The general said: - -"You shan't. . . . I am determined to get to the bottom of all this. . . . -You have treated your wife damn badly. . . . You admit to that. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"With great want of consideration, sir. . . ." - -The general said: - -"You have been living practically on terms of separation from her for a -number of years? You don't deny that was on account of your own -misbehaviour. For how many years?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I don't know, sir. . . . Six or seven!" - -The general said sharply: - -"Think, then. . . . It began when you admitted to me that you had been -sold up because you kept a girl in a tobacco-shop? That was at Rye in -1912. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"We have not been on terms since 1912, sir." - -The general said: - -"But why? . . . She's a most beautiful woman. She's adorable. What could -you want better? . . . She's the mother of your child. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Is it necessary to go into all this, sir? . . . Our differences were -caused by . . . by differences of temperament. She, as you say, is a -beautiful and reckless woman. . . . Reckless in an admirable way. I, on -the other hand . . ." - -The general exclaimed: - -"Yes! that's just it. . . . What the hell are you? . . . You're not a -soldier. You've got the makings of a damn good soldier. You amaze me at -times. Yet you're a disaster; you are a disaster to every one who has to -do with you. You are as conceited as a hog; you are as obstinate as a -bullock. . . . You drive me mad. . . . And you have ruined the life of -that beautiful woman. . . . For I maintain she once had the disposition -of a saint. . . . Now: I'm waiting for your explanation!" - -Tietjens said: - -"In civilian life, sir, I was a statistician. Second secretary to the -Department of Statistics. . . ." - -The general exclaimed convictingly: - -"And they've thrown you out of that! Because of the mysterious rows you -made. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Because, sir, I was in favour of the single command. . . ." - -The general began a long wrangle: "But why were you? What the hell had -it got to do with you?" Couldn't Tietjens have given the Department the -statistics they wanted--even if it meant faking them? What was -discipline for if subordinates were to act on their consciences? The home -Government had wanted statistics faked in order to dish the Allies. . . . -Well . . . Was Tietjens French or English? Every damn thing -Tietjens did . . . Every _damn_ thing, made it more impossible to do -anything for him! With his attainments he ought to be attached to the -staff of the French Commander-in-Chief. But that was forbidden in his, -Tietjens', confidential report. There was an underlined note in it to -that effect Where else, then, in Heaven's name, could Tietjens be sent -to? He looked at Tietjens with intent blue eyes: - -"Where else, in God's name . . . I am not using the Almighty's name -blasphemously . . . _can_ you be sent to? I _know_ it's probably death -to send you up the line--in your condition of health. And to poor -Perry's Army. The Germans will be through it the minute the weather -breaks." - -He began again: "You understand: I'm not the War Office. I can't send -any officer anywhere. I can't send you to Malta or India. Or to other -commands in France. I can send you home--in disgrace. I can send you to -your own battalion. On promotion! . . . Do you understand my -situation? . . . I have no alternative." - -Tietjens said: - -"Not altogether, sir." - -The general swallowed and wavered from side to side. He said: - -"For God's sake, try to. . . . I am genuinely concerned for you. I -won't--I'm damned if I will!--let it appear that you're disgraced. . . . -If you were McKechnie himself I wouldn't! The only really good jobs I've -got to give away are on my own staff. I can't have you there. Because of -the men. At the same time . . ." - -He paused and said with a ponderous shyness: - -"I believe there's a God. . . . I believe that, though wrong may -flourish, right will triumph in the end! . . . If a man is innocent, his -innocence will one day appear. . . . In a humble way I want to . . . -help Providence. . . . I want some one to be able one day to say: -'_General Campion, who knew the ins and outs of the affair_ . . .' -promoted you! In the middle of it. . . ." He said: "It isn't much. But -it's not nepotism. I would do as much for any man in your position." - -Tietjens said: - -"It's at least the act of a Christian gentleman!" - -A certain lack-lustre joy appeared in the general's eyes. He said: - -"I'm not used to this sort of situation. . . . I hope I've always tried -to help my junior officers. . . . But a case like this. . . ." He said: - -"Damn it. . . . The general commanding the 9th French Army is an -intimate friend of mine. . . . But in face of your confidential -report--I _can't_ ask him to ask for you. That's blocked!" - -Tietjens said: - -"I do not propose, sir, at any rate in your eyes, to pass as putting the -interests of any power before those of my own country. If you examine my -confidential report you will find that the unfavourable insertions are -initialled _G. D._ . . . They are the initials of a Major Drake. . . ." - -The general said bewilderingly: - -"Drake . . . Drake . . . I've heard the name." - -Tietjens said: - -"It doesn't matter, sir. . . . Major Drake's a gentleman who doesn't -like me. . . ." - -The general said: - -"There are so many. You don't try to make yourself popular, I must say!" - -Tietjens said to himself: - -"The old fellow feels it! . . . But he can hardly expect me to tell him -that Sylvia thinks Drake was the father of my own son, and desires my -ruin!" But of course the old man _would_ feel it. He, Tietjens, and his -wife Sylvia, were as near a son and daughter as the old man had. The -obvious answer to make to the old man's query as to where he, Tietjens, -ought to be sent was to remind him that his brother Mark had had an -order put through to the effect that Tietjens was to be put in command -of divisional transport. . . . _Could_ he remind the old man of that? Was -it a thing one could do? - -Yet the idea of commanding divisional transport was like a vision of -Paradise to Tietjens. For two reasons: it was relatively safe, being -concerned with a lot of horses . . . and the knowledge that he had that -employment would put Valentine Wannop's mind at rest. - -Paradise! . . . But _could_ one wangle out of a hard into a soft job? -Some other poor devil very likely wanted it. On the other hand--think -of Valentine Wannop! He imagined her torture of mind, wandering about -London, thinking of him in the very worst spot of a doomed army. She -would get to hear of that. Sylvia would tell her! He would bet Sylvia -would ring her up and tell her. Imagine, then, writing to Mark to say -that he was with the transport! Mark would pass it on to the girl within -half a minute. Why . . . he, Tietjens, would wire. He imagined himself -scribbling the wire while the general talked and giving it to an orderly -the moment the talk was over. . . . But _could_ he put the idea into the -old man's head? _Is_ it done? . . . Would, say . . . say, an Anglican -saint do it? - -And then . . . Was he up to the job? What about the accursed obsession -of O Nine Morgan that intermittently jumped on him? All the while he had -been riding Schomburg the day before, O Nine Morgan had seemed to be -just before the coffin-headed brute's off-shoulder. The animal must -fall! . . . He had had the passionate impulse to pull up the horse. And -all the time a dreadful depression! A weight! In the hotel last night he -had nearly fainted over the thought that Morgan might have been the man -whose life he had spared at Noircourt. . . . It was getting to be a -serious matter! It might mean that there was a crack in his, Tietjens', -brain. A lesion! If that was to go on . . . O Nine Morgan, dirty as he -always was, and with the mystified eyes of the subject races on his -face, rising up before his horse's off-shoulder! But alive, not with -half his head cut away. . . . If that was to go on he would not be fit -to deal with transport, which meant a great deal of riding. - -But he would chance that. . . . Besides, some damn fool of a literary -civilian had been writing passionate letters to the papers insisting -that all horses and mules must be abolished in the army. . . . Because -of their pestilence-spreading dung! ... It might be decreed by A.C.I. -that no more horses were to be used! . . . Imagine taking battalion -supplies down by night with motor lorries, which was what that genius -desired to see done! . . . - -He remembered once or twice--it must have been in September, '16--having -had the job of taking battalion transport down from Locre to B.H.Q., -which were in the château of Kemmell village. . . . You muffled every -bit of metal you could think of: bits, trace-chains, axles . . . and -_yet_, whilst you hardly breathed, in the thick darkness some damn thing -would always chink and jolt: beef tins made a noise of old iron. . . . -And _bang_, after the long whine, would come the German shell, -registered exactly on to the corner of the road where it went down by -the shoulder of the hill: where the placards were ordering you not to go -more than two men together. . . . Imagine doing it with lorries, that -could be heard five miles away! . . . The battalion would go pretty -short of rations! . . . The same anti-chevaline genius had emitted the -sentiment that he had rather the Allies lost the war than that cavalry -should distinguish themselves in any engagement! . . . A wonderful -passion for the extermination of dung . . .! Or perhaps this hatred of -the horse was social. . . . Because the cavalry wear long moustaches -dripping with Macassar oil and breakfast off caviare, chocolate and -Pommery Greno they must be abolished! . . . Something like that. . . . -He exclaimed: "By God! How my mind wanders! How long will it go on?" He -said: "I am at the end of my tether." He had missed what the general had -said for some time. - -The general said: - -"Well. Has he?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I didn't catch, sir!" - -"Are you deaf?" the general asked. "I'm sure I speak plain enough. -You've just said there are no horses attached to this camp. I asked you -if there is not a horse for the colonel commanding the depot. . . . A -German horse, I understand!" - -Tietjens said to himself: - -"Great heavens! I've been talking to him. What in the world about?" It -was as if his mind were falling off a hillside. He said: - -"Yes, sir . . . Schomburg. But as that's a German prisoner, captured on -the Marne, it is not on our strength. It is the private property of the -colonel. I ride it myself. . . ." - -The general exclaimed dryly: - -"You _would_. . . ." He added more dryly still: "Are you aware that -there is a hell of a strafe put in against you by a R.A.S.C. -second-lieutenant called Hotchkiss? . . ." - -Tietjens said quickly: - -"If it's over Schomburg, sir . . . it's a washout. Lieutenant Hotchkiss -has no more right to give orders about him than as to where I shall -sleep. . . . And I would rather die than subject any horse for which I -am responsible to the damnable torture Hotchkiss and that swine Lord -Beichan want to inflict on service horses. . . ." - -The general said maleficently: - -"It looks as if you damn well will die on that account!" - -He added: "You're perfectly right to object to wrong treatment of -horses. But in this case your objection blocks the only other job open -to you." He quietened himself a little. "You are probably not aware," he -went on, "that your brother Mark . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"Yes, I am aware . . ." - -The general said: "Do you know that the 19th Division to which your -brother wants you sent is attached to Fourth Army now--and it's Fourth -Army horses that Hotchkiss is to play with? . . . How could I send you -there to be under his orders?" - -Tietjens said: - -"That's perfectly correct, sir. There is nothing else that you can -do. . . ." He was finished. There was now nothing left but to find out how -his mind was going to take it. He wished they could go to his cook-houses! - -The general said: - -"What was I saying? . . . I'm dreadfully tired. . . . No one could stand -this. . . ." He drew from inside his tunic a lapis-lazuli coloured, -small be-coroneted note-case and selected from it a folded paper that he -first looked at and then slipped between his belt and his tunic. He -said: "On top of all the responsibility I have to bear!" He asked: "Has -it occurred to you that, if I'm of any service to the country, your -taking up my energy--_sapping_ my energy over your affairs!--is aiding -your country's enemies? . . . I can only afford four hours' sleep as it -is. . . . I've got some questions to ask you. . . ." He referred to the -slip of paper from his belt, folded it again and again slipped it into -his belt. - -Tietjens' mind missed a notch again. . . . It _was_ the fear of the mud -that was going to obsess him. Yet, curiously, he had never been under -heavy fire in mud. . . . You would think that would not have -obsessed him. But in his ear he had just heard uttered in a whisper of -intense weariness, the words: _Es ist nicht zu ertragen; es ist das dasz -uns verloren hat_ . . . words in German, of utter despair, meaning: It -is unbearable: it is that has ruined us. . . . The mud! . . . He -had heard those words, standing amidst volcano craters of mud, amongst -ravines, monstrosities of slime, cliffs and distances, all of slime. . . . -He had been going, for curiosity or instruction, from Verdun where he -had been attached to the French--on a holiday afternoon when nothing was -doing, with a guide, to visit one of the outlying forts. . . . -Deaumont? . . . No, Douaumont. . . . Taken from the enemy about a week -before. . . . When would that be? He had lost all sense of -chronology. . . . In November. . . . A beginning of some November. . . . -With a miracle of sunshine: not a cloud: the mud towering up shut you in -intimately with a sky that ached for limpidity. . . . And the slime had -moved . . . following a French bombardier who was strolling along eating -nuts, disreputably, his shoulders rolling. . . . _Déserteurs_. . . . The -moving slime was German deserters. . . . You could not see them: the -leader of them--an officer!--had his glasses so thick with mud that you -could not see the colour of his eyes, and his half-dozen decorations were -like the beginnings of swallows' nests, his beard like stalactites. . . . -Of the other men you could only see the eyes--extraordinarily -vivid: mostly blue like the sky! . . . Deserters! Led by an officer! Of -the Hamburg Regiment! As if an officer of the Buffs had gone over! . . . -It was incredible. . . . And that was what the officer had said as he -passed: not shamefacedly, but without any humanity left in him . . . -_Done_! . . . Those moving saurians compacted of slime kept on passing -him afterwards, all the afternoon. . . . And he could not help picturing -their immediate antecedents for two months. . . . In advanced -pill-boxes. . . . No, they didn't have pill-boxes then. . . . In -advanced pockets of mud, in dreadful solitude amongst those ravines. . . . -suspended in eternity, at the last day of the world. And it had -horribly shocked him to hear again the German language a rather soft -voice, a little suety. . . . Like an obscene whisper. . . . The voice -obviously of the damned: hell could hold nothing curious for those poor -beasts. . . . His French guide had said sardonically: _On dirait -l'Inferno de Dante_! . . . Well, those Germans were getting back on him. -They were now to become an obsession! A complex, they said nowadays. . . . -The general said coolly: - -"I presume you refuse to answer?" - -That shook him cruelly. - -He said desperately: - -"I had to end what I took to be an unbearable position for both parties. -In the interests of my son!" Why in the world had he said that? . . . He -was going to be sick. It came back to him that the general had been -talking of his separation from Sylvia. Last night that had happened. He -said: "I may have been right: I may have been wrong. . . ." - -The general said icily: - -"If you don't choose to go into it. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I would prefer not to. . . ." - -The general said: - -"There is no end to this. . . . But there are questions it's my duty to -ask. . . . If you do not wish to go into your marital relations, I -cannot force you. . . . But, damn it, are you sane? Are you responsible? -Do you intend to get Miss Wannop to live with you before the war is -over? Is she, perhaps, here, in this town, now? Is that your reason for -separating from Sylvia? Now, of all times in the world!" - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir. I ask you to believe that I have absolutely no relations with -that young lady. None! I have no intention of having any. None! . . ." - -The general said: - -"I believe that!" - -"Circumstances last night," Tietjens said, "convinced me suddenly, -there, on the spot, that I had been wronging my wife. . . . I had been -putting a strain on the lady that was unwarrantable. It humiliates me to -have to say it! I had taken a certain course for the sake of the future -of our child. But it was an atrociously wrong course. We ought to have -separated years ago. It has led to the lady's pulling the strings of all -these shower-baths. . . ." - -The general said: - -"Pulling the . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"It expresses it, sir. . . . Last night was nothing but pulling the -string of a shower-bath. Perfectly justifiable. I maintain that it was -perfectly justifiable." - -The general said: - -"Then why have you given her Groby? . . . You're not a little soft, are -you? . . . You don't imagine you've . . . say, got a mission? Or that -you're another person? . . . That you have to . . . to forgive. . . ." -He took off his pretty hat and wiped his forehead with a tiny cambric -handkerchief. He said: "Your poor mother was a little . . ." - -He said suddenly: - -"To-night when you are coming to my dinner . . . I hope you'll be -decent. Why do you so neglect your personal appearance? Your tunic is a -disgusting spectacle. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I had a better tunic, sir . . . but it has been ruined by the blood of -the man who was killed here last night . . ." - -The general said: - -"You don't say you have only two tunics? . . . Have you no mess -clothes?" - -Tietjens said: - -"Yes, sir, I've my blue things. I shall be all right for to-night. . . . -But almost everything else I possessed was stolen from my kit when I was -in hospital. . . . Even Sylvia's two pair of sheets. . . ." - -"But hang it all," the general exclaimed, "you don't mean to say you've -spaffled all your father left you?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I thought fit to refuse what my father left me owing to the way it was -left. . . ." - -The general said: - -"But, good God! . . . Read that!" He tossed the small sheet of paper at -which he had been looking across the table. It fell face downwards. -Tietjens read, in the minute handwriting of the general's: - -"Colonel's horse: Sheets: Jesus Christ: Wannop girl: Socialism?" - -The general said irritably: - -"The other side . . . the other side. . . ." - -The other side of the paper displayed the words in large capitals: -WORKERS OF THE WORLD, a wood-cut of a sickle and some other objects. -Then high treason for a page. - -The general said: - -"Have you ever seen anything like that before? Do you know what it is?" - -Tietjens answered: - -"Yes, sir. I sent that to you. To your Intelligence. . . ." - -The general thumped both his fists violently on the army blanket: - -"You . . ." he said. "It's incomprehensible. . . . It's incredible. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir. . . . You sent out an order asking commanders of units to -ascertain what attempts were being made by Socialists to undermine the -discipline of their other ranks. . . . I naturally asked my -sergeant-major, and he produced this sheet, which one of the men had -given to him as a curiosity. It had been handed to the man in the street -in London. You can see my initials on the top of the sheet!" - -The general said: - -"You . . . you'll excuse me, but you're not a Socialist yourself? . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I knew you were working round to that, sir: But I've no politics that -did not disappear in the eighteenth century. You, sir, prefer the -seventeenth!" - -"Another shower-bath, I suppose," the general said. - -"Of course," Tietjens said, "if it's Sylvia that called me a Socialist, -it's not astonishing. I'm a Tory of such an extinct type that she might -take me for anything. The last megatherium. She's absolutely to be -excused. . . ." - -The general was not listening. He said: - -"What was wrong with the way your father left his money to you? . . ." - -"My father," Tietjens said--the general saw his jaw stiffen--"committed -suicide because a fellow called Ruggles told him that I was . . . what -the French called _maquereau_ . . . I can't think of the English word. -My father's suicide was not an act that can be condoned. A gentleman -does not commit suicide when he has descendants. It might influence my -boy's life very disastrously. . . ." - -The general said: - -"I can't . . . I _can't_ get to the bottom of all this. . . . What in -the world did Ruggles want to go and tell your father that for? . . . -What are you going to do for a living after the war? They won't take you -back into your office, will they?" - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir. The Department will not take me back. Every one who has served -in this war will be a marked man for a long time after it is over. -That's proper enough. _We're_ having our fun now." - -The general said: - -"You say the wildest things." - -Tietjens answered: - -"You generally find the things I say come true, sir. Could we get this -over? Ruggles told my father what he did because it is not a good thing -to belong to the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries in the twentieth. -Or really, because it is not good to have taken one's public-school's -ethical system seriously. I am really, sir, the English public -schoolboy. That's an eighteenth-century product. What with the love of -truth that--God help me!--they rammed into me at Clifton and the belief -Arnold forced upon Rugby that the vilest of sins--the vilest of all -sins--is to peach to the head master! That's me, sir. Other men get over -their schooling. I never have. I remain adolescent. These things are -obsessions with me. Complexes, sir!" - -The general said: - -"All this seems to be very wild. . . . What's this about peaching to a -head master?" - -Tietjens said: - -"For a swan song, it's not wild, sir. You're asking for a swan song. I -am to go up into the line so that the morals of the troops in your -command may not be contaminated by the contemplation of my marital -infelicities." - -The general said: - -"You don't want to go back to England, do you?" - -Tietjens exclaimed: - -"Certainly not! Very certainly not! I can never go home. I have to go -underground somewhere. If I went back to England there would be nothing -for me but going underground by suicide." - -The general said: - -"You see all that? I can give you testimonials. . . ." - -Tietjens asked: - -"Who couldn't see that it's impossible?" - -The general said: - -"But . . . suicide! You won't do that. As you said: think of your son." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir. I shan't do that. But you see how bad for one's descendants -suicide is. That is why I do not forgive my father. Before he did it I -should never have contemplated the idea. Now I have contemplated it. -That's a weakening of the moral fibre. It's contemplating a fallacy as a -possibility. For suicide is no remedy for a twisted situation of a -psychological kind. It is for bankruptcy. Or for military disaster. For -the man of action, not for the thinker. Creditors' meetings wipe the one -out. Military operations sweep on. But my problem will remain the same -whether I'm here or not. For it's insoluble. It's the whole problem of -the relations of the sexes." - -The general said: - -"Good God! . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir, I've not gone off my chump. That's my problem! . . . But I'm a -fool to talk so much. . . . It's because I don't know what to say." - -The general sat staring at the tablecloth: his face was suffused with -blood. He had the appearance of a man in monstrous ill-humour. He said: - -"You had better say what you want to say. What the devil do you mean? . . . -What's this all about? . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"I'm enormously sorry, sir. It's difficult to make myself plain." - -The general said: - -"Neither of us do. What is language for? What the _hell_ is language -for? We go round and round. I suppose I'm an old fool who cannot -understand your modern ways . . . But you're not modern. I'll do you -_that_ justice. . . . That beastly little McKechnie is modern. . . . I -shall ram him into your divisional-transport job, so that he won't -incommode you in your battalion. . . . Do you understand what the little -beast did? He got leave to go and get a divorce. And then did not get a -divorce. _That's_ modernism. He said he had scruples. I understand that -he and his wife and . . . some dirty other fellow . . . slept three in a -bed. That's modern scruples. . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir, it's not really. . . . But what is a man to do if his wife is -unfaithful to him?" - -The general said as if it were an insult: - -"Divorce the harlot! Or live with her! . . ." Only a beast, he went on, -would expect a woman to live all her life alone in a cockloft! She's -bound to die. Or go on the streets. . . . What sort of a fellow wouldn't -see that? Was there any sort of beast who'd expect a woman to live . . . -with a man beside her. . . . Why, she'd . . . she'd be bound to. . . . -He'd have to take the consequences of whatever happened. The general -repeated: "Whatever happened! If she pulled all the strings of all the -shower-baths in the world!" - -Tietjens said: - -"Still, sir . . . there are . . . there used to be . . . in families -of . . . position . . . a certain . . ." He stopped. - -The general said: - -"Well . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"On the part of the man . . . a certain . . . Call it . . . parade!" - -The general said: - -"Then there had better be no more parades. . . ." He said: "Damn it! . . . -Beside us, all women are saints. . . . Think of what child-bearing is. -I know the world. . . . Who would stand that? . . . You? . . . I . . . -I'd rather be the last poor devil in Perry's lines!" - -He looked at Tietjens with a sort of injurious cunning: - -"Why _don't_ you divorce?" he asked. - -Panic came over Tietjens. He knew it would be his last panic of that -interview. No brain could stand more. Fragments of scenes of fighting, -voices, names, went before his eyes and ears. Elaborate problems. . . . -The whole map of the embattled world ran out in front of him-as large as -a field. An embossed map in greenish _papier mâché_--a ten-acre field -of embossed _papier mâché_: with the blood of O Nine Morgan blurring -luminously over it. Years before . . . How many months? . . . Nineteen, -to be exact, he had sat on some tobacco plants on the Mont de Kats. . . . -No, the Montagne Noire. In Belgium. . . . What had he been doing? . . . -Trying to get the lie of the land. . . . No. . . . Waiting to point -out positions to some fat home general who had never come. The Belgian -proprietor of the tobacco plants had arrived, and had screamed his head -off over the damaged plants. . . . - -But, up there you saw the whole war. . . . Infinite miles away, over the -sullied land that the enemy forces held: into Germany proper. Presumably -you could breathe in Germany proper. . . . Over your right shoulder you -could see a stump of a tooth. The Cloth Hall at Ypres: at an angle of -50° below. . . . Dark lines behind it. . . . The German trenches before -Wytschaete! ... - -That was before the great mines had blown Wytschaete to hell. . . . - -But--every half-minute by his wrist-watch--white puffs of cotton-wool -existed on the dark lines--the German trenches before Wytschaete. Our -artillery practice. . . . Good shooting. Jolly good shooting! - -Miles and miles away to the left . . . beneath the haze of light that, -on a clouded day, the sea threw off, a shaft of sunlight fell, and was -reflected in a grey blur. . . . It was the glass roofs of a great -airplane shelter! - -A great plane, the largest he had then seen, was moving over, behind his -back, with four little planes as an escort. . . . Over the vast -slag-heaps by Béthune. . . . High, purplish-blue heaps, like the steam -domes of engines or the breasts of women. . . . Bluish purple. More blue -than purple. . . . Like all Franco-Belgian Gobelins tapestry. . . . And -all quiet. . . . Under the vast pall of quiet cloud! . . . - -There were shells dropping in Poperinghe. . . . Five miles out, under -his nose. . . . The shells dropped. White vapour rose and ran away in -plumes. . . . What sort of shells? . . . There were twenty different -kinds of shells. . . . - -The Huns were shelling Poperinghe! A senseless cruelty. It was five -miles behind the line! Prussian brutality. . . . There were two girls -who kept a tea-shop in Poperinghe. . . . High coloured. . . . General -Plumer had liked them . . . a fine old general. . . . The shells had -killed them both . . . Any man might have slept with either of them with -pleasure and profit. . . . Six thousand of H.M. officers must have -thought the same about those high-coloured girls. Good girls! . . . But -the Hun shells got them. . . . What sort of fate was that? . . . To be -desired by six thousand men and smashed into little gobbets of flesh by -Hun shells? - -It appeared to be mere Prussianism--the senseless cruelty of the -Hun!--to shell Poperinghe. An innocent town with a tea-shop five miles -behind Ypres. . . . Little noiseless plumes of smoke rising under the -quiet blanketing of the pale maroon skies, with the haze from the -aeroplane shelters, and the great aeroplanes over the Béthune -slag-heaps. . . . What a dreadful name--Béthune. . . . - -Probably, however, the Germans had heard that we were massing men in -Poperinghe. It was reasonable to shell a town where men were being -assembled. . . . Or we might have been shelling one of their towns with -an Army H.Q. in it. So they shelled Poperinghe in the silent grey -day. . . . - -That was according to the rules of the service. . . . General Campion, -accepting with equanimity what German airplanes did to the hospitals, -camps, stables, brothels, theatres, boulevards, chocolate stalls and -hotels of his town would have been vastly outraged if Hun planes had -dropped bombs on his private lodgings. . . . The rules of war! . . . You -spare, mutually, each other's headquarters and blow to pieces girls that -are desired by six thousand men apiece. . . . - -That had been nineteen months before! . . . Now, having lost so much -emotion, he saw the embattled world as a map. . . . An embossed map of -greenish _papier mâché_. The blood of O Nine Morgan was blurring -luminously over it. At the extreme horizon was territory labelled _White -Ruthenians_! Who the devil were _those_ poor wretches? - -He exclaimed to himself: "By heavens! Is this epilepsy?" He prayed: -"Blessed saints, get me spared that!" He exclaimed: "No, it isn't! . . . -I've complete control of my mind. My uppermost mind." He said to the -general: - -"I can't divorce, sir. I've no grounds." - -The general said: - -"Don't lie. You know what Thurston knows. Do you mean that you have been -guilty of contributory misconduct. . . . Whatever it is? And can't -divorce! I don't believe it." - -Tietjens said to himself: - -"_Why_ the devil am I so anxious to shield that whore? It's not -reasonable. It is an obsession!" - -White Ruthenians are miserable peoples to the south of Lithuania. You -don't know whether they incline to the Germans or to the Poles. The -Germans don't even know. . . . The Germans were beginning to take their -people out of the line where we were weak: they were going to give them -proper infantry training. That gave him, Tietjens, a chance. They would -not come over strong for at least two months. It meant, though, a great -offensive in the spring. Those fellows had sense. In the poor, beastly -trenches the Tommies knew nothing but how to chuck bombs. Both sides did -that. But the Germans were going to cure it! Stood chucking bombs at -each other from forty yards. The rifle was obsolete! Ha! ha! -Obsolete! . . . The civilian psychology! - -The general said: - -"No I don't believe it. I know you did not keep any girl in any -tobacco-shop. I remember every word you said at Rye in 1912. I wasn't -sure then. I am now. You tried to let me think it. You had shut up your -house because of your wife's misbehaviour. You let me believe you had -been sold up. You weren't sold up at all." - -. . . _Why_ should it be the civilian psychology to chuckle with -delight, uproariously, when the imbecile idea was promulgated that the -rifle was obsolete? _Why_ should public opinion force on the War Office -a training-camp course that completely cut out any thorough instruction -in the rifle and communication drill? It was queer. . . . It was of -course disastrous. Queer. Not altogether mean. Pathetic, too. . . . - -"Love of truth!" the general said. "Doesn't that include a hatred for -white lies? No; I suppose it doesn't, or your servants could not say you -were not at home. . . ." - -. . . Pathetic! Tietjens said to himself. Naturally the civilian -population wanted soldiers to be made to look like fools: and to be done -in. They wanted the war won by men who would at the end be either -humiliated or dead. Or both. Except, naturally, their own cousins or -fiancées' relatives. That was what it came to. That was what it meant -when important gentlemen said that they had rather the war were lost -than that cavalry should gain any distinction in it! . . . But it was -partly the simple, pathetic illusion of the day that great things could -only be done by new inventions. You extinguished the Horse, invented -something very simple and became God! That is the real pathetic fallacy. -You fill a flower-pot with gunpowder and chuck it in the other fellow's -face, and heigh presto! the war is won. _All_ the soldiers fall down -dead! And You: you who forced the idea on the reluctant military, are -the Man that Won the War. You deserve all the women in the world. And . . . -you get them! Once the cavalry are out of the way! . . . - -The general was using the words: - -"Head master!" It brought Tietjens completely back. - -He said collectedly: - -"Really, sir, why this strafe of yours is so terribly long is that it -embraces the whole of life." - -The general said: - -"You're not going to drag a red herring across the trail. . . . I say -you regarded me as a head master in 1912. Now I am your commanding -officer--which is the same thing. You must not peach to me. That's what -you call the Arnold of Rugby touch. . . . But who was it said: _Magna -est veritas et prev_ . . . _Prev_ something?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I don't remember, sir." - -The general said: - -"What was the secret grief your mother had? In 1912? She died of it. She -wrote to me just before her death and said she had great troubles. And -begged me to look after you, very specially! Why did she do that?" He -paused and meditated. He asked: "How do you define Anglican sainthood? -The other fellows have canonizations, all shipshape like Sandhurst -examinations. But us Anglicans . . . I've heard fifty persons say your -mother was a saint. She was. But why?" - -Tietjens said: - -"It's the quality of harmony, sir. The quality of being in harmony with -your own soul. God having given you your own soul you are then in -harmony with Heaven." - -The general said: - -"Ah, that's beyond me. . . . I suppose you will refuse any money I leave -you in my will?" - -Tietjens said: - -"Why, no, sir." - -The general said: - -"But you refused your father's money. Because he believed things against -you. What's the difference?" - -Tietjens said: - -"One's friends ought to believe that one is a gentleman. Automatically. -That is what makes one and them in harmony. Probably your friends are -your friends because they look at situations automatically as you look -at them. . . . Mr. Ruggles knew that I was hard up. He envisaged the -situation. If he were hard up, what would he do? Make a living out of -the immoral earnings of women. . . . That translated into the Government -circles in which he lives means selling your wife or mistress. Naturally -he believed that I was the sort of fellow to sell my wife. So that's -what he told my father. The point is, my father should not have believed -him." - -"But I . . ." the general said. - -Tietjens said: - -"You never believed anything against me, sir." - -The general said: - -"I know I've damn well worried myself to death over you . . ." - -Tietjens was sentimentally at rest, still with wet eyes. He was walking -near Salisbury in a grove, regarding long pastures and ploughlands -running to dark, high elms from which, embowered. . . . Embowered was -the word!--peeped the spire of George Herbert's church. . . . One ought -to be a seventeenth-century parson at the time of the renaissance of -Anglican saintliness . . . who, wrote, perhaps poems. No, not poems. -Prose. The statelier vehicle! - -That was home-sickness! . . . He himself was never to go home! - -The general said: - -"Look here. . . . Your father. . . . I'm concerned about your father. . . . -Didn't Sylvia perhaps tell him some of the things that distressed him?" - -Tietjens said distinctly: - -"No, sir. That responsibility cannot be put on to Sylvia. My father -chose to believe things that were said against me by a perfect--or a -nearly perfect--stranger. . . ." He added: "As a matter of fact, Sylvia -and my father were not on any sort of terms. I don't believe they -exchanged two words for the last five years of my father's life." - -The general's eyes were fixed with an extreme hardness on Tietjens'. He -watched Tietjens' face, beginning with the edges round the nostrils, go -chalk white. He said: "He knows he's given his wife away! . . . Good -God!" With his face colourless, Tietjens' eyes of porcelain-blue stuck -out extraordinarily. The general thought: "What an ugly fellow! His face -is all crooked!" They remained looking at each other. - -In the silence the voices of men talking over the game of House came as -a murmur to them. A rudimentary card game monstrously in favour of the -dealer. When you heard voices going on like that you knew they were -playing House. . . . So they had had their dinners. - -The general said: - -"It isn't Sunday, is it?" - -Tietjens said: - -"No, sir; Thursday, the seventeenth, I think, of January. . . ." - -The general said: - -"Stupid of me. . . ." - -The men's voices had reminded him of church bells on a Sunday. And of -his youth. . . . He was sitting beside Mrs. Tietjens' hammock under the -great cedar at the corner of the stone house at Groby. The wind being -from the east-north-east the bells of Middlesbrough came to them -faintly. Mrs. Tietjens was thirty; he himself thirty; Tietjens--the -father--thirty-five or so. A most powerful, quiet man. A wonderful -landowner. Like his predecessors for generations. It was not from him -that this fellow got his . . . his . . . his what? . . . Was it -mysticism? . . . Another word! He himself home on leave from India: his -head full of polo. Talking for hours about points in ponies with -Tietjens' father, who was a wonderful hand with a horse. . . . But this -fellow was much more wonderful! . . . Well, he got that from the sire, -not the dam! . . . He and Tietjens continued to look at each other. It -was as if they were hypnotized. The men's voices went on in a mournful -cadence. The general supposed that he too must be pale. He said to -himself: "This fellow's mother died of a broken heart in 1912. The -father committed suicide five years after. He had not spoken to the -son's wife for four or five years! That takes us back to 1912. . . . -Then, when I strafed him in Rye, the wife was in France with Perowne." - -He looked down at the blanket on the table. He intended again to look up -at Tietjens' eyes with ostentatious care. That was his technique with -men. He was a successful general because he knew men. He knew that all -men will go to hell over three things: alcohol, money . . . and sex. -This fellow apparently hadn't. Better for him if he had! He thought: - -"It's all gone . . . mother! father! Groby! This fellow's down and out. -It's a bit thick." - -He thought: - -"But he's right to do as he is doing." - -He prepared to look at Tietjens. . . . He stretched out a sudden, -ineffectual hand. Sitting on his beef-case, his hands on his knees, -Tietjens had lurched. A sudden lurch--as an old house lurches when it is -hit by a H.E. shell. It stopped at that. Then he righted himself. He -continued to stare direct at the general. The general looked carefully -back. He said--very carefully too: - -"In case I decide to contest West Cleveland, it is your wish that I -should make Groby my headquarters?" - -Tietjens said: - -"I beg, sir, that you will!" - -It was as if they both heaved an enormous sigh of relief. The general -said: - -"Then I need not keep you. . . ." - -Tietjens stood on his feet, wanly, but with his heels together. - -The general also rose, settling his belt He said: - -". . . You can fall out." - -Tietjens said: - -"My cook-houses, sir. . . . Sergeant-Cook Case will be very -disappointed. . . . He told me that you couldn't find anything wrong if -I gave him ten minutes to prepare. . . ." - -The general said: - -"Case. . . . Case. . . . Case was in the drums when we were at Delhi. He -ought to be at least Quartermaster by now. . . . But he had a woman he -called his sister . . ." - -Tietjens said: - -"He still sends money to his sister." - -The general said: - -". . . He went absent over her when he was colour-sergeant and was -reduced to the ranks. . . . Twenty years ago that must be! . . . Yes, -I'll see your dinners!" - - -In the cook-house, brilliantly accompanied by Colonel Levin, the -cook-house spotless with limed walls and mirrors that were the tops of -camp-cookers, the general, Tietjens at his side, walked between -goggle-eyed men in white who stood to attention holding ladles. Their -eyes bulged, but the corners of their lips curved because they liked the -general and his beautifully unconcerned companions. The cook-house was -like a cathedral's nave, aisles being divided off by the pipes of -stoves. The floor was of coke-brise shining under french polish and -turpentine. - -The building paused, as when a godhead descends. In breathless focusing -of eyes the godhead, frail and shining, walked with short steps up to a -high-priest who had a walrus moustache and, with seven medals on his -Sunday tunic, gazed away into eternity. The general tapped the -sergeant's Good Conduct ribbon with the heel of his crop. All stretched -ears heard him say: - -"How's your sister, Case? . . ." - -Gazing away, the sergeant said: - -"I'm thinking of making her Mrs. Case . . ." - -Slightly leaving him, in the direction of high, varnished, pitch-pine -panels, the general said: - -"I'll recommend you for a Quartermaster's commission any day you -wish. . . . Do you remember Sir Garnet inspecting field kitchens at -Quetta?" - -All the white tubular beings with global eyes resembled the pierrots of -a child's Christmas nightmare. The general said: "Stand at ease, men. . . . -Stand easy!" They moved as white objects move in a childish dream. -It was all childish. Their eyes rolled. - -Sergeant Case gazed away into infinite distance. - -"My sister would not like it, sir," he said. "I'm better off as a -first-class warrant officer!" - -With his light step the shining general went swiftly to the varnished -panels in the eastern aisle of the cathedral. The white figure beside -them became instantly tubular, motionless and global-eyed. On the panels -were painted: TEA! SUGAR! SALT! CURRY PDR! FLOUR! PEPPER! - -The general tapped with the heel of his crop on the locker-panel -labelled PEPPER: the top, right-hand locker-panel. He said to the -tubular, global-eyed white figure beside it: "Open that, will you, my -man? . . ." - - -To Tietjens this was like the sudden bursting out of the regimental -quick-step, as after a funeral with military honours the band and drums -march away, back to barracks. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MORE PARADES *** - -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-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: No More Parades</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>A novel</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ford Madox Ford</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 13, 2022 [eBook #67622]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues (Images generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MORE PARADES ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/parades_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h1>NO MORE<br /> -PARADES</h1> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h5>by</h5> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h2>FORD MADOX FORD</h2> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3>GROSSET & DUNLAP</h3> - -<h4>Publishers New York</h4> - -<h4>by arrangement with A. & C. BONI</h4> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h5><i>Copyright, 1925, By Albert y Charles Boni, Inc</i></h5> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4>To WILLIAM BIRD</h4> - -<p> -MY DEAR BIRD,— -</p> - -<p> -I have always held—and I hold as strongly now as ever—that a -novel should have no preface. It should have no preface for æsthetico-moral -reasons, and because prefatory matter takes away from the reality of, -and therefore damages, a book. A dedicatory letter is a subterfuge. That -subterfuge I feel forced to adopt, and must take the consequences. -</p> - -<p> -The reason is this: All novels are historical, but all novels do not -deal with such events as get on to the pages of history. This <i>No More -Parades</i> does. It becomes, therefore, necessary to delimit what, in it, -is offered as, on the author's responsibility, observed event. -</p> - -<p> -State, underline and emphasize the fact how you will it is impossible to -get into the heads of even intelligent public critics the fact that the -opinions of a novelist's characters as stated in any novel are not of -necessity the opinions of the novelist. It cannot be done. How it may be -with one's public one has no means of knowing. Perhaps they read one -with more generosity and care. Presumably they do, for they have either -spent money on, or taken some trouble to obtain, the volume. -</p> - -<p> -In this novel the events, such as it treats of, are vouched for by -myself. There was in France, at the time covered by this novel, an -immense base camp, unbelievably crowded with men whom we were engaged in -getting up the line, working sometimes day and night in the effort. That -immense army was also extremely depressed by the idea that those who -controlled it overseas would—I will not use the word betray, since -that implies volition—but "let us down." We were oppressed, ordered, -counter-ordered, commanded, countermanded, harassed, strafed, -denounced—and, above all, dreadfully worried. The never-ending sense -of worry, in fact, far surpassed any of the "exigencies of troops actually -in contact with enemy forces," and that applied not merely to the bases, -but to the whole field of military operations. Unceasing worry! -</p> - -<p> -We took it out in what may or may not have been unjust suspicions of the -all-powerful ones who had our lives in their hands—and seemed -indifferent enough to the fact. So this novel recounts what those -opinions were: it does not profess to dictate whether those opinions -were or were not justified. There is, I think, not one word in it which -records any opinions or words of mine as being my words or opinions. I -believe I may say that, as to the greater part of such public matters as -are here discussed, I have no opinions at all. After seven or eight -years I have been unable to form any. I present therefore only what I -observed or heard. -</p> - -<p> -Few writers can have engaged themselves as combatants in what, please -God, will yet prove to be the war that ended war, without the intention -of aiding with their writings, if they survived, in bringing about such -a state of mind as should end wars as possibilities. -</p> - -<p> -This obviously is a delicate task. If you overstate horrors you induce -in your reader a state of mind such as, by reaction, causes the horrors -to become matters of indifference. If you overstate heroisms you induce -indifference to heroisms—of which the late war produced, Heaven -knows, plenty enough, so that to be indifferent to them is villainy. -Casting about, then, for a medium through which to view this spectacle, I -thought of a man—by then dead—with whom I had been very -intimate and with whom—as with yourself—I had at one time -discussed most things under the sun. He was the English Tory. -</p> - -<p> -Even then—it must have been in September, 1916, when I was in a -region called the Salient, and I remember the very spot where the idea -came to me—I said to myself: How would all this look in the eyes of -X . . .—already dead, along with all English Tories? For, as a medium -through which to view struggles that are after all in the end mostly -emotional struggles—since as a rule for every twenty minutes of -actual fighting you were alone with your emotions, which, being English, -you did not express, for at least a month!—as a medium, what could be -better than the sceptical, not ungenerous, not cold, not unconvincible eyes -of an extinct frame of mind? For by the time of my relative youth when I -knew X . . . so intimately, Toryism had gone beyond the region of any -practising political party. It said for a year or two: A plague on all -your houses, and so expired. -</p> - -<p> -To this determination—to use my friend's eyes as a medium—I am -adhering in this series of books. <i>Some Do Not</i>—of which this -one is not so much a continuation as a reinforcement—showed you the -Tory at home during war-time; this shows you the Tory going up the line. If -I am vouchsafed health and intelligence for long enough I propose to show -you the same man in the line and in process of being re-constructed. -</p> - -<p> -There is nothing more to it: I no more back the political opinions of -General Campion than those of Sylvia Tietjens, who considered that the -World War was just an excuse for male agapemones; I no more accept -responsibility for the inaccuracies of Tietjens quoting King's -Regulations than for the inaccuracies of the general in quoting <i>Henry -V</i>. I was roundly taken to task by the only English critic whose review -of my last book I read—after he had <i>horribly</i> misrepresented -the plot of the work at a crucial point—for <i>my</i> inaccuracy in -stating that poor Roger Casement was shot. As a matter of fact, I had been -struck by the fact that a lady with whom I had been discussing Casement -twice deliberately referred to the shooting of Casement, and stated that -she did so because she could not bear to think that we had hanged him. In -making therefore a lady—who had loved Casement—refer to his -execution in the book in question, I let her say that Casement was -shot. . . . Indeed, I should prefer to think that he had been shot, -myself. . . . Or still more to think that we had allowed him to escape, or -commit suicide, or be imprisoned during His Majesty's pleasure. . . . The -critic preferred to rub in the hanging. It is a matter of relative -patriotism. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst we are chipping, I may as well say that I have been informed that -a lively controversy has raged over the same work in the United States, -a New York critic having stated that I was a disappointed man intent on -giving a lurid picture of present-day matrimonial conditions in England. -I hope I am no rabid patriot, but I pray to be preserved from the -aspiration of painting any nation's lurid matrimonial conditions. The -peculiar ones adumbrated in <i>Some Do Not</i> were suggested by the fate -of a poor fellow living in a place in the south of France in which I -happened to be stopping when I began the book. His misfortunes were much -those of my central character, but he drank himself to death, it was -said deliberately, after he had taken his wife back. He came from -Philadelphia. -</p> - -<p> -So, in remembrance of our joint labours and conspiracies, and in token -of my admiration for your beautiful achievements in another art, -</p> - -<p> -I subscribe myself, my dear Bird, -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Your humble, obedient and obliged -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">F. M. F.</p> - -<p>PARIS, 31 <i>October</i>, '24—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 5%;">GUERMANTES, 25 <i>May</i>, '25.</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p class="nind"><a href="#PART_I">PART I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -<a href="#PART_II">PART II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I_II">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#PART_III">PART III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I_III">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II_III">CHAPTER II</a></p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="PART_I">PART I</a></h4> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - -<p> -When you came in the space was desultory, rectangular, warm after the -drip of the winter night, and transfused with a brown-orange dust that -was light. It was shaped like the house a child draws. Three groups of -brown limbs spotted with brass took dim high-lights from shafts that -came from a bucket pierced with holes, filled with incandescent coke and -covered in with a sheet of iron in the shape of a tunnel. Two men, as if -hierarchically smaller, crouched on the floor beside the brazier; four, -two at each end of the hut, drooped over tables in attitudes of extreme -indifference. From the eaves above the parallelogram of black that was -the doorway fell intermittent drippings of collected moisture, persistent, -with glass-like intervals of musical sound. The two men squatting -on their heels over the brazier—they had been miners—began -to talk in a low sing-song of dialect, hardly audible. It went on and -on, monotonously, without animation. It was as if one told the other -long, long stories to which his companion manifested his comprehension -or sympathy with animal grunts. . . . -</p> - -<p> -An immense tea-tray, august, its voice filling the black circle of the -horizon, thundered to the ground. Numerous pieces of sheet-iron said, -"Pack. Pack. Pack." In a minute the clay floor of the hut shook, the -drums of ears were pressed inwards, solid noise showered about the -universe, enormous echoes pushed these men—to the right, to the left, -or down towards the tables, and crackling like that of flames among vast -underwood became the settled condition of the night. Catching the light -from the brazier as the head leaned over, the lips of one of the two men -on the floor were incredibly red and full and went on talking and -talking. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The two men on the floor were Welsh miners, of whom the one came from -the Rhondda Valley and was unmarried; the other, from Pontardulais, had -a wife who kept a laundry, he having given up going underground just -before the war. The two men at the table to the right of the door were -sergeants-major; the one came from Suffolk and was a time-serving man of -sixteen years' seniority as a sergeant in a line regiment. The other was -Canadian of English origin. The two officers at the other end of the hut -were captains, the one a young regular officer born in Scotland but -educated at Oxford; the other, nearly middle-aged and heavy, came from -Yorkshire, and was in a militia battalion. The one runner on the floor -was filled with a passionate rage because the elder officer had refused -him leave to go home and see why his wife, who had sold their laundry, -had not yet received the purchase money from the buyer; the other was -thinking about a cow. His girl, who worked on a mountainy farm above -Caerphilly, had written to him about a queer cow: a black-and-white -Holstein—surely to goodness a queer cow. The English sergeant-major -was almost tearfully worried about the enforced lateness of the draft. It -would be twelve midnight before they could march them off. It was not -right to keep men hanging about like that. The men did not like to be -kept waiting, hanging about. It made them discontented. They did not -like it. He could not see why the depot quartermaster could not keep up -his stock of candles for the hooded lamps. The men had no call to be -kept waiting, hanging about. Soon they would have to be having some -supper. Quarter would not like that. He would grumble fair. Having to -indent for suppers. Put his accounts out, fair, it would. Two thousand -nine hundred and thirty-four suppers at a penny half-penny. But it was -not right to keep the men hanging about till midnight and no suppers. It -made them discontented and them going up the line for the first time, -poor devils. -</p> - -<p> -The Canadian sergeant-major was worried about a pig-skin leather -pocket-book. He had bought it at the ordnance depot in the town. He -imagined himself bringing it out on parade, to read out some return or -other to the adjutant. Very smart it would look on parade, himself -standing up straight and tall. But he could not remember whether he had -put it in his kitbag. On himself it was not. He felt in his right and -left breast pockets, his right and left skirt pockets, in all the -pockets of his overcoat that hung from a nail within reach of his chair. -He did not feel at all certain that the man who acted as his batman had -packed that pocket-book with his kit, though he declared he had. It was -very annoying. His present wallet, bought in Ontario, was bulging and -split. He did not like to bring it out when Imperial officers asked for -something out of a return. It gave them a false idea of Canadian troops. -Very annoying. He was an auctioneer. He agreed that at this rate it -would be half-past one before they had the draft down to the station and -entrained. But it was very annoying to be uncertain whether that -pocket-book was packed or not. He had imagined himself making a good -impression on parade, standing up straight and tall, taking out that -pocket-book when the adjutant asked for a figure from one return or the -other. He understood their adjutants were to be Imperial officers now -they were in France. It was very annoying. -</p> - -<p> -An enormous crashing sound said things of an intolerable intimacy to -each of those men, and to all of them as a body. After its mortal -vomiting all the other sounds appeared a rushing silence, painful to -ears in which the blood audibly coursed. The young officer stood -violently up on his feet and caught at the complications of his belt -hung from a nail. The elder, across the table, lounging sideways, -stretched out one hand with a downwards movement. He was aware that the -younger man, who was the senior officer, was just upon out of his mind. -The younger man, intolerably fatigued, spoke sharp, injurious, inaudible -words to his companion. The elder spoke sharp, short words, inaudible -too, and continued to motion downwards with his hand over the table. The -old English sergeant-major said to his junior that Captain Mackenzie had -one of his mad fits again, but what he said was inaudible and he knew -it. He felt arising in his motherly heart that yearned at the moment -over his two thousand nine hundred and thirty-four nurslings a -necessity, like a fatigue, to extend the motherliness of his functions -to the orfcer. He said to the Canadian that Captain Mackenzie there -going temporary off his nut was the best orfcer in His Majesty's army. -And going to make a bleedin' fool of hisself. The best orfcer in His -Majesty's army. Not a better. Careful, smart, brave as an 'ero. And -considerate of his men in the line. You wouldn't believe. . . . He felt -vaguely that it was a fatigue to have to mother an officer. To a -lance-corporal, or a young sergeant, beginning to go wrong you could -mutter wheezy suggestions through your moustache. But to an officer you -had to say things slantways. Difficult it was. Thank God they had a -trustworthy, cool hand in the other captain. Old and good, the proverb -said. -</p> - -<p> -Dead silence fell. -</p> - -<p> -"Lost the ——-, they 'ave," the runner from the Rhondda made his -voice startlingly heard. Brilliant illuminations flickered on hut-gables -visible through the doorway. -</p> - -<p> -"No reason," his mate from Pontardulais rather whined in his native -sing-song, "why the bleedin' searchlights, surely to goodness, should -light us up for all the —— 'Un planes to see. I want to see my -bleedin' little 'ut on the bleedin' Mumbles again, if they don't." -</p> - -<p> -"Not so much swear words, O Nine Morgan," the sergeant-major said. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, Dai Morgan, I'm telling you," 09 Morgan's mate continued. "A queer -cow it must have been whatever. Black-and-white Holstein it was. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It was as if the younger captain gave up listening to the conversation. -He leant both hands on the blanket that covered the table. He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Who the hell are you to give me orders? I'm your senior. Who the -hell . . . Oh, by God, who the hell . . . Nobody gives me orders . . ." -His voice collapsed weakly in his chest. He felt his nostrils to be -inordinately dilated so that the air pouring into them was cold. He felt -that there was an entangled conspiracy against him, and all round him. -He exclaimed: "You and your —— pimp of a general . . .!" He -desired to cut certain throats with a sharp trench-knife that he had. That -would take the weight off his chest. The "Sit <i>down</i>" of the heavy -figure lumping opposite him paralysed his limbs. He felt an unbelievable -hatred. If he could move his hand to get at his trench-knife . . . -</p> - -<p> -09 Morgan said: "The ——'s name who's bought my bleedin' laundry -is Williams. . . . If I thought it was Evans Williams of Castell Goch, I'd -desert." -</p> - -<p> -"Took a hatred for its cawve," the Rhondda man said. "And look you, -before you could say . . ." The conversation of orfcers was a thing to -which they neither listened. Officers talked of things that had no -interest. Whatever could possess a cow to take a hatred of its calf? Up -behind Caerphilly on the mountains? On an autumny morning the whole -hillside was covered with spider-webs. They shone down the sun like spun -glass. Overlooked the cow must be. -</p> - -<p> -The young captain leaning over the table began a long argument as to -relative seniority. He argued with himself, taking both sides in an -extraordinarily rapid gabble. He himself had been gazetted after -Gheluvelt. The other not till a year later. It was true the other was in -permanent command of that depot, and he himself attached to the unit -only for rations and discipline. But that did not include orders to sit -down. What the hell, he wanted to know, did the other mean by it? He -began to talk, faster than ever, about a circle. When its circumference -came whole by the disintegration of the atom the world would come to an -end. In the millennium there would be no giving or taking orders. Of -course he obeyed orders till then. -</p> - -<p> -To the elder officer, burdened with the command of a unit of -unreasonable size, with a scratch headquarters of useless subalterns who -were continually being changed, with N.C.O.'s all unwilling to work, -with rank and file nearly all colonials and unused to doing without -things, and with a depot to draw on that, being old established, felt -that it belonged exclusively to a regular British unit and resented his -drawing anything at all, the practical difficulties of his everyday life -were already sufficient, and he had troublesome private affairs. He was -lately out of hospital; the sackcloth hut in which he lived, borrowed -from the Depot medical officer who had gone to England on leave, was -suffocatingly hot with the paraffin heater going, and intolerably cold -and damp without it; the batman whom the M.O. had left in charge of the -hut appeared to be half-witted. These German air-raids had lately become -continuous. The Base was packed with men, tighter than sardines. Down in -the town you could not move in the streets. Draft-finding units were -commanded to keep their men out of sight as much as possible. Drafts -were to be sent off only at night. But how could you send off a draft at -night when every ten minutes you had two hours of lights out for an -air-raid? Every man had nine sets of papers and tags that had to be -signed by an officer. It was quite proper that the poor devils should be -properly documented. But how was it to be done? He had two thousand nine -hundred and ninety-four men to send off that night and nine times two -thousand nine hundred and ninety-four is twenty-six thousand nine -hundred and forty-six. They would not or could not let him have a -disc-punching machine of his own, but how was the Depot armourer to be -expected to punch five thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight extra -identity discs in addition to his regular jobs? -</p> - -<p> -The other captain rambled on in front of him. Tietjens did not like his -talk of the circle and the millennium. You get alarmed, if you have any -sense, when you hear that. It may prove the beginnings of definite, -dangerous lunacy. . . . But he knew nothing about the fellow. He was too -dark and good-looking, too passionate, probably, to be a good regular -officer on the face of him. But he <i>must</i> be a good officer: he had -the D.S.O. with a clasp, the M.C., and some foreign ribbon up. And the -general said he was: with the additional odd piece of information that -he was a Vice-Chancellor's Latin Prize man. . . . He wondered if General -Campion knew what a Vice-Chancellor's Latin Prize man was. Probably he -did not, but had just stuck the piece of information into his note as a -barbaric ornament is used by a savage chief. Wanted to show that he, -General Lord Edward Campion, was a man of culture. There was no knowing -where vanity would not break out. -</p> - -<p> -So this fellow was too dark and good-looking to be a good officer: yet -he <i>was</i> a good officer. That explained it. The repressions of the -passionate drive them mad. He must have been being sober, disciplined, -patient, absolutely repressed ever since 1914—against a background of -hell-fire, row, blood, mud, old tins. . . . And indeed the elder officer -had a vision of the younger as if in a design for a full-length -portrait—for some reason with his legs astride, against a background -of tapestry scarlet with fire and more scarlet with blood. . . . He sighed -a little; that was the life of all those several millions. . . . -</p> - -<p> -He seemed to see his draft: two thousand nine hundred and ninety-four -men he had had command of for over a couple of months—a long space of -time as that life went—men he and Sergeant-Major Cowley had looked -after with a great deal of tenderness, superintending their morale, -their morals, their feet, their digestions, their impatiences, their -desires for women. . . . He seemed to see them winding away over a great -stretch of country, the head slowly settling down, as in the Zoo -you will see an enormous serpent slowly sliding down into its -water-tank. . . . Settling down out there, a long way away, up against that -impassable barrier that stretched from the depths of the ground to the -peak of heaven. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Intense dejection: endless muddles: endless follies: endless villainies. -All these men given into the hands of the most cynically care-free -intriguers in long corridors who made plots that harrowed the hearts of -the world. All these men toys: all these agonies mere occasions for -picturesque phrases to be put into politicians' speeches without heart -or even intelligence. Hundreds of thousands of men tossed here and there -in that sordid and gigantic mud-brownness of midwinter . . . by God, -exactly as if they were nuts wilfully picked up and thrown over the -shoulder by magpies. . . . But men. Not just populations. Men you -worried over there. Each man a man with a backbone, knees, breeches, -braces, a rifle, a home, passions, fornications, drunks, pals, some -scheme of the universe, corns, inherited diseases, a greengrocer's -business, a milk walk, a paper stall, brats, a slut of a wife. . . . The -Men: the Other Ranks! And the poor —— little officers. God help -them. Vice-Chancellor's Latin Prize men. . . . -</p> - -<p> -This particular poor —— Prize man seemed to object to noise. -They ought to keep the place quiet for him. . . . -</p> - -<p> -By God, he was perfectly right. That place was meant for the quiet and -orderly preparation of meat for the shambles. Drafts! A Base is a place -where you meditate: perhaps you should pray: a place where in peace the -Tommies should write their last letters home and describe 'ow the guns -are 'owling 'orribly. -</p> - -<p> -But to pack a million and a half of men into and round that small town -was like baiting a trap for rats with a great chunk of rotten meat. The -Hun planes could smell them from a hundred miles away. They could do -more harm there than if they bombed a quarter of London to pieces. And -the air defences there were a joke: a mad joke. They popped off, -thousands of rounds, from any sort of pieces of ordnance, like -schoolboys bombarding swimming rats with stones. Obviously your best -trained air-defence men would be round your metropolis. But this was no -joke for the sufferers. -</p> - -<p> -Heavy depression settled down more heavily upon him. The distrust of the -home Cabinet, felt by then by the greater part of that army, became like -physical pain. These immense sacrifices, this ocean of mental -sufferings, were all undergone to further the private vanities of men -who amidst these hugenesses of landscapes and forces appeared pigmies! -It was the worries of all these wet millions in mud-brown that worried -him. They could die, they could be massacred, by the quarter million, in -shambles. But that they should be massacred without jauntiness, without -confidence, with depressed brows: without parade. . . . -</p> - -<p> -He knew really nothing about the officer in front of him. Apparently the -fellow had stopped for an answer to some question. What question? -Tietjens had no idea. He had not been listening. Heavy silence settled -down on the hut. They just waited. The fellow said with an intonation of -hatred: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, what about it? That's what I want to know!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens went on reflecting. . . . There were a great many kinds of -madness. What kind was this? The fellow was not drunk. He talked like a -drunkard, but he was not drunk. In ordering him to sit down Tietjens had -just chanced it. There are madmen whose momentarily subconscious selves -will respond to a military command as if it were magic. Tietjens -remembered having barked: "About . . . turn," to a poor little lunatic -fellow in some camp at home and the fellow who had been galloping -hotfoot past his tent, waving a naked bayonet with his pursuers fifty -yards behind, had stopped dead and faced about with a military stamp -like a guardsman. He had tried it on this lunatic for want of any better -expedient. It had apparently functioned intermittently. He risked -saying: -</p> - -<p> -"What about what?" -</p> - -<p> -The man said as if ironically: -</p> - -<p> -"It seems as if I were not worth listening to by your high and -mightiness. I said: 'What about my foul squit of an uncle?' Your filthy, -best friend." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"The general's your uncle? General Campion? What's he done to you?" -</p> - -<p> -The general had sent this fellow down to him with a note asking him, -Tietjens, to keep an eye in his unit on a very good fellow and an -admirable officer. The chit was in the general's own writing, and -contained the additional information as to Captain Mackenzie's -scholastic prowess. . . . It had struck Tietjens as queer that the -general should take so much trouble about a casual infantry company -commander. How could the fellow have been brought markedly to his -notice? Of course, Campion was good-natured, like another man. If a -fellow, half dotty, whose record showed that he was a very good man, was -brought to his notice Campion would do what he could for him. And -Tietjens knew that the general regarded himself Tietjens, as a heavy, -bookish fellow, able reliably to look after one of his protégés. . . . -Probably Campion imagined that they had no work to do in that unit: they -might become an acting lunatic ward. But if Mackenzie was Campion's -nephew the thing was explained. -</p> - -<p> -The lunatic exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Campion, <i>my</i> uncle? Why, he's <i>yours</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, he isn't." The general was not even a connection of his, but he -did happen to be Tietjen's godfather and his father's oldest friend. -</p> - -<p> -The other fellow answered: -</p> - -<p> -"Then it's damn funny. <i>Damn</i> suspicious. . . . Why should he be -interested in you if he's not your filthy uncle? You're no soldier. . . . -You're no sort of a soldier. . . . A meal sack, that's what you look -like. . . ." He paused and then went on very quickly: "They say up at -H.Q. that your wife has got hold of the disgusting general. I didn't -believe it was true. I didn't believe you were that sort of fellow. I've -heard a lot about you!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens laughed at this madness. Then, in the dark brownness, an -intolerable pang went all through his heavy frame—the intolerable -pang of home news to these desperately occupied men, the pain caused by -disasters happening in the darkness and at a distance. You could do -nothing to mitigate them! . . . The extraordinary beauty of the wife -from whom he was separated—for she was extraordinarily -beautiful!—might well have caused scandals about her to have -penetrated to the general's headquarters, which was a sort of family party! -Hitherto there had, by the grace of God, been no scandals. Sylvia -Tietjens had been excruciatingly unfaithful, in the most painful manner. -He could not be certain that the child he adored was his own. . . . -That was not unusual with extraordinarily beautiful—and -cruel!—women. But she had been haughtily circumspect. -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, three months ago, they had parted. . . . Or he thought -they had parted. Almost complete blankness had descended upon his home -life. She appeared before him so extraordinarily bright and clear in the -brown darkness that he shuddered: very tall, very fair, extraordinarily -fit and clean even. Thoroughbred! In a sheath gown of gold tissue, all -illuminated, and her mass of hair, like gold tissue too, coiled round -and round in plaits over her ears. The features very clean-cut and -thinnish; the teeth white and small; the breasts small; the arms thin, -long and at attention at her sides. . . . His eyes, when they were -tired, had that trick of reproducing images on their retinas with that -extreme clearness, images sometimes of things he thought of, sometimes of -things merely at the back of the mind. Well, to-night his eyes were very -tired! She was looking straight before her, with a little inimical -disturbance of the corners of her lips. She had just thought of a way to -hurt terribly his silent personality. . . . The semi-clearness became a -luminous blue, like a tiny gothic arch, and passed out of his vision to -the right. . . . -</p> - -<p> -He knew nothing of where Sylvia was. He had given up looking at the -illustrated papers. She had said she was going into a convent at -Birkenhead—but twice he had seen photographs of her. The first showed -her merely with Lady Fiona Grant, daughter of the Earl and Countess of -Ulleswater—and a Lord Swindon, talked of as next minister for -International Finance—a new Business Peer. . . . All three walking -straight into the camera in the courtyard of Lord Swindon's castle . . . -all three smiling! . . . It announced Mrs. Christopher Tietjens as -having a husband at the front. -</p> - -<p> -The sting had, however, been in the second picture—in the description -of it supplied by the journal! It showed Sylvia standing in front of a -bench in the park. On the bench in profile there extended himself in a -guffaw of laughter, a young man in a top hat jammed well on to his head, -which was thrown back, his prognathous jaw pointing upwards. The -description stated that the picture showed Mrs. Christopher Tietjens, -whose husband was in hospital at the Front, telling a good story to the -son and heir of Lord Brigham! . . . Another of these pestilential, -crooked newspaper-owning financial peers . . . -</p> - -<p> -It had struck him for a painful moment whilst looking at the picture in -a dilapidated mess anteroom after he had come out of hospital—that, -considering the description, the journal had got its knife into -Sylvia. . . . But the illustrated papers do not get their knives into -society beauties. They are too precious to the photographers. . . . Then -Sylvia must have supplied the information; she desired to cause comment by -the contrast of her hilarious companions and the statement that her husband -was in hospital at the Front. . . . It had occurred to him that she was -on the warpath. But he had put it out of his mind. . . . Nevertheless, -brilliant mixture as she was, of the perfectly straight, perfectly -fearless, perfectly reckless, of the generous, the kind even—and the -atrociously cruel, nothing might suit her better than positively to show -contempt—no, not contempt! cynical hatred—for her husband, for -the war, for public opinion . . . even for the interest of their -child! . . . Yet, it came to him, the image of her that he had just seen -had been the image of Sylvia, standing at attention, her mouth working a -little, whilst she read out the figures beside the bright filament of -mercury in a thermometer. . . . The child had had, with measles, a -temperature that, even then, he did not dare think of. And—it was at -his sister's in Yorkshire, and the local doctor hadn't cared to take the -responsibility—he could still feel the warmth of the little -mummy-like body; he had covered the head and face with a flannel, for he -didn't care for the sight, and lowered the warm, terrible, fragile weight -into a shining surface of crushed ice in water. . . . She had stood at -attention, the corners of her mouth moving a little: the thermometer -going down as you watched it. . . . So that she mightn't want, in -damaging the father, atrociously to damage the child. . . . For there -could not be anything worse for a child than to have a mother known as a -whore. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant-Major Cowley was standing beside the table. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Wouldn't it be a good thing, sir, to send a runner to the depot -sergeant cook and tell him we're going to indent for suppers for the -draft? We could send the other with the 128's to Quarter. They're -neither wanted here for the moment." -</p> - -<p> -The other captain went on incessantly talking—but about his fabulous -uncle, not about Sylvia. It was difficult for Tietjens to get what he -wanted said. He wanted the second runner sent to the depot quartermaster -with a message to the effect that if G.S. candles for hooded lamps were -not provided for the use of his orderly room by return of bearer he -Captain Tietjens, commanding Number XVI Casual Battalion, would bring -the whole matter of supplies for his battalion that same night before -Base Headquarters. They were all three talking at once: heavy fatalism -overwhelmed Tietjens at the thought of the stubbornness showed by the -depot quartermaster. The big unit beside his camp was a weary obstinacy -of obstruction. You would have thought they would have displayed some -eagerness to get his men up into the line. Let alone that the men were -urgently needed, the more of his men went the more of <i>them</i> stayed -behind. Yet they tried to stop his meat, his groceries, his braces, his -identification discs, his soldiers' small books. . . . Every imaginable -hindrance, and not even self-interested common sense! . . . He managed -also to convey to Sergeant-Major Cowley that, as everything seemed to -have quieted down, the Canadian sergeant-major had better go and see if -everything was ready for falling his draft in. . . . If things remained -quiet for another ten minutes, the "All Clear" might then be -expected. . . . He knew that Sergeant-Major Cowley wanted to get the Other -Ranks out of the hut with that captain carrying on like that, and he did -not see why the old N.C.O. should not have what he wanted. -</p> - -<p> -It was as if a tender and masculine butler withdrew himself. Cowley's -grey walrus moustache and scarlet cheeks showed for a moment beside the -brazier, whispering at the ears of the runners, a hand kindly on each of -their shoulders. The runners went; the Canadian went. Sergeant-Major -Cowley, his form blocking the doorway, surveyed the stars. He found it -difficult to realize that the same pinpricks of light through black -manifolding paper as he looked at, looked down also on his villa and his -elderly wife at Isleworth beside the Thames above London. He knew it to -be the fact, yet it was difficult to realize. He imagined the trams -going along the High Street, his missus in one of them with her supper -in a string bag on her stout knees. The trams lit up and shining. He -imagined her having kippers for supper: ten to one it would be kippers. -Her favourites. His daughter was in the W.A.A.C.'s by now. She had been -cashier to Parks's, the big butchers in Brentford, and pretty she had -used to look in the glass case. Like as if it might have been the -British Museum where they had Pharaohs and others in glass cases. . . . -There were threshing machines droning away all over the night. He always -said they were like threshing machines. . . . Crikey, if only they -were! . . . But they might be our own planes, of course. A good welsh -rarebit he had had for tea. -</p> - -<p> -In the hut, the light from the brazier having fewer limbs on which to -fall, a sort of intimacy seemed to descend, and Tietjens felt himself gain -in ability to deal with his mad friend. Captain Mackenzie—Tietjens -was not sure that the name was Mackenzie: it had looked something like -it in the general's hand—Captain Mackenzie was going on about the -wrongs he had suffered at the hands of some fabulous uncle. Apparently -at some important juncture the uncle had refused to acknowledge -acquaintanceship with the nephew. From that all the misfortunes of the -nephew had arisen. . . . Suddenly Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, pull yourself together. Are you mad? Stark, staring? . . . -Or only just play-acting?" -</p> - -<p> -The man suddenly sank down on to the bully-beef case that served for a -chair. He stammered a question as to what—what—what Tietjens -meant. -</p> - -<p> -"If you let yourself go," Tietjens said, "you may let yourself go a tidy -sight farther than you want to." -</p> - -<p> -"You're not a mad doctor," the other said. "It's no good your trying to -come it over me. I know all about you. I've got an uncle who's done the -dirty on me—the dirtiest dirty ever was done on a man. If it hadn't -been for him I shouldn't be here now." -</p> - -<p> -"You talk as if the fellow had sold you into slavery," Tietjens said. -</p> - -<p> -"He's your closest friend," Mackenzie seemed to advance as a motive for -revenge on Tietjens. "He's a friend of the general's, too. Of your -wife's as well. He's in with every one." -</p> - -<p> -A few desultory, pleasurable "pop-op-ops" sounded from far overhead to -the left. -</p> - -<p> -"They imagine they've found the Hun again," Tietjens said. "That's all -right; you concentrate on your uncle. Only don't exaggerate his -importance to the world. I assure you are mistaken if you call him -a friend of mine. I have not got a friend in the world." He added: "Are -you going to mind the noise? If it is going to get on your nerves you can -walk in a dignified manner to a dugout, now, before it gets bad. . . ." He -called out to Cowley to go and tell the Canadian sergeant-major to -get his men back into their shelters if they had come out. Until the -"All Clear" went. -</p> - -<p> -Captain Mackenzie sat himself gloomily down at table. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it all," he said, "don't think I'm afraid of a little shrapnel. -I've had two periods solid of fourteen and nine months in the line. I -could have got out on to the rotten staff. . . . It's damn it: it's the -beastly row. . . . Why isn't one a beastly girl and privileged to -shriek? By God, I'll get even with some of them one of these days. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Why not shriek?" Tietjens asked. "You can, for me. No one's going to -doubt your courage here." -</p> - -<p> -Loud drops of rain spattered down all round the hut; there was a -familiar thud on the ground a yard or so away, a sharp tearing sound -above, a sharper knock on the table between them. Mackenzie took the -shrapnel bullet that had fallen and turned it round and round between -finger and thumb. -</p> - -<p> -"You think you caught me on the hop just now," he said injuriously. -"You're damn clever." -</p> - -<p> -Two stories down below some one let two hundred-pound dumb-bells drop on -the drawing-room carpet; all the windows of the house slammed in a race -to get it over; the "pop-op-ops" of the shrapnel went in wafts all over -the air. There was again sudden silence that was painful, after you had -braced yourself up to bear noise. The runner from the Rhondda came in -with a light step bearing two fat candles. He took the hooded lamps from -Tietjens and began to press the candles up against the inner springs, -snorting sedulously through his nostrils. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"Nearly got me, one of those candlesticks did," he said. "Touched my -foot as it fell, it did. I did run. Surely to goodness I did run, -cahptn." -</p> - -<p> -Inside the shrapnel shell was an iron bar with a flattened, broad nose. -When the shell burst in the air this iron object fell to the ground and, -since it came often from a great height, its fall was dangerous. The men -called these candlesticks, which they much resembled. -</p> - -<p> -A little ring of light now existed on the puce colour of the -blanket-covered table. Tietjens showed, silver-headed, fresh-coloured -and bulky; Mackenzie, dark, revengeful eyes above a prognathous jaw. A -very thin man; thirtyish. -</p> - -<p> -"You can go into the shelter with the Colonial troops, if you like," -Tietjens said to the runner. The man answered after a pause, being very -slow thinking, that he preferred to wait for his mate, 09 Morgan -whatever. -</p> - -<p> -"They ought to let my orderly room have tin hats," Tietjens said to -Mackenzie. "I'm damned if they didn't take these fellows' tin hats into -store again when they attached to me for service, and I'm equally damned -if they did not tell me that, if I wanted tin hats for my own -headquarters, I had to write to H.Q. Canadians, Aldershot, or some such -place in order to get the issue sanctioned." -</p> - -<p> -"Our headquarters are full of Huns doing the Huns' work," Mackenzie said -hatefully. "I'd like to get among them one of these days." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens looked with some attention at that young man with the Rembrandt -shadows over his dark face. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you believe that tripe?" -</p> - -<p> -The young man said: -</p> - -<p> -"No . . . I don't know that I do. . . . I don't know what to think. . . . -The world's rotten. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, the world's pretty rotten, all right," Tietjens answered. And, in -his fatigue of mind caused by having to attend to innumerable concrete -facts like the providing of households for a thousand men every few -days, arranging parade states for an extraordinarily mixed set of troops -of all arms with very mixed drills, and fighting the Assistant Provost -Marshal to keep his own men out of the clutches of the beastly Garrison -Military Police who had got a down on all Canadians, he felt he had not -any curiosity at all left. . . . Yet he felt vaguely that, at the back -of his mind, there was some reason for trying to cure this young member -of the lower middle classes. -</p> - -<p> -He repeated: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, the world's certainly pretty rotten. But that's not its particular -line of rottenness as far as we are concerned. . . . We're tangled up, -not because we've got Huns in our orderly rooms, but just because we've -got English. That's the bat in our belfry. . . . That Hun plane is -presumably coming back. Half a dozen of them. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The young man, his mind eased by having got off his chest a confounded -lot of semi-nonsensical ravings, considered the return of the Hun -planes with gloomy indifference. His problem really was: could he stand -the —— noise that would probably accompany their return? He had -to get really into his head that this was an open space to all intents and -purposes. There would not be splinters of stone flying about. He was -ready to be hit by iron, steel, lead, copper, or brass shell rims, but -not by beastly splinters of stone knocked off house fronts. That -consideration had come to him during his beastly, his beastly, his -infernal, damnable leave in London, when just such a filthy row had been -going on. . . . Divorce leave! . . . Captain McKechnie, second attached -ninth Glamorganshires, is granted leave from the 14/11 to the 29/11 for -the purpose of obtaining a divorce. . . . The memory seemed to burst -inside him with the noise of one of those beastly enormous tin-pot -crashes—and it always came when guns made that particular kind of -tin-pot crash: the two came together, the internal one and the crash -outside. He felt that chimney-pots were going to crash on to his head. -You protected yourself by shouting at damned infernal idiots; if you -could out-shout the row you were safe. . . . That was not sensible, but -you got ease that way! . . . -</p> - -<p> -"In matters of Information they're not a patch on us." Tietjens tried -the speech on cautiously, and concluded: "We know what the Enemy rulers -read in the sealed envelopes beside their breakfast bacon-and-egg -plates." -</p> - -<p> -It had occurred to him that it was a military duty to bother himself -about the mental equilibrium of this member of the lower classes. So he -talked . . . <i>any</i> old talk, wearisomely, to keep his mind employed! -Captain Mackenzie was an officer of His Majesty the King: the property, -body and soul, of His Majesty and His Majesty's War Office. It was -Tietjens' duty to preserve this fellow as it was his duty to prevent -deterioration in any other piece of the King's property. That was -implicit in the oath of allegiance. He went on talking: -</p> - -<p> -The curse of the army, as far as the organization is concerned, was our -imbecile national belief that the game is more than the player. That was -our ruin, mentally, as a nation. We were taught that cricket is more -than clearness of mind, so the blasted quartermaster, O.C. Depot -Ordnance Stores next door, thought he had taken a wicket if he refused -to serve out tin hats to their crowd. That's the Game! And if any of -his, Tietjens', men were killed, he grinned and said the game was more -than the players of the game. . . . And of course if he got his bowling -average down low enough he got promotion. There was a quartermaster in a -west country cathedral city who'd got more D.S.O.'s and combatant medals -than anyone on active service in France, from the sea to Peronne, or -wherever our lines ended. His achievement was to have robbed almost -every wretched Tommie in the Western Command of several weeks' separation -allowance . . . for the good of the taxpayer, of course. The -poor —— Tommies' kids went without proper food and clothing, -and the Tommies themselves had been in a state of exasperation and -resentment. And nothing in the world was worse for discipline and the army -as a fighting machine. But there that quartermaster sat in his office, -playing the romantic game over his A.F.B.'s till the broad buff sheets -fairly glowed in the light of the incandescent gas. "And," Tietjens -concluded, "for every quarter of a million sterling for which he bowls -out the wretched fighting men he gets a new clasp on his fourth D.S.O. -ribbon. . . . The game, in short, is more than the players of the game." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, damn it!" Captain Mackenzie said. "That's what's made us what we -are, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is," Tietjens answered. "It's got us into the hole and it keeps us -there." -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie remained dispiritedly looking down at his fingers. -</p> - -<p> -"You may be wrong or you may be right," he said. "It's contrary to -everything that I ever heard. But I see what you mean." -</p> - -<p> -"At the beginning of the war," Tietjens said, "I had to look in on the -War Office, and in a room I found a fellow . . . What do you think he -was doing . . . what the hell do you think he was doing? He was devising -the ceremonial for the disbanding of a Kitchener battalion. You can't -say we were not prepared in one matter at least . . . Well, the end of -the show was to be: the adjutant would stand the battalion at ease: the -band would play <i>Land of Hope and Glory</i>, and then the adjutant would -say: <i>There will be no more parades</i>. . . . Don't you see how -symbolical it was: the band playing <i>Land of Hope and Glory</i>, and then -the adjutant saying <i>There will be no more parades</i>? . . . For there -won't. There won't, there damn well won't. . . . No more Hope, no more -Glory, no more parades for you and me any more. Nor for the country . . . -Nor for the world, I dare say . . . None . . . Gone . . . Na poo, finny! -No . . . more . . . parades!" -</p> - -<p> -"I dare say you're right," the other said slowly. "But, all the same, -what am I doing in this show? I hate soldiering. I hate this whole -beastly business. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Then why didn't you go on the gaudy Staff?" Tietjens asked. "The gaudy -Staff apparently was yearning to have you. I bet God intended you for -Intelligence: not for the footslogging department." -</p> - -<p> -The other said wearily: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know. I was with the battalion. I wanted to stop with the -battalion. I was intended for the Foreign Office. My miserable uncle got -me hoofed out of that. I was with the battalion. The C.O. wasn't up to -much. <i>Someone</i> had to stay with the battalion. I was not going to do -the dirty on it, taking any soft job. . . -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose you speak seven languages and all?" Tietjens asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Five," the other said patiently, "and read two more. And Latin and -Greek, of course." -</p> - -<p> -A man, brown, stiff, with a haughty parade step, burst into the light. -He said with a high wooden voice: -</p> - -<p> -"'Ere's another bloomin' casualty." In the shadow he appeared to have -draped half his face and the right side of his breast with crape. He -gave a high, rattling laugh. He bent, as if in a stiff bow, woodenly at -his thighs. He pitched, still bent, on to the iron sheet that covered -the brazier, rolled off that and lay on his back across the legs of the -other runner, who had been crouched beside the brazier. In the bright -light it was as if a whole pail of scarlet paint had been dashed across -the man's face on the left and his chest. It glistened in the -firelight—just like fresh paint, moving! The runner from the Rhondda, -pinned down by the body across his knees, sat with his jaw fallen, -resembling one girl that should be combing the hair of another recumbent -before her. The red viscousness welled across the floor; you sometimes -so see fresh water bubbling up in sand. It astonished Tietjens to see -that a human body could be so lavish of blood. He was thinking it was a -queer mania that fellow should have, that his uncle was a friend of -his, Tietjens. He had no friend in trade, uncle of a fellow who in -ordinary times would probably bring you pairs of boots on approval. . . . -He felt as he did when you patch up a horse that has been badly hurt. -He remembered a horse from a cut on whose chest the blood had streamed -down over the off foreleg like a stocking. A girl had lent him her -petticoat to bandage it. Nevertheless his legs moved slowly and heavily -across the floor. -</p> - -<p> -The heat from the brazier was overpowering on his bent face. He hoped he -would not get his hands all over blood, because blood is very sticky. It -makes your fingers stick together impotently. But there might not be any -blood in the darkness under the fellow's back where he was putting his -hand. There was, however: it was very wet. -</p> - -<p> -The voice of Sergeant-Major Cowley said from outside: -</p> - -<p> -"Bugler, call two sanitary lance-corporals and four men. Two sanitary -corporals and four men." A prolonged wailing with interruptions -transfused the night, mournful, resigned, and prolonged. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens thought that, thank God, someone would come and relieve him of -that job. It was a breathless affair holding up the corpse with the fire -burning his face. He said to the other runner: -</p> - -<p> -"Get out from under him, damn you! Are you hurt?" Mackenzie could not -get at the body from the other side because of the brazier. The runner -from under the corpse moved with short sitting shuffles as if he were -getting his legs out from under a sofa. He was saying: -</p> - -<p> -"Poor —— O Nine Morgan! Surely to goodness I did not recognice -the pore —— . . . Surely to goodness I did not recognice the -pore ——" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens let the trunk of the body sink slowly to the floor. He was more -gentle than if the man had been alive. All hell in the way of noise -burst about the world. Tietjen's thoughts seemed to have to shout to him -between earthquake shocks. He was thinking it was absurd of that fellow -Mackenzie to imagine that he could know any uncle of his. He saw very -vividly also the face of his girl who was a pacifist. It worried him not -to know what expression her face would have if she heard of his -occupation, now. Disgust? . . . He was standing with his greasy, sticky -hands held out from the flaps of his tunic. . . . Perhaps disgust! . . . -It was impossible to think in this row. . . . His very thick soles moved -gluily and came up after suction. . . . He remembered he had not sent a -runner along to I.B.D. Orderly Room to see how many of his crowd would -be wanted for garrison fatigue next day, and this annoyed him acutely. -He would have no end of a job warning the officers he detailed. They -would all be in brothels down in the town by now. . . . He could not -work out what the girl's expression would be. He was never to see her -again, so what the hell did it matter? . . . Disgust, probably! . . . He -remembered that he had not looked to see how Mackenzie was getting on in -the noise. He did not want to see Mackenzie. He was a bore. . . . How -would her face express disgust? He had never seen her express disgust. -She had a perfectly undistinguished face. Fair . . . O God, how suddenly -his bowels turned over! . . . Thinking of the girl . . . The face below -him grinned at the roof—the half face! The nose was there, half the -mouth with the teeth showing in the firelight. . . . It was -extraordinary how defined the peaked nose and the serrated teeth were in -that mess . . . The eye looked jauntily at the peak of the canvas -hut-roof. . . . Gone with a grin. Singular the fellow should have -spoken! After he was dead. He must have been dead when he spoke. It had -been done with the last air automatically going out of the lungs. A -reflex action, probably, in the dead. . . . If he, Tietjens, had given -the fellow the leave he wanted he would be alive now! . . . Well, he was -quite right not to have given the poor devil his leave. He was, anyhow, -better where he was. And so was he, Tietjens. He had not had a single -letter from home since he had been out this time! Not a single letter. -Not even gossip. Not a bill. Some circulars of old furniture dealers. -They never neglected him! They had got beyond the sentimental stage at -home. Obviously so. . . . He wondered if his bowels would turn over -again if he thought of the girl. He was gratified that they had. It -showed that he had strong feelings. . . . He thought about her -deliberately. Hard. Nothing happened. He thought of her fair, -undistinguished, fresh face that made your heart miss a beat when you -thought about it. His heart missed a beat. Obedient heart! Like the first -primrose. Not <i>any</i> primrose. The <i>first</i> primrose. Under a bank -with the hounds breaking through the underwood. . . . It was sentimental to -say <i>Du bist wie eine Blume</i>. . . . Damn the German language! But that -fellow was a Jew. . . . One should not say that one's young woman was like -<i>a</i> flower, <i>any</i> flower. Not even to oneself. That was -sentimental. But one might say one special flower. A <i>man</i> could say -that. A man's job. She smelt like a primrose when you kissed her. But, -damn it, he had never kissed her. So how did he know how she smelt! She was -a little tranquil, golden spot. He himself must be a —— eunuch. -By temperament. That dead fellow down there must be one, physically. It was -probably indecent to think of a corpse as impotent. But he was, very -likely. That would be why his wife had taken up with the prize-fighter Red -Evans Williams of Castell Goch. If he had given the fellow leave the -prize-fighter would have smashed him to bits. The police of Pontardulais -had asked that he should not be let come home—because of the -prize-fighter. So he was better dead. Or perhaps not. Is death better -than discovering that your wife is a whore and being done in by her cully? -<i>Gwell angau na gwillth</i>, their own regimental badge bore the words. -"<i>Death is better than dishonour</i>" . . . No, not death, <i>angau</i> -means pain. Anguish! Anguish is better than dishonour. The devil it is! -Well, that fellow would have got both. Anguish and dishonour. Dishonour -from his wife and anguish when the prize-fighter hit him. . . . That was -no doubt why his half-face grinned at the roof. The gory side of it had -turned brown. Already! Like a mummy of a Pharaoh, <i>that</i> half -looked. . . . He was born to be a blooming casualty. Either by shell-fire -or by the fist of the prize-fighter. . . . Pontardulais! Somewhere in -Mid-Wales. He had been through it once in a car, on duty. A long, dull -village. Why should anyone want to go back to it? . . . -</p> - -<p> -A tender butler's voice said beside him: "This ain't your job, sir. -Sorry you had to do it. . . . Lucky it wasn't you, sir. . . . This was -what done it, I should say." -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant-Major Cowley was standing beside him holding a bit of metal -that was heavy in his hand and like a candlestick. He was aware that a -moment before he had seen the fellow, Mackenzie, bending over the -brazier, putting the sheet of iron back. Careful officer, Mackenzie. The -Huns must not be allowed to see the light from the brazier. The edge of -the sheet had gone down on the dead man's tunic, nipping a bit by the -shoulder. The face had disappeared in shadow. There were several men's -faces in the doorway. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: "No: I don't believe that did it. Something bigger. . . . -Say a prize-fighter's fist. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant Cowley said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, no prize-fighter's fist would have done that, sir. . . ." And then -he added, "Oh, I take your meaning, sir . . . O Nine Morgan's wife, -sir. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens moved, his feet sticking, towards the sergeant-major's table. -The other runner had placed a tin basin with water on it. There was a -hooded candle there now, alight; the water shone innocently, a half-moon -of translucence wavering over the white bottom of the basin. The runner -from Pontardulais said: -</p> - -<p> -"Wash your hands first, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Move a little out of it, cahptn." He had a rag in his black hands. -Tietjens moved out of the blood that had run in a thin stream under the -table. The man was on his knees, his hands rubbing Tietjens' boot welts -heavily, with the rags. Tietjens placed his hands in the innocent water -and watched light purple-scarlet mist diffuse itself over the pale -half-moon. The man below him breathed heavily, sniffing. Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Thomas, O Nine Morgan was your mate?" -</p> - -<p> -The man's face, wrinkled, dark and ape-like, looked up. -</p> - -<p> -"He was a good pal, pore old ——," he said. "You would not like, -surely to goodness, to go to mess with your shoes all bloody." -</p> - -<p> -"If I had given him leave," Tietjens said, "he would not be dead now." -</p> - -<p> -"No, surely not," One Seven Thomas answered. "But it is all one. Evans -of Castell Goch would surely to goodness have killed him." -</p> - -<p> -"So you knew, too, about his wife!" Tietjens said. -</p> - -<p> -"We thocht it wass that," One Seven Thomas answered, "or you would have -given him leave, cahptn. You are a good cahptn." -</p> - -<p> -A sudden sense of the publicity that life was came over Tietjens. -</p> - -<p> -"You knew that," he said. "I wonder what the hell you fellows don't know -and all!" he thought. "If anything went wrong with one it would be all -over the command in two days. Thank God, Sylvia can't get here!" -</p> - -<p> -The man had risen to his feet. He fetched a towel of the -sergeant-major's, very white with a red border. -</p> - -<p> -"We know," he said, "that your honour is a very goot cahptn. And Captain -McKechnie is a <i>fery</i> goot cahptn. And Captain Prentiss, and -Le'tennant Jonce of Merthyr . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"That'll do. Tell the sergeant-major to give you a pass to go with your -mate to the hospital. Get someone to wash this floor." -</p> - -<p> -Two men were carrying the remains of O Nine Morgan, the trunk wrapped in -a ground sheet. They carried him in a bandy chair out of the hut. His -arms over his shoulders waved a jocular farewell. There would be an -ambulance stretcher on bicycle wheels outside. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - -<p> -The "All Clear" went at once after that. Its suddenness was something -surprising, the mournful-cheerful, long notes dying regretfully on a -night that had only just gone quiet after the perfectly astonishing row. -The moon had taken it into its head to rise; begumboiled, jocular and -grotesque, it came from behind the shoulder of one of the hut-covered -hills and sent down the lines of Tietjen's huts, long, sentimental rays -that converted the place into a slumbering, pastoral settlement. There -was no sound that did not contribute to the silence, little dim lights -shone through the celluloid casements. Of Sergeant-Major Cowley, his -numerals gilded by the moon in the lines of A Company, Tietjens, who was -easing his lungs of coke vapours for a minute, asked in a voice that -hushed itself in tribute to the moonlight and the now keen frost: -</p> - -<p> -"Where the deuce is the draft?" -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major looked poetically down a ribbon of whitewashed stones -that descended the black downside. Over the next shoulder of hill was -the blur of a hidden conflagration. -</p> - -<p> -"There's a Hun plane burning down there. In Twenty-Seven's parade -ground. The draft's round that, sir," he said. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God!" in a voice of caustic tolerance. He added, "I did think we -had drilled some discipline into these blighters in the seven weeks we -have had them. . . . You remember the first time when we had them on -parade and that acting lance-corporal left the ranks to heave a rock at -a sea-gull. . . . And called you 'OI' Hunkey! . . . Conduct prejudicial -to good order and military discipline? Where's that Canadian -sergeant-major? Where's the officer in charge of the draft?" -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant-Major Cowley said: -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant-Major Ledoux said it was like a cattle-stampede on the . . . -some river where they come from. You <i>couldn't</i> stop them, sir. It was -their first German plane. . . . And they going up the line to-night, -sir." -</p> - -<p> -"To-night!" Tietjens exclaimed. "Next Christmas!" -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major said: -</p> - -<p> -"Poor boys!" and continued to gaze into the distance. "I heard another -good one, sir," he said. "The answer to the one about the King saluting -a private soldier and he not taking any notice is: when he's dead. . . . -But if you marched a company into a field through a gateway and you -wanted to get it out again but you did not know any command in the drill -book for change of direction, what would you do, sir? . . . You have to -get that company out, but you must not use About Turn, or Right or Left -Wheel. . . . There's another one, too, about saluting. . . . The officer -in charge of draft is Second-Lieutenant Hotchkiss. . . . But he's an -A.S.C. officer and turned of sixty. A farrier he is, sir, in civil life. -An A.S.C. major was asking me, sir, very civil, if you could not detail -someone else. He says he doubts if Second-Lieutenant Hitchcock . . . -Hotchkiss could walk as far as the station, let alone march the men, him -not knowing anything but cavalry words of command, if he knows them. -He's only been in the army a fortnight. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens turned from the idyllic scene with the words: -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose the Canadian sergeant-major and Lieutenant Hotchkiss are -doing what they can to get their men to come back." -</p> - -<p> -He re-entered the hut. -</p> - -<p> -Captain Mackenzie in the light of a fantastically brilliant hurricane -lamp appeared to be bathing dejectedly in a surf of coiling papers -spread on the table before him. -</p> - -<p> -"There's all this bumph," he said, "just come from all the headquarters -in the bally world." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said cheerfully: -</p> - -<p> -"What's it all about?" There were, the other answered, Garrison -Headquarter orders, Divisional orders, Lines of Communication orders, -half a dozen A.F.B.W. two four two's. A terrific strafe from First Army -forwarded from Garrison H.Q. about the draft's not having reached -Hazebrouck the day before yesterday. Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Answer them politely to the effect that we had orders not to send off -the draft without its complement of four hundred Canadian Railway -Service men—the fellows in furred hoods. They only reached us from -Etaples at five this afternoon without blankets or ring papers. Or any -other papers for the matter of that." -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie was studying with increased gloom a small buff memorandum -slip: -</p> - -<p> -"This appears to be meant for you privately," he said. "I can't make -head or tail of it otherwise. It isn't <i>marked</i> private." -</p> - -<p> -He tossed the buff slip across the table. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens sank down bulkily on to his bully-beef case. He read on the -buff at first the initials of the signature, "E.C. Genl.," and then: -"For God's sake keep your wife off me. I <i>will</i> not have skirts round -my H.Q. You are more trouble to me than all the rest of my command put -together." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens groaned and sank more deeply on to his beef case. It was as if -an unseen and unsuspected wild beast had jumped on his neck from an -overhanging branch. The sergeant-major at his side said in his most -admirable butler manner: -</p> - -<p> -"Colour-Sergeant Morgan and Lance-Corporal Trench are obliging us by -coming from depot orderly room to help with the draft's papers. Why -don't you and the other officer go and get a bit of dinner, sir? The -colonel and the padre have only just come in to mess, and I've warned -the mess orderlies to keep your food 'ot. . . . Both good men with -papers, Morgan and Trench. We can send the soldiers' small books to you -at table to sign. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -His feminine solicitude enraged and overwhelmed Tietjens with blackness. -He told the sergeant-major that he was to go to hell, for he himself was -not going to leave that hut till the draft was moved off. Captain -Mackenzie could do as he pleased. The sergeant-major told Captain -Mackenzie that Captain Tietjens took as much trouble with his rag-time -detachments as if he had been the Coldstream adjutant at Chelsea sending -off a draft of Guards. Captain Mackenzie said that was why they -damn well got their details off four days faster than any other I.B.D. in -that camp. He <i>would</i> say that much, he added grudgingly and dropped -his head over his papers again. The hut was moving slowly up and down -before the eyes of Tietjens. He might have just been kicked in the -stomach. That was how shocks took him. He said to himself that by God he -must take himself in hand. He grabbed with his heavy hands at a piece of -buff paper and wrote on it in a column of fat, wet letters: -</p> - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="center">a</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">b</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">b</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">a</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">a</td></tr> - <tr><td align="center">b</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"> b</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">a and so on.</span></td></tr> -</table></div> - -<p> -He said opprobriously to Captain Mackenzie: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know what a sonnet is? Give me the rhymes for a sonnet. That's -the plan of it." -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie grumbled: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I know what a sonnet is. What's your game?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Give me the fourteen end-rhymes of a sonnet and I'll write the lines. -In under two minutes and a half." -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie said injuriously: -</p> - -<p> -"If you do I'll turn it into Latin hexameters in three. In <i>under</i> -three minutes." -</p> - -<p> -They were like men uttering deadly insults the one to the other. To -Tietjens it was as if an immense cat were parading, fascinated and -fatal, round that hut. He had imagined himself parted from his wife. He -had not heard from his wife since her four-in-the-morning departure from -their flat, months and eternities ago, with the dawn just showing up the -chimney-pots of the Georgian roof-trees opposite. In the complete -stillness of dawn he had heard her voice say very clearly "Paddington" -to the chauffeur, and then all the sparrows in the inn waking up in -chorus. . . . Suddenly and appallingly it came into his head that it -might not have been his wife's voice that had said "Paddington," but her -maid's . . . He was a man who lived very much by rules of conduct. He -had a rule: <i>Never think on the subject of a shock at a moment of -shock</i>. The mind was then too sensitized. Subjects of shock require to -be thought all round. If your mind thinks when it is too sensitized its -then conclusions will be too strong. So he exclaimed to Mackenzie: -</p> - -<p> -"Haven't you got your rhymes yet? Damn it <i>all</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie grumbled offensively: -</p> - -<p> -"No, I haven't. It's more difficult to get rhymes than to write -sonnets. . . . death, moil, coil, breath . . ." He paused. -</p> - -<p> -"Heath, soil, toil, staggereth," Tietjens said contemptuously. "That's -your sort of Oxford young woman's rhyme. . . . Go on . . . <i>What is -it</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -An extremely age-faded and unmilitary officer was beside the blanketed -table. Tietjens regretted having spoken to him with ferocity. He had a -grotesquely thin white beard. Positively, white whiskers! He must have gone -through as much of the army as he had gone through, with those whiskers, -because no superior officer—not even a field-marshal—would -have the heart to tell him to take them off! It was the measure of his -pathos. This ghost-like object was apologizing for not having been able -to keep the draft in hand: he was requesting his superior to observe -that these Colonial troops were without any instincts of discipline. -None at all. Tietjens observed that he had a blue cross on his right arm -where the vaccination marks are as a rule. He imagined the Canadians -talking to this hero. . . . The hero began to talk to, Major Cornwallis -of the R. A. S. C. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said apropos of nothing: -</p> - -<p> -"Is there a major Cornwallis in the A.S.C.? Good God!" -</p> - -<p> -The hero protested faintly: -</p> - -<p> -"The <i>R.A.S.C.</i>" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said kindly: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes. Yes. The <i>Royal</i> Army Service Corps." -</p> - -<p> -Obviously his mind until now had regarded his wife's "<i>Paddington</i>" as -the definite farewell between his life and hers. . . . He had imagined -her, like Eurydice, tall, but faint and pale, sinking back into the -shades. . . . "<i>Che faro senz' Eurydice</i>? . . ." he hummed. Absurd! -And of course it might have been only the maid that had spoken. . . . She -too had a remarkably clear voice. So that the mystic word "Paddington" -might perfectly well be no symbol at all, and Mrs. Sylvia Tietjens, far -from being faint and pale, might perfectly well be playing the very -devil with half the general officers commanding in chief from Whitehall -to Alaska. -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie—he <i>was</i> like a damned clerk—was transferring -the rhymes that he had no doubt at last found, onto another sheet of paper. -Probably he had a round, copy-book hand. Positively, his tongue followed -his pen round, inside his lips. These were what His Majesty's regular -officers of to-day were. Good God! A damned intelligent, dark-looking -fellow. Of the type that is starved in its youth and takes all the -scholarships that the board schools have to offer. Eyes too big and -black. Like a Malay's. . . . Any blasted member of any subject race. -</p> - -<p> -The A.S.C. fellow had been talking positively about horses. He had -offered his services in order to study the variation of pink-eye that -was decimating all the service horses in the lines. He had been a -professor—positively a professor—in some farriery college or -other. Tietjens said that, in that case, he ought to be in the -A.V.C.—the <i>Royal</i> Army Veterinary Corps perhaps it was. The old -man said he didn't know. He imagined that the R.A.S.C. had wanted his -service for their own horses. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell you what to do, Lieutenant Hitchcock. . . . For, damn it, -you're a stout fellow. . . ." The poor old fellow, pushing out at that -age from the cloisters of some provincial university . . . He certainly -did not look a horsy sportsman. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The old lieutenant said: -</p> - -<p> -"Hotchkiss . . ." And Tietjens exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course it's Hotchkiss . . . I've seen your name signing a -testimonial to Pigg's Horse Embrocation. . . . Then if you don't want to -take this draft up the line . . . Though I'd advise you to . . . It's -merely a Cook's Tour to Hazebrouck . . . No, Bailleul . . . And the -sergeant-major will march the men for you . . . And you will have been -in the First Army Lines and able to tell all your friends you've been on -active service at the real front. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -His mind said to himself while his words went on . . . -</p> - -<p> -"Then, good God, if Sylvia is actively paying attention to my career I -shall be the laughing-stock of the whole army. I was thinking that ten -minutes ago! . . . What's to be done? What in God's name is to be done?" -A black crape veil seemed to drop across his vision . . . Liver . . . -</p> - -<p> -Lieutenant Hotchkiss said with dignity: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm <i>going</i> to the front. I'm going to the real front. I was passed -A1 this morning. I am going to study the blood reactions of the service -horse under fire." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you're a damn good chap," Tietjens said. There was nothing to be -done. The amazing activities of which Sylvia would be capable were just -the thing to send laughter raging like fire through a cachinnating army. -She could not, thank God, get into France: to that place. But she could -make scandals in the papers that every Tommie read. There was no game of -which she was not capable. That sort of pursuit was called "pulling the -strings of shower-baths" in her circle of friends. Nothing. Nothing to -be done. . . . The beastly hurricane lamp was smoking. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell you what to do," he said to Lieutenant Hotchkiss. -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie had tossed his sheet of rhymes under his nose. Tietjens read: -<i>Death, moil, coil, breath</i>. . . <i>Saith</i>—"The dirty -Cockney!" <i>Oil, soil, wraith</i>. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"I'd be blowed," Mackenzie said with a vicious grin, "if I was going to -give you rhymes you had suggested yourself . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The officer said: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't of course want to be a nuisance if you're busy." -</p> - -<p> -"It's no nuisance," Tietjens said. "It's what we're for. But I'd suggest -that now and then you say 'sir' to the officer commanding your unit. It -sounds well before the men. . . . Now you go to No. XVI I.B.D. -Mess ante-room . . . The place where they've got the broken -bagatelle-table. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The voice of Sergeant-Major Cowley exclaimed tranquilly from outside: -</p> - -<p> -"Fall in now. Men who've got their ring papers and identity -disks—three of them—on the left. Men who haven't, on the -right. Any man who has not been able to draw his blankets tell -Colour-Sergeant Morgan. Don't forget. You won't get any where you're -going. Any man who hasn't made his will in his Soldier's Small Book or -elsewhere and wants to, to consult Captain Tietjens. Any man who wants -to draw money, ask Captain Mackenzie. Any R.C. who wants to go to -confession after he has got his papers signed can find the R.C. padre in -the fourth hut from the left in the Main Line from here. . . . And damn -kind it is of his reverence to put himself out for a set of damn -blinking mustard-faced red herrings like you who can't keep from running -away to the first baby's bonfire you sees. You'll be running the other -way before you're a week older, though what good they as asks for you -thinks you'll be out there God knows. You <i>look</i> like a squad of -infants' companions from a Wesleyan Sunday school. That's what you look -like and, thank God, we've got a Navy." -</p> - -<p> -Under cover of his voice Tietjens had been writing: -</p> - -<p> -"Now we affront the grinning chops of <i>Death</i>," and saying to -Lieutenant Hotchkiss: "In the I.B.D. anteroom you'll find any number of -dirty little squits of Glamorganshires drinking themselves blind over -<i>La Vie Parisienne</i>. . . . Ask any one of them you like. . . ." He -wrote: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"And in between our carcass and the <i>moil</i></span><br /> -<span class="i2">Of marts and cities, toil and moil and <i>coil</i>. . ."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -"You think this difficult!" he said to Mackenzie. "Why, you've written a -whole undertaker's mortuary ode in the rhymes alone," and went on to -Hotchkiss: "Ask anyone you like as long as he's a P.B. officer. . . . Do -you know what P.B. means? No, not Poor B——y, Permanent Base. -Unfit . . . If he'd like to take a draft to Bailleul." -</p> - -<p> -The hut was filling with devious, slow, ungainly men in yellow-brown. -Their feet shuffled desultorily; they lumped dull canvas bags along the -floor and held in unliterary hands small open books that they dropped -from time to time. From outside came a continuing, swelling and -descending chant of voices; at times it would seem to be all one laugh, -at times one menace, then the motives mingled fugally, like the sea on a -beach of large stones. It seemed to Tietjens suddenly extraordinary how -shut in on oneself one was in this life. . . . He sat scribbling fast: -"Old Spectre blows a cold protecting <i>breath</i> . . . Vanity of -vanities, the preacher <i>saith</i> . . . No more parades, Not any more, -no <i>oil</i> . . ." He was telling Hotchkiss, who was obviously shy of -approaching the Glamorganshires in their ante-room . . . "Unambergris'd -our limbs in the naked <i>soil</i> . . ." that he did not suppose any -P.B. officer would object. They would go on a beanfeast up into the -giddy line in a first-class carriage and get draft leave and command pay -too probably . . . "No funeral instruments cast before our wraiths . . ." -If any fellow does object, you just send his name to me and I will -damn well shove it into extra orders. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The advanced wave of the brown tide of men was already at his feet. The -extraordinary complications of even the simplest lives; . . . A fellow -was beside him . . . Private Logan, formerly, of all queer things for a -Canadian private, a trooper of the Inniskillings: owner, of all queer -things, of a milk-walk or a dairy farm, outside Sydney, which is in -Australia . . . A man of sentimental complications, jauntiness as became -an Inniskilling, a Cockney accent such as ornaments the inhabitants of -Sydney, and a complete distrust of lawyers. On the other hand, with the -completest trust in Tietjens. Over his shoulder—he was blonde, -upright, with his numerals shining like gold, looked a lumpish, -<i>café-au-lait</i>, eagle-nosed countenance: a half-caste member of -one of the Six Nations, who had been a doctor's errand boy in Quebec . . . -He had his troubles, but was difficult to understand. Behind him, very -black-avised with a high colour, truculent eyes and an Irish accent, was -a graduate of McGill University who had been a teacher of languages in -Tokio and had some sort of claim against the Japanese Government . . . -And faces, two and two, in a coil round the hut . . . Like dust: like a -cloud of dust that would approach and overwhelm a landscape: every one -with preposterous troubles and anxieties, even if they did not overwhelm -you personally with them . . . Brown dust . . . -</p> - -<p> -He kept the Inniskilling waiting while he scribbled the rapid sestet to -his sonnet which ought to make a little plainer what it all meant. Of -course the general idea was that, when you got into the line or near it, -there was no room for swank: typified by expensive funerals. As you -might say: No flowers by compulsion . . . No more parades! . . . He had -also to explain, while he did it, to the heroic veterinary sexagenarian -that he need not feel shy about going into the Glamorganshire Mess on a -man-catching expedition. The Glamorganshires were bound to lend him, -Tietjens, P.B. officers if they had not got other jobs. Lieutenant -Hotchkiss could speak to Colonel Johnson, whom he would find in the mess -and quite good-natured over his dinner. A pleasant and sympathetic old -gentleman who would appreciate Hotchkiss's desire not to go -superfluously into the line. Hotchkiss could offer to take a look at the -colonel's charger: a Hun horse, captured on the Marne and called -Schomburg, that was off its feed. . . . He added: "But don't do anything -professional to Schomburg. I ride him myself!" -</p> - -<p> -He threw his sonnet across to Mackenzie, who with a background of -huddled khaki limbs and anxious faces was himself anxiously counting out -French currency notes and dubious-looking tokens . . . What the deuce -did men want to draw money—sometimes quite large sums of money, the -Canadians being paid in dollars converted into local coins—when in an -hour or so they would be going up? But they always did and their -accounts were always in an incredibly entangled state. Mackenzie might -well look worried. As like as not he might find himself a fiver or more -down at the end of the evening for unauthorized payments. If he had only -his pay and an extravagant wife to keep, that might well put the wind up -him. But that was <i>his</i> funeral. He told Lieutenant Hotchkiss to come -and have a chat with him in his hut, the one next the mess. About horses. -He knew a little about horse-illnesses himself. Only empirically, of -course. -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie was looking at his watch. -</p> - -<p> -"You took two minutes and eleven seconds," he said. "I'll take it for -granted it's a sonnet . . . I have not read it because I can't turn it -into Latin here . . . I haven't got your knack of doing eleven things at -once. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -A man with a worried face, encumbered by a bundle and a small book, was -studying figures at Mackenzie's elbow. He interrupted Mackenzie in a -high American voice to say that he had never drawn fourteen dollars -seventy-five cents in Thrasna Barracks, Aldershot. -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie said to Tietjens: -</p> - -<p> -"You understand. I have not read your sonnet. I shall turn it into Latin -in the mess: in the time stipulated. I don't want you to think I've read -it and taken time to think about it." -</p> - -<p> -The man beside him said: -</p> - -<p> -"When I went to the Canadian Agent, Strand, London, his office was shut -up . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Mackenzie said with white fury: -</p> - -<p> -"How much service have you got? Don't you know better than to interrupt -an officer when he is talking. You must settle your own figures with -your own confounded Colonial paymaster. I've sixteen dollars thirty -cents here for you. Will you take them or leave them?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I know that man's case. Turn him over to me. It isn't complicated. He's -got his paymaster's cheque, but doesn't know how to cash it and of -course they won't give him another. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The man with slow, broad, brown features looked from one to the other -officer's face and back again with a keen black-eyed scrutiny as if he -were looking into a wind and dazed by the light. He began a long story -of how he owed Fat-Eared Bill fifty dollars lost at House. He was -perhaps half-Chinese, half-Finn. He continued to talk, being in a state -of great anxiety about his money. Tietjens addressed himself to the -cases of the Sydney Inniskilling ex-trooper and the McGill graduate who -had suffered at the hands of the Japanese Educational Ministry. It made -altogether a complicated effect. "You would say," Tietjens said to -himself, "that, all together, it ought to be enough to take my mind up." -</p> - -<p> -The upright trooper had a very complicated sentimental history. It was -difficult to advise him before his fellows. He, however, felt no -diffidence. He discussed the points of the girl called Rosie whom he had -followed from Sydney to British Columbia, of the girl called Gwen with -whom he had taken up in Aberystwyth, of the woman called Mrs. Hosier -with whom he had lived maritally, on a sleeping-out pass, at Berwick St. -James, near Salisbury Plain. Through the continuing voice of the -half-caste Chinaman he discussed them with a large tolerance, explaining -that he wanted them all to have a bit, as a souvenir, if he happened to -stop one out there. Tietjens handed him the draft of a will he had had -written out for him, asked him to read it attentively and copy it with -his own hand into his soldier's small book. Then Tietjens would witness -it for him. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you think this will make my old woman in Sydney part? I guess it -won't. She's a sticker, sir. A regular July bur, God bless her." The -McGill graduate was beginning already to introduce a further -complication into his story of complications with the Japanese -Government. It appeared that in addition to his scholastic performances -he had invested a little money in a mineral water spring near Kobe, the -water, bottled, being exported to San Francisco. Apparently his company -had been indulging in irregularities according to Japanese law, but a -pure French Canadian, who had experienced some difficulties in obtaining -his baptismal certificate from a mission somewhere in the direction of -the Klondike, was allowed by Tietjens to interrupt the story of the -graduate; and several men without complications, but anxious to get -their papers signed so as to write last letters home before the draft -moved, overflowed across Tietjen's table. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The tobacco smoke from the pipes of the N.C.O.'s at the other end of the -room hung, opalescent, beneath the wire cages of the brilliant hurricane -lamps hung over each table; buttons and numerals gleamed in the air that -the universal khaki tinge of the limbs seemed to turn brown, as if into -a gas of dust. Nasal voices, throat voices, drawling voices, melted into -a rustle so that the occasional high, sing-song profanity of a Welsh -N.C.O.: Why the <i>hell</i> haffn't you got your 124? Why the -—— hell haffn't you got your 124? Don't you <i>know</i> you -haff to haff your bleedin' 124's? seemed to wail tragically through a -silence . . . The evening wore on and on. It astounded Tietjens, looking -at one time at his watch to discover that it was only 21 hrs. 19. He seemed -to have been thinking drowsily of his own affairs for ten hours. . . . -For, in the end, these were his own affairs. . . . Money, women, -testamentary bothers. Each of these complications from over the Atlantic -and round the world were his own troubles: a world in labour: an army -being moved off in the night. Shoved off. Anyhow. And over the top. A -lateral section of the world. . . . - - -</p> - -<p> -He had happened to glance at the medical history of a man beside him and -noticed that he had been described as C1. . . . It was obviously a slip -of the pen on the part of the Medical Board, or one of their orderlies. -He had written C instead of A. The man was Pte. 197394 Thomas Johnson, a -shining-faced lump of beef, an agricultural odd jobman from British -Columbia where he had worked on the immense estates of Sylvia Tietjens' -portentous ducal second cousin Rugeley. It was a double annoyance. -Tietjens had not wanted to be reminded of his wife's second cousin, -because he had not wanted to be reminded of his wife. He had determined -to give his thoughts a field day on that subject when he got warm into -his flea-bag in his hut that smelt of paraffin whilst the canvas walls -crackled with frost and the moon shone. . . . He would think of Sylvia -beneath the moon. He was determined not to now! But 197394 Pte. Johnson, -Thomas, was otherwise a nuisance and Tietjens cursed himself for having -glanced at the man's medical history. If this preposterous yokel was C3 -he could not go on a draft . . . C1 rather! It was all the same. That -would mean finding another man to make up the strength and that would -drive Sergeant-Major Cowley out of his mind. He looked up towards the -ingenuous, protruding, shining, liquid, bottle-blue eyes of Thomas -Johnson. . . . The fellow had never had an illness. He could not have had -an illness—except from a surfeit of cold, fat, boiled pork—and -for that you would give him a horse's blue ball and drench which, ten to -one, would not remove the cause of the belly-ache. . . . -</p> - -<p> -His eyes met the non-committal glance of a dark, gentlemanly thin fellow -with a strikingly scarlet hatband, a lot of gilt about his khaki and -little strips of steel chain-armour on his shoulders. . . . Levin . . . -Colonel Levin, G.S.O. II, or something, attached to General Lord Edward -Campion. . . . How the hell did fellows get into these intimacies of -commanders of units and their men? Swimming in like fishes into the brown -air of a tank and there at your elbow . . .——spies! . . . The -men had all been called to attention and stood like gasping codfish. The -ever-watchful Sergeant-Major Cowley had drifted to his, Tietjens', -elbow. You protect your orfcers from the gawdy Staff as you protect your -infant daughters in lambswool from draughts. The dark, bright, cheerful -staffwallah said with a slight lisp: -</p> - -<p> -"Busy, I see." He might have been standing there for a century and have -a century of the battalion headquarters' time to waste like that. "What -draft is this?" -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant-Major Cowley, always ready in case his orfcer should not know -the name of his unit or his own name, said: -</p> - -<p> -"No. 16 I.B.D. Canadian First Division Casual Number Four Draft, sir." -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Levin let air lispingly out between his teeth. -</p> - -<p> -"No. 16 Draft not off yet . . . Dear, dear! Dear, dear! . . . We shall -be strafed to hell by First Army. . . ." He used the word hell as if he -had first wrapped it in eau-de-cologned cotton-wadding. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, on his feet, knew this fellow very well: a fellow who had been -a very bad Society water-colour painter of good family on the mother's -side: hence the cavalry gadgets on his shoulders. Would it then be -good . . . say good taste to explode? He let the sergeant-major do it. -Sergeant-Major Cowley was of the type of N.C.O. who carried weight -because he knew ten times as much about his job as any Staff officer. -The sergeant-major explained that it had been impossible to get off the -draft earlier. The colonel said: -</p> - -<p> -"But surely, sergeant-majah . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major, now a deferential shopwalker in a lady's store, -pointed out that they had had urgent instructions not to send up the -draft without the four hundred Canadian Railway Service men who were to -come from Etaples. These men had only arrived that evening at 5.30 . . . -at the railway station. Marching them up had taken three-quarters of an -hour. The colonel said: -</p> - -<p> -"But surely, sergeant-majah . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Old Cowley might as well have said "madam" as "sir" to the red -hat-band. . . . The four hundred had come with only what they stood up in. -The unit had had to wangle everything: boots, blankets, toothbrushes, -braces, rifles, iron-rations, identity disks out of the depot store. And -it was now only twenty-one twenty. . . . Cowley permitted his commanding -officer at this point to say: -</p> - -<p> -"You must understand that we work in circumstances of extreme -difficulty, sir. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The graceful colonel was lost in an absent contemplation of his -perfectly elegant knees. -</p> - -<p> -"I know, of course. . . ." he lisped. "Very difficult . . ." He -brightened up to add: "But you must admit you're unfortunate. . . . You -must admit that. . . ." The weight settled, however, again on his mind. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Not, I suppose, sir, any more unfortunate than any other unit working -under a dual control for supplies. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The colonel said: -</p> - -<p> -"What's that? Dual . . . Ah, I see you're there, Mackenzie. . . . -Feeling well . . . feeling fit, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -The whole hut stood silent. His anger at the waste of time made Tietjens -say: -</p> - -<p> -"If you understand, sir, we are a unit whose principal purpose is -drawing things to equip drafts with. . . ." This fellow was delaying -them atrociously. He was brushing his knees with a handkerchief! "I've -had," Tietjens said, "a man killed on my hands this afternoon because we -have to draw tin-hats for my orderly room from Dublin on an A.F.B. -Canadian from Aldershot. . . . Killed here. . . . We've only just -mopped up the blood from where you're standing. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The cavalry colonel exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, good gracious me! . . ." jumped a little and examined his -beautiful, shining, knee-high aircraft boots. "Killed! . . . . Here! . . . -But there'll have to be a court of inquiry. . . . You certainly are -<i>most</i> unfortunate, Captain Tietjens. . . . Always these -mysterious . . . Why wasn't your man in a dug-out? . . . Most -unfortunate. . . . We cannot have casualties among the Colonial -troops. . . . Troops from the Dominions, I mean. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said grimly: -</p> - -<p> -"The man was from Pontardulais . . . not from any Dominion. . . . One of -my orderly room. . . . We are forbidden on pain of court martial to let -any but Dominion Expeditionary Force men go into the dugouts. . . . My -Canadians were all there. . . . It's an A.C.I. local of the eleventh of -November. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The Staff officer said: -</p> - -<p> -"It makes, of course, a difference! . . . Only a Glamorganshire? You -say . . . Oh, well. . . . But these mysterious . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He exclaimed, with the force of an explosion, and the relief: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here . . . can you spare, possibly, ten . . . twenty . . . eh . . . -minutes? . . . It's not exactly a service matter . . . so per . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"You see how we're situated, colonel . . ." and, like one sowing grass -seed on a lawn, extended both hands over his papers and towards his -men. . . . He was choking with rage. Colonel Levin had, under the -chaperonage of an English dowager, who ran a chocolate store down on the -quays in Rouen, a little French piece to whom he was quite seriously -engaged. In the most naïve manner. And the young woman, fantastically -jealous, managed to make endless insults to herself out of her almost too -handsome colonel's barbaric French. It was an idyll, but it drove the -colonel frantic. At such times Levin would consult Tietjens, who passed -for a man of brains and a French scholar as to really nicely turned -compliments in a difficult language. . . . And as to how you explained -that it was necessary for a G.S.O. II, or whatever the colonel was, to -be seen quite frequently in the company of very handsome V.A.D.'s and -female organizers of all arms . . . It was the sort of silliness as to -which no gentleman ought to be consulted. . . . And here was Levin with -the familiar feminine-agonized wrinkle on his bronzed-alabaster brow. . . . -Like a beastly soldier-man out of a revue. Why didn't the ass burst -into gesture and a throaty tenor. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant-Major Cowley naturally saved the situation. Just as Tietjens was -as near saying <i>Go to hell</i> as you can be to your remarkably senior -officer on parade, the sergeant-major, now a very important solicitor's -most confidential clerk, began whispering to the colonel. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"The captain might as well take a spell as not. . . . We're through with -all the men except the Canadian Railway batch, and they can't be issued -with blankets not for half an hour . . . not for three-quarters. If -then! It depends if our runner can find where Quarter's lance-corporal -is having his supper, to issue them. . . ." The sergeant-major had -inserted that last speech deftly. The Staff officer, with a vague -reminiscence of his regimental days, exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it! . . . I wonder you don't break into the depot blanket store -and take what you want. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major, becoming Simon Pure, exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, sir, we could never do that, sir. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"But the confounded men are urgently needed in the line," Colonel Levin -said. "Damn it, it's touch and go! . . . We're rushing . . ." He -appreciated the fact again that he was on the gawdy Staff, and that the -sergeant-major and Tietjens, playing like left backs into each other's -hands, had trickily let him in. -</p> - -<p> -"We can only pray, sir," the sergeant-major said, "that these 'ere -bloomin' 'Uns has got quartermasters and depots and issuing departments, -same as ourselves." He lowered his voice into a husky whisper. "Besides, -sir, there's a rumour . . . round the telephone in depot orderly room . . . -that there's a W.O. order at 'Edquarters . . . countermanding this -and other drafts. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Levin said: "Oh, my God!" and consternation rushed upon both him -and Tietjens. The frozen ditches, in the night, out there; the agonized -waiting for men; the weight upon the mind like a weight upon the brows; -the imminent sense of approaching unthinkableness on the right or the -left, according as you looked up or down the trench; the solid -protecting earth of the parapet then turns into pierced mist . . . and -no reliefs coming from here. . . . The men up there thinking naïvely -that they were coming, and they not coming. Why not? Good God, why not? -Mackenzie said: -</p> - -<p> -"Poor —— old Bird . . . His crowd had been in eleven weeks last -Wednesday. . . . About all they could stick. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"They'll have to stick a damn lot more," Colonel Levin said. "I'd like -to get at some of the brutes. . . ." It was at that date the settled -conviction of His Majesty's Expeditionary Force that the army in the -field was the tool of politicians and civilians. In moments of routine -that cloud dissipated itself lightly: when news of ill omen arrived it -settled down again heavily like a cloud of black gas. You hung your head -impotently. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"So that," the sergeant-major said cheerfully, "the captain could very -well spare half an hour to get his dinner. Or for anything else. . . ." -Apart from the domestic desire that Tietjens' digestion should not -suffer from irregular meals he had the professional conviction that for -his captain to be in intimate private converse with a member of the -gawdy Staff was good for the unit. ... "I suppose, sir," he added -valedictorily to Tietjens, "I'd better arrange to put this draft, and -the nine hundred men that came in this afternoon to replace them, twenty -in a tent. . . . It's lucky we didn't strike them. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens and the colonel began to push men out of their way, going -towards the door. The Inniskilling-Canadian, a small open brown book, -extended deprecatingly stood, modestly obtrusive, just beside the -doorpost. Catching avidly at Tietjens' "Eh?" he said: -</p> - -<p> -"You'd got the names of the girls wrong in your copy, sir. It was Gwen -Lewis I had a child by in Aberystwyth that I wanted to have the lease of -the cottage and the ten bob a week. Mrs. Hosier that I lived with in -Berwick St. James, she was only to have five guineas for a soovneer. . . . -I've took the liberty of changing the names back again. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens grabbed the book from him, and bending down at the -sergeant-major's table scrawled his signature on the bluish page. He -thrust the book back at the man and said: -</p> - -<p> -"There . . . fall out." The man's face shone. He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly, captain. . . . I wanted to get off -and go to confession. I did bad. . . ." The McGill graduate with his -arrogant black moustache put himself in the way as Tietjens struggled -into his British warm. -</p> - -<p> -"You won't forget, sir, . . ." he began. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn you, I've told you I won't forget. I never forget. You instructed -the ignorant Jap in Asaki, but the educational authority is in Tokio. -And your flagitious mineral-water company had their headquarters at the -Tan Sen spring near Kobe. . . . Is that right? Well, I'll do my best for -you." -</p> - -<p> -They walked in silence through the groups of men that hung round the -orderly room door and gleamed in the moonlight. In the broad country -street of the main line of the camp Colonel Levin began to mutter -between his teeth: -</p> - -<p> -"You take enough trouble with your beastly crowd . . . a whole lot of -trouble. . . . Yet . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, what's the matter with us?" Tietjens said. "We get our drafts -ready in thirty-six hours less than any other unit in this command." -</p> - -<p> -"I know you do," the other conceded. "It's only all these mysterious -rows. Now . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said quickly: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you mind my asking: Are we still on parade? Is this a strafe from -General Campion as to the way I command my unit?" -</p> - -<p> -The other conceded quite as quickly and much more worriedly: -</p> - -<p> -"God forbid." He added more quickly still: "Old bean!" and prepared to -tuck his wrist under Tietjens' elbow. Tietjens, however, continued to -face the fellow. He was really in a temper. -</p> - -<p> -"Then tell me," he said, "how the deuce you can manage to do without an -overcoat in this weather?" If only he could get the chap off the topics -of his mysterious rows they might drift to the matter that had brought -him up there on that bitter night when he should be sitting over a good -wood fire philandering with Mlle Nanette de Bailly. He sank his neck -deeper into the sheepskin collar of his British warm. The other, slim, -was with all his badges, ribands and mail, shining darkly in a cold that -set all Tietjens' teeth chattering like porcelain. Levin became -momentarily animated: -</p> - -<p> -"You should do as I do. . . . Regular hours . . . lots of exercise . . . -horse exercise. . . . I do P.T. every morning at the open window of my -room . . . hardening. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"It must be very gratifying for the ladies in the rooms facing yours," -Tietjens said grimly. "Is that what's the matter with Mlle Nanette, -now? . . . I haven't got time for proper exercise. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Good gracious, no," the colonel said. He now tucked his hand firmly -under Tietjens' arm and began to work him towards the left hand of the -road: in the direction leading out of the camp. Tietjens worked their -steps as firmly towards the right and they leant one against the other. -"In fact, old bean," the colonel said, "Campy is working so hard to get -the command of a fighting army—though he's indispensable -here—that we might pack up bag and baggage any day. . . . That is -what has made Nanette see reason. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Then what am I doing in this show?" Tietjens asked. But Colonel Levin -continued blissfully: -</p> - -<p> -"In fact I've got her almost practically for certain to promise that -next week . . . or the week after next at latest . . . she'll . . . damn -it, she'll name the happy day." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Good hunting! . . . How splendidly Victorian!" "That's, damn it," the -colonel exclaimed manfully, "what I say myself. . . . Victorian is what -it is. . . . All these marriage settlements. . . . And what is it . . . -<i>Droits du Seigneur</i>? . . . And notaires . . . And the Count, having -his say . . . And the Marchioness . . . And two old grand aunts . . . -But . . . Hoopla! . . ." He executed with his gloved right thumb in the -moonlight a rapid pirouette . . . "Next week . . . or at least the week -after . . ." His voice suddenly dropped. -</p> - -<p> -"At least," he wavered, "that was what it was at lunch-time. . . . Since -then . . . something happened. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"You've not been caught in bed with a V.A.D.?" Tietjens asked. -</p> - -<p> -The colonel mumbled: -</p> - -<p> -"No . . . not in bed. . . . Not with a V.A.D. . . . Oh, damn it, at the -railway station. . . . With . . . The general sent me down to meet -her . . . and Nanny of course was seeing off her grandmother, the -Duchesse . . . The giddy cut she handed me out. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens became coldly furious. -</p> - -<p> -"Then it <i>was</i> over one of your beastly imbecile rows with Miss de -Bailly that you got me out here," he exclaimed. "Do you mind going down -with me towards the I.B.D. headquarters? Your final orders may have come in -there. The sappers won't let me have a telephone, so I have to look in -there the last thing. . . ." He felt a yearning towards rooms in huts, -warmed by coke-stoves and electrically lit, with acting lance-corporals -bending over A.F.B.'s on a background of deal pigeon-holes filled with -returns on buff and blue paper. You got quiet and engrossment there. It -was a queer thing: the only place where he, Christopher Tietjens of -Groby, could be absently satisfied was in some orderly room or other. -The only place in the world. . . . And why? It was a queer thing. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But not queer, really. It was a matter of inevitable selection if you -came to think it out. An acting orderly-room lance-corporal was selected -for his penmanship, his power of elementary figuring, his -trustworthiness amongst innumerable figures and messages, his -dependability. For this he differed a hair's breadth in rank from the -rank and file. A hairbreadth that was to him the difference between life -and death. For, if he proved not to be dependable, back he -went—returned to duty! As long as he was dependable he slept under a -table in a warm room, his toilette arrangements and washing in a -bully-beef case near his head, a billy full of tea always stewing for -him on an always burning stove. . . . A paradise! . . . No! Not a paradise: -<i>the</i> paradise of the Other Ranks! . . . He might be awakened at -one in the morning. Miles away the enemy might be beginning a strafe. . . . -He would roll out from among the blankets under the table amongst -the legs of hurrying N.C.O.'s and officers, the telephone going like -hell. . . . He would have to manifold innumerable short orders on buff -slips, on a typewriter. . . . A bore to be awakened at one in the -morning, but not unexciting: the enemy putting up a tremendous barrage -in front of the village of Dranoutre: the whole nineteenth division to -be moved into support along the Bailleul-Nieppe road. In case . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens considered the sleeping army. . . . That country village under -the white moon, all of sackcloth sides, celluloid windows, forty men to -a hut . . . That slumbering Arcadia was one of . . . how many? -Thirty-seven thousand five hundred, say for a million and a half of -men. . . . But there were probably more than a million and a half in that -base. . . . Well, round the slumbering Arcadias were the fringes of -virginly glimmering tents. . . . Fourteen men to a tent. . . . For a -million. . . . Seventy-one thousand four hundred and twenty-one tents -round, say, one hundred and fifty I.B.D.'s, C.B.D.'s, R.E.B.D.'s. . . . -Base depots for infantry, cavalry, sappers, gunners, airmen, -anti-airmen, telephone-men, vets, chiropodists, Royal Army Service Corps -men, Pigeon Service men, Sanitary Service men, Women's Auxiliary Army -Corps women, V.A.D. women—what in the world did V.A.D. stand -for?—canteens, rest-tent attendants, barrack damage superintendents, -parsons, priests, rabbis, Mormon bishops, Brahmins, Lamas, Imams, Fanti -men, no doubt, for African troops. And all really dependent on the -acting orderly-room lance-corporals for their temporal and spiritual -salvation. . . . For, if by a slip of the pen a lance-corporal sent a -Papist priest to an Ulster regiment, the Ulster men would lynch him, and -all go to hell. Or, if by a slip of the tongue at the telephone, or a -slip of the typewriter, he sent a division to Westoutre instead of to -Dranoutre at one in the morning, the six or seven thousand poor devils -in front of Dranoutre might all be massacred and nothing but His -Majesty's Navy could save us. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Yet, in the end, all this tangle was satisfactorily unravelled; the -drafts moved off, unknotting themselves like snakes, coiling out of -inextricable bunches, sliding vertebrately over the mud to dip into -their bowls—the rabbis found Jews dying to whom to administer; the -vets, spavined mules; the V.A.D.'s, men without jaws and shoulders in -C.C.S.'s; the camp-cookers, frozen beef; the chiropodists, ingrowing -toenails; the dentists, decayed molars; the naval howitzers, camouflaged -emplacements in picturesquely wooded dingles. . . . Somehow they got -there—even to the pots of strawberry jam by the ten dozen! -</p> - -<p> -For if the acting lance-corporal, whose life hung by a hair, made a slip -of the pen over a dozen pots of jam, back he went, <i>Returned to -duty</i> . . . back to the frozen rifle, the ground-sheet on the liquid -mud, the desperate suction on the ankle as the foot was advanced, the -landscapes silhouetted with broken church towers, the continual drone of -the planes, the mazes of duckboards in vast plains of slime, the -unending Cockney humour, the great shells labelled <i>Love to Little -Willie</i>. . . . Back to the Angel with the Flaming Sword. The wrong -side of him! . . . So, on the whole, things moved satisfactorily. . . . - - -</p> - -<p> -He was walking Colonel Levin imperiously between the huts towards the -mess quarters, their feet crunching on the freezing gravel, the colonel -hanging back a little; but a mere light-weight and without nails in his -elegant bootsoles, so he had no grip on the ground. He was remarkably -silent. Whatever he wanted to get out he was reluctant to come to. He -brought out, however: -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder you don't apply to be returned to duty . . . to your -battalion. I jolly well should if I were you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Why? Because I've had a man killed on me? . . . There must have been a -dozen killed to-night." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, more, very likely," the other answered. "It was one of our own -planes that was brought down. . . . But it isn't that. . . . Oh, damn -it! . . . Would you mind walking the other way? . . . I've the greatest -respect . . . oh, almost ... for you personally. . . . You're a man of -intellect. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens was reflecting on a nice point of military etiquette. -</p> - -<p> -This lisping, ineffectual fellow—he was a very careful Staff officer -or Campion would not have had him about the place!—was given to -moulding himself exactly on his general. Physically, in costume as far as -possible, in voice—for his lisp was not his own so much as an -adaptation of the general's slight stutter—and above all in his -uncompleted sentences and point of view. . . . Now, if he said: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, colonel . . ." or "Look here, Colonel Levin . . ." or "Look -here, Stanley, my boy . . ." For the one thing an officer may not say to a -superior whatever their intimacy was: "Look here, Levin . . ." If he -said then: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, Stanley, you're a silly ass. It's all very well for Campion -to say that I am unsound because I've some brains. He's my godfather and -has been saying it to me since I was twelve, and had more brain in my -left heel than he had in the whole of his beautifully barbered skull. . . . -But when you say it you are just a parrot. You did not think that -out for yourself. You do not even think it. You know I'm heavy, short in -the wind, and self-assertive . . . but you know perfectly well that I'm -as good on detail as yourself. And a damned sight more. You've never -caught me tripping over a return. Your sergeant in charge of returns may -have. But not you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -If Tietjens should say that to this popinjay, would that be going -farther than an officer in charge of detachment should go with a member -of the Staff set above him, though not on parade and in a conversation -of intimacy? Off parade and in intimate conversation all His Majesty's poor -—— officers are equals . . . gentlemen having His Majesty's -commission: there can be no higher rank and all that Bilge! . . . For -how off parade could this descendant of an old-clo'man from Frankfurt be -the equal of him, Tietjens of Groby? He wasn't his equal in any -way—let alone socially. If Tietjens hit him he would drop dead; if he -addressed a little sneering remark to Levin, the fellow would melt so -that you would see the old spluttering Jew swimming up through his -carefully arranged Gentile features. He couldn't shoot as well as -Tietjens, or ride, or play a hand at auction. Why, damn it, he, -Tietjens, hadn't the least doubt that he could paint better water-colour -pictures. . . . And, as for returns . . . he would undertake to tear the -guts out of half a dozen new and contradictory A.C.I.'s—Army Council -Instructions—and write twelve correct Command Orders founded on them, -before Levin had lisped out the date and serial number of the first -one. . . . He had done it several times up in the room, arranged like a -French blue stocking's salon, where Levin worked at Garrison -headquarters . . . He had written Levin's blessed command orders while -Levin fussed and fumed about their being delayed for tea with Mlle de -Bailly . . . and curled his delicate moustache . . . Mlle de Bailly, -chaperoned by old Lady Sachse, had tea by a clear wood fire in an -eighteenth-century octagonal room, with blue-grey tapestried walls and -powdering closets, out of priceless porcelain cups without handles. Pale -tea that tasted faintly of cinnamon! -</p> - -<p> -Mlle de Bailly was a long, dark, high-coloured Provençale. Not heavy, -but precisely long, slow, and cruel; coiled in a deep arm-chair, saying -the most wounding, slow things to Levin, she resembled a white Persian -cat luxuriating, sticking out a tentative pawful of expanding claws. -With eyes slanting pronouncedly upwards and a very thin hooked nose . . . -Almost Japanese . . . And with a terrific cortège of relatives, swell -in a French way. One brother a chauffeur to a Marshal of France . . . An -aristocratic way of shirking! -</p> - -<p> -With all that, obviously even off parade, you might well be the social -equal of a Staff colonel: but you jolly well had to keep from showing -that you were his superior. Especially intellectually. If you let yourself -show a Staff officer that he <i>was</i> a silly ass—you could say it -as often as you liked as long as you didn't prove it!—you could be -certain that you would be for it before long. And quite properly. It was -not English to be intellectually adroit. Nay, it was positively -un-English. And the duty of field officers is to keep messes as English -as possible. . . . So a Staff officer would take it out of such a -regimental inferior. In a perfectly creditable way. You would never -imagine the hash headquarters warrant officers would make of your -returns. Until you were worried and badgered and in the end either you -were ejected into, or prayed to be transferred to . . . any other -command in the whole service. . . . -</p> - -<p> -And that was beastly. The process, not the effect. On the whole Tietjens -did not care where he was or what he did as long as he kept out of -England, the thought of that country, at night, slumbering across the -Channel, being sentimentally unbearable to him. . . . Still, he was fond -of old Campion, and would rather be in his command than any other. He -had attached to his staff a very decent set of fellows, as decent as you -could be in contact with . . . if you had to be in contact with your -kind. . . . So he just said: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, Stanley, you are a silly ass," and left it at that, without -demonstrating the truth of the assertion. -</p> - -<p> -The colonel said: -</p> - -<p> -"Why, what have I been doing now? . . . I <i>wish</i> you would walk the -other way. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, I can't afford to go out of camp. . . . I've got to come to witness -your fantastic wedding-contract to-morrow afternoon, haven't I? . . . I -can't leave camp twice in one week. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"You've got to come down to the camp-guard," Levin said. "I hate to keep -a woman waiting in the cold . . . though she <i>is</i> in the general's -car. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"You've not been . . . oh, extraordinarily enough, to bring Miss de -Bailly out here? To talk to me?" -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Levin mumbled, so low Tietjens almost imagined that he was not -meant to hear: -</p> - -<p> -"It isn't Miss de Bailly!" Then he exclaimed quite aloud: "Damn it all, -Tietjens, haven't you had hints enough? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -For a lunatic moment it went through Tietjens' mind that it must be Miss -Wannop in the general's car, at the gate, down the hill beside the camp -guard-room. But he knew folly when it presented itself to his mind. He -had nevertheless turned and they were going very slowly back along the -broad way between the huts. Levin was certainly in no hurry. The broad -way would come to an end of the hutments; about two acres of slope would -descend blackly before them, white stones to mark a sort of coastguard -track glimmering out of sight beneath a moon gone dark with the frost. -And, down there in the dark forest, at the end of that track, in a -terrific Rolls-Royce, was waiting something of which Levin was certainly -deucedly afraid. . . . -</p> - -<p> -For a minute Tietjens' backbone stiffened. He didn't intend to interfere -between Mlle de Bailly and any married woman Levin had had as a -mistress. . . . Somehow he was convinced that what was in that car was a -married woman. . . . He did not dare to think otherwise. If it was not a -married woman it might be Miss Wannop. If it was, it couldn't be. . . . -An immense waft of calm, sentimental happiness had descended upon him. -Merely because he had imagined her! He imagined her little, fair, rather -pug-nosed face: under a fur cap, he did not know why. Leaning forward -she would be, on the seat of the general's illuminated car: glazed in: a -regular raree show! Peering out, shortsightedly on account of the -reflections on the inside of the glass. . . . -</p> - -<p> -He was saying to Levin: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, Stanley . . . why I said you are a silly ass is because Miss -de Bailly has one chief luxury. It's exhibiting jealousy. Not feeling -it; exhibiting it." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Ought</i> you," Levin asked ironically, "to discuss my fiancée before -me? As an English gentleman. Tietjens of Groby and all." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, of course," Tietjens said. He continued feeling happy. "As a sort -of swollen best man, it's my duty to instruct you. Mothers tell their -daughters things before marriage. Best men do it for the innocent -Benedict. . . . And you're always consulting me about the young -woman. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I'm not doing it now," Levin grumbled direly. -</p> - -<p> -"Then what, in God's name, are you doing? You've got a cast mistress, -haven't you, down there in old Campion's car? . . ." They were beside -the alley that led down to his orderly room. Knots of men, dim, and -desultory, still half filled it, a little way down. -</p> - -<p> -"I <i>haven't</i>," Levin exclaimed almost tearfully. "I never <i>had</i> a -mistress. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"And you're not married?" Tietjens asked. He used on purpose the -schoolboy's ejaculation "Lummy!" to soften the jibe. "If you'll excuse -me," he said, "I must just go and take a look at my crowd. To see if -your orders have come down." -</p> - -<p> -He found no orders in a hut as full as ever of the dull mists and odours -of khaki, but he found in revenge a fine upstanding, blond, -Canadian-born lance-corporal of old Colonial lineage, with a moving -story as related by Sergeant-Major Cowley: -</p> - -<p> -"This man, sir, of the Canadian Railway lot, 'is mother's just turned up -in the town, come on from Eetarpels. Come all the way from Toronto where -she was bedridden." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, what about it? Get a move on." -</p> - -<p> -The man wanted leave to go to his mother who was waiting in a decent -estaminet at the end of the tramline, just outside the camp where the -houses of the town began. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: "It's impossible. It's absolutely impossible. You know -that." -</p> - -<p> -The man stood erect and expressionless; his blue eyes looked -confoundedly honest to Tietjens who was cursing himself. He said to the -man: -</p> - -<p> -"You can see for yourself that it's impossible, can't you?" -</p> - -<p> -The man said slowly: -</p> - -<p> -"Not knowing the regulations in these circumstances I can't say, sir. -But my mother's is a very special case. . . . She's lost two sons -already." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"A great many people have. . . . Do you understand, if you went absent -off my pass I might—I quite possibly might—lose my commission? -I'm responsible for you fellows getting up the line." -</p> - -<p> -The man looked down at his feet. Tietjens said to himself that it was -Valentine Wannop doing this to him. He ought to turn the man down at -once. He was pervaded by a sense of her being. It was imbecile. Yet it -was so. He said to the man: -</p> - -<p> -"You said good-bye to your mother, didn't you, in Toronto, before you -left?" -</p> - -<p> -The man said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir." He had not seen his mother in seven years. He had been up in -the Chilkoot when war broke out and had not heard of it for ten months. -Then he had at once joined up in British Columbia, and had been sent -straight through for railway work, on to Aldershot where the Canadians -have a camp in building. He had not known that his brothers were killed -till he got there and his mother, being bedridden at the news, had not -been able to get down to Toronto when his batch had passed through. She -lived about sixty miles from Toronto. Now she had risen from her bed -like a miracle and come all the way. A widow: sixty-two years of age. -Very feeble. -</p> - -<p> -It occurred to Tietjens as it occurred to him ten times a day that it -was idiotic of him to figure Valentine Wannop to himself. He had not the -slightest idea where she was: in what circumstances, or even in what -house. He did not suppose she and her mother had stayed on in that -dog-kennel of a place in Bedford Park. They would be fairly comfortable. -His father had left them money. "It is preposterous," he said to -himself, "to persist in figuring a person to yourself when you have no -idea of where they are." He said to the man: -</p> - -<p> -"Wouldn't it do if you saw your mother at the camp gate, by the -guard-room?" -</p> - -<p> -"Not much of a leave-taking, sir," the man said; "she not allowed in the -camp and I not allowed out. Talking under a sentry's nose very likely." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"What a monstrous absurdity this is of seeing and talking, for a minute or -so! You meet and talk . . ." And next day at the same hour. Nothing. . . . -As well not to meet or talk. . . . Yet the mere fantastic idea of -seeing Valentine Wannop for a minute. . . . She not allowed in the camp -and he not going out. Talking under a sentry's nose, very likely. . . . -It had made him smell primroses. Primroses, like Miss Wannop. He said to -the sergeant-major: -</p> - -<p> -"What sort of a fellow is this?" Cowley, in openmouthed suspense, gasped -like a fish. Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose your mother is fairly feeble to stand in the cold?" -</p> - -<p> -"A very decent man, sir," the sergeant-major got out, "one of the best. -No trouble. A perfectly clean conduct sheet. Very good education. A -railway engineer in civil life. . . . Volunteered, of course, sir." -</p> - -<p> -"That's the odd thing," Tietjens said to the man, "that the percentages -of absentees is as great amongst the volunteers as the Derby men or the -compulsorily enlisted. . . . Do you understand what will happen to you -if you miss the draft?" -</p> - -<p> -The man said soberly: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, sir. Perfectly well." -</p> - -<p> -"You understand that you will be shot? As certainly as that you stand -there. And that you haven't a chance of escape." -</p> - -<p> -He wondered what Valentine Wannop, hot pacifist, would think of him if -she heard him. Yet it was his duty to talk like that: his human, not -merely his military duty. As much his duty as that of a doctor to warn a -man that if he drank of typhoid-contaminated water he would get typhoid. -But people are unreasonable. Valentine too was unreasonable. She would -consider it brutal to speak to a man of the possibility of his being -shot by a firing party. A groan burst from him. At the thought that -there was no sense in bothering about what Valentine Wannop would or -would not think of him. No sense. No sense. No sense. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The man, fortunately, was assuring him that he knew, very soberly, all -about the penalty for going absent off a draft. The sergeant-major, -catching a sound from Tietjens, said with admirable fussiness to the -man: -</p> - -<p> -"There, there! Don't you hear the officer's speaking? Never interrupt an -officer." -</p> - -<p> -"You'll be shot," Tietjens said, "at dawn. . . . Literally at dawn." Why -did they shoot them at dawn? To rub it in that they were never going to -see another sunrise. But they drugged the fellows so that they wouldn't -know the sun if they saw it: all roped in a chair. . . . It was really -the worse for the firing party. He added to the man: -</p> - -<p> -"Don't think I'm insulting you. You appear to be a very decent fellow. -But very decent fellows have gone absent. . . ." He said to the -sergeant-major: -</p> - -<p> -"Give this man a two-hours' pass to go to the . . . whatever's the name -of the estaminet. . . . The draft won't move off for two hours, will -it?" He added to the man: "If you see your draft passing the pub you run -out and fall in. Like mad, you understand. You'd never get another -chance." -</p> - -<p> -There was a mumble like applause and envy of a mate's good luck from a -packed audience that had hung on the lips of simple melodrama . . . an -audience that seemed to be all enlarged eyes, the khaki was so -colourless. . . . They came as near applause as they dared, but there -was no sense in worrying about whether Valentine Wannop would have -applauded or not. . . . And there was no knowing whether the fellow -would not go absent, either. As likely as not there was no mother. A -girl very likely. And very likely the man would desert. . . . The man -looked you straight in the eyes. But a strong passion, like that for -escape—or a girl—will give you control over the muscles of the -eyes. A little thing that, before a strong passion! One would look God in -the face on the day of judgment and lie, in that case. -</p> - -<p> -Because what the devil did he want of Valentine Wannop? Why could he not -stall off the thought of her? He could stall off the thought of his -wife . . . or his not-wife. But Valentine Wannop came wriggling in. At all -hours of the day and night It was an obsession. A madness. . . . What -those fools called "a complex"! . . . Due, no doubt, to something your -nurse had done, or your parents said to you. At birth . . . A strong -passion . . . or no doubt not strong enough. Otherwise he, too, would -have gone absent At any rate, from Sylvia . . . Which he hadn't done. -Which he hadn't done. Or hadn't he? There was no saying. . . . -</p> - -<p> -It was undoubtedly colder in the alley between the huts. A man was -saying: "Hoo . . . Hooo . . . Hoo . . ." A sound like that, and flapping -his arms and hopping . . . "Hand and foot, mark time! . . ." Somebody -ought to fall these poor devils in and give them that to keep their -circulations going. But they might not know the command. . . . It was a -Guards' trick, really. . . . What the devil were these fellows kept -hanging about here for? he asked. -</p> - -<p> -One or two voices said that they did not know. The majority said -gutturally: -</p> - -<p> -"Waiting for our mates, sir. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I should have thought you could have waited under cover," Tietjens said -caustically. "But never mind; it's your funeral, if you like it. . . ." -This getting together . . . a strong passion. There was a warmed -recreation-hut for waiting drafts not fifty yards away. . . . But they -stood, teeth chattering and mumbling "Hoo . . . Hooo . . ." rather than -miss thirty seconds of gabble. . . . About what the English -sergeant-major said and about what the officer said and how many dollars -did they give you. . . . And of course about what you answered back. . . . -Or perhaps not that. These Canadian troops were husky, serious -fellows, without the swank of the Cockney or the Lincolnshire -Moonrakers. They wanted, apparently, to learn the rules of war. They -discussed anxiously information that they received in orderly rooms, and -looked at you as if you were expounding the gospels. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But, damn it, he, he himself, would make a pact with Destiny, at that -moment, willingly, to pass thirty months in the frozen circle of hell, -for the chance of thirty seconds in which to tell Valentine Wannop what -he had answered back . . . to Destiny! . . . What was the fellow in the -Inferno who was buried to the neck in ice and begged Dante to clear the -icicles out of his eyelids so that he could see out of them? And Dante -kicked him in the face because he was a Ghibelline. . . . Always a bit -of a swine, Dante. . . . Rather like . . . like whom? . . . Oh, Sylvia -Tietjens. . . . A good hater! . . . He imagined hatred coming to him in -waves from the convent in which Sylvia had immured herself. . . . Gone -into retreat. . . . He imagined she had gone into retreat. She had said -she was going. For the rest of the war. . . . For the duration of -hostilities or life, whichever were the longer. . . . He imagined -Sylvia, coiled up on a convent bed. . . . Hating. . . . Her certainly -glorious hair all round her. . . . Hating. . . . Slowly and coldly. . . . -Like the head of a snake when you examined it. . . . Eyes motionless: -mouth closed tight. . . . Looking away into the distance and hating. . . . -She was presumably in Birkenhead. ... A long way to send your hatred. . . . -Across a country and a sea in an icy night. . .! Over all that -black land and water . . . with the lights out because of air-raids and -U-boats. . . . Well, he did not have to think of Sylvia at the moment. -She was well out of it. . . . -</p> - -<p> -It was certainly getting no warmer as the night drew on. . . . Even that -ass Levin was pacing swiftly up and down in the dusky moon-shadow of the -last hutments that looked over the slope and the vanishing trail of -white stones. . . . In spite of his boasting about not wearing an -overcoat: to catch women's eyes with his pretty Staff gadgets he was -carrying on like a leopard at feeding time. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Sorry to keep you waiting, old man. . . . Or rather your lady. . . . -But there were some men to see to. . . . And, you know . . . 'The comfort -and—what is it?—of the men comes before every—is it -"consideration"?—except the exigencies of actual warfare' . . . My -memory's gone phut these days. . . . And you want me to slide down this -hill and wheeze back again. . . . To see a woman! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin screeched: "Damn you, you ass! It's your wife who's waiting for -you at the bottom there." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - -<p> -The one thing that stood out sharply in Tietjens' mind when at last, -with a stiff glass of rum punch, his officer's pocket-book complete with -pencil because he had to draft before eleven a report as to the -desirability for giving his unit special lectures on the causes of the -war, and a cheap French novel on a camp chair beside him he sat in his -flea-bag with six army blankets over him—the one thing that stood out -as sharply as Staff tabs was that ass Levin was rather pathetic. -His unnailed bootsoles very much cramping his action on the frozen -hillside, he had alternately hobbled a step or two, and, reduced to -inaction, had grabbed at Tietjens' elbow, while he brought out -breathlessly puzzled sentences. . . . -</p> - -<p> -There resulted a singular mosaic of extraordinary, bright-coloured and -melodramatic statements, for Levin, who first hobbled down the hill with -Tietjens and then hobbled back up, clinging to his arm, brought out -monstrosities of news about Sylvia's activities, without any sequence, -and indeed without any apparent aim except for the great affection he -had for Tietjens himself. . . . All sorts of singular things seemed to -have been going on round him in the vague zone, outside all this -engrossed and dust-coloured world—in the vague zone that held. . . . -Oh, the civilian population, tea-parties short of butter! . . . -</p> - -<p> -And as Tietjens, seated on his hams, his knees up, pulled the soft -woolliness of his flea-bag under his chin and damned the paraffin heater -for letting out a new and singular stink, it seemed to him that this -affair was like coming back after two months and trying to get the hang -of battalion orders. . . . You come back to the familiar, slightly -battered mess ante-room. You tell the mess orderly to bring you the last -two months' orders, for it is as much as your life is worth not to know -what is or is not in them. . . . There might be an A.C.I. ordering you -to wear your helmet back to the front, or a battalion order, that Mills -bombs must always be worn in the left breast pocket. Or there might be -the detail for putting on a new gas helmet! . . . The orderly hands you -a dishevelled mass of faintly typewritten matter, thumbed out of all -chance of legibility, with the orders for November 16 fastened -inextricably into the middle of those for the 1st of December, and those -for the 10th, 15th and 29th missing altogether. . . . And all that you -gather is that headquarters has some exceedingly insulting things to say -about A Company; that a fellow called Hartopp, whom you don't know, has -been deprived of his commission; that at a court of inquiry held to -ascertain deficiencies in C Company Captain Wells—poor -Wells!—has been assessed at £27 11<i>s</i>. 4 <i>d</i>., which he -is requested to pay forthwith to the adjutant. . . . -</p> - -<p> -So, on that black hillside, going and returning, what stuck out for -Tietjens was that Levin had been taught by the general to consider that -he, Tietjens, was an extraordinarily violent chap who would certainly -knock Levin down when he told him that his wife was at the camp gates; -that Levin considered himself to be the descendant of an ancient Quaker -family. . . . (Tietjens had said <i>Good God</i>! at that); that the -mysterious "rows" to which in his fear Levin had been continually referring -had been successive letters from Sylvia to the harried general . . . -and that Sylvia had accused him, Tietjens, of stealing two pairs -of her best sheets. . . . There was a great deal more. But, having faced -what he considered to be the worst of the situation, Tietjens set -himself coolly to recapitulate every aspect of his separation from his -wife. He had meant to face every aspect, not that merely social one upon -which, hitherto, he had automatically imagined their disunion to rest. -For, as he saw it, English people of good position consider that the -basis of all marital unions or disunions, is the maxim: No scenes. -Obviously for the sake of the servants—who are the same thing as -the public. No scenes, then, for the sake of the public. And indeed, -with him, the instinct for privacy—as to his relationships, his -passions, or even as to his most unimportant motives—was as strong -as the instinct of life itself. He would, literally, rather be dead than -an open book. -</p> - -<p> -And, until that afternoon, he had imagined that his wife, too, would -rather be dead than have her affairs canvassed by the other ranks. . . . -But that assumption had to be gone over. Revised. . . . Of course he -might say she had gone mad. But, if he said she had gone mad he would -have to revise a great deal of their relationships, so it would be as -broad as it was long. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The doctor's batman, from the other end of the hut, said: -</p> - -<p> -"Poor —— O Nine Morgan! . . ." in a sing-song, mocking -voice. . . . -</p> - -<p> -For though, hours before, Tietjens had appointed this moment of physical -ease that usually followed on his splurging heavily down on to his -creaking camp-bed in the doctor's lent hut, for the cool consideration -of his relations with his wife, it was not turning out a very easy -matter. The hut was unreasonably warm: he had invited Mackenzie—whose -real name turned out to be McKechnie, James Grant McKechnie—to occupy -the other end of it. The other end of it was divided from him by a -partition of canvas and a striped Indian curtain. And McKechnie, -who was unable to sleep, had elected to carry on a long—an -interminable—conversation with the doctor's batman. -</p> - -<p> -The doctor's batman also could not sleep and, like McKechnie, was more than -a little barmy on the crumpet—an almost non-English—speaking -Welshman from God knows what up-country valley. He had shaggy hair like -a Caribbean savage and two dark, resentful wall-eyes; being a miner he -sat on his heels more comfortably than on a chair and his almost -incomprehensible voice went on in a low sort of ululation, with an -occasionally and startlingly comprehensible phrase sticking out now and -then. -</p> - -<p> -It was troublesome, but orthodox enough. The batman had been blown -literally out of most of his senses and the VIth Battalion of the -Glamorganshire Regiment by some German high explosive or other, more -than a year ago. But before then, it appeared, he had been in -McKechnie's own company in that battalion. It was perfectly in order -that an officer should gossip with a private formerly of his own platoon -or company, especially on first meeting him after long separation caused -by a casualty to one or the other. And McKechnie had first re-met this -scoundrel Jonce, or Evanns, at eleven that night—two and a half hours -before. So there, in the light of a single candle stuck in a stout -bottle they were tranquilly at it: the batman sitting on his heel by the -officer's head; the officer, in his pyjamas, sprawling half out of bed -over his pillows, stretching his arms abroad, occasionally yawning, -occasionally asking: "What became of Company-Sergeant-Major Hoyt?" . . . -They might talk till half-past three. -</p> - -<p> -But that was troublesome to a gentleman seeking to recapture what -exactly were his relations with his wife. -</p> - -<p> -Before the doctor's batman had interrupted him by speaking startlingly -of O Nine Morgan, Tietjens had got as far as what follows with his -recapitulation: The lady, Mrs. Tietjens, was certainly without -mitigation a whore; he himself equally certainly and without -qualification had been physically faithful to the lady and their -marriage tie. In law, then, he was absolutely in the right of it. But -that fact had less weight than a cobweb. For after the last of her -high-handed divagations from fidelity he had accorded to the lady the -shelter of his roof and of his name. She had lived for years beside him, -apparently on terms of hatred and miscomprehension. But certainly in -conditions of chastity. Then, during the tenuous and lugubrious small -hours, before his coming out there again to France, she had given -evidence of a madly vindictive passion for his person. A physical -passion at any rate. -</p> - -<p> -Well, those were times of mad, fugitive emotions. But even in the -calmest times a man could not expect to have a woman live with him as -the mistress of his house and mother of his heir without establishing -some sort of claim upon him. They hadn't slept together. But was it not -possible that a constant measuring together of your minds was as proper -to give you a proprietary right as the measuring together of the limbs? -It was perfectly possible. Well then . . . -</p> - -<p> -What, in the eyes of God, severed a union? . . . Certainly he had -imagined—until that very afternoon—that their union had been -cut, as the tendon of Achilles is cut in a hamstringing, by Sylvia's clear -voice, outside his house, saying in the dawn to a cabman, -"Paddington!" . . . He tried to go with extreme care through every detail -of their last interview in his still nearly dark drawing-room at the other -end of which she had seemed a mere white phosphorescence. . . . -</p> - -<p> -They had, then, parted for good on that day. He was going out to France; -she into retreat in a convent near Birkenhead—to which place you go -from Paddington. Well then, that was one parting. That, surely, set him -free for the girl! -</p> - -<p> -He took a sip from the glass of rum and water on the canvas chair beside -him. It was tepid and therefore beastly. He had ordered the batman to -bring it him hot, strong and sweet, because he had been certain of an -incipient cold. He had refrained from drinking it because he had -remembered that he was to think cold-bloodedly of Sylvia, and he made a -practice of never touching alcohol when about to engage in protracted -reflection. That had always been his theory: it had been immensely and -empirically strengthened by his warlike experience. On the Somme, in the -summer, when stand-to had been at four in the morning, you would come -out of your dug-out and survey, with a complete outfit of pessimistic -thoughts, a dim, grey, repulsive landscape over a dull and much too thin -parapet. There would be repellent posts, altogether too fragile -entanglements of barbed wire, broken wheels, detritus, coils of mist -over the positions of revolting Germans. Grey stillness; grey horrors, -in front; and behind amongst the civilian populations! And clear, hard -outlines to every thought. . . . Then your batman brought you a cup of tea -with a little—quite a little—rum in it. In three or four -minutes the whole world changed beneath your eyes. The wire aprons became -jolly efficient protections that your skill had devised and for which you -might thank God; the broken wheels were convenient landmarks for raiding -at night in No Man's Land. You had to confess that, when you had -re-erected that parapet, after it had last been jammed in, your company -had made a pretty good job of it. And, even as far as the Germans were -concerned, you were there to kill the swine; but you didn't feel that -the thought of them would make you sick beforehand. . . . You were, in -fact, a changed man. With a mind of a different specific gravity. You -could not even tell that the roseate touches of dawn on the mists were -not really the effects of rum. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Therefore he had determined not to touch his grog. But his throat had -gone completely dry; so, mechanically, he had reached out for something -to drink, checking himself when he had realized what he was doing. But -why should his throat be dry? He hadn't been on the drink. He had not -even had any dinner. And why was he in this extraordinary state? . . . -For he was in an extraordinary state. It was because the idea had -suddenly occurred to him that his parting from his wife had set him free -for his girl. . . . The idea had till then never entered his head. -</p> - -<p> -He said to himself: We must go methodically into this! Methodically into -the history of his last day on earth. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Because he swore that when he had come out to France this time he had -imagined that he was cutting loose from this earth. And during the -months that he had been there he had seemed to have no connection with -any earthly things. He had imagined Sylvia in her convent and done with; -Miss Wannop he had not been able to imagine at all. But she had seemed -to be done with. -</p> - -<p> -It was difficult to get his mind back to that night. You cannot force -your mind to a deliberate, consecutive recollection unless you are in -the mood; then it will do whether you want it to or not. . . . He had -had then, three months or so ago, a very painful morning with his wife, -the pain coming from a suddenly growing conviction that his wife was -forcing herself into an attitude of caring for him. Only an attitude -probably, because, in the end, Sylvia was a lady and would not allow -herself really to care for the person in the world for whom it would be -least decent of her to care. . . . But she would be perfectly capable of -forcing herself to take that attitude if she thought that it would -enormously inconvenience himself. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But that wasn't the way, wasn't the way, wasn't the way his excited mind -said to himself. He was excited because it was possible that Miss -Wannop, too, might not have meant their parting to be a permanency. That -opened up an immense perspective. Nevertheless, the contemplation of -that immense perspective was not the way to set about a calm analysis of -his relations with his wife. The facts of the story <i>must</i> be stated -before the moral. He said to himself that he must put, in exact -language, as if he were making a report for the use of garrison -headquarters, the history of himself in his relationship to his wife. . . . -And to Miss Wannop, of course. "Better put it into writing," he -said. -</p> - -<p> -Well then. He clutched at his pocket-book and wrote in large pencilled -characters: -</p> - -<p> -"When I married Miss Satterthwaite,"—he was attempting exactly to -imitate a report to General Headquarters—"unknown to myself, she -imagined herself to be with child by a fellow called Drake. I think she -was not. The matter is debatable. I am passionately attached to the -child who is my heir and the heir of a family of considerable position. -The lady was subsequently, on several occasions, though I do not know -how many, unfaithful to me. She left me with a fellow called Perowne, -whom she had met constantly at the house of my godfather, General Lord -Edward Campion, on whose staff Perowne was. That was long before the -war. This intimacy was, of course, certainly unsuspected by the general. -Perowne is again on the staff of General Campion, who has the quality of -attachment to his old subordinates, but as Perowne is an inefficient -officer, he is used only for more decorative jobs. Otherwise, obviously, -as he is an old regular, his seniority should make him a general, and he -is only a major. I make this diversion about Perowne because his -presence in this garrison causes me natural personal annoyance. -</p> - -<p> -"My wife, after an absence of several months with Perowne, wrote and -told me that she wished to be taken back into my household. I allowed -this. My principles prevent me from divorcing any woman, in particular -any woman who is the mother of a child. As I had taken no steps to -ensure publicity for the escapade of Mrs. Tietjens, no one, as far as I -know, was aware of her absence. Mrs. Tietjens, being a Roman Catholic, -is prevented from divorcing me. -</p> - -<p> -"During this absence of Mrs. Tietjens with the man Perowne, I made the -acquaintance of a young woman, Miss Wannop, the daughter of my father's -oldest friend, who was also an old friend of General Campion's. Our -station in Society naturally forms rather a close ring. I was immediately -aware that I had formed a sympathetic but not violent attachment for -Miss Wannop, and fairly confident that my feeling was returned. Neither -Miss Wannop nor myself being persons to talk about the state of our -feelings, we exchanged no confidences. . . . A disadvantage of being -English of a certain station. -</p> - -<p> -"The position continued thus for several years. Six or seven. After her -return from her excursion with Perowne, Mrs. Tietjens remained, I -believe, perfectly chaste. I saw Miss Wannop sometimes frequently, for a -period, in her mother's house or on social occasions, sometimes not for -long interval! No expression of affection on the part of either of us -ever passed. Not one. Ever. -</p> - -<p> -"On the day before my second going out to France I had a very painful -scene with my wife, during which, for the first time, we went into the -question of the parentage of my child and other matters. In the -afternoon I met Miss Wannop by appointment outside the War Office. The -appointment had been made by my wife, not by me. I knew nothing about -it. My wife must have been more aware of my feelings for Miss Wannop -than was I myself. -</p> - -<p> -"In St. James's Park I invited Miss Wannop to become my mistress that -evening. She consented and made an assignation. It is to be presumed -that was evidence of her affection for me. We have never exchanged -words of affection. Presumably a young lady does not consent to go to -bed with a married man without feeling affection for him. But I have no -proof. It was, of course, only a few hours before my going out to -France. Those are emotional sorts of moments for young women. No doubt -they consent more easily. -</p> - -<p> -"But we didn't. We were together at one-thirty in the morning, leaning -over her suburban garden gate. And nothing happened. We agreed that we -were the sort of persons who didn't. I do not know how we agreed. We -never finished a sentence. Yet it was a passionate scene. So I touched the -brim of my cap and said: <i>So long</i>! . . . Or perhaps I did not even -say <i>So long</i>. . . . Or she. . . . I don't remember. I remember the -thoughts I thought and the thoughts I gave her credit for thinking. But -perhaps she did not think them. There is no knowing. It is no good going -into them . . . except that I gave her credit for thinking that we were -parting for good. Perhaps she did not mean that. Perhaps I could write -letters to her. And live . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"God, what a sweat I am in! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The sweat, indeed, was pouring down his temples. He became instinct with -a sort of passion to let his thoughts wander into epithets and go about -where they would. But he stuck at it. He was determined to get it -expressed. He wrote on again: -</p> - -<p> -"I got home towards two in the morning and went into the dining-room in -the dark. I did not need a light. I sat thinking for a long time. Then -Sylvia spoke from the other end of the room. There was thus an -abominable situation. I have never been spoken to with such hatred. She -went, perhaps, mad. She had apparently been banking on the idea that if -I had physical contact with Miss Wannop I might satisfy my affection for -the girl. . . . And feel physical desires for <i>her</i>. . . . But she -knew, without my speaking, that I had not had physical contact with the -girl. She threatened to ruin me; to ruin me in the Army; to drag my name -through the mud. . . . I never spoke. I am damn good at not speaking. -She struck me in the face. And went away. Afterwards she threw into the -room, through the half-open doorway, a gold medallion of St. Michael, -the R.C. patron of soldiers in action that she had worn between her -breasts. I took it to mean the final act of parting. As if by no longer -wearing it she abandoned all prayer for my safety. . . . It might just -as well mean that she wished me to wear it myself for my personal -protection. . . . I heard her go down the stairs with her maid. The dawn -was just showing through the chimney-pots opposite. I heard her say: -<i>Paddington</i>. Clear, high syllables! And a motor drove off. -</p> - -<p> -"I got my things together and went to Waterloo. Mrs. Satterthwaite, her -mother, was waiting to see me off. She was very distressed that her -daughter had not come, too. She was of opinion that it meant we had -parted for good. I was astonished to find that Sylvia had told her -mother about Miss Wannop because Sylvia had always been extremely -reticent, even to her mother. . . . Mrs. Satterthwaite, who was <i>very</i> -distressed—she likes me!—expressed the most gloomy forebodings -as to what Sylvia might not be up to. I laughed at her. She began to tell -me a long anecdote about what a Father Consett, Sylvia's confessor, had -said about Sylvia years before. He had said that if I ever came to care for -another woman Sylvia would tear the world to pieces to get at me. . . . -Meaning, to disturb my equanimity! . . . It was difficult to follow Mrs. -Satterthwaite. The side of an officer's train, going off, is not a good -place for confidences. So the interview ended rather untidily." -</p> - -<p> -At this point Tietjens groaned so audibly that McKechnie, from the other -end of the hut, asked if he had not said anything. Tietjens saved -himself with: -</p> - -<p> -"That candle looks from here to be too near the side of the hut. Perhaps -it isn't. These buildings are very inflammable." -</p> - -<p> -It was no good going on writing. He was no writer, and this writing gave -no sort of psychological pointers. He wasn't himself ever much the man -for psychology, but one ought to be as efficient at it as at anything -else. . . . Well then . . . What was at the bottom of all the madness -and cruelty that had distinguished both himself and Sylvia on his last -day and night in his native country? . . . For, mark! It was Sylvia who -had made, unknown to him, the appointment through which the girl had met -him. Sylvia had wanted to force him and Miss Wannop into each other's -arms. Quite definitely. She had said as much. But she had only said that -afterwards. When the game had not come off. She had had too much -knowledge of amatory manœuvres to show her hand before. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Why then had she done it? Partly, undoubtedly, out of pity for him. She -had given him a rotten time; she had undoubtedly, at one moment, wanted -to give him the consolation of his girl's arms. . . . Why, damn it, she, -Sylvia, and no one else, had forced out of him the invitation to the -girl to become his mistress. Nothing but the infernal cruelty of their -interview of the morning could have forced him to the pitch of sexual -excitement that would make him make a proposal of illicit intercourse to -a young lady to whom hitherto he had spoken not even one word of -affection. It was an effect of a Sadic kind. That was the only way to -look at it scientifically. And without doubt Sylvia had known what she -was doing. The whole morning, at intervals, like a person directing the -whiplash to a cruel spot of pain, reiteratedly, she had gone on and on. -She had accused him of having Valentine Wannop for his mistress. She had -accused him of having Valentine Wannop for his mistress. She had accused -him of having Valentine Wannop for his mistress. . . . With maddening -reiteration, like that. They had disposed of an estate; they had settled -up a number of business matters; they had decided that his heir was to -be brought up as a Papist—the mother's religion! They had gone, -agonizedly enough, into their own relationships and past history. Into -the very paternity of his child. . . . But always, at moments when his -mind was like a blind octopus, squirming in an agony of knife-cuts she -would drop in that accusation. She had accused him of having Valentine -Wannop for his mistress. . . . -</p> - -<p> -He swore by the living God. . . . He had never realized that he had a -passion for the girl till that morning; that he had a passion deep and -boundless like the sea, shaking like a tremor of the whole world, an -unquenchable thirst, a thing the thought of which made your bowels turn -over. . . . But he had not been the sort of fellow who goes into his -emotions. . . . Why, damn it, even at that moment when he thought of the -girl, there, in that beastly camp, in that Rembrandt beshadowed hut, -when he thought of the girl he named her to himself Miss Wannop. . . . -</p> - -<p> -It wasn't in that way that a man thought of a young woman whom he was -aware of passionately loving. He wasn't aware. He hadn't been aware. -Until that morning. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Then . . . that let him out . . . Undoubtedly that let him out. . . . A -woman cannot throw her man, her official husband, into the arms of the -first girl that comes along and consider herself as having any further -claims upon him. Especially if, on the same day, you part with him, he -going out to France! <i>Did</i> it let him out? Obviously it did. -</p> - -<p> -He caught with such rapidity at his glass of rum and water that a little -of it ran over on to his thumb. He swallowed the lot, being instantly -warmed. . . . -</p> - -<p> -What in the world was he doing? Now? With all this introspection? . . . -Hang it all, he was not justifying himself. . . . He had acted perfectly -correctly as far as Sylvia was concerned. Not perhaps to Miss Wannop. . . . -Why, if he, Christopher Tietjens of Groby, had the need to justify -himself, what did it stand for to be Christopher Tietjens of Groby? That -was the unthinkable thought. -</p> - -<p> -Obviously he was not immune from the seven deadly sins. In the way of a -man. One might lie, yet not bear false witness against a neighbour; one -might kill, yet not without fitting provocation or for self-interest; -one might conceive of theft as reiving cattle from the false Scots which -was the Yorkshireman's duty; one might fornicate, obviously, as long as -you did not fuss about it unhealthily. That was the right of the -Seigneur in a world of Other Ranks. He hadn't personally committed any -of these sins to any great extent. One reserved the right so to do and -to take the consequences. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But what in the world had gone wrong with Sylvia? She was giving away -her own game, and that he had never known her do. But she could not have -made more certain, if she had wanted to, of returning him to his -allegiance to Miss Wannop than by forcing herself there into his private -life, and doing it with such blatant vulgarity. For what she had done -had been to make scenes before the servants! All the while he had been -in France she had been working up to it. Now she had done it. Before the -Tommies of his own unit. But Sylvia did not make mistakes like that. It -was a game. What game? He didn't even attempt to conjecture! She could -not expect that he would in the future even extend to her the shelter of -his roof. . . . What then was the game? He could not believe that she -could be capable of vulgarity except with a purpose. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She was a thoroughbred. He had always credited her with being that. And -now she was behaving as if she had every mean vice that a mare could -have. Or it looked like it. Was that, then, because she had been in his -stable? But how in the world otherwise could he have run their lives? -She had been unfaithful to him. She had never been anything but -unfaithful to him, before or after marriage. In a high-handed way so -that he could not condemn her, though it was disagreeable enough to -himself. He took her back into his house after she had been off with the -fellow Perowne. What more could she ask? . . . He could find no answer. -And it was not his business! -</p> - -<p> -But even if he did not bother about the motives of the poor beast of a -woman, she was the mother of his heir. And now she was running about the -world declaiming about her wrongs. What sort of a thing was that for a -boy to have happen to him? A mother who made scenes before the servants! -That was enough to ruin any boy's life. . . . -</p> - -<p> -There was no getting away from it that was what Sylvia had been -doing. She had deluged the general with letters for the last two months -or so, at first merely contenting herself with asking where he, -Tietjens, was and in what state of health, conditions of danger, and the -like. Very decently, for some time, the old fellow had said nothing -about the matter to him. He had probably taken the letters to be the -naturally anxious inquiries of a wife with a husband at the front; he -had considered that Tietjens' letters to her must have been -insufficiently communicative, or concealed what she imagined to be -wounds or a position of desperate danger. That would not have been very -pleasant in any case; women should not worry superior officers about the -vicissitudes of their menfolk. It was not done. Still, Sylvia was very -intimate with Campion and his family—more intimate than he himself -was, though Campion was his godfather. But quite obviously her letters had -got worse and worse. -</p> - -<p> -It was difficult for Tietjens to make out exactly what she had said. His -channel of information had been Levin, who was too gentlemanly ever to -say anything direct at all. Too gentlemanly, too implicitly trustful of -Tietjens' honour . . . and too bewildered by the charms of Sylvia, who -had obviously laid herself out to bewilder the poor Staff-wallah. . . . -But she had gone pretty far, either in her letters or in her -conversation since she had been in that city, to which—it was -characteristic—she had come without any sort of passports or papers, -just walking past gentlemen in their wooden boxes at pierheads and the -like, in conversation with—of all people in the world!—with -Perowne, who had been returning from leave with King's dispatches, or -something glorified of the Staff sort! In a special train very likely. That -was Sylvia all over. -</p> - -<p> -Levin said that Campion had given Perowne the most frightful dressing down -he had ever heard mortal man receive. And it really was <i>damn</i> hard -on the poor general, who, after happenings to one of his predecessors, -had been perfectly rabid to keep skirts out of his headquarters. Indeed -it was one of the crosses of Levin's worried life that the general had -absolutely refused him, Levin, leave to marry Miss de Bailly if he would -not undertake that young woman should leave France by the first -boat after the ceremony. Levin, of course, was to go with her, but the -young woman was not to return to France for the duration of hostilities. -And a fine row all her noble relatives had raised over that It had cost -Levin another hundred and fifty thousand francs in the marriage -settlements. The married wives of officers in any case were not allowed -in France, though you could not keep out their unmarried ones. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Campion, anyhow, had dispatched his furious note to Tietjens after -receiving, firstly, in the early morning, a letter from Sylvia in which -she said that her ducal second-cousin, the lugubrious Rugeley, highly -disapproved of the fact that Tietjens was in France at all, and after -later receiving, towards four in the afternoon, a telegram, dispatched -by Sylvia herself from Havre, to say that she would be arriving by a -noon train. The general had been almost as much upset at the thought -that his car would not be there to meet Sylvia as by the thought that -she was coming at all. But a strike of French railway civilians had -delayed Sylvia's arrival. Campion had dispatched, within five minutes, -his snorter to Tietjens, who he was convinced knew all about Sylvia's -coming, and his car to Rouen Station with Levin in it. -</p> - -<p> -The general, in fact, was in a fine confusion. He was convinced that -Tietjens, as Man of Intellect, had treated Sylvia badly, even to the -extent of stealing two pair of her best sheets, and he was also -convinced that Tietjens was in close collusion with Sylvia. As Man of -Intellect, Campion was convinced, Tietjens was dissatisfied with his -lowly job of draft-forwarding officer, and wanted a place of an -extravagantly cooshy kind in the general's own entourage. . . . And -Levin had said that it made it all the worse that Campion in his -bothered heart thought that Tietjens really ought to have more exalted -employment. He had said to Levin: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it all, the fellow ought to be in command of my Intelligence -instead of you. But he's unsound. That's what he is: unsound. He's too -brilliant. . . . And he'd talk both the hind legs off Sweedlepumpkins." -Sweedlepumpkins was the general's favourite charger. The general was -afraid of talk. He practically never talked with anyone except about his -job—certainly never with Tietjens—without being proved to be in -the wrong, and that undermined his belief in himself. -</p> - -<p> -So that altogether he was in a fine fume. And confusion. He was almost -ready to believe that Tietjens was at the bottom of every trouble that -occurred in his immense command. -</p> - -<p> -But, when all that was gathered, Tietjens was not much farther forward -in knowing what his wife's errand in France was. -</p> - -<p> -"She complains," Levin had bleated painfully at some point on the -slippery coastguard path, "about your taking her sheets. And about a -Miss . . . a Miss Wanostrocht, is it? . . . The general is not inclined -to attach much importance to the sheets. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It appeared that a sort of conference on Tietjens' case had taken place -in the immense tapestried salon in which Campion lived with the more -intimate members of his headquarters, and which was, for the moment, -presided over by Sylvia, who had exposed various wrongs to the general -and Levin. Major Perowne had excused himself on the ground that he was -hardly competent to express an opinion. Really, Levin said, he was -sulking, because Campion had accused him of running the risk of getting -himself and Mrs. Tietjens "talked about." Levin thought it was a bit -thick of the general. Were none of the members of his staff ever to -escort a lady anywhere? As if they were sixth-form schoolboys. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"But you . . . you . . . you . . ." he stuttered and shivered together, -"certainly <i>do</i> seem to have been remiss in not writing to Mrs. -Tietjens. The poor lady—excuse me!—really appears to have -been out of her mind with anxiety. . . ." That was why she had been -waiting in the general's car at the bottom of the hill. To get a glimpse -of Tietjens' living body. For they had been utterly unable, up at H.Q., -to convince her that Tietjens was even alive, much less in that town. -</p> - -<p> -She hadn't in fact waited even so long. Having apparently convinced -herself by conversation with the sentries outside the guard-room that -Tietjens actually still existed, she had told the chauffeur-orderly to -drive her back to the Hôtel de la Poste, leaving the wretched Levin to -make his way back into the town by tram, or as best he might. They had seen -the lights of the car below them, turning, with its gaily lit interior, and -disappearing among the trees along the road farther down. . . . The -sentry, rather monosyllabically and gruffly—you can tell -all right when a Tommie has something at the back of his -mind!—informed them that the sergeant had turned out the guard so -that all his men together could assure the lady that the captain was -alive and well. The obliging sergeant said that he had adopted that -manœuvre which generally should attend only the visits of general -officers and, once a day, for the C.O., because the lady had seemed so -distressed at having received no letters from the captain. The -guard-room itself, which was unprovided with cells, was decorated by the -presence of two drunks who, having taken it into their heads to destroy -their clothing, were in a state of complete nudity. The sergeant hoped, -therefore, that he had done no wrong. Rightly the Garrison Military -Police ought to take drunks picked up outside camp to the A.P.M.'s -guard-room, but seeing the state of undress and the violent behaviour of -these two, the sergeant had thought right to oblige the Red Caps. The -voices of the drunks, singing the martial anthem of the "Men of Harlech" -could be heard corroborating the sergeant's opinion as to their states. -He added that he would not have turned out the guard if it had not been -for its being the captain's lady. -</p> - -<p> -"A damn smart fellow, that sergeant," Colonel Levin had said. "There -couldn't have been any better way of convincing Mrs. Tietjens." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens had said—and even whilst he was saying it he tremendously -wished he hadn't: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, a <i>damned</i> smart fellow," for the bitter irony of his tone had -given Levin the chance to remonstrate with him as to his attitude towards -Sylvia. Not at all as to his actions—for Levin conscientiously -stuck to his thesis that Tietjens was the soul of honour—but just as -to his tone of voice in talking of the sergeant who had been kind to -Sylvia, and, just precisely, because Tietjens' not writing to his wife -had given rise to the incident. Tietjens had thought of saying that, -considering the terms on which they had parted, he would have considered -himself as molesting the lady if he had addressed to her any letter at -all. But he said nothing and, for quarter of an hour, the incident -resolved itself into a soliloquy on the slippery hillside, delivered by -Levin on the subject of matrimony. It was a matter which, naturally, at -that moment very much occupied his thoughts. He considered that a man -should so live with his wife that she should be able to open all his -letters. That was his idea of the idyllic. And when Tietjens remarked -with irony that he had never in his life either written or received a -letter that his wife might not have read, Levin exclaimed with such -enthusiasm as almost to lose his balance in the mist: -</p> - -<p> -"I was sure of it, old fellow. But it enormously cheers me up to hear -you say so." He added that he desired as far as possible to model his -ideas of life and his behaviour on those of this his friend. For, -naturally, about as he was to unite his fortunes with those of Miss de -Bailly, that could be considered a turning point of his career. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - -<p> -They had gone back up the hill so that Levin might telephone to -headquarters for his own car in case the general's chauffeur should not -have the sense to return for him. But that was as far as Tietjens got in -uninterrupted reminiscence of that scene. . . . He was sitting in his -flea-bag, digging idly with his pencil into the squared page of his -note-book which had remained open on his knees, his eyes going over and -over again over the words with which his report on his own case had -concluded—the words: <i>So the interview ended rather untidily</i>. -Over the words went the image of the dark hillside with the lights of the -town, now that the air-raid was finished, spreading high up into the sky -below them. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But at that point the doctor's batman had uttered, as if with a jocular, -hoarse irony, the name: -</p> - -<p> -"Poor —— O Nine Morgan! . . ." and over the whitish sheet of -paper on a level with his nose Tietjens perceived thin films of reddish -purple to be wavering, then a glutinous surface of gummy scarlet -pigment. Moving! It was once more an effect of fatigue, operating on the -retina, that was perfectly familiar to Tietjens. But it filled him with -indignation against his own weakness. He said to himself: Wasn't the -name of the wretched O Nine Morgan to be mentioned in his hearing -without his retina presenting him with the glowing image of the fellow's -blood? He watched the phenomenon, growing fainter, moving to the -righthand top corner of the paper and turning a faintly luminous green. -He watched it with a grim irony. -</p> - -<p> -Was he, he said to himself, to regard himself as responsible for the -fellow's death? Was his inner mentality going to present that claim upon -him. That would be absurd. The end of the earth! The absurd end of the -earth. . . . Yet that insignificant ass Levin had that evening asserted -the claim to go into his, Tietjens of Groby's, relations with his wife. -That was an end of the earth as absurd! It was the unthinkable thing, as -unthinkable as the theory that the officer can be responsible for the -death of the man. . . . But the idea had certainly presented itself to -him. How could he be responsible for the death? In fact—in -literalness—he was. It had depended absolutely upon his discretion -whether the man should go home or not. The man's life or death had been -in his hands. He had followed the perfectly correct course. He had -written to the police of the man's home town, and the police had urged -him not to let the man come home. . . . Extraordinary morality on the -part of a police force! The man, they begged, should not be sent home -because a prize-fighter was occupying his bed and laundry. . . . -Extraordinary common sense, very likely. . . . They probably did not -want to get drawn into a scrap with Red Evans of the Red Castle. . . . -</p> - -<p> -For a moment he seemed to see . . . he actually saw . . . O Nine -Morgan's eyes, looking at him with a sort of wonder, as they had looked -when he had refused the fellow his leave. . . . A sort of wonder! -Without resentment, but with incredulity. As you might look at God, you -being very small and ten feet or so below His throne when He pronounced -some inscrutable judgment! . . . The Lord giveth home-leave, and the -Lord refuseth. . . . Probably not blessed, but queer, be the name of -God-Tietjens! -</p> - -<p> -And at the thought of the man as he was alive and of him now, dead, an -immense blackness descended all over Tietjens. He said to himself: <i>I am -very tired</i>. Yet he was not ashamed. . . . It was the blackness that -descends on you when you think of your dead. . . . It comes, at any -time, over the brightness of sunlight, in the grey of evening, in the -grey of the dawn, at mess, on parade; it comes at the thought of one man -or at the thought of half a battalion that you have seen, stretched out, -under sheeting, the noses making little pimples: or not stretched out, -lying face downwards, half buried. Or at the thought of dead that you -have never seen dead at all. . . . Suddenly the light goes out. . . . In -this case it was because of one fellow, a dirty enough man, not even -very willing, not in the least endearing, certainly contemplating -desertion. . . . But your dead . . . <i>Yours</i> . . . Your own. As if -joined to your own identity by a black cord. . . . -</p> - -<p> -In the darkness outside, the brushing, swift, rhythmic pacing of an -immense number of men went past, as if they had been phantoms. A great -number of men in fours, carried forward, irresistibly, by the -overwhelming will of mankind in ruled motion. The sides of the hut were -so thin that it was peopled by an innumerable throng. A sodden voice, -just at Tietjens' head, chuckled: "For God's sake, sergeant-major, stop -these ——. I'm too —— drunk to halt them. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It made for the moment no impression on Tietjens' conscious mind. Men -were going past. Cries went up in the camp. Not orders, the men were -still marching. Cries. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens' lips—his mind was still with the dead—said: -</p> - -<p> -"That obscene Pitkins! . . . I'll have him cashiered for this. . . ." He -saw an obscene subaltern, small, with one eyelid that drooped. -</p> - -<p> -He came awake at that. Pitkins was the subaltern he had detailed to -march the draft to the station and go on to Bailleul under a boozy field -officer of sorts. -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said from the other bed: -</p> - -<p> -"That's the draft back." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said to the batman: -</p> - -<p> -"For God's sake go and see if it is. Come back at once. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The intolerable vision of the line, starving beneath the moon, of grey -crowds murderously elbowing back a thin crowd in brown, zigzagged across -the bronze light in the hut. The intolerable depression that, in those -days, we felt—that all those millions were the playthings of ants -busy in the miles of corridors beneath the domes and spires that rise up -over the central heart of our comity, that intolerable weight upon the -brain and the limbs, descended once more on those two men lying upon -their elbows. As they listened their jaws fell open. The long, -polyphonic babble, rushing in from an extended line of men stood easy, -alone rewarded their ears. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"That fellow won't come back. . . . He can never do an errand and come -back. . . ." He thrust one of his legs cumbrously out of the top of his -flea-bag. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"By God, the Germans will be all over here in a week's time!" -</p> - -<p> -He said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"If they so betray us from Whitehall that fellow Levin has no right to -pry into my matrimonial affairs. It is proper that one's individual -feelings should be sacrificed to the necessities of a collective entity. -But not if that entity is to be betrayed from above. Not if it hasn't -the ten-millionth of a chance. . . ." He regarded Levin's late incursion -on his privacy as inquiries set afoot by the general. . . . Incredibly -painful to him: like a medical examination into nudities, but perfectly -proper. Old Campion had to assure himself that the other ranks were not -demoralized by the spectacle of officers' matrimonial infidelities. . . . -But such inquiries were not to be submitted to if the whole show were -one gigantic demoralization! -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said, in reference to Tietjens' protruded foot: -</p> - -<p> -"There's no good your going out. . . . Cowley will get the men into -their lines. He was prepared." He added: "If the fellows in Whitehall -are determined to do old Puffles in, why don't they recall him?" -</p> - -<p> -The legend was that an eminent personage in the Government had a great -personal dislike for the general in command of one army—the general -being nicknamed Puffles. The Government, therefore, were said to be -starving his command of men so that disaster should fall upon his -command. -</p> - -<p> -"They can recall generals easy enough," McKechnie went on, "or anyone -else!" -</p> - -<p> -A heavy dislike that this member of the lower middle classes should have -opinions on public affairs overcame Tietjens. He exclaimed: "Oh, that's -all tripe!" -</p> - -<p> -He was himself outside all contact with affairs by now. But the other -rumour in that troubled host had it that, as a political manœuvre, the -heads round Whitehall—the civilian heads—were starving the army -of troops in order to hold over the allies of Great Britain the threat of -abandoning altogether the Western Front. They were credited with -threatening a strategic manœuvre on an immense scale in the Near East, -perhaps really intending it, or perhaps to force the hands of their -allies over some political intrigue. These atrocious rumours -reverberated backwards and forwards in the ears of all those millions -under the black vault of heaven. All their comrades in the line were to -be sacrificed as a rearguard to their departing host. That whole land -was to be annihilated as a sacrifice to one vanity. Now the draft had -been called back. That seemed proof that the Government meant to starve -the line! McKechnie groaned: -</p> - -<p> -"Poor —— old Bird! . . . He's booked. Eleven months in the -front line, he's been. . . . Eleven <i>months</i>! . . . I was nine, this -stretch. With him." -</p> - -<p> -He added: -</p> - -<p> -"Get back into bed, old bean. . . . I'll go and look after the men if -it's necessary. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"You don't so much as know where their lines are. . . ." And sat -listening. Nothing but the long roll of tongues came to him. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it! The men ought not to be kept standing in the cold like -that. . . ." Fury filled him beneath despair. His eyes filled with tears. -"God," he said to himself, "the fellow Levin presumes to interfere in my -private affairs. . . . Damn it," he said again, "it's like doing a -little impertinence in a world that's foundering. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The world was foundering. -</p> - -<p> -"I'd go out," he said, "but I don't want to have to put that filthy -little Pitkins under arrest. He only drinks because he's shellshocked. -He's not man enough else, the unclean little Noncomformist. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said: -</p> - -<p> -"Hold on! . . . I'm a Presbyterian myself. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens answered: -</p> - -<p> -"You would be! . . ." He said: "I beg your pardon. . . . There will be -no more parades. . . . The British Army is dishonoured for ever. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said: -</p> - -<p> -"That's all right, old bean. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens exclaimed with sudden violence: -</p> - -<p> -"What the hell are you doing in the officers' lines? . . . Don't you -know it's a court-martial offence?" -</p> - -<p> -He was confronted with the broad, mealy face of his regimental -quartermaster-sergeant, the sort of fellow who wore an officer's cap -against the regulations, with a Tommie's silver-plated badge. A man -determined to get Sergeant-Major Cowley's job. The man had come in -unheard under the roll of voices outside. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Excuse me, sir, I took the liberty of knocking. . . . The -sergeant-major is in an epileptic fit. . . . I wanted your directions -before putting the draft into the tents with the other men. . . ." -Having said that tentatively he hazarded cautiously: "The sergeant-major -throws these fits, sir, if he is suddenly woke up. . . . And -Second-Lieutenant Pitkins woke him very suddenly. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"So you took on you the job of a beastly informer against both of -them. . . . I shan't forget it." He said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"I'll get this fellow one day . . ." and he seemed to hear with pleasure -the clicking and tearing of the scissors as, inside three parts of a -hollow square, they cut off his stripes and badges. -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God, man, you aren't going out in nothing but your pyjamas. Put -your slacks on under your British warm. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Send the Canadian sergeant-major to me at the double. . . ." to the -quarter. "My slacks are at the tailor's, being pressed." His slacks were -being pressed for the ceremony of the signing of the marriage contract -of Levin, the fellow who had interfered in his private affairs. He -continued into the mealy broad face and vague eyes of the -quartermaster: "You know as well as I do that it was the Canadian -sergeant-major's job to report to me. . . . I'll let you off this time, -but, by God, if I catch you spying round the officers' lines again you -are for a D.C.M. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He wrapped a coarse, Red Cross, grey-wool muffler under the turned-up -collar of his British warm. -</p> - -<p> -"That swine," he said to McKechnie, "spies on the officers' lines in the -hope of getting a commission by catching out —— little squits -like Pitkins, when they're drunk. . . . I'm seven hundred braces down. -Morgan does not know that I know that I'm that much down. But you can bet -he knows where they have gone. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said: -</p> - -<p> -"I wish you would not go out like that. . . . I'll make you some -cocoa. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I can't keep the men waiting while I dress. . . . I'm as strong as a -horse. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He was out amongst the bitterness, the mist, and the moongleams on three -thousand rifle barrels, and the voices. . . . He was seeing the Germans -pour through a thin line, and his heart was leaden. . . . A tall, -graceful man swam up against him and said, through his nose, like any -American: -</p> - -<p> -"There has been a railway accident, due to the French strikers. The -draft is put back till three pip emma the day after to-morrow, sir." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"It isn't countermanded?" breathlessly. -</p> - -<p> -The Canadian sergeant-major said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. . . . A railway accident. . . . Sabotage by the French, they -say. . . . Four Glamorganshire sergeants, all nineteen-fourteen men, -killed, sir, going home on leave. But the draft is not cancelled. . . ." -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Thank God!" -</p> - -<p> -The slim Canadian with his educated voice said: -</p> - -<p> -"You're thanking God, sir, for what's very much to our detriment. Our -draft was ordered for Salonika till this morning. The sergeant in charge -of draft returns showed me the name <i>Salonika</i> scored off in his draft -roster. Sergeant-Major Cowley had got hold of the wrong story. Now it's -going up the line. The other would have been a full two months' more -life for us." -</p> - -<p> -The man's rather slow voice seemed to continue for a long time. As it -went on Tietjens felt the sunlight dwelling on his nearly coverless -limbs, and the tide of youth returning to his veins. It was like -champagne. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"You sergeants get a great deal too much information. The sergeant in -charge of returns had no business to show you his roster. It's not your -fault, of course. But you are an intelligent man. You can see how useful -that news might be to certain people: people that it's not to your own -interest should know these things. . . ." He said to himself: "A -landmark in history. . . ." And then: "Where the devil did my mind get -hold of that expression at this moment?" -</p> - -<p> -They were walking in mist, down an immense lane, one hedge of which was -topped by the serrated heads and irregularly held rifles that showed -here and there. He said to the sergeant-major: "Call 'em to attention. -Never mind their dressing, we've got to get 'em into bed. Roll-call will -be at nine to-morrow." -</p> - -<p> -His mind said: -</p> - -<p> -"If this means the single command. . . . And it's bound to mean the -single command, it's the turning point. . . . Why the hell am I so -extraordinarily glad? What's it to me?" -</p> - -<p> -He was shouting in a round voice: -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, men, you've got to go six extra in a tent. See if you can -fall out six at a time at each tent. It's not in the drill book, but see -if you can do it for yourselves. You're smart men: use your -intelligences. The sooner you get to bed the sooner you'll be warm. I -wish I was. Don't disturb the men who're already in the tents. They've -got to be up for fatigues to-morrow at five, poor devils. You can lie -soft till three hours after that. . . . The draft will move to the left -in fours. . . . Form fours . . . Left . . ." Whilst the voices of the -sergeants in charge of companies yelped varyingly to a distance in the -quick march order he said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"Extraordinarily glad. . . . A strong passion. . . . How damn well these -fellows move! . . . Cannon fodder. . . . Cannon fodder. . . . That's -what their steps say. . . ." His whole body shook in the grip of the -cold that beneath his loose overcoat gnawed his pyjamaed limbs. He could -not leave the men, but cantered beside them with the sergeant-major till -he came to the head of the column in the open in time to wheel the first -double company into a line of ghosts that were tents, silent and austere -in the moon's very shadowy light. . . . It appeared to him a magic -spectacle. He said to the sergeant-major: "Move the second company to B -line, and so on," and stood at the side of the men as they wheeled, -stamping, like a wall in motion. He thrust his stick half-way down -between the second and third files. "Now then, a four and half a four to -the right; remaining half-four and next four to the left. Fall out into -first tents to right and left. . . ." He continued saying "First four -and half, this four to the right. . . . Damn you, by the left! How can -you tell which beastly four you belong to if you don't march by the -left. . . . Remember you're soldiers, not new-chum lumbermen. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It was sheer exhilaration to freeze there on the downside in the -extraordinarily pure air with the extraordinarily fine men. They came -round, marking time with the stamp of guardsmen. He said, with tears in -his voice: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it all, I gave them that extra bit of smartness. . . . Damn it -all, there's something I've done. . . ." Getting cattle into condition -for the slaughterhouse. . . . They were as eager as bullocks running -down by Camden Town to Smithfield Market. . . . Seventy per cent, of -them would never come back. . . . But it's better to go to heaven with -your skin shining and master of your limbs than as a hulking -lout. . . . The Almighty's orderly room will welcome you better in all -probability. . . . He continued exclaiming monotonously . . . "Remaining -half-four and next four to the left. . . . Hold your beastly tongues when -you fall out. I can't hear myself give orders. . . ." It lasted a long -time. Then they were all swallowed up. -</p> - -<p> -He staggered, his knees wooden-stiff with the cold, and the cold more -intense now the wall of men no longer sheltered him from the wind, out -along the brink of the plateau to the other lines. It gave him -satisfaction to observe that he had got his men into their lines -seventy-five per cent, quicker than the best of the N.C.O.'s who had had -charge of the other lines. Nevertheless, he swore bitingly at the -sergeants: their men were in knots round the entrance to the alleys of -ghost-pyramids. . . . Then there were no more, and he drifted with -regret across the plain towards his country street of huts. One of them -had a coarse evergreen rose growing over it. He picked a leaf, pressed -it to his lips and threw it up into the wind. . . . "That's for -Valentine," he said meditatively. "Why did I do that? . . . Or perhaps -it's for England. . . ." He said: "Damn it all, this is patriotism! . . . -<i>This</i> is patriotism. . . ." It wasn't what you took patriotism as a -rule to be. There were supposed to be more parades about that job! . . . -But this was just a broke to the wide, wheezy, half-frozen Yorkshireman, -who despised every one in England not a Yorkshireman, or from more to -the North, at two in the morning picking a leaf from a rose-tree and -slobbering over it, without knowing what he was doing. And then -discovering that it was half for a pug-nosed girl whom he presumed, but -didn't know, to smell like a primrose; and half for . . . England! . . . -At two in the morning with the thermometer ten degrees below zero. . . . -Damn, it was cold! . . . -</p> - -<p> -And why these emotions? . . . Because England, not before it was time, -had been allowed to decide not to do the dirty on her associates! . . . -He said to himself: "It is probably because a hundred thousand -sentimentalists like myself commit similar excesses of the subconscious -that we persevere in this glorious but atrocious undertaking. All the -same, I didn't know I had it in me!" A strong passion! . . . For his -girl and his country! . . . Nevertheless, his girl was a pro-German. . . . -It was a queer mix-up! . . . Not of course a pro-German, but -disapproving of the preparation of men, like bullocks, with sleek -healthy skins for the abattoirs in Smithfield. . . . Agreeing presumably -with the squits who had been hitherto starving the B.E.F. of men. . . . -A queer mix-up. . . . -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -At half-past one the next day, in chastened winter sunlight, he mounted -Schomburg, a coffin-headed, bright chestnut, captured from the Germans -on the Marne, by the second battalion of the Glamorganshires. He had not -been on the back of the animal two minutes before he remembered that he -had forgotten to look it over. It was the first time in his life that he -had ever forgotten to look at an animal's hoofs, fetlocks, knees, -nostrils and eyes, and to take a pull at the girth before climbing into -the saddle. But he had ordered the horse for a quarter to one and, even -though he had bolted his cold lunch like a cannibal in haste, there he -was three-quarters of an hour late, and with his head still full of -teasing problems. He had meant to clear his head by a long canter over -the be-hutted downs, dropping down into the city by a bypath. -</p> - -<p> -But the ride did not clear his head—rather, the sleeplessness of the -night began for the first time then to tell on him after a morning of -fatigues, during which he had managed to keep the thought of Sylvia at -arm's length. He had to wait to see Sylvia before he could see what -Sylvia wanted. And morning had brought the common-sense idea that -probably she wanted to do nothing more than pull the string of the -showerbath—which meant committing herself to the first extravagant -action that came into her head—and exulting in the consequences. -</p> - -<p> -He had not managed to get to bed at all the night before. Captain -McKechnie, who had had some cocoa—a beverage Tietjens had never -before tasted—hot and ready for him on his return from the lines, -had kept him till past half-past four, relating with a male fury his -really very painful story. It appeared that he had obtained leave to go -home and divorce his wife, who, during his absence in France, had been -living with an Egyptologist in Government service. Then, acting under -conscientious scruples of the younger school of the day, he had -refrained from divorcing her. Campion had in consequence threatened to -deprive him of his commission. . . . The poor devil—who had -actually consented to contribute to the costs of the household of his -wife and the Egyptologist—had gone raving mad and had showered an -extraordinary torrent of abuse at the decent old fellow that Campion -was. . . . A decent old fellow, really. For the interview, being -delicate, had taken place in the general's bedroom and the general had -not felt it necessary, there being no orderlies or junior officers -present, to take any official notice of McKechnie's outburst. McKechnie -was a fellow with an excellent military record; you could in fact hardly -have found a regimental officer with a better record. So Campion had -decided to deal with the man as suffering from a temporary brain-storm -and had sent him to Tietjen's unit for rest and recuperation. It was an -irregularity, but the general was of a rank to risk what irregularities -he considered to be of use to the service. -</p> - -<p> -It had turned out that McKechnie was actually the nephew of Tietjens' -very old intimate, Sir Vincent Macmaster, of the Department of -Statistics, being the son of his sister who had married the assistant to -the elder Macmaster, a small grocer in the Port of Leith in Scotland. . . . -That indeed had been why Campion had been interested in him. -Determined as he was to show his godson no unreasonable military -favours, the general was perfectly ready to do a kindness that he -thought would please Tietjens. All these pieces of information Tietjens -had packed away in his mind for future consideration and, it being after -four-thirty before McKechnie had calmed himself down, Tietjens had taken -the opportunity to inspect the breakfasts of the various fatigues -ordered for duty in the town, these being detailed for various hours -from a quarter to five to seven. It was a matter of satisfaction to -Tietjens to have seen to the breakfasts, and inspected his cook-houses, -since he did not often manage to make the opportunity and he could by no -means trust his orderly officers. -</p> - -<p> -At breakfast in the depot mess-hut he was detained by the colonel in -command of the depot, the Anglican padre and McKechnie; the colonel, -very old, so frail that you would have thought that a shudder or a cough -would have shaken his bones one from another, had yet a passionate -belief that the Greek Church should exchange communicants with the -Anglican: the padre, a stout, militant Churchman, had a gloomy contempt -for Orthodox theology. McKechnie from time to time essayed to define the -communion according to the Presbyterian rite. They all listened to -Tietjens whilst he dilated on the historic aspects of the various -schisms of Christianity and accepted his rough definition to the effect -that, in transubstantiation, the host actually became the divine -presence, whereas in consubstantiation the substance of the host, as if -miraculously become porous, was suffused with the presence as a sponge -is with water. . . . They all agreed that the breakfast bacon supplied -from store was uneatable and agreed to put up half a crown a week a -piece to get better for their table. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens had walked in the sunlight down the lines, past the hut with -the evergreen climbing rose, in the sunlight, thinking in an interval, -good-humouredly about his official religion: about the Almighty as, on a -colossal scale, a great English Landowner, benevolently awful, a -colossal duke who never left his study and was thus invisible, but -knowing all about the estate down to the last hind at the home farm and -the last oak: Christ, an almost too benevolent Land-Steward, son of the -Owner, knowing all about the estate down to the last child at the -porter's lodge, apt to be got round by the more detrimental tenants: the -Third Person of the Trinity, the spirit of the estate, the Game as it -were, as distinct from the players of the game: the atmosphere of the -estate, that of the interior of Winchester Cathedral just after a Handel -anthem has been finished, a perpetual Sunday, with, probably, a little -cricket for the young men. Like Yorkshire of a Saturday afternoon; if -you looked down on the whole broad county you would not see a single -village green without its white flannels. That was why Yorkshire always -leads the averages. . . . Probably by the time you got to heaven you -would be so worn out by work on this planet that you would accept the -English Sunday, for ever, with extreme relief! -</p> - -<p> -With his belief that all that was good in English literature ended with -the seventeenth century, his imaginations of heaven must be -materialist—like Bunyan's. He laughed good-humouredly at his -projection of a hereafter. It was probably done with. Along with -cricket. There would be no more parades of that sort. Probably they -would play some beastly yelping game. . . . Like baseball or Association -football. . . . And heaven? . . . Oh, it would be a revival meeting on a -Welsh hillside. Or Chatauqua, wherever that was. . . . And God? A Real -Estate Agent, with Marxist views. . . . He hoped to be out of it before -the cessation of hostilities, in which case he might be just in time for -the last train to the old heaven. . . . -</p> - -<p> -In his orderly hut he found an immense number of papers. On the top an -envelope marked <i>Urgent</i>. Private with a huge rubber stamp. From -Levin. Levin, too, must have been up pretty late. It was not about Mrs. -Tietjens, or even Miss de Bailly. It was a private warning that Tietjens -would probably have his draft on his hands another week or ten days, and -very likely another couple of thousand men extra as well. He warned -Tietjens to draw all the tents he could get hold of as soon as -possible. . . . Tietjens called to a subaltern with pimples who was picking -his teeth with a pen-nib at the other end of the hut: "Here, you! . . . -Take two companies of the Canadians to the depot store and draw all the -tents you can get up to two hundred and fifty. . . . Have 'em put alongside -my D lines. . . . Do you know how to look after putting up tents? . . . -Well then, get Thompson . . . no, Pitkins, to help you. . . ." The -subaltern drifted out sulkily. Levin said that the French railway -strikers, for some political reason, had sabotaged a mile of railway, -the accident of the night before had completely blocked up all the -lines, and the French civilians would not let their own breakdown gangs -make any repairs. German prisoners had been detailed for that fatigue, -but probably Tietjens' Canadian railway corps would be wanted. He had -better hold them in readiness. The strike was said to be a manœuvre for -forcing our hands—to get us to take over more of the line. In that -case they had jolly well dished themselves, for how could we take over more -of the line without more men, and how could we send up more men without -the railway to send them by? We had half a dozen army corps all ready to -go. Now they were all jammed. Fortunately the weather at the front was -so beastly that the Germans could not move. He finished up "Four in the -morning, old bean, <i>à tantôt</i>!" the last phrase having been learned -from Mlle de Bailly. Tietjens grumbled that if they went on piling up -the work on him like this he would never get down to the signing of that -marriage contract. -</p> - -<p> -He called the Canadian sergeant-major to him. -</p> - -<p> -"See," he said, "that you keep the Railway Service Corps in camp with -their arms ready, whatever their arms are. Tools, I suppose. Are their -tools all complete? And their muster roll?" -</p> - -<p> -"Girtin has gone absent, sir," the slim dark fellow said, with an air of -destiny. Girtin was the respectable man with the mother to whom Tietjens -had given the two hours' leave the night before. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens answered: -</p> - -<p> -"He would have!" with a sour grin. It enhanced his views of strictly -respectable humanity. They blackmailed you with lamentable and pathetic -tales and then did the dirty on you. He said to the sergeant-major: -</p> - -<p> -"You will be here for another week or ten days. See that you get your -tents up all right and the men comfortable. I will inspect them as soon -as I have taken my orderly room. Full marching order. Captain McKechnie -will inspect their kits at two." -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major, stiff but graceful, had something at the back of his -mind. It came out: -</p> - -<p> -"I have my marching orders for two-thirty this afternoon. The notice for -inserting my commission in depot orders is on your table. I leave for -the O.T.C. by the three train. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Your commission! . . ." It was a confounded nuisance. -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major said: -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant-Major Cowley and I applied for our commissions three months -ago. The communications granting them are both on your table -together. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant-Major Cowley. . . . Good God! Who recommended you?" -</p> - -<p> -The whole organization of his confounded battalion fell to pieces. It -appeared that a circular had come round three months before—before -Tietjens had been given command of that unit—asking for experienced -first-class warrant officers capable of serving as instructors in -Officers' Training Corps, with commissions. Sergeant-Major Cowley had -been recommended by the colonel of the depot, Sergeant-Major Ledoux by his -own colonel. Tietjens felt as if he had been let down—but of course -he had not been. It was just the way of the army, all the time. You got -a platoon, or a battalion, or, for the matter of that, a dug-out or a -tent, by herculean labours into good fettle. It ran all right for a day -or two, then it all fell to pieces, the personnel scattered to the four -winds by what appeared merely wanton orders, coming from the most -unexpected headquarters, or the premises were smashed up by a chance -shell that might just as well have fallen somewhere else. . . . The -finger of Fate! . . . -</p> - -<p> -But it put a confounded lot more work on him. . . . He said to -Sergeant-Major Cowley, whom he found in the next hut where all the paper -work of the unit was done: -</p> - -<p> -"I should have thought you would have been enormously better off as -regimental sergeant-major than with a commission. I know I would rather -have the job." Cowley answered—he was very pallid and -shaken—that with his unfortunate infirmity, coming on at any -moment of shock, he would be better in a job where he could slack off, -like an O.T.C. He had always been subject to small fits, over in a -minute, or couple of seconds even. . . . But getting too near a H.E. -shell—after Noircourt which had knocked out Tietjens -himself—had brought them on, violent. There was also, he finished, -the gentility to be considered. Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, the gentility! . . . That's not worth a flea's jump. . . . There -won't be any more parades after this war. There aren't any now. Look at -who your companions will be in an officer's quarters; you'd be in a -great deal better society in any self-respecting sergeants' mess." -Cowley answered that he knew the service had gone to the dogs. All the -same his missis liked it. And there was his daughter Winnie to be -considered. She had always been a bit wild, and his missis wrote that -she had gone wilder than ever, all due to the war. Cowley thought that -the bad boys would be a little more careful how they monkeyed with her -if she was an officer's daughter. . . . There was probably something in -that! -</p> - -<p> -Coming out into the open, confidentially with Tietjens, Cowley dropped -his voice huskily to say: -</p> - -<p> -"Take Quartermaster-Sergeant Morgan for R.S.M., sir." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said explosively: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm damned if I will." Then he asked: "Why?" The wisdom of old N.C.O.'s -is a thing no prudent officer neglects. -</p> - -<p> -"He can do the work, sir," Cowley said. "He's out for a commission, and -he'll do his best. . . ." He dropped his husky voice to a still greater -depth of mystery: -</p> - -<p> -"You're over two hundred—I should say nearer three -hundred—pounds down in your battalion stores. I don't suppose you -want to lose a sum of money like that?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm damned if I do. . . . But I don't see. . . . Oh, yes, I do. . . . -If I make him sergeant-major he has to hand over the stores all -complete. . . . To-day. . . . Can he do it?" -</p> - -<p> -Cowley said that Morgan could have till the day after to-morrow. He -would look after things till then. -</p> - -<p> -"But you'll want to have a flutter before you go," Tietjens said. "Don't -stop for me." -</p> - -<p> -Cowley said that he would stop and see the job through. He had thought -of going down into the town and having a flutter. But the girls down -there were a common sort, and it was bad for his complaint. . . . He -would stop and see what could be done with Morgan. Of course it was -possible that Morgan might decide to face things out. He might prefer to -stick to the money he'd got by disposing of Tietjens' stores to other -battalions that were down, or to civilian contractors. And stand a court -martial! But it wasn't likely. He was a Noncomformist deacon, or -pew-opener, or even a minister possibly, at home in Wales. . . . From -near Denbigh! And Cowley had got a very good man, a first-class man, an -Oxford professor, now a lance-corporal at the depot, for Morgan's place. -The colonel would lend him to Tietjens and would get him rated acting -quartermaster-sergeant unpaid. . . . Cowley had it all arranged. . . . -Lance-Corporal Caldicott was a first-class man, only he could not tell -his right hand from his left on parade. Literally could not tell -them. . . . -</p> - -<p> -So the battalion settled itself down. . . . Whilst Cowley and he were at -the colonel's orderly room arranging for the transfer of the -professor—he was really only a fellow of his college—who did -not know his right hand from his left, Tietjens was engaged in the -remains of the colonel's furious argument as to the union of the -Anglican and Eastern rites. The colonel—he was a full -colonel—sat in his lovely private office, a light, gay compartment -of a tin-hutment, the walls being papered in scarlet, with, on the -purplish, thick, soft baize of his table-cover, a tall glass vase from -which sprayed out pale Riviera roses, the gift of young lady admirers -amongst the V.A.D.'s in the town because he was a darling, and an open, -very gilt and leather-bound volume of a biblical encyclopædia beneath -his delicate septuagenarian features. He was confirming his opinion that -a union between the Church of England and the Greek Orthodox Church was -the only thing that could save civilization. The whole war turned on -that. The Central Empires represented Roman Catholicism, the Allies -Protestantism and Orthodoxy. Let them unite. The papacy was a traitor to -the cause of civilization. Why had the Vatican not protested with no -uncertain voice about the abominations practised on the Belgian -Catholics? . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens pointed out languidly objections to this theory. The first -thing our ambassador to the Vatican had found out on arriving in Rome -and protesting about massacres of Catholic laymen in Belgium was that -the Russians before they had been a day in Austrian Poland had hanged -twelve Roman Catholic bishops in front of their palaces. -</p> - -<p> -Cowley was engaged with the adjutant at another table. The colonel ended -his theologico-political tirade by saying: -</p> - -<p> -"I shall be very sorry to lose you, Tietjens. I don't know what we shall -do without you. I never had a moment's peace with your unit until you -came." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you aren't losing me, sir, as far as I know." -</p> - -<p> -The colonel said: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes, we are. You are going up the line next week. . . ." He added: -"Now, don't get angry with me. . . . I've protested very strongly to old -Campion—General Campion—that I cannot do without you." And he -made, with his delicate, thin, hairy-backed, white hands a motion as of -washing. -</p> - -<p> -The ground moved under Tietjens' feet. He felt himself clambering over -slopes of mud with his heavy legs and labouring chest. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it all! ... I'm not fit. . . . I'm C3. . . . I was ordered to live -in an hotel in the town. . . . I only mess here to be near the -battalion." -</p> - -<p> -The colonel said with some eagerness: -</p> - -<p> -"Then you can protest to Garrison. . . . I hope you will. . . . But I -suppose you are the sort of fellow that won't." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. . . . Of course I cannot protest . . . Though it's probably a -mistake of some clerk. . . . I could not stand a week in the line. . . ." -The profound misery of brooding apprehension in the line was less on -his mind than, precisely, the appalling labour of the lower limbs when -you live in mud to the neck. . . . Besides, whilst he had been in -hospital, practically the whole of his equipment had disappeared from -his kitbag—including Sylvia's two pair of sheets!—and he had no -money with which to get more. He had not even any trench-boots. Fantastic -financial troubles settled on his mind. -</p> - -<p> -The colonel said to the adjutant at the other purple baize-covered -table: -</p> - -<p> -"Show Captain Tietjens those marching orders of his. . . . They're from -Whitehall, aren't they? . . . You never know where these things come -from nowadays. I call them the arrow that flieth by night!" -</p> - -<p> -The adjutant, a diminutive, a positively miniature gentleman with -Coldstream badges up and a dreadfully worried brow, drifted a quarto -sheet of paper out of a pile, across his tablecloth towards Tietjens. -His tiny hands seemed about to fall off at the wrists; his temples -shuddered with neuralgia. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"For God's sake do protest to Garrison if you feel you can. . . . We -<i>can't</i> have more work shoved on us. . . . Major Lawrence and Major -Halkett left the whole of the work of your unit to us. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The sumptuous paper, with the royal arms embossed at the top, informed -Tietjens that he would report to his VIth battalion on the Wednesday of -next week in preparation for taking up the duties of divisional -transport officer to the XIXth division. The order came from room G 14 -R, at the War Office. He asked what the deuce G 14 R was, of the -adjutant, who in an access of neuralgic agony, shook his head miserably, -between his two hands, his elbows on the tablecloth. -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant-Major Cowley, with his air of a solicitor's clerk, said the -room G 14 R was the department that dealt with civilian requests for the -services of officers. To the adjutant who asked what the devil a -civilian request for the employment of officers could have to do with -sending Captain Tietjens to the XIXth division, Sergeant-Major Cowley -presumed that it was because of the activities of the Earl of Beichan. -The Earl of Beichan, a Levantine financier and race-horse owner, was -interesting himself in army horses, after a short visit to the lines of -communication. He also owned several newspapers. So they had been waking -up the army transport-animals' department to please him. The adjutant -would no doubt have observed a Veterinary-Lieutenant Hotchkiss or -Hitchcock. He had come to them through G 14 R. At the request of Lord -Beichan, who was personally interested in Lieutenant Hotchkiss's -theories. He was to make experiments on the horses of the Fourth -Army—in which the XIXth division was then to be found. . . . "So," -Cowley said, "you'll be under him as far as your horse lines go. If you -go up." Perhaps Lord Beichan was a friend of Captain Tietjens and had -asked for him, too: Captain Tietjens was known to be wonderful with -horses. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, his breath rushing through his nostrils, swore he would not go -up the line at the bidding of a hog like Beichan, whose real name was -Stavropolides, formerly Nathan. -</p> - -<p> -He said the army was reeling to its base because of the continual -interference of civilians. He said it was absolutely impossible to get -through his programmes of parades because of the perpetual extra drills -that were forced on them at the biddings of civilians. Any fool who -owned a newspaper, nay, any fool who could write to a newspaper, or any -beastly little squit of a novelist could frighten the Government and the -War Office into taking up one more hour of the men's parade time for -patent manœuvres with jampots or fancy underclothing. Now he was asked if -his men wanted lecturing on the causes of the war and whether he—he, -good God!—would not like to give the men cosy chats on the nature of -the Enemy nations. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The colonel said: -</p> - -<p> -"There, there, Tietjens! . . . There, there! . . . We all suffer alike. -<i>We've</i> got to lecture our men on the uses of a new patent sawdust -stove. If you don't want that job, you can easily get the general to take -you off it. They say you can turn him round your little finger. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"He's my godfather," Tietjens thought it wise to say. "I never asked him -for a job, but I'm damned if it isn't his duty as a Christian to keep me -out of the clutches of this Greek-'Ebrew pagan peer. . . . He's not even -Orthodox, colonel. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The adjutant here said that Colour-Sergeant Morgan of their orderly room -wanted a word with Tietjens. Tietjens said he hoped to goodness that -Morgan had some money for him! The adjutant said he understood that -Morgan had unearthed quite a little money that ought to have been paid -to Tietjens by his agents and hadn't. -</p> - -<p> -Colour-Sergeant Morgan was the regimental magician with figures. -Inordinately tall and thin, his body, whilst his eyes peered into -distant columns of cyphers, appeared to be always parallel with the -surface of his table and, as he always answered the several officers -whom he benefited without raising his head, his face was very little -known to his superiors. He was, however, in appearance a very ordinary, -thin, N.C.O. whose spidery legs, when very rarely he appeared on a -parade, had the air of running away with him as a race-horse might do. -He told Tietjens that, pursuant to his instructions and the A.C.P. i 96 -b that Tietjens had signed, he had ascertained that command pay at the -rate of two guineas a day and supplementary fuel and light allowance at -the rate of 6<i>s</i>. 8<i>d</i>. was being paid weekly by the -Paymaster-General's Department to his, Tietjens', account at his -agents'. He suggested that Tietjens should write to his agents that if -they did not immediately pay to his account the sum of £194 13<i>s</i>. -4<i>d</i>., by them received from the Paymaster's Department, he would -proceed against the Crown by Petition of Right. And he strongly -recommended Tietjens to draw a cheque on his own bank for the whole of -the money because, if by any chance the agents had not paid the money -in, he could sue them for damages and get them cast in several thousand -pounds. And serve the devils right. They must have a million or so in -hand in unpaid command and detention allowances due to officers. He only -wished he could advertise in the papers offering to recover unpaid sums -due by agents. He added that he had a nice little computation as to -variations in the course of Gunter's Second Comet that he would like to -ask Tietjen's advice about one of these days. The colour-sergeant was an -impassioned amateur astronomer. - -</p> - -<p> -So Tietjens' morning went up and down. . . . The money at the moment, -Sylvia being in that town, was of tremendous importance to him and came -like an answer to prayer. It was not so agreeable, however, even in a -world in which, never, never, never for ten minutes did you know whether -you stood on your head or your heels, for Tietjens, on going back to the -colonel's private office, to find Sergeant-Major Cowley coming out of -the next room in which, on account of the adjutant's neuralgia, the -telephone was kept. Cowley announced to the three of them that the -general had the day before ordered his correspondence-corporal to send a -very emphatic note to Colonel Gillum to the effect that he was informing -the competent authority that he had no intention whatever of parting -with Captain Tietjens, who was invaluable in his command. The -correspondence-corporal had informed Cowley that neither he nor the -general knew who was the competent authority for telling Room G 14 R at -the War Office to go to hell, but the matter would be looked up and put -all right before the chit was sent off. . . . -</p> - -<p> -That was good as far as it went. Tietjens was really interested in his -present job, and although he would have liked well enough to have the -job of looking after the horses of a division, or even an army, he felt -that he would rather it was put off till the spring, given the weather -they were having and the state of his chest. And the complication of -possible troubles with Lieutenant Hotchkiss who, being a professor, had -never really seen a horse—or not for ten years!—was something -to be thought about very seriously. But all this appeared quite another -matter when Cowley announced that the civilian authority who had asked for -Tietjens' transfer was the permanent secretary to the Ministry of -Transport. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Gillum said: -</p> - -<p> -"That's your brother, Mark. . . ." And indeed the permanent secretary to -the Ministry of Transport was Tietjens' brother Mark, known as the -Indispensable Official. Tietjens felt a real instant of dismay. He -considered that his violent protest against the job would appear rather -a smack in the face for poor old wooden-featured Mark who had probably -taken a good deal of trouble to get him the job. Even if Mark should -never hear of it, a man should not slap his brother in the face! -Moreover, when he came to think of his last day in London, he remembered -that Valentine Wannop, who had exaggerated ideas as to the safety of -First Line Transport, had begged Mark to get him a job as divisional -officer. . . . And he imagined Valentine's despair if she heard that -he—Tietjens—had moved heaven and earth to get out of it. He saw -her lower lip quivering and the tears in her eyes. . . . But he probably -had got that from some novel, because he had never seen her lower lip -quiver. He had seen tears in her eyes! -</p> - -<p> -He hurried back to his lines to take his orderly room. In the long hut -McKechnie was taking that miniature court of drunks and defaulters for -him and, just as Tietjens reached it, he was taking the case of Girtin -and two other Canadian privates. . . . The case of Girtin interested -him, and when McKechnie slid out of his seat Tietjens occupied it. The -prisoners were only just being marched in by a Sergeant Davis, an -admirable N.C.O. whose rifle appeared to be part of his rigid body and -who executed an amazing number of stamps in seriously turning in front -of the C.O.'s table. It gave the impression of an Indian war dance. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens glanced at the charge sheet, which was marked as coming from -the Provost-Marshal's Office. Instead of the charge of absence from -draft he read that of conduct prejudicial to good order and military -discipline in that. . . . The charge was written in a very illiterate -hand; an immense beery lance-corporal of Garrison Military Police, with -a red hat-band, attended to give evidence. . . . It was a tenuous and -disagreeable affair. Girtin had not gone absent, so Tietjens had to -revise his views of the respectable. At any rate of the respectable -Colonial private soldier with mother complete. For there really had been -a mother, and Girtin had been seeing her into the last tram down into -the town. A frail old lady. Apparently, trying to annoy the Canadian, -the beery lance-corporal of the Garrison Military Police had hustled the -mother. Girtin had remonstrated; very moderately, he said. The -lance-corporal had shouted at him. Two other Canadians returning to camp -had intervened and two more police. The police had called the Canadians -—— conscripts, which was almost more than the Canadians -could stand, they being voluntarily enlisted 1914 or 1915 men. The -police—it was an old trick—had kept the men talking until -two minutes after the last post had sounded and then had run them in for -being absent off pass—and for disrespect to their red hat-bands. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, with a carefully measured fury, first cross-examined and then -damned the police witness to hell. Then he marked the charge sheets with -the words "Case explained," and told the Canadians to go and get ready -for his parade. It meant he was aware a frightful row with the -provost-marshal, who was a port-winey old general called O'Hara and -loved his police as if they had been ewe-lambs. -</p> - -<p> -He took his parade, the Canadian troops looking like real soldiers in -the sunlight, went round his lines with the new Canadian sergeant-major, -who had his appointment, thank goodness, from his own authorities; wrote -a report on the extreme undesirability of lecturing his men on the -causes of the war, since his men were either graduates of one or other -Canadian university and thus knew twice as much about the causes of the -war as any lecturer the civilian authorities could provide, or else they -were half-breed Micamuc Indians, Esquimaux, Japanese, or Alaskan -Russians, none of whom could understand any English lecturer. . . . He -was aware that he would have to re-write his report so as to make it -more respectful to the newspaper proprietor peer who, at that time, was -urging on the home Government the necessity of lecturing all the -subjects of His Majesty on the causes of the war. But he wanted to get -that grouse off his chest and its disrespect would pain Levin, who would -have to deal with these reports if he did not get married first. Then he -lunched off army sausage-meat and potatoes, mashed with their skins -complete, watered with an admirable 1906 brut champagne which they bought -themselves, and an appalling Canadian cheese—at the headquarters -table to which the colonel had invited all the subalterns who that day -were going up the line for the first time. They had some h's in their -compositions, but in revenge they must have boasted of a pint of adenoid -growths between them. There was, however, a charming young half-caste -Goa second-lieutenant, who afterwards proved of an heroic bravery. He -gave Tietjens a lot of amusing information as to the working of the -purdah in Portuguese India. -</p> - -<p> -So, at half-past one Tietjens sat on Schomburg, the coffin-headed, -bright chestnut from the Prussian horse-raising establishment near -Celle. Almost a pure thoroughbred, this animal had usually the paces of -a dining-room table, its legs being fully as stiff. But to-day its legs -might have been made of cotton-wool, it lumbered over frosty ground -breathing stertorously and, at the jumping ground of the Deccan Horse, a -mile above and behind Rouen, it did not so much refuse a very moderate -jump as come together in a lugubrious crumple. It was, in the light of a -red, jocular sun, like being mounted on a broken-hearted camel. In -addition, the fatigues of the morning beginning to tell, Tietjens was -troubled by an obsession of O Nine Morgan which he found tiresome to -have to stall off. -</p> - -<p> -"What the hell," he asked of the orderly, a very silent private on a -roan beside him, "what the hell is the matter with his horse? . . . Have -you been keeping him warm?" He imagined that the clumsy paces of the -animal beneath him added to his gloomy obsessions. -</p> - -<p> -The orderly looked straight in front of him over a valley full of -hutments. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir." The 'oss 'ad been put in the 'oss-standings of G depot. By -the orders of Lieutenant 'Itchcock. 'Osses, Lieutenant 'Itchcock said, -'ad to be 'ardened. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Did you tell him that it was my orders that Schomburg was to be kept -warm? In the stables of the farm behind No. XVI I.B.D." -</p> - -<p> -"The lieutenant," the orderly explained woodenly, "said as 'ow henny -departure f'm 'is orders would be visited by the extreme displeasure of -Lord Breech'em, K.C.V.O., K.C.B., etcetera." The orderly was quivering -with rage. -</p> - -<p> -"You will," Tietjens said very carefully, "when you fall out with the -horses at the Hôtel de la Poste, take Schomburg and the roan to the -stables of La Volonté Farm, behind No. XVI I.B.D." The orderly was to -close all the windows of the stable, stopping up any chinks with -wadding. He would procure, if possible, a sawdust stove, new pattern, -from Colonel Gillum's store and light it in the stables. He was also to -give Schomburg and the roan oatmeal and water warmed as hot as the -horses would take it. . . . And Tietjens finished sharply, "If -Lieutenant Hotchkiss makes any comments, you will refer him to me. As -his C.O." -</p> - -<p> -The orderly seeking information as to horse-ailments, Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"The school of horse-copers, to which Lord Beichan belongs, believes in -the hardening of all horse-flesh other than racing cattle." They bred -racing-cattle; Under six blankets apiece! Personally Tietjens did not -believe in the hardening process and would not permit any animal over -which he had control to be submitted to it. . . . It had been observed -that if any animal was kept at a lower temperature than that of its -normal climatic condition it would contract diseases to which ordinarily -it was not susceptible. . . . If you keep a chicken for two days in a -pail of water it will contract human scarlet-fever or mumps if injected -with either bacillus. If you remove the chicken from the water, dry it, -and restore it to its normal conditions, the scarlet-fever or the mumps -will die out of the animal. . . . He said to the orderly: "You are an -intelligent man. What deduction do you draw?" -</p> - -<p> -The orderly looked away over the valley of the Seine. -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose, sir," he said, "that our 'osses, being kept alwise cold in -their standings, 'as hillnesses they wouldn't otherwise 'ave." -</p> - -<p> -"Well then," Tietjens said, "keep the poor animals warm." -</p> - -<p> -He considered that here was the makings of a very nasty row for himself -if, by any means, his sayings came round to the ears of Lord Beichan. -But that he had to chance. He could not let a horse for which he was -responsible be martyred. . . . There was too much to think about . . . -so that nothing at all stood out to be thought of. The sun was glowing. -The valley of the Seine was blue-grey, like a Gobelin tapestry. Over it -all hung the shadow of a deceased Welsh soldier. An odd skylark was -declaiming over an empty field behind the incinerators' headquarters. . . . -An odd lark. For as a rule larks do not sing in December. Larks sing -only when courting, or over the nest. . . . The bird must be oversexed. -O Nine Morgan was the other thing, that accounting for the -prize-fighter! -</p> - -<p> -They dropped down a mud lane between brick walls into the town. . . . -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="PART_II">PART II</a></h4> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I_II">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - -<p> -In the admirably appointed, white-enamelled, wickerworked, bemirrored -lounge of the best hotel of that town Sylvia Tietjens sat in a -wickerwork chair, not listening rather abstractedly to a staff-major who -was lachrymosely and continuously begging her to leave her bedroom door -unlocked that night. She said: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know. . . . Yes, perhaps. . . . I don't know. . . ." And looked -distantly into a bluish wall-mirror that, like all the rest, was framed -with white-painted cork bark. She stiffened a little and said: -</p> - -<p> -"There's Christopher!" -</p> - -<p> -The staff-major dropped his hat, his stick and his gloves. His black -hair, which was without parting and heavy with some preparation of a -glutinous kind, moved agitatedly on his scalp. He had been saying that -Sylvia had ruined his life. Didn't Sylvia know that she had ruined his -life? But for her he might have married some pure young thing. Now he -exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"But what does he want? . . . Good God! . . . what does he want?" -</p> - -<p> -"He wants," Sylvia said, "to play the part of Jesus Christ." -</p> - -<p> -Major Perowne exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Jesus Christ! . . . But he's the most foul-mouthed officer in the -general's command. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Well," Sylvia said, "if you had married your pure young thing she'd -have . . . What is it? . . . cuckolded you within nine months. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Perowne shuddered a little at the word. He mumbled: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't see. ... It seems to be the other way . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, it isn't," Sylvia said. "Think it over. . . . Morally, -<i>you're</i> the husband. . . . <i>Im</i>morally, I should say. . . . -Because he's the man I want. . . . He looks ill. . . . Do hospital -authorities always tell wives what is the matter with their husbands?" -</p> - -<p> -From his angle in the chair from which he had half-emerged Sylvia seemed -to him to be looking at a blank wall. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't see him," Perowne said. -</p> - -<p> -"I can see him in the glass," Sylvia said. "Look! From here you can see -him." -</p> - -<p> -Perowne shuddered a little more. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't want to see him. . . . I have to see him sometimes in the -course of duty. . . . I don't like to . . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia said: -</p> - -<p> -"<i>You</i>," in a tone of very deep contempt. "You only carry chocolate -boxes to flappers. . . . How can he come across you in the course of -duty? . . . You're not a <i>soldier</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -Perowne said: -</p> - -<p> -"But what are we going to do? What will <i>he</i> do?" -</p> - -<p> -"I," Sylvia answered, "shall tell the page-boy when he comes with his -card to say that I'm engaged. . . . I don't know what <i>he'll</i> do. Hit -you, very likely. . . . He's looking at your back now. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Perowne became rigid, sunk into his deep chair. -</p> - -<p> -"But he <i>couldn't</i>!" he exclaimed agitatedly. "You said that he was -playing the part of Jesus Christ. Our Lord wouldn't hit people in an -hotel lounge. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Our Lord!" Sylvia said contemptuously. "What do you know about our -Lord? . . . Our Lord was a gentleman. . . . Christopher is playing at -being our Lord calling on the woman taken in adultery. . . . He's giving -me the social backing that his being my husband seems to him to call -for." -</p> - -<p> -A one-armed, bearded <i>maître d'hôtel</i> approached them through groups -of arm-chairs arranged for <i>tête-à-tête</i>. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Pardon . . . I did not see madame at first. . . ." And displayed a card -on a salver. Without looking at it, Sylvia said: -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Dîtes à ce monsieur</i> . . . that I am occupied." The <i>maître -d'hôtel</i> moved austerely away. -</p> - -<p> -"But he'll smash me to pieces . . ." Perowne exclaimed. "What am I to -do? . . . What the deuce am I to do?" There would have been no way of -exit for him except across Tietjens' face. -</p> - -<p> -With her spine very rigid and the expression of a snake that fixes a -bird, Sylvia gazed straight in front of her and said nothing until she -exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"For God's sake leave off trembling. . . . He would not do anything to a -girl like you. . . . He's a man. . . ." The wickerwork of Perowne's -chair had been crepitating as if it had been in a railway car. The sound -ceased with a jerk. . . . Suddenly she clenched both her hands and let -out a hateful little breath of air between her teeth. -</p> - -<p> -"By the immortal saints," she exclaimed, "I swear I'll make his wooden -face wince yet." -</p> - -<p> -In the bluish looking-glass, a few minutes before, she had seen the -agate-blue eyes of her husband, thirty feet away, over arm-chairs and -between the fans of palms. He was standing, holding a riding-whip, -looking rather clumsy in the uniform that did not suit him. Rather -clumsy and worn out, but completely expressionless! He had looked -straight into the reflection of her eyes and then looked away. He moved -so that his profile was towards her, and continued gazing motionless at -an elk's head that decorated the space of wall above glazed doors giving -into the interior of the hotel. The hotel servant approaching him, he -had produced a card and had given it to the servant, uttering three -words. She saw his lips move in the three words: Mrs. Christopher -Tietjens. She said, beneath her breath: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn his chivalry! . . . Oh, God damn his chivalry!" She knew what was -going on in his mind. He had seen her, with Perowne, so he had neither -come towards her nor directed the servant to where she sat. For fear of -embarrassing her! He would leave it to her to come to him if she wished. -</p> - -<p> -The servant, visible in the mirror, had come and gone deviously back, -Tietjens still gazing at the elk's head. He had taken the card and -restored it to his pocket-book and then had spoken to the servant. The -servant had shrugged his shoulders with the formal hospitality of his -class and, with his shoulders still shrugged and his one hand pointing -towards the inner door, had preceded Tietjens into the hotel. Not one -line of Tietjens' face had moved when he had received back his card. It -had been then that Sylvia had sworn that she would yet make his wooden -face wince. . . . -</p> - -<p> -His face was intolerable. Heavy; fixed. Not insolent, but simply gazing -over the heads of all things and created beings, into a word too distant -for them to enter. . . . And yet it seemed to her, since he was so -clumsy and worn out, almost not sporting to persecute him. It was like -whipping a dying bulldog. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She sank back into her chair with a movement almost of discouragement. -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"He's gone into the hotel. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Perowne lurched agitatedly forward in his chair. He exclaimed that he -was going. Then he sank discouragedly back again: -</p> - -<p> -"No, I'm not," he said, "I'm probably much safer here. I might run -against him going out." -</p> - -<p> -"You've realized that my petticoats protect you," Sylvia said -contemptuously. "Of course, Christopher would never hit anyone in my -presence." -</p> - -<p> -Major Perowne was interrupting her by asking: -</p> - -<p> -"What's he going to do? What's he doing in the hotel?" -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Guess!" She added: "What would you do in similar circumstances?" -</p> - -<p> -"Go and wreck your bedroom," Perowne answered with promptitude. "It's -what I did when I found you had left Yssingueux." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia said: -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, that was what the place was called." -</p> - -<p> -Perowne groaned: -</p> - -<p> -"You're callous," he said. "There's no other word for it. Callous. -That's what you are." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia asked absently why he called her callous at just that juncture. -She was imagining Christopher stumping clumsily along the hotel corridor -looking at bedrooms, and then giving the hotel servant a handsome tip to -ensure that he should be put on the same floor as herself. She could -almost hear his not disagreeable male voice that vibrated a little from -the chest and made her vibrate. -</p> - -<p> -Perowne was grumbling on. Sylvia was callous because she had forgotten -the name of the Brittany hamlet in which they had spent three blissful -weeks together, though she had left it so suddenly that all her outfit -remained in the hotel. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it wasn't any kind of a beanfeast for me," Sylvia went on, when -she again gave him her attention. "Good heavens! . . . Do you think it -<i>would</i> be any kind of a beanfeast with you, <i>pour tout potage</i>? -Why should I remember the name of the hateful place?" -</p> - -<p> -Perowne said: -</p> - -<p> -"Yssingueux-les-Pervenches, such a pretty name," reproachfully. -</p> - -<p> -"It's no good," Sylvia answered, "your trying to awaken sentimental -memories in me. You will have to make me forget what you were like if -you want to carry on with me. . . . I'm stopping here and listening to -your corncrake of a voice because I want to wait until Christopher goes -out of the hotel . . . Then I am going to my room to tidy up for Lady -Sachse's party and you will sit here and wait for me." -</p> - -<p> -"I'm <i>not</i>," Perowne said, "going to Lady Sachse's. Why, <i>he</i> -is going to be one of the principal witnesses to sign the marriage -contract. And Old Campion and all the rest of the staff are going to be -there. . . . You don't catch <i>me</i>. . . . An unexpected prior -engagement is my line. No fear." -</p> - -<p> -"You'll come with me, my little man," Sylvia said, "if you ever want to -bask in my smile again. . . . I'm not going to Lady Sachse's alone, -looking as if I couldn't catch a man to escort me, under the eyes -of half the French house of peers. . . . If they've got a house of -peers! . . . You don't catch <i>me</i>. . . . No fear!" she mimicked his -creaky voice. "You can go away as soon as you've shown yourself as my -escort. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"But, good God!" Perowne cried out, "that's just what I mustn't do. -Campion said that if he heard any more of my being seen about with you -he would have me sent back to my beastly regiment. And my beastly -regiment is in the trenches. . . . You don't see <i>me</i> in the trenches, -do you?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'd rather see you there than in my own room," Sylvia said. "Any day!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, there you are!" Perowne exclaimed with animation. "What guarantee -have I that if I do what you want I shall bask in your smile as you call -it? I've got myself into a most awful hole, bringing you here without -any papers. You never told me you hadn't any papers. General O'Hara, the -P.M., has raised a most awful strafe about it. . . . And what have I got -for it? . . . Not the ghost of a smile. . . . And you should see old -O'Hara's purple face! . . . Someone woke him from his afternoon nap to -report to him about your heinous case and he hasn't recovered from the -indigestion yet. . . . Besides, he hates Tietjens . . . Tietjens is -always chipping away at his military police . . . O'Hara's lambs. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia was not listening, but she was smiling a slow smile at an inward -thought. It maddened him. -</p> - -<p> -"What's your game?" he exclaimed. "Hell and hounds, what's your game? . . . -You can't have come here to see . . . <i>him</i>. You don't come here to -see me, as far as I can see. Well then . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia looked round at him with all her eyes, wide open as if she had -just awakened from a deep sleep. -</p> - -<p> -"I didn't know I was coming," she said. "It came into my head to come -suddenly. Ten minutes before I started. And I came. I didn't know papers -were wanted. I suppose I could have got them if I had wanted them. . . . -You never asked me if I had any papers. You just froze on to me and had -me into your special carriage. ... I didn't know you were coming." -</p> - -<p> -That seemed to Perowne the last insult. He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, damn it, Sylvia! you <i>must</i> have known. . . . You were at the -Quirks' squash on Wednesday evening. And <i>they</i> knew. My best -friends." -</p> - -<p> -"Since you ask for it," she said, "I didn't know. . . . And I would not -have come by that train if I had known you would be going by it. You -force me to say rude things to you." She added: "Why can't you be more -conciliatory?" to keep him quiet for a little. His jaw dropped down. -</p> - -<p> -She was wondering where Christopher had got the money to pay for a bed -at the hotel. Only a very short time before she had drawn all the -balance of his banking account, except for a shilling. It was the middle -of the month and he could not have drawn any more pay. . . . That, of -course, was a try on her part. He might be forced into remonstrating. In -the same way she had tried on the accusation that he had carried off her -sheets. It was sheer wilfulness, and when she looked again at his -motionless features she knew that she had been rather stupid. . . . But -she was at the end of her tether: she had before now tried making -accusations against her husband, but she had never tried inconveniencing -him. . . . Now she suddenly realized the full stupidity of which she had -been guilty. He would know perfectly well that those petty -frightfulnesses of hers were not in the least in her note; so he would -know, too, that each of them was just a try on. He would say: "She is -trying to make me squeal. I'm damned if I will!" -</p> - -<p> -She would have to adopt much more formidable methods. She said: "He -shall . . . he shall . . . he <i>shall</i> come to heel." -</p> - -<p> -Major Perowne had now closed his jaw. He was reflecting. Once he -mumbled: "More <i>conciliatory</i>! Holy smoke!" -</p> - -<p> -She was feeling suddenly in spirits: it was the sight of Christopher had -done it: the perfect assurance that they were going to live under the -same roof again. She would have betted all she possessed and her -immortal soul on the chance that he would not take up with the Wannop -girl. And it would have been betting on a certainty! . . . But she had -had no idea what their relations were to be, after the war. At first she -had thought that they had parted for good when she had gone off from -their flat at four o'clock in the morning. It had seemed logical. But, -gradually, in retreat at Birkenhead, in the still, white, nun's room, -doubt had come upon her. It was one of the disadvantages of living as -they did that they seldom spoke their thoughts. But that was also at -times an advantage. She had certainly meant their parting to be for -good. She had certainly raised her voice in giving the name of her -station to the taxi-man with the pretty firm conviction that he would -hear her; and she had been pretty well certain that he would take it as -a sign that the breath had gone out of their union. . . . Pretty -certain. But not quite! . . . -</p> - -<p> -She would have died rather than write to him; she would die, now, rather -than give any inkling that she wanted them to live under the same roof -again. . . . She said to herself: -</p> - -<p> -"Is he writing to that girl?" And then: "No! . . . I'm certain that he -isn't." . . . She had had all his letters stopped at the flat, except -for a few circulars that she let dribble through to him, so that he -might imagine that all his correspondence was coming through. From the -letters to him that she did read she was pretty sure that he had given -no other address than the flat in Gray's Inn. . . . But there had been -no letters from Valentine Wannop. . . . Two from Mrs. Wannop, two from -his brother Mark, one from Port Scatho, one or two from brother officers -and some officials chits. . . . She said to herself that, if there -<i>had</i> been any letters from that girl, she would have let all his -letters go through, including the girl's. . . . Now she was not so certain -that she would have. -</p> - -<p> -In the glass she saw Christopher marching woodenly out of the hotel, -along the path that led from door to door behind her. . . . It came to her -with extraordinary gladness—the absolute conviction that he was not -corresponding with Miss Wannop. The absolute conviction. . . . If he had -come alive enough to do that he would have looked different. She did not -know how he would have looked. But different . . . Alive! Perhaps -self-conscious: perhaps . . . satisfied . . . -</p> - -<p> -For some time the major had been grumbling about his wrongs. He said -that he followed her about all day, like a lap-dog, and got nothing for -it. Now she wanted him to be conciliatory. She said she wanted to have a -man on show as escort. Well then, an escort got something. . . . At just -this moment he was beginning again with: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here . . . will you let me come to your room to-night or will you -not?" -</p> - -<p> -She burst into high, loud laughter. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it all, it isn't any laughing matter! . . . Look here! You don't -know what I risk. . . . There are A.P.M.'s and P.M.'s and deputy -sub-acting A.P.M.'s walking about the corridors of all the hotels in -this town, all night long. . . . It's as much as my job is worth. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She put her handkerchief to her lips to hide a smile that she knew would -be too cruel for him not to notice. And even when she took it away, he -said: -</p> - -<p> -"Hang it all, what a cruel-looking fiend you are! . . . Why the devil do -I hang around you? . . . There's a picture that my mother's got, by -Burne-Jones . . . A cruel-looking woman with a distant smile . . . Some -vampire ... La belle Dame sans Merci . . . That's what you're like." -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him suddenly with considerable seriousness. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"See here, Potty . . ." she began. He groaned: -</p> - -<p> -"I believe you'd like me to be sent to the beastly trenches. . . . Yet a -big, distinguished-looking chap like me wouldn't have a chance. . . . At -the first volley the Germans fired, they'd pick me off. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Potty," she exclaimed, "try to be serious for a minute. . . . I -tell you I'm a woman who's trying . . . who's desperately wanting . . . -to be reconciled to her husband! . . . I would not tell that to another -soul. . . . I would not tell it to myself. . . . But one owes -something . . . a parting scene, if nothing else. . . . Well, -something . . . to a man one's been in bed with. . . . I didn't give you a -parting scene at . . . ah, Yssingueux-les-Pervenches ... so I give you -this tip instead. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Will you leave your bedroom door unlocked, or won't you?" -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"If that man would throw his handkerchief to me, I would follow him -round the world in my shift! . . . Look here . . . see me shake when I -think of it. . . ." She held out her hand at the end of her long arm: -hand and arm trembled together, minutely, then very much. . . . "Well," -she finished, "if you see that and still want to come to my room . . . -your blood be on your own head. . . ." She paused for a breath or two -and then said: -</p> - -<p> -"You can come. . . . I won't lock my door. . . . But I don't say that -you'll get anything . . . or that you'll like what you get . . . That's -a fair tip. . . ." She added suddenly: "You <i>sale fat</i> . . . take what -you get and be damned to you! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Major Perowne had suddenly taken to twirling his moustaches; he said: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I'll chance the A.P.M.'s. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She suddenly coiled her legs into her chair. -</p> - -<p> -"I know now what I came here for," she said. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Major Wilfrid Fosbrooke Eddicker Perowne of Perowne, the son of his -mother, was one of those individuals who have no history, no strong -proclivities, nothing, his knowledge seemed to be bounded by the -contents of his newspaper for the immediate day; at any rate, his -conversation never went any farther. He was not bold, he was not shy: he -was neither markedly courageous nor markedly cowardly. His mother was -immoderately wealthy, owned an immense castle that hung over crags, -above a western sea, much as a birdcage hangs from a window of a high -tenement building, but she received few or no visitors, her cuisine -being indifferent and her wine atrocious. She had strong temperance -opinions and, immediately after the death of her husband, she had -emptied the contents of his cellar, which were almost as historic as his -castle, into the sea, a shudder going through county-family and no, or -almost no, characteristics. He had done England. But even this was not -enough to make Perowne himself notorious. -</p> - -<p> -His mother allowed him—after an eyeopener in early youth—the -income of a junior royalty, but he did nothing with it. He lived in a -great house in Palace Gardens, Kensington, and he lived all alone with -rather a large staff of servants who had been selected by his mother, -but they did nothing at all, for he ate all his meals, and even took his -bath and dressed for dinner at the Bath Club. He was otherwise -parsimonious. -</p> - -<p> -He had, after the fashion of his day, passed a year or two in the army -when young. He had been first gazetted to His Majesty's Forty-second -Regiment, but on the Black Watch proceeding to India he had exchanged -into the Glamorganshires, at that time commanded by General Campion and -recruiting in and around Lincolnshire. The general had been an old -friend of Perowne's mother, and, on being promoted to brigadier, had -taken Perowne on to his staff as his galloper, for, although Perowne -rode rather indifferently, he had a certain social knowledge and could -be counted on to know how correctly to address a regimental invitation -to a dowager countess who had married a viscount's third son. . . . As a -military figure otherwise he had a very indifferent word of command, a -very poor drill and next to no control of his men, but he was popular -with his batmen, and in a rather stiff way was presentable in the old -scarlet uniform or the blue mess jacket. He was exactly six foot, to a -hairbreadth, in his stockings, had very dark eyes, and a rather grating -voice; the fact that his limbs were a shade too bulky for his trunk, -which was not at all corpulent, made him appear a little clumsy. If in a -club you asked what sort of a fellow he was your interlocutor would tell -you, most probably, that he had or was supposed to have warts on his -head, this to account for his hair which all his life he had combed -back, unparted from his forehead. But as a matter of fact he had no -warts on his head. -</p> - -<p> -He had once started out on an expedition to shoot big game in Portuguese -East Africa. But on its arrival his expedition was met with the news -that the natives of the interior were in revolt, so Perowne had returned -to Kensington Palace Gardens. He had had several mild successes with -women, but, owing to his habits of economy and fear of imbroglios, until -the age of thirty-four, he had limited the field of his amours to young -women of the lower social orders. . . . -</p> - -<p> -His affair with Sylvia Tietjens might have been something to boast -about, but he was not boastful, and indeed he had been too hard hit when -she had left him even to bear to account lyingly for the employment of -the time he had spent with her in Brittany. Fortunately no one took -sufficient interest in his movements to wait for his answer to their -indifferent questions as to where he had spent the summer. When his mind -reverted to her desertion of him moisture would come out of his eyes, -undemonstratively, as water leaves the surface of a sponge. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia had left him by the simple expedient of stepping without so much -as a reticule on to the little French tramway that took you to the main -railway line. From there she had written to him in pencil on a closed -correspondence card that she had left him because she simply could not -bear either his dullness or his craking voice. She said they would -probably run up against each other in the course of the autumn season in -town and, after purchase of some night, things, had made straight for -the German spa to which her mother had retreated. -</p> - -<p> -At the later date Sylvia had no difficulty in accounting to herself for -her having gone off with such an oaf: she had simply reacted in a -violent fit of sexual hatred, from her husband's mind. And she could not -have found a mind more utterly dissimilar than Perowne's in any decently -groomed man to be found in London. She could recall, even in the French -hotel lounge, years after, the almost painful emotion of joyful hatred -that had visited her when she had first thought of going off with him. -It was the self-applause of one who has just hit upon an excruciatingly -inspiring intellectual discovery. In her previous transitory -infidelities to Christopher she had discovered that, however presentable -the man with whom she might have been having an affair, and however -short the affair, even if it were only a matter of a week-end . . . -Christopher had spoilt her for the other man. It was the most damnable -of his qualities that to hear any other man talk of any subject—any, -any subject—from stable form to the balance of power, or from the -voice of a given opera singer to the recurrence of a comet—to have to -pass a week-end with any other man and hear his talk after having spent the -inside of the week with Christopher, hate his ideas how you might, was -the difference between listening to a grown man and, with an intense -boredom, trying to entertain an inarticulate schoolboy. As beside him, -other men simply did not seem ever to have grown up. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Just before, with an extreme suddenness, consenting to go away with -Perowne, the illuminating idea had struck her: If I did go away with him -it would be the most humiliating thing I could do to Christopher. . . . -And just when the idea <i>had</i> struck her, beside her chair in the -conservatory at a dance given by the general's sister, Lady Claudine -Sandbach, Perowne, his voice rendered more throaty and less disagreeable -than usual by emotion, had been going on and on begging her to elope -with him. . . . She had suddenly said: -</p> - -<p> -"Very well . . . let's. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -His emotion had been so unbridled in its astonishment that she had, even -at that, almost been inclined to treat her own speech as a joke and to -give up the revenge. . . . But the idea of the humiliation that -Christopher must feel proved too much for her. For, for your wife to -throw you over for an attractive man is naturally humiliating, but that -she should leave you publicly for a man of hardly any intelligence at -all, you priding yourself on your brains, must be nearly as mortifying a -thing as can happen to you. -</p> - -<p> -But she had hardly set out upon her escapade before two very serious -defects in her plan occurred to her with extreme force: the one that, -however humiliated Christopher might feel she would not be with him to -witness his humiliation; the other that, oaf as she had taken Perowne to -be in casual society, in close daily relationship he was such an oaf as -to be almost insufferable. She had imagined that he would prove a person -out of whom it might be possible to make <i>something</i> by a judicious -course of alternated mothering and scorn: she discovered that his mother -had already done for him almost all that woman could do. For, when he had -been an already rather backward boy at a private school, his mother had -kept him so extremely short of pocket-money that he had robbed other -boys' desks of a few shillings here and there—in order to subscribe -towards a birthday present for the head master's wife. His mother, to -give him a salutary lesson, had given so much publicity to the affair -that he had become afflicted with a permanent bent towards shyness that -rendered him by turns very mistrustful of himself or very boastful and, -although he repressed manifestations of either tendency towards the -outside world, the continual repression rendered him almost incapable of -any vigorous thought or action. . . . -</p> - -<p> -That discovery did not soften Sylvia towards him: it was, as she -expressed it, <i>his</i> funeral and, although she would have been ready -for any normal job of smartening up a roughish man, she was by no means -prepared to readjust other women's hopeless maternal misfits. -</p> - -<p> -So she had got no farther than Ostend, where they had proposed to spend -a week or so at the tables, before she found herself explaining to some -acquaintances whom she met that she was in that gay city merely for an -hour or two, between trains, on the way to join her mother in a German -health resort. The impulse to say that had come upon her by surprise, -for, until that moment, being completely indifferent to criticism, she -had intended to cast no veil at all over her proceedings. But, quite -suddenly, on seeing some well-known English faces in the casino it had -come over her to think that, however much she imagined Christopher to be -humiliated by her going off with an oaf like Perowne, that humiliation -must be as nothing compared with that which she might be expected to -feel at having found no one better than an oaf like Perowne to go off -with. Moreover . . . she began to miss Christopher. -</p> - -<p> -These feelings did not grow any less intense in the rather stuffy but -inconspicuous hotel in the Rue St. Roque in Paris to which she -immediately transported the bewildered but uncomplaining Perowne, who -had imagined that he was to be taken to Wiesbaden for a course of light -gaieties. And Paris, when you avoid the more conspicuous resorts, and -when you are unprovided with congenial companionship can prove nearly as -overwhelming as is, say, Birmingham on a Sunday. -</p> - -<p> -So that Sylvia waited for only just long enough to convince herself that -her husband had no apparent intention of applying for an immediate -divorce and had, indeed, no apparent intention of doing anything at all. -She sent him, that is to say, a postcard saying that letters and other -communications would reach her at her inconspicuous hotel—and it -mortified her not a little to have to reveal the fact that her hotel was -so inconspicuous. But, except that her own correspondence was forwarded -to her with regularity, no communications at all came from Tietjens. -</p> - -<p> -In an air-resort in the centre of France to which she next removed -Perowne, she found herself considering rather seriously what it might be -expected that Tietjens <i>would</i> do. Through indirect and unsuspecting -allusions in letters from her personal friends she found that if -Tietjens did not put up, he certainly did not deny, the story that she -had gone to nurse or be with her mother, who was supposed to be -seriously ill. . . . That is to say, her friends said how rotten it was -that her mother, Mrs. Satterthwaite, should be so seriously ill; how -rotten it must be for her to be shut up in a potty little German kur-ort -when the world could be so otherwise amusing: and how well Christopher -whom they saw from time to time seemed to be getting on considering how -rotten it must be for him to be left all alone. . . . -</p> - -<p> -At about this time Perowne began to become, if possible, more irritating -than ever. In their air-resort, although the guests were almost entirely -French, there was a newly opened golf-course, and at the game of golf -Perowne displayed an inefficiency and at the same time a morbid conceit -that were surprising in one naturally lymphatic. He would sulk for a -whole evening if either Sylvia or any Frenchman beat him in a round, -and, though Sylvia was by then completely indifferent to his sulking, -what was very much worse was that he became gloomily and loud-voicedly -quarrelsome over his games with foreign opponents. -</p> - -<p> -Three events, falling within ten minutes of each other, made her -determined to get as far away from that air-resort as was feasible. In -the first place she observed at the end of the street some English -people called Thurston, whose faces she faintly knew, and the emotion -she suddenly felt let her know how extremely anxious she was that she -should let it remain feasible for Tietjens to take her back. Then, in -the golf club-house, to which she found herself fiercely hurrying in -order to pay her bill and get her clubs, she overheard the conversation -of two players that left no doubt in her mind that Perowne had been -detected in little meannesses of moving his ball at golf or juggling -with his score. . . . This was almost more than she could stand. And, at -the same moment, her mind, as it were, condescended to let her remember -Christopher's voice as it had once uttered the haughty opinion that no -man one could speak to would ever think of divorcing any woman. If he -could not defend the sanctity of his hearth he must lump it unless the -woman wanted to divorce him. . . . -</p> - -<p> -At the time when he had said it her mind—she had been just then -hating him a good deal—had seemed to take no notice of the -utterance. But now that it presented itself forcibly to her again it -brought with it the thought: Supposing he wasn't really only talking -through his hat! -</p> - -<p> -. . . She dragged the wretched Perowne off his bed where he had been -lost in an after-lunch slumber and told him that they must both leave -that place at once, and, that as soon as they reached Paris or some -larger town where he could find waiters and people to understand his -French, she herself was going to leave him for good. They did not, in -consequence, get away from the air-resort until the six o'clock train -next morning. Perowne's passion of rage and despair at the news that she -wished to leave him took an inconvenient form, for instead of announcing -any intention of committing suicide, as might have been expected, he -became gloomily and fantastically murderous. He said that unless Sylvia -swore on a little relic of St. Anthony she carried that she had no -intention of leaving him he would incontinently kill her. He said, as he -said for the rest of his days, that she had ruined his life and caused -great moral deterioration in himself. But for her he might have married -some pure young thing. Moreover, influencing him against his mother's -doctrines, she had forced him to drink wine, by an effect of pure scorn. -Thus he had done harm, he was convinced, both to his health and to his -manly proportions. . . . It was indeed for Sylvia one of the most -unbearable things about this man—the way he took wine. With every -glass he put to his lips he would exclaim with an unbearable titter some -such imbecility as: Here is another nail in my coffin. And he had taken to -wine, and even to stronger liquor, very well. -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia had refused to swear by St. Anthony. She definitely was not going -to introduce the saint into her amorous affairs, and she definitely was -not going to take on any relic an oath that she meant to break at an -early opportunity. There was such a thing as playing it too low down: -there are dishonours to which death is preferable. So, getting hold of -his revolver at a time when he was wringing his hands, she dropped it -into the water-jug and then felt reasonably safe. -</p> - -<p> -Perowne knew no French and next to nothing about France, but he had -discovered that the French did nothing to you for killing a woman who -intended to leave you. Sylvia, on the other hand, was pretty certain -that, without a weapon, he could not do much to her. If she had had no -other training at her very expensive school she had had so much drilling -in calisthenics as to be singularly mistress of her limbs, and, in the -interests of her beauty she had always kept herself very fit. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She said at last: -</p> - -<p> -"Very well. We will go to Yssingueux-les-Pervenches. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -A rather pleasant French couple in the hotel had spoken of this little -place in the extreme west of France as a lonely paradise, they having -spent their honeymoon there. . . . And Sylvia wanted a lonely paradise -if there was going to be any scrapping before she got away from -Perowne. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She had no hesitation as to what she was going to do: the long journey -across half France by miserable trains had caused her an agony of -home-sickness! Nothing less! . . . It was a humiliating disease from -which to suffer. But it was unavoidable, like mumps. You had to put up -with it. Besides, she even found herself wanting to see her child, whom -she imagined herself to hate, as having been the cause of all her -misfortunes. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She therefore prepared, after great thought, a letter telling Tietjens -that she intended to return to him. She made the letter as nearly as -possible like one she would write announcing her return from a country -house to which she should have been invited for an indefinite period, -and she added some rather hard instructions about her maid, these being -intended to remove from the letter any possible trace of emotion. She -was certain that, if she showed any emotion at all, Christopher would -never take her under his roof again. . . . She was pretty certain that -no gossip had been caused by her escapade. Major Thurston had been at -the railway station when they had left, but they had not spoken—and -Thurston was a very decentish, brown-moustached fellow, of the sort that -does not gossip. -</p> - -<p> -It had proved a little difficult to get away, for Perowne during several -weeks watched her like an attendant in a lunatic asylum. But at last the -idea presented itself to him that she would never go without her frocks, -and, one day, in a fit of intense somnolence after a lunch, washed down -with rather a large quantity of the local and fiery cordial, he let her -take a walk alone. . . . -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -She was by that time tired of men . . . or she imagined that she was; -for she was not prepared to be certain, considering the muckers she saw -women coming all round her over the most unpresentable individuals. Men, -at any rate, never fulfilled expectations. They might, upon -acquaintance, turn out more entertaining than they appeared; but almost -always taking up with a man was like reading a book you had read when -you had forgotten that you had read it. You had not been for ten minutes -in any sort of intimacy with any man before you said: "But I've read all -this before. . . ." You knew the opening, you were already bored by the -middle, and, especially, you knew the end. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She remembered, years ago, trying to shock her mother's spiritual -adviser, Father Consett, whom they had lately murdered in Ireland, along -with Casement. . . . The poor saint had not in the least been shocked. -He had gone her one better. For when she had said something like that -her idea of a divvy life—they used in those days to say -divvy—would be to go off with a different man every week-end, he -had told her that after a short time she would be bored already by the -time the poor dear fellow was buying the railway tickets. . . . -</p> - -<p> -And, by heavens, he had been right. . . . For when she came to think of -it, from the day that poor saint had said that thing in her mother's -sitting-room in the little German spa—Lobscheid, it must have been -called—in the candle-light, his shadow denouncing her from all over -the walls, to now when she sat in the palmish wickerwork of that hotel that -had been new-whitely decorated to celebrate hostilities, never once had -she sat in a train with a man who had any right to look upon himself as -justified in mauling her about. . . . She wondered if, from where he sat -in heaven, Father Consett would be satisfied with her as he looked down -into that lounge. . . . Perhaps it was really he that had pulled off -that change in her. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Never once till yesterday. . . . For perhaps the unfortunate Perowne -might just faintly have had the right yesterday to make himself for -about two minutes—before she froze him into a choking, pallid -snowman with goggle eyes—the perfectly loathsome thing that a man -in a railway train becomes. . . . Much too bold and yet stupidly awkward -with the fear of the guard looking in at the window, the train doing -over sixty, without corridors. . . . No, never again for <i>me</i>, -father, she addressed her voice towards the ceiling. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Why in the world couldn't you get a man to go away with you and be -just—oh, light comedy—for a whole, a whole blessed week-end. -For a whole blessed life. . . Why not? . . . Think of it . . . A whole -blessed life with a man who was a good sort and yet didn't go all gurgly -in the voice, and cod-fish-eyed and all-overish—to the extent of -not being able to find the tickets when asked for them. . . . Father, -dear, she said again upwards, if I could find men like that, that would -be just heaven . . . where there is no marrying. . . . But, of course, -she went on almost resignedly, he would not be faithful to you. . . . -And then: one would have to stand it. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She sat up so suddenly in her chair that beside her, too, Major Perowne -nearly jumped out of his wickerwork, and asked if <i>he</i> had come -back. . . . She explained: -</p> - -<p> -"No, I'd be damned if I would. . . . I'd be damned, I'd be damned, I'd -be damned if I would. . . . Never. Never. By the living God!" -</p> - -<p> -She asked fiercely of the agitated major: -</p> - -<p> -"Has Christopher got a girl in this town? . . . You'd better tell me the -truth!" -</p> - -<p> -The major mumbled: -</p> - -<p> -"He . . . No. . . . He's too much of a stick. . . . He never even goes -to Suzette's. . . . Except once to fetch out some miserable little squit -of a subaltern who was smashing up Mother Hardelot's furniture. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He grumbled: -</p> - -<p> -"But you shouldn't give a man the jumps like that! . . . Be -conciliatory, you said. . . ." He went on to grumble that her manners -had not improved since she had been at Yssingueux-les-Pervenches, . . . -and then went on to tell her that in French the words <i>yeux des -pervenches</i> meant eyes of periwinkle blue. And that was the only French -he knew, because a Frenchman he had met in the train had told him so and he -had always thought that if <i>her</i> eyes had been periwinkle blue . . . -"But you're not listening. . . . Hardly polite, I call it," he had -mumbled to a conclusion. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She was sitting forward in her chair still clenching her hand under her -chin at the thought that perhaps Christopher had Valentine Wannop in -that town. That was perhaps why he elected to remain there. She asked: -</p> - -<p> -"Why does Christopher stay on in this God-forsaken hole? . . . The -inglorious base, they call it. . . -</p> - -<p> -"Because he's jolly well got to. . . ." Major Perowne said. "He's got to -do what he's told. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: "Christopher! . . . You mean to say they'd keep a man like -<i>Christopher</i> anywhere he didn't want to be . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"They'd jolly well knock spots off him if he went away," Major Perowne -exclaimed. . . . "What the deuce do you think your blessed fellow is? . . . -The King of England? . . ." He added with a sudden sombre ferocity: -"They'd shoot him like anybody else if he bolted. . . . What do <i>you</i> -think?" -</p> - -<p> -She said: "But all that wouldn't prevent his having a girl in this -town?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, he hasn't got one," Perowne said. "He sticks up in that blessed -old camp of his like a blessed she-chicken sitting on addled eggs. . . . -That's what they say of him. . . . I don't know anything about the -fellow. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Listening vindictively and indolently, she thought she caught in his -droning tones a touch of the homicidal lunacy that had used to underlie -his voice in the bedroom at Yssingueux. The fellow had undoubtedly about -him a touch of the dull, mad murderer of the police-courts. With a -sudden animation she thought: -</p> - -<p> -"Suppose he tried to murder Christopher. . . ." And she imagined her -husband breaking the fellow's back across his knee, the idea going -across her mind as fire traverses the opal. Then, with a dry throat, she -said to herself: -</p> - -<p> -"I've got to find out whether he has that girl in Rouen. . . ." Men stuck -together. The fellow Perowne might well be protecting Tietjens. It would -be unthinkable that any rules of the service could keep Christopher in -that place. They could not shut up the upper classes. If Perowne had any -sense he would know that to shield Tietjens was the way not to get -her. . . . But he had no sense. . . . Besides, sexual solidarity was a -terribly strong thing. . . . She knew that she herself would not give a -woman's secrets away in order to get her man. Then . . . how was she to -ascertain whether the girl was not in that town? How? . . . She imagined -Tietjens going home every night to her. . . . But he was going to spend -that night with herself. . . . She knew that. . . . Under that roof. . . . -Fresh from the other. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She imagined him there, now. . . . In the parlour of one of the little -villas you see from the tram on the top of the town. . . . They were -undoubtedly, now, discussing her. . . . Her whole body writhed, muscle -on muscle, in her chair. . . . She must discover. . . . But how do you -discover? Against a universal conspiracy. . . . This whole war was an -agapemone. . . . You went to war when you desired to rape innumerable -women. . . . It was what war was for. . . . All these men, crowded in -this narrow space. . . . She stood up: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm going," she said, "to put on a little powder for Lady Sachse's -feast. . . . You needn't stay if you don't want to. . . ." She was going -to watch every face she saw until it gave up the secret of where in that -town Christopher had the Wannop girl hidden. . . . She imagined her -freckled, snubnosed face pressed—squashed was the word—against -his cheek. . . . She was going to investigate. . . . -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - -<p> -She found an early opportunity to carry on her investigations. For, at -dinner that night, she found herself, Tietjens having gone to the -telephone with a lance-corporal, opposite what she took to be a small -tradesman, with fresh-coloured cheeks, and a great, grey, -forward-sprouting moustache, in a uniform so creased that the creases -resembled the veins of a leaf. . . . A very trustworthy small tradesman: -the grocer from round the corner whom, sometimes, you allow to supply -you with paraffin. . . . He was saying to her: -</p> - -<p> -"If, ma'am, you multiply two-thousand nine hundred and something by ten -you arrive at twenty-nine thousand odd. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -And she had exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"You really mean that my husband, Captain Tietjens, spent yesterday -afternoon in examining twenty-nine thousand toe-nails. . . . And two -thousand nine hundred toothbrushes. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I told him," her interlocutor answered with deep seriousness, "that -these being Colonial troops it was not so necessary to examine their -toothbrushes. . . . Imperial troops <i>will</i> use the brush they clean -their buttons with for their teeth so as to have a clean toothbrush to -show the medical officer. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"It sounds," she said with a little shudder, "as if you were all -schoolboys playing a game. . . . And you say my husband really occupies -his mind with such things. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Second-Lieutenant Cowley, dreadfully conscious that the shoulder-strap -of his Sam Browne belt, purchased that afternoon at the Ordnance, and -therefore brand-new, did not match the abdominal part of the belt that -he had had for nearly ten years—a splendid bit of leather, -that!—answered nevertheless stoutly: -</p> - -<p> -"Madam! If the brains of an army aren't, the life of an army -<i>is</i> . . . in its feet. . . . And nowadays, the medical officers say, -in its teeth. . . . Your husband, ma'am, is an admirable officer. . . . He -says that no draft he turns out shall. . . ." - - -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"He spent three hours in . . . You say, foot and kit inspection. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Second-Lieutenant Cowley said: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course he had other officers to help him with the kit . . . but he -looked at every foot himself. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"That took him from two till five. . . . Then he had tea, I suppose. . . . -And went to . . . What is it? . . . The papers of the draft. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Second-Lieutenant Cowley said, muffledly through his moustache: -</p> - -<p> -"If the captain is a little remiss in writing letters . . . I <i>have</i> -heard. . . . You might, madam . . . I'm a married man myself . . . with -a daughter. . . . And the army is not very good at writing letters. . . . -You might say, in that respect, that thank God we have got a navy, -ma'am. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She let him stagger on for a sentence or two, imagining that, in his -confusion, she might come upon traces of Miss Wannop in Rouen. Then she -said handsomely: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course you have explained everything, Mr. Cowley, and I am very much -obliged. . . . Of course my husband would not have time to write very -full letters. . . . He is not like the giddy young subalterns who run -after . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He exclaimed in a great roar of laughter: -</p> - -<p> -"The captain run after skirts. . . . Why, I can number on my hands the -times he's been out of my sight since he's had the battalion!" -</p> - -<p> -A deep wave of depression went over Sylvia. -</p> - -<p> -"Why," Lieutenant Cowley laughed on, "if we <i>had</i> a laugh against him -it was that he mothered the lot of us as if he was a hen sitting on addled -eggs. . . . For it's only a rag-time army, as the saying is, when you've -said the best for it that you can. . . . And look at the other -commanding officers we've had before we had him. . . . There was Major -Brooks. . . . Never up before noon, if then, and out of camp by -two-thirty. Get your returns ready for signing before then or never get -'em signed. . . . And Colonel Potter . . . Bless my soul . . . 'e -wouldn't sign any blessed papers at all. . . . He lived down here in -this hotel, and we never saw him up at the camp at all. . . . But the -captain. . . . We always say that . . . if 'e was a Chelsea adjutant -getting off a draft of the Second Coldstreams. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -With her indolent and gracious beauty—Sylvia knew that she was -displaying indolent and gracious beauty—Sylvia leaned over the -tablecloth listening for items in the terrible indictment that, -presently, she was going to bring against Tietjens. . . . For the morality -of these matters is this: . . . If you have an incomparably beautiful -woman on your hands you must occupy yourself solely with her. . . . -Nature exacts that of you . . . until you are unfaithful to her -with a snub-nosed girl with freckles: that, of course, being a reaction, -is still in a way occupying yourself with your woman! . . . But to -betray her with a battalion. . . . That is against decency, against -Nature. . . . And for him, Christopher Tietjens, to come down to the -level of the men you met here! . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, mooning down the room between tables, had more than his -usually aloof air since he had just come out of a telephone box. He -slipped, a weary mass, into the polished chair between her and the -lieutenant. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"I've got the washing arranged for . . ." and Sylvia gave to herself a -little hiss between the teeth, of vindictive pleasure! This was indeed -betrayal to a battalion. He added: "I shall have to be up in camp before -four-thirty to-morrow morning. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia could not resist saying: -</p> - -<p> -"Isn't there a poem . . . <i>Ah me, the dawn, the dawn, it comes too -soon</i>! . . . said of course by lovers in bed? . . . Who was the poet?" -</p> - -<p> -Cowley went visibly red to the roots of his hair and evidently beyond. -Tietjens finished his speech to Cowley, who had remonstrated against his -going up to the camp so early by saying that he had not been able to get -hold of an officer to march the draft. He then said in his leisurely -way: -</p> - -<p> -"There were a great many poems with that refrain in the Middle Ages. . . . -You are probably thinking of an albade by Arnaut Daniel, which someone -translated lately. . . . An albade was a song to be sung at dawn when, -presumably, no one but lovers would be likely to sing. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Will there," Sylvia asked, "be anyone but you singing up in your camp -to-morrow at four?" -</p> - -<p> -She could not help it. . . . She knew that Tietjens had adopted his slow -pomposity in order to give the grotesque object at the table with them -time to recover from his confusion. She hated him for it. What right had -he to make himself appear a pompous ass in order to shield the confusion -of anybody? -</p> - -<p> -The second-lieutenant came out of his confusion to exclaim, actually -slapping his thigh: -</p> - -<p> -"There you are, madam. . . . Trust the captain to know everything! . . . -I don't believe there's a question under the sun you could ask him that -he couldn't answer. . . . They say up at the camp . . ." He went on with -long stories of all the questions Tietjens <i>had</i> answered up at the -camp. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Emotion was going all over Sylvia . . . at the proximity of Tietjens. -She said to herself: "Is this to go on for ever?" Her hands were ice-cold. -She touched the back of her left hand with the fingers of her right. -It <i>was</i> ice-cold. She looked at her hands. They were bloodless. . . . -She said to herself: "It's pure sexual passion . . . it's pure -sexual passion . . . God! Can't I get over this?" She said: "Father! . . . -You used to be fond of Christopher. . . . <i>Get</i> our Lady to get me -over this. . . . It's the ruin of him and the ruin of me. But, oh -<i>damn</i>, don't! . . . For it's all I have to live for. . . ." She said: -"When he came mooning back from the telephone I thought it was all -right. . . . I thought what a heavy wooden-horse he looked. . . . For two -minutes. . . . Then it's all over me again. . . . I want to swallow my -saliva and I can't. My throat won't work. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She leaned one of her white bare arms on the tablecloth towards the -walrus-moustache that was still snuffling gloriously: -</p> - -<p> -"They used to call him Old Sol at school," she said. "But there's one -question of Solomon's he could not answer. . . . The one about the way -of a man with . . . Oh, a maid! . . . Ask him what happened before the -dawn ninety-six—no, ninety-eight days ago. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said to herself: "I can't help it. . . . Oh, I <i>can't</i> help -it. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The ex-sergeant-major was exclaiming happily: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no one ever said the captain was one of these thought-readers. . . . -It's real solid knowledge of men and things he has. . . . Wonderful -how he knows the men considering he was not born in the service. . . . -But there, your born gentleman mixes with men all his days and knows -them. Down to the ground and inside their puttees. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens was looking straight in front of him, his face perfectly -expressionless. -</p> - -<p> -"But I bet I got him, . . ." she said to herself and then to the -sergeant-major: -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose now an army officer—one of your born gentlemen—when -a back-from-leave train goes out from any of the great -stations—Paddington, say—to the front . . . He knows how all -the men are feeling. . . . But not what the married women think . . . or -the . . . the girl. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said to herself: "Damn it, how clumsy I am getting! . . . I used to -be able to take his hide off with a word. Now I take sentences at a -time. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She went on with her uninterrupted sentence to Cowley: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course he may never be going to see his only son again, so it makes -him sensitive. . . . The officer at Paddington, I mean. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said to herself: "By God, if that beast does not give in to me -to-night he never <i>shall</i> see Michael again. . . . Ah, but I got -him. . . ." Tietjens had his eyes closed, round each of his -high-coloured nostrils a crescent of whiteness was beginning. And -increasing. . . . She felt a sudden alarm and held the edge of the table -with her extended arm to steady herself. . . . Men went white at the -nose like that when they were going to faint. . . . She did not want him -to faint. . . . But he <i>had</i> noticed the word Paddington. . . . -Ninety-eight days before. . . . She had counted every day since. . . . -She had got that much information. . . . She had said <i>Paddington</i> -outside the house at dawn and he had taken it as a farewell. He -<i>had</i> . . . He had imagined himself free to do what he liked with -the girl. . . . Well, he wasn't. . . . That was why he was white about -the gills. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Cowley exclaimed loudly: -</p> - -<p> -"Paddington! . . . It isn't from there that back-from-leave trains go. -Not for the front: the B.E.F. . . . Not from Paddington. . . . The -Glamorganshires go from there to the depot. . . . And the Liverpools. . . . -They've got a depot at Birkenhead. . . . Or is that the Cheshires? . . ." -He asked of Tietjens: "Is it the Liverpools or the Cheshires that -have a depot at Birkenhead, sir? . . . You remember we recruited a draft -from there when we were at Penhally. ... At any rate, you go to -Birkenhead from Paddington. . . . I was never there myself. . . . They -say it's a nice place. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia said—she did not want to say it: -</p> - -<p> -"It's quite a nice place . . . but I should not think of staying there -for ever. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"The Cheshires have a training camp—not a depot—near -Birkenhead. And of course there are R.G.A.'s there. . . ." She had been -looking away from him. . . . Cowley exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"You were nearly off, sir," hilariously. "You had your peepers shut. . . ." -Lifting a champagne glass, he inclined himself towards her. "You must -excuse the captain, ma'am," he said. "He had no sleep last night. . . . -Largely owing to my fault. . . . Which is what makes it so kind of -him. . . . I tell you, ma'am, there are few things I would not do for the -captain. . . ." He drank his champagne and began an explanation: "You -may not know, ma'am, this is a great day for me. . . . And you and the -captain are making it the greatest day of my life. . . ." Why, at four -this morning there hadn't been a wretcheder man in Ruin town. . . . And -now . . . He must tell her that he suffered from an unfortunate—a -miserable—complaint. . . . One that makes one have to be careful of -celebrations. . . . And to-day was a day that he had to celebrate. . . . -But he dare not have done it where Sergeant-Major Ledoux is along with a -lot of their old mates. . . . "I dare not . . . I dussn't!" he -finished. . . . "So I might have been sitting, now, at this very moment, -up in the cold camp. . . . But for you and the captain. . . . Up in the -cold camp. . . . You'll excuse me, ma'am. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia felt that her lids were suddenly wavering: -</p> - -<p> -"I might have been myself," she said, "in a cold camp, too . . . if I -hadn't thrown myself on the captain's mercy! . . . At Birkenhead, you -know. . . . I happened to be there till three weeks ago. . . . It's strange -that you mentioned it. . . . There <i>are</i> things like signs . . . -but you're not a Catholic! They could hardly be coincidences. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She was trembling. . . . She looked, fumblingly opening it, into the -little mirror of her powder-box—of chased, very thin gold with a -small blue stone, like a forget-me-not in the centre of the concentric -engravings. . . . Drake—the possible father of Michael—had -given it to her. . . . The first thing he had ever given her. She had -brought it down to-night out of defiance. She imagined that Tietjens -disliked it. . . . She said breathlessly to herself: "Perhaps the damn -thing is an ill omen. . . ." Drake had been the first man who had -ever . . . A hot-breathed brute! . . . In the little glass her features -were chalk-white. . . . She looked like . . . she looked like . . . She had -a dress of golden tissue. . . . The breath was short between her white set -teeth. . . . Her face was as white as her teeth. . . . And . . . Yes! -Nearly! Her lips. . . . What was her face like? . . . In the chapel of -the convent of Birkenhead there was a tomb all of alabaster. . . . She -said to herself: - - -</p> - -<p> -"He was near fainting. . . . I'm near fainting. . . . What's this -beastly thing that's between us? . . . If I let myself faint. . . . But -it would not make that beast's face any less wooden! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She leaned across the table and patted the ex-sergeant-major's -black-haired hand: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sure," she said, "you're a very good man. . . ." She did not try to -keep the tears out of her eyes, remembering his words: "Up in the cold -camp," . . . "I'm glad the captain, as you call him, did not leave you -in the cold camp. . . . You're devoted to him, aren't you? . . . There -are others he does leave . . . up in . . . the cold camp. . . . For -punishment, you know. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The ex-sergeant-major, the tears in his eyes too, said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, there <i>is</i> men you 'as to give the C.B. to. . . . C.B. means -confined to barracks. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, there are!" she exclaimed. "There are! . . . And women, too. . . . -Surely there are women, too? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major said: -</p> - -<p> -"Wacks, per'aps. . . . I don't know. . . . They say women's discipline -is much like ours. . . . Founded on hours!" -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know what they used to say of the captain? . . ." She said to -herself: "I pray to God the stiff, fatuous beast likes sitting here -listening to this stuff. . . . Blessed Virgin, mother of God, make him -take me. . . . Before midnight. Before eleven. ... As soon as we get rid -of this . . . No, he's a decent little man. . . . Blessed Virgin!" . . . -"Do you know what they used to say of the captain? ... I heard the -warmest banker in England say it of him. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant-major, his eyes enormously opened, said: -</p> - -<p> -"Did you know the warmest banker in England? . . . But there, we always -knew the captain was well connected. . . ." She went on: -</p> - -<p> -"They said of him. . . . He was always helping people." . . . "Holy Mary, -mother of God! . . . He's my <i>husband</i>. . . . It's not a sin. . . . -Before midnight . . . Oh, give me a sign. . . . Or before . . . the -termination of hostilities. . . . If you give me a sign I could -wait." . . . "He helped virtuous Scotch students, and broken-down -gentry. . . . And women taken in adultery. . . . All of them. . . . -Like . . . You know Who. . . . That is his model. . . ." She said to -herself: "Curse him! . . . I hope he likes it. . . . You'd think the only -thing he thinks about is the beastly duck he's wolfing down." . . . And -then aloud: "They used to say: 'He saved others; himself he could not -save. . . .'" -</p> - -<p> -The ex-sergeant-major looked at her gravely: -</p> - -<p> -"Ma'am," he said, "we couldn't say exactly that of the captain. . . . -For I fancy it was said of our Redeemer. . . . But we <i>'ave</i> said that -if ever there was a poor bloke the captain could 'elp, 'elp 'im 'e -would. . . . Yet the unit was always getting 'ellish strafe from -headquarters. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly Sylvia began to laugh. . . . As she began to laugh she had -remembered . . . The alabaster image in the nun's chapel at Birkenhead -the vision of which had just presented itself to her, had been the -recumbent tomb of an honourable Mrs. Tremayne-Warlock. . . . She was -said to have sinned in her youth . . . And her husband had never -forgiven her. . . . That was what the nuns said. . . . She said aloud: -</p> - -<p> -"A sign. . . ." Then to herself: "Blessed Mary! . . . You've given it me -in the neck. . . . Yet you could not name a father for your child, and I -can name two'. . . . I'm going mad. . . . Both I and he are going to go -mad. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She thought of dashing an enormous patch of red upon either cheek. Then -she thought it would be rather melodramatic. . . . -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -She made in the smoking-room, whilst she was waiting for both Tietjens -and Cowley to come back from the telephone, another pact. . . . This -time with Father Consett in heaven! She was fairly sure that Father -Consett—and quite possibly other of the heavenly -powers—wanted Christopher not to be worried, so that he could get -on with the war—or because he was a good sort of dullish man such -as the heavenly authorities are apt to like. . . . Something like -that. . . . - - -</p> - -<p> -She was by that time fairly calm again. You cannot keep up fits of -emotion by the hour: at any rate, with her, the fits of emotion were -periodical and unexpected, though her colder passion remained always the -same. . . . Thus, when Christopher had come into Lady Sachse's that -afternoon, she had been perfectly calm. He had mooned through a number -of officers, both French and English, in a great octagonal, bluish salon -where Lady Sachse gave her teas, and had come to her side with just a -nod—the merest inflexion of the head! . . . Perowne had melted away -somewhere behind the disagreeable duchess. The general, very splendid -and white-headed and scarlet-tipped and gilt, had also borne down upon -her at that. . . . At the sight of Perowne with her he had been sniffing -and snorting whilst he talked to the young nobleman—a dark fellow in -blue with a new belt who seemed just a shade too theatrical, he being -chauffeur to a marshal of France and first cousin and nearest relative, -except for parents and grandparents, of the prospective bride. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The general had told her that he was running the show pretty strong on -purpose because he thought it might do something to cement the Entente -Cordiale. But it did not seem to be doing it. The French—officers, -soldiers and women—kept pretty well all on the one side of the -room—the English on the other. The French were as a rule more gloomy -than men and women are expected to be. A marquis of sorts—she -understood that these were all Bonapartist nobility—having been -introduced to her had distinguished himself no more than by saying that, -for his part, he thought the duchess was right, and by saying that to -Perowne who, knowing no French, had choked exactly as if his tongue had -suddenly got too big for his mouth. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She had not heard what the duchess—a very disagreeable duchess who -sat on a sofa and appeared savagely careworn—had been saying, so that -she had inclined herself, in the courtly manner that at school she had been -taught to reserve for the French legitimist nobility, but that she -thought she might expend upon a rather state function even for the -Bonapartists, and had replied that without the least doubt the duchess -had the right of the matter. . . . The marquis had given her from dark -eyes one long glance, and she had returned it with a long cold glance -that certainly told him she was meat for his masters. It extinguished -him. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens had staged his meeting with herself remarkably well. It was the -sort of lymphatic thing he <i>could</i> do, so that, for the fifth of a -minute, she wondered if he had any feelings or emotions at all. But she -knew that he had. . . . The general, at any rate, bearing down upon them -with satisfaction, had remarked: -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, I see you've seen each other before to-day. . . . I thought perhaps -you wouldn't have found time before, Tietjens. . . . Your draft must be -a great nuisance. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said without expression: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, we have seen each other before. . . . I made time to call at -Sylvia's hotel, sir." -</p> - -<p> -It was at Tietjens' terrifying expressionlessness, at that completely -being up to a situation, that the first wave of emotion had come over -her. . . . For, till that very moment, she had been merely sardonically -making the constatation that there was not a single presentable man in the -room. . . . There was not even one that you could call a gentleman . . . -for you cannot size up the French . . . ever! . . . But, suddenly, -she was despairing! . . . How, she said to herself, could she ever move, -put emotion into, this lump! It was like trying to move an immense -mattress filled with feathers. You pulled at one end, but the whole mass -sagged down and remained immobile until you seemed to have no strength -at all. . . . Until virtue went out from you. . . . -</p> - -<p> -It was as if he had the evil eye: or some special protector. He was so -appallingly competent, so appallingly always in the centre of his own -picture: -</p> - -<p> -The general said, rather joyfully: -</p> - -<p> -"Then you can spare a minute, Tietjens, to talk to the duchess! About -coal! . . . For goodness' sake, man, save the situation! I'm worn -out. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia bit the inside of her lower lip—she never bit her lip -itself!—to keep herself from exclaiming aloud. It was just exactly -what should not happen to Tietjens at that juncture. . . . She heard the -general explaining to her in his courtly manner, that the duchess was -holding up the whole ceremony because of the price of coal. The general -loved her desperately. Her, Sylvia! In quite a proper manner for an -elderly general. . . . But he would go to no small extremes in her -interests! So would his sister! -</p> - -<p> -She looked hard at the room to get her senses into order again. She -said: -</p> - -<p> -"It's like a Hogarth picture. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The undissolvable air of the eighteenth century that the French contrive -to retain in all their effects kept the scene singularly together. On a -sofa sat the duchess, relatives leaning over her. She was a duchess with -one of those impossible names: Beauchain-Radigutz or something like it. -The bluish room was octagonal and vaulted, up to a rosette in the centre -of the ceiling. English officers and V.A.D.'s of some evident presence -opened out to the left, French military and very black-clothed women of -all ages, but all apparently widows, opened out to the right, as if the -duchess shone down a sea at sunset. Beside her on the sofa you did not -see Lady Sachse; leaning over her you did not see the prospective bride. -This stoutish, unpresentable, coldly venomous woman, in black clothes so -shabby that they might have been grey tweed, extinguished other -personalities as the sun conceals planets. A fattish, brilliantined -personality, in mufti, with a scarlet rosette, stood sideways to the -duchess's right, his hands extended forward as if in an invitation to a -dance; an extremely squat lady, also apparently a widow, extended, on -the left of the duchess, both her black-gloved hands, as if she too were -giving an invitation to the dance. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The general, with Sylvia beside him, stood glorious in the centre of the -clearing that led to the open doorway of a much smaller room. Through -the doorway you could see a table with a white damask cloth; a -silver-gilt inkpot, fretted, like a porcupine with pens, a fat, flat -leather case for the transportation of documents and two notaires: one -in black, fat, and bald-headed; one in blue uniform, with a shining -monocle, and a brown moustache that he continued to twirl. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Looking round that scene Sylvia's humour calmed her and she heard the -general say: -</p> - -<p> -"She's supposed to walk on my arm to that table and sign the -settlement. . . . We're supposed to be the first to sign it together. . . . -But she won't. Because of the price of coal. It appears that she has -hothouses in miles. And she thinks the English have put up the price of -coal as if . . . damn it you'd think we did it just to keep her hothouse -stoves out." -</p> - -<p> -The duchess had delivered, apparently, a vindictive, cold, calm and -uninterruptible oration on the wickedness of her country's allies as -people who should have allowed France to be devastated, and the flower -of her youth slain in order that they might put up the price of a -comestible that was absolutely needed in her life. There was no arguing -with her. There was no British soul there who both knew anything about -economics and spoke French. And there she sat, apparently immovable. She -did not refuse to sign the marriage contract. She just made no motion to -go to it and, apparently, the resulting marriage would be illegal if -that document were brought to her! . . . -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Now, what the deuce will Christopher find to say to her? He'll find -something because he could talk the hind legs off anything. But what the -deuce will it be? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It almost broke Sylvia's heart to see how exactly Christopher did the -right thing. He walked up that path to the sun and made in front of the -duchess a little awkward nick with his head and shoulders that was -rather more like a curtsy than a bow. It appeared that he knew the -duchess quite well . . . as he knew everybody in the world quite well. -He smiled at her and then became just suitably grave. Then he began to -speak an admirable, very old-fashioned French with an atrocious English -accent Sylvia had no idea that he knew a word of the language—that -she herself knew very well indeed. She said to herself that upon her -word it was like hearing Chateaubriand talk—if Chateaubriand had -been brought up in an English hunting country. . . . Of course -Christopher <i>would</i> cultivate an English accent: to show that he -was an English county gentleman. And he would speak correctly—to -show that an English Tory can do anything in the world if he wants -to. . . . - - -</p> - -<p> -The British faces in the room looked blank: the French faces turned -electrically upon him. Sylvia said: -</p> - -<p> -"Who would have thought . . .?" The duchess jumped to her feet and took -Christopher's arm. She sailed with him imperiously past the general and -past Sylvia. She was saying that was just what she would have -expected of a <i>milor Anglais</i> . . . <i>Avec un spleen tel que vous -l'avez</i>! -</p> - -<p> -Christopher, in short, had told the duchess that as his family owned -almost the largest stretch of hot-house coal-burning land in England and -her family the largest stretch of hothouses in the sister-country of -France, what could they do better than make an alliance? He would -instruct his brother's manager to see that the duchess was supplied for -the duration of hostilities and as long after as she pleased with all -the coal needed for her glass at the pit-head prices of the -Middlesbrough-Cleveland district as the prices were on the 3rd of -August, nineteen fourteen. . . . He repeated: "The pit-head price . . . -<i>livrable au prix de l'houille-maigre dans l'enceinte des puits de ma -campagne</i>." . . . Much to the satisfaction of the duchess, who knew all -about prices. -</p> - -<p> -. . . A triumph for Christopher was at that moment so exactly what -Sylvia thought she did not want that, she decided to tell the general -that Christopher was a Socialist. That might well take him down a peg or -two in the general's esteem . . . for the general's arm-patting -admiration for Tietjens, the man who did not argue but acted over the -price of coal, was as much as she could bear. . . . But, thinking it -over in the smoking-room after dinner, by which time she was a good deal -more aware of what she did want, she was not so certain that she <i>had</i> -done what she wanted. . . . Indeed, even in the octagonal room during -the economical festivities that followed the signatures, she had been -far from certain that she had not done almost, exactly what she did not -want. . . . -</p> - -<p> -It had begun with the general's exclaiming to her: -</p> - -<p> -"You know your man's the most unaccountable fellow. . . . He wears the -damn-shabbiest uniform of any officer I ever have to talk to. He's said -to be unholily hard up. . . . I even heard he had a cheque sent back to -the club. . . . Then he goes and makes a princely gift like that—just -to get Levin out of ten minutes' awkwardness. . . . I wish to goodness I -could understand the fellow. . . . He's got a positive genius for -getting all sorts of things out of the most beastly muddles. . . . Why -he's even been useful to me. . . . And then he's got a positive genius -for getting into the most disgusting messes. . . . You're too young to -have heard of Dreyfus. . . . But I always say that Christopher is a -regular Dreyfus. . . . I shouldn't be astonished if he didn't end by -being drummed out of the army . . . which heaven forfend!" -</p> - -<p> -It had been then that Sylvia had said: -</p> - -<p> -"Hasn't it ever occurred to you that Christopher was a Socialist?" -</p> - -<p> -For the first time in her life Sylvia saw her husband's godfather look -grotesque. . . . His jaw dropped down, his white hair became disarrayed -and he dropped his pretty cap with all the gold oakleaves and the -scarlet. When he rose from picking it up his thin old face was purple -and distorted. She wished she hadn't said it: she wished she hadn't said -it. He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Christopher! . . . A So . . ." He gasped as if he could not pronounce -the word. He said: "Damn it all! . . . I've loved that boy. . . . He's -my only godson. . . . His father was my best friend. . . . I've watched -over him. . . . I'd have married his mother if she would have had me. . . . -Damn it all, he's down in my will as residuary legatee after a few -small things left to my sister and my collection of horns to the -regiment I commanded. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia—they were sitting on the sofa the duchess had -left—patted him on the forearm and said: -</p> - -<p> -"But general . . . godfather. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"It explains everything," he said with a mortification that was painful. -His white moustache drooped and trembled. "And what makes it all the -worse—he's never had the courage to tell me his opinions." He -stopped, snorted and exclaimed: "By God, I <i>will</i> have him drummed out -of the service. . . . By God, I will. I can do that much. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -His grief so shut him in on himself that she could say nothing to -him. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"You tell me he seduced the little Wannop girl. . . . The last person in -the world he should have seduced. . . . Ain't there millions of other -women? . . . He got you sold up, didn't he? . . . Along with keeping a -girl in a tobacco-shop. . . . By jove, I almost lent him . . . offered -to lend him money on that occasion. . . . You can forgive a young man -for going wrong with women. . . . We all do. . . . We've all set up -girls in tobacco-shops in our time. . . . But, damn it all, if the -fellow's a Socialist it puts a different complexion. . . . I could -forgive him even for the little Wannop girl, if he wasn't . . . But . . . -Good God, isn't it just the thing that a dirty-minded Socialist would -do? . . . To seduce the daughter of his father's oldest friend, next to -me. . . . Or perhaps Wannop was an older friend than me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He had calmed himself a little—and he was not such a fool. He looked -at her now with a certain keenness in his blue eyes that showed no sign of -age. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"See here, Sylvia. . . . You aren't on terms with Christopher for all -the good game you put up here this afternoon. . . . I shall have to go -into this. It's a serious charge to bring against one of His Majesty's -officers. . . . Women do say things against their husbands when they are -not on good terms with them. . . ." He went on to say that he did not -say she wasn't justified. If Christopher had seduced the little Wannop -girl it was enough to make her wish to harm him. He had always found her -the soul of honour, straight as a die, straight as she rode to hounds. -And if she wished to nag against her husband, even if in little things -it wasn't quite the truth, she was perhaps within her rights as a woman. -She had said, for instance, that Tietjens had taken two pair of her best -sheets. Well, his own sister, her friend, raised Cain if he took -anything out of the house they lived in. She had made an atrocious row -because he had taken his own shaving-glass out of his own bedroom at -Mountsby. Women liked to have sets of things. Perhaps, she, Sylvia had -sets of pairs of sheets. His sister had linen sheets with the date of -the battle of Waterloo on them. . . . Naturally you would not want a set -spoiled. . . . But this was another matter. He ended up very seriously: -</p> - -<p> -"I have not got time to go into this now. . . . I ought not to be -another minute away from my office. These are very serious days. . . ." -He broke off to utter against the Prime Minister and the Cabinet at home -a series of violent imprecations. He went on: -</p> - -<p> -"But this will have to be gone into. . . . It's heartbreaking that my -time should be taken up by matters like this in my own family. . . . But -these fellows aim at sapping the heart of the army. . . . They say they -distribute thousands of pamphlets recommending the rank and file to -shoot their officers and go over to the Germans. . . . Do you seriously -mean that Christopher belongs to an organization? What is it you are -going on? What evidence have you? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"Only that he is heir to one of the biggest fortunes in England, for a -commoner, and he refuses to touch a penny. . . . His brother Mark tells -me Christopher could have . . . Oh, a fabulous sum a year. . . . But he -has made over Groby to me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general nodded his head as if he were ticking off ideas. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, refusing property is a sign of being one of these fellows. -By Jove, I must go. . . . But as for his not going to live at Groby: If -he is setting up house with Miss Wannop. . . . Well, he could not flaunt -her in the face of the county. . . . And, of course, those sheets! . . . -As you put it looked as if he'd beggared himself with his -dissipations. . . . But of course, if he is refusing money from Mark, -it's another matter. . . . Mark would make up a couple of hundred dozen -pairs of sheets without turning a hair. . . . Of course there are the -extraordinary things Christopher says. . . . I've often heard you -complain of the immoral way he looks at the serious affairs of life. . . . -You said he once talked of lethal-chambering unfit children." -</p> - -<p> -He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"I must go. There's Thurston looking at me. . . . But what then is it -that Christopher has said? . . . Hang it all: what <i>is</i> at the bottom -of that fellow's mind? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"He desires," Sylvia said, and she had no idea when she said it, "to -model himself upon our Lord. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general leant back in the sofa. He said almost indulgently: -</p> - -<p> -"Who's that . . . our <i>Lord</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia said: -</p> - -<p> -"Upon our Lord Jesus Christ. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He sprang to his feet as if she had stabbed him with a hatpin. -</p> - -<p> -"Our . . ." he exclaimed. "Good God! . . . I always knew he had a screw -loose. . . . But . . ." He said briskly: "Give all his goods to the -poor! . . . But He wasn't a . . . Not a Socialist! What was it He said: -Render under Cæsar . . . It wouldn't be necessary to drum Him out of -the army . . ." He said: "Good Lord! . . . Good Lord! . . . Of course -his poor dear mother was a little . . . But, hang it! . . . The Wannop -girl! . . ." Extreme discomfort overcame him. . . . Tietjens was -half-way across from the inner room, coming towards them. -</p> - -<p> -He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Major Thurston is looking for you, sir. Very urgently. . . ." The -general regarded him as if he had been the unicorn of the royal arms, -come alive. He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Major Thurston! . . . Yes! Yes! . . ." and, Tietjens saying to him: -</p> - -<p> -"I wanted to ask you, sir . . ." He pushed Tietjens away as if he -dreaded an assault and went off with short, agitated steps. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -So sitting there, in the smoking-lounge of the hotel which was cram-jam -full of officers, and no doubt perfectly respectable, but over-giggling -women—the sort of place and environment which she had certainly never -expected to be called upon to sit in; and waiting for the return of -Tietjens and the ex-sergeant-major—who again was certainly not the -sort of person that she had ever expected to be asked to wait for, though -for long years she had put up with Tietjens' protégé, the odious Sir -Vincent Macmaster, at all sorts of meals and all sorts of places . . . -but of course that was only Christopher's rights . . . to have in his -own house, which, in the circumstances, wasn't morally hers, any -snuffling, nervous, walrus-moustached or orientally obsequious protégé -that he chose to patronize. . . . And she quite believed that Tietjens, -when he had invited the sergeant-major to celebrate his commission with -himself at dinner, hadn't expected to dine with her. . . . It was the -sort of obtuseness of which he was disconcertingly capable, though at -other times he was much more disconcertingly capable of reading your -thoughts to the last hairsbreadth. . . . And, as a matter of fact, she -objected much less to dining with the absolute lower classes than with -merely snuffly little official critics like Macmaster, and the -sergeant-major had served her turn very well when it had come to flaying -the hide off Christopher. . . . So, sitting there, she made a new pact, -this time with Father Consett in heaven. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Father Consett was very much in her mind, for she was very much in the -midst of the British military authorities who had hung him. . . . She -had never seemed before to be so in the midst of these negligible, -odious, unpresentable, horse-laughing schoolboys. It antagonized her, -and it was a weight upon her, for hitherto she had completely ignored -them: in this place they seemed to have a coherence, a mass . . . almost -a life. . . . They rushed in and out of rooms occupied, as -incomprehensibly, as unpresentably, with things like boots, washing, -vaccination certificates. . . . Even with old tins! . . . A man with -prematurely white hair and a pasty face, with a tunic that bulged both -above and below his belt, would walk into the drawing-room of a lady who -superintended all the acid-drop and cigarette stalls of that city and -remark to a thin-haired, deaf man with an amazingly red nose—a nose -that had a perfectly definite purple and scarlet diagonal demarcation -running from the bridge to the upper side of the nostrils—that he had -got his old tins off his hands at last. He would have to repeat it in a -shout because the red-nosed man, his head hanging down, would have heard -nothing at all. The deaf man would say Humph! Humph! Snuffle. The woman -giving the tea—a Mrs. Hemmerdine, of Tarbolton, whom you might have -met at home, would be saying that at last she had got twelve reams of -notepaper with forget-me-nots in the top corners when the deaf-faced man -would begin, gruffly and uninterruptedly, a monologue on his urgent need -for twenty thousand tons of sawdust for the new slow-burning stoves in -the men's huts. . . . -</p> - -<p> -It was undeniably like something moving. . . . All these things going in -one direction. . . . A disagreeable force set in motion by gawky -schoolboys—but schoolboys of the Sixth Form, sinister, hobbledehoy, -waiting in the corners of playgrounds to torture someone, weak and -unfortunate. . . . In one or other corner of their world-wide playground -they had come upon Father Consett and hanged him. No doubt they tortured -him first. And, if he made an offering of his sufferings, then and there -to Heaven, no doubt he was already in paradise. . . . Or, if he was not -yet in heaven, certain of the souls in purgatory were yet listened to in -the midst of their torments. . . . -</p> - -<p> -So she said: -</p> - -<p> -"Blessed and martyred father, I know that you loved Christopher and wish -to save him from trouble I will make this pact with you. Since I have -been in this room I have kept my eyes in the boat—almost in my lap. I -will agree to leave off torturing Christopher and I will go into retreat -in a convent of Ursuline Dames Nobles—for I can't stand the nuns of -that other convent—for the rest of my life. . . . And I know that -will please you, too, for you were always anxious for the good of my -soul. . . She was going to do that if when she raised her eyes and really -looked round the room she saw in it one man that looked presentable. She -did not ask that he should more than look presentable, for she wanted -nothing to do with the creature. He was to be a sign: not a prey! -</p> - -<p> -She explained to the dead priest that she could not go all the world -over to see if it contained a presentable man, but she could not bear to -be in a convent for ever, and have the thought that there wasn't, for -other women, one presentable man in the world. . . . For Christopher -would be no good to them. He would be mooning for ever over the Wannop -girl. Or her memory. That was all one . . . He was content with love. . . . -If he knew that the Wannop girl was loving him in Bedford Park, and -he in the Khyber States with the Himalayas between them, he would be -quite content. . . . That would be correct in its way, but not very -helpful for other women. . . . Besides, if he were the only presentable -man in the world, half the women would be in love with him. . . . And -that would be disastrous, because he was no more responsive than a -bullock in a fatting pen. -</p> - -<p> -"So, father," she said, "work a miracle. . . . It's not very much of a -little miracle. . . . Even if a presentable man doesn't exist you could -put him there. . . . I'll give you ten minutes before I look. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She thought it was pretty sporting of her, for, she said to herself, she -was perfectly in earnest. If in that long, dim, green-lamp-shaded, and -of course be-palm-leaved, badly-proportioned, glazed, ignoble public -room, there appeared one decentish man, as decentish men went before -this beanfeast began, she would go into retreat for the rest of her -life. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She fell into a sort of dim trance after she had looked at her watch. -Often she went into these dim trances . . . ever since she had been a -girl at school with Father Consett for her spiritual adviser! . . . She -seemed to be aware of the father moving about the room, lifting up a -book and putting it down. . . . Her ghostly friend! . . . Goodness, he -was unpresentable enough, with his broad, open face that always looked -dirtyish, his great dark eyes, and his great mouth. . . . But a saint -and a martyr. . . . She felt him there. . . . What had they murdered him -for? Hung at the word of a half-mad, half-drunk subaltern, because he -had heard the confession of some of the rebels the night before they -were taken. . . . He was over in the far corner of the room. . . . She -heard him say: they had not understood, the men that had hanged him. -That is what you would say, father . . . Have mercy on them, for they -know not what they do. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Then have mercy on me, for half the time I don't know what I'm doing! . . . -It was like a spell you put on me. At Lobscheid. Where my mother -was, when I came back from that place without my clothes. . . . You -said, didn't you, to mother, but she told me afterwards: The real hell -for that poor boy, meaning Christopher, will come when he falls in love -with some young girl—as, mark me, he will. . . . For she, meaning me, -will tear the world down to get at him. . . . And when mother said she -was certain I would never do anything vulgar you obstinately did not -agree. . . . You knew me. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She tried to rouse herself and said: He <i>knew</i> me. . . . Damn it, he -knew me! . . . What's vulgarity to me, Sylvia Tietjens, born -Satterthwaite? I do what I want and that's good enough for any one. -Except a priest. Vulgarity! I wonder mother could be so obtuse. If I am -vulgar I'm vulgar with a purpose. Then it's not vulgarity. It may be -vice. Or viciousness. . . . But if you commit a mortal sin with your -eyes open it's not vulgarity. . . . You chance hell fire for ever. . . . -Good enough! -</p> - -<p> -The weariness sank over her again and the sense of the father's -presence. . . . She was back again in Lobscheid, thirty-six hours free -of Perowne with the father and her mother in the dim sitting-room, all -antlers, candle-lit, with the father's shadow waving over the pitchpine -walls and ceilings. . . . It was a bewitched place, in the deep forests -of Germany. The father himself said it was the last place in Europe to -be Christianized. Or perhaps it was never Christianized. . . . That was -perhaps why those people, the Germans, coming from those deep, -devil-infested woods, did all these wickednesses. Or maybe they were not -wicked. . . . One would never know properly. . . . But maybe the father -had put a spell on her. . . . His words had never been out of her mind, -much. ... At the back of her brain, as the saying was. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Some man drifted near her and said: -</p> - -<p> -"How do you do, Mrs. Tietjens? Who would have thought of seeing you -here?" -</p> - -<p> -She answered: -</p> - -<p> -"I have to look after Christopher now and then." He remained hanging -over her with a schoolboy grin for a minute, then he drifted away as an -object sinks into deep water. . . . Father Consett again hovered near -her. She exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"But the real point is, father. . . . Is it sporting? . . . Sporting or -whatever it is?" And Father Consett breathed: "Ah! . . ." with his -terrible power of arousing doubts. . . . She said: -</p> - -<p> -"When I saw Christopher . . . Last night? . . . Yes, it <i>was</i> last -night . . . Turning back to go up that hill. . . . And I had been talking -about him to a lot of grinning private soldiers. . . . To <i>madden</i> -him. . . . You <i>mustn't</i> make scenes before the servants. . . . A -heavy man, tired . . . come down the hill and lumbering up again. . . . -There was a searchlight turned on him just as he turned. . . . I remembered -the white bulldog I thrashed on the night before it died. . . . A tired, -silent beast . . . with a fat white behind. . . . Tired out. . . . You -couldn't see its tail because it was turned down, the stump. . . . A -great, silent beast. . . . The vet said it had been poisoned with red -lead by burglars. . . . It's beastly to die of red lead. ... It eats up -the liver. . . . And you think you're getting better for a fortnight. -And you're always cold . . . freezing in the blood-vessels. . . . And -the poor beast had left its kennel to try and be let into the fire. . . . -And I found it at the door when I came in from a dance without -Christopher. . . . And got the rhinoceros whip and lashed into it. . . . -There's a pleasure in lashing into a naked white beast. . . . Obese and -silent . . . Like Christopher. . . . I thought Christopher might. . . . -That night. . . . It went through my head. . . . It hung down its -head. . . . A great head, room for a whole British encyclopædia of -misinformation, as Christopher used to put it. . . . It said: 'What a -hope!' ... As I hope to be saved, though I never shall be, the dog said: -'What a hope!' . . . Snow-white in quite black bushes. . . . And it went -under a bush. . . . They found it dead there in the morning. . . . You -can't imagine what it looked like, with its head over its shoulder, as -it looked back and said: What a hope! to me. . . . Under a dark bush. An -eu . . . eu . . . euonymus, isn't it? . . . In thirty degrees of frost -with all the blood-vessels exposed on the naked surface of the skin. . . . -It's the seventh circle of hell, isn't it? the frozen one . . . The -last stud-white bulldog of that breed. . . . As Christopher is the last -stud-white hope of the Groby Tory breed. . . . Modelling himself on our -Lord. . . . But our Lord was never married. He never touched on topics -of sex. Good for Him. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: "The ten minutes is up, father . . ." and looked at the round, -starred surface between the diamonds of her wrist watch. She said: "Good -God! . . . Only one minute. . . . I've thought all that in only one -minute. . . . I understand how hell can be an eternity. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Christopher, very weary, and ex-Sergeant-Major Cowley, very talkative by -now, loomed down between palms. Cowley was saying: "It's infamous! . . . -It's past bearing. . . . To re-order the draft at eleven. . . ." They -sank into chairs. . . . Sylvia extended towards Tietjens a small packet -of letters. She said: "You had better look at these. . . . I had your -letters sent to me from the flat as there was so much uncertainty about -your movements. . . ." She found that she did not dare, under Father -Consett's eyes, to look at Tietjens as she said that. She said to -Cowley: "We might be quiet for a minute or two while the captain reads -his letters. . . . Have another liqueur? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She then observed that Tietjens just bent open the top of the letter -from Mrs. Wannop and then opened that from his brother Mark: -</p> - -<p> -"Curse it," she said, "I've given him what he wants! . . . He knows. . . . -He's seen the address . . . that they're still in Bedford Park. . . . -He can think of the Wannop girl as there. . . . He has not been able to -know, till now, where she is. . . . He'll be imagining himself in bed -with her there. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Father Consett, his broad, unmodelled dark face full of intelligence and -with the blissful unction of the saint and martyr, was leaning over -Tietjens' shoulder. . . . He must be breathing down Christopher's back -as, her mother said, he always did when she held a hand at auction and -he could not play because it was between midnight and his celebrating -the holy mass. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, I am not going mad. . . . This is an effect of fatigue on the -optic nerves. . . . Christopher has explained that to me . . . He -says that when his eyes have been very tired with making one of -his senior wrangler's calculations he has often seen a woman in a -eighteenth-century dress looking into a drawer in his bureau. . . . -Thank God, I've had Christopher to explain things to me. . . . I'll -never let him go. . . . Never, never, let him go. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It was not, however, until several hours later that the significance of -the father's apparition came to her and those intervening hours were -extraordinarily occupied—with emotions, and even with action. To -begin with, before he had read the fewest possible words of his brother's -letter, Tietjens looked up over it and said: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course you will occupy Groby. . . . With Michael. . . . Naturally -the proper business arrangements will be made. . . ." He went on reading -the letter, sunk in his chair under the green shade of a lamp. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The letter, Sylvia knew, began with the words: "Your —— of a -wife has been to see me with the idea of getting any allowance I might be -minded to make you transferred to herself. Of course she can have Groby, -for I shan't let it, and could not be bothered with it myself. On the other -hand, you may want to live at Groby with that girl and chance the -racket. I should if I were you. You would probably find the place worth -the . . . what is it? ostracism, if there was any. . . . But I'm -forgetting that the girl is not your mistress unless anything has -happened since I saw you. . . . And you probably would want Michael to -be brought up at Groby, in which case you couldn't keep the girl there, -even if you camouflaged her as governess. At least I think that kind of -arrangement always turns out badly: there's bound to be a stink, though -Crosby of Ulick did it and nobody much minded. . . . But it was mucky -for the Crosby children. Of course if you want your wife to have Groby -she must have enough to run it with credit, and expenses are rising -damnably. Still, our incomings rise not a little, too, which is not the -case with some. The only thing I insist on is that you make plain to -that baggage that whatever I allow her, even if it's no end of a hot -income, not one penny of it comes out of what I wish you would allow me -to allow you. I mean I want you to make plain to that rouged piece—or -perhaps it's really natural, my eyes are not what they were—that what -you have is absolutely independent of what she sucks up as the mother of -our father's heir and to keep our father's heir in the state of life -that is his due. . . . I hope you feel satisfied that the boy is your -son, for it's more than I should be, looking at the party. . . . But -even if he is not he is our father's heir all right and must be so -treated. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"But be plain about that, for the trollop came to me, if you please, -with the proposal that I should dock you of any income I might propose -to allow you—and to which of course you are absolutely entitled under -our father's will, though it is no good reminding you of that!—as a -token from me that I disapproved of your behaviour when, damn it, there -is not an action of yours that I would not be proud to have to my -credit. At any rate in this affair, for I cannot help thinking that you -could be of more service to the country if you were anywhere else but -where you are. But you know what your conscience demands of you better -than I, and I dare say these hell-cats have so mauled you that you are -glad to be able to get away into any hole. But don't let yourself die in -your hole. Groby will have to be looked after, and even if you do not -live there you can keep a strong hand on Sanders, or whoever you elect to -have as manager. That monstrosity you honour with your name—which is -also mine, thank you!—suggested that if I consented to let her live -at Groby she would have her mother to live with her, in which case her -mother would be good to look after the estate. I dare say she would, -though she has had to let her own place. But then almost every one else -has. She seems anyhow a notable woman, with her head screwed on the -right way. I did not tell the discreditable daughter that she—her -mother—had come to see me at breakfast immediately after seeing you -off, she was so upset. And she <i>keawert ho down i' th' ingle and had a -gradely pow</i>. You remember how Gobbles the gardener used to say that. A -good chap, though he came from Lancasheere! . . . The mother has no -illusions about the daughter and is heart and soul for you. She was -dreadfully upset at your going, the more so as she believes that it's -her offspring has driven you out of the country and that you purpose . . . -isn't stopping one the phrase? Don't do that. -</p> - -<p> -"I saw your girl yesterday. . . . She looked peaky. But of course I have -seen her several times, and she always looks peaky. I do not understand -why you do not write to them. The mother is clamorous because you have -not answered several letters and have not sent her military information -she wants for some article she is writing for a Swiss magazine. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia knew the letter almost by heart as far as that because in the -unbearable white room of the convent near Birkenhead she had twice begun -to copy it out, with the idea of keeping the copies for use in some sort -of publicity. But, at that point, she had twice been overcome by the -idea that it was not a very sporting thing to do, if you really think about -it. Besides, the letter after that—she <i>had</i> glanced through -it—occupied itself almost entirely with the affairs of Mrs. Wannop. -Mark, in his naïve way, was concerned that the old lady, although now -enjoying the income from the legacy left her by their father, had not -immediately settled down to write a deathless novel; although, as he -added, he knew nothing about novels. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Christopher was reading away at his letters beneath the green-shaded -lamp; the ex-quartermaster had begun several sentences and dropped into -demonstrative silence at the reminder that Tietjens was reading. -Christopher's face was completely without expression; he might have been -reading a return from the office of statistics in the old days at -breakfast. She wondered, vaguely, if he would see fit to apologize for -the epithets that his brother had applied to her. Probably he would not. -He would consider that she having opened the letter must take the -responsibility of the contents. Something like that. Thumps and rumbles -began to exist in the relative silence. Cowley said: "They're coming -again then!" Several couples passed them on the way out of the room. -Amongst them there was certainly no presentable man; they were all -either too old or too hobbledehoy, with disproportionate noses and -vacant, half-opened mouths. -</p> - -<p> -Accompanying Christopher's mind, as it were, whilst he read his letter -had induced in her a rather different mood. The pictures in her own mind -were rather of Mark's dingy breakfast-room in which she had had her -interview with him—and of the outside of the dingy house in which -the Wannops lived, at Bedford Park. . . . But she was still conscious of -her pact with the father and, looking at her wrist watch, saw that by -now six minutes had passed. . . . It was astonishing that Mark, who was -a millionaire at least, and probably a good deal more, should live in -such a dingy apartment—it had for its chief decoration the hoofs -of several deceased race-winners, mounted as ink-stands, as pen-racks, -as paper-weights—and afford himself only such a lugubrious -breakfast of fat slabs of ham over which bled pallid eggs. . . . For she -too, like her mother, had looked in on Mark at breakfast-time—her -mother because she had just seen Christopher off to France, and she -because, after a sleepless night—the third of a series—she -had been walking about St. James's Park and, passing under Mark's -windows, it had occurred to her that she might do Christopher some -damage by putting his brother wise about the entanglement with Miss -Wannop. So, on the spur of the moment, she had invented a desire to live -at Groby with the accompanying necessity for additional means. For, -although she was a pretty wealthy woman, she was not wealthy enough to -live at Groby and keep it up. The immense old place was not so immense -because of its room-space, though, as far as she could remember, there -must be anything between forty and sixty rooms, but because of the vast -old grounds, the warren of stabling, wells, rose-walks and fencing. . . . -A man's place, really, the furniture very grim and the corridors on -the ground floor all slabbed with great stones. So she had looked in on -Mark, reading his correspondence with his copy of <i>The Times</i> -airing on a chair-back before the fire—for he was just the man to -retain the eighteen-forty idea that you can catch cold by reading a damp -newspaper. His grim, tight, brown-wooden features that might have been -carved out of an old chair, had expressed no emotion at all during the -interview. He had offered to have up some more ham and eggs for her and -had asked one or two questions as to how she meant to live at Groby if -she went there. Otherwise he had said nothing about the information she -had given him as to the Wannop girl having had a baby by -Christopher—for purposes of conversation she had adhered to that -old story, at any rate till that interview. He had said nothing at all. -Not one word. . . . At the end of the interview, when he had risen and -produced from an adjoining room a bowler hat and an umbrella, saying -that he must now go to his office, he had put to her without any -expression pretty well what stood in the letter, as far as business was -concerned. He said that she could have Groby, but she must understand -that, his father being now dead and he a public official, without -children and occupied in London with work that suited him, Groby was -practically Christopher's property to do what he liked with as long -as—which he certainly would—he kept it in proper style. So -that, if she wished to live there, she must produce Christopher's -authorization to that effect. And he added, with an equableness so -masking the proposition that it was not until she was well out of the -house and down the street that its true amazingness took her breath -away: - -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, Christopher, if what you say is true, might want to live at -Groby with Miss Wannop. In that case he would have to." And he had -offered her an expressionless hand and shepherded her, rather fussily, -through his dingy and awkward front passages that were lit only from -ground-glass windows giving apparently on to his bathroom. . . . -</p> - -<p> -It wasn't until that moment, really, that, at once with exhilaration and -also with a sinking at the heart, she realized what she was up against -in the way of a combination. For, when she had gone to Mark's, she had -been more than half-maddened by the news that Christopher at Rouen was -in hospital and, although the hospital authorities had assured her, at -first by telegram and then by letter, that it was nothing more than his -chest, she had not had any knowledge of to what extent Red Cross -authorities did or did not mislead the relatives of casualties. -</p> - -<p> -So it had seemed natural that she should want to inflict on him all the -injuries that she could at the moment, the thought that he was probably -in pain making her wish to add all she could to that pain. . . . -Otherwise, of course, she would not have gone to Mark's. . . . For it -was a mistake in strategy. But then she said to herself: "Confound it!. . . -What strategy was it a mistake in? What do I care about strategy? -What am I out for? . . ." She did what she wanted to, on the spur of the -moment! . . . -</p> - -<p> -Now she certainly realized. How Christopher had got round Mark she did -not know or much care, but there Christopher certainly was, although his -father had certainly died of a broken heart at the rumours that were -going round about his son—rumours she, almost as efficiently as the -man called Ruggles and more irresponsible gossips, had set going about -Christopher. They had been meant to smash Christopher: they had smashed -his father instead. . . . But Christopher had got round Mark, whom he -had not seen for ten years. . . . Well, he probably would. Christopher -was perfectly immaculate, that was a fact, and Mark, though he appeared -half-witted in a North Country way, was no fool. He could not be a fool. -He was a really august public official. And, although as a rule Sylvia -gave nothing at all for any public official, if a man like Mark had the -position by birth amongst presentable men that he certainly ought to -have and was also the head of a department and reputed absolutely -indispensable—you could not ignore him. . . . He said, indeed, in the -later, more gossipy parts of his letter that he had been offered a -baronetcy, but he wanted Christopher to agree with his refusing it. -Christopher would not want the beastly title after his death, and for -himself he would be rather struck with the pip than let that -harlot—meaning herself—become Lady T. by any means of his. He -had added, with his queer solicitude, "Of course if you thought of -divorcing—which I wish to God you would, though I agree that you are -right not to—and the title would go to the girl after my decease I'd -take it gladly, for a title is a bit of a help after a divorce. But as -it is I propose to refuse it and ask for a knighthood, if it won't too -sicken you to have me a Sir. . . . For I hold no man ought to refuse an -honour in times like these, as has been done by certain sickening -intellectuals because it is like slapping the sovereign in the face and -bound to hearten the other side, which no doubt was what was meant by -those fellows." -</p> - -<p> -There was no doubt that Mark—with the possible addition of the -Wannops—made a very strong backing for Christopher if she decided to -make a public scandal about him. . . . As for the Wannops . . . the girl -was negligible. Or possibly not, if she turned nasty and twisted -Christopher round her fingers. But the old mother was a formidable -figure—with a bad tongue, and viewed with a certain respect in places -where people talked . . . both on account of her late husband's position -and of the solid sort of articles she wrote. . . . She, Sylvia, had gone -to take a look at the place where these people lived . . . a dreary street -in an outer suburb, the houses—she knew enough about estates to -know—what is called tile-healed, the upper parts of tile, the lower -flimsy brick and the tiles in bad condition. Oldish houses really, in -spite of their sham artistic aspect, and very much shadowed by old trees -that must have been left to add to the picturesqueness. . . . The rooms -poky, and they must be very dark. . . . The residence of extreme -indigence, or of absolute poverty. . . . She understood that the old -lady's income had so fallen off during the war that they had nothing to -live on but what the girl made as a school-teacher, or a teacher of -athletics in a girls' school. . . . She had walked two or three times up -and down the street with the idea that the girl might come out: then it -had struck her that was rather an ignoble proceeding, really. . . . -It was, for the matter of that, ignoble that she should have a rival who -starved in an ashbin. . . . But that was what men were like: she might -think herself lucky that the girl did not inhabit a sweetshop. . . . And -the man, Macmaster, said that the girl had a good head and talked well, -though the woman Macmaster said that she was a shallow ignoramus. . . . -That last probably was not true; at any rate the girl had been the -Macmaster woman's most intimate friend for many years—as long as they -were sponging on Christopher and until, lower middle-class snobs as they -were, they began to think they could get into Society by carneying to -herself. . . . Still, the girl probably was a good talker and, if -little, yet physically uncommonly fit. . . . A good homespun article. . . . -She wished her no ill! -</p> - -<p> -What was incredible was that Christopher should let her go on starving -in such a poverty-stricken place when he had something like the wealth -of the Indies at his disposal. . . . But the Tietjens were hard people! -You could see that in Mark's rooms . . . and Christopher would lie on -the floor as lief as in a goose-feather bed. And probably the girl would -not take his money. She was quite right. That was the way to keep -him. . . . She herself had no want of comprehension of the stimulation to -be got out of parsimonious living. . . . In retreat at her convent she lay -as hard and as cold as any anchorite, and rose to the nuns' matins at -four. -</p> - -<p> -It was not, in fact, their fittings or food that she objected to—it -was that the lay-sisters, and some of the nuns, were altogether too much of -the lower classes for her to like to have always about her. . . . That -was why it was to the Dames Nobles that she would go, if she had to go -into retreat for the rest of her life, according to contract. . . . -</p> - -<p> -A gun manned by exhilarated anti-aircraft fellows, and so close that it -must have been in the hotel garden, shook her physically at almost the -same moment as an immense maroon popped off on the quay at the bottom of -the street in which the hotel was. She was filled with annoyance at -these schoolboy exercises. A tall, purple-faced, white-moustached -general of the more odious type, appeared in the doorway and said that -all the lights but two must be extinguished and, if they took his -advice, they would go somewhere else. There were good cellars in the -hotel. He loafed about the room extinguishing the lights, couples and -groups passing him on the way to the door. . . . Tietjens looked up from -his letter—he was now reading one of Mrs. Wannop's—but seeing -that Sylvia made no motion he remained sunk in his chair. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The old general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Don't get up, Tietjens. ... Sit down, lieutenant. . . . Mrs. Tietjens, -I presume. . . . But of course I know you are Mrs. Tietjens. . . . -There's a portrait of you in this week's . . . I forget the name. . . ." -He sat down on the arm of a great leather chair and told her of all the -trouble her escapade to that city had caused him. . . . He had been -awakened immediately after a good lunch by some young officer on his -staff who was scared to death by her having arrived without papers. His -digestion had been deranged ever since. . . . Sylvia said she was very -sorry. He should drink hot water and no alcohol with his lunch. She had -had very important business to discuss with Tietjens, and she had really -not understood that they wanted papers of grown-up people. The general -began to expatiate on the importance of his office and the number of -enemy agents his perspicacity caused to be arrested every day in that -city and the lines of communication. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia was overwhelmed at the ingenuity of Father Consett. She looked at -her watch. The ten minutes were up, but there did not appear to be a soul -in the dim place. . . . The father had—and no doubt as a Sign that -there could be no mistaking!—completely emptied that room. It was -like his humour! -</p> - -<p> -To make certain, she stood up. At the far end of the room, in the -dimness of the one other reading lamp that the general had not -extinguished, two figures were rather indistinguishable. She walked -towards them, the general at her side extending civilities all over her. -He said that she need not be under any apprehension there. He adopted -that device of clearing the room in order to get rid of the beastly -young subalterns who would use the place to spoon in when the lights -were turned down. She said she was only going to get a timetable from -the far end of the room. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The stab of hope that she had that one of the two figures would turn out -to be the presentable man died. . . . They were a young mournful -subaltern, with an incipient moustache and practically tears in his -eyes, and an elderly, violently indignant baldheaded man in evening -civilian clothes that must have been made by a country tailor. He was -smacking his hands together to emphasize what, with great agitation, he -was saying. -</p> - -<p> -The general said that it was one of the young cubs on his own staff -getting a dressing down from his dad for spending too much money. The -young devils would get amongst the girls—and the old ones too. There -was no stopping it. The place was a hotbed of . . . He left the sentence -unfinished. She would not believe the trouble it gave him. . . . That -hotel itself. . . . The scandals. . . . -</p> - -<p> -He said she would excuse him if he took a little nap in one of the -arm-chairs too far away to interfere with their business talk. He would -have to be up half the night. He seemed to Sylvia a blazingly -contemptible personage—too contemptible really for Father Consett to -employ as an agent, in clearing the room. . . . But the omen was given. She -had to consider her position. It meant—or did it?—that she had -to be at war with the heavenly powers! . . . She clenched her hands. . . . -</p> - -<p> -In passing by Tietjens in his chair the general boomed out the words: -</p> - -<p> -"I got your chit of this morning, Tietjens. . . . I must say . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens lumbered out of his chair and stood at attention, his -leg-of-mutton hands stiffly on the seams of his breeches. -</p> - -<p> -"It's pretty strong," the general said, "marking a charge-sheet sent -down from <i>my</i> department: <i>Case explained</i>. We don't lay charges -without due thought. And Lance-Corporal Berry is a particularly reliable -N.C.O. I have difficulty enough to get them. Particularly after the late -riots. It takes courage, I can tell you." -</p> - -<p> -"If," Tietjens said, "you would see fit, sir, to instruct the G.M.P. not -to call Colonial troops damned conscripts, the trouble would be over. . . . -We're instructed to use special discretion, as officers, in dealing -with troops from the Dominions. They are said to be very susceptible of -insult. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general suddenly became a boiling pot from which fragments of -sentences came away: <i>damned</i> insolence; court of inquiry; damned -conscripts they were too. He calmed enough to say: -</p> - -<p> -"They <i>are</i> conscripts, your men, aren't they? They give me more -trouble . . . I should have thought you would have wanted . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. I have not a man in my unit, as far as it's Canadian or -British Columbian, that is not voluntarily enlisted. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general exploded to the effect that he was bringing the whole matter -before the G.O.C.I.C.'s department. Campion could deal with it how he -wished: it was beyond himself. He began to bluster away from them; -stopped; directed a frigid bow to Sylvia who was not looking at him; -shrugged his shoulders and stormed off. -</p> - -<p> -It was difficult for Sylvia to get hold again of her thoughts in the -smoking-room, for the evening was entirely pervaded with military -effects that seemed to her the pranks of schoolboys. Indeed, after -Cowley, who had by now quite a good skinful of liquor, had said to -Tietjens: -</p> - -<p> -"By Jove, I would not like to be you and a little bit on if old Blazes -caught sight of you to-night," she said to Tietjens with real wonder: -</p> - -<p> -"You don't mean to say that a gaga old fool like that could have any -possible influence over you . . . <i>You</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it's a troublesome business, all this. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said that it so appeared to be, for before he could finish his -sentence an orderly was at his elbow extending, along with a pencil, a -number of dilapidated papers. Tietjens looked rapidly through them, -signing one after the other and saying intermittently: -</p> - -<p> -"It's a trying time." "We're massing troops up the line as fast as we -can go." "And with an endlessly changing personnel. . . ." He gave a -snort of exasperation and said to Cowley: "That horrible little Pitkins -has got a job as bombing instructor. He can't march the draft. . . . Who -the deuce am I to detail? Who the deuce is there? . . . You know all the -little . . ." He stopped because the orderly could hear. A smart boy. -Almost the only smart boy left him. -</p> - -<p> -Cowley barged out of his seat and said he would telephone to the mess to -see who was there. . . . Tietjens said to the boy: -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant-Major Morgan made out these returns of religions in the -draft?" -</p> - -<p> -The boy answered: "No sir, I did. They're all right." He pulled a slip -of paper out of his tunic pocket and said shyly: -</p> - -<p> -"If you would not mind signing this, sir . . . I can get a lift on an -A.S.C. trolley that's going to Boulogne to-morrow at six. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, you can't have leave. I can't spare you. What's it for?" -</p> - -<p> -The boy said almost inaudibly that he wanted to get married. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, still signing, said: "Don't. . . . Ask your married pals what -it's like!" -</p> - -<p> -The boy, scarlet in his khaki, rubbed the sole of one foot on the instep -of the other. He said that saving madam's presence it was urgent. It was -expected any day now. She was a real good gel. Tietjens signed the boy's -slip and handed it to him without looking up. The boy stood with his -eyes on the ground. A diversion came from the telephone, which was at -the far end of the room. Cowley had not been able to get on to the camp -because an urgent message with regard to German espionage was coming -through to the sleeping general. -</p> - -<p> -Cowley began to shout: "For goodness' sake hold the line. . . . For -goodness' sake hold the line. . . . I'm not the general. . . . I'm -<i>not</i> the general. . . ." Tietjens told the orderly to awaken the -sleeping warrior. A violent scene at the mouth of the quiescent instrument -took place. The general roared to know who was the officer speaking. . . . -Captain Bubbleyjocks. . . . Captain Cuddlestocks . . . what in hell's -name! And who was he speaking for? . . . Who? Himself? . . . Urgent was -it? . . . Didn't he know the proper procedure was by writing? . . . -Urgent damnation! . . . Did he not know where he was? . . . In the First -Army by the Cassell Canal. . . . Well then . . . But the spy was in L. -of C. territory, across the canal. . . . The French civilian authorities -were very concerned. . . . They were, damn them! . . . And damn the -officer. And damn the French <i>maire</i>. And damn the horse the supposed -spy rode upon. . . . And when the officer was damned let him write to -First Army Headquarters about it and attach the horse and the bandoliers -as an exhibit. . . . -</p> - -<p> -There was a great deal more of it. Tietjens reading his papers -still, intermittently explained the story as it came in fragments over -the telephone in the general's repetitions. . . . Apparently the French -civilian authorities of a place called Warendonck had been alarmed by a -solitary horseman in English uniform who had been wandering desultorily -about their neighbourhood for several days, seeming to want to cross the -canal bridges, but finding them guarded. . . . There was an immense -artillery dump in the neighbourhood, said to be the largest in the -world, and the Germans dropped bombs as thick as peas all over those -parts in the hopes of hitting it. . . . Apparently the officer speaking -was in charge of the canal bridgehead guards: but, as he was in First -Army country, it was obviously an act of the utmost impropriety to -awaken a general in charge of the spy-catching apparatus on the other -side of the canal. . . . The general, returning past them to an -arm-chair farther from the telephone, emphasized this point of view with -great vigour. -</p> - -<p> -The orderly had returned; Cowley went once more to the telephone, having -consumed another liqueur brandy. Tietjens finished his papers and went -through them rapidly again. He said to the boy: "Got anything saved up?" -The boy said: "A fiver and a few bob." Tietjens said: "How many bob?" -The boy: "Seven, sir." Tietjens, fumbling clumsily in an inner pocket -and a little pocket beneath his belt, held out one leg-of-mutton fist -and said: "There! That will double it. Ten pounds fourteen! But it's -very improvident of you. See that you save up a deuced lot more against -the next one. Accouchements are confoundedly expensive things, as you'll -learn, and ring money doesn't stretch for ever! . . ." He called out to -the retreating boy: "Here, orderly, come back. . . ." He added: "Don't -let it get all over camp. . . . I can't afford to subsidize all the -seven-months children in the battalion. . . . I'll recommend you for -paid lance-corporal when you return from leave if you go on as well as -you have done." He called the boy back again to ask him why Captain -McKechnie had not signed the papers. The boy stuttered and stammered -that Captain McKechnie was . . . He was . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens muttered: "Good God!" beneath his breath. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"The captain has had another nervous breakdown. . . ." The orderly -accepted the phrase with gratitude. That was it. A nervous breakdown. -They say he had been very queer at mess. About divorce. Or the captain's -uncle. A barrow-night! Tietjens said: "Yes, yes!" He half rose in his -chair and looked at Sylvia. She exclaimed painfully: -</p> - -<p> -"You can't go. I insist that you can't go." He sank down again and -muttered wearily that it was very worrying. He had been put in charge of -this officer by General Campion. He ought not to have left the camp at -all perhaps. But McKechnie had seemed better. A great deal of the -calmness of her insolence had left her. She had expected to have the -whole night in which luxuriously to torment the lump opposite her. To -torment him and to allure him. She said: -</p> - -<p> -"You have settlements to come to now and here that will affect your -whole life. Our whole lives! You propose to abandon them because a -miserable little nephew of your miserable little friend. . . ." She -added in French: "Even as it is you cannot pay any attention to these -serious matters, because of these childish preoccupations of yours. That -is to be intolerably insulting to me!" She was breathless. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens asked the orderly where Captain McKechnie was now. The orderly -said he had left the camp. The colonel of the depot had sent a couple of -officers as a search-party. Tietjens told the orderly to go and find a -taxi. He could have a ride himself up to camp. The orderly said taxis -would not be running on account of the air-raid. Could he order the -G.M.P. to requisition one on urgent military service? The exhilarated -air-gun pooped off thereupon three times from the garden. For the next -hour it went off every two or three minutes. Tietjens said: "Yes! Yes!" -to the orderly. The noises of the air-raid became more formidable. A -blue express letter of French civilian make was handed to Tietjens. It -was from the duchess to inform him that coal for the use of greenhouses -was forbidden by the French Government. She did not need to say that she -relied on his honour to ensure her receiving her coal through the -British military authority, and she asked for an immediate reply. -Tietjens expressed real annoyance while he read this. Distracted by the -noise, Sylvia cried out that the letter must be from Valentine Wannop in -Rouen. Did not the girl intend to let him have an hour in which to -settle the whole business of his life? Tietjens moved to the chair next -to hers. He handed her the duchess's letter. -</p> - -<p> -He began a long, slow, serious explanation with a long, slow, serious -apology. He said he regretted very much that when she should have taken -the trouble to come so far in order to do him the honour to consult him -about a matter which she would have been perfectly at liberty to settle -for herself, the extremely serious military position should render him -so liable to interruption. As far as he was concerned Groby was entirely -at her disposal with all that it contained. And of course a sufficient -income for the upkeep. -</p> - -<p> -She exclaimed in an access of sudden and complete despair: -</p> - -<p> -"That means that you do not intend to live there." He said that -must settle itself later. The war would no doubt last a good deal -longer. While it lasted there could be no question of his coming back. -She said that meant that he intended to get killed. She warned him -that, if he got killed, she should cut down the great cedar at the -south-west corner of Groby. It kept all the light out of the principal -drawing-room and the bed-rooms above it . . . He winced: he certainly -winced at that. She regretted that she had said it. It was along other -lines that she desired to make him wince. -</p> - -<p> -He said that, apart from his having no intention of getting himself -killed, the matter was absolutely out of his hands. He had to go where -he was ordered to go and do what he was told to do. -</p> - -<p> -She exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"You! <i>You</i>! Isn't it ignoble. That you should be at the beck and call -of these ignoramuses. You!" -</p> - -<p> -He went on explaining seriously that he was in no great danger—in no -danger at all unless he was sent back to his battalion. And he was not -likely to be sent back to his battalion unless he disgraced himself or -showed himself negligent where he was. That was unlikely. Besides his -category was so low that he was not eligible for his battalion, which, -of course, was in the line. She ought to understand that every one that -she saw employed there was physically unfit for the line. She said: -</p> - -<p> -"That's why they're such an awful lot. . . . It is not to this place -that one should come to look for a presentable man. . . . Diogenes with -his lantern was nothing to it." -</p> - -<p> -He said: -</p> - -<p> -"There's that way of looking at it. . . . It is quite true that most -of . . . let's say <i>your</i> friends . . . were killed off during the -early days, or if they're still going they're in more active employments." -What she called presentableness was very largely a matter of physical -fitness. . . . The horse, for instance, that he rode was rather a -crock. . . . But though it was German and not thoroughbred it contrived to -be up to his weight. . . . Her friends, more or less, of before the war -were professional soldiers or of the type. Well, they were gone: dead or -snowed under. But on the other hand, this vast town full of crocks did -keep the thing going, if it could be made to go. It was not they that -hindered the show: if it was hindered, that was done by her much less -presentable friends, the ministry who, if they were professionals at all -were professional boodlers. -</p> - -<p> -She exclaimed with bitterness: -</p> - -<p> -"Then why didn't you stay at home to check them, if they <i>are</i> -boodlers." She added that the only people at home who kept social -matters going at all with any life were precisely the more successful -political professionals. When you were with them you would not know -there was any war. And wasn't that what was wanted? Was the <i>whole</i> of -life to be given up to ignoble horseplay? . . . She spoke with increased -rancour because of the increasing thump and rumble of the air-raid. . . . -Of course the politicians were ignoble beings that, before the war, -you would not have thought of having in your house. . . . But whose -fault was that, if not that of the better classes, who had gone away -leaving England a dreary wilderness of fellows without consciences or -traditions or manners? And she added some details of the habits at a -country house of a member of the Government whom she disliked. "And," -she finished up, "it's your fault. Why aren't <i>you</i> Lord Chancellor, -or Chancellor of the Exchequer, instead of whoever is, for I am sure I -don't know? You could have been, with your abilities and your interests. -Then things would have been efficiently and honestly conducted. If your -brother Mark, with not a tithe of your abilities can be a permanent head -of a department, what could you not have risen to with your gifts, and -your influence . . . and your integrity?" And she ended up: "Oh, -Christopher!" on almost a sob. -</p> - -<p> -Ex-Sergeant-Major Cowley, who had come back from the telephone, and -during an interval in the thunderings, had heard some of Sylvia's light -cast on the habits of members of the home Government, so that his jaw -had really hung down, now, in another interval, exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Hear, hear! Madam! . . . There is nothing the captain might not have -risen to. . . . He is doing the work of a brigadier now on the pay of an -acting captain. . . . And the treatment he gets is scandalous. . . . -Well, the treatment we all get is scandalous, tricked and defrauded as -we are all at every turn. . . . And look at this new start with the -draft. . . ." They had ordered the draft to be ready and countermanded -it, and ordered it to be ready and countermanded it, until no one knew -whether he stood on is 'ed or is 'eels. . . . It was to have gone off -last night: when they'd 'ad it marched down to the station they 'ad it -marched back and told them all it would not be wanted for six weeks. . . . -Now it was to be got ready to go before daylight to-morrow morning in -motor-lorries to the rail Ondekoeter way, the rail here 'aving been -sabotaged! . . . Before daylight so that the enemy aeroplanes should not -see it on the road. . . . Wasn't that a thing to break the 'arts of men -<i>and</i> horderly rooms? It was outrageous. Did they suppose the 'Uns did -things like that? -</p> - -<p> -He broke off to say with husky enthusiasm of affection to Tietjens: "Look -'ere old . . . I mean, sir . . . There's <i>no</i> way of getting hold -of an officer to march the draft. Them as are eligible gets to 'ear of -what drafts is going and they've all bolted into their burries. Not a -man of 'em will be back in camp before five to-morrow morning. Not when -they 'ears there's a draft to go at four of mornings like this. . . . -Now . . ." His voice became husky with emotion as he offered to take the -draft hisself to oblige Captain Tietjens. And the captain knew he could -get a draft off pretty near as good as himself: or very near. As for the -draft-conducting major he lived in that hotel and he, Cowley, 'ad seen -'im. No four in the morning for 'im. He was going to motor to Ondekoeter -Station about seven. So there was no sense in getting the draft off -before five, and it was still dark then: too dark for the 'Un planes to -see what was moving. He'd be glad if the captain would be up at the camp -by five to take a final look and to sign any papers that only the -commanding officer could sign. But he knew the captain had had no sleep -the night before because of his, Cowley's, infirmity, mostly, so he -couldn't do less than give up a day and a half of his leave to taking -the draft. Besides, he was going home for the duration and he would not -mind getting a look at the old places they'd seen in 'fourteen, for the -last time as a Cook's tourist. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, who was looking noticeably white, said: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you remember O Nine Morgan at Noircourt?" -</p> - -<p> -Cowley said: -</p> - -<p> -"No. . . . Was 'e there? In your company, I suppose? . . . The man you -mean that was killed yesterday. Died in your arms owing to my oversight. -I ought to have been there." He said to Sylvia with the gloating idea -N.C.O.'s had that wives liked to hear of their husband's near escapes: -"Killed within a foot of the captain, 'e was. An 'orrible shock it must -'ave been for the captain." A horrible mess. . . . The captain held him -in his arms while he died. ... As if he'd been a baby. Wonderful tender, -the captain was! Well, you're apt to be when it's one of your own -men. . . . No rank then! "Do you know the only time the King must salute a -private soldier and the private takes no notice? . . . When 'e's -dead. . . ." Both Sylvia and Tietjens were silent—and silvery white -in the greenish light from the lamp. Tietjens indeed had shut his eyes. The -old N.C.O. went on rejoicing to have the floor to himself. He had got on -his feet preparatory to going up to camp, and he swayed a little. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"No," he said and he waved his cigar gloriously, "I don't remember O -Nine Morgan at Noircourt. . . . But I remember . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, with his eyes still shut, said: -</p> - -<p> -"I only thought he might have been a man. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"No," the old fellow went on imperiously, "I don't remember 'im. . . . -But, Lord, I remember what happened to <i>you</i>!" He looked down -gloriously upon Sylvia: "The captain caught 'is foot in. . . . You'd -never believe what 'e caught 'is foot in! Never! . . . A pretty quiet -affair it was, with a bit of moonlight. . . . Nothing much in the way of -artillery. . . . Perhaps we surprised the 'Uns proper, perhaps they were -wanting to give up their front-line trenches for a purpose. . . . There -was next to no one in 'em. . . . I know it made me nervous. . . . My -heart was fair in my boots, because there was so little doing! . . . It -was when there was little doing that the 'Uns could be expected to do -their worst. ... Of course there was some machine-gunning. . . . There -was one in particular away to the right of us. . . . And the moon, it -was shining in the early morning. Wonderful peaceful. And a little -mist. . . . And frozen hard. . . . Hard as you wouldn't believe. . . . -Enough to make the shells dangerous." - - -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia said: -</p> - -<p> -"It's not always mud, then?" and Tietjens, to her: "He'll stop if you -don't like it." She said monotonously: "No . . . I want to hear." -</p> - -<p> -Cowley drew himself for his considerable effect: -</p> - -<p> -"Mud!" he said. "Not then. . . . Not by half. . . . I tell you, ma'am, -we trod on the frozen faces of dead Germans as we doubled. . . . A -terrible lot of Germans we'd killed a day or so before. . . . That was -no doubt the reason they give up the trenches so easy: difficult to -attack from, they was. . . . Anyhow, they left the dead for us to bury, -knowing probably they were going, with a better 'eart! . . . But it fair -put the wind up me anyhow to think of what their counter-attack was -going to be. . . . The counter-attack is always ten times as bad as the -preliminary resistance. They 'as you with the rear of their -trenches—the parades, we call it—as your front to boot. So I -was precious glad when the moppers-up and supports come and went through -us. . . . Laughing, they was. . . . Wiltshires. . . . My missus comes from -that county. . . . Mrs. Cowley, I mean. . . . So I'd seen the captain go -down earlier on and I'd said: 'There's another of the best stopped -one. . . .'" He dropped his voice a little: he was one of the noted yarners -of the regiment: "Caught 'is foot, 'e 'ad, between two 'ands. . . . -Sticking up out of the frozen ground. . . . As it might be in prayer. . . . -Like this!" He elevated his two hands, the cigar between the -fingers, the wrists close together and the fingers slightly curled -inwards: "Sticking up in the moonlight. . . . Poor devil!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I thought perhaps it was O Nine Morgan I saw that night. . . . -Naturally I looked dead. . . . I hadn't a breath in my body. . . . And I -saw a Tommy put his rifle to his pal's upper arm and fire. . . . As I -lay on the ground. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Cowley said: -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, you saw that . . . I heard the men talking of it. . . . But they -naturally did not say who and where!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said with a negligence that did not ring true: -</p> - -<p> -"The wounded man's name was Stilicho. . . . A queer name. . . . I -suppose it's Cornish. . . . It was B Company in front of us." -</p> - -<p> -"You didn't bring 'em to a court martial?" Cowley asked. Tietjens said: -No. He could not be quite certain. Though he <i>was</i> certain. But he had -been worrying about a private matter. He had been worrying about it -while he lay on the ground and that rather obscured his sense of what he -saw. Besides, he said faintly, an officer must use his judgment. He had -judged it better in this case not to have seen the . . . His voice had -nearly faded away: it was clear to Sylvia that he was coming to a climax -of some mental torture. Suddenly he exclaimed to Cowley: -</p> - -<p> -"Supposing I let him off one life to get him killed two years after. My -God! That would be too beastly!" -</p> - -<p> -Cowley snuffled in Tietjens' ear something that Sylvia did not -catch—consolatory and affectionate. That intimacy was more than she -could bear. She adopted her most negligent tone to ask: -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose the one man had been trifling with the other's girl. Or -wife!" -</p> - -<p> -Cowley exploded: "God bless you, no! They'd agreed upon it between them. -To get one of them sent 'ome and the other, at any rate, out of <i>that</i> -'ell, leading him back to the dressing-station." She said: -</p> - -<p> -"You mean to say that a man would do <i>that</i>, to get out of it? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Cowley said: -</p> - -<p> -"God bless you, ma'am, with the <i>'ell</i> the Tommies 'as of it. . . . -For it's in the line that the difference between the Other Ranks' life and -the officers' comes in. . . . I tell you, ma'am, old soldier as I am, -and I've been in seven wars one with another . . . there were times in -this war when I could have shrieked, holding my right hand down. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He paused and said: "It was my idea. . . . And it's been a good many -others,' that if I 'eld my 'and up over the parapet with perhaps my hat -on it, in two minutes there would be a German sharpshooter's bullet -through it. And then me for Blighty, as the soldiers say. . . . And if -that could happen to me, a regimental sergeant-major, with twenty-three -years in the service . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The bright orderly came in, said he had found a taxi, and melted into -the dimness. -</p> - -<p> -"A man," the sergeant-major said, "would take the risk of being shot for -wounding his pal. . . . They get to love their pals, passing the love of -women. . . ." Sylvia exclaimed: "Oh!" as if at a pang of toothache. "They -do, ma'am," he said, "it's downright touching. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He was by now very unsteady as he stood, but his voice was quite clear. -That was the way it took him. He said to Tietjens: -</p> - -<p> -"It's queer, what you say about home worries taking up your mind. ... I -remember in the Afghan campaign, when we were in the devil of a hot -corner, I got a letter from my wife, Mrs. Cowley, to say that our Winnie -had the measles. . . . And there was only one difference between me and -Mrs. Cowley: I said that a child must have flannel next its skin, and -she said flannelette was good enough. Wiltshire doesn't hold by wool as -Lincolnshire does. Long fleeces the Lincolnshire sheep have. . . . And -dodging the Afghan bullets all day among the boulders as we was, all I -could think of. . . . For you know, ma'am, being a mother yourself, that -the great thing with measles is to keep a child warm. . . . I kep' -saying to myself—'arf crying I was—'If she only keeps wool next -Winnie's skin! If she only keeps wool next Winnie's skin!' . . . But you -know that, being a mother yourself. I've seen your son's photo on the -captain's dressing-table. Michael, 'is name is. . . . So you see, the -captain doesn't forget you and 'im." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia said in a clear voice: -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps you would not go on!" -</p> - -<p> -Distracted as she was by the anti-air-gun in the garden, though it was -on the other side of the hotel and permitted you to get in a sentence or -two before splitting your head with a couple of irregular explosions, -she was still more distracted by a sudden vision—a remembrance of -Christopher's face when their boy had had a temperature of 105° with -the measles, up at his sister's house in Yorkshire. He had taken the -responsibility, which the village doctor would not face, of himself -placing the child in a bath full of split ice. . . . She saw him -bending, expressionless in the strong lamp-light, with the child in his -clumsy arms over the glittering, rubbled surface of the bath. . . . He -was just as expressionless then as now. . . . He reminded her now of how -he had been then: some strain in the lines of the face perhaps that she -could not analyse. . . . Rather as if he had a cold in the head—a -little suffocating, with suppressing his emotions, of course: his eyes -looking at nothing. You would not have said that he even saw the -child—heir to Groby and all that! . . . Something had said to her, -just in between two crashes of the gun "It's his own child. He went as you -might say down to hell to bring it back to life. . . ." She knew it was -Father Consett saying that. She knew it was true: Christopher had been -down to hell to bring the child back. . . . Fancy facing its pain in -that dreadful bath! . . . The thermometer had dropped, running down -under their eyes. . . . Christopher had said: "A good heart, he's got! -A good plucked one!" and then held his breath, watching the thin -filament of bright mercury drop to normal. . . . She said now, between -her teeth: "The child is his property as much as the damned estate. . . . -Well, I've got them both. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -But it wasn't at this juncture that she wanted him tortured over that. -So, when the second gun had done its crash, she had said to the bibulous -old man: -</p> - -<p> -"I wish you would not go on!" And Christopher had been prompt to the -rescue of the <i>convenances</i> with: -</p> - -<p> -"Mrs. Tietjens does not see eye to eye with us in some matters!" -</p> - -<p> -She said to herself: "Eye to eye! My God! . . ." The whole of this -affair, the more she saw of it, overwhelmed her with a sense of -hatred. . . . And of depression! . . . She saw Christopher buried in this -welter of fools, playing a schoolboy's game of make-believe. But of a -make-believe that was infinitely formidable and infinitely sinister. . . . -The crashings of the gun and of all the instruments for making noise -seemed to her so atrocious and odious because they were, for her, the -silly pomp of a schoolboy-man's game. . . . Campion, or some similar -schoolboy, said: "Hullo! Some German airplanes about . . . That lets us -out on the air-gun! Let's have some pops!" . . . As they fire guns in -the park on the King's birthday. It was sheer insolence to have a gun in -the garden of an hotel where people of quality might be sleeping or -wishing to converse! -</p> - -<p> -At home she had been able to sustain the conviction that it was such a -game. . . . Anywhere: at the house of a minister of the Crown, at -dinner, she had only to say: "Do let us leave off talking of these -odious things. . . ." And immediately there would be ten or a dozen -voices, the minister's included, to agree with Mrs. Tietjens of Groby -that they had altogether too much of it. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But here! . . . She seemed to be in the very belly of the ugly -affair. . . . It moved and moved, under your eyes dissolving, yet always -there. As if you should try to follow one diamond of pattern in the coil of -an immense snake that was in irrevocable motion. . . . It gave her a sense -of despair: the engrossment of Tietjens, in common with the engrossment -of this disreputable toper. She had never seen Tietjens put his head -together with any soul before: he was the lonely buffalo. . . . Now! -Anyone: any fatuous staff-officer, whom at home he would never so much -as have spoken to: any trustworthy beer-sodden sergeant, any street -urchin dressed up as orderly. . . . They had only to appear and all his -mind went into a close-headed conference over some ignoble point in the -child's game: The laundry, the chiropody, the religions, the bastards . . . -of millions of the indistinguishable. . . . Or their deaths as well! -But, in heaven's name what hypocrisy, or what inconceivable -chicken-heartedness was this? They promoted this beanfeast of carnage -for their own ends: they caused the deaths of men in inconceivable -holocausts of pain and terror. Then they had crises of agony over the -death of one single man. For it was plain to her that Tietjens was in -the middle of a full nervous breakdown. Over one man's death! She had -never seen him so suffer; she had never seen him so appeal for sympathy: -him, a cold fiend of reticence! Yet he was now in an agony! -<i>Now</i>! . . . And she began to have a sense of the infinitely spreading -welter of pain, going away to an eternal horizon of night. . . . 'Ell for -the Other Ranks! Apparently it was hell for the officers as well. -</p> - -<p> -The real compassion in the voice of that snuffling, half-drunken old man -had given her a sense of that enormous wickedness. . . . These horrors, -these infinities of pain, this atrocious condition of the world had been -brought about in order that men should indulge themselves in orgies of -promiscuity. . . . That in the end was at the bottom of male honour, of -male virtue, observance of treaties, upholding of the flag. . . . An -immense warlock's carnival of appetites, lusts, ebrieties. . . . And -once set in motion there was no stopping it. . . . This state of things -would never cease. . . . Because once they had tasted of the joy—the -blood—of this game, who would let it end? . . . These men talked of -these things that occupied them there with the lust of men telling dirty -stories in smoking-rooms. . . . That was the only parallel! -</p> - -<p> -There was no stopping it, any more than there was any stopping the by -now all but intoxicated ex-sergeant-major. He was off! With, as might be -expected, advice to a young couple with differences of opinion! The wine -had made him bold! -</p> - -<p> -In the depth of her pictures of these horrors, snatches of his wisdom -penetrated to her intelligence. . . . Queer snatches. . . . She was -getting it certainly in the neck! . . . Someone, to add to the noise, -had started some mechanical musical instrument in an adjacent hall. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Corn an' lasses</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Served by Ras'us!"</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -a throaty voice proclaimed, -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"I'd be tickled to death to know that I could go</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And stay right there . . ."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -The ex-sergeant-major was adding to her knowledge the odd detail that when -he, Sergeant-Major Cowley, went to the wars—seven of them—his -missus, Mrs. Cowley, spent the first three days and nights unpicking and -re-hemstitching every sheet and pillow-slip in the 'ouse. To keep -'erself f'm thinking. . . . This was apparently meant as a reproof or an -exhortation to her, Sylvia Tietjens. . . . Well, he was all right! Of -the same class as Father Consett, and with the same sort of wisdom. -</p> - -<p> -The gramophone howled: a new note of rumbling added itself to the -exterior tumult and continued through six mitigated thumps of the gun in -the garden. . . . In the next interval, Cowley was in the midst of a -valedictory address to her. He was asking her to remember that the -captain had had a sleepless night the night before. -</p> - -<p> -There occurred to her irreverent mind a sentence of one of the Duchess -of Marlborough's letters to Queen Anne. The duchess had visited the -general during one of his campaigns in Flanders. "My Lord," she wrote, -"did me the honour three times in his boots!" . . . The sort of thing -she would remember. . . . She would—she <i>would</i>—have tried -it on the sergeant-major, just to see Tietjens' face, for the -sergeant-major would not have understood. . . . And who cared if he -did! . . . He was bibulously skirting round the same idea. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But the tumult increased to an incredible volume: even the thrillings of -the near-by gramophone of two hundred horse-power, or whatever it was, -became mere shimmerings of a gold thread in a drab fabric of sound. She -screamed blasphemies that she was hardly aware of knowing. She had to -scream against the noise: she was no more responsible for the blasphemy -than if she had lost her identity under an anæsthetic. She <i>had</i> lost -her identity. . . . She was one of this crowd! -</p> - -<p> -The general woke in his chair and gazed malevolently at their group as -if they alone were responsible for the noise. It dropped. Dead! You only -knew it, because you caught the tail end of a belated woman's scream -from the hall and the general shouting: "For God's sake don't start that -damned gramophone again!" In the blessed silence, after preliminary -wheezings and guitar noises an astonishing voice burst out: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Less than the dust . . .</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Before thy char . . ."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -And then, stopping after a murmur of voices, began: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Pale hands I loved . . ."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -The general sprang from his chair and rushed to the hall. . . . He came -back crestfallenly. -</p> - -<p> -"It's some damned civilian big-wig. . . . A novelist, they say. . . . I -can't stop <i>him</i>. . . ." He added with disgust: "The hall's full of -young beasts and harlots. . . . <i>Dancing</i>!". . . The melody had -indeed, after a buzz, changed to a languorous and interrupted variation of -a waltz. "Dancing in the dark!" the general said with enhanced -disgust. . . . "And the Germans may be here at any moment. ... If they -knew what I know! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia called across to him: -</p> - -<p> -"Wouldn't it be fun to see the blue uniform with the silver buttons -again and some decently set-up men? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general shouted: -</p> - -<p> -"<i>I'd</i> be glad to see them. . . . I'm sick to death of these. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens took up something he had been saying to Cowley: what it was -Sylvia did not hear, but Cowley answered, still droning on with an idea -Sylvia thought they had got past: -</p> - -<p> -"I remember when I was sergeant in Quetta, I detailed a man—called -Herring—for watering the company horses, after he begged off it -because he had a fear of horses. . . . A horse got him down in the river -and drowned 'im. . . . Fell with him and put its foot on his face. . . . A -fair sight he was. . . . It wasn't any good my saying anything about -military exigencies. . . . Fair put me off my feed, it did. . . . Cost -me a fortune in Epsom salts. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Sylvia was about to scream out that if Tietjens did not like men being -killed it ought to sober him in his war-lust, but Cowley continued -meditatively: -</p> - -<p> -"Epsom salts they say is the cure for it. . . . For seeing your dead. . . . -And of course you should keep off women for a fortnight. . . . I -know I did. Kept seeing Herring's face with the hoof-mark. And . . . -there was a piece: a decent bit of goods in what we called the -Government Compound. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He suddenly exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Saving your . . . Ma'am, I'm . . ." He stuck the stump of the cigar -into his teeth and began assuring Tietjens that he could be trusted with -the draft next morning, if only Tietjens would put him into the taxi. -</p> - -<p> -He went away, leaning on Tietjens' arm, his legs at an angle of sixty -degrees with the carpet. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"He can't . . ." Sylvia said to herself, "he can't, not . . . If he's a -gentleman. . . . After all that old fellow's hints. . . . He'd be a damn -coward if he kept off. . . . For a fortnight. . . . And who else is -there not a public . . ." She said: "O God! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The old general, lying in his chair, turned his face aside to say: -</p> - -<p> -"I wouldn't, madam, not if I were you, talk about the blue uniform with -silver buttons here. . . . <i>We</i>, of course, understand. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: "You see . . . even that extinct volcano . . . He's undressing -me with his eyes full of blood veins. . . . Then why can't -<i>he</i>? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said aloud: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but even you, general, said you were sick of your companions!" -</p> - -<p> -She said to herself: -</p> - -<p> -"Hang it! . . . I will have the courage of my convictions. . . . No man -shall say I am a coward. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"Isn't it saying the same thing as you, general, to say that I'd rather -be made love to by a well-set-up man in blue and silver—or anything -else!—than by most of the people one sees here! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, if you put it that way, madam. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"What other way should a woman put it?" . . . She reached to the table -and filled herself a lot of brandy. The old general was leering towards -her: -</p> - -<p> -"Bless me," he said, "a lady who takes liquor like that . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"You're a Papist, aren't you? With the name of O'Hara and the touch of -the brogue you have . . . And the devil you no doubt are with. . . . You -know what. . . . Well, then . . . It's with a special intention! . . . -As you say your Hail, Maries. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -With the liquor burning inside her she saw Tietjens loom in the dim -light. -</p> - -<p> -The general, to her bitter amusement, said to him: -</p> - -<p> -"Your friend was more than a bit on. . . . Not the Society surely for -madam!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I never expected to have the pleasure of dining with Mrs. Tietjens -to-night . . . That officer was celebrating his commission and I could -not put him off. . . ." The general said: "Oh, ah! . . . Of course -not. . . . I dare say . . ." and settled himself again in his chair. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens was overwhelming her with his great bulk. She had still lost -her breath. ... He stooped over and said: It was the luck of the -half-drunk; he said: -</p> - -<p> -"They're dancing in the lounge. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She coiled herself passionately into her wickerwork. It had dull blue -cushions. She said: -</p> - -<p> -"Not with anyone else. . . . I don't want any introductions. . . ." -Fiercely! . . . He said: -</p> - -<p> -"There's no one there that I could introduce you to. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She said: -</p> - -<p> -"Not if it's a charity!" -</p> - -<p> -He said: -</p> - -<p> -"I thought it might be rather dull. . . . It's six months since I -danced. . . ." She felt beauty flowing over all her limbs. She had a -gown of gold tissue. Her matchless hair was coiled over her ears. . . -She was humming Venusberg music: she knew music if she knew nothing -else. . . . -</p> - -<p> -She said: "You call the compounds where you keep the W.A.A.C.'s -Venusberg's, don't you? Isn't it queer that Venus should be your own? . . . -Think of poor Elisabeth!" -</p> - -<p> -The room where they were dancing was very dark. . . . It was queer to be -in his arms. . . . She had known better dancers. . . . He had looked -ill. . . . Perhaps he was. . . . Oh, poor Valentine-Elisabeth. . . . -What a funny position! . . . The good gramophone played. . . . -<i>Destiny</i>! . . . You see, father! . . . In his arms! . . . Of -course, dancing is not really. . . . But so near the real thing! So -near! . . . "Good luck to the special intention! . . ." She had almost -kissed him on the lips. . . . All but! . . . <i>Effleurer</i>, the -French call it. . . . But she was not as humble. . . . He had pressed -her tighter. . . . All these months without . . . My lord did me -honour . . . Good for Malbrouck <i>s'en va-t-en guerre</i>. . . . He -<i>knew</i> she had almost kissed him on the lips. . . . And that his -lips had almost responded. . . . The civilian, the novelist, had turned -out the last light. . . . Tietjens said, "Hadn't we better talk? . . ." -She said: "In my room, then! I'm dog-tired. . . . I haven't slept for -six nights. . . . In spite of drugs. . . ." He said: "Yes. Of course! -Where else? . . ." Astonishingly. . . . Her gown of gold tissue was like -the colobium sidonis the King wore at the coronation. . . . As they -mounted the stairs she thought what a fat tenor Tannhauser always -was! . . . The Venusberg music was dinning in her ears. . . . She said: -"Sixty-six inexpressibles! I'm as sober as a judge . . . I need to be!" - -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="PART_III">PART III</a></h4> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I_III">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - -<p> -A shadow—the shadow of the General Officer Commanding in -Chief—falling across the bar of light that the sunlight threw in -at his open door seemed providentially to awaken Christopher Tietjens, -who would have thought it extremely disagreeable to be found asleep by -that officer. Very thin, graceful and gay with his scarlet gilt -oak-leaves, and ribbons, of which he had many, the general was stepping -attractively over the sill of the door, talking backwards over his -shoulder, to someone outside. So, in the old days, Gods had descended! -It was, no doubt, really the voices from without that had awakened -Tietjens, but he preferred to think the matter a slight intervention of -Providence, because he felt in need of a sign of some sort! Immediately -upon awakening he was not perfectly certain of where he was, but he had -sense enough to answer with coherence the first question that the -general put to him and to stand stiffly on his legs. The general had -said: -</p> - -<p> -"Will you be good enough to inform me, Captain Tietjens, why you have no -fire-extinguishers in your unit? You are aware of the extremely -disastrous consequences that would follow a conflagration in your -lines?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said stiffly: -</p> - -<p> -"It seems impossible to obtain them, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"How is this? You have indented for them in the proper quarter. Perhaps -you do not know what the proper quarter is?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"If this were a British unit, sir, the proper quarter would be the Royal -Engineers." When he had sent his indent in for them to the Royal -Engineers they informed him that this being a unit of troops from the -Dominions, the quarter to which to apply was the Ordnance. On applying -to the Ordnance, he was informed that no provision was made of -fire-extinguishers for troops from the Dominions under Imperial -officers, and that the proper course was to obtain them from a civilian -firm in Great Britain, charging them against barrack damages. . . . He -had applied to several firms of manufacturers, who all replied that they -were forbidden to sell these articles to anyone but to the War Office -direct. . . . "I am still applying to civilian firms," he finished. -</p> - -<p> -The officer accompanying the general was Colonel Levin, to whom, over -his shoulder, the general said: "Make a note of that, Levin, will you? -and get the matter looked into." He said again to Tietjens: -</p> - -<p> -"In walking across your parade-ground I noticed that your officer in -charge of your physical training knew conspicuously nothing about it. -You had better put him on to cleaning out your drains. He was -unreasonably dirty." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"The sergeant-instructor, sir, is quite competent. The officer is an -R.A.S.C. officer. I have at the moment hardly any infantry officers in -the unit. But officers have to be on these parades—by A.C.I. They -give no orders." -</p> - -<p> -The general said dryly: -</p> - -<p> -"I was aware from the officer's uniform of what arm he belonged to. I am -not saying you do not do your best with the material at your command." -From Campion on parade this was an extraordinary graciousness. Behind -the general's back Levin was making signs with his eyes which he -meaningly closed and opened. The general, however, remained -extraordinarily dry in manner, his face having its perfectly -expressionless air of studied politeness which allowed no muscle of its -polished-cherry surface to move. The extreme politeness of the extremely -great to the supremely unimportant! -</p> - -<p> -He glanced round the hut markedly. It was Tietjens' own office and -contained nothing but the blanket-covered tables and, hanging from a -strut, an immense calendar on which days were roughly crossed out in red -ink and blue pencil. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Go and get your belt. You will go round your cook-houses with me in a -quarter of an hour. You can tell your sergeant-cook. What sort of -cooking arrangements have you?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Very good cook-houses, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You're extremely lucky, then. Extremely lucky! . . . Half the units -like yours in this camp haven't anything but company cookers and field -ovens in the open. . . ." He pointed with his crop at the open door. He -repeated with extreme distinctness "Go and get your belt!" Tietjens -wavered a very little on his feet. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"You are aware, sir, that I am under arrest." -</p> - -<p> -Campion imported a threat into his voice: -</p> - -<p> -"I gave you," he said, "an order. To perform a duty!" -</p> - -<p> -The terrific force of the command from above to below took Tietjens -staggering through the door. He heard the general's voice say: "I'm -perfectly aware he's not drunk." When he had gone four paces, Colonel -Levin was beside him. -</p> - -<p> -Levin was supporting him by the elbow. He whispered: -</p> - -<p> -"The general wishes me to go with you if you are feeling unwell. You -understand you are released from arrest!" He exclaimed with a sort of -rapture: "You're doing splendidly. . . . It's amazing. Everything I've -ever told him about you. . . . Yours is the only draft that got off this -morning. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens grunted: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I understand that if I'm given an order to perform a duty, it -means I am released from arrest." He had next to no voice. He managed to -say that he would prefer to go alone. He said: ". . . He's forced my -hand. . . . The last thing I want is to be released from arrest. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said breathlessly: -</p> - -<p> -"You <i>can't</i> refuse. . . . You can't upset him. . . . Why, you -<i>can't</i>. . . . Besides, an officer cannot demand a court martial." -</p> - -<p> -"You look," Tietjens said, "like a slightly faded bunch of -wallflowers. . . . I'm sure I beg your pardon. . . . It came into my head!" -The colonel drooped intangibly, his moustache a little ragged, his eyes a -little rimmed, his shaving a little ridged. He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it! . . . Do you suppose I don't <i>care</i> what happens to -you? . . . O'Hara came storming into my quarters at half-past three. . . . -I'm not going to tell you what he said. . . ." Tietjens said gruffly: -</p> - -<p> -"No, don't! I've all I can stand for the moment. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin exclaimed desperately: -</p> - -<p> -"I want you to understand. . . . It's impossible to believe anything -against . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens faced him, his teeth showing like a badger's. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Whom? . . . Against whom? Curse you!" -</p> - -<p> -Levin said pallidly: -</p> - -<p> -"Against . . . Against . . . either of you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Then leave it at that!" Tietjens said. He staggered a little until he -reached the main lines. Then he marched. It was purgatory. They peeped -at him from the corners of huts and withdrew. . . . But they always did -peep at him from the corners of huts and withdraw! That is the habit of -the Other Ranks on perceiving officers. The fellow called McKechnie also -looked out of a hut door. He too withdrew. . . . There was no mistaking -that! He had the news. . . . On the other hand, McKechnie too was under -a cloud. It might be his, Tietjens', duty, to strafe McKechnie to hell -for having left camp last night. So he might be avoiding him. . . . -There was no knowing. . . . He lurched infinitesimally to the right. The -road was rough. His legs felt like detached and swollen objects that he -dragged after him. He must master his legs. He mastered his legs. A -batman carrying a cup of tea ran against him. Tietjens said: "Put that -down and fetch me the sergeant-cook at the double. Tell him the -general's going round the cook-houses in a quarter of an hour." The -batman ran, spilling the tea in the sunlight. -</p> - -<p> -In his hut, which was dim and profusely decorated with the doctor's -ideals of female beauty in every known form of pictorial reproduction, -so that it might have been lined with peach-blossom, Tietjens had the -greatest difficulty in getting into his belt. He had at first forgotten -to remove his hat, then he put his head through the wrong opening; his -fingers on the buckles operated like sausages. He inspected himself in -the doctor's cracked shaving-glass: he was exceptionally well shaved. -</p> - -<p> -He had shaved that morning at six-thirty: five minutes after the draft -had got off. Naturally, the lorries had been an hour late. It was -providential that he had shaved with extra care. An insolently calm man -was looking at him, the face divided in two by the crack in the glass: a -naturally white-complexioned double-half of a face: a patch of high -colour on each cheekbone; the pepper-and-salt hair ruffled, the white -streaks extremely silver. He had gone very silver lately. But he swore -he did not look worn. Not careworn. McKechnie said from behind his back: -</p> - -<p> -"By Jove, what's this all about. The general's been strafing me to hell -for not having my table tidy!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, still looking in the glass, said: -</p> - -<p> -"You should keep your table tidy. It's the only strafe the battalion's -had." -</p> - -<p> -The general, then, must have been in the orderly room of which he had -put McKechnie in charge. McKechnie went on, breathlessly: -</p> - -<p> -"They say you knocked the general. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Don't you know enough to discount what they say in this town?" He said -to himself: "That was all right!" He had spoken with a cool edge on a -contemptuous voice. -</p> - -<p> -He said to the sergeant-cook who was panting—another heavy, -grey-moustached, very senior N.C.O.: -</p> - -<p> -"The general's going round the cook-houses. . . . You be damn certain -there's no dirty cook's clothing in the lockers!" He was fairly sure -that otherwise his cook-houses would be all right. He had gone round -them himself the morning of the day before yesterday. Or was it -yesterday? . . . -</p> - -<p> -It was the day after he had been up all night because the draft had been -countermanded. . . . It didn't matter. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"I wouldn't serve out white clothing to the cooks. . . . I bet you've -got some hidden away, though it's against orders." -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant looked away into the distance, smiled all-knowingly over -his walrus moustache. -</p> - -<p> -"The general likes to see 'em in white," he said, "and he won't know the -white clothing has been countermanded." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"The snag is that the beastly cooks always will tuck some piece of -beastly dirty clothing away in a locker rather than take the trouble to -take it round to their quarters when they've changed." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said with great distinctness: -</p> - -<p> -"The general has sent me to you with this, Tietjens. Take a sniff of it -if you're feeling dicky. You've been up all night on end two nights -running." He extended in the palm of his hand a bottle of smelling-salts -in a silver section of tubing. He said the general suffered from vertigo -now and then. Really he himself carried that restorative for the benefit -of Miss de Bailly. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens asked himself why the devil the sight of that smelling-salts -container reminded him of the brass handle of the bedroom door moving -almost imperceptibly . . . and incredibly. It was, of course, because -Sylvia had on her illuminated dressing-table, reflected by the glass, -just such another smooth, silver segment of tubing. . . . Was everything -he saw going to remind him of the minute movement of that handle? -</p> - -<p> -"You can do what you please," the sergeant-cook said, "but there will -always be one piece of clothing in a locker for a G.O.C.I.C.'s -inspection. And the general always walks straight up to that locker and -has it opened. I've seen General Campion do it three times." -</p> - -<p> -"If there's any found this time, the man it belongs to goes for a -D.C.M.," Tietjens said. "See that there's a clean diet-sheet on the -messing board." -</p> - -<p> -"The generals really like to find dirty clothing," the sergeant-cook -said; "it gives them something to talk about if they don't know anything -else about cook-houses. . . . I'll put up my own diet-sheet, sir. . . . -I suppose you can keep the general back for twenty minutes or so? It's -all I ask." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said towards his rolling, departing back: -</p> - -<p> -"That's a damn smart man. Fancy being as confident as that about an -inspection. . . . Ugh! . . ." and Levin shuddered in remembrance of -inspections through which in his time he had passed. -</p> - -<p> -"He's a damn smart man!" Tietjens said. He added to McKechnie: -</p> - -<p> -"You might take a look at dinners in case the general takes it into his -head to go round them." -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said darkly: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, Tietjens, are you in command of this unit or am I?" -</p> - -<p> -Levin exclaimed sharply, for him: -</p> - -<p> -"What's that? What the . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Captain McKechnie complains that he is the senior officer and should -command this unit." -</p> - -<p> -Levin ejaculated: -</p> - -<p> -"Of all the . . ." He addressed McKechnie with vigour: "My man, the -command of these units is an appointment at disposition of headquarters. -Don't let there be any mistake about that!" -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie said doggedly: -</p> - -<p> -"Captain Tietjens asked me to take the battalion this morning. I -understood he was under . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"You," Levin said, "are attached to this unit for discipline and -rations. You damn well understand that if some uncle or other of yours -were not, to the general's knowledge, a protégé of Captain Tietjens', -you'd be in a lunatic asylum at this moment. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie's face worked convulsively, he swallowed as men are said to -swallow who suffer from hydrophobia. He lifted his fist and cried out: -</p> - -<p> -"My un . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"If you say another word you go under medical care the moment it's said. -I've the order in my pocket. Now, fall out. At the double!" -</p> - -<p> -McKechnie wavered on the way to the door. Levin added: -</p> - -<p> -"You can take your choice of going up the line to-night. Or a court of -inquiry for obtaining divorce leave and then not getting a divorce. Or -the other thing. And you can thank Captain Tietjens for the clemency the -general has shown you!" -</p> - -<p> -The hut now reeling a little, Tietjens put the opened smelling bottle to -his nostrils. At the sharp pang of the odour the hut came to attention. -He said: -</p> - -<p> -"We can't keep the general waiting." -</p> - -<p> -"He told me," Levin said, "to give you ten minutes. He's sitting in your -hut. He's tired. This affair has worried him dreadfully. O'Hara is the -first C.O. he ever served under. A useful man, too, at his job." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens leaned against his dressing-table of meat-cases. -</p> - -<p> -"You told that fellow McKechnie off, all right," he said. "I did not -know you had it in you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," Levin said, "it's just being with <i>him</i>. . . . I get his manner -and it does all right. . . . Of course I don't often hear him have to -strafe anybody in that manner. There's nobody really to stand up to him. -Naturally. . . . But just this morning I was in his cabinet doing -private secretary, and he was talking to Pe . . . Talking while he -shaved. And he said exactly that: You can take your choice of going up -the line to-night or a court martial! . . . So naturally I said as near -the same as I could to your little friend. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"We'd better go now." -</p> - -<p> -In the winter sunlight Levin tucked his arm under Tietjens', leaning -towards him gaily and not hurrying. The display was insufferable to -Tietjens, but he recognized that it was indispensable. The bright day -seemed full of things with hard edges—a rather cruel -definiteness. . . . Liver! . . . -</p> - -<p> -The little depot adjutant passed them going very fast, as if before a -wind. Levin just waved his hand in acknowledgment of his salute and went -on, being enraptured in Tietjens' conversation. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"You and . . . and Mrs. Tietjens are dining at the general's to-night. -To meet the G.O.C.I.C. Western Division. And General O'Hara. . . . We -understand that you have definitely separated from Mrs. Tietjens. . . ." -Tietjens forced his left arm to violence to restrain it from tearing -itself from the colonel's grasp. -</p> - -<p> -His mind had become a coffin-headed, leather-jawed charger, like -Schomburg. Sitting on his mind was like sitting on Schomburg at a dull -water-jump. His lips said: "Bub-bub-bub-bub!" He could not feel his -hands. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"I recognize the necessity. If the general sees it in that way. I saw it -in another way myself." His voice was intensely weary. "No doubt," he -said, "the general knows best!" -</p> - -<p> -Levin's face exhibited real enthusiasm. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"You decent fellow! You awfully decent fellow! We're all in the same -boat. . . . Now, will you tell me? For <i>him</i>. Was O'Hara drunk last -night or wasn't he?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I think he was not drunk when he burst into the room with Major -Perowne. . . . I've been thinking about it! I think he became drunk. . . . -When I first requested and then ordered him to leave the room he leant -against the doorpost. ... He was certainly then—in disorder! . . . I -then told him that I should order him under arrest, if he didn't go. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Mm! Mm! Mm!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It was my obvious duty. . . . I assure you that I was perfectly -collected. . . . I beg to assure you that I was perfectly collected. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: "I am not questioning the correctness. . . . But . . . we -are all one family. . . . I admit the atrocious . . . the unbearable -nature. . . . But you understand that O'Hara had the right to enter your -room. . . . As P.M.! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I am not questioning that it was his right. I was assuring you that I -was perfectly collected because the general had honoured me by asking my -opinion on the condition of General O'Hara. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -They had by now walked far beyond the line leading to Tietjens' office -and, close together, were looking down upon the great tapestry of the -French landscape. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>He</i>," Levin said, "is anxious for your opinion. It really amounts to -as to whether O'Hara drinks too much to continue in his job! . . . And -he says he will take your word. . . . You could not have a greater -testimonial. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"He could not," Tietjens said studiedly, "do anything less. Knowing me." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Good heavens, old man, you rub it in!" He added quickly: "He wishes me -to dispose of this side of the matter. He will take my word and yours. -You will forgive . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The mind of Tietjens had completely failed: the Seine below looked -like an S on fire in an opal. He said: "Eh?" And then: "Oh, yes! I -forgive. . . . It's painful. . . . You probably don't know what you are -doing." -</p> - -<p> -He broke off suddenly: -</p> - -<p> -"By God! . . . Were the Canadian Railway Service to go with my draft? -They were detailed to mend the line here to-day. Also to go . . . I kept -them back. . . . Both orders were dated the same day and hour. I could -not get on to headquarters either from the hotel or from here. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that's all right. He'll be immensely pleased. He's going to speak -to you about <i>that</i>!" Tietjens gave an immense sigh of relief. -</p> - -<p> -"I remembered that my orders were conflicting just before. . . . It was -a terrible shock to remember. . . . If I sent them up in the lorries, -the repairs to the railway might be delayed. . . . If I didn't, you -might get strafed to hell. . . . It was an intolerable worry. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"You remember it just as you saw the handle of your door moving. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said from a sort of a mist: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes. You know how beastly it is when you suddenly remember you have -forgotten something in orders. As if the pit of your stomach had . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"All I ever thought about if I'd forgotten anything was what would be a -good excuse to put up to the adjutant . . . When I was a regimental -officer . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly Tietjens said insistently: -</p> - -<p> -"How did you know that? . . . About the door handle? Sylvia could not -have seen it. . . ." He added: "And she could not have known what I was -thinking. . . . She had her back to the door. . . . And to me. . . . -Looking at me in the glass. . . . She was not even aware of what had -happened. . . . So she could not have seen the handle move!" -</p> - -<p> -Levin hesitated: -</p> - -<p> -"I . . ." he said. "Perhaps I ought not to have said that. . . . You've -told us. . . . That is to say, you've told . . ." He was pale in the -sunlight. He said: "Old man . . . Perhaps you don't know. . . . Didn't -you perhaps ever, in your childhood? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well . . . what is it?" -</p> - -<p> -"That you talk . . . when you're sleeping!" Levin said. -</p> - -<p> -Astonishingly, Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"What of that? . . . It's nothing to write home about! With the overwork -I've had and the sleeplessness. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said, with a pathetic appeal to Tietjens' omniscience: -</p> - -<p> -"But doesn't it mean . . . We used to say when we were boys . . . that -if you talk in your sleep . . . you're . . . in fact a bit dotty?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said without passion: -</p> - -<p> -"Not necessarily. It means that one has been under mental pressure, but -all mental pressure does not drive you over the edge. Not by any -means. . . . Besides, what does it matter?" -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"You mean you don't care. . . . Good God!" He remained looking at the -view, drooping, in intense dejection. He said: "This <i>beastly</i> war! -This <i>beastly</i> war! . . . Look at all that view. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It's an encouraging spectacle, really. The beastliness of human nature -is always pretty normal. We lie and betray and are wanting in -imagination and deceive ourselves, always, at about the same rate. In -peace and in war! But, somewhere in that view there are enormous bodies -of men. . . . If you got a still more extended range of view over this -whole front you'd have still more enormous bodies of men. . . . Seven to -ten million. . . . All moving towards places towards which they -desperately don't want to go. Desperately! Every one of them is -desperately afraid. But they go on. An immense blind will forces them in -the effort to consummate the one decent action that humanity has to its -credit in the whole of recorded history. The one we are engaged in. That -effort is the one certain creditable fact in all their lives. . . . But -the <i>other</i> lives of all those men are dirty, potty and discreditable -little affairs. . . . Like yours. . . . Like mine. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Just heavens! <i>What</i> a pessimist you are!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: "Can't you see that is optimism?" -</p> - -<p> -"But," Levin said, "we're being beaten out of the field. . . . You don't -know how desperate things are." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I know pretty well. As soon as this weather really breaks we're -probably done." -</p> - -<p> -"We can't," Levin said, "possibly hold them. Not possibly." -</p> - -<p> -"But success or failure," Tietjens said, "have nothing to do with the -credit of a story. And a consideration of the virtues of humanity does -not omit the other side. If we lose they win. If success is necessary to -your idea of virtue—<i>virtus</i>—they then provide the -success instead of ourselves. But the thing is to be able to stick to -the integrity of your character, whatever earthquake sets the house -tumbling over your head. . . . That, thank God, we're doing. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know. ... If you knew what is going on at home . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I know. . . . I know that ground as I know the palm of my hand. I -could invent that life if I knew nothing at all about the facts." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"I believe you could." He added: "Of course you could. . . . And yet the -only use we can make of you is to martyrize you because two drunken -brutes break into your wife's bedroom. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"You betray your non-Anglo-Saxon origin by being so vocal. . . . And by -your illuminative exaggerations!" -</p> - -<p> -Levin suddenly exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"What the devil were we talking about?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said grimly: -</p> - -<p> -"I am here at the disposal of the competent military -authority—You!—that is inquiring into my antecedents. I am -ready to go on belching platitudes till you stop me." -</p> - -<p> -Levin answered: -</p> - -<p> -"For goodness' sake help me. This is horribly painful. <i>He</i>—the -general—has given me the job of finding out what happened last night. -He won't face it himself. He's attached to you both." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It's asking too much to ask me to help you. . . . What did I say in my -sleep? What has Mrs. Tietjens told the general?" -</p> - -<p> -"The general," Levin said, "has not seen Mrs. Tietjens. He could not -trust himself. He knew she would twist him round her little finger." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"He's beginning to learn. He was sixty last July, but he's beginning." -</p> - -<p> -"So that," Levin said, "what we do know we learnt in the way I have told -you. And from O'Hara of course. The general would not let Pe . . ., the -other fellow, speak a word, while he was shaving. He just said: 'I won't -hear you. I won't hear you. You can take your choice of going up the -line as soon as there are trains running or being broke on my personal -application to the King in Council." -</p> - -<p> -"I didn't know," Tietjens said, "that he could talk as straight as -that." -</p> - -<p> -"He's dreadfully hard hit," Levin answered; "if you and Mrs. Tietjens -separate—and still more if there's anything real against either of -you—it's going to shatter all his illusions. And . . ." He paused: -"Do you know Major Thurston? A gunner? Attached to our anti-aircraft -crowd? . . . The general is very thick with him. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"He's one of the Thurstons of Lobden Moorside. . . . I don't know him -personally. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"He's upset the general a good deal. . . . With something he told -him. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God!" And then: "He can't have told the general anything against -me. . . . Then it must be against . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you want the general always to be told things against you in -contradistinction to things about . . . another person." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"We shall be keeping the fellows in my cook-house a confoundedly long -time waiting for inspections. . . . I'm in your hands as regards the -general. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"The general's in your hut: thankful to goodness to be alone. He never -is. He said he was going to write a private memorandum for the Secretary -of State, and I could keep you any time I liked as long as I got -everything out of you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Did what Major Thurston allege take place . . . Thurston has lived most -of his life in France. . . . But you had better not tell me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"He's our anti-craft liaison officer with the French civilian -authorities. Those sort of fellows generally have lived in France a good -deal. A very decentish, quiet man. He plays chess with the general and -they talk over the chess. . . . But the general is going to talk about -what he said to you himself. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God! ... He going to talk as well as you. . . . You'd say the -coils were closing in. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"We can't go on like this. . . . It's my own fault for not being more -direct. But this can't last all day. We could neither of us stand it. . . . -I'm pretty nearly done. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Where <i>did</i> your father come from, really? Not from Frankfurt? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Constantinople. . . . His father was financial agent to the Sultan; my -father was his son by an Armenian presented to him by the Selamlik along -with the Order of the Medjidje, first class." -</p> - -<p> -"It accounts for your very decent manner, and for your common sense. If -you had been English I should have broken your neck before now." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you! I hope I always behave like an English gentleman. But I am -going to be brutally direct now. . . ." He went on: "The really queer -thing is that you should always address Miss Wannop in the language of -the Victorian <i>Correct Letter-Writer</i>. You must excuse my mentioning -the name: it shortens things. You said 'Miss Wannop' every two or three -half-minutes. It convinced the general more than any possible assertions -that your relations were perfectly . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens, his eyes shut, said: -</p> - -<p> -"I talked to Miss Wannop in my sleep. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin, who was shaking a little, said: -</p> - -<p> -"It was very queer. . . . Almost ghostlike. . . . There you sat, your -arms on the table. Talking away. You appeared to be writing a letter to -her. And the sunlight streaming in at the hut. I was going to wake you, -but he stopped me. He took the view that he was on detective work, and -that he might as well detect He had got it into his mind that you were a -Socialist." -</p> - -<p> -"He would," Tietjens commented. "Didn't I tell you he was beginning to -learn things? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"But you aren't a So . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, if your father came from Constantinople and his mother was a -Georgian, it accounts for your attractiveness. You <i>are</i> a most -handsome fellow. And intelligent. . . . If the general has put you on to -inquire whether I am a Socialist I will answer your questions." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"No. . . . That's one of the questions he's reserving for himself to -ask. It appears that if you answer that you are a Socialist he intends -to cut you out of his will. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"His will! . . . Oh, yes, of course, he might very well leave me -something. But doesn't that supply rather a motive for me to say that I -<i>am</i>? I don't want his money." -</p> - -<p> -Levin positively jumped a step backwards. Money, and particularly money -that came by way of inheritance, being one of the sacred things of life -for him, he exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't see that you <i>can</i> joke about such a subject!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens answered good-humouredly: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you don't expect me to play up to the old gentleman in order to -get his poor old shekels." He added "Hadn't we better get it over?" -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"You've got hold of yourself?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens answered: -</p> - -<p> -"Pretty well. . . . You'll excuse my having been emotional so far. You -aren't English, so it won't have embarrassed you." -</p> - -<p> -Levin exclaimed in an outraged manner: -</p> - -<p> -"Hang it, I'm English to the backbone! What's the matter with me?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing. . . . Nothing in the world. That's just what makes you -un-English. We're all . . . well, it doesn't matter what's wrong with -<i>us</i>. . . . What did you gather about my relations with Miss Wannop?" -</p> - -<p> -The question was so unemotionally put and Levin was still so concerned -as to his origins that he did not at first grasp what Tietjens had said. -He began to protest that he had been educated at Winchester and -Magdalen. Then he exclaimed, "<i>Oh</i>!" And took time for reflection. -</p> - -<p> -"If," he said finally, "the general had not let out that she was young -and attractive . . . at least, I suppose attractive . . . I should have -thought that you regarded her as an old maid. . . . You know, of course, -that it came to me as a shock, the thought that there was anyone. . . . -That you had allowed yourself . . . Anyhow . . . I suppose I'm -simple. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"What did the general gather?" -</p> - -<p> -"He . . ." Levin said, "he stood over you with his head held to one -side, looking rather cunning . . . like a magpie listening at a hole -it's dropped a nut into. . . . First he looked disappointed: then quite -glad. A simple kind of gladness. Just glad, you know. . . . When we got -outside the hut he said 'I suppose in <i>vino veritas</i>,' and then he -asked me the Latin for 'sleep' . . . But I had forgotten it too. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"What did I say?" -</p> - -<p> -"It's . . ." Levin hesitated, "extraordinarily difficult to say what you -<i>did</i> say. . . . I don't profess to remember long speeches to the -letter. . . . Naturally it was a good deal broken up. . . . I tell you, -you were talking to a young lady about matters you don't generally talk -to young ladies about. . . . And obviously you were trying to let -your . . . Mrs. Tietjens, down easily. . . . You were trying to explain -also why you had definitely decided to separate from Mrs. Tietjens. . . . -And you took it that the young lady might be troubled ... at the -separation. . . ." - - -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said carelessly: -</p> - -<p> -"This is rather painful. Perhaps you would let me tell you exactly what -<i>did</i> happen last night. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"If you only would!" He added rather diffidently: "If you would not mind -remembering that I am a military court of inquiry. It makes it easier -for me to report to the general if you say things dully and in the order -they happened." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you . . ." and after a short interval, "I retired to rest with my -wife last night at. . . . I cannot say the hour exactly. Say half-past -one. I reached this camp at half-past four, taking rather over half an -hour to walk. What happened, as I am about to relate, took place -therefore before four." -</p> - -<p> -"The hour," Levin said, "is not material. We know the incident occurred -in the small hours. General O'Hara made his complaint to me at -three-thirty-five. He probably took five minutes to reach my quarters." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens asked: -</p> - -<p> -"The exact charge was . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"The complaints," Levin answered, "were very numerous indeed. . . . I -could not catch them all. The succinct charge was at first being drunk -and striking a superior officer, then merely that of conduct prejudicial -in that you struck . . . There is also a subsidiary charge of conduct -prejudicial in that you improperly marked a charge-sheet in your orderly -room. . . . I did not catch what all that was about. . . . You appear to -have had a quarrel with him about his red-caps. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"That," Tietjens said, "is what it is really all about." He asked: "The -officer I was said to have struck was . . .?" -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Perowne . . ." dryly. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"You are sure it was not himself. I am prepared to plead guilty to -striking General O'Hara." -</p> - -<p> -"It is not," Levin said, "a question of pleading guilty. There is no -charge to that effect against you, and you are perfectly aware that you -are not under arrest. . . . An order to perform any duty after you have -been placed under arrest in itself releases you and dissolves the -arrest." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said coolly: -</p> - -<p> -"I am perfectly aware of that. And that was General Campion's -intention in ordering me to accompany him round my cook-houses. . . . -But I doubt. . . . I put it to you for your serious attention whether -that is the best way to hush this matter up. . . . I think it would be -more expedient that I should plead guilty to a charge of striking -General O'Hara. And naturally to being drunk. An officer does not strike -a general when he is sober. That would be a quite inconspicuous affair. -Subordinate officers are broken every day for being drunk." -</p> - -<p> -Levin had said "Wait a minute," twice. He now exclaimed with a certain -horror: -</p> - -<p> -"Your mania for sacrificing yourself makes you lose all . . . all sense -of proportion. You forget that General Campion is a gentleman. Things -cannot be done in a hole-and-corner manner in this command. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"They're done unbearably. . . . It would be nothing to me to be broke -for being drunk, but raking up all this is hell." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"The general is anxious to know exactly what has happened. You will -kindly accept an order to relate exactly what happened." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"That is what is perfectly damnable. . . ." He remained silent for -nearly a minute, Levin slapping his leggings with his riding-crop in a -nervously passionate rhythm. Tietjens stiffened himself and began: -</p> - -<p> -"General O'Hara came to my wife's room and burst in the door. I was -there. I took him to be drunk. But from what he exclaimed I have since -imagined that he was not so much drunk as misled. There was another man -lying in the corridor where I had thrown him. General O'Hara exclaimed -that this was Major Perowne. I had not realised that this was Major -Perowne. I do not know Major Perowne very well and he was not in -uniform. I had imagined him to be a French waiter coming to call me to -the telephone. I had seen only his face round the door: he was looking -round the door. My wife was in a state . . . bordering on nudity. I had -put my hand under his chin and thrown him through the doorway. I am -physically very strong and I exercised all my strength. I am aware of -that. I was excited, but not more excited than the circumstances seemed -to call for. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"But . . . At three in the morning! The telephone!" -</p> - -<p> -"I was ringing up my headquarters and yours. All through the night. The -O.I.C. draft, Lieutenant Cowley, was also ringing me up. I was anxious -to know what was to be done about the Canadian railway men. I had three -times been called to the telephone since I had been in Mrs. Tietjens' -room, and once an orderly had come down from the camp. I was also -conducting a very difficult conversation with my wife as to the disposal -of my family's estates, which are large, so that the details were -complicated. I occupied the room next door to Mrs. Tietjens and till -that moment, the communicating door between the rooms being open, I had -heard when a waiter or an orderly had knocked at my own door in the -corridor. The night porter of the hotel was a dark, untidy, surly sort -of fellow. . . . Not unlike Perowne." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Is it necessary to go into all this? We . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"If I am to make a statement it seems necessary. I would prefer you to -question me . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"Please go on. . . . We accept the statement that Major Perowne was not -in uniform. He states that he was in his pyjamas and dressing-gown. -Looking for the bathroom." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: "Ah!" and stood reflecting. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"May I hear the . . . the purport of Major Perowne's statement?" -</p> - -<p> -"He states," Levin said, "what I have just said. He was looking for the -bathroom. He had not slept in the hotel before. He opened a door and -looked round it, and was immediately thrown with great violence down -into the passage with his head against the wall. He says that this dazed -him so that, not really appreciating what had happened, he shouted -various accusations against the person who had assaulted him. . . . -General O'Hara then came out of his room. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"What accusations did Major Perowne shout?" -</p> - -<p> -"He doesn't. . . ." Levin hesitated, "eh! . . . elaborate them in his -statement." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It is, I imagine, material that I should know what they are. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know that. . . . If you'll forgive me . . . Major Perowne came -to see me, reaching me half an hour after General O'Hara. He was very . . . -extremely nervous and concerned. I am bound to say . . . for Mrs. -Tietjens. . . . And also very concerned to spare yourself! . . . It -appears that he had shouted out just anything. . . . As it might be -'Thieves!' or 'Fire!' . . . But when General O'Hara came out he told -him, being out of himself, that he had been invited to your wife's room, -and that . . . Oh, excuse me. . . . I'm under great obligations to -you . . . the very greatest . . . that you had attempted to blackmail him!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"You understand," Levin said, and he was pleading, "that is what he -said to General O'Hara in the corridor. He even confessed it was -madness. . . . He did not maintain the accusation to me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Not that Mrs. Tietjens had given him leave? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said with tears in his eyes: -</p> - -<p> -"I'll not go on with this. . . . I will rather resign my commission than -go on tormenting you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"You can't resign your commission," Tietjens said. -</p> - -<p> -"I can resign my appointment," Levin answered. He went on sniffling: -"This beastly war! . . . This beastly war! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"If what is distressing you is having to tell me that you believe Major -Perowne came with my wife's permission I know it's true. It's also true -that my wife expected me to be there. She wanted some fun: not adultery. -But I am also aware—as Major Thurston appears to have told General -Campion—that Mrs. Tietjens was with Major Perowne. In France. At a -place called Yssingueux-les-Pervenches. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"That wasn't the name," Levin blubbered. "It was Saint . . . Saint . . . -Saint something. In the Cevennes. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Don't, there! . . . Don't distress yourself. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"But I'm . . ." Levin went on, "under great obligations to you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I'd better," Tietjens said, "finish this matter myself." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"It will break the general's heart. He believes so absolutely in Mrs. -Tietjens. Who wouldn't? . . . How the devil could you guess what Major -Thurston told him?" -</p> - -<p> -"He's the sort of brown, trustworthy man who always does know that sort -of thing," Tietjens answered. "As for the general's belief in Mrs. -Tietjens, he's perfectly justified. . . . Only there will be no more -parades. Sooner or later it has to come to that for us all. . . ." He added -with a little bitterness: "Only not for you. Being a Turk or a Jew you -are a simple, Oriental, monogamous, faithful soul. . . ." He added -again: "I hope to goodness the sergeant-cook has the sense not to keep -the men's dinners back for the general's inspection. . . . But of course -he will not. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Levin said: -</p> - -<p> -"What in the world would that matter?" fiercely. "He keeps men waiting -as much as three hours. On parade." -</p> - -<p> -"Of course," Tietjens said, "if that is what Major Perowne told General -O'Hara it removes a good deal of my suspicions of the latter's sobriety. -Try to get the position. General O'Hara positively burst in the little -sneck of the door that I had put down and came in shouting: 'Where is -the —— blackmailer?' And it was a full three minutes before I -could get rid of him. I had had the presence of mind to switch off the -light and he persisted in asking for another look at Mrs. Tietjens. You -see, if you consider it, he is a very heavy sleeper. He is suddenly -awakened after, no doubt, not a few pegs. He hears Major Perowne shouting -about blackmail and thieves. . . . I dare say this town has its quota of -blackmailers. O'Hara might well be anxious to catch one in the act. He -hates me, anyhow, because of his Red Caps. I'm a shabby-looking chap he -doesn't know much about. Perowne passes for being a millionaire. I dare -say he is: he's said to be very stingy. That would be how he got hold of -the idea of blackmail and hypnotised the general with it. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He went on again: -</p> - -<p> -"But I wasn't to know that. ... I had shut the door on Perowne and -didn't even know he was Perowne. I really thought he was the night -porter coming to call me to the telephone. I only saw a roaring satyr. -I mean that was what I thought O'Hara was. . . . And I assure you I kept -my head. . . . When he persisted in leaning against the doorpost and -asking for another look at Mrs. Tietjens, he kept on saying: 'The woman' -and 'The hussy.' Not 'Mrs. Tietjens.' . . . I thought then that there -was something queer. I said: 'This is my wife's room,' several times. He -said something to the effect of how could he know she was my wife, -and . . . that she had made eyes at himself in the lounge, so it might have -been himself as well as Perowne. . . . I dare say he had got it into his -head that I had imported some tart to blackmail someone. . . . But you -know. . . . I grew exhausted after a time. . . . I saw outside in the -corridor one of the little subalterns he has on his staff, and I said: -'If you do not take General O'Hara away I shall order you to put him -under arrest for drunkenness.' That seemed to drive the general crazy. I -had gone closer to him, being determined to push him out of the door, -and he decidedly smelt of whisky. Strongly. . . . But I dare say he was -thinking himself outraged, really. And perhaps also coming to his -senses. As there was nothing else for it I pushed him gently out of the -room. In going he shouted that I was to consider myself under arrest. I -so considered myself. . . . That is to say that, as soon as I had -settled certain details with Mrs. Tietjens, I walked up to the camp, -which I took to be my quarters, though I am actually under the M.O.'s -orders to reside in this hotel owing to the state of my lungs. I saw the -draft off, that not necessitating my giving any orders. I went to my -sleeping quarters, it being then about six-thirty, and towards seven -awakened McKechnie, whom I asked to take my adjutant's and battalion -parade and orderly-room. I had breakfast in my hut, and then went into -my private office to await developments. I think I have now told you -everything material. . . ." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II_III">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - -<p> -General Lord Edward Campion, G.C.B., K.C. M.G., (military), D.S.O., -etc., sat, radiating glory and composing a confidential memorandum to -the Secretary of State for War, on a bully-beef case, leaning forward -over a military blanket that covered a deal table. He was for the moment -in high good humour on the surface, though his subordinate minds were -puzzled and depressed. At the end of each sentence that he wrote—and -he wrote with increasing satisfaction!—a mind that he was not using -said: "What the devil am I going to do with that fellow?" Or: "How the -devil is that girl's name to be kept out of this mess?" -</p> - -<p> -Having been asked to write a confidential memorandum for the information -of the home authorities as to what, in his opinion, was the cause of the -French railway strike, he had hit on the ingenious device of reporting -what was the opinion of the greater part of the forces under his -command. This was a dangerous line to take, for he might well come into -conflict with the home Government. But he was pretty certain that any -inquiries that the home Government could cause to be made amongst the -local civilian population would confirm what he was writing—which he -was careful to state was not to be taken as a communication of his own -opinion. In addition, he did not care what the Government did to him. -</p> - -<p> -He was satisfied with his military career. In the early part of the war, -after materially helping mobilisation, he had served with great -distinction in the East, in command mostly of mounted infantry. He had -subsequently so distinguished himself in the organising and transporting -of troops coming and going overseas that, on the part of the lines of -communication where he now commanded becoming of great importance, he -knew that he had seemed the only general that could be given that -command. It had become of enormous importance—these were open -secrets!—because, owing to divided opinions in the Cabinet, it -might at any moment be decided to move the bulk of H.M. Forces to -somewhere in the East. The idea underlying this—as General Campion -saw it—had at least some relation to the necessities of the -British Empire and strategy embracing world politics as well as military -movements—a fact which is often forgotten—there was this -much to be said for it: The preponderance of British Imperial interests -might be advanced as lying in the Middle and Far Easts—to the -east, that is to say, of Constantinople. This might be denied, but it -was a feasible proposition. The present operations on the Western front, -arduous, and even creditable, as they might have been until relatively -lately, were very remote from our Far-Eastern possessions and mitigated -from, rather than added to, our prestige. In addition, the unfortunate -display in front of Constantinople in the beginning of the war had -almost eliminated our prestige with the Mohammedan races. Thus a -demonstration in enormous force in any region between European Turkey -and the north-western frontiers of India might point out to Mohammedans, -Hindus, and other Eastern races, what overwhelming forces Great Britain, -were she so minded, could put into the field. It is true that would mean -the certain loss of the war on the Western front, with corresponding -loss of prestige in the West. But the wiping out of the French republic -would convey little to the Eastern races, whereas we could no doubt make -terms with the enemy nations, as a price for abandoning our allies that -might well leave the Empire, not only intact, but actually increased in -colonial extent, since it was unlikely that the enemy empires would wish -to be burdened with colonies for some time. - -</p> - -<p> -General Campion was not overpoweringly sentimental over the idea of the -abandonment of our allies. They had won his respect as fighting -organisations and that, to the professional soldier, is a great deal; but -still he <i>was</i> a professional soldier, and the prospect of widening -the bounds of the British Empire could not be contemptuously dismissed -at the price of rather sentimental dishonour. Such bargains had been -struck before during wars involving many nations, and doubtless such -bargains would be struck again. In addition, votes might be gained by -the Government from the small but relatively noisy and menacing part of -the British population that favoured the enemy nations. -</p> - -<p> -But when it came to tactics—which it should be remembered concerns -itself with the movement of troops actually in contact with enemy -forces—General Campion had no doubt that plan was the conception -of the brain of a madman. The dishonour of such a proceeding must of -course be considered—and its impracticability was hopeless. The -dreadful nature of what would be our debacle did we attempt to evacuate -the Western front might well be unknown to, or might be deliberately -ignored by, the civilian mind. But the general could almost see the -horrors as a picture—and, professional soldier as he was, his mind -shuddered at the picture. They had by now in the country enormous bodies -of troops who had hitherto not come into contact with the enemy forces. -Did they attempt to withdraw these in the first place the native -population would at once turn from a friendly into a bitterly hostile -factor, and moving troops through hostile country is to the <i>n</i>th -power a more lengthy matter than moving them through territory where the -native populations lend a helping hand, or are at least not obstructive. -They had in addition this enormous force to ration, and they would -doubtless have to supply them with ammunition on the almost certain -breaking through of the enemy forces. It would be impossible to do this -without the use of the local railways—and the use of these would at -once be prohibited. If, on the other hand, they attempted to begin the -evacuation by shortening the front, the operation would be very -difficult with troops who, by now, were almost solely men trained only -in trench warfare, with officers totally unused to that keeping up of -communications between units which is the life and breath of a -retreating army. Training, in fact, in that element had been almost -abandoned in the training camps where instruction was almost limited to -bomb-throwing, the use of machine-guns, and other departments which had -been forced on the War Office by eloquent civilians—to the almost -complete neglect of the rifle. Thus at the mere hint of a retreat the -enemy forces must break through and come upon the vast, unorganised, or -semi-organised bodies of troops in the rear. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The temptation for the professional soldier was to regard such a state -of things with equanimity. Generals have not infrequently enormously -distinguished themselves by holding up retreats from the rear when -vanguard commanders have disastrously failed. But General Campion -resisted the temptation of even hoping that this chance of -distinguishing himself might offer itself. He could not contemplate with -equanimity the slaughter of great bodies of men under his command, and -not even a successful retreating action of that description could be -carried out without horrible slaughter. And he would have little hope of -conducting necessarily delicate and very hurried movements with an army -that, except for its rough training in trench warfare, was practically -civilian in texture. So that although, naturally, he had made his plans -for such an eventuality, having indeed in his private quarters four -enormous paper-covered blackboards upon which he had changed daily the -names of units according as they passed from his hands or came into them -and became available, he prayed specifically every night before retiring -to bed that the task might not be cast upon his shoulders. He prized -very much his universal popularity in his command, and he could not bear -to think of how the eyes of the Army would regard him as he put upon -them a strain so appalling and such unbearable sufferings. He had, -moreover, put that aspect of the matter very strongly in a memorandum -that he had prepared in answer to a request from the home Government for -a scheme by which an evacuation might be effected. But he considered -that the civilian element in the Government was so entirely indifferent -to the sufferings of the men engaged in these operations, and was so -completely ignorant of what are military exigencies, that the words he -had devoted to that department of the subject were merely wasted. . . . -</p> - -<p> -So everything pushed him into writing confidentially to the Secretary of -State for War a communication that he knew must be singularly -distasteful to a number of the gentlemen who would peruse it. He -chuckled indeed as he wrote, the open door behind him and the sunlight -pouring in on his radiant figure. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Sit down, Tietjens. Levin, I shall not want you for ten minutes," -without raising his head, and went on writing. It annoyed him that, from -the corner of his eye, he could see that Tietjens was still standing, -and he said rather irritably: "Sit down, sit down. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He wrote: -</p> - -<p> -"It is pretty generally held here by the native population that the -present very serious derangement of traffic, if not actively promoted, -is at least winked at by the Government of this country. It is, that is -to say, intended to give us a taste of what would happen if I took any -measures here for returning any large body of men to the home country or -elsewhere, and it is said also to be a demonstration in favour of a -single command—a measure which is here regarded by a great weight of -instructed opinion as indispensable to the speedy and successful -conclusion of hostilities. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general paused over that sentence. It came very near the quick. For -himself he was absolutely in favour of a single command, and in his -opinion, too, it was indispensable to any sort of conclusion of -hostilities at all. The whole of military history, in so far as it -concerned allied operations of any sort—from the campaigns of Xerxes -and operations during the wars of the Greeks and Romans, to the -campaigns of Marlborough and Napoleon and the Prussian operations of -1866 and 1870—pointed to the conclusion that a relatively small force -acting homogeneously was, to the <i>n</i>th power again, more effective -than vastly superior forces of allies acting only imperfectly in accord or -not in accord at all. Modern developments in arms had made no shade at -all of difference to strategy and had made differences merely of time -and numbers to tactics. To-day, as in the days of the Greek Wars of the -Allies, success depended on apt timing of the arrival of forces at given -points, and it made no difference whether your lethal weapons acted from -a distance of thirty miles or were held and operated by hand; whether -you dealt death from above or below the surface of the ground, through -the air by dropped missiles or by mephitic and torturing vapours. What -won combats, campaigns, and, in the end, wars, was the brain which timed -the arrival of forces at given points—and that must be one brain -which could command their presence at these points, not a half-dozen -authorities requesting each other to perform operations which might or -might not fall in with the ideas or the prejudices of any one or other -of the half-dozen. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Levin came in noiselessly, slid a memorandum slip on to the blanket -beside the paper on which the general was writing. The general read: <i>T. -agrees completely, sir, with your diagnosis of the facts, except that he -is much more ready to accept General O'H.'s acts as reasonable. He -places himself entirely in your hands</i>. -</p> - -<p> -The general heaved an immense sigh of relief. The sunlight streaming in -became very bright. He had had a real sinking at the heart when Tietjens -had boggled for a second over putting on his belt. An officer may not -demand or insist on a court martial. But he, Campion, could not in -decency have refused Tietjens his court martial if he stood out for it. -He had a right to clear his character publicly. It would have been -impossible to refuse him. Then the fat would have been in the fire. For, -knowing O'Hara through pretty nearly twenty-five years—or it must be -thirty!—of service Campion was pretty certain that O'Hara had made a -drunken beast of himself. Yet he was very attached to O'Hara—one of -the old type of rough-diamond generals who swore your head off, but were -damn capable men! . . . It was a tremendous relief. -</p> - -<p> -He said sharply: -</p> - -<p> -"Sit down, can't you, Tietjens! You irritate me by standing there!" He -said to himself: "An obstinate fellow. . . . Why, he's gone!" and his -mind and eyes being occupied by the sentence he had last written, the -sense of irritation remained with him. He re-read the closing clause: -". . . a single command—a measure which is here regarded by a great -weight of instructed opinion as indispensable to the speedy and successful -termination of hostilities. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He looked at this, whistling beneath his breath. It was pretty thick. He -was not asked for his opinion as to the single command: yet he decidedly -wanted to get in and was pretty well prepared to stand the consequences. -The consequences might be something pretty bad: he might be sent home. -That was quite possible. That, even, was better than what was happening -to poor Puffles, who was being starved of men. He had been at Sandhurst -with Puffles, and they had got their commissions on the same day to the -same regiment. A damn good soldier, but too hot-tempered. He was making -an extraordinarily good thing of it in spite of his shortage of men, -which was the talk of the army. But it must be damn agonizing for him, -and a very improper strain on his men. One day—as soon as the weather -broke—the enemy <i>must</i> break through. Then he, Puffles, would be -sent home. That was what the fellows at Westminster and in Downing Street -wanted. Puffles had been a great deal too free with his tongue. They -would not send him home before he had a disaster because, unless he were -in disgrace, he would be a thorn in their sides: whereas if he were -disgraced no one much would listen to him. It was smart practice. . . . -<i>Sharp</i> practice! -</p> - -<p> -He tossed the sheet on which he had been writing across the table and -said to Tietjens: -</p> - -<p> -"Look at that, will you?" In the centre of the hut Tietjens was sitting -bulkily on a bully-beef case that had been brought in ceremoniously by a -runner. "He <i>does</i> look beastly shabby," the general said. "There are -three . . . four grease stains on his tunic. He ought to get his hair -cut!" He added: "It's a perfectly damnable business. No one but this -fellow would have got into it. He's a firebrand. That's what he is. A -regular firebrand!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens' troubles had really shaken the general not a little. He was -left up in the air. He had lived the greater part of his life with his -sister, Lady Claudine Sandbach, and the greater part of the remainder of -his life at Groby, at any rate after he came home from India and during -the reign of Tietjens' father. He had idolized Tietjens' mother, who was -a saint! What indeed there had been of the idyllic in his life had -really all passed at Groby, if he came to think of it. India was not so -bad, but one had to be young to enjoy that. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, only the day before yesterday he had been thinking that if this -letter that he was thinking out did result in his being sent back, he -should propose to stand for the half of the Cleveland Parliamentary -Division in which Groby stood. What with the Groby influence and his -nephew's in the country districts, though Castlemaine had not much land -left up there, and with Sandbach's interest in the ironworking -districts, he would have an admirable chance of getting in. Then he -would make himself a thorn in the side of certain persons. -</p> - -<p> -He had thought of quartering himself on Groby. It would have been easy -to get Tietjens out of the army and they could all—he, Tietjens and -Sylvia—live together. It would have been his ideal of a home and of -an occupation. . . . -</p> - -<p> -For, of course, he was getting old for soldiering: unless he got a -fighting army there was not much more to it as a career for a man of -sixty. If he <i>did</i> get an army he was pretty certain of a peerage and -hefty political work could still be done in the Lords. He would have a -good claim on India and that meant dying a Field-Marshal. -</p> - -<p> -On the other hand, the only command that was at all likely to be -going—except for deaths, and the health rate amongst army commanders -was pretty high!—was poor Puffles'. And that would be no pleasant -command—with the men all hammered to pieces. He decided to put the -whole thing to Tietjens. Tietjens, like a meal-sack, was looking at him -over the draft of the letter that he had just finished reading. The -general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It's splendid, sir, to see you putting the matter so strongly. It must -be put strongly, or we're lost." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You think that?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sure of it, sir. . . . But unless you are prepared to throw up your -command and take to politics. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"You're a most extraordinary fellow. . . . That was exactly what I was -thinking about: this very minute." -</p> - -<p> -"It's not so extraordinary," Tietjens said. "A really active general -thinking as you do is very badly needed in the House. As your -brother-in-law is to have a peerage whenever he asks for it, West -Cleveland will be vacant at any moment, and with his influence and Lord -Castlemaine's—your nephew's not got much land, but the name is -immensely respected in the country districts. . . . And, of course, -using Groby for your headquarters. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"That's pretty well botched, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said without moving a muscle: -</p> - -<p> -"Why, no, sir. Sylvia is to have Groby and you would naturally make it -your headquarters. . . . You've still got your hunters there. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Sylvia is really to have Groby. . . . Good God!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"So it was no great conjuring trick, sir, to see that you might not -mind. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Upon my soul, I'd as soon give up my chance of heaven . . . no, not -heaven, but India, as give up Groby." -</p> - -<p> -"You've got," Tietjens said, "an admirable chance of India. . . . The -point is: which way? If they give you the sixteenth section. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I hate," the general said, "to think of waiting for poor Puffles' -shoes. I was at Sandhurst with him. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"It's a question, sir," Tietjens said, "of which is the best way. For -the country and yourself. I suppose if one were a general one would like -to have commanded an army on the Western front. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know. . . . It's the logical end of a career. . . . But I don't -feel that my career is ending. . . . I'm as sound as a roach. And in ten -years' time what difference will it make?" -</p> - -<p> -"One would like," Tietjens said, "to see you doing it. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"No one will know whether I commanded a fighting army or this damned -Whiteley's outfitting store. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I know that, sir. . . . But the sixteenth section will desperately need -a good man if General Perry is sent home. And particularly a general who -has the confidence of all ranks. . . . It will be a wonderful position. -You will have every man that's now on the Western front at your back -after the war. It's a certain peerage. . . . It's certainly a sounder -proposition than that of a free-lance—which is what you'd be—in -the House of Commons." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Then what am I to do with my letter? It's a damn good letter. I don't -like wasting letters." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"You want it to show through that you back the single command for all -you are worth, yet you don't want them to put their finger on your -definitely saying so yourself?" -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -". . . That's it. That's just what I do want. . . ." He added: "I -suppose you take my view of the whole matter. The Government's pretence -of evacuating the Western front in favour of the Middle East is probably -only a put-up job to frighten our Allies into giving up the single -command. Just as this railway strike is a counterdemonstration by way of -showing what would happen to us if we did begin to evacuate. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It looks like that. . . . I'm not, of course, in the confidence of the -Cabinet. I'm not even in contact with them as I used to be. . . . But I -should put it that the section of the Cabinet that is in favour of the -Eastern expedition is very small. It's said to be a one-man -party—with hangers-on—but arguing him out of it has caused -all this delay. That's how I see it." -</p> - -<p> -The general exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"But, good God! . . . How is such a thing possible? That man must walk -along his corridors with the blood of a million—I mean it, of a -million—men round his head. He could not stand up under it. . . . -That fellow is prolonging the war indefinitely by delaying us now. And men -being killed all the time! . . . I can't. . . ." He stood up and paced, -stamping up and down the hut. . . . "At Bonderstrom," he said, "I had -half a company wiped out under me. . . . By my own fault, I admit. I had -wrong information . . ." He stopped and said: "Good God! . . . Good -God! . . . I can see it now. . . . And it's unbearable! After eighteen -years. I was a brigadier then. It was your own regiment—the -Glamorganshires. . . . They were crowded into a little nullah and shelled -to extinction. . . . I could see it going on and we could not get on to the -Boer guns with ours to stop 'em. . . . That's hell," he said, "that's the -real hell. . . . I never inspected the Glamorganshires after that for the -whole war. I could not bear the thought of facing their eyes. . . . -Buller was the same. . . . Buller was worse than I. . . . He never held -up his head again after. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"If you would not mind, sir, not going on . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general stamped to a halt in his stride. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Eh? . . . What's that? What's the matter with you?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I had a man killed on me last night. In this very hut; where I'm -sitting is the exact spot. It makes me . . . It's a sort of . . . -Complex, they call it now. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God! I beg your pardon, my dear boy. . . . I ought not to have . . . -I have never behaved like that before another soul in the world. . . . -Not to Buller. . . . Not to Gatacre, and they were my closest -friends. . . . Even after Spion Kop I never. . . ." He broke off and said: -"But those old memories won't interest you. . . ." He said: "I've such an -absolute belief in your trustworthiness. I <i>know</i> you won't betray -what you've seen. . . . What I've just said. . . ." He paused and tried -to adopt the air of the listening magpie. He said: "I was called Butcher -Campion in South Africa, just as Gatacre was called Backacher. I don't -want to be called anything else because I've made an ass of myself -before you. . . . No, damn it all, not an ass. I was immensely attached -to your sainted mother. . . ." He said: "It's the proudest tribute any -commander of men can have. . . . To be called Butcher and have your men -follow you in spite of it. It shows confidence, and it gives you, as -commander, confidence! . . . One has to be prepared to lose men in -hundreds at the right minute in order to avoid losing them in tens of -thousands at the wrong! . . ." He said: "Successful military operations -consist not in taking or retaining positions, but in taking or retaining -them with a minimum sacrifice of effectives. . . . I wish to God you -civilians would get that into your heads. The men have it. They know -that I will use them ruthlessly—but that I will not waste one -life. . . ." He exclaimed: "Damn it, if I had ever thought I should have -such troubles, in your father's days . . .!" He said: "Let's get back to -what we were talking about . . . My memorandum to the secretary. . . ." -He burst out: "My God! . . . <i>What</i> can that fellow think when he -reads Shakespeare's <i>When all those heads, legs, arms, joined together -on the Last Day shall</i> . . . How does it run? Henry V's address to -his soldiers . . . <i>Every subject's body is the king's</i> . . . -<i>but every subject's soul is his own</i>. . . . <i>And there is no -king, be his cause ever so just</i>. . . . My God! My God! . . . <i>as -can try it out with all unspotted soldiers</i>. . . . Have you ever -thought of that?" - -</p> - -<p> -Alarm overcame Tietjens. The general was certainly in disorder. But over -what? There was not time to think. Campion was certainly dreadfully -overworked. . . . He exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Sir, hadn't you better! . . ." He said: "If we could get back to your -memorandum . . . I am quite prepared to write a report to the effect of -your sentence as to the French civilian population's attitude. That -would throw the onus on me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said agitatedly: -</p> - -<p> -"No! No! . . . You've got quite enough on your back as it is. Your -confidential report states that you are suspected of having too great -common interests with the French. That's what makes the whole position -so impossible. . . . I'll get Thurston to write something. He's a good -man, Thurston. Reliable. . . ." Tietjens shuddered a little. The general -went on astonishingly: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"'But at my back I always hear</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Time's winged chariot hurrying near:</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And yonder all before me lie</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Deserts of vast eternity!' . . .</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -That's a general's life in this accursed war. . . . You think all -generals are illiterate fools. But I have spent a great deal of time in -reading, though I never read anything written later than the seventeenth -century." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I know, sir. . . . You made me read Clarendon's <i>History of the Great -Rebellion</i> when I was twelve." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"In case we . . . I shouldn't like . . . In short . . ." He swallowed: -it was singular to see him swallow. He was lamentably thin when you -looked at the man and not the uniform. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens thought: -</p> - -<p> -"What's he nervous about? He's been nervous all the morning." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"I am trying to say—it's not much in my line—that in case we -never met again, I do not wish you to think me an ignoramus." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens thought: -</p> - -<p> -"He's not ill . . . and he can't think me so ill that I'm likely to -die. . . . A fellow like that doesn't really know how to express himself. -He's trying to be kind and he doesn't know how to. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general had paused. He began to say: -</p> - -<p> -"But there are finer things in Marvell than that. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens thought: -</p> - -<p> -"He's trying to gain time. . . . Why on earth should he? . . . What is -this all about?" His mind slipped a notch. The general was looking at -his finger-nails on the blanket. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"There's, for instance: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"'<i>The graves a fine and secret place</i></span><br /> -<span class="i2"><i>But none I think do there embrace</i>. . . .'"</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -At those words it came to Tietjens suddenly to think of Sylvia, with the -merest film of clothing on her long, shining limbs. . . . She was -working a powder-puff under her armpits in a brilliant illumination from -two electric lights, one on each side of her dressing-table. She was -looking at him in the glass with the corners of her lips just moving. A -little curled. . . . He said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"One is going to that fine and secret place. . . . Why not have?" She -had emanated a perfume founded on sandalwood. As she worked her -swansdown powder-puff over those intimate regions he could hear her -humming. Maliciously! It was then that he had observed the handle of -the door moving minutely. She had incredible arms, stretched out amongst -a wilderness of besilvered cosmetics. Extraordinarily lascivious! Yet -clean! Her gilded sheath gown was about her hips on the chair. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Well! She had pulled the strings of one too many shower-baths! -</p> - -<p> -Shining; radiating glory but still shrivelled so that he reminded -Tietjens of an old apple inside a damascened helmet; the general had -seated himself once more on the bully-beef case before the blanketed -table. He fingered his very large, golden fountain-pen. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Captain Tietjens, I should be glad of your careful attention!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Sir!" His heart stopped. -</p> - -<p> -The general said that afternoon Tietjens would receive a movement -order. He said stiffly that he must not regard this new movement order -as a disgrace. It was promotion. He, Major-General Campion, was -requesting the colonel commanding the depot to inscribe the highest -possible testimonial in his, Tietjens', small-book. He, Tietjens, had -exhibited the most extraordinary talent for finding solutions for -difficult problems.—The colonel was to write that!—In addition -he, General Campion, was requesting his friend, General Perry, commanding -the sixteenth section . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens thought: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God. I am being sent up the line. He's sending me to Perry's -Army. . . . That's certain death!" -</p> - -<p> -. . . To give Tietjens the appointment of second in command of the VIth -Battalion of his regiment! -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said, but he did not know where the words came from: -</p> - -<p> -"Colonel Partridge will not like that. He's praying for McKechnie to -come back!" -</p> - -<p> -To himself he said: -</p> - -<p> -"I shall fight this monstrous treatment of myself to my last breath." -</p> - -<p> -The general suddenly called out: -</p> - -<p> -"There you are. . . . There is another of your infernal worries. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He put a strong check on himself, and, dryly, like the very great -speaking to the very unimportant, asked: -</p> - -<p> -"What's your medical category?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Permanent base, sir. My chest's rotten!" -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"I should forget that, if I were you. . . . The second in command of a -battalion has nothing to do but sit about in arm-chairs waiting for the -colonel to be killed." He added: "It's the best I can do for you. . . . -I've thought it out very carefully. It's the best I can do for you." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I shall, of course, forget my category, sir. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Of course he would never fight any treatment of himself! . . . -</p> - -<p> -There it was then: the natural catastrophe! As when, under thunder, a -dam breaks. His mind was battling with the waters. What would it pick -out as the main terror? The mud: the noise: dread always at the back of -the mind? Or the worry! The worry! Your eyebrows always had a slight -tension on them. . . . Like eye-strain! -</p> - -<p> -The general had begun, soberly: -</p> - -<p> -"You will recognize that there is nothing else that I can do." -</p> - -<p> -His answering: -</p> - -<p> -"I recognize, naturally, sir, that there is nothing else that you can -do . . ." seemed rather to irritate the general. He wanted opposition: he -<i>wanted</i> Tietjens to argue the matter. He was the Roman father -counselling suicide to his son: but he wanted Tietjens to expostulate. So -that he, General Campion, might absolutely prove that he, Tietjens, was a -disgraceful individual. . . . It could not be done. Tietjens was not -going to give him the opportunity. The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You will understand that I can't—no commander could!—have such -things happening in my command. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I must accept that, if you say it, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general looked at him under his eyebrows. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"I have already told you that this is promotion. I have been much -impressed by the way you have handled this command. You are, of course, -no soldier, but you will make an admirable officer for the militia, that -is all that our troops now are. . . ." He said: "I will emphasize what I -am saying. . . . No officer could—without being militarily in the -wrong—have a private life that is as incomprehensible and -embarrassing as yours. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"He's hit it! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"An officer's private life and his life on parade are as strategy to -tactics. . . . I don't want, if I can avoid it, to go into your private -affairs. It's extremely embarrassing. . . . But let me put it to you -that . . . I wish to be delicate. But you are a man of the world! . . . -Your wife is an extremely beautiful woman. . . . There has been a -scandal . . . I admit not of your making. . . . But if, on the top of -that, I appeared to show favouritism to you . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"You need not go on, sir. . . . I understand. . . ." He tried to -remember what the brooding and odious McKechnie had said . . . only two -nights ago. . . . He couldn't remember. . . . It was certainly a -suggestion that Sylvia was the general's mistress. It had then, he -remembered, seemed fantastic. . . . Well, what else <i>could</i> they -think? He said to himself: "It absolutely blocks out my staying here!" He -said aloud: "Of course, it's my own fault. If a man so handles his -womenfolk that they get out of hand, he has only himself to blame." -</p> - -<p> -The general was going on. He pointed out that one of his predecessors -had lost that very command on account of scandals about women. He had -turned the place into a damned harem! . . . -</p> - -<p> -He burst out, looking at Tietjens with a peculiar goggle-eyed -intentness: -</p> - -<p> -"If you think I'd care about losing my command over Sylvia or any other -damned Society woman. . . ." He said: "I beg your pardon . . ." and -continued reasoningly: -</p> - -<p> -"It's the men that have to be considered. They think—and they've -every right to think it if they wish to—that a man who's a wrong -'un over women isn't the man they can trust their lives in the hands -of. . . ." He added: "And they're probably right. . . . A man who's a real -wrong 'un. . . . I don't mean who sets up a gal in a tea-shop. . . . But -one who sells his wife, or . . . At any rate, in <i>our</i> army. . . . -The French may be different! . . . Well, a man like that usually has a -yellow streak when it comes to fighting. . . . Mind, I'm not saying -always. . . . Usually. . . . There was a fellow called . . ." - - -</p> - -<p> -He went off into an anecdote. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens recognized the pathos of his trying to get away from the -agonizing present moment, back to an India where it was all real -soldiering and good leather and parades that had been parades. But he -did not feel called upon to follow. He could not follow. He was going up -the line. . . . -</p> - -<p> -He occupied himself with his mind. What was it going to do? He cast back -along his military history: what had his mind done in similar moments -before? . . . But there had never been a similar moment! There had been -the sinister or repulsive-businesses of going up, getting over, standing -to—even of the casualty clearing-station! . . . But he had always -been physically keener, he had never been so depressed or overwhelmed. -</p> - -<p> -He said to the general: -</p> - -<p> -"I recognise that I cannot stop in this command. I regret it, for I have -enjoyed having this unit. . . . But does it necessarily mean the VIth -Battalion?" -</p> - -<p> -He wondered what was his own motive at the moment. Why had he asked the -general that! . . . The thing presented itself as pictures: getting down -bulkily from a high French train, at dawn. The light picked out for you -the white of large hunks of bread—half-loaves—being handed out -to troops themselves duskily invisible. . . . The ovals of light on the -hats of English troops: they were mostly West Countrymen. They did not -seem to want the bread much. . . . A long ridge of light above a wooded -bank: then suddenly, pervasively: a sound! . . . For all the world as, -sheltering from rain in a cottager's washhouse on the moors, you hear -the cottager's clothes boiling in a copper . . . Bubble . . . bubble . . . -bubbubbub . . . bubble . . . Not terribly loud—but terribly -demanding attention! . . . The Great Strafe! . . . -</p> - -<p> -The general had said: -</p> - -<p> -"If I could think of anything else to do with you, I'd do it. . . . But -all the extraordinary rows you've got into. . . . They block me -everywhere. . . . Do you realize that I have requested General O'Hara to -suspend his functions until now? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It was amazing to Tietjens how the general mistrusted his -subordinates—as well as how he trusted them! . . . It was probably -that that made him so successful an officer. Be worked for by men that you -trust: but distrust them all the time—along certain lines of frailty: -liquor,' women, money! . . . Well, he had long knowledge of men! -</p> - -<p> -He said: -</p> - -<p> -"I admit, sir, that I misjudged General O'Hara. I have said as much to -Colonel Levin and explained why." -</p> - -<p> -The general said with a gloating irony: -</p> - -<p> -"A damn pretty pass to come to. . . . You put a general officer under -arrest. . . . Then you say you had misjudged him! . . . I am not saying -you were not performing a duty. . . ." He went on to recount the -classical case of a subaltern, cited in King's Regulations, temp. -William IV, who was court-martialled and broken for not putting under -arrest his colonel who came drunk on to parade. ... He was exhibiting -his sensuous delight in misplaced erudition. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens heard himself say with great slowness: -</p> - -<p> -"I absolutely deny, sir, that I put General O'Hara under arrest! I have -gone into the matter very minutely with Colonel Levin." -</p> - -<p> -The general burst out: -</p> - -<p> -"By God! I had taken that woman to be a saint. . . . I swear she is a -saint. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"There is no accusation against Mrs. Tietjens, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"By God, there is!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I am prepared to take all the blame, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You shan't. . . . I am determined to get to the bottom of all this. . . . -You have treated your wife damn badly. . . . You admit to that. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"With great want of consideration, sir. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You have been living practically on terms of separation from her for a -number of years? You don't deny that was on account of your own -misbehaviour. For how many years?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know, sir. . . . Six or seven!" -</p> - -<p> -The general said sharply: -</p> - -<p> -"Think, then. . . . It began when you admitted to me that you had been -sold up because you kept a girl in a tobacco-shop? That was at Rye in -1912. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"We have not been on terms since 1912, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"But why? . . . She's a most beautiful woman. She's adorable. What could -you want better? . . . She's the mother of your child. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Is it necessary to go into all this, sir? . . . Our differences were -caused by . . . by differences of temperament. She, as you say, is a -beautiful and reckless woman. . . . Reckless in an admirable way. I, on -the other hand . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes! that's just it. . . . What the hell are you? . . . You're not a -soldier. You've got the makings of a damn good soldier. You amaze me at -times. Yet you're a disaster; you are a disaster to every one who has to -do with you. You are as conceited as a hog; you are as obstinate as a -bullock. . . . You drive me mad. . . . And you have ruined the life of -that beautiful woman. . . . For I maintain she once had the disposition -of a saint. . . . Now: I'm waiting for your explanation!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"In civilian life, sir, I was a statistician. Second secretary to the -Department of Statistics. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general exclaimed convictingly: -</p> - -<p> -"And they've thrown you out of that! Because of the mysterious rows you -made. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Because, sir, I was in favour of the single command. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general began a long wrangle: "But why were you? What the hell had -it got to do with you?" Couldn't Tietjens have given the Department the -statistics they wanted—even if it meant faking them? What was -discipline for if subordinates were to act on their consciences? The home -Government had wanted statistics faked in order to dish the Allies. . . . -Well . . . Was Tietjens French or English? Every damn thing -Tietjens did . . . Every <i>damn</i> thing, made it more impossible to do -anything for him! With his attainments he ought to be attached to the -staff of the French Commander-in-Chief. But that was forbidden in his, -Tietjens', confidential report. There was an underlined note in it to -that effect Where else, then, in Heaven's name, could Tietjens be sent -to? He looked at Tietjens with intent blue eyes: -</p> - -<p> -"Where else, in God's name . . . I am not using the Almighty's name -blasphemously . . . <i>can</i> you be sent to? I <i>know</i> it's probably -death to send you up the line—in your condition of health. And to -poor Perry's Army. The Germans will be through it the minute the weather -breaks." -</p> - -<p> -He began again: "You understand: I'm not the War Office. I can't send -any officer anywhere. I can't send you to Malta or India. Or to other -commands in France. I can send you home—in disgrace. I can send you -to your own battalion. On promotion! . . . Do you understand my -situation? . . . I have no alternative." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Not altogether, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general swallowed and wavered from side to side. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"For God's sake, try to. . . . I am genuinely concerned for you. I -won't—I'm damned if I will!—let it appear that you're -disgraced. . . . If you were McKechnie himself I wouldn't! The only really -good jobs I've got to give away are on my own staff. I can't have you -there. Because of the men. At the same time . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He paused and said with a ponderous shyness: -</p> - -<p> -"I believe there's a God. . . . I believe that, though wrong may -flourish, right will triumph in the end! . . . If a man is innocent, his -innocence will one day appear. . . . In a humble way I want to . . . -help Providence. . . . I want some one to be able one day to say: -'<i>General Campion, who knew the ins and outs of the affair</i> . . .' -promoted you! In the middle of it. . . ." He said: "It isn't much. But -it's not nepotism. I would do as much for any man in your position." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It's at least the act of a Christian gentleman!" -</p> - -<p> -A certain lack-lustre joy appeared in the general's eyes. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm not used to this sort of situation. . . . I hope I've always tried -to help my junior officers. . . . But a case like this. . . ." He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Damn it. . . . The general commanding the 9th French Army is an -intimate friend of mine. . . . But in face of your confidential -report—I <i>can't</i> ask him to ask for you. That's blocked!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I do not propose, sir, at any rate in your eyes, to pass as putting the -interests of any power before those of my own country. If you examine my -confidential report you will find that the unfavourable insertions are -initialled <i>G. D.</i> . . . They are the initials of a Major -Drake. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said bewilderingly: -</p> - -<p> -"Drake . . . Drake . . . I've heard the name." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It doesn't matter, sir. . . . Major Drake's a gentleman who doesn't -like me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"There are so many. You don't try to make yourself popular, I must say!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"The old fellow feels it! . . . But he can hardly expect me to tell him -that Sylvia thinks Drake was the father of my own son, and desires my -ruin!" But of course the old man <i>would</i> feel it. He, Tietjens, and -his wife Sylvia, were as near a son and daughter as the old man had. The -obvious answer to make to the old man's query as to where he, Tietjens, -ought to be sent was to remind him that his brother Mark had had an -order put through to the effect that Tietjens was to be put in command -of divisional transport. . . . <i>Could</i> he remind the old man of that? -Was it a thing one could do? -</p> - -<p> -Yet the idea of commanding divisional transport was like a vision of -Paradise to Tietjens. For two reasons: it was relatively safe, being -concerned with a lot of horses . . . and the knowledge that he had that -employment would put Valentine Wannop's mind at rest. -</p> - -<p> -Paradise! . . . But <i>could</i> one wangle out of a hard into a soft job? -Some other poor devil very likely wanted it. On the other hand—think -of Valentine Wannop! He imagined her torture of mind, wandering about -London, thinking of him in the very worst spot of a doomed army. She -would get to hear of that. Sylvia would tell her! He would bet Sylvia -would ring her up and tell her. Imagine, then, writing to Mark to say -that he was with the transport! Mark would pass it on to the girl within -half a minute. Why . . . he, Tietjens, would wire. He imagined himself -scribbling the wire while the general talked and giving it to an orderly -the moment the talk was over. . . . But <i>could</i> he put the idea into -the old man's head? <i>Is</i> it done? . . . Would, say . . . say, an -Anglican saint do it? -</p> - -<p> -And then . . . Was he up to the job? What about the accursed obsession -of O Nine Morgan that intermittently jumped on him? All the while he had -been riding Schomburg the day before, O Nine Morgan had seemed to be -just before the coffin-headed brute's off-shoulder. The animal must -fall! . . . He had had the passionate impulse to pull up the horse. And -all the time a dreadful depression! A weight! In the hotel last night he -had nearly fainted over the thought that Morgan might have been the man -whose life he had spared at Noircourt. . . . It was getting to be a -serious matter! It might mean that there was a crack in his, Tietjens', -brain. A lesion! If that was to go on . . . O Nine Morgan, dirty as he -always was, and with the mystified eyes of the subject races on his -face, rising up before his horse's off-shoulder! But alive, not with -half his head cut away. . . . If that was to go on he would not be fit -to deal with transport, which meant a great deal of riding. -</p> - -<p> -But he would chance that. . . . Besides, some damn fool of a literary -civilian had been writing passionate letters to the papers insisting -that all horses and mules must be abolished in the army. . . . Because -of their pestilence-spreading dung! ... It might be decreed by A.C.I. -that no more horses were to be used! . . . Imagine taking battalion -supplies down by night with motor lorries, which was what that genius -desired to see done! . . . -</p> - -<p> -He remembered once or twice—it must have been in September, -'16—having had the job of taking battalion transport down from -Locre to B.H.Q., which were in the château of Kemmell village. . . . -You muffled every bit of metal you could think of: bits, trace-chains, -axles . . . and <i>yet</i>, whilst you hardly breathed, in the thick -darkness some damn thing would always chink and jolt: beef tins made a -noise of old iron. . . . And <i>bang</i>, after the long whine, would -come the German shell, registered exactly on to the corner of the road -where it went down by the shoulder of the hill: where the placards were -ordering you not to go more than two men together. . . . Imagine doing -it with lorries, that could be heard five miles away! . . . The -battalion would go pretty short of rations! . . . The same -anti-chevaline genius had emitted the sentiment that he had rather the -Allies lost the war than that cavalry should distinguish themselves in -any engagement! . . . A wonderful passion for the extermination of -dung . . .! Or perhaps this hatred of the horse was social. . . . Because -the cavalry wear long moustaches dripping with Macassar oil and breakfast -off caviare, chocolate and Pommery Greno they must be abolished! . . . -Something like that. . . . He exclaimed: "By God! How my mind wanders! -How long will it go on?" He said: "I am at the end of my tether." He had -missed what the general had said for some time. - -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well. Has he?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I didn't catch, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"Are you deaf?" the general asked. "I'm sure I speak plain enough. -You've just said there are no horses attached to this camp. I asked you -if there is not a horse for the colonel commanding the depot. . . . A -German horse, I understand!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"Great heavens! I've been talking to him. What in the world about?" It -was as if his mind were falling off a hillside. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, sir . . . Schomburg. But as that's a German prisoner, captured on -the Marne, it is not on our strength. It is the private property of the -colonel. I ride it myself. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general exclaimed dryly: -</p> - -<p> -"You <i>would</i>. . . ." He added more dryly still: "Are you aware that -there is a hell of a strafe put in against you by a R.A.S.C. -second-lieutenant called Hotchkiss? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said quickly: -</p> - -<p> -"If it's over Schomburg, sir . . . it's a washout. Lieutenant Hotchkiss -has no more right to give orders about him than as to where I shall -sleep. . . . And I would rather die than subject any horse for which I -am responsible to the damnable torture Hotchkiss and that swine Lord -Beichan want to inflict on service horses. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said maleficently: -</p> - -<p> -"It looks as if you damn well will die on that account!" -</p> - -<p> -He added: "You're perfectly right to object to wrong treatment of -horses. But in this case your objection blocks the only other job open -to you." He quietened himself a little. "You are probably not aware," he -went on, "that your brother Mark . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I am aware . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: "Do you know that the 19th Division to which your -brother wants you sent is attached to Fourth Army now—and it's Fourth -Army horses that Hotchkiss is to play with? . . . How could I send you -there to be under his orders?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"That's perfectly correct, sir. There is nothing else that you can -do. . . ." He was finished. There was now nothing left but to find out how -his mind was going to take it. He wished they could go to his cook-houses! -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"What was I saying? . . . I'm dreadfully tired. . . . No one could stand -this. . . ." He drew from inside his tunic a lapis-lazuli coloured, -small be-coroneted note-case and selected from it a folded paper that he -first looked at and then slipped between his belt and his tunic. He -said: "On top of all the responsibility I have to bear!" He asked: "Has -it occurred to you that, if I'm of any service to the country, your taking -up my energy—<i>sapping</i> my energy over your affairs!—is -aiding your country's enemies? . . . I can only afford four hours' sleep as -it is. . . . I've got some questions to ask you. . . ." He referred to the -slip of paper from his belt, folded it again and again slipped it into -his belt. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens' mind missed a notch again. . . . It <i>was</i> the fear of the -mud that was going to obsess him. Yet, curiously, he had never been -under heavy fire in mud. . . . You would think that would not have -obsessed him. But in his ear he had just heard uttered in a whisper of -intense weariness, the words: <i>Es ist nicht zu ertragen; es ist das -dasz uns verloren hat</i> . . . words in German, of utter despair, -meaning: It is unbearable: it is that has ruined us. . . . The mud! . . . -He had heard those words, standing amidst volcano craters of mud, -amongst ravines, monstrosities of slime, cliffs and distances, all of -slime. . . . He had been going, for curiosity or instruction, from -Verdun where he had been attached to the French—on a holiday -afternoon when nothing was doing, with a guide, to visit one of the -outlying forts. . . . Deaumont? . . . No, Douaumont. . . . Taken from -the enemy about a week before. . . . When would that be? He had lost all -sense of chronology. . . . In November. . . . A beginning of some -November. . . . With a miracle of sunshine: not a cloud: the mud towering -up shut you in intimately with a sky that ached for limpidity. . . . -And the slime had moved . . . following a French bombardier who -was strolling along eating nuts, disreputably, his shoulders rolling. . . . -<i>Déserteurs</i>. . . . The moving slime was German deserters. . . . -You could not see them: the leader of them—an officer!—had -his glasses so thick with mud that you could not see the colour of his -eyes, and his half-dozen decorations were like the beginnings of -swallows' nests, his beard like stalactites. . . . Of the other men you -could only see the eyes—extraordinarily vivid: mostly blue like -the sky! . . . Deserters! Led by an officer! Of the Hamburg Regiment! As -if an officer of the Buffs had gone over! . . . It was incredible. . . . -And that was what the officer had said as he passed: not shamefacedly, -but without any humanity left in him . . . <i>Done</i>! . . . Those -moving saurians compacted of slime kept on passing him afterwards, all -the afternoon. . . . And he could not help picturing their immediate -antecedents for two months. . . . In advanced pill-boxes. . . . No, they -didn't have pill-boxes then. . . . In advanced pockets of mud, in -dreadful solitude amongst those ravines. . . . suspended in eternity, at -the last day of the world. And it had horribly shocked him to hear again -the German language a rather soft voice, a little suety. . . . Like an -obscene whisper. . . . The voice obviously of the damned: hell could -hold nothing curious for those poor beasts. . . . His French guide had -said sardonically: <i>On dirait l'Inferno de Dante</i>! . . . Well, -those Germans were getting back on him. They were now to become an -obsession! A complex, they said nowadays. . . . The general said coolly: - -</p> - -<p> -"I presume you refuse to answer?" -</p> - -<p> -That shook him cruelly. -</p> - -<p> -He said desperately: -</p> - -<p> -"I had to end what I took to be an unbearable position for both parties. -In the interests of my son!" Why in the world had he said that? . . . He -was going to be sick. It came back to him that the general had been -talking of his separation from Sylvia. Last night that had happened. He -said: "I may have been right: I may have been wrong. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said icily: -</p> - -<p> -"If you don't choose to go into it. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I would prefer not to. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"There is no end to this. . . . But there are questions it's my duty to -ask. . . . If you do not wish to go into your marital relations, I -cannot force you. . . . But, damn it, are you sane? Are you responsible? -Do you intend to get Miss Wannop to live with you before the war is -over? Is she, perhaps, here, in this town, now? Is that your reason for -separating from Sylvia? Now, of all times in the world!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. I ask you to believe that I have absolutely no relations with -that young lady. None! I have no intention of having any. None! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"I believe that!" -</p> - -<p> -"Circumstances last night," Tietjens said, "convinced me suddenly, -there, on the spot, that I had been wronging my wife. . . . I had been -putting a strain on the lady that was unwarrantable. It humiliates me to -have to say it! I had taken a certain course for the sake of the future -of our child. But it was an atrociously wrong course. We ought to have -separated years ago. It has led to the lady's pulling the strings of all -these shower-baths. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Pulling the . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It expresses it, sir. . . . Last night was nothing but pulling the -string of a shower-bath. Perfectly justifiable. I maintain that it was -perfectly justifiable." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Then why have you given her Groby? . . . You're not a little soft, are -you? . . . You don't imagine you've . . . say, got a mission? Or that -you're another person? . . . That you have to . . . to forgive. . . ." -He took off his pretty hat and wiped his forehead with a tiny cambric -handkerchief. He said: "Your poor mother was a little . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He said suddenly: -</p> - -<p> -"To-night when you are coming to my dinner . . . I hope you'll be -decent. Why do you so neglect your personal appearance? Your tunic is a -disgusting spectacle. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I had a better tunic, sir . . . but it has been ruined by the blood of -the man who was killed here last night . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You don't say you have only two tunics? . . . Have you no mess -clothes?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, sir, I've my blue things. I shall be all right for to-night. . . . -But almost everything else I possessed was stolen from my kit when I was -in hospital. . . . Even Sylvia's two pair of sheets. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"But hang it all," the general exclaimed, "you don't mean to say you've -spaffled all your father left you?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I thought fit to refuse what my father left me owing to the way it was -left. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"But, good God! . . . Read that!" He tossed the small sheet of paper at -which he had been looking across the table. It fell face downwards. -Tietjens read, in the minute handwriting of the general's: -</p> - -<p> -"Colonel's horse: Sheets: Jesus Christ: Wannop girl: Socialism?" -</p> - -<p> -The general said irritably: -</p> - -<p> -"The other side . . . the other side. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The other side of the paper displayed the words in large capitals: -WORKERS OF THE WORLD, a wood-cut of a sickle and some other objects. -Then high treason for a page. -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Have you ever seen anything like that before? Do you know what it is?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens answered: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, sir. I sent that to you. To your Intelligence. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general thumped both his fists violently on the army blanket: -</p> - -<p> -"You . . ." he said. "It's incomprehensible. . . . It's incredible. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. . . . You sent out an order asking commanders of units to -ascertain what attempts were being made by Socialists to undermine the -discipline of their other ranks. . . . I naturally asked my -sergeant-major, and he produced this sheet, which one of the men had -given to him as a curiosity. It had been handed to the man in the street -in London. You can see my initials on the top of the sheet!" -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You . . . you'll excuse me, but you're not a Socialist yourself? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I knew you were working round to that, sir: But I've no politics that -did not disappear in the eighteenth century. You, sir, prefer the -seventeenth!" -</p> - -<p> -"Another shower-bath, I suppose," the general said. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course," Tietjens said, "if it's Sylvia that called me a Socialist, -it's not astonishing. I'm a Tory of such an extinct type that she might -take me for anything. The last megatherium. She's absolutely to be -excused. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general was not listening. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"What was wrong with the way your father left his money to you? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"My father," Tietjens said—the general saw his jaw -stiffen—"committed suicide because a fellow called Ruggles told -him that I was . . . what the French called <i>maquereau</i> . . . I -can't think of the English word. My father's suicide was not an act that -can be condoned. A gentleman does not commit suicide when he has -descendants. It might influence my boy's life very disastrously. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"I can't . . . I <i>can't</i> get to the bottom of all this. . . . What in -the world did Ruggles want to go and tell your father that for? . . . -What are you going to do for a living after the war? They won't take you -back into your office, will they?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. The Department will not take me back. Every one who has served -in this war will be a marked man for a long time after it is over. -That's proper enough. <i>We're</i> having our fun now." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You say the wildest things." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens answered: -</p> - -<p> -"You generally find the things I say come true, sir. Could we get this -over? Ruggles told my father what he did because it is not a good thing -to belong to the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries in the twentieth. -Or really, because it is not good to have taken one's public-school's -ethical system seriously. I am really, sir, the English public -schoolboy. That's an eighteenth-century product. What with the love of -truth that—God help me!—they rammed into me at Clifton and the -belief Arnold forced upon Rugby that the vilest of sins—the vilest of -all sins—is to peach to the head master! That's me, sir. Other men -get over their schooling. I never have. I remain adolescent. These things -are obsessions with me. Complexes, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"All this seems to be very wild. . . . What's this about peaching to a -head master?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"For a swan song, it's not wild, sir. You're asking for a swan song. I -am to go up into the line so that the morals of the troops in your -command may not be contaminated by the contemplation of my marital -infelicities." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You don't want to go back to England, do you?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens exclaimed: -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly not! Very certainly not! I can never go home. I have to go -underground somewhere. If I went back to England there would be nothing -for me but going underground by suicide." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You see all that? I can give you testimonials. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens asked: -</p> - -<p> -"Who couldn't see that it's impossible?" -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"But . . . suicide! You won't do that. As you said: think of your son." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. I shan't do that. But you see how bad for one's descendants -suicide is. That is why I do not forgive my father. Before he did it I -should never have contemplated the idea. Now I have contemplated it. -That's a weakening of the moral fibre. It's contemplating a fallacy as a -possibility. For suicide is no remedy for a twisted situation of a -psychological kind. It is for bankruptcy. Or for military disaster. For -the man of action, not for the thinker. Creditors' meetings wipe the one -out. Military operations sweep on. But my problem will remain the same -whether I'm here or not. For it's insoluble. It's the whole problem of -the relations of the sexes." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Good God! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir, I've not gone off my chump. That's my problem! . . . But I'm a -fool to talk so much. . . . It's because I don't know what to say." -</p> - -<p> -The general sat staring at the tablecloth: his face was suffused with -blood. He had the appearance of a man in monstrous ill-humour. He said: -</p> - -<p> -"You had better say what you want to say. What the devil do you mean? . . . -What's this all about? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm enormously sorry, sir. It's difficult to make myself plain." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Neither of us do. What is language for? What the <i>hell</i> is language -for? We go round and round. I suppose I'm an old fool who cannot -understand your modern ways . . . But you're not modern. I'll do you -<i>that</i> justice. . . . That beastly little McKechnie is modern. . . . I -shall ram him into your divisional-transport job, so that he won't -incommode you in your battalion. . . . Do you understand what the little -beast did? He got leave to go and get a divorce. And then did not get a -divorce. <i>That's</i> modernism. He said he had scruples. I understand -that he and his wife and . . . some dirty other fellow . . . slept three in -a bed. That's modern scruples. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir, it's not really. . . . But what is a man to do if his wife is -unfaithful to him?" -</p> - -<p> -The general said as if it were an insult: -</p> - -<p> -"Divorce the harlot! Or live with her! . . ." Only a beast, he went on, -would expect a woman to live all her life alone in a cockloft! She's -bound to die. Or go on the streets. . . . What sort of a fellow wouldn't -see that? Was there any sort of beast who'd expect a woman to live . . . -with a man beside her. . . . Why, she'd . . . she'd be bound to. . . . -He'd have to take the consequences of whatever happened. The general -repeated: "Whatever happened! If she pulled all the strings of all the -shower-baths in the world!" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Still, sir . . . there are . . . there used to be . . . in families -of . . . position . . . a certain . . ." He stopped. -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Well . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"On the part of the man . . . a certain . . . Call it . . . parade!" -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Then there had better be no more parades. . . ." He said: "Damn it! . . . -Beside us, all women are saints. . . . Think of what child-bearing is. -I know the world. . . . Who would stand that? . . . You? . . . I . . . -I'd rather be the last poor devil in Perry's lines!" -</p> - -<p> -He looked at Tietjens with a sort of injurious cunning: -</p> - -<p> -"Why <i>don't</i> you divorce?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -Panic came over Tietjens. He knew it would be his last panic of that -interview. No brain could stand more. Fragments of scenes of fighting, -voices, names, went before his eyes and ears. Elaborate problems. . . . -The whole map of the embattled world ran out in front of him-as large as -a field. An embossed map in greenish <i>papier mâché</i>—a ten-acre -field of embossed <i>papier mâché</i>: with the blood of O Nine Morgan -blurring luminously over it. Years before . . . How many months? . . . -Nineteen, to be exact, he had sat on some tobacco plants on the Mont de -Kats. . . . No, the Montagne Noire. In Belgium. . . . What had he been -doing? . . . Trying to get the lie of the land. . . . No. . . . Waiting to -point out positions to some fat home general who had never come. The -Belgian proprietor of the tobacco plants had arrived, and had screamed his -head off over the damaged plants. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But, up there you saw the whole war. . . . Infinite miles away, over the -sullied land that the enemy forces held: into Germany proper. Presumably -you could breathe in Germany proper. . . . Over your right shoulder you -could see a stump of a tooth. The Cloth Hall at Ypres: at an angle of -50° below. . . . Dark lines behind it. . . . The German trenches before -Wytschaete! ... -</p> - -<p> -That was before the great mines had blown Wytschaete to hell. . . . -</p> - -<p> -But—every half-minute by his wrist-watch—white puffs of -cotton-wool existed on the dark lines—the German trenches before -Wytschaete. Our artillery practice. . . . Good shooting. Jolly good -shooting! -</p> - -<p> -Miles and miles away to the left . . . beneath the haze of light that, -on a clouded day, the sea threw off, a shaft of sunlight fell, and was -reflected in a grey blur. . . . It was the glass roofs of a great -airplane shelter! -</p> - -<p> -A great plane, the largest he had then seen, was moving over, behind his -back, with four little planes as an escort. . . . Over the vast -slag-heaps by Béthune. . . . High, purplish-blue heaps, like the steam -domes of engines or the breasts of women. . . . Bluish purple. More blue -than purple. . . . Like all Franco-Belgian Gobelins tapestry. . . . And -all quiet. . . . Under the vast pall of quiet cloud! . . . -</p> - -<p> -There were shells dropping in Poperinghe. . . . Five miles out, under -his nose. . . . The shells dropped. White vapour rose and ran away in -plumes. . . . What sort of shells? . . . There were twenty different -kinds of shells. . . . -</p> - -<p> -The Huns were shelling Poperinghe! A senseless cruelty. It was five -miles behind the line! Prussian brutality. . . . There were two girls -who kept a tea-shop in Poperinghe. . . . High coloured. . . . General -Plumer had liked them . . . a fine old general. . . . The shells had -killed them both . . . Any man might have slept with either of them with -pleasure and profit. . . . Six thousand of H.M. officers must have -thought the same about those high-coloured girls. Good girls! . . . But -the Hun shells got them. . . . What sort of fate was that? . . . To be -desired by six thousand men and smashed into little gobbets of flesh by -Hun shells? -</p> - -<p> -It appeared to be mere Prussianism—the senseless cruelty of the -Hun!—to shell Poperinghe. An innocent town with a tea-shop five miles -behind Ypres. . . . Little noiseless plumes of smoke rising under the -quiet blanketing of the pale maroon skies, with the haze from the -aeroplane shelters, and the great aeroplanes over the Béthune -slag-heaps. . . . What a dreadful name—Béthune. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Probably, however, the Germans had heard that we were massing men in -Poperinghe. It was reasonable to shell a town where men were being -assembled. . . . Or we might have been shelling one of their towns with -an Army H.Q. in it. So they shelled Poperinghe in the silent grey -day. . . . -</p> - -<p> -That was according to the rules of the service. . . . General Campion, -accepting with equanimity what German airplanes did to the hospitals, -camps, stables, brothels, theatres, boulevards, chocolate stalls and -hotels of his town would have been vastly outraged if Hun planes had -dropped bombs on his private lodgings. . . . The rules of war! . . . You -spare, mutually, each other's headquarters and blow to pieces girls that -are desired by six thousand men apiece. . . . -</p> - -<p> -That had been nineteen months before! . . . Now, having lost so much -emotion, he saw the embattled world as a map. . . . An embossed map of -greenish <i>papier mâché</i>. The blood of O Nine Morgan was blurring -luminously over it. At the extreme horizon was territory labelled <i>White -Ruthenians</i>! Who the devil were <i>those</i> poor wretches? -</p> - -<p> -He exclaimed to himself: "By heavens! Is this epilepsy?" He prayed: -"Blessed saints, get me spared that!" He exclaimed: "No, it isn't! . . . -I've complete control of my mind. My uppermost mind." He said to the -general: -</p> - -<p> -"I can't divorce, sir. I've no grounds." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Don't lie. You know what Thurston knows. Do you mean that you have been -guilty of contributory misconduct. . . . Whatever it is? And can't -divorce! I don't believe it." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Why</i> the devil am I so anxious to shield that whore? It's not -reasonable. It is an obsession!" -</p> - -<p> -White Ruthenians are miserable peoples to the south of Lithuania. You -don't know whether they incline to the Germans or to the Poles. The -Germans don't even know. . . . The Germans were beginning to take their -people out of the line where we were weak: they were going to give them -proper infantry training. That gave him, Tietjens, a chance. They would -not come over strong for at least two months. It meant, though, a great -offensive in the spring. Those fellows had sense. In the poor, beastly -trenches the Tommies knew nothing but how to chuck bombs. Both sides did -that. But the Germans were going to cure it! Stood chucking bombs at -each other from forty yards. The rifle was obsolete! Ha! ha! -Obsolete! . . . The civilian psychology! -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"No I don't believe it. I know you did not keep any girl in any -tobacco-shop. I remember every word you said at Rye in 1912. I wasn't -sure then. I am now. You tried to let me think it. You had shut up your -house because of your wife's misbehaviour. You let me believe you had -been sold up. You weren't sold up at all." -</p> - -<p> -. . . <i>Why</i> should it be the civilian psychology to chuckle with -delight, uproariously, when the imbecile idea was promulgated that the -rifle was obsolete? <i>Why</i> should public opinion force on the War -Office a training-camp course that completely cut out any thorough -instruction in the rifle and communication drill? It was queer. . . . It -was of course disastrous. Queer. Not altogether mean. Pathetic, too. . . . -</p> - -<p> -"Love of truth!" the general said. "Doesn't that include a hatred for -white lies? No; I suppose it doesn't, or your servants could not say you -were not at home. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -. . . Pathetic! Tietjens said to himself. Naturally the civilian -population wanted soldiers to be made to look like fools: and to be done -in. They wanted the war won by men who would at the end be either -humiliated or dead. Or both. Except, naturally, their own cousins or -fiancées' relatives. That was what it came to. That was what it meant -when important gentlemen said that they had rather the war were lost -than that cavalry should gain any distinction in it! . . . But it was -partly the simple, pathetic illusion of the day that great things could -only be done by new inventions. You extinguished the Horse, invented -something very simple and became God! That is the real pathetic fallacy. -You fill a flower-pot with gunpowder and chuck it in the other fellow's -face, and heigh presto! the war is won. <i>All</i> the soldiers fall down -dead! And You: you who forced the idea on the reluctant military, are -the Man that Won the War. You deserve all the women in the world. And . . . -you get them! Once the cavalry are out of the way! . . . -</p> - -<p> -The general was using the words: -</p> - -<p> -"Head master!" It brought Tietjens completely back. -</p> - -<p> -He said collectedly: -</p> - -<p> -"Really, sir, why this strafe of yours is so terribly long is that it -embraces the whole of life." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"You're not going to drag a red herring across the trail. . . . I say -you regarded me as a head master in 1912. Now I am your commanding -officer—which is the same thing. You must not peach to me. That's -what you call the Arnold of Rugby touch. . . . But who was it said: -<i>Magna est veritas et prev</i> . . . <i>Prev</i> something?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I don't remember, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"What was the secret grief your mother had? In 1912? She died of it. She -wrote to me just before her death and said she had great troubles. And -begged me to look after you, very specially! Why did she do that?" He -paused and meditated. He asked: "How do you define Anglican sainthood? -The other fellows have canonizations, all shipshape like Sandhurst -examinations. But us Anglicans . . . I've heard fifty persons say your -mother was a saint. She was. But why?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"It's the quality of harmony, sir. The quality of being in harmony with -your own soul. God having given you your own soul you are then in -harmony with Heaven." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, that's beyond me. . . . I suppose you will refuse any money I leave -you in my will?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"Why, no, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"But you refused your father's money. Because he believed things against -you. What's the difference?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"One's friends ought to believe that one is a gentleman. Automatically. -That is what makes one and them in harmony. Probably your friends are -your friends because they look at situations automatically as you look -at them. . . . Mr. Ruggles knew that I was hard up. He envisaged the -situation. If he were hard up, what would he do? Make a living out of -the immoral earnings of women. . . . That translated into the Government -circles in which he lives means selling your wife or mistress. Naturally -he believed that I was the sort of fellow to sell my wife. So that's -what he told my father. The point is, my father should not have believed -him." -</p> - -<p> -"But I . . ." the general said. -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"You never believed anything against me, sir." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"I know I've damn well worried myself to death over you . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens was sentimentally at rest, still with wet eyes. He was walking -near Salisbury in a grove, regarding long pastures and ploughlands -running to dark, high elms from which, embowered. . . . Embowered was -the word!—peeped the spire of George Herbert's church. . . . One -ought to be a seventeenth-century parson at the time of the renaissance of -Anglican saintliness . . . who, wrote, perhaps poems. No, not poems. -Prose. The statelier vehicle! -</p> - -<p> -That was home-sickness! . . . He himself was never to go home! -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Look here. . . . Your father. . . . I'm concerned about your father. . . . -Didn't Sylvia perhaps tell him some of the things that distressed him?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said distinctly: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir. That responsibility cannot be put on to Sylvia. My father -chose to believe things that were said against me by a perfect—or a -nearly perfect—stranger. . . ." He added: "As a matter of fact, -Sylvia and my father were not on any sort of terms. I don't believe they -exchanged two words for the last five years of my father's life." -</p> - -<p> -The general's eyes were fixed with an extreme hardness on Tietjens'. He -watched Tietjens' face, beginning with the edges round the nostrils, go -chalk white. He said: "He knows he's given his wife away! . . . Good -God!" With his face colourless, Tietjens' eyes of porcelain-blue stuck -out extraordinarily. The general thought: "What an ugly fellow! His face -is all crooked!" They remained looking at each other. -</p> - -<p> -In the silence the voices of men talking over the game of House came as -a murmur to them. A rudimentary card game monstrously in favour of the -dealer. When you heard voices going on like that you knew they were -playing House. . . . So they had had their dinners. -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"It isn't Sunday, is it?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir; Thursday, the seventeenth, I think, of January. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Stupid of me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The men's voices had reminded him of church bells on a Sunday. And of -his youth. . . . He was sitting beside Mrs. Tietjens' hammock under the -great cedar at the corner of the stone house at Groby. The wind being -from the east-north-east the bells of Middlesbrough came to them -faintly. Mrs. Tietjens was thirty; he himself thirty; Tietjens—the -father—thirty-five or so. A most powerful, quiet man. A wonderful -landowner. Like his predecessors for generations. It was not from him -that this fellow got his . . . his . . . his what? . . . Was it -mysticism? . . . Another word! He himself home on leave from India: his -head full of polo. Talking for hours about points in ponies with -Tietjens' father, who was a wonderful hand with a horse. . . . But this -fellow was much more wonderful! . . . Well, he got that from the sire, -not the dam! . . . He and Tietjens continued to look at each other. It -was as if they were hypnotized. The men's voices went on in a mournful -cadence. The general supposed that he too must be pale. He said to -himself: "This fellow's mother died of a broken heart in 1912. The -father committed suicide five years after. He had not spoken to the -son's wife for four or five years! That takes us back to 1912. . . . -Then, when I strafed him in Rye, the wife was in France with Perowne." -</p> - -<p> -He looked down at the blanket on the table. He intended again to look up -at Tietjens' eyes with ostentatious care. That was his technique with -men. He was a successful general because he knew men. He knew that all -men will go to hell over three things: alcohol, money . . . and sex. -This fellow apparently hadn't. Better for him if he had! He thought: -</p> - -<p> -"It's all gone . . . mother! father! Groby! This fellow's down and out. -It's a bit thick." -</p> - -<p> -He thought: -</p> - -<p> -"But he's right to do as he is doing." -</p> - -<p> -He prepared to look at Tietjens. . . . He stretched out a sudden, -ineffectual hand. Sitting on his beef-case, his hands on his knees, -Tietjens had lurched. A sudden lurch—as an old house lurches when it -is hit by a H.E. shell. It stopped at that. Then he righted himself. He -continued to stare direct at the general. The general looked carefully -back. He said—very carefully too: -</p> - -<p> -"In case I decide to contest West Cleveland, it is your wish that I -should make Groby my headquarters?" -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"I beg, sir, that you will!" -</p> - -<p> -It was as if they both heaved an enormous sigh of relief. The general -said: -</p> - -<p> -"Then I need not keep you. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens stood on his feet, wanly, but with his heels together. -</p> - -<p> -The general also rose, settling his belt He said: -</p> - -<p> -". . . You can fall out." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"My cook-houses, sir. . . . Sergeant-Cook Case will be very -disappointed. . . . He told me that you couldn't find anything wrong if -I gave him ten minutes to prepare. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -"Case. . . . Case. . . . Case was in the drums when we were at Delhi. He -ought to be at least Quartermaster by now. . . . But he had a woman he -called his sister . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tietjens said: -</p> - -<p> -"He still sends money to his sister." -</p> - -<p> -The general said: -</p> - -<p> -". . . He went absent over her when he was colour-sergeant and was -reduced to the ranks. . . . Twenty years ago that must be! . . . Yes, -I'll see your dinners!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -In the cook-house, brilliantly accompanied by Colonel Levin, the -cook-house spotless with limed walls and mirrors that were the tops of -camp-cookers, the general, Tietjens at his side, walked between -goggle-eyed men in white who stood to attention holding ladles. Their -eyes bulged, but the corners of their lips curved because they liked the -general and his beautifully unconcerned companions. The cook-house was -like a cathedral's nave, aisles being divided off by the pipes of -stoves. The floor was of coke-brise shining under french polish and -turpentine. -</p> - -<p> -The building paused, as when a godhead descends. In breathless focusing -of eyes the godhead, frail and shining, walked with short steps up to a -high-priest who had a walrus moustache and, with seven medals on his -Sunday tunic, gazed away into eternity. The general tapped the -sergeant's Good Conduct ribbon with the heel of his crop. All stretched -ears heard him say: -</p> - -<p> -"How's your sister, Case? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Gazing away, the sergeant said: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm thinking of making her Mrs. Case . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Slightly leaving him, in the direction of high, varnished, pitch-pine -panels, the general said: -</p> - -<p> -"I'll recommend you for a Quartermaster's commission any day you -wish. . . . Do you remember Sir Garnet inspecting field kitchens at -Quetta?" -</p> - -<p> -All the white tubular beings with global eyes resembled the pierrots of -a child's Christmas nightmare. The general said: "Stand at ease, men. . . . -Stand easy!" They moved as white objects move in a childish dream. -It was all childish. Their eyes rolled. -</p> - -<p> -Sergeant Case gazed away into infinite distance. -</p> - -<p> -"My sister would not like it, sir," he said. "I'm better off as a -first-class warrant officer!" -</p> - -<p> -With his light step the shining general went swiftly to the varnished -panels in the eastern aisle of the cathedral. The white figure beside -them became instantly tubular, motionless and global-eyed. On the panels -were painted: TEA! SUGAR! SALT! CURRY PDR! FLOUR! PEPPER! -</p> - -<p> -The general tapped with the heel of his crop on the locker-panel -labelled PEPPER: the top, right-hand locker-panel. He said to the -tubular, global-eyed white figure beside it: "Open that, will you, my -man? . . ." -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -To Tietjens this was like the sudden bursting out of the regimental -quick-step, as after a funeral with military honours the band and drums -march away, back to barracks. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MORE PARADES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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