diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/69669-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/69669-0.txt | 11684 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 11684 deletions
diff --git a/old/69669-0.txt b/old/69669-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6fb3b24..0000000 --- a/old/69669-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11684 +0,0 @@ - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Messalina of the suburbs, by E. M. -Delafield - -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: Messalina of the suburbs - -Author: E. M. Delafield - -Release Date: December 31, 2022 [eBook #69669] -Last updated: March 5, 2023 - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MESSALINA OF THE -SUBURBS *** - - - - - -MESSALINA OF THE SUBURBS - - - - - _Messalina of the - Suburbs_ :: :: _By - E. M. DELAFIELD_ :: - - _Author of “Tension,” “The Optimist,” “A - Reversion to Type,” etc._ - - [Illustration] - - _LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO. - PATERNOSTER ROW_ - - - - -DEDICATED - -TO - -M. P. P. - - -MY DEAR MARGARET, - -We have so often agreed that causes are more interesting than the most -dramatic results, that I feel you are the right person to receive the -dedication of my story about Elsie Palmer, in which I have tried to -reconstruct the psychological developments that led, by inexorable -degrees, to the catastrophe of murder. These things are never “bolts -from the blue” in reality, but merely sensational accessories to the -real issue, which lies on that more subtle plane of thought where only -personalities are deserving of dissection. - -For what it is worth, I offer you an impression of Elsie Palmer’s -personality. - - E. M. D. - - _August, 1923._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - MESSALINA OF THE SUBURBS 11 - - THE BOND OF UNION 185 - - LOST IN TRANSMISSION 193 - - TIME WORKS WONDERS 213 - - THE GALLANT LITTLE LADY 223 - - THE HOTEL CHILD 235 - - IMPASSE 249 - - THE APPEAL 259 - - THE FIRST STONE 269 - - - - -MESSALINA OF THE SUBURBS - - - - -Messalina of the Suburbs - - - - -PART I - - -I - -“Elsie, I’ve told you before, I won’t have you going with boys.” - -“I don’t, mother.” - -“Yes, you do. And don’t contradict. Surely to goodness you’re aware -by this time that it’s the heighth of bad manners to contradict. I’ve -taken trouble enough to try and make a lady of you, I’m sure, and -now all you can do is to contradict your mother, and spend your time -walking the streets with boys.” - -“Mother, I never.” - -“Now don’t tell lies about it, Elsie. Mother knows perfectly well when -you’re telling a lie, and you don’t take her in by crocodile tears -either, my lady. Don’t let me have to speak to you again about the same -thing, that’s all.” - -Elsie began to cry, automatically and without conviction. “I’m sure I -don’t know what you mean.” - -“Yes, you do, miss. I mean Johnnie Osborne, and Johnnie Osborne’s -brother, and Stanley Begg and the rest of them. Now, no more of it, -Elsie. Go and give the gurl a hand with washing up the tea-things, and -hurry up.” - -Elsie went away, glad that it was so soon over. Sometimes mother went -on for ages. Thank the Lord she was busy to-day, with two new paying -guests coming in. As she went past the drawing-room door Elsie looked -in. - -“Hallo, little girl!” - -“Hallo, Mr. Roberts! Can’t stay, I’ve to go and help the girl wash up -or something.” - -“You’ve been crying!” - -“I haven’t, then!” She went further into the room and let him see the -downward droop of her pouting mouth and her wet eyelashes. She had not -cried hard enough to make her nose turn red. - -“I say, what a shame! What have they been doing to you?” - -“Oh, nothing. Mother’s on the warpath, that’s all. It isn’t anything.” - -“How rotten of her! Fancy scolding you! I thought you were always good, -Elsie.” - -“And who said you might call me Elsie, if you’ll kindly answer me that, -Mister Impertinence?” - -She shook her short, bobbing curls at him and laughed, suddenly -good-tempered. - -“You witch! Elsie, shall you miss me a tiny bit when I’m gone?” - -“Oh, you’re going, are you?” She pretended to consider. “Let me see, -there’s a single gentleman coming, who’ll have your room, and a married -lady and gentleman for the front bedroom. I don’t really suppose, Mr. -Roberts, there’ll be time to miss you much, with the house full like -that.” She looked innocently up at him. - -“Little devil!” he muttered between his teeth, causing her to thrill -slightly, although she maintained her pose of artlessness without a -visible tremor. - -“Who’s the bounder who’s going to have my room after to-night?” - -“Mis-ter Roberts!” She affected a high key of indignation. “He isn’t -a bounder. You know very well that mother’s awfully particular. She -wouldn’t take anyone without he was a perfect gentleman in _every_ way. -Now I can’t wait another minute. I should get into an awful row if -mother caught me here.” - -“What’s the harm? Don’t run away, Elsie. Just tell me this: are you -coming to the pictures to-night--for the last evening?” - -“Oh, are you going to take me and Geraldine? I don’t suppose -Geraldine’ll be able to--she’s ill.” - -“Can’t we go without her?” - -“Mother wouldn’t let me.” - -“Well, look here, Elsie--come without telling anyone. Do, just for the -lark. I swear I’ll take the greatest care of you.” - -“Oh, how could I? Besides, mother’d want to know where I was.” - -“Can’t you say you’re going somewhere with that eternal friend of -yours--that Irene Tidmarsh girl, or whatever her name is?” - -“I’ll thank you to remember you’re speaking of a friend of mine, Mr. -Roberts. And the idea of suggesting I should do such a thing as deceive -my mother! Why, I’m surprised at you!” - -“Don’t rot, Elsie. Say you’ll come. Slip out after supper, and meet me -at the bottom of the road. There’s a jolly good programme on at the -Palatial.” - -“I hope you’ll enjoy the pictures, Mr. Roberts,” said Elsie demurely. -She sidled backwards to the door. - -“I shall wait for you--eight o’clock sharp.” - -“Don’t catch cold waiting,” she mocked. - -“Look here, kid----” - -“That’s mother! She’ll skin me alive, if I give her half a chance!” She -flew out into the hall and down the passage to the kitchen. - -The servant Nellie was there, and Elsie’s sister Geraldine. - -“Where’ve you been, Elsie?” - -“With mother. I didn’t know you were here; I thought you were s’posed -to be ill.” - -“So I am ill,” returned Geraldine bitterly. “But as you were out, -_someone_ had to do some work.” - -Elsie looked critically at her sister. Geraldine did look ill, sallow -and with black rims round her eyes, but then she had something -altogether wrong with her digestion, and often looked like that. - -“Bilious again?” - -“’M. I think it was that beastly pudding we had last night. I’ve been -awfully sick.” - -“Poor wretch!” - -Neither of them paid any attention to Nellie Simmons, who went on -plunging and clattering greasy spoons and plates about in the water -that steamed from a chipped enamel basin. - -“Can’t you take this rag, Elsie, and wipe a bit, and let me get -upstairs? I’m sure I’m going to be sick again.” - -“I suppose I must, then--poor me!” - -“Poor you, when you’ve been out since dinner! I should like to know -what for. If it was me, now----Oh, Lord, my head!” - -“Well, go on upstairs again. Have you tried the new medicine that -Ireen’s aunt did the testimonial for?” - -“Yes, and I don’t believe it’s a bit better than any of the others. I -feel like nothing on earth. I say, where were you all the afternoon?” - -“Curiosity killed the cat,” said Elsie, wiping the plates. - -“I’m sure I don’t want to know.” - -“That’s all right then, we’re both satisfied, because I don’t mean to -tell you.” - -Geraldine looked angrily at her sister and walked away, her thin plait -of dark hair flapping limply between her angular, slouching shoulders. - -“What is there for supper to-night, Nellie?” said Elsie presently. - -“The ’am.” - -“Oh, goodness, that old ham! Why can’t we ever have anything _nice_, I -should like to know! And I s’pose the cold tart’s got to be finished -up, and that beastly cold shape?” - -“That’s right,” Nellie said laconically. - -“Well, there’ll be no cooking to do, that’s one thing.” - -“_She_ wants some soup put on, because of the new people, but I’ve left -it all ready. I’m off at six sharp, I can tell you.” - -“What’s the hurry, Nellie?” asked Elsie amicably. She saw that Nellie -wanted to be asked, and she felt good-humoured because there was no -cooking to be done, and she could lay the supper and ring the bell -earlier than usual, so as to be able to keep her appointment with Mr. -Roberts. - -“I’ve got someone waiting for me, I ’ave,” Nellie said importantly. -“Couldn’t be kept waiting--oh dear, no!” - -Elsie looked at the ugly, white-faced Cockney woman, whose teeth -projected, decayed and broken, and round the corners of whose mouth -and nostrils clung clusters of dry pimples, and burst out laughing. - -“It’s true!” said Nellie, offended. “And I’m off now.” - -She went to dry her chapped hands on the limp and dingy roller-towel -that hung beside the cold-water tap. - -Elsie laughed again, partly to tease Nellie Simmons and partly because -it really amused her to think that her own projected diversion with Mr. -Roberts should be parodied by this grotesque Nellie and some unknown, -equally grotesque, companion. - -Nellie pulled down her hat and coat from the peg on the kitchen door, -put them on and went away, although it was quarter of an hour before -her time. She knew well enough that none of them would say anything, -Elsie reflected. Girls were too difficult to get hold of, when one took -in guests. - -As soon as the side door had slammed behind Nellie, Elsie flew into the -scullery. A broken piece of looking-glass hung there, where she had -nailed it up herself long ago. - -She pulled down the thick, dust-coloured wave of hair that fell from a -boyish, left-hand parting, until it lay further across her forehead, -deepening the natural kink in it with her fingers, and loosening the -black ribbon bow that fell over one ear. The soft, flopping curls -fell to her shoulders on either side of her full, childish face. She -rubbed hard at her cheeks for a moment, without producing very much -visible effect on their uniform pale pinkiness, starred all over with -tiny golden freckles. The gold was repeated in her eyelashes and pale -eyebrows, but Elsie’s eyes, to her eternal regret, were neither blue -nor brown. They were something between a dark grey and a light green, -and the clear blue whites of them showed for a space between the iris -and the lower lid. - -Her nose was straight and short; her wide mouth, habitually pouting, -possessed a very full underlip and a short, curving upper one. When she -showed her teeth, they were white and even, but rather far apart. The -most salient characteristic of her face was that its high cheek-bones, -and well-rounded cheeks, gave an odd impression of pushing against her -underlids, so that her eyes very often looked half shut, and small. -Elsie saw this in herself, and it made her furious. She called it “a -Japanese doll look.” - -She realised that her soft, rounded neck was really beautiful, and was -secretly proud of the opulent curves of her figure; but to other girls -she pretended that she thought herself too fat, although in point of -fact she wore no stays. - -She thought with pride that she looked more like eighteen than sixteen -years old, although she was not, and knew that she never would be, very -tall. - -Dragging a black velveteen tam-o’-shanter from her pocket, Elsie pulled -it rakishly on over her curls, her fingers quickly and skilfully -pouching the worn material so that it sagged over to one side. The -hands with which she manipulated the tam-o’-shanter were freckled too, -like her face, and of the same uniform soft pink. The fingers were -short, planted very far apart, and broad at the base and inclining to -curve backwards. - -She wiped them on the roller-towel, as Nellie Simmons had done, only -far more hurriedly, and then went quietly out at the side door. It -opened straight into a small blind alley, and Elsie ran up it, and into -the road at a corner of which her home was situated. Turning her back -on No. 15, from which she had just emerged, she kept on the same side -of the road, hoping to escape observation even if Mrs. Palmer were to -look out of the window. - -Very soon, however, she was obliged to cross the road, and then she -rang the bell of a tall house that was the counterpart of the one she -lived in, and indeed of all the other hundred and eighty yellow-and-red -brick houses in Hillbourne Terrace. - -Irene Tidmarsh opened the door, a lanky, big-eyed creature, with two -prominent front teeth and an immense plait of ugly brown hair. Her arms -and legs were thick and shapeless. - -“Hallo, Elsie!” - -“Hallo, Ireen. Look here, I can’t stay. I only want to ask you if -you’ll swear we’ve been to the pictures together to-night, if anyone -ever asks. Quick! Be a sport, and promise.” - -“What’s up?” Irene asked wearily. - -“Oh, only my fun. I don’t particularly want mother to know about me -going out to-night, that’s all. If I can say I was with you if I’m -asked, it’ll be all right, only you’ll have to back me up if she -doesn’t believe me.” - -“Oh, all right, I don’t care. You’re a caution, Elsie Palmer--you -and your made-up tales. Don’t see much difference between them and -downright lies, sometimes.” - -“Well, what am I to do? I can’t ever go anywhere, or have any -amusement, without mother and Geraldine wanting to know all about it, -and if I’ve been behaving myself, and ’cetera and ’cetera.” - -“Who is it this time, Elsie?” - -“Only this fellow who’s leaving to-morrow, the one that’s been P.G. -with us such a time, you know.” - -“Oh, Roberts?” - -“’M. Well, so long, dear. Thanks awfully and all that. Ta-ta. Don’t -forget.” - -“Ta-ta,” repeated Irene. “You’ll have to tell me all about it on -Sunday, mind.” - -“Awright.” - -Elsie turned and hurried homeward again, shrugging her shoulders up to -her ears as the wind whistled shrilly down the street. - -It was September, and cold. - -When she was indoors again, she pulled off her tam-o’-shanter and -stuffed it once more into the pocket of her serge skirt. Then she went -upstairs to the room at the top of the house that she shared with -Geraldine. - -“I wish you’d knock.” - -“Whatever for? It’s my room as much as yours, isn’t it?” Elsie said -without acrimony. - -“Have you been washing up all this time?” - -“Nellie went off early.” - -“The slut! Whatever for? Did you tell mother?” - -“No. It wouldn’t be a bit of good. She won’t say anything to Nellie -just now, whatever she does, with these new people just coming in.” - -“Oh, my head!” groaned Geraldine, not attending. - -She lay on her bed, her white blouse crumpled, and a machine-made -knitted coat, of shrimp-pink wool, drawn untidily over her shoulders. -Her black Oxford shoes lay on the mat between the two beds, and her -black stockings showed long darns and a hole in either heel. - -Elsie began to arrange her hair before the looking-glass in a painted -deal frame that stood on the deal chest-of-drawers. Presently she -pulled a little paper bag from one of the drawers and began to suck -sweets. - -“No good offering you any, I suppose?” - -“Don’t talk of such a thing. Elsie, I can’t come down to supper -to-night. Do be a dear and bring me up a cup of tea--nice and strong. -I’ve got a sort of craving for hot tea when I’m like this, really I -have.” - -“You don’t want much, do you, asking me to carry tea up four flights -of stairs? I’ll see what I can do.” Elsie began to hum, in a small, -rather tuneful little voice. She let her skirt fall round her feet as -she sang and pulled off her blouse, revealing beautifully modelled -breasts and shoulders. Her arms were a little too short, but the -line from breast-bone to knee was unusually good, the legs plump and -shapely, with slender ankles and the instep well arched. She wore serge -knickerbockers and a flimsy under-bodice of yellow cotton voile over a -thick cotton chemise. - -“Are you going out _again_?” asked Geraldine in a vexed, feeble voice. - -“I may go round and sit with Ireen for a bit, after supper. I think she -wants to go to the pictures, or something.” - -“How’s Mr. Tidmarsh?” - -“Going to die, I should think, by all accounts,” glibly replied Elsie, -although as a matter of fact she had forgotten to make any enquiry for -Irene’s father, who had for months past been dying from some obscure -and painful internal growth. - -“Why doesn’t he go to a hospital?” - -“Don’t ask me. Ireen’s always begging him to, but he won’t.” - -“Old people are awfully selfish, I think,” said Geraldine thoughtfully. - -“Yes, aren’t they? Look, I’m going to put this collar on my Sunday -serge. That ought to smarten it up a bit.” - -She pinned the cheap lace round the low-cut V at the neck of an old -navy-blue dress, and fastened it with a blue-stoned brooch in the shape -of a circle. Her throat rose up, fresh and warm and youthful, from the -new adornment. - -“Isn’t it time I put my hair up, don’t you think?” - -“No. You’re only a kid. I didn’t put mine up till I was eighteen. -Mother wouldn’t let me.” - -Elsie dragged a thick grey pilot-cloth coat from behind the curtain -of faded red rep that hung across a row of pegs and constituted the -sisters’ wardrobe, caught up the black tam-o’-shanter again and ran -downstairs. - -All the time that she was laying the table in the dining-room, which -was next to the kitchen on the ground floor, Elsie hummed to herself. - -The tablecloth was stained in several places, and she arranged the -Britannia-metal forks and spoons, the coarse, heavy plates and the -red glass water-jug so as to cover the spots as much as possible. In -the middle of the table stood a thick fluted green glass with paper -chrysanthemums in it. - -Elsie added the cruet, two half-loaves of bread on a wooden platter -with “Bread” carved upon it in raised letters, and put a small red -glass beside each plate. Finally she quickly pleated half a dozen -coloured squares of Japanese paper, and stuck one into each glass. - -“Mother!” she called. - -“What?” said Mrs. Palmer from the kitchen. - -“It’s ready laid.” - -“What are you in such a hurry for? Miss M. and Mr. Williams haven’t -turned up yet.” - -“Mr. Roberts wants his supper early, I know.” - -“You’ve no business to know, then. Well, put the ham on the table and -the cold sweets, and he can go in when he pleases. This is Liberty -Hall, as I call it.” - -Elsie carried in the ham, placing the dish on the table beside the -carving-knife and fork that were raised upon a “rest” of electro plate. -The glass dishes containing a flabby pink decoction of cornflour, and -the apple tart, with several slices of pastry gone from the crust, she -laid at the other end of the table. - -“Supper’s in, Mr. Roberts,” she cried through the open door of the -drawing-room, but this time she did not go in, and flew back to the -kitchen before Mr. Roberts appeared. - -“Geraldine’s asking for tea, mother.” - -“There’s a kettle on. She can come and fetch it.” - -“I’ll take it up,” Elsie volunteered. - -“You’re very obliging, all of a sudden. I’m sure I only wish you and -your sister were more _like_ sisters, the way Aunt Ada and Aunt Gertie -and Mother were. There wasn’t any of this bickering between us girls -that I hear between you and Geraldine.” - -“You’ve made up for it later, then,” said Elsie pertly. “The aunts -never come here but they find fault with things, and Aunt Ada cries, -and I’m sure you and Aunt Gertie go at it hammer and tongs.” - -“Don’t you dare to speak to me like that, Elsie Palmer,” said her -mother abstractedly. (“Give me a spoon, there’s a good gurl.”) “What -you gurls are coming to, talking so to your own mother, is more than I -can say. What’s at the bottom of all this talk about carrying tea to -Geraldine? What are you going to do about your own supper?” - -“Have it in here. I don’t want much, anyway. I’m not hungry. Tea and -bread-and-jam’ll do.” - -“Please yourself,” said Mrs. Palmer. - -She was a large, shapeless woman, slatternly and without method, -chronically aggrieved because she was a widow with two daughters, -obliged to support herself and them by receiving boarders, whom she -always spoke of as guests. - -“Where are these what-you-may-call-’ems--these Williamses--coming -from?” Elsie asked, while she was jerking tea from the bottom of a -cocoa-tin into a broken earthenware tea-pot. - -“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” said her mother. - -She had no slightest reason to conceal the little she knew of the new -people who were coming, but it was her habit to reply more or less in -this fashion, semi-snubbing, semi-facetious, whenever either of her -daughters asked a question. - -“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” said Elsie, also from habit. - -She made the tea, poured out two cups-full and took one upstairs. As -she had expected, the alarm clock on the wash-stand showed it to be -eight o’clock. - -Almost directly afterwards, she heard the front door slam. - -No. 15 was a narrow, high house, with very steep stairs, but Elsie was -used to them, although she grumbled at the number of times she went up -and down them, and she and Geraldine and Mrs. Palmer all kept numerous -articles of toilet and clothing in the kitchen, so as to save journeys -backwards and forwards. - -She now went down once more, and sitting at a corner of the -newspaper-covered kitchen table, drank tea and ate bread-and-jam -deliberately. - -“That’s the bell!” - -Mrs. Palmer hoisted herself out of her chair, from which she had been -reading the headlines of an illustrated daily paper, commenting on them -half aloud with: “Fancy!... Whatever is the world coming to, is what I -say....” - -“That’ll be the Williamses, and about time too. You’ll have to give me -a hand upstairs with the boxes afterwards, Elsie, but I’ll give ’em -supper first.” - -She went out into the hall, and Elsie heard the sounds of arrival, and -her mother’s voice saying: “Good evening, you’ve brought us some wet -weather, I’m afraid.... You mustn’t mind me joking, Mrs. Williams, it’s -my way.... Liberty Hall, you’ll find this....” - -Elsie ran to the back kitchen, donned the pilot-cloth coat and the -tam-o’-shanter, and slipped out through the side door into the wet -drizzle of a cold autumn evening. - -“Ooh!” She turned up the collar of the coat, and pushed her gloveless -hands deep into her pockets as she hurried along the pavement. It shone -wet and dark, giving blurred reflections of the lamps overhead. Every -now and then a tram jerked and clanged its way along the broad suburban -road. - -Only a few shops were lit along the road. Most of the buildings on -either side were houses that displayed a brass sign-plate on the door, -or a card with “Apartments” in one of the windows. Right at the end -of the street, a blur of bluish light streamed out from the Palatial -Picture House. - -“I thought you weren’t coming,” said young Roberts, reproachfully. -“It’s long after eight.” He wore a light overcoat and he, also, had -turned up his collar as a protection against the rain. - -“I had to help mother, of course. And if you want to know, I ought to -be there now.” She laughed up at him provocatively. - -“Come on in,” he said, pulling her hand through his arm. - - -II - -This was Elsie’s real life. - -Although quite incapable of formulating the thought to herself, she -already knew instinctively that only in her relations with some man -could she find self-expression. - -In the course of the past two years she had gradually discovered -that she possessed a power over men that other girls either did not -possess at all, or in a very much lesser degree. From the exercise of -unconscious magnetism, she had by imperceptible degrees passed to a -breathless, intermittent exploitation of her own attractiveness. - -She did not know why boys so often wished to kiss her, nor why she -was sometimes followed, or spoken to, in the street, by men. At first -she had thought that she must be growing prettier, but her personal -preference was for dark eyes, a bright colour, and a slim, tall figure, -and she honestly did not admire her own appearance. Moreover, her looks -varied almost from day to day, and very often she seemed plain. She had -never received any instruction in questions of sex, excepting whispered -mis-information from girls at school as to the origin of babies. The -signs of physical development that had come to her early were either -not commented upon except in half-disgusted, half-facetious innuendo -from Geraldine, or else dismissed by Mrs. Palmer curtly: - -“Nice gurls don’t think about those things. I’m ashamed of you, Elsie. -You should try and be nice-minded, as mother’s always told her gurls.” - -A sort of garbled knowledge came to her after a time, knowledge that -comprised the actual crude facts as to physical union between men and -women, and explained in part certain violent bodily reactions to which -she had been prone almost since childhood. - -She had not the least idea whether any other girl in the world ever -felt as she did, and was inclined to believe herself unnatural and -depraved. - -This thought hardly ever depressed her. She thought that to remain -technically “a good girl” was all that was required of her, and -admitted no further responsibility. - -Geraldine and she quarrelled incessantly. Geraldine, with her poor -physique and constant indispositions, was angrily jealous of Elsie’s -superb health and uninterrupted preoccupation with her own affairs. She -had only just begun to suspect that Elsie was never without a masculine -admirer, and the knowledge, when it became a certainty, would embitter -the relations between them still further on Geraldine’s side. - -On Elsie’s side there was no bitterness, only contempt and unmalicious -hostility. She disliked her elder sister, but was incapable of the -mental effort implied by hatred. In the same way, she disliked her -mother, almost without knowing that she did so. - -Her home had always been ugly, sordid, and abounding in passionless -discord. Elsie’s real life, which was just beginning to give her the -romance and excitement for which she craved, was lived entirely outside -the walls of No. 15, Hillbourne Terrace. - -To-night, as she entered the hot, dark, enervating atmosphere of the -cinema theatre, she thrilled in response to the contrast with the -street outside. When she heard the loud, emphasised rhythm of a waltz -coming from the piano beneath the screen, little shivers of joy ran -through her. - -A girl with a tiny electric torch indicated to them a row of seats, -and Elsie pushed her way along until the two empty places at the very -end of the row were reached. It added the last drop to her cup of -satisfaction that she should have only the wall on one side of her. -Human proximity almost always roused her to a vague curiosity and -consciousness, that would have interfered with her full enjoyment of -the evening. - -She settled herself in the soft, comfortable seat, slipping her arms -from the sleeves of her coat, and leaning back against it. - -Roberts dropped a small box into her lap as he sat down beside her. - -“Thanks awfully,” she whispered. - -A film was showing, and Elsie became absorbed at once in the -presentment of it, although she had no idea of the story. It came -to an end very soon, and a Topical Budget was shown. Elsie was less -interested, and pulled the string off her box of chocolates. - -“Have one?” - -“I don’t mind. Thanks.” - -“They’re awfully good.” She chewed and sucked blissfully. - -“Ooh! Look at that ship! Isn’t it funny?” - -“Makes you feel seasick to look at it, doesn’t it?” whispered Roberts, -and she giggled ecstatically. - -Words appeared on the screen. - -“‘Hearts and Crowns,’ featuring Lallie Carmichael.” - -“How lovely!” said Elsie. - -The story was complicated, and as most of the characters were Russian, -Elsie did not always remember whether Sergius was the villain or the -lawyer, and if Olga was the name of the “vampire” or of the soubrette. -But the beautiful Lallie Carmichael was the heroine, and a clean-shaven -American the hero. Elsie watched them almost breathlessly, and after a -time it was she herself who was leaning back in the crowded restaurant, -in a very low dress, and waving an ostrich-feather fan, torn between -passion and loyalty. The American hero assumed no definite personality, -other than that which his creator had endowed him. The scenes that she -liked best were those between the two lovers, when they were shown -alone together, and the American made passionate love to the princess. - -At the end of the First Part, the lights went up. - -Elsie turned her shining eyes and rumpled curls towards her escort. - -“It is good, isn’t it?” he said, with a critical air. - -“Isn’t it good? Have another sweet?” - -“Well, thanks, I don’t mind. Are you enjoying yourself, kiddie?” - -“Awfully. I like pictures.” - -“What about me? Don’t you like me a little bit too, Elsie, for bringing -you?” His voice had become low and husky. - -Still under the emotional influence of the story, the music, and the -relaxation produced by bodily warmth and comfort, she looked at him, -and saw, not the common, rather negligible features of sandy-haired Mr. -Roberts, but the bold, handsome American hero of the film. - -“Of course I like you,” she said softly. - -“You won’t forget me when I’ve gone?” - -“No.” - -“You will, Elsie! You’ll let some other fellow take you to the -pictures, and you won’t give me another thought.” - -“Of course I shall, you silly! I shall always remember you--you’ve been -awfully sweet to me.” - -“Will you write to me?” - -“We’ll see about that.” - -“Promise.” - -“Promises are like pie-crusts, made to be broken.” - -“Yours wouldn’t be. I bet anything if you promised a chap something, -you’d stick to it. Now wouldn’t you?” - -“I daresay I should,” she murmured, flattered. “Mother says I’ve always -been a terrible one for keeping to what I’ve once said. It’s the way I -am, you know.” - -No fleeting suspicion crossed her mind that this was anything but a -true description of herself. - -“Elsie, do you know what I should like to do?” - -“What, Mr. Roberts?” - -“Call me Norman. I should like to make a hell of a lot of money and -come back and marry you.” - -“You shouldn’t use those words.” - -“I’m in earnest, Elsie.” - -“You’re making very free with my name, aren’t you?” - -“You don’t mind.” - -“No,” she whispered. - -“You’re a little darling.” - -The lights went out again, and his hand fumbled for hers in the -darkness. Warm and unresisting it lay in his, and presently returned -pressure for pressure. - -The story on the screen began to threaten tragedy, and Elsie’s body -became tense with anxiety. She pressed her shoulder hard against that -of Roberts. - -He, too, leant towards her, and presently slipped one arm round her -waist. Instantly her senses were awake, and although she continued to -gaze at the screen, she was in reality blissfully preoccupied only with -his embrace, and the sensations it aroused in her. - -Intensely desirous that he should not move away, she relaxed her figure -more and more, letting her head rest at last against his shoulder. She -began to wonder whether he would kiss her, and to feel that she wanted -him to do so. As though she had communicated the thought to him, the -man beside her in the obscurity put his disengaged hand under her chin -and tilted her face to his. - -She did not resist, and he kissed her, first on her soft cheek and then -on her mouth. - -Elsie had been kissed before, roughly and teasingly by boys, and once -or twice, furtively, by an elderly lodger of Mrs. Palmer’s, whose -breath had smelt of whisky. - -But the kisses of this young commercial traveller were of an entirely -different quality to these, and the pleasure that she took in them was -new and startling to herself. - -“Elsie, d’you love me?” he whispered. “I love you. I think you’re the -sweetest little girl in the whole world.” - -Elsie liked the words vaguely, but she did not really want him to talk, -she wanted him to go on kissing her. - -“Say--‘I love you, Norman.’” - -“I won’t.” - -“You must. Why won’t you?” - -“It’s so soppy.” - -“Elsie!” - -She felt that the magnetic current between them had been disturbed, and -made an instinctive, nestling movement against him. - -He kissed her again, two or three times. - -Reluctantly, Elsie forced herself to the realisation that the film must -soon come to an end, and the lights reappear. She looked at the screen -again, and when the lovers, in magnified presentment, exchanged a long -embrace, responsive vibrations shook her, and she felt all the elation -of conscious and recent initiation. - -The lights suddenly flashed out, a moment sooner than she expected -them, and she flung herself across into her own seat, pressing the -backs of her hands against her flushed, burning cheeks and dazzled eyes. - -She knew that Norman Roberts was looking at her, but she would not -turn her head and meet his eyes, partly from shyness, and partly from -coquetry. - -“Isn’t this the end?” she said, knowing that it was not, but speaking -in order to relieve her sense of embarrassment. - -“No, it isn’t over till half-past ten; there’s another forty minutes -yet.” He consulted his wrist-watch elaborately. “I expect they’ll have -a comic to finish up with.” - -Elsie sensed constraint in him, too, and in sudden alarm turned and -faced him. As their eyes met, both of them smiled and flushed, and -Roberts slipped his arm under hers and possessed himself of her hand -again. - -“Did you like that?” he whispered, bending towards her. - -“The picture?” - -“You know I don’t mean that.” - -She laughed and then nodded. - -“Elsie, tell me something truly. Has any other fellow ever kissed you?” - -Her first impulse was to lie glibly. Then her natural, instinctive -understanding of the game on which they were engaged, made her laugh -teasingly. - -“That’s telling, Mr. Inquisitive.” - -“That means they have. I must say, Elsie, that considering you’re only -sixteen, I don’t call that very nice.” - -Elsie snatched away her hand. “I get quite enough of that sort of thing -at home, thank you, Mr. Norman Roberts, _Es_quire. There’s no call for -you to interfere in my concerns, that I’m aware of.” - -His instant alarm gratified her, although she continued to look -offended, and to sit very upright in her chair. - -“Don’t be angry, Elsie. I didn’t mean to offend you, honour bright. -Make it up!” - -The pianist began some rattling dance-music and the lights went out -again. - -Elsie immediately relaxed her pose, feeling her heart beat more quickly -in mingled doubt and anticipation. - -The doubt was resolved almost within the instant. Roberts pulled her -towards him, bringing her face close to his, and whispered: - -“Kiss and be friends!” - -All the while that the last film was showing, Elsie lay almost in his -arms, seeing nothing at all, conscious only of feeling alive as she had -never felt alive before. - -Even when it was all over and they rose to go, that sense of awakened -vitality throbbed within her, and made her unaware of fatigue. - -“Follow me,” said Roberts authoritatively, and took his place in front -of her in the gangway. There he waited, meekly and like everybody else, -until the people in front should have moved. But to Elsie there was -masculinity in the shelter of his narrow, drooping shoulders, as he -stood before her in his crumpled light overcoat, every now and then -shifting from one foot to the other. - -She followed him step by step, pulling her hair into place under the -tam-o’-shanter, and settling it at its customary rakish angle. - -It was no longer raining, and a watery moon showed through a haze. - -They dawdled as soon as they were out of the crowd, with linked arms -and clasped hands. - -“Swear you’ll write to me, Elsie.” - -“All right.” - -“Lordy, to think of all we might have done together these three months -I’ve been here, and I’ve never had more than a word with you here and -there!” - -“I was at school all the time, till last week.” - -“You aren’t going back to school again?” - -“No, that’s over, praise be! I’m supposed to be taking up typing and -shorthand, some time, though there’s plenty for two of us to do at -home, _I_ should have said.” - -The faint reverberations of a church clock striking came to them. - -“Goodness, that’s never eleven o’clock striking! Well, you will get me -into a row and no mistake!” - -She began to run, but stopped under a lamp just before No. 15 was in -sight. - -He had kept pace with her high-heeled, uneven steps easily, and stopped -beside her. - -“Say good-night to me properly, then.” - -“How, properly? Good-night, Mr. Roberts, and thank you ever so much. -Oh, and _bonne voyage_ to-morrow, in case I don’t see you. Will that -do?” - -“No, it won’t. I want a kiss.” - -“You don’t want much, do you?” she began half-heartedly, and looking up -and down the street as she spoke. - -It was empty but for themselves. - -Roberts caught hold of her and kissed her with violence. Unresisting, -Elsie put back her head and closed her eyes. - -“Kiss me--you _shall_ kiss me,” he gasped. - -At the sense of constriction that came upon her with the tightened -grasp of his arms, Elsie gave a fluttering, strangled scream and began -to struggle. - -“Let me go! You’re hurting me!” - -He loosened his hold so abruptly that she nearly fell down. - -She began to hurry towards home, moving with the ugly, jerking gait -peculiar to women who walk from the knees. - -“Shall I see you to-morrow before I go?” His voice sounded oddly humble -and crestfallen. - -“I’ll come to the drawing-room for a minute--no one’s ever there in the -mornings.” - -“What time, Elsie? I ought to be off at nine.” - -“Oh, before that some time, I expect. I say, you’ve got your key, -haven’t you?” - -A sharp misgiving assailed her as he began to fumble in his pockets. - -“Yes, all right.” He put it into the lock. - -Elsie, relieved, stood on tiptoe and put her arms round his neck. -“Good-night, you dear,” she whispered. “Now don’t begin again. Open the -door and go in first, and if the coast isn’t clear, just cough, and -I’ll wait a bit. I’ll see you to-morrow.” - -When he signed to her that the house was quiet, and that she could -safely enter, Elsie slipped past him like a shadow while he felt about -for matches, and flew upstairs. Her mother slept in the back bedroom -on the third floor, and Elsie saw that her door was shut and that no -streak of light showed under it. Satisfied, she went up the next flight -of stairs to the bedroom. - -Geraldine, of course, was bound to know of her escapade, but Geraldine -would either believe, or pretend to believe, that Elsie had been with -Irene Tidmarsh, and the two Palmer girls always combined with one -another against the sentimentalised tyranny that Mrs. Palmer called “a -mother’s rights.” - -Geraldine was lying in bed, reading a paper novelette by the light of a -candle stuck into an empty medicine bottle that stood on a chair beside -her. She looked sallower than ever now that she had undressed and put -on a white flannelette nightgown with a frill high at the neck and -another one at each wrist. - -Her lank hair was rolled up into steel waving-pins. It was one of -Geraldine’s grievances that she should be obliged to go to bed in -curlers every night, while Elsie’s light curls lay loose and ruffled on -her pillow. Sometimes, when they were on friendly terms, she and Elsie -would speculate together as to how the difficulty could be overcome -when Geraldine married, and could no longer go to bed and wake up -“looking a sight.” - -She rolled over as Elsie cautiously opened the door. “You’ve come at -last, have you? How did you get in?” - -“Mr. Roberts let me in. He knew I’d be late to-night,” said Elsie -calmly, beginning to pull off her clothes. - -“You’ve got a nerve, I must say. Mother thinks you were in bed ages -ago. She came up after supper and said you were in the kitchen. She was -in the drawing-room nearly all the evening, doing the polite to the -Williamses.” - -“Did she find out that supper hadn’t been cleared away?” - -“I suppose she didn’t, or she’d have been up here after you. You’re in -luck, young Elsie.” - -“I shall have to go down and do it first thing to-morrow before she’s -down,” said Elsie, yawning. - -“Where have you been?” - -“Pictures.” - -“With Ireen?” - -“’M.” - -“I shall ask her what they were like, next time I see her,” said -Geraldine significantly. - -Elsie pulled the ribbon off her hair without untying it, shuffled her -clothes off on to the floor from beneath a nightgown that was the -counterpart of her sister’s, and dabbed at her face with a sponge -dipped in cold water. She carefully parted her hair on the other side -for the night, and brushed it vigorously for some moments to promote -growth, but the worn bristles of her wooden-backed brush were grey with -dust and thick with ancient “combings.” - -At the bedside Elsie knelt down for a few seconds with her face hidden -in her hands, as she had always done, muttered an unthinking formula, -and got into bed. - -“You’re very sociable, I must say,” Geraldine exclaimed. “Out half the -night, and not a word to say when you do come up!” - -“I thought you had a headache.” - -“A lot you care about my headache.” - -“I’m going to put the light out now.” - -“All right.” - -They had always shared a bedroom and never exchanged formal good-nights. - -In the dark, a tremendous weariness suddenly came over Elsie. She felt -thankful to be in her warm, narrow bed, and blissfully relived the -evening’s experience. - -She found that she could thrill profoundly to the memory of those -ardent moments, and even the bodily lassitude that overwhelmed her held -a certain luxuriousness. - -Dimly, and without any conscious analysis, she felt that for the first -time in her sixteen years of life she had glimpsed a reason why she -should exist. It was for _this_ that she had been made. - -No thought of the future preoccupied her for a moment. She did not even -regret that Norman Roberts should be going away next day. - -“I must get up in good time to-morrow, and get a word with him in the -drawing-room before he’s off,” was her last waking thought. - -But she was sleeping profoundly, her head under the bedclothes, when -Mrs. Palmer’s customary bang at the door sounded next morning soon -after six o’clock. - -“Wake up, girls.” - -“Awright!” Geraldine shouted back sleepily. If one or other of them did -not call out in reply, Mrs. Palmer would come into the room in her grey -dressing-gown and vigorously shake the bed-posts of either bed. - -They could hear her heelless slippers flapping away again, and Elsie -reluctantly roused herself. - -“I simply must clear that supper-table before mother goes down,” she -thought. Still half asleep, and yawning without restraint, she put on -her thick coat over her nightgown, and ran downstairs with bare feet. - -The broken remains of supper, even to Elsie’s indifferent eyes, looked -horrible in the grim morning light. - -She huddled everything out on a tray, pushed it out of sight in the -back kitchen, and ran upstairs again, her teeth chattering with cold. - -The still warm, tumbled bed was irresistible, and tearing off her coat, -Elsie buried herself in it once more. - -She slept through Geraldine’s sketchy, scrambled toilet and muttered -abuse of her sister’s laziness, and did not stir even when her senior, -as the most unpleasant thing she could do, opened her window, which had -been closed all night, and let in the damp, raw, foggy morning air. - -Elsie did not stir again until the door was flung open and Geraldine -pulled the bedclothes off her roughly, and said angrily: - -“Get up, you lazy little brute! I had to wash all the beastly things -you left over last night, and mother and I had to do the breakfasts, -and see that young Roberts off and everything.” - -“Has Roberts gone?” - -“Yes, of course he has. It’s past nine, you lazy pig, you----” - -“Oh,” said Elsie indifferently, stretching herself. - - -III - -For a little while after Norman Roberts had gone away, Elsie was bored. -She received a letter from him, reproaching her for not having been -downstairs on the morning of his departure, and giving her an address -in Liverpool. He begged her to write to him, and the letter ended with -half a dozen pen-and-ink crosses. - -“_That’s for you, Elsie._” - -Elsie, who hated writing, collected with some difficulty a pen, ink, -and a coloured picture postcard of the Houses of Parliament. - -“Thanks for yours ever so much,” she wrote. “I expect you’re having a -fine old time in Liverpool. All here send kind remembrances.” - -Then, because she could not think what else to put, she filled in -the remaining space on the card with two large crosses. “From your’s -sincerely, Elsie.” - -Roberts, after an interval, wrote once more, and this letter Elsie -did not answer at all. She was out nearly every evening, walking, or -lounging round the nearest public park, with Irene Tidmarsh, Johnnie -and Arthur Osborne, and Stanley Begg. - -Arthur Osborne was nominally Irene’s “friend,” but he, as well as -Johnnie and Stanley, always wanted to walk with Elsie, or to sit next -her at the cinema, and their preference elated her, although the eldest -of the three, Arthur, was only twenty, and not one of them was earning -more than from fifteen to twenty shillings a week. - -At last Irene and Elsie quarrelled about Arthur, and Irene, furious, -went to Mrs. Palmer. - -“It’s no more than my duty, Mrs. Palmer,” she virtuously declared, “to -let you know the way Elsie goes on. The fellows may laugh and all that, -but they don’t like it, not really. I know my boy doesn’t, for one.” - -Mrs. Palmer, on different grounds, was quite as angry as Irene. - -She worked herself up, rehearsing to Geraldine all that Irene had said, -and a great deal that she alleged herself to have replied, and she -summoned her two unmarried sisters, Aunt Ada and Aunt Gertie Cookson, -to No. 15. - -“What I want,” she explained, “is to give the gurl a _fright_. I’m not -going to have her making herself cheap with young rag-tag-and-bobtail -like those Osborne boys. Why, a pretty gurl like Elsie could get -married, as easily as not, to a fellow with money. Nice enough people -come to this house, I’m sure. It’s on account of the gurls, simply, -that I’ve always been so particular about references and all. I’m sure -many’s the time I could have had the house full but for not liking -the looks of one or two that were ready to pay anything for a front -bedroom. But I’ve always said to myself, ‘No,’ I’ve said, ‘a mother’s -first duty is to her children,’ I’ve said, especially being in the -position of father and mother both, as you might say.” - -“I’m sure you’ve always been a wonderful mother, Edie,” said Aunt Ada. - -“Well,” Mrs. Palmer conceded, mollified. - -When Geraldine came in with the tea-tray to the drawing-room that Mrs. -Palmer was for once able to use, because the Williamses, her only -guests, had a sitting-room of their own, the aunts received her with -marked favour. - -“Mother’s helpful girlie!” said Aunt Gertie, as Geraldine put down the -plate of bread-and-butter, the Madeira cake on a glass cake stand, and -another plate of rock-buns. - -“Where’s Elsie?” Mrs. Palmer asked significantly. - -“Cutting out in the kitchen.” - -“Tell her to come along up. She knows your aunties are here.” - -“I told her to come, and she made use of a very vulgar expression,” -Geraldine spitefully declared. - -“I don’t know what’s come over Elsie, I’m sure,” Mrs. Palmer declared -helplessly. “She’s learnt all these low tricks and manners from that -friend of hers, that Ireen Tidmarsh.” - -Mrs. Palmer was very angry with Irene for her revelations, although she -was secretly rather enjoying her younger daughter’s notoriety. - -“Get that naughty gurl up from the kitchen directly,” she commanded -Geraldine. “No--wait a minute, I’ll go myself.” - -With extraordinary agility she heaved her considerable bulk out of her -low chair and left the room. - -“And what have you been doing with yourself lately?” Aunt Gertie -enquired of Geraldine. - -She was stout and elderly-looking, with a mouth over-crowded by large -teeth. She was older than Mrs. Palmer, and Aunt Ada was some years -younger than either, and wore, with a sort of permanent smirk, the -remains of an ash-blond prettiness. They were just able, in 1913, to -live in the house at Wimbledon that their father had left them, on -their joint income. - -“There’s always heaps to do in the house, I’m sure, Aunt Gertie,” said -Geraldine vaguely. “And I’m not strong enough to go to work anywhere, -really I’m not. Now Elsie’s different. She could do quite well in the -shorthand-typing, but she’s bone idle--that’s what she is. Or there’s -dressmaking--Elsie’s clever with her needle, that I will say for her.” - -Mrs. Palmer came back with Elsie behind her. The girl reluctantly laid -her face for a moment against each of the withered ones that bumped -towards her in conventional greeting. - -“Hallo, Aunt Gertie. Hallo, Aunt Ada,” she said lifelessly. - -Mrs. Palmer began to pour out the tea, and whilst they ate and drank -elegantly, the conversation was allowed to take its course without any -reference to the real point at issue. - -“What are these Williamses like, that have got the downstairs -sitting-room, Edie?” - -“Oh, they _are_ nice people,” said Mrs. Palmer enthusiastically. “A -solicitor, he is, and only just waiting to find a house. I believe -they’ve ever such a lot of furniture in store. They lived at Putney -before, but it didn’t suit Mrs. Williams. She’s delicate.” - -Mrs. Palmer raised her eyebrows and glanced meaningly at the aunts. - -Aunt Ada gazed eagerly back at her. - -“Go and get some more bread-and-butter, Elsie,” commanded Mrs. Palmer, -and when the girl had left the room she nodded at Aunt Ada. - -“You know, Mrs. Williams isn’t very strong just now. She’s been unlucky -before, too--twice, I fancy.” - -“But when? Surely you aren’t going to have anything like that _here_?” - -“Oh dear, no! I told her it was out of the question, and she quite -understood. It isn’t till April, and they hope to move into their new -house after Christmas. _She_ must be about fifteen years younger than -_he_ is, I imagine.” - -“How strange!” said Aunt Gertie. - -Both she and Aunt Ada were always intensely interested in any detail -about anybody, whether known or unknown to them personally. - -“Rather remarkable, isn’t it, that there should be an event on the -way----” Aunt Ada began. - -Mrs. Palmer frowned heavily at her as Elsie came back into the room. -“It’s ever so long since we’ve seen you, as I was just saying,” she -remarked in a loud and artificial voice, making Elsie wish that she had -waited outside the door and listened. She thought that they must have -been talking about her. - -After tea was over, they did talk about her. Mrs. Palmer began: “You -can let Geraldine take the tea-things, Elsie. It won’t be the first -time, lately, she’s done your share of helping your poor mother as well -as her own.” - -“I’m sorry to hear that,” from Aunt Gertie. - -“Geraldine’s health isn’t as strong as yours, either. She looks to me -as though she might go into consumption, if you want to know,” said -Aunt Ada. - -They looked at Elsie, and she looked sulkily back at them. - -It was one of the days on which she was at her plainest. Her face -looked fat and heavy, the high cheek-bones actually seemed to be -pushing her lower lids upwards until her eyes appeared as mere slits. -Her mouth was closed sullenly. - -“Elsie’s not been a good gurl lately, and she knows it very well. Her -own mother doesn’t seem to have any influence with her, so perhaps ...” -said Mrs. Palmer to her sisters, but looking at her child, “perhaps -you’ll see what you can do. It’s not a thing I like to talk about, -ever, but we know very well what happens to a gurl who spends her -time larking about the streets with fellows. To think that a child of -mine----” - -“What do you do it _for_, Elsie?” enquired Aunt Gertie, in a practical -tone, as though only such shrewdness as hers could have seized at once -upon this vital point. - -“Do what?” - -“What your poor mother says.” - -“She hasn’t said anything, yet.” - -“Don’t prevaricate with me, you bad gurl, you,” said Mrs. Palmer -sharply. “You know very well what I mean, and so do others. The tales -that get carried to me about your goings-on! First one fellow, and then -another, and even running after a whipper-snapper that’s already going -with another gurl!” - -“This is a bit of Ireen’s work, I suppose,” said Elsie. “I can’t help -it if her boy’s sick of her already, can I? I’m sure I don’t care -anything about Arthur Osborne, or any of them, for that matter.” - -The implication that Elsie Palmer, at sixteen and a half, could afford -to distinguish between her admirers, obscurely infuriated the spinster -Aunt Ada. - -She began to tremble with wrath, and white dents appeared at the -corners of her mouth and nostrils. “You’re not the first gurl whose -talked that way, and ended by disgracing herself and her family,” she -cried shrilly. “If I were your mother, I’d give you a sound whipping, I -declare to goodness I would.” - -Elsie shot a vicious look at her aunt out of the corners of her -slanting eyes. “Are the grapes sour, Aunt Ada?” she asked insolently. - -Aunt Ada turned white. “D’you hear that, Edie?” she gasped. - -“Yes, I do,” said Mrs. Palmer vigorously, “and I’m not going to put up -with it, not for a single instant. Elsie Palmer, you beg your auntie’s -pardon directly minute.” - -“I won’t.” - -The vast figure of Mrs. Palmer in her Sunday black frock upreared -itself and stood, weighty and menacing, over her child. She had never -hit either of her daughters since childhood, but neither of them had -ever openly defied her. - -“Do as I say.” - -“N-no.” - -Elsie’s voice quavered, and she burst into tears. Mrs. Palmer let out a -sigh of relief. She knew that she had won. - -“Do--as--I--say.” - -“I’m sure I’m very sorry, Aunt Ada, if I said what I didn’t ought.” - -“It isn’t what you said, dear,” said Aunt Ada untruthfully. “It was the -way you said it.” - -There was a silence. - -Then Mrs. Palmer pursued her advantage. “You may as well understand, -Elsie, that this isn’t going on. I haven’t got the time, nor yet the -strength, to go chasing after you all day long. I know well enough -you’re not to be trusted--out of the house the minute my back’s the -other way--and coming in at all hours, and always a tale of some sort -to account for where you’ve been. So, my lady, you’ve got to make up -your mind to a different state of things. What’s it to be: a job as a -typewriter, or apprenticed to the millinery? Your kind Aunt Gertie’s -got a friend in the business, and she’s offered to speak for you.” - -“I’d rather the typing,” said Elsie sullenly. - -“Then you’ll come with me and see about a post to-morrow morning as -ever is,” said Mrs. Palmer. “It’s your own doing. You could have stayed -at home like a lady, helping Mother and Geraldine, if you’d cared to. -But I’m not going to have any gurl of mine getting herself a name the -way you’ve been doing.” - -“I suppose I can go now?” - -“You can go if you want to,” said Mrs. Palmer, flushed with victory. -“And mind and remember what I’ve said, for I mean every word of it.” - -It was only too evident that she did, and Elsie went out of the room -crying angrily. She did not really mind the idea of becoming a typist -in an office or a shop in the very least, but she hated having been -humiliated in front of her aunts and Geraldine. - -As she went upstairs, sobbing, she met Mrs. Williams coming down. She -was a gentle, unhealthy-looking woman of about thirty, so thin that -her clothes always looked as though they might drop off her bending, -angular body. - -“What’s the matter, dear?” - -“It’s nothing.” - -“Come into the sitting-room, won’t you, and rest a minute?” - -“Well, I don’t mind.” - -Elsie reflected that there would probably be a fire in the -sitting-room, and in her own room it was cold, and she knew that the -bed was still unmade. - -She followed Mrs. Williams into the sitting-room, where Mr. Williams -sat reading a Sunday illustrated paper. - -“Horace, this poor child is quite upset. Give her a seat, dear.” - -“It’s all right,” said Elsie, confused. - -She had only seen Mr. Williams half a dozen times. He always -breakfasted and went out early, and Elsie, of late, had eaten her -supper in the kitchen. They had met at meal-times on Sundays, but she -had never spoken to him, and thought him elderly and uninteresting. - -Mr. Williams was indeed forty-three years old, desiccated and inclined -to baldness, a small, rather paunchy man. - -His little, hard grey eyes gleamed on Elsie now from behind his -pince-nez. - -“No bad news, I hope?” His voice was dry, and rather formal, with great -precision of utterance. - -His wife put her emaciated hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Two heads are -better than one, as they say. Horace and I would be glad to help you, -if we can.” - -“It is silly to be upset, like,” said Elsie, sniffing. “Mother and I -had a few words, that’s all, and I’m to get hold of a job. I’m sure I -don’t know why I’m crying. I shall be glad enough to get out of this -place for a bit.” - -“Hush, dear! That isn’t a nice way to speak of your home, now is it? -But about this job, now. Horace and I might be able to help you there.” - -She hesitated and looked at her husband. “What about the Woolleys, -dear?” - -“Yes--ye-es.” - -“These are some new acquaintances of ours, and they’ve a lovely house -at Hampstead, but Mrs. Woolley isn’t any too strong, and I know she’s -looking out for someone to help her with the children and all. It -wouldn’t be going to service--nothing at all like that, of course; I -know you wouldn’t think of that, dear--but just be one of the family at -this lovely house of theirs.” - -“It isn’t in the country, is it?” Elsie asked suspiciously. - -“Oh no, dear, Hampstead I said. Only three-quarters of an hour by ’bus -from town. Don’t you like the country?” - -“Too dead-alive.” - -“Well, these people that I’m telling you about, this Doctor and Mrs. -Woolley, they’re youngish married people, and most pleasant. Aren’t -they, Horace? And they’ve two sweet kiddies--a boy and a girl. Don’t -you think you’d like me to speak to Mrs. Woolley, now, dear?” - -Elsie was not sure. She felt that Mrs. Williams was going too fast. “I -don’t know,” she said ungraciously. - -“She’s right,” said Mr. Williams. “We mustn’t be in too great a hurry. -Write to your friend Mrs. Woolley by all means, my dear, and let this -young lady think it over, and have a talk with her mother and sister. -She may not care to live away from home altogether.” - -“Horace is always so business-like,” said Mrs. Williams admiringly. “I -expect he’s right, dear. But you’d like me to write, just to see if -there’s any chance, now wouldn’t you?” - -“What should I have to do there?” - -“Why, just help look after the kiddies. I’m sure you love children, now -don’t you?--and perhaps make a dainty cake or two for afternoon tea, if -Mrs. Woolley’s busy, or do a bit of sewing for her--and keep the doctor -amused in the evening if she has to go up early.” - -It was the last item that decided Elsie. “I don’t mind,” she said in -her usual formula of acceptance. - -Mrs. Williams was delighted. “I’m going to write off this very -evening,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “Horace and I have to go out -now, but I shan’t forget. It’ll be a lovely chance for you, dear.” - -Elsie rather enjoyed telling her mother and Geraldine that evening that -“Mrs. Williams was wild” to secure her services for a lady friend of -hers, who had a lovely house at Hampstead. - -“This Mrs. Woolley is delicate, and she wants a young lady to help her. -Of course, there’s a servant for the work of the house.” - -“If she’s counting on you to help her, the same as you’ve helped your -poor mother since you left school, she’s got a disappointment in -store,” said Mrs. Palmer grimly. “I don’t know that I’d let you go, -even if you get the chance.” - -In the end, Geraldine, who wanted the top bedroom to herself, and -who thought that Elsie, and the problem of Elsie’s behaviour, were -occupying too much attention, persuaded Mrs. Palmer that it would never -do to offend the Williamses. - -“Besides,” she argued, “it’ll be one less to feed here, and we can -easily move her bed into the second-floor back room and use it, if we -want to put up an extra gentleman any time.” - -Mrs. Palmer gave in, contingent on a personal interview with Mrs. -Woolley. - -This was arranged through Mrs. Williams. She one day ushered into the -dining-room of No. 15 a large, showily-dressed woman, who might have -been any age between thirty-eight and forty-five. - -Her rings, and her light, smart dress impressed Elsie, and her -suggestion of paying twenty-five pounds a year for Elsie’s services -satisfied Mrs. Palmer. - -“My hubby’s a frightfully busy man,” Mrs. Woolley remarked. “He isn’t -at home a great deal, but he likes me to do everything on the most -liberal scale--always has done--and he said to me, ‘Amy, you’re not -strong,’ he said, ‘even if you have a high colour’--so many people are -deceived by that, Mrs. Palmer--‘and you’ve got to have help. Someone -who can be a bit of a companion to you when I’m out on my rounds or -busy in the surgery, and who you can trust with Gladys and Sonnie.’” - -“I’m sure Elsie would like to help you, Mrs. Woolley, and you’ll find -her to be trusted,” Mrs. Palmer replied firmly. “I’ve always brought up -my gurls to be useful, even if they _are_ ladies.” - -“She looks young,” said Mrs. Woolley critically. - -“She’ll put her hair up before she comes to you. It may be a mother’s -weakness, Mrs. Woolley, but I’m free to confess that Elsie’s my baby, -and I’ve let her keep her curls down perhaps longer than I should.” - -Elsie remained demure beneath what she perfectly recognised as a form -of self-hypnotism, rather than conscious humbug, on the part of her -mother. - -There was at least no sentimentality in her leave-taking a week later. - -“Good-bye, Elsie, and mind and not be up to any of your tricks, now. -Mother’ll expect you on Sunday next.” - -“Good-bye, Mother,” said Elsie indifferently. - -She had that morning washed her hair, which made it very soft and -fluffy, and had pinned it up in half a dozen fat little sausages at -the back of her head. She was preoccupied with her own appearance, and -with the knowledge that the newly-revealed back of her neck was white -and pretty. She wore a blue serge coat and skirt, a low-cut blouse of -very pale pink figured voile, black shoes and stockings, and a dashing -little hat, round and brimless, with a big black bow that she had -herself added to it on the previous night. - -In the Tube railway, a man in the seat opposite to her stared at her -very hard. Elsie looked away, but kept on turning her eyes furtively -towards him, without moving her head. Every time that she did this, -their eyes met. - -The man was young, with bold eyes and a wide mouth. Presently he smiled -at her. - -Elsie immediately looked down at the toes of her new black shoes, -moving them this way and that as though to catch the light reflected in -their polish. - -At Belsize Park Station she got out, carrying her suitcase. - -As she passed the youth in the corner, she glanced at him again, then -stepped out of the train and went up the platform without looking -behind her. Although there was a crowd on the platform and in the lift, -and although she never looked round, Elsie could tell that he was -following her. - -The feeling that this gave her, half fearful and half delighted, was an -agreeable titilation to her vanity. She had experienced it before, just -as she had often been followed in the street before, but it never lost -its flavour. When she was in the street, she began to walk steadily -along, gazing straight in front of her. - -She heard steps on the pavement just behind her, and then the young man -of the train accosted her, raising his hat as he spoke: - -“Aren’t you going to give me the pleasure of your acquaintance?” he -suavely enquired. - -His voice was very polite, and his eyes looked faintly amused. - -“Oh!” Elsie cried in a startled tone. “I don’t think I know you, do I?” - -“All the more reason to begin now. Mayn’t I carry that bag for you?” - -He took it and they walked on together. - -“Perhaps you can tell me where Mortimer Crescent is,” Elsie said primly. - -“It will be my proudest privilege to escort you there,” he replied in -mock bombastic tones. - -It was a form of persiflage well known to Elsie, and she laughed in -reply. “You _are_ silly, aren’t you?” - -“Not at all. Now if you called me cheeky, perhaps....” - -“I’ll call you cheeky fast enough. A regular Cheeky Charlie, by the -look of you!” - -“I think I was born cheeky,” he agreed complacently. “D’you know what -first made me want to talk to you?” - -“What?” - -“That pink thing you’ve got on with all the ribbon showing through it.” - -He put out his hand and, with a familiar gesture, touched the front of -her blouse just below her collar-bone. - -“You mustn’t,” said Elsie, startled. - -“Why not?” - -“I don’t allow liberties.” - -“We’ll have to settle what liberties are, miss. Come for a walk this -evening and we can talk about it.” - -“Oh, I couldn’t! I’m just going into a new job.” - -She purposely used the word “new,” because she wanted him to think her -experienced and grown-up. - -“What can a kiddie like you do?” - -“Why, I’m private secretary to a duke, didn’t you know that?” - -“Lucky duke! Where does he live?” - -“Oh, that’d be telling. This isn’t Mortimer Crescent?” - -“It is, very much so indeed, begging your pardon for contradicting a -lady.” - -“Well, don’t come any further,” begged Elsie. “Ta-ta, and thanks for -carrying the bag.” - -“When do I see you again?” - -“I dunno! Never, I should think.” - -“Seven o’clock to-night?” - -“No, I can’t, really.” - -“To-morrow, then? I’ll be outside the Belsize Park station, and we’ll -go on the razzle-dazzle together. I’d like to show you a bit of life. -Seven o’clock, mind.” - -“You and your seven o’clock! You’ll be somewhere with your young lady, -I know.” - -“Haven’t got one.” - -“Wouldn’t she have you?” scoffed Elsie. “No accounting for tastes, is -there?” - -“I’ll make you pay for this to-morrow night, you little witch--see if I -don’t!” - -Elsie had caught hold of her suitcase, and began to walk away from him. - -“Which number are you going to?” - -“Eight.” - -“I’ll ring the bell for you.” - -He did so, rather to her fright and vexation. She urged him in low -tones to go away, but he continued to stand beside her on the doorstep, -laughing at her annoyance, until a capped and aproned maid opened the -door. - -Then he lifted his hat, said “Good-night” very politely, and went away. - -She never saw him again. - - - - -IV - - -Elsie found the life at 8, Mortimer Crescent, a pleasant contrast to -that of her own home. - -Mrs. Woolley herself never came downstairs before half-past nine or -ten o’clock, and then she was very often only partly dressed, wearing -a stained and rumpled silk kimono and a dirty lace-and-ribbon-trimmed -boudoir cap. Elsie’s only duty in the morning was to keep the two -children quiet while their mother slept. This she achieved by the -simple expedient of letting them go to bed so late at night that they -lay like little logs far on into the morning. - -Elsie shared a bedroom with Gladys, and Sonnie’s cot was in a -dressing-room opening into theirs. - -The children were rather pallid and unwholesome, never quite free from -colds or coughs, and seeming too spiritless even to be naughty. They -went to a kindergarten school from eleven to four o’clock every day, -and Elsie took them there and fetched them away again. - -During the daytime she was supposed to dust the dining-room, -drawing-room, and Mrs. Woolley’s bedroom, but she soon found out that -no accumulation of dust, cigarette ends, or actual dirt would ever be -noticed by the mistress of the house. - -There was a general servant, who was inclined to resent Elsie’s -presence in the house, and who left very soon after her arrival. -Another one came, and was sent away at the end of a week’s trial -because Mrs. Woolley said she was impertinent, and after an -uncomfortable interim, during which Elsie nominally “did” the cooking, -and they lived upon tinned goods and pressed beef, there came a -short-lived succession of maids who never stayed. - -At first, Doctor Woolley was seldom seen by Elsie. He went out early, -and both he and his wife were out nearly every night. - -Mrs. Woolley told Elsie that they adored the theatre. Elsie, who adored -it too, had on these occasions, after putting the two children to bed, -to remain sulkily behind while Dr. and Mrs. Woolley, after an early -meal, walked away together to the Underground station. Sometimes Dr. -Woolley was sent for, and could not go, and Mrs. Woolley rang up one -of her friends on the telephone--always another woman--and took her -instead. One evening after this had happened, the doctor returned -unexpectedly early, just as Elsie had finished putting Gladys and -Sonnie to bed. - -She was coming downstairs, some needlework in her hands, as the doctor -slammed the hall door behind him. Instantly the prospect of a dreary -evening, probably to be spent in sucking sweets and surreptitiously -looking over everything on Mrs. Woolley’s untidy writing-table, -disappeared. - -“Hallo! And how was you to-morrow, Miss Elsie?” cried the doctor -genially. - -He was a stout, middle-aged man, jocose and very often foul-mouthed, -with nicotine stains on his fingers and grease spots on his waistcoat. - -He affected a manner of speech that Elsie found intensely amusing. - -“You and I all on our ownie own, eh? Where’s the missus?--and the kids?” - -“The children are in bed, and Mrs. Woolley’s gone to the play with Miss -Smith, Doctor.” - -“And haven’t you got a drink of cocoa and a bit of bread for a poor -man, kind lady?” - -Elsie burst out laughing. “You’re so silly, I can’t help laughing!” - -“‘Silly,’ says she, quite the lady. ‘How’s that?’ says I; to which she -says, ‘Not at all,’ says she, and the same to you and many of them,” -was the doctor’s reply. - -Elsie giggled wildly. - -“Come along now, tell that slut in the kitchen to stir her stumps and -bring some food to the dining-room. Have you had your supper yet?” - -“No, Doctor.” - -“Then you and I will make a party-carry, otherwise a _tête-à-tête_, -otherwise a night of it. Run along and I’ll get out something that will -make your hair curl.” - -Elsie had heard this formula before, and understood that the doctor -would unlock the door of the tiny wine-cellar and bring out a bottle. - -She told the maid to bring supper for Doctor Woolley to the -dining-room, but she herself carried in her own plate and cup and -saucer, knowing that Florrie was quite aware she had already eaten her -evening meal with Mrs. Woolley. - -The doctor was drawing the cork out of a bottle as she came into the -room. The electric light was turned on, and the small dining-room, with -drawn red curtains, and the gas-fire burning, was bright and hot. - -The doctor ate heavily of cold meat and pickles, prodding with a fork -amongst the mixed contents of the glass jar until he had annexed all -the pickled onions that it contained. - -He made Elsie sit down and eat too, but he made no demur to her -assurance that she wasn’t hungry and only wanted some cake and a cup of -cocoa. - -At first the doctor gave all his attention to the food and warmth of -which he stood in need, and Elsie felt self-conscious, and as though -she were out of place. - -She ceased to answer his occasional facetious interjections, and threw -herself back in her chair, gazing down at her own clasped hands. - -Gradually the atmosphere of the room altered, and Elsie’s instinct told -her that the current of magnetism that had never failed her yet was -awakening its inevitable response in the man opposite. - -At once she felt confident again, and at her ease. - -“I say, why didn’t the missus take you to the theatre when she found I -was busy?” he queried suddenly. - -“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose she never thought of such a thing.” - -“Wanted someone nearer her own age, eh? You won’t find the ladies -running after someone younger and prettier than themselves, you know. -Too much of a contrast.” - -Elsie laughed self-consciously. - -“All the better for me, eh? I’m not often allowed to get you all to -myself like this, eh? Ah, when I was a gay young bacheldore things was -different, they was.” - -Elsie laughed again, this time in spontaneous tribute to the humour of -wilful mis-pronunciation. - -“Now, what about this bottle that you made me get out, eh? Where are -the glasses?” - -He found two in the cupboard of the carved walnut sideboard, and poured -a liberal allowance of port from the bottle into each. - -“Oh, I couldn’t, Doctor! You must excuse me, really you must. I simply -couldn’t.” - -“Oh, couldn’t you, really, awfully, truly couldn’t?” he mimicked in -exaggerated falsetto. “Well, you’ve got to--so that’s _that_!” - -“Who says so?” - -“I say so. I. _Moi._ ‘_Je_,’ replies I, knowing the language. Come -along now, be a good girl.” - -He laid his big coarse hand on hers, and at the contact the familiar -thrill of sensuous excitement and pleasure ran through her. - -“Are you going to drink it?” he said masterfully. - -“Oh, I suppose I must try it. I’ve never tasted wine before,” Elsie -added truthfully. - -“High time you began, then.” - -He went back to his place, and drank in long gulps, first saying: - - “Our hands have met--our lips not yet-- - Here’s hoping!” - -Elsie sipped at her glass, choked, and put it down again. “How -beastly!” she said, shuddering. - -“You’ll get used to it.” - -“No, I shan’t, because I’m not going to touch the horrid stuff again.” - -“We’ll see about that.” - -He came round beside her again, and held her with one arm while he -tried to force the glass to her lips. - -Elsie turned her head aside, struggling and laughing. - -“You young monkey!” said the doctor, and forced her face upwards with -his free hand. - -His breath was in her face, and his inflamed eyes gazing into hers. -Instinctively Elsie ceased to struggle and closed her eyes. - -He kissed her mouth violently. “God! You haven’t got much to learn. -Who’s been teaching you?” he asked her roughly. - -“Oh, you oughtn’t to have done that,” said Elsie feebly. - -“Rubbish! You know I’ve been thinking of nothing else since you’ve been -here.” - -He sat down and pulled her on to his knee. “Now tell me all about it,” -he commanded. His manner was no longer facetious, and he had dropped -his jocosities of speech. - -“Let me go,” said Elsie. - -“Sit still.” - -“Suppose someone were to come in?” - -“No one will.” - -She wriggled a little, half-heartedly, and he gripped her more firmly -round the waist. The scene degenerated into a sort of scrambling orgy -of animalism. - -Elsie, although she was frightened, was also exhilarated at the -evidence that she possessed power over a man--and a married man--so -much older than herself. - -She knew that if at any moment he became unmanageable, she had only -to threaten to call the servant, and she fully intended to do so as -a last resort. But in the meanwhile there was an odd and breathless -fascination in feeling that she stood so close to a peril in which lay -all the lurking excitement of the unknown. - -A sudden wail from the room overhead startled them both. - -“That’s Sonnie!” gasped Elsie. - -“Oh, blast the kid!” - -But he let her go and she flew upstairs, glad, and yet disappointed, at -her release. - -She dismissed Sonnie’s nightmare with sharp injunctions not to be -silly, tucked him up and decided to go to her own room and not to -return downstairs. - -“That’ll show him,” she murmured, simulating to herself a conventional -indignation. - -In reality, she was intensely excited, and she had been tossing about -her bed restlessly for nearly an hour before reaction overtook her, and -she became prey to a strange, baffled feeling of having been cheated of -the climax due to so emotional an episode. - -When at last Elsie slept, it was after she had heard Mrs. Woolley come -in and the doctor bolt the hall door and both of them go upstairs to -their bedroom, on the other side of the landing. - -Every day now held the potentialities of amorous adventure. - -Sometimes Elsie did not see the doctor all day long, sometimes they met -in the evenings, with Mrs. Woolley present, and he talked in the old -facetious style, watching Elsie furtively as she giggled in response. - -He very often made excuses for passing things to her at meals, so that -their hands touched, and he pressed her foot under the table with his -big one, or rubbed it up and down her ankle. - -There were moments, however, when they were alone together, and then he -pulled her to him and kissed her roughly all over her face and neck, -pushing her abruptly away at the first possibility of interruption. -Once or twice, at the imminent risk of being discovered, he had -snatched hasty and provocative kisses from her lips in a chance -encounter on the stairs, or even behind the shelter of an open door. - -The perpetual fear of detection, no less than the tantalising -incompleteness of their relations, was a strain upon Elsie’s nerves, -and she was keyed up to a pitch of unusual sensitiveness when the -inevitable crisis came. - -Mrs. Woolley, in a new blue dress that looked too tight under the arms, -had taken the children to a party. - -The maid Florrie was out for the afternoon. Elsie, restless and on -edge, terribly wanted an excuse to go down to the surgery. At last she -found one, and after listening at the door to make certain that no -belated patient was with the doctor, she knocked. - -“Come in!” - -He was sitting at the writing-table, rapidly turning over the leaves of -a big book. - -“Elsie!” - -“Oh, if you please, Doctor,” she minced, “they’ve all gone out, and -Mrs. Woolley left a message to say if you _could_ go and fetch her and -the children from 85, Lower Park Avenue, about seven o’clock----” - -“Stow it, Elsie! D’you mean to say you and I are the only people left -in the place? Where’s that damned slut in the kitchen, eh?” - -“It’s Florrie’s afternoon out, Doctor, but----” - -“Florrie be damned! Look here, Elsie, this sort of thing can’t go on.” - -She backed until she stood against the wall, feeling the warm blood -surge into her face and looking at him through half-closed eyelids. - -“What sort of thing?” - -“You know very well what I mean. Look at me. D’you think I’m a man?” - -He thrust out his chest and doubled up his arms, standing with his -legs wide apart. In spite of his grossness and unwholesome fat, Elsie -thrilled to the suggestion of his masculine strength. - -“Yes,” she murmured. - -“Well, I tell you no man’s going to stand what you’re making me stand. -Elsie, you little devil! Don’t you know you’re driving me mad? God, if -I could tell you the sort of dreams I get at night, now!” - -“About me?” she asked curiously. - -“Shut up!” His voice was savage, and she suddenly saw sweat glistening -on his upper lip and round his nose. - -Elsie decided to begin to cry. “It frightens me when you shout at me -like that. Perhaps I’d better go,” she said sobbingly. - -“No, no, no! I say, what a brute I am! Come here and be comforted, -little girl.” - -He sat down heavily in the revolving chair before the writing-table and -held out his hand. - -Elsie advanced slowly, without looking at him, until she came within -reach of his arm. Then he caught hold of her and drew her on to his -knee, gripping her tightly until her weight sank against his shoulder. - -“Let me kiss all the tears away. What a hound I am to make you cry! -Was’ums very mis’mis?” - -He petted and soothed her, kissing the back of her neck and her -dust-coloured curls, murmuring absurd, infantile phrases. - -Presently he whispered: “D’you love me?” - -Elsie laughed and would not answer, and he struggled with her -playfully, pulling her about, and grasping at her with his big hands. - -After the horse-play, she put both arms round his neck and lay still. - -“I want to know something,” said Doctor Woolley slowly. - -“What’s that?” - -“Don’t you know more than a good little girl ought to know?” - -“What about?” - -“About--life. About being kissed, for instance. I’m not the first, my -girl, not by a long, long way. You’re the sort that begins early, _I_ -know.” - -“You’ve a nerve!” Elsie ejaculated, not knowing what to say. - -“Well, it’s true what I’m saying, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve let fellows -kiss you?” - -“Just boys, perhaps.” - -“Hasn’t anyone taught you anything besides kissing, eh?” - -“Of course not! What do you take me for, I’d like to know? Mother -brought up me and my sister like ladies, let me tell you. Besides, I -don’t know what you’re driving at, I’m sure.” - -“Yes, you do.” - -“No, I don’t.” - -“Then I’ll show you.” - -“No!” screamed Elsie in a sudden, only half-assumed, panic. - -She sprang up, but he pulled her back again. - -“You silly little fool! You don’t suppose I’d really say or do -anything to frighten you, do you? Why, you’re much too precious.” - -He kissed her again and again. - -“Tell me one thing, though. You did know what I meant, didn’t you?” - -“I suppose so.” - -“Of course you did! A girl like you couldn’t help knowing. My God, I -wish I’d known you ten years ago. I wasn’t married then.” - -“You oughtn’t to talk like that.” - -“Why not? It’s true. Amy’s as cold as ice--not a real woman at all. And -she’s as jealous as the devil. I’ve always wondered why she let anyone -like you come into the house at all. It’s a miracle she hasn’t spotted -us yet.” - -“It’d be all up with me being here if she did,” said Elsie shrewdly. - -“If you go, I swear I’ll go with you,” said Doctor Woolley, but he said -it without conviction, and Elsie knew it. “Can’t do without you, little -one, at any price, now. But you’ve got to be even sweeter than you’ve -been to me yet.” - -Elsie shivered a little, excited and disturbed, and in part genuinely -shocked. - -“When will you, Elsie?” - -His breath on her neck was hot and hurried. - -She jumped off his knee. “Oh, look, it’s getting on for half-past six! -You’ll have to be off.” - -“Come back! You haven’t told me what I want to know yet.” He grabbed at -her dress. - -“Listen!” cried Elsie. - -In the second during which he turned, arrested, she slipped out of the -room. - -Her heart was beating very fast, and her face burning. - -She half expected him to follow her, but he did not do so; and she was -partly relieved and partly disappointed. - -She saw him again at supper, which the Woolleys always called dinner, -and the consciousness between them caused a singular constraint to -pervade the atmosphere. Mrs. Woolley, for the first time, seemed to be -aware of it, and every now and then turned sharp, bulging brown eyes -from her husband to Elsie, compressing her thin lips until they formed -a mere hard line in her red face. - -When the meal was finished, she told Elsie to go upstairs and fetch one -of her evening dresses. “I want to see if I can’t smarten it up a bit,” -she explained. “I’m in rags, not fit to be seen.” - -“I’ll stand you a new frock, Amy,” said the doctor suddenly. “How much -d’you want, eh?” - -“Oh! Why, whatever’s up, Herbert? I’m sure it’s ages since I’ve had a -thing, and I’d be only too delighted----” - -She broke off. - -“Run up, Elsie, will you? The primrose dress, with the black lace, in -the left-hand corner of my wardrobe....” - -Elsie went, envious of the new dress, and at the same time thinking -mockingly of Mrs. Woolley’s mottled skin and the lines that ran from -her heavy nostrils to her sagging chin. Dresses and jewellery ought to -be for girls who were young and pretty, not married women, plain and -stout, like Mrs. Woolley. When Elsie came down again the doctor had -gone, and Mrs. Woolley was in high good humour. - -“I’ll get some tulle to-morrow, Elsie, and we can freshen it up round -the neck and sleeves. You’d better rip off all this old stuff. And look -here--you’re handy with your fingers--you can take the lace off and put -it on that old navy blouse of mine, that’s got no collar. You know the -one I mean ... you can drape it a bit....” - -Elsie assented rather sulkily. - -“Doctor Woolley’s so generous,” said Mrs. Woolley complacently. “He’s -for ever giving me things, me and the children. If you knew more of -the world, Elsie, you’d realise how lucky a woman is when she gets a -hubby like mine who’s never so much as looked at another woman since -he married. Some men aren’t like that, I can tell you. The tales I -could let out, if I cared to, that I’ve heard from some! But if Doctor -Woolley’s manner sometimes puts ideas into people’s heads, why, they’ve -only themselves to blame is what I always say. He wouldn’t give a -thought to anyone but me, not really.” - -She looked full at Elsie as she spoke, and Elsie stared back at her. - -The girl was puzzled and angry, not feeling certain that she knew -whether Mrs. Woolley really believed her own words, or was using them -to convey an oblique warning. - -“If she really imagines that, she must be a fool,” thought Elsie -contemptuously, only to veer round uneasily a moment later to the -conviction that Mrs. Woolley had been talking _at_ her. - -It was the latter unpleasant belief that prevailed, without possibility -of mistake, in the course of the next few days. Whenever the doctor was -in the house, Mrs. Woolley made a point of remaining at his side, and -during the hours when he was in the surgery she kept Elsie employed -with the children, every now and then coming to look in on her with -excuses that were always transparently flimsy. - -The tension in the atmosphere pervaded the whole house. - -At last one afternoon, when Gladys and Sonnie were at school, and Mrs. -Woolley in the drawing-room with an unexpected caller, Elsie and the -doctor met upon the stairs. - -She knew that she was looking her worst, strained and overwrought, and -with the odd Japanese aspect of her eyes and cheek-bones intensified. -Even her hair felt limp and unresilient. - -She looked at the doctor rather piteously, envisaging to herself her -own unprepossessing appearance, and wishing that she had at least -powdered her face recently. - -“Where’s Amy?” - -“In the drawing-room, with a lady visitor.” - -“Thank God! I’ve been hag-ridden for the last week. What the devil’s -up, Elsie?” - -“I don’t know,” she murmured. “At least, I know Mrs. Woolley’s been -horrid to me lately, that’s all.” - -“She has, has she?” he muttered furiously. “Here--come in here.” - -He drew her into the shelter of the nearest doorway. - -“Elsie, I’m mad about you. This sort of thing can’t go on--it’s simply -hell.” - -“Oh, hush, someone’ll hear....” - -“I don’t care who hears!” But he lowered his voice. “I haven’t had a -kiss from you for days--quick_!_” - -Their lips met. - -“You dear little girl! Is she being a beast to you?” - -Elsie, in his embrace, started violently. “_Someone coming upstairs!_” -she hissed. - -He stood motionless to listen, waited a second too long, and then -sharply shut the door. - -“Florrie!” Elsie whispered in a frightened voice. “Did she see us?” - -“No, no--not a chance. Or, if she did, she only saw me. She won’t think -anything of that.” - -“She’s gone upstairs--I must go.” - -“No, don’t. I tell you it’s all right. Hang it, Elsie, when am I going -to get a word with you again?” - -“Oh, I don’t know. I think I shall go home again.” She was half crying. - -“Elsie, d’you know Amy’s going out to-morrow night? She’s going to see -her friend, that Williams woman, who’s ill.” - -“What, the one that was at mother’s place?” - -“Yes--yes--but they’re in their own house now. It’ll take her all the -evening to get there and back, pretty nearly.” - -“She won’t go.” - -“Yes, she will. I shall tell her I’m going off to a case at Roehampton -or somewhere, and that I shan’t be back till late.” - -“Oh, don’t. It simply isn’t safe.” - -“It’s quite safe, you little fool. You and me have got to come to an -understanding, I can’t stand this life another minute. Look here, we’ll -go out somewhere together.” - -“No, no! That’d be much worse. Sonnie always wakes up, and he’ll scream -himself into a fit if I’m not there, and then Florrie would know----” - -“I forgot the kids. Elsie--Gladys sleeps in your room doesn’t she?” - -“Yes,” said Elsie, suddenly flushing scarlet. - -He laughed abruptly, scanning her face with hungry eyes. “I’ll have a -fire in the surgery. We’ll go down there. Florrie knows better than to -put her foot inside it,” said Doctor Woolley significantly. - - - - -V - - -It was two days later. - -Florrie and Mrs. Woolley were talking in the kitchen. Elsie hung about -in the diminutive passage, trying desperately to hear what they were -saying. An awful intuition gripped her that they were talking of her. - -Florrie’s voice was indistinct, almost inaudible, but snatched phrases -rose occasionally from the angry monotone that was Mrs. Woolley’s. - -“... My innocent children ... turn my back ... the gutter ... don’t you -talk to me ... the gutter ... out of the gutter....” - -Elsie tried wildly to persuade herself that Mrs. Woolley was abusing -Florrie. Sometimes she lost her temper with her servants, and shouted -at them. - -On the evening that Mrs. Woolley had gone to see her friend Mrs. -Williams, who was reported very ill, Elsie, in her best frock, had -boldly gone into the surgery, where a fire blazed, and there was a -sofa newly piled with cushions. On the table had been placed a bottle -and glasses and a dish of biscuits. Doctor Woolley had locked the door -behind her, in spite of Elsie’s half-meant protests, but at first he -had been entirely jovial, using catch-phrases that had made her laugh, -and drinking heartily. - -She herself had begun to feel rather affronted and puzzled at his -aloofness, before it suddenly came to an end. - -The remembrance of her own surrender rather bewildered Elsie. She -had never consciously made up her mind to it, but the doctor’s -urgency, her own physical susceptibility, and an underlying, violent -curiosity had proved far too strong for her feeble defences, based -on timidity and on the recollection of certain unexplained, and -less-than-half-understood, arbitrary axioms laid down during her -childhood by her mother. - -She supposed that that one half-hour in the surgery had made “a bad -girl” of her, but the aspect of the case that really preoccupied her -was her terror that Mrs. Woolley should have found it out. - -She felt sick with fright as the kitchen door opened, and, turning -round, pretended to be looking for something in the housemaid’s closet -under the stairs. - -She heard Mrs. Woolley brush past her and go into the drawing-room, -slamming the door violently behind her. - -Elsie, her knees shaking, went upstairs to fetch Gladys and Sonnie and -take them to their kindergarten. - -She dawdled on the way back, being unwilling to go into the house -again, and alternately hoping and dreading that the doctor would be at -home for the midday meal. - -At one o’clock, however, Mrs. Woolley and Elsie sat down without him. - -Mrs. Woolley did not speak to Elsie. She kept on looking at her, -and then looking away again. Her hard face was inscrutable, but -Elsie noticed that her hands, manipulating her knife and fork, shook -slightly. The doctor came in before the meal was over, jaunty and -talkative. - -“Hallo! Is this Wednesday, or Piccadilly, or what? Which I mean to say -is, has the cold meat stage been passed and the rice pudding come on, -or contrarywise?” - -Elsie burst into nervous laughter, the strident sound of which caused -the doctor to glance at her sharply, and Mrs. Woolley said: - -“Nonsense, Herbert! The way you talk, sometimes! The girl has got your -meat and vegetables keeping hot in the oven, and I’m sure you haven’t -seen rice pudding at the table for a fortnight. There’s a nice piece of -cheese on the side, too.” - -The doctor ate in silence, voraciously, as he always did, and his wife -presently said in a thin, vicious voice: - -“Of course, you’ve nothing to say to your wife, Herbert. It’s easy -enough to talk and be amusing with strangers, isn’t it?--but I suppose -it isn’t worth while in your own home.” - -“What’s up, Amy?” he growled. He did not look at Elsie, who found -herself fixing apprehensive eyes on him, although she knew it was a -betrayal. - -“Why should anything be up, as you call it? But as it isn’t very -amusing for me to sit here all day while you eat, and as I happen to be -rather busy, strange though it may seem, I think I’ll ask you to excuse -me.” - -She turned her head towards Elsie, but spoke without looking at her. -“I’ll thank you to come and find that paper pattern for Gladys’s smock. -The child isn’t fit to be seen.” - -Mrs. Woolley pushed Elsie out of the room in front of her, making it -obvious that she meant her to have no opportunity of exchanging a look -with the doctor. - -Throughout the afternoon she never let the girl out of her sight until -Elsie had actually left the house to go and fetch the two children from -school. - -It was abundantly evident that a crisis impended. The atmospheric -tension affected everyone in the house, and Elsie, her nerves on edge, -became frantic. - -She said, immediately after supper, that she was tired, and should go -to bed, and Mrs. Woolley laughed, shortly and sarcastically. - -Elsie went up to her room and cried hysterically on her bed until -Gladys woke and began to whine enquiries. - -It seemed impossible, to Elsie’s inexperience, that the horrors of that -day should repeat themselves, but the next one was Sunday, and brought -its own miseries. - -The doctor, who did not go to church as a rule, announced his intention -of accompanying his family, and they set out, a constrained procession: -Gladys, in tight black boots and with fair hair crimped round her -shoulders, holding her father’s hand, Mrs. Woolley, walking just a -little faster than was comfortable for Sonnie’s short legs, clutching -the boy’s hand, and Elsie slouching a pace or two behind, cold and -wretched. - -At the bottom of the Crescent they met an elderly couple who often -came to see them, and whom Elsie knew well by name as Mr. and Mrs. -Loman. - -The encounter broke up the procession, and caused a readjustment of -places. Mrs. Woolley was at once claimed by the sallow, spectacled Mrs. -Loman, and the children, with shrill acclamations, ran to her husband, -Sonnie’s godfather and the purveyor of many small treats and presents. - -The doctor, after a loud and boisterous greeting, boldly joined Elsie, -and both of them dropped behind the others. - -“Oh, I’ve wanted so to speak to you!” gasped Elsie. - -“Shut up--don’t make a fuss now, there’s a good girl. Keep a cheery -face on you, for God’s sake, or we shall give the show away worse than -we’ve done already.” - -Mrs. Woolley turned round. “Herbert, Mrs. Loman is just saying that she -hasn’t set eyes on you for ages. Come and give an account of yourself.” - -She spoke in a thin, artificial voice, but her eyes blazed a command at -him. - -The doctor stared back at her, insolent security in his manner. -“Thankee, Amy, but I wouldn’t interrupt a ladies’ confab. for the -world. Go on about your sky-blue-purple Sunday-go-to-meeting costumes, -and I’ll keep Elsie company.” - -Mrs. Loman laughed and the doctor grinned back at her. - -White patches had appeared on the mottled surface of Mrs. Woolley’s -face, but she made no rejoinder. - -Doctor Woolley turned to Elsie again, the merriment dropping from his -manner. “That’ll shut her up for a bit,” he said between his teeth. -“Has she been giving you gyp, Elsie?” - -“Oh, it’s been awful. I’m certain she’s found out.” - -“How?” - -“That Florrie, I suppose.” - -“Damn Florrie and her mischief-making! Well, kiddie, the fat’s in the -fire. I’m afraid there’s only one thing for it.” - -“What?” - -“Why--why, my dear child, don’t you see for yourself--you’ll have to -clear out of here. No use waiting for Amy to make a bloody row, now is -there? If you simply say you’re going home again, she won’t have a leg -to stand on. And if it wasn’t for--for the kids, I’d go with you.” - -“You wouldn’t,” said Elsie bitterly. “I may be a bit green, but I’m not -green enough to swallow that.” - -“Don’t talk like that,” said Doctor Woolley. He slipped his hand under -her arm, and at the contact, jaded and miserable as she was, her pulses -leapt. His fingers squeezed her arm. - -“We’ve had some happy times together, little girl, eh?” he murmured in -a sentimental voice. “And don’t you see that when you’re on your own -again we can meet ever so much more freely. I want--you know what I -want, don’t you, Elsie?” - -She did not respond. “What _I_ want, is to know what’ll happen to me if -I go back to mother and say I’ve left Mrs. Woolley. You don’t suppose -she, and my sister and my aunts, aren’t going to ask what’s happened, -do you?” - -“Well, you can tell them something,” said the doctor impatiently. -“A clever girl like you, Elsie, surely you can think of something. -Besides, everybody knows that a pretty girl doesn’t always hit it off -with a woman older than herself. There’s nothing wonderful in that. -Damnation, they’re stopping!” - -“Here we are,” said Elsie. - -He withdrew his arm hastily from hers after a final pressure. - -Mrs. Woolley and her friend were already standing at the church steps, -and both of them fixed their eyes on Elsie and the doctor as they came -up. Elsie saw Mrs. Woolley touch the other woman’s elbow, and guessed -at, rather than heard, the words coming from between her teeth: - -“Look at that, now--_look at that_.” - -On Mrs. Loman’s face was an expression of mingled eagerness, curiosity, -and disgust. It was evident that Mrs. Woolley had spoken freely of her -wrongs. - -Elsie spent her time in church in wondering whether it would yet be -possible to blunt Mrs. Woolley’s suspicions, or whether she dared face -her mother with a made-up story to account for her return. - -She was still young enough to have a furtive dread that her mother must -be omniscient in her regard, and she was afraid that Mrs. Palmer would -somehow guess at her lapse and tax her with it. - -Elsie had very often lied to her mother before, but not with any -conspicuous success, and she felt just now strangely shaken and -unnerved, physically and morally. - -When they came out of church, the Lomans hospitably pressed their -friends to return with them, share the hot Sunday dinner, and spend -the afternoon. The children were specifically included, but Mrs. Loman -glanced in Elsie’s direction, and then looked back at Mrs. Woolley, -raising her eyebrows. - -“You’d better go and see your mother this afternoon,” said Mrs. Woolley -coldly. “Go home first and tell Florrie we shall be out, and she can -lock up the house and go out for a bit herself. Tell her she must be -back by five.” - -“All right,” said Elsie lifelessly. - -She turned on her heel, when a sudden shout stopped her. - -“Post those letters of mine, will you?” said Doctor Woolley very -loudly. “You’ll find them in”--he came nearer to her--“_wait in till -I come_,” he muttered almost inaudibly, and rejoined his wife before -Elsie had taken in the meaning of his words. It came to her afterwards, -and the renewed sense of intrigue very slightly relieved the dull -misery pervading her. - -At No. 8, Mortimer Crescent, the hot joint was taken out of the oven -and left to grow cold, but Florrie had made a Yorkshire pudding, and -she and Elsie ate it for their dinner, and added pickles and bread and -cheese and cake to the meal. Very soon afterwards, Florrie announced -that she was going off at once. - -“So am I,” said Elsie. “I told _her_ I’d lock up the house. Mind you’re -in by five.” - -“That’s as it may be,” haughtily said Florrie, with a venomous glance. -Elsie felt far too tired to quarrel with the maid, as she had often -done before, and when Florrie was actually gone she went upstairs and -lay down on her bed. It was nearly three o’clock before a cautious -sound from below betrayed the return of the doctor. - -Elsie rose and automatically glanced at herself in the looking-glass. -One side of her face was flushed, her eyes looked small and -swollen-lidded, and her hair was disordered. She dabbed powder on her -face and pulled her wave of hair further down over her forehead before -going downstairs. - -The doctor was hanging up his hat on the crowded hooks that lined one -side of the wall in the tiny entrance lobby. - -“Coast clear?” - -Elsie nodded. - -“Sure?” - -“Absolutely.” She held out the key of the house door. “I’ve locked up -at the back.” - -“Then I’ll lock up at the front,” said Doctor Woolley, and did so. - -“My God, we’re in a bloody mess,” he began, turning round and facing -Elsie. - -Desperate, she ran forward and threw herself into his arms, -instinctively seeking the only reassurance she knew, that of physical -contact. - -The doctor suddenly buried his face in her hair, then forced her face -upwards and kissed her passionately. - -They clung to one another. - -At last he released his clasp, only keeping one arm round her waist. - -“Where can we go? We’ll have to settle something, and Lord knows when I -shall get another chance of speaking to you, with that hell-cat on the -warpath. I’ve had the deuce and all of a time getting here now, and we -must both clear out of the place before she and the kids get back. Put -on your hat and coat, old girl, and come along.” - -“Where to?” - -“Where I take you,” said the doctor brusquely. - -When she came down again, he hurried her out of the house, locking the -door again behind them, and putting the key under the scraper, where it -was always looked for on Sunday. - -“Taxi!” - -The doctor hailed a passing taxi and made Elsie get into it. - -He gave the address of a hotel in a street of which she had never heard. - -“Where are we going to?” - -“Somewhere where I can talk to you.” - -He passed his arm round her again, and she made no pretence of -resistance, but lay against him, letting him play with her hand and -occasionally bend his head down to kiss her lips. - -Elsie had slept very little for the past three nights; she had shed -tears, and she had been subject to a continual nervous strain. By -the time that the taxi stopped she was almost dozing, and it was in -a half-dazed state that she followed Dr. Woolley into the dingy hall -of a high building and, after a very short parley with a stout man in -evening dress, to an upstairs sitting-room. - -She asked nothing better than to sink on to the narrow couch in a -corner of the room and let herself be petted and caressed, but after a -time her wearied senses awoke, and told her that the man beside her was -becoming restive and excited. - -“Look here, Elsie,” he said finally, “you’re a beguiling little witch, -you are--but we’ve got to come down to hard facts. I’m going to order -you a pick-me-up, and have one myself, and then we can talk about -what’s to be done next. I’ve got to be home again, worse luck, by seven -o’clock. I’m supposed to have had an urgent call to Amy’s friend, Mrs. -Williams. She’s ill enough, poor soul, in all conscience, and I’ll have -to go there before I go home. Now then, what’ll you have?” - -“Tea,” said Elsie. - -He laughed. “Women are all alike! You can have your tea--poisonous -stuff, tincture of tannin--and I’ll order what I think’s good for you -to go with it. Wait here till I come back.” - -He went out, and Elsie, already revived and stimulated, flew to the -spotted and discoloured looking-glass, and took out her pocket-comb to -rearrange her curls. - -She actually enjoyed the hot, strong tea when it came, and her spirits -suddenly rose to a boisterous pitch. - -They both laughed loudly at the faces that Elsie made over the bottle -that the doctor had obtained, and from which he repeatedly helped -himself and her, and although they kept on telling one another that -they must talk seriously, their hilarity kept on increasing. At last he -began to make violent love to her, and Elsie responded coquettishly, -luring him on by glance and gesture, while her tongue uttered glib -and meaningless protests. Very soon, her flimsy defences gave way -altogether, and she had ceded to him everything that he asked. - -Then the inevitable reaction overtook her, and she cried, and called -herself a wicked girl, and finally sank limply into a corner of the -taxi that Dr. Woolley had summoned to the door of the hotel. - -He got in beside her. “Buck up, little girl!” he cried urgently. -“You’ll be at No. 8 in no time, and we don’t want Amy asking awkward -questions. Look here, I’ll put you down at the corner of the Crescent, -and you can walk to the house. The air’ll do you good, and besides, we -can’t be seen together. I’m off to that wretched Williams woman, and -I’m not going to be in till late.” - -Elsie continued to sob. - -“Come, come, come--pull yourself to pieces,” Doctor Woolley tried to -make her laugh. “We’ve not settled anything, but we’ve had our time -together. Ah, a little love is a great thing in a world like this one, -Elsie. Thank you for being so sweet to me, little girl.” - -He kissed her hastily, with a perfunctoriness of which she was aware. - -When the taxi stopped in the main thoroughfare, a little way before the -turning into Mortimer Crescent, he almost shoved her on to the pavement. - -“Don’t forget--you’ve been out ever since dinner-time, and you imagine -me to have been in the buzzim of my family enjoying back chat with the -old Lomans. Don’t say anything about that, though, unless you’re asked. -Tell the man to drive like blazes now, will you?” - -Elsie mechanically obeyed. - -Then she dragged herself to No. 8. Her ring was answered by Florrie. - -The little servant girl was grinning maliciously. “She’s in the d--’s -own temper and all, and you’re going to catch it hot and strong for -leaving her to put the children to bed.” - -“Mind your own business, Florrie,” said Elsie, pushing past her. - -She affected not to hear the single word that the servant flung at her -back, but it made her wince. - -In the bedroom she found Gladys already in bed, wide awake. - -“Mother put us to bed. She was awfully cross, and she slapped Sonnie -twice and me once.” - -“What for?” - -“Oh, because I whined, she said. And she slapped Sonnie when he told -her about Dadda being so funny with you. You didn’t know we _saw_ one -day,” giggled Gladys. - -“Saw what?” - -“One day when Dadda kissed you and Sonnie and I saw, over the -banisters, and we laughed, but you didn’t hear us.” - -“You little viper!” muttered Elsie between her teeth. “I’d like to kill -you, I would.” - -Gladys alternately giggled and whined, and Elsie was quite unable to -distinguish whether the child was really malicious or simply amused by -something to which she attached no meaning. - -“Anyway, if she’s told her mother, it’s all up,” thought Elsie. - -She saw that there was nothing for it but to leave Mortimer Crescent, -and spent a miserable night wondering what to say to her mother and -sister. - -At midnight she heard the sound of the doctor’s key in the front door -and his heavy foot on the stairs. He paused outside her door for some -seconds, then she heard him go into his wife’s room. - -Elsie tossed about in her narrow bed. Her present dilemma frightened -her, and she had a vague, irrational idea that some awful and horrible -penalty always descended sooner or later upon girls who had done as -she had done. These fears, and her lack of any vivid imagination, had -dulled her emotional susceptibilities, and she scarcely felt regret at -the thought of no longer seeing the doctor. He now stood to her for the -symbol of an assuaged desire, the fulfilment of which had brought about -her present miseries. Nevertheless, at the back of her consciousness -was latent the conviction that never again would she be satisfied with -the clumsy demonstrations and meaningless contacts of her intercourse -with the boys and youths whom she had known at home. - -It seemed to her next morning that she was wholly ugly. Her complexion -looked sodden and her eyes were nearly invisible. Her mouth, in some -odd way, seemed to have swollen. No one could have called her pretty, -and to anyone who had seen her in good looks she would have been almost -unrecognisable. Mrs. Woolley, coming downstairs at ten o’clock, eyed -her with a malignant satisfaction. - -“Perhaps,” she said, “you won’t be altogether surprised to hear that -I’m going to make some changes. You’d better pack your box, and go home -to your mother, I think.” - -“I was going to tell you that I couldn’t stay on here any longer,” said -Elsie swiftly. “The ways of the house aren’t what I’ve been used to, -Mrs. Woolley.” - -In a flash, Mrs. Woolley had turned nasty, and Elsie had seen her own -unwisdom. - -“Oh, aren’t they indeed? Perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell me what -you are used to--or shall _I_ tell _you_?” - -Then she suddenly raised her voice almost to a scream and poured out a -torrent of abuse and invective, and the two children crept in from the -hall and began to cry, and to make faces at Elsie, and demonstrations -of hitting her with their little hands, and the servant Florrie held -the door half open, so that she might see and hear it all. - -Elsie screamed back again at Mrs. Woolley, but she had neither the -fluency nor the determination of the older woman, and she was unable to -prevent herself from bursting into tears and sobs. - -Finally Mrs. Woolley drove her out of the room, standing at the foot -of the stairs while Elsie ran up to pull on her best hat and coat, and -forbidding the children to follow her. - -“Don’t go near her, my pets--she’s a wicked girl, that’s what she -is--not fit to be in the same house as innocent little children. Now -then, out you go, miss, before I send for the police.” - -“I’ll go,” said Elsie, shaking from head to foot, “and I’ll never set -foot in your filthy house again. And I’ll send for my trunk and for -every penny you owe me, and I’ll have the law on you for insinuations -on my character.” - -Then she dashed out of the house and into the street. - - -VI - -Elsie’s return home caused far less sensation than she had feared. Mrs. -Palmer, indeed, was very angry, but principally at Elsie’s folly in -having come away without her trunk or the money due to her. - -When a week had elapsed, and nothing had come from Mortimer Crescent, -Mrs. Palmer declared her intention of going to a solicitor. - -“However you could be such a fool, young Elsie--and I don’t half -understand what happened, even now. What was the row about?” - -Elsie had decided upon a half-truth. “Oh, she was a jealous old fool, -and couldn’t bear her hubby to look the same side of the room as -anyone else. That’s all it was, really. She spoke to me very rudely, I -consider--in fact she was decidedly insulting--so I simply up and said: -‘Mrs. Woolley,’ I said, ‘that’s not the way I’m accustomed to be spoken -to,’ I said, ‘and what’s more I won’t stand it.’ Quite quietly, I said -it, looking her very straight in the face. ‘I won’t stand it,’ I said, -quite quietly. That did for her. She didn’t know how to take it at all. -But, of course, I wasn’t going to stay in the house a moment after -that, and I simply walked straight upstairs and put on my things and -left her there. She knows what I think of her, though.” - -“Yes, and she knows what she thinks of you,” remarked Mrs. Palmer -shrewdly, “and it probably isn’t so far out, either. She may be jealous -as you say--those fleshy women often are, when their figures come to be -a perpetual worry, so to speak--but there’s no smoke without a fire, -and I know you, Elsie Palmer. I suppose this doctor fellow was for -ever giving you sweets and wanting to take you out at nights, and sit -next you in the ’bus coming home, with his wife on the other side of -him as like as not. You were a young fool, let me tell you, to lose a -good place like that for a man who can’t be any use to you. What you -want to look out for is a husband. I shan’t have a minute’s peace about -you till you’re married.” - -“Why?” asked Elsie, rather gratified, and very curious. - -“Never you mind why. Because Mother says so, and that’s enough. Now you -can get on your hat and come with me to Mr. Williams’ office and see -what he can do to get this trunk of yours away from that woman. She’s -no lady, as I saw plainly the very first time I ever laid eyes on her.” - -On the way to the City, Mrs. Palmer questioned Elsie rather -half-heartedly. “You’ve not been a bad girl in any way while you’ve -been away from Mother, have you?” - -“No, of course not. I don’t know what you mean,” Elsie declared, sick -with sudden fright. - -“I should hope you didn’t. Because mind, Elsie, any gurl of mine who -disgraced herself wouldn’t get any help from _me_. And though I don’t -object to a bit of fun while a gurl’s young, skylarking may lead to -other things. I hope there’s no need for me to speak any plainer. I’ve -brought you gurls up innocent, and I intend you shall remain so. Not -that Geraldine’s ever given me a moment’s worry.” - -“Oh, Geraldine!” Elsie was profoundly relieved at seeing an opportunity -for changing the subject indirectly. “She’s a sheep.” - -“You’ve no call to speak like that of your elder sister, miss. I wish -you were half as steady as she is. She’s the one to help her widowed -mother, for all she has such poor health.” - -“What do you suppose is the matter with her, Mother?” - -“Bile,” said Mrs. Palmer laconically. “Your father was the same, but it -doesn’t matter so much in a man.” - -“Why ever not?” - -“It doesn’t interfere with his prospects. Now I often think Geraldine -won’t ever get a husband, simply because of the bad colour she -sometimes goes, and the way her breath smells. She can’t help it, poor -gurl.” - -Elsie felt contemptuous, rather than compassionate. When they came to -the office, a very young clerk, who stared hard at Elsie, explained -that Mr. Williams was away. He had suffered a family bereavement. - -“His wife?” gasped Mrs. Palmer, greatly excited. - -“I am sorry to say that Mrs. Williams died yesterday morning. Mr. -Williams was not at the office, and a telephone message came through -later to the head clerk, giving the melancholy intelligence. I believe -Mrs. Williams had been ill for some time.” - -“Why, goodness me, we knew her ever so well, my daughter and I! They -stayed with us in the autumn.... Elsie, fancy poor Mrs. Williams dying!” - -“Fancy!” - -“Would you care to see the head clerk, Mr. Cleaver, madam?” said the -youth politely, still gazing at Elsie. - -“Yes, yes, I think I’d better. He may be able to tell us something -more, Elsie,” cried Mrs. Palmer gloatingly. - -But when the clerk had gone away to see whether Mr. Cleaver was -disengaged, Mrs. Palmer remarked to her daughter: - -“Not that he’ll be able to say much, naturally not. It’s an awkward -subject to enter on at all with a gentleman, poor Mrs. Williams being -in the condition she was.” - -“I heard Doctor Woolley say she was very ill.” - -“It’s a funny thing, Elsie, but many a time I’ve felt a presentiment -like. I’ve looked at Mrs. Williams, and seen death in her face. And -that Nellie Simmons, she told me she’d had a most peculiar dream about -Mrs. Williams one night. Saw her lying all over blood, she said, and it -quite scared her. I knew then what it meant, though I told Nellie not -to be a silly gurl. But dreams can’t lie, as they say, not if they’re a -certain sort.” - -Elsie shuddered, as a thrill of superstitious terror went through her. -Dreams played a large part in her life, and Mrs. Palmer had always -shown her children that she “believed in dreams,” especially in those -of a _macabre_ nature. - -The young clerk came back, and took them into a small room where a -bald-headed, pale-faced man sat at a writing-table. Mrs. Palmer’s -delicacy ran no risk of affront from him, for he was monosyllabic on -the subject of Mrs. Williams’ death, and only said that Mr. Williams -would not be back until the following week. - -Mrs. Palmer, looking disappointed, launched into a voluble story of -Elsie’s trunk and its non-return. - -Mr. Cleaver said that the firm would write a letter to Mrs. Woolley -that evening. He seemed disinclined to enlarge on that, or any other -subject. - -“It’s been a great worry, as you can imagine,” Mrs. Palmer said, -reluctant to terminate an interview which was anyhow to cost her money. -“However the girl could have been so silly, I don’t know. But we -mustn’t look for old heads on young shoulders, I suppose.” - -“I suppose not.” - -For the first time, Mr. Cleaver glanced at Elsie as though he really -saw her. “Your young lady will be looking for another post, no doubt?” - -“By-and-by,” said Mrs. Palmer with a sudden languor. “I’m afraid if I -had my way, Mr. Cleaver, I’d keep both my girlies at home with their -mother. And this one’s my baby, too. I really only let her go to that -Mrs. Woolley to oblige poor Mrs. Williams, who was a dear friend of -mine. My daughter has been trained for the shorthand-typing, really, -haven’t you, Elsie?” - -“’M.” - -“I see. Well, Mrs. Palmer, the letter shall go off to-night, and I am -very much mistaken if the lady does not----” - -“Don’t call her a lady, Mr. Cleaver. She’s no----” - -Mrs. Palmer had said all this before, and Mr. Cleaver held open the -door for her, and compelled her to pass through it before she had time -to say it all over again. - -Elsie and Mrs. Palmer were in the omnibus that was to take them back to -their own suburb very much earlier than they had expected to be. - -“I’ll tell you what, we’ll stop at the corner shop and have a wreath -sent in time for the funeral. I’ve got some money on me,” said Mrs. -Palmer. - -They chose a wreath and were given a black-edged card upon which Mrs. -Palmer inscribed the address of Mr. Williams and: “With true sympathy -and every kind thought from Mrs. Gerald Palmer, Miss Palmer and Miss -Elsie Palmer.” - -“I’d meant to say a few very sharp words to them about introducing -_that_ Mrs. Woolley to me, and persuading me to let you go to her, but -of course, it’ll have to be let drop now. I daresay poor Mrs. Williams -was taken in by the woman herself.” - -For two or three days Elsie lounged about at home, obliged by her -mother to help in the house, but spending as much time as she could -with Irene Tidmarsh, whose old father was still living, although -suffering from incurable disease. Sometimes when Elsie and Irene were -gossiping in the dining-room, they would hear the old man roaring with -pain overhead, and then Irene would run up to him, administer a drug, -and come down again looking rather white. A desiccated spinster aunt -made occasional appearances, and took Irene’s place whilst Irene went -to the cinema with Elsie. But Irene never mentioned Arthur Osborne, and -Elsie saw neither him nor his brother. - -She told herself that she did not care, and that she was sick of men -and their beastly ways. - -She one evening repeated this sentiment to Geraldine, whom she -suspected of disbelieving her version of the quarrel with Mrs. Woolley. - -“So you say. I s’pose that’s because there isn’t anyone after you. If -that Begg boy turned up again, or Johnnie Osborne or any of them, you’d -sing quite a different song.” - -“You’re jealous,” said Elsie candidly. - -Her sister laughed shrilly. “That’s a good one, young Elsie. Me jealous -of a kid like you! I should like to know what for? Why, you’re not even -pretty.” - -The taunt enraged Elsie, because she knew that it was true, and that -she was not really pretty. What she did not yet realise was that she -would always be able to make men think her so. - -“Your trunk’s come, Elsie,” Mrs. Palmer screamed at the door. “Carter -Paterson brought it, carriage to pay, of _course_. You’d better see -there’s nothing missing out of it.” - -Elsie made a perfunctory examination, noticing nothing but that there -was a letter lying just under the newspaper spread over her untidily -packed belongings. - -“It’s all right.” - -Mrs. Palmer had gone back into the kitchen again, and Elsie, who did -not care what Geraldine thought of her, pulled out the note and read -it. It was from Doctor Woolley, as she had expected. - - “MY OWN DEAR LITTLE GIRLIE, - - “What a rotten world it is, kiddie, and what a shame you being turned - away like that. Believe me, dear little girlie, if I had been at home - it would never have happened. Now, Elsie, you and I have had a very - nice friendship, and I know you will understand what I mean if I say - that it must come to an end _for the present_. Burn this letter, - dear, won’t you, and don’t answer it on any account. The letters that - come for me to this house are not safe from interference, so you see - what trouble it might make. With all best wishes for your future, and - thanking you for your sweet friendship, which I shall never forget, - - “Yours, - “H.” - -“The cad!” said Elsie disgustedly. - -She had not really expected Doctor Woolley to write to her at all, -although there had been in her mind a vague anticipation of seeing him -again very soon. But the letter, with its perfunctory endearments and -cautionary injunctions, suddenly made it clear to her that the whole -episode of their relationship was at an end. - -“The swine,” said Elsie, although without violent emotion of any kind. - -She felt that life, for the moment, was meaningless, but rather from -the familiar and sordid surroundings of her home, and from her own -listlessness and fatigue, than from the defection of Doctor Woolley. - -It failed to excite her when a letter arrived for Mrs. Palmer, from -the office of Mr. Williams and written by himself, saying how much he -regretted that Mrs. Woolley, the merest acquaintance of his dear late -wife, should have failed to make Miss Elsie happy in her house. If -Miss Elsie desired to find an appointment in the clerical line, as he -understood, then Mr. Williams would be most happy to make a suggestion. -Could Mrs. Palmer, with Miss Elsie, make it convenient to call at the -office any afternoon that week? - -“He may want to take you into his own office, Elsie, as like as not. -He’d feel he ought to do something, I expect, considering they sent you -to those people, those Woolleys, as they call themselves, in the first -place.” - -“I’m not sure I want to go into an office, Mother.” - -“Now look here, Elsie, let me and you understand one another,” said -Mrs. Palmer with great determination. “I’ve had enough of your wants -and don’t wants, my lady. One word more, and you’ll get a smack-bottom -just exactly as you got when you were in pinafores, and don’t you -forget it. If you think you’re going to live at home, no more use in -the house than a sick headache, and wasting your time running round -with God-knows-who, then I can tell you you’ve never made a bigger -mistake in your life. Off you pop this directly minute, and get on your -hat, and come with me to Mr. Williams. If he’s heard of a job for you, -we’ll get it settled at once.” - -“I suppose,” said Geraldine bitterly, “I’ll have to see to the teas and -everything else, while you’re out. It seems to me it’s always Elsie -that’s being thought about, and sent here, and taken there, and the -rest of it.” - -“More shame for her,” said Mrs. Palmer sombrely. “I declare to goodness -I don’t know how I’m to face your aunties next time they come here, -unless there’s something been settled about Elsie. I’m sick and tired -of being told I spoil that girl.” - -“Whatever job she gets, she’ll be home in a month,” said Geraldine. - -“She’ll get something she won’t relish from me if she is,” Mrs. Palmer -retorted. She pinned on her hat and pulled a pair of shiny black kid -gloves out of a drawer in the kitchen dresser. - -Elsie, rather sulky and unwilling, was obliged to follow her mother -once more to the dingy office, but it cheered her to see the pleased, -furtive smile on the face of the young clerk who had admitted them -before. It was very evident that he had not forgotten her. Elsie -thought more about him than about the desiccated, wooden-faced little -solicitor, with the crêpe band round his arm, who responded to all Mrs. -Palmer’s voluble condolence with solemn little bows and monosyllables. - -Mrs. Palmer was evidently disappointed at extracting from him no -details about his wife’s illness and death, and at last she turned the -subject and began to speak of Elsie’s qualifications as a typist. - -“You see, Mr. Williams, I always felt it was waste, her going to be a -kind of mother’s help to that Mrs. Woolley. ‘It’s not what you’ve been -trained for, my dear,’ I said, ‘but still, if you want to, you shall -try it for a bit.’ I’ve always been a one to let my girlies try their -own wings, Mr. Williams. ‘The old home nest is waiting for you when -you’re tired of it,’ is what I always say. You’ve heard mother tell you -that many and many a time, haven’t you, Elsie?” - -“Yes,” said Elsie, bored. - -She had often heard her mother make the like statements, in order to -impress strangers, and she had no objection to backing her up, since it -was far less trouble to do so than to have a “row” afterwards. - -Mr. Williams bowed again. “I am sorry that Miss Elsie was exposed to -unpleasantness of any sort, through an introduction of mine, and I -may add that I entirely agree with you, Mrs. Palmer, in thinking that -the--the domestic duties embarked upon were quite unworthy of her. Now, -I am in want of a confidential clerk in this office.” - -Elsie saw her mother’s eyes glistening behind the coarse fibre of her -mended veil, and felt that her fate was sealed. - -“Yes, Mr. Williams?” - -“If I could persuade you to allow Miss Elsie to come to me.... Nine to -six, and twenty-five shillings a week to begin with. Her duties would -be light, simply to take down, type, and file my personal letters.” - -“It would be a very good beginning for her,” said Mrs. Palmer, firmly, -but with no undue enthusiasm. Elsie knew that her mother’s mind was -quite made up, but that she did not want to seem eager in the eyes of -Mr. Williams. - -“You’d like to give it a trial, Elsie?” - -“I don’t mind,” said Elsie. She met the eyes of Mr. Williams and -managed to smile at him, and for an instant it seemed to her that an -answering pin-point of light appeared behind the pince-nez. - -“It would be quite usual,” said Mr. Williams gravely, “for me to give -you a short test. Take this pencil and paper, please, and take this -down.” - -He handed Elsie a shorthand pad and a pencil. She took down in -shorthand the brief business letter that he dictated to her, and then, -more nervously, read it aloud, stumbling over the pronunciation of one -or two words, and once substituting one word for another, of which the -shorthand outlines were similar, without any perception of the bearing -of either upon the context. - -Mr. Williams corrected her. “It’s always the same,” he told Mrs. Palmer -in a low, rather melancholy voice. “These young people are wonderfully -clever at taking dictation--eighty words a minute, a hundred words a -minute--but you can’t depend upon them to transcribe correctly.” - -Mrs. Palmer looked offended. “I’m sure Elsie will tell you that she -wasn’t doing herself justice, Mr. Williams. I’m sure she’s as accurate -as anybody, when she’s not nervous. But if you think she won’t do the -work well enough, of course....” - -Mrs. Palmer’s lips were drawn together, and her intonation had become -acidulated. - -“Not at all,” said Mr. Williams quietly, “not at all. You misunderstand -my meaning altogether. I have no doubt that Miss Elsie will suit me -very well indeed, when she has fallen into my little routine. What -about next week?” - -“Very well,” Mrs. Palmer answered swiftly. “I’ll let her come to you -on Monday morning, Mr. Williams, and I’m very much obliged to you for -thinking of us. It’ll be a relief to me to know Elsie is in a good -post. You see, I’m in the position of both father and mother to my -girlies, and this one’s my baby, as I always say----” - -As Mr. Williams opened the door for them he said: “I hope that little -affair about the trunk was satisfactorily concluded? It was perhaps -a shade awkward, having the letter written from this office, in view -of the fact that we were personally acquainted with the parties--but -my head clerk, Mr. Cleaver, could hardly be expected to appreciate -that.... A very worthy man indeed, and an able one, but the finer -shades are rather beyond him. Good morning, Mrs. Palmer--good morning, -Miss Elsie. Nine o’clock on Monday morning, then.” - -Mrs. Palmer went away in high spirits, and commented to Elsie and to -Geraldine so enthusiastically upon Elsie’s good fortune, that she began -to believe in it herself. - -“Are there any other girls there?” Geraldine asked. - -And Elsie said quickly, “Oh dear, no! Both the other clerks are men.” - -She began to think that perhaps after all the hours spent in the office -might not be without amusement. - -Besides, all sorts of people came to see a solicitor. - -Elsie spent the week-end in cutting out and making for herself a blue -crêpe blouse, which she intended to wear on Monday morning. She also -made a pair of black alpaca sleeves, with elastic at the wrist and at -the elbow, to be drawn on over the blouse while she was working. - -She put the sleeves, her shorthand pad and pencil, a powder-puff, -mirror, pocket-comb, and a paper-covered novel in a small attaché case -on Monday morning, pulled on the rakish black velvet tam-o’-shanter, -and went off to Mr. Williams’ office. - -Her first day there was marked by two discoveries: that Mr. Williams -expected to be called “sir” in office hours, and that the name of the -youth who shared with her a small outer room where clients waited, or -left messages, was Fred Leary. - -A high partition of match-boarding separated the waiting-room from -an inner office where Mr. Cleaver sat. And if Elsie and Fred Leary -spoke more than a very few words to one another, Mr. Cleaver would tap -imperatively against the wood with a ruler. He was also apt to walk -noiselessly round the partition and stand there, silently watching -Elsie, if the sound of her typewriter ceased for any undue length of -time. - -She learnt from Fred Leary that there had never been a female typist in -the office before, and that Mr. Cleaver had been greatly opposed to the -introduction of one. - -“The Old Man always gets his way in the end, though,” said Fred Leary, -alluding to Mr. Williams. - -“I knew him before,” Elsie asserted, to give herself importance. “Him -and his wife were in our house for a bit. I knew Mrs. Williams too.” - -“They said he led her a life,” remarked Leary. - -“What sort of way?” - -“Oh, I couldn’t tell a kid like you.” - -“What rubbish! As though I didn’t know as much as you, any day.” - -He laughed loudly. “Girls always think they know everything, but they -don’t--not unless some fellow has----” - -The sharp tap of Mr. Cleaver’s pencil sounded against the matchboard, -and silenced them. - -The fact that their conversations had to be more or less clandestine -added zest to them, and although Elsie was not in any way attracted -by young Leary, who was spotty and unwholesome-looking, she several -times went to a cinema with him on Saturday afternoons, and once -to a football match. After the latter entertainment, however, they -quarrelled. - -Elsie had disliked the mud, the cold, the noise, the standing about and -the crowds. She had been bored by Leary’s enthusiasm, which was utterly -incomprehensible to her, and secretly annoyed because, of the multitude -of men surrounding her, not one had paid any attention to her, or to -anything but the game and the players. - -“I wasn’t struck on that outing of yours,” she remarked critically to -her escort the following Monday morning. “Another time we’ll give the -football matches a miss, thank you.” - -Leary’s admiration for Elsie, however, was less strong than his desire -to see a league match, and he offended her by going by himself to the -entertainment that she despised. - -Elsie resented his defection less for his own sake than for that of -the excitement that she could only experience through flirtation, and -without which she found her life unbearably tedious. - -She had been in the office nearly three months when Mr. Williams asked -her suddenly if she liked the work there. - -“I don’t mind it,” said Elsie. - -She was in reality perfectly indifferent to it, and merely went through -the day’s routine without active dislike, as without intelligence. - -“Now that you are used to our ways,” said Mr. Williams deliberately, -“I think you had better remove your table into my room. The sound of -your machine will not disturb me in the least, and if clients desire a -private interview, you can retire.” - -Elsie looked up, astonished, and met her employer’s eyes. - -His face was impassive as ever, but there was a faint, covetous gleam -in his fish-like eyes. - -Elsie, at once repelled and fascinated, gazed back at him, and felt -her heart beginning to beat faster with a nervous and yet pleasurable -anticipation. - - -VII - -“When do you want to take your holiday, Elsie?” - -“I’m not particular.” - -“Your mother will want you to get a breath of sea-air, I suppose.” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” said Elsie. “Mother’s not awfully struck on going -away.” - -It was late July, and between Elsie and her employer a curious, secret -relationship had been established, at present only symbolised by -occasional furtive touches of his hand on her neck or her dress, and -a continual exchange of glances, steady and compelling on Williams’s -side, and responded to by Elsie almost against her own will. - -Her typewriting table had been moved into his office, and she sat there -nearly all day. - -He spoke to her very little, but she was now always intensely conscious -of his presence, and of her own effect upon him. - -At first she did not understand to what his questions about the -holidays were leading. - -Next day, he spoke about them again. - -“Shouldn’t you like to go to Brighton--some place like that?” - -“Rather.” - -“I often run down there myself from Saturday to Monday.” - -Mr. Williams looked at her more attentively than ever, and Elsie felt -the blood creep up into her face. She knew that she blushed easily and -deeply, and that men enjoyed seeing her blush. - -“That hasn’t got anything to do with me,” she stammered, at once -excited and confused. - -“Hasn’t it?” - -“Mr. Williams!” - -He glanced cautiously at the door, and then lowered his voice. “Look -here, my dear child, I’m old enough to be your father and--and my dear -late wife took quite a fancy to you. Surely you and I understand one -another well enough to take a little holiday jaunt together without -anyone but our two selves being any the wiser.” - -Elsie had not really expected the suggestion, and she was startled, but -also triumphant. - -“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Williams?” - -He smiled, a small, thin-lipped smile, that held a suggestion of -cynical mockery at her transparent pretence. - -“Only what I say. I’m a poor, lonely fellow, with a little bit of money -and no one to spend it on, and if I go to a nice hotel for the week-end -I want someone to keep me company. Think over it, Elsie. You quite -understand that I’m not asking anything of you--you’re as safe with me -as if I were your father. Just a pretty face opposite me at meals, and -a smartly dressed little companion to take out for a walk on the front -or to the theatre on Saturday night--that’s all I want.” - -“Oh, I daresay,” said Elsie. - -His face stiffened, and she felt immediately that she had made a -mistake. - -“It’s awfully kind of you to think of such a thing, Mr. Williams, but -I really couldn’t dream of it. Why, I don’t know what mother would -think----” - -“Of course, it’s a very conventional world,” said Mr. Williams gravely. -“You and I would know well enough that our little adventure was most -innocent, but we don’t want anyone to think or say otherwise. So I -propose, Elsie, that we should keep it to ourselves. I presume it would -be easy to tell your mother that you were staying with a friend?” - -“Well--there’s Ireen Tidmarsh, a young lady I often go with. I could -say I was going to her.” - -“Just so. After all, you’re of an age to manage your own affairs.” - -Elsie swelled with gratified vanity. She loved to be told that she was -grown up. - -“Well, what about the August Bank Holiday week-end? I could meet you at -the booking office at Victoria Station on the Saturday, and we could -travel back together on the Tuesday morning. I’d like to show you -something of life, Elsie.” - -He moistened his lips with his tongue as he spoke the words. - -Elsie wished desperately that she could feel attracted by him, as -she had been by Doctor Woolley. But Mr. Williams, physically, rather -revolted her. - -“Oh, I couldn’t!” she repeated faintly. - -He was very patient. “No expense, of course. And if you’d like a -new hat or an evening frock, Elsie, or a pretty set of those silk -things that girls wear underneath, why, I hope you’ll let me have the -privilege of providing them. You can choose what you like and bring me -the bill--only go to a West End shop. Nothing shoddy.” - -Elsie was breathless at his munificence, and she longed wildly for the -evening dress, and the silk underwear. Pale pink crêpe.... - -Perhaps it would be worth it. - -“I’m sure you wouldn’t ask me to do anything that wasn’t perfectly -right, Mr. Williams,” she said demurely. - -“I am glad you feel that. I’m glad you trust me,” he solemnly replied. - -“Of course I do.” - -“Then that’s our secret. We need take no one into our confidence, -Elsie, you understand. The arrangement is a perfectly innocent and -natural little pleasure that you and I are going to share, but people -are very often coarse-minded and censorious, and I would not wish to -expose either of us to unpleasant comments. You’ll remember that, and -keep it to yourself?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Elsie. - -That night as she was going to bed, she critically examined her own -underwear. Her chemise and drawers were coarse, she wore no stays, -and the garters that held up her transparent lisle-thread stockings -were plain bands of grimy white elastic. Her short petticoat was white, -with a torn flounce, and only the camisole, which showed beneath her -transparent blouses, was trimmed with imitation Valenciennes lace and -threaded with papery blue ribbons. - -“What you doing, Elsie?” grumbled Geraldine from her bed. “Get into -bed, do; I want to go to sleep.” - -“Have you seen those things they sell in sets, Geraldine, in some -of the High Street shops? Sort of silk combinations and a princess -petticoat and nightgown, all to match like?” - -“I’ve seen them advertised at sale times, in the illustrateds, and -beastly indecent they are, too. Why, you can see right through that -stuff they’re made of.” - -Elsie became very thoughtful. - -Her sister’s words had brought before her mind’s eye an involuntary -picture that both startled and repelled her. - -“Anyway, the prices are something wicked. What’s up, young Elsie?” - -“Nothing. I heard something to-day that set me wondering, that’s all.” - -“What?” - -“Oh, some girl that wanted a pink silk rig-out, that’s all.” - -“You must have some queer friends. No decent girl would wear those -things--only tarts do, unless it’s fine ladies that aren’t any better -than they should be, from what the Society papers say.” - -Geraldine, in her curling-pins and her thick nightgown, looked rigidly -virtuous. “Get into bed, do.” - -“It’s too hot,” sighed Elsie. - -The room was like a furnace, but neither of them would have dreamed of -opening the window after dark. - -Elsie tossed and turned about for a long while, unable to sleep. She -visualised herself in new clothes, in evening dress, which she had -never worn, and she thought of the excitement of staying in a big hotel -where there would very likely be a band in the evenings and, of course, -late dinner every night. - -If only it had been anyone but Mr. Williams! But then, he was the only -rich man she knew. - -“It’s a shame,” thought Elsie, “that I shouldn’t have opportunities -of meeting other men like him, only different. I wish I’d gone in for -manicure--I’d have met all sorts then.” - -For a moment she wondered whether her friendship with Williams might -not lead to his introducing her to his wealthy friends, but she was -shrewd enough to perceive that his first preoccupation would be to -keep their connection secret, and that he was of far too cautious a -temperament to risk her meeting with men younger and more attractive -than himself. - -Her last waking thought was of the silk set of underclothes, cool and -lovely and transparent against her skin. - -The following morning Mr. Williams behaved exactly as usual, and made -no reference whatever to his suggestion of a holiday. Elsie, rather -anxious and affronted, took advantage of a late call from a client to -leave the office at six o’clock exactly, without returning into her -employer’s room to announce her departure as she usually did. - -On her way to the crowded Tube station she was followed and accosted -by a strange man. This adventure had become a common one to Elsie, but -a certain recklessness pervaded her that evening, and when he urged -her to come and sit in the park, under the cool of the trees, she went -with him. He was a man of thirty-five or so, with a miserable, haunted, -disease-ravaged face, and he began almost at once to pour out to her -a long story of his wife’s treachery, of which he had just made the -discovery. - -“I’ve never looked at another girl,” he kept on saying. “I’ve never -spoken to one the way I’ve spoken to you to-night. But you remind me -of her, in a way, and I knew you’d be all right, and sorry for a poor -devil who’s been fooled.” - -Elsie hardly listened to him, but she let him put his arm round her -waist, and as his caresses became more violent and eager, she again -felt that instinctive conviction that it was to such an end that she -had been created. These physical contacts only, brought her to the -fullness of self-expression. At last she realised that her companion -was muttering a request that he might go home with her. - -“What do you take me for?” Elsie asked furiously. “I’m a respectable -girl, I am.” - -He became maudlin and begged her to forgive him, and she sank back -again into his embrace, appeased at once. - -At last, when the park gates were closing, she roused herself and -insisted that if he wanted to go on talking to her they must go -somewhere and have supper. - -The man seemed too dazed and wretched to understand her, but when -Elsie, rendered prudent by certain previous experiences, asked whether -he had any money, he drew out a handful of loose silver. - -“That’s all right, then,” she said, relieved, and took him to a cheap -and very popular restaurant. - -Elsie drank cocoa and ate sweet cakes, and her escort, leaning heavily -on the marble-topped table, continued his low, maundering recitation of -self-pity. - -She had very little idea of what he was talking about. - -She liked the restaurant and enjoyed her cakes, and the occasional -contact between herself and the unknown man satisfied her for the time -being. - -When they left the restaurant, Elsie directed him to the omnibus that -would take her nearest to her own suburb, and they climbed to the top -of it, and sat in close proximity on the narrow seat all through the -long drive. - -It was with real difficulty that she tore herself away in the end, -physically roused to a pitch that rapidly amounted to torment. She was -frightened and disgusted by her own sensations, but much less so than -she had been in the days of her technical innocence, before she had -known Doctor Woolley. She decided that she would go to Brighton with -Mr. Williams. - -And she would buy the silk underclothes--pink silk--and a real evening -dress, cut low, that should reveal her shoulders and the full contour -of her bust, and perhaps he would give her enough money for a string of -imitation pearl beads as well. - -“After all, he can afford to be generous,” Elsie thought complacently. -“An old man like him! I expect I’m a fool to look at him, really.” - -She meant that her attraction for men was sufficiently potent to -ensure her ability to cast her spell wherever she chose, but common -sense reminded her that the number of men within her immediate sphere -was limited. Even men who followed her, or addressed her casually in -the street, were mostly of the bank-clerk type, and of her own actual -acquaintance scarcely one reached the level of the professional class -to which Williams belonged. - -At Hillbourne Terrace, Elsie found the front door locked, and realised -that it must be late. She understood what had happened. Mrs. Palmer, -angry at her daughter’s tardiness, had probably decided to give her -a fright, and was waiting in her dressing-gown, angry and tired, for -Elsie to try the side door. - -“I just won’t, then,” muttered Elsie angrily. “I’ll jolly well go to -Ireen.” - -She had seen a light in the house opposite as she came up the street, -and it would not be the first time that she had called on Irene -Tidmarsh for hospitality. - -Her friend opened the door in person, and Elsie explained her position, -giving, however, no specific reason for her lateness. - -“Come in,” said Irene indifferently. “You can sleep with me if you want -to. I often thank God I’ve no mother.” - -The two girls went up to Irene’s large, untidy bedroom in the front of -the house, and began to undress, and Elsie was unable to resist the -topic of the pink silk underclothes that obsessed her imagination. - -“Geraldine says only tarts wear them.” - -“What does she know about it?” Irene enquired. “Ladies of title wear -them--that Lady Dorothy Anvers, that’s always being photographed, she -goes in for black silk nightgowns--_black_, if you please!” - -“I’d rather have pink, a great deal. I think black’d be hideous.” - -“Depends on one’s skin, I suppose,” said the sallow Irene thoughtfully. -“Who wants to give you a silk nightie, young Elsie?” - -Elsie deliberated. She was not usually communicative about her own -affairs, but the notice of her employer had gratified her vanity, and -she very much desired to boast of it to someone. Irene, at least, -would be safe, and she sometimes offered shrewd pieces of advice that -were not the outcome of experience, of which, by comparison with Elsie -herself, she had little, but of a natural acumen. - -Elsie, when the gas had been turned out, and the two girls were lying -in Irene’s bed, after extracting giggling oaths of secrecy, recounted -to Irene the whole story of her adventure with Mr. Williams. She -represented herself as still entirely undecided as to the sincerity of -his assurance that their relationship was to be purely friendly. - -“Rats!” was Irene’s unvarnished comment. “It isn’t very likely the old -fool would have told you to get silk nighties and things unless he -meant to see them himself. But I wouldn’t do it, Elsie. It’s too risky.” - -“Why, who’s to find out? It isn’t as if his wife was alive,” said -Elsie, with a recollection of the household in Mortimer Crescent. - -“I don’t mean that at all. But it’s a beastly risk for you. He’s your -boss, after all. Suppose he gives you the sack, once this week-end -business is over? Men are like that--they get sick of a girl directly -they’ve had their fun, and then they don’t want to be for ever reminded -of it.” - -“It’s quite as likely he’d be for ever pestering me to go with him -again,” Elsie declared, not at all desirous of supposing that her -attractions could be provocative of such speedy satiety. “And even if -he did sack me, there are plenty of other jobs going.” - -“You young fool! Don’t you see what I mean? Suppose he landed you with -a baby?” - -“Oh!” Elsie was startled. - -Like a great many other girls of her class and upbringing, although -she possessed a wide and garbled knowledge of sex, she was singularly -unable to trace the links between cause and effect. “A baby,” in this -connection, was to her nothing but an isolated catastrophe, that she -had never particularly connected with the physical relations between a -man and a girl. - -“It couldn’t, Ireen.” - -“Why not? Of course it could happen. A girl I know got caught, only -luckily she had some sense, and went to one of these doctors that can -stop it for you----” - -“Can they?” - -“Some can,” said the well-informed Irene. “But mind you, it’s an -expensive business, and a jolly dangerous one. Why, the doctor can be -had up for doing it, I believe. So don’t you go and get yourself into -any mess of that sort, now.” - -“I should think not,” murmured Elsie. - -“How old did you say this fellow, this Williams, was?” - -“I don’t know. About forty or forty-five, or something like that. He -was years older than his wife, and she wasn’t a chicken.” - -“And she’s dead, is she?” - -“Of course she is. I told you all about that ages ago.” - -“I know. Look here, Elsie, I’ve an idea. Why don’t you marry this -fellow?” - -“Ireen Tidmarsh, are you dotty or what?” - -“I’m giving you jolly good advice, and you’ll be a young fool if you -don’t take it. He’s rich, and you’d have a splendid position, and after -a year or two you’d probably find yourself free to go your own way. He -wouldn’t live for ever, either.” - -“Don’t,” said Elsie. - -“Well, it’s true. You can bet he’s on the look-out for a second wife -already--widowers of that age always are.” - -“He wouldn’t think of marrying me.” - -“Only because he can get what he wants without,” said Irene curtly. -“You show him he can’t, and set him thinking a bit. If he’s half as -keen on you as you say he is, anyway, the idea’s bound to cross his -mind.” - -Elsie was rather bewildered, and disposed to be incredulous. She was -incapable of having formulated so practical an idea for herself, and it -held for her a sense of unreality. “Anyhow, I couldn’t marry an old man -like that. I don’t even like him.” - -“Whoever you marry, young Elsie, you won’t stick to him,” said Irene -cynically. “And if you ask me, the quicker you get a husband the -better.” - -“That’s what mother says.” - -“She wasn’t born yesterday. Well, do as you like, of course, but -it’s the chance of a lifetime. I’m sure of that. Just hold out for a -month--tell him you couldn’t think of going anywhere with him--and see -if he doesn’t suggest your becoming the second Mrs. Williams.” - -“You’re mad, Ireen,” said Elsie, entirely without conviction. - -She was in reality very much impressed both by Irene’s worldly -wisdom and by the sudden realisation it had brought to her of the -possibilities latent in Mr. Williams’ admiration. - -She disliked having to work, and she knew that marriage was her only -escape from work. To be married very young would be a triumph, and she -thought with malicious satisfaction of how much she would enjoy asking -Aunt Gertie and Aunt Ada to visit her in her own house. - -“Well, good-night,” said Irene’s voice in her ear. “I’m going to sleep. -If you want to get over to your place early in the morning, don’t wake -me, that’s all.” - -“All right.” - -Elsie turned over, gave a fleeting thought to the memory of the man she -had met that evening, and fell asleep almost at once. - -The next morning, after huddling on her clothes, and washing her face -very hastily just before putting on her hat over her unbrushed hair, -Elsie crossed the street and went home. - -Mrs. Palmer was on the doorstep. - -She was very angry. - -“How dare you stay out all night like that, you good-for-nothing little -slut? I haven’t closed my eyes for wondering what’d happened to you. -Where have you been?” - -“At Ireen’s.” - -“Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?” - -“I never thought of it, till I got here and found the door locked.” - -“It wasn’t locked till nearly eleven o’clock, miss, and you could have -come in by the side door, as you very well knew. And what were you -doing out till eleven o’clock, I should like to know?” - -“Nothing,” said Elsie, beginning to cry. - -Her mother promptly boxed her ears. “Elsie Palmer, you’re nothing but -a liar, and you’ll break your widowed mother’s heart and bring her to -disgrace before you’re done. However you’ve managed to grow up what you -are, so particular as I’ve been with the two of you, is more than I can -understand. Tell me this directly minute, who you were with last night?” - -Elsie maintained a sullen silence, dodging as her mother aimed another -heavy blow at her. - -“I declare you’ll make me lose my temper with you!” said Mrs. Palmer -violently. “Answer me this instant.” - -“I went to the cinema.” - -“Who took you?” - -“That fellow in the office--that Leary boy.” - -“Why couldn’t you come in last night and say where you’d been, then? -The fact is, Elsie, you’re telling me a pack of lies, and I know -it perfectly well. You can’t take your mother in, let me tell you, -whatever you may think, I’m sure _I_ don’t know what to do with you. I -sometimes think you’d better go and live with your aunties; you’d find -Aunt Gertie strict enough, I can tell you.” - -Elsie knew this to be true, and was fiercely resolved never to put it -to the test. - -“What you want is a thorough good whipping,” said Mrs. Palmer, already -absent-minded and preoccupied with preparations for breakfast. “Put -that kettle on, Elsie, and be quick about it. And I give you fair -warning that the very next time I have to speak to you like this--(see -if that’s the girl at the door--it ought to be, by this time)--the very -next time, I’ll make you remember it in a way you won’t enjoy, my lady.” - -Mrs. Palmer’s active display of wrath was over, and Elsie knew that she -had nothing to do but to keep out of her mother’s way for the next few -days. - -She helped to get the breakfast ready in silence. She was too much used -to similar scenes to feel very much upset by this one; nevertheless it -influenced her in favour of acting upon Irene Tidmarsh’s advice. - -She knew very well that it would not be as easy to hoodwink Mrs. -Palmer over a week-end spent out of London as she had pretended to Mr. -Williams. Elsie was still afraid of her mother, and believed that she -might quite well carry out her threat of sending her daughter to live -with the two aunts. - -Her chief pang was at relinquishing the thought of the pink silk -underclothes, but she endeavoured to persuade herself that they -might still be hers, when she should be on the point of marrying Mr. -Williams. After all, it would be more satisfactory to own them on those -terms than to be obliged to put them away after two days into hiding, -in some place--and Elsie wondered ruefully what place--where they -should not be spied out by Geraldine. - -She went to the office as usual and was a good deal disconcerted when -Fred Leary announced that “the Old Man” had telephoned to say that he -was called away on business, and should not be back for two days. - -Elsie, rather afraid that her own determination might weaken, decided -to write to him, sending the letter to his home address. - -Her unformed, back-sloping hand, covered one side of a sheet of -notepaper that she bought in the luncheon hour. - - “DEAR MR. WILLIAMS, - - “One line to tell you that I have thought over your very kind - suggestion about a holiday, but do not feel that I can say yes to - same. Dear Mr. Williams, it is very kind of you, but I cannot feel it - would be _right_ of me to do as you ask, and so I must say no, hoping - you will not be vexed with me. I do want to be a good girl. So no - more, from - - “Your little friend, - “ELSIE.” - - - - -VIII - - -It took Elsie exactly three months to bring Mr. Williams to the point -predicted by Irene Tidmarsh. - -During that time she was quiet, and rather timid, scrupulously exact in -saying “sir” and very careful never to be heard laughing or chattering -with Fred Leary. - -Williams at first made no allusion to her note. When at last he spoke -of it, he did so very much in his ordinary manner. - -“I was sorry to get your little note the other day, Elsie, and to see -that you don’t quite trust me after all.” - -“Oh, but I do,” she stammered. - -He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’m afraid my little friend isn’t -quite as staunch as I fancied. It doesn’t matter. Perhaps some day -you’ll know me better.” - -“It wasn’t anything like that. It was just that I--I thought mother -wouldn’t like it,” simpered Elsie. “It didn’t seem to me to be quite -right.” - -“It would have been quite right, or I shouldn’t have asked you to do -it,” he replied firmly. “I’m a man of great experience, Elsie, a good -many years older than you are, and you may be quite sure that I should -never mislead you. But I see I made a mistake, you are not old enough -to have the courage to be unconventional.” - -He looked hard at her as he spoke, but Elsie’s vanity was not of the -sort to be wounded at the term of which he had made use. She merely -drooped her head and looked submissive. - -A month later he asked her, in thinly veiled terms, whether she had yet -changed her mind. - -“I shan’t ever change it,” Elsie declared. “I daresay I’ve sometimes -been rather silly, and not as careful as I ought, but I know very well -that it wouldn’t _do_ for me to act the way you suggest. Why, you’d -never respect me the same way again, if I did!” - -She felt that the last sentence was a masterpiece. Williams shrugged -his shoulders. - -“Come, Elsie, let’s understand one another. You’re not ignorant, a girl -like you must have had half a dozen men after her. And then what about -that doctor fellow--Woolley?” - -“What about him?” - -“That’s what I’m asking you. Something happened to cause the -unpleasantness between Mrs. Woolley and yourself, and I’ve a very -shrewd suspicion that I know what it was.” - -“Then I needn’t tell you,” said Elsie feebly. - -“That isn’t the way to speak.” - -His low voice was suddenly nasty, and she felt frightened. “I’m sorry.” - -“Yes. Don’t do it again, Elsie. How far did Woolley go? That’s what I -want to know.” - -“He--he frightened me. He tried to kiss me.” - -“And succeeded. Anything else?” - -“Mr. _Williams_!” - -He gazed at her stonily. “Well,” he said at last, “I’m half inclined to -believe you. How old are you?” - -“Seventeen.” - -“Seventeen!” he repeated after her, and his accent was covetous. “You -should be very innocent, at seventeen, Elsie--very innocent and very -pure. Now, my dear little late wife, when we were married, although she -was a good deal older than you are, knew nothing whatever. Her husband -had to teach her everything. That’s as it should be, Elsie.” - -A certain prurient relish of his own topic, in Williams’ manner, -affected Elsie disagreeably. Neither did she like his reference to Mrs. -Williams. - -She was glad that the conversation should at that point be interrupted -by the entrance of the austere Mr. Cleaver. - -Suspense was beginning to make her feel very irritable. She now -wanted Williams to propose marriage to her, but had begun to doubt his -ever doing so. He continued to look at her meaningly, and to lay his -rather desiccated hand from time to time on her shoulder, or upon the -thin fabric of her sleeve, with a lingering, caressing touch. Elsie, -however, had inspired too many men to such demonstrations to feel -elated by them, and her employer’s proximity roused in her little or no -physical response. - -One day, to her surprise, he brought her a present. - -“Open it, Elsie.” - -She eagerly lifted the lid of the small cardboard box. - -Inside was a large turquoise brooch, shaped like a swallow, with -outspread wings. - -She knew instantly that it had belonged to his dead wife, but the -knowledge did not lessen her pleasure at possessing a trinket that she -thought beautiful as well as valuable, nor her triumph that he should -wish to give it to her. - -“Oh, I say, how lovely! Do you really mean me to keep it?” - -“Yes, really,” Mr. Williams assured her solemnly. - -“But I couldn’t! It’s too lovely--I mean to say, really it is!” - -“No, it isn’t, Elsie. You must please put it on, and let me have the -pleasure of seeing you wear it.” - -“Put it on for me, then,” murmured Elsie, glancing up at him, and then -down again. - -He took the ornament from her with hands that fumbled. “Where?” - -“Just _here_.” - -She indicated the round neck of her transparent blouse, just below the -collar-bone. - -He stuck the pin in clumsily enough, and she stifled a little scream -as it pricked her, but remained passive under his slowly-moving, -dry-skinned fingers. - -“There! I’m sorry there isn’t a looking-glass, Elsie.” - -“Oh, I’ve got one! Don’t look, though!” - -She stooped, pulled up her skirt, revealing a plump calf, and in a -flash had pulled out a tiny combined mirror and powder-puff from the -top of her stocking. She had no other pocket. - -Williams did not utter a sound. He only kept his pale grey eyes fixed -gleamingly upon her. - -“Are you shocked?” Elsie giggled. “I didn’t ought to, I suppose, but -really it’s hard to know what else to do.” - -She peeped into the tiny looking-glass. “Isn’t it pretty!” - -“_You_ are,” said Williams awkwardly. “How are you going to thank me, -Elsie?” - -He always seemed to take pleasure in repeating her name. - -“How do you suppose?” - -“You know what I’d like.” - -He came nearer to her, and put his hands upon her shoulders. Although -Elsie was short, he was very little taller. - -She shut her eyes and put her head back, her exposed throat throbbing -visibly. She could feel his breath upon her face, when suddenly she -ducked her head, twisting out of his grasp, and cried wildly: - -“No, no! It isn’t right--I oughtn’t to let you! Oh, Mr. Williams, I’d -rather not have the brooch, though it’s lovely. But I can’t be a bad -girl!” - -He had taken a step backwards in his disconcerted amazement. “What on -earth----Why, Elsie, you don’t think there’s any harm in a kiss, do -you?” - -“I don’t know,” she muttered, half crying. “But you make me feel so--so -helpless, somehow, Mr. Williams.” - -Purest instinct was guiding her, but no subtlety of insight could have -better gauged the effect of her implication upon the little solicitor’s -vanity. - -He drew himself up, and expanded the narrow width of his chest. “You’re -not frightened of me, little girl, are you?” - -“I--I don’t know,” faltered Elsie. - -“I can assure you that you needn’t be. Why, I--I--I’m very fond of you, -surely you know that?” - -Elsie felt rather scornful of the lameness of his speech. She saw that -he was afraid of his own impulses, and the knowledge encouraged her. - -“Here, Mr. Williams,” she said rather tremulously, holding out the -turquoise brooch. - -He closed her hand over it. “Keep it. Are you fond of jewellery?” - -“Yes, very.” - -“It’s natural, at your age. I’d like to give you pretty things, Elsie, -but you mustn’t be such a little prude.” - -“Mother always told me that one shouldn’t take a present--not a -valuable present--from a man, without he was a relation or--or -else----” She stopped. - -“Or else what?” - -“He’d asked one to marry him,” half whispered Elsie. - -Williams recoiled so unmistakably that for a sickening instant she was -afraid of having gone too far. - -Genuine tears ran down her face, and she did not know what to say. - -“Don’t cry,” said the solicitor dryly. “I’d like you to keep the -brooch, and you can thank me in your own time, and your own way.” - -“Oh, how good you are!” - -She was relieved that he said no more to her that day. - -She wore the brooch on the following morning, and fingered it very -often. Williams eyed her complacently. - -She began to notice that he was taking some pains with his own -appearance, occasionally wearing a flower in his coat, and discarding -the crêpe band round his arm. She even suspected, from a certain smell -noticeable in the small office, that he was trying the effect of a -hair-dye upon his scanty strands of hair. Elsie mocked him inwardly, -but felt excited and hopeful. - -When Williams actually did ask her to marry him, Elsie’s head reeled -with the sudden knowledge of having achieved her end. He had offered to -take her for a walk one Sunday afternoon, and they were primly going -across the Green Park. - -To Elsie’s secret astonishment, he had neither put his arm round her -waist nor attempted to direct their steps towards a seat beneath one of -the more distant trees. He simply walked beside her, with short little -steps, every now and then jerking up his chin to pull at his tie, and -saying very little. - -Then, suddenly, it came. - -“Elsie, perhaps you don’t know that I’ve been thinking a great deal -about you lately.” He cleared his throat. “I--I’ve been glad to see -that you’re a very good girl. Perhaps you’ve not noticed one or two -little tests, as I may call them, that I’ve put you through. We lawyers -learn to be very cautious in dealing with human nature, you know. -And I’m free to admit that I thought very highly of you after--after -thinking it over--for the attitude you took up over that little trip we -were going to take together. Not, mind you, that you weren’t mistaken. -I should never, never have asked you to do anything that wasn’t -perfectly right and good. But your scruples, however unfounded, made a -very favourable impression on me.” - -He stopped and cleared his throat again. - -Intuition warned Elsie to say nothing. - -“A young girl can’t be too particular, Elsie. But I don’t want to give -up our plan--I want my little companion on holidays, as well as on work -days. Elsie,” said Mr. Williams impressively, “I want you to become my -little wife.” - -And as she remained speechless, taken aback in spite of all her -previous machinations, he repeated: - -“My dear, loving little wife.” - -“Oh, Mr. Williams!” - -“Call me Horace.” - -Elsie very nearly giggled. She felt sure that it would be quite -impossible ever to call Mr. Williams Horace. - -“Let’s sit down,” she suggested feebly. - -They found two little iron chairs, and Mr. Williams selected them -regardless of their proximity to the public path. - -When they sat down, Elsie, really giddy, leant back, but Mr. Williams -bent forward, not looking at her, and poking his stick, which was -between his knees, into the grass at their feet. - -“Of course, there is a certain difference in our ages,” he said, -speaking very carefully, “but I do not consider that that would offer -any very insuperable objection to a--a happy married life. And I shall -do my utmost to make you happy, Elsie. My house is sadly in want of a -mistress, and I shall look to you to make it bright again. You will -have a servant, of course, and I will make you an allowance for the -housekeeping, and, of course, I need hardly say that my dear little -wife will look to me for everything that concerns her own expenditure.” - -He glanced at her as though expecting her to be dazzled, as indeed she -was. - -It occurred to neither of them that Elsie’s acceptance of his proposal -was being tacitly taken for granted without a word from herself. She -wondered if he would mention Mrs. Williams, but he did not do so. - -He continued to talk to her of his house, and of the expensive -furniture that she would find in it, and of the fact that she would no -longer have to work. - -All these considerations appealed to Elsie herself very strongly, and -she listened to him willingly, although a sense of derision pervaded -her mind at the extraordinary aloofness that her future husband was -displaying. - -At last, however, he signed to a taxi as they were leaving the park, -and said that he would take her to have some tea. Almost automatically, -Elsie settled herself against him as soon as the taxi had begun to move. - -Rather stiffly, Williams passed his arm round her. His first kiss was -a self-conscious, almost furtive affair that Elsie received on her -upraised chin. - -Intensely irritated by his clumsiness, she threw herself on him with -sudden violence, and forced her mouth against his in a long, clinging -pressure. - - * * * * * - -Elsie Palmer was married to Horace Williams at a registrar’s office -rather less than a fortnight later. - -Williams had insisted both upon the early date and the quietness -of the wedding. He had refused to allow Elsie to tell her mother -of the marriage until it was accomplished, and a lurking fear of -him, and schoolgirl satisfaction in taking such a step upon her own -responsibility, combined to make her obedient. - -Irene Tidmarsh and a man whose name Elsie never learnt, but who -came with Mr. Williams, were witnesses to the marriage. Elsie was -principally conscious that she was looking plain, unaccountably pale -under a new cream-coloured hat and feather, and with her new shoes -hurting her feet. It also occurred to her that she would have preferred -a wedding in church, with wedding-cake and a party to follow it. - -She felt inclined to cry, especially when they came out of the dingy -office, after an astonishingly short time spent inside it, and found -that it was raining. - -“Where are we going to?” said Irene blankly. (“My goodness, Elsie, just -look at your ring! Doesn’t it look queer?) I suppose you’ll take a -taxi?” - -Mr. Williams showed no alacrity to fall in with the suggestion, but -after a dubious look round at the grey sky and rain-glistening pavement -he signed with his umbrella to a taxi-cab. - -“I suppose we’d better. Can I see you to your ’bus first, or do you -prefer the Tube?” he added to Irene. - -Both girls flushed, and looked at one another. - -“Aren’t you going to give us lunch, I should like to know?” murmured -Elsie. - -“I’m sure if I’m in the way, I’ll take myself off at once, and only -too pleased to do it,” said Irene, her voice very angry. “Please don’t -trouble to see me to the station, Mr. Williams.” - -“As you like,” he replied coolly, and held out his hand. “Good-bye, -Miss--er--Tidmarsh. I’m glad to have met you, and I hope we shall have -the pleasure of seeing you in Elsie’s new home one of these days.” - -“Oh yes, do come, Ireen!” cried the bride, forgetting her mortification -for a moment. “I’ll run in and see you one of these evenings, and we’ll -settle it.” - -“Get in, Elsie. You’re getting wet,” said Mr. Williams, and he pushed -her into the taxi and climbed in after her, leaving Irene Tidmarsh -walking away very quickly in the rain. - -“Well, I must say you might have been a bit more civil,” began Elsie, -and then, as she turned her head round to face him, the words died away -on her lips. - -“You didn’t think I was going to have a strange girl here, the first -minute alone with _my wife_, did you?” he said thickly. “You little -fool!” - -He caught hold of her roughly and kissed her with a vehemence that -startled her. For the first time, Elsie realised something of the -possessive rights that marriage with a man of Williams’ type would -mean. For a frantic instant she was held in the grip of that sense of -irrevocability that even the least imaginative can never wholly escape. - -Her panic only endured for a moment. - -“Don’t,” she began, as she felt that his embrace had pushed her -over-large hat unbecomingly to one side. She was entirely unwarmed by -passion, unattracted as she was by the man she had married, and chilled -and depressed besides in the raw atmosphere of a pouring wet day in -London. - -The first sound of her husband’s voice taught her her lesson. - -“There’s no ‘don’t’ about it now, Elsie. You remember that, if you -please. We’re man and wife now, and you’re _mine_ to do as I please -with.” - -His voice was at once bullying and gluttonous, and his dry, grasping -hands moved over her with a clutching tenacity that reminded her -sickeningly of a crab that she had once seen in the aquarium. - -Elsie was frightened as she had never in her life been frightened -before, and the measure of her terror was that she could not voice it. - -She remained absolutely silent, and as nearly as possible motionless, -beneath his unskilled caresses. Williams, however, hardly appeared to -notice her utter lack of responsiveness. He was evidently too much -absorbed in the sudden gratification of his own hitherto suppressed -desires. - -Presently Elsie said faintly: “Where are we going to?” - -“I thought you’d want some luncheon.” - -“I couldn’t touch a morsel,” Elsie declared, shuddering. “Couldn’t -you--couldn’t you take me home?” - -“Do you mean Hillbourne Terrace?” - -“Yes. I’ve got to tell mother some time to-day, and I’d rather get it -over.” - -“Very well,” Williams agreed, with a curious little smile on his thin -lips. “But you mustn’t think of it as being home now, you know, Elsie. -Your home is where I live--where you’re coming back with me to-night. -No more office for my little girl after to-day.” - -His short triumphant laugh woke no echo from her. - -“Do you want me to come in with you?” - -“Of course I do!” said Elsie indignantly. “Why, mother’ll be simply -furious! You don’t suppose I’m going to stand up to her all by myself, -do you?” - -“Why should she be furious, Elsie? You’ve not done anything disgraceful -in marrying me.” - -His voice was as quiet as ever, but his intonation told her that he was -offended. - -“I don’t mean that,” she explained confusedly. “Of course, mother knows -you, and all--it’s only the idea of me having gone and been and done it -all on my own hook; that’ll upset her for a bit. She’s always wanted to -make babies of us, me and Geraldine.” - -“You haven’t told your sister anything, have you?” - -“No fear. She’s a jealous thing, ever so spiteful, is Geraldine. -You’ll see, she’ll be as nasty as anything when she knows I’m -actually--actually----” - -Elsie stopped, giggling. - -“Actually what?” - -“You know very well.” - -“Say it.” - -“Actually married, then,” said Elsie, blushing a good deal and with -affected reluctance. - -When they arrived at Hillbourne Terrace, and the taxi drew up before -the familiar flight of steps, she began to feel very nervous. She -told herself that she was a married woman, and looked at her new -wedding-ring, but she did not feel in the least like a married woman, -nor independent of Mrs. Palmer’s anger. - -Elsie’s mother opened the door herself. “What on earth----Are you ill, -Elsie, coming home in a cab at this hour of the morning? Whatever next!” - -“Mr. Williams is here, Mother,” said Elsie, pushing her way into the -dining-room. - -Geraldine was there, a check apron, torn and greasy, tied round her -waist, and her hair still in curling-pins. - -She was placing clean forks and spoons all round the table. - -She looked at her sister with unfriendly surprise. Elsie had worn her -everyday clothes on leaving home that morning, and had changed at -Irene’s house. - -“Whatever are you dressed up like that for?” said Geraldine at once. - -“Wouldn’t you like to know?” - -“I’d like to know where you get the money to pay for your new hats,” -said Geraldine significantly. “First one thing, and then another--I -wonder you don’t sport a tiara, young Elsie.” - -“Perhaps I may, before I’ve done.” - -Elsie was not really thinking of what she was saying, but was rather -listening to a sound of voices in the hall outside that denoted a -conversation between Williams and Mrs. Palmer. - -She could not help hoping that he was breaking the news of their -marriage to her mother. Elsie still felt certain that Mrs. Palmer would -be very angry. It astonished her when her mother came into the room and -kissed her vehemently. - -“You sly young monkey, you! Geraldine, has this girl told you what -she’s done?” - -“What?” - -“Gone and got married! This morning!! To Mr. Horace Williams!!!” Mrs. -Palmer’s voice rose in a positively jubilant crescendo. - -“_Married!_” screamed Geraldine. Her face became scarlet, and then grey. - -“My little girl, married at seventeen!” said Mrs. Palmer with her head -on one side. - -She examined Elsie’s plump hand with its wedding-ring. - -Horace Williams stood by, quietly smiling. “Then you’re willing to -trust her to me, Mrs. Palmer? You’ll forgive us for taking you by -surprise, but you see, in all the circumstances, I could hardly--I -naturally preferred--something very quiet. But you and I will have a -little talk about business one of these days, and you’ll find that part -of it all in good order. Elsie will be provided for, whatever happens.” - -“So generous,” murmured Mrs. Palmer. - -She insisted upon their remaining to dinner, and sent out Nellie -Simmons for a bottle of wine. Elsie, now that she saw that her mother -looked upon her marriage with the elderly solicitor as a triumph, and -that Geraldine was madly jealous of her, became herself excited and -elated. - -Williams went to the office in the afternoon, but Elsie remained at -home and packed up all her things. - -She made her farewells quite cheerfully when Williams came to fetch -her, still thinking of her mother’s repeated congratulations and -praises. - -It came upon her as a shock, as they were driving away, when Williams -observed dryly: - -“That’s over, and now there’ll be no need for you to be over here very -often, Elsie, or _vice versa_. You must remember that _my_ house is -your only home, now.” - - - - -PART II - - - - -I - - -The European war affected Elsie Williams as much, or as little, as it -affected many other young women. She had been married a little over a -year in August 1914. - -She was vaguely alarmed, vaguely thrilled, moved to a great display of -emotional enthusiasm at the sight of a khaki uniform and at the sound -of a military band. - -Later on, she sang and hummed “Keep the Home Fires Burning,” -“Tipperary,” and “We _Don’t_ Want to Lose You, but we Think you _Ought_ -to Go,” and was voluble and indignant about the difficulties presented -by sugar rations and meat coupons. She resented the air raids over -London, and devoured the newspaper accounts of the damage done by them; -she listened to, and eagerly retailed, anecdotes such as that of the -Angels of Mons, or that of the Belgian child whose hands had been cut -off by German soldiers; and after a period in which she declared that -“everybody” would be ruined, she found herself in possession of more -money than ever before. - -Never before had so many clients presented themselves to Messrs. -Williams and Cleaver, and never before had there been so much money -about. Elsie bought herself a fur coat and a great many other things, -and went very often to the cinema, and sometimes to the theatre. She -very soon found, however, that Williams, when he could not take her out -himself, disliked her going with anybody else. - -He was willing enough that she should take Irene with her, or her -sister Geraldine, but if she went out with any man, Williams became -coldly, caustically angry, and sooner or later always found an -opportunity for quarrelling with him. - -Elsie was bored and angry, contemptuous of his jealousy, but far too -much afraid of him to rebel openly. - -She was more and more conscious of having made a mistake in her -marriage, but her regrets were resentful rather than profound, and her -facile nature found consolation in her own social advancement, her -comfortable suburban home, and her tyrannical dominion over a capped -and aproned maid. - -She very seldom went to Hillbourne Terrace, and had quarrelled with her -mother when Mrs. Palmer had suggested that it was time she had a baby. - -Elsie did not want to have a baby at all. She feared pain and -discomfort almost as much as she did the temporary eclipse of her good -looks, and the thought of a child that should be Horace Williams’s as -well as hers filled her with disgust. - -She only spoke of this openly to Irene, and Irene undertook the -purchase of certain drugs which she declared would render impossible -the calamity dreaded by her friend. Elsie thankfully accepted the -offer, and trusted implicitly to the efficacy of the bottles and -packages that Irene bought. - -Sometimes Horace declared that he wanted a son, and as time went on his -taunts became less veiled, but Elsie cared little for them so long as -she remained immune from the trial of motherhood. - -She spent her days idly, doing very little housework, sometimes making -or mending her own clothes, and often poring for a whole afternoon -over a novel from the circulating library, or an illustrated paper, -whilst she ate innumerable sweets out of little paper bags. She never -remembered anything about the books that she read thus, and sometimes -read the same one a second time without perceiving that she was doing -so until she had nearly finished it. - -After a time, Elsie became rather envious of the money that Irene -was making as a munitions worker, and the “good time” that Geraldine -enjoyed in the Government office where she had found a job. Elsie -seriously told her husband that she felt she must go and do some “war -work.” - -“You are not in the same position as an unmarried girl, Elsie. You have -other duties. These war jobs are for young women who have nothing else -to do.” - -“I don’t see that I’ve got so much to do.” - -“If you had children, you would understand that a woman’s sphere is in -her own home.” - -“But I haven’t got children,” said Elsie, half under her breath. - -“It’s early days to talk like that,” Williams retorted, and his glance -at her was malevolent. “One of these days you’ll have a baby, I hope, -like every other healthy married woman, and neither you nor I nor -anybody else can say how soon that day may come.” - -“Well, I suppose till it does come--_if_ it ever does-you’ve no -objection to me doing my bit in regard to this war?” - -“I don’t know. What is it you propose to do?” - -“Oh, get a job of some kind. Ireen says they’re asking for -shorthand-typists all over the place, and willing to pay for them, too. -I could get into one of these Government shows easily, or I could go in -the V.A.D.s or something, and take a job in a hospital.” - -“No,” said Williams decidedly. “No. Out of the question.” - -Elsie, who at home had, as a matter of course, surreptitiously -disobeyed every order or prohibition of her mother’s that ran counter -to her own wishes, knew already that she would not disobey her husband. - -She was afraid of him. - -On the rare occasions when she saw any of her own family, Elsie always -made a great display of her own grandeur and independence. She was -really proud of her little suburban villa, her white-and-gold china, -fumed oak “suite” of drawing-room furniture, “ruby” glasses and plated -cake basket. She was also proud of being Mrs. Williams, and of wearing -a wedding-ring. - -Geraldine came to see her once or twice, and then declared herself too -busy at the office to take the long tram journey, and as Elsie hardly -ever went to Hillbourne Terrace, they seldom met. But Irene Tidmarsh -came often to see Elsie. - -She came in the daytime, when Williams was at the office, and very -often she and Elsie went to the cinema together in the afternoon. Irene -seemed able to get free time whenever she liked, and she explained this -to Elsie by telling her that the superintendent at the works was a -great friend of hers. - -Elsie perfectly understood what this meant, and realised presently that -Irene was never available on Saturdays and Sundays. - -The war went on, and Mr. Williams made more and more money, and was -fairly generous to Elsie, although he never gave her an independent -income, but only occasional presents of cash, and instructions that all -her bills should be sent in to him. - -He did not rescind his command that she should not attempt any war -work, although, as the months lengthened into years, it seemed fairly -certain that there was to be no family to give Elsie occupation at home. - -At twenty-five, Elsie Williams, from sheer boredom, had lost a great -deal of the vitality that had characterised Elsie Palmer, and with it -a certain amount of her remarkable animal magnetism. She was still -attractive to men, but her own susceptibilities had become strangely -blunted and no casual promiscuity would now have power to stir her. - -She was aware that life had become uninteresting to her, and accepted -the fact with dull, bewildered, entirely unanalytical resentment. - -“I s’pose I’m growing middle-aged,” she said to Irene, giggling without -conviction. - -One day, more than a year after the Armistice in November 1918, Irene -Tidmarsh came to Elsie full of excitement. - -She had heard of a wonderful crystal-gazer, and wanted to visit her -with Elsie. - -Elsie was quite as much excited as Irene. “I’d better take off my -wedding-ring,” she said importantly. “They say they’ll get hold of any -clue, don’t they?” - -“This woman isn’t like that,” Irene declared. “She’s what they call a -psychic, really she is. This girl that told me about her, she said it -quite frightened her, the things the woman knew. All sorts of things -about her past, too.” - -“I’m not sure I’d like that,” said Elsie, giggling. “I know quite -enough about my past without wanting help. But I must say I’d like to -know what she’s got to say about the future. You know, I mean what’s -going to happen to me.” - -“Oh, well, you’re married, my dear. There’s not much else she can tell -you, except whether you’ll have boys or girls.” - -“Thank you!” Elsie exclaimed, tossing her head. “None of that truck for -me, thank you. Losing one’s figure and all!” - -“You’re right. Anyway, let’s come on, shall we?” - -“Come on. I say, Ireen, she’ll see us both together, won’t she?” - -“I hope so. I wouldn’t go in to her alone for anything. Swear you won’t -ever repeat anything she says about me, though.” - -“I swear. And you won’t either?” - -“No.” - -The crystal-gazer lived in a street off King’s Road, Chelsea, a long -way down. - -A little hunch-backed girl opened the door and asked them to go into -the waiting-room. This was a small, curtained recess off the tiny -hall, and contained two chairs and a rickety table covered with thin, -cheap-looking publications. There were several copies of a psychic -paper and various pamphlets that purported to deal with the occult. - -“I’m a bit nervous, aren’t you?” whispered Elsie. She fiddled with her -wedding-ring, and finally took it off and put it in her purse. When -the hunch-backed child appeared at the curtains, both girls screamed -slightly. - -“Madame Clara is ready for you,” announced the little girl, in a harsh, -monotonous voice. - -She led them up to the first floor, into a room that was carefully -darkened with blue curtains drawn across the windows. They could just -discern a black figure, stout and very upright, sitting on a large -chair in the middle of the room. A round stand set on a single slender -leg was beside her. - -Elsie clutched at Irene’s hand in a nervous spasm. - -The black figure bowed from the waist without rising. “Do you wish -me to see you both together, ladies?” Her voice was harsh and rather -raucous in tone. - -“Yes, please,” said Irene boldly. - -“You quite understand that the charge will be the same as for two -separate interviews?” - -“Yes.” - -The little girl advanced with a small beaded bag. “The fee is payable -in advance, if you please.” - -Elsie fumbled in her purse, and pulled out two ten-shilling notes. - -“Half a guinea each, if you please, ladies.” - -“Irene, have you got two sixpences?” Elsie whispered, agitated. - -Irene, by far the more collected of the two, produced a shilling, and -the little girl with the bag went away. - -“Will you two ladies be seated? One on either side of the table, -please--not next to one another.” - -Elsie made a despairing clutch at Irene’s hand again, but her friend -shook her head, and firmly took her place on the other side of Madame -Clara. - -Elsie sank into the remaining chair, and felt that she was trembling -violently. Her nervousness was partly pleasurable excitement, and -partly involuntary reaction to the atmosphere diffused by the dim, -shaded room and the autocratic solemnity of Madame Clara. - -A sweet, rather sickly smell was discernible. - -The silence affected Elsie so that she wanted to scream. - -Her eyes were by this time accustomed to the semi-darkness, and she -could see that Madame Clara was leaning forward, her loose sleeves -falling away from her fat, bare arms, her elbows resting on the little -table, and her hands over her eyes. - -Suddenly the woman drew herself upright, and turned towards Irene. - -“You, first. You have a stronger personality than your friend. It was -you who brought her here. Do you wish me to look into the crystal for -you?” - -“Yes, I do,” gasped Irene. - -Elsie wondered from where the crystal would appear, and then she -noticed the faint outline of a globe in front of the seer, on the -little stand. - -A thrill of superstitious awe ran through her. - -“Make your mind a blank as far as possible, please ... do not think of -the past, the present, or the future ... relax ... relax ... relax....” - -Madame Clara’s voice deepened, and she began to speak very slowly and -distinctly, leaning back in her chair, the crystal ball before her eyes. - -“Time is an arbitrary division made by man--the crystal will not always -show what is past and what is to come. For instance, I see illness -here--bodily suffering--but I do not know if it has visited you or is -still to come. It may even be the suffering of one near to you....” - -She paused for an instant, and Elsie just caught Irene’s smothered -exclamation of “Father!” - -“Hush, please,” said the seeress. “The shadow of sickness deepens--it -deepens into the blackness of death. A man--an old man--he is dying. -You will get money from him. Beware of those who seek to flatter -you. You are impressionable, but clear-sighted; impulsive, yet -self-controlled; reserved, but intensely passionate. I see marriage for -you in the future, but with a man somewhat older than yourself. I see -conflict....” She stopped again. - -“Perhaps the conflict is already over. You have certainly known -love--passion----” - -Elsie, from mingled nervousness and embarrassment, suddenly giggled. - -The clairvoyante raised an authoritative hand. “It is impossible for me -to go on if there are resistances,” she said angrily, in the voice that -she had used at first, ugly and rather hoarse. - -“Shut up, Elsie!” came sharply from Irene. - -Elsie ran her finger-nails into her palms in an endeavour to check the -nervous, spasmodic laughter that threatened to overcome her. - -“The current is broken,” said Madame Clara in an indignant voice. - -There was a silence. - -At last Elsie heard Irene say timidly: - -“Won’t you go on, madame?” - -“I’m exhausted,” said the medium in a fatigued voice. “You will have to -return to me another day--alone. All that I can say to you now, I have -said. Beware of opals, and of a red-haired man. Your lucky stone is the -turquoise--you should wear light blue, claret colour, and all shades of -yellow, and avoid pinks, reds and purple.” - -She stopped. - -Elsie, though awestruck, was also vaguely disappointed. It did not seem -to her that she had learnt a great deal about Irene, and the warnings -about colours and precious stones might have come out of any twopenny -booklet off a railway bookstall, such as “What Month Were You Born In?” -or “Character and Fortune Told by Handwriting.” - -Then she remembered that she herself had made Madame Clara angry by -laughing, and that the woman had said the current was broken. - -“Probably she’s furious,” Elsie thought, “and she won’t tell me as much -as she told Ireen. And she’s got our money, too. What a swindle!” - -“What about my friend?” said Irene Tidmarsh. Her voice sounded rather -sulky. - -“Your friend is a sceptic,” said the clairvoyante coldly. - -“No, really----” Elsie began. - -The woman turned towards her so abruptly that she was startled. - -She could discern an enormous pair of heavy-looking dark eyes gazing -into hers. - -“Make your mind a blank--relax,” said Madame Clara, her tone once more -a commanding one. - -Elsie moved uneasily in her chair and fixed her eyes on the crystal. -She could only see it faintly, a glassy spot of uncertain outline. - -The seeress bent forward, leaning over the transparent globe. After a -moment or two she began to speak, with the same voice and intonation -that she had made use of in speaking about Irene. - -“The crystal reflects all things, but Time is an arbitrary division -made by man--we do not always see what is past, and what is future.... -In your case, there is very little past--how young you are!--and -what there is, is all on one plane, the physical. You are magnetic, -extraordinarily magnetic. You have known men--you are married, if -not by man’s law, then by nature’s law--you will know other men. But -you are not awake--your mind is asleep. Nothing is awake but your -senses....” - -Elsie’s mouth was dry. She longed to stop the woman but a horrible -fascination kept her silent, tensely listening. - -“Now you are bored--satiated. You have repeated the same experience -again and again, young as you are, until it means nothing to you. You -have no outside interests--and you are ceaselessly craving for a new -emotion.” - -Abruptly the sibyl dropped on to a dark note. - -“It will come. I see love here--love that you have never known yet. -There will be jealousy, intrigue--letters will pass--beware of the -written word----_Ah!_” - -The exclamation was so sudden and so piercing that Elsie uttered a -stifled scream. But this time she was not rebuked. - -Madame Clara, all at once, was calling out shrilly in a hard voice, an -indescribable blend of horror and excitement in her tone: - -“Oh, God--what is it? Look--look, there in the crystal--what have you -done? There’s blood, and worse than blood! Oh, my God, what’s this? -It’s all over England--_you_--they’re talking about _you_----” - -Irene Tidmarsh screamed wildly, and Elsie realised that she had sprung -to her feet. She herself was utterly unable to move, wave after wave of -sick terror surging through her as the high, unrecognisable voice of -the clairvoyante screeched and ranted, and then broke horribly. - -“It’s blood! My God, get out of here! I won’t see any more--you’re all -over blood!...” - -A strange, strangled cry, that Elsie did not recognise as having come -from her own lips, broke across the obscurity, the room surged round -her, she tried to clutch at the table, and felt herself falling heavily. - -Elsie Williams had fainted. - -She came back to a dazed memory of physical nausea, bewilderment, and -resentment, as she felt herself being unskilfully pulled into a sitting -position. - -“Let go,” she muttered, “let me go....” - -“She’s coming round! For Heaven’s sake, Elsie ... here, try and get -hold of her....” - -She felt herself pulled and propelled to her feet, and even dragged a -few steps by inadequate supporters. - -Then she sank down again, invaded by a renewal of deadly sickness, -but she was conscious that they had somehow got her outside the dark, -scented room, and that the door had been slammed behind her. - -Very slowly her perceptions cleared, and she realised that Irene was -gripping her on one side, and the little hunch-backed girl holding a -futile hand beneath her elbow on the other. - -With an effort, Elsie raised her head. - -“Look here, old girl, are you better?” said Irene, low and urgently. “I -want to get out of here as quickly as possible. D’you think you can get -downstairs?” - -Elsie, without clearly knowing why, was conscious that she, too, wanted -to get away. - -She pulled herself to her feet, shuddering, and staggered down the -stairs, leaning heavily on Irene. - -“What happened?” - -“Oh, you just turned queer. Don’t think about it. Look here, we’d -better have a taxi, hadn’t we?” - -“Yes. I couldn’t walk a step, that’s certain. Why, my knees are shaking -under me.” - -“Go and get a taxi,” Irene commanded the hunch-backed child, who went -obediently away. - -Elsie sat down on the lowest stair and wiped her wet, cold face with -her handkerchief. - -“What made me go off like that, Ireen? That woman said something -beastly, didn’t she?” - -“Oh she’s mad, that’s what she is. She suddenly started ranting, and -you got frightened, I suppose--and no wonder. Never mind, you’ll soon -be home now.” - -It struck Elsie that Irene was looking at her in a strangely anxious -way, and that she was talking almost at random, as though to obliterate -the impression of what had passed at the _séance_. - -Elsie herself could not remember clearly, but there was a lurking -horror at the back of her mind. - -“What did she say?” she persisted feebly. - -“Here’s the taxi!” cried Irene, in intense relief. “Here, get in, -Elsie. Thank you,” she added to the child. “Don’t wait, I’ll tell the -man where to go.” - -She gave the driver Elsie’s address after the little girl had entered -the house again, and then climbed in beside her friend, drawing a long -breath. - -“Thank the Lord! We got away pretty quickly, didn’t we? Well, it’s -the last time I’ll meddle with anything of that kind, I swear. I say, -Elsie, had we better stop at a chemist’s and get you something?” - -“Yes--no. I don’t care. Ireen, I want to know what that woman said. It -was something awful about _me_, wasn’t it?” - -“She had a--kind of fit, I think. I don’t believe she knew what she was -saying--she just screamed out a pack of nonsense. And you gave a yell, -and went down like a log. I can tell you, you’ve pretty nearly scared -the life out of me, young Elsie.” - -Irene was indeed oddly white-faced and jerky. Her manner was as -unnatural as was her sudden volubility. - -Elsie, still feeling weak and giddy, leant her head back and closed her -eyes. She felt quite unable to make the effort of remembering what had -happened at the clairvoyante’s house, and was moreover instinctively -aware that the recollection, when it did come, would bring dismay and -terror. - -She and Irene Tidmarsh did not exchange a word until the taxi stopped. - -“Here we are. You’d better pay him, Elsie. I’ll take the Tube from the -corner, and get home in half an hour.” - -“Aren’t you coming in with me?” said Elsie, surprised. - -“I don’t think I will. I’d rather get straight home.” - -“Oh, do!” urged Elsie, half crying. She felt very much shaken. “I’m all -alone; Horace won’t be back till seven, and this has upset me properly. -Besides, I know I shall remember what it was that awful woman said in a -minute, and I’m frightened. You _must_ come in, Ireen.” - -“I can’t,” repeated Irene, inexorably. “I ... really, I’d rather not, -Elsie.” - -The door opened, and Irene turned rapidly and walked away down the -street. - -Elsie tottered into the house. - -“I’m ill,” she said abruptly to the servant. “I fainted while I was -out, and I feel like nothing on earth now. I shall go to bed.” - -“Yes, ’m. Shall I go for a doctor, ’m?” said the girl zealously. - -“No,” said Elsie sharply. “I don’t want a doctor. Telephone to Mr. -Williams at the office, Emma, and ask him to come home early. Say I’m -ill.” - -“Yes, ’m.” - -Elsie dragged herself upstairs and took off some of her clothes. She -was shivering violently, and presently pulled her blue cotton kimono -round her and slipped into bed. She lay there with closed eyes, -shuddering from time to time, until Emma brought up a cup of strong -tea. Elsie drank it avidly, lay down again and felt revived. Presently -she dozed. - -The opening of the door roused her. It was nearly dark, but she knew -that it must be her husband, who never knocked before entering their -joint bedroom. - -“What’s all this, Elsie?” - -“I felt rotten,” she said wearily. “Turn on the light, Horace.” - -He did so, and advanced towards the bed. His face wore an expression of -concern, and he walked on tiptoe. - -“I fainted while I was out with Ireen,” Elsie explained, “and I was -simply ages coming to. We came back in a cab, and I must say Ireen’s -awfully selfish. She wouldn’t come in with me, though she must have -seen I wasn’t fit to be left--just turned and walked off. I’m done with -her, after this.” - -“Where had you been?” enquired Williams quickly. - -“Oh, just out.” - -“Where to?” - -“I suppose you’ll call me a fool, if I say it was to see one of those -clairvoyante women, someone Ireen had heard of. It was all Ireen’s -doing--she persuaded me to go.” - -“Very silly of you both,” said the little solicitor coldly. “Did this -person upset you?” - -“Yes. She had a sort of fit, I think, and called out a whole lot of -nonsense, only I can’t remember what it was.” Elsie moved uneasily. - -“Where does she live?” - -“Why?” - -“She ought to be prosecuted for obtaining money under false pretences. -I suppose you gave her money?” - -“Oh yes.” - -“You’d better give me her name and address and I’ll see that she is -properly dealt with.” - -“I’d rather not.” - -Horace Williams shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you’d better get up and -come down to supper, hadn’t you? There’s no reason for lying in bed if -you’re not ill.” - -“All right,” Elsie agreed sullenly. - -Her husband never shouted at her or threatened her, but she was afraid -of him, and of a certain sinister dryness that characterised his manner -when he was displeased. - -The dryness was there now. - -Elsie spent the evening downstairs. Her husband read the newspaper, -and she turned over the pages of a fashion magazine listlessly. Her -thoughts, unwillingly enough, returned again and again to the scene in -the clairvoyante’s room, but still she could not remember the actual -words screamed out by Madame Clara before she had lost consciousness. -But she remembered quite well other words, that had preceded them. - -“You are magnetic ... extraordinarily magnetic.... You are not -awake--your mind is asleep.... Now, you are bored, satiated. You are -ceaselessly craving for a new emotion....” - -Elsie reflected how true this was. - -She glanced distastefully at her elderly husband. - -The bald patch glistened on the top of his head, and he was breathing -heavily as he read his newspaper. - -He had always been rather distasteful to her physically, and although -the continuous, degradingly inevitable proximity of married life in -a small suburban villa had hardened her into indifference, Elsie was -still averse from the more intimate aspects of marriage with him. - -She wished that she could fall in love, remembering that Madame Clara -had said: “I see love here--love that you have never known yet.” - -“That’s bunkum,” thought Elsie. “I’ve been in love heaps of times--I -was in love with that doctor fellow, Woolley. It doesn’t last, that’s -all.” - -She hardly ever met any men nowadays, as she resentfully reminded -herself. - -The husbands of her married friends were at work all day, and if she -occasionally met them at their wives’ card-parties, they did not -interest her very greatly. Most of the wives distrusted the husbands -and gave them no opportunity for flirtation with other women. And -Horace Williams himself was a jealous man, always suspicious, and never -allowed his young wife to go anywhere with any man but himself. - -Elsie had been for a long while in inward revolt against the dullness -of her life. She remembered with longing the old days of her girlhood, -when every walk had been the prelude to adventure, and the casual -kisses of unknown, or scarcely known, men had roused her to rapture. - -Nowadays, she knew very well that she would be less easily satisfied. -The apathy that had been creeping over her ever since her marriage -had to a certain extent lessened the force of the animal magnetism by -which she had been able to lure the senses of almost every man she met, -and for the first time she was beginning to have doubts of her own -attractiveness. - -Elsie gave a sigh that was almost a groan. - -Williams neither stirred nor raised his eyes. - -“I think I’ll retire to my little downy,” Elsie murmured, drearily -facetious. - -“It’s only a quarter past nine.” - -“Oh, well, we lead such a deliriously exciting life that I’d better get -some rest, hadn’t I?” she said ironically. “Just to make up for all the -late nights we have.” - -At last her husband put down the paper and looked coldly at her through -his pince-nez. “What is it you want, Elsie? I work hard all day at the -office, and you have plenty of time and money for amusing yourself in -the daytime--and a strange use you seem to make of them, judging by -to-day’s performance. What more do you want?” - -“I don’t know. We might go to the pictures sometimes, or to a play. I -hate not having anything to do.” - -“That’s the complaint of every woman who hasn’t got children.” - -“I can’t help it,” said Elsie angrily. - -He said nothing, but continued to fix his eyes upon her, with his most -disagreeable expression. - -“Good-night, Horace.” - -“I shall come up to bed before you’re asleep,” he said meaningly. - -She went out of the room. - -The thought crossed her mind, as it had often done before, that she had -made a frightful mistake in marrying Horace Williams. - -“I was only eighteen,” she thought, “I ought to have waited. Perhaps -he’ll die.” - -As she undressed, Elsie idly imagined a drama of which she herself -would, of course, be the heroine. - -Horace would be at the office, as usual, and a telephone message would -come through to say that he was ill--very ill indeed--he was dead. -Everyone would admire the young widow in her black, with her string of -pearl beads.... Horace would leave her quite a lot of money. Elsie knew -that he was rich, although he had never told her his income. She would -stay on in the villa, but people would come and see her--she would go -out and enjoy herself--enjoy life, once more.... - -Elsie sighed again as she got into bed. - -Bored and exhausted, she fell asleep almost at once, to dream vividly. - -In her dream, she stood outside a closed door, knowing that something -unspeakably horrid lay beyond it. Terror paralysed her. At last she -pushed at the door, but it would not yield more than an inch or two. -Something was behind it. She looked down and saw a dark stain spreading -round her feet, oozing from beneath the resistant door. - -Screaming and sweating, Elsie woke up, and as she did so the -remembrance came back to her in full of everything that the -clairvoyante had said that morning. - - - - -II - - -“Hallo, Elsie!” - -“Hallo, Geraldine!” - -“You’re quite a stranger, aren’t you? I think it’s about a year since -we had the honour of seeing your majesty last.” - -“Well, now I have come, aren’t you going to take the trouble to invite -me to come in?” asked Elsie good-humouredly. - -“There’s a visitor of mine in the drawing-room.” - -“Who is it? Aunt Ada?” - -“No, not Aunt Ada, Miss Smarty. It’s a friend of mine, I tell you, who -I knew at the office during the war.” - -“Well, you can introduce me to her, I suppose,” said Elsie carelessly. - -She noticed that Geraldine’s hair was not, as it generally was, in -curling-pins, and that she was wearing a new dress, of an unbecoming -shade of emerald green. Geraldine always went wrong over her clothes, -Elsie reflected complacently. She herself wore a new black picture hat, -and it was partly from the desire to show herself in it that she had -come to her old home. - -“Where’s mother?” - -“Out.” - -“What a mercy!” - -Elsie walked into the familiar drawing-room, feeling glad that she no -longer lived at Hillbourne Terrace, under her mother’s dominion, and -forced to share a bedroom with the fretful Geraldine. - -A young man of two- or three-and-twenty was sitting in the -drawing-room, and rose to his feet as Elsie and Geraldine came in. - -“This is my sister, Mrs. Horace Williams. Elsie, this is my friend, Mr. -Morrison,” said Geraldine with pride. - -Elsie was immediately conscious of a quickened interest. The young man -was of a type that appealed strongly to her; dark and tall, with very -brown eyes, and a wistful, ingenuous smile that was the more noticeable -because he was clean-shaven. - -When they shook hands, she was conscious of the slight, unmistakable -thrill of mutual magnetism. - -“I thought I was going to find a young lady in here, when Geraldine -told me she had a friend!” Elsie exclaimed, laughing. - -“Sorry I’m a disappointment,” Mr. Morrison replied, also laughing. - -“Oh, I didn’t say that. Only my sister doesn’t have gentlemen friends -as a rule,” Elsie declared innocently. - -Geraldine’s sallow face flushed. “You don’t know much about it, do -you, considering that we never see you nowadays. I’m not one for -talking much about my own affairs, either, so far as I’m aware. It’s a -misfortune, really, to be as reserved as I am. I often wish I wasn’t!” - -It was unprecedented, in Elsie’s experience, to hear Geraldine setting -forth a claim, however obliquely, to be considered interesting. Elsie -looked at her in astonishment. - -“She must be gone on this fellow,” she thought, and without the -slightest compunction she immediately put forth all her own powers to -attract Morrison’s notice and admiration to herself. - -The task proved to be as easy as it was congenial. In a very little -while, Elsie and young Morrison were talking and joking together, and -it was only an occasional, spasmodic, and quite evidently conscientious -effort from Morrison that from time to time caused Geraldine to be -included in the conversation. - -Morrison told Elsie that he travelled for a big firm of silk merchants -in the City, and was very little in London. - -“How did you and Geraldine meet, then? I thought you were in the same -office as her during the war,” said Elsie sharply. - -“Just for six months I was, and then I got this job in the place of -a man who’d joined up. I was under age for joining up myself, worse -luck,” said the youth. - -Then he must be younger than she was herself, Elsie reflected, -surprised. She felt oddly touched by the thought. - -She looked at Morrison, and found that he was looking at her with -admiration evident in his dark eyes. - -Elsie allowed her eyes to dwell for a second on his before she broke -the momentary silence. “What about tea, Geraldine?” - -“All right,” said her sister sulkily. “Where’s the hurry?” - -It was already half-past four, but Elsie guessed that Geraldine did not -want to go and fetch the tea and leave her alone with Morrison. - -“No hurry, I suppose,” she cried gaily, “but I’m a bit tired, that’s -all, and I thought I’d like a nice cup of tea. It’s a good long way to -come, and the Tube was pretty full.” - -“Where did you come from?” Morrison asked eagerly. - -She named the suburb. “You must come and look us up one day, Mr. -Morrison. My husband is a solicitor, and he’s always at home on -Saturdays and Sundays. The rest of the week I’m by myself and ever so -lonely,” sighed Elsie. - -“I’d love to come. I should--er--like to meet Mr. Williams,” said -Morrison solemnly. - -“Here’s Mother!” Geraldine announced sharply, as a door banged -downstairs. - -Mrs. Palmer came in, breathing heavily, her hands full of parcels. - -“Elsie! Dear me, this _is_ a surprise. Good afternoon, Mr. Morrison, -how are you? Quite well, thank you, but for Anno Domini, that’s all -that’s the matter with me.” She dropped into a chair. - -“Where’s tea?” - -“I’ll get it up,” said Geraldine. - -“Go and give her a hand,” Mrs. Palmer calmly directed young Morrison. -“My gurl is out. They’re all the same, nowadays--always out, never in.” - -“_I_ never have any trouble with servants,” Elsie murmured. - -She was annoyed that her mother should thus dismiss Morrison, and that -he should meekly prepare to obey her. - -He opened the door for Geraldine and went out behind her, and Elsie -heard her sister talking animatedly as they went downstairs. - -“What’s come over Geraldine?” she coldly enquired. - -“Why should anything have come over her, as you call it? Geraldine’s -a gurl like you are, I’d have you remember, and a very much better -one than you’ve ever been, to her widowed mother. You mind your own -business, Elsie.” - -“That’s a nice way to speak to me, when I haven’t been at home for I -don’t know how long.” - -“And whose fault has that been?” enquired Mrs. Palmer. “Not but what -I’m always pleased to see you, Elsie, as I’ve told you time and time -again, and Mr. Williams too--Horace, I should say--if he cares to come. -But don’t you go interfering with Geraldine’s friends.” - -“Is this fellow a friend of hers?” - -“Of course he is. They’ve been going together for some time now.” - -“I suppose she’s not engaged?” - -“No, she’s not engaged,” Mrs. Palmer reluctantly conceded. “But I’m -free to confess that I hope she will be. This Leslie Morrison is a nice -fellow, as steady as can be.” - -Elsie reflected that Leslie was a lovely name. - -“Now, Elsie,” said her mother warningly, “I know what you are, and I -give you fair notice that I won’t have any of your goings-on. You’ll -remember that you’re a married woman, if you please, and just behave -yourself. Any of your old tricks, my lady, and I shall drop the hint to -Horace. Him and me knew one another before ever he set eyes on you.” - -“All the more reason for not making mischief between us now. He’s -jealous enough as it is, making a fuss of anyone so much as looks the -same side of the room as I happen to be.” - -“I don’t blame him,” said Mrs. Palmer curtly. “You’re a caution, you -are, and always have been. I don’t mind telling you that I never was -more thankful in my life than to get you safely married. And don’t you -go casting sheep’s eyes at poor Geraldine’s fellow, for I tell you I -won’t have it.” - -Elsie laughed scornfully. She was secretly flattered at the alarm that -was conveyed by Mrs. Palmer’s reiterated cautions. - -“What should I want with a boy like him? He must be six years younger -than Geraldine, at the very least.” - -“Nothing of the kind. And if he was, it wouldn’t matter. It’s the first -time anyone has looked like business, where Geraldine’s concerned, and -with you off my hands I can afford to make things a bit easy for her. -She’s been a good daughter to me, has Geraldine,” said Mrs. Palmer with -a significant emphasis. - -“Well, I’m sure I don’t want to stand in her way,” Elsie declared -contemptuously. - -“Anyone less selfish than you are, Elsie, would offer to help things on -a bit. I can’t be for ever asking him here, and he’s not got the money -to take her out a great deal. Why don’t you get them to meet at your -place?” - -“Perhaps I will,” said Elsie slowly. - -She was rather silent during tea, mentally reviewing her mother’s -suggestion from various angles. - -Leslie Morrison definitely attracted her. She asked him how long he was -to remain in London. - -“Not long, Mrs. Williams. I’m doing Bristol and Gloucestershire next -week, and then I’m taking my holiday.” - -“Where are you going for that?” Mrs. Palmer enquired. - -“I haven’t made up my mind. Anywhere near the sea is good enough for -me.” - -“My husband and I are thinking of Torquay,” Elsie said. “We’ve been -wondering if you’d care to come along, Geraldine. I suppose Mother -wants to stew on in London, as per usual.” - -“That’s right,” Mrs. Palmer assented complacently. She looked at her -younger daughter with approval. It was the first time, actually, that -Elsie had ever invited Geraldine to spend a holiday with her. - -“Torquay is a first-rate place,” declared Leslie Morrison -enthusiastically. “I was there once on business, and I quite made up my -mind to return one day.” - -“Thanks very much, Elsie,” Geraldine said rather coldly. “It’s a long -journey, isn’t it, and I’m a wretched traveller, as you know.” - -“Please yourself. Horace wants a thorough change, and we’re sick of -Wales. We’ve been there every year ever since we were married.” - -“Come, I don’t suppose that makes much of a total, does it?” Morrison -gallantly remarked, looking at Elsie. - -“More than you’d think for, perhaps. I was caught young--eighteen, if -you want to know.” - -“Elsie,” said her mother abruptly, “have you been to see your aunties -lately?” - -She directed the conversation so that no more personalities were -possible, until Elsie rose and said good-bye. - -“Allow me,” said Morrison, as he helped her to put on her coat. - -Elsie fumbled for the sleeve-hole until she felt the guiding pressure -of his fingers on her arm. - -“Thanks ever so much. Well, good-bye, Mr. Morrison. Let me know if you -come up our way any time.” - -“I ... I hope you’re going to let me see you to your ’bus,” he said -rather awkwardly. - -“Really, there’s no need--I couldn’t think of troubling you.” - -Elsie took no pains to hide that her protest was a purely conventional -one. - -“Put on your hat, Geraldine, and go with them. A walk’ll do you good,” -urged Mrs. Palmer. - -But Geraldine, as she frequently did, had turned sulky. “I’ve got -something to do upstairs,” she muttered, and disappeared. - -It was exactly like Geraldine, Elsie thought, to cut off her nose just -to spite her face. Not that it could have made any difference if she -had succeeded in preventing that brief walk taken by Leslie Morrison -and Elsie Williams. - -Elsie knew, beyond any possibility of mistake, the very first moment at -which a spark from her own personality had lit the flame destined to -burn more or less fiercely in that of another. - -But this time she experienced an odd excitement that held in it -something new. - -She wondered, rather wistfully, whether this was because it was such -a long while since she had had any opportunity of talking to a man -other than her husband or one of his elderly married acquaintances. -Her conversation with Morrison did no more than skirt the edge -of personalities that were implied, rather than spoken. Yet when -they parted Elsie knew, and knew that Morrison knew, that each was -determined to see the other again. She travelled home in a dream, -and hardly heard her husband’s vexed enquiry as to the reason of her -lateness. - -Williams had always shown a very strong conviction that it was a wife’s -duty invariably to be at home in time to welcome her husband’s return -from business. - -“I’ve been to Hillbourne Terrace.” - -“H’m. You’ve made yourself very smart. That hat suits you, Elsie.” - -He so seldom paid a compliment that Elsie was astonished, and ran to -look at herself in the mirror over the dining-room sideboard. - -It was the hat, was it? - -Her full face was softly flushed, and her eyes looked bigger and darker -than usual. Elsie saw her own closed mouth break into an involuntary -smile as she gazed at her reflection. She went up to her room singing -softly. - -Two days later Leslie Morrison came to see her. - -“I hope you won’t think I’m taking a liberty. Knowing your people so -well, it seemed quite natural, like, to take advantage of your kind -invitation.” - -“That’s right,” Elsie encouraged him. - -She hardly knew what she was saying, but already their intercourse -seemed to be on a plane where conventional interchanges of words were -unnecessary. - -Although it was only the second time they had met, Morrison told her a -great deal about himself, and Elsie listened, with a growing, tremulous -tenderness. - -He went away before her husband came in, and Elsie underwent a -momentary, essentially superficial, reaction. - -“I’m getting soppy about that boy--that’s what I’m doing! Just -because he’s got a pair of eyes like--like I don’t know what. Him and -Geraldine! It’s too ridiculous. Why, he’s younger even than me.” - -She reflected that if Morrison, indeed, had been a year or two older, -he would certainly have kissed her by this time. But it was quite -evident to her that such an idea had never even crossed his mind. He -viewed her with obvious admiration, and with great respect. - -The next day Elsie bought a book of poems, about which Morrison had -told her. She read some of them, and it seemed to her that she had a -new understanding of a form of expression which had never made the -least appeal to her before. - -“I’m a fool!” Elsie told herself in astonishment, but with an ominous -sensation of strange, new emotions, softer than any she had yet known, -taking possession of her life. She felt that she would like to give -the book to Morrison as a present, but they had made no definite -arrangement for meeting again, and she could not bring herself to send -it by post. Restlessness possessed her. - -It was a relief when one evening her husband began to speak of their -summer holiday. - -“We can start on Tuesday, like we planned. Cleaver gets back on Monday -morning, and the sooner we get to the sea in this weather, the better. -It won’t last.” - -“It might. September can be a ripping month sometimes,” said Elsie -dreamily. - -“That’s your experience, is it? Well, it’s not mine. I only hope -we shan’t have a rainy spell as we did last year, and sit in an -everlasting sitting-room without so much as a book to look at.” - -Elsie shuddered at the recollection. She and Horace had quarrelled -incessantly throughout their last holiday. - -“Is your sister coming with us?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, that’ll be better than nobody. She’ll be somebody for you to go -with to those picture-houses that you’re so fond of. But it’s a pity -that girl hasn’t got a sensible husband. We might get a decent game of -bridge, then.” - -“It’s a pity you haven’t got any men friends,” Elsie retorted. “I never -knew anybody like you for that.” - -Williams did not answer, but he turned upon his wife a look, peculiar -to himself, that always vaguely frightened her. It held not only utter -contempt, but something of quiet, unspecified menace. - -She hastily spoke again. “Geraldine’s got a--a young fellow that she -thinks is going with her now. A boy called Morrison.” - -“Is he coming to Torquay?” - -It was Horace Williams’ own matter-of-course tone in making the -suggestion that suddenly filled Elsie with a frantic determination to -see it carried out. - -“Yes, most likely he is. So you’ll get your bridge, I daresay, and -there’ll be somebody to take us to the pictures of an evening.” - -As Elsie said the words, her heart seemed to herself suddenly to leap -against her side, as though in anticipation of a joy almost too great -to be borne. - -She lay awake most of that night, revolving schemes by which Leslie -Morrison could be brought to Torquay without letting Williams know that -it was Elsie who had originated the idea. - -Although formerly she had been as much flattered as irritated by her -husband’s suspicious jealousy, it seemed to Elsie now to be of the -utmost importance that he should not look upon Morrison in any other -light than that of Geraldine’s friend. She wondered if she could induce -Geraldine herself to suggest that Morrison should come to Torquay, -but decided that it was unlikely. Finally, after a great deal of -deliberation, Elsie next day wrote a note to the young man: - - “DEAR MR. MORRISON, - - “If not otherwise engaged, we shall be pleased if you will come to - tea on Saturday afternoon. It will be the last time for some weeks we - shall be at home, as we go to Torquay on the Tuesday. My sister, Miss - Palmer, is coming with us. Why not join the party, as you say you - would like to visit Torquay again?!!! - - “Yours sincerely, - “E. WILLIAMS.” - -Elsie thought about this note incessantly after it was written and -posted, and awaited the reply with proportionate excitement. - -It came by return of post: - - “MY DEAR MRS. WILLIAMS, - - “Very many thanks indeed for your most kind invitation to tea. - Unfortunately I am not able to avail myself of it, as am already - engaged to go to Hillbourne Terrace. The suggestion about me going to - Torquay is simply great--that is, if you really meant it! I intend - talking it over with your sister when we meet on Saturday. - - “Believe me, with kind regards, - - “Yours very sincerely, - “LESLIE M. MORRISON.” - -Elsie came downstairs earlier than usual in order to conceal her letter -before Williams should ask to see it, as he invariably did with his -wife’s correspondence. - -She put it in her pocket, and kept it there all day. On Saturday she -wanted very much to go to Hillbourne Terrace, but Williams was at home, -and on such occasions he never expected his wife to go out except with -him. They spent the afternoon drearily enough, Williams reading the -newspaper, and Elsie pretending to sew, and in reality wholly occupied -with speculations as to how Geraldine would receive Leslie Morrison’s -suggestion. - -She felt pretty certain that Mrs. Palmer, at all events, would be in -favour of it. “If only he has the sense to make it sound as if it came -from him, and not from me!” thought Elsie. - -She had felt confident of receiving another letter from Morrison before -starting for Torquay, but to her dismay there was no word, either from -him or from Geraldine, and on the eve of departure she still did not -know whether or not her scheme had succeeded. For the first time, she -heartily wished that there had been a telephone in her mother’s house. - -On the morning of their journey the weather changed and became -suddenly sultry. The train was crowded and unbearably hot. - -Geraldine was to meet them at the station, and the fact that she -arrived late made Horace Williams angry, in his own unpleasant, silent -way. There was only one empty seat in the railway carriage, which -Elsie at once took, and Williams and Geraldine were forced to stand -in the corridor, already strewn with hand baggage and full of heated, -perspiring people. - -The train ran from London to Taunton without a stop, and at the end of -two hours Williams forced his way into the carriage and spoke quietly -to his wife. - -“Here, Elsie, give me your place for a little while. One of my boots is -hurting, and I can’t stand any longer. Go and take your turn for a bit.” - -Elsie joined Geraldine in the corridor without demur. There were -certain tones in Horace Williams’ voice that she had learnt to obey. -Geraldine, her face pallid and shiny with heat, her tight blue cloth -dress looking as though it constricted even her narrow chest and -shoulders, was sitting in an uncomfortable, crouching position on a -roll of rugs. - -Both she and Elsie had removed their hats, and while Elsie’s hair -dropped naturally into soft, flattened curls and rings, Geraldine’s -clung damply in straight, short wisps to her neck and forehead, and -she constantly raised her hand to push away, quite ineffectually, a -straggling end that immediately fell down again. - -“Hell, I call this,” she remarked shortly, as Elsie, stumbling over -bags and packages and the feet of other passengers, reached her side -and propped herself up against the side of the swaying train. - -“You’re a nice one to take on a holiday, I must say,” Elsie retorted, -but without acrimony. She felt that nothing would really matter if she -could once get the assurance that she craved. - -“Horace is in a foul temper. He never can stand the hot weather. I’m -sure I hope it’ll be cooler at the sea than what it is here. Have you -brought a new bathing costume, Geraldine?” - -“M’m. A blue one, with a decent skirt--not one of those horrible -skin-tight things you see in the picture papers. Improper, I call them.” - -“You couldn’t be improper if you tried,” said Elsie cryptically. -“Besides, there’ll be nobody to go in the water with you except me. -Horace never bathes--makes him turn green, or something.” - -She eyed her sister carefully as she spoke. Something in the wariness -of Geraldine’s return glance gave her a rising hope. - -“I’m sure I wish we were going to have someone we knew there. Horace -would be much easier to keep in a decent temper if he had another man -to go with sometimes.” - -Then Geraldine spoke. “That boy Leslie Morrison said something about -coming down one day this week, and spending part of his holiday at -Torquay. He was awfully keen I should go and stay with his mother, near -Bristol, too.” - -“Was he? Well, you could do that later,” said Elsie. She was -nearly breathless with triumph, but strove to make her voice sound -matter-of-fact. “But I hope to goodness he will come to Torquay. It’ll -make all the difference to Horace.” - -Geraldine sneered. “I daresay you think it’ll make all the difference -to you, too. It’s anything in trousers with you, old girl, whether the -fellow belongs to another girl or not. But I’m not afraid of anything -of that sort while Horace is about. He knows how to keep you in order, -as Mother said.” - -“I’ll thank you, and Mother too, to keep your opinion of me till it’s -asked for.” Elsie, however, spoke mechanically. - -She had immediately become obsessed by visions of herself and Morrison, -walking, swimming, sitting beside one another on the sands, or in the -intimate closeness and darkness of the picture palace.... - -“I’ll just tell you this, young Elsie. Leslie Morrison isn’t the sort -of fellow you’ve been used to--not like Johnnie Osborne, and that -truck. And as for carrying on with a married woman--why, he’d be -ashamed to think of such a thing.” - -Elsie smiled, and said nothing. She hardly heard what her sister was -saying. - -A hand laid upon her shoulder made her jump violently. - -“Are you in the moon, Elsie? I’ve been making signs to you for ten -minutes, I should think. It’s more than time we had our sandwiches,” -said Horace Williams querulously. - -“Oh, all right.” - -By tugging and pulling at piled-up packages, they succeeded in getting -hold of the basket in which Elsie had packed ham sandwiches, seed-cake, -and bananas. - -The train sped onwards.... - - - - -III - - -The Williamses and Geraldine stayed in a boarding-house that proudly -advertised itself as being situated “right on the front,” and young -Morrison had a room in an apartment house, much cheaper and more -remote, half-way up one of Torquay’s steepest hills. He arranged to -have all his meals except breakfast at the boarding-house. - -The weather was very hot, and sunny, and breathless. - -Elsie felt as though she had never lived before. Every morning she -came downstairs, her face sunburnt and glowing, but never unbecomingly -freckled, her open-necked, short-sleeved blouses and jumpers -indefinably smart and well put on, her undependable and essentially -variable good looks seeming always to increase. - -She was greatly admired in the boarding-house, and Williams for the -first time did not appear to resent this. - -He had suddenly become absorbed in a new and obscure digestive -complaint, and would discuss the subject endlessly with his neighbours -at meal-times. An elderly widow without any companion took a fancy to -Geraldine, and as she sometimes gave her presents of clothes, or took -her for a drive, Geraldine always sat next to her at the long table in -the dining-room, and listened to her with a fair pretence of amiability. - -Breakfast was a long, hot, abundant meal. The boarding-house knew its -_clientèle_ and catered for it according to the views of business men -who never allowed themselves to eat as much as they would have liked -on week-day mornings during all the rest of the year. Tea and coffee, -eggs and bacon, and fish and sausages were provided, toast and jam and -marmalade and potted meat. - -Elsie, who never ate anything but bread-and-butter with jam, and drank -innumerable cups of tea, at her own home, enjoyed the novel fare -because it was novel, and because she had not bought and ordered it -herself, and because she was living in a haze of happiness that made -everything enjoyable. - -The prophecy of the clairvoyante had come true. Elsie knew the love -that she had never yet known. - -Every morning they went down to the sands and met Leslie Morrison -there. They sat in deck chairs, and ate fruit from paper bags, and -listened to a pierrot entertainment. At midday Elsie and Geraldine ran -back to the boarding-house, undressed, and put on their bathing-suits, -and came back to find Morrison already in the water and Horace Williams -asleep in his deck-chair behind a newspaper. - -Elsie’s bathing-dress was blue, trimmed with white braid, and she wore -a rubber cap with a blue-and-red handkerchief knotted over it. Her bare -legs and arms and neck had tanned very slightly; Geraldine’s showed -scarlet patches of sunburn. - -As they joined Morrison in the water, both girls always screamed, -clinging to one another’s hands. But once the water was high above -their waists, Elsie, a naturally strong swimmer, struck out boldly, -consciously enjoying the cold water and the exercise of her muscles. -Geraldine, of poor physique and defective circulation, only bobbed up -and down in the shallows, still uttering staccato shrieks. - -At first, Elsie and Morrison would keep near her, swimming short -distances, and then returning, or splashing beside her in shallow -water, but sooner or later they would both strike out, swimming side by -side. They spoke very little. - -“I say, you swim simply splendidly, Mrs. Williams. Why, I’ve never seen -a girl swim as well as you do.” - -“D’you think so? It’s nice, isn’t it?” - -“It’s ripping. I’ve never had a holiday like this one--I mean, one that -I’ve enjoyed so much.” - -“Neither have I.” - -“I hadn’t looked forward to my holiday a bit this year. I never thought -it would be anything like this. I didn’t know that anything in the -world----” - -It was always Elsie who suggested that it was time to go back. - -“Geraldine’s gone out already. She turns a funny colour if she stays in -too long.” - -Once, when they were rather further out than usual, Elsie said that she -was getting tired. - -“Put your hand on my shoulder--I’ll help you. Yes, do.” - -“Oh no, I couldn’t.” - -“Yes, you must.” - -“Well, if you are sure you don’t mind....” - -“_Mind!_” - -His voice was very eloquent, and Elsie was abundantly satisfied. - -She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and kept it there after her feet -touched the sandy bottom once more and they were almost out of the -water. - -They raced to the bath-towel cloak that she had left under the wall, -and as she put it round her Elsie said, without looking at him and in a -peculiar tone: - -“Did you enjoy it?” - -“I loved it,” Morrison replied very low, and after a moment he added: - -“Better than any of our other bathes.” - -Elsie had never before conducted any one of her numerous love-affairs -in a key so reticent, and the very novelty of the experience rendered -it strange and precious. - -Subconsciously, they might both be waiting for the spoken word, but on -the surface each was supremely contented in the present. - -The presence of Geraldine did not disturb Elsie in the least. Geraldine -had been jealous of her intermittently ever since the days of their -earliest childhood, and her manifestations of temper were always -latent, rather than active. Elsie was used to them, and indifferent to -them. - -Besides, Leslie Morrison was always very nice to Geraldine. He -sat between the sisters at the entertainments to which they went -frequently, he gave chocolates and sweets to Geraldine oftener than to -Elsie, and he was always ready to talk of Geraldine’s favourite topic, -the old days in the office. - -Only his dark eyes sought Elsie’s face with increasing frequency, his -pleasant young voice altered slightly and indescribably when he found -himself alone with her. - -It seemed part of the magic of those enchanted days that Geraldine -should make no scene, Horace Williams appear to perceive nothing. - -On Sunday evening a band played in the public gardens. They decided to -go and hear it. - -Then Williams developed his mysterious symptoms, and refused to come -out. - -“You girls can go with Morrison. I shall take a glass of boiling water -with peppermint,” he declared, “and go to bed. I’m in agony.” - -“Would you like me to stay with you?” Elsie asked, her heart sinking. - -“No, no, go and enjoy yourself.” - -“Perhaps you’ll feel better in a bit, and come and join us,” she -suggested, and thankfully made her escape. - -The gardens were lit with Japanese lanterns and crowded with -holiday-makers. Pale frocks and scarves flickered oddly in and out of -the shadows and beyond the bright circle of glaring white light thrown -out from the raised and roofed circular platform of the bandstand. - -“No hope of chairs, I suppose,” said Geraldine disconsolately. “We’re -late, thanks to Horace. Just look at the people.” - -Morrison volunteered to try and find a seat, and they watched his tall -figure disappear into the throng of people. - -“I shall be sick if I have to stand for long, that’s certain,” declared -Geraldine. “I believe the sun was too hot for me this afternoon. My -head’s splitting.” - -“Take off your hat, why don’t you?” - -Elsie’s own hair was only covered with a blue motor veil, knotted at -either ear, and with floating ends. - -“My hair would be all over the place. I like to look tidy, thank you.” - -“Please yourself,” said Elsie indifferently. She was absorbed in -watching for the first glimpse of Morrison returning to them. - -When she caught sight of him, elbowing his way through the crowd, it -actually seemed to her as though the heart in her body leaped forward -to meet him. - -As usual, his eyes sought Elsie’s and held them for an instant before -he turned to Geraldine. - -“There’s one chair there. I’ve taken it, and a fellow is kindly keeping -it for me. I thought you and your sister could take it in turns to sit -down.” - -“I don’t know....” Geraldine began ungraciously. - -“It’s quite a good place, and nice-looking people on either side. The -chap that’s keeping it for us seemed very decent.” - -“Oh, go on, Geraldine!” said Elsie. “Hark, they are beginning again.” - -The band had struck into a selection from a popular musical comedy. - -Leslie Morrison put his arm beneath the girl’s elbow, and they moved -away, Geraldine still grumbling sub-audibly. - -Elsie, motionless, waited. - -Never before in her life had she known this ecstasy of anticipation, so -poignant as to be almost indistinguishable from pain. - -When Leslie came back to her, she thought that she must fall, and -instinctively caught at his arm for support. - -Without speaking, he drew her away from the ring of light, into the -deep shadow of a clump of trees. She stumbled against something in the -sudden obscurity, and discerned the low railing that separated the -ornamental shrubs and flower-beds from the crowded gravel paths. - -“Come,” said Leslie’s voice in her ear, hoarsely. They stepped together -over the little railing on to the grass. Another few steps, and they -were in an isolation as complete as though a curtain had fallen between -them and the seething mass of talking, laughing, swaying people in the -gardens. - -Even the sound of the band only reached them faintly as though from a -great distance. - -Leslie Morrison halted abruptly, and they faced one another, their eyes -already accustomed to the semi-darkness. - -By an impulse as inevitable as it was irresistible, they were in one -another’s arms. - -Neither spoke a word whilst that long throbbing embrace endured. - -Through Elsie’s whole being flashed the wordless conviction: “_This_ is -what I’ve been waiting for....” - -“Elsie,” whispered the man. “Elsie ... Elsie ... Elsie ... I love you!” - -“I love you,” she whispered back again. - -They stood clinging to one another, entwined, the hot summer darkness -encompassing them. - -“What shall we do?” Morrison murmured at last. “I have no right to say -a word to you, Elsie--I never meant to.” - -“What does it matter?” said Elsie recklessly. “Horace and I have never -been happy together. I ought never to have married him. It’s you I -belong to.” - -“My darling ... my sweetheart.” - -They kissed passionately, again and again. - -“What are we going to do?” - -Elsie pressed closer and closer against him. “Forget everything, as -long as this holiday lasts, except that we can be together. It’s been -so heavenly, Leslie! We can settle--something--later on, when it’s all -over.” - -“I can’t let you go back to that man again. It would drive me mad.” - -“Take me away with you,” she whispered. - -“Oh, if I could ... if I only could, little girl!” - -They spoke as lovers talk, ardently, and tenderly, and with long -silences. - -A sudden surging movement, and the distant sound of the National -Anthem, penetrated at last to them through the darkness. - -“It’s all over!” Morrison cried, aghast. “Your sister?...” - -“I’ll manage her,” said Elsie. “Leslie ... once more....” - -Her mouth found his, and then she tore herself out of his arms. - -“Come with me.” - -Rapidly Elsie found her way to the little pay-desk outside the -enclosure, in which the lights were already being extinguished. - -“She’s bound to come out this way.” - -They waited, Elsie’s eyes at first dazzled, striving to find her -sister’s form in the crowd. Every fibre of her being was acutely aware -of the presence of Leslie Morrison, standing just behind her, so that -her shoulder touched his breast. - -Without turning her head she put out her hand, and felt it clasped in -his and held tightly. - -Her senses swam, and it was Geraldine’s own voice that first warned her -of her sister’s approach. - -To her relief, Geraldine was talking to a strange young man. - -“Good-night,” she said amiably. - -“Good-night, and thanks so much for a pleasant evening,” he returned, -raising his soft hat. - -Elsie compelled herself to speak. “Have you met a friend?” she -enquired, with simulated interest. - -“Hallo! Where have you been, I should like to know? Isn’t it -funny?--that’s a fellow who was at our place for nearly a month during -the war. Belcher, his name is. He was the very one that kept the chair -for me. Did you two get seats somewhere else?” - -“Yes,” said Elsie swiftly. - -“It was good, wasn’t it--the band I mean? Horace has missed something -by staying at home.” - -Geraldine was evidently, and contrary to her wont, in high good humour. - -They walked back to the boarding-house, Leslie Morrison between the two -girls, Geraldine openly hanging on to his arm. His other hand was out -of sight in his pocket, Elsie’s warm, soft fingers locked in his. - -At the door they parted. - -“Good-night and sweet repose,” said Geraldine indifferently, but she -waited for her sister to precede her into the lighted house. - -Elsie moved in a dream. It startled her when Geraldine, looking -curiously at her under the glare of the electric light in the hall, -said suddenly: - -“What’s the matter with you, Elsie? You look moon-struck, and your -hair’s all over the place, half down your back.” - -“Is it?” Elsie put up her hands and pushed up the soft, loose mass -under her veil again. “I’m going to bed,” she said, in a voice that -sounded oddly in her own ears. “Tell Horace, will you? I’ve a splitting -head.” - -She felt an unutterable longing to be in the dark, and alone with her -new and overwhelming bliss. - -“You’re a nice one, I must say, leaving me alone all the evening, and -then dashing off upstairs the minute we get in. I should think Horace -would find something to say to you----” - -Elsie neither heard nor heeded. - -She ran upstairs and into the small double bedroom. It contained two -beds, and for the first time since their marriage she and Horace had -occupied separate ones. - -To-night Elsie felt that she could never be thankful enough for the -comparative solitude that would enable her to feel herself free again. - -She tore off her thin summer clothes, shook down her cloud of hair, -ran across the room in her nightdress to snap off the light, and then -almost threw herself into bed. - -In the blessed darkness, Elsie lay with hands clasped over her -throbbing heart, and relived every instant of the evening, thrilling to -a happiness so intense that she felt as though she must die of it. - -She was perfectly incapable just then of looking beyond the immediate -present and the glorious certainty of seeing Leslie Morrison again in -the morning. - -Although Elsie had been attracted, in a sensual and superficial manner, -by a number of men, she had never in her life loved before, and the -passion for Morrison that had suddenly swept into her life held all the -force of a long repressed element violently and unexpectedly liberated. - -Body, soul and spirit, she was obsessed almost to madness by this young -man, several years her junior, whom she had not known a month. - -When Horace Williams came up to bed it was nearly midnight, and Elsie, -her face half buried under the sheet, pretended to be asleep. - - - - -IV - - -The love-affair of Elsie Williams and Leslie Morrison swept on its -course, and in the early days of their madness neither of them paused -for an instant to count its possible cost. - -It seemed, indeed, as though Fate were deliberately simplifying their -way. - -Horace Williams appeared unable to give his attention to anything -beyond his newly-discovered digestive trouble, and remained -constantly indoors through the hottest and finest of the summer days, -experimenting upon himself with drugs, and studying tables of dietetic -values. He questioned Elsie very little as to her movements, taking it -for granted that she, Morrison, and Geraldine formed a trio. - -In point of fact, the youth whom Geraldine had met at the Sunday -evening concert, and whom she spoke of as Percy Belcher, now almost -always made a fourth in the party. - -Geraldine monopolised him eagerly, and openly showed her triumph at -feeling that she could now afford to relinquish Leslie Morrison. - -Elsie and Morrison went swimming together, and lay on the hot, -crowded sands, and dropped behind the others when they all went for -walks, and sat with locked hands and her cheek against his shoulder -in the stifling, thrilling darkness of the picture theatre, watching -together the representation of a love that was never anything but the -reflection of their own, the eternal triumph of a Man and a Woman, pale -representatives on the screen of Elsie Williams and Leslie Morrison. - -The golden fortnight drew to its close, and with the end of the Torquay -holiday, it suddenly seemed to Elsie as though the end of the world -must come. - -“What are we to do, Leslie?” she gasped. - -“I don’t know, darling,” he said miserably. - -“You’re going to be in town for a bit?” - -“For a little while. They’re sending me off again, pretty soon--abroad -this time.” - -“I can’t live without seeing you sometimes. Oh, Les, how can I go back -to the old life with Horace after _this_?” - -“Elsie,” said Morrison very low, “would he divorce you if----?” - -“Not a hope. It costs money, and he’s too mean. Besides, he’d never do -it if he thought I wanted it. He’s cruel, is Horace.” - -“Not to you?” - -“He doesn’t knock me about, if that’s what you mean--he knows I -wouldn’t stand it--but of course he doesn’t care for me, or for anybody -but himself. I was told he gave his first a rotten time--anyway, I -know she used to look wretched enough. You know there was a first Mrs. -Williams?” - -“No, I didn’t. Of course, I saw he was much older than you. Oh, Elsie, -whatever made you marry him?” - -“Oh, I was a fool and I thought I’d like to be married, and get away -from home. I didn’t know what it was going to be like, that’s certain. -Oh, Les, fancy if I was still Elsie Palmer, and you and me could get -married!” She gave a sob. - -“Don’t, sweetheart! I’d have asked for your promise, fast enough, if -you’d been free, but I couldn’t marry any girl till I’m earning a bit -more.” - -“Don’t you get a good screw, Leslie?” - -“Rotten. But I’m jolly lucky to be in a job at all these days, I -suppose.” - -“Lucky!” Elsie echoed the word drearily. “You and I aren’t amongst the -lucky ones, boy. I don’t see how things are ever going to come right -for us, without a miracle happens.” - -“He--Williams--may ... he may die.” - -“Not he!” said Elsie bitterly. “There’s nothing the matter with him. -All this talk about indigestion is stuff and nonsense--just fads he’s -got into his head. There’s nothing wrong with Horace. And it’s always -the ones who aren’t wanted that live on and on. But how am I going to -bear it, after this wonderful time we’ve been having?” She began to cry. - -“Elsie, don’t, darling! I’ll think of a way. There must be some way -out.” - -Leslie took her in his arms and she forgot everything else. - -On the last evening they all went to the theatre together, and it was -there, for the first time seeming awake to the situation, that Horace -Williams, sitting at the end of the row of stalls, suddenly leaned -across Geraldine and looked long and balefully at his wife. - -She felt herself changing colour. - -Morrison, however, observed nothing. He talked only to Elsie, looked -only at her during the interval, and whilst the play was in progress -and the lights in the theatre lowered, his hand sought and held hers. - -“Elsie, we can’t part like this. How can I see you alone?” - -“We can’t--not here. But Horace starts at the office again on -Wednesday, and he’s there all day. Come to the house.” - -“It means an age without seeing you. Elsie, can I write to you?” - -“Yes ... no....” She was startled. “Oh, Les, darling, I’d love your -letters!... But he’d see them. Wait a minute.” - -She thought rapidly. - -“Address them to the post-office--I’ll call there. He doesn’t know or -care what I do all day, so long as I’m always there in the evenings -when he gets back.” - -But Elsie was to find herself mistaken. Her husband, after their return -to the suburban villa, displayed a very unmistakable interest in her -movements during the hours of his absence at work. - -He obliged her to give him an account of her day, and took to ringing -her up on the telephone for no acknowledged reason, and always at a -different hour. - -At first, Elsie cared little. She and Leslie Morrison met daily, and -on one occasion spent the afternoon in the country together. Elsie -recklessly telephoned to her own house at seven o’clock that evening, -and said that she was with Irene Tidmarsh, and should not come home -that night. - -“You must,” said the hollow voice at the other end of the line. - -“I can’t. Her father’s awfully ill, and she’s afraid of being left.” - -“When shall you be home?” - -“To-morrow.” - -“I’ll come and fetch you.” - -“All right,” said Elsie boldly. “What time?” - -There was no answer. Williams had rung off. - -Elsie knew, beyond the possibility of mistake, that her husband -suspected her; but in the intense excitement that possessed her she was -conscious of nothing so much as of relief that a crisis should be at -hand. - -She spent the night with Leslie Morrison at a tiny hotel in Essex. - -Early next morning they travelled back to London, parting at Liverpool -Street station. - -“Let me know what happens directly you can, darling,” urged the man. - -“I’ll telephone. Anyway, come round as soon as you can get away. _He_ -won’t be in before seven.” - -“Good-bye, Elsie darling. I’ll never, never forget....” - -He left her, joining a hurrying throng of other young men wearing soft -hats and carrying little brown bags, nearly all of them hastening -towards the City. - -Elsie proceeded by train and tram to the house of Irene’s father. - -Her friend opened the door to her. “Hullo! I thought I should see you. -That hubby of yours is on the warpath.” - -“What’s happened?” - -“Oh, nothing, thanks to me! Come in, Elsie. Have you had breakfast?” - -“I’ve had some tea; I don’t want anything else. Tell me about Horace.” - -“Well, Horace, as you call him, saw fit to come round here at eleven -o’clock p.m. last night, and got me out of my virtuous downy by ringing -at the front door bell till I thought the house was on fire. He said -he’d ‘come for’ his wife, if you please!” - -“I know. I told him I was going to spend the night at your place,” said -Elsie calmly. “I suppose you didn’t happen to tumble to it, Ireen?” - -“I’ve not known you all these years for nothing, old girl,” said Irene, -grinning. “What do you take me for? I told him you were in bed and -asleep, and had been for hours.” - -“You’re a real sport, Ireen! How did he take it?” - -Irene pursed up her lips and shook her head. “He asked me to tell you -to ring him up first thing this morning. If you ask me, you’re in for -trouble. And p’r’aps now you’ll be so kind as to tell me what it all -means, and why on earth you couldn’t have given me fair warning before -saying you were here. It’s lucky for you I didn’t give the whole show -away on the spot.” - -Elsie, habitually ready to discuss any of her love-affairs with Irene, -had told her nothing about Leslie Morrison. But she saw now that a -degree of frankness was inevitable. - -Irene listened, sitting on the kitchen table, her shrewd, cynical gaze -fixed upon Elsie. “You’re for it, all right,” she observed dryly. “I -thought directly I saw you after you’d got back from Torquay that there -was something up. But I somehow didn’t think you’d go off the deep end -like that, Elsie. Why, you’re dotty about him!” - -“Yes,” said Elsie, “I am.” - -“And what do you suppose is going to happen?” - -Elsie groaned. “I wish to the Lord that Horace would do the decent -thing, or go West--and let me have a chance of happiness.” - -“He won’t,” said Irene. “Well, whatever you do, don’t make a fool of -yourself and run off with this fellow. It simply isn’t worth it, when -he hasn’t got a penny, and not very often when he has.” - -“If I thought Horace would divorce me it’d be different,” Elsie said. -She was not listening to Irene at all. “Though even then, I don’t know -what we would live on. Leslie hasn’t anything except his salary, and -that’s tiny, and I’m sure I couldn’t earn a penny if I tried. Mother -wouldn’t help me, either, if I did a thing like that.” - -“No more would anybody else. And surely to goodness, Elsie, you’d never -be such a fool. Think what it would mean to be disgraced, and have a -scandal.” - -“I wouldn’t mind that with him.” - -Irene groaned. “You are far gone! Well, the worse it is while it lasts, -the sooner it’s over. You’ll see sense again one of these days, I -suppose. Meanwhile, you’d better ’phone that husband of yours.” - -Elsie’s conversation with Williams over the telephone was brief. She -agreed to come home at midday, and neither made any reference to the -visit of Williams at eleven o’clock on the previous night. - -Elsie anticipated a scene with her husband, and felt indifferent to the -prospect. She had not enough imagination to work herself up in advance, -and, moreover, her faculties were entirely occupied with the blissful -expectation of seeing Morrison again that afternoon. - -He came some hours after she had arrived home. - -Elsie had done some shopping in the morning. With her husband’s money -she had bought a gold-nibbed fountain-pen for Leslie, and had paid for -copies of a photograph of herself. - -She had scarcely ever in her life before given anyone a present, and -Leslie Morrison’s ardent thanks, and rapture over the photograph, -caused her the most acute pleasure. - -“Darling, it’s lovely, and it’s just you! I shall always carry it about -with me, done up with your dear letters.” - -“Don’t keep my letters, Leslie,” said Elsie suddenly. - -“Why ever not?” - -A sudden recollection had come to her ... “_Beware of the written -word...._” - -The medium to whom Irene had once taken her had said that. She had also -said other things; had told Elsie that love would come to her.... -Perhaps she really knew.... - -“I’d rather you didn’t, really,” she said feebly. “Suppose--suppose -Horace ever got hold of them----” - -“How could he? Besides, Elsie darling, he’s got to know about us some -time. I wish you’d let me tell him now. I can’t go on like this; it’s -a low-down game coming to a man’s house without his knowledge and--and -making love to his wife.” - -“His wife!” said Elsie angrily. “Don’t call me that. I may be his wife -in law, but it’s you that I really belong to.” - -“Well, let me have it out with him then,” said Morrison earnestly. “We -don’t know, after all. He may be ready to do the decent thing, and set -you free.” - -“I don’t care if you do. I’m pretty sure he guesses.... Horace has -always been jealous, though he’s never had any cause before.” - -“He didn’t say anything at Torquay?” - -“No, it’s since we got back. He asked me once if you were engaged to -Geraldine, and I said no. And he asked if you meant to come and see -us here, and I told him most likely you would. He didn’t say anything -much, but he hates a man coming near the place, really.” - -“I’d far rather have it out with him,” young Morrison repeated. His -face was resolute, and he stood his ground when Elsie, starting -violently, exclaimed: - -“I believe that’s Horace now! I can hear his key in the door. He’s -never in at this hour as a rule--the skunk, he’s come to spy on me!” - -“Darling, it’s all right!” said Morrison. - -He put the photograph away in his breast-pocket with hands that -trembled slightly. Both fixed their eyes on the door as it opened upon -the figure of the little elderly solicitor. His face wore a no more -sardonic expression than was habitual with him, and Elsie could not -deduce from it whether or not he was surprised to see Leslie Morrison. - -Neither man made any movement towards shaking hands, but they -greeted one another conventionally, and talked a little, as though -indifferently, of the holiday at Torquay. - -Leslie asked whether Mr. Williams was any better in health, and the -solicitor replied coldly: - -“No, I am no better. I daresay my case would be a very interesting one, -from the point of view of a doctor. But I am not one to give up, and I -have no doubt that a great many people do not realise there is anything -the matter with me.” - -He turned his eyes upon Elsie for a moment as he spoke. - -At the same instant, the inevitable thought that had flashed through -her mind at his words caused Elsie to cast a lightning glance towards -Leslie Morrison. - -It was that glance that her husband intercepted. - - - - -V - - -They had another evening together before the storm broke. - -Morrison took Elsie to a dance. - -He issued his invitation boldly, in the presence of Williams, and to -Elsie’s secret astonishment, her husband made no objection to her -acceptance. - -She wanted terribly to buy a new dress for the dance, but dared not -risk a reminder to her husband, for fear he should suddenly forbid -her to go. Finally she decided to wear a black dress, covered with -black net, and with black net shoulder-straps. It was not new, but she -had seldom had any occasion for wearing it, and she had enough money -in hand for the housekeeping to enable her to buy a pair of black -artificial silk stockings and slim black satin shoes with high heels. - -Round her thick, light hair she tied a black velvet band with a spray -of forget-me-nots worked in blue silk across it, but instinct told her -to leave her full, beautiful throat unadorned by any of the few cheap -ornaments that she possessed. Her smooth skin showed a sort of golden -glow that merged imperceptibly into the warm pallor of her round arms -and the dimpled base of her neck. - -Elsie looked for a long while at herself in the glass, rubbed lip-salve -into her already scarlet mouth, and, despite the “Japanesey” effect of -lids that seemed half-closed, wondered at the brilliant light in her -own hazel-grey eyes. - -Leslie Morrison came for her, and they left the house together before -Williams arrived from the office. - -To both of them it was an unforgettable evening. - -Elsie, like all women of her type, was a born dancer. Nevertheless, -before the evening was half over, they had left the crowded hall for a -screened alcove in an upper gallery, where the reiterated refrain of -syncopated airs, and the wistful rhythm of valse-times, reached them -through the haze of ascending cigarette-smoke. - -It was three o’clock when they exchanged a last close, passionate -embrace and Elsie, pale, exhausted, with indescribably shining eyes, -crept upstairs to her room, undressed, and lay down noiselessly by the -side of her husband to relive the evening that she had spent with her -lover. - -Williams left the house next morning without waking her, but it was -that evening that the inevitable crisis came. - -The solicitor returned home nearly two hours before his usual time, and -found Leslie Morrison just preparing to enter the house. - -The two men went in together. - -Elsie started violently at the sight of her husband, and then laughed -artificially. “Hullo! It’s a case of Oh, what a surprise, isn’t it? -You’re back early, Horace.” - -“Yes,” said her husband. - -“I hope you’re not too tired after last night,” Morrison began. - -“Oh no, thanks! It was fine. Horace, I haven’t told you about the dance -yet. It’s a shame you weren’t there.” - -The moment she said the words, Elsie knew that she had made a mistake. - -“Yes,” Williams remarked quietly, “you’d have liked me to be there, -wouldn’t you? Well, let me inform you that you aren’t going to any more -dances for the present.” - -“Whatever do you mean, Horace?” - -“Morrison knows what I mean all right, and so do you, you little ----” -His low, snarling tone gave the effect of spitting the ugly word at her. - -Leslie Morrison sprang to his feet. “Look here, sir----” - -The solicitor held up his hand. “That’ll do. It’s not for you to adopt -that tone in speaking to me, you know. Please to remember that I’m -Elsie’s husband.” - -“Look here,” Morrison began again, “I’m perfectly ready to make a clean -breast of it. I do love Elsie. Her and me were just pals at first, and -then I suppose I didn’t exactly realise where I was drifting. But I’m -free to confess that I lost my head one--one evening a little while -ago--and I told her I loved her.” He glanced at Elsie, as though for a -further cue. - -“And of course she told you that she was a pure woman, and a loving -wife, and you must never speak like that again?” sneered Horace -Williams. - -“Elsie, don’t let him speak like that.... Tell him!” urged Morrison. - -“I don’t need any telling,” Williams retorted smoothly. “She thinks -she’s in love with you, of course.” - -“I am in love with Leslie,” said Elsie suddenly. “And if you did the -decent thing, Horace, you’d set me free to marry him. You and me have -never been happy together. I didn’t ever ought to have married you, but -I was a young fool.” - -“Understand this, the pair of you,” said the little solicitor clearly -and deliberately. “I shall never set you free, as you call it. You’ve -married me, and you’ve got to stay with me. As for you,” he turned to -Leslie Morrison, “you can leave my house. And understand clearly that I -won’t have you inside it again. And if I catch you speaking to my wife -again, or meeting her, or having anything whatsoever to do with her, -it’ll be the worse for you.” - -Morrison took a sudden step forward, his hands clenched, and Elsie -screamed, but Horace Williams stood his ground. - -“I’m well within my rights, and you know it,” he declared. “I could -horsewhip you, in fact, and if you were fool enough to bring a case for -assault it’d go against you. _Clear out!_ That’s my last word to you.” - -“Will you let Elsie have a divorce?” - -“No, I won’t.” - -“Will you let her have a legal separation, then? You’ve her own word -for it that she’s not happy with you. I’m not thinking of myself, -but you can’t have the cruelty to keep her tied to you when she’s -miserable. Let her have her freedom.” - -For all answer, Williams pointed to the door. The expression of his -face had not altered by a hair’s-breadth. - -Morrison turned to Elsie, white and tense. “Elsie, you hear what he -says. What d’you want me to do?” - -Elsie had lost her nerve. She began to cry hysterically. Instead of -answering Morrison’s appeal, she turned to her husband. - -“Why can’t you let us just be pals, Leslie and me?” she sobbed. “You -bring your horrid, mean jealousy into everything. I s’pose you don’t -grudge me having a friend of my own age, do you?” - -Leslie Morrison instantly and loyally followed her lead. “If Elsie is -kind enough to let me be her friend, and--and take her out every now -and then, and that sort of thing, I’m willing to forget what’s just -passed, and simply ask you as man to man if you’ve any objection to us -being, as she says, just pals,” he said steadily enough. - -“I have every objection. You young fool, Elsie has just said in so many -words that she’s in love with you. Did you mean that, Elsie, or did you -not?” - -Elsie sobbed more and more violently, and her voice rose to an -incoherent screech. “How do I know what I mean or don’t mean, when you -make a row like this? But I’ll tell you this much, anyway, it’s true -what he said; I’m wretched with you, and if you were half a man, you’d -set me free.” - -“There, that’s enough,” said Williams. “Going round and round in a -circle won’t help any of us, and you ought to know by this time, Elsie, -that I always mean what I say. You’ll please to remember what you were -when I married you--a little fool of a typist, without a penny, whose -mother kept a boarding-house and was only too glad of the money I gave -her. It doesn’t take a genius to say what would have happened to you if -you hadn’t found a man fool enough to marry you, either.” - -“Stop that!” Morrison shouted. - -The solicitor blinked at him quietly. “I’ve twice told you to get out -of my house,” he observed. “Don’t make me say it a third time. It’ll be -the worse, if you do--for Elsie.” - -“Are you threatening her, you--you brute, you?” - -“I object to your friendship with my wife. That’s all--and enough too. -Now go.” - -“Oh yes, go!” said Elsie suddenly, breaking into renewed sobs and -tears. “I can’t stand this. You’d better go, Leslie boy, really you -had. I shall do myself in, that’s all.” - -“Don’t talk like that----” the youth began frantically, but Williams -opened the door, and stood silently pointing to it. - -There was something strangely inexorable in his little, trivial figure -and sinister, passionless expression. - -“Elsie,” said Morrison brokenly, “if ever you want me, send for me. -I’ll come!” - -He went out of the room, and they heard him go down the stairs and let -himself out at the front door. - -“That’s the end of that,” said Williams in a quiet, satisfied voice. -“Stop that howling, Elsie. You didn’t really suppose that I didn’t know -what was going on?” - -She sobbed and would not answer. - -There was a long silence, and at last Elsie, face downwards on the -sofa, began to feel frightened and curious. She bore it as long as she -could, and then looked up. - -Her husband was gazing out of the window, in which a potted aspidistra -stood upon a wicker stand between soiled white curtains. - -At the slight movement that she made he turned his head. “Elsie, tell -me. Did you really mean what you said, that you’re in love with that -boy?” - -To her incredulous surprise, his voice had become hoarse and almost -maudlin. - -“You only said it to make me angry, didn’t you?” - -In a flash Elsie saw the wisdom of allowing him at least to pretend to -such a belief. “Perhaps I did,” she said slowly. “Anyway, it’s true -enough that we aren’t particularly happy together, and never have been. -And I meant what I said about a separation, right enough, Horace.” - -“You won’t get one,” said Williams, and his voice had become -vicious-sounding once more. “And remember what I’ve said--that fellow -is never to set foot in here again, and you and he are not to meet in -future.” - - * * * * * - -The following morning Elsie went to the High Street post-office and -found there the letter that she had expected. - - “MY OWN DARLING GIRLIE, - - “What is to be done? I can’t tell you, darling, what a hound I felt - to leave you all alone with that jealous brute yesterday and yet the - awful thing is that he has the right to you and I have none. Oh, - Elsie life is hard isn’t it darling? I wish I could take you away but - that cannot be and it is you that have to bear the brunt of it all - except that I am in hell knowing what you are going through all the - time. Perhaps that is not an expression I ought to use to you but you - must excuse it for I hardly know what I am writing. - - “One of our chaps has gone sick, and they are sending me to the North - instead of him which means we can’t meet again as I go off to-morrow. - But write to me darling and tell me what it is best to do now. Would - it simplify things if we were to be just friends and no more? - - “Cheer up, Elsie perhaps some day things may come right for us--who - knows? He may die; doesn’t he always say there is something wrong - with him? - - “A thousand kisses for you, dearie. I have your sweet photo with me - and love to look at it and re-read your wonderful letters. Write and - tell me everything, and what you think we had better do. Shall we be - able to meet when I come back at the end of the month? - - “No more at present, from - - “Your own true lover, Leslie, - “BOY.” - -To Elsie, Leslie Morrison’s love-letters were wonderful. - -She read and re-read this one, but when she had answered it, she burnt -it. - -Certain words of the clairvoyante, whom she had once visited with Irene -Tidmarsh, she had never been able to forget, and of late they had -haunted her anew. - -“_Beware of the written word...._” - -Elsie burnt all Morrison’s letters to her, and asked him to burn all -those that she wrote him. - -Gradually these letters that passed between them grew to be the most -important factor in her life. - -Elsie, who had detested writing, now desired nothing so much as to pour -out her soul on paper, and the limitations that she found imposed upon -her through lack of education and the power to express herself made her -angry. - -Again and again she asked Morrison in her letters to take her away, -and after a time his steadfast refusals bred in her mind the first -unbearable suspicion that her passion was the greater of the two. Her -letters became wilder and wilder. - -Sometimes she threatened suicide, or gave hysterical and entirely -imaginary descriptions of scenes with her husband; sometimes she -expressed a reckless desire for Horace’s death, or asked if she could -“give him something” unspecified. These phrases, to a large extent, -were meaningless, but Elsie frantically hoped by them to impress upon -Morrison the extent of her love for him. - -When he got back from the North of England they met surreptitiously. - -A certain café in a small street not far from Elsie’s home became their -rendezvous. Sometimes Morrison was able to get there in the middle of -the day, but generally he came at about five o’clock, and they had tea -together. Very occasionally they met early in the afternoon and went -out together. - -Each meeting was entirely inconclusive, save in exciting Elsie almost -to frenzy and reducing young Morrison to further depths of despondency. - -The months dragged on. Morrison was often away, and then he and Elsie -wrote to one another daily. She was entirely obsessed with the thought -of her lover, and hardly ever saw Irene Tidmarsh, or went to Hillbourne -Terrace. And all the while, Horace Williams said nothing. - -He and his wife did not quarrel; indeed, they hardly spoke to one -another, but the atmosphere between them, day by day, was becoming more -heavily charged with mutual hatred and apprehension. - - - - -VI - - -The tension under which Elsie now lived began at last to affect her -health. She slept badly, and was nervous as she had never been before. - -Williams watched her without comment--a sinister little figure. -Sometimes, utterly overwrought, Elsie tried to force a scene with him, -but she only once succeeded in making him evince anger. - -Strangely reckless, she suddenly suggested that Leslie Morrison should -be invited to lodge in their house, with no slightest expectation that -her husband would entertain such a scheme, but with a wild desire to -provoke him to a scene that should release some of her own pent-up -emotion. - -“He’s looking for rooms, Geraldine says,” she declared, “and we’ve a -bedroom to spare, and might as well use it.” - -Williams gazed at her incredulously. “Are you aware that I’ve shown -Morrison the door once already?” he asked at last. - -“Yes, I’m quite aware of that,” said Elsie, with insolence in her -voice. “I thought you might have got more sense now, that’s all.” - -“Listen to me, Elsie. I forbade you to speak to that fellow again--and -by God, if you’ve done so, I’ll see you never forget it!” His face was -livid and he spoke through his clenched teeth. - -“I’ll speak to whom I please.” - -“Have you been meeting Morrison?” - -“Why shouldn’t I?” - -Elsie felt a curious pleasure and relief in thus mocking at the furious -jealousy that was evident in her husband’s face and manner. - -“Answer my question.” - -She remained silent. - -“Are you and that fellow in love?” - -“I’ve answered that before. I told you months ago, when you first -started to insult me, that he was nothing to me.” - -“That wasn’t true then--and it isn’t now. Morrison’s in love with you, -damn him, and you’re in love with him!” - -“Am I?” - -Elsie laughed derisively in the new and uncomprehended realisation that -she was no longer afraid of Horace. - -“You little bitch!...” - -He caught her by the shoulders and suddenly flung her against the wall. - -Elsie screamed, but it was reflex action from the physical shock alone -that made her do so. She was neither frightened nor very much startled. -There was even an odd exhilaration for her in the sudden release of -those pent-up forces that had for so long vibrated tensely between -herself and her husband. - -However, her arm and shoulder were bruised, and her whole body -violently jarred. “You’re a coward!” she panted. “Hitting a woman!” - -“You drove me to it.... Elsie, get up!... I’m sorry I did that, but -you’re driving me mad. God, if I had that fellow here I’d wring the -life out of him!” - -“No, you wouldn’t,” Elsie taunted him. “He’s a great deal stronger than -you are--he’s a man, he is--you’d never dare to touch him. All you can -do is to knock a woman about.” - -“That’s a lie! I’ve never touched you before, though there’s many a man -in my place would have beaten you within an inch of your life. I didn’t -know what I was doing just now.” - -He took a step towards her, but Elsie pulled herself up from the floor -without appearing to notice the movement. She felt slightly giddy, and -her head ached. - -“Aren’t you going to--to forgive me? I oughtn’t to have hit you, I -acknowledge, but you’ve done everything to drive me to it. Elsie, swear -to me that there’s nothing now between you and Morrison.” - -“Oh, all right,” she said wearily. “I swear it.” She felt that she no -longer cared what happened in a sudden overwhelming fatigue. - -“I don’t believe you,” said Williams bitterly. - -Elsie shrugged her shoulders, and turned, moving stiffly, to leave the -room. - -“Are you--are you hurt?” - -“Yes, of course I am. My shoulder will be black and blue to-morrow, I -should think.” - -“Shall I get you anything?” Williams muttered, shamefaced. - -She made no answer. - -That afternoon Elsie rang up Leslie Morrison on the telephone after her -husband had gone out. “Is that you, Les?” - -“Yes. How’s yourself?” - -He had told her never to be prodigal of verbal endearments in their -telephone communications, and she knew that he was probably not alone, -but it struck her painfully that his tone was a purely casual one, such -as he might have used to anyone. - -“We’ve had an awful scene, boy.” - -“What--who?” - -“Him--Horace--and me. The same old thing, of course--jealousy. I stood -up to him, and told him I didn’t intend to put up with that sort of -treatment any longer, and I’d never give up anyone I--I liked.” - -“I say, Elsie, you were careful, weren’t you?” asked Morrison, his -voice grown anxious. - -“Yes, yes, darling, of course I was, for your sake. But Leslie--this is -what happened--he knocked me down.” - -There was a smothered exclamation that made her heart leap with sudden -exultation. Of course Leslie cared.... - -“Elsie--girlie--he didn’t! Are you hurt?” - -She could have laughed in pure joy at his sharply-anxious question. - -“Nothing bad. Shaken, of course, and I expect there’ll be a bad bruise, -but I can put up with worse than that, you know.” - -“You oughtn’t to have to! The hound! I’d like to.... Look here, can’t -we meet?” - -“Yes, yes!” she said eagerly. “What about tea? I’ll come to----” - -“The same place,” he interrupted quickly, and she understood that he -did not want her to mention the name of the tea-shop that had so often -served them as rendezvous. - -“What time?” - -“About half-past five. I shan’t get away any earlier.” - -“All right, darling. I’ll be there.” - -“Sure you’re all right?” - -“Yes, quite all right now,” Elsie declared, laughing happily. - -“I must go. See you later, then?” - -“Yes. Good-bye, boy.” - -The answering good-bye came to her faintly over the wires as the final -click warned her that he had hung up the receiver. - -Elsie looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Only three o’clock--two -hours and a quarter before she could think of starting out. - -The telephone rang again, and Elsie, with a joyful hope that Morrison -had been unable to resist a further word, snatched at the instrument. - -“Hallo, hallo! Who’s there?” - -“I am--Horace,” said her husband’s flat, nasal voice. “Look here. How -would you like to go to the play to-night, Elsie?” - -“What!” said Elsie, disappointed at not hearing Leslie Morrison’s voice -again, and still dazed from the scene of the morning. - -“I said, how would you like to do a theatre to-night? I’ve got tickets -for ‘The Girl on the Pier’--good places--for to-night.” - -She understood at last that he was seeking to propitiate her, and to -make up for his violence. “I don’t mind. What time does it start?” - -“Half-past eight, but we’d better meet in town somewhere for some food. -I shan’t have time to come home first. What about the Corner House, -at about seven o’clock? That’ll give us plenty of time to go on to -Shaftesbury Avenue afterwards.” - -“All right. How many tickets have you got, Horace?” - -“Just the two. I thought you and I would go by ourselves and have a -jolly evening,” said the far-away voice rather tremulously. - -Elsie laughed drearily as she rang off. - -It seemed to her that the time dragged interminably until she could go -upstairs and dress herself for the evening’s outing. She meant to meet -Morrison first and then go on to the Corner House and wait there for -her husband. - -Elsie put on a dark blue coat and skirt, with a new pale blue jumper -of artificial silk, and a big black hat with a blue feather. Round her -neck she wore a small black fur. - -After her variable wont, she had suddenly recovered her looks, after -the sodden, stupefied ugliness that the morning’s unhappiness had -produced in her. Her eyes seemed more widely opened than usual, her -hair fell into thick curls and rings, and a soft, bright colour lay -under her oddly prominent cheek-bones. She rubbed lip-stick on to her -full, sulkily-cut mouth, and lavishly powdered her straight, beautiful -neck. The glow of excitement and gladness transformed her as she went -out to meet Morrison, slamming the door of the villa behind her. - -“Darling!” - -“My own dear little girl!” said Leslie, and held both her gloved hands -for a moment in his. “I haven’t been able to think of anything but what -you told me this afternoon. Are we going for a walk, or will you come -in?” - -“I’d like to come in and sit down,” said Elsie languidly. “Have you had -tea?” - -“No. I’ll order some.” - -“Not for me, boy. I’m meeting Horace for a meal in about an hour and a -half. We’re going to the theatre.” - -“Have you made it up, then?” - -“Oh, I suppose so! He telephoned and said he had these tickets. I -suppose he thought it’d make up, in a way.” - -They chose a corner table at the further end of the tea-shop, and Elsie -took off her coat and leant against it as it lay folded over the back -of her chair. - -“Where did he hurt you this morning?” said Morrison intently. - -She pulled up the loose sleeve of her silk jumper. “Look!” - -Her smooth, soft arm was already discoloured all round the elbow and up -to the shoulder. - -“It’s worse higher up, only I can’t get at it now to show you.” - -“_Damn_ him!” Leslie Morrison muttered between his teeth. - -His boyish face was black with an intensity of feeling that Elsie had -seldom seen there of late. It sent a rush of joyful reassurance all -through her. - -“Darling, I don’t care about anything while we’ve got each other.” - -“But it can’t go on, Elsie. He’s making your life miserable. Isn’t -there any hope of a divorce, or even a separation?” - -“He says he never will.” - -Elsie spoke slowly. She was revolving a possibility, that she had often -viewed before in her own mind. - -“Les, can’t we go away together? I don’t care what happens, or what -people think of me. I’d face anything, with you.” - -Even as she spoke, she knew--and one side of her was relieved to -know--that Morrison would negative the suggestion, as he had often done -before. - -“Out of the question, darling girl. Think what I’m getting--two -twenty-five a year and no particular prospect of a rise for years to -come. And look at what you’ve been used to!” - -“Not before I married.” - -“Times were different then. It was before the war. Living has gone up -five hundred per cent. since then, and it’ll be many a long year before -it comes down again. Why, Elsie, we couldn’t even live!” - -“I don’t know whether you think I’m living now!” she exclaimed -vehemently. “Existing, I call it. And we shall only be young once, -Leslie, and it seems so hard to waste it all.” - -He groaned, and they sat silent for a time, their hands locked together -beneath the table. - -“Would you be ready to--to end it all?” she asked suddenly. “I mean for -us to go out together, right out of life?” - -“Do you mean suicide?” - -“Yes--a suicide pact.” - -She fixed her eyes upon him, anxious to believe that he was startled, -and acutely touched, at the lengths to which her love could carry her. -The actual idea behind the word--that of suicide--conveyed very little -to her. Although she believed herself to be fully in earnest, Elsie -never seriously contemplated her own death, nor that of her lover. - -She had often thought of Williams’s death as the one possible solution -of their problem, but she had actually never really abandoned the -secret expectation that a way out would be found for herself and -Morrison that would secure their happiness. - -She had read of suicide-pacts, and seized upon the idea eagerly as one -more peg upon which to hang the proofs of her passion for Morrison, and -maintain his love, and his interest in herself, at the level of her own -ardour. Although never consciously owning it to herself, Elsie knew -that his love was a lesser one than hers. - -Leslie Morrison, now, did not make the passionate response for which -she had hoped. “Don’t talk like that. Oh, Elsie, it is hard, isn’t it? -And you don’t know what it’s like for me to think of that brute making -your life miserable. If only there was anything I could do!... I think -about it till I see red sometimes. Why doesn’t he die?” - -“Because we want him to, I suppose,” said Elsie, suddenly listless. -“He’s always talking about his health failing, and things like that, -but I don’t see any sign of it myself. Things will never come right for -us in this world, Leslie.” - -“Elsie, I’ll make him get a separation; I swear I will. It’s the only -possible thing. Then at least you’ll be free.” - -She noticed that he did not refer to the separation between herself and -her husband as to a means of furthering their own love. - -“Haven’t your people ever tried to get your freedom for you?” - -“Oh, I’ve nobody much, you know! Only mother and Geraldine, and the old -aunties. They don’t approve of me either--never did.” - -“Poor little girl, they don’t understand you!” - -“I don’t care while I’ve got you, Leslie.” - -They made love to one another, their voices low, until Morrison -reminded Elsie suddenly that it was late. - -“You’ll hardly get to the West End by seven now. I’m glad you’re going -to enjoy yourself to-night, anyway.” - -“I wish we were going together, Les, just you and I. That’s how it -ought to be. Are we going to meet to-morrow, dearest?” - -“Lunch here, can you? One o’clock. And meanwhile, darling, I’m going -to think hard what I can do to make things better for you. He’s got to -stop leading you this sort of life, anyway, and it’s up to me to find a -way of making him do so. When I think of his knocking you about....” - -The blood rushed into his face, and Elsie saw that he had clenched his -hand involuntarily. It was balm to her to realise that she still had -the power of exciting him to a frenzied anxiety on her account. - -“He’s hit me before now, you know,” she said suddenly, hardly -realising, and caring not at all, that she was not speaking the truth. - -“You never told me. I’ve sometimes wondered....” - -“I didn’t mean to say anything about it. I knew it would upset you.... -Never mind, darling, I don’t care.” - -“But I do. I tell you it’s driving me mad. Oh, what’s the good of -talking when one can’t do anything! Look here, darling, I’m not fit to -talk to you now--and besides, you’ll be frightfully late. I shall see -you to-morrow.” - -“One o’clock. Good-night, sweetheart. I wish it was you and me going to -this show to-night. Wouldn’t it be heaven!” - -“Indeed it would. But things may come right for us even yet, -darling--don’t give up hope. Good-bye.” - -“Good-bye!” she echoed. - -Elsie was late for her appointment with her husband, but he did not -complain. He seemed anxious to do everything in his power to conciliate -her, and it was characteristic of their relations together that, as -her fear of his sarcastic petulance vanished, so her contempt for him -increased. - -“I got dress-circle places,” said Williams impressively. “I know you -like them.” - -The piece, a musical comedy, amused her, and she was pleased at various -glances that were cast upon her by their neighbours in the theatre. -At the back of it all was a warm inward glow that pervaded all her -consciousness at the remembrance of Leslie Morrison’s championship of -her, his assurance that he would “think out a way.” - -Perhaps Leslie would make up his mind to take her away. She had asked -him to do so, and he had always refused. Elsie, with an ever-latent -fear that Morrison was already beginning to tire of an attachment that -to her was the one reality in life, told herself passionately that, -with him, she would care nothing for poverty. - -“It’s good, isn’t it?” said her husband’s nasal voice. - -“Rather. Topping!” - -For a minute or two she listened to the comedian on the stage, and was -genuinely amused by his facial contortions and wilful mispronunciations -of polysyllabic words. - -“He’s so silly, you can’t help laughing at him,” Elsie declared, wiping -her eyes. - -Then she drifted back again into the dream wherein she and Leslie -Morrison figured as sole protagonists, with complete and unexplained -elimination of Horace Williams. - -“Look who’s here, Elsie!” - -She started violently, convinced against all reason that she would see -Morrison. - -“Isn’t that your aunties?” - -“So it is,” said Elsie without enthusiasm. - -Aunt Ada and Aunt Gertie were making violent signs to her, and in the -interval Horace, still evidently bent upon doing everything possible to -please her, insisted upon going to speak to them, and suggested supper -after the play. - -“He is going it,” Elsie reflected dispassionately, not in the least -touched, but a good deal amazed at the lavishness of Horace’s amends. - -She was in reality very much bored by the company of the two aunts in -the little restaurant to which they eventually went. - -“Why don’t you go and see your poor mother, Elsie?” - -“I do see her, Aunt Gertie.” - -“Not very often, dear.” - -“As often as I’ve time for,” said Elsie curtly. - -“Geraldine’s not looking well,” Aunt Ada began next. - -“What happened to that young fellow she was supposed to be going with -last year?” - -Horace Williams called abruptly for his bill. “It’s after twelve, and -I’ve got to be at work to-morrow, if you ladies haven’t. All good -things must come to an end, you know.” - -“It’s been most pleasant, I’m sure,” said Aunt Gertie. - -And when Horace had gone to pay the account at the cash-desk, she added -sentimentally to Elsie: - -“It’s a real pleasure to have seen you and him together--and so happy.” - -“Thanks,” said Elsie sarcastically. “We’re as happy as the day is long, -of course.” - -“So you ought to be,” said Aunt Ada very sharply. - -They exchanged good-byes outside the restaurant, and Elsie and her -husband went by Tube to their own station. - -The long suburban road was almost deserted when they came out into it. - -“We’ll go by the Grove, of course,” said Elsie, indicating the narrow -alleyway that eventually merged into their own street, with a high -blank wall upon one side of it and the backs of a rather sordid row of -houses upon the other. - -A few leafless plane-trees showed above the top of the wall, and an -occasional tall lamp slightly relieved the gloom of the long, paved -passage-way. - -Their footsteps on the stones were clearly audible in the unusual -stillness that belonged both to the deserted locality and to the small -hours of the morning. - -“Who’s that?” said Horace so suddenly that Elsie jumped. - -Footsteps were hurrying behind them, and they both turned. With a -strange sense of foreknowledge, Elsie saw Leslie Morrison. - -The two men stopped dead as they came face to face with one another. -Elsie shrank back against the high yellow brick wall, her eyes fixed -upon Morrison’s ravaged face. - -“I couldn’t rest for thinking of it all. I know what happened to-day, -Williams,” he said in a high, strained voice. “It can’t go on. You’re -making Elsie’s life hell. Give her her freedom.” - -“Damn you! Who are you to interfere between man and wife?” said -Williams, low and fiercely. “I know what you want, both of you, but you -won’t have it. Elsie’s my wife, and I shan’t let her go.” - -“You’ve got to.” - -Horace Williams, looking full at the youth, who was shaking from head -to foot with excitement, gave his low, malevolent laugh. - -Almost at the same instant Elsie heard her own voice screaming, “Don’t -... don’t...!” and saw the flash of a knife as Morrison raised his arm -and struck again and again. - -Williams spun round as though to run, and his eyes, oddly -surprised-looking, glared, straight and unseeing, at Elsie. - -Leslie Morrison stabbed at him again in the back. - -“What have you done?” sobbed Elsie to Morrison. “Oh, go!” - -She saw Morrison dash away up the passage, and at the same moment -Horace Williams took a few steps forward. - -“Keep up--I’ll help you!” gasped Elsie. - -She thrust her arm beneath his elbow, dimly astonished and relieved to -find that he was walking, when he suddenly lurched heavily against her, -the upper part of his body sagging forward. Then he fell heavily and -lay motionless, blood trickling from his mouth. - -Elsie, utterly distraught, and her knees shaking under her, felt her -screams strangled in her throat. A distant figure showed at the near -end of the alley, and she flew, rather than ran, towards the stranger, -calling out in a high, sobbing voice for a doctor--for help. - -The woman, elderly and respectable-looking, asked what had happened. - -“I don’t know,” said Elsie. A blind horror was upon her, but instinct -warned her to make no definite statement of any kind. - -A nightmare confusion followed. The alleyway, from being a silent -and deserted spot, became clamorous with footsteps and voices. Elsie -dimly heard a tall man in evening clothes saying that he was a doctor, -and saw him kneel beside the blood-spattered form huddled upon the -pavement. It was he, and a stalwart policeman, who finally lifted that -which had been Horace Williams on to a hand-ambulance and took it away. - -Another man in police uniform took Elsie’s arm, giving her the support -that alone enabled her to move, and helped her to a taxi. - -She almost fell into it, weeping hysterically, and he took his place -beside her as a matter of course. In the sick, convulsed terror that -shook her, his stolid presence was an actual relief. She thought that -he was taking her home until he gently explained that she was coming -with him to the police-station. - -“We want to get this cleared up, you know, and you can help us by -telling us just what happened.” - -A new and more dreadful fear came over her. If Horace was dead someone -would be accused of having killed him. They might suspect her.... Elsie -felt as though she were going mad with the horror of it all. - -She began hysterically to scream and cry. - - - - -VII - - -It was still early in the day when Elsie’s mother came to her at the -police-station. Her fat face was white, stained and mottled with tears. - -“It seems too bad to be true,” she kept on repeating again and again. -“That’s what I said when I heard about poor Horace: too bad to be true. -And you in this dreadful place, Elsie, and such a state as you’re -in--and no wonder. The whole thing seems too bad to be true.” - -“Have they--found anything? Shall I be able to go home soon?” asked -Elsie. - -“I don’t know, dearie. They’ve got to find out who killed poor Horace, -you know. Elsie, you’ve always been a sensible girl. You must tell them -all you know, however dreadful to you it is to speak of such things. Or -I’ll tell them for you, if you’d rather just have it out with mother. -Didn’t you see anyone?” - -“Someone flew past, and as I turned to speak to Horace, I saw the blood -coming out of his mouth.” - -“Who was it flew past?” said Mrs. Palmer. - -“I don’t know. It all happened in a flash, like,” said Elsie. - -“You and Horace were happy together, weren’t you?” - -“Yes, always,” said Elsie stolidly. She had made up her mind not to say -anything else. - -“You didn’t quarrel?” - -“No, never.” - -“You’ll tell them that, won’t you, dearie? The police, I mean.” - -“It’s nothing to do with them,” said Elsie childishly. - -“Now don’t talk that way. That’s silly. You don’t seem to realise, my -lady, the sort of mess you’re in.” - -Mrs. Palmer’s voice rose to stridency as she let her fear and her -temper get the mastery of her attempt at caution. - -“My God, Elsie, can’t you see what it means? They may try you for -murder. Murder--the same as the horrid common people in the newspapers. -Who’s to know what happened--you and Horace in that empty street at -one o’clock in the morning, and he gets done in, and whatever you may -say--and mind you, I’ll back you up in it-they’ll get hold of the fact -that you and poor Horace didn’t hit it off together.” - -“We were quite happy together.” - -“That’s right,” said Mrs. Palmer approvingly. “You stick to that.” - -Then she began to cry. “To think it should have come to this! I that -have always held my head high--I don’t know what your aunts will say! -It’ll be an awful shock for them.” - -Elsie hardly heard what her mother was saying. Waves of physical -nausea kept on passing over her, and she was conscious of nothing but -thankfulness when an elderly woman in uniform came to her with a cup of -tea, and suggested that she should lie down and get some sleep. - -Elsie followed her, scarcely replying to Mrs. Palmer’s voluble farewell -and assurances of her own speedy return. - -She could not afterwards have told where it was that she was taken, -but a small, narrow bed awaited her, and she flung herself on to it -and fell almost at once into the trance-like sleep of utter bodily and -mental exhaustion. - -The same uniformed woman was waiting for her when she woke, after -several hours, and the sight of her brought back in a sick rush the -horrors of the morning. - -“Oh, I must go home!” cried Elsie. - -The woman took very little notice of her words, but she conducted her -to a lavatory and helped her to make her toilette. - -Cold water and the effects of sleep combined slightly to steady the -wretched Elsie. “I should like to go home at once, please,” she said, -in a voice that she tried in vain to render firm. - -“Yes. Well, I daresay your mother will take you away as soon as you’ve -answered a few questions,” said the woman indifferently and quietly. -“They want you downstairs first for a few minutes now.” - -“Is Mother there?” - -“She’s in the waiting-room. You’ll be able to see her afterwards.” - -“_Afterwards?_” - -Elsie’s agonised perceptions fastened upon that one word. She sought -with frantic and irrational intensity to pierce the veiled threat that -she felt it to convey. - -A man whom she knew to be a police-inspector appeared at an open door, -and the uniformed woman went away. - -“Now, Mrs. Williams, I’m afraid we must trouble you for a short -statement,” said the man pleasantly. “Will you follow me, if you -please?” - -He moved forward, and Elsie saw into the room that he had just left. - -Leslie Morrison was within it. - -As their eyes met, it seemed to Elsie that the last shreds of -self-control deserted her, and she screamed on a high and hideous note -words that came incoherently and frenziedly from some power outside -herself. - -“Leslie, Leslie! Oh, God, what shall I do? Why did you do it? I didn’t -ever mean you to do it.... I must tell the truth....” - -The inspector swung sharply round and gripped her by the arm. “Do you -realise what you’re saying? It is my duty to caution you that anything -you say now may be used in evidence against you.” - -Elsie burst into hysterical sobs and tears. - -The man pushed her gently into another room where another official and -a young man in plain clothes sat at a table with papers and pens in -front of them. - -The interrogatory that followed was conducted with grave suavity by the -senior official, but Elsie was conscious only of a horror of committing -herself. - -She said again and again that she and her husband had always been happy -together. - -It was a faint relief when at last they came to actual questions of -fact, and she could reply with direct statements to the enquiries as to -her movements on the previous evening. - -(O God, was it only last night that she and Horace had gone to the -theatre--only _this morning_ that they had started to walk home from -the Tube station?) - -“Mrs. Williams, I want you to tell me in your own words exactly what -happened in the alleyway just before your husband was struck.” - -Elsie realised with despair that she must say something. - -She was not imaginative, but almost without her own knowledge she had -evolved a sort of account by which, it seemed to her, confusedly, that -she might safeguard herself. - -“We were walking along,” she said in a trembling, almost inaudible -voice, “and there wasn’t anybody in sight, and suddenly someone rushed -up from behind and pushed me away from my husband. I was sort of dazed -for a moment--I think I must have been pushed against the wall--and -when I recovered I saw Horace--my husband--struggling with a man. Then -the man ran away.” - -“Did you see the man’s face?” - -“No,” said Elsie, with ashen lips. - -“But you know who it was?” - -“It was Leslie Morrison.” - -The room reeled before her eyes, and she made an ineffectual clutch at -a chair. - -Through a sort of thick fog she heard the official repeating in a low -tone: “It was the man known as Leslie Morrison.” - -Then she felt herself fall. - -Her mother was with her when she recovered consciousness, and the woman -who had attended to her before, and whom Mrs. Palmer now repeatedly and -volubly addressed as “Matron.” - -Elsie looked round her, but the officials were gone. With a groan she -let her head drop backwards again on to the rail of the chair in which -she found herself. - -“Come along now, don’t give way. You’re better now,” said the matron -briskly. “Don’t let yourself go, Mrs. Williams.” - -“Oh, Elsie, Elsie,” wailed Mrs. Palmer, “whatever will become of us? -Didn’t I always tell you----” - -“Give her an arm, Mrs. Palmer, and I’ll take her on the other side, and -we’ll get her into the other room. There’s a nice couch there, and she -can lie down a bit.” - -They half led, half dragged Elsie away, the matron exhorting her all -the time with impersonal, professional brightness to pull herself -together. - -She was conscious of thankfulness when the woman left her alone with -her mother, although leaving the door open behind her. - -Mrs. Palmer instantly bent forward and asked with avidity: “What did -you say to them, Elsie?” - -“Let me alone, Mother, for pity’s sake!” - -“How can I let you alone, as you call it, you unnatural girl? What a -way to speak to your own mother, on whom you’re bringing sorrow and -shame, and may bring worse yet, if you’re not careful! Now you tell me -this, Elsie Williams, directly this minute: Did you or did you not tell -them that you and Horace were on bad terms together?” - -“I said we were quite happy together----” - -“Stick to that,” said Mrs. Palmer significantly. “Did anyone know--any -neighbour or anybody--that you quarrelled? He never made a row, or -knocked you about, did he?” - -“Only the once,” Elsie said automatically. - -She pushed up her sleeve, then shuddered violently as she recalled -that she had last made use of that same gesture in the tea-shop with -Morrison. - -“My goodness, did Horace do that? You must have tried him pretty high, -_I_ know. How are you going to account for that bruise, young Elsie?” - -“Who’s to know about it?” - -“Oh, they’ll find out fast enough! They get to know about everything. -Look here, did you say that you’d been pushed against the wall by -whoever it was who did in poor Horace?” - -Elsie nodded, too much stunned even to wonder how her mother had become -possessed of this information. - -“Very well, then. Those bruises on your arm are where you fell against -that wall. Don’t forget. I shall say you showed them to me, and told me -about it.” - -“Say what--when?” Elsie asked stupidly. “I suppose all this’ll be over -before I’m quite mad, and they’ll let me go home to-day.” - -Her mother’s fat face puckered up suddenly, and she began to cry with -loud, gulping sobs. “I don’t know!” she wailed. “I don’t know.” - -“But what--what--for Heaven’s sake, Mother, stop that noise, and tell -me what they’re going to do. _What is it?_” almost shrieked Elsie, -striving to fight down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. - -“Don’t you understand, you little fool? (God forgive me for speaking -like that!) Oh, Elsie, I’m afraid--I’m afraid they’ll--they’ll arrest -you--for murder!” - -“Don’t use that word!” almost screamed Elsie. - -“How can I help it? Murder’s what’s been done, and it lies between -you and that fellow Morrison. Elsie, how far have things gone between -you and him? But there, I needn’t ask. I know you.” Mrs. Palmer wept -convulsively. - -She remained with her daughter until late in the afternoon, and twice -during that time Elsie was summoned to a further interrogatory. She -learnt that Morrison’s knife had been found close to the alley, and -that he had been fetched from his office early in the day and taken -away by the police. - -It was after her mother had gone away, as the dusk was gathering, that -Elsie Williams and Leslie Morrison were charged together with the -wilful murder of Horace Williams. - - * * * * * - -“For God’s sake, Mrs. Williams, tell me the whole truth!” - -Elsie looked dumbly at Mr. Cleaver, too sick with fright to speak. - -“Do you understand that you’re in the most frightful danger?” - -A sound that just amounted to an interrogation forced its way between -her dry lips. - -“You know what the sentence is for anyone found guilty of wilful -murder?” - -Elsie screamed and shrank. - -Cleaver bent forward, deep dents coming and going at the corners of his -nostrils, his white face working with earnestness. She could see the -sweat shining upon his forehead. - -“Try and understand. You will be committed for trial for the murder of -your husband.” - -“But Leslie Morrison....” - -“He’s in the same boat. His one idea, it seems, is to shield you--to -pay the whole of the penalty himself.” - -“It was him who--who....” Elsie’s voice trailed away. - -“I know. But who inspired him to do it, Mrs. Williams? I tell you that -nothing but absolute frankness can give you a chance.” - -“Shall I be in the witness-box?” - -A bewildered idea that she could still make use of her charm to serve -her present cause made Elsie ask the question. - -“You will be in the dock,” said Cleaver grimly. “Understand that -everything--your life itself--depends upon your being absolutely -straightforward with me. Don’t conceal anything--don’t attempt to. I -tell you, it’s your one hope.” - -Elsie stared and stared at Mr. Cleaver. “I never meant Leslie to do -it!” she cried suddenly and wildly. - -“But you knew he was going to?” - -“No, no, no!” - -“Mrs. Williams, tell me the truth. You and Morrison were madly in love -with one another, and had been for over a year?” - -She nodded. - -“You knew that your husband would never, in any circumstances, set you -free?” - -“Yes. We asked him, begged him to. He--he was very cruel, Mr. Cleaver.” - -“You and Morrison would not face open scandal by going away together?” - -“It wasn’t that.” - -“What was it, then?” - -She hesitated, twisting her handkerchief round and round in her fingers. - -The solicitor moistened his lips with his tongue. “Your only hope, your -one and only hope in this world, Mrs. Williams, is to speak the truth. -I’m powerless to help you if you won’t be open. Don’t be afraid that -everything you say now will come out in the police-court; it won’t -necessarily be so at all--far from it. But I can judge of nothing -unless I know every single thing.” - -“I’ll tell you,” said Elsie, white to the lips. - -“Why would you and Morrison not have gone away together? Were you -afraid?” - -“We had no money.” - -“I see. Morrison’s pay was very small, and you had nothing but what -your husband gave you?” - -“Yes.” - -“Whereas if you were a widow, you had reason to suppose that Williams -would leave you comfortably provided for?” - -“Yes.” - -“Did it not occur to you, then, that his death would be a very -convenient solution of the whole problem?” - -“Oh yes! How could I help thinking that?” - -“You not only thought it, Mrs. Williams, you said it, and you wrote it.” - -“I never----” The denial sprang from her quite instinctively. - -Mr. Cleaver put up his hand authoritatively. “Wait! Do you remember -a conversation with a friend of yours, Miss Irene Tidmarsh, on the -eighteenth of last October, when you made use of the words, ‘I wish to -the Lord that Horace would do the decent thing or go West, and let me -have a chance of happiness’?” - -Elsie was terrified at the precision with which her very words were -quoted and the occasion known. “I can’t remember,” she gasped. - -“Mrs. Williams, you _must_ speak the truth. Remember that a great -deal is known already, and banish any idea of false shame from your -mind. This is a question of life and death to you: neither more nor -less. If I know the truth from you, I can advise you as to the line -you must take under cross-examination. Remember that it will be a -terrible ordeal for you, and it’s essential that you should be properly -prepared for it. And weight will be attached, without a doubt, to that -conversation of yours with Miss Tidmarsh.” - -“But how will they know about it?” she sobbed, forgetting her previous -denial. - -“Miss Tidmarsh will be called as a witness against you,” said Mr. -Cleaver gravely. “We’ve got to account for those words of yours -somehow, and what is more serious still--if anything could be more -serious--we’ve got to keep out of sight, if we can, those damning -letters of yours.” - -“What letters?” screamed Elsie, a new and unbearable horror clutching -at her. - -“The letters, Mrs. Williams, that you have repeatedly written to Leslie -Morrison during the past months.” - -“They’re burnt, they’re burnt!” shrieked Elsie. “He swore he’d burn -them!” - -“I wish to God he had, but he never did, Mrs. Williams. Those letters -may form the bulk of the evidence against you. You repeat in them, -again and again, that Williams ill-treated you, made you miserable, and -that you wish he was dead. In one of them occurs the words: ‘He’s ill -now, and taking sleeping draughts. One little mistake in pouring out -the mixture, Leslie, and you and I might be free! I’d do more than that -for our love’s sake, darling.’ Do you understand the awful weight that -those expressions and many, many similar ones would carry with a jury, -Mrs. Williams? We’ve got to put some construction on them other than -the obvious one, if we can’t get a ruling that they’re inadmissible as -evidence, which is what we shall try for. I want to make it very, very -clear to you. Everything depends on your co-operation. Are you fit to -listen to me?” - -Elsie was sobbing and writhing. - -“Have you any letters whatever from Morrison?” pursued the relentless -voice of the solicitor. - -“No.” - -“What have you done with them?” - -“I burnt them all.” - -He looked at her as though doubting her words. “Very few women burn -their love-letters, Mrs. Williams.” - -“I was afraid to keep them.” - -“For fear of your husband seeing them?” - -She hesitated. “Partly.” - -In Elsie’s mind was a piercing recollection of the haunting fear that -had obsessed her ever since the scene at the house of Madame Clara, the -medium. - -“_Beware of the written word...._” - -But she would not give that reason for having destroyed Morrison’s -letters to the solicitor. The strange, undying remnant of vanity that -finds a lurking-place upon the most apparently trivial and unlikely -ground held her back from the truth. - -Elsie Williams realised that Mr. Cleaver was in grimmest earnest when -he told her that only the absolute truth could possibly save her; she -was prepared to tell him the truth in spite of her deadly terror and -shame, but she could not bring herself to say that the reason why she -had destroyed the letters of Leslie Morrison was because she could -never forget the words spoken by the clairvoyante whom she had visited. - -“I burnt the letters because I had nowhere to keep them, and I was -afraid they might be found,” she repeated, her young face grey and -ravaged. - -It was the only particular in which she lied to Mr. Cleaver, and she -did so with blind and irrational persistence. - -After the hours that he spent with her, Elsie, physically exhausted, -and psychically strung to a pitch of tension that she had never known -in her life before, was left alone in her cell, face to face with her -own soul. - -At first, fragmentary recollections of the past forty-eight hours -obsessed her. She went over and over her conversations with the police -officials, her own replies to Mr. Cleaver, her mother’s hysterical -ejaculations. Then she thought of Leslie Morrison, who had backed -up her statements to the police, and who, when both were arrested -together, had only asked through white lips: “Why her? She was not -aware of my movements.” - -But since her own half-unconscious betrayal of him, Elsie’s feeling for -Morrison had undergone an extraordinary revulsion. - -It had all turned out so utterly unlike anything that they had ever -planned. It still seemed to Elsie that catastrophe had fallen, a bolt -from the blue, into the midst of their lives without warning. She -still felt that none of it could be true, that she must wake as from a -hideous dream. - -When had she had a hideous dream--something about Horace--something -like this? - -Dim associations of horror and bewilderment awoke slowly within her, -and brought to her the remembrance of her visit with Irene Tidmarsh -to the woman who had called herself “clairvoyante.” She had talked -in a deep, rather artificial voice about love and intrigue; she had -bade Elsie beware of the written word. And then all of a sudden the -atmosphere had altered, Madame Clara’s voice itself had altered, -horribly, and she had screamed out terrifying words and phrases. -“Blood, and worse than blood ... you’re all over blood! O, my God, -what’s this? It’s all over England--_you_--they’re talking about you.” - -Elsie understood. In a flash of searing, anguished intuition she -understood what would happen. - -With the appalling rapidity of a vision, there came to her the -realisation of all that would come to pass in the near future. - -She knew already that the police-court trial was the almost certain -preliminary to her committal and Morrison’s for trial at the Old -Bailey. _They would be tried for murder._ - -She and the man who had been her lover would stand in the dock together -as prisoners; lawyers would fight out questions concerning their past -relations; people would give evidence against them--evidence in their -favour; Elsie would in all probability hear her own letters to Leslie -Morrison read aloud in court.... - -It would be a sensational trial, such as she had often followed with -avidity in the newspapers. - -“_It’s all over England--they’re talking about you...._” - -But why ... why?... - -Elsie Williams’ instant of vision fled from her as suddenly as it had -come, and left her agonisedly and wildly rebellious, bewildered at the -vortex of terror and shame and misery into which it seemed to her that -she had suddenly, without volition of her own, been flung. - -She could not trace the imperceptibly-graduated stages that had brought -her to the pass where catastrophe became inevitable. To her, it seemed -that she had swiftly been hurled from security into deadly peril by -some agency as irresistible as it was malignant. - -Every now and then realisation came to her, when certain frightful -words sprang into frightful meaning, as they had never done before. - -“Murder....” - -“Conspiracy ... and incitement to murder....” - -“Principal in the second degree....” The police officials had made use -of that expression--so had Mr. Cleaver. - -Elsie’s mother had fetched Mr. Cleaver, and had wildly repeated, in -front of Elsie and the lawyer, that she would grudge no expense, not if -it cost her her last penny. - -“And the aunties will help, Elsie, they’ve been ever so good--anything -we can get together, says your Aunt Gertie, and her face the colour of -the tablecloth. Mr. Cleaver here will tell us the best man, if it--if -it comes to--to....” - -“You could scarcely do better than Sir Cambourne Trevor, Mrs. Palmer, -but his fee, I ought to warn you, is a thousand guineas.” - -“A thousand guineas!” Elsie and Mrs. Palmer had screamed together. - -And Mr. Cleaver, gaunt and haggard and grey-faced, had made answer: -“It’s her life that will be at stake.” - -From time to time, Elsie understood. She knew, at those moments, what -it all meant. There would be no more concealments, everything would be -dragged out into a publicity that could only bring with it dishonour -and shameful notoriety, and hatred, and execration. - -And she would have to live through it--to suffer through an ordeal -of vast, incredible magnitude, of which the climax--she knew it in a -prescience that mercifully could not endure--would come in the ghastly -dawn of a prison-yard, beneath the shadow of the scaffold.... - -Inexorable results would be suffered by herself, and she would never -know how it was that these things had become inevitable--had happened. - - _Dawlish_, 1923. - - - - -THE BOND OF UNION - - - - -THE BOND OF UNION - -(To A. P. D.) - - -A wide, cushioned seat runs round three sides of the deep fireplace in -Torry Delorian’s library for the admitted reason that Lady Pamela March -likes to face the room when she is talking. - -The room, of course, means the audience. Personally, I consider that -she could safely--I mean, without spoiling her picture of herself--make -use of the very word itself. It is so obviously the only one that -applies, when she sits there, smoking one cigarette after another, and -we sit there, smoking one cigarette after another, all listening to -Pamela, playing up to Pamela, and all more or less sexually attracted -by Pamela. - -The subconscious mind of Pamela projects on these occasions, I think, -something of this kind: - -=“_The girlish figure dominated the room. Magnetism vibrated in every -gesture of the slim hands, every glance from the brilliant eyes, every -modulation of the rather deep voice. She held them all, by sheer force -of personality. The peacock-blue folds of her dress, with its girdle of -barbaric, coloured stones...._”= - -The bit about the dress, of course, varies. Sometimes the folds -may be saffron-yellow, and the girdle opalescent, or there is no -girdle at all; and anyhow, in those particulars, the same effect -is never repeated twice. But I imagine that, like all women, she -makes a point to herself of the accoutrements, not realising that -the audience--almost altogether composed of men--attribute the -entire effect to the sheer, smooth slope of her shoulders, the -alluring curves of her mouth, the rich swell of her breasts beneath -semi-transparencies. - -The impression that inwardly she is projecting really does reflect -itself on to the minds of most people, I believe. - -It is only slightly distorted, even in my own version of it, which runs -something like this: - -=“_The girlish figure dominated the room. Animal magnetism vibrated -in every gesture_”= ... and so on--only leaving out the brilliancy of -the eyes and the deepness of the voice, both of them rather cheap -accessories to a pose that really is quite strong enough without -them--to the end: - -=“_She held them all, by sheer will-to-dominate._”= - -Pamela, being a brilliant talker, prefers always to talk personalities. - -Two nights ago, sitting on that cushioned rail that runs round the -fireplace, she recounted an adventure. - -“... Only it’s the spiritual adventure that I’m telling all of you. -Because you’ll understand. The other part was all obvious, the danger -and all that. You’ve probably seen it in the papers.” - -She was right. It had been lavishly paragraphed, with photograph inset. -Her _flair_ for publicity is unerring. - -“Darlings, how I loathe the Press--if I could only tell you! But the -other part of the affair was so utterly wonderful, that it’s swamped -everything else. It was like a revelation. - -“You know how essentially super-civilised I am? A man once wrote a poem -about my being like a piece of jade--hard, and brilliant, and polished, -and yet with the unfathomable subtlety and agelessness of the East. My -civilisation is partly temperamental, I suppose, and of course to a -certain extent the result of elaborate education--and then hereditary -as well. Look at Anthony. Could anyone have a more utterly civilised -parent, I ask you? Elma is less poised, of course, but mercifully -for me I’ve managed to inherit my mother’s physique and my father’s -mentality. Like a sensitised plate, isn’t it? It does mean isolation -of soul, and those terrible nerve-storms of mine, but in my heart of -hearts I know it’s worth it. - -“Only people are so ghastly. My friends have to rescue me.... You -remember what it was like, Torry, the night that woman assaulted me -at the Embassy, and talked, and talked, and talked. O Christ! it was -all about food, or flannel, or babies--something too utterly indecent, -I know. I sat there, helpless, martyred--and darling Torry came and -rescued me. I shall never forget it, Torry, you sweet, never. - -“Now this is what happened the other day. (Why do you allow me to be -discursive, dear people?) You know my car was held up by Sinn Feiners? -I, who adore everything lawless! But it was simply for being Anthony’s -daughter, of course. They hate him so. - -“You know how I drive for miles and miles, entirely alone, just so as -to feel the air in my face, and my hands--rather small, really, by -comparison--controlling that great swift machine. Well, I’d got to such -a lonely place that it was like finding God--when suddenly these men -appeared. - -“I wasn’t a bit frightened--I never am frightened--but it was horrible, -all the same. And I kept thinking of the people who’d be so sorry if I -were killed, and wondering who’d be the sorriest, and who’d remember -longest.” - -=(_She looked round the room, her dark brows raised in an expression -part whimsical, part pathetic._)= - -“All this isn’t the adventure, you know, though they took my jewels, -and tied me up to a bench on a sort of heath place. They tied me here, -and here.” - -She held out a slim ankle, and extended both wrists. - -“Dear hearts, don’t, don’t touch me! I’m so dreadfully on edge -to-night. Nothing to do with the adventure, though. That was altogether -beautiful. - -“You see there was another woman on the bench, to whom they’d done -exactly the same thing--only she’d been walking, not driving. They left -us together, and said they’d come back later and shoot us. Terrorism, -of course, but it would be such an ugly way of going out, wouldn’t it? - -“She and I looked at one another, tied to either end of that bench, -and in some way that I simply can’t describe, our spirits leapt -together. She, it turned out afterwards, recognised me at once--that’s -the worst of being too weak to refuse sittings when one’s pestered -by every photographer in London--but I hadn’t the least idea who she -was, and don’t care. Bright red hair, quite distinguished-looking, and -altogether rather lovely in a pallid, blanc-de-Ninon way, though no -actual physical charm. But I felt it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d -been a _déclassée_. By the way, what is a _déclassée_? - -“This still isn’t the adventure--besides, you know this part already, -all of you--but some of those ruffians came back again, and untied us, -and said we could find our own way home. They’d taken my car, needless -to say. I gave them one of my looks--the sort that means I’m really, -really angry, like when someone kisses me in a clumsy way, or spills -something on my frock--and the men melted, literally melted, away. Then -she and I began to walk, and this is really when the part that matters -started to happen. - -“Having come through this shattering episode, and found ourselves -unshot, and alive, it was almost like two disembodied spirits communing -together. We got into the realities straight away. It was far more -wonderful than if one of us had been a man, because then sex must have -come into it, but as it was, each of us laid her whole soul perfectly -bare, in the way one can never do to a man, if he loves one, for fear -it should kill his love, or if he doesn’t love one, for fear it should -make him think he does. - -“But as it was, each of us was perfectly fearless, and in a way -perfectly shameless. It was partly violent emotional reaction. You see, -we’d both thought we were facing death. - -“She told me that she was utterly miserable. Her husband was a brute, -and her lover had let her down. He’d fallen in love with a girl, a sort -of pure-eyed-baby person, and had just told this woman--who’d been -giving him everything, of course, for years--that he wanted to _se -ranger_ and get married. - -“She was nearly out of her mind, that woman. You see, she wasn’t young, -and then some skin treatment she’d been having hadn’t succeeded, and -was helping to break her up. She told me about that, too. Oh, there -was nothing she didn’t say, but she simply didn’t care, we were so -utterly intimate for that fleeting moment. Nobody else in the world -knew, she told me. She’d always tried to avoid scandal, and no one -had ever really known about her _liaison_ with this man. (Women _are_ -clever about love.) - -“And then I told her every single thing about myself--things that I’d -never dream of breathing in this room, nor you of believing, most -likely. Foul, filthy, hateful things about myself.... I know now why -Catholics go to confession. It releases so much. - -“Darlings, words can’t ever describe what it was like. I shall never -forget it, as long as I live, and neither will she. - -“We parted, of course, but we both knew that there was a link between -us that nothing could ever break, even though we never met again. It -was too utterly perfect and complete as it was.” - -There was a silence, and then someone said, suitably: “Wonderful -Pamela!” - -She smiled vaguely, shook her head, and then tragically clasped both -hands to her breast. “Please, a cocktail. I’m so tired. Oh, and what’s -the time? I’m dining with a man at eight, and he’s thrown over a most -important engagement to take me, and he’d be quite capable of getting -angry if I failed him. Sweet, no! Not a quarter past nine! Oh, please, -someone, a car, and take me to the little tiny, tiny French restaurant -in Wardour Street.” - -Lady Pamela waved away the cocktail, spilling it, prayed for another -one and drank it, and then wafted away on the wings of little -distressed exclamations and futile, effective gestures of farewell. - -That was two nights ago. - -This morning I was in Bond Street, and I saw Pamela March in her -father’s car, held up by a block in the traffic. - -On the other side of the narrow street another car with a solitary -woman in it passed slowly. I recognised the woman instantly from -Pamela’s description, for she had bright red hair, was quite -distinguished-looking, and altogether rather lovely in a pallid, -blanc-de-Ninon way, and radiated a marked degree of physical charm. - -The eyes of the two women who had been as disembodied spirits communing -together met in a long look. - -And the expression in each pair of eyes was momentarily identical, -and it was with the same effect of immutable determination that each -simultaneously administered and received the cut direct. - -_They knew...._ - - - - -LOST IN TRANSMISSION - - - - -LOST IN TRANSMISSION - - -I - -The Lambes were very rich. - -This was all the nicer for Mrs. Lambe, because once upon a time, not -so very long ago, when she was still Maude Gunning, she had been poor. -From the time she was eighteen to the time she was thirty, she had -taught music at the girls’ school in Carlorossa Road. She had gone -to and from her work four days a week all through term time by tram. -Fortunately, the tram took her almost from door to door. She was a bad -walker, owing to corns. - -During the school holidays Maude had always tried to find private -pupils, and as she and her father and mother were well known in the big -manufacturing town and its suburbs, and her successes at the L.R.C.M. -examinations were a subject of local pride, she had generally succeeded. - -And it was odd to think, as Mrs. Lambe quite often did think, that most -of the large, comfortable, expensive houses to which she had gone--with -a very keen appreciation, on autumn and winter afternoons, of the big -fire blazing in the pupil’s schoolroom or dining-room, as the case -might be--to think that these houses, for the most part, were less -large, comfortable, and expensive than the one of which she was now the -mistress. - -Edgar Lambe, when he first met Miss Maude Gunning at a tea-party, was -already a wealthy man, although not as rich as the demand for houses -that sprang up during the war afterwards made him. - -At the party, Maude played the piano, and played it very well. Mr. -Lambe, who was naturally musical, asked to be introduced to her. He had -never married, although he was forty years old, and he had recently -made up his mind to look for a wife. Maude attracted him, although she -was neither pretty nor very young. - -Three months after their first meeting they were married. - -Mr. Lambe bought the largest corner house in Victoria Avenue. - -It was, of course, wholly detached from its neighbours. There was a -carriage-sweep in the front, and a long, wide garden at the back, and a -high wall all round. There was a tennis-court, two greenhouses, and a -vegetable garden beyond the flower-garden. - -The inside of Melrose was even more magnificent than the outside, -and far more interesting to Mrs. Lambe, who was not very fond of -being out-of-doors, having had a great deal too much of it in her -tram-journeying days. But she had many ideas as to comfort and elegance -indoors, and Edgar was generous with money, and had a standard of his -own--and one that secretly rather scared her--as to the way in which a -house should be “run.” - -This standard of Edgar’s was principally applied to lighting, heating, -food and service. The house was fitted with electric light, of course, -and Edgar had had a separate boiler put in for the three bathrooms, so -that it was his favourite boast that if anyone wanted a bath in the -middle of the night, the water would still come out of the tap almost -boiling. There were radiators in all the rooms except the kitchen, -offices and servants’ bedrooms, and hot pipes in the linen-cupboard. - -It took Mrs. Lambe a little while to assimilate Edgar’s views as to -meals. She quite understood that these must be served punctually, and -that the plates must be hot--really hot--and that there must always be -a relay of fresh toast towards the end of breakfast; and of course late -dinner every night except Sunday, when it was cold supper. But she did -find it a little bit difficult, just at first, to realise that Edgar -disapproved strongly of twice-cooked meat. At her own home there had -been a weekly joint, which was hot on Sunday, cold on Monday, hashed -on Tuesday, and cottage-pie’d on Wednesday--and sometimes, if it had -been a larger joint than usual, curried on Thursday and turned into -rissoles on Friday. - -At Melrose, after one, or at the most two, appearances in the -dining-room, the beef disappeared into the kitchen and was finished -there, while a new joint, or a pair of fowls, took its place on the -upstairs _menu_. - -The amount of “butcher’s meat” that came into the house amazed and -disconcerted its mistress, until she found that her servants took it as -a matter of course, and that her husband continually praised her to his -friends as a good manager, and that the monthly bills--which at first -had appalled her--by no means exceeded the sum which he had himself -suggested that he should allow her for the housekeeping. - -By the time that Mrs. Lambe had a nursery, with two little girls in it, -and a nurse, and a nursery-maid to wait upon them, she took it quite as -a matter of course that there should be yet a third list of items to -consider in the ordering of meals--weekly chickens, and special dairy -produce, and a regular supply of white fish, for the nursery. This -question of food for the household was, of course, immensely important, -and she gave a great deal of conscientious thought to it, thankful -when the cook suggested a new variety of sweet for the dinner-parties -to which Edgar so much enjoyed inviting his business friends and their -families. - -On these occasions he himself selected the wines with the utmost care, -and instructed the two parlour-maids minutely and repeatedly in the -proper formula to be employed with each course. - -Mrs. Lambe was always relieved that this great responsibility did not -in any way rest upon her. A mistake, she felt, would be altogether -_too_ terrible. - -The parlour-maid and the waitress who always came in for the evening -when the Lambes entertained, never made mistakes. - -Mrs. Lambe was very “good” with servants, and never had any difficulty -in finding and keeping thoroughly satisfactory domestics. The little -girls’ nurse, who received far higher wages than any of them except the -cook, was the only one with whom there was sometimes a little trouble. - -She occasionally hinted that Ena and Evelyn were rather spoiled, and -inclined to come up to the nursery disposed to be fretful and out of -sorts after too much notice in the drawing-room, and far too many -expensive chocolates from the pink and blue and gilt boxes that were -always being given to them. - -Mr. Lambe was a lavish and indulgent father. He thought his -fair-haired, pretty little daughters wonderful, and took the greatest -delight in associating “Dad’s” return from the office with new toys or -“surprises” of sweetmeats. - -Mrs. Lambe never had the heart to disappoint him by suggesting that his -munificence was making the little girls rather critical and capricious, -even at six and four years old. Edgar only roared with appreciative -laughter when they told him, seriously and rather crossly, that they -always wanted the chocolates to come from Blakiston’s--which was the -best, and by far the most expensive, confectioner’s in the city. They -did not care for any other kind. - -Edgar repeated this story to a great many of his friends, who were -as much amused as he was himself at such an instance of early -discrimination. - -Mrs. Lambe was amused herself, and could not help thinking that Ena and -Evelyn were smart and original children. - -They were also very pretty; rather pallid, sharp-featured little -things, always beautifully dressed, exactly alike. Neither she nor -Edgar regretted in the very least that neither of them had been a boy. - -Every night Maude Lambe, who had been brought up to be thoroughly -religious, knelt at the side of her enormous bed, with its opulent -pink satin duvet, and humbly thanked God for all that He had given -her--Edgar and the children, and Edgar’s wealth and kindness, and her -beautiful, comfortable home. - -There was only one fly in the ointment--Aunt Tessie. - -Edgar had told her all about Aunt Tessie before they were married. He -had explained that she would live with him always, in spite of the -undeniable fact that she was Not like Other People, and that he would -never allow her to be sent away to an institution, whatever the other -Lambe relations might say. - -Aunt Tessie had been very good to him when he was a little boy, -and this Edgar never intended to forget. He had had a very unhappy -childhood, with a mother who drank and a stepfather who beat him. Aunt -Tessie, who had actually made a living for herself in those days out -of painting pictures, had done everything that she could do to induce -them to let little Edgar come and live with her, and when they would -not agree to that, she had still sent him presents and surreptitiously -given him pocket-money, and when he had been sent away to school, she -had come regularly and taken him out, and invited him to her flat -whenever she could. She was the only person who had ever shown him any -affection when he was a child, Edgar had once told his wife. - -Maude had been very much touched, and thought it noble of dear Edgar -to remember so faithfully, in his great prosperity, the good old aunt -who had long ceased to be able to paint even bad pictures, and who had -become terribly, almost dangerously, eccentric about ten years earlier. -Edgar had then immediately taken her to live with him, declaring Aunt -Tessie once and for all to be his charge. - -All this he had explained to his wife before they were married, and her -generous and even eager acquiescence had met him more than half-way. - -Maude, indeed, had been ready to accept Aunt Tessie as her charge, too. -She had felt nothing but a tender compassion for the probably frail, -half-childish invalid, towards whose garrulousness she would never -fail of kindly semi-attention, and to whose bodily weakness every care -should be extended. But Aunt Tessie had turned out not to be that sort -of invalid at all. - -To begin with, her physical health was robust and powerful. She was -only fifty-five, and her hair was not grey, but a strong, virulent -auburn. - -Her complexion was sanguine, her large, harshly-lined face suffused -with colour and disfigured by swelling, purplish veins. - -Her voice was very loud and hoarse, and she laughed with a sound like -a neigh. As for Aunt Tessie’s appetite, it was simply prodigious. -Even had expense been a serious consideration at Melrose, Mrs. Lambe -would never have grudged anyone a hearty meal--she had too often gone -semi-hungry herself for that--but really, Aunt Tessie, with her second -and third helping of beef, and her two glasses of claret, and her frank -eagerness for dessert chocolates, was not decent. - -She always had her meals in the dining-room, and it was really on -that account that Ena and Evelyn had their midday dinner upstairs, -and only came downstairs when the starched and mob-capped maids were -handing round coffee. Their mother would have liked them to come to the -dining-room for luncheon, at least on Sundays, but they both hated Aunt -Tessie, and made faces and laughed at each other when she uttered any -of her loud, inconsequent remarks, or pushed her food into her mouth -with her fingers. - -Maude, and even Edgar, had tried to persuade Aunt Tessie that it would -be more comfortable for her to have all her meals in the large upstairs -sitting-room that they had given her, but Aunt Tessie had been first -angry and then hurt. They wanted her out of the way, she said angrily, -they were ashamed of her, and did not like her to meet their friends. - -Mrs. Lambe could not help thinking that it was rather ungrateful -of Aunt Tessie to say this, after all that had been done for her. -However, they would not vex and disappoint the poor old lady, and so -she continued to appear downstairs, even when there was a party, and to -embarrass and disconcert everybody by her ineptitudes and her uncouth -manners at the dinner-table. - - -II - -By the time the Armistice was signed, Mr. Lambe had become richer than -ever. - -He entertained his friends even more often to dinner, and gave them -better wine, although it had always been so good before. He increased -Mrs. Lambe’s allowance for the housekeeping, and frequently gave her -presents of money to be spent upon herself or the little girls. He -would have given Aunt Tessie money too, but she had grown even queerer -in the course of the past year, and it was only too evident that what -had been called her “eccentricity” was now becoming something much more -serious. For the very first time, there was trouble with the maids. - -They did not like waiting on Miss Lambe. It was no wonder, either, poor -Mrs. Lambe was forced to admit. - -Aunt Tessie was untidy, even dirty, and as the housemaid once pertly -remarked, her bedroom only needed three gold balls over the door. She -kept things to eat upstairs, and scattered crumbs everywhere. - -The parlour-maid, speaking for herself and for the housemaid, declared -that it was quite impossible to do the proper work of the house and to -clear up after Miss Lambe as well. - -In another moment she would have given notice.... Mrs. Lambe could see -it coming. - -Hastily she sent for Emma, the little between-maid, and informed her -that in future she would have the sole care of Miss Lambe’s bedroom and -her sitting-room, and would wait upon her, instead of the housemaid. -She at the same time raised Emma’s wages by two pounds a year, for she -always tried to be very just. - -Emma was only seventeen, and a very childish little thing, and Mrs. -Lambe had not expected her to raise any objection to the new scheme; -but it was surprising, although satisfactory, to find that Emma seemed -to be actually pleased by it. - -She said “Yes’m,” a good many times, and smiled at her mistress as -though joyfully accepting a form of promotion. - -Mrs. Lambe was relieved, the parlour-maid and the housemaid did -not give notice, and even Aunt Tessie--very difficult to please -nowadays--appeared contented and satisfied. - -But she was getting worse all the time. - -It became more and more embarrassing when visitors came to Melrose. - -The old lady always found out when anyone was expected, and the more -people were coming the noisier and more excited she became. - -One dreadful Sunday there were guests for luncheon--two of Edgar’s -important clients, and little Ena’s godfather--a rich old bachelor -cousin--and two unmarried ladies, friends of Mrs. Lambe’s maiden days. -She was always very faithful to her friends. - -Aunt Tessie actually pranced downstairs and met some of these people -in the hall as they arrived, and greeted them boisterously, and so -incoherently that really they might almost have been excused for -thinking that she had been taking too much to drink. - -Mrs. Lambe, hastening downstairs from her own room, could hear it all, -although she could not see it, and it was thus that she afterwards -described it to Edgar. - -“So glad--so glad to see you!” shouted Aunt Tessie. “This fine -house--always open, and my nephew is so generous and hospitable. They -take advantage, sometimes--there are bad people about, very bad people. -Sometimes they make attempts ... one’s life isn’t as safe as it looks, -I can assure you....” - -She had thrown out such ridiculous and yet sinister hints once or twice -lately. But what _could_ the poor guests think of it all? - -They were very polite, and soon saw that the best thing to do was -to ignore Aunt Tessie as far as possible, and pretend not to hear -when she talked, and not to see when she shuffled about the room, -upsetting ornaments here and there, and every now and then whisking -round suddenly to look behind her as though she expected someone or -something to be following her. Once she shouted very loud, “Get out, I -tell you! I can _smell_ the poison from here!...” But after the first -involuntary, startled silence, everyone began simultaneously to talk -again, and very soon after that, luncheon was announced. - -Mrs. Lambe saw that her husband, talking to his principal guest and -smiling a great deal, kept on all the time turning an anxious eye -towards Aunt Tessie, and this emboldened her to do what she had never -done before. - -She put her hand on the old lady’s arm, and detained her whilst the -others were all going into the dining-room. - -“Dear auntie,” she said, speaking low and very gently, “I’m sure you’re -not well. You look so flushed and tired. All these people are really -too much for you. Do let Emma carry your lunch upstairs on a tray and -have it comfortably in your own room.” - -But it was of no use. - -Aunt Tessie, her looks and her manner stranger than ever, vociferated -an incoherent refusal, mixed up with something about Emma, to whom she -had taken a violent fancy. - -“A good girl--the only one you can trust. She never _plots against -people_!” Aunt Tessie shouted, nodding her head with wild emphasis, and -rolling her eyeballs round in their sockets. - -Mrs. Lambe could do nothing. She dared not let Aunt Tessie sit next to -any of the visitors, and of course she herself had to have one of the -important clients upon either side of her, but she made Ena and Evelyn, -who were lunching downstairs in honour of the godfather’s presence, -take their places one on each side of their extraordinary old relative. - -Evelyn, who was very little, began to whine and protest, but Mrs. Lambe -pretended not to hear. She knew that Evelyn’s attention was always very -easily distracted. She felt much more afraid of Ena, and her heart sank -when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aunt Tessie officiously -trying to put Ena’s long curls away from her shoulders. - -The little girl’s fair, pretty face turned black with scowls in an -instant, and she twitched herself away from the big, heavy, mottled -hand fumbling clumsily at her neck, and sat with her back as nearly as -possible turned to Aunt Tessie. - -One couldn’t really blame the poor children for disliking her so -much, but it was very bad for them ... it made them naughty and -ill-mannered.... - -Poor Mrs. Lambe could only give half her attention to her guests, and -she saw that Edgar, too, underneath his geniality and his urgent and -repeated invitations that everyone should have more food and more wine, -was anxious and ill at ease. - -Every now and then Aunt Tessie’s strident tones rose above all the -other sounds in the big, hot dining-room. - -“Not any more--no. They put things into one’s food sometimes, and then -they think one doesn’t notice. But the one who waits on me--Emma, her -name is--she’s all right. You can trust her.” - -Aunt Tessie’s words, no less than her emphasis on Emma’s -trustworthiness, would of course be noticed, and bitterly resented, -by the other two servants, waiting deftly and quietly at the table. -But neither of them moved a muscle, even when she went on to something -worse. - -“Never put any confidence in upper servants,” declared Aunt Tessie, -leaning across the table and almost shouting. “They may be civil -enough, but they plot and plan behind people’s backs. There’s cases in -the newspapers very often ... it’s ... it’s murder, really, you know. -They call it accidental, but sometimes it’s poisoning. One can’t be too -auspicious--suspicious, I should say.” - -She paused to laugh vacantly at her own slip of the tongue, and to let -her eyes rove all over the table as though in search of something. - -Mr. Lambe clumsily wrenched at the conversation: “Talking about -newspaper reports, that was a curious case in Staffordshire....” - -The visitors seconded him gamely, and Aunt Tessie’s voice was overborne -and heard again only in snatches. - -Mrs. Lambe, however, was very much upset, and she ordered coffee to be -brought to the drawing-room so as to make a move as soon as possible. - -Things were a little better in the drawing-room. Ena and Evelyn were -soon screaming and romping round Ena’s godfather, and one of Maude’s -humble friends, perhaps feeling that she owed her something in return -for the splendid luncheon and lavish hospitality, sat in the bow-window -with Aunt Tessie and kept her away from the rest of the room. This was -a great relief, although it led to an uncomfortable moment when the -party was breaking up, and Aunt Tessie, vehemently taking leave of her -kind companion, actually caught up a little gilt trifle from Maude’s -knick-knack shelf and tried to press it upon her acceptance. - -Miss Mason was very tactful, pretending with rather an embarrassed look -to accept the impossible gift, and secretly slipping it on to a table -near the door as she went out. - -Aunt Tessie did not see, but Maude did. She was nearly crying by the -time it was all over and everyone had gone away. The children had been -sent upstairs again, and Aunt Tessie’s heavy footsteps had taken her to -her own part of the house. - -Curiously enough, she and Edgar hardly spoke to one another about the -disastrous subject, but Maude Lambe knew very well that he now, as well -as she, fully realised the discomfort and humiliation entailed upon the -whole household by his too-generous treatment of Aunt Tessie. - - -III - -Soon it was no longer possible to pretend that Aunt Tessie was not -getting worse and worse. Her constant, irrelevant allusions to plots, -and poisonings, and wicked people, had become a fixed delusion. - -She really thought that everyone at Melrose was conspiring against her -life, and she would allow no one, except Emma, to do anything for her. - -It was a mercy, Mrs. Lambe often told herself, that Emma was such a -good little thing. She was so willing, and never seemed to grudge the -time and trouble that she was obliged to spend over cleaning Aunt -Tessie’s apartments and tidying up after her. She would even listen, -respectfully and yet compassionately, to Aunt Tessie’s long, rambling -denunciations and accusations. - -“Poor old lady!” Maude once overheard Emma saying to another servant. -“She’s a lady just the same, for all she’s gone queer, and I behaves -towards her like I would to any other lady, that’s all.” - -“Funny kind of a lady that makes a face at a servant, as she did at me -this morning.” - -“She never done that to me, nor nothing the least like it,” said Emma -stoutly. - -It was only too true that Aunt Tessie was very rude to all the maids -except Emma, and sometimes to Edgar and Maude as well. As she grew -worse, she seemed to forget all their kindness and generosity, and to -look upon them as being her enemies. - -Mrs. Lambe would not let the little girls go near her any more, and -the nurse had orders to keep them away from Miss Lambe “until she grew -better.” - -Aunt Tessie, however, did not grow better. - -The doctor, an old friend of Edgar Lambe’s, advised them to have a -nurse for her, if they were still determined to keep her on at Melrose, -instead of sending her to one of the many excellent establishments that -he could have recommended. - -“Nothing in the least like an institution or--or asylum. Simply -a nursing home where Miss Lambe would have entire freedom and -every possible comfort, but would yet receive the constant medical -supervision that her unfortunate condition renders necessary.” - -But Edgar Lambe remained obstinate. Aunt Tessie had been very good to -him in the past, and he had always said that she should be his special -charge. He would not send her away to any nursing home, however highly -recommended. - -He was, however, quite willing that a professional nurse should be -installed at Melrose. The expense, he said, was nothing, if it would -make things easier for Maude and be of advantage to Aunt Tessie. - -The presence of Nurse Alberta certainly fulfilled both these -requirements. - -She was an intelligent, pleasant-looking woman of five- or -six-and-thirty, with none of the pretensions so often associated -with her class. She had meals with Aunt Tessie, in the latter’s big, -comfortable sitting-room, and slept in a little room adjoining hers. -Both of them were waited upon by Emma. - -Aunt Tessie nowadays made no difficulty about not coming to the -dining-room. Her crazy old mind had fastened upon the idea of poison, -and Emma and Nurse Alberta were the only people from whom she would -accept food or drink. - -The nurse told Emma, with whom she became quite friendly by dint of -constant association, that the “persecution mania” was a very common -symptom amongst those who were mentally deranged. - -“They always think that everybody’s against them,” she declared -cheerfully, “even those who do most for them. Look at this poor old -lady, for instance! She thinks Mr. and Mrs. Lambe are plotting against -her, and I’m sure they’re goodness itself to her, and have been for -years, I should think. No expense grudged, and everything done to make -her comfortable. Why, most people would have had an own mother sent -away by this time and put under restraint--and Miss Lambe is only an -aunt. No real relation at all, as you may say, to Mrs. Lambe. Really, I -do think Mrs. Lambe’s behaved wonderfully, and I’m sure she finds it a -strain.” - -Nurse Alberta was quite right. Mrs. Lambe did find the presence of Aunt -Tessie in the house a great strain, even now. - -In her heart, she was terribly afraid that the old aunt, who had so -rapidly passed from one distressing stage to another, might suddenly -become a real danger to those around her. - -She thought of Ena and Evelyn and shuddered. Very often, she woke in -the night and crept out to the landing, trembling, to listen at the -night-nursery door. - -One day, when Nurse Alberta had been in the house for some time, Mrs. -Lambe felt so wretched and so much unstrung by her state of now chronic -nervousness, that she detained the doctor after his habitual visit to -Aunt Tessie, and timidly spoke to him of her own symptoms. - -He listened very attentively, asked her several questions, and finally -made a suggestion which Mrs. Lambe saw at once ought to have occurred -to her earlier. - -She was going to have another child. - -It was over five years since Evelyn’s birth, and she had somehow never -expected to have any more babies, but both Mr. and Mrs. Lambe were -honestly pleased. - -They hoped for a son. - -It was this discovery that led to the modification of Edgar Lambe’s -views about Aunt Tessie. Obviously, the presence of the unfortunate old -lady subjected Maude to a continual strain that might easily become -more and more severe as time went on. - -The doctor, privately consulted by Mr. Lambe, admitted that in his -opinion it was not quite fair on Mrs. Lambe, in her condition, to keep -the aggressive, turbulent invalid in the house with her. And it wasn’t -as if Aunt Tessie herself really benefited by it, either. She was far -past appreciating any kindness or attention shown to her now. Her _idée -fixe_ was that everyone at Melrose excepting poor little Emma, the -maid, was plotting against her in some way, and seeking to poison her. - -Mr. Lambe listened, nodding his head, his red, heavy-jowled face -puckered with distress. It went against the grain with him to -invalidate the boast of years--that Aunt Tessie should always share his -home--and yet in his heart he felt that the doctor was right. - -Aunt Tessie was past minding or knowing, poor soul--and Maude and their -unborn son must come first. - -When once he had fairly made up his mind to it, Edgar Lambe could not -help feeling a certain relief. He, too, in his own way, had suffered on -those dreadful occasions when Aunt Tessie had insisted upon appearing -downstairs, and had made his friends and his family uncomfortable by -her strange, noisy eccentricity. Even nowadays his daily visit to her -room was a miserable affair. It gave her no pleasure now to see the -nephew for whom she had once done so much, and who had done so much for -her in return. She classed him with her imaginary enemies. - -It was very difficult for Edgar Lambe, who was not at all an -imaginative man, not to feel irrationally wounded by those wild -accusations of enmity. He could scarcely be brought to understand that -poor Aunt Tessie’s floods of foolish vituperation had, in themselves, -no meaning at all. - -“But she was always devoted to me,” he said, half resentfully and half -piteously. “I can’t make it out at all. You’d think that even now she’d -be able to--to distinguish a bit between me and the wretched cook or -charwoman. But no, she abuses us all alike, and seems to think we’re -all in league to do her in.” - -“It’s part of her illness, Mr. Lambe,” said Nurse Alberta soothingly. -“You know, she really is quite cracky, poor old lady.” - -The “arrangements,” as the doctor called them, were made as speedily -as possible, since they were naturally distressing to everybody, and -Mr. and Mrs. Lambe went themselves to see Aunt Tessie’s new quarters, -and to talk to the charming lady at the head of the establishment, and -get special permission for Nurse Alberta, to whom Aunt Tessie was used, -to take her there and remain with her for some time until she grew -accustomed to it all. - -“Fires in her room, of course, and any extras that she may fancy,” said -Mr. Lambe impressively. “Expense is of no consideration at all. I shall -send round a comfortable couch for the sitting-room this afternoon.” - -He did so, and Mrs. Lambe added two or three fat cushions, and a -decorated lampshade and waste-paper basket, such as she liked in her -own drawing-room. - -When Aunt Tessie was told that she was going away from Melrose for a -time, she was delighted. - -“Then I can relish my food again,” she said rather coarsely. - -“There’s never any knowing what they’re all up to here.” - -That remained her attitude up to the very last. She dumped them all -together as objects of her aggrieved resentment. Edgar, Maude, the two -little girls, the impassive, well-behaved servants. - -But when she said good-bye to Emma the night before she was to go away, -Aunt Tessie squeezed her hand hard, and gave her some money and several -ornaments and little trinkets from her own possessions. - -Soft-hearted Emma cried, and hurried away to the sitting-room to find -Nurse Alberta. “I just can’t bear to listen to her, poor old lady, -saying I’m the only one as never tried to do her a mischief,” she -sobbed. - -“You’re a silly girl to take on so,” said the nurse good-naturedly. -“Why, she’ll be ever so well looked after where she’s going, and -there’s good money being spent on her comforts, I can tell you, and Mr. -Lambe won’t let that be wasted. It isn’t like some poor looneys, that -get put away and not a soul of their own people ever goes near them to -see how they’re getting on. She’ll be kept an eye on, you may be very -sure, and it’ll be best for all parties to have her under another roof, -really it will.” - -“Oh yes, I know!” said Emma. - -“It isn’t even as if she wanted to stay, you know, Emma. She’s turned -dead against them, like cases of her sort often do. Look at the way she -spoke to you about your being the only one that didn’t want to poison -her, or some such rubbish.” - -There was a pause. - -“Nurse,” said Emma suddenly, “do mad people _know_ as they’re mad?” - -“They say not,” indifferently returned Nurse Alberta, biting a thread -off her piece of needlework. “Why, Emma?” - -“Because--well, me and Cook got to talking last night about poor Miss -Lambe, and--I can’t say it how I mean,” Emma rambled on confusedly, -“but Cook would have it that people as go off their heads--well, they -_are_ off their heads. They don’t look at anything like we do any -more--it’s sort of all upside down to them. But I didn’t think it was -like that--well, at any rate not with Miss Lambe.” - -“Why not?” said Nurse Alberta. - -She looked interested and Emma was encouraged. - -“I thought, perhaps,” she said timidly, “that the inside of her poor -mind is still like everybody’s else’s, in a way, only she can’t get the -thoughts to come out right. And I thought, perhaps, that when she said -all that about them wanting to poison her, it was only her--her mad -sort of way of saying that she’d felt, all along, they really wanted -her to go away. And that would be why she said I was the only person -that she was safe with. Because I never did want her to go away. The -master and mistress and the young ladies may have felt like that. Of -course, it’s been ever so trying for them, I know, having her here -like that--and the girls downstairs, they wanted her to go. But I never -did, and I wondered if perhaps that was what she sort of felt, only she -couldn’t explain it right, and so it came out that way--in all her talk -about being poisoned, and that.” - -Emma stopped and looked rather wistfully at the nurse. - -“You’ll think I’m balmy myself, talking like that. And I can’t explain -what I mean a bit well. It’s not as if I’d been educated like you----” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” said Nurse Alberta, smiling. “I think I understand -what you mean, Emma. According to your notion, the poor old lady feels -and thinks pretty much the same as we do, but she’s lost the trick of -communicating her feelings and her thoughts. They--they get lost in -transmission, so to say.” - -“You do put it well, Nurse!” said Emma admiringly. - -Nurse Alberta looked gratified. “I don’t know,” she said modestly. But -she was herself rather pleased by the sound of the phrase that she had -used, and could not resist repeating it. - -“It’s a bit far-fetched, perhaps, but there’s certainly something in -what you say, Emma,” she observed, biting off another thread. “Lost in -transmission--that’s the idea--lost in transmission!” - - - - -TIME WORKS WONDERS - - - - -TIME WORKS WONDERS - - -I - -“You funny little thing!” he said patronisingly. - -Adela resented the term violently, but because he was the only man who -had ever attempted to talk personalities with her, she accepted it -smilingly. - -“I must read some of those books of yours. Tell me what the names are.” - -“Oh, it doesn’t matter! Never mind about my books,” she said hurriedly. - -Adela could not imagine Willoughby reading anybody’s books, unless -definitely of that class which deals with a fictitious Secret Service -or the intrigues of an imaginary kingdom. - -Her own books were small masterpieces of psychology, subtly ironical. A -shudder, half-humorous, half-despairing, came over her at the idea of -Hal Willoughby, bored and mystified, ploughing his way through one of -her books. - -“Never mind about my books,” she repeated. “I’d rather you thought of -me as a girl than as a writer.” - -She felt wildly daring in so speaking, partly because she had called -herself a girl, although she was thirty, and partly because it was -the first time that she had ever attempted what she supposed to be a -flirtation. - -Her reputation for cleverness had always been so great and so terrible -that young men had never dared to approach her. - -She supposed that must be the reason for their aloofness, since she had -always been passably pretty; and even now, by artificial light, she -looked five years younger than she was. - -Her hair and her colouring were charming in a subdued and unvivid -way, her features straight and very clean-cut. She hardly realised -how much too thin were the lips of her tiny mouth, how intense and -over-prominent her large hazel eyes. - -“I never can imagine how anybody can write a book,” said Willoughby. - -Adela moved uneasily. She could tell what was coming. - -“Do you think of a plot first, or do you just make it up as you go -along?” - -“It all depends.” - -She made the meaningless reply that had so often served her before. - -“I should never know what to make the people say next. Aren’t -conversations awfully difficult?” - -“Sometimes.” - -“I suppose you are always on the look-out for people to put into your -books--under invented names, of course.” - -“I don’t think I am.” - -“Oh, but I expect you are! I expect really you sit there, taking it all -in, you know.” - -Why did people always think it necessary to talk to her like this? - -“You ought to write a play. They say it pays like fun.” - -“But, you see, I’m not a dramatist.” - -“Oh, rubbish! If you’re clever enough to write books, of course you -could write a play. I should, if I were you--really I should.” His -voice was charged with encouragement. - -“No, I couldn’t. Don’t let’s talk about that.” - -“Why not? I want to hear about these books of yours. I’ve never met a -literary lady before.” - -It was of no use. He would not talk to her as she was almost sure -that he would have talked to any other woman in the room, given those -distant sounds of music from the ballroom, that hazy moonlight above -the bench beneath the syringa-bushes. - -Adela grimly sacrificed her art, perjuring her soul away. “I expect -you think it’s very funny of me to write books,” she said, desperately -adapting her vocabulary to his own. “I really do it mostly--a good -deal--because it brings in money.” She tried to laugh, and hated -herself for the artificiality of the sound. - -“I suppose girls are always glad of extra pocket-money,” he assented -indifferently. - -A girl--that was how he thought of her. - -She was pleased at that, but she struggled for a more serious -recognition of her capabilities, too. “It’s not only pocket-money. I -can really get a living from my writing, though I’m always at home with -my mother. But I could be independent to-morrow if I liked.” - -“Oh, come now!” The words might have expressed remonstrance, -incredulity, astonishment. - -“The advance royalty--that’s the money the publishers give me in -advance--on my last book was two hundred pounds,” she said calmly. - -She had never gone away to work, never had to pay for her food or for -a roof over her head, never tried her strength or the strength of her -resources in the struggle for livelihood amongst unsupported women. - -Two hundred pounds for her year’s work was a large sum, with no calls -upon it. - -Willoughby repeated after her: “Two hundred pounds! I say! You don’t -expect me to believe you get that just for writing a story?” - -“Yes.” She was uncertain of the reason for his disbelief, and even -whether he really did disbelieve her. - -“But was it a serious book, or just a novel?” He really sounded -perplexed. - -“Oh, ‘just a novel’!” she said bitterly. - -“Good Lord! How many do you write in a year?” - -“That last one took me over a year. My first one I worked at, on and -off, for five years.” - -“I suppose it doesn’t matter to you, taking your time, but it would -be quite worth scribbling them off one after the other, if you can -get money like that without working for it, so to speak,” said Hal -Willoughby. - -He fingered his thick, fair moustache, and Adela looked up at him -furtively in the moonlight. - -He was very big and good-looking; and when she danced with him, and met -his full, bold gaze, Adela could almost forget about such conversations -between them as the present one. - -Besides, he had not always talked like this. Once he had pretended not -to know what colour her eyes were, and once he had told her about his -life in India. She wished intensely that the conversation now would -shift to some such topic. - -The moonlight and the heavy scent of the syringa seemed to mock her. - -“And what are your books about?” said Willoughby laboriously. “Love, -I suppose?” He broke into a roar of laughter. “Does the heroine fall -fainting into the hero’s arms in the last chapter, eh? That’s the -style, isn’t it?” - -Adela stood up, trembling. “I think I want to go in now, please. -The--the dance must be finished now.” - -He stood up also. “But I say! What’s the matter? You’re not ratty, -are you?” He pulled unceremoniously at the prim velvet ribbons that -hung from her waist. “Sit down again. Don’t you know I’m going away -to-morrow? You might be a little bit nice to me, I do think.” - -“I didn’t know you wanted me to be,” she said swiftly. - -He laughed, and pulled her on to the bench again. - -Adela’s mother, with whom she always lived, had told her very often -that men never really respected a woman who let them “take liberties.” -Adela, never before put to the test, recklessly determined to disregard -the parental axiom. - -When Willoughby caught hold of her chilly little ringless hand, she -made no movement of withdrawal. - -He looked down at her and laughed again. “What an odd little thing you -are! I don’t believe you’ve ever been kissed, have you?” - -She was silent. - -“Has anybody ever made love to you, now?” - -“Yes,” she said defiantly and untruly. - -He laughed quite openly, and declared, “I don’t believe it!” - -Still laughing, he put his hand under her chin, tilting up her face, -and kissed her. - - -II - -Hal Willoughby’s careless parting kiss remained the only one that Adela -was destined to receive. - -For ten years more she lived with her mother, and heard her say proudly -to other mothers, coming with the news of Mollie’s engagement, or -Dolly’s beautiful new baby: - -“Ah, I still keep my Adela, I’m glad to say. She’s almost too -fastidious, I sometimes think. She’s never made herself cheap with -anyone. And then there’s her writing, too.” - -Adela had slowly been making a name for herself, but her great success -only came after her mother’s death. A long novel, at which she had been -working for several years, made her reputation in the world of letters. - -She had inherited money from her mother, and her books brought her in -more. - -Adela was able to indulge in artistic necessities. - -It became imperative that she should retire, whenever she wanted -to write, to a Yorkshire moor with an atmosphere of ruggedness and -strength, and very few trees. - -So many journalists, so many fellow-writers, such a number of the -new-born coterie that “followed the Adela Alston method” had inquired -so earnestly in what peculiar setting Adela found it necessary to -enshrine her inspiration, that the need of the Yorkshire moor had -suddenly sprung, full-grown, into being. - -She built a two-roomed cottage, engaged a caretaker, and wrote in a -small summer-house, wearing knickerbockers and sandals, and smoking -violently. This was in the summer. In the winter, inspiration was -obliged to content itself with Hampstead, and Adela had to wear shoes -and stockings and a skirt. - -At forty she had gained greatly in assurance, and knew herself for the -leading spirit in a small group of intensely modern women writers, by -whom she was devoutly worshipped. - -Adela became accustomed to being the person who was listened to, in the -society of her fellows. - -They were not only interested in her work, but deeply, intensely -interested in herself. - -“You know almost too much of human nature, Adela. It’s not decent.” - -Adela enjoyed being told that. - -“I’ve seen all sorts in my time,” she said musingly. - -It would no longer have pleased her to be thought younger than she was. -On the contrary, she was apt to emphasise in herself the aspect of a -full maturity. - -“That last study of yours is simply magnificent. Dear, I don’t wonder -you’ve never chosen to marry. No man’s vanity could survive your -insight.” - -A newcomer to the group leant forward eagerly. Her characteristic was -lack of self-restraint, which she acclaimed in herself as fearlessness. - -“But you’ve known the great realities--you’ve known passion,” she urged -foolishly. “You could never write as you do, otherwise.” - -Adela gazed at her new disciple from under drooping eyelids. “I am not -ashamed of it,” she said quietly. “I am proud of it.” - -The girl nodded with grotesque, unconscious vehemence. - -The two other women-friends of Adela who were present, exchanged a -meaning look with one another. Each had heard Adela’s story before, -had shown loyal pride and understanding. There was no need of further -demonstration from them. Adela was looking at the girl. - -“There was one man in my life,” she said low and deeply. “There is -never more than one--that counts. And a woman who has never loved, -never been loved, never met her mate--has never lived.” - -The room was tensely silent. - -“It was more than ten years ago, and I have outlived the poignancy of -it. I have never seen him since--I never shall. But I make no secret of -having known fulfilment.” - -Her voice was low and rich with intense enjoyment of her own effect. - -“Even now, though, when all the storm and stress is long, long -past--it’s odd, but the scent of a syringa in bloom can still hurt me. -You see--I was swept right off my feet.” - -She paused before concluding with the words that she had unconsciously -learnt by heart, so significantly did they always round off her -retrospect. - -“I had waited for him all my life. He asked everything, and I -gave--everything.” - -“Ah!” - -“You splendid woman!” - -Adela leant back again, her large eyes gazing abstractedly into the -past, full of a brooding satisfaction. Her lips exhaled a sound that -was barely audible. - -“Hal Willoughby!” - - * * * * * - -Time works wonders. - - - - -THE GALLANT LITTLE LADY - - - - -THE GALLANT LITTLE LADY - - -I - -“I hope you are using all your influence to prevent the marriage?” said -Clyde, in the impersonal tone that he always adopted when speaking to -his wife of her only daughter. - -“Why, Charles? They’re madly in love.” - -“That is why,” said Sir Charles. - -“What do you mean?” - -Lady Clyde had not the slightest desire to know what her husband meant, -and had already made up her mind that she disagreed with it root and -branch, so she said, “What do you mean?” in a tone of indignation, and -not one of enquiry, and gave him no time to answer. - -“Richard is a gentleman, he’s earning a very good salary, and he adores -Rita. The only possible objection is their having to live in the East, -but everyone says the Malay States are quite healthy, and she’s very -strong, thank heaven. If she’s plucky enough to face it, I don’t see -how _we_ can object.” - -“My objection has nothing to do with their living in the Malay States. -It is simply concerned with the fact that they will have nothing -whatever to depend upon except Richard Lambourne’s salary. He is a -young man, he has saved nothing, and he has no expectations from -anybody.” - -“Rita has her own small income.” - -“It might keep them from starvation, certainly, but it wouldn’t be -enough for a family.” - -“No one expects it to be. Richard will save if he has a wife, -naturally, and he hopes to become a part owner of the rubber estate, -later on. After all, it’s very creditable for a man of his age to have -been made general manager already.” - -“Very.” - -“Then what have you against him?” - -“Nothing at all,” said Sir Charles mildly. - -“A minute ago you were telling me how you hoped I should use my -influence to prevent this marriage. If you have nothing against him, -why shouldn’t they marry?” - -“Perhaps I have ‘something against’ Rita, as you express it.” - -“Rita is only your step-daughter, Charles, and I know very well that -your own children----” - -“_Our_ own children----” - -“That they come first, and always have. But I have an unprejudiced -eye,” said Lady Clyde warmly, “and I don’t pretend that Rita isn’t -a greater deal cleverer, prettier, and more attractive than all the -others put together. And as for talking of having anything against her, -it’s the sheerest nonsense, as even you must know.” - -Sir Charles looked at his wife with an expression which she had long -ago summed up, not inaptly, as “Charles looking as though he couldn’t -decide if one were worth explaining the alphabet to or not.” On this -occasion, Sir Charles appeared to decide in favour of the modicum of -intelligence required. - -“My case is simply this, Catherine. If Richard Lambourne and Rita marry -now, they are entirely dependent upon Richard’s job. Say he loses it, -or loses his health--which amounts to the same thing--or falls off his -horse and breaks his neck, Rita may be left with a child, or children, -and nothing whatever to live on except a yearly sum which she has -hitherto spent upon her clothes, largely supplemented by presents from -you.” - -“As though Rita wouldn’t always have a welcome from me, and as though I -wouldn’t share my last crust with her!” - -“On the contrary, I should expect you to divide your last crust -into equal parts between Rita and your four other children,” said -Sir Charles with coldness. “But apart from last crusts, which is a -rhetorical way of speaking, you had better understand once and for all, -my dear Catherine, that my sons and daughter are not to be sacrificed -to Rita. If she marries this man, he must keep her. This house is her -home, and has been so for twenty years or so, but once she is married, -it ceases to be her home. I am sorry if I hurt your feelings, but if -Rita is to take the risk of marriage with a man who has nothing to -depend on but what he can earn for himself, she had better understand -exactly what she is doing. Personally, I consider her entirely unfitted -to take such a risk.” - -“She is more than ready to take any risk. You are perfectly incapable -of understanding Rita, Charles, and what a generous, ardent nature she -has. And she is very, very much in love, for the first time in her -life. You know as well as I do that plenty of people have wanted to -marry Rita, and I think it’s wonderful that she should have refused so -many offers, to give herself to a man who isn’t rich, simply because -she loves him.” - -“You look upon it as being decided, then?” - -“Of course I do. She is absolutely determined to marry him and go out -with him at once. I can’t refuse my consent--and I shan’t--and they’re -not dependent upon yours, Charles.” - -She looked at him with a rather nervous defiance, but Sir Charles said -with great calm: - -“Certainly they’re not. I shall therefore consider the subject closed, -so far as my objections go.” - -He kept his word, as he invariably did. - -The wedding of Rita and Richard took place six weeks later. - -Rita was little and very pretty, with big dark eyes, a pathetic baby -face, and, in rather quaint contrast, a very erect little figure and a -decided bearing. - -Unlike her stepfather, the majority of her friends and relations fully -realised the beautiful recklessness of Rita’s love-match. - -“A very gallant little lady!” said an old friend of Lady Clyde’s, and -she reversed an opinion which she had hitherto held as to his senility. -He used the same phrase, which had evidently caught his ancient fancy, -when the bride was making her farewells, and it oddly suited her -appearance, in a velvet dress and a three-cornered hat with a long -plume, vaguely recalling pictures of cavalier heroines. - -“So she’s marrying all for love, and going eight thousand miles away -from home!” said Rita’s aged admirer. “None of your mercenary, modern, -ideas there. A gallant little lady, I call her.” - - -II - -The same phrase was repeated, and by many people, when Rita and Richard -Lambourne came home again, three years later. The great rubber slump -had come, and Richard had lost his job. He said that he hoped to find -something to do in England. - -“Professional men of all classes are hoping exactly the same thing at -the present moment, all over the country,” said Sir Charles Clyde. - -The Lambournes stayed with the Clydes for a little while, then they and -their baby and their nurse moved into a tiny house on the outskirts of -a large neighbouring town, and then it was that such a number of people -took to making use of the apt descriptive phrase first employed when -Rita married. - -Many of them had known her in her girlhood, the spoilt and favoured -child of Lady Clyde, at home in her stepfather’s house. - -They could fully appreciate the contrast with her present position. - -Richard could not find any work, although he answered advertisements -and wrote to influential friends. He was not a strong man, and very -soon showed signs of great discouragement and anxiety. - -Rita, on the contrary, was always cheerful, and discussed the situation -very frankly, laughing merrily at her own struggle with unaccustomed -privations. - -“It’s so lucky I’ve got a little money that my own father left me. -By managing very, very carefully, we’re living on that. Poor Richard -hadn’t a penny beyond his salary, and now of course that’s all -gone--poor darling!” - -She was drolly confidential with her numerous friends. - -“It’s so funny to have to think before I take a second helping of -pudding, even, and yet I suppose I really ought to. But I don’t think -I’ve got a very large appetite, have I, Richard?” - -“No, you haven’t.” - -“What a good thing!” She laughed as she spoke, but Richard remained -unsmiling and miserable, and gradually it became evident to Rita’s -friends that one of Rita’s trials was her husband’s inability to face -their position with a gallant laugh, as she did. - -As time went on, and there appeared to be no hope of a salary for -Richard, she sent away the little girl’s nurse. - -“I think I ought to be able to manage. Lots of poor women have to, only -it’s a great pity I was brought up to play the piano, and dance, and -play tennis, instead of learning to cook. One somehow never thought of -it’s being necessary.” - -“It oughtn’t to be necessary now,” said Richard violently, “if you’d -married a fellow with money, or brains enough to make some.” - -“Why, I might have been a millionairess, if I’d married the first man -that ever proposed to me,” she said brightly. “Doesn’t it seem odd?” - -He made no answer. - -“D’you know, darling, I saw a really lovely jumper in Colson’s window -to-day. It was real old rose, the colour that suits me. It was one of -the sale things and marked down to half a guinea. I had a frightful -struggle--it is such ages since I had anything new. I wouldn’t even -let myself go into the shop, though I had to get some things for baby. -I went somewhere else. I felt I couldn’t bear to come out of Colson’s -without that jumper. It was so lovely--and really marvellously cheap. -It’s been haunting me ever since.” - -“Surely we can find half a guinea,” said Richard, his face flushing. - -“Richard!” She gave a little laughing scream. “Why, I work out every -penny of my income on paper before I spend it, and do you know what’s -left over for my clothes, when I’ve paid the wages and the rent, and -rates and taxes, and the housekeeping books? Just--exactly--five pounds -a year!” - -She held up five fingers, laughing. - -“I know.” - -“I can’t believe that I once spent five pounds a year, or thereabouts, -on gloves, but I suppose I did. I don’t really know how I could manage -now, if mummie didn’t still give me so many presents.” - -She looked at him with her head on one side, rather like a very pretty -squirrel. - -“I do manage rather well, don’t I, dear? I have to work pretty hard, -you know.” - -“Of course you manage well,” he said ungraciously. He hardly ever -encouraged her with praise nowadays, although she was doing wonders. -He only gave way to violent outbreaks of despair and self-reproach, -when she assured him that she could do without things that she had had -all her life, and that she wasn’t really so _very_ tired after two bad -nights with the baby. - -“Isn’t it lucky I’m so strong?” she sometimes asked her friends. “I do -a lot of the housework myself, you know, because we can only afford one -servant, of course, and she’s a rough sort of girl. It was so funny at -first, I couldn’t understand that class of servant at all. At home, -of course, the maids were all quite different. Ellen means very well, -really, though I’ve had to learn cooking, so as to do a certain amount -myself. Will you forgive me now, if I run to see that Richard’s supper -is all right--not burning?” - -She tripped away, still laughing, in spite of the tired lines that were -beginning to show beneath her sparkling dark eyes. - -“Rita is too wonderful, poor darling!” said Lady Clyde. “As she says -herself, she’s never in her life been used to poverty. And look at the -way she makes the best of things! You know they’re living on her tiny -little income, that she manages too wonderfully for words. You can’t -say _now_, Charles, as I remember you once did, that Rita, of all -people, wasn’t fitted to take the risk of poverty.” - -Whether Sir Charles could, or could not, have repeated his axiom, was -not destined to be made clear, for he said nothing at all. - -He did, however, make many attempts to find a job for Richard, and -went to see the originator of the phrase that described Richard’s -wife so well--“a gallant little lady”--who was connected with some -highly-remunerative business. - -The old man shook his head. - -“I’m on the point of retiring, Sir Charles. Times are bad, though I’ve -made my pile, but it was done by hard work at one job all my life. I’ll -see if there’s anything for your--stepson, is it?” - -“He is no relation of mine,” said Sir Charles very distinctly. “He -married my wife’s only daughter by her first husband. He is now obliged -to live upon her--very small--fortune.” - -“I’ve heard something of that. Poor little lady--she’s doing wonders, I -hear. Well, well, I’ll see if they’ve anything to offer the lad, but we -don’t want men without experience these days, you know. But I’d like to -do something, for the sake of that gallant little lady.” - - -III - -“Richard dear, I _would_ like to ask mummie and Sir Charles to -dinner--supper, I mean--one night. I’ve got a little cash in hand, so -I shouldn’t feel too extravagant. You know I got rather more than I -expected, for the sale of that old bracelet of mine.” - -Richard did know, because Rita had told him this already, quite -gleefully, although admitting that the bracelet had been a legacy from -a specially beloved grandmother, and that it cost her a pang to let it -go. - -“I loathe your selling your jewellery. It makes me feel such a cad -for having got you into this mess, though God knows I never foresaw -anything like this. Rita, _must_ you do these things?” - -She looked at him with a face of piteous, childlike surprise. “Oh, -aren’t you _at all_ pleased that we’ve got an extra pound or two, -Richard? I’m sure you’ve no idea what a difference it makes.” - -He groaned impatiently. - -“Of course, if you think I’ve no right to suggest entertaining -_any_body, even on a tiny scale, now we’re so poor, I won’t do it. It -was silly of me, I daresay, but I haven’t really properly got used -not to having an occasional little party, I suppose. It’s all right, -Richard darling. Never mind.” - -She smiled bravely. - -“Rita, I shall go mad if I can’t find a job, and take you out of this -sort of thing,” said Richard, and he began to pace up and down the -little room. - -When Lady Clyde and her husband did come to dinner, Rita told her -mother privately that poor darling Richard was becoming almost -hysterical sometimes. It did make things so much, much harder when one -was doing all one could to keep up under the strain, and be always -bright and ready to make the best of it. - -“No one can say you’re not doing that, my dearest child,” said her -mother. - -Tears of mingled admiration and compassion rose to her eyes when Rita -apologised gaily for the poverty of the fare, when she corrected -herself every time that she mentioned the word dinner instead of -supper, and when she laughingly excused herself for having to run away -and help with the washing-up, because the servant now was only a daily -one, and went home early. - -“It seemed so funny at first, mummy, and I was always ringing the bell -and expecting it to be answered, like when I used to ring for Cooper or -Ellis or Mary, at home. I really can’t believe that I had a maid all -for myself, just to do my hair and keep my clothes tidy, not so very -long ago.” - -“What a plucky little thing she is!” said her mother in a choked voice. - -She glanced resentfully at Richard, who sat silent, moody and haggard, -without endorsing her tribute to his wife in any way. - -He looked very ill, but Lady Clyde at the moment could only realise to -what straits he had brought Rita, and with what surly unresponsiveness -he seemed to confront her courageous acceptance of poverty. - -Lady Clyde asked her husband that night if he could not, as man to man, -give Richard Lambourne a hint that his ungracious attitude to his wife, -whilst living on her money, was the final crown of the wrongs that he -had done her. - -“I was going to suggest, personally, that you should give Rita a hint,” -said Sir Charles. - -“Rita! Why, when I think of that poor child’s gallantry----” - -“Exactly. My own impression is that a very little more of it will drive -Lambourne into a mad-house, or worse.” - -Sir Charles spoke in his usual level accents, and Lady Clyde did not -attempt to attach any meaning to his words. Neither did they recur to -her when Richard Lambourne disproved her assertion that he had placed -the crown upon the wrongs done to his wife, by the final ignominy of -suicide. - - * * * * * - -“Coward, coward!” sobbed Lady Clyde. “Can you deny that he was a -coward, Charles?” - -“No. Richard was a coward,” said Sir Charles gravely. - -“After all that poor little Rita had done!” - -“And said,” added Sir Charles, not flippantly, and half under his -breath. - -The old magnate who had admired Rita at her wedding made use of almost -the same words as Lady Clyde. - -“After all that his wife had done, and was doing, to quit like that, -and leave her to face the life he’d brought her to! What a _brute_!” - -A little while afterwards he proposed to Rita, diffident, in spite of -his wealth, because of the great difference in their ages. - -She accepted him, and this time it was Sir Charles, looking at the -bridegroom’s bald head and infirm gait beside the pretty bride at the -quiet wedding, who repeated to himself the old man’s catchword, with an -ironical emphasis of his own: - -“A _very_ gallant little lady.” - - - - -THE HOTEL CHILD - - - - -THE HOTEL CHILD - -(TO Y. DE LA P.) - - -I - -The first time that I saw her was in Rome. I was governess to the -children at the British Embassy, and every morning before breakfast I -took them out into the Borghese Gardens. - -They were very good, insignificant little children, and never gave -me any trouble. Whilst they played tame little games between the -grey-green olive trees, I used to watch the more amusing Italian -children in the Gardens, the biggest groups consisting of pupils from -the great white Convento dell’ Assunzione, on the corner of the Pincio. - -But the little girl in whom I took the greatest interest was always by -herself. An enormous grey limousine would leave her at the entrance -to the Gardens, and fetch her away again at the end of an hour. -Sometimes the limousine, which was always empty except for a liveried -chauffeur, appeared to have forgotten her, and then I was obliged to -take my children away, leaving her serious and solitary, and quite -undisconcerted, sitting on her bench. I judged her to be about eight -years old, and the child of rich people. Her white embroidered dresses, -far too elaborate, were expensive, and she always wore white shoes and -stockings. - -At first, her nationality puzzled me. Her quite straight hair was -black, cropped short round her beautifully shaped little head in a -fashion that was then very unusual, and her lashes were as long and -as black as those of any Roman-born child. But her grave eyes were -of a deep grey, and her skin, fine and colourless. Perhaps she was -scarcely pretty, but her poise, her erect gracefulness, above all, -her unmistakable air of breeding, made her remarkable. It was that -air of aristocracy that made me feel sure that, in spite of her -independence, she was not American. One gets to know, after seven years -spent in the best families. The American children are well-drilled, -well-dressed, well-behaved--sometimes--but they never achieve that look -of distinction. Some of the French ones have it, but then those are -the children of the old Catholic families, and so they are poor, and -generally badly dressed. On the whole, it is to be seen amongst the -English as often as anywhere--and then, it is almost always accompanied -by the expression that denotes, to an experienced governess, either -stupidity or adenoids--and sometimes, indeed, both. - -My little aristocrat of the Borghese Gardens spoke Italian perfectly. I -heard her greet the chauffeur when he came for her, and those were the -times when she was most childlike. The man very often let her take the -wheel, after he had started the car, and I used to watch, not without -misgivings, the great car sliding away, with the small erect figure -in the driving-seat, her straight black fringe blowing back from her -forehead, her tiny hands gripping the big wheel. - -My charges, it need hardly be said, might never speak to strange -children, but one day the unknown little girl restored to me a toy that -one of them had dropped the day before. - -“I found it, after you’d gone,” she said very politely and distinctly. - -I knew then that she must be English, at least in part. - -My children were playing at a distance, and after thanking her for -returning the plaything, I sat down on the stone bench that she had -made her own. - -After an instant’s hesitation, she sat down there, too. - -We entered into conversation. - -I asked whether she lived in Rome. - -“No. My papa is here on business for a little while, and then we are -going to Paris again.” - -“Your home is in Paris, then?” - -She looked rather puzzled. “I don’t know Paris well,” she observed -apologetically. “We were only there once before, when mama was with -us. It was a nice hotel, I thought, but noisy. This one--the Grand--is -better. Have you been much in Paris?” - -“Not since I was at school there. My French was acquired in Paris,” I -added, automatically. - -One says that kind of thing so often, to please the parents. - -“Mademoiselle aime parler francais, hein?” she enquired, with a little -smile. - -Her French was as perfect as her Italian, or her English; and it was -evidently natural to her to speak either language. - -“Are you English?” I could not refrain from asking her. - -“My papa is Italian--mama was half English, and half French.” - -Was? Then her mother must be dead. That would account for the empty -limousine, and the strange independence of the child. - -“Mama is in New York, now, we think,” she remarked. “I am to join her -when I am ten; that was arranged for, in the deed of separation.” - -“Separation?” said I. - -“There is no divorce in Italy,” said the little creature, shrugging her -shoulders. “Papa is a Catholic, though not, of course _pratiquant_. -They have been separated since I was seven.” - -“Then who--who----” I wanted to ask who looked after her, but such a -form of words seemed singularly inappropriate. “Who looks after your -papa’s house?” I found at last. - -“We are in hotels, most of the time, papa and I, and my maid, Carlotta, -but in the holidays--_les grandes vacances_--we go to the country -somewhere--_villegiatura_--and there is a lady then, always.” - -Her grave eyes looked at me. “A different one,” she explained, “each -time.” - -Her very complete understanding of the status held by the “ladies” was -implicit in her manner, but that struck me less poignantly than did her -philosophical acceptance of all that they stood for. - -The grey limousine came into sight, and she made an amiable little sign -to the chauffeur. - -“I must go now. It doesn’t _do_ to keep the _auto_ waiting.” - -In her grave little voice, was all the circumspection of the child that -has learnt to fend for itself, that knows by experience that it will -only be tolerated so long as it gives no trouble, runs counter to no -prejudices, is guilty of no indiscretions. - -“It has been so pleasant to talk to someone English. Good-bye Miss----?” - -Her little pause was exactly that of a grown-up person, before an -unknown or unremembered name. And what precocity of discernment had -told her that “Miss” was the suitable prefix? - -“Miss Arbell,” said I. “Tell me your name before you go.” - -“Laura di san Marzano.” - -She pronounced Laura in the Italian way--_Lah-o-ra_. - -When I held out my hand, she kissed it, as Italian children do, and -after she had climbed to the driving-seat, she waved to me, before -turning the grey car down the hill. - -I looked for her every morning after that, but she never came to the -Borghese Gardens again. - - -II - -The second time that I saw Laura di san Marzano was nearly four years -afterwards, in the hall of the Majestic Hotel, at Lucerne. - -I had thought of her, at intervals, and had no difficulty in -recognising her, in spite of the difference between eight years old and -twelve. - -She was tall and very slim, and the set of her dark head on her -straight shoulders was just the same. Her black hair now fell in a long -plait to her waist, but she still wore the straight, short fringe that -suited her du Maurier profile. - -It was late afternoon--tea-time, and the hall was full of people, and -noisy. - -Laura sat motionless, but somehow, one felt, very attentive, beside a -beautifully-gowned and jewelled and painted woman, who was talking to -half a dozen men. - -Mama? - -She looked very young to have a child of Laura’s age. - -Then I saw that Laura’s green silk frock was absurdly short, and made -in a babyish style, that matched the huge bow of green satin ribbon -unnecessarily fastened over one ear. - -My pupil, a nearly grown-up one, was late, and as I waited for her, I -watched Laura. - -Presently our eyes met. At once recognition leapt into hers, and she -smiled at me, and bowed. - -I returned the salutation--with infinitely less grace, as I knew in my -middle-class British self-consciousness--and wondered whether she would -come and speak to me. - -Later on she did so, when the group round mama was at its noisiest. - -“How do you do, Miss Arbell?” There was not the faintest hesitation -over my name. “I used to see you often in the Borghese Gardens, in -Rome, and once we talked together. I hope you remember?” - -“I remember very well,” said I, “but I am surprised at your doing so. -You were so very young then, and you must have met so many people -since.” - -“I never forget people,” said Laura simply. - -“You left Rome suddenly, didn’t you?” I continued. “I was there for -nearly a month after our meeting, but I never saw you in the gardens -again.” - -Laura shook her head slightly. - -“I can’t remember,” she admitted. “Very likely we left suddenly. One -does that so often. The management of the hotel becomes intolerable, or -tiresome acquaintances appear--and then the simplest thing is to pack -up and go elsewhere.” - -She spoke so evidently from experience that one could but accept her -strange, rootless, attitude as part of her natural equipment. - -We talked for a little while, and she told me, or I deduced, that since -the Roman days she had been a great deal in Paris--(“I adore the Opera -there, but the theatres not much”)--and then in New York, with mama. -She was to spend the next few years with mama. - -Where? - -Laura’s shoulders indicated the faintest of shrugs. Anywhere. Mama -liked New York as well as most places, but personally Laura thought -that the rooms in the hotels there were always too hot. They went to -London a good deal. Delightful--she smiled at me politely--but one -missed the sunshine. Her point of view, inevitably, was one of great -sophistication. It did not, to my mind, detract from her charm, which -had never been of a direct, childlike kind, but rather of a description -so subtle that amongst the many it might easily pass for mere oddity. - -“I hope we shall meet again,” she said to me, when a certain nervous -movement in the group of mama’s admirers had culminated in the -detachment of a tall, fair youth, who was coming now towards Laura -herself. - -“I am afraid that I leave here to-morrow. My pupil and I are on our way -to rejoin her parents in Italy.” - -“We may be gone ourselves to-morrow. I meant for later on--any time, -anywhere.” She smiled charmingly, but her unchildlike eyes remained -serious and rather weary. - -I heard the fair youth say something to her, with a burst of -meaningless laughter. She did not laugh in return, but her clear, -well-bred little voice was raised to a sympathetic tone of interest. - -“Mama likes an olive in hers, always, but for me I prefer a sweet -Martini--with _two_ cherries, if you please.” - - * * * * * - -I saw Laura twice again before leaving Lucerne, but we did not speak to -one another. - -The first time, at seven o’clock the evening of that same day, was in -one of the gigantic hotel corridors, on the first floor, where I was -waiting for the lift that was to take me to the fifth. - -The hotel hairdresser, in a white coat, with an immense head of curled -and discoloured yellow hair, stood before a shut bedroom door. It flew -open suddenly, and then closed sharply behind Laura di san Marzano. - -“Vous voila donc! Eh bien, il est trop tard.” - -Her voice was ice, her face scornful and unbelieving as she listened to -the man’s torrent of excuses for his tardiness. - -“Assez,” said Laura. “Madame est fort mécontente. Elle ne veut plus de -vous.” - -“Mademoiselle----” - -“C’est inutile. Madame se passera de vous.” - -And as the hairdresser turned away, grumbling and disconcerted, she -added superbly: - -“J’arrangerai la chose. Soyez exacte demain. Mais pour ce soir, c’est -moi qui coifferai madame.” - -Much later in the evening, when I had long ago despatched my pupil to -the bedroom opening out of mine, I returned for a moment to the hot and -strident lounge in order to make certain enquiries at the office. - -Mama was in a white wicker armchair, with crimson and orange cushions -overflowing upon either side of it, and showing up the elaborate waves -of her hair, as black as Laura’s own. The paint that I had seen on her -face earlier in the day was now concentrated into one scarlet curve -upon her mouth, her white lace dress was held up by narrow black velvet -straps cutting across the opulent creaminess of her shoulders, and the -electric light above her head had fastened upon the diamond butterfly -bows of her satin shoes, so that they winked and flashed right across -the hall. - -One hardly saw--certainly did not distinguish--the figures that -composed her numerous entourage, but the prevailing black and -whiteness, the glitter of continually raised small glasses, gave a -general impression of unrelieved masculinity. - -Laura sat beside her mother, on an upright chair. She was dressed in -rose colour, a frock even shorter than the green one that I had seen -before. Her straight hair had been somehow persuaded into a semblance -of long curls; the green silk bow over her left ear had been replaced -by a pink one with fringed ends. - -She did not see me. Her eyes, indeed, were glazed with fatigue, and -every now and then her head fell forwards and was jerked upwards again. - -The hall was unendurably hot with a breathless, artificial heat, and -the orchestra was playing an American rag-time that every now and then -succeeded in out-sounding the medley of raised voices and high-pitched -laughter and clinking glasses. - -It was long after eleven o’clock. - -As I looked at Laura, I saw that her slim, silk-clad legs were swinging -gently to and fro between the bars of the high-backed chair. Her feet, -in bronze-coloured dancing slippers, could not quite reach the floor. - -For the first time, I saw her as the child she really was--the -efficient, helpless, cosmopolitan, traditionless, hotel child. - - -III - -It is a far cry from the family of a British Ambassador--collectively -distinguished, if individually dull--and the blue wonders of Italy, to -an English Girls’ School and the grey horrors of an east coast town. - -The post that I filled temporarily at Lundeen School was not one that -I should have considered, but for personal and family reasons of -convenience. They are long since past, and matter nothing to the story. - -But it was at Lundeen School that I saw Laura di san Marzano for the -third and last time. - -It was the most inappropriate setting imaginable. - -She was left there by mama, in mid-term, because a continental doctor -had declared that she needed bracing air and companionship of her own -age, and also--this I learnt later, quite incidentally, from Laura -herself--because mama and a _cher ami_ had suddenly planned a visit to -Monte Carlo for the express purpose of visiting the Casino, to which -Laura, being under twenty-one, could not have been admitted. - -Laura, as the hotel child, had been pathetic, but her dignity had been -safeguarded, if not actually enhanced, by the kaleidescopic background -of her surroundings. - -At school, she was pitiful--and out of place. The girls, without ill -nature, despised her from the first. - -She arrived amongst them in the short, fanciful, ultra-picturesque -silk frocks and infantile bows of hair ribbon that I had seen her wear -abroad. Those unimaginative, untravelled English schoolgirls had seen -no one like her before, and what they did not know, by experience or -by tradition, they distrusted and disliked. - -Lundeen School made demands upon the pupils’ _physiques_, upon their -powers of conformity, and upon each one’s capacity for assimilating -wholesale a universally applied system. - -Laura di san Marzano had no chance at all. - -The child who “never forgot people” could not remember her -multiplication table, and although she spoke perfectly at least three -languages besides English, she had never learnt syntax, nor read a line -of any history. She had seen the Guitrys play in Paris--(and from her -crisp appreciations and criticisms I deduced that no finest _nuance_ of -their art had been lost upon her)--but she had memorized no standard -selections from the poets. And she did not know how to learn. - -No one, not even the head mistress, was very much disturbed by Laura’s -educational deficiencies, because it was so evident from the first that -her stay amongst us would only be a very temporary affair. - -Mama would certainly swoop down again, probably without warning, and -resume Laura as suddenly as she had discarded her. - -That was how mama always did things, one felt sure. - -Laura herself, although evidently aware of her shortcomings, accepted -them with a grave, but unexaggerated, regret. She seemed, quite without -arrogance, to know that, even educationally, there were other standards -than those of Lundeen, and that her connection with these latter was -after all merely transitory. - -What really distressed her, and shocked her too, I think, was the -attitude of the other girls. - -Compared with the hotel child, there was only one word that adequately -described these daughters of so many excellent English homes--and that -word was _uncivilised_. - -They played unbeautiful games violently, they spoke in hideous slang, -they were rudest when they intended to be most friendly. - -Towards Laura di san Marzano, indeed, they did not wish nor attempt to -display friendliness. They were simply contemptuous. - -And I saw that the hotel child minded that, both from pride and from -ultra-developed social instinct. - -My work was entirely amongst the elder girls, and I saw very little -of Laura during her brief stay, but towards the end of it, something -happened. The rumour arose and spread like wild-fire, even to reaching -the Common Room of the teaching staff, that Laura di san Marzano was in -disgrace with her fellows for cheating over an examination paper. - -The tradition of Lundeen was that of the public-school code. Cribbing -was permissible: ‘copying’ or peeping at the questions set for an -examination, was impossible. - -They were already prejudiced against her; the accusation was accepted -on the instant by her contemporaries. - -The Prefectorial system was in full force at Lundeen, and in any case, -I could not have made the affair my business. But it so happened that -I was present when Laura uttered what I believe to have been her one -and only specific denial of the charge against her. I came unexpectedly -into the room, and saw the semi-circle of self-righteous inexpressive, -young faces that confronted Laura, who stood, rather pale and with her -head held proudly high, and spoke very softly and clearly. - -“I didn’t cheat. Those who thought they saw me, made a mistake. You are -being very unjust and cruel, all of you.” - -She was looking the head of her class straight in the eyes as she -spoke, and the girl, giving her back look for look, made a sound that -unmistakably expressed contemptuous incredulity. - -“What is all this?” said I sharply. - -They were taken aback, all of them. There was an instant of confused -silence, and it was, after all, only the hotel child who possessed -enough of _savoir faire_ to reply to me. - -“Miss Arbell,” she said courteously, “it was a--a necessary -conversation. It is over now.” - -She crossed the length of the room, very composedly, and went out -quietly. - -Her ostracism, after that, was complete. It lasted for a week, and -then, just as one had always surmised would happen, mama, in sables and -violets, drove up in a blue Lanchester car, and said that she and Laura -(who looked so much stronger and better for the change) would at once -go straight to Paris, give themselves enough time to find some clothes, -and sail for New York the following week. - -The hotel child, her face radiant, came to find me and say good-bye to -me. She was incapable, for all mama’s imperious haste, of forgetting or -omitting the courtesy. - -“Do you actually leave this evening?” I asked her. - -Mama had been even more impetuous than I had anticipated. - -“Yes. I need never see any of _them_ again.” - -“It has been an experience, at least,” I reminded her. - -“Yes--but----” she shrugged her shoulders. - -“Expensively bought?” I suggested. And, since she was leaving, I -thought that I might add: “At least, my dear, you have kept your -colours flying. These last days have been very trying, I am afraid, but -you come out of them better than our friends of the Fourth Form, to my -thinking.” - -“Thank you,” said Laura. She looked at me with her grave, -straightforward eyes. - -“It would have been much easier, though, if only I really _hadn’t_ -cheated.” - - * * * * * - -There is a postscript to the story of the hotel child. A very few years -later I heard of her marriage to the Prince d’Armaillh’ac-Ambry, the -representative of the noblest, and one of the wealthiest, of French -families. I believe that they live almost entirely on his estates in -Brittany, and that the Princess interests herself personally in the -numerous peasantry around them. - -Her two children, a boy and a girl, are brought up in great simplicity, -and to the strictest and most orthodox Catholicism. - - - - -IMPASSE - - - - -IMPASSE - -(TO S.M.A.) - - -Two, three, five Dedicated Virgins. They stood before their Reverend -Mother, ponderous black folds of serge sweeping the boards round each -flat-soled pair of black list slippers. - -“The orphans must go to the dentist,” said Reverend Mother, mournfully, -yet with determination. “Here we are in a Protestant country. We must -adapt ourselves to the conditions of our exile. The orphans will have -to be taken to the dentist’s house.” - -The nuns looked at one another, and at Reverend Mother, and solemnly -nodded. - -It was an innovation, but if Reverend Mother said so, it must be right. - -“Sister Clara and Sister Dominic, you will take three orphans to the -dentist to-morrow.” - -Sister Clara drew herself up a little. Her throat swelled beneath the -white swathings that bound her head and neck, and her double chin -momentarily became three. - -“Yes, Mother dear,” she said proudly. - -Her Irish voice was rich and deep, compared with the thin, nasal tones -of the Frenchwomen. - -“Shall I order a cab for them, Mother?” - -That was Sister Caroline, the _sœur econome_. - -“No, no. They must walk ... holy poverty.... You will put on the heavy -travelling veils, Sisters, and the big cloaks, just the same as for a -journey.” - -The heat of that would be stifling, in this weather and on foot! An -unmortified thought.... Sister Clara stuck a pin in her sleeve. She -would remember to confess a slight yielding to sensuality of thought. - -There had been similar yieldings, once or twice, within the last year. - -“Yes, Mother dear. Sister Dominic’ll sit in the waiting-room with two -of the dear orphans, and I’ll be looking after the one that’s in with -the dentist. I’ll not take an eye off of her, on any pretext whatever. -I quite understand, Mother dear, that’s the way it’ll be. Make your -mind easy.” - -One had to be knowing, and careful, going out into the world. - -There was a sense of adventure in setting out, the additional veil -hanging swart, and straight, and heavy, pulling a little so that one’s -head jerked slightly backwards every now and then. - -Sister Dominic held a stout umbrella in one black-cotton-gloved -hand, whilst the other one grasped the wrist of the youngest orphan. -The other two orphans, obscured in blue serge and hard, dark, straw -hat-brims, each held on to a fold of Sister Clara’s habit. - -One thing, Reverend Mother had promised that the community should -recite the Litany of Loretto after office just as they did to ensure -anyone from the convent a safe journey. - -So they’d be protected, even scurrying, a row of five, holding on to -one another, across the streets, in front of those frightful honking -motor-cars, that looked like they’d take the heads off of you, give -them a chance. - -“This’ll be it, Dominic dear. No. 3.” - -A maid in a cap and apron to open the door--and the smartness of her! -All grey-and-white, and showing her shape the way a modest convent-bred -girl would never have done. - -And the waiting-room, with a carpet, and padded chairs, and a fine -pot-plant--putting worldly ideas into the orphans’ heads, as likely as -not. As for the pictures and books on the table.... - -“Don’t be casting your eyes about that way, children dear. Sit quiet -now. Dominic, the hats’ll have to come off of them, we may be sure of -that. We’ll pile them this way, on the chair, and you’ll keep an eye -on them, for fear someone else’ll be coming in and perhaps making off -with them. It’s not as though we were in a good Catholic country.” - -The hats of the orphans were stacked upon a chair, and Sister Dominic -sat upon the edge of another chair, facing them. She held her umbrella. - -“If he does well by the children, the sisters’ll go to him. The -Infirmarian says there’s some of them with teeth in a terrible state.” - -Sister Clara’s tongue sought familiar cavities, and her hand went to -the particular fold of serge sleeve in which were imbedded two large -pins, one of which was taken out at the end of meals, and replaced -after use in the exact same place, so as to save making a fresh hole. - -“If you’ll step this way, Sister----” - -Mother of Mercy! What a start she’d got! It was the man himself, and -smiling, too, standing holding the door open. Awfully young-looking, -with dark eyes that might have been Irish, and a queer white coat on -him. - -And the gentleness of him, when he’d got the orphan into that chair of -his! She’d only to stir, and him stopping the machine, and saying, with -that smile, that he was afraid it was hurting her. - -As if one didn’t go to the dentist to be hurt, and the pain to be -offered up for all Reverend Mother’s intentions! - -Look at the hands of him! - -She watched them, moving softly and skilfully. Presently he talked to -her, at first friendly, joking, little questions, then at more length, -telling about himself. He was a stranger in the town, too. - -“It’ll be the grand thing for you, if Reverend Mother sends the orphans -regularly. I’ll put in a good word for you,” she ventured, and he -looked at her, screwing-up his eyes, and laughing. - -She’d not spoken to any man, not counting the good holy priests which -was a different thing altogether, for many years. - -But if they were all like this, where would be the harm in them at all? -She’d make the orphans start a novena for his conversion to the Faith, -that very night. - -“Now the next child, please.” - -He spent half an hour on each orphan, and the last one, he said, would -have to come again. - -“I’ll be bringing her along.” - -He entered the appointment in a little book. - -“I’ve no secretary, you see, Sister--can’t afford one yet!” and then he -shook hands with her. “Good-bye.” - -The feel of his hand was just what she’d imagined it’d be, gentle, and -yet strong. There were funny little dark hairs all down the back of it -and along the wrist. And although it was such a hot day, the palm of -him was cool and dry. - -Sister Dominic spoke to her, humbly, on the way home. - -“Well, you’re a wonderful woman of the world, Sister Clara dear, -getting us all safe there and back and talking to the man just as -though it was the gardener at dear old Noisy-le-Grand. It won’t be so -hard, next time, if Reverend Mother sends us again.” - -Reverend Mother did send them again, with relays of orphans, and then -Sister Clara alone, with old Mother Seraphina who spoke no English and -whose cheap _râtelier_ appeared to need endless adjustments. - -And he was always kind, and he always smiled, with that screwing-up of -his eyes, and talked to Sister Clara. - -One day she said that she had toothache, and received Reverend Mother’s -leave to make an appointment for herself after Mother Seraphina’s -session. She had, for days, been devoured by an intense curiosity to -know what it would feel like to have those hands hovering about one’s -face. Once, he had had to put his arm right round the back of Mother -Seraphina’s old head.... - -“No, it’s not hurting me at all, at all.” She smiled up at him; a smile -that she felt to be beatific, half-hypnotised. - -“Would you like to see what I’ve been doing?” - -“I would.” - -“There--on the left--that big molar----” - -He put a little mirror into her hands. And she that hadn’t looked in a -glass, hardly, since the day of her final vows, twelve years ago! - -Gracious, what a colour she had! Plum-colour, that was her face. And -the smile that had felt beatific, looking foolish and uncertain, as -though she were ashamed of something. The glass turned dim as her heavy -breathing struck it. - -Would she perhaps have been breathing into his face that way all the -time, and she never thinking of such a thing? - -The face in the glass looked redder than ever. Mother of Mercy, this -weather! The heat of it! And the holy habit no less than five smelly -thicknesses of serge, and not wearing thin yet, though on the back of -her year in and year out. - -“That’s the last stopping, Sister. I shan’t have to trouble you again.” - -“Amn’t I to come to you any more then?” - -“It won’t be necessary. What I’ve done should last you for a long -while. But if you have pain, come to me at once. Any time.” - -What’d it be like, at all, not seeing him any more? Could it be that -she’d become inordinately attached, the way the Imitation said was so -wrong? And to a man, too. - -She was a wicked creature, not worthy of the holy vocation. - -“Is there nothing more needs doing?” - -“Nothing at all. You have excellent teeth, Sister. There’ll be no more -trouble, now those fillings are in.” - -The smile he gave her! So that one hardly heard what he was saying.... - -“If the Reverend Mother wants anyone else seen to, I shall be very -pleased to do what I can. Good-bye, Sister. I should like to have -persuaded you that there’s plenty of good work to be done outside, too. -Take a capable woman like yourself, now. It seems a shame you should be -shutting yourself up inside four walls. Why, you--you might have been -my secretary, if I could only afford to have one!” - -That was a grand laugh of his, it made one want to laugh too, only that -one might start crying somehow. - -It seemed there’d be nothing left to look forward to in the whole world -after the shake of the hand meaning good-bye. There was still that.... - -It was the queer way to feel entirely, and her forty years old. - -Touching the hand of him for the last time, and it strong and yet -gentle at one and the same time, quite different to the hand of any -woman.... - -It was over now, and one hurried away, scared that old Seraphina’d see -something strange in the face of one. - -“Will any more of the sisters be going to him, Mother Seraphina?” - -“No.” - -“Nor any of the dear children?” - -“No.” - - * * * * * - -Mother of Mercy, there was no sleeping in this heat! But it wasn’t the -heat. It was the way one was fretting and crying after what couldn’t -be. Though what for couldn’t it be, when he’d said himself that it was -a sin and a shame for the like of her to be shut up inside four walls, -and himself wanting a secretary and not able to pay one? There’d be -some glad enough to work for him without any pay. - -Day after day it went on, and night after night, till the pain in one’s -head was past bearing, and still there was no getting to sleep. - -The things one thought of! - -There was the door, giving right on to the street, and then only a bit -of a walk, and oneself knowing every step of the way, and then the -sight of him, and the feel of those hands of his--it was that would put -everything right, and take the spell off of one. - -On the hottest night of all, Sister Clara made up her mind. She’d break -her holy vows, that were already broken in the heart of her, and go -back into the world. - -In the morning she dressed and went downstairs. - -She’d not be taking anything with her. After Mass the nuns’d be going -to the refectory, and they’d not be missing her for awhile, and they -keeping the custody of the eyes the way the Holy Rule enjoined. - -Oh, it was the fine nun she was, to talk about the Holy Rule. - -The door was unlocked. Once outside on the pavement, there was nothing -to do but pull it to again. - -The slam of it! - -There’d be no getting in again now, without a great ringing of the -bell, and the portress coming to answer it, and the giving of scandal -to the whole of them. - -If it hadn’t been for that slam of the door.... - -The weather had broken. It wasn’t hot any more, but raw and chilly. - -The way he’d laugh, and look at you, so interested in any little thing -you said! It was wonderful. - -What time did people in the world get up and start their day? Later -than this, no doubt. But there’d be the waiting-room, where she’d sat -with Sister Dominic and the orphans that first time of all. (Maybe -she’d never set eyes on Dominic again.) - -What for did that maid of his take so long to come to the door? - -But it wasn’t the maid who opened the door at last. - -It was a person in a blue apron, with a man’s cap pulled down over her -eyes, and her sleeves rolled up, and a bucket with a mop in it at her -down-at-heel feet. - -“’E ain’t come yet. Won’t be ’ere, not for a hower, but if it’s the -toothache, you can come in and wait.” - -“Does he not live here, then?” - -“Ho no,’e don’t live ’ere. But ’e comes reg’lar, and ’e’ll be along -by-and-by. You go in and sit down. You won’t mind me going on with the -cleaning-up? Turned cold all of a sudden, ain’t it?” - -The rolled-back carpet in the waiting-room, the chairs piled, seat -against seat, round the walls, the broom that presently chased into all -the corners, made it seem colder. - -It grew colder and colder as the hour went by. - -That was the sound of a key in the lock outside. - -“’Morning, Mrs. Hatch. A nasty change in the weather, isn’t it?” - -Mumble, mumble, mumble. - -“Oh Lord, already!” - -He came into the room where Sister Clara shuddered and cowered inside -her folds of enveloping black serge. - -Look at the face of him! Different, somehow. - -You could see how he felt the sudden chilliness in the air, and he was -rubbing his hands together, hard. They were different, too--all mottled -with cold. - -“You in pain, Sister?” - -“I--I’ve come.” - -“M’m? I don’t attend to anyone till nine o’clock, you know, as a rule, -but if it’s a question of pain.... Well, what can I do for you? By the -look of you, it’s an abscess, isn’t it?” - - - - -THE APPEAL - - - - -THE APPEAL - - -This isn’t a story. It’s an attempt at reconstruction. Given my -knowledge of the principals--Mary Jarvis, and her mother, Mrs. St. -Luth--I think I can do it. - -Mary Jarvis was my mother, and Mrs. St. Luth, of course, my -grandmother. Thank god, I’m a modern and can look at them -impersonally--judge each on her own merits, as it were. - -My mother and my grandmother made scenes as other women make jumpers. -It was their form of self-expression. I imagine--although I never knew -for certain--that it was my father’s inability to maintain himself _à -la hauteur_, in the perennial melodrama that was my mother’s idea of -life, that led to my grandmother being invited to live with them. - -She came when I, their only child, had barely reached the stage of -exchanging my baby frills for first knickerbockers. (I am certain, -although I don’t remember it, that my mother wept and said she felt -that she had lost her baby for ever.) - -Already my parents were unhappy together. Mary--I call her so here for -convenience, but she would never have tolerated it in reality--Mary, -although really affectionate and impressionable, was fundamentally -insincere, with herself and with everybody else. She lived entirely on -the emotional plane, and when genuine emotions were not forthcoming -she faked them by instinct. Her mother, who belonged to the same -type, although with more strength of character, and far less capacity -for affection, had always played up to her. They had their violent -disputes and violent reconciliations--neither could have been happy -without--but they did respect one another’s poses. - -But my father never played up. - -He couldn’t. Worse still, if he could have done so, he wouldn’t--on -principle. - -Again I can’t remember, but I can imagine, almost to the point of -certainty, short and searing passages between my parents. - -“Robert, I want you not to ask me to play the piano to-night.” - -(He so seldom gave her an opening, that she had to force them.) - -“Off colour?” - -“It isn’t that. I heard to-day that Mrs. Thorndyke’s child is dead. -It--it upset me.” - -“But you didn’t know the child.” - -“I know Katherine Thorndyke.” - -“You’ve met her once or twice, I remember. And didn’t we hear that if -the poor child had lived, it must have been an idiot?” - -Probably, at that stage, my mother burst into tears. She’d been heading -for that, of course, although she didn’t know it consciously. But my -father did, and had made her aware that he did, in a rather brutal -fashion. - -That was the way they reacted on one another. - -It was better, after grandmother came. Curiously enough, my -father liked her, although she and Mary had so many of the same -characteristics. But I think he regarded her as a sort of lightning -conductor. - -For Mary herself, however, it was different. Like so many people who -manufacture continual unhappiness for themselves, she had a frantic -craving for happiness, and an irrational conviction that happiness was -her due. - -She told me herself, long afterwards, that she never had any thought of -infidelity towards my father, nor did she ever meet any man who could -or would have caused her to break her marriage vows. But--and this she -didn’t tell me, it’s part of the reconstruction--she was constantly -obsessed by a vague and romantic expectation of some such encounter. -I imagine that she could not believe the world to have been created -without a special application to her yearnings. - -And then undoubtedly the nervous wear and tear that she imposed -upon herself, and upon us all, told on her spirits. Her scenes with -grandmother, although they may have served as a safety-valve, were too -frequent. They may also have served to throw into painful contrast her -husband’s stolid opposition to any form of emotional stimulus. - -However that may be, grandmother had formed part of our household for -rather less than a year, when Mary suddenly ran away. - -It was, I suppose, the only dramatic thing that she could think of, in -a wet and dreary February, and I have no doubt at all that she did it -on impulse. That is to say, she gave herself time to write an immensely -long letter to my father--in which perhaps she set forth that view of -herself which he never gave her adequate opportunity for putting into -words--but she gave herself no time to pack up her things. She simply -took her dressing-case, and I am sure that that was mostly filled with -photographs in folding frames, and packets of letters tied up with -ribbon, and little manuals of devotion heavily underscored in several -places. - -Then she walked out of the house, and to the station, and eventually -got to Assisi. And they traced her there almost at once, partly because -she took no pains to cover up her tracks, and partly because my -grandmother--who understood the processes of her mind--found a copy of -a Life of St. Francis on the drawing-room sofa, face downwards, with -one page all blistered, as though tears had fallen upon it. - -My father, for his part, found the long letter that no doubt told him -how little he had understood a sensitive nature, and possibly to what -point their life together had become intolerable. - -And this had the strange effect of making him resolve, and declare -aloud, that nothing would induce him to try and get her back again. -There must have been a stormy scene between him and my grandmother, -who had all the conventionally moral instincts of her day, and was -genuinely shocked and disturbed at her daughter’s abrupt and violent -casting off of her obvious responsibilities. - -“For the child’s sake, at least, Robert ...” she must have repeated -many times. - -(Neither she nor my mother ever understood the futility of repeating, -again and again, words which had already failed of their appeal.) - -“A child whose mother can leave him, at four years old, is better -without her.” - -“It was madness, Robert, but you know she’s not a wicked woman--my poor -Mary. If you go and bring her back now, no one will ever know what has -happened, and you can start a new life together, and try again.” - -“It would be useless.” - -“Don’t, don’t say that.” The tears must have been pouring down her old -face by that time. “Oh, Robert, give her another chance. This will have -been a lesson to her--won’t you forgive her and take her back?” - -Well, in the end she prevailed to a certain extent--that is to say, -my father would not seek out the culprit himself, but he would allow -grandmother to do so, and if she brought Mary home again properly -repentant he would not refuse to receive her and give her the “chance” -of starting their married life afresh. “For the boy’s sake.” - -My grandmother must have repeated that phrase a hundred times at least, -and it was certainly her _pièce de resistance_ in the scene at Assisi -with Mary. - -I’ve had a version of that scene from each one of them, and on the -whole the accounts tally, although of course each viewed it--as they -viewed everything--exclusively from the personal angle. - -My mother saw only a young, beautiful, misunderstood woman, goaded to -frenzy in the grip of an uncongenial marriage, taking a desperate step -in search of freedom. And then, even stronger and more touching in her -relinquishment, finding the courage, for love of her child, to return -to the house of bondage. - -And my grandmother, with equal inevitability, saw only a sorrow-worn -woman, no longer young (but infinitely interesting), courageously -undertaking a solitary journey, on a mission that should restore -sanctity to a shattered home. And even as her urgent plea had shaken -Robert’s defences, so her eloquence, her boundless influence and -unfaltering understanding, must prevail with the slighter, more trivial -personality of her daughter. The achievement of persuading Mary to -return to her husband and child was, my grandmother told me, the -ultimate justification of her existence, in her own eyes. - -As a matter of fact, I doubt if she, any more than the rest of us, felt -her existence to be in any need of justification whatsoever--but she -was addicted to phrases, and this one at least served as an indication -to the magnitude of her effort. - -For Mary did not capitulate without a struggle. And it is in the -details of that struggle that my reconstruction work comes in, for -although each of the protagonists has quoted to me whole sentences, -and even speeches, of brilliant oratory from herself and inadequate -rejoinder from the other, I do not believe either of them. Accuracy, -with that type, can never co-exist with emotion--and emotion, real or -imaginary, is never absent. - -But this, I imagine, is more or less what took place in the -sitting-room of the tiny _albergo_ at Assisi: - -“I’ve come to fetch you home, my child. You shall never hear one word -of reproach--Robert only wants to begin again--a new life.” - -“Never, mother. It’s impossible. I’ve borne too much. I can’t ever go -back to it. I must live my own life.” - -(Probably Mary had been reading _The Doll’s House_. People were -discovering Ibsen in those days.) - -“Mary, it’s not five years since you and Robert were married, in the -little country church at home, by our dear old vicar, who held you at -the font when I took you, a tiny baby, to be christened.” - -It may have been at this stage that Mary began to cry. Anyway, I’m -certain that my grandmother did. Any allusions, however irrelevant, to -little country churches at home, and Mary as a tiny baby, were always -apt to bring the tears to her eyes--and I’m sure that neither of them -had thought for an instant of steadying their nerves by sitting down to -a solid meal. So that tears must have been easier, even, than usual. - -“Robert doesn’t understand me--he never will.” - -“Darling, don’t you remember your early days together? The little -things--little jokes, and allusions, and happinesses shared together? -Does one ever forget?” - -“_No._” - -Mary sobbed. “But I can’t go back to him.” - -I think that here, if my grandmother gave her a chance, she probably -did make one--or part of one--of the speeches that she long afterwards -quoted to me. - -She was intensely unhappy. Robert did not understand her, and she could -not live in an unsympathetic atmosphere. She should go mad. All that -she had ever asked of life was peace, beautiful surroundings, and the -ideal companion.... If she went back to Robert now, after having found -courage to make the break, it would be a repetition of the misery that -had broken her heart during the past three years. - -(The hearts of my mother and grandmother both suffered innumerable -breakages throughout their lives, neither of them ever seeming aware of -the physiological absurdity of the expression.) - -“It’s braver to stay away than to go back and try and patch up -something that can never be anything but a failure,” quavered Mary, -with a momentary flash of insight. - -But of course grandmother couldn’t leave it at that. She had the -justification of her own existence to think of, for one thing. I am -quite sure that a fortuitous street-musician, rendering “Santa Lucia” -or “Silver Threads Amongst the Gold” in the distance, would have broken -down Mary’s frail barrier of honest thought, and have materially -assisted my grandmother to her victory. Accessories were so absolutely -essentials, to them both. - -But so far as I know, grandmother had to win on points, as it were, and -received no extraneous help in the shape of sentimental appeals from -without. - -She made her supreme effort. - -“For the boy’s sake, Mary ... your little, little boy. Is he to be -motherless?” - -“Wouldn’t Robert let me have him?” - -“No, my dear. How could he? I myself--the mother that bore you, Mary--I -couldn’t think it right that a woman who had deliberately deserted her -husband and home should have the care of a little, innocent child.” - -“Oh, my baby!” - -She sobbed and cried, but she had not yet capitulated. Grandmother, -however, had gauged pretty accurately the force of the baby-_motif_. - -“Before I came away, on my long, lonely journey,” she said slowly, “I -went up to the nursery, to say good-bye to Bobbie. He had on his blue -overall--the one you embroidered for him last summer, Mary--was it only -last summer?--and he was playing with his engine, on the nursery floor, -his dear, round face was so solemn....” - -“Oh, don’t--don’t----” - -But grandmother, the tears streaming from her eyes, relentlessly -continued: “Darling, his big blue eyes looked up at me, and his little -voice asked: ‘_Where’s Mummie?_’” - -Did grandmother’s--even grandmother’s--conscience misgive her, at the -quotation? That it was verbally correct, I have no doubt--but what of -the intonation? - -My grandmother’s poignant rendering of “_Where’s Mummie?_” no doubt -contained all the pathetic appeal of bewildered and deserted childhood -throughout the ages.... - -But mine--the original “_Where’s Mummie?_...” I have no recollection of -it, of course, but I do remember myself at four years old--a stolid, -rather cynical child, utterly independent by temperament, and reacting -strongly even then against a perpetually emotional atmosphere. And -one knows the way in which small children utter those conventional -enquiries which they unconsciously know to be expected of them ... the -soft, impersonal indifference of the tone, the immediate re-absorption, -without waiting for a reply, in the engrossing occupation of the -moment.... - -Mary held out for a little while longer, but the heart went out of her -resistance after the pitiful sound of that “_Where’s Mummie?_” as my -grandmother rendered it. - -She gave in “for the boy’s sake.” - -And my grandmother had justified her existence. - -They travelled home together, and Mary averted anti-climax by quite a -real nervous breakdown, that overtook her after she got home, before my -father had had time to forgive her in so many words. - -So they began again--literally. - -It wasn’t, in fact, possible for them to be happy together, and -they never were so. I grew up in the midst of scenes, tears, and -intermittent periods of reconciliation. There was no stability about my -childhood; and no reality. Undoubtedly I was the victim--far more so -than my father, who presently sought and found consolation elsewhere, -or than Mary, whom he thus provided with a perfectly legitimate -grievance that lasted her until he died, fifteen years later. After -that, she was able gradually to forget that there had ever been -unhappiness between them, and to assume the identity of a heart-broken -widow. - -Mrs. St. Luth, my grandmother, lived to be very old. - -“But useless old woman though I am, God gave me the opportunity of -justifying my existence, when He let me bring a mother home to her -little child....” - -I wonder. - - * * * * * - -Thank god, I’m a modern. - - - - -THE FIRST STONE - - - - -THE FIRST STONE - -A PLAY IN ONE ACT - - -_Characters_: - - MRS. LLOYD-EVANS } _Members of the local Welfare - MRS. BALLANTYNE } Committee_ - MRS. AKERS } - MISS MILLER _Secretary to the Committee._ - - -SCENE - -_A committee-room on the top floor of a house in a small provincial -town. Back of the stage, centre, there is a door, opening inwards on -to the stage. To the right of the door, a few pegs are on the wall for -hanging coats, etc. Right of the stage, is a good-sized window, showing -distant views of chimney-pots outside. Left of the stage, a small -gas-fire burns. Near it, a table and chairs have been formally arranged -for the meeting._ - -_The whole atmosphere of the room is cold and dreary. Time: a winter -afternoon in 1917._ - -_Miss Miller discovered. She is cold and tired-looking, mechanically -arranging blotting-paper, etc. on the table._ - -_Mrs. Ballantyne enters. She is prosperous-looking and clad in warm -furs, and is out of breath from ascending the stairs._ - -MISS MILLER: Good afternoon, Mrs. Ballantyne. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE (_out of breath_): Good afternoon. Oh dear, those -stairs! I’m out of breath. - -MISS MILLER: They are trying, aren’t they? Four flights! - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Oh, you oughtn’t to find them trying, at your age. -Tell me, have you any idea why we’ve all been asked to come here -to-day, Miss Miller? It’s not the day for our regular meeting, at all. - -MISS MILLER: No, I’ve got the notice for that all ready to send out as -usual. This is a special meeting that Mrs. Lloyd-Evans is calling. She -only sent me a note about it last night, telling me to get the room -ready. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: She wrote to me too, but she didn’t say what it was -all about. I suppose she’ll have written to Mrs. Akers, as well. - -MISS MILLER: Here they are. - -(_Enter Mrs. Lloyd-Evans and Mrs. Akers. Mrs. Lloyd-Evans is mysterious -and melancholy, and Mrs. Akers lively and full of undisguised -curiosity. Both wear heavy coats, furs, etc. They shake hands with Mrs. -Ballantyne, and nod and say how d’ye do to Miss Miller. Whilst they -talk they loosen or take off their wraps, and place them on the pegs -near the door._) - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS (_to Mrs. Ballantyne_): How d’ye do. We’re all a -little before our time, I think, but then as I always say, it’s -better to be too early than too late. (_This she says with an air of -originality._) - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Of course, the minute I got your note I quite saw that -something must have happened, or you wouldn’t have asked us to come out -in this dreadful cold, _and_ up those awful stairs. I do think, when -we’re doing the whole of this Welfare Committee business gratuitously, -that they might have found us a room on the ground floor. Isn’t there -any hope of getting better premises? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: They pretend that any accommodation is difficult to -find nowadays, but I should like to know why some building shouldn’t -be done? What I always say is, that there wouldn’t be half this -unemployment trouble, if people were given _work_. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE (_bored_): Yes, indeed. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: It’s just Bolshevism, you know, all this talk of -unemployment. There’s always work for those who are willing to work. -Now I can’t help thinking it would put a stop to all this labour -unrest, if they could only send a few of the leaders to _Russia_, to -show them what Bolshevism has resulted in, there. - -Mrs. Ballantyne: Yes, of course. It really would be a lesson. (_She -is arranging her dress, etc., as she speaks, and tidying herself at a -little pocket-mirror._) - -MRS. AKERS (_seating herself, to Mrs. Lloyd-Evans_): Well, I’m all -agog to know what’s happened. Your note was most mysterious. What’s -been happening at the School? Really, the present generation is the -limit--always giving trouble. It seems to have come in with bobbed hair. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Girls are often very artful. - -MRS. AKERS: Well, we ought to be able to cope with the artfulness of -mere schoolgirls, surely. Now do let’s sit down and get to business. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE (_to Mrs. Lloyd-Evans_): As you see, I haven’t brought -my daughter. I’m sure it was very thoughtful of you to warn me in your -note, but I gather it means that we have something--painful--to discuss? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: One hardly likes to put things into words--but your -Phyllis is a young girl, after all, and I always feel there ought to be -something _sacred_ about a young girl. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: I had to pretend to Phyllis that you wanted to speak -about some very dull question of finance. It was deceiving her, -perhaps, but I _do_ so agree with you about how one ought to treat -young girls as something _sacred_, as you say. So I told her the whole -thing was going to be very formal, and only members of the actual -Committee allowed to be present. I’m afraid it was rather in the nature -of a pious fraud. - -(_They all laugh, and draw slightly closer together_.) - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Before we begin, I should like to say that this must -all be in absolute confidence. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE (_looking at Miss Miller_): Excuse me a moment. (_She -whispers to Mrs. Lloyd-Evans. The other ladies try to hear what is -said, and at the same time to look as though they were doing nothing of -the sort._) - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS (_aloud_): I am sure Miss Miller will be discreet. -Charity sometimes forces one to face very painful things, and one must -be brave and hear about various tragedies that one would far prefer -never to mention at all. (_Pause._) One hardly knows how to word -certain things. (_Pause._) - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Really, if it’s anything of _that_ sort, I think we -ought to ask Miss Miller to leave us. (_Aside_): she’s only a girl. - -MRS. AKERS (_eagerly_): _That_ sort? What sort? - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Well, you know what I mean. But I’m sure I hope I’m -mistaken. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: I’m afraid you’re not, Mrs. Ballantyne. - -MRS. AKERS: Call a spade a spade. Is it the usual thing? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: I should be sorry to call it the _usual_ thing. But -I’m afraid that’s what it is. - -MRS. AKERS: I’ve worked in a district, and my husband has a large -medical practice amongst poor people. I suppose some girl has got into -trouble? - -(_Mrs. Lloyd-Evans bows her head in assent, and once more all three -ladies draw their chairs closer together. Miss Miller covers her face -with her hands for a moment._) _From now onwards, the three ladies are -all much more animated, and full of barely-disguised enjoyment of a -subject which they all regard as a delicate one._ - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: We’re all married women here, and I think we can -discuss this better without Miss Miller. - -MISS MILLER (_quickly, and with suppressed agitation_): If it’s a -formal meeting, you’ll want the minutes entered. - -MRS. AKERS: Yes. She’d better stay. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE (_aside to Mrs. Akers_): I don’t agree. I’m the mother -of a girl myself, as you know, and to me girlhood is _sacred_. We have -a most painful subject to discuss. - -MISS MILLER: Please let me stay. I--I might help. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: How could _you_ help, Miss Miller? And even if you -could, it would be most unsuitable in an unmarried girl like yourself. -Please wait in the next room until we call you to take down the results -of the conference. - -(_Exit Miss Miller, and shuts the door._) - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: I don’t know that I altogether like that girl. Rather -horrid of her to be so curious, wasn’t it? - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Any young woman with a _nice_ mind would have been -only too thankful to be spared the embarrassment of staying in the -room while such a thing was being discussed. (_Her tone changes to -eagerness._) Well, this is too dreadful! Which of the girls is it? - -MRS. AKERS: I’m certain it’s one of those twins! They really are -pretty--you know what I mean, pretty _for_ that class. Which of them is -it? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: It’s nothing to do with the twins. (Though I daresay -it’ll be them next--one never knows, when once this sort of thing -begins.) No, it’s the girl from London, the daughter of that widowed -Mrs. Smith who has been taking in washing in West Street. - -MRS. AKERS: Fanny! - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: That child! But she can’t be more than sixteen. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Fifteen. But one knows what London girls are, at any -age. - -MRS. AKERS: How did you find out? Is it absolutely certain? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Absolutely. It ought to have been found out months -ago, if the girl hadn’t been so artful. Even her mother says she had no -idea, till just the other day. - -MRS. AKERS (_decidedly_): That’s impossible. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: She pitched a long yarn about the girl herself not -having known what was happening. They pretend it came to light by -accident, through something Fanny said to her mother, which made her -suspicious. - -MRS. AKERS (_eagerly_): What was that? If we’re to help at all, we’d -better know everything. - -(_Mrs. Lloyd-Evans whispers to her, and Mrs. Akers whispers in her turn -to Mrs. Ballantyne._) - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: And when do they expect---- - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: In three months’ time, actually. - -(_The members of the Committee, in silence, make rapid movements upon -their fingers, in evident calculation._) - -MRS. AKERS: Then it must have happened after they got down here, that’s -clear. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: I think it’s much more likely it was in London. -There’d just be time. Londoners are always immoral. Besides, as I said -to her, _in our town these things don’t happen_. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: How did they take it? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: The girl herself seems absolutely callous. I couldn’t -get a word out of her. The mother says she hasn’t been able to, either, -and she’s been trying to force her to tell her when it happened. The -grandmother was there, as well, and you know what an odious old woman -_she_ is. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if she’d been in the plot the -whole time. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: When did all this conversation take place, if I may -ask? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Only yesterday. I happened to go in there, and found -the mother in tears, so of course I got the whole story out of her. I -felt it was a question for the Welfare Committee--married women, like -ourselves--and I’ve done absolutely nothing, except ask Dr. Akers to -see the girl and make certain. - -MRS. AKERS: Well! He’s never said a word to _me_ about it. I must say, -he was out late last night and early this morning, but I do think he -ought to have given me a hint. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Gentlemen are so odd, about anything to do with -their business. I’ve often noticed it. One has to probe for _hours_, -sometimes, to get the simplest piece of information. - -MRS. AKERS: Look here, we shall have to settle something. Of course the -girl must go away. - -THE OTHERS: Of course. - -MRS. AKERS: The question is, where? - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Surely some Sisterhood would take her in. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: One doesn’t want to be hard on her. I told the mother -that we should discuss it all quietly amongst ourselves before settling -anything. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: _I_ think we ought to send for the girl, and see if -we can get anything out of her. Of course, it would be very trying -and dreadful, but I’m sure that’s what we ought to do. I, for one, -shouldn’t shrink from it. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: You wouldn’t get a word out of her. They were all in -league together, it seemed to me. Thoroughly artful and determined to -stick together, I thought them, all three of them. - -MRS. AKERS: I can’t see why the grandmother should have any say in the -matter at all. Pray what has _she_ to do with it? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: She talked a great deal of nonsense about wanting to -keep Fanny at home. As I said to her, if keeping Fanny at home results -in _this_ sort of thing, then the sooner Fanny goes away from home the -better. She was thoroughly nonplussed at that, as you may imagine, and -couldn’t answer anything at all, though of course she chattered away, -but I took not the slightest notice. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: But, Mrs. Lloyd-Evans, do you mean to say that they -won’t tell who the man is? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: The girl won’t say a word. As I said to her myself, -it _must_ have been somebody in London before they came away, and it’s -no use telling me it happened here, because I simply shan’t believe it. - -MRS. AKERS: Well, what about a Home, or some other place where the girl -could go till it’s all over? It had better be as far away from here as -possible, of course. - -THE OTHER TWO AS BEFORE: Oh, of course. - -MRS. AKERS: I have two or three addresses of that kind--one place is -near London. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: The very thing. I’d gladly take her up myself, if -necessary. She’s very young and one doesn’t want to be hard on her. -What line are the mother and grandmother taking up? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: The mother cried a good deal, and said how ashamed -she was that the girl should make such a return for all that’s been -done for them down here. People have been very kind about employing -her--I’ve sent washing there myself. (She charges less than the -steam-laundry.) She was thoroughly upset, and one could have managed -_her_ all right. It’s the grandmother that’s so impossible, and the -girl looks as though she could be thoroughly obstinate. I’m bound to -say she was looking very ill, so one didn’t want to frighten her. - -MRS. AKERS: Well, that doesn’t apply to the old woman. She must be -squashed. Leave the grandmother to me if necessary. If there’s any -difficulty about their letting Fanny go, I can say we shall inform -the police. These people are perfectly ignorant of the law, and would -probably believe anything. (_She laughs in a slightly shamefaced, -way._) After all, it’s for the girl’s own good. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Certainly, and besides, for their own sake they want -to avoid exposure. The mother can be told that the Committee is taking -the whole expense and trouble off her hands, and she’ll be only too -thankful to let the girl go. She can come back when it’s all over, and -if they’re careful, people needn’t know anything about it. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: But what will happen--when---- - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: What? - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: What will be done with the--with the little---- - -MRS. AKERS: The _results_, you mean? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Oh, the baby. In these sad cases, one almost hopes -that it may not live, dreadful though it sounds to say such a thing. - -MRS. AKERS: My husband tells me that in his experience, illegitimate -children are often particularly strong and healthy infants. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: God’s ways are not our ways. - -MRS. AKERS (_to Mrs. Ballantyne_): But in this case, of course, the -child will be taken away the minute it’s born, and the mother will -probably never set eyes on it at all. It’s taken to some Institution -where they look after it, and that gives the mother a chance of living -it down. Especially when she’s so young. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: The grandmother said something about the baby, as she -called it, but of course I stopped that at once. They can hardly earn -enough to keep themselves, as it is, and if there was any question -of Fanny being allowed to keep the child, it would simply amount, as -I told her, to putting a premium upon immorality. Of course, if one -knew who the man was, pressure could be brought to bear on him, but I -don’t believe for an instant that it’s a case of the girl having been -seduced. She’s probably a thorough little bad lot. Quite likely she -doesn’t know who the father is. I’m told that some of these London -girls are frightfully--promiscuous. - -MRS. AKERS: I don’t know how to believe that--at fifteen! I’m afraid it -may have been somebody down here, you know. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Oh please don’t suggest such a thing. It’s the last -thing we want to have established. Just think of the talk! As it is, -if we don’t press the question, we can get the girl away quietly and -nothing be known about it. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: You think we shan’t get anything out of her? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Nothing, nor her mother either, according to her own -account. The old grandmother began some story about an assault having -perhaps been made on the girl, and she too frightened to tell; but as -I said, if that sort of thing was new to her, a girl’s first impulse -would be to rush to her mother with the story, and if she didn’t, it -only showed that she thought nothing of it. - -MRS. AKERS (_thoughtfully_): I wonder if _I_ could get anything out of -her? I’ve a very good mind to go home that way. One dreads having to -deal with this sort of sad case, but after all, it’s charity. I could -put the old grandmother into her place once and for all, as you say -she’s disposed to be tiresome, and make Fanny herself understand that -we only want to help her. After all, we’ve all read our Bible, I hope: -“Which amongst you shall cast the first stone?” - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: As the mother of a girl myself, I was wondering if _I_ -ought not to talk to Fanny, perhaps. Goodness knows, it’s a miserable -affair, but the world is what it is, and it’s no use _shrinking_ from -these things. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS (_displeased_): As it was I who made this very sad and -perplexing discovery, I think I had better be the person to see the -business through. Naturally, one consults the Committee, but I can’t -help feeling that there had better be only one intermediary between the -Committee and the girl’s family. It’s more business-like, and one must -be business-like. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: Oh, certainly! - -MRS. AKERS: But this isn’t an official meeting, is it? We’ve had no -notes taken, or anything. And we haven’t passed any resolution. Now, I -should like to propose that I write to-night to St. Mary Magdalene’s -Home and try and arrange to get Fanny taken in there as soon as -possible, and kept till after the birth of the child. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: I second that. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Proposed and seconded. Those in favour--(_they each -lift up a hand_). Those against.... Carried unanimously, I think. - -MRS. AKERS: Now, is there anything more we can do? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: I don’t think so. If there are any further -developments, I will let you know, of course. I mean, if one can get -any admission out of the girl, for instance. She seemed to me perfectly -stolid and bewildered, but one doesn’t want to risk upsetting her, -naturally. It would be extremely annoying if anything happened before -we can get her away. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: What did they say about her health? Is she all right? - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: Perfectly all right. Why shouldn’t she be--a young, -healthy girl like that! - -MRS. AKERS: After all, it’s nature. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: I don’t call it nature at all, at fifteen. I call -it _sin_. (_Rises, and goes to put on her coat. The other two remain -seated._) - -MRS. BALLANTYNE (_shuddering_): Fifteen! Just think of it! My Phyllis -is only two years older. Thank heaven, I’ve been able to keep her as -innocent as a baby. She knows _nothing_--absolutely nothing. - -MRS. AKERS: Innocence is such a safeguard. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: What I shall tell her about this meeting, I really -don’t know. Unfortunately, she knew where I was coming, and I shall -have to invent something to tell her in case she asks any questions -about it, as she’s certain to do. Luckily, I think she trusts me -absolutely. - -MRS. AKERS: Come home to tea with me, dear Mrs. Ballantyne. It will -help to take both our minds off the whole sad subject. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: How very kind of you! I should love to. We must try -and forget all about it for the time being. - -MRS. AKERS: I can’t help wondering how Fanny could have managed to -deceive her mother for so long. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: I must say, I should have thought any woman with eyes -in her head---- - -MRS. AKERS: Yes, and besides, why didn’t the girl, if she was a -respectable girl, go _straight_ to her mother when---- - -(_Mrs. Akers and Mrs. Ballantyne, lean across the table, talking busily -about Fanny’s behaviour, both at once. Meanwhile Mrs. Lloyd-Evans, -who has now got her furs on, stands as though listening to some sound -outside the door, unnoticed by the other two. She tiptoes rapidly to -the door and flings it open. Miss Miller is crouching outside, having -evidently been listening. One side of her face is scarlet where it has -been pressed to the door, the other white. She rises awkwardly as the -door opens, but not before they have all seen her._) - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS: I _thought_ so! - -MISS MILLER (_wildly_): What did you think, Mrs. Lloyd-Evans? That I’ve -been listening at the door? So I have! That I’ve overheard all your -charitable plans for Fanny Smith and her illegitimate child? So I have! - -MRS. AKERS: You should be ashamed of yourself. - -MRS. BALLANTYNE: What’s the meaning of this? - -MISS MILLER: I’ll tell you. You said just now that the world is what it -is--there’s no use in shrinking from things--shrinking from them! Ha, -ha, ha! (_she laughs hysterically_). You’re a great deal more likely to -jump at them. But if you want to have my explanation, you shall have it. - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS (_pointing to the door_): Miss Miller, leave the room. - -(_Miss Miller looks at her, still laughing, then turns the key in the -door, shutting and locking it._) - -MISS MILLER: I shan’t leave the room, nor you either, till you’ve heard -what I’ve got to say. - -MRS. AKERS: Good heavens, she’s mad! - -MRS. LLOYD-EVANS (_advancing resolutely_): Give me that key this moment -(_putting out her hand for it_). - -(_Miss Miller, too quick for her, dashes to the window, throwing up the -sash, and flings out the key. During the rest of the scene she stands -with her back to the open window, while the three other women are -grouped together behind the table, at the further side of the room._) - -MISS MILLER (_her voice has grown cunning, and bitterly and vehemently -ironical both at once. She gives the impression of dementia_): _I_ -knew what you were going to talk about. _She_ (_pointing to Mrs. -Akers_) gave it away when she said it must be “the usual thing.” Of -course I listened, to hear what you’d do for Fanny--poor Fanny, who’s -going to bring a little baby into the world, and who’s been ill and -terrified and unhappy, all these months. And you (_to Mrs. Lloyd-Evans, -bitter mockery in her tone_) found it out, and you asked these other -kind, charitable, rich ladies to come and meet you here, so that you -could all talk it over, and make plans about Fanny. (_Suddenly and -viciously_): And oh, how you all _enjoyed_ it--didn’t you--telling each -other how painful it was, and how sad, and how you could hardly put it -into words! - -(_Fiercely_): Why, you nearly scratched one another’s eyes out for the -fun of going to Fanny’s mother, and “putting the old grandmother into -her place” and putting Fanny through the Third Degree, nagging and -nagging at her to _tell_, so that you could hear more shocking details, -and come and gloat over them. - -(_Mimicking_): “Oh, but we want to help her,” and “girlhood is so -_sacred_.” (_To Mrs. Ballantyne_): Yes, you said that several times, -didn’t you, you who are so thankful that your girl _trusts_ you--so -that when you cheat her and tell little lies for her own good, the poor -little fool swallows it. She won’t always swallow it, you know--she’ll -find you out one day. Just like I’ve found out, what charity means and -what’s done to girls who sin and get found out. I had to know, you see, -because--I’ve done what Fanny did---- - -(_The women cry out, below their breath._) - -MISS MILLER: You needn’t be frightened--it isn’t anyone down here. -That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it--that it may all end up tamely -after all, with a hasty marriage, and nothing left to talk about! -You’d like to hustle me away, like Fanny, to somewhere that will take -your money, and make you feel all nice and glowing and charitable--and -where they’ll “take away the baby, and the mother probably never sets -eyes on it at all.” To be allowed to keep it, would “put a premium on -immorality” wouldn’t it? Ha, ha, ha! I’ve been frightened all these -weeks, but I’m not frightened any more now. Something went snap inside -my head, I think, all in a minute, while I was listening to all of -you. I’d thought of appealing to you, you see--such kind ladies, all -given over to works of charity! If you’re the _charitable_ (_laughing -wildly_) what would _other_ people say? No, no, no--I’ll not be like -Fanny, I’ve thought of a better plan than any of yours! - -(_She springs on to the sill of the open window. Mrs. Akers cries “Stop -her!” and they dash forward, but the table impedes them, and Miss -Miller, still laughing, throws herself out._ - -_The curtain falls as Mrs. Lloyd-Evans, screaming, pulls at the locked -door, and the other two women throw themselves against the window and -look downwards._) - - -THE END - - -PRINTED BY THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX, ENGLAND. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - - The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber using - the original cover and is entered into the public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MESSALINA OF THE SUBURBS *** - -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. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |