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diff --git a/78201-h/78201-h.htm b/78201-h/78201-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cbfc694 --- /dev/null +++ b/78201-h/78201-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,23804 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Daphne Bruno, by Ernest Raymond +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78201 ***</div> + +<h1> +<br><br> + DAPHNE BRUNO<br> +</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> + ERNEST RAYMOND<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + AUTHOR OF "THE SHOUT OF THE KING," "DAMASCUS GATE,"<br> + "TELL ENGLAND," ETC., ETC.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + NEW YORK<br> + GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + COPYRIGHT, 1926,<br> + BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + DAPHNE BRUNO<br> + — A —<br> + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +CONTENTS +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap00b">THE END OF THE LONG PROLOGUE</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0101">PART I: LES TRACAS DES ENFANTS</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0206">PART II: DAPHNE'S SCHOOLDAYS</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0314">PART III: DAPHNE'S ROMANCE</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap0423">PART IV: THINGS AS THEY ARE</a> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap00b"></a></p> + +<p class="t2"> +DAPHNE BRUNO +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h2> +THE END OF THE LONG PROLOGUE +</h2> + +<p class="t3"> +I +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thomas Tenter Bruno, sitting beside his +writing-table, with the revolving arm-chair swung round so +that his legs could stretch past the drawers and his arm rest +along the blotting-pad, stared musingly at the wall. The pained +set of his mouth and the lift of his eyebrows showed that his +thoughts, though they might often graze afield, were none the +less tethered to a fixed anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +Had he been sitting with the grace he assumed in public +rooms, instead of so relaxed a port, his appearance and his +surroundings would have excellently suited a presentation +portrait of T. Tenter Bruno, Esq. For on the writing-table were +sheets of paper, a silver ink-pot and a pen—the very symbols of +his craft; and in the background rose shelves of books, the +finished product of his kind and the true setting of his life. On +one shelf was a row of fifteen volumes, with fifteen titles, over +one author's name—"T. Tenter Bruno." Above them and +below them, and on either side of them, were the works of +Hume, Johnson, Burke, Bentham, Hazlitt, Lamb, Landor, De +Quincey, Mill, and all the other critics, essayists and economists +in whose company Mr. Tenter Bruno considered that his books +might without presumption take their seat. +</p> + +<p> +In these days (two decades before Victoria died), when men +wore side-whiskers or moustaches and double-breasted frock-coats, +Mr. Tenter Bruno wore a trim, pointed beard and a short-coated +grey suit, perfectly tailored. The grey suit was almost +as constant as the beard. In daytime, at any rate, Mr. Bruno +was as likely to be seen with a shaven chin as in anything but +a grey suit. It was hardly that he dressed the part of a literary +artist, since he affected to despise those unpublished brothers +who could only be known for great men by the length of their +hair, the languor in their walk, and the lawlessness of their ties. +The perfect precision of his grey suit, the uprightness of his +tall, slender figure, and the neatness of his beard were a +challenge to nincompoopdom. But (he admitted this to no one, not +even his wife) it was best to have some sort of professional +appearance—something that differentiated you from the +unfamed multitude—something that the Press-picture left firmly +on the memory for the paragraph writer to harp upon and foolish +women to gossip about. To his wife the beard had been +explained as necessary owing to the excessive tenderness of his +skin (a tenderness which no man yet regarded as anything but +a credit to him) and the grey suit was attributed to a very nice +taste. +</p> + +<p> +In reality Mr. Tenter Bruno's creation of his private and, +as it were, patented exterior was rooted in his contempt for the +crowd. There was no doubt whatever that a platform appearance +and other food for the literary chatterer were commercial +assets; and if people were such fools as to buy a writer's books +more readily after tattling about his clothes, any wise man would +keep their tattling green. At one time he even played with the +humour to be a vegetarian and a teetotaller, but his love of +comfort was more than his desire to have these interesting things +written about him. As he put it to himself, the occasional +paragraph was a pleasant thing, but an assured and adequate +dinner every day was a greater. +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at his study door, but he decided not to +hear it, remembering that he was anxious. Not that his anxiety +was humbug, for it was very real indeed; but, since it was +there, it might at least have the credit of its full dimensions. So +he let the servant knock again. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, come in," said he patiently; and there entered a big-hipped, +comfortable servant of about forty-five years, in a +dress of powder-blue cotton and a plain apron. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, excuse me, sir," begged the woman pleasantly, "but +won't you have a cuppa-tea? What I mean to say is: a nice +little bit of breaden-butter with a potta-tea. I'll bring it to +you here, sir. It's after four o'clock, and we're having ours +in the kitchen; and we couldn't bear to think of you sitting here, +and sort of—what I call—having nothing. And I'm sure you +ate nothing at lunch." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno had heard the tea-bell and ignored it, and now +would have liked a cup of tea, for his mouth was unpleasant; +but this good woman's doubts whether during an emotional crisis +he would take tea prompted him in a moment of weakness to +reject the offer. +</p> + +<p> +"No, thank you, Hollins. I don't think I'm wanting anything +just now." +</p> + +<p> +He saw all that was happening in Hollins' mind. The good +woman, while persuading herself that she was disappointed +at this refusal, was really pleased that her master's suspense +should be so interesting. And along with her conviction that +persistence was the interesting part for her to play went a real +desire to minister to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I should, sir, if I were you. Just a nice little cup, +and a thin slice a-breaden-butter. I mean, you want to sort +of—what I call—keep up, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well, oh, well," agreed Mr. Bruno, swinging his chair +so that he faced his papers and his pen, and taking up a sheet +and dropping it, "bring it along." He thought that perhaps he +would drink it and perhaps he would leave it untouched to +provide an interesting topic of conversation in the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +"That's right. And I'll just make it a little comfortable +in here. Why, you've almost let the fire go out." +</p> + +<p> +He glanced obediently at the fire. It was powdery with decay. +This rather pleased him, as proving that, despite all postures, +his anxiety had really been his master. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, we'll soon have a cheerful bitta flare here," said Hollins, +kneeling down with difficulty and rather heavily, while +Mr. Bruno, in his mind, was providing her with her next +words: "There's nothing like a bit of a coal fire to cheer you +up." +</p> + +<p> +Hollins took the poker and probed the embers with the delicacy +of a surgeon whose scalpel was more in danger of killing +than curing. Over the moribund glow she arranged some small +coals, like a child building bricks, and then swept the hearth. +"There's nothing like a bit of a coal fire to cheer you up," +said she; and, being a heavy woman, got up with as many +divided motions as a camel. The window curtains required +straightening, so while this was being done, and till she was +gone out, Mr. Bruno drew parallel lines on a piece of paper. +</p> + +<p> +The closing of the door suggested that he sought some +new occupation for his mind. He rose and walked towards +the book shelves. He was examining his present condition with +the detachment of a literary artist; indeed, the whole affair +was, to him, an exceedingly familiar literary incident, on +which the trite comment was the truest: +</p> + +<p> +"This is one of my great hours." +</p> + +<p> +His eye fell on the fifteen volumes bearing his name. +It was always good to see this long chain of Tenter Brunos +among the works of immortal essayists. He took down a +volume issued from the house of his American publisher, and +on a slip inside it read the enthusiastic praise of its +contents. +</p> + +<p> +"No one can afford to neglect the writings of Mr. T. Tenter +Bruno. With great critical acumen he combines pungent wit, +gay humour and a coruscating style. ('Disgusting bit of prose, +that,' thought Mr. Bruno.) His reach is ubiquitous; he seems +to write with equal scholarship on literature, art, music, history, +sociology and political economy." +</p> + +<p> +He replaced the book. Even if one discounted half of the +American publisher's cheers, the residue spoke of a triumph. +And though Mr. Bruno had enjoyed this fine fame for fifteen +years, there were still times when it seemed too good to be +true, and he wondered if it were a dream from which he +would wake up to find himself an unrecognised aspirant of +forty, bombarding publishers but abandoning hope. +</p> + +<p> +But no; he had been successful from the beginning. He +had been carried to Harrow on a brilliant scholarship from +one of the cheaper preparatory schools; and there his master +had said, as he entered his name: +</p> + +<p> +"'T. Tenter Bruno!' Good lord, what a name! With +a name like that you ought to go in for being a literary +pundit or something. I mean, it inspires confidence, Bruno; +and once heard is not easily forgotten. I mean, it sticks and +festers in the memory like a poisoned dart. With a name +like that, and a few eccentricities like Byron's curl, and a +modicum of natural gifts, which apparently you possess, why, +Bruno, you might go far." +</p> + +<p> +Young Bruno thought the same. Every talent he possessed +he built into the genius of a great critic, essayist and +philosopher. A famous university prize brought his name before +the world of letters. For a few years he was assistant editor +of a critical journal. Every spring he published a volume, +and each volume made ripples wider than the last, till he +was in a position so secure that he needed not to call any +editor master, but could retire to his study and write what +books and articles he pleased. +</p> + +<p> +On the whole, then, he was satisfied. Occasionally he would +have liked to live with a larger flourish, instead of in a small +country house with one old servant and an undermaid. And he +could have done so if two tyrant weaknesses had not always +quashed the impulse—the one a timidity that dreaded a failing +wit and its consequence, a falling revenue, and the other +a settled indolence which made him prefer studying in an +arm-chair to creating at his desk. +</p> + +<p> +A tray of tea-things clattered outside, and he walked +rather quickly back to his chair. Why he did this he hardly +knew; perhaps because he wanted Hollins to tell the maid +that he had never stirred all the afternoon. And as he sat +down, he rebuked himself for the thought; it was contemptible +to expose his anxiety for the study of his servants, like an +interesting specimen on a pin. +</p> + +<p> +He heard the corner of the tray rested against the jamb +of the door, while Hollins freed one hand to turn the knob. +</p> + +<p> +"There you are, sir. I've made it nice and strong."—His +brain instantly provided her with her next words: "It <i>do</i> put +new life in you, a cuppa-tea."—"It <i>do</i> put new life in you, +as I always say myself," continued Hollins. "And I should +be inclined to kind of eat something. I've boiled you an egg +in case it should take your fancy." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, Hollins, thank you." His manner with his +servants and their devotion were a pride with him. +</p> + +<p> +The thought of the egg was appetizing; and he ate and +enjoyed it so much that he wished it had been two. The +tea raised his optimism and expelled his anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"Everything'll be all right with little Sheila, of course. +It's no use picturing the worst. I'll read." +</p> + +<p> +He pushed the tray to one side, and from a little +book-stand on the desk took a new volume. It quickly interested +him. Only the tiring of his eyes, as the room darkened +with the fall of a February evening, told him how the hours +were passing. Outside in the passage an opal-glass +lamp-shade jingled on its stand, and a moving ribbon of light +appeared beneath the door. It would be Hollins bringing a +light. +</p> + +<p> +As she entered and rested the lamp on his desk, he felt +rather guilty to be reading, but refused, this time, to hide +the fact. She drew the curtains, and went out, taking the +tray with her. Mr. Bruno turned again to his volume. It +stimulated him sufficiently to demand pencilled annotations, +and he was lost in this task when a bell gongled alarm +through the house. His heart jumped; and the bell, repeating +itself, jarred his nerves. +</p> + +<p> +Voices in the hall: "Bruno?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +The telegram, beyond a doubt. +</p> + +<p> +Hollins entered, as delighted and funereal as every one +is who carries a telegram. With fingers that fumbled, +Mr. Bruno opened the envelope. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Daughter. Wife doing splendidly.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +His eyebrows went up. "A daughter. H'm!" But his +momentary disappointment was lost in an uprushing, swelling +tenderness. In a voice, not under perfect control, he said to +Hollins: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes.... Oh, an answer? ... No, no answer. I +shall be there as quickly myself." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." Hollins went out to the messenger, but her +excitement was like a stretching elastic that drew her +immediately back to her master's study. "Yes, sir, I've told +the boy; and is there——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Hollins, Mr. Spencer told me he would lend me his +trap, if I needed it. You might go—or send Agnes round +and ask for it. Old Eadigo's there, and will bring it." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir. And may I—what I mean to say is—is +everything all right?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, magnificent, Hollins." Stirred by excitement, +Mr. Bruno forgot that he ever postured, or that he had felt a +second's disappointment at the sex of his child. "I've got +a daughter." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, there now!" said Hollins. "A little daughter. I +do congratulate you, sir. The noos has just come, has it? +And I shall always be able to remember that I brought you +the noos. I shall be able to tell her that. And it's a little +baby girl, is it? I like a little girl for the first one." +</p> + +<p> +She moved towards the door, but her master wanted to +continue talking. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, a girl. What shall we call her, Hollins?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, sir, that'll sort of take some thinking about, won't +it? Will you call her after her mother, sir?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, that's shirking trouble. Something original, I think." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," agreed Hollins vaguely, for the elastic was pulling +towards the kitchen now. "I'll just go and—and send Agnes +for that trap. I'll be back in a minute." +</p> + +<p> +The kitchen of this country house was only a dozen +flagstones away, and Hollins was soon back. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you think of 'Daphne Deirdre Tenter Bruno,' Hollins?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins tried to look intelligent and pleased; and Mr. Bruno +explained more slowly: "Daphne—Deirdre"; and his smile +widened. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, yes, sir, those sound very nice. But I expect the +mistress'll have her ideas.... I'll get your hat and coat." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno walked up and down, repeating: +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne Deirdre Tenter Bruno.... Daphne Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +He was in the power of that up-swelling tenderness. His +mind, ever penetrating and introspective, could examine that +tenderness and see that, whether or not it were soiled by time, +at the moment it was utterly selfless, and charged with reverence +and humility. "She's no one but me"; the thoughts were +running; "Good lord, I wish I were better.... My +influence will be immeasurable.... She must be good.... +It's unthinkable that she should be bad...." With a heart +filling and filling from the reservoir of these thoughts, he +pictured her at every age: one year old and crawling about the +floor; three or five, and scrambling over his knees; seven or +eight, and playing with a spade on holiday sands; in her +school when he came to visit her; a long slim girl of sixteen, +slim like the plait down her back; a bride in white and +silver. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +II +</p> + +<p> +Wrapped in a thick overcoat, muffler and driving gloves, +he walked impatiently up and down the study, now and +then clapping his gloved hands. Like all men who could drive +well, and yet could not afford a horse, he always felt rather +proud when dressed for the box seat and waiting for the reins. +</p> + +<p> +"Curse that old Eadigo! Why can't he hurry? Phlegmatic +old fool! Hollins has no doubt told him the news +with an indecent exuberance, and if he had the imagination of +one of his turnips, he'd guess what I'm feeling." +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of wheels on the drive and of a voice +gibbering to a pony, he glanced out of the window and +in the light thrown by the open hall door, saw Eadigo standing +near the horse's head. Eadigo was Mr. Spencer's gardener, +who came for two days a week to work on Mr. Bruno's +much smaller plot. Mr. Bruno, looking out at him with the +detached amusement of a critic, saw a large, corpulent man in +a blue serge waistcoat and trousers that had once been +Mr. Spencer's. These trousers, enabled by some triangular +insertions of Mrs. Eadigo's to surround her husband's paunch, stayed +there, as the open waistcoat showed, without aid from braces +or belt: palpably they needed none, being less likely to fall than +to fissure. +</p> + +<p> +Eadigo, who never dreamed of taking an uncovered head +into the air—not through fear of catching cold, but simply +because the two ideas of open air and a hat were inseparable—was +wearing a soiled felt hat discarded and given to him by +Mr. Bruno three years before. It was too small; and perhaps +to give it an appearance of being larger, the brim was turned +down all round. Mr. Bruno could see the sweat-stains round +the faded ribbon, and remembered how God had promised +such things to Adam in a garden. He heard Hollins bustle +out to Eadigo and say: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you <i>have</i> been a time! The master's in a hurry. +Naturally." +</p> + +<p> +And the even voice of the gardener returned: +</p> + +<p> +"It's ready for 'e. 'E can have it anywhen now." +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for Hollins, Mr. Bruno walked out and +mounted to the seat and took the reins. +</p> + +<p> +"Lamps all right, Eadigo?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yessir." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, get away, Nipper." +</p> + +<p> +The horse, fresh from little use, clattered out of the open +gate onto the country road. It was the last moments before the +final darkness, and the stars were in possession. On one side +of the road, the tall beeches, looking more slender and tapering +than in the daylight, stretched their bared branches like long +tenuous arms towards the sky. On the other side a line of +Austrian firs, marking a private park, stood dense and black +against a sea-green glow. The road ran along high ground; +and as it left these skirting trees, Mr. Bruno overlooked the +waving weld of Sussex. The sea-green glow sang in the +west, its answering light in the east; and now the candle-lamps +of the trap shone at their prime. The monotonous clatter +of Nipper charmed Mr. Bruno into a reverie. +</p> + +<p> +It was picturesque, this driving to find his baby girl. But +though the drama of it pleased him, he knew that this was +but a small part of his emotion. That tenderness and excitement +was crowding into a corner all lesser thoughts. He examined +it again, happy about it. "Daphne Bruno." A little +girl... then a slip of a school-miss, satchelled... seventeen +years, and a tall, affectionate sapling, with her own +concealed emotions... a lover in the embrace of some long +youth—his heart beat quicker at the thought of this—and then, +a bride—from which point he cared not to carry on the +picture. And she was born from him; she was out of him. +</p> + +<p> +By God! he must do his part by her. Humbly, Mr. Bruno, +as he flicked the pony, felt that he was being lifted to a +moment of nobility. With a grim smile he wondered if it would +last. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Clop</i>-clip, <i>clop</i>-clip, <i>clop</i>-clip." Nipper's hoofs, in the +darkness, knocked a spark from a flint. Mr. Bruno, in his +waking dream, touched the beast again. +</p> + +<p> +All his books were written from one viewpoint: that of +a detached mocking at convention. They proclaimed the right +of the artist to accept nothing on authority, either in religion +or in art, but to build his own authority out of his own +experience. With the rest of the thinking world (as it +appeared to him) in that latter half of the century, he had +rejected Christianity; with many artists, though he was proud +to be unplacable in any school, he had questioned the accepted +canons of art. This mocking viewpoint he had kept consistent. +His readers might believe that behind it was a philosophy +of his own. They might believe that he spoke from some +sure though hidden ground; that he at least had found a code +by which to live, and thus achieved his integrity. And indeed, +some of his followers had written articles on "The True +Philosophy of Tenter Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Bruno, driving to his daughter, knew that he +had achieved no such thing. He felt dissatisfied with his +management of life. He was vain, thought he, and indolent +and selfish; and when all brilliant theories were puffed away, he +knew that he had an unconquerable conviction that vanity, +indolence and selfishness were wrong. And there was a +corruptive falsity, his keen mind told him, in his whole position; +for, while intellectually a revolutionary, he had no courage +to be a libertine; he wrote it all from his brain, while his will +allowed his life to drift conventionally enough. If only he had +really found a sure code, that he might give it to this little +girl—or, rather, to that long, slim girl, slim as the plait down +her back! ... She would have brains. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to vow that henceforth there's to be one good +thing in my life: my self-effacing service of her." The shoulders +of the sceptic shrugged in distrust of himself. +</p> + +<p> +With tenderness, too, he thought of his wife; and his +head shook, regretfully. Poor little Sheila, she hadn't had much +of a time. He saw her as she was at their first meeting: +a little fair-haired thing of twenty, beautifully frail, eighteen +years younger than he. He studied how he had come to marry +her. All his life he had waited in the hope that he would +fall in love with some one, but the monopolizing love of his +own books had kept other loves out of doors. Still, the one last +sentimentality had persisted in him, this hope that love would +arrive and last for ever. Then came this exquisite little creature +(as his fancy had seen her), bringing a manifest adoration—and +the thought of possessing her had been sweet. How +delighted she had been with the attentions of so famous a man! +In her feebleness she had rather thrown herself at him. He +had begun to wonder if he was in love with her, and had +given answer: "Yes, since I am nearly forty, if this be +not love, no other will come." So they had become engaged. +And though before marriage he had discovered the poverty +of her mind, he had lacked the strength to withdraw—and +the cruelty. Chaffingly surrounding her with a haze of adjectives, +"frail," "fay," "gossamer," "little Thistledown," he had +kept his promise and married her. +</p> + +<p> +"She's mindless ... little ... weak ... cowardly," +muttered he to the horse's crupper. +</p> + +<p> +It had hurt his pride that he had given himself to one +intellectually so far beneath him. Self-pityingly he would +remember the wives of other famous men, whose gifts had +largely made their husbands what they were. Poor little Sheila. +And now she mooned rather dully about his cottage. Doubtless +her illusions had been as short-lived as his. Henceforward all +must be different. He, as well as she—hang it all!—had +undertaken duties in marriage.... And he was the stronger +and wiser. +</p> + +<p> +Pity for her filled him. +</p> + +<p> +Pity. The word was the bell-note for all the emotion in him +to-night. Perhaps it was the key-word to a philosophy. One +could not know much in this dark and candle-lit world, but +one could hang on to pity. One could wander at will in +search of other secrets about religion and art, but one must +keep tight hold of pity. +</p> + +<p> +"What pity ordains is right; what pity condemns is wrong +... when all's said and written and done, everything in me knows +that much to be true...." He saw the long, slim Daphne +again. "I shall teach her that, if nothing else." +</p> + +<p> +Relief came to Mr. Tenter Bruno, for this idea had a face +as of revelation. And the cynic in him laughed that he should +have suddenly seen a newness in anything so old. Old! Ghosts +of old philosophers began to do battle in the grey lists of his +mind for the principle of man's inherent benevolence—Hobbes +and Jeremy Bentham, Hartley and Paley, Shaftesbury and +Hutcheson and Hume. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Clop</i>-clip, <i>clop</i>-clip, <i>clop</i>-clip." He was hearing Nipper's +hoofs again. +</p> + +<p> +And then a horrid thought leapt up. Supposing this Daphne +were deformed in any way; supposing she were an imbecile; or +blind; or deaf and dumb; or had some freakish limb! +Supposing the Christian God had punished his sedition like that! +The telegram had only said: "Daughter. Wife doing +splendidly." Not "Both doing splendidly." Good God, not +"<i>both!</i>" He pictured the news being broken to him before he was taken +to see her. +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense!" He pulled himself together, and urged the +horse to a canter. "She'll be beautiful, because her mother's +beautiful; and she'll have brains." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +III +</p> + +<p> +While Hollins was bringing tea to her master, before the +bell jangled through the house, Sheila Bruno was lying +back on her bed suffering her final pains. A nurse watched +her as they waited for the doctor. The nurse, seeing many +such month by month, was not easily moved, but her patient +of to-day seemed like a child who was bearing too early; and, +even in her suffering, she held her beauty. Her hair, very fair, +was of the fuzzier sort that looked as pleasant when tumbled +as when tidy, and her lids were down over childish cheeks in +an abandonment to pain that was almost calm. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila Bruno's eyes were closed because she had no interest +in the world beyond her racked body. Pain filled her mind, +leaving room for no altruistic thought. All that she wanted +was to die and be done with pain. She could not care +that it left her husband deserted and her baby motherless; she +could not think for them. Somewhere in her pain-filled thoughts +she felt ashamed that it should be so. Labours! Maternity! +Why, she could still only think of herself as a fifteen-year-old +schoolgirl, punishable by mistresses; she felt no different in +mind or body from what she was at fifteen. +</p> + +<p> +Somewhere lurked shame and despair of herself. From +the beginning her thoughts about this baby had caused her +secret shame. Instead of being delighted at the prospect of +its coming—as were all the good wives she had read about, +and as she pretended to be—she had only been frightened, +exasperated and rebellious. She had made the futile effort +to think of it prettily as her husband's child, and to love it +and him the more; but in her months of sickness and +disfigurement this thought had actually worked an opposite result. +It had encouraged criticism and dislike of him. There had +come to the surface of her mind thoughts that hitherto she +had kept submerged. He had marred her life by marrying +her—that was the unveiled truth of it. Almost she might say +he had tricked her. He had seemed so wonderful—with his +brilliance, his tall and graceful presence and his courtesy. And +she had paid out everything for the prize, her whole future +and the right to love again. Then in a few months he had +cast off all ceremonial vesture, probably because its wearing +was too much of an effort. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, life was a roomful of pain. If only she could die! +What matter if it were cowardice? Let her admit her +feebleness and die. Once she was blotted out in death, her +self-contempt would not worry her. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, this miserable, hard, business-like room in the nursing +home! Even her death would be a failure in a white box of +a room like this. Why had she come here? It was wrong of +Tom to send her. Of course, she had wanted to come, so +as to go through an experience that she expected might defeat +her courage, away from her husband and servants. But just +now she chose to forget her willingness in order that she +might keep her grievance against Tom. Why had he sent her +here? It was a thing seldom done. Despite all his talk about +her greater comfort, the greater facilities available, and their +isolation in the country, she suspected that the contemplation +of his own ease had not been absent, nor a satisfaction in the +unconventionality of such a step. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I hate him." +</p> + +<p> +And since she hated him, she had better die, for there +was nothing before her except a long life of dull exasperation. +She was a failure. Best admit it, and go upon the scrap-heap. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, this pain! And this underground stream of aching +thoughts that kept appearing above the surface! Sometimes +sharper agonies made her abandon thinking and only suffer. +Voices far away and yet near-by reminded her of nursery +days. +</p> + +<p> +A crowning, unbelievable agony.... And then peace—lovely +liberation and forgetful rest. This was the beginning of death, +sweet like drowning. The voices were still about her, and +there was a new voice, a crying voice like a baby's. Sheila's +heart stirred, as she had always read it would: it must be the +voice of her child, the thing dragged from her and now living +its own independent life. She who had been <i>one</i> a few minutes +ago was now two. That other one was she—and alone now, +poor lonely little darling. Her consciousness cleared, and, +wondering with a thrilled anticipation if it were a boy or a girl, +she opened her eyes and saw the nurse by her bed. +</p> + +<p> +"Splendid, dear, you were splendid; and you've got a little +daughter." +</p> + +<p> +A disappointment at the word "daughter" was rolled aside +by an out-stream of love and excitement. And her relief from +agony made her feel gay. She stared up at the nurse with +an unintelligent smile, wondering what they did next. +</p> + +<p> +The nurse was leaning a bundle forward to show her +something in its cowl-like opening: a tiny model of a human +face, complete with smooth brow, eyelashes, nose, and lips +and chin. It was placid now, with its eyelids down. She +looked at it for a long time, riveted; and at length, without +a word, shut her eyes.... Oh, the adorable, incredible little +thing! It brought a recurring glow, the recollection of that +little face. Sheila felt exultant—perhaps hysterically so, for +she was ready to pour out a mixture of crying and laughter. +The pain, now that it had receded into memory, seemed nothing +so very terrible after all, and she wondered why people made +such a fuss about it. +</p> + +<p> +Downstairs the hall door closed. Ah, the matron was +sending to Tom. How delightful to have this news to send him! +An hour ago she had thought she hated him, and here was +she imagining delight at his excitement! She began to +enwrap him with her tenderness. After all, perhaps he had +as much to criticise in her as she had in him. In some ways +she had tricked him too. Had she not used every art to appear +before him as beautiful? Had she not tried to appear more +cultured than she was? Had she not often lied—that was what +it amounted to—in representing her education as much finer +than it had been, and her circle of friends as much more +impressive? After marriage, Tom, with his penetration, must quickly +have found her out. She wondered that he had not done so +before. Yes, he had claims on her which she had disappointed: +henceforth she must always remember that. +</p> + +<p> +She imagined all that was happening in the cottage. Hollins, +dear, stout old Hollins, how full she would be of the news! +And Tom, of course, was getting the trap from Mr. Spencer's. +In less than half an hour he would be here. She saw him +mounting to the driver's seat, and clattering out of the gate +along the country road. She saw the trap moving through the +daylight, till, noticing that her gas had been lit and curtains +drawn, she changed the picture into a night scene. There +came the yellow candle-lamps, and Nipper tossing up his head +as he trotted over the ringing road. Now Tom had probably +reached Shadwell Green and was driving along the mossy, +listing wall of The Ballards. That would mean that he would +be here in less than ten minutes. +</p> + +<p> +A short, timid ring at the front door set excitement a-tremble. +Yes, that was Tom's voice, rather stuttering and nervous. And +here was the matron bringing him upstairs. The door opened, +and Sheila turned her head towards it. +</p> + +<p> +"Hallo, dear." +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila, darling! Why, you look rosy. One'd think you +were resting after a tennis match." +</p> + +<p> +She parried this with a smile and glanced towards the cot +at the fire. +</p> + +<p> +"There it is." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno carried to the cot his fear that there might +be something amiss. The thought, "One second now, and I +shall know," accompanied his steps. But no hare-lip or fingerless +hand met his eyes: instead he saw the sleeping face, turned +on its side, with its perfect little nose and chin, dropped lids +and exquisite ear. One hand showed above the blanket, palm +downward. +</p> + +<p> +It broke one's breath. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila was speaking. "Isn't she like you? And I'm sure +she'll grow up and adore you much more than she will me. Girls +always do." +</p> + +<p> +A quick vision of the long, slim Daphne stirred his heart. +He bent down to study the features again, trying to imagine +them fifteen—nineteen years hence. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +IV +</p> + +<p> +When Daphne was brought to her father's door, Hollins +received her with the expected magnificat. +</p> + +<p> +"Now let me take her, ma'am. The love! You must +be tired, and you must go sort of—what I call—easy. Let +me take her.... Well, there's a beauty. O ma'am, she's +a cherub! And ain't she the living image of you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be absurd," corrected Mrs. Bruno, as she passed +into the cottage. "Why, I'm seeing more and more likeness +to her father every day." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, yes." Hollins touched the little face with an ingratiating +giggle. "She is like the master, but she favours you +too, ma'am. Oh, yes, you favour your mummy, miss, don't +you? Oh, what big wondering eyes!" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Hollins, being a widow and the mother of an only +child who died young, was determined by right of this +experience to take a leading part in the management of her +mistress's little girl. She felt as if at last she had come into +her own. Very deliberately had she taken the purchase of +nursery equipment out of the incompetent hands of her master +and mistress. +</p> + +<p> +The best of her purchases was the princely perambulator +in which young Mrs. Bruno took her daughter for a ride +the following day. As she pushed the carriage towards the +garden-gate, half nervous of taking this public confession of +her motherhood into the highways, and half proud, she saw +Eadigo stooping over a flower-bed. His waistcoat, as usual, +hung open; and on his crown was the hat, a small and greasy +derelict, that she could remember being often raised from +her husband's head in the days of their courtship. Her heart +absurdly quickened with anticipation of his comment. The +sound of the perambulator on the gravel caused him to look up, +and he touched his cap and turned to his bed. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila paused. Their gardener was a person she liked to +chaff, and it was not to be suffered that he should say no +word on such an occasion. No matter if he did think this +appearance of a baby in the world as of the same order, and +no more interesting than the appearance above ground of one +of his onions. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Eadigo," said she, stopping the perambulator, and +holding it with one hand while she stood sideways and faced +the flower-bed. She was conscious, as she naturally assumed +this position, that she was pleasurably imitating all her sisters +of the perambulator. "Don't you want to see my little girl?" +</p> + +<p> +He glanced up again and straightened himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mum." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, there she is." +</p> + +<p> +Eadigo looked into the carriage and said: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mum, she be there right enough." +</p> + +<p> +"Think she's nice?" +</p> + +<p> +Eadigo turned back to his bed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, mum, it's early yet." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose so," agreed Mrs. Bruno, pushing the pram +on. "And she'll improve as she gets bigger." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne's improvements, her father used to declare, were +chiefly physical. She improved herself out of long clothes +into short ones, and out of her wicker cradle into a fine +cot, and out of her shoes and socks twenty times a day. +She improved her squinting into a straight if rather doubtful +stare. She improved her early screaming into gurgling and +chuckling, which her father maintained was the greatest +improvement of all. +</p> + +<p> +Generally these remarks were made at meal-times when +Daphne, or "Duffy," as he now called her, was at play upon +the floor. He liked to watch her and to offer a witty and polished +commentary; or sometimes just a crudely humorous one, since +it was only for the home and not for publication. As Daphne +was always busy and restless, and always anxious to do another +thing than she happened to be doing at the moment, Mr. Bruno +would enter the dining-room and inquire of Sheila, "Is it one +of your daughter's busy days to-day?" or express the hope that +Mrs. Bruno's daughter had got on well with her work that +morning. And Sheila, stirred by the picture of Daphne these +words created, would reply no more brightly than to ejaculate, +"The darling!" +</p> + +<p> +But this persiflage was a veil for things unspoken. He had +not forgotten his desire to introduce <i>one</i> self-effacing love into +his life. And he gave the love its exercise by forcing himself +to be patient when Daphne's restlessness bruised his nerves +or shipwrecked his work. He kept, too, his heightened love for +his wife. She was a brave little girl. He had kissed her very +affectionately when she declared that she would nurse Daphne +herself and that Hollins and she would do everything: "Yes, +I never meant to do it, Daddy, but I've made up my mind +to. Hollins says it's the only way to give them a proper +start. And she's so adorable." He tried to be a better +companion to his wife by coming in to her tea parties and sitting +through the insupportably fatuous conversation of the ladies. +Oh, <i>mon Dieu!</i> it seemed that women spoke never of ideas +but only of things and persons; or if they did enunciate an idea, +it was always a stock one off the shelf, and he could provide +them with the very words they would use. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But in time he decided that too much self-abnegation, if +you dealt with weak women, was itself a weakness. They were +allowing Daphne to make an infernal noise in any and every +room of the cottage. As sure as she cried they stampeded past +his study door to save or sympathise with the child. And +the more they sympathised with her, the more she sympathised +with herself and determined that her present trouble was a +case for regular refills of air which must be expelled again in +shrieks of temper. The household, in fact, was circling round +Daphne instead of round his workroom which (they all seemed +to have forgotten) was the mainspring of everything. Yes, +when his daughter should reach intelligence, then would be +the time for him to consider how he could efface himself for +her. Meantime he must get on with his work. +</p> + +<p> +He summoned his wife and explained that he was considering +everybody else as much as himself when he stipulated +that Daphne should be kept to an upstairs back room. For +such brain-work as his he needed silence and freedom from +domestic cares. Sheila could see that, could she not? +"Rousseau, with more courage than most of us, sent his children +to a foundling hospital when they interfered with his work. +You remember: '<i>Comment les soucis domestiques et les fracas +des enfants me laisseront-ils la tranquillité d'esprit nécessaire +pour faire un travail lucratif?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +And Sheila said, "All right, Daddy." +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes in the next weeks, however, the thought of the +old lumber-room, which Sheila had cleared and furnished for +a nursery, with its two easy chairs, one for herself and one +for Hollins, troubled his compassion; and he would leave his +books and climb up to it, saying he had come to see Daphne +in her bath. Once Hollins had taken over the bathing, and +he could see that the good soul was determined to show them +how such a business should be performed. Listening, as she +rhapsodised over the infant in her wide, aproned lap he thought +many thoughts about the native poetry of all peasants, from the +Hebrews of old to the Cockneys or the Hodges of to-day. And +he called her runnel of nonsense "The Song of Hollins." +</p> + +<p> +"They didn't give you much hair, did they, darling?" she +was saying, as the upper flock went over Daphne's head. "No, +she said, I'm going to spend all my money on a big pair +of eyes. She said, I don't reckon hair is very important, or +a nose. As regards them things, I'll just have any fairly decent +reach-me-downs out of the cupboard, but I shall spend all my +money on a very extra special pair of eyes. She said, eyes +are the thing. You can do a lot of damage with a good pair of +eyes. You can break the hearts of the handsome young beaus +and—keep still, lovey—and, until they come along, you can see +all that ought to be seen and most that ought not to be seen, +and, she said, you can see every opening for mischief. There +now. There's a boo'ful little body. Into tub it goes. <i>In</i> she +goes. Nice waters. Oh, lovely waters. Oh, such a lovely +silky skin. That's right, splash your walkers about. Kickey +walkers. Up she comes, all clean and smelling of soap. Such +a 'licious feeling! Big, big towel. There's a little, round, +hobgoblin face, out of miles and miles of nice soft warm +towel. Look at its chin. No, she said, you've got it wrong. +I kep' a little of my money back for a really dainty chin. +Gr-r-r-r! She said, Oh, I am a cute one, I am. When the +time comes, won't I flutter the hearts of the handsome young +mashers? I knew a thing or two, I did." +</p> + +<p> +By this time Daphne was in her long flannel nightgown, +and stretched out both hands with spread fingers towards +her mother, who, captured by such an appeal, picked her up, +tossed her towards the ceiling, and then hugged her, +murmuring: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, she says, I like Hollins all right, and I find my daddy +quite amusing, but it's mummy I really want. She says, I'd +sell 'em all up for my mummy." +</p> + +<p> +But now Mr. Bruno had wearied of these sentimental +rhapsodies, and withdrew downstairs. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +V +</p> + +<p> +When Daphne was something over a year old, Sheila knew +that her second baby was coming. The knowledge was a +shock of dismay, and then a sickly, dull acquiescence. Though +at the first sight of Daphne all hostility had surrendered, still +her picture of the future had shown only this one child playing +about her. The picture of herself with two, or perhaps a flock +of children, was horrible. Before telling her husband, she went +away like a hurt animal into her bedroom and sat by the window, +staring out at the garden. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want it. Oh, all that sickness again and ugliness +and shame. And I shall have to begin nursing all over again. +Oh, I know all this is selfish, and I ought to be delighted, +but I'm not. I am selfish. I like my little Daphne, but +I don't want another. Daphne was different; she was the first, +and strange, and adorable." +</p> + +<p> +Into the despair rose the thoughts that she usually shut +underground. It was all wrong, children issuing from a +partnership that she knew to be nine parts bankruptcy and +disappointment. There was no true intimacy between her and Tom, +and never could be. And Tom had quite obviously learnt this, +and accepted it as their incommutable sentence. An +incommutable sentence! Life stretched dark in front of Sheila, +and the word "death" had trancing, sweet overtones again. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought marriage was going to be heaven.... And +it's—it's this.... But no. My Daphne was worth it. +</p> + +<p> +"For Daphne's sake I'll try and bear this new cross." She +found a refuge in these suburbs of nobility. "They say it's bad +for a child to be an only child. They're much better off, if +they have a brother or a sister for a companion.... I'll +look at it like that. I'm providing something that's really +good for my baby—a playmate. I made up my mind to be +unselfish where she was concerned.... All right, my darling, +you shall have your playmate." +</p> + +<p> +Overcome with her own self-sacrifice, she burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +As the time of her confinement drew nearer, she concealed +under a mask of quiet liveliness a premonition of death. How +this idea arose she could not remember, nor when; but it was +now the unsleeping master of her mind. Perhaps it was born +from her languor—a languor that grew till she lived with a sense +of physical decline. Once she hinted at her fears to Hollins, +who laughed the laugh of common sense. +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense, ma'am, if you'll excuse me putting it like that. +You'll hardly feel it this time. It'll come as natural as natural. +And each time it will seem more and more natural." +</p> + +<p> +"But people <i>do</i> die in childbirth," submitted Sheila. "One +reads of heaps." +</p> + +<p> +"Not young ones like you, ma'am, if I may say so." +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't it sometimes the young ones who are most likely +to die?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, no—you're a bit sort of—what I call—down, ma'am. +You put all those ideas out of your head." +</p> + +<p> +"But I never was strong. When I was ill as a child, I was +always worse than any one else." +</p> + +<p> +"And they're always the wiry ones, that sort of anæmic, +skinny type," assured Hollins. "Any one'll tell you that." +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless the idea stayed, strengthening its hold. In +the hours before sleep, when the mind was susceptible to +auto-hypnotism, it sent its roots deeper and deeper. In the +daytime it haunted the background of all her thoughts and +conversations. So fixed was it that she determined to have +her confinement in her own house rather than die in a distant, +hard, unloving room, with Daphne far away. +</p> + +<p> +She was walking in the garden when this thought wandered +into her mind; and she stopped dead as she faced another +thought that came behind: Daphne would never remember +her. +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged her shoulders and closed the lips that had +parted. Her mouth quivered. Old Hollins would have to tell +Daphne when she grew up what her mother had been like. +</p> + +<p> +These twilight thoughts she never exposed to Tom's kindly +ridicule. She only told Hollins gaily that this time she +was going to stay in her own home. And Hollins heartily +approved. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, ma'am, since you mention it, I may say I +never did like the idea of your going away last time. It +seemed out of—I mean, sort of unnatural like. If I couldn't +have looked after you, who could, I should like to know? +You'll enjoy it in your own room." +</p> + +<p> +Merrily Sheila smiled in answer, though to herself the smile +felt wan. The conviction that her life had been given its term +was in complete occupation. +</p> + +<p> +Complete. She would wander along the garden or the +country roads, and any stretching green prospect that troubled +her with its beauty stirred also the sad self-pity. The half-heard +chirrup of the birds in the deathly slumber of a windless +day; the red glow after tea-time behind the fir trees; the sound, +one autumn evening, of a crowd of men singing in harmony +as they went down the road; the tales in her books of the +raptures of first love—it was a wistful matter suddenly to +apprehend the beauty of these things and to feel that she had only +a few more weeks with the world. +</p> + +<p> +She felt the same faint ache when she patted the sleek neck +of the pony, Nipper, or saw on a shelf in her bedroom the +books that she had brought from home. They reminded her +of a hundred places where as a child she had been merry. +Strange if all those scenes had only preceded an early death! +And if she chaffed old Eadigo as he laboured in the garden, +she felt the ache in her spurious laughter. Once the sight +of her own face in the mirror, looking pretty with its fair +hair, filled her eyes with tears; but she pulled herself briskly +together and forced laughter from herself all that morning. +No one but she detected the settled despair in that noisy +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the most poignant thing of all was the sight of +Daphne's toys upon the floor. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +VI +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno this time felt none of the fears that had +disorganized him before the birth of Daphne. He remembered +with something of contempt the way he had then worked +himself up to the proper anxiety. His main trouble now was +an annoyance that another child should have come so soon, but +this was balanced by a pride in remembering how he had +shrugged his shoulders and decided to greet the inevitable with +goodwill. +</p> + +<p> +When Sheila took to her bed he kissed her very lovingly +and told her everything would be all right. And when the +hour came, and the doctor and the nurse were with her, he +walked in to the garden taking only an anxiety that poor little +Sheila should not suffer too much. Her moans hurt him +cruelly. +</p> + +<p> +The year was one month older than when Daphne was +born. The primroses were under the hedges, and young grass +appearing in many places where it ought not to appear, and the +old grass turning to a deep green after humid March days. +His tea had just been cleared away, and there was the usual +silence of half-light in the garden: a thundery stillness, this +evening, and the birds, chirruping on the branches, seemed less +to break it than to be part of it. As he walked along the +herbaceous border, now and then removing a gravel stone from +the turf edge, a sudden cry of pain sounded from the house. +He stood up erect and listened. The cry dwindled back into +moans again, and above the moans sounded the plaint of a baby. +It was not Daphne's voice. He hurried excitedly back to +the hall to hear the news. As he expected, Hollins was coming +down the stairs as fast as her figure would allow her. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a little boy this time, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, good—good! How's the mistress?" +</p> + +<p> +"She's low, sir, distinctly low. But that's nothing, sir. They +sometimes take it badly like that. I'll nip back and see if you +can come in and see her." +</p> + +<p> +Hollins climbed up the stairs, while Mr. Bruno waited in +the hall. He heard a man's step, evidently the doctor's, leave +his wife's room and come along the passage, so that he met +Hollins at the top of the stairs. There was a murmured colloquy, +voices pitched very low, as if in reverence for suffering. +Then Hollins came more slowly and rather timidly down to her +master. +</p> + +<p> +"The doctor says the mistress is very sadly, sir. But I +shouldn't worry, or the like of that," faltered Hollins. "They're +often sadly." +</p> + +<p> +He did not listen to her, but ran up the stairs. The doctor +barred his way. He was an old man, and seemed as perplexed +and dismayed as Hollins. +</p> + +<p> +"Just a minute, Mr. Bruno. I—er—can't understand it. +Your wife seems—there's no fever—her pains were very bad, +of course, but I thought that was due to muscular strength—but +she seems to be sinking. It looks like collapse." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno tried to push past him. A sob was in his +throat, and his mind was overborne with self-reproaches—for +what he hardly knew. +</p> + +<p> +"The boy's perfect—quite perfect," said the doctor, by way +of comfort. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno had forgotten the child and rushed into the +bedroom and looked down upon his wife. Hollins followed with +tear-stained cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila lay in the last surrender to death. When he touched +her hand she lifted her eyelids. +</p> + +<p> +"I knew it would be like this, daddy," she said. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped on one knee by her side. +</p> + +<p> +"My darling, it's all right. You're only weak and worn +out, and feel depressed. To-morrow you'll be feeling splendid +again. And such a beautiful boy, they tell me. See, down +there by the fire. My darling, I'm so proud of him." +</p> + +<p> +"That's right," smiled Sheila wanly. "But I knew it would +happen like this. I knew all along, but I wouldn't tell you. +Where's Hollins?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins, who had been behind, came forward, violently sobbing. +</p> + +<p> +"Bless you, ma'am, don't you worry. You'll be all right. +They're often took like this. I ought to know." +</p> + +<p> +"Where's my baby?" +</p> + +<p> +"In his little crib, ma'am, by the fire. Such a beautiful +child. He's fallen asleep." +</p> + +<p> +The nurse picked up the little bundle to bring it to her. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila lifted again the heavy lids. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I meant Daphne. Bring my baby to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne's in bed. It's after six o'clock," began Hollins; +but seeing the dying look on her mistress's face, she moved +towards the nursery. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila opened her eyes again. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it so late? ... Don't disturb her.... She mustn't +be disturbed.... It's bad for her to be disturbed. She's +always slept an unbroken sleep at night right from the start. +Hasn't she, Hollins? ... Let her sleep." +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila! Sheila!" cried Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +Behind he heard Hollins muttering to the doctor: +</p> + +<p> +"She seemed to have sort of made up her mind—been telling +me things to tell the children when they're grown up." The +recollection of this broke up Hollins, and the hearing of it +made Mr. Bruno cry out: +</p> + +<p> +"Sheila! Sheila! Don't go!" +</p> + +<p> +His senses carried inappropriately to his brain the sibilance +of the birds in the branches, and voices over the evening +stillness of the fields, and some laughter of girls. +</p> + +<p> +Sheila's eyes were closed. All the thoughts that had kept +her sad during the past months were in her mind again, and +her bewilderment at the failure of her life. "I don't +understand—I don't understand," she kept thinking. "I can't +understand." Then she remembered Daphne, and this boy—what +was his name? She would never know. And that neither +could have lived if it hadn't been for her. There was some +comfort in the thought—if God gave them a good life. "O +God, give them a good life." ... "O God, make them +happy...." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +VII +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno's first idea after the loss of his wife was to +leave the children and the house to the management of +Hollins and to retire into the solitude of his study. Such an +attitude would best suit his grief, and had its picturesqueness. +His grief, when he analysed it alone in his room, seemed a +pain of pity for little Sheila, mixed with remorse for not having +made her happier, rather than a sense of irreparable loss. +</p> + +<p> +But his sister, who had very kindly swept down upon his +cottage the day after Sheila's death, had other views about the +children. Belle Phillimore, the widow of a cavalry officer, +was twelve years older than her brother, and, in his opinion, +an unutterable fool. Her head could hold no ideas except those +provided by her dead colonel and the superannuated clergy and +ignorant ladies of her circle. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Tom, it won't do," she pronounced. "This Hollins +is a good soul, I'm sure, but what little Daphne and her +brother will want is a lady. For instance, look at the way +Hollins talks. She misuses grammar like all those sort of +people do." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno nodded. "Yes, grammar is a ticklish business." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, children are always vulgarized by the society of servants. +Besides, she's sure to be full of old superstitions and +fill Daphne's head with them. Can Hollins teach the children +their Bible and Catechism? Why, she probably doesn't +understand them herself." +</p> + +<p> +"You forget, Belle," interrupted Mr. Bruno, "or perhaps I +should say that, being a sister and an elder sister, you naturally +have never read the few poor books that I have written.... +Or if you have read them in an idle curiosity, you have naturally +not taken them seriously. But, as a matter of fact, I am +quite serious in my inability to accept your Christianity." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Tom! You surely wouldn't have a child brought +up without religion?" +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't say that. But I don't see why I should have +a child brought up in what I believe to be error." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but it's different for you. A child always goes to +pieces if it isn't given some religion. <i>You</i>'re a full-grown +man with some cleverness." +</p> + +<p> +The description did not please Mr. Bruno, and he told +himself, "That's as much as a relative will ever allow." But +this self-protecting thought was an intruder among others, and +quickly lost. Standing by the window and staring out, he was +really thinking of the afternoon Daphne was born and the night +Sheila died. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like them to have <i>some</i> religion," he said suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly. We must get some good Christian gentlewoman +to manage the household and the children—that was what I was +going to suggest. We'll advertise in a Church paper." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno brought his eyes away from the window. +</p> + +<p> +"I've just had an idea. Since these children went through the +whole course of evolution when they were in the womb"—Belle +moved uncomfortably—"it may do them no harm to +go through the Christian period as well. It may keep them +fairly straight till they are developed enough to wander +alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly. A sort of housekeeper-guardian. Your servants +will obey her. They would never obey Hollins, one of their +own number who'd been promoted. They never do. My poor +Charlie used to say that the ranker officer had precious little +control over his men; they preferred a gentleman any day." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my God!" thought Mr. Bruno; and his reading chair +called to him like a refuge. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, look here, Belle," said he. "Is it too much to +ask you to draw up the advertisement, and perhaps to stay +here and keep an eye on the place till the proper person is +engaged?" +</p> + +<p> +His sister give a ready nod. She would be only too pleased to +do so, she said. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +VIII +</p> + +<p> +These were years before public libraries and reading-rooms +were to be found in every borough. But in a suburb +that was developing beyond the green fields of Hammersmith, +one of the first of them had appeared, thanks to the munificence +of a departed M.P. It was an oblong room with some tall +lecterns for such daily newspapers as the <i>Times</i> and the +<i>Standard</i> on one side of the gangway, and on the other long +elmwood tables for the reading of weekly journals which, when not +in use, roosted in wire mangers on the walls. On the Friday +after Mr. Bruno's conversation with his sister—Friday being +the day the best religious papers appeared—a woman entered +this reading-room and, walking as one who knew her purpose, +glanced immediately at the rack where the <i>Warden</i> usually +rested. She was tall and thin, and might have been thirty-five +or forty years old. Thirty-five probably, the care-lines and the +hint of hardness having come prematurely to a face that had +once been soft and handsome. Her walk had the rectitude of a +woman who defends her title to gentility by her manner, since +her dress, though neat, can betray little but poverty. Her black +skirt was frayed where it touched the ground, and the first +finger of one black kid glove was split at the seam. As proof +of her social grade, however, she wore a veil, or "fall," +terminating just below her mouth. And she carried a neatly +folded umbrella and a reticule in which were visiting cards with +the name (printed, not engraved) "<i>Miss Durgon</i>." +</p> + +<p> +She gave a little "St—! st—!" of annoyance when her glance +at the wire shelf showed her that the <i>Warden</i> had been removed. +She must see who was reading it, and make sure that she got +it next. Walking among the tables, she found that it was being +read by a middle-aged woman in a brown skirt and coat and a +fur, all slightly decayed; and, as this woman had a stunted and +bitten pencil in her right hand with which she was tracing down +the "Situations Vacant," and in her left a soiled envelope on +which she was noting addresses, it seemed probable that she +would monopolise the journal for most of the morning. Miss +Durgon said "St—! st—!" again. The calm way these people +sat, as by right, over papers for which they had paid nothing! +The ferrule of her umbrella beat impatiently on the ground, +but without results. So, to intimate that she was waiting for +the <i>Warden</i>, she sat down rather deliberately in the empty chair +next the woman, and tapped out a resigned tattoo on the table +top. The woman with the pencil glanced round, and, resenting +such a hint, slightly turned her back towards Miss Durgon. Her +right to the paper she defended by being a little slower in her +perusal and a little more deliberate in her noting of addresses. +She thought it most annoying the way these women came and +sat rudely beside you, as if they had some claim on a paper for +which they had paid nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Minutes passed, and Miss Durgon could only express her +impatience by repeating her tattoo on the table-top, and +occasionally consulting a large watch at her breast. Once another +woman, a fat creature with a basket, came and stood by the person +in possession, as if, in spite of Miss Durgon's long wait, she +expected to have the paper next. Then Miss Durgon advanced +her chair nearer to the <i>Warden</i>, rehearsing the words she would +utter if the fat creature stepped in before her. But the fat +woman, seeing she was forestalled, walked away with just such +a "St—! st—!" as Miss Durgon's. +</p> + +<p> +At last Miss Durgon's impatience compelled her to speak. +</p> + +<p> +"You'd oblige me if you'd allow me to see this paper. I've +waited fifteen minutes already." +</p> + +<p> +The woman with the pencil turned towards her; and then +without answering gave Miss Durgon her back again. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon's blood was up, and her hand went out to take +the paper. But its possessor snatched it back and held it tight. +</p> + +<p> +"If I were you, I should learn to speak the truth," said she, +and pretended to be lost in the advertisements, though her +stumpy pencil was trembling. +</p> + +<p> +"Speak the truth!" snapped Miss Durgon. "What do you +mean? ... Insolence.... Perhaps I can find an attendant." +</p> + +<p> +"Saying you've been waiting fifteen minutes when you've not +been waiting five. You'll be saying you've been an hour next." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon tossed her head, and adjusted a brooch. +</p> + +<p> +"I've no desire to speak to you. All I ask is that, when you've +found your situation——" +</p> + +<p> +"Situation yourself!" hissed the woman, deeply offended at +this term. "If you want to do the highty-tighty, I should mend +your glove." +</p> + +<p> +And she resumed her perusal of the paper. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon scorned her, and trusted that the creature felt +the scorn. The woman, however, finished her study and, to +annoy this detestable creature beside her, turned to a column of +"News from the Dioceses," and read them. Miss Durgon continued +to enfilade her with contempt, and at length the woman +got up and walked away. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon slided along to the vacated seat, and, opening +her reticule with dignified calm, took out a thin silver pencil, +somewhat bitten, and a penny note-book whose leaves were +dog-eared. But she had hardly read two advertisements before the +fat woman with the basket, who had appeared once before, came +back to see if the paper were yet disengaged. Annoyed to find +it occupied by a person who, to judge from her pencil and +notebook, intended remaining for some time, she sat down in the +seat Miss Durgon had just left. This was too exasperating. +Here she had only just secured the paper, and this fat sack of +a woman came and seated herself menacingly beside her, as if +to make her hasten. She would do nothing of the sort. If +anything, she would travel over the advertisements with greater +precision and an ostentatious calm. Nor should the fat woman's +drummings or "Tut tuts!" create any panic in her. So she +jotted down the possible situations, none of which animated +her much, till suddenly she read: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="quote"> +"WANTED, for a Widower's home. Lady Housekeeper, +and Guardian to two very young children. Two servants +(one as nurse). Governess later. Apply Tenter Bruno, +Underwold, Francefield, Sussex." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +So exactly did this suit Miss Durgon that she immediately felt +confident that Destiny had led her to it this morning, and the +post would undoubtedly be given her. She must hurry back +and write at once. In her satisfaction she only handed the paper +to the fat lady with a pleasant smile that made her think, as she +walked away, how much more agreeable her manners were than +those of the disgusting creature who had first held the paper. +Tenter Bruno? Tenter Bruno? A familiar name. She had +seen it in papers, and heard it in conversations. Could it be the +well-known writer? She must find out. If it were, it would +make the position doubly desirable. She foresaw herself +studying the comfort and securing the quiet of a literary man, +and becoming quite indispensable to him. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +IX +</p> + +<p> +When Mr. Bruno's sister heard from Miss Durgon's lips, +in the dining-room of the cottage, that she was the fifth +daughter of an officer, she felt satisfied on all points. And with +some pride, as though her labours had been extensive and +exhausting, she came into her brother's study to announce her +complete success. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I've got the very person, Tom, the very person you +need. An excellent person. First and foremost, she's a lady, +the daughter of an officer. A good-looking woman, too. I've +represented to her, Tom, that what she's got to do is to relieve +you of all anxiety, whether it be about the children or the +<i>ménage</i> of the house. She was most interested in your +writing." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno, who like all comfort-loving literary men was +sanguine about everything except the sale of his books, was only +too pleased to believe all his sister said. +</p> + +<p> +"Excellent, Belle, excellent. I'm sure I'm very grateful to +you. It <i>is</i> of paramount importance that I am left to the +undisturbed pursuit of my writing and reading. The kindest thing I +can do for the children is to go into my study and shut the door +and work. But that I could never have done—at least, not with +the necessary detachment"—Mr. Bruno seemed almost to be +trying to reassure himself in a dubious abandonment to comfort +—"unless I had your assurance that everything possible was +being done for the children." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I think you can be comfortable about that," interposed +his sister. "She struck me as a lady in every respect." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno, thinking, as usual, what a fool Belle was, merely +replied: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm sure I can trust your judgment on <i>that</i> point, Belle. +I feel very satisfied and relieved at this stroke of yours." +</p> + +<p> +He was seeing long, quiet, self-sufficient days with his books, +varied by an occasional kindly patronage of his children. He +felt vaguely that Belle had accepted the responsibility of the +choice, and called down any blood upon her own head. His +clearer mind told him, in quickly closed moments, that he whose +best works had tried to battle through to the secrets of life and +art, had, in the matter of his children, been too indolent for +thought. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +X +</p> + +<p> +The resentment of Hollins at this promotion of "Miss +Skin-and-Grief" to the place she had hoped to fill was given its +airing before the young maid in the kitchen: +</p> + +<p> +"I knew she was going to be awful. I went to the door myself, +and she says, 'Does Mrs. Phillimore live here?' And I says, 'No, +miss,' I said. 'This is Mr. Bruno's house, but he's got his sister +staying with him.' 'Well, can I see her?' she says tartly. I +don't think she liked the 'miss.' And I says, 'I'll see if she can +see you, miss.' I wasn't, so to speak, going to wave flags in +front of her. I said, 'What name, miss?' And she says, +'Durgon.' So I went up and came down again, and says, 'Yes, +Miss Durgon, Mrs. Phillimore can see you if you step this way.' She +bridled up at the 'Miss Durgon,' but said nothing, feeling, +I suppose, that she hadn't sort of secured her position. And, +well, here she is, for good and all, if you ask me; and I don't +reckon she'll worship the very ground I walk on." +</p> + +<p> +"'Slike as not she'll get you the sack," suggested the maid. +</p> + +<p> +"'Slike as not she'll do nothing of the sort! The master +knows as how the mistress lef' me messages to tell the children +when they grow up, and for their sake he'll see that I'm there +when they're old enough to hear. No, Miss Skin-and-Grief +won't be able to come it over me. I'm not afraid of her, and she +needn't think it." +</p> + +<p> +From the first, then, a skirmishing warfare existed between +Hollins and Miss Durgon, with eye-darts for bullets and +word-stabs for bayonet thrusts. Hollins's sharpest pin was to +distinguish her from all other ladies to whom she spoke by +changing "Yes, ma'am," and "No, ma'am," into "Yes, Miss Durgon" +and "No, Miss Durgon." +</p> + +<p> +This was exceedingly difficult to parry, and Miss Durgon +spoke to her employer about it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno was polite, as always, but inwardly annoyed at this +intrusion of a domestic question into the privacy Belle had +promised him. He h'med over some remark about "a natural +licence to an old servant," and then added, with the smile of +delicacy: "But all this is your sphere, Miss Durgon; you must +do what you think best. All I ask is to be entirely free from +these petty worries. Do what you think best, only don't offend +Hollins. My wife thought a lot of Hollins." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon, whose sword-arm was always weakened by her +fear of losing her position, realised that she had made a false +step, and never again obtruded a domestic question on +Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0101"></a></p> + +<h2> +PART I: <i>Les Tracas des Enfants</i> +</h2> + +<p><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne's earliest memories were of being awake in her +cot while the daylight was still outside the blinds, though +flushed with sunset. Downstairs were footsteps and closing +doors and women's voices; and sometimes her father's voice, +only this was so deep as to be but half heard. In another and +smaller cot slept Owen, her baby brother, who often woke and +cried for a minute and dropped off to sleep again. He frightened +her a little when, after dark, he would suddenly climb +through a crescendo from whimpering to crying, and crying to +screaming; and she would be glad when Hollins came up and +quieted him with a fruity and ingratiating, "Now, go to by-by +like a good little boy," or picked him up and sang to him: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sonny go round the sun,<br> + Sonny go round the moon,<br> + Sonny go round the mulberry bush,<br> + On a Sunday afternoon——<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +though Daphne was always faintly worried by this equating of a +mulberry bush with the sun and moon. If Miss Durgon came +up instead, she was much more prosaic. She put Owen firmly +on his other side, and added as she went out, to Daphne, who +was sitting up, big-eyed, to watch the rearrangement of Owen: +</p> + +<p> +"Now you go to sleep. We don't want nonsense from you +too." +</p> + +<p> +With the passing of time Daphne learnt that there were three +stable people in her world: Hollins, round, and in a blue cotton +uniform, chiefly associated with comfort and friendliness; Miss +Durgon, long, black, and chiefly associated with correction, +church and manners; and her father, with a pointed beard. She +conceived that fathers and beards went together, and was much +surprised the first time she saw some one else's father who had +not even a moustache. How he could be old enough to be a +father was not clear. +</p> + +<p> +Her father was a jolly person in the early morning before +breakfast. At half-past seven she was allowed to go into his +bedroom and to climb on to the eiderdown for the playing of a +game called "When I say 'kipper.'" It consisted in Daphne's +inventing a long story to which her father must listen carefully, +because directly she worked in the dangerous word "kipper" he +was to tickle her violently. Her shrieks of alarm, after uttering +the word "kipper," always began before the tickling got really +started, and her yells of laughter and screams for mercy +generally rewarded Mr. Bruno's tickling campaign within thirty +seconds of its inception. When Owen was old enough to play +this game it was doubly exciting; for sometimes he would work +in the dangerous word, and she, unprepared for it so soon, was +caught and tickled till she rolled, screaming with hysterical +laughter, off the bed to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Some mornings she woke very early, and knew she would not +go to sleep again, because it was daylight; and then her games +had to be silent, for it was an offence to wake Owen; so she +would use her knee or her foot to lift the bedclothes into a tent +and sprawl about under them, divided in her mind whether they +formed an Indian's wigwam or a Commander-in-Chief's +headquarters. Wearying of this, she would lie on her back and with +her knees form the white quilt into a range of mountains. +There were Alpine pathways up the folds, and if she half-closed +her eyes she could see the St. Bernard dogs and the pious monks +as they looked for dead men in the snowdrifts. +</p> + +<p> +Hollins was a good person when she told them tales, but her +nursery rhymes struck Daphne from the first as rather silly. +Cows couldn't jump over moons, nor dishes run away with +spoons. And "Old Mother Hubbard," which told of an old +woman going to the larder to get a bone for her dog and finding +the place empty: vaguely Daphne felt that as a story it led to +nothing, and certainly wasn't worth making a song about. Nor +could she see that little Jack Horner's remark, "What a good boy +am I!" had any sense or sequence. Though in courtesy she +applauded Hollins for her frequent rendering of these poems, +she felt uncomfortably that the pleasant old servant was sinking +in her estimation by uttering such nonsense. Her father agreed +that Jack Horner's exclamation was a <i>non-sequitur</i>, and told +her that she had a quite exceptional clarity of brain, which +would be a curse to her through life. And then he added: +"How's this for a nursery rhyme, Duffy?" and recited gently: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + How many miles to Babylon?<br> + Three-score and ten.<br> + Can I get there by candlelight?<br> + Aye. There and back again.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"That's not far from beauty, Duffy, as I hope you'll be able +to see one day." +</p> + +<p> +And somehow it <i>did</i> sound different. Its measured movement +pleased her, and its blue sadness; and these made her feel +solemn and dreamy. +</p> + +<p> +Fairy tales weren't nonsense, because they were admittedly +stories of people in an imaginary world, and so could be +completely, engrossingly satisfying. They were her monopolising +delight when she could read—at least, Grimm's were. Grimm's +she read again and again, lolling in a deep arm-chair with her +heels beneath her, and the book on the chair's arm. Grimm's +stories were real stories, clear and exciting. Hans Andersen's +were different: she could not get hold of them, and they were +rather terrible. Yet after she had abandoned the annoying +book they haunted her strangely: "The Girl who Trod on the +Loaf"—ugly, dark, wonderful story; "The Red Shoes," "Ib and +little Christina," and "Something." Whole sentences from them +hung in her memory: "She flew away, as if she were flying +straight into the sun." "They said 'Clink' and were +broken." "And that was something." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't understand, Duffy," said Mr. Tenter Bruno, +when the annoyingness of Hans Andersen was pointed out to +him. "But while Grimm only entertains you with what is +agreeable, Hans Andersen <i>troubles</i> you with beauty." +</p> + +<p> +When, in Hollins's phrase, she was "rising nine," her father +decided to move to town. Earning a much larger income now, +he could have lived in considerable style, but for the ever-gnawing +fear that either his brain-power or his vogue would dwindle, +and the workhouse ensue. This made him resolve that his place +in town should not be in one of the expensive districts. But it +would have to be fairly big, if it were to accommodate the two +children, Miss Durgon, Hollins, and another servant. +</p> + +<p> +Such a house was found at last in Deseret Road, West +Kensington. The sanguine Mr. Bruno was quite pleased with it: +a tall, red-brick place, with basement and area and four stories +above—the sort of place which would both make him very +comfortable and allow itself to be called a suburban barbarity. The +back of the house looked over the grounds of Queen's Club, so +that one could watch the Varsity sports and football matches +from all the windows that were above the grounds' encircling +trees. Opposite the house front, across a good road, was a +sunken waste ground waiting for the builder to arrive upon it. +In the neighbourhood were many such places, though the long +screens of uniform houses were building apace. +</p> + +<p> +So there joined Daphne's more vivid memories the picture +of that exciting day when they journeyed up to London and +their new house. To her, who had only been told of London, +it was a move as exciting as the departure of town children for +the sea; the packing in the previous week, the trunks standing +in the hall the night before, the arrival of the "fly" from the +Ballard Arms, the stacking of the trunks about the carriage, and +the drive, thus laden, to the station. Hollins and the maid had +gone ahead to prepare the house, so Daphne and Owen secured +one pair of corner seats in the railway carriage, and their father +and Miss Durgon the other. More people got in, which meant +extinction for Owen, Miss Durgon telling him he must keep +his seat and not fidget. Daphne, having been wakeful most of +the night, was lulled to sleep by the passing of the hedgerows +and palings, and by the slow rolling and swinging of the train, +till the voices of the strange occupants, and of her father and +Miss Durgon, floated in a luminous mist behind her half sleep. +</p> + +<p> +She was awakened by a jolting and slowing of the train and +the movements of the people in the compartment. The November +day had darkened, and out of her window she saw more +interlacing railway lines than she could have believed possible, +all of them wet, as if rain had fallen here, and shining in +gaslight. The backs of the houses were dark-grey and gloomy, and +the few lit windows frightened her with their suggestiveness. +Unconsciously she created stories of misery for the people +behind them. The train rolled into the colossal station that +bruised and battered her with its noises and smell and hurrying. +</p> + +<p> +"We must get a four-wheeler," said her father importantly. +</p> + +<p> +She wondered what a four-wheeler was, till the porter +trundled their luggage alongside a "fly" much more squat than +the carriage sent by the Ballard Arms. There was a head-achy +smell inside it, and she was glad when her father sat her on his +knee, for she received a draught from the window, as well as +being able to see the things coming into view. First, there were +lighted shops and entangling traffic; then a broad, roomy road +of tall houses; then a great highway that seemed all coloured +buses and four-wheelers and jingling hansoms. These hansoms, +she said, were like sedan chairs drawn by horses. All of it kept +her commenting and questioning, till of a sudden she was given +a fear—one of those fears that one did not tell to adults for +they were not liable to them. There was a man running beside +their cab. A man in a cloth cap, with a muffler round his neck. +In and out of the pedestrians he padded, sometimes on the +roadway, sometimes on the pavement, often glancing at the luggage +stacked on the cab's roof. The scenery changed, but the padding +man was as unlosable as a shadow. She drew back her face +from the window. +</p> + +<p> +They were bowling now down a wide road, on one side of +which were rows of tall houses, painted white or cream, or left +a cindery grey, and on the other an interminable line of railings +with trees and grass beyond. Daphne could only judge that a +garden so endless must be the Queen's and she inquired of her +father: +</p> + +<p> +"Is that where the Queen lives, daddy?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; she used to live there, or a little farther on—in fact, +she was born there, but, like us, she's moved." +</p> + +<p> +"And who lives there now, then?" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno controlled a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, the Prince Consort has a seat there." +</p> + +<p> +"Who's the Prince Consort?" She thought foggily of +Grimm's princes. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he's a howling swell in his place in there," assured her +father. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne said no more, for, in staring out, she had seen the +shadow-man still keeping level with the cab. They had passed +into a neighbourhood that, though it had some tall, red-brick +houses, was subtly inferior to anything they had come through +before. Miss Durgon made the remark: "Dear me, this is all +very familiar ground," and Daphne, while envying her this +knowledge, thought that somehow the neighbourhood suited +Miss Durgon. What she meant she could not have said: +probably that it was a dark and well-behaved neighbourhood, +a genteel hanger-on of the fine white houses, and a place that +would prohibit the noisier games. +</p> + +<p> +Now the cab left the streets where the buses were, and got +into quiet roads of residential houses. It seemed to turn round +every corner that Daphne gambled it would turn round. And +always the running man turned with it. It stopped at last before +a high house, one of a red-brick row, with many white steps +leading up to its front door. There was a lamp-post opposite +the area gate, and she could see by its light that the dark-green +paint on the hall door was raised into little blisters. Interesting +things to prick. +</p> + +<p> +The cab-door opened by itself—or, rather, it was opened by +the shadow, who touched his cloth cap. Daphne, whom her +father was about to hand out, shrunk back as if she were being +handed to some dark, night messenger. +</p> + +<p> +"It's all right," laughed her father. "This gentleman has only +come to help us with our luggage." +</p> + +<p> +That moment the hall door of their new home opened, flooding +the steps with gas-light; and Daphne, seeing Hollins standing +there, rushed hurriedly past the shadow into her arms. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Because of its complete difference from their Sussex home, +the house in Deseret Road appealed to Daphne as a place much +more romantic and thrilling—especially on foggy falls of their +first November, when it could assume an air of the sinister. +She and Owen early examined, not without fears, its every room +and cupboard and cellar. Owen at first had not seen much +reason to be afraid of them—nor, in truth, had Daphne—but, in +order to make them more interesting, she had deliberately +worked on his imagination and her own with rather disturbing +ideas about secret panels and subterranean passages, till Owen +was obviously terrified of them, and she herself wondered what +exactly her feelings about them were. To explore at night the +kitchen and pantries, which were actually below ground and +down a stairway like a mine-shaft, was a thrilling adventure +when prosecuted with a companion—unthinkable alone. +</p> + +<p> +The long dining-room was a dangerous place because of the +huge syphon for making soda-water that stood in the centre of +the sideboard, before the mirror. This great bulbous, though +neat-waisted glass thing, encased in a trellis-work of wire, was +as large as a child, and Hollins had told them that the wire +casing was to prevent it exploding. +</p> + +<p> +"Dangerous things," she had said. "They have to be all +wrapped up in wire like that, being apt to go sort of what I +call—off." +</p> + +<p> +So Daphne, in the first weeks, always went past the sideboard +quickly; and she marvelled, with hand at her mouth, when her +father lifted the thing carelessly, and even shook it. +</p> + +<p> +The sounds outside the house, too, were so different from +those around their Sussex home. There the birds had sung, +hardly heeded, in the boughs or under the eaves, or fluttered out +of the creeper on the walls; and footsteps were seldom heard +unless they were those of Eadigo on the gravel, or some visitor +approaching the door. But here in Deseret Road sounded the +rattle of two-wheeled tradesmen's carts, almost under the +breakfast-room window; the crunching of errand-boys' hand-barrows; +the ringing on the pavement of the feet of passers-by; or a loud +and continued vibrating as some idle, whistling urchin dragged +a stick along the area railings. In the winter came the bell of +the muffin-man; and at other times the musical, sad cry of men +and women selling lavender: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Lavender, sweet lavender,<br> + Sixteen branches a penny<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The errand boys were interesting because they could often +be encouraged to put out their tongues or make long noses. +And the muffin-man was never to be missed; if Daphne +announced his appearance, Owen rushed to the breakfast-room +window. He balanced a whole tray of muffins on his head, with +nothing of the contortion, nervousness and reaching of one's +tongue up to one's nose that Daphne had found inevitable when +trying to do it with the butler's tray. +</p> + +<p> +Ever afterwords the muffin bell made her think of a winter +Sunday afternoon in Deseret Road. A year had passed. Father +was away—tremendously far away. Having decided to treat +himself to a holiday in India, he had departed in a cloud of +romance, after showing the children his cabin trunks, his +tropical hats, and pictures of the huge ship in which he would +actually live for several weeks. Once he had "dressed up" in +his Indian toggery, and beautifully neat and handsome, +distinguished and whimsical he had looked in his white drill, +smiling above his brown beard. Father's absence brought one +advantage: Hollins, instead of Miss Durgon, took them to +church. When father was at home, Miss Durgon had always +conducted them with great parade to St. Antony's near by. +It was a long, unintelligible service, and Daphne's only interest +was to hope that some one would faint again, like a young woman +who had caused a splendid diversion one warm spring morning. +But nobody ever obliged again, and Daphne's detestation of +church was suddenly increased to horror by the fixed idea that +one day <i>she</i> was destined to provide the excitement. This +heart-stopping thought would come over her, if the sermon were at all +long, so that she would send up an ejaculatory prayer as sincere +as that house of prayer had ever known: "O God, make him +stop!" Miss Durgon's deportment at church incensed her more +than anywhere else; it was so silly the way she opened her Bible, +directly the preacher announced the text and its reference. +What was the sense in looking them up when she had just been +told what they were? Guessing that her father did not approve +of church, she one day announced to Miss Durgon that she +didn't think she would go that morning; Father didn't go. But +Miss Durgon made short work of this: "Your father's a very +clever man. When you're as clever as he is, you'll be able to +question whether or not you'll go to church"; to which Daphne +answered promptly: "Father says I <i>am</i> clever." +</p> + +<p> +But now that Mr. Bruno had gone away, Miss Durgon ceased +going to church, delegating to Hollins the task of taking the +children. And going to Hollins's church was nothing like so +detestable as going to Miss Durgon's. Hollins had a church of +her own fancy, quite a distance away, to which you went in a +bus. +</p> + +<p> +"I do seem to fancy it, I must say," she told the children. "I +can't explain it—it sort of <i>gets</i> me. Your St. Antony's doesn't +get me at all." +</p> + +<p> +She had first taken them there in the morning, telling them +they would be pleased with the procession; it was as good as a +theatre. This had excited them, and in their pew they eagerly +awaited the beginning of the entertainment. When the banners +and crucifixes and candles and incense and scarlet-skirted boys +and quilted clergymen poured out from behind the high altar, +Owen, who had been watching them with a falling mouth, +suddenly looked up to Hollins and said: +</p> + +<p> +"Is it all right?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins murmured "Sh—sh," and nodded "Yes," thereby +answering the question that England had essayed to answer +for sixty years. +</p> + +<p> +On this particular winter afternoon, the children's service was +more than usually entertaining. Glossy coloured pictures were +brought round by the stout, smiling gentleman in the linen and +lace, and distributed to the children. It was better than the +crackers thrown by the clown in the pantomime, for every child +seemed (if craning heads saw aright) to receive one, and the +stout gentleman had almost as merry a smile as the clown's. +When he came alongside Owen, who was at the end of the pew—in +fact, almost in the nave, such was his open-mouthed interest—and +offered him a picture, Owen looked up at Hollins and +asked: +</p> + +<p> +"Is it all right?" +</p> + +<p> +And Hollins said: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Sh——! Quite all right. Take it." +</p> + +<p> +So he took it and began to chew one of its corners. Daphne +had some difficulty in taking hers for she was struggling with a +fit of giggling. +</p> + +<p> +Towards the end of the service, when the church was darkening, +another exciting and mirthful thing happened: the verger +lit the gas-brackets one after another. Then came a hymn, "All +things bright and beautiful," and a procession in which the +children fell in, pew by pew, behind the choir, and walked round +the church. The little ones, Daphne noticed with a throb of pity +that hurt her, held the hands of older brothers and sisters, and +ran and stumbled along, dropping their books and weeping bitter +tears that were unheeded in the roar of: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + <i>All</i> things bright and beautiful,<br> + All creatures great and small,<br> + <i>All</i> things wise and wonderful,<br> + The Lord God made them all.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +One by one the pews in front of the Brunos emptied, and +Daphne got quite exhilarated, as it drew near their moment to +turn into the nave. Owen, being on the outside of the pew, had +to lead off, and he prefaced so unusual a proceeding by looking +up at Hollins with eyebrows that obviously inquired into its +correctness. Reassured, he stepped out to join the others, first +making certain, however, that Hollins and his sister were +coming too. +</p> + +<p> +When, after the blessing and a hymn sung most amusingly on +one's knees, they passed out with the crowd into the road, they +found it quite dark, though they had not yet had tea. They +walked quickly down the road, Daphne talking excitedly and +skippingly to Hollins about the service. And then the muffin +bell sounded. And even while they were drawing attention to +it, a muffin-man swung round a distant corner, and approached +them along their very pavement. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there muffins for tea?" asked Owen. +</p> + +<p> +"You shouldn't ought to say, Is there? Where's your grammar? +You should say, Are there?" +</p> + +<p> +So Daphne said it. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, are there?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, Miss Inquisitive, there aren't." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, couldn't we take some back with us?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well now, did you ever? Of course not." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, do let's." +</p> + +<p> +Owen said nothing, being not quite clear whether so abnormal +a development were all right. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Holly, may we?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne always gained her point by calling Hollins this +endearing name. +</p> + +<p> +"You know you didn't ought to buy anything of a Sunday." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you ought. Didn't he tell us that the disciples picked +the corn as they walked through the field? Why, I believe +Owen's is a picture of them.... It is!" She gave a little +jump. "Oh, Holly, I believe you're a Pharisee. Look, that's +you in the background, looking snitchy." +</p> + +<p> +"You're a clever one," said Hollins. "You say more than +your prayers, you do." And, as the muffin-man was now close, +she stopped before him. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, good!" muttered Daphne, as Hollins bought. +</p> + +<p> +They were soon at the wide high street, where the buses were. +They clambered inside one, Hollins refusing them permission to +mount to the top, on the score that the air after dark was +treacherous. So, wrapped up in their reefer coats, they sat in +the bus, swinging their legs, and staring up at the advertisements +of Sapolio, or down at a new one, which was fixed at the +bus's end, a picture of a very discontented baby climbing out of +a bath to get a piece of soap. +</p> + +<p> +"What does it say beneath?" asked Owen. +</p> + +<p> +"It says, 'He won't be happy till he gets it.'" +</p> + +<p> +"What's he want it for?" +</p> + +<p> +"How should I know, silly? Eat it, I expect." +</p> + +<p> +Hollins was always shorter with Owen than with Daphne. +She believed she had some special feeling for Daphne, having +been beside her father when the news came of her birth. +</p> + +<p> +"Did he get it?" asked Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"How should I know, silly one? No, I don't think he did. +He fell down and hurt his nose." +</p> + +<p> +Owen's hand shot to the bridge of his nose in nervous +sympathy. He brought it away quickly with a timid glance, to +see if any one had remarked so absurd a motion. But no one +had because the bus had stopped to allow of a lady's entrance. +As all the seats were occupied, she would have been obliged to +stand if Hollins hadn't nudged Owen and whispered, "Who's +a little gentleman now?" Owen was dreading this; not because +he minded giving up his seat, but because he so disliked the +publicity, and the not knowing what to say to the lady. She, +however, saved him from speech by saying, "Well, that is kind +of you," and Hollins by adding, "Not at all. He's pleased." +</p> + +<p> +When they were home again, they found that Miss Durgon +was out, and not likely to be back all the evening. Then it was +that Daphne heard Hollins mutter her mysterious words, "I +guessed as much. I thought so.... Well, come down to my +room, and we'll have a jolly tea together there.... Ha—I +knew it...." +</p> + +<p> +Down in her common little sitting-room, she poked up the fire +till it flared with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"I do like a nice blaze on a winter's afternoon. There's nothing +like a bit of a flare to cheer you up. See that blue flame? +That means frost. Now you watch that, and if you're very +good, I'll bring up something that's even better than muffins." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, what's that, what's that?" demanded Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies," teased Hollins +as she disappeared. In a few minutes she returned with a paper +bag, and, kneeling heavily on the rug before the fire, produced +chestnuts, to a shriek of delight from Daphne and a request for +further information and explanation from Owen. The chestnuts +were placed on the bars of the fire. +</p> + +<p> +After tea they told stories in the glow of the fire, and had a +concert, singing with the help of Hollins, "Way down upon the +Swanee River," and the hymn, "I love to hear the story," not +out of piety but because its tune was so curly. And lastly, +Hollins gave her famous solo about the little tailor boy, who +went skipping into smoke with a broadcloth under his arm: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + With a broadcloth under his arm,<br> + With a broadcloth under his arm,<br> + And the little tailor boy went skipping into smoke<br> + With a broadcloth under his arm.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Which was always a signal for Hollins to say, "And now you +go skipping off to bed." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0102"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne was growing tall. If by mistake she ran into a +room of visitors and rushed out again with an "Oh, +sorry!" the impression she left was of thin legs seen above the +knee, and untidy brown hair. Also of a hot blush, less of +shyness than of sudden guilt and consequent laughter. And +somebody was sure to say, "She's going to be a tomboy and no +mistake." Her high spirits were so high that often when she was +alone she felt she could scream with them. This over-plus of +vitality, her father used to say hopefully, would run to creative +work or a passionate love one day. +</p> + +<p> +Disliking most things that Miss Durgon recommended, +Daphne had not decided what sort of character she would like +to have. She was a malleable mass. But one ambition was +warming. The frequent repetition of the phrase "tomboyish" +had pleased her, and she decided to live up to it. She decided +to hate dolls, doll's houses and sewing. And she was secretly +pleased when people said, "The girl ought to have been the boy, +and the boy ought to have been the girl," for she did not doubt +that she could dominate Owen any day of the week. This desire +to be masculine, introduced from without, was perhaps the +earliest principle to strike a root in her. +</p> + +<p> +She imagined that her hatred of repression—or, in other +words, her hatred of Miss Durgon—was the natural outcome +of her manliness. The obvious fact that Owen was timid of +their guardian while <i>she</i> could be outspokenly rebellious, and, +please God, intended to be more so, gave her a deal of +satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +Once, sitting in the little room below stairs, and talking to +Hollins, who was working a sewing-machine, she asked her for +an opinion on Miss Durgon. +</p> + +<p> +"Is she a good woman, Hollins?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins appeared to lift her lips towards her nose. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that's not for me to say. What some of us think we +keep to ourselves." +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Hollins, shall I tell you what I think, if you tell me +what you think." +</p> + +<p> +"No; I shan't tell you what I think if you tell me what you +think." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Hollins!" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins turned the wheel monotonously, her head slightly on +one side. +</p> + +<p> +"There are some things one thinks that are best thought and +left at that." +</p> + +<p> +"But why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why? Because they ain't pretty, silly one. Now do you +know?" +</p> + +<p> +"You mean, you think Miss Durgon a beast?" +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Daphne, I never said nothing of the sort. And I'll +thank you not to go putting it about that I did." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne started to be ingratiating. +</p> + +<p> +"No, but you meant it, didn't you, Hollins?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never, so there! All I mean is, some people are made in +their own way and can't help it." +</p> + +<p> +"Made what way, Hollins?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins snapped an entangled thread. +</p> + +<p> +"Made so as they know how to worm themselves into +positions, and sort of make themselves indispensable, and get +the power into their hands. Oh, it's clever; I'd be the last to +say it wasn't." +</p> + +<p> +"She doesn't like you, Hollins." +</p> + +<p> +"She doesn't, doesn't she? Milady doesn't. Well, I wonder +now if that'll spoil my appetite. I wonder if I shall lay awake +fretting about that.... And how, Miss Mischief, may you +happen to know whether she likes me or not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because she often says I oughtn't to hang about you so +much." +</p> + +<p> +"She does? Says you shouldn't ought to hang about me so +much? Oh! There's where you are. I hold me tongue from +speaking against her, but she'll say what she likes about me +readily enough. There's the lady. And mind you, I've kep' +quiet about more things than one I've noticed. +</p> + +<p> +"I've noticed, f'r instance—however.... Common people +like Hollins, you see, haven't got eyes, and what they think don't +matter, as they've no brains worth speaking of...." +</p> + +<p> +The forces moving towards a more overt war between Daphne +and Miss Durgon were not only working in Daphne. Miss +Durgon, who had now been many years with Mr. Bruno, was +no longer nervous of jeopardising her position by a false move. +She had summed up her employer, and knew that his love of +ease and unworried seclusion would resist any idea of change. +She was still under forty-five, and very different, of course, +from what she appeared to the eyes of her wards. Naught of her +slimness or good carriage had left her, and now that she was +earning a fair stipend and could supplement it from the +housekeeping money, she dressed remarkably well. To people of her +own generation and class she showed a vivacity and cleverness +such as never appeared before those creatures who could not +interest her—children and servants. Of late Miss Durgon had +enjoyed the admiration of some men, though in each case, +unfortunately, they were the husbands of her friends. +</p> + +<p> +This admiration had increased her self-respect, and, as a +result, her indignation at the rebelliousness of Daphne. The +indignation demanded an early overthrow of the child. And by +the side of this sense that Daphne must be taught her place sat +an unhealthy but growing desire. Though she knew nothing +about suppressed sex, she saw that there was perversion +somewhere in an idea that could so stimulate her. She wanted to +whip Daphne at least once. There was a sensuous quality about +the child that would make the whipping of her pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +The collision came when Miss Durgon tried to stop Daphne's +game of "Getting up early." +</p> + +<p> +The children had discovered this game in the months before +their father left for India. Those were summer days, and +Daphne would wake up Owen as soon as she herself was +awakened by the sunlight streaming behind the blinds and the +chatter of the birds in Queen's Club Gardens. They would dress +with all the interest of getting up before any one else was astir, +and then creep down the stairs, a little nervous of the deserted, +blind-dimmed house. Unchaining and unbolting the hall door, +they ran out into the sunny publicity of Deseret Road. In their +hands they carried a toy cricket bat (one solid piece of yellow +wood without a splice), four stumps and a tennis ball. Their +destination was a sunken waste ground at the corner of +Goscombe Road, which, though hillocky, weed-grown, and not +empty of refuse, required no great imagination to be converted +into Queen's Club Gardens. There they would set their stumps +and imitate the white-flannelled cricketers whom they had +watched from their back windows. Daphne represented +Cambridge and Owen Oxford. +</p> + +<p> +The clearest line of division in the human race was that which +divided the people who were Oxford from those who were +Cambridge. Owen was Oxford, because Oxford always won +the Boat-race; Daphne was Cambridge because Cambridge never +did. There were other reasons for their choice: Owen was +Oxford because his father was, and his name began with an O; +Daphne was Cambridge because light blue was a nicer colour +than dark blue, and D, her initial, was nearer C than O, and +because hardly any one else she knew was Cambridge, and +because Owen was Oxford. +</p> + +<p> +Cambridge batted first, and Owen, for Oxford, opened the +bowling. If Owen's ball came near enough, she tried to hit it; +and when she missed it, ran after it, picked it up and returned +it to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Bowl us something one can hit," she shouted. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, after she had hit it, Owen stopped it and gathered +it up; and then she would instruct him to hold it while she ran +to his stump and back. +</p> + +<p> +"That's what I have to do," she explained. +</p> + +<p> +So Owen examined the stitches of the tennis ball while +Daphne ran to where he was standing and back to her wicket. +</p> + +<p> +"Now you bowl again." +</p> + +<p> +"But when can I bat?" +</p> + +<p> +"When you've knocked over these three stumps, silly. Don't +you know the game?" +</p> + +<p> +Owen looked a little sulky. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't hit them with you in front." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, when I've made thirty I'll retire." +</p> + +<p> +When Daphne bowled she would only consent to bowl over-arm. +That was the way they did it at Queen's Club. Sometimes +the milkman would stay his clattering cart to watch her, +and call out: "Good old W. G.! What price Lord 'Awke?" His +"That's right! Sling 'em up, miss!" always deepened the +colour of her cheeks, already warmed with running; and she +would try to impress him by sending down an especially good +ball. If it proved, however, to be rather wide she would call out +to Owen loud explanations of so unusual a failure, hoping to +keep her reputation with the milkman. When the game was +over she hurried back to tell her father the result of the match, +the number of runs she had scored, and how she had been +obliged to retire in order that Owen might have an innings. +</p> + +<p> +But now that Mr. Bruno was abroad Miss Durgon withdrew +her consent from the game. At breakfast one morning, when +she heard that they had been out, she pronounced, as all rose +from the table: +</p> + +<p> +"You're not to do that any more. Do you clearly understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" asked Daphne, with symptoms of sulkiness. +</p> + +<p> +"Why? Because I say so. You must allow me to know +better than you. Ladies' children don't play in the streets." +</p> + +<p> +(In the vocabulary of Miss Durgon there were two kinds of +children—"ladies' children" and "district children," the latter +being sometimes called "poor people's children.") +</p> + +<p> +"Father used to let us," grumbled Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't answer back. Your father has entrusted your bringing +up to me, and doesn't want to be bothered about it. You're +older now, too. Besides, cricket isn't a nice game for a little +girl." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind why. You'll understand these things later on. +It's indelicate." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was a little nervous of her next remark, but as she +was more frightened of convicting herself of fear, she hurriedly +forced it out. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall ask father when he comes back." +</p> + +<p> +"You excessively rude little girl!" exclaimed Miss Durgon. +"You want a good whipping. I've a good mind to give you one. +You've been getting quite out of hand lately." +</p> + +<p> +That Miss Durgon was empowered to give her a whipping +had not entered Daphne's mind. Hitherto, when it had been a +case for such extreme measures, Miss Durgon had spoken to +her father. But that was when she had been very young. These +words of her guardian momentarily repulsed her. But feeling +the ignominy of surrender, and observing that Owen was staring +open-mouthed from one to the other as they exchanged these +interesting remarks, she persisted. One had to play up +before him. +</p> + +<p> +"In the Bible they played in the streets. Father Alderwood +said so. They played at funerals in the market-place, and Jesus +Christ played with them——" +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne! I never heard such talk. Go out of the room at +once. How dare you talk blasphemously like that? Upon my +soul—mark my words—if you try on this arguing with me I +shall one day take a stick to you. I mean it. Mixing up +religion and play like that! Little humbug!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not a humbug," said Daphne, walking round the +breakfast table to keep it between Miss Durgon and herself. +</p> + +<p> +"You're a little humbug," repeated Miss Durgon, who had so +lost her temper as hardly to know what she was talking about. +"Parading religion, and at the same time being insolent and +disobedient. You're a regular little Pharisee." +</p> + +<p> +To be called what you have called others is always as +wounding as it is astonishing. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not a Pharisee." The tears sprang to Daphne's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you are; and will you keep quiet, I tell you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if I'm a Pharisee, you're a Sadducee." +</p> + +<p> +"Upon my soul! Come here! Don't run away! It's no +good; I shall catch you sooner or later." Miss Durgon had +paused, feeling the indignity of running after a child. +"Insulting a woman who's giving up her life to you like that! +Sadducee indeed! You don't know what a Sadducee is." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I do. It's some one who doesn't believe in the +Resurrection." +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne, come here. I'm going to give you a thorough good +whipping. You've earned it richly." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne ran towards the door. Miss Durgon arrived there +at the same time. Daphne slipped past her, and, crying loudly, +ran out of the room. She heard Miss Durgon call, "Stop that +child!" so raced upstairs, and remembering the bolt on the +bathroom door, rushed in, slammed the door, and shot home the bolt. +</p> + +<p> +Breathless, she threw herself on the linoleum floor, and sobbed +with heaving shoulders. Knocks came to the door, and the voice +of Miss Durgon. +</p> + +<p> +"Open at once, Daphne. Bad, naughty little girl! Open the +door at once." +</p> + +<p> +"I shan't! I shan't!" sobbed Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +The door shook. Daphne had a wild idea, should the door +yield, of leaping out of the window and crashing to her death +in the street. She jumped up at a moment when the door +seemed likely to give, and flung up the sash. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you doing?" cried the alarmed Miss Durgon, and +the door ceased to shake. "Daphne, what are you doing?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne roared through her tears. +</p> + +<p> +"If you come in, I'm going out of the window. Out of the +window." +</p> + +<p> +"You're a bad, evil little girl. I'm sure I don't know what +to do with you." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon retired; and Daphne and she were separated by +the bathroom door, both a little alarmed at the storm, and rather +vague as to how it had arisen. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +More than once this bathroom had been the scene of a solitary +performance at which Daphne would have been ashamed to be +caught, though it gave her a sweet, troubled delight such as no +other game could give. It had sprung from the everlasting lilt +in her mind of some lines of poetry, found in her history after +the story of King Charles's beheading: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He nothing common did nor mean<br> + Upon that memorable scene ...<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Nor called the gods, with vulgar spite,<br> + To vindicate his helpless right;<br> + But bowed his comely head<br> + Down, as upon a bed.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The nature of her delight in them she did not analyse; but a +kindred delight—an emotion not empty of troubling—had used +to come to her, in the old home, when she saw a shaft of yellow +lamplight thrown on to evening grass; or a wood of dark firs +spining a hill in the landscape's blue distance; or those stretches +of rusty bracken, with here and there a lonely, blown tree, that +were Shadwell Common in autumn; or red firelight on old wood, +when sunset had fallen before tea, and the lamps were not yet +lit. It was the same haunting something that came out of Hans +Andersen: "She flew away as if she were flying straight into +the sun." And the old nursery rhyme had it: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + How many miles to Babylon?<br> + Three score and ten.<br> + Can I get there by candlelight?<br> + Aye, there and back again.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"He nothing common did nor mean." A scene in which she +died like that, wrongfully condemned but too proud to protest +her innocence, was Daphne's shameful game in the bathroom +behind a bolted door. At first she used to place the chair for a +block, and walk towards it through a street of staring faces. +Before its feet she knelt down, so that her hair fell away from +the neck. There, without visible tremor, she awaited the blow. +</p> + +<p> +But gradually the drama in this form failed to express fully +the movements within her. She wanted the cruelly executed +person to be herself, Daphne Bruno, not a character in history. +And in these days people were never beheaded. If the game +was to satisfy her, it must be brought into the realism of the +present. And so it changed into a trial for murder, where +Daphne stood in the dock (her hands on the woodwork round +the bath) and listened in silence to the perjury of witnesses, or +turned grave, brave eyes on the judge as he pronounced the +sentence. After hearing his words, while the tense solemnity +remained in the court, she made a brief speech, proclaiming her +faith that her character would one day be cleared, and thanking +those friends in the gallery who had never doubted her innocence, +and the Q.C. who had defended her as ably as it was in +the power of man to do. +</p> + +<p> +Then, having done nothing common, mean or vulgar, she +turned and followed the warder to the condemned cell. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But to-day, in stormy mood, she could play no such game. +Picking herself up from the floor, she sat sideways on the chair +with her arm along its back. Her sobs were now internal and +intermittent. The chair as a permanent seat proved uncomfortably +hard, so she sat on the cork mat on the linoleum and picked +off chips from its broken corner. When this palled, she stood +up and traced her finger along the squares in the tiled +wallpaper, reaching at last the hole in the plaster made by the +door-key. Here she played "snowstorms," putting a finger in the +hole and, by scratching it downwards, sending a tenuous shower +of powdered plaster to the floor. But this palled too. +</p> + +<p> +Very quiet was the house, as if her disgrace were like an illness, +compelling all the inmates to go about their business with +subdued steps. She looked out of the window, and watched +the passing of carts and pedestrians. Sometimes she saw +children known to her, and drew away her head lest they guessed +anything. +</p> + +<p> +If only she had a book to read! If only she could make a +silent dash up the next flight of stairs to the nursery, and seize +a book, and rush back to her fastness! Guiltily she pulled the +bolt, opened the door, and listened. Not a sound anywhere. +She tiptoed through an ante-room on to the landing, and then +leapt like a chamois from stair to stair. Her heart beat fast as +she searched quickly along the shelf that contained her few +books. There was hardly anything she had not read several +times, except, indeed, "Little Women," that Aunt Belle had given +her for her birthday, and she had refused to read on account of +its feminine title. On the ground floor a door shut. Instantly +she seized the book, and hurtled downstairs to her bathroom. +She rested her book on the woodwork round the bath, whose +varnish had been so spoiled by soap; and with her head on her +left palm and her right hand playing with the tap-handles, she +began to read. In a few minutes the tap-handles were neglected; +she was in America with Jo and Meg and Beth and Amy. Her +disgrace withdrew from memory, save in moments when she +contrasted Miss Durgon with the lovable Marmee, or saw a +likeness between her and the peppery Aunt March. The high +sentiments emitted by Jo and Meg and Beth and Amy made +her feel rather good herself. +</p> + +<p> +Wearying of the hard seat, she placed the open book upon +the floor, and herself on her stomach before it, with her hands +supporting her chin, her legs opened, and one foot occasionally +rising into the air. By now the Marches were the most +fascinating family in the world. +</p> + +<p> +The book must surely be literature of a high order, with all +those noble resolutions and elegant little sermons by Marmee. +There stirred in Daphne, for the first time, the ambition to +write. She stopped reading for a minute, and stared over the +book's edge. As pain in the adult artist liberates itself in created +work, so Daphne's present misery sought liberation in a dream +of great books. Books of this kind, very sad and uplifting and +beautiful. The Marches stood cataleptically fixed in the +positions in which she had left them, while her thoughts swept +forward over a life of successes, and down many side avenues, +and beyond death into the long centuries of fame. Yes, she had +made a decision; she would be an authoress. It was thrilling. +She released the Marches from their trance, and followed their +rapid movements again. But the dream had to be returned +to.... Only after many such breaks did the book win her +back to oblivious concentration. +</p> + +<p> +Then, in the enthralling company of Jo and Meg and Beth +and Amy, she guessed nothing of the passage of time, till the +house filled with a smell of greens and roasting fat; and +dinner-things began to clatter in the dining-room. Mingled with her +reading was a wonder if anything would be done about her +dinner. She was quite determined she was not going to unlock +the door and go downstairs. The dinner-bell rang—louder than +usual, as though addressed to her—but she did not move. Only +now she could no longer read; she could only listen. Evidently, +by the silence, they had sat down to the meal, leaving her to +come or stay away as she cared. Further clattering of plates; +that was the meat-course being taken downstairs—and she was +too late now for any. Here was the pudding coming up the +stairs and being taken in. And now, to judge by the silence, +they were eating it.... Ah, footsteps were coming up to her +landing, rather slowly, as of a person who found it none too +easy to manage all the stairs of these London houses. +</p> + +<p> +A heavy breath heaved on the landing. Hollins, undoubtedly. +</p> + +<p> +"If I had a sovereign every time I climbed these stairs, I +should be a wealthy woman. Dearie ... dearie, are you +there?" Daphne answered with a shapeless sound. "Why not +come down and have something to eat? I've come myself to ask +you. She's given orders that nothing's to be kep' hot for you. +Come down, there's a good girl. You can't go starving yourself, +you know. Even I should call that naughty of you. Come +on, dear, you must eat something. There's no smell in nothing, +as the saying is." +</p> + +<p> +"Am I going to be whipped?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she says so. She says you're making your punishment +worse by this persisting. But I dare say she's only trying it on. +She's punishing you in another way, and I do call it nasty." The +door was open twelve inches by this time. "She's purposely +taking Master Owen to the Zoo this afternoon. Heaven +knows I'm the last person to encourage children to be saucy, but +if I'd been him, I'd uv refused to go...." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne shut the door, but gently, in Hollins's face and slid +the bolt home; silently, so that Hollins should not be offended. +Hollins's voice pursued through the wood: "Never mind, darling. +Never mind. When they've gone you and I'll go for a nice walk +together. And now come and eat something. Spite of what she +says, I've kep' a plateful in the oven." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne's reply was moaned: +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not coming down to be whipped." +</p> + +<p> +"No, and I'm not sure that I blame you, neither.... Well, +don't cry, silly one. Let's hope they'll start soon, and then you +can come out." +</p> + +<p> +When she was gone, Daphne went to the window, out of +which she stared dreamily at the stretch of Deseret Road. +Already she had heard the rush of Owen's feet up the stairs, and +the preparations of Miss Durgon in her room; and it was not +long before the descending steps were heard, and the movements +in the hall, and the shutting of the front door. In a second they +would be in view. There they were, Miss Durgon walking +quickly, and Owen running at her side. Once Owen turned +round and, after looking up at the bathroom window, said +something to Miss Durgon, but she walked on without impairing +her dignity by a look behind. Daphne slipped out of +sight—she had not wanted Owen to see her. +</p> + +<p> +Now she opened the door and carried her swollen eyes and +red nose down into the dining-room. There was no one there. +Too ashamed to show herself to the servants in the basement, +she moved heavily about, hoping her feet would be heard by +Hollins. A sham fit of coughing was also tried. Then she heard +the jingling of a tray, and Hollins coming up the steep stairs. +</p> + +<p> +"There!" said Hollins, as she placed the tray on the table, +"I expect you'll enjoy it all the more for being hungry." +</p> + +<p> +Seeing Daphne's eyes, she gathered her against her breast, +muttering only, "What a shame! What a shame!" +</p> + +<p> +The walk in the afternoon was clouded for Daphne by her +memory of the morning's emotion and by the shadow of the +evening when Miss Durgon would return. She was subdued as +they passed along the shop-windows. One bright interlude +came when Hollins stopped in front of a sweet-shop and told +her to choose a penn'orth to her fancy. Every jar or dish in +the window she examined. "Hundreds of Thousands" were +four ounces a penny, but they went so quickly. "Pontefract +Cakes" didn't last, either. "Liquorice, Linseed and Chlorodyne +Lozenges" were always good, because little bits could be broken +off and dissolved slowly in the mouth, flavouring it for hours; +but grown-up people forbade these as drugs. A glass jar of +gelatine discs at two ounces a penny decided her. These discs, +sometimes used for mending broken panes, stayed in the mouth +for a wonderful time, and could even be taken out and kept in +a handkerchief. It would be lovely to lie on the ground sucking +them while she pursued the adventures of Jo and Meg and +Beth and Amy. For already the book, whose atmosphere had +never quite dissolved, was calling for her return. She persuaded +Hollins to take her once past the fire-station on the chance that +their arrival might synchronise with a call for the engines. +Never yet had she seen the great doors swung open, the horses +harnessed like lightning, and the smoking, spark-dropping +engines galloped past a gathered crowd. But her despairing +conviction that there would be no movement in the station proved +correct. Only a faint thrill could be got from the rows of +shining helmets on both walls, and the shining brass of the +engines. +</p> + +<p> +The walk home was depressing since it led to the moment +of Miss Durgon's return; and when they were in the hall +Daphne suggested that, now she had had her walk, she should +go back to the bathroom and bolt the door. +</p> + +<p> +"No, you're not going to," said Hollins. "She shan't whip +you now. If she says she will, I shall take the liberty of telling +her that she's punished you once by not taking you to the +Zoo.... You read your book and we'll see." +</p> + +<p> +So after tea, Daphne read on, sucking the gelatine discs. +But the reading was all spoiled by her underthinking, which +kept reminding her that Miss Durgon was due. On the sounds +of people coming up the front-door steps, her heart leapt in +fright. The latch-key turned, the door opened, and an umbrella +was put into the hat-stand. Here was Hollins toiling up the +basement stairs to her defence. Her voice mingled in the +passage with Miss Durgon's. Then she entered. +</p> + +<p> +"She says you're to go to bed. She says she's no wish to +see you at all." (In truth, Daphne's stormy revolt had quite +frightened away Miss Durgon's desire to whip her.) "She +says——" +</p> + +<p> +Just then Owen rushed in to tell his sister all about the +Zoo, but he had scarcely uttered a word before Hollins +interrupted: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I took you for a little gentleman, I did." +</p> + +<p> +Owen looked at Hollins with the timid glance of the corrected. +</p> + +<p> +"A little gentleman wouldn't mention anything about where +he'd been, a little gentleman wouldn't." +</p> + +<p> +Owen lapsed into a dubious silence, while Daphne declared: +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't want to go to his dirty, beastly old Zoo"; and +Hollins hastened to prevent trouble by saying: +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Miss Daphne, that'll do. Suppose you zoo off to bed." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0103"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +</h3> + +<p> +In the beginning Miss Durgon had given the children their +lessons. But now her dignity, generated in the warm air of +leisure and comparative luxury, and sunned by certain other +things that lay beyond the walls of Mr. Bruno's home (and +beyond the walls of his knowledge), was, if anything, given a +sharper outline by Daphne's insolent rebellion. Transformed +from an impecunious gentlewoman who sought a housekeeper's +situation into a lady of social graciousness, who consented +to take over the reins of a distinguished writer's home, she +began to think it unreasonable that she should be asked to +play nursery governess to a brace of obstreperous children. +So, on Mr. Tenter Bruno's return from the East, she laid +before him a project that had long been maturing in her mind. +He looked up from his easy chair and his book, desirous only +of being relieved as quickly as possible from this visit of a +domestic problem. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, by all means, tell me, Miss Durgon. By all means...." +</p> + +<p> +She explained. She felt that the engagement of a daily +governess for her charges would be well worth the small outlay +entailed. The children were getting older and should have +longer time for lessons than she could give them. She was +worried by the feeling that she was hardly doing justice to the +two departments of her work: the management of his +household and the education of his children. +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me," smiled Mr. Bruno. "The market in governesses +is a thing I've so little studied that I've no conception +what they cost. Are they quoted these days at two figures +or three? ... H'm," he added, seeing his housekeeper +uncomfortably bewildered. "Their salaries, I mean." +</p> + +<p> +"Forty pounds a year, with lunch and tea, should secure +us a really good governess." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno had a restive feeling that if he could purchase +the right to continue his present chapter for forty pounds +a year, it had best be done. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well, we could afford that much," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," confirmed Miss Durgon, "and then I should be at +liberty to devote myself entirely to the management of the +house and the moral care of Daphne and Owen—with, of +course, the oversight of their studies." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno's hand turned a page of his book, and Miss +Durgon therefore stepped obligingly towards the door. It was +as she had foreseen; he would edge away from any long thinking +on a theme unrelated to his books. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, you'll do all the advertising and interviewing +necessary," he tendered over the tops of his reading spectacles, +now happily replaced. "I cannot possibly be besieged by young +governesses." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon assured him that she would certainly undertake +all that. +</p> + +<p> +And few undertakings could have given her more pleasure. +It was a serene satisfaction to be on the luxurious employing +side of an advertisement in the <i>Warden</i>, after inhabiting the +meagre country on the employee's side. She saw herself +sitting with some state in the dining-room and giving an +audience to nervous applicants. She would be impressively +dressed for them. +</p> + +<p> +There were but two replies to her advertisement for a +"governess, young, bright, willing," of which she had only +ordered one insertion, since it was being paid for out of the +housekeeping money. To these two applicants she wrote +instructions for them to call at given hours. The first was a +lady unmistakably older than Miss Durgon herself, and quite +unsuitable, because it would be difficult to order her about; +besides, the creature was offensively careful to parade the +plumes of a fallen gentlewoman. The second, who called an +hour later that morning, seemed far more suitable, and her +suitability received adventitious increase from the contrast with +her predecessor. She was a little spare sprig of a girl who +could be easily planted and trained, and would never, one +imagined, dare to be "superior" with such a long-rooted and +graceful tree as her lady employer. Her round cheeks, slightly +flushed, her simple frock, her hair the tint of a harvest field, +and her shy, escaping eyes were the likely efflorescence of a +nature ingenuous and pliable. +</p> + +<p> +When Miss Durgon floated into the dining-room, wearing +the majesty of a prospective employer, this little Miss Carrell +rose respectfully and remained standing; and it was not till +Miss Durgon had taken her chair and rested leisured and +well-to-do hands on her lap that Miss Carrell, in response to +a hint, sat on the edge of an arm-chair, holding her little +handbag on her knees. And yet she was not nervous, Miss Durgon +saw; it was simply good manners. +</p> + +<p> +"I am Miss Durgon, who wrote to you, you know. I am +the—er—the guardian of Mr. Tenter Bruno's children; in fact, +I've managed everything for him since his dear wife died +in giving birth to the younger child." Miss Durgon paused, +thinking that perhaps this slip of a girl understood none of +these things. "Well, Miss—er——" +</p> + +<p> +"Carrell," breathed the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, of course. Well, Miss Carrell, I want to do +my best for these children—in fact, hitherto I've felt I ought +to teach them the elements myself; no one can do it so well +as their parent or guardian; but now they're getting bigger +and demanding too much of my time, and Mr. Bruno's household +is a large and increasing charge, and my social engagements +forbid me doing full justice to the children's needs." +</p> + +<p> +"I quite see," was wafted from the easy chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Well, I imagine you would arrive in the morning, +soon after breakfast, and give them lessons till one o'clock, +having lunch with them—and then perhaps a walk in the +afternoon, and tea. And after that Hollins will take care of +them till bedtime. Hollins, I should tell you, is of her kind, +an excellent person, whom I retain in the service of the house, +though I must say she's not very loyal to me, and I've reason +to believe is not above speaking against me; but she's been +with the family since before her mistress died, and you know +these old servants—they never do take to, or admit any good +in a new—er——" +</p> + +<p> +"New regime," supplied the easy chair understandingly. "Yes, +I know. They're always like that." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, admit any good in a new regime. Well, I suppose +you've had some experience." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes." Miss Carrell bowed her pale hair over her +hand-bag and produced an envelope. "I can show you this +testimonial. I have been for three years a mistress at Hemans +House." +</p> + +<p> +She said this (unfolding the testimonial) as though she +expected any well-informed woman to know Hemans House by +repute; and Miss Durgon, in knowing nothing about the place, +felt in danger of a social fall. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, were you? That's interesting. But you hardly look +old enough for——" +</p> + +<p> +"I am twenty-two," interrupted Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +"You went as junior mistress, I imagine." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. But later on Miss Vidella entrusted the elder girls +to me quite a lot. You see, I'd been there over two years, +which was longer than any of the other mistresses——" +</p> + +<p> +"This Miss—Verdella, did you say?—must have been difficult +to get on with." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell shrugged. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she was rather quaint." A blush rushed over her +face, as if she had unthinkingly let some little monkeyish +animal, deliberately battened underground, peep out its nose. +"I don't think the other mistresses tried to understand her +and shape themselves to her ways." +</p> + +<p> +"And why did you leave, if you were so helpful to Miss +Verdella?" asked Miss Durgon, who, not having noticed the +peep, was thinking, "This girl is just what I want," and +imagining herself making of Miss Carrell a pleasant companion, +though a properly subservient one. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, mother was not at all well, and I felt I ought to +get daily employment and live at home. Here is Miss Vidella's +testimonial." +</p> + +<p> +The sheet of notepaper accepted by Miss Durgon showed, +beneath the name, "Hemans House" and a crest, a paragraph +written in an inordinately neat and punctilious hand: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella has pleasure in testifying that Miss Mary +Carrell was an assistant mistress at this school for nine terms, +during which she gave every satisfaction, discharging her very +responsible duties with propriety and considerable ability. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +AMY VIDELLA. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon handed it back. +</p> + +<p> +There was further question and answer, much of which +amounted to saying again, in a different shade or with new +accompaniments, what had been said before; and then Miss +Durgon hinted: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I shall be interviewing other applicants, so I will +let you know my decision later." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell rose obediently. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you very much indeed. I feel I could do all +you want. Though I'm afraid I can't let you know finally till +the day after to-morrow, as I am seeing some other parents +to-morrow, and one the following day." +</p> + +<p> +It was said so gently that Miss Durgon could suspect +neither impertinence nor guile. And directly she heard of these +other prospective employers she desired to secure at once +this only suitable girl. And really, too, despite her vesture +of an employer's ease, she had no experience of engaging +governesses. +</p> + +<p> +"Hum. That's a nuisance. I'm particularly anxious to +know definitely by this time to-morrow. I think—yes, I think +that, for my part, I could definitely say that I should be +prepared to offer you the—the post. Is it at all likely that you +could decide definitely now? Are the other situations likely +to be more attractive than this one?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I don't think so," said Miss Carrell, her bag in her +hand, and prepared to leave. "Only—only one of them is +worth fifty pounds a year—and, for mother's sake, I feel +I ought to consider it." +</p> + +<p> +"Fifty pounds a year! That seems a large salary for so +young a woman. I don't think Mr. Bruno would be prepared +to give that." +</p> + +<p> +"No," agreed Miss Carrell, "and I've no doubt you will +get somebody equally suitable for a less amount. Thank you so +much for considering——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but wait a minute. Mr. Bruno entrusts most of these +affairs to me, and I feel I can commit him to fifty pounds a +year. I am so anxious to have things settled early. Would +you say definitely that you would come if I offered that?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell smiled brightly and gratefully. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I think so. I don't like to force you up in that +way—but I have my mother to consider." +</p> + +<p> +By now Miss Durgon could picture the mother in her shabby +room, and felt a pity, mixed with inevitable contempt, for the +indigent lady. +</p> + +<p> +"Precisely. Then you will come?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell nodded and smiled. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Daphne was excited about the arrival of a new governess, +and Owen pretended to the same enthusiasm, though, to tell the +truth, he could not see that it was matter for congratulation. +But Daphne had ascertained from Hollins that the approaching +Miss Carrell was little and pretty and fair-haired. "Almost +a child herself, you might say, and likely to be as much a +playfellow, so to put it, as a governess. I don't often take +to people first go-off, as the saying is, but there, she fair got +me." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she'll be better than old Durgon," answered Daphne, +who liked abusing the housekeeper to Hollins, perceiving that, +though the "sauce" was properly condemned, it was not +unsavoury. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, then, Miss Daphne, you're getting that rude and bold, +I don't know what's coming over you." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she is a beast, and you know you think it." +</p> + +<p> +Owen, who was listening, looked alarmed at such a plain +statement of fact. +</p> + +<p> +"I know I never said such a thing in my life," affirmed +Hollins. "You know I never." +</p> + +<p> +"Saying's one thing, and thinking's another." +</p> + +<p> +"And saucing's one thing, and getting out of my way when +I'm busy's another. So you be gone, miss, or it'll be idling's one +thing and bed's another." +</p> + +<p> +It was early evening, before bedtime, and Daphne, hardly +knowing why she did it, ran into her father's study. She +forgot to knock, and was only checked half-way across the +carpet by a mutter of protest from the lips of Mr. Bruno, who, +sitting in his easy chair, dropped his book a few inches, but no +farther. +</p> + +<p> +"The idea embodied in a closed door, Miss Cataract, is that +it should be nervously knocked at—even apologetically knocked +at—by mere idle children. Also, should it admit them on +sufferance, that they must tread delicately across the privacy +beyond." +</p> + +<p> +Since his return from India he had been aware of something +in his daughter's large, sparkling eyes and unrestrained +naturalness that always compelled him to adopt with her a +gnomic tone, highly civilised. He liked to dazzle her with a +Roman candle of words, or reduce her to temporary immobility +with some massive period. His skill at the game pleased him. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, can I come in?" +</p> + +<p> +"On a rapidly expiring lease—yes." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne stood there and wondered what she had come for. +</p> + +<p> +"We've got a new governess, papa." +</p> + +<p> +"I should have thought a lion-tamer was more what was +wanted." +</p> + +<p> +"She's coming on Monday." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it seems hardly an occasion for turbulent rejoicing. +A task-mistress who will (I hope) press your nose firmly on a +grindstone is not a new doll or a new dress." +</p> + +<p> +"I hate dolls." +</p> + +<p> +"I forgot. Let us say, then, she's not a new football. Why +this strange frenzy?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it'll be fun." +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't gathered from Miss Durgon that you saw much +humour in your tasks with her." +</p> + +<p> +"I hate Miss Durgon." +</p> + +<p> +"Hush, mænad! What you hate is restraint and healthy +discipline. I hope this new governess swishes you often and +soundly." +</p> + +<p> +The subject of whipping always fascinated Daphne. She +was accustomed to ask her friends in a lowered voice if +their fathers and mothers whipped them, and to read over and +over again all stories where such execution was done on +refractory boys and girls. It was a subject that gave a curious +exaltation similar to that provided by pictures of little black +savages disappearing into the maw of a crocodile. +</p> + +<p> +"Were you ever whipped, papa?" +</p> + +<p> +"Most certainly. And by its gracious effect I am what I +am." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, why don't you ever whip me and Owen?" +</p> + +<p> +She sat on the table to hear his explanation. +</p> + +<p> +"I am a very busy man, Duffy; and though the task you suggest +is important and honourable, and of real service to society—even +one to which no artist need be ashamed to lend a hand—I +yet presume to think that the work on which I am at +present engaged"—he significantly replaced his glasses—"is +even more important. Besides, I can remember past occasions +when——" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne changed her position, lying along the table so that +she rested on her elbow and one foot hooked itself over the +table's edge. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, you've spanked us sometimes, but I don't call that +the real thing." +</p> + +<p> +"Let us hope, then, that this governess will be made of +heavier metal. What did you say her name was?" +</p> + +<p> +"Carrell." +</p> + +<p> +"It doesn't sound promising. I can hardly hear the swish +of a rod in such musical syllables. But we must hope for +the best." He lifted up his book. "Well, are you sure you +have not outstayed your tenancy?" +</p> + +<p> +With a half-sulky "All right!" Daphne departed, but her +father did not immediately continue his book. This slight +change in Daphne, noticeable after a long absence! It was as +if she had crossed a first boundary line. With her long, narrow +limbs, her figure like a boy's, and her unconsciously sinuous +movements—yes, already feminine and alluring—she had a +power to ruffle the still pool of his complacency. It would +need, after such a glimpse of her, to be calmed again. He +protruded his under-jaw as he faced a problem, and his +thinking ran along courses such as these: "What more could I +have done for her? While she was a baby, I could only trust +her to these women, and was surely wise in getting on with +my work for her sake and her brother's. But now—now +that her mind is like a sponge, and a good quality sponge, too, +I fancy, ready to soak up all things—what can I do? I have +brains and ideas, both of which are probably absent in all these +women. Ought I to leave her entirely to them, content that +my love should be nothing more than an expansive emotion? +But what can I do? I must work and read, and talk with +stimulating minds, and her little mind has nothing to give +me in the way of stimulus." +</p> + +<p> +The question what he could do was so difficult to answer +that Mr. Bruno turned again to his book. +</p> + +<p> +But after a line or two he found himself analysing Daphne's +enthusiasm about her governess and diagnosing it as a child's +delight at playing at schools. Well, no better approach to +studies could be imagined, and at least he could encourage it. A +pleasing resolution occurred to him, and as it eased his +conscience, he was able to get on with his book. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The next afternoon there arrived in a van two huge packages, +wrapped in straw and sacking, and addressed to Miss D. D. T. +Bruno and O. T. Bruno, Esq. To tearing fingers and searching +eyes they revealed two school-desks in highly polished yellow +wood, with sloping lids that covered deep interiors smelling +like school-rooms. In the chair-back was an adjustable boss +which could be raised up and down; it fitted the small of the +sitter's back, and was designed to prevent stooping. Daphne +soon raised hers to the right position, and Owen's to his, hers +being several inches higher than her brother's. +</p> + +<p> +Not till the following day could they watch the amusing +process of turning the lower end of the nursery upstairs into +a schoolroom. The two desks were put with their backs to +the fire-place, and opposite them a table for Miss Carrell. An +empty book-case was carried to a side wall, its shelves to be +used for school-books and the earthenware bottle of ink. +Daphne devoted the afternoon to stocking her desk with all the +old exercise books, atlases, pencil boxes with sliding lids, +freehand drawing books, rulers, sketch blocks and paint boxes she +had used in the past. Always it was to be as tidy. Owen +joined in the game, echoing her merriment, though he still +found the preparations depressing enough. +</p> + +<p> +On the Monday morning Miss Carrell arrived, and was +shown by Miss Durgon into the schoolroom where the two +children stood, somewhat sheepishly. But, as she removed her +hat and patted her hand over her fair hair and smiled merrily +at her pupils, Daphne recovered her ease and prepared to +like her. +</p> + +<p> +"You see," said Miss Durgon, who was particularly stately +during this introduction of an employee to the scene of her +labours, "I have prepared everything for you—desks for each +pupil—so that your work may be as congenial as possible." +</p> + +<p> +With a child's quick condemnation in elders of the fibs +and brag that children sometimes employ, Daphne thought: +"It wasn't you, it was papa." Mentally she said this to Miss +Durgon's long back as it passed through the door, which shut +rather quietly. They were in school. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell was going to be a great success. That was +proved in the next few days. That was seen of all. What +was not seen was the working of the lively, if somewhat unlettered +brain beneath that innocent hair. It was Miss Carrell's +policy just at present to win the enthusiastic appreciation of +her pupils; and the same imagination which out of and during +school hours was occupied with schemes for getting on could +convert lessons, were the effort worth while, from dull tasks +into captivating games. In these games Daphne was always +given the lead, for Daphne, being manifestly the more +important factor, was the one to be favoured. Sums, then, were +done as races. Geography was a series of imaginary travels +and trading expeditions. History was stories and +make-believe, when Daphne would be Cœur-de-Lion or Warwick or +Henry VIII, and Owen played the second lead, such as Anne +Boleyn. "You ought to have been a boy, and he the girl," +said Miss Carrell. "But then, of course, his mother wasn't +quite so well when he was born." +</p> + +<p> +They had exchanged history for some less interesting +arithmetic when Miss Carrell offered this remark, and Daphne +thought that compound division might well be held up while +they pursued its bearings further. +</p> + +<p> +"Why should that make any difference?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +The subject was palatable to Miss Carrell, even though +it could only be discussed with children in a pretence of +teaching them propriety. +</p> + +<p> +"Because it does, and there's an end of it." +</p> + +<p> +"But why?" +</p> + +<p> +"You why on with your work, as your friend Hollins would +say." +</p> + +<p> +This remark, implying a criticism of Hollins, was designed +to impress her pupil with the governess's intellectual superiority +to the servant, and certainly achieved its end. "You'll +understand these things when you are older." +</p> + +<p> +"How much older must I be?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, a lot older." +</p> + +<p> +"Must I be sixteen?" +</p> + +<p> +"Much older than that." +</p> + +<p> +"Twenty?" +</p> + +<p> +"Twenty-one at least." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you understand these things?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly I do. Now get on." +</p> + +<p> +"But don't you have to be married before you understand?" +</p> + +<p> +Owen was looking from one to the other as if he doubted +whether the conversation were all right. +</p> + +<p> +"Maybe I'm married; maybe I'm not." +</p> + +<p> +"You're <i>not</i>!" triumphed Daphne. "You're <i>Miss</i> Carrell." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I understand what I'm talking about, so there!" +</p> + +<p> +"What—how we were born, and all that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly." +</p> + +<p> +"You have to be married, don't you, before you get +children?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." Her lips trembled a little. +</p> + +<p> +"Can you get them without being married?" +</p> + +<p> +"It has been done, but don't you get talking." +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Bruno entered. Miss +Carrell flushed brilliantly from throat to brow, not in fear +of her pupils' father, but in fear lest he had heard their current +studies. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno, misunderstanding the flush, was gratified by it. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll forgive this intrusion," bowed he, "but I thought +I should like to see the children in surroundings to which +they have so looked forward.... Dear, dear, this is real +school. It revives memories of many fears and many disgraces. +I hope you find them studious, Miss—Miss—er——" +</p> + +<p> +It was Daphne who supplied her father with the missing +name. +</p> + +<p> +"Carrell." +</p> + +<p> +"Silence, child. Don't you know you must not talk in school +without having first raised your hand? ... Are they all they +ought to be, Miss Carrell?" +</p> + +<p> +"They're progressing very well. Daphne is especially promising." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I have always said that it's a relief she has brains, +since she has neither beauty nor goodness." +</p> + +<p> +"She would naturally have brains." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell turned away as she offered the compliment; and +Mr. Bruno covered his embarrassment by asking, "And what +were you studying when I interrupted you?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell flushed again, and hoping the sharp eyes of +Daphne observed no guilt or prevarication, said: +</p> + +<p> +"Let's see. Yes, we were doing multiplication and division." +</p> + +<p> +"Multiplication and division," smiled Mr. Bruno. "Well, +that is the whole of life. There's scope for you to point a +fine moral, Miss Carrell. There's the multiplication and aggregation +of gaseous matter to form the solar worlds, and its division +again. There's the multiplication in childhood of ideas +and impressions for their division later. And the multiplication +of pounds, shillings and pence all through life, for their division +and disintegration as fast as you can multiply them. It's the +whole of life and the whole of knowledge. H'm——" Seeing +that he had fogged everybody in the room, Mr. Bruno came +to earth. "You will be sure to tell us what you want, will +you not? I do not see a birch anywhere." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne tittered delightedly, and Mr. Bruno felt he could +depart without loss of reputation. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoons, the governess and children went walking +to Brook Green; or to the towing path by the river, in the +hope of seeing the practice of the Oxford and Cambridge +crews; or towards the police station near S. Mary Abbott's, +Kensington, in the hope of seeing a Black Maria. The +conversation was mainly in the management of Miss Carrell and +Daphne. Miss Carrell admitted that she was Cambridge, +having learned that Daphne was Cambridge. And finding that the +child loved to listen to stories, she often told stories all the way +out and all the way back; terribly pathetic stories of her own +invention, for she had not only written stories, but even +sent them to editors, and could tell of one that had been +detained fully seven months before the editor had decided that +he must regretfully decline it. +</p> + +<p> +In brief, Miss Carrell, by such methods and by subtle +endearments and gentle touchings, was striving to insinuate in +Daphne's mind the idea that she could love her governess, and +love her passionately. And it rooted and blossomed with +surprising quickness. Hating Miss Durgon, Daphne was ready +to adore Miss Carrell; and adoring, to love the feeling of +adoration. Motions came beneath her breast which made her want +to hold Miss Carrell's hand, or lean against her on a seat; and +she saw at once how ill they partnered with her fancied +boyishness. But it was so lovely, the fact of loving, that she +decided to suspend her masculinity for a while, trusting +that if her demonstrations of affection were not too public, no +one but Miss Carrell would observe the temporary change. +</p> + +<p> +The greater tracts of lesson-time now were occupied by the +subjects which were popular. Arithmetic and grammar were +allotted a grudging half-hour, and then preceptress and students +leapt the fence into the broad pleasances of history and +literature. History had degenerated into "stories from history," +when the picturesque incidents were collected from Dickens' +"Child's History of England," or into "history from stories," +when Miss Carrell retold such romances as Lytton's "Last of +the Barons," or "Harold," or actually read to them some new +sensational novel which she felt would entertain herself as +much as her charges. Literature, which Miss Carrell, being a +craftsman, considered her great subject, consisted in the +governess's reading of the more delightful parts—that is, the more +sentimental parts—of Dickens (High Literature and Dickens +being, in the mind of Miss Carrell, almost synonymous). +</p> + +<p> +The death of Little Nell and Paul Dombey and Poor Joe +were held up before Daphne as the perfection of beauty. She +listened with staring eyes, ambition running fast in her brain: +"I should like to write like that. I should like to tell people +beautiful things. I should like to create characters that are +beautiful, and scenes that make your eyes all hot and your +throat lumpy like this...." And even while Miss Carrell was +still reading and she listening, ambition had shown her a +triumphant career, and a death and burial that a nation +mourned, and the people visiting her tomb for generations +afterwards. Her wet eyes were Miss Carrell's delightful reward. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of any words that were called beautiful +Daphne fluttered her wings to fly. +</p> + +<p> +Poetry was hardly attempted. "You cannot be expected to +develop a taste for poetry yet; it'll come later," explained Miss +Carrell, knowing that she herself was still waiting for it. +Just a few of the easier poems of Tennyson and Longfellow +she had taught them (Great Poetry being almost synonymous +with Tennyson and Longfellow): "The Schooner Hesperus," +"Break, Break, Break," and "The Legend Beautiful," with its +lovely line "Do thy duty, that is best. Leave unto thy Lord +the rest." For Miss Carrell, like all completely self-centred +women, loved noble thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +At last, in her devotion, Daphne confided as a great secret +to the understanding governess that she was resolved to write. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well, it's easy in your case," said Miss Carrell. "You've +got influence. Your father'll get all your stories published." +</p> + +<p> +Such an idea had never presented itself to Daphne, but now, +lingering and growing in her mind, it one day impelled her +into Mr. Bruno's study for an examination of its worth. +</p> + +<p> +"Papa," began she, a little shy of revealing her secret, "if +I was to write books, would you be able to get publishers +to publish them for me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Me? No!" laughed her father. "I'm a critic. My business +isn't to persuade publishers to produce the work of a young +writer, but to discourage them from ever doing it again." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne, as often when her father bantered her, looked +confused and beaten back; and he felt sorry for her. +</p> + +<p> +"Write, my little one. Write, if you feel the urge. I should +be proud to think of you as a creative artist. But anything +that you write, if it's to be stuff for pride, must have a +quality that will get it through the doors, without a helpful kick +from your father." He stared at her, standing there. "One +day we must talk it all over. I can help you much, I dare say. +But you're too young yet." +</p> + +<p> +And he took up his book again. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0104"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +</h3> + +<p> +A general content, sinister, some might think, in its +promise of an early break-up, had settled in the Bruno +home. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno was very contented. His mercury, as he phrased +it, was high. The phrase was a new use of his. No other +word could so well describe, in his detached and humorous +analysis of his own emotions, that abject financial depression +which followed a damaging review of his latest book, or that +quick rise in spirits induced by a handsome tribute or a +publisher's statement showing excellent sales. After a grand +morning's work, when his brain had outrun his pen, the +mercury, as it were, rose to his head, filling it with visions +of an imperial home, with horses in the extensive stabling +and forty wines in the cellar, and cattle moving among the +trees of the park. After a morning when nothing but the +commonplace or the obvious would take substance on his paper, +he saw a lower-middle-class jerry-built house, in which, with +two children who went out to poorly-paid jobs, lived a writer +whom the world had once acclaimed and quickly forgotten. To +read about such a person, as one did sometimes in the paper, +was to send his mercury to freezing point. He no longer saw +the bankruptcy court, however, or the casual ward, for against +these disasters he had amassed a capital sum, and if his +brain collapsed to-morrow (thought he), his dividends would +pay the rent of the jerry-built house and put some bread and +cold meat in the larder. +</p> + +<p> +There were reasons just now why his mercury should be +high. A year before he had written his first play and secured +its production. It had failed most noisily. When a destructive +critic produces a play that has obvious weaknesses, it is +to ask for artillery; and Mr. Bruno and his play went down +beneath a reverberating bombardment. Concluding that his +fame was mortally wounded and a year or so later would see +the end, he wondered how he could cut down his style of living, +and began to turn off gases that people had left alight on the +stairs, or to complain courteously when coke was not mingled +with the coal on the fire. "No one ever yet put coke on a fire," +thought he, surprised how the worrying thought could make +his head ache, "who didn't pay the fuel bill." And to his +daughter if she prattled glibly about the pleasure-seeking life +she would lead when grown up, he would say, "Nothing of +the sort, my child. You'll go into a milliner's shop; and, as +for Owen, he'll earn his ten shillings a week sweeping out a +solicitor's office." But then, as the mercury crept up, he wrote +another play, freeing it from the weaknesses that the crowding +critics had pointed out in such detail. It was as lively and +noisily successful as its brother had been wilting and moribund. +The critics crowded to its jubilee instead of to its funeral. +Mr. Tenter Bruno was more than ever news; he had long been +known to the literary and the vaguely literary world, but now +his face and his repartee and his movements and his anecdotes +were the property of readers of the halfpenny press. "And +you can write him a liar," said Mr. Bruno, "who denies that +that pleases him." +</p> + +<p> +He was content about his children, hearing excellent reports +of the new governess. Daphne spoke enthusiastically of her, +because her motions of love made all talk of Miss Carrell a +pleasure; Miss Durgon reported the girl in the highest terms, +because she had to justify her move in securing her; and +Hollins said, "Why, that little Miss Carrell can do anything with +the child, she can. It does me good to see it." So no household +or parental cares needed to cross the doormat of Mr. Bruno's +room. He began to play with the idea of setting forth on +his travels again. And from the moment he welcomed the idea +into his lonely study, he knew that he would finally succumb to +its charm. And at length he introduced it to Miss Durgon. +</p> + +<p> +"My work, I begin to find, demands that I move—and travel, +rather than stagnate. One's imagination is starved by living +too long in a London street. So few people realize it.... I +brought a lot of stimulus out of the East. What I am really +longing for is the day when my daughter shall be old enough +to be my constant and enthusiastic companion. Then my +powers of observation will be doubled, I verily believe, by the +delight of revealing to her the romance of other lands and +other manners." +</p> + +<p> +Leaving these sentiments behind him, Mr. Bruno departed +for a winter in Madeira. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon was contented. Released entirely from the +charge of the children, which Miss Carrell and Hollins shared, +she needed to do little but reign elegantly over the household. +And the encomiums, confidences and frequent absences of her +employer made her feel finally secure in the position which +she had now held for nearly nine years. Incredible that +it could be nine years! Her mind told her that she looked +younger, more vivacious, and certainly more fashionable than +when first she came knocking at Mr. Bruno's door. Her +security made her, perhaps rashly, indifferent to the comments of +servants. Her excursions when she was absent a whole day +were more frequent than before. And once or twice she +entertained Mr. Stokes, or Mr. Anthony, in the breakfast-room, +which she had now made into her private sitting-room. They +came singly, of course, the visits of each being unknown to the +other. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stokes and Mr. Anthony were gentlemen friends who +liked her companionship at theatres and suppers, though they +conducted these relaxations beyond the regions swept by their +wives' eyes. Tacitly it was understood that the wives were +not informed. Miss Durgon saw no reason why they should +be. There was nothing scandalous in their husband's change +of companionship; and she found herself quite able to meet +Mrs. Stokes and Mrs. Anthony at tea-parties, or in their own +homes. But it was unlikely they would understand her +reasoning—a reasoning learnt from their husbands, which made +play with words like Life, and Naturalness and Affinities. So +her concealment was the concession of a reasonable woman. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Little Miss Carrell was contented because she lived and slept +and woke in the morning with her own schemes. They required +that she did all in her power to develop Daphne's adoration, and +to secure its publication to Daphne's papa and its concealment +from the housekeeper. +</p> + +<p> +"You know what Miss Durgon is, Duffy darling. If she +thought you were so fond of me, she would do her best to +get rid of me. I'm sure she would. And I don't want to leave +you, now that I've grown so attached to you. And I really +believe you'd miss me." +</p> + +<p> +To confirm this Daphne put her arms about Miss Carrell—since +nobody was by. +</p> + +<p> +"You must pretend sometimes that you don't like the way +I make you stick at your work; and that I'm a bit of a tyrant. +That'll be a sure way to make the old Durgon think I'm a +person to be kept." +</p> + +<p> +And Miss Carrell, for her purposes, had made a friend of +Hollins. She set out to be attractive to the good soul, +conceiving her to have a heart that could be easily engaged. With +Hollins she was always polite, smiling, considerate and talkative, +though never losing the slight dignity that lent worth +to her condescension. The balance was skilfully kept. +</p> + +<p> +The wisdom of this <i>entente cordiale</i> had been shown to her +one morning when she was passing the dining-room door, and +overheard a conversation between Hollins and a sweeping +maid. +</p> + +<p> +"She's ordered the decanter of whisky and the soda water +and the sandwiches to be put to-night in what she's pleased to +call her room, though when it became her room and stopped +being the breakfast-room <i>I</i> don't know. And I wonder which +it is that's coming to-night. Some people have got a +cheek—using that house in that high and mighty way, as if she was +its lady." +</p> + +<p> +"High and mighty!" scoffed the maid. "Low, I call it. Who +are these Mr. Anthonies and Mr. Stokeses? Not that they can +be much if they see anything attractive in <i>her</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, yes, who are they?" said the voice of Hollins. "That's +what many of us'd like to know. I reckon it's laughable +being a charmer at her age. And do Mr. Stokes approve of +Mr. Anthony, I want to know, and do Mr. Anthony approve of +Mr. Stokes? Why are they never here together? That's what +wants sort of—what I call—answering." +</p> + +<p> +"There's many things that want answering that don't get it," +said the maid sententiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, there are," agreed Hollins, and the listening Miss Carrell +could picture the mysterious nod of her head. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell left no openings unguarded, however small. If +she were to keep Hollins's good opinion it would be well (she +imagined) that Daphne's adoration were none too visible to her +old nurse. +</p> + +<p> +"She mustn't be allowed to think, dear, that you are fonder +of me than her, though I suppose it is natural that there must +always be more between people of the same class and of a +nearer age than between a young mistress and her ancient +servant. But you mustn't hurt the dear, fat old thing. It +wouldn't be kind. Also she might get jealous. So you be +especially nice to old Hollins. For she is a dear, fat old +thing. I love her. And let her know (just so that she mayn't +dislike me) that I love her, and realise how much she has done +for my little Duffy, and that I impress it all upon you." +</p> + +<p> +And after saying this, Miss Carrell was more than ever +satisfied with her skilful pilotage; and Daphne was more than +ever satisfied with the essential goodness of her governess; and +Hollins, when Daphne had done all she was bidden, was more +than ever satisfied with the high breeding of Miss Carrell. +"A real lady. It's a treat to have dealings with one at last." +</p> + +<p> +With Miss Durgon, Miss Carrell was obliging and considerate, +relieving her delicately of one duty after another. +She made herself a pleasant companion, always interested, +generally agreeing, but disagreeing sufficiently not to become +insipid. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope that child's getting on," the elder lady would say. +"She's a little girl that wants a lot of control if she's not to run +to seed." +</p> + +<p> +"She needs to be kept hard at it, certainly," agreed Miss +Carrell. "The boy is much more amenable. He's a really +lovable little thing." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he is. No trouble at all." +</p> + +<p> +Once when Miss Durgon complained of a headache, Miss +Carrell assured her that she needed a holiday. Impossible, +declared the martyred Miss Durgon; she would never trust the +household to Hollins alone. Then Miss Carrell made her suggestion. +Couldn't she (Miss Carrell), who had long kept house for +her mother, and now knew the ins and outs of Mr. Bruno's +home—couldn't she come into residence for a week or so and +manage things? Miss Durgon demurred, but finally saw +something in the plan. +</p> + +<p> +When the plan was tried Miss Carrell had need to hold her +wheel with a very delicate hand indeed. Her elevation to deputy +housekeeper, even though only for twenty-one days, very nearly +lost her the adhesion of Hollins. Hollins could not see why a +chit like that should be required when she was on the spot. Miss +Carrell was fortunate enough to be in the hall when Hollins +was discussing the matter with the other servants in the +dining-room. "The Durgon's done it on purpose to spite me," Hollins +was saying. "Of course she has. It's as plain as the nose on +your face. I don't altogether blame the little governess. I don't +think she'd hurt anybody if she could avoid it. But what I do +say, and what I have always said, is that it was a bad day when +that Durgon woman came knocking at our doors. And who +is she going away with, is what I should like to know? Is it +your Stokes or your Antonio?" +</p> + +<p> +Little Miss Carrell saw her course. By gently refusing to +notice any sullenness, and by skilful reductions of work and an +increase of privileges and an improvement in the kitchen meals, +she gradually persuaded all below stairs that it was a pity she +hadn't always had the management of the house. +</p> + +<p> +When Miss Durgon returned the regent stepped down from +the throne with all the grace and some recollection (since she +had just been reading about him to Daphne) of Cincinnatus +returning to his plough. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In time it became quite a custom for Miss Durgon to take a +week off now and then, and hand over the reins to her lieutenant. +</p> + +<p> +But not when Mr. Bruno was back from Madeira or +elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +"I feel I ought to be in my place when Mr. Bruno is here. +There's really more to do then." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course," said Miss Carrell, wondering if Miss Durgon +really supposed she didn't see through her. It was beginning +to dawn on her that the lady housekeeper, inside her fine clothes +and her dignity, was a very considerable fool. +</p> + +<p> +Probably Mr. Bruno would never have known of these +arrangements if Hollins hadn't thought it on her conscience to +say, in the course of a conversation with him: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but that happened when Miss Carrell was doing the +housekeeping—when Miss Durgon was away." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno looked up. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you say, Hollins?" +</p> + +<p> +"I said that happened when Miss Carrell took Miss Durgon's +place and ran the house." +</p> + +<p> +"Did she? When was this?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, she often does when you're away, sir. I thought you +knew, and sort of suggested it." +</p> + +<p> +"I did nothing of the sort," said he, feeling rather important. +"I must ask Miss Durgon about it. I can't think Miss Carrell +is old enough to manage a household such as this." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, she's done none so badly, sir," assured Hollins. "And, +of course, I was there to help her." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, Hollins. And she's really a wonderfully capable +little person, isn't she?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins gone, Mr. Bruno sat in his chair for some time thinking. +It was perhaps a small thing, this French leave habit of +Miss Durgon's, but it seemed to show him traces of falsity in +her character which he knew his quick version could have seen +long ago had he given it the order to see. He dreamed out a +conversation after dinner that night when he rebuked Miss +Durgon. It was a conversation from which he issued with +increased dignity. "I cannot think, Miss Durgon, that such a +step was within the autonomy with which—— Please don't +think I am anything but highly satisfied, but—— Your need +of a holiday no one would deny, and I confess to having been +remiss in not thinking of it before. Had you so much as +mentioned it to me——" But as the meal drew to its close he felt +what an exceedingly uncomfortable thing it was to administer +rebukes to a person in Miss Durgon's position, and how the +contemplation of it was spoiling his appetite and his conversation. +Even she might say: "Very well, Mr. Bruno, if you think +I am incompetent or neglect my duty, I had best resign my office. +With all thanks, I am sure, for your kindness and unvaried +courtesy in the past." And he would be reduced to the horrid +necessity of begging her to reconsider her decision. No, things +were perhaps best left as they were. Doubtless Miss Carrell +was capable, or Miss Durgon would not have done such a thing. +And this evening he especially wanted to work on a play with an +unagitated mind. +</p> + +<p> +"But I can't help admiring the impudence of that little Carrell +girl seating herself astride my home like that. There's a lot +in her." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Durgon, ignorant of these movements in her employer's +mind, had been so pleased to find that the governess could fill +the position of deputy housekeeper that she was seeing the +convenience of having the young woman in permanent residence. +Then she would at any moment be free to go away, if only for +a night or so. Miss Carrell, after some doubts, fell in with the +scheme more readily than Miss Durgon had dared hope. It was +a grateful matter that the difficulty of her mother could be so +easily overcome. +</p> + +<p> +Now to approach Mr. Bruno. In his room Miss Durgon +hastened to pour out all the points she had previously +enumerated on her fingers' ends: that she was very satisfied with +the governess's remarkable success with the children; that +Daphne was getting too big to be left, in the evenings when she +herself happened to be out, to the charge of servants; that +Miss Carrell would be able to help the children with their +homework; that it would relieve them all of the sewing and care of +the clothes, which was getting heavy; and that, in a household +of so many persons, it would hardly cost a penny more a week, +since she already had lunch and tea with him. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, if we can have all that for nothing a week, let's have +it," Mr. Bruno smiled. +</p> + +<p> +But he thought this would be a good opportunity to mention +his knowledge that his household had already been somewhat +frivolously left, for weeks at a time, to the management of a +twenty-three-year-old girl. And his eye, the eye of a dramatist, +saw at once the hidden embarrassment of Miss Durgon. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she admitted, "I was feeling so run down while you +were away that I made that arrangement, but only with a deep +sense of responsibility. I would not have suggested such a thing +had I not decided that Miss Carrell was quite exceptional. +Quite exceptional." +</p> + +<p> +"I feel she is," endorsed Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she is. Quite exceptional," repeated Miss Durgon, +since this was her justification. +</p> + +<p> +So Miss Durgon helped to weave the rope that hanged her. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell hanged her at Christmas time. Quite simply. +To be sure, it had been simpler to suggest that Hollins +mentioned Mr. Stokes and Mr. Anthony to the master; but it would +be rather undignified, this enlisting of servants' aid. And yet +simpler had she herself alluded innocently to Miss Durgon's +friends; but this savoured of ugly informing, and Mr. Bruno, +a clever man, would see through it. And she didn't want Miss +Durgon to go to the rope thinking her companion had "sneaked." In +their conversations Mr. Anthony and Mr. Stokes had necessarily +been spoken of, but always very casually, as if their visits +were naturalness itself, and Miss Carrell the sort who could +understand: the foolish woman even (so thought Miss Carrell) +was not without a pride in hinting at her attractiveness. +Besides, the thing, if only told, might not be very effective with +Mr. Bruno: preoccupied, he would but half take it in. It must +be seen in being. +</p> + +<p> +Conceiving of Miss Durgon, Mr. Anthony, Mr. Stokes and +Mr. Bruno as the chess pieces of Miss Carrell—Miss Durgon +the queen, Mr. Anthony and Mr. Stokes her knights, and +Mr. Bruno the opposing king—obviously the plan was to get the +king into a position from which he could capture one or both of +the knights. Always a difficult position to contrive, for the +moves of knights are crooked. Herein came Daphne. When at +last the occasion offered, she was used as pawn to lure out +the king. +</p> + +<p> +Christmas time brought the children's parties; exciting +entertainments that illuminated not only the day whose evening they +would adorn, but many of the days that went before. And the +most brilliant of these, throwing a light that reached down +weeks, was Lady Montefiore's fancy-dress affair, from four to +nine, in the Kensington Town Hall. Costumes had to be +resolved upon and made, and sewing became more than +tolerable—joyous. Daphne was to go as a Shepherdess, and Owen as a +Musketeer, Miss Carrell having just finished Dumas' romance +and decided that it was the finest book she had ever read. But +she gave far less time to Owen's dress than to Daphne's. +</p> + +<p> +Their father had been told of this party, by Daphne often, +by Owen three times, by Miss Carrell once, but he had hardly +heard. And it was soon known that he would be at a dinner +in town that evening. Presumably he would be late, since Miss +Durgon had ordered a tray of spirits, siphon, sandwiches and +cigarettes for the entertainment of one of her guests. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno had lunched out, but he returned to his study before +three o'clock. He had just sat at his desk and taken up his +pencil to write down some memoranda, when a timid knock at +the door made him use the pencil for a patient tapping on his +paper. +</p> + +<p> +The governess entered. +</p> + +<p> +"Excuse me, Mr. Bruno, but just for once I felt I simply +must intrude. Would you mind if I showed you Daphne in +her fancy dress? She looks so sweet, and I think it'll please +her if you like it." +</p> + +<p> +"Fancy dress?" echoed Mr. Bruno. "Oh, yes, of course, +she's going to a party of some sort, isn't she? Certainly I'll +come." +</p> + +<p> +He laid down the pencil and rose quickly, having assumed +the gay cloak of an interested father. He followed the +governess upstairs to the schoolroom. Miss Carrell passed in +before him and apparently whispered to the children to hide. +Her face reappeared. "Now, Mr. Bruno, if you'll come in." +</p> + +<p> +He entered a room that seemed to be empty, and looked +around as if interested in such a strange apartment. Then +Miss Carrell said: "You can come now, Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne appeared, half shyly and half merrily, from behind +the screen; and Mr. Bruno gasped. He had intended all along +to gasp, but when he saw his daughter the gasp was genuine. +She stood before him in a straw bonnet, her brown hair curled +into ringlets. A black velvet corselet bodice reached to a point +below her waist. A fichu was about her neck, frills at her +elbows and black velvet ribbons at her wrists. Brocade panniers +swelled out on either hip above a quilted satin petticoat. Her +stockings were white, and her black shoes had silver buckles. +In her right hand she held a crook, necklaced with ribbons. +Mr. Bruno gasped, and something caught at his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Good heavens!" he laughed; "is that my Daphne?" But +though he laughed, the word "my" gave him unexpected pleasure. +"No, it's a changeling, stepped out of a Watteau canvas.... +What's all this talk about a party? Why have I not been +better informed? And there's Owen, too, all dressed up. +What's he? Mephistopheles?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm a Musketeer." +</p> + +<p> +"Not one of Dumas', I hope." But seeing by every one's +chapfallen silence that Owen was Dumas' hero and none else, he +put them at their ease by saying: "Well, please announce to +everybody that the dress is founded on your own literary taste +and not mine. You must be careful how you tread on the +literary grass, Mr. Owen.... Where's this rout to be held? +Buckingham Palace?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell explained. +</p> + +<p> +"It's Lady Montefiore's party at Kensington Town Hall. +A very big affair. I did tell you about it, but I don't think +you quite heard." +</p> + +<p> +"No. I'm afraid I don't sometimes. It must appear very +rude. I'm sorry." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Mr. Bruno." Miss Carrell looked almost beseechingly +into his face. "I hardly like to suggest what's in my mind." +</p> + +<p> +There's no sentence surer to stimulate interest. +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" asked Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +"Run away, Duffy darling, and take Owen, and show +yourselves to Hollins." +</p> + +<p> +The children gone, Miss Carrell proceeded: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, don't you think you could look in for a minute at the +party? Just before it's over—perhaps to bring the children +away. There are to be such a number of famous people there, +and reporters, and I do want Duffy to see her name in the paper +to-morrow, and a mention of her dress. But in such a huge +crowd she's hardly likely to be noticed unless you come too. +What a wonderful surprise it'd be for them, if you came and +drove them home! But of course, it's impossible ... it's +impossible. You're out to dinner." +</p> + +<p> +"It's not impossible. It's not at all impossible," interrupted +Mr. Bruno, to whom the word "reporters" was bait difficult +to refuse. Besides, the vision of Daphne had stirred his +desire for the envy and admiration of those who should know +her for his daughter. "My dinner is only an official monthly +business, and I can escape. I shall make a point of getting +there. And don't you tell them. What time's it over?" +</p> + +<p> +"Officially at nine o'clock. But I doubt if we shall get away +before half-past nine. And I don't suppose the—the celebrities +will be there till fairly late. I've promised Miss Durgon to +have the children home by ten o'clock." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall be there soon after nine, Miss Carrell. And keep +it as a surprise from them...." +</p> + +<p> +The governess was such a pleasant little person that he quite +enjoyed having a secret with her. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At ten o'clock there were laughter and children's voices on +the front steps at 18 Deseret Road, as Mr. Bruno, followed by +Miss Carrell, Daphne and Owen (who had been allowed to +pay the cabman), ascended to the hall door, searching for his +latch-key. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I ring?" asked Miss Carrell, who may have been +tired, for she looked pale and her voice trembled. "The maids +will be up." +</p> + +<p> +"No. Here we are.... Now then, Owen, open the door +and don't keep us all waiting. The ladies are cold in their +cloaks. That's right. Open Sesame!" The door opened. +"Enter Ali Baba and two of his donkeys." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell passed in first, and Owen was about to go in +after her when his father pulled him back, saying: "The lady +your sister first, if you're the swashbucklering gallant your +dress suggests." Daphne passed in. "That's right. Now the +old man, because his great age gives him right of precedence. +Then the young D'Artagnan." +</p> + +<p> +He was hanging his hat on a peg when he observed the coat +of Mr. Anthony. +</p> + +<p> +"Hallo! A visitor? Who's this?" He lifted the lapel of +the coat as if it might answer him. +</p> + +<p> +Just then a maid appeared to see if the master or the children +needed anything before retiring. (Or that was her ostensible +reason. Actually she was the reporter commissioned by the +kitchen, which had heard with surprised delight the master's +voice on the steps, to proceed at once to the seat of war. As +Hollins had said: "<i>Now</i> how's she going to explain her masher +in the breakfast-room?") +</p> + +<p> +"Who's the visitor, Alice?" asked Mr. Bruno, glancing at +the coat. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Anthony, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Who?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Anthony." +</p> + +<p> +He turned inquiringly to Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +"You know," she explained; "Mr. and Mrs. Anthony, who +live in the new flats near the station." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes. Well, what on earth can he want with me at +this time of night?" +</p> + +<p> +"He's with Miss Durgon, sir," said the maid, taking his coat +from him. +</p> + +<p> +"Has he been here long?" +</p> + +<p> +"Since eight o'clock," answered the maid innocently. "He +often comes." +</p> + +<p> +"The first I've heard of it." He turned again to Miss Carrell. +"Does he——" But he stopped, perceiving the indelicacy +of discussing Miss Durgon with the governess or the servants. +"Well, good night, Duffy. Good night, Owen, old man. I'm +sure neither of you'll sleep after all that pastry. Good night, +Miss Carrell." And he walked along the passage into the +dining-room to be alone. +</p> + +<p> +He was troubled, annoyed; but not quite clear on what to +base his annoyance. Why was it that Miss Durgon mustn't +entertain a married man from eight to eleven on evenings when +he was away? There were passages in his books suggesting +the right of any woman to entertain any soul-mate she liked. +But none of that could apply to Miss Durgon. She wasn't +doing it because she was an intellectual in conscientious +rebellion (so sneakily, too, when his back was turned), but because +she was a damned hypocrite. That utterly conventional and +pietistic fool, Miss Durgon, as a social rebel—pshaw! it was +funny! She'd been secretive, too, now he came to remember, +over those holidays of hers.... No, the whole thing was false +and wrong. The children, he had said, must be taught conventional +morals, till they were old enough and strong enough (if +ever) to venture into deeper waters. Of course. If they were +ever to be taught to resist the tyranny of outworn creeds, they +should be taught it as a high philosophy, not as a sneaking +truancy. He would like to hear more about these visits of +Mr. Anthony, whom, by the by, he remembered as rather an ill-bred +cad, material and gross. Should he ask Miss Carrell about +them? No, that would be quite out of place. She was too +young and—pretty. Hollins? She had been with him a dozen +years, a heavy, married creature. He laughed. It would please +the old thing enormously to be taken into confidence. He +liked to please people. But she'd certainly brag about his +confidence to the other servants—he could read her character as +well as any one else's. But there, the servants knew all about +it already. A pretty fool that woman had made of him before +his servants. God damn it! He rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Hollins in bed yet?" he asked the maid. +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Ask her to come and speak to me, please." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +Though there was no quaver in the maid's voice, he knew +she was delighted. +</p> + +<p> +Hollins, on being questioned, was completely communicative. +It had not been her place before, but since Mr. Bruno asked +her ... there were times, she would admit, when she thought +she ought to speak.... But then she had said to herself, the +master knew what he was about when he appointed Miss +Durgon.... And doubtless Miss Durgon, who was a lady, +knew more about these things than she.... She had not been +able to bring herself to speak. Besides, what did she know? +She had only begun to smell a rat, as the saying was, when that +Mr. Stokes—— +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Stokes?</i>" exclaimed Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, Mr. Stokes. Mr. Stokes was an occasional visitor when +the master was away. +</p> + +<p> +"But not surely when——" began Mr. Bruno, but he stopped +and walked away and stood looking out of the window on to +the veranda. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, Hollins. Thank you. I'm obliged to you. +Please don't mention our conversation in the kitchen. +Confidences are confidences." +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir," promised Hollins, and withdrew, quite obviously +as happy a woman as any in London. +</p> + +<p> +Standing there with his hands in his pockets and his eyes +staring vacantly at the window, Mr. Bruno indulged in a bath +of warm self-sympathy. It was a shame of Miss Durgon to +have taken this advantage of him, a widower so dependent on +his dependants; an author, so necessarily kept busy at his +work. It was too bad, considering the children; if she was that +sort they had been probably neglected whenever he wasn't +looking. Damn it, it was insufferable to have treated so facilely +the privilege of caring for T. Tenter Bruno's children. There +must be people all over the country who would regard it as +an honour—something to boast about—to be charged with the +children of a man of such fame. To do all this, and at the +same time to accept the generous salary he had given her, +the comfortable home, and the extravagant courtesy with which +he had always treated her! It was enough to make a cynic +and misanthrope of any man. Had all people to be watched +by a foreman lest they scamped their tasks? Was there no +one who would care for his children without his perpetual +supervision, so that he could be free to work for them. He +himself needed no such dragooning. He worked hard enough, +undriven, to keep the home over everybody's head. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno dropped into a chair that he might loiter in this +bath of warm self-sympathy. But, as with all people in their +baths, the pleasure was partly spoiled by the knowledge that +at some moment he must achieve the courage to step out of +the grateful warmth; and he knew he would leave the +enervating self-sympathy for the cold air of self-reproach.... +As if suiting the action to the thought, he rose from the chair +and stood on the floor. Confound it! He was to blame. With +his indolent <i>laissez faire</i>, his forever choosing of the line of +least resistance, he had undoubtedly suffered the weeds to +spread. For his children's sake he ought to have been +perpetually on the watch, lest they were being moulded by soiled +or clumsy hands. Daphne in her shepherdess costume! She +was an exquisite thing; he could pick her up and crush her to +him in his swelling love. Let one hope that so far no harm +had been done. Thank goodness, that little Miss Carrell was +an exceptional person; she seemed sane enough, and steady, +and a perfect lady, as Belle would say. But who ever would +have thought that Miss Durgon would have been anything but +a subdued, middle-aged virgin? "Confound it!" thought he, +"what a blasted fool I must have looked all this time to this +woman and her friends! It's a damned insult to me." Thus +Mr. Bruno stepped back into his bath. +</p> + +<p> +He had a mind to go abruptly into the breakfast-room next +door, and to break in upon Anthony and Miss Durgon, to their +confusion. But, as he foresaw the awkwardness of a meeting +between Anthony and himself, and the discomfort Anthony +and Miss Durgon would endure, and his own discomfort in +witnessing their discomfort, he decided he could not face the +scene. If you discover your butler in the act of drinking your +whisky out of its decanter, it is an open question which suffers +the more, you or he. Had Mr. Bruno possessed a butler, and +chanced upon him in such a pilfering, he would have retired +like the guilty party in the hope that his butler had neither seen +nor heard him. +</p> + +<p> +He sat again in his chair. In the morning he would take +a strong line. The phrase was pleasing. It savoured of a +monarch dismissing his prime minister: or of a father performing +his stern duty by his children. In the morning he would show +Miss Durgon that these quiet and trusting men had, none the +less—what was the trite metaphor?—an iron hand beneath +the velvet glove. +</p> + +<p> +With this resolve he mounted to his bedroom, that mercy +might attend poor Anthony to the door. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At breakfast Miss Durgon appeared with a mien of studied +composure, and he rather admired her for not keeping her +bedroom and publishing a headache. He talked of everyday +subjects; they could not handle over cold bacon and boiled +eggs such an explosive grenade as dismissal. After breakfast +it should be. He would send for her to his study. It would +be painful having to treat a woman of forty-five like a +schoolboy: "Miss Durgon, I feel that, as my daughter will soon be +going to school (the first he had thought of it), perhaps...." No, +he would not prepare his speech. He would wait on +inspiration. "Mr. Bruno, I can only thank you for your +unfailing courtesy and consideration. I hope we part with no +ill-feeling, for I consider it has been a privilege to share +in...." "Not at all, Miss Durgon, not at all." If she had +any tact, she would drop such a curtain of gauze over the +harder features of the scene. +</p> + +<p> +But when, after breakfast, he was reading his paper, he +postponed the event till his pipe should be exhausted; and, after +that, till all the matter in the <i>Times</i> necessary for a +well-informed mind had been exhausted. Then he dropped the paper +on his knees. No, the thing would best be done through a +woman: that would be more consistent with the courtesy she had +invariably received from him. Belle had engaged her, and +Belle should be summoned to conclude the engagement; he +could imagine her enjoying it thoroughly and all the while +deceiving herself, like the brainless creature she was, that the +duty was unpleasant. +</p> + +<p> +Belle arrived the next afternoon; and it was delectable to +watch her surprise and indignation. +</p> + +<p> +"Extraordinary, Tom. Extraordinary in an officer's daughter. +So ridiculous, too. A <i>passé</i> creature like that! I don't know +which is the more ridiculous, she or the idiotic <i>roués</i> who could +flit round such a—such a——" +</p> + +<p> +"Rushlight," suggested he. +</p> + +<p> +"Rushlight! The creature must go at once." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. But there's nothing gained by doing it otherwise +than gently. Let her have some excuse with which she can +withdraw in a haze of dignity. Let her have everything that's +owing to her, and let—let crowns for convoy be put into her +purse." +</p> + +<p> +Belle seemed hardly less childish than Daphne, and to be +similarly bantered and confused. +</p> + +<p> +"But, meantime, we shall have to look out for some one else," +pursued Belle, who was indubitably spending a delightful +afternoon. "I'll busy myself about that at once. But in the +interregnum, what's to be done?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, the little Carrell can carry on. She's done it before." +</p> + +<p> +"Carol who?" +</p> + +<p> +"Carol no one. Miss Carrell, the children's governess." +</p> + +<p> +"But she can't manage the household." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed she can; and the War Office and Admiralty as well, +if necessary. With marvellous competence." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Tom, she doesn't look twenty." +</p> + +<p> +"She's twenty-three, I believe. If Pitt was Prime Minister +of England at twenty-one, Miss Carrell can be mistress of my +household, for a fortnight, at twenty-three." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but Pitt was a genius." +</p> + +<p> +"He was not the last of the race." It was always annoying, +the way Belle spoke about geniuses. "Perhaps Miss Carrell is +one too. In fact, I've been wondering whether she couldn't +permanently fill the breach." The idea, to be truthful, had only +just struck him. +</p> + +<p> +"What? Become your——" +</p> + +<p> +He enjoyed Belle's dismay. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Why not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, no. Why, the servants wouldn't obey a child like +that. And what about the children?" +</p> + +<p> +"They love her. She's been more successful with them than +any one else." +</p> + +<p> +"And then again—forgive me mentioning it, but you literary +people are so unworldly-wise—she's too pretty." Belle smiled +rather roguishly. "People would talk. With a man in your +position it might do untold harm to have a Mistress of the +Household, as you call her, of such youth and beauty." +</p> + +<p> +With contempt Mr. Bruno saw, under the veil of righteousness, +his sister's relish for the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"You mean they would say that the Mistress of the Household +was also the Lady of the Bedchamber?" +</p> + +<p> +"Tom! I wonder why you artistic people always love to +shock." +</p> + +<p> +The altercation continued, with the result that Mr. Bruno +saw more and more sense in his idea as he saw more and more +foolishness in Belle's arguments against it. She fell back on +the personal appeal. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Tom, let me beseech you to do nothing of the sort. +It would be unwise in the extreme. I will do all in my power +to secure you a really worthy and capable housekeeper. You +can trust me." +</p> + +<p> +It occurred to him to retort: "Your last effort was no proof +of your trustworthiness. And it justifies me in a bold +innovation." But he only replied: +</p> + +<p> +"It might, at any rate, be given a trial. The children love +her as much as they distrusted Miss Durgon, and I begin to +believe they are good judges. The servants unite in praising +her. We'd better see Miss Carrell." +</p> + +<p> +He leaned forward and touched the bell. As it rang down +below he wondered if he was rashly committing himself to +something that wanted longer thought. Was he being driven +by the character that was now his tyrant to take again the line +of least resistance? No, surely this time the easiest line +chanced to be the best. +</p> + +<p> +"Tom, you don't mean to say you have determined?" +</p> + +<p> +He had not meant to say so; indeed, was wondering how, +if necessary, he could avoid saying so; but such a question from +Belle was answered as soon as asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I think I have." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I wash my hands of the whole business. It's bound +to be a failure." +</p> + +<p> +This made him resolve that, if possible, it should be an +echoing success. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When, happy to be the purveyor of pleasure, he took Miss +Carrell into his confidence, offering her £80 for a start and +£100 later "if the arrangement answered," she looked both +pleased and frightened. (Frightened, because there is always +something uncanny in the success of all one's plans.) And +he was charmed with the little creature's ingenuousness. +</p> + +<p> +"I know one person who'll be delighted," said he, to reassure +her. "That's my little daughter." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0105"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER V +</h3> + +<p> +Very carefully did Miss Carrell justify her election. By +courteous handling of the kitchen population, by preserving +unprofaned her master's private hours, by consolidating the +affection of the daughter of the family and the approval of +the quieter Owen, she showed how straight was her eye, how +cunning and steady her hand. But, like Miss Durgon before +her, she had yet to make her metamorphosis complete; it was +her policy to slough off for ever the nursery governess, and +to put on the handsomer scales of the lady housekeeper. +"School." The word popped about in her mind. "Boarding-school." The +children were getting older. How insinuate into +the minds of every one that they must soon go to school? Then +she would enjoy the not unfashionable duties of purchasing +their outfits, interviewing their principals, conveying them on +the first day of term to the thresholds of their schools, and +writing to them afterwards like a conscientious guardian. +</p> + +<p> +She would do it through Daphne. Miss Carrell had read her +pupil's character, in so far as a thing still amorphous had +features to be read; and what she saw was this: the child's surging +vitality, because no one was directing it to a selected field, +would run down any channel that might be laid invitingly before +it. There was the whole-hearted readiness to be masculine, just +because half a dozen people had called her "tomboyish"; there +was the whole-hearted readiness to fall in love with her +governess, when the governess hinted that the gates were open. She +was like a mass of rising water that, insecurely prisoned, had +been making its own little channels, and would certainly, did +Miss Carrell trench wisely, run down her new-chosen course. +</p> + +<p> +So, on evenings after tea, when the dusk was in the school-room, +Miss Carrell would read tales of school to the children, +Daphne sitting on the floor at her knees, and Owen staring +from his chair at the fire. It was difficult to secure enough of +these "Stories for Girls." They read "Winifred of Greystones," +"The Most Popular Girl in the Fourth Form," "Fanny +the Prefect," and "The Tomboy of Tatterden House." And +as Daphne's imagination breathed abounding life into Winifred +of Greystones, Fanny the Prefect, and, above all, the fascinating +Tomboy of Tatterden House, it was only through fear of hurting +the love of her governess that she refrained from asking: +"Do you think I shall be able to go to school soon?" Miss +Carrell read these stories very well, for, to tell the truth, she +was as interested in them as her pupils; it was as much as she +could do to restrain herself from pursuing the career of +Winifred or the Tomboy after the children had gone to bed. Owen, +also, though he said little, was more interested in the tales than +was proper for one of his sex. +</p> + +<p> +At length, hand-in-hand with assurances of unfailing affection, +Daphne introduced the proposition that she go to school +soon. She would write every week to Miss Carrell full details +of her adventures. And Owen would go to his prep, school, +and they would be able to compare notes. +</p> + +<p> +This enthusiasm for going to school was unintelligible to +Owen, who secretly dreaded his first visit, but he pretended to +be as excited as she. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll have to ask your papa," Miss Carrell replied. "I +don't think he'll like it. You're too young. Besides, +schools—boarding-schools are expensive." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but father's got lots of money." +</p> + +<p> +"His expenses are very heavy." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but I shall have to go to school one day. And I'm +just on twelve." +</p> + +<p> +"I believe you want to get rid of me. I believe you're tired +of me. You're ashamed of being taught by a governess." +</p> + +<p> +Indignantly Daphne protested, but Miss Carrell continued: +"Well, well, I suppose it is humiliating for a child of eleven +to be tied to the strings of a governess." And she knew she +had successfully bedded out that idea. +</p> + +<p> +The same evening Mr. Bruno's study was entered by his +daughter, who, guessing from his position in the armchair, +with book and spectacles, that no more than three minutes +would be allotted her, came straight to the point. +</p> + +<p> +"Please, daddy, may I go to school?" +</p> + +<p> +"To school? Why, you're not yet out of your cradle." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be silly. I'm in my twelfth year." +</p> + +<p> +"So? Well, what school are you going to?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I don't know. Some school." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, there's an excellent school, financed by the government, +in Star Lane. You could go there, I suppose. I noticed +the other day that there was an Infants' Entrance." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but father," protested Daphne. "That's only for district +children. I mean a proper school—a boarding-school. For +<i>ladies'</i> children." +</p> + +<p> +"But, gracious lady, art thou the daughter of an earl's castle? +I'll tell you what you are. You're just the encumbrance of a +public entertainer, who has, so to speak, to drag you round +in a box by the side of his barrel organ. Even so, aren't you +being taught by an excellent governess?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but no one in double figures has a governess." +</p> + +<p> +"No one in double figures has a governess? Translate, for a +dull mind." +</p> + +<p> +"No one eleven years old has a governess. Did you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, did I? 'Twere well, were you brought up as I. The +rod, my child, frequently and soundly applied." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne, for a response, smiled delightedly. +</p> + +<p> +"What does the excellent Carrell say?" asked Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, she doesn't want me to go, as she'd lose me——" +</p> + +<p> +"Upon my soul!" began Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +"But she said I might ask you and"—here Daphne, who had +come and leaned forward against the arm of his chair, drooped +her head in an acted sulk—"she said you wouldn't agree." +</p> + +<p> +"Did she though?" +</p> + +<p> +"She said you couldn't afford it, but I told her that was all +my hat." +</p> + +<p> +"All your what?" +</p> + +<p> +"All piffle." +</p> + +<p> +"If there's a school, Miss Billingsgate, where they teach +seemliness and decorum, and such a modicum of English as will +enable you to get through society without expulsion, I think +it had best be looked for immediately." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, when may I go?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know. Not to-night, certainly. It's already +approaching six o'clock. Which reminds me that 'the clock +upbraids me with a waste of time.' You'd better let me get on +with my work, especially if I'm to pay all this new money for +your education.... Good night, Duffy dear. Go and get +into your cradle." +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, as he was crossing the first-floor landing +to the door of his study, he saw Miss Carrell coming downstairs, +and remembered his conversation with Daphne. Keeping +hold of his door-handle, as a sort of insurance policy against +protracted talk, he asked: +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you've heard of my daughter's latest freak? +School?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she's always harping on it." +</p> + +<p> +"Is she? Good gracious! Why, it was but yesterday that +we had to be thinking about getting her a governess." He +had almost forgotten that the important little person before +him was the governess in question. "Her wedding will be +upon us before we've folded up her swaddling clothes.... +However.... School. Do you think she ought to go? At +what age do girls go? Of girls I profess to know nothing, +except that, speaking generally, they are a great ornament to +the world. Do you think she ought to go?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell shook her head and lifted her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> don't want to lose her, but sometimes I think that with +her vital nature she ought to have more of the society of girls +like herself. My Latin, for instance, is poor." +</p> + +<p> +"Mensa-mensa-mensam," began Mr. Bruno helpfully. "But +how does one find a really good girls' school, and go and +examine it?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell's head went slightly on one side. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, I know a good deal about the scholastic world, +having been a mistress myself." +</p> + +<p> +"No; is that so? I didn't know that, or I had forgotten it. +This is exceedingly useful. Tell me some more about suitable +schools." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, I know best the school where I taught for three +years. Hemans House." +</p> + +<p> +"If it's named after Mrs. Hemans, I've no opinion of the +poetess— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The boy, oh! where was he?<br> + Ask of the winds that far around<br> + With fragments strewed the sea!<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +No, we can't send her to a place named after Mrs. Hemans." +</p> + +<p> +"I rather fancy it was. But Miss Vidella is old-fashioned. +I expect to your thinking she'd be a very antiquated type. +There's nothing the least bit modern about Hemans House. +It's a very strict, and I suppose you'd say a very prudish place." +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all, not at all." It is a quality of incisive minds that +they must ever brief themselves for the opposite of what has +just been said. "I'm more than ever convinced that all children, +girls especially, should have a course of old fashions before +they begin to be modern. Christian ethics, after all, are an +extraordinarily good system on which to run your life, and +the modesty of our grandmothers is a necessary base for later +liberties. Yes, I've given the subject considerable thought. +Childhood should be a time of very vigilant restraint. They +must be pruned, so as to make less gay blossoms and more +wood. Then, well rooted, they can blossom as they fancy." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno had paid the exceptional Miss Carrell's intellect +the compliment of thinking she understood him; but he was +quite wrong—Miss Carrell, by his second sentence, had retired +from further understanding, and was allowing her mind to +fill with a new scheme. When he had finished, she said, "Yes, +of course." +</p> + +<p> +"And where is this Miss Vidella's school?" +</p> + +<p> +"Windsor." +</p> + +<p> +"Then at any rate she has some unimpeachable neighbours.... +And, from your three years' experience, do you really +think it is a good school? A good place for Daphne?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell appeared to deliberate before she replied. +</p> + +<p> +"Of an old-fashioned kind, yes.... Yes, I think <i>certainly</i>. +It is purposely limited to a few girls, because Miss Vidella, +though strict, likes to mother each individual girl." +</p> + +<p> +"I see. Vidella is an extraordinary name. Was she born +with it, or is it a <i>nom de guerre</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell said she didn't know. +</p> + +<p> +"I should think it's a trade-mark," suggested Mr. Bruno. +"Prima donnas and ballerinas and hat-makers adopt names like +that, don't they?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell said it was just the sort of quaint thing Miss +Vidella would do. "She's a personality, if ever there was one." +</p> + +<p> +"Is she? Well, you want a personality at the head of a +school. We must think this over...." He turned the handle +of his door. "Meantime, work calls. You must think it over, +too." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell did think it over. She had started to think it +over before his door opened. And now she continued her +journey downstairs but slowly, stopping at times to examine +the idea again. She unconsciously nodded to herself. Yes, +she knew that little stout Miss Vidella through and through. It +would be a pretty piece of work, and rather satisfying to one's +vanity. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When next Miss Carrell had a day to herself, she dressed in +her latest-bought costume for the confounding of her old +employer, and took the train to Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving the station, she passed the castle on her left hand, +and, descending the hill, walked to the outskirts of the town. +It was wonderfully pleasant to follow these familiar streets, +thinking how her position had improved since the days when +she used to tread-mill them regularly behind a crocodile of +garrulous young girls. A narrow, stringy life, a young +mistress's in a school like Hemans House! How she had envied, +though vanity had hardly admitted it, the visiting parents to +whom Miss Vidella would show such consideration! And now +she was approaching the place almost like a parent herself. +No suitor for employment, but a prospective employer of the +odious little Miss Vidella. There was something very near +glee in the thought. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long walk, but at least she saw the high, grey wall, +of about eighty foot frontage, that screened from sight the +lower floors of Hemans House, seeming always to intervene +between the charges of Miss Vidella and the immodesties of +the world. At either end were tall carriage doors painted +green, but dust-coloured and spattered in their lower halves, +where the assoilings of the world's highway beat against the +sequestered school. These carriage doors were termini—as +Miss Carrell so well knew and soon saw again—of a bow-shaped +drive that encompassed a darkened haunt of trees and shrubs. +The gravel, moss-green at the gutters but clean at the crown, +suggested that nowadays it knew feet more than wheels—like +a lady who has once belonged to the carriage folk but has had +losses and must now be content with an occasional cab. The +house, before which its arc swept, was wide, flat-fronted, +flat-roofed, and, as one suspected after seeing the garden wall, +faced with a greying stucco. Its windows were curtained with +the simplicity of dormitories and class-rooms. The drive broke +from its bow-sweep for a space to touch the bottom of the +dead-white hearth-stoned steps. These brought one to a hall +door painted the same green as the doors in the garden wall, +but scrupulously washed; indeed, at this door, with its brilliant +brass knocker, letter-box and bell, one seemed to be in real +touch, for the first time, with the niceties of Miss Vidella. +</p> + +<p> +Conscious of her new quality, Miss Carrell ascended the steps. +In the past and pitiable years she had always been obliged to +enter the house through the pupils' entrance at the side, for only +parents or visitors might defile the hearth-stoned steps. She rang +the bell and knocked a confident ratter-tat-<i>tat</i>; and, while +waiting, peeped through the two lights of leaded and coloured glass +to see the old familiar hall, now in a dull green, now in a +sickening blue. Here came a maid. Miss Carrell turned her head +and looked towards the shrubbery. The door opening showed +the maid in a black dress, neat apron, and cap with streamers—in +fact, just as presentable as the brass knocker. Yes, Miss +Vidella was at home, and what was the name, please? +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Carrell. She will know me." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell did not say, "I was once a mistress here," +because she remembered how the servants had always despised +the mistresses. "And how could they do anything else," thought +she, as she stepped in, "knowing that the governesses were paid +but ten pounds a year more than themselves, and fed no better?" +</p> + +<p> +The old familiar hall! The same well-polished linoleum, +narrow mahogany table pushed against the heavy red-and-gold +wall-paper; the same two mahogany chairs; the same hat and +coat stand, jealously guarded from hats and coats; the same +comparative darkness and inalienable odour; the same hum +of voices from the class-rooms; and the same sound—which, +to be sure, she had forgotten for years, but was a necessary +ingredient—of a pupil playing scales in one of the music-rooms +on the first floor. +</p> + +<p> +She was imagining the mistresses in class-room or music-room, +and feeling sorry for them, as she followed the maid +into Miss Vidella's reception room. So familiar! this +congregation of mahogany pieces and knick-knacks with a display +of antimacassars over the backs of armchairs. There was the +upright piano which would be used for practice when no guests +were in the room. On all the tables, on the top of the piano, +and along the mantel-shelf were cabinet portraits, in assorted +frames, of girls who had left; and all these photographs stood +parallel, but obliquely, as if they had once stood shoulder to +shoulder, but had heard the command, "Half left turn!" Miss +Carrell studied the pictures of girls she had known, many of +which bore signatures such as "Grace," or "Your affectionate +pupil, Dorothy Brewer," or "To dear Miss Vidella, from her +affectionate Violet." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Vidella says she's engaged for a few minutes, but will +not keep you waiting long." +</p> + +<p> +Yes. That would be the message she would send to an +ex-mistress. Miss Carrell walked to the window and looked +out. She could re-create what had happened when the maid +announced "Miss Carrell." "Who? Miss Carrell? Miss +Carrell? Dear me. Well, ask her—tell her I will not keep her +waiting long." She could hardly be expected to come +expeditiously to a person whom once she had employed at a salary +of thirty pounds a year. And actually it was a full five minutes +before Miss Vidella was heard approaching. Even then she +delayed in the hall, while her high-pitched and affected voice +whined some instructions to a passing pupil. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened, and unsmiling and deliberate, Miss Vidella +sailed towards her late governess. Miss Vidella was short and +very stout, and her dress was black, from the collar at her ears +to the end of the skirt, which seemed lifted by the dome of her +hips some irregular inches off the ground. Her hair was as +black as her dress, and mercilessly parted in its middle, +probably to complete the resemblance to an ancestral portrait; but +the fat face, with its steel spectacles on a nose that did not +appear to have developed much since infancy, hardly matched +the dignity of her walk or the queenly attitude she assumed in +her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Miss Carrell." Not for twenty years, one imagined, +had the inflexions of Miss Vidella's voice been true and +natural; they were always taken from a cupboard to suit her pose +of the moment; she had a favourite one of injured surprise, +which she supposed was very effective with her pupils and +staff; another of quiet indomitability; and another of mirthless +sarcasm. Her present voice was the voice of a patron conceding +an audience. "I'm sure it's very kind of you to come. +And where do you teach now?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am no longer teaching. I—I manage a gentleman's household +for him." +</p> + +<p> +That a governess could rise out of her caste to something +higher was not easily conceived by Miss Vidella. +</p> + +<p> +"What? A housekeeper? Isn't that a pity? Surely the +training of youth was a higher calling." +</p> + +<p> +"I did not say 'housekeeper,' Miss Vidella. What I mean +is, I manage a widower's household for him, and act as guardian +of his children." +</p> + +<p> +"But surely that means he's making you combine governess +and housekeeper in one? I hope he is not taking advantage +of you, and that you are not being overworked." +</p> + +<p> +("Fat little beast," thought Miss Carrell. "You naturally +don't want to think that I bettered myself by leaving +you.") But while thinking this she said pleasantly: +</p> + +<p> +"You don't quite understand the post, Miss Vidella. I must +confess I consider myself very lucky, and I thought it would +please you too. Mr. Tenter Bruno is a widower, and he has +appointed me to the sole charge of his servants and his children. +He gives me, in addition to a luxurious home, a hundred +pounds a year." +</p> + +<p> +As a tadpole might legitimately be called a frog, so her present +eighty pounds, by virtue of its promise, might be called a +hundred. +</p> + +<p> +"A hundred pounds a year resident!" Miss Vidella's little +black eyes at last showed amazement. "But surely that's an +enormous salary for so young a woman, is it not?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is very good, certainly." +</p> + +<p> +"He must be a very wealthy man, this Mr.—Mr.——" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Tenter Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"There is a writer of that name, is there not? Though I +confess I have little acquaintance with any of these modern +writers. They are so revolutionary, and their writings have a +distinctly immoral tone. Shelley and Keats, of course, I am +passionately fond of. Is your Mr. Tenter Bruno of the same +family as the writer?" +</p> + +<p> +"He is <i>the</i> Mr. Tenter Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Indeed?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +It was clear that Miss Vidella was giving some thought to +this information, for she had looked again, and with a new +expression, at the fine plumage of her late governess. If you +brought together such notions as a loose modern writer, a pretty +dependent, and the ridiculous remuneration of a hundred pounds +a year—— +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed!" she said. "It's a curious appointment." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell smiled. She did not trouble to repudiate the +suspicion, even feeling a humour to encourage it. Raising her +shoulders, she replied: +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps all artists are unconventional." +</p> + +<p> +There was a rustle in her hostess's chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Unconventional theories, in my experience of the world, +Miss Carrell, often end in—er—in all sorts of things." She +began to enjoy playing the mentor on such a subject to the +young woman. "Are you sure that you are quite wise in +accepting such an equivocal position? Artists are so often +loose-lived. You must forgive me, but this is the warning +of an old woman." +</p> + +<p> +A merry laugh was Miss Carrell's reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I can look after myself all right. Why, I've been there +over two years." +</p> + +<p> +(Not, of course, on her present throne, but it was unnecessary +to explain that.) +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella bridled and shrugged. Obviously she was +thinking that, if such were the position, the worst had probably +happened. And in the face of this probability, Miss Carrell +was no person to encourage in Hemans House. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I happened to be in the neighbourhood," said Miss +Carrell, "and I couldn't resist inquiring after the old school. +I hope it's prospering." +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," said Miss Vidella, slightly ruffled. "My school +has never been more prosperous." +</p> + +<p> +"The numbers keep up?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do not desire too great numbers, for then each individual +child receives greater attention from myself and my staff." +</p> + +<p> +("Fiddlesticks!" thought her listener. "That stuff may go +down with the parents, but what's the good of palming it off on +me?") +</p> + +<p> +"I would have asked you to stay to tea," said Miss Vidella, +after a pause, "only I have hardly a minute to spare. I am +really very busy indeed. I am afraid I shall have to ask you to +excuse me." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell rose and picked up her umbrella from a chair. +It was rather fun angling for this plump trout. +</p> + +<p> +"All right—yes—I mustn't keep you. I don't think I'd better +stay to tea, as I want to get to town early. There's just one +thing I wanted to ask you, and it was this. The elder of my +two charges is a girl, Daphne Bruno. She is about to go to +school, and Mr. Bruno has commissioned me to find a suitable +place for her. I thought you knew so much more about the +scholastic world than I did, so as I was in the town it occurred +to me to look in and ask you to advise us. Mr. Bruno would +want a really first-class school, of course, and I don't suppose +money would be a very great object." +</p> + +<p> +"This is very interesting. Please sit down again, Miss +Carrell." Miss Vidella sat down herself. "This is very interesting. +Tell me about the little girl. The mention of her alone +interests me, my life having been spent in the service of such +as she. How old is she, and what is her name?" +</p> + +<p> +"She's eleven, and her name is Daphne Deirdre." +</p> + +<p> +"Such strange names!" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella said it in a voice she kept for parents, or for +the girls when they used slang: it had a faint savour of mittens +and quiet-handed surprise at anything less strictly regulated +than herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," Miss Carrell agreed. "As you said, these people are +unconventional. What school do you really think would suit +the daughter of such a man? Of course, to modern parents the +very possession of his daughter would be an advertisement +for the school." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Carrell, why should she not come here? I am fairly +full, as I intimated, but I could make an exception for such a +child, in the hope, of course, that she would inherit her father's +talents and bring great credit to the school. And for your +sake, too, as an old member of the staff." +</p> + +<p> +It was a demurring answer that Miss Carrell gave to this. +</p> + +<p> +"I had hardly thought of that. Of course, she'd do credit +to any school. She has a clear, inquisitive brain and a +tremendous vitality that she gets from her father, and at the same +time a soft and adoring side that I suppose comes from the +mother, who seems to have been a frail, affectionate creature. +Altogether a charming child. But I don't think it would do. +I expect that Mr. Bruno contemplates paying much higher fees +than you ask." +</p> + +<p> +"We can always arrange our fees," began Miss Vidella, +luckily seeing nothing of the laugh that trembled through her +visitor. "I mean mine has always been a sliding scale, suited +to the pockets of the parents. By which I have been able to +help a lot of children of less well-to-do people." +</p> + +<p> +"As far as I can remember, quite a lot of them came at +reduced fees," said Miss Carrell in obliging agreement. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I have made many sacrifices. It has been my work +in life." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Bruno is particularly anxious about the social status of +the girls his daughter will meet." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course. Naturally. Well, we shall satisfy him there. +You know I make a point of receiving only the daughters of +officers, clergy and professional men." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I remember it says so in the prospectus." This reply +particularly pleased Miss Carrell, for it would leave Miss +Vidella wondering what exactly she meant. "I must admit the +idea had not occurred to me, and frankly I don't think it would +quite answer. Still, I'm grateful for your suggestion." She +rose. "I must be hurrying, or I shall miss my train, and we +have some guests to-night," which last statement was a fiction +provided for atmospheric effect. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, you understand," said Miss Vidella hurriedly, +and smiling to repudiate any false construction that might be +put on her words, "that in the event of your sending me a good +pupil I should save an agent's fee. I don't know if it——" +</p> + +<p> +A laugh rippled from Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +"What an idea! Were you going to suggest that I receive +it instead? Oh, yes, I remember you used to offer it to us. +I shouldn't mind taking it at all, if by chance Daphne came to +you. I have no false pride and make no bones of the fact that +I earn my living. What fee do you usually give the agents?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, they vary. But I really shouldn't mind offering you, in +this case, if Mr. Bruno paid, say—say, a hundred a year, a +commission of ten pounds. I should regard it as only fair." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that would be a pleasant little windfall, supposing +Daphne did come here. Though you understand, of course, I +must put the little girl's interest before all things." +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally. Naturally. I would be the last person to suggest +anything else. But, of course, I have such faith in my own +methods that I don't think she would do better elsewhere. I +feel I should like to have your little ward here. And it's only +because you're an old friend of mine, and I knew your position, +that I offered what I did." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I think it was exceedingly sweet of you, Miss Vidella. +And if Mr. Bruno decides to send his daughter here I shan't +at all mind taking it. Well, we must see. It's quite a new idea +to me. Good-bye." +</p> + +<p> +If Miss Carrell, as she passed into the street, was faintly +reminded of the sons of Jacob selling young Joseph to the +Midianites for a few pieces of silver, she quickly forgot so silly +a thought. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0206"></a></p> + +<h2> +PART II: <i>Daphne's Schooldays</i> +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VI +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne, her governess, and a new trunk marked D.D.T.B., +were all in the Windsor train as it moved out of +Paddington. A sense of well-being accompanied Miss Carrell +too. So often had she seen parents bringing their children to +Hemans House, and envied them the position in which they +stood to the school and to the mistresses. It was the difference +between the paying and the paid, between the clients of a firm +and its servants. Not so much those whose children came for +notoriously reduced fees; them she had rather pitied. And +now here was she, wearing gracefully the clothes of the leisured +classes, and bringing to Miss Vidella a best-paying child. Under +a manner of graciousness and charm she would talk to the +junior mistresses. +</p> + +<p> +She could congratulate herself on the skill with which she +had played for Mr. Bruno's decision. She had used Daphne +first, hanging before her gaze pictures of life at Hemans House +as it lived in her memory—its fun and mischief, its quaint +customs, and its tales of friendship between girl and girl or +between governess and pupil, till the child's imagination was +possessed by Miss Vidella and her establishment, and she would +pester her father to be sent to that school and no other. With +the father Miss Carrell had kept her recommendation free from +over-emphasis, though unmistakably strong. She made capital +with the idea that Daphne would probably do best at a school +on which she was keen. And Mr. Bruno had agreed. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was less happy than Miss Carrell. After all her +noisy enthusiasm for school, she did not like to admit a present +anxiety that was almost a dread. Even from herself she pushed +away a wish that she and Owen and Miss Carrell could have +gone on for ever in the schoolroom upstairs with the two desks. +As the train hurried towards Windsor she gazed out of the +window and affected, for her previous attitude demanded nothing +less, a great excitement about the journey and its destination. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll soon seen Windsor Castle," said Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall we? How ripping!" But she felt that the moment +of seeing Windsor Castle, where it towered above the distant +trees, would be a moment of something like fright; and one +could wish that the train would roll on and on, so that the +moment never came. The hunched carters whose wagons +rumbled on the country roads were people to be envied for their +age and freedom; so were the porters on the platforms, who +would be doing to-morrow what they were doing this afternoon; +and the engine driver, alone in his engine day after day, +with no head mistress or big girls to overawe him. Something +was wrong with her breathing; she kept wanting to rearrange +it with a short, quick inhalation or a downward sigh or yawn. +But when Miss Carrell, looking out of the window, began to +search the skyline for the Round Tower of Windsor Castle, +that she might point it out with an exhibitor's pride, and at last +exclaimed: "There it is—there between the trees!" Daphne +jumped up and stared out of the door-window in an imitation +of effervescing delight. A sickish business, because her heart +was not in the effervescence; it was lying somewhere lower than +usual and beating too fast. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Hemans House far from the station?" she asked, and +though her voice was meant to suggest impatience, the words +were really an appeal for delay. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it's a mile or more, but we'll take a fly." +</p> + +<p> +Usually taking a fly was a treat, but now, as the train slowed +into Windsor station, the cab seemed little better than a Black +Maria or a tumbrel. But life bustles you on regardless of your +desire to go slow, or even to stop still, and Miss Carrell bustled +her on to the platform. There as she waited, trembling in the +cold wind, she sank herself deeper in that despairing envy of +all the other persons who were getting out of the carriages: +the young people whose schooldays were behind them, the +middle-aged who must have forgotten all about school, and the old +men who were near death. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell pushed her into the fly, and said "Hemans +House" to the cabman, who nodded "Yes'm," and flicked at +his horse, starting it up the hill. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne watched out of the window. "Now we're almost +there!" she exclaimed, to keep up the fiction of excited +happiness. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The high garden wall of Hemans House was not likely to +diminish her anxiety; nor the depressing tangle of trees on the +other side of the wall, the moss-green gravel, and the stucco +house. There was more cheer about the white hearthstoned +steps and the green hall door. But the clang of the bell in the +basement had a ring of irreparability, as if it had snapped off +the past; and the waiting for the door to open was unlike any +other waiting she had ever known. Fears seemed to have +vivified her thinking and heightened her imagination above the +normal. White hearthstoned steps, hollowed where the feet +trod, were no longer steps and nothing more. Steps? Steps +were romantic things. What one-time tenants of this old house +had come up these steps and gone down them, and with what +emotions! And now they were in their graves. Perhaps some +daughter of the house had eloped down these steps with her +lover, like Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall. A fraction of +those hollows was made by their flying feet. School girls, +converging from all parts, had come up these steps, and wondered +what years lay before them. And after a time they had taken +their farewell journey down them. Stirring, sweet thought, +that last walk down them! Long after Miss Vidella had died—one +could be selfishly happy if she died this afternoon—other +tenants, not yet born perhaps, would come up these steps. +A crowd would stand here to watch a wedding pair descend +to their carriage on the drive. And the bodies of people would +one day be carried in coffins, feet foremost, down the steps. +That time they would make no impression on the hollows.... +</p> + +<p> +The door was opening, and a maid, who recognised Miss +Carrell, was inviting them to come in. They were walking +through a rather dark hall to the reception-room. Now they +were waiting in the reception-room. This was like an interval +between two parts of one's life, an empty, silent pause, like the +place where the coupling was, between two coaches of a railway +train. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne here began to fill the interval, and thus to contract +to commonplace thinking again, by a study of the framed +portraits of former pupils. All of them seemed to have written, +something like, "To dear Miss Vidella, from her affectionate +Violet," and she was cheered by these proofs of lovableness in +her head-mistress. How pleasant, when she should have left +school for ever, to send a photograph, signed, "To my dear +mistress, from her loving Daphne Deirdre Tenter Bruno!" She +was startled away from the frames by the sound of a high-pitched +voice outside; and the door opened, and Miss Vidella +made a dignified entry. Daphne had heard from Miss Carrell +that her future principal was "short, stout and very quaint," +but the words had suggested no such caricature as this. With +a moment's homesickness she knew that, had Owen and she in +their former freedom seen such a figure in the street, they +would have giggled and hurried out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +"So this is little Daphne Bruno!" said Miss Vidella, stretching +out a cold hand which Daphne took. The hand seemed to +share none of the affection of the high-pitched voice, but to be +a sort of perfunctory companion who did what was expected +of it without enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +"We generally call her Duffy at home," said Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy! What a strange name! I don't think we can call +her that here. Sounds too much like Duffer—and we have +none of them here." Daphne wondered if this were supposed +to be funny. "Besides, being her father's daughter, she'll be +anything but a dunce. No, we shall only call her Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne had a sense of seeing Duffy dismissed from the room. +</p> + +<p> +"And how is your dear father?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very-well-thank-you." +</p> + +<p> +"And is he writing another of his splendid books?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes-I-think-so." +</p> + +<p> +"That's right." +</p> + +<p> +"He's always at work," interjected Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me. You must be a proud little girl to be the daughter +of so celebrated a parent. Are you?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne had never thought of it like that—one hardly did +about one's father—but she dutifully mumbled "Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Daphne dear, you must be happy with us. Your +father was most careful to choose a school where you would be +happy, and you mustn't disappoint him, but tell him how happy +you are here." She turned to Miss Carrell. "I am hoping he +will consent to act as a reference for us.... And I tell you +what would be nice for you, Daphne, and make you feel more +at home, if you could persuade some other dear little girl friends +to come to school with you here. Will you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"And to think that Miss Carrell, whom I know so well, +should have been helping you with your studies for the last +few years! Have you learnt a lot from her?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"That's right. Well, you're a little shy now, aren't you? +Very natural, I am sure. Perhaps you'd like to go downstairs +to the dining-room, and see some of your school-fellows. Would +you like to do that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—thank—you." +</p> + +<p> +"That's right." Miss Vidella struck a bell on the table beside +her. "You'll stay here, won't you, Miss Carrell? I am +expecting some more of the dear children's parents, and we shall +have a cup of tea up here." The maid entered in response to +the bell, and her mistress said: "Knight" (she achieved added +dignity by calling all her maids by their surnames), "please +take Miss Daphne Tenter Bruno and show her her dormitory—she's +sleeping in the Eliza Cook room—and then show her to +where the other young ladies are assembled in the dining-room. +Miss Sims is looking after them." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, madam." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you.... Now do you go with Knight, dear, who +will show you the way.... Ah, yes, yes, Miss Carrell will +come and see you before she goes." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne passed out of the door behind the maid, Knight. As +the door closed, the thought of Miss Carrell partaking of an +exalted tea with the parents made it seem as if she had been +assumed into a heaven, leaving Daphne to work out her +salvation in loneliness below. +</p> + +<p> +"Come on, your Shyness," the maid surprised her by saying +as, not without kindness, she took her by the hand. "You'll +soon get used to us. There's worse places than school when +all's said and done, and worse schools than this, I daresay. +Come and see your bedroom. Up this way.... Just the next +floor.... Now in here.... There ... That's where you'll +sleep, and I wish I had half as good a room." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was in a large, bright room, with six beds whose +top blankets were scarlet and their linen well laundered. On +the floor at the foot of the nearest she recognised her trunk. +The five other beds started more nervousness. +</p> + +<p> +Knight helped her to remove her coat and hat, brush her hair +and prepare for the dining-room. Then she led her downstairs +to a big, bare room in the basement. Here were three +long tables laid for tea, a vase of flowers at every four feet +giving an air of gaiety suitable to the day when the girls +returned. Round the walls were hung Maud Goodman's pictures: +"Taller Than You, Mother," "When the Heart is Young," and +"They Lived Happily ever Afterwards." In the bay window, +whose panes looked out upon a shallow area, sat a young +mistress, evidently Miss Sims. She was a short woman +with a colourless face, not ill-featured, and dull, fair hair. +Her popularity was shown by the girls who were dancing +around her, or sitting with dangling legs on a table at her +side. +</p> + +<p> +All heads turned as the maid entered with Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Here's one of the new girls, Miss Sims. She's Miss Daphne +Brunner, or some name like that." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes. We've heard all about her—Daphne Bruno." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Sims, in her relations with her pupils, was the complete +sentimentalist. She lived with emotions she would have been +ashamed to reveal. And yet, to herself, she liked to call these +emotions the noblest thing in her. It was just this, she had +to have somebody to love passionately. The six years of her +teaching had been a chain of such hungry, largely concealed +loves for some fair-featured pupil. And at the moment when +Daphne first saw her, though she was laughing gaily with the +girls, for all of whom she felt affection, her mind was really +full of treasured regrets and self-pity, because an older pupil, +Audrey Stanton, who had held her heart and filled her dreams, +had left the school the previous term. "Doubtless," Miss Sims +had thought during the holidays, "she will write me a few +affectionate letters, and then forget all about me." The pathos +of this had evoked a few verses, one of which ran: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Upon the threshold of a broader view,<br> + Where lay revealed what girlhood sees,<br> + I left my little pupil standing, and withdrew<br> + To fondle memories.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And another, supposed to be written in ten years' time when +all the girl-children on whom she had expended her love should +be dispersed: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O Time, reverse the glass, and let flow back the sands!<br> + Within a stucco house once more a figure stands,<br> + And smiles on upturned faces, grasping outstretched hands.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Revive the past? Ah no! Nor yet retie the knot,<br> + For time must move, and early-formed attachments rot,<br> + And so the tale is told, a girlhood friend forgot.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The melancholy of her return this term to familiar walls +empty of Audrey Stanton had been relieved (though in loyalty +she hardly admitted it) by the hope that some new pupil would +win her heart. When she had been told about the great +Mr. Tenter Bruno's daughter, she had wondered whether this +interesting child would be able to succeed to Audrey, and to give +her all the exquisite delights and sufferings that that gracious +girl had had the power to bestow. +</p> + +<p> +And now she saw Daphne. She saw an eleven-year-old child +whose brown hair had not yet been tied back with a ribbon. +The eyes were brown, large and inquiring; the nose straight +and small; the mouth at the moment, unmoving and sad—though +the sadness, perhaps, was reflected from a timidity in +the eyes. The narrow figure, with its early promise of long, +thin limbs, was indistinguishable from a boy's.... The child +looked lost. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sims's heart moved out to her aid, swelling with hope. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Daphne, quite unaware that there was a person in the room +who was wondering whether she would be able to love her +better than any one else in the world, was introduced to all the +girls, none of whom made any impression on her except a +certain Gertrude Wayne. This girl, who was perhaps a year +older than Daphne, but no taller, had deliberately come and sat +beside her, and studied to be pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +(The hidden fact was that Gertrude Wayne had just finished +reading a boys' school story, "The Best House at Whitefriars," +whose hero, a Godfrey Baldwin, had always been very kind +and protecting to new boys, and thereby earned their worship; +and her behaviour just now was modelled on Godfrey's. She +had even a hope that the bigger girls would be unkind to this +new kid, so that she could stand up for her. It must be splendid +to have the admiration that Godfrey inspired.) +</p> + +<p> +"What did they say your name was?" +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"Any other names?" +</p> + +<p> +'Yes; Daphne Deirdre Tenter Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I think Deirdre is a ripping name. Which are you +called by at home?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm generally called Duffy at home, but Miss Vidella says +I'm not to be called by that here." +</p> + +<p> +"She would. Nicknames are the same as slang to her, the +old—— But's really she's not so bad." (Gertrude had suddenly +remembered that Godfrey never spoke unkindly of any one.) +"She did the same with me. I'm always called Trudy at home, +but she said, 'My dear, what a strange name! It's too much +like Judy,' and she made me be called Gertrude. I shall call +you Duffy, if you'll call me Trudy. Will you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Where are you sleeping?" +</p> + +<p> +"In the Eliza Cook room I think it was called." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, blow! I'm in the Frances Burney room. Never mind. +If there's anything I can do for you, let me know. I remember +how rotten it was when I was new. I've been here two years +now——" +</p> + +<p> +The conversation was stopped by the sound of Miss Vidella's +voice outside, and when she entered with some parents, all the +girls stood up and kept silence. Some older ones giggled, +though their lips were compressed. +</p> + +<p> +"This is the dining-room," sang Miss Vidella, and the parents, +male and female, gazed helpfully round. "Such a nice, +cheerful room. South aspect, and gets the whole day's sun.... +Sit down, dears.... You won't mind them sitting down, +will you? Yes, they have all their meals here—not luxuries, +I'm afraid, but good, plain, wholesome food." (She +pronounced this word to rhyme with "good.") "Where's little +Daphne Bruno? Ah, there she is. Getting quite at home +already.... Come to me, dear, and let me introduce you. This +is the great Mr. Tenter Bruno's only daughter." +</p> + +<p> +"Tenter Bruno was an old Harrovian," said one corpulent +father, interested for the first time. "He was at Harrow with +me." +</p> + +<p> +"There. Now isn't that interesting? Here's some one who +was at school with your father. How small the world is! ... Now +do you run away, dear." +</p> + +<p> +She soon took out the parents again, who bowed graciously +to Miss Sims before withdrawing. Then tea was brought in, +the first day of term being celebrated by such extras as blanc-mange +and jelly and bananas. The girls, now increased in numbers, +were chatteringly occupied with the meal, under the +supervision of Miss Sims and another mistress who had appeared, +when all were compelled to stand again with full and giggling +mouths by the entrance of Miss Vidella, and a second little +shift of parents. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, they've started, I see.... Miss Sims and Miss +Stevens." The parents bowed. "Yes, I don't pretend we +give them luxuries, but we study always to have good, plain, +nourishing food.... Well, sit down, dears, and get on with +your meal. I am sure you will be excused. This is one +of my new girls this term." Daphne stood up, blushing +because her mouth was full, and she was overborne by this +semicircle of parents about her. "She's Mr. Tenter Bruno's +daughter." +</p> + +<p> +"Really?" exclaimed one lady. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he's just sent her..... Sit down, dear.... It's a +fine, cheery room, isn't it? Perhaps you'd like to see the +dormitories." +</p> + +<p> +They filed out, and the frost-bound chattering violently +thawed. +</p> + +<p> +After tea, Daphne was left quite alone and unspoken to, +Trudy Wayne having gone away, and Miss Sims been relieved +by Miss Stevens. She sat on the edge of a table, and passed +the time looking up and round at the Maud Goodman pictures, +or watching some big girl whose voice was commanding a +moment's attention. Quite half an hour must have gone before +Miss Carrell came into the room to kiss her good-bye. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye, Duffy, dear. I've got to be off to my train. +Try to be very happy." +</p> + +<p> +"I think it's lovely," said Daphne. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0207"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VII +</h3> + +<p> +On awaking next morning in the Eliza Cook room and +looking round upon its iron bedsteads, beneath whose +tumbled red blankets the hips and shoulders of five strange +girls made miniature mountain ranges, Daphne yielded to a +dull resignation. Owen, whose attractions she had too much +overlooked, was now seen to be a friend whose absence left +a damping blank. How good the holidays would be when +once again Hollins would come in, pull up the blinds, and wake +them! All these five schoolfellows were still asleep, and she +coveted the ease and familiarity which enabled them to hunch +up and sleep like that. Herself felt perfectly awake. She +would have rather liked to get up, but dared not move till +some of the others, by rising and dressing, showed her what +to do. There were six basins on a long trestle table, with a +clean, white cloth and four new pieces of brown carbolic soap. +To look at these squares of soap was to catch their smell. +Which of those basins ought she to use, and which piece +of soap? And how much of herself ought she to wash? +Always at home Hollins had taught her that when she didn't +have a bath she must wash, like all ladies and gentlemen, +right down to her waist, and never be guilty of the "cat-lick." But +she knew, as she lay there, that if the majority of these +girls made use of the "cat-lick," she would follow their +example. Moral courage, of course, demanded the opposite +(like Tom Brown saying his prayers), but she had no desire +to show moral courage. All she wanted was to do nothing +remarkable. +</p> + +<p> +When at last, one by one, and with unembarrassed talking, +the girls got up, after a loud bell had rung downstairs, they +soon solved for her the problem of washing. All of them +seemed to dress as far as their princess petticoats before +approaching the basin, and then gave a hasty polish to their +faces and necks with the damp end of a towel. One girl, +even, who had lain in bed long after the bell had gone, did not +wash at all, but dashed downstairs with her dress undone, +plaiting her hair as she went. +</p> + +<p> +Into the stream of girls which, fed by tributary rivulets from +other rooms, was cascading downstairs, Daphne slipped, so as +to flow along with it and see in what pool it finally settled. It +settled in the dining-room, where all the girls were taking up +places behind the chairs they had occupied at yesterday's tea. +Only whispered talk was passing across the breakfast things, as +if even that were contraband. Daphne slipped to the chair +that had known her yesterday, and in the absence of Owen, +Hollins, and Miss Carrell, the chair seemed a friend. She saw +Trudy Wayne, and Trudy saw her, and smiled and looked +dreamily ahead. Daphne wondered at the wistful self-sufficiency +in her eyes—not knowing that Trudy was posturing for +her admiration as Godfrey Baldwin of Whitefriars. The +whispers evaporated into empty silence as Miss Vidella walked +into the room. When Miss Vidella walked, everything from +her head to her waist was as stationary as the bust of a +stout lady carried on a tray, but everything from her waist to +her skirt-hem moved, and this motion gave her passage across +the room the character of a slow, dignified flounce. It also +shook and jingled the silver chatelaine, which, now that her +school was really in session, she had hung at her belt, much as +a mayor hangs his chain about his neck. +</p> + +<p> +She went and stood in the window-bay, and immediately +Miss Mitchell, the music mistress, walked to the piano and sat +down. Daphne guessed. It was to be Prayers. +</p> + +<p> +They sang, apparently by heart, the hymn: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "New every morning is the love<br> + Our wakening and uprising prove."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and Miss Vidella in her high voice read a chapter of the +Bible. Then all knelt down behind their chairs for the collects +and prayers. Some who could not be seen of mistresses sat +on their heels. Daphne held on to the upright bars of the +back of her chair like a caged monkey, and stared through its +tracery at the bare seat and the drooping table-cloth. She +tried to say <i>Amen</i> when the others did, but the word would not +come quick enough, and was even once in danger of saying +itself after the next prayer had started; and this dreadful +moment decided her to leave the word alone. The public +and common worship over, all knelt in silence, till the head +mistress, who had been standing, began to move away, and then +all finished their private prayers at the same moment, jumped +up, pulled out their chairs, sat on them, and released the first +trickles of chatter. The door closed on Miss Vidella, who +had retired to a more dignified breakfast in her private room, +and the trickles of chatter swelled into a spate. +</p> + +<p> +But throughout the meal Daphne employed only one word, +"Thank-you." She used it several times, to maids who brought +her food, and to the neighbours who passed the plate of bread +and butter. She ate her porridge without sugar, being afraid +to ask any one to pass it, and her bread and butter without +any marmalade, because the dish was so far away. There was +much talk of some one called "Petsy," whom she gradually +identified as Miss Vidella, and of some one called "Chutney," +who was apparently a man. Once or twice she thought +she would start a conversation and feign the ease she did +not feel, beginning "Who is Chutney?" but the words never got +past her throat. She hardly knew herself. At home she had +always been a dominant note, and now she was completely +overawed, and in the tightening grip of a horrid desire to +cry. The moisture, indeed, was near her eyes, and the nearer +it came the nearer her vexation drew it, till at last she was in +an agony for the meal to be over, so that she could escape from +the crowd. Trudy Wayne had been at too great a distance +to speak to her. Only one other person had come out clearly +from the noisy background. Shortly after her arrival in +the room she had noticed Miss Sims seeking along the faces +of the girls for a particular one, and had felt a telepathic +certainty it was hers she sought. So she was not surprised +when the mistress's eyes encountered hers, and smiled a +sympathy. Daphne smiled confusedly back. After that she caught +Miss Sims looking at her frequently. +</p> + +<p> +In the half-hour between breakfast and classes the girls +went to their various Form Rooms, which they were allowed +to use as Common Rooms. Daphne, being as yet placed in +no form, wondered where to go, and found herself left in the +long hall or corridor that ran behind the form-room doors. +Here she delayed, and when people passed, pretended to be +doing something definite lest she appeared lost and ridiculous. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly from a small door at the corridor's end Miss Sims +appeared, bearing a load of stiff-covered and glossy exercise +books ready for dealing out to the members of the form, +and directly she saw Daphne she stopped, and then advanced +towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you looking for some one, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked up at her, and seeing the kindness in her +eyes, determined to be frank. +</p> + +<p> +"Please where do I go to now?" +</p> + +<p> +"My poor child, have you been out here all alone, wondering +where to go? I'll show you. Come with me." +</p> + +<p> +She had intended to lead her to the girls in her own classroom, +but changed her direction. Here was the soft-featured +child whom last night she had chosen as first favourite for +the throne of Audrey Stanton, and it would be rather sweet +to have her alone for a few minutes in an empty room, and +to talk kindly to her there. Perhaps the child would cry, and +she would comfort her, stroking her head, and from that +moment the desired adoration would kindle in Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +So Miss Sims walked towards the corner, where the corridor +made a right-angled turn and led to a back wing of +the house. The first door on her right was a music-room, +a cell-like place, containing a piano, two chairs, a table, and a +music-rack. With Daphne behind her she entered, and pushed +the door so that it closed but did not latch. +</p> + +<p> +"Just come in here a minute where I have one or two +things to do." +</p> + +<p> +She pretended to be engaged in sorting some music, but +soon stopped. Seating herself on one of the chairs, she said: +</p> + +<p> +"Now come, Daphne dear, I want you to tell me all about +yourself." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne came two or three steps nearer. +</p> + +<p> +"Come dear, don't be afraid of me. Don't think of me +as a mistress, but just as a friend." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne came up close against her knee, and Miss Sims +put her arm about her waist. +</p> + +<p> +"There. You look sad and homesick. I want you to +tell me all your troubles. Always, will you? Anything that's +on your mind, no matter what it is. If any girl's unkind, +or any mistress doesn't understand you. Always tell me, for +already I feel so fond of you." +</p> + +<p> +Perceiving that her pupil's head had dropped a little, as +though to hide a moisture, she pulled her closer by the waist, +and let her pressure speak silently of sympathy and understanding. +For quite a while she held her like that, till Daphne, +though grateful and beginning to reciprocate the affection, was +not without an embarrassment at its rapid progress. +</p> + +<p> +"Promise me you'll let me do all I can for you. I want +to do a great deal. Will you promise me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," muttered Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sims pulled her close again; and it would have been +difficult to see how the conversation was to be continued or +closured, had not a high-pitched voice in the passage outside +caused Miss Sims to release the child abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +"There," said she. "We must be getting to the class-rooms." A +disturbance was in her voice. "You help me to carry +these exercise books." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Sims! Miss Sims!" cried the voice without. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sims immediately issued from the music room with +Daphne following. +</p> + +<p> +"Here I am, Miss Vidella. Little Daphne Bruno is helping +me with these exercise books. I thought perhaps I had +better give her something to do, lest she should be inclined +to mope at all this first morning." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella was apparently angry about something, and +eager to vent it. +</p> + +<p> +"What a strange idea, Miss Sims! I think there can be +no reason why a child should mope in a school such as mine, +where everything is done to contribute to their happiness. +I think it's a strange idea to put in a child's head. Very +unwise. But that's neither here nor there at the moment. I +must ask you to communicate to Miss Mitchell my exceeding +displeasure at what I saw just now." She made suitable play +with her fat hands. "There was Mr. Pulteney calling to hear +if the same pupils were taking the violoncello, as indeed was +very proper of him, and there was Miss Mitchell talking to +him in the hall. I dislike intensely to come down the stairs, +and see in the entrance hall of my school a young man and a +young woman talking together like that. I wish you would +convey that impression to Miss Mitchell. Supposing some one +had called at that moment. If she as music mistress has +any communication to make to the visiting music master, she +must make it at the proper time and place. I think I left that +impression on them, however. I gave them one look, and +they went their several ways.... Well, Daphne dear, I hope +you are happy.... Do you like very much your new school?" +</p> + +<p> +"Awfully." +</p> + +<p> +"Awfully! What strange terms these dear children do +use! Well, dear, I think you had better start in Miss Sim's +form, the Fourth. We can examine you, and if you know +much more than the others of your age, we can move you +up.... Dear, dear, it is already half-past nine o'clock. Why +doesn't some one ring the bell for First Hour?" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In spite of Daphne's distinguished father, the verdict, after +an examination of her attainments in Miss Sims's class-room, +pronounced that she had but little scholarship, and her +intelligence was apparently unremarkable. In truth, she had but +few goods to display in her window. Her governess, Miss +Carrell, had directed her instruction to achieving popularity +with her pupil, and not to her future academic success. +Daphne's knowledge, therefore, was below the standard of her +age, and, more serious consequence, her capacity for +concentration on subjects she disliked was enervated and flabby. +</p> + +<p> +Her failure this morning, while drawing from Miss Sims +the becoming sounds of disappointment, really relieved and +delighted the mistress. Now there was no chance of her +favourite being promoted to the form above. And with Miss +Sims, though the thought of cruelty could only sit under aliases +and disguises in her mind, it was always sweeter to see her +favourite in disgrace and hurt than successful and rejoicing. +So she did not minimise Daphne's ignorance when Miss Vidella +came in to hear the report, and to examine such papers as +the new girl had written. +</p> + +<p> +"Strange!" whined the head mistress, as she took off the +steel spectacles with which she had scanned the work. "Strange +indeed that a father of such eminence should have so backward +a child. But it is often the way. Ordinary parents have +extraordinary children, and <i>vice versa</i>. Were your grandparents +utterly simple, child? Well, perhaps you don't know. +Perhaps one day you will have a little daughter who will +redress the balance. Meantime we must see what we can +make of you, and you must apply yourself studiously. Now +do you return to your seat, dear. You will remain in Miss +Sims's form." +</p> + +<p> +With that decision Miss Vidella carried out her stationary +bust and back on her swinging hips; and Miss Sims tapped +Daphne on the shoulder—it was a pleasure to touch the child +even thus far—and murmured, "Never mind. Never mind." +</p> + +<p> +Which rather surprised Daphne, since she had not greatly +minded, being dimly aware that Miss Vidella was acting up to +a part, and that it was a rather pompous and foolish one. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner only French might be spoken. Of French (Daphne +was to learn) Miss Vidella made an enormous feature. She +took all French classes herself, and gave long lectures on +French literature, with special attention to Victor Hugo. They +were like perpetual masses, with Miss Vidella as priestess, in +honour of Victor Hugo. On the strength of having once +when eight years of age (so Daphne was told) sat on Victor +Hugo's knee, she considered that her French accent was +perfect and every one else's egregious, and her knowledge +of French literature vast, and every one else's insular and +limited. "I wish to goodness," the elder girls would say before, +during, or after a memorial mass, "that she'd never met the +man." +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon there was talk of a walk. It was the +Lent term, and a walk was the normal recreation. Hockey +was in the very first stages of its adoption by girls' schools, +and to hockey Miss Vidella could never be resigned. Tennis +she allowed in the summer term, on the stipulation that the +girls kept their legs well-disciplined. But in the Christmas +and Lent terms, apart from a walk in crocodile formation, +the only athletic pastimes were gymnasium and riding; and +riding was limited to those whose parents paid for it. Riding +she probably allowed because it gave a school such a <i>tone</i>; but +she fluttered around it with much care for its propriety. It +was not easy to see the riding master, on his chestnut horse, +riding away with a score of her girls. Had she been able +to sit a horse herself, she would have cantered among them +as a chaperon; but she could not, and none of her governesses +were ever likely to be familiar with a saddle, even if they +could be trusted with a riding master, so she was reduced to +being sternly present at the mounting and departure, to +instructing the elder girls to look after one another and their +younger schoolfellows, and to watching the cavalcade as far as +the bend in the road. +</p> + +<p> +With gymnasium it was different; one of her mistresses, +or herself on days of condescension, could accompany the +girls and sit in the spectators' gallery, and ensure that only +the seemlier exercises were performed. Definitely she forbade +the "spread-eagle" on the rings, and the "circle" or the +"hock-swing-off" on the horizontal bar, and the "short-arm-balance" +or "long-arm-balance" on the parallel bars. These circles and +balances were only so many gilded somersaults. When Hemans +House had first gone to the Royal Gymnasium in the Cambridge +Road, and Miss Vidella, at first sight of these exercises, +had interdicted them for ever, the instructor had declared: +</p> + +<p> +"The other schools allow them, madam." +</p> + +<p> +And Miss Vidella, from her seat in the gallery, had replied: +</p> + +<p> +"I dare say they do, instructor. In fact, I feel very confident +they do. But the aims of my school are probably different +from theirs. My aim is to turn out little well-bred ladies +rather than acrobats and harlequins." +</p> + +<p> +"Quite so, madam." +</p> + +<p> +And Miss Vidella, conceiving that she had made a good +point, dulled it by making it again. +</p> + +<p> +"None of my children, instructor, are likely to earn their +living in the circus ring." +</p> + +<p> +"No, madam," admitted the instructor, muttering for the +amusement of the nearest girls, "not a dog's chance o' that." +</p> + +<p> +So gymnastics were confined to swinging on the travelling +rings or the bridge-ladder, gentle vaulting over the parallel +bars and the horse (though in this matter there would be a cry +of disapproval if the upward swing of any girl's leg was more +unladylike than was inevitable), and to Indian clubs and +dumbbells, which Miss Vidella considered most rhythmic and refined. +</p> + +<p> +This first afternoon, since neither gymnasium nor riding had +begun, the girls could only go for a crocodile walk, and at +the pointed invitation of Trudy Wayne Daphne paired with her. +</p> + +<p> +On this walk Daphne awoke to the idea that men could +be important before you were grown up. The conversation +of the girls in front danced around the prospects of meeting +such and such a man. They spoke of "The Dandy Fifth," +who, Trudy explained, was a young coach at an army crammer's, +and earned his nickname from the waist-line in his +coat, his fawn vest, and his patent-leather boots. And there +was Arthur Belsize, the famous young novelist, whose three +books, "The Homes of Mogador," "The Purple Orchis," and +"Dust on the Scaffold," had made him a local celebrity second +only to the lady in the Castle. And there was the Holy +Innocent, a curate at Holy Innocents Church, where Hemans +House went on Sundays. These gentlemen, Trudy garrulously +explained, were often to be passed in the park, the novelist, +Arthur Belsize, especially, who had a habit of strolling every +afternoon down the Long Walk. "I expect he hopes it'll one +day be called the Belsize Walk," suggested Trudy, "like +Addison's Walk at Oxford." Here, then, was the explanation why +the senior girls whenever possible, led the Hemans House +column through the gates into the Great Park. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was excited about the chance of seeing Arthur +Belsize, not because he was a young man, but because he +was a famous story-writer. His tale, "The Purple Orchis," +since it was based on history, had been read to Owen and herself +by Miss Carrell. It did not occur to Daphne that, being +the daughter of a writer, she had no reason to be excited +about them as a class, because she hardly thought of her father +as an author in this true story-telling sense. +</p> + +<p> +Neither the dandy nor the curate appeared, and the twitter +and chattering of the girls was passing to other subjects, +when one of them discerned the novelist, Arthur Belsize, +walking slowly towards them. A tremor ran down the crocodile +from its head girls to the smaller ones in the neighbourhood +of Trudy and Daphne. Daphne put her head outside the +column to see the approaching celebrity, and was very +disappointed. He looked exactly the same as any other young +man who might be seen in a third-class railway carriage. +</p> + +<p> +A silence dropped on the girls. It appeared they had a +custom of readjusting their conversation to the novelist's ear. +As soon as he came within hearing distance they would discuss +only (and this rather loudly) his novels. He was now +alongside the column, and the discussion began. +</p> + +<p> +"I liked 'The Homes of Mogador' best, didn't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I sent 'The Purple Orchis' to my cousin for her birthday." +</p> + +<p> +"'The Homes of Mogador' wasn't a patch on 'The Purple +Orchis.'" +</p> + +<p> +"'The Homes of Mogador' was rot." +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't like 'The Purple Orchis' much, but 'Dust on the +Scaffold' was ripping." +</p> + +<p> +"That's Arthur Belsize." +</p> + +<p> +He passed by, affecting to have heard nothing, though +Daphne suspected that his lips trembled. +</p> + +<p> +To her, who had played with hardly any girl friends in +Deseret Road, this interest in men while your hair was still +down your back was an idea entirely new. That a lover +might come to her after she was eighteen or twenty had, of +course, often been in her mind, especially when she read or +listened to the love scenes of a romance. But that men as a +genus, apart from the individual lover, were interesting she +had not grasped, nor that her earlier love stories might be +looked for at once. +</p> + +<p> +When the crocodile had returned from its walk it disintegrated +into its classes for afternoon school. In Miss Sims's +room, darkening behind its Japanese bead curtains, the +subject was Latin, a language of which Daphne knew very little +and pronounced that little wrong. Her quantities were false, +Miss Carrell having learned the grammar after she left Hemans +House, and learned it from a book without help from the +spoken word. When Miss Sims arranged her girls in a row +that they might "go up" and "take each other down," she +told Daphne that as a new girl she should be given a start +and might go to the top. Doing even this little for her +favourite gave her a mild pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, we'll see what you know of Latin grammar. 'I +shall love.' Let us have the future of <i>Amo</i>, I love." +</p> + +<p> +The question pleased Daphne because she knew the answer. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ammer-bo</i>, I shall love, <i>Ammer-bis, Ammer-bit, +Ammer-byemus, Ammer-bightus</i>——" +</p> + +<p> +The remaining word was lost in a roar of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, no, no," smiled Miss Sims, which amazed Daphne, +since she knew she was right; she could see in her mind's eye +the whole page of Latin Grammar, and there was the future, +"<i>Amabo, amabis, amabit</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, no. It's <i>Am͎ābo</i>, not <i>Ammer-bo; Am͎ābimus</i>, not +<i>Ammer-byemus</i>." +</p> + +<p> +At this word the class laughed again and a sudden +unreasonable burst of temper inflamed Daphne. It was the +break-through of all her resentment at the failure of school +to satisfy her picture of it; she felt ready and anxious for +some violent rebellion, as once before she had felt with Miss +Durgon. The tears started to her eyes, and this exposure made +her angrier and more defiant. +</p> + +<p> +"Say it again now—properly," ordered Miss Sims. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ammer-bo, Ammer-bis</i>——" +</p> + +<p> +"Next!" The mistress turned her head to the next girl. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Am͎ābo</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Go above her." And Daphne went down one place. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sims had seen the symptoms in her favourite's eyes, +and they produced a curious mixture of pleasure and love. +After caressing and fondling, she enjoyed most (though it +disturbed her to think so) punishing the thing she loved. +</p> + +<p> +"Say it again, and properly, and don't be sulky." +</p> + +<p> +To be told she was sulky was enough to fix Daphne in her +obstinacy. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ammer-bo, Ammer-bis</i>——" +</p> + +<p> +"Next!" +</p> + +<p> +Down went Daphne another place, and the class began to +enjoy the game. +</p> + +<p> +"Now say it properly at once." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ammer-bo, Ammer-bis</i>——" +</p> + +<p> +"Next!" +</p> + +<p> +And a little girl who had been breathlessly rising on her +toes said "Am͎ābo" and went up. +</p> + +<p> +There were eleven girls in the class, and Daphne said +"<i>Ammer-bo</i>" ten times till she reached the buffers of the bottom +place. +</p> + +<p> +"You're a very naughty little girl," denounced Miss Sims. +"You're the oldest girl in the class, and you're content to be +taken down by those much younger than you. And just +to gratify sullenness and rebellion. You will write out fifty +times, 'The second <i>a</i> in Amabo is long.' And don't let me +see anything of you till that is done." +</p> + +<p> +She had visions of herself being cold and haughty with +the child, and of Daphne, whose advances would thus be repelled +and bruised, suffering the tortures of a loved mistress's +scorn and finally breaking in humility at her feet. +</p> + +<p> +After the classes and tea there was an hour before Preparation. +Silent at her desk in Miss Sims's room, now a chattery +Common Room, Daphne wrote twenty times, 'The second <i>a</i> in +<i>amabo</i> is long,' and decided that she had done enough for +to-night. Feeling so lonely she wanted to write to Miss +Carrell—even to Owen. She got some of the note-paper that +had been given her to take to school, and began her letter. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"DEAR MISS CARRELL, +</p> + +<p> + "I hope you got back safely.... +</p> + +<p> +(The picture of Miss Carrell getting back to her home and +entering the old rooms made her lip shake.) +</p> + +<p> +"We have been for a lovely walk this afternoon in the +park. It was lovely. We passed Arthur Belsize. I sleep +in a room called Eliza Cook. There is another room called +the Frances Burney room. This afternoon we did Latin. I +am going to have my first riding lesson to-morrow, and I am +looking forward to gymnasium. I like school awfully. What +fun it will be when the holidays begin in three months' time. +I must not write much more as I am going to write to +Owen. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "Much love<br> + "From<br> + "Ever your loving<br> + "DUFFY"<br> +</p> + +<p> +"P.S.—Love to Hollins." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0208"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VIII +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne soon became used to Hemans House, its population +and its practices, and could look back with wonder +at the first days of fear. More than that, the life, for a +particular reason, had become flushed with colour and +richness. The one thing needed to lift her hatred from the +school-rooms and the Windsor streets and to throw a glamour +over them had happened: she was possessed by a romantic +attachment for some one whose background they were. Before +half-term had signalised to the girls that the top of the slope +had been reached, and they could now go quickly down hill +to the holidays, she knew that she adored Miss Sims. It had +taken some five weeks of the alternate caresses and +punishments, warm intimacy and stern aloofness, to betray their +meaning to Daphne; but once it had broken on her that she +was the object of a popular mistress's favouritism, she was +flattered into reciprocation. The slide from fondness to love +was easy and quick. As with her affection for Miss Carrell, +so now with her adoration of Miss Sims: she loved to think +that she loved. But the later attachment was as much stronger +than the earlier, as Daphne was older, warmer, and more +conscious of her sex. It was an emotion too strong for +reticence—except in words; on walks she fought to be at +Miss Sims's side; sometimes she threaded her arm into the +mistress's; and once, when they were right behind all the +others, she rested her head against her shoulder. At +gymnasium every exercise she performed on parallel bars, +horizontal bar, or bridge ladder was done with an eye on the +gallery in the hope of impressing Miss Sims. She suffered +the pains of jealousy when Miss Sims (deliberately) made +much of another girl. And her letters home to Miss Carrell +were enthusiastically full of her form mistress. There was +pleasure in writing about her. +</p> + +<p> +But her pains and pleasures were weak compared with +those hidden behind Miss Sims's indulgent smile. As Miss +Sims assured herself: "The child is fond of me—very +fond—really devoted, I think. But it must inevitably be a small +return for what I am giving to her. It is always so with +children.... Still, it is happiness to give." She made a +resolution that her influence must be a power for good. She +must be associated in the memory of Daphne Bruno, when +that beloved girl should have grown tall and given herself +to a man, with all that was best in her childhood. She must +be the person of whom Daphne would say: "I really owe +everything to her." +</p> + +<p> +And a salient truth of Daphne's schooldays was this, that +Miss Sims—Miss Sims, with her thirty pounds a year and +her cubicle with an iron bed and tin wash-stand; Miss Sims +with her high-coloured make-believes, of which she was half +ashamed; Miss Sims with her thirst for emotion and her +squeezing of pupils like sponges for its sating—<i>was</i> the most +of what she resolved to be. Every one is an expert in the +hobby that fills his dreams, and Miss Sims had seen exactly +how her influence could be this "power for good." Her little +worshipper would most surely model herself on her idol, +and so Miss Sims must appear to embody in her own nature +all the noble qualities she would give to Daphne. She created +a character in her imagination, and always acted it before the +eyes of her pupil. And this was the Character: great gentleness +masking concealed strength; a perfect feminine sympathy +mingled with a capacity to be stern; remarkable sensibility to +beauty wherever it was to be found, and thus a passionate +love for all the arts, with a predilection for literature; a taste in +dress, and a beautiful serenity in manner. +</p> + +<p> +As a background to the Character, she hinted in her talks +with Daphne at a collateral relationship to a very old family; +at reasonable private means, her present work being done +for the love of it, there being no nobler task; at holidays in +romantic places abroad; and, of course, at a love story of which +one did not speak. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In her first holidays Daphne returned home, full of the +importance of a school girl, and talked incessantly of the +customs at Hemans House to Owen, who was not interested, and +to her father, who was quite amused—at least, till he took up +his book again. It was his daughter's tales and imitations of +the head mistress that pleased him—"By Jove! she can see, +that child!" Miss Vidella appealed to the dramatist in him, +both as a picturesque character and as a type. +</p> + +<p> +"She belongs to a type that is doomed to pass, Duffy mia. +There is pathos as well as humour in her posing and her prudery. +I always think it's rather sad the way such people imagine they +are being applauded, while all the time they are being laughed +at by modern minds.... However, you'll understand these +things later." +</p> + +<p> +One result of this ridicule was that his daughter saw how +much better it was to be on the laughing, rather than the +laughable, side of a dividing line, and that she must therefore join +the moderns who always did the laughing. She was modern. +She saw Miss Vidella from a new angle, and much more clearly, +and she determined to carry this interesting viewpoint back to +Hemans House. As a viewpoint it had much to recommend +it: it meant that when Miss Vidella prohibited this and +that—circling over the horizontal bar, or any display of the feminine +leg above the lower calf—she was probably out of date, and +the best way to express one's advance from such rulings was to +glory in their breach. +</p> + +<p> +The only conflict in her mind was how far this healthy +insurgence, imitated from her father, clashed with the obedience +and serenity imitated from Miss Sims. And when she was +again under the roof of Hemans House and the influence of +Miss Sims, a settlement of the conflict was found to be very +necessary. So on a walk to the tennis fields, when the mistress +and her favourite had dropped behind the girls, she sidled +up to the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"Father says Miss Vidella is out of date, and so are all her +ideas." +</p> + +<p> +"H'm. Your father is doubtless a representative of extremely +modern minds." +</p> + +<p> +"So'm I." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sims laughed, provoking Daphne to defend herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she is rather absurd." +</p> + +<p> +"Hush, dear," said Miss Sims, for the Character was nothing +if not loyal. "Miss Vidella's aims are of the highest, and there's +a lot to be said for the kind of woman she tries to produce—modest, +controlled, and quiet.... But I do think that perhaps +she doesn't make sufficient allowance for the heyday in the +blood of youth. Probably the animal spirits ought to express +themselves sometimes in a little wildness and tomboyishness—so +long as these things go with affectionateness—and with high +ideals. Later, when one has experienced the disillusions of +life, it will be time to acquire a tranquil resignation." +</p> + +<p> +This was an excellent verdict. For sympathy and sense there +had been no one before quite like Miss Sims. Everything had +now fallen into place. Daphne saw that she could postpone +the final serenity till she had grown up and passed through the +fire. She was thus at liberty to express the modernity of her +intellect, as compared with Miss Vidella's, by flagrant breaches +of Miss Vidella's rules. +</p> + +<p> +The first time she displayed it was at the gymnasium. She +hung it out, so to speak, on the horizontal bar. +</p> + +<p> +It was a morning when the head mistress herself was in the +gallery watching carefully through her spectacles. The girls +had been vaulting backwards over the parallel bars, and Daphne, +when her turn came, had swung herself with such ardour that +the oblique line of her body was rather from her legs down +to her head than from her head down to her legs—a position +which Miss Vidella stipulated must be guarded against in this +dangerous exercise. Her legs had just swung down again on to +the mat when she heard the high-pitched voice coming from +the gallery top like the voice of a bird from a tree. All eyes +had turned towards it. +</p> + +<p> +"Instructor! Instructor!" +</p> + +<p> +The instructor made a grimace, seen only of the girls, and +called back: "Yes, madam." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella made her favourite point. +</p> + +<p> +"Instructor, I take it this is a place for teaching young ladies +a becoming deportment, and not for training circus clowns." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, madam," agreed the instructor. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, will you kindly correct them when they forget +it? ... Daphne dear, come here." Daphne approached a little +way, and Miss Vidella, leaning forward with her hands on +the balustrade, like some preacher who must deliver his sermon +sitting, explained to her: "You must remember, dear, that it +is the glory of human beings that their head is usually above +their feet. With cows, and ruminant animals generally, the +head is often on the same level as the hoofs. But it is only +serpents and apes in the trees, I take it, which have a tendency +to progress with their heads in a lower sphere than their other +members. Now go back and remember that. All right, dears, +you can resume your exercises." +</p> + +<p> +The public rebuke rankled in Daphne; so the minute the lesson +was over, and the girls were trooping to the dressing-room +to change their rubber shoes, and Miss Vidella was managing +with some difficulty the little hidden staircase from the gallery +to the ground, she ran to the horizontal bar and circled it four +or five times. Having thus liberated her resentment and +proclaimed her faith before the other girls, she ran, very red and +breathless, to the dressing-room. +</p> + +<p> +It was uncommonly pleasant, this feeling of emancipation +and this expressing of it before her schoolfellows. Her riding +lesson gave her another opportunity. One day when their +horses were gathered outside the gates of Hemans House, and +the girls were mounting, she tried for a second to sit astride +her horse, that she might see what it felt like and appear daring. +But it was surprisingly difficult, with her skirt, to change from +the side-saddle position to the astride. As she got her leg over +the horse's withers the skirt went right above her knees, and +she was in these difficulties when Miss Vidella came out on to +the pavement to review the parade. +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne! What <i>are</i> you doing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mounting, Miss Vidella," stuttered Daphne, who had +struggled back to the correct position. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you generally climb over the horse to mount it? Or +are you up to some of your monkey tricks again? Riding +master, have you observed that Miss Bruno is mountaineering +on her horse in the public street? But, of course, I know you +cannot have done so, for you are always so careful with your +pupils. Please keep Miss Bruno in front of you all the way, +or there's no knowing what strange contortions she may not +attempt." +</p> + +<p> +The riding master, annoyed, said nothing, but examined the +riders, touched his horse and led the cavalcade away. Daphne +was just in front of him, and immediately they were out of +the head mistress's view she pretended to scream with laughter, +thinking this would divert the riding master, who, like all the +outside instructors, was inclined to make fun of Miss Vidella. +But, to her surprise, he called out: +</p> + +<p> +"Come on, Miss Bruno! Sit properly at once. You've been +foolish enough already to-day. I'm not taking out a chain of +Margate donkeys; and I shall report you to Miss Vidella. +Come here and ride beside me." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne felt foolish at the failure of her jest, and, very +flushed, came and rode by the master's side with a beating +heart. With all her fancied insurgence she was still a little +afraid of Miss Vidella and her black-rimmed spectacles and +whining sarcasm. When the horses arrived back at Hemans +House gates she watched the movements of the riding master, +whether he would go in and see Miss Vidella or wait for +her to emerge from the garden wall. But he only turned +towards herself, and, as though softened by her long silence, +smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"All right, kiddy, I shan't report you. And one of these +days you'll be able to ride astride. In my opinion they'll all +be doing it one day. But at present we must do what we're +told." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," murmured Daphne. "Thank you very much." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It became quite a custom for her to entertain the gymnasium +girls with three or four guilty circles on the horizontal bar +while Miss Vidella was descending the gallery stairs. +Sometimes she managed six or seven of the forbidden things before +rushing, red as a beet-root, to the dressing-room. Here she +looked serene and innocent when the head mistress appeared +and sounded some variant of "Come along, dears. I feel sure +your healthy exercises have engendered an appetite for your +dinners." +</p> + +<p> +But one morning, by some failure in her swing, she did +not complete her fifth backward circle, and was left hanging +over the bar like a bolster thrown over a rail. Time was short; +Miss Vidella's feet must be on the last few stairs; so she +straightened her body on the bar, and was just about to drop +behind it to her feet, when she saw Miss Vidella standing at +the dressing-room door and watching her through her +spectacles, chin slightly uptilted. The sight so unnerved her that +instead of swinging backwards she swung forwards, her head +falling like the clapper of a bell, and the weight of her body +flinging her legs in an arc through the air. Her hands retained +a panicky hold of the bar, but her feet struck the mattress and +its coco-fibre mat with a jarring impact. A little giddily she +stood on the mat and wondered what to do. If only Miss +Vidella had not stood across the dressing-room door she would +have flown through it and drowned her confusion in the +business of unlacing her shoes. But now she could only stand on +the mat beneath the bar and stare at the head mistress, while +the head mistress stood in front of the dressing-room and +stared at her. Girls peeped behind. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you doing, Daphne?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing." +</p> + +<p> +"What were you doing on that bar?" +</p> + +<p> +"I only just did a circle or two." +</p> + +<p> +"And do you call that nothing?" +</p> + +<p> +Clearly "Yes" was not the right answer, and "No" was +incriminating, so Daphne stood on the mat and gave no answer +at all. +</p> + +<p> +"Come here." +</p> + +<p> +She approached. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you"—seemingly Miss Vidella could not bring herself +to name the offence—"do that thing because it was against my +express orders?" +</p> + +<p> +The true answer, "Yes," was somewhat too dangerous to be +employed, so Daphne said "No." Politeness required no less. +</p> + +<p> +"Then why did you do that thing?" +</p> + +<p> +In Daphne's head was a foggy conception of modern minds +enfranchising themselves, and a phantasmagoria of related +ideas, out of which came nothing more remarkable than: +</p> + +<p> +"I thought I should like to." +</p> + +<p> +(It was, perhaps, modernism in its simplest expression.) +</p> + +<p> +"And why should you like to do it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"I will tell you. It can only have been out of a spirit of +deliberate evil-minded rebellion, or it was because you have a +natural liking for the buffoonery of the uncivilised which you +are too weak to suppress." It was humiliating to hear one's +strength called weakness, and Daphne wished she had the courage +to plead loudly that hers had been the evil-minded rebellion +through and through. "You are one who must be trained, not +by liberty and encouragement, but by restraint and correction. +Get on your shoes. You shall not visit the gymnasium or the +tennis field for a fortnight. Both places are too beset with +opportunities for the outlandish contortions that so appeal to you. +A walk each afternoon instead will perhaps teach you that it +is perfectly possible to exercise every muscle of the body in the +upright position, and all other contortions can be left to the +jungle and——" Here Miss Vidella's sarcasm ran out. "Get +changed. I fail to see why these dear girls here should be kept +waiting for their lunches by you." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne passed sullenly to her shoes and pulled them on +viciously. She was being persecuted and enjoying it. And as +she walked home with Trudy Wayne she was so ostentatiously +noisy (this being her indirect claim to the "deliberate rebellion") +that Miss Vidella called: +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne, come back and walk alone behind me. You hardly +seem to understand that you are in disgrace. Gertrude dear, +I wonder at your encouraging her." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +By this time, in Miss Vidella's mind, there was both a flabby +dislike and a faint fear of the Bruno child. Recently she had +acquainted herself with some of the father's books, and while +wondering what much of them meant, grasped enough to feel +uncomfortably that the great man probably ridiculed her ideas +and her methods. And now, gnawed by the fear that Daphne +Bruno might have heard and believed this ridicule, she determined +to humiliate the child into a sense of her own simplicity +and foolishness. The backwardness shown in Daphne's work +on paper provided plenty of opportunities, though the child's +quickness in <i>viva voce</i> work, and her skill and rushing +imagination when anything had to be made—a poem, or a map, or +a clay model—sometimes reminded Miss Vidella that her +genuine opinion was very different. But for the good of all, +and lest she spread her doctrines, Daphne Bruno must be +discredited and kept down. She often came, therefore, into Miss +Sims's class-room, and on examining the pupils' exercises, +deplored the poverty of Daphne Bruno's. +</p> + +<p> +"And this is the girl who thinks she knows better than any +of us, and is so sure of her right judgment that she allows +herself to do things just because she likes to. Go to your seat, +child. When you can construe a simple piece of Latin we shall +perhaps consider whether or not we will revise the rules of +this school to suit your little fancies." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne rather liked this bullying. It gave her the pleasure +of mildly hating Miss Vidella as once she had hated Miss +Durgon; and it enabled her to act in front of Miss Sims the +tranquil resignation of a martyr, or in front of her class-fellows +the fine, furious flash of a tragedienne. Also it justified and +increased her love of the sympathetic governess; and she was +keen on making a good thing of this. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mr. Tenter Bruno, in these days, was prospering; and his +mercury, though never free from fluctuations, was generally +high. He was very satisfied, and something of radiance could +be seen in his face and manner. In this, his fifty-third year, +his brown beard was turning grey, and his hair receding from +his fine forehead, but his figure in its grey suit was as neat as +it had been at twenty. For some time he had considered that +the house in Deseret Road lacked the necessary picturesqueness. +It was a moot point whether one's books and fame were not +injured by an address in the suburbs. His readers ought to +be able to imagine him in some quaint old habitation, set down +in green and lonely places. Besides, such a move from +London into the quiet was always good copy for the paragraphists. +And, to the delight of Daphne and Owen, when they returned +from their schools, he suddenly announced, as a complete +surprise, his purchase of Old Hall House, between Wivelsfield +and Ditchling Common in Sussex. It was not far from their +former cottage, and their old gardener Eadigo, still hearty, was +coming into permanent residence. +</p> + +<p> +"When shall we go? When shall we go?" demanded his +daughter. +</p> + +<p> +"These very holidays, of course," smiled Mr. Bruno, delighted +at the success of his surprise. +</p> + +<p> +And in August when they moved there, he was happy in +watching Daphne as, excited to see what the house was like +(though she had declared she could remember it), she hung +out of the carriage that was rattling them to its gates. When +the carriage stopped, he saw the house anew through her eyes: +a rectangular place of two stories, roofed in Horsham stone, +with a new wing jutting out at right angles towards the road. +The whole place was perhaps disappointingly near the road, +and the low railing that separated the lawns and drive from +the travellers to Ditchling was a little—finicking. But this +weakness could be forgiven, when you looked at Old Hall House +itself, with its mossed roof, its disorderly outbuildings, and its +setting of silent country, closed in the diminishing distance by +blue and shadowed downs. +</p> + +<p> +Within doors, round about a square hall, rather dark, were +three large, low-ceiled sitting-rooms, and a red kitchen with an +undulating floor. Above these, up an oak staircase, were seven +or eight bedrooms; and in the new wing, a room for Daphne, +and a room for Owen, with a great chamber underneath that +should be their privy playground. The servants had a +staircase of their own leading to bedrooms in the back parts. +</p> + +<p> +This segregation of children in the north and servants in +the east Mr. Bruno had imagined would secure for him that +ideal silence which he had yet to find in this plane of existence. +In the sitting-room to the left of the entrance-hall he +arranged his study furniture and his unnumbered books. But +it was a grievous blow, and one that shook his household for +weeks, when he learned that there was not one of the +sitting-rooms but heard every sound in the house. The movements +in the hall came through the walls, the staircase squeaking +like an animal when anybody walked on it; the noises in the +kitchen came through the shrunk oak doors; and if the maids +were cleaning the bedroom above, their sweepings and voices, +even their actual words, came through the low-pitched ceiling +to Mr. Bruno, and his groans and exclamations (he imagined +and hoped) went up to them. It was damnable. +</p> + +<p> +He didn't know what to do. The paying of the mountainous +bills created by the purchase, the alterations and the move had +resolved him to live quietly for some time, and save money on +postage stamps and tobacco. He would not—though his own +mind saw clearly and humorously the weak logic—he simply +would not—spend another half-penny in making his study +sound-proof. Instead, if there was a clatter in the kitchen, or a +step, unmuted, on the vile staircase, he got up, opened his door, +and put out his head with a diffident and over-courteous request +that whatever was being done might be postponed till the +afternoon; if the noise was in the bedroom above, he pushed back +his chair that he might knock on the ceiling with a stick; till, +at last (much to his amusement in the midst of his irritation), +he would hear the scurry of the maids, or the guilty silence in +the kitchen, directly his chair was pushed back. That push-back +of his chair, if done viciously enough, could turn the house +into a sepulchre. +</p> + +<p> +After several weeks of encouraging economies, however, he +decided that the young maids (who rather appealed to him) +had a right to laugh and be noisy and even sing at their +sweeping; and he spent fifty pounds on sound-proofing his room. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +For Daphne the memorable thrill of this first summer holiday +in Old Hall House was something quite independent of its +fascinating rooms and the undiscovered country around. Or +perhaps not so independent of their romance as she thought. +In Owen's bedroom she learned that he had developed a taste +for "penny dreadfuls." She saw a pile of the things, with +their vivid picture-covers, on the top of his chest-of-drawers. +The first of them, whose cover showed a gay highwayman in +scarlet cape, three-cornered hat, and lace neckwear, firing a +bell-mouthed pistol into the face of a black and bulbous Bow +Street Runner, she read in her own room. From that day her +imagination, like a city that had thrown open its gates, was +yielded to Dick Turpin. Eagerly she selected all the rest that +dealt with the handsome blade, and found twenty-three. She +spent the best week of her life, up to that point, reading these +twenty-three stories one after another. +</p> + +<p> +She took all twenty-three and her inflated enthusiasm back +to Hemans House, and introduced the enthusiasm and one of +the books to Trudy Wayne. Trudy, having read one tale, +borrowed the whole twenty-three, and succumbed to the +highwayman. +</p> + +<p> +This common interest strengthened the friendship of the two +girls, and marked the moment when Daphne, though a year +younger, began to dominate the partnership. From her imagination +came the idea that, on their walks, they should be Dick +Turpin and Jack Sheppard. Miss Vidella, with her black clothes +and her corpulence and her piggish ways, was obviously the +head of the Bow Street Runners—or a Bloody Assize judge. +It was incumbent on Trudy and herself to organize into an +Outlaw Society. This was to have been called a "Hate +Society," but memories of Miss Sims's gentleness limited the +name to "The Dislike Society." During riding lessons, Daphne +on her mild bay pony trotting or cantering beside the troop +of girls, was really galloping Black Bess, with the Runners hard +behind. In gymnasium, when she ran and vaulted over the +horse, she was really Dick Turpin leaping a hedge or a toll-gate +to escape his pursuers. If she was kept in, the class-room +became a Newgate cell anterior to Tyburn, and her dismissal +after half an hour's detention was a dashing escape amid the +cheers of her followers who were waiting at the prison gates. +Beneath her sheet and blankets in the Eliza Cook room, she +had really taken to the heather and was sleeping in a cloak +under the stars. +</p> + +<p> +"Wouldn't it be ripping," she exclaimed to Trudy one day, +"if we could spend a holiday together, and play Dick Turpin +on some real lonely road?" +</p> + +<p> +And as she said that, there flashed into her mind the very +scene where such a drama could be staged. Good heavens! +It was perfect! Ditchling Common. Strangely, it spread itself +before her, not as she had just left it, under summer, but as she +had seen it in May one morning of her earliest childhood, when +it must have hit her imagination far more vividly than she had +known; Ditchling Common with a mauve haze of bluebells +over its coarse grass, shot here and there with the yellow of +buttercups; the ribbon of road switchbacking over the +successive brows to the humpy bridge above the railway line; the +wavy horizon of downs, bare save for two windmills on the +west; a hawk—how well she remembered watching it—hovering +above the common. There were dwarfed gorse bushes, like +black patches on the stretching grass, and taller shrubs of +entangled blackberry. And, most wonderful of all, at the +entrance to the common was a white gate like a toll-gate, and just +beyond it Jacob's Post. Jacob's Post was a real gibbet, with +a cock at its top bearing the date 1734 to tell when last a man +had hanged there. +</p> + +<p> +"Coo, what a fool I am! Trudy, you should see Ditchling +Common near me. It's absolutely the spot. Oh, you must come +and stay with us next summer. I'm sure father'll agree, and +we'll make Owen play too." +</p> + +<p> +This plan, thenceforward, was a never-failing spring of +conversation. For Trudy there was no taste of doubt in the merry +cup. Daphne was just aware of a lurking anxiety lest, ten +months hence, they would have forgotten all about Dick Turpin, +or, alternatively, their undying friendship would have died. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0209"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IX +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne was right in fearing that the influence of the +highwayman would abate with the months, but wrong in +doubting the endurance of her friendship with Trudy Wayne. +This didn't expire, for the simple reason that she set herself +to keep it at a sufficient heat. And when the next summer +term drew towards the golden August that was to bring Trudy +to Old Hall House, she as deliberately exhumed Dick Turpin, +guessing that, did they but read the old romances once more, +their imaginations would be snatched up again by the inspiring +highwayman. +</p> + +<p> +A mellow evening, the fourth of August, she climbed into a +trap, driven by Eadigo, and was taken to meet Trudy at +Hayward's Heath station. Why her eager anticipations should +make her a little afraid of meeting Trudy she didn't know, but +it was a disturbing fact, as the train rolled in, that her heart +was faintly answering its noise and speed. Only a few +passengers alighted here, the most being travellers to Brighton; +so Trudy was quickly seen. Daphne ran towards her, followed +without enthusiasm by Eadigo. Trudy, too, one could see, was +rather shy of the strange station and all her circumstances, +but she cloaked it with an ostentatious self-possession, talking +much as she mounted the trap. Eadigo drove off silently, and +Daphne felt a pity for the old man because the six weeks in +front of him were the same as the six weeks before. His +silence and phlegm made her look at Trudy, after which they +both had fits of giggling. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell welcomed the visitor in the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I hope, Trudy—may I call you that?—you'll have a +very happy holiday with us. I'm sorry Mr. Bruno is away.... +It's very nice for Duffy to have you with her, I'm sure. +Owen, come here and say how-do-you-do to Duffy's friend." +</p> + +<p> +Owen these holidays had brought back from his preparatory +school a new and (one would have thought) quite +uncharacteristic tendency to laborious humour. It involved his +addressing of Hollins as "Herbert," and his sister as +"Casabianca." And now he bowed till his head was +aligned with his waist, and +extended a hand. Trudy took it, and inquired: +</p> + +<p> +"How do you do?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't," answered Owen. +</p> + +<p> +This strange new growth in her brother was in the process +of being discouraged by Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"It's not funny," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Sorry. Heaps of ajoppolies," answered Owen. +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne wanted you to share her bedroom," interrupted +Miss Carrell, "so I've arranged it for you both." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, how ripping!" exclaimed Trudy. +</p> + +<p> +"That'll be monstrous fine," said Owen. +</p> + +<p> +In their beds that night the two girls arranged plans for +the next day till the clock on the stairs sounded midnight. +</p> + +<p> +"Coo, you wait till I show you Ditchling Common," Daphne +rattled on. "The road lies like a white ribbon, all up and down, +from the Toll-gate to Ditchling. There's one big clump of +blackberry that I call the Observation Post, because it's at the +top of a brow, and you can see all the way to the next brow +and beyond that to the railway bridge. So you could see any +one approaching half a mile away, and give warning to your +confederates hidden lower down the road." +</p> + +<p> +The clock struck midnight, and the conversation swung suitably +to the age of the house in which they slept, and whether +it was haunted. It had not occurred to Daphne that it was +till this moment, but now she romanced about eerie noises and +panels that rang hollow. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Immediately after breakfast the next day all three hurried +to the common. Daphne as guide, walked importantly ahead, +leading the others through the white gate, and longing for +the moment when Trudy should see the gibbet. The common +lay before them in summer dress: the thistles high by the flying +road, the grass tall and bearded where it mingled with bracken +and rushes, and over the dusty highway and the disorderly +herbage the sunlight quivering in a diaphanous haze. A few +slow cows pastured in a hollow, and cocks and hens picked the +green about Jacob's Post. +</p> + +<p> +Trudy's interest in this gibbet was even more than one desired; +in fact, there was some difficulty in getting her away +till she had properly fixed upon her imagination the picture of a +felon suspended there. It was already nine o'clock. +</p> + +<p> +"Come on," said Owen. "We dine at half-past one." +</p> + +<p> +The games were conducted just as Daphne had planned them. +Owen was sent away to reappear as a traveller a quarter of a +mile up the road; the girls put on black masks and held +six-penny pistols; and Daphne went and lay behind the tall clump +of blackberry called the Observation Post, while Trudy threw +herself under some gorse lower down the highway. It was for +Daphne to signal Owen's appearance in the distance. While +she waited for him she selected any blackberries that showed a +trace of ripeness, and ate the trace. Also she sucked and +chewed grass, for Owen did not appear for a long time; there +was nothing but a cart coming from Ditchling. She did not +guess that Owen had been seized by the ingenious idea of +approaching under the lee of the cart—such a thing was against +the whole spirit of the game. Nevertheless, when the cart +had passed in front of her he emerged from his cover with a +shriek of triumph and raced down the hill towards Trudy. +Leaping up angrily, she gave the pre-arranged signal, which +meant that Owen had been spotted in the distance—and +followed him as he ran past Trudy. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, the fool!" she grumbled, and called after him: "It's +not funny, if you think it is." And to Trudy, before whom +she stopped with this news of Owen's appearance: "He always +must show off." +</p> + +<p> +Owen turned round and came back with a victor's smile. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll spoil it all if you want to be cocky," she grumbled. +"Why can't you ever play sensibly?" +</p> + +<p> +Having treated himself to one whimsical effort, Owen promised +to play sensibly, and for the rest of the morning the games +unrolled as they should. The walk home was a-clatter with +tongues. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +By early afternoon they were standing again on the road +by the Observation Post, and deliberating how to vary the play, +when Owen said: "Hist! Wait!" He had seen two specks +coming with a curious velocity over the crown of the railway +bridge. Two men—or two boys, since they were probably +racing, and men didn't do such things. +</p> + +<p> +"Hist! Hist! Sister Anne, sister Anne, I see some one +coming." +</p> + +<p> +"It's not funny.... Who are they?" +</p> + +<p> +"I see two men running, and a cloud of dust." +</p> + +<p> +With imaginations pleasantly troubled the girls looked +towards the far-off but quickly approaching figures. +</p> + +<p> +"Let's stop 'em, whoever they are," suggested Owen. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be an ass. We can't if we don't know them." +</p> + +<p> +"Why not? If they're boys they won't mind. And we're +three to their two." +</p> + +<p> +"It would be rather ripping," reflected Daphne, while the +others watched for her to give the last word. "I tell you what. +You wait here behind the Observation Post, Owen, and as soon +as they come near enough for you to see if they're boys and +attackable, you signal 'Yes'—make a Y with your arms—and +then come and join us lower down behind the gorse. Then we +really will hold them up." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne and Trudy ran to the gorse and fell prone behind +it. This real holding up of unknown wayfarers on the high +road was a completer thrill than any of the mock adventures. +It affected Daphne with an emptying sensation below the waist, +and shook the hand with which she was hurrying on her mask +and cocking her pistol. And when Owen made a Y of his +body and arms, and she knew that they were committed to the +deed, and that the moments before its accomplishment were +fast escaping, her heart began to pound with a delicious fear. +Breathlessly Owen joined them, falling to his stomach with +the announcement: "Two boys. One rather big." All watched +the brow for the first of the boys to appear. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll leap out," whispered Owen, who seemed to have none +of that faint anxiety to be quit of the business that was troubling +Daphne, "and you'd better follow me.... Look alive! Here's +Number One." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked up from her ground level and saw a figure +on the brow outlined against the glazed sky. As he came +down the slope she saw with surprise that he was in just such +running attire as the competitors wore in the University Sports +at Queen's Club: white vest with coloured ribbon edging the +sleevelets and the button-opening; very short white shorts edged +with the same ribbon; white socks and black rubber shoes. His +fists were at his breast, and his dark hair blowing untidily. The +figure, while clearly a young boy's, was tall and beautifully +shaped—from the shoulder-line to the rounded thighs with their +muscles astir. In the few seconds of his coming Daphne felt +that vague agitation which beauty gave; it was but the germ +of the pleasure felt by adults in the presence of a Praxitelean +statue, and as unmindful of sex, and it was not only the lines +of his body that had disturbed her, but the way he had come +over the brow in the sun's light. +</p> + +<p> +"Now!" cried Owen. +</p> + +<p> +All three leapt out and stood across the road. The tall boy +was so startled at this apparition of three masked bravoes in +his path that he stopped suddenly, and, slipping on one foot, +nearly fell. +</p> + +<p> +"Damn and blast!" he muttered. "What the deuce are you +playing at?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your money or your life," said Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +He was looking at her; first at her mouth and chin, then +at the eyes that were staring at him through the mask; then +at her disarrayed hair; then up and down her body. He smiled +grimly, and as if it were impossible to insult a girl, turned +towards Owen and said: +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, I'm going to give you a lamming." +</p> + +<p> +A younger boy, also in running clothes, had now come up +and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +Owen retreated a step or two, but the bigger boy seized his +wrist and twisted it right round. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't!" commanded Daphne, pleased with this opportunity +of being heroic. +</p> + +<p> +Taking no notice of her orders, the boy twisted her brother's +arm again, and Daphne promptly hit him a heavy blow with +the butt of her pistol on the bone of his wrist. +</p> + +<p> +"God——!" he began, but controlled the curse, and out of +respect for the girl dropped Owen. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a game," explained Daphne. "We thought you'd see +the joke." +</p> + +<p> +"That bally thing of yours hurts. I don't see why you should +hit me with it just because, being a girl, you know I shan't give +you a lamming. Others would." +</p> + +<p> +This angered Daphne. It was the unfairest accusation that +she had taken cover behind her sex. The thought had not been +in her mind at all, and the suggestion of it made her pluck look +like cowardice. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I never thought of that at all," she protested. "You +can have a shot at giving me a lamming if you like." +</p> + +<p> +With his grim smile the boy seized her wrist and turned it +strongly—but not too strongly. Daphne set her teeth and +deliberately looked defiance into his eyes. He stared commandingly +into hers. And holding her thus captive, though still with +a hint of gentleness, he suddenly whipped off her mask and +put it behind his back. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't!" she shouted. "Give that back to me. It's mine." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I shan't!" +</p> + +<p> +With her spare arm she reached round him to recover her +property. Her arm was now about his waist, but the feel of his +body, thinly covered by the vest, neither raised a blush nor +intruded diffidence. She only fumbled for her mask while the +boy looked down upon her, grinning confidently and +enigmatically. +</p> + +<p> +"Rescue!" shouted Owen, and he and Trudy rushed for his +sister. +</p> + +<p> +"Get away, you little worm!" said the tall boy, letting go of +his captive—while Owen got away. The boy seemed to give +himself to thought, looking now at Daphne and now at the +mask, which he drew away as she tried to snatch it. Then +he turned to his companion. "I say, Cyril, we might get these +kids to join us.... We were training when you barged in. +But we've an idea to start paper-chasing or something." He +looked at Owen. "I say, Face-ache, what are you called, and +what are your sisters' names? You do look a guy in that +mask." +</p> + +<p> +"They're not my sisters," answered Owen, a thought over-awed, +and removing his mask. "At least, only one of them." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, which one, fool? Introduce us properly." +</p> + +<p> +"This one." +</p> + +<p> +The tall boy looked a little shyly at the girl whose wrist he +had twisted and whose arm had held him tight about the waist. +</p> + +<p> +"And what's her name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy—or Daphne—Daphne Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"Comic names. Still"—he bowed gallantly though yet +shyly—"very happy to make your acquaintance.... Now the other +one, Fifth of November." +</p> + +<p> +"Trudy Wayne, who's staying with Duffy for the hols." +</p> + +<p> +"That's like Cyril.... Where's Cyril? Come here, man. +This is Cyril Evans. He's my cousin, and he's coming up to +Sillborough next term.... Now we all know where we are." +</p> + +<p> +"But you haven't told us your name yet," pointed out Daphne, +not the least shyly, and sucking the wrist he had twisted. +</p> + +<p> +"Nor I have. It's Muirhead—Roger Muirhead.... However, +that'll do for that. Let's get on with this game you're +playing.... Cyril, look here man, we'll pick sides, and as I'm +the biggest, I'll only have one of these people, and you can +have the other two. And, as I'm only to have one, I'll pick first." +</p> + +<p> +He went through an elaborate pantomime of indecision, looking +each of them up and down, as if appraising their adroitness +or speed. And, rather casually, he smiled his decision at +Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll have this one. I forget your name—Duffy Something, +wasn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course.... Righto! The Bruno-Muirhead Combine +against the world. Cyril, you take your crowd a half a mile or +so back along the road, and I bet none of you get through us two. +If a single one of you gets as far as Jacob's Post, your side's +won. D'you see?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, man." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, nip off your way, and we'll go ours. Come +on—Duffy." He coloured as he used the name. +</p> + +<p> +Roger and she stepped off the roadway on to the grass, and +they were about to cross a stretch made dirty with the large +droppings of kine, when Cyril called out: "Mind the cowslips!" +</p> + +<p> +Trudy giggled; Owen too, for it was humour after his heart, +if a trifle daring; but Roger, to every one's surprise, swung +round and, running after Cyril, who immediately began to +escape, tried to give him a punitive kick. +</p> + +<p> +"You know you don't talk like that in front of girls," he +muttered breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +"It was nothing much," Cyril grumbled. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, much or not, don't say that sort of thing in front +of girls unless you want your behind kicked. Now clear out.... +Come on, Duffy." And he led her away with the silence +of a man who has just shown his chivalry and his power. No +heed gave he, though undoubtedly hearing Cyril's "Sidey +swine!" and Daphne felt she must suggest, "But supposing your +cousin won't play now?" +</p> + +<p> +"He'll play if he's told to," said Roger. +</p> + +<p> +Roger, now that he was alone in a wilderness with his partner, +appeared a little awkward. He had difficulty in finding +anything to say; and Daphne, to ease him, ran merrily to the +gorse screen and flung herself prone upon the ground behind it. +Roger stood for a minute and looked down upon her. +</p> + +<p> +"You're longer than I thought when you lie like that.... +How old are you?" +</p> + +<p> +He sat down. +</p> + +<p> +"Thirteen!" +</p> + +<p> +"Is that all? I should have, thought you were fourteen at +least. I'm—I'm fifteen. We're both on the long side, aren't +we?" +</p> + +<p> +"You look quite sixteen." +</p> + +<p> +"Do I? Yes, people generally think I'm older than I am." He +lay down on his arm beside her. "Do you live near here?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne answered this and several other questions, while +Roger listened, masticating one blade of grass after another and +throwing them away as they were drained of their pleasure. +He seemed given to thinking long on all he heard. In his turn +he explained that he was the only son of Sir Roger Muirhead, +"of the Muirhead Traders, you know," and that they had just +bought the Downway House on the Plumpton side of the +common, "partly for holidays, and partly as a spec." When +Daphne asked if he would one day be "Sir Roger," he replied +vaguely, "I daresay." +</p> + +<p> +"And did you say Sillborough was your school? I think +Owen's supposed to be going there." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I've been there over a year." And rather pretentiously +he added, "I must show your brother round when he +comes, and look after him a bit." +</p> + +<p> +The talk failing here, Daphne pretended to look for signs +of Cyril and his party, but Roger, apparently anxious that she +should not elude his conversation, said: "Oh, they won't be +in sight for some time yet.... Look here, here's your mask. +I'm sorry I took it." +</p> + +<p> +"No, you can have it," demurred Daphne, touched by his +apology. "I can easily make another." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well. Perhaps I'll keep it, then.... I hope I didn't +hurt you when I twisted your arm like that, but you dared me +to, didn't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, not a bit." +</p> + +<p> +When the words had left her she knew, somehow, that she +had said them wrong; with too much contempt, or with insufficient +appreciation of his courtesy. She had very slightly bruised +his self-esteem. There was no doubt that, if he was very +chivalrous, he was also rather conceited and pompous. +</p> + +<p> +"I could have done so, of course," he explained, "but I didn't +want to. I was only shamming." +</p> + +<p> +By now his manner had stirred the suspicion, and it was +accompanied by just such a pleasant emptying sensation as she +had experienced when awaiting the adventure, that he was +attracted by her. She looked for a swift second at his face, hoping +he would not trap the glance, but his eyes were towards her, +and she swept hers past his. His were brown eyes, rather +small, perhaps, but when the enigmatic grin was at his lips, +they twinkled mischievously. This moment, as she took them +in her sweep, they were thoughtful. She continued the motion +of her head, pretending that it had all been done to ease her +neck. Her eyes fell upon his extended legs, of which the left +was crossed over the right. They were bare—bare and very +shapely. With a laugh she turned her face back to his and +asked: "Aren't you awfully cold?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I never feel the cold much. I've purposely inured myself +to it, like the Spartans, you know.... I'm awfully keen +on the Greeks, and their ideas about athletics, and so on.... +Look here, we'd better arrange our plan of campaign. You'll +catch your school-friend and I'll have young Cyril in two twos, +and then I'll chase after your kiddy brother." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you'll catch Owen all right——" +</p> + +<p> +"By Jove, here they are!" +</p> + +<p> +He slipped into a position ready to run. +</p> + +<p> +"Now!" commanded he. +</p> + +<p> +Out he shot, and with his fine strides soon ran Cyril down. +Daphne took longer to secure Trudy. Owen rushed past and +ran delightedly towards the gibbet. Roger set off in pursuit +with a long, unworrying, relentless pace that was probably +intended for the gaze of Daphne. Daphne watched him with that +partiality which comes from the prospect of seeing the humiliation +of a relative, especially one who tries to be clever. It was +quickly over. Roger brought back his prey after the fashion +of a policeman, one hand holding his collar, the other his wrist. +</p> + +<p> +In all the games that filled that afternoon save one, Roger +contrived to secure Daphne for his partner. The exception +was when Daphne said, "<i>No</i>, I'm going with Cyril now," and +Roger looking nonplussed—even hurt, as at the shattering of a +dream—refused, of his courtesy, to force Daphne against her +will. Of his courtesy, too, he was gracious and gay with his +new partner, Trudy. At the afternoon's close, they agreed to +meet early the following morning. The last game was spread +all over the western side of the common, for Daphne, with +Roger to chivy every one off, had to reach Jacob's Post without +being so much as touched by Cyril, Trudy or Owen. She ran +diagonally and zigzag, and Roger with his long legs ran all +round her, intercepting any who threatened her. They could +not pass him and abandoned hope. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Throughout the evening, when they were playing table-games +in the great play-room at Old Hall House, she was as noisy +and skilful as Owen or Trudy, but she had moments of +wool-gathering when she wondered about many things. She would +have liked to escape to an empty room, there to walk up and +down with her friendly questions. The once or twice that +they played a guessing game and she was outside the closed +door, she let her thoughts run to the subject that called them. +Yes, for a little while he <i>had</i> been—he <i>was</i>—— But why? +She felt like a child—of a different order, almost, from him. +He was so mature and majestic (these were not Daphne's words, +who had less words than blindfolded thoughts), and strong and +proficient. But he was, for a little. She could not doubt it. +Incredible. Nothing would come of it, nothing <i>could</i> come of +it. It had only been a momentary attraction. Still, she +<i>could</i>—oh, yes, it gave her that curious, delightful emptying when +she imagined it—she <i>could</i> love him very much. He was, of +course, the very perfection of her idea of a lover; not faultless, +but exactly what <i>she</i> would like. Every one else she could +think of seemed less than he. But it wouldn't be ... it +wouldn't be.... She would hold herself in and wait on the +future. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after nine the next morning they were waiting by the +Observation Post and looking down the Plumpton Road for +Roger and Cyril. A hooded cart rumbled towards them, and +when it passed their gathering, dropped from its tailboard, as it +might have been two bundles, Roger and Cyril. They were +very differently dressed from yesterday. Roger wore a suit +of grey flannel, apparently new-bought for the holidays, royal +blue socks and brown shoes, a plum-coloured tie, and his dark +hair plastered down. Though still a comely boy, he looked +rather more ordinary than he had done in his running kit. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll toss for partners to-day," said he hurriedly, lest any +one suggested something else. "Cyril and I being the two eldest +males had better pick." Tossing up a coin he turned to Cyril. +"You call, man." +</p> + +<p> +Cyril won, and chose Trudy. And throughout the day it so +fell that, whenever they tossed, Daphne always fell to Roger's +share. The first time he won he paraded doubt before choosing +her, and the second time said casually: "Ah, well, best +stick to the old firm." They played all the morning and all the +afternoon, having tea as guests of a rather lordly Roger at +the Royal Oak, and when the glamour of evening was over the +common, and their ravenous appetites cried to them that it must +be supper-time, Roger said mysteriously: +</p> + +<p> +"Look here. Gather round, all. An idea's been festering +in my mind all the afternoon. Sit down. In a ring. This is +a bally conspiracy.... The first fine night we'll all meet on +the common at midnight. Don't be alarmed. It'll be topping." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, <i>let's</i>," agreed Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll meet at Jacob's Post at half-past midnight, and bring +food." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, rather," suddenly said Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, when shall it be?" +</p> + +<p> +"To-night," said all. +</p> + +<p> +"No, father isn't back yet. And it'll be no fun escaping if +there's no one dangerous to escape from." +</p> + +<p> +"Is your father dangerous?" inquired Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, he's all right, only he thinks he's a deuce of a +disciplinarian." +</p> + +<p> +"Would he whack you if he caught you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, hardly," Roger grinned. "However, to-morrow +night's the night, if fine. Especially as we shan't have many +more nights——" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>What?</i>" exclaimed Trudy. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne, who had been fiddling with something on the ground, +looked up quickly and caught Roger's eye watching for her. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, are you going away, then?" she grumbled. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Father joins us to-morrow, and in a few days we all +go off to Cornwall. Cyril and I were keen on it, but I'm not +so keen now. However, there it is." There was a fine Roman +note in his acceptance of adversity. "We won't meet at all +to-morrow afternoon, so as to be fresh for the night. If it's +fine, which it will be, and Cyril and I decide we can do it, we'll +come outside your house some time between six and eight +o'clock, and fire two shots in rapid succession." +</p> + +<p> +"I say!" ejaculated Trudy, and an alarmed thumb-nail shot +to her teeth. +</p> + +<p> +"No, it'll be all right, I promise you. Everything the whole +night. I'll guarantee no harm of any kind comes to you. I +shall regard it as my personal responsibility." +</p> + +<p> +In imitation of this grandiloquence Owen drawled: +"Wow-wow-wow." +</p> + +<p> +Roger turned sharply on him. If he were elaborately courteous +to girls that was no reason why he should stand any lip +from prep. schoolboys. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you say, Stinkpot?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing," answered Owen, subdued by so sudden an +approach. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, don't say it again. If you can't keep your mouth +shut, put a sock in it. Well, now we all know the +programme...." +</p> + +<p> +When Daphne, Trudy and Owen were littering the walk +home with their chatter, it gradually emerged that every one of +Trudy's remarks held a sly under-meaning. Daphne refused +to perceive it, though a rising colour betrayed her pleasure; +Trudy shaded off her remarks into the less and less equivocal, +but still Daphne saw them only as innocent, and at last Trudy +was forced to say outright: +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, it's perfectly obvious that Roger's gone cracked +on you." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>What?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, it is perfectly obvious that Roger has gone +cracked on you." +</p> + +<p> +"'Course it's perfectly obvious he hasn't!" protested Daphne, +the blood now flooding her face. +</p> + +<p> +Hearing the word spoken aloud and deliberately like that +had set her heart beating quickly and irregularly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, at any rate, you're blushing." +</p> + +<p> +"At any rate, I'm <i>not</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"All right. If you say you can't see that Roger's silly about +you, you must be either a fool or a liar." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think it's obvious at all." +</p> + +<p> +Here Owen unadvisedly stepped into the discussion. +</p> + +<p> +"It's obvious to the meanest intelligence." +</p> + +<p> +"Lot you know about it, copy-cat." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you. I do know a lot. My experience is extensive." +</p> + +<p> +"It's not at all funny.... Besides, I was talking to Trudy. +What makes you think so?" +</p> + +<p> +"I can always tell," Trudy explained. +</p> + +<p> +When they entered the house, Daphne, whose cheeks were +still flushed and her heart still delightfully irregular, wanted +to get away alone, far more urgently than last night, so as to +think about it all. But supper detained her, and then Trudy +would keep her talking; and what was annoying about Trudy's +talk was that she had apparently forgotten the one interesting +topic, as if, after all, it were nothing very impressive. Daphne +answered her frequently enough to maintain a show of interest, +though really she missed large chunks of what Trudy was saying. +And as soon as possible she invented an excuse and ran +away to some place where she might be private. An old habit +sent her to the bathroom, where there was a bolt on the door. +There she leapt on to the mahogany framework of the bath, +and, sitting sideways, stared out at the dark orchard and the +brick walk that ran by the kitchen door. +</p> + +<p> +Then he <i>did</i>. He, so much older (somehow), so much more +important, did love her. She saw him again—tall, dark, +wide-breasted, his eyes sparkling when excited with plans; twinkling +mischievously—almost possessively—when she struggled with +him; frowning angrily when he insulted Cyril or Owen. He +had twisted her wrist sharply, and to remember it was delicious, +and she, struggling for her mask, had had her arm tight about +his waist. The thought disturbed her internally, and she moved +a little as she sat on the side of the bath. She liked the +disturbance, and sought it by returning to the memory again and +again. +</p> + +<p> +In her bed that night, when Trudy had talked herself to +sleep, she turned on her side and directed her will to thinking +only of Roger, in the hope that this would bring him into her +dreams and carry her into his. She struggled to keep her +erratic mind's-eye playing on the figure of Roger; Roger coming +over the brow in white running kit, wrestling with her for her +mask (her body straightened in bed as she remembered it), +choosing her for his partner, running about her and fighting +her battle. Surely this hard thinking would propel her soul +over the dark common to the Downway House where Roger +slept. +</p> + +<p> +But this sunlight in the room, and the white and twisty +singing of birds! It was morning, and she hadn't dreamt at +all. She stared at the clock on the mantelpiece. Only twenty +past five. A dead silence in the house, and a perfect stillness +in the garden, except for the birds. Twenty past five.... +Let her spend the next hour thinking of Roger. To enjoy the +thinking, she pulled the clothes warmly about her. +</p> + +<p> +When, after breakfast, the two parties met again on the +common, Roger was still shy and awkwardly imperious, and +Daphne studied to be natural and lively as if unaware that love +was in any one's mind. Now and then, when Roger and she, +in hiding from the others, lolled under the gorse, she languished +a little before him, but it was more unconscious than deliberate. +Her face she kept averted, giving him only an occasional glance, +which she hoped he would not see. If they had long to wait, +she lay backward so that her head rested on her interlaced +fingers and her eyes dreamed at the sky. The glare tiring them, +she let her lids fall, after which a hundred noises of the +common seemed to become audible: birds, a cow's bell, a dog +barking far away, the breeze in the tree-branches, and the distant +suggestion of a cart with a trotting horse. Roger would be +extraordinarily silent at her side. +</p> + +<p> +During the morning his nearness, though so desired, became +almost oppressive. She could scarcely answer him now, if he +spoke to her, and her part in the games was formal and +remote—she carried too pleasing a burden of thoughts. When they +returned to lunch, she carried them with her in silence. As +companions they were easier than Roger; and she was not +unhappy that the afternoon and evening were to be spent at +home, before the adventure of midnight. Trudy spent the +afternoon reading; Owen drawing. In Daphne the emotion +that was causing her heart to flutter or her voice to shake +funnily, began to press on her old vent—the desire to write. +This brought direction to her thoughts, and a rest in moving +with them. She dreamed out a story, in which two people met +while children, as Roger and she had done, and after being +parted for many years, both remaining faithful and both imagining +themselves forgotten, met again in middle age, to pass the +evening of their lives in a sheltered and fragrant calm. "Coo, +it'd make a beautiful story," thought Daphne, a contemplative +thumb arrested at her lips. Her imagination, playing on it, +teemed with ideas; and as, one after another, they came to +her, the story that should contain them all seemed so good that +its early publication was placed beyond doubt. Already she +saw it in book form. By tea-time she had completed a scenario +on a sheet of foolscap, and was writing the first paragraphs. +But the actual writing was a laborious exercise, and a drag on +her impatient thoughts; only dreaming could keep pace with +thoughts. No, by her fine afternoon's work on the scenario +she had earned the right to sit and think about it. And she +spent an enchanted evening in this service of her compulsion +to write—wonderfully oblivious of the outside world, and at +rest. Always its service was perfect freedom. +</p> + +<p> +They were sitting at supper, with Miss Carrell at the table's +head, when suddenly a loud report was heard in the road. +</p> + +<p> +"Good heavens! What's that?" exclaimed Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +There was another shot, but farther away. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne felt that everybody in the cottages round must be +rushing into the road to see if murder had been done. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it's some one killing rabbits, I expect," said Owen. +</p> + +<p> +She found herself admiring her brother's composure. Owen +was not an easy mixture to analyse. Though often timid, he +showed flashes of daring, and would be quite undisturbed by +circumstances that started uncomfortable fears in her. +To-night, for instance, in this period between the half-light and +bedtime, when both girls had begun to be afraid of the secret +conspiracy, Owen had assumed an ascendancy. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll come and collect you two as soon as the clock strikes +midnight," said he. +</p> + +<p> +Trudy yawned. Her enthusiasm was at its lowest. +</p> + +<p> +"But suppose we all drop off to sleep, and wake to find it's +morning." +</p> + +<p> +"We must divide the night into three watches," Owen decided. +"We can go to bed at nine. There'll be three watches +of one hour. Trudy can take the first as she's tired, then +Duffy, then me.... I think I shall turn in soon, as we have +a long and dirty night's work in front of us." +</p> + +<p> +In their bedroom Trudy lightened her watch by talking with +Daphne, and at ten o'clock said: "Now it's you on duty," and, +turning over, was soon asleep. Daphne lay awake, staring into +the darkness and listening to the last sounds in the household +below. In an hour she would see Roger again. But what +then? They would only be awkward with each other. They +found it so difficult to talk. The only perfect satisfaction—and +this was an impossible dream—would be to hold each other +close and long and in silence.... +</p> + +<p> +Thinking thus was such a restful happiness that she could +only keep awake by forcing open her eyes and staring at the +light on the blind or trying to distinguish the outlines of the +fire-place. A few times she did doze and was obliged to pull +herself back to watchfulness. Suddenly she heard a step +outside her door, and a creaking board. Her heart stopped. There +was a tickling knock, which nearly drove her under the sheets. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy! Duffy!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's eleven o'clock. You should have called me." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you might have given me time." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll take on now." +</p> + +<p> +"All right...." +</p> + +<p> +She turned over and remembered nothing more till she awoke +with another heart-leap at the sound of some one moving +outside her door. +</p> + +<p> +"I say.... I say.... It's just on twelve." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne sat up in bed. The memory that in half an hour +she would be with Roger had strengthened her to overcome +sleepiness. +</p> + +<p> +"Trudy! Trudy!" +</p> + +<p> +Something about the darkness forbade more than a strong +whisper. +</p> + +<p> +But Trudy was heartily asleep. +</p> + +<p> +"Trudy!" +</p> + +<p> +She said it aloud, and coughed when she heard how loud it +sounded. +</p> + +<p> +Getting up quickly, for she was half-afraid of the whole +room, she crossed to Trudy's bed and shook her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"Trudy, it's midnight." +</p> + +<p> +Trudy turned over resentfully. +</p> + +<p> +"No, get up. Don't spoil it all. Owen and I are up." Trudy +threw off the clothes. +</p> + +<p> +"Ooo! it's cold! I didn't think it'd be as cold as this." +</p> + +<p> +A whisper came through the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Aren't you two nearly ready. I've been ready for a long +time." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, don't show off about it," enjoined Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +In five minutes the two girls and Owen were creeping down +the stairs, stopping whenever they heard a distant door shaking +or a stair squeaking under their feet. On the road, the air +freshened them and the quick walking awakened them, and +they began really to enjoy themselves. The blind houses that +looked at them through the darkness, the sleeping Royal Oak +Hotel, the closed cattle gate at the entrance to the common, by +increasing their sense of guilt, gave a pungency to the +adventure. The empty common was, perhaps, almost too like a +desert; and all were feeling the eerieness of Jacob's Post, seen +through the night, when two figures leapt into their path, their +arms shooting to the sky in a demoniac gesture. +</p> + +<p> +"Sorry," apologized Roger. "Cyril insisted on us doing +that." +</p> + +<p> +But this lively item barely concealed that they were all rather +shy of one another; and Roger, determining, as the originator +of the conspiracy, to save it from awkwardness, said cheerily: +</p> + +<p> +"We'll grub first. I want you all to come right to the centre +of the common.... So come along. Squad, march." +</p> + +<p> +They followed him to the heart of the common, where he +led them to a stretch of low gorse, and unshouldered his +haversack, bidding Cyril do the same. From these they produced +five bottles of ginger beer, some buns and bananas, and a +lantern. +</p> + +<p> +"Strike a light, my son," said Roger, addressing himself. +"See, it's a dark lantern.... Now we sit down and gorge." +</p> + +<p> +None of them was hungry, and the buns were hardly a success, +but bananas were things you could eat at any time of the +day, or with a stomach in any state. And when the last of them +had been finished, Roger issued orders: +</p> + +<p> +"This is the game. As there are five of us we divide into +two sides of two each. The fifth person must hide on the +common. Whichever of the two sides finds him first wins. It'll +have to be Cyril or me who hides, as Owen is too young and +foolish." +</p> + +<p> +"I <i>beg</i> your pardon," said Owen. +</p> + +<p> +"What?" asked Roger. +</p> + +<p> +"I beg your pardon, I said." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well, that's granted.... So Cyril——" +</p> + +<p> +"But I mean I didn't gather the full purport of your last +remark." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, wash your ears out next time.... Here, Cyril, we'll +toss who hides." +</p> + +<p> +They tossed, and Cyril won. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'll take the lantern and do the hiding, you bet," said he. +</p> + +<p> +"All right," permitted Roger; "and as I lost the toss, I'll +have first pick.... Well, may as well stick to the old firm. +Duffy and I will be on one side, and Trudy and Owen the +other." +</p> + +<p> +"But we'll never find Cyril in the darkness," said Trudy. +</p> + +<p> +"You haven't heard all yet. Cyril takes the lantern, and if +we're nowhere near him, he shows its light on the common. +He may then darken it and move away. If he's slick, he'll move +in the opposite direction to the one you're expecting. (I half +wish I had the lantern.) But as sure as he finds you're going +all wrong, he's got to show a light again." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, how topping!" agreed Trudy. +</p> + +<p> +"Right! Streak away, Cyril. Take to the heather, my +bonnie lad. Any direction you like. We'll count a hundred +before we raise the highlands and pour down after you." +</p> + +<p> +Aloud, monotonously, automatically, Roger counted one +hundred. +</p> + +<p> +"——ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred! Now, you and +your party, Owen, had better trickle southward towards +Brighton, and I and Duffy'll prospect the common northward +towards York." +</p> + +<p> +A few uncomfortable seconds, and Daphne and Roger were +walking alone through the night. Her heart began to race. +She walked unspeaking beside him, aware of his equal +discomfort. They struck across the grass, sometimes tripped by +the branching bracken or a rush-crowned tussock, when Roger +would extend to her help a gentle hand. His talk about the +search for Cyril was so empty of conviction that she guessed +he was summing up courage to say something else. They +reached a clump of bramble, and Daphne, after stupidly looking +behind it, moved on. +</p> + +<p> +"No, don't go on," stuttered Roger. "I've something to say +to you. Let's sit down." She obeyed him without speaking. +"When do you and Trudy go back to school?" +</p> + +<p> +"September 14th." +</p> + +<p> +"There! I knew it. I guessed it. Fate's against us. We +shan't return from Cornwall till two days after that. Heaven +knows if I shall ever meet you again. We were destined to see +each other in a flash and no more." +</p> + +<p> +These words, so picturesque and sad, amounted to an avowal +of tenderness; wherefore Daphne could only keep silence, +pulling up blades of grass. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, let me kiss you, may I?" +</p> + +<p> +The words had, beyond doubt, come out of the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course not." +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, don't be a rotter. Can't you see that any other +fellow'd have taken you, now he'd got you here, and kissed +you whether you let him or not. But I've never been rude to +you, have I? I have my own ideas about how you ought to +treat women. I reverence them. Duffy, I'm madly in love +with you—I am, really. You're—you're like a magnet to me." He +took her hand gently. "All this business to-night, and all its +beastly expense, I've engineered simply because I was determined +to have you for half an hour to myself, and in complete +privacy—out of the beastly daylight. Those kids are just being +used to serve our ends." He was obviously proud of his +manœuvring. "Duffy, I'm not a flirt. I've never flirted with +a girl in my life, not because I thought it wrong—that wouldn't +have worried me, for I'm afraid I generally do what I like—but +just because they've never interested me. I didn't want +to fall in love with you. But from the moment you jumped out +of that hedge at me you diverted the course of my life." She +guessed this had been rehearsed, for a similar sentence had +presented itself to her. "You may not remember, but you flung +yourself down on your face at my feet." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I didn't." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, behind a hedge, I mean. Let me finish. And the +minute you did that I was metaphorically at your feet.... +Duffy, do you love me, too?" +</p> + +<p> +To this she preferred to give no direct answer, and he repeated: +</p> + +<p> +"Do you love me, too?" +</p> + +<p> +"I like you." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, let me kiss you. I shan't if you won't let me. But +if you don't I vow I'll never see you again. And I don't go +back on a vow.... And hang it, Duffy, I'm going in less than +a week." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, can't you get out of going?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Father's one of those who never changes his mind. +We're exactly like each other in that way, so I can't complain. +Duffy, are you sorry I'm going?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, of course I am." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, does that mean you do more than like me?" +</p> + +<p> +The "Yes" would not leave her lips. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, I believe you love me, do you?" +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you?" +</p> + +<p> +After a long silence she answered by resting her body against +his. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy!" He had immediately drawn her closer. "You—you +lovely wild flower on the heath." +</p> + +<p> +And he kissed her—awkwardly rather than rapturously, as +if uncertain how such things were done, and the kiss was only +in the full of her cheek. The taking of her lips was an +impertinence that chivalry did not sanction. +</p> + +<p> +But he kept her long in his pressure, and under the silence +she was trying to realize that these were Roger's arms. It +was so wonderful a thought that she feared lest her imagination +missed its fullness. And in the effort to keep her imagination +up to pitch, she probably did fall short of any complete rapture. +Roger seemed lost in his happiness, and it was she who first +drew away. +</p> + +<p> +"I say, we're forgetting the others. They may be near." +</p> + +<p> +Roger laughed significantly, and jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think so. Come this way, and I'll show you +something." +</p> + +<p> +He led her to the nearest rise, where, after sweeping the +whole common to the south, he suddenly pointed and said: +"Look!" +</p> + +<p> +A tiny light twinkled—it seemed miles away—and went out, +leaving nothing but darkness on the common. Then again it +pricked the night, and one could imagine voices. +</p> + +<p> +"Coo!" exclaimed Daphne in admiration. +</p> + +<p> +Roger gave a grim, self-satisfied laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Cyril has his orders. Jove! he's a faithful henchman. +Rather a nice piece of generalship, that! I don't fancy he'll +let himself be caught by that wretched little brother of yours +or that girl. He has his orders where to hold them, and for +how long." +</p> + +<p> +"Does he know then what—what you were going to do to me?" +</p> + +<p> +"I told him I jolly well wanted you to myself, and intended +having you. It's nothing new to have a squire in these +matters." +</p> + +<p> +"But he may tell some one." +</p> + +<p> +"Not he. He knows what he'd get if he did." +</p> + +<p> +They were walking unthinkingly back to the clump. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm awfully tired," she said. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down and patted the grass. +</p> + +<p> +"Lie there, then, and rest against me." +</p> + +<p> +She obeyed, putting an arm about his waist and laying her +head on his coat. He patted it lovingly, and occasionally kissed +her hair, to which she would respond with a little hug. Once +he said: "Are you sure you're not cold?" and later, after a +long kiss on her forehead upturned: "My God, I'm glad I was +born." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0210"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER X +</h3> + +<p> +In the morning she told Trudy. This had been Roger's +advice, and she was not at all averse to acting on it. "Cyril +knows, and Trudy and the young brother must know," he had +said. "Otherwise we shan't be able to escape away alone." And +Trudy, after an annoying "What did I say?" was magnificent, +showing a deep interest in the romance, and out-talking +Daphne with plans for the next few days. Owen said, "I +protest it shocks me," and did what he could to help. +</p> + +<p> +There were three days before Roger left. The first two, as +was right for lovers, they wandered together along country +roads or up on to the downs. Often they were at a loss for +conversation, but always Roger embraced happiness, and +Daphne lost herself in it, when the time came for her to sink into +his arms. She discovered, too, that he could always be given +conversational facility, and the desirable mental ease, if he +were encouraged to talk about himself. She learned then that +unless he did something big he would not really be <i>Sir</i> Roger +Muirhead, because his father was only a knight, but that he +intended to do some very big things, and preferably in the field +of politics. Herself talked little; she did not want to talk; the +love affair was a dream—a dream like that one in which she was +tried for murder before a watching world and unjustly +condemned—but a dream that had solidified. Here in undeniable +fact at her side was Roger, splendid to look at, clever, dominant, +strangely older than she, and yet so deferential to her, so +chivalrous. She was immensely proud of him; no grown-up +girl with a lover had more than she, and of girls her own age +who had such a one as this? +</p> + +<p> +The third day, being the last before Roger's departure, a +great scheme of his was carried through. Under cover of a +few fabrications he and she escaped to Brighton, as other illicit +lovers have done before and since. They lay on the shingle, +each very proud of the other. They bathed, and afterwards +stretched white, firm limbs to dry in the sun. They were +photographed by a beach photographer that Roger might have +her image in his breast pocket; but so revolting was the likeness +that she begged him to smash it, and had a presentiment of +disaster when it went with a strong man's finality into his breast. +There were also in his pocket a big supply of envelopes +addressed to her in Owen's handwriting, by means of which he +intended to get his letters through the protective barriers at +Hemans House. A brilliant stratagem! They had lunch on a +restaurant balcony overlooking the sea, and tea at the end of +the pier. With the falling of the sun the melancholy that had +been with them all day took on a likeness of pain. He told +her the train that they were taking to-morrow, and reminded +her that it would run along the side of Ditchling Common. +</p> + +<p> +"You must be on the common and wave to me, and I will +see you the whole length of that bit. You must stand on one +of the higher parts and I'll see you as long as I can. After +that—well, I simply don't care to think what'll happen after +that." +</p> + +<p> +She said nothing in reply, so he repeated: +</p> + +<p> +"Will you be there, Duffy?" +</p> + +<p> +Her face turned towards him, and her eyes sought his. As +if he didn't know she'd be there! +</p> + +<p> +"Roger, I believe you think you love me more than I love +you." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you never say much." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want you to go." +</p> + +<p> +"Say, 'I love you better than all the world, darling." +</p> + +<p> +"I love you better than all the world, <i>darling</i>." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That little sceptic who always crouched in a corner of +Daphne's mind—that little sceptic who had enabled her to +question Hollins's nursery rhymes, to see that Miss Vidella acted +up to a part, or to suspect the ephemeral quality of the +friendship with Trudy—had not been unheard during these +rose-flushed days. It had whispered to her what grown-ups would +say of the whole affair: that it was the veriest calf-love and +the breath of a moment, and if there were pain in parting, +three weeks would heal the wound. It had whispered that, of +course the grown-ups were right. And yet the fact remained +that she had so worked on her imagination, so lost herself in +her dream, that now she suffered, and in her suffering, these +thoughts could only peep and run. +</p> + +<p> +She cried when she left Roger that night, and the cries became +sobs, and her dreams when at last she slept were troubled +with his presence. "I shan't see him any more," was her first +thought on waking. "I know I shan't." As soon as possible +she fled. Half an hour too early she was standing on the highest +ridge of the undulating common, waiting for the distant smoke +of Roger's train. Except for a cart trundling to Ditchling the +ribbon of highway on which he had first appeared was deserted. +A few cows cropped the grass near the western hedges. The +cocks and hens, like the care-free creatures they were, pecked +at the ground by Jacob's Post. As she waited she fiddled with +her fingers, or nibbled at unripe blackberries, or looked around +in search of the gorse bushes under which they had lain +together. The action of her heart had sickly moments. She +dreaded the coming of the train, and yet longed for it. Would +it never come? Surely she had been waiting a long time. It +would be better if it came soon and got its sharp moment over. +</p> + +<p> +It was a relief when she caught her first glimpse of it—but +a shock as well, for she had been in a brown study. It +rushed on and past. She thought she distinguished Roger at +a window, but could not be sure. But he at least must have +seen her, for she had stood on her hill and waved her handkerchief +in the same arc again and again, till the train was out of +sight and there was nothing left but a broken puff of smoke in +the sky. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Not three weeks, but three months were required for her +cure. And even after that—for long after that—the memory +of Roger, so handsome and so courteous, could give her a +pleasant melancholy. +</p> + +<p> +At first, however, she had been surprised to find that the rest +of the holiday was anything but empty and dull. She was able +to enjoy herself with Trudy and Owen, melancholy only adding +a charm. Laughter came as easily as before, though sometimes +she arrested it. She and Trudy would stare out of the +window at old Eadigo in the garden, watching him as he bent +low in his too-tight trousers, and hoping for the best. +"Now—this time!" she would say, as he stooped to remove a +weed—"it must happen soon," and she would wonder if such humour +were consonant with Roger's absence. But he had written to +her, and though his letters were infrequent, they were couched +in the correctest language of a lover. +</p> + +<p> +This was more than she had hoped, and she was very proud. +When she went back to school, and Miss Vidella came fussing +into the dining-room to welcome back her dear girls, Daphne +felt sorry for her as an old maid who had never known the +sensation of being loved. In her pride she felt the other girls +ought to know about her romance, and in order that they might +at least suspect, she encouraged their chaff when they found +her in a deserted class-room writing to a secret correspondent. +She liked to have this privacy disturbed by some inquisitive girl +and to snatch her letter guiltily away. She was even tempted +by the shameful idea of losing a letter of Roger's that it might +be found and read. +</p> + +<p> +But she was saved from this by the failing character of +Roger's letters. Only the first two or three had been really +passionate. And only two had come to Hemans House in the +carefully prepared envelopes, and they had been little more +than a résumé of his doings. +</p> + +<p> +"He won't write again now. He'll never write again." +</p> + +<p> +And he didn't. All the rest of those envelopes must have +been destroyed. +</p> + +<p> +After two months without a letter, she grew used to the +pain, and gradually lost it. She no longer, when lying in bed, +projected herself to Roger, but imagined instead their meeting +one day when he would plead for forgiveness, and she would +be too indifferent to cut or punish him; or, as a variant of this, +the announcement in a paper which he would see: "A marriage +has been arranged between Miss Daphne Deirdre Tenter +Bruno, the celebrated daughter of an equally celebrated parent, +and Lord Montagu of Beaulieu"—for this title had always +fascinated her. +</p> + +<p> +The next summer, when the meeting might just possibly +happen, she learned towards the term's end that they were to +be whipped away to Devonshire for a long holiday by the sea. +This was excellent. Roger, if he came to the common, would +learn that the Brunos were away, on dignified travels in the west. +The day before they left Sussex she dared to walk past the +Muirheads' house. As she hurried along its frontage expedited +by the sight of people in the garden, the side of her eye +perceived that they were strange children with a nurse in uniform. +This made her halt round a bend. After a moment of deliberation, +she walked back towards the house, and asked of a gardener +who was trimming a hedge of thuja: "Can you tell me, +does a Lady Muirhead live here?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, miss," said the gardener. "Least, it's their house, I +believe, but it's let now to my boss, Mr. Bradlaugh." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" exclaimed Daphne, conscious of a sharp +disappointment. "Have you been here long?" +</p> + +<p> +"We come here last spring, miss?" +</p> + +<p> +"And how—how long will you be staying?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know, miss. Two or three years, I reckon." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—well, thank you. Thanks awfully." +</p> + +<p> +She walked back. The blow had been to learn that Roger +wouldn't after all be humiliated and saddened by the sight of +Old Hall House empty and frowning, nor by the gorse and +brambles on Ditchling Common. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0211"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XI +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne's sixteenth and seventeenth years might have +been called the years of the giggle. In the main they +poured over shallows. No successor to Roger Muirhead came +troubling her with a like emotion; and except for one short +period she had no religion to make depths in the stream-bed. +There was but one clear motive in her life that waxed stronger +with the months, and brought a pattern to the welter; and this +was her ambition to write. Of the rest of her nature the +lawless high spirits took possession. +</p> + +<p> +She grew like a blade of newly-sown grass. As her father +said, you could almost see her growing; nay more, on a still +night, if you listened very carefully, you could hear her +growing. Her features lost some of their roundness and softness, +and her body became a thought too narrow for its height. It +worried her rather, so that she began to take very seriously +her physical culture—her gymnasium, riding and tennis. +</p> + +<p> +She laboured at this time on the manufacture of a distinguished +signature, "Daphne D. T. Bruno," giving it a tail +like an unwinding lasso, till her father, seeing the flourish, +expressed acute distress and shame: "Duffy, this is +awful—awful. You must have the soul of a tea-shop girl." +</p> + +<p> +The ambition to write increased with every novel she read, +and every discussion she heard on other people's novels. In +a small part its driving force was the true compulsion of the +artist; but the most of it was a mixture of crude ambition +and sheer imitation. She wanted no less than a thundering +fame, and she wanted to imitate the style and methods of the +authors she read. After reading Dickens, she wanted to be +a great humanitarian and a master of comic caricature; after +Thackeray, an urbane and tolerant satirist; after George Eliot, +William Black, or Bulwer Lytton—well, she remodelled her +style on whichever of them was the last read. She had no idea +of working hard to equip herself for greatness; her reading +was lazy, and limited to such fiction as pleased her; it could +only be compassed lolling in a comfortable chair, and any hard +parts she read through without troubling to know if she +understood them. +</p> + +<p> +Since she had no sincere religion or stable code of morals, +nothing but an antiseptic, compounded of humour, innocence and +the herding instinct, saved her from the grosser evils. This, +and the two steadying influences of Hollins and Miss Sims. +There had to be a show of religion at Hemans House, of course, +but except in panicky moments when she sent up ejaculatory +S.O.S.'s to God, it made no settlement in her secret life. +Already the sceptic in the corner of her mind issued hints that +she was probably the only girl in the school who knew that she +didn't believe anything. This struck her as rather original, +and she would sometimes give it an airing before Hollins. She +did it with intent to shock, till one day the old servant, now very +grey, discomfited her by interrupting: +</p> + +<p> +"I'm very sorry, Miss Duffy, but I must ask you once and +f'r'all, not to do your laughing at these things with me. I +don't like it, I tell you I don't. It makes me think you'll be +struck leprous, or the like of that. And though you're only a +child, it—it sort of upsets my faith. And then I don't know +where I am.... It's for your pa to say, of course, but to +my idea it's a dreadful thing for children to be brought up +without any religion. No good'll come of it, I dare swear." +</p> + +<p> +She had a similar experience with Miss Sims. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sims had kept her favourite's affection, if not the earlier +adoration. And on Sundays, when the crocodile went tail-first +to church, Daphne would inflate the governess's heart by coming +to chatter at her side, and in church by pushing to sit next +to her. +</p> + +<p> +It was when walking to church one Sunday that Daphne +deliberately shocked Miss Sims by a frank statement of her +atheism, with this corollary; that she didn't think she would +marry because it would interfere with her writing, but she +saw no reason, believing in love as she did, why she shouldn't +have intermittent love affairs like other famous women. Here +was opportunity for Miss Sims to play the saviour, and she +filled the part at once. She hurt her favourite with a swift +lash, refusing to be amused and suggesting that Daphne walked +elsewhere; and when the girl, who had been silent for the +rest of the walk, was sitting beside her in church, Miss Sims +acted her own devotion and faith. It distinctly impressed +Daphne, who glimpsed a beauty and peace in holiness. +</p> + +<p> +But it was Winnie Chatterton who really led her on a short +excursion into holiness. Winnie Chatterton was the only notable +successor to Trudy Wayne. The friendship with Trudy had +wilted. They had not quarrelled, but just drifted apart. They +were friendly, but not friends. After a chain of minor +intimacies Daphne discovered Winnie Chatterton, and Winnie +Chatterton discovered Daphne Bruno. Both wondered how +they could have been three and four years at the school without +an earlier gravitation each to the other. In figure and colouring +they were much the same, which was delightful, and there +was the most wonderful community of taste. And now on +walks through Windsor Park these two tall girls went hand in +hand. Their place was near the head of the crocodile, and of +the many treble voices that made up that peripatetic parliament, +one, as likely as not, was Daphne's as she told to Winnie the +whole story of the last novel that had affected her. "Vanity +Fair" she serialized, telling it in three instalments on three +successive walks. And Winnie, whose art was music, talked +enthusiastically about that, or about the High Churchmanship +that had lately won her. In the end Daphne tried both the +music and the religion. +</p> + +<p> +Old though she was, she insisted on taking up the 'cello with +Mr. Pulteney, the music master (the "Chutney" of the girls). +And after her first lesson, which was disastrous, she rushed to +Winnie to give humorous report of it. +</p> + +<p> +She had walked towards the music-room, explained Daphne +hurriedly, and seen Petsy (Miss Vidella) waiting for her +outside. Together they had entered the room where Chutney was +tuning her shining new instrument. Petsy had seated herself +on a chair to act as chaperon, for music lessons and the music +master, as all literature showed, were the points at which +foolishness and sin were most likely to break through. So Petsy +had sat in a chair to strengthen the defences. Daphne, on +taking the huge instrument, had most unfortunately felt a sudden +desire to giggle. It was awful, and when Chutney placed the +music-stand before her and asked: "Where's your music, Miss +Bruno?" she had only been able to reply, with the giggle +trembling through her words: "I've forgotten it. It's up in my +bedroom." At that Petsy had rustled in her chair, probably +rendered ill at ease by this mention of bedroom to a music +master. "Really, my dear child," she had whined, "you are +slatternly in many things. Can she not, Mr. Pulteney, use some +of the music of the other dear children?" Chutney had said he +was afraid not, because she needed the most elementary book, +and he had no other girl beginning at the beginning. So Petsy +had creaked out of her chair into a standing position, and said: +"Well, we must go and get it, dear. It's really very thoughtless +of you. Come. Trip ahead of me." +</p> + +<p> +"Why we were both obliged to go out Heaven only knows," +commented Daphne. "I suppose because if Petsy had gone for +the music, I should have been left alone with a music master, +and if <i>I</i> had gone, she'd have been left alone with a music +master. And Chutney couldn't go, of course, because of the +intimate nature of the room where the music was. So we +tripped out together." +</p> + +<p> +When they were in the hall Daphne had run upstairs, two +and three steps at a time, while Petsy waited at the bottom in all +the safety of that public place. She must needs call after +Daphne: "Don't go up the stairs like that, dear child. +Supposing anyone had been passing and seen you. So impetuous +you dear children are!" Daphne had got her music and come +down again decorously. She had then re-entered the music-room +behind her principal, and sat in the pupil's chair while +Chutney placed the 'cello in the correct position, and Petsy +watched carefully through her spectacles to make sure that in +touching the 'cello he didn't also touch the 'cellist. +</p> + +<p> +Then the 'cellist had commenced. Her first notes had been +as horrible as an amateur's first notes on a bugle, and the +desire to giggle had got much worse, with the result that her +hands trembled, and the next notes were too awful for words. +Unfortunately, Chutney, who was a perfect dear, had caught +the infection of her giggle. Presumably he had never before +had so old a pupil at the clumsy stage of 'celling. At last, +after a dreadful prolonged note on the lowest string, her giggle +had burst out, and Chutney had only saved himself from disgrace +by swinging round, so that his back was turned to Miss +Vidella. Miss Vidella had asked: "Has something humorous +happened?" and Daphne had apologized, saying: "I'm sorry, +Miss Vidella. I can't help it." Then Petsy had begun to +rustle a lot, thinking no doubt that this conjunction of a music +master, music, and a giggle promised the worst results. She +had shut her eyes behind her spectacles for a second, and +asked: "Can you approach anything, Daphne dear, without +unsuitable levity? If you are not disposed to bring seriousness +to these music lessons, which your dear father has secured for +you at considerable cost"—Chutney had grimaced at that—"and +from the best instructors"—that had set him grinning sheepishly +out of the window—"I shall have to recommend him to +discontinue them. Now please proceed." +</p> + +<p> +Then there had been a lot of trouble with her fingering. +Time and again Chutney had moved to adjust her fingers with +his own, only stopping when he saw that Petsy's spectacles +ruled out so indecorous a thing. Absurd, because Chutney +was really such a pure little man. He had been obliged to +demonstrate the correct method by holding another instrument +before her, and asking her to copy exactly the movement of +his fingers; which she had done, but her sounds had been quite +different from his, and induced Petsy to poke in with some +advice: "Try to do what Mr. Pulteney says, dear." Not a +helpful remark; and Daphne, getting annoyed, had pulled +her bow rather savagely along the string, producing the most +painful sound of the morning. This had changed her temper +into humour, and for some torturing seconds she had been +much more occupied in controlling her laughter than in +catching what Chutney was saying. Her wrist work and her +holding of the bow had been just as troublesome, and Chutney +had kept coming towards her with the obvious desire of putting +her hand and wrist into the correct position, but had tripped, +as you might say, over the protective ray from Petsy's eyes. +And Petsy had most stupidly tried to bridge the difficulty by +some more advice: "Do try and remember, dear, that it is a +bow that you are holding and not a clothes brush"; which had +made Daphne want to mutter: "Oh, you shut up, for the Lord's +sake!" +</p> + +<p> +"From somewhere about this time," explained she to Winnie, +"the row began to begin. I can hardly remember how it started—I +never can—and I had a beastly feeling when it was all over +that I had made a fool of myself, but you know what Petsy +is—she's such an old fool, posing so pompously and thinking +it's funny." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, what happened, what happened?" asked Winnie. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I think Chutney said, as a sort of excuse for me, that +the exact position was a little difficult to get right at first. And +Petsy was sarcastic and said: 'Not, I take it, to intelligence.' And +I lost my temper and said: 'But I'm not intelligent.' Chutney +stared, and Petsy was rather taken aback, but when she had +recovered herself, she opened fire, I can tell you. She said: +'Precisely, my dear. And the less intelligent girls have to +make up for their deficiencies by a becoming willingness and +humility. They do not boast of their stupidity.' And I snapped +back: 'I wasn't boasting. I was deploring the fact.' Then +Petsy stood up. I think she was simply beaten by such +cold-blooded impudence, and could not for the life of her decide +how to deal with it. But she had to do something in front of +Chutney, so she began: 'My dear Daphne, I do not like that +tone at all. I do not like it at all. I really have not been +insulted in a music lesson before. I think you will go to your +classroom, where you will wait to hear from me.' Then she +apologised at great length to Chutney for taking up his valuable +time with a perverse and ill-mannered child, and Chutney was +perfectly sweet, saying I was only confused and awkward at +first, and would be all right next time. And Petsy interrupted: +'I really do not know whether there will be a next time. I am +not at all sure that I shall allow her to continue her lessons.' And +of course I said: 'I've no particular desire to,' and went +haughtily out of the room. She's said nothing so far, but I +suppose I'm in for an interview, and a heart-to-heart talk." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Her conversion to High Churchmanship was a mixture of +sincerity and posturing, as the sceptic in the corner would hint +through his gags. It was sincere in this: that she secretly +disliked much of her character and wanted to improve it; she had +depressed moments when she thought herself vain, lazy, much +too selfish, and without a decent control of her temper; and +while she couldn't believe that her own strength would ever pull +out these tough-rooting faults, she was quite sure that a stern +religion would do it. And her lack of any stable morality +could trouble her sometimes; she remembered how it had enabled +her to suggest in flippancy things that earned disgust from +people like Miss Sims. At such times, aided by the placid +demeanour of Miss Sims and her occasional homilies, and by the +graver, brow-furrowing chats of Winnie, and the tales of the +saints that she had read, her imagination would show her the +religious life as one of self-respect, happiness in worship, and +peace in believing. +</p> + +<p> +The element of posture lay in her eagerness to perform the +picturesque rites of High Churchmanship; in her instant +response to its spirit of gay rebellion; and in her desire to do +something that would startle her family. +</p> + +<p> +In the beginning sincerity occupied most of the ground. Her +first weeks, after her acceptance of the faith and her prayer +in which she surrendered to God and asked forgiveness for +her long neglect, were very happy; and she was perfectly +conscious of a softening and ennobling of her character. She +went ahead of Winnie, and silently wondered how her friend +could keep certain things in her life as fellow-tenants with her +religion. These were perhaps the sweetest days of Daphne's +childhood. But it could not last. The soil was too unbroken, +and there were too many older roots in the tilth; the little +sceptic spread his gangrene: "Do you <i>really</i> believe all this? +You know you don't <i>really</i>? Not if you once thought it out"; +and a series of little shocks, as she realised some of the things +that the religion implied, helped to wither the sincerity and +bring in the element of posture. That every good Catholic +was morally obliged to go to Confession she had not foreseen, +and she knew she could never go; other duties such as fasting, +hearing Mass, being confirmed, and preparing long and earnestly +for her communions she was prepared to accept, but not this—not +confession to any living creature of some of the things +that hurt her conscience: And that every really Catholic priest +ought to be a celibate—good heavens, did Anglo-Catholics say +that? +</p> + +<p> +Winnie, who considered that she had to be as extreme as +possible now she was instructing a neophyte, declared that such +of course was the truth. In fact, she made much of this question +of celibacy, deploring its widespread disregard. Her first +vicar had been married, she said, but had had the decency not +to have children. His successor, however, was not only +married, but had a boy at Cambridge. "I don't think he ought to +have married at all," expounded Winnie, "but if he did, he +shouldn't have borne a son." +</p> + +<p> +When Daphne went home for the holidays, the posturing was +so far in possession that she was chiefly eager to offend +everybody by insisting that she must go into Brighton on Sundays +to hear Mass at a respectable church. And her first Sunday +she found herself in St. Paul's, West Street, which had the +reputation of being as high as was possible. It certainly seemed +very high indeed; and disappointment took her when she knew +herself shocked, bewildered, and traitorously sure that she +could have worshipped more easily in the service to which she +was accustomed. But it was only a matter of getting used to +it, she supposed, and therewith struggled up to certain points +of spiritual exaltation. All the holidays she talked Catholicity +to the household, and when her father ridiculed her, saying: +"Yes, run and worship in your strange groves, Daphne," she +was not displeased at this prick of persecution. Hollin's +acceptance of the news was rather disturbing, for, after Daphne +had been chattering some time about the joys of religion, the +old servant suddenly dropped her sewing, blew her nose, and +carried the handkerchief to her eyes before returning it to her +lap. "Well, there, miss," she said, pretending to believe that +Daphne had not observed anything, "I am glad. It's kind of +done me a lot of good, and strengthened my faith that prayers, +if you stick to 'em, are often answered." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +By the time she went back to school, the sceptic had nearly +worked himself free of his gags, and she knew that she was +only longing to shock the other girls with her advanced +Catholicity, and to see what would happen when she exhibited it on +the first Sunday of the term to Miss Vidella. +</p> + +<p> +The movements of Daphne and Winnie that first Sunday were +the creations of Daphne's brain. She justified them on the +ground that it was a duty to reveal to old-fashioned and +prejudiced minds the strength of Catholic thought. Winnie and she, +as elder girls, walked to the church, one on each side of Miss +Vidella; and when they reached the Lady Chapel, in which +were the seats allotted to Hemans House, they still managed +to keep her between them. This was designed to surround Miss +Vidella with Catholicity. Kneeling down, they made augmented +signs of the cross, prayed for a suitable time, and made second +signs of the cross; and then resumed their chairs and read +advanced manuals. The vestry opened on to the side chapel, +and when the vicar and the curate passed them at the tail of the +choir, the two girls bowed in reverence for the priestly office. +The vicar noticed it and looked surprised. +</p> + +<p> +They made the sign of the cross at the Absolution and at the +close of the creed. They bowed at every <i>Gloria</i>. And in the +Ante-Communion Service, at the <i>Incarnatus</i> clause, they +genuflected. The genuflexion left Miss Vidella standing as a sort +of indignant Protestant lighthouse in these undulating waters +of Catholicity. Some girls in front turned round to see what +had happened. +</p> + +<p> +All the way home Miss Vidella was menacingly reserved; +and they were soon summoned to her room. This prospect of +imperial persecution was excellent. They had done nothing, +absolutely nothing (Daphne assured her partner as they walked +to judgment) but what they were perfectly entitled to do—what +indeed it was their duty to do. Petsy wouldn't have a leg +to stand on. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella began mildly. +</p> + +<p> +"I could not but notice, Daphne dear and dear Winifred, that +in church this morning you indulged in practices which are +usually associated with Roman Catholicism. You are not, I believe, +Catholics." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, we are," said Winnie. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Catholics," Daphne explained, "but not <i>Roman</i> Catholics." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you are, are you?" The imperial power was clearly +annoyed by their bearing. "But not <i>Roman</i> Catholics. And +may I inquire how you can be Catholics without being Roman +Catholics?" +</p> + +<p> +To explain to the uninstructed the answer to this question +has always been a long and laborious business; so Winnie turned +to Daphne as spokesman. +</p> + +<p> +"All Church of England people are Catholics if they only +knew it," said Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I see. Then am I a Catholic?" +</p> + +<p> +This made Daphne want to giggle; and at first she thought +she had better leave the query without a reply; but, deciding +not to go back upon her church, she said awkwardly: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I—I'm afraid so." +</p> + +<p> +It seemed rather a press-gang method of getting Miss Vidella +on board the Ark, and it was not surprising that her annoyance +was increased. +</p> + +<p> +"I see. But I fear I am not so good a Catholic as to tolerate +in my school such ridiculous practices as those with which you +embarrassed the greater part of the congregation this morning. +You will kindly behave as others do and keep your gymnastic +exercises for Tuesdays and Fridays, when I think you +go to the Royal Gymnasium for Instruction. Have you +anything more to say?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne knew that what she ought to say now was a modern +paraphrase of "Oh King, live for ever. Be it known unto +thee that we will not worship as you wish, nor do anything that +you suggest"; but on being asked so abruptly she couldn't shape +a single sentence. +</p> + +<p> +"Then that will do, my dears, you may go." +</p> + +<p> +They decided in a mysterious council of war that, having +done this much they could henceforth, with the early Christians +for a precedent, veil their gestures and reverences. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of that term Winnie left to be "finished" in a +French convent, and Daphne, who had been ashamed to backslide +before her friend, tried her religion on a charge of +personation, and convicted it. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Now she received occasional news of Roger Muirhead. Owen +was at Sillborough and would mention him in his letters or on +his holidays. Not often though, for Daphne never asked for +information, and Owen apparently detested his senior. It +looked as if Owen also had a secret desire to be an author, for +he affected a very personal and precious style. "At this +Academy," wrote he in his first letter from Sillborough, "we have +one R. Muirhead, with whose name you will not be wholly +unfamiliar. He is, I think, the most conceited ass I have ever +known. He's a prefect, and fancies himself hugely as a +disciplinarian. 'My word is law and changeth not' sort of +business—as our inimitable Herbert Hollins would say. 'Woe to anyone +who crosses my path or thwarts me! I am severe but just. Oh, +yes, I am not easily angered, but if some groundling does raise +my ire, he must expect no quarter. Oh, no.' Funny that these +pompous blokes never credit any one with the brains to see +through them. Of course the boys suck up to him, because +he's hot stuff at games, which he certainly is, though not as +good as he thinks. No one ever was as good as that. And +this sucking up makes him ten times worse. I can tell you +R. Muirhead is no small panjandrum. Dammy, no." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0212"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XII +</h3> + +<p> +In the summer of her seventeenth year she read for the +first time one of her father's books, and was surprised to find +it exceedingly interesting. Here was a book that wasn't even +fiction, and yet, with its wit and gaiety and its big, far-sweeping +ideas, gave her thrills as pleasant as any story she could +remember. She sat on and read devouringly. The grander words +danced quadrilles in her head: "Intelligentsia," for example, +and "Reactionary." The book was a survey of modern history +written from the viewpoint of a doctrinaire rebel, and Daphne's +sympathy was always, as the writer intended, for the +Revolutionaries and the Intelligentsia, who appeared to be the same. +She longed to be accounted one of the Intelligentsia. It was +a new ambition, and her heart went wholly to it. She crept into +her father's empty study and abstracted another of his books. +And then another. Many of their illusions and quoted names +she did not understand, but their wit and some of their matter +she did—far more than she had dared to hope. But the final +result of her reading, thanks to her habit of bolting what she +could not masticate, was to increase the confusion of her mind; +she retained only phrases and names and a muddled idea that +revolutionaries were always right and reactionaries always +wrong. +</p> + +<p> +Why it was necessary to abstract the books surreptitiously +she could hardly say; probably because she would be utterly +ashamed to be caught by Miss Carrell or Owen reading a book +by her father. It was Mr. Bruno, however, who surprised +her at it. One wet afternoon she was alone in the great play-room +at Old Hall House, gathered sideways in a tattered lounge-chair +with her legs under her and the book on the chair's arm. +Its sparkling survey of a century's literature had her in such +thrill that she did not hear his entry. At the moment she was +annoyed to have allowed years to pass in idleness instead of +in reading all these authors here written of; brain-hot with +resolves to read them all immediately, and flattered by her own +delight, since it proved that by nature she was one of the +Intelligentsia. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno stood and looked at her. An unconscious grace in +her attitude pleased him and stirred as usual the desire to banter +her. +</p> + +<p> +"Relaxed and idle creature," he began. "Yes, you may well +jump guiltily. Have you no holiday task, or are there no household +duties waiting to be done, that you loll there—for all the +world like a statue of Indolence—reading some cheap and nasty +trash?" +</p> + +<p> +She rolled on to her back, putting the book between her body +and the arm of the chair. +</p> + +<p> +"On the contrary, it's quite a decent book, darling." +</p> + +<p> +(She had taken to calling him "darling" ever since on a +holiday visit she had heard Winnie Chatterton doing as much by +her parent.) +</p> + +<p> +"Decent? My dear, if it were a serious book on logic you +would learn that the epithet 'decent' (which is a disgusting +misuse of words, by the way) is what is known as a Petitio +Principii, or Begging of the Question. It probably <i>does</i> appear +decent to one without any literary palate, but that doesn't make +it so." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't say it's anything much, but the man who wrote it, +I should think, is not without intelligence." +</p> + +<p> +"What's the idle tale called?" +</p> + +<p> +"Wouldn't you like to know?" +</p> + +<p> +"I should not only like to know, but in thirty seconds I +shall know." +</p> + +<p> +And he thrust out his hand towards the book, while she rolled +over to cover the secret with her body. +</p> + +<p> +"No, you shan't! You shan't. Go away." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, would she?" smiled he. "Would she? Since she forgets +she's a full-sized woman and adopts the tactics of a little +child, she shall be treated as such." And, putting one arm +behind her back and the other under her knees, he lifted her off +the chair and laid her on the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +"How dare you, darling? ... Good night! I didn't know +you were so strong..." +</p> + +<p> +Leaping up, she threw her arms about his elbows, trying to +pin them to his sides and hold him back from the book. "No, +daddy, don't be a cad," she begged; but he took a pace forward, +wrenched an arm free, stooped down and picked up the book. +She released him, saying: "Well, I think it's a dirty shame." +</p> + +<p> +He turned the book so as to see its title on the back, and +read "The Decay of Romanticism, by T. Tenter Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +It moved him, and almost unwittingly he placed an arm about +her shoulders and pressed her to his side. Then he tossed the +book back on to the chair. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Duffy dear. Read your tales, not stuff like that. It's +a dull and heavy work, as are all its fellows—stale, flat and +unprofitable." +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't," denied Daphne. "It's fine. I'd no idea your books +were as decent as that. They're so slick and witty. I've been +screaming with laughter. Daddy, how do you write so wittily +as that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Rudeness, my dear—that's all—just rudeness. The rudeness +is all. All wit, from the highest to the lowest, can be shown +to have its bottom in abuse, whether it's the neatest definition of +Voltaire or Johnson or just the low comedian saying: 'Your +mother must have been fond of children to bring <i>you</i> up.'" +</p> + +<p> +"But it isn't only their humour—they're so—they've got such +ideas——" +</p> + +<p> +He brought her in front of him, holding her there with a +hand at each shoulder, that he might look at her. Flitting in +his mind was the memory of that February evening when she +was born and he had wondered into what long girl she would +grow. And here she was—in his hands and before his eyes. +"<i>Elle est mon rève.</i>" Strange that one could tell oneself in +French, and be pleased with the phrase, what one would +condemn in English as sentimental! "<i>Elle est mon rève.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"You speak, Duffy, as if you'd been wasting your time +skimming some of the others." +</p> + +<p> +"I've read two, and this is my third, and I'm going to read +all of them." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, dear. Let them alone." He moved his hands and +picked up the book. "I have read them all, and I am a great +critic, and think them small beer. I'll get you something that'll +really interest you, and be improving at the same time. 'Sandford +and Merton,' have you read that? And 'The Swiss Family +Robinson.' ... Or since you were doubtless made for pleasure +rather than profit, I'll get you 'The Worst Girl in the Fourth +Form.' Only name your choice, so that you don't read +unedifying stuff like this." +</p> + +<p> +She snatched back the book. +</p> + +<p> +"My choice is all the other books of T. Tenter Bruno. +They're ripping." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, they seem more to enthusiasm and—yes, to your youthful +mixture of generosity and ignorance—than they really are. +They will serve their purpose—amuse a few people and be +deservedly forgotten." +</p> + +<p> +"You know they won't. You know you think they're splendid. +You'd be a fool if you didn't. I don't want to flatter you, +but whatever else you are, you're not a fool. I've never read +anything like them. I never thought books on subjects like +that could be interesting like that. Daddy, I'm awfully proud +of you." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno smiled, and once more pressed her to his side. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Pride</i>? You don't know one-tenth of what the word means. +Pride, Duffy. When you have a daughter who not only speaks +well of your books but even reads them, you'll begin to probe +the depths of the word." He kissed her forehead. "And when +you look her up and down and realise that there's a chance of +her—well a chance of her—let us say, a chance of her being not +without beauty——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, I'm not," interrupted Daphne. "I can't see it at +all." +</p> + +<p> +"You have tried hard?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I have. And I think I'm like a filleted hat-pin." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no. No, you're not at all like a filleted hatpin. But +you stoop a little, dear. However, that'll be overcome as the +sap comes up the stalk; the droop will disappear then, and the +whole contraption become less—less green. It's funny, but +Nature sometimes completes her sculpturing of a woman in +seventeen years, and sometimes she dawdles much longer over +the work. If she's anything like me, she dawdles over those +she wants to make best. We'll wait till you're twenty, Duffy, +and see what you're like then." +</p> + +<p> +The mind that she took back to Hemans House was like a +shop whose stock has been largely altered. New goods were +stored where the religion had been. They were goods of which +she knew the labels and the pictured covers better than the +contents. The labels were ever pleasant to handle: "More +advanced schools of thought," "In advance of the age in which he +lived," "A Leader of the Left," "The School of William +Morris"; and the pictures and designs showed Cobden and Bright +on their platforms hypnotizing great audiences; Ruskin worrying +Utilitarianism with the rumble of his thunderous periods; +Swinburne singing melodious blasphemies to the dishonour of +God and the glory of Man; and Friedrich Nietzsche (succulent +mouthful) coming up like a wind from Germany. +</p> + +<p> +She wanted to be a Leader of the Left. And why not? Quite +obviously Miss Vidella was the very type of a reactionary, +and equally obviously Daphne had always led a more advanced +school. The—the school of Daphne Bruno. She was in +advance of the system in which she moved. +</p> + +<p> +Take the question of hockey, which she had been playing +in holidays with most flattering success. Miss Vidella's absurd +prohibition of the game was a piece of tyranny that ought to +be resisted. Hemans House awaited a Liberator. A Risorgimento. +</p> + +<p> +Remembering Cobden and Bright on their rostrums, she decided, +after a discussion with the elder girls, that they must +have a political meeting. Who would speak? Well, anyone +who had anything to say; she, if they liked, would mount the +platform first. Only the elder girls would be regarded as +possessing the full rights of citizens and allowed to attend. It +sounded a jolly game, and these elder girls assembled eagerly +in an empty class-room at the advertised hour and pushed +themselves into desks or along the form that stretched in front +of the desks under the mistress's low platform. In the middle +of this form sat Daphne with her legs crossed. +</p> + +<p> +"We ought to have a chairman," said she, when nobody +seemed to know what was going to happen next. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, let's have a chairman," said a very lanky girl, +Viola Rance, and she instanced her neighbour: "Queenie +Dutroit'll be chairman." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I shan't," snapped Queenie, horrified at the +suggestion that she should do anything more public than sitting where +she was. +</p> + +<p> +"I vote old Viola's chairman herself," called a girl who, being +at the back and rather small, was in no danger of being thrust +into the position. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes," endorsed several; and Queenie added, "Yes, she's +so ready to suggest others, let her do the chairmaning +herself." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne, to push matters on, started a clapping of her hands, +with the result, as she expected, that every girl did the same; +and Viola, not displeased, though very red and inclined to giggle, +slid flexuously on to the platform and into the mistress's chair +behind the writing-table. The applause stopped, and the chairman +looked down at Daphne in the front row and asked: +</p> + +<p> +"But what do I do?" +</p> + +<p> +"You introduce me." +</p> + +<p> +Viola got up, giggled, and sat down in red confusion. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be an ass, Vi," grumbled Daphne. "If you'd any +gumption you'd have entered into the spirit of the thing and +said, 'Ladies and gentlemen, I have much pleasure in introducing +our first speaker for this evening, Miss Daphne Bruno.'" +</p> + +<p> +Viola immediately got up and raced through this sentence, +though the last words were drowned in the rising tide of the +giggle. +</p> + +<p> +Then Daphne stepped on to the platform. No one had the +wit or the courage to start the conventional applause; and +when she turned and faced the audience she saw only a roomful +of girls, some of whom were gaping at her and some sniggering +as if they thought she looked rather a fool. She felt +disappointed and sad. Why was it that, whether you were +creating books or organizing picturesque demonstrations, it was +so much easier to see them in dreams than to give them form. +The ideas for a speech that had foggily filled her head thinned +into nothing. She picked up something off the writing-table, +put it back again, and began without heart: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it's like this. It's—I mean, I think we ought to have +hockey. All the other decent schools are." +</p> + +<p> +Not another word could she think of. She saw nothing but +a horrid hiatus before her. If only some of those staring girls +would say "Hear, hear!" But though it had probably occurred +to many of them, all were too nervous of making fools of +themselves. And indeed there was nothing more to say. Not being +practised in political oratory, Daphne had expressed the origin +and the business of the meeting, the reason of her speaking and +the views which the audience had brought with them and which +they would take away, in twenty words and ten seconds. But +it seemed to her a sickly failure, and with a big effort she threw +some more words into the awful lacuna. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a topping game. Other schools are playing hockey, and +I think we ought to have hockey too." +</p> + +<p> +Some one giggled at the back, and fortunately this stirred +temper, and temper stirred speech. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see anything funny in it. Giggling never did anything +yet. It's perfectly piffling to go for a walk when we might +be playing hockey. What I vote is that we all go in a sort of +deputation and ask Miss Vidella to let us play hockey this term. +If she gives in—which isn't likely—she'll probably only treat +us to some of her celebrated queenly sarcasm; and if she +refuses we shall have to organise a sort of secret intrigue to force +her hand—a Liberationist Society, if you like. Like the +National Assembly in France. Or the Risorgimento. I've got a +plan of action in the event of it coming to that. I think we +could all write to our parents asking them to support the general +desire for hockey, and simply get her flooded with letters. I've +got her absolutely weighed up, and I'm dead certain that she'd +never say 'No' to the majority of the parents. It's always the +same; these things only want the courage and—and some one to +make a start. Just you see. If we have the grit to hold out +we shall win." +</p> + +<p> +It was not at all a bad speech, thought Daphne, and for its +crown needed only a burst of applause. But nothing followed +it except an embarrassed silence, and when that was getting +too uncomfortable, an upward glance from the chairman, with +the question: +</p> + +<p> +"What do I do now, Dafs?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you can ask if anybody has any comment to make on +what they have heard." +</p> + +<p> +Viola stood slightly. +</p> + +<p> +"Has anybody any comment to make on——" But it sounded +to her so silly that the rest of the sentence was lost in the giggle +with which, blushingly, she resumed her chair. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody had anything to say; most were laughing at Viola. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne stepped off the platform and sat again on the form +in front, crossing her legs and grasping her knee. +</p> + +<p> +"Is that all?" inquired the chairman, when she saw the +principal speaker disappearing like that. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I suppose so." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what happens now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you can ask them if they agree to what I have said, to +show it by holding up their hands." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne knew that when the question was put all would want +to hold up their hands and all would wait for some one else to +do it first, so she flung up her own, and looking round, saw a +forest of arms, many of which were waving about and trying +to be funny. +</p> + +<p> +"Ask if any one disagrees." +</p> + +<p> +"Any one dis-agree?" +</p> + +<p> +Not a soul. No one was likely to make herself so +conspicuous. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what happens now?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne shrugged. Her imagination was vividly showing +her what a good chairman might have made of this triumph. +"Oh, tell them the meeting's adjourned." +</p> + +<p> +"The meeting's adjourned," said Viola, and, giggling, she +jumped off the platform. +</p> + +<p> +The minute the meeting was adjourned everybody had an +undelivered speech to deliver. They stood in a group round +Daphne and argued the question. It ended in her plan being +adopted and a deputation formed to wait on the head mistress. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was at once proud and nervous as she led her deputation +the next day, just before lunch, into Miss Vidella's room. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella was sitting at a little writing-table. She watched +this entry of half a dozen girls with lifted eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it you want, dears? I am very busy." +</p> + +<p> +"We want to know—we wanted to ask you," began Daphne, +"on behalf of all the girls, if you would let us play hockey this +term?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella stared at the speaker. She removed her spectacles +and held them in her fat hand on the table. That she +was angry there could be no doubt, and that she was thinking +out some sarcasms like a dentist selecting his sharp little tools. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you ever played hockey in the Christmas term?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was obliged to answer "No." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you ever played hockey any term?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Then why should you play hockey this term? I am not +clear on the point, Daphne dear." +</p> + +<p> +"We thought perhaps if we petitioned you, you would let us." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella replaced her spectacles on her nose as if the +point could now be studied more closely. The point, it appeared, +was in the middle of Daphne's face. +</p> + +<p> +"Have I ever, on being petitioned, allowed you to do +anything unladylike?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne couldn't very well point out to her that the epithet +"unladylike" was a <i>Petitio Principii</i>, or Begging of the +Question, so she murmured, "No." +</p> + +<p> +"If you were to come to me, one by one, and say: 'Dear +Miss Vidella, may I do something which you consider +unlady-like?' would not my answer be: 'No, my dear, not at Hemans +House'?" +</p> + +<p> +She had acted the "No, my dear," with its inclination of the +head, to an imaginary girl at her side, and now turned to Daphne +for her reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—I suppose so." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, would not the answer that I give to you severally be +the answer that I give to you all together?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was confused, and said again: "I suppose so." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I am not at all clear as to what is the idea of your +coming in such a funny little group as this. Run away, my +dears, and get ready for your dinners. I am very busy, and +have no time just now to play with you in your strange little +games." +</p> + +<p> +As the deputation moved out, Daphne felt furious. It was +the only thing to feel if you were not to feel foolish. +</p> + +<p> +"I told you nothing would come of that," she said hastily, +to forestall any criticism of her leadership, "nothing except a +performance by Petsy. But I never expected anything to. That +was only a flourish. It's the next step that matters. I'm +perfectly determined to beat her on this matter. And I should +think that you would be after she's tried to make fools of you +like that." +</p> + +<p> +The letter to the parents, outlined by Daphne, she thought +exceedingly well done. As a politician she saw the skilfulness +of the phrase, "give your <i>support</i> to the request of <i>many other</i> +parents"; and as an authoress with some idea of emotional effect, +she was particularly satisfied with the postscript, "<i>Please</i> +do." No kindly parent would resist that. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When Miss Vidella watched the flooding in of requests from +fathers and mothers that, if possible, hockey might be taught to +their girls, she was more than flustered—she was frightened. +To be queenly with a deputation of tongue-tied pupils was one +thing, but to resist a concerted movement by parents was quite +another. It could not be done. The difficulty was how to +yield to the parents without seeming to eat the sarcasms she +had offered to the deputation. She squeezed through this +awkward pass by saying to the assembled school, one day before +lunch: +</p> + +<p> +"I understand now that when some of the elder girls waited +on me last week with a request for the institution of hockey, +they did so at the suggestion of their parents. If the girls +had been wiser they would have made this clear. I think it +very right and proper of your parents to trust you to come and +tell me all that they consider desirable for your welfare, and +to know that I shall always give every attention to their wishes. +I may in this case doubt the wisdom of their opinion, but I +understand that it must take precedence over mine. The request +will therefore be conceded. I understand that Miss Bellamy +has a knowledge of the game, and that, according to her, our +present field will be large enough. I will therefore order an +adequate supply of the necessary implements, and hope you will +be able to try your hands at this new recreation in a day or +two. I shall, of course, be there to supervise your play at so +dangerous a game." +</p> + +<p> +She moved away to a chorus of "Thank you, Miss Vidella." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne knew that every girl had thrown at her a swift +glance, and she tried to cover her feelings with a mask of +unconcern. The smile that broke through her control, and fought +with her lips, was rather one of nervousness at being looked at +than of exultation in a triumph. Her glow was mixed with +a knowledge not wholly pleasant that she had never so completely +despised her head mistress. In such contempt, as in the +deeps of a pool, lay possibilities of which she could feel herself +afraid. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Bellamy was now dressed in an unexpected importance, +and very conscious of it. A stout, bustling woman of thirty-five, +she fussed about, equipping the two teams which were to +make the first venture into the new game, marking the field with +their aid, and explaining on a blackboard the principles of +hockey to those who had everything to learn. And the day of +the first trial, a golden afternoon in St. Luke's Summer, she +led the girls to their field as excitedly as any of them. Miss +Vidella followed less easily and happily. And Daphne, who +throughout the preparations had been as officious and +explanatory as Miss Bellamy, declared that Petsy had come simply and +solely to make herself a nuisance. She would probably stand +on the touch line and worry the game like a fat puppy who was +feeling rather sick. +</p> + +<p> +It was an accurate prophecy. When all the girls were in +their places, and Miss Bellamy had done pushing them there, +or pointing all over the field with her whistle, Daphne shouted: +"Shall I bully off with Viola?" +</p> + +<p> +And Miss Vidella at once raised her voice. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bully off.' I do wish you wouldn't talk slang, Daphne +dear. You know I have never tolerated it. 'Bully off' is a +phrase that I have never heard, and do not wish to hear again." +</p> + +<p> +"But it's the correct term, Miss Vidella." +</p> + +<p> +"It really is," endorsed Miss Bellamy, who had rushed up to +bring an expert's advice to the solution of a difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me"—Miss Vidella lifted her shoulders resignedly—"what +unpleasant terms these rough games do employ!" +</p> + +<p> +They bullied off, and the game swung into noisy life. Its +two most conspicuous performers were Daphne and Miss Bellamy. +Daphne was early captured by it, mind and body. She +was nearly always in possession of the ball, and the repeated +running had damped her forehead and shortened her +breathing; she felt the rises of her breast, and a delightful dryness +and thirst stabbing her low down in the throat. There was a +breeze that would not have been perceptible but for the dampness +on her brow, and when it touched that, it strangely heightened +her pleasure. It carried fugitive thoughts of long drinks, +the spray of the sea, or immersion in bath or lake. Once she +had fallen heavily, and the smell of dried earth on her palm +toned exactly with the thirst, the quick breathing, the sting of +gathering blisters, and the coldness on her temples. Health +and optimism had become sensuous things. And how was it +that these sensations, though within her, were at one with +remembered things without—with firelight on old wood, mellow +evenings, birds and squirrels, and sentences in Hans Andersen: +"She flew away as if she were flying straight into the sun"—with +all those things that she must capture and put into +books? +</p> + +<p> +Miss Bellamy rushed about, with her whistle at her teeth or +in her hand. When she wasn't blowing the whistle, she was +shouting: "Keep your places! Pass the ball—oh, for goodness' +sake pass it sometimes. Now then, Evelyn! Played! Oh, +played indeed!" Probably she wanted to impress the pupils +and the principal. And certainly she impressed Miss Vidella—but +very unfavourably. There was an abnormal second when +she was standing at rest to watch a scramble near Miss Vidella, +and Miss Vidella took the opportunity to begin, "I can't think, +Miss Bellamy, that it's necessary to shout at the children so"; +but just then Miss Bellamy saw a crass error in the play, shot +out a pointing forefinger, and blew her whistle imperiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Sticks! Sticks! Sticks!" she cried. "Madeline you mustn't +lift your stick above your shoulder." +</p> + +<p> +"Come on—that's a free hit," shouted Daphne. "Chuck us +the pill." +</p> + +<p> +It was useless wishing she hadn't said it, for Miss Vidella +was already calling. +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne dear. Come here. What was that you said?" +</p> + +<p> +"I said, 'Chuck us the pill'." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought those were the words. Well, I am so ignorant +of this game that I do not know if that is the prescribed +expression. Is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well—no." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean, it was slang?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I suppose so." +</p> + +<p> +"Precisely. And I cannot allow the elder girls to set such +an example to the younger ones. Besides, it is great disrespect +to Miss Bellamy to use language like that in a game of which +she is in charge. Let me hear you apologise to her." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne's first impulse was to throw down her stick and walk +off, but she remembered the delight of the game, and determined +not to be robbed of it by any pomposity of Miss Vidella. And +she so far obeyed her head mistress as to turn to Miss Bellamy +and mutter: "Miss Vidella says I'm to apologise to you." Miss +Bellamy smiled an acknowledgment, and a bow from the head +mistress indicated that she was satisfied, and the game might +proceed. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne had no wish to offend a second time, and for the +rest of the game, except for the very last minute, managed to +play and shout without being called to order. She had, in fact, +forgotten her anger with the head mistress, so exciting was the +struggle. The two goals won by her side, in defiant answer +to two won by their opponents, had been scored by herself, +and the girls were saying: "No wonder you wanted to play +hockey so as to show off." Her face and neck were streaming, +and her body seemed to have been fitted with a new and different +breathing system. Frequently she wiped her forehead with her +sleeve, or tossed the wet hair-wisps out of her eyes. If she +was not driving the ball herself she was shouting encouragement +and praise to the others. "Oh, played! ... I say, well +played! ... Look out! ... <i>Billow</i>!" Her will and every +faculty were set upon securing the third goal before the +shrieking and perspiring Miss Bellamy should sound her whistle for +the last time. The low slant of the sunlight and the stretching +of the shadows told her that time was very short. Any second +now might end the game. The matter was desperate; +there was a look of evening over the field. Her stick perpetually +reached the ball and forced it through a jumble of confused +amateurs, while Miss Bellamy shouted: "Keep your places! +Keep your places, all of you!" and Miss Vidella could be heard +muttering a dislike of the worse scrimmages. At last Daphne +won through with the ball, and came down the side-line with +irresistible impetus, confident that now on the very sound of +the whistle she was going to score her third goal. She had a +faint impression of Miss Vidella stepping back from the +touch-line so as to be out of danger. So fierce was her rush that +the opposing full-back, frenzied with ignorance and dismay, +hit her with great force on the shin. In the moment of sharp +pain, Daphne flung her stick anywhere, and muttered: "Oh, +damn! damn!" +</p> + +<p> +All around her heard, and cast quick glances at the head +mistress. All were probably feeling the satisfaction of being +present when something really serious had happened. The head +mistress, no doubt, was the most satisfied of all, because there +are few happinesses so great as the first enjoyment of +indignation. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Bellamy. Miss Bellamy," she shrieked to the referee, +who, from her distance, was shouting encouragement to this +waning corner of the game. "Miss Bellamy, stop the game." +</p> + +<p> +"Play on, you girls," shouted Miss Bellamy. "Don't stand +there as if you were afraid of the ball. Keep the ball moving, +for goodness' sake." +</p> + +<p> +"Do nothing of the sort," commanded Miss Vidella. "Don't +touch the ball. Miss Bellamy"—Miss Bellamy was running, +whistle in mouth, to solve the problem that was hindering the +game—"I have instructed the girls to stop. They are very +rightly too shocked to continue. I wish them to stop. Please +blow that whistle, if that is the way such a game is brought to +an end." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Bellamy, bewildered, sounded her whistle and stood near +to witness a public censuring. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne, after rubbing her shin, walked to her hockey stick, +slightly exaggerating her limp, picked it up and examined its +binding. +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne.... I hardly know how to speak to you. For +fifteen years I have given my life to the education and guidance +of my schoolgirls, but never till this day have I heard one +of them—I cannot bring myself to say it—heard one of them +use such a word as passed your lips just now. I pray I shall +never be asked to live through that moment again. I—and all +these dear girls, I believe—are humiliated and ashamed. You, +too, I dare believe, are also deeply ashamed." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I don't see why I should have been hit on the shins +for nothing. It'd have been a goal if——" +</p> + +<p> +"Go back to the school. I confess I know not how to deal +with you. I confess to being beaten by you. Fortunately there +is no precedent in my experience which enables me to deal +adequately on the spur of the moment with your offence. You +are a girl whom it seems impossible to influence or guide. If +all the affection and sympathy and gentle correction of the last +few years"—Daphne made an obvious "Pooh!" with her lips—"has +been unavailing to soften your nature, I know no other +methods. They have always been those of Hemans House. +Go back to the school and wait in your bedroom. I shall have to +consider how to deal with you. I feel I shall have to write to +your dear father——" Daphne was disposed to reply: "I +should. It'll amuse him frightfully." "And do not attempt to +see any other girls. I cannot have them taught your dockyard +oaths.... This evening I will..." +</p> + +<p> +But Daphne had not waited for the rest. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0213"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XIII +</h3> + +<p> +Miss Vidella frightened herself more than her pupil +when she announced that she would write to Mr. Tenter +Bruno. The whole school had heard her say she would do a +thing which she particularly did not want to do. The Bruno +girl had still, presumably, another year to spend at her school +and to bring in good fees, and it would be unwise to give her +father the impression that she was getting too big and obstreperous +for the place. There must be no quarrel with Mr. Bruno, +for she wanted his name as a reference. Besides, she was +thoroughly afraid of his brilliant modern mind. And somewhere +behind her indignation peeped the thought that the offence was +not really as bad as her posing required her to treat it. After +a tea-time spent in deliberation she decided that discretion must +masquerade as mercy. She climbed the stair to the little single +bedroom which Daphne, as one of the elder girls, now enjoyed. +She was primed with words of austere forgiveness, but when +she saw that the criminal was lolling on the bed and reading a +book, anger made her command: +</p> + +<p> +"Get off that bed at once." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne got off slowly. +</p> + +<p> +"Now put it straight." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne did so. +</p> + +<p> +"You are, indeed, Daphne, a difficult child. I came upstairs +disposed to limit my chastisement of you to words of kindness +and advice, and I find you apparently insensible to the gravity of +your offence. I intended to say that I would not hurt your +dear father by a report of your behaviour, but——" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't mind if you write to him or not." +</p> + +<p> +This was dreadful. The girl was pushing her into the stream +of events she desired to escape. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't care? Have you no affection for him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, heaps; but I don't think he'll die of anything you can +tell him." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you being impudent, Daphne?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"I do." +</p> + +<p> +"Then why do you ask?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella stared at her, flounced to the door, and said: "I +shall most certainly write to your father. I shall do it this +moment," and thus made her exit. Yes, she would write that +letter at once. Its phrasing shaped in her mind. Like all weak +people she was easily made apprehensive lest some one was +questioning her strength. A strong gesture was pleasing. Now +that her hand had been forced she was proud that she was going +to write to Mr. Bruno. The school should know that she had +written to Mr. Bruno, and realise that when she said she'd do +a thing she did it. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +One person was thrilled by the news of Daphne Bruno's +disgrace and confinement. Miss Sims, always curiously exultant +when her favourite was punished, saw herself coming to her in +prison with sympathy and undiminished faith. Her heart beat +quickly as she approached the bedroom where Daphne was +isolated. Opening the door with a "May I come in?" she saw +the girl sitting on the bed with one heel beneath her, writing +something. This was disappointing. Miss Sims had encouraged +the idea that she would be crying. "She's been made hard and +callous," thought Miss Sims. "She will be better softened. +Gentleness will soften her." +</p> + +<p> +"Hallo," said Daphne, looking up. She folded over the letter +she had been writing. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy dear. What has been happening? I could not bear +to think of you up here." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Miss Vidella has been doing a little acting. She thinks +she's being very fine and strong. I'm enjoying myself +immensely." +</p> + +<p> +A pity she adopted this defiant attitude. Miss Sims liked +to minister to soft and broken things. And the Character never +listened to disloyalty. +</p> + +<p> +"Hush, dear. You know I never listen to rebellious muttering." +... She sat down beside the girl. "Why did you utter +such a word? After all, you are a girl who will always exercise +a great influence over those younger than yourself, and you +have them to consider." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked away, and Miss Sims knew that this veiled +flattery was the way to conquer her. She spent a very happy +few minutes, giving counsel to the girl, with her heart going +out to her as she did so; she pointed out how much it behoved +one who was plainly a nature of strong passions to learn control +in small things, and she saw that Daphne liked being called a +nature of strong passions, and was thinking of Miss Sims as the +one person who understood her. +</p> + +<p> +"I know, Miss Sims. But why couldn't Miss Vidella talk to +me properly—like you do—instead of making an Aunt Sally of +me before half the school. She said I was difficult to influence. +I am not, am I? You know." +</p> + +<p> +It was a sweet moment for Miss Sims. +</p> + +<p> +"I have never found you so, dear." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course not, because you're always so understanding. But +she always tries to humiliate me before the whole school, and +now she declares she's going to write a lot of lies to father." +</p> + +<p> +"Hush, dear. I think she may be unduly severe, but I can see +her point of view." +</p> + +<p> +"She hasn't got a point of view, except the one that goes +with her part. I'm writing to father too.... Oh, Miss Sims, +would you—would you post it for me?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Sims smiled tolerantly, but really the request gave her +much pleasure. It was picturesque, this taking of a missive +from an offender in prison. +</p> + +<p> +"I will certainly, dear. There can be no harm in your father +hearing what you have to say." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that's topping of you." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne added something to her letter, and folded it up and +give it to Miss Sims. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, dear," said the governess. "And if there is +anything else you need, or I can do for you—bring you books +or anything——" Her guilty ear detected a step on the landing +outside, and she rose. It was not done hastily, for her +desire to impress Daphne with her serenity and fearlessness was +stronger than her fear of being caught by Miss Vidella. But +her heart, which fortunately could not be seen, was beating +faster. +</p> + +<p> +"I will take it for you now. Good-bye for the time being, +dear." +</p> + +<p> +She stooped and kissed her favourite. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The next morning over his breakfast Mr. Bruno read of Miss +Vidella's pain at being obliged to report that she had had +occasion to deal severely with his daughter, and of her desire that +he also would write a word of reproof. Daphne had employed +on the hockey field language which could not be set on paper, +and Miss Vidella wrote in the sure knowledge that her father's +rebuke would carry very great weight with dear Daphne, and +that, since this outbreak suggested that she had met with +unsuitable companions in her vacations, he would doubtless wish to +be informed of the matter. +</p> + +<p> +"Gracious goodness!" smiled Mr. Bruno, at the ponderous +and lumbering phrases. "What on earth can the depraved child +have said?" +</p> + +<p> +And all the contraband language that he could think of +seemed beautifully funny as passing from one of her pupils +to Miss Vidella. +</p> + +<p> +Then he picked up an envelope written in the schoolgirl hand +of his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, now perhaps we shall know. Duffy will doubtless +strengthen herself to write the obscene word." +</p> + +<p> +His butter-knife sliced the flap, and he read: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"DARLING FATHER,—Miss Vidella says she is going to write +to you about the crimes of your daughter. I don't know if +the old pig really meant it, but in case she does I thought I'd +get in first. Her only accusation is that I have used slang and +one swear word. I don't think the slang business will upset +you much because you say in 'The Decay of Romanticism' that +slang is often the natural, urgent poetry of a vital +people." ("Good heavens!" thought Mr. Bruno, "she must have copied +the sentence straight out of the book.") "And you give examples +that you say are Shakespearean in their aptness, energy +and high compression, and you say further on that those who use +slang brilliantly are often more vivacious and dynamic minds +than those who stagnate in a mould of stilted phraseology like +Miss Vidella. I quite agree with you, as I do with most of what +you have written. And I am not saying this just because I want +you to side with me, but because I really do. Old Petsy could +no more think of that about slang than she could fly. That is +really rather witty about her flying, as you would understand +if you could see her. But the swear word will probably not +please you so well. What happened was this. I felt that Miss +Vidella was reactionary in her ban on hockey, and that it was +time Hemans House advanced a little, so as to be abreast of +modern ideas, and I accordingly led a successful agitation for +reform in the matter. That, of course, stuck in her gizzard, and +I'm sure she came on to the hockey field determined to spoil +the game. What I blame myself for is not swearing so +much"—(Mr. Bruno read this sentence again before murmuring: "Duffy, +Duffy, you're getting dangerously ambiguous")—"as giving the +old cat an opening. Annie Hurst, silly little ass, caught me an +awful whack on the shin, and before I knew what had happened, +I said 'O damn!' which you often say when the soup-plate is +hot. That was all, and it's really painful, a whack on the +shin-bone with a hockey stick, and I've got a huge bruise and what +looks like a little dent in the bone. That side of it doesn't +seem to have struck Miss Vidella. +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy, I have got a suggestion. If you think it wise to +come down and rebuke me, couldn't we do it at a tea-shop and +have a jolly afternoon together? +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy, I'm reading 'Park and Pavement,' and I like it +awfully. It's your best book, I think, in my humble opinion. +But then I think that of each one as I read it. I'm in disgrace +in my bedroom, and enjoying myself awfully. It's been fun +writing to you.—Yours awfully, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"DUFFY." +</p> + +<p> +"P.S.—I have been wondering how I was going to post this, +but an awfully decent mistress is going to post it for +me.—D. D. T. B." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The effect of Daphne's letter on her father was similar to +that which she unconsciously used to work when she burst +uninvited into his gaze. There was an immediate quickening of his +love, a flavour of self-reproach that he passed so much time +away from her, and, as he pictured her sitting on her bed +and writing to him, a stirring of the heart that was almost +painful. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, damn! That prehistoric old fool shan't persecute her. +She shall swear if she likes. That is to say, she shall do +nothing of the sort, for it would spoil her charm. But she's my +daughter, and beginning to stand, I fancy, in much the same +relation to that slow-going vehicle, her school, as I do to society +to-day. I like to think it. With all her ignorance and +immaturity she's too dynamic for her surroundings. I must +write, I suppose. No, damn it, I'll go and see her, and the +absurd place as well. If it's as I imagine, we must do something +better for her." +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible for him to be other than courteous, and he +wrote to Miss Vidella thanking her for her thoughtfulness, +telling her that he would like to come and see her the next +afternoon and requesting her to be so good as to inform Daphne +of his intentions. His kindest regards concluded the letter. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella was delighted. Her strong action was justified. +Evidently Mr. Tenter Bruno, since he was coming in person, +shared her distress and approved her discretion. She began to +phrase the high commendation he would give when sought as +a reference for Hemans House. "I shall ever be grateful for +Miss Vidella's watchful care of my own daughter." And after +prayers that mornings she announced to the assembled school: +</p> + +<p> +"I have just received a letter from Mr. Tenter Bruno, who +will visit the school this afternoon." She left that to sink in. +The children would instantly guess why he was coming, and be +impressed with the seriousness of a recent incident and the +strong hand of their principal. "And, girls, I hope he will +come and see you at your work. Mr. Tenter Bruno, as you +all know, is a writer with an international reputation, and you +will like to remember that he visited you at your school. It +will also interest your parents." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno arrived about three o'clock; and after an interview +in the reception room which was chiefly used by Miss +Vidella to explain how fond she was of dear Daphne and hoped +to make a great success of her, and by Mr. Bruno in mental +generalizations suggested by such a type as this head mistress, +he was left alone in a saddle-bag chair to await his daughter. +She burst in, most obviously dressed to receive him. And +because she was tall, and he unused to such an interview, he +rose like an embarrassed guest to greet her. After the fat, +black, pompous figure of the head mistress, she came with +something like a shock of contrast; he saw the roundness of +her head under its brown hair newly brushed, the freshness of +her eyes and cheeks, the smallness of her neck, and the +fast-refining outline of her body and her limbs. The critic in him, +as well as the father, approved it all. Wonderful how she +could move him sometimes! In the chamber of his anti-sentimental +brain, moving without guilt among the censors there, +was the thought: "You are mine ... you came from me +... Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +"Hallo, Daddy!" +</p> + +<p> +She rose on her toes to kiss him, and he gave her waist a hug. +</p> + +<p> +"So you've been using the language of the tap-room to that +strange old woman." +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't," denied Daphne, "I told you exactly what I +said." +</p> + +<p> +"Good heavens, miss! And wasn't that outrageous in a +slender girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, not considering the hefty blow I got on my leg. I +often say 'Oh, damn!' to myself, as I'm sure everybody does, +and that time it came out aloud. And with good reason, too. +Just look here." And she made as if to remove her stocking. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, no. Don't show me anything unpleasant. Besides, +you've got it all wrong, Duffy. The idea of the strange old +lady isn't so much that you should show me some trifling bruise +on your shin, as that I should talk to you about the really +serious bruise on my heart. That a daughter of mine should +say—such words! You mustn't, Duffy; for you're in danger +of becoming a—a beautiful creature, and it's out of harmony +for one of that pattern to use squalid words. The whole product +is not homogeneous. It's bad art." +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said his daughter. "That's the most sensible way I've +ever heard it put." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and——However.... How old are you, Duffy?" +</p> + +<p> +"Seventeen for all practical purposes." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I have a practical purpose. Let us sit down and talk +it over. Are you allowed to sit in this room?" +</p> + +<p> +They seated themselves, and he told her of a scheme that +he had been pondering in the train. And because it was one +that he knew she would love, he could only approach it through +a cloud of raillery. Publicity, he said, was a very subtle +question, and if in the past he had been seen in public with so +ordinary a daughter as she, the sale of his books would +doubtless have suffered. But now she had changed, and every year +she would become of greater and greater publicity value. He +felt he would like to have her with him as much as possible. +He didn't believe this droll school had anything more to give +her, and she could probably do much better, since the taste for +less frivolous reading seemed to have come, enjoying the free +run of his library and having some music lessons at home. Not +that there would be much time for that, because he had long +wanted to spend a year in Paris, and proposed taking her there +next year. In Paris he would put her on her honour to study +the French language and squeeze all the knowledge that was +to be squeezed out of picture galleries, historic buildings, the +<i>Opéra</i> and the <i>Comédie Française</i>. In the summer they would +wander in Switzerland and down into Italy, and as the weather +cooled make tracks for Rome. +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy!" interrupted Daphne. "Oh, do you mean it? Lord, +I'm glad I swore. What an awful suck for Petsy!" +</p> + +<p> +He smiled as he watched her enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +"But mark you, the first time you swear, you'll be sent +back to Windsor, and doubtless to your bedroom there." +</p> + +<p> +"And may I go home with you to-day?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be so heady, my dear. Or I shall decide that you +are still very immature, and leave you to your pothooks for +another year. You can finish at the end of this term." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well, I can stick that out.... Daddy, how glorious!" +</p> + +<p> +She jumped up and kissed him in gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +"But you must promise to stay with me a little while," stipulated +he, "and not marry the first lout that comes lopping up +the drive. Say a couple of years at least.... Yes, and now +come and be reprimanded at this pastry shop." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but first you've got to go round and see the girls at their +lessons. I think Miss Vidella wants to show you off, but +whether she wants to or not, I do." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh d——. Yes, I was about to use your favourite oath. +Yes, the singular old woman did mention something of the sort. +But is it really necessary?" +</p> + +<p> +"Absolutely. Several of the elder girls are reading your +books, and, though they don't understand them as well as I +do, they are anxious to see what you look like. Besides, I want +them to see that you are not angry or anything, and that Miss +Vidella's sneaking has hopelessly failed." +</p> + +<p> +They passed into the passage. And the opening of their +door was the signal for another to open and emit the head +mistress. Mr. Bruno felt his daughter immediately take hold +of his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, before you go," said the head mistress, "you promised +to visit my dear girls. They will appreciate a visit from you +so much." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, so long as I'm not expected to address them," he +began. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, certainly not," assured Miss Vidella.... "Daphne +dear, you had better go to your class-room." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno felt the hold on his arm tightened. +</p> + +<p> +"But father's taking me out to tea." +</p> + +<p> +It was a moment of strain. Clearly the head mistress was +at a loss what to say, though the words behind her eyes said: +"I think such a reward to the child most unsuitable." Mr. Bruno +hastened to ease the atmosphere by turning to his daughter +with a reproof: "If Miss Vidella is kind enough to consent, +you mean." ... And then to Miss Vidella, with the request: +"Having come so far, I trust you will allow me to keep her +for the afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +The head mistress bowed austerely, and led the way to the +schoolrooms, while Daphne whispered: +</p> + +<p> +"Tell her I'm leaving at the end of the term, do." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, I couldn't possibly tell her to her face. I never +could say anything that was the least unpleasant. I'll write it +to her." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, stuff! She's much more afraid of you than you are of +her." +</p> + +<p> +"It's impossible." +</p> + +<p> +All the voyage through the class-rooms she was hanging +ostentatiously on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +The first hour of their companionship in the town was very +happy, but then supervened a thing that worried and saddened +him; his daughter's prattle over the tea-cups palled, and he +became a-fidget to get home to his books. Hardly hearing what +she said, he began to deplore his intolerance of immature minds +that had no ideas or stimulations to give him—whether they +were adult minds or children's. Love ought to enable him +to come out of himself and listen. But he had lost the power. +Only with intellects of his own order, or with books, could he +establish correspondence.... Still, she would improve, and be +his most valuable companion one day. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at his watch and began to discuss his train. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +All that evening and the next day Daphne was covertly +bragging: "Father's taking me away.... I'm to travel with him +instead of coming back to school. We're going to Paris for +a year, and then to Switzerland and Italy and Rome.... I +shall probably keep house for him." To her more intimate +friends she added: "You must come and stay with us sometimes." The +news, told in confidence to the girls, created interest, +but no dismay—she was not popular enough for that. +</p> + +<p> +Each day she scanned Miss Vidella's face for some evidence +that her father's letter had come. And when a whole week had +passed with no trace of a nasty shock behind the steel spectacles, +a dread seized her lest his glorious plan, now that she was +remote, had been shelved. In suspense she wrote to inquire if +he had sent his letter, and, if not, to urge him to do so. "Daddy +darling, Have you written about that business? If you haven't, +I don't think you should delay. Oh, I do want to do all you +said, and travel with you...." +</p> + +<p> +His reply was a confession that, owing to pressure of work, +he had neglected to write. "But I've just written the letter, +and it will be posted with this one. Sorry you've been +worrying, but it was my fault. <i>Peccavi, peccavi, peccavissimi</i>, +as the monk said whose penitence was in excess of his Latin." +</p> + +<p> +Then Miss Vidella had taken the knock this very morning. +Daphne studied her to see how she looked after it. There was +no visible difference in her. And the morning and the evening +passed. None of her words or looks could be twisted into +evidence that she knew Daphne Bruno was leaving. This was +Wednesday. Thursday provided no sign. Friday was equally +barren, and by the evening of that day Daphne was in despair, +tears very close to her eyes. "Oh, he said he had written and +posted it. He said he posted it on Tuesday night. He can't +have done it. I <i>won't</i> come back next term. I couldn't, now +I've once heard I wasn't going to. If I have to come back next +term I shall do something desperate." +</p> + +<p> +But on Saturday morning her impatient eyes did detect a new +haughtiness in the carriage of the head mistress when the black +figure swept past her. And after breakfast her waking hopes +were confirmed by Miss Vidella's request: "Daphne, I wish +you would accompany me to the reception-room. I desire to +speak to you." +</p> + +<p> +Oh, this meant everything. She felt exhilarated, triumphant, +free, as she walked behind Miss Vidella. The moment +compensated her for the many times she had walked there in +disgrace. The little, stout, waddling black figure led the way into +the room, and, sitting down, put on spectacles, and took a letter +from the writing-table. +</p> + +<p> +"I am surprised, very much surprised, to receive this morning +a letter from your father saying that he proposes taking you +away at the end of the term." +</p> + +<p> +She looked up from the letter at her pupil who answered with +a sentence she had been longing to use. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he told me he was going to the other day when he was +down here." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, indeed?" Miss Vidella's eyebrows went up and hovered +a second over the top of her spectacles. "A most unusual +proceeding altogether, I think.... Er, did you ask him to do this +thing?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, he suggested it first." +</p> + +<p> +"And why? Is he dissatisfied with the school in any way? +It would be strange if he were, after being content with it for +nearly five years." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think he ever thought much about it," suggested +Daphne as a solution. +</p> + +<p> +"And what precisely do you desire to convey by that?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne shrugged her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"Is he dissatisfied—now that he has troubled to think about +it?" +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged again. It was so difficult to be outspokenly +rude and say: "Of course he is," and she couldn't think of any +innuendo that would express the same idea. +</p> + +<p> +"Answer me, please. I am anxious to know if you have—if +this school has suffered from any misrepresentation." +</p> + +<p> +"I think he wants me to travel with him. To Paris and +Switzerland and Rome." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, dear," protested Miss Vidella. "I always find you +dear girls think I am a fool. Such is surely an obvious excuse. +One doesn't decide to go travelling to Paris and Switzerland +and Rome during an afternoon's visit, thus foregoing a term's +fees. Why do you prevaricate, Daphne? Speak the truth." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I think he does think the school is old-fashioned and +that I'm not doing much good." +</p> + +<p> +"Excellent! Excellent!" nodded Miss Vidella, getting off +her seat. "Well, now we know. Yes, from my humble and +obsolete standpoint, he is right on both scores. It is an old +fashion to object with all the strength one can command to the +use of foul oaths by one's girls—and as you have never shown +any affection or loyalty to your school it cannot be said that you +are doing much good." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose not." +</p> + +<p> +The rebellious note caused the mistress to stare at her. In +the pause Daphne knew what Miss Vidella was thinking: that, +since there was now no possibility of keeping the Bruno girl, +she could afford to be very strong. +</p> + +<p> +"H'm, I think I see." She nodded meaningly. "I begin to +see. Yes, of course. Your dear father thought that your +position here, after having so disgraced yourself, would be +uncomfortable in the extreme. Your surroundings would always fill +you with shame, and your school-fellows would to a certain +extent reprobate you." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think they're very concerned about it," fired Daphne, +"and if they were, it wouldn't worry me." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella paid no heed. +</p> + +<p> +"And yes, I see. Your dear father conceived that, after +much thought, I should feel I could not in the interest of my +dear girls keep you here, so he has written <i>first</i> to suggest your +removal, and thus saved me the painful duty of asking him +to take you away." +</p> + +<p> +The blood poured over Daphne's face. She loathed her head +mistress, and seeing through her weakness to its dregs, cared +not what she said. +</p> + +<p> +"You know he doesn't think anything like that. You know +you've only just this moment thought of that. You know you +really want me to stay so that you won't lose a year of my +father's fees. And—and you don't really think it's frightfully +serious if some one says 'damn'; but that it's enormously fetching +to pretend that you do. I dare say you say it to yourself +sometimes. You know you're awfully sick at the idea of my +going, and it's only when you've realised that there's no ghostly +chance of my stopping that you think you had best appear +frightfully strong and get the credit of having expelled me. And if +that—and if you give out that that was the reason of my going, +I shall get my father to write to the papers about this school +and ruin you. They'll any of them publish anything he writes, +and only too glad...." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella had walked to the bell-push, very likely with +some idea that a maid could remove Daphne like a tea-tray. +But Daphne didn't stay. Trembling with fear at what she had +said and with pleasure in it—a heat tingling her cheek-bones, +and her heart thumping—she hurried out, ready to justify +herself to the world. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella was trembling too, and her heart going irregularly. +Never before—not like that—good heavens, no!—the +girl was mad, dangerous—such a thing was unbelievable—not +in all the years—she should go—go at once—people should +see—it made one feel quite sick and faint. What the girl wanted +was to be locked up and thrashed. Thrashed! +</p> + +<p> +The maid knocked, entered, and was pettishly dismissed. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Vidella, recovering, tried to think collectedly. Mr. Tenter +Bruno's reference being irrevocably lost, there was but +one enjoyment left—that of being strong. She would write +at once and demand that he remove his daughter. No relief +could come to her till the words were in ink—till the letter +was posted. With a shaking hand she took note-paper and pen. +"I regret—I regret to have to inform you that your daughter +has again been intolerably insolent, and, as I am quite +unaccustomed to this sort of treatment, I should—I should esteem +It a favour if you would allow her to return to her home at +once. Yours truly...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That any one should write in that tone to <i>him</i> incensed +Mr. Bruno. "Hell take the woman," he began, and reached for the +bell with a view to dispatching a servant and a wire. But he +stopped as he saw a letter in his daughter's hand. "Poor kid," +thought he. Impatiently opening it, he read her story of the +head mistress's "nasty suggestion," and her urgent request that +he would write to her some words which she could show to her +friends as proof that she had not been expelled. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor darling! I won't have her worried like a rabbit by +that fat little poodle-bitch. Thank goodness, I can easily supply +her need." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And the following morning Daphne fled with his letter, still +sealed, to a deserted room, and there opened it in suspense. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"MY DEAREST DAPHNE." (She guessed that he had avoided +her nickname lest she were ashamed to show it to her +school-fellows.) +</p> + +<p> +"I think that on the whole the sooner I have you back with +me the better, so that we may prepare for our travels. I wrote +a few days ago to Miss Vidella, telling her that you would not +return after next term—it was last Tuesday I wrote, as I think +I told you in a contemporary letter—and she wrote in reply +begging me to reconsider my decision and not to deprive you +of your last year at Hemans House, which she said was the +most important of all. But I could not agree, and wrote to +that effect. I fear from a letter I received to-day that she is +unreasonably annoyed at my refusal to let you stay, though it +was quite within my rights; so lest she should vent her +displeasure on you, I have written asking that you may return +to-morrow. +</p> + +<p> +"No more at present, for I am very busy. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "Your loving<br> + "FATHER."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Oh, he's a dear!" exclaimed she. "How wonderfully he's +phrased it! He <i>is</i> clever!" +</p> + +<p> +She could hardly believe she was to go at once. Excitement +jumped her up and led her to the window. As was fitting, +the room to which she had fled looked out upon the drive and +the exit gates in the garden wall. The wall appeared grey and +green, and the sunlight glorious beyond. It was too wonderful +to be true. Suddenly had come to her very feet that free +country, wide and pleasurable, which ten days ago she had hazily +thought of as many troublesome miles ahead. The goal of the +long march of childhood had not waited for her to reach it, +but had come to meet her. And it shone everywhere with +promises: long, indolent reading; hours when one dreamed out +books (the hours best worth living); travels with her father +in places whose names were romances—Paris, Switzerland, +Italy, Rome—Rome! Sooner or later there would be love. +Some one in Paris, perhaps, or in Rome. Among the imperial +ruins, as her imagination created them, she saw his figure +moving—featureless (for one could not decide on his features) +and of vague form (for was he tall or broad or slender?)—just +the grey figure of a youth. Now she was in his arms, and +the thought of it gave her that emptying delight that had +accompanied thoughts of Roger's love. And fame. Fame was in +the distance. It was all incredible. This morning, before +breakfast, a schoolgirl. To-morrow, about ten o'clock, after +running down those hearthstone steps and bowling in a carriage +through those gates, a free, independent, pleasure-seeking, +fame-seeking woman of the world! +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +To only one person was the news of Daphne's departure a +stunning blow—Miss Sims. To her it came like an unexpected +death sentence. +</p> + +<p> +She had not cared to think what would happen when Daphne +passed out of her life; sufficient that the dread hour was a year +or more away. But ten days ago, without warning, she had +been told that it was only eight weeks away. And Daphne's +excitement and enthusiasm had pained her cruelly. As she +listened to the girl's gaiety she had resolved to suffer without +complaint. That self-pity at least she could enjoy. She took +her pain away to her bedroom, with its tin wash-hand-stand +and its hospital bed. There she dwelt upon it. "Never to see +you again. Never to feel that I am moulding you to a noble +shape." Well, perhaps it was better thus. It was better that +the beloved girl should pass out of her life before she +discovered her governess to be something much smaller and less +wonderful than she had thought. And there was still eight +weeks more to enjoy her. +</p> + +<p> +And now they told her that Daphne Bruno was going +to-morrow morning. Daphne going to-morrow? And as there +had been trouble between her people and the head mistress, +impossible that she should ever come near the school again! +The blow left an ache and confusion that Miss Sims hid all +day behind her teaching and her smiles and her small-talk with +the girls. Something of the serenity that she had acted before +Daphne struggled now to be real, and it did give itself birth. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, when the carriage came up the drive, she +purposely waited in a little narrow music-room that she might +torture herself, did Daphne go off without seeking her; or +might have her alone, did the girl come. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne burst in, saying she had been looking for her +everywhere. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye, dear," said Miss Sims. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye, Miss Sims. I don't know how to thank you for +all your kindness." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Kindness!</i> The commonplace word wounded the governess. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye, dear. And God bless you—always." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne hesitated, and then stuttered: +</p> + +<p> +"I wanted to say I owe everything to you. That's the absolute +truth. You've been the best thing about my school life. I +mean—oh, but I think I'll try and write it to you." +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye, Duffy. The memory of you will always be sweet +to me." +</p> + +<p> +She had resolved to say that much to her and no more. A +little more was conveyed in the pressure of her hand and the +kiss she placed on the girl's forehead. Then Daphne had gone, +and Miss Sims's hand had fallen to her side. She stayed in +the music-room till she heard the carriage wheels crunch over +the gravel on to the road. She was racked by the half-knowledge +that, despite Daphne's words, no passionate love or throbbing +pain could be read in her leave-taking. "Thank you for +all your kindness." Cruel mediocrity! "But she will write +the broken-hearted words she could not say." No. It was all +over. A few dwindling letters would come, and they would be +no more than echoes. +</p> + +<p> +She walked out of the narrow music-room into the dark +main passage of the ground floor. Five doors opened on to it, +and a staircase came down from the bedrooms above. It was, +so to think, the centre of Hemans House. One could hear the +murmurous class-rooms, and the halting scales from another +music-room, and the buried clatter in the kitchen. The head +mistress passed from the reception-room, where she had been +taking some sort of farewell of Daphne, to her teaching in the +Fifth Form room. Her voice started, high-pitched and whining. +</p> + +<p> +It was Hemans House, monotonously there, with Miss Sims +in its centre. She had a curious, rather unpleasant thought: +for ever and ever in Daphne's mind Hemans House would have +nothing but a subjective, dreamlike existence, and then only +when she willed to create it in memory. And yet here it was. +Almost one could think of it, and herself moving in it, as +something in an occasional dream of Daphne's. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0314"></a></p> + +<h2> +PART III: <i>Daphne's Romance</i> +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XIV +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne was happy in her new life of freedom at Old +Hall House, though it was less than it had promised to +be when seen from a school-room window. Its worst failure +was her father's postponement for a whole year of their +residence in Paris, and a lingering doubt lest the day of packing +and travelling never arrived. Another was her periods of +dulness. Nobody ever seemed to come to Old Hall House; her +father kept himself shut up in his study; and Owen for nine +months of the year was at school. There were mornings and +afternoons when she wandered about the passages and looked +aimlessly out of windows, or strolled in the garden humming +the fragmentary tunes of the lonely. +</p> + +<p> +But she determined to believe in its delights; and indeed +much of it was glorious. It was glorious to shut the door of +the great playroom and loll in the tattered chair and read just +what she wanted to. Her first plan of reading had been much +more ambitious: she was going to work through all her father's +critical books, and at the end of each volume study every +masterpiece he had mentioned within its covers. But she could +not do this. Nothing that required effort could she study for +more than half an hour. She boggled at these Sir Thomas +Brownes and Donnes and Emersons and Carlyles, many of +whose sentences had to be enunciated twice or even three times +before one glimpsed a meaning. And poetry wearied her as +quickly, though every now and then a perfect phrase or a line +of tragic emotion gave her a spasm of delight. But her love +of these moments was not strong enough to overcome her +indolence; and she decided that she would profit most by reading +only those things that came easy to her—fiction, and the lighter +essayists, such as Lamb and Stevenson, and the jollier parts of +Shakespeare. With her reading of these people surged higher +and higher the longing to do as they had done, and the +confidence that she could do it. Sometimes she put books aside, +and got her ink and paper with a view to starting; but nothing +at present would come: the swelling <i>something</i> in her stayed +in its darkness and refused to filter through a pen. So she +resolved—as she preferred to resolve, for the deep chair was +cosy, and reading was so much easier than creation—that she +must go on stocking her mind. +</p> + +<p> +"Besides, I must have experiences, of which at present I +have nil." +</p> + +<p> +And then she would look out of her window over the road +that ran southward to the downs and the sea, and northward to +the cities, and wonder what her experiences would be and where +they lay. +</p> + +<p> +Now she discovered the hollowness of Miss Carrell. Full +of the excitement of her reading, she would want to pour it +all out to her frequent companion, but quickly found that Miss +Carrell was unable to understand, and consequently uninterested. +She shammed an interest, certainly, but it was at first +patronising, and always astonishingly uninformed. Daphne +gradually arrived at the difficult conclusion that she knew more +and understood better than her former governess. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell, in fact, was far from contented. Her gradual +supplanting by Daphne was painfully proved by the invitations +that at last began to arrive from neighbouring society. There +had been none of these before Daphne appeared, Mr. Bruno +having the reputation of a recluse. But now a few fluttered in +like stray birds, and generally they were for "Mr. Tenter Bruno +and Miss Bruno." Seldom Miss Carrell. She was not sure +that with all her scheming she had not ruined herself. Here +was she, thirty, and only a waning manageress in a country +house. She had reached her highest point, five years ago, when +she had sent Daphne to school, and entered upon her reign. +At her age, this had been distinctly good. But now——? +There was little chance of marrying, with so few people +coming to Old Hall House. And yet nowhere else could she get +so well paid a post. She was caught in a prison she had built +for herself. +</p> + +<p> +Hazily Daphne saw all of this; but she was too happy to +desire the entrance of anything unpleasant, so strove to be +affable and even humble with the apprehensive Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +Too good to be yet believed—Daphne had the regular loan +of a saddle horse, a tall chestnut of sixteen hands. On frosty +afternoons, just before sunset, or summer evenings before the +dinner hour, she would ride it on Ditchling Common—<i>astride</i>. +The whole neighbourhood, she suspected, was impressed, and +talked about "new women." She pictured herself as she +appeared to them: her hair still down her back and tied by a black +bow; her costume consisting of riding breeches, overhung by a +divided skirt; her seat good but not yet perfect. She would +trot through the "toll-gate" on to Ditchling Common, still with +the childish make-believe that she was a highwayman. When +off the hard road and on the grass of the common, she would +set the horse cantering; and, being a spirited creature, it would +soon break into a stretch gallop. As a dance can be the rhythmic +medium of urgent emotion, so this straight-flying, body-poising, +breath-speeding gallop was the most satisfying art-form +for her present feelings; it was the expression of her glorying in +freedom and adulthood. The wind rushed through her hair, +and the blood tingled in her veins. Her face heated and cooled +in the air. She could have shouted. Had she not everything +she wished for? Where had Time swept that schoolgirl of a +few months back, who was punished in bedrooms? She +checked the horse and reined him in, bumping slightly as he +slowed down. Now he was walking, and she hollowed her +back for relief; and, slackening the bridle, replaced a disordered +hair. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Of her few friends Mrs. Montague Jevons, of Wildean +Manor, was the best. Mrs. Montague Jevons was a large-boned, +vivacious lady, who, as an intelligent admirer of the +Tenter Bruno books, had shown a great interest in their +author's daughter. A short acquaintance with Daphne had +developed this interest into something like a sane favouritism. +She called Daphne "her little friend" and treated her mind, not +as a child's, but as the equal of her own. She would invite her +to tea and a discussion on books, and would declare with +sincerity that the daughter would one day be as famous as the +father. It was she who daily sent the chestnut horse alongside +of a groom. +</p> + +<p> +In January of the second year, when Mr. Bruno really was +making a move about the <i>pied-à-terre</i> in Paris, Mrs. Montague +Jevons gave a ball at Wildean Manor. It would be the biggest +that Daphne had gone to. She was excited. And since +Mrs. Montague Jevons had been careful to invite Miss Carrell, she +could discuss to her heart's content the ball, her dress and the +tiring of her hair. Many experiments she tried with her hair, +till she decided to keep it exactly the same as it was every day, +only tidier. Any trace of effort was a flaw—as one learnt in +literary criticism. It wasn't Greek. And her frock was +Greek enough in its simplicity—an unornamented thing in a +silk of that shining green that suited so well her brown hair +and her colouring. As she turned before her cheval glass, to +appraise her completed toilet, something childish and (as it +were) breakable in the figure she saw there seemed to make +foolish the dream of powerful books and world-wide fame. +She provided sentences for the reporters who should one day +interview her: "No one who has read the works of Miss +Daphne Bruno, so masculine in their character, would conceive +of her as a shy, slim, and exceedingly feminine girl. But +there it is! Genius alights where it will. Miss Bruno clothes +in all the grace and charm of her sex her exceptionally virile +intellect." +</p> + +<p> +Soon the carriage was at the door, and apprehensively Miss +Carrell and she insinuated themselves under its roof, and were +conveyed along the dark, country roads. Wildean Manor was +a big, square, stone house to the east of Ditchling, and it was +some time before their carriage wheels crunched its half-mile +of drive. When the house, brilliantly alight, came into view, +both Daphne and Miss Carrell were disturbed by the certainty +that they were too early. Miss Carrell, Daphne could see, was +pretending to be very much in her element, if only because she +was feeling completely out of it; exactly as Daphne herself +was trying to appear old and self-possessed, if only because +she was feeling very young and ill at ease. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of other guests in the Ladies' Room, and the +glimpse as they stood in the big entrance hall of quite a few +people in the drawing-room where Mr. and Mrs. Montague +Jevons were receiving the guests, reassured them. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne pushed Miss Carrell in front of her towards the +loud-voiced gentleman in evening dress who was presenting +the guests. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Carrell and Miss Tenter Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +There was a flattering rustle and a silence as the famous +name was bellowed out, and she longed for the day when the +name of Miss Daphne Bruno could produce a silence and turn +all heads. With her companion, after a few exchanges with +the host and hostess, which included a whisper from Mrs. Montague +Jevons, "My dear, you're looking beautiful," she walked +across the floor to some chairs against the farther wall. Here +they sat down, and, since they saw no one whom they knew, +passed the time in watching the people as they were announced. +The lofty rectangular drawing-room in which they were seated +opened into a library of exactly the same dimensions, and as +both rooms were to be used for dancing, the band had been +placed on a platform in the farthest corner of the library. +From Daphne's chair she could see both the band in the library +and the people forming in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Among these a group of three suddenly made her crane her +neck. A blush began to warm her cheeks, and it spread over +her face as the group came through the doors into the +drawing-room. The father was a short, big-hewn man of sixty and +more, whose grim mouth was apiece with the thick chest and +the heavy, competent hands; the mother was a slim, tired +woman whose timidity might have been explained by her +husband's mouth; and the third was a tall, dark youth who, if +his features were not perfect (though indeed they were quite +good), had surely a figure of unsurpassable beauty. It was +the very measure of manhood: height, width, symmetry and +grace. Daphne looked down, hoping she would not be recognised +behind all these people. Fancy! Was that what he had +grown into? +</p> + +<p> +"Sir Roger and Lady Muirhead, and Mr. Roger Muirhead." +</p> + +<p> +No resuscitation of an old love troubled Daphne; only rose +the eagerness, since a recognition sooner or later was inevitable, +to impress him as the possessor of unlimited friends and one of +the most sought-after belles of the ball. Her programme must +quickly be filled. She stared at the profiles and the occiputs +of people she knew to induce them to turn round and perceive +her. Gradually they did so, and brought their men up and +introduced them. The names dropped into one place after +another on her dance card: waltzes, lancers, polkas, barn-dances. +It was like a game when one sought to fill vacant places against +the clock. She must have a "House Full" before Roger recognised +her and begged a place. But there were still some vacant +numbers when the band struck up the first waltz. It seemed +certain that he must see her as she danced among the other +couples. But he did not; as she swung round, talking idly +to her partner, she saw him dancing with a feathery girl and +conceding to her chatter the familiar twinkle with its +incomplete, tolerant smile. It would not have been Roger, nor that +youth of the supreme shape, had any one in the room danced +more gracefully than he. +</p> + +<p> +After the first waltz, to her delight, more men were brought +up and introduced. There was now but one place on her card. +That would fill after the next dance—and then her single +desire was to be discovered by Roger. But the next dance showed +her to him. She had passed quite close and felt his quick, +surprised look and thenceforward his ever-returning glances. +Not once did she look his way, but talked with vivacity to her +partner. Urged on by some of the younger men, the band +was prolonging the music, and soon she was aware that Roger +and his partner had sat down, Roger pretending to keep up a +conversation, but really watching Daphne. Once he seemed to +have mentioned her to the feathery girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you like to sit down?" asked her partner. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," she smiled brightly. "Let's last out as long as +any one else. I'm loving it." +</p> + +<p> +On they danced among the thinning couples, Daphne hoping +that her high colour would be attributed to the lengthened waltz. +The few times her eyes were in danger of meeting Roger's he +avoided them. He was evidently in doubt what to do. The +band finished at last, and Daphne was escorted to a chair by +her partner, who was gossiping gaily. She, too, made a +pretence of gay talk, but was really keeping a watch on Roger. +And in a little while Roger made an excuse to his feathery girl +and came across the floor. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Bruno, isn't it?" he said with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +At once Daphne suspected the course of action on which +he had decided: he was going to make no mention of his +boyish dropping of her, in the hope that she would have +expected nothing else from a little fool. <i>Her</i> course had been +planned for years past: a mixture of friendliness and indifference +suggesting that his lordly shake-off had been a negligible +incident, without power to hurt. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said she. "I saw you before, and wondered if you +would recognise me. I should hardly have recognised you, only +I heard your name called out." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, at any rate," said Roger, "you're going to dance +with me." +</p> + +<p> +The genial command was characteristic; Roger was priding +himself on his imperiousness. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think I can. There's only one I've got free...." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, let's see." +</p> + +<p> +He compared his card with hers. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'm dancing with some wretched girl on your only +vacant date." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, what a pity." She took back the card. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, there'll have to be an extra extra, that's all. If there's +an extra extra may I have the privilege——" He bowed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but there won't be one. There are three already." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but there will be one. I shall see to it." +</p> + +<p> +"All right, then.... Yes, thank you very much." +</p> + +<p> +"Splendid. I'll go and tell the conductor fellow at once that +there's got to be one.... I say, wait a minute...." +</p> + +<p> +Rather self-consciously he walked across the floor, and she +watched him speaking to the conductor, who smiled. Then he +returned. +</p> + +<p> +"That's settled all right.... Do you know what I said to +the man?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, how should I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, perhaps you'd better not." +</p> + +<p> +"All right." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps I'll tell you what I said when we're dancing +together." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't particularly want to know." +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't ask that. It may be good for you to know.... +It's rather taken my breath away seeing you here. I half +fancied I saw you the other day on horseback, riding a +strapping chestnut. I only came down here three days ago. But +then, I suppose it couldn't be." +</p> + +<p> +"Why not?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know. I can't picture you quite like that. How's +your young brother?" +</p> + +<p> +"He's just gone back to school." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes. I'm afraid I didn't see much of him at Sillborough." +</p> + +<p> +"You've left, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +It was meant to humiliate and didn't fail of its mark... "Left? +Glory, yes. I've been at Oxford a year." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course. <i>I'd</i> forgotten how old you were. Where was it +you saw me the other day? I didn't see you." +</p> + +<p> +"Then it <i>was</i> you. It must have been by the—just near +the—no, I forget where it was now." +</p> + +<p> +"Probably on Ditchling Common." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, of course, that's where it was.... Well, I must be +getting back now." +</p> + +<p> +The evening was old when he claimed her for his partner. +An old evening with a glittering record. It would have been +an exaggeration to say that she was the belle of the ball, +but none had been more remarked, none more sought after, +none more waited on, none more excited and vivacious than +she. And all the while she had been conscious of his staring +at her—staring in rather a dazed way. That was good. Good +if he fell rapturously in love with her again, while she felt +no stirring of love for him. When he besought her hand, she +would reply: "It's no good, Roger. I can't help it, but I feel +no love for you at all." She could wish that she were already +engaged to some one that she might mention it carelessly to +him. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Miss Bruno," said he, as he claimed her. +</p> + +<p> +The band had begun. They were playing a little languishing +waltz rather slowly. Both felt the wistfulness of the air and +for a long time said nothing. Daphne had a sense of having +lost several inches of her height and some years of her age +now that she was in Roger's arm. He was the first to emerge +from the abstraction into which the tune had sunk them. +</p> + +<p> +"Ye gods, what a tune!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, isn't it divine? Do you know what it is? I do." +</p> + +<p> +"Why"—he smiled his patronising smile—"are you a great +musician these days?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; but I learnt the 'cello at school, and one of the girls +used to play this on her violin. But I didn't know then it could +be so—so troubling as this." +</p> + +<p> +"Troubling—that's the very word. What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +She told him its name, but he didn't acknowledge the +information, and when she looked up at him she saw that his +eyes had been waiting to twinkle into hers. +</p> + +<p> +"From henceforth I shall always call it the Daphne Bruno +waltz." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be silly." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be rude, Miss Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know, I've just been thinking I've never been +properly introduced to you." +</p> + +<p> +"On the contrary, madam, you introduced yourself to me +with something approaching boldness from behind a +blackberry bush on the King's highway." +</p> + +<p> +"What silly kids we were!" +</p> + +<p> +"I wasn't so silly as I thought——" The unfortunate +sentence broke abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +They danced through the door of the drawing-room into +the library, and the sight of the conductor suffering (as Roger +said) all the pains of the artistic temperament prompted him +to ask: +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I tell you what I said to yon fiddler?" +</p> + +<p> +"If it's interesting." +</p> + +<p> +Excitement and supper had heightened his natural temerity. +</p> + +<p> +"I said, 'Look here, Sousa, unless you put on an extra extra, +I shan't be able to dance with the only girl worth calling a +girl in the room.' And he said—he seems a humorous fellow—he +said, 'Well, sir, in that case there'll have to be an +extra extra for an extra extra young lady.' And, of course, he +got impertinent and said, 'May I ask which one she is?' I +said, 'No, certainly not. Besides, it's perfectly obvious to any +one with any eyes.'" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked towards the conductor, and saw that over +his violin he was watching Roger and her. She could not +feel displeased with the man, since he had been told that she +was the only girl in the room. But she chose to turn colder +with Roger, and did not speak till he asked: +</p> + +<p> +"What sort of life are you living now?" +</p> + +<p> +She gave him an attenuated answer and deliberately +refrained from asking him anything about himself. He was +obliged to proffer the story unsought. As soon as he had +finished with Oxford he was to travel, and then go in for +politics. Possibly he would stand for their Cornish +constituency. +</p> + +<p> +"Cornish?" queried Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Didn't you know? That holiday we went to Cornwall"—he +blushed as he recalled which holiday it was—"father +fell in love with a little smuggler's cove, and swore he'd buy it +up and build a house there right on the rocks. And on his +principle of 'What I've once determined on, that I do,' he +went and did it. I wish you could see the place. It's rather +exciting. And what are you going to do in the future?" +</p> + +<p> +"Stay with father, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +The whimsical sparkle had come again into his eyes, she +saw, as she looked up for an explanation of his silence; and +the trembling, incomplete smile was at his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"Not for long," said he. "You'll marry." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I shan't." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you'll marry." +</p> + +<p> +"And why 'of course'?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because—because you're the sort." +</p> + +<p> +"I've just told you I'm not." +</p> + +<p> +"You've just told me you don't want to be the sort, but +you'd no say in the matter." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you'd explain." +</p> + +<p> +He hummed the waltz to the accompaniment of the band. +Then in a muted way he whistled it. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't very well. But it's a theory of mine that you can +always tell the girls who will marry—bar tragedies. I don't +know what it is about them. It's not beauty." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you very much." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't mention it. I'm speaking generally. It's some other +quality—a sort of sensuous attraction"—he stuttered, probably +not clear as to the meaning of sensuous—"though the quality +is rarely absent from beauty." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know what you are talking about." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I suppose you can't understand.... If your looking-glass +doesn't tell you, it's quite impossible for a man to." +</p> + +<p> +They danced on, and she noticed that once or twice his lips +moved as though he were trying to force words through the +inhibitions of pride. And at a moment when the band was +likely to dwindle to a finale, he jerked out: +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Bruno, I'd like to see you sometimes. Now that the +Downway House is vacant, we're——" +</p> + +<p> +She had been waiting for this advance, and quickly replied: +</p> + +<p> +"It's no good. I'm going abroad, and——" +</p> + +<p> +His look drove the rest from her head. His mouth had +set like his father's, and she guessed that he was enjoying +the strong man's huff. She decided to hurt him further. +</p> + +<p> +"What a long time the band's playing for." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" he muttered. "Do you want to stop?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I do. I'm tired. I've been dancing all the evening." +</p> + +<p> +"All right." +</p> + +<p> +He guided her quickly towards the chairs, and released her. +It was done with the courtesy that never failed him and yet +with suddenness, that she might feel he was not used to being +snubbed. His features had tightened—"gone tight"—she +invented the phrase that moment to express what Roger looked +like when thwarted or misunderstood. Triumph trembled +through her. The conductor, seeing that the two for whom he +had played the waltz had deserted, brought it to an end. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, good-bye, Miss Bruno. It's been quite nice to see +you again and dance once with you." +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye. There's Miss Carrell, I must run and speak to +her." +</p> + +<p> +She ran off, unconsciously humming the waltz; and Roger +strode as best he could towards his people. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0315"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XV +</h3> + +<p> +For quite satisfying reasons she thought frequently about +Roger during the next few weeks; there was no one else +much to think of; the only person who had ever leapt your +breastworks and kissed you behind a bush must always have +a romantic interest; and still more, a man who was patently +in love with you, when you couldn't feel the slightest stir +of emotion for <i>him</i>, was some one to be rather proud of. +She wondered if his passion would overcome his pride and +force him to write to her; and was already phrasing her +friendly but discouraging answer. But no letter appeared, +so she indulged herself in pictures of Roger with love +gnawing at his heart and pride denying him a cry. Once when +cantering on Ditchling Common she passed him, and, answering +his raised hat with a friendly bow, galloped away. At a +safe distance she swung her horse round to get a covert +glimpse of him, and saw him staring after her. He was +standing not far from Jacob's Post. One evening she was certain +he passed her house and gave it a quick glance. +</p> + +<p> +She determined to learn more about him from Mrs. Montague +Jevons. The subject was not easy to open till an afternoon, +when, calling at Wildean Manor after the dance, she +found Lady Muirhead among other ladies in the drawing-room. +Lady Muirhead, she discerned, was a woman of one subject—her +son. When other subjects were being bandied across the +carpet she was silent, but her interest immediately quickened if +some one asked, "And what is Roger doing now?" or remarked, +"How handsome your boy is getting!" Daphne moved to sit +beside her. +</p> + +<p> +"You've met Roger then," said Lady Muirhead, in response +to a casual allusion. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh yes, I danced with him here the other day." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you?" She glanced round the drawing-room, and +through the door into the library. "I didn't really catch your +name just now." +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, <i>you're</i> Mr. Tenter Bruno's daughter. I've heard about +you." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne coloured. "Have you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh yes. Your father's quite a famous man, isn't he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he's written a lot of books," acknowledged Daphne, +with a deprecating smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I'm afraid I don't read much. I never had much +time when Roger was young, and you get out of the habit when +they go to school." +</p> + +<p> +"You've only one son, haven't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, only one, though Roger was equal to a dozen in trouble." +</p> + +<p> +"Was he really? Not in health, surely?" +</p> + +<p> +"In health, good gracious, no! I suppose his bounding health +was the source of all his masterfulness and mischief." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, was he mischievous?" exclaimed Daphne. "How ripping!" +</p> + +<p> +"He's essentially a dominating character, I think, and I +suppose as they can't help themselves, it's not fair to call +it mischief." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne nodded. +</p> + +<p> +And Lady Muirhead, encouraged by such a listener, rattled +on with a record of Roger's domestic tyrannies, of which she +seemed very proud. +</p> + +<p> +When she had gone and the other visitors were departing, +Mrs. Montague Jevons begged Daphne to stay a little longer. +</p> + +<p> +"There, sit down," said she, after the door had closed on +the last lady. "And let me sit here.... Ah, for this relief +much thanks.... A particularly boring afternoon. And I +was so sorry for you, cooped up with the Muirhead Dowager. +I suppose she carried on insufferably about her boy?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it was chiefly about him." +</p> + +<p> +"Pity she goes on like that." +</p> + +<p> +"But it isn't all praise," suggested Daphne. "She spent +much of the time deploring his tyrannies." +</p> + +<p> +"Bless you, that's indirect praise. She's as proud as a +peacock of them," +</p> + +<p> +"But is it all true?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I like Roger. He and I get on splendidly. He's got +the most courtly manners with women. I think it's a sort of +feudal pose and unconsciously based on conceit, but as it's +spiced with a <i>soupçon</i> of humour and cheek it makes him a +pleasant companion." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne pursued her adverse criticism. +</p> + +<p> +"I should think he's now irreparably spoiled by his mother." +</p> + +<p> +"He's not been spoiled in the usual sense—old Sir Roger's +seen to that—but what's happened is this." Mrs. Montague +Jevons crumpled her brow so as to find a description worthy +of her keen analysis. "She's created a legend about the +masterfulness of the Muirhead men, and especially about the last +specimen of them, and the wretched boy's heard nothing else +all his life. The damage is probably final—he'll live up to the +amiable legend till the end of his days. You'll find the +characters he likes in history and books are the honourable but +merciless Cavalier overlords—Strafford, or people like the Earl of +Warwick, the King Maker. I try to chaff him about it, but +every man's sense of humour fails when it comes to himself. +Probably my chaffing only makes matters worse. He likes to +be chaffed about his 'indomitable will,' and all the rest of the +trash. No man ever didn't." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne's head nodded, implying that her experience was the +same. +</p> + +<p> +"I tell him," pursued Mrs. Montague Jevons, "that it's a +popular type beloved of housemaids, but the obsession's too +strong for chaff to expel it.... That's Roger." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The cost of a furnished flat in Paris, capable of housing +himself, his daughter, Miss Carrell, Hollins, and Owen in +vacations, was high enough to drive Mr. Bruno's mercury very low. +A new idea shaped in his mind, and the infernal noise of the +Gay City, as he walked its pavement seeking his <i>pied-à-terre</i>, +gave it stronger outline; he would find within a dozen miles +of Paris some inexpensive villa, from which Daphne and +Miss Carrell might descend as often as they liked on the Gare +du Nord, while he stayed with his manuscripts and his books +in a countryside peace. +</p> + +<p> +He found the place, and returned to England, not a little +eager to tell his daughter all about it. It was a Tuesday +evening, just after dark, when he arrived at Old Hall House, +flung himself into an easy chair, and cried for tea. That his +daughter had met him with a hail of questions, and hurried +after him into his study, and was now sitting on the edge of +his writing-table demanding information, he affected to have +hardly perceived. +</p> + +<p> +"What have you decided, Daddy—what have you decided?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's not her father that she welcomes," said he to his boot-laces, +"but the things he may have brought for her. A selfish +girl, and one without natural affection." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Daddy, what have you decided?" +</p> + +<p> +"Slippers, dear. If you like, you can get me my slippers. +It would have already occurred to a more beautiful nature." +</p> + +<p> +"If I get them for you, will you tell me what you have +decided?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have decided to say nothing about anything till I have +been fed, and fed very satisfyingly." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Father, don't be a cad. I've been waiting weeks to +know." +</p> + +<p> +"And I've been waiting weeks for a cup of tea.... I spent +a very enjoyable time in Paris, thank you. It's a city eternally +romantic, classic, realistic. You can imagine me entering the +Louvre with a worshipper's feet, and lighting my poor candle +at the shrines of Leonardo, Titian, Veronese, Rubens...." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, blow them! I'm screwed up to hear everything. I +made sure you'd tell me at once." +</p> + +<p> +"The music of English tea-things! It's unmistakable—and +it's music that Paris, in spite of its singular imitations, has never +learned." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you shan't have any till you have told me. I shall +hold it back." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, it's Hollins. Put it here, Hollins.... Thank you very +much." +</p> + +<p> +Hollins laid the tea-tray on a little table by the side of +his easy chair; and Mr. Bruno, with a running commentary +on Paris and its wickedness and English tea, poured out a +cup and folded over a thin slice of bread and butter. Daphne +sat on the writing-table. And over his bread and butter, +despite his jesting manner, his mind was asking the usual +questions: why, though the sight of her and the nearness of her +could inflate his love, he could never really get close to her, but +must always protect himself, as he approached, with a cloud of +persiflage; whether now at sixty it was too late to learn the +art of emptying himself and becoming like unto her; whether +he had exchanged life for books? "This man chose not to +live but read." Disproportion. Disproportion. Books should +be an elixir to heighten one's awareness to life, not a drug in +which to escape from it. +</p> + +<p> +"There." He pushed the tea-things away, and signalled +to her to come and sit on the <i>pouffe</i> which was his footstool. +</p> + +<p> +"Come here. I have a tale to tell you." +</p> + +<p> +And he lit a cigarette and began. +</p> + +<p> +"Some ten or a dozen miles nor'-nor'-west of Paris there's +a little cocksure village that calls itself St. Leu Taverny. It +straggles at the very feet of the Montmorency Forest. A few +days ago I climbed a cobbled street to the outer verge of the +forest trees, among which rose the turrets, not unpicturesque, +of the plaster châteaux, or villas, of wealthy Parisians. Grocers, +for the most part, I expect. In a little new-made avenue, +that finished in nothing, as if it had forgotten that it had +ever started, I found a very modest little villa in the centre of +a tiny garden of firs. Its windows had shutters thrown back +against the bricks, and on the sills those flamboyant iron-work +railings that so delight the French. Strange how the French +think themselves classical, and are the most flamboyant people +in Europe! In many ways the absurd little villa reminded +me of you. It was tall and narrow—and pretentious." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you being funny?" submitted Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Pretentious, with its turret up one corner for the staircase. +At the top of the turret—and this completes the simile—was a +cone-shaped roof, like a dunce's hat." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne only continued to watch the fire. She was getting +used to this sort of thing from her men-folk. +</p> + +<p> +"No," pursued Mr. Bruno, after thought. "The resemblance +can be carried farther, for I found the furniture within +to be adequate to its purposes and inoffensive, but quite +uninspired and quite without distinction." +</p> + +<p> +"But the outlook was beautiful," interrupted Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"The outlook was good. Yes, the outlook was good, stretching +over the garden of firs to the high ground and the trees of +Montmorency. Here and there, however, was a château such +as the vulgar dream of. One could wish for an earthquake to +remove them. I walked among the rooms, peopling them to my +fancy with a certain girl, and the excellent Miss Carrell, and +the entirely fundamental Hollins. Also perhaps a French slut +for the meaner tasks. I have taken the place for a year." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne leapt up. +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy, let's go to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +"'Some having no root sprang up.' ... We shall not +go to-morrow nor the next day, but possibly the day after +that. The <i>épicier's</i> wife was recommended to me as a person +who would light a fire and dress a dish to welcome us. She'll +have to be communicated with. But you can think about packing." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Packing! The word was galvanising. Packing to go anywhere +was among the liveliest excitements, but packing to go +abroad was in a class by itself. In what a cloud of romance +had her father, when she was a child, set off abroad! Refusing +to hearken to her brain, which assured her there was nothing +remarkable in a visit to Paris, she told every one she met +in the next few days that they were leaving for Paris on Friday. +Once over there she would really start writing. Foreign +scenes would be a spring of inspiration. Against this expected +seizure by inspiration she pushed into her trunks pens, pencils, +scribbling paper and manuscript books, having vague ideas that +French pencils and paper would not be the same thing at all. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell and Hollins, never having travelled before, were +equally if more secretly excited. Miss Carrell's inward +pleasure was slightly marred by the reflection that her meagre +knowledge of French, in which she had once instructed Daphne, +would be horridly exposed. Hollins, though pretending to be +"put about" by it all and to wonder how she would be able to +manage with a fast French kitchen girl, was really much +pleased, and inclined to emphasise to the other servants that in +this accompanying of the family, she was as usual a privileged +person. +</p> + +<p> +Friday, seen from Daphne's bedroom window at six-thirty +in the morning, was overcast, but windless and dry. It stayed +so. Throughout the day she had a sense that the excitement +of continental travel could be measured, as in a graph, by a +rising and falling line. The line began at a high point when +the carriage came to the door; it shot higher at the London +terminus where the words "Boat Train" flashed at you, and +French beards and French tongues wagged among the encumbered +people; it dropped and ran straight during the rumble +through Kentish meadows and hop-fields; it rose again, very +high, when they saw the boat with its twin funnels; it stayed +high, as they mingled in the bustle on the quay, and walked a +trembling gangway, and were confused by the voices, the loaded +porters, the luggage swung in upper air by the crane, the bell +from the bridge, and the throbbing of the engines; it was kept +high by the rush of wind and the repeated booming of the siren +as the boat moved out, and the hand-waving of less fortunate +friends ashore. Then it dropped and ran in a straight line as +they spent two hours in the grey channel; only to rise to its +highest at the first sight of French hills and the gradual +delineation of domes and roofs and lighthouses of Boulogne. Through +the greyness, France boomed a welcome. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrell, though rendered ill at ease by this rapid +approach to France and exposure, pretended to all the interest, +loudly voiced by Daphne. Hollins, too, smiled pleasantly at her +young mistress's happiness. "It's folks as young as them that +gets the full enjoyment out of this," said she to Miss Carrell, +and a few minutes later was sick. +</p> + +<p> +Dark had almost fallen before they were safely against the +quay; and they saw nothing of the place except the hideous +Customs and the ill-lit station with its comfortable Paris train. +Once the train had started and run into the complete darkness +outside the town, the glamour departed from the journey, +factitiously recovered sometimes by translating the <i>Avis aux +Voyageurs</i> printed round the alarm bell. Miss Carrell had a +bad moment when Daphne sought her aid, but luckily Mr. Bruno's +desire to display his knowledge was as great as her +desire to hide her ignorance. He did the translating, and she +prepared them for the worst by saying: +</p> + +<p> +"Really, I have rusted so. I can scarcely remember +anything. I used to be able to speak quite well." +</p> + +<p> +She need not have worried; both Mr. Bruno and her old +pupil had forgotten that she had ever been paid to teach the +language. +</p> + +<p> +All were tired, and Hollins after her sickness slept. The +excitement only reached its former heights when they ran +through the lighted suburbs into the Gare du Nord, Paris. +</p> + +<p> +"Here we are. Out you get. Tumble out." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne descended from the train into a confusion that +bruised all her senses at once: voices, pushing people, hiss +of steam, smell of smoke and soot, rumble of porters' trucks, +and cries of "<i>Attention là!</i>" The sounds and the smell—the +smell especially—raised into memory the day when first they +had trained into a London station, and she but eight years old. +Overtones of pleasant melancholy hung round the recollection. +"I am in Paris," she told herself. "I am now standing in +Paris." +</p> + +<p> +Alone in that overhanging noise and buffeting stream of +people Mr. Bruno seemed—or affected to seem—majestically +unperturbed. Conscious of the respect of his women, he talked +fluently to the porters, and led the way to the <i>Banlieue</i> booking +office. He chaffed his daughter, telling her to exercise her +French by ordering the tickets for St. Leu; but when she +tried she could only giggle into the little window. Miss Carrell +kept well in the background. Hollins, in spite of her weight +and difficulty in walking, often ran to keep in close touch +with the master, lest she were lost in this wilderness of +unintelligible people. +</p> + +<p> +Soon they were in a far less comfortable train. After +travelling first-class all the way, Mr. Bruno, alarmed by the +expenses on the journey, had decided that they could do +this last little bit in the <i>troisième classe</i>. The seats were +distressingly upright and wooden. Nor did they have the +compartment to themselves. Two Frenchmen, unaware of +Daphne's wrinkled nose, got in; one an enormously fat gentleman, +with a black square beard which made Hollins stare and +Daphne giggle at Miss Carrell, and the other a younger man +who never stopped talking and gesticulating to his companion. +He struck Daphne as equally funny. The fat man expressed +his real interest by nodding and picking his teeth through his +black beard; and Daphne whispered that he was perfectly +sweet. She maintained this view, even when he spat one of +his diggings out of the window, causing Miss Carrell to retire +further into her corner. +</p> + +<p> +Sitting in that train, after viewing the crowds in the Gare du +Nord, Daphne discovered afresh the <i>distingué</i> appearance of +her father. She felt proud that all should recognise him as an +Englishman. Tall and slender as an athletic youth, with his +pointed beard now grey, and his hair whitening over the ears—in +his faultless grey suit and grey overcoat—he had been splendid +among the English people on the boat, and was a lesson +to all Frenchmen in France. +</p> + +<p> +The train slowed into a badly lit station, and voices called +"<i>St. Leu ... St. Leu</i>." Daphne, with some idea of having +won a five hundred mile race, determined to step out first. She +threw open the door, saw a yawning blackness where the platform +should have been, and, stepping on to it, fell heavily to +the pavement—only saving herself from going on to her hands +and knees by her slippery hold on the carriage door. +</p> + +<p> +"There!" said her father. "The daughter arrives. Credulous +child to expect such advantages as platforms in a country +which calls itself <i>à la tête de la civilisation</i>! Are you hurt?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, it's lovely," said Daphne, though she could scarcely +put her right foot to the ground. She was not going to be +disloyal to her vision of this as one of the perfect days of her +life. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The luggage was left on the station, no carriages being +visible outside its doors; and Mr. Bruno led his party into +the darkness of a street lit only by occasional private +windows. Daphne could receive no impression of St. Leu as they +climbed the hill-road towards their house, except that they were +often walking on cobbles which sometimes stirred in that airy +emptiness of her ankle the strange, sweet pain. +</p> + +<p> +The little house, as they passed through the double gate +into its garden, showed a bright light at the hall door, and the +<i>épicier's</i> wife standing above the steps, smiling amiably and +rattling French. Everything was ready for them, said she, +but would monsieur like a glass of wine? Mr. Bruno accepted +this in the little dining-room. "<i>Et pour madame?</i> ... <i>Madame +Bruno, n'est-ce pas</i>?" queried the woman, with a look +at Miss Carrell. That Miss Carrell should be taken for his wife +was an error that amused Mr. Bruno, and, pointing to his +whitening hairs, he laughed, "<i>Non, non, madame. Regardez +mes neiges</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Oui, monsieur</i>," said she, her head dropping knowingly, +"<i>mais souvent sous les neiges on trouve des volcans</i>." +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. Bruno roared with laughter. +</p> + +<p> +"What did she say—what did she say?" demanded his +daughter. +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't you understand? Well, perhaps you'd better not. A +sad people, the French." +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes Daphne had been all over the house, +delighted with everything, though marvelling that it could so +fit her father's description, and yet be so different from what +she had pictured. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'd like to live here always. Why can't they build places +like this in England?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because the French are always faintly fantastic," explained +her father. +</p> + +<p> +He then led her to a bedroom at the top and in the front, +whose windows, as he threw them open, gave on to the stars +above the Forest of Montmorency. +</p> + +<p> +"This is undeniably the best room, Duffy, and it is to be +yours. Miss Carrell and Hollins can have the two smaller +rooms on this floor." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Father——" began she. Having always kept her +schoolgirl room at home, she was diffident of taking a room +superior to Miss Carrell. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," interrupted Mr. Bruno. "You are the mistress +of this house." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0316"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XVI +</h3> + +<p> +She slept that night with the resolve beneath her pillow to +be up and out before breakfast, but her weariness after long +travelling and the February darkness of the early morning +kept her sleeping till eight o'clock. Awakening and +remembering where she was, she jumped up and looked out of the +window. She saw the beginnings of the forest hardly a +field's distance from their little garden of firs. The fresh air +brushed her cheek and throat. Oh, she must be out—out to +examine France by daylight. So after quick dressing and a +hurried breakfast, she put on a warm coat and hastened through +the garden gate. +</p> + +<p> +The road on to which their little avenue ran was called, +as she observed after walking a little distance in the direction +from which they had come last night, the Rue du Château. +All the French history and French literature she had ever read +seemed touched to life by the three words. The château, her +father had told her, had been inhabited by the Duc d'Orléans, +Madame de Genlis, Queen Hortense and the Duc de Bourbon; +and she imagined these people walking down the cobbles where +she was walking. Madame de Genlis, as a writer of a hundred +books and a famous figure in a stirring age, interested her most. +She surely was Daphne's spiritual ancestor. +</p> + +<p> +But not only these romantic names of the past thrilled her; +the words over the shops, <i>épicier, charcuterie, estaminet</i>, and +the advertisements of <i>apéritifs</i> were exotic and quickening. +At the Place de la Forge the Rue du Château ran into a wider +thoroughfare called the Rue de Paris. Could any name be +more suggestive? Could anything be more typical than the tiny +statue of the Virgin and Child in a little niche at the corner +house, looking down on the road to Paris? In the middle of +the Place was a large fountain, from whose centre rose a +painted metal statue of a worker with his scythe, stripped to +the waist and drinking from a gourd as he paused in his +labour. Big-hipped women with shawls about their shoulders +and their heads <i>en cheveux</i> were filling their buckets there. +Little girls passed, carrying loaves as long as children. Boys +with socks and bare calves, wearing little capes and porters' +caps, walked over the cobbles to school. And the French +language in the treble voices of children first came alive to +Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to her right towards a plastery church, and on +its walls saw the words, <i>Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité</i>; and the +whole Revolution with a crowd of ghosts hovered about her +consciousness. She walked on till she came to a dusty square, +and from here she decided to climb through the side streets +to the forest again. As she approached its skied arras of trees, +a horn sounded from a café in its fringe, and awoke with its +notes Henry IV and Marguerite de Valois and the whole +pageant of Dumas. +</p> + +<p> +But a few minutes more and she was in the forest, walking +on a rutty and mossed road between untidy trees. On +her right she saw traces of a decayed and tumbled wall +overrushed by the tangled boscage. Farther, and she came +to a ruined gateway with tumbled brick pillars on either +side. Within was nothing but the confusion of trees and the +interwoven riot of underbrush. One could hardly trace what +had been the stately carriage-way. Still affixed to a tree was +the weather-worn notice of some haughty castellan, "<i>Propriété +Privée. Défense d'entrer. Pièges à feu.</i>" She strolled +on, trying to follow the line of tumbled wall, and thinking of +that gate and the words, "Forbidden to enter"; and suddenly +she saw, as she looked over it, woodcutters stacking faggots, +and hatless, aproned women gathering twigs. +</p> + +<p> +Though impressed by the futility of ambition, she felt the +very melancholy an urge to write. "Broken gates of ruined +châteaux," she murmured to herself. "Broken gates...." Tinkling +bells disturbed her dreaming, and round a curve in the +trees came a bareheaded girl with a flock of white goats. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +That afternoon she took a pencil and some scribbling paper, +and walked in the winter sunshine round and round the narrow +house, wondering what to write about. She had bad moments +when she felt that in all her life there was no emotion on which +she could draw, and that her invention, when put to the test, +was completely sterile. Still, it was pleasant to moon about the +garden thus, striving to see in the populous regions of the past +a tale worth telling. +</p> + +<p> +But the next day she was secretly glad that the brain-tiring +subject could be put aside in favour of the first exciting visit +to Paris. And during the next few weeks she persuaded herself +that she might legitimately neglect her actual writing, since +she would be completing her preparation for the great work +by all the education to be sucked out of intelligent visits to +Paris.... No, it was not an excuse to escape from effort, +but real hard work. +</p> + +<p> +And February passed into March, and the spring came peeping +in the trees of Montmorency, and still there was nothing +on the scribbling paper—except scribbles. +</p> + +<p> +But if she had not written much, she and Miss Carrell had +learned Paris like a loved book. They talked proudly of the +Palais Royal, the Louvre, the Boulevard des Italiens, the Palais +de Justice and the Pantheon. Sometimes Mr. Bruno joined +them in the evening and they dined on the boulevards, +watching the crowds and the traffic hurry by, to the music of the +paper women shrieking, "<i>La Presse! La Presse!</i>" They had +been to the Opera, and Daphne, lifted to the roof by the +singing of the soprano in the finale of the first act, and by the +storm of applause at the curtain's fall, began to wonder whether +her own genius might not really find its issue in great singing +or great acting. She felt no longer sure of being a great writer. +She was sure only that she was a genius. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +April, May and June passed in an alternation of gay sightseeing +in Paris and lonely fancy-gathering in the Montmorency +Forest. Both were forms of delight, but there was a distinction. +Visiting the city was entertainment and stimulation, but +the solitary saunter a-dream among the burgeoning trees was +that serene happiness that could only be called blessedness. She +did not believe a more perfect serenity could be attained. And +it could only be compassed alone. Had she had companions +who could understand, it might have been very good to talk +over her aspirations sometimes; but there were none. Her +father was either too busy, or his knowledge too overawing, to +be told of his ridiculous daughter's pretentious schemes. No, +she would surprise him one day. So she wandered alone with +her thoughts like the girl with the white goats. Bliss it was: +and there hardly emerged the fear, though it moved to birth +at times, that this was the bliss of a drug—that the long, +luxurious brooding on what she would one day do was daily unfitting +her for doing it. +</p> + +<p> +In July, when they should have gone to Switzerland, +Mr. Bruno decided that his work would not allow him to gratify +this desire till next year. Nor should Owen, who had now +joined them, take Daphne to the mountains, for himself had +fixed his heart on doing that. So he sent both children to +the Belgian coast, where they spent delightful days in Ostend +and Middelkerke and Westende. This was to be every minute +a holiday, decided Daphne, and writing was abandoned for +bathing and sailing, and mild gambling at casinos and dancing +at hotels. To recline on and finger the fine shingle, or watch +the little rills running down their channels in the corrugated +sand, or to sit up and hurl flat stones so that they leapt and +ricochetted on the smooth sea was to live with childish +memories. This holiday she discovered Owen: that he was a tall, +presentable boy with the graceful figure of his father; and +astonishingly efficient, managing all their money affairs and so +leaving her to lax enjoyment. The fact was, each for the +first time was proud of the other. +</p> + +<p> +In September, when they returned to St. Leu, she realised +that her holiday was over and she must now start again on her +work. But as she and her brother pushed open the gate of +the little garden of firs she was dismayed to find herself +dreading the task and the repetition of the long, worrying +hours that ended in a few scribbled lines and unmeasurable +discouragement. The shock was like a moment of overthrow. +Was she one who had the creative temperament without the +power to create? No, no; that would be too awful a disappointment. +She was indolent, that was all. When she was supposed +to be unpacking upstairs she was really facing a +revelation. She was mentally and physically slothful. And why? +Why, when she knew she was charged with a vitality of body +and mind? It was habit. It was the legacy of her childhood. +She walked to the window and looked out upon the forest. +Loth to do it, she was yet angrily blaming her father and all +the careless people about the steps of her childhood who had +allowed her to learn indolence and practise it to perfection. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Once the chaos stirred and the spirit of creation moved +above it. She had been drifting about the forest glades, +strewn with old leaves and broken twigs, and after descending +a flexuous lane, happened upon a white church. It was +Taverney Church, and five hundred years old, from the evidence +of its clerestory windows, which were as lovely as those +of an Early English cathedral. Beyond it thronged the houses +of Taverney. She walked into its walled cemetery, a strangely +silent place bounded on three sides by the forest trees and on +the fourth by the high wall of the church. Epitaphs were +always interesting, so she wandered among the graves, moved to +sadness by the tawdry wreaths of wire and beads and the china +flowers. One grave, because it had many such offerings and a +border of pansies, stayed her to examine it closer. On the +stone slab she read: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "<i>Ici Repose<br> + Geneviève Rollier,</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and in silver lettering on one cross of beads, "<i>A Notre Mère</i>"; +on another, "<i>A Notre Amie</i>"; and on a wreath that seemed by +right the largest, "<i>A Mon Epouse</i>." There was a scroll across +some dirty china flowers with the words, "<i>Nous ne t'oublierons +jamais</i>." She stared at it, unconscious of a drooping mouth. +She was wondering what Géneviève had achieved before her +husband and her children laid her there; whether their loving +offerings had outlasted their sadness; whether Géneviève's life +had been worth while. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she looked up. She knew that never before had +she been so conscious of her response to all the pain in life. +It pleased her that she could sense it thus and be troubled by +it. Here was the secret of how to write it. You must really +feel with men—and what had she felt so far? How completely +self-centred her life had been! And as long as it was +self-centred you could not really feel with others.... She +would like to begin being unselfish—a saint perhaps; the peer +of St. Theresa as well as of Madame de Genlis. +</p> + +<p> +Out of her pity for this woman, why should she not write +an imaginary life? Yes, she would do it. They would be +here many months, and how she would enjoy studying local +colour, local history and local temperaments! ... It was so +much easier to study conditions and jot down notes, in a book +than to grind at a table.... She caught that thought as it +flitted through her mind, and wrung its neck. "Madame +Rolland" should be a masterpiece, and she would spare no labour +on it. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout that autumn and winter she did struggle on +odd days to get something on paper. But oh, it was difficult! +How often was she tempted to throw down her pencil and +dream again! And that inspiration in Taverney Churchyard—where +was it? She had to bully and shake her memory to +find out what the emotion had been. And it would be a great +relief sometimes to decide she must walk back to the cemetery +and find out. +</p> + +<p> +With the spring came all the excitement of thinking about +their summer visit to Switzerland and Italy. But April brought +moments of dismay. The Uitlanders of the Transvaal, some +dusty country thousands of mile away in South Africa, had +sent a petition to the Queen for protection from strange +Dutchmen called Boers. And Mr. Bruno, pleased with the drama of +it and with his own keen vision and understanding, talked of +an inevitable war. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course there'll be war. Any one with twopence worth +of imagination and knowledge of Englishmen can see how the +tale will write itself.... So what about your continental +trotting now, Duffy?" +</p> + +<p> +She hardly knew whether to think him teasing or to be +alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +"But what on earth has it got to do with us going to +Switzerland?" +</p> + +<p> +"Everything. You've never seen a real war, have you? +Small things like authors' incomes are apt to disappear. And +now you're going to see a war, when English people won't be +able to show their faces on the Continent for fear of being +spat on." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Daddy, it won't happen. It can't. At least, not till +we've been and come back." +</p> + +<p> +So Mr. Bruno hoped, too indolent, really, to believe +otherwise. And when the Dutchmen of Cape Colony moved to +mediate between England and the Transvaal Boers he affected +a great relief. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Duffy, I think you might pack—with a heart full of +thanks to these godly old men of the Africander Bund. They've +been your good fairies. At any rate, nothing'll happen for +some months yet." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0317"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XVII +</h3> + +<p> +When, one early July afternoon, Daphne and her father +arrived at the Hotel Frohnalstock, at Brunnen, on the +Lake of Lucerne, she learned that the news of their coming +was already abroad among the guests, and looked forward to +her descent that evening into the lounge or on to the terrace +where these interested people would be waiting for their dinner. +There was the pleasing memory, too, of six very simple but +very new dresses in her trunks. She selected in her bedroom +the one of pale cinnamon, and had completed her dressing by +seven o'clock, which was half an hour too soon. Much too +soon, for she had determined that her father and she should +not enter the lounge till five minutes before the meal, so that as +many people as possible might be congregated there. Twenty-five +minutes to wait. +</p> + +<p> +The French windows of her bedroom opened on to a private +loggia; and stepping out into an air of Egyptian warmth, she +purposed to kill time by staring at the lake. To her this view +from her bedroom balcony seemed the most wonderful on +which she had ever gazed. From the gardens at the hotel's +base, four stories below, the lake spread a width of tranquil +water, brilliant in the evening sun, till it lost itself in the dark +reflections of the pine-clad mountains opposite. To the left—for +Brunnen was almost at the lake's end—the water appeared +to finish in a dark corner, shut from light by the wooded slopes. +Above the pines before her rose the white peaks of the +Urirotstock. At their foot, where the mountains formed a headland, +a white rock, not unlike a coarse obelisk, stood alone in the +water. Somewhere in the trees was the Rutli meadow where, +many hundred years ago, the representatives of Uri, Schwyz +and Unterwalden swore their forest cantons into an eternal +alliance—and Switzerland was born. +</p> + +<p> +It was her father who had decided that they must come first +to Brunnen. Was not all its surrounding country—Schwyz, +and Einsiedeln, and the Rutli meadow, and the Tellskapelle—the +cradle of Swiss history and the holy ground of Swiss legends? +Never would she forget her approach to it by steamboat from +Lucerne. The grandeur of the mountains and the serenity of +the water had raised in her, as she sat staring over the rail, a +longing for intenser emotions than she had yet known—love, +she supposed, no matter whether it brought joy or tragedy. +She felt that she was ripe for something like that. Her mind +was not superstitious; she had no belief in destiny or that she +had been brought to this incomparable place for a pre-ordained +experience. She just wondered whether, since something must +happen some day, it might not happen here. She was now +nineteen. +</p> + +<p> +Five past seven. And dinner was at seven-thirty. During +the next twenty minutes she kept looking at her watch, like +an actor before the calls, "House-lights," and "Curtain." At +twenty-five past she walked into her father's room next door. +</p> + +<p> +"Come along quickly," she said. "They all know you're +here, and I want to show you off." +</p> + +<p> +They descended the wide, soft-carpeted stairs, Daphne with +that unusual quiet and dignity which the consciousness of +evening dress can throw about those unaccustomed to wearing it. +As they entered the lounge and she pretended to be looking for +some chairs the flutter of interest among the people made her +more self-conscious than ever. She knew that all were glancing +at her father and herself over newspapers, liqueurs or pince-nez. +This feeling of notoriety threw her into an over-acted +naturalness, and she said rather loudly: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, there we are, Daddy; there's a table and two chairs. +I'll bag them." +</p> + +<p> +And she almost ran towards them. Then she sat down, and, +picking up a French journal, tried to appear at ease. +Sometimes, however, she swept her eyes around the guests. There +was still in her mind the wonder if, by faint chance, he, the +lover, was there. No, she didn't think so. Once she did +encounter the eyes of a young man who immediately avoided +hers and became lost in a book—proof that he had been staring +at her. Not liking to look his way again, she kept her quick +impression of fair hair, none too tidy and inclined to fall +towards one eyebrow, a clear forehead, and a very ordinary, +rather childish but rather "sweet" face. His dress seemed +slightly different from an Englishman's. Later she snatched +another glance at him, just as a draught from the open windows +blew that falling hair right across his forehead, and she thought +that Shelley—at least in brow and hair—must have been like +that. +</p> + +<p> +A gong sounded in some remote passage, and its din grew +louder as it was brought towards the lounge. The young man +rose, and she saw that his figure was other than she had +expected: he was tall, stooped a little, and, though probably +twenty-five years old, had not yet lost the gracelessness of +seventeen. A girl, almost certainly his sister, joined him, and +they walked together into the spacious white restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +During dinner Daphne was more than once aware that he +had resumed his study of her, though pretending to chat with +his sister. It was always her, rather than her father, that he +watched, so she began to doubt if it was the Bruno name that +engaged him. It looked very like instant admiration. One +could not but return an interest. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner, on the broad terrace that overlooked the lake, +she sat with her father listening to a string quartette and +watching other people walk up and down. The youth was among +them, walking with his sister and an older man, who was +conceivably her admirer, and every time he passed Daphne +he pretended to know nothing of her nearness, talking gaily +to his companion. +</p> + +<p> +Soon her father yawned and spoke about early bed after his +disgusting night in a train, but she begged for permission to +stay up at least till ten, and presently he left her there. She +got up from her chair, and, going to the balustrade of the +terrace, watched the changing light on the water. A primordial +darkness possessed the Rutli trees, and a night that was almost +frightening filled the corner where the lake ended. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Next morning she was very late in getting up, and breakfasted +alone between half-past nine and ten. Hurrying over +the coffee and rolls, she passed out of the restaurant's doors +on to the terrace to see if her father were sitting there with a +book. She saw him twenty yards away in interested conversation +with the youth who was seated, with obvious reverence, +at his side. Hastily she withdrew into the restaurant and +walked into the lounge through its communicating doors. There +in an easy-chair she browsed the pictures in some English +magazines till her father, entering from the terrace, stared +about the room as if seeking his daughter. She whistled a +long, fluttering note with a curve at its end, and Mr. Bruno +perceived her. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy," said he. "Do you want to play tennis?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well"—he sat beside her—"there's an American boy here +who came up to me this morning——" +</p> + +<p> +"You mean Shelley." +</p> + +<p> +"Shelley? No, Detmould he calls himself. He came up to +me with a most becoming modesty and asked if he might make +himself known as he was a great admirer of your father's +books—and tried to write himself. We've been having a most +stimulating talk. He's got brains; indeed, a remarkable mind, +I fancy. I should think he'll do something one day." Daphne +exhibited interest, although disappointed that it had been the +Bruno name, after all, which attracted him. "But now he's +just asked if I and my daughter play tennis. I told him my +age, which I am glad to say surprised him, and then said I'd +ask you if you'd like to play." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, rather!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then I think if you'll whistle to him as you did to me just +now he'll come to heel." +</p> + +<p> +"You whistle to him," suggested she. +</p> + +<p> +"Personally, I make a distinction between dogs and men," +said Mr. Bruno, getting up and walking towards the terrace. +"To men I generally cough." He coughed and h'med, and +drew the American boy into the room. +</p> + +<p> +"This is my daughter, Mr. Detmould." Daphne jumped up, +incurably thinking of herself as a child. "She ought to play +well, since she's fresh from school." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not fresh from school. I left over two years ago." +</p> + +<p> +"She was more or less expelled two years ago, since when +I've had her on my hands. Duffy, this is Mr. Detmould, who +kindly says you may play with him and his sister." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, thanks. I should love to.... Shall I go and change?" +</p> + +<p> +She asked this of the young Detmould, who seemed rather +embarrassed, and stuttered: +</p> + +<p> +"Sure; if you will, thanks; and I'll go and get Elsie and +Clarkson." +</p> + +<p> +His American accent pleased her. +</p> + +<p> +When she returned in a white tennis coat to the lounge she +saw the young Detmould in flannels, and talking deferentially +to her father. With his white shirt open at the throat, his +hair already blown and his rather childish features, he would +have looked a growing schoolboy, had it not been for a +set—almost pained—thoughtfulness in his eyes and mouth. He rose +as she entered, said: "Well, good-bye, sir," to Mr. Bruno, and +led the way to the tennis-court. +</p> + +<p> +The tennis-court was of dried earth, and had been cut out +of a wooded slope. On three of the banks, therefore, were +trees: horse-chestnuts and figs, with firs behind, and under +the branches a few old and blistered garden-seats. A beaten +track climbed from the gate in the surrounding network to +the garden seats. At the minute, on the pale, slate-coloured +earth, Elsie Detmould was playing a single with Mr. Clarkson, +their companion of the previous night. They stopped as +Daphne appeared. +</p> + +<p> +"It's awfully nice of you to come," said Elsie with her +pleasant American drawl. "I'm afraid none of us are any +good except Henry"—she nodded towards her brother—"and +he's terrible." +</p> + +<p> +Then Henry was his name—Henry Detmould—and he didn't +fit either. +</p> + +<p> +In the first set Daphne was partnered with Henry, and +whether it was that she was excited by the all-conquering play +of her partner, or aided by the weakness of Mr. Clarkson and +Elsie, she knew not, but she played as she never remembered +playing before. The set went to her and Henry at 6-0. +</p> + +<p> +"Goodness!" exclaimed Elsie. "I guess you're a player. +What's wrong with a change of partners?" +</p> + +<p> +Flushed with her success, Daphne determined to play her +hardest against Henry, and she and Mr. Clarkson fought a +fine losing battle. The points were contested with such +obstinacy that each time they were won or lost she threw up +both her arms and shrieked with excitement. And at the set's +close she said over the net to Henry Detmould: +</p> + +<p> +"You've no business to play at all, playing as well as that." +</p> + +<p> +He blushed, and his sister endorsed: "He is horrible, isn't +he?" +</p> + +<p> +Tired, they were moving towards the seats, Elsie Detmould +and Mr. Clarkson in front, and Daphne and Henry following +with the net between them. +</p> + +<p> +"But you'll make a wonderful player yourself," said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm no good," protested Daphne. "I didn't play all +last year." +</p> + +<p> +"You're a born player. All you want is a spell of singles +with some one a little stronger than yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think so?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Will you—will you play at least one set of singles +with me every day. I should love to—to bring you out." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, may I? But won't it be horribly dull for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all. I——" There he stopped, unable to phrase +exactly what he was thinking. They were on the beaten path +now, she leading, and when they reached the seat he picked +up her white coat and silently helped her on with it. +</p> + +<p> +After a rest they decided on a return set, and Daphne in +her keenness ran first down the track on to the court. When +all were placed for play, she frowned through the strings of +her racket at Henry saying: "Now, don't you be too much of +a beast this time," and he looked awkwardly away, but smiled. +In this set she did not play so well, being anxious to justify +his invitation, and, when it was over, felt compelled to say: +"You can withdraw your invitation if you like." +</p> + +<p> +"No," smiled he. "I've no desire to. In fact, if you play +badly I shall put you through a longer course." +</p> + +<p> +She answered nothing, but again walked ahead up the beaten +path. That Henry Detmould, even as Roger six years before, +had been attracted to her from the first glance, was plain +enough, and that her own response was already troubling her. +It was a different response. This American boy had not +Roger's good looks to quicken her admiration and pride; she +knew nothing whatever about him, and yet—Heaven only +knew why—she fancied her heart was beating a little quicker +for him. +</p> + +<p> +Having returned to the hotel, she ran up all those stairs, +dismissing the last of her breath, and, before preparing for +lunch, entered in her diary: "Played tennis 10.30 to 12.30 with +Miss Detmould, Mr. Clarkson, and Shelley." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She did not see him again till after dinner on the terrace. +Then when the quartette was again playing they found themselves +sitting side by side and watching the evening as it fell over +the water or lit up behind the mountains. +</p> + +<p> +The talk had begun with perfunctory remarks about their +tennis, but it only became really interesting when the falling +darkness inspired them to discuss themselves. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know," said Henry suddenly, "I'm really bowled +over by meeting your father and you here. I've so long been +a student of his books. In fact, I think they decided the +course of my life." +</p> + +<p> +Next to hearing praise of oneself the most uncomfortable +thing is to hear praise of one's parents, and Daphne replied +awkwardly: +</p> + +<p> +"They are quite good, aren't they?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think they're magnificent." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you published any books?" +</p> + +<p> +"Lord, no!" muttered he. "And I've very little hopes of +any one ever publishing my stuff; but I'm always writing, and +always shall do. Do you write, too?" +</p> + +<p> +"I want to." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you will, then. You're sure to." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know." Daphne's head shook. "I'm losing hope. +I seem to have no powers of invention at all. I can't invent +any plot that hasn't been done before." +</p> + +<p> +"Invention! What do you want with invention? Invention's +the opposite of true art." +</p> + +<p> +Her face swung to his. +</p> + +<p> +"How do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Invention, inasmuch as it is invention, must be insincere. +Art isn't the invention of entertaining stuff, it's—it's—oh, it's +the liberation, for your own relief, of all the emotion stirred in +you by the spectacle of life. It's the transmuting into some art +form of your reaction, as we say in America—your reaction +to life." +</p> + +<p> +"Regardless of whether any one will read it, or publish it?" +queried Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Absolutely.... Or no.... No, you do hope, when you've +given a created form to your emotion, that there'll be those +one day who will recognise it as akin to their own, and care +to contemplate it, and even thrill to it.... But that mustn't +be the thought that drives you to write." +</p> + +<p> +This was the beginning. Henry poured out his views on +art. Art wasn't entertainment.... The true artist gave but +little thought to the spectator.... All he sought was +expression—escape—release.... And these ideas, coming on a living +voice, driven forward by a personality that attracted her, stood +clear before Daphne. Never from her confused reading had +they come out like this. She'd been wrong—she'd been all +along wrong; half of her desire to write had been hunger for +fame, and the other half imitation. Her reaction to life? She +hadn't got one.... And yet there had been moments.... Yes, +perhaps one-tenth of her desire had been the true impulse. +</p> + +<p> +The talk became a confession where Daphne, as a penitent, +sought counsel from her director. She confessed that, so far +from having emotions and a view-point of her own, she was +never thrilled by a noble passage in an author without wanting +to write like him and from his view-point. +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly," said Henry. "Your reaction has been to literature +and not to life." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet I don't know," demurred she. "There have been +times——" And she told him the story of Taverney Churchyard. +Henry listened, sometimes wrinkling his brow at the +lake as he thought out answers, sometimes turning to watch +her as she spoke. His reply lingered, and when it came was +strange. +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me asking it, but have you suffered at all in your +life?" +</p> + +<p> +She smiled over the inevitable reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Not much, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +"Because I've a fancy that it's not till we've suffered a great +deal that our hearts, when they are moved like that, will be +so charged with sympathy that it gives us much—everything +to write." +</p> + +<p> +And ambition. What was to be done about her ambition? +Must she believe, then, that she was a sham—for she was sure, +whatever he said, she would never expel it? "I do want to do +all you say, but I do want to be famous, too, and soon, while +all my friends are alive." +</p> + +<p> +Henry thought long, and once ran his fingers into the hair +that the breeze on the terrace was blowing across his forehead. +"No, it must go," he said; and at that moment he threw the +end of his cigarette over the balustrade as if it were Daphne's +ambition. It must go. It was a corruptive principle. All +that could remain of it was her hope to please the few who +would understand. +</p> + +<p> +"I am convinced that many true artists start from those two +points of ambition and imitation, and work through, dropping +the false values, one by one, till they discover their real selves." +</p> + +<p> +Silence, till Daphne asked: +</p> + +<p> +"But if you never get anything published at all?" +</p> + +<p> +Henry looked along the emptying terrace. They must have +been talking for hours. +</p> + +<p> +"A really big thing, I fancy, always gets through—sooner +or later. But, at any rate, people like you and me, if we're +never able to produce anything big enough, at least can join +the few who understand." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When she smiled "Good night" at him at the lift door and +walked along the corridor to her bedroom, she had a sense +that she had enjoyed the most wonderful conversation in her +life. With no one else had she been able to talk like that. In +such an intimacy was a serenity as delightful, as blissful—there +was no other word—as when she walked with her thoughts +in the glades of Montmorency. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0318"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XVIII +</h3> + +<p> +But these intimate conversations belonged, as by right, to +the darkness of after dinner. The sunny mornings—and +in the summer of 1899 the days were monotonously, illustriously +sunny—would see them on the tennis court, playing their +practice singles. Enthusiasm more and more possessed Daphne +as she found her strokes getting stronger, her eyes surer, and +her feet swifter. She still ran shrieking from side to side +of the court as he placed the ball now in one corner and now +in another; and when she shrieked she apologised, promising +"she would not do that again." If he beat her with a malicious +and impossible ball she looked angrily at him through the +strings of her racket, and even threw out her tongue. +</p> + +<p> +When the games were over, and he declared that he was +thirsty, she would say, "So'm I. Let's go and get some +fizzy." And they would walk back to the terrace, where she poured +out the drink for him. Always she remarked that when she +was close to him, pouring out his drink, he would be silent and +almost painfully abstracted. That she was encouraging him +she knew, but could not cease from it; something compelled +her to show that she was happy in this fellowship and ready +to think of herself and him as a separated pair. +</p> + +<p> +Soon her father took to coming and watching them at tennis. +He must learn, he said, whether there was anything in this +noisy rumour of his daughter's skill. As an outcome of his +survey he was struck by his daughter's exceedingly good form +in the matter of tennis and her exceedingly bad form in the +matter of manners—shrieking and leaping as she did whenever +there was occasion for triumph or reprobation, shouting +"Oo!" and "Lordy!" and "Coo!" and even staring impudently +at the young man through the grill-window of her racket. +The second time he watched, an early evening after tea, he was +strongly impressed by the unconscious or subtly concealed way +in which she was throwing herself at this American boy. He +pulled his moustaches over it, sitting under the chestnut trees +above the play. The thing interested him as a philosopher +and a student of human nature, and he ruminated, detached +from it, as though the girl were not his daughter. In watching +this attraction between a man and a maid, thought he, he was +very near to the acme of things. If to a vitalist philosophy +love was life at its greatest intensity, here was he watching +it break through and bud vividly. An unconscious youth and +girl didn't realise that this was the explanation of their genius +for love. Yes, life touched no higher point than this; and +nuptials, therefore, to those who could see, were a coronation +ceremony of life. +</p> + +<p> +These thoughts were interrupted by the game's early close. +Young Detmould had promised to meet his sister returning +on the steamboat from Treib; and Mr. Bruno was slightly +disturbed to hear his daughter call out: "Oh, must you go? +What a shame! I'll come with you to the gate." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Bon Dieu!</i>" thought Mr. Bruno. "That's going rather far." +</p> + +<p> +The gate she meant was at the end of a narrow serpentine +path that threaded downward through the crowding firs. He +allowed her five minutes before following her; and then, lighting +a cigar to fortify him in a difficult interview, strolled along +the path. She was leaning, as he saw on turning the last +bend, against the post of the little swing gate, and sucking a +large and ungovernable sweetmeat. The American boy must +have just disappeared, and Daphne be indulging a reverie. This +sight of his daughter resting against a gate and symbolising the +acme of things touched him. He called: +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy." +</p> + +<p> +She looked up, startled. +</p> + +<p> +"Come back with me and be lectured." +</p> + +<p> +She replied nothing, but sucked the abominable lollipop (thus +treating his promised lecture with scanty reverence), and +taking her elbow from the gate-post came to him. And it was as +they were walking back that he said: +</p> + +<p> +"You're obviously throwing yourself at the head of that +American youth." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm not!" she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"You said that like a Cockney serving-girl. I tell you you +are deliberately—whether in the body or out of it I can't +say—throwing yourself at the besotted young man, who's quite +palpably in love with you." +</p> + +<p> +The sentence was music in Daphne's ears. She liked her +father to think that Henry Detmould was in love with her, +and so said nothing for fear of damaging the thought. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me, Duffy, what would you think of a bookseller who +was so unable to recognise a first edition that would one day +be of some value that he flung it into the twopenny box for +the first loiterer to buy?" +</p> + +<p> +She provided the answer expected from her. +</p> + +<p> +"I should think him a silly fool, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, but thou art the man—the creature, I mean." +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy, I'm not. You're imagining it all. Besides, you +might go on saying that for ever. I must like some one one +day." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; but, Duffy go slow, go slow. What you may think +is love is often self-hypnotism. You've always had a fairly +clear brain, so make sure first." +</p> + +<p> +"But how does one make sure?" +</p> + +<p> +"How? I don't know. I think time alone will test it for +you. What do you know of young Detmould? You've only +met him for a week or two. All I can say for him is that he +has the grace to be much shyer of encouraging you than you +are of him." +</p> + +<p> +"I've never encouraged him one bit." +</p> + +<p> +"Not deliberately and vulgarly. But whether you know it +or not, my dear, you hang out teasing flags." +</p> + +<p> +She ran upstairs to dress for dinner, and closed her bedroom +door, as if to add more privacy to her thoughts. She stood +behind her window and looked out. +</p> + +<p> +How did one make sure? +</p> + +<p> +What did she really feel? Certainly she wanted to keep +her lure for Henry, and her long thoughts about him. With +this new interest life had dyed itself very bright; and if a +wand could wave it away so that it had never been, everything +would drop into paleness again. Up till their arrival +at Brunnen her book-thoughts had crowded her mind, but now +Henry had sent them below and occupied their room. In his +talks on the terrace at night he had given her more than any +one else in the world. Not only had he unveiled the wrongness +in her approach to art, but his wide-thrown learning had +indirectly shamed her into disturbing realisations. He talked +of philosophy—and what did she know of philosophy? Wrinkling +his forehead, or pressing a hand on his hair, he spoke of +painters, sculptors, musicians, architects, declaring that he who +would be master of one art must be jack of them all—and she +knew hardly anything of the names he mentioned! Greatness, +she realised, as she listened in a humiliated silence, was not born +from dreaming on it, nor was it attained by the slothful who +read only what was easy. If you were to express your reaction +to life, you must aim at little else than all knowledge, so should +it be the reaction of a fine mind. All this he had given her. +Was she in love with him? She created a very private picture +of herself lying in Henry's arms, pressed against his heart. It +sent a tremor of joy through her. +</p> + +<p> +But what did <i>he</i> feel? There was that first night's staring +at her. There was his pointed choice of her to play tennis +with, though really she could be nothing more than a wild pupil. +And sometimes when he caught her eyes he swung his own +away uncomfortably. But was it only a passing attraction—a +holiday flirtation? No, it didn't seem like that. That strange +agitation of his hands, when she stood very close to him and +poured out his drink—it didn't look like flirting. +</p> + +<p> +She stepped forward and stood on her loggia, staring over +the lake at the fir-woods climbing the opposite mountain. The +evening was close, and the water filmed and inert. A little +boat with two people in it was coming home to Brunnen from +the Schillerstein. After watching it for a while, she quickly +turned her head leftward and upward to the floor above—where +Henry's window was. He was standing on his balcony, +looking down at her loggia. And he had seen her glance, and +awkwardly waved his hand, as if to show he was unembarrassed. +She pretended not to have recognised him, and retreated +into her room. +</p> + +<p> +That night there was dancing in the lounge. Daphne, with +a Spanish embroidered shawl about her shoulders, sat next her +father, watching the first waltz, and hoping Henry would soon +come and ask her to dance, that her father might be further +persuaded of his love. But not once did he come near her. +He danced two or three dances with his sister, and some more +with a very pretty girl, whom Daphne had often noticed. But +she was not jealous of her, for Henry as he waltzed seemed +abstracted and mechanical. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was not left without partners. The most persistent +suitor was a tall, moustached Swiss, who, having once found +her, was beyond question lost in admiration of his discovery. +She talked gaily to him in French, but was thinking all the +while: "Why doesn't Henry come? Is he hurt about +something? Did he think I snubbed him by not answering his +wave? I didn't mean to snub him—I was only shy...." She +tried a happier thought. "Perhaps he doesn't want to +compromise me by being seen so much with me, and this is so +public. Yes, it's that. It's a good sign, rather than a bad +one." But when they passed each other dancing, and he smiled +a merry recognition, as if there were nothing remarkable in +their not dancing together, she doubted again. "I shall know +to-morrow morning, if he asks me to play tennis with him as +usual." +</p> + +<p> +In the morning she dawdled on the terrace in the hope of +his invitation, but he passed her gaily, calling that he was going +to climb the Selisberg with his sister and Clarkson. Almost +it appeared as if he had made up his mind to avoid her. And +in the evening, after dinner, he, Elsie and Clarkson sat with +her father and her, and all discussed with perfect naturalness +their adventures during the day. Never did he attempt to +escape from the shelter of a crowd. At ten o'clock she retired +to her bedroom with her wound. "Time is so short. We +shan't have more than a month here, and we are wasting +precious days. Henry, you know you want to be with me. You +know you do." +</p> + +<p> +One day succeeded another without bringing back the former +intercourse. It was a mystery. Only when other people were +with them did they meet. And yet she knew all the while that +he was longing to have her alone. She would leave herself +in places where he was likely to arrive, and then, shy of +appearing to have done it on purpose, stroll away as soon as she saw +him in the distance. Sometimes when she was thus set for +him, the moustached Swiss would appear, and, though courteous +to him, she would be thinking: "I don't want you. I don't +want you. I'm awfully sorry if you're in love with me, because +I know what it is to love without return. I'm sorry." And +as soon as possible she would escape. +</p> + +<p> +Her father took her on carriage excursions to Tellsplatte +and the Einsiedeln Monastery, and Altdorf, and up the Furka +Pass to the Rhone Glacier; and on the same days Henry went +climbing with Elsie and their friend. A week of this mere +friendliness heightened her doubt to misery, and her love to +passion. Not now did she bring it to trial. She would not +so insult it. She was madly in love with Henry. She wanted +Henry with his boyish features and shape and his rich mind—his +mind that blent with hers and fertilised it. She wanted +him for her exclusive possession, to imprison him in herself. +She was unable to read, unable to talk to people, and annoyed +with her father when he came to chat. Always she wished to +be worrying out the problem, "Does he love me?" sometimes +answering it, "Yes, I know he does, in spite of all," and at +other times, "He did for a few days, he really did, but not +now." Or she refused herself so much comfort as that, +declaring, "No, he was never more than just interested." And she +would review every look she had seen in him, and every sentence +he had uttered, in quest of proofs that he had loved her; +and with a sunken heart decide that there was nothing that she +could twist into more than a transient interest. She played +an old childish game, "If I pass that post before some one +speaks to me, then he does love me," and if it went against her, +refused to believe in it. The terrace and the tennis court and +its seat under the chestnuts, and all the places where they had +been together, clothed themselves with pain. And if people +in their innocence spoke to her about Mr. Detmould, or "that +young American," she felt she had a proprietary interest in him, +and gave information as one who spoke with authority. +</p> + +<p> +Her fist had clenched over the vow: "You shall come back +to me first. I won't go to you. Time may be short, but you +shall come to me first." +</p> + +<p> +In the end, however, she went to him. +</p> + +<p> +He was sitting quite alone in a dark corner of the long +terrace, as far as possible from the people round the string +quartette. Pretending not to see him, she wandered past. +</p> + +<p> +"You look tired," came his voice from the obscurity. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh ... hallo!" +</p> + +<p> +He extended the chair that was next to him, leaving his arm +along its back. +</p> + +<p> +"Why not sit down?" +</p> + +<p> +After some meaningless hesitation she accepted the chair. +</p> + +<p> +"I will—for a little," stuttered she, as he withdrew his arm. +"But it's cold, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think so." +</p> + +<p> +It was a preamble to nothing; neither found more words. +She looked at the Spanish shawl, lying on her lap, and fiddled +with its embroidery. Something told her that Henry was +agitated and trembling internally, though nothing in his posture +or movements suggested it; only the foot of his crossed leg +swung gently. At one moment she knew that he was looking +at her arms, and she scanned them herself. Hard tennis had +made them slenderer than usual, and exposure had browned +them; they were trembling. +</p> + +<p> +"If you're cold," said Henry at last, "you'd better put your +shawl on. Let me put it round you." +</p> + +<p> +He took it off her lap and, as she bent forward without +looking at him, placed it about her shoulders, careful not to +touch her. She leaned back in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think you've been playing too much tennis?" +asked he. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no. Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"You look tired—and frailer." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I certainly shan't play much more. It's my ambition +to get fatter." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes!" +</p> + +<p> +"No," he repeated. "You're all right as you are. I like +your narrow shoulders—and your slimness—and your childish +clothes. I wouldn't have you different." +</p> + +<p> +As with such words they seemed to have fluttered very near +to something, both withdrew into silence. +</p> + +<p> +"Elsie and I and Clarkson are going to climb the Mythen +to-morrow." Thus he deliberately broke the pause. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes.... Or I'm supposed to be going too. I'm not sure +that I want to. I feel I'd rather laze about here. We go +away so soon." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you?" +</p> + +<p> +"In a fortnight's time." +</p> + +<p> +She showed no feeling, though the shadow of a future pain +fell near. +</p> + +<p> +"We're going on a walking tour," he continued—"over the +Furka Pass and down into Brigue. I was tremendously keen +on it, but the prospect bores me now. However...." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you weren't going. It'll be rotten here without your +sister and you." +</p> + +<p> +Henry uncrossed his legs and lit a cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you ever thought," said he, "that one never discovers +the truth of how to live until it's too late to live?" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I am twenty-five, and I've found no code by which +one lives a full life and yet hurts nobody. When I've read +enough and thought enough and got the brains to think out a +philosophy of living, I shall probably be too old to live." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne nodded as if she partly understood. +</p> + +<p> +After a silence that often moved with undelivered words, he +proceeded, gaining time between sentences by tending his +cigarette: +</p> + +<p> +"Take a hypothetical case. An artist of some sort—let us +say a man seeking to be a great, and, above all, a <i>true</i> musician—wants +to be loyal to life as it calls him—knows that he <i>ought</i> +to be loyal to it.... And it suddenly calls with a voice so +sacred that it seems almost like a religious call—through some +love, I mean—it—it calls him to the wilful snapping of all the +world's inhibitions. He is not in the happy position of +possessing a religion to tell him that these inhibitions are the laws +of God. If he were, the problem would be solved at once, and +his duty plain.... But instead, he suspects that they are things +improperly thought out, and enforced by those who have forgotten +what it was like to love.... Well, a vision has haunted +all artists that their road to beauty is through lawlessness and +danger.... They have seen that Art is a sort of Mysticism, +because you will never attain to its highest places unless you +are ready to leave all and follow life.... And it isn't pure +selfishness, as people say, for timidity and selfishness and +security often pull on the other side.... Oh, but this is old +stuff—much of it is in your father's books—but it comes alive for +one, when one is going through what thousands have gone +through before...." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think I understand," said Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +With that he stopped like a train against the buffers. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Between ten and eleven that night she stood near her window—or +out on her loggia, laying hands on the balustrade and looking +over the lake tranced by the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +"He <i>does</i> love me. I'm sure of it. Just now he does. And +I do love him. I love him madly." +</p> + +<p> +But why? Of his past or his full character she knew nothing; +she had only looked on his outward appearance, and into +his mind with its enthusiasm. But whether, to those who knew +him in the deep, he was good or bad she didn't care. She would +almost like to be told of sins he had committed, that she might +assure him they were nothing to her. +</p> + +<p> +But what would come of it all? +</p> + +<p> +"What do I really believe will happen? I suppose I really +believe we shall be separated when he goes, and perhaps come +together in the future, or perhaps not. But, of course, we shall +part without telling each other anything.... He couldn't very +well speak, after only knowing me a few weeks." +</p> + +<p> +Strange that, too sunk in the joy of loving, she was not made +miserable by this sense of shortness. It had not yet got through +her exultation, or the little of it that flushed her feelings, by +adding poignance, sweetened them. +</p> + +<p> +But what did he mean by that talk of the world's inhibitions, +and of timidity and selfishness and security pulling you back, +and of not hurting others? She could make nothing of this. If +he yielded to his love for her, how would he injure anybody or +affront the world? Was he perhaps engaged to a girl? Or—quick, +heart-gripping fear!—had he meant some one other than +herself—some married woman, perhaps—when he spoke of a +love that called him? Was he only using her as a friendly +person to whom he could pour out his trouble? +</p> + +<p> +"No, he meant <i>me</i>." Her heart steadied. "He meant me. +I'm sure of it. I can't tell why, but I know it." +</p> + +<p> +Resolved to keep this certainty and to take it into her dreams, +she turned into the light of her bedroom, leaving the window +wide open, for the night was close, undressed, and got into bed. +With a mind studiously emptied, like a room for Henry to walk +about in, she fell asleep. Her dreams, as often happened, had +nothing to do with him whom she had tried to will into them. +She dreamt that she was back in the months before they came +to Switzerland, wandering along the roads of the Montmorency +Forest, and watching the men quarrying the yellow stone for +the local villas, or the woodcutters stacking their faggots. Once +she was in a gloomy avenue of huge fir trees that approached +the gates of a château, and down the avenue came the girl of +her own age, herding her white goats. Of such places as +Brunnen, or of such people as she would meet there, she had as yet +no knowledge.... Now she was walking along a sun-spotted +glade towards St. Prix, where Miss Sims's class and Miss +Vidella's spectacled stare were awaiting her; and abruptly, +without break in the sunlight, and without wetting her in the least, +the rain began to tear through the branches. It was magnificent. +Any second the thunder would come. The first crash, +with its rolling echoes, woke her. +</p> + +<p> +She saw through her open window that it was early morning, +and the rain was rushing down in lines so perpendicular, so +visible, and so close as to seem like the warp of unmade linen. +A flash of lightning introduced another clap of thunder which +repeated itself, for interminable seconds, among the mountains +and in the great basin of the lake. There were rhythmical pauses +in the rain, and when its curtain was removed, the peaks, framed +by her window, stood folded round with clouds. She jumped +up to watch. The storm's rhythm was wonderful. For a few +moments the clouds would dissipate, revealing the snowfields +rosy with sunrise, and then condense again, and there would be +thunder and the shattering curtain of rain. +</p> + +<p> +The immediate message of the storm was one of hope. Henry +was to have gone climbing the Mythen to-day, and now, perhaps, +he wouldn't go. In mid-morning the weather would clear and +they would play tennis, or it would stay wet and they would +find some sheltered place to talk. Her watch said five o'clock; +if only she could keep the storm over Brunnen till Elsie and +Henry had finally abandoned their early start for the Mythen! +But it began to pass, and in fifteen minutes might never have +been. Stepping on to the loggia she gave a quick glance towards +Henry's room; its sunblinds were up and its French windows +thrown open. Possibly he was getting ready—but, no, surely +he wouldn't go—he would make excuses to remain behind, and +after breakfast she would find him lingering on the terrace waiting +for her to appear. Free of his sister and Clarkson, he would +suggest their game of tennis, and when that was over they +would walk together with feigned naturalness along the winding +path between the firs, and he would abruptly ask her to let +him row her over to the Rutli, and once on the water they would +glide to solitary places under the farther bank. +</p> + +<p> +Such would be their morning, and she dressed suitably for it. +But in the restaurant there was no Henry dawdling at his +breakfast-table, where she had hoped to see him, nor was he on the +terrace or in the lounge, when she wandered through them. +</p> + +<p> +He had gone, then. He had gone with his sister to climb +the Mythen. +</p> + +<p> +She was stabbed by it. It meant worrying out all over again +the problem whether or not he was in love with her. "He +must have made any excuse to stay if he felt for me what I feel +for him. Then he <i>doesn't</i>." Seated on a chair on the terrace, +she passed in review, one, two, and three times, every symptom +of love or every hint of indifference he had shown the first +day. And the evidence, after this crowning incident of the +Mythen, seemed to show that he liked her a little, but knew +none of the doubting, hungry, monopolising love that was hers. +It was a terrible verdict—and she didn't believe it. "He <i>does</i> +love me, I know it. But why then did he go?" Her father +came and sat beside her, and she wished he would go away. +He went; but other people strolled up and started to be pleasant. +Some of them, deceived by her blithe answers, kept her in +conversation for long quarters of an hour, while her problem waited +where it was hidden, crying to her to return. At last, for fear +of being spoken to, she left the hotel and walked along the +streets of Brunnen. +</p> + +<p> +In these streets, if she walked away from the lake, she could +see the twin points of the Mythen rising high above the broken +sky-line. How exactly like the two humps of a sitting camel +they were! No, they were too pointed—a little too conical for +that. Sometimes they looked like two pyramids, joined +together as Siamese twins were joined. Trees mantled them for +a great way up, and then the points rose naked. Through those +trees, though they were miles away, one could almost see the +paths where he was climbing. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When she entered the restaurant for dinner that evening, a +rapid, careless, over-shoulder glance showed him talking gaily +to his sister. In that glance his profile had appeared to be +almost ugly; and, though surprised, she was pleased, half hoping +that, by seeing his plainness, she could be cured of her love and +given relief from its pains. But the thought was dead as soon +as born. +</p> + +<p> +Waiters cleared the lounge for dancing, but she did not want +to dance. And when the tall, moustached Swiss came seeking +her for his partner, she declared that she had resolved not to +dance to-night. Escaping from her father's side, she went and +sat alone in the comparative darkness of the terrace. It was +deserted except for a couple in the distance who were sitting +out a dance. She left the Spanish shawl on her lap, and, stretching +her legs before her, crossed one ankle over the other. There +was an iron table beside her, and she rested her elbow upon it. +Her mood made her wish she could light a cigarette like a man, +and send up her thoughts in puffs or rings of smoke. +</p> + +<p> +She might have sat there fifteen minutes when Henry +appeared and walked towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"You've deserted us," smiled he. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'm tired." +</p> + +<p> +"So am I." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you climb the Mythen?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, to the very top. That's why I'm done for. So's Elsie. +She's danced two dances and gone to bed." +</p> + +<p> +He sat on a chair the other side of the iron table. Taking +a loose silver matchbox from his waistcoat pocket, he lit a +Swiss cigar and laid the matchbox on the table. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought possibly you wouldn't go," ventured Daphne, +"when I saw the storm this morning." +</p> + +<p> +"I shouldn't have minded much if it had stayed a bit longer +and prevented our going. I was never very eager about it." +</p> + +<p> +This led them into the accustomed silence; he was engrossed +in watching his smoke, and she, happy because he had sought +her out, picked up his matchbox and twisted it in her fingers, +with her face averted. Once, lest the silence became too +noticeable, he said: +</p> + +<p> +"I danced three dances with Miss Storry, and they were three +too many for any one so exhausted." +</p> + +<p> +And Daphne, resolved to be generous, answered: +</p> + +<p> +"I think she's such an awfully pretty girl." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I suppose she is." +</p> + +<p> +After that he returned to his smoke and Daphne to her +playing with his matchbox. The silence was next broken by +Mr. Bruno, who walked up behind a cigar. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, you, Mr. Detmould, being American, can afford to take +your holiday slowly, but my daughter and I, being English +Imperialists, will have to quicken the <i>tempo</i> of ours, I'm afraid." +</p> + +<p> +"What are you talking about, Daddy?" asked Daphne +languidly, as he drew up a chair. +</p> + +<p> +He was talking about the privileges of belonging to an +Imperialist nation, he explained, and the chances it offered of +conscientiously shooting Dutchmen in their own country. Didn't +she realise that, as a loyal Englishwoman, she would soon be +at war with the Transvaal? +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not going to war with any one," she grumbled; and +Henry, turning towards her father, said that he had thought the +news was better. +</p> + +<p> +Her father then spread himself to be interesting, as, indeed, +he could be in such a matter as this. The French and German +papers in the lounge, said he, were so much more feminine and +indiscreet than the ponderous English journals. And they +showed that the Transvaal was arming to the eyebrows, and +that trainloads of suspicious packing-cases, labelled as farming +implements, were pouring from France and Germany—through +Capetown, if you please—and up to Pretoria. And the Boers +were buying horses in every market, and Europe's soldiers-of-fortune +appearing in the Boer streets. And the English, in +their usual humorous way, had answered all this by sending out +two companies of engineers. +</p> + +<p> +Henry inquired when the fighting would begin. +</p> + +<p> +"When the rain comes, and the grass for the horses," said +her father. +</p> + +<p> +Henry nodded. The conception was picturesque. +</p> + +<p> +"In September or October, I suppose," pursued Mr. Bruno. +"As soon as the veldt is right, old Kruger won't wait for us to +send him an ultimatum, he'll send his own instead. He'll say: +'Come on!' And I expect we shall send out two more companies +of engineers." +</p> + +<p> +But Daphne, momentarily stimulated, was no longer interested. +Had all Europe been going to war it would not have +found an inch of resting-room in her mind, for her love was a +monopolising and unsociable tenant. Even the thought that +this war might prevent their visit to Italy was unimportant +now. Italy was nothing. It lay beyond the day when Henry +and she should have parted. What mattered was that their few +remaining hours were flying, and fate seemed determined that +they should never be alone. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And in the next few days they did not meet except in the +presence of others. This was all the stranger, since Elsie +Detmould had kept to her bed for two days, having taken cold +when climbing the Mythen. Henry, one would have thought, +would have been freer to seek out Daphne. But he didn't, and +she sat on terrace or in lounge, and an unread book on her +knees, arguing over and over again her old case. On the +Wednesday, three days before he went, he <i>did</i> come for a little +while and sit beside her—the table between them as before. +And all his words, she dared to believe, hinted at warmer +meanings behind. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want to leave this place a bit," he grumbled. +</p> + +<p> +"When are you going?" +</p> + +<p> +"Saturday morning—soon after sunrise.... It's—it's not +to be thought." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne turned her head towards those meeting mountains +where the lake appeared to finish in a dark corner. Up through +them, as far as she could remember, climbed the serpentine +road to the Furka Pass. She pictured Henry, with knapsack +and alpenstock, bending to its steeper slopes, till he reached the +summit of the pass and ascended to the ice-fields of the Rhone +Glacier. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but you'll enjoy going over the Furka. The view from +the glacier is too wonderful for words. I can imagine you +on the ice." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you were coming too," he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +"So do I. But we're staying here a little longer, and then +going to Grindelwald." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know." +</p> + +<p> +"But will your sister be well enough to do all that walking?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, that's what she's come for. She was ill in the +spring, and was determined to get rid of it. She's always been +a dashing sort." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was now seeing a picture of Henry's childhood, and +feeling jealous of Elsie and all those who had known him +during the twenty-five years before she did. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," continued Henry, "I've been looking it out on the +map. We shall be only about thirty miles apart, and yet have +all the highest mountains of the Bernese Oberland between us." +</p> + +<p> +This could be met only with silence. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The next morning, Thursday, when she was strolling through +the hotel, she played on her pains by trying to imagine that it +was Saturday, and that Henry had already left. And as she +looked at the places where they had talked together, she knew +she would not be able to endure the hotel after he had gone; +these places would hit her wound too cruelly. Much better to +be clear of Brunnen, seeing something new! How could she +get away? How could she ask her father to take her away +without betraying her secrets? Impossible as it seemed to his +incisive eyes, it must be attempted. +</p> + +<p> +She found him on the seat above the empty tennis court with +a book and a cigar. +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy," she began, sitting next to him. "Aren't you getting +bored with this place yet?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not particularly. Are you?" +</p> + +<p> +She thought it out. +</p> + +<p> +"No. But I'm quite keen on moving on and seeing somewhere +else.... I'm so afraid, you see, that this old war'll +prevent us doing half of what we planned—you said we'd have +to speed up things a bit—so I vote we go on to Grindelwald." +</p> + +<p> +He did not turn and look at her in an enquiring surprise, but +studied the tennis court before him; and she knew that he had +guessed everything. He did not chaff her, saying, "Let's see, +the American boy goes on Saturday, doesn't he?" for he knew +(and she could almost feel his knowledge) that the matter had +passed beyond chaff. Of his gentleness he would erect between +them a pretence of ignorance, though each would know that +neither believed in it. +</p> + +<p> +"I shouldn't mind," said he. "I'm afraid I am rather apt to +take root where I can find a garden and book. When do you +suggest going?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, not to-morrow, of course. But Saturday perhaps, or +Sunday. I'm awfully keen on seeing the other places." +</p> + +<p> +"Saturday's the day after to-morrow, isn't it? Well, certainly +if you order it. You're in command of this expedition." +</p> + +<p> +Dinner that evening showed Elsie back in her place; and +Daphne, when she followed the diners into the lounge, resolved +to make much of her. She had seen hardly anything of Henry's +sister, what with their climbing in the daytime and the +attentions of Mr. Clarkson at night. And for some reason she +wanted Elsie Detmould to take away with her a liking for +Daphne Bruno. So now, since Elsie was sitting alone, she +took the wicker chair at her side and asked after her cold. +</p> + +<p> +"I reckon I'd forgotten its existence till you mentioned it," +drawled Elsie pleasantly. "Two days in bed'll finish off the +best of colds.... But I was determined to be quit of it, as +we've all this marching ahead of us." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know. I'm sorry you're going so soon. Must you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I guess we can't stay here all the time. We want to +see other places, and we haven't too long in Switzerland. I've +got to get back to my mother, and Henry's got to get back to +his wife." +</p> + +<p> +It was as if a revolver had been shot off in Daphne's ear. +</p> + +<p> +But as instantaneous was the conviction that she must keep +perfect control of herself and show nothing to Elsie. Elsie +had spoken quite naturally and without malice, evidently +having seen nothing more than friendliness between her brother +and Daphne. Daphne turned and looked at her, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +"I never knew he was married!" +</p> + +<p> +"Married? Very much so. He was married four years ago." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne frowned a humorous incredulity—as if the joke were +getting better. +</p> + +<p> +"Four years? He doesn't look old enough." +</p> + +<p> +"He married at twenty-one." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose he's a father, too. But I simply can't imagine it." +</p> + +<p> +"No, he's not a father yet." +</p> + +<p> +"He ought to have brought his wife with him, on a lovely +holiday like this." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, but she especially arranged that he should bring me. +I'm really recuperating from a breakdown." +</p> + +<p> +"Awfully sporting of her," said Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she's a good sort. And I guess she quite enjoys a +holiday from Henry. Husbands are a bit trying sometimes." +</p> + +<p> +How Daphne kept up that conversation and her suitable smiling +till the moment when politeness allowed her to escape she +never knew. There must have been half an hour of it before +she found herself in her bedroom with the door closed. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0319"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XIX +</h3> + +<p> +She carried her paralysed thinking to her bedroom. The +words, "Never now ... never ... never," were behind +her lips. Her jaws parted in the dismay of it. The sight of +the mountains drew her through her window on to the loggia. +Inevitably her eyes turned towards Henry's window; and +quickly, though with assumed unconcern, she withdrew into her +room: she had seen him standing on his balcony with hands on +its railing, and knew that, with a sidelong look, he was keeping +her loggia under view. +</p> + +<p> +She undressed, but very abstractedly, and with long pauses +when her hand, holding a garment, dropped to her side. "Never +now." Never would there be any fulfilment of her love. +Yes—though—there were two ways. Probably neither would +happen, but it was a slight relief to picture them. Henry and she +could go off together one day, accepting the worldly +consequences; or he could come to England once every year, and +she could meet him for a week of secret, lawless love (she had +told Miss Sims she was ready to do that). Ah, all his actions +and words fell into place now, especially that jumbled talk about +snapping the world's inhibitions—and timidity holding you +back—and not hurting others. But it was proof—it was inflating +proof that he loved her. +</p> + +<p> +This sudden thought, which brought happiness that quieted +despair, she took into bed with her, that she might close her +eyes and examine it. Henry loved her, and she loved him +without one lingering doubt, and if at some future day he asked of +her anything—any thing—she would give it to him. For the +shadowy figure that was his wife, she knew not what she felt; +sometimes jealousy and anger, sometimes pity. "Oh, I wouldn't +have her suffer as I should, if I were never to have him or see +him again." No, the best solution would be the hiding of their +love and its secret fulfilment in some snatched weeks every +year. Henry was evidently rich, and he would come over to +her sometimes. Of course she would do it. And in her case +she would injure nobody by giving herself to Henry. +</p> + +<p> +With this vision of the future for consolation she sank into +a dream-heated sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Next day, Friday, and their last, on coming downstairs she +found that Henry had gone by boat to Lucerne to get money +for their departure. It would take him much of the day. So +after breakfast she returned to her bedroom, and in a dry +despair began her packing. It was manual labour and something +to do. But it filled nearly all the morning, for every +article was disturbing in its associations, and either she made +mistakes that had to be repaired or she lost herself in long +musings. When it was finished, except for what would go in +to-morrow morning, she let fall the lid of her trunk, and going +to the window, looked in the direction of Lucerne, whence +Henry's steamer would come. +</p> + +<p> +At lunch Elsie Detmould suggested a last set of tennis. +Mr. Clarkson would play and that French girl, Madeleine Louvier. +With a quickly donned brightness Daphne answered, "Rather! +Only I'll have to play in this dress. I've packed everything +else." The word "packed" pierced her. +</p> + +<p> +Out on the tennis court, with its lead-coloured earth, its +surrounding nets, and its pathway climbing to the seats under the +chestnut and fig trees—all so achingly reminiscent—they +arranged their first set—Daphne and Madeleine playing +Mr. Clarkson and Elsie. Sometimes Daphne was inattentive and +played badly; sometimes she inexplicably lost herself in the +game for a few minutes and played well. It was just as she +was beginning her service in the fifth game that she heard a +crunching on the gravel-drive behind the trees, and, glancing up, +saw that Henry had returned. She caught his eyes and, though +hers turned away quickly, knew that he had sat down on one +of the garden seats. +</p> + +<p> +Self-conscious now, she played erratically, and kept up the +formality of joking or even shrieking when she made mistakes +or missed easy balls. The sudden sight of him, and then the +constant awareness of his presence, had started a dull pain +at the thought that this was almost the last time he would be +within a few paces of her. As she played and shouted, "Oh, +dash!" or teased Mr. Clarkson and Elsie when they were +particularly weak, she was really thinking, "Oh, I understand what +he meant when he talked about not knowing how to live till the +time had passed for living...." +</p> + +<p> +After the seventh game Elsie remembered with dismay something +that must be done on this last day, and the set temporarily +broke up. Mr. Clarkson offered to pass the meantime by +playing against the two girls. +</p> + +<p> +"No," called Daphne, "I'll sit out till Elsie returns." It +would be obvious to Henry that this meant she wanted to sit +by him, but she didn't care. "I'm awfully tired, really. You +two have a single." +</p> + +<p> +"Noh, noh," protested Madeleine. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, <i>please</i>," urged Daphne. "I really mean it. I'd like to +sit down a bit." +</p> + +<p> +And, running, she passed through the gate in the surrounding +network and climbed the path to the seat where Henry was +sitting. He watched her as she ran towards him, and when she +arrived picked up her white coat and put it about her shoulders. +They sat down together, Daphne staring at the play of +Mr. Clarkson and Madeleine, and Henry fiddling with an unread +novel that had been beside her coat. He spoke first. +</p> + +<p> +"It was wretched having to go to Lucerne to-day of all days." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know what I'm going to do about to-morrow.... +I don't want to go at all.... Just got fond of—everybody, +and the whole place...." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it's rotten." +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence during which several times Henry seemed +to take in his breath, as if trying to say something for which +he had not the courage. Daphne, without knowing why she +made the remark, broke in with: +</p> + +<p> +"But you'll be glad when the time comes to go back to your +wife." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes...." He allowed no sign to escape him, any more +than she had done before Elsie. "You should have heard me +airing my German in Lucerne. I was amazed." +</p> + +<p> +"Why? Did you do it frightfully well?" +</p> + +<p> +"Magnificently." +</p> + +<p> +And again that silence that would not deliver itself of +something. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a rotten book, that," said she, after watching him turn +over its pages. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it? I——" +</p> + +<p> +But the sharp intake of his breath stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +She told him something of the book's plot, and why it was +so stupid, pleased, from some obscure motive, at this acting of +naturalness. Then she jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +"Here she is." +</p> + +<p> +"Who?" +</p> + +<p> +"Elsie come back." +</p> + +<p> +He caught his breath again and—before he had time to think, +stuttered: "Miss—Miss Bruno, may I say something to you? +Oh——" He passed his hand quickly over his eyes. "I wanted +to say—couldn't I see you alone somewhere? I shall probably +never see you again, and I never get a moment alone with +you—quite alone, I mean—and I don't know how I'm going +to-morrow ... and can't I see you somewhere this evening by +yourself?" +</p> + +<p> +She only stared before her at the game. +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't frightened you, have I?" said he. "I—I don't +think I quite know all I'm saying. I don't frighten you, do I?" +</p> + +<p> +She turned towards him. +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"I oughtn't to have spoken, I suppose. It's only despair that +made me speak." +</p> + +<p> +Then there was a silence more charged than any. He was +obviously waiting for her to encourage him, but she was +somehow speechless. Partly because her heart was pounding, and +partly because when it came to the moment of encouraging him +it seemed the first step in a social disobedience for which she +was not competent. +</p> + +<p> +Now Elsie was back on the court and calling: +</p> + +<p> +"Come on, Daphne. We're waiting." +</p> + +<p> +"Righto!" cried Daphne, picking up her racket confusedly, +while Henry said in despair: +</p> + +<p> +"May I write you a letter and put it in this book—write +what I mean? I'll give it to you as soon as you've finished. +May I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said she, swinging her face quickly to his and back +again. "Yes, if you like." +</p> + +<p> +Then she hurried down to the court. And as she played +there the side of her eye saw Henry writing something. She +trembled to know what it was, and played mechanically at the +tennis, longing for it to be over. Yet all the while she provided +the necessary banter at other people's failures and explosions at +her own. At last it was finished, and when they suggested +another set she demurred: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no. I can't play any more; I'm not as young as you +people. I want to go and write some letters before I dress for +dinner." +</p> + +<p> +And rather languidly, with head down, she strolled through +the network and up to the seat for her coat. Henry rose and +gave it to her. The others, agreeing that they had had enough, +were coming up. +</p> + +<p> +"And here's your novel," said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, thanks." +</p> + +<p> +She took it in a hand that was shaking traitorously. Calling +to the other people, "Well, I've got a lot to do, I can't hang +about with all you idlers," she walked—almost ran—towards +the hotel entrance. In the vestibule and the lift she kept the +book near her shoulder. Along the corridor of her floor she +hurried to her bedroom with shoulders swinging. In the +bedroom, with the door closed, she nervously opened the book, +and saw a half-sheet of note-paper on which was written in +pencil: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"DEAR,—I must see you for a little while before I go. I +simply don't know how I am going in the morning, but I feel +if I could have you for an hour or so to myself I could go with +greater courage. Dear, there is only one place I can suggest. +I would not suggest it if there were any other place or time +possible, but there isn't. Trust me, and come to my bedroom +after the others have gone to bed. It's the only place where +we can be unseen, and you untalked about. Dear, love cannot +hurt where it loves. My dear, I have not sought this thing like +some silly adventurer looking for a holiday romance—good +God, it hurts too much. If I could be quit of it I would. No, +though, I wouldn't. I don't know how it came. From the +first minute I saw you, I think—with your wonderful little head +and your great eyes and your childish clothes. I think I hoped +to find you empty of ideas and be cured, but soon I loved your +mind and your" (a word had been omitted here) "more than +anything else about you. Dear, I do not fully know your ideas +about religion and things, but if you see anything in this letter +that needs forgiveness, forgive me. I cannot help loving you. +If you don't come, I shall understand fully. I hardly know +what I am writing about. My love for you fills everything. +I can only stare at it. I cannot see before or behind or after it. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"H. D." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She let her hand with the note in it fall to the table-top. +For the moment everything was lost in the joy of possessing it. +Oh, she would go to him, as he asked. Of course, she would +go. Wearied with the strain of it all she lay down upon her +bed, holding the note by her side. She floated away on her +thoughts, for how long she knew not. She was happy. She +could not see beyond that "hour together." All the misery of +the next morning's departure was hidden behind it. An hour? +It would be no hour, but a long night. How could either, when +the hour was over, draw away? Real and awful though she +knew her love to be, the romantic aspect of this last hidden +union could not wholly fail to please her. To the æsthete that +must ever be in her and in Henry it was a fitting climax. +</p> + +<p> +Gradually the fall in the light persuaded her to look at her +watch, and she saw that it was seven o'clock. She must rise +and dress. It always took her so long to dress when she was +lost in thoughts. Slowly, and making many mistakes, she put +on one of the "childish dresses," arranged her hair, and clasped +a rope of pearls about her neck. Her cheeks had hollowed and +her eyes were under-scored with darkness. The tired skin of +her face she tried to make good with powder. +</p> + +<p> +When she went down with her father to their table she +was able to see, by one of her quick over-shoulder glances, that +Henry was already seated with his sister. She had hardly taken +her own chair before Elsie came up. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you both coming on the trip round the lake to-night?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly not," said Mr. Bruno. "What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"One of the steamers starts at nine. It's to be illuminated, +and there's to be dancing on deck, and refreshments. It's the +very thing for a last night. Come and be really childish." +</p> + +<p> +"It sounds as though it would suit my daughter—not me." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Daphne, then, will you come?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was troubled. Did Henry want her to go or to stay +behind? Perhaps he would like her to linger in the hotel, +emptied by the steamer, and if so, she would be angry with them +for having dragged her into their sickly gaieties. But since +it was impossible to ask his movements, politeness compelled +her to reply: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I should love it. When do we start?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nine, and back at eleven. It'll be gorgeous." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The dinner dawdled along to dessert and wine and coffee. +And at about half-past eight the quiet air of the lake was +shattered by an explosion like a gun's. An exclamation came from +Mr. Bruno, and Henry walked up. +</p> + +<p> +"That's a signal," said he, with a smile that comprised father +and daughter. "It means that the weather's favourable and +the boat will go." +</p> + +<p> +The explosion came a second time as he said it. +</p> + +<p> +He walked to the window and looked towards the Brunnen +boat-landing. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, the steamer's there; looking very fine with its +illuminations. Quite a lot of people are going on board all ready. +Some seem to be going independently in rowing boats. They +are hanging all round it, and lighting up Chinese lanterns." He +turned to Daphne. "You're going, aren't you, Miss Bruno?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose so. But I guess it'll be cold." +</p> + +<p> +"Go then at once and get a coat," said Mr. Bruno to his +daughter. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne hurried to the lift and was soon upstairs. She +selected the white tennis coat because of its memories. Then +she joined the Detmoulds and Mr. Clarkson and Madeleine in +hall. The night, as they passed into it, was unencouraging. +Flaky clouds had floated over the sky, and the few stars that +danced between them were ineffectual. Not yet was the moon +above the mountains. +</p> + +<p> +On the little boat-landing men and women of all classes were +crowding to the gangway; most were hatless; some of the men +were in evening dress of British, German, or French design, +and their women had veils or mantillas over their heads; other +people were in tweeds or Swiss National costume. On the +deck, under the Chinese lanterns hung from the awnings, +several couples were already dancing, excited to it by four +bandsmen, fancy-dressed as Venetian gondoliers, who were jigging +their bodies in conscientious gaiety. +</p> + +<p> +Henry, embarrassed, walked with any one rather than +Daphne. Hatless, his hair blowing, he led the party on to the +deck. Daphne walked last. There were no unoccupied seats +anywhere, so they went and stood against a railing on the +farther side and looked at the smaller craft, whose lanterns +made a ring round the ship. +</p> + +<p> +"If we can't sit down we may as well dance," said Mr. Clarkson +to Daphne. "May I have the pleasure of this waltz?" +</p> + +<p> +There was no escape. She took off her white coat and looked +for somewhere to place it. Henry, with set lips, stretched +out a hand to receive it. She went off on the arm of Mr. Clarkson, +angry with him for dragging her away, and yet glad that +Henry had seen her in request. In the waltz she chatted +gaily, though always waiting for the moment when their +arrival at one corner in the hustled crowd showed her, as her +head swung round, Henry leaning against the rail and holding +her white coat. The dance finished; but as all the couples +clapped, the bandsmen repeated the tune and the merry jigging +of their bodies. Her partner seized her again, and she was +once more in the dance. Now a slight moving of the floor +told her that the boat had started. Cheers came from the shore, +and one of the rowing boats shot up a rocket which rained +golden fire on the departing steamer. +</p> + +<p> +On her return Henry put the coat round her shoulders, and +she thanked him, and, looking up, said: +</p> + +<p> +"Aren't you going to dance?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +At that moment a Swiss was brought up and introduced to +her. He asked her in French for the next dance, and she +replied: "<i>Oui, monsieur</i>." And with the band's first notes she +accepted his arm and walked back to the dancer's deck. Why +she danced she could not tell; her body was exhausted and her +mind fixedly miserable. Perhaps it was because the +awkwardness and silence of Henry made standing beside him so +difficult. And dancing was as good as thinking. +</p> + +<p> +When she returned from this second dance he muttered, as +if continuing their last conversation: +</p> + +<p> +"I can't vulgarise what I feel for you by dancing with this +crowd." +</p> + +<p> +She sat down on a seat now vacant, and her head drooped. +Henry stood by with folded arms, saying nothing. The next +dance began and the bandsmen sang as they played. Many +of the watchers who were not dancing joined in the song. In +the voices of women the singing added to itself an extrinsic +beauty from the darkness, the water and the foreign tongue. +Daphne kept her head down, partly from the ache of exhaustion +in neck and shoulders, and partly from fear of meeting +Henry's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"You're looking done for," said Henry suddenly. "Come +and get a strong coffee or something. Let's go downstairs to +the saloon and get out of this silly jigging crowd." +</p> + +<p> +She got up obediently. +</p> + +<p> +"All right. It <i>has</i> been horribly cold, ever since the boat +started moving." +</p> + +<p> +Going in front, he threaded her through the jostling people. +They went down the stairs and into the noisy saloon only to +find another orchestra playing there while couples danced +between the tables. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, damn!" muttered Henry. "Isn't there a quiet place +anywhere?" +</p> + +<p> +He ordered two coffees from the steward and asked Daphne +rather fatuously, "Where are we to sit?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," she said. "It's so crowded, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Foul!" +</p> + +<p> +They wandered among the tables, but nowhere was there +a place for them. And before they had decided anything the +steward appeared with the two cafés on a tray. Henry took it +abruptly from him, and walked out of the saloon right away +to the stern of the boat, Daphne following. All the seats that +they passed were occupied by foolish couples dallying with +flirtation between the dances. Henry pushed past their knees +till he saw, across an intervening bar, a platform on which +rested one of the ship's boats. He stepped over the bar, and +Daphne bent her head and went under. The tray he laid on +the boat's seat, and pointing to the boat's side, said: +</p> + +<p> +"Sit there. You're tired out." +</p> + +<p> +She climbed on to the side, and this position left her crossed +feet dangling. It was true she was tired out. Her body sagged +as she sat. She took the coffee and sipped it. +</p> + +<p> +"I am going to speak low," began Henry, "in case any of +these detestable people are nearer than they appear and can +speak English.... My dear, I can't tell what you're feeling +or thinking—I simply haven't the courage to ask you for fear +of learning that I've built too much on your—oh, but I'll leave +that—but I know <i>I</i> never want to suffer again what I've gone +through the last few days. Sometimes I've wondered what +the morning of departure would be like, and how I could stand +it. Often I've wished the wrench were over, and I could be +away from you. I've said, 'My God, I'm glad I'm going soon. +I can't stick it.'" +</p> + +<p> +Her head still hung over the cup in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +"You see—you see," he pursued, stuttering, "I don't know +how it all happened. It's an abrupt mystery to me. I seemed +to find myself suddenly floundering and struggling in a +love—and it was a love such as I'd never experienced before and +never expected to.... It stands alone, dear, in my life, and +always will do.... I thought I'd like you to know that much +in case we don't ... lest we never..." +</p> + +<p> +He paused long and beat with his feet on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +"Often I wished I'd never seen you at all, and then I thought +immediately, 'No, I wouldn't have missed this awful pain.' An +idiot's business." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne wanted to nod her bent head as if to show that she +understood him; but she couldn't, and she didn't know whether +he was looking at her or away. +</p> + +<p> +"I wanted you to know something of the strength—the +uncontrollable strength of what I felt for you; so that you could +understand that it was something too big for me that forced +me to speak. At one time I hoped it'd be enough if I just +hung about near you and waited for the end. One might as +well have expected one of these ghastly Swiss waterfalls to +stand still.... My God, I hate everything about Switzerland, +and yet I love it next to you.... I wish I understood +anything on earth ... and what I'm saying...." +</p> + +<p> +A dance must have finished, for more couples came towards +the seats the other side of the bar. Daphne moved as if to +drop from the boat's side to the ground, but Henry stopped +her with a slight touch of his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"No; don't go. Please don't go. They'll only think we're +sitting out. Stay—stay as long as you can." +</p> + +<p> +They stayed in silence; and when many of the couples had +returned to the deck for another dance, Henry adventured his +hand towards Daphne's on the boat's rim, and touched it with +his fingers. She did not move it away or show any feeling, +though at his touch the temperature of her body fluctuated as +in a rigor. His hot, trembling palm and fingers closed on hers, +feeling it, pressing it. +</p> + +<p> +Speech yielded to this, and many minutes must have passed +before their silence was disturbed by an excitement on the +boat, everybody crowding to the starboard side and staring +over the water. Many hurried past their retreat. +</p> + +<p> +Henry muttered, withdrew his hand, and looked in the +direction of some pointing fingers. Daphne, hardly moving her +body, also turned her head. They saw that a chalet on the +side of the wooded mountain had been illuminated with a red +flare to greet the passing pleasure-steamer. The red glow +reached its most brilliant and died down, to be succeeded by a +pale green flare. On the water under the trees a rowing boat +had also lit a sea-green flare, and its reflection came trilling +down the surface as far as the steamer. +</p> + +<p> +"It's the Rutli," people were saying in several languages. +They clapped loudly, the women with their hands as high as +their heads, hoping that their grateful applause might reach +the chalet on the mountain. A boom from the funnel also +acknowledged the courtesy. Automatically and dreamily Henry +joined in the clapping, and a laugh that was rather frightening +because so mixed up with despair shook in Daphne's throat. +For a long time the people watched the alternating lights till +they had left the chalet far on their quarter and its last red +flare was like the glow of a camp fire behind the pines. +</p> + +<p> +"And there's another!" cried an English voice. +</p> + +<p> +The boat was swinging round; and Tell's Chapel, at the +mountain's foot, had come into view. Its front was flaring with a +crimson light in honour of this advancing boat-load of happy +people. And when the boat had completely turned in its course +a Brunnen hotel lit up its long façade. Again the grateful +people clapped and cheered and the funnel boomed. +</p> + +<p> +Henry turned to Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"You say nothing, dear. Tell me—tell me this much: does +this pleasure hurt you as it does me?" +</p> + +<p> +"A little," she acknowledged. Her hair was blown about +in the breeze and she tried to steady and straighten it with her +hand. +</p> + +<p> +The flares ashore died down and the people returned to their +dancing. +</p> + +<p> +"Hadn't we better be getting back?" ventured Daphne, after +a long pause. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no—no.... How can you want to go back? ... The +others won't even notice our absence ... or if they do, I +don't care.... They'll probably only think we're flirting.... +God! <i>Flirting!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +So the silence was resumed, he standing by her, and she +sitting on the boat's edge. He did not again seek her hand. +Once or twice he broke the silence. "Dear, I want to say this: +I don't know what's going to happen in the future, but if—if +we never——" The sentence was left incomplete. "I want +you to promise never to look back upon what I felt for you +and think of it as some holiday infatuation—don't profane it +by thinking that.... I know when I look back on it I shall +never soil it by seeing any folly or wrong in it.... It's +somehow true, and I'm not ashamed of it." +</p> + +<p> +And later: "Perhaps such a love is too terrible to last—I +don't know.... I can't imagine now that it would ever end.... +No, it never could—it must always be there in some +form. At present my one wish is to have you evermore and +alone.... You don't say much, dear." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked up at him. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm awfully tired, somehow." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you are." +</p> + +<p> +Nothing more was said till he exclaimed, "We're pushing +into Brunnen already. It's nearly ten past eleven." +</p> + +<p> +She looked towards the shore and saw Brunnen in darkness +and their vast hotel with only a few lights in the bedroom +windows. The crowd on the boat was already beginning to +pack towards the gangway, leaving them alone. She dropped +to her feet, but immediately he stayed her. +</p> + +<p> +"No, wait. Wait a little. We've hardly once been alone." +</p> + +<p> +When their end of the boat was quite deserted, he put his +arm round her waist and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +She could not so lie as to resist or reproach him; but she +had received only, and not given. They walked towards the +gangway—the coffee cups remaining in the boat unreturned, as +they were unpaid for. She reflected that neither had said a +word about his letter asking her to come to his room; he, +doubtless, because he had dreaded hearing her say No—wherefore he +had kissed lest it were their last privacy; and she because she +was shy of saying Yes, she would come. +</p> + +<p> +They found the rest of their party at the head of the gangway +and crowded down it with them. On the pier Mr. Clarkson +said: +</p> + +<p> +"Come along, children. Are we all here?" And he put an +arm into Elsie's and Madeleine's arms and began to walk them +along the road to the hotel. Elsie had thrust an arm into +Daphne's. Henry walked in front, unlinked, remote. Daphne +was obliged to fall into step with the other three as they +hurried along to Mr. Clarkson's "Left, Right, Left—Right, +Left—Right." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0320"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XX +</h3> + +<p> +When she got back to her room she sat on her bed with +her head down in the same attitude as she had maintained +throughout the pleasure-sailing. She could not remember +in all her life such tiredness. There was a permanent ache +in the small of her back and on her thighs and across her +shoulder-blades. Her head was confused and her eyes (she +knew) were staring blankly on any object where they fell. +Almost she wished she could throw herself straight upon her +bed, released from the duty of going to Henry. +</p> + +<p> +What a pity she was so exhausted! It would spoil her +"hour" with him. Eyes shut, she drew the back of her hand +across her forehead. Then she pulled herself together, stood +up, and walked to the drawer where her diary was kept. Taking +it out, she opened it and wrote "August 3rd." She marked +the date with an asterisk, making the eight-pointed sign with +dreaming elaboration, and leaving a long space for filling in +details one day. +</p> + +<p> +She walked on to her loggia and looked up at his window. +It was alight, and he was standing on his balcony, to all +appearance staring over the water, but doubtless looking obliquely +at her window. Instantly she stepped back. +</p> + +<p> +"He's waiting for me." +</p> + +<p> +There had been, of course, a light in her father's room next +door, and she would have to delay till it had been out for half +an hour before she fled up the stairs to where Henry waited +for her. And it would probably be a long time before her +father extinguished the light, since he always read himself +to sleep. She lay down to rest a little that she might not be +so tired when she went to Henry. Her curtains she left apart +so as to see the disappearance of her father's reflected light. +When it should have gone she would get up and do her hair +and powder her face again. +</p> + +<p> +She had kept no count of the time when the light snapped +out suddenly. Stepping off the bed, she walked to the window, +but not so as Henry, were he still on his balcony, could +see her. Throwing up a quick glance she saw that though he +was not there his light was the one square of brightness on the +night. +</p> + +<p> +She went to her dressing-table and did her hair, and with +the powder once more made as much as possible of her tired +and hollowed face. Then she sat on the edge of her bed to +wait a little longer. All this time there would recur in her +mouth—on tongue and palate—a bad taste, obliging her to get +up repeatedly and take a little water from the glass on the +washstand. When it was time to move, she walked again to +the window and saw Henry's room still the only wakeful place +in the Brunnen night. She walked across the room to her +door and opened it. +</p> + +<p> +But courage would not come to enable her to rush along +that corridor and fly up the stairs. Supposing she should pass +anybody! Supposing her father had suspected something and +was watching! She would wait longer. It was a quarter past +one. "At twenty-five past I'll make a run for it," she said, and +sat again upon her bed. +</p> + +<p> +What would happen when she went to Henry she but vaguely +conceived. He would throw wide his arms and she would +rush into them. They would sit on a long sofa. In nothing +would he hurt her—of that she was sure as she was sure of +anything in life. But they would talk of the future. By +coming to him she would have confessed her readiness to break +with things and to take the lawless road one day. Ever in her +mind were his stuttered words about the call of life and the +path of danger—words in which she saw, more clearly than +some, more mistily than many, a glimmer of truth. And so she +thought of her rush to his room as a decisive rush through a +gateway towards adventure, experience, beauty perhaps—and +wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +When her watch showed twenty-five past she got up and +walked to her open door. She even stepped into the passage +and took several paces towards the one light that burned over +the staircase. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I can't just yet. I'll wait till half-past.... Besides, +I wonder if he's given me up, now it's so late." +</p> + +<p> +One part of her could hope he had done so; and for the +hundredth time, as it seemed, she walked back to her window. +No, his balcony was still washed in light. +</p> + +<p> +She swallowed some more water to remove the taste on +her palate, and sat on the bed again, grasping her knee, to +wait for half-past one. A bell from the village sounded the +half-hour, and she rose and walked to the door. So tired was +she that she supported herself by resting her hand on the jamb. +A long way down the corridor burned the dim light over the +staircase. +</p> + +<p> +No, she couldn't do it. This was proving itself to her. She +wasn't big enough so to break with things. "I simply haven't +got the courage." Her mouth was parted as she strolled back +into the room. She was too near her childhood for such a step +and too muddled. As Henry had said, one didn't solve the +riddles of how to live until it was too late to live. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but I must go. I may never see him again and he's +waiting for me." +</p> + +<p> +She walked to the door and was summoning courage for the +rush when the passage outside seemed to creak with a step. +Instantly she shut her guilty door and put out the incriminating +light. +</p> + +<p> +This was the end, she knew. She would not go now. +</p> + +<p> +That might have been a night-porter's step, or it might have +been Henry wandering along her passage, in which case she +had shut the door on him, or it might have been nothing. But +the creak, with its reminder of a world looking on, had settled +everything. Settled everything. How much of her life, she +wondered, did that phrase imply? +</p> + +<p> +"I can't go now. And I think I'm glad. I'm so tired. I +think he did frighten me a little with his intensity. I'll be +awake at six o'clock in the morning, and wave to him when he +goes; and he will understand that I was not angry with his +suggestion. He mustn't think that for ever.... And now +I'll try to sleep. It must be two o'clock." +</p> + +<p> +In her night-dress under the sheet she relaxed her aching +limbs and lay on her back and flung an arm on either side. +She tightened the closing of her eyes, as if that would help +her to sleep. But no sleep would come. Her mind would +picture the past evening and the past weeks, and Henry at this +moment putting out his light in disappointment. And she +would tell herself, "I'm glad it's ending to-morrow. It's too +awful—oh, but no, it's worth having been born to have gone +through it.... But I wouldn't, if I could, have it cut out.... +Oh, this can't be all. I must be destined to see him again some +time. The world is small and time is big." +</p> + +<p> +This last sentence, which had formed itself spontaneously +in her mind, pleased her literary sense, and she repeated it to +herself for her relief, thinking that in the quiet surrender to +the future which it urged she might find some sleep. But sleep +hung aloof. She wondered if she would ever sleep again. +</p> + +<p> +It was while wondering this that she saw a huge room, partly +hung with pale-blue and pink curtains—a rather sickly room, +and yet it was a home that was being prepared for Henry and +her—unfurnished as yet except for a wicker chair in which +Henry was sitting. She walked towards him and saw that she +was walking up a steep country road in England. There was +a glow in the sky for a whole village was burning somewhere, +and she had no desire to go to any one's assistance, for Henry +was waiting for her somewhere on the crown of the hill. Now, +strangely enough, she was not dreaming about him at all—he +might never have existed—a thought that was with her as she +dreamt—she was laughing in a drawing-room with friends she +had known, Trudy Wayne and Miss Sims and Owen. +</p> + +<p> +At last she awoke; and, not at once but very soon, sickened +to see the sun pouring through her undrawn curtains. +Frantically she looked at her watch. It was a quarter to eight: +Henry had started more than an hour ago. A chapel bell was +ringing to Mass. An audible moan came from her throat and +a rebel's tear rushed to her eyes. Leaping up, she ran to the +window as though there were still time to see him. But there +were only the mountains hooded in low clouds, and the water +filmed and sluggish like a thing unawake. +</p> + +<p> +A wicked and loathsome trick of Chance to make her sleep +too long! A moment for blasphemies. Why wouldn't these +rebel's tears that had gushed to her eyes pour out? But now +she felt dry and hard. Her chief emotion was a desire to +insult and injure the inaccessible gods. "Well, I must dress. +It's late; it's awfully late." And her clothes immediately +reminded her that it was all over—that she was on the other +side of the parting. "He's gone." For a minute's luxury of +despair she flung herself face downwards on the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Then with deliberation she jumped up to dress and finish her +packing; and the courage of it pleased her. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I must be less lacking in courage than I thought. +I believe that with an effort of the will I could get up and dress +like this on the morning of my execution." +</p> + +<p> +The words reminded her of the old game she used to play +when she walked to her death inspired by the verses: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He nothing common did nor mean<br> + Upon that memorable scene...<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +And this morning, dramatising herself as resigned, controlled +and brave, she dressed and closed her trunks. At her glass +the whiteness of her face, the hollowness of her cheeks and the +shadows under her eyes startled her. "I wonder if I'm going +to be ill, as people sometimes are on occasions like this." +</p> + +<p> +She ran and knocked on her father's door, and hearing his +grunt, "Come in," entered to find him tying his tie. +</p> + +<p> +"I only wanted to see that you were properly up," said she. +"It's after eight, and I slept longer than I meant——" Her +jaw dropped as she uttered the sentence. +</p> + +<p> +"You would after such a frivolous and racketing night." He +had looked at her in his mirror, and at once, in his tact, averted +his eyes. The movement told her that he was seeing everything +and filling with pity. But he was a wise student of +humanity and knew that this was no moment for sympathy, no +moment for observing anything at all, no moment for aught +but the old chaff. +</p> + +<p> +"I could hear the noise you made on the water till—well, +it must have been midnight.... Go down and order breakfast. +Get some strong coffee and plenty of it. I shall be +glad of it too." +</p> + +<p> +"Righto!" She was glad to be alone again. +</p> + +<p> +She wandered down the great stairway, preferring its solitude +to the company of the man in the lift. On the ground +floor she met other guests who said: +</p> + +<p> +"You're off, I hear." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she laughed. "By the nine-thirty boat for Alpnachstad. +I'd better say good-bye now, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +They shook her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"So sorry you're going." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, so'm I. I've enjoyed it all tremendously. I don't +want to go a bit." +</p> + +<p> +She walked along with them to the office of the concierge, +and saw in the little pigeon-hole marked with the number of +her room a letter. Her heart jumped. It could only be a +last letter from Henry. +</p> + +<p> +"Is that something for me?" she smiled at the concierge. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, miss. Mr. Detmould asked me to give it to you." +</p> + +<p> +He drew it out, absurdly uninterested in what he was +handling, and gave it to her. She ran hurriedly with it to the +privacy of the terrace where was no one but a man in a green +baize apron sweeping. With shaking, uncontrolled fingers she +opened and read: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"MY DEAR,—Good-bye. Think of me as one who will carry +your memory with him always. The picture I shall try to see +most often will be that of you leaving your tennis and coming +up the path to me, as you did yesterday. I am glad I have +known you. I wouldn't have missed it. I half hoped I should +have seen something of you before I started, but you were very +tired and slept, I suspect. It was natural, dear. Good-bye. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"H.D." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Oh, I must write to him," thought Daphne passionately, +the tears now brimming at her eyes. "I must write and tell +him that I wasn't offended at his invitation and didn't mean +not to say good-bye." +</p> + +<p> +She ran to the lounge and got some note-paper—glad that it +was the hotel note-paper with the picture of the hotel on its +top—and started a draft, but soon crumpled it up and started +another.... Her father appeared, and she crumpled up both +drafts and put them in her pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, ten minutes exactly for breakfast," said he. "Come +along, Duffs." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0321"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXI +</h3> + +<p> +In half an hour Mr. Bruno and his daughter were on the +jetty watching the boat approaching from Treib. Their +labelled luggage waited by them. It was a sunny morning now +that the clouds and mists had dispersed, but Daphne felt cold +and at length put on the white coat which had hung over her +arm. She gathered it tight about her for warmth and comfort. +Often she looked back at the great hotel and the windows that +had been hers and his, and the horse-chestnuts about the +tennis-court, and the long terrace where they had sat in the evenings. +If was a relief when the boat came alongside and they had to +bustle with the crowd on to its decks. They mounted to the +higher deck of the first-class passengers, and Daphne, passing +the saloon and the engines down in the well, saw with a pang +that the ship was a twin to the pleasure-steamer of the night +before. There were the same "<i>Avis aux Voyageurs</i>" in the +alley-ways, and a stairway to the deck exactly similar to that +down which Henry, ten or eleven hours earlier, had taken her +in search of coffee. Perhaps it was the same boat. On deck +she walked straight to a seat in the stern, where she sat +sideways, with her elbow on the seat's back, her face in the cup +of her hand, and her eyes towards the hotel. She gathered +the coat farther about her. +</p> + +<p> +The siren sounded and the boat swung away from the pier. +The engines throbbed and the paddles chuffed out on to the +lake, while Daphne stared at the hotel to watch it recede. Fast +now it diminished and lost its exactness and detail. There was +a pulling at her heart and throat, and warmth behind her ears +and over the skin of her face. +</p> + +<p> +"The world is small and time is big. Who knows what +may happen? ... Oh, there's nothing can happen." +</p> + +<p> +She turned and commenced to talk cheerfully to her father +and kept it up for quite a while, till she felt caught in it, +anxious to escape from it, and to lose herself again in her pain. +Her answers became abstracted, and her father, saying something +about the view from the bows, got up and strolled away, +doubtless on purpose. Once more her chin went into her +hand and her elbow rested on the seat's back, and she stared +in the ship's wake—not at the hotel, for it had disappeared, +but at the twin points of the Mythen, which could still be seen. +The boat plied from station to station along the lake; from +Treib to Gersau and Beckenried and Vitznau and Weggis. +Each time it left the station's pier the gazing crowd waved +to the departing steamer, and the people on board, whether +or not they had friends ashore, waved back. At first Daphne +had no heart to wave. Then she remembered how she prided +herself on her courage and waved to them regularly. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +At Alpnachstad they took the train to go over the Brunig +Pass. Their car was an observation car with galleries for +viewing the scenery. A kindly conductor came and told them +that if they wanted to see the best of the valleys and the pass +they should sit on the right of the carriage. So, opposite her +father, with her face towards the train's progress, she sat in +her corner, her elbow on the window out of which she stared. +Sometimes her father ventured a sportive remark, and she +looked up and answered with a smile. Sometimes she sank so +deep into the gulf of despair that she shook her shoulders +and told herself she must have courage. Then instantly, at +the effort of her will, all the pain would disappear, and she +would want to whistle or hum.... But then she missed the +beloved pain. It was better to suffer it than to annihilate it +with the will. +</p> + +<p> +So she let herself fall back, trying to see again Henry's face +and tracing in her imagination the line of his hair, brow, nose +and chin. +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't it beastly cold?" she said to her father. +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all. You're getting the first breath from the +snow-fields." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I feel shivery," she laughed, and snuggled farther +into her coat. +</p> + +<p> +To herself she was thinking, "I wonder if I'm going to be +ill. Didn't Dante nearly die when he lost Beatrice? If I'm +ill I hope Henry hears of it." +</p> + +<p> +There were two English women in the carriage who were +discussing with enthusiasm their climbs and excursions while +staying at Lucerne. Daphne listened to their talk. She envied +their capacity to find happiness in scenery and strange buildings; +and at the same time she was sorry for them, since their +holiday had given them no such ecstasy as hers. +</p> + +<p> +All the while her father's sham wall of naturalness was the +very proof of his understanding; and through this humbug +tacitly agreed upon, she felt the strength of his support. She +could feel his unspoken love and rest in it. Once she even +caught herself playing up to the part of a cruelly wounded girl; +and it struck her as strange and horrible that in the midst of a +mental pain which was the most awful that had ever come to +her, she could yet be pleased with it as an object of interest to +some one else—and to some one, moreover, who was kind. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There was a pendulum swing in and out of despair. Sometimes +she felt she would be able to get rid of her harrowing +love and that already the healing had begun; she would take +an interest in the train's slow climb among the pines, with +the valley far below; and then the sudden memory of some +movement of Henry's mouth would make her start and cry +inwardly, "Never again to see him.... Oh, it won't be +thought.... I can't think it." +</p> + +<p> +At Brunig the train stopped for half an hour to allow the +passengers to have lunch at the station restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think I want any," said she. "I don't know why +it is. Perhaps it's the change in the air." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, have a good stiff <i>café-au-lait</i>," said Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +Back in the train to proceed to Brienz. She relapsed into +her corner seat and her thoughts. The people on the platforms +as the train arrived relieved her mind by occupying it. She +studied the middle-aged married couples with their children. +Too old for first love, these people; they had to exchange this +emotion for the love of children. And that wasn't the same; +it might be nobler, but it couldn't be so wonderful to suffer and +to enjoy. None the less, she found herself looking forward +to her own middle age, when all the wounds of love would be +healed by time and she could smile and be gay and pleasant. +Once she saw a tweed shoulder and the back of a head that +gave her a stab and a shudder—it was like Henry's. But no. +At that moment he was climbing towards the Furka Pass.... +Never probably to be met with again. +</p> + +<p> +At Interlaken they crossed to the Bernese Oberland Railway, +and this train dragged them to Grindelwald. The snow caps +and shawls of the Jungfrau, the Eiger and the Monch came +into view. There was a new bracing freshness in the air. And +she thought: +</p> + +<p> +"I must get well here. I must drink in this tonic air and +make a real holiday of my stay. I'll have some really good +weeks." +</p> + +<p> +They were at their station, and she jumped up, feeling quite +natural and lively, with only a dull memory of some recent +anguish. Immediately she drew back about her the pain she +had thrown off. "Oh, not this annihilation of feeling," she told +herself as she stepped on to the busy platform. "I would rather +feel..." +</p> + +<p> +"Now, then," said her father, laying down a bag and +looking for his tickets. "Where the devil——?" +</p> + +<p> +But she, holding her properties, was thinking, "I can't stand +it. Never will I do what I've often fancied I'd like to +do—what I tried to do with Roger—try to make men love me +whether I love them or not. The pain is too awful. I +wouldn't give it to any one...." +</p> + +<p> +She followed her father through the exit of the station and +up the glaring gravel path of the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +She was shown to her room, and this changed place of +sleeping, with its different furniture, stressed her exile from +the story of Brunnen. She stood there, staring at the +snow-line of the mountains. Soon the porter brought her trunks +and laid them on the trestle support and on a chair. Mechanically +she opened one and began to take out her dresses. Each +carried a memory of some evening on the terrace at Brunnen. +</p> + +<p> +Having hung them mechanically in the wardrobe, she stopped +unpacking and stood again to stare vacantly before her. She +hardly knew whether she was thinking or whether she had +suspended thought; whether this was the uttermost despair or +an atrophy of feeling. Once she heard herself saying, "O God, +give me some rest—some rest from all this...." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0322"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXII +</h3> + +<p> +She had no address of Henry's, but that evening she wrote +to the hotel at Brunnen, trusting that it would be +forwarded to him somewhere. The composing of the letter gave +her much mental debate. She wanted to pour out passionately +all that she was really feeling—the mere phrasing of love was +relief and almost joy; but the old muddle as to whether it was +fair to write thus to a man who was returning from her to his +wife intervened. And finally her letter amounted to little +more than saying, "I never meant not to say good-bye to +you." But she hoped he would read everything in her few lines. +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment's afterglow of bygone happiness as +she put the letter in the concierge's box. From that moment +she encouraged the conviction that he would write a reply to +her—just one, before the silence settled. She would stop and +stand in the passage of the hotel while she deliberated where +he would first be able to write and how long the letter would +take to reach her. +</p> + +<p> +Friday morning, she decided, was the earliest she could +expect it. +</p> + +<p> +Then, walking on, she would compose his letter. +</p> + +<p> +Now Owen joined them from the camp at Aldershot where +the Sillborough Cadet Corps had been training. He was full +of the war rumours in England, and Daphne, going for walks +with him, pretended to listen. Sometimes she played against +him a desultory set of tennis, though the game and everything +about it, its cries and its scoring, had a stab for her. +</p> + +<p> +On the Friday morning, when she dared to hope that his +letter might have come, she was afraid to approach the pigeon-holes +in the concierge's office; and yet, by a will-effort, she +walked there quickly, satisfied with her pluck. Sickness took +her heart when she saw her pigeon-hole empty and many of +the others full. In despairing hope she asked the concierge +had that morning's post been. +</p> + +<p> +Yes. +</p> + +<p> +She turned about gaily. +</p> + +<p> +"He hasn't had time to write. Or letters take a long time +over these slow mountain railways. I'll give him till to-morrow +morning." +</p> + +<p> +Still, at each of the other posts during the day she looked +for the letter and suffered the blow of disappointment to see +her empty pigeon-hole. Sometimes she would go back and look +in the other holes in case her letter had been put in one of +them by mistake. +</p> + +<p> +On the Saturday morning she went with a sudden high hope +to the place.... But her throat was affected and her mouth +dried when again the empty pigeon-hole stared at her. There +must be one. And she asked the concierge merrily: +</p> + +<p> +"What, isn't there really a letter for me?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, Miss Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +And she laughed: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, what a shame!" +</p> + +<p> +Walking away, she told herself that he was writing a long +one and adding to it day by day. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, as nervously she approached the office, +she saw that there was a single white envelope in her space. +Her heart thumping with eagerness and terror, she said to +the concierge: +</p> + +<p> +"There <i>is</i> one this time!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Miss Bruno, there's one for you," and he took it out +and gave it to her. +</p> + +<p> +The handwriting was Miss Carrell's. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The August days went by, and the pain of going to the +office after each post, or of returning from a walk in the hope +that the letter would be there, was slowly drugged down by +monotony. "He'll never write now. After all, why should +he? Mine was nothing but an answer to his good-bye letter." +</p> + +<p> +Only once did her control utterly fail her. It was after +dinner in the lounge, and her father, Owen and she were +listening to the string band. She had been talking vivaciously, +almost happily, to some friends in the neighbouring chairs. +Then the band struck up a selection from <i>Tannhäuser</i>, and the +familiar tunes stopped all talk. She leaned back in her chair +and stared at a hunting picture on the wall. The music, good +or bad, well played or badly played, was stirring up all the +pain which she temporarily trampled down. The Pilgrims' +Chorus seemed the very notes and chords of her despair. And +the song "O Star of Eve" was one of its melodies. As the +tune went on inclemently she felt her breath getting shorter +and a misery rising in her so massed and tumultuous that if it +did not burst in tears it would madden and kill her. +</p> + +<p> +She got up while control was still with her, walked across +the lounge, and once outside the door, rushed up the stairs to +her bedroom. There she flung herself on her bed, and +passionately crying, kept repeating aloud, "I don't care how soon +the end comes.... I don't care how soon the end comes...." At +intervals she would stop her crying and muttering to think, +"But no, I don't want to die and be out of the world where +Henry is.... I must be in the same world as he is.... If +only he would die and I could die too...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno had instantly guessed what her abrupt departure +meant. At the end of the Brunnen stay he had learned with +surprise that the American boy whose appearance, even if it +held a remarkable mind, suggested a callow undergraduate, was +a married man. And Daphne was much in love with him. It +looked horribly like the real thing. Her request to be taken +away he assumed to have followed a confession of the boy's, +who certainly struck him as a <i>gentil</i> youth. He blamed neither. +What was the good of telling people not to love if they did? +And now Daphne was in the grip of her tragedy—Daphne +suffering! He must go to her. He mustn't leave her to writhe +in it alone. But he didn't know what to say. Now that he +came to think of it he had never spoken seriously to her in his +life—always behind a veil of banter. "I can't get through to +her. I never have been able to get through to her." +</p> + +<p> +In the applause after the orchestra's finale he rose from his +seat, saying to Owen, "Keep my place for me, old man," and +walked upstairs. The passage and door of Daphne's room +frightened him, and for a long time he strode up and down +wondering what he was going to say. What could he give her +of comfort and advice? Though he had written forty books, +he had no complete and rounded code of living. And of +religion, nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Well, there it was. He knocked on her door. No answer +came, though he heard a quick movement inside. +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +She did not reply, and he walked back along the corridor, +abandoning the task. But at the head of the stairs he stopped. +</p> + +<p> +"No, poor darling, I must go in and see her. I shall find +something to say when I'm there." +</p> + +<p> +He walked slowly back, and, without knocking, turned the +handle of her door. It was unlocked and he stepped into the +room. He saw Daphne in the long easy-chair, sitting sideways, +her heels drawn up under her, her elbow hanging over +the arm but bent to make a support for her head. Her hair +was tumbled and falling, her shoulders shuddering. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, my darling!" +</p> + +<p> +She did not move, but now her shoulders steadied as if +petrified. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, what's the matter?" +</p> + +<p> +He was annoyed with his feebleness. How could she answer +such a question? +</p> + +<p> +"My dear.... I know all about it.... Daphne, I can't +bear to see you suffering...." +</p> + +<p> +She raised her head and looked up at him, admitting all in +a sentence. +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy, how do people stand it?" +</p> + +<p> +What answer could he give to that? The child ought to +have some religion—some stay—some hope. He stood there +awkwardly with two fingers of his right hand pushed into his +waistcoat pocket. Then he began to walk up and down as +he struggled to express for her the few things that he believed. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +He had searched nature in vain, he said, for a God of pity. +All that he was able to see was that men had pity. Pity for +all things ... and amazing courage when God or nature was +showing no pity to them. And in spite of modern thought-waves, +the unshakable conviction was still with him that men +were only at their best and happy when they were yielding to +their pity. Or, of course, when they were summoning a defiant +courage about them and lifting their heads above their trouble. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm trying, dear, to give you the minimum of religion that +I have found, and perhaps you'll be able to build more on it. +It's rather a rebel's creed, I'm afraid. It amounts to saying +that men, because they have pity and unconquerable courage, +are greater than God, Who seems to have no pity.... And +then I think, if that is so, let us glory in transcending him. +Let us at all costs keep these things.... I don't know how +far I have kept them myself, but I should like you to...." +</p> + +<p> +His daughter smiled her affection through her tears. +</p> + +<p> +So much of a general code he tried to give her. In meeting +her present need he felt he was happier. Daphne was +staring at him as he spoke with interested eyes. To begin +with, said he, she was much, much better off than many, because +her love had apparently been returned. Many had loved as +passionately but without requital, and had survived. It would +be futile to tell her to cut out her love, but what she must do +was to transmute it. One could transmute a suppressed love +into two things: into service of others and into art. Didn't +Dante transmute his love for Beatrice into his "Divina +Commedia"? So his love was always with him and always expressed. +</p> + +<p> +"You used to want to write, dear. I hope you will. You'll +find that much of what you are suffering now will escape into +that, and it will be ever so much better than it would +otherwise have been. Remember, there have been little housemaids +in London who have had to suppress their love and have had +no mind to understand these things ... and yet they have +endured and survived.... But I'll tell you one thing that you +must guard against. Books and Art are very great, and no +life is half a life without them; but they are apt to become +a fixed idea, excluding everything—unselfishness and all the +rest. And so you get set as selfish, and only occasionally a +kindly impulse in you shows you what you might have been.... +So the remedy, I feel, is to get this other idea equally—the +idea that there is no happiness apart from pity and +service...." +</p> + +<p> +His daughter had risen and was standing before him. +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy, I always think you're wonderful.... Don't—don't +tell Owen anything about it, will you?" +</p> + +<p> +He passed his hand over the back of her head, aware of +moistened eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't suffer too much, my Daphne. I can't stand it." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne shook her head and smiled confidently. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0423"></a></p> + +<h2> +PART IV: <i>Things as They Are</i> +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXIII +</h3> + +<p> +A day in September Mr. Bruno and his children came +again to the little garden of firs. The news from South +Africa had been such that he preferred to be in France with +a view to winding up his affairs there in the event of an early +return to England. And Daphne was glad to be out of +Switzerland. She had not been able to bear the conversations +of guests who mentioned places associated with Henry—the +Urirotstock, the Rutli, the Furka Pass, the Mythen. All +mountains hurt her. +</p> + +<p> +On the doorstep Miss Carrell greeted the family, inquiring +of Daphne: +</p> + +<p> +"Have you had a nice holiday, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Absolutely ripping," said Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +And with this sickening lie she carried her wooden despair +into the house. +</p> + +<p> +A wooden despair it was, these first weeks. She would take +her memories with her on lonely walks in the Montmorency +Forest. Its autumnal lights pierced her. She made a +pilgrimage to the grave to Géneviève Rollier in Taverney +Churchyard; and now more than ever did the tawdry wreaths and the +words "<i>A Man Epouse</i>," "<i>Nous ne t'oublierons jamais</i>," inflate +her to pity. She really felt, as her father had encouraged +her to feel, an infinite gentleness towards all the world. +</p> + +<p> +"You can't reach to pain fully," said she, remembering some +words of Henry's, "till you have suffered yourself." And she +was aware of a little pride in her suffering. +</p> + +<p> +She set to work again upon her book "Madame Rolland." There +was a whole reservoir of manuscript to be distilled into +some last shapely urn. But now, as she studied it—on the +other side of her great experience—it seemed shallow, light, +unfelt, invented. "Invention's the very opposite of creation," +Henry had said; and this minute she saw its truth. +</p> + +<p> +The clearer parts of her brain told her brutally what she +ought to do. She ought to scrap every bit of this stuff, even +though it were the product of two years' brain-bullying, because +it had been written when her angle was all wrong, and would +only go lumpy and formless if she tried so late to infiltrate +it with truth. More, since Henry was always correct, she ought +to postpone writing for publication till she had read much more +and learned something of "the best that had been thought and +written throughout the ages." +</p> + +<p> +But could she do this? Could she scrap it all and postpone, +even abandon, the thought of fame? No, the old Daphne of +three months ago was too strong to be shed at once by this +new creature of selfishness and consecration. She would +re-fashion the book to meet her truer measures, but she must keep +her eyes on fame. Next year, or the year after, she must +make her little stir whose ripples would reach to Henry. +</p> + +<p> +So she struggled on with "Madame Rolland," though sensible +of compromise and conflict. The sceptic in the corner kept +protesting, "In spite of me you're heading for one more +blunder." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Another subject, besides her book and her settled sadness, +found a small welcome at her door. This talk about war in +South Africa—it was always dramatic. The letters of Owen, +who had returned to Sillborough, were full of it. It was +thrilling to read each morning in the English or French papers of +the Boers' impudent ultimatum and the British Government's +haughty refusal to discuss such terms; of the threatening +mobilisation in the Orange Free State and the calling out of +the reserves in England; of the last dark summoning of Parliament. +But this interest was mild compared with her interest in +her book. It occupied about the same relation to "Madame +Rolland" as a bright little grocer's boy, calling every day, +occupies to the mistress of a house. +</p> + +<p> +This grocer's boy, however, came in and sat down in the +best room during the days when war was declared. The English +papers were better than any drama now, with their huge +pictures of Sir Redvers Buller in his cocked hat, about whom +she had misgivings because his chin receded, and of that old +darling Oom Paul Kruger, who, with his curtain-fringe of +beard and chimney-pot hat, was so ugly as to be perfectly sweet. +The French papers, with their abuse of the English, were things +to be read; and in a moment of patriotic fervour she was anxious +to shake off the dust of her heels on such a rude country. +</p> + +<p> +"I vote we go," said she to her father. +</p> + +<p> +And her father shocked her by saying cold-bloodedly: +</p> + +<p> +"But my sympathies, I'm afraid, are rather with Oom Paul +than with Tante Victoria." +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy!" she exclaimed, after a shriek of laughter at such +a name for the venerable Queen, "how can you say such a +thing? You're not a pro-Boer." +</p> + +<p> +But all he did was to smile and murmur, "<i>Et tu, Daphne</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see there's any <i>Et tu, Daphne</i> about it. You can't +think they're right." +</p> + +<p> +"Neither side's ever perfectly right, dear. But that's no +reason why the big man should start to pummel the little fellow +and kick his posterior. Little men are always self-assertive +or nobody'd notice them much.... However, the damage is +done. And now it's for us to wonder how long our house +and our lives will be safe among these emotional +French." (Mr. Bruno knew there was nothing +in this alarmist suggestion, +but could not resist uttering it. His difference from the +ordinary panic-monger was his ability to stand outside himself +and laugh at his own delight.) "Supposing they burn our +house about our heads." +</p> + +<p> +"Will they really? How ripping! Is it going to be as +exciting as that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Who knows? The French are without some principle of +balance. However, I shouldn't talk to Miss Carrell about these +things; and certainly not to Hollins. Panic is a light sleeper +in minds that have never been properly <i>trued</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, I won't," promised Daphne, proud to be held of +stabler make than Miss Carrell and Hollins, and impressed (as +often during talks with her father) at the enormous number +of defective people in the world. She was struck, too, at his +originality in being a pro-Boer, and wondered whether to learn +up the part and be one herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Besides," Mr. Bruno concluded, "we shan't be able to keep +up these two homes. No one'll buy any books." +</p> + +<p> +The early and continued successes of the Boers, however, +alienated his sympathy from them. It was as if he felt they +were going too far. And one morning, on finishing his perusal +of a smashing Boer victory, he turned to Daphne and said, +"Well, dammit, I think we'd better win now," which relieved +her considerably. Then they prepared to return to England. +On a day in December, after the incredible defeats at +Stormberg, Magersfontein and Colenso, the trunks of the Brunos +were packed, labelled, and standing in the hall at St. Leu. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne went for a farewell walk along the roads of the +forest. The trees were quite bare, but many of the dead leaves +still littered the paths. Though mid-afternoon, the sun-rays, +slanting through the boles, had the sad effulgence of evening. +Her random progress led her as far as the Pont de Diable +and back upon her tracks. It was on this homeward stroll, +just as she was nearing the edge of the trees, that she was +abruptly withdrawn from her inward thinking by the sight +of a man approaching her. The cut of his black overcoat and +his height suggested that he was English. On his perceiving +her he quickened his steps. It was Roger Muirhead surely. +Yes, it was he; and tall and handsome he looked. He was now +smiling recognition, and she replying with questioning eyebrows. +That he had come in search of her was manifest, and the +thought could only please. A rapid wonder passed by her +mind: was she to be given at last the opportunity of saying, +as she had always wished to do, "It's no good, Roger. I don't +love you"? But now, in her dominant gentleness, she had lost +the desire to say it. He mustn't be hurt like that. Not more +than was inevitable. Less, much less, were it possible.... +And while she thought these things she was smiling at him +with questioning eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +"What on earth's produced you in these parts?" +</p> + +<p> +Roger lifted his shoulders and looked embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I was in Paris ... and thought I might as well look +you up. Your people at the house told me you were here, so +I said I'd come and look for you ... as I've got to go back +to Paris almost at once." +</p> + +<p> +"It's awfully nice of you." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, it isn't.... At least ... Oh, I'd better tell you +the reason why I've come. (May I walk back with you?) What +do you think it is?" +</p> + +<p> +"You've just said: to see us; to see some English friends +who happen to be in the same strange land as you are in. I +always find that people whom one would hardly know in England, +if one meets them in a racket of foreigners, are one's +best friends." +</p> + +<p> +Roger gave silence to this as he walked by her side, and +she feared she had hurt him more than she meant. So she +hastily added: +</p> + +<p> +"It's topping to see you." +</p> + +<p> +"No—no—I ... Duffy, it was to find you, and you only, +that I came." Her heart throbbed. "I wasn't really staying +in Paris. I left England on the impulse of the moment last +night, and I shall have to get back to-night." +</p> + +<p> +She said nothing, but walked on with him, occasionally +kicking at the dead leaves. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, I've been in love with you ever since you appeared +at that ball. No, please let me go on. I—I'm sure you were +meant for me, because each time the first sight of you has been +enough to make me fall in love with you. That blasted +waltz—I've been humming it ever since, on purpose to work myself +into a sad condition." +</p> + +<p> +"But——" she began. +</p> + +<p> +"No, please let me go on. This is what made me come out. +I've joined Sinclair's Horse, and I'm going to South Africa +almost immediately. I expect my orders for the front any +day now. It's all been perfectly glorious except—well, I've +been dreaming how splendid it would be if I could go out +engaged to you. I can't bear to think of any one else walking +off with you in the meantime.... So I resolved to charge +straight at it.... Duffy, if we were engaged I should be able +to write to you. And——" +</p> + +<p> +"Roger, I'd give anything to be able to do what you ask, +but I—I can't——" The words "I don't love you" should +have come here, but she would not say them. The way of +gentleness was to remove his castle brick by brick, not to shatter +it at a blow. "I'll write to you, however, regularly...." +</p> + +<p> +They walked on, she diverging him towards an opening in +the trees, for he seemed unconscious or indifferent which +direction he took. He must speak next; and it was a while +before his answer came. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Duffy, I know I've jumped it on you rather, but I +was forced to, wasn't I? Do take that into consideration, +and—I mean, it's a time for deciding things quickly and not +spreading them over their usual period. I feel sure—I know +you're destined to love me—you <i>did</i> once—and I don't believe—I +never have believed that you are absolutely without feeling +for me now. Little things made me think——" +</p> + +<p> +After all her indifference, of which she had been so proud, +these words came as a sharp temptation—a temptation to say, +"You're as wrong as you can be. I've no trace of love for +you"; but she held them back. Sometimes it wasn't easy to +be gentle.... +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, do say you will be engaged to me." +</p> + +<p> +"I can't, Roger.... We don't know each other well +enough...." +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly. I've never had a reasonable chance. I've only +had two spells of acquaintance with you. And the very way +we've been forced apart each time makes me think we're +intended for one another. I believe that a fate waits for every +man and that you are mine." +</p> + +<p> +"Roger, you're incurably romantic, aren't you?" +</p> + +<p> +This never offended him. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps I am, if it's romantic to believe that. All I know +is that I love you with all my heart and soul." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm awfully sorry, Roger ... but I can't do what you ask.... +I wish I were able to." +</p> + +<p> +They were now out of the trees and walking down the slope +to St. Leu. The nearing of the houses prompted Roger to say +despairingly: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if you can't go as far as that, will you promise not +to get engaged to any one else till I come back or am +killed——?" +</p> + +<p> +"Roger, you mustn't be killed. Don't say that." +</p> + +<p> +He scarcely listened to her interruption. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, promise me you won't get engaged to any one till I +come back. The war can't last long. If we don't wipe up a +few Dutch farmers in six months we shall be a poor set. Wait +till I come back so that I can have the chance of a run with +the others." +</p> + +<p> +This was the humblest thing he had said, and it went to her +heart. +</p> + +<p> +"There'll be no others," she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course there will be. As I told you once before, there'll +always be heaps who want you. That's what makes me mad.... +Throughout the journey here I was in mortal dread lest +I should find you already engaged; and when I glanced at your +finger just now and realised you were still unwon I believed +in my fate again." +</p> + +<p> +"Roger, you must get that idea out of your head.... It's +a little sentimental, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +This was to put it a different way. To be called romantic +was pleasing, but to have his love and his faith dubbed +sentimental had clearly injured his pride. +</p> + +<p> +"Does that mean you won't promise me anything?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid so. It wouldn't be fair." +</p> + +<p> +"All right." His face, as she always phrased it, had +"tightened." They were at the bottom of the hill, and he put out his +hand. "Well, good-bye." +</p> + +<p> +"Come and have some tea with us," she said hastily. +</p> + +<p> +"No, thanks. I must get back." +</p> + +<p> +He took her hand coldly, and after a glance at his watch, +murmured something and moved on in front of her. She +watched him stride a little way and then, unable to let him +go like that, ran hurriedly after him. +</p> + +<p> +"Roger," she called. +</p> + +<p> +"What?" He stopped and turned. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want you to go like that." +</p> + +<p> +He smiled his wry smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, there's no other way to go unless you do what +I ask. And I'm not going to pester you for favours. I don't +do that sort of thing easily.... You're the only person in my +life I've ever humbled myself before. I shouldn't have done +it if this war hadn't forced my hand. After all, I've kept this +to myself for nearly two years." +</p> + +<p> +"But Roger——" +</p> + +<p> +"And I don't ask you to be engaged to me, but only to wait +till I come back, so that I may have a fair run with the other +fellows. It isn't much. The war won't go on for ever. +Besides, I should be invalided or wounded sooner or later; or +killed, which would relieve you of your promise." +</p> + +<p> +"Roger, don't talk like that. If you'll promise not to think +there's much chance of our ever getting married I'll promise +to do what you asked." +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, you will?" There was almost a note of triumph +in his voice. "Oh, thanks ... thanks awfully. It makes all +the difference. You may call me romantic, if you like, but I +shall feel now as if I were fighting to—to win through to you +in spite of everything you say." +</p> + +<p> +Having allowed a faint haze of falsity to arise it was useless +to try dissipating it now. Best continue being kind. +</p> + +<p> +"And you know you are not really bound to go by the midnight +boat. Come back and see the family. It's all returning +to England to-morrow, and you can meet us in Paris and look +after Miss Carrell and Hollins as far as London, while I look +after Father." +</p> + +<p> +He met this with his grim smile; and, chatting naturally, +though sometimes she caught him staring at her in admiration, +they walked back to the house. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Roger's visit and request were at least flattering, and she +wanted to tell some one about it. Especially since he had been +such a success on the journey to London and had looked +magnificent. Her father she could not tell, for he had seen +her moving on her tragic plateau, and would feel that those +who walked up there should walk above vanities. Miss +Carrell? Was she right in suspecting that gentleness forbade +unnecessary brag to Miss Carrell about offers of marriage? +There was Hollins. She must tell Hollins. And in the +evening following the day of their return to Old Hall House she +begged the old servant to come and sit in the playroom and +mend her stockings there. For twenty minutes she discussed +a miscellany of topics, awaiting the propitious moment. And +when they had reached the voyage of yesterday she asked: +</p> + +<p> +"What did you think of Mr. Muirhead?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins pursed her mouth at the hole she was darning. +</p> + +<p> +"Not much. I went to the door myself when he come, and +before he could speak I thought, 'He's English.' They look +quite different, don't they? They look gentlemen. But this +one struck me as having rather a sort of condescending tone, +if you know what I mean." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know what he came for?" +</p> + +<p> +"He said he happened to be around and knew you but not +the master, so I sent him after you." +</p> + +<p> +"You didn't know what you were sending, did you? If I +tell you what he really came for will you promise not to tell +any one?" +</p> + +<p> +Hollins, perceiving the glimmer of an interesting revelation, +laid down her stocking. What it was she probably had no idea, +still thinking of her young mistress as a schoolgirl. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I won't say anything if you tell me not to." +</p> + +<p> +"He came to ask me to marry him." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Duffy! Good gracious! ... But I never knew there +was anything between you. I never seen him before. Good +gracious.... I'm sorry I said I didn't quite take to him, first +go off, as you might say. It was only his manner, and I suppose +it was natural for him to think I was an ordinary servant.... +Lord.... Miss Duffy!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't get excited. I refused him.... But I <i>did</i> promise +not to get engaged to any one else till he comes back. He's +going to the war, you see." +</p> + +<p> +"But he isn't a soldier, is he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not professionally. He's Sir Roger Muirhead's son." +</p> + +<p> +"Then what's he want to go out there for?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, a lot of men besides the regulars are going now." +</p> + +<p> +"Are they? I don't know what they're up to. Aren't there +enough soldiers? It seems we're getting beat everywhere. +Well, I hope your Mr. Moorhead'll teach them Boers a lesson. +They appear to fight pretty dirty, waving white flags and all +that." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I think that's largely made up." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, it isn't. I seen it in the papers yesterday." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the French papers tell a very different story." +</p> + +<p> +"They <i>would</i>, 'ating us as they do, and being a race of liars, +as far as I can make out." +</p> + +<p> +"Personally, I rather admire the Boers and think they're +putting up a jolly plucky fight." +</p> + +<p> +Hollins took up her stocking again with an unbelieving smile +and a shake of the head. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Miss Duffy, that won't do. You ain't a pro-Boer, as +they say. One can't hold with English people as says the other +side is right. Not that I ever met any who did, and I don't +believe they're proper English at all. But lor! to think of that +young gentleman asking you to marry him!" This was obviously +the more interesting subject to her. "To think that all +that sort of thing's beginning.... Why, it seems only +yesterday that the bell rang and the noos come to your father as +how he'd got a little daughter. And then when your mamma +asked for you to be brought to her, before she passed away—it +don't seem twenty years." She stopped her darning to scratch +her head with the needle. "Funny you're not in the least like +her. She was fair and small and timid like. Lor! I remember +I used to say that with your eyes you'd soon have the young +men hanging around. And now it's comin' to pass. I used to +say your eyes is your trump card...." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but they're the only trump I've got," grumbled Daphne. +"Otherwise I've a putrid hand." +</p> + +<p> +"It don't look like it, do it?" smiled Hollins, "seeing that +there's been one after you before you're twenty. And such +a handsome one, too." She folded up the completed pair of +stockings and pushed her wooden ball into the heel of one of +Mr. Bruno's socks. "What I always says is, Life's a funny +business. The noos come that you'd arrived at that there +horrible home, and you're brought to the hall door, where I +met you carried in; and then time passed with cooking and +washing and mending, and you in the house growing so +naturally that one hardly noticed your growing at all or worried +about it—and now you're going to disappear out of the hall +door into another life. Seems strange somehow." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0424"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXIV +</h3> + +<p> +The papers now filled with pictures of Field-Marshal Lord +Roberts, who was to proceed at once to the command in +South Africa, and of Lord Kitchener, who was to be his Chief +of Staff. Of Lord Roberts Daphne had never heard, but she +thought his moustache and imperial rather sweet. Lord +Kitchener, on the other hand, had been one of her schoolgirl +heroes at the time of his return from the Sudan, and she was +jealous for him that he should not be in supreme command. +Lord Roberts, in comparison with Kitchener, was just a toy +of an old man, such a one as she always called "a poor little +soul." "Still, generals of that sort are often very pure little +men," said Daphne comfortingly. +</p> + +<p> +Owen returned from Sillborough for the Christmas holidays, +and after the feast spent a mysterious night in town. The next +evening he apologised to his father and sister and announced +that he had joined the Imperial Yeomanry. He expected to +leave for South Africa any day now. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno muttered a mild oath, but was not displeased +with his son. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't say I believe in your war, colonel," said he, "but as +my good friend Nietzsche puts it with some originality, 'It's +the fighting halloweth every cause.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Lor' bless you, I don't believe in it either," Owen disclaimed. +"I only think it's jolly decent—like sin.... Don't you?" +</p> + +<p> +As for Daphne, she succumbed to a really bourgeois pride +and sentimentality about her brother. Ever since he had shot +up six inches above her and could lift her out of a carriage lest +her dancing shoes were soiled, she had promoted him to a +worldly superiority over herself. It was extraordinary how +boys, who were such miserable fowl at ten years old, developed +into something much more competent and assured than yourself. +She was as excited as he about sleeping-bags, bandoliers, +revolvers, grey-coats, field-glasses, riding-boots and badges of +rank. And it was a pleasure to write to Roger that her brother +Owen was following him and was in the cavalry, so it was +possible they would meet. +</p> + +<p> +Roger had left for Cape Town very soon after his hawk-swoop +on Daphne in the wood. He wrote regularly and more +and more affectionately. It was plain that the loneliness and +woman-hunger of soldiering had heightened his love, and that +he was picturing her now as much more wonderful than she +was. These letters, so courteous, reverent, and yet breathing +in every line an impassioned love, raised in her a great +tenderness towards Roger, an emotion very different from the humble +worship which was her love for Henry. +</p> + +<p> +This was always present: if not actually in her thoughts it +was very close, behind a semi-transparent veil. If the veil +thickened, making Henry for a space a well-nigh incredible +memory, and herself ashamed that her love could quiet so, it +needed but the appearance of his figure in a dream for her to +awake and find the wound open, aching in sharp air. Or she +would look out of her window at night and see the English +clouds shaping themselves as mountain ranges, with two points, +perhaps, like the points of the Mythen; and immediately any +hardening ground would be painfully broken again, and wild +sentences arise, "I can't live without you, Henry!" "I must +have you, Henry!" +</p> + +<p> +This pain swelled her tenderness to Roger; and when he +wrote begging, "Please, <i>please</i> send me a photograph," she +determined to comply; and determined that it should show her at +her very best—or better than that. It might be the last picture +he would ever see of her. She went to the most expensive +photographer's in Brighton, and on the arrival of proofs, opened +them eagerly. They were too wonderful—<i>perfect</i>! As she +studied the picture, large and softened in the latest style, she +was (as she said) "astonied, and there was no more bitterness +in her." It was she—and yet it was the ideal of her; it was +her own dream of herself that she had failed to realise. The +longing was in her mind for Henry to see it. Still, there was +happiness in sending it off to Roger, and thinking of his joy +in its possession, and imagining it on his camp-table throughout +the war. +</p> + +<p> +On a May afternoon she rose from her writing-place with +a glow of lonely triumph, such as that experienced by Gibbon +when he had completed "The Decline and Fall of the Roman +Empire." She had written the last word of "Madame +Rolland." Whatever happened to this manuscript, she had actually +written a book—a story with a beginning, a middle, and an +end. +</p> + +<p> +Whether it were good or bad, she could not decide. A few +parts she felt sure were splendid, of a great many she feared +the worst. +</p> + +<p> +What to do with it now? She could not bring herself to +show the manuscript to anybody before sending it to the +publishers. Her father she had always meant to surprise by its +publication; Miss Carrell was a nonentity, and Hollins, if she +struggled through it, would certainly say it was beautiful. And +having shut herself within herself of late she had no very +intimate friends. Mrs. Montague Jevons was abroad. If only +Henry could have criticised it! But her book, she knew, would +have been quite different then. Desiring only to earn his +commendation, and indifferent to the world, she would not have +compromised. +</p> + +<p> +Over what name should it be sent to the publishers? Her +own she would have liked. "Daphne Bruno" sounded an +author's name. +</p> + +<p> +"But, no. If it's as rotten as I sometimes think it, I should +let father down. Besides, it might go a bit on his name, and +that I don't want." +</p> + +<p> +"Helen Gilder" was her final concoction. "'Madame Rolland,' +by Helen Gilder." +</p> + +<p> +Now the manuscript had to be typed. There was a lady +who did typing in Haywards Heath, where she had a little +office over a shop in Boltro Road. It would be very pleasant +walking the two miles there with the manuscript under her +arm. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later she was in the office of Miss Elsie Troon, +typist, and saying with a mixture of self-consciousness and +vanity: +</p> + +<p> +"I want this typed, please; and what is the very soonest I +could have it?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Troon, a stout blonde, was quite unmoved at having +an author in her office. She looked at the manuscript, giving +Daphne an uncomfortable moment as the title page passed +beneath her eyes, estimated the number of words, and named +a date. +</p> + +<p> +"I should have liked it before that, as I have got to send +it to the publisher's reader as soon as possible." +</p> + +<p> +This sounded excellent, and was reasonably true. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Troon, her blood still unwarmed, promised to have it +completed by a day earlier, and Daphne departed, carrying +down into the street an anxiety lest any disaster overtook the +manuscript while it was out of her hands. Apart from this +anxiety, her walk home was very happy, and her sense of work +completed made it seem like the first evening of a holiday. +</p> + +<p> +When the day came to fetch the typescript she was almost +as excited as if she were going to see her book in print. But +she showed no emotion to the phlegmatic Miss Troon, not even +examining the work before it was packed up. And in the +street, with some idea that Miss Troon might be leaning out of +her window and watching, she refrained from undoing the +parcel till she was round a corner. But thereafter she walked +home along the town and the country road reading it page by +page and occasionally walking into other pedestrians or the +hedge. It was very well typed, and seemed to have shed some +of its amateurishness with this change of dress. Certain +corrections she made with her pencil, standing in the middle of +the road or with a foot on the hedge. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Her scheme was to send it to the most important publishers +first (avoiding her father's lest they recognised the owner's +name) and work downward to the smaller people. It was +rather thrilling, composing a letter to the firm; writing on the +fly-leaf of the typescript: "Property of Miss Daphne Bruno, +Old Hall House, Wivelsfield, Sussex," and then making up +the parcel. The last knot tied she went out and posted it. +</p> + +<p> +"I only expect to get it back. Of course, I must expect to +get it back once or twice." +</p> + +<p> +The first time it returned she took the parcel from the +postman's hand with a steady face, and the hope that he would not +observe her heightened colour and slight abstraction. She carried +it into the playroom and redirected it, with a new letter, to +the second publisher on the list. Every morning she watched +the postman coming up the drive, and on a day three weeks +later saw in his hand the parcel of unmistakable shape. The +third time she was out when it came, and found it in the hall, +on returning from a ride. It was a day in July, and the +anniversary, so her diary told her, of one of the most intimate +conversations with Henry, under the mountains of Brunnen. The +fourth time she saw it again in the postman's hands; and lest +he should begin to suspect what it was and know her for a +humbled failure, she ran out and joked with him as she took it +from his hands. +</p> + +<p> +The fifth time it stayed away so long that she thought she +might write for information, and did so in a very courteous +letter. +</p> + +<p> +"It'll reach them to-morrow morning, and I ought to get an +answer the next day after breakfast." +</p> + +<p> +That next day there was, surely enough, a letter for her with +the publisher's imprint. This set one's heart going fast and +awkwardly; no parcel, just a letter alone. With quivering +fingers she opened and drew out the typed sheet. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"DEAR MADAM (it said),—We desire to thank you for giving +us the opportunity of reading your novel, 'Madame Rolland,' +but after carefully considering it we have regretfully decided +that we cannot make you any offer for its publication. We +are therefore returning it under separate cover...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She tossed down the sheet with the words, "All right, I'll +send it to the next, and you'll be sorry some day." +</p> + +<p> +This much of comfort she tried to suck from the letter, that +they had taken long to make up their minds. But the sceptic +had another view; he hinted that they had not read it at all +and, on receipt of her inquiry, had returned it by the next post. +</p> + +<p> +That winter and spring she sent it to three or four more +publishers, directing it each time in a soulless, automatic way, +entirely without hope, but liking to tell herself that she hadn't +given in. She wrote nothing else, and read little. Ambition +had drawn into a shell and was hibernating there. Careless +now to whom she submitted it, she tried a Mr. D. J. Stendal, +whose advertisement she had seen in a corner of a weekly +paper. Beneath its tabulated titles it had added, "Authors +Invited to Submit Books." +</p> + +<p> +His reply came a week later. It said that Mr. Stendal was +interested in her work and would like to see her at some time +suitable to herself, either at his office in Queen Victoria Street, +or, since he would be in Brighton that week-end, at the Old +Ship Hotel. +</p> + +<p> +Now her heart beat to a tune of high hope again. Ambition +leapt from its shell as if it had never been torpid at all. From +Mr. D. J. Stendal's crested paper and offices in Queen Victoria +Street she conjectured that his house must be in no small way. +And Mr. D. J. Stendal was coming himself. Did this mean +that her book was so good that the head of the firm was prepared +to wait on her? Or was it—was it that Mr. D. J. Stendal, +despite his note-paper, had less standing than—she hurried to +look again at his advertisement. It was certainly a very small +advertisement, giving the titles of some poetry books by writers +with unfamiliar names. +</p> + +<p> +Less excited, but still pleased that some one was prepared +to publish her work, and fortifying herself with the words, +"Beggars can't be choosers," she wrote that she would be happy +to interview Mr. Stendal in Brighton. +</p> + +<p> +Monday was the day assigned; and it was an April afternoon, +warmer than any that had gone before so that the spirit of +holiday was along the Brighton front, when Daphne pushed +open the door of the Old Ship Hotel and asked at a counter +for Mr. D. J. Stendal. +</p> + +<p> +"He's expecting me," said she to the attendant, wondering +if he knew Mr. D. J. Stendal was a publisher, and would guess +her to be one of his authoresses. +</p> + +<p> +While a boy in buttons went to look for her host, she watched +the people as they came and went, and vaguely pitied them their +flat occupations or commonplace holiday. Not one of them, +probably, was at the verge of exciting things. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Stendal's just here, miss," said the returning boy; and +he led her to an ante-room where he pointed to a little, +clean-shaven, sharp-featured man, in a blue serge suit, who was +staring out of the window at the sea-front. On the table beside +him was an empty cup of coffee, its saucer littered with cigar +ash. A disappointingly insignificant little man—but then, what +about Lord Roberts. "Let's hope D. J. is just such a pure little +man," thought Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"That's 'im, miss." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stendal turned from the window as she drew near and +rose. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Miss Bruno, I imagine, Miss Daphne Bruno. Yes. It's +exceedingly kind of you to give me the opportunity of +discussing things with you personally. Won't you sit down?" He +smiled. "You're even younger than I thought." +</p> + +<p> +With the quick sensitiveness of an author Daphne wondered +what this meant. +</p> + +<p> +"Am I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Well, you don't mind my cigar, I suppose?—well, +we've all read 'Madame Rolland' with interest, and on certain +considerations have decided that we should like to publish it +for you." +</p> + +<p> +The "We've all" reassured her; evidently the firm was not +small. But it was a shock to hear the title rendered in English +as "Maddum Rollend." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she said inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +"'Helen Gilder' I see you call yourself. I wonder why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I made it up." +</p> + +<p> +"But why, when—or p'raps you didn't want the name +confused with the great Tenter Bruno?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne flushed. +</p> + +<p> +"Not particularly." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stendal now looked out of the window, which had the +effect of bringing into the ante-room the sounds of horse-traffic +and the footsteps of passers-by and the shrieks of children. +</p> + +<p> +"You're not any relation to him by any chance, are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, yes," said Daphne, with an awkward smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, <i>relly</i>?" Mr. Stendal's eyes came away from the window +and looked straight at his visitor, whimsically. "Relly? +This <i>is</i> interesting. Not his daughter, by any chance? Of +course, he lives this way, doesn't he? Not his <i>daughter</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne nodded, very red. And Mr. Stendal's eyebrows were +surprised and delighted. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, relly. I <i>am</i>—I count this interview a great privilege. +Yes, and now I come to look, you're not unlike some of his +pictures. But why, Miss Bruno—why, with a name to conjure +with like yours—don't you publish under it? Your book has a +charm, an innocent charm, that pleased me, but"—his lips +compressed, as his head shook doubtfully—"the difficulty always is +to start an unknown author. You can't get the necessary +publicity. And no book, however good, can do much without that. +With your father's name we could at least get notice taken of it. +We should—I might say, we should be honoured to publish +'Rollend' for your father's daughter." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but that's just what I don't want." +</p> + +<p> +The sensitive Daphne's heart was drooping at the thought +that her work was not really good. Doubtless the great houses +who only published work on its merits had rightly turned it +down.... But no, she wouldn't think that. She would believe +in it despite everything. It was not that she was a fool, +but only that she preferred to be. +</p> + +<p> +"Why don't you want it, Miss Bruno?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because I want it to go on its own strength ... and father +knows nothing at all about it." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stendal smiled sympathetically—knowingly. +</p> + +<p> +"I see—I quite see. I quite appreciate your position. It's +to be a surprise, eh? ... And may I ask if—you'll forgive +me, I'm sure, for no lady minds being considered younger +than she is—may I ask if you're still a minor?" +</p> + +<p> +"Does that mean, am I twenty-one?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"I was twenty-one last February." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stendal smiled benignantly. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me! What it is to look sixteen! You see, you need +to be over twenty-one if you're going to sign an agreement. +In your own interest I mentioned it." +</p> + +<p> +"Agreement?" Her brows furrowed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, there's always an agreement between publisher and +author." +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't realise that." +</p> + +<p> +"No? Well, it's quite a simple matter.... Now, as regards +terms. You mustn't expect to make a great pile of money +with your first book." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I don't," assured Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"No. Especially when it's without any particular sting. The +great houses find it difficult to sell seven hundred copies of an +unknown writer's book.... Myself, I make quite a feature of +publishing the work of young writers—why, I can't say—they +appeal to me, perhaps. But, as I expect you know, it's generally +poytry I publish. Now, in the case of poytry, which is even +more difficult to sell, the author generally contributes towards +the cost of production, and after a certain number have been +sold, he begins to get a royalty on each copy." Mr. Stendal +smiled benignly. "Now, I don't propose to ask you to +contribute anything. Nor do I propose to buy your copyright for +a sum down—I always think that's so unfair—if the book was +to go, I might make hundreds, while you'd only get your small +sum." He then told the stories of several famous novels which +had made thousands for their publishers and nothing for their +authors, and Daphne was astonished; many of them were +books she had read. "Yes, it's pure roguery, isn't it?" nodded +Mr. Stendal. "Well, what I suggest is that, after you've sold a +thousand copies, you get a royalty on every copy of ten per +cent. of the published price. I shall be losing money till I've +sold something in the neighbourhood of a thousand copies." +</p> + +<p> +"It sounds all right," smiled Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"I might even, if you sold, say, five thousand, raise the +royalty to fifteen per cent." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, thanks." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I desire to be perfectly fair. Well, now the question +of name. I quite appreciate that you don't want your father +to know anything about it. If it's a success, you want to be +able to tell him that Helen Gilder is relly Miss Daphne Bruno. +Whereas, if it isn't a success, you needn't say anything." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that's it." +</p> + +<p> +"Quite so. Still, may I suggest that you publish it +anonymously? Anonymous books sometimes cause a good deal of +talk and speculation—which helps them considerably. Now +'Rollend' is a slight book—very nice as far as it goes—but it +can't afford to do without these adventitious aids. 'Helen +Gilder' will do it no good at all. Anonymity might help a +little—nothing much, but a little. 'Tennyrate, I strongly +recommend it." +</p> + +<p> +She agreed to this, and, a little later, the conversation +terminated in amiable chaff from Mr. Stendal, and the assurance, at +the door of the hotel, that he would forward the agreement +at once. +</p> + +<p> +Out in the sunshine of the Brighton front her thoughts were +a mixture of disappointment and exultation, misgiving and +hope: disappointment at the qualified praise of Mr. Stendal and +the faint aura of doubts that hung around his person; exultation +because her book would at least be printed and stand on her +shelves, which was more than any of these people in the +carriages or on the pavements had achieved; misgiving lest the +critics laughed at her work, and hope that they might +pronounce it very good. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish I knew if it were good or bad. However, I won't +let myself expect it's going to do anything big.... But, of +course, it's quite possible it might be good and catch on. And +then..." +</p> + +<p> +She gave herself to the more pleasurable business of imagining +the sensation in the papers and the surprise that would be +sprung on her father and Owen and Roger. Roger, being an +ambitious person, would hardly suspect that she also could do a +noisy thing in the world. Probably, though not admitting it, +he would be a little jealous. And if it were a success, and +published in America, under its author's real name, and Henry +saw it! +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0425"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXV +</h3> + +<p> +Owen and Roger wrote frequently. They had met at +Krugersdorp, as both reported in their letters: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I struck Roger Muirhead's crowd the other day," said Owen. +"My dear, Roger's a great man. He's doing things properly. +If you can conceive an amalgam of the Iron Duke, Frederick +the Great, Cromwell and Halifax, that's Roger. He's the sort +that says: 'My men may fear me, but I think you'll agree they'll +follow me anywhere.' I really believe he imagines the British +are in the right and the Boers in the wrong; though Heaven +knows why. And did you know he was religious? But he is. +He never fails to take his men to church if there's a parade. +It seems the old boy, his pater, is a tremendous churchman; +though, again, Heaven knows why. I blew into his tent, and +on a box beside his bed was the same photograph of you as +you sent me. Is he still smitten with you, or how did he get it? +I'm sorry I don't like him if <i>you</i> do. I'll try to; but, honestly, +I think him at present rather pompous and superior. He must +always disagree with you lest, by agreeing, he should appear to +be less than you. I can look into his head and see his motives +hopping and popping about, just as if his skull were made of +glass, which makes me think I must inherit some of your dear +father's insight. But he may grow out of these things. He's +very young. And I must say he never misses a chance of being +wounded or killed. He's either unco brave, or so ambitious +that he's ready to be killed if only he can do some enormously +brave deed and have it trumpeted all over the world. +</p> + +<p> +"Love to father, and tell him I met a British officer the other +day who had read one of his books. Love to Miss Carrell and +dear old Herbert Hollins.—Your hero brother, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"OWEN BRUNO." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Daphne, reading this letter, was more annoyed with Owen +than critical of Roger. It was irritating that her brother should +sit in judgment, and contemptuously, on a man who had asked +her to marry him. +</p> + +<p> +"After all, Owen, just as much as Roger, has created a character +that he tries to live up to—the humorous, cynical young +man.... When he's been through some pain"—this she +thought with a little pride—"he'll be more generous." +</p> + +<p> +Roger's letter had come by the same mail: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I met your young brother the other day. He's a curious kid. +He always seems to want to laugh at everything. I think I've +got as much humour as most men, but I like to believe there are +some ideals worth holding. If he doesn't believe we're doing +a decent job out here, what on earth has he come for? I am +afraid I was rather rude, but I can't stick it when people try +to make out that every country and every class and every school +is right except their own, and I am afraid I'm apt to speak my +mind sometimes. It's not as though I was a Tory without an +idea beyond my own interests. Like father, who's one of the +few capitalists who have ever stood for Liberalism, I'm a +Liberal, but I believe in this war and came out to it, though many +of my political friends cried shame on me for doing it...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Now she was annoyed with Roger. "Owen's right: Roger's +egotism leaks out everywhere." And even as she said it she +remembered that all her thoughts for the last year and more, +while men were dying daily on the veldt and the British armies, +after an echoing humiliation, were only recovering in a +long-drawn tussle, had been concentrated on herself and her desire +to do something big. +</p> + +<p> +"I doubt if there's much to choose between any of us; every +one I've had anything to do with has lived in a self-created +role; Miss Durgon, old Miss Vidella, Miss Sims, Daddy, Roger, +Owen and myself. Henry, I believe, did it least of all. Or +his role was a better one; of itself it destroyed the play-actor.... +Roger must think me rather a fool, if he imagines I don't +see all these things. But 'Madame Rolland' 'll make him open +his eyes." +</p> + +<p> +And then, one morning as she was casually opening the +paper, she found herself looking straight at a portrait of Roger. +Quick self-reproach hampered her heart; she feared he was +dead. It beat again with relief and excitement when she saw +beneath the picture: "The Hero of Wittfontein. Lieut. Roger +Muirhead, whose heroism is reported on page 5." +</p> + +<p> +Eagerly turning to page five she read under sensational +headlines a column in honour of Roger. It was usual enough in +those days to see the exploits of English officers illuminated and +stressed till they seemed Homeric; but few had given the +journalistic imagination a better opening than Roger. It rushed in +a torrent over his deed and lapped worshippingly about his feet. +He had been in command of a small post at a place called +Wittfontein, which lay across the line of Hertzog's raid into Cape +Colony. He and his "handful" of men had been attacked by a +large force of Boers who had expected to sweep them up in a +morning's work before proceeding to the main column advancing +on Britstown. But Lieutenant Muirhead thought differently. +Nothing else would satisfy him but to remain undefeated +behind their raid, or to delay them by resisting to the +last man, while his commanding officer got wind of the +position. So all day, though wounded in shoulder and knee and +faint with loss of blood, he had crawled among his men, +revolver in hand, stiffening the resistance of this "tiny +Ladysmith" and refusing to give up the place of command. The +enemy had actually abandoned all attempt at capture, although +when the British relieving force arrived at the Wittfontein post, +<i>not one of its defenders was found to be without a wound</i>. +Mr. Muirhead was by this time unconscious. The men, now +that the Boers had cleared off and left them victors, were in high +spirits and full of praises for their officer. Some of their +remarks were quoted. "Doubt if we could have done it without +him." "He's severe enough, but he don't tell no one to do what +he wouldn't do himself." (What music to Roger's ears must +this sentence have been!) "He was bound to do something big +if the war went on long enough, and he didn't get himself +killed." +</p> + +<p> +A thought so unworthy had stirred in Daphne's mind that, +in order to drive it back and refuse it foot-room again, she +jumped up and rushed into her father's study to find more +papers and more accounts of the Hero of Wittfontein; she took +them for proud showing to Miss Carrell and Hollins, and she +hurried to her table and wrote to Roger. "Oh, Roger, I'm +thrilled. It's wonderful to be your friend." This was +expiation, because for a moment she had felt jealousy and +disappointment that Roger had achieved his fame before her. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The papers during several days gave space to Lieut. Muirhead. +They reported his improvement in hospital, gave a summary +of his life, and spoke of his desire after the war to enter +politics. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne wondered if his head would be turned, and could +not expel the thought that, now he was so big a man, with the +world at his feet, he might see fit to drop her as he had done +once before. Perhaps the interval between his letters would +increase till they stopped altogether. He was in no wise pledged +to her. But his next letter, under a base hospital address, began: +"My dearest Duffy," which was a phrase he had never employed +hitherto. What emotion, in the glow of his triumph, +had impelled its use? +</p> + +<p> +The early part of the letter was studiously occupied with +ordinary details of his life; but they were only like a creeper on +its real structure, which said: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"You will, I suppose, have heard of the scrap at Wittfontein. +I can't think what they are making all this fuss about. It was, +of course, a nasty day, but we had to fight whether we liked it +or not. The only alternative was to give ourselves up, and that +isn't done. I had no use for handing over my weapons and +the weapons of my men to the Boers. Hundreds of others +would have done what we did and been mopped up. We were +saved, and therefore everybody hears about it. And as for +all that talk about my keeping command when I was wounded +in the leg and shoulder (they might have added the thigh and +wrist as well), what could I do? We were surrounded, and +I had nowhere to go and get into bed. And I didn't fancy +seeing my sergeant take over command as long as I was in my +senses. The men were distinctly cock-a-hoop when the Boers +melted, and most of the puff in the papers is due to their +generous enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +"However, I dare say all this praise will please the pater +and mater, so I am glad of it for their sakes. But I am still +happier if it pleases you at all, because you are more to me +even than them. Duffy, I have wanted all the war to do +something big, simply to seem worthy of you. And dearest (forgive +me for writing that word, but I feel I must, and it can't hurt +you), when I first got into hospital feeling frightfully low +(emotionally exhausted, I suppose) I made sure I was going +to die; and all the time I thought of you as I found you in +that wood or left you on Victoria Station, and I didn't want +to die, for I wanted, at any rate, to be in the same world as +you..." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Daphne's eyes moistened; these were words she had used in +her thoughts of Henry. +</p> + +<p> +"... When I picked up that divine photograph from the +table beside me I simply longed for you. I would try to +imagine you coming through the door into the ward. And when +I thought I might be sent home, I was lifted to the seventh +heaven at the thought of seeing you within a measurable +distance of time. +</p> + +<p> +"I only tell you this because it is proof of how much I love +you. If I have achieved any sort of fame, I am happy because +I have got something to offer at your feet. I want to say this, +Duffy: if you have yet learned to love me, and feel you could +marry me, I should love to consider myself engaged to you, +and should be only too happy if you cared to tell everybody +that we were engaged. But, if not, well, I shall understand, and +I expect I shall be home soon enough to plead my cause better." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Poor, dear Roger," said Daphne, moved. "You thought +I'd like to proclaim my engagement to you just now when +your name is on everybody's lips. I think it was sweet of you +to offer me the chance." +</p> + +<p> +She laid down the letter and walked to the window. Who +could say?—had Switzerland never happened she might have +learned to love him. He was a little egotistical and pompous, +but so was she and every one else. It would have been nice to +say she was his <i>fiancée</i>, and to have all the papers seizing on +to it. And now she mustn't hurt him by too final a refusal. +</p> + +<p> +She spent a long time phrasing her reply: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"MY DEAR ROGER,—Honestly, I am awfully proud of your +last letter, and think everything in it was splendid of you. I +certainly like you better than I have ever done, but not enough +to say I'll marry you. You see, I haven't seen very much of +you. But it's ripping to hear you are coming back soon...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Like a moving staircase time carried her towards the date +of "Madame Rolland's" publication. Excitement fought with +timidity, now uppermost, now under, but generally winning. +Often she scanned her father's literary papers, hoping to find +a preliminary notice. She saw none, but, though disappointed, +was not angry. If the story were a success there would be +plenty of notices of her next book. The night before publication +she took her secret to bed with her, where it kept her +pillow hot and her body restless. +</p> + +<p> +With the day she rose and hastily dressed, in a desire to be +down before the others that she might separate for herself a +few minutes with the newspapers. An advertisement might +be there, and possibly one or two reviews. Of course she would +not expect big advertisements like her father's—just her book +in a column of other titles. +</p> + +<p> +It was a mid-week day, bringing several papers and journals. +One by one, having found nothing, she laid them by. When the +last was abandoned empty her shoulders shrugged and her hand +dropped to her side. +</p> + +<p> +"All right," she said resignedly, hardly knowing what she +meant by the words, and added: "I think he might have put +in a small advertisement." +</p> + +<p> +Restless throughout the day, she decided to go where there +were bookshops that she might see if "Madame Rolland" were +in the windows. Brighton, of course. She escaped from the +house and took the train. And in Brighton she wandered from +book-shop window to book-shop window, seeking in vain the +cover or the back of her book. At last, thinking desperately +that she must have some encouragement to go on with, she +entered a shop to ask for "Madame Rolland" over the counter. +</p> + +<p> +It was a nervous business when the young man enquired her +needs, and she had to utter the title of her own book. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you a copy"—she coughed, and cleared her throat—"of +'Madame Rolland'?" +</p> + +<p> +The young man shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"No, miss. Not in stock. Is it an old book?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, no. I think it's published to-day." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it? We haven't heard of it. Who is it by?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I think it's anonymous." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, miss? Who publishes it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Stendal. Mr. D. J. Stendal." +</p> + +<p> +The young man bowed, and said nothing. Obviously he +did not like to admit that the name was unfamiliar. Daphne, +by now, though sanity told her it was nonsense, was +apprehensive lest he thought her the authoress, and had no desire +beyond getting out of the shop. But not too quickly, or she +would confirm his suspicions. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, D. J. Stendal," she said again. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, we can get it for you, miss, in a couple of days." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, don't trouble. I'll try to get it elsewhere. Thank you +so much." +</p> + +<p> +This inquiry she repeated at every bookshop, and always +with the same result. One man, indeed, did find the book +mentioned in a list sent out by Mr. Stendal, and she had the +satisfaction of seeing "Madame Rolland" in print on a slip +of paper. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps you'd like to keep that list, miss," said the +man—innocently, it was to be hoped. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, thanks. Well—yes—I will." +</p> + +<p> +She passed out into the crowded Western Road, carrying +Mr. Stendal's list. After a few hundred paces her thoughts +were disturbed by a strong smell of coffee that seemed to rise +from the pavement, and she found herself opposite an Oriental +café. It was tempting. A cup would remove the parched taste +from her mouth, and the gathering tiredness in her head and +eyes. She climbed the stairs to the first floor, and sat at a +table by the window. Here she sipped her coffee, or rested her +face in her palm, as she watched the carts and buses and +pedestrians below. +</p> + +<p> +"It looms so important to me," thought she, "that I can't +imagine how microscopically small it is to all these people and +everybody else." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Hope sprang afresh next morning when six presentation +copies arrived; and in the next weeks she trusted to see some +advertisement or review in this paper or that. But nothing +could she track till one day, as she was walking on Ditchling +Common, a carriage passed her, and Mrs. Montague Jevons +immediately stopped her coachman, and hailed Daphne in a +sentence that gave her a leap of delight. +</p> + +<p> +"Hallo! Hallo, hallo! Like father like daughter. I see +you've written a book." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne blushed agreement. "Yes, I'm afraid so," and for +the sake of something to add, asked: "But how did you +know?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I've just read an announcement of it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Have you?" said Daphne—languidly, to conceal her +eagerness. "Where?" +</p> + +<p> +"In the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>. Just a small notice." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I haven't seen that one. To-day's?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, this morning's." +</p> + +<p> +"I must look at it. Father's got it.... Was it kind?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very...." +</p> + +<p> +As quickly as suited with her mantle of dispassion, she got +away from Mrs. Monty and hurried home to see what the +paper had said. The <i>Telegraph</i>. This was excellent, for the +<i>Telegraph</i> was an important journal. Only when she was +half-way back did she think: "But how did Mrs. Monty know that +I wrote it, seeing it's anonymous?" The question stopped +her dead on the road. Had it then leaked out that she was +the authoress? This might be good news, showing that +discussion had played around the book. Or had Mr. Stendal—now +her indignation began to rise—carefully divulged her name, +in order to stir up talk and stimulate sales? +</p> + +<p> +When she had the paper in her hand, it was a long time +before she could light upon the notice. She was looking for +a small head-line, and perhaps half a column of criticism. +There was no such thing, though one swept the paper three, +four, and five times. At length, in a few inches devoted to +announcements, she found the lines: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"We understand that a novel published recently, 'Madame +Rolland,' is really the work of Miss Daphne Bruno, the daughter +of Mr. T. Tenter Bruno. The book has been selling well, +the publisher, Mr. D. J. Stendal, informs us, but this +interesting news has stimulated the demand." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On the whole she was pleased. The statement that the book +had been selling before the revelation of its authorship +counter-balanced her anger with Mr. Stendal. But she was glad that +the paragraph was small, and not likely to be seen by her father, +or too many friends. Not yet had it been declared good, and +only if it were good did she want people to know of it. So +she began to get incensed when she saw in the chatty column +of that evening's paper an extraordinarily flippant paragraph +headed, "Following in Father's Footsteps"; and another, though +this was dignified, in the <i>Evening Advertiser</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The constant repetition of her father's name reminded her +of something she had quite forgotten: all of these paragraphs +would be sent to him by his press-cutting agent, and would +probably be on his breakfast plate the day after to-morrow. If +they were, she would not be able to face him. She would run. +Pray that he didn't leave his study to-day, and meet any one +who would enlighten him! +</p> + +<p> +The well-known envelope of the press-cutting agent did not +appear, however, till three days later. When Daphne saw it, +she went out of the house without stopping for any breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +She walked along the roads towards Haywards Heath. The +impulse strengthened to go up to town and demand an +explanation from Mr. Stendal. She was spoiling to be rude. The +slippery little beast! Yes, and now that she was fairly +successful, she stood in a new relation to him. She could tell him +what she thought; and she would. All the way in the train +she was framing her insults. They held allusions to solicitors, +and "steps" and adequate apologies. +</p> + +<p> +In Queen Victoria Street she had difficulty in finding the +offices of Mr. Stendal. Mr. Stendal's number seemed to be +occupied by the headquarters of a patent knife-cleaner. Then, +at the side of what she had supposed to be a private door, she +saw several brass plates; and one of them, under the heading +"Third Floor," read, "Mr. D. J. Stendal, Publisher." Walking +nervously but resolutely up the dark, iron-bound stairs, she +vowed that if the clerks, as seemed possible, brought a message +that Mr. Stendal was engaged, she would push past them into +his private room. +</p> + +<p> +Arrived, rather breathless, at the third floor, she walked along +a dark passage till she saw a door on which was painted, +"Mr. D. J. Stendal." Being called to come in, she turned the handle +more timidly than pleased her, and entered a bare, littered room, +long enough to hold three tables, at one of which sat a youthful +girl-typist, at another a shock-headed man with a stoop, and +at the third little Mr. Stendal himself. On deal shelves round +about the walls were files, iron boxes, and stray copies of books +published by the firm. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stendal, recognising his visitor at once, rose and said +pleasantly: +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Miss Bruno. Mr. Bates, this is Miss Bruno, you know, +who wrote 'Rolland.'" He did not introduce her to the typist. +"Please sit down." +</p> + +<p> +And he removed some papers off a chair and courteously +placed it for her. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was disconcerted by the presence of other people, +and stuttered: +</p> + +<p> +"I rather wanted to see you in private a minute." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stendal smiled gaily. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, we haven't another room. But you needn't mind Mr. Bates. +He and I really are Stendal's, so I couldn't have a secret +from him, if I wanted to. That's so, Bates, isn't it? Do sit +down." +</p> + +<p> +She sat down. +</p> + +<p> +"You want to know how your book's going on. Miss Dale, +look up 'Rolland,' and see what the figures are, will you? +Thank you." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't come about that. I wanted to know how it leaked +out that I had written it. I especially stipulated that it should +be published anonymously." +</p> + +<p> +"I know you did. Or rather, you wanted it published under +an assumed name. And you will remember that I recommended +anonymity as more likely to stimulate interest. Well, it turns +out that I served you well by that bit of advice. You see—to +tell the truth—we sold nothing—practically speaking, nothing +at first. I don't think we had any orders, did we, Miss Dale? +And I thought that, as you had entrusted its publication to me, +I had best do all I could for you. So Mr. Bates, who sees to +the publicity department, sent round a paragraph—didn't you, +Bates?—and we were delighted the ways the papers took it up. +Not many, but one or two important ones. I grant I did it on +my own authority, but you will appreciate I had your interests +at heart. I think you will forgive me when you hear that our +manœuvre has created quite a demand; small, of course, but +good—distinctly good for a first novel. The shops and the +libraries have both bought. What are our sales now, Miss +Dale?" +</p> + +<p> +"Twelve hundred." +</p> + +<p> +"Excellent. Twelve hundred copies, Miss Bruno, sold right +out. That means we've topped the first thousand, and are now +in the second when you get the ten per cent. royalty." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne started to speak, but Mr. Stendal hurried on: +</p> + +<p> +"And what's more, it's really getting noticed and reviewed. +Did you see the little notice in the <i>Times</i> this morning? And +those cuttings that came this morning, Miss Dale; pass them +to Miss Bruno to see." He took them from the typist's hand, +and gave them to Daphne, who accepted them limply. "There. +You can keep those. We've made a selection of quotable +phrases—haven't we, Bates? We're advertising the book next week. +I hope we may see at least two thousand copies for you." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne could scarcely say anything, being driven by the desire +to get away. The news that the book had sold nothing until +the mention of her father's name had been the final blow after +a week of buffeting. The sting was taken from her studied +insults. She was near to crying, and it must not be done +before these people. But something—something that would hurt +must be said. +</p> + +<p> +"I told you I had not come to hear about the sales. I am +not interested in them. What I am interested in is the explanation +why a definite promise to me was not honoured. I see you +have no explanation. I must speak to my father about it. He +understands these things better than I do, and will instruct me +what steps to take." +</p> + +<p> +"Precisely! Exactly!" said Mr. Stendal enthusiastically, +though there was a peep of a forked tongue in his enthusiasm. +"He will appreciate exactly what we have managed to do for +you, considering the—er—the slight nature of your book. He +knows the conditions of publishing, and the necessity of all +reasonable publicity. And he will see how we've kept strictly +within the terms of our agreement." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne moved towards the door, but turned on him and +said: +</p> + +<p> +"I think he will appreciate very little of all that, not being a +perfect fool. He will appreciate that you have considered +nobody's interests but your own. He will certainly appreciate that +you have kept within the terms of the agreement, for that is +what one would expect from people like you. I imagine it's +not too safe for you to venture out of cover...." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stendal smiled, as one does when managing a restive +pony, and seeing that Daphne was fumbling for the handle of +the door, hastened to reach it first. He opened the door +courteously. +</p> + +<p> +"There now. We won't lose our tempers. I think you're a +little ignorant about the difficulties of putting a book across—the +competition, and all that. Especially one that is really nothing +out of the ordinary. Believe me, we are doing the best we +can for you, and shall continue to do so. Certainly it is in our +interests, and in yours too. Good day, Miss Bruno." +</p> + +<p> +In Queen Victoria Street Daphne walked along, purposing +to mount an omnibus that would take her to her station, but +letting them one after another pass by, as she accompanied her +angrily running thoughts. Still in her fingers were the +press-cuttings Mr. Stendal had given her, but, dreading the lash, she +determined not to look at them till seated in her train. A +gloomy journey that would be, carrying her to the interview +with her father. And when she was in her corner seat she +waited till the train had actually started before lifting the first +and reading it. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"The work of a famous writer's daughter must always be +interesting," it said; "one seeks to learn how far the talent +of the parent has been transmitted to his children. We cannot +say that we are impressed with the work of Miss Daphne Bruno. +It is quite undistinguished, and there is no precocious genius +here. Her ignorance of life is naïve in the extreme; that, of +course, is very pardonable in a young writer, but what is stranger +in her father's daughter is her absence of literary palate." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Daphne, who had been setting her lips as she read, was +pierced with a fear that this sentence told the truth. Henry +was right. Not having read one-hundredth part of the books +which the ages had pronounced to be good, perhaps she did not +know what was true loveliness and what was bad. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The next review echoed the thought: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"A first effort, especially from the hand of a distinguished +writer's daughter, invites indulgence, and we shall hope one +day to congratulate Miss Daphne Bruno on a better work than +'Madame Rolland' (Stendal). Let it be said at the start: this +is the work of a completely immature writer. We wish we +could have added that it was full of promise. But Miss +Daphne Bruno has certainly not revealed her promise yet. +Were the word not too hard, we should describe the treatment +as illiterate, not in the sense that it is grammatically wrong, +but that it is the work of one only slightly familiar with great +literature, and whose values are therefore false. But let this +not deter Miss Bruno from trying again after a long intercourse +with those writers whose genius is no longer on trial. +We imagine that she will then be the severest critic of her first +book. One remembers the early work of Shelley, and will be +slow to deny promise to any young writer." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Oh, please don't be kind," said Daphne, as she put this +cutting away. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The other reviews agreed; that was the worst—they agreed. +They called the work "commonplace," "innocent," "shallow," +"superficial." Having read the last she sat looking out of the +window, her trouble increased by the sudden memory that since +nearly all these cuttings mentioned her father, they would have +been in his hands since the morning's post. There was nothing +to do but to go straight to her execution. In her mind hovered +the old lines, their pronoun changed to meet her case: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She nothing common did nor mean<br> + Upon that memorable scene ...<br> + But bowed her comely head<br> + Down, as upon a bed.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno met her in the hall, having seen her come up the +drive. His irritability, obliged to simmer all day, was anxious +to boil over. +</p> + +<p> +"Where on earth have you been since before breakfast?" +</p> + +<p> +"I've been up to London." +</p> + +<p> +"London? Do you mean to say that you run up to London +when and how you like?" Knowing a pang of self-reproach +that she should be so unshepherded, and finding the thought +ill-timed, he submerged it in anger. "Well, I might have +known. It's on a par with everything else. Just come in here +a minute." +</p> + +<p> +He led her into his study where the press-cuttings were +on the table. Lifting them up and tossing them back again, +he demanded: +</p> + +<p> +"What's all this about a book you've written? Why on +earth didn't you tell me something about it and get my advice?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wanted to surprise you." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno again smothered the pity, and made a gesture of +impatience. +</p> + +<p> +"Stendal? Who the dickens is Stendal? Why, I know most +of the publishers by name, but I've never heard of +Mr. D. J. Stendal. Some Vanity Publisher. Nice to have any of my +name linked with a firm like that! I suppose he made you pay +for the privilege of being published?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, he didn't. I'm getting a ten per cent. royalty." +</p> + +<p> +It was annoying that, while she stood there looking up at +him with eyes that were rather frightened, compassion should +gain ground from anger. He wanted anger to hold its own. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, are you such a little fool that—can't you see that for +your work to be published by a house of no standing is itself +enough to damn it.... These Stendals and their like only bind +up stuff that no one else'll print, for conceited amateurs to +circulate among their friends. He only took yours for nothing +because he thought that ... Couldn't I have advised you about +publishers and agreements? ... But I suppose you have no +faith in my advice." +</p> + +<p> +"I wanted to do it by myself." +</p> + +<p> +"And you've ended by doing a ridiculous thing, and, incidentally, +though it's a small matter, making me appear ridiculous." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I didn't want to do that. I said all along I didn't +want to let you down. That's why I published it anonymously." +</p> + +<p> +"Anonymously? Then what's all this about?" +</p> + +<p> +He lifted up the cuttings. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Stendal deliberately let it out to make the book sell. +I've just been up to tell him what I thought about him." +</p> + +<p> +At this point anger capitulated. He sat down in his chair, +and, after tossing the cuttings to the back of the desk, turned +round towards his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor child! Doesn't it show how you ought not to have +attempted anything without advice?" One of her hands he +picked up. "And did you really think you could assault the +world with the few arrows that have so far arrived in your +quiver? I fancy you must learn much more about books and +men. Don't you see that, if you want to compel the world to +listen to you, you must convince them that in some respects you +know more than they do?" +</p> + +<p> +"What about the Brontës?" +</p> + +<p> +"H'm.... Well, Charlotte only came off when she was +writing about what she knew—which wasn't often. And the +sheer genius of Emily— +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm your daughter, so perhaps I'm a genius like you." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I am not a genius, Daphne dear—only a brain trained +and tempered for its work.... Besides, this is a more sophisticated +age than the Brontës' age.... Stands Fiction where the +Brontës stood? ... I wonder some humorous editor hasn't +sent me your book to review." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want any more reviews. I hope nobody writes +another word about it. I wish I'd never published it. I wish +I could wipe it all out." +</p> + +<p> +He pressed the hand he was holding. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor Duffy! They <i>have</i> hit it rather hard, haven't they? +But they're an ill-conditioned race, critics." +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy"—it was evident an idea had struck Daphne—"would +you read it? You're the only critic whose verdict I +should consider final." +</p> + +<p> +"Would I read it! Why, to tell the truth, I've been aching +to ever since I heard about it. I'll read it now. Where is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I hid them upstairs.... But you'll promise to tell me +exactly what you think, and not try to let me down lightly. An +awful lot will result from what you say." +</p> + +<p> +Releasing her hand he told her to run and fetch it. +</p> + +<p> +When she returned, he rose up to meet her and took the +thin volume. After studying its shape and print, he went to +the book-shelves and, pushing a squad of books towards the +right, made a place for this newcomer next to the last of his +own works. For a few seconds he studied it in this position, +and then took it out again and came back smiling to his +daughter, whom he drew against him and kissed. +</p> + +<p> +"I am proud you've started writing too, my dear—which +is a remark I might, without loss of dignity, have made earlier. +Come now, it's not a small thing to have a book published at +twenty-one." +</p> + +<p> +The tears were in Daphne's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but they didn't do it because it was good, but only +because I was your daughter. I know it. I know it. And +I know I've made both you and me look foolish." +</p> + +<p> +"No, dear. Only to fools. Besides, let me read it. Your +court of appeal may reverse the verdict." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Daphne sat upstairs till dinner time, unable to read, for she +was trying to imagine whereabouts her father was now in +"Madame Rolland." After the first bell she went down—why +softly she did not know—and quietly turned the handle of his +door. He was no longer reading. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you finished it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, dear." +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" +</p> + +<p> +"You want exactly what I think, as though you were nothing +to me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy, young writers always think they can write about +people or places or emotions of which they know nothing. It +can't be done. Once in your story you strike a vein of truth, +and though you have over-written it, the truth can still be seen, +and is not a little appealing"—he turned his eyes back to the +book. "It's in your love-scenes. And there's a glimpse of +vision, promising much despite all these critics, in the episode +at the grave-side. But the rest, I'm afraid, is machine-made, +which is what they mean by calling it 'insincere.' The result is, +you get sentimental, forcing emotions where they would not +have been. And there's too much gratuitous ornament, whereas +in a perfect work of art ornament and structure are one and +the same." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"All that's a long way of saying it's mostly bad." +</p> + +<p> +"It's the work of your prentice hand, dear...." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, don't let me down lightly. I understand." She turned +towards the door. "Come on, let's go to dinner." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0426"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXVI +</h3> + +<p> +Somewhere she came across a quotation: "Regretting +not yesterday, nor fearing to-morrow." Like a reveille, it +called her to that defiant courage of which her father had once +stuttered to tell. The reiteration of it braced her like a tonic. +"I don't regret yesterday, and I'm not going to fear +to-morrow." She was going to begin again. And this time she +was going to begin right. She was going to cut out all vulgar +ambition, and all imitation of others, and the indolence that +prevented her from reading aught but the easy and pleasant. +"This time I shall do what Henry tried to make me do. In +fact, I shall write for an audience of one—Henry. Or two, +perhaps—Henry and me. I shall write what he would have +approved. To that end, I'm going to study not only books, +but men. Daddy said I must do that, too. So, as soon as +possible, I'm going to get out of this cloistered existence and +experience the world." It was an inspiring notion. She could +feel glad about all that had happened, for it seemed as if one +thing in her life—and that the most important thing left to +her—was purged of its alloys, and in its direction trued. +</p> + +<p> +Though two years had passed since she had left Henry, she +had no real doubt of her love for him. Certainly his figure +had gone behind a curtain before which she could dance and +laugh and play her part, even sometimes stopping to ask herself, +"Have I then ceased to love you, Henry?" but the thought of +him was always hazily present, and often, very often, he +emerged vivid and solid into her dreams, and she who had +questioned her love before would wake up with her sadness, +and be satisfied with it. +</p> + +<p> +But <i>his</i> love, what of that? For a long time she had dreaded +lest it had faded. Surely it must have done. She had been +so disastrously ignorant in those days, so <i>illiterate</i>; and her +beauty was something in which she had never believed. Why +should Henry still care to remember her? Of course, he had +said on the ship that night: "Don't profane my love by thinking +that." But any one infatuated would have believed so much. +Since her good-bye letter he had never written. What was +there to show that his passion had stood the test of years? +She would never know if it had; for notwithstanding her +oft-repeated words, "Time is big," she did not really believe they +would ever meet again. +</p> + +<p> +Still, she loved. Quietly, and without wreck. She had just +idealised him in her memory. No doubt he had had faults, +but she had never seen him except in the rapture of love; she +was surprised how little she knew of his real character. To +her he was now the idealised portrait of one who would have +understood her dreams, guided her work, and received the full +measure of her love. +</p> + +<p> +"I am going to reach through to him with a book. It may +be twenty years before it is published—it may not appear till +after my death; but one day it'll get to him." +</p> + +<p> +So now to work unremittingly, and to live abundantly. +</p> + +<p> +Lowered to a complete self-distrust by the unthinkable +press-cuttings, she began her studies with "An English Course for +Middle Forms," "The Story of Ancient Greece, Simply Told," +Saintsbury's "Short History of English Literature," and "An +Introduction to Philosophy." And the initiation of this reading, +especially the brain-teasing philosophy, pleased and flattered +her. As she pursued it she could almost feel the refining of +her brain, and the strengthening of her ratiocination. It made +her think of a flower that was opening late. +</p> + +<p> +She had continued to write to Roger, whose return to +England had been delayed, and his replies had spoken no more +of love, though their tenderness was as implicit as ever. And +now he surprised her with a letter sent from London, saying +that he had arrived, and, at his request, was to be transferred +to a convalescent home at Brighton. "I shall have all the days +to myself. Couldn't I meet you, say at Ditchling, on Thursday?" +</p> + +<p> +This letter, in the days of her rejection by the world, filled +her with pleasure. She felt affection, nowadays, for any one +who had always liked and admired her. And in the rush of +her enthusiasm she wrote: +</p> + +<p> +"Of course. I'll meet you there where first we met. Isn't +that out of a song? On the King's Highway, where it runs +across Ditchling Common, by the bramble bush. At three +o' the clock." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Hesitation, before she sucked the envelope, asked: "Haven't +I been a bit too gushing? Offering to meet him like that in +that sentimental place. No." The flap went down irreparably. +"I've let him do all the gushing so far, and now he's come back +I ought to make a fuss about him.... I've been mighty high +and proud all along, and Lord knows I had nothing to be stuck +up about." +</p> + +<p> +This lifted the memory that she had hoped to dazzle him +with her fame, and once again the words of the shattering +paragraphs troubled her breath, but she recovered herself by +repeating: "I don't regret yesterday, and I don't fear +to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Soon she must give to Roger her final answer, "Yes" or +"No." It surprised her that, though she did not love him, +the idea of being engaged to him was full of thrills. Or did +the thrills lie in just being engaged, rather than in being +engaged to Roger? ... Not altogether. +</p> + +<p> +She must think it out thoroughly, and not let her nature +gallop her into any more blunders. +</p> + +<p> +Let her get her motives into the light, one by one. To +assist clearer thinking she took an empty postcard and pencil, +and drew a bisecting line, printing FOR on its left and +AGAINST on its right. +</p> + +<p> +For? She sucked the pencil, pushing it far back on her +tongue. She would be perfectly frank with herself. Recent +rough handling, like recent reading, had polished away a +cloudiness from her brain. +</p> + +<p> +The first and lowest motive was the desire to be an engaged +person, with all the notoriety it brought, and the snub for any +who had laughed at her. +</p> + +<p> +This she refused to note on the card. But she doubted if +this disciplinary refusal amounted to writing it out of her +nature. +</p> + +<p> +Secondly, she would rather be married than an old maid. +She liked Roger, and would never be in love with any one else, +because she was in love with a memory. A girl didn't always +get a second chance, unless she was exceptionally beautiful +and fascinating. Already she was over twenty-one. +</p> + +<p> +She wrote "Not O.M." +</p> + +<p> +Thirdly, if she married she would rather be rich than poor. +Roger's was a splendid offer. +</p> + +<p> +She wrote "S.O." +</p> + +<p> +Then she wanted opportunities for full and varied living. +Who more than Roger could give her these? Think of the +fun it would be, fighting political battles by her husband's side, +and if he got on (as he certainly would, being the sort), what +might she not see of government and pomp; diplomacy, intrigue +and the pageantry of Courts? +</p> + +<p> +She wrote "Life." +</p> + +<p> +Then, of course, she wanted to experience caresses and passion, +and was not displeased to find that, after the idealisation +of Henry, the thought of Roger's embraces were more stirring +to her than those of any man she had ever seen or could +imagine. +</p> + +<p> +She was in some doubt what word to write here, for "Love" +was not the true word, and "Passion" was crude. She put +three dots. +</p> + +<p> +And what really was her attitude to Roger himself, apart +from his position and all that he could give her? He was +such a magnificent creature that she would be enormously proud +of him as a husband. And she wanted to marry something +big, not "a poor little soul." His little poses she could always +forgive; indeed, she would have to, whomsoever she married, +since she had never met a man who wasn't decorated with +them. +</p> + +<p> +She wrote "Very proud of him." +</p> + +<p> +Examining these tabulated reasons she was appalled at their +selfishness, and sucked her pencil again, while she thought: +"But isn't there some motive which is a bit nobler?" She +knew there was, and it came into the light. That creed of +gentleness, which her father had offered, had been saturating +her nature during the last two years, and the disillusion of +recent weeks had helped it on its way. Strange how mixed one's +motives were! There was joy in the thought that since Roger +loved her as passionately as she had loved Henry she would +save him from her suffering by giving herself to him. +</p> + +<p> +For this item she wrote, "Not to hurt." +</p> + +<p> +On the AGAINST side she could only write, "Not real love." +</p> + +<p> +But if she waited to write different from that she would +never marry. +</p> + +<p> +There was the position. Now one could only intermit +thought, and wait for what would happen. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On the Thursday afternoon she dressed with care. Wisdom +told her that she had to compete with the famous photograph, +and that its beauty was now to be regretted, for it enlarged +her deficit. But her glass, before she left it, assured her that +if she came second in the competition it was no dishonourable +second. +</p> + +<p> +Anticipation trembled in her as she passed through the "toll-gate" +on to Ditchling Common. She had but to turn the curve +in the road and she would probably see Roger. She saw him, +walking up and down by the blackberry clump, and waved a +hand. Immediately he advanced towards her, and she studied +his figure as that of one who <i>might</i> be her husband. Roger +had no photograph to contend with; now that he was older, +wider, browner, and perfectly dressed, he was even in excess +of her thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +"Coo, he's sure to be disappointed in me," she was thinking. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no disappointment in his face; rather, beneath +all his dignity, was he grinning a little sheepishly. He +put out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"And how's Daphne?" +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne's all right, except that she has an objection to being +called Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +Roger flushed, lest he had begun by offending her, but +parried with a smile: +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Bruno, am I to say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be silly. You know what I mean. Those who really +like me call me Duffy." +</p> + +<p> +His smile broadened. +</p> + +<p> +"I have dared once or twice to write so much. And I +confess I was primed up to call you by it; but when I saw you +my courage leaked away." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because you—you are older and more terrifying." +</p> + +<p> +"You're a fine person to talk about being terrified of anything. +Besides, I'm nothing like you, I'm frightened to death +of you." +</p> + +<p> +"Is that so?" asked he, with his enigmatic grin. "Well, +where are we going? How long have you got?" +</p> + +<p> +"As long as I like. You seem to forget that I've come of +age since you went away." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, let's walk for a bit, and see where we arrive." +</p> + +<p> +They started towards Ditchling. The guiding of the +conversation lay with Daphne, for Roger was apt to turn inwards +(probably to a rehearsal); and she saved it from the sloughs +by asking him scores of helpful questions about himself. +</p> + +<p> +It was a warm afternoon with the sun unobscured; and at +last he suggested that they sit somewhere on the grass. He +led the way off the road and up the slope towards the trees. +At any rough or steep place he held out his hand, enjoying the +action, as she could guess, both from his love of gallantry and +the touch of her hand. But he was shy of choosing where they +might sit together, and it was she who finally declared herself +too fagged to go farther, and promptly sat down. Roger spread +his length beside her. Then there was silence. (No doubt +he had gone in to the dress rehearsal.) He stared at the two +windmills on the skyline of the Downs; and when he spoke +again it was without bringing his eyes away. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy"—he cleared his throat—"I don't know whether it's +fair to speak to you like this the first time we see each other.... +And I'm determined to consider you first in everything.... +I didn't intend to say anything at all this first day, but +somehow your letter consenting to meet me alone made me hope I +might——" He turned now towards her, but she was looking +at the close grass by her crossed feet. "Duffy, you know what +I mean. For nearly four years I've had no doubt of my love +for you. I never worried about girls till I met you; my dreams +were all of success and fame. But when I saw you the second +time at that ball, looking absolutely divine, I was routed +instantly.... And all through the war I never doubted. It was +always glorious to think of you, to picture you, and to look +at your photograph, and to hear the chaff of the other fellows +when it stood on my camp-table. Duffy, could we be engaged +now?" +</p> + +<p> +She had no answer, continuing to look at the grass; but +as Roger said no more, pity obliged her to speak. +</p> + +<p> +"But we don't really know each other—only by two years' +letters. And you can't know me from letters. One only shows +oneself at one's best in letters." +</p> + +<p> +"As I've always told you, I'm old-fashioned enough to +believe that somewhere there's a woman made for every man. +And I know you are mine." +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at him. +</p> + +<p> +"And as I've always told you, you're an incurable romantic." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps I am." +</p> + +<p> +"But perhaps I'm not so sure of my—my love for you. +Roger, I think I ought to tell you: I was very fond of some +one else some time ago, and I've never quite forgotten." +</p> + +<p> +She had turned to look straight at him as she said this, and +saw the pain knit his brow and narrow his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"When was this?" +</p> + +<p> +"Two years ago." +</p> + +<p> +"And did he ask you to marry him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Why? Was he a fool?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne kept silence. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you expect he will ask you to marry him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Why not?" +</p> + +<p> +"He has married some one else." +</p> + +<p> +Roger said nothing more. And Daphne, frightened by the +pause, heard herself inquiring: +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't we have a month's companionship together? I'll +see you every day if you like—and if you wouldn't mind asking +me again in a month's time——" She began to be a little +afraid lest he scorned to be temporised with. "I'm very fond +of you—and proud of you." +</p> + +<p> +To this he gave long thought, unwittingly lowering and +raising his jaw. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he decided. "I want you so badly that I would rather +have you if I were only second best—but I haven't had a +chance with you yet." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +They spent nearly every day of that month together; and +she could only be pleased to see him working to win her love +with all the care and watchful labour he might have given to +carrying a kopje in South Africa. It was doubly to be valued +from one who prided himself on his haughtiness. He was +courtesy, consideration and generosity. A merry humour he +had always had, and it made him good company. He had +bought a car, now familiar sights on the roads, and taken her +long, luxurious drives. +</p> + +<p> +As the time drew nearer when she must speak again, indecision +harrowed her. This time it would be final; Roger would +not go on petitioning for ever. Sometimes she felt she was +looking forward to saying, "Yes"; sometimes, when a glimpse +of his egotism made her doubt, she would feel that she was +caught gasping in a stream, since it would be impossible, after +all his kindness, to send him cruelly away. +</p> + +<p> +It fell that he proposed to her again before the month was +finished. A late afternoon as she came downstairs, dressed +to drive with him as far as the foot of Ditchling Beacon, where +they were going to climb the Downs, her father stepped out +of his study and intercepted her. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you had better see this," said he, and handed her +a press-cutting. There was something dramatically despairing +about his gesture and his return to the room. She followed +him, glancing at the slip of paper on which the cutting was +pasted. It named a journal of which she had never heard, +<i>London Carnival</i>. Type and paper were poor, and the +paragraph was signed, "Our Cynical Spectator." +</p> + +<p> +"On the Dissipated Habits of a Great Critic's Criticism," +ran the headline; and the smaller print said: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Criticism, like Charity, should sometimes live at home. But +perhaps a happy marriage between these two, and a dwelling +together in the same house, is impossible. There's such a +difference in temperament. And that, no doubt, is why the +criticism of the great Mr. Tenter Bruno (as, to be sure, we have +observed in the case of other punishing critics) roams abroad, +and seldom spends a night at home. Indeed, we might almost +say that in his house, Charity, timid maiden, has secured her +divorce from brutal Criticism—with custody of the child. +</p> + +<p> +"The child, in this affecting tale, is Miss Daphne Bruno, +the great man's daughter; and only the great man's charity +could have allowed her nonsensical little book, 'Madame +Rolland,' recently published, to see the light of day. It was a +tactical error, of course, for whatever reviewers may be saying +in print, those writers who have been lashed heretofore by the +great Bruno are enjoying a mild hilarity. We have studied +some of the notices, and detect a praiseworthy doubt of the +propriety of securing points against Mr. Bruno by lunging +foils at his daughter. For ourselves, we are less squeamish, +and judge it all to the good of literature that every book +should be submitted to the unhampered attacks of criticism, +and especially those that only win their publication by the +glamour of a famous name. For these have entered with a +spurious ticket." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Oh, Daddy! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Such a note of pain rang in the words that her father came +towards her and took the cutting out of her hand. He had +known all along that he should not have shown it to her, but +had been quite unable to forego a display of his honourable +wound. +</p> + +<p> +"No, darling," he hurriedly enjoined, "don't take it seriously. +It's just a low papermaking copy. Nobody who matters reads +it, and those who do forget it in ten seconds." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it's awful!" she said. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no. If you're going to be an authoress, you must get +used to ridicule." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Father, I'll write at once, and say you knew nothing +about it. Your reputation's much more important than mine." +</p> + +<p> +"Dearest, it's all stuff and nonsense. I showed it to amuse +you, not to distress you. You certainly shall not write. People +might say that I inspired your denial. And if they think I'm +going to disown my daughter——" +</p> + +<p> +His brain condemned the poor heroic; and when Daphne was +gone, he stood disquieted to think that vanity could put a stick +in a man's hand with which to strike what he loved. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Daphne went out of the house with a head dulled, as by a +blow, into confused thinking. In vain she commanded herself +to get the thing in proportion—to see that the paragraph was +only a drop in the ocean of that day's print, and already +forgotten by any one less interested than herself. The very +memory of the words would flutter her heart for a sick second. +</p> + +<p> +And when she met Roger and his car by the Royal Oak, she +could not keep up the gaiety of her greeting. Throughout the +drive, after formal answers to his remarks, she would relapse +into the worrying memory. And she knew that he had +observed her depression and was respecting it. +</p> + +<p> +At Ditchling they left the car, and climbed the pleasant turf +of the Downs. It was one of those gracious afternoons that, +by discordance with melancholy, increase it; an afternoon of +sunlight on the great cheeks of the hills, and wide shadows +in their hollows, and clear views to the highlands in the north, +where the pine-woods were darkly blue under a private cloud. +</p> + +<p> +After a speechless climb, she agreed in mock-merriment to +Roger's suggestion that they rest for a while and enjoyed +the view. She sat down in the shelter of some tall gorse, +saying formally: "This is quite like old times, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +Roger did not acknowledge this remark, but, sitting beside +her and idly picking the grass, inquired: +</p> + +<p> +"My darling, what's the matter with you?" +</p> + +<p> +In that unauthorised "My darling!" sounded a real pain; +it was manifestly the outburst of a heart charged with love and +sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +"Me? Nothing," assured Daphne, with a quickly acted +smile. Not wholly acted, however; because that note of love +had been potent to sound retreat to her shadows. Being loved +like this by Roger was the sunniest place in her life. +</p> + +<p> +"You're miserable. You've been miserable ever since you +appeared. I can't bear you to be miserable." +</p> + +<p> +"It's nothing, really." To show which, she picked up a +small snail-shell and threw it in front of her. "It was only +one of those horrible press notices; rather more pitiless than +usual." +</p> + +<p> +That Roger was throbbing with his love for her she knew +by his low-pitched answer: +</p> + +<p> +"I wish I could find any one that would hurt you." +</p> + +<p> +"But they're right," corrected Daphne. She felt quite happy +now in the sunny place. "Rather salted, but right." +</p> + +<p> +"Right or wrong, I shouldn't care.... But they're not right. +No one who ridicules you could be right. You don't know +what you are. You're—there's no one fit to hold a candle +to you. It sometimes amazes me that you're so innocent of +what you are. If only you could see yourself as I see you! +My darling, I never can see any one who seems so beautiful +as you, just because you're the model by which I test +everybody's beauty. If another woman's eyes are not the same +colour and shape as yours, they're imperfect. If her nose is +a different shape from yours, or the lines of her figure, they're +so far wrong.... Oh, but I forgot, I've no right, till you give +it to me, to talk to you like this...." +</p> + +<p> +His closed fist was lying on the turf by his side, just between +himself and her; and Daphne, unable to answer him with words, +laid her open hand on his. +</p> + +<p> +"Duffy! That means——! Oh, my darling!" He put his +arm about her waist and pulled her gently towards him. "Then +may we be definitely engaged to one another?" +</p> + +<p> +She turned her face towards his, smiled, and nodded. +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her, but without passion, as if he would not hurt +her by too quickly taking all his privileges. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you happy, darling?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes.... I think it's wonderful that you, of all people, +with the whole world to choose from, should love me. And +in spite of all you say, I still can't see why it is.... I'm awfully +proud of it, really." +</p> + +<p> +"And you love me?" +</p> + +<p> +This was to be met with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"I think so. I want to be close to you. I want to be happy +with you, and to make you happy, and help you in your career. +And I want you to kiss me." +</p> + +<p> +"Darling!" +</p> + +<p> +This time he gathered her close, and pressed his lips on hers +with all the passion that first he had withheld. +</p> + +<p> +"My beloved!" he said, as he drew back his head to look +down upon her face. "And you can't see what you are! Why, +every time you look up at me, as you did a second ago, with +your huge eyes, you make me mad for need of you. I feel I +can never have you close enough—that even hugging you is +a poor apology for all that I would have—that though you +are as close to me as you are now, you are still too many miles +away." +</p> + +<p> +Again he hugged her, and Daphne, in this embrace which +seemed never likely to end, found her thoughts running fast; +she was already picturing with delight the announcing of her +engagement to her father and the others at home; the +congratulations that would come from all who knew her; the +inspiring future that stretched before her, with election fights +and luxurious living. She was bewildered to have reached this +point, but excited; and because excited, happy. And when he +released her, she said: +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mind if we go home? I'm so longing to tell everybody." +</p> + +<p> +Roger grinned, as might a staid elder amused by a child. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Let's go back." He jumped up and helped her to +her feet. "Fancy to think we came up this hill unengaged +and go down it engaged. I wonder what we are going down +to." He accompanied their downward steps with a chain of +such romantic utterances, and then inquired: "But what do I +do next? Not having been engaged before I don't know. Do +I come back with you and ask your father's permission? I'm +all for doing the proper ceremonial things. I've always +believed in ceremony. Not, though, that I should let you go if +he refused." +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy won't refuse. But let me tell him, will you? Don't +you come in at all. I know how to deal with him. I'm sure +you'd make a mess of it." +</p> + +<p> +He drove her, as by newly acquired right, to the gates of +Old Hall House, and she, escaping before he could kiss her +good-bye, hurried excitedly up the drive. Letting herself in, +she saw Miss Carrell standing in the lamp-lit hall. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Father at home?" +</p> + +<p> +Her voice trembled, and she was grateful for the half darkness. +</p> + +<p> +"No, dear. But he's back to dinner. He can't be long." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, all right." +</p> + +<p> +She rushed up to her room and dressed with trembling +hands. Once dressed she did not know what to do. Her head +and cheeks were so burning that she was moved to study them +in the glass and trace the visible effects of such heat. It had +tinged them with wine-colour. When she heard her father's +key she gave him full five minutes by the bedroom clock, +during which her heart seemed to beat a million times, and then +walked downstairs and burst into his room. He was sitting +in his arm-chair dragging on a slipper. +</p> + +<p> +"Please come in," said he. +</p> + +<p> +"Father, I'm engaged to be married." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno's hand left the slipper, and his foot trod down +its heel. The surprise jerked him out of his whimsical port. +</p> + +<p> +"What on earth are you talking about?" +</p> + +<p> +"Talking about being engaged. I got engaged this evening." +</p> + +<p> +"Got engaged? But I didn't know any one was in love with you." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you didn't. I didn't proclaim it from the house-tops." +</p> + +<p> +"Good God! First you write a book without my permission, +and now you say you've got engaged...." Mr. Bruno perceived +that he was recovering the authentic note of badinage. +"I am too old—too old to stay the course with you." +</p> + +<p> +And indeed he was confused. Here was his daughter, whom +a few hours earlier he had hurt, coming in radiant with news +of her betrothal. To think that her movements were so far +from him was pain. The pain was sharpened by this unexpected +sentence that their days together were to be numbered. +But badinage must screen it all.... It would hide, too, for +her sake, any mention of the American boy. +</p> + +<p> +"Whom are you engaged to?" +</p> + +<p> +"To Roger Muirhead, of course." +</p> + +<p> +He shook an uncomprehending head. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you remember? He came to tea with us at St. Leu +two years ago." +</p> + +<p> +"But how long have you known him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, since he was fourteen. Off and on." +</p> + +<p> +"Has he got any money to keep you with?" +</p> + +<p> +"Money? Heaps. He's got a motor-car." +</p> + +<p> +"Who is he? What's his father?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sir Roger Muirhead." +</p> + +<p> +"No? The excellent old merchant who has managed to +combine capitalism with radicalism and religion! Good +gracious, Duffy, and is his boy in love with you? Let's see, didn't +he do something they made a song about in the war?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course he did." +</p> + +<p> +"And you're engaged to him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, please. If I may." +</p> + +<p> +"You're sure you're not married to him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, darling. Only engaged. That's to say, if you'll let +us be." +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. Then he +stood up. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well. I suppose one kisses you on these occasions. +But I must see this Roger of yours. And you're not to be +married for a year, do you see? You must have experience +of each other. And we must have the war over and Owen +back." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that'll be all right. I don't particularly want to get +married." +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Bruno wasn't listening. After looking at her with +a smile, he said: +</p> + +<p> +"And has Apollo come for Daphne at last? I trust that, +like your Greek original, you were not too encouraging, but +fled from him into the woods." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne concealed a start. This chance sally, evoking a +picture of Roger (who was rather an Apollo) as he came +seeking her under the Montmorency trees, was so astonishingly +appropriate that for a minute she dethroned hard reason and +wondered with him if, after all, there were a destiny behind +these things. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0427"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXVII +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne was never sure in what proportion her feelings +were mixed in the days between her engagement and her +marriage. Doubt would tinge her happiness; but it was never +very active, and the period, as a whole, was flooded with a bright +light of pleasure. The brightness put out every ember of +annoyance at the reception of "Madame Rolland." If ever she +desired a glowing press, she got it now. "Mr. Tenter Bruno's +daughter to wed War Hero," the paragraphs were headed; +"The Hero of Wittfontein to Wed." Two of the papers +mentioned, "Miss Daphne Bruno is herself an authoress, having +produced in her twenty-second year an artless and charming +little story." But most, thank goodness, seemed never to have +heard of "Madame Rolland." +</p> + +<p> +She was too happy with it all, imagining Miss Vidella, Miss +Sims, Trudy Wayne, Winnie Chatterton, and all her scattered +friends reading the news, to be more than palely jealous when +the majority of the papers occupied themselves with Roger's +career or her father's. But in her mind she hid the resolve to +create a work that one day—if only after death—would make +Roger chiefly famous as the husband of Daphne Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +Roger took her to Porth Wannick, the Muirheads' house in +Cornwall. Of the romantic character of this house on the +rocks Roger had often spoken; and when she saw it, she +declared that it was far more amazing than he had painted it. +You turned aside from the Penzance Road, by the ruins of a +disused mine, and went down and down a narrow lane, passing +the Porth Wannick land on your left, till you reached a +smuggler's cove, where you saw in the very rocks the tiny harbours +and docks cut by that fine buccaneering scoundrel, old Captain +Helco, for his guilty craft. The house, grey like the rocks, +rose above the largest of the tiny harbours, which was now +a swimming bath for the residents. It was not large, being but +a two-storied, rectangular mansion, under a hipped roof. But +the windows were mullioned, the central hall door was an +antique purchased from a fifteenth-century house, the gardens +were laid in terraces above the rocks, and behind them swept +the farm-lands of the estate. Here, for seven months of the +year, Sir Roger played Lord Bountiful to the natives, experimenting +on his soil to see if he could make all their fortunes by +growing beet for sugar there; or by trying to cure the +conservatism of the pilchard fishers by introducing improvements +in their methods and their boats. +</p> + +<p> +The placid Lady Muirhead and he received Daphne with a +parental delight. It seemed that their son, who treated his +father with a sort of feudal respect, had long told them of the +girl in Sussex whom he was determined to capture. And now +he brought her there with a hint of triumph. Lady Muirhead, +probably thinking that such was her expected part, fell in love +with "the new daughter" at once; and Sir Roger, who, when you +lived with him like this, was found to be surprisingly old, +mingled in his attitude jocosity, patronal tenderness, and a +garrulous intolerance. Daphne liked them both, only feeling ill +at ease at the amount of religion Sir Roger maintained in his +house. Never did she dare to shock him or his acquiescent lady +by confessing that she had no religion at all. +</p> + +<p> +In truth, she was afraid of Sir Roger, who steam-rolled you +out with his talk, though your brain saw a hundred weaknesses +in his argument. But you didn't answer him with the incisive +replies that occurred to you. It would have been like fighting +against a steam-roller with a scalpel. He was only seventy-three, +but she suspected that after his retirement from active +part in the Muirhead Traders, which was his life's creation, +senility was setting in early. She wondered what her father +would think. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno came down to Forth Wannick for a month, and +appeared to think a good deal, as his host tossed bits of walnut +into his mouth (one bit following another before it was really +due), and, chewing them rapidly, announced to his guest the +truth on all subjects. Little doubt he annoyed Mr. Bruno by +seeing a comparison between the creation of books and his own +creation of the Muirhead Traders, and between the fame of a +great critic and the fame of a trading firm. "I suppose some of +you writers, Bruno, make a good thing of it," said he, chewing +one walnut and prospecting in the dish for another. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno said it depended on what was meant by "making +a good thing of it." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, making a living, of course," explained Sir Roger. +"What else?" +</p> + +<p> +There were those who interpreted it differently, suggested +Mr. Bruno. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, stuff and nonsense, Bruno, stuff and nonsense," Sir +Roger buffered. "I know all that gammon backwards—knew +it when I was sixteen. A clever fellow like you knows at the +back of your mind that the impulse to acquire shekels and +power is what makes the world go round. Give me those +fellows who acknowledge it frankly and get on with the job." +</p> + +<p> +"You can have them," answered Mr. Bruno, concealing his +restiveness behind a smile; "and no doubt they'll join your +Liberal Association down here, and the parish church." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and why shouldn't they? Why shouldn't they?" +snapped the host, the red light appearing in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Why shouldn't they," echoed Mr. Bruno, "if the harmony +is complete?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it's complete—complete as you make 'em. Liberalism +and Christianity, it's all the same; it's just <i>Noblesse +oblige</i>." Sir Roger repeated the phrase: "<i>Noblesse oblige</i>." +</p> + +<p> +As became the wiser man, Mr. Bruno retired from the +developing battle with a shrug. And Sir Roger rolled on. +</p> + +<p> +Her father summed up Sir Roger to Daphne, when he met +her next morning before breakfast, walking on the +terrace-gardens above the rocks. +</p> + +<p> +"Uncouth, dear," said he sadly. "Uncouth." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne nodded, and hinted that Sir Roger was getting old. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bruno agree, and continued without a smile: +</p> + +<p> +"But what an honourable life he can look back upon! He's +created the Muirhead Traders, who operate in the East, where +very large profits are consistent with Christianity. He was +telling me all about it last night. And he's been able to retire +with a great income. He's been able to keep his boy out of +it—though why he should have wanted to I don't know—and +he's going to give him three thousand a year when he marries +you." +</p> + +<p> +"Golly!" exclaimed Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, a wonderful old man," reflected Mr. Bruno. "I think +he must have gone up Sinai once and been given God's final +opinion on every subject under the sun." +</p> + +<p> +"Daddy!" laughed his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what else can it be, when to criticise anything he +says is to verge on blasphemy? It's a marvellous state of mind +to get into, when you can so believe in your commercialism that +any questioning of it is about equivalent to saying that Christ +might have sinned. But the boy's all right—your boy's all +right. He has the grace to mix shame with reverence in his +attitude towards his parents." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne was looking at the peacock which had appeared on +the terrace above. +</p> + +<p> +"Gracious goodness, Duffy!" exclaimed her father, "is that +a peacock? What a very appropriate pet for Sir Roger! ... I +am afraid your father-in-law's a little vulgar. Don't you +think so?" +</p> + +<p> +It was quite a new idea to Daphne, and worried her for a +day or two. But the scales fell to Roger's side again when the +news came through of his adoption as Liberal Candidate for +the Middle East Division of Sussex. Eagerly they read +together the little stack of Sussex papers that reported the +meeting of the Liberal Council, or commented on its choice. The +Radical <i>Gazetteer</i> was gushing: +</p> + +<p> +"The Middle East Division is to be congratulated on their +new Liberal candidate. This constituency, predominantly +agricultural, is one of the most difficult for Liberalism to win. But +now with the adoption of Captain Muirhead, all the signs point +to a great and resounding Liberal victory at the next general +Election. That desirable event, we hope, will not be long +delayed, believing that the Balfour administration is as much +discredited here as it is in the great industrial centres. All that +was needed was to secure a popular and able candidate. +Captain Muirhead has everything in his favour. He has been +familiar with the district since childhood, one of his father's +houses being situated within its bounds. He is engaged to the +daughter of one of its most distinguished residents. His war +reputation will effectually quench any pro-Boer nonsense...." +</p> + +<p> +And another paper said: +</p> + +<p> +"If Captain Muirhead is able to wrest this stronghold from +its Tory masters it will give him a magnificent start in his +Parliamentary career." +</p> + +<p> +And another: +</p> + +<p> +"One must not omit the signal advantages possessed by +Mr. Muirhead in his beautiful fiancée. All the world knows +that he is engaged to the talented and charming Miss Daphne +Bruno. Perhaps it is not for us to express our hope that, when +the election comes she will be, not his <i>fiancée</i>, but his wife. If +she inherits her father's gifts, and his witty radicalism, she +will be an invaluable lieutenant for the gallant captain." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I shall never be able to speak in public," interjected +Daphne, "if that's what they mean. But I shall love doing +everything else." +</p> + +<p> +"By Jove!" said Roger, who did not always listen to his +<i>fiancée</i>. "We simply must win, after all this puff." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, rather!" agreed Daphne. "Let's begin nursing the +constituency at once." +</p> + +<p> +He gave her a kiss in acknowledgment of her enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +"When will there be a general election?" she asked, while +still in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +He grinned down at her proudly. +</p> + +<p> +"A question that interests me much more is, when will you +marry me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, not yet. I'm much more interested in politics. It's +such fun being engaged. There's no hurry, is there?" +</p> + +<p> +At this Roger released his hold and turned away. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't understand girls," said he. "They seem differently +made from men." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne knew that he was slightly hurt about something. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, what's the matter now?" she laughed. "Oh, I know +I've said something wrong." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, if you don't understand, you don't.... That's where +the trouble lies. If you wanted me in the way I want you, +you would understand." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I want you, Roger." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, you don't understand the meaning of 'want.'" +</p> + +<p> +"But Daddy said we weren't to get married at once." +</p> + +<p> +"We could have got over that.... Well, never mind; it's +only another way of saying you're cold." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm not," denied she, for it was one of her prides that +she was an ardent nature. The "Oh, I'm not," a Cockneyism +into which she fell when indignant, made Roger frown. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she added hastily, "I know I said that like a Cockney +serving girl." (She would borrow her father's phrases, and +air them as her own.) "I got it from talking too much to the +servants when I was a kid. However, what were we saying? +I'm not cold. I'm ardent." +</p> + +<p> +Once again he took her into his arms and smiled down +tolerantly upon her. +</p> + +<p> +"Surely you're the most innocent girl that ever got engaged." +</p> + +<p> +It was rather annoying, this assumption that she was a fool, +and she retorted: +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not innocent at all. I know everything and exactly +what you mean." +</p> + +<p> +His hold relaxed a shade, and she realised that this, too, +had disappointed him. She was seeing in his mingled thoughts +what he himself hardly knew to be there: that while he desired +her much, he wanted her to be innocent—for somehow an +innocent girl gave more to men's desire. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Panic stirred sometimes as (she supposed) with every engaged +girl; but she was too excited and happy, on the whole, +to let it come far into consciousness. Once, however, it escaped +her guard, and ran about riotously. She had spoken lightly +of religion. Roger was annoyed—less, she suspected, from the +strength of his own religion than because he thought she ought +to be converted, like a princess marrying a foreign king, to +the traditional religion of her sovereign's house. And she said +forthwith: +</p> + +<p> +"I know I'm going to shock you, Roger; but this is the +truth. The only reason I want to be married in church is +because it's always done, and a registry office sounds horrid. +And I want to wear a white dress and have a crowd of people +there." +</p> + +<p> +Roger's features palpably tightened. +</p> + +<p> +"It's no good being angry.... You ought to be pleased +with me for trusting you and being so open. I could quite +easily lie about it. But the plain truth is, that I haven't got +any religion." +</p> + +<p> +Roger then began an irreproachable homily on the necessity +of some religion in life, but before he got very far, Daphne, +irritated, burst in: +</p> + +<p> +"But, Roger dear, frankly now. What's the sense of you +preaching Christianity to me? I know you for what you are, +and I'm fond of you for what you are. And I know you to +be ambitious (just as I am), and that you like everything of +the best (as I'm sure I do), and that you like to be on top +and to flatter yourself you don't easily play second-fiddle. Well, +that's all perfectly delightful, but it's not Christianity." +</p> + +<p> +Roger wrinkled his brow to think out an answer; but she +had thought it out quicker, and knew what he was going to say. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know that you're right, Duffy. There must be +'top-men' in the world. Only it's the duty of the men on top to +care for their workers and servants all they can, and so to +serve them." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'll be a Christian, if that's all it is—so long as I'm +one of the top-dogs." +</p> + +<p> +He let her rebelliousness pass, only grinning, as if he could +afford to wait in the knowledge that the time would come when +he, with his stronger mind, would be able to mould her to the +pattern he desired. It was rather like the grin one might give +to a pet dog who tried to get a stick out of one's hand. +</p> + +<p> +Panic was running in Daphne, while she thought that life +seemed to be made up of making mistakes, going too far with +them, being too gentle to turn back, and accepting as punishment +a ruthless life-sentence. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She was rather frightened, though pretending to be delighted, +with the big house in Fettes Gardens, South Kensington, +which Sir Roger had offered them as a wedding present. +As she walked up its four or five stories, and calculated that +it would require a butler and four or five women servants, she +wondered how ever she would be able to manage them. She +felt very little different from what she had done in Miss +Vidella's form-room; and how could a schoolgirl command this +battleship? The similar houses to left and right frightened +her with a picture of their wealthy and competent ladies. So +did the tall well-bred houses opposite, on the other side of the +railed-in gardens. "I feel like a pea in a pod too big for it," +she thought. But she was careful not to show her feelings to +Roger, lest he found her even more inadequate. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll do it. I'll manage it. After all, these terrible women +next door, and the dowagers over the road, must have started +somewhere." +</p> + +<p> +They married Daphne at St. Patrick's, Fettes Gardens, in +the August after the signing of peace with the Boers, when +Owen had returned to play an exceedingly important and +well-dressed part in the ceremonies. She was very proud of +her men. Who there looked like her father, on whose arm +she was, or Roger, who took her at the chancel steps, or Owen, +who had appointed himself vicar's warden and master pew-opener? +At sixty-two her father's hair, not at all to his displeasure, +had gone quite white, but his tall figure was as slender +and neat as Owen's. She enjoyed the excitements to the full, +and only felt a warming of the eyes when, on going to her +carriage to drive to the station, Hollins, who had hardly taken +her eyes from the bride all the afternoon, cried as she hugged +and kissed her, saying: "The meaning 'll have gone of life, +Miss Duffy, with you gone. The meaning 'll sort have +somehow gone out of life. God bless you, dear. God bless +you." Her father just kissed her, patted her on the shoulder, and +made a joke. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +He delayed on the steps, however, to watch the carriage +receding along the road towards the first corner. That carriage, +of which he could see only the hinderparts and the horse's +twinkling heels, was taking Daphne out of his range and +beyond his call. His jaw jerked forward at the thought. The +stream of life, so he put it, had brought her to him where he +drifted, and running rapidly on, like the unsentimental thing +it was, had floated her away before he had hardly touched her; +and he would never catch her now. Pain and bewilderment sat +uncomfortably at his heart. "I missed her. I missed her +somehow." A variant of something Daphne had often uttered +of late, with crumpled brow, seemed the best expression of +what he was feeling: "I don't know. One doesn't learn how +to adjust oneself to life till it's nearly time to die." +</p> + +<p> +The carriage turned the corner, and old Sir Roger called: +"Come on, Bruno; it's all over now." (Detestable the way he +called you "Bruno," as if he were your equal!) He turned +and walked over the doormat into the house. The chaff and +laughter of the guests was beginning to sound hollow, and the +whole assembly to show its fractures, now that its centre had +been driven away. Mr. Bruno thought of his home, and his +study, and his books; and made an excuse for returning to +them. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0428"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXVIII +</h3> + +<p> +Daphne, though she concealed it, was very proud of the +circumstances of her married life. She was proud of her +big house and its fine furniture; of having so much money in +her purse (Roger gave her an incredible allowance), of her +shopping at the great stores; and of giving her name as +Mrs. Muirhead. +</p> + +<p> +These were the pleasures; but there were worries, too. The +housekeeping, though she tried to approach it light-heartedly, +was a permanent anxiety; she knew nothing about it. Mistress +of one man-servant and four women, she had no talent +whatever for ordering them about. Instead of issuing commands +as one accustomed to authority, she caught herself throwing +out hints of what it would be nice for them to do. She +could hear the weakness in her hesitating speech, and +wondered if they perceived it too, and laughed at her. This +nervousness she had tried to conceal from her husband, but one +evening at dinner, when she had asked the butler: "Would you +mind getting the other cruet? Yes, thank you very much. It's +downstairs," Roger said: +</p> + +<p> +"Dearest, I don't think there's any need for you to petition +the servants to do quite reasonable duties." The criticism +was eased by a kind smile. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne, determined, like him, to avoid any friction in these +early marriage days, decided to accept the rebuke merrily. +</p> + +<p> +"But I'm in mortal terror of them." +</p> + +<p> +Roger shrugged. +</p> + +<p> +"Then our household will inevitably be run in a slovenly +way. Of that I'm quite sure. I'm the last person, as you +know, to suggest bullying one's servants, but I believe it's +happier in the end for everybody, if they're disciplined." +</p> + +<p> +"All right," said Daphne, with a slight heart-sinking, "I'll +try." +</p> + +<p> +She was as much at sea with her social duties—her calls, +and her entertaining at home. Dinners! She had never been +to one before marriage. How on earth were they created? +She felt sure that she was doing something wrong, and these +fashionable women would criticise her among themselves. And +they had no right to, she thought angrily; life was something +bigger than their silly little conventions, and she had as many +brains as any of them—more than most. +</p> + +<p> +Roger made her worse, for it was quite obvious, though he +thought it tactfully concealed, that he was putting her through +a course in social demeanour. When talking enthusiastically +at their meals together, she would emphasise with her arm +or point; and he would hint that the best people didn't do that. +She spoke too loud when excited, and laughed too shrilly, he +said. And certain words such as "Lordy," and "Crikey!" and +"Coo!" he ruled out as impossible. In fact, he was evidently +pained at this discovery of "no polish" in his wife. +</p> + +<p> +The result was that if her deportment-master came into her +drawing-room, she was reduced to the awkwardness of a school-girl. +His merry conversation and ease of manners she guessed +to be partly paraded as a demonstration of how these things +were done; and his thoughtful silence when their visitors had +left to be the symptom of his disappointment at her failure. +Once at a convention <i>tête-à-tête</i> dinner, he said deliberately: +</p> + +<p> +"You don't seem to have much social gift, darling, do you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't I?" said she, hurt. "How do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you never say anything. You look divine, of course; +but you seem to have no subjects of conversation." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but I think I could talk the hind leg off a donkey with +people of my own age, and in an easier setting. But I'm frightened +of all your dames. You see, I feel so young." She leaned +her elbows on the table. "Do you know, I can't realise I'm +married. I can't see any difference in myself from when I +went to school and played the fool. I feel just the same." +</p> + +<p> +"And you look it," agreed Roger, fetching down her left +hand from where it was meeting the right, under her chin, +and holding it lovingly on the table. He kept it, till the +entrance of the butler obliged him to withdraw his own, guiltily +and humorously, on to his lap. +</p> + +<p> +This hand-holding and mutually understood jest were typical +of their relation. They were good friends. And Roger was +a model (as he meant to be) of courtesy. He was never +brusque with her. The way he assisted her from carriage or +omnibus, or helped her on with her cloak after the theatre, or +considered her needs at meals, or opened the door for her +when she left a room (even when they were alone) showed that +he delighted to honour his wife as the queen among women. +And she—she felt grateful to him for having married her, +and was resolved that throughout his life he must have all +his dues. +</p> + +<p> +And yet she knew that he was always contrasting his own +home with others better "run," and her over-awed shyness +with the aplomb and ready wit of other hostesses. She knew +it more than ever when he appeared to have abandoned the +deportment-course in favour of silence. +</p> + +<p> +This silence was like a perpetual rebuke. And when one +day he was studying a parliamentary Blue Book, whose very +appearance seemed to show the difference between the width +of his interests and hers (and perhaps was not unwillingly +displayed to that end), she sat alone by the window, and stared +into Fettes Gardens. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I see where I've failed him. One doesn't see it till +afterwards. I never knew I was going to dislike and rather +despise the social hum-drum. I am always ready to picture +myself in any large occupation, and doing it better than anybody +else; when the plain fact is that I am without social gifts. +I'm only an artist, like father, and probably a smaller one.... +But I must get into these household duties. I must get into +things, and not let him down. It's only fair to him." +</p> + +<p> +So she set about it with renewed vigour. She kept elaborate +books of accounts, drew up exceedingly neat programmes for +the servants' labours, bought books on etiquette (surreptitiously), +diligently read the papers so as to know what was +being talked about, watched with unremitting care over her +husband's wardrobe, and at all social assemblies studied the +behaviour and the vocabulary of the vivacious ladies who did +not disappoint their husbands. And her rapid improvement, +manifest to herself, greatly encouraged her. +</p> + +<p> +But the havoc it made of her writing and reading was an +abiding disquiet. And one morning at breakfast, when she +read in the book-reviews, to which she always turned first, of +a young woman writer's triumph, her mouth squared, and, +dropping the paper, she sipped her coffee in dejection. +</p> + +<p> +Roger noticed, and rested his hand on hers. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter, dearest?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing." She looked up brightly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes there is. You look wretched, as you can sometimes." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm depressed, I suppose. +</p> + +<p> +"Depressed? What have you got to be depressed about?" +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps his features had tightened a little. Had she hurt +him by so poor a compliment as to be depressed sometimes? +He raised surprised eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't see what you've got to be depressed about." +</p> + +<p> +Jarred, she answered with a note of anger. +</p> + +<p> +"I know you can't." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what is it?" +</p> + +<p> +She slightly tossed her head. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, sometimes I can't help thinking of all I dreamed I +was going to do. And time passes, and I do nothing." +</p> + +<p> +"Do nothing!" echoed Roger, covering his injury with a smile. +"Well, you're only twenty-three, and you're married and have +a fine house and most luxuries. I don't think you've started +badly." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but I meant in the writing way. I intended to—to +read all the literature in the world and then write. I set +myself too big a task, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +Roger ruminated over his toast and marmalade, and decided +after two or three minutes that he was right in being offended. +</p> + +<p> +"Your trouble, Duffy, I think, is that you want all the +advantages of married life, and all the advantages of +freedom——" +</p> + +<p> +"No, it's not——" +</p> + +<p> +"Please let me go on. <i>I</i> accept the disadvantages, and there +<i>are</i> a few, though you may not think it. There are some things +that haven't turned out just as I thought, but I've resigned +myself to them philosophically." +</p> + +<p> +She flushed at this frank statement, and said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +With the greater ease that came to her in domestic and +social duties, however, she found that, with system, quite a +number of hours in the week could be secured for her reading. +Yes, she had been a little panicky. And as book after book +returned to her shelves read, and not only read but understood, +she felt again the improvement in her mind, its finer +tempering and wider reach. Her taste advanced with every month, +so that the memory of certain parts of "Madame Rolland" +made her catch her breath with dismay. And the more she +read, the more avenues of learning opened before her, and +the more she sought to snatch studious hours from the day. +Fancy if she could become equal in knowledge to her father! +And to Henry! +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And then with a spasm of apprehension she suspected that +she was going to have a child. Soon she knew. +</p> + +<p> +It was useless to tell herself she ought to feel differently +about it; she didn't, and there was the truth. She didn't want +the child. Not yet. For years it would smash up such study +and such writing as she wanted to do. And it might be the +first of many! No good to tell herself that the feeling was +unnatural; she knew it was perfectly natural; the whole force +of her had been directed to a different channel. And because +of this there had lingered in her mind the flattering conviction, +a last romantic delusion, that she was not one of those who +bore children easily. It had been encouraged by her early +immunity. +</p> + +<p> +That night, when Roger lay by her side and was about to +embrace her, she said abruptly: +</p> + +<p> +"Roger, I'm frightfully afraid I'm going to have a baby. +Oh, what on earth am I going to do with a baby? I don't want +it.... I don't want it...." +</p> + +<p> +He removed his arm from her, and said nothing at all. +</p> + +<p> +Knowing that she had angered him, and anxious to hear his +voice, she persisted: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you might sympathise with me, Roger. What on earth +am I to do about it?" +</p> + +<p> +At last he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"Really, Duffy, you do hurt me sometimes. I always thought +that a wife when she had such a piece of news came with joy +to her husband. At least, so I've always read.... I can't +make it out. Either you are different from most women, or +women are very different from what they appear in books." +</p> + +<p> +He heard her sigh, and felt sorry for her. +</p> + +<p> +"Why should it upset you so?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Roger, I don't want one just now. Not just now. +Not so soon." +</p> + +<p> +He emitted a sound of disgust, and answered vaguely: +</p> + +<p> +"What a humbug it all is! What a fool's paradise we men +live in!" +</p> + +<p> +"But don't you see what bad luck it is to me?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I don't. I confess I can't.... I can't see your point of +view at all. As I told you once before, you seem to have +entered marriage with an eye to all the advantages, and a +determination to avoid all the handicaps." +</p> + +<p> +"I think the motives of all of us are pretty mixed; but what's +the good of throwing stones, when we're being punished for it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Let me finish what I was saying. A girl who gets married +and then whines because a child appears really does drive +rather blindly at life." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes. Yes, I know," agreed Daphne. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0429"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XXIX +</h3> + +<p> +During the months of malaise and sickness that followed +she was conscious of a relapse from all those things that +in the last few years had brought some goodness and direction +to her life. She no longer cared for the defiant courage and +the pity transcending God's which her father had set before her. +She no longer cared about giving a generous return to Roger +for all he had given to her, or about excusing his faults because +hers were the same in kind. More than this, she not only eluded +these motions towards goodness; she actively fought against +them. When a clear thought whispered that her rebelliousness +was disproportionate to its cause, she silenced and drove it +away. If her new habit of combating indolence asserted itself +and bade her be up and about a work, she deliberately sat down +and did nothing, thus to snub it. All thoughts that would give +her the right to criticise Roger she encouraged; he had pursued +her remorselessly, and dazzled her out of her senses into +marrying him; and she didn't love him—she loved Henry; Henry +only and always; her studies and her writing were for Henry—nay, +they <i>were</i> Henry; and Roger was enforcing his power to +snatch her from them. When a moment's interest and a tremor +like love stirred for the coming child, she repressed it firmly, +resolved to dislike this little jailer of Roger's. +</p> + +<p> +Self-consciousness haunted her as she grew larger. She +would keep seated, if possible, when visitors came; she walked +very quickly out of rooms; over shop-counters she stooped +slightly. Not the smallest of her disappointments was the +knowledge that she would never be able to wear her new clothes, +because, when she could fit them again, they would be out of +fashion. And her figure, which had always been the admiration +of her father and Henry, might never be so small again. More +children would arrive, and she would become matronly. Roger +had made her slough off her youth, and leave it behind for ever. +And she was only twenty-three.... And Henry might come +again. +</p> + +<p> +What did she know about the management of a baby? Not +even how they were dressed. She bought pattern journals +which showed pictures and gave the patterns of frocks for the +new-born child. Dully she went and bought the materials they +detailed, and gave up her afternoons to making the robes. +</p> + +<p> +One day her husband came in and saw her engaged on this +work; and, picking up the little long robe, with its lace edges +and ribbons, he smiled with pleasure and kissed the crown of +her head. Probably he was touched to see her doing this work +herself, but said no word of approval for fear of offence. He +had great ideas of treating her, at this important stage, with the +utmost consideration. +</p> + +<p> +That he should think she had abandoned her right to irritation +annoyed Daphne, so she purposely said: +</p> + +<p> +"Oughtn't we to think about getting a nurse for this infant +of yours?" +</p> + +<p> +"There's plenty of time, isn't there?" inquired he. "There +are enough about." +</p> + +<p> +"We want to get a good one." Daphne, needle between her +lips, held up the garment, ostensibly to examine it, really to give +an ease to her words. "Because I tell you plainly, I'll bear this +child for you, but as soon as it's arrived, I'm going to give it +up to a nurse who can look after it all day and give it its bottle." +</p> + +<p> +"But dear——" he began, and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +She laid down her sewing, and asked: +</p> + +<p> +"What were you going to say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it's no good worrying you yet awhile.... I was only +going to ask if you weren't going to—suckle it yourself. My +mother nursed me. She told me so." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne felt like saying: "But that's about the thing she'd do +best. I don't suppose she ever had any ambition in her life +apart from you," but she only said, rather timidly, for she had +never overcome a fear of Roger: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm not going to. There's not such a great difference +between bottle-babies and the others as all that. After all, I +shall only be twenty-four years older than my son or daughter, +and I've a duty to myself as well as to it." +</p> + +<p> +Roger held his peace, but walked with displayed disappointment +out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, walk away if you like," thought Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +She completed all the garments and filled a white basket with +them, rather proud of her handiwork. Why she had made +and broidered every garment herself was not clear; in part, +it was self-martyrdom; in part, the simplicity of her childhood +made lordly buying unnatural to her; in part, too, and she knew +it, there was a concealed idea of self-punishment for the unkind +hostility. +</p> + +<p> +Now that the time drew closer, she wished it would come +quickly and be over. She looked forward to being small again, +and free from sickness and pain. "As soon as it's over, I'm +going to have a real good time." A brilliant idea had abated +some of the gloom. Hollins! Why hadn't she thought of +Hollins before? The happiness it would give old Hollins! +Hollins came, and they enjoyed long talks together. The old +servant smiled and shook her head when Daphne declared: +"Do you know, I dislike this child intensely. I shall hand it +over to you and a nurse." +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I tell you something, dear?" said Hollins. "Your +mamma used to talk to me about a lot of things she didn't talk +to no one else about; and she told me that she hadn't wanted you +at all, but she no sooner saw you than—well, she loved you so, +she wouldn't 'ave called the queen her cousin." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked at the table-top, and then jumped up. "But +mother was quite different from me, I've always imagined. She +was that sort. No, I shall hand over the kid to you and the +nurse and be free. I wish it would come quickly.... Yes, I +think I nearly hate it...." +</p> + +<p> +"Nearly ain't half-way," said Hollins. +</p> + +<p> +Roger wanted her to be very careful with herself, and to act +as the decorous invalid. But she refused to do anything of the +kind, going about the day's occupations as if she expected +nothing. And he, ever eager for romantic feelings, began to marvel +at her courage. This admiration reached its topmost pitch when +one afternoon, two weeks before the marked day, as they were +sitting together talking, she suddenly got up and said: "I think +I'll go and lie down. And, Roger dear, I think perhaps you'd +better get the doctor." +</p> + +<p> +He jumped up to help her to her room, but she said: "It's all +right. I'm all right. You arrange for the doctor and the +nurse," and walked easily and quickly up the stairs. With a +rapid heart Roger hurried to his telephone. +</p> + +<p> +Then he walked up and down the dining-room, sincerely feeling +all that it was written he should feel at such an hour. +Self-dramatisation was there, but he was not conscious of it. He +was praying: "O God, make it all right for her. Don't let it +hurt her too much!" There was no sound upstairs in her +room—no periodical moaning, such as he had supposed was +usual. Once or twice, fearful lest this silence boded ill, he +walked up to the room, and saw her lying in bed and ready to +smile up at him, as cosily as if it were a late morning and she +too comfortable to get up. Another time he found her out of +bed and in the adjoining dressing-room, seeing that everything +was ready there for the nurse. No word or strain of feature +suggested that she was knowing pain. +</p> + +<p> +The wheels of the doctor's carriage were heard outside, and +Roger himself opened the door to him. It was a satisfaction, +though unrecognised, to show the doctor the calm and dignity +with which he met the threatening hours. But the doctor, by +his unhurried manner, seemed to disperse all exaggerated +seriousness. +</p> + +<p> +"Your baby's impatient to be up and abroad," said he. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it's a hit earlier than we expected," admitted Roger, +not quite sure if he liked jesting at such a moment—whether +these doctors didn't get rather coarse. But the words "your +baby," seeming for the first time to mean something alive, +thrilled him. "Yes, two weeks early." +</p> + +<p> +"Quite so. The little blighter!" said the doctor, wiping his +boots on the mat. +</p> + +<p> +"I've 'phoned for the nurse." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll take you up, then, to the wife," said Roger. +</p> + +<p> +He escorted him upstairs, and pointed to the door of the +silent room. The doctor passed in, and Roger was left on the +landing. +</p> + +<p> +Again he prayed: "O God, make it all right for her! And +don't let it hurt." The praying worked on him so that he nearly +broke up; but he preserved his outward dignity. He heard himself +saying: "My little Duffy, my beloved, I can't bear to think +of you suffering.... My God, I've been hard with you +sometimes...." +</p> + +<p> +And as he walked downstairs, he paused sometimes and stood +on the step with his hand on the balustrade, staring at the +memory of some moment when he had hurt her with his—his +discipline. At last he reached the long dining-room again, and, +standing by the window with his hands behind his back, gazed +into the darkening street. "If the worst were to happen——" But +there his power to think broke down, retiring defeated upon +itself. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Upstairs Daphne lay in her pain. She was not groaning, +through fear of her husband's thinking her a coward; but her +breaths, as the pains seized her, were short, staccato intakes, +like the breaths after sobs. At the time of the doctor's entry +she was in the pull of such a pain. She felt him take her by +the wrist, and was disposed to burst into tears. Instead, she +smiled a sick greeting, closed her eyes, and continued her short, +sharp gasps. +</p> + +<p> +O God, was there ever such pain? Never, never again would +she have a child. "I wish I'd never married. I am caught for +life. I may say I'll never have another child, but I shall. +Unless I commit suicide after this, and escape from life because +it's too hard and frightening. Does every one of my age look +back on a life blundered with and blundering? It wasn't all +my fault. I'd only been in contact all my childhood with +people who never faced up to anything as it really was—excepting +Father, and he never spoke.... So that I ran into things with +the comfortable idea that luck would make them all right—instead +of seeing that my fate would be mathematically what I +shaped it.... The love of being talked about and the desire +for life and luxury made me marry Roger. It was a blunder, +and very wrong, I dare say—but one <i>does</i> make mistakes and +be selfish at twenty-one ... the punishment is too unrelenting +... too everlasting.... Henry ... I'd have gone through +this for Henry.... Henry, why couldn't we have fought +together for the truth of how to live? ... Does <i>any</i> girl reach +motherhood with a scheme of living, other than drifting? ... Oh, +my God!" It was as if all the mental pain in her life had +assembled to be present in this culminating agony. "Oh, +Doctor!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Over. Rush of relief, so wonderful as itself to hurt. "It's +over and I'm free again." She lay with eyes closed in this luxury +and freedom from pain. She had forgotten the child, there +being no cry to remind her; or if there had been she had not +noticed it. At last, sighing with repletion of luxury, she opened +her eyes and looked inquiringly for the doctor. He was not in +the room, but there was a nurse, a young woman, pleasant and +round-faced, who smiled at her. +</p> + +<p> +"That's right. Why, you're a wonder! You hardly turned +a hair." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne, pleased with this tribute, answered: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it really wasn't half as bad as I expected." +</p> + +<p> +The nurse smiled meaningly. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor told a different tale. "You're so strong, you see." +</p> + +<p> +There came a cry from the neighbourhood of the fire; and +it repeated itself, and ceased. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you like to see her?" asked the nurse. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, is it a girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"I should think it was. And a little beauty." +</p> + +<p> +The nurse walked away to the crib; and Daphne, though +unexcited and not free of her former hostility, undoubtedly felt +an interest to see what she had produced. +</p> + +<p> +"There!" said the nurse. +</p> + +<p> +For a new-born baby, it was a pleasing face that Daphne saw +in the blanketed bundle held above her eyes. There was no +frown, nor was it mottled or over-coloured. The lids were down, +and the lashes distinctly visible. Something in the lip and chin +reminded her of Roger. But the downy hair was much fairer +than his could ever have been. +</p> + +<p> +"I've seen worse," she pronounced. +</p> + +<p> +"Seen worse!" echoed the nurse, taking back the baby. "And +I was wondering if I had ever seen a better." +</p> + +<p> +Later Roger was brought in, and he kissed her, declaring that +she looked in radiant health. She smiled, liking all this tribute +to her physical strength and her fortitude. "You'd better go +and look at your daughter," said she. And Roger, after staring +into the crib for a long time, came back to her bed and asked +her what she thought of "the little rat." Probably he was +wanting her to express a different attitude to that which she had +adopted before its birth, but she replied: +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose, if it were any one else's, I should say it was +rather adorable." +</p> + +<p> +He pretended to smile, unwilling to argue just now. +</p> + +<p> +"And Heaven knows," continued Daphne, "what's going to +happen to her with no one to love her. I feel a compassion for +her, if that's any comfort to you." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you mustn't talk too much, I expect. And I think +<i>I</i>'ll be considering a night's rest." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it night, then?" inquired Daphne, for the room had long +been lit, and she had known nothing of the gathered dark behind +the blinds, or counted the passing of time in this bright +illumination. +</p> + +<p> +"It's only a quarter to midnight," said Roger, as he stooped +to kiss her. "Good night, dearest." +</p> + +<p> +"Good night, my dear." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Not at once, not as her mother had done, did Daphne succumb +to the thing that trembled within her whenever she saw +her daughter's face. The admiration of all who looked at +Evie—"Evie" for no obvious reason had leapt into Daphne's mind +as the fitting name for this little fair thing—the genuine, +sometimes startled admiration of visitors helped it. But it was a +remark of Hollins that bade it go forward to its conquest. It +was late at night, and Hollins, relieving the nurse, had brought +Evie to her mother for the eleven o'clock feed. Sitting up in +bed, quite eager for another glimpse of the little face, Daphne +took and held her daughter. She stared down at it, bewildered +as to who this little stranger was—so complete in every feature, +with such manicured filbert nails on the wrinkled fingers. +Baring her breast, she gave it to the searching mouth. Then +turning to Hollins, she asked with a smile: "How long do you expect +me to go on doing this? Not for interminable months, I hope." +</p> + +<p> +"It's worth doing, dear," answered Hollins. "I reckon there +are few things better worth while." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne turned her head and looked at Evie again. Her +heart quickened, as if something, battened down, had been +allowed to well up in it. The plain truth, she knew, was that +she loved this Evie with a trembling love. As she admitted +the thought, exhilaration glowed in her; and though she felt +she suddenly wanted to lie down and meditate on a lot of +things, she suspended thought, keeping only the exhilaration. +</p> + +<p> +Then the child was taken away by Hollins, and the light +put down, and she could lie and think. +</p> + +<p> +The image of Evie was with her. "She's going to be +intelligent. Anybody can see that from her brow and her eyes. +She must have all I didn't have—carefully watched childhood, +and an education of the highest, with a proper training of her +taste and a proper disciplining of her mind. I must watch her +every moment myself." That inherent scepticism whispered: +"But probably every parent has had these thoughts. Probably +mother did. Probably father did, and wearied. I dare say +Evie's story will only be a repetition of mine.... But no. I +mustn't—I shan't go back on this vow.... I shall try to get +on with my books as well, but if I can't do both, Evie shall come +first." +</p> + +<p> +She lay awake a long time, abandoning her mind to those +clearer parts that had always been there. She wanted to locate +some basic error that was responsible for the most of her +blunders. She seemed to find it at last—where, indeed, Henry +had found it—in her ever present sense of the spectator, that +mastering sense of a world looking on. One could not be real +when the spectator was the first consideration. Did she inherit +it from her father? Was it in part a legacy from the poseurs +who had surrounded her youth? No, probably everybody in +the world was tainted with it. But people like herself and her +father, who could see it for what it was, ought to be big enough +to shake themselves free. What a subtle poison, and how +difficult to trace!—for often the spectator was oneself, and the +deluding of that limited audience nearly complete! She could +see the succession of "attitudes" it had produced in her life; her +early masculinity, her facile adorations, her insincere religion, +her wilful publication of "Madame Rolland," her showy marriage +with Roger, and so recently as yesterday her pretended +dislike of her child. A few things in her life seemed true and +independent of it; her humble love for Henry, her new +conceptions of her art, and her late ideas of courage, pity, and +grateful generosity to Roger. And now, as pure as any, came +her love for Evie. +</p> + +<p> +Brilliantly clear it all seemed that night to Daphne, as the +clock ticked the hours away. One was only happy when, +regardless of applause, one was making something, giving +something, or enjoying intimacy with whoso understood. +Making—giving—intimacy—these were the real things. Looking at +others, instead of others looking at you. So dear was it that +she felt in sight of a liberation from her past. If only—if only +she could one day lose the spectator, she would shed like a single +garment the poseur and the slave. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78201 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + diff --git a/78201-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/78201-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8df9da --- /dev/null +++ b/78201-h/images/img-cover.jpg |
