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diff --git a/79286-0.txt b/79286-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..800a38d --- /dev/null +++ b/79286-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10214 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79286 *** + + + + + DESPISED & + REJECTED + + + BY + A. T. FITZROY + + + LONDON: C. W. DANIEL, LTD. + Graham House, Tudor Street, E.C.4. + + + TO YOU + WHO MADE ME UNDERSTAND + + + + + PART I. + + + CHAPTER I + +“What I like about these small places,” remarked Mrs. Blackwood as she +seated herself at one of the tea-tables in the lounge of the Amberhurst +Private Hotel, “is that everybody gets to know everybody else quite +informally, and that is such a blessing for the young people.” + +“Do you really think so?” queried Hester Cawthorn. It amused her to draw +the older woman out. Mrs. Blackwood herself did not interest Hester at +all; but Mrs. Blackwood as a type—the well-to-do, conventional, +provincial type—interested her very much indeed. She could picture Mrs. +Blackwood, queening it in her home-surroundings, the chatty little +country town of Eastwold; near enough to London to allow Mr. Blackwood +to travel up and down every day, and far enough removed from the +metropolis to form a world to itself; a small and very gregarious world, +no doubt, in which everybody certainly knew all about everybody else’s +business, and minded it in preference to their own. + +Hester was not gregarious. In the dining-room, she sat alone at her +small table, politely but firmly declining the manageress’s good-natured +offer to “find some company for her.” Hester preferred her own company, +both during meals, and on her long walks into the surrounding country. +When all the hotel visitors, grouped according to their affinities, were +seated upon the lawn, Hester would sit alone, reading; or armed with a +masculine-looking walking-stick, and the brim of her felt hat turned +down to shade her thin sombre face, would stalk off in the direction of +the hills that formed a humped barrier upon the sky-line. At the end of +a fortnight’s stay, Mrs. Blackwood who, true to the traditions of +Eastwold, had discovered the leading features of interest in the lives +of everyone else in the hotel, was still no wiser about Hester. + +She smiled now in answer to her question. “Why, yes, of course it’s a +blessing. I think the company one is in makes all the difference to +one’s enjoyment of a holiday—we always take ours in June, as Mr. +Blackwood’s partner has to have his in August.” Mrs. Blackwood was as +eager to impart information concerning herself and her family, as she +was to elicit it from others. “Are you making a long stay, Miss +Cawthorn?” + +“Possibly; I don’t know.” Hester spoke with perfect courtesy, though her +tone implied that she was quite decided as to her future plans, but +wished to discourage enquiries regarding them. + +“You’ve only been here a short while?” + +“Comparatively speaking.” + +Mrs. Blackwood abandoned the attack for the moment, and continued: “The +children love it here, and even Ottilie seems to be enjoying herself, +though of course it’s rather difficult for her.” + +“Is that the little German girl who is staying with you?” + +“Yes. It’s an exchange, you see. Herr Baumgartner is a +business-connection of my husband’s, and Ottilie has been with us for +nearly six months, learning English. Next year, Doreen is to go back +with her to Heidelberg to study German. She’s a dear child, but her +English isn’t very grand yet, though I’m glad to say that Mr. Griggs has +given her a part in the theatricals in spite of it.” + +“He must be a very indulgent stage-manager.” + +“Oh, he’s charming, I assure you. At home at Eastwold, he’s the life and +soul of the place, just as he is here; he always tries to join us, even +if it’s only for a week, when we’re on our summer holiday.” + +At this juncture, the swing-doors leading into the recreation-room were +flung open, and the life and soul of Eastwold, wearing velvet +knee-breeches and a tricolor waistcoat, burst into the lounge. + +“Mrs. Blackwood—Miss Cawthorn—what do you think has happened? Miss +Wright has suddenly been called away, and now there’s no one to play the +incidental music for us to-night. I wonder if either of you two +ladies——” tentatively Mr. Griggs glanced at Hester, of whom he was very +much in awe. + +She shook her head, and Mrs. Blackwood replied: “Oh, you know I’m no +good at the piano, Mr. Griggs. Dennis has monopolised all the musical +talent there is in our family, and I’m afraid he won’t be here till too +late. Can’t you get on without the music?” + +“Why, the music’s half the battle!” wailed Griggs, whose neat little +moustache, neat little features, pince-nez, and hair growing rather thin +on top, accorded strangely with his dashing costume. “It lends +atmosphere—dignity. We can’t have Marry Anto’nett guillotined without a +soft musical accompaniment. It makes all the difference, you know.” + +“Most unfortunate, isn’t it?” Mrs. Blackwood invited Hester’s +commiseration, “of course Doreen strums the piano a little, but she’s in +the play. I do wonder if Dennis——” + +“You can bet your boots that Dennis won’t!” A twelve-year-old schoolboy +suddenly thrust his head through the swing-doors, “and anyway if he did, +he’d play mouldy sort of stuff. He always does.” + +“Oh, Reggie,” his mother reproved him, “you musn’t speak like that about +your brother’s music. You don’t understand it, that’s all.” + +“Well, it _is_ mouldy,” insisted the boy, “there’s no tune in it, +however hard you listen for one.” + +Mrs. Blackwood privately endorsed this statement, but for the sake of +discipline she resumed: “You’re a very rude little boy! And what are you +doing with that air-gun? Haven’t I told you not to use it in the house?” + +“I’ve got to have it. I’m the Mob—in the French Revolution, you know,” +he added for Hester’s edification. + +“Oh, darling,” exclaimed Mrs. Blackwood, “I thought you were to be the +little Dauphin.” + +Reggie shook his head in silence. + +“_Aren’t_ you going to be the Dauphin?” his mother persisted. “I thought +it would be such a nice part for you.” + +“It was a mouldy part, so I chucked it.” + +“Yes, but who’s going to play it, if you’re not?” + +“Doreen. She’s got to be both the Queen’s children rolled into one. _I_ +wasn’t going to have Miss Fayne blubbering all over me.... Much more +sport to be the Mob, and stick her head up on a pike.... We haven’t got +a pike, so the air-gun’s got to do.” + +Griggs shook his finger archly. “Well, Master Reggie, shall we tell them +the truth about your defalcation—good word that, eh? You didn’t mind +being the Dauphin, as long as Miss de Courcy was playing Marry +Anto’nett, did you?” + +Reggie grew pink about the ears and muttered: “She’s a sport, and anyway +_she_ chucked the Queen’s part, because she wanted to be Charlotte +Corday, and have the bathroom bit.” + +“Ssh,” remonstrated Griggs, “you musn’t talk so much, or you’ll spoil +the effect of our performance to-night. I don’t know what we shall do +about the music, though. Don’t you think there’s any chance that Dennis +will be here in time?” + +Dennis’s mother returned doubtfully: “You see, I don’t know exactly when +he’s arriving; he didn’t say in his wire, he’s rather absent-minded. I +suppose composers and people like that often are.” + +Hester noted that there was an undertone of pride in her voice now, as +well as deprecation; a moment later, the pride was unconsciously echoed +by Reggie, hovering between the swing-doors. “Dennis has got other +things to think about than remembering to tell you if he’ll be home to +dinner to-morrow, or whom he’s going out with the day after! His head’s +always full of ideas, even if they do sound rotten when they come out.” +Then, perhaps fearing that he had said too much in praise of his elder +brother, Reggie added with seeming irrelevance: “Clive won the High Jump +at Westborough three years running, and the Long Jump twice; not bad—was +it?” Without waiting for an answer, he vanished through the door; and +Griggs, after vainly scouring the drawing-room and the lawn in search of +a pianist, returned to conduct the dress rehearsal. + +Mrs. Blackwood sighed. “Reggie and Clive are great friends in spite of +the big difference in their ages. But Clive and Dennis don’t hit it off +at all, though there’s only a year between them.” + +“Opposing temperaments?” suggested Hester. + +“Yes, indeed. Even as little boys they were quite different. We could +never get Dennis to play with soldiers or steamers or any of the usual +toys. His father used to get quite angry. He always wanted his boys to +be _manly_ boys. Reggie is a great favourite of his, now. He loves to +take the child along whenever he goes golfing or swimming. Mr. Blackwood +has been such a keen sportsman all his life, and both Clive and Reggie +seem to have inherited it from him. I’m sure it adds to his enjoyment of +his holiday to have Reggie here, even though it’s only because they’ve +got measles at his preparatory school. Yes, he and Mr. Blackwood are +more like friends than father and son. But Dennis....” Again there was +in her tone that mingling of pride and concern. “Dennis has never cared +at all about sport.” + +“More his mother’s son than his father’s, perhaps?” + +There was a frown between Mrs. Blackwood’s eyes now. She appeared to be +looking straight at Hester, yet without seeing her; and a second later, +at the sunlit lawn and the first tee of the hotel golf links, yet +without seeing them either. Her concentrated gaze evidently beheld +something that had nothing whatever to do with Hester or the lawn or the +golf links. She said in a troubled voice: “Yes—yes, perhaps he is, I +don’t really know—of course as long as he’s happy—.” She broke off +abruptly and fell silent. Hester watched her. So she had reserves after +all, this provincial chatterbox, despite her readiness to discuss her +own and other people’s affairs. But whatever it was that Hester imagined +to have glimpsed, was hidden away again the next moment, beneath the +flow of light conversation that had broken out afresh. “He’s been +staying up in London with a friend, Mr. Burgess, for the Russian opera +season, they’re both so interested in it. Mr. Burgess is musical +too—plays the piano, but he doesn’t compose like Dennis does. Still, +it’s nice for them to have something in common, isn’t it? And now +they’re off on a walking tour through Devonshire, and as we’re on the +Great Western line here, Dennis promised that they would spend the +week-end with us on their way down.” She went on, “I wish they were +staying longer; I’m sure Dennis would like it here, though he always +says he hates hotels. But it’s the people who make the place, isn’t it? +And I do think they’re such a nice set of people here, don’t you, Miss +Cawthorn?” + +Hester’s “Oh, yes, I daresay they are,” was utterly impersonal and +aloof, but not in the least discouraged, Mrs. Blackwood continued: “That +Miss de Courcy, now—Antoinette—don’t you think she’s charming?” + +“I don’t think I’ve noticed her....” Hester was actuated by some demon +of cussedness to pour cold water on poor Mrs. Blackwood’s enthusiasm. It +was an untruth into the bargain: she had certainly noticed Antoinette de +Courcy; one could not very well help noticing the most vivid and +striking personality in the whole hotel. + +Mrs. Blackwood began again: “I believe she comes of a very good old +French family; her people are very strict with her; I think she told +Doreen that this is the first time she has stayed away from +them—she’s here with the Faynes, you know; she and Rosabel were +school-friends—Doreen is simply devoted to Antoinette and so is Reggie.” + +“What about Clive?” laughed Hester. + +“Oh, Clive’s engaged, you see. They may have to wait two years till they +can marry—not that Mr. Blackwood wouldn’t be quite willing to help them +to set up house now, but Clive is determined that he’ll make a position +for himself before he marries. He’s always known his own mind; even as a +little chap he wanted to be an engineer, and he’s stuck to it ever +since; and he’s like that in his affections, too—absolutely settled, +though he’s so young—just twenty-four—but Lily knows he wouldn’t change +towards her, if she had to wait ten years for him; Reggie’s like Clive; +once he gets an idea into his head nothing will move him. They’re both +inclined to be obstinate, but then if one knows how to treat them!... I +can read those two like an open book.” She ended with a sigh, in which +satisfaction was blended with an indefinable regret. She was obviously +thinking again of that other son, the first-born, whose psychology did +not seem to present the facilities of the “open book.” It was curious +that whereas she spoke of all her menfolk—of her husband, of Clive and +Reggie—with affection, with admiration, with respect even, when she +spoke of Dennis or, as at the present moment, remained silent about him, +there was about her whole manner something which suggested that the love +she bore him was more poignant, and therefore more secret. + +Presently, headed by Mr. Griggs, the other members of the theatrical +company came through into the lounge. They had resumed their ordinary +clothes, and flung themselves in various attitudes of weariness into the +deep armchairs. + +Griggs’ repeated plea that they were not to spoil the effect of the play +by talking about it now, was laughed down by Antoinette de Courcy, +balancing her slender weight on the arm of a chair. “What does it +matter? There’s no one about now. Mrs. Blackwood is the mother of three +of the actors, so why shouldn’t she be in the know? And Miss Cawthorn +won’t let out any of our secrets.” She smiled brilliantly across at +Hester, who did not smile back, but answered shortly: “No, indeed not.” +Her assurance was quite superfluous, as it was impossible to imagine her +condescending to take sufficient interest in anyone’s secrets to lead +her to betray them. + +Mrs. Blackwood laughed. “Well, I can only hope that the three actors for +whom I’m responsible haven’t given you too much trouble, Mr. Griggs.” + +“Oh, how can you speak of ‘trouble,’ Mrs. Blackwood?” he expostulated, +“it has only been a pleasure to work with them.” + +Mrs. Blackwood beamed upon him. “We all know you’ve got wonderful +patience, as you need to have, I’m sure, for getting up amateur +theatricals.” + +Griggs smiled with modest pride. “But it’s well worth it, well worth it. +Nothing like theatricals for making people thoroughly at home with each +other. Whist-drives and picnics aren’t in it! There’s something about +theatricals, an _esprit de corps_, as you might say.” + +Reggie was causing a diversion by noisily testing the spring of his +air-gun. By way of rebuke, his mother with less tact than could have +been desired, remarked: “I do hope all Reggie’s chopping and changing +didn’t put you out. I think he’s a naughty little boy not to have taken +the part that was given him.” + +“Yes, and it means double work for me,” declared his seventeen-year-old +sister Doreen. “I’ve got to say all his lines as well as my own.” + +“And jolly glad you are to get the chance!” retorted Reggie. Doreen +threw back her pretty fair head and commanded him to “shut up”; and +Antoinette checked the reprimand rising to Mrs. Blackwood’s lips with: +“You really musn’t blame Reggie, he was only following my bad example.” + +Here Rosabel Fayne, author of the play, broke out: “Yes, Antoinette +darling, I do think it’s such a pity—though of course you know best, and +I’m sure you’re simply wonderful as Charlotte Corday—but I did write +Marie Antoinette part on purpose for you—so sweet that you’ve got the +same name, isn’t it? And I know I’m no good in the part....” She paused +for breath, eyes fixed adoringly on her friend’s face. Rosabel’s +appearance was a sore trial to herself. She yearned to be tall and +willowy and languorous; imperious of manner, and regal of bearing ... +instead of which she had an angular little figure, a pointed chin, and +eyes which, despite the wistfulness of their expression, were somehow +reminiscent of a robin’s. She was ready to lavish great floods of +adoration on her friends or on characters in history or fiction. At +present the said adoration was equally divided between Antoinette de +Courcy and the “Unhappy Queen.” + +Antoinette laughed now. “You make an excellent Queen, Rosabel, and the +Charlotte Corday part was really too tempting....” + +“It’s quite unhistorical,” remarked Clive Blackwood in a bored voice. He +was bored with the theatricals altogether; had only consented to play a +part, because he did not want to make himself conspicuous by refusing; +and because if you were staying in a place like this, it behoved you, +more or less, to do as the others did. So Clive was playing Louis XVI. +with a wooden stolidity and lack of conviction partly responsible for +Antoinette’s change of rôle. + +“Yes, it is gorgeously unhistorical,” she agreed with Clive, “Rosabel +wasn’t even certain if it was Danton or Marat whom I had to murder in +the bath, but Ottilie managed to enlighten us, didn’t you, Ottilie?” + +Ottilie, whose tartan blouse, fair basket plaits wound round her head, +and sentimental blue eyes proclaimed her unmistakably a member of the +Fatherland, exclaimed “_Augenblick!_” and removed her fingers from her +ears. She had stuffed them in to shut out sound, while she earnestly +pondered over the lines of her part. + +“Ottilie, you ought to know your words by now,” protested Doreen. + +“Och, I shall never know zem....” Ottilie’s voice was by nature loud, +deep and gloomy, and her present despair had added considerably to its +lugubrious quality. + +“You knew them well enough just now,” Doreen strove to cheer her, but +Ottilie refused to be cheered. + +“_Ausgeschlossen_ that I remember myself von vord vhen ze curtain +up-goes.... Only lately I exchanged ze vords. I said ‘ze’ when it is ‘a’ +in ze text.” + +“But little slips like that don’t matter, do they, Mr. Griggs?” Doreen +appealed to the stage-manager. + +“Of course not, of course not,” he responded genially, “as long as you +give us an impression of the character, we’ll be lenient about the +words.” + +“And everybody will make allowances for you, dear,” Mrs. Blackwood put +in, “knowing that you’re a foreigner.” + +“I am Madame Roland, governess of ze children of ze Qveen, and for my +_Auffassung_ of ze char_ac_ter—how do you say ‘_Auffassung_’ in English, +Doreen?” + +“‘Conception,’” translated Antoinette, who had travelled. + +“For my conception, zen, it is _unbedingt_ necessary zat my vords shall +be exact.” Ottilie could not be induced to regard her part and +responsibilities in any but the most serious light; and resumed her +conscientious study of her lines. To Ottilie, brought up on her native +Schiller and Goethe and Kleist, there was something almost sacred about +the production of a historical drama, and she was grieved at the lack of +seriousness with which the others approached it. Ever since she could +remember, she had longed to play one of Schiller’s heroines, Maria +Stuart, or Joan of Arc, bidding farewell to her mountains— + +“_Lebt wohl, Ihr Berge, Ihr geliebten Triften_—” or most of all +Elisabeth in “Don Carlos”.... Yes, how she had longed to act that great +scene with young Carlos, her step-son, manfully repressing his passion +for her, going to his death.... It would have been rapturous to hear +Heidmann, the romantic actor for whom she had a “_Schwärmerei_,” say to +her: + +“_... Elisabeth, ich halte dich in meinen Armen und wanke nicht...._” + +But instead of all these imaginary glories, Ottilie was only playing a +French governess with a German accent in an English play—a play in which +historical facts had been shamelessly juggled with, and no one even +cared if she did say “the” when it should be “a”.... + +As the afternoon wore on, the other hotel visitors returned from their +various outings, and began to fill up the lounge. Griggs scanned them +with an eagle eye, in the hope of finding amongst them a pianist capable +of supplying the “atmospheric” music. + +“Mrs. Greene—now I wonder if you would—no? Miss Harris—of course _you_ +play—no good denying it, you know, I can see it in your eyes, light of +genius and all that! What? Cut your finger...? Isn’t that bad luck now!” +Griggs mopped his forehead. “Dear, dear, whatever shall we do? All +my—ah—blandishments seem to be of no avail.” + +Rosabel suggested dubiously: “Of course, darling Mother would play for +us with pleasure—she’s always so sweet—but she hasn’t such an +exquisitely _soulful_ touch as Miss Wright had—we’re spoilt, aren’t we? +In fact, dance-music is really Mother’s strong point.” + +Antoinette gave a joyous laugh. “Well, why not, why not? By all means +let us have the ‘Merry Widow’ waltz, while Marie Antoinette is being +beheaded.” + +“Oh, Miss Antoinette!” exclaimed Griggs in an injured voice, “you’re +making fun of us. This is a most serious matter.” + +Half amused and half impatient, Antoinette again glanced across at +Hester who, this time, gave her in response a slow smile that made her +pale, haggard face look strangely attractive. Antoinette flushed, shook +back the short blonde _cendré_ curls that clustered about the nape of +her neck, and looked away again. + +“Here’s Dad!” cried Reggie, and held the door open while his father and +Mr. Fayne, returning from their round of golf, passed through into the +lounge. In his youth, Mr. Blackwood had been extremely handsome; with +his thick iron-grey hair and ruddy complexion, he was still striking in +appearance, but his features had become coarse, and he played golf +nowadays for the sake of his figure as well as for the sake of the game. + +“Well, you youngsters, getting ready for to-night?” Jovially Mr. +Blackwood addressed the company in general. “No one’s offered _me_ a +part, of course.... But if any of you had been out on the links this +afternoon, you’d have seen a performance that would have rivalled your +show, I can tell you.” He paused, then continued impressively: “I did +the eleventh hole in three—one drive clean over the lake, one iron shot +on to the green, and one putt. What do you say to that, my son?” + +“Pretty good,” said Reggie, glowing with pleasure, despite the studied +indifference of his tones. “I don’t think much of the way they’ve +cleaned your clubs, Dad, here—let me” ... he seized the bag, and +retiring towards one of the windows, extracted the mashie and began +vigorously polishing it with emery-paper. + +“That boy of mine’s all right, you know....” Mr. Blackwood was nearly +bursting with paternal pride; then, having slapped Clive on the back, +and pulled Doreen’s plait, he turned to his wife. + +“Dennis not here yet? When’s he coming?” + +Mrs. Blackwood became apologetic. “I don’t quite know; he didn’t say +definitely. I expect he’ll be here by dinner-time, though.” + +“The least he can do,” commented her husband in a manner suddenly devoid +of joviality. “I’ve no doubt he’ll contrive to be late, and put +everybody out as usual, inconsiderate young beggar.” + +A painful flush mounted to Mrs. Blackwood’s cheeks, and Antoinette +wished that she were not witnessing this little scene. + +“He doesn’t mean to be inconsiderate, Daddy dear,” said Dennis’s mother +gently, “it’s just—that he doesn’t think.” + +“Too much else to think about, eh, with his theatre-going and his operas +and what-not.... Well, if he misses the fun to-night, he’ll only have +himself to blame.” Mr. Blackwood’s joviality was quite restored: “_I_ +wouldn’t miss it for a mint o’ money; I know when I’m in for a good +thing!” He glanced approvingly at Antoinette, and she felt by instinct +that had he been better acquainted with her, he would have winked, or +dug her in the ribs. He was that sort of elderly gentleman.... + +Reggie, from the window, suddenly cried: “Here they are!” and let the +golf-clubs slide to the ground. + +“Oh, is it really...?” Doreen rushed towards the door. Antoinette +reflected that the eldest son had indeed timed his entrance effectively; +and she wondered if Hester also was aware of the dramatic possibilities +of the situation. Antoinette herself was always keenly aware of dramatic +possibilities; in fact she lived for the apprehension of them, and for +the coping with them. + +As the door swung open to admit Dennis Blackwood and Crispin Burgess, +Mrs. Blackwood made as if to rise from her chair, and then thought +better of it. Her eyes, very bright in her flushed face, were fixed upon +her son’s tall figure. + +“Hallo, Mother!” He came straight across the lounge to her and kissed +her. The next minute, Doreen was affectionately hanging round his neck; +and Mr. Griggs was exclaiming in transports of delight: “Splendid +fellows to have come in time! And now they’re here, let’s rope ’em in, +rope ’em both in—everybody’s got to do something—nothing like all +working together—rope ’em in, I say.” + +Dennis laughed in good-humoured bewilderment, and put his arm round his +little sister’s shoulders; but his companion, a lanky, sallow-faced +youth of a gloomy and taciturn disposition, stammered: “N-noise.... +What’s all the n-noise about?” He always managed to enunciate the first +consonant of a word, and then had to blow hard through his front teeth, +after which the remainder of the word followed with comparative ease. +Doubtless this impediment in his speech accounted both for its +infrequency and its terseness. + +Griggs, rubbing his hands together, was still surrounding the newcomers +with ecstatic pæans. “What’s all the noise about, indeed? We’ll soon +show you. Everybody’s going to help in our little entertainment +to-night. _Oh_, yes.... _You_, Mr. Burgess,” shaking a finger at the +bemused Crispin, “are going to play the piano for us, Ah-ha!” + +Griggs gave a triumphant chuckle, and with arms folded, stood back to +view the effects of his speech. + +After a prolonged interval for blowing, Crispin announced: “I d-don’t +d-dream of it!” and looked reproachfully at Dennis, who only laughed, +and turned to exchange solemn greetings with Reggie, still +ostentatiously polishing the golf-clubs. + +Rosabel burst out: “Oh, Mr. Burgess, _won’t_ you...? We’ve heard so much +about your playing, and what we want you to do is quite easy, really.... +Oh, dear, that sounds like an insult, doesn’t it? But I didn’t mean it +like that. Of course I know you can play difficult things, but what I +meant to say was that you needn’t bother to play difficult ones for us. +Just any sort of accompaniment will do, as long as there’s _feeling_ in +it.... Puccini, or—or anything of that kind.” + +There were sounds from Crispin that might have proceeded from one in the +last stages of suffocation. He was nearly purple before +he managed to get out: “P-puccini—I hate P-puccini—he’s +obvious—ch-cheap—sugarandwater—G-r-r-r.” Crispin shook himself, “no one +like B-bach or B-beethoven.” + +Ottilie brightened at the mention of the two familiar names. “Zey are ze +biggest componistors zat ze world has!” + +The flexible Rosabel hastened to agree: “Yes, Beethoven is simply +lovely, isn’t he? Well, you play just whatever you feel in the mood for, +Mr. Burgess.” + +Mr. Burgess shook his head. “I’m not going to p-play,” then he added +gloomily to Dennis: “If I’d known it was g-going to be like this, I +w-wouldn’t have c-come ...” and in an attitude of profound dejection, +sat down upon his suit-case. + +“Oh, be a sport, sir, be a sport! How can you refuse anything to such a +fair petitioner?” Griggs strove to goad Crispin’s _amour propre_. But +Crispin remained entirely unmoved. + +“Well, then, we shall have to ask our celebrated composer here to oblige +us. No use hiding away there in the corner, Dennis, _I_ see you”—for +Dennis, seeing that the general attention was centred round Crispin, had +profited by the occasion to efface himself—“of course we all know you’re +a shining light, but we hope you’re not too proud to shed a little of +its radiance in our midst!” Griggs beamed, delighted with his own flow +of language. + +Doreen whispered: “Oh, _do_, Denny, please ...” and Dennis, who all +along had anticipated this onslaught upon himself, felt extremely +awkward. “I’m no good to you, Griggs. Don’t think me a surly brute, it +isn’t that I’m proud, or anything of that sort, but—” he broke off. It +was really very difficult to refuse; all the more so in view of +Crispin’s behaviour. He felt his mother’s eyes upon him; Doreen’s.... +But he could not play for all these people; not just now; he could not +give them what they wanted, and they would not want what he had to give +them. + +“You’ll play us some of your own compositions, I hope,” Griggs went on, +disregarding his refusal. Dennis shook his head. This was exactly what +he would not do. He was in the throes of composing an opera, his first +opera. He loved it, this half-formed work of his, with a love that was +at once passionate and tender, and intensely protective. He felt that he +wanted to protect it now.... “I’m very sorry, Griggs, but I honestly +don’t know anything suitable to the occasion.” + +His mother said tentatively: “But you know so many pieces, darling; +can’t you think of any?” + +“I’m afraid not, Mother dear....” The thing that he was creating, for +the moment obsessed him entirely; it swamped all thought of other +people’s music; he could only think of his own; dream of it; live in +it.... + +Griggs, in an agitated aside, whispered to Mrs. Blackwood: “Do you think +he’s offended because I asked Mr. Burgess before him?” + +Dennis said again: “I’m sorry.” + +Antoinette suddenly slid down from the arm of the chair on which she had +been balancing. “Your mother is just coming up the drive, Rosabel: I’m +going to ask her to play for us!” + +And before Dennis Blackwood’s look of gratitude could reach her, +Antoinette had swung through the door to waylay Mrs. Fayne. + + + CHAPTER II + +During dinner, both Dennis and Crispin were given to understand that +they were “in disgrace.” Mr. Blackwood made frequent remarks to the +effect that he was sorry he had ever allowed Dennis to take up such a +nonsensical profession, if he couldn’t even make himself pleasant and +turn his strumming to some account when the occasion arose. He supposed +it was partly due to the influence of Dennis’s friends, “these +new-fangled London young men,” who weren’t sporting enough to take part +in anything that seemed beneath their dignity. And so on, _ad lib._ with +variations.... + +Dennis said nothing, and set his lips tightly, as was his way when Mr. +Blackwood jarred upon his nerves more exquisitely than usual. He +disliked his father, disliked the whole coarse overbearing masculinity +of the man. There was between them an antagonism that was fundamental, +and quite apart from the present source of grievance. + +It was an uncomfortable meal. Clive and Reggie were openly ranged upon +their father’s side; but occasionally Doreen sent Dennis a look of +unmistakable partisanship out of her soft dark eyes. Poor Mrs. Blackwood +was torn between her conviction that her husband was in the right, and +her fear that he was being rude to a guest. But she need not have +worried on Crispin’s behalf. Crispin was quite used to Mr. Blackwood’s +outbursts against the musical profession, having once spent a week with +the family at Eastwold. He also possessed the faculty of making himself +apparently deaf to sounds which displeased him. The sound of Mr. +Blackwood’s voice displeased him, so he took no notice of it, and +devoted himself exclusively to his dinner. + +The pervading gloom was only relieved by Ottilie trying half-aloud to +memorise her part, and by Reggie and Doreen quarrelling over points in +the forthcoming play. But the quarrelling and Mr. Blackwood’s grumbling +were alike carried on in undertones, so that they might not be audible +to the occupants of the other tables. Whatever the internal state of +affairs might be, however strained the relations between one member and +another, outwardly the semblance of a cheerful and united family-party +must be preserved. To Dennis, the pink-shaded lamp on each table seemed +to hold within its circle of light a whole complex world of subtle +affinities, subtler strains and antagonisms; and each world seemed to be +irrevocably cut off from the rest. He began to wish that he had not +come. He was overwhelmed by the longing that always assailed him in a +large gathering of strangers, namely to run away and hide ... a longing +that was absurd and incongruous in conjunction with his broad shoulders +and length of limb. Perhaps his mouth alone, curved and sensitive above +the firm chin, betrayed a nature in which such a longing, and others +equally freakish, might hold their sway. + +Dinner was over at last. Pleasantly conscious of their own importance, +Doreen, Ottilie and Reggie had left the table before the dessert was +served; Clive had reluctantly followed them; and now Dennis and Crispin, +with Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood, were seated in the front row of chairs in +the recreation-room. + +Mrs. Blackwood was saying to Dennis what a pity it was that Reggie +wouldn’t play the Dauphin, and wouldn’t it have been nice if they’d had +the whole thing in French—Doreen’s accent had so wonderfully +improved.... Someone said “Ssh,” as the curtain rose. + +Rosabel’s drama should have been entitled “Charlotte Corday” rather than +“Marie Antoinette.” Charlotte Corday alone did not appear to be +suffering from nervousness, nor from the usual tendency of amateurs to +get behind each other, and cluster together as if for shelter in one +corner of the stage. She moved about with a total lack of +self-consciousness, making the others seem awkward and lifeless by +comparison. The impetus that carried her through the play must spring +entirely from within herself, Dennis decided; for she got little enough +support from the coy and timid Marie Antoinette, or from Marat, as +played by Griggs rather staccato and apologetically with an intermittent +French accent. She seemed to be giving out passion and vitality and +emotion, just because she could not restrain them, and had to find vent +for them somehow. + +“Who’s the girl, Mother?” Dennis in the entr’acte questioned Mrs. +Blackwood, who launched into voluble descriptions of Antoinette’s +psychology and parentage. + +“Don’t you think she’s remarkable, Denny?” + +“She’s inclined to over-act,” Dennis returned shortly. He was always on +the defensive, even with his mother. Perhaps with his mother most of +all, because he felt that she was most akin to him, and might at any +moment come to touch the fringe of that secret world of his ... world +that must remain secret even from the mother who loved him as perhaps no +other woman on earth would ever love him. + +Tremendous applause greeted the end of the performance. And now the +actors, mingling with the audience, were being congratulated on all +sides, and assured that they were “born actors” who would make their +fortunes on any stage.... Even Ottilie came in for her meed of praise, +and was told by an amiable old gentleman who evidently had no objection +to perjuring his soul, that he would never have guessed that she was not +English. + +“_Och, was Sie nicht sagen_ ...” Ottilie, for sheer joy, relapsed into +her native tongue. + +But the heartiest applause and the loudest congratulations were for +Antoinette. She stood in the midst of the group that surrounded her, a +slim, straight figure in her short striped petticoat and fichu, laughing +with childish pleasure at the compliments that were being showered upon +her. She had doffed her lace cap and was shaking her thick mop of fair +curls back from her flushed face. Dennis made up his mind to speak to +her. He owed her a debt of gratitude for having come to his assistance +with her suggestion that Mrs. Fayne should play the piano. But for the +present it was impossible to get anywhere within speaking distance of +Antoinette. Griggs was at her side now, sharing the compliments and +honours. + +“A wonderful stage-manager, Mr. Griggs, if I may say so, a _born_ +stage-manager....” + +“You should have been an actor, sir, you’re quite a loss to the +profession....” + +Griggs laid his hand upon his tricolor waistcoat, and smilingly assured +the audience in general that they were too kind, that he was nothing but +a humble amateur, an amateur with just a little talent, perhaps.... Yes, +sometimes he certainly did feel that he had missed his vocation; still, +even stockbrokers had their uses, he supposed.... + +And to Antoinette: “You and I must have a special glass of lemonade +together, Miss Antoinette, just to show there’s no ill-feeling, after +I’ve been murdered by you every day for the past week ... and very +enjoyable too, very enjoyable indeed!” + +This was greeted with shouts of laughter, but Dennis saw that +Antoinette’s smile was abstracted, and that her eyes were restlessly +searching the crowded room. Then, quite suddenly, he saw the light go +from them, and her whole figure relax its air of tense vitality, as if +the motive-power that had kept her strung-up, had ceased to operate. +Simultaneously he noticed that the dark woman with the sullen face and +ungracious manner had sauntered out of the room. + +But a minute later, Antoinette had quite recovered herself. Someone +suggested that they should end the evening with a dance, and already she +was helping Reggie and another small boy to push the chairs back against +the walls. Mrs. Fayne briskly made for the piano, but Crispin was there +before her. Now that everyone had forgotten about Crispin and his +talent, and no one had the least desire to listen to heavy music, he sat +down and played a Bach fugue right through. And when he had finished it, +he played another and another ... and he played very, very wonderfully, +but what was the use of Bach fugues to young people longing to waltz and +one-step? Oblivious of any such longing, Crispin played on and on, and +out of deference to the great artistic value of his performance, no one +dared suggest that he should terminate it. + +“Perhaps if we leave him alone, he’ll stop ...” sighed Reggie; so one by +one the visitors trouped out of the recreation-room, trusting that the +absence of an audience might bring Crispin to his senses. It did not.... +Crispin merely grunted with relief, and played on. + +“Of course I knew this would happen,” Dennis remarked to Antoinette in +the lounge, “it’s a physical impossibility to keep Crispin and a piano +apart for any length of time.” + +She laughed, grey eyes sparkling under a thick fringe of black lashes. +“And you?” she said, “you evidently do not mind being kept apart from +your piano!” + +“On the contrary, I want to be kept from it—to-night. I should like to +say that I’m very grateful to you.” + +“Oh, don’t mention it,” she laughed again, and turned from him to +Doreen, who was clamouring to be shown how to take the grease-paint off +her face. + +“I don’t _really_ want to get it off, because it’s so _awfully_ +thrilling to have it on, but I s’pose I can’t come down to breakfast +like this ...” the flapper cried excitedly. + +Antoinette went upstairs with her. + +Meanwhile a solitary figure crept back into the empty recreation-room, +sat motionless with hands clasped and lips parted—Ottilie, rapturously +listening to Bach and Beethoven and Brahms ... revelling in the +sentimental ecstasy of “_Heimweh_” with which the music filled her. This +was as it should be: at last in this frivolous and superficial England, +she had found one who understood the deep solid works of her countrymen. +Inspired by her presence, and by her sympathy, no doubt, he played on +and on.... When, eventually, he paused to light a cigarette, she +addressed him in her careful English: “I sank you heartiest, Herr +Crispin, zat you for me so vonderful have played.” + +Crispin looked round at her and blew hard. “I d-didn’t even know you +were here....” + +But Ottilie was not disheartened. She knew quite well that his +brusqueness of manner was only a cloak for his true feelings. She must +be patient with him, until he should have gained courage to throw off +the disguise. Ottilie was in romantic mood.... There was no doubt that +Herr Crispin did not fit into his English surroundings. But at home in +her dear Heidelberg—and perhaps if Herr Crispin could be persuaded to +grow a beard—Ottilie went to bed very happy that night. + +Antoinette, having superintended the removal of the grease-paint from +Doreen’s face, and kissed her good-night, was making her way towards her +own room on the second floor. Half-way down the corridor, she came face +to face with Hester Cawthorn. They both stopped. + +Hester’s smile was half ironic, half bitter. “Tired?” + +Antoinette shook her head. She was feeling violently alive again now; +strung up; ready for anything. + +“I’ve never seen anything like the vitality of you,” said Hester; and +passed on. + +So Antoinette, also, went to bed happy.... + +And while Ottilie was dreaming of a much-Germanised Crispin; and Doreen +was deciding that she “simply must” go on the stage; and Clive was +writing a not very inspired love-letter to his Lily—“not much time +to-night, darling, because of the rotten theatricals”—Dennis Blackwood +sat at the open window of his room, and gazed out at the dark country +and wondered if he had at last found the answer to a riddle.... + +But long after all the others were asleep, Mrs. Blackwood lay awake. In +her mind, she was still turning over the jumbled happenings of the day, +her thoughts darting restlessly from one point to another, without +coherence or concentration. She still regretted that Reggie had been so +obstinate over playing the Dauphin’s part; wondered if she were not +strict enough with him; remembered having noticed that he was at least +half an inch taller than Mrs. Greene’s little boy, who was three months +older; wondered if Mrs. Thompsett would have thought that Doreen was too +much made-up; wondered if Dennis would make friends with that nice +little French girl ... wondered what it was that made him so different +from the other boys, and that baffled all her attempts to fathom it. +Dennis—Dennis—Dennis.... + +Was he happy, and if not—why not? Why didn’t he tell her? But as far +back as she could remember, he had clung to her and loved her, and never +told her anything. Why...? Perhaps he had nothing to tell. Perhaps she +only imagined that he wasn’t happy. Artists were sometimes peculiar—she +clutched at that—and her boy was an artist: perhaps that accounted for +it. Her reason, working in a peculiarly narrow circle, round and round, +round and round, accepted this as the solution, and was at peace. But +her instinct, less narrow, more subtle, blindly groping, refused to be +thus pacified. There must be—something. But what? What...? + +The snoring of her husband at her side was not conducive to the +elucidation of psychological mysteries. + + + CHAPTER III + +“Come for a walk with me—do!” The tone was half pleading, half +commanding. Hester Cawthorn very slowly closed her book, and from the +depths of her chair on the lawn, looked up at Antoinette’s eager face. +She shook her head, and Antoinette repeated under her breath “Do....” + +Hester’s sullen mouth curved into a smile. “Why should I?” + +“Because I—I want you to.” + +“You seem to consider that an adequate reason!” + +“Well—isn’t it?” + +The hotel visitors, grouped upon the lawn to laze away the hot +after-lunch hour, were surprised at seeing Miss Cawthorn and Antoinette +de Courcy stroll down the drive together. It was the first time that +Miss Cawthorn had been known to set out in company. + +“That child has such a way with her, she gets round everybody,” murmured +Mrs. Blackwood, hoping that Dennis would take notice. + +Hester and Antoinette walked in silence down the length of the shady +drive. Antoinette was not so sure of herself now; wondered what would be +the result of her daring. It had certainly needed daring to ask Hester +to come out with her. There was about Hester a nimbus of +unapproachability that was recognised by everyone in the hotel, and that +had aroused, firstly, curiosity and secondly, interest in Antoinette. +Also, she was strangely attracted by this woman with the sombre hooded +eyes and down-curved mouth that seemed to speak of much bitterness and +disillusion. During her stay at Amberhurst, Antoinette had become +amazingly intimate with all the hotel visitors; most of them, at one +time or another, had been moved to tell her “the story of my life”; for +she was a good listener, and waited with rapt eagerness for the +picturesque or the dramatic note that should stamp each story with +individuality. Everybody confided in her, petted her, spoilt her. Hester +alone had held aloof from her, as she had held aloof from the others. +But Antoinette was resolved to make herself the exception to Hester’s +rule. + +“And now—what do you want?” Hester’s question, breaking the silence, was +abrupt but not discourteous. + +Antoinette laughed. “To tell the truth, I don’t know. ‘_Je ne sais pas +ce que je veux, mais je le veux absolument._’” + +“Well, then, believe me, you won’t get it.” + +“How can you say that, when you don’t know—when I don’t even know—what +it is I want?” + +“I can only warn you that it’s useless to expect anything from me—I’ve +nothing to give.” Hester’s voice was low and beautiful, despite its +occasional harshness. Antoinette thrilled at the sound of it, and at the +warning that had just been flung at her. Nothing to give—why, she must +have worlds to give to one who knew how to claim her gifts. Or perhaps +once already she had bestowed them, bestowed them royally upon one +unworthy ... and was cautious now, distrustful of anyone attempting to +approach the fortress-gates behind which was locked—herself. Antoinette +would lay siege to the fortress with every weapon in her power, with +daring and gentleness and subtlety, until the gates were opened to her. +She felt confident of success, buoyantly happy as she strode along at +Hester’s side, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her jersey, the +noon-day sun beating down upon her bare head. + +“You’ll catch sun-stroke, child.” + +“Not I!” + +“Haven’t you anything to put on your head?” + +“I believe so, somewhere in my pocket,” Antoinette drew out a crumpled +red silk cap and swung it in her hand. + +“Put it on,” commanded Hester curtly. Antoinette obeyed, enjoying the +sensation of being ordered about by Hester. + +“Even if you do happen to be possessed of extraordinary vitality,” the +latter continued, “there’s no need to squander it.” + +“Am I squandering it?” Antoinette asked innocently. She was not +introspective, but she was always interested when people told her things +about herself. + +“Are you squandering it, indeed...? Rushing along a dusty road at the +rate of eight miles an hour, at the hottest time of the day——” + +“I’m so sorry! Is it too hot for you? Shall we go back?” + +“No, I’ve no objection to it. But then I’ve not been wearing myself out +with emotional acting every night this week.” + +“Oh, the acting ... it was such fun! Absolute rot, of course, poor dear +Rosabel hasn’t the faintest notion how to write a play, but she’s +written half a dozen different ones about Marie Antoinette. In fact, +whenever I meet her, she seems to be in the thick of writing one, and +she falls upon my neck with: ‘Antoinette darling, I’m writing a tragedy +about _her_—it’s to be something exquisite ... six acts and nineteen +scenes ... no, don’t ask me anything about it ... the first scene is in +a sort of inn and people come in and talk ... no, I can’t tell you any +more, you’d think me so stupid.... Another time, perhaps....’” + +Hester was laughing outright by now; and thus encouraged, Antoinette +went on: “We had an awful business with this particular masterpiece. +Rosabel had left all the parts, except the Queen’s, quite sketchy; so we +had to invent them at rehearsals, and make them fit together as well as +we could. Rosabel is never quite successful with anything she attempts. +There’s a certain blighted perkiness about her, that makes her rather +like an early bird that hasn’t caught the worm—or perhaps she’s the +early worm that always gets the bird....” + +“You’re too brilliant, my young friend.” + +“Am I? Why?” + +Hester smiled inscrutably and was silent. + +“Why am I too brilliant?” Antoinette was suddenly overwhelmed by the +fear of disapproval. “I—I wasn’t trying to be.” + +“No, I daresay you weren’t. I was only thinking of that old proverb that +was dinned into one’s ears in the nursery: ‘Sing before breakfast—cry +before night!’” + +“Oh, do you mean that I shall—‘cry before night’?” + +Hester looked down at the eager laughing face, the boyish curls +surmounted carelessly by the red cap. “You won’t, at all events, cry +before—to-night.” + +“But you think I shall eventually? Can you tell the future, then?” + +“Most people’s futures are written on their faces, aren’t they?” + +“For those who are able to read them.... So that’s how you read mine! +Well, I don’t care....” Antoinette flung her cap into the air and caught +it again. “I assure you that if I do have to ‘cry before night,’ I shall +‘sing before breakfast’ quite a lot _en attendant_.” + +“I’ve no doubt you will,” said Hester. + +“I’m doing it now—simply having the time of my life.” + +“And in what,” Hester’s tone was ironical, “in what, exactly, does the +‘time of your life’ consist?” Then before Antoinette could answer, she +covered up the question with: “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to—I’ve +no wish to force confidence.” + +Antoinette smiled involuntarily at the notion that Hester should assume +in her a reticence equal to her own. If she had told the truth, she +would have answered: “I’m happy because there’s so much love in the +world, and because so much of it comes to me, and mostly because I’m +walking beside you now....” + +But she only said, “It’s not that I’m really doing anything +extraordinary, but this is the first time I’ve ever stayed away from my +people—would you believe it, and I’m nearly twenty-two—but Grand’mère +has quite obsolete ideas as to what a _jeune fille_ should do and +shouldn’t do, even though she’s lived over here for twenty-five years.” + +“Were you born in England, then?” + +“Yes. And I feel quite English. The others—Grand’mère and Mother and +Father are terribly French, though....” Antoinette gave a sigh, and then +laughed again. “Being away is such fun, I love sitting down to breakfast +in the morning with a different set of faces, don’t you?” + +“I never sit down with a ‘set of faces’ at all.” + +“Don’t you? Not ever? Not even at home?” + +Hester was silent. Antoinette tried to imagine the family-circle from +which she might have sprung, and gave it up as hopeless: she could not +picture Hester in relation to a mother or father, sisters or brothers. +She could only see her as an individual, detached from her surroundings, +lonely and alone. Her whole heart went out in sympathy to this strange +woman with the fierce reserve, and the sensitiveness that lay behind her +brutally direct manner; in sympathy, and something that was more than +sympathy. + +After a while, Hester said with quiet bitterness: “I have no home....” + +Impulsively Antoinette put out her hand to touch her arm. “I’m sorry—so +dreadfully sorry—you must be lonely.” + +Hester made no movement in response, but replied coldly, “You make a +mistake: I am not lonely.” + +Antoinette, baffled, dropped her hand and was silent. She had been +tactless and deserved her rebuff; nevertheless it had hurt—rather. The +conquest of Hester, impregnably immured in her fortress, was proving +even more difficult than she had anticipated, and therefore ten times +more desirable. Antoinette was accustomed to easy victories, victories +so easy as scarcely to merit the name, and she was tired of them; but +the prospect of difficulties only stimulated the fighting-instinct in +her. + +Hester, with an air of detached amusement, was watching her absorbed +face. “I warned you, didn’t I...?” + +Antoinette flashed out: “If you think I’m frightened of your +prickliness——” + +“Oh, you hot-headed little fool.... What’s all this for? If you think +I’m going to make a friend or a confidante of you, you’re mistaken. Real +friendship is, in my experience, a treasure impossible to find, and I’ve +no use for people who want to know my family-history, and whence I came +and whither I’m going.... What concern of theirs can it be? No, I have +no friends and I want none. You’re only wasting your time with me.” + +“I’m not—it isn’t waste!” cried Antoinette, “you’re so wonderful, and +ever since I’ve been here I’ve wanted to talk to you, only I never quite +dared till to-day, and then I simply couldn’t stop myself.... I noticed +you the first evening I came—how could I help it? All the other people +move about in lumps, three or four staying together, three or four at a +table in the dining-room, three or four going out together—and only you +were alone. That was remarkable to begin with.” + +“I shall always be alone,” said Hester. + +“Yes—and I know why!” Inspiration seemed suddenly to come to Antoinette. +“Whereas the others want company, want to be together at any price, you +only want what is really good enough for you. It’s—it’s as if it had to +pass through fire before it could get to you.” + +“You’re fantastic,” Hester smiled, but not unkindly, and then, without +interrupting her, she let Antoinette have her say. + +“I can understand your keeping the others out and hating them to ask +questions—you know they’re only inquisitive, and not asking because it +means a great deal to them. It means a great deal to me, I can’t tell +you why, but it just does. Please won’t you let me come a little bit +closer? You see, I’m not frightened of the prickles or the fire....” +Quite unconsciously she was pleading as a very young boy might plead +with his lady-love. + +Hester shook her head. “Even if you do ‘come closer,’ as you say, you’ll +only be disappointed. Go and fall in love with that nice Blackwood boy: +it will be much more profitable than this sort of thing.” + +“This sort of thing...?” Antoinette repeated with a puzzled frown. + +Hester looked at her sharply for a moment, then gave a curt laugh. +“Never mind.... Do as I say. Stick to young Blackwood.” + +“To Clive?” Antoinette exclaimed contemptuously. “Why, he’s engaged, +Doreen says, to a girl who studies economics and won’t powder her nose.” + +“I didn’t mean Clive, I meant the one who arrived yesterday—Dennis. At +any rate, I’m certain that he’s going to fall in love with you.” + +Antoinette was not interested. Hester continued: “He’s quite a +character-study. I should like to hear how the affair progresses.” + +“Would you...?” cried Antoinette, overjoyed at the idea that anything +connected with herself could be of interest to Hester. “I’d better +cultivate him, then.” + +“I’ll leave you my address,” said Hester. + +“Your address? But you’re not going away yet, surely?” + +“Going this very evening.” + +Antoinette stood stock-still in the middle of the road, and gasped. +“Not—really?” In the case of anyone but Hester, her plans would have +been known by the whole hotel for days in advance. It was but another +proof of Hester’s aloofness, that the time of her departure came to +Antoinette as an absolute shock. + +“Don’t look so bewildered: it can’t possibly matter to you.” + +“But it does—more than anything else in the world—more than ever now. +When I started out with you this afternoon, I was only enormously +interested in you, and I admired you—your brains, and the gorgeous way +you have of choking off people you don’t want. I’ve watched you do +it—Oh, often—but you’re not going to choke me off like that, because +now, I—I love you....” She had not intended to say those words; a few +moments ago they would not have entered her mind; now she had not only +said them: she meant them. + +Hester looked at her gravely, without curiosity and without +astonishment. “If that’s the case, I’ve no right to choke you off. But +understand once and for all that you’re on a wild-goose chase. You’ll +find none of the hidden depths in me that you seem to expect to find.” + +“Whether that’s true or not, I’ll never expect any confidence or +anything that you don’t give me of your own free will. But there’s +nothing on earth that I wouldn’t do for you, if I thought it would make +you happy.” + +Hester said with that curious dignity that was hers: “Thank you....” + +They walked back then. After some time, Antoinette ventured to ask, +“Where is it you’re going to-night?” + +The answer was: “To Bristol—if the gods are good to me!” and Antoinette +saw that Hester’s dark eyes were illuminated by a gleam of light, and +fixed straight ahead of her, as if in pursuance of some vision whence +the light had come. Antoinette longed to know what was portended by that +phrase: “If the gods are good to me ...” wondered what was drawing her +to Bristol; if she lived there; if she ever came to London; why she had +been staying at Amberhurst. But all these questions remained unasked. +She would prove herself worthy of Hester by showing no curiosity, by +accepting as a matter of course anything that she might do. + +Her offer to help Hester with her packing was declined; but she obtained +permission to see her to the station. + +“I may be late for dinner,” Antoinette flung over her shoulder to +Rosabel, as, for the second time that day, she left the hotel in +Hester’s company. Rosabel stared open-mouthed.... Hester laughed. “You +see, even your friend is struck by the incongruity of seeing us +together!” + +“It isn’t incongruous really. At least I don’t think it is. I’m sure I +should find much more in common with you, than with Rosabel.” Antoinette +flushed, fearing that she had said too much; but Hester did not appear +to think that she had been guilty of impertinence. + +“Perhaps I’m only letting you imagine that you could....” Antoinette +pondered on this; then: “No, if you were only acting, just to give me +that impression, you’d be so clever that I’d have to adore you all the +same. It’s no earthly good trying to put me off by pretending you aren’t +what I know you are.” + +“I don’t know that I am trying to put you off now.... I’m only trying to +be honest and sincere with you, and to keep you from disappointment.” + +“Honest and sincere—I should just think you are! I’d follow your lead +blindly through anything, and feel that I could trust you.” + +“Oh, child, child, don’t put all that trust in me. No one but a god +could be worthy of so much. It’s too great a responsibility for a mere +human being.” + +“No trust and no faith could be too great for me to give you—and—and +I’ll never let you feel the responsibility of me as a drag. I can look +out for myself. I want to walk level with you, not hanging on.” + +“You shall do as you wish,” said Hester. + +In silence they paced the platform of the little country station. +Antoinette’s exaltation was shadowed now with the dread of parting from +Hester. But she allowed no word of regret to pass her lips. She would be +true to her assertion that she would not “hang on” to Hester. Hester’s +happiness, apparently, lay in going; so, with all her heart, Antoinette +tried to want her to go, even though Amberhurst would seem a deserted +wilderness without her. She regretted the wasted days that had gone +before she had made up her mind to speak to her; the last few hours of +joy had passed so swiftly; and now—and now—— + +Antoinette hastily shook back her curls and smiled, as the train came +in. The door of the compartment was slammed between them. + +“Well, good-bye,” said Antoinette lightly, enjoying the self-imposed +necessity of acting up to Hester, “good luck to you.” + +Hester leant out of the window, and, just as the train started, bent +down and kissed her. + +... In a very agitated frame of mind, Antoinette wandered back to the +hotel. What had been the most wonderful adventure of her life was at an +end—no, she would not believe that it was at an end, even though she had +received no promise that Hester would write to her, and had no idea when +or if she would ever see her again. The adventure had only just begun; +there must be an equally wonderful continuation to it—some time. And in +the meantime, she would rest secure in the memory of that last second +before the train started.... She could have shouted aloud with the joy +of being alive, and in love: if Hester would only allow herself to be +loved, she would try to make up to her for all the bitterness and +disappointment that might have been in her life. Antoinette was young +enough and mad enough at the moment to believe that anything was +possible. + +The Faynes were half-way through dinner when she joined them at their +table. + +Mrs. Fayne said, “Why, you’ve been out with that Miss Cawthorn nearly +all day? So morose and unsociable, I always think her.” + +“She looks as if she had a secret sorrow,” Rosabel murmured soulfully, +“did she tell you about it, Antoinette?” + +Antoinette smiled. “No, she didn’t tell me about it....” + +“Then whatever did you talk about, such a long time?” + +“Oh—books ...” Antoinette replied at random. + +Dinner was over, and most of the visitors were drinking coffee out on +the lawn, glad of the breeze after the sweltering heat of the day. In +couples or in groups they sauntered up and down the grounds, light +dresses showing up against the sombre foliage of the trees; glowing +cigarette-ends making pin-points of fire in the darkness. Antoinette +looked at the couples and at the groups and thought of one who would +have walked alone amongst them. There was certainly no pathos in +Hester’s solitude, none of the pathos of the lonely woman of uncertain +age, drifting from one hotel to another. Pathos would scarcely have +appealed to Antoinette as did the compelling and magnetic dignity of +Hester’s voluntary isolation. + +“Won’t you come for a stroll?” Dennis Blackwood was beside her now, +looking down upon her from his superior height. + +“If you like....” She accepted the cigarette he offered her, and was +ironically conscious of being quite in the picture now: two and two, +smoking cigarettes, just like the others. + +They walked to the end of the hotel-grounds, across some adjoining +fields, and stood on a bridge that spanned a branch-line of the railway. +The ridge of the hills was dim as a shadow; here and there showed the +dull orange squares of cottage-windows, and on either side of the +bridge, the railway-tracks stretched away into the greyness. + +Antoinette did not speak. She waited with a certain curiosity for Dennis +to do so. It was he who had borne her off much as she had borne Hester +off that afternoon. Decidedly, it was for him to begin.... She wondered, +still ironically, how his methods of attack would compare with her own. +In all probability, he would try to kiss her. It “belonged” to the whole +scene and setting that he should do so, but it would be a nuisance. She +hoped he would be a trifle more original, so that she could give Hester +an interesting description of the proceedings.... + +The complex scale passages of the Waldstein Sonata drifted out to them +on the breeze. + +Dennis laughed. “That’s Crispin. He’s purloined the key of the +recreation-room, locked himself in, and is now playing to rows of empty +chairs. I bet it’s the first time he’s feeling happy since we arrived.” + +“Oh,” said Antoinette, “is he so very unhappy here, then?” + +Dennis shrugged his shoulders. “Well, not exactly unhappy. Just out of +place. A square peg in a round hole—like so many of us ...” he mused. + +“So you, too, are a square peg?” + +He looked at her intently with his clear brown eyes, that were large and +curiously soft under their jutting brows. “Yes.” Then, at a venture: +“Like yourself ...” and still his eyes held hers, as if seeking some +response, some sign by which he might know that she knew the answer to +his riddle. + +She shook her head. “Oh, I’m not a square peg, I just fit in anywhere. +It’s fun, trying to fit into different sorts of places; it must be +beastly if you can’t. I’m sorry for your friend.” + +“He’ll be all right to-morrow. We’re off, you know, to Devon.” + +“Don’t I wish I were going too!” she breathed fervently. + +“Do you—do you really?” he cried. “I wish you were. You’d enjoy our long +tramps, and the quaint little inn-places where we have to put up. Do you +know that part of the country?” + +Her answer was not to the point. “I was thinking for the moment that +Bristol was in Devon—my geography is shockingly hazy.” + +He knew better than to comment upon her irrelevant remark. She stood +with her hands on the stone parapet of the bridge, and looked out at the +railway-tracks that gleamed faintly for a short distance, and then lost +themselves in the mist. He had the sudden desire to stroke her head, +just on top where the hair was quite smooth before it broke into the +mass of short curls bunched over her ears and around the nape of her +neck. He wanted gently to turn her face towards him, and to look again +into her clear grey eyes, and share the dreams that must lurk in their +depths. He felt by instinct that they were strange dreams, which for +him, however, would hold no strangeness. Even though she had evaded his +first attempt to prove the existence of a common meeting-ground, that +very evasiveness showed his instinct to be correct. + +She spoke then, rousing herself from her abstraction. “It seems so odd +that we’ve never heard you play. Your mother has told me such a lot +about your music—I’m really not trying to talk like Mr. Griggs—but it +_is_ odd, knowing that you’re probably longing to play.” + +“Yes, of course I am; but I can’t here.” + +“Because of the people?” + +“Yes. I can’t bear showing off; making an exhibition of myself.” + +“Then why not do as your friend has done: lock the door?” + +Dennis laughed. “Oh, Crispin is a real child of nature. If he wants to +do a thing, he just does it, regardless. I’m afraid I lack that happy +faculty.” + +“You’ve got others instead, though. How I envy anyone who can +compose—create—find an outlet for everything that’s bubbling and +frothing inside their brain.” + +“Your acting last night—that was a sort of safety-valve, wasn’t it?” + +She gave him a quick, vivid smile in acknowledgment of his +understanding. “Yes, but what’s the good of acting? Even if I did it +properly, which I don’t. There’s nothing left of it to-day. You can’t +compare it with being able to create something really lasting....” If +only she could have borrowed Dennis’s creative powers to-night, just for +to-night, Hester should have had some wondrous tribute to their few +hours together! + +He said: “You needn’t envy me. I haven’t even started to compose +properly yet. I’m still inarticulate. All that I really want to say, +seems to lie beyond my reach, beyond mere terms of music; impossible to +express, and impossible to set free.” + +“Those songs of yours, and the pieces you’ve published—what about them?” + +“Well, they were written, as you might say, with the top layer of my +brain. But how did you know of them?” + +“Your mother showed them to me. She’s got them with her.” + +He smiled tenderly. “Poor darling ... fancy travelling my stuff around +with her like that, and she doesn’t even know one note from another.” + +“She just adores you, doesn’t she?” + +“Yes. I could almost wish she didn’t.” + +“Oh—but why...?” + +He was silent for a moment. A train thundered under the bridge, sent up +a shower of glowing red sparks, tore through the sleeping country, and, +with a long-drawn shriek, vanished into a tunnel in the hills. Then the +signals creaked and jerked into their places with a rattling sound; and +all was still again. + +“I’m so afraid of hurting her,” he mused, “you see, from her point of +view, I’m not very satisfactory.” + +“I don’t see that at all,” cried Antoinette, “she’s awfully proud of +you, and quite convinced that you’re going to be famous.” + +“And do you imagine that it’ll satisfy her even if I _am_ famous—just +famous? She wants something more for me than fame.” + +“And that is——?” + +“Happiness....” + +“Well, and why shouldn’t you have happiness too? I’m not foolish enough +to imagine that it comes _through_ fame, but can’t you have it as well +as fame?” + +He looked at her again. She seemed unsubstantial, wraith-like in the dim +light; eyes very big in her white face; the breeze softly stirring her +dull fair curls. He said, very low: “That depends....” + +Another train flew past, enveloping them for a moment in flame-lit +billows of smoke; its tail-light was a slowly-diminishing point of red, +till at last, like some animal seeking its burrow in the ground, it +vanished into the tunnel. The earth seemed to quiver a little after its +noisy passage; the wailing shriek of the engine was muted, by the +distance, to a sound of unbearable yearning and beauty. Somewhere a +church-clock struck ten. And somewhere in the world, there was—Hester. A +sudden wave of feeling came over Antoinette; love so intense as to be +almost pain.... + +“Impossible to express and impossible to set free——” In her thoughts she +was unconsciously echoing Dennis’s words. Then, half-aloud: “Perhaps +some day it will be set free!” + +In the darkness she heard Dennis catch his breath, but already she had +moved away from the bridge, was walking back towards the hotel. He +followed in silence; drew level with her; and noticed, as her sleeve +brushed against his, that the dew had soaked through the thin silk of +her jersey. He would not risk destroying by the clumsy medium of speech, +the fine web of affinity that was spun between them, and of the +existence of which he was no longer in doubt. + +Antoinette reflected that the conversation had been more interesting +than she had anticipated; and after all, he had not attempted to kiss +her: she scarcely knew whether she was relieved or disappointed.... + +The lawn was deserted now; they went straight into the lounge, and stood +blinking in the sudden light. + +Mrs. Blackwood looked up eagerly at their entrance, held out her hand to +Antoinette, and telling Reggie to bring a chair for her, drew her into +the family-circle. Dennis announced his intention of climbing through +the window of the recreation-room to rout out Crispin; and Mrs. +Blackwood said to Antoinette, “You’ve made quite a conquest of Dennis, +my dear. He’s not a bit a lady’s man, really. I suppose he’s always +thinking of his work, and so he enjoys a chat with someone who +_thoroughly understands_ music. You must come and stay with us at +Eastwold, when he comes back from Devonshire, and then you’ll be able to +have some nice long talks together.” + +“Thanks awfully, Mrs. Blackwood, I should love to come,” Antoinette +replied with genuine enthusiasm. She was always thrilled by the prospect +of new surroundings. Besides, Hester would doubtless be amused.... + +Doreen squeezed Antoinette’s arm affectionately, and Reggie exclaimed: +“Good egg! If you practise your iron-shots, and remember to keep your +head down, you’ll be able to play with Dad whenever I can’t. He often +likes a game when he comes back from the City.” + +Antoinette said hastily, “I’m afraid my golf will never be good enough +for that, Reggie....” + +But Reggie responded with mingled impatience and gallantry, “You don’t +expect a fellow to swallow such tosh, do you?” + + + CHAPTER IV + +A few days later, Antoinette returned to London; and old Madame de +Courcy, her grandmother, was interrogating her on the subject of her +stay with the Faynes.... Had she met many amiable young men? Had they +admired her? Had she told them to come and visit her grandmother and her +parents? And her friend, la petite Fayne, had she also been admired? + +Antoinette answered all these questions with a comprehensive “Oui, +Grand’mère....” Conversation with Madame de Courcy was always difficult, +firstly because she was very deaf and secondly because she was of an +inquisitiveness and a lack of tact and discretion, that ruled out for +Antoinette all possibility of confidence or affection. She could only +see her grandmother as a comic figure; sometimes as a most irritating +one; never by any chance as one to be loved or reverenced. Grand’mère +frequently indulged in fits of hysteria, in which at the top of her +voice, she would set forth the failings and shortcomings of three +generations of the family, with a special notice for the particular +offence of which each individual, whether dead or alive, had been guilty +towards herself. The performance would usually be started by some quite +irrelevant trifle—some slight breach of etiquette or imagined lack of +consideration for her years and dignity. Part I would be purely personal +and insulting; but Part II, transcending the limits of the personal, +would be wider in range, epic and panoramic; while Part III was crudely +effective through sheer noise and smashing of furniture, or whatever +chanced to be most handy. But Madame de Courcy possessed the remarkable +faculty of being able, without the slightest transition or modulation, +to switch off her hysterics, if a change of front seemed desirable. Thus +at one moment, with tears streaming down her face, she could rave +_fortissimo_ because Antoinette had omitted to say good morning to her, +or because her son-in-law René of Grenoble had once passed out of the +dining-room in front of her ... and then when she had succeeded in +working up everyone else to a similar pitch of excitement, she could on +the instant turn round and smile, in dulcet tones demand of Antoinette +the assurance that she “_aimait bien sa petite grand’mère_,” and resume +the conversation where it had previously been abandoned. The audience—if +audience there happened to be, and there usually did—was invariably +staggered no less by the suddenness of the change than by the actual +recital of the Family Saga. + +She was a marvellous old lady, despite her seventy years; and her fierce +dark eyebrows met above her patrician nose, and the hairs upon her upper +lip were many. She had a wonderful memory—for grievances. And she needed +to have, as her family was very extensive and scattered about in all +portions of the globe; and only by reciting the tale of their manifold +iniquities could she draw them together in her mind’s eye.... At least, +so thought Antoinette, who from childhood upwards had listened to +Grand’mère’s outbursts, first in fear and trembling, and later on in +pure artistic appreciation of a spectacular performance. + +Grand’mère’s chief hobbies and interests in life were births, deaths, +marriages and operations; but especially marriages, the arrangement, +furtherance and consequences of same. She combined the notion that a +young girl should be brought up in darkest ignorance of the facts of +life, with a fondness for discussing them publicly in intimate detail, +and with a Rabelaisian virility of language. She had married off her six +daughters, with more or less success, to gentlemen in suitable positions +residing in France, Italy and Spain. But when Anatole, her darling only +son, had come to England for business-reasons, she had accompanied him +and his young wife, and lived with them ever since. Anatole de Courcy +was a wholesale dealer in coffee, and a fairly astute man of business. +In appearance he was lean, dark, rather yellow in the face, with +projecting front teeth and a ragged moustache that he was in the habit +of gnawing. He was the only one of her children whom Madame de Courcy +had spoilt, and still manifested all the most objectionable +characteristics of the nursery favourite. He was both obstinate and +petty, and prone to outbursts of temper, not unlike his mother’s. +Sometimes, indeed, mother and son would scream at each other for hours +together, the duet only terminating when one of the vocalists fell dumb +through exhaustion. + +On these occasions, Henriette de Courcy, who had long ago learnt the +futility of interfering between her husband and her mother-in-law, would +with a sweeping gesture of her beautiful hand, beckon Antoinette out of +the room. “Come, my child, we are not needed here ...” which was +obvious: Anatole and his mother, both weeping tears of rage, and hurling +the bitterest taunts and recriminations at each other, were supremely +happy.... But Henriette could never let the slightest occasion for +theatricality pass unnoticed. In her youth she had studied elocution, +and had even had dreams of going on the stage, dreams which she had been +obliged to relinquish when her parents married her to Anatole de Courcy. +Anatole was rich; Henriette was poor, and one of a great many +sisters.... But she never allowed either herself or her environment to +forget that but for her marriage, she might have become one of the +leading _tragédiennes_ of France. Her whole bearing, her gestures, the +flowing draperies she affected, were all reminiscent of the great +actress who, in her own opinion, had been sacrificed to matrimony with a +coffee-dealer. Perhaps the constant habit of the theatrical pose +accounted for the fact that Antoinette never felt any real warmth of +affection existing between herself and her mother. There was always at +the back of her mind the suspicion that Henriette’s magnificent +gestures, and deep thrilling inflections expressive of maternal passion, +were really no more than gestures and inflections, practised, perfectly +finished, but with nothing genuine behind them. Henriette was +perpetually voicing lofty sentiments upon the true development of the +soul, and had even been known, in the presence of her family, to extol +free love and the beauties thereof. Needless to say Anatole and old +Madame de Courcy did their best to counteract her evil influence upon +her daughter. But Antoinette felt that they need not have troubled: here +again she could not rid herself of the conviction that her mother was +not sincere, and that her vaunted broad-mindedness would turn into the +righteous indignation of the conventional _bourgeoise_, if ever it were +put to the test. + +The house in Cadogan Gardens was hideously furnished; the rooms, +spacious and gloomy, were crammed with dreadful ornaments and pictures +that were either family heirlooms or had been Anatole’s wedding presents +from his numerous sisters. Many small tables in the drawing-room were +laden with photographs of the six sisters with their respective husbands +and offspring; a most alarming exhibition, thought Antoinette, as +neither her aunts nor her cousins were remarkable for their beauty. On +the contrary. However, the plain young cousins made up in virtue what +they so manifestly lacked in looks; witness the embroidered mats and +doyleys and cushion-covers that had been worked as birthday or Xmas +presents for Madame de Courcy, and testified to many hours of patient +toil on the part of her grandchildren. Antoinette’s handiwork alone was +not represented in this orgy of cross-stitch and crochet. Antoinette +could do neither cross-stitch nor crochet, wherefore her grandmother +argued that there must be something radically wrong with her. + +As long as she had been too young and helpless to protest against the +outrage, she had always been made to recite on Madame de Courcy’s +birthday. On one occasion she had been heavily coached by her mother in +a long speech from “Athalie,” and Madame de Courcy, who was not +interested in the classics, and too deaf to understand much anyway, +began to chatter in the middle of the recitation. Antoinette stopped +dead. Her mother signed to her to continue. Grand’mère went on +chatting.... Antoinette fumed, shifting from one leg on to the other. +“Go on, _chérie_,” whispered Henriette. “I’ll go on when that horrid old +woman stops talking!” cried Antoinette, loud enough to be heard by the +deafest of grandmothers. + +... In the course of the scene which ensued, Grand’mère hurled a book at +her young grand-daughter’s head. It missed its mark and fell to the +ground; Antoinette, obeying the histrionic instinct inherited from her +mother, picked it up and with icy politeness handed it back: “I think +you have dropped something....” + +Since that day, Madame de Courcy had realised that Antoinette was +somehow different from her other grandchildren, and that she had “a +difficult little character.” “_Tant pis_,” she was wont to reflect, “we +will have to marry her young....” But so far Antoinette had refused to +accept her grandmother’s sovereign cure for an unusual temperament. +Grand’mère could not understand it. Why, she herself had manœuvred +several meetings with suitable people, and the girl went out in that +disgraceful free-and-easy English way with quite a lot of young men—by +dint of some picturesque perversion of the truth, Antoinette had +succeeded in obtaining a certain amount of liberty—but hitherto nothing +had come either of Grand’mère’s efforts or of Antoinette’s gadding +about. And it was not that Grand’mère was not vigilant, or that she +failed in her duty towards her Anatole’s only child: no man could take +Antoinette out to tea, or write or telephone to her, without Madame de +Courcy enquiring into his financial position, and, after the second or +third meeting had taken place: “_Eh bien, ma petite_, he has not yet +spoken to you of marriage?” + +When Antoinette, after many discussions, had finally been allowed to go +to Amberhurst, Grand’mère had propounded the theory that she had been +invited because the Faynes knew of some rich young man who would be +staying there at the same time, and that they were doubtless trying to +bring about a match between him and Antoinette. Henriette languidly +reminded her mother-in-law that the Faynes had a daughter of their own; +but Madame de Courcy, who was wonderfully imaginative where her +favourite topic of matrimony was concerned, argued that even if Miss +Fayne _did_ get engaged to the “_parti_,” the “_parti_” might be struck +by the charms of Miss Fayne’s friend, and remember that he also +possessed a friend, rich and suitable like himself, who would wish to be +introduced to the friend of his friend’s _fiancée_.... + +Hence Grand’mère’s flood of questions on Antoinette’s return. + +As the family sat down to dinner that night, the old lady greeted her +son as usual with: “_Eh bien, mon fils, comment vont les affaires?_” And +he, also as usual, replied impatiently: “_Mal, mal_ ...” for he was a +confirmed pessimist. This short duologue took place between mother and +son every evening. Having performed the ritual, Grand’mère continued to +question Antoinette with an air of false benignity that was intended to +put her at her ease, and draw forth her artless confidence. + +“Tell me the names of the young men you have met. Do they live in +London? Was there not one amongst them who pleased you more than the +others?” + +Very demurely, with dark lashes sweeping her white cheeks, Antoinette +launched forth into descriptions of Mr. Griggs and Clive Blackwood. She +drew a particularly beautiful imaginary portrait of Griggs, and +Grand’mère pricked up her ears. + +“He lives in the country, that one? He has estates? He has asked you to +visit his family?” + +Antoinette immediately robbed Mr. Griggs of his vast country estates, by +saying that alas, owing to the innate nobility of his character, he had +renounced them in favour of a consumptive younger brother.... Grand’mère +lost interest, until it struck her that the consumptive brother might +die, and Griggs thus recover possession of the estates. Antoinette did +not think it likely: the brother wasn’t as consumptive as all that.... + +“You waste your time with the wrong people,” her father declared +irritably, “people who can be of no use to you.” + +“She lacks the commercial instinct,” Henriette spoke very slowly and +beautifully, and putting up her lorgnon, surveyed Antoinette through it. +“_C’est bien ma fille...._” + +Anatole banged his fist upon the table. “It is the nonsense you put into +her head, that makes her so difficult.” + +Henriette smiled her best smile of martyrdom and patient endurance. + +... And Antoinette was glad that this wasn’t all: that this hideous +house and this family-party with its bickerings and discussions, did not +represent the sum-total of her universe; glad that she had given a more +or less fictitious account of her stay, and that she could keep to +herself everything that had really mattered. This sense of having a +secret which the others could not guess, made her feel wonderfully +secure, invulnerable, almost: as if no irritation or annoyance could +touch her, while she wrapped herself around with her memories of Hester. + +On the plea of fatigue after her journey, she soon escaped upstairs to +her room; smiled at the tablecloth that had been embroidered by her +cousin Marguerite from Lyons, and that Grand’mère had placed in +Antoinette’s room, hoping it might exercise a beneficent influence upon +her character. Antoinette laughed happily; went to bed, and was soon +fast asleep, dreaming of Hester. + + * * * * * + +It was a long time since she had been as happy and as excited as she was +now. Her schooldays had held occasional periods of a similar excitement, +but the three years since she had left boarding-school, had been +conspicuously barren, compared with what had gone before. When she was +thirteen, there had been the melancholy-eyed young teacher of literature +whom she had adored; a dreamy unpopular woman, who had been made to +suffer horribly in the innumerable little ways in which schoolgirls can +torment their victims. Antoinette had been seized with a kind of holy +wrath, and desire to avenge and protect; she had flamed out against the +whole class, almost wishing that they would turn and rend her, so that +she might have the pleasure of sacrificing herself for her idol.... The +idol very soon learnt to return the adoration of the fervent and +hot-tempered worshipper; and simultaneously Antoinette began to lose +interest. She had only enjoyed her rôle, as long as Miss Prescot had +taken no notice of her: had been apparently unaware of the flutter and +throb of excitement caused by her mere presence in the class-room, or +her casual good-night kiss at bed-time. When Miss Prescot had come to +single her out from the other girls and to linger fondly over that +good-night kiss, Antoinette had had quite a fit of repulsion. She only +enjoyed an up-hill battle; even at that age, the easy conquest had bored +her. Also, she hated being touched, except in cases where her own +feelings were aroused. She shook off the girls who sought to walk with +their arms through hers, or to stroke her funny boyish head of hair; she +would run away from them, revelling in the fun of the chase, yet +dreading capture ... the fear in her eyes contradicted by the laughing +curves of her mouth; the eyes of a nun, indeed, and the mouth of a +voluptuary. + +And then, some time later, there was the Russian girl, Natasha. + +This time, Antoinette’s passion was not killed by easy reciprocity, but +kept alive by a thousand subtle tortures, rekindled by a single look or +gesture, whenever Natasha imagined that it showed signs of waning. Her +beauty was her strongest weapon, and at seventeen she used it with a +refinement of cruelty that would have done credit to a woman twice her +years. Antoinette was fascinated by her long sleepy eyes, that were +green as jade, and as hard; by the heavy black hair growing low down +upon her forehead; by her indolent graceful body, and the coldly +indifferent manner that seemed to express the disdain in which she held +her schoolfellows and her teachers alike. She had many slaves and +admirers in the school, but none so ardent, so abandoned in her +devotion, as Antoinette. Therefore, seeing that this was the case, +Natasha ignored her completely; avoided her on purpose when she knew +that the younger girl was hovering about the stairs on the chance of +being allowed to say good-night to her; ridiculed her adoration in front +of the others; paraded ostentatiously with her favourites before +Antoinette’s jealous eyes. And then, as she did not wish to forfeit +altogether the entertaining spectacle of Antoinette’s passion, she would +suddenly and unexpectedly be nice to her, making amends in five minutes +for all the ill-treatment of the previous weeks. Antoinette forgave her +gladly and generously, but the moment she imagined that her troubles +were at an end, Natasha would with equal suddenness withdraw her favour, +and treat her as badly as ever.... + +Antoinette suffered greatly at the time, but when her passion had worn +itself out, she began to look forward with new zest to being grown up. +If already this world of women and girls, narrow though it was, could +contain for her such a wealth of thrills and excitement, how much more +wonderful must be that other world, the world beyond school, the world +of men. So far, she was inclined to feel contemptuous of the world of +men, as represented by the elderly masters who took some of the classes +at the fashionable boarding-school, and by the coarse-looking schoolboys +who grinned at the girls when they passed each other on their daily +walks. But she knew that when she was grown-up, everything would be +different. Antoinette, counting the months, the years—fifteen, sixteen, +seventeen—indulging in occasional passing flickers of feeling for this +girl or that mistress; Antoinette, young, eager and glowing with an +exuberant vitality, could scarcely await her eighteenth birthday, and +the meeting with the lover who, she knew, awaited her ... a lover to +whom she could give all the passion of her soul, and whose touch would +thrill her even more potently than had the touch of those women she had +adored. + +But when at last she was released from school, the grown-up world of men +proved singularly disappointing; totally devoid of that stimulus for +which she craved. The wonderful lover of her imagination had certainly +not yet appeared upon the scene. In the meantime, various supers tried +to play the part, but with no success as far as she was concerned. She +let them kiss her, because she hoped that thus she might find what she +sought; but those that did not arouse active repulsion in her, merely +bored her, left her with a sense of staleness and dissatisfaction. She +began to fear that she would never be capable of feeling anything for +anybody again. And now Hester had proved her fears to be groundless.... +Gladly, gratefully Antoinette welcomed her advent, and the rush of +emotion which she had called forth; turned with relief from her +fruitless search in the world of masculinity, to give herself up to +whole-hearted worship of this proud silent woman, who had had the power +to arouse her from her temporary lethargy. And in so doing, Antoinette +was free from the least taint of morbidity; unaware that there was aught +of unusual about her attitude—Hester herself had perceived this—she +merely felt that she was coming into her own again, and was +healthy-minded and joyous in her unquestioning obedience to the dictates +of her inmost nature. + + * * * * * + +Hester wrote, giving her address at Bristol; nothing more. Antoinette +turned the scrawled half-sheet over and over in the hope of finding some +other message, but in vain. She had to rest content with having the +address, and hence, obviously, the permission to write to Hester.... She +wrote by return a very long letter that was amusing as well as ardent, +for she remembered that she had on occasions been able to arouse +Hester’s caustic sense of humour. And fervently she hoped that by-and-by +Hester would come to reveal herself in writing more intimately than she +was ever likely to do in speech. + +The strain of waiting for Hester’s answer was almost unbearable; at last +it came: a brief acknowledgment of the receipt of Antoinette’s letter, +and the date of her departure from Bristol.... + +Hereupon Antoinette wrote despairingly: “Won’t you for once write me a +_real_ letter?” And Hester wrote back: “I never write what you call +_real_ letters....” + +After the first disappointment, Antoinette was conscious of renewed +stimulation. Hester was unlike anyone she had ever met. What must be the +life-history, every clue to which was guarded from the merest chance of +revelation by pen and paper? Antoinette determined that one day she +would break through Hester’s reserve. In the meantime she continued to +batter it with letters into which she put all the warmth and passion +that were in her. + +About the time she received Hester’s second note, a letter came from +Dennis Blackwood in Devonshire. Without a formal mode of address, it +started straight away with a request for permission to write to her, and +then rambled on for many pages in a particularly charming style, giving +vivid bits of description of the places where he and Crispin were +staying, and telling her little humorous incidents of the day’s tramp. +Antoinette said that certainly he might write to her, if he pleased; but +she did not write to him at any length, because her one-sided +correspondence with Hester was absorbing all her spare time and +interest. But apparently her letter was cordial enough to call forth an +answer by return. + +Soon Dennis was writing to her every other day, then every day, then +twice a day.... Regretfully she compared his long and truly delightful +letters with Hester’s curt scrappy communications. It seemed such a +waste not to be in love with Dennis. His veritable avalanche of letters +undoubtedly pleased and flattered her, but did not cause one fraction of +the palpitating excitement that she felt at the mere sight of Hester’s +writing on an envelope. + +But her grandmother’s agitation alone would have made it worth +Antoinette’s while to keep up the correspondence. Grand’mère had +naturally demanded full details concerning the young man who wrote to +her grand-daughter with such improper frequency. And Antoinette, more +demure and “jeune fille” than ever, had modestly said that he was a +great artist.... + +“_Hein, hein_, an artist? That does not please me at all. He has +doubtless not a farthing, and you know very well that _la vie de bohème_ +is nothing for you,” with a warning glance at Henriette, from whom +Antoinette was assumed to have inherited all her immoral tendencies. + +Antoinette continued gleefully to foster in her grandmother’s mind the +vision of Dennis as an impecunious artist with short nails and long +hair, who would encourage her to dance upon tables, drink champagne for +breakfast, associate with people who posed for “_L’ensemble_”—even if +she did not actually pose for “_L’ensemble_” herself—and generally +behave in a manner incompatible with Cadogan Gardens and the dignity of +the de Courcys. + + + CHAPTER V + + June 29th, 1914. + +“... We’re putting up to-night in rooms above a pastry-cook’s shop ... +wonderful rooms. I know you’d love them. I’ve been taking for your +benefit an inventory of the sitting-room furniture. There are yellow +faded family-photographs on the walls, and wedding-groups with +bridesmaids wearing hats with quills all pointing the same way. There’s +a dusty wooden shelf with mugs that are all Presents from the Seaside, +or else symbols of the Jubilee, the Coronation or other events of +national unimportance. There’s a red plush anchor with shells round it; +there’s a cardboard model of a ship under a glass bell; there’s a +slippery horse-hair sofa, upon which Crispin is now reclining, fast +asleep. And chiefly, there is a piano with a green silk front and a +yellow keyboard so short that I find myself clawing the air if I venture +too far away from the central C. There’s such a funny foreign look about +the way the houses here grow in a square round the market-place. They +are painted all different colours, too; there’s a bright blue one just +opposite, with a tiny salmon pink one, half its height, leaning +confidingly up against it; ours is a modest saffron yellow, with red +bars under the window-ledges. There’s a pump in the middle of the +market-square, and around it the most delightful mixed assorted +collection of dogs doze in the sun. I’m going to fetch one of them in to +talk to me when I’ve finished this letter. We don’t quite know if he’s +meant to be a bull-dog or a spaniel, but he’s long and slobbery and +brindled and adorable, and he’s going to lie across my lap, while I +whisper absurdities into his long soft ears. + +I can’t get rid of the impression that this is a little foreign town. +Between the houses are narrow passages that are spanned by tiny stone +archways, dazzling white against an Italian blue sky; and from each +archway flutter boldly the coloured banners of somebody’s washing. And +the hotel, painted brownish pink and built round a triangular court +planted with shrubbery, is just such as you might find in a small place +in Switzerland. + +No, I think I’ve got it now: it’s not a foreign place, in fact it isn’t +a real place at all.... It’s just a toy village that you’re allowed to +take out of the nursery cupboard and play with, when you’ve been good. + +Please won’t you come and play with my toy village with me? I’ll be +awfully nice about it, and even let you work the pump and hang up the +washing when I’m tired of doing it myself. + +No, it isn’t a toy village either: it’s just a dream-place. I knew that, +the instant we came in sight of it this afternoon. We’d been walking +over the moors to the accompaniment of a tearing wind that swept +magnificently up and down the scale, as it drove great lumpy golden +clouds over the edge of the horizon, and roared in our ears and muttered +in the hedgerows. And then suddenly the white road began to dip down and +down into a hollow in which lay this handful of coloured roofs. And the +sound of the wind became softer and softer, as if whoever was conducting +the orchestra, had hushed all the brass-instruments. And by the time we +reached the village-street, after a last faint murmur there was no sound +at all, only the most wonderful thick sunny silence you’ve ever listened +to. And I want you here in my dream-place. You belong in it. I may tell +you that, mayn’t I? Besides, you know. Of course you know ... don’t +you?” + + July 5th. + +“... You want my village for keeps? I’m afraid you can’t have it, +because if I packed it in my suit-case to bring home to you, the water +from the pump might get loose and make my collars damp. I’m sorry! I’m +sending you a nice fat tin of cream instead, which will no doubt upset +your grandmother—morally, of course. She must be a delightful old lady, +according to your descriptions, and I look forward to making her +acquaintance on my return.... We’re staying in quite a different sort of +village this time; it has an old-world triangular village-green, planted +with giant oak-trees, and enclosed on two sides by dear little thatched +cottages with trim little gardens; and it has an ivy-clad church and the +usual combination of Post Office and all-sorts shop, in which you may +revel in the complex odour of boots, cheese, liquorice, soap, sawdust, +biscuits, Fry’s chocolate and warm humanity. And best of all, this +village of ours boasts an absolutely authentic Idiot, Vicar, Oldest +Inhabitant, Lady of the Manor and Village Belle—I expect she’ll lose +some of our socks, as she happens to be the laundress in private +life—and they all come on and speak in character when the strings are +pulled. Unfortunately, the Wicked Squire is lacking from the set; he +must have been mislaid. But I hear they’ve got a Squire of sorts some +miles away, and for the sake of tradition let us hope that his morals +are infamous and his jowl unshaven and blue. + +We had a long tramp to get here from Chagford, and at every farm we +encountered on the way, we halted so that Crispin might still his +insatiable appetite for bread and cheese and beer. And while he sat and +gorged in state in the parlour with the best antimacassars and the +coloured prints of the Royal Family, I prowled round the farm-buildings, +and had much speech with velvet-eyed calves, and watch-dogs straining at +their chains, and sleepy kittens, and ducks sailing proudly on the pond +in the orchard. I loved all their quacking and purring and barking and +lowing, and the excited flutter in the poultry-yard and the rich deep +sounds from the pig-sty. And oh, the farm-smell of earth and damp straw +and clover and animals and hay.... + +The fields are brown and red and green, and brown again; and scattered +in the hollows, or perched on the hillsides are villages—mere clusters +of whitewashed and pinkwashed cottages—gleaming in the sun. But even the +tiniest cluster has its battered grey church-spire. The smoke from the +gorse-fires floats in heavy blue clouds above the Tors, and I do so +badly want someone to share it all with me...! Crispin? Yes, he’s a dear +good sort and I like being with him. He’s so restful because he takes me +so for granted; doesn’t ask questions; and there’s never the least +strain between us. I believe Crispin is really wedded, heart and soul, +to his Bechstein grand at home. Whilst I—Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps some +day I’ll be able to tell you.... + +I’m afraid we shall have to push on very quickly from this perfect spot, +as Crispin has succeeded in getting us into trouble. We’ve got no piano +here, and he was told on enquiring that the only one in the +neighbourhood is up at the Manor. I had to restrain him forcibly from +marching straight in and taking possession of the instrument. I put it +to him that it couldn’t be done—no, not even if he pretended to be the +piano-tuner.... So very morosely, he gave way, and consoled himself by +borrowing the key of the church from the vicar, and playing the organ. +That was all very nice, of course, but Crispin, from force of habit, +locked himself in; and that afternoon there was to be a christening ... +and he didn’t take the slightest notice when they came and hammered on +the church-door; merely thundered away, louder than ever, on his wheezy +old organ. The christening procession had to wait outside, with the baby +catching cold, till Crispin got hungry, and came out to have his tea.... +Of course they might have entered by another door, but that spoils my +story.... + +I’m writing you such a lot of nonsense; you don’t mind, do you? If you +only realised how difficult it is to stop writing to you! I want to go +on and on and on, and tell you things—but they are just the things you +know already.... You seem very near to me to-night. Perhaps you were +thinking about me just a little, and have come here in a dream. I +believe you’re beside me now, only if I turn to look you’ll vanish....” + + July 7th. + +“... It’s nice of you to ask about my opera. I haven’t worked at it much +lately. I’ve been so lazy and happy, just walking and dreaming and +eating and sleeping, and writing to you. But as regards the opera—do you +remember Andersen’s fairy-tale, ‘Karen and the Red Shoes’? A friend of +mine, Neil Barnaby, has turned it into a three-act play, and I’m writing +the music for it. It’s the first time I’ve attempted anything quite so +big. We want to have it put on with an entirely modern impressionistic +setting—perhaps next opera-season at Covent Garden. Perhaps.... To-night +I can almost believe that it will be so, and that the work that is +nearest and dearest to my heart will actually be played before hundreds +and hundreds of people. Perhaps they’ll acclaim it, go mad over it, as +I’ve seen them go mad, and gone mad myself over the Russian Opera. And I +know I shall have a ridiculous desire to cry, and there won’t be an +ounce of conceit in me, because after all it’s just my child they’ll be +making the fuss about—not me. And I’m glad that it should be like that, +for I hate being taken notice of, and always want to run away and hide. +But the child is different. The child, I think, is going to be strong. +And I love it so.... And all the pleasure that my music may bring to the +people who listen to it, won’t nearly equal some of the top-moments of +joy I’ve had in creating it. Yes, to-night I can believe that the opera +will be a success; to-night I can believe even more than that; to-night +I can believe—anything, Antoinette. + +When I was at school, I was terrified of my musical gift; I hated it, +and did my utmost to suppress it, because I thought it was that which +made me different from the other boys. I loathed being ‘different’; it +made me feel so alone, so I played hard games with the others, and tried +to make friends with the others, and tried to forget that there was +something inside my brain that turned everything I felt and experienced +into music, which clamoured to be released, and which I refused to +release, because I knew that if I did so, it would widen still more the +gulf between me and the others. I built barrier upon barrier to shut in +the fragments of music that sang in my ears all day and all night; I was +powerless to keep them from entering, but at least I would give them no +chance to escape. I wouldn’t take music-lessons at school; that would +have been too dangerous; old Harper, the piano-master, was a pretty +shrewd person, and might have spotted me. I resented having this thing +to hide, and envied my brother Clive and the other boys, for not having +to wage this perpetual war against part of their own selves. There were +times when I did long so badly just to give in.... And if I did that, I +could never again keep up the pretence of being like the others. +Somehow, that pretence seemed the all-important thing: there was safety +in it. + +When I was sixteen, a Jewish boy called Eric Rubenstein came to +Westborough. He was clever as they’re made, but ugly and undersized, and +appallingly sensitive; he had a rotten time of it. Everything about him +seemed to lay him open to being ragged—his looks, his name (they called +him Little-by-Little ‘for short’) and the way his people kissed him +before the whole school, and brought him pineapples and grapes when they +came down to see him. He used, for some unfathomable reason, to follow +me around with his great intelligent eyes, that were like the eyes of a +dog that expects to be kicked; but I didn’t even try to befriend him. +You see, I realised that young Eric was likely to be dangerous too: he +played the violin, and he played it like an artist.... + +He fagged for a great loutish Sixth Form chap called Burnley, who did +his best to make Eric’s life a misery. I was in Burnley’s study one +Saturday afternoon, and he and some of his pals were banging away on the +piano. Someone suggested that the Jew-boy, who was toasting muffins by +the fire, should play his violin.... The Jew-boy refused, and I was glad +that he had refused to play to them. Then I saw that Burnley was looking +at him with a very evil gleam in his heavy eyes. The next instant the +storm broke. ‘What—you won’t? Is there any law in your benighted +religion to prevent you playing the fiddle on Saturdays?’ + +Eric blazed out: ‘My religion’s as good as yours!’ and then relapsed +into his usual attitude of defence. + +‘Oh, no, it isn’t, Ikey,’ Burnley grinned, ‘don’t make any mistake about +that; you’re a Jew, that’s what you are, a dirty Jew ... ugh!’ + +They went on badgering him about his religion and about his father, who +was supposed to have kept a fried-fish shop before he got rich. And they +threatened him with lickings, and with red-hot pokers down his back if +he wouldn’t play.... I daresay most of it was bluff, but he must have +had memories of previous tortures, for he turned absolutely white, and +tried to hide his funk under a rather sickening smile. + +He kept on looking to me for help, but I just sat there, with the palms +of my hands getting hot and sticky, and didn’t move. They forced him +finally by threat of sheer physical violence, and I felt that it was +indecent that he should play before those boys who didn’t really want to +hear his music, and only wanted to make a mock of him; and indecent that +I should be listening. But I had to stop and listen. I hadn’t interfered +to protect him, but I couldn’t leave him quite alone while he played.... +And then I realised that Eric wasn’t really giving himself in his music; +he seemed to be withholding himself from expression. I was terribly +afraid that as he went on he’d overstep the borders of his reserve, but +he didn’t. His playing was correct and polished; and absolutely +soulless. + +When he had finished, I was unthinkingly whistling the Russian song he’d +played; and he looked up and came across to me, seeing that the others +were all busy round the piano. ‘Yes, of course that’s how it ought to +have been played, but I couldn’t do it like that—could I—for them.’ I +had to take care not to let him guess how heartily I agreed with him, so +I said off-handedly: ‘I don’t see why not!’ + +‘Oh, yes, you do,’ he persisted, ‘you _know_.... You must have a +wonderful ear to be able to whistle it straight off like that. Don’t you +love Wieniawski? I do....’ He was no longer the cringeing little Fourth +Form fag addressing a senior boy; he was speaking as man to man, or as +one artist to another. But I had to shut him up; told him I didn’t +‘know,’ and hadn’t any ear at all, and hated Wieniawski and all other +kinds of music, and advised him to stow his cheek.... Oh, I could talk +the vernacular right enough! He just gave me one look, half reproachful +and half apologetic; then he blurted out, under cover of the song that +the others were bawling in chorus: ‘I—I suppose you thought me an utter +worm just now—I know I am, but it makes me sick—pain does—even the idea +of it—and being helpless and knowing that it isn’t going to stop—and it +comes over you in waves each a bit more ghastly than the last. It isn’t +what they do, though that’s bad enough sometimes.... It’s what they +might do ... and you know exactly what it would feel like, and you lie +awake at night and think about it, and wait——’ + +It was all too horrible for words. I longed to shut him up again, but I +saw that he’d reached the limits of his endurance, and simply had to +talk.... He went on to tell me about his people at home. ‘My father +thinks I’m ever so happy here, and popular, and good at games and all +that—he’s so absurdly proud of me, you see—so in the holidays I have to +keep it up—fib about cricket matches I’m supposed to have played in, and +invent stories of practical jokes in which I figure as the hero instead +of the victim ... and he drinks it all in, and loves it, and I can’t +bear to let him know.’ + +He said that, when I suggested that he should get his parents to take +him away from Westborough. Plucky, wasn’t it? And heartbreaking. He was +such a kid.... I had an insane desire to be nice to him, to make up for +what the others were doing to him. But after that one outburst, I +avoided him more than ever. With his subtle Jewish instinct he’d +discovered well enough that I _was_ different from the others; but he +never again attempted to speak to me about music, although he must have +known all along. I was grateful to him for that; the barriers I had +built were getting weaker and weaker; and I had the almost superstitious +conviction that they would only stand firm as long as I didn’t tell +anybody about myself, or let them give me the sympathy and understanding +I craved for. I dared not let myself get fond of Eric, or I might +have been swept away to heaven knows what headlong flights +of—‘differentness.’ So the desire to be nice to him had to be fought +down as well.... + +And then one day—it was the half-term holiday, and pouring with rain. I +went up to the practice-room at the top of the house to fetch something +I’d been sent for—and the piano was open—and no one was about—and I +thought I’d just see if I could remember one of the absurd pieces Clive +and I had been taught by our nursery-governess. + +I don’t know how it happened: I had started by picking out ‘The Merry +Peasant,’ but a while after, without realising what I was doing, I was +finding chords that began to release, bit by bit, some of the music that +was imprisoned inside my head, and that seemed to be spurring me on, +impatient of my clumsy fingers that groped so slowly for the magic +formula that would set it free.... + +Later on, I was out on the Downs, running away from what I knew I should +never be able to escape, now that I had let _it_ escape me ... given the +thing that was in my mind a separate existence, by putting it outside +myself. It was just that—putting it outside myself—that had swept me +right over my own barriers. I knew then that come what might, I’d got to +be a musician, even if it did mean being different and being lonely. I +knew I’d got to suffer, and by suffering—create. I determined that the +one person who should share that knowledge with me, should be Eric. I +looked forward to being able to be decent to him at last.... + +I wandered about for hours in the wind and rain, and when I got back, +there was a little knot of boys whispering in the hall. ‘I say, have you +heard?’ ‘No, what?’ ‘About the Jew-boy—appendicitis—awful agony, the +Matron says, quickest case she’s ever heard of—_scream_—you should have +heard him, fair blood-curdling, I can tell you.’ ‘It’s awfully quiet +now; his people have come.... Will they take him—take _it_—away...?’ + +That was the end of Eric, who dreaded the idea of pain. + +... After that, I didn’t make any attempt to crawl back behind my +barriers; they weren’t strong enough anyway to stand against the +flood-tide that had broken out. Everything that I felt about Eric would +set itself to weird horrible music that drummed unceasingly in my ears, +and demanded expression, and I was dead tired of choking it back. So I +had to let myself become a musician. But I put up an awfully hard fight +against it. It’s queer to think of it now.... + +I don’t know how it is that I can talk to you like this. I’ve never told +anyone else about Eric, and I know I couldn’t do it so easily if you +were really here. But being miles away from you, there’s nothing to +frighten me into shutting myself up, nothing to destroy my conviction +that you _do_ understand. + +Good-night, dear. I’ve enjoyed talking to you....” + + July 12th. + +“We’re zig-zagging about the country in the most amazing style. And I +wish I could collect all the things I’ve loved most, and bring them back +to you. There’s the early-morning smell—such a foreign smell, too—of +pines, and fresh-cut grass, and stone walls and burning wood. And there +are the evenings when the scent of the earth and the trees after the +day’s heat is so strong and sweet and poignant that it hurts you; and +there’s a glamour over the whole world; and the lights begin to show in +the cottage-windows; and a great golden moon swims up over the hard +black edge of the moor.... Yesterday we found a river, gleaming silver +in the depths of a forest—such a river.... It rushed onward at a tearing +rate, hurling itself down over great moss-grown boulders, working itself +into a white frenzy of foam as it fretted its way between them, and +swirled around the outstanding tree-roots. And, oh, the colours of the +water—crystal and gold where the sun touched it, clear amber and brown +and green where it was flecked by the shadow of the branches. You’ve +never heard such a wonderful orchestra of bird-voices: the low clear +note of the blackbird as soloist, and all the warbling, trilling, +chirping and whistling that went to make a harmonious accompaniment, +together with the soothing monotone of the bees, and the hurry, hurry, +hurry of the river—but what’s the good of trying to tell you about it in +words? Perhaps I’ll put it into music for you some day. There’s such a +lot to be done ‘some day,’ isn’t there? When I get back, you must come +to Covent Garden with me. And there’ll be concerts, too. It’s a regular +feast of good music in London this season. We’re taking the train to +Exeter to-morrow, and I may be coming straight home from there, unless +Crispin lures me on into Cornwall. I’m too sleepy and drunk with the air +to make up my mind definitely to-night. But I’ll let you know to-morrow. + +Good-night....” + + + CHAPTER VI + +Antoinette smiled tenderly over those letters; he must be a queer +person, Dennis Blackwood, to write to her like that, after having only +spoken to her once. She liked his letters from an artistic point of +view, and the bulk of them gave her a feeling of warmth and contentment; +but once read, she put them aside; did not pore over them as she pored +over Hester’s, striving to read between the lines, and to put into the +words meanings which did not exist. Hester at a distance was most +unsatisfactory, so much so, that it sometimes cost Antoinette a real +effort to conjure up the image of her personality. She ventured to +express the hope that she might soon be allowed to see Hester again; and +to her infinite surprise, Hester replied that she was at Birmingham now, +and that if Antoinette thought it worth while, she might come and spend +a day with her there. + +Antoinette trembled with joy on receiving that letter. It lay beside the +one in which Dennis had told her about Eric Rubenstein, and Grand’mère +peered inquisitively over the silver coffee-pot. But Antoinette cared +naught for Grand’mère that morning: she was going to see Hester, and +Dennis was evidently in love with her, and the world was altogether an +excellent place; gratefully Antoinette accepted the gifts that fate was +showering upon her—gratefully as a flower opens its petals to the sun. + +Some days later, by dint of a series of lies and precautions, she set +out for Birmingham. She could not tell the family where she was going. +They knew nothing about Hester, and had they done so, would doubtless +have deemed the two hours’ journey to see her, crazy and an unnecessary +expense. She had stated that she was spending the day at Rosabel’s in +Hampstead; and Rosabel, good soul, had been sworn to secrecy. + +What would the day give her? Antoinette wondered, as the train bore her +northwards, her excitement growing and growing with every beat of the +wheels. In what circumstances and in what state of mind would she find +Hester? She was entirely in the dark, her imagination free to illuminate +it with the most fantastic of pictures. It was fantastic enough in +itself that she should be tearing across England just to spend a day +with Hester. Just one day—that was the joy of it! One magic day standing +out in high relief from the monotonous flat background of days all +alike; one day to look back upon, robbed from the calendar.... Would +Hester be as unapproachable as ever, or would she at last overcome her +fierce reserve, and of her own free will admit Antoinette to her +confidence? Antoinette’s heart beat faster, as she pictured this +eventuality. She stood up in the corridor, too restless to sit down, +feverish with anticipation.... + +Then the train swung into the station, and Antoinette saw Hester on the +platform; and suddenly all the fever and excitement that had been worked +up to such a pitch died down, so that it required no special effort to +greet Hester with nonchalant calm. It was as if her pulses had become +tired of beating and hammering merely in anticipation, and had ceased to +do so, now that anticipation was about to merge into realisation. + +“It was nice of you to come,” smiled Hester. + +“It was nice of you to let me,” responded Antoinette. + +They made their way through the crowd and out into the street. + +“You’ll lunch with me at my lodgings, won’t you?” said Hester. + +“Thanks very much.” + +After that they walked in silence. Obviously Hester waited for her to +open conversation, but their unsatisfactory correspondence had +established no link of intimacy between them, and Antoinette was at a +loss, not knowing where or how to begin. Hester stopped in front of a +boarding-house in a rather dingy side-street, and Antoinette followed +her in through a dark and stuffy hall that smelt of roast mutton, and +thence into a drawing-room with cheap lace curtains and bamboo tables +ornamented with dusty ferns. + +“We can stop here for the present,” said Hester; “everybody seems to be +out.” + +Antoinette glanced at the pretentious knick-knacks on the mantelpiece, +the dirty crinkled paper round the flower-pots, the gaudily-framed +pictures ... a third-rate boarding-house was about the last place in the +world, in which she would have expected to find Hester. Her sense of the +fitness of things was outraged. + +“Do you—do you live here?” she began at last tentatively. + +“For the moment, yes.” + +“But ... do you like it?” + +Hester shrugged her shoulders. “If you can’t be where you want to be, +this place is as good as any other. And I’m not a millionaire, you +know.” + +All the same, Antoinette reflected, millionaire or not, surely it was +possible to live in surroundings less actively repellent than these! +Apparently Hester carried her habitual detachment even to the lengths of +being quite oblivious of their sordidness. + +She hunted in her mind for a suitable topic of conversation. “What was +Bristol like?” But almost before the words were out of her mouth, she +realised that she had infringed that unwritten law which decreed that +she should display no curiosity with regard to Hester’s private affairs. + +She was prepared for the inevitable cold and evasive reply, when Hester +said: “Bristol? Oh, good enough while it lasted. But what are two weeks +in a year, compared with the fifty bad ones?” + +“Are they always bad—the odd fifty?” + +“More or less. He’s married, you see. His wife’s in an asylum; and +things are difficult on account of his position; he’s a schoolmaster.... +The good times just have to be snatched.” + +Antoinette felt stunned—and then disappointed. Hester had revealed to +her the secret of her life, but she had expected so much more drama from +the actual moment of revelation. And the secret itself struck her as +very commonplace; it seemed as if Hester, by taking Antoinette into her +confidence, had forfeited some of her mysterious charm.... Antoinette +tried in vain to fathom the reason why her burning love for Hester +should be thus transformed into a feeling of faint repulsion—repulsion, +no, that was absurd. What she felt was jealousy, perhaps; jealousy of +the man to whom Hester gave all there was to be given, so that she had +nothing left over for Antoinette.... It was not that, either. She had +always dimly suspected the existence of such a man, and assuming that +Hester’s happiness lay with him, she had been generous enough not to be +jealous. And now that his existence was no longer a hypothesis but a +certainty, she was less inclined than ever to be jealous—but she knew it +was from indifference rather than from generosity. + +Hester was saying: “As you know, I never discuss my life with anyone, +but I thought I had better tell you just the bare facts, as you’ve been +foolish enough to honour me with a certain amount of your affection.” +Her great eyes gazed straight into Antoinette’s with the old look, which +only three weeks ago had stirred in her such depths of feeling. But now +she could only flush and avert her eyes from Hester’s, so that Hester +might not see that all the affection she had ever had for her was dead. +Also, she had a shrinking fear that Hester would come to elaborate the +“bare facts.” It struck Antoinette as indecent that Hester should do so +now, when she lacked the tenderness with which she would once have +received such confidence.... So she talked feverishly and brilliantly, +and was all the while full of a pitiful amazement, because Hester’s +appreciative laugh, that could so wonderfully transform her sullen face +was powerless to rekindle the dead emotion. Antoinette was relieved when +they sat down to lunch with the other inhabitants of the boarding-house +at the one long table in the dining-room. She was getting tired of the +strain.... And by the end of the day she was more tired of it still, +tired of pretending to Hester, pretending to herself. And evidently she +had not pretended so very well after all, because Hester said as she +walked with her to the station: “You’re disappointed—but remember, I +warned you....” + +“Oh, I’m _not_!” cried Antoinette, in a last attempt to delude herself +even more than Hester. + +But Hester only smiled and shook her head. “It’s no use, my child, I +know you are, as I knew you would be. People who pour out such great +floods of feeling as you do are bound to suffer from disillusionment. +Especially if they come up against people like me.” + +“How d’you mean—people like you?” stammered Antoinette. + +Hester laughed harshly. “I suppose I’m deceptive. Oh, you’re not the +first person I’ve deceived—involuntarily, of course, because I’ve always +warned them as I warned you. Imaginative people of your type are drawn +to me because, apparently, I give the impression of having more in me +than I have. That’s all. It’s not a tragedy. But I don’t think we’ll see +each other again, you and I.” + +“Not...?” + +“Better not. And by the time you get home you’ll realise if you haven’t +done so already, that you don’t want to either.” + +... The world would be a terribly dreary place, now that there was no +one left in it to love. Even if Hester had been cruel to her, it would +have been easier to bear, than just discovering that she no longer cared +for Hester. The greatest cruelty on her part could not have killed the +love that Antoinette had had for her only three weeks ago, only +yesterday.... But Hester had been kind; kinder than ever before; and it +was not her kindness that was to blame. Nor was it the mere fact of +having found her in the wrong setting. Again, only yesterday, +Antoinette’s adoration would have been proof against such +trivialities—would have deepened at the thought of Hester in that +depressing environment. + +It was not Hester’s fault. Antoinette knew that; Hester was unchanged. +It was only she who had lost the power of endowing her with a charm that +she had never possessed. The queer impetus that had made her love Hester +had suddenly become paralysed, just as her pulses had ceased to hammer, +the moment she arrived at the station. + +But if the whole of that brief magical passion had been but a fever of +Antoinette’s own imagination, a temporary madness, and if her present +state of mind heralded her return to sanity, then with all her soul she +longed to become mad again, so that she might go on loving.... + +Her wonderful day was over, and it had not held one single moment upon +which it would be good to look back. She was returning empty-handed. And +she would have to rouse herself into giving the family a chatty and +fictitious description of how she had spent the day with Rosabel. + +In the midst of her desolation, it gave her a little comfort to remember +that Dennis’s promised letter from Exeter would be awaiting her at home. +She hoped it would be one of his specially nice ones. She was in a mood +to appreciate it to-night.... + +But that night there was no letter from Dennis; neither the next night; +nor the one after. + + + CHAPTER VII + +“And what now?” queried Dennis Blackwood, as they got out of the train, +and stood upon the dripping wet platform at Crannack. + +“P-put up here for the night, and p-push on to-morrow,” Crispin +responded. Dennis agreed that it was the only thing to be done. + +They had left Exeter that afternoon, Dennis having agreed to Crispin’s +suggestion that they might sample the Cornish coast. Dennis was in no +hurry to return to London. There was a dream-like quality about all his +days just now, days shared with his dream-companion, Antoinette. And +perhaps at the back of his mind lurked an indefinable fear of the moment +when he must exchange dreams for reality. If he went on to Cornwall, +there would be more days, and more, of hard walking and healthy sleep, +and all the haphazard fun of eccentric stoppages at eccentric places—and +above all, the dream-companionship would be prolonged.... + +From Exeter, they had intended taking the train down to Penzance, and +thence starting to explore the Land’s End district; but it had got late +while they visited the Cathedral at Exeter, and on arriving at the +station they found that they had missed the Cornish express, and had to +be content with a very slow train that stopped at all stations, and +finally stopped altogether at Crannack, the centre of the +mining-district. They were informed that they could get no connection to +Penzance the same night. + +“Dismal-looking hole, isn’t it?” remarked Dennis, as they trudged up the +High Street, through the rain, in search of lodgings. Crispin grunted +assent, and turned up his coat-collar. He detested the wet. They took +rooms at the first Commercial Hotel they reached; and had a belated +supper in a dingy and badly-lighted dining-room. When they had finished, +Dennis declared: “I’m going out for some air, rain or no rain,” but +Crispin preferred to remain in the stuffy little smoking-room with a +book and a pipe. + +Dennis resolved that before settling down to write to Antoinette, he +would have a look round the place. It seemed unprepossessing enough, +especially when contrasted with the clean cheerful Devonshire villages +which they had just left. Crannack was neither clean nor cheerful; yet +for Dennis there was a certain fascination about the way its little +twisted streets ran steeply upwards from the docks, as if trying to +scramble away from the perpetual harbour-noises; the rasping of chains, +hooting of steam-sirens, rattling of coal-trucks. But the few +upward-winding streets which Dennis explored attained to nothing more +romantic or beautiful than a tin-roofed Methodist Chapel or Temperance +Hotel. And as if in mockery of, or in opposition to, these hideous +symbols of virtue, a great multitude of public-houses and +drinking-saloons clustered about the centre of the town and straggled +all along the wharf. From behind the blurred windows came the sound of +drunken laughter and voices raised in discussion; voices raucous and yet +mournful, that reminded Dennis of the screeching of sea-gulls. He +strolled across the market-place, where the gas-flares over the stalls +spluttered and wavered in the rain-laden wind, and cast fantastic lights +and shadows—evil lights and shadows—upon the grimy faces of the men who +hung about in groups, seemingly aimless, as if waiting to take their +turn in the overcrowded drinking-saloons. Whenever any of the +swing-doors were pushed open, giving a glimpse of sanded floor and +iridescent bottles, and some figure reeled out, or was pushed out into +the night air, his place was immediately filled by one of the waiting +crowd. Dennis moved away from the noise and glare, and up a quiet +side-street. The wet soft wind was in his face, bringing with it a faint +tang of the sea. He walked on, while behind him the lights of the town +became dimmer and more dim, and the sounds more and more muffled; and at +last the monotonous outlines of the houses on either side of the narrow +street merged into irregular humped shadows, that represented tumbledown +barns and deserted cottages, and then fell away altogether. The wind +blew harder now, and Dennis guessed that he must be in open country. The +darkness was thick and moist; tangible almost. But further up the road, +a red glow of light beckoned, that was neither the light of a +public-house, nor yet the flare above a market-stall. It was the +unmistakable glow of a blacksmith’s forge, that was luring him on +through the darkness; and Dennis pressed forward, for there was +something subtly attractive to him in these sudden alternations of +blackest shadows and glaring light. + +The door of the smithy stood wide open. Dennis, rather dazzled, sat down +upon a ramshackle fence on the opposite side of the road. Two +swarthy-faced men stood facing the forge, and a third, a +muscular-looking giant was holding by the bridle a great cart-horse, +that impatiently pawed the ground and shook back its mane. + +A youth was at work at the anvil. He was stripped to the waist, and in +the leaping light of the flames, his body seemed white and slender. +Dennis reflected that it was a most effective picture: in the midst of +the clammy surrounding darkness, this great square of blazing heat and +light; crimson glow illuminating the men’s dark faces, the glossy coat +of the horse, and the boy’s black head; and showing every ripple of the +muscles under the fine skin, as he raised his arms to hammer the red-hot +iron into shape. The three men watched him attentively, talking in their +Cornish dialect that was almost incomprehensible to Dennis across the +road. + +He caught snatches. “Coomin’ on fine, that be.” + +“What d’ I tell ee, la-ad? Slowly does ut—slowly.” + +“Ee doan’t want fur tu use all that strength—thur, I knew it’d ’appen +...” as the boy brought down the hammer with a smashing blow upon the +horseshoe, and a piece of the red-hot iron flew off and, before he had +time to avoid it, landed upon his foot. He dropped the hammer and broke +into a picturesque flow of bad language; but to Dennis’s surprise, his +speech bore no trace of Cornish dialect, but every trace of the accent +that is manufactured at Oxford.... + +“All right, you needn’t crow over me, Tremayne! I tell you, that shoe +would have been every bit as good as one of yours, if I hadn’t smashed +it. Holy saints and martyrs, the touch of red-hot iron on the flesh is +damnable, simply damnable. I wish my mother were here to ‘kiss the place +and make it well’....” + +There was a burst of gruff laughter from the blacksmith and the man +holding the horse, but the third, a round-shouldered little man with +weak, kindly eyes, spoke with some concern. “And what’ll yer fa-ather be +sayin’, Mr. Alan, if us let ee go knockin’ yerself tu bits like this?” + +“My father, Jenkins, would send down another army of chaperons and +guardians to look after me, or would censure you most heartily for +allowing me to play with the nasty fire.... Have any of you got a spare +handkerchief? I want to tie up my foot and hobble home.” + +Several more or less grimy rags were produced simultaneously, and Dennis +came forward across the road. “Here, take mine. Are you badly hurt?” + +“Oh, dear me, no, I’m not badly hurt. It’s fun, dropping pieces of +red-hot metal upon portions of one’s anatomy. Especially if one isn’t +accustomed to it.” + +“A fresh emotion, at any rate,” Dennis smiled. + +Alan looked up at him quickly from where he sat on the ground, nursing +his foot. “I say, where do you come from? What are you? We don’t get any +tourists here. You’re not another new inspector, sent down by my +benighted parent, are you?” + +“Inspector?” Dennis repeated blankly, “inspector of what?” + +“Of coal-mines, of course. In this God-forsaken place we think of +nothing but coal. We live in it, count in it, breathe it—lots of them +die of it. Jenkins here has nearly lost his sight through it.... No one +comes to Crannack who isn’t somehow or other connected with coal.” + +“I assure you solemnly, then, that I haven’t the least connection with +it, and that I know nothing whatever about coal, barring the strictly +domestic variety that appears in the family grate.” + +“Thank God at least for that! Well, if it isn’t coal that has brought +you here, what is it?” + +“A train that refused to carry us on to Penzance, as we desired, and +apparently preferred to deposit us here. We’re staying over night and +going on to-morrow morning.” + +“I thought as much. It was too good to be true. No one stops at Crannack +longer than they can help. Where are you putting up?” + +Dennis told him, and he replied: “That’s not far from my digs. Are you +going back there now? If so, we may as well walk together, and you can +support my fainting footsteps if necessary. I say—will you?” + +There was so much boyish eagerness in the tone, that Dennis laughed. “Of +course I will. Come along.” + +Alan put on his coat, bade good-night to the three men, and he and +Dennis set off together down the dark road. At the bottom of the hill, +the clustered lights of the town twinkled sleepily. + +“It doesn’t look so bad at night,” remarked Alan, “but in the +daytime—Lord, the ugliness and the filth of it! And the ugliness and the +filth of the people, too. Not that it’s their fault, poor devils. The +material is good enough in itself—it’s the use that’s being made of it.” + +“But,” said Dennis, “whatever are _you_ doing here, in this place that +you hate, and among these people to whom you don’t belong?” + +Impatiently Alan replied: “My father sent me here to study +mining-engineering after I left Oxford. He owns several more or less +prosperous coal-mines up in Lancashire, and he’s having this one +developed as a speculation. He wants me to take over the management of +it. So I’m supposed to be learning the ropes—seeing how the thing’s +done—or how the maximum of profit can be ground out of the minimum of +expenditure; financial expenditure of course; not expenditure of human +life.” + +“But I thought that everything in mortal power had been done to reduce +the liability of accidents in mines; is the expenditure of life really +so great?” + +“Greater than it need be. Oh, we have sanitary inspectors nosing around, +and plastering up the Government regulations, and finding everything to +their satisfaction—but all the same, every lump of coal that is burnt is +soaked in blood, human blood....” The boy was talking with a curious +vehemence and excitement—vehemence and excitement that seemed to have +been long pent-up. “Sometimes we have quicksand, and sometimes we have +floods, and sometimes we have fire-damp and explosions, and sometimes we +have all the lot.... You can see the results: you’ve only to look at the +blind and the cripples and the consumptive wrecks in the streets. It’s +in the pits that they’ve lost their sight and their limbs and their +health, grubbing in the dark, in the foul air, so that capitalists like +my father may grow sleek.” + +“That’s socialist-talk, isn’t it?” + +“Not only talk; I’m going to _do_....” + +“What can you do—what is there to be done about it?” + +“That’s what I’m trying to find out; and the only way to find out is to +do what I’m doing now.” + +“Well...?” Dennis looked at the boy limping along at his side; saw his +face, white and dim, in the darkness, the clean line of the jaw and +throat. It might have been the face of a young knight, Dennis thought; a +young knight ardent and fearless, setting out to combat evils as old as +the world.... + +Alan replied: “I’m living with the people and among them and beside +them. My father thinks I’m safely wrapped in cotton-wool, and that +sometimes the head-engineer takes me round the mine in state, with very +clean hands, while the miners touch their caps to me and say ‘Yes, sir,’ +when out of my graciousness I put the asinine questions that show I’m +taking an intelligent interest in my father’s property.... But I’ve +worked in the mine day by day myself, I tell you, and come out as grimy +and ready for drink as the rest. It’s no use standing at the top of the +shaft and wondering—I must get at things from the inside—discover +exactly where these Labour conditions of ours are wrong, and how to +improve them.” + +“You’ve got your work cut out! Forgive me for saying so, but you seem so +young to be attempting so much.” + +Alan grinned and swung his arms a little. “I’ll give all the youth and +nerves and strength that are in me, if by giving them I can achieve my +ends.” + +“I think you will achieve them,” murmured Dennis. He was suddenly lost +in admiration of the earnestness, the virility and the steadfastness of +purpose on the part of one who still seemed—he could not help coming +back to it—such a child. + +“Don’t you ever let yourself play?” he asked. + +Alan laughed. “Oh, Lord, yes. I go down to the harbour and mess about +with the old boats, old iron and rusty cranes. And I watch the kids +digging up winkles out of the mud at low tide. And I sit on barrels and +let the seamen tell me their yarns, specially concocted on the spur of +the moment for landlubbers like myself. That was play-time just now, up +at the smithy.... Well, you saw how that ended!” + +He was limping badly now. Dennis put an arm through his as they crossed +the glaring market-place, and once again found themselves in the +darkness of a side-street, rising steeply from the wharf-side. Alan led +the way into one of the houses, lit a candle-end which he found on a +shelf in the hall and painfully climbed the wooden stairs to his room. +Dennis followed. The light from the guttering candle wavered and +flickered in the draught from under the front door, and cast grotesque, +elongated shadows of the two men upon the opposite wall. Dennis had time +to reflect that here indeed he had stumbled into a strange adventure, +but he was in no mind to withdraw from it. Alan lit the candles in his +room. It was small and bare, but the walls were covered with pen-and-ink +sketches and caricatures nailed up with drawing-pins. + +“Are those yours?” asked Dennis, and Alan replied: “Yes; that’s how I +keep myself from going crazy with depression.” + +“They’re good, by Jove,” said Dennis; the drawings, indeed, some of them +only half-finished, were exceptionally strong. “Living in the wilds +doesn’t seem to have spoilt your technique.” + +Alan looked pleased. “Greatest effect in the fewest possible +lines—that’s what I tried to get.” + +“And that’s what you have got, no doubt of it. I must look at the +drawings closer later on, but let me see to your foot first. One puts +oil on a burn, doesn’t one? Have you got any?” + +The landlord eventually produced a doubtful-looking compound in a +bottle; and Dennis removed his handkerchief from Alan’s foot, and began +to bandage it afresh. As he did so, a quick spasm of pain passed across +the boy’s face, and Dennis thought again with an odd pang of tenderness, +how absurdly young he looked, and how his mother must love to stroke +back the dark hair from his forehead. There was a photograph of her on +the mantelpiece—a tired-looking woman with dull eyes and long slender +hands. The father, from his portrait, was evidently thick-set, with +side-whiskers and a self-assertive expression. A queer couple, they +seemed, to have bred this finely-strung creature with the tanned face, +sensitive level brows, and great black eyes that burned with a +smouldering fire. + +“Thanks awfully,” said Alan, as Dennis finished his task; “you’ve been a +god-send to me to-night. I was getting pretty near the end of my +tether—I do sometimes, you know. It’s the loneliness, and being so +completely cut off from everything down here. It’s been refreshing to +talk to an absolute stranger who doesn’t understand any of the +technicalities appertaining to this beastly mining-village.” + +Dennis smiled. “You’re right. I know nothing whatever about mining, and +not much about any trade or profession outside my own. You make me feel +fearfully narrow and selfish.” + +“Rot! What is your line?” + +“Music.” + +“Music? Oh, good.... I’ve not heard any music for over six months. +Sometimes I’m positively hungry for it—any sort of music—even a +barrel-organ.... If anyone played one of those tango-tunes that were all +the rage in London before I came down here, I believe I’d weep!” + +“Poor kid,” said Dennis. + +Alan went on: “Do you come from London?” + +“Near enough to be there as often as I want to.” + +“Oh, lucky beggar! To think of being in London +now—theatres—dancing—art-shows. They’ve got the Russian Ballet on too, +haven’t they?” + +“Yes, and the opera. Chaliapine is just beyond all powers of +description. I heard him in ‘Boris’ before I left.” + +Alan groaned. “We’re buried alive here. Not the humblest and shoddiest +of touring-companies comes to alleviate our boredom—we haven’t as much +as a picture-palace. The only diversions our people get are drink and +women, women and drink. If it were ‘Woman, wine and song,’ it wouldn’t +be so bad; but there’s no ‘song’ about the people’s lives in Crannack, +and in all the other places like it, that are dead to all beauty, and +are mere sores on the face of the earth.... And you come from London—I +look at you positively with awe—and you’re going back there, when is it? +To-morrow?” + +“We’re going to Penzance to-morrow.” + +“Oh, what’ll you do at Penzance?” Alan exclaimed impatiently, “it’s an +awful hole, not much better than this—and without even me in it, as a +redeeming feature....” + +“I am going to be shown the beauties of the Cornish coast, not to hunt +for social reformers tossing red-hot horse-shoes in blacksmiths’ shops! +And anyway,” Dennis added in a lower voice, “I shouldn’t find one like +you. I shouldn’t find anything half as good....” + +Alan glanced up with a quick flush of pleasure. “You’ve liked meeting +me, then.... Ah, but you can’t have liked it half as much as I’ve liked +meeting you. Think of it—after all this time and among these people, +suddenly to come across another human being from the world I’ve almost +forgotten!” + +Dennis said half-aloud: “Consider the even greater wonder of meeting +someone from a world that one didn’t know really existed—that one had +scarcely dared to dream into existence.” + +Alan cried eagerly: “Then you’ll stop on here for a bit, won’t you? Give +a poor starving wretch a chance! I want to hear you talk about London +with the London voice; I want to be able to talk about ideas instead of +machinery; and I want to hear your music—do you play the piano? I +haven’t got one ... but I believe there’s one up at the Sunday-school. +You will stop, won’t you?” + +It would be cruel to refuse Alan’s request. In spite of the magnitude of +the task which the boy had set himself, and although he was engrossed in +it heart and soul, he was still young enough to want his play-time, +genuine play-time; not the play-time of which, ironically he had told +Dennis.... He was asking for his play-time now, but Dennis knew that he +must not yield; must tear himself away from a danger doubly dangerous, +because, far from wishing to avoid it, he longed to succumb to it. + +He said, with an effort to play for safety: “I can’t tell you off-hand. +I must consult my pal, and see what he says....” He could not quite +bring himself to make his refusal absolutely definite just yet.... “But +our train doesn’t leave till eleven in the morning, so perhaps if your +foot’s well enough, you’ll come round and see what we’re doing.” He had +quite decided that he must go, but at least by this arrangement, he +would see Alan again before he left. “Ask for Dennis Blackwood, if you +turn up.” + +“I’ll turn up all right,” said Alan. + +Dennis walked back to rejoin Crispin. He felt oddly stimulated, oddly +excited. And all night long his heart throbbed to a new and strange +music; and his brain found utterance for that music that was as virile +and splendid as the one who had inspired it. + +It was not the music that he had promised to Antoinette. He did not +write to Antoinette that night, nor the next night, nor the night +after.... + + * * * * * + +Alan came round to the hotel early next morning, and burst into Dennis’s +room. + +“Well, what have you decided? Where’s your pal? I’ll murder him, if he +doesn’t agree to your stopping.” + +Dennis was kneeling on the floor, packing his bag; and he spoke without +looking up. “You needn’t murder him, Alan; but I’m not going to stop.” + +The boy said after a moment’s silence: “Why...?” Then hotly, almost +pitifully he began to plead: “When I’ve only just found you—and when I +needed you most.... Why must you go? Why?” + +Dennis picked up a roll of manuscript-music. “This will tell you why, +Alan, if you can understand it. I wrote it out for you this morning. It +will tell you all that I mustn’t tell you in words, or—or”—he clenched +his hands desperately and continued: “You can play it to yourself, boy, +on the piano at the Sunday-school, after I’m gone....” + + * * * * * + +The secret terror that had beset him ever since he was a boy, was upon +him, urging him to flight; secret terror, unavowed, unshared, upon which +even in thought he had scarcely allowed himself to dwell ... terror that +nevertheless had been part and parcel of his being, since the first dawn +of adolescence. + +Different from the others, even in his schooldays; different, not only +by reason of his music. It was not his music alone that he had striven +to keep out, when he had avoided Eric Rubenstein.... He must be for ever +an outcast amongst men, shunned by them, despised and mocked by them. He +was maddened by fear and horror and loathing of himself. + +Abnormal—perverted—against nature—he could hear the epithets that would +be hurled against him, and that he would deserve. Yes, but what had +nature been about, in giving him the soul of a woman in the body of a +man? + +And beyond all powers of reasoning; beyond the fear, and the horror, and +the loathing, the thought of Alan reasserted itself, and the blinding +pain that had been inflicted at parting from him. + +The train pounded onwards—westwards—Dennis cared little enough whither +it bore him. He knew only that it carried him away from that which all +his life long he had sought, and from which he now must flee, in order +that it might not become shameful. + +Shameful—strange that such a word might ever be applied to love such as +his for Alan; love that had grown up in one night of happiness, and that +every instinct bade him welcome with glad lips and eyes and heart ... +love that was so strong that it would not die even under the torture +that was in store. + + + CHAPTER VIII + +“... It will be such a nice surprise for Dennis,” mused Mrs. Blackwood, +as she stamped the letter inviting Antoinette de Courcy to spend the +following week-end at Eastwold. “If I tell Mrs. Ryan she’s a great +friend of Doreen’s, and staying in the house, she can’t possibly object +to our bringing her along to the dance.” Mrs. Blackwood reflected +further that in the event of Mrs. Ryan’s proving averse from the +prospect of having yet another to add to her list of girls, she must be +propitiated by the offer of the loan of lemonade-glasses or fish-forks. +Perhaps even, if necessary, Susan, her inestimable parlour-maid, might +be thrown in as a make-weight. One was always neighbourly about these +little things in Eastwold. + +It was Mrs. Blackwood’s “At Home” that afternoon; she expected Mrs. Ryan +and her daughters; and no doubt they could come to some satisfactory +arrangement, whereby Antoinette’s invitation to the fancy dress ball +could be secured. But she would not send off the letter to Antoinette +until she had made quite sure. Mrs. Ryan, as the wife of the richest +stockbroker in Eastwold, was considered a very important personage; and +her dance was undoubtedly a fitting climax to the season of 1914, and +one not to be lightly trifled with.... To-day was July 16th, the dance +was on the 24th. Dennis would be back by then. In her last letter, Mrs. +Blackwood had asked him to make a point of being back, but of course she +had not said why.... She was well pleased with her little scheme, as she +waited in the pretty sun-flooded drawing-room for her guests to arrive. +The chintz furniture-covers that had just come back from the cleaner’s +gave the room a bright and cheerful appearance; there were flowers out +of the garden in all the vases; and the piano was heavily laden with +silver-framed photographs of the four children at various ages and +stages of development. The French windows stood wide open, and the +shouts of the tennis-players were clearly audible in the still air. +Doreen and Ottilie, and their partners, Tom Sanderson and Hugh +Clavering, were trying to finish a set before tea. Mrs. Blackwood could +hear Doreen’s pretty laugh; and Tom’s noisy exhortation to Ottilie to +“run for her life”; and Hugh’s praise of Doreen’s neat strokes; and +Ottilie’s punctilious counting, as vigorously she served into the net. +“Lof-fifteen—lof-zirty—lof-forty—Ach, such a camel _ist noch nicht +dagewesen_!” + +Mrs. Blackwood wondered if it wouldn’t be possible to get up a tennis +tournament while Antoinette was staying with them. They could have it on +the Saturday after the dance; then there would be Clive and Lily to +play; Antoinette and Dennis; one of the Ryan girls and Tom Sanderson; +Doreen and Hugh—Doreen and the doctor’s handsome son from next door +always seemed to pair off together automatically, so why thwart the +designs of nature? The 25th—Reggie would be home from school by then; +perhaps he could be bribed to pick up the balls, if it was a very hot +day; she wondered how many socks and handkerchiefs would have been lost +in the wash again this term, and if he had already grown out of those +coloured shirts she had bought him last holidays.... + +Her reflections were cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Ryan with her +daughters Millie and Amy. They were followed by Miss Simpkins, a funny +little old maid, wearing stout boots and a multitude of charms and +bangles, with which she continually fidgeted. + +Mrs. Blackwood shook hands with her guests. “This is nice of you, Mrs. +Ryan. And you’ve brought the girls, too. Doreen and Ottilie will be here +directly—they’re just finishing a game. Dear Miss Simpkins, how are you? +You’ve had a very long way to come.” + +“Oh, not so very long,” chirped the little spinster. “I met Mrs. Ryan, +and she gave me a lift in her carriage. Wasn’t it _kind_ of her?” + +“Very kind,” assented Mrs. Blackwood. + +“Not at all,” Mrs. Ryan pronounced with dignity, “if one happens to be +fortunately placed oneself, one naturally likes to do what one can for +others.” She had very white hair, a very red face, and very thick black +brows; a combination that was awe-inspiring rather than pleasing; and +she wore an obviously expensive, but quite unsuitable hat which, by +means of a high bandeau, was prevented from entertaining any definite +relations with her head. Her elder daughter, Millie, was pretty in an +insignificant way, with yellow hair and a good complexion, but she had a +slightly strained expression that made her look older than her age. She +wore a coat and skirt of light grey cloth, and an unbecoming straw hat +with a feather. Amy was nineteen and a fluffier edition of her sister. +She spoke with a lisp, and wore a costume cut like Millie’s, only in +pale blue, and the same kind of hat with a wreath of daisies round it, +instead of a feather. + +“I expect you are all getting very excited about the dance,” Mrs. +Blackwood began, “I’m sure my young people are.” + +“We won’t ask you what they’re wearing,” said Millie, “the costumes are +all to be surprises. It adds to the fun.” + +“Oh, certainly,” Mrs. Blackwood agreed. “And it was so thoughtful of you +to make the fancy dress optional for the men. Of course, my boys don’t +mind a bit, but I know some who hate putting on fancy dress—they think +it makes them look ridiculous.” + +“It’th a pity,” lisped Amy, “becauthe it’th tho much prettier if +everybody ith drethed up, ithn’t it? I mean—for the thpirit of the +thing.” + +“My dear, it’s hard enough to get sufficient men, as it is....” Millie, +rather bitterly, voiced the preponderating sentiment of a community in +which there were never enough men to go round. + +“I’m sure _you_ never suffer from lack of partners, Millie,” her mother +interposed, and Millie quickly took her cue. + +“No—no, of course not; I’m always all right.” + +“Tho am I!” giggled Amy. + +“So I should think,” said Mrs. Ryan proudly, “after having seen the +programme you brought home from the last subscription dance at the Town +Hall. It was scrawled all over with ‘T.S.’—that’s Tom Sanderson, you +know ... he’s been most attentive ever since; drops in quite informally +at all hours of the day. And,” with an arch glance at her younger +daughter, “I think it’s easy to tell the reason why!” + +“That was my dance-programme you saw, Mamma....” Millie had listened to +the foregoing with a gradually stiffening face. + +“Was it, my dear?” Mrs. Ryan laughed indulgently, “well, you really +can’t expect me to remember all your conquests apart, can you, now?” +Millie looked sullen and her mother continued: “I met Tom yesterday and +told him we were coming here this afternoon, and he said he might be +calling in too.” + +“Yes, he’s playing tennis with the girls now ...” said Mrs. Blackwood, +making her point. + +Mrs. Ryan’s face dropped; then she recovered herself with a swift +counter-attack. “Of course we’re delighted that you are allowing Doreen +to come to the dance, Mrs. Blackwood, even though she’s not really ‘out’ +yet. But don’t you think it’s rather a pity to let her pretend to be +grown-up before her time?” + +Little Miss Simpkins sighed sentimentally. “Yes, a young girl’s bloom is +her chief charm, isn’t it? Her freshness....” + +“Oh, I don’t know that it’s so very much before her time,” Mrs. +Blackwood smiled, “she’s seventeen and a half ... and putting her hair +up, too, for the first time, in honour of your dance.” + +Mrs. Ryan thought that this was an honour with which she could easily +have dispensed; it was most undesirable that a child like Doreen should +enjoy the same privileges as girls who really had a right to them. +Doreen was quite unnecessarily pretty, and it wasn’t fair on the other +girls that she, at her age, should already absorb a quantity of the male +attention, that should have been directed towards her elders and +betters.... But before Mrs. Ryan could say anything more, the +tennis-players came in from the garden, all very flushed, and Ottilie +still inclined to be argumentative with herself about the badness of her +playing. + +“Well, young people, have you had a nice game?” Mrs. Blackwood beamed +upon the quartette. + +“Splendid!” cried Hugh Clavering, looking at Doreen, “hot work, though, +when you’ve got to live up to a partner like mine.” + +Doreen blushed and murmured: “Oh, Hugh ...” as she shook hands with the +Ryans. + +“Not nearly such hot work as dancing these days,” remarked Tom +Sanderson, gulping down his tea. He was a nice, fresh-faced boy of +twenty-two; reputed to be the best rider in the county; and endowed with +a divine gift for saying the wrong thing, and appearing utterly +oblivious of having done so. + +“Do you really find dancing such hard work, Tom?” queried Mrs. Ryan with +some acerbity. + +“Yes, rather, don’t you?” retorted the ingenuous youth; “takes it out of +you, you know, luggin’ your partner round and round, especially if you +can’t get into each other’s stride.” + +“Well, I trust you won’t find much difficulty with your partners on the +24th....” + +“The 24th—why, I’d almost forgotten. Going to be great sport, what? +Weather looks settled, too. You’ll be able to use the garden for +sitting-out.” + +Amy nodded vigorously. “Yeth, all decorated with fairy-lighth and +Chinethe lanternth and thingth.” + +Mrs. Ryan turned to her hostess. “Dennis is sure to be here for the +dance, isn’t he? One likes to know how many to count on, even though, as +I say, when you’ve got to beyond fifty, another half dozen or so doesn’t +make any difference.” + +“Oh, yes, Dennis will be back,” replied Mrs. Blackwood, “but you can’t +count on him as a dancing-man, you know.” + +“Non-starter, eh?” said Tom with his mouth full. + +“Oh, Denny likes different things to what we do,” Doreen was always +ready to rise in defence of her favourite brother, “he prefers getting +up early in the morning and going for long walks by himself, to dancing +or playing tennis.” + +“I thpothe that’th when he geth hith inthpirathionth—early in the +morning,” suggested Amy. + +“How wonderful the artistic temperament is ...” sighed Miss Simpkins, +“don’t you sometimes feel quite _overawed_, Mrs. Blackwood, to think +that you’ve got such a clever composer for your own son?” + +“I must admit that the dear boy doesn’t try to make his family feel +small beside him,” Mrs. Blackwood laughed, “he’s most modest about his +work.” + +“A charming young fellow,” concurred Mrs. Ryan, “but it’s a pity he’s +not a dancer. Perhaps we can persuade him to play us some of his +compositions, though, while the band has supper.” + +Remembering Amberhurst, Mrs. Blackwood thought this extremely unlikely; +but passed the matter over in silence, and suggested that as Doreen +would be having a friend to stay with her next week— + +But before the words were out of her mouth, and before she had time to +dangle Susan and the cutlery in front of Mrs. Ryan’s eyes, the door +opened to admit Mr. Griggs. + +He was greeted on all sides by shouts of welcome, to which he replied, +beaming and rubbing his hands: “Really, this is too much—I am +overwhelmed—so much kindness.... I expected I should find a large +gathering here, all chatting about the dance next Friday, and I’m not +disappointed!” + +“Of course we’re relying on you, as one of our best dancers, to make +things go,” said Mrs. Ryan graciously. + +Griggs sat down beside Amy, who was looking very animated. “You can +trust me for that, Mrs. Ryan.” + +“You’ll come early, won’t you?” pleaded Amy, “it thayth nine o’clock on +the invitathionth, but it’th nithe to thtart booking up before the +danthe really beginth, tho we athk all our thpethial friendth to come at +ten _to_ nine.” + +“Ten to nine it shall be, Miss Amy,” cried Griggs, “or I might come at +half past eight and be mistaken for a waiter or part of the orchestra!” + +“But the waiters and the orchestra won’t be in fancy dress, as I hope +_you_ will be, Mr. Griggs,” said Mrs. Ryan, very benign. + +“Your hopes are not unfounded, Mrs. Ryan.... Of course I shall be in +fancy dress, I’m not one of your ‘optional’ shirkers. I wouldn’t dream +of missing such an opportunity to—ah—improve my noble features. I’m +coming as——” + +“Don’t tell, don’t tell,” Amy broke in excitedly, “let it be a +thurprithe.” + +“Very well, Miss Amy, I will be mute as the grave.... What about +starting the advance-booking right away? Let me see, have I got any +paper in my pocket? No? Well, what’s a cuff for? May I claim the honour +of the first lancers, Miss Millie?” + +“... Such a dear girl,” Mrs. Blackwood started for the second time, +“Doreen is so fond of her.” + +“It’s her first dance in England, isn’t it?” responded Mrs. Ryan, +thinking she meant Ottilie; “well, I hope she’ll be favourably +impressed.” + +“Could she be otherwise, Mrs. Ryan...?” Griggs’ voice vibrated with +emotion. + +“Ach, I shall remain sitting all ze night,” said Ottilie in accents of +gloom. + +Tom chuckled irrepressibly. “How will you manage that?” + +Ottilie repeated with conviction: “I shall remain sitting—I know it +_ganz gewiss_.” + +“She means she’ll be a wallflower,” translated Doreen, and Griggs cried: +“We Britishers aren’t the people to let a fascinating foreign lady be a +wallflower for long. When Miss Ottilie returns to the Fatherland, she’ll +be able to tell them so, won’t she?... And now, Miss Simpkins, what may +I have the pleasure of booking with you?” + +Miss Simpkins blushed and giggled. “Why, Mr. Griggs, I shan’t be +there—what do you imagine? An old woman like me....” + +“Oh, Miss _Simpkins_ ...” with gallant indignation. + +“It’s just a boy-and-girl affair, Mr. Griggs,” put in Mrs. Ryan, and +thought it just as well to make no mention of the fact that some of the +parents of the “boys and girls” were being invited to watch their +progeny disporting themselves, and perhaps to have a quiet game of +Bridge. The cosmogony of Eastwold fell naturally into two groups; +elderly married people, and young people to be married. There was no +room in the scheme for Miss Simpkins and her like, who did not come +under either of these headings.... + +For the third time, Mrs. Blackwood came forward with her request, and +this time Mrs. Ryan was left under no illusion as to its nature. +“Another girl, and a very good dancer, you say? We shall be +delighted....” For the sake of her prestige, she had to pretend that +this was the case. “Any friend of Doreen’s is welcome, and I’m sure _my_ +girls won’t mind sitting out a dance now and then, if it’s to give a +visitor a chance.” + +“Oh, you needn’t fear that Miss de Courcy will be a drag upon the +market,” exclaimed Griggs with less tact than enthusiasm, “there’ll be +no difficulty in getting partners for _her_!” + +Mrs. Ryan said that she was glad to hear it, and inwardly boiling with +annoyance, turned to Mrs. Blackwood to exact her full toll of +fish-knives, lemonade-glasses, Susan, and whatever else Mrs. Blackwood +had to offer her. + +The invitation to Antoinette was sent that night; and Antoinette, +receiving it next morning, was conscious of a reawakened interest in +life. It had indeed been depressingly dull and flat, ever since Hester +had ceased to fill her thoughts, and there had been no word from Dennis. +His sudden silence was strange to the verge of uncanniness. That last +letter of his had not given the slightest indication of the silence that +was to follow it; the conversation—his letters were really more like +very intimate conversations, than like written epistles—was to have been +continued the next day. And it had not been continued. It was as if +someone, in the middle of a sentence, had been struck dumb. + +And now his mother had invited her to Eastwold—asked her to bring a +fancy dress for the dance—_good!_ It would be great fun to see Dennis +Blackwood again, and dance with him—she assumed that he would be +there—and to solve the mystery of his extraordinary behaviour. She +decided to go as a Bacchante; and Grand’mère raised her hands and her +voice in horror at the unmaidenly abandonment of a costume that would +assuredly frighten away all the prospective “partis” her hostess +intended her to meet at the dance.... + +Henriette, who secretly shared Madame de Courcy’s opinion of the +costume, but did not like to say so, talked in a large, vague manner +about not cramping a young soul’s development; and Grand’mère, with one +of her not infrequent lapses into coarseness, replied that it wasn’t +Antoinette’s soul which the prospective “partis” would be thinking of. + +Anatole, for the sake of keeping up his parental authority, remarked +that he didn’t care for his daughter going to stay with people he did +not know. But Antoinette paid no heed to any of them. She set out once +more with a light heart, brimful of high spirits, and ready for anything +in the shape of an adventure, which the gods might see fit to offer her. + +She was met at the station by Doreen and Reggie; and was greeted by the +former with affectionate enthusiasm, and by the latter with becoming +restraint. Doreen explained volubly that Reggie had come down from his +preparatory school that morning; that Clive was expected by a later +train from London; that Dennis hadn’t turned up at all—wasn’t it a +shame?—and that she hoped Antoinette wouldn’t mind having tea in the +nursery—they always had it in the nursery to please Nanna, on Reggie’s +first day home from school.... + +Antoinette replied that she would love to have tea in the nursery, but +secretly regretted that Dennis had not arrived. It looked as if her +anticipations were doomed to disappointment after all. + +They walked through the little town, and up a steep sunny road, bordered +on either side by neat villa residences with neat carriage-drives and +neat gardens planted with neat shrubbery and flower-beds. Further on, +there were larger houses, separated from each other by wider spaces of +garden, houses built in imitation of the old-fashioned cottage-style, +with gabled roofs and rough white walls with black beams running across +them. These houses represented the imaginative flights of Tom +Sanderson’s father, the architect; and the one which bore upon its gate +the words “The Hermitage,” was the home of the Blackwoods. + +Mrs. Blackwood’s welcome was hearty enough, but Antoinette thought that +she seemed worried and restless, and that beneath her continuous light +chatter, some real trouble or disturbance lay concealed. Doreen +conducted her to the spare bedroom with its little wooden balcony and +wide view of the Downs. Appreciatively Antoinette took in the details of +the room; the bright flowered wall-paper; the names of the books on the +revolving stand—“Wild Kitty,” by L. T. Meade; “What Katy Did at School”; +... one or two Hentys; “Alice in Wonderland,” of course ... a room, +reflected Antoinette, in which to feel very girlish and happy. + +Half an hour later, a large party was enjoying nursery tea, presided +over by the old nurse who had brought up all the four Blackwood +children. The long table was richly spread with home-made cakes and +jams; Nanna sat at the head of it, with Reggie and Clive on either side +of her; Lily Hallard, Clive’s fiancée, was between him and Doreen; and +Antoinette was between Ottilie and Reggie. Mrs. Blackwood had said that +she would not join the nursery party, as she had already had tea, and +was busy. She would see them all later on.... + +Nanna brooded fondly upon their faces, occasionally admonishing her +favourite with: “Now, Master Reggie, my lamb, remember you’re not at +school: it’s butter _and_ jam in the holidays....” + +Reggie responded: “Good job!” but the reminder was superfluous, in view +of the thickly-buttered and jam-smeared slice of bread that he was +conveying to his lips during conversation as well as in the intervals. +He and Clive were at present engaged in trying to disguise from each +other their pleasure at seeing each other again; and their talk was +conducted with the careful indifference worthy of the traditions of +Westborough and all the other Westboroughs in the United Kingdom. + +Reggie said: “Some of our fellows did rifle-practice this term.” + +Clive said: “Daresay we could fix up a target in the garden.” + +Reggie said: “Daresay we could.” + +After a pause, Clive re-opened: “Your last term at the prep. school, +isn’t it?” + +Reggie nodded with his mouth full. + +“Like to have that old bat of mine to take to Westborough?” + +“The one you made a century with in the house-match against St. +Winstan’s—ra-ther!” for one instant Reggie defied tradition by showing +enthusiasm; then quickly he retrieved himself: “Daresay I could do with +it....” + +Antoinette decided that she did not like Clive’s fiancée. She had an +aggressive personality, a shiny complexion, large hands and untidy dark +hair. Doreen had previously explained that all these were outward and +visible signs of “brains.” Lily went up to town daily to a School of +Economics, and usually came back in the evening by the same train as +Clive and Mr. Blackwood, and the other male denizens of Eastwold, whom +business and the excellent train service took to London for the day, and +restored to their families at night. + +“I had to cut a class this afternoon,” Lily was grumbling, “all because +of that beastly dance to-night. I do think dancing’s rot!” + +Clive agreed with her, but Doreen protested. “How can you say so? I +think dancing’s simply ripping—at least, I’ve only been to parties and +the dancing-class ... but real grown-up dances, like this one, must +be—Oh, just perfect!” Doreen’s eyes were very bright, her lips +tremulously parted. She was thinking of Hugh Clavering from next door. +He had engaged her for the supper-dance, and for ever so many other +dances besides, and he was so strong and fair and sunny, with his golden +hair and laughing grey eyes. + +The whole atmosphere of the house appealed to Antoinette, typically +English atmosphere different enough from that of her own foreign +home—the old nurse at the head of the table; the schoolboy just home for +the holidays; Doreen’s excitement over her first dance.... But she did +wish that Dennis were here: she wondered how he fitted into the picture. + +Ottilie, for the hundredth time that week, was expressing the conviction +that she would “remain sitting.” + +“And when my dancers see I cannot dance in ze English vay, zey vill bow +zemselves and leave me.” + +“They can’t do that,” Antoinette consoled her. “In England, once a man +is engaged to a girl for a dance, he’s got to stick to her for better or +for worse. He can’t just plant her there and run away, if he doesn’t +like her.” + +“Not?” queried Ottilie doubtfully. + +“Of course not.” + +“_Verrückt_ ...” muttered Ottilie. + +“It’s different in Germany,” Antoinette went on, “I’ve been to dances +there myself, so I know. A man introduces himself to a girl, whirls her +twice round the room, and throws her back again into the arms of her +chaperone where she waits for her next partner. But here it’s one dance, +one partner. You can’t give bits of the same dance to different men.” + +Ottilie looked puzzled. “And to supper? In Heidelberg sometimes sree and +four dancers have me to supper engaged.” + +“In Eastwold, Ottilie,” Clive spoke with authority from his end of the +table, “you will have one supper-partner, and one only.” + +“And lucky if you get him ...” muttered Reggie. Ottilie as a type did +not appeal to him. + +“Don’t be rude, Reg,” cried Doreen, but he continued irrepressibly: +“Ottilie’s going as ‘Britannia’ ... what a rag!” + +“Well, and I’m going as a Dresden Shepherdess—there’s nothing funny +about that, stupid.” Doreen was staunch in her defence of her friend. + +“What a nice idea,” said Antoinette, “a compliment to each other’s +nationality. It’s like foreign potentates wearing the uniform of which +ever country they’re visiting—oh, Reggie, dear, have you swallowed a +plum-stone?” For Reggie, in the simultaneous appreciation of her remark, +and an extra large mouthful of bread and jam, was slowly but surely +choking himself into an apoplectic fit. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Blackwood had not had tea; neither did she want any. She sat alone +in the drawing-room, as she had done for the greater part of the +afternoon, hoping against hope, and wondering and wondering if the next +train would bring Dennis, or the next. She had had no definite word to +say that he was coming; still, he knew that she expected him to-day ... +she was used to his indefiniteness in the matter of letters or telegrams +... perhaps he wanted to surprise her.... He was sure to come, knowing +that she expected him. She had to cling to the certainty of his coming, +to stave off as long as possible her inevitable disappointment if he did +not come. + +But when at last Dennis himself stood in the opening of the French +window, just for one second she wondered if it were really he, or if all +her wishing had conjured up an image that would vanish.... + +“My dear, dear boy,” her arms were round him now, “so you’ve come in +time after all. What a fright you gave me. I’d promised Mrs. Ryan that +you were coming, and it would have been so awkward if you hadn’t turned +up.” + +He repeated in a dazed kind of way: “In time for what? Turned up—where?” +And she saw that his face was drawn, and that his eyes were full of an +unutterable weariness. + +“Mrs. Ryan’s dance, of course, dear.” She was making a pitiful attempt +to ignore the things that she saw, “it’s to-night—I wrote to you; didn’t +you get my letter?” + +He shook his head. “No—or perhaps I did, and—and forgot. I don’t +know....” + +They looked at each other; he battling with the longing to go to her, +and hide his head on her breast, and tell her everything; and she, +struggling against this strange terror of something unknown, not +understood, that had befallen her son. + +“It’s a fancy dress dance ...” she faltered with stiff lips. + +He almost smiled. A fancy dress dance—well, why not? Since the whole of +his life henceforth must be a masquerade, a travesty to disguise every +impulse, thought and feeling; to make them appear not different from +other people’s impulses, thoughts and feelings.... + +The dread in his mother’s heart, shadowy and shapeless, tightened its +grip. What had been done to him? What shuddering depths of unhappiness +had brought that look to his face? But all her love for him could not +give her sight where she was blind. Was there nothing with which she +could heal him? She clutched at a faint hope. “I’ve got a surprise for +you, dear. I’ve asked Miss de Courcy down for the dance—she’s here +already—in the nursery with the others. Won’t you go up to them?” + +He heard himself saying: “Oh, good ...” and walked away, because he +could no longer bear to feel his mother’s troubled, searching gaze upon +him. He would go up to the nursery, and to the dance, and pretend that +he had come back on purpose for it, and pretend that he was glad to see +Antoinette— + +_Antoinette_.... If at least he had been spared—that. + +The shouts of the party in the nursery fell upon his ears, as he went +upstairs.... + + + CHAPTER IX + +Dennis, Clive and the three girls motored over to the dance, and sent +the car back for Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood, who were to come on later. It +was a very silent drive; Doreen tremulous with anticipation; Ottilie +despondent as usual. The symbolism of her costume was powerless to +disguise her true Teutonic instincts—no sooner was she arrayed in helmet +and shield, than Britannia immediately saw herself as Brunhilde, and +this despite the Union Jack swathed around her buxom figure. + +Antoinette was feverishly excited by that queer restraint that had +characterised Dennis’s manner ever since his first appearance in the +nursery that evening. If it was acting, she reflected, it was +phenomenally bad acting—too tense and white-lipped; altogether overdone. +But he had kept it up all through dinner, and he was keeping it up now, +though they sat opposite each other in the car, their knees almost +touching. He was not looking at her, but out of the window, and the +moonlight showed up the strained set expression of his face. What lay +behind it all, she wondered. When that elaborate restraint was broken +down, as undoubtedly it would be during the evening, what would she +find? + +Dinner had been an awkward meal. Mr. Blackwood had insisted on telling +Antoinette stories that made Mrs. Blackwood say reproachfully: “Oh, +Daddy _dear_ ...” and that left Antoinette in doubt as to whether it +were better to incur her hostess’s displeasure by laughing at them, or +that of her host by pretending not to understand them.... + +When they had almost reached their destination, Ottilie broke the +silence by saying to Dennis: “Your friend who so excellent piano +plays—comes he also to ze ball?” + +“I’m afraid not, Ottilie. I left him up in town this morning. Wild +horses wouldn’t drag Crispin to a dance, you know.” + +“_Schade_ ...” sighed Ottilie, regretting the wasted opportunities which +her costume, and Crispin’s appreciation of Wagner might have offered. + +When Doreen introduced Antoinette to Mrs. Ryan, that lady favoured the +bacchante with a glance not unlike the one with which Grand’mère had +surveyed her. Antoinette argued from this that she was looking her best, +and prepared to enjoy herself. Her clinging draperies of warm reds and +browns and purples, and the vine-leaves in her hair, made her look +distinctive enough among the crowd of pierrettes, fairy-queens, peasants +and columbines who clustered around the doorway of the drawing-room, +booking up their programmes. + +“I am delighted to welcome you here—Millie—Amy, this is Doreen’s friend, +Miss de Courcy; will you see that she gets some partners?” + +Amy, Queen of Hearts, with a golden paper crown upon a head of hair that +had been vigorously treated with curling-irons, rushed up to Antoinette. +“Tho glad to meet you—let me introduthe Mr. Thanderthon,” presenting a +very chubby Arab, “we’ve jutht been out in the garden to thee if +everthing ith all right, we’ve had flagth put on the theat in the +arbour, tho we than’t thpoil our dretheth....” + +Tom having booked his dance with Antoinette, she was handed on to +Millie, who wore a composite “national” costume, of which the main +ingredients were Dutch sabots, a black velvet bodice, a red gypsy +head-dress with coins attached to it, and two straggly little yellow +plaits reaching just to her shoulders. She introduced to Antoinette +several men whose programmes were already full, and turned to speak to +Mr. Griggs, resplendent in a hired “Charles II” costume, several sizes +too large, and a very luxuriant wig. The moment he espied Antoinette, he +hurried to her side, his would-be majestic gait somewhat impeded by his +sword, to which he was not yet accustomed. “Miss Antoinette, I am +charmed—charmed—to meet you again. The memory of Charlotte Corday still +lingers in my heart, I assure you, and though this time we meet in a +different guise, I trust we shall be as good friends as ever.... May I +have the pleasure of the second waltz?” suddenly reverting to the +business on hand. + +Antoinette accorded him the pleasure of the second waltz, and he +continued raptly to gaze at her. “That’s a very pretty dress you have +on—worthy of its wearer, if I may say so. There’s what you might call a +laissay-allay about it——” + +“Mr. Griggs,” interrupted the voice of Mrs. Ryan, “would you mind seeing +that Miss Holt has a supper-partner? I think she’s in the garden +now—dressed as a Draught Board, you know,” she added in a confidential +undertone, “we always have difficulty with her, and her people will be +so offended if they see her sitting out.” + +“She shall have a partner, if I have to bring her one by the scruff of +his neck,” vowed the gallant Griggs, and made for the iron stairs that +led down into the garden. + +“Oh, and—Mr. Griggs!” his hostess recalled him, “you will see they don’t +lift the girls off their feet in the third figure of the lancers, won’t +you?” + +“Your commands shall be obeyed, dear lady,” declared Griggs, and +promptly fell down the stairs. + +In the meantime Clive had dutifully booked two dances with Antoinette. +Handsome in his sullen, black-browed way, he looked very effective as an +Indian Chief. Lily had come as a Squaw to match him, but as she +disdained the use of external aids to nature, her complexion retained +its blameless European hue. + +The first waltz had already been played, Antoinette had been whirled +round by a perspiring Neptune, and her programme was nearly full, before +Dennis made any attempt to approach her. + +“Have you anything left for me?” His tone was carefully conventional. +She gave him a quick amused look, but as there was no answering twinkle +in his eye, assumed that he was not yet prepared to throw off the +restraint that was a more effectual disguise than any of the fancy +dresses could hope to be. Undoubtedly he was working up to a scene, and +had quite definite notions as to how the scene should be played. It was +far from her to complain. She appreciated the histrionic instinct +wherever she encountered it; and she was quite capable of giving him all +the support that he needed. + +She answered demurely: “Yes, I think I have one or two dances to spare.” + +“May I see?”—he scanned her programme—“I’m not a dancer, but perhaps +you’ll sit out the lancers with me?” + +“I shall be delighted,” murmured Antoinette. + +Mrs. Ryan tapped Dennis’s arm with the end of her ostrich feather fan. +“Naughty boy, not to have come in fancy dress.” + +He smiled. “I didn’t know in time, Mrs. Ryan.” + +“Didn’t you? What a pity. Of course you were on a walking tour. Cornwall +or somewhere like that, wasn’t it? Did you have a pleasant time?” + +“Very pleasant, thanks.” + +“I’m glad ... but I thought your mother had written to tell you it was a +_fancy dress_ dance?” + +“I think her letter must have been lost,” he lied piously. + +“Or perhaps it was you who lost it ... well, well, we must make +allowances for these great composers, I suppose. Tell me if there’s +anyone you’d like to be introduced to, won’t you? You know you’re quite +at home here.” + +Released from Mrs. Ryan’s expressions of unwonted amiability, Dennis +wandered down into the garden. The trees were hung with Chinese +lanterns; the paths picked out with coloured fairy-lights; on the lawn, +deck-chairs awaited the couples who, between the dances, would sit there +and whisper under the sighing trees. For him the whole scene was imbued +with that feeling of horror and oppression which characterizes a +nightmare; if he cried out, his voice would not be heard; if he +attempted to run away, his limbs would refuse to obey him.... Some +volition other than his own, was compelling him to act and speak as he +was doing, while part of himself was being tortured, beating against +prison bars ... crying out for help, for understanding to a world that +would neither help nor understand, but condemn him to eternal +suppression, eternal loneliness. This nightmare-sense had overlain the +whole of the last dreadful fortnight since he had left Crannack. +Passively he had let Crispin drag him round the Cornish coast. He had +not wanted to come home just yet, and Crispin at least was restful, +because he asked no questions ... no questions, even, concerning a +vivid-looking brown boy, who had burst into the little hotel at +Crannack, and asked to see Mr. Blackwood, and left again a few minutes +later with all the light gone out of his eyes.... And Mrs. Blackwood’s +letter, mentioning the dance, lay with some of her other letters in the +pocket of Dennis’s tweed suit; he had read them; but the names, the +dates, the local gossip she retailed, had conveyed absolutely nothing to +him. It was only by chance that he had returned to-day, returned because +he was tired of perpetually striving to banish from his mind a companion +who asked so much, and to whom he longed to give so much, and to whom he +might give—nothing. + +At home, at least there would not be those long hours of silent, hard +walking, dangerous hours when he had felt that he must take the next +train back to Crannack.... He could only keep away, by resolutely +shutting Alan out of his thoughts, admitting him but for rare seconds, +precious seconds, when the danger of returning to him was minimised by +the absence of such things as railway-connections. Even his imagination +must be forbidden too much free play.... And all the while, he felt that +he was being cruel to the boy in thus keeping him out; pleaded with him +in the nights when he lay sleepless and through the days when, +unheeding, he tramped along the beautiful Cornish roads: “Don’t you +understand that I can’t? That I daren’t? That it isn’t because I don’t +love you enough...?” + +Very tiring, this eternal struggle.... He had imagined that it might be +easier at home. And at home there had been Antoinette.... She fitted +into the nightmare well enough; he might have expected that she would be +in the very centre of it. But so far he had betrayed nothing; he had +done the correct thing, asked her for a dance ... and heaven alone knew +what he would say to her, when it was his turn to claim her for Number +6! + +Voices reached him where he sat in the shadow of a clump of trees. + +“That’s all right—I think we’re safe now. Griggs has been dogging me all +the evening with a Draught Board, he can’t get rid of her at any price.” +It was Neptune who spoke, and his companion, arrayed as Father +Christmas, responded: “Yes, for the Lord’s sake, let’s get a quiet +smoke. Griggs is the very dickens.... Always trying to introduce me to +Little Bo-peep. I don’t know if there are two of her, or if I’ve been +introduced twice over, or if I’m seeing double, but I don’t like either +of them.” + +“Awful rot, these fancy dress hops,” mused Neptune. Father Christmas +gloomily assented. “My sisters rigged me up like this—there was no +getting out of it.” + +“Whatever am I to do with this beastly trident thing? Every time I +forget it somewhere on purpose, some silly ass brings it after me and +says: ‘I think you’ve lost this.’” + +“Oh, just drop it here, and the crowd who call themselves Harvesters can +use it as a hay-fork. I wish to goodness I could leave this ghastly +beard behind too....” + +They strolled off into the more secluded portions of the garden, +grotesque figures moving across the background of Dennis’s nightmare. + +“Denny darling, I’m having a simply lovely time—even lovelier than I +knew it was going to be!” Doreen’s voice now.... The dainty little +Dresden Shepherdess tripped across the lawn to where her brother sat +smoking, “it’s such a pity you don’t dance, dear old thing, you do miss +a lot.” + +“Do I, Kid?” He smiled up at her radiant face. + +She breathed “Yes ...” and young Hugh, a slim and golden-haired Black +Knight from “Ivanhoe,” came and joined them. + +“Doreen and I both agree that it’s top-hole, being grown-up.” + +“Yes, but I’m only pretending just for to-night,” replied Doreen, “I +shan’t be really grown-up till I come back from Heidelberg next year.” + +“It’s rotten luck, your having to go there,” said Hugh. + +“I know, but you see, I must. I’m the exchange for Ottilie. She says +that girls of seventeen can go to grown-up dances over there, but being +grown-up in Germany isn’t the same as being grown-up here, is it?” + +“The insularity of your views is something appalling, my child,” teased +Dennis. + +Doreen pouted. “Well, it’s not the same, is it?” she appealed to Hugh. + +“Rather not!” he concurred, his eyes resting tenderly on her; then he +said to Dennis: “You and I are in luck to-night—I’ve got half the dances +on the programme with Doreen, and you’re out of it altogether. The other +poor chaps are having an awful thin time, trying to remember whom +they’re engaged to. There are so many duplicates—half a dozen Ophelias, +four Red Riding Hoods, innumerable Snow Queens, and two Queens of +Sheba—I thought there’d be murder there: did you see them glare at each +other when they first met?” + +“I suppose each thought the other was a distorted figment of her own +imagination, and was properly resentful on discovering that she wasn’t,” +said Dennis. + +Hugh gave his hearty, boyish laugh, and Doreen said, “I think +Antoinette’s costume is one of the prettiest, don’t you, Denny?” + +“And even that’s been duplicated three times over,” Hugh broke in, +“rotten imitations, I grant you. As Amy says, ‘they’re all drethed in +thkinth’.... I’ve booked dances with all of them—got ’em down on my +programme as ‘Tiger-skin,’ ‘Bunny-skin’ and ‘Hearthrug,’ to be able to +tell the difference.” + +“And ‘Hearthrug’s’ father is in the fur trade,” Doreen giggled +delightedly. “I heard Daddy say that she was a very bad +advertisement....” + +“Ah well, I daresay there wasn’t enough tiger-skin to go round,” mused +Dennis, “let us not be uncharitable.” + +“Let’s go across to the arbour, Doreen,” suggested the Black Knight, +“I’ll carry you, because you’ll get your shoes damp.” + +Doreen argued that as she had been standing on the grass all this time, +her shoes were already as damp as they were ever likely to be; but Hugh, +with a gallant show of mastery, picked her up in his arms and carried +her across the lawn. The figure of the Black Knight and the light blur +of Doreen’s dress receded from Dennis’s vision, as the sound of their +mingled voices faded from his hearing. + +He reflected quite dispassionately that it was odd that he should still +be able to talk to the others as if he were one of them; odd that they +should not divine the gulf that yawned between himself and them. But it +was a strain.... He became conscious afterwards of how great the strain +had been. He was alone again now, and could relax, grant himself a few +moments’ respite from effort. Wearily he wondered when and how the next +demand would be made upon him. He could hear voices not far off. + +“Shall we stay here for a little while, Miss Millie?” + +“Yes, I should like to, Mr. Griggs. I’m sure you deserve a rest after +all your hard work.” + +“Everything that I do in your service, is pleasure, Miss Millie.” + +“Oh, Mr. Griggs....” + +A very cross Little Boy Blue here interrupted the budding tête-à-tête. +“I say, Griggs, can you tell me whom I’m dancing the next with? I can’t +read what I’ve got on my programme.” He presented the crumpled programme +to Charles II, who rallied him in debonair fashion. “Now—now—now, what’s +all this? Someone’s always in trouble and coming to me for help. Can’t +say I admire your calligraphy, old chap—are these the lady’s initials?” +He deciphered slowly: “‘Goggle—eyes—and—flat—feet——’” + +Little Boy Blue snatched away the programme: “Not there, man, not +there—here!” + +“Oh, _here_ ... why, that’s Miss Baumgartner, surely—Britannia—or is it +the Queen of Sheba?” + +“I didn’t know we’d got the next one together too,” Little Boy Blue +stared reproachfully at his partner. + +“We haven’t,” retorted she coldly, “I’m engaged to Neptune.” + +“And Neptune’s dancing with Dolly Dickson, the other Queen of Sheba—I +just saw them go in,” said Millie. + +“If two people _will_ come as the same thing——” began Little Boy Blue +with resentment. + +“I should have thought it was easy enough to tell us apart,” said the +Queen of Sheba haughtily, “her costume’s home-made and mine came from +Clarkson’s.” + +“Yes, that was what the other one said too ...” murmured Little Boy +Blue, and evaporated into the shrubbery. Griggs palmed off the Queen of +Sheba on to an unsuspecting Highwayman, who had come out to have a +peaceful cigarette. Then he sank back into his chair and mopped his +manly forehead. + +“Poor Mr. Griggs,” cooed Millie, “how tired you must be.” + +“Oh, Miss Millie, I would willingly incur far greater fatigues if only +to hear you say ‘poor Mr. Griggs’ in just that tone....” He put his hand +to where the hilt of his sword should have been, but finding that he had +mislaid the sword, arrested the gesture half-way. “I love that costume +you’re wearing. National, isn’t it?” + +“Yes, national.” + +The voices became inaudible for a space, then—“I don’t know very many of +the steps—there are such different ways of doing it, aren’t there? But +perhaps if you’ll teach me....” + +“It will be a labour of love, Miss Millie.” + +... Retreating footsteps and silence. Then the music, faintly audible, +struck up again; but instead of the accustomed beat of waltz or +two-step, came the less familiar, haunting rhythm of a tango. + +“_If anyone played one of those tango-tunes that were all the rage in +London before I came down here, I believe I’d weep...._” + +Piercing through the stupor which, for the moment had numbed pain, came +memory, keen and poignant as a rapier-thrust. Alan was before him again, +looking up into his face with eager, burning eyes. + +“You can stay with me a minute, boy,” Dennis whispered to him, “there’s +nobody looking.... Would you like to be dancing the tango in there? I +could easily introduce you to Mrs. Ryan—she’d think you a delightful +acquisition.... How we could have laughed over all this together, you +and I.... Are you eating your heart out in loneliness, Alan, as I am—as +I am? You must go now—I—the others are coming....” + +Obediently the vision faded. + +The dancers were straggling out into the garden again, grouping +themselves upon the lawn. Griggs picked up the trident from the ground. +“What have we here? Anybody claim this valuable article? Is it yours, +Madam?” offering it to the home-made Queen of Sheba, who paused, +wondering perhaps if she could not use the weapon upon her rival from +Clarkson’s. + +“No, it’s not mine; it’s yours, isn’t it, Neptune?” + +“I’ve been trying to lose it all the evening,” he groaned, “can’t you +raffle it or use it as a tooth-pick or a toasting-fork? I don’t care +what you do with the damn thing!” + +Mrs. Ryan’s opulent aigrette appeared upon the balcony. + +“Not catching cold, any of you, I hope?” ... and in answer to the chorus +of: “Oh, no, Mrs. Ryan....” “It’s lovely out here....” “The garden looks +ripping....” “It’s such a perfect evening ...” the hostess nodded +benignly. “That’s right. I like to see you all enjoying yourselves—Oh, +what is it, Susan?” She turned to Mrs. Blackwood’s faithful retainer who +had been lent to her for the occasion, and who had come out on to the +balcony to speak to her. + +“Please, M’m, it’s the freezing-salt,” Susan announced in sepulchral +tones. + +“Well, what about it?” + +“It’s got into the strawberry ice, M’m.” + +“Dear me, how very careless. What can we do?” + +“We can’t do anything, M’m, the ices’ll just have to taste salt, only I +thought I’d better tell you.” + +Susan withdrew and there was a burst of laughter from the group on the +lawn. + +“Never mind, Mrs. Ryan, they’ll be cold even if they are salt,” cried +Tom Sanderson. + +“Some people like them better that way—more piquant,” from Hugh. + +“Yeth, quite a novelty, ithn’t it?” from Amy. + +“Yes, rather ...” from the chorus. + +Mrs. Ryan was very distressed. “You’re dear, sweet children to take it +like that, still there are plenty of other good things for you, so you +won’t starve.... Now, have you all got your partners for the lancers?” + +Dennis waited till the group on the lawn had re-assorted itself and +paired off into different combinations of incongruity; then, as the last +couple disappeared into the house, he went across to fetch his partner. + +Father Christmas, with whom she had just been dancing, was taking his +leave of her, and as Dennis appeared at the foot of the steps, his +father, together with Mr. Ryan and Dr. Clavering, came out on to the +balcony. + +“Here’s Romeo come to fetch his Juliet,” Mr. Blackwood jovially +apostrophised his son, “lucky young dog—I wish I were your age!” with an +appreciative glance at Antoinette. + +“Yes, that’s all very well—all very well when you’re young”—Mr. Ryan was +a stout little red-faced man with a wheezy voice—“but I can’t understand +this preference for sitting about in the damp, with next to nothing on. +It would kill me!” + +The doctor smiled and Mr. Blackwood guffawed. “It wouldn’t kill me, but +then perhaps I’ve got a stronger constitution, eh, Doctor?” He threw out +his chest and positively winked at Antoinette. + +“You needn’t boast,” snapped Mr. Ryan, “your gout is as bad as mine any +day, isn’t it, Clavering?” + +“There’s not a pin to choose between you,” declared the doctor, a +twinkle in his humorous grey eyes. He was clean-shaven and soldierly in +appearance; a very pleasant type to look upon. Young Hugh could be glad +if he resembled his father in twenty years’ time. + +Mr. Blackwood began again: “That boy of yours, Doctor, and my little +girl ... hitting it off very well, eh? Haven’t seen the young rascals +all the evening....” + +“One is only young once,” smiled Clavering. + +“... Trio of dear old gentlemen,” murmured Dennis, as he and Antoinette +walked across the lawn. The “trio of dear old gentlemen,” after a little +more facetious banter, and digging of each other in the ribs, returned +to their game of cards. + +In silence they entered the arbour. Dennis swept aside the flags with +which the seats were draped. “I don’t like the patriotic decorations in +conjunction with your costume.” + +She laughed with easy response to his mood. “Isn’t it rather a waste of +Amy’s forethought?” + +He did not answer, and she wondered, not without a trace of impatience, +when at last he was going to throw aside his pose. Antoinette herself +was feverishly strung-up; every nerve in her craving the relief of some +violent scene, some violent emotion. The whole dance, dull enough in +itself from her point of view, was but a preliminary, an accompaniment, +a working-up to this moment. + +Still he sat silent; and at last, unable any longer to bear the strain, +she took the initiative. “You have quite a genius for making dramatic +entrances, just in the nick of time, when everybody has given you up for +lost. Your arrival at Amberhurst was good enough, but to-day was more +effective still.” + +He said: “Amberhurst—yes, I remember. They were hoping I’d play for the +theatricals, and I wouldn’t. It’s a pity that anticlimax seems +inevitably to succeed what you call my dramatic entrances.” + +“You shouldn’t let it, then!” she cried, “surely it’s in your power to +prevent it.” + +“Not always.” + +She became aware then, of the utter weariness of his tone, the weariness +of his deep-set brown eyes. It seemed incredible that this was the man +who had written her those wonderful letters. Where was the promised +continuation of the long, intimate talks that had been started in them? +Where was his anticipated delight at seeing her again? Had he ever +really told her about himself and Eric Rubenstein? Taken for granted her +understanding of all his moods? Said to her: “I want you here beside me +in my dream-place....” + +Well, she was beside him now, and there was nothing wrong with the +place—stars twinkling in a pale blueish sky, wind rustling faintly in +the trees, and swaying the Chinese lanterns to and fro—but he made no +attempt to break the oppressive silence, or in any way to shatter that +impalpable barrier which seemed to have arisen between them. Curiously, +critically almost, she watched him, as she leant back in her corner of +the arbour, and smoked her cigarette. + +... And to him also the silence was becoming oppressive. He had not +found, in talking to the other figures in the nightmare, the same +appalling difficulty as he found in trying to talk to Antoinette. The +soft light of the lantern, swinging from the roof of the arbour, fell +upon the slim, lithe curves of her body; on the white throat and +shoulders above the wine-coloured draperies; on the flushed face and +hair tumbled to a riotous mass of curls. The face and hair and body of a +bacchante, indeed. + +He was fully aware of her decorative value; admitted it at every point; +but of the appeal which she might once have made to his senses, nothing +remained. Alan, with his virile personality, had blotted out for Dennis +the fainter magic of Antoinette, so that he could no longer perceive +it—or if he did perceive it, then but dimly, remotely, as something not +felt at all, but just seen through a misty glass. He had wondered +once—it seemed a very long time ago, now—if Antoinette were not the one +girl in a thousand, in a million, with whom he could find happiness and +rest from the ceaseless internal wars of his own nature. And while he +had still been doubting, wondering, playing with the idea, writing +letters to a girl of his dreams, Alan had come.... + +Yet he knew that he owed her some explanation; that she expected one of +him. But what was he to tell her? What could he tell her? The truth...? +He suddenly felt a mad desire to tell her the truth. Groping back to his +first impression of her at Amberhurst, he was still convinced that she +would understand. She too, or so it had seemed to him, was different +from other girls, just as he—And it would be just a little less lonely, +if he could tell her.... + +The strains of the “Chocolate Soldier” lancers floated out to them with +bursts of clapping and laughter between the figures. Antoinette sat +listening with concentrated attention to the music. The fourth figure +was nearly over now; soon the dancers would come swarming into the +garden, encroaching upon their solitude, which might have been such a +thing of wonder ... and had merely been a thing of emptiness. She +resented the waste of the good moment, of the good setting—of +herself.... + +Dennis seemed suddenly to awaken from his stupor. He said, “I’m +sorry—about anticlimaxes, but believe me, they’re not my fault. They +happen—just happen—like everything else in this world that’s crazy and +cussed and without rhyme and reason. I——” + +But already the dancers were pouring down the stairs into the garden, +and the voice of Britannia, deep and lugubrious, uprose upon the still +night air. She was addressing a Pierrot, whom Griggs had jockeyed into +asking her for the supper-dance, not knowing that Little Boy Blue, in +self-defence against the joint Queens of Sheba, had previously engaged +her for it. “Ach, no, I cannot. I have got von man already, and zey say +I must not have more zan von ...” as regretfully she refused the second +offer. “Ach, to zis England shall I never myself accustom....” + +“Poor Ottilie,” murmured Dennis, “it’s a hard life.” He was secretly +relieved at the diversion that had checked the confession on his lips. +After all, it would have been a great mistake to tell her—he must have +been crazy even to have contemplated it. He must guard against these +incalculable impulses in future. For the present he was safe, thanks to +Ottilie. + +“They might have let her have her Pierrot as well—what would it have +hurt?” + +But Antoinette made no answer. She was possessed by a dull fury, her +nerves strained to snapping-point. + +He had cheated her of a sensation. + + + + + PART II + + + CHAPTER I + +But Ottilie had no occasion “herself to zis England to accustom”; +neither was Doreen obliged to put to the test her assertion that being +grown-up in Germany wasn’t the same as being grown-up in Eastwold. A +European war intervened in time to prevent a further exchange of +daughters between Herr Baumgartner and Mr. Blackwood. Ottilie, wailing +bitterly, was bundled off post-haste and with considerable difficulty, +to her native land. Mr. Blackwood was taking her as far as Dover, and +the rest of the family saw her off at Eastwold station; where she kissed +them all, including Reggie, much to the latter’s disgust. And they put +her into the train, together with the brand-new English hold-all, of +which she was so proud, and the large canvas bag on which were +embroidered in red cotton the words: “_Glückliche Reise_”.... And up +till the last, she craned her head, surmounted by its absurd little +straw hat, out of the window, and assured the Blackwoods repeatedly that +she loved them, and loved England; and enjoined Doreen to “Greet me Mr. +Griggs—greet me all dear friends....” Then, as the train began to move +out of the station: “Ach, zis vor.... _Jammerschade_!” The rest was +smothered by the noise of the engine.... Doreen cried all the way home, +and Reggie was compelled to remind her with some severity that Ottilie +was a German—the term “Hun” in these early days of the war had not yet +become incorporated in the language, or he would certainly have used it. +Ottilie was a German, and hence, obviously, a spy; Reggie expressed the +devout hope that he had said nothing in her presence that might lead to +giving information to the enemy; and tried to obliterate the shame of +her parting embrace by assiduous rifle-practice in the garden. + +And young Hugh Clavering, looking very elated, climbed over the wall +into the Blackwoods’ garden that afternoon, and told Doreen how awfully, +awfully glad he was that she couldn’t go to Heidelberg now, even if she +wanted to ... but he might be there himself, with any luck—Heidelberg +would do just as well as Berlin, he wasn’t particular—yes, of course +he’d enlisted; was going straight into camp; fine sport ... and he’d +bring her a German helmet for Christmas. + +And Doreen said how awfully, awfully proud of him she was, and she did +hope he wouldn’t get hurt, and yes, of course she’d write to him, and +would he send her a photograph of himself in uniform? + +And Griggs and Tom Sanderson and Clive Blackwood, and all the clowns, +pierrots, highwaymen and the rest of the motley crew from the fancy +dress dance, had likewise enlisted; and of each one of them it was +proudly claimed by his family that he was the first man in Eastwold—the +first man in the county to have done so. Be this as it may, Eastwold +made gallant response to the call of King and Country. Clive applied for +a commission in the Royal Engineers; Tom gravitated naturally towards a +cavalry regiment; Griggs appeared in the modest uniform of a private, +and bore himself with that ingratiating charm of manner that had +distinguished his impersonation both of Marat and Charles II. + +“Only a simple Tommy—but ready to do his bit with the best of ’em. We’ll +show Fritz the stuff Old England is made of!” + +So, with a great deal of excitement, and metaphorical clanking of spurs, +and generally with the sensation of taking part in a picturesque +pageant, the manhood of Eastwold, very pleased with itself, left the +sunny, sleepy little town for the various camps and headquarters, where +it was to be instructed in the art of “showing Fritz the stuff old +England was made of....” + +“And what is Dennis going to do?” Mrs. Ryan at last voiced the question +which had agitated the whole of Eastwold ever since the outbreak of war. +Dennis’s mother replied that for the present she didn’t know that he was +going to do anything, and rather hastily changed the subject. Eastwold, +with a tolerance and forbearance which later it was to lose, assumed +that Dennis, being an artist, and hence possessing a certain right to be +“peculiar,” would take longer than the others to realise his duty +towards his King, country and family. But inspired by the example of his +brother Clive and the rest of Eastwold, he would no doubt soon long to +feel his hand upon the hilt of his sword, as did every true-born Briton +in times like these.... + +Little Miss Simpkins ventured to suggest that the Blackwoods, in giving +one of their sons to the army, were adequately fulfilling the dictates +of patriotism. + +“We women of England must give _all_ our sons,” returned Mrs. Ryan who +had no sons to give; and reiterated the ominous catch-phrase that had +just been coined: “in times like these....” + +The war had run the course of four horror-stricken months, and still the +Blackwoods’ eldest son had made no move towards the recruiting-office. +Nor had he any intention of doing so. The thought of war inspired in him +none of those feelings with which convention decreed that every true +Briton should be inspired—in times like these. He had no desire to feel +his hand upon the hilt of his sword; no desire to help to bring the “day +of victory” nearer. The whole thing was damnable and stupid, and cruel; +and so was all the talk and the bombast with which everyone strove to +gloss over the fact that it was damnable, and stupid, and cruel ... +pretended that it was a noble thing, a glorious game, a game which every +Englishman should be proud to be playing. + +“A little blood-letting won’t do the nation any harm.” Often and often +Dennis had heard that phrase upon his father’s lips, as comfortably Mr. +Blackwood smoked his after-dinner cigar, and fixed his son with a +baleful eye. Dennis at all events would not give himself up to become +part of the machinery of nations trying to prove which could stand the +most blood-letting; machinery that organised the murder of individuals +by individuals who had no personal quarrel with each other. And greater +even than his repugnance to the “great war game” as a whole; greater +even than his revolt against the senselessness of it, and the pity of +it; greater than any personal physical fear of death or wounds was his +fear of being sent out to inflict death or wounds on others ... +deliberately to maim and shatter the bodies of men as young as himself, +the bodies of men as young as Alan. + +He would not enlist. And Eastwold might do its worst.... Eastwold was, +in fact, already growing restive. + +Mrs. Ryan took him to task one day when she met him in the town. She had +just come out of the grocer’s shop, where she had been complaining +because the price of bacon had gone up again; and the grocer had replied +that in times like these.... She was therefore considerably ruffled when +she met Dennis outside. After a preliminary exchange of hostilities, and +a meaning glance at his civilian clothes, she said: “Well, I should like +to know where the war would be if everyone thought like that!” + +“Presumably there would be no war at all,” he returned gently. + +“Nonsense! The Germans would have been here long ago.” + +“Not if _everyone_ thought like that.” + +“The Germans would never think like that, even if the English did—and +I’m thankful to say they don’t. It’s the Germans who wanted the war.” + +“And now the English want it every bit as much as they do.” + +“Well, now they’ve started it, we’ve got to go on with it—we didn’t want +war.” + +“I daresay they think and say exactly the same, only the other way +round....” Dennis walked away, weary of the argument. He would have been +wearier still, if he could have foreseen the countless times he was to +repeat that argument with different people, in different places, with +variations and amplifications. These were still the early days of the +war, and the crusade against pacifism was not so strenuous as it became +later on. + +But Mrs. Ryan reported that conversation to Mrs. Clavering who reported +it back to Mrs. Blackwood; and Mrs. Blackwood, half uneasily, told +Dennis that it had been reported. “Of course Mrs. Ryan thinks you ought +to go, Denny.” + +“Everybody does, Mother,” he smiled at her. + +“And—shall you...?” + +“Do you think I ought to, Mother?” + +She was troubled by the direct question. “I suppose every man ought to +go, but it’s difficult to want them to. I suppose one can’t help being +selfish.... Daddy thinks you ought to go, Dennis.” + +He ignored this, being already acquainted with his father’s views on the +subject. “And you Mother?” he persisted. + +“I know it’s very wrong of me,” she murmured, as if apologising to the +wrathful spirits of her husband and Mrs. Ryan and the rest of the +community; apologising for being a mother first, and a “woman of +England” afterwards. + +Dennis laughed, and took her in his arms. “You dear....” + +She returned his kiss, but repeated: “Mind you, I know it’s wrong.” + +“Wrong that you should want me not to go out and kill people whose +mothers love them every bit as much as you love me?” + +She was silent, disconcerted by a point of view unfamiliar to Eastwold. + +“Or do you think that because they’re Germans, they love their sons +less?” he teased her, and she pretended to be indignant. + +“You’re trying to make fun of me, and to muddle me, and I—I’m sure you +ought to go, really....” + +“That’s all right,” laughed Dennis. + +But all the same, life at “The Hermitage” was far from ideal just now. +Mr. Blackwood reading the paper aloud to his family every morning, dwelt +with reproachful emphasis upon those portions detailing the atrocities +committed by the German soldiery in Belgium—as if to make Dennis +responsible for them. “Inhuman brutes—savages—devils! No Englishman +should rest till the last one of them has been wiped off the face of the +earth.” + +“And I suppose no mention is made of the atrocities our Russian allies +have probably committed in Germany,” said Dennis, “don’t you see that +once the ‘dogs of war’ are loose, there’s bound to be that sort of thing +all round? For the baser elements of all nations alike? Debauch and +beastliness on the part of people sent mad by blood-lust?” + +Mr. Blackwood turned purple. “Your views are disgraceful, sir. Why, to +hear you, anyone would think you were pro-Hun.” + +“I’m not pro-Hun any more than I’m pro-British. I’m not pro-anything +that’s driving millions of innocent people to slaughter and be +slaughtered by each other. I’m for the first people who’ve got the +courage to put down their arms and end the whole thing.” + +“You say that because you don’t want to fight yourself. Must I own that +a son of mine is a coward and a shirker?” + +“That’s as you please....” + +Mr. Blackwood turned to vent his fury upon his wife. “This is your +doing—you always did bring him up to be a spoilt namby-pamby!” + +Between Mr. Blackwood’s spluttering rage, and Clive’s cold contempt for +Dennis, and her own secret relief at the attitude which he had taken up, +Mrs. Blackwood had no easy time. The house was divided against itself. +Doreen had as yet not declared herself openly on one side or the other. +She was sincerely convinced that every man ought to go, but she was half +inclined to think that an exception might be made in Dennis’s favour. It +was different somehow, for Dennis, though she had not the faintest idea +why.... + +But Reggie, taking no heed of any psychological subtleties, wrote from +Westborough, saying that he jolly well hoped Dennis would have joined up +by Christmas, and that he ought to be jolly well ashamed of himself if +he didn’t, and that he—Reggie—jolly well hoped that the war would last +long enough to allow him to enlist. + +About the middle of December, Dennis realised that he could no longer +stand the strain of guerilla warfare in the home-circle, and decided to +go to London for a while. No doubt the strain upon his mother, too, +would be lessened, once his own irritating presence was removed from the +house. Mrs. Blackwood approved his decision; told him to be sure and +write if he wanted anything; and hoped he would often run down for the +week-end. + +Then, very tentatively, she said: “Will you see anything of Antoinette +when you’re in London?” + +He answered without looking at her: “I daresay I shall.” + +“I’ll give you her address.” + +He smiled. “I know it, thanks.” + +It was the first time that they had mentioned Antoinette since she had +stayed with them for the dance. Mrs. Blackwood still did not know why +nothing had come of that little scheme of hers. It seemed just to have +fallen flat.... Dennis had been in such a queer mood when he came back +from Cornwall.... Perhaps Antoinette had been capricious or unkind to +him; he was so absurdly sensitive. Of course she had never ventured to +ask him about it. But perhaps if they met again in London—— + +Dennis certainly went to London with his mother’s blessing.... + +He was very glad of the £150 a year which had been left to him and his +sister and brothers by Mrs. Blackwood’s father, and that enabled him to +live as he pleased. He made a little money out of the sale of his +compositions, but not sufficient to keep himself entirely; and he would +have hated to be dependent upon his father. + +He took a room in Tavistock Square, and went the next day to see his +friend Neil Barnaby. + +Barnaby was sitting at a writing-table littered with papers when Dennis +entered. He looked up at him with a casual “Hallo?” and a funny, twisted +smile that seemed confined to one corner of his mouth only. + +“Hallo?” responded Dennis. + +Barnaby put down his pen, and swung round in his revolving chair. “It’s +six months, or thereabouts, since I saw you here last. Shall we pass +over the intervening time in silence, or do you wish to make statement +of it in detail?” + +“Oh, pass it over in decent silence, I think,” laughed Dennis, “the best +of you is, Barnaby, that after six months’ separation, one can take up +the threads of intercourse as easily as if they’d been dropped +yesterday.” + +Barnaby grunted. “Nevertheless you might have had the decency to report +upon the progress of your opera, considering that the libretto is mine. +Have you finished it yet?” + +Barnaby, in his time, had tried his hand at nearly all branches of +literature; had perpetrated plays, a novel or two, an occasional set of +verses and newspaper articles. But he retained a special fondness for +the fairy-tale of “Karen and the Red Shoes,” which he had turned into a +play for which Dennis was writing the music. + +He answered Barnaby: “No, it isn’t finished. I haven’t been able to do +any work at home of late. That’s partly why I’ve come up here for a +bit.” + +“Can’t work at home, eh?” Barnaby fixed him with a critical glance. +“What is it—white feathers?” + +Dennis nodded. “More or less.” + +“H’m,” reflected Barnaby, “I at least am immune from that delicate sort +of attention.” + +Dennis glanced quickly away from the crutches that lay beside his +friend’s chair. He was conscious of almost physical pain whenever +Barnaby made allusion to his deformity; fine massive head sunk between +rounded shoulders; one leg shorter than the other.... + +Dennis said: “Supposing you hadn’t been immune—that way?” + +“You mean, if my physical disabilities hadn’t been so blatantly apparent +to the naked eye? In that case, my dear Dennis, I should be doing +exactly what you’re doing now—or rather, what you’re not doing.” + +“You think I’m right in refusing to go, then?” + +“If only they’d all refuse....” The concentrated fierceness of despair +was in Barnaby’s voice. + +“‘Then,’” Dennis parodied Mrs. Ryan, “‘where would the war be?’” + +“Nowhere! That’s the obvious answer to that riddle.” + +“I know it’s the answer. I’ve given it myself over and over again.” + +Barnaby continued impatiently: “The brute stupidity of the thing ... and +all the waste of art and intellect! Don’t give in, Dennis. Don’t let +white feathers and the opinion of your next-door neighbours drive you +into it. Get on with your opera. That’s the ‘bit’ for you to do, and a +‘bit’ which only you _can_ do.... Let’s at least preserve art from the +general wreckage.” + +“I doubt if the old ladies at home would agree with you,” said Dennis, +“they’d say that art, too, must be sacrificed ‘in times like these.’” + +“The Vandals.... I’d rather be a Hun than a Vandal any day! If the old +ladies at home get too much for you, for heaven’s sake don’t bring the +conflict of your opinions to me. I’m not interested in psychology at +present: I’m doing free-lance journalism just now, for which it isn’t +necessary. And keep in mind that it’s better to write music that will +live, than to help to fill the world with things that look like me—and +worse....” + + * * * * * + +But Dennis had no need of Barnaby’s reminder. The sight of the wounded +in the streets was enough; and the thought of the wounded in the +hospitals, being tended and mended, so that they might be sent out +again, and broken again.... And already one saw those who could not be +sent out again: armless, legless, blind; wreckage that could not be +utilised either on the field of battle, or on any other. + +He plunged into his work, taking it up where he had left it before he +went to Devonshire. But the horror that was all around and about him, +got into his music and became part of it. The ideas that came to him, +found expression in harmonies that had an ominous and sinister beauty. +He knew that they had beauty, despite the horror with which they were +impregnated. He never lost his critical faculty where his work was +concerned, nor yet a certain detached surprise with regard to it. +Sometimes he wondered from what strange sub-region of consciousness +issued these visions—yes, that was the right word—visions of sound, +audible to himself alone, and that he had the power to translate and +transmit to others. And sometimes he was afraid of this music of his, +that sprang from he knew not whence, and over the going and coming of +which, he had no control. He was afraid now.... The clamour in those +submerged regions of his brain was so great and so complex that it +obsessed his every thought; waking or sleeping he heard the tortured +dissonances and weird scurrying arpeggios, that left him no peace until +he had found the right form of expression for them. + +... Music such as might have been heard in a nightmare ... music +horrible and unreal, that in itself constituted a nightmare from which +there was no escape. Like Karen, the girl in the fairy-tale who was +compelled to dance on and on in the red shoes which she had so ardently +desired—on and on past the loves with whom she would fain have +lingered—so was Dennis compelled to listen without respite to this +nightmare-music, that was like an evil spell upon him. + +As a child, some haunting phrase of music, suddenly remembered; or the +sound of a coach-horn heard in the stillness of the night, had had this +power to fill him with helpless terror. He had stuffed his fingers into +his ears, hidden his head under the bedclothes, but still the sound had +pursued him.... He was equally helpless now, equally terrified; lonely, +too; a loneliness that could be banished neither by talks with Barnaby, +nor by the long musical evenings he spent at Crispin’s flat. + +... And the little khaki-clad processions marched gallantly through the +streets; shopboys and bank-clerks and grocers’ assistants, weedy and +pasty-faced, with a smile on their lips, and a joke to be tossed at the +girls they passed on the pavements.... Arms swinging, caps set rakishly +upon their heads ... a bit of swank and a bit of curiosity and a great +deal of heroism. And here and there for Dennis some face would stand +out, upon which there was neither swank, nor curiosity, nor heroism; +only wonder, dazed wonder; or a stupefied kind of patience.... And he +would long to drag that man out of the marching ranks, to ask him what +madness possessed him, or what ideal inspired him, that he must thus go +out and offer up his all to the Juggernaut of war.... And the answer +would always have been the same: he didn’t really know; but everybody +was in it, and he supposed that a fellow ought to do his bit. + +And sometimes, Dennis caught sight of some face, some figure that +remotely recalled Alan’s. And the pain that had never quite ceased, only +lain temporarily dormant, awoke anew: pain, and a new panic-fear.... +Supposing Alan were to be in one of those marching processions! He had +probably joined up by now, and with his democratic ideas, he would have +gone in the ranks. Alan was the type that could not be held back, that +would be eager and impatient to go. Dennis was certain of it.... He +would be crazily brave on the battlefield; would storm trenches in the +face of enormous odds.... And he would not return. People like Alan did +not return. He would lie out there with his body torn and shattered; +piteous unseeing eyes open to the pitiless heavens. Dennis turned sick +as his fancy painted for him the things that might befall Alan; things +that had perhaps already befallen him. + +Consciously and unconsciously, Dennis scanned the faces of those who +marched past him, his heart throbbing hotly at the discovery of every +fugitive resemblance of look or feature. Soon he hunted for Alan not +only amongst the passing soldiers, but amongst the crowds thronging the +streets, pouring out of restaurants and tea-shops, waiting outside +theatres ... lived for the momentary thrill of encountering that chance +resemblance. + +... Deeper and deeper into the crazy depths of the nightmare—nightmare +set to his own horrible music, and filled with strange faces, figures, +voices; and, almost like a futurist picture, with bits of streets, +buildings, bridges, where he had caught a glimpse of this one, and +that.... There was danger in his present mood, as there had been danger +that night at Crannack.... Deeper and deeper into the nightmare, sinking +in it, drowning in it.... + +With a last remnant of sanity, and obeying a wild impulse to fling out a +hand for safety while yet there was time, he rang up Antoinette, and +asked if he could come and see her next day. + + + CHAPTER II + +Of the astonishment which his sudden appearance caused her, Antoinette +betrayed no sign when she received Dennis in the particularly hideous +drawing-room of the house in Cadogan Gardens. The resentment which she +had felt against him at the dance, had long ago died down, leaving only +an insatiable curiosity with regard to the cause which could have +engendered in him that queer dazed mood. The way he had seemed to clutch +at her at Amberhurst—and then his letters—and then the sudden +silence—the anti climax of the dance—and now his re-appearance after +nearly six months—he was really rather an extraordinary person! +Antoinette felt distinctly “intrigued,” and hoped that this time her +anticipation of dramatic developments would be justified. + +He began without preliminaries: “I’m not going to apologise for not +having communicated with you before. There were reasons—I’ll explain +some time, and I’m sure you’ll understand. But for the present, may I +just pretend that I’m still talking to you on the bridge at Amberhurst +and that there’s been nothing in between?” + +“Certainly,” she smiled, suppressing her curiosity regarding the “in +between,” and noticing that he also suppressed all mention of his +letters to her. “Pretend anything you like, and keep the apologies for +Grand’mère. She likes them—thrives on them, in fact.” + +Dennis laughed. “Is she at home?” + +“No, but she will be soon, don’t fret. You shall be introduced to her.” + +“Won’t she be shocked at your receiving the visit of a gentleman not in +khaki?” + +“She’ll be shocked at my receiving the visit of a gentleman in anything +at all,” sighed Antoinette, “so it really doesn’t make much difference.” + +She had flung herself back upon the stiff and unresponsive sofa, one arm +stretched along the side, in a posture that seemed literally to crave +the yielding softness of cushioned divans. But there were no cushioned +divans in the house of the de Courcys; and to Dennis it seemed that +Antoinette with her short mass of hair and supple boyish figure, was +absurdly incongruous with her surroundings. + +“You can contradict as much as you please,” he said, “but you _are_ a +square peg in a round hole.” + +“Oh, I should just think so—here!” she assented quickly. + +“Is it very bad?” + +“Sometimes.” + +“Spiked railings, and ‘Please don’t touch,’ and plenty of witches and +dragons to see that the rules are enforced—poor little enchanted +princess, I’m so sorry....” + +She thought she caught a faint echo of something that had been in his +letters, and that had been lacking that night at the dance. Eagerly she +responded to it: “Sometimes the witches and dragons can be put to sleep +with fairy-tales, and the enchanted princess comes and dances outside +the spiked railings.” + +“Will she dance with me, I wonder”—Dennis began, then burst out +laughing. “Metaphorically, of course. I wouldn’t dream of really +inflicting on you a sample of my terpsichorean art.” + +“No, I remember you were kind enough to spare me at the fancy dress +ball....” She could not resist getting in this little thrust, and +wondered how he would parry it. He did not parry it; merely left it +alone; and she went on: “How are they all down at Eastwold? Very full of +good works?” + +“Very! The Ryans, needless to say, have started a sewing-class—two +sewing-classes, one for the matrons and one for the maidens of the +neighbourhood. Mother and Doreen attend them, and Lily is at the local +V.A.D. hospital. She hopes in time to appear in a khaki uniform, with +initials on her shoulders, and a strap under her chin.... There was some +talk of Millie Ryan’s taking up nursing too, but that project was +knocked on the head, I believe, when her esteemed mother discovered that +there were only Tommies at the hospital and not officers!” + +Antoinette laughed, and then sighed. “Yes, it’s all very well, ... +personally, I haven’t as much as knitted a muffler. It’s an awful +confession to make, but I loathe the idea of nursing (even officers!), +my sewing is beyond description, and I don’t feel drawn towards +scrubbing floors in a hospital.” + +“Go on,” said Dennis. + +She leant forward, clasping her hands around her knee, and shook back +her rebellious hair. “If I took up any of those things, it wouldn’t be +because I believed it was my sacred duty to my country to do them: it +would only be so that when people start with the inevitable: ‘And what +sort of war-work are _you_ doing?’ I could fling them my mufflers or my +dish-washing or my entirely superfluous secretaryship as a sop. And +that’s not quite good enough, is it?” + +“Not nearly good enough,” smiled Dennis. He was discovering, somewhat to +his surprise, that he was really very glad to see Antoinette again. He +must have forgotten her peculiar exuberant charm during the time that he +had not seen her; but he was fully aware of it now—and glad that he was +aware.... + +“So you’re a rebel too, Antoinette.” + +She flashed out: “Yes, I won’t make buttonholes just because Mrs. +So-and-so thinks I ought to! One must do war-work from genuine +patriotism or not at all.” + +“And you haven’t any genuine patriotism?” + +She shrugged her shoulders. “I believe I had—once; only I’ve seen and +heard so much of the artificial kind, that it’s been spoilt for me.” + +She fell silent, brows slightly contracted. He was more and more +convinced that she fitted into her environment as little as he did into +his, and that somewhere they would find a common meeting-ground, he and +she.... + +He glanced from her to the photographs of the numerous aunts and +cousins. “There’s not much family-likeness between you and these, +Antoinette,” pointing to a group of three plain girls with arms stiffly +twined about each other’s persons, in a manner indicative of sisterly +devotion, and one dear to the heart of every conventional-minded +photographer. “They may be very worthy, but they don’t appeal to me.” + +“My cousins Sidonie, Jeanne and Hélène from Grenoble,” Antoinette +introduced them, “and Grand’mère would tell you that the lack of +resemblance between us is much to be regretted.” + +“But surely even grandmothers—even your grandmother, Antoinette—has eyes +in her head?” + +“I repeat that Grand’mère would beg you to remember that appearances are +deceptive, and that embroidered cushion-covers are more maidenly than +short hair, and would clinch the argument with the remark that Sidonie, +at least, has found a husband!” + +“However did she do that?” murmured Dennis, still intent upon the +photograph. + +“They had an awful time, doing it for her,” Antoinette’s eyes sparkled +with mischief, “there was once a young man of blameless antecedents but +of impecunious means, who was brought to the house, and proposed to +her—or rather her ‘dot’—and was refused by her father. The young man +wreaked a horrible and subtle vengeance by going across the road and +paying court to Sidonie’s cousin, Adèle. Adèle is, if possible, even +plainer than Sidonie—that’s her photograph over there, between Raoul and +Jacques, wearing English Eton suits, seven sizes too big for them.” + +“Thank you,” said Dennis, gazing transfixed at the likeness of a fat +young thing with a yearnful expression, leaning over a stucco balustrade +with a tennis racket in her hand. + +Antoinette continued: “Adèle accepted the young man: her dowry being +slightly larger than Sidonie’s, she could afford the luxury. But +hereupon Sidonie’s parents began to realise what they had missed, and to +scheme to get the young man back again. This was easily effected by +clapping a few thousand more francs on to Sidonie’s dowry.... They’re +the happiest couple in Grenoble now, I believe.” + +“There is, of course, also Adèle’s point of view to be considered.” + +“Well, she has at least the consolation of having started a family-feud +so bloodthirsty that it will not end as long as there is a single one of +them left to carry it on. And think how difficult it will be for my +uncle and aunt to get their two remaining daughters married, with +Nemesis—or rather Adèle’s parents—watching from the other side of the +road!” + +“Antoinette, I’m enjoying you most awfully....” Enjoying, also, a +feeling of security in her presence—in this absurd, hideous room with +the family-photographs. He had escaped from the danger that threatened. +He was safe—with Antoinette. + +The door opened to admit old Madame de Courcy and her daughter-in-law. +Grand’mère’s pleasurable anticipation of interviewing her +grand-daughter’s suitor—it was doubtless in this capacity that young +Blackwood was making his visit—was tempered by the thought that this +suitor was not one of her own selection. She was therefore prepared to +regard Dennis with a critical, not to say a disparaging eye. There was +also the little matter of his income: Madame de Courcy had +cross-questioned Antoinette very closely on the subject, without +obtaining any results whatever. Apparently Dennis had been reticent +concerning his financial position, a point greatly in his disfavour. A +young man in a _good_ financial position, had no need to be reticent +about it. “_Il doit y avoir quelque chose de louche_,” as she had +suspiciously remarked to Anatole, who agreed with her. + +It therefore behoved Grand’mère first of all, to put the young man at +his ease, and then with her usual tact and discretion, to make him admit +the exact figure of his income. + +With this end in view, she commenced by assuring Dennis how much +Antoinette had enjoyed herself at Eastwold, and how kind it was of his +mother to have invited her. Dennis replied with becoming courtesy, that +his mother had been delighted to have her. Which ended the first round. +The next was more directly personal. + +“I see, Monsieur, that you are not in uniform.” + +“No, Madame,” Dennis replied superfluously. + +Henriette was gazing out of the window, a look of profound abstraction +in her cavernous dark eyes. Suddenly the sound of her voice vibrated +through the room. “When I think of martyred Belgium, my heart +bleeds....” Her hand was clenched against her breast. + +Dennis began to understand why Antoinette had said that genuine +patriotism had been spoilt for her: small wonder, if she had to listen +to much of this sort of thing! He glanced at her, as she sat beside her +grandmother on the hard sofa, hands sedately folded in her lap, eyelids +lowered, the picture of the typical “jeune fille” decorously awaiting +the advances of her suitor. She was adorable, he thought with a warm +glow of affection ... and again something within him consciously +registered that glow, and was satisfied.... + +Madame de Courcy once more took up the thread of conversation. “My +grand-daughters in Grenoble occupy themselves with cooking for the +soldiers, and nursing them.” + +“Not specifying if the latter is necessitated by the former,” murmured +Antoinette, who was on the old lady’s deafer side. + +Madame de Courcy, catching the murmur but not the drift of it, yet being +convinced of its seditiousness, continued severely: “Antoinette does not +occupy herself with anything....” To which Dennis, in the manner of the +best French exercise, responded: “Er—no, but my sister knits socks.” + +Henriette embarked upon a monologue directed seemingly to the atmosphere +in general. “Would that I had a son to give to France.... Gladly would I +have sent him forth to do his duty, though my maternal heart had been +torn with anguish!” + +Madame de Courcy took the occasion to remind her daughter-in-law that it +was indeed regrettable that she had no son; and that she and Anatole had +always said so; and that it must be entirely her—Henriette’s—fault, as +all the other members of the house of de Courcy had been blessed with +male offspring. + +Antoinette hastily changed the subject by asking Dennis what had become +of Crispin. + +“Crispin—no, he’s not in the Army. He’s engaged upon a private and +personal war against the people who are trying to bar Wagner and Bach +from our concert programmes.” + +Madame de Courcy broke in again: “I hear you are an artist, Monsieur, a +sculptor, is it not?” + +“No, a musician,” Antoinette corrected her, and the old lady nodded her +head. + +“Ah, he visits the museums? But that is indeed interesting.” + +“He is a musician, I tell you!” shouted Antoinette. + +“_Comment_—he gives piano-lessons?” cried Grand’mère in great +consternation. Dennis, very gently, succeeded in making her understand +that he “wrote pieces for the piano”; she looked relieved; asked him if +he were well paid; and in a loud aside demanded of Henriette if musical +conductors received pensions from the State in England.... + +Henriette languidly shrugged her shoulders. “Who thinks—who has the +heart to think of music now? For me, if I were a man, there would be but +one music thrilling my soul: the roar of cannons—” crescendo—“and the +beat of drums....” She let the sound of her deep voice slowly die away +on the word. + +Dennis was sorrier than ever for Antoinette. + +When he took his leave, Madame de Courcy pressed him to come again, and +Antoinette gave him a most decorous “Good-bye, Mr. Blackwood,” with a +blush and lowered lids, and then one second’s impish gleam from the grey +eyes under their thick black lashes. + +Dennis walked away with a light heart. “It’s all right,” he told +himself, “quite all right....” He was struggling up out of the nightmare +into which he had been sinking, as a person sinks into a dark, +weed-clogged pool. The weeds still clung about him: there were several +things from which he must avert his mental gaze—or, better still, he +must pretend that they were not there. The picture of a boy’s lean body, +lit by the glow of a forge, was one of them.... But he could pretend +quite easily, and it would be all right, he repeated—if only Antoinette +would give him a hand. + + * * * * * + +Antoinette felt stimulated by Dennis’s visit. She was liking him more +than ever before. His whimsical sense of humour appealed to her, also +his delight in the eccentricities of the de Courcy family, as recounted +by herself. And there was still about him that air of mystery which +offered food for the wildest speculations. Half idly, and yet not +without a certain thrill, she began to wonder what sort of a lover he +would make. + + * * * * * + +It was two nights later, and he had taken her to a theatre. They had +laughed a great deal, and had had a very good evening, but now, as they +drove in the taxi towards Cadogan Gardens, a silence fell upon them. +Antoinette’s heart throbbed with excitement that was mingled with a +remote inexplicable dread; but she did not know whether it was the dread +of a repeated anticlimax, or dread of the climax for which she longed, +and which she sensed near at hand. Yes, she decided, she _did_ want +it—but still the oppression remained. + +Abruptly he ended the strain; put his arms round her. “Antoinette, will +you marry me? It will be quite all right, dear ... really it will.” + +And now that it had come, that for which she had waited, she was +conscious only of a feeling of withdrawal, that amounted almost to +recoil. + +“Will you, Antoinette...?” + +She wished that after all, he had not come to the point so quickly; +wished he had prolonged the rather charming uncertainty of their +intercourse; wished that he were not already claiming a definite +answer.... All this, while his arms were around her, his lips very +gently straying over her cheeks, her eyelids. As one soothes a child, he +murmured again: “You’ll see, it will be all right.” + +Of what was he thus persistently reassuring her, she wondered with a +touch of impatience; and freed herself from his arms. “I’m not sure, +Dennis ... d’you know,” with a little burst of hysterical laughter, +“I’ve an awful longing to say that this is so sudden.” + +“But you must have always known that it was bound to come,” he pleaded. + +“Y-yes, but—” She could not put into words the feeling of flat +disappointment that was upon her. He had kissed her—asked her to marry +him: climax stirring enough; and yet something in her that was not +satisfied, protested: “This can’t be all! Is this really all...?” + +“Well?” he smiled down at her, and she was irritated by his calm. Surely +a man who cared deeply for her must have behaved differently in the face +of her vague answer; must have sought by his passion to kindle a like +passion in her. + +“I don’t love you,” she said very low, knowing that she spoke the truth, +and wondering what effect this statement would have upon him. He +considered it in silence, as the cab drew up at the door. He helped her +out and dismissed the driver. Antoinette, on the door-step, had one +moment of fear lest Dennis should take his dismissal to be final. She +had not meant to be quite so drastic as all that; she liked him too much +to want to hurt him. + +... To her relief he was beside her on the door-step now, and in the +darkness, his arms were round her again. “Dear child, believe me—it will +be all right....” Very lightly he kissed her lips, and as he ran down +the steps: “I’ll write to you to-night.” + +Antoinette, rather dazed, rather irritated, and more disappointed than +ever, let herself into the house. She reflected, quite irrelevantly, +that Dennis had omitted to lay stress on the fact that he loved her. Now +she came to think of it, he had not even mentioned it. + + + CHAPTER III + +“... I didn’t think it was possible to be quite so happy as this. I want +to thank you for it again and again, but I simply can’t find words. +You’ve made me so glad and triumphant. I know now that nothing else +matters, and that nothing can ever come between us. Please say you know +it too, because you do, deep down in your heart, don’t you? Oh, I can’t +say one fraction of what I want to, but I can hardly wait till +to-morrow, to have you in my arms again.... God bless you, my dear....” + +The sight of the scrawled phrases sent the blood rushing to Antoinette’s +cheeks; and yet—she had given him no reason to burst into these pæans of +joy. Was he so dense, then, that he did not perceive that there was no +answering joy in her? Dense and selfish he must be, with that peculiar +masculine denseness and selfishness that she had always abhorred in the +men who had hitherto flirted with her—men who had taken for granted that +her pleasure in receiving their attentions must equal their pleasure in +bestowing them. What right had Dennis to take so much for granted? She +had credited him with more subtlety of insight than was common to the +average male. His caresses had lacked the masculine brutality that had +always frightened her. Dennis had not frightened her: he had merely +bored her. + +She read the letter through again, and again thrilled at the sight of +the words. Which of her impressions of him was correct? How was it that +his letter could thrill her, when under his kisses she had remained as +cold as ice? Obviously, there was still some mystery that awaited +solution. + +Perhaps it would be solved this morning! He had rung her up, and asked +her to meet him for a good long talk ... and at the sound of his voice, +tense and controlled, over the telephone, she was aware of an intense +desire to avoid hurting him, and to find that everything was really “all +right.” + +He took her to a little underground tea-shop in the Strand much +frequented by Barnaby and his journalistic friends. It was empty at this +hour of the morning, and no sooner had Dennis given his order for +coffee, than he took Antoinette in his arms, kissed her and kissed +her.... And Antoinette let him kiss her and kissed him back, trying to +act the part, shamming the passion she was far from feeling, and that +she longed so genuinely to call into existence by shamming if it could +not be otherwise, and wondered all the while that he did not seem to +notice the coldness beneath this sham passion of hers, and that he could +still murmur brokenly between their kisses: “I’m so glad—so very +glad....” + +“Let’s go and tell your people when we leave here, shall we?” he cried, +as he released her, “do you think your grandmother will die of the +shock?” + +“Oh, she needn’t know just yet. There’s not such a hurry, is there?” ... +Again that twinge of alarm. She must know that she could still escape in +case of need. If her people were told at once, and an engagement between +herself and Dennis formally announced, all possibility of escape would +be barred. + +“But there’s no need to keep it a secret,” he protested, “I feel I can’t +keep it to myself a moment longer. I want to tell everybody I +meet—Crispin—Barnaby—and to wire to them at home—Mother will be ever so +glad. I may just tell her, mayn’t I?” + +“I’d much rather you didn’t, Dennis....” More and more real her alarm, +now. She must succeed in combating this desire of his to take people +into his confidence. For once his family knew, and her family, and his +friends, and her friends, she would be bound hand and foot to carry out +her portion of an agreement into which she had not yet entered. Not +yet.... She was frightened of being rushed into a decision; determined +to play for time. + +“I’m not sure of myself, Dennis. I told you so last night, and it’s +true. Won’t you give me a chance to be really sure?” + +He avoided answering the direct question and argued: “We could tell them +all the same, couldn’t we? Whether we tell them now, or in six months, +doesn’t make much difference.” + +“Yes, it does. It makes all the difference in the world to me—it should +make all the difference in the world to you, if you care that I should +really care for you.” + +He said sadly, “But don’t you, Antoinette?” + +“Not yet.... Not as I want to be able to care for the man I marry. Not +as I have cared for—other people.” A fleeting recollection of some of +her feelings for Hester crossed her mind. + +“Oh, don’t talk like that,” Dennis begged her. + +“But I must!” she cried impatiently, “not to make you jealous, or +anything as absurd as that, but just to get things clear, to show you +that I do know the difference between the real thing, and what isn’t the +real thing.” + +“And this—isn’t the real thing?” He spoke without looking at her. + +“I’ve told you it isn’t—yet.” + +“But it may be? You think it will be?” + +For the sake of the eagerness in his voice and eyes, she smothered +doubt, and replied, “Give me six months, and I’ll tell you then.” + +As they climbed the little stairway that led from the tea-shop to the +street-level, she had the ridiculous sensation of having been +reprieved.... + +He had to rest content with her decision. His belief that all was well +was still unshaken; but it was a pity that she had chilled his first +enthusiasm; a pity, also, that she had not let him tell his mother. Once +his family knew, and her family, and his friends, and her friends, +withdrawal would be made impossible. Not that he had the slightest +desire to withdraw: this _was_ the real thing, he assured himself over +and over again, as he held her in his arms and kissed her. + +All the same it would have been safer to make withdrawal absolutely out +of the question.... + +In order to avoid the curiosity which her family would have displayed, +had it been known that she was seeing Dennis three or four times a week, +Antoinette stated airily that he had returned to Eastwold; and accounted +for her frequent outings, by manufacturing an entirely fictitious set of +invitations from an entirely fictitious set of friends. Sometimes, to +vary the monotony, she threw in some equally fictitious friends of +Rosabel’s, with the result that she was able, in comparative peace, to +continue her experiment with Dennis. + +It certainly was an experiment from Antoinette’s point of view, but she +wished with all her heart, that it was something more than that, or that +it would become something more.... At present there was not much hope. +He seemed incapable of arousing her, even though on their long drives +home through the darkened streets she lay in his arms and returned his +kisses, and tried so hard, for his sake as well as for her own, to catch +fire. She resented the lack of mastery in him—mastery that should have +demanded and compelled love, instead of gently pleading for it. Was it +love, though, for which he pleaded? She was still aware that he did not +reiterate that he loved her; did not use the words that love would have +used, and that she longed to hear.... But he wanted to marry her; he was +taking for granted that at the end of six months she would marry him. + +Of that queer glamorous mystery that had once enshrouded his +personality, nothing remained. All the promise that he had held out in +his letters from Devonshire was yet unfulfilled. When she tried to lead +him to talk openly of himself, he fell silent, or changed the +subject—and kissed her. It seemed to her that she knew even less about +him now than at the beginning. And he knew nothing about her. She was +convinced of that. He never made any attempt to fathom her moods and +feelings; to discover what her thoughts had been in the past, or what +were her ideas concerning the future. Nor would he discuss their +relations to each other; always silenced her questionings with: “It must +be all right—it was meant to be.” + +“I don’t feel that it was,” she argued uneasily. + +“You will—in time.” + +“And ... if I don’t?” + +“Oh, don’t let’s think of that.” + +“But why do you wilfully blind yourself like this?” she cried. + +He said mournfully, “Because life is so full of cruelties, that the less +one sees of them the better.” + +“It’s cowardly, just to pretend that they aren’t there!” + +He flushed and started at that; and she hoped it might lead to some +further explanation. + +“Much better to face them out.” + +He shook his head. “No ...” and relapsed into silence. + +Exasperated, she gave it up. + +Often she wondered what his relations with other women had been, and +tried to sound him on the subject. + +He answered: “There’s never been any other woman,” and she knew by +instinct that he did not say this merely to please her, or to assuage a +non-existent jealousy, but that it was the truth ... and she could not +tell why it filled her with a new uneasiness. Yet she could not bear to +sever their connection entirely. Sometimes, for days together, he did +not see her; left her without news of his whereabouts. Then she began to +believe that he would never return, and was conscious of a fear quite +disproportionate to her real feelings for him. It was always with +immense relief that she welcomed him back. There were so many little +things for which she liked him. On rare occasions, she released him from +his fictitious exile in Eastwold, and he was allowed to lunch in state +at Cadogan Gardens. Antoinette enjoyed watching him as he made +conversation with her grandmother, who thought him a very backward young +man, and strove by an increased amiability to give him the courage +necessary to demand Antoinette’s hand in marriage. Grand’mère was not at +all sure that she would accede to such a demand, but then, from her own +point of view, it was almost as enjoyable to refuse as to accept an +offer of marriage for her grand-daughter. Antoinette had explained the +subtlety of Grand’mère’s attitude to Dennis, who, sharing her delight in +it, solemnly acted up to it. It added, also, to the pleasant feeling of +truancy appertaining to all her expeditions with him. Yes, in their +lighter moods, they harmonized well enough. It was only in moods that +were not light— + +And yet she could never quite rid herself of the hope that they must one +day stumble upon the thing which would dispel, as if by magic, the +mental fog that had descended between them. Some quite little thing ... +something equivalent to a mere click or switching-on of machinery that +would be in perfect working-order, if only one knew how to set it in +motion. The hope that one day it would be set in motion, sprang up +afresh whenever she was not with him, but it died down inevitably at +their next meeting, died under his queer silences and evasions, and +under his kisses.... + +Once, in one of his more clear-sighted moments, he cried out to her: +“Oh, why can’t you care for me more?” + +And all the longing of her soul was in her voice, as she replied: “My +dear—if only I could....” + +Dennis’s music alone thrilled her, as could nothing else about him. In +it, he seemed to give something of himself that he otherwise withheld; +and yet she felt that it was not to her that it was being given. He +played her his old songs or bits of his opera, but nothing that had been +dedicated to her or that had been composed because of her. Lacking the +power to inspire him, she was completely shut out of his music. + + * * * * * + +Thus they drifted, for the six months and over the six months. He was no +longer pressing her to make a decision, as he had done at first. She was +guiltily aware that she ought to do so, that the situation was absurd, +anomalous, and that she ought to end it—one way or another. But which +way? She was no nearer to loving him than she had been six months ago; +but she dreaded the idea of the blank there would be in her life, if she +put him out of it altogether, as she surely must do, once she spoke the +decisive word. So she did not speak it.... + +More and more silences and evasions now; the fog between them thicker +and thicker.... And always he kissed her; kissed her with a fervour that +seemed to increase in the same proportion as their mental affinity +seemed to diminish. + +At the end of a hot August day, they drifted in their punt down one of +the backwaters at Wargrave. Antoinette had done most of the punting; and +now, deliciously tired, she lay back among the cushions, while he +paddled down-stream. Through half-closed eyes she watched him, noted the +contrast between his athletic build and sensitive features. He was +gazing straight ahead, into the green-gold tunnel formed by the +overhanging branches. What was he thinking of, she wondered. Was it some +new musical inspiration that had come to him, and that was absorbing his +entire thoughts? He was rather a wonderful person altogether; +good-looking, and a genius. She was musician enough herself to recognise +that he was a genius. It was absurd that she should not love him.... +Perhaps, unbeknown even to herself, already she was beginning to love +him? Perhaps—with a sudden quickening of her pulses—perhaps someone had +spoken the magic password...? + +He put down the paddle, tied up the boat, and came and flung himself +down on the cushions beside her. He had chosen his moment well. For the +first time she was glad of the storm of kisses that he showered upon +her. No need to complain of his gentleness now—not now, with his hands +clenched into the short warm tangle of her hair, his hard kisses beating +down upon her lips and upon her throat. She lay passive under the storm, +rejoicing in this new fierceness and mastery that had come to +him—fierceness and mastery that in any other man would have terrified +her—and thought: “It’s going to be all right—it _is_ all right now....” + +Suddenly, without a word, he pulled himself away from her, untied the +punt and paddled back to the landing-stage. All the way to Paddington, +their compartment was crowded and conversation impossible; but +Antoinette was satisfied with what the day had already given +her—knowledge that it would be easy to make her decision now. Should she +tell him to-night, she debated as the taxi bore them homewards, or +should she leave it till to-morrow, and let to-day be sufficient unto +itself? She decided on the latter course, convinced that it would +harmonize better with his mood. He was exceptionally silent; and on her +door-step, he bade her good-bye without kissing her again, without so +much as touching her. And she was well pleased with his behaviour that +showed a fine appreciation of a mood for once shared. + +Oh, but she was looking forward to seeing him to-morrow! + +And to-morrow, at breakfast, there was a letter from him waiting beside +her plate. Joyfully she swooped down upon it. After all, he had been +quicker than herself to seize the moment. This would be one of his +perfect letters, and at last she would be able to give in response to +it, all that he might ask of her. + +Grand’mère, who had of course recognised the handwriting, looked +inquisitively over the tops of her spectacles. + +“What has he to tell you, the young Blackwood? Would it not be time to +ask him to lunch again?” And aside to Henriette: “_Cela lui donnerait +peut-être l’entrain qui lui manque...._” + +... One of his perfect letters: Antoinette’s heart fluttered wildly—and +then stopped. + +“... I’m sorry, but we can’t go on like this. I’ve known it for a long +time, and I am to blame for not having acted on my knowledge sooner. You +were right and I was wrong—it wasn’t the ‘real thing.’ I should have +broken with you completely when I first began to realise it, but for +your sake I tried to go on pretending, long after I knew it was useless. +So I’m afraid it must be good-bye.” + +“_Eh bien_,” persisted Grand’mère, “he has at last made you his +declaration...?” + +But Antoinette sat staring at the letter, stunned and bewildered as from +a blow between the eyes. This—after yesterday.... She was dazed with the +sheer incredibility of the thing; too dazed, even, to be conscious of +pain. That would come later. + +“For your sake I tried to go on pretending——” + +So yesterday, also, had been mere pretence on his part, yesterday, when +for the first time she had been genuine in her response to his +passion—his sham passion. It was fantastic, this reversal of their +original positions! + +“So I’m afraid it must be good-bye.” + +The words, read and re-read till they seemed to become devoid of all +meaning, swam before her eyes. If only he had indeed chosen to break +sooner, he would have left a blank in her life; but no more. Why must he +have waited until this moment, when it meant leaving far more than a +blank? One did not suffer when it was only a blank, but when it was +more.... + +“For your sake I tried to go on pretending, long after I knew it was +useless.” + +That was the answer; and it stung. Between the lines, she thought she +read contempt of herself; contempt and dislike. + +But was it entirely her fault that she had never possessed the key to +any of his moods? He had always shut himself away, hidden from her the +workings of his mind, so no wonder that this revelation of an attitude +that must have been crystallizing gradually during the past months came +as such a shock. + +She folded up the letter, and put it away with the one he had written +the night he had asked her to marry him. + +“I know now that nothing else matters, and that nothing can ever come +between us....” + +As contrasts, she reflected, the two letters were quite effective. + + + CHAPTER IV + +At last, thank goodness, he had found sufficient energy to break away +from this deadlock, to end this weary game of pretence! He had thought +that with Antoinette he could escape definitely from his abnormality; +escape from his loneliness; from the ever-present terror of himself; +from the nightmare of his own music; and his thoughts of Alan.... From +all these things he had sought refuge in Antoinette’s arms; she would +make him forget that they existed. And besides, Antoinette was of those +who understood; he had not the slightest intention of deceiving her; +some day they would talk everything out openly together. + +But Antoinette had failed him; failed him in her moments of recoil, as +she had failed him in her moments of insincere passion. He knew all +along that her passion was insincere, and it frightened him. Was he, +then, in truth so abnormal, so different from other men, that he was +incapable of rousing real passion in a woman, real love? She did not +love him; yet she would not let him go, even when he begged her to make +her decision. + +“We must go on, dear—or go back.” + +“I can’t go on yet, and ... and I don’t want to go back. It’ll leave +such a big hole in my world if you’re not there, Dennis.” ... Always +appearing to give herself with one hand, and to withhold herself with +the other. + +He began more and more to doubt the possibility of her understanding, +and to revise his previous judgment of her—judgment based upon some +flimsy illusion created that night at Amberhurst. She was after all just +an ordinary normal girl, who would turn from him in shuddering aversion, +if she knew.... And she was rather immoral, he thought, in her +simulation of passion that she did not feel; and endowed too, with the +ordinary woman’s vanity, that could not bear to lose an admirer, and +must keep him dangling, even though he meant nothing to her. + +But it became more and more difficult to break as time went on; he knew +that there would have to be scenes and explanations. And he dreaded the +idea of explanations now.... Of mental kinship between them, there was +no longer any trace; neither of the warm tenderness which he had felt +for her at first. He shut his inner self away from her, and, when they +met, since they could not talk—he kissed her. It was evidently what she +wanted, now that she had overcome her first distaste, and what he—well, +not what he wanted, but what for the moment, could in some small measure +content him. + +He was rapidly sinking back into the nightmare out of which he had hoped +to rise; nightmare of loneliness and strangeness and being different.... +And the old hunting-mood had him again, when for hours together he paced +the streets, courting danger and the thrill of danger from a flung +glance or smile or whispered word ... and with burning cheeks and +beating heart, fleeing danger ... and courting it again. + +And all Antoinette’s kisses could not content him now, even though she +gave them so lavishly in response to the passion that was not for her, +but only venting itself on her. That last day at Wargrave—surely some +instinct must have told her? Was she so dense or so insatiable that she +had really perceived nothing? She must have perceived nothing, or she +could not for an instant have endured his kisses. More than time for +them to break—so at last he had broken with her; and his letter would +eliminate all possibility of a further compromise—of further drifting. +He was not hurting her, at the most her vanity; and that did not matter. +She would console herself easily enough; find some other man to fill his +place. + +And now he was free—for what, though? Free to take anybody, anything +that could reach him through his charmed circle of isolation. For in +this isolation of a soul terrified of itself, and doomed to eternal +misunderstanding and misjudgment, lay the greatest temptation of all: +the temptation to stretch out a hand to others like himself, and to own +himself frankly to be one of them. It would be so much easier.... But +his abhorrence of himself, and his honest desire to be as other men; +above all, the æsthete in him insisted on a perpetual wearying struggle +between his principles and instincts for the existence of which he was +no more responsible than for the colour of his eyes. He had done his +best to fight them down, only sometimes he was very tired, tired of +having to keep this ceaseless watch over himself, tired of having to +suppress and thwart desires that were natural to him, but would be +classified as vicious and perverted by the world of ordinary people, +lacking understanding of his peculiar temperament. Yet, even while he +craved for understanding, he dreaded it: for this reason he had not been +near Barnaby for weeks. He guessed that Barnaby’s attitude would not be +one of conventional intolerance, and therefore deliberately avoided him. +Once he allowed himself the luxury of confiding in someone, he could not +tell what effect this greater freedom might have upon him. Fear, mingled +with some strain of asceticism, made him deny himself that luxury, even +as in his schooldays, it had prevented him from accepting Eric +Rubenstein’s sympathy and friendship. + +But London was too dangerous to him in his present condition. He almost +welcomed a letter from his mother, asking him to come down to Eastwold. +Hugh Clavering was expected home on leave, and his engagement to Doreen +was to be made public. Dennis went; but Hugh’s leave was several times +postponed, so that he did not actually arrive till after Christmas. + +Dennis soon realised that the ladies of Eastwold were experiencing +considerable difficulty in the matter of how to treat his mother. Of +course if Mrs. Blackwood had only been _his_ mother, one could quite +simply have cut her; but as she was also Clive’s mother and Hugh’s +future mother-in-law, it complicated things. Clive was in the trenches +and had been mentioned in dispatches.... But there was Dennis who +steadily refused even to attest under the Derby scheme, and who thought +that all war was wrong (which was ridiculous, at least as far as the +British were concerned) and said so on every possible occasion. + +Some of the ladies argued that one should condole with Mrs. Blackwood on +the subject of Dennis, rather than reproach her; some thought that his +disgraceful views more than outweighed Clive’s deeds of valour, so that +they felt justified in cold-shouldering Mrs. Blackwood. But the majority +contented themselves when they met her, with enquiring enthusiastically +after each individual member of her family, and leaving a frigid gap in +the conversation to mark the place where Dennis would have been enquired +after, had he been worthy of such enquiries.... + +Lily Hallard, very military indeed in her V.A.D. uniform, openly +confessed that she didn’t like the prospect of having a shirker for a +brother-in-law; and in her loud-voiced aggressive manner tried to +convert Dennis to a proper frame of mind. + +“How you can bear to sit at home, while other men—while your own brother +is in the trenches!” + +“They’re doing what they think is right—or rather, they don’t think at +all.” + +“And you think it’s right to let others go out and be killed for you?” + +“Killed for me.... Good Lord, do you think I _want_ them to go out into +that infernal mess and muddle? I’d hold every one of them back with my +own hands, if it were in my power!” + +“You make me sick,” said Lily. “That’s not a man’s way of talking. Look +at Tom Sanderson—he’s exchanged into an infantry regiment, because he +says there’s nothing doing in the cavalry, and he’s so eager to get to +the Front. That’s the proper spirit.” + +“Not unless you can believe, with all your intellect and soul, that +you’re doing some good by taking part in that wholesale butchery.” + +“A fat lot most of our boys think of ‘intellect and soul.’ They just go +and do their bit, and don’t talk about it.” + +“If they did—if people talked and thought about it more, there might be +some hope of ending the war altogether.” + +“We don’t want the war ended that way!” + +“No, you want it to be ended by fighting, rather than by thinking.... To +hear you, one would positively imagine that you enjoyed the idea of the +war going on and on.” + +“It must go on till we win. Oh, if only I were a man! I’d give anything +to lead a fine cavalry charge....” + +Dennis did not doubt that she was quite competent to do so. + +Altogether, he suffered no lack of attempts to convert him. + +There was Griggs—Lance-corporal Griggs—who had not been out yet, but was +dying to go, and expecting to do so next week, as he had been expecting +every week since the outbreak of war. + +“What—not yet in khaki, Dennis, old man? What’s all this about pacifism? +Come, come, come, that’s nonsense—artistic temperament, that’s all. +You’ll make as good a soldier as anyone, just the same. We’re all in +this—don’t let anyone stand out. What I say is, rope ’em all in—rope ’em +all in.” + +Dennis was reminded of the day at Amberhurst, when Griggs with just as +much fervour, had sought to induce him to play the piano during the +theatricals. “Rope ’em all in—everybody’s got to do something....” + +No one must stand out. No one must be an exception. Not even if they had +no leanings towards the particular form of entertainment advocated by +Griggs. + +Even Doreen, gentlest of sisters, did her best with Dennis. + +“Don’t you think you ought to go, Denny dear, now that everybody else +has gone?” + +“Do you imagine, Doreen darling, that I should have waited till +now—waited till everybody else had gone—if I had intended to go at all?” + +A letter from Ottilie had come through _via_ Switzerland, saying that +“she herself with a hotly-beloved Bavarian officer on the West Front +engaged had;” also that she hoped to see her dear friend Doreen again +“as soon as the dreadful war over was.” + +Dennis went on: “Surely you’d rather that your Hugh and Ottilie’s +soldier-man didn’t have the chance of shooting each other to bits?” + +“But the Army’s so big, Denny: they’re not likely to meet.” + +“In all probability they won’t. But there are thousands of others in the +same respective positions, facing each other in battle. Don’t you wish +they weren’t?” + +“Y-yes, of course I do, but ... everybody’s going, Denny.” + +And then the Ryan girls.... Millie cut him dead when she met him in the +town, but Amy, not prompt enough to achieve the cut direct, had begun to +smile before she realised what she was doing ... tried to retrieve the +smile, blushed, and finally stopped to say: “We all think it’th thuch a +pity about you, Dennith. All really nithe men go and fight, don’t they?” +Then, having said so much, she could not resist the temptation to +continue: “I’m keeping up a Correthpondeth with _three_ Lonely +Tholdierth—jutht ordinary Tommieth, of courthe, but being in khaki +maketh all the differenth, doethn’t it? Ethpethially if you never thee +them ...” with which somewhat ambiguous statement, she vanished. + +The only one who made no assaults upon Dennis’s convictions, was young +Hugh himself, very tanned and handsome, very much the hero of his native +village, and the same unspoilt and charming boy he had always been. + +“Doesn’t want to kill the Huns? Well, neither do we—part of the time. +Some of them are awful decent little chaps, quite pally with our men. +Still, I suppose it’s our job to do ’em in, if we can.” + +The biggest discussion took place at the Blackwoods’ Sunday lunch party, +the occasion on which the engagement was officially announced. Lily and +her mother came, and Hugh and his parents, and Griggs, and the +Ryans—poor Millie had to exchange a few civil words with Dennis after +all, thus marring the effect of the previous cut. + +The ladies had retired from the dinner-table; Hugh had vanished in +Doreen’s wake; and Griggs, as a non-smoker, had been accorded the +freedom of the drawing-room. Dennis was alone with his father, Mr. Ryan +and Dr. Clavering. Griggs, on his exit, gazing after Hugh and Doreen, +provided the old gentlemen with the necessary cue. + +“There they go—the gallant and the fair! Doesn’t it make your heart +envious to see them, Dennis? It’s the uniform that does it, my lad, the +uniform....” He slapped his narrow chest, and went off, beaming. + +“Yes, we believe you right enough,” grumbled Mr. Blackwood, “if I were a +young man, I’d be ashamed to be seen about in anything but khaki.” + +“They say conscription’s coming in,” Mr. Ryan wheezed hopefully. + +“That’ll be the end of all our slackers and shirkers, and a good job +too. What’ll you do then, my son?” + +“Precisely what I’m doing now.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Refuse to fight.” + +“But you can’t,” cried Mr. Blackwood, “they’ll put you in prison, or +shoot you as a deserter.” + +“Let them.” + +“You mean to tell me,” expostulated Mr. Ryan, “that you’re afraid to go +out to the Front and die like a gentleman, and yet you’ve no objection +to staying at home and being shot like a dog? It’s monstrous, sir, +monstrous.” + +“My objection to going to the Front isn’t entirely fear for my own skin, +Mr. Ryan, though I know you’re convinced that that is my sole reason for +staying behind. I don’t suppose I’m any more or less afraid of death +than the average man of my age.” + +“Prove it,” muttered his father, “prove it....” + +“I daresay I shall prove it, when conscription comes in. I would rather +be shot, as Mr. Ryan says, ‘like a dog,’ than submit to a law that +orders me to murder men with whom I’ve no personal quarrel. And if I did +have a quarrel with a man, I shouldn’t murder him.” + +“There would be some cases in which it would be your duty to do so: what +would you do if a German attacked your mother?” + +Dennis smiled as Mr. Ryan put the inevitable question. “I could defend +my mother by incapacitating him for the moment, without resorting to the +extreme measure of taking his life.” + +“Tommy-rot!” snorted Mr. Blackwood, “when a man’s blood is up, he +kills.” + +“Perhaps in the case of a personal quarrel. But you can’t say it’s his +duty to kill when he has no quarrel at all.” + +“It’s his duty to his country——” began Mr. Blackwood, and Mr. Ryan’s +breathless voice broke in: “His country’s quarrel should be good enough +for him.” + +“But it’s not the quarrel of the whole of this country, any more than +it’s the quarrel of the whole of Germany. Why not try and restrict the +quarrel to those who made it, without dragging in millions of innocent +people on either side ... people, some of whom don’t even know what the +quarrel is about, and what they’re fighting for? German peasant boys +taken straight from the plough—English lads raked out of remote sleepy +villages: how much do you think they know?” + +“There can be no doubt that every Englishman knows what he’s fighting +for,” declared Mr. Blackwood. + +“Yes, he’s told that he’s fighting for honour and glory and freedom, and +to defend his home and country from a dastardly enemy. And the German +boy is told exactly the same. And they both believe it, bless them. When +they’re both out there, dying a foul death side by side, perhaps they +may wonder if it was true, and if it was worth while, and why they let +themselves be driven out to kill and kill and be killed by each other.” + +“Yes, yes, yes,” said Mr. Ryan testily, “we all know that war is very +dreadful——” + +“Yet you won’t even attempt to stop it!” cried Dennis. “You encourage it +to go on. It’s like a fire that instead of confining to the smallest +area possible, you’re fanning and fanning till it spreads from one end +of the country to the other, and flinging on more material every day to +feed it. Why in heaven’s name won’t you try to stamp out the blaze?” + +“Yes, it’s all very well to talk like that,” said Mr. Blackwood, “but +there always have been wars, and there always will be. Nations that have +had no wars have become degenerate, and gone to the wall.” + +“Oh, I can’t stick all this humbug about war being necessary, and war +being good for us! How can people talk such stuff, if they have the +slightest conception of what war really implies?” + +“Well, you won’t alter human nature,” answered Mr. Blackwood, “man is a +fighting animal, and for my part I should be very sorry to see the +fighting instinct knocked out of him.” + +“That’s setting yourself deliberately against all idea of progress, +Father: because certain evils have existed up to the present, is that a +reason to declare categorically that they are bound to exist in the +future? Why not root them out? What is there to be proud of in the +instinct that leads one man to kill another? Why deny all possibility of +conquering an instinct that can only make for misery?” + +He looked from one to the other of the two red-faced elderly gentlemen; +his father angrily fingering the stem of his wine-glass; Mr. Ryan +glowering at him through the heavy wreaths of his cigar-smoke. Only the +doctor, on the opposite side of the table, gave the impression of an +impartial spectator. + +“I’ve no patience with all this rot!” cried Mr. Blackwood, “if a man’s +got no fight in him, he’s unnatural, that’s what I say, unnatural.” + +“You’ll allow a man to conquer nature with his ships and his +railways—you’ll allow him to widen as much as possible the gulf that +separates him from the beast; but when it comes to rooting out the +war-instinct—_No!_ He can’t overcome that. Why should he? It’s always +been there, always will be. In fact, you’re rather proud of it: it’s +part of a gentleman’s equipment. You want progress and the conquest of +natural difficulties in every possible direction, and yet you won’t +admit that a man can conquer _himself_. You’re shouted down as +‘unnatural,’ if you as much as speak of overcoming an instinct that is +nothing but a hindrance to civilisation and progress.” + +“Oh, you and your artist friends, I daresay you talk a lot of twaddle, +but you won’t convince _me_.” Mr. Blackwood drained his glass of port, +and rose from the table. Mr. Ryan followed him. Dr. Clavering remained +where he was. + +Dennis smiled at him across the table. “Well, Doctor, you’ve been very +silent all through this.” + +“I was umpiring.” + +“They were two to one.” + +“Oh, you were quite capable of holding your own. But you’ll never +convince them, Dennis, my boy.” + +“And you, Doctor?” + +“I don’t say that you’ve convinced me, but I can understand why, as an +artist, you take that point of view.” + +“Yes, but I don’t want to have excuses made for me on that ground,” +cried Dennis, “nor am I pretending for a moment that Clive and Hugh and +others like them, can go out and kill, because they’re more brutalised +than I am. It’s their belief that I’m up against—their belief that +they’re doing right.” + +“Dennis, Dennis, you’re fighting a losing battle! It’s too late for +pacifism now. The war’s started and the only thing for us to do is to +make every effort in our power to end the unfortunate business; and that +can only be done by fighting to a finish.” + +“And what then? Doctor, it’s no use pretending that ‘this is a war to +end war.’ I don’t believe it. Do you believe that the British are +fighting for disarmament, for democracy, for world-peace, any more than +the Germans are? The governments of the big nations—not the +mass-peoples, because they weren’t asked—but the governments of all big +nations organise warfare with the same ends in view—extension of power; +consolidation of empire; commercial and political advantages. If we go +on fighting till Germany has to cry ‘Pax’ from exhaustion, it simply +means that the balance of military power will be shifted, and that _we_, +instead of the Germans, will be the war-lords of Europe. Do you call +that a goal worth the sacrifice of one man’s life-blood—let alone of +millions?” + +“But that’s only a hypothesis, Dennis: you can’t be certain what will +happen after the war. We must end it first and then see. And surely, on +the strength of a mere hypothesis, you wouldn’t wish to see the Germans +win?” + +“Of course not. It’d be a tragedy for any one of the great powers to +attain the complete military victory they’re each striving for.” + +“But, my dear boy,” the doctor protested with some heat, “now that +we—now that all the nations—have sacrificed so much, we can’t go back. +Think of the utter futility of the whole thing ending in a draw!” + +“I still maintain that that’s better than fighting till one side +(whichever it is) is beaten to its knees, and the other in the position +to dictate terms of bondage; and free to go on, through the years, +preparing for wars more terrible even than this one.” + +“Well: and if it’s a draw?” + +“If the so-called fruits of victory are withheld from them all alike, +there’s some chance that the people of each nation, seeing the true +nature of the war-machine by which they’ve been driven, will clamour to +have it broken up; will protest against the maintenance of great armies +and navies for their mutual destruction. There’ll be some chance of an +era of real peace—not the sham peace of the lull before the storm, which +will exist if the powers can be definitely divided into conquerors and +conquered, with the conquered merely biding their time to reverse those +titles, and the conquerors ever on the watch to see that they shan’t do +so. A lasting peace can never be achieved by war, because war only +breeds war.” + +Dr. Clavering smiled. “You’re a Utopian dreamer, Dennis, but I sincerely +respect you, just as I respect my own boy, and all the other boys who do +their bit in their particular way.” He added after a moment: “And I +doubt if you’ll find your way easier than theirs....” + + * * * * * + +Later that afternoon, Dennis wandered out for a walk in the hills +surrounding Eastwold, thus cheating Mrs. Ryan of the opportunity to draw +him into a renewed discussion on militarism versus pacifism. + +The first breath of Spring lay upon the land; just a breath, and no +more. The woods were not even faintly misted over with the green of +budding foliage, but stood out as massed shadows of purple and bronze +against the pale sky. Except for the deeper colouring of the woods, it +was entirely a day of half-tints; light fawn of the ploughed fields; +light green of the pastures where the cattle grazed; tenderest blue of +the sky. The hedges that separated the fields were lines of brown, +curving rhythmically about the undulations of the hills. Scattered farms +nestled in the hollows, and from them went up a medley of animal sounds; +lowing of cattle; barking of dogs; bleating of lambs; sounds that were +blended with the rapturous outpourings of larks, and the drowsy distant +peal of church bells, rippling eight notes down the scale. + +Dennis lay at full length on a ridge above a chalk-pit, and looked out +at the hazy blue view, while the soft wind blew in his face, and flung +up the good strong scent of freshly-ploughed earth and young grass. +Railway-tracks gleamed in the sun; chalk-white roads wound their crazy +way up and down the hilly country; and across fields to meet them, just +as the brooks and rivulets, born of the winter’s heavy rains, meandered +along to join the placid shining river that followed its leisurely +course to the sea. + +And Dennis thought of all the roads and railways that had been made +throughout Europe to connect one country with another; of how these same +roads and railways had been torn up or blocked and barred to form +frontiers and sever the connection between one country and another. And +he thought of the rivers that flowed through one country and another; +rivers, some of which ran red now with the mingled blood of nations +locked in this death-grapple of hatred and lust and vengeance—nations +each and all inspired by the thought that they were fighting in +self-defence for justice, for glory, for their honour, for their +fatherland, for their God ... each and all fighting blindly against each +other for the same abstract principles. + +And the rivers flowed on, imperturbable; calm; oblivious of all +artificial frontiers; oblivious if it was French or German or British or +Austrian blood that reddened them. + +If there remained enough sane people in this world gone hideously mad, +could they not put an end to it all? Could they not open the eyes of +those blindly fighting—of those in government who organised and were +responsible for the fighting? Surely it must be the aim of every +rational human being to stop the war: not to secure the victory of this +nation or that, but to lay the foundations of a lasting peace for all +humanity? But people holding such views were looked upon as cowards, +shirkers, traitors. And if they stood rigidly by their views, allowing +themselves to be deviated neither by scorn nor insults; allowing +themselves to be persuaded into no weak compromise or half-measures, +they would in all probability be shot or put in prison. + +It must come to that for him too. For months, the Harmsworth press had +been agitating for conscription; the Bill would be passed that _ordered_ +every man to go out and shed the blood of his fellow-men. And then.... + +If only sufficient people had the courage to fight against the war, then +might the other countries of Europe lie as peacefully as this spread, +misty landscape at his feet. The roads and the railways might link them +together again; the barriers of racial hatred and racial envy be swept +away; art and civilisation arise once more in place of murder and +barbarity. + +Already, as was usual with him, thought was translating itself into +sound, into music that was no longer morbid as a nightmare, but strong, +triumphant, a pæan of peace—the peace of all nations. Into it would be +blended the characteristics of each; the steadfastness of the English +and the indomitable fire of the French; the depth and the innate +good-heartedness of the German people; and the easy tears and laughter +of the Austrians; the Italians’ hot-blooded rhetorical love of their +country, and the incurable melancholy of the Irish, the Russians and the +Poles. + +The voice of each he would transfuse into his music. He would make +himself the medium through which their individuality, their thoughts, +their dreams, their yearnings should be expressed. His brain teemed with +the new bold harmonies into which they would be orchestrated. This +symphony of his should be as international as art itself; as +international as the heart of the man who, seeing beyond hedges and +frontiers and class-distinctions, claims the whole world as his +“country,” and claims kinship with all people who walk upon the face of +it. + +He got up and wandered back into the straggling little town. A new +recruiting-poster on one of the hoardings caught his eye: a pink-kneed +Highlander with arm outflung against a highly-coloured patchwork of +field and hedge, demanding: “Isn’t this worth fighting for?” + +Dennis smiled as he answered the question: “It’s worth more than that; +it’s worth—_not_ fighting for!” + + + CHAPTER V + +He was in London again now, and the Conscription Bill had been passed. +All men must go, except those who were medically unfit, indispensable in +their present occupations, or had religious or conscientious scruples +against the taking of life. These could appeal for exemption, and their +cases would be heard before tribunals set up for the purpose. It sounded +rational enough and humane enough that no man should be forced to fight +against his convictions; but already there were howls of protest and +indignation at this clause in the Military Service Act. It was offering +a loophole of escape to cowards and shirkers ... easy enough for a man +who was afraid to fight, to fake up scruples that would keep him safely +at home, while better men went out and shed their blood for him.... The +Government was too soft-hearted altogether ... scruples, indeed ... +pampering a lot of weaklings.... Thus the “Daily Mail” and others of its +kind. When it came to it, Dennis wondered, would the tribunals do +justice, and how? + +He was walking up the Strand one Saturday afternoon to meet Barnaby at +Miss Mowbray’s tea-shop. The matinée crowd from the Vaudeville Theatre +was just pouring out on to the pavement when he came face to face with +Antoinette and Rosabel Fayne. For a second he and Antoinette stared at +each other, both blushing furiously, each doubtful as to whether the +other intended to stop or pass on. + +Rosabel ended their indecision for them. “Oh, Mr. Blackwood, what a +surprise, meeting you ... isn’t it a surprise, Antoinette? Do come along +to tea with us, won’t you? It’s my tea-party—I mean it’s Antoinette’s +birthday, and we’ve been to the theatre—only the pit, of course, but +very dissipated in war-time, isn’t it? Shall we go to Fuller’s?” + +Dennis, very embarrassed, glanced at Antoinette, but her eyes were +obstinately downcast, and she gave him no assistance whatever. + +“Do come,” Rosabel rattled on, “it’ll make it so jolly. This is my +afternoon off, but I have to be back at the hospital by six.” + +“Then I think you’d both better come and have tea with me,” said Dennis. +“I was on my way to meet a friend at Miss Mowbray’s.” He expected that +Antoinette would protest here, or make some excuse not to follow his +suggestion, but still she said nothing, and in silence walked along +beside the talkative Rosabel. + +It was nearly six months since he had last seen her. In the interval, +after his first bitter resentment had died down, he had scarcely thought +of her, and he assumed that she had thought equally little of him. +Everything had been over between them when he had made his final cut, +long before that, really ... so it was quite ridiculous that he should +now feel so constrained in her presence. Why had she given her tacit +consent to this three-cornered party? What was her attitude? One of +curiosity, no doubt, he reflected sardonically, curiosity as to what his +own attitude might be. She wanted a fresh sensation; Antoinette was like +that.... He decided that at all events he would not gratify that desire. + +They turned up a stone-flagged passage between the back of a theatre and +a row of small shops, entered a narrow doorway, and descended the steep +stairs into the tea-room. It was neither square nor oblong, neither +circular nor octagonal; but seemed to be made up of a variety of odd +corners of different shapes. A big fire burnt in the grate, and six or +seven little tables of dark stained wood were spread for tea. + +Rosabel gave a cry of delight. “Oh, how lovely ... isn’t it too Bohemian +for words? Such a quaint shape ... and the dim light ... and that cosy +little table in the alcove ... have you ever been here before, +Antoinette?” + +“Yes,” said Antoinette, speaking for the first time, “I’ve been here +once before.” Once.... The day after he had asked her to marry him. Did +he remember that, too, she wondered, as, much to Rosabel’s glee, they +ensconced themselves at the table in the alcove, where Barnaby was +already seated. She had met the crippled journalist several times +before, and talked to him rather hectically while Dennis vanished behind +the curtain which divided the tea-room from Miss Mowbray’s private +sanctum and the kitchen. He was rather a long time chatting to Miss +Mowbray and ordering the tea.... So much the better. When he came back +she would no longer be able to talk; the beating of her heart choked her +when she could actually look at him and hear his voice. + +This accidental meeting had been anticipated and mentally dramatised a +thousand times over. One swift look between them, one touch: “It was all +a mistake, Antoinette, I had to come back—It’s all right now ... +dear....” Herein the imaginary meeting had invariably culminated; +meeting longed for, almost prayed for during six weary months. + +He returned to their table, and still without seeking Antoinette’s eyes, +and without speaking to her directly, embarked upon a desultory +conversation with Barnaby. Through the small barred window near the +ceiling, that was on a level with the street, Antoinette watched the +legs and feet of the passers-by; legs and feet without bodies or heads, +continually passing and passing. She remembered that thus, with an odd +sort of fascination, she had watched them that first time, while Dennis +had stumblingly tried to assure her that it was all right—that he was so +glad. How much did he remember, she wondered again. And the footsteps of +those strange bodiless legs on the pavement outside, echoed: how +much—how much—how much? + +“Oh, but you’re not seeing this place at its best,” Dennis was informing +Rosabel in answer to her enthusiastic praise of the tea-shop, “it’s +empty to-day, but as a rule it’s crammed full of actors, journalists, +artists and rebels of all descriptions.” + +(Thus he had played up to Grand’mère, when he had lunched at Cadogan +Gardens, giving his audience what it wanted!) + +“Oh, how _exquisite_,” cried Rosabel, feeling that here indeed she was +having her money’s worth, or rather Dennis’s; “I do so love rebels. +Sometimes I think I’m one myself ... but it’s rather naughty of you not +to be in khaki, isn’t it, Mr. Blackwood?” + +“Oh, you mustn’t try to air any military views here, Miss Fayne,” +Barnaby twinkled at her from under his shaggy brows, “this is entirely a +haunt of pacifists.” + +“What a sweet idea,” murmured Rosabel, who could always adapt her views +to the needs of the moment; with equal flexibility she had transferred +her one-time adoration for Marie Antoinette to the present Queen of the +Belgians as being just as unfortunate and more up-to-date. “And how +clever of you to have discovered this ‘haunt,’ as you call it, tucked +away behind the theatre like this.” + +“I knew Kitty Mowbray before ever the tea-shop existed,” Barnaby +explained, “she was on the staff of the ‘Daily Standard’ at the same +time as I was; then the paper went bust, and she took up this instead. +She does a roaring trade now.” + +Antoinette puffed nervously at her cigarette, and, through the haze of +smoke, cast occasional surreptitious glances at Dennis. Often enough, +during those six months, she had wondered if, when she saw him again, +she would discover, as she had once discovered with Hester, that he +meant nothing to her. He should by rights mean nothing to her. The love +that he had awakened one day, and had not even come to claim the next, +should indeed have been a short-lived emotion; short-lived as those few +fleeting hours in the punt ... memory upon which, in view of his letter, +she could only dwell with shame-flushed cheeks ... memory upon which, +nevertheless, she dwelt again and again, striving to draw from it a +little warmth with which to animate the dull, lifeless present. That +love had not died during dreary days and nights of self-reproach, and +longing for him to return, and conviction that he would not return, and +more self-reproach ... days and nights of hope that to-morrow, at last, +would bring the letter, the wire, the telephone-call that said that he +was coming back to her. + +It was not dead now, but very acutely and painfully alive, as she sat +looking at him; tracing with a half-fearful joy the familiar outline of +his chin and jaw; listening to the familiar tones of his voice. She was +grateful to the others for talking; she felt incapable of taking part in +the conversation herself. + +Miss Mowbray entered with the tea. + +“Has O’Farrell been here to-day, Kitty?” + +The ex-newspaper-reporter, a sunny little woman in a blue linen overall, +shook her head in reply to Barnaby’s question. “He’s broke again, poor +dear. He had his last lot of sausages and mashed on tick last Friday, +and I haven’t seen him since.” + +“Well, if he turns up after I’m gone, tell him, with my love, that he’s +a confounded idiot, and that if he doesn’t deliver that cartoon of his +in time we shall never be able to get it into this week’s ‘Dove.’” + +“I’ll tell him all right,” smiled Miss Mowbray. + +“‘The Dove’ is the name of the pacifist paper Barnaby is editing,” +Dennis explained for Rosabel’s benefit. + +Rosabel clasped her hands ecstatically. “‘The Dove’—Oh, what a _sweet_ +name!” + +Barnaby grunted. “Yes, that’s all that is sweet about it. It’s a very +vehement peace-dove, I assure you. We expect our office to be raided +every day. O’Farrell’s political cartoon will do the trick, I should +think, if he delivers it in time, instead of indulging in riotous orgies +of sausages and mashed. It’s Lord Derby and the Kaiser playing a game of +Oranges and Lemons while a stream of unfit recruits passes under their +outstretched arms to their death.” + +Later on, a very bad-tempered Crispin joined the group, nodded curtly to +the two girls, and sat down between Dennis and Barnaby. “F-fools!” he +ejaculated, when at last he became articulate. “N-narrowminded idiots!” + +“There, there, what’s the matter now?” Miss Mowbray, who had come to +take his order for tea, tried to soothe him. + +Crispin spluttered: “A b-beauty. F-full-sized g-grand. P-perfect tone.” +Then, with a rush: “S-said they wouldn’t have it in the house any more.” + +“Who wouldn’t have what in the house any more?” queried Rosabel, quite +bewildered, but very interested. + +“My uncle and aunt. Their B-blüthner piano. Because it was a Hun m-make. +So I said they n-needn’t have me in their b-beastly house any more +either. And n-no more they shan’t!” concluded the irate musician. After +a deep draught of Dennis’s tea he found strength to add: “D-don’t +deserve to win the war—p-people like that.” + +Antoinette smiled at the vision of Crispin and the Blüthner grand +homeless upon the pavement in Fitzjohn’s Avenue; but she began to wish +that the party would diminish in size, instead of increasing. The larger +the party, the easier for Dennis to avoid meeting her eyes. Perhaps if +she were alone with him—was it possible that he was really so impervious +to memory as he seemed, absorbed in some political discussion with +Barnaby, while Rosabel strove to assure Crispin that she, too, was a +rebel? ... assurance pathetically incongruous with her peaked little +face under the hideous flat felt hat that constituted part of her +nurse’s uniform. If only the others would go—the thought choked her. If +they went, would he throw off this pose of indifference? Was it only a +pose, though? What if it were genuine? Or what if it hid—not agitation +caused by this sudden meeting, but actual dislike of her presence? There +had been dislike between the lines of that last letter, perhaps +something even stronger than dislike. And while all his other letters, +his charming letters, seemed mere faded ghosts, that one letter had +never lost its power to sting. Did he still hate her? She must know. She +could not possibly make matters worse than they were already by knowing +the truth. + +Eventually the others began to disperse. Barnaby hobbled up the stairs +on his crutches, and returned to his office in Fleet Street; Crispin +took his grievance into Miss Mowbray’s sanctum; Rosabel, suddenly aware +that it was long past six, scuttled off in the direction of her +hospital. + +Dennis and Antoinette were left standing at the foot of the stairs. + +“I must go, too,” she said, hoping that he would give some sign at last, +or make some attempt to detain her. + +“Is Grand’mère waiting for you with an inquisition as to how and where +the afternoon has been spent, and isn’t there a lie ready to meet the +situation?” + +So he remembered that much! She gave him one swift look to ascertain if +he were about to betray how much else he remembered. But his smile was +quite inscrutable. For very shame at having been mistaken in her +impression that he was on the point of behaving as he had always done in +the imaginary version of this meeting, she flushed scarlet as she +answered: “I have almost forgotten how to lie to Grand’mère.” + +“A pity that a practice which you have really brought to a fine art +should be allowed to rust,” he commented cynically; and his cynicism +hurt her, as had his previous indifference and apparent lack of memory, +and one or two other things, absurd little things ... like seeing that +he had a new slouch hat and brushed his hair straight back, instead of +parting it at the side ... things that she would scarcely have noticed +in the days when she did not care for him. She felt as if she had been +mentally skinned; as if every nerve were exposed and quivering, and as +if there were nothing about him that had not some mysterious power to +hurt her. + +She said in reply to his remark: “You see, there has been no need to +keep in practice.” + +He raised his eyebrows in amused astonishment. “Do you mean to tell me +that you have altogether ceased to cast a veil of fiction over your +goings and comings?” + +She was silent. She could not tell him that she had expended all her +store of unveracity on the invention of excuses that had to be plausible +enough to account for the cessation of letters, outings and +telephone-calls, and that yet had to be calculated not to put him in a +bad light, so that in case he ever came back—she had not wanted to make +the severance seem too abrupt, so for a while she let it be assumed that +they were still seeing each other occasionally, and the hardest lies of +all were those she had to tell when she went out with quite irrelevant +people, and allowed the family to take it for granted that she was with +Dennis. + +“_Eh bien, il était aimable, le jeune Blackwood?_” + +And for pride’s sake: “_Oui, Grand’mère, très aimable_.” Easy enough to +fib about a good time that one had had; difficult beyond belief to fib +about a good time that one had not had. Antoinette had lost her taste +for fibbing since then. Besides, as she had told him, there had been +nothing and no one in her life to justify or necessitate it. And she was +too much of an artist to waste a good lie, when the truth would do as +well. + +She repeated: “I must go now ...” and thought how grotesque it was that +they should be standing side by side, laboriously making conversation, +when a year ago in this same place, he had held her in his arms and +kissed her. Why couldn’t he kiss her now, while there was no one about? +Once, he would have been quick enough to seize the opportunity. And now, +not one of those unwanted kisses that she was not paying for with a +separate stab of longing. + +“I’ll see you to your station,” he said, since he could not very well do +otherwise. “Charing Cross Metropolitan for Sloane Square, isn’t it?” + +“Yes.” She smiled in memory of the innumerable times that he had seen +her home by that route. + +They walked down the Strand together. After a while, he broke the +silence with, “Does your mother’s heart still bleed for France? It was +France, wasn’t it, or was it Belgium?” + +She laughed feverishly. “It doesn’t matter. Her heart is always bleeding +for something—symbolically. Actually, she’s never been as happy in her +life as now.” + +“How’s that?” + +“She recites patriotic poems—the ‘_Carillon_’ and ‘_Belgique meurtrie_’ +at all the fashionable charity performances.” + +Dennis laughed aloud. He could so well imagine Henriette de Courcy with +her deep voice and her dramatic gestures and her symbolically bleeding +heart, reciting with much relish to an audience composed chiefly of +foreign ambassadors and English ladies of title. + +“Mother tried ever so hard to make me take it up, too,” said Antoinette, +“I suppose it would have made quite an effective picture, mother and +daughter, both with Parisian accents, both moaning for their lost +Belgium. But I really couldn’t bear it.” + +“I should think not;” for the first time she detected a note of genuine +interest in his tone. “And have they tried to persuade you into other +sorts of war-work?” + +“Oh, yes ... translating French into English (because you know both +languages so well, dear), or cutting bread and butter in a canteen, or +emptying slops in a hospital. I’ve not done anything.” + +“From conviction?” + +“Oh, no, not from conviction,” she said in a listless way, “more from +laziness.” She added wistfully, “I wish I had convictions—any sort of +convictions. Just to have them.” If one had convictions, one had at +least something in one’s life that would stand rock-firm; something by +which to steer; one was not helplessly buffeted about upon shoreless +seas of emotion. + +Dennis smiled. “You seem to consider convictions a luxury: they have to +be paid for pretty dearly, I can tell you, if one stands by them.” + +She had been so absorbed in the conflicting sensations of the moment +that she had not realised what might be in store for Dennis if he stood +by his convictions. + +“What—what is going to happen to you?” she asked tentatively. + +He shrugged his shoulders. “I wait till I’m called up; then I lodge my +appeal; then I appear before the tribunal; and then—heaven only knows!” + +“I see,” she murmured, too shy, almost too afraid of him to say more, or +to express the hope that he would get his exemption. + +Silence fell upon them again. They were nearly at the station now. And +there he would take his leave of her, with that new, half-cynical +politeness; and he would not ask if he could see her again, and she +would not see him again until chance flung them together once more, +perhaps in another six months, perhaps in a year, perhaps never. And +there would be one horrible moment when she would have to watch him +disappearing into the crowd, knowing that in this vast town, and amongst +these vast shoals of people, the odds were a million to one against +their meeting again. With every second the hope diminished that he would +still say something, do something that would spare her that one moment. + +He took her ticket at the booking-office and presented it to her. +“Well—good-bye.” + +She disregarded his extended hand, yielded to her fear and to her +frantic desire not merely to be dependent upon blind chance for her next +glimpse of him. “Please—Dennis....” + +Something of her desperate anguish pierced at last through his +assumption that all she wanted of him was a fresh sensation. He looked +at her white face and quivering mouth. “Why, Antoinette, what is it?” + +She shook her head, not daring to speak, lest the tears that scorched +her downcast eyelids should fall. + +“What is it?” he repeated gently. + +She tried to smile; made a great effort to gain self-control, but +nevertheless it sounded lame and piteous as she stammered: “C-can’t +we—just be friends?” + +He knew then that it was not friendship that she asked of him; saw also +that he was face to face with some very real emotion. A certain amount +of curiosity, blended with a slight softening of his attitude towards +her, was responsible for his next sentence. + +“We can’t very well leave things like this, can we? There’s a great deal +to be talked about.” + +A sigh of relief escaped her. She was to be spared the moment she had so +dreaded; spared at least for a while. She had been reprieved, and memory +mocked her with a vivid picture of the last time she had experienced +that sensation: going up the stairs of the tea-shop, after Dennis had +unwillingly acceded to her plea for six months’ time in which to make +her decision. + +“Come for a stroll now—it’s nearly your dinner-time, though, isn’t it? +Hadn’t you better telephone to say you’re not coming home?” + +She laughed tremulously, and found her voice again. “Yes, if you can +think of a suitable lie for me to tell them. They mustn’t know I’m with +you.” + +“Oh, you’ve met a friend of my mother’s, who insists on your dining and +going to the theatre with her. That’s the usual sort of tale, isn’t it? +And it’ll cover all emergencies in case we’re late.” + +Antoinette nodded and disappeared into the telephone-box, where she +spent considerable time placating a resentful father at the other end. +Anatole declared that she ought to come home to dinner on her birthday, +as she had been out the whole afternoon. + +“I had to say that your mother’s friend was sailing for America +to-morrow, and that this was my last chance of seeing her,” Antoinette +told Dennis when she rejoined him, “and when Father began to argue, I +rang off....” She did not know what was in store for her now, but at +least she had enjoyed those few uneasy minutes of lying to the irate +Anatole. + +They left the station, and walked down towards the Embankment. + +“Have I been a brute to you, Antoinette?” + +“No—Oh, no ...” fervently she denied his self-accusation. “It wasn’t +your fault, not any of it. It was all my fault. I made you hate me.” + +“Yes,” he admitted, “I did hate you. But it wasn’t entirely your fault +either. There were so many other difficulties and complications that +helped.” + +She said: “Yes, I know....” + +“Do you know—do you?” At the intense eagerness of his voice, some +instinct warned her to banish all trace of interest or curiosity from +her own. She replied in dead level tones: “Yes, of course I know ...” +and wondered what had prompted her to the lie. + +“Are you sure?” he persisted, as if he very much wanted her to be sure. + +And again she repeated: “Yes ...” and waited in breathless tension for +what he would say next. She had no idea as to the nature of the +difficulties and complications to which he alluded; had vainly sought an +explanation of them during the last six months. But she knew now why she +had lied: perhaps he would solve the mystery for her, if she pretended +that already she had solved it for herself. + +“That makes things very much easier,” he said, “it was that which first +drew me to you at Amberhurst—thinking you’d understand, that you must +understand, because you had the same kink of abnormality as I had.” + +“Just the same,” she murmured, still utterly ignorant of his meaning. + +“You see I always knew I was hopelessly different from other men. Women +never appealed to me. All the attraction I ever felt was for——” He +stopped, still uncertain of her, but it was beginning to dawn on her at +last, and she helped him out again. + +“Yes—I know.” + +“Well: then you came along, and I spotted you at once. And seeing that +the taint was in you too, I thought it must make you as lonely and +miserable as it made me, and I imagined that the two of us could fight +the loneliness better together.” + +He broke off to let some people pass between them; and she, confused and +bewildered, but also strangely excited by this revelation, wondered if +she could succeed in hiding from him the fact that she had never been +aware of any particular taint in herself! + +“It might have been all right if you’d said ‘yes’ at once,” he resumed, +“only you hung back.” + +“I’m sorry, Dennis.” + +“Ah, don’t say that. You were only being true to yourself; I see that +now, but at the time, it made me furious. You wouldn’t go on and you +wouldn’t go back. You just kept me dangling.” + +He set these accusations forth in a mournful, passionless way, as if +merely stating his case, and with no desire to wound her. But she felt +the wound nevertheless, and the pain of it gave her a queer thrill of +elation. Better a thousand times that he should hurt her like this, than +that there should be between them that dense impenetrable veil of +silences and evasions. Even now, whenever for a moment she lost the +sound of his voice amid the noise of wheels and the blaring of +motor-horns, she feared that he would say nothing more, and that the +veil would fall again before it had been properly lifted. And strung up +to an almost unbearable pitch of excitement, she waited to catch his +jerked-out sentences again. + +“I always thought that one day I’d be able to tell you all about +myself——” + +“Oh, if you had, if only you had.... I tried so often to make you tell +me, and you never would.” + +“Yes, that was where I made my mistake. I let my first impression of +you, the correct one, become obscured....” Subtle fascination in the +knowledge that only by reason of his discovery of some taint or kink +which they had in common, could he at last reveal all that the veil had +hidden of dark turmoil, dark moods and impulses. + +“We couldn’t go on as we were. I felt dishonourable and loathed myself +for not telling you, or breaking with you, but one seemed as difficult +and impossible as the other.” + +“I wouldn’t let you break,” she said softly, “I remember.... And of +course you couldn’t tell me anything. And you must have hated me more +and more for making you hate yourself.” + +“You understand well enough now,” he cried, “I was a fool ever to doubt +that you would.” + +On and on they walked, and the rumble of traffic and the hurrying +footsteps made a strange accompaniment to words that were more strange +yet. On and on, dodging other pedestrians, plunging across roads. But +she was stimulated beyond all consciousness of fatigue. + +“What was it,” hesitatingly she spoke, choosing her words with care, so +that he might not divine her ignorance, “what was it, that time at +Amberhurst, that showed you?” + +“My child, the way you looked at that woman, was quite enough.” + +Hester.... So that was it! + +“You were in love with her, weren’t you?” + +“Yes....” + +“And there had been others, hadn’t there? Other women?” + +“Yes—Oh, yes.” Rapidly she cast her mind over those school-girl passions +of her early youth—Miss Prescot—Natasha—passing flickers of emotion +aroused here and there by the beauty or attraction of women she had met +in hotels abroad—finally Hester.... This, then, was the taint of which +he spoke; the taint that they shared, he and she. Only whereas he had +always striven against these tendencies in himself, in herself she had +never regarded them as abnormal. It had seemed disappointing, but not in +the least unnatural, that all her passionate longings should have been +awakened by women, instead of by members of the opposite sex. + +“And you were thinking of them, weren’t you, when you said you’d known +what the real thing was like?” + +“Yes....” This, at all events, was the truth. + +“You’ve never known it with a man, have you?” + +“Never, Dennis....” Never until now. + +“I’ve known it, once, with one of my own sex ... that was a long time +ago. It was terrible ... and rather wonderful, but it had to be beaten +down, and beaten down again, and the scar has never quite healed.” + +She stole a glance at him, as he strode along at her side, a furrow +between his deep-set eyes. A wave of burning tenderness and longing came +over her. It was a shame that he should have to suffer so horribly from +the consciousness of his abnormality, while her own had never caused her +the slightest uneasiness. She understood now all the misery of his +schooldays, everything that he had half-told her in his letters. He had +put the key into her hands, hoping that she would be able to fit it into +the lock ... only she had never been able to do so. She had not even +tried—furiously she lashed herself with reproach—she had been far too +indifferent to him, far too much absorbed in her love for Hester, that +very love which proved her so closely akin to him. But he had always +suffered, as a boy, as a man ... and she had gone scot-free. If only she +could make up to him for all that he had been through, for the times +that he had in vain asked her for understanding, for the times that she +had thought of him without love, and kissed him without love. She had +been blind and insensible before, because she did not love him; but now +it seemed that every pang he had suffered, every tortured desire that +had been his, found its reflection and counterpart in her. + +“I’ve never known what it was to love a woman. Not really. I didn’t love +you, Antoinette ... you know that. And you didn’t love me, either, did +you?” + +“No ...” she added under her breath: “Not until it was too late.” + +She saw him flush; caught his murmured: “Oh, my dear ...” but if he said +more, it was lost in the rumble of wheels. Heedless of the direction in +which they had been walking, they had almost worked their way back to +Trafalgar Square. Overhead the searchlights were flashing rapier-blades, +continually crossed and re-crossed upon the background of thick dark +blue. Whitehall was crowded. She had a moment’s panic, lest she should +lose sight of Dennis. In this bewildering sea of faces and figures that +pressed in upon her from all sides, she would never be able to find him +again. They would go different ways, each hunting for the other ... but +they would never find each other again in the sickly half-light of the +darkened streets. There were so many different ways that they might go. + +The next minute she was reassured by the pressure of his arm against +hers. “Shall we go into Lyons’ for a meal? I saw you didn’t eat anything +at tea.” + +Nor could she eat anything now. She was too tired and excited; but she +was touched by his concern for her, and followed him through the +swing-doors into the crowded and garishly-lighted Corner House. The +strains of a rag-time band fell upon their ears; the sound of mingled +voices and laughter, rattle of crockery, footsteps of waiters.... + +“Not quite the right _mise-en-scène_ for a psychological dissertation,” +Dennis smiled as they seated themselves at a small corner table. + +“Oh, it’s good enough as a contrast,” she laughed, and reflected that +she was indeed having an uncommon birthday-party ... uncommon +birthday-presents, too. Meeting him had been the first; that moment at +the station when she had had her reprieve, had been the second; the way +he had suddenly taken her arm in the crowd, was another. Were there more +to come, she wondered? She dared not hope for more, but accepted with +gratitude each as it came. + +“It’s a case of ‘like to like’ with us.” He had given his order for +dinner and they faced each other across the narrow table. “And because +there’s a certain amount of the masculine element in you, and of the +feminine element in me, we both have to suffer in the same way.” + +She felt suddenly compelled to honesty. “I haven’t suffered—because I +didn’t quite realise ... about myself.” + +“And I’ve made you realise...? Oh, I’m sorry.” + +“Don’t be sorry,” she implored, “I should have had to know sooner or +later.” And she was glad that it was he who had made her realise ... +glad.... + +“Yes,” he assented, “of course you would. Not much peace of oblivion for +people like us. Not much happiness either, so far as I can see. Not when +one always has to fight and watch and take care, and pay the penalty for +having instincts that aren’t like other people’s.” + +Yet she had been happy, blissfully happy during her brief passion for +Hester. She had not fought nor watched nor taken care, for she had never +realised the need of doing either. She felt as if she had not been +justified in being happy, as if it were unfair to him that she should +have escaped paying the penalty. But in future she would not escape. +Suffering must inevitably accompany realisation. Again she was glad: for +by suffering shared, she would earn the right to stand by him in his +loneliness. + +Clatter of plates; the continual coming and going of people between the +tables; the rattle of money on the cashier’s desk; the cloying sweetness +of “Until,” played by the band. And Dennis’s low voice reaching her +across all the other conflicting sounds. + +“We’re disinherited from the legitimate ways of happiness, you and I. +We’re Ishmaelites, outcast for ever from the world of normal men and +women. Yet it isn’t our fault that we were born with unusual natures any +more than it’s a cripple’s fault that he’s born with a deformed body. +But they turn from us as if we were lepers. What do they know of the +continual struggle to be decent, and to keep decent, with something +always tugging you the other way? They don’t know the ghastliness of +having to pretend to be as normal as they, and all the while to be +stifling and suppressing the most vital side of yourself—the love-side. +And they don’t know what it’s like to go in perpetual fear of discovery, +and fear of your own condemnation as well as theirs.... I’m twenty-six, +Antoinette, and I’ve known, or almost known ever since I was fifteen; +and in all those eleven years I’ve never told a soul.” + +“I’m glad you’re telling me now....” + +“My dear, whom should I tell, if not you?” + +Swiftly she raised her eyes to his and dropped them again. “Thank you, +Dennis....” + +... They stood outside the swing-doors and shivered in the night air. +The music and light and voices were cut off behind them, and they were +caught up in the dark swirl of traffic again. He piloted her across the +road and into a taxi; gave the address to the driver; slammed the door. + +And then his arms were round her, his lips clinging to hers ... and the +shock of joy was so poignant, that she averted her face and buried it +against his coat-sleeve, so that he might not find her lips again, nor +kiss them again just yet—not just yet.... Let her hold this moment fast, +hold it and hold it against memory of all the days and nights of +fruitless yearning, against the dread of days and nights that might +perhaps still be to come. + +She stirred a little in his arms, and he kissed her again. + +“Dennis—I love you....” + +Strange for him also, to hear this from a woman. “My dear....” + +Her arm stole round his neck, drew his cheek down beside hers. And she +remembered how with just these gestures she had formerly counterfeited +passion. + +“I love you, Dennis....” Words breathed scarcely above a whisper; words +that she had not spoken to him before; words that she derived a queer +sort of delight from repeating now, as if only by admitting and +re-admitting her love for him could she atone for her past insincerity. + +After a while she said: “Will you tell me what it means, Dennis, that I +can care for you like this?” She really meant: “Doesn’t it prove me +perfectly normal after all?” + +And he understood and answered the unspoken part of her question. “It’s +only another proof of your abnormality, my poor child. No normal woman +could care for me, I’m sure. You only do, because you are what you are, +and I am what I am. It’s ‘like to like,’ as I said.” + +“Then I’m glad I’m like that.” Glad of anything that enabled her to love +him so well. + +“You mustn’t be glad; it’s a curse, a terrible curse. You’ll know some +day!” + +Yes, some day she might know, but what matter now, while he held her +close, and between his warnings kissed her, and kissed her again, so +that her face and throat and hands alike burned with the touch of his +lips.... Exhausted, finally, she leant back against his shoulder. + +“Tired, dear?” + +She nodded; too tired even for speech now; dead tired with tramping up +and down the streets while they talked; and with the nervous tension and +excitement; dead tired, but happy, she told herself triumphantly, even +if she were never to be happy again. + +He almost lifted her out of the cab. “You’ve had a strenuous day—your +birthday, too, isn’t it? Many happy returns.... Did your grandmother +give you a needle-case or a pair of embroidery-scissors? Good-night, my +dear....” + + * * * * * + +She asked no questions of the future; scarcely allowed herself to wonder +into what strange channels they were about to drift. Not for a moment +did she delude herself into belief that she could save him from the +shadowy danger which had always threatened him, nor into belief that he +loved her, or could ever love her. But at least all was clear between +them; it was to her that he had first spoken after his years of +self-imposed silence; he no longer hated her.... Therefore she was +happy, even though she knew that her hold on happiness was as precarious +as that of a person clinging to a very small raft in a very stormy sea. + + * * * * * + +“It’s wrong of me to do this, and wrong of you to let me,” he declared +at their next meeting, when without an instant’s hesitation, they found +their way into each other’s arms. + +She laughed up at him. “Why is it wrong? I know, and you know, and we +each know that the other knows, so nobody is deceiving anybody.” + +“You’re an immoral woman,” he teased her. + +“I don’t care if I am!” + +“Yes, but what’s going to become of us, Antoinette?” + +With fast-beating heart, she yet managed to say lightly: “I’m sure I +don’t know, dear.” + +As it was she who had been responsible for bringing about yesterday’s +situation, she must not let him imagine for an instant that she thought +she had any claim upon him, or that she expected him to marry her. +_Marry_ her—she had forgotten: marriage was not for such as she, +Antoinette reminded herself severely.... Only it was a pity that she +could not take the same serious view of her “taint” as he did of his. It +seemed so absolutely normal and right that she should love him. But she +must remember that she was an outcast and an Ishmaelite, and it was all +great fun, as long as they could be outcasts and Ishmaelites together! +She seemed to have recaptured some of the exuberant joyousness and +vitality of the Amberhurst days. + +“And I’m sure I don’t know either,” he replied, “there’s all this +military business hanging over me, too; it’s impossible to decide +anything yet.” + +“Quite impossible,” she agreed; and finally, to put him at his ease and +free him from all sense of responsibility towards her: “So don’t let’s +bother.” + +“Idiot-child,” he laughed and kissed her. + +She had to cloak her outings with him now under a most elaborate set of +falsehoods. Already Dennis was in the family’s bad books for having +taken no decisive steps towards proposing for her hand in marriage; and +since that explanation the other night, it was more necessary than ever +that he should be kept a “guilty secret” from the family. She revelled +in having this secret to keep. It heightened her enjoyment of the good +hours with him, as contrasted with the dull ones spent with her family. +If, as he had said, people like themselves were “disinherited from the +legitimate ways of happiness,” then it behoved her to snatch what +happiness she could, when and where she could. + +They had had dinner at Lyons’ one night and were walking up Shaftesbury +Avenue towards the Coliseum. She always loved these evening expeditions; +loved the mingled excitement and security that she felt in knowing that +he was beside her in the shifting crowds. + +They had to halt on the kerb at Charing Cross Road, while the stream of +traffic flowed past them; and suddenly, from the crowd on the opposite +side of the street, a figure detached itself for Antoinette; a man, +stalking hurriedly in the direction of Trafalgar Square. Something in +the walk, graceful and yet athletic, attracted her notice. She turned to +Dennis, and saw that his eyes were riveted to the same figure, now +rapidly vanishing from sight. + +“Is that someone you know?” she asked. + +He started, like a person awakened from heavy slumbers. “Someone +I—thought I knew....” + +He said nothing more, but all that evening remained abstracted and +curiously restless. + + + CHAPTER VI + +Some days later, Dennis and Antoinette, on their way to Miss Mowbray’s, +fetched Barnaby from his office. + +“We’ve got a new acquisition at the tea-shop,” he said, “a man called +Rutherford. He’s an absolute firebrand.” + +“Pacifist?” queried Dennis. + +“Of course. The most passionate pacifist I’ve ever encountered. Your +most eloquent tirades, and mine, and even O’Farrell’s pale to +insignificance beside his. He’s a friend of O’Farrell’s—came down the +other day with him and the Taylor woman.” + +Dennis laughed. “How is the O’Farrell _ménage_ progressing?” + +“Don’t ask me,” returned Barnaby, “it’s Benny Joseph’s affair just now. +He’s been acting as go-between for the two parties. I believe the spirit +of melodrama which they exhale appeals to him as an actor.” + +“I hope they’ll be there to-day,” said Antoinette. She was enjoying more +and more these afternoons at Miss Mowbray’s, and the haphazard meetings +with people different enough from her family’s set of acquaintances. “I +love melodrama.” + +Barnaby smiled at her eagerness. “They can supply you with plenty of it. +She’s a mad Irishwoman, married to an intensely worthy British husband. +They live with his people in Chelsea, and they’ve let the studio that’s +attached to their house, to Conn O’Farrell, who is also Irish, also mad, +and a bit of a genius into the bargain.... Well, you can do the rest in +your head, can’t you?” + +“Some of it, perhaps,” laughed Antoinette, “but not all.” + +“No, you’re right, there is rather a lot. This Rutherford man has been +lecturing Conn on the folly of wasting his time with a woman, when he +ought to be devoting himself entirely to the Cause—and then the woman +goes and weeps on Benny Joseph’s shoulder, and says she’s going to +commit suicide because Conn doesn’t love her any more—and then Conn +comes and weeps on Benny’s other shoulder, and says he’s going to commit +suicide because _she_ doesn’t love him any more. And so on _ad +infinitum_. If Benny has succeeded in snatching them both back +simultaneously from the brink of suicide, I expect they’ll be there +to-day.” + +They were. When Dennis, Barnaby and Antoinette descended into the +tea-shop they found Conn O’Farrell and Mrs. Taylor seated at a table +with Benny Joseph and Everard Walters, a very handsome, dark-eyed young +man who was acting at the theatre next door. + +Dennis introduced Antoinette all round, adding: “You’d better sit down +and talk to Benny, child. He’s got a perfectly respectable family in +Hampstead, even if he _is_ on the stage.” + +“I don’t see why a family in Hampstead should render me entirely +innocuous,” protested the young Jew. + +“Oh, but it does, Benny. You know that your wild Bohemian ways are only +skin-deep, and that one day you’ll settle down with some nice little +girl of your own people, and forget that you ever knew the smell of +grease-paint.” + +Benny looked hurt, and Antoinette said: “Never mind; I’ll talk to you, +even if you are respectable.” + +“That’s nice of you!” Benny turned to Dennis: “Is the lady a +sympathiser?” + +Dennis laughed. “She hasn’t got any convictions, or if she has, they’re +entirely plastic, aren’t they, Antoinette? But we’ll make a real convert +of her before we’ve done. Here’s the one before last!” He broke off to +greet the lank-haired undersized youth who had entered shortly after +them, “you’re a first-rate advertisement for the Cause, Oswald.” + +Oswald Forsyth turned a pair of mournful grey eyes up to the ceiling, +and struck an attitude. “Plucked from the very doors of the +recruiting-office,” he declaimed, “and made to see the light of the true +faith by Barnaby’s persuasive eloquence. Now on the staff of ‘The Dove,’ +and one of the most inspired pacifist poets of the age, eh, Barnaby?” + +“Not so bad,” grunted Barnaby, and disposed his crutches under the +table, “not so bad, considering you’ve only just left your slate and +copy-books behind you. Have you had tea yet, O’Farrell, or shall I order +it?” + +“You may order it,” laughed the Irishman, “but it’s divil a chance that +you’ll get it. I did order a pot of China tea and some cakes, but Miss +Mowbray has forgotten us the day, and Pegeen here starving for sight of +a penny bun. It’s Roy Radford and his performing Flappers that have +consumed all the food, and there’s himself in the midst of them, +devouring the last muffin in the establishment!” + +The plump little theatrical producer, who had overheard this from his +table in the far corner, looked up and beamed; and the half dozen +long-haired, long-legged and very pretty flappers who were with him, +protested hotly against Conn’s accusation of greed. + +“You story!” ... “When Flossie hasn’t even had her third cup of tea +yet!” ... “And I’ve only had four cakes—teeny ones.” ... “You’re a mean +cat, Mr. O’Farrell!” + +Miss Mowbray bustled in with a heavily-laden tray. “Sorry to keep you +waiting, Mr. O’Farrell. Here’s your Welsh Rarebit.” + +“That’s m-my Welsh Rarebit,” declared Crispin Burgess, sitting in lonely +grandeur at a table all by himself, “I ordered it y-yesterday.” + +“I don’t care if you ordered it last year,” returned Conn, “I’ll keep it +in pawn till our tea and cakes appear.” + +“It’ll be s-stone-cold by then.” + +“It will not,” said Pegeen, “for I will eat it this very minute. I like +Welsh Rarebit. Mr. Burgess can have our cakes, if they come this side of +Christmas.” + +Crispin spluttered: “I hate c-cakes,” and came over to dispute his claim +upon the Welsh Rarebit, which Pegeen was already in the act of +demolishing, the while she twinkled mischievously across at the six +flappers, who one and all smiled back at her. There was something about +her that irresistibly drew smiles, Antoinette thought; not beauty, for +there was little enough of that in the wide generous mouth, the tilted +nose, and the untidy tangle of black hair, but something more subtle +than beauty; fascination, perhaps. + +“Dear me, have I made a muddle again?” enquired Miss Mowbray sunnily, +returning with relays of cake and jam for Roy Radford’s voracious +troupe, “doesn’t Mr. Burgess look cross? Was it baked beans and tomatoes +you ordered? I do hope not, because I gave them to Mr. Walters, and he’s +eaten them up long ago.” + +“I took what the gods gave me—in lieu of the fruit-salad and wafers I +had ordered—and was content,” said the actor in his beautiful purring +voice. + +“There now, isn’t that too tiresome of me? But I do wonder whom those +baked beans can have belonged to....” Miss Mowbray, balancing a trayful +of crockery, relapsed into a profound reverie, from which she presently +emerged to say: “There’s Vera Mansfield, I must go and talk to her. She +was married two days ago, just before Mr. Mansfield was arrested. Wasn’t +it splendid of her?” + +Antoinette looked up with eager interest; caught an impression of a +plain little woman with earnest eyes; and she was thrilled and rather +awe-struck at the idea that this woman had “stood by” the conscientious +objector, up to the very gates of prison. + +Evidently it appealed in just the same way to young Oswald. +“Splendid”—with shining eyes he echoed Miss Mowbray, “it’s great, +it’s—it’s almost unbelievable, people going through with it like that to +the last.” + +Antoinette smiled. “Well, you’re going through with it too, aren’t you?” + +“Me? Oh, rather! None of your half-and-half for this child....” He added +with a slightly wistful expression: “But it is splendid, isn’t it?” + +Mrs. Mansfield spent a few minutes in conversation with Miss Mowbray, +and went out again; and as she did so, a short young man wearing a +yellow felt hat and a green muffler, pelted down the stairs, fell over +Barnaby’s crutches, and announced in a breathless, husky voice: +“_Everard_—_Benny_—I’ve got it, actually got it!” + +“Got what?” Everard enquired languidly. + +“My exemption, you ass, three months’ exemption.” + +“And on whatever grounds did you appeal?” demanded Barnaby, “you haven’t +any convictions that I’m aware of.” + +“Sole-support-of-widowed-mother,” said Harry Hope glibly, “but if +someone doesn’t give me a part in something soon, my widowed mother will +be the sole support of _me_!” + +“A pity they’ve only allowed her three months of existence,” mused +Everard. + +Harry looked perturbed. He was fond of his mother. + +“I expect he can appeal again,” said Benny. + +“I can—they said I could—but that won’t prolong the old lady’s life.” + +“It is you who will have to seek to prolong it with every care and +attention in your power.” + +Harry burst into peals of raucous laughter, and Everard winced. “For +heavens’ sake, curb that high-explosive laugh. It shatters the nerves, +Harry, it grates....” + +The flappers looked over at him and giggled, and wearily Everard +shrugged his shoulders. During his career on the stage, he had +specialised in playing the parts of cardinals; majestic cardinals; wily +cardinals; jovial cardinals; suave cardinals. And although at present, +work being scarce, he was playing a German spy in the farce next door, +and masking his beautiful diction with a guttural Teutonic accent, the +peculiar pussy-cat manner that had made him invaluable as the cardinal +in “Pippa Passes,” still clung to him in everyday life. + +Pegeen, in the intervals of consuming Crispin’s Welsh Rarebit, was +taking Antoinette into her confidence. “Is it a friend of Dennis +Blackwood’s you are, my dear? Then you must come and see Conn and me in +the studio one day. We’ll have a party, we will that. I am so happy this +day, that I could kiss everybody. I could kiss Benny Joseph this very +minute, for glory be to God, we owe it all to him!” + +“Oh, I don’t wish to compete with the deity, Mrs. Taylor,” murmured +Benny. + +“‘Mrs. Taylor,’ indeed; My name’s Pegeen. I would just as soon you +called me ‘Margaret,’ as my parents-in-law do, and my husband, God rest +his soul——” + +“D-didn’t know he was d-dead,” pronounced Crispin. + +“He’s not, dearie, he’s not ... but he may be by to-night, for all we +know. ’Tis a dangerous job, it is, walking up and down the King’s Road, +Chelsea, and flashing a wee bull’s-eye lantern up at all the houses and +into all the gardens.” + +“And not knowing that all the while we’re in the studio together, Pegeen +and I,” Conn put in, “talking of this and of that, and of the great day +that’s coming for Ireland; and I doing a bit of a drawing of her, +perhaps, and she getting a bit of supper for the two of us.” + +The two “Irish lunatics,” as Barnaby called them, gazed at each other in +undisguised adoration; then Pegeen resumed: “He is a stick, is William, +my husband. A real English stick. I said to him one night when the moon +was full, ‘William,’ I said, ‘will we be taking a Thermos flask and a +packet of sandwiches up on to Hampstead Heath for a picnic?’ And he +looked at me, my dear ... he just looked, and said, ‘Margaret, are you +mad?’” + +Antoinette, convulsed with laughter, could not resist the temptation to +ask: “Whatever made you marry him?” + +“I thought I might be able to do him good,” Pegeen replied simply, “but +that man is past doing good to.” + +“He is that ...” O’Farrell concurred. + +“But now we know what true happiness is, thanks to that ungrateful +Jew-boy, who won’t even let me kiss him!” + +Dennis and Antoinette exchanged a look of amusement and again, as +previously in the crowd, she felt conscious of a delicious feeling of +security. It was good to be with him, and to be enjoying these people +with him. Outside, the strange bodiless legs passed and passed; the +cries of the newspaper boys echoed down the stone passage; and inside, +the atmosphere became smokier and smokier, and bits of _risqué_ stories +became mingled with political arguments, theatrical jargon with the +orders for meals; and the mournful lilt of the Irish voices was a queer +contrast to the high-pitched shrieks and giggles of the flappers. And it +was all very delightful and unconventional and unlike Cadogan Gardens. +And Dennis was being nice to her. And she was very happy. + +The door to the street banged, and quick footsteps came down the stairs. +A voice, youthful and eager, was heard asking: “Is Mr. Barnaby in +there?” + +Dennis started. Was it hallucination again that made him believe it was +Alan’s voice, the same hallucination that only a few days ago had made +him believe that it was Alan’s figure he had seen in the crowd? He had +suffered from so much of this kind of hallucination at one time.... + +“Yes, we’re all here, Rutherford, come in,” cried Barnaby. Antoinette +glanced at Dennis’s face. And had no need to be told that already her +precarious hold on happiness was threatened. + +“This is the man I was telling you about, Dennis, I wanted you to +meet——” + +Alan cut him short. “We met ages ago. I’ve still got one of his +handkerchiefs in my possession. Do you remember tying up my gory wound +for me, Dennis?” + +“I remember,” said Dennis, and Alan grinned at Conn and Pegeen, flung +off his hat, and seated himself between Everard and Barnaby. + +“What about your tribunal?” asked the journalist. + +“The local tribunal has already passed me for Combatant Service,” +replied Alan, “but I’m appealing again at the House of Commons next +week. And then—good-bye to freedom for me, I suppose! But I’ll tell ’em +a few home-truths before I’m locked up. Beefy, sanctimonious old men, +sitting there to tell me it’s my duty to go out and take my share in +murdering peasant-boys and students and labourers.... And the same sort +of old men on their side, egging _them_ on to fight us, with just the +same platitudes about duty and honour and self-defence, saying that we +declared war first, just as we say they sprung the war on us! And the +capitalists of all countries coining money out of bloodshed.... Do they +want the war to stop, those government contractors, making their +millions by supplying munitions or boots or food for the armies?” + +Dennis watched him through narrowed eyes. He had not altered much. He +was eighteen months older, that was all. But there was the same quick +impatience in phrase and gesture, the same vivid look. + +He went on: “The only way to stop the war—not only this war, but all +future wars, is by opposing conscription. You’re all for the good cause +here, I suppose?” + +Barnaby answered for the company in general: “Yes, they’re all appealing +on different grounds. Everard, I forget what yours are?” + +“I’ve not had the honour of being called up yet,” the actor replied +evasively. + +“And yours, Crispin?” + +By a series of grunts, Crispin made it known that he did not intend to +fight against the nation that had produced Beethoven and Bach. + +“I’d like to appeal on every ground there is!” Oswald cried excitably, +“one can’t do enough to keep the horror from going on.” + +“I’m appealing on racial and personal grounds,” declared Benny, “I won’t +be made to fight the Jews of other countries, even to avenge Brave +Little Belgium, or prove myself a true patriot!” + +Oswald began: + + “‘Breathes there a man with soul so dead + Who never to himself has said——’” + +“I’ve said ‘This is my own, my native land’ at least half a dozen times +in half a dozen different lands,” Benny interrupted, “I have relatives +scattered about in allied, enemy and neutral countries alike. And how +can a man fight for any particular country, when he’s got an aunt in +every port?” + +“And England talks of defending the honour of small nations,” murmured +Conn, “has she forgotten Ireland at her very door, Ireland that she’s +oppressed and ground under her heel these many years? Let her recognise +Ireland as an equal and raise her up from the thraldom of a vassal +before she takes Belgium’s name in vain to hide her desire for gain.” + +“Well, at least you’re free from the necessity of appealing,” said +Barnaby, “they’ll never dare introduce conscription into Ireland. It’ll +mean revolution if they do.” + +“And may I be the first to fly the _Sinn Féin_ flag in the streets of +Dublin that day!” + +“What about you, Dennis?” said Alan. + +“Humanitarian grounds.” + +“Good!” For a second their eyes met, and then parted again. There was +chaos in Dennis’s mind. Alan’s personality had lost none of its potent +spell ... and there was Antoinette beside him ... and he longing and +longing to have the boy all to himself.... And he knew that all his +energies must go to the concealment of that desire. He leant back in his +chair and listened to Alan’s voice—and was aware that Antoinette’s gaze +rested always on himself. + +“Conscription has got to be fought,” Alan repeated, “without +conscription, Germany could never have gone to war. And the people have +got to be made to see reason, those who say that we must go on with the +war ‘for the sake of the men who have fallen.’ What sense is there in +that? Because we have wasted a million good lives already, why should we +throw another million on to the same refuse-heap? ‘To make their +sacrifice worth while!’ As if anything could make their sacrifice in +such an iniquitous cause worth while! ‘They died gladly for their +country’—it’s all cant, cruel sickening cant to make the people at home +see the war through rose-coloured spectacles. If they saw it without the +spectacles, they wouldn’t be so willing to go on paying for the +continuation of it. ‘We must fight until the whole of Germany is +crushed’—is the whole of Germany to blame for this war, any more than +the whole of England? Blame it on the German High Command, if you like, +and on the Prussian Junkers and their kind, but not on the people—people +as straight and decent as ours, only maddened by this artificially +worked-up hatred, this dizzy vision of world-power and world-empire. But +in Germany, just as in every other country, there are people who don’t +let themselves be dazzled by that vision, and who are ready to work for +the overthrow of governments that can organise wholesale butchery as a +means by which to extend dominion.” + +“The pity of it is, that we’re so few,” said Benny, “such a small and +unpopular minority.” + +Alan returned impatiently: “We’re not out for laurels.” + +“No, it’s more likely to be the broad arrow,” said Oswald. + +“Let it be the broad arrow, then! It’ll be the badge of freedom of the +future, badge of honour for those who have struggled against the tide of +public opinion. The militarists’ hatred of us is much more bloodthirsty +than their hatred of the Germans; we are the cowards and the traitors +who are deliberately delaying victory. ‘If we don’t give Germany a +knock-out blow now, the war will start all over again for the next +generation’—you hear the ignorant and the thoughtless reiterating that +catch-phrase like a lot of parrots. The war all over again—that’s +exactly what they will have if they do win their complete military +victory. When the ‘knock-out blow’ has been dealt, they’ll have to go on +keeping big armies and building big ships, to consolidate their position +as top-dog. And as long as we have big armies and navies, we shall +always have wars. The pretty toys have to be used—they can’t be kept for +show.... People call us ‘Pro-Germans’—it’s laughable. If I’d been in +Germany or anywhere else, I’d have fought just as hard against being +turned into a cog in the infernal machinery of war. It’s the whole +system of militarism I’m up against, not the individual wrongs of one +country or another. No civilised industrial population of any country +wants war. Miners in Cornwall and Lancashire or Galicia and Siberia; +poor devils sweating in our factories and in _their_ factories; +railwaymen, schoolmasters, farmers—what do they want with war? Nothing +... until the idea is drilled into them by those in power. The people +who want war and believe that war is good, should be allowed to make a +private picnic of it. The government officials and cabinet ministers and +war profiteers on both sides; the people who say they’d rather lose all +their sons, than that they shouldn’t go out and fight——” + +“The khaki-clad females who say they wish they were men, so that they +could kill a few Huns themselves,” Dennis put in. + +“Yes, if only that small handful who started the war, and are continuing +it, could finish it up amongst themselves, without implicating the +masses!” + +“Without the masses, there would be no war,” said Barnaby. + +“Exactly!” cried Alan, “without the masses, there _could_ be no war, and +that is the solution of it all, and the end and the aim of socialism—to +free the masses from the tyranny of governments that can drive them like +cattle to be slaughtered in this crazy campaign of greed and hatred. +Look at the wonderfully organised man-power of all the nations, with all +the woman-power behind it; look at the scientific miracles and the +ceaseless labour and energy that go to the production of big guns, +submarines, aeroplanes, poison-gas; think of all this employed in the +cause of destruction.... And think of the heroism and self-sacrifice of +those who really ‘die gladly’ for a mistaken ideal; and the tremendous +flame of patriotism that’s burning in the hearts of all the peoples +alike: if all these tangible and intangible splendours could have been +used in the furtherance, instead of in the destruction of civilisation! + +“And you’re expected to take your share in the destruction, without +asking if it’s right or wrong. All honour to the men who, when war broke +out, almost as a matter of course left their homes and their loves and +their careers, because they thought it was the only decent thing to +do.... And all blame to the old men at home, and to the narrow-minded +women and unimaginative girls who made it appear the only decent thing! +We’re convinced that it isn’t, and _we must stand firm_, cost what it +may! We’re few: that doesn’t matter. We shall be pilloried: that doesn’t +matter. All that matters is that we shall have striven against what our +brains and our hearts recognised as evil—Oh, not only evil, but stupid +and petty and beastly—and that we shall have done our bit towards +bringing nearer the day when militarism will be supplanted by industry, +and we may hope to have an international system of legislation that’ll +knock out the possibility of disputes having to be settled by the +barbarous and unintelligent means of bloodshed.” + +“Unintelligent, good Lord, yes!” cried Barnaby, “the whole thing is +unintelligent, even from the militarist point of view. There are +thousands of men being forced to fight, who are physically and mentally +unfit to be of the least use in battle, but whose brains might have +given us scientific inventions that would have benefited humanity, works +of art, books, music.... No, they won’t let them stop at home and do +what they _can_ do, but must send them out to do incompetently things +against which their whole nature rises in revolt. From the general +utility standpoint: in which capacity is the artist of more value to the +nation? As a creator of a work that may live, or as a mass of shattered +nerves, totally incapable either of fulfilling the requirements of the +army or of carrying out his own ideas?” + +“Oh, how much does the general public care about art or the artist these +days?” exclaimed Dennis. + +“They may not care now,” rejoined Barnaby, “but it’s the sacred duty of +everyone who’s got the gift of creation to try and keep it intact. When +the war is over we shall be grateful to those who through the long night +of destruction have kept alight the torch of art and intellect. That’s +rendering a greater service to mankind than putting your life at the +disposal of the war-machine.” + +“And the sight of all those war-shrines makes me sick!” cried Alan. +“‘_Greater love hath no man_——’ How dare they profane the words? It’s +not that a man is merely ‘laying down his life for his friends,’ but +trying to do some other man in at the same time. How does that fit in +with ‘_Thou shalt not kill_?’” + +An unobtrusive-looking spectacled man, who all this while had sat silent +at the corner table which Crispin had vacated, looked over at the group. +“It does not fit in, and it never will, but the Church has become untrue +to herself, as those who serve her have become untrue, perverting her +words until they seem to serve the ends of the State.” + +Alan asked eagerly: “Are you appealing on religious grounds, then?” + +The man replied, “Yes. And I daresay I’ll get partial exemption. +Non-Combatant Service. The despicable compromise that some men can make +with their conscience. ‘_Thou shalt not kill_’—they think they’re +obeying the letter of the law if they don’t bear arms and go to the +fighting-line; but they’re scarcely obeying the spirit when they accept +work in munition-factories, or otherwise help to release men to be +killed in their place.” + +“Yes, I’m up against people of that sort, as much as I’m up against +rabid militarists,” said Alan; “they are the cowards and shirkers who +deserve all the onus heaped upon the community of pacifists and +socialists as a whole. Men whose conscience won’t let them kill, but who +haven’t the courage to back their opinions—I’ve no use for them. Passive +pacifism won’t do any good. What we want is active pacifism, fearless +and unashamed, ready to join hands with the workers of all other +countries; to stand firm against their immoral, gain-seeking +governments; and ready to suffer the utmost penalty of their idiotic and +benighted law.” + +Crispin rose from his chair. “You b-bloody pacifists make as much noise +as b-bloody militarists. One c-can’t hearoneselfthink....” And on this +cryptic utterance he made his exit. + +The cloud of smoke became denser and more dense. Roy Radford and the +flappers had long since departed, and the remaining company, having +abandoned their separate tables, formed one collective straggling group. +Through the smoke, Antoinette watched them; O’Farrell’s fine sensitive +features and visionary eyes shadowed by a thatch of wild auburn hair; +Barnaby’s rough-hewn head and hunched shoulders; Everard’s sleek good +looks; Harry Hope’s chubbiness; Benny Joseph’s dark eyes and Semitic +profile; the nondescript appearance of the religious “objector” who had +joined in the conversation; Oswald’s thin pale face and jerkiness of +movement; Pegeen’s tilted nose, and the cigarette stuck impertinently in +one corner of her mouth.... Picturesque enough, the whole group, only +now Antoinette dared not glance at that slim boy with his dark flaming +eyes, nor at Dennis ... not since she had seen that look on his face +when Alan had entered. + +Barnaby was saying: “From every possible point of view, whether from +religion, art, socialism or humanity, war is a disgrace to any civilised +nation. Personally, I’m out of the running, altogether, but I envy you +fit men for having the chance to do your bit in the cause of peace.” + +Antoinette got up to go, wondering if Dennis would accompany her as +usual. He followed her up the stairs, but it was evidently his intention +to return to the others when he had said good-bye to her. + +At the top of the stairs she faced him. + +“Is that—is that the boy we saw the other night?” + +“Yes.” + +“It’s the one you told me about?” + +“Yes....” + +“You’re still in love with him...?” + +And again: “Yes....” + +With one hand she was clutching the wooden balustrade. He saw her +knuckles whiten under the strain, as she said in a dead, unemotional +voice: “D-do you want me to back out altogether?” + +“My dear, it’s for you to say.” + +He could not bring himself to make a quick, clean end to the situation +then and there. He was too dazed and bewildered to think. He only knew +that he could not speak the word that would hurt her so much, not now, +although her head was defiantly raised, her eyes downcast, as if she +were determined that nothing should be visible to him of the pain he +might choose to inflict. + +“It’s for you to say.” + +She relaxed the tenseness of her attitude, and seemed suddenly to go +limp. “Oh, I don’t know what to say....” The situation had come upon +them both as a shock. Neither of them felt capable of coping with it at +the moment, and in the doorway.... + +“Meet me down here one day, and we’ll talk it all out,” he whispered +hurriedly. + +She nodded and turned away. + + + CHAPTER VII + +“I had quite made up my mind that you were dead,” said Dennis when, +later on, he and Alan walked back to his rooms in Tavistock Square. + +Alan laughed. “Did you think I’d been storming trenches single-handed, +and that my V.C. had been sent home to my weeping mother?” + +“Something of the sort. I knew well enough that you’d expose yourself to +every possible risk—as you are doing, only on the right side, thank +heaven, instead of the wrong.” + +“I’m running no greater risks than you are: perhaps imprisonment, +perhaps death. I should think the latter quite probable if they attempt +to force us to do war-work in prison—dirty trick, that, but they are +quite capable of it.” + +Dennis said nothing. For himself, he had long ago contemplated these +possibilities. It was different to contemplate them for Alan. He wished +somehow that Alan need not incur such risks, and yet was proud of him +for incurring them ... and realised that on the other side, the +militarist side, they felt precisely the same: those who sent their +lovers and sons to the fighting-line and dreaded their going, yet would +not hold them back.... + +“It’s all a bloody shame,” he said aloud, “such a bloody shame....” + +“Yes, and when you think of all the labour and ingenuity that are being +spent in the invention of more and yet more diabolical means of +destruction.... I’ve watched big guns being made, and shells in +munition-factories.” + +“And how did you contrive to get into a munition-factory?” + +“The name of my never-sufficiently-to-be-respected father was disguise +enough for my revolutionary tendencies when I was up North,” said Alan, +“but when I was going about the country, trying to get at the people’s +outlook in various branches of industry, I had to assume alternately the +disguise of a sanitary inspector, a newspaper-reporter or a workman. +I’ve been temporary railway-porter and ship-builder’s apprentice, and +followed all manner of trades since I saw you last.” + +“And hasn’t your father cast you off for ever yet? Mine would like to, +but he can’t quite do it because of mother. She, poor dear, is the +victim of the complicated Eastwold table of weights and measures, +namely: Do one son and one son-in-law in the trenches outweigh one +conscientious objector, or do two in the trenches equal one in quod?” + +“My father’s done more than cast me off,” said Alan, “he’s tried to get +me run in before now—beery old buffer, making pots of money out of the +war; sitting at home and joining in the hue-and-cry: ‘We want more +men—more ships—more munitions....’ They’re tearing up the young manhood +fast enough to make soldiers, and tearing up the forests to get wood to +line the trenches and dug-outs. There was a pine-forest I passed through +in Devon—or rather the remains of a pine-forest ... a wilderness of +prostrate tree-trunks, with sticky pale-red stumps, lying crippled and +bruised, with their branches crushed under them. And the sight and the +smell of the resin oozing from where the boughs had been sawn off was a +thing that hurt you—a damnable thing!”—his voice suddenly tightened—“it +was like seeing the forest bleed to death before your very eyes. And all +the time men were at work hacking, hacking and sawing ... you couldn’t +get away from the rasping of those saws and the dull blows of the +choppers. While I watched they were stabbing at the trunk of a great +giant of a tree, and I saw its crown waver and rock and sway, and heard +a sort of groaning crash as it fell to the ground among the litter of +mutilated boughs and bleeding roots.... And all around were neat piles +of stacked-up logs and sawn planks, ready to be despatched to France. +The glory of that forest once—and now——” + +“I know,” replied Dennis, “they’re felling the old beech-trees around my +home, too—trees that have taken centuries and centuries to grow; and +when I’ve cried out at the pity of it—‘_Every tree that can be of +service to the country must come down!_’ It’s terrible and wonderful, +this ruthless, relentless concentration of will and effort. The men +going out, and the women taking over their jobs—even inanimate nature +pressed into service to ‘help to win the war!’” + +Alan nodded. “Yes, and with all that force pushing against us, we’ve got +to use the same concentration of will and effort to win peace.” + +They had reached Tavistock Square. Dennis opened the door with his +latch-key and went up to his room. Alan followed him. And thus he had +once followed Alan, by the light of a guttering candle, up a rickety +wooden staircase at Crannack. And thus, in imagination, he had often +felt himself being followed by Alan. As they were about to enter the +room, Dennis wheeled sharply round. Alan smiled back at him with +half-impudent confidence. “Well?” + +“All right, I only wanted to see if you were really there—you’ve had +such a way of dogging my heels, just like that, and then vanishing when +I turned to look at you.” + +Alan said: “You were a coward to run away that time at Crannack, +Dennis.” + +“You know why I had to run away—why I had to make myself run away. It +wasn’t easy, Alan.” + +“It’s no use running away. Because you’ll never _get_ away. We’re made +like that; why not look things straight in the face?” + +“Antoinette said something of that kind a long while ago, without having +the vaguest idea what she was talking about.” + +“Antoinette?” + +“The girl who was with me at the tea-shop to-day. The girl with whom I +sought safety from you.” + +“And did you find it?” + +“Do you need to ask?” + +Alan sat down on the floor, and with hands clasped round his knees, +gazed into the fire. + +“Then what do you want with the girl now?” + +Dennis shrugged his shoulders. + +“She’s mad on you,” Alan persisted, “I could see that. But you don’t +want her, Dennis—we don’t want her.... Cut her out altogether!” + +Dennis answered sadly: “She is out altogether, poor Antoinette, to all +intents and purposes.” + +Alan turned his head with a slow smile. “Good ...” he murmured. + +“Damn you, don’t talk and look like that!” Dennis blazed out in sudden +rage, “you might be a woman, intolerant of all favourites but yourself!” + +“I am intolerant of other favourites. And they’re no good to you, no +earthly good ... are they?” + +“No ...” said Dennis dully. + +“You admit it! Then why continue to strive after what can’t really +satisfy you?” + +“Because I mustn’t take what would really satisfy me.” + +“Then at least accept the fact that you are as you are, and don’t try to +pervert yourself into something you never will be. We’re both right over +the border-line of the normal—I more than you, because no woman could +ever attract me in the least—and we’ve got to have the courage to face +out that knowledge and, above all, to be true to ourselves. You want to +make our love an abstraction. Believe me, you’ll only succeed in making +it unnatural.” + +“Unnatural, good Lord! Isn’t it that already?” + +“You’ve been brooding too much in secret, Dennis, you’ve grown morbid. +Why will you persist in regarding it as something vicious and +degenerate? For people made as we are it’s natural and it’s beautiful to +love as we love, and it’s perversion in the true sense to try and force +ourselves to love differently.” + +“I know ... I know all that, yet I can’t accept it as justification ... +even though love like this is little short of crucifixion, as long as +some remote principle nails us to the cross and forbids expression.” + +“Then in God’s name, Dennis, why deny yourself and torture yourself like +this?” + +Dennis flung out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. + +Alan looked at him.... + +Then, very softly, he spoke. “All right, Dennis, it shall be as you say. +Hang on to your foolish Quixotic principles, if you must ... if you must +... but you’ll never get away like that—never, no, never in this +life....” + + * * * * * + +So now the shadowy danger, that she had perhaps not taken so very +seriously, just because it was shadowy, had materialised in the shape of +that boy. Dennis had warned her, and she had said: “Yes, I know....” +With her brain she had accepted his warning, with her brain understood +what it implied. But she had not felt anything. Even now the poison had +not begun properly to work.... It was still difficult to overcome the +initial sense of absurdity, of having to be jealous of a—man. Certainly, +if Dennis had chosen to make love to her at Amberhurst, she would have +given him every right to be jealous of—Hester. Crazy world ... and all +these years she had lived with her eyes shut, never perceiving how crazy +it was! She could not hazard any conjecture as to the future. All her +previous experience was powerless to assist imagination. She was on +entirely new ground now, ignorant of the significance of such landmarks +as she might encounter; instinct her sole guide, and one whom her reason +and her sense of humour were still half-inclined to mistrust. + +At least she was glad that no decisive action was called for on her +part. On the spur of the moment she had offered to back out, and he had +not accepted her offer. She could remain passive now, and await +developments. + +Mrs. Taylor rang her up while she was awaiting them, and invited her to +tea at the studio. Antoinette went, and found the Taylors’ house a low, +rambling building in a tree-shaded street in Chelsea. The studio was +connected with the house by a glass corridor, but it had another +entrance that led through a walled passage into the street. A third door +opened into a tangled garden, overgrown with weeds. + +Pegeen met Antoinette at the side-entrance, and impressed her to keep +silence during the brief transit from the street to the studio. She +explained in her inimitable fashion that since the studio had been let +to Conn O’Farrell, her husband and parents-in-law did not think it +suitable for her to frequent it. + +“But glory be to God, I have a latch-key of my own, so I say I’m taking +a walk, and just pop out of the front door and into here by this +side-entrance, when no one’s about. It’s like watch-dogs they are over +me, my dear.... William’s at the office all day and Special-Constabling +most nights, but he’s always telling his mother and his father to look +after his ‘little floweret’—that’s me, dearie—while he’s gone.” + +“So they do their duty by you!” laughed Antoinette. + +“They do that, in the true Christian-martyr spirit; for it is a very, +very bitter thing for Mother Taylor to have a wild Irish scaramouch like +me for a daughter-in-law. Her Willie should have married one of the +Vicar’s daughters from next door; they play croquet all the +afternoon.... It is really a vicarage next door, my dear, and that’s the +truth of it!” + +Antoinette was taking in every detail of her environment. A square of +blue was visible through the big skylight; an oak chest, left untidily +open, disclosed a collection of gorgeous-coloured fabrics; garments of +all hues and all periods; a very old carved table was littered with +paints, cigarette-ends, lip-salve, pencil-stumps and chocolates; the +originals of Conn’s political cartoons were upon the walls, and formed a +queer contrast to the more imaginative examples of his art—the +illustrations to old Irish fairy-tales and the designs for scenic +decorations. And then Pegeen, with a childish and charming absence of +false shame, exhibited Conn’s drawings of herself in all manner of +poses.... + +“But aren’t you afraid that someone will see them and find out?” said +Antoinette. + +“Oh, there’s never a soul in here but Conn and me and our friends. The +servants from the house aren’t allowed in. I do all his dusting for him, +bless the lad! We want no strangers here, and for another reason that +I’ll be telling you now....” Pegeen cast a glance over her shoulder, +lowered her voice to a mysterious whisper, and kicking aside one of the +rugs on the polished floor, disclosed a sliding panel. “Look!” + +Antoinette looked, and as the panel slid back beheld a cavity some six +feet deep. “A trap-door, Pegeen, a real trap-door?” + +“Hush, my dear ... there are papers in there that could get the whole +lot of us put in prison this very minute—” (Surely this was all a +child’s game of “conspirators?”)—“we must get them safely over to +Ireland and into the hands of our leaders before the month is out. We’re +going together, Conn and I, when the time comes.” + +... This was more lurid even than anything Antoinette had anticipated +from Barnaby’s descriptions. Pegeen replaced the rug, offered her the +cigarettes, and curled herself up in one of the deep armchairs. +“To-night there’ll be company in the house—they have a bishop to dinner, +my dear, all in gaiters, and I talking to him as if butter wouldn’t melt +in my mouth.... And Conn will stand in the glass passage, just this side +of the curtain, and strain his ears for a sound of my voice among the +other voices ... and after dinner maybe I’ll slip away and steal down +the passage for one minute and feel his arms round me in the dark—then +back again to old Gaiters, and the talk of how they’d like to have the +parish church restored, and how well this bloody England is doing in the +war.” + +“How marvellous, Pegeen, that’s better than anything I’ve ever +accomplished!” Antoinette told her of her own campaign of lies invented +to elude Grand’mère’s vigilance. “It’s so neat, pretending to your +parents-in-law that you are miles away, when you’re really in here, +separated from them only by a curtain.” + +“Yes, it was a happy thought, that curtain. I advised my mother-in-law +to have it put there when we let the studio to Conn, because I said, +’tis for the look of the thing, and with artists you never know.... And +she said I was after showing a bit of proper feeling at last!” + +“Where did you meet Conn?” queried Antoinette, and was rewarded with the +entire history of Pegeen’s life. + +“I was left an orphan at the age of six, my dear, and I had two aunts in +Ireland and one in England. And they played battledore and shuttlecock +with me right enough, for not one of them was pleased to have me in the +house with her own brats. You see,” Pegeen added with delightful +simplicity, “they were never quite sure if my mother had been married to +my father, so they thought it best not to give me the benefit of the +doubt....” Followed the account of her marriage to Mr. Taylor, and the +freakish impulse that had led her into it. + +“It made me laugh so the way he said: ‘Margaret, I don’t understand +you,’ every time I opened my mouth ... and when he asked me to marry him +I said ‘Yes’ just to annoy my aunts, who said they never would have +believed it of me.” + +Antoinette suggested that in the course of Pegeen’s married life she +might have heard that remark of Mr. Taylor’s once too often. + +“Yes, indeed, my dear. And the night I met Conn, I felt I’d be +suffocated dead by the morning if something didn’t happen! So I wandered +out for a walk by myself, and there in the middle of Trafalgar Square +there was a recruiting-meeting, and a man with a big banner telling all +those poor fools of Englishmen to go and fight for their country.... I +made a face at him—I did that! And Conn—he was in the crowd, too, with +his friend Rutherford—he saw me make that face, and came and spoke to +me. And, dearie, when I heard that boy’s voice, I could have put my arms +round his neck and wept....” + +“When Irish meets Irish,” murmured Antoinette, “it must have been rather +wonderful.” + +Pegeen’s greenish eyes shone. “It was that....” + + * * * * * + +Later on Conn came in, having just returned from Rutherford’s tribunal +at the House of Commons. “They’ve not heard his case yet, but I thought +I’d have time to slip down here for a cup of tea, and back again.” He +drew Pegeen towards him and kissed her lips. “I’ve brought you these +primroses, the first I’ve seen this spring—let’s have that great green +bowl, and I’ll be arranging them while you get the food.” + +Pegeen disappeared into the pantry adjoining the studio, and called to +Antoinette to come and watch her fry the eggs. Conn was left dreamily +putting the primroses one by one into the jade bowl. + +“Wouldn’t you rather I went?” Antoinette suggested to Pegeen, “I’m sure +you want to have him all to yourself.” + +Pegeen laughed. “What a child for talking nonsense! We like to have you +here. It’s a poor sort of hospitality that wishes one friend to go, when +another arrives.” + +But all the same when Conn joined them in the pantry, and kissed +Pegeen’s neck as she bent over the gas-ring, Antoinette felt that she +was an intruder—a feeling which, to do them justice, neither Conn nor +Pegeen seemed to share. They had a composite meal of eggs and tea and +cakes, all among the cigarette-ends and the lip-salve, with the massed +bowl of primroses as table-decoration in the centre. Then Conn declared +that he must go. “I don’t want to miss Rutherford’s speech; it’ll be +worth the hearing.” + +Pegeen made a grimace. “I hate that person.” + +Conn said warmly: “You’ve no need to say that now, Pegeen, love....” + +Antoinette asked, “Is anyone else at the tribunal, Mr. O’Farrell?” + +“Barnaby’s there and Dennis Blackwood. Will I give him your love, Miss +de Courcy?” + +“Oh, never mind about it ...” she laughed; but the thought of Dennis as +a spectator at Alan’s tribunal made her heart give a sudden painful +jump. + +“Good-bye, Pegeen; it’s William’s night on duty, isn’t it? Will I leave +the side-door open...?” + +Pegeen shook her ruffled head. “It’s the footsteps I’m thinking of, +Conn, the two lots of footsteps all down the gravel-path. You’ve no idea +how they show up!” + +“Then I’ll have to carry you”—Conn’s eyes rested fondly on her—“that’ll +only make one lot.” + +“There’s another way, too,” Pegeen broke into her impish laughter, “the +house on the left of this stands empty. If I can get into that garden +from the street and over the wall into ours——” + +Conn laughed. “Then William will spot you with his lantern, burgling +your own house! Well, I don’t care how you find your way in, as long as +you do—after the bishop’s left....” + +The door banged behind him. Antoinette reflected that here indeed were +combined melodrama and romance and farce of the most highly-coloured +variety. Oh, certainly romance for those two mad, delightful people who +loved each other; romance in the need for secrecy, and their peculiar +methods of ensuring it; melodrama in the existence of the trap-door +concealing the papers; farce in the idea of the respectable household +adjoining this anything but respectable studio, the vicarage next door, +the stolid Special Constable patrolling the streets. + +“And to think I might never have known this happiness!” said Pegeen, +“that objectionable person Rutherford was for ever advising my Conn not +to take the studio. He said I was a harpy and that I didn’t really love +him. So Conn believed him, and would not come near me, and I thought I +would kill myself.... I told that to Benny Joseph, that nice Jew-boy +when he came to tea here. And I cried into his handkerchief. And he made +it all right, speaking to Conn and saying I was not a harpy, and did +really love him truly. Now, I’m asking you, do I look like a harpy?” + +“You’re a darling,” laughed Antoinette, and Pegeen gave her a warm broad +smile. “I liked you the first time I set eyes on you. I don’t know why +Dennis Blackwood didn’t bring you here before; he and Mr. Barnaby often +come to see Conn.... I like Dennis,” she mused, “he’s a dear fine +fellow, he is that, and he plays the piano like an angel. Aren’t you of +the same opinion, my dear?” + +Antoinette said softly: “I am....” + +“It’s glad I am to hear that! It means that there’s a great day of +happiness coming for you just as it’s come for me.” + +“I’m afraid not, Pegeen.” + +“But why, my dear?” Pegeen came and sat on the arm of Antoinette’s +chair. “Why not?” + +“It—it’s difficult to say....” Incredibly difficult. + +Pegeen put her arms round her with a gesture impulsive and almost +maternal. “Oh, my dear, won’t you tell me what it is?” She seemed to +have lost for the moment her elfin devilry, and to have become softer, +less of an imp, more of a woman. “I’ve had to go through sorrow too, to +know happiness.... Tell me, dear: is it another woman that’s come +between you?” + +“No, Pegeen, it’s not another woman....” She was beginning to feel +frightened. Dennis was at the tribunal, every nerve drawn tense with the +hope that Alan would get his exemption. Quickly she chased from her mind +the half-hope that he would not get it. That ... was ungenerous.... Was +it, though, in the face of such a dangerous enemy? How dangerous, +exactly, was Alan? Could he be fought on equal terms, or was his +advantage over her so great that the conflict was already decided in his +favour? If only she knew.... But how, and by what standards was she to +measure the power of this strange enemy? She was oppressed by fear of +the unknown; longed to be able to confide in Pegeen. + +“It’s not another woman, it’s——” + +But that was the sort of thing one could not say. Not to anyone. Not +ever. + +“Then it’ll all come right in the end, you’ll see”—Pegeen was still +gently stroking her hair—“he’s a silly fellow and perhaps doesn’t know +his own mind yet, but one day you’ll be as happy as Conn and me, and +that’s what I’m wishing you with all my heart.” + +Antoinette raised her head, and with an effort smiled. “Yes, I expect +it’ll all come right....” She would not spoil the picture of herself and +Dennis pairing off as a secondary couple to Pegeen and Conn. But it had +been hard not to tell Pegeen. Pegeen’s warm-hearted sympathy would have +soothed, if not comforted her. It would have been such a relief to tell +someone. But—_one could not tell that sort of thing_. However much one +longed to. However frightened one was. However lonely. + + + CHAPTER VIII + +By what standards was she to measure Alan’s power...? Instinct answered: +by the power that Hester had once had over herself. There would have +been little enough hope for Dennis pitted against Hester, or any of +those other women; little enough, if it had come to it, against—Pegeen. +Antoinette was fully alive to Pegeen’s attraction, and realised that she +might have had one of her swift burning passions for her, had she not +been so entirely absorbed in Dennis, the greater love blotting out all +possibility of a lesser. But if she had not cared for Dennis so much, he +would have stood a poor chance against Pegeen; and according to that +analogy, Antoinette stood a poor chance against Alan. She had not heard +from Dennis; neither did she know the result of Alan’s appeal. Inaction +was becoming intolerable. If matters were decided one way or another, at +least she would be rid of the uncertainty, and could try and adapt +herself to the altered conditions. He had told her to meet him at Miss +Mowbray’s to discuss the position ... and it would be better, once she +knew. This she told herself repeatedly, and it gave her a sort of +spurious courage as she walked up the passage between the theatre and +the tea-shop, and with fast-beating heart descended the stairs. + +Her hope that she would find Dennis alone was immediately dashed. The +usual group was complete, save for Conn and Pegeen, and to-day it +included Mrs. Mansfield and Ernest Strickland, the religious objector. +Antoinette slipped into the vacant place that Dennis had made for her +between himself and Everard. She gave an exclamation of surprise on +seeing that the latter was in khaki. “Why—what’s happened?” + +“He’s ratted!” cried Alan, “that’s what’s happened. Couldn’t stand out, +and took the easy way. The play has come off next door, and I suppose he +fancies himself in the new part—‘A better and a worthier part, laddie, +than the one you used to play’—can’t you hear ’em?” + +Everard stroked the cuffs of his ill-fitting private’s uniform. “This is +all so stupid ...” he remarked to the ceiling, leaving it doubtful as to +whether he meant the war in general or Alan’s gibes in particular. + +“I can’t say the costume suits you,” Benny taunted him, “you were +fastidious enough about the fit of your stage-clothes, and look at you +now!” + +Everard, with magnificent dignity, feigned complete ignorance of his too +short sleeves and coat that had a baggy look about the waist-line; and +turning to Antoinette, wondered aloud in his beautiful mellow voice, +what effect war would have upon his psychology. + +“Speaking of costumes,” said Alan, “I hear there are dozens of C.O.s at +the various camps arrayed only in blankets. When they’re handed over to +the military and commanded to put on uniform they refuse to do so. Then +their own clothes are taken away from them.... _Then_ they tear up the +nice khaki that the good kind Government gives them and wrap themselves +in the blankets off their beds.” + +“As we’re in England, I suppose the authorities won’t remove the +blankets?” murmured Benny. + +“Oh, hardly.... But one really ought to practise beforehand how to wear +one’s blanket in the most artistic and effective manner. You’ll look +hideous in yours, Benny, you’re the wrong shape. By next week I shall no +doubt be quite an authority on the latest fashions in bedclothes.” + +“So you are passed for General Service?” said Strickland. + +“Yes. I knew I hadn’t any chance of getting off entirely, and I wasn’t +playing for Non-Com.... They actually asked me what I’d do if I saw my +mother attacked by a German soldier.... I told ’em I was tired of that +old chestnut and that I’d go to the defence of the soldier!” + +There was a burst of laughter, but to Antoinette it sounded rather +strained and hectic. She saw that Alan’s eyes were feverishly bright, +his cheeks flushed; and that Dennis’s gaze rested upon him with an +anxiety barely concealed by the laughter. + +“Two policemen called at my rooms yesterday when I was out, waited three +hours for me, and then got fed-up and said they’d call again to-morrow +and wait till I _did_ appear, if they didn’t cop me during the day.” + +“You can’t dodge them for long, though,” said Barnaby. + +“I don’t intend to—’tisn’t dignified. But just for a while it is a most +stimulating experience to be Wanted by the Police, and one which may +never repeat itself in the future course of my blameless career.” + +“Child ...” murmured Dennis under his breath, but Antoinette caught the +murmur, and the rueful tenderness of it. + +“At any moment I may feel a heavy hand upon my shoulder—handcuffs on my +wrists! I thought I was being shadowed by a plain-clothes detective this +afternoon. I gave him a couple of hours’ healthy exercise, dodging him +up and down the Strand, and finally shook him off when I reached +sanctuary here.... Oh, I’d rather run with the hare than hunt with the +hounds, any day. There’s something so smug and self-righteous about the +hounds, and the hare has all the sport!” + +“The hounds win in the end ...” said Dennis, and Everard quoted softly: + +“_A la fin de l’envoi, je touche...._” + +Alan threw his head back and laughed. “Well, never mind for the moment. +Let’s have cakes in vast quantities, and regardless of expense, please, +Miss Mowbray, since this may be my last meal in freedom.” + +Miss Mowbray begged him not to talk like that, and expressed her +willingness to hide him from the police among the jam-jars in her +store-cupboard. + +“Oh, this place of yours is bound to be raided sooner or later as it is, +Kitty,” said Barnaby, “some outsider will stray in and, overhearing our +conversation, will warn the authorities that it’s a hornet’s nest of +nihilists, anarchists, socialists, and other dangerous and seditious +elements!” + +“I expect you’re right, Neil,” Miss Mowbray returned placidly, “but even +if the worst comes to the worst, I shall be glad that all you boys have +had some place where you could be together and air your views in peace.” + +“And we can never be grateful enough to you for supporting the cause of +freedom as you’ve done by letting us congregate here!” cried Alan +warmly. “When this country is proclaimed a democratic republic, we’ll +erect a statue to you on what was once the site of Buckingham Palace.” + +Harry Hope plunged into the group, bursting with the news that he had +got a part at last. “Round town, too, and no commission to pay!” + +Benny Joseph offered him heartfelt congratulations. “You lucky beggar, +being able to take work. I daren’t settle anything till my beastly +appeal is over.... When do you open?” + +Even Everard was roused to a languid display of professional interest, +and sighed: “It is a beautiful thing to have a widowed mother to +support. Her life should be very sacred to you.” + +“It is. Oh, it is,” Harry assured him with husky eagerness. “I’m +thankful to say the old lady’s keeping wonderfully well.” He joined a +small group of actors seated at the table in the alcove, and proceeded +to answer more questions concerning his new part. + +Barnaby asked Mrs. Mansfield if she had news of her husband, and she +replied that he had contrived to communicate with her. “It’s too +terrible, the way they’re treated; worse than ordinary criminals. He was +kept in irons for twelve hours; he drew a design of them—cruel-looking +instruments that cut into the flesh.” + +“Oh, yes, we’re a civilised and cultured race, we English,” cried Alan, +“it’s only the Huns who are barbarians....” + +Antoinette saw Dennis flush. Easy enough to guess that he was dreading +that barbarous things might also befall Alan. Already he seemed to be +quivering to the least shade of pain that Alan might have to undergo. +But was it nothing to him, she wondered in a sudden surge of revolt, was +it nothing to him that she should be thus compelled to watch him +suffering for Alan and because of Alan? To watch him alternately +brooding over the boy with absorbed gaze, and then averting his eyes, as +if the sight of him there, laughing and vivid, were too poignant to be +borne? + +“They have to go to chapel every Sunday,” Mrs. Mansfield pursued; +“that’s the only time when the prisoners who are in solitary confinement +catch sight of each other. Maurice says there’s a perfectly hateful man +who preaches to them—it’s a degradation to call it preaching! He was +actually brute enough to say to those poor wretches: ‘God has turned His +face away from a lot like you....’” + +“It’s difficult to believe that a man of God could so profane the word +of God to those dependent upon him for spiritual consolation,” said +Strickland, “but he’s not the only one of his kind. So many of the +clergy, who call themselves followers of the Prince of Peace, deny Him, +by abuse of their power—by preaching war from the pulpit and joining +hands with the misleaders of the people to exhort them to take part in +bloodshed and strife.” + +“Yes, it beats me how devout Christians can believe in war,” said Benny, +“don’t they see it’s the negation of all that their Christ ever taught?” + +“They don’t see now. It’s they who have turned their faces away from +God. Christ wasn’t thinking of the Germans when He told us to turn the +other cheek.... That’s a very favourite line of argument, I believe; it +tends to make the Bible seem old-fashioned and out of date; a good +excuse for going behind its teachings. If people had lived up a little +more closely to these antiquated teachings, the world wouldn’t be +plunged in darkness and misery now.” + +“Well, look what they do to those who strive against the darkness and +misery,” said Barnaby. “How long has your husband got, Mrs. Mansfield?” + +“Six months penal servitude. But still I’m glad he didn’t give in and +take Non-Com. It’s an unworthy compromise, and the men in the N.C.C. are +being treated in the most despicable way.” + +“Yes, some of them, unarmed men, have actually been sent out to France,” +said Alan. “I’ve little sympathy with the Non-Coms., but it’s a dirty +trick all the same. It’s an easy way, of course, for the authorities to +get rid of them altogether: simpler to shoot them for disobeying +military orders out there than it is here.... Downright murder! Oh, it’s +better by far to stick out your time in quod than to compromise, Mrs. +Mansfield. It’s accepting no favours from a rotten, sneaking government +that can’t keep its word.” + +“Six months is a long time, and it may be longer ...” said Dennis. And +Antoinette knew that he was thinking neither of Mansfield nor of +himself. It would be a long time—for Alan. A long time for her, if +Dennis.... And if the war went on and on.... Suddenly she hated the +whole group, working upon each other’s nerves, exhorting each other to +stand out at all costs. What did she care for pacifism if Dennis had to +go to prison for it? She cared frankly only for her man, and it seemed +appalling to her that he should thus subordinate his life to his +convictions. + +... And Dennis had no eyes and no thoughts for her now. It was not +difficult to see wherein Alan’s attraction lay: he _was_ attractive, no +doubt of it, with his feverish dark eyes and sensitive well-cut mouth. +He gave her the impression of a very high-spirited race-horse. She could +quite well imagine how he would appeal to Dennis ... this terrible boy +against whom she was utterly powerless, for he seemed to possess all the +fascination of her own sex as well as of his. + +“There’s a good time ahead the day the C.O.s come out of prison!” cried +Alan, “we’ll have a word to say then, in the name of freedom and +democracy, and we’ll have earned the right to say it. We’ll eat and +drink to the day! Let’s toss down one Welsh Rarebit after the other, in +the true spirit of devil-may-care recklessness....” + +How much of this burlesque was genuine, Antoinette wondered, and how +much a disguise to hide real terror? With a shudder she realised that +most of those who sat here, laughing, smoking, arguing, blaspheming, +would sooner or later be in prison. Small wonder if terror lurked +beneath these spasmodic bursts of laughter. If Alan were afraid—small +blame to him. And if Dennis were afraid for Alan—small blame to him. And +if she were afraid for Dennis.... + +She was studying Alan carefully; and came to the conclusion that no +terror would ever be great enough to deflect him from his purpose. Alan +would never “rat”.... Perhaps his present attitude betokened an +inability to resist obeying the highly theatrical demands of the +situation. She could appreciate and understand that ... funny to have +discovered something in common with Alan. Very funny.... She must hang +on tight to her sense of humour, and not allow herself to wonder if the +world contained anything else for her to hang on to! + +The men were deep in political conversation now; none of the sense of it +penetrated her mind. She only knew that Alan, in his explosive, jerky +sentences, was doing most of the talk, with occasional interruptions +from Benny Joseph and Barnaby; that Strickland sat silent and +thoughtful; and that Dennis’s troubled eyes rested ever on Alan. + +No chance for her to have her talk with Dennis to-day. He had hardly +spoken to her at all. And already it was time to go. + +She rose from her chair. Dennis, as if suddenly becoming aware of her +presence, said: “You’re off...? I’ll ring you up to-morrow morning.” + +She nodded without looking at him, and Alan got up and held out his +hand. “Good-bye, Miss de Courcy, and in case we never meet again, which +is more than probable, don’t hate me too much, will you?” + +“Why should I hate you?” she parried with ironic politeness. For a +second their eyes met ... surely thus might a victorious rival smile +down into the eyes of one whom she had beaten off the field! + +“I couldn’t hate you if I tried,” said Antoinette very softly. She had +passed through the stage of incredulity, and through the stage of +growing uneasiness; and through that of raging jealousy and hatred. And +having got beyond all these, there was nothing left; no jealousy or +hatred big enough to express what she felt for this intruder with the +insolent smile, who with his every look and gesture could thrill Dennis, +as she had never been able to thrill him. Hatred was quite inadequate. + +“I couldn’t hate you if I tried——” She had spoken the truth. + +She felt mazed and bewildered by the traffic and the raucous shouts of +the paper-boys, as she began to make her way to the Underground station. +If at least he had accompanied her, she would have had him to herself +for a few minutes. She would not have had to say good-bye to him before +all the others, before ... Alan. Good-bye for always, in that futile, +unsatisfactory fashion. She did not believe that he would ring her up, +as he had said. It was already the end—such a miserable, dribbled-out +ending. Once before he had given her this nauseating sense of +anticlimax: only it had not really mattered then.... Perhaps he had not +accompanied her to the station for fear that she should make a scene. +Once before, at that very station——she shuddered back from pursuing that +memory any further. She must inevitably come to dwell on that moment in +the cab, when she had felt the touch of his lips again.... But this time +he need not have feared that she would provoke a scene: she was too +fully conscious of defeat; useless to fight for what was already lost. + +She had not gone very far when she came face to face with Oswald +Forsyth. + +“Are they all down at the tea-shop, talking as usual?” He spoke wearily +and there were great dark rings under his eyes. + +Antoinette nodded. “Yes, much as usual.” + +Oswald gave an impatient laugh. “Much good all their talking will do! It +can’t prevent you from being caught between the two mill-stones.” He +went on rapidly as he turned and walked along beside her: “It’s either +the war or prison—you’re caught anyhow.” + +Antoinette said: “I thought you had made up your mind...?” + +“Made up my mind.... Oh, I’ve made it up and unmade it a thousand times +ever since I met Barnaby and all his crew. Standing out with the C.O.s +seemed to me the finest thing in the world, and—and it meant not going +into the trenches.... You see, I’m a coward—the genuine article; not the +magazine-type, who is really only a hero in disguise. I’m just an abject +funk. The horror of pain—even when it’s more or less humane—the dentist +boring down to the exposed nerve—and then to think of pain inflicted +purposely in a hundred different hideous ways.... When you know of all +that can happen while you’re still conscious of it happening, how _can_ +you go out and face it? How can all those others...? It’s marvellous, +and it’s beyond me, utterly. I can only think of what it feels like to +have your inside torn open by a jagged bit of shrapnel, or to have a +limb amputated without chloroform....” + +“Oh, stop!” Antoinette implored him, but overwrought as he was, he +continued: “I thought I was getting away from all that and helping all +the others to get away by fighting for pacifism. I’ve sent in my appeal, +but Heaven knows if I’ll be able to go through with it. It +means—prison.... Doesn’t the very word convey a nightmare of being +confined in a small space, with light and air shut out, and you beating +yourself to death against stone walls...? You’ve heard them talk about +prison down at Miss Mowbray’s, haven’t you?” + +“They were talking about it to-day....” + +“And all the other days, when I’ve sat there listening—and imagining.... +I—I just can’t go to prison any more than I can go to the Front. It +drives you mad, slowly, day by day, while you feel your reason slipping +from you. I don’t know which I dread most! And there’s the one lot of +people goading you to fight and the other lot goading you not to fight, +and I’m dead sick of it all.” + +“Then why don’t you take Non-Combatant Service?” The others might well +say that she was being a traitor to the Cause, but Antoinette did not +care. She understood too well this boy’s loathing of the extremes of +pacifism and militarism alike, and a wave of thankfulness came over her +for the happy accident of having been born a woman. But for this +accident, and lacking all definite convictions, she like the rest would +have been placed between those two equally dreaded alternatives. + +“Why not take Non-Com.?” she urged again, but Oswald shook his head. +“That’s no good. They’d probably send me out to France just the same—to +pick up bits of the dead, perhaps.... There’s no real escape. You’re not +meant to escape. There’s something rapacious and cruel and inevitable +waiting to torture your mind and your body and twist them out of shape +... and whichever way you take, it’s bound to get you in the end! And I +thought—I thought life was going to be so splendid.... Oh, I know I +oughtn’t to be talking to you like this, but I’ve not slept for nights, +and I’m half crazy.” + +Antoinette cut him short. One did not need apologies from a human soul +_in extremis_. + +“Are you going back to the tea-shop?” she said, as they reached the +station. + +He looked up at her with his big, weary eyes. “Yes, I suppose so—I don’t +know”—and hovered indecisively in the entrance. + +Antoinette asked with sudden irrelevance: “How old are you?” + +There was a whimsical twist to his smile as he answered: “Eighteen—just +eighteen—it’s waiting for you now, when you’re eighteen....” + +She saw him wander off in the direction leading away from Miss +Mowbray’s. And all the way to Cadogan Gardens, one of his phrases rang +in her ears: “And I thought life was going to be so splendid....” She +might have echoed it. + +She arrived home only a few minutes before dinner-time and was met in +the hall by a wrathful grandmother. Why had she chosen to be late just +to-night? Had she, then, forgotten that Monsieur Lefèvre, from Grenoble, +was coming to dinner? Antoinette had forgotten.... Would she as quickly +as possible attire herself in the pink satin dress that Grand’mère had +given her, and in which she looked a trifle less “_outrée_” than in some +of the garments of her own choosing. + +“Make yourself look nice, and above all, be amiable,” were Madame de +Courcy’s final injunctions, as Antoinette vanished into her room, and +reflected that she might have been spared the pink satin dress and +Monsieur Lefèvre just to-night. She had never seen him before, but from +Grand’mère’s attitude it was safe to infer that he was coming in the +capacity of a possible suitor. It might have been fun—if it hadn’t been +just to-night.... + +She appeared in the drawing-room as the gong rang, and was presented by +Grand’mère to a stout and middle-aged personage with shiny black hair, a +waxed moustache, and a pince-nez. This engaging creature bowed low over +Antoinette’s hand and warmly congratulated Madame de Courcy on the +possession of such a grand-daughter. + +“She is our only one—our little treasure,” said Henriette, and laid an +arm caressingly about Antoinette’s shoulders. + +“Tableau—family-life ...” muttered Antoinette under her breath, and was +almost grateful to her father for not taking part in the tableau, but +grumbling in his usual irritable manner: “You are always late: will you +never learn to be punctual?” + +They went in to dinner. + +“_Eh bien_, Monsieur Lefèvre, you bring us news of our family in +Grenoble?” + +Monsieur Lefèvre hastened to deliver the messages which seemed to +consist mainly of: “_Saluts affectueux de la part de——_” + +But he became more explicit when mentioning that in the near future an +engagement was likely to be announced between Madame de Courcy’s +grand-daughter Hélène, and the “lonely soldier,” to whom since months +she had acted as “_marraine_.” + +“Letters had passed between them. Then the young man arrived _en +permission_. The young people appeared to please each other. It seems +that he is of good family. _Mais c’est tout de même un jeu bizarre...._” + +Grand’mère agreed that it was very bizarre, and announced her intention +of sending a letter to her daughter and son-in-law in Grenoble, +advising, or better, commanding the rupture of these highly irregular +“_fiançailles_.” + +... If only she could have caught Dennis’s eye now! How he had laughed +over that story of Sidonie’s engagement.... How he would have relished +this feat on the part of Sidonie’s youngest sister. Dennis—Dennis—would +they never laugh together again...? + +M. Lefèvre was seeking to make excuses for Hélène. One must not forget +that it was war-time. The glamour of the uniform—doubtless every +patriotic daughter of France felt the same about the glamour of the +uniform. Doubtless Mademoiselle Antoinette also—“_Et il y en a de très +chics, parmi les officiers anglais...._” + +Grand’mère remarked curtly that Antoinette had no interest in English +officers, and M. Lefèvre looked relieved. Since the outbreak of war, +being over military age, he had regretted his civilian clothing; but +to-day for the first time—with a beaming smile at Antoinette—he no +longer found reason to deplore it. + +... In the name of freedom and democracy—ready to stand out till the +last—rights of the people—international federation—Broken phrases and +words shot through her mind. She would have liked to throw M. Lefèvre +into the tea-shop—a very timorous Daniel into the lions’ den—he was a +war-profiteer, manufacturing leather goods for the French Government; +they would make short work of him down at Miss Mowbray’s! She could hear +Alan—— + +Alan.... They were together to-night, she supposed. Dennis would not +leave him now till he was arrested. She found no difficulty in picturing +what might pass between them ... Alan’s provocations ... Dennis’s +battles against desire that might prove stronger than himself. Only a +few days ago her imagination had halted, incredulous, uncomprehending. +It was amazing now, the ease with which it swung forward and found its +way about in these forbidden regions. Because the taint was in herself, +too, it had needed but the slightest touch to awaken her sleeping +imagination. The awakening had been complete. There was nothing +unfamiliar now in the thought that her man should be passionately in +love with another man. + +“Mademoiselle is interested in music?” + +“But yes, Monsieur....” + +Questions and answers ... and she knew that M. Lefèvre’s eyes rested +appraisingly on her. Perhaps he was wondering if she would make a good +wife and mother to his children.... What a pity he could not have read +her thoughts of two minutes ago! She had a great longing to speak them +aloud, to watch the effect, the stunned consternation, incredulity and +disgust spreading upon his bland, fat face. That _she_, a _jeune fille_ +of good family.... And very likely her own mother would not understand +what she was talking about; and Grand’mère would scream and rave, +whether she understood or not; and her father would turn her out of the +house. It was a pity that she could not allow herself the luxury of +giving a dramatic climax, a super-climax, to the dinner-party.... + +“Yes ...” said Henriette, “there were two hundred persons present, I +think. It was too much. The whole audience was so _ému_ by my first +recitation that their feelings reacted upon me. _J’étais toute +bouleversée...._” + +“Madame is so sensitive.” + +“_Hélas_, yes.” + +“And so generous, to give so much of her time and of her talent.” + +Henriette endorsed this. “But I give them gladly in the great cause. +Would that I could give more, and that with impassioned rhetoric I could +fire the blood of every coward who lags behind and does not avail +himself of the glorious privilege of dying for his country!” (... And a +terrified boy had said only that afternoon: “It’s waiting for you now, +when you’re eighteen!”) + +“‘_En avant, Belgique, pays martyrisée mais toujours glorieuse_’—when I +said those words my voice was strangled with sobs; and there were many +ladies in the front row who also sobbed. I noticed especially the wife +of the Spanish Secretary of State....” + +M. Lefèvre made sympathetic sounds in his throat. “A well-merited +tribute to your powers, Madame. And has Mademoiselle inherited her +mother’s great gift?” + +Mademoiselle replied: “Unhappily not, Monsieur.” + +Henriette looked at her daughter through her lorgnon. “She lacks the +temperament.” + +... Yes, but whence or from whom had she inherited the particular +temperament that was hers? The idea that it might have been the bequest +of either of her parents or her grandmother, filled her with the +hysterical desire to laugh. She was an anomaly and a freak in her +family, just as Dennis was an anomaly and a freak in his. + +Grand’mère was enquiring after the welfare of her grand-daughter +Sidonie; and M. Lefèvre, by dint of arch smiles and hesitations, managed +to convey the interesting news that Sidonie was once again in a delicate +state of health. Antoinette smiled. Out of consideration for her youth +and virginity, M. Lefèvre could not mention in a natural manner, one of +the natural facts of life ... but he would probably regale her father +with stories of the usual dubious French type once they were alone in +the smoking-room. Dennis had not been so careful of her sheltered, +girlish innocence and ignorance, but suddenly M. Lefèvre, normal, +typical man that he was, struck her as being much more perverse than +Dennis! Again she longed to say so aloud. And to have Dennis here to +watch M. Lefèvre’s face.... How was she to go on living in a world +turned upside down, world in which what was usually accepted as natural +seemed to her inverted, and only the unnatural seemed natural? +Certainly, she had exulted in being led by Dennis into this inverted +world—she saw it as a kind of maze—but she had not anticipated being +left alone in it. And she would never be able to find her way out again. +Perhaps there was no way out for people like her. + +And her mother would continue to calculate the dramatic effect of +strangled sobs at fashionable charity concerts; and her father would +continue to be fretful and irritable; and her grandmother would continue +to attempt periodically to get her married to suitable people, until she +was too old, and they gave her up as a hopeless case. + +“Mademoiselle looks a trifle pale. Perhaps the air of London does not +agree with her.” + +“Oh, I’m quite well, thank you ...” with a false sprightliness of +manner. + +“She does not eat enough,” grumbled Anatole. + +“She runs about too much,” supplemented her grandmother. + +“The air of Grenoble is said to be famed for giving appetite. May I +express the hope that soon Mademoiselle will prove it for herself?” + + + CHAPTER IX + +Would he telephone this morning? Even if it were only to make final and +absolute the severance between them? She felt that she must at all costs +speak to him once again, and then unquestioningly she would accept her +dismissal. She vowed that she would not in any way attempt to clutch at +him, but he could not expect her to be superhuman ... and it would be +superhuman to be content to drop out of his life, with never a word of +farewell. + +All that morning she was on the alert to catch the sound of the +telephone, ready to run and answer it immediately, so as not to waste +the precious moments he might have set aside for her. Other sounds there +were; deceptive sounds that jerked at her taut nerves; bicycle-bells in +the streets; the whirr of the telephone in the house next door; jingle +of bells on a passing cart; bells that existed only in her imagination. +The whole world seemed to be full of bell-sounds.... The telephone alone +remained dumb, as if under an enchantment.... But later on it threw off +this spell, and rang with persistent and diabolical frequency during the +whole afternoon. And each time Antoinette was convinced that it must be +Dennis, and with her heart beating wildly, flew to take off the +receiver; and was told that she was the “wrong number,” or else lured +into chatty conversation with some friend of her mother’s. + +She raged impotently against these people who kept the line engaged, +while Dennis was perhaps trying in vain to get on.... The exhausting day +wore to its finish; and after one more “Sorry you’re troubled,” and a +somewhat tactless enquiry on the part of the Exchange as to whether the +telephone was “in order,” the instrument relapsed into silence. + +And no letter, no word from him next morning. + +... Scorching eyeballs and aching head; the sick, hot swell of tears in +the throat, and the unremitting effort required to swallow them down, to +appear natural, to deny herself the luxury of unrestrained emotion. If +once she broke down, there would be questions ... questions that she +could not answer. How much understanding could she expect from her +environment? They were strangers to her, strangers all—her father, her +mother, her grandmother. + +Even despite her really gallant efforts at self-control, it was apparent +to her relatives that she was looking ill. Grand’mère, of course, took +this to be a piece of personal cussedness on Antoinette’s part: did not +the presence of M. Lefèvre in London render it eminently desirable that +she should appear at her best? + +“She is anæmic,” said Henriette. + +“She smokes too much,” declared Anatole. + +“We should have found her a husband when she was younger,” Grand’mère +wagged her head sagaciously. + +“There is still time,” muttered Anatole; “Jean Lefèvre had quite a good +impression of her, though one must admit that she made very little +effort to please him.” + +Grand’mère brightened, and expressed the hope that M. Lefèvre would soon +come to pay his “_visite de digestion_.” + +“He will come soon enough,” grumbled Anatole, who discouraged enthusiasm +on principle. + +Of course he would come. And more than probably he would propose to her. +Antoinette knew that type from past experience. And the family would be +indignant if she refused him—just as they had been indignant on previous +occasions. Only this time the indignation would be greater, because, as +Grand’mère had said, they should have married her off when she was +younger; they were getting uneasy about her future; wanted to see her +safely settled.... Perhaps they would make it difficult—impossible for +her to refuse him. Perhaps her own strength of resistance would give +way. She felt as if she were being slowly strangled to death. + +There was no one in whom she could confide, except, perhaps, Pegeen. +Pegeen might not understand, but she would be good to her, and that, for +the moment, was all that she asked; someone to be good to her, and +before whom she could relax her wearisome pretence. She was to go to +supper at the studio that evening; and the thought of it somehow helped +her through the first part of the third day without news of Dennis. + +But when she reached the studio, Pegeen was not there. The side-entrance +had been left open, and on the table she found a scrawled note from +Pegeen, saying that she had gone out to tea with Conn and would be back +soon, and in the meantime would Antoinette help herself to the +cigarettes.... Antoinette was bitterly disappointed, her nerves already +fretted with over-much waiting. She had no idea of the time. The hands +of the three clocks—an antique bronze, a little painted Bavarian one, +and a cuckoo-clock—all pointed to different hours and ticked at variance +with one another; through the window that stood open to the garden, a +flood of orange sunset-light poured in, and lit up the colours in the +gorgeous brocades and fabrics that lay strewn about. From the +vicarage-garden next door came the sound of voices, and the smart dry +crack of croquet balls in collision. Antoinette wondered if Pegeen and +Conn were at Miss Mowbray’s, and if Dennis and Alan were there too. +Perhaps Pegeen would bring her some news, some message. But why was she +so late? Perhaps, with characteristic absent-mindedness, while she +listened to the usual vehement sort of talk in the tea-shop, she had +forgotten that Antoinette was waiting for her. + +Already the sunset had faded, and the skylight showed a square of dull +grey. Restlessly she went to the window and looked out. The garden with +its unkempt lawn and tangled shrubbery, had a sinister appearance: +effect heightened by a yellow-eyed cat, crouching motionless among the +bushes. + +She returned to her armchair by the fireplace; selected at random a book +from one of the shelves; discovered after five minutes that she had not +taken in a single word that she had read. Why didn’t Pegeen come? Yet, +even if she came, Antoinette realised again that it would not be +possible to tell her anything. How could she tell without implicating +Dennis? Pegeen might turn away in shuddering disgust, or she might +repeat Antoinette’s story to Conn.... No, one could not tell that sort +of thing. That was law that could not be infringed, even though +infringement might bring such relief. + +Terror and loneliness of the Ishmaelite, outcast among men and women.... +She was coming to know by her own experience every stage of the +suffering he had foreshadowed for her, suffering that she was not big +enough, not strong enough to bear alone. + +Still the noise of the croquet balls persisted. Idly she wondered how +the players could see in this dim light. It was getting cold, but she +dared not go to close the door leading into the garden. To do so she +would have to cross the whole length of the studio ... and shadows were +beginning to lurk in the corners now, shadows that it would be horrible +to know behind one. As long as one faced them, it was bearable. Just +bearable.... The square of the skylight was changing from grey to dark +blue. The primroses that Conn had brought Pegeen the other day still +filled the green bowl, but they had faded to a hideous shrivelled mass +of brown. The sounds from the next door garden had ceased entirely, but +the studio was full of strange little sounds—creakings, whisperings, +mutterings.... From the walls, the figures in the cartoons leered +grotesquely down at her. There was something sinister about the designs +and the crude, brutal colouring of the brocades, just as there was +something sinister in that neglected garden with the weed-grown paths +and the crouching cat. She could not switch on the electric lamp at her +elbow; in accordance with the Lighting Regulations, the blind had to be +drawn over the skylight before the lamp could be lit ... and she knew +that she could never get even as far as the skylight. Those shapes in +the corners would creep up behind her, padding soft-footed at her +heels.... Soon it would be quite dark, and she would be alone with her +terrible thoughts, alone with the shadows and the mutterings and +creakings. + +“Pegeen, come—please—please—please....” + +No possibility of getting a sane grip of herself now. If Pegeen came she +would confess to her everything—everything—not caring if she infringed +the law. Only to have sight and sound of a human being among these +inanimate things imbued suddenly with a mysterious spirit of evil. + +Footsteps at last, coming down the path towards the entrance.... With a +sob of relief, she rushed to the door. + +“_Dennis!_” + +She was clinging to him, laughing and crying hysterically. “I—I didn’t +know you were coming here.” + +“And I didn’t know I’d find you here—I came for a book that Alan lent +Conn—‘_Towards Democracy_’—he wants it,” he spoke in rapid, jerky +sentences. + +“Conn’s out. Pegeen too. I’ve been waiting for her for hours and +hours.... Dennis, it was dreadful!” Still she clung to his hand, +trembling. + +“Poor child.... Antoinette, I know you expected me to ring up—I’ve +behaved despicably, oh, worse than that, but what’s the use of piling on +adjectives? I couldn’t ring up because there was nothing to say. You see +how it is with me, my dear.” + +“I see, Dennis....” + +“And doesn’t it make you hate me?” + +“Could anything do that?” + +He took her by the shoulders and kissed her again and again. + +With a horrible flash of insight, she cried: “You’re kissing me—and +thinking of Alan.” + +He answered “Yes” ... determined that at least there should be no +deception between them. “You shouldn’t let me do this, Antoinette.” + +“I love you....” + +“I’m a cad and a beast to let you let me.” + +She laughed a little as the pressure of his hands tightened around her. +“I love you, Dennis.” + +She was aware that her self-respect, her sense of moral degradation +should have risen in revolt against his treatment of her. Yet she knew +no shame in taking and returning his kisses, would have known no shame +in giving herself to him entirely, if by so doing she could have brought +him an instant’s fleeting delight, appeased the hunger of his senses. + +“The waste, the utter futile waste of you.... Oh, God, why can’t I care +for you more?” + +It might have been the cry of a person drowning, and it filled her with +immense pity and despair—pity and despair beyond all consciousness of +her own suffering. + +“What is it that he can give you, and that I can’t?” + +“You mustn’t want to give me anything. I’m not worth it. To-morrow I’m +seeing Alan for the last time. He’s pledged his word to be ready when +the police come for him next morning. I’m ... spending the last evening +with him, Antoinette....” + +A sound of pain broke from her lips as he drew her closer to him. “I’ve +done my best to make you hate me. I’m doing it now.... I shall be with +Alan to-morrow, I tell you! Don’t you hate me now, Antoinette, and now?” + +Thus might a different man, the phantom lover of her school-girl dreams, +have sought to wring from her the admission that she loved him. “Don’t +you love me now, Antoinette, and now...?” + +Yet in this inverted world it could still seem natural that he should +try to wring from her the assurance of her hatred, using the most cruel +weapon in his power—the name of Alan. + +“Don’t you hate me, Antoinette? It would be so much better if you +could!” + +Through her torture she cried, “No!” + +He kissed her roughly and passionately then, in a sort of fury at her +inability to satisfy him. And she, perceiving this, was yet happy after +a distorted fashion; happy despite her sad knowledge and lack of all +illusions. While she was in his arms her terrors could still be kept at +bay; she could laugh at the menace of M. Lefèvre or of continued +existence at Cadogan Gardens. It might be the last time that she would +feel secure.... Sudden conviction came upon her, that this _was_ the +last time that his arms would be around her; and now as once before, she +knew that the moment must be held and held—even though past experience +had proved that the memory of it would be powerless to soften the +inevitable pain that was to come. + +“Dennis—it’s no good, you can’t make me hate you. And I can’t make +myself hate you—I’ve tried.... And I can’t do without you. I’ve tried +that too. Seeing what it felt like.... Yes, I know you’re in love with +Alan, and that I’m nothing to you and that you’d rather be rid of me +altogether—Oh, don’t interrupt me—let me say all I have to say, for +once.... I know if I had any pride or decent feeling I shouldn’t be +saying anything at all. You called me an immoral woman once, in fun. +Perhaps you were right. I’d rather kiss you like this, knowing +everything, than be respectably married to a respectable man. I suppose +I’m not good enough to be able to care for a respectable man. But is it +immoral to care for one man only, and for him so much, that nothing he +is or does, and nothing he can make you be or do, can ever make you hate +him?” + +“And all this wasted on a wretched freak who can’t take it—but who’d +give his soul to be able to take it—bear that in mind, Antoinette, +perhaps it’ll help just a little.” + +“It’s undignified of me to ask you not to cut me off entirely, but I do +ask you, all the same. Dignity and pride don’t seem to convey very much +to me now. They’re just words. But I know that I can’t do without you. +That’s real.” + +He bent over her and murmured: “Forgive me, dear, for hurting you so +much....” + +She answered with a half smile: “Forgive me, Dennis, for loving you so +much ...” and added in a whisper: “As I forgive you for loving me so +little....” + +He said after a while: “Perhaps it’s just as well that Alan came when he +did; otherwise you might not have believed me. Seeing was believing, +wasn’t it?” + +“No,” she said softly, “feeling was believing.” + +“It’s monstrous that I should have had to drag you through all this!” + +“I went gladly, Dennis—at first, anyway. So it was just as much my +fault. And I’m still willing to go wherever you’ll lead, if only you +_will_ lead, and not leave me stranded and alone. So it’s still my fault +now.” + +He said sorrowfully: “It’s not your fault—and it’s not my fault—we’re +both unfortunates....” + +As they left the studio, they heard footsteps scurrying down the walled +passage between the gardens, and almost collided with Pegeen. “I’m so +sorry to have kept you waiting,” she whispered breathlessly, “but I +couldn’t help it. We had to arrange things—we’re off to-morrow, Conn and +I—so good-bye to the two of you, and all the best luck in the world!” + + + CHAPTER X + +“Such decent chaps they were,” said Alan reflectively, “we had a most +delightful conversation. They don’t really want to arrest me in the +least. Not with any conviction. Still, they’re coming to discharge their +painful duty at 8 a.m. to-morrow morning. Don’t look so wretched, +Dennis. I’m glad to be really up against it at last.” + +Dennis made no answer. He was mentally calculating how many hours of +freedom still remained to Alan. It was 2 a.m. now. Not many hours more. + +“And they’re mistaken if they think that imprisonment can make me +forswear my creed, or declare that I believe in war as a means of +regeneration of nations, or that the duties of citizenship lie in taking +the lives of other citizens, rather than in trying to promote pacific +relations between them. Benny was complaining the other day that we’re +so few, and I know some of us have ratted on that score alone, given up +the battle because they think it’s no use against such odds. Being in +the minority doesn’t imply being in the wrong. But capitulating means +admitting that we believe that black is white, just because the majority +says so. Poor devils all over Europe are being told that black is white, +and are dying in proof of it. Dying gallantly and splendidly and +wastefully for the sake of a lie.” + +“And when we try to assert our truth, we’re condemned to the +death-in-life of prison.” + +“I wouldn’t call it so much death-in-life, as so many years that a +benighted State unlawfully robs out of our lives, and it’s our business +to prove that even that theft can’t daunt us.” + +“You needn’t be afraid that I shall let it daunt me.” To logic and +commonsense and humanity; to every argument, reason and motive that had +hitherto impelled Dennis to take up his stand as a pacifist, was now +added the greatest of all these—love. “A couple of weeks hence I expect +I shall be safely under lock and key too.” + +Alan grinned. “Locked up because we’re considered a danger to +humanity.... Almost humorous, isn’t it?” + +“Well, at least we shall both be going through the same hell, Alan.” + +“The same hell, and the same good fight; I think we fought side by side +before now. In ancient Greece, perhaps, or Rome. Sometimes I have dreams +... and in those dreams you are always my comrade in battle, my comrade +in love.” + +“And always will be, Alan, always....” + +“You’re sure, Dennis—sure that it will be, when we come out on the other +side of this infernal tunnel?” There was a note of anxious pleading in +the boy’s voice. For all his keen determination and courage, he looked +suddenly even younger than he was—as young as he had looked that night +at Crannack. + +“Alan....” Dennis dug the nails into the palms of his hands as he tried +to master the choking sob that rose in his throat. But at that note in +Alan’s voice all his laboriously built-up self-control and restraint +gave way.... + + * * * * * + +The Square was very still, flooded in the cold bluish light of the moon. +The two stood a moment in silence on Dennis’s door-step. + +Then Alan smiled up at his friend. “Good-night, Dennis....” + +“Good-night, boy....” He tightened the pressure of his hand round Alan’s +arm. “If only I could keep you safe....” + +“Nothing matters now,” murmured Alan, “I’m glad it’s been like this—the +last time....” + + + + + PART III + + + CHAPTER I + +“And do you mean to tell me,” Mrs. Ryan said severely, “that Dennis is +appealing for exemption _again_?” + +Mrs. Blackwood looked troubled. “You see, the local tribunal passed him +for General Service, so he’s appealing against that at the House of +Commons.” + +“I should have thought that being refused once would have brought him to +his senses,” persisted Mrs. Ryan. Mrs. Blackwood glanced helplessly +across at Antoinette. They had met at Dennis’s tribunal, for which Mrs. +Blackwood and Doreen had come up to London; and they had invited +Antoinette to England for the following week-end. Dennis had remained in +town pending his new appeal. + +In answer to Mrs. Blackwood’s look, Antoinette rose in his defence. +“Naturally he’s appealing again. The local tribunal scarcely listened to +what he had to say.” + +“I should think not,” snorted Mrs. Ryan. + +“But surely the object of a tribunal _is_ to listen to what people have +to say...?” + +Momentarily routed, Mrs. Ryan occupied herself with the sleeve of the +pyjama she was sewing. All the ladies present were either sewing or +knitting, and Doreen was busy with the tea. Antoinette found it both +amusing and stimulating to be championing Dennis’s views in his own +home-circle. Mrs. Blackwood was too worried, and also a little +shamefaced before her visitors to do much in the championing line; and +Doreen apparently shared this attitude. It therefore devolved upon +Antoinette alone to defend the conscientious objector against these +female militarists—Mrs. Ryan and Mrs. Hallard the most rabid ones; Mrs. +Griggs merely woolly and futile; little Miss Simpkins torn between +admiration of “our gallant boys,” and a reluctant personal admiration +for Dennis. Unlike Mrs. Blackwood and Doreen, Antoinette had no regard +whatever for the susceptibilities of the old ladies of Eastwold, and so +felt quite equal to her task. + +Mrs. Ryan returned to the offensive. “I suppose if he appeals long +enough he will get himself put into that Non-Combatant Corps. A shame, I +call it, for a healthy young man.” + +“Oh, he wouldn’t dream of accepting Non-Com,” Antoinette replied +loftily, “that’s only a compromise.” She was glad that she had picked up +enough at Miss Mowbray’s to enable her to carry on the argument—carry it +on clumsily, perhaps, but with Dennis’s own weapons. + +Mrs. Hallard, biting off the end of her cotton, said with brisk +cheerfulness: “Well, there’s always Work of National Importance for him +to undertake if he won’t fight. Plenty of that going, isn’t there?” + +“Dennis won’t undertake anything that means releasing another man to be +killed in his place,” said Antoinette, and Mrs. Blackwood supported her +weakly with: “You see, Dennis is a socialist.” + +“One of those horrid people who wear red ties and are always having +riots ...” quavered Mrs. Griggs. + +“Dennis doesn’t wear a red tie!” declared his mother. + +“As he doesn’t believe in war himself, he won’t help others to wage it,” +Antoinette ignored the asides. + +“So selfish ...” murmured Mrs. Griggs. + +“He might at least make munitions,” was Mrs. Hallard’s next bright +suggestion. + +“Isn’t that helping to kill people, just as much as going to the Front? +It’s doing it at home in comfort, instead of out there in danger.” + +“But—but the Germans _have got_ to be killed,” expostulated Mrs. Ryan, +“how else are we to win the war?” + +Antoinette plunged round for some of the remembered arguments. +“Pacifists don’t see why we should win it, any more than the Germans. +They think a decisive victory for either side wouldn’t mean lasting +peace, but would only be the foundation for future wars. Nothing will +move Dennis from that belief!” she added proudly. + +“It’s quite a wrong-headed belief and someone ought to talk it out of +him,” said Mrs. Ryan, “I hope you’ve used all your influence, Mrs. +Blackwood?” + +“Oh, I can’t argue with him,” the mother shook her head, “his brains are +so much better than mine ... and of course he must do as he thinks +right.” + +“But do you realise that if he persists in upholding such nonsense, he +runs the risk of being put in prison?” + +Mrs. Blackwood did realise. To anyone observing under her eyes the dark +hollows that told of many sleepless nights, the fact would have been +obvious. + +“Think of the disgrace!” said Mrs. Ryan in sepulchral tones. + +“Yes, the disgrace that a man _should_ be put in prison for standing by +his convictions!” Antoinette blazed out. + +Mrs. Ryan glared at her. “Well, really ... these people are put in +prison for being cowards, and quite right too.” + +“But the C.O.s who stand out aren’t cowards: cowards take the easy +way—they commit suicide.” She was thinking of young Oswald Forsyth, who, +maddened by fear of that which awaited him no matter in which direction +he turned, had found a solution by taking his own life. “They’re not all +cowards—there are some exceptions to the rule.” + +“I always distrust the exception to the rule.” + +“But you can’t have a world with everyone in it absolutely true to type, +and built upon the same model by the dozen. Think how dull and tidy it +would be—how German, in fact.” + +“I trust that my ideas do not in any respect savour of the _Kultur_ of +that despicable country,” said Mrs. Ryan with dignity; “but I maintain +that anything that puts itself outside the general rule and diverges too +widely from the ordinary type, is an undesirable element, and should be +barred out.” + +“That means that you’d bar out genius too, and lots of other fine +qualities that only exist in the brains of people who are exceptions to +the rule.” + +“... Such a very gifted young man,” sighed Miss Simpkins, smoothing her +buttonhole with her thimble, “it seems such a pity....” + +“In times like these,” pronounced Mrs. Ryan, “if he can find nothing +else to do, he should at least devote his gifts solely to composing +Battle-Hymns for our men....” + +“... And she won’t be budged from her opinion any more than Dennis will +be from his,” reflected Antoinette. It suddenly made her feel tired to +think of the perpetual clash and battle of opposing belief and opposing +opinion going on all over the world now—and no party ever coming round +to see the point of view of the other. + +Mrs. Ryan, by way of intimating that the discussion was at an end, +pointedly asked Doreen if she had news from Hugh, who was in the +trenches. + +“I haven’t heard for some days, Mrs. Ryan. He was all right when he +wrote last, but the post comes so irregularly now....” Doreen also was +paler and thinner with the strain of waiting for letters, and dreading a +certain kind of telegram from the War Office. + +There was a sympathetic murmur from all the ladies; then Mrs. Hallard +spoke with her habitual brightness: “Never mind, dear. Just think how +you and Lily will value the boys when they do come home to you for good. +I expect we shall have a double wedding, sha’n’t we, Mrs. Blackwood? +Clive and Lily, and Doreen and Hugh.” + +“There’s nothing so pretty as a really pretty wedding, I always think,” +came Miss Simpkins’ gentle voice. + +“Arthur was the first man to enter Combles,” said Mrs. Griggs for the +tenth time that afternoon. “He entered it at the head of his men, +although he was badly wounded in the knee, which I am sure was very +painful indeed, though he made light of it at the time.” + +“Yes, he’s quite a hero, isn’t he?” said Mr. Blackwood, and Mrs. Ryan +put in: “He sent the girls a letter the other day; it had been opened by +the censor, and they were ever so proud of it.” + +In imagination Antoinette could hear Amy’s excited lisp: “Fanthy the +thenthor reading all our thecreth—doethn’t it make one feel important?” + +Later on Lily Hallard made her appearance. Hands plunged deep in the +pockets of her khaki coat, she greeted the assembled company with: +“Afternoon, everybody!” and helping herself to the sandwiches sat down +between her mother and Doreen. + +“I’ve had a letter from Clive, so I thought I’d better toddle round with +it at once and show you. Says he’s feeling awfully fit. Killed three +Huns all on his own—sniped ’em. Good man!” + +“Oh, well done, well _done_!” cried Mrs. Hallard, “that ought to mean a +decoration of some sort. Well, if he gets it or not, he’ll have deserved +it. Your boy has given you something to be proud of, Mrs. Blackwood.” + +“Yes—yes, indeed....” But Mrs. Blackwood’s mind was troubled by an echo +of something her other boy had once said to her: “Do you think because +they’re Germans they love their sons less?” + +“Oh, by the way,” Lily continued with her mouth full, “Tom Sanderson’s +been rather badly smashed up. I met his mother this morning. They had to +amputate both legs—the one only as far as the knee, though. They say +he’s wonderfully cheerful—learning to knit and make himself useful with +his hands, now he’ll never be able to ride or walk again. I won’t tell +Clive when I write; he’d be so cut up. He’s awfully fond of Tom. Rotten +shame, isn’t it?” + +“The brutes!” exclaimed Mrs. Ryan. + +... Those who had maimed Tom were brutes; but Clive, who had sniped +three of the enemy, was a hero. And to the other side Clive was the +brute, and Tom’s assailants were heroes. Antoinette marvelled that the +one-sided absurdity of it all should be apparent to no one save herself. +But she recognised that it would not even have been apparent to her were +she not seeing the world through Dennis’s eyes. And had he been a +soldier she would have collected his badges and buttons, and listened to +his stories from the Front with just as much zest as Doreen or Lily. But +while she utterly lacked convictions of her own, there was a certain +pride in taking up the attitude which she knew would have been his if he +had been here. + +Mrs. Blackwood’s invitation to Eastwold had been a god-send. Ever since +Alan’s arrest, two months ago, she had felt strangely shy of Dennis; had +feared that he might think she was taking an unfair advantage over Alan. +He might hate her and recoil from her, just because she was there, and +he did not want her; and Alan, whom he did want, was inaccessible. All +she prayed for now was not that Dennis should love her, but that he +should not hate her. + +And at Eastwold, surrounded by people and things that belonged to him, +she was continually being reminded of his personality. There were the +old photographs of him as a baby, as a boy ... such a serious-eyed +little boy. There were his books which she was invited to borrow if she +liked. There was in Doreen that faint family-likeness to Dennis; an +expression in the big light-brown eyes; the curve of the lips. There was +the fascination of listening to Mrs. Blackwood’s stories of him as a +child.... Antoinette felt nearer to him here than when she was actually +with him in London. + +After the sewing-party had broken up, Lily, Antoinette and Doreen sat +talking in the latter’s bedroom. + +Doreen appealed to Antoinette: “Can’t you do anything to make Dennis +give up his dreadful ideas?” + +Antoinette smiled inwardly at the assumption that she had some influence +over Dennis; but thought it just as well to keep up the illusion before +Dennis’s sister. “Why should I, Doreen? Surely every man has a right to +his opinions, and I think it’s splendid of Dennis to stand by his, as +he’s doing.” + +“Splendid!” cried Lily, “sheer theatricality, I call it. They should +never have had the chance of making such an exhibition of themselves. +I’d shoot ’em all if I had my way.” + +“When so many are being shot already—and some are shooting themselves +for fear of being shot—and some are shooting themselves rather than +shoot others?” + +“Oh, I like your so-called humanitarian who is so squeamish that he +won’t take the lives of his country’s enemies, and yet doesn’t scruple +to take his own, rather than let it be of service to the State.” + +“Rather than use it for a purpose which he considers vile!” Antoinette +broke in. “There’s some heroism in that too, even if there isn’t in the +suicide of the person who’s just afraid. That’s only pitiful ...” she +added softly. + +“Why concern yourself with such riff-raff? The C.O.s and all their like +are just a lot of contemptible weaklings.” + +“You’re not very complimentary to your future brother-in-law, are you?” + +“Doreen knows well enough what I think of Dennis’s behaviour; there is +no need for compliments. People of his sort are no good to the nation. +Cut ’em out I say!” + +“You can’t call a man who’s ready to go to prison for his convictions a +weakling or a coward.” + +“Prison’s safe. What’s prison compared with the trenches?” + +“They do queer things to the C.O.s in prison—forcing food through tubes +up their noses if they won’t eat, putting them in chains and painful +irons—yes, you _shall_ listen, Doreen.... The officials have more or +less got a free hand with them, and backed up by public opinion they can +wreak their spite upon them as they please, giving them ghastly +punishments that may injure them for life.” + +Lily shrugged her shoulders. “If a man disobeys orders he’s got to be +punished. The men in the trenches run other risks—real risks.” + +“The men in the trenches also stand a sporting chance of escape. Those +in prison don’t. They have to undergo deliberate, cold-blooded torture. +It—it’s like atrocities!” + +Lily snorted. “Well, it would be a nice thing if these precious +pacifists of yours were allowed to run loose and enjoy themselves while +all the really decent people have to suffer.” + +“No, you’d like to see them punished just for having ideas that are +different from other people’s. You rampant militarists at home can’t +endure the thought of any joy or freedom being left in the world. You +seem to take a ghoulish pleasure in crushing it all out. It galls you to +think of anyone escaping with a lesser share of the general misery.” + +“Frankly I don’t see why the C.O.s should escape. Why should men enjoy +the freedom and the rights of citizenship that they won’t fight for?” + +“They’re not given their rights of citizenship as a free gift or a +charity; they pay for them in rates and taxes: that’s fair. But why +should they also be expected to pay in flesh and blood?” + +“You’ve a very lofty idea of patriotism, I must say!” + +“I hate all the talk about ‘a man’s duty to the State.’ Why should the +State have the right to claim a man’s life when it can’t _give_ him +life—when it can’t give him back as much as a finger-nail that he may +lose in the war? Why has the State the right to take more than it can +give?” + +“You’re mad,” said Lily; and having thus clinched the argument, +departed. + +Doreen sighed. “Dennis can’t stop the war by keeping out of it, so I do +wish he’d join in like everybody else, and help to win it.” + +“Of course one man can’t stop the war by standing out, any more than one +man by joining in can win it. Each man can only answer for himself, and +do what he thinks right.” + +Doreen cried impulsively, “I love you for sticking up for Denny like +that, but only because I love him too—not because I think he’s right. I +think it’s right to do what Hugh’s doing, even though I sometimes feel I +just can’t bear it a second longer—the waiting for news—and knowing he’s +in danger always—and hating the sight of a telegraph-boy.” + +“Yet you wouldn’t want him not to be at the Front, would you?” + +Doreen shook her head. + +“And I don’t want Dennis not to stand by his views, either.” + +“Oh, that’s different,” said Doreen childishly. + +Antoinette smiled. “Is it...? And supposing Hugh had been a pacifist, +Doreen?” + +“Oh, he never could have been ... but if he had,” Doreen softened, “if +he had, I suppose I should have tried to find excuses for him.” She +added after a moment: “But how I should have hated having to!” + + + CHAPTER II + +He was adrift again now, while he waited for his tribunal, perilously +adrift: wandering down to Miss Mowbray’s and half-heartedly joining in +the talk, with his thoughts elsewhere; wandering into theatres when the +performance was nearly over, seeking in vain that which might distract +and hold him. Hold him.... Was there anything on earth that could hold +him, now that Alan had gone? And now that Alan had gone, his life was +one stupendous aching regret that what had happened that last night had +not happened sooner. The senselessness of all his repression and +self-denial stood revealed to him. Seeing at last with Alan’s eyes, and +in the light of his own experience, he recognised that herein had lain +the real perversion: in the continuous struggle between brain and body, +the continuous struggle to suppress his instincts and force them into +ways not natural to them. It had not lain in his passion for Alan. That, +and that alone, given the peculiarities of his nature, had been right, +had been beautiful, because it was truthful. He could curse himself now +for the short-sightedness, for the principle of imagined æstheticism +that had made him for so long resist his own impulses. + +If only.... And now it was too late. Alan was behind the bars, and +Dennis left with the burning knowledge of all that he had missed. What, +indeed, was there that could hold him now? Yet despite his desire to be +held, at times he longed with weary irritability, to be able to sever +all ties; to break from his family; from Antoinette; perhaps, like +O’Farrell, to escape to Ireland; to live in truth the life of the outlaw +and outcast that he was. + +Perpetual argument, achieving no result, and ending always in the same +inevitable deadlock, was carried on between the two conflicting strains +of his nature. + +“It would break your mother’s heart.” + +“She’s got the three others, and they are more satisfactory than I am.” + +“She loves you more than the others—and differently.” + +Dennis groaned, impatient of this wealth of affection to which he could +make no adequate return. He loved his mother—but she was not the pivot +of his existence, as he was of hers. + +There was Antoinette, too, with her useless gifts, with her useless +pleading that he might accept them. Sometimes he hated her for his very +inability to accept them; and sometimes he could laugh at the futility, +the grotesque, ludicrous futility of these ties that held him—and held +him—and did not hold him. But if he broke them, he asked himself, what +then? What then? + +Doubtless the Central Appeal Tribunal would in some measure furnish the +reply. + + + CHAPTER III + +“Clear the court!” + +The people were hustled out into one of the long stone corridors of the +House of Commons, and the door closed upon them. Behind that door the +fate of two of the applicants for exemption was being decided. +Antoinette groaned at the delay. Dennis had been called for 2.30 that +afternoon, but it was nearly 4 o’clock now, and so far only five out of +the twelve cases had been heard. The fact that one did not know in what +order they were to be heard, added to the suspense of waiting. In the +first case there had only been a brief interval between the applicant’s +statement and the delivery of judgment. The spectacled, obviously +highly-strung young man had appealed on socialistic grounds. His speech +was both virile and vehement, and he quoted Tolstoy and Wells and Karl +Marx and Philip Gibbs in a breathless Cockney voice that told of +self-education and the night-school. When he had finished, he still +stood tense and rigid, although he had the Board’s permission to be +seated. And when the blow fell—“Appeal dismissed. Applicant passed for +Foreign Service”—he crumpled up quite suddenly into his chair in a way +that made Antoinette’s throat feel tight. + +The two next appeals had been decided in much the same manner; but the +last two had evidently presented greater difficulties and were now being +considered behind the closed doors. + +In the corridor a crowd of men and women, friends and supporters of the +applicants, were huddled together, talking in low voices. Amongst them +there were representatives of both pacifist and militarist newspapers, a +plain-clothes detective, and two policemen. There was only one bench, +and that was occupied by a youth in khaki and three white-faced women in +black. The others had to stand, shifting restlessly to and fro, yet not +daring to move too far from those doors that might open again at any +moment. People who had never met before drifted into whispered +conversation with each other, linked together by an outlook and an +anxiety common to them all. + +An elderly woman was talking to Dennis, and Antoinette was glad that his +attention was engaged. His behaviour to her had been entirely aloof and +impersonal ever since Alan’s arrest. Perhaps he thought—thus she +interpreted his mood—that if he were less aloof and impersonal he would +be guilty of treachery towards Alan. Even now, though she had +accompanied him here, and was outwardly quite in the picture—“the woman +at his side”—there was no intimacy of thought between them. She knew +well enough who it was who really “stood by” him. + +She heard the woman say to Dennis: “I shall _will_ you to get total +exemption. I am a great believer in will-power, aren’t you? If they +offer you Non-Combatant Service, I do hope you won’t take it! Yes, I’ve +been to prison three times—look!” She lowered her voice to a whisper and +pointed to the suffragette badge she wore inside her jacket. Then, +turning to Antoinette: “I shall will him to get off for both your sakes, +my dear....” + +Antoinette thanked her gravely. + +The doors were flung open again, and the people pressed back into the +court, struggling to regain their old places on the benches that ran, +three deep, along the walls. Would it be Dennis’s turn now to face those +twenty-five men upon whom his fate depended? + +Judgment was delivered upon the previous applicants. Then a name was +called: not Dennis’s. The young man in khaki stepped forward and took +his place at the desk, and a murmur of astonishment went through the +crowd at the sight of his uniform. He stated that when the military +authorities had come to remove him, he had told them that he had an +appeal pending, but they had taken no notice.... + +There were groans of “Shame....” “A disgrace!” which were instantly +quelled. The Chairman declared that the man must be put back into +civilian ranks before his case could be heard. + +The next applicant claimed exemption on the grounds that he was the sole +support of his mother, his grandmother and a paralysed sister. His +father was dead, and his brother had been killed in the war. While the +Chairman enquired into the details of the circumstances, Antoinette +looked at the woman who had accompanied the applicant; the mother, +probably. Her hands were clenched in her lap, her eyes fixed imploringly +upon the Chairman’s face. Impossible to tell from the perfect +impartiality of his manner in which direction he was biased, if at all. +Antoinette found herself following this case, as she had followed most +of the others: not impersonally, but as if all her own hopes and +longings were centred in the desire that the man should get his +exemption. She shared the breathless painful suspense of the mother, and +the feeling that the agony was being unnecessarily prolonged, when +judgment was for the moment deferred, and the next man called. + +This one stated that he had religious scruples against the taking of +life. In proof of this he had relinquished his post with a firm of +motor-tyre manufacturers on discovering that they were working for the +Government. He put his case badly, halting and stammering; but his +underlying determination seemed to be inflexible. + +“The Lord said: ‘_Thou shalt not kill._’” + +Here the Military Representative, to whose smooth fat face and sneering +expression Antoinette had taken an instantaneous dislike, rose to his +feet and asked the applicant with affected politeness if he were aware +that one or two of the Germans—yes, let us say one or two of them—had +already broken that commandment, and that it was his duty to his country +to retaliate? + +“If the Germans do wrong, sir, I can’t help it. I can’t get beyond the +words of God.” + +“You wish to interpret them in the manner most convenient to yourself. +Since you are so well up in the Bible, what about the passage that +demands ‘_An eye for an eye_’?” + +“The God of vengeance may have demanded that, sir—never the God of +love.” + +“Ask the Germans how much the God of love enters into their +calculations!” sneered the Military Representative; “it must be obvious +to every normal intellect that we were never meant to love hordes of +barbarians like those we have at present to combat.” + +The man hesitated; fumbled for words; opened his mouth once or twice; +then: “But the laws of the Almighty weren’t meant to hold good only in +times of peace, sir!” + +A ripple of laughter and applause ran through the crowd and was severely +repressed. The applicant was told that exemption would be granted him if +he returned to his employment with the Government-firm, or took up other +work of national importance. He shook his head in answer to both +suggestions, and his appeal was dismissed. + +And then Dennis’s name was called.... They were both actually to go +through it now, he and she; no longer mere spectators of other people’s +anguish and suspense. She would have liked to touch his hand and whisper +“Good luck ...” as the other women did to their men, but he did not even +glance down at her as he passed by, with sombre, preoccupied gaze and +furrowed brow. He took his place. She could see him in profile—if she +looked. But at first she could not bear to look, knowing him there +before the twenty-five, defenceless and at bay. Nor did she take in the +meaning of his words, when he began to speak. + +With all her faculties and thoughts concentrated upon the final issue, +she sat tense and rigid—as Dennis must have sat through Alan’s tribunal. +Alan had been in prison for three months already. If they offered him +release now, at the price of abandonment of his principles, she wondered +if he would accept it. Gladly, perhaps how gladly.... Always at Miss +Mowbray’s one heard tales of the things that were being done to the +conscientious objectors in prison. Could those fat, bald-headed old +gentlemen who sat there in judgment really be callous enough to condemn +Dennis to things of that sort? + +The Chairman was saying: “So you think all warfare is wrong: I daresay a +good many people share that view, but most of them are fighting all the +same, realising that that is the only way to end this particular war.” + +Dennis replied: “It is my firm belief that I should not in any way be +benefiting humanity by taking part in this war, as I am convinced that +there is no such thing as a ‘war to end war,’ and that victory would +only lead to successive wars, each more terrible than the last; also +that the solution of international disputes should be sought in +arbitration and diplomacy, rather than in bloodshed.” + +The old gentleman sitting nearest to Dennis truculently demanded if he +had held these views previous to August, 1914. + +“Certainly,” he answered. + +“How can you prove that? Have you ever written or stated in public +anything of the sort before 1914?” + +“No; but most of my friends were acquainted with my views. I’m afraid I +can’t offer you any more definite proof. You must take my word for it.” + +The old gentleman grunted, and relapsed into silence. Antoinette hoped +and thought that this was the end, but immediately another interlocutor +rose in place of the first. + +“Does the applicant not differentiate between a righteous war, a war of +self-defence—and one waged for gain and greed, with the sole object of +crushing smaller nations?” + +“I’m afraid I can’t think of any war as a righteous war—war in all its +essentials being so profoundly unrighteous. And as to the comparison of +the respective war-aims of the Allies and of Germany—who can say at this +stage that England is only fighting to avenge Belgium, and with no view +to the conquest of enemy territory or the extension of power? What about +the conquest of German colonies in East Africa? The French say they +won’t make peace till they’ve got Alsace-Lorraine back. Have they the +right to it? Alsace-Lorraine was German territory before ever it became +French—before they got it back again in 1870.” + +“Yes, yes, young man, you’re not here to teach us history,” the first +speaker cut him short, and the second rejoined: “Nor to give us your +highly unpatriotic views of your country’s war-aims. It’s your business +to fight for your country, not to criticise it.” + +“If I am sent out to kill, surely I have the right to question the cause +that requires me to convert myself into a murderer.” + +“‘Right or wrong, my country’—that’s the line for every true Briton to +take up.” + +“I am a humanitarian before I am a ‘true Briton,’ then, if either the +‘right’ or the ‘wrong’ of my country involves the deliberate slaughter +of human beings.” + +The suffragette who had spoken to them in the passage signified her +approval of this by nodding and smiling across at Antoinette. The girl +flushed. Her man was making a good fight, and she was proud of him, even +while she knew that she had no right to think of him as her man, and +hence no right to her pride. But she could almost have wished that he +were being just a little less vehement: it was obvious that the general +attitude was hostile towards him; only the Chairman still appeared +impartial, as he said: “You categorically refuse in any way to help to +carry on the war?” + +“I do. I want to help to stop the war, and all possibility of future +wars. My justification for being here is my confirmed belief that I am +doing more towards that end by adhering to my refusal to fight than by +unthinkingly and unquestioningly going out to kill.” + +Again there was a murmur of applause; and a moment’s silence followed. +Antoinette glanced from one to the other of the men’s faces; she longed +to tackle each of the twenty-five separately, to beseech and implore him +to be merciful. She tried to pick out at least one, whose physiognomy +held a promise of tolerance or understanding; but there seemed to be an +absurd family-likeness between them: they all looked pompous, +comfortable, overfed; and at the present moment, righteously indignant. +These old men had lived their lives; they would neither be called upon +to shed their blood for their country, nor to go to prison, if they +upheld opposing views; they had probably sent their sons to the war, but +of themselves no personal sacrifice would be demanded. They were +old—they were safe—and what right had they to send out the young men to +kill each other? What right to sit in judgment upon one with all the +potentialities of life still before him? To decree whether he was to be +allowed to act according to his principles, or faced with the +alternative of being forced to violate them or cast into prison? + +Like the suffragette, Antoinette tried to “will” them into the required +frame of mind. Perhaps some of her “willing” was having its effect. That +moment’s silence could surely be taken as a good sign? + +But already the unctuous tones of the Military Representative had +terminated the silence. + +“The applicant is so very anxious to end the war at all costs: does he +realise that there are not two ways but only one way in which he can +help to do so?” + +“I’ve declared the reasons for my unwillingness to take that one way,” +returned Dennis. + +Another endless-seeming pause; looks and inaudible remarks exchanged +between the old gentlemen. + +Antoinette held her breath. + +“_Total exemption granted_”—could not all her wishing or “willing” force +the Chairman to speak those words? He was about to speak now: + +“Clear the court!” + +With sighs of exasperation at the renewed delay, the people rose and +crowded into the passage again. The young man’s mother was crying. The +reporters scribbled ceaselessly in their notebooks. + +The suffragette was congratulating Dennis. “You made a splendid stand, +splendid, but they’re prejudiced against the ‘conscience’ men; it’s easy +to see that.” + +Yes, he had made a splendid stand, but Antoinette would have liked him +to come to her for reassurance ... to whisper to her in the crowd: “I +was all right, wasn’t I?” + +He evidently had no need of her reassurance. With an abstracted smile, +he thanked the suffragette for her congratulations, and stood gazing out +of the window, as if determined to keep unshared whatever turmoil of +fear and hope might be passing in his mind. But perhaps if the words +were spoken, that they both longed to hear, and the appalling strain +snapped, he would turn to her.... + +The bank-clerk’s mother was moaning: “If only they’d be quick and tell +us—can’t they see we need him more than the army does?” + +But at present the Board showed no signs of “being quick.” A man +carrying a tray laden with tea-things had just unceremoniously jostled +aside the crowd and entered the court. He was followed by a boy with a +very large cherry cake. The old gentlemen were going to have tea.... +Antoinette suddenly understood some of the feelings that had given rise +to the French Revolution! Soon the sound of hearty laughter mingled with +the rattle of cups. The old gentlemen were apparently telling each other +funny stories, while the people waited outside in suspense and agony of +mind. + +For a weary half-hour they were still kept in the passage. Then at last +the doors were flung open again. + +The Chairman stated that in the case of the bank-clerk who was the sole +support of his family, the Board had decided to grant three months’ +exemption, with leave to appeal again. The decision was cheered, and the +mother cried hysterically: “Oh, thank you—thank you so much ...” and was +led out on her son’s arm. + +“In the case of Mr. Dennis Blackwood—Non-Combatant Service.” + + * * * * * + +In dead silence they walked to the Charing Cross Tube station, the +strain between them almost intolerable. If only he were to break down, +so that she might comfort him.... + +Non-Combatant Service—that, as far as Dennis was concerned, amounted to +a sentence to penal servitude. Quite shamelessly she wished that he +would compromise now; hated with all her might the principles and +convictions that would not allow him to do so. + +He said at last: “Good girl, to have stood by me.” + +“I’d stand by you through worse than that,” she cried, “if only you +wanted me to.” + +Another long silence. Then: “I’ll let you know when I get my notice to +join up—I suppose it’ll be in a day or two. I won’t go without saying +good-bye to you.” + +“Dennis.” + +“Well?” + +“Dennis ... must you—are you really going to...?” + +He laughed drearily. “You ask that now? Why, what would Alan say, if I +ratted at the eleventh hour?” + +“Alan wouldn’t know ...” was her thought. But she was glad that she +cared enough for Dennis to keep it to herself. + + * * * * * + +From day to day he waited now, expecting his call. Alan’s had come +within four days of the rejection of his appeal, but there seemed to be +no definite rule as to the length of time that might elapse. He might be +left in peace for a week, or the call might come to-morrow. The +uncertainty seemed an additional and superfluous refinement of cruelty, +a veritable sword of Damocles, the presence of which sometimes preyed on +his nerves to such an extent that he felt inclined to precipitate its +fall by giving himself up to the police without further delay.... + +Abysmal terror dogged his heels by day and by night; terror of being +held, actually held to one place, when he had longed to throw off all +bonds, tangible and intangible; terror of monotony and brutality, and +the depths to which his own mind, thrust back upon itself, might sink. +Day after day went by, and still the call did not come. But he was too +heavily oppressed to be able to appreciate this added span of freedom. +It might be ended at any moment. The uncertainty precluded all +possibility of enjoyment. + +Day after day he waited; and waited.... + +And then the creative impulse which had temporarily lain dormant stirred +in him anew. At first he struggled against it, knowing the futility of +starting upon any great composition now; but as usual the power within +him proved stronger than himself. He was its slave, and he had to obey. + +His opera, “Karen and the Red Shoes,” was still unfinished, but he +recognised that the ideas which crowded his brain now could not be used +to complete it; they were too big, too heavy for the subject. Almost +independent of his own volition, they began to build themselves into a +great symphonic poem: “War.” + +A chaos of conflicting motives bewildered him; he could hear each +instrument clamouring at cross-purposes with all the others in the +orchestra; clashing rhythms and counter-rhythms battled for supremacy. +It seemed at first a labour for giants to bring order into this chaos, +to select and reject wisely among the dissonant themes. Then he began to +perceive that he must eliminate none, reject none; each must have its +place in the scheme, for each stood for one of the innumerable beliefs +and reasons, ideals and madnesses that had led the peoples into war ... +all must be woven in until, in the final solution and climax, he had +succeeded in showing their fundamental unity, converting strife and +turmoil and the sorrows of all the nations into the transcendent harmony +of peace. + +And throughout, the image of Alan stood to him for inspiration. Into his +work he poured all the love and the tenderness and the passion that the +boy had kindled in him. Feverishly he worked now, fearing that in the +space of time that remained—and it could not possibly be long—he would +not be able to accomplish his task. It was of necessity written for a +very large orchestra, and many months, if not years, might go to the +scoring of it. + +He perceived his goal ahead, knowing that he would not be able to reach +it in time; not before that steadily-approaching shadow entirely blotted +out the light.... He could have prayed for more days, and more in which +to work: and awoke every morning to the knowledge that this might be his +last day of freedom. + + * * * * * + +And for Antoinette, also, this knowledge. + + + CHAPTER IV + +“Hallo, Dennis, still at large? That’s one’s habitual form of greeting +nowadays, isn’t it?” Benny Joseph joined Dennis and Antoinette at their +table in the tea-shop. + +“Still at large, thanks for kind enquiries. I think they must have +forgotten all about me. It’s nearly two months now ... what about you?” + +“I’ve just had my appeal dismissed by the local tribunal,” replied Benny +with an affectation of indifference. + +“We all share the same fate, apparently. What happened, Benny?” + +“I started off, of course, by telling them that I was a Jew, but that I +wasn’t claiming exemption on religious, but on socialistic grounds. I +really didn’t get much further than that. The Chairman said he didn’t +think my case worthy of a moment’s consideration as I had admitted +myself to be an atheist, and could therefore scarcely lay claim to have +a conscience!” + +“Well, if that isn’t the limit!” cried Dennis, and Antoinette asked: +“Are you going to appeal again?” + +“Oh, yes. Same old programme of delights for all of us. Local +tribunal—Central Court of Appeal—arrival of police—prison! By the way, +they refused to renew Harry Hope’s exemption when he appealed the second +time.” + +“What—has his widowed mother died in the meantime?” + +“No, I don’t think so, but the Board seemed to think that he had +supported her long enough, and that it was time he devoted his efforts +to work of greater importance than keeping a harmless old lady in +Chiswick from starvation. He’ll look simply fantastic in uniform, like +poor Everard, do you remember?” + +The impersonator of many cardinals had been killed during his first +month at the Front. Antoinette could not but help wondering in what +manner he had died. She was haunted by memory of a languid voice, +saying: “This is all—so—stupid....” Haunted by memory of other voices, +too; Alan’s vigorous speech; the youthful bombast with which Oswald used +to mask his terror; the heavy lilt of Pegeen’s and Conn’s tones. And +Conn had been shot down in the streets of Dublin during Easter week, +proclaiming with his last breath, that Ireland would never bend the knee +“to England’s bloody red”.... And of Pegeen, no one had heard; perhaps +she had shared her man’s fate—but no one knew for certain. + +“Our ranks are getting sadly depleted,” said Benny, “I see your friend +Crispin has deserted us.” + +Dennis laughed and Antoinette exclaimed: “Has Crispin ratted, then? I +didn’t know.” She saw Dennis so rarely now, that it was small wonder +that she was not quite _au courant_. + +“Crispin, yes, he ratted some time ago. Of course, not a word of his +appeal at the local tribunal was audible, only a wild gurgling and +spluttering. But they thought it quite safe to dismiss the appeal though +they hadn’t heard it; and he didn’t like the idea of going through it +all again, so he just drifted into the army, and now guards +railway-bridges or stands drearily at the end of a pier, reciting long +Beethoven symphonies to himself.” + +Benny murmured: “‘_Lieb Vaterland, kannst ruhig sein_’—while Crispin +guards our coasts.” + +“You’re right. All the Zeppelins and submarines in the world wouldn’t +disturb him when he’s listening to classical music played inside his own +head.” + +“Poor Crispin,” said Antoinette, “I suppose he never gets anywhere near +a piano now.” She had a quite absurd sentimental regard for Crispin: +Crispin had played the Waldstein Sonata during her first talk with +Dennis at Amberhurst; Crispin had figured throughout those letters from +Devonshire.... + +Dennis replied: “Oh, don’t make any mistake, he’s amply provided for in +that respect. He spends all his time getting himself adopted by old +ladies possessing pianos—grand pianos only, of course, he won’t touch an +upright.... And each of the old ladies thinks that this marvellously +gifted Tommy is her own special discovery, and cherishes him +accordingly. Crispin lets them cherish. It gives them pleasure, and +doesn’t hurt him. He merely walks into the room, sits down at the piano, +and plays for the full extent of his leave, with intervals for meals.” + +Antoinette glanced surreptitiously at Dennis. Whence arose this rather +hectic animation on his part? There was about his whole manner to-day an +air of suppressed excitement for which she was at a loss to account. A +few minutes later, it was explained to her. + +Benny said: “Mansfield’s doing hard labour; he shared the common lot at +his tribunal. I really don’t know why they go through the farce of +offering a man Non-Com., they might just as well arrest him straight +away.... What about Rutherford, Dennis: have you heard anything of him?” + +“He’s coming out for a few days next week,” said Dennis, “I shall see +him then....” + + * * * * * + +Four weeks had elapsed for Antoinette without sign or sound from Dennis. +She scarcely thought that he had been arrested, as he had promised to +let her know when he received his call; but she dared not attempt to +make sure by writing or telephoning, lest he should think her +importunate. On the rare occasions when she was with him, he seemed to +keep her both mentally and physically at a distance. She chafed at the +waste of the days drifting by. + +If he had cared for her the least bit in the world; if he had shared +with her his terrors, how good those days might have been, even while +they knew that each day might be his last. But he would not share with +her, terrors that were for another as much as for himself. Dennis had +kept staunch faith with Alan, as far as Antoinette was concerned. + +But though she might have Dennis perpetually before an imaginary +tribunal of her own; though she might hurl the bitterest accusations at +him—“You’ve ruined my life ... you’ve made it impossible for me to care +about ordinary people ... you’ve forced me to live in a crazy inverted +world that I didn’t know existed, till you led me into it—” neither +these accusations, nor his confessed love for Alan, nor his aloof +treatment of her, could call forth the least flicker of hatred or +condemnation. His defence was always ready to hand: how could she hate +or condemn the only man for whom, with her peculiar temperament, she was +capable of feeling love? Love without any of its usual corollaries; +without faith, without glamour, without illusion; without the slenderest +hope of fulfilment; just love alone, all the stronger, perhaps, for +being stripped to its barest essentials. + + * * * * * + +She was surprised one day by a telephone-call from Doreen +Blackwood—Doreen agitated and incoherent. Clive was at Denmark Hill +Hospital, seriously wounded, and had Antoinette any idea where Dennis +was? + +“Mummy and I came up yesterday to be with Clive, and we wired Dennis +that we were staying at the Grosvenor Hotel, and he never turned up +there, so Mummy went to his lodgings this morning, and the landlady said +he hadn’t been there for nearly three weeks. We thought perhaps you +might know something about him.” + +“I don’t, Doreen, I’ve not seen him for ages.” + +“Oh, you don’t think he’s been put in prison, do you? Surely he’d have +had time to let us know. He hasn’t written home for ever so long, but +then he often does that. Antoinette, what _can_ have happened to him...? +As if it wasn’t bad enough, having Clive like this....” + +They arranged finally that whichever of them first succeeded in +discovering Dennis’s whereabouts, should inform the other. When she had +rung off, it struck Antoinette that Barnaby might know; she therefore +dashed off to Fleet Street, glad that she had at last a valid excuse for +trying to ascertain what had become of Dennis. But on arriving at the +office of “The Dove,” she was told that Mr. Barnaby had gone to +Manchester to attend a socialist meeting, and would not be back for a +few days. Antoinette determined to try Miss Mowbray’s next; perhaps Miss +Mowbray herself, or one of the _habitués_ could shed some light upon the +mystery. It was three o’clock, the hour at which the tea-shop was +usually empty. If Miss Mowbray could tell her nothing, she would have to +wait till the others began to straggle in. + +As she had anticipated, the tea-room was deserted save for one man who +sat at a table with his back to the door, head buried in his hands. + +“Dennis!” + +At her cry, he slowly raised his head, looked at her with a dazed +stupefied expression. + +Involuntarily she drew back from him. “Dennis—what’s the matter?” + +Still he sat looking at her. + +“Is it—have you had your call?” But even while she asked, she knew that +it was not that—not that alone. + +“I’ve seen him,” Dennis said at last, “in the prison hospital. They +moved him there from the cells because he had a bad attack of fever. And +when he’s better, he’s got to go back again—back to that hell....” + +He went on, as if unable to stop, now that he had begun: “He’s been in +solitary confinement—think what that means to an active brain like his! +The gnawing everlasting boredom and terror, the helpless exasperation at +it all.... He tries to draw on the walls of his cell with his +finger-nails—or counts the flies crawling up the bars of the +windows—invents foolish games just to keep his mind from giving +way—talks aloud to himself for fear of losing the use of his voice. Then +there are senseless cruel punishments—sleep made impossible by having +his bed removed; nothing but bread and water to eat; hours in a dark +underground cell infested by rats—this in a country that calls itself +civilised! Sometimes they ask him if he’ll join the army if he’s let +out—rather like using thumb-screws to force a man into confession. He +kicked one of the men who asked him, and was given twenty-four hours in +the strait-jacket. The militarist papers declare that the strait-jacket +doesn’t injure the man, and is merely good discipline. Good discipline, +Oh, God.... Do you know what it’s like, Antoinette? It’s a narrow strip +of canvas as long as a man’s body, but not as wide, and it’s laced +tightly round him with cords, usually with one of the warders digging a +knee into his back, so as to prevent him from holding his breath and so +gaining an extra inch of space. Then he’s left, trussed up like that, +alone on the floor of his cell, gasping for breath, the cords cutting +into his flesh, all the organs of his body being squeezed and +tortured——” + +“Dennis, Dennis, don’t—I can’t bear it....” + +“Alan’s had to bear it—more than once. The governor of the prison seems +to have a special spite against him. There’s no escape unless he +promises to give in. And he won’t do that. He’s an emaciated wreck, but +he’s determined that they sha’n’t crush him, even though he’s going +through things more devilish than any your imagination could have +devised for him, Antoinette, when you hated him most!” + +She was stung to reply: “I never hated him like that. You’re unjust and +cruel to think that I should.” + +“Yes, I daresay I am ... I’m sorry.... But I’m at the end, just at the +end of everything, and I hardly know what I’m saying.” + +And at the utter misery of him, she knew only one longing: to break down +all the artificial barriers that had arisen between them, and to take +his head between her hands.... “Say what you like, my dear, go on +telling me, if it helps at all.” + +“I’d heard some weeks ago that he’d got special permission to go and see +his mother, who was ill, and I’d arranged to meet him and spend all his +spare time with him. He never turned up, and I discovered that his +permission had been withdrawn—for goodness knows what petty breach of +the regulations—and that he was in the punishment-cells. The next thing +I heard was that he and nine others were being removed to Princetown. +Through miles and miles of red tape I tried to get permission to see +him. I stayed down there waiting and waiting for it. Well, it came at +last ...” his voice sank almost to a whisper; “I can’t sleep at night, +for thinking of the look in his eyes, and knowing that when his brief +respite is over, they’ll send him back to go through all their vile +indignities and privations and cruelties again. It’s the idea of his +going back, Antoinette——!” + +“Oh, don’t—don’t ...” she was sobbing outright now, in an agony of pity +for that vivid, brilliant boy, in an agony of fear for the man before +her. Helplessly she cast about in her mind for something that might +bring comfort to Dennis. + +“Even if they make him endure all that, they’re not winning really—not +succeeding in making him give himself to the army. So he’s winning in +the end, Dennis, he’s beating them.” + +He gave her a look of gratitude. “But what a price to pay for +victory.... And he’ll have to go on paying as long as this cursed war +lasts. We shall all have to go on paying. I’ve had my call, too, you +know, for the day after to-morrow. I ought to see mother.” + +She told him then the reason that had sent her to look for him here. + +“Clive wounded? What’s happened, did they say?” + +“Doreen wasn’t very explicit over the telephone. He’s got a poisoned +arm, I think, and a wound in the face.” + +“Poor mother—I’m sorry for her.... But Clive will have his family and +his girl at his bedside, and every possible care and attention....” He +fell into brooding silence, thinking of a bare prison hospital, and an +unsympathetic prison doctor. “Well, as they’re in town I’ll spend +to-morrow with them. And I’ll say good-bye to you now, Antoinette.” + +“Yes....” + +He looked at her with great unhappy eyes. “There’s nothing we can either +of us say, is there?” + +“Nothing....” + +Of all that she longed to say to him—nothing, now that this moment of +parting had been thrust upon her with such suddenness. Useless to make +any attempt to say anything. But because it was the last time, she +wondered, would he at least leave her memory of his lips on hers—just +for the last time? + +Already his thoughts had rushed many miles away from her. “It’s as if +some particularly terrible fate were always reserved for the people I +love most. There was Eric—he had his hell to go through. And now +Alan....” Almost inaudibly he added: “And he’s such a kid....” + +His voice held the pain and tenderness of a mother whose child has been +stricken to death. + +“Good-bye, Dennis....” She turned quickly away so that he might not see +the tears that blinded her, and left him standing there, gazing fixedly +at the walls that had once echoed with Alan’s rhetoric. + +And at the top of the stairs she was met by an insolent smiling wraith. + +“In case we never meet again ... don’t hate me too much....” + +She acknowledged the completeness of her rival’s victory. Alan could +triumph over her still. + + + CHAPTER V + +“_Chérie_, it is most inconsiderate of you always to go out without +telling anyone where you are going. Madame la Comtesse de Froment rang +you up on the telephone—doubtless she wished to invite you to her big +concert in aid of the French Red Cross—and I could not tell her where +you were, nor when you would be in, because I did not know. I agree for +once with your father and your grandmother, that it is not _convenable_ +for a _jeune fille_ to run about London as you do.” + +“You allow yourself more freedom than I as a young man was allowed at +your age.” + +“It is that young Blackwood who has taught you these Bohemian manners.” + +“After all, we never knew his family.” + +“As I have always said, you cultivate the wrong people.” + +“Yes, if you would try to make yourself a little more amiable to my +friends....” + +“Your behaviour towards M. Lefèvre was disgraceful. No wonder he did not +press his suit more ardently. You are spoiling your life. It will be +your own fault if you remain an old maid.” + +“Till now one has let you do as you pleased. But it is agreed that in +future one will have to be more severe.” + + + CHAPTER VI + +It was pouring with rain when Antoinette reached Haywards Heath, where +she had to change for Eastwold. She had had considerable difficulty with +her people before being allowed to undertake this journey. They were by +now quite convinced that the Blackwoods were a bad influence for her, +and that sooner or later she would contrive to become engaged to that +very eccentric young man.... + +Antoinette did not think it necessary to mention that the very eccentric +young man was in prison, but pleaded her friendship with Doreen, and her +need of a change of air ... pleaded very gently, for these were not the +days when she felt capable of facing a hard conflict of wills. + +In the old days she had relished a good up-hill fight; the harder the +battle the more valuable the victory. So she had thought years ago when +she had met Hester. Hester.... + +“Sing before breakfast—cry before night”—Hester had been wise. Those +early years had held enough song and laughter and sunshine. But now the +years seemed drained for her of all song and laughter and sunshine, just +as she herself felt drained of all the exuberant vitality that had once +led her to rejoice in battle. She was tired now, and there was nothing +left in all the world worth fighting for. + +The train for Eastwold drew up at the platform, its windows so blurred +with the rain that it was impossible to see into the compartments. +Gripping her suit-case with one hand, Antoinette struggled to open the +door nearest to her, and immediately a soldier from the far end of the +compartment sprang forward, helped her to lift the suit-case on to the +rack, and then resumed his seat beside the girl who sat huddled by the +window. Antoinette wished that she could have drawn back and chosen a +different compartment. It was a shame that she should have obtruded +herself upon their solitude. But already the guard was blowing his +whistle, and several other Tommies had entered the compartment too, so +that in any case the couple in the corner would not have remained +undisturbed. They sat without speaking, arms interlaced, occasionally +looking at each other. And the girl had a pretty, pasty, tear-sodden +face under a gaudy hat with red roses on it; and he had round boyish +eyes and a rather stupid expression.... + +The other Tommies had disposed themselves and their kit about the +compartment. Above the rattle of the wheels Antoinette caught scraps of +their conversation. + +“When we were way over home, we thought this war was a grand fine thing, +and not one of us wanted to be left out of it,” a dapper young Canadian +spoke, running his fingers through his upstanding brush of hair, “but +now I’ve been out there a year, I tell you straight, _next_ time my King +and Country call, I’m going to be lame, blind, dumb, _and deaf_. Yes, +when you’ve bin out and seen some of the sights and smelt some of the +smells, and lived in a trench full of ver-_mine_, you find war isn’t the +gala garden-party you thought it was, with the band and the music and +the flags flying.” + +One of his companions, a long-limbed Irishman, grunted assent. “I’ve +lost an eye in this bloody war, but do you think they’d be afther givin’ +me my discharge? ‘Ho,’ sez the docthor, ‘you’re still plenty of use to +your counthry’....” + +“Guess they won’t be satisfied till you’ve lost the other eye to match,” +remarked the Canadian cheerfully. + +“And fwhat’s ut all for, that’s fwhat I’m askin’, fwhat’s ut all for? +I’m no revolutionist; I’m only askin’ fwhy.... Divil a bit did we care +about the _Sinn Féin_ rebellion out there in the thrinches as long as we +had enough cigarettes to smoke. Which we had not....” The melancholy +cadence of his voice reminded Antoinette poignantly of Pegeen and Conn. + +The third man, a little Cockney chap, tilted his cap to a rakish angle. +“They say as it’ll all be over in the spring.” + +“_Which_ spring?” demanded the Canadian, and the Cockney embarked +irrelevantly upon a personal reminiscence: “It was near Am-an-tears, we +got to a village that the ’Uns ’ad evacuated. Least-ways, they’d +evacuated wot was left of it, and that’s not sayin’ much. Bin up to some +o’ their usual tricks, they ’ad, with wimmen and kids and wot-not.... +One o’ their snipers got left be’ind—swarmed up a tree, and four of us +yanked ’im dahn; and first we said a few things to ’im ... and then we +did a few things to ’im, just for luck, as you might say, and because of +wot ’e and ’is pals ’ad bin up to in that village. War’s a funny thing +...” he continued musing, “you could ’ave knocked me dahn with a feather +two years ago if you’d told me I’d ’elp to cut aht that bloomin’ ’Un’s +’eart with my bloomin’ jack-knife!” + +“Yes, war’s a funny thing,” the Irishman broke out again, “and they +don’t want ut to end—them that make the war. ‘Your pals in the thrinches +are callin’ to you’—’tis a lie! Your pals in the thrinches would say: +‘Keep out of this if you can, we’d never have gone into it if we’d +known.’ We know well enough _who_ calls to us and _who_ sends us out to +ut. ’Tis the Government sitting at home, and never your pals out +there.... And ’tis the same on the other side. I took a prisoner once. +The man was wounded and I looked after him a bit; got quite fond of him, +too. I was sorry when he died.... He said that their men are as dead +fed-up with it as we are.” + +The couple in the corner seemed quite oblivious of the conversation. +They might have been deaf to it. Only the silent fervour with which they +gazed into each other’s eyes increased.... + +At the next station the man opened the door of the compartment and +helped the girl out; then he kissed her, and got into the train again. + +She said: “Good-bye, Gawd bless you, Dickie,” and he answered: “So long! +See you again when the war’s over—perhaps....” + +The train moved on. Alone in his corner the man sat staring straight +before him, inarticulate misery incarnate. “When the war’s +over—perhaps....” + +Antoinette choked, and wished again that he and the girl who had been +left on the platform could have had this last journey to themselves. In +the circumstances he might have been forgiven for showing less +willingness to help her in with her suit-case. + + * * * * * + +Arthur Griggs, home on leave, had come with his _fiancée_, Millie Ryan, +to call upon the Blackwoods; and Antoinette, on her arrival, fell +straight into the tea-party, as she had once fallen into the nursery +party held in Reggie’s honour the day of the dance. Reggie was home from +school now, and sat at the foot of the couch on which Clive was +reclining.... Clive with one empty sleeve and a badly scarred face and +mouth. + +“Well, well, you’ve at least got plenty to show for it, plenty to show +for it,” Griggs rallied him. “I’m often sorry that my honourable scars +aren’t—ah—on exhibition.” + +“I’m sure Millie isn’t sorry,” smiled Mrs. Blackwood. + +Millie looked coy, and Lily who was sitting at Clive’s side, and helping +him to manipulate his teacup, exclaimed: “What does it matter what they +look like when they come back to us, as long as we know they’ve done +their bit? I’d rather have Clive as he is than the greatest Adonis in +the world.” + +Clive smiled wryly up at her with his twisted lip. “I could do with the +other arm all the same, you know, Lil.” + +“Never mind, my boy,” cried Mr. Blackwood, “when your children ask you +what you did in the great war, they won’t have far to look.” + +“And one can really say here that your wife will be your right hand,” +said Griggs, “I can only hope that you and Miss Hallard will be as happy +as Millie and I intend to be.” + +“And we hope you’ll be as happy as _we’re_ jolly well going to be!” +returned Lily, boisterously. + +“Quite a competithion of happineth, ithn’t it?” giggled Amy. + +“I think there can be no doubt that where there is sympathy there is +happiness,” mused Griggs; “sympathy is a beautiful thing, don’t you +agree?” His audience assented collectively, and he went on: “Millie, of +course, calls forth sympathy as naturally as the sun draws out the scent +of the flowers....” + +There was a murmur of approval, and Millie said: “Why, Arthur, you’re +quite a poet this afternoon.” + +“Not a poet, Millie, not a poet. Just an ordinary man. But might not +even an ordinary man turn poet for your sake?” + +Millie blushed. “Oh, you’re flattering me.” + +“You doubt my sincerity?” exclaimed Griggs, very injured. “I assure you +that I place sincerity on the same high level as sympathy. Sincerity and +sympathy—my twin ideals....” + +Millie, quite embarrassed by now, turned to ask Clive how he had +received his wounds, but Reggie interrupted with: “Clive hates talking +about them—it looks like swank.” + +“Clive doesn’t need to swank,” said Lily, “we all know what he’s done. +Those three Huns—not bad, that, not bad!” + +Griggs beamed upon the assembled company. “Who would have thought two +years ago when we were getting ready for the fancy dress dance that we +should all come together again like this? Seeing you here, Miss +Antoinette, reminded me of that happy occasion. Little Miss Ottilie was +there too—but I suppose the least said about her the better; Reggie’s +looking at me so fiercely....” + +“Her _fiancée_ has been killed,” said Doreen, “I got such a sad, funny +letter from her through Switzerland. She said that her ‘truest-loved +Joachim for his Fatherland has died, and that her heart broken was’....” + +“Poor little Britannia,” cried Antoinette, “I wonder if he was one of +the three whom Clive sniped?” + +“Good job,” muttered Reggie. + +“War’s war,” said Lily tersely, shrugging her shoulders. + +“All I can hope is,” the irrepressible Griggs continued, “that two years +hence we shall be as complete as we are now.” + +Clive grunted, and Griggs strove to cheer him. “Come—come—come—we all +know you don’t really mind having lost your arm. Not a bit. Proud of it. +And quite right too! When I said ‘complete,’ I meant as far as numbers +go. Here we all are—” Suddenly he recollected himself; floundered; +coughed behind his hand, and repeated rather feebly: “I mean here we +are....” + +“Yes, of course, we are, Mr. Griggs.” With admirable tact Mrs. Blackwood +came to his assistance ... and Antoinette wondered if it could bring +Dennis’s mother the slightest degree of comfort to know that her +thoughts also were with the one who was not included in the “all.” + +She could not rid herself of the impression that Dennis might be +expected at any moment to enter with dramatic suddenness, as he had +entered the night of the dance. It seemed as if they were all laughing +and talking here, just to mark time in anticipation of his arrival. And +when, sharply, the drawing-room door was flung open, her heart gave a +great leap. + +“The maid from Dr. Clavering’s would like to speak to you, please, +sir....” The parlour-maid addressed Mr. Blackwood in an undertone, but +already Doreen was on her feet. + +“What is it? Where is she? Is there any news?” She freed herself from +her father’s detaining hand, and rushed to the door. “Oh, what is it? +What is it?” + +The little servant who had been told to “break it gently” to Mr. +Blackwood, completely lost her head on seeing Doreen, and sobbed out: +“It’s Mr. Hugh, Miss—killed in action. Oh, the poor young master....” + + * * * * * + +It seemed to be the general impulse to rush towards Doreen, as if by +actual contact, by stroking, patting, embracing, to draw nearer to her +in her isolation of grief. But there was something in the way she stood +there, her back to the door, her eyes dead, mouth and hands twitching, +that forbade further approach ... and Antoinette remembered on whose +face she had seen just that same baffling expression. For a second, but +it might have been an eternity, the group stood poised, alert, watching +the rigid, dry-eyed little figure in the doorway. + +Then at last Doreen’s voice, a woman’s voice and yet piteously childish, +cut into the stillness. + +“And I—I loved him so....” + +She turned and broke from the room. + +Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood followed her. The others remained as they were, +talking in low voices. + +“Thall I go and thee if they want anything?” + +“No, better leave them alone together now.” + +“A good cry, you know, will do her all the world of good ...” this from +Griggs. + +“Ithn’t thith war dreadful? You never know from one minute to the other, +do you?” + +“Poor old Hugh, I wonder how it happened. I expect some of his men will +be able to give details. I think I ought to go to Doreen. Mrs. Blackwood +will only encourage her to give way.” Thus the sternly practical Lily. + +Clive muttered: “Poor little kid ...” and Reggie, still sitting +motionless on the end of the couch, looked at his boots and scowled +heavily. + +“And to think that only two years ago—what a handsome couple at your +dance, eh, Millie? The Black Knight and the Dresden Shepherdess....” + +Millie collapsed into tears. “I can’t bear it, Arthur, I can’t bear +it....” + +Arthur patted her hand. “There, there, little woman, there, there.” + +“Doreen’s got plenty of grit,” said Lily, “she’ll pull round all right. +I’m sure he died game and she’ll be able to be proud of him. That’ll +stiffen her backbone right enough.” + +But Clive only repeated: “Poor little kid....” + +Griggs said: “Well, I suppose we’d better be going,” and followed by +Amy, led his weeping bride away. Reggie, even at this juncture mindful +of “good form,” went to see them to the gate. + +As Antoinette turned to go up to her room, she heard Clive say: “Lily +...” and saw him put out his remaining hand to draw her down to his +level. + +“Dear old man....” + + * * * * * + +Late that evening Antoinette sat at the window of her room, and watched +the last of the sunset fading behind the dark ridge of the Downs. The +crimson light still stained the white walls, and danced upon the gay +flowered chintz ... a room in which to feel very girlish and happy, so +she had reflected on her first arrival here, so she had reflected as she +donned her “Bacchante” costume.... + +She shuddered and turned from the window to face Mrs. Blackwood. + +“My dear child, I am so sorry that it should have happened just during +your visit.” Still obedient to the instincts of the good hostess, she +was apologising to her guest for an unfortunate _contretemps_ that had +marred her stay.... + +Antoinette said: “Oh, don’t ...” and got no further. + +Mrs. Blackwood sat down and wiped her eyes. + +“Poor little Doreen—and they were to have been married next time he got +leave—we’d begun to get one or two things together, though I always +thought that was wrong, my family were always inclined to be +superstitious—but of course Daddy laughed me out of it.... Poor Hugh, he +would have made her so happy—I feel as if I’d lost a son, too.” She +paused a moment, then went on in a lower voice: “Antoinette, do you +think he’ll be all right? He’s in solitary confinement now, but that’s +better than being together with a lot of other horrid people, isn’t it?” + +“Much better,” Antoinette assented without looking at her. + +“I can talk to you about him, because you were always such good friends, +and of course I daren’t mention him before Clive or Daddy. Dennis was a +great disappointment to his father, even as a little chap, when he +wouldn’t go out shooting with him, because he couldn’t bear to see the +animals hurt.... And now—it’s dreadful, my dear: Daddy has struck his +name out of the Family Bible, where we’ve got all the children’s names +and the date of their birth written down....” + +“Oh, what does that matter?” cried Antoinette, “that can’t make him your +boy any the less, can it?” + +Mrs. Blackwood shook her head. “Nothing could ever do that. Denny would +just be my boy, whatever he’d done, but his father has such high +principles.... Lily keeps on saying that the people in prison are safe. +You do think he’s safe, don’t you, Antoinette, although I lie awake +sometimes wondering if they give them enough blankets on their beds.” + +Safe ... in solitary confinement! + +Oh, well, it was fortunate at least that Dennis’s mother did not seem +quite to realise. Did she suffer, perhaps, from a providential lack of +imagination? + +Antoinette gave the assurance required of her. “Yes, of course he’s +safe—quite safe.” + +But Mrs. Blackwood was uneasy. “If one knew for certain—how they are +treated....” + +Antoinette was grateful to the increasing darkness that hid her face. + +Mrs. Blackwood repeated: “If only one knew....” + +“He’ll be quite safe,” she could only trust herself to speak in a very +low voice. + +“Of course Daddy says they’re well treated, and you do think so, too, +don’t you—really?” + +Antoinette made a final effort. “He’ll come out all right ... when the +war’s over——” + +Her voice snapped. + + + CHAPTER VII + +At the table in the alcove at Miss Mowbray’s, Antoinette sat with +Barnaby a few weeks later. He had let her know that he had heard from +Dennis, and would pass on the news if she cared to meet him at the usual +haunt. + +“He’s doing hard labour now, breaking stones in a quarry, but he says +even that’s a relief after solitary confinement. They put them into that +at first, as if they were wild animals that had to be tamed.” + +“Does he—say anything else?” she asked tentatively, hoping that Dennis +might have sent her some word or message. + +Barnaby shook his head. “No, he doesn’t say much, except that his hands +will never be fit to play the piano again, and that one of the greatest +torments is not being able to write down his music. You know what he was +like over that—directly he’d got an idea, down it had to go, or he was +afraid of losing it. He must be losing a good many now. Rather a waste.” +He pulled at his pipe, and continued more vehemently: “The silly waste +of it all.... That boy Alan—hot-headed young devil he was, but he had +the right stuff in him, and the personality and the understanding to +make him a good leader of the people. Only instead of utilising his +brains they have to let them rot!” + +Antoinette sighed. “The utter futility of hoping that anyone from the +other side will ever see our point of view.... When I was in the country +with Dennis’s people, I did try to make them see, but I couldn’t budge +one of them; not an inch. And then his little sister’s _fiancé_ was +killed at the Front—gassed—such a good-looking, golden-haired boy—and it +was too ghastly ... and suddenly I felt—I mean, I understood how they +might feel towards pacifists. They don’t seem to realise that going to +prison isn’t fun.... ‘Prison’s safe,’ that’s their argument. Or ‘What +are their sufferings compared with what the men in the trenches have to +go through?’ They almost made one feel—as if one hadn’t the right....” + +Barnaby broke in: “It’s not a case of measuring the sufferings of the +men in the trenches with those of the men in prison. No one can be +childish enough to pretend that shrapnel-wounds and poison-gas aren’t a +hundred times worse than whatever the conscientious objectors may have +to endure in prison. The point is, that men who genuinely objected to +take part in warfare, because they could see no possible good that would +result therefrom; men who refused to shelter themselves by enabling +others to go in their place, and who exposed themselves to ridicule and +vilification, loss of friends and loss of financial position, rather +than be faithless to their principles, should be flung into prison, and +in some cases treated worse than ordinary criminals. This, mark you, in +spite of the assertion that they would be given a fair hearing! The +Government regretted that clause relating to the conscience-men in the +Military Service Act, as soon as it was out. They realised the folly of +giving a loophole of escape to any man, when the need of cannon-fodder +was so great. So the whole business became a mockery—mock trials at +which the men, having been invited to state their views, stood condemned +before their cases were heard. How many of them were given the total +exemption to which they had the right, according to the clause? And +England is said to be fighting to uphold justice...! Look at the uproar +created by the so-called murder of Edith Cavell: the woman was a spy, +and they were strictly within their military rights to shoot her. But it +doesn’t seem to strike people that shutting up some of these C.O.s in +prison is deliberate, wilful murder of brains that were fine, sensitive +instruments which might have brought some lasting beauty, some lasting +wonder into the world. These men might be rendering far greater service +to their country by following their natural bent than by doing navvies’ +work or performing silly brutalising tasks in prison. + +“Of course the press is eager enough to make the public believe that +prison is a sort of slacker’s paradise, where they have quite a +delightful time of it.... We know differently. Alan’s isn’t the only +case of systematic brutality wreaked upon a defenceless victim. Only +that kind of thing is carefully kept out of the papers. However +magnificently England may think to figure in the world’s history after +the war, the gross stupidity and cruelty of the way she has treated the +genuine pacifists should stand as an eternal blot upon her honour.” + +Antoinette did not interrupt him. She sat watching the bodiless legs +that passed and passed in front of the blurred window, remembering the +many different moods in which she had watched them. The tea-room was +empty, save for the ghosts that sat grouped at the tables; almost she +could have expected them to take part in the conversation.... Dennis; +Alan; Everard, with his languid drawl; Crispin’s stammer; O’Farrell’s +Irish phrasing; the whole chorus of familiar voices. But the chorus was +silent now. + +“And the war goes on, and day by day the torture of those at the Front +and those in the prisons goes on; and the schoolboys, the striplings of +sixteen and seventeen, are growing up to face the choice of the two +alternatives—children cherished and carefully reared, so that when they +are still little more than children they may be ready for this....” + +“Oh, I know, I know,” cried Antoinette, “there was poor little +Oswald.... He talked to me once in a queer burst of confidence, and he +said almost the same thing: ‘It’s waiting for you now, when you’re +eighteen....’ And I’m glad he’s dead,” she passed her hand over her +eyes, as if to shut out some horror. “He took the cowards’ way out, if +you like, but I’d rather know him dead than think of him like the +others, going on, and on....” + +Suddenly the door to the street was opened and banged. Footsteps came +pelting down the crooked stairs, and Benny Joseph hurled himself into +the tea-room. + +“I’ve been turned down!” he cried incoherently, “turned down by the +doctor after I was arrested. I’m a free man, Barnaby, do you hear? +Totally exempt.... And I’ve got a part—this is my lucky day—I just +walked into it—I’m going on tour in musical comedy for eighteen weeks!” + +Benny was radiant and breathless, but he spoke to an audience of ghosts; +ghost of Everard, long dead on the field in Flanders; ghost of Harry +Hope, drilling drearily on Salisbury Plain; ghosts of the many +professionals of all grades who had once frequented Miss Mowbray’s, and +been gradually sucked into the army, and who would have overwhelmed him +with a flood of questions. Which towns was he doing? Who was in the +company? Did he want addresses of rooms? + +“I’m so awfully glad, Benny ...” Antoinette said warmly; she could not +bear that he should shout his joyful tidings into unresponsive space; +“do let me know if you’re anywhere near London; I’d love to see you in +your show.” + +“Thanks ever so much. Yes, I’ll let you know. I say, I wish the others +could have been as lucky.... Well, I must be off now—millions of things +to do—letters to write—we start rehearsing next week. Lord, it’s a queer +sensation not to have it hanging over you any more.... And when the +war’s over, I’ll be able to go to Vienna and Paris and Berlin and +Budapest again, without feeling I’ve helped to muck up any of the +countries I’m staying in. I _must_ be off. Good-bye....” + +He was gone. + +Barnaby smiled. “So Benny’s aunts in the various parts of Europe will at +least be safe from Benny’s ridiculously inadequate shooting.” + +But Antoinette was not thinking of Benny’s aunts: she was thinking of +the girl whose existence she had once heard rumoured—the little Jewish +girl, somewhere in Hampstead, to whom he would ultimately turn. +Antoinette envied that girl the moment when she heard Benny’s news. + +“So they’ve all found their destiny,” mused Barnaby; then he bent his +shaggy brows to a kindlier scrutiny of Antoinette herself. “And what +about you...?” + +She did not answer. Her thoughts were with the couples, the many couples +who had the right to each other: Lily, who had the right to cherish her +battered, broken Clive; Doreen, who through all her pain, still had the +right to cling to her memory of Hugh; Millie, who could actually cling +to Griggs; Pegeen, who had probably died at her man’s side; little Mrs. +Mansfield, staunchly awaiting her husband’s release from prison; even +the pasty-faced girl in the train ... her man would write her illiterate +love-letters from the Front, for a little while, perhaps.... + +And all these women had the right to stand by their men, in prison or at +the Front; in the cause of rebellion or in the cause of stamping out +rebellion; wounded or even after death, they had this right because +their men loved or had loved them. + +Doreen, by virtue of being on the popular, the militarist side, had had +the right to an official joy and an official sorrow; to official +congratulation and official condolence. Antoinette’s joy and sorrow had +alike been “unofficial.” Not that she minded being on the unpopular +side. She could have enjoyed being an Ishmaelite outside the gates of +Eastwold, enjoyed the rebel-sense of her unofficial right to stand by +him, if only he had loved her. But—by his lack of love, he debarred her +from this right, just as she had been debarred from official +congratulation and condolence. She was an outcast in a double sense; an +Ishmaelite twice over. + +“Well?” said Barnaby. + +“I? Oh, I don’t know where I come in. I think I don’t come in at +all....” + +He nodded. “I understand. May I say I’m sorry for you? You know I don’t +mean it as an insult.... What is to become of you, though?” + +She smiled wearily. “I suppose I too—just go on....” + +“Yes. I’m afraid you’re the symbol of what has to be sacrificed to the +love between man and man.” + +“He couldn’t have done otherwise”—loyally she was prepared to defend +Dennis against anything that even his friend might have to say about +him. “He was made like that, and he made things more difficult for +himself by bottling up all his thoughts and feelings, and being terribly +afraid of them, and never telling anyone about them—till he told me.” + +“He never told me,” said Barnaby, “at least not in so many words. But I +could see for myself. He’s got a queer strain of the maternal in him. +It’s obvious in the way he looks upon his work, and in the way he looks +upon that boy.... It’s a woman’s passion as well as a man’s that he +feels for Alan; virile and yet tender; stronger even than death or +madness; a wonderful motive-force that might accomplish much ... only +the world would condemn it as an evil, vicious growth that should be +stamped out! We want more light, more breathing-space, more tolerance +and understanding: not this narrow-minded wholesale condemnation and +covering-up; this instinctive shuddering and turning away from a side of +nature that, like every other side, has its right to a hearing, its +right to open discussion.” + +“Everybody seems to imagine that you’re abnormal because you _like_ +being abnormal,” Antoinette burst out, “just as they imagine that men go +to prison because they like it better than going to the Front. As if +being different from normal people weren’t curse enough in itself, +without having them think it’s your own choice, and that you enjoy being +different!” + +“Of course there are those who enjoy it—who wallow in the perverted +sensations of their abnormality, as normal sensualists wallow in their +own ‘permissible’ lusts. And by these, the worst types—or perhaps the +most to be pitied—the multitude judges them all, just as they judge the +whole class of conscientious objectors by those actuated only by fear +for their own skins. They don’t attempt to separate the grain from the +chaff: the innocent have to suffer with the guilty.” + +“It’s a pity no one thinks of saving the guilty for the sake of the +innocent!” she cried. + +“Christ thought of it, my dear girl, many long years ago; and look what +a mess they’re making of His teachings now.... But perhaps these men who +stand mid-way between the extremes of the two sexes are the +advance-guard of a more enlightened civilisation. They’re despised and +rejected of their fellow-men to-day. What they suffer in a world not yet +ready to admit their right to existence, their right to love, no normal +person can realise; but I believe that the time is not so far distant +when we shall recognise in the best of our intermediate types the +leaders and masters of the race.” + +He paused, and went on: “They _do_ wander through dark ways at present, +there’s no denying it; and some of them understand themselves and the +eternal conflicts of their nature as little as others understand them. +The normal person cries: ‘Don’t encourage them—stamp them out—imprison +them—crush them——’ You can’t crush them; you can’t stamp them out; +they’ve got to be reckoned with. From them a new humanity is being +evolved, and in the process of evolution Nature produces all sorts of +poor little deformities and abnormalities as samples. They’re necessary +to the production of the higher type, though, the bad specimens put out +from every factory or workshop. Bad specimens—and yet forerunners! For +out of their suffering, out of pain and confusion and darkness, will +arise something great—something God-given: the human soul complete in +itself, perfectly balanced, not limited by the psychological bounds of +one sex, but combining the power and the intellect of the one with the +subtlety and intuition of the other; a dual nature, possessing the +extended range, the attributes of both sides, and therefore loving and +beloved of both alike.” + +With brimming eyes she listened to him; and then she put the question +that Mrs. Blackwood had so often put to her: + +“Do you ... think Dennis will be all right?” + +“I think he’ll keep his reason, if that’s what you mean, even if he’s +never able to write a note of music again. But even so—one can’t say +that it is all for nothing: those train-loads and boat-loads of cheery +boys taken from the land, the workshops, the universities, who go out +singing and joking to their death; who never did anything remarkable in +their life before, and yet who do incredibly plucky things on the +battlefield; the patient heroes on both sides who do their bit and much +more than their bit, because it’s been instilled into their faithful +hearts that it’s right that they should do it—it is for love of these, +and to save these and such as these in the generations to come that Alan +and Dennis and others like them are making their sacrifice! And then to +label the lot of them cowards——” He broke off, and sat a while silently +brooding. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, well: people don’t +think....” + + + THE END. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public +domain. + +The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical +and punctuation errors as well as variations in hyphenation were +silently amended. All other changes are shown here (before/after): + + [p. 59]: + ... At least, so though Antoinette, who from childhood ... + ... At least, so thought Antoinette, who from childhood ... + + [p. 83]: + ... I’d got to be musician, even if it did mean being ... + ... I’d got to be a musician, even if it did mean being ... + + [p. 116]: + ... it’th nithe to thart booking up before the danthe ... + ... it’th nithe to thtart booking up before the danthe ... + + [p. 118]: + ... be a drug upon the market,” exclaimed Griggs with ... + ... be a drag upon the market,” exclaimed Griggs with ... + + [p. 237]: + ... she’s takes Belgium’s name in vain to hide her ... + ... she takes Belgium’s name in vain to hide her ... + + [p. 273]: + ... “Letters has passed between them. Then the ... + ... “Letters had passed between them. Then the ... + + [p. 321]: + ... him accordingly. Crispin led them cherish. It ... + ... him accordingly. Crispin lets them cherish. It ... + + [p. 339]: + ... her so happy—I feel is if I’d lost a son, too.” She ... + ... her so happy—I feel as if I’d lost a son, too.” She ... + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79286 *** |