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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of An Unsocial Socialist, by George Bernard Shaw
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: An Unsocial Socialist
+
+Author: George Bernard Shaw
+
+Release Date: February 21, 2006 [EBook #1654]
+Last Updated: September 21, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN UNSOCIAL SOCIALIST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Dianne Bean and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+AN UNSOCIAL SOCIALIST
+
+
+by George Bernard Shaw
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+In the dusk of an October evening, a sensible looking woman of forty
+came out through an oaken door to a broad landing on the first floor of
+an old English country-house. A braid of her hair had fallen forward as
+if she had been stooping over book or pen; and she stood for a moment
+to smooth it, and to gaze contemplatively--not in the least
+sentimentally--through the tall, narrow window. The sun was setting, but
+its glories were at the other side of the house; for this window
+looked eastward, where the landscape of sheepwalks and pasture land was
+sobering at the approach of darkness.
+
+The lady, like one to whom silence and quiet were luxuries, lingered
+on the landing for some time. Then she turned towards another door, on
+which was inscribed, in white letters, Class Room No. 6. Arrested by a
+whispering above, she paused in the doorway, and looked up the stairs
+along a broad smooth handrail that swept round in an unbroken curve at
+each landing, forming an inclined plane from the top to the bottom of
+the house.
+
+A young voice, apparently mimicking someone, now came from above,
+saying,
+
+“We will take the Etudes de la Velocite next, if you please, ladies.”
+
+Immediately a girl in a holland dress shot down through space; whirled
+round the curve with a fearless centrifugal toss of her ankle; and
+vanished into the darkness beneath. She was followed by a stately girl
+in green, intently holding her breath as she flew; and also by a large
+young woman in black, with her lower lip grasped between her teeth, and
+her fine brown eyes protruding with excitement. Her passage created a
+miniature tempest which disarranged anew the hair of the lady on the
+landing, who waited in breathless alarm until two light shocks and a
+thump announced that the aerial voyagers had landed safely in the hall.
+
+“Oh law!” exclaimed the voice that had spoken before. “Here’s Susan.”
+
+“It’s a mercy your neck ain’t broken,” replied some palpitating female.
+“I’ll tell of you this time, Miss Wylie; indeed I will. And you, too,
+Miss Carpenter: I wonder at you not to have more sense at your age and
+with your size! Miss Wilson can’t help hearing when you come down with a
+thump like that. You shake the whole house.”
+
+“Oh bother!” said Miss Wylie. “The Lady Abbess takes good care to shut
+out all the noise we make. Let us--”
+
+“Girls,” said the lady above, calling down quietly, but with ominous
+distinctness.
+
+Silence and utter confusion ensued. Then came a reply, in a tone of
+honeyed sweetness, from Miss Wylie:
+
+“Did you call us, DEAR Miss Wilson?”
+
+“Yes. Come up here, if you please, all three.”
+
+There was some hesitation among them, each offering the other
+precedence. At last they went up slowly, in the order, though not at all
+in the manner, of their flying descent; followed Miss Wilson into the
+class-room; and stood in a row before her, illumined through three
+western windows with a glow of ruddy orange light. Miss Carpenter, the
+largest of the three, was red and confused. Her arms hung by her sides,
+her fingers twisting the folds of her dress. Miss Gertrude Lindsay, in
+pale sea-green, had a small head, delicate complexion, and pearly teeth.
+She stood erect, with an expression of cold distaste for reproof of any
+sort. The holland dress of the third offender had changed from yellow to
+white as she passed from the gray eastern twilight on the staircase into
+the warm western glow in the room. Her face had a bright olive tone, and
+seemed to have a golden mica in its composition. Her eyes and hair were
+hazel-nut color; and her teeth, the upper row of which she displayed
+freely, were like fine Portland stone, and sloped outward enough to have
+spoilt her mouth, had they not been supported by a rich under lip, and
+a finely curved, impudent chin. Her half cajoling, half mocking air,
+and her ready smile, were difficult to confront with severity; and Miss
+Wilson knew it; for she would not look at her even when attracted by
+a convulsive start and an angry side glance from Miss Lindsay, who had
+just been indented between the ribs by a finger tip.
+
+“You are aware that you have broken the rules,” said Miss Wilson
+quietly.
+
+“We didn’t intend to. We really did not,” said the girl in holland,
+coaxingly.
+
+“Pray what was your intention then, Miss Wylie?”
+
+Miss Wylie unexpectedly treated this as a smart repartee instead of a
+rebuke. She sent up a strange little scream, which exploded in a cascade
+of laughter.
+
+“Pray be silent, Agatha,” said Miss Wilson severely. Agatha looked
+contrite. Miss Wilson turned hastily to the eldest of the three, and
+continued:
+
+“I am especially surprised at you, Miss Carpenter. Since you have no
+desire to keep faith with me by upholding the rules, of which you are
+quite old enough to understand the necessity, I shall not trouble you
+with reproaches, or appeals to which I am now convinced that you would
+not respond,” (here Miss Carpenter, with an inarticulate protest, burst
+into tears); “but you should at least think of the danger into which
+your juniors are led by your childishness. How should you feel if Agatha
+had broken her neck?”
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed Agatha, putting her hand quickly to her neck.
+
+“I didn’t think there was any danger,” said Miss Carpenter, struggling
+with her tears. “Agatha has done it so oft--oh dear! you have torn me.”
+ Miss Wylie had pulled at her schoolfellow’s skirt, and pulled too hard.
+
+“Miss Wylie,” said Miss Wilson, flushing slightly, “I must ask you to
+leave the room.”
+
+“Oh, no,” exclaimed Agatha, clasping her hands in distress. “Please
+don’t, dear Miss Wilson. I am so sorry. I beg your pardon.”
+
+“Since you will not do what I ask, I must go myself,” said Miss Wilson
+sternly. “Come with me to my study,” she added to the two other
+girls. “If you attempt to follow, Miss Wylie, I shall regard it as an
+intrusion.”
+
+“But I will go away if you wish it. I didn’t mean to diso--”
+
+“I shall not trouble you now. Come, girls.”
+
+The three went out; and Miss Wylie, left behind in disgrace, made a
+surpassing grimace at Miss Lindsay, who glanced back at her. When she
+was alone, her vivacity subsided. She went slowly to the window, and
+gazed disparagingly at the landscape. Once, when a sound of voices above
+reached her, her eyes brightened, and her ready lip moved; but the
+next silent moment she relapsed into moody indifference, which was not
+relieved until her two companions, looking very serious, re-entered.
+
+“Well,” she said gaily, “has moral force been applied? Are you going to
+the Recording Angel?”
+
+“Hush, Agatha,” said Miss Carpenter. “You ought to be ashamed of
+yourself.”
+
+“No, but you ought, you goose. A nice row you have got me into!”
+
+“It was your own fault. You tore my dress.”
+
+“Yes, when you were blurting out that I sometimes slide down the
+banisters.”
+
+“Oh!” said Miss Carpenter slowly, as if this reason had not occurred to
+her before. “Was that why you pulled me?”
+
+“Dear me! It has actually dawned upon you. You are a most awfully silly
+girl, Jane. What did the Lady Abbess say?”
+
+Miss Carpenter again gave her tears way, and could not reply.
+
+“She is disgusted with us, and no wonder,” said Miss Lindsay.
+
+“She said it was all your fault,” sobbed Miss Carpenter.
+
+“Well, never mind, dear,” said Agatha soothingly. “Put it in the
+Recording Angel.”
+
+“I won’t write a word in the Recording Angel unless you do so first,”
+ said Miss Lindsay angrily. “You are more in fault than we are.”
+
+“Certainly, my dear,” replied Agatha. “A whole page, if you wish.”
+
+“I b-believe you LIKE writing in the Recording Angel,” said Miss
+Carpenter spitefully.
+
+“Yes, Jane. It is the best fun the place affords.”
+
+“It may be fun to you,” said Miss Lindsay sharply; “but it is not very
+creditable to me, as Miss Wilson said just now, to take a prize in moral
+science and then have to write down that I don’t know how to behave
+myself. Besides, I do not like to be told that I am ill-bred!”
+
+Agatha laughed. “What a deep old thing she is! She knows all our
+weaknesses, and stabs at us through them. Catch her telling me, or Jane
+there, that we are ill-bred!”
+
+“I don’t understand you,” said Miss Lindsay, haughtily.
+
+“Of course not. That’s because you don’t know as much moral science as
+I, though I never took a prize in it.”
+
+“You never took a prize in anything,” said Miss Carpenter.
+
+“And I hope I never shall,” said Agatha. “I would as soon scramble for
+hot pennies in the snow, like the street boys, as scramble to see who
+can answer most questions. Dr. Watts is enough moral science for me. Now
+for the Recording Angel.”
+
+She went to a shelf and took down a heavy quarto, bound in black
+leather, and inscribed, in red letters, MY FAULTS. This she threw
+irreverently on a desk, and tossed its pages over until she came to one
+only partly covered with manuscript confessions.
+
+“For a wonder,” she said, “here are two entries that are not mine. Sarah
+Gerram! What has she been confessing?”
+
+“Don’t read it,” said Miss Lindsay quickly. “You know that it is the
+most dishonorable thing any of us can do.”
+
+“Poch! Our little sins are not worth making such a fuss about. I always
+like to have my entries read: it makes me feel like an author; and so in
+Christian duty I always read other people’s. Listen to poor Sarah’s tale
+of guilt. ‘1st October. I am very sorry that I slapped Miss Chambers in
+the lavatory this morning, and knocked out one of her teeth. This was
+very wicked; but it was coming out by itself; and she has forgiven me
+because a new one will come in its place; and she was only pretending
+when she said she swallowed it. Sarah Gerram.”’
+
+“Little fool!” said Miss Lindsay. “The idea of our having to record in
+the same book with brats like that!”
+
+“Here is a touching revelation. ‘4th October. Helen Plantagenet is
+deeply grieved to have to confess that I took the first place in algebra
+yesterday unfairly. Miss Lindsay prompted me;’ and--”
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Lindsay, reddening. “That is how she thanks me for
+prompting her, is it? How dare she confess my faults in the Recording
+Angel?”
+
+“Serves you right for prompting her,” said Miss Carpenter. “She was
+always a double-faced cat; and you ought to have known better.”
+
+“Oh, I assure you it was not for her sake that I did it,” replied Miss
+Lindsay. “It was to prevent that Jackson girl from getting first place.
+I don’t like Helen Plantagenet; but at least she is a lady.’
+
+“Stuff, Gertrude,” said Agatha, with a touch of earnestness. “One would
+think, to hear you talk, that your grandmother was a cook. Don’t be such
+a snob.”
+
+“Miss Wylie,” said Gertrude, becoming scarlet: “you are very--oh! oh!
+Stop Ag--oh! I will tell Miss--oh!” Agatha had inserted a steely finger
+between her ribs, and was tickling her unendurably.
+
+“Sh-sh-sh,” whispered Miss Carpenter anxiously. “The door is open.”
+
+“Am I Miss Wylie?” demanded Agatha, relentlessly continuing the torture.
+“Am I very--whatever you were going to say? Am I? am I? am I?”
+
+“No, no,” gasped Gertrude, shrinking into a chair, almost in hysterics.
+“You are very unkind, Agatha. You have hurt me.”
+
+“You deserve it. If you ever get sulky with me again, or call me Miss
+Wylie, I will kill you. I will tickle the soles of your feet with a
+feather,” (Miss Lindsay shuddered, and hid her feet beneath the chair)
+“until your hair turns white. And now, if you are truly repentant, come
+and record.”
+
+“You must record first. It was all your fault.”
+
+“But I am the youngest,” said Agatha.
+
+“Well, then,” said Gertrude, afraid to press the point, but determined
+not to record first, “let Jane Carpenter begin. She is the eldest.”
+
+“Oh, of course,” said Jane, with whimpering irony. “Let Jane do all the
+nasty things first. I think it’s very hard. You fancy that Jane is a
+fool; but she isn’t.”
+
+“You are certainly not such a fool as you look, Jane,” said Agatha
+gravely. “But I will record first, if you like.”
+
+“No, you shan’t,” cried Jane, snatching the pen from her. “I am the
+eldest; and I won’t be put out of my place.”
+
+She dipped the pen in the ink resolutely, and prepared to write.
+Then she paused; considered; looked bewildered; and at last appealed
+piteously to Agatha.
+
+“What shall I write?” she said. “You know how to write things down; and
+I don’t.”
+
+“First put the date,” said Agatha.
+
+“To be sure,” said Jane, writing it quickly. “I forgot that. Well?”
+
+“Now write, ‘I am very sorry that Miss Wilson saw me when I slid down
+the banisters this evening. Jane Carpenter.’”
+
+“Is that all?”
+
+“That’s all: unless you wish to add something of your own composition.”
+
+“I hope it’s all right,” said Jane, looking suspiciously at Agatha.
+“However, there can’t be any harm in it; for it’s the simple truth.
+Anyhow, if you are playing one of your jokes on me, you are a nasty mean
+thing, and I don’t care. Now, Gertrude, it’s your turn. Please look at
+mine, and see whether the spelling is right.”
+
+“It is not my business to teach you to spell,” said Gertrude, taking the
+pen. And, while Jane was murmuring at her churlishness, she wrote in a
+bold hand:
+
+“I have broken the rules by sliding down the banisters to-day with Miss
+Carpenter and Miss Wylie. Miss Wylie went first.”
+
+“You wretch!” exclaimed Agatha, reading over her shoulder. “And your
+father is an admiral!”
+
+“I think it is only fair,” said Miss Lindsay, quailing, but assuming the
+tone of a moralist. “It is perfectly true.”
+
+“All my money was made in trade,” said Agatha; “but I should be ashamed
+to save myself by shifting blame to your aristocratic shoulders. You
+pitiful thing! Here: give me the pen.”
+
+“I will strike it out if you wish; but I think--”
+
+“No: it shall stay there to witness against you. Now see how I confess
+my faults.” And she wrote, in a fine, rapid hand:
+
+“This evening Gertrude Lindsay and Jane Carpenter met me at the top of
+the stairs, and said they wanted to slide down the banisters and would
+do it if I went first. I told them that it was against the rules,
+but they said that did not matter; and as they are older than I am, I
+allowed myself to be persuaded, and did.”
+
+“What do you think of that?” said Agatha, displaying the page.
+
+They read it, and protested clamorously.
+
+“It is perfectly true,” said Agatha, solemnly.
+
+“It’s beastly mean,” said Jane energetically. “The idea of your finding
+fault with Gertrude, and then going and being twice as bad yourself! I
+never heard of such a thing in my life.”
+
+“‘Thus bad begins; but worse remains behind,’ as the Standard
+Elocutionist says,” said Agatha, adding another sentence to her
+confession.
+
+“But it was all my fault. Also I was rude to Miss Wilson, and refused
+to leave the room when she bade me. I was not wilfully wrong except in
+sliding down the banisters. I am so fond of a slide that I could not
+resist the temptation.”
+
+“Be warned by me, Agatha,” said Jane impressively. “If you write cheeky
+things in that book, you will be expelled.”
+
+“Indeed!” replied Agatha significantly. “Wait until Miss Wilson sees
+what you have written.”
+
+“Gertrude,” cried Jane, with sudden misgiving, “has she made me write
+anything improper? Agatha, do tell me if--”
+
+Here a gong sounded; and the three girls simultaneously exclaimed
+“Grub!” and rushed from the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+One sunny afternoon, a hansom drove at great speed along Belsize Avenue,
+St. John’s Wood, and stopped before a large mansion. A young lady sprang
+out; ran up the steps, and rang the bell impatiently. She was of the
+olive complexion, with a sharp profile: dark eyes with long lashes;
+narrow mouth with delicately sensuous lips; small head, feet, and hands,
+with long taper fingers; lithe and very slender figure moving with
+serpent-like grace. Oriental taste was displayed in the colors of her
+costume, which consisted of a white dress, close-fitting, and printed
+with an elaborate china blue pattern; a yellow straw hat covered with
+artificial hawthorn and scarlet berries; and tan-colored gloves reaching
+beyond the elbow, and decorated with a profusion of gold bangles.
+
+The door not being opened immediately, she rang again, violently, and
+was presently admitted by a maid, who seemed surprised to see her.
+Without making any inquiry, she darted upstairs into a drawing-room,
+where a matron of good presence, with features of the finest Jewish
+type, sat reading. With her was a handsome boy in black velvet, who
+said:
+
+“Mamma, here’s Henrietta!”
+
+“Arthur,” said the young lady excitedly, “leave the room this instant;
+and don’t dare to come back until you get leave.”
+
+The boy’s countenance fell, and he sulkily went out without a word.
+
+“Is anything wrong?” said the matron, putting away her book with the
+unconcerned resignation of an experienced person who foresees a storm in
+a teacup. “Where is Sidney?”
+
+“Gone! Gone! Deserted me! I--” The young lady’s utterance failed, and
+she threw herself upon an ottoman, sobbing with passionate spite.
+
+“Nonsense! I thought Sidney had more sense. There, Henrietta, don’t be
+silly. I suppose you have quarrelled.”
+
+“No! No!! No!!!” cried Henrietta, stamping on the carpet. “We had not a
+word. I have not lost my temper since we were married, mamma; I solemnly
+swear I have not. I will kill myself; there is no other way. There’s a
+curse on me. I am marked out to be miserable. He--”
+
+“Tut, tut! What has happened, Henrietta? As you have been married now
+nearly six weeks, you can hardly be surprised at a little tiff arising.
+You are so excitable! You cannot expect the sky to be always cloudless.
+Most likely you are to blame; for Sidney is far more reasonable than
+you. Stop crying, and behave like a woman of sense, and I will go to
+Sidney and make everything right.”
+
+“But he’s gone, and I can’t find out where. Oh, what shall I do?”
+
+“What has happened?”
+
+Henrietta writhed with impatience. Then, forcing herself to tell her
+story, she answered:
+
+“We arranged on Monday that I should spend two days with Aunt Judith
+instead of going with him to Birmingham to that horrid Trade Congress.
+We parted on the best of terms. He couldn’t have been more affectionate.
+I will kill myself; I don’t care about anything or anybody. And when
+I came back on Wednesday he was gone, and there was this letter.” She
+produced a letter, and wept more bitterly than before.
+
+“Let me see it.”
+
+Henrietta hesitated, but her mother took the letter from her, sat down
+near the window, and composed herself to read without the least regard
+to her daughter’s vehement distress. The letter ran thus:
+
+“Monday night.
+
+“My Dearest: I am off--surfeited with endearment--to live my own life
+and do my own work. I could only have prepared you for this by coldness
+or neglect, which are wholly impossible to me when the spell of your
+presence is upon me. I find that I must fly if I am to save myself.
+
+“I am afraid that I cannot give you satisfactory and intelligible
+reasons for this step. You are a beautiful and luxurious creature: life
+is to you full and complete only when it is a carnival of love. My case
+is just the reverse. Before three soft speeches have escaped me I rebuke
+myself for folly and insincerity. Before a caress has had time to cool,
+a strenuous revulsion seizes me: I long to return to my old lonely
+ascetic hermit life; to my dry books; my Socialist propagandism; my
+voyage of discovery through the wilderness of thought. I married in an
+insane fit of belief that I had a share of the natural affection
+which carries other men through lifetimes of matrimony. Already I am
+undeceived. You are to me the loveliest woman in the world. Well, for
+five weeks I have walked and tallied and dallied with the loveliest
+woman in the world, and the upshot is that I am flying from her, and am
+for a hermit’s cave until I die. Love cannot keep possession of me: all
+my strongest powers rise up against it and will not endure it. Forgive
+me for writing nonsense that you won’t understand, and do not think too
+hardly of me. I have been as good to you as my selfish nature allowed.
+Do not seek to disturb me in the obscurity which I desire and deserve.
+My solicitor will call on your father to arrange business matters, and
+you shall be as happy as wealth and liberty can make you. We shall meet
+again--some day.
+
+“Adieu, my last love,
+
+“Sidney Trefusis.”
+
+“Well?” cried Mrs. Trefusis, observing through her tears that her mother
+had read the letter and was contemplating it in a daze.
+
+“Well, certainly!” said Mrs. Jansenius, with emphasis. “Do you think
+he is quite sane, Henrietta? Or have you been plaguing him for too much
+attention? Men are not willing to give up their whole existence to their
+wives, even during the honeymoon.”
+
+“He pretended that he was never happy out of my presence,” sobbed
+Henrietta. “There never was anything so cruel. I often wanted to be by
+myself for a change, but I was afraid to hurt his feelings by saying
+so. And now he has no feelings. But he must come back to me. Mustn’t he,
+mamma?”
+
+“He ought to. I suppose he has not gone away with anyone?”
+
+Henrietta sprang up, her cheeks vivid scarlet. “If I thought that I
+would pursue him to the end of the earth, and murder her. But no; he is
+not like anybody else. He hates me! Everybody hates me! You don’t care
+whether I am deserted or not, nor papa, nor anyone in this house.”
+
+Mrs. Jansenius, still indifferent to her daughter’s agitation,
+considered a moment, and then said placidly:
+
+“You can do nothing until we hear from the solicitor. In the meantime
+you may stay with us, if you wish. I did not expect a visit from you so
+soon; but your room has not been used since you went away.”
+
+Mrs. Trefusis ceased crying, chilled by this first intimation that her
+father’s house was no longer her home. A more real sense of desolation
+came upon her. Under its cold influence she began to collect herself,
+and to feel her pride rising like a barrier between her and her mother.
+
+“I won’t stay long,” she said. “If his solicitor will not tell me where
+he is, I will hunt through England for him. I am sorry to trouble you.”
+
+“Oh, you will be no greater trouble than you have always been,” said
+Mrs. Jansenius calmly, not displeased to see that her daughter had taken
+the hint. “You had better go and wash your face. People may call, and
+I presume you don’t wish to receive them in that plight. If you meet
+Arthur on the stairs, please tell him he may come in.”
+
+Henrietta screwed her lips into a curious pout and withdrew. Arthur then
+came in and stood at the window in sullen silence, brooding over his
+recent expulsion. Suddenly he exclaimed: “Here’s papa, and it’s not five
+o’clock yet!” whereupon his mother sent him away again.
+
+Mr. Jansenius was a man of imposing presence, not yet in his fiftieth
+year, but not far from it. He moved with dignity, bearing himself as if
+the contents of his massive brow were precious. His handsome aquiline
+nose and keen dark eyes proclaimed his Jewish origin, of which he was
+ashamed. Those who did not know this naturally believed that he was
+proud of it, and were at a loss to account for his permitting his
+children to be educated as Christians. Well instructed in business,
+and subject to no emotion outside the love of family, respectability,
+comfort, and money, he had maintained the capital inherited from his
+father, and made it breed new capital in the usual way. He was a banker,
+and his object as such was to intercept and appropriate the immense
+saving which the banking system effects, and so, as far as possible, to
+leave the rest of the world working just as hard as before banking was
+introduced. But as the world would not on these terms have banked at
+all, he had to give them some of the saving as an inducement. So they
+profited by the saving as well as he, and he had the satisfaction
+of being at once a wealthy citizen and a public benefactor, rich in
+comforts and easy in conscience.
+
+He entered the room quickly, and his wife saw that something had vexed
+him.
+
+“Do you know what has happened, Ruth?” he said.
+
+“Yes. She is upstairs.”
+
+Mr. Jansenius stared. “Do you mean to say that she has left already?” he
+said. “What business has she to come here?”
+
+“It is natural enough. Where else should she have gone?”
+
+Mr. Jansenius, who mistrusted his own judgment when it differed from
+that of his wife, replied slowly, “Why did she not go to her mother?”
+
+Mrs. Jansenius, puzzled in her turn, looked at him with cool wonder, and
+remarked, “I am her mother, am I not?”
+
+“I was not aware of it. I am surprised to hear it, Ruth. Have you had a
+letter too. I have seen the letter. But what do you mean by telling
+me that you do not know I am Henrietta’s mother? Are you trying to be
+funny?”
+
+“Henrietta! Is she here? Is this some fresh trouble?”
+
+“I don’t know. What are you talking about?”
+
+“I am talking about Agatha Wylie.”
+
+“Oh! I was talking about Henrietta.”
+
+“Well, what about Henrietta?”
+
+“What about Agatha Wylie?”
+
+At this Mr. Jansenius became exasperated, and he deemed it best to
+relate what Henrietta had told her. When she gave him Trefusis’s letter,
+he said, more calmly: “Misfortunes never come singly. Read that,” and
+handed her another letter, so that they both began reading at the same
+time.
+
+Mrs. Jansenius read as follows:
+
+“Alton College, Lyvern.
+
+“To Mrs. Wylie, Acacia Lodge, Chiswick.
+
+“Dear Madam: I write with great regret to request that you will at once
+withdraw Miss Wylie from Alton College. In an establishment like
+this, where restraint upon the liberty of the students is reduced to a
+minimum, it is necessary that the small degree of subordination which
+is absolutely indispensable be acquiesced in by all without complaint
+or delay. Miss Wylie has failed to comply with this condition. She has
+declared her wish to leave, and has assumed an attitude towards myself
+and my colleagues which we cannot, consistently with our duty to
+ourselves and her fellow students, pass over. If Miss Wylie has any
+cause to complain of her treatment here, or of the step which she has
+compelled us to take, she will doubtless make it known to you.
+
+“Perhaps you will be so good as to communicate with Miss Wylie’s
+guardian, Mr. Jansenius, with whom I shall be happy to make an equitable
+arrangement respecting the fees which have been paid in advance for the
+current term.
+
+“I am, dear madam,
+
+“Yours faithfully,
+
+“Maria Wilson.”
+
+“A nice young lady, that!” said Mrs. Jansenius.
+
+“I do not understand this,” said Mr. Jansenius, reddening as he took in
+the purport of his son-in-law’s letter. “I will not submit to it. What
+does it mean, Ruth?”
+
+“I don’t know. Sidney is mad, I think; and his honeymoon has brought
+his madness out. But you must not let him throw Henrietta on my hands
+again.”
+
+“Mad! Does he think he can shirk his responsibility to his wife because
+she is my daughter? Does he think, because his mother’s father was a
+baronet, that he can put Henrietta aside the moment her society palls on
+him?”
+
+“Oh, it’s nothing of that sort. He never thought of us. But I will
+make him think of us,” said Mr. Jansenius, raising his voice in great
+agitation. “He shall answer for it.”
+
+Just then Henrietta returned, and saw her father moving excitedly to
+and fro, repeating, “He shall answer to me for this. He shall answer for
+it.”
+
+Mrs. Jansenius frowned at her daughter to remain silent, and said
+soothingly, “Don’t lose your temper, John.”
+
+“But I will lose my temper. Insolent hound! Damned scoundrel!”
+
+“He is not,” whimpered Henrietta, sitting down and taking out her
+handkerchief.
+
+“Oh, come, come!” said Mrs. Jansenius peremptorily, “we have had enough
+crying. Let us have no more of it.”
+
+Henrietta sprang up in a passion. “I will say and do as I please,” she
+exclaimed. “I am a married woman, and I will receive no orders. And I
+will have my husband back again, no matter what he does to hide himself.
+Papa, won’t you make him come back to me? I am dying. Promise that you
+will make him come back.”
+
+And, throwing herself upon her father’s bosom, she postponed further
+discussion by going into hysterics, and startling the household by her
+screams.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+One of the professors at Alton College was a Mrs. Miller, an
+old-fashioned schoolmistress who did not believe in Miss Wilson’s system
+of government by moral force, and carried it out under protest. Though
+not ill-natured, she was narrow-minded enough to be in some degree
+contemptible, and was consequently prone to suspect others of despising
+her. She suspected Agatha in particular, and treated her with disdainful
+curtness in such intercourse as they had--it was fortunately little.
+Agatha was not hurt by this, for Mrs. Miller was an unsympathetic woman,
+who made no friends among the girls, and satisfied her affectionate
+impulses by petting a large cat named Gracchus, but generally called
+Bacchus by an endearing modification of the harsh initial consonant.
+
+One evening Mrs. Miller, seated with Miss Wilson in the study,
+correcting examination papers, heard in the distance a cry like that
+of a cat in distress. She ran to the door and listened. Presently there
+arose a prolonged wail, slurring up through two octaves, and subsiding
+again. It was a true feline screech, impossible to localize; but it
+was interrupted by a sob, a snarl, a fierce spitting, and a scuffling,
+coming unmistakably from a room on the floor beneath, in which, at that
+hour, the older girls assembled for study.
+
+“My poor Gracchy!” exclaimed Mrs. Miller, running downstairs as fast as
+she could. She found the room unusually quiet. Every girl was deep in
+study except Miss Carpenter, who, pretending to pick up a fallen
+book, was purple with suppressed laughter and the congestion caused by
+stooping.
+
+“Where is Miss Ward?” demanded Mrs. Miller.
+
+“Miss Ward has gone for some astronomical diagrams in which we are
+interested,” said Agatha, looking up gravely. Just then Miss Ward,
+diagrams in hand, entered.
+
+“Has that cat been in here?” she said, not seeing Mrs. Miller, and
+speaking in a tone expressive of antipathy to Gracchus.
+
+Agatha started and drew up her ankles, as if fearful of having them
+bitten. Then, looking apprehensively under the desk, she replied, “There
+is no cat here, Miss Ward.”
+
+“There is one somewhere; I heard it,” said Miss Ward carelessly,
+unrolling her diagrams, which she began to explain without further
+parley. Mrs. Miller, anxious for her pet, hastened to seek it elsewhere.
+In the hall she met one of the housemaids.
+
+“Susan,” she said, “have you seen Gracchus?”
+
+“He’s asleep on the hearthrug in your room, ma’am. But I heard him
+crying down here a moment ago. I feel sure that another cat has got in,
+and that they are fighting.”
+
+Susan smiled compassionately. “Lor’ bless you, ma’am,” she said, “that
+was Miss Wylie. It’s a sort of play-acting that she goes through. There
+is the bee on the window-pane, and the soldier up the chimley, and the
+cat under the dresser. She does them all like life.”
+
+“The soldier in the chimney!” repeated Mrs. Miller, shocked.
+
+“Yes, ma’am. Like as it were a follower that had hid there when he heard
+the mistress coming.”
+
+Mrs. Miller’s face set determinedly. She returned to the study and
+related what had just occurred, adding some sarcastic comments on the
+efficacy of moral force in maintaining collegiate discipline. Miss
+Wilson looked grave; considered for some time; and at last said: “I must
+think over this. Would you mind leaving it in my hands for the present?”
+
+Mrs. Miller said that she did not care in whose hands it remained
+provided her own were washed of it, and resumed her work at the papers.
+Miss Wilson then, wishing to be alone, went into the empty classroom at
+the other side of the landing. She took the Fault Book from its shelf
+and sat down before it. Its record closed with the announcement, in
+Agatha’s handwriting:
+
+“Miss Wilson has called me impertinent, and has written to my uncle that
+I have refused to obey the rules. I was not impertinent; and I never
+refused to obey the rules. So much for Moral Force!”
+
+Miss Wilson rose vigorously, exclaiming: “I will soon let her
+know whether--” She checked herself, and looked round hastily,
+superstitiously fancying that Agatha might have stolen into the room
+unobserved. Reassured that she was alone, she examined her conscience as
+to whether she had done wrong in calling Agatha impertinent, justifying
+herself by the reflection that Agatha had, in fact, been impertinent.
+Yet she recollected that she had refused to admit this plea on a recent
+occasion when Jane Carpenter had advanced it in extenuation of having
+called a fellow-student a liar. Had she then been unjust to Jane, or
+inconsiderate to Agatha?
+
+Her casuistry was interrupted by some one softly whistling a theme from
+the overture to Masaniello, popular at the college in the form of an
+arrangement for six pianofortes and twelve hands. There was only one
+student unladylike and musical enough to whistle; and Miss Wilson was
+ashamed to find herself growing nervous at the prospect of an encounter
+with Agatha, who entered whistling sweetly, but with a lugubrious
+countenance. When she saw in whose presence she stood, she begged pardon
+politely, and was about to withdraw, when Miss Wilson, summoning all her
+Judgment and tact, and hoping that they would--contrary to their custom
+in emergencies--respond to the summons, said:
+
+“Agatha, come here. I want to speak to you.”
+
+Agatha closed her lips, drew in a long breath through her nostrils, and
+marched to within a few feet of Miss Wilson, where she halted with her
+hands clasped before her.
+
+“Sit down.”
+
+Agatha sat down with a single movement, like a doll.
+
+“I don’t understand that, Agatha,” said Miss Wilson, pointing to the
+entry in the Recording Angel. “What does it mean?”
+
+“I am unfairly treated,” said Agatha, with signs of agitation.
+
+“In what way?”
+
+“In every way. I am expected to be something more than mortal. Everyone
+else is encouraged to complain, and to be weak and silly. But I must
+have no feeling. I must be always in the right. Everyone else may be
+home-sick, or huffed, or in low spirits. I must have no nerves, and must
+keep others laughing all day long. Everyone else may sulk when a word
+of reproach is addressed to them, and may make the professors afraid to
+find fault with them. I have to bear with the insults of teachers who
+have less self-control than I, a girl of seventeen! and must coax
+them out of the difficulties they make for themselves by their own ill
+temper.”
+
+“But, Agatha--”
+
+“Oh, I know I am talking nonsense, Miss Wilson; but can you expect me to
+be always sensible--to be infallible?”
+
+“Yes, Agatha; I do not think it is too much to expect you to be always
+sensible; and--”
+
+“Then you have neither sense nor sympathy yourself,” said Agatha.
+
+There was an awful pause. Neither could have told how long it lasted.
+Then Agatha, feeling that she must do or say something desperate, or
+else fly, made a distracted gesture and ran out of the room.
+
+She rejoined her companions in the great hall of the mansion, where
+they were assembled after study for “recreation,” a noisy process which
+always set in spontaneously when the professors withdrew. She usually
+sat with her two favorite associates on a high window seat near the
+hearth. That place was now occupied by a little girl with flaxen hair,
+whom Agatha, regardless of moral force, lifted by the shoulders and
+deposited on the floor. Then she sat down and said:
+
+“Oh, such a piece of news!”
+
+Miss Carpenter opened her eyes eagerly. Gertrude Lindsay affected
+indifference.
+
+“Someone is going to be expelled,” said Agatha.
+
+“Expelled! Who?”
+
+“You will know soon enough, Jane,” replied Agatha, suddenly grave. “It
+is someone who made an impudent entry in the Recording Angel.”
+
+Fear stole upon Jane, and she became very red. “Agatha,” she said, “it
+was you who told me what to write. You know you did, and you can’t deny
+it.”
+
+“I can’t deny it, can’t I? I am ready to swear that I never dictated a
+word to you in my life.”
+
+“Gertrude knows you did,” exclaimed Jane, appalled, and almost in tears.
+
+“There,” said Agatha, petting her as if she were a vast baby. “It shall
+not be expelled, so it shan’t. Have you seen the Recording Angel lately,
+either of you?”
+
+“Not since our last entry,” said Gertrude.
+
+“Chips,” said Agatha, calling to the flaxen-haired child, “go upstairs
+to No. 6, and, if Miss Wilson isn’t there, fetch me the Recording
+Angel.”
+
+The little girl grumbled inarticulately and did not stir.
+
+“Chips,” resumed Agatha, “did you ever wish that you had never been
+born?”
+
+“Why don’t you go yourself?” said the child pettishly, but evidently
+alarmed.
+
+“Because,” continued Agatha, ignoring the question, “you shall wish
+yourself dead and buried under the blackest flag in the coal cellar if
+you don’t bring me the book before I count sixteen. One--two--”
+
+“Go at once and do as you are told, you disagreeable little thing,” said
+Gertrude sharply. “How dare you be so disobliging?”
+
+“--nine--ten--eleven--” pursued Agatha.
+
+The child quailed, went out, and presently returned, hugging the
+Recording Angel in her arms.
+
+“You are a good little darling--when your better qualities are
+brought out by a judicious application of moral force,” said Agatha,
+good-humoredly. “Remind me to save the raisins out of my pudding for you
+to-morrow. Now, Jane, you shall see the entry for which the best-hearted
+girl in the college is to be expelled. Voila!”
+
+The two girls read and were awestruck; Jane opening her mouth and
+gasping, Gertrude closing hers and looking very serious.
+
+“Do you mean to say that you had the dreadful cheek to let the Lady
+Abbess see that?” said Jane.
+
+“Pooh! she would have forgiven that. You should have heard what I said
+to her! She fainted three times.”
+
+“That’s a story,” said Gertrude gravely.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” said Agatha, swiftly grasping Gertrude’s knee.
+
+“Nothing,” cried Gertrude, flinching hysterically. “Don’t, Agatha.”
+
+“How many times did Miss Wilson faint?”
+
+“Three times. I will scream, Agatha; I will indeed.”
+
+“Three times, as you say. And I wonder that a girl brought up as
+you have been, by moral force, should be capable of repeating such
+a falsehood. But we had an awful row, really and truly. She lost her
+temper. Fortunately, I never lose mine.”
+
+“Well, I’m browed!” exclaimed Jane incredulously. “I like that.”
+
+“For a girl of county family, you are inexcusably vulgar, Jane. I don’t
+know what I said; but she will never forgive me for profaning her pet
+book. I shall be expelled as certainly as I am sitting here.”
+
+“And do you mean to say that you are going away?” said Jane, faltering
+as she began to realize the consequences.
+
+“I do. And what is to become of you when I am not here to get you out
+of your scrapes, or of Gertrude without me to check her inveterate
+snobbishness, is more than I can foresee.”
+
+“I am not snobbish,” said Gertrude, “although I do not choose to make
+friends with everyone. But I never objected to you, Agatha.”
+
+“No; I should like to catch you at it. Hallo, Jane!” (who had suddenly
+burst into tears): “what’s the matter? I trust you are not permitting
+yourself to take the liberty of crying for me.”
+
+“Indeed,” sobbed Jane indignantly, “I know that I am a f--fool for my
+pains. You have no heart.”
+
+“You certainly are a f--fool, as you aptly express it,” said Agatha,
+passing her arm round Jane, and disregarding an angry attempt to shake
+it off; “but if I had any heart it would be touched by this proof of
+your attachment.”
+
+“I never said you had no heart,” protested Jane; “but I hate when you
+speak like a book.”
+
+“You hate when I speak like a book, do you? My dear, silly old Jane! I
+shall miss you greatly.”
+
+“Yes, I dare say,” said Jane, with tearful sarcasm. “At least my snoring
+will never keep you awake again.”
+
+“You don’t snore, Jane. We have been in a conspiracy to make you believe
+that you do, that’s all. Isn’t it good of me to tell you?”
+
+Jane was overcome by this revelation. After a long pause, she said with
+deep conviction, “I always knew that I didn’t. Oh, the way you kept it
+up! I solemnly declare that from this time forth I will believe nobody.”
+
+“Well, and what do you think of it all?” said Agatha, transferring her
+attention to Gertrude, who was very grave.
+
+“I think--I am now speaking seriously, Agatha--I think you are in the
+wrong.”
+
+“Why do you think that, pray?” demanded Agatha, a little roused.
+
+“You must be, or Miss Wilson would not be angry with you. Of course,
+according to your own account, you are always in the right, and everyone
+else is always wrong; but you shouldn’t have written that in the book.
+You know I speak as your friend.”
+
+“And pray what does your wretched little soul know of my motives and
+feelings?”
+
+“It is easy enough to understand you,” retorted Gertrude, nettled.
+“Self-conceit is not so uncommon that one need be at a loss to recognize
+it. And mind, Agatha Wylie,” she continued, as if goaded by some
+unbearable reminiscence, “if you are really going, I don’t care whether
+we part friends or not. I have not forgotten the day when you called me
+a spiteful cat.”
+
+“I have repented,” said Agatha, unmoved. “One day I sat down and watched
+Bacchus seated on the hearthrug, with his moony eyes looking into space
+so thoughtfully and patiently that I apologized for comparing you to
+him. If I were to call him a spiteful cat he would only not believe me.”
+
+“Because he is a cat,” said Jane, with the giggle which was seldom far
+behind her tears.
+
+“No; but because he is not spiteful. Gertrude keeps a recording angel
+inside her little head, and it is so full of other people’s faults,
+written in large hand and read through a magnifying glass, that there is
+no room to enter her own.”
+
+“You are very poetic,” said Gertrude; “but I understand what you mean,
+and shall not forget it.”
+
+“You ungrateful wretch,” exclaimed Agatha, turning upon her so suddenly
+and imperiously that she involuntarily shrank aside: “how often, when
+you have tried to be insolent and false with me, have I not driven away
+your bad angel--by tickling you? Had you a friend in the college, except
+half-a-dozen toadies, until I came? And now, because I have sometimes,
+for your own good, shown you your faults, you bear malice against me,
+and say that you don’t care whether we part friends or not!”
+
+“I didn’t say so.”
+
+“Oh, Gertrude, you know you did,” said Jane.
+
+“You seem to think that I have no conscience,” said Gertrude
+querulously.
+
+“I wish you hadn’t,” said Agatha. “Look at me! I have no conscience, and
+see how much pleasanter I am!”
+
+“You care for no one but yourself,” said Gertrude. “You never think that
+other people have feelings too. No one ever considers me.”
+
+“Oh, I like to hear you talk,” cried Jane ironically. “You are
+considered a great deal more than is good for you; and the more you are
+considered the more you want to be considered.”
+
+“As if,” declaimed Agatha theatrically, “increase of appetite did grow
+by what it fed on. Shakespeare!”
+
+“Bother Shakespeare,” said Jane, impetuously, “--old fool that expects
+credit for saying things that everybody knows! But if you complain
+of not being considered, Gertrude, how would you like to be me, whom
+everybody sets down as a fool? But I am not such a fool as--”
+
+“As you look,” interposed Agatha. “I have told you so scores of times,
+Jane; and I am glad that you have adopted my opinion at last. Which
+would you rather be, a greater fool than y--”
+
+“Oh, shut up,” said Jane, impatiently; “you have asked me that twice
+this week already.”
+
+The three were silent for some seconds after this: Agatha meditating,
+Gertrude moody, Jane vacant and restless. At last Agatha said:
+
+“And are you two also smarting under a sense of the inconsiderateness
+and selfishness of the rest of the world--both misunderstood--everything
+expected from you, and no allowances made for you?”
+
+“I don’t know what you mean by both of us,” said Gertrude coldly.
+
+“Neither do I,” said Jane angrily. “That is just the way people treat
+me. You may laugh, Agatha; and she may turn up her nose as much as she
+likes; you know it’s true. But the idea of Gertrude wanting to make out
+that she isn’t considered is nothing but sentimentality, and vanity, and
+nonsense.”
+
+“You are exceedingly rude, Miss Carpenter,” said Gertrude.
+
+“My manners are as good as yours, and perhaps better,” retorted Jane.
+“My family is as good, anyhow.”
+
+“Children, children,” said Agatha, admonitorily, “do not forget that you
+are sworn friends.”
+
+“We didn’t swear,” said Jane. “We were to have been three sworn friends,
+and Gertrude and I were willing, but you wouldn’t swear, and so the
+bargain was cried off.”
+
+“Just so,” said Agatha; “and the result is that I spend all my time in
+keeping peace between you. And now, to go back to our subject, may I ask
+whether it has ever occurred to you that no one ever considers me?”
+
+“I suppose you think that very funny. You take good care to make
+yourself considered,” sneered Jane.
+
+“You cannot say that I do not consider you,” said Gertrude
+reproachfully.
+
+“Not when I tickle you, dear.”
+
+“I consider you, and I am not ticklesome,” said Jane tenderly.
+
+“Indeed! Let me try,” said Agatha, slipping her arm about Jane’s ample
+waist, and eliciting a piercing combination of laugh and scream from
+her.
+
+“Sh--sh,” whispered Gertrude quickly. “Don’t you see the Lady Abbess?”
+
+Miss Wilson had just entered the room. Agatha, without appearing to be
+aware of her presence, stealthily withdrew her arm, and said aloud:
+
+“How can you make such a noise, Jane? You will disturb the whole house.”
+
+Jane reddened with indignation, but had to remain silent, for the eyes
+of the principal were upon her. Miss Wilson had her bonnet on. She
+announced that she was going to walk to Lyvern, the nearest village. Did
+any of the sixth form young ladies wish to accompany her?
+
+Agatha jumped from her seat at once, and Jane smothered a laugh.
+
+“Miss Wilson said the sixth form, Miss Wylie,” said Miss Ward, who had
+entered also. “You are not in the sixth form.”
+
+“No,” said Agatha sweetly, “but I want to go, if I may.”
+
+Miss Wilson looked round. The sixth form consisted of four studious
+young ladies, whose goal in life for the present was an examination by
+one of the Universities, or, as the college phrase was, “the Cambridge
+Local.” None of them responded.
+
+“Fifth form, then,” said Miss Wilson.
+
+Jane, Gertrude, and four others rose and stood with Agatha.
+
+“Very well,” said Miss Wilson. “Do not be long dressing.”
+
+They left the room quietly, and dashed at the staircase the moment they
+were out of sight. Agatha, though void of emulation for the Cambridge
+Local, always competed with ardor for the honor of being first up or
+down stairs.
+
+They soon returned, clad for walking, and left the college in
+procession, two by two, Jane and Agatha leading, Gertrude and Miss
+Wilson coming last. The road to Lyvern lay through acres of pasture
+land, formerly arable, now abandoned to cattle, which made more money
+for the landlord than the men whom they had displaced. Miss Wilson’s
+young ladies, being instructed in economics, knew that this proved that
+the land was being used to produce what was most wanted from it; and if
+all the advantage went to the landlord, that was but natural, as he was
+the chief gentleman in the neighborhood. Still the arrangement had its
+disagreeable side; for it involved a great many cows, which made them
+afraid to cross the fields; a great many tramps, who made them afraid to
+walk the roads; and a scarcity of gentlemen subjects for the maiden art
+of fascination.
+
+The sky was cloudy. Agatha, reckless of dusty stockings, waded through
+the heaps of fallen leaves with the delight of a child paddling in the
+sea; Gertrude picked her steps carefully, and the rest tramped along,
+chatting subduedly, occasionally making some scientific or philosophical
+remark in a louder tone, in order that Miss Wilson might overhear
+and give them due credit. Save a herdsman, who seemed to have caught
+something of the nature and expression of the beasts he tended, they
+met no one until they approached the village, where, on the brow of an
+acclivity, masculine humanity appeared in the shape of two curates: one
+tall, thin, close-shaven, with a book under his arm, and his neck craned
+forward; the other middle-sized, robust, upright, and aggressive, with
+short black whiskers, and an air of protest against such notions as that
+a clergyman may not marry, hunt, play cricket, or share the sports
+of honest laymen. The shaven one was Mr. Josephs, his companion Mr.
+Fairholme. Obvious scriptural perversions of this brace of names had
+been introduced by Agatha.
+
+“Here come Pharaoh and Joseph,” she said to Jane. “Joseph will blush
+when you look at him. Pharaoh won’t blush until he passes Gertrude, so
+we shall lose that.”
+
+“Josephs, indeed!” said Jane scornfully.
+
+“He loves you, Jane. Thin persons like a fine armful of a woman.
+Pharaoh, who is a cad, likes blue blood on the same principle of the
+attraction of opposites. That is why he is captivated by Gertrude’s
+aristocratic air.”
+
+“If he only knew how she despises him!”
+
+“He is too vain to suspect it. Besides, Gertrude despises everyone,
+even us. Or, rather, she doesn’t despise anyone in particular, but is
+contemptuous by nature, just as you are stout.”
+
+“Me! I had rather be stout than stuck-up. Ought we to bow?”
+
+“I will, certainly. I want to make Pharoah blush, if I can.”
+
+The two parsons had been simulating an interest in the cloudy firmament
+as an excuse for not looking at the girls until close at hand. Jane sent
+an eyeflash at Josephs with a skill which proved her favorite assertion
+that she was not so stupid as people thought. He blushed and took off
+his soft, low-crowned felt hat. Fairholme saluted very solemnly, for
+Agatha bowed to him with marked seriousness. But when his gravity and
+his stiff silk hat were at their highest point she darted a mocking
+smile at him, and he too blushed, all the deeper because he was enraged
+with himself for doing so.
+
+“Did you ever see such a pair of fools?” whispered Jane, giggling.
+
+“They cannot help their sex. They say women are fools, and so they are;
+but thank Heaven they are not quite so bad as men! I should like to look
+back and see Pharaoh passing Gertrude; but if he saw me he would think I
+was admiring him; and he is conceited enough already without that.”
+
+The two curates became redder and redder as they passed the column of
+young ladies. Miss Lindsay would not look to their side of the road, and
+Miss Wilson’s nod and smile were not quite sincere. She never spoke to
+curates, and kept up no more intercourse with the vicar than she could
+not avoid. He suspected her of being an infidel, though neither he nor
+any other mortal in Lyvern had ever heard a word from her on the subject
+of her religious opinions. But he knew that “moral science” was taught
+secularly at the college; and he felt that where morals were made
+a department of science the demand for religion must fall off
+proportionately.
+
+“What a life to lead and what a place to live in!” exclaimed Agatha. “We
+meet two creatures, more like suits of black than men; and that is an
+incident--a startling incident--in our existence!”
+
+“I think they’re awful fun,” said Jane, “except that Josephs has such
+large ears.”
+
+The girls now came to a place where the road dipped through a plantation
+of sombre sycamore and horsechestnut trees. As they passed down into
+it, a little wind sprang up, the fallen leaves stirred, and the branches
+heaved a long, rustling sigh.
+
+“I hate this bit of road,” said Jane, hurrying on. “It’s just the sort
+of place that people get robbed and murdered in.”
+
+“It is not such a bad place to shelter in if we get caught in the rain,
+as I expect we shall before we get back,” said Agatha, feeling the
+fitful breeze strike ominously on her cheek. “A nice pickle I shall be
+in with these light shoes on! I wish I had put on my strong boots. If it
+rains much I will go into the old chalet.”
+
+“Miss Wilson won’t let you. It’s trespassing.”
+
+“What matter! Nobody lives in it, and the gate is off its hinges. I only
+want to stand under the veranda--not to break into the wretched place.
+Besides, the landlord knows Miss Wilson; he won’t mind. There’s a drop.”
+
+Miss Carpenter looked up, and immediately received a heavy raindrop in
+her eye.
+
+“Oh!” she cried. “It’s pouring. We shall be drenched.”
+
+Agatha stopped, and the column broke into a group about her.
+
+“Miss Wilson,” she said, “it is going to rain in torrents, and Jane and
+I have only our shoes on.”
+
+Miss Wilson paused to consider the situation. Someone suggested that if
+they hurried on they might reach Lyvern before the rain came down.
+
+“More than a mile,” said Agatha scornfully, “and the rain coming down
+already!”
+
+Someone else suggested returning to the college.
+
+“More than two miles,” said Agatha. “We should be drowned.”
+
+“There is nothing for it but to wait here under the trees,” said Miss
+Wilson.
+
+“The branches are very bare,” said Gertrude anxiously. “If it should
+come down heavily they will drip worse than the rain itself.”
+
+“Much worse,” said Agatha. “I think we had better get under the veranda
+of the old chalet. It is not half a minute’s walk from here.”
+
+“But we have no right--” Here the sky darkened threateningly. Miss
+Wilson checked herself and said, “I suppose it is still empty.”
+
+“Of course,” replied Agatha, impatient to be moving. “It is almost a
+ruin.”
+
+“Then let us go there, by all means,” said Miss Wilson, not disposed to
+stand on trifles at the risk of a bad cold.
+
+They hurried on, and came presently to a green hill by the wayside. On
+the slope was a dilapidated Swiss cottage, surrounded by a veranda on
+slender wooden pillars, about which clung a few tendrils of withered
+creeper, their stray ends still swinging from the recent wind, now
+momentarily hushed as if listening for the coming of the rain. Access
+from the roadway was by a rough wooden gate in the hedge. To the
+surprise of Agatha, who had last seen this gate off its hinges and only
+attached to the post by a rusty chain and padlock, it was now rehung and
+fastened by a new hasp. The weather admitting of no delay to consider
+these repairs, she opened the gate and hastened up the slope, followed
+by the troop of girls. Their ascent ended with a rush, for the rain
+suddenly came down in torrents.
+
+When they were safe under the veranda, panting, laughing, grumbling, or
+congratulating themselves on having been so close to a place of shelter,
+Miss Wilson observed, with some uneasiness, a spade--new, like the hasp
+of the gate--sticking upright in a patch of ground that someone had
+evidently been digging lately. She was about to comment on this sign
+of habitation, when the door of the chalet was flung open, and Jane
+screamed as a man darted out to the spade, which he was about to carry
+in out of the wet, when he perceived the company under the veranda, and
+stood still in amazement. He was a young laborer with a reddish-brown
+beard of a week’s growth. He wore corduroy trousers and a linen-sleeved
+corduroy vest; both, like the hasp and spade, new. A coarse blue shirt,
+with a vulgar red-and-orange neckerchief, also new, completed his dress;
+and, to shield himself from the rain, he held up a silk umbrella with
+a silver-mounted ebony handle, which he seemed unlikely to have come by
+honestly. Miss Wilson felt like a boy caught robbing an orchard, but she
+put a bold face on the matter and said:
+
+“Will you allow us to take shelter here until the rain is over?”
+
+“For certain, your ladyship,” he replied, respectfully applying the
+spade handle to his hair, which was combed down to his eyebrows.
+“Your ladyship does me proud to take refuge from the onclemency of the
+yallovrments beneath my ‘umble rooftree.” His accent was barbarous; and
+he, like a low comedian, seemed to relish its vulgarity. As he spoke he
+came in among them for shelter, and propped his spade against the wall
+of the chalet, kicking the soil from his hobnailed blucher boots, which
+were new.
+
+“I came out, honored lady,” he resumed, much at his ease, “to house my
+spade, whereby I earn my living. What the pen is to the poet, such is
+the spade to the working man.” He took the kerchief from his neck, wiped
+his temples as if the sweat of honest toil were there, and calmly tied
+it on again.
+
+“If you’ll ‘scuse a remark from a common man,” he observed, “your
+ladyship has a fine family of daughters.”
+
+“They are not my daughters,” said Miss Wilson, rather shortly.
+
+“Sisters, mebbe?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I thought they mout be, acause I have a sister myself. Not that I would
+make bold for to dror comparisons, even in my own mind, for she’s only a
+common woman--as common a one as ever you see. But few women rise above
+the common. Last Sunday, in yon village church, I heard the minister
+read out that one man in a thousand had he found, ‘but one woman in all
+these,’ he says, ‘have I not found,’ and I thinks to myself, ‘Right you
+are!’ But I warrant he never met your ladyship.”
+
+A laugh, thinly disguised as a cough, escaped from Miss Carpenter.
+
+“Young lady a-ketchin’ cold, I’m afeerd,” he said, with respectful
+solicitude.
+
+“Do you think the rain will last long?” said Agatha politely.
+
+The man examined the sky with a weather-wise air for some moments. Then
+he turned to Agatha, and replied humbly: “The Lord only knows, Miss. It
+is not for a common man like me to say.”
+
+Silence ensued, during which Agatha, furtively scrutinizing the tenant
+of the chalet, noticed that his face and neck were cleaner and less
+sunburnt than those of the ordinary toilers of Lyvern. His hands
+were hidden by large gardening gloves stained with coal dust. Lyvern
+laborers, as a rule, had little objection to soil their hands; they
+never wore gloves. Still, she thought, there was no reason why an
+eccentric workman, insufferably talkative, and capable of an allusion to
+the pen of the poet, should not indulge himself with cheap gloves. But
+then the silk, silvermounted umbrella--
+
+“The young lady’s hi,” he said suddenly, holding out the umbrella, “is
+fixed on this here. I am well aware that it is not for the lowest of the
+low to carry a gentleman’s brolly, and I ask your ladyship’s pardon
+for the liberty. I come by it accidental-like, and should be glad of a
+reasonable offer from any gentleman in want of a honest article.”
+
+As he spoke two gentlemen, much in want of the article, as their
+clinging wet coats showed, ran through the gateway and made for the
+chalet. Fairholme arrived first, exclaiming: “Fearful shower!” and
+briskly turned his back to the ladies in order to stand at the edge
+of the veranda and shake the water out of his hat. Josephs came next,
+shrinking from the damp contact of his own garments. He cringed to Miss
+Wilson, and hoped that she had escaped a wetting.
+
+“So far I have,” she replied. “The question is, how are we to get home?”
+
+“Oh, it’s only a shower,” said Josephs, looking up cheerfully at the
+unbroken curtain of cloud. “It will clear up presently.”
+
+“It ain’t for a common man to set up his opinion again’ a gentleman wot
+have profesh’nal knowledge of the heavens, as one may say,” said the
+man, “but I would ‘umbly offer to bet my umbrellar to his wideawake that
+it don’t cease raining this side of seven o’clock.”
+
+“That man lives here,” whispered Miss Wilson, “and I suppose he wants to
+get rid of us.”
+
+“H’m!” said Fairholme. Then, turning to the strange laborer with the air
+of a person not to be trifled with, he raised his voice, and said: “You
+live here, do you, my man?”
+
+“I do, sir, by your good leave, if I may make so bold.”
+
+“What’s your name?”
+
+“Jeff Smilash, sir, at your service.”
+
+“Where do you come from?”
+
+“Brixtonbury, sir.”
+
+“Brixtonbury! Where’s that?”
+
+“Well, sir, I don’t rightly know. If a gentleman like you, knowing
+jography and such, can’t tell, how can I?”
+
+“You ought to know where you were born, man. Haven’t you got common
+sense?”
+
+“Where could such a one as me get common sense, sir? Besides, I was only
+a foundling. Mebbe I warn’s born at all.”
+
+“Did I see you at church last Sunday?”
+
+“No, sir. I only come o’ Wensday.”
+
+“Well, let me see you there next Sunday,” said Fairholme shortly,
+turning away from him.
+
+Miss Wilson looked at the weather, at Josephs, who was conversing with
+Jane, and finally at Smilash, who knuckled his forehead without waiting
+to be addressed.
+
+“Have you a boy whom you can send to Lyvern to get us a conveyance--a
+carriage? I will give him a shilling for his trouble.”
+
+“A shilling!” said Smilash joyfully. “Your ladyship is a noble lady. Two
+four-wheeled cabs. There’s eight on you.”
+
+“There is only one cab in Lyvern,” said Miss Wilson. “Take this card
+to Mr. Marsh, the jotmaster, and tell him the predicament we are in. He
+will send vehicles.”
+
+Smilash took the card and read it at a glance. He then went into the
+chalet. Reappearing presently in a sou’wester and oilskins, he ran off
+through the rain and vaulted over the gate with ridiculous elegance.
+No sooner had he vanished than, as often happens to remarkable men, he
+became the subject of conversation.
+
+“A decent workman,” said Josephs. “A well-mannered man, considering his
+class.”
+
+“A born fool, though,” said Fairholme.
+
+“Or a rogue,” said Agatha, emphasizing the suggestion by a glitter of
+her eyes and teeth, whilst her schoolfellows, rather disapproving of her
+freedom, stood stiffly dumb. “He told Miss Wilson that he had a sister,
+and that he had been to church last Sunday, and he has just told you
+that he is a foundling, and that he only came last Wednesday. His accent
+is put on, and he can read, and I don’t believe he is a workman at all.
+Perhaps he is a burglar, come down to steal the college plate.”
+
+“Agatha,” said Miss Wilson gravely, “you must be very careful how you
+say things of that kind.”
+
+“But it is so obvious. His explanation about the umbrella was made up
+to disarm suspicion. He handled it and leaned on it in a way that showed
+how much more familiar it was to him than that new spade he was so
+anxious about. And all his clothes are new.”
+
+“True,” said Fairholme, “but there is not much in all that. Workmen
+nowadays ape gentlemen in everything. However, I will keep an eye on
+him.”
+
+“Oh, thank you so much,” said Agatha. Fairholme, suspecting mockery,
+frowned, and Miss Wilson looked severely at the mocker. Little more was
+said, except as to the chances--manifestly small--of the rain ceasing,
+until the tops of a cab, a decayed mourning coach, and three dripping
+hats were seen over the hedge. Smilash sat on the box of the coach,
+beside the driver. When it stopped, he alighted, re-entered the chalet
+without speaking, came out with the umbrella, spread it above Miss
+Wilson’s head, and said:
+
+“Now, if your ladyship will come with me, I will see you dry into the
+stray, and then I’ll bring your honored nieces one by one.”
+
+“I shall come last,” said Miss Wilson, irritated by his assumption that
+the party was a family one. “Gertrude, you had better go first.”
+
+“Allow me,” said Fairholme, stepping forward, and attempting to take the
+umbrella.
+
+“Thank you, I shall not trouble you,” she said frostily, and tripped
+away over the oozing field with Smilash, who held the umbrella over her
+with ostentatious solicitude. In the same manner he led the rest to the
+vehicles, in which they packed themselves with some difficulty. Agatha,
+who came last but one, gave him threepence.
+
+“You have a noble ‘art and an expressive hi, Miss,” he said, apparently
+much moved. “Blessings on both! Blessings on both!”
+
+He went back for Jane, who slipped on the wet grass and fell. He had to
+put forth his strength as he helped her to rise. “Hope you ain’t sopped
+up much of the rainfall, Miss,” he said. “You are a fine young lady for
+your age. Nigh on twelve stone, I should think.”
+
+She reddened and hurried to the cab, where Agatha was. But it was full;
+and Jane, much against her will, had to get into the coach, considerably
+diminishing the space left for Miss Wilson, to whom Smilash had
+returned.
+
+“Now, dear lady,” he said, “take care you don’t slip. Come along.”
+
+Miss Wilson, ignoring the invitation, took a shilling from her purse.
+
+“No, lady,” said Smilash with a virtuous air. “I am an honest man and
+have never seen the inside of a jail except four times, and only twice
+for stealing. Your youngest daughter--her with the expressive hi--have
+paid me far beyond what is proper.”
+
+“I have told you that these young ladies are not my daughters,” said
+Miss Wilson sharply. “Why do you not listen to what is said to you?”
+
+“Don’t be too hard on a common man, lady,” said Smilash submissively.
+“The young lady have just given me three ‘arf-crowns.”
+
+“Three half-crowns!” exclaimed Miss Wilson, angered at such
+extravagance.
+
+“Bless her innocence, she don’t know what is proper to give to a low
+sort like me! But I will not rob the young lady. ‘Arf-a-crown is no more
+nor is fair for the job, and arf-a-crown will I keep, if agreeable to
+your noble ladyship. But I give you back the five bob in trust for her.
+Have you ever noticed her expressive hi?”
+
+“Nonsense, sir. You had better keep the money now that you have got it.”
+
+“Wot! Sell for five bob the high opinion your ladyship has of me! No,
+dear lady; not likely. My father’s very last words to me was--”
+
+“You said just now that you were a foundling,” said Fairholme. “What are
+we to believe? Eh?”
+
+“So I were, sir; but by mother’s side alone. Her ladyship will please to
+take back the money, for keep it I will not. I am of the lower orders,
+and therefore not a man of my word; but when I do stick to it, I stick
+like wax.”
+
+“Take it,” said Fairholme to Miss Wilson. “Take it, of course. Seven and
+sixpence is a ridiculous sum to give him for what he has done. It would
+only set him drinking.”
+
+“His reverence says true, lady. The one ‘arfcrown will keep me
+comfortably tight until Sunday morning; and more I do not desire.”
+
+“Just a little less of your tongue, my man,” said Fairholme, taking
+the two coins from him and handing them to Miss Wilson, who bade the
+clergymen good afternoon, and went to the coach under the umbrella.
+
+“If your ladyship should want a handy man to do an odd job up at the
+college I hope you will remember me,” Smilash said as they went down the
+slope.
+
+“Oh, you know who I am, do you?” said Miss Wilson drily.
+
+“All the country knows you, Miss, and worships you. I have few equals as
+a coiner, and if you should require a medal struck to give away for good
+behavior or the like, I think I could strike one to your satisfaction.
+And if your ladyship should want a trifle of smuggled lace--”
+
+“You had better be careful or you will get into trouble, I think,” said
+Miss Wilson sternly. “Tell him to drive on.”
+
+The vehicles started, and Smilash took the liberty of waving his hat
+after them. Then he returned to the chalet, left the umbrella within,
+came out again, locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and walked
+off through the rain across the hill without taking the least notice of
+the astonished parsons.
+
+In the meantime Miss Wilson, unable to contain her annoyance at Agatha’s
+extravagance, spoke of it to the girls who shared the coach with her.
+But Jane declared that Agatha only possessed threepence in the world,
+and therefore could not possibly have given the man thirty times that
+sum. When they reached the college, Agatha, confronted with Miss Wilson,
+opened her eyes in wonder, and exclaimed, laughing: “I only gave him
+threepence. He has sent me a present of four and ninepence!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Saturday at Alton College, nominally a half holiday, was really a whole
+one. Classes in gymnastics, dancing, elocution, and drawing were held
+in the morning. The afternoon was spent at lawn tennis, to which
+lady guests resident in the neighborhood were allowed to bring their
+husbands, brothers, and fathers--Miss Wilson being anxious to send
+her pupils forth into the world free from the uncouth stiffness of
+schoolgirls unaccustomed to society.
+
+Late in October came a Saturday which proved anything but a holiday
+for Miss Wilson. At half-past one, luncheon being over, she went out of
+doors to a lawn that lay between the southern side of the college and a
+shrubbery. Here she found a group of girls watching Agatha and Jane, who
+were dragging a roller over the grass. One of them, tossing a ball about
+with her racket, happened to drive it into the shrubbery, whence, to the
+surprise of the company, Smilash presently emerged, carrying the ball,
+blinking, and proclaiming that, though a common man, he had his feelings
+like another, and that his eye was neither a stick nor a stone. He
+was dressed as before, but his garments, soiled with clay and lime, no
+longer looked new.
+
+“What brings you here, pray?” demanded Miss Wilson.
+
+“I was led into the belief that you sent for me, lady,” he replied.
+“The baker’s lad told me so as he passed my ‘umble cot this morning. I
+thought he were incapable of deceit.”
+
+“That is quite right; I did send for you. But why did you not go round
+to the servants’ hall?”
+
+“I am at present in search of it, lady. I were looking for it when
+this ball cotch me here” (touching his eye). “A cruel blow on the hi’
+nat’rally spires its vision and expression and makes a honest man look
+like a thief.”
+
+“Agatha,” said Miss Wilson, “come here.”
+
+“My dooty to you, Miss,” said Smilash, pulling his forelock.
+
+“This is the man from whom I had the five shillings, which he said you
+had just given him. Did you do so?”
+
+“Certainly not. I only gave him threepence.”
+
+“But I showed the money to your ladyship,” said Smilash, twisting his
+hat agitatedly. “I gev it you. Where would the like of me get five
+shillings except by the bounty of the rich and noble? If the young
+lady thinks I hadn’t ort to have kep’ the tother ‘arfcrown, I would not
+object to its bein’ stopped from my wages if I were given a job of work
+here. But--”
+
+“But it’s nonsense,” said Agatha. “I never gave you three half-crowns.”
+
+“Perhaps you mout ‘a’ made a mistake. Pence is summat similar to
+‘arf-crowns, and the day were very dark.”
+
+“I couldn’t have,” said Agatha. “Jane had my purse all the earlier
+part of the week, Miss Wilson, and she can tell you that there was only
+threepence in it. You know that I get my money on the first of every
+month. It never lasts longer than a week. The idea of my having seven
+and sixpence on the sixteenth is ridiculous.”
+
+“But I put it to you, Miss, ain’t it twice as ridiculous for me, a poor
+laborer, to give up money wot I never got?”
+
+Vague alarm crept upon Agatha as the testimony of her senses was
+contradicted. “All I know is,” she protested, “that I did not give it to
+you; so my pennies must have turned into half-crowns in your pocket.”
+
+“Mebbe so,” said Smilash gravely. “I’ve heard, and I know it for a fact,
+that money grows in the pockets of the rich. Why not in the pockets of
+the poor as well? Why should you be su’prised at wot ‘appens every day?”
+
+“Had you any money of your own about you at the time?”
+
+“Where could the like of me get money?--asking pardon for making so bold
+as to catechise your ladyship.”
+
+“I don’t know where you could get it,” said Miss Wilson testily; “I ask
+you, had you any?”
+
+“Well, lady, I disremember. I will not impose upon you. I disremember.”
+
+“Then you’ve made a mistake,” said Miss Wilson, handing him back his
+money. “Here. If it is not yours, it is not ours; so you had better keep
+it.”
+
+“Keep it! Oh, lady, but this is the heighth of nobility! And what shall
+I do to earn your bounty, lady?”
+
+“It is not my bounty: I give it to you because it does not belong to me,
+and, I suppose, must belong to you. You seem to be a very simple man.”
+
+“I thank your ladyship; I hope I am. Respecting the day’s work, now,
+lady; was you thinking of employing a poor man at all?”
+
+“No, thank you; I have no occasion for your services. I have also to
+give you the shilling I promised you for getting the cabs. Here it is.”
+
+“Another shillin’!” cried Smilash, stupefied.
+
+“Yes,” said Miss Wilson, beginning to feel very angry. “Let me hear no
+more about it, please. Don’t you understand that you have earned it?”
+
+“I am a common man, and understand next to nothing,” he replied
+reverently. “But if your ladyship would give me a day’s work to keep me
+goin’, I could put up all this money in a little wooden savings bank I
+have at home, and keep it to spend when sickness or odd age shall, in a
+manner of speaking, lay their ‘ends upon me. I could smooth that grass
+beautiful; them young ladies ‘ll strain themselves with that heavy
+roller. If tennis is the word, I can put up nets fit to catch birds of
+paradise in. If the courts is to be chalked out in white, I can draw a
+line so straight that you could hardly keep yourself from erecting an
+equilateral triangle on it. I am honest when well watched, and I can
+wait at table equal to the Lord Mayor o’ London’s butler.”
+
+“I cannot employ you without a character,” said Miss Wilson, amused by
+his scrap of Euclid, and wondering where he had picked it up.
+
+“I bear the best of characters, lady. The reverend rector has known me
+from a boy.”
+
+“I was speaking to him about you yesterday,” said Miss Wilson, looking
+hard at him, “and he says you are a perfect stranger to him.”
+
+“Gentlemen is so forgetful,” said Smilash sadly. “But I alluded to my
+native rector--meaning the rector of my native village, Auburn. ‘Sweet
+Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,’ as the gentleman called it.”
+
+“That was not the name you mentioned to Mr. Fairholme. I do not
+recollect what name you gave, but it was not Auburn, nor have I ever
+heard of any such place.”
+
+“Never read of sweet Auburn!”
+
+“Not in any geography or gazetteer. Do you recollect telling me that you
+have been in prison?”
+
+“Only six times,” pleaded Smilash, his features working convulsively.
+“Don’t bear too hard on a common man. Only six times, and all through
+drink. But I have took the pledge, and kep’ it faithful for eighteen
+months past.”
+
+Miss Wilson now set down the man as one of those keen, half-witted
+country fellows, contemptuously styled originals, who unintentionally
+make themselves popular by flattering the sense of sanity in those whose
+faculties are better adapted to circumstances.
+
+“You have a bad memory, Mr. Smilash,” she said good-humoredly. “You
+never give the same account of yourself twice.”
+
+“I am well aware that I do not express myself with exactability. Ladies
+and gentlemen have that power over words that they can always say what
+they mean, but a common man like me can’t. Words don’t come natural to
+him. He has more thoughts than words, and what words he has don’t fit
+his thoughts. Might I take a turn with the roller, and make myself
+useful about the place until nightfall, for ninepence?”
+
+Miss Wilson, who was expecting more than her usual Saturday visitors,
+considered the proposition and assented. “And remember,” she said, “that
+as you are a stranger here, your character in Lyvern depends upon the
+use you make of this opportunity.”
+
+“I am grateful to your noble ladyship. May your ladyship’s goodness sew
+up the hole which is in the pocket where I carry my character, and which
+has caused me to lose it so frequent. It’s a bad place for men to keep
+their characters in; but such is the fashion. And so hurray for the
+glorious nineteenth century!”
+
+He took off his coat, seized the roller, and began to pull it with
+an energy foreign to the measured millhorse manner of the accustomed
+laborer. Miss Wilson looked doubtfully at him, but, being in haste, went
+indoors without further comment. The girls mistrusting his eccentricity,
+kept aloof. Agatha determined to have another and better look at him.
+Racket in hand, she walked slowly across the grass and came close to him
+just as he, unaware of her approach, uttered a groan of exhaustion and
+sat down to rest.
+
+“Tired already, Mr. Smilash?” she said mockingly.
+
+He looked up deliberately, took off one of his washleather gloves,
+fanned himself with it, displaying a white and fine hand, and at last
+replied, in the tone and with the accent of a gentleman:
+
+“Very.”
+
+Agatha recoiled. He fanned himself without the least concern.
+
+“You--you are not a laborer,” she said at last.
+
+“Obviously not.”
+
+“I thought not.”
+
+He nodded.
+
+“Suppose I tell on you,” she said, growing bolder as she recollected
+that she was not alone with him.
+
+“If you do I shall get out of it just as I got out of the half-crowns,
+and Miss Wilson will begin to think that you are mad.”
+
+“Then I really did not give you the seven and sixpence,” she said,
+relieved.
+
+“What is your own opinion?” he answered, taking three pennies from his
+pocket, jingling them in his palm. “What is your name?”
+
+“I shall not tell you,” said Agatha with dignity.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “I would
+not tell you mine if you asked me.”
+
+“I have not the slightest intention of asking you.”
+
+“No? Then Smilash shall do for you, and Agatha will do for me.”
+
+“You had better take care.”
+
+“Of what?”
+
+“Of what you say, and--are you not afraid of being found out?”
+
+“I am found out already--by you, and I am none the worse.”
+
+“Suppose the police find you out!”
+
+“Not they. Besides, I am not hiding from the police. I have a right to
+wear corduroy if I prefer it to broadcloth. Consider the advantages of
+it! It has procured me admission to Alton College, and the pleasure of
+your acquaintance. Will you excuse me if I go on with my rolling, just
+to keep up appearances? I can talk as I roll.”
+
+“You may, if you are fond of soliloquizing,” she said, turning away as
+he rose.
+
+“Seriously, Agatha, you must not tell the others about me.”
+
+“Do not call me Agatha,” she said impetuously. “What shall I call you,
+then?”
+
+“You need not address me at all.”
+
+“I need, and will. Don’t be ill-natured.”
+
+“But I don’t know you. I wonder at your--” she hesitated at the word
+which occurred to her, but, being unable to think of a better one, used
+it--“at your cheek.”
+
+He laughed, and she watched him take a couple of turns with the roller.
+Presently, refreshing himself by a look at her, he caught her looking
+at him, and smiled. His smile was commonplace in comparison with the
+one she gave him in return, in which her eyes, her teeth, and the golden
+grain in her complexion seemed to flash simultaneously. He stopped
+rolling immediately, and rested his chin on the handle of the roller.
+
+“If you neglect your work,” said she maliciously, “you won’t have the
+grass ready when the people come.”
+
+“What people?” he said, taken aback.
+
+“Oh, lots of people. Most likely some who know you. There are visitors
+coming from London: my guardian, my guardianess, their daughter, my
+mother, and about a hundred more.”
+
+“Four in all. What are they coming for? To see you?”
+
+“To take me away,” she replied, watching for signs of disappointment on
+his part.
+
+They were at once forthcoming. “What the deuce are they going to take
+you away for?” he said. “Is your education finished?”
+
+“No. I have behaved badly, and I am going to be expelled.”
+
+He laughed again. “Come!” he said, “you are beginning to invent in the
+Smilash manner. What have you done?”
+
+“I don’t see why I should tell you. What have you done?”
+
+“I! Oh, I have done nothing. I am only an unromantic gentleman, hiding
+from a romantic lady who is in love with me.”
+
+“Poor thing,” said Agatha sarcastically. “Of course, she has proposed to
+you, and you have refused.”
+
+“On the contrary, I proposed, and she accepted. That is why I have to
+hide.”
+
+“You tell stories charmingly,” said Agatha. “Good-bye. Here is Miss
+Carpenter coming to hear what we are taking about.”
+
+“Good-bye. That story of your being expelled beats--Might a common man
+make so bold as to inquire where the whitening machine is, Miss?”
+
+This was addressed to Jane, who had come up with some of the others.
+Agatha expected to see Smilash presently discovered, for his disguise
+now seemed transparent; she wondered how the rest could be imposed on
+by it. Two o’clock, striking just then, reminded her of the impending
+interview with her guardian. A tremor shook her, and she felt a craving
+for some solitary hiding-place in which to await the summons. But it
+was a point of honor with her to appear perfectly indifferent to her
+trouble, so she stayed with the girls, laughing and chatting as they
+watched Smilash intently marking out the courts and setting up the nets.
+She made the others laugh too, for her hidden excitement, sharpened by
+irrepressible shootings of dread, stimulated her, and the romance of
+Smilash’s disguise gave her a sensation of dreaming. Her imagination was
+already busy upon a drama, of which she was the heroine and Smilash
+the hero, though, with the real man before her, she could not indulge
+herself by attributing to him quite as much gloomy grandeur of character
+as to a wholly ideal personage. The plot was simple, and an old favorite
+with her. One of them was to love the other and to die broken-hearted
+because the loved one would not requite the passion. For Agatha,
+prompt to ridicule sentimentality in her companions, and gifted with an
+infectious spirit of farce, secretly turned for imaginative luxury to
+visions of despair and death; and often endured the mortification of the
+successful clown who believes, whilst the public roar with laughter at
+him, that he was born a tragedian. There was much in her nature, she
+felt, that did not find expression in her popular representation of the
+soldier in the chimney.
+
+By three o’clock the local visitors had arrived, and tennis was
+proceeding in four courts, rolled and prepared by Smilash. The two
+curates were there, with a few lay gentlemen. Mrs. Miller, the vicar,
+and some mothers and other chaperons looked on and consumed light
+refreshments, which were brought out upon trays by Smilash, who
+had borrowed and put on a large white apron, and was making himself
+officiously busy.
+
+At a quarter past the hour a message came from Miss Wilson, requesting
+Miss Wylie’s attendance. The visitors were at a loss to account for the
+sudden distraction of the young ladies’ attention which ensued. Jane
+almost burst into tears, and answered Josephs rudely when he innocently
+asked what the matter was. Agatha went away apparently unconcerned,
+though her hand shook as she put aside her racket.
+
+In a spacious drawing-room at the north side of the college she found
+her mother, a slight woman in widow’s weeds, with faded brown hair, and
+tearful eyes. With her were Mrs. Jansenius and her daughter. The two
+elder ladies kept severely silent whilst Agatha kissed them, and Mrs.
+Wylie sniffed. Henrietta embraced Agatha effusively.
+
+“Where’s Uncle John?” said Agatha. “Hasn’t he come?”
+
+“He is in the next room with Miss Wilson,” said Mrs. Jansenius coldly.
+“They want you in there.”
+
+“I thought somebody was dead,” said Agatha, “you all look so funereal.
+Now, mamma, put your handkerchief back again. If you cry I will give
+Miss Wilson a piece of my mind for worrying you.”
+
+“No, no,” said Mrs. Wylie, alarmed. “She has been so nice!”
+
+“So good!” said Henrietta.
+
+“She has been perfectly reasonable and kind,” said Mrs. Jansenius.
+
+“She always is,” said Agatha complacently. “You didn’t expect to find
+her in hysterics, did you?”
+
+“Agatha,” pleaded Mrs. Wylie, “don’t be headstrong and foolish.”
+
+“Oh, she won’t; I know she won’t,” said Henrietta coaxingly. “Will you,
+dear Agatha?”
+
+“You may do as you like, as far as I am concerned,” said Mrs. Jansenius.
+“But I hope you have more sense than to throw away your education for
+nothing.”
+
+“Your aunt is quite right,” said Mrs. Wylie. “And your Uncle John is
+very angry with you. He will never speak to you again if you quarrel
+with Miss Wilson.”
+
+“He is not angry,” said Henrietta, “but he is so anxious that you should
+get on well.”
+
+“He will naturally be disappointed if you persist in making a fool of
+yourself,” said Mrs. Jansenius.
+
+“All Miss Wilson wants is an apology for the dreadful things you wrote
+in her book,” said Mrs. Wylie. “You’ll apologize, dear, won’t you?”
+
+“Of course she will,” said Henrietta.
+
+“I think you had better,” said Mrs. Jansenius.
+
+“Perhaps I will,” said Agatha.
+
+“That’s my own darling,” said Mrs. Wylie, catching her hand.
+
+“And perhaps, again, I won’t.”
+
+“You will, dear,” urged Mrs. Wylie, trying to draw Agatha, who passively
+resisted, closer to her. “For my sake. To oblige your mother, Agatha.
+You won’t refuse me, dearest?”
+
+Agatha laughed indulgently at her parent, who had long ago worn out this
+form of appeal. Then she turned to Henrietta, and said, “How is your
+caro sposo? I think it was hard that I was not a bridesmaid.”
+
+The red in Henrietta’s cheeks brightened. Mrs. Jansenius hastened to
+interpose a dry reminder that Miss Wilson was waiting.
+
+“Oh, she does not mind waiting,” said Agatha, “because she thinks you
+are all at work getting me into a proper frame of mind. That was the
+arrangement she made with you before she left the room. Mamma knows that
+I have a little bird that tells me these things. I must say that you
+have not made me feel any goody-goodier so far. However, as poor Uncle
+John must be dreadfully frightened and uncomfortable, it is only kind to
+put an end to his suspense. Good-bye!” And she went out leisurely.
+But she looked in again to say in a low voice: “Prepare for something
+thrilling. I feel just in the humor to say the most awful things.” She
+vanished, and immediately they heard her tapping at the door of the next
+room.
+
+Mr. Jansenius was indeed awaiting her with misgiving. Having discovered
+early in his career that his dignified person and fine voice caused
+people to stand in some awe of him, and to move him into the chair
+at public meetings, he had grown so accustomed to deference that any
+approach to familiarity or irreverence disconcerted him exceedingly.
+Agatha, on the other hand, having from her childhood heard Uncle John
+quoted as wisdom and authority incarnate, had begun in her tender years
+to scoff at him as a pompous and purseproud city merchant, whose
+sordid mind was unable to cope with her transcendental affairs. She
+had habitually terrified her mother by ridiculing him with an absolute
+contempt of which only childhood and extreme ignorance are capable. She
+had felt humiliated by his kindness to her (he was a generous giver
+of presents), and, with the instinct of an anarchist, had taken
+disparagement of his advice and defiance of his authority as the signs
+wherefrom she might infer surely that her face was turned to the light.
+The result was that he was a little tired of her without being quite
+conscious of it; and she not at all afraid of him, and a little too
+conscious of it.
+
+When she entered with her brightest smile in full play, Miss Wilson and
+Mr. Jansenius, seated at the table, looked somewhat like two culprits
+about to be indicted. Miss Wilson waited for him to speak, deferring to
+his imposing presence. But he was not ready, so she invited Agatha to
+sit down.
+
+“Thank you,” said Agatha sweetly. “Well, Uncle John, don’t you know me?”
+
+“I have heard with regret from Miss Wilson that you have been very
+troublesome here,” he said, ignoring her remark, though secretly put out
+by it.
+
+“Yes,” said Agatha contritely. “I am so very sorry.”
+
+Mr. Jansenius, who had been led by Miss Wilson to expect the utmost
+contumacy, looked to her in surprise.
+
+“You seem to think,” said Miss Wilson, conscious of Mr. Jansenius’s
+movement, and annoyed by it, “that you may transgress over and over
+again, and then set yourself right with us,” (Miss Wilson never spoke of
+offences as against her individual authority, but as against the school
+community) “by saying that you are sorry. You spoke in a very different
+tone at our last meeting.”
+
+“I was angry then, Miss Wilson. And I thought I had a
+grievance--everybody thinks they have the same one. Besides, we were
+quarrelling--at least I was; and I always behave badly when I quarrel. I
+am so very sorry.”
+
+“The book was a serious matter,” said Miss Wilson gravely. “You do not
+seem to think so.”
+
+“I understand Agatha to say that she is now sensible of the folly of her
+conduct with regard to the book, and that she is sorry for it,” said Mr.
+Jansenius, instinctively inclining to Agatha’s party as the stronger one
+and the least dependent on him in a pecuniary sense.
+
+“Have you seen the book?” said Agatha eagerly.
+
+“No. Miss Wilson has described what has occurred.”
+
+“Oh, do let me get it,” she cried, rising. “It will make Uncle John
+scream with laughing. May I, Miss Wilson?”
+
+“There!” said Miss Wilson, indignantly. “It is this incorrigible
+flippancy of which I have to complain. Miss Wylie only varies it by
+downright insubordination.”
+
+Mr. Jansenius too was scandalized. His fine color mounted at the idea
+of his screaming. “Tut, tut!” he said, “you must be serious, and more
+respectful to Miss Wilson. You are old enough to know better now,
+Agatha--quite old enough.”
+
+Agatha’s mirth vanished. “What have I said What have I done?” she asked,
+a faint purple spot appearing in her cheeks.
+
+“You have spoken triflingly of--of the volume by which Miss Wilson sets
+great store, and properly so.”
+
+“If properly so, then why do you find fault with me?”
+
+“Come, come,” roared Mr. Jansenius, deliberately losing his temper as a
+last expedient to subdue her, “don’t be impertinent, Miss.”
+
+Agatha’s eyes dilated; evanescent flushes played upon her cheeks and
+neck; she stamped with her heel. “Uncle John,” she cried, “if you dare
+to address me like that, I will never look at you, never speak to you,
+nor ever enter your house again. What do you know about good manners,
+that you should call me impertinent? I will not submit to intentional
+rudeness; that was the beginning of my quarrel with Miss Wilson. She
+told me I was impertinent, and I went away and told her that she was
+wrong by writing it in the fault book. She has been wrong all through,
+and I would have said so before but that I wanted to be reconciled to
+her and to let bygones be bygones. But if she insists on quarrelling, I
+cannot help it.”
+
+“I have already explained to you, Mr. Jansenius,” said Miss Wilson,
+concentrating her resentment by an effort to suppress it, “that Miss
+Wylie has ignored all the opportunities that have been made for her to
+reinstate herself here. Mrs. Miller and I have waived merely personal
+considerations, and I have only required a simple acknowledgment of this
+offence against the college and its rules.”
+
+“I do not care that for Mrs. Miller,” said Agatha, snapping her fingers.
+“And you are not half so good as I thought.”
+
+“Agatha,” said Mr. Jansenius, “I desire you to hold your tongue.”
+
+Agatha drew a deep breath, sat down resignedly, and said: “There! I have
+done. I have lost my temper; so now we have all lost our tempers.”
+
+“You have no right to lose your temper, Miss,” said Mr. Jansenius,
+following up a fancied advantage.
+
+“I am the youngest, and the least to blame,” she replied. “There
+is nothing further to be said, Mr. Jansenius,” said Miss Wilson,
+determinedly. “I am sorry that Miss Wylie has chosen to break with us.”
+
+“But I have not chosen to break with you, and I think it very hard that
+I am to be sent away. Nobody here has the least quarrel with me except
+you and Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Miller is annoyed because she mistook me for
+her cat, as if that was my fault! And really, Miss Wilson, I don’t know
+why you are so angry. All the girls will think I have done something
+infamous if I am expelled. I ought to be let stay until the end of the
+term; and as to the Rec--the fault book, you told me most particularly
+when I first came that I might write in it or not just as I pleased, and
+that you never dictated or interfered with what was written. And yet the
+very first time I write a word you disapprove of, you expel me. Nobody
+will ever believe now that the entries are voluntary.”
+
+Miss Wilson’s conscience, already smitten by the coarseness and absence
+of moral force in the echo of her own “You are impertinent,” from the
+mouth of Mr. Jansenius, took fresh alarm. “The fault book,” she said,
+“is for the purpose of recording self-reproach alone, and is not a
+vehicle for accusations against others.”
+
+“I am quite sure that neither Jane nor Gertrude nor I reproached
+ourselves in the least for going downstairs as we did, and yet you did
+not blame us for entering that. Besides, the book represented moral
+force--at least you always said so, and when you gave up moral force,
+I thought an entry should be made of that. Of course I was in a rage at
+the time, but when I came to myself I thought I had done right, and I
+think so still, though it would perhaps have been better to have passed
+it over.”
+
+“Why do you say that I gave up moral force?”
+
+“Telling people to leave the room is not moral force. Calling them
+impertinent is not moral force.”
+
+“You think then that I am bound to listen patiently to whatever you
+choose to say to me, however unbecoming it may be from one in your
+position to one in mine?”
+
+“But I said nothing unbecoming,” said Agatha. Then, breaking off
+restlessly, and smiling again, she said: “Oh, don’t let us argue. I
+am very sorry, and very troublesome, and very fond of you and of the
+college; and I won’t come back next term unless you like.”
+
+“Agatha,” said Miss Wilson, shaken, “these expressions of regard cost
+you so little, and when they have effected their purpose, are so
+soon forgotten by you, that they have ceased to satisfy me. I am very
+reluctant to insist on your leaving us at once. But as your uncle has
+told you, you are old and sensible enough to know the difference between
+order and disorder. Hitherto you have been on the side of disorder, an
+element which was hardly known here until you came, as Mrs. Trefusis
+can tell you. Nevertheless, if you will promise to be more careful in
+future, I will waive all past cause of complaint, and at the end of the
+term I shall be able to judge as to your continuing among us.”
+
+Agatha rose, beaming. “Dear Miss Wilson,” she said, “you are so good! I
+promise, of course. I will go and tell mamma.”
+
+Before they could add a word she had turned with a pirouette to the
+door, and fled, presenting herself a moment later in the drawing-room to
+the three ladies, whom she surveyed with a whimsical smile in silence.
+
+“Well?” said Mrs. Jansenius peremptorily.
+
+“Well, dear?” said Mrs. Trefusis, caressingly.
+
+Mrs. Wylie stifled a sob and looked imploringly at her daughter.
+
+“I had no end of trouble in bringing them to reason,” said Agatha, after
+a provoking pause. “They behaved like children, and I was like an angel.
+I am to stay, of course.”
+
+“Blessings on you, my darling,” faltered Mrs. Wylie, attempting a kiss,
+which Agatha dexterously evaded.
+
+“I have promised to be very good, and studious, and quiet, and decorous
+in future. Do you remember my castanet song, Hetty?
+
+“‘Tra! lalala, la! la! la! Tra! lalala, la! la! la! Tra!
+lalalalalalalalalalala!’”
+
+And she danced about the room, snapping her fingers instead of
+castanets.
+
+“Don’t be so reckless and wicked, my love,” said Mrs. Wylie. “You will
+break your poor mother’s heart.”
+
+Miss Wilson and Mr. Jansenius entered just then, and Agatha became
+motionless and gazed abstractedly at a vase of flowers. Miss Wilson
+invited her visitors to join the tennis players. Mr. Jansenius looked
+sternly and disappointedly at Agatha, who elevated her left eyebrow and
+depressed her right simultaneously; but he, shaking his head to signify
+that he was not to be conciliated by facial feats, however difficult
+or contrary to nature, went out with Miss Wilson, followed by Mrs.
+Jansenius and Mrs. Wylie.
+
+“How is your Hubby?” said Agatha then, brusquely, to Henrietta.
+
+Mrs. Trefusis’s eyes filled with tears so quickly that, as she bent her
+head to hide them, they fell, sprinkling Agatha’s hand.
+
+“This is such a dear old place,” she began. “The associations of my
+girlhood--”
+
+“What is the matter between you and Hubby?” demanded Agatha,
+interrupting her. “You had better tell me, or I will ask him when I meet
+him.”
+
+“I was about to tell you, only you did not give me time.”
+
+“That is a most awful cram,” said Agatha. “But no matter. Go on.”
+
+Henrietta hesitated. Her dignity as a married woman, and the reality of
+her grief, revolted against the shallow acuteness of the schoolgirl. But
+she found herself no better able to resist Agatha’s domineering than
+she had been in her childhood, and much more desirous of obtaining her
+sympathy. Besides, she had already learnt to tell the story herself
+rather than leave its narration to others, whose accounts did not,
+she felt, put her case in the proper light. So she told Agatha of her
+marriage, her wild love for her husband, his wild love for her, and his
+mysterious disappearance without leaving word or sign behind him. She
+did not mention the letter.
+
+“Have you had him searched for?” said Agatha, repressing an inclination
+to laugh.
+
+“But where? Had I the remotest clue, I would follow him barefoot to the
+end of the world.”
+
+“I think you ought to search all the rivers--you would have to do that
+barefoot. He must have fallen in somewhere, or fallen down some place.”
+
+“No, no. Do you think I should be here if I thought his life in danger?
+I have reasons--I know that he is only gone away.”
+
+“Oh, indeed! He took his portmanteau with him, did he? Perhaps he
+has gone to Paris to buy you something nice and give you a pleasant
+surprise.”
+
+“No,” said Henrietta dejectedly. “He knew that I wanted nothing.”
+
+“Then I suppose he got tired of you and ran away.”
+
+Henrietta’s peculiar scarlet blush flowed rapidly over her cheeks as she
+flung Agatha’s arm away, exclaiming, “How dare you say so! You have no
+heart. He adored me.”
+
+“Bosh!” said Agatha. “People always grow tired of one another. I grow
+tired of myself whenever I am left alone for ten minutes, and I am
+certain that I am fonder of myself than anyone can be of another
+person.”
+
+“I know you are,” said Henrietta, pained and spiteful. “You have always
+been particularly fond of yourself.”
+
+“Very likely he resembles me in that respect. In that case he will grow
+tired of himself and come back, and you will both coo like turtle doves
+until he runs away again. Ugh! Serve you right for getting married. I
+wonder how people can be so mad as to do it, with the example of their
+married acquaintances all warning them against it.”
+
+“You don’t know what it is to love,” said Henrietta, plaintively, and
+yet patronizingly. “Besides, we were not like other couples.”
+
+“So it seems. But never mind, take my word for it, he will return to you
+as soon as he has had enough of his own company. Don’t worry thinking
+about him, but come and have a game at lawn tennis.”
+
+During this conversation they had left the drawing-room and made a
+detour through the grounds. They were now approaching the tennis courts
+by a path which wound between two laurel hedges through the shrubbery.
+Meanwhile, Smilash, waiting on the guests in his white apron and gloves
+(which he had positively refused to take off, alleging that he was a
+common man, with common hands such as born ladies and gentlemen could
+not be expected to take meat and drink from), had behaved himself
+irreproachably until the arrival of Miss Wilson and her visitors, which
+occurred as he was returning to the table with an empty tray, moving so
+swiftly that he nearly came into collision with Mrs. Jansenius. Instead
+of apologizing, he changed countenance, hastily held up the tray like a
+shield before his face, and began to walk backward from her, stumbling
+presently against Miss Lindsay, who was running to return a ball.
+Without heeding her angry look and curt rebuke, he half turned, and
+sidled away into the shrubbery, whence the tray presently rose into the
+air, flew across the laurel hedge, and descended with a peal of stage
+thunder on the stooped shoulders of Josephs. Miss Wilson, after asking
+the housekeeper with some asperity why she had allowed that man to
+interfere in the attendance, explained to the guests that he was the
+idiot of the countryside. Mr. Jansenius laughed, and said that he had
+not seen the man’s face, but that his figure reminded him forcibly of
+some one; he could not just then recollect exactly whom.
+
+Smilash, making off through the shrubbery, found the end of his path
+blocked by Agatha and a young lady whose appearance alarmed him more
+than had that of Mrs. Jansenius. He attempted to force his tray through
+the hedge, but in vain; the laurel was impenetrable, and the noise
+he made attracted the attention of the approaching couple. He made no
+further effort to escape, but threw his borrowed apron over his head and
+stood bolt upright with his back against the bushes.
+
+“What is that man doing there?” said Henrietta, stopping mistrustfully.
+
+Agatha laughed, and said loudly, so that he might hear: “It is only
+a harmless madman that Miss Wilson employs. He is fond of disguising
+himself in some silly way and trying to frighten us. Don’t be afraid.
+Come on.”
+
+Henrietta hung back, but her arm was linked in Agatha’s, and she was
+drawn along in spite of herself. Smilash did not move. Agatha strolled
+on coolly, and as she passed him, adroitly caught the apron between
+her finger and thumb and twitched it from his face. Instantly Henrietta
+uttered a piercing scream, and Smilash caught her in his arms.
+
+“Quick,” he said to Agatha, “she is fainting. Run for some water.
+Run!” And he bent over Henrietta, who clung to him frantically. Agatha,
+bewildered by the effect of her practical joke, hesitated a moment, and
+then ran to the lawn.
+
+“What is the matter?” said Fairholme.
+
+“Nothing. I want some water--quick, please. Henrietta has fainted in the
+shrubbery, that is all.”
+
+“Please do not stir,” said Miss Wilson authoritatively, “you will crowd
+the path and delay useful assistance. Miss Ward, kindly get some water
+and bring it to us. Agatha, come with me and point out where Mrs.
+Trefusis is. You may come too, Miss Carpenter; you are so strong. The
+rest will please remain where they are.”
+
+Followed by the two girls, she hurried into the shrubbery, where Mr.
+Jansenius was already looking anxiously for his daughter. He was the
+only person they found there. Smilash and Henrietta were gone.
+
+At first the seekers, merely puzzled, did nothing but question Agatha
+incredulously as to the exact spot on which Henrietta had fallen. But
+Mr. Jansenius soon made them understand that the position of a lady
+in the hands of a half-witted laborer was one of danger. His agitation
+infected them, and when Agatha endeavored to reassure him by declaring
+that Smilash was a disguised gentleman, Miss Wilson, supposing this to
+be a mere repetition of her former idle conjecture, told her sharply to
+hold her tongue, as the time was not one for talking nonsense. The news
+now spread through the whole company, and the excitement became intense.
+Fairholme shouted for volunteers to make up a searching party. All the
+men present responded, and they were about to rush to the college gates
+in a body when it Occurred to the cooler among them that they had better
+divide into several parties, in order that search might be made at once
+in different quarters. Ten minutes of confusion followed. Mr. Jansenius
+started several times in quest of Henrietta, and, when he had gone a few
+steps, returned and begged that no more time should be wasted. Josephs,
+whose faith was simple, retired to pray, and did good, as far as it
+went, by withdrawing one voice from the din of plans, objections, and
+suggestions which the rest were making; each person trying to be heard
+above the others.
+
+At last Miss Wilson quelled the prevailing anarchy. Servants were sent
+to alarm the neighbors and call in the village police. Detachments were
+sent in various directions under the command of Fairholme and other
+energetic spirits. The girls formed parties among themselves, which were
+reinforced by male deserters from the previous levies. Miss Wilson then
+went indoors and conducted a search through the interior of the college.
+Only two persons were left on the tennis ground--Agatha and Mrs.
+Jansenius, who had been surprisingly calm throughout.
+
+“You need not be anxious,” said Agatha, who had been standing aloof
+since her rebuff by Miss Wilson. “I am sure there is no danger. It is
+most extraordinary that they have gone away; but the man is no more mad
+than I am, and I know he is a gentleman He told me so.”
+
+“Let us hope for the best,” said Mrs. Jansenius, smoothly. “I think
+I will sit down--I feel so tired. Thanks.” (Agatha had handed her a
+chair.) “What did you say he told you--this man?”
+
+Agatha related the circumstances of her acquaintance with Smilash,
+adding, at Mrs. Jansenius’s request, a minute description of his
+personal appearance. Mrs. Jansenius remarked that it was very singular,
+and that she was sure Henrietta was quite safe. She then partook of
+claret-cup and sandwiches. Agatha, though glad to find someone disposed
+to listen to her, was puzzled by her aunt’s coolness, and was even
+goaded into pointing out that though Smilash was not a laborer, it did
+not follow that he was an honest man. But Mrs. Jansenius only said: “Oh,
+she is safe--quite safe! At least, of course, I can only hope so. We
+shall have news presently,” and took another sandwich.
+
+The searchers soon began to return, baffled. A few shepherds, the only
+persons in the vicinity, had been asked whether they had seen a young
+lady and a laborer. Some of them had seen a young woman with a basket of
+clothes, if that mout be her. Some thought that Phil Martin the
+carrier would see her if anybody would. None of them had any positive
+information to give.
+
+As the afternoon wore on, and party after party returned tired and
+unsuccessful, depression replaced excitement; conversation, no longer
+tumultuous, was carried on in whispers, and some of the local visitors
+slipped away to their homes with a growing conviction that something
+unpleasant had happened, and that it would be as well not to be mixed up
+in it. Mr. Jansenius, though a few words from his wife had surprised and
+somewhat calmed him, was still pitiably restless and uneasy.
+
+At last the police arrived. At sight of their uniforms excitement
+revived; there was a general conviction that something effectual would
+be done now. But the constables were only mortal, and in a few moments a
+whisper spread that they were fooled. They doubted everything told them,
+and expressed their contempt for amateur searching by entering on
+a fresh investigation, prying with the greatest care into the least
+probable places. Two of them went off to the chalet to look for Smilash.
+Then Fairholme, sunburnt, perspiring, and dusty, but still energetic,
+brought back the exhausted remnant of his party, with a sullen boy, who
+scowled defiantly at the police, evidently believing that he was about
+to be delivered into their custody.
+
+Fairholme had been everywhere, and, having seen nothing of the missing
+pair, had come to the conclusion that they were nowhere. He had asked
+everybody for information, and had let them know that he meant to have
+it too, if it was to be had. But it was not to be had. The sole resort
+of his labor was the evidence of the boy whom he didn’t believe.
+
+“‘Im!” said the inspector, not quite pleased by Fairholme’s zeal, and
+yet overborne by it. “You’re Wickens’s boy, ain’t you?”
+
+“Yes, I am Wickens’s boy,” said the witness, partly fierce, partly
+lachrymose, “and I say I seen him, and if anyone sez I didn’t see him,
+he’s a lie.”
+
+“Come,” said the inspector sharply, “give us none of your cheek, but
+tell us what you saw, or you’ll have to deal with me afterwards.”
+
+“I don’t care who I deal with,” said the boy, at bay. “I can’t be took
+for seein’ him, because there’s no lor agin it. I was in the gravel pit
+in the canal meadow--”
+
+“What business had you there?” said the inspector, interrupting.
+
+“I got leave to be there,” said the boy insolently, but reddening.
+
+“Who gave you leave?” said the inspector, collaring him. “Ah,” he added,
+as the captive burst into tears, “I told you you’d have to deal with me.
+Now hold your noise, and remember where you are and who you’re speakin’
+to; and perhaps I mayn’t lock you up this time. Tell me what you saw
+when you were trespassin’ in the meadow.”
+
+“I sor a young ‘omen and a man. And I see her kissin’ him; and the
+gentleman won’t believe me.”
+
+“You mean you saw him kissing her, more likely.”
+
+“No, I don’t. I know wot it is to have a girl kiss you when you don’t
+want. And I gev a screech to friken ‘em. And he called me and gev me
+tuppence, and sez, ‘You go to the devil,’ he sez, ‘and don’t tell no one
+you seen me here, or else,’ he sez, ‘I might be tempted to drownd you,’
+he sez, ‘and wot a shock that would be to your parents!’ ‘Oh, yes, very
+likely,’ I sez, jes’ like that. Then I went away, because he knows Mr.
+Wickens, and I was afeerd of his telling on me.”
+
+The boy being now subdued, questions were put to him from all sides.
+But his powers of observation and description went no further. As he was
+anxious to propitiate his captors, he answered as often as possible in
+the affirmative. Mr. Jansenius asked him whether the young woman he had
+seen was a lady, and he said yes. Was the man a laborer? Yes--after a
+moment’s hesitation. How was she dressed? He hadn’t taken notice. Had
+she red flowers in her hat? Yes. Had she a green dress? Yes. Were the
+flowers in her hat yellow? (Agatha’s question.) Yes. Was her dress pink?
+Yes. Sure it wasn’t black? No answer.
+
+“I told you he was a liar,” said Fairholme contemptuously.
+
+“Well, I expect he’s seen something,” said the inspector, “but what it
+was, or who it was, is more than I can get out of him.”
+
+There was a pause, and they looked askance upon Wickens’s boy. His
+account of the kissing made it almost an insult to the Janseniuses to
+identify with Henrietta the person he had seen. Jane suggested dragging
+the canal, but was silenced by an indignant “sh-sh-sh,” accompanied by
+apprehensive and sympathetic glances at the bereaved parents. She was
+displaced from the focus of attention by the appearance of the two
+policemen who had been sent to the chalet. Smilash was between them,
+apparently a prisoner. At a distance, he seemed to have suffered some
+frightful injury to his head, but when he was brought into the midst of
+the company it appeared that he had twisted a red handkerchief about
+his face as if to soothe a toothache. He had a particularly hangdog
+expression as he stood before the inspector with his head bowed and his
+countenance averted from Mr. Jansenius, who, attempting to scrutinize
+his features, could see nothing but a patch of red handkerchief.
+
+One of the policemen described how they had found Smilash in the act of
+entering his dwelling; how he had refused to give any information or
+to go to the college, and had defied them to take him there against his
+will; and how, on their at last proposing to send for the inspector
+and Mr. Jansenius, he had called them asses, and consented to accompany
+them. The policeman concluded by declaring that the man was either drunk
+or designing, as he could not or would not speak sensibly.
+
+“Look here, governor,” began Smilash to the inspector, “I am a common
+man--no commoner goin’, as you may see for--”
+
+“That’s ‘im,” cried Wickens’s boy, suddenly struck with a sense of his
+own importance as a witness. “That’s ‘im that the lady kissed, and that
+gev me tuppence and threatened to drownd me.”
+
+“And with a ‘umble and contrite ‘art do I regret that I did not drownd
+you, you young rascal,” said Smilash. “It ain’t manners to interrupt a
+man who, though common, might be your father for years and wisdom.”
+
+“Hold your tongue,” said the inspector to the boy. “Now, Smilash, do you
+wish to make any statement? Be careful, for whatever you say may be used
+against you hereafter.”
+
+“If you was to lead me straight away to the scaffold, colonel, I could
+tell you no more than the truth. If any man can say that he has heard
+Jeff Smilash tell a lie, let him stand forth.”
+
+“We don’t want to hear about that,” said the inspector. “As you are a
+stranger in these parts, nobody here knows any bad of you. No more do
+they know any good of you neither.”
+
+“Colonel,” said Smilash, deeply impressed, “you have a penetrating mind,
+and you know a bad character at sight. Not to deceive you, I am that
+given to lying, and laziness, and self-indulgence of all sorts, that the
+only excuse I can find for myself is that it is the nature of the race
+so to be; for most men is just as bad as me, and some of ‘em worsen I do
+not speak pers’nal to you, governor, nor to the honorable gentlemen here
+assembled. But then you, colonel, are a hinspector of police, which
+I take to be more than merely human; and as to the gentlemen here, a
+gentleman ain’t a man--leastways not a common man--the common man bein’
+but the slave wot feeds and clothes the gentleman beyond the common.”
+
+“Come,” said the inspector, unable to follow these observations, “you
+are a clever dodger, but you can’t dodge me. Have you any statement to
+make with reference to the lady that was last seen in your company?”
+
+“Take a statement about a lady!” said Smilash indignantly. “Far be the
+thought from my mind!”
+
+“What have you done with her?” said Agatha, impetuously. “Don’t be
+silly.”
+
+“You’re not bound to answer that, you know,” said the inspector,
+a little put out by Agatha’s taking advantage of her irresponsible
+unofficial position to come so directly to the point. “You may if you
+like, though. If you’ve done any harm, you’d better hold your tongue. If
+not, you’d better say so.”
+
+“I will set the young lady’s mind at rest respecting her honorable
+sister,” said Smilash. “When the young lady caught sight of me she
+fainted. Bein’ but a young man, and not used to ladies, I will not deny
+but that I were a bit scared, and that my mind were not open to the
+sensiblest considerations. When she unveils her orbs, so to speak, she
+ketches me round the neck, not knowin’ me from Adam the father of us
+all, and sez, ‘Bring me some water, and don’t let the girls see me.’
+Through not ‘avin’ the intelligence to think for myself, I done just
+what she told me. I ups with her in my arms--she bein’ a light weight
+and a slender figure--and makes for the canal as fast as I could. When I
+got there, I lays her on the bank and goes for the water. But what
+with factories, and pollutions, and high civilizations of one sort and
+another, English canal water ain’t fit to sprinkle on a lady, much less
+for her to drink. Just then, as luck would have it, a barge came along
+and took her aboard, and--”
+
+“To such a thing,” said Wickens’s boy stubbornly, emboldened by
+witnessing the effrontery of one apparently of his own class. “I sor you
+two standin’ together, and her a kissin’ of you. There worn’s no barge.”
+
+“Is the maiden modesty of a born lady to be disbelieved on the word of a
+common boy that only walks the earth by the sufferance of the landlords
+and moneylords he helps to feed?” cried Smilash indignantly. “Why, you
+young infidel, a lady ain’t made of common brick like you. She don’t
+know what a kiss means, and if she did, is it likely that she’d kiss
+me when a fine man like the inspector here would be only too happy to
+oblige her. Fie, for shame! The barge were red and yellow, with a green
+dragon for a figurehead, and a white horse towin’ of it. Perhaps you’re
+color-blind, and can’t distinguish red and yellow. The bargee was moved
+to compassion by the sight of the poor faintin’ lady, and the offer of
+‘arf-a-crown, and he had a mother that acted as a mother should. There
+was a cabin in that barge about as big as the locker where your ladyship
+keeps your jam and pickles, and in that locker the bargee lives, quite
+domestic, with his wife and mother and five children. Them canal boats
+is what you may call the wooden walls of England.”
+
+“Come, get on with your story,” said the inspector. “We know what barges
+is as well as you.”
+
+“I wish more knew of ‘em,” retorted Smilash; “perhaps it ‘ud lighten
+your work a bit. However, as I was sayin’, we went right down the canal
+to Lyvern, where we got off, and the lady she took the railway omnibus
+and went away in it. With the noble openhandedness of her class, she
+gave me sixpence; here it is, in proof that my words is true. And I wish
+her safe home, and if I was on the rack I could tell no more, except
+that when I got back I were laid hands on by these here bobbies,
+contrary to the British constitooshun, and if your ladyship will kindly
+go to where that constitooshun is wrote down, and find out wot it sez
+about my rights and liberties--for I have been told that the working-man
+has his liberties, and have myself seen plenty took with him--you
+will oblige a common chap more than his education will enable him to
+express.”
+
+“Sir,” cried Mr. Jansenius suddenly, “will you hold up your head and
+look me in the face?”
+
+Smilash did so, and immediately started theatrically, exclaiming, “Whom
+do I see?”
+
+“You would hardly believe it,” he continued, addressing the company at
+large, “but I am well beknown to this honorable gentleman. I see it upon
+your lips, governor, to ask after my missus, and I thank you for your
+condescending interest. She is well, sir, and my residence here is
+fully agreed upon between us. What little cloud may have rose upon our
+domestic horizon has past away; and, governor,”---here Smilash’s voice
+fell with graver emphasis--“them as interferes betwixt man and wife now
+will incur a heavy responsibility. Here I am, such as you see me, and
+here I mean to stay, likewise such as you see me. That is, if what you
+may call destiny permits. For destiny is a rum thing, governor. I came
+here thinking it was the last place in the world I should ever set eyes
+on you in, and blow me if you ain’t a’most the first person I pops on.”
+
+“I do not choose to be a party to this mummery of--”
+
+“Asking your leave to take the word out of your mouth, governor, I make
+you a party to nothink. Respecting my past conduct, you may out with it
+or you may keep it to yourself. All I say is that if you out with some
+of it I will out with the rest. All or none. You are free to tell the
+inspector here that I am a bad ‘un. His penetrating mind have discovered
+that already. But if you go into names and particulars, you will not
+only be acting against the wishes of my missus, but you will lead to my
+tellin’ the whole story right out afore everyone here, and then goin’
+away where no one won’t never find me.”
+
+“I think the less said the better,” said Mrs. Jansenius, uneasily
+observant of the curiosity and surprise this dialogue was causing. “But
+understand this, Mr.--”
+
+“Smilash, dear lady; Jeff Smilash.”
+
+“Mr. Smilash, whatever arrangement you may have made with your wife, it
+has nothing to do with me. You have behaved infamously, and I desire
+to have as little as possible to say to you in future! I desire to have
+nothing to say to you--nothing,” said Mr. Jansenius. “I look on your
+conduct as an insult to me, personally. You may live in any fashion
+you please, and where you please. All England is open to you except one
+place--my house. Come, Ruth.” He offered his arm to his wife; she took
+it, and they turned away, looking about for Agatha, who, disgusted at
+the gaping curiosity of the rest, had pointedly withdrawn beyond earshot
+of the conversation.
+
+Miss Wilson looked from Smilash--who had watched Mr. Jansenius’s
+explosion of wrath with friendly interest, as if it concerned him as a
+curious spectator only--to her two visitors as they retreated. “Pray, do
+you consider this man’s statement satisfactory?” she said to them. “I do
+not.”
+
+“I am far too common a man to be able to make any statement that could
+satisfy a mind cultivated as yours has been,” said Smilash, “but I would
+‘umbly pint out to you that there is a boy yonder with a telegram trying
+to shove hisself through the ‘iborn throng.”
+
+“Miss Wilson!” cried the boy shrilly.
+
+She took the telegram; read it; and frowned. “We have had all our
+trouble for nothing, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, with suppressed
+vexation. “Mrs. Trefusis says here that she has gone back to London. She
+has not considered it necessary to add any explanation.”
+
+There was a general murmur of disappointment.
+
+“Don’t lose heart, ladies,” said Smilash. “She may be drowned or
+murdered for all we know. Anyone may send a telegram in a false name.
+Perhaps it’s a plant. Let’s hope for your sakes that some little
+accident--on the railway, for instance--may happen yet.”
+
+Miss Wilson turned upon him, glad to find someone with whom she might
+justly be angry. “You had better go about your business,” she said. “And
+don’t let me see you here again.”
+
+“This is ‘ard,” said Smilash plaintively. “My intentions was nothing but
+good. But I know wot it is. It’s that young varmint a-saying that the
+young lady kissed me.”
+
+“Inspector,” said Miss Wilson, “will you oblige me by seeing that he
+leaves the college as soon as possible?”
+
+“Where’s my wages?” he retorted reproachfully. “Where’s my lawful wages?
+I am su’prised at a lady like you, chock full o’ moral science and
+political economy, wanting to put a poor man off. Where’s your wages
+fund? Where’s your remuneratory capital?”
+
+“Don’t you give him anything, ma’am,” said the inspector. “The money
+he’s had from the lady will pay him very well. Move on here, or we’ll
+precious soon hurry you.”
+
+“Very well,” grumbled Smilash. “I bargained for ninepence, and what with
+the roller, and opening the soda water, and shoving them heavy tables
+about, there was a decomposition of tissue in me to the tune of two
+shillings. But all I ask is the ninepence, and let the lady keep the one
+and threppence as the reward of abstinence. Exploitation of labor at
+the rate of a hundred and twenty-five per cent., that is. Come, give us
+ninepence, and I’ll go straight off.”
+
+“Here is a shilling,” said Miss Wilson. “Now go.”
+
+“Threppence change!” cried Smilash. “Honesty has ever been--”
+
+“You may keep the change.”
+
+“You have a noble ‘art, lady; but you’re flying in the face of the law
+of supply and demand. If you keep payin’ at this rate, there’ll be a
+rush of laborers to the college, and competition’ll soon bring you down
+from a shilling to sixpence, let alone ninepence. That’s the way wages
+go down and death rates goes up, worse luck for the likes of hus, as has
+to sell ourselves like pigs in the market.”
+
+He was about to continue when the policeman took him by the arm, turned
+him towards the gate, and pointed expressively in that direction.
+Smilash looked vacantly at him for a moment. Then, with a wink at
+Fairholme, he walked gravely away, amid general staring and silence.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+What had passed between Smilash and Henrietta remained unknown except to
+themselves. Agatha had seen Henrietta clasping his neck in her arms,
+but had not waited to hear the exclamation of “Sidney, Sidney,” which
+followed, nor to see him press her face to his breast in his anxiety to
+stifle her voice as he said, “My darling love, don’t screech I implore
+you. Confound it, we shall have the whole pack here in a moment. Hush!”
+
+“Don’t leave me again, Sidney,” she entreated, clinging faster to him
+as his perplexed gaze, wandering towards the entrance to the shrubbery,
+seemed to forsake her. A din of voices in that direction precipitated
+his irresolution.
+
+“We must run away, Hetty,” he said “Hold fast about my neck, and don’t
+strangle me. Now then.” He lifted her upon his shoulder and ran swiftly
+through the grounds. When they were stopped by the wall, he placed her
+atop of it, scrabbled over, and made her jump into his arms. Then he
+staggered away with her across the fields, gasping out in reply to
+the inarticulate remonstrances which burst from her as he stumbled and
+reeled at every hillock, “Your weight is increasing at the rate of a
+stone a second, my love. If you stoop you will break my back. Oh, Lord,
+here’s a ditch!”
+
+“Let me down,” screamed Henrietta in an ecstasy of delight and
+apprehension. “You will hurt yourself, and--Oh, DO take--”
+
+He struggled through a dry ditch as she spoke, and came out upon a
+grassy place that bordered the towpath of the canal. Here, on the
+bank of a hollow where the moss was dry and soft, he seated her, threw
+himself prone on his elbows before her, and said, panting:
+
+“Nessus carrying off Dejanira was nothing to this! Whew! Well, my
+darling, are you glad to see me?”
+
+“But--”
+
+“But me no buts, unless you wish me to vanish again and for ever. Wretch
+that I am, I have longed for you unspeakably more than once since I ran
+away from you. You didn’t care, of course?”
+
+“I did. I did, indeed. Why did you leave me, Sidney?”
+
+“Lest a worse thing might befall. Come, don’t let us waste in
+explanations the few minutes we have left. Give me a kiss.”
+
+“Then you are going to leave me again. Oh, Sidney--”
+
+“Never mind to-morrow, Hetty. Be like the sun and the meadow, which are
+not in the least concerned about the coming winter. Why do you stare
+at that cursed canal, blindly dragging its load of filth from place to
+place until it pitches it into the sea--just as a crowded street pitches
+its load into the cemetery? Stare at ME, and give me a kiss.”
+
+She gave him several, and said coaxingly, with her arm still upon his
+shoulder: “You only talk that way to frighten me, Sidney; I know you
+do.”
+
+“You are the bright sun of my senses,” he said, embracing her. “I feel
+my heart and brain wither in your smile, and I fling them to you for
+your prey with exultation. How happy I am to have a wife who does not
+despise me for doing so--who rather loves me the more!”
+
+“Don’t be silly,” said Henrietta, smiling vacantly. Then, stung by a
+half intuition of his meaning, she repulsed him and said angrily, “YOU
+despise ME.”
+
+“Not more than I despise myself. Indeed, not so much; for many emotions
+that seem base from within seem lovable from without.”
+
+“You intend to leave me again. I feel it. I know it.”
+
+“You think you know it because you feel it. Not a bad reason, either.”
+
+“Then you ARE going to leave me?”
+
+“Do you not feel it and know it? Yes, my cherished Hetty, I assuredly
+am.”
+
+She broke into wild exclamations of grief, and he drew her head down and
+kissed her with a tender action which she could not resist, and a wry
+face which she did not see.
+
+“My poor Hetty, you don’t understand me.”
+
+“I only understand that you hate me, and want to go away from me.”
+
+“That would be easy to understand. But the strangeness is that I LOVE
+you and want to go away from you. Not for ever. Only for a time.”
+
+“But I don’t want you to go away. I won’t let you go away,” she said,
+a trace of fierceness mingling with her entreaty. “Why do you want to
+leave me if you love me?”
+
+“How do I know? I can no more tell you the whys and wherefores of myself
+than I can lift myself up by the waistband and carry myself into the
+next county, as some one challenged a speculator in perpetual motion to
+do. I am too much a pessimist to respect my own affections. Do you know
+what a pessimist is?”
+
+“A man who thinks everybody as nasty as himself, and hates them for it.”
+
+“So, or thereabout. Modern English polite society, my native sphere,
+seems to me as corrupt as consciousness of culture and absence of
+honesty can make it. A canting, lie-loving, fact-hating, scribbling,
+chattering, wealth-hunting, pleasure-hunting, celebrity-hunting mob,
+that, having lost the fear of hell, and not replaced it by the love of
+justice, cares for nothing but the lion’s share of the wealth wrung by
+threat of starvation from the hands of the classes that create it. If
+you interrupt me with a silly speech, Hetty, I will pitch you into the
+canal, and die of sorrow for my lost love afterwards. You know what I
+am, according to the conventional description: a gentleman with lots of
+money. Do you know the wicked origin of that money and gentility?”
+
+“Oh, Sidney; have you been doing anything?”
+
+“No, my best beloved; I am a gentleman, and have been doing nothing.
+That a man can do so and not starve is nowadays not even a paradox.
+Every halfpenny I possess is stolen money; but it has been stolen
+legally, and, what is of some practical importance to you, I have no
+means of restoring it to the rightful owners even if I felt inclined to.
+Do you know what my father was?”
+
+“What difference can that make now? Don’t be disagreeable and full of
+ridiculous fads, Sidney dear. I didn’t marry your father.”
+
+“No; but you married--only incidentally, of course--my father’s fortune.
+That necklace of yours was purchased with his money; and I can almost
+fancy stains of blood.”
+
+“Stop, Sidney. I don’t like this sort of romancing. It’s all nonsense.
+DO be nice to me.”
+
+“There are stains of sweat on it, I know.”
+
+“You nasty wretch!”
+
+“I am thinking, not of you, my dainty one, but of the unfortunate people
+who slave that we may live idly. Let me explain to you why we are so
+rich. My father was a shrewd, energetic, and ambitious Manchester man,
+who understood an exchange of any sort as a transaction by which one man
+should lose and the other gain. He made it his object to make as many
+exchanges as possible, and to be always the gaining party in them. I do
+not know exactly what he was, for he was ashamed both of his antecedents
+and of his relatives, from which I can only infer that they were honest,
+and, therefore, unsuccessful people. However, he acquired some knowledge
+of the cotton trade, saved some money, borrowed some more on the
+security of his reputation for getting the better of other people in
+business, and, as he accurately told me afterwards, started FOR HIMSELF.
+He bought a factory and some raw cotton. Now you must know that a man,
+by laboring some time on a piece of raw cotton, can turn it into a piece
+of manufactured cotton fit for making into sheets and shifts and the
+like. The manufactured cotton is more valuable than the raw cotton,
+because the manufacture costs wear and tear of machinery, wear and tear
+of the factory, rent of the ground upon which the factory is built, and
+human labor, or wear and tear of live men, which has to be made good by
+food, shelter, and rest. Do you understand that?”
+
+“We used to learn all about it at college. I don’t see what it has to do
+with us, since you are not in the cotton trade.”
+
+“You learned as much as it was thought safe to teach you, no doubt; but
+not quite all, I should think. When my father started for himself, there
+were many men in Manchester who were willing to labor in this way, but
+they had no factory to work in, no machinery to work with, and no raw
+cotton to work on, simply because all this indispensable plant, and the
+materials for producing a fresh supply of it, had been appropriated by
+earlier comers. So they found themselves with gaping stomachs, shivering
+limbs, and hungry wives and children, in a place called their own
+country, in which, nevertheless, every scrap of ground and possible
+source of subsistence was tightly locked up in the hands of others and
+guarded by armed soldiers and policemen. In this helpless condition, the
+poor devils were ready to beg for access to a factory and to raw cotton
+on any conditions compatible with life. My father offered them the
+use of his factory, his machines, and his raw cotton on the following
+conditions: They were to work long and hard, early and late, to add
+fresh value to his raw cotton by manufacturing it. Out of the value thus
+created by them, they were to recoup him for what he supplied them with:
+rent, shelter, gas, water, machinery, raw cotton--everything, and to pay
+him for his own services as superintendent, manager, and salesman. So
+far he asked nothing but just remuneration. But after this had been
+paid, a balance due solely to their own labor remained. ‘Out of this,’
+said my father, ‘you shall keep just enough to save you from starving,
+and of the rest you shall make me a present to reward me for my virtue
+in saving money. Such is the bargain I propose. It is, in my opinion,
+fair and calculated to encourage thrifty habits. If it does not strike
+you in that light, you can get a factory and raw cotton for yourselves;
+you shall not use mine.’ In other words, they might go to the devil and
+starve--Hobson’s choice!--for all the other factories were owned by men
+who offered no better terms. The Manchesterians could not bear to starve
+or to see their children starve, and so they accepted his terms and went
+into the factory. The terms, you see, did not admit of their beginning
+to save for themselves as he had done. Well, they created great wealth
+by their labor, and lived on very little, so that the balance they gave
+for nothing to my father was large. He bought more cotton, and more
+machinery, and more factories with it; employed more men to make wealth
+for him, and saw his fortune increase like a rolling snowball. He
+prospered enormously, but the work men were no better off than at first,
+and they dared not rebel and demand more of the money they had made, for
+there were always plenty of starving wretches outside willing to take
+their places on the old terms. Sometimes he met with a check, as, for
+instance, when, in his eagerness to increase his store, he made the men
+manufacture more cotton than the public needed; or when he could not get
+enough of raw cotton, as happened during the Civil War in America. Then
+he adapted himself to circumstances by turning away as many workmen as
+he could not find customers or cotton for; and they, of course, starved
+or subsisted on charity. During the war-time a big subscription was got
+up for these poor wretches, and my father subscribed one hundred pounds,
+in spite, he said, of his own great losses. Then he bought new machines;
+and, as women and children could work these as well as men, and were
+cheaper and more docile, he turned away about seventy out of every
+hundred of his HANDS (so he called the men), and replaced them by their
+wives and children, who made money for him faster than ever. By this
+time he had long ago given up managing the factories, and paid clever
+fellows who had no money of their own a few hundreds a year to do it for
+him. He also purchased shares in other concerns conducted on the same
+principle; pocketed dividends made in countries which he had never
+visited by men whom he had never seen; bought a seat in Parliament from
+a poor and corrupt constituency, and helped to preserve the laws by
+which he had thriven. Afterwards, when his wealth grew famous, he had
+less need to bribe; for modern men worship the rich as gods, and will
+elect a man as one of their rulers for no other reason than that he is
+a millionaire. He aped gentility, lived in a palace at Kensington, and
+bought a part of Scotland to make a deer forest of. It is easy enough to
+make a deer forest, as trees are not necessary there. You simply drive
+off the peasants, destroy their houses, and make a desert of the land.
+However, my father did not shoot much himself; he generally let the
+forest out by the season to those who did. He purchased a wife of gentle
+blood too, with the unsatisfactory result now before you. That is
+how Jesse Trefusis, a poor Manchester bagman, contrived to be come a
+plutocrat and gentleman of landed estate. And also how I, who never did
+a stroke of work in my life, am overburdened with wealth; whilst the
+children of the men who made that wealth are slaving as their fathers
+slaved, or starving, or in the workhouse, or on the streets, or the
+deuce knows where. What do you think of that, my love?”
+
+“What is the use of worrying about it, Sidney? It cannot be helped now.
+Besides, if your father saved money, and the others were improvident, he
+deserved to make a fortune.”
+
+“Granted; but he didn’t make a fortune. He took a fortune that others
+made. At Cambridge they taught me that his profits were the reward of
+abstinence--the abstinence which enabled him to save. That quieted my
+conscience until I began to wonder why one man should make another pay
+him for exercising one of the virtues. Then came the question: what did
+my father abstain from? The workmen abstained from meat, drink, fresh
+air, good clothes, decent lodging, holidays, money, the society of their
+families, and pretty nearly everything that makes life worth living,
+which was perhaps the reason why they usually died twenty years or so
+sooner than people in our circumstances. Yet no one rewarded them for
+their abstinence. The reward came to my father, who abstained from
+none of these things, but indulged in them all to his heart’s content.
+Besides, if the money was the reward of abstinence, it seemed logical to
+infer that he must abstain ten times as much when he had fifty thousand
+a year as when he had only five thousand. Here was a problem for my
+young mind. Required, something from which my father abstained and in
+which his workmen exceeded, and which he abstained from more and more as
+he grew richer and richer. The only thing that answered this description
+was hard work, and as I never met a sane man willing to pay another for
+idling, I began to see that these prodigious payments to my father were
+extorted by force. To do him justice, he never boasted of abstinence.
+He considered himself a hard-worked man, and claimed his fortune as the
+reward of his risks, his calculations, his anxieties, and the journeys
+he had to make at all seasons and at all hours. This comforted me
+somewhat until it occurred to me that if he had lived a century earlier,
+invested his money in a horse and a pair of pistols, and taken to the
+road, his object--that of wresting from others the fruits of their labor
+without rendering them an equivalent--would have been exactly the
+same, and his risk far greater, for it would have included risk of
+the gallows. Constant travelling with the constable at his heels, and
+calculations of the chances of robbing the Dover mail, would have given
+him his fill of activity and anxiety. On the whole, if Jesse Trefusis,
+M.P., who died a millionaire in his palace at Kensington, had been a
+highwayman, I could not more heartily loathe the social arrangements
+that rendered such a career as his not only possible, but eminently
+creditable to himself in the eyes of his fellows. Most men make it their
+business to imitate him, hoping to become rich and idle on the same
+terms. Therefore I turn my back on them. I cannot sit at their feasts
+knowing how much they cost in human misery, and seeing how little they
+produce of human happiness. What is your opinion, my treasure?”
+
+Henrietta seemed a little troubled. She smiled faintly, and said
+caressingly, “It was not your fault, Sidney. _I_ don’t blame you.”
+
+“Immortal powers!” he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright and appealing to
+the skies, “here is a woman who believes that the only concern all
+this causes me is whether she thinks any the worse of me personally on
+account of it!”
+
+“No, no, Sidney. It is not I alone. Nobody thinks the worse of you for
+it.”
+
+“Quite so,” he returned, in a polite frenzy. “Nobody sees any harm in
+it. That is precisely the mischief of it.”
+
+“Besides,” she urged, “your mother belonged to one of the oldest
+families in England.”
+
+“And what more can man desire than wealth with descent from a county
+family! Could a man be happier than I ought to be, sprung as I am from
+monopolists of all the sources and instruments of production--of land on
+the one side, and of machinery on the other? This very ground on which
+we are resting was the property of my mother’s father. At least the law
+allowed him to use it as such. When he was a boy, there was a fairly
+prosperous race of peasants settled here, tilling the soil, paying him
+rent for permission to do so, and making enough out of it to satisfy
+his large wants and their own narrow needs without working themselves to
+death. But my grandfather was a shrewd man. He perceived that cows and
+sheep produced more money by their meat and wool than peasants by their
+husbandry. So he cleared the estate. That is, he drove the peasants from
+their homes, as my father did afterwards in his Scotch deer forest. Or,
+as his tombstone has it, he developed the resources of his country. I
+don’t know what became of the peasants; HE didn’t know, and, I presume,
+didn’t care. I suppose the old ones went into the workhouse, and the
+young ones crowded the towns, and worked for men like my father in
+factories. Their places were taken by cattle, which paid for their food
+so well that my grandfather, getting my father to take shares in the
+enterprise, hired laborers on the Manchester terms to cut that canal for
+him. When it was made, he took toll upon it; and his heirs still take
+toll, and the sons of the navvies who dug it and of the engineer who
+designed it pay the toll when they have occasion to travel by it, or
+to purchase goods which have been conveyed along it. I remember my
+grandfather well. He was a well-bred man, and a perfect gentleman in his
+manners; but, on the whole, I think he was wickeder than my father, who,
+after all, was caught in the wheels of a vicious system, and had either
+to spoil others or be spoiled by them. But my grandfather--the old
+rascal!--was in no such dilemma. Master as he was of his bit of merry
+England, no man could have enslaved him, and he might at least have
+lived and let live. My father followed his example in the matter of the
+deer forest, but that was the climax of his wickedness, whereas it was
+only the beginning of my grandfather’s. Howbeit, whichever bears the
+palm, there they were, the types after which we all strive.”
+
+“Not all, Sidney. Not we two. I hate tradespeople and country squires.
+We belong to the artistic and cultured classes, and we can keep aloof
+from shopkeepers.”
+
+“Living, meanwhile, at the rate of several thousand a year on rent and
+interest. No, my dear, this is the way of those people who insist that
+when they are in heaven they shall be spared the recollection of such a
+place as hell, but are quite content that it shall exist outside their
+consciousness. I respect my father more--I mean I despise him less--for
+doing his own sweating and filching than I do the sensitive sluggards
+and cowards who lent him their money to sweat and filch with, and asked
+no questions provided the interest was paid punctually. And as to your
+friends the artists, they are the worst of all.”
+
+“Oh, Sidney, you are determined not to be pleased. Artists don’t keep
+factories.”
+
+“No; but the factory is only a part of the machinery of the system.
+Its basis is the tyranny of brain force, which, among civilized men, is
+allowed to do what muscular force does among schoolboys and savages. The
+schoolboy proposition is: ‘I am stronger than you, therefore you shall
+fag for me.’ Its grown up form is: ‘I am cleverer than you, therefore
+you shall fag for me.’ The state of things we produce by submitting to
+this, bad enough even at first, becomes intolerable when the mediocre or
+foolish descendants of the clever fellows claim to have inherited their
+privileges. Now, no men are greater sticklers for the arbitrary dominion
+of genius and talent than your artists. The great painter is not
+satisfied with being sought after and admired because his hands can do
+more than ordinary hands, which they truly can, but he wants to be fed
+as if his stomach needed more food than ordinary stomachs, which it does
+not. A day’s work is a day’s work, neither more nor less, and the man
+who does it needs a day’s sustenance, a night’s repose, and due leisure,
+whether he be painter or ploughman. But the rascal of a painter,
+poet, novelist, or other voluptuary in labor, is not content with
+his advantage in popular esteem over the ploughman; he also wants an
+advantage in money, as if there were more hours in a day spent in the
+studio or library than in the field; or as if he needed more food to
+enable him to do his work than the ploughman to enable him to do his. He
+talks of the higher quality of his work, as if the higher quality of it
+were of his own making--as if it gave him a right to work less for his
+neighbor than his neighbor works for him--as if the ploughman could not
+do better without him than he without the ploughman--as if the value of
+the most celebrated pictures has not been questioned more than that
+of any straight furrow in the arable world--as if it did not take an
+apprenticeship of as many years to train the hand and eye of a mason or
+blacksmith as of an artist--as if, in short, the fellow were a god, as
+canting brain worshippers have for years past been assuring him he is.
+Artists are the high priests of the modern Moloch. Nine out of ten of
+them are diseased creatures, just sane enough to trade on their own
+neuroses. The only quality of theirs which extorts my respect is a
+certain sublime selfishness which makes them willing to starve and to
+let their families starve sooner than do any work they don’t like.”
+
+“INDEED you are quite wrong, Sidney. There was a girl at the Slade
+school who supported her mother and two sisters by her drawing. Besides,
+what can you do? People were made so.”
+
+“Yes; I was made a landlord and capitalist by the folly of the people;
+but they can unmake me if they will. Meanwhile I have absolutely no
+means of escape from my position except by giving away my slaves to
+fellows who will use them no better than I, and becoming a slave myself;
+which, if you please, you shall not catch me doing in a hurry. No, my
+beloved, I must keep my foot on their necks for your sake as well as for
+my own. But you do not care about all this prosy stuff. I am consumed
+with remorse for having bored my darling. You want to know why I am
+living here like a hermit in a vulgar two-roomed hovel instead of
+tasting the delights of London society with my beautiful and devoted
+young wife.”
+
+“But you don’t intend to stay here, Sidney?”
+
+“Yes, I do; and I will tell you why. I am helping to liberate those
+Manchester laborers who were my father’s slaves. To bring that
+about, their fellow slaves all over the world must unite in a vast
+international association of men pledged to share the world’s work
+justly; to share the produce of the work justly; to yield not a
+farthing--charity apart--to any full-grown and able-bodied idler
+or malingerer, and to treat as vermin in the commonwealth persons
+attempting to get more than their share of wealth or give less than
+their share of work. This is a very difficult thing to accomplish,
+because working-men, like the people called their betters, do not always
+understand their own interests, and will often actually help their
+oppressors to exterminate their saviours to the tune of ‘Rule
+Britannia,’ or some such lying doggerel. We must educate them out of
+that, and, meanwhile, push forward the international association
+of laborers diligently. I am at present occupied in propagating its
+principles. Capitalism, organized for repressive purposes under pretext
+of governing the nation, would very soon stop the association if it
+understood our aim, but it thinks that we are engaged in gunpowder plots
+and conspiracies to assassinate crowned heads; and so, whilst the police
+are blundering in search of evidence of these, our real work goes on
+unmolested. Whether I am really advancing the cause is more than I can
+say. I use heaps of postage stamps, pay the expenses of many indifferent
+lecturers, defray the cost of printing reams of pamphlets and hand-bills
+which hail the laborer flatteringly as the salt of the earth, write and
+edit a little socialist journal, and do what lies in my power generally.
+I had rather spend my ill-gotten wealth in this way than upon an
+expensive house and a retinue of servants. And I prefer my corduroys and
+my two-roomed chalet here to our pretty little house, and your pretty
+little ways, and my pretty little neglect of the work that my heart is
+set upon. Some day, perhaps, I will take a holiday; and then we shall
+have a new honeymoon.”
+
+For a moment Henrietta seemed about to cry. Suddenly she exclaimed
+with enthusiasm: “I will stay with you, Sidney. I will share your work,
+whatever it may be. I will dress as a dairymaid, and have a little pail
+to carry milk in. The world is nothing to me except when you are with
+me; and I should love to live here and sketch from nature.”
+
+He blenched, and partially rose, unable to conceal his dismay. She,
+resolved not to be cast off, seized him and clung to him. This was the
+movement that excited the derision of Wickens’s boy in the adjacent
+gravel pit. Trefusis was glad of the interruption; and, when he gave
+the boy twopence and bade him begone, half hoped that he would insist
+on remaining. But though an obdurate boy on most occasions, he proved
+complaisant on this, and withdrew to the high road, where he made over
+one of his pennies to a phantom gambler, and tossed with him until
+recalled from his dual state by the appearance of Fairholme’s party.
+
+In the meantime, Henrietta urgently returned to her proposition.
+
+“We should be so happy,” she said. “I would housekeep for you, and you
+could work as much as you pleased. Our life would be a long idyll.”
+
+“My love,” he said, shaking his head as she looked beseechingly at him,
+“I have too much Manchester cotton in my constitution for long idylls.
+And the truth is, that the first condition of work with me is your
+absence. When you are with me, I can do nothing but make love to you.
+You bewitch me. When I escape from you for a moment, it is only to groan
+remorsefully over the hours you have tempted me to waste and the energy
+you have futilized.”
+
+“If you won’t live with me you had no right to marry me.”
+
+“True. But that is neither your fault nor mine. We have found that
+we love each other too much--that our intercourse hinders our
+usefulness--and so we must part. Not for ever, my dear; only until you
+have cares and business of your own to fill up your life and prevent you
+from wasting mine.”
+
+“I believe you are mad,” she said petulantly. “The world is mad
+nowadays, and is galloping to the deuce as fast as greed can goad it. I
+merely stand out of the rush, not liking its destination. Here comes a
+barge, the commander of which is devoted to me because he believes that
+I am organizing a revolution for the abolition of lock dues and tolls.
+We will go aboard and float down to Lyvern, whence you can return to
+London. You had better telegraph from the junction to the college;
+there must be a hue and cry out after us by this time. You shall have my
+address, and we can write to one another or see one another whenever we
+please. Or you can divorce me for deserting you.”
+
+“You would like me to, I know,” said Henrietta, sobbing.
+
+“I should die of despair, my darling,” he said complacently. “Ship
+aho-o-o-y! Stop crying, Hetty, for God’s sake. You lacerate my very
+soul.”
+
+“Ah-o-o-o-o-o-o-oy, master!” roared the bargee.
+
+“Good arternoon, sir,” said a man who, with a short whip in his hand,
+trudged beside the white horse that towed the barge. “Come up!” he added
+malevolently to the horse.
+
+“I want to get on board, and go up to Lyvern with you,” said Trefusis.
+“He seems a well fed brute, that.”
+
+“Better fed nor me,” said the man. “You can’t get the work out of a
+hunderfed ‘orse that you can out of a hunderfed man or woman. I’ve bin
+in parts of England where women pulled the barges. They come cheaper nor
+‘orses, because it didn’t cost nothing to get new ones when the old ones
+we wore out.”
+
+“Then why not employ them?” said Trefusis, with ironical gravity. “The
+principle of buying laborforce in the cheapest market and selling its
+product in the dearest has done much to make Englishmen--what they are.”
+
+“The railway comp’nies keeps ‘orspittles for the like of ‘IM,” said the
+man, with a cunning laugh, indicating the horse by smacking him on the
+belly with the butt of the whip. “If ever you try bein’ a laborer in
+earnest, governor, try it on four legs. You’ll find it far preferable to
+trying on two.”
+
+“This man is one of my converts,” said Trefusis apart to Henrietta.
+“He told me the other day that since I set him thinking he never sees a
+gentleman without feeling inclined to heave a brick at him. I find that
+socialism is often misunderstood by its least intelligent supporters
+and opponents to mean simply unrestrained indulgence of our natural
+propensity to heave bricks at respectable persons. Now I am going to
+carry you along this plank. If you keep quiet, we may reach the barge.
+If not, we shall reach the bottom of the canal.”
+
+He carried her safely over, and exchanged some friendly words with the
+bargee. Then he took Henrietta forward, and stood watching the water
+as they were borne along noiselessly between the hilly pastures of the
+country.
+
+“This would be a fairy journey,” he said, “if one could forget the woman
+down below, cooking her husband’s dinner in a stifling hole about as big
+as your wardrobe, and--”
+
+“Oh, don’t talk any more of these things,” she said crossly; “I cannot
+help them. I have my own troubles to think of. HER husband lives with
+her.”
+
+“She will change places with you, my dear, if you make her the offer.”
+
+She had no answer ready. After a pause he began to speak poetically of
+the scenery and to offer her loverlike speeches and compliments. But she
+felt that he intended to get rid of her, and he knew that it was useless
+to try to hide that design from her. She turned away and sat down on a
+pile of bricks, only writhing angrily when he pressed her for a word.
+As they neared the end of her voyage, and her intense protest against
+desertion remained, as she thought, only half expressed, her sense of
+injury grew almost unbearable.
+
+They landed on a wharf, and went through an unswept, deeply-rutted lane
+up to the main street of Lyvern. Here he became Smilash again, walking
+deferentially a little before her, as if she had hired him to point out
+the way. She then saw that her last opportunity of appealing to him had
+gone by, and she nearly burst into tears at the thought. It occurred to
+her that she might prevail upon him by making a scene in public. But
+the street was a busy one, and she was a little afraid of him. Neither
+consideration would have checked her in one of her ungovernable moods,
+but now she was in an abject one. Her moods seemed to come only when
+they were harmful to her. She suffered herself to be put into the
+railway omnibus, which was on the point of starting from the innyard
+when they arrived there, and though he touched his hat, asked whether
+she had any message to give him, and in a tender whisper wished her a
+safe journey, she would not look at or speak to him. So they parted,
+and he returned alone to the chalet, where he was received by the two
+policemen who subsequently brought him to the college.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+The year wore on, and the long winter evenings set in. The studious
+young ladies at Alton College, elbows on desk and hands over ears,
+shuddered chillily in fur tippets whilst they loaded their memories with
+the statements of writers on moral science, or, like men who swim upon
+corks, reasoned out mathematical problems upon postulates. Whence
+it sometimes happened that the more reasonable a student was in
+mathematics, the more unreasonable she was in the affairs of real life,
+concerning which few trustworthy postulates have yet been ascertained.
+
+Agatha, not studious, and apt to shiver in winter, began to break Rule
+No. 17 with increasing frequency. Rule No. 17 forbade the students
+to enter the kitchen, or in any way to disturb the servants in the
+discharge of their duties. Agatha broke it because she was fond of
+making toffee, of eating it, of a good fire, of doing any forbidden
+thing, and of the admiration with which the servants listened to her
+ventriloquial and musical feats. Gertrude accompanied her because she
+too liked toffee, and because she plumed herself on her condescension to
+her inferiors. Jane went because her two friends went, and the spirit
+of adventure, the force of example, and the love of toffee often brought
+more volunteers to these expeditions than Agatha thought it safe to
+enlist. One evening Miss Wilson, going downstairs alone to her private
+wine cellar, was arrested near the kitchen by sounds of revelry, and,
+stopping to listen, overheard the castanet dance (which reminded her of
+the emphasis with which Agatha had snapped her fingers at Mrs. Miller),
+the bee on the window pane, “Robin Adair” (encored by the servants),
+and an imitation of herself in the act of appealing to Jane Carpenter’s
+better nature to induce her to study for the Cambridge Local. She waited
+until the cold and her fear of being discovered spying forced her to
+creep upstairs, ashamed of having enjoyed a silly entertainment, and of
+conniving at a breach of the rules rather than face a fresh quarrel with
+Agatha.
+
+There was one particular in which matters between Agatha and the college
+discipline did not go on exactly as before. Although she had formerly
+supplied a disproportionately large number of the confessions in the
+fault book, the entry which had nearly led to her expulsion was the last
+she ever made in it. Not that her conduct was better--it was rather the
+reverse. Miss Wilson never mentioned the matter, the fault book being
+sacred from all allusion on her part. But she saw that though Agatha
+would not confess her own sins, she still assisted others to unburden
+their consciences. The witticisms with which Jane unsuspectingly
+enlivened the pages of the Recording Angel were conclusive on this
+point.
+
+Smilash had now adopted a profession. In the last days of autumn he
+had whitewashed the chalet, painted the doors, windows, and veranda,
+repaired the roof and interior, and improved the place so much that the
+landlord had warned him that the rent would be raised at the expiration
+of his twelvemonth’s tenancy, remarking that a tenant could not
+reasonably expect to have a pretty, rain-tight dwelling-house for the
+same money as a hardly habitable ruin. Smilash had immediately promised
+to dilapidate it to its former state at the end of the year. He had
+put up a board at the gate with an inscription copied from some printed
+cards which he presented to persons who happened to converse with him.
+
+                    *****
+
+JEFFERSON SMILASH
+
+PAINTER, DECORATOR, GLAZIER, PLUMBER & GARDENER. Pianofortes tuned.
+Domestic engineering in all its Branches. Families waited upon at table
+or otherwise.
+
+CHAMOUNIX VILLA, LYVERN. (N.B. Advice Gratis. No Reasonable offer
+refused.)
+
+                    *****
+
+The business thus announced, comprehensive as it was, did not
+flourish. When asked by the curious for testimony to his competence and
+respectability, he recklessly referred them to Fairholme, to Josephs,
+and in particular to Miss Wilson, who, he said, had known him from his
+earliest childhood. Fairholme, glad of an opportunity to show that he
+was no mealy mouthed parson, declared, when applied to, that Smilash was
+the greatest rogue in the country. Josephs, partly from benevolence, and
+partly from a vague fear that Smilash might at any moment take an action
+against him for defamation of character, said he had no doubt that he
+was a very cheap workman, and that it would be a charity to give him
+some little job to encourage him. Miss Wilson confirmed Fairholme’s
+account; and the church organist, who had tuned all the pianofortes
+in the neighborhood once a year for nearly a quarter of a century,
+denounced the newcomer as Jack of all trades and master of none.
+Hereupon the radicals of Lyvern, a small and disreputable party, began
+to assert that there was no harm in the man, and that the parsons and
+Miss Wilson, who lived in a fine house and did nothing but take in the
+daughters of rich swells as boarders, might employ their leisure better
+than in taking the bread out of a poor work man’s mouth. But as none of
+this faction needed the services of a domestic engineer, he was none
+the richer for their support, and the only patron he obtained was
+a housemaid who was leaving her situation at a country house in the
+vicinity, and wanted her box repaired, the lid having fallen off.
+Smilash demanded half-a-crown for the job, but on her demurring,
+immediately apologized and came down to a shilling. For this sum he
+repainted the box, traced her initials on it, and affixed new hinges,
+a Bramah lock, and brass handles, at a cost to himself of ten shillings
+and several hours’ labor. The housemaid found fault with the color of
+the paint, made him take off the handles, which, she said, reminded her
+of a coffin, complained that a lock with such a small key couldn’t be
+strong enough for a large box, but admitted that it was all her own
+fault for not employing a proper man. It got about that he had made
+a poor job of the box; and as he, when taxed with this, emphatically
+confirmed it, he got no other commission; and his signboard served
+thenceforth only for the amusement of pedestrian tourists and of
+shepherd boys with a taste for stone throwing.
+
+One night a great storm blew over Lyvern, and those young ladies at
+Alton College who were afraid of lightning, said their prayers with some
+earnestness. At half-past twelve the rain, wind, and thunder made such
+a din that Agatha and Gertrude wrapped themselves in shawls, stole
+downstairs to the window on the landing outside Miss Wilson’s study,
+and stood watching the flashes give vivid glimpses of the landscape, and
+discussing in whispers whether it was dangerous to stand near a window,
+and whether brass stair-rods could attract lightning. Agatha, as
+serious and friendly with a single companion as she was mischievous
+and satirical before a larger audience, enjoyed the scene quietly. The
+lightning did not terrify her, for she knew little of the value of life,
+and fancied much concerning the heroism of being indifferent to it. The
+tremors which the more startling flashes caused her, only made her more
+conscious of her own courage and its contrast with the uneasiness of
+Gertrude, who at last, shrinking from a forked zigzag of blue flame,
+said:
+
+“Let us go back to bed, Agatha. I feel sure that we are not safe here.”
+
+“Quite as safe as in bed, where we cannot see anything. How the house
+shakes! I believe the rain will batter in the windows before--”
+
+“Hush,” whispered Gertrude, catching her arm in terror. “What was that?”
+
+“What?”
+
+“I am sure I heard the bell--the gate bell. Oh, do let us go back to
+bed.”
+
+“Nonsense! Who would be out on such a night as this? Perhaps the wind
+rang it.”
+
+They waited for a few moments; Gertrude trembling, and Agatha feeling,
+as she listened in the darkness, a sensation familiar to persons who are
+afraid of ghosts. Presently a veiled clangor mingled with the wind. A
+few sharp and urgent snatches of it came unmistakably from the bell at
+the gate of the college grounds. It was a loud bell, used to summon
+a servant from the college to open the gates; for though there was a
+porter’s lodge, it was uninhabited.
+
+“Who on earth can it be?” said Agatha. “Can’t they find the wicket, the
+idiots?”
+
+“Oh, I hope not! Do come upstairs, Agatha.”
+
+“No, I won’t. Go you, if you like.” But Gertrude was afraid to go
+alone. “I think I had better waken Miss Wilson, and tell her,” continued
+Agatha. “It seems awful to shut anybody out on such a night as this.”
+
+“But we don’t know who it is.”
+
+“Well, I suppose you are not afraid of them, in any case,” said Agatha,
+knowing the contrary, but recognizing the convenience of shaming
+Gertrude into silence.
+
+They listened again. The storm was now very boisterous, and they could
+not hear the bell. Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the house door.
+Gertrude screamed, and her cry was echoed from the rooms above, where
+several girls had heard the knocking also, and had been driven by it
+into the state of mind which accompanies the climax of a nightmare. Then
+a candle flickered on the stairs, and Miss Wilson’s voice, reassuringly
+firm, was heard.
+
+“Who is that?”
+
+“It is I, Miss Wilson, and Gertrude. We have been watching the storm,
+and there is some one knocking at the--” A tremendous battery with
+the knocker, followed by a sound, confused by the gale, as of a man
+shouting, interrupted her.
+
+“They had better not open the door,” said Miss Wilson, in some alarm.
+“You are very imprudent, Agatha, to stand here. You will catch your
+death of--Dear me! What can be the matter? She hurried down, followed
+by Agatha, Gertrude, and some of the braver students, to the hall, where
+they found a few shivering servants watching the housekeeper, who was at
+the keyhole of the house door, querulously asking who was there. She
+was evidently not heard by those without, for the knocking recommenced
+whilst she was speaking, and she recoiled as if she had received a blow
+on the mouth. Miss Wilson then rattled the chain to attract attention,
+and demanded again who was there.
+
+“Let us in,” was returned in a hollow shout through the keyhole. “There
+is a dying woman and three children here. Open the door.”
+
+Miss Wilson lost her presence of mind. To gain time, she replied, “I--I
+can’t hear you. What do you say?”
+
+“Damnation!” said the voice, speaking this time to some one outside.
+“They can’t hear.” And the knocking recommenced with increased urgency.
+Agatha, excited, caught Miss Wilson’s dressing gown, and repeated to her
+what the voice had said. Miss Wilson had heard distinctly enough, and
+she felt, without knowing clearly why, that the door must be opened, but
+she was almost over-mastered by a vague dread of what was to follow. She
+began to undo the chain, and Agatha helped with the bolts. Two of the
+servants exclaimed that they were all about to be murdered in their
+beds, and ran away. A few of the students seemed inclined to follow
+their example. At last the door, loosed, was blown wide open, flinging
+Miss Wilson and Agatha back, and admitting a whirlwind that tore round
+the hall, snatched at the women’s draperies, and blew out the lights.
+Agatha, by a hash of lightning, saw for an instant two men straining at
+the door like sailors at a capstan. Then she knew by the cessation of
+the whirlwind that they had shut it. Matches were struck, the candles
+relighted, and the newcomers clearly perceived.
+
+Smilash, bareheaded, without a coat, his corduroy vest and trousers
+heavy with rain; a rough-looking, middle-aged man, poorly dressed like
+a shepherd, wet as Smilash, with the expression, piteous, patient, and
+desperate, of one hard driven by ill-fortune, and at the end of his
+resources; two little children, a boy and a girl, almost naked, cowering
+under an old sack that had served them as an umbrella; and, lying on
+the settee where the two men had laid it, a heap of wretched wearing
+apparel, sacking, and rotten matting, with Smilash’s coat and
+sou’wester, the whole covering a bundle which presently proved to be an
+exhausted woman with a tiny infant at her breast. Smilash’s expression,
+as he looked at her, was ferocious.
+
+“Sorry fur to trouble you, lady,” said the man, after glancing anxiously
+at Smilash, as if he had expected him to act as spokesman; “but my roof
+and the side of my house has gone in the storm, and my missus has been
+having another little one, and I am sorry to ill-convenience you, Miss;
+but--but--”
+
+“Inconvenience!” exclaimed Smilash. “It is the lady’s privilege to
+relieve you--her highest privilege!”
+
+The little boy here began to cry from mere misery, and the woman roused
+herself to say, “For shame, Tom! before the lady,” and then collapsed,
+too weak to care for what might happen next in the world. Smilash looked
+impatiently at Miss Wilson, who hesitated, and said to him:
+
+“What do you expect me to do?”
+
+“To help us,” he replied. Then, with an explosion of nervous energy,
+he added: “Do what your heart tells you to do. Give your bed and your
+clothes to the woman, and let your girls pitch their books to the devil
+for a few days and make something for these poor little creatures to
+wear. The poor have worked hard enough to clothe THEM. Let them take
+their turn now and clothe the poor.”
+
+“No, no. Steady, master,” said the man, stepping forward to propitiate
+Miss Wilson, and evidently much oppressed by a sense of unwelcomeness.
+“It ain’t any fault of the lady’s. Might I make so bold as to ask you
+to put this woman of mine anywhere that may be convenient until morning.
+Any sort of a place will do; she’s accustomed to rough it. Just to have
+a roof over her until I find a room in the village where we can shake
+down.” Here, led by his own words to contemplate the future, he looked
+desolately round the cornice of the hall, as if it were a shelf on which
+somebody might have left a suitable lodging for him.
+
+Miss Wilson turned her back decisively and contemptuously on Smilash.
+She had recovered herself. “I will keep your wife here,” she said to the
+man. “Every care shall be taken of her. The children can stay too.”
+
+“Three cheers for moral science!” cried Smilash, ecstatically breaking
+into the outrageous dialect he had forgotten in his wrath. “Wot was my
+words to you, neighbor, when I said we should bring your missus to the
+college, and you said, ironical-like, ‘Aye, and bloomin’ glad they’ll be
+to see us there.’ Did I not say to you that the lady had a noble ‘art,
+and would show it when put to the test by sech a calamity as this?”
+
+“Why should you bring my hasty words up again’ me now, master, when the
+lady has been so kind?” said the man with emotion. “I am humbly grateful
+to you, Miss; and so is Bess. We are sensible of the ill-convenience
+we--”
+
+Miss Wilson, who had been conferring with the housekeeper, cut his
+speech short by ordering him to carry his wife to bed, which he did with
+the assistance of Smilash, now jubilant. Whilst they were away, one
+of the servants, bidden to bring some blankets to the woman’s room,
+refused, saying that she was not going to wait on that sort of people.
+Miss Wilson gave her warning almost fiercely to quit the college next
+day. This excepted, no ill-will was shown to the refugees. The young
+ladies were then requested to return to bed.
+
+Meanwhile the man, having laid his wife in a chamber palatial in
+comparison with that which the storm had blown about her ears, was
+congratulating her on her luck, and threatening the children with the
+most violent chastisement if they failed to behave themselves with
+strict propriety whilst they remained in that house. Before leaving them
+he kissed his wife; and she, reviving, asked him to look at the baby.
+He did so, and pensively apostrophized it with a shocking epithet in
+anticipation of the time when its appetite must be satisfied from the
+provision shop instead of from its mother’s breast. She laughed and
+cried shame on him; and so they parted cheerfully. When he returned to
+the hall with Smilash they found two mugs of beer waiting for them. The
+girls had retired, and only Miss Wilson and the housekeeper remained.
+
+“Here’s your health, mum,” said the man, before drinking; “and may you
+find such another as yourself to help you when you’re in trouble, which
+Lord send may never come!”
+
+“Is your house quite destroyed?” said Miss Wilson. “Where will you spend
+the night?”
+
+“Don’t you think of me, mum. Master Smilash here will kindly put me up
+‘til morning.”
+
+“His health!” said Smilash, touching the mug with his lips.
+
+“The roof and south wall is browed right away,” continued the man,
+after pausing for a moment to puzzle over Smilash’s meaning. “I doubt if
+there’s a stone of it standing by this.”
+
+“But Sir John will build it for you again. You are one of his herds, are
+you not?”
+
+“I am, Miss. But not he; he’ll be glad it’s down. He don’t like people
+livin’ on the land. I have told him time and again that the place was
+ready to fall; but he said I couldn’t expect him to lay out money on a
+house that he got no rent for. You see, Miss, I didn’t pay any rent. I
+took low wages; and the bit of a hut was a sort of set-off again’ what I
+was paid short of the other men. I couldn’t afford to have it repaired,
+though I did what I could to patch and prop it. And now most like I
+shall be blamed for letting it be blew down, and shall have to live in
+half a room in the town and pay two or three shillin’s a week, besides
+walkin’ three miles to and from my work every day. A gentleman like Sir
+John don’t hardly know what the value of a penny is to us laborin’ folk,
+nor how cruel hard his estate rules and the like comes on us.”
+
+“Sir John’s health!” said Smilash, touching the mug as before. The man
+drank a mouthful humbly, and Smilash continued, “Here’s to the glorious
+landed gentry of old England: bless ‘em!”
+
+“Master Smilash is only jokin’,” said the man apologetically. “It’s his
+way.”
+
+“You should not bring a family into the world if you are so poor,” said
+Miss Wilson severely. “Can you not see that you impoverish yourself by
+doing so--to put the matter on no higher grounds.”
+
+“Reverend Mr. Malthus’s health!” remarked Smilash, repeating his
+pantomime.
+
+“Some say it’s the children, and some say it’s the drink, Miss,” said
+the man submissively. “But from what I see, family or no family, drunk
+or sober, the poor gets poorer and the rich richer every day.”
+
+“Ain’t it disgustin’ to hear a man so ignorant of the improvement in the
+condition of his class?” said Smilash, appealing to Miss Wilson.
+
+“If you intend to take this man home with you,” she said, turning
+sharply on him, “you had better do it at once.”
+
+“I take it kind on your part that you ask me to do anythink, after your
+up and telling Mr. Wickens that I am the last person in Lyvern you would
+trust with a job.”
+
+“So you are--the very last. Why don’t you drink your beer?”
+
+“Not in scorn of your brewing, lady; but because, bein’ a common man,
+water is good enough for me.”
+
+“I wish you good-night, Miss,” said the man; “and thank you kindly for
+Bess and the children.”
+
+“Good-night,” she replied, stepping aside to avoid any salutation from
+Smilash. But he went up to her and said in a low voice, and with the
+Trefusis manner and accent:
+
+“Good-night, Miss Wilson. If you should ever be in want of the services
+of a dog, a man, or a domestic engineer, remind Smilash of Bess and the
+children, and he will act for you in any of those capacities.”
+
+They opened the door cautiously, and found that the wind, conquered by
+the rain, had abated. Miss Wilson’s candle, though it flickered in the
+draught, was not extinguished this time; and she was presently left with
+the housekeeper, bolting and chaining the door, and listening to the
+crunching of feet on the gravel outside dying away through the steady
+pattering of the rain.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+Agatha was at this time in her seventeenth year. She had a lively
+perception of the foibles of others, and no reverence for her
+seniors, whom she thought dull, cautious, and ridiculously amenable by
+commonplaces. But she was subject to the illusion which disables youth
+in spite of its superiority to age. She thought herself an exception.
+Crediting Mr. Jansenius and the general mob of mankind with nothing
+but a grovelling consciousness of some few material facts, she felt
+in herself an exquisite sense and all-embracing conception of nature,
+shared only by her favorite poets and heroes of romance and history.
+Hence she was in the common youthful case of being a much better judge
+of other people’s affairs than of her own. At the fellow-student who
+adored some Henry or Augustus, not from the drivelling sentimentality
+which the world calls love, but because this particular Henry or
+Augustus was a phoenix to whom the laws that govern the relations of
+ordinary lads and lasses did not apply, Agatha laughed in her sleeve.
+The more she saw of this weakness in her fellows, the more satisfied she
+was that, being forewarned, she was also forearmed against an attack of
+it on herself, much as if a doctor were to conclude that he could not
+catch smallpox because he had seen many cases of it; or as if a master
+mariner, knowing that many ships are wrecked in the British channel,
+should venture there without a pilot, thinking that he knew its perils
+too well to run any risk of them. Yet, as the doctor might hold such
+an opinion if he believed himself to be constituted differently from
+ordinary men; or the shipmaster adopt such a course under the impression
+that his vessel was a star, Agatha found false security in the
+subjective difference between her fellows seen from without and herself
+known from within. When, for instance, she fell in love with Mr.
+Jefferson Smilash (a step upon which she resolved the day after the
+storm), her imagination invested the pleasing emotion with a sacredness
+which, to her, set it far apart and distinct from the frivolous fancies
+of which Henry and Augustus had been the subject, and she the confidant.
+
+“I can look at him quite coolly and dispassionately,” she said to
+herself. “Though his face has a strange influence that must, I know,
+correspond to some unexplained power within me, yet it is not a perfect
+face. I have seen many men who are, strictly speaking, far handsomer. If
+the light that never was on sea or land is in his eyes, yet they are
+not pretty eyes--not half so clear as mine. Though he wears his common
+clothes with a nameless grace that betrays his true breeding at every
+step, yet he is not tall, dark, and melancholy, as my ideal hero would
+be if I were as great a fool as girls of my age usually are. If I am in
+love, I have sense enough not to let my love blind my judgment.”
+
+She did not tell anyone of her new interest in life. Strongest in that
+student community, she had used her power with good-nature enough to
+win the popularity of a school leader, and occasionally with
+unscrupulousness enough to secure the privileges of a school bully.
+Popularity and privilege, however, only satisfied her when she was in
+the mood for them. Girls, like men, want to be petted, pitied, and made
+much of, when they are diffident, in low spirits, or in unrequited love.
+These are services which the weak cannot render to the strong and which
+the strong will not render to the weak, except when there is also a
+difference of sex. Agatha knew by experience that though a weak woman
+cannot understand why her stronger sister should wish to lean upon her,
+she may triumph in the fact without understanding it, and give chaff
+instead of consolation. Agatha wanted to be understood and not to be
+chaffed. Finding herself unable to satisfy both these conditions, she
+resolved to do without sympathy and to hold her tongue. She had often
+had to do so before, and she was helped on this occasion by a sense of
+the ridiculous appearance her passion might wear in the vulgar eye. Her
+secret kept itself, as she was supposed in the college to be insensible
+to the softer emotions. Love wrought no external change upon her. It
+made her believe that she had left her girlhood behind her and was now
+a woman with a newly-developed heart capacity at which she would
+childishly have scoffed a little while before. She felt ashamed of the
+bee on the window pane, although it somehow buzzed as frequently as
+before in spite of her. Her calendar, formerly a monotonous cycle of
+class times, meal times, play times, and bed time, was now irregularly
+divided by walks past the chalet and accidental glimpses of its tenant.
+
+Early in December came a black frost, and navigation on the canal
+was suspended. Wickens’s boy was sent to the college with news that
+Wickens’s pond would bear, and that the young ladies should be welcome
+at any time. The pond was only four feet deep, and as Miss Wilson set
+much store by the physical education of her pupils, leave was given for
+skating. Agatha, who was expert on the ice, immediately proposed that a
+select party should go out before breakfast next morning. Actions not in
+themselves virtuous often appear so when performed at hours that compel
+early rising, and some of the candidates for the Cambridge Local, who
+would not have sacrificed the afternoon to amusement, at once fell in
+with her suggestion. But for them it might never have been carried out;
+for when they summoned Agatha, at half-past six next morning, to leave
+her warm bed and brave the biting air, she would have refused without
+hesitation had she not been shamed into compliance by these laborious
+ones who stood by her bedside, blue-nosed and hungry, but ready for the
+ice. When she had dressed herself with much shuddering and chattering,
+they allayed their internal discomfort by a slender meal of biscuits,
+got their skates, and went out across the rimy meadows, past patient
+cows breathing clouds of steam, to Wickens’s pond. Here, to their
+surprise, was Smilash, on electro-plated acme skates, practicing
+complicated figures with intense diligence. It soon appeared that his
+skill came short of his ambition; for, after several narrow escapes and
+some frantic staggering, his calves, elbows, and occiput smote the ice
+almost simultaneously. On rising ruefully to a sitting posture he
+became aware that eight young ladies were watching his proceedings with
+interest.
+
+“This comes of a common man putting himself above his station by getting
+into gentlemen’s skates,” he said. “Had I been content with a humble
+slide, as my fathers was, I should ha’ been a happier man at the present
+moment.” He sighed, rose, touched his hat to Miss Ward, and took off his
+skates, adding: “Good-morning, Miss. Miss Wilson sent me word to be here
+sharp at six to put on the young ladies’ skates, and I took the liberty
+of trying a figure or two to keep out the cold.”
+
+“Miss Wilson did not tell me that she ordered you to come,” said Miss
+Ward.
+
+“Just like her to be thoughtful and yet not let on to be! She is a
+kind lady, and a learned--like yourself, Miss. Sit yourself down on the
+camp-stool and give me your heel, if I may be so bold as to stick a
+gimlet into it.”
+
+His assistance was welcome, and Miss Ward allowed him to put on her
+skates. She was a Canadian, and could skate well. Jane, the first
+to follow her, was anxious as to the strength of the ice; but when
+reassured, she acquitted herself admirably, for she was proficient in
+outdoor exercises, and had the satisfaction of laughing in the field at
+those who laughed at her in the study. Agatha, contrary to her custom,
+gave way to her companions, and her boots were the last upon which
+Smilash operated.
+
+“How d’you do, Miss Wylie?” he said, dropping the Smilash manner now
+that the rest were out of earshot.
+
+“I am very well, thank you,” said Agatha, shy and constrained. This
+phase of her being new to him, he paused with her heel in his hand and
+looked up at her curiously. She collected herself, returned his gaze
+steadily, and said: “How did Miss Wilson send you word to come? She only
+knew of our party at half-past nine last night.”
+
+“Miss Wilson did not send for me.”
+
+“But you have just told Miss Ward that she did.”
+
+“Yes. I find it necessary to tell almost as many lies now that I am a
+simple laborer as I did when I was a gentleman. More, in fact.”
+
+“I shall know how much to believe of what you say in the future.”
+
+“The truth is this. I am perhaps the worst skater in the world, and
+therefore, according to a natural law, I covet the faintest distinction
+on the ice more than immortal fame for the things in which nature has
+given me aptitude to excel. I envy that large friend of yours--Jane
+is her name, I think--more than I envy Plato. I came down here this
+morning, thinking that the skating world was all a-bed, to practice in
+secret.”
+
+“I am glad we caught you at it,” said Agatha maliciously, for he was
+disappointing her. She wanted him to be heroic in his conversation; and
+he would not.
+
+“I suppose so,” he replied. “I have observed that Woman’s dearest
+delight is to wound Man’s self-conceit, though Man’s dearest delight is
+to gratify hers. There is at least one creature lower than Man. Now, off
+with you. Shall I hold you until your ankles get firm?”
+
+“Thank you,” she said, disgusted: “_I_ can skate pretty well, and I
+don’t think you could give me any useful assistance.” And she went off
+cautiously, feeling that a mishap would be very disgraceful after such a
+speech.
+
+He stood on the shore, listening to the grinding, swaying sound of the
+skates, and watching the growing complexity of the curves they were
+engraving on the ice. As the girls grew warm and accustomed to the
+exercise they laughed, jested, screamed recklessly when they came into
+collision, and sailed before the wind down the whole length of the pond
+at perilous speed. The more animated they became, the gloomier looked
+Smilash. “Not two-penn’orth of choice between them and a parcel of
+puppies,” he said; “except that some of them are conscious that there
+is a man looking at them, although he is only a blackguard laborer. They
+remind me of Henrietta in a hundred ways. Would I laugh, now, if the
+whole sheet of ice were to burst into little bits under them?”
+
+Just then the ice cracked with a startling report, and the skaters,
+except Jane, skimmed away in all directions.
+
+“You are breaking the ice to pieces, Jane,” said Agatha, calling from a
+safe distance. “How can you expect it to bear your weight?”
+
+“Pack of fools!” retorted Jane indignantly. “The noise only shows how
+strong it is.”
+
+The shock which the report had given Smilash answered him his question.
+“Make a note that wishes for the destruction of the human race, however
+rational and sincere, are contrary to nature,” he said, recovering his
+spirits. “Besides, what a precious fool I should be if I were working at
+an international association of creatures only fit for destruction! Hi,
+lady! One word, Miss!” This was to Miss Ward, who had skated into his
+neighborhood. “It bein’ a cold morning, and me havin’ a poor and common
+circulation, would it be looked on as a liberty if I was to cut a slide
+here or take a turn in the corner all to myself?”
+
+“You may skate over there if you wish,” she said, after a pause for
+consideration, pointing to a deserted spot at the leeward end of the
+pond, where the ice was too rough for comfortable skating.
+
+“Nobly spoke!” he cried, with a grin, hurrying to the place indicated,
+where, skating being out of the question, he made a pair of slides,
+and gravely exercised himself upon them until his face glowed and his
+fingers tingled in the frosty air. The time passed quickly; when Miss
+Ward sent for him to take off her skates there was a general groan and
+declaration that it could not possibly be half-past eight o’clock yet.
+Smilash knelt before the camp-stool, and was presently busy unbuckling
+and unscrewing. When Jane’s turn came, the camp-stool creaked beneath
+her weight. Agatha again remonstrated with her, but immediately
+reproached herself with flippancy before Smilash, to whom she wished to
+convey an impression of deep seriousness of character.
+
+“Smallest foot of the lot,” he said critically, holding Jane’s foot
+between his finger and thumb as if it were an art treasure which he had
+been invited to examine. “And belonging to the finest built lady.”
+
+Jane snatched away her foot, blushed, and said:
+
+“Indeed! What next, I wonder?”
+
+“T’other ‘un next,” he said, setting to work on the remaining skate.
+When it was off, he looked up at her, and she darted a glance at him as
+she rose which showed that his compliment (her feet were, in fact, small
+and pretty) was appreciated.
+
+“Allow me, Miss,” he said to Gertrude, who was standing on one leg,
+leaning on Agatha, and taking off her own skates.
+
+“No, thank you,” she said coldly. “I don’t need your assistance.”
+
+“I am well aware that the offer was overbold,” he replied, with a
+self-complacency that made his profession of humility exasperating. “If
+all the skates is off, I will, by Miss Wilson’s order, carry them and
+the camp-stool back to the college.”
+
+Miss Ward handed him her skates and turned away. Gertrude placed hers
+on the stool and went with Miss Ward. The rest followed, leaving him to
+stare at the heap of skates and consider how he should carry them. He
+could think of no better plan than to interlace the straps and hang them
+in a chain over his shoulder. By the time he had done this the young
+ladies were out of sight, and his intention of enjoying their society
+during the return to the college was defeated. They had entered the
+building long before he came in sight of it.
+
+Somewhat out of conceit with his folly, he went to the servants’
+entrance and rang the bell there. When the door was opened, he saw Miss
+Ward standing behind the maid who admitted him.
+
+“Oh,” she said, looking at the string of skates as if she had hardly
+expected to see them again, “so you have brought our things back?”
+
+“Such were my instructions,” he said, taken aback by her manner. “You
+had no instructions. What do you mean by getting our skates into your
+charge under false pretences? I was about to send the police to take
+them from you. How dare you tell me that you were sent to wait on me,
+when you know very well that you were nothing of the sort?”
+
+“I couldn’t help it, Miss,” he replied submissively. “I am a natural
+born liar--always was. I know that it must appear dreadful to you that
+never told a lie, and don’t hardly know what a lie is, belonging as you
+do to a class where none is ever told. But common people like me tells
+lies just as a duck swims. I ask your pardon, Miss, most humble, and I
+hope the young ladies’ll be able to tell one set of skates from t’other;
+for I’m blest if I can.”
+
+“Put them down. Miss Wilson wishes to speak to you before you go. Susan,
+show him the way.”
+
+“Hope you ain’t been and got a poor cove into trouble, Miss?”
+
+“Miss Wilson knows how you have behaved.”
+
+He smiled at her benevolently and followed Susan upstairs. On their way
+they met Jane, who stole a glance at him, and was about to pass by, when
+he said:
+
+“Won’t you say a word to Miss Wilson for a poor common fellow, honored
+young lady? I have got into dreadful trouble for having made bold to
+assist you this morning.”
+
+“You needn’t give yourself the pains to talk like that,” replied Jane in
+an impetuous whisper. “We all know that you’re only pretending.”
+
+“Well, you can guess my motive,” he whispered, looking tenderly at her.
+
+“Such stuff and nonsense! I never heard of such a thing in my life,”
+ said Jane, and ran away, plainly understanding that he had disguised
+himself in order to obtain admission to the college and enjoy the
+happiness of looking at her.
+
+“Cursed fool that I am!” he said to himself; “I cannot act like a
+rational creature for five consecutive minutes.”
+
+The servant led him to the study and announced, “The man, if you please,
+ma’am.”
+
+“Jeff Smilash,” he added in explanation.
+
+“Come in,” said Miss Wilson sternly.
+
+He went in, and met the determined frown which she cast on him from her
+seat behind the writing table, by saying courteously:
+
+“Good-morning, Miss Wilson.”
+
+She bent forward involuntarily, as if to receive a gentleman. Then she
+checked herself and looked implacable.
+
+“I have to apologize,” he said, “for making use of your name
+unwarrantably this morning--telling a lie, in fact. I happened to
+be skating when the young ladies came down, and as they needed
+some assistance which they would hardly have accepted from a common
+man--excuse my borrowing that tiresome expression from our acquaintance
+Smilash--I set their minds at ease by saying that you had sent for me.
+Otherwise, as you have given me a bad character--though not worse than
+I deserve--they would probably have refused to employ me, or at least I
+should have been compelled to accept payment, which I, of course, do not
+need.”
+
+Miss Wilson affected surprise. “I do not understand you,” she said.
+
+“Not altogether,” he said smiling. “But you understand that I am what is
+called a gentleman.”
+
+“No. The gentlemen with whom I am conversant do not dress as you dress,
+nor speak as you speak, nor act as you act.”
+
+He looked at her, and her countenance confirmed the hostility of her
+tone. He instantly relapsed into an aggravated phase of Smilash.
+
+“I will no longer attempt to set myself up as a gentleman,” he said. “I
+am a common man, and your ladyship’s hi recognizes me as such and is not
+to be deceived. But don’t go for to say that I am not candid when I am
+as candid as ever you will let me be. What fault, if any, do you
+find with my putting the skates on the young ladies, and carryin’ the
+campstool for them?”
+
+“If you are a gentleman,” said Miss Wilson, reddening, “your conduct in
+persisting in these antics in my presence is insulting to me. Extremely
+so.”
+
+“Miss Wilson,” he replied, unruffled, “if you insist on Smilash, you
+shall have Smilash; I take an insane pleasure in personating him. If you
+want Sidney--my real Christian name--you can command him. But allow me
+to say that you must have either one or the other. If you become frank
+with me, I will understand that you are addressing Sidney. If distant
+and severe, Smilash.”
+
+“No matter what your name may be,” said Miss Wilson, much annoyed, “I
+forbid you to come here or to hold any communication whatever with the
+young ladies in my charge.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because I choose.”
+
+“There is much force in that reason, Miss Wilson; but it is not moral
+force in the sense conveyed by your college prospectus, which I have
+read with great interest.”
+
+Miss Wilson, since her quarrel with Agatha, had been sore on the
+subject of moral force. “No one is admitted here,” she said, “without
+a trustworthy introduction or recommendation. A disguise is not a
+satisfactory substitute for either.”
+
+“Disguises are generally assumed for the purpose of concealing crime,”
+ he remarked sententiously.
+
+“Precisely so,” she said emphatically.
+
+“Therefore, I bear, to say the least, a doubtful character.
+Nevertheless, I have formed with some of the students here a slight
+acquaintance, of which, it seems, you disapprove. You have given me no
+good reason why I should discontinue that acquaintance, and you
+cannot control me except by your wish--a sort of influence not usually
+effective with doubtful characters. Suppose I disregard your wish, and
+that one or two of your pupils come to you and say: ‘Miss Wilson, in our
+opinion Smilash is an excellent fellow; we find his conversation most
+improving. As it is your principle to allow us to exercise our own
+judgment, we intend to cultivate the acquaintance of Smilash.’ How will
+you act in that case?”
+
+“Send them home to their parents at once.”
+
+“I see that your principles are those of the Church of England. You
+allow the students the right of private judgment on condition that
+they arrive at the same conclusions as you. Excuse my saying that the
+principles of the Church of England, however excellent, are not those
+your prospectus led me to hope for. Your plan is coercion, stark and
+simple.”
+
+“I do not admit it,” said Miss Wilson, ready to argue, even with
+Smilash, in defence of her system. “The girls are quite at liberty to
+act as they please, but I reserve my equal liberty to exclude them from
+my college if I do not approve of their behavior.”
+
+“Just so. In most schools children are perfectly at liberty to learn
+their lessons or not, just as they please; but the principal reserves an
+equal liberty to whip them if they cannot repeat their tasks.”
+
+“I do not whip my pupils,” said Miss Wilson indignantly. “The comparison
+is an outrage.”
+
+“But you expel them; and, as they are devoted to you and to the place,
+expulsion is a dreaded punishment. Yours is the old system of making
+laws and enforcing them by penalties, and the superiority of Alton
+College to other colleges is due, not to any difference of system,
+but to the comparative reasonableness of its laws and the mildness and
+judgment with which they are enforced.”
+
+“My system is radically different from the old one. However, I will not
+discuss the matter with you. A mind occupied with the prejudices of the
+old coercive despotism can naturally only see in the new a modification
+of the old, instead of, as my system is, an entire reversal or
+abandonment of it.”
+
+He shook his head sadly and said: “You seek to impose your ideas on
+others, ostracizing those who reject them. Believe me, mankind has been
+doing nothing else ever since it began to pay some attention to ideas.
+It has been said that a benevolent despotism is the best possible form
+of government. I do not believe that saying, because I believe another
+one to the effect that hell is paved with benevolence, which most
+people, the proverb being too deep for them, misinterpret as unfulfilled
+intentions. As if a benevolent despot might not by any error of judgment
+destroy his kingdom, and then say, like Romeo when he got his friend
+killed, ‘I thought all for the best!’ Excuse my rambling. I meant to
+say, in short, that though you are benevolent and judicious you are none
+the less a despot.”
+
+Miss Wilson, at a loss for a reply, regretted that she had not, before
+letting him gain so far on her, dismissed him summarily instead of
+tolerating a discussion which she did not know how to end with dignity.
+He relieved her by adding unexpectedly:
+
+“Your system was the cause of my absurd marriage. My wife acquired a
+degree of culture and reasonableness from her training here which made
+her seem a superior being among the chatterers who form the female
+seasoning in ordinary society. I admired her dark eyes, and was only too
+glad to seize the excuse her education offered me for believing her a
+match for me in mind as well as in body.”
+
+Miss Wilson, astonished, determined to tell him coldly that her time was
+valuable. But curiosity took possession of her in the act of utterance,
+and the words that came were, “Who was she?”
+
+“Henrietta Jansenius. She is Henrietta Trefusis, and I am Sidney
+Trefusis, at your mercy. I see I have aroused your compassion at last.”
+
+“Nonsense!” said Miss Wilson hastily; for her surprise was indeed tinged
+by a feeling that he was thrown away on Henrietta.
+
+“I ran away from her and adopted this retreat and this disguise in order
+to avoid her. The usual rebuke to human forethought followed. I ran
+straight into her arms--or rather she ran into mine. You remember the
+scene, and were probably puzzled by it.”
+
+“You seem to think your marriage contract a very light matter, Mr.
+Trefusis. May I ask whose fault was the separation? Hers, of course.”
+
+“I have nothing to reproach her with. I expected to find her temper
+hasty, but it was not so--her behavior was unexceptionable. So was mine.
+Our bliss was perfect, but unfortunately, I was not made for domestic
+bliss--at all events I could not endure it--so I fled, and when she
+caught me again I could give no excuse for my flight, though I made it
+clear to her that I would not resume our connubial relations just yet.
+We parted on bad terms. I fully intended to write her a sweet letter
+to make her forgive me in spite of herself, but somehow the weeks have
+slipped away and I am still fully intending. She has never written, and
+I have never written. This is a pretty state of things, isn’t it, Miss
+Wilson, after all her advantages under the influence of moral force and
+the movement for the higher education of women?”
+
+“By your own admission, the fault seems to lie upon your moral training
+and not upon hers.”
+
+“The fault was in the conditions of our association. Why they should
+have attracted me so strongly at first, and repelled me so horribly
+afterwards, is one of those devil’s riddles which will not be answered
+until we shall have traced all the yet unsuspected reactions of our
+inveterate dishonesty. But I am wasting your time, I fear. You sent
+for Smilash, and I have responded by practically annihilating him. In
+public, however, you must still bear with his antics. One moment more.
+I had forgotten to ask you whether you are interested in the shepherd
+whose wife you sheltered on the night of the storm?”
+
+“He assured me, before he took his wife away, that he was comfortably
+settled in a lodging in Lyvern.”
+
+“Yes. Very comfortably settled indeed. For half-a-crown a week he
+obtained permission to share a spacious drawing-room with two other
+families in a ten-roomed house in not much better repair than his
+blown-down hovel. This house yields to its landlord over two hundred
+a year, or rather more than the rent of a commodious mansion in South
+Kensington. It is a troublesome rent to collect, but on the other
+hand there is no expenditure for repairs or sanitation, which are not
+considered necessary in tenement houses. Our friend has to walk three
+miles to his work and three miles back. Exercise is a capital thing for
+a student or a city clerk, but to a shepherd who has been in the fields
+all day, a long walk at the end of his work is somewhat too much of a
+good thing. He begged for an increase of wages to compensate him for
+the loss of the hut, but Sir John pointed out to him that if he was not
+satisfied his place could be easily filled by less exorbitant shepherds.
+Sir John even condescended to explain that the laws of political economy
+bind employers to buy labor in the cheapest market, and our poor friend,
+just as ignorant of economics as Sir John, of course did not know that
+this was untrue. However, as labor is actually so purchased everywhere
+except in Downing Street and a few other privileged spots, I suggested
+that our friend should go to some place where his market price would be
+higher than in merry England. He was willing enough to do so, but unable
+from want of means. So I lent him a trifle, and now he is on his way to
+Australia. Workmen are the geese that lay the golden eggs, but they fly
+away sometimes. I hear a gong sounding, to remind me of the fight of
+time and the value of your share of it. Good-morning!”
+
+Miss Wilson was suddenly moved not to let him go without an appeal to
+his better nature. “Mr. Trefusis,” she said, “excuse me, but are you
+not, in your generosity to others a little forgetful of your duty to
+yourself; and--”
+
+“The first and hardest of all duties!” he exclaimed. “I beg your pardon
+for interrupting you. It was only to plead guilty.”
+
+“I cannot admit that it is the first of all duties, but it is sometimes
+perhaps the hardest, as you say. Still, you could surely do yourself
+more justice without any great effort. If you wish to live humbly, you
+can do so without pretending to be an uneducated man and without
+taking an irritating and absurd name. Why on earth do you call yourself
+Smilash?”
+
+“I confess that the name has been a failure. I took great pains, in
+constructing it, to secure a pleasant impression. It is not a mere
+invention, but a compound of the words smile and eyelash. A smile
+suggests good humor; eyelashes soften the expression and are the only
+features that never blemish a face. Hence Smilash is a sound that should
+cheer and propitiate. Yet it exasperates. It is really very odd that it
+should have that effect, unless it is that it raises expectations which
+I am unable to satisfy.”
+
+Miss Wilson looked at him doubtfully. He remained perfectly grave. There
+was a pause. Then, as if she had made up her mind to be offended, she
+said, “Good-morning,” shortly.
+
+“Good-morning, Miss Wilson. The son of a millionaire, like the son of a
+king, is seldom free from mental disease. I am just mad enough to be a
+mountebank. If I were a little madder, I should perhaps really believe
+myself Smilash instead of merely acting him. Whether you ask me to
+forget myself for a moment, or to remember myself for a moment, I
+reply that I am the son of my father, and cannot. With my egotism, my
+charlatanry, my tongue, and my habit of having my own way, I am fit for
+no calling but that of saviour of mankind--just of the sort they like.”
+ After an impressive pause he turned slowly and left the room.
+
+“I wonder,” he said, as he crossed the landing, “whether, by judiciously
+losing my way, I can catch a glimpse of that girl who is like a golden
+idol?”
+
+Downstairs, on his way to the door, he saw Agatha coming towards
+him, occupied with a book which she was tossing up to the ceiling and
+catching. Her melancholy expression, habitual in her lonely moments,
+showed that she was not amusing herself, but giving vent to her
+restlessness. As her gaze travelled upward, following the flight of
+the volume, it was arrested by Smilash. The book fell to the floor. He
+picked it up and handed it to her, saying:
+
+“And, in good time, here is the golden idol!”
+
+“What?” said Agatha, confused.
+
+“I call you the golden idol,” he said. “When we are apart I always
+imagine your face as a face of gold, with eyes and teeth of bdellium,
+or chalcedony, or agate, or any wonderful unknown stones of appropriate
+colors.”
+
+Agatha, witless and dumb, could only look down deprecatingly.
+
+“You think you ought to be angry with me, and you do not know exactly
+how to make me feel that you are so. Is that it?”
+
+“No. Quite the contrary. At least--I mean that you are wrong. I am the
+most commonplace person you can imagine--if you only knew. No matter
+what I may look, I mean.”
+
+“How do you know that you are commonplace?”
+
+“Of course I know,” said Agatha, her eyes wandering uneasily.
+
+“Of course you do not know; you cannot see yourself as others see you.
+For instance, you have never thought of yourself as a golden idol.”
+
+“But that is absurd. You are quite mistaken about me.”
+
+“Perhaps so. I know, however, that your face is not really made of gold
+and that it has not the same charm for you that it has for others--for
+me.”
+
+“I must go,” said Agatha, suddenly in haste.
+
+“When shall we meet again?”
+
+“I don’t know,” she said, with a growing sense of alarm. “I really must
+go.”
+
+“Believe me, your hurry is only imaginary. Do you fancy that you are
+behaving in a manner of quite ubdued ardor that affected Agatha
+strangely.
+
+“But first tell me whether it is new to you or not.”
+
+“It is not an emotion at all. I did not say that it was.”
+
+“Do not be afraid of it. It is only being alone with a man whom you have
+bewitched. You would be mistress of the situation if you only knew how
+to manage a lover. It is far easier than managing a horse, or skating,
+or playing the piano, or half a dozen other feats of which you think
+nothing.”
+
+Agatha colored and raised her head.
+
+“Forgive me,” he said, interrupting the action. “I am trying to offend
+you in order to save myself from falling in love with you, and I have
+not the heart to let myself succeed. On your life, do not listen to me
+or believe me. I have no right to say these things to you. Some fiend
+enters into me when I am at your side. You should wear a veil, Agatha.”
+
+She blushed, and stood burning and tingling, her presence of mind gone,
+and her chief sensation one of relief to hear--for she did not dare
+to see--that he was departing. Her consciousness was in a delicious
+confusion, with the one definite thought in it that she had won her
+lover at last. The tone of Trefusis’s voice, rich with truth and
+earnestness, his quick insight, and his passionate warning to her not to
+heed him, convinced her that she had entered into a relation destined to
+influence her whole life.
+
+“And yet,” she said remorsefully, “I cannot love him as he loves me.
+I am selfish, cold, calculating, worldly, and have doubted until now
+whether such a thing as love really existed. If I could only love him
+recklessly and wholly, as he loves me!”
+
+Smilash was also soliloquizing as he went on his way.
+
+“Now I have made the poor child--who was so anxious that I should not
+mistake her for a supernaturally gifted and lovely woman as happy as an
+angel; and so is that fine girl whom they call Jane Carpenter. I hope
+they won’t exchange confidences on the subject.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+Mrs. Trefusis found her parents so unsympathetic on the subject of her
+marriage that she left their house shortly after her visit to Lyvern,
+and went to reside with a hospitable friend. Unable to remain silent
+upon the matter constantly in her thoughts, she discussed her husband’s
+flight with this friend, and elicited an opinion that the behavior of
+Trefusis was scandalous and wicked. Henrietta could not bear this,
+and sought shelter with a relative. The same discussion arising, the
+relative said:
+
+“Well, Hetty, if I am to speak candidly, I must say that I have known
+Sidney Trefusis for a long time, and he is the easiest person to get
+on with I ever met. And you know, dear, that you are very trying
+sometimes.”
+
+“And so,” cried Henrietta, bursting into tears, “after the infamous way
+he has treated me I am to be told that it is all my own fault.”
+
+She left the house next day, having obtained another invitation from
+a discreet lady who would not discuss the subject at all. This proved
+quite intolerable, and Henrietta went to stay with her uncle Daniel
+Jansenius, a jolly and indulgent man. He opined that things would come
+right as soon as both parties grew more sensible; and, as to which of
+them was, in fault, his verdict was, six of one and half a dozen of the
+other. Whenever he saw his niece pensive or tearful he laughed at her
+and called her a grass widow. Henrietta found that she could endure
+anything rather than this. Declaring that the world was hateful to her,
+she hired a furnished villa in St. John’s Wood, whither she moved in
+December. But, suffering much there from loneliness, she soon wrote
+a pathetic letter to Agatha, entreating her to spend the approaching
+Christmas vacation with her, and promising her every luxury and
+amusement that boundless affection could suggest and boundless means
+procure. Agatha’s reply contained some unlooked-for information.
+
+“Alton College, Lyvern,
+
+“14th December.
+
+“Dearest Hetty: I don’t think I can do exactly what you want, as I must
+spend Xmas with Mamma at Chiswick; but I need not get there until Xmas
+Eve, and we break up here on yesterday week, the 20th. So I will go
+straight to you and bring you with me to Mamma’s, where you will spend
+Xmas much better than moping in a strange house. It is not quite settled
+yet about my leaving the college after this term. You must promise not
+to tell anyone; but I have a new friend here--a lover. Not that I am in
+love with him, though I think very highly of him--you know I am not a
+romantic fool; but he is very much in love with me; and I wish I could
+return it as he deserves. The French say that one person turns the cheek
+and the other kisses it. It has not got quite so far as that with us;
+indeed, since he declared what he felt he has only been able to snatch
+a few words with me when I have been skating or walking. But there has
+always been at least one word or look that meant a great deal.
+
+“And now, who do you think he is? He says he knows you. Can you guess?
+He says you know all his secrets. He says he knows your husband well;
+that he treated you very badly, and that you are greatly to be pitied.
+Can you guess now? He says he has kissed you--for shame, Hetty! Have
+you guessed yet? He was going to tell me something more when we were
+interrupted, and I have not seen him since except at a distance. He
+is the man with whom you eloped that day when you gave us all such a
+fright--Mr. Sidney. I was the first to penetrate his disguise; and that
+very morning I had taxed him with it, and he had confessed it. He said
+then that he was hiding from a woman who was in love with him; and
+I should not be surprised if it turned out to be true; for he is
+wonderfully original--in fact what makes me like him is that he is by
+far the cleverest man I have ever met; and yet he thinks nothing of
+himself. I cannot imagine what he sees in me to care for, though he is
+evidently ensnared by my charms. I hope he won’t find out how silly I
+am. He called me his golden idol--”
+
+Henrietta, with a scream of rage, tore the letter across, and stamped
+upon it. When the paroxysm subsided she picked up the pieces, held them
+together as accurately as her trembling hands could, and read on.
+
+“--but he is not all honey, and will say the most severe things
+sometimes if he thinks he ought to. He has made me so ashamed of my
+ignorance that I am resolved to stay here for another term at least, and
+study as hard as I can. I have not begun yet, as it is not worth while
+at the eleventh hour of this term; but when I return in January I will
+set to work in earnest. So you may see that his influence over me is
+an entirely good one. I will tell you all about him when we meet; for
+I have no time to say anything now, as the girls are bothering me to go
+skating with them. He pretends to be a workman, and puts on our skates
+for us; and Jane Carpenter believes that he is in love with her. Jane
+is exceedingly kindhearted; but she has a talent for making herself
+ridiculous that nothing can suppress. The ice is lovely, and the weather
+jolly; we do not mind the cold in the least. They are threatening to go
+without me--good-bye!
+
+“Ever your affectionate
+
+“Agatha.”
+
+Henrietta looked round for something sharp. She grasped a pair of
+scissors greedily and stabbed the air with them. Then she became
+conscious of her murderous impulse, and she shuddered at it; but in
+a moment more her jealousy swept back upon her. She cried, as if
+suffocating, “I don’t care; I should like to kill her!” But she did not
+take up the scissors again.
+
+At last she rang the bell violently and asked for a railway guide. On
+being told that there was not one in the house, she scolded her maid so
+unreasonably that the girl said pertly that if she were to be spoken
+to like that she should wish to leave when her month was up. This check
+brought Henrietta to her senses. She went upstairs and put on the first
+cloak at hand, which was fortunately a heavy fur one. Then she took her
+bonnet and purse, left the house, hailed a passing hansom, and bade the
+cabman drive her to St. Pancras.
+
+When the night came the air at Lyvern was like iron in the intense cold.
+The trees and the wind seemed ice-bound, as the water was, and silence,
+stillness, and starlight, frozen hard, brooded over the country. At the
+chalet, Smilash, indifferent to the price of coals, kept up a roaring
+fire that glowed through the uncurtained windows, and tantalized the
+chilled wayfarer who did not happen to know, as the herdsmen of the
+neighborhood did, that he was welcome to enter and warm himself without
+risk of rebuff from the tenant. Smilash was in high spirits. He had
+become a proficient skater, and frosty weather was now a luxury to him.
+It braced him, and drove away his gloomy fits, whilst his sympathies
+were kept awake and his indignation maintained at an exhilarating pitch
+by the sufferings of the poor, who, unable to afford fires or skating,
+warmed themselves in such sweltering heat as overcrowding produces in
+all seasons.
+
+It was Smilash’s custom to make a hot drink of oatmeal and water for
+himself at half-past nine o’clock each evening, and to go to bed at ten.
+He opened the door to throw out some water that remained in the saucepan
+from its last cleansing. It froze as it fell upon the soil. He looked
+at the night, and shook himself to throw off an oppressive sensation of
+being clasped in the icy ribs of the air, for the mercury had descended
+below the familiar region of crisp and crackly cold and marked a
+temperature at which the numb atmosphere seemed on the point of
+congealing into black solidity. Nothing was stirring.
+
+“By George!” he said, “this is one of those nights on which a rich man
+daren’t think!”
+
+He shut the door, hastened back to his fire, and set to work at his
+caudle, which he watched and stirred with a solicitude that would have
+amused a professed cook. When it was done he poured it into a large mug,
+where it steamed invitingly. He took up some in a spoon and blew upon it
+to cool it. Tap, tap, tap, tap! hurriedly at the door.
+
+“Nice night for a walk,” he said, putting down the spoon; then shouting,
+“Come in.”
+
+The latch rose unsteadily, and Henrietta, with frozen tears on her
+cheeks, and an unintelligible expression of wretchedness and rage,
+appeared. After an instant of amazement, he sprang to her and clasped
+her in his arms, and she, against her will, and protesting voicelessly,
+stumbled into his embrace.
+
+“You are frozen to death,” he exclaimed, carrying her to the fire. “This
+seal jacket is like a sheet of ice. So is your face” (kissing it). “What
+is the matter? Why do you struggle so?”
+
+“Let me go,” she gasped, in a vehement whisper. “I h--hate you.”
+
+“My poor love, you are too cold to hate anyone--even your husband. You
+must let me take off these atrocious French boots. Your feet must be
+perfectly dead.”
+
+By this time her voice and tears were thawing in the warmth of the
+chalet and of his caresses. “You shall not take them off,” she said,
+crying with cold and sorrow. “Let me alone. Don’t touch me. I am going
+away--straight back. I will not speak to you, nor take off my things
+here, nor touch anything in the house.”
+
+“No, my darling,” he said, putting her into a capacious wooden armchair
+and busily unbuttoning her boots, “you shall do nothing that you don’t
+wish to do. Your feet are like stones. Yes, yes, my dear, I am a wretch
+unworthy to live. I know it.”
+
+“Let me alone,” she said piteously. “I don’t want your attentions. I
+have done with you for ever.”
+
+“Come, you must drink some of this nasty stuff. You will need strength
+to tell your husband all the unpleasant things your soul is charged
+with. Take just a little.”
+
+She turned her face away and would not answer. He brought another chair
+and sat down beside her. “My lost, forlorn, betrayed one--”
+
+“I am,” she sobbed. “You don’t mean it, but I am.”
+
+“You are also my dearest and best of wives. If you ever loved me, Hetty,
+do, for my once dear sake, drink this before it gets cold.”
+
+She pouted, sobbed, and yielded to some gentle force which he used, as
+a child allows herself to be half persuaded, half compelled, to take
+physic.
+
+“Do you feel better and more comfortable now?” he said.
+
+“No,” she replied, angry with herself for feeling both.
+
+“Then,” he said cheerfully, as if she had uttered a hearty affirmative,
+“I will put some more coals on the fire, and we shall be as snug as
+possible. It makes me wildly happy to see you at my fireside, and to
+know that you are my own wife.”
+
+“I wonder how you can look me in the face and say so,” she cried.
+
+“I should wonder at myself if I could look at your face and say anything
+else. Oatmeal is a capital restorative; all your energy is coming back.
+There, that will make a magnificent blaze presently.”
+
+“I never thought you deceitful, Sidney, whatever other faults you might
+have had.”
+
+“Precisely, my love. I understand your feelings. Murder, burglary,
+intemperance, or the minor vices you could have borne; but deceit you
+cannot abide.”
+
+“I will go away,” she said despairingly, with a fresh burst of tears. “I
+will not be laughed at and betrayed. I will go barefooted.” She rose and
+attempted to reach the door; but he intercepted her and said:
+
+“My love, there is something serious the matter. What is it? Don’t be
+angry with me.”
+
+He brought her back to the chair. She took Agatha’s letter from the
+pocket of her fur cloak, and handed it to him with a faint attempt to be
+tragic.
+
+“Read that,” she said. “And never speak to me again. All is over between
+us.”
+
+He took it curiously, and turned it to look at the signature. “Aha!” he
+said, “my golden idol has been making mischief, has she?”
+
+“There!” exclaimed Henrietta. “You have said it to my face! You have
+convicted yourself out of your own mouth!”
+
+“Wait a moment, my dear. I have not read the letter yet.”
+
+He rose and walked to and fro through the room, reading. She watched
+him, angrily confident that she should presently see him change
+countenance. Suddenly he drooped as if his spine had partly given way;
+and in this ungraceful attitude he read the remainder of the letter.
+When he had finished he threw it on the table, thrust his hands deep
+into his pockets, and roared with laughter, huddling himself together as
+if he could concentrate the joke by collecting himself into the smallest
+possible compass. Henrietta, speechless with indignation, could only
+look her feelings. At last he came and sat down beside her.
+
+“And so,” he said, “on receiving this you rushed out in the cold and
+came all the way to Lyvern. Now, it seems to me that you must either
+love me very much--”
+
+“I don’t. I hate you.”
+
+“Or else love yourself very much.”
+
+“Oh!” And she wept afresh. “You are a selfish brute, and you do just as
+you like without considering anyone else. No one ever thinks of me. And
+now you won’t even take the trouble to deny that shameful letter.”
+
+“Why should I deny it? It is true. Do you not see the irony of all this?
+I amuse myself by paying a few compliments to a schoolgirl for whom I
+do not care two straws more than for any agreeable and passably clever
+woman I meet. Nevertheless, I occasionally feel a pang of remorse
+because I think that she may love me seriously, although I am only
+playing with her. I pity the poor heart I have wantonly ensnared. And,
+all the time, she is pitying me for exactly the same reason! She is
+conscience-stricken because she is only indulging in the luxury of
+being adored ‘by far the cleverest man she has ever met,’ and is as
+heart-whole as I am! Ha, ha! That is the basis of the religion of love
+of which poets are the high-priests. Each worshipper knows that his own
+love is either a transient passion or a sham copied from his favorite
+poem; but he believes honestly in the love of others for him. Ho, ho! Is
+it not a silly world, my dear?”
+
+“You had no right to make love to Agatha. You have no right to make love
+to anyone but me; and I won’t bear it.”
+
+“You are angry because Agatha has infringed your monopoly. Always
+monopoly! Why, you silly girl, do you suppose that I belong to you, body
+and soul?--that I may not be moved except by your affection, or think
+except of your beauty?”
+
+“You may call me as many names as you please, but you have no right to
+make love to Agatha.”
+
+“My dearest, I do not recollect calling you any names. I think you said
+something about a selfish brute.”
+
+“I did not. You called me a silly girl.”
+
+“But, my love, you are.”
+
+“And so YOU are. You are thoroughly selfish.”
+
+“I don’t deny it. But let us return to our subject. What did we begin to
+quarrel about?”
+
+“I am not quarrelling, Sidney. It is you.”
+
+“Well, what did I begin to quarrel about?”
+
+“About Agatha Wylie.”
+
+“Oh, pardon me, Hetty; I certainly did not begin to quarrel about her. I
+am very fond of her--more so, it appears, than she is of me. One moment,
+Hetty, before you recommence your reproaches. Why do you dislike my
+saying pretty things to Agatha?”
+
+Henrietta hesitated, and said: “Because you have no right to. It shows
+how little you care for me.”
+
+“It has nothing to do with you. It only shows how much I care for her.”
+
+“I will not stay here to be insulted,” said Hetty, her distress
+returning. “I will go home.”
+
+“Not to-night; there is no train.”
+
+“I will walk.”
+
+“It is too far.”
+
+“I don’t care. I will not stay here, though I die of cold by the
+roadside.”
+
+“My cherished one, I have been annoying you purposely because you show
+by your anger that you have not ceased to care for me. I am in the
+wrong, as I usually am, and it is all my fault. Agatha knows nothing
+about our marriage.”
+
+“I do not blame you so much,” said Henrietta, suffering him to place her
+head on his shoulder; “but I will never speak to Agatha again. She has
+behaved shamefully to me, and I will tell her so.”
+
+“No doubt she will opine that it is all your fault, dearest, and that I
+have behaved admirably. Between you I shall stand exonerated. And now,
+since it is too cold for walking, since it is late, since it is far to
+Lyvern and farther to London, I must improvise some accommodation for
+you here.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“But there is no help for it. You must stay.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+Next day Smilash obtained from his wife a promise that she would behave
+towards Agatha as if the letter had given no offence. Henrietta pleaded
+as movingly as she could for an immediate return to their domestic
+state, but he put her off with endearing speeches, promised nothing but
+eternal affection, and sent her back to London by the twelve o’clock
+express. Then his countenance changed; he walked back to Lyvern, and
+thence to the chalet, like a man pursued by disgust and remorse. Later
+in the afternoon, to raise his spirits, he took his skates and went to
+Wickens’s pond, where, it being Saturday, he found the ice crowded
+with the Alton students and their half-holiday visitors. Fairholme,
+describing circles with his habitual air of compressed hardihood,
+stopped and stared with indignant surprise as Smilash lurched past him.
+
+“Is that man here by your permission?” he said to Farmer Wickens, who
+was walking about as if superintending a harvest.
+
+“He is here because he likes, I take it,” said Wickens stubbornly. “He
+is a neighbor of mine and a friend of mine. Is there any objections to
+my having a friend on my own pond, seein’ that there is nigh on two
+or three ton of other people’s friends on it without as much as a
+with-your-leave or a by-your-leave.”
+
+“Oh, no,” said Fairholme, somewhat dashed. “If you are satisfied there
+can be no objection.”
+
+“I’m glad on it. I thought there mout be.”
+
+“Let me tell you,” said Fairholme, nettled, “that your landlord would
+not be pleased to see him here. He sent one of Sir John’s best shepherds
+out of the country, after filling his head with ideas above his station.
+I heard Sir John speak very warmly about it last Sunday.”
+
+“Mayhap you did, Muster Fairholme. I have a lease of this land--and
+gravelly, poor stuff it is--and I am no ways beholden to Sir John’s
+likings and dislikings. A very good thing too for Sir John that I have
+a lease, for there ain’t a man in the country ‘ud tak’ a present o’ the
+farm if it was free to-morrow. And what’s a’ more, though that young man
+do talk foolish things about the rights of farm laborers and such-like
+nonsense, if Sir John was to hear him layin’ it down concernin’ rent
+and improvements, and the way we tenant farmers is put upon, p’raps he’d
+speak warmer than ever next Sunday.”
+
+And Wickens, with a smile expressive of his sense of having retorted
+effectively upon the parson, nodded and walked away.
+
+Just then Agatha, skating hand in hand with Jane Carpenter, heard these
+words in her ear: “I have something very funny to tell you. Don’t look
+round.”
+
+She recognized the voice of Smilash and obeyed.
+
+“I am not quite sure that you will enjoy it as it deserves,” he
+added, and darted off again, after casting an eloquent glance at Miss
+Carpenter.
+
+Agatha disengaged herself from her companion, made a circuit, and passed
+near Smilash, saying: “What is it?”
+
+Smilash flitted away like a swallow, traced several circles around
+Fairholme, and then returned to Agatha and proceeded side by side with
+her.
+
+“I have read the letter you wrote to Hetty,” he said.
+
+Agatha’s face began to glow. She forgot to maintain her balance, and
+almost fell.
+
+“Take care. And so you are not fond of me--in the romantic sense?”
+
+No answer. Agatha dumb and afraid to lift her eyelids.
+
+“That is fortunate,” he continued, “because--good evening, Miss Ward; I
+have done nothing but admire your skating for the last hour--because
+men were deceivers ever; and I am no exception, as you will presently
+admit.”
+
+Agatha murmured something, but it was unintelligible amid the din of
+skating.
+
+“You think not? Well, perhaps you are right; I have said nothing to you
+that is not in a measure true. You have always had a peculiar charm for
+me. But I did not mean you to tell Hetty. Can you guess why?”
+
+Agatha shook her head.
+
+“Because she is my wife.”
+
+Agatha’s ankles became limp. With an effort she kept upright until she
+reached Jane, to whom she clung for support.
+
+“Don’t,” screamed Jane. “You’ll upset me.”
+
+“I must sit down,” said Agatha. “I am tired. Let me lean on you until we
+get to the chairs.”
+
+“Bosh! I can skate for an hour without sitting down,” said Jane.
+However, she helped Agatha to a chair and left her. Then Smilash, as if
+desiring a rest also, sat down close by on the margin of the pond.
+
+“Well,” he said, without troubling himself as to whether their
+conversation attracted attention or not, “what do you think of me now?”
+
+“Why did you not tell me before, Mr. Trefusis?”
+
+“That is the cream of the joke,” he replied, poising his heels on the
+ice so that his skates stood vertically at legs’ length from him, and
+looking at them with a cynical air. “I thought you were in love with me,
+and that the truth would be too severe a blow to you. Ha! ha! And, for
+the same reason, you generously forbore to tell me that you were no more
+in love with me than with the man in the moon. Each played a farce, and
+palmed it off on the other as a tragedy.”
+
+“There are some things so unmanly, so unkind, and so cruel,” said
+Agatha, “that I cannot understand any gentleman saying them to a girl.
+Please do not speak to me again. Miss Ward! Come to me for a moment.
+I--I am not well.”
+
+Ward hurried to her side. Smilash, after staring at her for a moment in
+astonishment, and in some concern, skimmed away into the crowd. When
+he reached the opposite bank he took off his skates and asked Jane, who
+strayed intentionally in his direction, to tell Miss Wylie that he
+was gone, and would skate no more there. Without adding a word of
+explanation he left her and made for his dwelling. As he went down into
+the hollow where the road passed through the plantation on the college
+side of the chalet he descried a boy, in the uniform of the post office,
+sliding along the frozen ditch. A presentiment of evil tidings came upon
+him like a darkening of the sky. He quickened his pace.
+
+“Anything for me?” he said.
+
+The boy, who knew him, fumbled in a letter case and produced a buff
+envelope. It contained a telegram.
+
+
+From Jansenius, London.
+
+TO J. Smilash, Chamoounix Villa, Lyvern.
+
+Henrietta dangerously ill after journey wants to see you doctors say
+must come at once.
+
+
+There was a pause. Then he folded the paper methodically and put it in
+his pocket, as if quite done with it.
+
+“And so,” he said, “perhaps the tragedy is to follow the farce after
+all.”
+
+He looked at the boy, who retreated, not liking his expression.
+
+“Did you slide all the way from Lyvern?”
+
+“Only to come quicker,” said the messenger, faltering. “I came as quick
+as I could.”
+
+“You carried news heavy enough to break the thickest ice ever frozen. I
+have a mind to throw you over the top of that tree instead of giving you
+this half-crown.”
+
+“You let me alone,” whimpered the boy, retreating another pace.
+
+“Get back to Lyvern as fast as you can run or slide, and tell Mr. Marsh
+to send me the fastest trap he has, to drive me to the railway station.
+Here is your half-crown. Off with you; and if I do not find the trap
+ready when I want it, woe betide you.”
+
+The boy came for the money mistrustfully, and ran off with it as fast
+as he could. Smilash went into the chalet and never reappeared. Instead,
+Trefusis, a gentleman in an ulster, carrying a rug, came out, locked the
+door, and hurried along the road to Lyvern, where he was picked up by
+the trap, and carried swiftly to the railway station, just in time to
+catch the London train.
+
+“Evening paper, sir?” said a voice at the window, as he settled himself
+in the corner of a first-class carriage.
+
+“No, thank you.”
+
+“Footwarmer, sir?” said a porter, appearing in the news-vender’s place.
+
+“Ah, that’s a good idea. Yes, let me have a footwarmer.”
+
+The footwarmer was brought, and Trefusis composed himself comfortably
+for his journey. It seemed very short to him; he could hardly believe,
+when the train arrived in London, that he had been nearly three hours on
+the way.
+
+There was a sense of Christmas about the travellers and the people who
+were at the terminus to meet them. The porter who came to the carriage
+door reminded Trefusis by his manner and voice that the season was one
+at which it becomes a gentleman to be festive and liberal.
+
+“Wot luggage, sir? Hansom or fourweoll, sir?”
+
+For a moment Trefusis felt a vagabond impulse to resume the language of
+Smilash and fable to the man of hampers of turkey and plum-pudding in
+the van. But he repressed it, got into a hansom, and was driven to his
+father-in-law’s house in Belsize Avenue, studying in a gloomily critical
+mood the anxiety that surged upon him and made his heart beat like a
+boy’s as he drew near his destination. There were two carriages at the
+door when he alighted. The reticent expression of the coachmen sent a
+tremor through him.
+
+The door opened before he rang. “If you please, sir,” said the maid in a
+low voice, “will you step into the library; and the doctor will see you
+immediately.”
+
+On the first landing of the staircase two gentlemen were speaking to Mr.
+Jansenius, who hastily moved out of sight, not before a glimpse of his
+air of grief and discomfiture had given Trefusis a strange twinge,
+succeeded by a sensation of having been twenty years a widower. He
+smiled unconcernedly as he followed the girl into the library, and asked
+her how she did. She murmured some reply and hurried away, thinking that
+the poor young man would alter his tone presently.
+
+He was joined at once by a gray whiskered gentleman, scrupulously
+dressed and mannered. Trefusis introduced himself, and the physician
+looked at him with some interest. Then he said:
+
+“You have arrived too late, Mr. Trefusis. All is over, I am sorry to
+say.”
+
+“Was the long railway journey she took in this cold weather the cause of
+her death?”
+
+Some bitter words that the physician had heard upstairs made him aware
+that this was a delicate question. But he said quietly: “The proximate
+cause, doubtless. The proximate cause.”
+
+“She received some unwelcome and quite unlooked-for intelligence before
+she started. Had that anything to do with her death, do you think?”
+
+“It may have produced an unfavorable effect,” said the physician,
+growing restive and taking up his gloves. “The habit of referring such
+events to such causes is carried too far, as a rule.”
+
+“No doubt. I am curious because the event is novel in my experience. I
+suppose it is a commonplace in yours. Pardon me. The loss of a lady so
+young and so favorably circumstanced is not a commonplace either in my
+experience or in my opinion.” The physician held up his head as he
+spoke, in protest against any assumption that his sympathies had been
+blunted by his profession.
+
+“Did she suffer?”
+
+“For some hours, yes. We were able to do a little to alleviate her
+pain--poor thing!” He almost forgot Trefusis as he added the apostrophe.
+
+“Hours of pain! Can you conceive any good purpose that those hours may
+have served?”
+
+The physician shook his head, leaving it doubtful whether he meant to
+reply in the negative or to deplore considerations of that nature.
+He also made a movement to depart, being uneasy in conversation with
+Trefusis, who would, he felt sure, presently ask questions or make
+remarks with which he could hardly deal without committing himself in
+some direction. His conscience was not quite at rest. Henrietta’s pain
+had not, he thought, served any good purpose; but he did not want to
+say so, lest he should acquire a reputation for impiety and lose his
+practice. He believed that the general practitioner who attended the
+family, and had called him in when the case grew serious, had treated
+Henrietta unskilfully, but professional etiquette bound him so strongly
+that, sooner than betray his colleague’s inefficiency, he would have
+allowed him to decimate London.
+
+“One word more,” said Trefusis. “Did she know that she was dying?”
+
+“No. I considered it best that she should not be informed of her danger.
+She passed away without any apprehension.”
+
+“Then one can think of it with equanimity. She dreaded death, poor
+child. The wonder is that there was not enough folly in the household to
+prevail against your good sense.”
+
+The physician bowed and took his leave, esteeming himself somewhat
+fortunate in escaping without being reproached for his humanity in
+having allowed Henrietta to die unawares.
+
+A moment later the general practitioner entered. Trefusis, having
+accompanied the consulting physician to the door, detected the family
+doctor in the act of pulling a long face just outside it. Restraining a
+desire to seize him by the throat, he seated himself on the edge of the
+table and said cheerfully:
+
+“Well, doctor, how has the world used you since we last met?”
+
+The doctor was taken aback, but the solemn disposition of his features
+did not relax as he almost intoned: “Has Sir Francis told you the sad
+news, Mr. Trefusis?”
+
+“Yes. Frightful, isn’t it? Lord bless me, we’re here to-day and gone
+to-morrow.”
+
+“True, very true!”
+
+“Sir Francis has a high opinion of you.”
+
+The doctor looked a little foolish. “Everything was done that could be
+done, Mr. Trefusis; but Mrs. Jansenius was very anxious that no stone
+should be left unturned. She was good enough to say that her sole reason
+for wishing me to call in Sir Francis was that you should have no cause
+to complain.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“An excellent mother! A sad event for her! Ah, yes, yes! Dear me! A very
+sad event!”
+
+“Most disagreeable. Such a cold day too. Pleasanter to be in heaven than
+here in such weather, possibly.”
+
+“Ah!” said the doctor, as if much sound comfort lay in that. “I hope so;
+I hope so; I do not doubt it. Sir Francis did not permit us to tell her,
+and I, of course, deferred to him. Perhaps it was for the best.”
+
+“You would have told her, then, if Sir Francis had not objected?”
+
+“Well, there are, you see, considerations which we must not ignore in
+our profession. Death is a serious thing, as I am sure I need not remind
+you, Mr. Trefusis. We have sometimes higher duties than indulgence to
+the natural feelings of our patients.”
+
+“Quite so. The possibility of eternal bliss and the probability of
+eternal torment are consolations not to be lightly withheld from a
+dying girl, eh? However, what’s past cannot be mended. I have much to
+be thankful for, after all. I am a young man, and shall not cut a bad
+figure as a widower. And now tell me, doctor, am I not in very bad
+repute upstairs?”
+
+“Mr. Trefusis! Sir! I cannot meddle in family matters. I understand my
+duties and never over step them.” The doctor, shocked at last, spoke as
+loftily as he could.
+
+“Then I will go and see Mr. Jansenius,” said Trefusis, getting off the
+table.
+
+“Stay, sir! One moment. I have not finished. Mrs. Jansenius has asked
+me to ask--I was about to say that I am not speaking now as the medical
+adviser of this family; but although an old friend--and--ahem! Mrs.
+Jansenius has asked me to ask--to request you to excuse Mr. Jansenius,
+as he is prostrated by grief, and is, as I can--as a medical man--assure
+you, unable to see anyone. She will speak to you herself as soon as she
+feels able to do so--at some time this evening. Meanwhile, of course,
+any orders you may give--you must be fatigued by your journey, and I
+always recommend people not to fast too long; it produces an acute form
+of indigestion--any orders you may wish to give will, of course, be
+attended to at once.”
+
+“I think,” said Trefusis, after a moment’s reflection, “I will order a
+hansom.”
+
+“There is no ill-feeling,” said the doctor, who, as a slow man, was
+usually alarmed by prompt decisions, even when they seemed wise to him,
+as this one did. “I hope you have not gathered from anything I have
+said--”
+
+“Not at all; you have displayed the utmost tact. But I think I had
+better go. Jansenius can bear death and misery with perfect fortitude
+when it is on a large scale and hidden in a back slum. But when it
+breaks into his own house, and attacks his property--his daughter was
+his property until very recently--he is just the man to lose his head
+and quarrel with me for keeping mine.”
+
+The doctor was unable to cope with this speech, which conveyed vaguely
+monstrous ideas to him. Seeing Trefusis about to leave, he said in a low
+voice: “Will you go upstairs?”
+
+“Upstairs! Why?”
+
+“I--I thought you might wish to see--” He did not finish the sentence,
+but Trefusis flinched; the blank had expressed what was meant.
+
+“To see something that was Henrietta, and that is a thing we must cast
+out and hide, with a little superstitious mumming to save appearances.
+Why did you remind me of it?”
+
+“But, sir, whatever your views may be, will you not, as a matter of
+form, in deference to the feelings of the family--”
+
+“Let them spare their feelings for the living, on whose behalf I have
+often appealed to them in vain,” cried Trefusis, losing patience. “Damn
+their feelings!” And, turning to the door, he found it open, and Mrs.
+Jansenius there listening.
+
+Trefusis was confounded. He knew what the effect of his speech must be,
+and felt that it would be folly to attempt excuse or explanation. He put
+his hands into his pockets, leaned against the table, and looked at her,
+mutely wondering what would follow on her part.
+
+The doctor broke the silence by saying tremulously, “I have communicated
+the melancholy intelligence to Mr. Trefusis.”
+
+“I hope you told him also,” she said sternly, “that, however deficient
+we may be in feeling, we did everything that lay in our power for our
+child.”
+
+“I am quite satisfied,” said Trefusis.
+
+“No doubt you are--with the result,” said Mrs. Jansenius, hardly. “I
+wish to know whether you have anything to complain of.”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Please do not imply that anything has happened through our neglect.”
+
+“What have I to complain of? She had a warm room and a luxurious bed to
+die in, with the best medical advice in the world. Plenty of people
+are starving and freezing to-day that we may have the means to die
+fashionably; ask THEM if they have any cause for complaint. Do you think
+I will wrangle over her body about the amount of money spent on her
+illness? What measure is that of the cause she had for complaint? I
+never grudged money to her--how could I, seeing that more than I can
+waste is given to me for nothing? Or how could you? Yet she had great
+reason to complain of me. You will allow that to be so.”
+
+“It is perfectly true.”
+
+“Well, when I am in the humor for it, I will reproach myself and not
+you.” He paused, and then turned forcibly on her, saying, “Why do you
+select this time, of all others, to speak so bitterly to me?”
+
+“I am not aware that I have said anything to call for such a remark. Did
+YOU,” (appealing to the doctor) “hear me say anything?”
+
+“Mr. Trefusis does not mean to say that you did, I am sure. Oh, no. Mr.
+Trefusis’s feelings are naturally--are harrowed. That is all.”
+
+“My feelings!” cried Trefusis impatiently. “Do you suppose my feelings
+are a trumpery set of social observances, to be harrowed to order and
+exhibited at funerals? She has gone as we three shall go soon enough. If
+we were immortal, we might reasonably pity the dead. As we are not, we
+had better save our energies to minimize the harm we are likely to do
+before we follow her.”
+
+The doctor was deeply offended by this speech, for the statement that
+he should one day die seemed to him a reflection upon his professional
+mastery over death. Mrs. Jansenius was glad to see Trefusis confirming
+her bad opinion and report of him by his conduct and language in the
+doctor’s presence. There was a brief pause, and then Trefusis, too far
+out of sympathy with them to be able to lead the conversation into a
+kinder vein, left the room. In the act of putting on his overcoat in the
+hall, he hesitated, and hung it up again irresolutely. Suddenly he ran
+upstairs. At the sound of his steps a woman came from one of the rooms
+and looked inquiringly at him.
+
+“Is it here?” he said.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
+
+A painful sense of constriction came in his chest, and he turned pale
+and stopped with his hand on the lock.
+
+“Don’t be afraid, sir,” said the woman, with an encouraging smile. “She
+looks beautiful.”
+
+He looked at her with a strange grin, as if she had uttered a ghastly
+but irresistible joke. Then he went in, and, when he reached the bed,
+wished he had stayed without. He was not one of those who, seeing little
+in the faces of the living miss little in the faces of the dead. The
+arrangement of the black hair on the pillow, the soft drapery, and the
+flowers placed there by the nurse to complete the artistic effect to
+which she had so confidently referred, were lost on him; he saw only
+a lifeless mask that had been his wife’s face, and at sight of it his
+knees failed, and he had to lean for support on the rail at the foot of
+the bed.
+
+When he looked again the face seemed to have changed. It was no longer
+a waxlike mask, but Henrietta, girlish and pathetically at rest. Death
+seemed to have cancelled her marriage and womanhood; he had never seen
+her look so young. A minute passed, and then a tear dropped on the
+coverlet. He started; shook another tear on his hand, and stared at it
+incredulously.
+
+“This is a fraud of which I have never even dreamed,” he said. “Tears
+and no sorrow! Here am I crying! growing maudlin! whilst I am glad that
+she is gone and I free. I have the mechanism of grief in me somewhere;
+it begins to turn at sight of her though I have no sorrow; just as she
+used to start the mechanism of passion when I had no love. And that made
+no difference to her; whilst the wheels went round she was satisfied. I
+hope the mechanism of grief will flag and stop in its spinning as soon
+as the other used to. It is stopping already, I think. What a mockery!
+Whilst it lasts I suppose I am really sorry. And yet, would I restore
+her to life if I could? Perhaps so; I am therefore thankful that I
+cannot.” He folded his arms on the rail and gravely addressed the dead
+figure, which still affected him so strongly that he had to exert his
+will to face it with composure. “If you really loved me, it is well for
+you that you are dead--idiot that I was to believe that the passion you
+could inspire, you poor child, would last. We are both lucky; I have
+escaped from you, and you have escaped from yourself.”
+
+Presently he breathed more freely and looked round the room to help
+himself into a matter-of-fact vein by a little unembarrassed action, and
+the commonplace aspect of the bedroom furniture. He went to the pillow,
+and bent over it, examining the face closely.
+
+“Poor child!” he said again, tenderly. Then, with sudden reaction,
+apostrophizing himself instead of his wife, “Poor ass! Poor idiot! Poor
+jackanapes! Here is the body of a woman who was nearly as old as myself,
+and perhaps wiser, and here am I moralizing over it as if I were God
+Almighty and she a baby! The more you remind a man of what he is, the
+more conceited he becomes. Monstrous! I shall feel immortal presently.”
+
+He touched the cheek with a faint attempt at roughness, to feel how cold
+it was. Then he touched his own, and remarked:
+
+“This is what I am hastening toward at the express speed of sixty
+minutes an hour!” He stood looking down at the face and tasting this
+sombre reflection for a long time. When it palled on him, he roused
+himself, and exclaimed more cheerfully:
+
+“After all, she is not dead. Every word she uttered--every idea she
+formed and expressed, was an inexhaustible and indestructible impulse.”
+ He paused, considered a little further, and relapsed into gloom, adding,
+“and the dozen others whose names will be with hers in the ‘Times’
+to-morrow? Their words too are still in the air, to endure there to
+all eternity. Hm! How the air must be crammed with nonsense! Two sounds
+sometimes produce a silence; perhaps ideas neutralize one another in
+some analogous way. No, my dear; you are dead and gone and done with,
+and I shall be dead and gone and done with too soon to leave me leisure
+to fool myself with hopes of immortality. Poor Hetty! Well, good-by, my
+darling. Let us pretend for a moment that you can hear that; I know it
+will please you.”
+
+All this was in a half-articulate whisper. When he ceased he still bent
+over the body, gazing intently at it. Even when he had exhausted the
+subject, and turned to go, he changed his mind, and looked again for a
+while. Then he stood erect, apparently nerved and refreshed, and left
+the room with a firm step. The woman was waiting outside. Seeing that he
+was less distressed than when he entered, she said:
+
+“I hope you are satisfied, sir!”
+
+“Delighted! Charmed! The arrangements are extremely pretty and tasteful.
+Most consolatory.” And he gave her half a sovereign.
+
+“I thank you, sir,” she said, dropping a curtsey. “The poor young lady!
+She was anxious to see you, sir. To hear her say that you were the only
+one that cared for her! And so fretful with her mother, too. ‘Let him be
+told that I am dangerously ill,’ says she, ‘and he’ll come.’ She didn’t
+know how true her word was, poor thing; and she went off without being
+aware of it.”
+
+“Flattering herself and flattering me. Happy girl!”
+
+“Bless you, I know what her feelings were, sir; I have had experience.”
+ Here she approached him confidentially, and whispered: “The family were
+again’ you, sir, and she knew it. But she wouldn’t listen to them. She
+thought of nothing, when she was easy enough to think at all, but of
+your coming. And--hush! Here’s the old gentleman.”
+
+Trefusis looked round and saw Mr. Jansenius, whose handsome face
+was white and seamed with grief and annoyance. He drew back from the
+proffered hand of his son-in-law, like an overworried child from an
+ill-timed attempt to pet it. Trefusis pitied him. The nurse coughed and
+retired.
+
+“Have you been speaking to Mrs. Jansenius?” said Trefusis.
+
+“Yes,” said Jansenius offensively.
+
+“So have I, unfortunately. Pray make my apologies to her. I was rude.
+The circumstances upset me.”
+
+“You are not upset, sir,” said Jansenius loudly. “You do not care a
+damn.”
+
+Trefusis recoiled.
+
+“You damned my feelings, and I will damn yours,” continued Jansenius in
+the same tone. Trefusis involuntarily looked at the door through which
+he had lately passed. Then, recovering himself, he said quietly:
+
+“It does not matter. She can’t hear us.”
+
+Before Jansenius could reply his wife hurried upstairs, caught him by
+the arm, and said, “Don’t speak to him, John. And you,” she added, to
+Trefusis, “WILL you begone?”
+
+“What!” he said, looking cynically at her. “Without my dead! Without my
+property! Well, be it so.”
+
+“What do you know of the feelings of a respectable man?” persisted
+Jansenius, breaking out again in spite of his wife. “Nothing is sacred
+to you. This shows what Socialists are!”
+
+“And what fathers are, and what mothers are,” retorted Trefusis, giving
+way to his temper. “I thought you loved Hetty, but I see that you only
+love your feelings and your respectability. The devil take both! She was
+right; my love for her, incomplete as it was, was greater than yours.”
+ And he left the house in dudgeon.
+
+But he stood awhile in the avenue to laugh at himself and his
+father-in-law. Then he took a hansom and was driven to the house of
+his solicitor, whom he wished to consult on the settlement of his late
+wife’s affairs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+The remains of Henrietta Trefusis were interred in Highgate Cemetery
+the day before Christmas Eve. Three noblemen sent their carriages to
+the funeral, and the friends and clients of Mr. Jansenius, to a large
+number, attended in person. The bier was covered with a profusion of
+costly Bowers. The undertaker, instructed to spare no expense, provided
+long-tailed black horses, with black palls on their backs and black
+plumes upon their foreheads; coachmen decorated with scarves and
+jack-boots, black hammercloths, cloaks, and gloves, with many hired
+mourners, who, however, would have been instantly discharged had they
+presumed to betray emotion, or in any way overstep their function of
+walking beside the hearse with brass-tipped batons in their hands.
+
+Among the genuine mourners were Mr. Jansenius, who burst into tears
+at the ceremony of casting earth on the coffin; the boy Arthur, who,
+preoccupied by the novelty of appearing in a long cloak at the head of a
+public procession, felt that he was not so sorry as he ought to be when
+he saw his papa cry; and a cousin who had once asked Henrietta to marry
+him, and who now, full of tragic reflections, was enjoying his despair
+intensely.
+
+The rest whispered, whenever they could decently do so, about a strange
+omission in the arrangements. The husband of the deceased was absent.
+Members of the family and intimate friends were told by Daniel Jansenius
+that the widower had acted in a blackguard way, and that the Janseniuses
+did not care two-pence whether he came or stayed at home; that, but for
+the indecency of the thing, they were just as glad that he was keeping
+away. Others, who had no claim to be privately informed, made inquiries
+of the undertaker’s foreman, who said he understood the gentleman
+objected to large funerals. Asked why, he said he supposed it was on the
+ground of expense. This being met by a remark that Mr. Trefusis was very
+wealthy, he added that he had been told so, but believed the money
+had not come from the lady; that people seldom cared to go to a great
+expense for a funeral unless they came into something good by the death;
+and that some parties the more they had the more they grudged. Before
+the funeral guests dispersed, the report spread by Mr. Jansenius’s
+brother had got mixed with the views of the foreman, and had given rise
+to a story of Trefusis expressing joy at his wife’s death with frightful
+oaths in her father’s house whilst she lay dead there, and refusing to
+pay a farthing of her debts or funeral expenses.
+
+Some days later, when gossip on the subject was subsiding, a fresh
+scandal revived it. A literary friend of Mr. Jansenius’s helped him
+to compose an epitaph, and added to it a couple of pretty and touching
+stanzas, setting forth that Henrietta’s character had been one of rare
+sweetness and virtue, and that her friends would never cease to sorrow
+for her loss. A tradesman who described himself as a “monumental mason”
+ furnished a book of tomb designs, and Mr. Jansenius selected a highly
+ornamental one, and proposed to defray half the cost of its erection.
+Trefusis objected that the epitaph was untrue, and said that he did not
+see why tombstones should be privileged to publish false statements. It
+was reported that he had followed up his former misconduct by calling
+his father-in-law a liar, and that he had ordered a common tombstone
+from some cheap-jack at the East-end. He had, in fact, spoken
+contemptuously of the monumental tradesman as an “exploiter” of labor,
+and had asked a young working mason, a member of the International
+Association, to design a monument for the gratification of Jansenius.
+
+The mason, with much pains and misgiving, produced an original design.
+Trefusis approved of it, and resolved to have it executed by the hands
+of the designer. He hired a sculptor’s studio, purchased blocks of
+marble of the dimensions and quality described to him by the mason, and
+invited him to set to work forthwith.
+
+Trefusis now encountered a difficulty. He wished to pay the mason the
+just value of his work, no more and no less. But this he could not
+ascertain. The only available standard was the market price, and this he
+rejected as being fixed by competition among capitalists who could only
+secure profit by obtaining from their workmen more products than they
+paid them for, and could only tempt customers by offering a share of the
+unpaid-for part of the products as a reduction in price. Thus he
+found that the system of withholding the indispensable materials for
+production and subsistence from the laborers, except on condition of
+their supporting an idle class whilst accepting a lower standard
+of comfort for themselves than for that idle class, rendered the
+determination of just ratios of exchange, and consequently the practice
+of honest dealing, impossible. He had at last to ask the mason what he
+would consider fair payment for the execution of the design, though he
+knew that the man could no more solve the problem than he, and that,
+though he would certainly ask as much as he thought he could get, his
+demand must be limited by his poverty and by the competition of the
+monumental tradesman. Trefusis settled the matter by giving double what
+was asked, only imposing such conditions as were necessary to compel the
+mason to execute the work himself, and not make a profit by hiring other
+men at the market rate of wages to do it.
+
+But the design was, to its author’s astonishment, to be paid
+for separately. The mason, after hesitating a long time between
+two-pounds-ten and five pounds, was emboldened by a fellow-workman,
+who treated him to some hot whiskey and water, to name the larger sum.
+Trefusis paid the money at once, and then set himself to find out how
+much a similar design would have cost from the hands of an eminent
+Royal Academician. Happening to know a gentleman in this position, he
+consulted him, and was informed that the probable cost would be from
+five hundred to one thousand pounds. Trefusis expressed his opinion that
+the mason’s charge was the more reasonable, somewhat to the indignation
+of his artist friend, who reminded him of the years which a Royal
+Academician has to spend in acquiring his skill. Trefusis mentioned that
+the apprenticeship of a mason was quite as long, twice as laborious,
+and not half so pleasant. The artist now began to find Trefusis’s
+Socialistic views, with which he had previously fancied himself in
+sympathy, both odious and dangerous. He demanded whether nothing was
+to be allowed for genius. Trefusis warmly replied that genius cost
+its possessor nothing; that it was the inheritance of the whole race
+incidentally vested in a single individual, and that if that individual
+employed his monopoly of it to extort money from others, he deserved
+nothing better than hanging. The artist lost his temper, and suggested
+that if Trefusis could not feel that the prerogative of art was divine,
+perhaps he could understand that a painter was not such a fool as to
+design a tomb for five pounds when he might be painting a portrait for
+a thousand. Trefusis retorted that the fact of a man paying a thousand
+pounds for a portrait proved that he had not earned the money, and was
+therefore either a thief or a beggar. The common workman who sacrificed
+sixpence from his week’s wages for a cheap photograph to present to his
+sweetheart, or a shilling for a pair of chromolithographic pictures
+or delft figures to place on his mantelboard, suffered greater privation
+for the sake of possessing a work of art than the great landlord or
+shareholder who paid a thousand pounds, which he was too rich to miss,
+for a portrait that, like Hogarth’s Jack Sheppard, was only interesting
+to students of criminal physiognomy. A lively quarrel ensued, Trefusis
+denouncing the folly of artists in fancying themselves a priestly caste
+when they were obviously only the parasites and favored slaves of
+the moneyed classes, and his friend (temporarily his enemy) sneering
+bitterly at levellers who were for levelling down instead of levelling
+up. Finally, tired of disputing, and remorseful for their acrimony, they
+dined amicably together.
+
+The monument was placed in Highgate Cemetery by a small band of
+workmen whom Trefusis found out of employment. It bore the following
+inscription:
+
+
+THIS IS THE MONUMENT OF HENRIETTA JANSENIUS WHO WAS BORN ON THE 26TH
+JULY, 1856, MARRIED TO SIDNEY TREFUSIS ON THE 23RD AUGUST, 1875, AND WHO
+DIED ON THE 21ST DECEMBER IN THE SAME YEAR.
+
+Mr. Jansenius took this as an insult to his daughter’s memory, and,
+as the tomb was much smaller than many which had been erected in the
+cemetery by families to whom the Janseniuses claimed superiority, cited
+it as an example of the widower’s meanness. But by other persons it was
+so much admired that Trefusis hoped it would ensure the prosperity of
+its designer. The contrary happened. When the mason attempted to return
+to his ordinary work he was informed that he had contravened trade
+usage, and that his former employers would have nothing more to say to
+him. On applying for advice and assistance to the trades-union of which
+he was a member he received the same reply, and was further reproached
+for treachery to his fellow-workmen. He returned to Trefusis to say
+that the tombstone job had ruined him. Trefusis, enraged, wrote an
+argumentative letter to the “Times,” which was not inserted, a sarcastic
+one to the trades-union, which did no good, and a fierce one to the
+employers, who threatened to take an action for libel. He had to content
+himself with setting the man to work again on mantelpieces and other
+decorative stone-work for use in house property on the Trefusis
+estate. In a year or two his liberal payments enabled the mason to save
+sufficient to start as an employer, in which capacity he soon began to
+grow rich, as he knew by experience exactly how much his workmen could
+be forced to do, and how little they could be forced to take. Shortly
+after this change in his circumstances he became an advocate of
+thrift, temperance, and steady industry, and quitted the International
+Association, of which he had been an enthusiastic supporter when
+dependent on his own skill and taste as a working mason.
+
+During these occurrences Agatha’s school-life ended. Her resolution to
+study hard during another term at the college had been formed, not for
+the sake of becoming learned, but that she might become more worthy of
+Smilash; and when she learned the truth about him from his own lips, the
+idea of returning to the scene of that humiliation became intolerable
+to her. She left under the impression that her heart was broken, for
+her smarting vanity, by the law of its own existence, would not perceive
+that it was the seat of the injury. So she bade Miss Wilson adieu; and
+the bee on the window pane was heard no more at Alton College.
+
+The intelligence of Henrietta’s death shocked her the more because she
+could not help being glad that the only other person who knew of
+her folly with regard to Smilash (himself excepted) was now silenced
+forever. This seemed to her a terrible discovery of her own depravity.
+Under its influence she became almost religious, and caused some
+anxiety about her health to her mother, who was puzzled by her unwonted
+seriousness, and, in particular, by her determination not to speak
+of the misconduct of Trefusis, which was now the prevailing topic
+of conversation in the family. She listened in silence to gossiping
+discussions of his desertion of his wife, his heartless indifference
+to her decease, his violence and bad language by her deathbed, his
+parsimony, his malicious opposition to the wishes of the Janseniuses,
+his cheap tombstone with the insulting epitaph, his association with
+common workmen and low demagogues, his suspected connection with a
+secret society for the assassination of the royal family and blowing
+up of the army, his atheistic denial, in a pamphlet addressed to the
+clergy, of a statement by the Archbishop of Canterbury that spiritual
+aid alone could improve the condition of the poor in the East-end of
+London, and the crowning disgrace of his trial for seditious libel at
+the Old Bailey, where he was condemned to six months’ imprisonment; a
+penalty from which he was rescued by the ingenuity of his counsel, who
+discovered a flaw in the indictment, and succeeded, at great cost to
+Trefusis, in getting the sentence quashed. Agatha at last got tired of
+hearing of his misdeeds. She believed him to be heartless, selfish, and
+misguided, but she knew that he was not the loud, coarse, sensual, and
+ignorant brawler most of her mother’s gossips supposed him to be. She
+even felt, in spite of herself, an emotion of gratitude to the few who
+ventured to defend him.
+
+Preparation for her first season helped her to forget her misadventure.
+She “came out” in due time, and an extremely dull season she found it.
+So much so, that she sometimes asked herself whether she should ever be
+happy again. At the college there had been good fellowship, fun, rules,
+and duties which were a source of strength when observed and a source
+of delicious excitement when violated, freedom from ceremony, toffee
+making, flights on the banisters, and appreciative audiences for the
+soldier in the chimney.
+
+In society there were silly conversations lasting half a minute, cool
+acquaintanceships founded on such half-minutes, general reciprocity
+of suspicion, overcrowding, insufficient ventilation, bad music badly
+executed, late hours, unwholesome food, intoxicating liquors, jealous
+competition in useless expenditure, husband-hunting, flirting, dancing,
+theatres, and concerts. The last three, which Agatha liked, helped to
+make the contrast between Alton and London tolerable to her, but
+they had their drawbacks, for good partners at the dances, and good
+performances at the spiritless opera and concerts, were disappointingly
+scarce. Flirting she could not endure; she drove men away when they
+became tender, seeing in them the falsehood of Smilash without his wit.
+She was considered rude by the younger gentlemen of her circle. They
+discussed her bad manners among themselves, and agreed to punish her by
+not asking her to dance. She thus got rid, without knowing why, of
+the attentions she cared for least (she retained a schoolgirl’s cruel
+contempt for “boys”), and enjoyed herself as best she could with such of
+the older or more sensible men as were not intolerant of girls.
+
+At best the year was the least happy she had ever spent. She repeatedly
+alarmed her mother by broaching projects of becoming a hospital nurse,
+a public singer, or an actress. These projects led to some desultory
+studies. In order to qualify herself as a nurse she read a handbook of
+physiology, which Mrs. Wylie thought so improper a subject for a young
+lady that she went in tears to beg Mrs. Jansenius to remonstrate with
+her unruly girl. Mrs. Jansenius, better advised, was of opinion that the
+more a woman knew the more wisely she was likely to act, and that Agatha
+would soon drop the physiology of her own accord. This proved true.
+Agatha, having finished her book by dint of extensive skipping,
+proceeded to study pathology from a volume of clinical lectures. Finding
+her own sensations exactly like those described in the book as symptoms
+of the direst diseases, she put it by in alarm, and took up a novel,
+which was free from the fault she had found in the lectures, inasmuch
+as none of the emotions it described in the least resembled any she had
+ever experienced.
+
+After a brief interval, she consulted a fashionable teacher of singing
+as to whether her voice was strong enough for the operatic stage. He
+recommended her to study with him for six years, assuring her that at
+the end of that period--if she followed his directions--she should be
+the greatest singer in the world. To this there was, in her mind, the
+conclusive objection that in six years she should be an old woman. So
+she resolved to try privately whether she could not get on more quickly
+by herself. Meanwhile, with a view to the drama in case her operatic
+scheme should fail, she took lessons in elocution and gymnastics.
+Practice in these improved her health and spirits so much that her
+previous aspirations seemed too limited. She tried her hand at all the
+arts in succession, but was too discouraged by the weakness of her first
+attempts to persevere. She knew that as a general rule there are feeble
+and ridiculous beginnings to all excellence, but she never applied
+general rules to her own case, still thinking of herself as an exception
+to them, just as she had done when she romanced about Smilash. The
+illusions of adolescence were thick upon her.
+
+Meanwhile her progress was creating anxieties in which she had no share.
+Her paroxysms of exhilaration, followed by a gnawing sense of failure
+and uselessness, were known to her mother only as “wildness” and “low
+spirits,” to be combated by needlework as a sedative, or beef tea as a
+stimulant. Mrs. Wylie had learnt by rote that the whole duty of a lady
+is to be graceful, charitable, helpful, modest, and disinterested whilst
+awaiting passively whatever lot these virtues may induce. But she
+had learnt by experience that a lady’s business in society is to get
+married, and that virtues and accomplishments alike are important only
+as attractions to eligible bachelors. As this truth is shameful, young
+ladies are left for a year or two to find it out for themselves; it is
+seldom explicitly conveyed to them at their entry into society. Hence
+they often throw away capital bargains in their first season, and
+are compelled to offer themselves at greatly reduced prices
+subsequently, when their attractions begin to stale. This was the fate
+which Mrs. Wylie, warned by Mrs. Jansenius, feared for Agatha, who, time
+after time when a callow gentleman of wealth and position was introduced
+to her, drove him brusquely away as soon as he ventured to hint that his
+affections were concerned in their acquaintanceship. The anxious mother
+had to console herself with the fact that her daughter drove away the
+ineligible as ruthlessly as the eligible, formed no unworldly
+attachments, was still very young, and would grow less coy as she
+advanced in years and in what Mrs. Jansenius called sense.
+
+But as the seasons went by it remained questionable whether Agatha was
+the more to be congratulated on having begun life after leaving school
+or Henrietta on having finished it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+Brandon Beeches, in the Thames valley, was the seat of Sir Charles
+Brandon, seventh baronet of that name. He had lost his father before
+attaining his majority, and had married shortly afterwards; so that in
+his twenty-fifth year he was father to three children. He was a little
+worn, in spite of his youth, but he was tall and agreeable, had a
+winning way of taking a kind and soothing view of the misfortunes of
+others, could tell a story well, liked music and could play and sing
+a little, loved the arts of design and could sketch a little in water
+colors, read every magazine from London to Paris that criticised
+pictures, had travelled a little, fished a little, shot a little,
+botanized a little, wandered restlessly in the footsteps of women, and
+dissipated his energies through all the small channels that his wealth
+opened and his talents made easy to him. He had no large knowledge of
+any subject, though he had looked into many just far enough to replace
+absolute unconsciousness of them with measurable ignorance. Never having
+enjoyed the sense of achievement, he was troubled with unsatisfied
+aspirations that filled him with melancholy and convinced him that he
+was a born artist. His wife found him selfish, peevish, hankering after
+change, and prone to believe that he was attacked by dangerous disease
+when he was only catching cold.
+
+Lady Brandon, who believed that he understood all the subjects he
+talked about because she did not understand them herself, was one of
+his disappointments. In person she resembled none of the types of beauty
+striven after by the painters of her time, but she had charms to which
+few men are insensible. She was tall, soft, and stout, with ample and
+shapely arms, shoulders, and hips. With her small head, little ears,
+pretty lips, and roguish eye, she, being a very large creature,
+presented an immensity of half womanly, half infantile loveliness which
+smote even grave men with a desire to clasp her in their arms and kiss
+her. This desire had scattered the desultory intellectual culture of Sir
+Charles at first sight. His imagination invested her with the taste for
+the fine arts which he required from a wife, and he married her in her
+first season, only to discover that the amativeness in her temperament
+was so little and languid that she made all his attempts at fondness
+ridiculous, and robbed the caresses for which he had longed of all their
+anticipated ecstasy. Intellectually she fell still further short of his
+hopes. She looked upon his favorite art of painting as a pastime for
+amateur and a branch of the house-furnishing trade for professional
+artists. When he was discussing it among his friends, she would
+offer her opinion with a presumption which was the more trying as she
+frequently blundered upon a sound conclusion whilst he was reasoning his
+way to a hollow one with his utmost subtlety and seriousness. On such
+occasions his disgust did not trouble her in the least; she triumphed in
+it. She had concluded that marriage was a greater folly, and men greater
+fools, than she had supposed; but such beliefs rather lightened her
+sense of responsibility than disappointed her, and, as she had plenty of
+money, plenty of servants, plenty of visitors, and plenty of exercise
+on horseback, of which she was immoderately fond, her time passed
+pleasantly enough. Comfort seemed to her the natural order of life;
+trouble always surprised her. Her husband’s friends, who mistrusted
+every future hour, and found matter for bitter reflection in many past
+ones, were to her only examples of the power of sedentary habits and
+excessive reading to make men tripped and dull.
+
+One fine May morning, as she cantered along the avenue at Brandon
+Beeches on a powerful bay horse, the gates at the end opened and a young
+man sped through them on a bicycle. He was of slight frame, with fine
+dark eyes and delicate nostrils. When he recognized Lady Brandon he
+waved his cap, and when they met he sprang from his inanimate steed, at
+which the bay horse shied.
+
+“Don’t, you silly beast!” she cried, whacking the animal with the butt
+of her whip. “Though it’s natural enough, goodness knows! How d’ye do?
+The idea of anyone rich enough to afford a horse riding on a wheel like
+that!”
+
+“But I am not rich enough to afford a horse,” he said, approaching her
+to pat the bay, having placed the bicycle against a tree. “Besides, I am
+afraid of horses, not being accustomed to them; and I know nothing about
+feeding them. My steed needs no food. He doesn’t bite nor kick. He never
+goes lame, nor sickens, nor dies, nor needs a groom, nor--”
+
+“That’s all bosh,” said Lady Brandon impetuously. “It stumbles, and
+gives you the most awful tosses, and it goes lame by its treadles and
+thingamejigs coming off, and it wears out, and is twice as much trouble
+to keep clean and scrape the mud off as a horse, and all sorts of
+things. I think the most ridiculous sight in the world is a man on a
+bicycle, working away with his feet as hard as he possibly can, and
+believing that his horse is carrying him instead of, as anyone can see,
+he carrying the horse. You needn’t tell me that it isn’t easier to walk
+in the ordinary way than to drag a great dead iron thing along with you.
+It’s not good sense.”
+
+“Nevertheless I can carry it a hundred miles further in a day than I can
+carry myself alone. Such are the marvels of machinery. But I know that
+we cut a very poor figure beside you and that magnificent creature not
+that anyone will look at me whilst you are by to occupy their attention
+so much more worthily.”
+
+She darted a glance at him which clouded his vision and made his heart
+beat more strongly. This was an old habit of hers. She kept it up from
+love of fun, having no idea of the effect it produced on more ardent
+temperaments than her own. He continued hastily:
+
+“Is Sir Charles within doors?”
+
+“Oh, it’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of in my life,” she
+exclaimed. “A man that lives by himself in a place down by the Riverside
+Road like a toy savings bank--don’t you know the things I mean?--called
+Sallust’s House, says there is a right of way through our new pleasure
+ground. As if anyone could have any right there after all the money we
+have spent fencing it on three sides, and building up the wall by the
+road, and levelling, and planting, and draining, and goodness knows what
+else! And now the man says that all the common people and tramps in the
+neighborhood have a right to walk across it because they are too lazy to
+go round by the road. Sir Charles has gone to see the man about it. Of
+course he wouldn’t do as I wanted him.”
+
+“What was that?”
+
+“Write to tell the man to mind his own business, and to say that the
+first person we found attempting to trespass on our property should be
+given to the police.”
+
+“Then I shall find no one at home. I beg your pardon for calling it so,
+but it is the only place like home to me.”
+
+“Yes; it is so comfortable since we built the billiard room and took
+away those nasty hangings in the hall. I was ever so long trying to
+per--”
+
+She was interrupted by an old laborer, who hobbled up as fast as his
+rheumatism would allow him, and began to speak without further ceremony
+than snatching off his cap.
+
+“Th’ave coom to the noo groups, my lady, crowds of ‘em. An’ a parson
+with ‘em, an’ a flag! Sur Chorles he don’t know what to say; an’ sooch
+doin’s never was.”
+
+Lady Brandon turned pale and pulled at her horse as if to back him out
+of some danger. Her visitor, puzzled, asked the old man what he meant.
+
+“There’s goin’ to be a proceyshon through the noo groups,” he replied,
+“an’ the master can’t stop ‘em. Th’ave throon down the wall; three yards
+of it is lyin’ on Riverside Road. An’ there’s a parson with ‘em, and a
+flag. An’ him that lives in Sallust’s hoos, he’s there, hoddin’ ‘em on.”
+
+“Thrown down the wall!” exclaimed Lady Brandon, scarlet with indignation
+and pale with apprehension by turns. “What a disgraceful thing! Where
+are the police? Chester, will you come with me and see what they are
+doing? Sir Charles is no use. Do you think there is any danger?”
+
+“There’s two police,” said the old man, “an’ him that lives at Sallust’s
+dar’d them stop him. They’re lookin’ on. An’ there’s a parson among ‘em.
+I see him pullin’ away at the wall with his own han’s.”
+
+“I will go and see the fun,” said Chester.
+
+Lady Brandon hesitated. But her anger and curiosity vanquished her
+fears. She overtook the bicycle, and they went together through the
+gates and by the highroad to the scene the old man had described. A heap
+of bricks and mortar lay in the roadway on each side of a breach in
+the newly built wall, over which Lady Brandon, from her eminence on
+horseback, could see, coming towards her across the pleasure ground, a
+column of about thirty persons. They marched three abreast in good order
+and in silence; the expression of all except a few mirthful faces being
+that of devotees fulfilling a rite. The gravity of the procession was
+deepened by the appearance of a clergyman in its ranks, which were
+composed of men of the middle class, and a few workmen carrying a banner
+inscribed THE SOIL or ENGLAND THE BIRTHRIGHT OF ALL HER PEOPLE. There
+were also four women, upon whom Lady Brandon looked with intense
+indignation and contempt. None of the men of the neighborhood had dared
+to join; they stood in the road whispering, and occasionally venturing
+to laugh at the jests of a couple of tramps who had stopped to see the
+fun, and who cared nothing for Sir Charles.
+
+He, standing a little way within the field, was remonstrating angrily
+with a man of his own class, who stood with his back to the breach and
+his hands in the pockets of his snuff-colored clothes, contemplating
+the procession with elate satisfaction. Lady Brandon, at once suspecting
+that this was the man from Sallust’s House, and encouraged by the
+loyalty of the crowd, most of whom made way for her and touched their
+hats, hit the bay horse smartly with her whip and rode him, with a
+clatter of hoofs and scattering of clods, right at the snuff-colored
+enemy, who had to spring hastily aside to avoid her. There was a roar
+of laughter from the roadway, and the man turned sharply on her. But he
+suddenly smiled affably, replaced his hands in his pockets after raising
+his hat, and said:
+
+“How do you do, Miss Carpenter? I thought you were a charge of cavalry.”
+
+“I am not Miss Carpenter, I am Lady Brandon; and you ought to be
+ashamed of yourself, Mr. Smilash, if it is you that have brought these
+disgraceful people here.”
+
+His eyes as he replied were eloquent with reproach to her for being
+no longer Miss Carpenter. “I am not Smilash,” he said; “I am Sidney
+Trefusis. I have just had the pleasure of meeting Sir Charles for
+the first time, and we shall be the best friends possible when I have
+convinced him that it is hardly fair to seize on a path belonging to
+the people and compel them to walk a mile and a half round his estate
+instead of four hundred yards between two portions of it.”
+
+“I have already told you, sir,” said Sir Charles, “that I intend to open
+a still shorter path, and to allow all the well-conducted work-people to
+pass through twice a day. This will enable them to go to their work
+and return from it; and I will be at the cost of keeping the path in
+repair.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Trefusis drily; “but why should we trouble you when
+we have a path of our own to use fifty times a day if we choose,
+without any man barring our way until our conduct happens to please him?
+Besides, your next heir would probably shut the path up the moment he
+came into possession.”
+
+“Offering them a path is just what makes them impudent,” said Lady
+Brandon to her husband. “Why did you promise them anything? They would
+not think it a hardship to walk a mile and a half, or twenty miles, to
+a public-house, but when they go to their work they think it dreadful
+to have to walk a yard. Perhaps they would like us to lend them the
+wagonette to drive in?”
+
+“I have no doubt they would,” said Trefusis, beaming at her.
+
+“Pray leave me to manage here, Jane; this is no place for you. Bring
+Erskine to the house. He must be--”
+
+“Why don’t the police make them go away?” said Lady Brandon, too excited
+to listen to her husband.
+
+“Hush, Jane, pray. What can three men do against thirty or forty?”
+
+“They ought to take up somebody as an example to the rest.”
+
+“They have offered, in the handsomest manner, to arrest me if Sir
+Charles will give me in charge,” said Trefusis.
+
+“There!” said Lady Jane, turning to her husband. “Why don’t you give
+him--or someone--in charge?”
+
+“You know nothing about it,” said Sir Charles, vexed by a sense that she
+was publicly making him ridiculous.
+
+“If you don’t, I will,” she persisted. “The idea of having our ground
+broken into and our new wall knocked down! A nice state of things it
+would be if people were allowed to do as they liked with other peoples’
+property. I will give every one of them in charge.”
+
+“Would you consign me to a dungeon?” said Trefusis, in melancholy tones.
+
+“I don’t mean you exactly,” she said, relenting. “But I will give
+that clergyman into charge, because he ought to know better. He is the
+ringleader of the whole thing.”
+
+“He will be delighted, Lady Brandon; he pines for martyrdom. But will
+you really give him into custody?”
+
+“I will,” she said vehemently, emphasizing the assurance by a plunge in
+the saddle that made the bay stagger.
+
+“On what charge?” he said, patting the horse and looking up at her.
+
+“I don’t care what charge,” she replied, conscious that she was being
+admired, and not displeased. “Let them take him up, that’s all.”
+
+Human beings on horseback are so far centaurs that liberties taken with
+their horses are almost as personal as liberties taken with themselves.
+When Sir Charles saw Trefusis patting the bay he felt as much outraged
+as if Lady Brandon herself were being patted, and he felt bitterly
+towards her for permitting the familiarity. He uas relieved by the
+arrival of the procession. It halted as the leader came up to Trefusis,
+who said gravely:
+
+“Gentlemen, I congratulate you on the firmness with which you have this
+day asserted the rights of the people of this place to the use of one of
+the few scraps of mother earth of which they have not been despoiled.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” shouted an excited member of the procession, “three cheers
+for the resumption of the land of England by the people of England! Hip,
+hip, hurrah!”
+
+The cheers were given with much spirit, Sir Charles’s cheeks becoming
+redder at each repetition. He looked angrily at the clergyman, now
+distracted by the charms of Lady Brandon, whose scorn, as she surveyed
+the crowd, expressed itself by a pout which became her pretty lips
+extremely.
+
+Then a middle-aged laborer stepped from the road into the field, hat in
+hand, ducked respectfully, and said: “Look ‘e here, Sir Charles. Don’t
+‘e mind them fellers. There ain’t a man belonging to this neighborhood
+among ‘em; not one in your employ or on your land. Our dooty to you and
+your ladyship, and we will trust to you to do what is fair by us. We
+want no interlopers from Lunnon to get us into trouble with your honor,
+and--”
+
+“You unmitigated cur,” exclaimed Trefusis fiercely, “what right have you
+to give away to his unborn children the liberty of your own?”
+
+“They’re not unborn,” said Lady Brandon indignantly. “That just shows
+how little you know about it.”
+
+“No, nor mine either,” said the man, emboldened by her ladyship’s
+support. “And who are you that call me a cur?”
+
+“Who am I! I am a rich man--one of your masters, and privileged to call
+you what I please. You are a grovelling famine-broken slave. Now go and
+seek redress against me from the law. I can buy law enough to ruin you
+for less money than it would cost me to shoot deer in Scotland or vermin
+here. How do you like that state of things? Eh?”
+
+The man was taken aback. “Sir Charles will stand by me,” he said, after
+a pause, with assumed confidence, but with an anxious glance at the
+baronet.
+
+“If he does, after witnessing the return you have made me for standing
+by you, he is a greater fool than I take him to be.”
+
+“Gently, gently,” said the clergyman. “There is much excuse to be made
+for the poor fellow.”
+
+“As gently as you please with any man that is a free man at heart,” said
+Trefusis; “but slaves must be driven, and this fellow is a slave to the
+marrow.”
+
+“Still, we must be patient. He does not know--”
+
+“He knows a great deal better than you do,” said Lady Brandon,
+interrupting. “And the more shame for you, because you ought to know
+best. I suppose you were educated somewhere. You will not be satisfied
+with yourself when your bishop hears of this. Yes,” she added, turning
+to Trefusis with an infantile air of wanting to cry and being forced
+to laugh against her will, “you may laugh as much as you please--don’t
+trouble to pretend it’s only coughing--but we will write to his bishop,
+as he shall find to his cost.”
+
+“Hold your tongue, Jane, for God’s sake,” said Sir Charles, taking her
+horse by the bridle and backing him from Trefusis.
+
+“I will not. If you choose to stand here and allow them to walk away
+with the walls in their pockets, I don’t, and won’t. Why cannot you make
+the police do something?”
+
+“They can do nothing,” said Sir Charles, almost beside himself with
+humiliation. “I cannot do anything until I see my solicitor. How can you
+bear to stay here wrangling with these fellows? It is SO undignified!”
+
+“It’s all very well to talk of dignity, but I don’t see the dignity of
+letting people trample on our grounds without leave. Mr. Smilash,
+will you make them all go away, and tell them that they shall all be
+prosecuted and put in prison?”
+
+“They are going to the crossroads, to hold a public meeting and--of
+course--make speeches. I am desired to say that they deeply regret that
+their demonstration should have disturbed you personally, Lady Brandon.”
+
+“So they ought,” she replied. “They don’t look very sorry. They are
+getting frightened at what they have done, and they would be glad to
+escape the consequences by apologizing, most likely. But they shan’t. I
+am not such a fool as they think.”
+
+“They don’t think so. You have proved the contrary.”
+
+“Jane,” said Sir Charles pettishly, “do you know this gentleman?”
+
+“I should think I do,” said Lady Brandon emphatically.
+
+Trefusis bowed as if he had just been formally introduced to the
+baronet, who, against his will, returned the salutation stiffly, unable
+to ignore an older, firmer, and quicker man under the circumstances.
+
+“This seems an unneighborly business, Sir Charles,” said Trefusis, quite
+at his ease; “but as it is a public question, it need not prejudice our
+private relations. At least I hope not.”
+
+Sir Charles bowed again, more stiffly than before.
+
+“I am, like you, a capitalist and landlord.”
+
+“Which it seems to me you have no right to be, if you are in earnest,”
+ struck in Chester, who had been watching the scene in silence by Sir
+Charles’s side.
+
+“Which, as you say, I have undoubtedly no right to be,” said Trefusis,
+surveying him with interest; “but which I nevertheless cannot help
+being. Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Chichester Erskine, author
+of a tragedy entitled ‘The Patriot Martyrs,’ dedicated with enthusiastic
+devotion to the Spirit of Liberty and half a dozen famous upholders of
+that principle, and denouncing in forcible language the tyranny of the
+late Tsar of Russia, Bomba of Naples, and Napoleon the Third?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Erskine, reddening; for he felt that this description
+might make his drama seem ridiculous to those present who had not read
+it.
+
+“Then,” said Trefusis, extending his hand--Erskine at first thought for
+a hearty shake--“give me half-a-crown towards the cost of our expedition
+here to-day to assert the right of the people to tread the soil we are
+standing upon.”
+
+“You shall do nothing of the sort, Chester,” cried Lady Brandon. “I
+never heard of such a thing in my life! Do you pay us for the wall and
+fence your people have broken, Mr. Smilash; that would be more to the
+purpose.”
+
+“If I could find a thousand men as practical as you, Lady Brandon,
+I might accomplish the next great revolution before the end of this
+season.” He looked at her for a moment curiously, as if trying to
+remember; and then added inconsequently: “How are your friends? There
+was a Miss--Miss--I am afraid I have forgotten all the names except your
+own.”
+
+“Gertrude Lindsay is staying with us. Do you remember her?”
+
+“I think--no, I am afraid I do not. Let me see. Was she a haughty young
+lady?”
+
+“Yes,” said Lady Brandon eagerly, forgetting the wall and fence. “But
+who do you think is coming next Thursday? I met her accidentally the
+last time I was in town. She’s not a bit changed. You can’t forget her,
+so don’t pretend to be puzzled.”
+
+“You have not told me who she is yet. And I shall probably not remember
+her. You must not expect me to recognize everyone instantaneously, as I
+recognized you.”
+
+“What stuff! You will know Agatha fast enough.”
+
+“Agatha Wylie!” he said, with sudden gravity.
+
+“Yes. She is coming on Thursday. Are you glad?”
+
+“I fear I shall have no opportunity of seeing her.”
+
+“Oh, of course you must see her. It will be so jolly for us all to meet
+again just as we used. Why can’t you come to luncheon on Thursday?”
+
+“I shall be delighted, if you will really allow me to come after my
+conduct here.”
+
+“The lawyers will settle that. Now that you have found out who we are
+you will stop pulling down our walls, of course.”
+
+“Of course,” said Trefusis, smiling, as he took out a pocket diary and
+entered the engagement. “I must hurry away to the crossroads. They have
+probably voted me into the chair by this time, and are waiting for me
+to open their meeting. Good-bye. You have made this place, which I was
+growing tired of, unexpectedly interesting to me.”
+
+They exchanged glances of the old college pattern. Then he nodded to
+Sir Charles, waved his hand familiarly to Erskine, and followed the
+procession, which was by this time out of sight.
+
+Sir Charles, who, waiting to speak, had been repeatedly baffled by the
+hasty speeches of his wife and the unhesitating replies of Trefusis, now
+turned angrily upon her, saying:
+
+“What do you mean by inviting that fellow to my house?”
+
+“Your house, indeed! I will invite whom I please. You are getting into
+one of your tempers.”
+
+Sir Charles looked about him. Erskine had discreetly slipped away, and
+was in the road, tightening a screw in his bicycle. The few persons who
+remained were out of earshot.
+
+“Who and what the devil is he, and how do you come to know him?” he
+demanded. He never swore in the presence of any lady except his wife,
+and then only when they were alone.
+
+“He is a gentleman, which is more than you are,” she retorted, and, with
+a cut of her whip that narrowly missed her husband’s shoulder, sent the
+bay plunging through the gap.
+
+“Come along,” she said to Erskine. “We shall be late for luncheon.”
+
+“Had we not better wait for Sir Charles?” he asked injudiciously.
+
+“Never mind Sir Charles, he is in the sulks,” she said, without abating
+her voice. “Come along.” And she went off at a canter, Erskine following
+her with a misgiving that his visit was unfortunately timed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+On the following Thursday Gertrude, Agatha, and Jane met for the first
+time since they had parted at Alton College. Agatha was the shyest of
+the three, and externally the least changed. She fancied herself very
+different from the Agatha of Alton; but it was her opinion of herself
+that had altered, not her person. Expecting to find a corresponding
+alteration in her friends, she had looked forward to the meeting with
+much doubt and little hope of its proving pleasant.
+
+She was more anxious about Gertrude than about Jane, concerning whom,
+at a brief interview in London, she had already discovered that Lady
+Brandon’s manner, mind, and speech were just what Miss Carpenter’s had
+been. But, even from Agatha, Jane commanded more respect than before,
+having changed from an overgrown girl into a fine woman, and made a
+brilliant match in her first season, whilst many of her pretty, proud,
+and clever contemporaries, whom she had envied at school, were still
+unmarried, and were having their homes made uncomfortable by parents
+anxious to get rid of the burthen of supporting them, and to profit in
+purse or position by their marriages.
+
+This was Gertrude’s case. Like Agatha, she had thrown away her
+matrimonial opportunities. Proud of her rank and exclusiveness, she had
+resolved to have as little as possible to do with persons who did not
+share both with her. She began by repulsing the proffered acquaintance
+of many families of great wealth and fashion, who either did not know
+their grandparents or were ashamed of them. Having shut herself out of
+their circle, she was presented at court, and thenceforth accepted the
+invitations of those only who had, in her opinion, a right to the same
+honor. And she was far stricter on that point than the Lord Chamberlain,
+who had, she held, betrayed his trust by practically turning Leveller.
+She was well educated, refined in her manners and habits, skilled in
+etiquette to an extent irritating to the ignorant, and gifted with
+a delicate complexion, pearly teeth, and a face that would have been
+Grecian but for a slight upward tilt of the nose and traces of a square,
+heavy type in the jaw. Her father was a retired admiral, with sufficient
+influence to have had a sinecure made by a Conservative government
+expressly for the maintenance of his son pending alliance with some
+heiress. Yet Gertrude remained single, and the admiral, who had formerly
+spent more money than he could comfortably afford on her education,
+and was still doing so upon her state and personal adornment, was
+complaining so unpleasantly of her failure to get taken off his hands,
+that she could hardly bear to live at home, and was ready to marry any
+thoroughbred gentleman, however unsuitable his age or character, who
+would relieve her from her humiliating dependence. She was prepared to
+sacrifice her natural desire for youth, beauty, and virtue in a husband
+if she could escape from her parents on no easier terms, but she was
+resolved to die an old maid sooner than marry an upstart.
+
+The difficulty in her way was pecuniary. The admiral was poor. He
+had not quite six thousand a year, and though he practiced the utmost
+economy in order to keep up the most expensive habits, he could not
+afford to give his daughter a dowry. Now the well born bachelors of
+her set, having more blue bood, but much less wealth, than they needed,
+admired her, paid her compliments, danced with her, but could not afford
+to marry her. Some of them even told her so, married rich daughters of
+tea merchants, iron founders, or successful stocktrokers, and then tried
+to make matches between her and their lowly born brothers-in-law.
+
+So, when Gertrude met Lady Brandon, her lot was secretly wretched, and
+she was glad to accept an invitation to Brandon Beeches in order to
+escape for a while from the admiral’s daily sarcasms on the marriage
+list in the “Times.” The invitation was the more acceptable because Sir
+Charles was no mushroom noble, and, in the schooldays which Gertrude now
+remembered as the happiest of her life, she had acknowledged that Jane’s
+family and connections were more aristocratic than those of any other
+student then at Alton, herself excepted. To Agatha, whose grandfather
+had amassed wealth as a proprietor of gasworks (novelties in his time),
+she had never offered her intimacy. Agatha had taken it by force, partly
+moral, partly physical. But the gasworks were never forgotten, and when
+Lady Brandon mentioned, as a piece of delightful news, that she had
+found out their old school companion, and had asked her to join them,
+Gertrude was not quite pleased. Yet, when they met, her eyes were the
+only wet ones there, for she was the least happy of the three, and,
+though she did not know it, her spirit was somewhat broken. Agatha, she
+thought, had lost the bloom of girlhood, but was bolder, stronger,
+and cleverer than before. Agatha had, in fact, summoned all her
+self-possession to hide her shyness. She detected the emotion of
+Gertrude, who at the last moment did not try to conceal it. It would
+have been poured out freely in words, had Gertrude’s social training
+taught her to express her feelings as well as it had accustomed her to
+dissemble them.
+
+“Do you remember Miss Wilson?” said Jane, as the three drove from the
+railway station to Brandon Beeches. “Do you remember Mrs. Miller and
+her cat? Do you remember the Recording Angel? Do you remember how I fell
+into the canal?”
+
+These reminiscences lasted until they reached the house and went
+together to Agatha’s room. Here Jane, having some orders to give in
+the household, had to leave them--reluctantly; for she was jealous
+lest Gertrude should get the start of her in the renewal of Agatha’s
+affection. She even tried to take her rival away with her; but in vain.
+Gertrude would not budge.
+
+“What a beautiful house and splendid place!” said Agatha when Jane was
+gone. “And what a nice fellow Sir Charles is! We used to laugh at Jane,
+but she can afford to laugh at the luckiest of us now. I always said she
+would blunder into the best of everything. Is it true that she married
+in her first season?”
+
+“Yes. And Sir Charles is a man of great culture. I cannot understand it.
+Her size is really beyond everything, and her manners are bad.”
+
+“Hm!” said Agatha with a wise air. “There was always something about
+Jane that attracted men. And she is more knave than fool. But she is
+certainly a great ass.”
+
+Gertrude looked serious, to imply that she had grown out of the habit
+of using or listening to such language. Agatha, stimulated by this,
+continued:
+
+“Here are you and I, who consider ourselves twice as presentable and
+conversable as she, two old maids.” Gertrude winced, and Agatha hastened
+to add: “Why, as for you, you are perfectly lovely! And she has asked us
+down expressly to marry us.”
+
+“She would not presume--”
+
+“Nonsense, my dear Gertrude. She thinks that we are a couple of fools
+who have mismanaged our own business, and that she, having managed so
+well for herself, can settle us in a jiffy. Come, did she not say to
+you, before I came, that it was time for me to be getting married?”
+
+“Well, she did. But--”
+
+“She said exactly the same thing to me about you when she invited me.”
+
+“I would leave her house this moment,” said Gertrude, “if I thought she
+dared meddle in my affairs. What is it to her whether I am married or
+not?”
+
+“Where have you been living all these years, if you do not know that the
+very first thing a woman wants to do when she has made a good match is
+to make ones for all her spinster friends. Jane does not mean any harm.
+She does it out of pure benevolence.”
+
+“I do not need Jane’s benevolence.”
+
+“Neither do I; but it doesn’t do any harm, and she is welcome to amuse
+herself by trotting out her male acquaintances for my approval. Hush!
+Here she comes.”
+
+Gertrude subsided. She could not quarrel with Lady Brandon without
+leaving the house, and she could not leave the house without returning
+to her home. But she privately resolved to discourage the attentions
+of Erskine, suspecting that instead of being in love with her as he
+pretended, he had merely been recommended by Jane to marry her.
+
+Chichester Erskine had made sketches in Palestine with Sir Charles, and
+had tramped with him through many European picture galleries. He was a
+young man of gentle birth, and had inherited fifteen hundred a year from
+his mother, the bulk of the family property being his elder brother’s.
+Having no profession, and being fond of books and pictures, he had
+devoted himself to fine art, a pursuit which offered him on the cheapest
+terms a high opinion of the beauty and capacity of his own nature. He
+had published a tragedy entitled, “The Patriot Martyrs,” with an etched
+frontispiece by Sir Charles, and an edition of it had been speedily
+disposed of in presentations to the friends of the artist and poet,
+and to the reviews and newspapers. Sir Charles had asked an eminent
+tragedian of his acquaintance to place the work on the stage and to
+enact one of the patriot martyrs. But the tragedian had objected that
+the other patriot martyrs had parts of equal importance to that proposed
+for him. Erskine had indignantly refused to cut these parts down or out,
+and so the project had fallen through.
+
+Since then Erskine had been bent on writing another drama, without
+regard to the exigencies of the stage, but he had not yet begun it, in
+consequence of his inspiration coming upon him at inconvenient hours,
+chiefly late at night, when he had been drinking, and had leisure for
+sonnets only. The morning air and bicycle riding were fatal to the
+vein in which poetry struck him as being worth writing. In spite of the
+bicycle, however, the drama, which was to be entitled “Hypatia,” was
+now in a fair way to be written, for the poet had met and fallen in love
+with Gertrude Lindsay, whose almost Grecian features, and some knowledge
+of the different calculua which she had acquired at Alton, helped him to
+believe that she was a fit model for his heroine.
+
+When the ladies came downstairs they found their host and Erskine in the
+picture gallery, famous in the neighborhood for the sum it had cost Sir
+Charles. There was a new etching to be admired, and they were called on
+to observe what the baronet called its tones, and what Agatha would have
+called its degrees of smudginess. Sir Charles’s attention often wandered
+from this work of art. He looked at his watch twice, and said to his
+wife:
+
+“I have ordered them to be punctual with the luncheon.”
+
+“Oh, yes; it’s all right,” said Lady Brandon, who had given orders that
+luncheon was not to be served until the arrival of another gentleman.
+“Show Agatha the picture of the man in the--”
+
+“Mr. Trefusis,” said a servant.
+
+Mr. Trefusis, still in snuff color, entered; coat unbuttoned and
+attention unconstrained; exasperatingly unconscious of any occasion for
+ceremony.
+
+“Here you are at last,” said Lady Brandon. “You know everybody, don’t
+you?”
+
+“How do you do?” said Sir Charles, offering his hand as a severe
+expression of his duty to his wife’s guest, who took it cordially,
+nodded to Erskine, looked without recognition at Gertrude, whose frosty
+stillness repudiated Lady Brandon’s implication that the stranger was
+acquainted with her, and turned to Agatha, to whom he bowed. She made no
+sign; she was paralyzed. Lady Brandon reddened with anger. Sir Charles
+noted his guest’s reception with secret satisfaction, but shared the
+embarrassment which oppressed all present except Trefusis, who seemed
+quite indifferent and assured, and unconsciously produced an impression
+that the others had not been equal to the occasion, as indeed they had
+not.
+
+“We were looking at some etchings when you came in,” said Sir Charles,
+hastening to break the silence. “Do you care for such things?” And he
+handed him a proof.
+
+Trefusis looked at it as if he had never seen such a thing before and
+did not quite know what to make of it. “All these scratches seem to me
+to have no meaning,” he said dubiously.
+
+Sir Charles stole a contemptuous smile and significant glance at
+Erskine. He, seized already with an instinctive antipathy to Trefusis,
+said emphatically:
+
+“There is not one of those scratches that has not a meaning.”
+
+“That one, for instance, like the limb of a daddy-long-legs. What does
+that mean?”
+
+Erskine hesitated a moment; recovered himself; and said: “Obviously
+enough--to me at least--it indicates the marking of the roadway.”
+
+“Not a bit of it,” said Trefusis. “There never was such a mark as that
+on a road. It may be a very bad attempt at a briar, but briars don’t
+straggle into the middle of roads frequented as that one seems to
+be--judging by those overdone ruts.” He put the etching away, showing no
+disposition to look further into the portfolio, and remarked, “The only
+art that interests me is photography.”
+
+Erskine and Sir Charles again exchanged glances, and the former said:
+
+“Photography is not an art in the sense in which I understand the term.
+It is a process.”
+
+“And a much less troublesome and more perfect process than that,” said
+Trefusis, pointing to the etching. “The artists are sticking to the old
+barbarous, difficult, and imperfect processes of etching and portrait
+painting merely to keep up the value of their monopoly of the required
+skill. They have left the new, more complexly organized, and more
+perfect, yet simple and beautiful method of photography in the hands
+of tradesmen, sneering at it publicly and resorting to its aid
+surreptitiously. The result is that the tradesmen are becoming better
+artists than they, and naturally so; for where, as in photography,
+the drawing counts for nothing, the thought and judgment count for
+everything; whereas in the etching and daubing processes, where great
+manual skill is needed to produce anything that the eye can endure, the
+execution counts for more than the thought, and if a fellow only fit
+to carry bricks up a ladder or the like has ambition and perseverance
+enough to train his hand and push into the van, you cannot afford to put
+him back into his proper place, because thoroughly trained hands are
+so scarce. Consider the proof of this that you have in literature. Our
+books are manually the work of printers and papermakers; you may cut
+an author’s hand off and he is as good an author as before. What is the
+result? There is more imagination in any number of a penny journal than
+in half-a-dozen of the Royal Academy rooms in the season. No author
+can live by his work and be as empty-headed as an average successful
+painter. Again, consider our implements of music--our pianofortes, for
+example. Nobody but an acrobat will voluntarily spend years at such a
+difficult mechanical puzzle as the keyboard, and so we have to take our
+impressions of Beethoven’s sonatas from acrobats who vie with each other
+in the rapidity of their prestos, or the staying power of their
+left wrists. Thoughtful men will not spend their lives acquiring
+sleight-of-hand. Invent a piano which will respond as delicately to
+the turning of a handle as our present ones do to the pressure of the
+fingers, and the acrobats will be driven back to their carpets and
+trapezes, because the sole faculty necessary to the executant musician
+will be the musical faculty, and no other will enable him to obtain a
+hearing.”
+
+The company were somewhat overcome by this unexpected lecture. Sir
+Charles, feeling that such views bore adversely on him, and were somehow
+iconoclastic and low-lived, was about to make a peevish retort, when
+Erskine forestalled him by asking Trefusis what idea he had formed of
+the future of the arts. He replied promptly. “Photography perfected
+in its recently discovered power of reproducing color as well as form!
+Historical pictures replaced by photographs of tableaux vivants formed
+and arranged by trained actors and artists, and used chiefly for the
+instruction of children. Nine-tenths of painting as we understand it at
+present extinguished by the competition of these photographs, and
+the remaining tenth only holding its own against them by dint of
+extraordinary excellence! Our mistuned and unplayable organs and
+pianofortes replaced by harmonious instruments, as manageable as
+barrel organs! Works of fiction superseded by interesting company
+and conversation, and made obsolete by the human mind outgrowing the
+childishness that delights in the tales told by grownup children such as
+novelists and their like! An end to the silly confusion, under the one
+name of Art, of the tomfoolery and make-believe of our play-hours with
+the higher methods of teaching men to know themselves! Every artist an
+amateur, and a consequent return to the healthy old disposition to look
+on every man who makes art a means of money-getting as a vagabond not to
+be entertained as an equal by honest men!”
+
+“In which case artists will starve, and there will be no more art.”
+
+“Sir,” said Trefusis, excited by the word, “I, as a Socialist, can tell
+you that starvation is now impossible, except where, as in England,
+masterless men are forcibly prevented from producing the food they
+need. And you, as an artist, can tell me that at present great artists
+invariably do starve, except when they are kept alive by charity,
+private fortune, or some drudgery which hinders them in the pursuit of
+their vocation.”
+
+“Oh!” said Erskine. “Then Socialists have some little sympathy with
+artists after all.”
+
+“I fear,” said Trefusis, repressing himself and speaking quietly again,
+“that when a Socialist hears of a hundred pounds paid for a drawing
+which Andrea del Sarto was glad to sell for tenpence, his heart is not
+wrung with pity for the artist’s imaginary loss as that of a modern
+capitalist is. Yet that is the only way nowadays of enlisting sympathy
+for the old masters. Frightful disability, to be out of the reach of
+the dearest market when you want to sell your drawings! But,” he added,
+giving himself a shake, and turning round gaily, “I did not come here
+to talk shop. So--pending the deluge--let us enjoy ourselves after our
+manner.”
+
+“No,” said Jane. “Please go on about Art. It’s such a relief to hear
+anyone talking sensibly about it. I hate etching. It makes your eyes
+sore--at least the acid gets into Sir Charles’s, and the difference
+between the first and second states is nothing but imagination, except
+that the last state is worse than the--here’s luncheon!”
+
+They went downstairs then. Trefusis sat between Agatha and Lady Brandon,
+to whom he addressed all his conversation. They chatted without much
+interruption from the business of the table; for Jane, despite her
+amplitude, had a small appetite, and was fearful of growing fat; whilst
+Trefusis was systematically abstemious. Sir Charles was unusually
+silent. He was afraid to talk about art, lest he should be contradicted
+by Trefusis, who, he already felt, cared less and perhaps knew more
+about it than he. Having previously commented to Agatha on the beauty of
+the ripening spring, and inquired whether her journey had fatigued her,
+he had said as much as he could think of at a first meeting. For her
+part, she was intent on Trefusis, who, though he must know, she thought,
+that they were all hostile to him except Jane, seemed as confident now
+as when he had befooled her long ago. That thought set her teeth on
+edge. She did not doubt the sincerity of her antipathy to him even when
+she detected herself in the act of protesting inwardly that she was not
+glad to meet him again, and that she would not speak to him. Gertrude,
+meanwhile, was giving short answers to Erskine and listening to
+Trefusis. She had gathered from the domestic squabbles of the last
+few days that Lady Brandon, against her husband’s will, had invited a
+notorious demagogue, the rich son of a successful cotton-spinner, to
+visit the Beeches. She had made up her mind to snub any such man. But on
+recognizing the long-forgotten Smilash, she had been astonished, and
+had not known what to do. So, to avoid doing anything improper, she had
+stood stilly silent and done nothing, as the custom of English ladies in
+such cases is. Subsequently, his unconscious self-assertion had wrought
+with her as with the others, and her intention of snubbing him had faded
+into the limbo of projects abandoned without trial. Erskine alone was
+free from the influence of the intruder. He wished himself elsewhere;
+but beside Gertrude the presence or absence of any other person troubled
+him very little.
+
+“How are the Janseniuses?” said Trefusis, suddenly turning to Agatha.
+
+“They are quite well, thank you,” she said in measured tones.
+
+“I met John Jansenius in the city lately. You know Jansenius?” he added
+parenthetically to Sir Charles. “Cotman’s bank--the last Cotman died
+out of the firm before we were born. The Chairman of the Transcanadian
+Railway Company.”
+
+“I know the name. I am seldom in the city.”
+
+“Naturally,” assented Trefusis; “for who would sadden himself by pushing
+his way through a crowd of such slaves, if he could help it? I mean
+slaves of Mammon, of course. To run the gauntlet of their faces in
+Cornhill is enough to discourage a thoughtful man for hours. Well,
+Jansenius, being high in the court of Mammon, is looking out for a good
+post in the household for his son. Jansenius, by-the-bye is Miss Wylie’s
+guardian and the father of my late wife.”
+
+Agatha felt inclined to deny this; but, as it was true, she had to
+forbear. Resolved to show that the relations between her family and
+Trefusis were not cordial ones, she asked deliberately, “Did Mr.
+Jansenius speak to you?”
+
+Gertrude looked up, as if she thought this scarcely ladylike.
+
+“Yes,” said Trefusis. “We are the best friends in the world--as good as
+possible, at any rate. He wanted me to subscribe to a fund for relieving
+the poor at the east end of London by assisting them to emigrate.”
+
+“I presume you subscribed liberally,” said Erskine. “It was an
+opportunity of doing some practical good.”
+
+“I did not,” said Trefusis, grinning at the sarcasm. “This Transcanadian
+Railway Company, having got a great deal of spare land from the Canadian
+government for nothing, thought it would be a good idea to settle
+British workmen on it and screw rent out of them. Plenty of British
+workmen, supplanted in their employment by machinery, or cheap foreign
+labor, or one thing or another, were quite willing to go; but as they
+couldn’t afford to pay their passages to Canada, the Company appealed
+to the benevolent to pay for them by subscription, as the change would
+improve their miserable condition. I did not see why I should pay to
+provide a rich company with tenant farmers, and I told Jansenius so.
+He remarked that when money and not talk was required, the workmen of
+England soon found out who were their real friends.”
+
+“I know nothing about these questions,” said Sir Charles, with an air
+of conclusiveness; “but I see no objection to emigration.” “The fact
+is,” said Trefusis, “the idea of emigration is a dangerous one for us.
+Familiarize the workman with it, and some day he may come to see what a
+capital thing it would be to pack off me, and you, with the peerage,
+and the whole tribe of unprofitable proprietors such as we are, to St.
+Helena; making us a handsome present of the island by way of indemnity!
+We are such a restless, unhappy lot, that I doubt whether it would not
+prove a good thing for us too. The workmen would lose nothing but the
+contemplation of our elegant persons, exquisite manners, and refined
+tastes. They might provide against that loss by picking out a few of
+us to keep for ornament’s sake. No nation with a sense of beauty would
+banish Lady Brandon, or Miss Lindsay, or Miss Wylie.”
+
+“Such nonsense!” said Jane.
+
+“You would hardly believe how much I have spent in sending workmen out
+of the country against my own view of the country’s interest,” continued
+Trefusis, addressing Erskine. “When I make a convert among the working
+classes, the first thing he does is to make a speech somewhere declaring
+his new convictions. His employer immediately discharges him--‘gives
+him the sack’ is the technical phrase. The sack is the sword of the
+capitalist, and hunger keeps it sharp for him. His shield is the law,
+made for the purpose by his own class. Thus equipped, he gives the worst
+of it to my poor convert, who comes ruined to me for assistance. As I
+cannot afford to pension him for life, I get rid of him by assisting him
+to emigrate. Sometimes he prospers and repays me; sometimes I hear no
+more of him; sometimes he comes back with his habits unsettled. One
+man whom I sent to America made his fortune, but he was not a social
+democrat; he was a clerk who had embezzled, and who applied to me for
+assistance under the impression that I considered it rather meritorious
+to rob the till of a capitalist.”
+
+“He was a practical Socialist, in fact,” said Erskine.
+
+“On the contrary, he was a somewhat too grasping Individualist. Howbeit,
+I enabled him to make good his defalcation--in the city they consider a
+defalcation made good when the money is replaced--and to go to New York.
+I recommended him not to go there; but he knew better than I, for
+he made a fortune by speculating with money that existed only in the
+imagination of those with whom he dealt. He never repaid me; he is
+probably far too good a man of business to pay money that cannot be
+extracted from him by an appeal to the law or to his commercial credit.
+Mr. Erskine,” added Trefusis, lowering his voice, and turning to the
+poet, “you are wrong to take part with hucksters and money-hunters
+against your own nature, even though the attack upon them is led by a
+man who prefers photography to etching.”
+
+“But I assure you--You quite mistake me,” said Erskine, taken aback.
+“I--”
+
+He stopped, looked to Sir Charles for support, and then said airily:
+“I don’t doubt that you are quite right. I hate business and men of
+business; and as to social questions, I have only one article of belief,
+which is, that the sole refiner of human nature is fine art.”
+
+“Whereas I believe that the sole refiner of art is human nature. Art
+rises when men rise, and grovels when men grovel. What is your opinion?”
+
+“I agree with you in many ways,” replied Sir Charles nervously; for a
+lack of interest in his fellow-creatures, and an excess of interest in
+himself, had prevented him from obtaining that power of dealing with
+social questions which, he felt, a baronet ought to possess, and he
+was consequently afraid to differ from anyone who alluded to them with
+confidence. “If you take an interest in art, I believe I can show you a
+few things worth seeing.”
+
+“Thank you. In return I will some day show you a remarkable collection
+of photographs I possess; many of them taken by me. I venture to think
+they will teach you something.”
+
+“No doubt,” said Sir Charles. “Shall we return to the gallery? I have a
+few treasures there that photography is not likely to surpass for some
+time yet.”
+
+“Let’s go through the conservatory,” said Jane. “Don’t you like flowers,
+Mr. Smi--I never can remember your proper name.”
+
+“Extremely,” said Trefusis.
+
+They rose and went out into a long hothouse. Here Lady Brandon, finding
+Erskine at her side, and Sir Charles before her with Gertrude,
+looked round for Trefusis, with whom she intended to enjoy a trifling
+flirtation under cover of showing him the flowers. He was out of sight;
+but she heard his footsteps in the passage on the opposite side of the
+greenhouse. Agatha was also invisible. Jane, not daring to rearrange
+their procession lest her design should become obvious, had to walk on
+with Erskine.
+
+Agatha had turned unintentionally into the opposite alley to that which
+the others had chosen. When she saw what she had done, and found herself
+virtually alone with Trefusis, who had followed her, she blamed him for
+it, and was about to retrace her steps when he said coolly:
+
+“Were you shocked when you heard of Henrietta’s sudden death?”
+
+Agatha struggled with herself for a moment, and then said in a
+suppressed voice: “How dare you speak to me?”
+
+“Why not?” said he, astonished.
+
+“I am not going to enter into a discussion with you. You know what I
+mean very well.”
+
+“You mean that you are offended with me; that is plain enough. But when
+I part with a young lady on good terms, and after a lapse of years,
+during which we neither meet nor correspond, she asks me how I dare
+speak to her, I am naturally startled.”
+
+“We did not part on good terms.”
+
+Trefusis stretched his eyebrows, as if to stretch his memory. “If not,”
+ he said, “I have forgotten it, on my honor. When did we part, and
+what happened? It cannot have been anything very serious, or I should
+remember it.”
+
+His forgetfulness wounded Agatha. “No doubt you are well accustomed
+to--” She checked herself, and made a successful snatch at her normal
+manner with gentlemen. “I scarcely remember what it was, now that I
+begin to think. Some trifle, I suppose. Do you like orchids?”
+
+“They have nothing to do with our affairs at present. You are not in
+earnest about the orchids, and you are trying to run away from a mistake
+instead of clearing it up. That is a short-sighted policy, always.”
+
+Agatha grew alarmed, for she felt his old influence over her returning.
+“I do not wish to speak of it,” she said firmly.
+
+Her firmness was lost on him. “I do not even know what it means yet,” he
+said, “and I want to know, for I believe there is some misunderstanding
+between us, and it is the trick of your sex to perpetuate
+misunderstandings by forbidding all allusions to them. Perhaps, leaving
+Lyvern so hastily, I forgot to fulfil some promise, or to say farewell,
+or something of that sort. But do you know how suddenly I was called
+away? I got a telegram to say that Henrietta was dying, and I had only
+time to change my clothes--you remember my disguise--and catch the
+express. And, after all, she was dead when I arrived.”
+
+“I know that,” said Agatha uneasily. “Please say no more about it.”
+
+“Not if it distresses you. Just let me hope that you did not suppose I
+blamed you for your share in the matter or that I told the Janseniuses
+of it. I did not. Yes, I like orchids. A plant that can subsist on a
+scrap of board is an instance of natural econ--”
+
+“YOU blame ME!” cried Agatha. “_I_ never told the Janseniuses. What
+would they have thought of you if I had?”
+
+“Far worse of you than of me, however unjustly. You were the immediate
+cause of the tragedy; I only the remote one. Jansenius is not far-seeing
+when his feelings are touched. Few men are.”
+
+“I don’t understand you in the least. What tragedy do you mean?”
+
+“Henrietta’s death. I call it a tragedy conventionally. Seriously, of
+course, it was commonplace enough.”
+
+Agatha stopped and faced him. “What do you mean by what you said just
+now? You said that I was the immediate cause of the tragedy, and you say
+that you were talking of Henrietta’s--of Henrietta. I had nothing to do
+with her illness.”
+
+Trefusis looked at her as if considering whether he would go any
+further. Then, watching her with the curiosity of a vivisector, he said:
+“Strange to say, Agatha,” (she shrank proudly at the word), “Henrietta
+might have been alive now but for you. I am very glad she is not; so you
+need not reproach yourself on my account. She died of a journey she
+made to Lyvern in great excitement and distress, and in intensely cold
+weather. You caused her to make that journey by writing her a letter
+which made her jealous.”
+
+“Do you mean to accuse me--”
+
+“No; stop!” he said hastily, the vivisecting spirit in him exorcised
+by her shaking voice; “I accuse you of nothing. Why do you not speak
+honestly to me when you are at your ease? If you confess your real
+thoughts only under torture, who can resist the temptation to torture
+you? One must charge you with homicide to make you speak of anything but
+orchids.”
+
+But Agatha had drawn the new inference from the old facts, and would not
+be talked out of repudiating it. “It was not my fault,” she said. “It
+was yours--altogether yours.”
+
+“Altogether,” he assented, relieved to find her indignant instead of
+remorseful.
+
+She was not to be soothed by a verbal acquiescence. “Your behavior
+was most unmanly, and I told you so, and you could not deny it. You
+pretended that you--You pretended to have feelings--You tried to make
+me believe that Oh, I am a fool to talk to you; you know perfectly well
+what I mean.”
+
+“Perfectly. I tried to make you believe that I was in love with you. How
+do you know I was not?”
+
+She disdained to answer; but as he waited calmly she said, “You had no
+right to be.”
+
+“That does not prove that I was not. Come, Agatha, you pretended to like
+me when you did not care two straws about me. You confessed as much in
+that fatal letter, which I have somewhere at home. It has a great rent
+right across it, and the mark of her heel; she must have stamped on it
+in her rage, poor girl! So that I can show your own hand for the very
+deception you accused me--without proof--of having practiced on you.”
+
+“You are clever, and can twist things. What pleasure does it give you to
+make me miserable?”
+
+“Ha!” he exclaimed, in an abrupt, sardonic laugh. “I don’t know; you
+bewitch me, I think.”
+
+Agatha made no reply, but walked on quickly to the end of the
+conservatory, where the others were waiting for them.
+
+“Where have you been, and what have you been doing all this time?” said
+Jane, as Trefusis came up, hurrying after Agatha. “I don’t know what you
+call it, but I call it perfectly disgraceful!”
+
+Sir Charles reddened at his wife’s bad taste, and Trefusis replied
+gravely: “We have been admiring the orchids, and talking about them.
+Miss Wylie takes an interest in them.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+One morning Gertrude got a letter from her father:
+
+“My Dear Gerty: I have just received a bill for L110 from Madame Smith
+for your dresses. May I ask you how long this sort of thing is to go
+on? I need not tell you that I have not the means to support you in such
+extravagance. I am, as you know, always anxious that you should go about
+in a style worthy of your position, but unless you can manage without
+calling on me to pay away hundreds of pounds every season to Madame
+Smith, you had better give up society and stay at home. I positively
+cannot afford it. As far as I can see, going into society has not done
+you much good. I had to raise L500 last month on Franklands; and it is
+too bad if I must raise more to pay your dressmaker. You might at least
+employ some civil person, or one whose charges are moderate. Madame
+Smith tells me that she will not wait any longer, and charges L50 for a
+single dress. I hope you fully understand that there must be an end to
+this.
+
+“I hear from your mother that young Erskine is with you at Brandon’s. I
+do not think much of him. He is not well off, nor likely to get on, as
+he has taken to poetry and so forth. I am told also that a man named
+Trefusis visits at the Beeches a good deal now. He must be a fool, for
+he contested the last Birmingham election, and came out at the foot of
+the poll with thirty-two votes through calling himself a Social Democrat
+or some such foreign rubbish, instead of saying out like a man that he
+was a Radical. I suppose the name stuck in his throat, for his mother
+was one of the Howards of Breconcastle; so he has good blood in him,
+though his father was nobody. I wish he had your bills to pay; he could
+buy and sell me ten times over, after all my twenty-five years’ service.
+
+“As I am thinking of getting something done to the house, I had rather
+you did not come back this month, if you can possibly hold on at
+Brandon’s. Remember me to him, and give our kind regards to his wife. I
+should be obliged if you would gather some hemlock leaves and send them
+to me. I want them for my ointment; the stuff the chemists sell is no
+good. Your mother’s eyes are bad again; and your brother Berkeley has
+been gambling, and seems to think I ought to pay his debts for him. I
+am greatly worried over it all, and I hope that, until you have settled
+yourself, you will be more reasonable, and not run these everlasting
+bills upon me. You are enjoying yourself out of reach of all the
+unpleasantness; but it bears hardly upon
+
+“Your affectionate father,
+
+“C.B. LINDSAY.”
+
+
+A faint sketch of the lines Time intended to engrave on Gertrude’s brow
+appeared there as she read the letter; but she hastened to give the
+admiral’s kind regards to her host and hostess, and discussed her
+mother’s health feelingly with them. After breakfast she went to the
+library, and wrote her reply:
+
+
+“BRANDON BEECHES,
+
+“Tuesday.
+
+“Dear Papa: Considering that it is more than three years since you
+paid Madame Smith last, and that then her bill, which included my court
+dress, was only L150, I cannot see how I could possibly have been more
+economical, unless you expect me to go in rags. I am sorry that Madame
+Smith has asked for the money at such an inconvenient time, but when I
+begged you to pay her something in March last year you told me to keep
+her quiet by giving her a good order. I am not surprised at her not
+being very civil, as she has plenty of tradesmen’s daughters among her
+customers who pay her more than L300 a year for their dresses. I am
+wearing a skirt at present which I got two years ago.
+
+“Sir Charles is going to town on Thursday; he will bring you the
+hemlock. Tell mamma that there is an old woman here who knows some
+wonderful cure for sore eyes. She will not tell what the ingredients
+are, but it cures everyone, and there is no use in giving an oculist two
+guineas for telling us that reading in bed is bad for the eyes, when
+we know perfectly well that mamma will not give up doing it. If you pay
+Berkeley’s debts, do not forget that he owes me L3.
+
+“Another schoolfellow of mine is staying here now, and I think that Mr.
+Trefusis will have the pleasure of paying her bills some day. He is a
+great pet of Lady Brandon’s. Sir Charles was angry at first because she
+invited him here, and we were all surprised at it. The man has a bad
+reputation, and headed a mob that threw down the walls of the park; and
+we hardly thought he would be cool enough to come after that. But he
+does not seem to care whether we want him or not; and he comes when he
+likes. As he talks cleverly, we find him a godsend in this dull place.
+It is really not such a paradise as you seem to think, but you need not
+be afraid of my returning any sooner than I can help.
+
+“Your affectionate daughter,
+
+“Gertrude Lindsay.”
+
+
+When Gertrude had closed this letter, and torn up her father’s, she
+thought little more about either. They might have made her unhappy had
+they found her happy, but as hopeless discontent was her normal state,
+and enjoyment but a rare accident, recriminatory passages with
+her father only put her into a bad humor, and did not in the least
+disappoint or humiliate her.
+
+For the sake of exercise, she resolved to carry her letter to the
+village post office and return along the Riverside Road, whereby she had
+seen hemlock growing. She took care to go out unobserved, lest Agatha
+should volunteer to walk with her, or Jane declare her intention of
+driving to the post office in the afternoon, and sulk for the rest of
+the day unless the trip to the village were postponed until then. She
+took with her, as a protection against tramps, a big St. Bernard dog
+named Max. This animal, which was young and enthusiastic, had taken a
+strong fancy to her, and had expressed it frankly and boisterously; and
+she, whose affections had been starved in her home and in society, had
+encouraged him with more kindness than she had ever shown to any human
+being.
+
+In the village, having posted her letter, she turned towards a lane that
+led to the Riverside Road. Max, unaware of her reason for choosing the
+longest way home, remonstrated by halting in the middle of the lane,
+wagging his tail rapidly, and uttering gruff barks.
+
+“Don’t be stupid, sir,” said Gertrude impatiently. “I am going this
+way.”
+
+Max, apparently understanding, rushed after her, passed her, and
+disappeared in a cloud of dust raised by his effort to check himself
+when he had left her far enough behind. When he came back she kissed
+his nose, and ran a race with him until she too was panting, and had
+to stand still to recover her breath, whilst he bounded about, barking
+ferociously. She had not for many years enjoyed such a frolic, and the
+thought of this presently brought tears to her eyes. Rather peevishly
+she bade Max be quiet, walked slowly to cool herself, and put up her
+sunshade to avert freckles.
+
+The sun was now at the meridian. On a slope to Gertrude’s right hand,
+Sallust’s House, with its cinnamon-colored walls and yellow frieze, gave
+a foreign air to the otherwise very English landscape. She passed by
+without remembering who lived there. Further down, on some waste land
+separated from the road by a dry ditch and a low mud wall, a cluster of
+hemlocks, nearly six feet high, poisoned the air with their odor. She
+crossed the ditch, took a pair of gardening gloves from her plaited
+straw hand-basket, and busied herself with the hemlock leaves, pulling
+the tender ones, separating them from the stalk, and filling the basket
+with the web. She forgot Max until an impression of dead silence, as
+if the earth had stopped, caused her to look round in vague dread.
+Trefusis, with his hand abandoned to the dog, who was trying how much of
+it he could cram into his mouth, was standing within a few yards of her,
+watching her intently. Gertrude turned pale, and came out hastily from
+among the bushes. Then she had a strange sensation as if something
+had happened high above her head. There was a threatening growl, a
+commanding exclamation, and an unaccountable pause, at the expiration
+of which she found herself supine on the sward, with her parasol between
+her eyes and the sun. A sudden scoop of Max’s wet warm tongue in her
+right ear startled her into activity. She sat up, and saw Trefusis
+on his knees at her side holding the parasol with an unconcerned
+expression, whilst Max was snuffing at her in restless anxiety opposite.
+
+“I must go home,” she said. “I must go home instantly.”
+
+“Not at all,” said Trefusis, soothingly. “They have just sent word to
+say that everything is settled satisfactorily and that you need not
+come.”
+
+“Have they?” she said faintly. Then she lay down again, and it seemed to
+her that a very long time elapsed. Suddenly recollecting that Trefusis
+had supported her gently with his hand to prevent her falling back too
+rudely, she rose again, and this time got upon her feet with his help.
+
+“I must go home,” she said again. “It is a matter of life or death.”
+
+“No, no,” he said softly. “It is all right. You may depend on me.”
+
+She looked at him earnestly. He had taken her hand to steady her, for
+she was swaying a little. “Are you sure,” she said, grasping his arm.
+“Are you quite sure?”
+
+“Absolutely certain. You know I am always right, do you not?”
+
+“Yes, oh, yes; you have always been true to me. You--” Here her senses
+came back with a rush. Dropping his hand as if it had become red hot,
+she said sharply, “What are you talking about?”
+
+“I don’t know,” he said, resuming his indifferent manner with a laugh.
+“Are you better? Let me drive you to the Beeches. My stable is within a
+stone’s throw; I can get a trap out in ten minutes.”
+
+“No, thank you,” said Gertrude haughtily. “I do not wish to drive.” She
+paused, and added in some bewilderment, “What has happened?”
+
+“You fainted, and--”
+
+“I did not faint,” said Gertrude indignantly. “I never fainted in my
+life.”
+
+“Yes, you did.”
+
+“Pardon me, Mr. Trefusis. I did not.”
+
+“You shall judge for yourself. I was coming through this field when
+I saw you gathering hemlock. Hemlock is interesting on account of
+Socrates, and you were interesting as a young lady gathering poison. So
+I stopped to look on. Presently you came out from among the bushes as if
+you had seen a snake there. Then you fell into my arms--which led me
+to suppose that you had fainted--and Max, concluding that it was all my
+fault, nearly sprang at my throat. You were overpowered by the scent of
+the water-hemlock, which you must have been inhaling for ten minutes or
+more.”
+
+“I did not know that there was any danger,” said Gertrude, crestfallen.
+“I felt very tired when I came to. That was why I lay so long the second
+time. I really could not help it.”
+
+“You did not lie very long.”
+
+“Not when I first fell; that was only a few seconds, I know. But I must
+have lain there nearly ten minutes after I recovered.”
+
+“You were nearly a minute insensible when you first fell, and when you
+recovered you only rested for about one second. After that you raved,
+and I invented suitable answers until you suddenly asked me what I was
+talking about.”
+
+Gertrude reddened a little as the possibility of her having raved
+indiscreetly occurred to her. “It was very silly of me to faint,” she
+said.
+
+“You could not help it; you are only human. I shall walk with you to the
+Beeches.”
+
+“Thank you; I will not trouble you,” she said quickly.
+
+He shook his head. “I do not know how long the effect of that abominable
+water-weed may last,” he said, “and I dare not leave you to walk alone.
+If you prefer it I can send you in a trap with my gardener, but I had
+rather accompany you myself.”
+
+“You are giving yourself a great deal of unnecessary trouble. I will
+walk. I am quite well again and need no assistance.”
+
+They started without another word. Gertrude had to concentrate all her
+energy to conceal from him that she was giddy. Numbness and lassitude
+crept upon her, and she was beginning to hope that she was only dreaming
+it all when he roused her by saying,
+
+“Take my arm.”
+
+“No, thank you.”
+
+“Do not be so senselessly obstinate. You will have to lean on the
+hedge for support if you refuse my help. I am sorry I did not insist on
+getting the trap.”
+
+Gertrude had not been spoken to in this tone since her childhood. “I am
+perfectly well,” she said sharply. “You are really very officious.”
+
+“You are not perfectly well, and you know it. However, if you make
+a brave struggle, you will probably be able to walk home without my
+assistance, and the effort may do you good.”
+
+“You are very rude,” she said peremptorily.
+
+“I know it,” he replied calmly. “You will find three classes of men
+polite to you--slaves, men who think much of their manners and nothing
+of you, and your lovers. I am none of these, and therefore give you back
+your ill manners with interest. Why do you resist your good angel by
+suppressing those natural and sincere impulses which come to you often
+enough, and sometimes bring a look into your face that might tame a
+bear--a look which you hasten to extinguish as a thief darkens his
+lantern at the sound of a footstep.”
+
+“Mr. Trefusis, I am not accustomed to be lectured.”
+
+“That is why I lecture you. I felt curious to see how your good
+breeding, by which I think you set some store, would serve you in
+entirely novel circumstances--those of a man speaking his mind to you,
+for instance. What is the result of my experiment? Instead of rebuking
+me with the sweetness and dignity which I could not, in spite of my past
+observation, help expecting from you, you churlishly repel my offer of
+the assistance you need, tell me that I am very rude, very officious,
+and, in short, do what you can to make my position disagreeable and
+humiliating.”
+
+She looked at him haughtily, but his expression was void of offence or
+fear, and he continued, unanswered.
+
+“I would bear all this from a working woman without remonstrance, for
+she would owe me no graces of manner or morals. But you are a lady.
+That means that many have starved and drudged in uncleanly discomfort
+in order that you may have white and unbroken hands, fine garments, and
+exquisite manners--that you may be a living fountain of those influences
+that soften our natures and lives. When such a costly thing as a lady
+breaks down at the first touch of a firm hand, I feel justified in
+complaining.”
+
+Gertrude walked on quickly, and said between her teeth, “I don’t want to
+hear any of your absurd views, Mr. Trefusis.”
+
+He laughed. “My unfortunate views!” he said. “Whenever I make an
+inconvenient remark it is always set aside as an expression of certain
+dangerous crazes with which I am supposed to be afflicted. When I point
+out to Sir Charles that one of his favorite artists has not accurately
+observed something before attempting to draw it, he replies, ‘You know
+our views differ on these things, Trefusis.’ When I told Miss Wylie’s
+guardian that his emigration scheme was little better than a fraud, he
+said, ‘You must excuse me, but I cannot enter into your peculiar views.’
+One of my views at present is that Miss Lindsay is more amiable under
+the influence of hemlock than under that of the social system which has
+made her so unhappy.”
+
+“Well!” exclaimed Gertrude, outraged. Then, after a pause, “I was under
+the impression that I had accepted the escort of a gentleman.” Then,
+after another pause, Trefusis being quite undisturbed, “How do you know
+that I am unhappy?”
+
+“By a certain defect in your countenance, which lacks the crowning
+beauty of happiness; and a certain defect in your voice which will never
+disappear until you learn to love or pity those to whom you speak.”
+
+“You are wrong,” said Gertrude, with calm disdain. “You do not
+understand me in the least. I am particularly attached to my friends.”
+
+“Then I have never seen you in their company.”
+
+“You are still wrong.”
+
+“Then how can you speak as you do, look as you do, act as you do?”
+
+“What do you mean? HOW do I look and act?”
+
+“Like one of the railings of Belgrave Square, cursed with consciousness
+of itself, fears of the judgment of the other railings, and doubts
+of their fitness to stand in the same row with it. You are cold,
+mistrustful, cruel to nervous or clumsy people, and more afraid of
+the criticisms of those with whom you dance and dine than of your
+conscience. All of which prevents you from looking like an angel.”
+
+“Thank you. Do you consider paying compliments the perfection of
+gentlemanly behavior?”
+
+“Have I been paying you many? That last remark of mine was not meant
+as one. On my honor, the angels will not disappoint me if they are no
+lovelier than you should be if you had that look in your face and that
+tone in your voice I spoke of just now. It can hardly displease you to
+hear that. If I were particularly handsome myself, I should like to be
+told so.”
+
+“I am sorry I cannot tell you so.”
+
+“Oh! Ha! ha! What a retort, Miss Lindsay! You are not sorry either; you
+are rather glad.”
+
+Gertrude knew it, and was angry with herself, not because her retort
+was false, but because she thought it unladylike. “You have no right to
+annoy me,” she exclaimed, in spite of herself.
+
+“None whatever,” he said, humbly. “If I have done so, forgive me before
+we part. I will go no further with you; Max will give the alarm if you
+faint in the avenue, which I don’t think you are likely to do, as you
+have forgotten all about the hemlock.”
+
+“Oh, how maddening!” she cried. “I have left my basket behind.”
+
+“Never mind; I will find it and have it filled and sent to you.”
+
+“Thank you. I am sorry to trouble you.”
+
+“Not at all. I hope you do not want the hemlock to help you to get rid
+of the burden of life.”
+
+“Nonsense. I want it for my father, who uses it for medicine.”
+
+“I will bring it myself to-morrow. Is that soon enough?”
+
+“Quite. I am in no hurry. Thank you, Mr. Trefusis. Good-bye.”
+
+She gave him her hand, and even smiled a little, and then hurried away.
+He stood watching her as she passed along the avenue under the beeches.
+Once, when she came into a band of sunlight at a gap in the trees, she
+made so pretty a figure in her spring dress of violet and white that
+his eyes kindled as he gazed. He took out his note-book, and entered her
+name and the date, with a brief memorandum.
+
+“I have thawed her,” he said to himself as he put up his book. “She
+shall learn a lesson or two to hand on to her children before I have
+done with her. A trifle underbred, too, or she would not insist so much
+on her breeding. Henrietta used to wear a dress like that. I am glad to
+see that there is no danger of her taking to me personally.”
+
+He turned away, and saw a crone passing, bending beneath a bundle of
+sticks. He eyed it curiously; and she scowled at him and hurried on.
+
+“Hallo,” he said.
+
+She continued for a few steps, but her courage failed her and she
+stopped.
+
+“You are Mrs. Hickling, I think?”
+
+“Yes, please your worship.”
+
+“You are the woman who carried away an old wooden gate that lay on Sir
+Charles Brandon’s land last winter and used it for firewood. You were
+imprisoned for seven days for it.”
+
+“You may send me there again if you like,” she retorted, in a cracked
+voice, as she turned at bay. “But the Lord will make me even with you
+some day. Cursed be them that oppress the poor and needy; it is one of
+the seven deadly sins.”
+
+“Those green laths on your back are the remainder of my garden gate,”
+ he said. “You took the first half last Saturday. Next time you want fuel
+come to the house and ask for coals, and let my gates alone. I suppose
+you can enjoy a fire without stealing the combustibles. Stow pay me for
+my gate by telling me something I want to know.”
+
+“And a kind gentleman too, sir; blessings.”
+
+“What is the hemlock good for?”
+
+“The hemlock, kind gentleman? For the evil, sir, to be sure.”
+
+“Scrofulous ulcers!” he exclaimed, recoiling. “The father of that
+beautiful girl!” He turned homeward, and trudged along with his
+head bent, muttering, “All rotten to the bone. Oh, civilization!
+civilization! civilization!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+“What has come over Gertrude?” said Agatha one day to Lady Brandon.
+
+“Why? Is anything the matter with her?”
+
+“I don’t know; she has not been the same since she poisoned herself.
+And why did she not tell about it? But for Trefusis we should never have
+known.”
+
+“Gertrude always made secrets of things.”
+
+“She was in a vile temper for two days after; and now she is quite
+changed. She falls into long reveries, and does not hear a word of
+what is going on around. Then she starts into life again, and begs your
+pardon with the greatest sweetness for not catching what you have said.”
+
+“I hate her when she is polite; it is not natural to her. As to her
+going to sleep, that is the effect of the hemlock. We know a man who
+took a spoonful of strychnine in a bath, and he never was the same
+afterwards.”
+
+“I think she is making up her mind to encourage Erskine,” said Agatha.
+“When I came here he hardly dared speak to her--at least, she always
+snubbed him. Now she lets him talk as much as he likes, and actually
+sends him on messages and allows him to carry things for her.”
+
+“Yes. I never saw anybody like Gertrude in my life. In London, if men
+were attentive to her, she sat on them for being officious; and if they
+let her alone she was angry at being neglected. Erskine is quite good
+enough for her, I think.”
+
+Here Erskine appeared at the door and looked round the room.
+
+“She’s not here,” said Jane.
+
+“I am seeking Sir Charles,” he said, withdrawing somewhat stiffly.
+
+“What a lie!” said Jane, discomfited by his reception of her jest. “He
+was talking to Sir Charles ten minutes ago in the billiard room. Men are
+such conceited fools!”
+
+Agatha had strolled to the window, and was looking discontentedly at the
+prospect, as she had often done at school when alone, and sometimes did
+now in society. The door opened again, and Sir Charles appeared. He,
+too, looked round, but when his roving glance reached Agatha, it cast
+anchor; and he came in.
+
+“Are you busy just now, Miss Wylie?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” said Jane hastily. “She is going to write a letter for me.”
+
+“Really, Jane,” he said, “I think you are old enough to write your
+letters without troubling Miss Wylie.”
+
+“When I do write my own letters you always find fault with them,” she
+retorted.
+
+“I thought perhaps you might have leisure to try over a duet with me,”
+ he said, turning to Agatha.
+
+“Certainly,” she replied, hoping to smooth matters by humoring him. “The
+letter will do any time before post hour.”
+
+Jane reddened, and said shortly, “I will write it myself, if you will
+not.”
+
+Sir Charles quite lost his temper. “How can you be so damnably rude?”
+ he said, turning upon his wife. “What objection have you to my singing
+duets with Miss Wylie?”
+
+“Nice language that!” said Jane. “I never said I objected; and you have
+no right to drag her away to the piano just when she is going to write a
+letter for me.”
+
+“I do not wish Miss Wylie to do anything except what pleases her best.
+It seems to me that writing letters to your tradespeople cannot be a
+very pleasant occupation.”
+
+“Pray don’t mind me,” said Agatha. “It is not the least trouble to me. I
+used to write all Jane’s letters for her at school. Suppose I write the
+letter first, and then we can have the duet. You will not mind waiting
+five minutes?”
+
+“I can wait as long as you please, of course. But it seems such an
+absurd abuse of your good nature that I cannot help protest!”
+
+“Oh, let it wait!” exclaimed Jane. “Such a ridiculous fuss to make about
+asking Agatha to write a letter, just because you happen to want her
+to play you your duets! I am certain she is heartily sick and tired of
+them.”
+
+Agatha, to escape the altercation, went to the library and wrote the
+letter. When she returned to the drawing-room, she found no one there;
+but Sir Charles came in presently.
+
+“I am so sorry, Miss Wylie,” he said, as he opened the piano for her,
+“that you should be incommoded because my wife is silly enough to be
+jealous.”
+
+“Jealous!”
+
+“Of course. Idiocy!”
+
+“Oh, you are mistaken,” said Agatha, incredulously. “How could she
+possibly be jealous of me?”
+
+“She is jealous of everybody and everything,” he replied bitterly, “and
+she cares for nobody and for nothing. You do not know what I have to
+endure sometimes from her.”
+
+Agatha thought her most discreet course was to sit down immediately and
+begin “I would that my love.” Whilst she played and sang, she thought
+over what Sir Charles had just let slip. She had found him a pleasant
+companion, light-hearted, fond of music and fun, polite and considerate,
+appreciative of her talents, quick-witted without being oppressively
+clever, and, as a married man, disinterested in his attentions. But it
+now occurred to her that perhaps they had been a good deal together of
+late.
+
+Sir Charles had by this time wandered from his part into hers; and he
+now recalled her to the music by stopping to ask whether he was right.
+Knowing by experience what his difficulty was likely to be, she gave him
+his note and went on. They had not been singing long when Jane came
+back and sat down, expressing a hope that her presence would not disturb
+them. It did disturb them. Agatha suspected that she had come there to
+watch them, and Sir Charles knew it. Besides, Lady Brandon, even when
+her mind was tranquil, was habitually restless. She could not speak
+because of the music, and, though she held an open book in her hand, she
+could not read and watch simultaneously. She gaped, and leaned to one
+end of the sofa until, on the point of overbalancing’ she recovered
+herself with a prodigious bounce. The floor vibrated at her every
+movement. At last she could keep silence no longer.
+
+“Oh, dear!” she said, yawning audibly. “It must be five o’clock at the
+very earliest.”
+
+Agatha turned round upon the piano-stool, feeling that music and Lady
+Brandon were incompatible. Sir Charles, for his guest’s sake, tried hard
+to restrain his exasperation.
+
+“Probably your watch will tell you,” he said.
+
+“Thank you for nothing,” said Jane. “Agatha, where is Gertrude?”
+
+“How can Miss Wylie possibly tell you where she is, Jane? I think you
+have gone mad to-day.”
+
+“She is most likely playing billiards with Mr. Erskine,” said Agatha,
+interposing quickly to forestall a retort from Jane, with its usual
+sequel of a domestic squabble.
+
+“I think it is very strange of Gertrude to pass the whole day with
+Chester in the billiard room,” said Jane discontentedly.
+
+“There is not the slightest impropriety in her doing so,” said
+Sir Charles. “If our hospitality does not place Miss Lindsay above
+suspicion, the more shame for us. How would you feel if anyone else made
+such a remark?”
+
+“Oh, stuff!” said Jane peevishly. “You are always preaching long
+rigmaroles about nothing at all. I did not say there was any impropriety
+about Gertrude. She is too proper to be pleasant, in my opinion.”
+
+Sir Charles, unable to trust himself further, frowned and left the room,
+Jane speeding him with a contemptuous laugh.
+
+“Don’t ever be such a fool as to get married,” she said, when he was
+gone. She looked up as she spoke, and was alarmed to see Agatha seated
+on the pianoforte, with her ankles swinging in the old school fashion.
+
+“Jane,” she said, surveying her hostess coolly, “do you know what I
+would do if I were Sir Charles?”
+
+Jane did not know.
+
+“I would get a big stick, beat you black and blue, and then lock you up
+on bread and water for a week.”
+
+Jane half rose, red and angry. “Wh--why?” she said, relapsing upon the
+sofa.
+
+“If I were a man, I would not, for mere chivalry’s sake, let a woman
+treat me like a troublesome dog. You want a sound thrashing.”
+
+“I’d like to see anybody thrash me,” said Jane, rising again and
+displaying her formidable person erect. Then she burst into tears, and
+said, “I won’t have such things said to me in my own house. How dare
+you?”
+
+“You deserve it for being jealous of me,” said Agatha.
+
+Jane’s eyes dilated angrily. “I!--I!--jealous of you!” She looked round,
+as if for a missile. Not finding one, she sat down again, and said in a
+voice stifled with tears, “J--Jealous of YOU, indeed!”
+
+“You have good reason to be, for he is fonder of me than of you.”
+
+Jane opened her mouth and eyes convulsively, but only uttered a gasp,
+and Agatha proceeded calmly, “I am polite to him, which you never
+are. When he speaks to me I allow him to finish his sentence without
+expressing, as you do, a foregone conclusion that it is not worth
+attending to. I do not yawn and talk whilst he is singing. When he
+converses with me on art or literature, about which he knows twice as
+much as I do, and at least ten times as much as you.” (Jane gasped again)
+“I do not make a silly answer and turn to my neighbor at the other side
+with a remark about the tables or the weather. When he is willing to be
+pleased, as he always is, I am willing to be pleasant. And that is why
+he likes me.”
+
+“He does NOT like you. He is the same to everyone.”
+
+“Except his wife. He likes me so much that you, like a great goose as
+you are, came up here to watch us at our duets, and made yourself as
+disagreeable as you possibly could whilst I was making myself charming.
+The poor man was ashamed of you.”
+
+“He wasn’t,” said Jane, sobbing. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say
+anything. I won’t bear it. I will get a divorce. I will--”
+
+“You will mend your ways if you have any sense left,” said Agatha
+remorselessly. “Do not make such a noise, or someone will come to see
+what is the matter, and I shall have to get down from the piano, where I
+am very comfortable.”
+
+“It is you who are jealous.”
+
+“Oh, is it, Jane? I have not allowed Sir Charles to fall in love with me
+yet, but I can do so very easily. What will you wager that he will not
+kiss me before to-morrow evening?”
+
+“It will be very mean and nasty of you if he does. You seem to think
+that I can be treated like a child.”
+
+“So you are a child,” said Agatha, descending from her perch and
+preparing to go. “An occasional slapping does you good.”
+
+“It is nothing to you whether I agree with my husband or not,” said Jane
+with sudden fierceness.
+
+“Not if you quarrel with him in private, as wellbred couples do. But
+when it occurs in my presence it makes me uncomfortable, and I object to
+being made uncomfortable.”
+
+“You would not be here at all if I had not asked you.”
+
+“Just think how dull the house would be without me, Jane!”
+
+“Indeed! It was not dull before you came. Gertrude always behaved like a
+lady, at least.”
+
+“I am sorry that her example was so utterly lost on you.”
+
+“I won’t bear it,” said Jane with a sob and a plunge upon the sofa that
+made the lustres of the chandeliers rattle. “I wouldn’t have asked you
+if I had thought you could be so hateful. I will never ask you again.”
+
+“I will make Sir Charles divorce you for incompatibility of temper and
+marry me. Then I shall have the place to myself.”
+
+“He can’t divorce me for that, thank goodness. You don’t know what
+you’re talking about.”
+
+Agatha laughed. “Come,” she said good-humoredly, “don’t be an old ass,
+Jane. Wash your face before anyone sees it, and remember what I have
+told you about Sir Charles.”
+
+“It is very hard to be called an ass in one’s own house.”
+
+“It is harder to be treated as one, like your husband. I am going to
+look for him in the billiard room.”
+
+Jane ran after her, and caught her by the sleeve.
+
+“Agatha,” she pleaded, “promise me that you won’t be mean. Say that you
+won’t make love to him.”
+
+“I will consider about it,” replied Agatha gravely.
+
+Jane uttered a groan and sank into a chair, which creaked at the
+shock. Agatha turned on the threshold, and seeing her shaking her head,
+pressing her eyes, and tapping with her heel in a restrained frenzy,
+said quickly,
+
+“Here are the Waltons, and the Fitzgeorges, and Mr. Trefusis coming
+upstairs. How do you do, Mrs. Walton? Lady Brandon will be SO glad to
+see you. Good-evening, Mr. Fitzgeorge.”
+
+Jane sprang up, wiped her eyes, and, with her hands on her hair,
+smoothing it, rushed to a mirror. No visitors appearing, she perceived
+that she was, for perhaps the hundredth time in her life, the victim
+of an imposture devised by Agatha. She, gratified by the success of her
+attempt to regain her old ascendancy over Jane--she had made it with
+misgiving, notwithstanding her apparent confidence--went downstairs to
+the library, where she found Sir Charles gloomily trying to drown his
+domestic troubles in art criticism.
+
+“I thought you were in the billiard room,” said Agatha.
+
+“I only peeped in,” he replied; “but as I saw something particular going
+on, I thought it best to slip away, and I have been alone ever since.”
+
+The something particular which Sir Charles had not wished to interrupt
+was only a game of billiards.
+
+It was the first opportunity Erskine had ever enjoyed of speaking to
+Gertrude at leisure and alone. Yet their conversation had never been
+so commonplace. She, liking the game, played very well and chatted
+indifferently; he played badly, and broached trivial topics in spite of
+himself. After an hour-and-a-half’s play, Gertrude had announced that
+this game must be their last. He thought desperately that if he were to
+miss many more strokes the game must presently end, and an opportunity
+which might never recur pass beyond recall. He determined to tell
+her without preface that he adored her, but when he opened his lips a
+question came forth of its own accord relating to the Persian way of
+playing billiards. Gertrude had never been in Persia, but had seen
+some Eastern billiard cues in the India museum. Were not the Hindoos
+wonderful people for filigree work, and carpets, and such things? Did
+he not think the crookedness of their carpet patterns a blemish? Some
+people pretended to admire them, but was not that all nonsense? Was not
+the modern polished floor, with a rug in the middle, much superior to
+the old carpet fitted into the corners of the room? Yes. Enormously
+superior. Immensely--
+
+“Why, what are you thinking of to-day, Mr. Erskine? You have played with
+my ball.”
+
+“I am thinking of you.”
+
+“What did you say?” said Gertrude, not catching the serious turn he had
+given to the conversation, and poising her cue for a stroke. “Oh! I am
+as bad as you; that was the worst stroke I ever made, I think. I beg
+your pardon; you said something just now.”
+
+“I forget. Nothing of any consequence.” And he groaned at his own
+cowardice.
+
+“Suppose we stop,” she said. “There is no use in finishing the game if
+our hands are out. I am rather tired of it.”
+
+“Certainly--if you wish it.”
+
+“I will finish if you like.”
+
+“Not at all. What pleases you, pleases me.”
+
+Gertrude made him a little bow, and idly knocked the balls about with
+her cue. Erskine’s eyes wandered, and his lip moved irresolutely. He had
+settled with himself that his declaration should be a frank one--heart
+to heart. He had pictured himself in the act of taking her hand
+delicately, and saying, “Gertrude, I love you. May I tell you so again?”
+ But this scheme did not now seem practicable.
+
+“Miss Lindsay.”
+
+Gertrude, bending over the table, looked up in alarm.
+
+“The present is as good an opportunity as I will--as I shall--as I
+will.”
+
+“Shall,” said Gertrude.
+
+“I beg your pardon?”
+
+“SHALL,” repeated Gertrude. “Did you ever study the doctrine of
+necessity?”
+
+“The doctrine of necessity?” he said, bewildered.
+
+Gertrude went to the other side of the table in pursuit of a ball. She
+now guessed what was coming, and was willing that it should come; not
+because she intended to accept, but because, like other young ladies
+experienced in such scenes, she counted the proposals of marriage she
+received as a Red Indian counts the scalps he takes.
+
+“We have had a very pleasant time of it here,” he said, giving up as
+inexplicable the relevance of the doctrine of necessity. “At least, I
+have.”
+
+“Well,” said Gertrude, quick to resent a fancied allusion to her private
+discontent, “so have I.”
+
+“I am glad of that--more so than I can convey by words.”
+
+“Is it any business of yours?” she said, following the disagreeable vein
+he had unconsciously struck upon, and suspecting pity in his efforts to
+be sympathetic.
+
+“I wish I dared hope so. The happiness of my visit has been due to you
+entirely.”
+
+“Indeed,” said Gertrude, wincing as all the hard things Trefusis
+had told her of herself came into her mind at the heels of Erskine’s
+unfortunate allusion to her power of enjoying herself.
+
+“I hope I am not paining you,” he said earnestly.
+
+“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, standing erect with
+sudden impatience. “You seem to think that it is very easy to pain me.”
+
+“No,” he said timidly, puzzled by the effect he had produced. “I fear
+you misunderstand me. I am very awkward. Perhaps I had better say no
+more.”  Gertrude, by turning away to put up her cue, signified that that
+was a point for him to consider; she not intending to trouble herself
+about it. When she faced him again, he was motionless and dejected, with
+a wistful expression like that of a dog that has proffered a caress and
+received a kick. Remorse, and a vague sense that there was something
+base in her attitude towards him, overcame her. She looked at him for an
+instant and left the room.
+
+The look excited him. He did not understand it, nor attempt to
+understand it; but it was a look that he had never before seen in
+her face or in that of any other woman. It struck him as a momentary
+revelation of what he had written of in “The Patriot Martyrs” as
+
+“The glorious mystery of a woman’s heart,”
+
+and it made him feel unfit for ordinary social intercourse. He hastened
+from the house, walked swiftly down the avenue to the lodge, where he
+kept his bicycle, left word there that he was going for an excursion and
+should probably not return in time for dinner, mounted, and sped away
+recklessly along the Riverside Road. In less than two minutes he passed
+the gate of Sallust’s House, where he nearly ran over an old woman laden
+with a basket of coals, who put down her burthen to scream curses after
+him. Warned by this that his headlong pace was dangerous, he slackened
+it a little, and presently saw Trefusis lying prone on the river bank,
+with his cheeks propped on his elbows, reading intently. Erskine,
+who had presented him, a few days before, with a copy of “The Patriot
+Martyrs and other Poems,” tried to catch a glimpse of the book over
+which Trefusis was so serious. It was a Blue Book, full of figures.
+Erskine rode on in disgust, consoling himself with the recollection of
+Gertrude’s face.
+
+The highway now swerved inland from the river, and rose to a steep
+acclivity, at the brow of which he turned and looked back. The light
+was growing ruddy, and the shadows were lengthening. Trefusis was still
+prostrate in the meadow, and the old woman was in a field, gathering
+hemlock.
+
+Erskine raced down the hill at full speed, and did not look behind him
+again until he found himself at nightfall on the skirts of a town,
+where he purchased some beer and a sandwich, which he ate with little
+appetite. Gertrude had set up a disturbance within him which made him
+impatient of eating.
+
+It was now dark. He was many miles from Brandon Beeches, and not sure
+of the way back. Suddenly he resolved to complete his unfinished
+declaration that evening. He now could not ride back fast enough to
+satisfy his impatience. He tried a short cut, lost himself, spent nearly
+an hour seeking the highroad, and at last came upon a railway station
+just in time to catch a train that brought him within a mile of his
+destination.
+
+When he rose from the cushions of the railway carriage he found
+himself somewhat fatigued, and he mounted the bicycle stiffly. But his
+resolution was as ardent as ever, and his heart beat strongly as, after
+leaving his bicycle at the lodge, he walked up the avenue through the
+deep gloom beneath the beeches. Near the house, the first notes of
+“Grudel perche finora” reached him, and he stepped softly on to the turf
+lest his footsteps on the gravel should rouse the dogs and make them
+mar the harmony by barking. A rustle made him stop and listen. Then
+Gertrude’s voice whispered through the darkness:
+
+“What did you mean by what you said to me within?”
+
+An extraordinary sensation shook Erskine; confused ideas of fairyland
+ran through his imagination. A bitter disappointment, like that of
+waking from a happy dream, followed as Trefusis’s voice, more finely
+tuned than he had ever heard it before, answered,
+
+“Merely that the expanse of stars above us is not more illimitable than
+my contempt for Miss Lindsay, nor brighter than my hopes of Gertrude.”
+
+“Miss Lindsay always to you, if you please, Mr. Trefusis.”
+
+“Miss Lindsay never to me, but only to those who cannot see through
+her to the soul within, which is Gertrude. There are a thousand Miss
+Lindsays in the world, formal and false. There is but one Gertrude.”
+
+“I am an unprotected girl, Mr. Trefusis, and you can call me what you
+please.”
+
+It occurred to Erskine that this was a fit occasion to rush forward and
+give Trefusis, whose figure he could now dimly discern, a black eye. But
+he hesitated, and the opportunity passed.
+
+“Unprotected!” said Trefusis. “Why, you are fenced round and barred in
+with conventions, laws, and lies that would frighten the truth from the
+lips of any man whose faith in Gertrude was less strong than mine. Go
+to Sir Charles and tell him what I have said to Miss Lindsay, and within
+ten minutes I shall have passed these gates with a warning never to
+approach them again. I am in your power, and were I in Miss Lindsay’s
+power alone, my shrift would be short. Happily, Gertrude, though she
+sees as yet but darkly, feels that Miss Lindsay is her bitterest foe.”
+
+“It is ridiculous. I am not two persons; I am only one. What does it
+matter to me if your contempt for me is as illimitable as the stars?”
+
+“Ah, you remember that, do you? Whenever you hear a man talking about
+the stars you may conclude that he is either an astronomer or a fool.
+But you and a fine starry night would make a fool of any man.”
+
+“I don’t understand you. I try to, but I cannot; or, if I guess, I
+cannot tell whether you are in earnest or not.”
+
+“I am very much in earnest. Abandon at once and for ever all misgivings
+that I am trifling with you, or passing an idle hour as men do when they
+find themselves in the company of beautiful women. I mean what I say
+literally, and in the deepest sense. You doubt me; we have brought
+society to such a state that we all suspect one another. But whatever is
+true will command belief sooner or later from those who have wit enough
+to comprehend truth. Now let me recall Miss Lindsay to consciousness by
+remarking that we have been out for ten minutes, and that our hostess is
+not the woman to allow our absence to pass without comment.”
+
+“Let us go in. Thank you for reminding me.”
+
+“Thank you for forgetting.”
+
+Erskine heard their footsteps retreating, and presently saw the two
+enter the glow of light that shone from the open window of the billiard
+room, through which they went indoors. Trefusis, a man whom he had seen
+that day in a beautiful landscape, blind to everything except a row of
+figures in a Blue Book, was his successful rival, although it was
+plain from the very sound of his voice that he did not--could not--love
+Gertrude. Only a poet could do that. Trefusis was no poet, but a sordid
+brute unlikely to inspire interest in anything more human than a public
+meeting, much less in a woman, much less again in a woman so ethereal
+as Gertrude. She was proud too, yet she had allowed the fellow to insult
+her--had forgiven him for the sake of a few broad compliments. Erskine
+grew angry and cynical. The situation did not suit his poetry. Instead
+of being stricken to the heart with a solemn sorrow, as a Patriot
+Martyr would have been under similar circumstances, he felt slighted and
+ridiculous. He was hardly convinced of what had seemed at first the most
+obvious feature of the case, Trefusis’s inferiority to himself.
+
+He stood under the trees until Trefusis reappeared on his way home,
+making, Erskine thought, as much noise with his heels on the gravel as a
+regiment of delicately bred men would have done. He stopped for a moment
+to make inquiry at the lodge as he went out; then his footsteps died
+away in the distance.
+
+Erskine, chilled, stiff, and with a sensation of a bad cold coming on,
+went into the house, and was relieved to find that Gertrude had retired,
+and that Lady Brandon, though she had been sure that he had ridden into
+the river in the dark, had nevertheless provided a warm supper for him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+Erskine soon found plenty of themes for his newly begotten cynicism.
+Gertrude’s manner towards him softened so much that he, believing her
+heart given to his rival, concluded that she was tempting him to make a
+proposal which she had no intention of accepting. Sir Charles, to whom
+he told what he had overheard in the avenue, professed sympathy, but
+was evidently pleased to learn that there was nothing serious in the
+attentions Trefusis paid to Agatha. Erskine wrote three bitter sonnets
+on hollow friendship and showed them to Sir Charles, who, failing to
+apply them to himself, praised them highly and showed them to Trefusis
+without asking the author’s permission. Trefusis remarked that in a
+corrupt society expressions of dissatisfaction were always creditable to
+a writer’s sensibility; but he did not say much in praise of the verse.
+
+“Why has he taken to writing in this vein?” he said. “Has he been
+disappointed in any way of late? Has he proposed to Miss Lindsay and
+been rejected?”
+
+“No,” said Sir Charles surprised by this blunt reference to a subject
+they had never before discussed. “He does not intend to propose to Miss
+Lindsay.”
+
+“But he did intend to.”
+
+“He certainly did, but he has given up the idea.”
+
+“Why?” said Trefusis, apparently disapproving strongly of the
+renunciation.
+
+Sir Charles shrugged his shoulders and did not reply.
+
+“I am sorry to hear it. I wish you could induce him to change his mind.
+He is a nice fellow, with enough to live on comfortably, whilst he
+is yet what is called a poor man, so that she could feel perfectly
+disinterested in marrying him. It will do her good to marry without
+making a pecuniary profit by it; she will respect herself the more
+afterwards, and will neither want bread and butter nor be ashamed of
+her husband’s origin, in spite of having married for love alone. Make
+a match of it if you can. I take an interest in the girl; she has good
+instincts.”
+
+Sir Charles’s suspicion that Trefusis was really paying court to Agatha
+returned after this conversation, which he repeated to Erskine, who,
+much annoyed because his poems had been shown to a reader of Blue Books,
+thought it only a blind for Trefusis’s design upon Gertrude. Sir Charles
+pooh-poohed this view, and the two friends were sharp with one another
+in discussing it. After dinner, when the ladies had left them, Sir
+Charles, repentant and cordial, urged Erskine to speak to Gertrude
+without troubling himself as to the sincerity of Trefusis. But Erskine,
+knowing himself ill able to brook a refusal, was loth to expose himself.
+
+“If you had heard the tone of her voice when she asked him whether
+he was in earnest, you would not talk to me like this,” he said
+despondently. “I wish he had never come here.”
+
+“Well, that, at least, was no fault of mine, my dear fellow,” said Sir
+Charles. “He came among us against my will. And now that he appears to
+have been in the right--legally--about the field, it would look like
+spite if I cut him. Besides, he really isn’t a bad man if he would only
+let the women alone.”
+
+“If he trifles with Miss Lindsay, I shall ask him to cross the Channel,
+and have a shot at him.”
+
+“I don’t think he’d go,” said Sir Charles dubiously. “If I were you, I
+would try my luck with Gertrude at once. In spite of what you heard, I
+don’t believe she would marry a man of his origin. His money gives
+him an advantage, certainly, but Gertrude has sent richer men to the
+rightabout.”
+
+“Let the fellow have fair play,” said Erskine. “I may be wrong, of
+course; all men are liable to err in judging themselves, but I think I
+could make her happier than he can.”
+
+Sir Charles was not so sure of that, but he cheerfully responded,
+“Certainly. He is not the man for her at all, and you are. He knows it,
+too.”
+
+“Hmf!” muttered Erskine, rising dejectedly. “Let’s go upstairs.”
+
+“By-the-bye, we are to call on him to-morrow, to go through his house,
+and his collection of photographs. Photographs! Ha, ha! Damn his house!”
+ said Erskine.
+
+Next day they went together to Sallust’s House. It stood in the midst of
+an acre of land, waste except a little kitchen garden at the rear. The
+lodge at the entrance was uninhabited, and the gates stood open, with
+dust and fallen leaves heaped up against them. Free ingress had thus
+been afforded to two stray ponies, a goat, and a tramp, who lay asleep
+in the grass. His wife sat near, watching him.
+
+“I have a mind to turn back,” said Sir Charles, looking about him in
+disgust. “The place is scandalously neglected. Look at that rascal
+asleep within full view of the windows.”
+
+“I admire his cheek,” said Erskine. “Nice pair of ponies, too.”
+
+Sallust’s House was square and painted cinnamon color. Beneath the
+cornice was a yellow frieze with figures of dancing children, imitated
+from the works of Donatello, and very unskilfully executed. There was
+a meagre portico of four columns, painted red, and a plain pediment,
+painted yellow. The colors, meant to match those of the walls,
+contrasted disagreeably with them, having been applied more recently,
+apparently by a color-blind artist. The door beneath the portico stood
+open. Sir Charles rang the bell, and an elderly woman answered it; but
+before they could address her, Trefusis appeared, clad in a painter’s
+jacket of white jean. Following him in, they found that the house was a
+hollow square, enclosing a courtyard with a bath sunk in the middle, and
+a fountain in the centre of the bath. The courtyard, formerly open to
+the sky, was now roofed in with dusty glass; the nymph that had once
+poured out the water of the fountain was barren and mutilated; and
+the bath was partly covered in with loose boards, the exposed part
+accommodating a heap of coals in one corner, a heap of potatoes in
+another, a beer barrel, some old carpets, a tarpaulin, and a broken
+canoe. The marble pavement extended to the outer walls of the house, and
+was roofed in at the sides by the upper stories which were supported by
+fluted stone columns, much stained and chipped. The staircase, towards
+which Trefusis led his visitors, was a broad one at the end opposite the
+door, and gave access to a gallery leading to the upper rooms.
+
+“This house was built in 1780 by an ancestor of my mother,” said
+Trefusis. “He passed for a man of exquisite taste. He wished the place
+to be maintained forever--he actually used that expression in his
+will--as the family seat, and he collected a fine library here, which
+I found useful, as all the books came into my hands in good condition,
+most of them with the leaves uncut. Some people prize uncut copies of
+old editions; a dealer gave me three hundred and fifty pounds for a
+lot of them. I came into possession of a number of family
+fetishes--heirlooms, as they are called. There was a sword that one of
+my forbears wore at Edgehill and other battles in Charles the First’s
+time. We fought on the wrong side, of course, but the sword fetched
+thirty-five shillings nevertheless. You will hardly believe that I
+was offered one hundred and fifty pounds for a gold cup worth about
+twenty-five, merely because Queen Elizabeth once drank from it. This is
+my study. It was designed for a banqueting hall.”
+
+They entered a room as long as the wall of the house, pierced on one
+side by four tall windows, between which square pillars, with Corinthian
+capitals supporting the cornice, were half sunk in the wall. There
+were similar pillars on the opposite side, but between them, instead of
+windows, were arched niches in which stood life-size plaster statues,
+chipped, broken, and defaced in an extraordinary fashion. The flooring,
+of diagonally set narrow boards, was uncarpeted and unpolished. The
+ceiling was adorned with frescoes, which at once excited Sir Charles’s
+interest, and he noted with indignation that a large portion of the
+painting at the northern end had been destroyed and some glass roofing
+inserted. In another place bolts had been driven in to support the ropes
+of a trapeze and a few other pieces of gymnastic apparatus. The walls
+were whitewashed, and at about four feet from the ground a dark band
+appeared, produced by pencil memoranda and little sketches scribbled on
+the whitewash. One end of the apartment was unfurnished, except by the
+gymnastic apparatus, a photographer’s camera, a ladder in the corner,
+and a common deal table with oil cans and paint pots upon it. At the
+other end a comparatively luxurious show was made by a large bookcase,
+an elaborate combination of bureau and writing desk, a rack with a
+rifle, a set of foils, and an umbrella in it, several folio albums on a
+table, some comfortable chairs and sofas, and a thick carpet under foot.
+Close by, and seeming much out of place, was a carpenter’s bench with
+the usual implements and a number of boards of various thicknesses.
+
+“This is a sort of comfort beyond the reach of any but a rich man,” said
+Trefusis, turning and surprising his visitors in the act of exchanging
+glances of astonishment at his taste. “I keep a drawing-room of the
+usual kind for receiving strangers with whom it is necessary to be
+conventional, but I never enter it except on such occasions. What do you
+think of this for a study?”
+
+“On my soul, Trefusis, I think you are mad,” said Sir Charles. “The
+place looks as if it had stood a siege. How did you manage to break the
+statues and chip the walls so outrageously?”
+
+Trefusis took a newspaper from the table and said, “Listen to this:
+‘In spite of the unfavorable nature of the weather, the sport of the
+Emperor and his guests in Styria has been successful. In three days 52
+chamois and 79 stags and deer fell to 19 single-barrelled rifles, the
+Emperor allowing no more on this occasion.’
+
+“I share the Emperor’s delight in shooting, but I am no butcher, and do
+not need the royal relish of blood to my sport. And I do not share my
+ancestors’ taste in statuary. Hence--” Here Trefusis opened a drawer,
+took out a pistol, and fired at the Hebe in the farthest niche.
+
+“Well done!” said Erskine coolly, as the last fragment of Hebe’s head
+crumbled at the touch of the bullet.
+
+“Very fruitlessly done,” said Trefusis. “I am a good shot, but of what
+use is it to me? None. I once met a gamekeeper who was a Methodist. He
+was a most eloquent speaker, but a bad shot. If he could have swapped
+talents with me I would have given him ten thousand pounds to boot
+willingly, although he would have profited as much as I by the exchange
+alone. I have no more desire or need to be a good shot than to be
+king of England, or owner of a Derby winner, or anything else equally
+ridiculous, and yet I never missed my aim in my life--thank blind
+fortune for nothing!”
+
+“King of England!” said Erskine, with a scornful laugh, to show Trefusis
+that other people were as liberty-loving as he. “Is it not absurd to
+hear a nation boasting of its freedom and tolerating a king?”
+
+“Oh, hang your republicanism, Chester!” said Sir Charles, who privately
+held a low opinion of the political side of the Patriot Martyrs.
+
+“I won’t be put down on that point,” said Erskine. “I admire a man that
+kills a king. You will agree with me there, Trefusis, won’t you?”
+
+“Certainly not,” said Trefusis. “A king nowadays is only a dummy put up
+to draw your fire off the real oppressors of society, and the fraction
+of his salary that he can spend as he likes is usually far too small for
+his risk, his trouble, and the condition of personal slavery to which
+he is reduced. What private man in England is worse off than the
+constitutional monarch? We deny him all privacy; he may not marry whom
+he chooses, consort with whom he prefers, dress according to his taste,
+or live where he pleases. I don’t believe he may even eat or drink what
+he likes best; a taste for tripe and onions on his part would provoke
+a remonstrance from the Privy Council. We dictate everything except his
+thoughts and dreams, and even these he must keep to himself if they are
+not suitable, in our opinion, to his condition. The work we impose on
+him has all the hardship of mere task work; it is unfruitful, incessant,
+monotonous, and has to be transacted for the most part with nervous
+bores. We make his kingdom a treadmill to him, and drive him to and fro
+on the face of it. Finally, having taken everything else that men prize
+from him, we fall upon his character, and that of every person to whom
+he ventures to show favor. We impose enormous expenses on him,
+stint him, and then rail at his parsimony. We use him as I use those
+statues--stick him up in the place of honor for our greater convenience
+in disfiguring and abusing him. We send him forth through our crowded
+cities, proclaiming that he is the source of all good and evil in the
+nation, and he, knowing that many people believe it, knowing that it is
+a lie, and that he is powerless to shorten the working day by one hour,
+raise wages one penny, or annul the smallest criminal sentence, however
+unjust it may seem to him; knowing that every miner in the kingdom can
+manufacture dynamite, and that revolvers are sold for seven and sixpence
+apiece; knowing that he is not bullet proof, and that every king in
+Europe has been shot at in the streets; he must smile and bow and
+maintain an expression of gracious enjoyment whilst the mayor and
+corporation inflict upon him the twaddling address he has heard a
+thousand times before. I do not ask you to be loyal, Erskine; but I
+expect you, in common humanity, to sympathize with the chief figure
+in the pageant, who is no more accountable for the manifold evils and
+abominations that exist in his realm than the Lord Mayor is accountable
+for the thefts of the pickpockets who follow his show on the ninth of
+November.”
+
+Sir Charles laughed at the trouble Trefusis took to prove his case, and
+said soothingly, “My dear fellow, kings are used to it, and expect it,
+and like it.”
+
+“And probably do not see themselves as I see them, any more than common
+people do,” assented Trefusis.
+
+“What an exquisite face!” exclaimed Erskine suddenly, catching sight of
+a photograph in a rich gold and coral frame on a miniature easel draped
+with ruby velvet. Trefusis turned quickly, so evidently gratified that
+Sir Charles hastened to say, “Charming!” Then, looking at the portrait,
+he added, as if a little startled, “It certainly is an extraordinarily
+attractive face.”
+
+“Years ago,” said Trefusis, “when I saw that face for the first time, I
+felt as you feel now.”
+
+Silence ensued, the two visitors looking at the portrait, Trefusis
+looking at them.
+
+“Curious style of beauty,” said Sir Charles at last, not quite so
+assuredly as before.
+
+Trefusis laughed unpleasantly. “Do you recognize the artist--the
+enthusiastic amateur--in her?” he said, opening another drawer and
+taking out a bundle of drawings, which he handed to be examined.
+
+“Very clever. Very clever indeed,” said Sir Charles. “I should like to
+meet the lady.”
+
+“I have often been on the point of burning them,” said Trefusis; “but
+there they are, and there they are likely to remain. The portrait has
+been much admired.”
+
+“Can you give us an introduction to the original, old fellow?” said
+Erskine.
+
+“No, happily. She is dead.”
+
+Disagreeably shocked, they looked at him for a moment with aversion.
+Then Erskine, turning with pity and disappointment to the picture, said,
+“Poor girl! Was she married?”
+
+“Yes. To me.”
+
+“Mrs. Trefusis!” exclaimed Sir Charles. “Ah! Dear me!”
+
+Erskine, with proof before him that it was possible for a beautiful girl
+to accept Trefusis, said nothing.
+
+“I keep her portrait constantly before me to correct my natural
+amativeness. I fell in love with her and married her. I have fallen in
+love once or twice since but a glance at my lost Hetty has cured me of
+the slightest inclination to marry.”
+
+Sir Charles did not reply. It occurred to him that Lady Brandon’s
+portrait, if nothing else were left of her, might be useful in the same
+way.
+
+“Come, you will marry again one of these days,” said Erskine, in a
+forced tone of encouragement.
+
+“It is possible. Men should marry, especially rich men. But I assure you
+I have no present intention of doing so.”
+
+Erskine’s color deepened, and he moved away to the table where the
+albums lay.
+
+“This is the collection of photographs I spoke of,” said Trefusis,
+following him and opening one of the books. “I took many of them myself
+under great difficulties with regard to light--the only difficulty that
+money could not always remove. This is a view of my father’s house--or
+rather one of his houses. It cost seventy-five thousand pounds.”
+
+“Very handsome indeed,” said Sir Charles, secretly disgusted at being
+invited to admire a photograph, such as house agents exhibit, of a
+vulgarly designed country house, merely because it had cost seventy-five
+thousand pounds. The figures were actually written beneath the picture.
+
+“This is the drawing-room, and this one of the best bedrooms. In the
+right-hand corner of the mount you will see a note of the cost of
+the furniture, fittings, napery, and so forth. They were of the most
+luxurious description.”
+
+“Very interesting,” said Sir Charles, hardly disguising the irony of the
+comment.
+
+“Here is a view--this is the first of my own attempts--of the apartment
+of one of the under servants. It is comfortable and spacious, and
+solidly furnished.”
+
+“So I perceive.”
+
+“These are the stables. Are they not handsome?”
+
+“Palatial. Quite palatial.”
+
+“There is every luxury that a horse could desire, including plenty of
+valets to wait on him. You are noting the figures, I hope. There is the
+cost of the building and the expenditure per horse per annum.”
+
+“I see.”
+
+“Here is the exterior of a house. What do you think of it?”
+
+“It is rather picturesque in its dilapidation.”
+
+“Picturesque! Would you like to live in it?”
+
+“No,” said Erskine. “I don’t see anything very picturesque about it.
+What induced you to photograph such a wretched old rookery?”
+
+“Here is a view of the best room in it. Photography gives you a fair
+idea of the broken flooring and patched windows, but you must imagine
+the dirt and the odor of the place. Some of the stains are weather
+stains, others came from smoke and filth. The landlord of the house
+holds it from a peer and lets it out in tenements. Three families
+occupied that room when I photographed it. You will see by the figures
+in the corner that it is more profitable to the landlord than an average
+house in Mayfair. Here is the cellar, let to a family for one and
+sixpence a week, and considered a bargain. The sun never shines there,
+of course. I took it by artificial light. You may add to the rent the
+cost of enough bad beer to make the tenant insensible to the filth of
+the place. Beer is the chloroform that enables the laborer to endure the
+severe operation of living; that is why we can always assure one another
+over our wine that the rascal’s misery is due to his habit of drinking.
+We are down on him for it, because, if he could bear his life without
+beer, we should save his beer-money--get him for lower wages. In short,
+we should be richer and he soberer. Here is the yard; the arrangements
+are indescribable. Seven of the inhabitants of that house had worked for
+years in my father’s mill. That is, they had created a considerable part
+of the vast sums of money for drawing your attention to which you were
+disgusted with me just now.”
+
+“Not at all,” said Sir Charles faintly.
+
+“You can see how their condition contrasts with that of my father’s
+horses. The seven men to whom I have alluded, with three hundred others,
+were thrown destitute upon the streets by this.” (Here he turned over a
+leaf and displayed a photograph of an elaborate machine.) “It enabled my
+father to dispense with their services, and to replace them by a handful
+of women and children. He had bought the patent of the machine for fifty
+pounds from the inventor, who was almost ruined by the expenses of his
+ingenuity, and would have sacrificed anything for a handful of ready
+money. Here is a portrait of my father in his masonic insignia. He
+believed that freemasons generally get on in the world, and as the main
+object of his life was to get on, he joined them, and wanted me to do
+the same. But I object to pretended secret societies and hocus pocus,
+and would not. You see what he was--a portly, pushing, egotistical
+tradesman. Mark the successful man, the merchant prince with argosies
+on every sea, the employer of thousands of hands, the munificent
+contributor to public charities, the churchwarden, the member
+of parliament, and the generous patron of his relatives his
+self-approbation struggling with the instinctive sense of baseness
+in the money-hunter, the ignorant and greedy filcher of the labor
+of others, the seller of his own mind and manhood for luxuries and
+delicacies that he was too lowlived to enjoy, and for the society of
+people who made him feel his inferiority at every turn.”
+
+“And the man to whom you owe everything you possess,” said Erskine
+boldly.
+
+“I possess very little. Everything he left me, except a few pictures, I
+spent long ago, and even that was made by his slaves and not by him. My
+wealth comes day by day fresh from the labor of the wretches who live in
+the dens I have just shown you, or of a few aristocrats of labor who are
+within ten shillings a week of being worse off. However, there is some
+excuse for my father. Once, at an election riot, I got into a free
+fight. I am a peaceful man, but as I had either to fight or be knocked
+down and trampled upon, I exchanged blows with men who were perhaps as
+peacefully disposed as I. My father, launched into a free competition
+(free in the sense that the fight is free: that is, lawless)--my father
+had to choose between being a slave himself and enslaving others.
+He chose the latter, and as he was applauded and made much of for
+succeeding, who dare blame him? Not I. Besides, he did something to
+destroy the anarchy that enabled him to plunder society with impunity.
+He furnished me, its enemy, with the powerful weapon of a large fortune.
+Thus our system of organizing industry sometimes hatches the eggs from
+which its destroyers break. Does Lady Brandon wear much lace?”
+
+“I--No; that is--How the deuce do I know, Trefusis? What an
+extraordinary question!”
+
+“This is a photograph of a lace school. It was a filthy room, twelve
+feet square. It was paved with brick, and the children were not allowed
+to wear their boots, lest the lace should get muddy. However, as
+there were twenty of them working there for fifteen hours a day--all
+girls--they did not suffer much from cold. They were pretty tightly
+packed--may be still, for aught I know. They brought three or four
+shillings a week sometimes to their fond parents; and they were very
+quick-fingered little creatures, and stuck intensely to their work, as
+the overseer always hit them when they looked up or--”
+
+“Trefusis,” said Sir Charles, turning away from the table, “I beg your
+pardon, but I have no appetite for horrors. You really must not ask me
+to go through your collection. It is no doubt very interesting, but I
+can’t stand it. Have you nothing pleasant to entertain me with?”
+
+“Pooh! you are squeamish. However, as you are a novice, let us put off
+the rest until you are seasoned. The pictures are not all horrible. Each
+book refers to a different country. That one contains illustrations of
+modern civilization in Germany, for instance. That one is France; that,
+British India. Here you have the United States of America, home of
+liberty, theatre of manhood suffrage, kingless and lordless land of
+Protection, Republicanism, and the realized Radical Programme, where all
+the black chattel slaves were turned into wage-slaves (like my father’s
+white fellows) at a cost of 800,000 lives and wealth incalculable.
+You and I are paupers in comparison with the great capitalists of that
+country, where the laborers fight for bones with the Chinamen, like
+dogs. Some of these great men presented me with photographs of their
+yachts and palaces, not anticipating the use to which I would put them.
+Here are some portraits that will not harrow your feelings. This is my
+mother, a woman of good family, every inch a lady. Here is a Lancashire
+lass, the daughter of a common pitman. She has exactly the same physical
+characteristics as my well-born mother--the same small head, delicate
+features, and so forth; they might be sisters. This villainous-looking
+pair might be twin brothers, except that there is a trace of good humor
+about the one to the right. The good-humored one is a bargee on the
+Lyvern Canal. The other is one of the senior noblemen of the British
+Peerage. They illustrate the fact that Nature, even when perverted by
+generations of famine fever, ignores the distinctions we set up
+between men. This group of men and women, all tolerably intelligent
+and thoughtful looking, are so-called enemies of society--Nihilists,
+Anarchists, Communards, members of the International, and so on. These
+other poor devils, worried, stiff, strumous, awkward, vapid, and rather
+coarse, with here and there a passably pretty woman, are European kings,
+queens, grand-dukes, and the like. Here are ship-captains, criminals,
+poets, men of science, peers, peasants, political economists, and
+representatives of dozens of degrees. The object of the collection is
+to illustrate the natural inequality of man, and the failure of our
+artificial inequality to correspond with it.”
+
+“It seems to me a sort of infernal collection for the upsetting of
+people’s ideas,” said Erskine. “You ought to label it ‘A Portfolio of
+Paradoxes.’”
+
+“In a rational state of society they would be paradoxes; but now
+the time gives them proof--like Hamlet’s paradox. It is, however, a
+collection of facts; and I will give no fanciful name to it. You dislike
+figures, don’t you?”
+
+“Unless they are by Phidias, yes.”
+
+“Here are a few, not by Phidias. This is the balance sheet of an
+attempt I made some years ago to carry out the idea of an International
+Association of Laborers--commonly known as THE International--or union
+of all workmen throughout the world in defence of the interests of
+labor. You see the result. Expenditure, four thousand five hundred
+pounds. Subscriptions received from working-men, twenty-two pounds seven
+and ten pence halfpenny. The British workmen showed their sense of my
+efforts to emancipate them by accusing me of making a good thing out of
+the Association for my own pocket, and by mobbing and stoning me twice.
+I now help them only when they show some disposition to help themselves.
+I occupy myself partly in working out a scheme for the reorganization of
+industry, and partly in attacking my own class, women and all, as I am
+attacking you.”
+
+“There is little use in attacking us, I fear,” said Sir Charles.
+
+“Great use,” said Trefusis confidently. “You have a very different
+opinion of our boasted civilization now from that which you held when I
+broke your wall down and invited those Land Nationalization zealots to
+march across your pleasure ground. You have seen in my album something
+you had not seen an hour ago, and you are consequently not quite the
+same man you were an hour ago. My pictures stick in the mind longer than
+your scratchy etchings, or the leaden things in which you fancy you see
+tender harmonies in gray. Erskine’s next drama may be about liberty,
+but its Patriot Martyrs will have something better to do than spout
+balderdash against figure-head kings who in all their lives never
+secretly plotted as much dastardly meanness, greed, cruelty, and
+tyranny as is openly voted for in London by every half-yearly meeting
+of dividend-consuming vermin whose miserable wage-slaves drudge sixteen
+hours out of the twenty-four.”
+
+“What is going to be the end of it all?” said Sir Charles, a little
+dazed.
+
+“Socialism or Smash. Socialism if the race has at last evolved the
+faculty of coordinating the functions of a society too crowded and
+complex to be worked any longer on the old haphazard private-property
+system. Unless we reorganize our society socialistically--humanly a most
+arduous and magnificent enterprise, economically a most simple and sound
+one--Free Trade by itself will ruin England, and I will tell you exactly
+how. When my father made his fortune we had the start of all other
+nations in the organization of our industry and in our access to iron
+and coal. Other nations bought our products for less than they must have
+spent to raise them at home, and yet for so much more than they cost
+us, that profits rolled in Atlantic waves upon our capitalists. When
+the workers, by their trades-unions, demanded a share of the luck in
+the form of advanced wages, it paid better to give them the little they
+dared to ask than to stop gold-gathering to fight and crush them. But
+now our customers have set up in their own countries improved copies of
+our industrial organization, and have discovered places where iron
+and coal are even handier than they are by this time in England. They
+produce for themselves, or buy elsewhere, what they formerly bought
+from us. Our profits are vanishing, our machinery is standing idle,
+our workmen are locked out. It pays now to stop the mills and fight
+and crush the unions when the men strike, no longer for an advance, but
+against a reduction. Now that these unions are beaten, helpless, and
+drifting to bankruptcy as the proportion of unemployed men in their
+ranks becomes greater, they are being petted and made much of by our
+class; an infallible sign that they are making no further progress in
+their duty of destroying us. The small capitalists are left stranded by
+the ebb; the big ones will follow the tide across the water, and
+rebuild their factories where steam power, water power, labor power,
+and transport are now cheaper than in England, where they used to be
+cheapest. The workers will emigrate in pursuit of the factory, but they
+will multiply faster than they emigrate, and be told that their own
+exorbitant demand for wages is driving capital abroad, and must continue
+to do so whilst there is a Chinaman or a Hindoo unemployed to underbid
+them. As the British factories are shut up, they will be replaced by
+villas; the manufacturing districts will become fashionable resorts for
+capitalists living on the interest of foreign investments; the farms and
+sheep runs will be cleared for deer forests. All products that can
+in the nature of things be manufactured elsewhere than where they are
+consumed will be imported in payment of deer-forest rents from foreign
+sportsmen, or of dividends due to shareholders resident in England, but
+holding shares in companies abroad, and these imports will not be paid
+for by ex ports, because rent and interest are not paid for at all--a
+fact which the Free Traders do not yet see, or at any rate do not
+mention, although it is the key to the whole mystery of their opponents.
+The cry for Protection will become wild, but no one will dare resort to
+a demonstrably absurd measure that must raise prices before it raises
+wages, and that has everywhere failed to benefit the worker. There will
+be no employment for anyone except in doing things that must be done on
+the spot, such as unpacking and distributing the imports, ministering to
+the proprietors as domestic servants, or by acting, preaching, paving,
+lighting, housebuilding, and the rest; and some of these, as the
+capitalist comes to regard ostentation as vulgar, and to enjoy a simpler
+life, will employ fewer and fewer people. A vast proletariat, beginning
+with a nucleus of those formerly employed in export trades, with their
+multiplying progeny, will be out of employment permanently. They will
+demand access to the land and machinery to produce for themselves. They
+will be refused. They will break a few windows and be dispersed with
+a warning to their leaders. They will burn a few houses and murder a
+policeman or two, and then an example will be made of the warned. They
+will revolt, and be shot down with machine-guns--emigrated--exterminated
+anyhow and everyhow; for the proprietary classes have no idea of any
+other means of dealing with the full claims of labor. You yourself,
+though you would give fifty pounds to Jansenius’s emigration fund
+readily enough, would call for the police, the military, and the Riot
+Act, if the people came to Brandon Beeches and bade you turn out and
+work for your living with the rest. Well, the superfluous proletariat
+destroyed, there will remain a population of capitalists living on
+gratuitous imports and served by a disaffected retinue. One day the
+gratuitous imports will stop in consequence of the occurrence abroad of
+revolution and repudiation, fall in the rate of interest, purchase of
+industries by governments for lump sums, not reinvestable, or what
+not. Our capitalist community is then thrown on the remains of the last
+dividend, which it consumes long before it can rehabilitate its extinct
+machinery of production in order to support itself with its own hands.
+Horses, dogs, cats, rats, blackberries, mushrooms, and cannibalism only
+postpone--”
+
+“Ha! ha! ha!” shouted Sir Charles. “On my honor, I thought you were
+serious at first, Trefusis. Come, confess, old chap; it’s all a fad of
+yours. I half suspected you of being a bit of a crank.” And he winked at
+Erskine.
+
+“What I have described to you is the inevitable outcome of our present
+Free Trade policy without Socialism. The theory of Free Trade is only
+applicable to systems of exchange, not to systems of spoliation. Our
+system is one of spoliation, and if we don’t abandon it, we must either
+return to Protection or go to smash by the road I have just mapped. Now,
+sooner than let the Protectionists triumph, the Cobden Club itself would
+blow the gaff and point out to the workers that Protection only means
+compelling the proprietors of England to employ slaves resident
+in England and therefore presumably--though by no means
+necessarily--Englishmen. This would open the eyes of the nation at last
+to the fact that England is not their property. Once let them understand
+that and they would soon make it so. When England is made the property
+of its inhabitants collectively, England becomes socialistic. Artificial
+inequality will vanish then before real freedom of contract; freedom
+of competition, or unhampered emulation, will keep us moving ahead; and
+Free Trade will fulfil its promises at last.”
+
+“And the idlers and loafers,” said Erskine. “What of them?”
+
+“You and I, in fact,” said Trefusis, “die of starvation, I suppose,
+unless we choose to work, or unless they give us a little out-door
+relief in consideration of our bad bringing-up.”
+
+“Do you mean that they will plunder us?” said Sir Charles.
+
+“I mean that they will make us stop plundering them. If they hesitate
+to strip us naked, or to cut our throats if we offer them the smallest
+resistance, they will show us more mercy than we ever showed them.
+Consider what we have done to get our rents in Ireland and Scotland, and
+our dividends in Egypt, if you have already forgotten my photographs and
+their lesson in our atrocities at home. Why, man, we murder the great
+mass of these toilers with overwork and hardship; their average lifetime
+is not half as long as ours. Human nature is the same in them as in us.
+If we resist them, and succeed in restoring order, as we call it, we
+will punish them mercilessly for their insubordination, as we did in
+Paris in 1871, where, by-the-bye, we taught them the folly of giving
+their enemies quarter. If they beat us, we shall catch it, and serve us
+right. Far better turn honest at once and avert bloodshed. Eh, Erskine?”
+
+Erskine was considering what reply he should make, when Trefusis
+disconcerted him by ringing a bell. Presently the elderly woman
+appeared, pushing before her an oblong table mounted on wheels, like a
+barrow.
+
+“Thank you,” said Trefusis, and dismissed her. “Here is some good wine,
+some good water, some good fruit, and some good bread. I know that
+you cling to wine as to a good familiar creature. As for me, I make no
+distinction between it and other vegetable poisons. I abstain from them
+all. Water for serenity, wine for excitement. I, having boiling springs
+of excitement within myself, am never at a loss for it, and have only
+to seek serenity. However,” (here he drew a cork), “a generous goblet
+of this will make you feel like gods for half an hour at least. Shall we
+drink to your conversion to Socialism?”
+
+Sir Charles shook his head.
+
+“Come, Mr. Donovan Brown, the great artist, is a Socialist, and why
+should not you be one?”
+
+“Donovan Brown!” exclaimed Sir Charles with interest. “Is it possible?
+Do you know him personally?”
+
+“Here are several letters from him. You may read them; the mere
+autograph of such a man is interesting.”
+
+Sir Charles took the letters and read them earnestly, Erskine reading
+over his shoulder.
+
+“I most cordially agree with everything he says here,” said Sir Charles.
+“It is quite true, quite true.”
+
+“Of course you agree with us. Donovan Brown’s eminence as an artist has
+gained me one recruit, and yours as a baronet will gain me some more.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“But what?” said Trefusis, deftly opening one of the albums at a
+photograph of a loathsome room.
+
+“You are against that, are you not? Donovan Brown is against it, and I
+am against it. You may disagree with us in everything else, but there
+you are at one with us. Is it not so?”
+
+“But that may be the result of drunkenness, improvidence, or--”
+
+“My father’s income was fifty times as great as that of Donovan
+Brown. Do you believe that Donovan Brown is fifty times as drunken and
+improvident as my father was?”
+
+“Certainly not. I do not deny that there is much in what you urge.
+Still, you ask me to take a rather important step.”
+
+“Not a bit of it. I don’t ask you to subscribe to, join, or in any way
+pledge yourself to any society or conspiracy whatsoever. I only want
+your name for private mention to cowards who think Socialism right, but
+will not say so because they do not think it respectable. They will not
+be ashamed of their convictions when they learn that a baronet shares
+them. Socialism offers you something already, you see; a good use for
+your hitherto useless title.”
+
+Sir Charles colored a little, conscious that the example of his favorite
+painter had influenced him more than his own conviction or the arguments
+of Trefusis.
+
+“What do you think, Chester?” he said. “Will you join?”
+
+“Erskine is already committed to the cause of liberty by his published
+writings,” said Trefusis. “Three of the pamphlets on that shelf contain
+quotations from ‘The Patriot Martyrs.’”
+
+Erskine blushed, flattered by being quoted; an attention that had been
+shown him only once before, and then by a reviewer with the object of
+proving that the Patriot Martyrs were slovenly in their grammar.
+
+“Come!” said Trefusis. “Shall I write to Donovan Brown that his letters
+have gained the cordial assent and sympathy of Sir Charles Brandon?”
+
+“Certainly, certainly. That is, if my unknown name would be of the least
+interest to him.”
+
+“Good,” said Trefusis, filling his glass with water. “Erskine, let us
+drink to our brother Social Democrat.”
+
+Erskine laughed loudly, but not heartily. “What an ass you are,
+Brandon!” he said. “You, with a large landed estate, and bags of gold
+invested in railways, calling yourself a Social Democrat! Are you going
+to sell out and distribute--to sell all that thou hast and give to the
+poor?”
+
+“Not a penny,” replied Trefusis for him promptly. “A man cannot be a
+Christian in this country. I have tried it and found it impossible both
+in law and in fact. I am a capitalist and a landholder. I have railway
+shares, mining shares, building shares, bank shares, and stock of most
+kinds; and a great trouble they are to me. But these shares do not
+represent wealth actually in existence; they are a mortgage on the labor
+of unborn generations of laborers, who must work to keep me and mine in
+idleness and luxury. If I sold them, would the mortgage be cancelled and
+the unborn generations released from its thrall? No. It would only pass
+into the hands of some other capitalist, and the working class would be
+no better off for my self-sacrifice. Sir Charles cannot obey the command
+of Christ; I defy him to do it. Let him give his land for a public park;
+only the richer classes will have leisure to enjoy it. Plant it at the
+very doors of the poor, so that they may at last breathe its air, and it
+will raise the value of the neighboring houses and drive the poor away.
+Let him endow a school for the poor, like Eton or Christ’s Hospital,
+and the rich will take it for their own children as they do in the
+two instances I have named. Sir Charles does not want to minister to
+poverty, but to abolish it. No matter how much you give to the poor,
+everything except a bare subsistence wage will be taken from them again
+by force. All talk of practicing Christianity, or even bare justice, is
+at present mere waste of words. How can you justly reward the laborer
+when you cannot ascertain the value of what he makes, owing to the
+prevalent custom of stealing it? I know this by experience. I wanted to
+pay a just price for my wife’s tomb, but I could not find out its
+value, and never shall. The principle on which we farm out our national
+industry to private marauders, who recompense themselves by black-mail,
+so corrupts and paralyzes us that we cannot be honest even when we want
+to. And the reason we bear it so calmly is that very few of us really
+want to.”
+
+“I must study this question of value,” said Sir Charles dubiously,
+refilling his goblet. “Can you recommend me a good book on the subject?”
+
+“Any good treatise on political economy will do,” said Trefusis. “In
+economics all roads lead to Socialism, although in nine cases out of
+ten, so far, the economist doesn’t recognize his destination, and incurs
+the malediction pronounced by Jeremiah on those who justify the wicked
+for reward. I will look you out a book or two. And if you will call on
+Donovan Brown the next time you are in London, he will be delighted, I
+know. He meets with very few who are capable of sympathizing with him
+from both his points of view--social and artistic.”
+
+Sir Charles brightened on being reminded of Donovan Brown. “I shall
+esteem an introduction to him a great honor,” he said. “I had no idea
+that he was a friend of yours.”
+
+“I was a very practical young Socialist when I first met him,” said
+Trefusis. “When Brown was an unknown and wretchedly poor man, my
+mother, at the petition of a friend of his, charitably bought one of
+his pictures for thirty pounds, which he was very glad to get. Years
+afterwards, when my mother was dead, and Brown famous, I was offered
+eight hundred pounds for this picture, which was, by-the-bye, a very
+bad one in my opinion. Now, after making the usual unjust allowance for
+interest on thirty pounds for twelve years or so that had elapsed, the
+sale of the picture would have brought me in a profit of over seven
+hundred and fifty pounds, an unearned increment to which I had no
+righteous claim. My solicitor, to whom I mentioned the matter, was of
+opinion that I might justifiably pocket the seven hundred and fifty
+pounds as reward for my mother’s benevolence in buying a presumably
+worthless picture from an obscure painter. But he failed to convince me
+that I ought to be paid for my mother’s virtues, though we agreed that
+neither I nor my mother had received any return in the shape of pleasure
+in contemplating the work, which had deteriorated considerably by the
+fading of the colors since its purchase. At last I went to Brown’s
+studio with the picture, and told him that it was worth nothing to me,
+as I thought it a particularly bad one, and that he might have it back
+again for fifteen pounds, half the first price. He at once told me that
+I could get from any dealer more for it than he could afford to give me;
+but he told me too that I had no right to make a profit out of his work,
+and that he would give me the original price of thirty pounds. I took
+it, and then sent him the man who had offered me the eight hundred.
+To my discomfiture Brown refused to sell it on any terms, because he
+considered it unworthy of his reputation. The man bid up to fifteen
+hundred, but Brown held out; and I found that instead of putting seven
+hundred and seventy pounds into his pocket I had taken thirty out of
+it. I accordingly offered to return the thirty pieces. Brown, taking the
+offer as an insult, declined all further communication with me. I then
+insisted on the matter being submitted to arbitration, and demanded
+fifteen hundred pounds as the full exchange value of the picture. All
+the arbitrators agreed that this was monstrous, whereupon I contended
+that if they denied my right to the value in exchange, they must admit
+my right to the value in use. They assented to this after putting off
+their decision for a fortnight in order to read Adam Smith and discover
+what on earth I meant by my values in use and exchange. I now showed
+that the picture had no value in use to me, as I disliked it, and that
+therefore I was entitled to nothing, and that Brown must take back the
+thirty pounds. They were glad to concede this also to me, as they were
+all artist friends of Brown, and wished him not to lose money by the
+transaction, though they of course privately thought that the picture
+was, as I described it, a bad one. After that Brown and I became very
+good friends. He tolerated my advances, at first lest it should seem
+that he was annoyed by my disparagement of his work. Subsequently he
+fell into my views much as you have done.”
+
+“That is very interesting,” said Sir Charles. “What a noble
+thing--refusing fifteen hundred pounds! He could ill afford it,
+probably.”
+
+“Heroic--according to nineteenth century notions of heroism. Voluntarily
+to throw away a chance of making money! that is the ne plus ultra of
+martyrdom. Brown’s wife was extremely angry with him for doing it.”
+
+“It is an interesting story--or might be made so,” said Erskine. “But
+you make my head spin with your confounded exchange values and stuff.
+Everything is a question of figures with you.”
+
+“That comes of my not being a poet,” said Trefusis. “But we Socialists
+need to study the romantic side of our movement to interest women in it.
+If you want to make a cause grow, instruct every woman you meet in it.
+She is or will one day be a wife, and will contradict her husband with
+scraps of your arguments. A squabble will follow. The son will listen,
+and will be set thinking if he be capable of thought. And so the mind
+of the people gets leavened. I have converted many young women. Most of
+them know no more of the economic theory of Socialism than they know of
+Chaldee; but they no longer fear or condemn its name. Oh, I assure you
+that much can be done in that way by men who are not afraid of women,
+and who are not in too great a hurry to see the harvest they have sown
+for.”
+
+“Take care. Some of your lady proselytes may get the better of you some
+day. The future husband to be contradicted may be Sidney Trefusis. Ha!
+ha! ha!” Sir Charles had emptied a second large goblet of wine, and was
+a little flushed and boisterous.
+
+“No,” said Trefusis, “I have had enough of love myself, and am not
+likely to inspire it. Women do not care for men to whom, as Erskine
+says, everything is a question of figures. I used to flirt with women;
+now I lecture them, and abhor a man-flirt worse than I do a woman one.
+Some more wine? Oh, you must not waste the remainder of this bottle.”
+
+“I think we had better go, Brandon,” said Erskine, his mistrust of
+Trefusis growing. “We promised to be back before two.”
+
+“So you shall,” said Trefusis. “It is not yet a quarter past one.
+By-the-bye, I have not shown you Donovan Brown’s pet instrument for the
+regeneration of society. Here it is. A monster petition praying that the
+holding back from the laborer of any portion of the net value produced
+by his labor be declared a felony. That is all.”
+
+Erskine nudged Sir Charles, who said hastily, “Thank you, but I had
+rather not sign anything.”
+
+“A baronet sign such a petition!” exclaimed Trefusis. “I did not think
+of asking you. I only show it to you as an interesting historical
+document, containing the autographs of a few artists and poets. There is
+Donovan Brown’s for example. It was he who suggested the petition, which
+is not likely to do much good, as the thing cannot be done in any such
+fashion However, I have promised Brown to get as many signatures as I
+can; so you may as well sign it, Erskine. It says nothing in blank verse
+about the holiness of slaying a tyrant, but it is a step in the right
+direction. You will not stick at such a trifle--unless the reviews have
+frightened you. Come, your name and address.”
+
+Erskine shook his head.
+
+“Do you then only commit yourself to revolutionary sentiments when there
+is a chance of winning fame as a poet by them?”
+
+“I will not sign, simply because I do not choose to,” said Erskine
+warmly.
+
+“My dear fellow,” said Trefusis, almost affectionately, “if a man has a
+conscience he can have no choice in matters of conviction. I have read
+somewhere in your book that the man who will not shed his blood for the
+liberty of his brothers is a coward and a slave. Will you not shed a
+drop of ink--my ink, too--for the right of your brothers to the work
+of their hands? I at first sight did not care to sign this petition,
+because I would as soon petition a tiger to share his prey with me as
+our rulers to relax their grip of the stolen labor they live on. But
+Donovan Brown said to me, ‘You have no choice. Either you believe that
+the laborer should have the fruit of his labor or you do not. If you
+do, put your conviction on record, even if it should be as useless as
+Pilate’s washing his hands.’ So I signed.”
+
+“Donovan Brown was right,” said Sir Charles. “I will sign.” And he did
+so with a flourish.
+
+“Brown will be delighted,” said Trefusis. “I will write to him to-day
+that I have got another good signature for him.”
+
+“Two more,” said Sir Charles. “You shall sign, Erskine; hang me if you
+shan’t! It is only against rascals that run away without paying their
+men their wages.”
+
+“Or that don’t pay them in full,” observed Trefusis, with a curious
+smile. “But do not sign if you feel uncomfortable about it.”
+
+“If you don’t sign after me, you are a sneak, Chester,” said Sir
+Charles.
+
+“I don’t know what it means,” said Erskine, wavering. “I don’t
+understand petitions.”
+
+“It means what it says; you cannot be held responsible for any meaning
+that is not expressed in it,” said Trefusis. “But never mind. You
+mistrust me a little, I fancy, and would rather not meddle with my
+petitions; but you will think better of that as you grow used to me.
+Meanwhile, there is no hurry. Don’t sign yet.”
+
+“Nonsense! I don’t doubt your good faith,” said Erskine, hastily
+disavowing suspicions which he felt but could not account for. “Here
+goes!” And he signed.
+
+“Well done!” said Trefusis. “This will make Brown happy for the rest of
+the month.”
+
+“It is time for us to go now,” said Erskine gloomily.
+
+“Look in upon me at any time; you shall be welcome,” said Trefusis. “You
+need not stand upon any sort of ceremony.”
+
+Then they parted; Sir Charles assuring Trefusis that he had never spent
+a more interesting morning, and shaking hands with him at considerable
+length three times. Erskine said little until he was in the Riverside
+Road with his friend, when he suddenly burst out:
+
+“What the devil do you mean by drinking two tumblers of such staggering
+stuff at one o’clock in the day in the house of a dangerous man like
+that? I am very sorry I went into the fellow’s place. I had misgivings
+about it, and they have been fully borne out.”
+
+“How so?” said Sir Charles, taken aback.
+
+“He has overreached us. I was a deuced fool to sign that paper, and so
+were you. It was for that that he invited us.”
+
+“Rubbish, my dear boy. It was not his paper, but Donovan Brown’s.”
+
+“I doubt it. Most likely he talked Brown into signing it just as he
+talked us. I tell you his ways are all crooked, like his ideas. Did you
+hear how he lied about Miss Lindsay?”
+
+“Oh, you were mistaken about that. He does not care two straws for her
+or for anyone.”
+
+“Well, if you are satisfied, I am not. You would not be in such high
+spirits over it if you had taken as little wine as I.”
+
+“Pshaw! you’re too ridiculous. It was capital wine. Do you mean to say I
+am drunk?”
+
+“No. But you would not have signed if you had not taken that second
+goblet. If you had not forced me--I could not get out of it after
+you set the example--I would have seen him d--d sooner than have had
+anything to do with his petition.”
+
+“I don’t see what harm can come of it,” said Sir Charles, braving out
+some secret disquietude.
+
+“I will never go into his house again,” said Erskine moodily. “We were
+just like two flies in a spider’s web.”
+
+Meanwhile, Trefusis was fulfilling his promise to write to Donovan
+Brown.
+
+“Sallust’s House.
+
+“Dear Brown: I have spent the forenoon angling for a couple of very
+young fish, and have landed them with more trouble than they are worth.
+One has gaudy scales: he is a baronet, and an amateur artist, save the
+mark. All my arguments and my little museum of photographs were lost on
+him; but when I mentioned your name, and promised him an introduction to
+you, he gorged the bait greedily. He was half drunk when he signed; and
+I should not have let him touch the paper if I had not convinced myself
+beforehand that he means well, and that my wine had only freed his
+natural generosity from his conventional cowardice and prejudice.
+We must get his name published in as many journals as possible as a
+signatory to the great petition; it will draw on others as your name
+drew him. The second novice, Chichester Erskine, is a young poet.
+He will not be of much use to us, though he is a devoted champion of
+liberty in blank verse, and dedicates his works to Mazzini, etc. He
+signed reluctantly. All this hesitation is the uncertainty that comes
+of ignorance; they have not found out the truth for themselves, and are
+afraid to trust me, matters having come to the pass at which no man
+dares trust his fellow.
+
+“I have met a pretty young lady here who might serve you as a model for
+Hypatia. She is crammed with all the prejudices of the peerage, but I am
+effecting a cure. I have set my heart on marrying her to Erskine, who,
+thinking that I am making love to her on my own account, is jealous. The
+weather is pleasant here, and I am having a merry life of it, but I find
+myself too idle. Etc., etc., etc.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+One sunny forenoon, as Agatha sat reading on the doorstep of the
+conservatory, the shadow of her parasol deepened, and she, looking up
+for something denser than the silk of it, saw Trefusis.
+
+“Oh!”
+
+She offered him no further greeting, having fallen in with his habit
+of dispensing, as far as possible, with salutations and ceremonies.
+He seemed in no hurry to speak, and so, after a pause, she began, “Sir
+Charles--”
+
+“Is gone to town,” he said. “Erskine is out on his bicycle. Lady Brandon
+and Miss Lindsay have gone to the village in the wagonette, and you have
+come out here to enjoy the summer sun and read rubbish. I know all your
+news already.”
+
+“You are very clever, and, as usual, wrong. Sir Charles has not gone to
+town. He has only gone to the railway station for some papers; he will
+be back for luncheon. How do you know so much of our affairs?”
+
+“I was on the roof of my house with a field-glass. I saw you come out
+and sit down here. Then Sir Charles passed. Then Erskine. Then Lady
+Brandon, driving with great energy, and presenting a remarkable contrast
+to the disdainful repose of Gertrude.”
+
+“Gertrude! I like your cheek.”
+
+“You mean that you dislike my presumption.”
+
+“No, I think cheek a more expressive word than presumption; and I mean
+that I like it--that it amuses me.”
+
+“Really! What are you reading?”
+
+“Rubbish, you said just now. A novel.”
+
+“That is, a lying story of two people who never existed, and who would
+have acted very differently if they had existed.”
+
+“Just so.”
+
+“Could you not imagine something just as amusing for yourself?”
+
+“Perhaps so; but it would be too much trouble. Besides, cooking takes
+away one’s appetite for eating. I should not relish stories of my own
+confection.”
+
+“Which volume are you at?”
+
+“The third.”
+
+“Then the hero and heroine are on the point of being united?”
+
+“I really don’t know. This is one of your clever novels. I wish the
+characters would not talk so much.”
+
+“No matter. Two of them are in love with one another, are they not?”
+
+“Yes. It would not be a novel without that.”
+
+“Do you believe, in your secret soul, Agatha--I take the liberty of
+using your Christian name because I wish to be very solemn--do you
+really believe that any human being was ever unselfish enough to love
+another in the story-book fashion?”
+
+“Of course. At least I suppose so. I have never thought much about it.”
+
+“I doubt it. My own belief is that no latter-day man has any faith in
+the thoroughness or permanence of his affection for his mate. Yet he
+does not doubt the sincerity of her professions, and he conceals the
+hollowness of his own from her, partly because he is ashamed of it,
+and partly out of pity for her. And she, on the other side, is playing
+exactly the same comedy.”
+
+“I believe that is what men do, but not women.”
+
+“Indeed! Pray do you remember pretending to be very much in love with me
+once when--”
+
+Agatha reddened and placed her palm on the step as if about to spring
+up. But she checked herself and said: “Stop, Mr. Trefusis. If you talk
+about that I shall go away. I wonder at you! Have you no taste?’,
+
+“None whatever. And as I was the aggrieved party on that--stay, don’t
+go. I will never allude to it again. I am growing afraid of you. You
+used to be afraid of me.”
+
+“Yes; and you used to bully me. You have a habit of bullying women who
+are weak enough to fear you. You are a great deal cleverer than I, and
+know much more, I dare say; but I am not in the least afraid of you
+now.”
+
+“You have no reason to be, and never had any. Henrietta, if she were
+alive, could testify that it there is a defect in my relations with
+women, it arises from my excessive amiability. I could not refuse a
+woman anything she had set her heart upon--except my hand in marriage.
+As long as your sex are content to stop short of that they can do as
+they please with me.”
+
+“How cruel! I thought you were nearly engaged to Gertrude.”
+
+“The usual interpretation of a friendship between a man and a woman! I
+have never thought of such a thing; and I am sure she never has. We are
+not half so intimate as you and Sir Charles.”
+
+“Oh, Sir Charles is married. And I advise you to get married if you wish
+to avoid creating misunderstandings by your friendships.”
+
+Trefusis was struck. Instead of answering, he stood, after one startled
+glance at her, looking intently at the knuckle of his forefinger.
+
+“Do take pity on our poor sex,” said Agatha maliciously. “You are so
+rich, and so very clever, and really so nice looking that you ought to
+share yourself with somebody. Gertrude would be only too happy.”
+
+Trefusis grinned and shook his head, slowly but emphatically.
+
+“I suppose _I_ should have no chance,” continued Agatha pathetically.
+
+“I should be delighted, of course,” he replied with simulated confusion,
+but with a lurking gleam in his eye that might have checked her, had she
+noticed it.
+
+“Do marry me, Mr. Trefusis,” she pleaded, clasping her hands in a
+rapture of mischievous raillery. “Pray do.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Trefusis determinedly; “I will.”
+
+“I am very sure you shan’t,” said Agatha, after an incredulous pause,
+springing up and gathering her skirt as if to run away. “You do not
+suppose I was in earnest, do you?”
+
+“Undoubtedly I do. _I_ am in earnest.”
+
+Agatha hesitated, uncertain whether he might not be playing with her as
+she had just been playing with him. “Take care,” she said. “I may
+change my mind and be in earnest, too; and then how will you feel, Mr.
+Trefusis?”
+
+“I think, under our altered relations, you had better call me Sidney.”
+
+“I think we had better drop the joke. It was in rather bad taste, and I
+should not have made it, perhaps.”
+
+“It would be an execrable joke; therefore I have no intention of
+regarding it as one. You shall be held to your offer, Agatha. Are you in
+love with me?”
+
+“Not in the least. Not the very smallest bit in the world. I do not know
+anybody with whom I am less in love or less likely to be in love.”
+
+“Then you must marry me. If you were in love with me, I should run
+away. My sainted Henrietta adored me, and I proved unworthy of
+adoration--though I was immensely flattered.”
+
+“Yes; exactly! The way you treated your first wife ought to be
+sufficient to warn any woman against becoming your second.”
+
+“Any woman who loved me, you mean. But you do not love me, and if I run
+away you will have the advantage of being rid of me. Our settlements can
+be drawn so as to secure you half my fortune in such an event.”
+
+“You will never have a chance of running away from me.”
+
+“I shall not want to. I am not so squeamish as I was. No; I do not think
+I shall run away from you.”
+
+“I do not think so either.”
+
+“Well, when shall we be married?”
+
+“Never,” said Agatha, and fled. But before she had gone a step he caught
+her.
+
+“Don’t,” she said breathlessly. “Take your arm away. How dare you?”
+
+He released her and shut the door of the conservatory. “Now,” he said,
+“if you want to run away you will have to run in the open.”
+
+“You are very impertinent. Let me go in immediately.”
+
+“Do you want me to beg you to marry me after you have offered to do it
+freely?”
+
+“But I was only joking; I don’t care for you,” she said, looking round
+for an outlet.
+
+“Agatha,” he said, with grim patience, “half an hour ago I had no more
+intention of marrying you than of making a voyage to the moon. But when
+you made the suggestion I felt all its force in an instant, and now
+nothing will satisfy me but your keeping your word. Of all the women I
+know, you are the only one not quite a fool.”
+
+“I should be a great fool if--”
+
+“If you married me, you were going to say; but I don’t think so. I am
+the only man, not quite an ass, of your acquaintance. I know my value,
+and yours. And I loved you long ago, when I had no right to.”
+
+Agatha frowned. “No,” she said. “There is no use in saying anything more
+about it. It is out of the question.”
+
+“Come, don’t be vindictive. I was more sincere then than you were. But
+that has nothing to do with the present. You have spent our renewed
+acquaintance on the defensive against me, retorting upon me, teasing and
+tempting me. Be generous for once, and say Yes with a good will.”
+
+“Oh, I NEVER tempted you,” cried Agatha. “I did not. It is not true.”
+ He said nothing, but offered his hand. “No; go away; I will not.”
+ He persisted, and she felt her power of resistance suddenly wane.
+Terror-stricken, she said hastily, “There is not the least use in
+bothering me; I will tell you nothing to-day.”
+
+“Promise me on your honor that you will say Yes to-morrow, and I will
+leave you in peace until then.”
+
+“I will not.”
+
+“The deuce take your sex,” he said plaintively.
+
+“You know my mind now, and I have to stand here coquetting because
+you don’t know your own. If I cared for my comfort I should remain a
+bachelor.”
+
+“I advise you to do so,” she said, stealing backward towards the door.
+“You are a very interesting widower. A wife would spoil you. Consider
+the troubles of domesticity, too.”
+
+“I like troubles. They strengthen--Aha!” (she had snatched at the knob
+of the door, and he swiftly put his hand on hers and stayed her). “Not
+yet, if you please. Can you not speak out like a woman--like a man, I
+mean? You may withhold a bone from Max until he stands on his hind legs
+to beg for it, but you should not treat me like a dog. Say Yes frankly,
+and do not keep me begging.”
+
+“What in the world do you want to marry me for?”
+
+“Because I was made to carry a house on my shoulders, and will do so.
+I want to do the best I can for myself, and I shall never have such a
+chance again. And I cannot help myself, and don’t know why; that is the
+plain truth of the matter. You will marry someone some day.” She shook
+her head. “Yes, you will. Why not marry me?”
+
+Agatha bit her nether lip, looked ruefully at the ground, and, after
+a long pause, said reluctantly, “Very well. But mind, I think you are
+acting very foolishly, and if you are disappointed afterwards, you must
+not blame ME.”
+
+“I take the risk of my bargain,” he said, releasing her hand, and
+leaning against the door as he took out his pocket diary. “You will have
+to take the risk of yours, which I hope may not prove the worse of the
+two. This is the seventeenth of June. What date before the twenty-fourth
+of July will suit you?”
+
+“You mean the twenty-fourth of July next year, I presume?”
+
+“No; I mean this year. I am going abroad on that date, married or not,
+to attend a conference at Geneva, and I want you to come with me. I will
+show you a lot of places and things that you have never seen before.
+It is your right to name the day, but you have no serious business to
+provide for, and I have.”
+
+“But you don’t know all the things I shall--I should have to provide.
+You had better wait until you come back from the continent.”
+
+“There is nothing to be provided on your part but settlements and your
+trousseau. The trousseau is all nonsense; and Jansenius knows me of old
+in the matter of settlements. I got married in six weeks before.”
+
+“Yes,” said Agatha sharply, “but I am not Henrietta.”
+
+“No, thank Heaven,” he assented placidly.
+
+Agatha was struck with remorse. “That was a vile thing for me to say,”
+ she said; “and for you too.”
+
+“Whatever is true is to the purpose, vile or not. Will you come to
+Geneva on the twenty-fourth?”
+
+“But--I really was not thinking when I--I did not intend to say that I
+would--I--”
+
+“I know. You will come if we are married.”
+
+“Yes. IF we are married.”
+
+“We shall be married. Do not write either to your mother or Jansenius
+until I ask you.”
+
+“I don’t intend to. I have nothing to write about.”
+
+“Wretch that you are! And do not be jealous if you catch me making love
+to Lady Brandon. I always do so; she expects it.”
+
+“You may make love to whom you please. It is no concern of mine.”
+
+“Here comes the wagonette with Lady Brandon and Ger--and Miss Lindsay.
+I mustn’t call her Gertrude now except when you are not by. Before they
+interrupt us, let me remind you of the three points we are agreed
+upon. I love you. You do not love me. We are to be married before the
+twenty-fourth of next month. Now I must fly to help her ladyship to
+alight.”
+
+He hastened to the house door, at which the wagonette had just stopped.
+Agatha, bewildered, and ashamed to face her friends, went in through the
+conservatory, and locked herself in her room.
+
+Trefusis went into the library with Gertrude whilst Lady Brandon
+loitered in the hall to take off her gloves and ask questions of the
+servants. When she followed, she found the two standing together at the
+window. Gertrude was listening to him with the patient expression she
+now often wore when he talked. He was smiling, but it struck Jane that
+he was not quite at ease. “I was just beginning to tell Miss Lindsay,”
+ he said, “of an extraordinary thing that has happened during your
+absence.”
+
+“I know,” exclaimed Jane, with sudden conviction. “The heater in the
+conservatory has cracked.”
+
+“Possibly,” said Trefusis; “but, if so, I have not heard of it.”
+
+“If it hasn’t cracked, it will,” said Jane gloomily. Then, assuming with
+some effort an interest in Trefusis’s news, she added: “Well, what has
+happened?”
+
+“I was chatting with Miss Wylie just now, when a singular idea occurred
+to us. We discussed it for some time; and the upshot is that we are to
+be married before the end of next month.”
+
+Jane reddened and stared at him; and he looked keenly back at her.
+Gertrude, though unobserved, did not suffer her expression of patient
+happiness to change in the least; but a greenish-white color suddenly
+appeared in her face, and only gave place very slowly to her usual
+complexion.
+
+“Do you mean to say that you are going to marry AGATHA?” said Lady
+Brandon incredulously, after a pause.
+
+“Yes. I had no intention of doing so when I last saw you or I should
+have told you.”
+
+“I never heard of such a thing in my life! You fell in love with one
+another in five minutes, I suppose.”
+
+“Good Heavens, no! we are not in love with one another. Can you believe
+that I would marry for such a frivolous reason? No. The subject turned
+up accidentally, and the advantage of a match between us struck me
+forcibly. I was fortunate enough to convert her to my opinion.”
+
+“Yes; she wanted a lot of pressing, I dare say,” said Jane, glancing at
+Gertrude, who was smiling unmeaningly.
+
+“As you imply,” said Trefusis coolly, “her reluctance may have been
+affected, and she only too glad to get such a charming husband. Assuming
+that to be the case, she dissembled remarkably well.”
+
+Gertrude took off her bonnet, and left the room without speaking.
+
+“This is my revenge upon you for marrying Brandon,” he said then,
+approaching Jane.
+
+“Oh, yes,” she retorted ironically. “I believe all that, of course.”
+
+“You have the same security for its truth as for that of all the foolish
+things I confess to you. There!” He pointed to a panel of looking glass,
+in which Jane’s figure was reflected at full length.
+
+“I don’t see anything to admire,” said Jane, looking at herself with no
+great favor. “There is plenty of me, if you admire that.”
+
+“It is impossible to have too much of a good thing. But I must not look
+any more. Though Agatha says she does not love me, I am not sure that
+she would be pleased if I were to look for love from anyone else.”
+
+“Says she does not love you! Don’t believe her; she has taken trouble
+enough to catch you.”
+
+“I am flattered. You caught me without any trouble, and yet you would
+not have me.”
+
+“It is manners to wait to be asked. I think you have treated Gertrude
+shamefully--I hope you won’t be offended with me for saying so. I blame
+Agatha most. She is an awfully double-faced girl.”
+
+“How so?” said Trefusis, surprised. “What has Miss Lindsay to do with
+it?”
+
+“You know very well.”
+
+“I assure you I do not. If you were speaking of yourself I could
+understand you.”
+
+“Oh, you can get out of it cleverly, like all men; but you can’t
+hoodwink me. You shouldn’t have pretended to like Gertrude when you were
+really pulling a cord with Agatha. And she, too, pretending to flirt
+with Sir Charles--as if he would care twopence for her!”
+
+Trefusis seemed a little disturbed. “I hope Miss Lindsay had no
+such--but she could not.”
+
+“Oh, couldn’t she? You will soon see whether she had or not.”
+
+“You misunderstood us, Lady Brandon; Miss Lindsay knows better.
+Remember, too, that this proposal of mine was quite unpremeditated. This
+morning I had no tender thoughts of anyone except one whom it would be
+improper to name.”
+
+“Oh, that is all talk. It won’t do now.”
+
+“I will talk no more at present. I must be off to the village to
+telegraph to my solicitor. If I meet Erskine I will tell him the good
+news.”
+
+“He will be delighted. He thought, as we all did, that you were cutting
+him out with Gertrude.”
+
+Trefusis smiled, shook his head, and, with a glance of admiring homage
+to Jane’s charms, went out. Jane was contemplating herself in the glass
+when a servant begged her to come and speak to Master Charles and Miss
+Fanny. She hurried upstairs to the nursery, where her boy and girl,
+disputing each other’s prior right to torture the baby, had come to
+blows. They were somewhat frightened, but not at all appeased, by Jane’s
+entrance. She scolded, coaxed, threatened, bribed, quoted Dr. Watts,
+appealed to the nurse and then insulted her, demanded of the children
+whether they loved one another, whether they loved mamma, and whether
+they wanted a right good whipping. At last, exasperated by her own
+inability to restore order, she seized the baby, which had cried
+incessantly throughout, and, declaring that it was doing it on purpose
+and should have something real to cry for, gave it an exemplary
+smacking, and ordered the others to bed. The boy, awed by the fate of
+his infant brother, offered, by way of compromise, to be good if Miss
+Wylie would come and play with him, a proposal which provoked from his
+jealous mother a box on the ear that sent him howling to his cot. Then
+she left the room, pausing on the threshold to remark that if she heard
+another sound from them that day, they might expect the worst from her.
+On descending, heated and angry, to the drawing-room, she found Agatha
+there alone, looking out of window as if the landscape were especially
+unsatisfactory this time.
+
+“Selfish little beasts!” exclaimed Jane, making a miniature whirlwind
+with her skirts as she came in. “Charlie is a perfect little fiend. He
+spends all his time thinking how he can annoy me. Ugh! He’s just like
+his father.”
+
+“Thank you, my dear,” said Sir Charles from the doorway.
+
+Jane laughed. “I knew you were there,” she said. “Where’s Gertrude?”
+
+“She has gone out,” said Sir Charles.
+
+“Nonsense! She has only just come in from driving with me.”
+
+“I do not know what you mean by nonsense,” said Sir Charles, chafing.
+“I saw her walking along the Riverside Road. I was in the village road,
+and she did not see me. She seemed in a hurry.”
+
+“I met her on the stairs and spoke to her,” said Agatha, “but she didn’t
+hear me.”
+
+“I hope she is not going to throw herself into the river,” said Jane.
+Then, turning to her husband, she added: “Have you heard the news?”
+
+“The only news I have heard is from this paper,” said Sir Charles,
+taking out a journal and flinging it on the table. “There is a paragraph
+in it stating that I have joined some infernal Socialistic league, and
+I am told that there is an article in the ‘Times’ on the spread of
+Socialism, in which my name is mentioned. This is all due to Trefusis;
+and I think he has played me a most dishonorable trick. I will tell him
+so, too, when next I see him.”
+
+“You had better be careful what you say of him before Agatha,” said
+Jane. “Oh, you need not be alarmed, Agatha; I know all about it. He told
+us in the library. We went out this morning--Gertrude and I--and when we
+came back we found Mr. Trefusis and Agatha talking very lovingly to one
+another on the conservatory steps, newly engaged.”
+
+“Indeed!” said Sir Charles, disconcerted and displeased, but trying to
+smile. “I may then congratulate you, Miss Wylie?”
+
+“You need not,” said Agatha, keeping her countenance as well as she
+could. “It was only a joke. At least it came about in a jest. He has no
+right to say that we are engaged.”
+
+“Stuff and nonsense,” said Jane. “That won’t do, Agatha. He has gone off
+to telegraph to his solicitor. He is quite in earnest.”
+
+“I am a great fool,” said Agatha, sitting down and twisting her hands
+perplexedly. “I believe I said something; but I really did not intend
+to. He surprised me into speaking before I knew what I was saying. A
+pretty mess I have got myself into!”
+
+“I am glad you have been outwitted at last,” said Jane, laughing
+spitefully. “You never had any pity for me when I could not think of the
+proper thing to say at a moment’s notice.”
+
+Agatha let the taunt pass unheeded. Her gaze wandered anxiously, and at
+last settled appealingly upon Sir Charles. “What shall I do?” she said
+to him.
+
+“Well, Miss Wylie,” he said gravely, “if you did not mean to marry him
+you should not have promised. I don’t wish to be unsympathetic, and I
+know that it is very hard to get rid of Trefusis when he makes up his
+mind to act something out of you, but still--”
+
+“Never mind her,” said Jane, interrupting him. “She wants to marry
+him just as badly as he wants to marry her. You would be preciously
+disappointed if he cried off, Agatha; for all your interesting
+reluctance.”
+
+“That is not so, really,” said Agatha earnestly. “I wish I had taken
+time to think about it. I suppose he has told everybody by this time.”
+
+“May we then regard it as settled?” said Sir Charles.
+
+“Of course you may,” said Jane contemptuously.
+
+“Pray allow Miss Wylie to speak for herself, Jane. I confess I do
+not understand why you are still in doubt--if you have really engaged
+yourself to him.”
+
+“I suppose I am in for it,” said Agatha. “I feel as if there were some
+fatal objection, if I could only remember what it is. I wish I had never
+seen him.”
+
+Sir Charles was puzzled. “I do not understand ladies’ ways in these
+matters,” he said. “However, as there seems to be no doubt that you and
+Trefusis are engaged, I shall of course say nothing that would make it
+unpleasant for him to visit here; but I must say that he has--to say
+the least--been inconsiderate to me personally. I signed a paper at his
+house on the implicit understanding that it was strictly private,
+and now he has trumpeted it forth to the whole world, and publicly
+associated my name not only with his own, but with those of persons of
+whom I know nothing except that I would rather not be connected with
+them in any way.”
+
+“What does it matter?” said Jane. “Nobody cares twopence.”
+
+“_I_ care,” said Sir Charles angrily. “No sensible person can accuse
+me of exaggerating my own importance because I value my reputation
+sufficiently to object to my approval being publicly cited in support of
+a cause with which I have no sympathy.”
+
+“Perhaps Mr. Trefusis has had nothing to do with it,” said Agatha. “The
+papers publish whatever they please, don’t they?”
+
+“That’s right, Agatha,” said Jane maliciously. “Don’t let anyone speak
+ill of him.”
+
+“I am not speaking ill of him,” said Sir Charles, before Agatha could
+retort. “It is a mere matter of feeling, and I should not have mentioned
+it had I known the altered relations between him and Miss Wylie.”
+
+“Pray don’t speak of them,” said Agatha. “I have a mind to run away by
+the next train.”
+
+Sir Charles, to change the subject, suggested a duet.
+
+Meanwhile Erskine, returning through the village from his morning ride,
+had met Trefusis, and attempted to pass him with a nod. But Trefusis
+called to him to stop, and he dismounted reluctantly.
+
+“Just a word to say that I am going to be married,” said Trefusis.
+
+“To--?” Erskine could not add Gertrude’s name.
+
+“To one of our friends at the Beeches. Guess to which.”
+
+“To Miss Lindsay, I presume.”
+
+“What in the fiend’s name has put it into all your heads that Miss
+Lindsay and I are particularly attached to one another?” exclaimed
+Trefusis. “YOU have always appeared to me to be the man for Miss
+Lindsay. I am going to marry Miss Wylie.”
+
+“Really!” exclaimed Erskine, with a sensation of suddenly thawing after
+a bitter frost.
+
+“Of course. And now, Erskine, you have the advantage of being a poor
+man. Do not let that splendid girl marry for money. If you go further
+you are likely to fare worse; and so is she.” Then he nodded and walked
+away, leaving the other staring after him.
+
+“If he has jilted her, he is a scoundrel,” said Erskine. “I am sorry I
+didn’t tell him so.”
+
+He mounted and rode slowly along the Riverside Road, partly suspecting
+Trefusis of some mystification, but inclining to believe in him, and,
+in any case, to take his advice as to Gertrude. The conversation he had
+overheard in the avenue still perplexed him. He could not reconcile it
+with Trefusis’s profession of disinterestedness towards her.
+
+His bicycle carried him noiselessly on its india-rubber tires to the
+place by which the hemlock grew and there he saw Gertrude sitting on the
+low earthen wall that separated the field from the road. Her straw bag,
+with her scissors in it, lay beside her. Her fingers were interlaced,
+and her hands rested, palms downwards, on her knee. Her expression was
+rather vacant, and so little suggestive of any serious emotion that
+Erskine laughed as he alighted close to her.
+
+“Are you tired?” he said.
+
+“No,” she replied, not startled, and smiling mechanically--an unusual
+condescension on her part.
+
+“Indulging in a day-dream?”
+
+“No.” She moved a little to one side and concealed the basket with her
+dress.
+
+He began to fear that something was wrong. “Is it possible that you have
+ventured among those poisonous plants again?” he said. “Are you ill?”
+
+“Not at all,” she replied, rousing herself a little. “Your solicitude is
+quite thrown away. I am perfectly well.”
+
+“I beg your pardon,” he said, snubbed. “I thought--Don’t you think it
+dangerous to sit on that damp wall?”
+
+“It is not damp. It is crumbling into dust with dryness.” An unnatural
+laugh, with which she concluded, intensified his uneasiness.
+
+He began a sentence, stopped, and to gain time to recover himself,
+placed his bicycle in the opposite ditch; a proceeding which she
+witnessed with impatience, as it indicated his intention to stay and
+talk. She, however, was the first to speak; and she did so with a
+callousness that shocked him.
+
+“Have you heard the news?”
+
+“What news?”
+
+“About Mr. Trefusis and Agatha. They are engaged.”
+
+“So Trefusis told me. I met him just now in the village. I was very glad
+to hear it.”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“But I had a special reason for being glad.”
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+“I was desperately afraid, before he told me the truth, that he had
+other views--views that might have proved fatal to my dearest hopes.”
+
+Gertrude frowned at him, and the frown roused him to brave her. He lost
+his self-command, already shaken by her strange behavior. “You know that
+I love you, Miss Lindsay,” he said. “It may not be a perfect love, but,
+humanly speaking, it is a true one. I almost told you so that day when
+we were in the billiard room together; and I did a very dishonorable
+thing the same evening. When you were speaking to Trefusis in the avenue
+I was close to you, and I listened.”
+
+“Then you heard him,” cried Gertrude vehemently. “You heard him swear
+that he was in earnest.”
+
+“Yes,” said Erskine, trembling, “and I thought he meant in earnest in
+loving you. You can hardly blame me for that: I was in love myself; and
+love is blind and jealous. I never hoped again until he told me that he
+was to be married to Miss Wylie. May I speak to you, now that I know I
+was mistaken, or that you have changed your mind?”
+
+“Or that he has changed his mind,” said Gertrude scornfully.
+
+Erskine, with a new anxiety for her sake, checked himself. Her dignity
+was dear to him, and he saw that her disappointment had made her
+reckless of it. “Do not say anything to me now, Miss Lindsay, lest--”
+
+“What have I said? What have I to say?”
+
+“Nothing, except on my own affairs. I love you dearly.”
+
+She made an impatient movement, as if that were a very insignificant
+matter.
+
+“You believe me, I hope,” he said, timidly.
+
+Gertrude made an effort to recover her habitual ladylike reserve, but
+her energy failed before she had done more than raise her head. She
+relapsed into her listless attitude, and made a faint gesture of
+intolerance.
+
+“You cannot be quite indifferent to being loved,” he said, becoming more
+nervous and more urgent. “Your existence constitutes all my happiness.
+I offer you my services and devotion. I do not ask any reward.” (He was
+now speaking very quickly and almost inaudibly.) “You may accept my love
+without returning it. I do not want--seek to make a bargain. If you need
+a friend you may be able to rely on me more confidently because you know
+I love you.”
+
+“Oh, you think so,” said Gertrude, interrupting him; “but you will get
+over it. I am not the sort of person that men fall in love with. You
+will soon change your mind.”
+
+“Not the sort! Oh, how little you know!” he said, becoming eloquent.
+“I have had plenty of time to change, but I am as fixed as ever. If you
+doubt, wait and try me. But do not be rough with me. You pain me
+more than you can imagine when you are hasty or indifferent. I am in
+earnest.”
+
+“Ha, ha! That is easily said.”
+
+“Not by me. I change in my judgment of other people according to my
+humor, but I believe steadfastly in your goodness and beauty--as if you
+were an angel. I am in earnest in my love for you as I am in earnest for
+my own life, which can only be perfected by your aid and influence.”
+
+“You are greatly mistaken if you suppose that I am an angel.”
+
+“You are wrong to mistrust yourself; but it is what I owe to you and not
+what I expect from you that I try to express by speaking of you as an
+angel. I know that you are not an angel to yourself. But you are to me.”
+
+She sat stubbornly silent.
+
+“I will not press you for an answer now. I am content that you know my
+mind at last. Shall we return together?”
+
+She looked round slowly at the hemlock, and from that to the river.
+Then she took up her basket, rose, and prepared to go, as if under
+compulsion.
+
+“Do you want any more hemlock?” he said. “If so, I will pluck some for
+you.”
+
+“I wish you would let me alone,” she said, with sudden anger. She added,
+a little ashamed of herself, “I have a headache.”
+
+“I am very sorry,” he said, crestfallen.
+
+“It is only that I do not wish to be spoken to. It hurts my head to
+listen.”
+
+He meekly took his bicycle from the ditch and wheeled it along beside
+her to the Beeches without another word. They went in through the
+conservatory, and parted in the dining-room. Before leaving him she said
+with some remorse, “I did not mean to be rude, Mr. Erskine.”
+
+He flushed, murmured something, and attempted to kiss her hand. But she
+snatched it away and went out quickly. He was stung by this repulse, and
+stood mortifying himself by thinking of it until he was disturbed by the
+entrance of a maid-servant. Learning from her that Sir Charles was in
+the billiard room, he joined him there, and asked him carelessly if he
+had heard the news.
+
+“About Miss Wylie?” said Sir Charles. “Yes, I should think so. I believe
+the whole country knows it, though they have not been engaged three
+hours. Have you seen these?” And he pushed a couple of newspapers across
+the table.
+
+Erskine had to make several efforts before he could read. “You were a
+fool to sign that document,” he said. “I told you so at the time.”
+
+“I relied on the fellow being a gentleman,” said Sir Charles warmly.
+“I do not see that I was a fool. I see that he is a cad, and but for
+this business of Miss Wylie’s I would let him know my opinion. Let me
+tell you, Chester, that he has played fast and loose with Miss Lindsay.
+There is a deuce of a row upstairs. She has just told Jane that she must
+go home at once; Miss Wylie declares that she will have nothing to do
+with Trefusis if Miss Lindsay has a prior claim to him, and Jane is
+annoyed at his admiring anybody except herself. It serves me right; my
+instinct warned me against the fellow from the first.” Just then
+luncheon was announced. Gertrude did not come down. Agatha was silent
+and moody. Jane tried to make Erskine describe his walk with Gertrude,
+but he baffled her curiosity by omitting from his account everything
+except its commonplaces.
+
+“I think her conduct very strange,” said Jane. “She insists on going to
+town by the four o’clock train. I consider that it’s not polite to me,
+although she always made a point of her perfect manners. I never heard
+of such a thing!”
+
+When they had risen from the table, they went together to the
+drawing-room. They had hardly arrived there when Trefusis was announced,
+and he was in their presence before they had time to conceal the
+expression of consternation his name brought into their faces.
+
+“I have come to say good-bye,” he said. “I find that I must go to
+town by the four o’clock train to push my arrangements in person; the
+telegrams I have received breathe nothing but delay. Have you seen the
+‘Times’?”
+
+“I have indeed,” said Sir Charles, emphatically.
+
+“You are in some other paper too, and will be in half-a-dozen more in
+the course of the next fortnight. Men who have committed themselves to
+an opinion are always in trouble with the newspapers; some because they
+cannot get into them, others because they cannot keep out. If you had
+put forward a thundering revolutionary manifesto, not a daily paper
+would have dared allude to it: there is no cowardice like Fleet Street
+cowardice! I must run off; I have much to do before I start, and it is
+getting on for three. Good-bye, Lady Brandon, and everybody.”
+
+He shook Jane’s hand, dealt nods to the rest rapidly, making no
+distinction in favor of Agatha, and hurried away. They stared after him
+for a moment and then Erskine ran out and went downstairs two steps at a
+time. Nevertheless he had to run as far as the avenue before he overtook
+his man.
+
+“Trefusis,” he said breathlessly, “you must not go by the four o’clock
+train.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Miss Lindsay is going to town by it.”
+
+“So much the better, my dear boy; so much the better. You are not
+jealous of me now, are you?”
+
+“Look here, Trefusis. I don’t know and I don’t ask what there has been
+between you and Miss Lindsay, but your engagement has quite upset her,
+and she is running away to London in consequence. If she hears that you
+are going by the same train she will wait until to-morrow, and I believe
+the delay would be very disagreeable. Will you inflict that additional
+pain upon her?”
+
+Trefusis, evidently concerned, looking doubtfully at Erskine, and
+pondered for a moment. “I think you are on a wrong scent about this,”
+ he said. “My relations with Miss Lindsay were not of a sentimental kind.
+Have you said anything to her--on your own account, I mean?”
+
+“I have spoken to her on both accounts, and I know from her own lips
+that I am right.”
+
+Trefusis uttered a low whistle.
+
+“It is not the first time I have had the evidence of my senses in the
+matter,” said Erskine significantly. “Pray think of it seriously,
+Trefusis. Forgive my telling you frankly that nothing but your own utter
+want of feeling could excuse you for the way in which you have acted
+towards her.”
+
+Trefusis smiled. “Forgive me in turn for my inquisitiveness,” he said.
+“What does she say to your suit?”
+
+Erskine hesitated, showing by his manner that he thought Trefusis had no
+right to ask the question. “She says nothing,” he answered.
+
+“Hm!” said Trefusis. “Well, you may rely on me as to the train. There is
+my hand upon it.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Erskine fervently. They shook hands and parted,
+Trefusis walking away with a grin suggestive of anything but good faith.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Gertrude, unaware of the extent to which she had already betrayed her
+disappointment, believed that anxiety for her father’s health, which she
+alleged as the motive of her sudden departure, was an excuse plausible
+enough to blind her friends to her overpowering reluctance to speak to
+Agatha or endure her presence; to her fierce shrinking from the sort of
+pity usually accorded to a jilted woman; and, above all, to her dread
+of meeting Trefusis. She had for some time past thought of him as an
+upright and perfect man deeply interested in her. Yet, comparatively
+liberal as her education had been, she had no idea of any interest
+of man in woman existing apart from a desire to marry. He had, in his
+serious moments, striven to make her sensible of the baseness he saw in
+her worldliness, flattering her by his apparent conviction--which
+she shared--that she was capable of a higher life. Almost in the same
+breath, a strain of gallantry which was incorrigible in him, and to
+which his humor and his tenderness to women whom he liked gave variety
+and charm, would supervene upon his seriousness with a rapidity which
+her far less flexible temperament could not follow. Hence she, thinking
+him still in earnest when he had swerved into florid romance, had been
+dangerously misled. He had no conscientious scruples in his love-making,
+because he was unaccustomed to consider himself as likely to inspire
+love in women; and Gertrude did not know that her beauty gave to an hour
+spent alone with her a transient charm which few men of imagination and
+address could resist. She, who had lived in the marriage market since
+she had left school, looked upon love-making as the most serious
+business of life. To him it was only a pleasant sort of trifling,
+enhanced by a dash of sadness in the reflection that it meant so little.
+
+Of the ceremonies attending her departure, the one that cost her most
+was the kiss she felt bound to offer Agatha. She had been jealous of her
+at college, where she had esteemed herself the better bred of the two;
+but that opinion had hardly consoled her for Agatha’s superior quickness
+of wit, dexterity of hand, audacity, aptness of resource, capacity for
+forming or following intricate associations of ideas, and consequent
+power to dazzle others. Her jealousy of these qualities was now barbed
+by the knowledge that they were much nearer akin than her own to those
+of Trefusis. It mattered little to her how she appeared to herself in
+comparison with Agatha. But it mattered the whole world (she thought)
+that she must appear to Trefusis so slow, stiff, cold, and studied, and
+that she had no means to make him understand that she was not really so.
+For she would not admit the justice of impressions made by what she did
+not intend to do, however habitually she did it. She had a theory that
+she was not herself, but what she would have liked to be. As to the one
+quality in which she had always felt superior to Agatha, and which she
+called “good breeding,” Trefusis had so far destroyed her conceit in
+that, that she was beginning to doubt whether it was not her cardinal
+defect.
+
+She could not bring herself to utter a word as she embraced her
+schoolfellow; and Agatha was tongue-tied too. But there was much
+remorseful tenderness in the feelings that choked them. Their silence
+would have been awkward but for the loquacity of Jane, who talked enough
+for all three. Sir Charles was without, in the trap, waiting to drive
+Gertrude to the station. Erskine intercepted her in the hall as she
+passed out, told her that he should be desolate when she was gone, and
+begged her to remember him, a simple petition which moved her a little,
+and caused her to note that his dark eyes had a pleading eloquence which
+she had observed before in the kangaroos at the Zoological Society’s
+gardens.
+
+On the way to the train Sir Charles worried the horse in order to be
+excused from conversation on the sore subject of his guest’s sudden
+departure. He had made a few remarks on the skittishness of young
+ponies, and on the weather, and that was all until they reached the
+station, a pretty building standing in the open country, with a view of
+the river from the platform. There were two flies waiting, two porters,
+a bookstall, and a refreshment room with a neglected beauty pining
+behind the bar. Sir Charles waited in the booking office to purchase a
+ticket for Gertrude, who went through to the platform. The first person
+she saw there was Trefusis, close beside her.
+
+“I am going to town by this train, Gertrude,” he said quickly. “Let
+me take charge of you. I have something to say, for I hear that some
+mischief has been made between us which must be stopped at once. You--”
+
+Just then Sir Charles came out, and stood amazed to see them in
+conversation.
+
+“It happens that I am going by this train,” said Trefusis. “I will see
+after Miss Lindsay.”
+
+“Miss Lindsay has her maid with her,” said Sir Charles, almost
+stammering, and looking at Gertrude, whose expression was inscrutable.
+
+“We can get into the Pullman car,” said Trefusis. “There we shall be as
+private as in a corner of a crowded drawing-room. I may travel with you,
+may I not?” he said, seeing Sir Charles’s disturbed look, and turning to
+her for express permission.
+
+She felt that to deny him would be to throw away her last chance of
+happiness. Nevertheless she resolved to do it, though she should die
+of grief on the way to London. As she raised her head to forbid him the
+more emphatically, she met his gaze, which was grave and expectant. For
+an instant she lost her presence of mind, and in that instant said,
+“Yes. I shall be very glad.”
+
+“Well, if that is the case,” said Sir Charles, in the tone of one whose
+sympathy had been alienated by an unpardonable outrage, “there can
+be no use in my waiting. I leave you in the hands of Mr. Trefusis.
+Good-bye, Miss Lindsay.”
+
+Gertrude winced. Unkindness from a man usually kind proved hard to bear
+at parting. She was offering him her hand in silence when Trefusis said:
+
+“Wait and see us off. If we chance to be killed on the journey--which
+is always probable on an English railway--you will reproach yourself
+afterwards if you do not see the last of us. Here is the train; it will
+not delay you a minute. Tell Erskine that you saw me here; that I have
+not forgotten my promise, and that he may rely on me. Get in at this
+end, Miss Lindsay.”
+
+“My maid,” said Gertrude hesitating; for she had not intended to travel
+so expensively. “She--”
+
+“She comes with us to take care of me; I have tickets for everybody,”
+ said Trefusis, handing the woman in.
+
+“But--”
+
+“Take your seats, please,” said the guard. “Going by the train, sir?”
+
+“Good-bye, Sir Charles. Give my love to Lady Brandon, and Agatha, and
+the dear children; and thanks so much for a very pleasant--” Here the
+train moved off, and Sir Charles, melting, smiled and waved his hat
+until he caught sight of Trefusis looking back at him with a grin which
+seemed, under the circumstances, so Satanic, that he stopped as if
+petrified in the midst of his gesticulations, and stood with his arm out
+like a semaphore.
+
+The drive home restored him somewhat, but he was still full of
+his surprise when he rejoined Agatha, his wife, and Erskine in the
+drawing-room at the Beeches. The moment he entered, he said without
+preface, “She has gone off with Trefusis.”
+
+Erskine, who had been reading, started up, clutching his book as if
+about to hurl it at someone, and cried, “Was he at the train?”
+
+“Yes, and has gone to town by it.”
+
+“Then,” said Erskine, flinging the book violently on the floor, “he is a
+scoundrel and a liar.”
+
+“What is the matter?” said Agatha rising, whilst Jane stared
+open-mouthed at him.
+
+“I beg your pardon, Miss Wylie, I forgot you. He pledged me his honor
+that he would not go by that train. I will.” He hurried from the room.
+Sir Charles rushed after him, and overtook him at the foot of the
+stairs.
+
+“Where are you going? What do you want to do?”
+
+“I will follow the train and catch it at the next station. I can do it
+on my bicycle.”
+
+“Nonsense! you’re mad. They have thirty-five minutes start; and the
+train travels forty-five miles an hour.”
+
+Erskine sat down on the stairs and gazed blankly at the opposite wall.
+
+“You must have mistaken him,” said Sir Charles. “He told me to tell you
+that he had not forgotten his promise, and that you may rely on him.”
+
+“What is the matter?” said Agatha, coming down, followed by Lady
+Brandon.
+
+“Miss Wylie,” said Erskine, springing up, “he gave me his word that he
+would not go by that train when I told him Miss Lindsay was going by
+it. He has broken his word and seized the opportunity I was mad and
+credulous enough to tell him of. If I had been in your place, Brandon, I
+would have strangled him or thrown him under the wheels sooner than let
+him go. He has shown himself in this as in everything else, a cheat, a
+conspirator, a man of crooked ways, shifts, tricks, lying sophistries,
+heartless selfishness, cruel cynicism--” He stopped to catch his breath,
+and Sir Charles interposed a remonstrance.
+
+“You are exciting yourself about nothing, Chester. They are in a
+Pullman, with her maid and plenty of people; and she expressly gave him
+leave to go with her. He asked her the question flatly before my face,
+and I must say I thought it a strange thing for her to consent to.
+However, she did consent, and of course I was not in a position to
+prevent him from going to London if he pleased. Don’t let us have a
+scene, old man. It can’t be helped.”
+
+“I am very sorry,” said Erskine, hanging his head. “I did not mean to
+make a scene. I beg your pardon.”
+
+He went away to his room without another word. Sir Charles followed and
+attempted to console him, but Erskine caught his hand, and asked to be
+left to himself. So Sir Charles returned to the drawing-room, where his
+wife, at a loss for once, hardly ventured to remark that she had never
+heard of such a thing in her life.
+
+Agatha kept silence. She had long ago come unconsciously to the
+conclusion that Trefusis and she were the only members of the party at
+the Beeches who had much common-sense, and this made her slow to
+believe that he could be in the wrong and Erskine in the right in any
+misunderstanding between them. She had a slovenly way of summing up
+as “asses” people whose habits of thought differed from hers. Of all
+varieties of man, the minor poet realized her conception of the human
+ass most completely, and Erskine, though a very nice fellow indeed,
+thoroughly good and gentlemanly, in her opinion, was yet a minor poet,
+and therefore a pronounced ass. Trefusis, on the contrary, was the last
+man of her acquaintance whom she would have thought of as a very nice
+fellow or a virtuous gentleman; but he was not an ass, although he
+was obstinate in his Socialistic fads. She had indeed suspected him of
+weakness almost asinine with respect to Gertrude, but then all men were
+asses in their dealings with women, and since he had transferred his
+weakness to her own account it no longer seemed to need justification.
+And now, as her concern for Erskine, whom she pitied, wore off, she
+began to resent Trefusis’s journey with Gertrude as an attack on her
+recently acquired monopoly of him. There was an air of aristocratic
+pride about Gertrude which Agatha had formerly envied, and which
+she still feared Trefusis might mistake for an index of dignity and
+refinement. Agatha did not believe that her resentment was the common
+feeling called jealousy, for she still deemed herself unique, but it
+gave her a sense of meanness that did not improve her spirits.
+
+The dinner was dull. Lady Brandon spoke in an undertone, as if someone
+lay dead in the next room. Erskine was depressed by the consciousness of
+having lost his head and acted foolishly in the afternoon. Sir Charles
+did not pretend to ignore the suspense they were all in pending
+intelligence of the journey to London; he ate and drank and said
+nothing. Agatha, disgusted with herself and with Gertrude, and undecided
+whether to be disgusted with Trefusis or to trust him affectionately,
+followed the example of her host. After dinner she accompanied him in
+a series of songs by Schubert. This proved an aggravation instead of
+a relief. Sir Charles, excelling in the expression of melancholy,
+preferred songs of that character; and as his musical ideas, like those
+of most Englishmen, were founded on what he had heard in church in his
+childhood, his style was oppressively monotonous. Agatha took the first
+excuse that presented itself to leave the piano. Sir Charles felt that
+his performance had been a failure, and remarked, after a cough or two,
+that he had caught a touch of cold returning from the station. Erskine
+sat on a sofa with his head drooping, and his palms joined and hanging
+downward between his knees. Agatha stood at the window, looking at the
+late summer afterglow. Jane yawned, and presently broke the silence.
+
+“You look exactly as you used at school, Agatha. I could almost fancy us
+back again in Number Six.”
+
+Agatha shook her head.
+
+“Do I ever look like that--like myself, as I used to be?”
+
+“Never,” said Agatha emphatically, turning and surveying the figure of
+which Miss Carpenter had been the unripe antecedent.
+
+“But why?” said Jane querulously. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I am not
+so changed.”
+
+“You have become an exceedingly fine woman, Jane,” said Agatha gravely,
+and then, without knowing why, turned her attentive gaze upon Sir
+Charles, who bore it uneasily, and left the room. A minute later he
+returned with two buff envelopes in his hand.
+
+“A telegram for you, Miss Wylie, and one for Chester.” Erskine started
+up, white with vague fears. Agatha’s color went, and came again with
+increased richness as she read:
+
+“I have arrived safe and ridiculously happy. Read a thousand things
+between the lines. I will write tomorrow. Good night.”
+
+“You may read it,” said Agatha, handing it to Jane.
+
+“Very pretty,” said Jane. “A shilling’s worth of attention--exactly
+twenty words! He may well call himself an economist.”
+
+Suddenly a crowing laugh from Erskine caused them to turn and stare at
+him. “What nonsense!” he said, blushing. “What a fellow he is! I don’t
+attach the slightest importance to this.”
+
+Agatha took a corner of his telegram and pulled it gently.
+
+“No, no,” he said, holding it tightly. “It is too absurd. I don’t think
+I ought--”
+
+Agatha gave a decisive pull, and read the message aloud. It was from
+Trefusis, thus:
+
+“I forgive your thoughts since Brandon’s return. Write her to-night,
+and follow your letter to receive an affirmative answer in person. I
+promised that you might rely on me. She loves you.”
+
+“I never heard of such a thing in my life,” said Jane. “Never!”
+
+“He is certainly a most unaccountable man,” said Sir Charles.
+
+“I am glad, for my own sake, that he is not so black as he is painted,”
+ said Agatha. “You may believe every word of it, Mr. Erskine. Be sure to
+do as he tells you. He is quite certain to be right.”
+
+“Pooh!” said Erskine, crumpling the telegram and thrusting it into his
+pocket as if it were not worth a second thought. Presently he slipped
+away, and did not reappear. When they were about to retire, Sir Charles
+asked a servant where he was.
+
+“In the library, Sir Charles; writing.”
+
+They looked significantly at one another and went to bed without
+disturbing him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+When Gertrude found herself beside Trefusis in the Pullman, she wondered
+how she came to be travelling with him against her resolution, if not
+against her will. In the presence of two women scrutinizing her as if
+they suspected her of being there with no good purpose, a male
+passenger admiring her a little further off, her maid reading Trefusis’s
+newspapers just out of earshot, an uninterested country gentleman
+looking glumly out of window, a city man preoccupied with the
+“Economist,” and a polite lady who refrained from staring but not from
+observing, she felt that she must not make a scene; yet she knew he had
+not come there to hold an ordinary conversation. Her doubt did not last
+long. He began promptly, and went to the point at once.
+
+“What do you think of this engagement of mine?”
+
+This was more than she could bear calmly. “What is it to me?” she said
+indignantly. “I have nothing to do with it.”
+
+“Nothing! You are a cold friend to me then. I thought you one of the
+surest I possessed.”
+
+She moved as if about to look at him, but checked herself, closed her
+lips, and fixed her eyes on the vacant seat before her. The reproach he
+deserved was beyond her power of expression.
+
+“I cling to that conviction still, in spite of Miss Lindsay’s
+indifference to my affairs. But I confess I hardly know how to bring you
+into sympathy with me in this matter. In the first place, you have never
+been married, I have. In the next, you are much younger than I, in more
+respects than that of years. Very likely half your ideas on the subject
+are derived from fictions in which happy results are tacked on to
+conditions very ill-calculated to produce them--which in real life
+hardly ever do produce them. If our friendship were a chapter in a
+novel, what would be the upshot of it? Why, I should marry you, or you
+break your heart at my treachery.”
+
+Gertrude moved her eyes as if she had some intention of taking to
+flight.
+
+“But our relations being those of real life--far sweeter, after all--I
+never dreamed of marrying you, having gained and enjoyed your friendship
+without that eye to business which our nineteenth century keeps open
+even whilst it sleeps. You, being equally disinterested in your regard
+for me, do not think of breaking your heart, but you are, I suppose, a
+little hurt at my apparently meditating and resolving on such a serious
+step as marriage with Agatha without confiding my intention to you. And
+you punish me by telling me that you have nothing to do with it--that it
+is nothing to you. But I never meditated the step, and so had nothing to
+conceal from you. It was conceived and executed in less than a minute.
+Although my first marriage was a silly love match and a failure, I have
+always admitted to myself that I should marry again. A bachelor is a man
+who shirks responsibilities and duties; I seek them, and consider it
+my duty, with my monstrous superfluity of means, not to let the
+individualists outbreed me. Still, I was in no hurry, having other
+things to occupy me, and being fond of my bachelor freedom, and doubtful
+sometimes whether I had any right to bring more idlers into the world
+for the workers to feed. Then came the usual difficulty about the lady.
+I did not want a helpmeet; I can help myself. Nor did I expect to be
+loved devotedly, for the race has not yet evolved a man lovable on
+thorough acquaintance; even my self-love is neither thorough nor
+constant. I wanted a genial partner for domestic business, and Agatha
+struck me quite suddenly as being the nearest approach to what I desired
+that I was likely to find in the marriage market, where it is extremely
+hard to suit oneself, and where the likeliest bargains are apt to be
+snapped up by others if one hesitates too long in the hope of finding
+something better. I admire Agatha’s courage and capability, and believe
+I shall be able to make her like me, and that the attachment so begun
+may turn into as close a union as is either healthy or necessary between
+two separate individuals. I may mistake her character, for I do not know
+her as I know you, and have scarcely enough faith in her as yet to tell
+her such things as I have told you. Still, there is a consoling dash of
+romance in the transaction. Agatha has charm. Do you not think so?”
+
+Gertrude’s emotion was gone. She replied with cool scorn, “Very romantic
+indeed. She is very fortunate.”
+
+Trefusis half laughed, half sighed with relief to find her so
+self-possessed. “It sounds like--and indeed is--the selfish calculation
+of a disilluded widower. You would not value such an offer, or envy the
+recipient of it?”
+
+“No,” said Gertrude with quiet contempt.
+
+“Yet there is some calculation behind every such offer. We marry to
+satisfy our needs, and the more reasonable our needs are, the more
+likely are we to get them satisfied. I see you are disgusted with me;
+I feared as much. You are the sort of woman to admit no excuse for my
+marriage except love--pure emotional love, blindfolding reason.”
+
+“I really do not concern myself--”
+
+“Do not say so, Gertrude. I watch every step you take with anxiety; and
+I do not believe you are indifferent to the worthiness of my conduct.
+Believe me, love is an overrated passion; it would be irremediably
+discredited but that young people, and the romancers who live upon their
+follies, have a perpetual interest in rehabilitating it. No relation
+involving divided duties and continual intercourse between two people
+can subsist permanently on love alone. Yet love is not to be despised
+when it comes from a fine nature. There is a man who loves you exactly
+as you think I ought to love Agatha--and as I don’t love her.”
+
+Gertrude’s emotion stirred again, and her color rose. “You have no right
+to say these things now,” she said.
+
+“Why may I not plead the cause of another? I speak of Erskine.” Her
+color vanished, and he continued, “I want you to marry him. When you are
+married you will understand me better, and our friendship, shaken just
+now, will be deepened; for I dare assure you, now that you can no longer
+misunderstand me, that no living woman is dearer to me than you. So much
+for the inevitable selfish reason. Erskine is a poor man, and in
+his comfortable poverty--save the mark--lies your salvation from the
+baseness of marrying for wealth and position; a baseness of which women
+of your class stand in constant peril. They court it; you must shun it.
+The man is honorable and loves you; he is young, healthy, and suitable.
+What more do you think the world has to offer you?”
+
+“Much more, I hope. Very much more.”
+
+“I fear that the names I give things are not romantic enough. He is a
+poet. Perhaps he would be a hero if it were possible for a man to be a
+hero in this nineteenth century, which will be infamous in history as
+a time when the greatest advances in the power of man over nature only
+served to sharpen his greed and make famine its avowed minister. Erskine
+is at least neither a gambler nor a slave-driver at first hand; if he
+lives upon plundered labor he can no more help himself than I. Do not
+say that you hope for much more; but tell me, if you can, what more you
+have any chance of getting? Mind, I do not ask what more you desire; we
+all desire unutterable things. I ask you what more you can obtain!”
+
+“I have not found Mr. Erskine such a wonderful person as you seem to
+think him.”
+
+“He is only a man. Do you know anybody more wonderful?”
+
+“Besides, my family might not approve.”
+
+“They most certainly will not. If you wish to please them, you must sell
+yourself to some rich vampire of the factories or great landlord. If you
+give yourself away to a poor poet who loves you, their disgust will be
+unbounded. If a woman wishes to honor her father and mother to their own
+satisfaction nowadays she must dishonor herself.”
+
+“I do not understand why you should be so anxious for me to marry
+someone else?”
+
+“Someone else?” said Trefusis, puzzled.
+
+“I do not mean someone else,” said Gertrude hastily, reddening. “Why
+should I marry at all?”
+
+“Why do any of us marry? Why do I marry? It is a function craving
+fulfilment. If you do not marry betimes from choice, you will be driven
+to do so later on by the importunity of your suitors and of your family,
+and by weariness of the suspense that precedes a definite settlement of
+oneself. Marry generously. Do not throw yourself away or sell yourself;
+give yourself away. Erskine has as much at stake as you; and yet he
+offers himself fearlessly.”
+
+Gertrude raised her head proudly.
+
+“It is true,” continued Trefusis, observing the gesture with some anger,
+“that he thinks more highly of you than you deserve; but you, on the
+other hand, think too lowly of him. When you marry him you must save him
+from a cruel disenchantment by raising yourself to the level he fancies
+you have attained. This will cost you an effort, and the effort will do
+you good, whether it fail or succeed. As for him, he will find his
+just level in your estimation if your thoughts reach high enough to
+comprehend him at that level.”
+
+Gertrude moved impatiently.
+
+“What!” he said quickly. “Are my long-winded sacrifices to the god of
+reason distasteful? I believe I am involuntarily making them so because
+I am jealous of the fellow after all. Nevertheless I am serious; I want
+you to get married; though I shall always have a secret grudge against
+the man who marries you. Agatha will suspect me of treason if you don’t.
+Erskine will be a disappointed man if you don’t. You will be moody,
+wretched, and--and unmarried if you don’t.”
+
+Gertrude’s cheeks flushed at the word jealous, and again at his mention
+of Agatha. “And if I do,” she said bitterly, “what then?”
+
+“If you do, Agatha’s mind will be at ease, Erskine will be happy, and
+you! You will have sacrificed yourself, and will have the happiness
+which follows that when it is worthily done.”
+
+“It is you who have sacrificed me,” she said, casting away her
+reticence, and looking at him for the first time during the
+conversation.
+
+“I know it,” he said, leaning towards her and half whispering the
+words. “Is not renunciation the beginning and the end of wisdom? I have
+sacrificed you rather than profane our friendship by asking you to share
+my whole life with me. You are unfit for that, and I have committed
+myself to another union, and am begging you to follow my example, lest
+we should tempt one another to a step which would soon prove to you how
+truly I tell you that you are unfit. I have never allowed you to roam
+through all the chambers of my consciousness, but I keep a sanctuary
+there for you alone, and will keep it inviolate for you always. Not even
+Agatha shall have the key, she must be content with the other rooms--the
+drawing-room, the working-room, the dining-room, and so forth. They
+would not suit you; you would not like the furniture or the guests;
+after a time you would not like the master. Will you be content with the
+sanctuary?” Gertrude bit her lip; tears came into her eyes. She looked
+imploringly at him. Had they been alone, she would have thrown herself
+into his arms and entreated him to disregard everything except their
+strong cleaving to one another.
+
+“And will you keep a corner of your heart for me?”
+
+She slowly gave him a painful look of acquiescence. “Will you be brave,
+and sacrifice yourself to the poor man who loves you? He will save you
+from useless solitude, or from a worldly marriage--I cannot bear to
+think of either as your fate.”
+
+“I do not care for Mr. Erskine,” she said, hardly able to control her
+voice; “but I will marry him if you wish it.”
+
+“I do wish it earnestly, Gertrude.”
+
+“Then, you have my promise,” she said, again with some bitterness.
+
+“But you will not forget me? Erskine will have all but that--a tender
+recollection--nothing.”
+
+“Can I do more than I have just promised?”
+
+“Perhaps so; but I am too selfish to be able to conceive anything more
+generous. Our renunciation will bind us to one another as our union
+could never have done.”
+
+They exchanged a long look. Then he took out his watch, and began to
+speak of the length of their journey, now nearly at an end. When they
+arrived in London the first person they recognized on the platform was
+Mr. Jansenius.
+
+“Ah! you got my telegram, I see,” said Trefusis. “Many thanks for
+coming. Wait for me whilst I put this lady into a cab.”
+
+When the cab was engaged, and Gertrude, with her maid, stowed within, he
+whispered to her hurriedly:
+
+“In spite of all, I have a leaden pain here” (indicating his heart).
+“You have been brave, and I have been wise. Do not speak to me, but
+remember that we are friends always and deeply.”
+
+He touched her hand, and turned to the cabman, directing him whither to
+drive. Gertrude shrank back into a corner of the vehicle as it departed.
+Then Trefusis, expanding his chest like a man just released from some
+cramping drudgery, rejoined Mr. Jansenius.
+
+“There goes a true woman,” he said. “I have been persuading her to take
+the very best step open to her. I began by talking sense, like a man of
+honor, and kept at it for half an hour, but she would not listen to me.
+Then I talked romantic nonsense of the cheapest sort for five minutes,
+and she consented with tears in her eyes. Let us take this hansom. Hi!
+Belsize Avenue. Yes; you sometimes have to answer a woman according to
+her womanishness, just as you have to answer a fool according to his
+folly. Have you ever made up your mind, Jansenius, whether I am an
+unusually honest man, or one of the worst products of the social
+organization I spend all my energies in assailing--an infernal
+scoundrel, in short?”
+
+“Now pray do not be absurd,” said Mr. Jansenius. “I wonder at a man of
+your ability behaving and speaking as you sometimes do.”
+
+“I hope a little insincerity, when meant to act as chloroform--to save
+a woman from feeling a wound to her vanity--is excusable. By-the-bye,
+I must send a couple of telegrams from the first post-office we pass.
+Well, sir, I am going to marry Agatha, as I sent you word. There was
+only one other single man and one other virgin down at Brandon Beeches,
+and they are as good as engaged. And so--
+
+“‘Jack shall have Jill, Nought shall go ill, The man shall have his mare
+again; And all shall be well.’”
+
+
+
+APPENDIX
+
+
+
+LETTER TO THE AUTHOR FROM MR. SIDNEY TREFUSIS.
+
+My Dear Sir: I find that my friends are not quite satisfied with the
+account you have given of them in your clever novel entitled “An
+Unsocial Socialist.” You already understand that I consider it my duty
+to communicate my whole history, without reserve, to whoever may desire
+to be guided or warned by my experience, and that I have no sympathy
+whatever with the spirit in which one of the ladies concerned recently
+told you that her affairs were no business of yours or of the people who
+read your books. When you asked my permission some years ago to make
+use of my story, I at once said that you would be perfectly justified
+in giving it the fullest publicity whether I consented or not, provided
+only that you were careful not to falsify it for the sake of artistic
+effect. Now, whilst cheerfully admitting that you have done your best
+to fulfil that condition, I cannot help feeling that, in presenting the
+facts in the guise of fiction, you have, in spite of yourself, shown
+them in a false light. Actions described in novels are judged by a
+romantic system of morals as fictitious as the actions themselves. The
+traditional parts of this system are, as Cervantes tried to show, for
+the chief part, barbarous and obsolete; the modern additions are largely
+due to the novel readers and writers of our own century--most of them
+half-educated women, rebelliously slavish, superstitious, sentimental,
+full of the intense egotism fostered by their struggle for personal
+liberty, and, outside their families, with absolutely no social
+sentiment except love. Meanwhile, man, having fought and won his fight
+for this personal liberty, only to find himself a more abject slave
+than before, is turning with loathing from his egotist’s dream of
+independence to the collective interests of society, with the welfare
+of which he now perceives his own happiness to be inextricably bound
+up. But man in this phase (would that all had reached it!) has not yet
+leisure to write or read novels. In noveldom woman still sets the moral
+standard, and to her the males, who are in full revolt against the
+acceptance of the infatuation of a pair of lovers as the highest
+manifestation of the social instinct, and against the restriction of the
+affections within the narrow circle of blood relationship, and of
+the political sympathies within frontiers, are to her what she calls
+heartless brutes. That is exactly what I have been called by readers
+of your novel; and that, indeed, is exactly what I am, judged by the
+fictitious and feminine standard of morality. Hence some critics
+have been able plausibly to pretend to take the book as a satire on
+Socialism. It may, for what I know, have been so intended by you.
+Whether or no, I am sorry you made a novel of my story, for the effect
+has been almost as if you had misrepresented me from beginning to end.
+
+At the same time, I acknowledge that you have stated the facts, on the
+whole, with scrupulous fairness. You have, indeed, flattered me very
+strongly by representing me as constantly thinking of and for other
+people, whereas the rest think of themselves alone, but on the other
+hand you have contradictorily called me “unsocial,” which is certainly
+the last adjective I should have expected to find in the neighborhood
+of my name. I deny, it is true, that what is now called “society”
+ is society in any real sense, and my best wish for it is that it may
+dissolve too rapidly to make it worth the while of those who are “not
+in society” to facilitate its dissolution by violently pounding it into
+small pieces. But no reader of “An Unsocial Socialist” needs to be
+told how, by the exercise of a certain considerate tact (which on the
+outside, perhaps, seems the opposite of tact), I have contrived to
+maintain genial terms with men and women of all classes, even those
+whose opinions and political conduct seemed to me most dangerous.
+
+However, I do not here propose to go fully into my own position, lest
+I should seem tedious, and be accused, not for the first time, of a
+propensity to lecture--a reproach which comes naturally enough from
+persons whose conceptions are never too wide to be expressed within the
+limits of a sixpenny telegram. I shall confine myself to correcting a
+few misapprehensions which have, I am told, arisen among readers who
+from inveterate habit cannot bring the persons and events of a novel
+into any relation with the actual conditions of life.
+
+In the first place, then, I desire to say that Mrs. Erskine is not dead
+of a broken heart. Erskine and I and our wives are very much in and out
+at one another’s houses; and I am therefore in a position to declare
+that Mrs. Erskine, having escaped by her marriage from the vile caste
+in which she was relatively poor and artificially unhappy and
+ill-conditioned, is now, as the pretty wife of an art-critic, relatively
+rich, as well as pleasant, active, and in sound health. Her chief
+trouble, as far as I can judge, is the impossibility of shaking off her
+distinguished relatives, who furtively quit their abject splendor to
+drop in upon her for dinner and a little genuine human society much
+oftener than is convenient to poor Erskine. She has taken a patronizing
+fancy to her father, the Admiral, who accepts her condescension
+gratefully as age brings more and more home to him the futility of his
+social position. She has also, as might have been expected, become an
+extreme advocate of socialism; and indeed, being in a great hurry for
+the new order of things, looks on me as a lukewarm disciple because I do
+not propose to interfere with the slowly grinding mill of Evolution, and
+effect the change by one tremendous stroke from the united and awakened
+people (for such she--vainly, alas!--believes the proletariat already to
+be). As to my own marriage, some have asked sarcastically whether I ran
+away again or not; others, whether it has been a success. These are
+foolish questions. My marriage has turned out much as I expected
+it would. I find that my wife’s views on the subject vary with the
+circumstances under which they are expressed.
+
+I have now to make one or two comments on the impressions conveyed
+by the style of your narrative. Sufficient prominence has not, in my
+opinion, been given to the extraordinary destiny of my father, the
+true hero of a nineteenth century romance. I, who have seen society
+reluctantly accepting works of genius for nothing from men of
+extraordinary gifts, and at the same time helplessly paying my
+father millions, and submitting to monstrous mortgages of its future
+production, for a few directions as to the most business-like way of
+manufacturing and selling cotton, cannot but wonder, as I prepare my
+income-tax returns, whether society was mad to sacrifice thus to him and
+to me. He was the man with power to buy, to build, to choose, to endow,
+to sit on committees and adjudicate upon designs, to make his own terms
+for placing anything on a sound business footing. He was hated, envied,
+sneered at for his low origin, reproached for his ignorance, yet nothing
+would pay unless he liked or pretended to like it. I look round at
+our buildings, our statues, our pictures, our newspapers, our domestic
+interiors, our books, our vehicles, our morals, our manners, our
+statutes, and our religion, and I see his hand everywhere, for they
+were all made or modified to please him. Those which did not please him
+failed commercially: he would not buy them, or sell them, or countenance
+them; and except through him, as “master of the industrial situation,”
+ nothing could be bought, or sold, or countenanced. The landlord could
+do nothing with his acres except let them to him; the capitalist’s hoard
+rotted and dwindled until it was lent to him; the worker’s muscles
+and brain were impotent until sold to him. What king’s son would not
+exchange with me--the son of the Great Employer--the Merchant Prince?
+No wonder they proposed to imprison me for treason when, by applying my
+inherited business talent, I put forward a plan for securing his full
+services to society for a few hundred a year. But pending the adoption
+of my plan, do not describe him contemptuously as a vulgar tradesman.
+Industrial kingship, the only real kingship of our century, was his by
+divine right of his turn for business; and I, his son, bid you respect
+the crown whose revenues I inherit. If you don’t, my friend, your book
+won’t pay.
+
+I hear, with some surprise, that the kindness of my conduct to Henrietta
+(my first wife, you recollect) has been called in question; why, I do
+not exactly know. Undoubtedly I should not have married her, but it is
+waste of time to criticise the judgment of a young man in love. Since
+I do not approve of the usual plan of neglecting and avoiding a spouse
+without ceasing to keep up appearances, I cannot for the life of me see
+what else I could have done than vanish when I found out my mistake. It
+is but a short-sighted policy to wait for the mending of matters that
+are bound to get worse. The notion that her death was my fault is sheer
+unreason on the face of it; and I need no exculpation on that score; but
+I must disclaim the credit of having borne her death like a philosopher.
+I ought to have done so, but the truth is that I was greatly affected at
+the moment, and the proof of it is that I and Jansenius (the only
+other person who cared) behaved in a most unbecoming fashion, as men
+invariably do when they are really upset. Perfect propriety at a death
+is seldom achieved except by the undertaker, who has the advantage of
+being free from emotion.
+
+Your rigmarole (if you will excuse the word) about the tombstone gives
+quite a wrong idea of my attitude on that occasion. I stayed away from
+the funeral for reasons which are, I should think, sufficiently obvious
+and natural, but which you somehow seem to have missed. Granted that my
+fancy for Hetty was only a cloud of illusions, still I could not, within
+a few days of her sudden death, go in cold blood to take part in a
+grotesque and heathenish mummery over her coffin. I should have
+broken out and strangled somebody. But on every other point I--weakly
+enough--sacrificed my own feelings to those of Jansenius. I let him
+have his funeral, though I object to funerals and to the practice of
+sepulture. I consented to a monument, although there is, to me, no more
+bitterly ridiculous outcome of human vanity than the blocks raised to
+tell posterity that John Smith, or Jane Jackson, late of this parish,
+was born, lived, and died worth enough money to pay a mason to
+distinguish their bones from those of the unrecorded millions. To
+gratify Jansenius I waived this objection, and only interfered to save
+him from being fleeced and fooled by an unnecessary West End middleman,
+who, as likely as not, would have eventually employed the very man to
+whom I gave the job. Even the epitaph was not mine. If I had had my way
+I should have written: “HENRIETTA JANSENIUS WAS BORN ON SUCH A DATE,
+MARRIED A MAN NAMED TREFUSIS, AND DIED ON SUCH ANOTHER DATE; AND NOW
+WHAT DOES IT MATTER WHETHER SHE DID OR NOT?” The whole notion conveyed
+in the book that I rode rough-shod over everybody in the affair, and
+only consulted my own feelings, is the very reverse of the truth.
+
+As to the tomfoolery down at Brandon’s, which ended in Erskine and
+myself marrying the young lady visitors there, I can only congratulate
+you on the determination with which you have striven to make something
+like a romance out of such very thin material. I cannot say that I
+remember it all exactly as you have described it; my wife declares
+flatly there is not a word of truth in it as far as she is concerned,
+and Mrs. Erskine steadily refuses to read the book.
+
+On one point I must acknowledge that you have proved yourself a master
+of the art of fiction. What Hetty and I said to one another that day
+when she came upon me in the shrubbery at Alton College was known only
+to us two. She never told it to anyone, and I soon forgot it. All
+due honor, therefore, to the ingenuity with which you have filled the
+hiatus, and shown the state of affairs between us by a discourse on
+“surplus value,” cribbed from an imperfect report of one of my public
+lectures, and from the pages of Karl Marx! If you were an economist I
+should condemn you for confusing economic with ethical considerations,
+and for your uncertainty as to the function which my father got his
+start by performing. But as you are only a novelist, I compliment you
+heartily on your clever little pasticcio, adding, however, that as an
+account of what actually passed between myself and Hetty, it is the
+wildest romance ever penned. Wickens’s boy was far nearer the mark.
+
+In conclusion, allow me to express my regret that you can find no
+better employment for your talent than the writing of novels. The first
+literary result of the foundation of our industrial system upon the
+profits of piracy and slave-trading was Shakspere. It is our misfortune
+that the sordid misery and hopeless horror of his view of man’s destiny
+is still so appropriate to English society that we even to-day regard
+him as not for an age, but for all time. But the poetry of despair will
+not outlive despair itself. Your nineteenth century novelists are only
+the tail of Shakspere. Don’t tie yourself to it: it is fast wriggling
+into oblivion.
+
+I am, dear sir, yours truly,
+
+SIDNEY TREFUSIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg’s An Unsocial Socialist, by George Bernard Shaw
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