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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Berenice, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+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: Berenice
+
+Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+Illustrator: Howard Chandler Christy
+             Howard Somerville
+
+Release Date: November 25, 2009 [EBook #30542]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BERENICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ BERENICE
+
+ BY
+
+ E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
+
+ AUTHOR OF "THE LOST AMBASSADOR," "THE MISSIONER,"
+ "THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE," ETC.
+
+ WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+ HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
+ AND
+ HOWARD SOMERVILLE
+
+ BOSTON
+ LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+ 1911
+
+
+
+
+ _Copyright, 1907, 1911,_
+ BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+ _All rights reserved_
+
+ Published, January, 1911
+
+ Second Printing
+
+ Printers
+ S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+ THE NOVELS OF
+ E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
+
+ A Prince of Sinners           A Lost Leader
+ Anna the Adventuress          The Great Secret
+ The Master Mummer             The Avenger
+ A Maker of History            As a Man Lives
+ Mysterious Mr. Sabin          The Missioner
+ The Yellow Crayon             The Governors
+ The Betrayal                  The Man and His
+ The Traitors                    Kingdom
+ Enoch Strone                  A Millionaire of Yesterday
+ A Sleeping Memory             The Long Arm of
+ The Malefactor                  Mannister
+ A Daughter of the             Jeanne of the Marshes
+   Marionis                    The Illustrious Prince
+ The Mystery of Mr.            The Lost Ambassador
+   Bernard Brown               Berenice
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+ Her dark, wet eyes seemed touched with smouldering
+ fire                                                 _Frontispiece_
+
+ "What I have seen," Matravers said gravely, "I
+ do not like"                                         _Page_      15
+
+ But nothing in her words or in his alluded to it        "        25
+
+ Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,
+ noticed nothing                                         "        31
+
+ "Friends," she repeated, with a certain wistfulness
+ in her tone                                             "        65
+
+ At half-past four his servant brought in a small
+ tea equipage                                            "        83
+
+ With an old-fashioned courtesy ... he offered
+ her his arm                                             "       105
+
+ There seemed to him something almost unearthly
+ about this woman with her soft grey gown
+ and marble face                                         "       111
+
+ Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense
+ of disturbance                                          "       135
+
+ "I can do it," she assured him. "I believe you
+ doubt my ability, but you need not"                     "       143
+
+ "Do you know that man is driving me slowly
+ mad?"                                                   "       149
+
+ Matravers found himself wondering at this new
+ and very natural note of domesticity in her             "       169
+
+ She did not answer him. But indeed there was
+ no need                                                 "       173
+
+ "I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen,
+ that your statement is a lie!"                          "       191
+
+ "You mean this!" he cried thickly. "Say it
+ again--quick!"                                          "       211
+
+ Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low
+ couch                                                   "       233
+
+ But there was no answer--there never could be
+ any answer                                              "       259
+
+
+
+
+BERENICE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"You may not care for the play," Ellison said eagerly. "You are of the
+old world, and Isteinism to you will simply spell chaos and vulgarity.
+But the woman! well, you will see her! I don't want to prejudice you
+by praises which you would certainly think extravagant! I will say
+nothing."
+
+Matravers smiled gravely as he took his seat in the box and looked out
+with some wonder at the ill-lit, half-empty theatre.
+
+"I am afraid," he said, "that I am very much out of place here, yet do
+not imagine that I bring with me any personal bias whatever. I know
+nothing of the play, and Isteinism is merely a phrase to me. To-night
+I have no individuality. I am a critic."
+
+"So much depends," Ellison remarked, "upon the point of view. I am
+afraid that you are the last man in the world to have any sympathy
+with the decadent."
+
+"I do not properly understand the use of the word 'decadent,'"
+Matravers said. "But you need not be alarmed as to my attitude.
+Whatever my own gods may be, I am no slave to them. Isteinism has its
+devotees, and whatever has had humanity and force enough in it to
+attract a following must at least demand a respectful attention from
+the Press. And to-night I am the Press!"
+
+"I am sorry," Ellison remarked, glancing out into the gloomy well of
+the theatre with an impatient frown, "that there is so bad a house
+to-night. It is depressing to play seriously to a handful of people!"
+
+"It will not affect my judgment," Matravers said.
+
+"It will affect her acting, though," Ellison replied gloomily. "There
+are times when, even to us who know her strength, and are partial to
+her, she appears to act with difficulty,--to be encumbered with all
+the diffidence of the amateur. For a whole scene she will be little
+better than a stick. The change, when it comes, is like a sudden fire
+from Heaven. Something flashes into her face, she becomes inspired,
+she holds us breathless, hanging upon every word; it is then one
+realizes that she is a genius."
+
+"Let us hope," Matravers said, "that some such moment may visit her
+to-night. One needs some compensation for a dinnerless evening, and
+such surroundings as these!"
+
+He turned from the contemplation of the dreary, half-empty auditorium
+with a faint shudder. The theatre was an ancient and unpopular one.
+The hall-mark of failure and poverty was set alike upon the tawdry and
+faded hangings, the dust-eaten decorations and the rows of bare seats.
+It was a relief when the feeble overture came to an end, and the
+curtain was rung up. He settled himself down at once to a careful
+appreciation of the performance.
+
+Matravers was not in any sense of the word a dramatic critic. He was a
+man of letters; amongst the elect he was reckoned a master in his art.
+He occupied a singular, in many respects a unique, position. But in
+matters dramatic, he confessed to an ignorance which was strictly
+actual and in no way assumed. His presence at the New Theatre on that
+night, which was to become for him a very memorable one, was purely a
+matter of chance and good nature. The greatest of London dailies had
+decided to grant a passing notice to the extraordinary series of
+plays, which in flightier journals had provoked something between the
+blankest wonderment and the most boisterous ridicule. Their critic was
+ill--Matravers, who had at first laughed at the idea, had consented
+after much pressure to take his place. He felt himself from the first
+confronted with a difficult task, yet he entered upon it with a
+certain grave seriousness, characteristic of the man, anxious to
+arrive at and to comprehend the true meaning of what in its first
+crude presentation to his senses seemed wholly devoid of anything
+pertaining to art.
+
+The first act was almost over before the heroine of the play, and the
+actress concerning whose merits there was already some difference of
+opinion, appeared. A little burst of applause, half-hearted from the
+house generally, enthusiastic from a few, greeted her entrance.
+Ellison, watching his companion's face closely, was gratified to find
+a distinct change there. In Matravers' altered expression was
+something more than the transitory sensation of pleasure, called up by
+the unexpected appearance of a very beautiful woman. The whole
+impassiveness of that calm, almost marble-still face, with its set,
+cold lips, and slightly wearied eyes, had suddenly disappeared, and
+what Ellison had hoped for had arrived. Matravers was, without doubt,
+interested.
+
+[Illustration: "What I have seen," Matravers said gravely, "I do not
+like"]
+
+Yet the woman, whose appearance had caused a certain thrill to quiver
+through the house, and whose coming had certainly been an event to
+Matravers, did absolutely nothing for the remainder of that dreary
+first act to redeem the forlorn play, or to justify her own peculiar
+reputation. She acted languidly, her enunciation was imperfect, her
+gestures were forced and inapt. When the curtain went down upon the
+first act, Matravers was looking grave. Ellison was obviously uneasy.
+
+"Berenice," he muttered, "is not herself to-night. She will improve.
+You must suspend your judgment."
+
+Matravers fingered his programme nervously.
+
+"You are interested in this production, Ellison," he said, "and I
+should be sorry to write anything likely to do it harm. I think it
+would be better if I went away now. I cannot be blamed if I decline to
+give an opinion on anything which I have only partially seen."
+
+Ellison shook his head.
+
+"No, I'll chance it," he said. "Don't go. You haven't seen Berenice at
+her best yet. You have not seen her at all, in fact."
+
+"What I have seen," Matravers said gravely, "I do not like."
+
+"At least," Ellison protested, "she is beautiful."
+
+"According to what canons of beauty, I wonder?" Matravers remarked. "I
+hold myself a very poor judge of woman's looks, but I can at least
+recognize the classical and Renaissance standards. The beauty which
+this woman possesses, if any, is of the decadent order. I do not
+recognize it. I cannot appreciate it!"
+
+Ellison laughed softly. He had a marvellous belief in this woman and
+in her power of attracting.
+
+"You are not a woman's man, Matravers, or you would know that her
+beauty is not a matter of curves and colouring! You cannot judge her
+as a piece of statuary. All your remarks you would retract if you
+talked with her for five minutes. I am not sure," he continued, "that
+I dare not warrant you to retract them before this evening is over. At
+least, I ask you to stay. I will run my risk of your pulverization."
+
+The curtain rang up again, the play proceeded. But not the same
+play--at least, so it seemed to Matravers--not the same play, surely
+not the same woman! A situation improbable enough, but dramatic, had
+occurred at the very beginning of the second act. She had risen to the
+opportunity, triumphed over it, electrified her audience, delighted
+Ellison, moved Matravers to silent wonder. Her personality seemed to
+have dilated with the flash of genius which Matravers himself had been
+amongst the first to recognize. The strange pallor of her face seemed
+no longer the legacy of ill-health; her eyes, wonderfully soft and
+dark, were lit now with all manner of strange fires. She carried
+herself with supreme grace; there was not the faintest suspicion of
+staginess in any one of her movements. And more wonderful than
+anything to Matravers, himself a delighted worshipper of the beautiful
+in all human sounds, was that marvellously sweet voice, so low and yet
+so clear, expressing with perfect art the highest and most hallowed
+emotions, with the least amount of actual sound. She seemed to pour
+out the vial of her wrath, her outraged womanhood in tones raised
+little above a whisper, and the man who fronted her seemed turned into
+the actual semblance of an ashamed and unclean thing. Matravers made
+no secret now of his interest. He had drawn his chair to the front of
+the box, and the footlights fell full upon his pale, studious face
+turned with grave and absolute attention upon the little drama working
+itself out upon the stage. Ellison in the midst of his jubilation
+found time to notice what to him seemed a somewhat singular incident.
+In crossing the stage her eyes had for a moment met Matravers' earnest
+gaze, and Ellison could almost have declared that a faint, welcoming
+light flashed for a moment from the woman to the man. Yet he was sure
+that the two were strangers. They had never met--her very name had
+been unknown to him. It must have been his fancy.
+
+The curtain fell upon the second and final act amidst as much applause
+as the sparsely filled theatre could offer; but mingled with it,
+almost as the last words of her final speech had left her lips, came a
+curious hoarse cry from somewhere in the cheaper seats near the back
+of the house. It was heard very distinctly in every part; it rang out
+upon the deep quivering stillness which reigns for a second between
+the end of a play which has left the audience spellbound, and the
+burst of applause which is its first reawakening instinct. It was
+drowned in less than a moment, yet many people turned their startled
+heads towards the rows of back seats. Matravers, one of the first to
+hear it, was one of the most interested--perhaps because his sensitive
+ears had recognized in it that peculiar inflection, the true ring of
+earnestness. For it was essentially a human cry, a cry of sorrow, a
+strange note charged in its very hoarseness and spontaneity with an
+unutterable pathos. It was as though it had been actually drawn from
+the heart to the lips, and long after the house had become deserted,
+Matravers stood there, his hands resting upon the edge of the box, and
+his dark face turned steadfastly to that far-away corner, where it
+seemed to him that he could see a solitary, human figure, sitting with
+bowed head amongst the wilderness of empty seats.
+
+Ellison touched him upon the elbow.
+
+"You must come with me and be presented to Berenice," he said.
+
+Matravers shook his head.
+
+"Please excuse me," he said; "I would really rather not."
+
+Ellison held out a crumpled half-sheet of notepaper.
+
+"This has just been brought in to me," he said.
+
+Matravers read the single line, hastily written, and in pencil:--
+
+     "Bring your friend to me.--B."
+
+"It will scarcely take us a moment," Ellison continued. "Don't stop to
+put on your coat; we are the last in the theatre now."
+
+Matravers, whose will was usually a very dominant one, found himself
+calmly obeying his companion. Following Ellison, he was bustled down a
+long, narrow passage, across a bare wilderness of boards and odd
+pieces of scenery, to the door of a room immediately behind the stage.
+As Ellison raised his fingers to knock, it was opened from the inside,
+and Berenice came out wrapped from head to foot in a black satin coat,
+and with a piece of white lace twisted around her hair. She stopped
+when she saw the two men, and held out her hand to Ellison, who
+immediately introduced Matravers.
+
+Again Ellison fancied that in her greeting of him there were some
+traces of a former knowledge. But nothing in her words or in his
+alluded to it.
+
+"I am very much honoured," Matravers said simply. "I am a rare
+attendant at the theatre, and your performance gave me great
+pleasure."
+
+"I am very glad," she answered. "Do you know that you made me
+wretchedly nervous? I was told just as I was going on that you had
+come to smash us all to atoms in that terrible _Day_."
+
+"I came as a critic," he answered, "but I am a very incompetent one.
+Perhaps you will appreciate my ignorance more when I tell you that
+this is my first visit behind the scenes of a theatre."
+
+[Illustration: But nothing in her words or in his alluded to it]
+
+She laughed softly, and they looked around together at the dimly
+burning gas-lights, the creaking scenery being drawn back from the
+stage, the woman with a brush and mop sweeping, and at that dismal
+perspective of holland-shrouded auditorium beyond, now quite deserted.
+
+"At least," she said, "your impressions cannot be mixed ones. It is
+hideous here."
+
+He did not contradict her; and they both ignored Ellison's murmured
+compliment.
+
+"It is very draughty," he remarked, "and you seem cold; we must not
+keep you here. May we--can I," he added, glancing down the stone
+passage, "show you to your carriage?"
+
+She laughed softly.
+
+"You may come with me," she said, "but our exit is like a rabbit
+burrow; we must go in single file, and almost on hands and knees."
+
+She led the way, and they followed her into the street. A small
+brougham was waiting at the door, and her maid was standing by it.
+The commissionaire stood away, and Matravers closed the carriage door
+upon them. Her white, ungloved hand, loaded--overloaded it seemed to
+him--with rings, stole through the window, and he held it for a moment
+in his. He felt somehow that he was expected to say something. She was
+looking at him very intently. There was some powder on her cheeks,
+which he noted with an instinctive thrill of aversion.
+
+"Shall I tell him home?" he asked.
+
+"If you please," she answered.
+
+"Madam!" her maid interposed.
+
+"Home, please," Berenice said calmly. "Good-by, Mr. Matravers."
+
+"Good night."
+
+The carriage rolled away. At the corner of the street Berenice pulled
+the check-string. "The Milan Restaurant," she told the man briefly.
+
+Matravers and Ellison lit their cigarettes and strolled away on foot.
+At the corner of the street Ellison had an inspiration.
+
+"Let us," he said, "have some supper somewhere."
+
+Matravers shook his head.
+
+"I really have a great deal of work to do," he said, "and I must write
+this notice for the _Day_. I think that I will go straight home."
+
+Ellison thrust his arm through his companion's, and called a hansom.
+
+"It will only take us half an hour," he declared, "and we will go to
+one of the fashionable places. You will be amused! Come! It all
+enters, you know, into your revised scheme of life--the attainment of
+a fuller and more catholic knowledge of your fellow-creatures. We will
+see our fellow-creatures _en fête_."
+
+Matravers suffered himself to be persuaded. They drove to a restaurant
+close at hand, and stood for a moment at the entrance looking for
+seats. The room was crowded.
+
+"I will go," Ellison said, "and find the director. He knows me well,
+and he will find me a table."
+
+[Illustration: Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,
+noticed nothing]
+
+He elbowed his way up to the further end of the apartment. Matravers
+remained a somewhat conspicuous figure in the doorway looking from one
+to another of the little parties with a smile, half amused, half
+interested. Suddenly his face became grave,--his heart gave an
+unaccustomed leap! He stood quite still, his eyes fixed upon the bent
+head and white shoulders of a woman only a few yards away from him.
+Almost at the same moment Berenice looked up and their eyes met. The
+colour left her cheeks,--she was ghastly pale! A sentence which she
+had just begun died away upon her lips; her companion, who was intent
+upon the wine list, noticed nothing. She made a movement as though to
+rise. Simultaneously Matravers turned upon his heel and left the room.
+
+Ellison came hurrying back in a few moments and looked in vain for his
+companion. As he stood there watching the throng of people, Berenice
+called him to her.
+
+"Your friend," she said, "has gone away. He stood for a moment in the
+doorway like Banquo's ghost, and then he disappeared."
+
+Ellison looked vaguely bewildered.
+
+"Matravers is an odd sort," he remarked. "I suppose it is one of the
+penalties of genius to be compelled to do eccentric things. I must
+have my supper alone."
+
+"Or with us," she said. "You know Mr. Thorndyke, don't you? There is
+plenty of room here."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Matravers stood at an open window, reading a note by the grey dawn
+light. Below him stretched the broad thoroughfare of Piccadilly,
+noiseless, shadowy, deserted. He had thrown up the window overcome by
+a sudden sense of suffocation, and a chill, damp breeze came stealing
+in, cooling his parched forehead and hot, dry eyes. For the last two
+or three hours he had been working with an unwonted and rare zest; it
+had happened quite by chance, for as a rule he was a man of regular,
+even mechanical habits. But to-night he scarcely knew himself,--he
+had all the sensations of a man who had passed through a new and
+altogether unexpected experience. At midnight he had let himself into
+his room after that swift, impulsive departure from the Milan, and
+had dropped by chance into the chair before his writing-table. The
+sight of his last unfinished sentence, abruptly abandoned in the
+centre of a neatly written page of manuscript, had fascinated him, and
+as he sat there idly with the loose sheet in his hands, holding it so
+that the lamplight might fall upon its very legible characters, an
+idea flashed into his brain,--an idea which had persistently eluded
+him for days. With the sudden stimulus of a purely mental activity, he
+had hastily thrown aside his outdoor garment, and had written for
+several hours with a readiness and facility which seemed, somehow, for
+the last few days to have been denied to him.
+
+He had become his old self again,--the events of the evening lay
+already far behind. Then had come a soft knocking at the door,
+followed by the apologetic entrance of his servant bearing a note upon
+which his name was written in hasty characters with an "Immediate"
+scrawled, as though by an after-thought, upon the left-hand corner. He
+had torn it open wondering at the woman's writing, and glanced at its
+brief contents carelessly enough,--but since then he had done no work.
+For the present he was not likely to do any more.
+
+The cold breeze, acting like a tonic upon his dazed senses, awoke in
+him also a peculiar restlessness, a feeling of intolerable restraint
+at the close environment of his little room and its associations. Its
+atmosphere had suddenly become stifling. He caught up his cloak and
+hat, and walked out again into the silent street; it seemed to him,
+momentarily forgetful of the hour, like a city of the dead into which
+he had wandered.
+
+As he turned, from habit, towards the Park, the great houses on his
+right frowned down upon him lightless and lifeless. The broad
+pavement, pressed a few hours ago, and so soon to be pressed again by
+the steps of an innumerable multitude, was deserted; his own footfall
+seemed to awaken a strange and curiously persistent echo, as though
+some one were indeed following him on the opposite side of the way
+under the shadow of the drooping lime trees. Once he stopped and
+listened. The footsteps ceased too. There was no one! With a faint
+smile at the illusion to which he had for a moment yielded, he
+continued his walk.
+
+Before him the outline of the arch stood out with gloomy distinctness
+against a cold, lowering background of vapourous sky. Like a man who
+was still half dreaming, he crossed the road and entered the Park,
+making his way towards the trees. There was a spot about half-way
+down, where, in the afternoons, he usually sat. Near it he found two
+chairs, one on top of the other; he removed the upper one and sat
+down, crossing his legs and lighting a cigarette which he took from
+his case. Then in a transitory return of his ordinary state of mind he
+laughed softly to himself. People would say that he was going mad.
+
+Through half-closed eyes he looked out upon the broad drive. With the
+aid of an imagination naturally powerful, he was passing with
+marvellous facility into an unreal world of his own creation. The
+scene remained the same, but the environment changed as though by
+magic. Sunshine pierced the grey veil of clouds, gay voices and
+laughter broke the chill silence. The horn of a four-in-hand sounded
+from the corner, the path before him was thronged with men and women
+whose rustling skirts brushed often against his knees as they made
+their way with difficulty along the promenade. A glittering show of
+carriages and coaches swept past the railings; the air was full of
+the sound of the trampling of horses and the rolling of wheels. With a
+mental restraint of which he was all the time half-conscious, he kept
+back the final effort of his imagination for some time; but it came at
+last.
+
+A victoria, drawn by a single dark bay horse, with servants in quiet
+liveries, drew up at the paling, and a woman leaning back amongst the
+cushions looked out at him across the sea of faces as she had indeed
+looked more than once. She was surrounded by handsomer women in more
+elaborate toilettes and more splendid equipages. Her cheeks were pale,
+and she was undoubtedly thin. Nevertheless, to other people as well as
+to him, she was a personality. Even then he seemed to feel the little
+stir which always passed like electricity into the air directly her
+carriage was stayed. When she had come, when he was perfectly sure of
+her, and indeed under the spell of her near presence, he drew that
+note again from his pocket and read it.
+
+                             "18, LARGE STREET, W.
+                                            "12.30.
+
+     "I told you a lie! and I feel that you will never forgive
+     me! Yet I want to explain it. There is something I want you
+     to know! Will you come and see me? I shall be at home until
+     one o'clock to-morrow morning, or, if the afternoon suits
+     you better, from 4 to 6.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+A lie! Yes, it was that. To him, an inveterate lover of truth, the
+offence had seemed wholly unpardonable. He had set himself to forget
+the woman and the incident as something altogether beneath his
+recollection. The night, with its host of strange, half-awakened
+sensations, was a memory to be lived down, to be crushed altogether.
+For him, doubtless, that lie had been a providence. It put a stop to
+any further intercourse between them,--it stamped her at once with the
+hall-mark of unworthiness. Yet he knew that he was disappointed;
+disappointment was, perhaps, a mild word. He had walked through the
+streets with Ellison, after that meeting with her at the theatre,
+conscious of an unwonted buoyancy of spirits, feeling that he had
+drawn into his life a new experience which promised to be a very
+pleasant one.
+
+There were things about the woman which had not pleased him, but they
+were, on the whole, merely superficial incidents, accidents he chose
+to think, of her environment. He had even permitted himself to look
+forward to their next meeting, to a definite continuance of their
+acquaintance. Standing in the doorway of the brilliantly lighted
+Milan, he had looked in at the vivid little scene with a certain eager
+tolerance,--there was much, after all, that was attractive in this
+side of life, so much that was worth cultivating; he blamed himself
+that he had stood aloof from it for so long.
+
+Then their eyes had met, he had seen her sudden start, had felt his
+heart sink like lead. She was a creature of common clay after all! His
+eyes rested for a moment upon her companion, a man well known to him,
+though of a class for whom his contempt was great, and with whom he
+had no kinship. She was like this then! It was a pity.
+
+His cigarette went out, and a rain-drop, which had been hovering upon
+a leaf above him, fell with a splash upon the sheet of heavy white
+paper. He rose to his feet, stiff and chilled and disillusioned. His
+little ghost-world of fancies had faded away. Morning had come, and
+eastwards, a single shaft of cold sunlight had pierced the grey sky.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+At ten o'clock he breakfasted, after three hours' sleep and a cold
+bath. In the bright, yet soft spring daylight, the lines of his face
+had relaxed, and the pallor of his cheeks was less unnatural. He was
+still a man of remarkable appearance; his features were strong and
+firmly chiselled, his forehead was square and almost hard. He wore no
+beard, but a slight, black moustache only half-concealed a delicate
+and sensitive mouth. His complexion and his soft grey eyes were alike
+possessed of a singular clearness, as though they were, indeed, the
+indices of a temperate and well-contained life. His dress, and every
+movement and detail of his person, were characterized by an extreme
+deliberation; his whole appearance bespoke a peculiar and almost
+feminine fastidiousness. The few appointments of his simple meal were
+the most perfect of their kind. A delicate vase of freshly cut flowers
+stood on the centre of the spotless table-cloth,--the hangings and
+colouring of the apartment were softly harmonious. The walls were hung
+with fine engravings, with here and there a brilliant little
+water-colour of the school of Corot; a few marble and bronze
+statuettes were scattered about on the mantelpiece and on brackets.
+There was nothing particularly striking anywhere, yet there was
+nothing on which the eye could not rest with pleasure.
+
+At half-past ten he lit a cigarette, and sat down at his desk. He
+wrote quite steadily for an hour; at the end of that time he pinned
+together the result of his work, and wrote a hasty note.
+
+                              "113, PICCADILLY.
+
+     "DEAR MR. HASLUP,--
+
+     "I went last night to the New Theatre, and I send you my
+     views as to what I saw there. But I beg that you will
+     remember my absolute ignorance on all matters pertaining to
+     the modern drama, and use your own discretion entirely as to
+     the disposal of the enclosed. I do not feel myself, in any
+     sense of the word, a competent critic, and I trust that you
+     will not feel yourself under the least obligation to give to
+     my views the weight of your journal.
+
+                              "I remain,
+                                "Yours truly,
+                                  "JOHN MATRAVERS."
+
+His finger was upon the bell, when his servant entered, bearing a note
+upon a salver. Matravers glanced at the handwriting already becoming
+familiar to him, recognizing, too, the faint odour of violets which
+seemed to escape into the room as his fingers broke the seal.
+
+     "It is half-past eleven and you have not come! Does that
+     mean that you will not listen to me, that you mean to judge
+     me unheard? You will not be so unkind! I shall remain
+     indoors until one o'clock, and I shall expect you.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+Matravers laid the note down, and covered it with a paper-weight. Then
+he sealed his own letter, and gave it, with the manuscript, to his
+servant. The man withdrew, and Matravers continued his writing.
+
+He worked steadily until two o'clock. Then a simple luncheon was
+brought in to him, and upon the tray another note. Matravers took it
+with some hesitation, and read it thoughtfully.
+
+                              "TWO O'CLOCK.
+
+     "You have made up your mind, then, not to come. Very well, I
+     too am determined. If you will not come to me, I shall come
+     to you! I shall remain in until four o'clock. You may expect
+     to see me any time after then.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+Matravers ate his luncheon and pondered, finally deciding to abandon a
+struggle in which his was obviously the weaker position. He lingered
+for a while over his coffee; at three o'clock he retired for a few
+moments into his dressing-room, and then descending the stairs, made
+his way out into the street.
+
+He had told himself only a few hours back that he would be wise to
+ignore this summons from a woman, the ways of whose life must lie very
+far indeed from his. Yet he knew that his meeting with her had
+affected him as nothing of the sort had ever affected him before--a
+man unimpressionable where women were concerned, and ever devoted to
+and cultivating a somewhat unnatural exclusiveness. Her first note he
+had been content to ignore,--she might have written it in a fit of
+pique--but the second had made him thoughtful. Her very persistence
+was characteristic. Perhaps after all she was in the right--he had
+arrived too hastily at an ignoble conclusion. Her attitude towards him
+was curiously unconventional; it was an attitude such as none of the
+few women with whom he had ever been brought into contact would have
+dreamed of assuming. But none the less it had for him a fascination
+which he could not measure or define,--it had awakened a new
+sensation, which, as a philosopher, he was anxious to probe. The
+mysticism of his early morning wanderings seemed to him, as he walked
+leisurely through the sunlit streets, in a sense ridiculous. After
+all it was a little thing that he was going to do; he was going to
+make, against his will, an afternoon call. To other men it would have
+seemed less than nothing. Albeit he knew he was about to draw into his
+life a new experience.
+
+He rang the bell at Number 18, Large Street, and gave his card to the
+trim little maidservant who opened the door. In a minute or two she
+returned, and invited him to follow her upstairs; her mistress was in,
+and would see him at once. She led the way up the broad staircase into
+a room which could, perhaps, be most aptly described as a feminine
+den. The walls, above the low bookshelves which bordered the whole
+apartment, were hung with a medley of water-colours and photographs,
+water-colours which a single glance showed him were good, and of the
+school then most in vogue. The carpet was soft and thick, divans and
+easy chairs filled with cushions were plentiful. By the side of one
+of these, which bore signs of recent occupation, was a reading stand,
+and upon it a Shakespeare, and a volume of his own critical essays.
+
+To him, with all his senses quickened by an intense curiosity, there
+seemed to hang about the atmosphere of the room that subtle odour of
+femininity which, in the case of a man, would probably have been
+represented by tobacco smoke. A Sèvres jar of Neapolitan violets stood
+upon the table near the divan. Henceforth the perfume of violets
+seemed a thing apart from the perfume of all other flowers to the man
+who stood there waiting, himself with a few of the light purple
+blossoms in the buttonhole of his frock coat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+She came to him so noiselessly, that for a moment or two he was
+unaware of her entrance. There was neither the rustle of skirts nor
+the sound of any movement to apprise him of it, yet he became suddenly
+conscious that he was not alone. He turned around at once and saw her
+standing within a few feet of him. She held out her hand frankly.
+
+"So you have come," she said; "I thought that you would. But then you
+had very little choice, had you?" she added with a little laugh.
+
+She passed him, and deliberately seated herself amongst a pile of
+cushions on the divan nearest her reading stand. For the moment he
+neglected her gestured invitation, and remained standing, looking at
+her.
+
+"I was very glad to come," he said simply.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"You were afraid of my threat. You were afraid that I might come to
+you. Well, it is probable, almost certain that I should have come. You
+have saved yourself from that, at any rate."
+
+Although the situation was a novel one to him, he was not in the least
+embarrassed. He was altogether too sincere to be possessed of any
+self-consciousness. He found himself at last actually in the presence
+of the woman who, since first he had seen her, months ago, driving
+in the Park, had been constantly in his thoughts, and he began to
+wonder with perfect clearness of judgment wherein lay her peculiar
+fascination! That she was handsome, of her type, went for nothing. The
+world was full of more beautiful women whom he saw day by day without
+the faintest thrill of interest. Besides, her face was too pale and
+her form too thin for exceptional beauty. There must be something
+else,--something about her personality which refused to lend itself to
+any absolute analysis. She was perfectly dressed,--he realized that,
+because he was never afterwards able to recall exactly what she wore.
+Her eyes were soft and dark and luminous,--soft with a light the power
+of which he was not slow to recognize.
+
+But none of these things were of any important account in reckoning
+with the woman. He became convinced, in those few moments of
+deliberate observation, that there was nothing in her "personnel"
+which could justify her reputation. On the whole he was glad of it.
+Any other form of attraction was more welcome to him than a purely
+physical one!
+
+"First of all," she began, leaning forward and looking at him over
+her interlaced fingers; "I want you to tell me this! You will answer
+me faithfully, I know. What did you think of my writing to you, of my
+persistence? Tell me exactly what you thought."
+
+"I was surprised," he answered; "how could I help it? I was surprised,
+too," he added, "to find that I wanted very much to come."
+
+"The women whom you know," she said quietly,--"I suppose you do know
+some,--would not have done such a thing. Some people say that I am
+mad! One may as well try to live up to one's reputation; I have taken
+a little of the license of madness."
+
+"It was unusual, perhaps," he admitted; "but who is not weary of usual
+things? I gathered from your note that you had something to explain. I
+was anxious to hear what that explanation could be."
+
+She was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed upon vacancy, a faint
+smile at the corners of her lips.
+
+"First," she said, "let me tell you this. I want to have you
+understand why I was anxious that you should not think worse of me
+than I deserved. I am rather a spoilt woman. I have grown used to
+having my own way; I wanted to know you, I have wanted to for some
+time. We have passed one another day after day; I knew quite well all
+the time who you were, and it seemed so stupid! Do you know once or
+twice I have had an insane desire to come right up to your chair and
+break in upon your meditations,--hold out my hand and make you talk to
+me? That would have been worse than this, would it not? But I firmly
+believe that I should have done it some day. So you see I wrote my
+little note in self-defence."
+
+"I do not know that I should have been so completely surprised after
+all," he said. "I, too, have felt something of what you have
+expressed. I have been interested in your comings and your goings. But
+then you knew that, or you would never have written to me."
+
+"One sacrifices so much," she murmured, "on the altars of the modern
+Goddess. We live in such a tiny compass,--nothing ever happens. It is
+only psychologically that one's emotions can be reached at all. Events
+are quite out of date. I am speaking from a woman's point of view."
+
+"You should have lived," he said, smiling, "in the days of Joan of
+Arc."
+
+"No doubt," she answered, "I should have found that equally dull. What
+I was endeavouring to do was, first of all to plead some justification
+for wanting to know you. For a woman there is nothing left but the
+study of personalities."
+
+"Mine," he answered with a faint gleam in his eyes, "is very much at
+your service."
+
+"I am going to take you at your word," she warned him.
+
+"You will be very much disappointed. I am perfectly willing to be
+dissected, but the result will be inadequate."
+
+She leaned back amongst the cushions and looked at him thoughtfully.
+
+"Listen," she said; "I can tell you something of your history, as you
+will see. I want you to fill in the blanks."
+
+"Mine," he murmured, "will be the greater task. My life is a record of
+blank places. The history is to come."
+
+"This," she said, "is the extent of my knowledge. You were the second
+son of Sir Lionel Matravers, and you have been an orphan since you
+were very young. You were meant to take Holy Orders, but when the time
+came you declined. At Oxford you did very well indeed. You established
+a brilliant reputation as a classical scholar, and you became a
+fellow of St. John's.
+
+"It was whilst you were there that you wrote _Studies in Character_.
+Two years ago, I do not know why, you gave up your fellowship and came
+to London. You took up the editorship of a Review--the _Bi-Weekly_, I
+think--but you resigned it on a matter of principle. You have a
+somewhat curious reputation. The _Scrutineer_ invariably alludes to
+you as the Apostle of Æstheticism. You are reported to have fixed
+views as to the conduct of life, down even to its most trifling
+details. That sounds unpleasant, but it probably isn't altogether
+true.... Don't interrupt, please! You have no intimate friends, but
+you go sometimes into society. You are apparently a mixture of poet,
+philosopher, and man of fashion. I have heard you spoken of more than
+once as a disciple of Epicurus. You also, in the course of your
+literary work, review novels--unfortunately for me--and six months ago
+you were the cause of my nearly crying my eyes out. It was perhaps
+silly of me to attempt, without any literary experience, to write a
+modern story, but my own life supplied the motive, and at least I was
+faithful to what I felt and knew. No one else has ever said such cruel
+things about my work.
+
+"Woman-like, you see, I repay my injuries by becoming interested in
+you. If you had praised my book, I daresay I should never have thought
+of you at all. Then there is one thing more. Every day you sit in the
+Park close to where I stop, and--you look at me. It seems as though we
+had often spoken there. Shall I tell you what I have been vain enough
+to think sometimes?
+
+"I have watched you from a distance, often before you have seen me.
+You always sit in the same attitude, your eyebrows are a little
+contracted, there is generally the ghost of a smile upon your lips.
+You are like an outsider who has come to look upon a brilliant show. I
+could fancy that you have clothed yourself in the personality of that
+young Roman noble whose name you have made so famous, and from another
+age were gazing tolerantly and even kindly upon the folly and the
+pageantry which have survived for two thousand years. And then I have
+taken my little place in the procession, and I have fancied that a
+subtle change has stolen into your face. You have looked at me as
+gravely as ever, but no longer as an impersonal spectator.
+
+"It is as though I have seemed a live person to you, and the others,
+mummies. Once the change came so swiftly that I smiled at you,--I
+could not help it,--and you looked away."
+
+"I remember it distinctly," he interrupted. "I thought the smile was
+for some one behind me."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"It was for you. Now I have finished. Fill in the blanks, please."
+
+He was content to answer her in the same strain. The effect of her
+complete naturalness was already upon him.
+
+"So far as my personal history is concerned," he told her, "you are
+wonderfully correct. There is nothing more to be said about it. I gave
+up my fellowship at Oxford because I have always been convinced of the
+increasing narrowness and limitations of purely academic culture and
+scholarship. I was afraid of what I should become as an old man, of
+what I was already growing into. I wanted to have a closer grip upon
+human things, to be in more sympathetic relations with the great world
+of my fellow-men. Can you understand me, I wonder? The influences of
+a university town are too purely scholarly to produce literary work of
+wide human interest. London had always fascinated me--though as yet I
+have met with many disappointments. As to the _Bi-Weekly_, it was my
+first idea to undertake no fixed literary work, and it was only after
+great pressure that I took it for a time. As you know, my editorship
+was a failure."
+
+He paused for a moment or two, and looked steadily at her. He was
+anxious to watch the effect of what he was going to say.
+
+"You have mentioned my review upon your novel in the _Bi-Weekly_. I
+cannot say that I am sorry I wrote it. I never attacked a book with so
+much pleasure. But I am very sorry indeed that you should have written
+it. With your gifts you could have given to the world something better
+than a mere psychological debauch!"
+
+She laughed softly, but genuinely.
+
+"I adore sincerity," she exclaimed, "and it is so many years since I
+was actually scolded. A 'psychological debauch' is delightful. But I
+cannot help my views, can I? My experiences were made for me! I became
+the creature of circumstances. No one is morally responsible for their
+opinions."
+
+"There are things," he said, "which find their way into our thoughts
+and consciousness, but of which it would be considered flagrantly bad
+taste to speak. And there are things in the world which exist, which
+have existed from time immemorial, the evil legacy of countless
+generations, of which it seems to me to be equally bad taste to write.
+Art has a limitless choice of subjects. I would not have you sully
+your fine gifts by writing of anything save of the beautiful."
+
+"This is rank hedonism," she laughed. "It is a survival of your
+academic days."
+
+"Some day," he answered, "we will talk more fully of this. It is a
+little early for us to discuss a subject upon which we hold such
+opposite views."
+
+"You are afraid that we might quarrel!"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No, not that! Only as I am something of an idealist, and you, I
+suppose, have placed yourself amongst the ranks of the realists, we
+should scarcely meet upon a common basis. But will you forgive me if I
+say so--I am very sure that some day you will be a deserter?"
+
+"And why?"
+
+[Illustration: "Friends," she repeated, with a certain wistfulness in
+her tone]
+
+"I do not know anything of your history," he continued gently, "nor am
+I asking for your confidence. Only in your story there was a personal
+note, which seemed to me to somehow explain the bitterness and
+directness with which you wrote--of certain subjects. I think that you
+yourself have had trouble--or perhaps a dear friend has suffered,
+and her grief has become yours. There was a little poison in your pen,
+I think. Never mind! We shall be friends, and I shall watch it pass
+away!"
+
+"Friends," she repeated with a certain wistfulness in her tone. "But
+have you forgotten--what you came for?"
+
+"I do not think," he said slowly, "that it is of much consequence."
+
+"But it is," she insisted. "You asked me distinctly where I wished to
+be driven to from the theatre, and I told you--home! All the time I
+knew that I was going to have supper with Mr. Thorndyke at the Milan!
+Morally I lied to you!"
+
+"Why?" he asked.
+
+"I cannot tell you," she answered; "it was an impulse. I thought
+nothing of accepting the man's invitation. You know him, I daresay. He
+is a millionaire, and it is his money which supports the theatre. He
+has asked me several times, and although personally I dislike him, he
+has, of course, a certain claim upon my acquaintance. I have made
+excuses once or twice. Last night was the first time I have ever been
+out anywhere with him. I do not of course pretend to be in the least
+conventional--I have always permitted myself the utmost liberty of
+action. Yet--I had wanted so much to know you--I was afraid of
+prejudicing you.... After all, you see, I have no explanation. It was
+just an impulse. I have hated myself for it; but it is done!"
+
+"It was," he said, "a trifle of no importance. We will forget it."
+
+A gleam of gratitude shone in her dark eyes. Her head drooped a
+little. He fancied that her voice was not quite so steady.
+
+"It is good," she said, "to hear you say that."
+
+He looked around the room, and back into her face. Some dim
+foreknowledge of what was to come between them seemed to flash before
+his eyes. It was like a sudden glimpse into that unseen world so close
+at hand, in which he--that Roman noble--had at any rate implicitly
+believed. There was a faint smile upon his face as his eyes met hers.
+
+"At least," he said, "I shall be able to come and talk with you now at
+the railing, instead of watching you from my chair. For you were quite
+right in what you said just now. I have watched for you every day--for
+many days."
+
+"You will be able to come," she said gravely, "if you care to. You mix
+so little with the men who love to talk scandal of a woman, that you
+may never have heard them--talk of me. But they do, I know! I hear all
+about it--it used to amuse me! You have the reputation of ultra
+exclusiveness! If you and I are known to be friends, you may have to
+risk losing it."
+
+His brows were slightly contracted, and he had half closed his eyes--a
+habit of his when anything was said which offended his taste.
+
+"I wonder whether you would mind not talking like that," he said.
+
+"Why not? I would not have you hear these things from other people. It
+is best to be truthful, is it not? To run no risk of any
+misunderstandings."
+
+"There is no fear of anything of that sort," he said calmly. "I do not
+pretend to be a magician or a diviner, yet I think I know you for what
+you are, and it is sufficient. Some day----"
+
+He broke off in the middle of a sentence. The door had opened. A man
+stood upon the threshold. The servant announced him--Mr. Thorndyke.
+
+Matravers rose at once to his feet. He had a habit--the outcome,
+doubtless, of his epicurean tenets, of leaving at once, and at any
+costs, society not wholly agreeable to him. He bowed coldly to the man
+who was already greeting Berenice, and who was carrying a great bunch
+of Parma violets.
+
+Mr. Thorndyke was evidently astonished at his presence--and not
+agreeably.
+
+"Have you come, Mr. Matravers," he asked coldly, "to make your peace?"
+
+"I am not aware," Matravers answered calmly, "of any reason why I
+should do so."
+
+Mr. Thorndyke raised his eyebrows, and drew an afternoon paper from
+his pocket.
+
+"This is your writing, is it not?" he asked.
+
+Matravers glanced at the paragraph.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+Mr. Thorndyke threw the paper upon the table.
+
+"Well," he said, "I have no doubt it is an excellent piece of literary
+work--a satire I suppose you would call it--and I must congratulate
+you upon its complete success. I don't mind running the theatre at a
+financial loss, but I have a distinct objection to being made a
+laughing stock of. I suppose this paper appeared about two hours ago,
+and already I can't move a yard without having to suffer the
+condolences of some sympathizing ass. I shall close the theatre next
+week."
+
+"That is naturally," Matravers said, "a matter of complete
+indifference to me. In the cause of art I should say that you will do
+well, unless you can select a play from a very different source. What
+I wrote of the performance last night, I wrote according to my
+convictions. You," he added, turning to Berenice, "will at least
+believe that, I am sure!"
+
+"Most certainly I do," she assured him, holding out her hand. "Must
+you really go? You will come and see me again--very soon?"
+
+He bowed over her fingers, and then their eyes met for a moment. She
+was very pale, but she looked at him bravely. He realized suddenly
+that Mr. Thorndyke's threat was a serious blow to her.
+
+"I am very sorry," he said. "You will not bear me any ill will?"
+
+"None!" she answered; "you may be sure of that!"
+
+She walked with him to the open door, outside which the servant was
+waiting to show him downstairs.
+
+"You will come and see me again--very soon?" she repeated.
+
+"Yes," he answered simply, "if I may I shall come again! I will come
+as soon as you care to have me!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Matravers passed out into the street with a curious admixture of
+sensations in a mind usually so free from any confusion of sentiments
+or ideas. The few words which he had been compelled to exchange with
+Thorndyke had grated very much against his sense of what was seemly;
+he was on the whole both repelled and fascinated by the incidents of
+this visit of his. Yet as he walked leisurely homewards through the
+bright, crowded streets, he recognized the existence of that strange
+personal charm in Berenice of which so many people had written and
+spoken. He himself had become subject to it in some slight degree, not
+enough, indeed, to engross his mind, yet enough to prevent any
+feeling of disappointment at the result of his visit.
+
+She was not an ordinary woman--she was not an ordinarily clever woman.
+She did not belong to any type with which he was acquainted. She must
+for ever occupy a place of her own in his thoughts and in his
+estimation. It was a place very well defined, he told himself, and by
+no means within that inner circle of his brain and heart wherein lay
+the few things in life sweet and precious to him. The vague excitement
+of the early morning seemed to him now, as he moved calmly along the
+crowded, fashionable thoroughfare, a thing altogether unreal and
+unnatural. He had been in an emotional frame of mind, he told himself
+with a quiet smile, when the sight of those few lines in a handwriting
+then unknown had so curiously stirred him. Now that he had seen
+and spoken to her, her personality would recede to its proper
+proportions, the old philosophic calm which hung around him in his
+studious life like a mantle would have no further disturbance.
+
+And then he suffered a rude shock! As he passed the corner of a
+street, the perfume of Neapolitan violets came floating out from a
+florist's shop upon the warm sunlit air. Every fibre of his being
+quivered with a sudden emotion! The interior of that little room was
+before him, and a woman's eyes looked into his. He clenched his hands
+and walked swiftly on, with pale face and rigid lips, like a man
+oppressed by some acute physical pain.
+
+There must be nothing of this for him! It was part of a world which
+was not his world--of which he must never even be a temporary denizen.
+The thing passed away! With studious care he fixed his mind upon
+trifles. There was a crease in his silk hat, clearly visible as he
+glanced at his reflection in a plate-glass window. He turned into
+Scott's, and waited whilst it was ironed. Then he walked homewards and
+spent the remainder of the day carefully revising a bundle of proofs
+which he found on his table fresh from the printer.
+
+On the following morning he lunched at his club. Somehow, although he
+was in no sense of the word an unpopular man, it was a rare thing for
+any one to seek his company uninvited. The scholarly exclusiveness of
+his Oxford days had not been altogether brushed off in this contact
+with a larger and more spontaneous social life, and he figured in a
+world which would gladly have known more of him, as a man of courteous
+but severe reserve.
+
+To-day he occupied his usual round table set in an alcove before a
+tall window. For a recluse, he always found a singular pleasure in
+watching the faces of the people in that broad living stream, little
+units in the wheeling cycle of humanity of which he too felt himself
+to be a part; but to-day his eyes were idle, and his sympathies
+obstructed. Although a pronounced epicure in both food and drink, he
+passed a new and delicate _entrée_, and not only ordered the wrong
+claret, but drank it without a grimace. The world of his sensations
+had been rudely disturbed. For the moment his sense of proportions was
+at fault, and before luncheon was over it received a further shock. A
+handsomely appointed drag rattled past the club on its way into
+Piccadilly. The woman who occupied the front seat turned to look at
+the window as they passed, with some evident curiosity--and their eyes
+met. Matravers set down the glass, which he had been in the act of
+raising to his lips, untasted.
+
+"Berenice and her Father Confessor!" he heard some one remark lightly
+from the next table. "Pity some one can't teach Thorndyke how to
+drive! He's a disgrace to the Four-in-hand!"
+
+It was Berenice! The sight of her in such intimate association with a
+man utterly distasteful to him was one before which he winced and
+suffered. He was aware of a new and altogether undesired experience.
+To rid himself of it with all possible speed, he finished his lunch
+abruptly, and lighting a cigarette, started back to his rooms.
+
+On the way he came face to face with Ellison, and the two men stood
+together upon the pavement for a moment or two.
+
+"I am not quite sure," Ellison remarked with a little grimace,
+"whether I want to speak to you or not! What on earth has kindled the
+destructive spirit in you to such an extent? Every one is talking of
+your attack upon the New Theatre!"
+
+"I was sent," Matravers answered, "with a free hand to write an honest
+criticism--and I did it. Istein's work may have some merit, but it is
+unclean work. It is not fit for the English stage."
+
+"It is exceedingly unlikely," Ellison remarked, "that the English
+stage will know him any more! No play could survive such an onslaught
+as yours. I hear that Thorndyke is going to close the theatre."
+
+"If it was opened," Matravers said, "for the purpose of presenting
+such work as this latest production, the sooner it is closed the
+better."
+
+Ellison shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"It is a large subject," he said, "and I am not sure that we are of
+one mind. We will not discuss it. At any rate, I am very sorry for
+Berenice!"
+
+"I do not think," Matravers said in measured tones, "that you need be
+sorry for her. With her gifts she will scarcely remain long without an
+engagement. I trust that she may secure one which will not involve
+the prostitution of her talent." Ellison laughed shortly. He had an
+immense admiration for Matravers, but just at present he was a little
+out of temper with him.
+
+"You admit her talent, then?" he remarked. "I am glad of that!"
+
+"I am not sure," Matravers said, "that talent is the proper word to
+use. One might almost call it genius."
+
+Ellison was considerably mollified.
+
+"I am glad to hear you say so," he declared. "At the same time I am
+afraid her position will be rather an awkward one. She will lose some
+money by the closing of the theatre, and I don't exactly see what
+London house is open for her just at present. These actor-managers are
+all so clannish, and they have their own women."
+
+"I am sorry," Matravers said thoughtfully; "at the same time I cannot
+believe that she will remain very long undiscovered! Good afternoon!
+I am forgetting that I have some writing to do."
+
+Matravers walked slowly back to his rooms, filled with a new and
+fascinating idea which Ellison's words had suddenly suggested to him.
+If it was true that his pen had done her this ill turn, did he not owe
+her some reparation? It would be a very pleasant way to pay his debt
+and a very simple one. By the time he had reached his destination the
+idea had taken definite hold of him.
+
+[Illustration: At half-past four his servant brought in a small
+tea-equipage]
+
+For several hours he worked at the revision of a certain manuscript,
+polishing and remodelling with infinite care and pains. Not even
+content with the correct and tasteful arrangement of his sentences, he
+read them over to himself aloud, lest by any chance there should have
+crept into them some trick of alliteration, or juxtaposition of words
+not entirely musical. In his work he gained, or seemed to gain, a
+complete absorption. The cloudy disquiet of the last few hours
+appeared to have passed away,--to have been, indeed, only a fugitive
+and transitory thing.
+
+At half-past four his servant brought in a small tea-equipage--a
+silver tray, with an old blue Worcester teapot and cup, and a quaintly
+cut glass cream-jug. He made his tea, and drank it with his pen still
+in his hand. He had scarcely turned back to his work, before the same
+servant re-entered carrying a frock coat, an immaculately brushed silk
+hat, and a fresh bunch of Neapolitan violets. For a moment Matravers
+hesitated; then he laid down his pen, changed his coat, and once more
+passed out into the streets, more brilliant than ever now with the
+afternoon sunshine. He joined the throng of people leisurely making
+their way towards the Park!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+For nearly half an hour he sat in his usual place under the trees,
+watching with indifferent eyes the constant stream of carriages
+passing along the drive. It seemed to him only a few hours since he
+had sat there before, almost in the same spot, a solitary figure in
+the cold, grey twilight, yet watching then, even as he was watching
+now, for that small victoria with its single occupant whose soft dark
+eyes had met his so often with a frank curiosity which she had never
+troubled to conceal. Something of that same perturbation of spirit
+which had driven him then out into the dawn-lit streets, was upon him
+once more, only with a very real and tangible difference. The grey
+half-lights, the ghostly shadows, and the faint wind sounding in the
+tree-tops like the rising and falling of a midnight sea upon some
+lonely shore, had given to his early morning dreams an indefiniteness
+which they could scarcely hope to possess now. He himself was a living
+unit of this gay and brilliant world, whose conversation and light
+laughter filled the sunlit air around him, whose skirts were brushing
+against his knees, and whose jargon fell upon his ears with a familiar
+and a kindly sound. There was no possibility here for such a wave of
+passion,--he could call it nothing else,--as had swept through him,
+when he had first read that brief message from the woman, who had
+already become something of a disturbing element in his seemly life.
+Yet under a calm exterior he was conscious of a distinct tremor of
+excitement when her carriage drew up within a few feet of him, and
+obeying her mute but smiling command, he rose and offered his hand as
+she stepped out on to the path.
+
+"This," she remarked, resting her daintily gloved fingers for a moment
+in his, "is the beginning of a new order of things. Do you realize
+that only the day before yesterday we passed one another here with a
+polite stare?"
+
+"I remember it," he answered, "perfectly. Long may the new order
+last."
+
+"But it is not going to last long--with me at any rate," she said,
+laughing. "Don't you know that I am almost ruined? Mr. Thorndyke is
+going to close the theatre. He says that we have been losing money
+every week. I shall have to sell my horses, and go and live in the
+suburbs."
+
+"I hope," he said fervently, "that you will not find it so bad as
+that."
+
+"Of course," she remarked, "you know that yours is the hand which has
+given us our death-blow. I have just read your notice. It is a
+brilliant piece of satirical writing, of course, but need you have
+been quite so severe? Don't you regret your handiwork a little?"
+
+"I cannot," he answered deliberately. "On the contrary, I feel that I
+have done you a service. If you do not agree with me to-day, the time
+will certainly come when you will do so. You have a gift which
+delighted me: you are really an actress; you are one of very few."
+
+"That is a kind speech," she answered; "but even if there is truth in
+it, I am as yet quite unrecognized. There is no other theatre open to
+me; you and I look upon Istein and his work from a different point of
+view; but even if you are right, the part of Herdrine suited me. I was
+beginning to get some excellent notices. If we could have kept the
+thing going for only a few weeks longer, I think that I might have
+established some sort of a reputation."
+
+He sighed.
+
+"A reputation, perhaps," he admitted; "but not of the best order. You
+do not wish to be known only as the portrayer of unnatural passions,
+the interpreter of diseased desires. It would be an ephemeral
+reputation. It might lead you into many strange byways, but it would
+never help you to rise. Art is above all things catholic, and
+universal. You may be a perfect Herdrine; but Herdrine herself is but
+a night weed--a thing of no account. Even you cannot make her natural.
+She is the puppet of a man's fantasy. She is never a woman."
+
+"I suppose," she said sorrowfully, "that your judgment is the true
+one. Yet--but we will talk of something else. How strange to be
+walking here with you!"
+
+Berenice was always a much-observed woman, but to-day she seemed to
+attract more even than ordinary attention. Her personality, her
+toilette, which was superb, and her companion, were all alike
+interesting to the slowly moving throng of men and women amongst whom
+they were threading their way. The attitude of her sex towards
+Berenice was in a certain sense a paradox. She was distinctly the most
+talented and the most original of all the "petticoat apostles," as the
+very man who was now walking by her side had scornfully described the
+little band of women writers who were accused of trying to launch upon
+society a new type of their own sex. Her last novel was flooding all
+the bookstalls; and if not of the day, was certainly the book of the
+hour. She herself, known before only as a brilliant journalist writing
+under a curious _nom de plume_, had suddenly become one of the most
+marked figures in London life. Yet she had not gone so far as other
+writers who had dealt with the same subject. Marriage, she had
+dared to write, had become the whitewashing of the impure, the
+sanctifying of the vicious! But she had not added the almost natural
+corollary,--therefore let there be no marriage. On the contrary,
+marriage in the ideal she had written of as the most wonderful and
+the most beautiful thing in life,--only marriage in the ideal did
+not exist.
+
+She had never posed as a woman with a mission! She formulated nowhere
+any scheme for the re-organization of those social conditions whose
+bases she had very eloquently and very trenchantly held to be rotten
+and impure. She had written as a prophet of woe! She had preached only
+destruction, and from the first she had left her readers curious as to
+what sexual system could possibly replace the old. The thing which
+happened was inevitable. The amazing demand for her book was exactly
+in inverse proportion to its popularity amongst her sex. The crusade
+against men was well! Admittedly they were a bad lot, and needed to
+be told of it. A little self-assertion on behalf of his superior was a
+thing to be encouraged and applauded. But a crusade against marriage!
+Berenice must be a most abandoned, as well as a most immoral, woman!
+No one who even hinted at the doctrine of love without marriage could
+be altogether respectable. Not that Berenice had ever done that.
+Still, she had written of marriage,--the usual run of marriages,--from
+a woman's point of view, as a very hateful thing. What did she
+require, then, of her sex? To live and die old maids, whilst men
+became regenerated? It was too absurd. There were a good many curious
+things said, and it was certainly true, that since she had gone upon
+the stage her toilette and equipage were unrivalled. Berenice looked
+into the eyes of the women whom she met day by day, and she read their
+verdict. But if she suffered, she said not a word to any of it.
+
+They passed out from the glancing shadows of the trees towards the
+Piccadilly entrance. Here they paused for a moment and stood together
+looking down the drive. The sunlight seemed to touch with quivering
+fire the brilliant phantasmagoria. Berenice was serious. Her dark eyes
+swept down the broad path and her under-lip quivered.
+
+"It is this," she exclaimed, with a slight forward movement of her
+parasol, "which makes me long for an earthquake. Can one do anything
+for women like that? They are not the creations of a God; they are the
+parasitical images of type. Only it is a very small type and a very
+large reproduction. Why do I say these things to you, I wonder? You
+are against me, too! But then you are not a woman!"
+
+"I am not against you in your detestation of type," he answered. "The
+whole world of our sex as well as yours is full of worn-out and
+effete reproductions of an unworthy model. It is this intolerable
+sameness which suffocates all thought. One meets it everywhere; the
+deep melancholy of our days is its fruit. But the children of this
+generation will never feel it. The taste of life between their teeth
+will be neither like ashes nor green figs. They are numbed."
+
+She flashed a look almost of anger upon him.
+
+"Yet you have ranged yourself upon their side. When my story first
+appeared, its fate hung for days in the balance. Women had not made up
+their minds how to take it. It came into your hands for review. Well!
+you did not spare it, did you? It was you who turned the scale. Your
+denunciation became the keynote of popular opinion concerning me. The
+women for whose sake I had written it, that they might at least
+strike one blow for freedom, took it with a virtuous shudder from the
+hands of their daughters. I was pronounced unwholesome and depraved;
+even my personal character was torn into shreds. How odd it all
+seems!" she added, with a light, mirthless laugh. "It was you who put
+into their hands the weapon with which to scourge me. Their trim,
+self-satisfied little sentences of condemnation are emasculated
+versions of your judgment. It is you whom I have to thank for the
+closing of the theatre and the failure of Herdrine,--you who are
+responsible for the fact that these women look at me with insolence
+and the men as though I were a courtesan. How strange it must seem to
+them to see us together--the wolf and the lamb! Well, never mind. Take
+me somewhere and give me some tea; you owe me that, at least."
+
+They turned and left the park. For a few minutes conversation was
+impossible, but as soon as they had emerged from the crowd he
+answered her.
+
+"If I have ever helped any one to believe ill of you," he said slowly,
+"I am only too happy that they should have the opportunity of seeing
+us together. You are rather severe on me. I thought then, as I think
+now, that it is--to put it mildly--impolitic to enter upon a
+passionate denunciation of such an institution as marriage when any
+substitute for it must necessarily be another step upon the downward
+grade. The decadence of self-respect amongst young men, any contrast
+between their lives and the lives of the women who are brought up to
+be their wives, is too terribly painful a subject for us to discuss
+here. Forgive me if I think now, as I have always thought, that it is
+not a fitting subject for a novelist--certainly not for a woman. I may
+be prejudiced; yet it was my duty to write as I thought. You must not
+forget that! So far as your story went, I had nothing but praise for
+it. There were many chapters which only an artist could have written."
+
+She raised her eyebrows. They had turned into Bond Street now, and
+were close to their destination.
+
+"You men of letters are so odd," she exclaimed. "What is Art but
+Truth? and if my book be not true, how can it know anything of art?
+But never mind! We are talking shop, and I am a little tired of taking
+life seriously. Here we are! Order me some tea, please, and a
+chocolate _éclair_."
+
+He followed her to a tiny round table, and sat down by her side upon
+the cushioned seat. As he gave his order and looked around the little
+room, he smiled gravely to himself. It was the first time in his
+life,--at any rate since his boyhood,--that he had taken a woman into
+a public room. Decidedly it was a new era for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+An incident, which Matravers had found once or twice uppermost in his
+mind during the last few days, was recalled to him with sudden
+vividness as he took his seat in an ill-lit, shabbily upholstered box
+in the second tier of the New Theatre. He seemed almost to hear again
+the echoes of that despairing cry which had rung out so plaintively
+across the desert of empty benches from somewhere amongst the shadows
+of the auditorium. Several times during the performance he had glanced
+up in the same direction; once he had almost fancied he could see a
+solitary, bent figure sitting rigid and motionless in the first row of
+the amphitheatre. No man was possessed of a smaller share of curiosity
+in the ordinary sense of the word than Matravers; but the thought
+that this might be the same man come again to witness a play which had
+appealed to him before with such peculiar potency, interested him
+curiously. At the close of the second act he left his seat, and, after
+several times losing his way, found himself in the little narrow space
+behind the amphitheatre. Leaning over the partition, and looking
+downwards, he had a good view of the man who sat there quite alone,
+his head resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed steadily upon a soiled
+and crumpled programme, which was spread out carefully before him.
+Matravers wondered whether there was not in the clumsy figure and
+awkward pose something vaguely familiar to him.
+
+An attendant of the place standing by his side addressed him
+respectfully.
+
+"Not much of a house for the last night, sir," he remarked.
+
+Matravers agreed, and moved his head downwards towards the solitary
+figure.
+
+"There is one man, at least," he said, "who finds the play
+interesting."
+
+The attendant smiled.
+
+"I am afraid that the gentleman is a little bit 'hoff,' sir. He seems
+half silly to talk to. He's a queer sort, anyway. Comes here every
+blessed night, and in the same place. Never misses. Once he came
+sixpence short, and there was a rare fuss. They wouldn't let him in,
+and he wouldn't go away. I lent it him at last."
+
+"Did he pay you back?" Matravers asked.
+
+"The very next night; never had to ask him, either. There goes the
+bell, sir. Curtain up in two minutes."
+
+The subject of their conversation had not once turned his head or
+moved towards them. Matravers, conscious that he was not likely to do
+so, returned to his seat just as the curtain rose upon the last act.
+The play, grim, pessimistic, yet lifted every now and then to a higher
+level by strange flashes of genius on the part of the woman, dragged
+wearily along to an end. The echoes of her last speech died away; she
+looked at him across the footlights, her dark eyes soft with many
+regrets, which, consciously or not, spoke to him also of reproach. The
+curtain descended, and her hands fell to her side. It was the end, and
+it was failure!
+
+Matravers, making his way more hurriedly than usual from the house,
+hoped to gain another glimpse of the man who had remained the solitary
+tenant of the round of empty seats. But he was too late. The man and
+the audience had melted away in a thin little stream. Matravers stood
+on the kerbstone hesitating. He had not meant to go behind to-night.
+He had a feeling that she must be regarding him at that moment as the
+executioner of her ambitions. Besides, she was going on to a
+reception; she would only be in a hurry. Nevertheless, he made his way
+round to the stage door. He would at least have a glimpse of her. But
+as he turned the corner, she was already stepping into her carriage.
+He paused, and simultaneously with her disappearance he realized that
+he was not the only one who had found his way to the narrow street to
+see the last of Berenice. A man was standing upon the opposite
+pavement a little way from the carriage, yet at such an angle that a
+faint, yellow light shone upon what was visible of his pale face. He
+had watched her come out, and was gazing now fixedly at the window of
+her brougham. Matravers knew in a moment that this was the man whom he
+had seen sitting alone in the amphitheatre; and almost without any
+definite idea as to his purpose, he crossed the street towards him.
+The man, hearing his footstep, looked up with a sudden start; then,
+without a second's hesitation, he turned and hurried off. Matravers
+still followed him. The man heard his footsteps, and turned round,
+then, with a little moan, he started running, his shoulders bent, his
+head forward. Matravers halted at once. The man plunged into the
+shadows, and was lost amongst the stream of people pouring forth from
+the doors of the Strand theatres.
+
+At her door an hour later Berenice saw the outline of a figure now
+become very familiar to her, and Matravers, who had been leaving a box
+of roses, whose creamy pink-and-white blossoms, mingled together in a
+neighbouring flower-shop, had pleased his fancy, heard his name called
+softly across the pavement. He turned, and saw Berenice stepping from
+her carriage. With an old-fashioned courtesy, which always sat well
+upon him, he offered her his arm.
+
+[Illustration: With an old-fashioned courtesy ... he offered her his
+arm]
+
+"I thought that you were to be late," he said, looking down at her
+with a shade of anxiety in his clear, grave face. "Was not this Lady
+Truton's night?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Yes; don't talk to me--just yet. I am upset! Come in and sit with
+me!"
+
+He hesitated. With a scrupulous delicacy, which sometimes almost
+irritated her, he had invariably refrained from paying her visits so
+late as this. But to-night was different! Her fingers were clasping
+his arm,--and she was in trouble. He suffered himself to be led up the
+stairs into her little room.
+
+"Some coffee for two," she told her woman. "You can go to bed then! I
+shall not want you again!"
+
+She threw herself into an empty chair, and loosened the silk ribbons
+of her opera cloak.
+
+"Do you mind opening the window?" she asked. "It is stifling in here.
+I can scarcely breathe!"
+
+He threw it wide open, and wheeled her chair up to it. The glare from
+the West End lit up the dark sky. The silence of the little room and
+the empty street below, seemed deepened by that faint, far-away roar
+from the pandemonium of pleasure. A light from the opposite side of
+the way,--or was it the rising moon behind the dark houses?--gleamed
+upon her white throat, and in her soft, dim eyes. She lay quite still,
+looking into vacancy. Her hand hung over the side of the chair nearest
+to him. Half unconsciously he took it up and stroked it soothingly.
+The tears gushed from her eyes. At his kindly touch her over-wrought
+feelings gave way. Her fingers closed spasmodically upon his.
+
+He said nothing. The time had passed when words were necessary between
+them. They were near enough to one another now to understand the
+value of silence. But those few moments seemed to him for ever like a
+landmark in his life. A new relation was born between them in the
+passionate intensity of that deep quietness.
+
+He watched her bosom cease to heave, and the dimness pass from her
+eyes. Then he took up the box which he had been carrying, and emptied
+the pink-and-white blossoms into her lap. She stooped down and buried
+her face in them. Their faint, delicate perfume seemed to fill the
+room.
+
+"You are very good," she said abruptly. "Thank God that there is some
+one who is good to me!"
+
+The coffee was in the room, and Berenice threw off her cloak and
+brought it to him. A fit of restlessness seemed to have followed upon
+her moment of weakness. She began walking with quick, uneven steps up
+and down the room. Matravers forgot to drink his coffee. He was
+watching her with a curious sense of emotional excitement. The little
+chamber was full of half lights and shadows, and there seemed to him
+something almost unearthly about this woman with her soft grey gown
+and marble face. He was stirred by her presence in a new way. The
+rustle of her silken skirts as she swept in and out of the dim light,
+the delicate whiteness of her arms and throat, the flashing of a
+single diamond in her dark coiled hair,--these seemed trivial things
+enough, yet they were yielding him a new and mysterious pleasure. For
+the first time his sense of her beauty was fully aroused. Every now
+and then he caught faint glimpses of her face. It was like the face of
+a new woman to him. There was some tender and wonderful change there,
+which he could not understand, and yet which seemed to strike some
+responsive chord in his own emotions. Instinctively he felt that she
+was passing into a new phase of life. Surely, he, too, was walking
+hand and hand with her through the shadows! The touch of her
+interlaced fingers had burned his flesh.
+
+[Illustration: There seemed to him something almost unearthly about
+this woman with her soft grey gown and marble face]
+
+Presently she came and sat down beside him.
+
+"Forgive me!" she murmured. "It does me so much good to have you here.
+I am very foolish!"
+
+"Tell me about it!"
+
+She frowned very slightly, and looked away at a star.
+
+"It is nothing! It is beginning to seem less than nothing! I have
+written a book for women, for the sake of women, because my heart
+ached for their sufferings, and because I too have felt the fire. I
+wonder whether it was really an evil book," she added, still looking
+away from him at that single star in the dark sky. "People say so! The
+newspapers say so! Yet it was a true book! I wrote it from my soul,--I
+wrote it with my own blood. I have not been a good woman, but I have
+been a pure woman! When I wrote it, I was lonely; I have always been
+lonely. But I thought, now I shall know what it is like to have
+friends. Many women will understand that I have suffered in doing this
+thing for their sakes! For it was my own life which I lay bare, my own
+life, my own sufferings, my own agony! I thought, they will come to me
+and they will thank me for it! I shall have sympathy and I shall have
+friends.... And now my book is written, and I am wiser. I know now
+that woman does not want her freedom! Though they drag her down into
+hell, the chains of her slavery have grown around her heart and have
+become precious to her! Tell me, are those pure women who willingly
+give their souls and their bodies in marriage to men who have sinned
+and who will sin again? They do it without disguise, without shame,
+for position, or for freedom, or for money! yet there are other women
+whom they call courtesans, and from whose touch they snatch away the
+hem of their skirts in horror! Oh, it is terrible! There can be no
+corruption worse than this in hell!"
+
+"Yours has been the common disappointment of all reformers," he said
+gravely. "Gratitude is the rarest tribute the world ever offers to
+those who have laboured to cleanse it. When you are a little older you
+will have learnt your lesson. But it is always very hard to learn....
+Tell me about to-night!"
+
+She raised her head a little. A faint spot of colour stained her
+cheek.
+
+"There was one woman who praised me, who came to see me, and sent me
+cards to go to her house. To-night I went. Foolishly I had hoped a
+good deal from it! I did not like Lady Truton herself, but I hoped
+that I should meet other women there who would be different! It was a
+new experience to me to be going amongst my own sex. I was like a
+child going to her first party. I was quite excited, almost nervous. I
+had a little dream,--there would be some women there--one would be
+enough--with whom I might be friends, and it would make life very
+different to me to have even one woman friend. But they were all
+horrid. They were vulgar, and one woman, she took me on one side and
+praised my book. She agreed, she said, with every word in it! She had
+found out that her husband had a mistress,--some chorus-girl,--and she
+was repaying him in his own coin. She too had a lover--and for every
+infidelity of his she was repaying him in this manner. She dared to
+assume that I--I should approve of her conduct; she asked me to go and
+see her! My God! it was hideous."
+
+Matravers laid his hand upon hers, and leaned forward in his chair.
+
+"Lady Truton's was the very worst house you could have gone to," he
+said gently. "You must not be too discouraged all at once. The women
+of her set, thank God, are not in the least typical Englishwomen.
+They are fast and silly,--a few, I am afraid, worse. They make use
+of the free discussions in these days of the relations between our
+sexes, to excuse grotesque extravagances in dress and habits which
+society ought never to pardon. Do not let their judgments or their
+misinterpretations trouble you! You are as far above them, Berenice,
+as that little star is from us."
+
+"I do not pretend to be anything but a woman," she said, bending her
+head, "and to stand alone always is very hard."
+
+"It is very hard for a man! It must be very much harder for a woman.
+But, Berenice, you would not call yourself absolutely friendless!"
+
+She raised her head for a moment. Her dark eyes were wonderfully soft.
+
+"Who is there that cares?" she murmured.
+
+He touched the tips of her fingers. Her soft, warm hand yielded itself
+readily, and slid into his.
+
+"Do I count for no one?" he whispered.
+
+There was a silence in the little room. The yellow glare had faded
+from the sky, and a night wind was blowing softly in. A clock in the
+distance struck one. Together they sat and gazed out upon the
+darkness. Looking more than once into her pale face, Matravers
+realized again that wonderful change. His own emotions were curiously
+disturbed. He, himself, so remarkable through all his life for a
+changeless serenity of purpose, and a fixed masterly control over his
+whole environment, felt himself suddenly like a rudderless ship at
+the mercy of a great unknown sea. A sense of drifting was upon him.
+They were both drifting. Surely this little room, with its dim light
+and shadows and its faint odour of roses, had become a hotbed of
+tragedy. He had imagined that death itself was something like this,--a
+dissolution of all fixed purposes. And with it all, this remnant of
+life, if it were but a remnant, seemed suddenly to be flowing through
+his veins with all the rich, surpassing sweetness of some exquisite
+symphony!
+
+"You count for a great deal," she said. "If you had not come to me, I
+think that I must have died.... If I were to lose you ... I think that
+I should die."
+
+She threw herself back in her chair with a gesture of complete
+abandonment. Her arms hung loosely down over its sides. The moonlight,
+which had been gradually gathering strength, shone softly upon her
+pale face and on the soft, lustrous pearls at her throat. Her dark,
+wet eyes seemed touched with smouldering fire. She looked at him. He
+sprang to his feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. His
+forehead was hot and dry, and his hands were trembling.
+
+"There is not any reason," he said, halting suddenly in front of her,
+"why we should lose one another. I was coming to-morrow morning to
+make a proposition to you. If you accept it, we shall be forced to see
+a great deal of one another."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"You perhaps did not know that I had any ambitions as a dramatic
+author. Yet my first serious work after I left Oxford was a play; I
+took it up yesterday."
+
+"You have really written a play," she murmured, "and you never told
+me."
+
+"At least I am telling you now," he reminded her; "I am telling you
+before any one, because I want your help."
+
+"You want what?"
+
+"I want you to help me by taking the part of my heroine. I read it
+yesterday by appointment to Fergusson. He accepted it at once on the
+most liberal terms. I told him there was one condition--that the part
+of my heroine must be offered to you, if you would accept it. There
+was a little difficulty, as, of course, Miss Robinson is a fixture at
+the Pall Mall. However, Fergusson saw you last night from the back of
+the dress circle, and this morning he has agreed. It only remains for
+you to read, or allow me to read to you the play."
+
+"Do you mean to say that you are offering me the principal part in a
+play of yours--at the Pall Mall--with Fergusson?"
+
+"Well, I think that is about what it comes to," he assented.
+
+She rose to her feet and took his hands in hers.
+
+"You are too good--much too good to me," she said softly. "I dare not
+take it; I am not strong enough."
+
+"It will be you, or no one," he said decidedly. "But first I am going
+to read you the play. If I may, I shall bring it to you to-morrow."
+
+"I want to ask you something," she said abruptly. "You must answer me
+faithfully. You are doing this, you are making me this offer because
+you think that you owe me something. It is a sort of reparation for
+your attack upon Herdrine. I want to know if it is that."
+
+"I can assure you," he said earnestly, "that I am not nearly so
+conscientious. I wrote the play solely as a literary work. I had no
+thought of having it produced, of offering it to anybody. Then I saw
+you at the New Theatre; I think that you inspired me with a sort of
+dramatic excitement. I went home and read my play. Bathilde seemed to
+me then to speak with your tongue, to look at me with your eyes, to
+be clothed from her soul outwards with your personality. In the
+morning I wrote to Fergusson."
+
+"I want to believe you," she said softly; "but it seems so strange. I
+am no actress like Adelaide Robinson; I am afraid that if I accept
+your offer, I may hurt the play. She is popular, and I am unknown."
+
+"She has talent," he said, "and experience; you have genius, which is
+far above either. I am not leaving you any choice at all. To-morrow I
+shall bring the play."
+
+"You may at least do that," she answered. "It will be a pleasure to
+hear it read. Come to luncheon, and we will have a long afternoon."
+
+Matravers took his leave with a sense of relief. Their farewell had
+been cordial enough, but unemotional. Yet even he, ignorant of women
+and their ways as he was, was conscious that they had entered
+together upon a new phase of their knowledge of each other. The touch
+of their fingers, the few conventional words which passed between
+them, as she leaned over the staircase watching him descend, seemed to
+him to savour somehow of mockery. He passed out from her presence into
+the cool, soft night, dazed, not a little bewildered at this new
+strong sense of living, which had set his pulses beating to music and
+sent his blood rushing through his body with a new sweetness. Yet with
+it all he was distressed and unhappy. He was confronted with the one
+great influence of life against which he had deliberately set his
+face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Matravers began to find himself, for the first time in his life,
+seriously attracted by a woman. He realized it in some measure as he
+walked homeward in the early morning, after this last interview with
+Berenice; he knew it for an absolute fact on the following evening
+as he walked through the crowded streets back to his rooms with
+the manuscript of the play which he had been reading to her in his
+pocket. He felt himself moving in what was to some extent an unreal
+atmosphere. His senses were tingling with the excitement of the last
+few hours--for the first time he knew the full fascination of a
+woman's intellectual sympathy. He had gone to his task wholly devoid
+of any pleasurable anticipation. It spoke much for the woman's tact
+that before he had read half a dozen pages he was not only completely
+at his ease, but was experiencing a new and very pleasurable
+sensation. The memory of it was with him now--he had no mind to
+disturb it by any vague alarm as to the future of their relationship.
+
+In Piccadilly he met Fergusson, who turned and walked with him.
+
+"I have been to your rooms, Matravers," the actor said. "I want to
+know whether you have arranged with your friend?"
+
+"I have just left her," Matravers replied. "She appears to like the
+play, and has consented to play Bathilde."
+
+The actor smiled. Was Matravers really so simple, or did he imagine
+that an actress whose name was as yet unknown would hesitate to play
+with him at the Pall Mall Theatre. Yet he himself had been hoping that
+there might be some difficulty,--he had a "Bathilde" of his own who
+would take a great deal of pacifying. The thing was settled now
+however.
+
+"I should like," he said, "to make her acquaintance at once."
+
+"I have thought of that," Matravers said. "Will you lunch with me at
+my rooms on Sunday and meet her? that is, of course, if she is able to
+come."
+
+"I shall be delighted," Fergusson answered. "About two, I suppose?"
+
+Matravers assented, and the two men parted. The actor, with a little
+shrug of his shoulders and the air of a man who has an unpleasant task
+before him, turned southwards to interview the lady who certainly had
+the first claim to play "Bathilde." He found her at home and anxiously
+expecting him.
+
+"If you had not come to-day," she remarked, "I should have sent for
+you. I want you to contradict that rubbish."
+
+She threw the theatrical paper across at him, and watched him, whilst
+he read the paragraph to which she had pointed. He laid the paper
+down.
+
+"I cannot altogether contradict it," he said. "There is some truth in
+what the man writes."
+
+The lady was getting angry. She came over to Fergusson and stood by
+his side.
+
+"You mean to tell me," she exclaimed, "that you have accepted a play
+for immediate production which I have not even seen, and in which the
+principal part is to be given to one of those crackpots down at the
+New Theatre, an amateur, an outsider--a woman no one ever heard of
+before."
+
+"You can't exactly say that," he interposed calmly. "I see you have
+her novel on your table there, and she is a woman who has been talked
+about a good deal lately. But the facts of the case are these.
+Matravers brought me a play a few days ago which almost took my
+breath away. It is by far the best thing of the sort I ever read. It
+is bound to be a great success. I can't tell you any more now,--you
+shall read it yourself in a day or two. He was very easy to deal with
+as to terms, but he made one condition: that a certain part in
+it,--the principal one, I admit,--should be offered to this woman. I
+tried all I could to talk him out of it, but absolutely without
+effect. I was forced to consent. There is not a manager in London who
+would not jump at the play on any conditions. You know our position.
+'Her Majesty' is a failure, and I haven't a single decent thing to put
+on. I simply dared not let such a chance as this go by."
+
+"I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life," the lady exclaimed.
+"No, I'm not blaming you, Reggie! I don't suppose you could have done
+anything else. But this woman, what a nerve she must have to imagine
+that she can do it! I see her horrid Norwegian play has come to utter
+grief at the New Theatre."
+
+"She is a clever woman," Fergusson remarked. "One can only hope for
+the best."
+
+She flashed a quiet glance at him.
+
+"You know her, then,--you have been to see her."
+
+"Not yet," Fergusson answered. "I am going to meet her to-morrow.
+Matravers has asked me to lunch."
+
+"Tell me about Matravers," she said.
+
+"I am afraid I do not know much. He is a very distinguished literary
+man, but his work has generally been critical or philosophical,--every
+one will be surprised to hear that he has written a play. You will
+find that there will be quite a stir about it. The reason why we have
+no plays nowadays which can possibly be classed as literature, is
+because the wrong class of man is writing for the stage. Smith and
+Francis and all these men have fine dramatic instincts, but they are
+not scholars. Their dialogue is mostly beneath contempt; there is a
+dash of conventionality in their best work. Now, Matravers is a writer
+of an altogether different type."
+
+"Thanks," she interrupted, "but I don't want a homily. I am only
+curious about the man himself."
+
+Fergusson pulled himself up a little annoyed. He had begun to talk
+about a subject of peculiar interest to him.
+
+"Oh, the man himself is rather an interesting personality," he
+declared. "He is a recluse, a dilettante, and a very brilliant man of
+letters."
+
+"I want to know," the lady said impatiently, "whether he is married."
+
+"Married! certainly not," Fergusson assured her.
+
+"Very well, then, I am going there to luncheon with you to-morrow."
+
+Fergusson looked blank.
+
+"But, my dear girl," he protested, "how on earth----"
+
+"Don't be foolish, Reggie," she said calmly. "It is perfectly natural
+for me to go! I have been your principal actress for several seasons.
+I suppose if there is a second woman's part in the piece, it will be
+mine, if I choose to take it. You must write and ask Matravers for
+permission to bring me. You can mention my desire to meet the new
+actress if you like."
+
+Fergusson took up his hat.
+
+"Matravers is not the sort of man one feels like taking a liberty
+with," he said. "But I'll try him."
+
+"You can let me know to-night at the theatre," she directed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Nothing short of a miracle could have made Matravers' luncheon party a
+complete success; yet, so far as Berenice was concerned, it could
+scarcely be looked upon in any other light. Her demeanour towards
+Adelaide Robinson and Fergusson was such as to give absolutely no
+opportunity for anything disagreeable! She frankly admitted both her
+inexperience and her ignorance. Yet, before they left, both Fergusson
+and his companion began to understand Matravers' confidence in her.
+There was something almost magnetically attractive about her
+personality.
+
+The luncheon was very much what one who knew him would have expected
+from Matravers--simple, yet served with exceeding elegance. The
+fruit, the flowers, and the wine had been his own care; and the table
+had very much the appearance of having been bodily transported from
+the palace of a noble of some southern land. After the meal was over,
+they sat out upon the shaded balcony and sipped their coffee and
+liqueurs,--Fergusson and Berenice wrapt in the discussion of many
+details of the work which lay before them, whilst Matravers, with an
+effort which he carefully concealed, talked continually with Adelaide
+Robinson.
+
+"Is it true," she asked him, "that you did not intend your play for
+the stage--that you wrote it from a literary point of view only?"
+
+"In a sense, that is quite true," he admitted. "I wrote it without any
+definite idea of offering it to any London manager. My doing so was
+really only an impulse."
+
+[Illustration: Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense of
+disturbance]
+
+"If Mr. Fergusson is right--and he is a pretty good judge--you won't
+regret having done so," she remarked. "He thinks it is going to have
+a big run."
+
+"He may be right," Matravers answered. "For all our sakes, I hope so!"
+
+"It will be a magnificent opportunity for your friend."
+
+Matravers looked over towards Berenice. She was talking eagerly to
+Fergusson, whose dark, handsome head was very close to hers, and in
+whose eyes was already evident his growing admiration. Matravers was
+suddenly conscious of an odd sense of disturbance. He was grateful to
+Adelaide Robinson for her intervention. She had risen to her feet, and
+glanced downwards at the little brougham drawn up below.
+
+"I am so sorry to go," she said; "but I positively must make some
+calls this afternoon."
+
+Fergusson rose also, with obvious regret, and they left together.
+
+"Don't forget," he called back from the door; "we read our parts
+to-morrow, and rehearsals begin on Thursday."
+
+"I have it all down," Berenice answered. "I will do my best to be
+ready for Thursday."
+
+Berenice remained standing, looking thoughtfully after the little
+brougham, which was being driven down Piccadilly.
+
+Matravers came back to her, and laid his hand gently upon her arm.
+
+"You must not think of going yet," he said. "I want you to stay and
+have tea with me."
+
+"I should like to," she answered. "I seem to have so much to say to
+you."
+
+He piled her chair with cushions and drew it back into the shade. Then
+he lit a cigarette, and sat down by her side.
+
+"I suppose you must think that I am very ungrateful," she said. "I
+have scarcely said 'thank you' yet, have I?"
+
+"You will please me best by never saying it," he answered. "I only
+hope that it will be a step you will never regret."
+
+"How could I?"
+
+He looked at her steadily, a certain grave concentration of
+thought manifest in his dark eyes. Berenice was looking her best
+that afternoon. She was certainly a very beautiful and a very
+distinguished-looking woman. Her eyes met his frankly; her lips
+were curved in a faintly tender smile.
+
+"Well, I hardly know," he said. "You are going to be a popular
+actress. Henceforth the stage will have claims upon you! It will
+become your career."
+
+"You have plenty of confidence."
+
+"I have absolute confidence in you," he declared, "and Fergusson
+is equally confident about the play; chance has given you this
+opportunity--the result is beyond question! Yet I confess that I have
+a presentiment. If the manuscript of 'The Heart of the People' were
+in my hands at this moment, I think that I would tear it into little
+pieces, and watch them flutter down on to the pavement there."
+
+"I do not understand you," she said softly. "You say that you have no
+doubt----"
+
+"It is because I have no doubt--it is because I know that it will make
+you a popular and a famous actress. You will gain this. I wonder what
+you will lose."
+
+She moved restlessly on her chair.
+
+"Why should I lose anything?"
+
+"It is only a presentiment," he reminded her. "I pray that you may not
+lose anything. Yet you are coming under a very fascinating influence.
+It is your personality I am afraid of. You are going to belong
+definitely to a profession which is at once the most catholic and the
+most narrowing in the world. I believe that you are strong enough to
+stand alone, to remain yourself. I pray that it may be so, and yet,
+there is just the shadow of the presentiment. Perhaps it is foolish."
+
+Their chairs were close together; he suddenly felt the perfume of her
+hair and the touch of her fingers upon his hand. Her face was quite
+close to his.
+
+"At least," she murmured, "I pray that I may never lose your
+friendship."
+
+"If only I could ensure you as confidently the fulfilment of all your
+desires," he answered, "you would be a very happy woman. I am too
+lonely a man, Berenice, to part with any of my few joys. Whether you
+change or no, you must never change towards me."
+
+She was silent. There were no signs left of the brilliant levity which
+had made their little luncheon pass off so successfully. She sat with
+her head resting upon her elbow, gazing steadily up at the little
+white clouds which floated over the housetops. A tea equipage was
+brought out and deftly arranged between them.
+
+"To-day," Matravers said, "I am going to have the luxury of having my
+tea made for me. Please come back from dreamland and realize the
+Englishman's idyll of domesticity."
+
+She turned in her chair, and smiled upon him.
+
+"I can do it," she assured him. "I believe you doubt my ability, but
+you need not."
+
+They talked lightly for some time--an art which Matravers found
+himself to be acquiring with wonderful facility. Then there was a
+pause. When she spoke again, it was in an altogether different tone.
+
+[Illustration: "I can do it," she assured him. "I believe you doubt my
+ability, but you need not"]
+
+"I want you to answer me," she said, "it is not too late. Shall I give
+up Bathilde--and the stage? Listen! You do not know anything of my
+circumstances. I am not dependent upon either the stage or my writing
+for a living. I ask you for your honest advice. Shall I give it up?"
+
+"You are placing a very heavy responsibility upon my shoulders," he
+answered her thoughtfully. "Yet I will try to answer you honestly. I
+should be happier if I could advise you to give it up! But I cannot!
+You have the gift--you must use it. The obligation of self-development
+is heaviest upon the shoulders of those whose foreheads Nature's
+twin-sister has touched with fire! I would it were any other gift,
+Berenice; but that is only a personal feeling. No! you must follow out
+your destiny. You have an opportunity of occupying a unique and
+marvellous position. You can create a new ideal. Only be true always
+to yourself. Be very jealous indeed of absorbing any of the modes of
+thought and life which will spring up everywhere around you in the new
+world. Remember it is the old ideals which are the sweetest and the
+truest.... Forgive me, please! I am talking like a pedagogue."
+
+"You are talking as I like to be talked to," she answered. "Yet you
+need not fear that my head will be turned, even if the success should
+come. You forget that I am almost an old woman. The religion of my
+life has long been conceived and fashioned."
+
+He looked at her with a curious smile. If thirty seemed old to her,
+what must she think of him?
+
+"I wonder," he said simply, "if you would think me impertinent if I
+were to ask you to tell me more about yourself. How is it that you are
+altogether alone in the world?"
+
+The words had scarcely left his lips before he would have given much
+to have recalled them. He saw her start, flinch back as though she had
+been struck, and a grey pallor spread itself over her face, almost to
+the lips. She looked at him fixedly for several moments without
+speaking.
+
+"One day," she said, "I will tell you all that. You shall know
+everything. But not now; not yet."
+
+"Whenever you will," he answered, ignoring her evident agitation.
+"Come! what do you say to a walk down through the Park? To-day is a
+holiday for me--a day to be marked with a white stone. I have
+registered an oath that I will not even look at a pen. Will you not
+help me to keep it?"
+
+"By all means," she answered blithely. "I will take you home with me,
+and keep you there till the hour of temptation has passed. To-day is
+to be my last day of idleness! I too have need of a white stone."
+
+"We will place them," he said, "side by side."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Matravers' luncheon party marked the termination for some time of any
+confidential intercourse between Berenice and himself. Every moment of
+her time was claimed by Fergusson, who, in his anxiety to produce a
+play from which he hoped so much before the wane of the season, gave
+no one any rest, and worked himself almost into a fever. There were
+two full rehearsals a day, and many private ones at her rooms.
+Matravers calling there now and then found Fergusson always in
+possession, and by degrees gave it up in despair. He had a horror of
+interfering in any way, even of being asked for his advice concerning
+the practical reproduction of his work. Fergusson's invitations to
+the rehearsals at the theatre he rejected absolutely. As the time grew
+shorter, Berenice became pale and almost haggard with the unceasing
+work which Fergusson's anxiety imposed upon her. One night she sent
+for Matravers, and hastening to her rooms, he found her for the first
+time alone.
+
+[Illustration: "Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad?"]
+
+"I have sent Mr. Fergusson home," she exclaimed, welcoming him with
+outstretched hands, but making no effort to rise from her easy chair.
+"Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad? I want you to
+interfere."
+
+"What can I do?" he said.
+
+"Anything to bring him to reason! He is over-rehearsing! Every line,
+every sentence, every gesture, he makes the subject of the most
+exhaustive deliberation. He will have nothing spontaneous; it is
+positively stifling. A few more days of it and my reason will go! He
+is a great actor, but he does not seem to understand that to reduce
+everything to mathematical proportions is to court failure."
+
+"I will go and see him," Matravers said. "You wish for no more
+rehearsals, then?"
+
+"I do not want to see his face again before the night of the
+performance," she declared vehemently. "I am perfect in my part. I
+have thought about it--dreamed about it. I have lived more as
+'Bathilde' than as myself for the last three weeks. Perhaps," she
+continued more slowly, "you will not be satisfied. I scarcely dare to
+hope that you will be. Yet I have reached my limitations. The more I
+am made to rehearse now, the less natural I shall become."
+
+"I will speak to Fergusson," Matravers promised. "I will go and see
+him to-night. But so far as you are concerned, I have no fear; you
+will be the 'Bathilde' of my heart and my brain. You cannot fail!"
+
+She rose to her feet. "It is," she said, "The desire of my life to
+make your 'Bathilde' a creature of flesh and blood. If I fail, I will
+never act again."
+
+"If you fail," he said, "the fault will be in my conception, not
+in your execution. But indeed we will not consider anything so
+improbable. Let us put the play behind us for a time and talk of
+something else! You must be weary of it."
+
+She shook her head. "Not that! never that! Just now it is my life,
+only it is the details which weary me, the eternal harping upon the
+mechanical side of it. Will you read to me for a little? and I will
+make you some coffee. You are not in a hurry, are you?"
+
+"I have come," he said, "to stay with you until you send me away! I
+will read to you with pleasure. What will you have?"
+
+She handed him a little volume of poems; he glanced at the title and
+made a faint grimace. They were his own.
+
+Nevertheless, he read for an hour, till the streets below grew silent,
+and his own voice, unaccustomed to such exercise, lost something of
+its usual clearness. Then he laid the volume down, and there was
+silence between them.
+
+"I have been thinking," he said at last, "of a singular incident in
+connection with your performance at the New Theatre; it was brought
+into my mind just then. I meant to have mentioned it before."
+
+She looked up with only a slight show of interest. Those days at the
+theatre seemed to her now to be very far behind. There was nothing in
+connection with them which she cared to remember.
+
+"It was the night of my first visit there," he continued. "There is a
+terrible scene at the end of the second act between Herdrine and her
+husband--you recollect it, of course. Just as you finished your
+denunciation, I distinctly heard a curious cry from the back of the
+house. It was a greater tribute to your acting than the applause, for
+it was genuine."
+
+"The piece was gloomy enough," she remarked, "to have dissolved the
+house in tears."
+
+"At least," he said, "it wrung the heart of one man. For I have
+not told you all. I was interested enough to climb up into the
+amphitheatre. The man sat there alone amongst a wilderness of empty
+seats. He was the picture of abject misery. I could scarcely see his
+face, but his attitude was convincing. It was not a thing of chance
+either. I made some remark about him to an attendant, and he told me
+that night after night that man had occupied the same seat, always
+following every line of the play with the same mournful concentration,
+never speaking to any one, never moving from his seat from the
+beginning of the play to the end."
+
+"He must have been," she declared, "a person of singularly morbid
+taste. When I think of it now I shiver. I would not play Herdrine
+again for worlds."
+
+"I am very glad to hear you say so," he said, smiling. "Do you know
+that to me the most interesting feature of the play was its obvious
+effect upon this man. Its extreme pessimism is too much paraded, is
+laid on altogether with too thick a hand to ring true. The thing is
+an involved nightmare. One feels that as a work of art it is never
+convincing, yet underneath it all there must be something human, for
+it found its way into the heart of one man."
+
+"It is possible," she remarked, "that he was mad. The man who found it
+sufficiently amusing to come to the theatre night after night could
+scarcely have been in full possession of his senses."
+
+"That is possible," he admitted; "but I do not believe it. The man's
+face was sad enough, but it was not the face of a madman."
+
+"You did see his face, then?"
+
+"On the last night of the play," he continued. "You remember you were
+going on to Lady Truton's, so I did not come behind. But I had a fancy
+to see you for a moment, and I came round into Pitt Street just as you
+were driving off. On the other side of the way this man was standing
+watching you!"
+
+She looked at him with a suddenly kindled interest--or was it
+fear?--in her dark eyes. The colour had left her cheeks; she was white
+to the lips.
+
+"Watching me?"
+
+"Yes. As your carriage drove off he stood watching it. I don't know
+what prompted me, but I crossed the street to speak to him. He seemed
+such a lone, mournful figure standing there half dazed, shabby,
+muttering softly to himself. But when he saw me coming, he gave one
+half-frightened look at me and ran, literally ran down the street on
+to the Strand. I could not follow,--the police would have stopped him.
+So he disappeared."
+
+"You saw his face. What was he like?"
+
+Berenice had leaned right back amongst the yielding cushions of her
+divan, and he could scarcely see her face. Yet her voice sounded to
+him strange and forced. He looked at her in some surprise.
+
+"I had a glimpse of it. It was an ordinary face enough; in fact, it
+disappointed me a little. But the odd part of it was that it seemed
+vaguely familiar to me. I have seen it before, often. Yet, try as I
+will, I cannot recollect where, or under what circumstances."
+
+"At Oxford," she suggested. "By the bye, what was your college?"
+
+"St. John's. No, I do not think,--I hope that it was not at Oxford.
+Some day I shall think of it quite suddenly."
+
+Berenice rose from her chair with a sudden, tempestuous movement and
+stood before him.
+
+"Listen!" she exclaimed. "Supposing I were to tell you that I knew or
+could guess who that man was--why he came! Oh, if I were to tell you
+that I were a fraud, that----"
+
+Matravers stopped her.
+
+"I beg," he said, "that you will tell me nothing!"
+
+There was a short silence. Berenice seemed on the point of breaking
+down. She was nervously lacing and interlacing her fingers. Her breath
+was coming spasmodically.
+
+"Berenice," he said softly, "you are over-wrought; you are not quite
+yourself to-night. Do not tell me anything. Indeed, there is no need
+for me to know; just as you are I am content with you, and proud to be
+your friend."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+She sat down again. He could not see her face, but he fancied that
+she was weeping. He himself found his customary serenity seriously
+disturbed. Perhaps for the first time in his life he found himself not
+wholly the master of his emotions. The atmosphere of the little room,
+the perfume of the flowers, the soft beauty of the woman herself,
+whose breath fell almost upon his cheek, affected him as nothing of
+the sort had ever done before. He rose abruptly to his feet.
+
+"You will be so much better alone," he said, taking her fingers and
+smoothing them softly in his for a moment. "I am going away now."
+
+"Yes. Good-by!"
+
+At the threshold he paused. She had not looked up at him. She was
+still sitting there with bowed head and hidden face. He closed the
+door softly, and went out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+The enthusiasm with which Matravers' play had been received on the
+night of its first appearance was, if anything, exceeded on the night
+before the temporary closing of the theatre for the usual summer
+vacation. The success of the play itself had never been for a moment
+doubtful. For once the critics, the general press, and the public,
+were in entire and happy agreement. The first night had witnessed an
+extraordinary scene. An audience as brilliant as any which could have
+been brought together in the first city in the world, had flatly
+refused to leave the theatre until Matravers himself, reluctant and
+ill-pleased, had joined Fergusson and Berenice before the footlights;
+and now on the eve of its temporary withdrawal something of the same
+sort was threatened again, and Matravers only escaped by standing up
+in the front of his box, and bowing his acknowledgments to the
+delighted audience.
+
+It was a well-deserved success, for certainly as a play it was a
+brilliant exception to anything which had lately been produced upon
+the English stage. The worn-out methods and motives of most living
+playwrights were rigorously avoided; everything about it was fresh and
+spontaneous. Its sentiment was relieved by the most delicate vein of
+humour. It was everywhere tender and human. The dialogue, to which
+Matravers had devoted his usual fastidious care, was polished and
+sprightly; there was not anywhere a single dull or unmusical line. It
+was a classic, the critics declared,--the first literary play by a
+living author which London had witnessed for many years. The bookings
+for months ahead were altogether phenomenal. Fergusson saw a certain
+fortune within his hands, and Matravers, sharing also in the golden
+harvest, found another and a still greater cause for satisfaction.
+
+For Berenice had justified his selection. The same night, as the
+greatest of critics, speaking through the columns of the principal
+daily paper, had said, which had presented to them a new writer for
+the stage, had given them also a new actress. She had surprised
+Matravers, she had amazed Fergusson, who found himself compelled
+to look closely to his own laurels. In short, she was a success,
+descended, if not from the clouds, at least from the mists of
+Isteinism, but accorded, without demur or hesitation, a foremost place
+amongst the few accepted actresses. Her future and his position were
+absolutely secured, and her reputation, as Matravers was happy to
+think, was made, not as the portrayer of a sickly and unnatural type
+of diseased womanhood, but as the woman of his own creation, a very
+sweet and pure English lady.
+
+The house emptied at last, and Matravers made his way behind, where
+many of Fergusson's friends had gathered together, and where
+congratulations were the order of the day. A species of informal
+reception was going on, champagne cup and sandwiches were being handed
+around and a general air of extreme good humour pervaded the place.
+Berenice was the centre of a group of men amongst whom Matravers was
+annoyed to see Thorndyke. If he could have withdrawn unseen, he would
+have done so; but already he was surrounded. A little stir at the
+entrance attracted his attention. He turned round and found Fergusson
+presenting him to a royal personage, who was graciously pleased,
+however, to remember a former meeting, and waved away the words of
+introduction.
+
+It chanced, without any design on his part, that Berenice and he left
+almost at the same time, and met near the stage door. She dropped
+Fergusson's arm--he had left his guests to see her to her
+carriage--and motioned to Matravers.
+
+"Won't you see me home?" she asked quietly. "I have sent my maid on,
+she was so tired, and I am all alone."
+
+"I shall be very pleased," Matravers answered. "May I come in with
+you?" Fergusson lingered for a moment or two at the carriage door, and
+then they drove off. Berenice, with a little sigh, leaned back amongst
+the cushions.
+
+"You are very tired, I am afraid," he said gently. "The last few weeks
+must have been a terrible strain upon you."
+
+"They have been in many ways," she said, "the happiest of my life."
+
+"I am glad of that; yet it is quite time that you had a rest."
+
+She did not answer him,--she did not speak again until the carriage
+drew up before her house. He handed her out, and opened the door with
+the latch-key which she passed over to him.
+
+"Good night," he said, holding out his hand.
+
+"You must please come in for a little time," she begged. "I have seen
+you scarcely at all lately. You have not even told me about your
+travels."
+
+He hesitated for a moment, then seeing the shade upon her face, he
+stepped forward briskly.
+
+"I should like to come very much," he said, "only you must be sure to
+send me away if I stay too long. You are tired already."
+
+"I am tired," she admitted, leading the way upstairs, "only it will
+rest me much more to have you talk to me than to go to bed. Mine is
+scarcely a physical fatigue. My nerves are all quivering. I could not
+sleep! Tell me where you have been."
+
+Matravers took the seat to which she motioned him, and obeyed her,
+watching, whilst she stooped down over the fire and poured water into
+a brazen coffee-pot, and took another cup and saucer from a quaint
+little cupboard. She made the coffee carefully and well, and
+Matravers, as he lit his cigarette, found himself wondering at this
+new and very natural note of domesticity in her.
+
+[Illustration: Matravers found himself wondering at this new and very
+natural note of domesticity in her]
+
+All the time he was talking, telling her in a few chosen sentences
+of the little tour for which she really was responsible--of the
+pink-and-white apple-blossoms of Brittany, of the peasants in their
+quaint and picturesque garb, and of the old time-worn churches, the
+exploration of which had constituted his chief interest. She listened
+eagerly; every word of his description, so vivid and picturesque, was
+interesting. When he had finished, he looked at her thoughtfully.
+
+"You too," he said, "need a change! You have worked very hard, and you
+will need all your strength for the autumn season."
+
+"I am going away," she said, "very soon. Perhaps to-morrow."
+
+He looked at her surprised.
+
+"So soon!"
+
+"Why not? What is there to keep me? The theatre is closed. London is
+positively stifling. I am longing for some fresh air."
+
+He was silent for a moment or two. It was so natural that she should
+go, and yet in a sense it was so unexpected. Looking steadily across
+at her as she leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair, her dark
+eyes watching his face, her attitude and expression alike convincing
+him in some subtle way of her satisfaction at his presence, he became
+suddenly conscious that the time which he had dimly anticipated with
+mingled fear and pleasure was now close at hand. His heart was beating
+with a quickened throb! He was aghast as he realized with quick,
+unerring truth the full effect of her words upon him. He drew a sharp
+little breath and walked to the open window, taking in a long draught
+of the fresh night air, sweetly scented with the perfume of the
+flowers in her boxes. Her voice came to him low and sweet from the
+interior of the room.
+
+"There is a little farmhouse in Devonshire which belongs to me. It is
+nothing but a tumbledown, grey stone place; but there are hills, and
+meadows, and country lanes, and the sea. I want to go there."
+
+"Away from me!" he cried hoarsely.
+
+"Will you come too?" she murmured.
+
+[Illustration: She did not answer him. But indeed there was no need]
+
+He turned back into the room and looked at her. She was standing
+up, coming towards him; a faint tinge of pink colour had stained her
+cheek--her bosom was heaving--her eyes were challenging his with a
+light which needed no borrowed brilliancy. Go with her! The man's
+birthright, his passion, which through the long days of his austere
+life had lain dormant and undreamt of swept up from his heart. He held
+out his arms, and she came across the room to him with a sweet effort
+of self-yielding which yet waited for while it invited his embrace.
+
+"You mean it?" he murmured, "you are sure?"
+
+She did not answer him. But indeed there was no need.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Matravers never altogether forgot the sensations with which he awoke
+on the following morning. Notwithstanding a sleepless night, he rose
+and made a deliberate toilet with a wonderful buoyancy of spirits. The
+change which had come into his life was a thing so wonderful that he
+could scarcely realize it. Yet it was true! He had found the one
+experience in life which had hitherto been denied him, and he was
+amazed at the full extent of its power and sweetness. He felt himself
+to be many years younger! Old dreams and enthusiasms were suddenly
+revived. Once more his foot seemed to be poised upon the threshold of
+life! After all, he had not yet reached middle age! He was surprised
+to find himself so young. Marriage, although so far as regarded
+himself he had never imagined it a possible part of his life, was a
+condition against which he held no vows. Instinctively he felt that
+with Berenice, existence must inevitably become a fuller and a richer
+thing. The old days of philosophic quietude, of self-contained and
+cultured ease, had been in themselves very pleasant, but his was
+altogether too large a nature to become in any way the slave of habit.
+He looked forward to their abandonment without regret,--what was to
+come would be a continuation of the best part of them set to the
+sweetest music. He was conscious of holding himself differently as he
+entered his breakfast-room! Was it his fancy, or was the perfume of
+his little bowl of roses indeed more sweet this morning, the sunshine
+mellower and warmer, the flavour of his grapes more delicate? At any
+rate, he ate with a rare appetite, and then whilst he smoked a
+cigarette afterwards, an idea came to him! The colour rose in his
+cheeks,--he felt like a boy. In a few minutes he was walking through
+the streets, smiling softly to himself as he thought of his strange
+errand.
+
+He found his way to a jeweller's shop in Bond Street, and asked for
+pearls! They were the only jewels she cared for, and he made a
+deliberate and careful choice, wondering more than once, with a
+curious sort of shyness, whether the man who served him so gravely had
+any idea for what purpose he was buying the ring which had been the
+object of his first inquiry. He walked home with a little square box
+in his hand, and a much smaller one in his waistcoat pocket. On the
+pavement he had hesitated for a moment, but a glance at his watch had
+decided him. It was too early to go and see her yet. He walked back to
+his rooms! There was a little work which he must finish during the
+day. He had better attempt it at once.
+
+On his desk a letter was waiting for him. With a little tremor of
+pleasure he recognized her handwriting. He took it over to the tall
+sunny window, with a smile of anticipation upon his lips. He broke the
+seal and read:
+
+     "My love, the daylight has come, and I am here where you
+     left me, a very happy and yet a very unhappy woman! Is it
+     indeed only a few hours since we parted? It all seems so
+     different. The starlight and the night wind and the deep,
+     sweet silence have gone! There is a great shaft of yellow
+     light in the sky, and a bank of purple clouds where the sun
+     has risen. Only the perfume of your roses lying crushed in
+     my lap remains to prove to me that it has not all been a
+     very sweet dream. Dearest, I have a secret to tell you,--the
+     sorrow of my life. The time has come when you must, alas!
+     know it. Last night it was enough for me to hear you tell me
+     of your love! Nothing else in the world seemed worthy of a
+     moment's thought. But as you were leaving, you whispered
+     something about our marriage. How sweetly it sounded,--and
+     yet how bitterly! For, dear, I can never marry you. I am
+     already married! I can see you start when you read this. You
+     will blame me for having kept this secret from you. Very
+     likely you will be angry with me. Only for the love of God
+     pity me a little!
+
+     "My story is so commonplace. I can tell it you in a few
+     sentences. I married when I was seventeen at my father's
+     command, to save him from ruin. My husband, like my father,
+     was a city merchant. I did not love him, but then I did not
+     know what love was. My girlhood was a miserable one. My
+     father belonged to the sect of Calvinists. Our home was
+     hideous, and we were poor. Any release from it was welcome.
+     John Drage, the man whom I married, had one good quality. He
+     was generous. He bought me pictures, and books--things which
+     I always craved. When my father's command came, it did not
+     seem a hardship. I married him. He was not so much a bad
+     man, perhaps, as a weak one. We lived together for four
+     years. I had one child, a little boy. Then I made a horrible
+     discovery. My husband, whom I knew to be a drunkard, was
+     hideously, debasingly false to me. The bald facts are these.
+     I myself saw him drunk and helped into his carriage by one
+     of those women whose trade it is to prey upon such
+     creatures. This was not an exceptional occurrence. It was a
+     habit.
+
+     "There, I have told you. It would have hurt me less to have
+     cut off my right hand. But there shall be no
+     misunderstanding, nor any concealment between us. I left
+     John Drage's house that night. I took little Freddy with me;
+     but when I refused to return, he stole the child away from
+     me. Then I drew a sharp line at that point in my life. I had
+     neither friend nor relation, but there was some money which
+     had been left me soon after my marriage. I lived alone, and
+     I began to write. That is my story. That is why I cannot
+     marry you.
+
+     "Dear, I want you, now that you know my very ugly history,
+     to consider this. Whilst I was married, I was faithful to my
+     husband; since then I have been faithful to my self-respect.
+     But I have told myself always that if ever the time came
+     when I should love, I would give myself to that man without
+     hesitation and without shame. And that time has come, dear.
+     You know that I love you! Your coming has been the great
+     awakening joy of my life. Nothing that has gone before,
+     nothing that the future may hold, can ever trouble me if we
+     are together--you and I. I have suffered more than most
+     women. But you will help me to forget it.
+
+     "I sit here with my face to the morning, and I seem to see a
+     new life stretching out before me. Is not love a beautiful
+     thing! I am not ambitious any more. I do not want any other
+     object in life than to make you happy, and to be made happy
+     by you. I began this letter with a heavy heart and with
+     trembling fingers. But now I am quite calm and quite happy.
+     I know that you will come to me. You see I have great faith
+     in your love. Thank God for it!
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+The letter fluttered from Matravers' fingers on to the floor. For
+several minutes he stood quite still, with his hand pressed to his
+heart. Then he calmly seated himself in a little easy chair which
+stood by his side, with its back to the window. He had a curious
+sense of being suddenly removed from his own personality,--his own
+self. He was another man gazing for the last time upon a very familiar
+scene.
+
+He sat there with his head resting upon the palm of his hand, looking
+with lingering eyes around his little room, even the simplest objects
+of which were in a sense typical of the life which he was abandoning.
+He knew that that life, if even its influence had not been wide, had
+been a studiously well-ordered and a seemly thing. A touch of that
+ultra æstheticism, which had given to all his writings a peculiar tone
+and individuality, had permeated also his ideas as to the simplest
+events of living. All that was commonplace and ugly and vicious had
+ever repelled him. He had lived not only a clean life, but a sweet
+one. His intense love for pure beauty, combined with a strong dash
+of epicureanism, had given a certain colour to its outward form as
+well as to its inward workings. Even the simplest objects by which
+he was surrounded were the best of their kind,--carefully and
+faithfully chosen. The smallest details of his daily life had always
+been governed by a love of comely and kindly order. Both in his
+conversation and in his writings he had studiously avoided all
+excess, all shadow of evil or unkindness. His opinions, well chosen
+and deliberate though they were, were flavoured with a delicate
+temperateness so distinctive of the man and of his habits. And now, it
+was all to come to an end! He was about to sever the cords, to cut
+himself adrift from all that had seemed precious, and dear, and
+beautiful to him. He, to whom even the women of the streets had been
+as sacred things, was about to become the established and the open
+lover of a woman whom he could never marry. To a certain extent it was
+like moral shipwreck to him. Yet he loved her! He was sure of that.
+He had called himself in the past, as indeed he had every right to,
+something of a philosopher; but he had never tried to harden within
+himself the human leaven which had kept him, in sympathy and
+kindliness, always in close touch with his fellows. And this was its
+fruit! To him of all men there had come this....
+
+Soon he found himself in the street, on his way to her. Such a letter
+as this called for no delay. It was barely twelve o'clock when he rang
+the bell at her house. The girl who answered it handed him a note. He
+asked quickly for her mistress.
+
+She left an hour ago by the early train, he was told. She has gone
+into the country.
+
+She had made up her mind quite suddenly, and had not even taken her
+maid. The address would probably be in the letter.
+
+Still standing on the doorstep, he tore open the note and read it.
+There were only a few lines.
+
+     "Dearest, can you take a short holiday? I have a fancy to
+     have you come to me at my little house in Devonshire. London
+     is stifling me, and I want to taste the full sweetness of my
+     happiness. You see I do not doubt you! I know that you will
+     come. Shall you mind a tiresome railway journey? The address
+     is Bossington Old Manor House, Devonshire, and the station
+     is Minehead. Wire what train you are coming by, and I will
+     send something to meet you.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Matravers walked back to his rooms and ordered his portmanteau to be
+packed. Then he went out, and after making all his arrangements for an
+absence from town, bought a Bradshaw. There were two trains, he found,
+by which he could travel, one at three, the other at half-past four.
+He arranged to catch the earlier one, and drove to his club for lunch.
+Afterwards he strolled towards the smoking-room, but finding it
+unusually full, was on the point of withdrawing. As he lingered on the
+threshold, a woman's name fell upon his ears. The speaker was Mr.
+Thorndyke. He became rigid.
+
+"Why, yes, I gave her the victoria," he was saying. "We called it a
+birthday present, or something of that sort. I supposed every one
+knew about that. Those little arrangements generally are known
+somehow!"
+
+The innuendo was unmistakable. Matravers advanced with his usual
+leisurely walk to the little group of men.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "I understood Mr. Thorndyke to
+say, I believe, that he had given a carriage to a certain lady. Am I
+correct?"
+
+Thorndyke turned upon him sharply. There was a sudden silence in the
+crowded room. Matravers' clear, cold voice, although scarcely raised
+above the pitch of ordinary conversation, had penetrated to its
+furthest corner.
+
+"And if I did, sir! What----"
+
+"These gentlemen will bear me witness that you did say so?" Matravers
+interrupted calmly. "I regret to have to use unpleasant language, Mr.
+Thorndyke, but I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen, that
+your statement is a lie!"
+
+Thorndyke was a florid and a puffy man. The veins upon his temples
+stood out like whipcord. He was not a pleasant sight to look upon.
+
+"What do you mean, sir?" he spluttered. "The carriage was mine before
+she had it. Everybody recognizes it."
+
+[Illustration: "I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen, that
+your statement is a lie!"]
+
+"Exactly. The carriage was yours. You intended every one to recognize
+it. But you have omitted to state, both here and in other places, that
+the lady bought that carriage from you for two hundred and sixty
+guineas--a good deal more than its worth, I should imagine. You heard
+her say that she was thinking of buying a victoria, and you offered
+her yours--pressed her to buy it. It was too small for your horses,
+you said, and you were hard up. You even had it sent round to her
+stables without her consent. I have heard this story before, sir,
+and I have furnished myself with proofs of its falsehood. This,
+gentlemen," he added, drawing some papers from his pocket, "is Mr.
+Thorndyke's receipt for the two hundred and sixty guineas for a
+victoria, signed, as you will see, in his own handwriting, and here
+is the lady's cheque with Mr. Thorndyke's endorsement, cancelled
+and paid."
+
+The papers were handed round. Thorndyke picked up his hat, but
+Matravers barred his egress.
+
+"With regard to the insinuation which you coupled with your
+falsehood," he continued, "both are equally and absolutely false. I
+know her to be a pure and upright woman. A short time ago you took
+advantage of your position to make certain cowardly and disgraceful
+propositions to her, since when her doors have been closed upon you! I
+would have you know, sir, and remember, that the honour of that lady,
+whom last night I asked to be my wife, is as dear to me as my own,
+and if you dare now, or at any future time, to slander her, I shall
+treat you as you deserve. You can go."
+
+"And be very careful, sir," thundered the old Earl of Ellesmere,
+veteran member of the club, "that you never show your face inside
+these doors again, or, egad, I'm an old man, but I'll kick you out
+myself."
+
+Thorndyke left the room amidst a chilling and unsympathetic silence.
+As soon as he could get away, Matravers followed him. There was a
+strange pain at his heart, a sense of intolerable depression had
+settled down upon him. After all, what good had he done? Only a few
+more days and her name, which for the moment he had cleared, would be
+besmirched in earnest. His impeachment of Thorndyke would sound to
+these men then like mock heroics. There would be no one to defend her
+any more. There would be no defence. For ever in the eyes of all
+these people she was doomed to become one of the Magdalens of the
+world.
+
+It seemed a very unreal London through which Matravers was whirled on
+his way from the club to Paddington. But before a third of the
+distance was accomplished, there was a sudden check. A little boy, who
+had wandered from his nurse in crossing the road, narrowly escaped
+being run over by a carriage and pair, only to find himself knocked
+down by the shaft of Matravers' hansom. There was a cry, and the
+driver pulled his horse on to her haunches, but apparently just a
+second too late. With a sickening sense of horror, Matravers saw the
+little fellow literally under the horse's feet, and heard his shrill
+cry of terror.
+
+He leaped out, and was the first to pick the child up, immeasurably
+relieved to find that after all he was not seriously hurt. His clothes
+were torn, and his hands were scratched, and there, apparently, the
+mischief ended. Matravers lifted him into the cab, and turned to the
+frightened nurse-girl for the address.
+
+"Nine, Greenfield Gardens, West Kensington, sir," she told him; "and
+please tell the master it wasn't my fault. He is so venturesome, I
+can't control him nohow. His name is Drage--Freddy Drage, sir."
+
+And then once more Matravers felt that strange dizziness which had
+come to him earlier in the day. Again he had that curious sense of
+moving in a dream, as though he had, indeed, become part of an unreal
+and shadowy world. The renewed motion of the cab as they drove back
+again along Pall Mall, recalled him to himself. He leaned back and
+looked at the boy steadily.
+
+Yes, they were her eyes. There was no doubt about it. The little
+fellow, not in the least shy, and, in fact, now become rather proud of
+his adventure, commenced to prattle very soon. Matravers interrupted
+him with a question,--
+
+"Won't your mother be frightened to see you like this?" The child
+stared at him with wide-open eyes.
+
+"Why, mammy ain't there," he exclaimed. "Mammy went away ever so long
+ago. I don't think she's dead, though, 'cos daddy wouldn't let me talk
+about her, only just lately, since he was ill. You see," he went on
+with an explanatory wave of the hand, "daddy's been a very bad man.
+He's better now--leastways, he ain't so bad as he was; but I 'spect
+that's why mammy went away. Don't you?"
+
+"I daresay, Freddy," Matravers answered softly.
+
+"We're getting very near now," Freddy remarked, looking over the apron
+of the cab. "My! won't dada be surprised to see me drive up in a cab
+with you! I hope he's at the window!"
+
+"Will your father be at home now?" Matravers asked.
+
+Freddy stared at him.
+
+"Why, of course! Dad's always at home! Is my face very buggy? Don't
+rub it any more, please. That's Jack Mason over there! I play with
+him. I want him to see me. Hullo! Jack," he shouted, leaning out of
+the cab, "I've been run over, right over, face all buggy. Look at it!
+Hands too," spreading them out. "He's a nice boy," Freddy continued as
+the cab turned a corner, "but he can't run near so fast as me, and
+he's lots older. Hullo! here we are!" kicking vigorously at the apron.
+
+Matravers looked up in surprise. They had stopped short before a long
+row of shabby-genteel houses in the outskirts of Kensington. He took
+the boy's outstretched hand and pushed open the gate. The door was
+open, and Freddy dragged him into a room on the ground floor.
+
+A man was lying on a sofa before the window, wrapped in an untidy
+dressing-gown, and with the lower part of his body covered up with
+a rug. His face, fair and florid, with more than a suggestion of
+coarseness in the heavy jaw and thick lips, was drawn and wrinkled
+as though with pain. His lips wore an habitually peevish expression.
+He did not offer to rise when they came in. Matravers was thankful
+that Freddy spared him the necessity of immediate speech. He had
+recognized in a moment the man who had sat alone night after night
+in the back seats of the New Theatre, whose slow drawn-out cry of
+agony had so curiously affected him on that night of her performance.
+He recognized, too, the undergraduate of his college sent down for
+flagrant misbehaviour, the leader of a set whom he himself had
+denounced as a disgrace to the University. And this man was her
+husband!
+
+"Daddy," the boy cried, dropping Matravers' hand and running over to
+the couch, "I've been run over by a hansom cab, and I'm all buggy, but
+I ain't hurt, and this gentleman brought me home. Daddy can't get up,
+you know," Freddy explained; "his legs is bad."
+
+"Run over, eh!" exclaimed the man on the couch. "It's like that girl's
+damned carelessness."
+
+He patted the boy's head, not unkindly, and Matravers found words.
+
+"My cab unfortunately knocked your little boy down near Trafalgar
+Square, but I am thankful to say that he was not hurt. I thought that
+I had better bring him straight home, though, as he has had a roll in
+the dust."
+
+At the sound of Matravers' voice, the man started and looked at him
+earnestly. A dull red flush stained his cheeks. He looked away.
+
+"It was very good of you, Mr. Matravers," he said. "I can't think what
+the girl could have been about."
+
+"I did not see her until after the accident. I am glad that it was no
+worse," Matravers answered. "You have not forgotten me, then?"
+
+John Drage shook his head.
+
+"No, sir," he said. "I have not forgotten you. I should have known
+your voice anywhere. Besides, I knew that you were in London. I saw
+you at the New Theatre."
+
+There was a short silence. Matravers glanced around the room with an
+inward shiver. The usual horrors of a suburban parlour were augmented
+by a general slovenliness, and an obvious disregard for any sort of
+order.
+
+"I am afraid, Drage," he said gently, "that things have not gone well
+with you."
+
+"You are quite right," the man answered bitterly. "They have not! They
+have gone very wrong indeed; and I have no one to blame but myself."
+
+"I am sorry," Matravers said. "You are an invalid, too, are you not?"
+
+"I am worse than an invalid," the man on the couch groaned. "I am a
+prisoner on my back, most likely for ever; curse it! I have had a
+paralytic stroke. I can't think why I couldn't die! It's hard
+lines!--damned hard lines! I wish I were dead twenty times a day! I am
+alone here from morning to night, and not a soul to speak to. If it
+wasn't for Freddy I should jolly soon end it!"
+
+"The little boy's mother?" Matravers ventured, with bowed head.
+
+"She left me--years ago. I don't know that I blame her, particularly.
+Sit down, if you will, for a bit. I never have a visitor, and it does
+me good to talk."
+
+Matravers took the only unoccupied chair, and drew it back a little
+into the darker part of the room.
+
+"You remember me then, Drage," he remarked. "Yet it is a long time
+since our college days."
+
+"I knew you directly I heard your voice, sir," the man answered. "It
+seemed to take me back to a night many years ago--I want you to let
+me remind you of it. I should like you to know that I never forgot it.
+We were at St. John's then; you were right above me--in a different
+world altogether. You were a leader amongst the best of them, and I
+was a hanger-on amongst the worst. You were in with the gentlemen set
+and the reading set. Neither of them would have anything to do with
+me--and they were quite right. I was what they thought me--a cad. I'd
+no head for work, and no taste for anything worth doing, and I wasn't
+a gentleman, and hadn't sense to behave like one. I'd no right to have
+been at the University at all, but my poor old dad would have me go.
+He had an idea that he could make a gentleman of me. It was a
+mistake!"
+
+Matravers moved slightly in his chair,--he was suffering tortures.
+
+"Is it worth while recalling all these things?" he asked quietly.
+"Life cannot be a success for all of us; yet it is the future, and not
+the past."
+
+"I have no future," the man interrupted doggedly; "no future here, or
+in any other place. I have got my deserts. I wanted to remind you of
+that night when you came to see me in my rooms, after I'd been sent
+down for being drunk. I suppose you were the first gentleman who had
+ever crossed my threshold, and I remember wondering what on earth
+you'd come for! You didn't lecture me, and you didn't preach. You
+came and sat down and smoked one of my cigars, and talked just as
+though we were friends, and tried to make me see what a fool I was. It
+didn't do much good in the end--but I never forgot it. You shook hands
+with me when you left, and for once in my life I was ashamed of
+myself."
+
+"I am sorry," Matravers said with an effort, "that I did not go to see
+you oftener."
+
+Drage shook his head.
+
+"It was too late then! I was done for,--done for as far as Oxford was
+concerned. But that was only the beginning. I might easily have picked
+up if I'd had the pluck! The dad forgave me, and made me a partner in
+the business before he died. I was a rich man, and I might have been
+a millionaire; instead of that I was a damned fool! I can't help
+swearing! you mustn't mind, sir! Remember what I am! I don't swear
+when Freddy's in the room, if I can help it. I went the pace, drank,
+kept women, and all the rest of it. My wife found me out and went
+away. I ain't saying a word against her. She was a good woman, and I
+was a bad man, and she left me! She was right enough! I wasn't fit for
+a decent woman to live with. All the same, I missed her; and it was
+another kick down Hellward for me when she went. I got desperate then;
+I took to drink worse than ever, and I began to let my business go and
+speculate. You wouldn't know anything of the city, sir; but I can
+tell you this, when a cool chap with all his wits about him starts
+speculating outside his business, it's touch and go with him; when a
+chap in the state I was in goes for it, you can spell the result in
+four letters! It's RUIN, ruin! That's what it meant for me. I lost two
+hundred thousand pounds in three years, and my business went to pot
+too. Then I had this cursed stroke, and here I am! I may stick on for
+years, but I shall never be able to earn a penny again. Where Freddy's
+schooling is to come from, or how we are to live, I don't know!"
+
+"I am very sorry," Matravers said gently. "Have you no friends then,
+or relations who will help you?"
+
+"Not a damned one," growled the man on the couch. "I had plenty of
+pals once, only too glad to count themselves John Drage's friends;
+but where they are now I don't know. They seem to have melted away.
+There's never a one comes near me. I could do without their money or
+their help, somehow, but it's damned hard to lie here for ever and
+have not one of 'em drop in just now and then for a bit of a talk and
+a cheering word. That's what gives me the blues! I always was fond of
+company; I hated being alone, and it's like hell to lie here day after
+day and see no one but a cross landlady and a miserable servant girl.
+Lately, I can't bear to be alone with Freddy. He's so damned like his
+mother, you know. It brings a lump in my throat. I wouldn't mind so
+much if it were only myself. I've had my cake! But it's rough on the
+boy!"
+
+"It is rough on the boy, and it is rough on you," Matravers said
+kindly. "I wonder you have never thought of sending him to his mother!
+She would surely like to have him!"
+
+The man's face grew black.
+
+"Not till I'm dead," he said doggedly. "I don't want him set against
+me! He's all I've got! I'm going to keep him for a bit. It ought not
+to be so difficult for us to live. If only I could get down to the
+city for a few hours!"
+
+"Could not a friend there do some good for you?" Matravers asked.
+
+"Of course he could," Mr. Drage answered eagerly; "but I haven't got
+a friend. See here!"
+
+He took a little account book from under his pillow, and with
+trembling fingers thrust it before his visitor.
+
+"You see all these amounts. They are all owing to me from those
+people--money lent, and one thing and another. There is an envelope
+with bills and I O U's. They belong to me, you understand," he said,
+with a sudden touch of dignity. "I never failed! My business was
+stopped when I was taken ill, but there was enough to pay everybody.
+Now some of these amounts have never been collected. If I could see
+these people myself, they would pay, or if I could get a friend whom I
+could trust! But there isn't a man comes near me!"
+
+"I--am not a business man," Matravers said slowly; "but if you cared
+to explain things to me, I would go into the city and see what I could
+do."
+
+The man raised himself on his elbow and gazed at his visitor
+open-mouthed.
+
+"You mean this!" he cried thickly. "Say it again,--quick! You mean
+it!"
+
+"Certainly," Matravers answered. "I will do what I can."
+
+John Drage did not doubt his good fortune for a moment. No one ever
+looked into Matravers' face and failed to believe him.
+
+"I--I'll thank you some day," he murmured. "You've done me up! Will
+you--shake hands?"
+
+He held out a thin white hand. Matravers took it between his own.
+
+In a few moments they were absorbed in figures and explanations.
+Finally the book was passed over to Matravers' keeping.
+
+"I will see what I can do," he said quietly. "Some of these accounts
+should certainly be recovered. I will come down and let you know how I
+have got on."
+
+[Illustration: "You mean this!" he cried thickly. "Say it
+again--quick!"]
+
+"If you would! If you don't mind! And, I wonder,--do you take a
+morning paper? If so, will you bring it when you've done with it, or
+an old one will do? I can't read anything but newspapers; and lately I
+haven't dared to spend a penny,--because of Freddy, you know! It's so
+cursed lonely!"
+
+"I will come, and I will bring you something to read," Matravers
+promised. "I must go now!"
+
+John Drage held out his hand wistfully.
+
+"Good-by," he said. "You're a good man! I wish I'd been like you. It's
+an odd thing for me to say, but--God bless you, sir."
+
+Matravers stood on the doorstep with his watch in his hand. It was
+half-past three. There was just time to catch the four-thirty from
+Waterloo! For a moment the little street faded away from before his
+eyes! He saw himself at his journey's end! Berenice was there to meet
+him! A breath of the country came to him on the breeze--a breath of
+sweet-smelling flowers, and fresh moorland air, and the low murmur of
+the blue sea. Yes, there was Berenice, with her dark hair blowing in
+the wind, and that look of passionate peace in her pale, tired face!
+Her arms were open, wide open! She had been weary so long! The
+struggle had been so hard! and he, too, was weary----
+
+He started! He was still on the doorstep! Freddy was drumming on the
+pane, and behind, there was a man lying on the couch, with his face
+buried in his hands. He waved his hand and descended the steps firmly.
+
+"Back to my rooms, 147, Piccadilly," he told the cabman. "I shall not
+be going away to-day."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+A man wrote it, from his little room in the heart of London, whilst
+night faded into morning. He wrote it with leaden heart and unwilling
+mechanical effort--wrote it as a man might write his own doom. Every
+fresh sentence, which stared up at him from the closely written sheets
+seemed like another landmark in his sad descent from the pinnacles of
+his late wonderful happiness down into the black waters of despair.
+When he had finished, and the pen slipped from his stiff, nerveless
+fingers, there were lines and marks in his face which had never been
+there before, and which could never altogether pass away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+... A woman read it, seated on a shelving slant of moorland with the
+blue sky overhead, and the soft murmur of the sea in her ears, and
+the sunlight streaming around her. When she had finished, and the
+letter had fallen to her side, crushed into a shapeless mass, the
+light had died out of the sky and the air, and the song of the birds
+had changed into a wail. And this was what the man had said to the
+woman:--
+
+     "Berenice, I have had a dream! I dreamed that I was coming
+     to you, that you and I were together somewhere in a new
+     world, where the men were gods and the women were saints,
+     where the sun always shone, and nothing that was not pure
+     and beautiful had any place! And now I am awake, and I know
+     that there is no such world.
+
+     "You and I are standing on opposite sides of a deep, dark
+     precipice. I may not come to you! You must not come to me.
+
+     "I have thought over this matter with all the seriousness
+     which befits it. You will never know how great and how
+     fierce the struggle has been. I am feeling an older and a
+     tired man. But now that is all over! I have crossed the
+     Rubicon! The mists have rolled away, and the truth is very
+     clear indeed to me! I shudder when I think to what misery I
+     might have brought you, if I had yielded to that sweetest
+     and most fascinating impulse of my life, which bade me
+     accept your sacrifice and come to you. Berenice, you are
+     very young yet, and you have woven some new and very
+     beautiful fancies which you have put into a book, and which
+     the world has found amusing! To you alone they have become
+     the essence of your life: they have become by constant
+     contemplation a part of yourself. Out of the greatness of
+     your heart you do not fear to put them into practice! But,
+     dear, you must find a new world to fit your fancies, for the
+     one in which we are forced to dwell, the world which, in
+     theory, finds them delightful, would find another and an
+     uglier world if we should venture upon their embodiment!
+     After all we are creatures of this world, and by this
+     world's laws we shall be judged. The things which are right
+     are right, and the things which are pure are pure. Love is
+     the greatest power in the world, but it cannot alter things
+     which are unalterable.
+
+     "Once when I was climbing with a friend of mine in the
+     Engadine, we saw a white flower growing virtually out of a
+     cleft in the rocks, high above our heads. My friend was a
+     botanist, and he would have that flower! I lay on my back
+     and watched him struggle to reach it, watched him often
+     slipping backwards, but gradually crawling nearer and
+     nearer, until at last, breathless, with torn clothes and
+     bleeding hands, he grasped the tiny blossom, and held it out
+     to me in triumph! Together we admired it ceaselessly as we
+     retraced our steps. But as we left the high altitudes and
+     descended into the valley, a change took place in the
+     flower. Its petals drooped, its leaves shrank and faded.
+     White became grey, the freshness which had been its chief
+     beauty faded away with every step we took. My friend kept
+     it, but he kept it with sorrow! It was no longer a beautiful
+     flower.
+
+     "Berenice, you are that flower! You are beautiful, and pure,
+     and strong! You think that you are strong enough to live in
+     the lowlands, but you are not! No love of mine, changeless
+     and whole as it must ever be, could keep your soul from
+     withering in the nether land of sin! For it would be sin!
+     In these days when you are young, when the fires of your
+     enthusiasm are newly kindled, and the wings of your
+     imagination have not been shorn, you may say to yourself
+     that it is not sin! You may say that love is the only true
+     and sweet shrine before which we need keep our lives holy
+     and pure, and that the time for regrets would never come!
+
+     "Illusion! I, too, have tried to reason with myself in this
+     manner! I have tried passionately, earnestly, feverishly. I
+     have failed! I cannot! No one can! I know that to you I seem
+     to be writing like a Philistine, like a man of a generation
+     gone by! You have filled your little world with new ideals,
+     you have lit it with the lamp of love, and it all seems very
+     real and beautiful to you! But some day, though the lamp may
+     burn still as brightly as ever, a great white daylight will
+     break in through the walls. You will see things that you
+     have never seen before, and the light of that lamp will seem
+     cold and dim and ghostly. Nothing, nothing can ever alter
+     the fact that your husband lives, and that your little boy
+     is growing up with a great void in his heart. Some day he
+     will ask for his mother; even now he may be asking for her!
+     Berenice, would he ever look with large, indulgent eyes
+     upon that little world of yours! Alas!
+
+            *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "I have read my letter over to myself, Berenice, and I fear
+     that it must sound to you very commonplace, even perhaps
+     cold! Yet, believe me when I tell you that I have passed
+     through a very fire of suffering, and if I am calm now it is
+     with the calm of an ineffable despair! In my life at Oxford,
+     and later, here in London, women have never borne any share.
+     Part of my scheme of living has been to regard them as
+     something outside my little cycle, an influence great
+     indeed, but one which had passed me by.
+
+     "Yet I am now one of the world's great sufferers, one of
+     those who have found at once their greatest joy linked with
+     an unutterable despair. For I love you, Berenice! Never
+     doubt it! Though I should never look upon your face
+     again--which God in His mercy forbid--my love for you must
+     be for ever a part and the greatest part of my life! Always
+     remember that, I pray you!
+
+     "It seems strange to talk of one's plans with such a great,
+     black cloud of sorrow filling the air! But the outward form
+     of life does not change, even when the light has gone out
+     and one's heart is broken! I have some work before me which
+     I must finish; when it is over I shall go abroad! But that
+     can wait! When you are back in London, send for me! I am
+     schooling myself to meet a new Berenice--my friend! And I
+     have something still more to say to you!
+
+                              "MATRAVERS."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+The week that followed the sending of his letter was, to Matravers,
+with his love for equable times and emotions, like a week in hell! He
+had set himself a task not easy even to an ordinary man of business,
+but to him trebly difficult and harassing. Day after day he spent in
+the city--a somewhat strange visitor there, with his grave, dignified
+manner and studied fastidiousness of dress and deportment. He was
+unversed in the ways of the men with whom he had to deal, and he had
+no commercial aptitude whatever. But in a quiet way he was wonderfully
+persistent, and he succeeded better, perhaps, than any other emissary
+whom John Drage could have employed. The sum of money which he
+eventually collected amounted to nearly fifteen hundred pounds, and
+late one evening he started for Kensington with a bundle of papers
+under his arm and a cheque-book in his pocket.
+
+It was his last visit,--at any rate, for the present,--he told himself
+with a sense of wonderful relief, as he walked through the Park in the
+gathering twilight. For of late, something in connection with his
+day's efforts had taken him every evening to the shabby little house
+at Kensington, where his coming was eagerly welcomed by the tired,
+sick man and the lonely boy. He had esteemed himself a man well
+schooled in all manner of self-control, and little to be influenced in
+a matter of duty by his personal likes and dislikes. But these visits
+were a torture to him! To sit and talk for hours with a man, grateful
+enough, but peevish and commonplace, and with a curious lack of
+virility or self-reliance in his untoward circumstances, was trial
+enough to Matravers, who had been used to select his associates and
+associations with delicate and close care. But to remember that this
+man had been, and indeed was, the husband of Berenice, was madness! It
+was this man, whom at the best he could only regard with a kindly and
+gentle contempt, who stood between him and such surprising happiness,
+this man and the boy with his pale, serious face and dark eyes. And
+the bitterness of fate--for he never realized that it would have been
+possible for him to have acted otherwise--had made him their
+benefactor!
+
+Just as he was leaving the Park he glanced up at the sound of a
+carriage passing him rapidly, and as he looked up he stood still!
+It seemed to him that life itself was standing still in his veins.
+Berenice had been silent. There had come no word from her! But nothing
+so tragic, so horrible as this, had ever occurred to him! His heart
+had been full of black despair, and his days had been days of misery;
+but even the possibility of seeking for himself solace, by means not
+altogether worthy, had never dawned upon him. Nor had he dreamed it of
+her! Yet the man who waved his hand from the box-seat of the phaeton
+with a courtesy seemingly real, but, under the circumstances, brutally
+ironical, was Thorndyke, and the woman who sat by his side was
+Berenice!
+
+The carriage passed on down the broad drive, and Matravers stood
+looking after it. Was it his fancy, or was that, indeed, a faint cry
+which came travelling through the dim light to his ears as he stood
+there under the trees--a figure turned to stone. A faint cry, or the
+wailing of a lost spirit! A sudden dizziness came over him, and he sat
+down on one of the seats close at hand. There was a singing in his
+ears, and a pain at his heart. He sat there with half-closed eyes,
+battling with his weakness.
+
+Presently he got up, and continued his journey. He found himself on
+the doorstep of the shabby little house, and mechanically he passed in
+and told the story of his day's efforts to the man who welcomed him so
+eagerly. With his pocket-book in his hand he successfully underwent a
+searching cross-examination, faithfully recording what one man had
+said and what another, their excuses and their protestations. He made
+no mistakes, and his memory served him amply. But when he had come to
+the end of the list, and had placed the cheque-book in John Drage's
+fingers, he felt that he must get away. Even his stoical endurance had
+a measurable depth. But it was hard to escape from the man's most
+unwelcome gratitude. John Drage had not the tact to recognize in his
+benefactor the man to whom thanks are hateful.
+
+"And I had no claim upon you whatever!" the sick man wound up,
+half-breathless. "If you had cut me dead, after my Oxford disgrace, it
+would only have been exactly what I deserved. That's what makes it so
+odd, your doing all this for me. I can't understand it, I'm damned if
+I can!"
+
+Matravers stood over him, a silent, unresponsive figure, seeking only
+to make his escape. With difficulty he broke in upon the torrent of
+words.
+
+"Will you do me the favour, Mr. Drage," he begged earnestly, "of
+saying no more about it. Any man of leisure would have done for you
+what I have done. If you really wish to afford me a considerable
+happiness, you can do so."
+
+"Anything in this world!" John Drage declared vehemently.
+
+Matravers thought for a moment. The proposition which he was about to
+make had been in his mind from the first. The time had come now to
+put it into words.
+
+"You must not be offended at what I am going to say," he began gently.
+"I am a rich man, and I have taken a great fancy to your boy. I have
+no children of my own; in fact, I am quite alone in the world. If you
+will allow me, I should like to undertake Freddy's education."
+
+A light broke across the man's coarse face, momentarily transfiguring
+it. He raised himself on his elbow, and gazed at his visitor with
+eager scrutiny. Then he drew a deep sigh, and there were tears in his
+eyes. He did not say a word. Matravers continued.
+
+"It will be a great pleasure for me," he said quietly. "What I propose
+is to invest a thousand pounds for that purpose in Freddy's name. In
+fact, I have taken the liberty of already doing it. The papers are
+here."
+
+Matravers laid an envelope on the little table between them. Then he
+rose up.
+
+"Will you forgive me now," he said, "if I hurry away? I will come and
+see you again, and we will talk this over more thoroughly."
+
+And still John Drage said nothing, but he held out his hand. Matravers
+pressed the thin fingers between his own.
+
+"You must see Freddy," he said eagerly. "I promised him that he should
+come in before you went."
+
+But Matravers shook his head. There was a pain at his heart like the
+cutting of a knife.
+
+"I cannot stay another instant," he declared. "Send Freddy over to my
+rooms any time. Let him come and have tea with me!"
+
+Then they parted, and Matravers walked through a world of strange
+shadows to Berenice's house. Her maid, recognizing him, took him up
+to her room without ceremony. The door was softly opened and shut. He
+stood upon the threshold. For a moment everything seemed dark before
+him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Berenice seemed to dwell always in the twilight. At first Matravers
+thought that the room was empty, and he advanced slowly towards the
+window. And then he stopped short. Berenice was lying in a crumpled
+heap on the low couch, almost within touch of his hands. She was lying
+on her side, her supple figure all doubled up, and the folds of her
+loose gown flowing around her in wild disorder. Her face was half
+hidden in her clasped hands.
+
+"Berenice," he cried softly.
+
+[Illustration: Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low couch]
+
+She did not answer. She was asleep. He stood looking down upon her,
+his heart full of an infinite tenderness. She, too, had suffered,
+then. Her hair was in wild confusion, and there were marks of recent
+tears upon her pale cheeks. A little lace handkerchief had slipped
+from her fingers down on to the floor. He picked it up. It was wet!
+The glow of the heavily-shaded lamp was upon her clasped white fingers
+and her bowed head. He watched the rising and falling of her bosom as
+she slept. To him, so great a stranger to women and their ways, there
+was a curious fascination in all the trifling details of her toilette
+and person, the innate daintiness of which appealed to him with a very
+potent and insidious sweetness. Whilst she slept, he felt as one far
+removed from her. It was like a beautiful picture upon which he was
+gazing. The passion which had been raging within him like an autumn
+storm was suddenly stilled. Only the purely æsthetic pleasure of her
+presence and his contemplation of it remained. It seemed to him then
+that he would have had her stay thus for ever! Before his fixed eyes
+there floated a sort of mystic dream. There was another world--was it
+the world of sleep or of death?--where they might join hands and dwell
+together in beautiful places, and there was no one, not even their
+consciences, to say them nay. The dust of earthly passion and sin, and
+all the commonplace miseries of life, had faded for ever from their
+knowledge. It was their souls which had come together ... and there
+was a wonderful peace.
+
+Then she opened her eyes and looked up at him. There was no more
+dreaming! The old, miserable passion flooded his heart and senses. His
+feet were upon the earth again! The whole world of those strange,
+poignant sensations, stronger because of their late coming, welled up
+within him.
+
+"Berenice!"
+
+She was only half awake, and she held up her soft, white arms to him,
+gleaming like marble through the lace of her wide sleeves. She looked
+up at him with the faint smile of a child.
+
+"My love!"
+
+He stooped down, and her arms closed around him like a soft yoke. But
+he kissed her forehead so lightly that she scarcely realized that this
+was almost his first caress.
+
+"Berenice, you have been angry with me!"
+
+She sat up, and the lamplight fell upon his face.
+
+"You have been ill," she cried in a shocked tone.
+
+"It is nothing. I am well. But to-night--I had a shock; I saw you
+with--Mr. Thorndyke!"
+
+Her eyes met his. The hideous phantom which had been dogging his steps
+was slain. He was ashamed of that awful but nameless fear.
+
+"It is true. Mr. Thorndyke has offered me an apology, which I am
+forced to believe sincere. He has asked me to be his wife! I was
+sorry for him."
+
+"He is a bad man! He has spoken ill of you! He has already a wife!"
+
+"I am glad of it. I can obey my instincts now, and see him no more.
+Personally he is distasteful to me! I had an idea he was honest! It is
+nothing!"
+
+She dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. To her it was
+altogether a minor matter. Then she looked at him.
+
+"Well!"
+
+"You never answered my letter."
+
+"No, there was no answer. I came back."
+
+"You did not let me know."
+
+"You will find a message at your rooms when you get back."
+
+He walked up and down the room. He knew at once that all he had done
+hitherto had been in vain. The battle was still before him. She sat
+and watched him with an inscrutable smile. Once as he passed her, she
+laid her hand upon his arm. He stopped at once.
+
+"Your white flower was born to die and to wither," she said. "A
+night's frost would have killed it as surely as the lowland air. It is
+like these violets." She took a bunch from her bosom. "This morning
+they were fresh and beautiful. Now they are crushed and faded! Yet
+they have lived their life."
+
+She threw them down upon the floor.
+
+"Do you think a woman is like that?" she said softly. "You are very,
+very ignorant! She has a soul."
+
+He held out his hand.
+
+"A soul to keep white and pure. A soul to give back--to God!"
+
+Again she smiled at him slowly, and shook her dark head. "You are like
+a child in some things! You have lived so long amongst the dry bones
+of scholarship, that you have lost your touch upon humanity. And of
+us women, you know--so very little. You have tried to understand us
+from books. How foolish! You must be my disciple, and I will teach
+you."
+
+"It is not teaching," he cried; "it is temptation."
+
+She turned upon him with a gleam of passion in her eyes.
+
+"Temptation!" she cried. "There spoke the whole selfishness of the
+philosopher, the dilettante in morals! What is it that you fear? It is
+the besmirchment of your own ideals, your own little code framed and
+moulded with your own hands. What do you know of sin or of purity,
+you, who have held yourself aloof from the world with a sort of
+delicate care, as though you, forsooth, were too precious a thing to
+be soiled with the dust of human passion and human love! That is where
+you are all wrong. That is where you make your great mistake. You
+have judged without experience. You speak of a soul which may be
+stained with sin; you have no more knowledge than the Pharisees of old
+what constitutes sin. Love can never stain anything! Love that is
+constant and true and pure is above the marriage laws of men; it is
+above your little self-constructed ideals; it is a thing of Heaven and
+of God! You wrote to me like a child,--and you are a child, for until
+you have learnt what love is, you are without understanding."
+
+Suddenly her outstretched hands dropped to her side. Her voice became
+soft and low; her dark eyes were dimmed.
+
+"Come to me, and you shall know. I will show you in what narrow paths
+you have been wandering. I will show you how beautiful a woman's love
+can make your life!"
+
+"If we can love and be pure," he said hoarsely, "what is sin? What is
+that?"
+
+He was standing by the window, and he pointed westwards with shaking
+finger. The roar of Piccadilly and Regent Street came faintly into the
+little room. She understood him.
+
+"You have a great deal to learn, dear," she whispered softly.
+"Remember this first, and before all, Love can sanctify everything."
+
+"But they too loved in the beginning!"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"That they never could have done. Love is eternal. If it fades or
+dies, then it never was love. Then it was sin."
+
+"But those poor creatures! How are they to tell between the true love
+and the false?"
+
+She stamped her foot, and a quiver of passion shook her frame.
+
+"We are not talking about them. We are talking about ourselves! Do you
+doubt your love or mine?"
+
+"I cannot," he answered. "Berenice!"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"Did you ever tell--your husband that you loved him?"
+
+"Never!"
+
+"Did he love you?"
+
+"I believe, so far as he knew how to love anything,--he did."
+
+"And now?"
+
+She waved her hand impatiently.
+
+"He has forgotten. He was shallow, and he was fond of life. He has
+found consolation long ago. Do not talk of him. Do not dare to speak
+of him again! Oh, why do you make me humble myself so?"
+
+"He may not have forgotten. He may have repented. He may be longing
+for you now,--and suffering. Should we be sinless then?"
+
+She swept from her place, and stood before him with flashing eyes.
+
+"I forbid you to remind me of my shame. I forbid you to remind me
+that I, too, like those poor women on the street, have been bought and
+sold for money! I have worked out my own emancipation. I am free. It
+was while I was living with him as his wife that I sinned,--for I
+hated him! Speak to me no more of that time! If you cannot forget it,
+you had better go!"
+
+He stretched out his hands and held hers tightly.
+
+"Berenice, if you were alone in the world, and there was some great
+barrier to our marriage, I would not hesitate any longer. I would take
+you to myself. Don't think too hardly of me. I am like a man who is
+denying himself heaven. But your husband lives. You belong to him. You
+do not know whether he is in prosperity, or whether he has forgotten.
+You do not know whether he has repented, or whether his life is still
+such as to justify your taking the law into your own hands, and
+forsaking him for ever. Listen to me, dear! If you will find out these
+things, if you can say to yourself and to me, and to your conscience,
+'he has found happiness without me, he has ignored and forgotten the
+tie between us, he does not need my sympathy, or my care, or my
+companionship,' then I will have no more scruples. Only let us be sure
+that you are morally free from that man."
+
+She wrenched her hands away from his. There was a bright, red spot of
+colour flaring on her cheeks. Her eyes were on fire.
+
+"You are mad!" she cried; "you do not love me! No man can know what
+love is who talks about doubts and scruples like you do! You are too
+cold and too selfish to realize what love can be! And to think that I
+have stopped to reason, to reason with you! Oh! my God! What have I
+done to be humbled like this?"
+
+"Berenice!"
+
+"Leave me! Don't come near me any more! I shall thrust you out of my
+life! You never loved me! I could not have loved you! Go away! It has
+been a hideous mistake!"
+
+"Berenice!"
+
+"My God! Will you leave me?" she moaned. "You are driving me mad! I
+hate you!"
+
+Her white hand flashed out into the darkness, as though she would have
+struck him! He bowed his head and went.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Matravers knew after that night that his was a broken life. Any future
+such as he had planned for himself of active, intellectual toil had
+now, he felt, become impossible. His ideals were all broken down. A
+woman had found her way in between the joints of an armour which he
+had grown to believe impenetrable, and henceforth life was a wreck.
+The old, quiet stoicism, which had been the inner stimulus of his
+career, was a thing altogether overthrown and impotent. He was too old
+to reconstruct life anew; the fragments were too many, and the wreck
+too complete. Only his philosophy showed him very plainly what the end
+must be. Across the sky of his vision it seemed to be written in
+letters of fire.
+
+Early in the morning, having made his toilette as usual with a care
+almost fastidious, he went out into the sunlit streets, moving like a
+man in a deep dream amongst scenes which had become familiar to him
+day by day. At his lawyer's he made his will, and signed it, thankful
+for once for his great loneliness, insomuch as there was no one
+who could call the disposal of his property to a stranger an
+injustice--for he had left all to little Freddy; left it to him
+because of his mother's eyes, as he thought with a faint smile. Then
+he called at his publisher's and at the office of a leading review to
+which he was a regular contributor, telling them to expect no more
+work from him for a while; he was going abroad to take a long-earned
+holiday. He lunched at his club, speaking in a more than usually
+friendly manner to the few men with whom at times he had found it a
+pleasure to associate, and finally, with that sense of unreality
+growing stronger and stronger, he found himself once more in the Park,
+in his usual chair, looking out with the same keen sympathy upon the
+intensely joyous, beautiful phase of life which floated around him.
+The afternoon breeze rustled pleasantly among the cool green leaves
+above his head, and the sunlight slanted full across the shaded walk.
+On every hand were genial voices, cordial greetings, and light
+farewells. With a sense almost of awe, he thought of the days when he
+had sat there waiting for her carriage, that he might look for a few
+moments upon that pale-faced woman, whose influence over him seemed
+already to have commenced before even any words had passed between
+them. He sat there, gravely acknowledging the salutes of those
+with whom he was acquainted, wearing always the same faint and
+impenetrable smile--wonderful mask of a broken heart. And still the
+memories came surging into his brain. He thought of that grey morning
+when he had sat there alone, oppressed by some dim premonitions of the
+tragedy amongst whose shadows he was already passing, so that even the
+wind which had followed the dawn, and shaken the rain-drops down upon
+him, had seemed to carry upon its bosom wailing cries and sad human
+voices. As the slow moments passed along, he found himself watching
+for her carriage with some remnant of the old wistfulness. But it
+never came, and for that he was thankful.
+
+At last he rose, and walked leisurely back to his rooms. He gave
+orders to his servant to pack all his things for a journey; then, for
+the last time, he stood up in the midst of his possessions, looking
+around him with a vague sorrowfulness at the little familiar objects
+which had become dear to him, both by association and by reason of a
+certain sense of companionship which he had always been able to feel
+for beautiful things, however inanimate. It was here that he had come
+when he had first left Oxford, full of certain definite ambitions, and
+with a mind fixed at least upon living a serene and well-ordered life.
+He had woven many dreams within these four walls. How far away those
+days now seemed to be from him! He would never dream any more; for him
+the world's great dream was very close at hand.
+
+He poured himself out a glass of wine from a quaintly cut decanter,
+and set it down on his writing-desk, emptying into it with scrupulous
+care the contents of a little packet which he had been carrying all
+day in his waistcoat pocket. He paused for a moment before taking up
+his pen, to move a little on one side the deep blue china bowl of
+flowers which, summer and winter alike, stood always fresh upon his
+writing-table. To-day it chanced, by some irony of fate, that they
+were roses, and a swift flood of memories rushed into his tingling
+senses as the perfume of the creamy blossoms floated up to him.
+
+He set his teeth, and, taking out some paper, began to write.
+
+     "Berenice, farewell! To-night I am going on a very long
+     journey, to a very far land. You and I may never meet again,
+     and so, farewell! Farewell to you, Berenice, whom I have
+     loved, and whom I dearly love. You are the only woman who
+     has ever wandered into my little life to teach me the great
+     depths of human passion--and you came too late. But that was
+     not your fault.
+
+     "For what I am doing, do you, at least, not blame me. If
+     there were a single person in the world dependent upon me,
+     or to whom my death would be a real loss, I would remain.
+     But there is no one. And, whereas alive I can do you no
+     good, dead I may! Berenice, your husband lives--in suffering
+     and in poverty; your husband and your little boy. Freddy has
+     looked at me out of your dark eyes, my love, and whilst I
+     live I can never forget it. I hold his little hands, and I
+     look into his pure, childish face, and the great love which
+     I bear for his mother seems like an unholy thing. Leave your
+     husband out of the question--put every other consideration
+     on one side, Freddy's eyes must have kept us apart for ever.
+
+     "And, dear, it is your boy's future, and the care of your
+     stricken husband, which must bring you into closer and more
+     intimate touch with the vast world of human sorrows. Love
+     is a sacrifice, and life is a sacrifice. I know, and that
+     knowledge is the comfort of my last sad night on earth,
+     that you will find your rightful place amongst her toiling
+     daughters. And it is because there is no fitting place for
+     me by your side that I am very well content to die. For
+     myself, I have well counted the cost. Death is an infinite
+     compulsion. Our little lives are but the veriest trifle in
+     the scale of eternity. Whether we go into everlasting sleep,
+     or into some other mystic state, a few short years here more
+     or less are no great matter, Berenice."
+
+Again there came that curious pain at his heartstrings, and the
+singing in his ears. The pen slipped from his fingers; his head
+drooped.
+
+"Berenice!" he whispered. "Berenice!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And as though by a miracle she heard him, for she was close at hand.
+Whilst he had been writing, the door was softly opened and closed, a
+tall, grey-mantled figure stood upon the threshold. It was Berenice!
+
+"May I come in?" she cried softly. Her face was flushed, and her
+cheeks were wet, but a smile was quivering upon her lips.
+
+He did not answer. She came into the room, close to his side. Her
+fingers clasped the hand which was hanging over the side of his chair.
+The lamp had burnt very low; she could scarcely see his face.
+
+"Dear, I have come to you," she murmured. "I am sorry. I want you to
+forgive me. I do love you! you know that I love you!"
+
+The pressure of her fingers upon his hand was surely returned. She
+stood up, and her cloak slipped from her shoulders on to the floor.
+
+"Why don't you speak to me? Don't you hear? Don't you understand? I
+have come to you! I will not be sent away! It is too late! My carriage
+brought me here. I have told my people that I shall not be returning!
+Come away with me to-night! Let us start now! Listen! it is too late
+to draw back! Every one knows that I have come to you! We shall be so
+happy! Tell me that you are glad!"
+
+There was no answer. He did not move. She came close to him, so that
+her cheek almost touched his.
+
+"Tell me that you are glad," she begged. "Don't argue with me any
+more. If you do, I shall stop your mouth with kisses. I am not like
+you, dear! I must have love! I cannot live alone any longer! I have
+touched the utmost limits of my endurance! I _will_ stay with you! You
+_shall_ love me! Listen! If you do not, I swear--but no! You will save
+me from that! Oh, I know that you will! But don't argue with me! Words
+are so cold, and I am a woman--and I must love and be loved, or I
+shall die.... Ah!"
+
+She started round with a little scream. Her eyes, frightened and
+dilated, were fixed upon the door. On the threshold a little boy was
+standing in his night-shirt, looking at her with dark, inquiring eyes.
+
+"I want Mr. Matravers, if you please," he said deliberately. "Will you
+tell him? He don't know that I'm here yet! He will be so surprised!
+Charlie Dunlop--that's where I live--has the fever, and dad sent me
+here with a letter, but Mr. Matravers was out when we came, and nurse
+put me to bed. Now she's gone away, and I'm so lonely. Is he asleep?
+Please wake him, and tell him."
+
+She turned up the lamp without moving her eyes from the little
+white-clad figure. A great trembling was upon her! It was like a voice
+from the shadows of another world. And Matravers, why did he not
+speak?
+
+Slowly the lamp burned up. She leaned forward. He was sitting with his
+head resting upon his hand, and the old, faint smile parting his
+lips. But he did not look up! He did not speak to her! He was sitting
+like a carved image!
+
+"For God's sake speak to me!" she cried.
+
+Then a certain rigidity in his posture struck her for the first time,
+and she threw herself on the ground beside him with a cry of fear.
+She pressed her lips to his, chafed his cold hand, and whispered
+frantically in his ear! But there was no answer--there never could be
+any answer. Matravers was dead, and the wine-glass at his side was
+untasted.
+
+[Illustration: But there was no answer--there never could be any
+answer]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Berenice did not faint! She did not even lose consciousness for a
+moment. Moaning softly to herself, but dry-eyed, she leaned over his
+shoulder and read the words which he had written to her, of which,
+indeed, the ink was scarcely dry. When she had finished, she took
+up the wine-glass in her own fingers, holding it so steadily that not
+a drop was spilt.
+
+Here was the panacea she craved! The problem of her troubled life was
+so easily to be solved. Rest with the man she loved!
+
+Her arms would fold around him as she sank to the ground. Perhaps he
+was already waiting for her somewhere--in one of those mystic worlds
+where the soul might shake itself free from this weary burden of human
+passions and sorrows. Her lips parted in a wonderful smile. She raised
+the glass!
+
+There was a soft patter across the carpet, and a gentle tug at her
+dress.
+
+"I am very cold," Freddy cried piteously, holding out a little blue
+foot from underneath his night-shirt. "If you don't want to wake Mr.
+Matravers, will you take me up to bed, please?"
+
+Through a mist of sudden tears, she looked down into her boy's
+face. She drew a deep, quick breath--her fingers were suddenly
+nerveless. There was a great dull stain on the front of her dress,
+the wine-glass, shattered into many pieces, lay at her feet. She
+fell on her knees, and with a little burst of passionate sobs took
+him into her arms.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were grey hairs in the woman's head, although she was still
+quite young. A few yards ahead, the bath chair, wheeled by an
+attendant, was disappearing in the shroud of white mist, which had
+suddenly rolled in from the sea. But the woman lingered for a moment
+with her eyes fixed upon that dim, distant line, where the twilight
+fell softly upon the grey ocean. It was the single hour in the long
+day which she claimed always for her own--for it seemed to her in
+that mysterious stillness, when the shadows were gathering and the
+winds had dropped, that she could sometimes hear his voice. Perhaps,
+somewhere, he too longed for that hour--a dweller, it might be, in
+that wonderful spirit world of the unknown, of which he had spoken
+sometimes with a curiously grave solemnity. Her hands clasped the iron
+railing, a light shone for a moment in the pale-lined face turned so
+wistfully seawards!
+
+Was it the low, sweet music of the sea, or was it indeed his voice in
+her ears, languorous and soft, long-travelled yet very clear.
+Somewhere at least he must know that hers had become at his bidding
+the real sacrifice! A smile transfigured her face! It was for this she
+had lived!
+
+Then there came her summons. A querulous little cry reached her from
+the bath chair, drawn up on the promenade. She waved her hand
+cheerfully.
+
+"I am coming," she cried; "wait for me!"
+
+But her face was turned towards that dim, grey line of silvery light,
+and the wind caught hold of her words and carried them away over the
+bosom of the sea--upwards!
+
+                              THE END.
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_The Lost Ambassador_
+
+A straightforward mystery story, the plot of which hinges on the sale
+of two battleships.
+
+
+_The Illustrious Prince_
+
+The tale of a world-startling international intrigue.
+
+     Mr. Oppenheim is a past master of the art of constructing
+     ingenious plots and weaving them around attractive
+     characters.--_London Morning Mail_
+
+
+_Jeanne of the Marshes_
+
+An engrossing tale of love and adventure.
+
+     A real Oppenheim tale, abundantly satisfying to the
+     reader.--_New York World_
+
+
+_The Governors_
+
+A romance of the intrigues of American finance.
+
+     The ever welcome Oppenheim.--_Boston Transcript_
+
+
+_The Missioner_
+
+Strongly depicts the love of an earnest missioner and a worldly
+heroine with a past.
+
+     An entrancingly interesting romance.--_Pittsburg Post_
+
+
+_The Long Arm of Mannister_
+
+A distinctly different story that deals with a wronged man's ingenious
+plan of revenge.
+
+     Mannister is a powerfully drawn character.--_Philadelphia
+     Press_
+
+
+_As a Man Lives, or the Mystery of the Yellow House_
+
+Tells of an English curate and his mysterious neighbor.
+
+     Every page in it suggests a mystery.--_Literary World,
+     London_
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_A Maker of History_
+
+A capital story that "explains" the Russian Baltic fleet's attack on
+the North Sea fishing fleet.
+
+     An enthralling tale, with a surprisingly well-sustained
+     mystery, and a series of plots, counterplots, and
+     well-managed climaxes.--_Brooklyn Times_
+
+
+_The Malefactor_
+
+An amazing story of the strange revenge of Sir Wingrave Seton, who
+suffered imprisonment for a crime he did not commit.
+
+     Spirited, aggressive, vigorous, mysterious, and, best of
+     all, well told.--_Boston Transcript_
+
+
+_A Millionaire of Yesterday_
+
+A gripping story of a West African miner who clears his name of a
+great stain.
+
+     A thrilling story throughout.--_Philadelphia Press_
+
+
+_The Man and His Kingdom_
+
+An intensely dramatic tale of love, intrigue, and adventure in a South
+American state.
+
+     A daring bit of fiction, full of vigorous life and
+     unflagging interest._--Chicago Tribune_
+
+
+_The Betrayal_
+
+An enthralling story of treachery of state secrets in high diplomatic
+circles of England.
+
+     The denouement is almost as surprising as the mystery is
+     baffling.--_Public Opinion_
+
+
+_A Daughter of the Marionis_
+
+A melodramatic story of Palermo and London, that is replete with
+action.
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_A Prince of Sinners_
+
+An engrossing story of English social political life, with powerfully
+drawn characters.
+
+     Thoroughly matured, brilliantly constructed, and
+     convincingly told.--_London Times_
+
+     It is rare that so much knowledge of the world, taken as a
+     whole, is set between two covers of a novel.--_Chicago Daily
+     News_
+
+
+_Anna the Adventuress_
+
+A surprising tale of London life, with a most engaging heroine.
+
+     The consequences of a bold deception Mr. Oppenheim has
+     unfolded to us with remarkable ingenuity. The story sparkles
+     with brilliant conversation and strong situations.--_St.
+     Louis Republic_
+
+
+_Mysterious Mr. Sabin_
+
+An ingenious story of a bold international intrigue with an
+irresistibly fascinating "villain."
+
+     Intensely readable for its dramatic force, its absolute
+     originality, and the strength of the men and women who fill
+     its pages.--_Pittsburg Times_
+
+
+_The Yellow Crayon_
+
+Containing the exciting experiences of Mr. Sabin with a powerful
+secret society.
+
+     This stirring story shows unusual originality.--_New York
+     Times_
+
+
+_The Master Mummer_
+
+The strange romance of Isobel de Sorrens and the part a mysterious
+actor played in her life.
+
+     A love tale laden with adventure and intrigue, with a saving
+     grace of humor.--_Philadelphia North American_
+
+
+_The Mystery of Mr. Bernard Brown_
+
+A mystery story, rich in sensational incidents and dramatic
+situations.
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_The Avenger_
+
+Unravels an intricate tangle of political intrigue and private revenge
+with consummate power of fascination.
+
+     A lively, thrilling, captivating story.--_New York Times_
+
+
+_A Lost Leader_
+
+Weaves a realistic romance around a striking personality.
+
+     Mr. Oppenheim is one of the few writers who can make a
+     political novel as interesting as a good detective
+     story.--_The Independent, New York_
+
+
+_The Great Secret_
+
+Deals with a stupendous international conspiracy.
+
+     Founded on a daring invention and daringly carried
+     out.--_The Boston Globe_
+
+
+_Enoch Strone: A Master of Men_
+
+The story of a masterful self-made man who made a foolish marriage
+early in life.
+
+     In no other novel has Mr. Oppenheim created such life-like
+     characters or handled his plot with such admirable force and
+     restraint.--_Baltimore American_
+
+
+_A Sleeping Memory_
+
+The remarkable tale of an unhappy girl who consented to be deprived of
+her memory, with unlooked-for consequences.
+
+     He deals with the curious and unexpected, and displays all
+     the qualities which made him famous.--_St. Louis
+     Globe-Democrat_
+
+
+_The Traitors_
+
+A capital story of love, adventure, and Russian political intrigue in
+a small Balkan state.
+
+     Swift-moving and exciting. The love episodes have freshness
+     and charm.--_Minneapolis Tribune_
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetter errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
+words and intent.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Berenice, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Berenice, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+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: Berenice
+
+Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+Illustrator: Howard Chandler Christy
+             Howard Somerville
+
+Release Date: November 25, 2009 [EBook #30542]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BERENICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 304px;">
+<img src="images/icover.jpg" width="304" height="500" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="large"/>
+
+<h1>BERENICE</h1>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM</h2>
+
+<p class="gap">&#160;</p>
+
+<p class="center">AUTHOR OF &#8220;THE LOST AMBASSADOR,&#8221; &#8220;THE MISSIONER,&#8221;<br />
+&#8220;THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE,&#8221; ETC.</p>
+
+<p class="gap">&#160;</p>
+
+<h4>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</h4>
+
+<h3>HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY</h3>
+
+<h4>AND</h4>
+
+<h3>HOWARD SOMERVILLE</h3>
+
+<p class="gap">&#160;</p>
+
+<h3>BOSTON<br />
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY<br />
+1911</h3>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<p class="center">
+<i>Copyright, 1907, 1911,</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">By Little, Brown, and Company.</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>All rights reserved</i><br />
+<br />
+Published, January, 1911<br />
+<br />
+Second Printing<br />
+<br />
+Printers<br />
+<span class="smcap">S. J. Parkhill &amp; Co., Boston, U. S. A.</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<h3>THE NOVELS OF</h3>
+<h2>E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM</h2>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" width="80%" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="OPPENHEIMBOOKS">
+
+<tr><td align="left"><ul class="none"><li>A Prince of Sinners</li>
+<li>Anna the Adventuress</li>
+<li>The Master Mummer</li>
+<li>A Maker of History</li>
+<li>Mysterious Mr. Sabin</li>
+<li>The Yellow Crayon</li>
+<li>The Betrayal</li>
+<li>The Traitors</li>
+<li>Enoch Strone</li>
+<li>A Sleeping Memory</li>
+<li>The Malefactor</li>
+<li>A Daughter of the<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marionis</span></li>
+<li>The Mystery of Mr.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bernard Brown</span></li></ul></td>
+
+<td align="left"><ul class="none"><li>A Lost Leader</li>
+<li>The Great Secret</li>
+<li>The Avenger</li>
+<li>As a Man Lives</li>
+<li>The Missioner</li>
+<li>The Governors</li>
+<li>The Man and His<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kingdom</span></li>
+<li>A Millionaire of Yesterday</li>
+<li>The Long Arm of<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mannister</span></li>
+<li>Jeanne of the Marshes</li>
+<li>The Illustrious Prince</li>
+<li>The Lost Ambassador</li>
+<li>Berenice</li></ul></td></tr>
+</table></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<p><a name="Frontispiece" id="Frontispiece"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 339px;">
+<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="339" height="500" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" width="50%" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS">
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER I.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER X.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">148</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER II.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">34</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER XI.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">162</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER III.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">43</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER XII.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">176</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER IV.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">51</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER XIII.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">188</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER V.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">74</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER XIV.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">215</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER VI.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">86</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER XV.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">223</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER VII.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">99</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER XVI.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">232</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER VIII.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">125</a></td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER XVII.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">247</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">CHAPTER IX.</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">133</a></td>
+<td></td>
+<td align="left">&#160;</td>
+<td align="right">&#160;</td>
+</tr></table></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" width="85%" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="1" summary="ILLUSTRATIONS">
+
+<tr>
+<td>Her dark, wet eyes seemed touched with smouldering<br />
+fire</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td align="right"><i><a href="#Frontispiece">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&#8220;What I have seen,&#8221; Matravers said gravely, &#8220;I<br />
+do not like&#8221;</td>
+<td align="center"><i>Page</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>But nothing in her words or in his alluded to it</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,<br />
+noticed nothing </td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&#8220;Friends,&#8221; she repeated, with a certain wistfulness<br />
+in her tone</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>At half-past four his servant brought in a small<br />
+tea equipage</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>With an old-fashioned courtesy ... he offered<br />
+her his arm</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>There seemed to him something almost unearthly<br />
+about this woman with her soft grey gown<br />
+and marble face</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense<br />
+of disturbance</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&#8220;I can do it,&#8221; she assured him. &#8220;I believe you<br />
+doubt my ability, but you need not&#8221;</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&#8220;Do you know that man is driving me slowly<br />
+mad?&#8221;</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>Matravers found himself wondering at this new<br />
+and very natural note of domesticity in her</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>She did not answer him. But indeed there was<br />
+no need</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&#8220;I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen,<br />
+that your statement is a lie!&#8221;</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&#8220;You mean this!&#8221; he cried thickly. &#8220;Say it<br />
+again&mdash;quick!&#8221;</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low<br />
+couch</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>But there was no answer&mdash;there never could be<br />
+any answer</td>
+<td align="center">&#8220;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr>
+
+</table></div>
+
+<hr class="large"/>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BERENICE</h2>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">&#8220;</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">Y</span>ou may not care for the play,&#8221; Ellison said eagerly. &#8220;You are of the
+old world, and Isteinism to you will simply spell chaos and vulgarity.
+But the woman! well, you will see her! I don&#8217;t want to prejudice you
+by praises which you would certainly think extravagant! I will say
+nothing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers smiled gravely as he took his seat in the box and looked out
+with some wonder at the ill-lit, half-empty theatre.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid,&#8221; he said, &#8220;that I am very much out of place here, yet do
+not imagine <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>that I bring with me any personal bias whatever. I know
+nothing of the play, and Isteinism is merely a phrase to me. To-night
+I have no individuality. I am a critic.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So much depends,&#8221; Ellison remarked, &#8220;upon the point of view. I am
+afraid that you are the last man in the world to have any sympathy
+with the decadent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not properly understand the use of the word &#8216;decadent,&#8217;&#8221;
+Matravers said. &#8220;But you need not be alarmed as to my attitude.
+Whatever my own gods may be, I am no slave to them. Isteinism has its
+devotees, and whatever has had humanity and force enough in it to
+attract a following must at least demand a respectful attention from
+the Press. And to-night I am the Press!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry,&#8221; Ellison remarked, glancing out into the gloomy well of
+the theatre with an impatient frown, &#8220;that there is so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>bad a house
+to-night. It is depressing to play seriously to a handful of people!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will not affect my judgment,&#8221; Matravers said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will affect her acting, though,&#8221; Ellison replied gloomily. &#8220;There
+are times when, even to us who know her strength, and are partial to
+her, she appears to act with difficulty,&mdash;to be encumbered with all
+the diffidence of the amateur. For a whole scene she will be little
+better than a stick. The change, when it comes, is like a sudden fire
+from Heaven. Something flashes into her face, she becomes inspired,
+she holds us breathless, hanging upon every word; it is then one
+realizes that she is a genius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let us hope,&#8221; Matravers said, &#8220;that some such moment may visit her
+to-night. One needs some compensation for a dinnerless evening, and
+such surroundings as these!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned from the contemplation of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>dreary, half-empty auditorium
+with a faint shudder. The theatre was an ancient and unpopular one.
+The hall-mark of failure and poverty was set alike upon the tawdry and
+faded hangings, the dust-eaten decorations and the rows of bare seats.
+It was a relief when the feeble overture came to an end, and the
+curtain was rung up. He settled himself down at once to a careful
+appreciation of the performance.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers was not in any sense of the word a dramatic critic. He was a
+man of letters; amongst the elect he was reckoned a master in his art.
+He occupied a singular, in many respects a unique, position. But in
+matters dramatic, he confessed to an ignorance which was strictly
+actual and in no way assumed. His presence at the New Theatre on that
+night, which was to become for him a very memorable one, was purely a
+matter of chance and good nature. The greatest of London dailies had
+decided to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>grant a passing notice to the extraordinary series of
+plays, which in flightier journals had provoked something between the
+blankest wonderment and the most boisterous ridicule. Their critic was
+ill&mdash;Matravers, who had at first laughed at the idea, had consented
+after much pressure to take his place. He felt himself from the first
+confronted with a difficult task, yet he entered upon it with a
+certain grave seriousness, characteristic of the man, anxious to
+arrive at and to comprehend the true meaning of what in its first
+crude presentation to his senses seemed wholly devoid of anything
+pertaining to art.</p>
+
+<p>The first act was almost over before the heroine of the play, and the
+actress concerning whose merits there was already some difference of
+opinion, appeared. A little burst of applause, half-hearted from the
+house generally, enthusiastic from a few, greeted her entrance.
+Ellison, watching <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>his companion&#8217;s face closely, was gratified to find
+a distinct change there. In Matravers&#8217; altered expression was
+something more than the transitory sensation of pleasure, called up by
+the unexpected appearance of a very beautiful woman. The whole
+impassiveness of that calm, almost marble-still face, with its set,
+cold lips, and slightly wearied eyes, had suddenly disappeared, and
+what Ellison had hoped for had arrived. Matravers was, without doubt,
+interested.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15-6]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 319px;">
+<img src="images/i013.jpg" class="ispace" width="319" height="500" alt="&#8220;What I have seen,&#8221; Matravers said gravely, &#8220;I do not
+like&#8221;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&#8220;What I have seen,&#8221; Matravers said gravely, &#8220;I do not
+like&#8221;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Yet the woman, whose appearance had caused a certain thrill to quiver
+through the house, and whose coming had certainly been an event to
+Matravers, did absolutely nothing for the remainder of that dreary
+first act to redeem the forlorn play, or to justify her own peculiar
+reputation. She acted languidly, her enunciation was imperfect, her
+gestures were forced and inapt. When the curtain went down upon the
+first <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>act, Matravers was looking grave. Ellison was obviously uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice,&#8221; he muttered, &#8220;is not herself to-night. She will improve.
+You must suspend your judgment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers fingered his programme nervously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are interested in this production, Ellison,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and I
+should be sorry to write anything likely to do it harm. I think it
+would be better if I went away now. I cannot be blamed if I decline to
+give an opinion on anything which I have only partially seen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ellison shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;ll chance it,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Don&#8217;t go. You haven&#8217;t seen Berenice at
+her best yet. You have not seen her at all, in fact.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What I have seen,&#8221; Matravers said gravely, &#8220;I do not like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least,&#8221; Ellison protested, &#8220;she is beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;According to what canons of beauty, I wonder?&#8221; Matravers remarked. &#8220;I
+hold myself a very poor judge of woman&#8217;s looks, but I can at least
+recognize the classical and Renaissance standards. The beauty which
+this woman possesses, if any, is of the decadent order. I do not
+recognize it. I cannot appreciate it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ellison laughed softly. He had a marvellous belief in this woman and
+in her power of attracting.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are not a woman&#8217;s man, Matravers, or you would know that her
+beauty is not a matter of curves and colouring! You cannot judge her
+as a piece of statuary. All your remarks you would retract if you
+talked with her for five minutes. I am not sure,&#8221; he continued, &#8220;that
+I dare not warrant you to retract them before this evening is over. At
+least, I ask you to stay. I will run my risk of your pulverization.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The curtain rang up again, the play proceeded. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>But not the same
+play&mdash;at least, so it seemed to Matravers&mdash;not the same play, surely
+not the same woman! A situation improbable enough, but dramatic, had
+occurred at the very beginning of the second act. She had risen to the
+opportunity, triumphed over it, electrified her audience, delighted
+Ellison, moved Matravers to silent wonder. Her personality seemed to
+have dilated with the flash of genius which Matravers himself had been
+amongst the first to recognize. The strange pallor of her face seemed
+no longer the legacy of ill-health; her eyes, wonderfully soft and
+dark, were lit now with all manner of strange fires. She carried
+herself with supreme grace; there was not the faintest suspicion of
+staginess in any one of her movements. And more wonderful than
+anything to Matravers, himself a delighted worshipper of the beautiful
+in all human sounds, was that marvellously sweet voice, so low and yet
+so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>clear, expressing with perfect art the highest and most hallowed
+emotions, with the least amount of actual sound. She seemed to pour
+out the vial of her wrath, her outraged womanhood in tones raised
+little above a whisper, and the man who fronted her seemed turned into
+the actual semblance of an ashamed and unclean thing. Matravers made
+no secret now of his interest. He had drawn his chair to the front of
+the box, and the footlights fell full upon his pale, studious face
+turned with grave and absolute attention upon the little drama working
+itself out upon the stage. Ellison in the midst of his jubilation
+found time to notice what to him seemed a somewhat singular incident.
+In crossing the stage her eyes had for a moment met Matravers&#8217; earnest
+gaze, and Ellison could almost have declared that a faint, welcoming
+light flashed for a moment from the woman to the man. Yet he was sure
+that the two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>were strangers. They had never met&mdash;her very name had
+been unknown to him. It must have been his fancy.</p>
+
+<p>The curtain fell upon the second and final act amidst as much applause
+as the sparsely filled theatre could offer; but mingled with it,
+almost as the last words of her final speech had left her lips, came a
+curious hoarse cry from somewhere in the cheaper seats near the back
+of the house. It was heard very distinctly in every part; it rang out
+upon the deep quivering stillness which reigns for a second between
+the end of a play which has left the audience spellbound, and the
+burst of applause which is its first reawakening instinct. It was
+drowned in less than a moment, yet many people turned their startled
+heads towards the rows of back seats. Matravers, one of the first to
+hear it, was one of the most interested&mdash;perhaps because his sensitive
+ears had recognized in it that peculiar inflection, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>the true ring of
+earnestness. For it was essentially a human cry, a cry of sorrow, a
+strange note charged in its very hoarseness and spontaneity with an
+unutterable pathos. It was as though it had been actually drawn from
+the heart to the lips, and long after the house had become deserted,
+Matravers stood there, his hands resting upon the edge of the box, and
+his dark face turned steadfastly to that far-away corner, where it
+seemed to him that he could see a solitary, human figure, sitting with
+bowed head amongst the wilderness of empty seats.</p>
+
+<p>Ellison touched him upon the elbow.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must come with me and be presented to Berenice,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please excuse me,&#8221; he said; &#8220;I would really rather not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ellison held out a crumpled half-sheet of notepaper.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;This has just been brought in to me,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers read the single line, hastily written, and in pencil:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Bring your friend to me.&mdash;B.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will scarcely take us a moment,&#8221; Ellison continued. &#8220;Don&#8217;t stop to
+put on your coat; we are the last in the theatre now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers, whose will was usually a very dominant one, found himself
+calmly obeying his companion. Following Ellison, he was bustled down a
+long, narrow passage, across a bare wilderness of boards and odd
+pieces of scenery, to the door of a room immediately behind the stage.
+As Ellison raised his fingers to knock, it was opened from the inside,
+and Berenice came out wrapped from head to foot in a black satin coat,
+and with a piece of white lace twisted around her hair. She stopped
+when she saw the two men, and held out her hand to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Ellison, who
+immediately introduced Matravers.</p>
+
+<p>Again Ellison fancied that in her greeting of him there were some
+traces of a former knowledge. But nothing in her words or in his
+alluded to it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very much honoured,&#8221; Matravers said simply. &#8220;I am a rare
+attendant at the theatre, and your performance gave me great
+pleasure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very glad,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;Do you know that you made me
+wretchedly nervous? I was told just as I was going on that you had
+come to smash us all to atoms in that terrible <i>Day</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I came as a critic,&#8221; he answered, &#8220;but I am a very incompetent one.
+Perhaps you will appreciate my ignorance more when I tell you that
+this is my first visit behind the scenes of a theatre.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25-6]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;">
+<img src="images/i023.jpg" class="ispace" width="325" height="500" alt="But nothing in her words or in his alluded to it" title="" />
+<span class="caption">But nothing in her words or in his alluded to it</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>She laughed softly, and they looked around together at the dimly
+burning gas-lights, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>the creaking scenery being drawn back from the stage, the woman with a
+brush and mop sweeping, and at that dismal perspective of
+holland-shrouded auditorium beyond, now quite deserted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least,&#8221; she said, &#8220;your impressions cannot be mixed ones. It is
+hideous here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He did not contradict her; and they both ignored Ellison&#8217;s murmured
+compliment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is very draughty,&#8221; he remarked, &#8220;and you seem cold; we must not
+keep you here. May we&mdash;can I,&#8221; he added, glancing down the stone
+passage, &#8220;show you to your carriage?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed softly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You may come with me,&#8221; she said, &#8220;but our exit is like a rabbit
+burrow; we must go in single file, and almost on hands and knees.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She led the way, and they followed her into the street. A small
+brougham was waiting at the door, and her maid was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>standing by it.
+The commissionaire stood away, and Matravers closed the carriage door
+upon them. Her white, ungloved hand, loaded&mdash;overloaded it seemed to
+him&mdash;with rings, stole through the window, and he held it for a moment
+in his. He felt somehow that he was expected to say something. She was
+looking at him very intently. There was some powder on her cheeks,
+which he noted with an instinctive thrill of aversion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shall I tell him home?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you please,&#8221; she answered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Madam!&#8221; her maid interposed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Home, please,&#8221; Berenice said calmly. &#8220;Good-by, Mr. Matravers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The carriage rolled away. At the corner of the street Berenice pulled
+the check-string. &#8220;The Milan Restaurant,&#8221; she told the man briefly.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers and Ellison lit their cigarettes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>and strolled away on foot.
+At the corner of the street Ellison had an inspiration.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let us,&#8221; he said, &#8220;have some supper somewhere.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I really have a great deal of work to do,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and I must write
+this notice for the <i>Day</i>. I think that I will go straight home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ellison thrust his arm through his companion&#8217;s, and called a hansom.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will only take us half an hour,&#8221; he declared, &#8220;and we will go to
+one of the fashionable places. You will be amused! Come! It all
+enters, you know, into your revised scheme of life&mdash;the attainment of
+a fuller and more catholic knowledge of your fellow-creatures. We will
+see our fellow-creatures <i>en f&ecirc;te</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers suffered himself to be persuaded. They drove to a restaurant
+close at hand, and stood for a moment at the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>entrance looking for
+seats. The room was crowded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will go,&#8221; Ellison said, &#8220;and find the director. He knows me well,
+and he will find me a table.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He elbowed his way up to the further end of the apartment. Matravers
+remained a somewhat conspicuous figure in the doorway looking from one
+to another of the little parties with a smile, half amused, half
+interested. Suddenly his face became grave,&mdash;his heart gave an
+unaccustomed leap! He stood quite still, his eyes fixed upon the bent
+head and white shoulders of a woman only a few yards away from him.
+Almost at the same moment Berenice looked up and their eyes met. The
+colour left her cheeks,&mdash;she was ghastly pale! A sentence which she
+had just begun died away upon her lips; her companion, who was intent
+upon the wine list, noticed nothing. She made a movement as though to rise. Simultaneously Matravers turned upon his heel and left the room.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31-2]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 324px;">
+<img src="images/i029.jpg" class="ispace" width="324" height="500" alt="Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,
+noticed nothing" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,
+noticed nothing</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>Ellison came hurrying back in a few moments and looked in vain for his
+companion. As he stood there watching the throng of people, Berenice
+called him to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your friend,&#8221; she said, &#8220;has gone away. He stood for a moment in the
+doorway like Banquo&#8217;s ghost, and then he disappeared.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ellison looked vaguely bewildered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Matravers is an odd sort,&#8221; he remarked. &#8220;I suppose it is one of the
+penalties of genius to be compelled to do eccentric things. I must
+have my supper alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Or with us,&#8221; she said. &#8220;You know Mr. Thorndyke, don&#8217;t you? There is
+plenty of room here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>atravers stood at an open window, reading a note by the grey dawn
+light. Below him stretched the broad thoroughfare of Piccadilly,
+noiseless, shadowy, deserted. He had thrown up the window overcome by
+a sudden sense of suffocation, and a chill, damp breeze came stealing
+in, cooling his parched forehead and hot, dry eyes. For the last two
+or three hours he had been working with an unwonted and rare zest; it
+had happened quite by chance, for as a rule he was a man of regular,
+even mechanical habits. But to-night he scarcely knew himself,&mdash;he had
+all the sensations of a man who had passed through a new and
+altogether unexpected experience. At midnight he had let himself into
+his room <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>after that swift, impulsive departure from the Milan, and
+had dropped by chance into the chair before his writing-table. The
+sight of his last unfinished sentence, abruptly abandoned in the
+centre of a neatly written page of manuscript, had fascinated him, and
+as he sat there idly with the loose sheet in his hands, holding it so
+that the lamplight might fall upon its very legible characters, an
+idea flashed into his brain,&mdash;an idea which had persistently eluded
+him for days. With the sudden stimulus of a purely mental activity, he
+had hastily thrown aside his outdoor garment, and had written for
+several hours with a readiness and facility which seemed, somehow, for
+the last few days to have been denied to him.</p>
+
+<p>He had become his old self again,&mdash;the events of the evening lay
+already far behind. Then had come a soft knocking at the door,
+followed by the apologetic entrance of his servant bearing a note upon
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>which his name was written in hasty characters with an &#8220;Immediate&#8221;
+scrawled, as though by an after-thought, upon the left-hand corner. He
+had torn it open wondering at the woman&#8217;s writing, and glanced at its
+brief contents carelessly enough,&mdash;but since then he had done no work.
+For the present he was not likely to do any more.</p>
+
+<p>The cold breeze, acting like a tonic upon his dazed senses, awoke in
+him also a peculiar restlessness, a feeling of intolerable restraint
+at the close environment of his little room and its associations. Its
+atmosphere had suddenly become stifling. He caught up his cloak and
+hat, and walked out again into the silent street; it seemed to him,
+momentarily forgetful of the hour, like a city of the dead into which
+he had wandered.</p>
+
+<p>As he turned, from habit, towards the Park, the great houses on his
+right frowned down upon him lightless and lifeless. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>broad
+pavement, pressed a few hours ago, and so soon to be pressed again by
+the steps of an innumerable multitude, was deserted; his own footfall
+seemed to awaken a strange and curiously persistent echo, as though
+some one were indeed following him on the opposite side of the way
+under the shadow of the drooping lime trees. Once he stopped and
+listened. The footsteps ceased too. There was no one! With a faint
+smile at the illusion to which he had for a moment yielded, he
+continued his walk.</p>
+
+<p>Before him the outline of the arch stood out with gloomy distinctness
+against a cold, lowering background of vapourous sky. Like a man who
+was still half dreaming, he crossed the road and entered the Park,
+making his way towards the trees. There was a spot about half-way
+down, where, in the afternoons, he usually sat. Near it he found two
+chairs, one on top of the other; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>he removed the upper one and sat
+down, crossing his legs and lighting a cigarette which he took from
+his case. Then in a transitory return of his ordinary state of mind he
+laughed softly to himself. People would say that he was going mad.</p>
+
+<p>Through half-closed eyes he looked out upon the broad drive. With the
+aid of an imagination naturally powerful, he was passing with
+marvellous facility into an unreal world of his own creation. The
+scene remained the same, but the environment changed as though by
+magic. Sunshine pierced the grey veil of clouds, gay voices and
+laughter broke the chill silence. The horn of a four-in-hand sounded
+from the corner, the path before him was thronged with men and women
+whose rustling skirts brushed often against his knees as they made
+their way with difficulty along the promenade. A glittering show of
+carriages and coaches swept past the railings; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>the air was full of
+the sound of the trampling of horses and the rolling of wheels. With a
+mental restraint of which he was all the time half-conscious, he kept
+back the final effort of his imagination for some time; but it came at
+last.</p>
+
+<p>A victoria, drawn by a single dark bay horse, with servants in quiet
+liveries, drew up at the paling, and a woman leaning back amongst the
+cushions looked out at him across the sea of faces as she had indeed
+looked more than once. She was surrounded by handsomer women in more
+elaborate toilettes and more splendid equipages. Her cheeks were pale,
+and she was undoubtedly thin. Nevertheless, to other people as well as
+to him, she was a personality. Even then he seemed to feel the little
+stir which always passed like electricity into the air directly her
+carriage was stayed. When she had come, when he was perfectly sure of
+her, and indeed under the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>spell of her near presence, he drew that
+note again from his pocket and read it.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8220;18, <span class="smcap">Large Street, W</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="right">&#8220;12.30.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you a lie! and I feel that you will never forgive
+me! Yet I want to explain it. There is something I want you
+to know! Will you come and see me? I shall be at home until
+one o&#8217;clock to-morrow morning, or, if the afternoon suits
+you better, from 4 to 6.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;"><span class="smcap">&#8220;Berenice</span>.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>A lie! Yes, it was that. To him, an inveterate lover of truth, the
+offence had seemed wholly unpardonable. He had set himself to forget
+the woman and the incident as something altogether beneath his
+recollection. The night, with its host of strange, half-awakened
+sensations, was a memory to be lived down, to be crushed altogether.
+For him, doubtless, that lie had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>been a providence. It put a stop to
+any further intercourse between them,&mdash;it stamped her at once with the
+hall-mark of unworthiness. Yet he knew that he was disappointed;
+disappointment was, perhaps, a mild word. He had walked through the
+streets with Ellison, after that meeting with her at the theatre,
+conscious of an unwonted buoyancy of spirits, feeling that he had
+drawn into his life a new experience which promised to be a very
+pleasant one.</p>
+
+<p>There were things about the woman which had not pleased him, but they
+were, on the whole, merely superficial incidents, accidents he chose
+to think, of her environment. He had even permitted himself to look
+forward to their next meeting, to a definite continuance of their
+acquaintance. Standing in the doorway of the brilliantly lighted
+Milan, he had looked in at the vivid little scene with a certain eager
+tolerance,&mdash;there was much, after all, that was attractive <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>in this
+side of life, so much that was worth cultivating; he blamed himself
+that he had stood aloof from it for so long.</p>
+
+<p>Then their eyes had met, he had seen her sudden start, had felt his
+heart sink like lead. She was a creature of common clay after all! His
+eyes rested for a moment upon her companion, a man well known to him,
+though of a class for whom his contempt was great, and with whom he
+had no kinship. She was like this then! It was a pity.</p>
+
+<p>His cigarette went out, and a rain-drop, which had been hovering upon
+a leaf above him, fell with a splash upon the sheet of heavy white
+paper. He rose to his feet, stiff and chilled and disillusioned. His
+little ghost-world of fancies had faded away. Morning had come, and
+eastwards, a single shaft of cold sunlight had pierced the grey sky.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>t ten o&#8217;clock he breakfasted, after three hours&#8217; sleep and a cold
+bath. In the bright, yet soft spring daylight, the lines of his face
+had relaxed, and the pallor of his cheeks was less unnatural. He was
+still a man of remarkable appearance; his features were strong and
+firmly chiselled, his forehead was square and almost hard. He wore no
+beard, but a slight, black moustache only half-concealed a delicate
+and sensitive mouth. His complexion and his soft grey eyes were alike
+possessed of a singular clearness, as though they were, indeed, the
+indices of a temperate and well-contained life. His dress, and every
+movement and detail of his person, were characterized <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>by an extreme
+deliberation; his whole appearance bespoke a peculiar and almost
+feminine fastidiousness. The few appointments of his simple meal were
+the most perfect of their kind. A delicate vase of freshly cut flowers
+stood on the centre of the spotless table-cloth,&mdash;the hangings and
+colouring of the apartment were softly harmonious. The walls were hung
+with fine engravings, with here and there a brilliant little
+water-colour of the school of Corot; a few marble and bronze
+statuettes were scattered about on the mantelpiece and on brackets.
+There was nothing particularly striking anywhere, yet there was
+nothing on which the eye could not rest with pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>At half-past ten he lit a cigarette, and sat down at his desk. He
+wrote quite steadily for an hour; at the end of that time he pinned
+together the result of his work, and wrote a hasty note.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8220;113, <span class="smcap">Piccadilly</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Haslup</span>,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I went last night to the New Theatre, and I send you my
+views as to what I saw there. But I beg that you will
+remember my absolute ignorance on all matters pertaining to
+the modern drama, and use your own discretion entirely as to
+the disposal of the enclosed. I do not feel myself, in any
+sense of the word, a competent critic, and I trust that you
+will not feel yourself under the least obligation to give to
+my views the weight of your journal.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 8em;">&#8220;I remain,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-right: 6em;">&#8220;Yours truly,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8221;<span class="smcap">John Matravers</span>.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>His finger was upon the bell, when his servant entered, bearing a note
+upon a salver. Matravers glanced at the handwriting already becoming
+familiar to him, recognizing, too, the faint odour of violets <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>which
+seemed to escape into the room as his fingers broke the seal.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;It is half-past eleven and you have not come! Does that
+mean that you will not listen to me, that you mean to judge
+me unheard? You will not be so unkind! I shall remain
+indoors until one o&#8217;clock, and I shall expect you.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Berenice</span>.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Matravers laid the note down, and covered it with a paper-weight. Then
+he sealed his own letter, and gave it, with the manuscript, to his
+servant. The man withdrew, and Matravers continued his writing.</p>
+
+<p>He worked steadily until two o&#8217;clock. Then a simple luncheon was
+brought in to him, and upon the tray another note. Matravers took it
+with some hesitation, and read it thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Two o&#8217;Clock</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have made up your mind, then, not to come. Very well, I
+too am determined. If you will not come to me, I shall come
+to you! I shall remain in until four o&#8217;clock. You may expect
+to see me any time after then.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;"><span class="smcap">&#8220;Berenice</span>.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Matravers ate his luncheon and pondered, finally deciding to abandon a
+struggle in which his was obviously the weaker position. He lingered
+for a while over his coffee; at three o&#8217;clock he retired for a few
+moments into his dressing-room, and then descending the stairs, made
+his way out into the street.</p>
+
+<p>He had told himself only a few hours back that he would be wise to
+ignore this summons from a woman, the ways of whose life must lie very
+far indeed from his. Yet he knew that his meeting with her had
+affected him as nothing of the sort had ever <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>affected him before&mdash;a
+man unimpressionable where women were concerned, and ever devoted to
+and cultivating a somewhat unnatural exclusiveness. Her first note he
+had been content to ignore,&mdash;she might have written it in a fit of
+pique&mdash;but the second had made him thoughtful. Her very persistence
+was characteristic. Perhaps after all she was in the right&mdash;he had
+arrived too hastily at an ignoble conclusion. Her attitude towards him
+was curiously unconventional; it was an attitude such as none of the
+few women with whom he had ever been brought into contact would have
+dreamed of assuming. But none the less it had for him a fascination
+which he could not measure or define,&mdash;it had awakened a new
+sensation, which, as a philosopher, he was anxious to probe. The
+mysticism of his early morning wanderings seemed to him, as he walked
+leisurely through the sunlit streets, in a sense ridiculous. After
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>all it was a little thing that he was going to do; he was going to
+make, against his will, an afternoon call. To other men it would have
+seemed less than nothing. Albeit he knew he was about to draw into his
+life a new experience.</p>
+
+<p>He rang the bell at Number 18, Large Street, and gave his card to the
+trim little maidservant who opened the door. In a minute or two she
+returned, and invited him to follow her upstairs; her mistress was in,
+and would see him at once. She led the way up the broad staircase into
+a room which could, perhaps, be most aptly described as a feminine
+den. The walls, above the low bookshelves which bordered the whole
+apartment, were hung with a medley of water-colours and photographs,
+water-colours which a single glance showed him were good, and of the
+school then most in vogue. The carpet was soft and thick, divans and
+easy chairs filled with cushions <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>were plentiful. By the side of one
+of these, which bore signs of recent occupation, was a reading stand,
+and upon it a Shakespeare, and a volume of his own critical essays.</p>
+
+<p>To him, with all his senses quickened by an intense curiosity, there
+seemed to hang about the atmosphere of the room that subtle odour of
+femininity which, in the case of a man, would probably have been
+represented by tobacco smoke. A S&egrave;vres jar of Neapolitan violets stood
+upon the table near the divan. Henceforth the perfume of violets
+seemed a thing apart from the perfume of all other flowers to the man
+who stood there waiting, himself with a few of the light purple
+blossoms in the buttonhole of his frock coat.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>he came to him so noiselessly, that for a moment or two he was
+unaware of her entrance. There was neither the rustle of skirts nor
+the sound of any movement to apprise him of it, yet he became suddenly
+conscious that he was not alone. He turned around at once and saw her
+standing within a few feet of him. She held out her hand frankly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you have come,&#8221; she said; &#8220;I thought that you would. But then you
+had very little choice, had you?&#8221; she added with a little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>She passed him, and deliberately seated herself amongst a pile of
+cushions on the divan nearest her reading stand. For the moment he
+neglected her gestured invitation, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>and remained standing, looking at
+her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was very glad to come,&#8221; he said simply.</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You were afraid of my threat. You were afraid that I might come to
+you. Well, it is probable, almost certain that I should have come. You
+have saved yourself from that, at any rate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Although the situation was a novel one to him, he was not in the least
+embarrassed. He was altogether too sincere to be possessed of any
+self-consciousness. He found himself at last actually in the presence
+of the woman who, since first he had seen her, months ago, driving in
+the Park, had been constantly in his thoughts, and he began to wonder
+with perfect clearness of judgment wherein lay her peculiar
+fascination! That she was handsome, of her type, went for nothing. The
+world was full of more <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>beautiful women whom he saw day by day without
+the faintest thrill of interest. Besides, her face was too pale and
+her form too thin for exceptional beauty. There must be something
+else,&mdash;something about her personality which refused to lend itself to
+any absolute analysis. She was perfectly dressed,&mdash;he realized that,
+because he was never afterwards able to recall exactly what she wore.
+Her eyes were soft and dark and luminous,&mdash;soft with a light the power
+of which he was not slow to recognize.</p>
+
+<p>But none of these things were of any important account in reckoning
+with the woman. He became convinced, in those few moments of
+deliberate observation, that there was nothing in her &#8220;personnel&#8221;
+which could justify her reputation. On the whole he was glad of it.
+Any other form of attraction was more welcome to him than a purely
+physical one!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;First of all,&#8221; she began, leaning forward <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>and looking at him over
+her interlaced fingers; &#8220;I want you to tell me this! You will answer
+me faithfully, I know. What did you think of my writing to you, of my
+persistence? Tell me exactly what you thought.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was surprised,&#8221; he answered; &#8220;how could I help it? I was surprised,
+too,&#8221; he added, &#8220;to find that I wanted very much to come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The women whom you know,&#8221; she said quietly,&mdash;&#8220;I suppose you do know
+some,&mdash;would not have done such a thing. Some people say that I am
+mad! One may as well try to live up to one&#8217;s reputation; I have taken
+a little of the license of madness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was unusual, perhaps,&#8221; he admitted; &#8220;but who is not weary of usual
+things? I gathered from your note that you had something to explain. I
+was anxious to hear what that explanation could be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>She was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed upon vacancy, a faint
+smile at the corners of her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;First,&#8221; she said, &#8220;let me tell you this. I want to have you
+understand why I was anxious that you should not think worse of me
+than I deserved. I am rather a spoilt woman. I have grown used to
+having my own way; I wanted to know you, I have wanted to for some
+time. We have passed one another day after day; I knew quite well all
+the time who you were, and it seemed so stupid! Do you know once or
+twice I have had an insane desire to come right up to your chair and
+break in upon your meditations,&mdash;hold out my hand and make you talk to
+me? That would have been worse than this, would it not? But I firmly
+believe that I should have done it some day. So you see I wrote my
+little note in self-defence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not know that I should have been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>so completely surprised after
+all,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I, too, have felt something of what you have
+expressed. I have been interested in your comings and your goings. But
+then you knew that, or you would never have written to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One sacrifices so much,&#8221; she murmured, &#8220;on the altars of the modern
+Goddess. We live in such a tiny compass,&mdash;nothing ever happens. It is
+only psychologically that one&#8217;s emotions can be reached at all. Events
+are quite out of date. I am speaking from a woman&#8217;s point of view.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You should have lived,&#8221; he said, smiling, &#8220;in the days of Joan of
+Arc.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No doubt,&#8221; she answered, &#8220;I should have found that equally dull. What
+I was endeavouring to do was, first of all to plead some justification
+for wanting to know you. For a woman there is nothing left but the
+study of personalities.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mine,&#8221; he answered with a faint gleam <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>in his eyes, &#8220;is very much at
+your service.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am going to take you at your word,&#8221; she warned him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will be very much disappointed. I am perfectly willing to be
+dissected, but the result will be inadequate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She leaned back amongst the cushions and looked at him thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Listen,&#8221; she said; &#8220;I can tell you something of your history, as you
+will see. I want you to fill in the blanks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mine,&#8221; he murmured, &#8220;will be the greater task. My life is a record of
+blank places. The history is to come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This,&#8221; she said, &#8220;is the extent of my knowledge. You were the second
+son of Sir Lionel Matravers, and you have been an orphan since you
+were very young. You were meant to take Holy Orders, but when the time
+came you declined. At Oxford you did very well indeed. You established
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>a brilliant reputation as a classical scholar, and you became a
+fellow of St. John&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was whilst you were there that you wrote <i>Studies in Character</i>.
+Two years ago, I do not know why, you gave up your fellowship and came
+to London. You took up the editorship of a Review&mdash;the <i>Bi-Weekly</i>, I
+think&mdash;but you resigned it on a matter of principle. You have a
+somewhat curious reputation. The <i>Scrutineer</i> invariably alludes to
+you as the Apostle of &AElig;stheticism. You are reported to have fixed
+views as to the conduct of life, down even to its most trifling
+details. That sounds unpleasant, but it probably isn&#8217;t altogether
+true.... Don&#8217;t interrupt, please! You have no intimate friends, but
+you go sometimes into society. You are apparently a mixture of poet,
+philosopher, and man of fashion. I have heard you spoken of more than
+once as a disciple of Epicurus. You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>also, in the course of your
+literary work, review novels&mdash;unfortunately for me&mdash;and six months ago
+you were the cause of my nearly crying my eyes out. It was perhaps
+silly of me to attempt, without any literary experience, to write a
+modern story, but my own life supplied the motive, and at least I was
+faithful to what I felt and knew. No one else has ever said such cruel
+things about my work.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Woman-like, you see, I repay my injuries by becoming interested in
+you. If you had praised my book, I daresay I should never have thought
+of you at all. Then there is one thing more. Every day you sit in the
+Park close to where I stop, and&mdash;you look at me. It seems as though we
+had often spoken there. Shall I tell you what I have been vain enough
+to think sometimes?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have watched you from a distance, often before you have seen me.
+You always <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>sit in the same attitude, your eyebrows are a little
+contracted, there is generally the ghost of a smile upon your lips.
+You are like an outsider who has come to look upon a brilliant show. I
+could fancy that you have clothed yourself in the personality of that
+young Roman noble whose name you have made so famous, and from another
+age were gazing tolerantly and even kindly upon the folly and the
+pageantry which have survived for two thousand years. And then I have
+taken my little place in the procession, and I have fancied that a
+subtle change has stolen into your face. You have looked at me as
+gravely as ever, but no longer as an impersonal spectator.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is as though I have seemed a live person to you, and the others,
+mummies. Once the change came so swiftly that I smiled at you,&mdash;I
+could not help it,&mdash;and you looked away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I remember it distinctly,&#8221; he interrupted. &#8220;I thought the smile was
+for some one behind me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was for you. Now I have finished. Fill in the blanks, please.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was content to answer her in the same strain. The effect of her
+complete naturalness was already upon him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So far as my personal history is concerned,&#8221; he told her, &#8220;you are
+wonderfully correct. There is nothing more to be said about it. I gave
+up my fellowship at Oxford because I have always been convinced of the
+increasing narrowness and limitations of purely academic culture and
+scholarship. I was afraid of what I should become as an old man, of
+what I was already growing into. I wanted to have a closer grip upon
+human things, to be in more sympathetic relations with the great world
+of my fellow-men. Can you understand me, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>I wonder? The influences of
+a university town are too purely scholarly to produce literary work of
+wide human interest. London had always fascinated me&mdash;though as yet I
+have met with many disappointments. As to the <i>Bi-Weekly</i>, it was my
+first idea to undertake no fixed literary work, and it was only after
+great pressure that I took it for a time. As you know, my editorship
+was a failure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He paused for a moment or two, and looked steadily at her. He was
+anxious to watch the effect of what he was going to say.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have mentioned my review upon your novel in the <i>Bi-Weekly</i>. I
+cannot say that I am sorry I wrote it. I never attacked a book with so
+much pleasure. But I am very sorry indeed that you should have written
+it. With your gifts you could have given to the world something better
+than a mere psychological debauch!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>She laughed softly, but genuinely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I adore sincerity,&#8221; she exclaimed, &#8220;and it is so many years since I
+was actually scolded. A &#8216;psychological debauch&#8217; is delightful. But I
+cannot help my views, can I? My experiences were made for me! I became
+the creature of circumstances. No one is morally responsible for their
+opinions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There are things,&#8221; he said, &#8220;which find their way into our thoughts
+and consciousness, but of which it would be considered flagrantly bad
+taste to speak. And there are things in the world which exist, which
+have existed from time immemorial, the evil legacy of countless
+generations, of which it seems to me to be equally bad taste to write.
+Art has a limitless choice of subjects. I would not have you sully
+your fine gifts by writing of anything save of the beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is rank hedonism,&#8221; she laughed. &#8220;It is a survival of your
+academic days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Some day,&#8221; he answered, &#8220;we will talk more fully of this. It is a
+little early for us to discuss a subject upon which we hold such
+opposite views.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are afraid that we might quarrel!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, not that! Only as I am something of an idealist, and you, I
+suppose, have placed yourself amongst the ranks of the realists, we
+should scarcely meet upon a common basis. But will you forgive me if I
+say so&mdash;I am very sure that some day you will be a deserter?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65-6]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;">
+<img src="images/i063.jpg" class="ispace" width="325" height="500" alt="&#8220;Friends,&#8221; she repeated, with a certain wistfulness in
+her tone" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&#8220;Friends,&#8221; she repeated, with a certain wistfulness in
+her tone</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not know anything of your history,&#8221; he continued gently, &#8220;nor am
+I asking for your confidence. Only in your story there was a personal
+note, which seemed to me to somehow explain the bitterness and
+directness with which you wrote&mdash;of certain subjects. I think that you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>yourself
+have had trouble&mdash;or perhaps a dear friend has suffered, and
+her grief has become yours. There was a little poison in your pen, I
+think. Never mind! We shall be friends, and I shall watch it pass
+away!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friends,&#8221; she repeated with a certain wistfulness in her tone. &#8220;But
+have you forgotten&mdash;what you came for?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not think,&#8221; he said slowly, &#8220;that it is of much consequence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But it is,&#8221; she insisted. &#8220;You asked me distinctly where I wished to
+be driven to from the theatre, and I told you&mdash;home! All the time I
+knew that I was going to have supper with Mr. Thorndyke at the Milan!
+Morally I lied to you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I cannot tell you,&#8221; she answered; &#8220;it was an impulse. I thought
+nothing of accepting the man&#8217;s invitation. You know him, I daresay. He
+is a millionaire, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>it is his money which supports the theatre. He
+has asked me several times, and although personally I dislike him, he
+has, of course, a certain claim upon my acquaintance. I have made
+excuses once or twice. Last night was the first time I have ever been
+out anywhere with him. I do not of course pretend to be in the least
+conventional&mdash;I have always permitted myself the utmost liberty of
+action. Yet&mdash;I had wanted so much to know you&mdash;I was afraid of
+prejudicing you.... After all, you see, I have no explanation. It was
+just an impulse. I have hated myself for it; but it is done!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was,&#8221; he said, &#8220;a trifle of no importance. We will forget it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A gleam of gratitude shone in her dark eyes. Her head drooped a
+little. He fancied that her voice was not quite so steady.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is good,&#8221; she said, &#8220;to hear you say that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><p>He looked around the room, and back into her face. Some dim
+foreknowledge of what was to come between them seemed to flash before
+his eyes. It was like a sudden glimpse into that unseen world so close
+at hand, in which he&mdash;that Roman noble&mdash;had at any rate implicitly
+believed. There was a faint smile upon his face as his eyes met hers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I shall be able to come and talk with you now at
+the railing, instead of watching you from my chair. For you were quite
+right in what you said just now. I have watched for you every day&mdash;for
+many days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will be able to come,&#8221; she said gravely, &#8220;if you care to. You mix
+so little with the men who love to talk scandal of a woman, that you
+may never have heard them&mdash;talk of me. But they do, I know! I hear all
+about it&mdash;it used to amuse me! You have the reputation of ultra
+exclusiveness! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>If you and I are known to be friends, you may have to
+risk losing it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His brows were slightly contracted, and he had half closed his eyes&mdash;a
+habit of his when anything was said which offended his taste.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder whether you would mind not talking like that,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not? I would not have you hear these things from other people. It
+is best to be truthful, is it not? To run no risk of any
+misunderstandings.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is no fear of anything of that sort,&#8221; he said calmly. &#8220;I do not
+pretend to be a magician or a diviner, yet I think I know you for what
+you are, and it is sufficient. Some day&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He broke off in the middle of a sentence. The door had opened. A man
+stood upon the threshold. The servant announced him&mdash;Mr. Thorndyke.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers rose at once to his feet. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>had a habit&mdash;the outcome,
+doubtless, of his epicurean tenets, of leaving at once, and at any
+costs, society not wholly agreeable to him. He bowed coldly to the man
+who was already greeting Berenice, and who was carrying a great bunch
+of Parma violets.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Thorndyke was evidently astonished at his presence&mdash;and not
+agreeably.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you come, Mr. Matravers,&#8221; he asked coldly, &#8220;to make your peace?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not aware,&#8221; Matravers answered calmly, &#8220;of any reason why I
+should do so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Thorndyke raised his eyebrows, and drew an afternoon paper from
+his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is your writing, is it not?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers glanced at the paragraph.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Thorndyke threw the paper upon the table.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I have no doubt it is an excellent piece of literary
+work&mdash;a satire I suppose you would call it&mdash;and I must congratulate
+you upon its complete success. I don&#8217;t mind running the theatre at a
+financial loss, but I have a distinct objection to being made a
+laughing stock of. I suppose this paper appeared about two hours ago,
+and already I can&#8217;t move a yard without having to suffer the
+condolences of some sympathizing ass. I shall close the theatre next
+week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is naturally,&#8221; Matravers said, &#8220;a matter of complete
+indifference to me. In the cause of art I should say that you will do
+well, unless you can select a play from a very different source. What
+I wrote of the performance last night, I wrote according to my
+convictions. You,&#8221; he added, turning to Berenice, &#8220;will at least
+believe that, I am sure!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Most certainly I do,&#8221; she assured him, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>holding out her hand. &#8220;Must
+you really go? You will come and see me again&mdash;very soon?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He bowed over her fingers, and then their eyes met for a moment. She
+was very pale, but she looked at him bravely. He realized suddenly
+that Mr. Thorndyke&#8217;s threat was a serious blow to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very sorry,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You will not bear me any ill will?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None!&#8221; she answered; &#8220;you may be sure of that!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She walked with him to the open door, outside which the servant was
+waiting to show him downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will come and see me again&mdash;very soon?&#8221; she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he answered simply, &#8220;if I may I shall come again! I will come
+as soon as you care to have me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>atravers passed out into the street with a curious admixture of
+sensations in a mind usually so free from any confusion of sentiments
+or ideas. The few words which he had been compelled to exchange with
+Thorndyke had grated very much against his sense of what was seemly;
+he was on the whole both repelled and fascinated by the incidents of
+this visit of his. Yet as he walked leisurely homewards through the
+bright, crowded streets, he recognized the existence of that strange
+personal charm in Berenice of which so many people had written and
+spoken. He himself had become subject to it in some slight degree, not
+enough, indeed, to engross his mind, yet enough to prevent any
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>feeling of disappointment at the result of his visit.</p>
+
+<p>She was not an ordinary woman&mdash;she was not an ordinarily clever woman.
+She did not belong to any type with which he was acquainted. She must
+for ever occupy a place of her own in his thoughts and in his
+estimation. It was a place very well defined, he told himself, and by
+no means within that inner circle of his brain and heart wherein lay
+the few things in life sweet and precious to him. The vague excitement
+of the early morning seemed to him now, as he moved calmly along the
+crowded, fashionable thoroughfare, a thing altogether unreal and
+unnatural. He had been in an emotional frame of mind, he told himself
+with a quiet smile, when the sight of those few lines in a handwriting
+then unknown had so curiously stirred him. Now that he had seen and
+spoken to her, her personality would recede to its proper
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>proportions, the old philosophic calm which hung around him in his
+studious life like a mantle would have no further disturbance.</p>
+
+<p>And then he suffered a rude shock! As he passed the corner of a
+street, the perfume of Neapolitan violets came floating out from a
+florist&#8217;s shop upon the warm sunlit air. Every fibre of his being
+quivered with a sudden emotion! The interior of that little room was
+before him, and a woman&#8217;s eyes looked into his. He clenched his hands
+and walked swiftly on, with pale face and rigid lips, like a man
+oppressed by some acute physical pain.</p>
+
+<p>There must be nothing of this for him! It was part of a world which
+was not his world&mdash;of which he must never even be a temporary denizen.
+The thing passed away! With studious care he fixed his mind upon
+trifles. There was a crease in his silk hat, clearly visible as he
+glanced at his reflection in a plate-glass window. He turned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>into
+Scott&#8217;s, and waited whilst it was ironed. Then he walked homewards and
+spent the remainder of the day carefully revising a bundle of proofs
+which he found on his table fresh from the printer.</p>
+
+<p>On the following morning he lunched at his club. Somehow, although he
+was in no sense of the word an unpopular man, it was a rare thing for
+any one to seek his company uninvited. The scholarly exclusiveness of
+his Oxford days had not been altogether brushed off in this contact
+with a larger and more spontaneous social life, and he figured in a
+world which would gladly have known more of him, as a man of courteous
+but severe reserve.</p>
+
+<p>To-day he occupied his usual round table set in an alcove before a
+tall window. For a recluse, he always found a singular pleasure in
+watching the faces of the people in that broad living stream, little
+units in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>the wheeling cycle of humanity of which he too felt himself
+to be a part; but to-day his eyes were idle, and his sympathies
+obstructed. Although a pronounced epicure in both food and drink, he
+passed a new and delicate <i>entr&eacute;e</i>, and not only ordered the wrong
+claret, but drank it without a grimace. The world of his sensations
+had been rudely disturbed. For the moment his sense of proportions was
+at fault, and before luncheon was over it received a further shock. A
+handsomely appointed drag rattled past the club on its way into
+Piccadilly. The woman who occupied the front seat turned to look at
+the window as they passed, with some evident curiosity&mdash;and their eyes
+met. Matravers set down the glass, which he had been in the act of
+raising to his lips, untasted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice and her Father Confessor!&#8221; he heard some one remark lightly
+from the next table. &#8220;Pity some one can&#8217;t teach <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>Thorndyke how to
+drive! He&#8217;s a disgrace to the Four-in-hand!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was Berenice! The sight of her in such intimate association with a
+man utterly distasteful to him was one before which he winced and
+suffered. He was aware of a new and altogether undesired experience.
+To rid himself of it with all possible speed, he finished his lunch
+abruptly, and lighting a cigarette, started back to his rooms.</p>
+
+<p>On the way he came face to face with Ellison, and the two men stood
+together upon the pavement for a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not quite sure,&#8221; Ellison remarked with a little grimace,
+&#8220;whether I want to speak to you or not! What on earth has kindled the
+destructive spirit in you to such an extent? Every one is talking of
+your attack upon the New Theatre!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was sent,&#8221; Matravers answered, &#8220;with a free hand to write an honest
+criticism&mdash;and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>I did it. Istein&#8217;s work may have some merit, but it is
+unclean work. It is not fit for the English stage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is exceedingly unlikely,&#8221; Ellison remarked, &#8220;that the English
+stage will know him any more! No play could survive such an onslaught
+as yours. I hear that Thorndyke is going to close the theatre.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If it was opened,&#8221; Matravers said, &#8220;for the purpose of presenting
+such work as this latest production, the sooner it is closed the
+better.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ellison shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a large subject,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and I am not sure that we are of
+one mind. We will not discuss it. At any rate, I am very sorry for
+Berenice!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not think,&#8221; Matravers said in measured tones, &#8220;that you need be
+sorry for her. With her gifts she will scarcely remain long without an
+engagement. I trust that she may secure one which will <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>not involve
+the prostitution of her talent.&#8221; Ellison laughed shortly. He had an
+immense admiration for Matravers, but just at present he was a little
+out of temper with him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You admit her talent, then?&#8221; he remarked. &#8220;I am glad of that!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not sure,&#8221; Matravers said, &#8220;that talent is the proper word to
+use. One might almost call it genius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ellison was considerably mollified.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am glad to hear you say so,&#8221; he declared. &#8220;At the same time I am
+afraid her position will be rather an awkward one. She will lose some
+money by the closing of the theatre, and I don&#8217;t exactly see what
+London house is open for her just at present. These actor-managers are
+all so clannish, and they have their own women.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry,&#8221; Matravers said thoughtfully; &#8220;at the same time I cannot
+believe that she will remain very long undiscovered! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>Good afternoon!
+I am forgetting that I have some writing to do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers walked slowly back to his rooms, filled with a new and
+fascinating idea which Ellison&#8217;s words had suddenly suggested to him.
+If it was true that his pen had done her this ill turn, did he not owe
+her some reparation? It would be a very pleasant way to pay his debt
+and a very simple one. By the time he had reached his destination the
+idea had taken definite hold of him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83-4]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 316px;">
+<img src="images/i081.jpg" class="ispace" width="316" height="500" alt="At half-past four his servant brought in a small
+tea-equipage" title="" />
+<span class="caption">At half-past four his servant brought in a small
+tea-equipage</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>For several hours he worked at the revision of a certain manuscript,
+polishing and remodelling with infinite care and pains. Not even
+content with the correct and tasteful arrangement of his sentences, he
+read them over to himself aloud, lest by any chance there should have
+crept into them some trick of alliteration, or juxtaposition of words
+not entirely musical. In his work he gained, or seemed to gain, a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>complete absorption. The cloudy disquiet of the last few hours
+appeared to have passed away,&mdash;to have been, indeed, only a fugitive
+and transitory thing.</p>
+
+<p>At half-past four his servant brought in a small tea-equipage&mdash;a
+silver tray, with an old blue Worcester teapot and cup, and a quaintly
+cut glass cream-jug. He made his tea, and drank it with his pen still
+in his hand. He had scarcely turned back to his work, before the same
+servant re-entered carrying a frock coat, an immaculately brushed silk
+hat, and a fresh bunch of Neapolitan violets. For a moment Matravers
+hesitated; then he laid down his pen, changed his coat, and once more
+passed out into the streets, more brilliant than ever now with the
+afternoon sunshine. He joined the throng of people leisurely making
+their way towards the Park!</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">F</span>or nearly half an hour he sat in his usual place under the trees,
+watching with indifferent eyes the constant stream of carriages
+passing along the drive. It seemed to him only a few hours since he
+had sat there before, almost in the same spot, a solitary figure in
+the cold, grey twilight, yet watching then, even as he was watching
+now, for that small victoria with its single occupant whose soft dark
+eyes had met his so often with a frank curiosity which she had never
+troubled to conceal. Something of that same perturbation of spirit
+which had driven him then out into the dawn-lit streets, was upon him
+once more, only with a very real and tangible difference. The grey
+half-lights, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>ghostly shadows, and the faint wind sounding in the
+tree-tops like the rising and falling of a midnight sea upon some
+lonely shore, had given to his early morning dreams an indefiniteness
+which they could scarcely hope to possess now. He himself was a living
+unit of this gay and brilliant world, whose conversation and light
+laughter filled the sunlit air around him, whose skirts were brushing
+against his knees, and whose jargon fell upon his ears with a familiar
+and a kindly sound. There was no possibility here for such a wave of
+passion,&mdash;he could call it nothing else,&mdash;as had swept through him,
+when he had first read that brief message from the woman, who had
+already become something of a disturbing element in his seemly life.
+Yet under a calm exterior he was conscious of a distinct tremor of
+excitement when her carriage drew up within a few feet of him, and
+obeying her mute but smiling command, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>he rose and offered his hand as
+she stepped out on to the path.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This,&#8221; she remarked, resting her daintily gloved fingers for a moment
+in his, &#8220;is the beginning of a new order of things. Do you realize
+that only the day before yesterday we passed one another here with a
+polite stare?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I remember it,&#8221; he answered, &#8220;perfectly. Long may the new order
+last.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But it is not going to last long&mdash;with me at any rate,&#8221; she said,
+laughing. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you know that I am almost ruined? Mr. Thorndyke is
+going to close the theatre. He says that we have been losing money
+every week. I shall have to sell my horses, and go and live in the
+suburbs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope,&#8221; he said fervently, &#8220;that you will not find it so bad as
+that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course,&#8221; she remarked, &#8220;you know that yours is the hand which has
+given us our death-blow. I have just read your notice. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>It is a
+brilliant piece of satirical writing, of course, but need you have
+been quite so severe? Don&#8217;t you regret your handiwork a little?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I cannot,&#8221; he answered deliberately. &#8220;On the contrary, I feel that I
+have done you a service. If you do not agree with me to-day, the time
+will certainly come when you will do so. You have a gift which
+delighted me: you are really an actress; you are one of very few.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is a kind speech,&#8221; she answered; &#8220;but even if there is truth in
+it, I am as yet quite unrecognized. There is no other theatre open to
+me; you and I look upon Istein and his work from a different point of
+view; but even if you are right, the part of Herdrine suited me. I was
+beginning to get some excellent notices. If we could have kept the
+thing going for only a few weeks longer, I think that I might have
+established some sort of a reputation.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>He sighed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A reputation, perhaps,&#8221; he admitted; &#8220;but not of the best order. You
+do not wish to be known only as the portrayer of unnatural passions,
+the interpreter of diseased desires. It would be an ephemeral
+reputation. It might lead you into many strange byways, but it would
+never help you to rise. Art is above all things catholic, and
+universal. You may be a perfect Herdrine; but Herdrine herself is but
+a night weed&mdash;a thing of no account. Even you cannot make her natural.
+She is the puppet of a man&#8217;s fantasy. She is never a woman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose,&#8221; she said sorrowfully, &#8220;that your judgment is the true
+one. Yet&mdash;but we will talk of something else. How strange to be
+walking here with you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Berenice was always a much-observed woman, but to-day she seemed to
+attract more even than ordinary attention. Her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>personality, her
+toilette, which was superb, and her companion, were all alike
+interesting to the slowly moving throng of men and women amongst whom
+they were threading their way. The attitude of her sex towards
+Berenice was in a certain sense a paradox. She was distinctly the most
+talented and the most original of all the &#8220;petticoat apostles,&#8221; as the
+very man who was now walking by her side had scornfully described the
+little band of women writers who were accused of trying to launch upon
+society a new type of their own sex. Her last novel was flooding all
+the bookstalls; and if not of the day, was certainly the book of the
+hour. She herself, known before only as a brilliant journalist writing
+under a curious <i>nom de plume</i>, had suddenly become one of the most
+marked figures in London life. Yet she had not gone so far as other
+writers who had dealt with the same subject. Marriage, she had dared
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>to write, had become the whitewashing of the impure, the sanctifying
+of the vicious! But she had not added the almost natural
+corollary,&mdash;therefore let there be no marriage. On the contrary,
+marriage in the ideal she had written of as the most wonderful and the
+most beautiful thing in life,&mdash;only marriage in the ideal did not
+exist.</p>
+
+<p>She had never posed as a woman with a mission! She formulated nowhere
+any scheme for the re-organization of those social conditions whose
+bases she had very eloquently and very trenchantly held to be rotten
+and impure. She had written as a prophet of woe! She had preached only
+destruction, and from the first she had left her readers curious as to
+what sexual system could possibly replace the old. The thing which
+happened was inevitable. The amazing demand for her book was exactly
+in inverse proportion to its popularity amongst her sex. The crusade
+against men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>was well! Admittedly they were a bad lot, and needed to
+be told of it. A little self-assertion on behalf of his superior was a
+thing to be encouraged and applauded. But a crusade against marriage!
+Berenice must be a most abandoned, as well as a most immoral, woman!
+No one who even hinted at the doctrine of love without marriage could
+be altogether respectable. Not that Berenice had ever done that.
+Still, she had written of marriage,&mdash;the usual run of marriages,&mdash;from
+a woman&#8217;s point of view, as a very hateful thing. What did she
+require, then, of her sex? To live and die old maids, whilst men
+became regenerated? It was too absurd. There were a good many curious
+things said, and it was certainly true, that since she had gone upon
+the stage her toilette and equipage were unrivalled. Berenice looked
+into the eyes of the women whom she met day by day, and she read their
+verdict. But if she suffered, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>she said not a word to any of it.</p>
+
+<p>They passed out from the glancing shadows of the trees towards the
+Piccadilly entrance. Here they paused for a moment and stood together
+looking down the drive. The sunlight seemed to touch with quivering
+fire the brilliant phantasmagoria. Berenice was serious. Her dark eyes
+swept down the broad path and her under-lip quivered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is this,&#8221; she exclaimed, with a slight forward movement of her
+parasol, &#8220;which makes me long for an earthquake. Can one do anything
+for women like that? They are not the creations of a God; they are the
+parasitical images of type. Only it is a very small type and a very
+large reproduction. Why do I say these things to you, I wonder? You
+are against me, too! But then you are not a woman!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not against you in your detestation of type,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;The
+whole <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>world of our sex as well as yours is full of worn-out and
+effete reproductions of an unworthy model. It is this intolerable
+sameness which suffocates all thought. One meets it everywhere; the
+deep melancholy of our days is its fruit. But the children of this
+generation will never feel it. The taste of life between their teeth
+will be neither like ashes nor green figs. They are numbed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She flashed a look almost of anger upon him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yet you have ranged yourself upon their side. When my story first
+appeared, its fate hung for days in the balance. Women had not made up
+their minds how to take it. It came into your hands for review. Well!
+you did not spare it, did you? It was you who turned the scale. Your
+denunciation became the keynote of popular opinion concerning me. The
+women for whose sake I had written it, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>that they might at least
+strike one blow for freedom, took it with a virtuous shudder from the
+hands of their daughters. I was pronounced unwholesome and depraved;
+even my personal character was torn into shreds. How odd it all
+seems!&#8221; she added, with a light, mirthless laugh. &#8220;It was you who put
+into their hands the weapon with which to scourge me. Their trim,
+self-satisfied little sentences of condemnation are emasculated
+versions of your judgment. It is you whom I have to thank for the
+closing of the theatre and the failure of Herdrine,&mdash;you who are
+responsible for the fact that these women look at me with insolence
+and the men as though I were a courtesan. How strange it must seem to
+them to see us together&mdash;the wolf and the lamb! Well, never mind. Take
+me somewhere and give me some tea; you owe me that, at least.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They turned and left the park. For a few minutes conversation was
+impossible, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>but as soon as they had emerged from the crowd he
+answered her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I have ever helped any one to believe ill of you,&#8221; he said slowly,
+&#8220;I am only too happy that they should have the opportunity of seeing
+us together. You are rather severe on me. I thought then, as I think
+now, that it is&mdash;to put it mildly&mdash;impolitic to enter upon a
+passionate denunciation of such an institution as marriage when any
+substitute for it must necessarily be another step upon the downward
+grade. The decadence of self-respect amongst young men, any contrast
+between their lives and the lives of the women who are brought up to
+be their wives, is too terribly painful a subject for us to discuss
+here. Forgive me if I think now, as I have always thought, that it is
+not a fitting subject for a novelist&mdash;certainly not for a woman. I may
+be prejudiced; yet it was my duty to write as I thought. You must not
+forget <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>that! So far as your story went, I had nothing but praise for
+it. There were many chapters which only an artist could have written.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She raised her eyebrows. They had turned into Bond Street now, and
+were close to their destination.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You men of letters are so odd,&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;What is Art but
+Truth? and if my book be not true, how can it know anything of art?
+But never mind! We are talking shop, and I am a little tired of taking
+life seriously. Here we are! Order me some tea, please, and a
+chocolate <i>&eacute;clair</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He followed her to a tiny round table, and sat down by her side upon
+the cushioned seat. As he gave his order and looked around the little
+room, he smiled gravely to himself. It was the first time in his
+life,&mdash;at any rate since his boyhood,&mdash;that he had taken a woman into
+a public room. Decidedly it was a new era for him.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>n incident, which Matravers had found once or twice uppermost in his
+mind during the last few days, was recalled to him with sudden
+vividness as he took his seat in an ill-lit, shabbily upholstered box
+in the second tier of the New Theatre. He seemed almost to hear again
+the echoes of that despairing cry which had rung out so plaintively
+across the desert of empty benches from somewhere amongst the shadows
+of the auditorium. Several times during the performance he had glanced
+up in the same direction; once he had almost fancied he could see a
+solitary, bent figure sitting rigid and motionless in the first row of
+the amphitheatre. No man was possessed of a smaller share of curiosity
+in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>ordinary sense of the word than Matravers; but the thought
+that this might be the same man come again to witness a play which had
+appealed to him before with such peculiar potency, interested him
+curiously. At the close of the second act he left his seat, and, after
+several times losing his way, found himself in the little narrow space
+behind the amphitheatre. Leaning over the partition, and looking
+downwards, he had a good view of the man who sat there quite alone,
+his head resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed steadily upon a soiled
+and crumpled programme, which was spread out carefully before him.
+Matravers wondered whether there was not in the clumsy figure and
+awkward pose something vaguely familiar to him.</p>
+
+<p>An attendant of the place standing by his side addressed him
+respectfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not much of a house for the last night, sir,&#8221; he remarked.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>Matravers agreed, and moved his head downwards towards the solitary
+figure.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is one man, at least,&#8221; he said, &#8220;who finds the play
+interesting.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The attendant smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid that the gentleman is a little bit &#8216;hoff,&#8217; sir. He seems
+half silly to talk to. He&#8217;s a queer sort, anyway. Comes here every
+blessed night, and in the same place. Never misses. Once he came
+sixpence short, and there was a rare fuss. They wouldn&#8217;t let him in,
+and he wouldn&#8217;t go away. I lent it him at last.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did he pay you back?&#8221; Matravers asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The very next night; never had to ask him, either. There goes the
+bell, sir. Curtain up in two minutes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The subject of their conversation had not once turned his head or
+moved towards them. Matravers, conscious that he was not likely to do
+so, returned to his seat just <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>as the curtain rose upon the last act.
+The play, grim, pessimistic, yet lifted every now and then to a higher
+level by strange flashes of genius on the part of the woman, dragged
+wearily along to an end. The echoes of her last speech died away; she
+looked at him across the footlights, her dark eyes soft with many
+regrets, which, consciously or not, spoke to him also of reproach. The
+curtain descended, and her hands fell to her side. It was the end, and
+it was failure!</p>
+
+<p>Matravers, making his way more hurriedly than usual from the house,
+hoped to gain another glimpse of the man who had remained the solitary
+tenant of the round of empty seats. But he was too late. The man and
+the audience had melted away in a thin little stream. Matravers stood
+on the kerbstone hesitating. He had not meant to go behind to-night.
+He had a feeling that she must be regarding him at that moment as the
+executioner of her ambitions. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>Besides, she was going on to a
+reception; she would only be in a hurry. Nevertheless, he made his way
+round to the stage door. He would at least have a glimpse of her. But
+as he turned the corner, she was already stepping into her carriage.
+He paused, and simultaneously with her disappearance he realized that
+he was not the only one who had found his way to the narrow street to
+see the last of Berenice. A man was standing upon the opposite
+pavement a little way from the carriage, yet at such an angle that a
+faint, yellow light shone upon what was visible of his pale face. He
+had watched her come out, and was gazing now fixedly at the window of
+her brougham. Matravers knew in a moment that this was the man whom he
+had seen sitting alone in the amphitheatre; and almost without any
+definite idea as to his purpose, he crossed the street towards him.
+The man, hearing his footstep, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>looked up with a sudden start; then,
+without a second&#8217;s hesitation, he turned and hurried off. Matravers
+still followed him. The man heard his footsteps, and turned round,
+then, with a little moan, he started running, his shoulders bent, his
+head forward. Matravers halted at once. The man plunged into the
+shadows, and was lost amongst the stream of people pouring forth from
+the doors of the Strand theatres.</p>
+
+<p>At her door an hour later Berenice saw the outline of a figure now
+become very familiar to her, and Matravers, who had been leaving a box
+of roses, whose creamy pink-and-white blossoms, mingled together in a
+neighbouring flower-shop, had pleased his fancy, heard his name called
+softly across the pavement. He turned, and saw Berenice stepping from
+her carriage. With an old-fashioned courtesy, which always sat well
+upon him, he offered her his arm.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105-6]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 318px;">
+<img src="images/i103.jpg" class="ispace" width="318" height="500" alt="With an old-fashioned courtesy ... he offered her his
+arm" title="" />
+<span class="caption">With an old-fashioned courtesy ... he offered her his
+arm</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I thought that you were to be late,&#8221; he said, looking down at her
+with a shade of anxiety in his clear, grave face. &#8220;Was not this Lady
+Truton&#8217;s night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She nodded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; don&#8217;t talk to me&mdash;just yet. I am upset! Come in and sit with
+me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated. With a scrupulous delicacy, which sometimes almost
+irritated her, he had invariably refrained from paying her visits so
+late as this. But to-night was different! Her fingers were clasping
+his arm,&mdash;and she was in trouble. He suffered himself to be led up the
+stairs into her little room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Some coffee for two,&#8221; she told her woman. &#8220;You can go to bed then! I
+shall not want you again!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She threw herself into an empty chair, and loosened the silk ribbons
+of her opera cloak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mind opening the window?&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>she asked. &#8220;It is stifling in here.
+I can scarcely breathe!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He threw it wide open, and wheeled her chair up to it. The glare from
+the West End lit up the dark sky. The silence of the little room and
+the empty street below, seemed deepened by that faint, far-away roar
+from the pandemonium of pleasure. A light from the opposite side of
+the way,&mdash;or was it the rising moon behind the dark houses?&mdash;gleamed
+upon her white throat, and in her soft, dim eyes. She lay quite still,
+looking into vacancy. Her hand hung over the side of the chair nearest
+to him. Half unconsciously he took it up and stroked it soothingly.
+The tears gushed from her eyes. At his kindly touch her over-wrought
+feelings gave way. Her fingers closed spasmodically upon his.</p>
+
+<p>He said nothing. The time had passed when words were necessary between
+them. They were near enough to one another now <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>to understand the
+value of silence. But those few moments seemed to him for ever like a
+landmark in his life. A new relation was born between them in the
+passionate intensity of that deep quietness.</p>
+
+<p>He watched her bosom cease to heave, and the dimness pass from her
+eyes. Then he took up the box which he had been carrying, and emptied
+the pink-and-white blossoms into her lap. She stooped down and buried
+her face in them. Their faint, delicate perfume seemed to fill the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are very good,&#8221; she said abruptly. &#8220;Thank God that there is some
+one who is good to me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The coffee was in the room, and Berenice threw off her cloak and
+brought it to him. A fit of restlessness seemed to have followed upon
+her moment of weakness. She began walking with quick, uneven steps up
+and down the room. Matravers forgot to drink his coffee. He was
+watching <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>her with a curious sense of emotional excitement. The little
+chamber was full of half lights and shadows, and there seemed to him
+something almost unearthly about this woman with her soft grey gown
+and marble face. He was stirred by her presence in a new way. The
+rustle of her silken skirts as she swept in and out of the dim light,
+the delicate whiteness of her arms and throat, the flashing of a
+single diamond in her dark coiled hair,&mdash;these seemed trivial things
+enough, yet they were yielding him a new and mysterious pleasure. For
+the first time his sense of her beauty was fully aroused. Every now
+and then he caught faint glimpses of her face. It was like the face of
+a new woman to him. There was some tender and wonderful change there,
+which he could not understand, and yet which seemed to strike some
+responsive chord in his own emotions. Instinctively he felt that she
+was passing into a new phase of life. Surely, he, too, was walking hand and hand with
+her through the shadows! The touch of her interlaced fingers had
+burned his flesh.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111-2]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;">
+<img src="images/i109.jpg" class="ispace" width="325" height="500" alt="There seemed to him something almost unearthly about
+this woman with her soft grey gown and marble face" title="" />
+<span class="caption">There seemed to him something almost unearthly about
+this woman with her soft grey gown and marble face</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>Presently she came and sat down beside him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forgive me!&#8221; she murmured. &#8220;It does me so much good to have you here.
+I am very foolish!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me about it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She frowned very slightly, and looked away at a star.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is nothing! It is beginning to seem less than nothing! I have
+written a book for women, for the sake of women, because my heart
+ached for their sufferings, and because I too have felt the fire. I
+wonder whether it was really an evil book,&#8221; she added, still looking
+away from him at that single star in the dark sky. &#8220;People say so! The
+newspapers say so! Yet it was a true book! I wrote it from my soul,&mdash;I
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>wrote it with my own blood. I have not been a good woman, but I have
+been a pure woman! When I wrote it, I was lonely; I have always been
+lonely. But I thought, now I shall know what it is like to have
+friends. Many women will understand that I have suffered in doing this
+thing for their sakes! For it was my own life which I lay bare, my own
+life, my own sufferings, my own agony! I thought, they will come to me
+and they will thank me for it! I shall have sympathy and I shall have
+friends.... And now my book is written, and I am wiser. I know now
+that woman does not want her freedom! Though they drag her down into
+hell, the chains of her slavery have grown around her heart and have
+become precious to her! Tell me, are those pure women who willingly
+give their souls and their bodies in marriage to men who have sinned
+and who will sin again? They do it without disguise, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>without shame,
+for position, or for freedom, or for money! yet there are other women
+whom they call courtesans, and from whose touch they snatch away the
+hem of their skirts in horror! Oh, it is terrible! There can be no
+corruption worse than this in hell!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yours has been the common disappointment of all reformers,&#8221; he said
+gravely. &#8220;Gratitude is the rarest tribute the world ever offers to
+those who have laboured to cleanse it. When you are a little older you
+will have learnt your lesson. But it is always very hard to learn....
+Tell me about to-night!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She raised her head a little. A faint spot of colour stained her
+cheek.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There was one woman who praised me, who came to see me, and sent me
+cards to go to her house. To-night I went. Foolishly I had hoped a
+good deal from it! I did not like Lady Truton herself, but I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>hoped
+that I should meet other women there who would be different! It was a
+new experience to me to be going amongst my own sex. I was like a
+child going to her first party. I was quite excited, almost nervous. I
+had a little dream,&mdash;there would be some women there&mdash;one would be
+enough&mdash;with whom I might be friends, and it would make life very
+different to me to have even one woman friend. But they were all
+horrid. They were vulgar, and one woman, she took me on one side and
+praised my book. She agreed, she said, with every word in it! She had
+found out that her husband had a mistress,&mdash;some chorus-girl,&mdash;and she
+was repaying him in his own coin. She too had a lover&mdash;and for every
+infidelity of his she was repaying him in this manner. She dared to
+assume that I&mdash;I should approve of her conduct; she asked me to go and
+see her! My God! it was hideous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p><p>Matravers laid his hand upon hers, and leaned forward in his chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lady Truton&#8217;s was the very worst house you could have gone to,&#8221; he
+said gently. &#8220;You must not be too discouraged all at once. The women
+of her set, thank God, are not in the least typical Englishwomen. They
+are fast and silly,&mdash;a few, I am afraid, worse. They make use of the
+free discussions in these days of the relations between our sexes, to
+excuse grotesque extravagances in dress and habits which society ought
+never to pardon. Do not let their judgments or their
+misinterpretations trouble you! You are as far above them, Berenice,
+as that little star is from us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not pretend to be anything but a woman,&#8221; she said, bending her
+head, &#8220;and to stand alone always is very hard.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is very hard for a man! It must be very much harder for a woman.
+But, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>Berenice, you would not call yourself absolutely friendless!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She raised her head for a moment. Her dark eyes were wonderfully soft.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is there that cares?&#8221; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>He touched the tips of her fingers. Her soft, warm hand yielded itself
+readily, and slid into his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do I count for no one?&#8221; he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence in the little room. The yellow glare had faded
+from the sky, and a night wind was blowing softly in. A clock in the
+distance struck one. Together they sat and gazed out upon the
+darkness. Looking more than once into her pale face, Matravers
+realized again that wonderful change. His own emotions were curiously
+disturbed. He, himself, so remarkable through all his life for a
+changeless serenity of purpose, and a fixed masterly control over his
+whole environment, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>felt himself suddenly like a rudderless ship at
+the mercy of a great unknown sea. A sense of drifting was upon him.
+They were both drifting. Surely this little room, with its dim light
+and shadows and its faint odour of roses, had become a hotbed of
+tragedy. He had imagined that death itself was something like this,&mdash;a
+dissolution of all fixed purposes. And with it all, this remnant of
+life, if it were but a remnant, seemed suddenly to be flowing through
+his veins with all the rich, surpassing sweetness of some exquisite
+symphony!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You count for a great deal,&#8221; she said. &#8220;If you had not come to me, I
+think that I must have died.... If I were to lose you ... I think that
+I should die.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She threw herself back in her chair with a gesture of complete
+abandonment. Her arms hung loosely down over its sides. The moonlight,
+which had been gradually gathering strength, shone softly upon her
+pale <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>face and on the soft, lustrous pearls at her throat. Her dark,
+wet eyes seemed touched with smouldering fire. She looked at him. He
+sprang to his feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. His
+forehead was hot and dry, and his hands were trembling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is not any reason,&#8221; he said, halting suddenly in front of her,
+&#8220;why we should lose one another. I was coming to-morrow morning to
+make a proposition to you. If you accept it, we shall be forced to see
+a great deal of one another.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You perhaps did not know that I had any ambitions as a dramatic
+author. Yet my first serious work after I left Oxford was a play; I
+took it up yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have really written a play,&#8221; she murmured, &#8220;and you never told
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least I am telling you now,&#8221; he reminded her; &#8220;I am telling you
+before any one, because I want your help.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You want what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want you to help me by taking the part of my heroine. I read it
+yesterday by appointment to Fergusson. He accepted it at once on the
+most liberal terms. I told him there was one condition&mdash;that the part
+of my heroine must be offered to you, if you would accept it. There
+was a little difficulty, as, of course, Miss Robinson is a fixture at
+the Pall Mall. However, Fergusson saw you last night from the back of
+the dress circle, and this morning he has agreed. It only remains for
+you to read, or allow me to read to you the play.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean to say that you are offering me the principal part in a
+play of yours&mdash;at the Pall Mall&mdash;with Fergusson?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I think that is about what it comes to,&#8221; he assented.</p>
+
+<p>She rose to her feet and took his hands in hers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are too good&mdash;much too good to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>me,&#8221; she said softly. &#8220;I dare not
+take it; I am not strong enough.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will be you, or no one,&#8221; he said decidedly. &#8220;But first I am going
+to read you the play. If I may, I shall bring it to you to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to ask you something,&#8221; she said abruptly. &#8220;You must answer me
+faithfully. You are doing this, you are making me this offer because
+you think that you owe me something. It is a sort of reparation for
+your attack upon Herdrine. I want to know if it is that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can assure you,&#8221; he said earnestly, &#8220;that I am not nearly so
+conscientious. I wrote the play solely as a literary work. I had no
+thought of having it produced, of offering it to anybody. Then I saw
+you at the New Theatre; I think that you inspired me with a sort of
+dramatic excitement. I went home and read my play. Bathilde seemed to
+me then to speak with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>your tongue, to look at me with your eyes, to
+be clothed from her soul outwards with your personality. In the
+morning I wrote to Fergusson.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to believe you,&#8221; she said softly; &#8220;but it seems so strange. I
+am no actress like Adelaide Robinson; I am afraid that if I accept
+your offer, I may hurt the play. She is popular, and I am unknown.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She has talent,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and experience; you have genius, which is
+far above either. I am not leaving you any choice at all. To-morrow I
+shall bring the play.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You may at least do that,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;It will be a pleasure to
+hear it read. Come to luncheon, and we will have a long afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers took his leave with a sense of relief. Their farewell had
+been cordial enough, but unemotional. Yet even he, ignorant of women
+and their ways as he was, was conscious that they had entered
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>together upon a new phase of their knowledge of each other. The touch
+of their fingers, the few conventional words which passed between
+them, as she leaned over the staircase watching him descend, seemed to
+him to savour somehow of mockery. He passed out from her presence into
+the cool, soft night, dazed, not a little bewildered at this new
+strong sense of living, which had set his pulses beating to music and
+sent his blood rushing through his body with a new sweetness. Yet with
+it all he was distressed and unhappy. He was confronted with the one
+great influence of life against which he had deliberately set his
+face.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>atravers began to find himself, for the first time in his life,
+seriously attracted by a woman. He realized it in some measure as he
+walked homeward in the early morning, after this last interview with
+Berenice; he knew it for an absolute fact on the following evening as
+he walked through the crowded streets back to his rooms with the
+manuscript of the play which he had been reading to her in his pocket.
+He felt himself moving in what was to some extent an unreal
+atmosphere. His senses were tingling with the excitement of the last
+few hours&mdash;for the first time he knew the full fascination of a
+woman&#8217;s intellectual sympathy. He had gone to his task wholly devoid
+of any pleasurable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>anticipation. It spoke much for the woman&#8217;s tact
+that before he had read half a dozen pages he was not only completely
+at his ease, but was experiencing a new and very pleasurable
+sensation. The memory of it was with him now&mdash;he had no mind to
+disturb it by any vague alarm as to the future of their relationship.</p>
+
+<p>In Piccadilly he met Fergusson, who turned and walked with him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have been to your rooms, Matravers,&#8221; the actor said. &#8220;I want to
+know whether you have arranged with your friend?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have just left her,&#8221; Matravers replied. &#8220;She appears to like the
+play, and has consented to play Bathilde.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The actor smiled. Was Matravers really so simple, or did he imagine
+that an actress whose name was as yet unknown would hesitate to play
+with him at the Pall Mall Theatre. Yet he himself had been hoping that
+there might be some difficulty,&mdash;he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>had a &#8220;Bathilde&#8221; of his own who
+would take a great deal of pacifying. The thing was settled now
+however.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like,&#8221; he said, &#8220;to make her acquaintance at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have thought of that,&#8221; Matravers said. &#8220;Will you lunch with me at
+my rooms on Sunday and meet her? that is, of course, if she is able to
+come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall be delighted,&#8221; Fergusson answered. &#8220;About two, I suppose?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers assented, and the two men parted. The actor, with a little
+shrug of his shoulders and the air of a man who has an unpleasant task
+before him, turned southwards to interview the lady who certainly had
+the first claim to play &#8220;Bathilde.&#8221; He found her at home and anxiously
+expecting him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you had not come to-day,&#8221; she remarked, &#8220;I should have sent for
+you. I want you to contradict that rubbish.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p><p>She threw the theatrical paper across at him, and watched him, whilst
+he read the paragraph to which she had pointed. He laid the paper
+down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I cannot altogether contradict it,&#8221; he said. &#8220;There is some truth in
+what the man writes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lady was getting angry. She came over to Fergusson and stood by
+his side.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean to tell me,&#8221; she exclaimed, &#8220;that you have accepted a play
+for immediate production which I have not even seen, and in which the
+principal part is to be given to one of those crackpots down at the
+New Theatre, an amateur, an outsider&mdash;a woman no one ever heard of
+before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t exactly say that,&#8221; he interposed calmly. &#8220;I see you have
+her novel on your table there, and she is a woman who has been talked
+about a good deal lately. But the facts of the case are these.
+Matravers brought me a play a few days <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>ago which almost took my
+breath away. It is by far the best thing of the sort I ever read. It
+is bound to be a great success. I can&#8217;t tell you any more now,&mdash;you
+shall read it yourself in a day or two. He was very easy to deal with
+as to terms, but he made one condition: that a certain part in
+it,&mdash;the principal one, I admit,&mdash;should be offered to this woman. I
+tried all I could to talk him out of it, but absolutely without
+effect. I was forced to consent. There is not a manager in London who
+would not jump at the play on any conditions. You know our position.
+&#8216;Her Majesty&#8217; is a failure, and I haven&#8217;t a single decent thing to put
+on. I simply dared not let such a chance as this go by.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life,&#8221; the lady exclaimed.
+&#8220;No, I&#8217;m not blaming you, Reggie! I don&#8217;t suppose you could have done
+anything else. But this woman, what a nerve she must have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>to imagine
+that she can do it! I see her horrid Norwegian play has come to utter
+grief at the New Theatre.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is a clever woman,&#8221; Fergusson remarked. &#8220;One can only hope for
+the best.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She flashed a quiet glance at him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know her, then,&mdash;you have been to see her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not yet,&#8221; Fergusson answered. &#8220;I am going to meet her to-morrow.
+Matravers has asked me to lunch.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me about Matravers,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid I do not know much. He is a very distinguished literary
+man, but his work has generally been critical or philosophical,&mdash;every
+one will be surprised to hear that he has written a play. You will
+find that there will be quite a stir about it. The reason why we have
+no plays nowadays which can possibly be classed as literature, is
+because the wrong class of man is writing for the stage. Smith and
+Francis <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>and all these men have fine dramatic instincts, but they are
+not scholars. Their dialogue is mostly beneath contempt; there is a
+dash of conventionality in their best work. Now, Matravers is a writer
+of an altogether different type.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks,&#8221; she interrupted, &#8220;but I don&#8217;t want a homily. I am only
+curious about the man himself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fergusson pulled himself up a little annoyed. He had begun to talk
+about a subject of peculiar interest to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, the man himself is rather an interesting personality,&#8221; he
+declared. &#8220;He is a recluse, a dilettante, and a very brilliant man of
+letters.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to know,&#8221; the lady said impatiently, &#8220;whether he is married.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Married! certainly not,&#8221; Fergusson assured her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well, then, I am going there to luncheon with you to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>Fergusson looked blank.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, my dear girl,&#8221; he protested, &#8220;how on earth&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be foolish, Reggie,&#8221; she said calmly. &#8220;It is perfectly natural
+for me to go! I have been your principal actress for several seasons.
+I suppose if there is a second woman&#8217;s part in the piece, it will be
+mine, if I choose to take it. You must write and ask Matravers for
+permission to bring me. You can mention my desire to meet the new
+actress if you like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fergusson took up his hat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Matravers is not the sort of man one feels like taking a liberty
+with,&#8221; he said. &#8220;But I&#8217;ll try him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can let me know to-night at the theatre,&#8221; she directed.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">N</span>othing short of a miracle could have made Matravers&#8217; luncheon party a
+complete success; yet, so far as Berenice was concerned, it could
+scarcely be looked upon in any other light. Her demeanour towards
+Adelaide Robinson and Fergusson was such as to give absolutely no
+opportunity for anything disagreeable! She frankly admitted both her
+inexperience and her ignorance. Yet, before they left, both Fergusson
+and his companion began to understand Matravers&#8217; confidence in her.
+There was something almost magnetically attractive about her
+personality.</p>
+
+<p>The luncheon was very much what one who knew him would have expected
+from Matravers&mdash;simple, yet served with exceeding <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>elegance. The
+fruit, the flowers, and the wine had been his own care; and the table
+had very much the appearance of having been bodily transported from
+the palace of a noble of some southern land. After the meal was over,
+they sat out upon the shaded balcony and sipped their coffee and
+liqueurs,&mdash;Fergusson and Berenice wrapt in the discussion of many
+details of the work which lay before them, whilst Matravers, with an
+effort which he carefully concealed, talked continually with Adelaide
+Robinson.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it true,&#8221; she asked him, &#8220;that you did not intend your play for
+the stage&mdash;that you wrote it from a literary point of view only?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In a sense, that is quite true,&#8221; he admitted. &#8220;I wrote it without any
+definite idea of offering it to any London manager. My doing so was
+really only an impulse.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135-6]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 331px;">
+<img src="images/i133.jpg" class="ispace" width="331" height="500" alt="Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense of
+disturbance" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense of
+disturbance</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;If Mr. Fergusson is right&mdash;and he is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>a pretty good judge&mdash;you won&#8217;t regret having done so,&#8221; she remarked.
+&#8220;He thinks it is going to have a big run.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He may be right,&#8221; Matravers answered. &#8220;For all our sakes, I hope so!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will be a magnificent opportunity for your friend.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers looked over towards Berenice. She was talking eagerly to
+Fergusson, whose dark, handsome head was very close to hers, and in
+whose eyes was already evident his growing admiration. Matravers was
+suddenly conscious of an odd sense of disturbance. He was grateful to
+Adelaide Robinson for her intervention. She had risen to her feet, and
+glanced downwards at the little brougham drawn up below.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am so sorry to go,&#8221; she said; &#8220;but I positively must make some
+calls this afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fergusson rose also, with obvious regret, and they left together.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t forget,&#8221; he called back from the door; &#8220;we read our parts
+to-morrow, and rehearsals begin on Thursday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have it all down,&#8221; Berenice answered. &#8220;I will do my best to be
+ready for Thursday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Berenice remained standing, looking thoughtfully after the little
+brougham, which was being driven down Piccadilly.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers came back to her, and laid his hand gently upon her arm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must not think of going yet,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I want you to stay and
+have tea with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like to,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;I seem to have so much to say to
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He piled her chair with cushions and drew it back into the shade. Then
+he lit a cigarette, and sat down by her side.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you must think that I am very ungrateful,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I
+have scarcely said &#8216;thank you&#8217; yet, have I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You will please me best by never saying it,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I only
+hope that it will be a step you will never regret.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How could I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her steadily, a certain grave concentration of thought
+manifest in his dark eyes. Berenice was looking her best that
+afternoon. She was certainly a very beautiful and a very
+distinguished-looking woman. Her eyes met his frankly; her lips were
+curved in a faintly tender smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I hardly know,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You are going to be a popular
+actress. Henceforth the stage will have claims upon you! It will
+become your career.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have plenty of confidence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have absolute confidence in you,&#8221; he declared, &#8220;and Fergusson is
+equally confident about the play; chance has given you this
+opportunity&mdash;the result is beyond question! Yet I confess that I have
+a presentiment. If the manuscript of &#8216;The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>Heart of the People&#8217; were
+in my hands at this moment, I think that I would tear it into little
+pieces, and watch them flutter down on to the pavement there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not understand you,&#8221; she said softly. &#8220;You say that you have no
+doubt&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is because I have no doubt&mdash;it is because I know that it will make
+you a popular and a famous actress. You will gain this. I wonder what
+you will lose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She moved restlessly on her chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should I lose anything?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is only a presentiment,&#8221; he reminded her. &#8220;I pray that you may not
+lose anything. Yet you are coming under a very fascinating influence.
+It is your personality I am afraid of. You are going to belong
+definitely to a profession which is at once the most catholic and the
+most narrowing in the world. I believe that you are strong enough to
+stand alone, to remain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>yourself. I pray that it may be so, and yet,
+there is just the shadow of the presentiment. Perhaps it is foolish.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Their chairs were close together; he suddenly felt the perfume of her
+hair and the touch of her fingers upon his hand. Her face was quite
+close to his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least,&#8221; she murmured, &#8220;I pray that I may never lose your
+friendship.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If only I could ensure you as confidently the fulfilment of all your
+desires,&#8221; he answered, &#8220;you would be a very happy woman. I am too
+lonely a man, Berenice, to part with any of my few joys. Whether you
+change or no, you must never change towards me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was silent. There were no signs left of the brilliant levity which
+had made their little luncheon pass off so successfully. She sat with
+her head resting upon her elbow, gazing steadily up at the little
+white clouds which floated over the housetops. A <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>tea equipage was
+brought out and deftly arranged between them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To-day,&#8221; Matravers said, &#8220;I am going to have the luxury of having my
+tea made for me. Please come back from dreamland and realize the
+Englishman&#8217;s idyll of domesticity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned in her chair, and smiled upon him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can do it,&#8221; she assured him. &#8220;I believe you doubt my ability, but
+you need not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They talked lightly for some time&mdash;an art which Matravers found
+himself to be acquiring with wonderful facility. Then there was a
+pause. When she spoke again, it was in an altogether different tone.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143-4]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 326px;">
+<img src="images/i141.jpg" class="ispace" width="326" height="500" alt="&#8220;I can do it,&#8221; she assured him. &#8220;I believe you doubt my
+ability, but you need not&#8221;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&#8220;I can do it,&#8221; she assured him. &#8220;I believe you doubt my
+ability, but you need not&#8221;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want you to answer me,&#8221; she said, &#8220;it is not too late. Shall I give
+up Bathilde&mdash;and the stage? Listen! You do not know anything of my
+circumstances. I am not dependent upon either the stage <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>or my writing for a living. I ask you for your honest advice. Shall I
+give it up?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are placing a very heavy responsibility upon my shoulders,&#8221; he
+answered her thoughtfully. &#8220;Yet I will try to answer you honestly. I
+should be happier if I could advise you to give it up! But I cannot!
+You have the gift&mdash;you must use it. The obligation of self-development
+is heaviest upon the shoulders of those whose foreheads Nature&#8217;s
+twin-sister has touched with fire! I would it were any other gift,
+Berenice; but that is only a personal feeling. No! you must follow out
+your destiny. You have an opportunity of occupying a unique and
+marvellous position. You can create a new ideal. Only be true always
+to yourself. Be very jealous indeed of absorbing any of the modes of
+thought and life which will spring up everywhere around you in the new
+world. Remember it is the old ideals which are the sweetest and the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>truest.... Forgive me, please! I am talking like a pedagogue.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are talking as I like to be talked to,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;Yet you
+need not fear that my head will be turned, even if the success should
+come. You forget that I am almost an old woman. The religion of my
+life has long been conceived and fashioned.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her with a curious smile. If thirty seemed old to her,
+what must she think of him?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder,&#8221; he said simply, &#8220;if you would think me impertinent if I
+were to ask you to tell me more about yourself. How is it that you are
+altogether alone in the world?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The words had scarcely left his lips before he would have given much
+to have recalled them. He saw her start, flinch back as though she had
+been struck, and a grey pallor spread itself over her face, almost to
+the lips. She looked at him fixedly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>for several moments without
+speaking.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One day,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I will tell you all that. You shall know
+everything. But not now; not yet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whenever you will,&#8221; he answered, ignoring her evident agitation.
+&#8220;Come! what do you say to a walk down through the Park? To-day is a
+holiday for me&mdash;a day to be marked with a white stone. I have
+registered an oath that I will not even look at a pen. Will you not
+help me to keep it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By all means,&#8221; she answered blithely. &#8220;I will take you home with me,
+and keep you there till the hour of temptation has passed. To-day is
+to be my last day of idleness! I too have need of a white stone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We will place them,&#8221; he said, &#8220;side by side.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>atravers&#8217; luncheon party marked the termination for some time of any
+confidential intercourse between Berenice and himself. Every moment of
+her time was claimed by Fergusson, who, in his anxiety to produce a
+play from which he hoped so much before the wane of the season, gave
+no one any rest, and worked himself almost into a fever. There were
+two full rehearsals a day, and many private ones at her rooms.
+Matravers calling there now and then found Fergusson always in
+possession, and by degrees gave it up in despair. He had a horror of
+interfering in any way, even of being asked for his advice concerning
+the practical reproduction of his work. Fergusson&#8217;s invitations
+to the rehearsals at the theatre he rejected absolutely. As the time
+grew shorter, Berenice became pale and almost haggard with the
+unceasing work which Fergusson&#8217;s anxiety imposed upon her. One night
+she sent for Matravers, and hastening to her rooms, he found her for
+the first time alone.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149-50]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 320px;">
+<img src="images/i147.jpg" class="ispace" width="320" height="500" alt="&#8220;Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad?&#8221;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&#8220;Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad?&#8221;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>&#8220;I have sent Mr. Fergusson home,&#8221; she exclaimed, welcoming him with
+outstretched hands, but making no effort to rise from her easy chair.
+&#8220;Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad? I want you to
+interfere.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What can I do?&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything to bring him to reason! He is over-rehearsing! Every line,
+every sentence, every gesture, he makes the subject of the most
+exhaustive deliberation. He will have nothing spontaneous; it is
+positively stifling. A few more days of it and my reason will go! He
+is a great actor, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>but he does not seem to understand that to reduce
+everything to mathematical proportions is to court failure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will go and see him,&#8221; Matravers said. &#8220;You wish for no more
+rehearsals, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not want to see his face again before the night of the
+performance,&#8221; she declared vehemently. &#8220;I am perfect in my part. I
+have thought about it&mdash;dreamed about it. I have lived more as
+&#8216;Bathilde&#8217; than as myself for the last three weeks. Perhaps,&#8221; she
+continued more slowly, &#8220;you will not be satisfied. I scarcely dare to
+hope that you will be. Yet I have reached my limitations. The more I
+am made to rehearse now, the less natural I shall become.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will speak to Fergusson,&#8221; Matravers promised. &#8220;I will go and see
+him to-night. But so far as you are concerned, I have no fear; you
+will be the &#8216;Bathilde&#8217; of my heart and my brain. You cannot fail!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>She rose to her feet. &#8220;It is,&#8221; she said, &#8220;The desire of my life to
+make your &#8216;Bathilde&#8217; a creature of flesh and blood. If I fail, I will
+never act again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you fail,&#8221; he said, &#8220;the fault will be in my conception, not in
+your execution. But indeed we will not consider anything so
+improbable. Let us put the play behind us for a time and talk of
+something else! You must be weary of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. &#8220;Not that! never that! Just now it is my life,
+only it is the details which weary me, the eternal harping upon the
+mechanical side of it. Will you read to me for a little? and I will
+make you some coffee. You are not in a hurry, are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have come,&#8221; he said, &#8220;to stay with you until you send me away! I
+will read to you with pleasure. What will you have?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She handed him a little volume of poems; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>he glanced at the title and
+made a faint grimace. They were his own.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, he read for an hour, till the streets below grew silent,
+and his own voice, unaccustomed to such exercise, lost something of
+its usual clearness. Then he laid the volume down, and there was
+silence between them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have been thinking,&#8221; he said at last, &#8220;of a singular incident in
+connection with your performance at the New Theatre; it was brought
+into my mind just then. I meant to have mentioned it before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked up with only a slight show of interest. Those days at the
+theatre seemed to her now to be very far behind. There was nothing in
+connection with them which she cared to remember.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was the night of my first visit there,&#8221; he continued. &#8220;There is a
+terrible scene at the end of the second act between Herdrine and her
+husband&mdash;you recollect it, of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>course. Just as you finished your
+denunciation, I distinctly heard a curious cry from the back of the
+house. It was a greater tribute to your acting than the applause, for
+it was genuine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The piece was gloomy enough,&#8221; she remarked, &#8220;to have dissolved the
+house in tears.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least,&#8221; he said, &#8220;it wrung the heart of one man. For I have not
+told you all. I was interested enough to climb up into the
+amphitheatre. The man sat there alone amongst a wilderness of empty
+seats. He was the picture of abject misery. I could scarcely see his
+face, but his attitude was convincing. It was not a thing of chance
+either. I made some remark about him to an attendant, and he told me
+that night after night that man had occupied the same seat, always
+following every line of the play with the same mournful concentration,
+never speaking to any one, never moving <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>from his seat from the
+beginning of the play to the end.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He must have been,&#8221; she declared, &#8220;a person of singularly morbid
+taste. When I think of it now I shiver. I would not play Herdrine
+again for worlds.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very glad to hear you say so,&#8221; he said, smiling. &#8220;Do you know
+that to me the most interesting feature of the play was its obvious
+effect upon this man. Its extreme pessimism is too much paraded, is
+laid on altogether with too thick a hand to ring true. The thing is an
+involved nightmare. One feels that as a work of art it is never
+convincing, yet underneath it all there must be something human, for
+it found its way into the heart of one man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is possible,&#8221; she remarked, &#8220;that he was mad. The man who found it
+sufficiently amusing to come to the theatre night after night could
+scarcely have been in full possession of his senses.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;That is possible,&#8221; he admitted; &#8220;but I do not believe it. The man&#8217;s
+face was sad enough, but it was not the face of a madman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You did see his face, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On the last night of the play,&#8221; he continued. &#8220;You remember you were
+going on to Lady Truton&#8217;s, so I did not come behind. But I had a fancy
+to see you for a moment, and I came round into Pitt Street just as you
+were driving off. On the other side of the way this man was standing
+watching you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him with a suddenly kindled interest&mdash;or was it
+fear?&mdash;in her dark eyes. The colour had left her cheeks; she was white
+to the lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Watching me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. As your carriage drove off he stood watching it. I don&#8217;t know
+what prompted me, but I crossed the street to speak to him. He seemed
+such a lone, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>mournful figure standing there half dazed, shabby,
+muttering softly to himself. But when he saw me coming, he gave one
+half-frightened look at me and ran, literally ran down the street on
+to the Strand. I could not follow,&mdash;the police would have stopped him.
+So he disappeared.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You saw his face. What was he like?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Berenice had leaned right back amongst the yielding cushions of her
+divan, and he could scarcely see her face. Yet her voice sounded to
+him strange and forced. He looked at her in some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I had a glimpse of it. It was an ordinary face enough; in fact, it
+disappointed me a little. But the odd part of it was that it seemed
+vaguely familiar to me. I have seen it before, often. Yet, try as I
+will, I cannot recollect where, or under what circumstances.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At Oxford,&#8221; she suggested. &#8220;By the bye, what was your college?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;St. John&#8217;s. No, I do not think,&mdash;I hope that it was not at Oxford.
+Some day I shall think of it quite suddenly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Berenice rose from her chair with a sudden, tempestuous movement and
+stood before him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Listen!&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;Supposing I were to tell you that I knew or
+could guess who that man was&mdash;why he came! Oh, if I were to tell you
+that I were a fraud, <span style="white-space: nowrap;">that&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</span></p>
+
+<p>Matravers stopped her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg,&#8221; he said, &#8220;that you will tell me nothing!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a short silence. Berenice seemed on the point of breaking
+down. She was nervously lacing and interlacing her fingers. Her breath
+was coming spasmodically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice,&#8221; he said softly, &#8220;you are over-wrought; you are not quite
+yourself to-night. Do not tell me anything. Indeed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>there is no need
+for me to know; just as you are I am content with you, and proud to be
+your friend.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sat down again. He could not see her face, but he fancied that she
+was weeping. He himself found his customary serenity seriously
+disturbed. Perhaps for the first time in his life he found himself not
+wholly the master of his emotions. The atmosphere of the little room,
+the perfume of the flowers, the soft beauty of the woman herself,
+whose breath fell almost upon his cheek, affected him as nothing of
+the sort had ever done before. He rose abruptly to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will be so much better alone,&#8221; he said, taking her fingers and
+smoothing them softly in his for a moment. &#8220;I am going away now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Good-by!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At the threshold he paused. She had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>not looked up at him. She was
+still sitting there with bowed head and hidden face. He closed the
+door softly, and went out.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he enthusiasm with which Matravers&#8217; play had been received on the
+night of its first appearance was, if anything, exceeded on the night
+before the temporary closing of the theatre for the usual summer
+vacation. The success of the play itself had never been for a moment
+doubtful. For once the critics, the general press, and the public,
+were in entire and happy agreement. The first night had witnessed an
+extraordinary scene. An audience as brilliant as any which could have
+been brought together in the first city in the world, had flatly
+refused to leave the theatre until Matravers himself, reluctant and
+ill-pleased, had joined Fergusson and Berenice before the footlights;
+and now on the eve of its temporary <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>withdrawal something of the same
+sort was threatened again, and Matravers only escaped by standing up
+in the front of his box, and bowing his acknowledgments to the
+delighted audience.</p>
+
+<p>It was a well-deserved success, for certainly as a play it was a
+brilliant exception to anything which had lately been produced upon
+the English stage. The worn-out methods and motives of most living
+playwrights were rigorously avoided; everything about it was fresh and
+spontaneous. Its sentiment was relieved by the most delicate vein of
+humour. It was everywhere tender and human. The dialogue, to which
+Matravers had devoted his usual fastidious care, was polished and
+sprightly; there was not anywhere a single dull or unmusical line. It
+was a classic, the critics declared,&mdash;the first literary play by a
+living author which London had witnessed for many years. The bookings
+for months ahead <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>were altogether phenomenal. Fergusson saw a certain
+fortune within his hands, and Matravers, sharing also in the golden
+harvest, found another and a still greater cause for satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>For Berenice had justified his selection. The same night, as the
+greatest of critics, speaking through the columns of the principal
+daily paper, had said, which had presented to them a new writer for
+the stage, had given them also a new actress. She had surprised
+Matravers, she had amazed Fergusson, who found himself compelled to
+look closely to his own laurels. In short, she was a success,
+descended, if not from the clouds, at least from the mists of
+Isteinism, but accorded, without demur or hesitation, a foremost place
+amongst the few accepted actresses. Her future and his position were
+absolutely secured, and her reputation, as Matravers was happy to
+think, was made, not as the portrayer of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>a sickly and unnatural type
+of diseased womanhood, but as the woman of his own creation, a very
+sweet and pure English lady.</p>
+
+<p>The house emptied at last, and Matravers made his way behind, where
+many of Fergusson&#8217;s friends had gathered together, and where
+congratulations were the order of the day. A species of informal
+reception was going on, champagne cup and sandwiches were being handed
+around and a general air of extreme good humour pervaded the place.
+Berenice was the centre of a group of men amongst whom Matravers was
+annoyed to see Thorndyke. If he could have withdrawn unseen, he would
+have done so; but already he was surrounded. A little stir at the
+entrance attracted his attention. He turned round and found Fergusson
+presenting him to a royal personage, who was graciously pleased,
+however, to remember a former <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>meeting, and waved away the words of
+introduction.</p>
+
+<p>It chanced, without any design on his part, that Berenice and he left
+almost at the same time, and met near the stage door. She dropped
+Fergusson&#8217;s arm&mdash;he had left his guests to see her to her
+carriage&mdash;and motioned to Matravers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Won&#8217;t you see me home?&#8221; she asked quietly. &#8220;I have sent my maid on,
+she was so tired, and I am all alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall be very pleased,&#8221; Matravers answered. &#8220;May I come in with
+you?&#8221; Fergusson lingered for a moment or two at the carriage door, and
+then they drove off. Berenice, with a little sigh, leaned back amongst
+the cushions.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are very tired, I am afraid,&#8221; he said gently. &#8220;The last few weeks
+must have been a terrible strain upon you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They have been in many ways,&#8221; she said, &#8220;the happiest of my life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I am glad of that; yet it is quite time that you had a rest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer him,&mdash;she did not speak again until the carriage
+drew up before her house. He handed her out, and opened the door with
+the latch-key which she passed over to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good night,&#8221; he said, holding out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must please come in for a little time,&#8221; she begged. &#8220;I have seen
+you scarcely at all lately. You have not even told me about your
+travels.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated for a moment, then seeing the shade upon her face, he
+stepped forward briskly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like to come very much,&#8221; he said, &#8220;only you must be sure to
+send me away if I stay too long. You are tired already.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am tired,&#8221; she admitted, leading the way upstairs, &#8220;only it will
+rest me much <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>more to have you talk to me than to go to bed. Mine is
+scarcely a physical fatigue. My nerves are all quivering. I could not
+sleep! Tell me where you have been.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers took the seat to which she motioned him, and obeyed her,
+watching, whilst she stooped down over the fire and poured water into
+a brazen coffee-pot, and took another cup and saucer from a quaint
+little cupboard. She made the coffee carefully and well, and
+Matravers, as he lit his cigarette, found himself wondering at this
+new and very natural note of domesticity in her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169-70]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 326px;">
+<img src="images/i167.jpg" class="ispace" width="326" height="500" alt="Matravers found himself wondering at this new and very
+natural note of domesticity in her" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Matravers found himself wondering at this new and very
+natural note of domesticity in her</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>All the time he was talking, telling her in a few chosen sentences of
+the little tour for which she really was responsible&mdash;of the
+pink-and-white apple-blossoms of Brittany, of the peasants in their
+quaint and picturesque garb, and of the old time-worn churches, the
+exploration of which had constituted his chief interest. She listened
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>eagerly; every word of his description, so vivid and picturesque, was
+interesting. When he had finished, he looked at her thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You too,&#8221; he said, &#8220;need a change! You have worked very hard, and you
+will need all your strength for the autumn season.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am going away,&#8221; she said, &#8220;very soon. Perhaps to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her surprised.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So soon!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not? What is there to keep me? The theatre is closed. London is
+positively stifling. I am longing for some fresh air.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was silent for a moment or two. It was so natural that she should
+go, and yet in a sense it was so unexpected. Looking steadily across
+at her as she leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair, her dark
+eyes watching his face, her attitude and expression alike convincing
+him in some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>subtle way of her satisfaction at his presence, he became
+suddenly conscious that the time which he had dimly anticipated with
+mingled fear and pleasure was now close at hand. His heart was beating
+with a quickened throb! He was aghast as he realized with quick,
+unerring truth the full effect of her words upon him. He drew a sharp
+little breath and walked to the open window, taking in a long draught
+of the fresh night air, sweetly scented with the perfume of the
+flowers in her boxes. Her voice came to him low and sweet from the
+interior of the room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is a little farmhouse in Devonshire which belongs to me. It is
+nothing but a tumbledown, grey stone place; but there are hills, and
+meadows, and country lanes, and the sea. I want to go there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Away from me!&#8221; he cried hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you come too?&#8221; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173-4]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 318px;">
+<img src="images/i171.jpg" class="ispace" width="318" height="500" alt="She did not answer him. But indeed there was no need" title="" />
+<span class="caption">She did not answer him. But indeed there was no need</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>He turned back into the room and looked
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>at her. She was standing up, coming towards him; a faint tinge of pink
+colour had stained her cheek&mdash;her bosom was heaving&mdash;her eyes were
+challenging his with a light which needed no borrowed brilliancy. Go
+with her! The man&#8217;s birthright, his passion, which through the long
+days of his austere life had lain dormant and undreamt of swept up
+from his heart. He held out his arms, and she came across the room to
+him with a sweet effort of self-yielding which yet waited for while it
+invited his embrace.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean it?&#8221; he murmured, &#8220;you are sure?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer him. But indeed there was no need.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>atravers never altogether forgot the sensations with which he awoke
+on the following morning. Notwithstanding a sleepless night, he rose
+and made a deliberate toilet with a wonderful buoyancy of spirits. The
+change which had come into his life was a thing so wonderful that he
+could scarcely realize it. Yet it was true! He had found the one
+experience in life which had hitherto been denied him, and he was
+amazed at the full extent of its power and sweetness. He felt himself
+to be many years younger! Old dreams and enthusiasms were suddenly
+revived. Once more his foot seemed to be poised upon the threshold of
+life! After all, he had not yet reached middle age! He was surprised
+to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>find himself so young. Marriage, although so far as regarded
+himself he had never imagined it a possible part of his life, was a
+condition against which he held no vows. Instinctively he felt that
+with Berenice, existence must inevitably become a fuller and a richer
+thing. The old days of philosophic quietude, of self-contained and
+cultured ease, had been in themselves very pleasant, but his was
+altogether too large a nature to become in any way the slave of habit.
+He looked forward to their abandonment without regret,&mdash;what was to
+come would be a continuation of the best part of them set to the
+sweetest music. He was conscious of holding himself differently as he
+entered his breakfast-room! Was it his fancy, or was the perfume of
+his little bowl of roses indeed more sweet this morning, the sunshine
+mellower and warmer, the flavour of his grapes more delicate? At any
+rate, he ate with a rare appetite, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>then whilst he smoked a
+cigarette afterwards, an idea came to him! The colour rose in his
+cheeks,&mdash;he felt like a boy. In a few minutes he was walking through
+the streets, smiling softly to himself as he thought of his strange
+errand.</p>
+
+<p>He found his way to a jeweller&#8217;s shop in Bond Street, and asked for
+pearls! They were the only jewels she cared for, and he made a
+deliberate and careful choice, wondering more than once, with a
+curious sort of shyness, whether the man who served him so gravely had
+any idea for what purpose he was buying the ring which had been the
+object of his first inquiry. He walked home with a little square box
+in his hand, and a much smaller one in his waistcoat pocket. On the
+pavement he had hesitated for a moment, but a glance at his watch had
+decided him. It was too early to go and see her yet. He walked back to
+his rooms! There was a little work which he must finish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>during the
+day. He had better attempt it at once.</p>
+
+<p>On his desk a letter was waiting for him. With a little tremor of
+pleasure he recognized her handwriting. He took it over to the tall
+sunny window, with a smile of anticipation upon his lips. He broke the
+seal and read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;My love, the daylight has come, and I am here where you
+left me, a very happy and yet a very unhappy woman! Is it
+indeed only a few hours since we parted? It all seems so
+different. The starlight and the night wind and the deep,
+sweet silence have gone! There is a great shaft of yellow
+light in the sky, and a bank of purple clouds where the sun
+has risen. Only the perfume of your roses lying crushed in
+my lap remains to prove to me that it has not all been a
+very sweet dream. Dearest, I have a secret to tell you,&mdash;the
+sorrow of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>my life. The time has come when you must, alas!
+know it. Last night it was enough for me to hear you tell me
+of your love! Nothing else in the world seemed worthy of a
+moment&#8217;s thought. But as you were leaving, you whispered
+something about our marriage. How sweetly it sounded,&mdash;and
+yet how bitterly! For, dear, I can never marry you. I am
+already married! I can see you start when you read this. You
+will blame me for having kept this secret from you. Very
+likely you will be angry with me. Only for the love of God
+pity me a little!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My story is so commonplace. I can tell it you in a few
+sentences. I married when I was seventeen at my father&#8217;s
+command, to save him from ruin. My husband, like my father,
+was a city merchant. I did not love him, but then I did not
+know what love was. My girlhood was a miserable one. My
+father belonged to the sect of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>Calvinists. Our home was
+hideous, and we were poor. Any release from it was welcome.
+John Drage, the man whom I married, had one good quality. He
+was generous. He bought me pictures, and books&mdash;things which
+I always craved. When my father&#8217;s command came, it did not
+seem a hardship. I married him. He was not so much a bad
+man, perhaps, as a weak one. We lived together for four
+years. I had one child, a little boy. Then I made a horrible
+discovery. My husband, whom I knew to be a drunkard, was
+hideously, debasingly false to me. The bald facts are these.
+I myself saw him drunk and helped into his carriage by one
+of those women whose trade it is to prey upon such
+creatures. This was not an exceptional occurrence. It was a
+habit.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There, I have told you. It would have hurt me less to have
+cut off my right hand. But there shall be no
+misunderstanding, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>nor any concealment between us. I left
+John Drage&#8217;s house that night. I took little Freddy with me;
+but when I refused to return, he stole the child away from
+me. Then I drew a sharp line at that point in my life. I had
+neither friend nor relation, but there was some money which
+had been left me soon after my marriage. I lived alone, and
+I began to write. That is my story. That is why I cannot
+marry you.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear, I want you, now that you know my very ugly history,
+to consider this. Whilst I was married, I was faithful to my
+husband; since then I have been faithful to my self-respect.
+But I have told myself always that if ever the time came
+when I should love, I would give myself to that man without
+hesitation and without shame. And that time has come, dear.
+You know that I love you! Your coming has been the great
+awakening joy of my life. Nothing that has gone before,
+nothing that the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>future may hold, can ever trouble me if we
+are together&mdash;you and I. I have suffered more than most
+women. But you will help me to forget it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I sit here with my face to the morning, and I seem to see a
+new life stretching out before me. Is not love a beautiful
+thing! I am not ambitious any more. I do not want any other
+object in life than to make you happy, and to be made happy
+by you. I began this letter with a heavy heart and with
+trembling fingers. But now I am quite calm and quite happy.
+I know that you will come to me. You see I have great faith
+in your love. Thank God for it!</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Berenice</span>.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>The letter fluttered from Matravers&#8217; fingers on to the floor. For
+several minutes he stood quite still, with his hand pressed to his
+heart. Then he calmly seated himself in a little easy chair which
+stood by his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>side, with its back to the window. He had a curious
+sense of being suddenly removed from his own personality,&mdash;his own
+self. He was another man gazing for the last time upon a very familiar
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>He sat there with his head resting upon the palm of his hand, looking
+with lingering eyes around his little room, even the simplest objects
+of which were in a sense typical of the life which he was abandoning.
+He knew that that life, if even its influence had not been wide, had
+been a studiously well-ordered and a seemly thing. A touch of that
+ultra &aelig;stheticism, which had given to all his writings a peculiar tone
+and individuality, had permeated also his ideas as to the simplest
+events of living. All that was commonplace and ugly and vicious had
+ever repelled him. He had lived not only a clean life, but a sweet
+one. His intense love for pure beauty, combined with a strong dash of
+epicureanism, had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>given a certain colour to its outward form as well
+as to its inward workings. Even the simplest objects by which he was
+surrounded were the best of their kind,&mdash;carefully and faithfully
+chosen. The smallest details of his daily life had always been
+governed by a love of comely and kindly order. Both in his
+conversation and in his writings he had studiously avoided all excess,
+all shadow of evil or unkindness. His opinions, well chosen and
+deliberate though they were, were flavoured with a delicate
+temperateness so distinctive of the man and of his habits. And now, it
+was all to come to an end! He was about to sever the cords, to cut
+himself adrift from all that had seemed precious, and dear, and
+beautiful to him. He, to whom even the women of the streets had been
+as sacred things, was about to become the established and the open
+lover of a woman whom he could never marry. To a certain extent it was
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>like moral shipwreck to him. Yet he loved her! He was sure of that.
+He had called himself in the past, as indeed he had every right to,
+something of a philosopher; but he had never tried to harden within
+himself the human leaven which had kept him, in sympathy and
+kindliness, always in close touch with his fellows. And this was its
+fruit! To him of all men there had come this....</p>
+
+<p>Soon he found himself in the street, on his way to her. Such a letter
+as this called for no delay. It was barely twelve o&#8217;clock when he rang
+the bell at her house. The girl who answered it handed him a note. He
+asked quickly for her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>She left an hour ago by the early train, he was told. She has gone
+into the country.</p>
+
+<p>She had made up her mind quite suddenly, and had not even taken her
+maid. The address would probably be in the letter.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>Still standing on the doorstep, he tore open the note and read it.
+There were only a few lines.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Dearest, can you take a short holiday? I have a fancy to
+have you come to me at my little house in Devonshire. London
+is stifling me, and I want to taste the full sweetness of my
+happiness. You see I do not doubt you! I know that you will
+come. Shall you mind a tiresome railway journey? The address
+is Bossington Old Manor House, Devonshire, and the station
+is Minehead. Wire what train you are coming by, and I will
+send something to meet you.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Berenice</span>.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>atravers walked back to his rooms and ordered his portmanteau to be
+packed. Then he went out, and after making all his arrangements for an
+absence from town, bought a Bradshaw. There were two trains, he found,
+by which he could travel, one at three, the other at half-past four.
+He arranged to catch the earlier one, and drove to his club for lunch.
+Afterwards he strolled towards the smoking-room, but finding it
+unusually full, was on the point of withdrawing. As he lingered on the
+threshold, a woman&#8217;s name fell upon his ears. The speaker was Mr.
+Thorndyke. He became rigid.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, yes, I gave her the victoria,&#8221; he was saying. &#8220;We called it a
+birthday <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>present, or something of that sort. I supposed every one
+knew about that. Those little arrangements generally are known
+somehow!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The innuendo was unmistakable. Matravers advanced with his usual
+leisurely walk to the little group of men.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; he said quietly. &#8220;I understood Mr. Thorndyke to
+say, I believe, that he had given a carriage to a certain lady. Am I
+correct?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thorndyke turned upon him sharply. There was a sudden silence in the
+crowded room. Matravers&#8217; clear, cold voice, although scarcely raised
+above the pitch of ordinary conversation, had penetrated to its
+furthest corner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And if I did, sir! What&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;These gentlemen will bear me witness that you did say so?&#8221; Matravers
+interrupted calmly. &#8220;I regret to have to use unpleasant language, Mr.
+Thorndyke, but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen, that
+your statement is a lie!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thorndyke was a florid and a puffy man. The veins upon his temples
+stood out like whipcord. He was not a pleasant sight to look upon.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean, sir?&#8221; he spluttered. &#8220;The carriage was mine before
+she had it. Everybody recognizes it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191-2]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 310px;">
+<img src="images/i189.jpg" class="ispace" width="310" height="500" alt="&#8220;I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen, that
+your statement is a lie!&#8221;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&#8220;I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen, that
+your statement is a lie!&#8221;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Exactly. The carriage was yours. You intended every one to recognize
+it. But you have omitted to state, both here and in other places, that
+the lady bought that carriage from you for two hundred and sixty
+guineas&mdash;a good deal more than its worth, I should imagine. You heard
+her say that she was thinking of buying a victoria, and you offered
+her yours&mdash;pressed her to buy it. It was too small for your horses,
+you said, and you were hard up. You even had it sent round to her
+stables without her consent. I have heard this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>story before, sir, and I have furnished myself with proofs of its
+falsehood. This, gentlemen,&#8221; he added, drawing some papers from his
+pocket, &#8220;is Mr. Thorndyke&#8217;s receipt for the two hundred and sixty
+guineas for a victoria, signed, as you will see, in his own
+handwriting, and here is the lady&#8217;s cheque with Mr. Thorndyke&#8217;s
+endorsement, cancelled and paid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The papers were handed round. Thorndyke picked up his hat, but
+Matravers barred his egress.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;With regard to the insinuation which you coupled with your
+falsehood,&#8221; he continued, &#8220;both are equally and absolutely false. I
+know her to be a pure and upright woman. A short time ago you took
+advantage of your position to make certain cowardly and disgraceful
+propositions to her, since when her doors have been closed upon you! I
+would have you know, sir, and remember, that the honour of that lady,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>whom last night I asked to be my wife, is as dear to me as my own,
+and if you dare now, or at any future time, to slander her, I shall
+treat you as you deserve. You can go.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And be very careful, sir,&#8221; thundered the old Earl of Ellesmere,
+veteran member of the club, &#8220;that you never show your face inside
+these doors again, or, egad, I&#8217;m an old man, but I&#8217;ll kick you out
+myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thorndyke left the room amidst a chilling and unsympathetic silence.
+As soon as he could get away, Matravers followed him. There was a
+strange pain at his heart, a sense of intolerable depression had
+settled down upon him. After all, what good had he done? Only a few
+more days and her name, which for the moment he had cleared, would be
+besmirched in earnest. His impeachment of Thorndyke would sound to
+these men then like mock heroics. There would be no one to defend her
+any more. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>There would be no defence. For ever in the eyes of all
+these people she was doomed to become one of the Magdalens of the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed a very unreal London through which Matravers was whirled on
+his way from the club to Paddington. But before a third of the
+distance was accomplished, there was a sudden check. A little boy, who
+had wandered from his nurse in crossing the road, narrowly escaped
+being run over by a carriage and pair, only to find himself knocked
+down by the shaft of Matravers&#8217; hansom. There was a cry, and the
+driver pulled his horse on to her haunches, but apparently just a
+second too late. With a sickening sense of horror, Matravers saw the
+little fellow literally under the horse&#8217;s feet, and heard his shrill
+cry of terror.</p>
+
+<p>He leaped out, and was the first to pick <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>the child up, immeasurably
+relieved to find that after all he was not seriously hurt. His clothes
+were torn, and his hands were scratched, and there, apparently, the
+mischief ended. Matravers lifted him into the cab, and turned to the
+frightened nurse-girl for the address.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nine, Greenfield Gardens, West Kensington, sir,&#8221; she told him; &#8220;and
+please tell the master it wasn&#8217;t my fault. He is so venturesome, I
+can&#8217;t control him nohow. His name is Drage&mdash;Freddy Drage, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And then once more Matravers felt that strange dizziness which had
+come to him earlier in the day. Again he had that curious sense of
+moving in a dream, as though he had, indeed, become part of an unreal
+and shadowy world. The renewed motion of the cab as they drove back
+again along Pall Mall, recalled him to himself. He leaned back and
+looked at the boy steadily.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, they were her eyes. There was no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>doubt about it. The little
+fellow, not in the least shy, and, in fact, now become rather proud of
+his adventure, commenced to prattle very soon. Matravers interrupted
+him with a question,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Won&#8217;t your mother be frightened to see you like this?&#8221; The child
+stared at him with wide-open eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, mammy ain&#8217;t there,&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Mammy went away ever so long
+ago. I don&#8217;t think she&#8217;s dead, though, &#8217;cos daddy wouldn&#8217;t let me talk
+about her, only just lately, since he was ill. You see,&#8221; he went on
+with an explanatory wave of the hand, &#8220;daddy&#8217;s been a very bad man.
+He&#8217;s better now&mdash;leastways, he ain&#8217;t so bad as he was; but I &#8217;spect
+that&#8217;s why mammy went away. Don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I daresay, Freddy,&#8221; Matravers answered softly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re getting very near now,&#8221; Freddy remarked, looking over the apron
+of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>cab. &#8220;My! won&#8217;t dada be surprised to see me drive up in a cab
+with you! I hope he&#8217;s at the window!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will your father be at home now?&#8221; Matravers asked.</p>
+
+<p>Freddy stared at him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, of course! Dad&#8217;s always at home! Is my face very buggy? Don&#8217;t
+rub it any more, please. That&#8217;s Jack Mason over there! I play with
+him. I want him to see me. Hullo! Jack,&#8221; he shouted, leaning out of
+the cab, &#8220;I&#8217;ve been run over, right over, face all buggy. Look at it!
+Hands too,&#8221; spreading them out. &#8220;He&#8217;s a nice boy,&#8221; Freddy continued as
+the cab turned a corner, &#8220;but he can&#8217;t run near so fast as me, and
+he&#8217;s lots older. Hullo! here we are!&#8221; kicking vigorously at the apron.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers looked up in surprise. They had stopped short before a long
+row of shabby-genteel houses in the outskirts of Kensington. He took
+the boy&#8217;s outstretched <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>hand and pushed open the gate. The door was
+open, and Freddy dragged him into a room on the ground floor.</p>
+
+<p>A man was lying on a sofa before the window, wrapped in an untidy
+dressing-gown, and with the lower part of his body covered up with a
+rug. His face, fair and florid, with more than a suggestion of
+coarseness in the heavy jaw and thick lips, was drawn and wrinkled as
+though with pain. His lips wore an habitually peevish expression. He
+did not offer to rise when they came in. Matravers was thankful that
+Freddy spared him the necessity of immediate speech. He had recognized
+in a moment the man who had sat alone night after night in the back
+seats of the New Theatre, whose slow drawn-out cry of agony had so
+curiously affected him on that night of her performance. He
+recognized, too, the undergraduate of his college sent down for
+flagrant misbehaviour, the leader of a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>set whom he himself had
+denounced as a disgrace to the University. And this man was her
+husband!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Daddy,&#8221; the boy cried, dropping Matravers&#8217; hand and running over to
+the couch, &#8220;I&#8217;ve been run over by a hansom cab, and I&#8217;m all buggy, but
+I ain&#8217;t hurt, and this gentleman brought me home. Daddy can&#8217;t get up,
+you know,&#8221; Freddy explained; &#8220;his legs is bad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Run over, eh!&#8221; exclaimed the man on the couch. &#8220;It&#8217;s like that girl&#8217;s
+damned carelessness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He patted the boy&#8217;s head, not unkindly, and Matravers found words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My cab unfortunately knocked your little boy down near Trafalgar
+Square, but I am thankful to say that he was not hurt. I thought that
+I had better bring him straight home, though, as he has had a roll in
+the dust.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At the sound of Matravers&#8217; voice, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>man started and looked at him
+earnestly. A dull red flush stained his cheeks. He looked away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was very good of you, Mr. Matravers,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I can&#8217;t think what
+the girl could have been about.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did not see her until after the accident. I am glad that it was no
+worse,&#8221; Matravers answered. &#8220;You have not forgotten me, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John Drage shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I have not forgotten you. I should have known
+your voice anywhere. Besides, I knew that you were in London. I saw
+you at the New Theatre.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a short silence. Matravers glanced around the room with an
+inward shiver. The usual horrors of a suburban parlour were augmented
+by a general slovenliness, and an obvious disregard for any sort of
+order.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I am afraid, Drage,&#8221; he said gently, &#8220;that things have not gone well
+with you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are quite right,&#8221; the man answered bitterly. &#8220;They have not! They
+have gone very wrong indeed; and I have no one to blame but myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry,&#8221; Matravers said. &#8220;You are an invalid, too, are you not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am worse than an invalid,&#8221; the man on the couch groaned. &#8220;I am a
+prisoner on my back, most likely for ever; curse it! I have had a
+paralytic stroke. I can&#8217;t think why I couldn&#8217;t die! It&#8217;s hard
+lines!&mdash;damned hard lines! I wish I were dead twenty times a day! I am
+alone here from morning to night, and not a soul to speak to. If it
+wasn&#8217;t for Freddy I should jolly soon end it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The little boy&#8217;s mother?&#8221; Matravers ventured, with bowed head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She left me&mdash;years ago. I don&#8217;t know that I blame her, particularly.
+Sit <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>down, if you will, for a bit. I never have a visitor, and it does
+me good to talk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers took the only unoccupied chair, and drew it back a little
+into the darker part of the room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You remember me then, Drage,&#8221; he remarked. &#8220;Yet it is a long time
+since our college days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I knew you directly I heard your voice, sir,&#8221; the man answered. &#8220;It
+seemed to take me back to a night many years ago&mdash;I want you to let me
+remind you of it. I should like you to know that I never forgot it. We
+were at St. John&#8217;s then; you were right above me&mdash;in a different world
+altogether. You were a leader amongst the best of them, and I was a
+hanger-on amongst the worst. You were in with the gentlemen set and
+the reading set. Neither of them would have anything to do with
+me&mdash;and they were quite right. I was what they thought me&mdash;a cad. I&#8217;d
+no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>head for work, and no taste for anything worth doing, and I wasn&#8217;t
+a gentleman, and hadn&#8217;t sense to behave like one. I&#8217;d no right to have
+been at the University at all, but my poor old dad would have me go.
+He had an idea that he could make a gentleman of me. It was a
+mistake!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers moved slightly in his chair,&mdash;he was suffering tortures.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it worth while recalling all these things?&#8221; he asked quietly.
+&#8220;Life cannot be a success for all of us; yet it is the future, and not
+the past.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have no future,&#8221; the man interrupted doggedly; &#8220;no future here, or
+in any other place. I have got my deserts. I wanted to remind you of
+that night when you came to see me in my rooms, after I&#8217;d been sent
+down for being drunk. I suppose you were the first gentleman who had
+ever crossed my threshold, and I remember wondering what on earth
+you&#8217;d come for! You didn&#8217;t <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>lecture me, and you didn&#8217;t preach. You
+came and sat down and smoked one of my cigars, and talked just as
+though we were friends, and tried to make me see what a fool I was. It
+didn&#8217;t do much good in the end&mdash;but I never forgot it. You shook hands
+with me when you left, and for once in my life I was ashamed of
+myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry,&#8221; Matravers said with an effort, &#8220;that I did not go to see
+you oftener.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Drage shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was too late then! I was done for,&mdash;done for as far as Oxford was
+concerned. But that was only the beginning. I might easily have picked
+up if I&#8217;d had the pluck! The dad forgave me, and made me a partner in
+the business before he died. I was a rich man, and I might have been a
+millionaire; instead of that I was a damned fool! I can&#8217;t help
+swearing! you mustn&#8217;t mind, sir! Remember what I am! I don&#8217;t <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>swear
+when Freddy&#8217;s in the room, if I can help it. I went the pace, drank,
+kept women, and all the rest of it. My wife found me out and went
+away. I ain&#8217;t saying a word against her. She was a good woman, and I
+was a bad man, and she left me! She was right enough! I wasn&#8217;t fit for
+a decent woman to live with. All the same, I missed her; and it was
+another kick down Hellward for me when she went. I got desperate then;
+I took to drink worse than ever, and I began to let my business go and
+speculate. You wouldn&#8217;t know anything of the city, sir; but I can tell
+you this, when a cool chap with all his wits about him starts
+speculating outside his business, it&#8217;s touch and go with him; when a
+chap in the state I was in goes for it, you can spell the result in
+four letters! It&#8217;s <span class="g">RUIN</span>, ruin! That&#8217;s what it meant for me. I lost two
+hundred thousand pounds in three years, and my business went to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>pot
+too. Then I had this cursed stroke, and here I am! I may stick on for
+years, but I shall never be able to earn a penny again. Where Freddy&#8217;s
+schooling is to come from, or how we are to live, I don&#8217;t know!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very sorry,&#8221; Matravers said gently. &#8220;Have you no friends then,
+or relations who will help you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not a damned one,&#8221; growled the man on the couch. &#8220;I had plenty of
+pals once, only too glad to count themselves John Drage&#8217;s friends; but
+where they are now I don&#8217;t know. They seem to have melted away.
+There&#8217;s never a one comes near me. I could do without their money or
+their help, somehow, but it&#8217;s damned hard to lie here for ever and
+have not one of &#8217;em drop in just now and then for a bit of a talk and
+a cheering word. That&#8217;s what gives me the blues! I always was fond of
+company; I hated being alone, and it&#8217;s like hell to lie here day after
+day and see no one but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>a cross landlady and a miserable servant girl.
+Lately, I can&#8217;t bear to be alone with Freddy. He&#8217;s so damned like his
+mother, you know. It brings a lump in my throat. I wouldn&#8217;t mind so
+much if it were only myself. I&#8217;ve had my cake! But it&#8217;s rough on the
+boy!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is rough on the boy, and it is rough on you,&#8221; Matravers said
+kindly. &#8220;I wonder you have never thought of sending him to his mother!
+She would surely like to have him!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man&#8217;s face grew black.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not till I&#8217;m dead,&#8221; he said doggedly. &#8220;I don&#8217;t want him set against
+me! He&#8217;s all I&#8217;ve got! I&#8217;m going to keep him for a bit. It ought not
+to be so difficult for us to live. If only I could get down to the
+city for a few hours!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Could not a friend there do some good for you?&#8221; Matravers asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course he could,&#8221; Mr. Drage answered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>eagerly; &#8220;but I haven&#8217;t got
+a friend. See here!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He took a little account book from under his pillow, and with
+trembling fingers thrust it before his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see all these amounts. They are all owing to me from those
+people&mdash;money lent, and one thing and another. There is an envelope
+with bills and I O U&#8217;s. They belong to me, you understand,&#8221; he said,
+with a sudden touch of dignity. &#8220;I never failed! My business was
+stopped when I was taken ill, but there was enough to pay everybody.
+Now some of these amounts have never been collected. If I could see
+these people myself, they would pay, or if I could get a friend whom I
+could trust! But there isn&#8217;t a man comes near me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;am not a business man,&#8221; Matravers said slowly; &#8220;but if you cared
+to explain things to me, I would go into the city and see what I could
+do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p><p>The man raised himself on his elbow and gazed at his visitor
+open-mouthed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean this!&#8221; he cried thickly. &#8220;Say it again,&mdash;quick! You mean
+it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly,&#8221; Matravers answered. &#8220;I will do what I can.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John Drage did not doubt his good fortune for a moment. No one ever
+looked into Matravers&#8217; face and failed to believe him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I&#8217;ll thank you some day,&#8221; he murmured. &#8220;You&#8217;ve done me up! Will
+you&mdash;shake hands?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He held out a thin white hand. Matravers took it between his own.</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments they were absorbed in figures and explanations.
+Finally the book was passed over to Matravers&#8217; keeping.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will see what I can do,&#8221; he said quietly. &#8220;Some of these accounts
+should certainly be recovered. I will come down and let you know how I
+have got on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211-2]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 317px;">
+<img src="images/i209.jpg" class="ispace" width="317" height="500" alt="&#8220;You mean this!&#8221; he cried thickly. &#8220;Say it
+again&mdash;quick!&#8221;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&#8220;You mean this!&#8221; he cried thickly. &#8220;Say it
+again&mdash;quick!&#8221;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;If you would! If you don&#8217;t mind! And, I wonder,&mdash;do you take a
+morning paper? If so, will you bring it when you&#8217;ve done with it, or
+an old one will do? I can&#8217;t read anything but newspapers; and lately I
+haven&#8217;t dared to spend a penny,&mdash;because of Freddy, you know! It&#8217;s so
+cursed lonely!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will come, and I will bring you something to read,&#8221; Matravers
+promised. &#8220;I must go now!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John Drage held out his hand wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-by,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You&#8217;re a good man! I wish I&#8217;d been like you. It&#8217;s
+an odd thing for me to say, but&mdash;God bless you, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers stood on the doorstep with his watch in his hand. It was
+half-past three. There was just time to catch the four-thirty from
+Waterloo! For a moment the little street faded away from before his
+eyes! He saw himself at his journey&#8217;s end! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>Berenice was there to meet
+him! A breath of the country came to him on the breeze&mdash;a breath of
+sweet-smelling flowers, and fresh moorland air, and the low murmur of
+the blue sea. Yes, there was Berenice, with her dark hair blowing in
+the wind, and that look of passionate peace in her pale, tired face!
+Her arms were open, wide open! She had been weary so long! The
+struggle had been so hard! and he, too, was weary&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>He started! He was still on the doorstep! Freddy was drumming on the
+pane, and behind, there was a man lying on the couch, with his face
+buried in his hands. He waved his hand and descended the steps firmly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Back to my rooms, 147, Piccadilly,&#8221; he told the cabman. &#8220;I shall not
+be going away to-day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>&#160; man wrote it, from his little room in the heart of London, whilst
+night faded into morning. He wrote it with leaden heart and unwilling
+mechanical effort&mdash;wrote it as a man might write his own doom. Every
+fresh sentence, which stared up at him from the closely written sheets
+seemed like another landmark in his sad descent from the pinnacles of
+his late wonderful happiness down into the black waters of despair.
+When he had finished, and the pen slipped from his stiff, nerveless
+fingers, there were lines and marks in his face which had never been
+there before, and which could never altogether pass away.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>... A woman read it, seated on a shelving slant of moorland with the
+blue sky overhead, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>and the soft murmur of the sea in her ears, and
+the sunlight streaming around her. When she had finished, and the
+letter had fallen to her side, crushed into a shapeless mass, the
+light had died out of the sky and the air, and the song of the birds
+had changed into a wail. And this was what the man had said to the
+woman:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Berenice, I have had a dream! I dreamed that I was coming
+to you, that you and I were together somewhere in a new
+world, where the men were gods and the women were saints,
+where the sun always shone, and nothing that was not pure
+and beautiful had any place! And now I am awake, and I know
+that there is no such world.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You and I are standing on opposite sides of a deep, dark
+precipice. I may not come to you! You must not come to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have thought over this matter with all the seriousness
+which befits it. You will <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>never know how great and how
+fierce the struggle has been. I am feeling an older and a
+tired man. But now that is all over! I have crossed the
+Rubicon! The mists have rolled away, and the truth is very
+clear indeed to me! I shudder when I think to what misery I
+might have brought you, if I had yielded to that sweetest
+and most fascinating impulse of my life, which bade me
+accept your sacrifice and come to you. Berenice, you are
+very young yet, and you have woven some new and very
+beautiful fancies which you have put into a book, and which
+the world has found amusing! To you alone they have become
+the essence of your life: they have become by constant
+contemplation a part of yourself. Out of the greatness of
+your heart you do not fear to put them into practice! But,
+dear, you must find a new world to fit your fancies, for the
+one in which we are forced to dwell, the world which, in
+theory, finds them delightful, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>would find another and an
+uglier world if we should venture upon their embodiment!
+After all we are creatures of this world, and by this
+world&#8217;s laws we shall be judged. The things which are right
+are right, and the things which are pure are pure. Love is
+the greatest power in the world, but it cannot alter things
+which are unalterable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Once when I was climbing with a friend of mine in the
+Engadine, we saw a white flower growing virtually out of a
+cleft in the rocks, high above our heads. My friend was a
+botanist, and he would have that flower! I lay on my back
+and watched him struggle to reach it, watched him often
+slipping backwards, but gradually crawling nearer and
+nearer, until at last, breathless, with torn clothes and
+bleeding hands, he grasped the tiny blossom, and held it out
+to me in triumph! Together we admired it ceaselessly as we
+retraced our steps. But <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>as we left the high altitudes and
+descended into the valley, a change took place in the
+flower. Its petals drooped, its leaves shrank and faded.
+White became grey, the freshness which had been its chief
+beauty faded away with every step we took. My friend kept
+it, but he kept it with sorrow! It was no longer a beautiful
+flower.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice, you are that flower! You are beautiful, and pure,
+and strong! You think that you are strong enough to live in
+the lowlands, but you are not! No love of mine, changeless
+and whole as it must ever be, could keep your soul from
+withering in the nether land of sin! For it would be sin! In
+these days when you are young, when the fires of your
+enthusiasm are newly kindled, and the wings of your
+imagination have not been shorn, you may say to yourself
+that it is not sin! You may say that love is the only true
+and sweet shrine before which we need keep our lives holy
+and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>pure, and that the time for regrets would never come!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Illusion! I, too, have tried to reason with myself in this
+manner! I have tried passionately, earnestly, feverishly. I
+have failed! I cannot! No one can! I know that to you I seem
+to be writing like a Philistine, like a man of a generation
+gone by! You have filled your little world with new ideals,
+you have lit it with the lamp of love, and it all seems very
+real and beautiful to you! But some day, though the lamp may
+burn still as brightly as ever, a great white daylight will
+break in through the walls. You will see things that you
+have never seen before, and the light of that lamp will seem
+cold and dim and ghostly. Nothing, nothing can ever alter
+the fact that your husband lives, and that your little boy
+is growing up with a great void in his heart. Some day he
+will ask for his mother; even now he may be asking for her!
+Berenice, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>would he ever look with large, indulgent eyes
+upon that little world of yours! Alas!</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>&#8220;I have read my letter over to myself, Berenice, and I fear
+that it must sound to you very commonplace, even perhaps
+cold! Yet, believe me when I tell you that I have passed
+through a very fire of suffering, and if I am calm now it is
+with the calm of an ineffable despair! In my life at Oxford,
+and later, here in London, women have never borne any share.
+Part of my scheme of living has been to regard them as
+something outside my little cycle, an influence great
+indeed, but one which had passed me by.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yet I am now one of the world&#8217;s great sufferers, one of
+those who have found at once their greatest joy linked with
+an unutterable despair. For I love you, Berenice! Never
+doubt it! Though I should never <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>look upon your face
+again&mdash;which God in His mercy forbid&mdash;my love for you must
+be for ever a part and the greatest part of my life! Always
+remember that, I pray you!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It seems strange to talk of one&#8217;s plans with such a great,
+black cloud of sorrow filling the air! But the outward form
+of life does not change, even when the light has gone out
+and one&#8217;s heart is broken! I have some work before me which
+I must finish; when it is over I shall go abroad! But that
+can wait! When you are back in London, send for me! I am
+schooling myself to meet a new Berenice&mdash;my friend! And I
+have something still more to say to you!</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 1em;"><span class="smcap">&#8220;Matravers</span>.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he week that followed the sending of his letter was, to Matravers,
+with his love for equable times and emotions, like a week in hell! He
+had set himself a task not easy even to an ordinary man of business,
+but to him trebly difficult and harassing. Day after day he spent in
+the city&mdash;a somewhat strange visitor there, with his grave, dignified
+manner and studied fastidiousness of dress and deportment. He was
+unversed in the ways of the men with whom he had to deal, and he had
+no commercial aptitude whatever. But in a quiet way he was wonderfully
+persistent, and he succeeded better, perhaps, than any other emissary
+whom John Drage could have employed. The sum of money which he
+eventually <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>collected amounted to nearly fifteen hundred pounds, and
+late one evening he started for Kensington with a bundle of papers
+under his arm and a cheque-book in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>It was his last visit,&mdash;at any rate, for the present,&mdash;he told himself
+with a sense of wonderful relief, as he walked through the Park in the
+gathering twilight. For of late, something in connection with his
+day&#8217;s efforts had taken him every evening to the shabby little house
+at Kensington, where his coming was eagerly welcomed by the tired,
+sick man and the lonely boy. He had esteemed himself a man well
+schooled in all manner of self-control, and little to be influenced in
+a matter of duty by his personal likes and dislikes. But these visits
+were a torture to him! To sit and talk for hours with a man, grateful
+enough, but peevish and commonplace, and with a curious lack of
+virility or self-reliance in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>untoward circumstances, was trial
+enough to Matravers, who had been used to select his associates and
+associations with delicate and close care. But to remember that this
+man had been, and indeed was, the husband of Berenice, was madness! It
+was this man, whom at the best he could only regard with a kindly and
+gentle contempt, who stood between him and such surprising happiness,
+this man and the boy with his pale, serious face and dark eyes. And
+the bitterness of fate&mdash;for he never realized that it would have been
+possible for him to have acted otherwise&mdash;had made him their
+benefactor!</p>
+
+<p>Just as he was leaving the Park he glanced up at the sound of a
+carriage passing him rapidly, and as he looked up he stood still! It
+seemed to him that life itself was standing still in his veins.
+Berenice had been silent. There had come no word from her! But nothing
+so tragic, so horrible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>as this, had ever occurred to him! His heart
+had been full of black despair, and his days had been days of misery;
+but even the possibility of seeking for himself solace, by means not
+altogether worthy, had never dawned upon him. Nor had he dreamed it of
+her! Yet the man who waved his hand from the box-seat of the phaeton
+with a courtesy seemingly real, but, under the circumstances, brutally
+ironical, was Thorndyke, and the woman who sat by his side was
+Berenice!</p>
+
+<p>The carriage passed on down the broad drive, and Matravers stood
+looking after it. Was it his fancy, or was that, indeed, a faint cry
+which came travelling through the dim light to his ears as he stood
+there under the trees&mdash;a figure turned to stone. A faint cry, or the
+wailing of a lost spirit! A sudden dizziness came over him, and he sat
+down on one of the seats close at hand. There was a singing in his
+ears, and a pain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>at his heart. He sat there with half-closed eyes,
+battling with his weakness.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he got up, and continued his journey. He found himself on
+the doorstep of the shabby little house, and mechanically he passed in
+and told the story of his day&#8217;s efforts to the man who welcomed him so
+eagerly. With his pocket-book in his hand he successfully underwent a
+searching cross-examination, faithfully recording what one man had
+said and what another, their excuses and their protestations. He made
+no mistakes, and his memory served him amply. But when he had come to
+the end of the list, and had placed the cheque-book in John Drage&#8217;s
+fingers, he felt that he must get away. Even his stoical endurance had
+a measurable depth. But it was hard to escape from the man&#8217;s most
+unwelcome gratitude. John Drage had not the tact to recognize in his
+benefactor the man to whom thanks are hateful.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And I had no claim upon you whatever!&#8221; the sick man wound up,
+half-breathless. &#8220;If you had cut me dead, after my Oxford disgrace, it
+would only have been exactly what I deserved. That&#8217;s what makes it so
+odd, your doing all this for me. I can&#8217;t understand it, I&#8217;m damned if
+I can!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Matravers stood over him, a silent, unresponsive figure, seeking only
+to make his escape. With difficulty he broke in upon the torrent of
+words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you do me the favour, Mr. Drage,&#8221; he begged earnestly, &#8220;of
+saying no more about it. Any man of leisure would have done for you
+what I have done. If you really wish to afford me a considerable
+happiness, you can do so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything in this world!&#8221; John Drage declared vehemently.</p>
+
+<p>Matravers thought for a moment. The proposition which he was about to
+make <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>had been in his mind from the first. The time had come now to
+put it into words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must not be offended at what I am going to say,&#8221; he began gently.
+&#8220;I am a rich man, and I have taken a great fancy to your boy. I have
+no children of my own; in fact, I am quite alone in the world. If you
+will allow me, I should like to undertake Freddy&#8217;s education.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A light broke across the man&#8217;s coarse face, momentarily transfiguring
+it. He raised himself on his elbow, and gazed at his visitor with
+eager scrutiny. Then he drew a deep sigh, and there were tears in his
+eyes. He did not say a word. Matravers continued.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will be a great pleasure for me,&#8221; he said quietly. &#8220;What I propose
+is to invest a thousand pounds for that purpose in Freddy&#8217;s name. In
+fact, I have taken the liberty of already doing it. The papers are
+here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>Matravers laid an envelope on the little table between them. Then he
+rose up.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you forgive me now,&#8221; he said, &#8220;if I hurry away? I will come and
+see you again, and we will talk this over more thoroughly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And still John Drage said nothing, but he held out his hand. Matravers
+pressed the thin fingers between his own.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must see Freddy,&#8221; he said eagerly. &#8220;I promised him that he should
+come in before you went.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Matravers shook his head. There was a pain at his heart like the
+cutting of a knife.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I cannot stay another instant,&#8221; he declared. &#8220;Send Freddy over to my
+rooms any time. Let him come and have tea with me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then they parted, and Matravers walked through a world of strange
+shadows to Berenice&#8217;s house. Her maid, recognizing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>him, took him up
+to her room without ceremony. The door was softly opened and shut. He
+stood upon the threshold. For a moment everything seemed dark before
+him.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">B</span>erenice seemed to dwell always in the twilight. At first Matravers
+thought that the room was empty, and he advanced slowly towards the
+window. And then he stopped short. Berenice was lying in a crumpled
+heap on the low couch, almost within touch of his hands. She was lying
+on her side, her supple figure all doubled up, and the folds of her
+loose gown flowing around her in wild disorder. Her face was half
+hidden in her clasped hands.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice,&#8221; he cried softly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233-4]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 320px;">
+<img src="images/i231.jpg" class="ispace" width="320" height="500" alt="Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low couch" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low couch</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>She did not answer. She was asleep. He stood looking down upon her,
+his heart full of an infinite tenderness. She, too, had suffered,
+then. Her hair was in wild confusion, and there were marks of recent
+tears <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>upon her pale cheeks. A little lace handkerchief had slipped from her
+fingers down on to the floor. He picked it up. It was wet! The glow of
+the heavily-shaded lamp was upon her clasped white fingers and her
+bowed head. He watched the rising and falling of her bosom as she
+slept. To him, so great a stranger to women and their ways, there was
+a curious fascination in all the trifling details of her toilette and
+person, the innate daintiness of which appealed to him with a very
+potent and insidious sweetness. Whilst she slept, he felt as one far
+removed from her. It was like a beautiful picture upon which he was
+gazing. The passion which had been raging within him like an autumn
+storm was suddenly stilled. Only the purely &aelig;sthetic pleasure of her
+presence and his contemplation of it remained. It seemed to him then
+that he would have had her stay thus for ever! Before his fixed eyes
+there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>floated a sort of mystic dream. There was another world&mdash;was it
+the world of sleep or of death?&mdash;where they might join hands and dwell
+together in beautiful places, and there was no one, not even their
+consciences, to say them nay. The dust of earthly passion and sin, and
+all the commonplace miseries of life, had faded for ever from their
+knowledge. It was their souls which had come together ... and there
+was a wonderful peace.</p>
+
+<p>Then she opened her eyes and looked up at him. There was no more
+dreaming! The old, miserable passion flooded his heart and senses. His
+feet were upon the earth again! The whole world of those strange,
+poignant sensations, stronger because of their late coming, welled up
+within him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was only half awake, and she held up her soft, white arms to him,
+gleaming like marble through the lace of her wide <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>sleeves. She looked
+up at him with the faint smile of a child.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My love!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stooped down, and her arms closed around him like a soft yoke. But
+he kissed her forehead so lightly that she scarcely realized that this
+was almost his first caress.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice, you have been angry with me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sat up, and the lamplight fell upon his face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have been ill,&#8221; she cried in a shocked tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is nothing. I am well. But to-night&mdash;I had a shock; I saw you
+with&mdash;Mr. Thorndyke!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes met his. The hideous phantom which had been dogging his steps
+was slain. He was ashamed of that awful but nameless fear.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is true. Mr. Thorndyke has offered me an apology, which I am
+forced to believe <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>sincere. He has asked me to be his wife! I was
+sorry for him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is a bad man! He has spoken ill of you! He has already a wife!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am glad of it. I can obey my instincts now, and see him no more.
+Personally he is distasteful to me! I had an idea he was honest! It is
+nothing!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. To her it was
+altogether a minor matter. Then she looked at him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You never answered my letter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, there was no answer. I came back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You did not let me know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will find a message at your rooms when you get back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He walked up and down the room. He knew at once that all he had done
+hitherto had been in vain. The battle was still before him. She sat
+and watched him with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>an inscrutable smile. Once as he passed her, she
+laid her hand upon his arm. He stopped at once.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your white flower was born to die and to wither,&#8221; she said. &#8220;A
+night&#8217;s frost would have killed it as surely as the lowland air. It is
+like these violets.&#8221; She took a bunch from her bosom. &#8220;This morning
+they were fresh and beautiful. Now they are crushed and faded! Yet
+they have lived their life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She threw them down upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think a woman is like that?&#8221; she said softly. &#8220;You are very,
+very ignorant! She has a soul.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A soul to keep white and pure. A soul to give back&mdash;to God!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again she smiled at him slowly, and shook her dark head. &#8220;You are like
+a child in some things! You have lived so long amongst the dry bones
+of scholarship, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>that you have lost your touch upon humanity. And of
+us women, you know&mdash;so very little. You have tried to understand us
+from books. How foolish! You must be my disciple, and I will teach
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is not teaching,&#8221; he cried; &#8220;it is temptation.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned upon him with a gleam of passion in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Temptation!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;There spoke the whole selfishness of the
+philosopher, the dilettante in morals! What is it that you fear? It is
+the besmirchment of your own ideals, your own little code framed and
+moulded with your own hands. What do you know of sin or of purity,
+you, who have held yourself aloof from the world with a sort of
+delicate care, as though you, forsooth, were too precious a thing to
+be soiled with the dust of human passion and human love! That is where
+you are all wrong. That is where you make your great mistake. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>You
+have judged without experience. You speak of a soul which may be
+stained with sin; you have no more knowledge than the Pharisees of old
+what constitutes sin. Love can never stain anything! Love that is
+constant and true and pure is above the marriage laws of men; it is
+above your little self-constructed ideals; it is a thing of Heaven and
+of God! You wrote to me like a child,&mdash;and you are a child, for until
+you have learnt what love is, you are without understanding.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly her outstretched hands dropped to her side. Her voice became
+soft and low; her dark eyes were dimmed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come to me, and you shall know. I will show you in what narrow paths
+you have been wandering. I will show you how beautiful a woman&#8217;s love
+can make your life!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If we can love and be pure,&#8221; he said hoarsely, &#8220;what is sin? What is
+that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p><p>He was standing by the window, and he pointed westwards with shaking
+finger. The roar of Piccadilly and Regent Street came faintly into the
+little room. She understood him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have a great deal to learn, dear,&#8221; she whispered softly.
+&#8220;Remember this first, and before all, Love can sanctify everything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But they too loved in the beginning!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That they never could have done. Love is eternal. If it fades or
+dies, then it never was love. Then it was sin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But those poor creatures! How are they to tell between the true love
+and the false?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stamped her foot, and a quiver of passion shook her frame.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We are not talking about them. We are talking about ourselves! Do you
+doubt your love or mine?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I cannot,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;Berenice!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you ever tell&mdash;your husband that you loved him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did he love you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe, so far as he knew how to love anything,&mdash;he did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And now?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She waved her hand impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He has forgotten. He was shallow, and he was fond of life. He has
+found consolation long ago. Do not talk of him. Do not dare to speak
+of him again! Oh, why do you make me humble myself so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He may not have forgotten. He may have repented. He may be longing
+for you now,&mdash;and suffering. Should we be sinless then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She swept from her place, and stood before him with flashing eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I forbid you to remind me of my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>shame. I forbid you to remind me
+that I, too, like those poor women on the street, have been bought and
+sold for money! I have worked out my own emancipation. I am free. It
+was while I was living with him as his wife that I sinned,&mdash;for I
+hated him! Speak to me no more of that time! If you cannot forget it,
+you had better go!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stretched out his hands and held hers tightly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice, if you were alone in the world, and there was some great
+barrier to our marriage, I would not hesitate any longer. I would take
+you to myself. Don&#8217;t think too hardly of me. I am like a man who is
+denying himself heaven. But your husband lives. You belong to him. You
+do not know whether he is in prosperity, or whether he has forgotten.
+You do not know whether he has repented, or whether his life is still
+such as to justify <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>your taking the law into your own hands, and
+forsaking him for ever. Listen to me, dear! If you will find out these
+things, if you can say to yourself and to me, and to your conscience,
+&#8216;he has found happiness without me, he has ignored and forgotten the
+tie between us, he does not need my sympathy, or my care, or my
+companionship,&#8217; then I will have no more scruples. Only let us be sure
+that you are morally free from that man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She wrenched her hands away from his. There was a bright, red spot of
+colour flaring on her cheeks. Her eyes were on fire.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are mad!&#8221; she cried; &#8220;you do not love me! No man can know what
+love is who talks about doubts and scruples like you do! You are too
+cold and too selfish to realize what love can be! And to think that I
+have stopped to reason, to reason with you! Oh! my God! What have I
+done to be humbled like this?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Berenice!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Leave me! Don&#8217;t come near me any more! I shall thrust you out of my
+life! You never loved me! I could not have loved you! Go away! It has
+been a hideous mistake!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My God! Will you leave me?&#8221; she moaned. &#8220;You are driving me mad! I
+hate you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her white hand flashed out into the darkness, as though she would have
+struck him! He bowed his head and went.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>atravers knew after that night that his was a broken life. Any future
+such as he had planned for himself of active, intellectual toil had
+now, he felt, become impossible. His ideals were all broken down. A
+woman had found her way in between the joints of an armour which he
+had grown to believe impenetrable, and henceforth life was a wreck.
+The old, quiet stoicism, which had been the inner stimulus of his
+career, was a thing altogether overthrown and impotent. He was too old
+to reconstruct life anew; the fragments were too many, and the wreck
+too complete. Only his philosophy showed him very plainly what the end
+must be. Across <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>the sky of his vision it seemed to be written in
+letters of fire.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the morning, having made his toilette as usual with a care
+almost fastidious, he went out into the sunlit streets, moving like a
+man in a deep dream amongst scenes which had become familiar to him
+day by day. At his lawyer&#8217;s he made his will, and signed it, thankful
+for once for his great loneliness, insomuch as there was no one who
+could call the disposal of his property to a stranger an
+injustice&mdash;for he had left all to little Freddy; left it to him
+because of his mother&#8217;s eyes, as he thought with a faint smile. Then
+he called at his publisher&#8217;s and at the office of a leading review to
+which he was a regular contributor, telling them to expect no more
+work from him for a while; he was going abroad to take a long-earned
+holiday. He lunched at his club, speaking in a more than usually
+friendly manner to the few men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>with whom at times he had found it a
+pleasure to associate, and finally, with that sense of unreality
+growing stronger and stronger, he found himself once more in the Park,
+in his usual chair, looking out with the same keen sympathy upon the
+intensely joyous, beautiful phase of life which floated around him.
+The afternoon breeze rustled pleasantly among the cool green leaves
+above his head, and the sunlight slanted full across the shaded walk.
+On every hand were genial voices, cordial greetings, and light
+farewells. With a sense almost of awe, he thought of the days when he
+had sat there waiting for her carriage, that he might look for a few
+moments upon that pale-faced woman, whose influence over him seemed
+already to have commenced before even any words had passed between
+them. He sat there, gravely acknowledging the salutes of those with
+whom he was acquainted, wearing always <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>the same faint and
+impenetrable smile&mdash;wonderful mask of a broken heart. And still the
+memories came surging into his brain. He thought of that grey morning
+when he had sat there alone, oppressed by some dim premonitions of the
+tragedy amongst whose shadows he was already passing, so that even the
+wind which had followed the dawn, and shaken the rain-drops down upon
+him, had seemed to carry upon its bosom wailing cries and sad human
+voices. As the slow moments passed along, he found himself watching
+for her carriage with some remnant of the old wistfulness. But it
+never came, and for that he was thankful.</p>
+
+<p>At last he rose, and walked leisurely back to his rooms. He gave
+orders to his servant to pack all his things for a journey; then, for
+the last time, he stood up in the midst of his possessions, looking
+around him with a vague sorrowfulness at the little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>familiar objects
+which had become dear to him, both by association and by reason of a
+certain sense of companionship which he had always been able to feel
+for beautiful things, however inanimate. It was here that he had come
+when he had first left Oxford, full of certain definite ambitions, and
+with a mind fixed at least upon living a serene and well-ordered life.
+He had woven many dreams within these four walls. How far away those
+days now seemed to be from him! He would never dream any more; for him
+the world&#8217;s great dream was very close at hand.</p>
+
+<p>He poured himself out a glass of wine from a quaintly cut decanter,
+and set it down on his writing-desk, emptying into it with scrupulous
+care the contents of a little packet which he had been carrying all
+day in his waistcoat pocket. He paused for a moment before taking up
+his pen, to move a little on one side the deep blue china bowl <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>of
+flowers which, summer and winter alike, stood always fresh upon his
+writing-table. To-day it chanced, by some irony of fate, that they
+were roses, and a swift flood of memories rushed into his tingling
+senses as the perfume of the creamy blossoms floated up to him.</p>
+
+<p>He set his teeth, and, taking out some paper, began to write.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Berenice, farewell! To-night I am going on a very long
+journey, to a very far land. You and I may never meet again,
+and so, farewell! Farewell to you, Berenice, whom I have
+loved, and whom I dearly love. You are the only woman who
+has ever wandered into my little life to teach me the great
+depths of human passion&mdash;and you came too late. But that was
+not your fault.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For what I am doing, do you, at least, not blame me. If
+there were a single person in the world dependent upon me,
+or <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>to whom my death would be a real loss, I would remain.
+But there is no one. And, whereas alive I can do you no
+good, dead I may! Berenice, your husband lives&mdash;in suffering
+and in poverty; your husband and your little boy. Freddy has
+looked at me out of your dark eyes, my love, and whilst I
+live I can never forget it. I hold his little hands, and I
+look into his pure, childish face, and the great love which
+I bear for his mother seems like an unholy thing. Leave your
+husband out of the question&mdash;put every other consideration
+on one side, Freddy&#8217;s eyes must have kept us apart for ever.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And, dear, it is your boy&#8217;s future, and the care of your
+stricken husband, which must bring you into closer and more
+intimate touch with the vast world of human sorrows. Love is
+a sacrifice, and life is a sacrifice. I know, and that
+knowledge is the comfort of my last sad night on earth,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>that you will find your rightful place amongst her toiling
+daughters. And it is because there is no fitting place for
+me by your side that I am very well content to die. For
+myself, I have well counted the cost. Death is an infinite
+compulsion. Our little lives are but the veriest trifle in
+the scale of eternity. Whether we go into everlasting sleep,
+or into some other mystic state, a few short years here more
+or less are no great matter, Berenice.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>Again there came that curious pain at his heartstrings, and the
+singing in his ears. The pen slipped from his fingers; his head
+drooped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Berenice!&#8221; he whispered. &#8220;Berenice!&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>And as though by a miracle she heard him, for she was close at hand.
+Whilst he had been writing, the door was softly opened and closed, a
+tall, grey-mantled figure stood upon the threshold. It was Berenice!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;May I come in?&#8221; she cried softly. Her face was flushed, and her
+cheeks were wet, but a smile was quivering upon her lips.</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer. She came into the room, close to his side. Her
+fingers clasped the hand which was hanging over the side of his chair.
+The lamp had burnt very low; she could scarcely see his face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear, I have come to you,&#8221; she murmured. &#8220;I am sorry. I want you to
+forgive me. I do love you! you know that I love you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The pressure of her fingers upon his hand was surely returned. She
+stood up, and her cloak slipped from her shoulders on to the floor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why don&#8217;t you speak to me? Don&#8217;t you hear? Don&#8217;t you understand? I
+have come to you! I will not be sent away! It is too late! My carriage
+brought me here. I have told my people that I shall not be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>returning!
+Come away with me to-night! Let us start now! Listen! it is too late
+to draw back! Every one knows that I have come to you! We shall be so
+happy! Tell me that you are glad!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer. He did not move. She came close to him, so that
+her cheek almost touched his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me that you are glad,&#8221; she begged. &#8220;Don&#8217;t argue with me any
+more. If you do, I shall stop your mouth with kisses. I am not like
+you, dear! I must have love! I cannot live alone any longer! I have
+touched the utmost limits of my endurance! I <i>will</i> stay with you! You
+<i>shall</i> love me! Listen! If you do not, I swear&mdash;but no! You will save
+me from that! Oh, I know that you will! But don&#8217;t argue with me! Words
+are so cold, and I am a woman&mdash;and I must love and be loved, or I
+shall die.... Ah!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She started round with a little scream. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>Her eyes, frightened and
+dilated, were fixed upon the door. On the threshold a little boy was
+standing in his night-shirt, looking at her with dark, inquiring eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want Mr. Matravers, if you please,&#8221; he said deliberately. &#8220;Will you
+tell him? He don&#8217;t know that I&#8217;m here yet! He will be so surprised!
+Charlie Dunlop&mdash;that&#8217;s where I live&mdash;has the fever, and dad sent me
+here with a letter, but Mr. Matravers was out when we came, and nurse
+put me to bed. Now she&#8217;s gone away, and I&#8217;m so lonely. Is he asleep?
+Please wake him, and tell him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned up the lamp without moving her eyes from the little
+white-clad figure. A great trembling was upon her! It was like a voice
+from the shadows of another world. And Matravers, why did he not
+speak?</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the lamp burned up. She leaned forward. He was sitting with his
+head <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>resting upon his hand, and the old, faint smile parting his
+lips. But he did not look up! He did not speak to her! He was sitting
+like a carved image!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For God&#8217;s sake speak to me!&#8221; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>Then a certain rigidity in his posture struck her for the first time,
+and she threw herself on the ground beside him with a cry of fear. She
+pressed her lips to his, chafed his cold hand, and whispered
+frantically in his ear! But there was no answer&mdash;there never could be
+any answer. Matravers was dead, and the wine-glass at his side was
+untasted.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259-60]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 322px;">
+<img src="images/i257.jpg" class="ispace" width="322" height="500" alt="But there was no answer&mdash;there never could be any
+answer" title="" />
+<span class="caption">But there was no answer&mdash;there never could be any
+answer</span>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Berenice did not faint! She did not even lose consciousness for a
+moment. Moaning softly to herself, but dry-eyed, she leaned over his
+shoulder and read the words which he had written to her, of which,
+indeed, the ink was scarcely dry. When she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>had finished, she took up the wine-glass in her own fingers, holding
+it so steadily that not a drop was spilt.</p>
+
+<p>Here was the panacea she craved! The problem of her troubled life was
+so easily to be solved. Rest with the man she loved!</p>
+
+<p>Her arms would fold around him as she sank to the ground. Perhaps he
+was already waiting for her somewhere&mdash;in one of those mystic worlds
+where the soul might shake itself free from this weary burden of human
+passions and sorrows. Her lips parted in a wonderful smile. She raised
+the glass!</p>
+
+<p>There was a soft patter across the carpet, and a gentle tug at her
+dress.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very cold,&#8221; Freddy cried piteously, holding out a little blue
+foot from underneath his night-shirt. &#8220;If you don&#8217;t want to wake Mr.
+Matravers, will you take me up to bed, please?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Through a mist of sudden tears, she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>looked down into her boy&#8217;s face.
+She drew a deep, quick breath&mdash;her fingers were suddenly nerveless.
+There was a great dull stain on the front of her dress, the
+wine-glass, shattered into many pieces, lay at her feet. She fell on
+her knees, and with a little burst of passionate sobs took him into
+her arms.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>There were grey hairs in the woman&#8217;s head, although she was still
+quite young. A few yards ahead, the bath chair, wheeled by an
+attendant, was disappearing in the shroud of white mist, which had
+suddenly rolled in from the sea. But the woman lingered for a moment
+with her eyes fixed upon that dim, distant line, where the twilight
+fell softly upon the grey ocean. It was the single hour in the long
+day which she claimed always for her own&mdash;for it seemed to her in that
+mysterious stillness, when the shadows were gathering and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>winds
+had dropped, that she could sometimes hear his voice. Perhaps,
+somewhere, he too longed for that hour&mdash;a dweller, it might be, in
+that wonderful spirit world of the unknown, of which he had spoken
+sometimes with a curiously grave solemnity. Her hands clasped the iron
+railing, a light shone for a moment in the pale-lined face turned so
+wistfully seawards!</p>
+
+<p>Was it the low, sweet music of the sea, or was it indeed his voice in
+her ears, languorous and soft, long-travelled yet very clear.
+Somewhere at least he must know that hers had become at his bidding
+the real sacrifice! A smile transfigured her face! It was for this she
+had lived!</p>
+
+<p>Then there came her summons. A querulous little cry reached her from
+the bath chair, drawn up on the promenade. She waved her hand
+cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am coming,&#8221; she cried; &#8220;wait for me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p><p>But her face was turned towards that dim, grey line of silvery light,
+and the wind caught hold of her words and carried them away over the
+bosom of the sea&mdash;upwards!</p>
+
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 176px;">
+<img src="images/iendpaper.jpg" width="176" height="150" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox2 bbox2">
+<h2>E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM&#8217;S NOVELS</h2>
+<p class="double">&#160;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Illustrated. Cloth.</span> $1.50 <span class="smcap">Each</span></p>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Lost Ambassador</i></p>
+
+<p>A straightforward mystery story, the plot of which hinges on the sale
+of two battleships.</p>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Illustrious Prince</i></p>
+
+<p>The tale of a world-startling international intrigue.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Mr. Oppenheim is a past master of the art of constructing
+ingenious plots and weaving them around attractive
+characters.&mdash;<i>London Morning Mail</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>Jeanne of the Marshes</i></p>
+
+<p>An engrossing tale of love and adventure.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A real Oppenheim tale, abundantly satisfying to the
+reader.&mdash;<i>New York World</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Governors</i></p>
+
+<p>A romance of the intrigues of American finance.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The ever welcome Oppenheim.&mdash;<i>Boston Transcript</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Missioner</i></p>
+
+<p>Strongly depicts the love of an earnest missioner and a worldly
+heroine with a past.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>An entrancingly interesting romance.&mdash;<i>Pittsburg Post</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Long Arm of Mannister</i></p>
+
+<p>A distinctly different story that deals with a wronged man&#8217;s ingenious
+plan of revenge.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Mannister is a powerfully drawn character.&mdash;<i>Philadelphia
+Press</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>As a Man Lives, or the Mystery of the Yellow House</i></p>
+
+<p>Tells of an English curate and his mysterious neighbor.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Every page in it suggests a mystery.&mdash;<i>Literary World,
+London</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, &amp; COMPANY, <i>Publishers</i>, BOSTON</p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox2 bbox2">
+<h2>E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM&#8217;S NOVELS</h2>
+<p class="double">&#160;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Illustrated. Cloth.</span> $1.50 <span class="smcap">Each</span></p>
+
+<p class="u"><i>A Maker of History</i></p>
+
+<p>A capital story that &#8220;explains&#8221; the Russian Baltic fleet&#8217;s attack on
+the North Sea fishing fleet.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>An enthralling tale, with a surprisingly well-sustained
+mystery, and a series of plots, counterplots, and
+well-managed climaxes.&mdash;<i>Brooklyn Times</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Malefactor</i></p>
+
+<p>An amazing story of the strange revenge of Sir Wingrave Seton, who
+suffered imprisonment for a crime he did not commit.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Spirited, aggressive, vigorous, mysterious, and, best of
+all, well told.&mdash;<i>Boston Transcript</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>A Millionaire of Yesterday</i></p>
+
+<p>A gripping story of a West African miner who clears his name of a
+great stain.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A thrilling story throughout.&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Press</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Man and His Kingdom</i></p>
+
+<p>An intensely dramatic tale of love, intrigue, and adventure in a South
+American state.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A daring bit of fiction, full of vigorous life and
+unflagging interest.<i>&mdash;Chicago Tribune</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Betrayal</i></p>
+
+<p>An enthralling story of treachery of state secrets in high diplomatic
+circles of England.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The denouement is almost as surprising as the mystery is
+baffling.&mdash;<i>Public Opinion</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>A Daughter of the Marionis</i></p>
+
+<p>A melodramatic story of Palermo and London, that is replete with
+action.</p>
+
+<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, &amp; COMPANY, <i>Publishers</i>, BOSTON</p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox2 bbox2">
+<h2>E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM&#8217;S NOVELS</h2>
+<p class="double">&#160;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Illustrated. Cloth.</span> $1.50 <span class="smcap">Each</span></p>
+
+<p class="u"><i>A Prince of Sinners</i></p>
+
+<p>An engrossing story of English social political life, with powerfully
+drawn characters.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Thoroughly matured, brilliantly constructed, and
+convincingly told.&mdash;<i>London Times</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>It is rare that so much knowledge of the world, taken as a
+whole, is set between two covers of a novel.&mdash;<i>Chicago Daily
+News</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>Anna the Adventuress</i></p>
+
+<p>A surprising tale of London life, with a most engaging heroine.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The consequences of a bold deception Mr. Oppenheim has
+unfolded to us with remarkable ingenuity. The story sparkles
+with brilliant conversation and strong situations.&mdash;<i>St.
+Louis Republic</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>Mysterious Mr. Sabin</i></p>
+
+<p>An ingenious story of a bold international intrigue with an
+irresistibly fascinating &#8220;villain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Intensely readable for its dramatic force, its absolute
+originality, and the strength of the men and women who fill
+its pages.&mdash;<i>Pittsburg Times</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Yellow Crayon</i></p>
+
+<p>Containing the exciting experiences of Mr. Sabin with a powerful
+secret society.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>This stirring story shows unusual originality.&mdash;<i>New York
+Times</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Master Mummer</i></p>
+
+<p>The strange romance of Isobel de Sorrens and the part a mysterious
+actor played in her life.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A love tale laden with adventure and intrigue, with a saving
+grace of humor.&mdash;<i>Philadelphia North American</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Mystery of Mr. Bernard Brown</i></p>
+
+<p>A mystery story, rich in sensational incidents and dramatic
+situations.</p>
+
+<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, &amp; COMPANY, <i>Publishers</i>, BOSTON</p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox2 bbox2">
+<h2>E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM&#8217;S NOVELS</h2>
+<p class="double">&#160;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Illustrated. Cloth. $1.50 Each</span></p>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Avenger</i></p>
+
+<p>Unravels an intricate tangle of political intrigue and private revenge
+with consummate power of fascination.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A lively, thrilling, captivating story.&mdash;<i>New York Times</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>A Lost Leader</i></p>
+
+<p>Weaves a realistic romance around a striking personality.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Mr. Oppenheim is one of the few writers who can make a
+political novel as interesting as a good detective
+story.&mdash;<i>The Independent, New York</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Great Secret</i></p>
+
+<p>Deals with a stupendous international conspiracy.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Founded on a daring invention and daringly carried
+out.&mdash;<i>The Boston Globe</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>Enoch Strone: A Master of Men</i></p>
+
+<p>The story of a masterful self-made man who made a foolish marriage
+early in life.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>In no other novel has Mr. Oppenheim created such life-like
+characters or handled his plot with such admirable force and
+restraint.&mdash;<i>Baltimore American</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>A Sleeping Memory</i></p>
+
+<p>The remarkable tale of an unhappy girl who consented to be deprived of
+her memory, with unlooked-for consequences.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>He deals with the curious and unexpected, and displays all
+the qualities which made him famous.&mdash;<i>St. Louis
+Globe-Democrat</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="u"><i>The Traitors</i></p>
+
+<p>A capital story of love, adventure, and Russian political intrigue in
+a small Balkan state.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Swift-moving and exciting. The love episodes have freshness
+and charm.&mdash;<i>Minneapolis Tribune</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="center">LITTLE, BROWN, &amp; COMPANY, <i>Publishers</i>, BOSTON</p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><span class="smcap">Transcriber&#8217;s Notes:</span></h2>
+
+<p>1. Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetter errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author&#8217;s
+words and intent.</p>
+
+<p>2. The original of this e-text did not have a Table of Contents; one has
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,4603 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Berenice, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+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: Berenice
+
+Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+Illustrator: Howard Chandler Christy
+             Howard Somerville
+
+Release Date: November 25, 2009 [EBook #30542]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BERENICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ BERENICE
+
+ BY
+
+ E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
+
+ AUTHOR OF "THE LOST AMBASSADOR," "THE MISSIONER,"
+ "THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE," ETC.
+
+ WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+ HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
+ AND
+ HOWARD SOMERVILLE
+
+ BOSTON
+ LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+ 1911
+
+
+
+
+ _Copyright, 1907, 1911,_
+ BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+ _All rights reserved_
+
+ Published, January, 1911
+
+ Second Printing
+
+ Printers
+ S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+ THE NOVELS OF
+ E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
+
+ A Prince of Sinners           A Lost Leader
+ Anna the Adventuress          The Great Secret
+ The Master Mummer             The Avenger
+ A Maker of History            As a Man Lives
+ Mysterious Mr. Sabin          The Missioner
+ The Yellow Crayon             The Governors
+ The Betrayal                  The Man and His
+ The Traitors                    Kingdom
+ Enoch Strone                  A Millionaire of Yesterday
+ A Sleeping Memory             The Long Arm of
+ The Malefactor                  Mannister
+ A Daughter of the             Jeanne of the Marshes
+   Marionis                    The Illustrious Prince
+ The Mystery of Mr.            The Lost Ambassador
+   Bernard Brown               Berenice
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+ Her dark, wet eyes seemed touched with smouldering
+ fire                                                 _Frontispiece_
+
+ "What I have seen," Matravers said gravely, "I
+ do not like"                                         _Page_      15
+
+ But nothing in her words or in his alluded to it        "        25
+
+ Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,
+ noticed nothing                                         "        31
+
+ "Friends," she repeated, with a certain wistfulness
+ in her tone                                             "        65
+
+ At half-past four his servant brought in a small
+ tea equipage                                            "        83
+
+ With an old-fashioned courtesy ... he offered
+ her his arm                                             "       105
+
+ There seemed to him something almost unearthly
+ about this woman with her soft grey gown
+ and marble face                                         "       111
+
+ Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense
+ of disturbance                                          "       135
+
+ "I can do it," she assured him. "I believe you
+ doubt my ability, but you need not"                     "       143
+
+ "Do you know that man is driving me slowly
+ mad?"                                                   "       149
+
+ Matravers found himself wondering at this new
+ and very natural note of domesticity in her             "       169
+
+ She did not answer him. But indeed there was
+ no need                                                 "       173
+
+ "I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen,
+ that your statement is a lie!"                          "       191
+
+ "You mean this!" he cried thickly. "Say it
+ again--quick!"                                          "       211
+
+ Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low
+ couch                                                   "       233
+
+ But there was no answer--there never could be
+ any answer                                              "       259
+
+
+
+
+BERENICE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"You may not care for the play," Ellison said eagerly. "You are of the
+old world, and Isteinism to you will simply spell chaos and vulgarity.
+But the woman! well, you will see her! I don't want to prejudice you
+by praises which you would certainly think extravagant! I will say
+nothing."
+
+Matravers smiled gravely as he took his seat in the box and looked out
+with some wonder at the ill-lit, half-empty theatre.
+
+"I am afraid," he said, "that I am very much out of place here, yet do
+not imagine that I bring with me any personal bias whatever. I know
+nothing of the play, and Isteinism is merely a phrase to me. To-night
+I have no individuality. I am a critic."
+
+"So much depends," Ellison remarked, "upon the point of view. I am
+afraid that you are the last man in the world to have any sympathy
+with the decadent."
+
+"I do not properly understand the use of the word 'decadent,'"
+Matravers said. "But you need not be alarmed as to my attitude.
+Whatever my own gods may be, I am no slave to them. Isteinism has its
+devotees, and whatever has had humanity and force enough in it to
+attract a following must at least demand a respectful attention from
+the Press. And to-night I am the Press!"
+
+"I am sorry," Ellison remarked, glancing out into the gloomy well of
+the theatre with an impatient frown, "that there is so bad a house
+to-night. It is depressing to play seriously to a handful of people!"
+
+"It will not affect my judgment," Matravers said.
+
+"It will affect her acting, though," Ellison replied gloomily. "There
+are times when, even to us who know her strength, and are partial to
+her, she appears to act with difficulty,--to be encumbered with all
+the diffidence of the amateur. For a whole scene she will be little
+better than a stick. The change, when it comes, is like a sudden fire
+from Heaven. Something flashes into her face, she becomes inspired,
+she holds us breathless, hanging upon every word; it is then one
+realizes that she is a genius."
+
+"Let us hope," Matravers said, "that some such moment may visit her
+to-night. One needs some compensation for a dinnerless evening, and
+such surroundings as these!"
+
+He turned from the contemplation of the dreary, half-empty auditorium
+with a faint shudder. The theatre was an ancient and unpopular one.
+The hall-mark of failure and poverty was set alike upon the tawdry and
+faded hangings, the dust-eaten decorations and the rows of bare seats.
+It was a relief when the feeble overture came to an end, and the
+curtain was rung up. He settled himself down at once to a careful
+appreciation of the performance.
+
+Matravers was not in any sense of the word a dramatic critic. He was a
+man of letters; amongst the elect he was reckoned a master in his art.
+He occupied a singular, in many respects a unique, position. But in
+matters dramatic, he confessed to an ignorance which was strictly
+actual and in no way assumed. His presence at the New Theatre on that
+night, which was to become for him a very memorable one, was purely a
+matter of chance and good nature. The greatest of London dailies had
+decided to grant a passing notice to the extraordinary series of
+plays, which in flightier journals had provoked something between the
+blankest wonderment and the most boisterous ridicule. Their critic was
+ill--Matravers, who had at first laughed at the idea, had consented
+after much pressure to take his place. He felt himself from the first
+confronted with a difficult task, yet he entered upon it with a
+certain grave seriousness, characteristic of the man, anxious to
+arrive at and to comprehend the true meaning of what in its first
+crude presentation to his senses seemed wholly devoid of anything
+pertaining to art.
+
+The first act was almost over before the heroine of the play, and the
+actress concerning whose merits there was already some difference of
+opinion, appeared. A little burst of applause, half-hearted from the
+house generally, enthusiastic from a few, greeted her entrance.
+Ellison, watching his companion's face closely, was gratified to find
+a distinct change there. In Matravers' altered expression was
+something more than the transitory sensation of pleasure, called up by
+the unexpected appearance of a very beautiful woman. The whole
+impassiveness of that calm, almost marble-still face, with its set,
+cold lips, and slightly wearied eyes, had suddenly disappeared, and
+what Ellison had hoped for had arrived. Matravers was, without doubt,
+interested.
+
+[Illustration: "What I have seen," Matravers said gravely, "I do not
+like"]
+
+Yet the woman, whose appearance had caused a certain thrill to quiver
+through the house, and whose coming had certainly been an event to
+Matravers, did absolutely nothing for the remainder of that dreary
+first act to redeem the forlorn play, or to justify her own peculiar
+reputation. She acted languidly, her enunciation was imperfect, her
+gestures were forced and inapt. When the curtain went down upon the
+first act, Matravers was looking grave. Ellison was obviously uneasy.
+
+"Berenice," he muttered, "is not herself to-night. She will improve.
+You must suspend your judgment."
+
+Matravers fingered his programme nervously.
+
+"You are interested in this production, Ellison," he said, "and I
+should be sorry to write anything likely to do it harm. I think it
+would be better if I went away now. I cannot be blamed if I decline to
+give an opinion on anything which I have only partially seen."
+
+Ellison shook his head.
+
+"No, I'll chance it," he said. "Don't go. You haven't seen Berenice at
+her best yet. You have not seen her at all, in fact."
+
+"What I have seen," Matravers said gravely, "I do not like."
+
+"At least," Ellison protested, "she is beautiful."
+
+"According to what canons of beauty, I wonder?" Matravers remarked. "I
+hold myself a very poor judge of woman's looks, but I can at least
+recognize the classical and Renaissance standards. The beauty which
+this woman possesses, if any, is of the decadent order. I do not
+recognize it. I cannot appreciate it!"
+
+Ellison laughed softly. He had a marvellous belief in this woman and
+in her power of attracting.
+
+"You are not a woman's man, Matravers, or you would know that her
+beauty is not a matter of curves and colouring! You cannot judge her
+as a piece of statuary. All your remarks you would retract if you
+talked with her for five minutes. I am not sure," he continued, "that
+I dare not warrant you to retract them before this evening is over. At
+least, I ask you to stay. I will run my risk of your pulverization."
+
+The curtain rang up again, the play proceeded. But not the same
+play--at least, so it seemed to Matravers--not the same play, surely
+not the same woman! A situation improbable enough, but dramatic, had
+occurred at the very beginning of the second act. She had risen to the
+opportunity, triumphed over it, electrified her audience, delighted
+Ellison, moved Matravers to silent wonder. Her personality seemed to
+have dilated with the flash of genius which Matravers himself had been
+amongst the first to recognize. The strange pallor of her face seemed
+no longer the legacy of ill-health; her eyes, wonderfully soft and
+dark, were lit now with all manner of strange fires. She carried
+herself with supreme grace; there was not the faintest suspicion of
+staginess in any one of her movements. And more wonderful than
+anything to Matravers, himself a delighted worshipper of the beautiful
+in all human sounds, was that marvellously sweet voice, so low and yet
+so clear, expressing with perfect art the highest and most hallowed
+emotions, with the least amount of actual sound. She seemed to pour
+out the vial of her wrath, her outraged womanhood in tones raised
+little above a whisper, and the man who fronted her seemed turned into
+the actual semblance of an ashamed and unclean thing. Matravers made
+no secret now of his interest. He had drawn his chair to the front of
+the box, and the footlights fell full upon his pale, studious face
+turned with grave and absolute attention upon the little drama working
+itself out upon the stage. Ellison in the midst of his jubilation
+found time to notice what to him seemed a somewhat singular incident.
+In crossing the stage her eyes had for a moment met Matravers' earnest
+gaze, and Ellison could almost have declared that a faint, welcoming
+light flashed for a moment from the woman to the man. Yet he was sure
+that the two were strangers. They had never met--her very name had
+been unknown to him. It must have been his fancy.
+
+The curtain fell upon the second and final act amidst as much applause
+as the sparsely filled theatre could offer; but mingled with it,
+almost as the last words of her final speech had left her lips, came a
+curious hoarse cry from somewhere in the cheaper seats near the back
+of the house. It was heard very distinctly in every part; it rang out
+upon the deep quivering stillness which reigns for a second between
+the end of a play which has left the audience spellbound, and the
+burst of applause which is its first reawakening instinct. It was
+drowned in less than a moment, yet many people turned their startled
+heads towards the rows of back seats. Matravers, one of the first to
+hear it, was one of the most interested--perhaps because his sensitive
+ears had recognized in it that peculiar inflection, the true ring of
+earnestness. For it was essentially a human cry, a cry of sorrow, a
+strange note charged in its very hoarseness and spontaneity with an
+unutterable pathos. It was as though it had been actually drawn from
+the heart to the lips, and long after the house had become deserted,
+Matravers stood there, his hands resting upon the edge of the box, and
+his dark face turned steadfastly to that far-away corner, where it
+seemed to him that he could see a solitary, human figure, sitting with
+bowed head amongst the wilderness of empty seats.
+
+Ellison touched him upon the elbow.
+
+"You must come with me and be presented to Berenice," he said.
+
+Matravers shook his head.
+
+"Please excuse me," he said; "I would really rather not."
+
+Ellison held out a crumpled half-sheet of notepaper.
+
+"This has just been brought in to me," he said.
+
+Matravers read the single line, hastily written, and in pencil:--
+
+     "Bring your friend to me.--B."
+
+"It will scarcely take us a moment," Ellison continued. "Don't stop to
+put on your coat; we are the last in the theatre now."
+
+Matravers, whose will was usually a very dominant one, found himself
+calmly obeying his companion. Following Ellison, he was bustled down a
+long, narrow passage, across a bare wilderness of boards and odd
+pieces of scenery, to the door of a room immediately behind the stage.
+As Ellison raised his fingers to knock, it was opened from the inside,
+and Berenice came out wrapped from head to foot in a black satin coat,
+and with a piece of white lace twisted around her hair. She stopped
+when she saw the two men, and held out her hand to Ellison, who
+immediately introduced Matravers.
+
+Again Ellison fancied that in her greeting of him there were some
+traces of a former knowledge. But nothing in her words or in his
+alluded to it.
+
+"I am very much honoured," Matravers said simply. "I am a rare
+attendant at the theatre, and your performance gave me great
+pleasure."
+
+"I am very glad," she answered. "Do you know that you made me
+wretchedly nervous? I was told just as I was going on that you had
+come to smash us all to atoms in that terrible _Day_."
+
+"I came as a critic," he answered, "but I am a very incompetent one.
+Perhaps you will appreciate my ignorance more when I tell you that
+this is my first visit behind the scenes of a theatre."
+
+[Illustration: But nothing in her words or in his alluded to it]
+
+She laughed softly, and they looked around together at the dimly
+burning gas-lights, the creaking scenery being drawn back from the
+stage, the woman with a brush and mop sweeping, and at that dismal
+perspective of holland-shrouded auditorium beyond, now quite deserted.
+
+"At least," she said, "your impressions cannot be mixed ones. It is
+hideous here."
+
+He did not contradict her; and they both ignored Ellison's murmured
+compliment.
+
+"It is very draughty," he remarked, "and you seem cold; we must not
+keep you here. May we--can I," he added, glancing down the stone
+passage, "show you to your carriage?"
+
+She laughed softly.
+
+"You may come with me," she said, "but our exit is like a rabbit
+burrow; we must go in single file, and almost on hands and knees."
+
+She led the way, and they followed her into the street. A small
+brougham was waiting at the door, and her maid was standing by it.
+The commissionaire stood away, and Matravers closed the carriage door
+upon them. Her white, ungloved hand, loaded--overloaded it seemed to
+him--with rings, stole through the window, and he held it for a moment
+in his. He felt somehow that he was expected to say something. She was
+looking at him very intently. There was some powder on her cheeks,
+which he noted with an instinctive thrill of aversion.
+
+"Shall I tell him home?" he asked.
+
+"If you please," she answered.
+
+"Madam!" her maid interposed.
+
+"Home, please," Berenice said calmly. "Good-by, Mr. Matravers."
+
+"Good night."
+
+The carriage rolled away. At the corner of the street Berenice pulled
+the check-string. "The Milan Restaurant," she told the man briefly.
+
+Matravers and Ellison lit their cigarettes and strolled away on foot.
+At the corner of the street Ellison had an inspiration.
+
+"Let us," he said, "have some supper somewhere."
+
+Matravers shook his head.
+
+"I really have a great deal of work to do," he said, "and I must write
+this notice for the _Day_. I think that I will go straight home."
+
+Ellison thrust his arm through his companion's, and called a hansom.
+
+"It will only take us half an hour," he declared, "and we will go to
+one of the fashionable places. You will be amused! Come! It all
+enters, you know, into your revised scheme of life--the attainment of
+a fuller and more catholic knowledge of your fellow-creatures. We will
+see our fellow-creatures _en fete_."
+
+Matravers suffered himself to be persuaded. They drove to a restaurant
+close at hand, and stood for a moment at the entrance looking for
+seats. The room was crowded.
+
+"I will go," Ellison said, "and find the director. He knows me well,
+and he will find me a table."
+
+[Illustration: Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,
+noticed nothing]
+
+He elbowed his way up to the further end of the apartment. Matravers
+remained a somewhat conspicuous figure in the doorway looking from one
+to another of the little parties with a smile, half amused, half
+interested. Suddenly his face became grave,--his heart gave an
+unaccustomed leap! He stood quite still, his eyes fixed upon the bent
+head and white shoulders of a woman only a few yards away from him.
+Almost at the same moment Berenice looked up and their eyes met. The
+colour left her cheeks,--she was ghastly pale! A sentence which she
+had just begun died away upon her lips; her companion, who was intent
+upon the wine list, noticed nothing. She made a movement as though to
+rise. Simultaneously Matravers turned upon his heel and left the room.
+
+Ellison came hurrying back in a few moments and looked in vain for his
+companion. As he stood there watching the throng of people, Berenice
+called him to her.
+
+"Your friend," she said, "has gone away. He stood for a moment in the
+doorway like Banquo's ghost, and then he disappeared."
+
+Ellison looked vaguely bewildered.
+
+"Matravers is an odd sort," he remarked. "I suppose it is one of the
+penalties of genius to be compelled to do eccentric things. I must
+have my supper alone."
+
+"Or with us," she said. "You know Mr. Thorndyke, don't you? There is
+plenty of room here."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Matravers stood at an open window, reading a note by the grey dawn
+light. Below him stretched the broad thoroughfare of Piccadilly,
+noiseless, shadowy, deserted. He had thrown up the window overcome by
+a sudden sense of suffocation, and a chill, damp breeze came stealing
+in, cooling his parched forehead and hot, dry eyes. For the last two
+or three hours he had been working with an unwonted and rare zest; it
+had happened quite by chance, for as a rule he was a man of regular,
+even mechanical habits. But to-night he scarcely knew himself,--he
+had all the sensations of a man who had passed through a new and
+altogether unexpected experience. At midnight he had let himself into
+his room after that swift, impulsive departure from the Milan, and
+had dropped by chance into the chair before his writing-table. The
+sight of his last unfinished sentence, abruptly abandoned in the
+centre of a neatly written page of manuscript, had fascinated him, and
+as he sat there idly with the loose sheet in his hands, holding it so
+that the lamplight might fall upon its very legible characters, an
+idea flashed into his brain,--an idea which had persistently eluded
+him for days. With the sudden stimulus of a purely mental activity, he
+had hastily thrown aside his outdoor garment, and had written for
+several hours with a readiness and facility which seemed, somehow, for
+the last few days to have been denied to him.
+
+He had become his old self again,--the events of the evening lay
+already far behind. Then had come a soft knocking at the door,
+followed by the apologetic entrance of his servant bearing a note upon
+which his name was written in hasty characters with an "Immediate"
+scrawled, as though by an after-thought, upon the left-hand corner. He
+had torn it open wondering at the woman's writing, and glanced at its
+brief contents carelessly enough,--but since then he had done no work.
+For the present he was not likely to do any more.
+
+The cold breeze, acting like a tonic upon his dazed senses, awoke in
+him also a peculiar restlessness, a feeling of intolerable restraint
+at the close environment of his little room and its associations. Its
+atmosphere had suddenly become stifling. He caught up his cloak and
+hat, and walked out again into the silent street; it seemed to him,
+momentarily forgetful of the hour, like a city of the dead into which
+he had wandered.
+
+As he turned, from habit, towards the Park, the great houses on his
+right frowned down upon him lightless and lifeless. The broad
+pavement, pressed a few hours ago, and so soon to be pressed again by
+the steps of an innumerable multitude, was deserted; his own footfall
+seemed to awaken a strange and curiously persistent echo, as though
+some one were indeed following him on the opposite side of the way
+under the shadow of the drooping lime trees. Once he stopped and
+listened. The footsteps ceased too. There was no one! With a faint
+smile at the illusion to which he had for a moment yielded, he
+continued his walk.
+
+Before him the outline of the arch stood out with gloomy distinctness
+against a cold, lowering background of vapourous sky. Like a man who
+was still half dreaming, he crossed the road and entered the Park,
+making his way towards the trees. There was a spot about half-way
+down, where, in the afternoons, he usually sat. Near it he found two
+chairs, one on top of the other; he removed the upper one and sat
+down, crossing his legs and lighting a cigarette which he took from
+his case. Then in a transitory return of his ordinary state of mind he
+laughed softly to himself. People would say that he was going mad.
+
+Through half-closed eyes he looked out upon the broad drive. With the
+aid of an imagination naturally powerful, he was passing with
+marvellous facility into an unreal world of his own creation. The
+scene remained the same, but the environment changed as though by
+magic. Sunshine pierced the grey veil of clouds, gay voices and
+laughter broke the chill silence. The horn of a four-in-hand sounded
+from the corner, the path before him was thronged with men and women
+whose rustling skirts brushed often against his knees as they made
+their way with difficulty along the promenade. A glittering show of
+carriages and coaches swept past the railings; the air was full of
+the sound of the trampling of horses and the rolling of wheels. With a
+mental restraint of which he was all the time half-conscious, he kept
+back the final effort of his imagination for some time; but it came at
+last.
+
+A victoria, drawn by a single dark bay horse, with servants in quiet
+liveries, drew up at the paling, and a woman leaning back amongst the
+cushions looked out at him across the sea of faces as she had indeed
+looked more than once. She was surrounded by handsomer women in more
+elaborate toilettes and more splendid equipages. Her cheeks were pale,
+and she was undoubtedly thin. Nevertheless, to other people as well as
+to him, she was a personality. Even then he seemed to feel the little
+stir which always passed like electricity into the air directly her
+carriage was stayed. When she had come, when he was perfectly sure of
+her, and indeed under the spell of her near presence, he drew that
+note again from his pocket and read it.
+
+                             "18, LARGE STREET, W.
+                                            "12.30.
+
+     "I told you a lie! and I feel that you will never forgive
+     me! Yet I want to explain it. There is something I want you
+     to know! Will you come and see me? I shall be at home until
+     one o'clock to-morrow morning, or, if the afternoon suits
+     you better, from 4 to 6.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+A lie! Yes, it was that. To him, an inveterate lover of truth, the
+offence had seemed wholly unpardonable. He had set himself to forget
+the woman and the incident as something altogether beneath his
+recollection. The night, with its host of strange, half-awakened
+sensations, was a memory to be lived down, to be crushed altogether.
+For him, doubtless, that lie had been a providence. It put a stop to
+any further intercourse between them,--it stamped her at once with the
+hall-mark of unworthiness. Yet he knew that he was disappointed;
+disappointment was, perhaps, a mild word. He had walked through the
+streets with Ellison, after that meeting with her at the theatre,
+conscious of an unwonted buoyancy of spirits, feeling that he had
+drawn into his life a new experience which promised to be a very
+pleasant one.
+
+There were things about the woman which had not pleased him, but they
+were, on the whole, merely superficial incidents, accidents he chose
+to think, of her environment. He had even permitted himself to look
+forward to their next meeting, to a definite continuance of their
+acquaintance. Standing in the doorway of the brilliantly lighted
+Milan, he had looked in at the vivid little scene with a certain eager
+tolerance,--there was much, after all, that was attractive in this
+side of life, so much that was worth cultivating; he blamed himself
+that he had stood aloof from it for so long.
+
+Then their eyes had met, he had seen her sudden start, had felt his
+heart sink like lead. She was a creature of common clay after all! His
+eyes rested for a moment upon her companion, a man well known to him,
+though of a class for whom his contempt was great, and with whom he
+had no kinship. She was like this then! It was a pity.
+
+His cigarette went out, and a rain-drop, which had been hovering upon
+a leaf above him, fell with a splash upon the sheet of heavy white
+paper. He rose to his feet, stiff and chilled and disillusioned. His
+little ghost-world of fancies had faded away. Morning had come, and
+eastwards, a single shaft of cold sunlight had pierced the grey sky.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+At ten o'clock he breakfasted, after three hours' sleep and a cold
+bath. In the bright, yet soft spring daylight, the lines of his face
+had relaxed, and the pallor of his cheeks was less unnatural. He was
+still a man of remarkable appearance; his features were strong and
+firmly chiselled, his forehead was square and almost hard. He wore no
+beard, but a slight, black moustache only half-concealed a delicate
+and sensitive mouth. His complexion and his soft grey eyes were alike
+possessed of a singular clearness, as though they were, indeed, the
+indices of a temperate and well-contained life. His dress, and every
+movement and detail of his person, were characterized by an extreme
+deliberation; his whole appearance bespoke a peculiar and almost
+feminine fastidiousness. The few appointments of his simple meal were
+the most perfect of their kind. A delicate vase of freshly cut flowers
+stood on the centre of the spotless table-cloth,--the hangings and
+colouring of the apartment were softly harmonious. The walls were hung
+with fine engravings, with here and there a brilliant little
+water-colour of the school of Corot; a few marble and bronze
+statuettes were scattered about on the mantelpiece and on brackets.
+There was nothing particularly striking anywhere, yet there was
+nothing on which the eye could not rest with pleasure.
+
+At half-past ten he lit a cigarette, and sat down at his desk. He
+wrote quite steadily for an hour; at the end of that time he pinned
+together the result of his work, and wrote a hasty note.
+
+                              "113, PICCADILLY.
+
+     "DEAR MR. HASLUP,--
+
+     "I went last night to the New Theatre, and I send you my
+     views as to what I saw there. But I beg that you will
+     remember my absolute ignorance on all matters pertaining to
+     the modern drama, and use your own discretion entirely as to
+     the disposal of the enclosed. I do not feel myself, in any
+     sense of the word, a competent critic, and I trust that you
+     will not feel yourself under the least obligation to give to
+     my views the weight of your journal.
+
+                              "I remain,
+                                "Yours truly,
+                                  "JOHN MATRAVERS."
+
+His finger was upon the bell, when his servant entered, bearing a note
+upon a salver. Matravers glanced at the handwriting already becoming
+familiar to him, recognizing, too, the faint odour of violets which
+seemed to escape into the room as his fingers broke the seal.
+
+     "It is half-past eleven and you have not come! Does that
+     mean that you will not listen to me, that you mean to judge
+     me unheard? You will not be so unkind! I shall remain
+     indoors until one o'clock, and I shall expect you.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+Matravers laid the note down, and covered it with a paper-weight. Then
+he sealed his own letter, and gave it, with the manuscript, to his
+servant. The man withdrew, and Matravers continued his writing.
+
+He worked steadily until two o'clock. Then a simple luncheon was
+brought in to him, and upon the tray another note. Matravers took it
+with some hesitation, and read it thoughtfully.
+
+                              "TWO O'CLOCK.
+
+     "You have made up your mind, then, not to come. Very well, I
+     too am determined. If you will not come to me, I shall come
+     to you! I shall remain in until four o'clock. You may expect
+     to see me any time after then.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+Matravers ate his luncheon and pondered, finally deciding to abandon a
+struggle in which his was obviously the weaker position. He lingered
+for a while over his coffee; at three o'clock he retired for a few
+moments into his dressing-room, and then descending the stairs, made
+his way out into the street.
+
+He had told himself only a few hours back that he would be wise to
+ignore this summons from a woman, the ways of whose life must lie very
+far indeed from his. Yet he knew that his meeting with her had
+affected him as nothing of the sort had ever affected him before--a
+man unimpressionable where women were concerned, and ever devoted to
+and cultivating a somewhat unnatural exclusiveness. Her first note he
+had been content to ignore,--she might have written it in a fit of
+pique--but the second had made him thoughtful. Her very persistence
+was characteristic. Perhaps after all she was in the right--he had
+arrived too hastily at an ignoble conclusion. Her attitude towards him
+was curiously unconventional; it was an attitude such as none of the
+few women with whom he had ever been brought into contact would have
+dreamed of assuming. But none the less it had for him a fascination
+which he could not measure or define,--it had awakened a new
+sensation, which, as a philosopher, he was anxious to probe. The
+mysticism of his early morning wanderings seemed to him, as he walked
+leisurely through the sunlit streets, in a sense ridiculous. After
+all it was a little thing that he was going to do; he was going to
+make, against his will, an afternoon call. To other men it would have
+seemed less than nothing. Albeit he knew he was about to draw into his
+life a new experience.
+
+He rang the bell at Number 18, Large Street, and gave his card to the
+trim little maidservant who opened the door. In a minute or two she
+returned, and invited him to follow her upstairs; her mistress was in,
+and would see him at once. She led the way up the broad staircase into
+a room which could, perhaps, be most aptly described as a feminine
+den. The walls, above the low bookshelves which bordered the whole
+apartment, were hung with a medley of water-colours and photographs,
+water-colours which a single glance showed him were good, and of the
+school then most in vogue. The carpet was soft and thick, divans and
+easy chairs filled with cushions were plentiful. By the side of one
+of these, which bore signs of recent occupation, was a reading stand,
+and upon it a Shakespeare, and a volume of his own critical essays.
+
+To him, with all his senses quickened by an intense curiosity, there
+seemed to hang about the atmosphere of the room that subtle odour of
+femininity which, in the case of a man, would probably have been
+represented by tobacco smoke. A Sevres jar of Neapolitan violets stood
+upon the table near the divan. Henceforth the perfume of violets
+seemed a thing apart from the perfume of all other flowers to the man
+who stood there waiting, himself with a few of the light purple
+blossoms in the buttonhole of his frock coat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+She came to him so noiselessly, that for a moment or two he was
+unaware of her entrance. There was neither the rustle of skirts nor
+the sound of any movement to apprise him of it, yet he became suddenly
+conscious that he was not alone. He turned around at once and saw her
+standing within a few feet of him. She held out her hand frankly.
+
+"So you have come," she said; "I thought that you would. But then you
+had very little choice, had you?" she added with a little laugh.
+
+She passed him, and deliberately seated herself amongst a pile of
+cushions on the divan nearest her reading stand. For the moment he
+neglected her gestured invitation, and remained standing, looking at
+her.
+
+"I was very glad to come," he said simply.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"You were afraid of my threat. You were afraid that I might come to
+you. Well, it is probable, almost certain that I should have come. You
+have saved yourself from that, at any rate."
+
+Although the situation was a novel one to him, he was not in the least
+embarrassed. He was altogether too sincere to be possessed of any
+self-consciousness. He found himself at last actually in the presence
+of the woman who, since first he had seen her, months ago, driving
+in the Park, had been constantly in his thoughts, and he began to
+wonder with perfect clearness of judgment wherein lay her peculiar
+fascination! That she was handsome, of her type, went for nothing. The
+world was full of more beautiful women whom he saw day by day without
+the faintest thrill of interest. Besides, her face was too pale and
+her form too thin for exceptional beauty. There must be something
+else,--something about her personality which refused to lend itself to
+any absolute analysis. She was perfectly dressed,--he realized that,
+because he was never afterwards able to recall exactly what she wore.
+Her eyes were soft and dark and luminous,--soft with a light the power
+of which he was not slow to recognize.
+
+But none of these things were of any important account in reckoning
+with the woman. He became convinced, in those few moments of
+deliberate observation, that there was nothing in her "personnel"
+which could justify her reputation. On the whole he was glad of it.
+Any other form of attraction was more welcome to him than a purely
+physical one!
+
+"First of all," she began, leaning forward and looking at him over
+her interlaced fingers; "I want you to tell me this! You will answer
+me faithfully, I know. What did you think of my writing to you, of my
+persistence? Tell me exactly what you thought."
+
+"I was surprised," he answered; "how could I help it? I was surprised,
+too," he added, "to find that I wanted very much to come."
+
+"The women whom you know," she said quietly,--"I suppose you do know
+some,--would not have done such a thing. Some people say that I am
+mad! One may as well try to live up to one's reputation; I have taken
+a little of the license of madness."
+
+"It was unusual, perhaps," he admitted; "but who is not weary of usual
+things? I gathered from your note that you had something to explain. I
+was anxious to hear what that explanation could be."
+
+She was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed upon vacancy, a faint
+smile at the corners of her lips.
+
+"First," she said, "let me tell you this. I want to have you
+understand why I was anxious that you should not think worse of me
+than I deserved. I am rather a spoilt woman. I have grown used to
+having my own way; I wanted to know you, I have wanted to for some
+time. We have passed one another day after day; I knew quite well all
+the time who you were, and it seemed so stupid! Do you know once or
+twice I have had an insane desire to come right up to your chair and
+break in upon your meditations,--hold out my hand and make you talk to
+me? That would have been worse than this, would it not? But I firmly
+believe that I should have done it some day. So you see I wrote my
+little note in self-defence."
+
+"I do not know that I should have been so completely surprised after
+all," he said. "I, too, have felt something of what you have
+expressed. I have been interested in your comings and your goings. But
+then you knew that, or you would never have written to me."
+
+"One sacrifices so much," she murmured, "on the altars of the modern
+Goddess. We live in such a tiny compass,--nothing ever happens. It is
+only psychologically that one's emotions can be reached at all. Events
+are quite out of date. I am speaking from a woman's point of view."
+
+"You should have lived," he said, smiling, "in the days of Joan of
+Arc."
+
+"No doubt," she answered, "I should have found that equally dull. What
+I was endeavouring to do was, first of all to plead some justification
+for wanting to know you. For a woman there is nothing left but the
+study of personalities."
+
+"Mine," he answered with a faint gleam in his eyes, "is very much at
+your service."
+
+"I am going to take you at your word," she warned him.
+
+"You will be very much disappointed. I am perfectly willing to be
+dissected, but the result will be inadequate."
+
+She leaned back amongst the cushions and looked at him thoughtfully.
+
+"Listen," she said; "I can tell you something of your history, as you
+will see. I want you to fill in the blanks."
+
+"Mine," he murmured, "will be the greater task. My life is a record of
+blank places. The history is to come."
+
+"This," she said, "is the extent of my knowledge. You were the second
+son of Sir Lionel Matravers, and you have been an orphan since you
+were very young. You were meant to take Holy Orders, but when the time
+came you declined. At Oxford you did very well indeed. You established
+a brilliant reputation as a classical scholar, and you became a
+fellow of St. John's.
+
+"It was whilst you were there that you wrote _Studies in Character_.
+Two years ago, I do not know why, you gave up your fellowship and came
+to London. You took up the editorship of a Review--the _Bi-Weekly_, I
+think--but you resigned it on a matter of principle. You have a
+somewhat curious reputation. The _Scrutineer_ invariably alludes to
+you as the Apostle of AEstheticism. You are reported to have fixed
+views as to the conduct of life, down even to its most trifling
+details. That sounds unpleasant, but it probably isn't altogether
+true.... Don't interrupt, please! You have no intimate friends, but
+you go sometimes into society. You are apparently a mixture of poet,
+philosopher, and man of fashion. I have heard you spoken of more than
+once as a disciple of Epicurus. You also, in the course of your
+literary work, review novels--unfortunately for me--and six months ago
+you were the cause of my nearly crying my eyes out. It was perhaps
+silly of me to attempt, without any literary experience, to write a
+modern story, but my own life supplied the motive, and at least I was
+faithful to what I felt and knew. No one else has ever said such cruel
+things about my work.
+
+"Woman-like, you see, I repay my injuries by becoming interested in
+you. If you had praised my book, I daresay I should never have thought
+of you at all. Then there is one thing more. Every day you sit in the
+Park close to where I stop, and--you look at me. It seems as though we
+had often spoken there. Shall I tell you what I have been vain enough
+to think sometimes?
+
+"I have watched you from a distance, often before you have seen me.
+You always sit in the same attitude, your eyebrows are a little
+contracted, there is generally the ghost of a smile upon your lips.
+You are like an outsider who has come to look upon a brilliant show. I
+could fancy that you have clothed yourself in the personality of that
+young Roman noble whose name you have made so famous, and from another
+age were gazing tolerantly and even kindly upon the folly and the
+pageantry which have survived for two thousand years. And then I have
+taken my little place in the procession, and I have fancied that a
+subtle change has stolen into your face. You have looked at me as
+gravely as ever, but no longer as an impersonal spectator.
+
+"It is as though I have seemed a live person to you, and the others,
+mummies. Once the change came so swiftly that I smiled at you,--I
+could not help it,--and you looked away."
+
+"I remember it distinctly," he interrupted. "I thought the smile was
+for some one behind me."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"It was for you. Now I have finished. Fill in the blanks, please."
+
+He was content to answer her in the same strain. The effect of her
+complete naturalness was already upon him.
+
+"So far as my personal history is concerned," he told her, "you are
+wonderfully correct. There is nothing more to be said about it. I gave
+up my fellowship at Oxford because I have always been convinced of the
+increasing narrowness and limitations of purely academic culture and
+scholarship. I was afraid of what I should become as an old man, of
+what I was already growing into. I wanted to have a closer grip upon
+human things, to be in more sympathetic relations with the great world
+of my fellow-men. Can you understand me, I wonder? The influences of
+a university town are too purely scholarly to produce literary work of
+wide human interest. London had always fascinated me--though as yet I
+have met with many disappointments. As to the _Bi-Weekly_, it was my
+first idea to undertake no fixed literary work, and it was only after
+great pressure that I took it for a time. As you know, my editorship
+was a failure."
+
+He paused for a moment or two, and looked steadily at her. He was
+anxious to watch the effect of what he was going to say.
+
+"You have mentioned my review upon your novel in the _Bi-Weekly_. I
+cannot say that I am sorry I wrote it. I never attacked a book with so
+much pleasure. But I am very sorry indeed that you should have written
+it. With your gifts you could have given to the world something better
+than a mere psychological debauch!"
+
+She laughed softly, but genuinely.
+
+"I adore sincerity," she exclaimed, "and it is so many years since I
+was actually scolded. A 'psychological debauch' is delightful. But I
+cannot help my views, can I? My experiences were made for me! I became
+the creature of circumstances. No one is morally responsible for their
+opinions."
+
+"There are things," he said, "which find their way into our thoughts
+and consciousness, but of which it would be considered flagrantly bad
+taste to speak. And there are things in the world which exist, which
+have existed from time immemorial, the evil legacy of countless
+generations, of which it seems to me to be equally bad taste to write.
+Art has a limitless choice of subjects. I would not have you sully
+your fine gifts by writing of anything save of the beautiful."
+
+"This is rank hedonism," she laughed. "It is a survival of your
+academic days."
+
+"Some day," he answered, "we will talk more fully of this. It is a
+little early for us to discuss a subject upon which we hold such
+opposite views."
+
+"You are afraid that we might quarrel!"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No, not that! Only as I am something of an idealist, and you, I
+suppose, have placed yourself amongst the ranks of the realists, we
+should scarcely meet upon a common basis. But will you forgive me if I
+say so--I am very sure that some day you will be a deserter?"
+
+"And why?"
+
+[Illustration: "Friends," she repeated, with a certain wistfulness in
+her tone]
+
+"I do not know anything of your history," he continued gently, "nor am
+I asking for your confidence. Only in your story there was a personal
+note, which seemed to me to somehow explain the bitterness and
+directness with which you wrote--of certain subjects. I think that you
+yourself have had trouble--or perhaps a dear friend has suffered,
+and her grief has become yours. There was a little poison in your pen,
+I think. Never mind! We shall be friends, and I shall watch it pass
+away!"
+
+"Friends," she repeated with a certain wistfulness in her tone. "But
+have you forgotten--what you came for?"
+
+"I do not think," he said slowly, "that it is of much consequence."
+
+"But it is," she insisted. "You asked me distinctly where I wished to
+be driven to from the theatre, and I told you--home! All the time I
+knew that I was going to have supper with Mr. Thorndyke at the Milan!
+Morally I lied to you!"
+
+"Why?" he asked.
+
+"I cannot tell you," she answered; "it was an impulse. I thought
+nothing of accepting the man's invitation. You know him, I daresay. He
+is a millionaire, and it is his money which supports the theatre. He
+has asked me several times, and although personally I dislike him, he
+has, of course, a certain claim upon my acquaintance. I have made
+excuses once or twice. Last night was the first time I have ever been
+out anywhere with him. I do not of course pretend to be in the least
+conventional--I have always permitted myself the utmost liberty of
+action. Yet--I had wanted so much to know you--I was afraid of
+prejudicing you.... After all, you see, I have no explanation. It was
+just an impulse. I have hated myself for it; but it is done!"
+
+"It was," he said, "a trifle of no importance. We will forget it."
+
+A gleam of gratitude shone in her dark eyes. Her head drooped a
+little. He fancied that her voice was not quite so steady.
+
+"It is good," she said, "to hear you say that."
+
+He looked around the room, and back into her face. Some dim
+foreknowledge of what was to come between them seemed to flash before
+his eyes. It was like a sudden glimpse into that unseen world so close
+at hand, in which he--that Roman noble--had at any rate implicitly
+believed. There was a faint smile upon his face as his eyes met hers.
+
+"At least," he said, "I shall be able to come and talk with you now at
+the railing, instead of watching you from my chair. For you were quite
+right in what you said just now. I have watched for you every day--for
+many days."
+
+"You will be able to come," she said gravely, "if you care to. You mix
+so little with the men who love to talk scandal of a woman, that you
+may never have heard them--talk of me. But they do, I know! I hear all
+about it--it used to amuse me! You have the reputation of ultra
+exclusiveness! If you and I are known to be friends, you may have to
+risk losing it."
+
+His brows were slightly contracted, and he had half closed his eyes--a
+habit of his when anything was said which offended his taste.
+
+"I wonder whether you would mind not talking like that," he said.
+
+"Why not? I would not have you hear these things from other people. It
+is best to be truthful, is it not? To run no risk of any
+misunderstandings."
+
+"There is no fear of anything of that sort," he said calmly. "I do not
+pretend to be a magician or a diviner, yet I think I know you for what
+you are, and it is sufficient. Some day----"
+
+He broke off in the middle of a sentence. The door had opened. A man
+stood upon the threshold. The servant announced him--Mr. Thorndyke.
+
+Matravers rose at once to his feet. He had a habit--the outcome,
+doubtless, of his epicurean tenets, of leaving at once, and at any
+costs, society not wholly agreeable to him. He bowed coldly to the man
+who was already greeting Berenice, and who was carrying a great bunch
+of Parma violets.
+
+Mr. Thorndyke was evidently astonished at his presence--and not
+agreeably.
+
+"Have you come, Mr. Matravers," he asked coldly, "to make your peace?"
+
+"I am not aware," Matravers answered calmly, "of any reason why I
+should do so."
+
+Mr. Thorndyke raised his eyebrows, and drew an afternoon paper from
+his pocket.
+
+"This is your writing, is it not?" he asked.
+
+Matravers glanced at the paragraph.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+Mr. Thorndyke threw the paper upon the table.
+
+"Well," he said, "I have no doubt it is an excellent piece of literary
+work--a satire I suppose you would call it--and I must congratulate
+you upon its complete success. I don't mind running the theatre at a
+financial loss, but I have a distinct objection to being made a
+laughing stock of. I suppose this paper appeared about two hours ago,
+and already I can't move a yard without having to suffer the
+condolences of some sympathizing ass. I shall close the theatre next
+week."
+
+"That is naturally," Matravers said, "a matter of complete
+indifference to me. In the cause of art I should say that you will do
+well, unless you can select a play from a very different source. What
+I wrote of the performance last night, I wrote according to my
+convictions. You," he added, turning to Berenice, "will at least
+believe that, I am sure!"
+
+"Most certainly I do," she assured him, holding out her hand. "Must
+you really go? You will come and see me again--very soon?"
+
+He bowed over her fingers, and then their eyes met for a moment. She
+was very pale, but she looked at him bravely. He realized suddenly
+that Mr. Thorndyke's threat was a serious blow to her.
+
+"I am very sorry," he said. "You will not bear me any ill will?"
+
+"None!" she answered; "you may be sure of that!"
+
+She walked with him to the open door, outside which the servant was
+waiting to show him downstairs.
+
+"You will come and see me again--very soon?" she repeated.
+
+"Yes," he answered simply, "if I may I shall come again! I will come
+as soon as you care to have me!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Matravers passed out into the street with a curious admixture of
+sensations in a mind usually so free from any confusion of sentiments
+or ideas. The few words which he had been compelled to exchange with
+Thorndyke had grated very much against his sense of what was seemly;
+he was on the whole both repelled and fascinated by the incidents of
+this visit of his. Yet as he walked leisurely homewards through the
+bright, crowded streets, he recognized the existence of that strange
+personal charm in Berenice of which so many people had written and
+spoken. He himself had become subject to it in some slight degree, not
+enough, indeed, to engross his mind, yet enough to prevent any
+feeling of disappointment at the result of his visit.
+
+She was not an ordinary woman--she was not an ordinarily clever woman.
+She did not belong to any type with which he was acquainted. She must
+for ever occupy a place of her own in his thoughts and in his
+estimation. It was a place very well defined, he told himself, and by
+no means within that inner circle of his brain and heart wherein lay
+the few things in life sweet and precious to him. The vague excitement
+of the early morning seemed to him now, as he moved calmly along the
+crowded, fashionable thoroughfare, a thing altogether unreal and
+unnatural. He had been in an emotional frame of mind, he told himself
+with a quiet smile, when the sight of those few lines in a handwriting
+then unknown had so curiously stirred him. Now that he had seen
+and spoken to her, her personality would recede to its proper
+proportions, the old philosophic calm which hung around him in his
+studious life like a mantle would have no further disturbance.
+
+And then he suffered a rude shock! As he passed the corner of a
+street, the perfume of Neapolitan violets came floating out from a
+florist's shop upon the warm sunlit air. Every fibre of his being
+quivered with a sudden emotion! The interior of that little room was
+before him, and a woman's eyes looked into his. He clenched his hands
+and walked swiftly on, with pale face and rigid lips, like a man
+oppressed by some acute physical pain.
+
+There must be nothing of this for him! It was part of a world which
+was not his world--of which he must never even be a temporary denizen.
+The thing passed away! With studious care he fixed his mind upon
+trifles. There was a crease in his silk hat, clearly visible as he
+glanced at his reflection in a plate-glass window. He turned into
+Scott's, and waited whilst it was ironed. Then he walked homewards and
+spent the remainder of the day carefully revising a bundle of proofs
+which he found on his table fresh from the printer.
+
+On the following morning he lunched at his club. Somehow, although he
+was in no sense of the word an unpopular man, it was a rare thing for
+any one to seek his company uninvited. The scholarly exclusiveness of
+his Oxford days had not been altogether brushed off in this contact
+with a larger and more spontaneous social life, and he figured in a
+world which would gladly have known more of him, as a man of courteous
+but severe reserve.
+
+To-day he occupied his usual round table set in an alcove before a
+tall window. For a recluse, he always found a singular pleasure in
+watching the faces of the people in that broad living stream, little
+units in the wheeling cycle of humanity of which he too felt himself
+to be a part; but to-day his eyes were idle, and his sympathies
+obstructed. Although a pronounced epicure in both food and drink, he
+passed a new and delicate _entree_, and not only ordered the wrong
+claret, but drank it without a grimace. The world of his sensations
+had been rudely disturbed. For the moment his sense of proportions was
+at fault, and before luncheon was over it received a further shock. A
+handsomely appointed drag rattled past the club on its way into
+Piccadilly. The woman who occupied the front seat turned to look at
+the window as they passed, with some evident curiosity--and their eyes
+met. Matravers set down the glass, which he had been in the act of
+raising to his lips, untasted.
+
+"Berenice and her Father Confessor!" he heard some one remark lightly
+from the next table. "Pity some one can't teach Thorndyke how to
+drive! He's a disgrace to the Four-in-hand!"
+
+It was Berenice! The sight of her in such intimate association with a
+man utterly distasteful to him was one before which he winced and
+suffered. He was aware of a new and altogether undesired experience.
+To rid himself of it with all possible speed, he finished his lunch
+abruptly, and lighting a cigarette, started back to his rooms.
+
+On the way he came face to face with Ellison, and the two men stood
+together upon the pavement for a moment or two.
+
+"I am not quite sure," Ellison remarked with a little grimace,
+"whether I want to speak to you or not! What on earth has kindled the
+destructive spirit in you to such an extent? Every one is talking of
+your attack upon the New Theatre!"
+
+"I was sent," Matravers answered, "with a free hand to write an honest
+criticism--and I did it. Istein's work may have some merit, but it is
+unclean work. It is not fit for the English stage."
+
+"It is exceedingly unlikely," Ellison remarked, "that the English
+stage will know him any more! No play could survive such an onslaught
+as yours. I hear that Thorndyke is going to close the theatre."
+
+"If it was opened," Matravers said, "for the purpose of presenting
+such work as this latest production, the sooner it is closed the
+better."
+
+Ellison shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"It is a large subject," he said, "and I am not sure that we are of
+one mind. We will not discuss it. At any rate, I am very sorry for
+Berenice!"
+
+"I do not think," Matravers said in measured tones, "that you need be
+sorry for her. With her gifts she will scarcely remain long without an
+engagement. I trust that she may secure one which will not involve
+the prostitution of her talent." Ellison laughed shortly. He had an
+immense admiration for Matravers, but just at present he was a little
+out of temper with him.
+
+"You admit her talent, then?" he remarked. "I am glad of that!"
+
+"I am not sure," Matravers said, "that talent is the proper word to
+use. One might almost call it genius."
+
+Ellison was considerably mollified.
+
+"I am glad to hear you say so," he declared. "At the same time I am
+afraid her position will be rather an awkward one. She will lose some
+money by the closing of the theatre, and I don't exactly see what
+London house is open for her just at present. These actor-managers are
+all so clannish, and they have their own women."
+
+"I am sorry," Matravers said thoughtfully; "at the same time I cannot
+believe that she will remain very long undiscovered! Good afternoon!
+I am forgetting that I have some writing to do."
+
+Matravers walked slowly back to his rooms, filled with a new and
+fascinating idea which Ellison's words had suddenly suggested to him.
+If it was true that his pen had done her this ill turn, did he not owe
+her some reparation? It would be a very pleasant way to pay his debt
+and a very simple one. By the time he had reached his destination the
+idea had taken definite hold of him.
+
+[Illustration: At half-past four his servant brought in a small
+tea-equipage]
+
+For several hours he worked at the revision of a certain manuscript,
+polishing and remodelling with infinite care and pains. Not even
+content with the correct and tasteful arrangement of his sentences, he
+read them over to himself aloud, lest by any chance there should have
+crept into them some trick of alliteration, or juxtaposition of words
+not entirely musical. In his work he gained, or seemed to gain, a
+complete absorption. The cloudy disquiet of the last few hours
+appeared to have passed away,--to have been, indeed, only a fugitive
+and transitory thing.
+
+At half-past four his servant brought in a small tea-equipage--a
+silver tray, with an old blue Worcester teapot and cup, and a quaintly
+cut glass cream-jug. He made his tea, and drank it with his pen still
+in his hand. He had scarcely turned back to his work, before the same
+servant re-entered carrying a frock coat, an immaculately brushed silk
+hat, and a fresh bunch of Neapolitan violets. For a moment Matravers
+hesitated; then he laid down his pen, changed his coat, and once more
+passed out into the streets, more brilliant than ever now with the
+afternoon sunshine. He joined the throng of people leisurely making
+their way towards the Park!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+For nearly half an hour he sat in his usual place under the trees,
+watching with indifferent eyes the constant stream of carriages
+passing along the drive. It seemed to him only a few hours since he
+had sat there before, almost in the same spot, a solitary figure in
+the cold, grey twilight, yet watching then, even as he was watching
+now, for that small victoria with its single occupant whose soft dark
+eyes had met his so often with a frank curiosity which she had never
+troubled to conceal. Something of that same perturbation of spirit
+which had driven him then out into the dawn-lit streets, was upon him
+once more, only with a very real and tangible difference. The grey
+half-lights, the ghostly shadows, and the faint wind sounding in the
+tree-tops like the rising and falling of a midnight sea upon some
+lonely shore, had given to his early morning dreams an indefiniteness
+which they could scarcely hope to possess now. He himself was a living
+unit of this gay and brilliant world, whose conversation and light
+laughter filled the sunlit air around him, whose skirts were brushing
+against his knees, and whose jargon fell upon his ears with a familiar
+and a kindly sound. There was no possibility here for such a wave of
+passion,--he could call it nothing else,--as had swept through him,
+when he had first read that brief message from the woman, who had
+already become something of a disturbing element in his seemly life.
+Yet under a calm exterior he was conscious of a distinct tremor of
+excitement when her carriage drew up within a few feet of him, and
+obeying her mute but smiling command, he rose and offered his hand as
+she stepped out on to the path.
+
+"This," she remarked, resting her daintily gloved fingers for a moment
+in his, "is the beginning of a new order of things. Do you realize
+that only the day before yesterday we passed one another here with a
+polite stare?"
+
+"I remember it," he answered, "perfectly. Long may the new order
+last."
+
+"But it is not going to last long--with me at any rate," she said,
+laughing. "Don't you know that I am almost ruined? Mr. Thorndyke is
+going to close the theatre. He says that we have been losing money
+every week. I shall have to sell my horses, and go and live in the
+suburbs."
+
+"I hope," he said fervently, "that you will not find it so bad as
+that."
+
+"Of course," she remarked, "you know that yours is the hand which has
+given us our death-blow. I have just read your notice. It is a
+brilliant piece of satirical writing, of course, but need you have
+been quite so severe? Don't you regret your handiwork a little?"
+
+"I cannot," he answered deliberately. "On the contrary, I feel that I
+have done you a service. If you do not agree with me to-day, the time
+will certainly come when you will do so. You have a gift which
+delighted me: you are really an actress; you are one of very few."
+
+"That is a kind speech," she answered; "but even if there is truth in
+it, I am as yet quite unrecognized. There is no other theatre open to
+me; you and I look upon Istein and his work from a different point of
+view; but even if you are right, the part of Herdrine suited me. I was
+beginning to get some excellent notices. If we could have kept the
+thing going for only a few weeks longer, I think that I might have
+established some sort of a reputation."
+
+He sighed.
+
+"A reputation, perhaps," he admitted; "but not of the best order. You
+do not wish to be known only as the portrayer of unnatural passions,
+the interpreter of diseased desires. It would be an ephemeral
+reputation. It might lead you into many strange byways, but it would
+never help you to rise. Art is above all things catholic, and
+universal. You may be a perfect Herdrine; but Herdrine herself is but
+a night weed--a thing of no account. Even you cannot make her natural.
+She is the puppet of a man's fantasy. She is never a woman."
+
+"I suppose," she said sorrowfully, "that your judgment is the true
+one. Yet--but we will talk of something else. How strange to be
+walking here with you!"
+
+Berenice was always a much-observed woman, but to-day she seemed to
+attract more even than ordinary attention. Her personality, her
+toilette, which was superb, and her companion, were all alike
+interesting to the slowly moving throng of men and women amongst whom
+they were threading their way. The attitude of her sex towards
+Berenice was in a certain sense a paradox. She was distinctly the most
+talented and the most original of all the "petticoat apostles," as the
+very man who was now walking by her side had scornfully described the
+little band of women writers who were accused of trying to launch upon
+society a new type of their own sex. Her last novel was flooding all
+the bookstalls; and if not of the day, was certainly the book of the
+hour. She herself, known before only as a brilliant journalist writing
+under a curious _nom de plume_, had suddenly become one of the most
+marked figures in London life. Yet she had not gone so far as other
+writers who had dealt with the same subject. Marriage, she had
+dared to write, had become the whitewashing of the impure, the
+sanctifying of the vicious! But she had not added the almost natural
+corollary,--therefore let there be no marriage. On the contrary,
+marriage in the ideal she had written of as the most wonderful and
+the most beautiful thing in life,--only marriage in the ideal did
+not exist.
+
+She had never posed as a woman with a mission! She formulated nowhere
+any scheme for the re-organization of those social conditions whose
+bases she had very eloquently and very trenchantly held to be rotten
+and impure. She had written as a prophet of woe! She had preached only
+destruction, and from the first she had left her readers curious as to
+what sexual system could possibly replace the old. The thing which
+happened was inevitable. The amazing demand for her book was exactly
+in inverse proportion to its popularity amongst her sex. The crusade
+against men was well! Admittedly they were a bad lot, and needed to
+be told of it. A little self-assertion on behalf of his superior was a
+thing to be encouraged and applauded. But a crusade against marriage!
+Berenice must be a most abandoned, as well as a most immoral, woman!
+No one who even hinted at the doctrine of love without marriage could
+be altogether respectable. Not that Berenice had ever done that.
+Still, she had written of marriage,--the usual run of marriages,--from
+a woman's point of view, as a very hateful thing. What did she
+require, then, of her sex? To live and die old maids, whilst men
+became regenerated? It was too absurd. There were a good many curious
+things said, and it was certainly true, that since she had gone upon
+the stage her toilette and equipage were unrivalled. Berenice looked
+into the eyes of the women whom she met day by day, and she read their
+verdict. But if she suffered, she said not a word to any of it.
+
+They passed out from the glancing shadows of the trees towards the
+Piccadilly entrance. Here they paused for a moment and stood together
+looking down the drive. The sunlight seemed to touch with quivering
+fire the brilliant phantasmagoria. Berenice was serious. Her dark eyes
+swept down the broad path and her under-lip quivered.
+
+"It is this," she exclaimed, with a slight forward movement of her
+parasol, "which makes me long for an earthquake. Can one do anything
+for women like that? They are not the creations of a God; they are the
+parasitical images of type. Only it is a very small type and a very
+large reproduction. Why do I say these things to you, I wonder? You
+are against me, too! But then you are not a woman!"
+
+"I am not against you in your detestation of type," he answered. "The
+whole world of our sex as well as yours is full of worn-out and
+effete reproductions of an unworthy model. It is this intolerable
+sameness which suffocates all thought. One meets it everywhere; the
+deep melancholy of our days is its fruit. But the children of this
+generation will never feel it. The taste of life between their teeth
+will be neither like ashes nor green figs. They are numbed."
+
+She flashed a look almost of anger upon him.
+
+"Yet you have ranged yourself upon their side. When my story first
+appeared, its fate hung for days in the balance. Women had not made up
+their minds how to take it. It came into your hands for review. Well!
+you did not spare it, did you? It was you who turned the scale. Your
+denunciation became the keynote of popular opinion concerning me. The
+women for whose sake I had written it, that they might at least
+strike one blow for freedom, took it with a virtuous shudder from the
+hands of their daughters. I was pronounced unwholesome and depraved;
+even my personal character was torn into shreds. How odd it all
+seems!" she added, with a light, mirthless laugh. "It was you who put
+into their hands the weapon with which to scourge me. Their trim,
+self-satisfied little sentences of condemnation are emasculated
+versions of your judgment. It is you whom I have to thank for the
+closing of the theatre and the failure of Herdrine,--you who are
+responsible for the fact that these women look at me with insolence
+and the men as though I were a courtesan. How strange it must seem to
+them to see us together--the wolf and the lamb! Well, never mind. Take
+me somewhere and give me some tea; you owe me that, at least."
+
+They turned and left the park. For a few minutes conversation was
+impossible, but as soon as they had emerged from the crowd he
+answered her.
+
+"If I have ever helped any one to believe ill of you," he said slowly,
+"I am only too happy that they should have the opportunity of seeing
+us together. You are rather severe on me. I thought then, as I think
+now, that it is--to put it mildly--impolitic to enter upon a
+passionate denunciation of such an institution as marriage when any
+substitute for it must necessarily be another step upon the downward
+grade. The decadence of self-respect amongst young men, any contrast
+between their lives and the lives of the women who are brought up to
+be their wives, is too terribly painful a subject for us to discuss
+here. Forgive me if I think now, as I have always thought, that it is
+not a fitting subject for a novelist--certainly not for a woman. I may
+be prejudiced; yet it was my duty to write as I thought. You must not
+forget that! So far as your story went, I had nothing but praise for
+it. There were many chapters which only an artist could have written."
+
+She raised her eyebrows. They had turned into Bond Street now, and
+were close to their destination.
+
+"You men of letters are so odd," she exclaimed. "What is Art but
+Truth? and if my book be not true, how can it know anything of art?
+But never mind! We are talking shop, and I am a little tired of taking
+life seriously. Here we are! Order me some tea, please, and a
+chocolate _eclair_."
+
+He followed her to a tiny round table, and sat down by her side upon
+the cushioned seat. As he gave his order and looked around the little
+room, he smiled gravely to himself. It was the first time in his
+life,--at any rate since his boyhood,--that he had taken a woman into
+a public room. Decidedly it was a new era for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+An incident, which Matravers had found once or twice uppermost in his
+mind during the last few days, was recalled to him with sudden
+vividness as he took his seat in an ill-lit, shabbily upholstered box
+in the second tier of the New Theatre. He seemed almost to hear again
+the echoes of that despairing cry which had rung out so plaintively
+across the desert of empty benches from somewhere amongst the shadows
+of the auditorium. Several times during the performance he had glanced
+up in the same direction; once he had almost fancied he could see a
+solitary, bent figure sitting rigid and motionless in the first row of
+the amphitheatre. No man was possessed of a smaller share of curiosity
+in the ordinary sense of the word than Matravers; but the thought
+that this might be the same man come again to witness a play which had
+appealed to him before with such peculiar potency, interested him
+curiously. At the close of the second act he left his seat, and, after
+several times losing his way, found himself in the little narrow space
+behind the amphitheatre. Leaning over the partition, and looking
+downwards, he had a good view of the man who sat there quite alone,
+his head resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed steadily upon a soiled
+and crumpled programme, which was spread out carefully before him.
+Matravers wondered whether there was not in the clumsy figure and
+awkward pose something vaguely familiar to him.
+
+An attendant of the place standing by his side addressed him
+respectfully.
+
+"Not much of a house for the last night, sir," he remarked.
+
+Matravers agreed, and moved his head downwards towards the solitary
+figure.
+
+"There is one man, at least," he said, "who finds the play
+interesting."
+
+The attendant smiled.
+
+"I am afraid that the gentleman is a little bit 'hoff,' sir. He seems
+half silly to talk to. He's a queer sort, anyway. Comes here every
+blessed night, and in the same place. Never misses. Once he came
+sixpence short, and there was a rare fuss. They wouldn't let him in,
+and he wouldn't go away. I lent it him at last."
+
+"Did he pay you back?" Matravers asked.
+
+"The very next night; never had to ask him, either. There goes the
+bell, sir. Curtain up in two minutes."
+
+The subject of their conversation had not once turned his head or
+moved towards them. Matravers, conscious that he was not likely to do
+so, returned to his seat just as the curtain rose upon the last act.
+The play, grim, pessimistic, yet lifted every now and then to a higher
+level by strange flashes of genius on the part of the woman, dragged
+wearily along to an end. The echoes of her last speech died away; she
+looked at him across the footlights, her dark eyes soft with many
+regrets, which, consciously or not, spoke to him also of reproach. The
+curtain descended, and her hands fell to her side. It was the end, and
+it was failure!
+
+Matravers, making his way more hurriedly than usual from the house,
+hoped to gain another glimpse of the man who had remained the solitary
+tenant of the round of empty seats. But he was too late. The man and
+the audience had melted away in a thin little stream. Matravers stood
+on the kerbstone hesitating. He had not meant to go behind to-night.
+He had a feeling that she must be regarding him at that moment as the
+executioner of her ambitions. Besides, she was going on to a
+reception; she would only be in a hurry. Nevertheless, he made his way
+round to the stage door. He would at least have a glimpse of her. But
+as he turned the corner, she was already stepping into her carriage.
+He paused, and simultaneously with her disappearance he realized that
+he was not the only one who had found his way to the narrow street to
+see the last of Berenice. A man was standing upon the opposite
+pavement a little way from the carriage, yet at such an angle that a
+faint, yellow light shone upon what was visible of his pale face. He
+had watched her come out, and was gazing now fixedly at the window of
+her brougham. Matravers knew in a moment that this was the man whom he
+had seen sitting alone in the amphitheatre; and almost without any
+definite idea as to his purpose, he crossed the street towards him.
+The man, hearing his footstep, looked up with a sudden start; then,
+without a second's hesitation, he turned and hurried off. Matravers
+still followed him. The man heard his footsteps, and turned round,
+then, with a little moan, he started running, his shoulders bent, his
+head forward. Matravers halted at once. The man plunged into the
+shadows, and was lost amongst the stream of people pouring forth from
+the doors of the Strand theatres.
+
+At her door an hour later Berenice saw the outline of a figure now
+become very familiar to her, and Matravers, who had been leaving a box
+of roses, whose creamy pink-and-white blossoms, mingled together in a
+neighbouring flower-shop, had pleased his fancy, heard his name called
+softly across the pavement. He turned, and saw Berenice stepping from
+her carriage. With an old-fashioned courtesy, which always sat well
+upon him, he offered her his arm.
+
+[Illustration: With an old-fashioned courtesy ... he offered her his
+arm]
+
+"I thought that you were to be late," he said, looking down at her
+with a shade of anxiety in his clear, grave face. "Was not this Lady
+Truton's night?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Yes; don't talk to me--just yet. I am upset! Come in and sit with
+me!"
+
+He hesitated. With a scrupulous delicacy, which sometimes almost
+irritated her, he had invariably refrained from paying her visits so
+late as this. But to-night was different! Her fingers were clasping
+his arm,--and she was in trouble. He suffered himself to be led up the
+stairs into her little room.
+
+"Some coffee for two," she told her woman. "You can go to bed then! I
+shall not want you again!"
+
+She threw herself into an empty chair, and loosened the silk ribbons
+of her opera cloak.
+
+"Do you mind opening the window?" she asked. "It is stifling in here.
+I can scarcely breathe!"
+
+He threw it wide open, and wheeled her chair up to it. The glare from
+the West End lit up the dark sky. The silence of the little room and
+the empty street below, seemed deepened by that faint, far-away roar
+from the pandemonium of pleasure. A light from the opposite side of
+the way,--or was it the rising moon behind the dark houses?--gleamed
+upon her white throat, and in her soft, dim eyes. She lay quite still,
+looking into vacancy. Her hand hung over the side of the chair nearest
+to him. Half unconsciously he took it up and stroked it soothingly.
+The tears gushed from her eyes. At his kindly touch her over-wrought
+feelings gave way. Her fingers closed spasmodically upon his.
+
+He said nothing. The time had passed when words were necessary between
+them. They were near enough to one another now to understand the
+value of silence. But those few moments seemed to him for ever like a
+landmark in his life. A new relation was born between them in the
+passionate intensity of that deep quietness.
+
+He watched her bosom cease to heave, and the dimness pass from her
+eyes. Then he took up the box which he had been carrying, and emptied
+the pink-and-white blossoms into her lap. She stooped down and buried
+her face in them. Their faint, delicate perfume seemed to fill the
+room.
+
+"You are very good," she said abruptly. "Thank God that there is some
+one who is good to me!"
+
+The coffee was in the room, and Berenice threw off her cloak and
+brought it to him. A fit of restlessness seemed to have followed upon
+her moment of weakness. She began walking with quick, uneven steps up
+and down the room. Matravers forgot to drink his coffee. He was
+watching her with a curious sense of emotional excitement. The little
+chamber was full of half lights and shadows, and there seemed to him
+something almost unearthly about this woman with her soft grey gown
+and marble face. He was stirred by her presence in a new way. The
+rustle of her silken skirts as she swept in and out of the dim light,
+the delicate whiteness of her arms and throat, the flashing of a
+single diamond in her dark coiled hair,--these seemed trivial things
+enough, yet they were yielding him a new and mysterious pleasure. For
+the first time his sense of her beauty was fully aroused. Every now
+and then he caught faint glimpses of her face. It was like the face of
+a new woman to him. There was some tender and wonderful change there,
+which he could not understand, and yet which seemed to strike some
+responsive chord in his own emotions. Instinctively he felt that she
+was passing into a new phase of life. Surely, he, too, was walking
+hand and hand with her through the shadows! The touch of her
+interlaced fingers had burned his flesh.
+
+[Illustration: There seemed to him something almost unearthly about
+this woman with her soft grey gown and marble face]
+
+Presently she came and sat down beside him.
+
+"Forgive me!" she murmured. "It does me so much good to have you here.
+I am very foolish!"
+
+"Tell me about it!"
+
+She frowned very slightly, and looked away at a star.
+
+"It is nothing! It is beginning to seem less than nothing! I have
+written a book for women, for the sake of women, because my heart
+ached for their sufferings, and because I too have felt the fire. I
+wonder whether it was really an evil book," she added, still looking
+away from him at that single star in the dark sky. "People say so! The
+newspapers say so! Yet it was a true book! I wrote it from my soul,--I
+wrote it with my own blood. I have not been a good woman, but I have
+been a pure woman! When I wrote it, I was lonely; I have always been
+lonely. But I thought, now I shall know what it is like to have
+friends. Many women will understand that I have suffered in doing this
+thing for their sakes! For it was my own life which I lay bare, my own
+life, my own sufferings, my own agony! I thought, they will come to me
+and they will thank me for it! I shall have sympathy and I shall have
+friends.... And now my book is written, and I am wiser. I know now
+that woman does not want her freedom! Though they drag her down into
+hell, the chains of her slavery have grown around her heart and have
+become precious to her! Tell me, are those pure women who willingly
+give their souls and their bodies in marriage to men who have sinned
+and who will sin again? They do it without disguise, without shame,
+for position, or for freedom, or for money! yet there are other women
+whom they call courtesans, and from whose touch they snatch away the
+hem of their skirts in horror! Oh, it is terrible! There can be no
+corruption worse than this in hell!"
+
+"Yours has been the common disappointment of all reformers," he said
+gravely. "Gratitude is the rarest tribute the world ever offers to
+those who have laboured to cleanse it. When you are a little older you
+will have learnt your lesson. But it is always very hard to learn....
+Tell me about to-night!"
+
+She raised her head a little. A faint spot of colour stained her
+cheek.
+
+"There was one woman who praised me, who came to see me, and sent me
+cards to go to her house. To-night I went. Foolishly I had hoped a
+good deal from it! I did not like Lady Truton herself, but I hoped
+that I should meet other women there who would be different! It was a
+new experience to me to be going amongst my own sex. I was like a
+child going to her first party. I was quite excited, almost nervous. I
+had a little dream,--there would be some women there--one would be
+enough--with whom I might be friends, and it would make life very
+different to me to have even one woman friend. But they were all
+horrid. They were vulgar, and one woman, she took me on one side and
+praised my book. She agreed, she said, with every word in it! She had
+found out that her husband had a mistress,--some chorus-girl,--and she
+was repaying him in his own coin. She too had a lover--and for every
+infidelity of his she was repaying him in this manner. She dared to
+assume that I--I should approve of her conduct; she asked me to go and
+see her! My God! it was hideous."
+
+Matravers laid his hand upon hers, and leaned forward in his chair.
+
+"Lady Truton's was the very worst house you could have gone to," he
+said gently. "You must not be too discouraged all at once. The women
+of her set, thank God, are not in the least typical Englishwomen.
+They are fast and silly,--a few, I am afraid, worse. They make use
+of the free discussions in these days of the relations between our
+sexes, to excuse grotesque extravagances in dress and habits which
+society ought never to pardon. Do not let their judgments or their
+misinterpretations trouble you! You are as far above them, Berenice,
+as that little star is from us."
+
+"I do not pretend to be anything but a woman," she said, bending her
+head, "and to stand alone always is very hard."
+
+"It is very hard for a man! It must be very much harder for a woman.
+But, Berenice, you would not call yourself absolutely friendless!"
+
+She raised her head for a moment. Her dark eyes were wonderfully soft.
+
+"Who is there that cares?" she murmured.
+
+He touched the tips of her fingers. Her soft, warm hand yielded itself
+readily, and slid into his.
+
+"Do I count for no one?" he whispered.
+
+There was a silence in the little room. The yellow glare had faded
+from the sky, and a night wind was blowing softly in. A clock in the
+distance struck one. Together they sat and gazed out upon the
+darkness. Looking more than once into her pale face, Matravers
+realized again that wonderful change. His own emotions were curiously
+disturbed. He, himself, so remarkable through all his life for a
+changeless serenity of purpose, and a fixed masterly control over his
+whole environment, felt himself suddenly like a rudderless ship at
+the mercy of a great unknown sea. A sense of drifting was upon him.
+They were both drifting. Surely this little room, with its dim light
+and shadows and its faint odour of roses, had become a hotbed of
+tragedy. He had imagined that death itself was something like this,--a
+dissolution of all fixed purposes. And with it all, this remnant of
+life, if it were but a remnant, seemed suddenly to be flowing through
+his veins with all the rich, surpassing sweetness of some exquisite
+symphony!
+
+"You count for a great deal," she said. "If you had not come to me, I
+think that I must have died.... If I were to lose you ... I think that
+I should die."
+
+She threw herself back in her chair with a gesture of complete
+abandonment. Her arms hung loosely down over its sides. The moonlight,
+which had been gradually gathering strength, shone softly upon her
+pale face and on the soft, lustrous pearls at her throat. Her dark,
+wet eyes seemed touched with smouldering fire. She looked at him. He
+sprang to his feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. His
+forehead was hot and dry, and his hands were trembling.
+
+"There is not any reason," he said, halting suddenly in front of her,
+"why we should lose one another. I was coming to-morrow morning to
+make a proposition to you. If you accept it, we shall be forced to see
+a great deal of one another."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"You perhaps did not know that I had any ambitions as a dramatic
+author. Yet my first serious work after I left Oxford was a play; I
+took it up yesterday."
+
+"You have really written a play," she murmured, "and you never told
+me."
+
+"At least I am telling you now," he reminded her; "I am telling you
+before any one, because I want your help."
+
+"You want what?"
+
+"I want you to help me by taking the part of my heroine. I read it
+yesterday by appointment to Fergusson. He accepted it at once on the
+most liberal terms. I told him there was one condition--that the part
+of my heroine must be offered to you, if you would accept it. There
+was a little difficulty, as, of course, Miss Robinson is a fixture at
+the Pall Mall. However, Fergusson saw you last night from the back of
+the dress circle, and this morning he has agreed. It only remains for
+you to read, or allow me to read to you the play."
+
+"Do you mean to say that you are offering me the principal part in a
+play of yours--at the Pall Mall--with Fergusson?"
+
+"Well, I think that is about what it comes to," he assented.
+
+She rose to her feet and took his hands in hers.
+
+"You are too good--much too good to me," she said softly. "I dare not
+take it; I am not strong enough."
+
+"It will be you, or no one," he said decidedly. "But first I am going
+to read you the play. If I may, I shall bring it to you to-morrow."
+
+"I want to ask you something," she said abruptly. "You must answer me
+faithfully. You are doing this, you are making me this offer because
+you think that you owe me something. It is a sort of reparation for
+your attack upon Herdrine. I want to know if it is that."
+
+"I can assure you," he said earnestly, "that I am not nearly so
+conscientious. I wrote the play solely as a literary work. I had no
+thought of having it produced, of offering it to anybody. Then I saw
+you at the New Theatre; I think that you inspired me with a sort of
+dramatic excitement. I went home and read my play. Bathilde seemed to
+me then to speak with your tongue, to look at me with your eyes, to
+be clothed from her soul outwards with your personality. In the
+morning I wrote to Fergusson."
+
+"I want to believe you," she said softly; "but it seems so strange. I
+am no actress like Adelaide Robinson; I am afraid that if I accept
+your offer, I may hurt the play. She is popular, and I am unknown."
+
+"She has talent," he said, "and experience; you have genius, which is
+far above either. I am not leaving you any choice at all. To-morrow I
+shall bring the play."
+
+"You may at least do that," she answered. "It will be a pleasure to
+hear it read. Come to luncheon, and we will have a long afternoon."
+
+Matravers took his leave with a sense of relief. Their farewell had
+been cordial enough, but unemotional. Yet even he, ignorant of women
+and their ways as he was, was conscious that they had entered
+together upon a new phase of their knowledge of each other. The touch
+of their fingers, the few conventional words which passed between
+them, as she leaned over the staircase watching him descend, seemed to
+him to savour somehow of mockery. He passed out from her presence into
+the cool, soft night, dazed, not a little bewildered at this new
+strong sense of living, which had set his pulses beating to music and
+sent his blood rushing through his body with a new sweetness. Yet with
+it all he was distressed and unhappy. He was confronted with the one
+great influence of life against which he had deliberately set his
+face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Matravers began to find himself, for the first time in his life,
+seriously attracted by a woman. He realized it in some measure as he
+walked homeward in the early morning, after this last interview with
+Berenice; he knew it for an absolute fact on the following evening
+as he walked through the crowded streets back to his rooms with
+the manuscript of the play which he had been reading to her in his
+pocket. He felt himself moving in what was to some extent an unreal
+atmosphere. His senses were tingling with the excitement of the last
+few hours--for the first time he knew the full fascination of a
+woman's intellectual sympathy. He had gone to his task wholly devoid
+of any pleasurable anticipation. It spoke much for the woman's tact
+that before he had read half a dozen pages he was not only completely
+at his ease, but was experiencing a new and very pleasurable
+sensation. The memory of it was with him now--he had no mind to
+disturb it by any vague alarm as to the future of their relationship.
+
+In Piccadilly he met Fergusson, who turned and walked with him.
+
+"I have been to your rooms, Matravers," the actor said. "I want to
+know whether you have arranged with your friend?"
+
+"I have just left her," Matravers replied. "She appears to like the
+play, and has consented to play Bathilde."
+
+The actor smiled. Was Matravers really so simple, or did he imagine
+that an actress whose name was as yet unknown would hesitate to play
+with him at the Pall Mall Theatre. Yet he himself had been hoping that
+there might be some difficulty,--he had a "Bathilde" of his own who
+would take a great deal of pacifying. The thing was settled now
+however.
+
+"I should like," he said, "to make her acquaintance at once."
+
+"I have thought of that," Matravers said. "Will you lunch with me at
+my rooms on Sunday and meet her? that is, of course, if she is able to
+come."
+
+"I shall be delighted," Fergusson answered. "About two, I suppose?"
+
+Matravers assented, and the two men parted. The actor, with a little
+shrug of his shoulders and the air of a man who has an unpleasant task
+before him, turned southwards to interview the lady who certainly had
+the first claim to play "Bathilde." He found her at home and anxiously
+expecting him.
+
+"If you had not come to-day," she remarked, "I should have sent for
+you. I want you to contradict that rubbish."
+
+She threw the theatrical paper across at him, and watched him, whilst
+he read the paragraph to which she had pointed. He laid the paper
+down.
+
+"I cannot altogether contradict it," he said. "There is some truth in
+what the man writes."
+
+The lady was getting angry. She came over to Fergusson and stood by
+his side.
+
+"You mean to tell me," she exclaimed, "that you have accepted a play
+for immediate production which I have not even seen, and in which the
+principal part is to be given to one of those crackpots down at the
+New Theatre, an amateur, an outsider--a woman no one ever heard of
+before."
+
+"You can't exactly say that," he interposed calmly. "I see you have
+her novel on your table there, and she is a woman who has been talked
+about a good deal lately. But the facts of the case are these.
+Matravers brought me a play a few days ago which almost took my
+breath away. It is by far the best thing of the sort I ever read. It
+is bound to be a great success. I can't tell you any more now,--you
+shall read it yourself in a day or two. He was very easy to deal with
+as to terms, but he made one condition: that a certain part in
+it,--the principal one, I admit,--should be offered to this woman. I
+tried all I could to talk him out of it, but absolutely without
+effect. I was forced to consent. There is not a manager in London who
+would not jump at the play on any conditions. You know our position.
+'Her Majesty' is a failure, and I haven't a single decent thing to put
+on. I simply dared not let such a chance as this go by."
+
+"I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life," the lady exclaimed.
+"No, I'm not blaming you, Reggie! I don't suppose you could have done
+anything else. But this woman, what a nerve she must have to imagine
+that she can do it! I see her horrid Norwegian play has come to utter
+grief at the New Theatre."
+
+"She is a clever woman," Fergusson remarked. "One can only hope for
+the best."
+
+She flashed a quiet glance at him.
+
+"You know her, then,--you have been to see her."
+
+"Not yet," Fergusson answered. "I am going to meet her to-morrow.
+Matravers has asked me to lunch."
+
+"Tell me about Matravers," she said.
+
+"I am afraid I do not know much. He is a very distinguished literary
+man, but his work has generally been critical or philosophical,--every
+one will be surprised to hear that he has written a play. You will
+find that there will be quite a stir about it. The reason why we have
+no plays nowadays which can possibly be classed as literature, is
+because the wrong class of man is writing for the stage. Smith and
+Francis and all these men have fine dramatic instincts, but they are
+not scholars. Their dialogue is mostly beneath contempt; there is a
+dash of conventionality in their best work. Now, Matravers is a writer
+of an altogether different type."
+
+"Thanks," she interrupted, "but I don't want a homily. I am only
+curious about the man himself."
+
+Fergusson pulled himself up a little annoyed. He had begun to talk
+about a subject of peculiar interest to him.
+
+"Oh, the man himself is rather an interesting personality," he
+declared. "He is a recluse, a dilettante, and a very brilliant man of
+letters."
+
+"I want to know," the lady said impatiently, "whether he is married."
+
+"Married! certainly not," Fergusson assured her.
+
+"Very well, then, I am going there to luncheon with you to-morrow."
+
+Fergusson looked blank.
+
+"But, my dear girl," he protested, "how on earth----"
+
+"Don't be foolish, Reggie," she said calmly. "It is perfectly natural
+for me to go! I have been your principal actress for several seasons.
+I suppose if there is a second woman's part in the piece, it will be
+mine, if I choose to take it. You must write and ask Matravers for
+permission to bring me. You can mention my desire to meet the new
+actress if you like."
+
+Fergusson took up his hat.
+
+"Matravers is not the sort of man one feels like taking a liberty
+with," he said. "But I'll try him."
+
+"You can let me know to-night at the theatre," she directed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Nothing short of a miracle could have made Matravers' luncheon party a
+complete success; yet, so far as Berenice was concerned, it could
+scarcely be looked upon in any other light. Her demeanour towards
+Adelaide Robinson and Fergusson was such as to give absolutely no
+opportunity for anything disagreeable! She frankly admitted both her
+inexperience and her ignorance. Yet, before they left, both Fergusson
+and his companion began to understand Matravers' confidence in her.
+There was something almost magnetically attractive about her
+personality.
+
+The luncheon was very much what one who knew him would have expected
+from Matravers--simple, yet served with exceeding elegance. The
+fruit, the flowers, and the wine had been his own care; and the table
+had very much the appearance of having been bodily transported from
+the palace of a noble of some southern land. After the meal was over,
+they sat out upon the shaded balcony and sipped their coffee and
+liqueurs,--Fergusson and Berenice wrapt in the discussion of many
+details of the work which lay before them, whilst Matravers, with an
+effort which he carefully concealed, talked continually with Adelaide
+Robinson.
+
+"Is it true," she asked him, "that you did not intend your play for
+the stage--that you wrote it from a literary point of view only?"
+
+"In a sense, that is quite true," he admitted. "I wrote it without any
+definite idea of offering it to any London manager. My doing so was
+really only an impulse."
+
+[Illustration: Matravers was suddenly conscious of an odd sense of
+disturbance]
+
+"If Mr. Fergusson is right--and he is a pretty good judge--you won't
+regret having done so," she remarked. "He thinks it is going to have
+a big run."
+
+"He may be right," Matravers answered. "For all our sakes, I hope so!"
+
+"It will be a magnificent opportunity for your friend."
+
+Matravers looked over towards Berenice. She was talking eagerly to
+Fergusson, whose dark, handsome head was very close to hers, and in
+whose eyes was already evident his growing admiration. Matravers was
+suddenly conscious of an odd sense of disturbance. He was grateful to
+Adelaide Robinson for her intervention. She had risen to her feet, and
+glanced downwards at the little brougham drawn up below.
+
+"I am so sorry to go," she said; "but I positively must make some
+calls this afternoon."
+
+Fergusson rose also, with obvious regret, and they left together.
+
+"Don't forget," he called back from the door; "we read our parts
+to-morrow, and rehearsals begin on Thursday."
+
+"I have it all down," Berenice answered. "I will do my best to be
+ready for Thursday."
+
+Berenice remained standing, looking thoughtfully after the little
+brougham, which was being driven down Piccadilly.
+
+Matravers came back to her, and laid his hand gently upon her arm.
+
+"You must not think of going yet," he said. "I want you to stay and
+have tea with me."
+
+"I should like to," she answered. "I seem to have so much to say to
+you."
+
+He piled her chair with cushions and drew it back into the shade. Then
+he lit a cigarette, and sat down by her side.
+
+"I suppose you must think that I am very ungrateful," she said. "I
+have scarcely said 'thank you' yet, have I?"
+
+"You will please me best by never saying it," he answered. "I only
+hope that it will be a step you will never regret."
+
+"How could I?"
+
+He looked at her steadily, a certain grave concentration of
+thought manifest in his dark eyes. Berenice was looking her best
+that afternoon. She was certainly a very beautiful and a very
+distinguished-looking woman. Her eyes met his frankly; her lips
+were curved in a faintly tender smile.
+
+"Well, I hardly know," he said. "You are going to be a popular
+actress. Henceforth the stage will have claims upon you! It will
+become your career."
+
+"You have plenty of confidence."
+
+"I have absolute confidence in you," he declared, "and Fergusson
+is equally confident about the play; chance has given you this
+opportunity--the result is beyond question! Yet I confess that I have
+a presentiment. If the manuscript of 'The Heart of the People' were
+in my hands at this moment, I think that I would tear it into little
+pieces, and watch them flutter down on to the pavement there."
+
+"I do not understand you," she said softly. "You say that you have no
+doubt----"
+
+"It is because I have no doubt--it is because I know that it will make
+you a popular and a famous actress. You will gain this. I wonder what
+you will lose."
+
+She moved restlessly on her chair.
+
+"Why should I lose anything?"
+
+"It is only a presentiment," he reminded her. "I pray that you may not
+lose anything. Yet you are coming under a very fascinating influence.
+It is your personality I am afraid of. You are going to belong
+definitely to a profession which is at once the most catholic and the
+most narrowing in the world. I believe that you are strong enough to
+stand alone, to remain yourself. I pray that it may be so, and yet,
+there is just the shadow of the presentiment. Perhaps it is foolish."
+
+Their chairs were close together; he suddenly felt the perfume of her
+hair and the touch of her fingers upon his hand. Her face was quite
+close to his.
+
+"At least," she murmured, "I pray that I may never lose your
+friendship."
+
+"If only I could ensure you as confidently the fulfilment of all your
+desires," he answered, "you would be a very happy woman. I am too
+lonely a man, Berenice, to part with any of my few joys. Whether you
+change or no, you must never change towards me."
+
+She was silent. There were no signs left of the brilliant levity which
+had made their little luncheon pass off so successfully. She sat with
+her head resting upon her elbow, gazing steadily up at the little
+white clouds which floated over the housetops. A tea equipage was
+brought out and deftly arranged between them.
+
+"To-day," Matravers said, "I am going to have the luxury of having my
+tea made for me. Please come back from dreamland and realize the
+Englishman's idyll of domesticity."
+
+She turned in her chair, and smiled upon him.
+
+"I can do it," she assured him. "I believe you doubt my ability, but
+you need not."
+
+They talked lightly for some time--an art which Matravers found
+himself to be acquiring with wonderful facility. Then there was a
+pause. When she spoke again, it was in an altogether different tone.
+
+[Illustration: "I can do it," she assured him. "I believe you doubt my
+ability, but you need not"]
+
+"I want you to answer me," she said, "it is not too late. Shall I give
+up Bathilde--and the stage? Listen! You do not know anything of my
+circumstances. I am not dependent upon either the stage or my writing
+for a living. I ask you for your honest advice. Shall I give it up?"
+
+"You are placing a very heavy responsibility upon my shoulders," he
+answered her thoughtfully. "Yet I will try to answer you honestly. I
+should be happier if I could advise you to give it up! But I cannot!
+You have the gift--you must use it. The obligation of self-development
+is heaviest upon the shoulders of those whose foreheads Nature's
+twin-sister has touched with fire! I would it were any other gift,
+Berenice; but that is only a personal feeling. No! you must follow out
+your destiny. You have an opportunity of occupying a unique and
+marvellous position. You can create a new ideal. Only be true always
+to yourself. Be very jealous indeed of absorbing any of the modes of
+thought and life which will spring up everywhere around you in the new
+world. Remember it is the old ideals which are the sweetest and the
+truest.... Forgive me, please! I am talking like a pedagogue."
+
+"You are talking as I like to be talked to," she answered. "Yet you
+need not fear that my head will be turned, even if the success should
+come. You forget that I am almost an old woman. The religion of my
+life has long been conceived and fashioned."
+
+He looked at her with a curious smile. If thirty seemed old to her,
+what must she think of him?
+
+"I wonder," he said simply, "if you would think me impertinent if I
+were to ask you to tell me more about yourself. How is it that you are
+altogether alone in the world?"
+
+The words had scarcely left his lips before he would have given much
+to have recalled them. He saw her start, flinch back as though she had
+been struck, and a grey pallor spread itself over her face, almost to
+the lips. She looked at him fixedly for several moments without
+speaking.
+
+"One day," she said, "I will tell you all that. You shall know
+everything. But not now; not yet."
+
+"Whenever you will," he answered, ignoring her evident agitation.
+"Come! what do you say to a walk down through the Park? To-day is a
+holiday for me--a day to be marked with a white stone. I have
+registered an oath that I will not even look at a pen. Will you not
+help me to keep it?"
+
+"By all means," she answered blithely. "I will take you home with me,
+and keep you there till the hour of temptation has passed. To-day is
+to be my last day of idleness! I too have need of a white stone."
+
+"We will place them," he said, "side by side."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Matravers' luncheon party marked the termination for some time of any
+confidential intercourse between Berenice and himself. Every moment of
+her time was claimed by Fergusson, who, in his anxiety to produce a
+play from which he hoped so much before the wane of the season, gave
+no one any rest, and worked himself almost into a fever. There were
+two full rehearsals a day, and many private ones at her rooms.
+Matravers calling there now and then found Fergusson always in
+possession, and by degrees gave it up in despair. He had a horror of
+interfering in any way, even of being asked for his advice concerning
+the practical reproduction of his work. Fergusson's invitations to
+the rehearsals at the theatre he rejected absolutely. As the time grew
+shorter, Berenice became pale and almost haggard with the unceasing
+work which Fergusson's anxiety imposed upon her. One night she sent
+for Matravers, and hastening to her rooms, he found her for the first
+time alone.
+
+[Illustration: "Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad?"]
+
+"I have sent Mr. Fergusson home," she exclaimed, welcoming him with
+outstretched hands, but making no effort to rise from her easy chair.
+"Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad? I want you to
+interfere."
+
+"What can I do?" he said.
+
+"Anything to bring him to reason! He is over-rehearsing! Every line,
+every sentence, every gesture, he makes the subject of the most
+exhaustive deliberation. He will have nothing spontaneous; it is
+positively stifling. A few more days of it and my reason will go! He
+is a great actor, but he does not seem to understand that to reduce
+everything to mathematical proportions is to court failure."
+
+"I will go and see him," Matravers said. "You wish for no more
+rehearsals, then?"
+
+"I do not want to see his face again before the night of the
+performance," she declared vehemently. "I am perfect in my part. I
+have thought about it--dreamed about it. I have lived more as
+'Bathilde' than as myself for the last three weeks. Perhaps," she
+continued more slowly, "you will not be satisfied. I scarcely dare to
+hope that you will be. Yet I have reached my limitations. The more I
+am made to rehearse now, the less natural I shall become."
+
+"I will speak to Fergusson," Matravers promised. "I will go and see
+him to-night. But so far as you are concerned, I have no fear; you
+will be the 'Bathilde' of my heart and my brain. You cannot fail!"
+
+She rose to her feet. "It is," she said, "The desire of my life to
+make your 'Bathilde' a creature of flesh and blood. If I fail, I will
+never act again."
+
+"If you fail," he said, "the fault will be in my conception, not
+in your execution. But indeed we will not consider anything so
+improbable. Let us put the play behind us for a time and talk of
+something else! You must be weary of it."
+
+She shook her head. "Not that! never that! Just now it is my life,
+only it is the details which weary me, the eternal harping upon the
+mechanical side of it. Will you read to me for a little? and I will
+make you some coffee. You are not in a hurry, are you?"
+
+"I have come," he said, "to stay with you until you send me away! I
+will read to you with pleasure. What will you have?"
+
+She handed him a little volume of poems; he glanced at the title and
+made a faint grimace. They were his own.
+
+Nevertheless, he read for an hour, till the streets below grew silent,
+and his own voice, unaccustomed to such exercise, lost something of
+its usual clearness. Then he laid the volume down, and there was
+silence between them.
+
+"I have been thinking," he said at last, "of a singular incident in
+connection with your performance at the New Theatre; it was brought
+into my mind just then. I meant to have mentioned it before."
+
+She looked up with only a slight show of interest. Those days at the
+theatre seemed to her now to be very far behind. There was nothing in
+connection with them which she cared to remember.
+
+"It was the night of my first visit there," he continued. "There is a
+terrible scene at the end of the second act between Herdrine and her
+husband--you recollect it, of course. Just as you finished your
+denunciation, I distinctly heard a curious cry from the back of the
+house. It was a greater tribute to your acting than the applause, for
+it was genuine."
+
+"The piece was gloomy enough," she remarked, "to have dissolved the
+house in tears."
+
+"At least," he said, "it wrung the heart of one man. For I have
+not told you all. I was interested enough to climb up into the
+amphitheatre. The man sat there alone amongst a wilderness of empty
+seats. He was the picture of abject misery. I could scarcely see his
+face, but his attitude was convincing. It was not a thing of chance
+either. I made some remark about him to an attendant, and he told me
+that night after night that man had occupied the same seat, always
+following every line of the play with the same mournful concentration,
+never speaking to any one, never moving from his seat from the
+beginning of the play to the end."
+
+"He must have been," she declared, "a person of singularly morbid
+taste. When I think of it now I shiver. I would not play Herdrine
+again for worlds."
+
+"I am very glad to hear you say so," he said, smiling. "Do you know
+that to me the most interesting feature of the play was its obvious
+effect upon this man. Its extreme pessimism is too much paraded, is
+laid on altogether with too thick a hand to ring true. The thing is
+an involved nightmare. One feels that as a work of art it is never
+convincing, yet underneath it all there must be something human, for
+it found its way into the heart of one man."
+
+"It is possible," she remarked, "that he was mad. The man who found it
+sufficiently amusing to come to the theatre night after night could
+scarcely have been in full possession of his senses."
+
+"That is possible," he admitted; "but I do not believe it. The man's
+face was sad enough, but it was not the face of a madman."
+
+"You did see his face, then?"
+
+"On the last night of the play," he continued. "You remember you were
+going on to Lady Truton's, so I did not come behind. But I had a fancy
+to see you for a moment, and I came round into Pitt Street just as you
+were driving off. On the other side of the way this man was standing
+watching you!"
+
+She looked at him with a suddenly kindled interest--or was it
+fear?--in her dark eyes. The colour had left her cheeks; she was white
+to the lips.
+
+"Watching me?"
+
+"Yes. As your carriage drove off he stood watching it. I don't know
+what prompted me, but I crossed the street to speak to him. He seemed
+such a lone, mournful figure standing there half dazed, shabby,
+muttering softly to himself. But when he saw me coming, he gave one
+half-frightened look at me and ran, literally ran down the street on
+to the Strand. I could not follow,--the police would have stopped him.
+So he disappeared."
+
+"You saw his face. What was he like?"
+
+Berenice had leaned right back amongst the yielding cushions of her
+divan, and he could scarcely see her face. Yet her voice sounded to
+him strange and forced. He looked at her in some surprise.
+
+"I had a glimpse of it. It was an ordinary face enough; in fact, it
+disappointed me a little. But the odd part of it was that it seemed
+vaguely familiar to me. I have seen it before, often. Yet, try as I
+will, I cannot recollect where, or under what circumstances."
+
+"At Oxford," she suggested. "By the bye, what was your college?"
+
+"St. John's. No, I do not think,--I hope that it was not at Oxford.
+Some day I shall think of it quite suddenly."
+
+Berenice rose from her chair with a sudden, tempestuous movement and
+stood before him.
+
+"Listen!" she exclaimed. "Supposing I were to tell you that I knew or
+could guess who that man was--why he came! Oh, if I were to tell you
+that I were a fraud, that----"
+
+Matravers stopped her.
+
+"I beg," he said, "that you will tell me nothing!"
+
+There was a short silence. Berenice seemed on the point of breaking
+down. She was nervously lacing and interlacing her fingers. Her breath
+was coming spasmodically.
+
+"Berenice," he said softly, "you are over-wrought; you are not quite
+yourself to-night. Do not tell me anything. Indeed, there is no need
+for me to know; just as you are I am content with you, and proud to be
+your friend."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+She sat down again. He could not see her face, but he fancied that
+she was weeping. He himself found his customary serenity seriously
+disturbed. Perhaps for the first time in his life he found himself not
+wholly the master of his emotions. The atmosphere of the little room,
+the perfume of the flowers, the soft beauty of the woman herself,
+whose breath fell almost upon his cheek, affected him as nothing of
+the sort had ever done before. He rose abruptly to his feet.
+
+"You will be so much better alone," he said, taking her fingers and
+smoothing them softly in his for a moment. "I am going away now."
+
+"Yes. Good-by!"
+
+At the threshold he paused. She had not looked up at him. She was
+still sitting there with bowed head and hidden face. He closed the
+door softly, and went out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+The enthusiasm with which Matravers' play had been received on the
+night of its first appearance was, if anything, exceeded on the night
+before the temporary closing of the theatre for the usual summer
+vacation. The success of the play itself had never been for a moment
+doubtful. For once the critics, the general press, and the public,
+were in entire and happy agreement. The first night had witnessed an
+extraordinary scene. An audience as brilliant as any which could have
+been brought together in the first city in the world, had flatly
+refused to leave the theatre until Matravers himself, reluctant and
+ill-pleased, had joined Fergusson and Berenice before the footlights;
+and now on the eve of its temporary withdrawal something of the same
+sort was threatened again, and Matravers only escaped by standing up
+in the front of his box, and bowing his acknowledgments to the
+delighted audience.
+
+It was a well-deserved success, for certainly as a play it was a
+brilliant exception to anything which had lately been produced upon
+the English stage. The worn-out methods and motives of most living
+playwrights were rigorously avoided; everything about it was fresh and
+spontaneous. Its sentiment was relieved by the most delicate vein of
+humour. It was everywhere tender and human. The dialogue, to which
+Matravers had devoted his usual fastidious care, was polished and
+sprightly; there was not anywhere a single dull or unmusical line. It
+was a classic, the critics declared,--the first literary play by a
+living author which London had witnessed for many years. The bookings
+for months ahead were altogether phenomenal. Fergusson saw a certain
+fortune within his hands, and Matravers, sharing also in the golden
+harvest, found another and a still greater cause for satisfaction.
+
+For Berenice had justified his selection. The same night, as the
+greatest of critics, speaking through the columns of the principal
+daily paper, had said, which had presented to them a new writer for
+the stage, had given them also a new actress. She had surprised
+Matravers, she had amazed Fergusson, who found himself compelled
+to look closely to his own laurels. In short, she was a success,
+descended, if not from the clouds, at least from the mists of
+Isteinism, but accorded, without demur or hesitation, a foremost place
+amongst the few accepted actresses. Her future and his position were
+absolutely secured, and her reputation, as Matravers was happy to
+think, was made, not as the portrayer of a sickly and unnatural type
+of diseased womanhood, but as the woman of his own creation, a very
+sweet and pure English lady.
+
+The house emptied at last, and Matravers made his way behind, where
+many of Fergusson's friends had gathered together, and where
+congratulations were the order of the day. A species of informal
+reception was going on, champagne cup and sandwiches were being handed
+around and a general air of extreme good humour pervaded the place.
+Berenice was the centre of a group of men amongst whom Matravers was
+annoyed to see Thorndyke. If he could have withdrawn unseen, he would
+have done so; but already he was surrounded. A little stir at the
+entrance attracted his attention. He turned round and found Fergusson
+presenting him to a royal personage, who was graciously pleased,
+however, to remember a former meeting, and waved away the words of
+introduction.
+
+It chanced, without any design on his part, that Berenice and he left
+almost at the same time, and met near the stage door. She dropped
+Fergusson's arm--he had left his guests to see her to her
+carriage--and motioned to Matravers.
+
+"Won't you see me home?" she asked quietly. "I have sent my maid on,
+she was so tired, and I am all alone."
+
+"I shall be very pleased," Matravers answered. "May I come in with
+you?" Fergusson lingered for a moment or two at the carriage door, and
+then they drove off. Berenice, with a little sigh, leaned back amongst
+the cushions.
+
+"You are very tired, I am afraid," he said gently. "The last few weeks
+must have been a terrible strain upon you."
+
+"They have been in many ways," she said, "the happiest of my life."
+
+"I am glad of that; yet it is quite time that you had a rest."
+
+She did not answer him,--she did not speak again until the carriage
+drew up before her house. He handed her out, and opened the door with
+the latch-key which she passed over to him.
+
+"Good night," he said, holding out his hand.
+
+"You must please come in for a little time," she begged. "I have seen
+you scarcely at all lately. You have not even told me about your
+travels."
+
+He hesitated for a moment, then seeing the shade upon her face, he
+stepped forward briskly.
+
+"I should like to come very much," he said, "only you must be sure to
+send me away if I stay too long. You are tired already."
+
+"I am tired," she admitted, leading the way upstairs, "only it will
+rest me much more to have you talk to me than to go to bed. Mine is
+scarcely a physical fatigue. My nerves are all quivering. I could not
+sleep! Tell me where you have been."
+
+Matravers took the seat to which she motioned him, and obeyed her,
+watching, whilst she stooped down over the fire and poured water into
+a brazen coffee-pot, and took another cup and saucer from a quaint
+little cupboard. She made the coffee carefully and well, and
+Matravers, as he lit his cigarette, found himself wondering at this
+new and very natural note of domesticity in her.
+
+[Illustration: Matravers found himself wondering at this new and very
+natural note of domesticity in her]
+
+All the time he was talking, telling her in a few chosen sentences
+of the little tour for which she really was responsible--of the
+pink-and-white apple-blossoms of Brittany, of the peasants in their
+quaint and picturesque garb, and of the old time-worn churches, the
+exploration of which had constituted his chief interest. She listened
+eagerly; every word of his description, so vivid and picturesque, was
+interesting. When he had finished, he looked at her thoughtfully.
+
+"You too," he said, "need a change! You have worked very hard, and you
+will need all your strength for the autumn season."
+
+"I am going away," she said, "very soon. Perhaps to-morrow."
+
+He looked at her surprised.
+
+"So soon!"
+
+"Why not? What is there to keep me? The theatre is closed. London is
+positively stifling. I am longing for some fresh air."
+
+He was silent for a moment or two. It was so natural that she should
+go, and yet in a sense it was so unexpected. Looking steadily across
+at her as she leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair, her dark
+eyes watching his face, her attitude and expression alike convincing
+him in some subtle way of her satisfaction at his presence, he became
+suddenly conscious that the time which he had dimly anticipated with
+mingled fear and pleasure was now close at hand. His heart was beating
+with a quickened throb! He was aghast as he realized with quick,
+unerring truth the full effect of her words upon him. He drew a sharp
+little breath and walked to the open window, taking in a long draught
+of the fresh night air, sweetly scented with the perfume of the
+flowers in her boxes. Her voice came to him low and sweet from the
+interior of the room.
+
+"There is a little farmhouse in Devonshire which belongs to me. It is
+nothing but a tumbledown, grey stone place; but there are hills, and
+meadows, and country lanes, and the sea. I want to go there."
+
+"Away from me!" he cried hoarsely.
+
+"Will you come too?" she murmured.
+
+[Illustration: She did not answer him. But indeed there was no need]
+
+He turned back into the room and looked at her. She was standing
+up, coming towards him; a faint tinge of pink colour had stained her
+cheek--her bosom was heaving--her eyes were challenging his with a
+light which needed no borrowed brilliancy. Go with her! The man's
+birthright, his passion, which through the long days of his austere
+life had lain dormant and undreamt of swept up from his heart. He held
+out his arms, and she came across the room to him with a sweet effort
+of self-yielding which yet waited for while it invited his embrace.
+
+"You mean it?" he murmured, "you are sure?"
+
+She did not answer him. But indeed there was no need.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Matravers never altogether forgot the sensations with which he awoke
+on the following morning. Notwithstanding a sleepless night, he rose
+and made a deliberate toilet with a wonderful buoyancy of spirits. The
+change which had come into his life was a thing so wonderful that he
+could scarcely realize it. Yet it was true! He had found the one
+experience in life which had hitherto been denied him, and he was
+amazed at the full extent of its power and sweetness. He felt himself
+to be many years younger! Old dreams and enthusiasms were suddenly
+revived. Once more his foot seemed to be poised upon the threshold of
+life! After all, he had not yet reached middle age! He was surprised
+to find himself so young. Marriage, although so far as regarded
+himself he had never imagined it a possible part of his life, was a
+condition against which he held no vows. Instinctively he felt that
+with Berenice, existence must inevitably become a fuller and a richer
+thing. The old days of philosophic quietude, of self-contained and
+cultured ease, had been in themselves very pleasant, but his was
+altogether too large a nature to become in any way the slave of habit.
+He looked forward to their abandonment without regret,--what was to
+come would be a continuation of the best part of them set to the
+sweetest music. He was conscious of holding himself differently as he
+entered his breakfast-room! Was it his fancy, or was the perfume of
+his little bowl of roses indeed more sweet this morning, the sunshine
+mellower and warmer, the flavour of his grapes more delicate? At any
+rate, he ate with a rare appetite, and then whilst he smoked a
+cigarette afterwards, an idea came to him! The colour rose in his
+cheeks,--he felt like a boy. In a few minutes he was walking through
+the streets, smiling softly to himself as he thought of his strange
+errand.
+
+He found his way to a jeweller's shop in Bond Street, and asked for
+pearls! They were the only jewels she cared for, and he made a
+deliberate and careful choice, wondering more than once, with a
+curious sort of shyness, whether the man who served him so gravely had
+any idea for what purpose he was buying the ring which had been the
+object of his first inquiry. He walked home with a little square box
+in his hand, and a much smaller one in his waistcoat pocket. On the
+pavement he had hesitated for a moment, but a glance at his watch had
+decided him. It was too early to go and see her yet. He walked back to
+his rooms! There was a little work which he must finish during the
+day. He had better attempt it at once.
+
+On his desk a letter was waiting for him. With a little tremor of
+pleasure he recognized her handwriting. He took it over to the tall
+sunny window, with a smile of anticipation upon his lips. He broke the
+seal and read:
+
+     "My love, the daylight has come, and I am here where you
+     left me, a very happy and yet a very unhappy woman! Is it
+     indeed only a few hours since we parted? It all seems so
+     different. The starlight and the night wind and the deep,
+     sweet silence have gone! There is a great shaft of yellow
+     light in the sky, and a bank of purple clouds where the sun
+     has risen. Only the perfume of your roses lying crushed in
+     my lap remains to prove to me that it has not all been a
+     very sweet dream. Dearest, I have a secret to tell you,--the
+     sorrow of my life. The time has come when you must, alas!
+     know it. Last night it was enough for me to hear you tell me
+     of your love! Nothing else in the world seemed worthy of a
+     moment's thought. But as you were leaving, you whispered
+     something about our marriage. How sweetly it sounded,--and
+     yet how bitterly! For, dear, I can never marry you. I am
+     already married! I can see you start when you read this. You
+     will blame me for having kept this secret from you. Very
+     likely you will be angry with me. Only for the love of God
+     pity me a little!
+
+     "My story is so commonplace. I can tell it you in a few
+     sentences. I married when I was seventeen at my father's
+     command, to save him from ruin. My husband, like my father,
+     was a city merchant. I did not love him, but then I did not
+     know what love was. My girlhood was a miserable one. My
+     father belonged to the sect of Calvinists. Our home was
+     hideous, and we were poor. Any release from it was welcome.
+     John Drage, the man whom I married, had one good quality. He
+     was generous. He bought me pictures, and books--things which
+     I always craved. When my father's command came, it did not
+     seem a hardship. I married him. He was not so much a bad
+     man, perhaps, as a weak one. We lived together for four
+     years. I had one child, a little boy. Then I made a horrible
+     discovery. My husband, whom I knew to be a drunkard, was
+     hideously, debasingly false to me. The bald facts are these.
+     I myself saw him drunk and helped into his carriage by one
+     of those women whose trade it is to prey upon such
+     creatures. This was not an exceptional occurrence. It was a
+     habit.
+
+     "There, I have told you. It would have hurt me less to have
+     cut off my right hand. But there shall be no
+     misunderstanding, nor any concealment between us. I left
+     John Drage's house that night. I took little Freddy with me;
+     but when I refused to return, he stole the child away from
+     me. Then I drew a sharp line at that point in my life. I had
+     neither friend nor relation, but there was some money which
+     had been left me soon after my marriage. I lived alone, and
+     I began to write. That is my story. That is why I cannot
+     marry you.
+
+     "Dear, I want you, now that you know my very ugly history,
+     to consider this. Whilst I was married, I was faithful to my
+     husband; since then I have been faithful to my self-respect.
+     But I have told myself always that if ever the time came
+     when I should love, I would give myself to that man without
+     hesitation and without shame. And that time has come, dear.
+     You know that I love you! Your coming has been the great
+     awakening joy of my life. Nothing that has gone before,
+     nothing that the future may hold, can ever trouble me if we
+     are together--you and I. I have suffered more than most
+     women. But you will help me to forget it.
+
+     "I sit here with my face to the morning, and I seem to see a
+     new life stretching out before me. Is not love a beautiful
+     thing! I am not ambitious any more. I do not want any other
+     object in life than to make you happy, and to be made happy
+     by you. I began this letter with a heavy heart and with
+     trembling fingers. But now I am quite calm and quite happy.
+     I know that you will come to me. You see I have great faith
+     in your love. Thank God for it!
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+The letter fluttered from Matravers' fingers on to the floor. For
+several minutes he stood quite still, with his hand pressed to his
+heart. Then he calmly seated himself in a little easy chair which
+stood by his side, with its back to the window. He had a curious
+sense of being suddenly removed from his own personality,--his own
+self. He was another man gazing for the last time upon a very familiar
+scene.
+
+He sat there with his head resting upon the palm of his hand, looking
+with lingering eyes around his little room, even the simplest objects
+of which were in a sense typical of the life which he was abandoning.
+He knew that that life, if even its influence had not been wide, had
+been a studiously well-ordered and a seemly thing. A touch of that
+ultra aestheticism, which had given to all his writings a peculiar tone
+and individuality, had permeated also his ideas as to the simplest
+events of living. All that was commonplace and ugly and vicious had
+ever repelled him. He had lived not only a clean life, but a sweet
+one. His intense love for pure beauty, combined with a strong dash
+of epicureanism, had given a certain colour to its outward form as
+well as to its inward workings. Even the simplest objects by which
+he was surrounded were the best of their kind,--carefully and
+faithfully chosen. The smallest details of his daily life had always
+been governed by a love of comely and kindly order. Both in his
+conversation and in his writings he had studiously avoided all
+excess, all shadow of evil or unkindness. His opinions, well chosen
+and deliberate though they were, were flavoured with a delicate
+temperateness so distinctive of the man and of his habits. And now, it
+was all to come to an end! He was about to sever the cords, to cut
+himself adrift from all that had seemed precious, and dear, and
+beautiful to him. He, to whom even the women of the streets had been
+as sacred things, was about to become the established and the open
+lover of a woman whom he could never marry. To a certain extent it was
+like moral shipwreck to him. Yet he loved her! He was sure of that.
+He had called himself in the past, as indeed he had every right to,
+something of a philosopher; but he had never tried to harden within
+himself the human leaven which had kept him, in sympathy and
+kindliness, always in close touch with his fellows. And this was its
+fruit! To him of all men there had come this....
+
+Soon he found himself in the street, on his way to her. Such a letter
+as this called for no delay. It was barely twelve o'clock when he rang
+the bell at her house. The girl who answered it handed him a note. He
+asked quickly for her mistress.
+
+She left an hour ago by the early train, he was told. She has gone
+into the country.
+
+She had made up her mind quite suddenly, and had not even taken her
+maid. The address would probably be in the letter.
+
+Still standing on the doorstep, he tore open the note and read it.
+There were only a few lines.
+
+     "Dearest, can you take a short holiday? I have a fancy to
+     have you come to me at my little house in Devonshire. London
+     is stifling me, and I want to taste the full sweetness of my
+     happiness. You see I do not doubt you! I know that you will
+     come. Shall you mind a tiresome railway journey? The address
+     is Bossington Old Manor House, Devonshire, and the station
+     is Minehead. Wire what train you are coming by, and I will
+     send something to meet you.
+
+                              "BERENICE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Matravers walked back to his rooms and ordered his portmanteau to be
+packed. Then he went out, and after making all his arrangements for an
+absence from town, bought a Bradshaw. There were two trains, he found,
+by which he could travel, one at three, the other at half-past four.
+He arranged to catch the earlier one, and drove to his club for lunch.
+Afterwards he strolled towards the smoking-room, but finding it
+unusually full, was on the point of withdrawing. As he lingered on the
+threshold, a woman's name fell upon his ears. The speaker was Mr.
+Thorndyke. He became rigid.
+
+"Why, yes, I gave her the victoria," he was saying. "We called it a
+birthday present, or something of that sort. I supposed every one
+knew about that. Those little arrangements generally are known
+somehow!"
+
+The innuendo was unmistakable. Matravers advanced with his usual
+leisurely walk to the little group of men.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "I understood Mr. Thorndyke to
+say, I believe, that he had given a carriage to a certain lady. Am I
+correct?"
+
+Thorndyke turned upon him sharply. There was a sudden silence in the
+crowded room. Matravers' clear, cold voice, although scarcely raised
+above the pitch of ordinary conversation, had penetrated to its
+furthest corner.
+
+"And if I did, sir! What----"
+
+"These gentlemen will bear me witness that you did say so?" Matravers
+interrupted calmly. "I regret to have to use unpleasant language, Mr.
+Thorndyke, but I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen, that
+your statement is a lie!"
+
+Thorndyke was a florid and a puffy man. The veins upon his temples
+stood out like whipcord. He was not a pleasant sight to look upon.
+
+"What do you mean, sir?" he spluttered. "The carriage was mine before
+she had it. Everybody recognizes it."
+
+[Illustration: "I am compelled to tell you, and these gentlemen, that
+your statement is a lie!"]
+
+"Exactly. The carriage was yours. You intended every one to recognize
+it. But you have omitted to state, both here and in other places, that
+the lady bought that carriage from you for two hundred and sixty
+guineas--a good deal more than its worth, I should imagine. You heard
+her say that she was thinking of buying a victoria, and you offered
+her yours--pressed her to buy it. It was too small for your horses,
+you said, and you were hard up. You even had it sent round to her
+stables without her consent. I have heard this story before, sir,
+and I have furnished myself with proofs of its falsehood. This,
+gentlemen," he added, drawing some papers from his pocket, "is Mr.
+Thorndyke's receipt for the two hundred and sixty guineas for a
+victoria, signed, as you will see, in his own handwriting, and here
+is the lady's cheque with Mr. Thorndyke's endorsement, cancelled
+and paid."
+
+The papers were handed round. Thorndyke picked up his hat, but
+Matravers barred his egress.
+
+"With regard to the insinuation which you coupled with your
+falsehood," he continued, "both are equally and absolutely false. I
+know her to be a pure and upright woman. A short time ago you took
+advantage of your position to make certain cowardly and disgraceful
+propositions to her, since when her doors have been closed upon you! I
+would have you know, sir, and remember, that the honour of that lady,
+whom last night I asked to be my wife, is as dear to me as my own,
+and if you dare now, or at any future time, to slander her, I shall
+treat you as you deserve. You can go."
+
+"And be very careful, sir," thundered the old Earl of Ellesmere,
+veteran member of the club, "that you never show your face inside
+these doors again, or, egad, I'm an old man, but I'll kick you out
+myself."
+
+Thorndyke left the room amidst a chilling and unsympathetic silence.
+As soon as he could get away, Matravers followed him. There was a
+strange pain at his heart, a sense of intolerable depression had
+settled down upon him. After all, what good had he done? Only a few
+more days and her name, which for the moment he had cleared, would be
+besmirched in earnest. His impeachment of Thorndyke would sound to
+these men then like mock heroics. There would be no one to defend her
+any more. There would be no defence. For ever in the eyes of all
+these people she was doomed to become one of the Magdalens of the
+world.
+
+It seemed a very unreal London through which Matravers was whirled on
+his way from the club to Paddington. But before a third of the
+distance was accomplished, there was a sudden check. A little boy, who
+had wandered from his nurse in crossing the road, narrowly escaped
+being run over by a carriage and pair, only to find himself knocked
+down by the shaft of Matravers' hansom. There was a cry, and the
+driver pulled his horse on to her haunches, but apparently just a
+second too late. With a sickening sense of horror, Matravers saw the
+little fellow literally under the horse's feet, and heard his shrill
+cry of terror.
+
+He leaped out, and was the first to pick the child up, immeasurably
+relieved to find that after all he was not seriously hurt. His clothes
+were torn, and his hands were scratched, and there, apparently, the
+mischief ended. Matravers lifted him into the cab, and turned to the
+frightened nurse-girl for the address.
+
+"Nine, Greenfield Gardens, West Kensington, sir," she told him; "and
+please tell the master it wasn't my fault. He is so venturesome, I
+can't control him nohow. His name is Drage--Freddy Drage, sir."
+
+And then once more Matravers felt that strange dizziness which had
+come to him earlier in the day. Again he had that curious sense of
+moving in a dream, as though he had, indeed, become part of an unreal
+and shadowy world. The renewed motion of the cab as they drove back
+again along Pall Mall, recalled him to himself. He leaned back and
+looked at the boy steadily.
+
+Yes, they were her eyes. There was no doubt about it. The little
+fellow, not in the least shy, and, in fact, now become rather proud of
+his adventure, commenced to prattle very soon. Matravers interrupted
+him with a question,--
+
+"Won't your mother be frightened to see you like this?" The child
+stared at him with wide-open eyes.
+
+"Why, mammy ain't there," he exclaimed. "Mammy went away ever so long
+ago. I don't think she's dead, though, 'cos daddy wouldn't let me talk
+about her, only just lately, since he was ill. You see," he went on
+with an explanatory wave of the hand, "daddy's been a very bad man.
+He's better now--leastways, he ain't so bad as he was; but I 'spect
+that's why mammy went away. Don't you?"
+
+"I daresay, Freddy," Matravers answered softly.
+
+"We're getting very near now," Freddy remarked, looking over the apron
+of the cab. "My! won't dada be surprised to see me drive up in a cab
+with you! I hope he's at the window!"
+
+"Will your father be at home now?" Matravers asked.
+
+Freddy stared at him.
+
+"Why, of course! Dad's always at home! Is my face very buggy? Don't
+rub it any more, please. That's Jack Mason over there! I play with
+him. I want him to see me. Hullo! Jack," he shouted, leaning out of
+the cab, "I've been run over, right over, face all buggy. Look at it!
+Hands too," spreading them out. "He's a nice boy," Freddy continued as
+the cab turned a corner, "but he can't run near so fast as me, and
+he's lots older. Hullo! here we are!" kicking vigorously at the apron.
+
+Matravers looked up in surprise. They had stopped short before a long
+row of shabby-genteel houses in the outskirts of Kensington. He took
+the boy's outstretched hand and pushed open the gate. The door was
+open, and Freddy dragged him into a room on the ground floor.
+
+A man was lying on a sofa before the window, wrapped in an untidy
+dressing-gown, and with the lower part of his body covered up with
+a rug. His face, fair and florid, with more than a suggestion of
+coarseness in the heavy jaw and thick lips, was drawn and wrinkled
+as though with pain. His lips wore an habitually peevish expression.
+He did not offer to rise when they came in. Matravers was thankful
+that Freddy spared him the necessity of immediate speech. He had
+recognized in a moment the man who had sat alone night after night
+in the back seats of the New Theatre, whose slow drawn-out cry of
+agony had so curiously affected him on that night of her performance.
+He recognized, too, the undergraduate of his college sent down for
+flagrant misbehaviour, the leader of a set whom he himself had
+denounced as a disgrace to the University. And this man was her
+husband!
+
+"Daddy," the boy cried, dropping Matravers' hand and running over to
+the couch, "I've been run over by a hansom cab, and I'm all buggy, but
+I ain't hurt, and this gentleman brought me home. Daddy can't get up,
+you know," Freddy explained; "his legs is bad."
+
+"Run over, eh!" exclaimed the man on the couch. "It's like that girl's
+damned carelessness."
+
+He patted the boy's head, not unkindly, and Matravers found words.
+
+"My cab unfortunately knocked your little boy down near Trafalgar
+Square, but I am thankful to say that he was not hurt. I thought that
+I had better bring him straight home, though, as he has had a roll in
+the dust."
+
+At the sound of Matravers' voice, the man started and looked at him
+earnestly. A dull red flush stained his cheeks. He looked away.
+
+"It was very good of you, Mr. Matravers," he said. "I can't think what
+the girl could have been about."
+
+"I did not see her until after the accident. I am glad that it was no
+worse," Matravers answered. "You have not forgotten me, then?"
+
+John Drage shook his head.
+
+"No, sir," he said. "I have not forgotten you. I should have known
+your voice anywhere. Besides, I knew that you were in London. I saw
+you at the New Theatre."
+
+There was a short silence. Matravers glanced around the room with an
+inward shiver. The usual horrors of a suburban parlour were augmented
+by a general slovenliness, and an obvious disregard for any sort of
+order.
+
+"I am afraid, Drage," he said gently, "that things have not gone well
+with you."
+
+"You are quite right," the man answered bitterly. "They have not! They
+have gone very wrong indeed; and I have no one to blame but myself."
+
+"I am sorry," Matravers said. "You are an invalid, too, are you not?"
+
+"I am worse than an invalid," the man on the couch groaned. "I am a
+prisoner on my back, most likely for ever; curse it! I have had a
+paralytic stroke. I can't think why I couldn't die! It's hard
+lines!--damned hard lines! I wish I were dead twenty times a day! I am
+alone here from morning to night, and not a soul to speak to. If it
+wasn't for Freddy I should jolly soon end it!"
+
+"The little boy's mother?" Matravers ventured, with bowed head.
+
+"She left me--years ago. I don't know that I blame her, particularly.
+Sit down, if you will, for a bit. I never have a visitor, and it does
+me good to talk."
+
+Matravers took the only unoccupied chair, and drew it back a little
+into the darker part of the room.
+
+"You remember me then, Drage," he remarked. "Yet it is a long time
+since our college days."
+
+"I knew you directly I heard your voice, sir," the man answered. "It
+seemed to take me back to a night many years ago--I want you to let
+me remind you of it. I should like you to know that I never forgot it.
+We were at St. John's then; you were right above me--in a different
+world altogether. You were a leader amongst the best of them, and I
+was a hanger-on amongst the worst. You were in with the gentlemen set
+and the reading set. Neither of them would have anything to do with
+me--and they were quite right. I was what they thought me--a cad. I'd
+no head for work, and no taste for anything worth doing, and I wasn't
+a gentleman, and hadn't sense to behave like one. I'd no right to have
+been at the University at all, but my poor old dad would have me go.
+He had an idea that he could make a gentleman of me. It was a
+mistake!"
+
+Matravers moved slightly in his chair,--he was suffering tortures.
+
+"Is it worth while recalling all these things?" he asked quietly.
+"Life cannot be a success for all of us; yet it is the future, and not
+the past."
+
+"I have no future," the man interrupted doggedly; "no future here, or
+in any other place. I have got my deserts. I wanted to remind you of
+that night when you came to see me in my rooms, after I'd been sent
+down for being drunk. I suppose you were the first gentleman who had
+ever crossed my threshold, and I remember wondering what on earth
+you'd come for! You didn't lecture me, and you didn't preach. You
+came and sat down and smoked one of my cigars, and talked just as
+though we were friends, and tried to make me see what a fool I was. It
+didn't do much good in the end--but I never forgot it. You shook hands
+with me when you left, and for once in my life I was ashamed of
+myself."
+
+"I am sorry," Matravers said with an effort, "that I did not go to see
+you oftener."
+
+Drage shook his head.
+
+"It was too late then! I was done for,--done for as far as Oxford was
+concerned. But that was only the beginning. I might easily have picked
+up if I'd had the pluck! The dad forgave me, and made me a partner in
+the business before he died. I was a rich man, and I might have been
+a millionaire; instead of that I was a damned fool! I can't help
+swearing! you mustn't mind, sir! Remember what I am! I don't swear
+when Freddy's in the room, if I can help it. I went the pace, drank,
+kept women, and all the rest of it. My wife found me out and went
+away. I ain't saying a word against her. She was a good woman, and I
+was a bad man, and she left me! She was right enough! I wasn't fit for
+a decent woman to live with. All the same, I missed her; and it was
+another kick down Hellward for me when she went. I got desperate then;
+I took to drink worse than ever, and I began to let my business go and
+speculate. You wouldn't know anything of the city, sir; but I can
+tell you this, when a cool chap with all his wits about him starts
+speculating outside his business, it's touch and go with him; when a
+chap in the state I was in goes for it, you can spell the result in
+four letters! It's RUIN, ruin! That's what it meant for me. I lost two
+hundred thousand pounds in three years, and my business went to pot
+too. Then I had this cursed stroke, and here I am! I may stick on for
+years, but I shall never be able to earn a penny again. Where Freddy's
+schooling is to come from, or how we are to live, I don't know!"
+
+"I am very sorry," Matravers said gently. "Have you no friends then,
+or relations who will help you?"
+
+"Not a damned one," growled the man on the couch. "I had plenty of
+pals once, only too glad to count themselves John Drage's friends;
+but where they are now I don't know. They seem to have melted away.
+There's never a one comes near me. I could do without their money or
+their help, somehow, but it's damned hard to lie here for ever and
+have not one of 'em drop in just now and then for a bit of a talk and
+a cheering word. That's what gives me the blues! I always was fond of
+company; I hated being alone, and it's like hell to lie here day after
+day and see no one but a cross landlady and a miserable servant girl.
+Lately, I can't bear to be alone with Freddy. He's so damned like his
+mother, you know. It brings a lump in my throat. I wouldn't mind so
+much if it were only myself. I've had my cake! But it's rough on the
+boy!"
+
+"It is rough on the boy, and it is rough on you," Matravers said
+kindly. "I wonder you have never thought of sending him to his mother!
+She would surely like to have him!"
+
+The man's face grew black.
+
+"Not till I'm dead," he said doggedly. "I don't want him set against
+me! He's all I've got! I'm going to keep him for a bit. It ought not
+to be so difficult for us to live. If only I could get down to the
+city for a few hours!"
+
+"Could not a friend there do some good for you?" Matravers asked.
+
+"Of course he could," Mr. Drage answered eagerly; "but I haven't got
+a friend. See here!"
+
+He took a little account book from under his pillow, and with
+trembling fingers thrust it before his visitor.
+
+"You see all these amounts. They are all owing to me from those
+people--money lent, and one thing and another. There is an envelope
+with bills and I O U's. They belong to me, you understand," he said,
+with a sudden touch of dignity. "I never failed! My business was
+stopped when I was taken ill, but there was enough to pay everybody.
+Now some of these amounts have never been collected. If I could see
+these people myself, they would pay, or if I could get a friend whom I
+could trust! But there isn't a man comes near me!"
+
+"I--am not a business man," Matravers said slowly; "but if you cared
+to explain things to me, I would go into the city and see what I could
+do."
+
+The man raised himself on his elbow and gazed at his visitor
+open-mouthed.
+
+"You mean this!" he cried thickly. "Say it again,--quick! You mean
+it!"
+
+"Certainly," Matravers answered. "I will do what I can."
+
+John Drage did not doubt his good fortune for a moment. No one ever
+looked into Matravers' face and failed to believe him.
+
+"I--I'll thank you some day," he murmured. "You've done me up! Will
+you--shake hands?"
+
+He held out a thin white hand. Matravers took it between his own.
+
+In a few moments they were absorbed in figures and explanations.
+Finally the book was passed over to Matravers' keeping.
+
+"I will see what I can do," he said quietly. "Some of these accounts
+should certainly be recovered. I will come down and let you know how I
+have got on."
+
+[Illustration: "You mean this!" he cried thickly. "Say it
+again--quick!"]
+
+"If you would! If you don't mind! And, I wonder,--do you take a
+morning paper? If so, will you bring it when you've done with it, or
+an old one will do? I can't read anything but newspapers; and lately I
+haven't dared to spend a penny,--because of Freddy, you know! It's so
+cursed lonely!"
+
+"I will come, and I will bring you something to read," Matravers
+promised. "I must go now!"
+
+John Drage held out his hand wistfully.
+
+"Good-by," he said. "You're a good man! I wish I'd been like you. It's
+an odd thing for me to say, but--God bless you, sir."
+
+Matravers stood on the doorstep with his watch in his hand. It was
+half-past three. There was just time to catch the four-thirty from
+Waterloo! For a moment the little street faded away from before his
+eyes! He saw himself at his journey's end! Berenice was there to meet
+him! A breath of the country came to him on the breeze--a breath of
+sweet-smelling flowers, and fresh moorland air, and the low murmur of
+the blue sea. Yes, there was Berenice, with her dark hair blowing in
+the wind, and that look of passionate peace in her pale, tired face!
+Her arms were open, wide open! She had been weary so long! The
+struggle had been so hard! and he, too, was weary----
+
+He started! He was still on the doorstep! Freddy was drumming on the
+pane, and behind, there was a man lying on the couch, with his face
+buried in his hands. He waved his hand and descended the steps firmly.
+
+"Back to my rooms, 147, Piccadilly," he told the cabman. "I shall not
+be going away to-day."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+A man wrote it, from his little room in the heart of London, whilst
+night faded into morning. He wrote it with leaden heart and unwilling
+mechanical effort--wrote it as a man might write his own doom. Every
+fresh sentence, which stared up at him from the closely written sheets
+seemed like another landmark in his sad descent from the pinnacles of
+his late wonderful happiness down into the black waters of despair.
+When he had finished, and the pen slipped from his stiff, nerveless
+fingers, there were lines and marks in his face which had never been
+there before, and which could never altogether pass away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+... A woman read it, seated on a shelving slant of moorland with the
+blue sky overhead, and the soft murmur of the sea in her ears, and
+the sunlight streaming around her. When she had finished, and the
+letter had fallen to her side, crushed into a shapeless mass, the
+light had died out of the sky and the air, and the song of the birds
+had changed into a wail. And this was what the man had said to the
+woman:--
+
+     "Berenice, I have had a dream! I dreamed that I was coming
+     to you, that you and I were together somewhere in a new
+     world, where the men were gods and the women were saints,
+     where the sun always shone, and nothing that was not pure
+     and beautiful had any place! And now I am awake, and I know
+     that there is no such world.
+
+     "You and I are standing on opposite sides of a deep, dark
+     precipice. I may not come to you! You must not come to me.
+
+     "I have thought over this matter with all the seriousness
+     which befits it. You will never know how great and how
+     fierce the struggle has been. I am feeling an older and a
+     tired man. But now that is all over! I have crossed the
+     Rubicon! The mists have rolled away, and the truth is very
+     clear indeed to me! I shudder when I think to what misery I
+     might have brought you, if I had yielded to that sweetest
+     and most fascinating impulse of my life, which bade me
+     accept your sacrifice and come to you. Berenice, you are
+     very young yet, and you have woven some new and very
+     beautiful fancies which you have put into a book, and which
+     the world has found amusing! To you alone they have become
+     the essence of your life: they have become by constant
+     contemplation a part of yourself. Out of the greatness of
+     your heart you do not fear to put them into practice! But,
+     dear, you must find a new world to fit your fancies, for the
+     one in which we are forced to dwell, the world which, in
+     theory, finds them delightful, would find another and an
+     uglier world if we should venture upon their embodiment!
+     After all we are creatures of this world, and by this
+     world's laws we shall be judged. The things which are right
+     are right, and the things which are pure are pure. Love is
+     the greatest power in the world, but it cannot alter things
+     which are unalterable.
+
+     "Once when I was climbing with a friend of mine in the
+     Engadine, we saw a white flower growing virtually out of a
+     cleft in the rocks, high above our heads. My friend was a
+     botanist, and he would have that flower! I lay on my back
+     and watched him struggle to reach it, watched him often
+     slipping backwards, but gradually crawling nearer and
+     nearer, until at last, breathless, with torn clothes and
+     bleeding hands, he grasped the tiny blossom, and held it out
+     to me in triumph! Together we admired it ceaselessly as we
+     retraced our steps. But as we left the high altitudes and
+     descended into the valley, a change took place in the
+     flower. Its petals drooped, its leaves shrank and faded.
+     White became grey, the freshness which had been its chief
+     beauty faded away with every step we took. My friend kept
+     it, but he kept it with sorrow! It was no longer a beautiful
+     flower.
+
+     "Berenice, you are that flower! You are beautiful, and pure,
+     and strong! You think that you are strong enough to live in
+     the lowlands, but you are not! No love of mine, changeless
+     and whole as it must ever be, could keep your soul from
+     withering in the nether land of sin! For it would be sin!
+     In these days when you are young, when the fires of your
+     enthusiasm are newly kindled, and the wings of your
+     imagination have not been shorn, you may say to yourself
+     that it is not sin! You may say that love is the only true
+     and sweet shrine before which we need keep our lives holy
+     and pure, and that the time for regrets would never come!
+
+     "Illusion! I, too, have tried to reason with myself in this
+     manner! I have tried passionately, earnestly, feverishly. I
+     have failed! I cannot! No one can! I know that to you I seem
+     to be writing like a Philistine, like a man of a generation
+     gone by! You have filled your little world with new ideals,
+     you have lit it with the lamp of love, and it all seems very
+     real and beautiful to you! But some day, though the lamp may
+     burn still as brightly as ever, a great white daylight will
+     break in through the walls. You will see things that you
+     have never seen before, and the light of that lamp will seem
+     cold and dim and ghostly. Nothing, nothing can ever alter
+     the fact that your husband lives, and that your little boy
+     is growing up with a great void in his heart. Some day he
+     will ask for his mother; even now he may be asking for her!
+     Berenice, would he ever look with large, indulgent eyes
+     upon that little world of yours! Alas!
+
+            *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "I have read my letter over to myself, Berenice, and I fear
+     that it must sound to you very commonplace, even perhaps
+     cold! Yet, believe me when I tell you that I have passed
+     through a very fire of suffering, and if I am calm now it is
+     with the calm of an ineffable despair! In my life at Oxford,
+     and later, here in London, women have never borne any share.
+     Part of my scheme of living has been to regard them as
+     something outside my little cycle, an influence great
+     indeed, but one which had passed me by.
+
+     "Yet I am now one of the world's great sufferers, one of
+     those who have found at once their greatest joy linked with
+     an unutterable despair. For I love you, Berenice! Never
+     doubt it! Though I should never look upon your face
+     again--which God in His mercy forbid--my love for you must
+     be for ever a part and the greatest part of my life! Always
+     remember that, I pray you!
+
+     "It seems strange to talk of one's plans with such a great,
+     black cloud of sorrow filling the air! But the outward form
+     of life does not change, even when the light has gone out
+     and one's heart is broken! I have some work before me which
+     I must finish; when it is over I shall go abroad! But that
+     can wait! When you are back in London, send for me! I am
+     schooling myself to meet a new Berenice--my friend! And I
+     have something still more to say to you!
+
+                              "MATRAVERS."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+The week that followed the sending of his letter was, to Matravers,
+with his love for equable times and emotions, like a week in hell! He
+had set himself a task not easy even to an ordinary man of business,
+but to him trebly difficult and harassing. Day after day he spent in
+the city--a somewhat strange visitor there, with his grave, dignified
+manner and studied fastidiousness of dress and deportment. He was
+unversed in the ways of the men with whom he had to deal, and he had
+no commercial aptitude whatever. But in a quiet way he was wonderfully
+persistent, and he succeeded better, perhaps, than any other emissary
+whom John Drage could have employed. The sum of money which he
+eventually collected amounted to nearly fifteen hundred pounds, and
+late one evening he started for Kensington with a bundle of papers
+under his arm and a cheque-book in his pocket.
+
+It was his last visit,--at any rate, for the present,--he told himself
+with a sense of wonderful relief, as he walked through the Park in the
+gathering twilight. For of late, something in connection with his
+day's efforts had taken him every evening to the shabby little house
+at Kensington, where his coming was eagerly welcomed by the tired,
+sick man and the lonely boy. He had esteemed himself a man well
+schooled in all manner of self-control, and little to be influenced in
+a matter of duty by his personal likes and dislikes. But these visits
+were a torture to him! To sit and talk for hours with a man, grateful
+enough, but peevish and commonplace, and with a curious lack of
+virility or self-reliance in his untoward circumstances, was trial
+enough to Matravers, who had been used to select his associates and
+associations with delicate and close care. But to remember that this
+man had been, and indeed was, the husband of Berenice, was madness! It
+was this man, whom at the best he could only regard with a kindly and
+gentle contempt, who stood between him and such surprising happiness,
+this man and the boy with his pale, serious face and dark eyes. And
+the bitterness of fate--for he never realized that it would have been
+possible for him to have acted otherwise--had made him their
+benefactor!
+
+Just as he was leaving the Park he glanced up at the sound of a
+carriage passing him rapidly, and as he looked up he stood still!
+It seemed to him that life itself was standing still in his veins.
+Berenice had been silent. There had come no word from her! But nothing
+so tragic, so horrible as this, had ever occurred to him! His heart
+had been full of black despair, and his days had been days of misery;
+but even the possibility of seeking for himself solace, by means not
+altogether worthy, had never dawned upon him. Nor had he dreamed it of
+her! Yet the man who waved his hand from the box-seat of the phaeton
+with a courtesy seemingly real, but, under the circumstances, brutally
+ironical, was Thorndyke, and the woman who sat by his side was
+Berenice!
+
+The carriage passed on down the broad drive, and Matravers stood
+looking after it. Was it his fancy, or was that, indeed, a faint cry
+which came travelling through the dim light to his ears as he stood
+there under the trees--a figure turned to stone. A faint cry, or the
+wailing of a lost spirit! A sudden dizziness came over him, and he sat
+down on one of the seats close at hand. There was a singing in his
+ears, and a pain at his heart. He sat there with half-closed eyes,
+battling with his weakness.
+
+Presently he got up, and continued his journey. He found himself on
+the doorstep of the shabby little house, and mechanically he passed in
+and told the story of his day's efforts to the man who welcomed him so
+eagerly. With his pocket-book in his hand he successfully underwent a
+searching cross-examination, faithfully recording what one man had
+said and what another, their excuses and their protestations. He made
+no mistakes, and his memory served him amply. But when he had come to
+the end of the list, and had placed the cheque-book in John Drage's
+fingers, he felt that he must get away. Even his stoical endurance had
+a measurable depth. But it was hard to escape from the man's most
+unwelcome gratitude. John Drage had not the tact to recognize in his
+benefactor the man to whom thanks are hateful.
+
+"And I had no claim upon you whatever!" the sick man wound up,
+half-breathless. "If you had cut me dead, after my Oxford disgrace, it
+would only have been exactly what I deserved. That's what makes it so
+odd, your doing all this for me. I can't understand it, I'm damned if
+I can!"
+
+Matravers stood over him, a silent, unresponsive figure, seeking only
+to make his escape. With difficulty he broke in upon the torrent of
+words.
+
+"Will you do me the favour, Mr. Drage," he begged earnestly, "of
+saying no more about it. Any man of leisure would have done for you
+what I have done. If you really wish to afford me a considerable
+happiness, you can do so."
+
+"Anything in this world!" John Drage declared vehemently.
+
+Matravers thought for a moment. The proposition which he was about to
+make had been in his mind from the first. The time had come now to
+put it into words.
+
+"You must not be offended at what I am going to say," he began gently.
+"I am a rich man, and I have taken a great fancy to your boy. I have
+no children of my own; in fact, I am quite alone in the world. If you
+will allow me, I should like to undertake Freddy's education."
+
+A light broke across the man's coarse face, momentarily transfiguring
+it. He raised himself on his elbow, and gazed at his visitor with
+eager scrutiny. Then he drew a deep sigh, and there were tears in his
+eyes. He did not say a word. Matravers continued.
+
+"It will be a great pleasure for me," he said quietly. "What I propose
+is to invest a thousand pounds for that purpose in Freddy's name. In
+fact, I have taken the liberty of already doing it. The papers are
+here."
+
+Matravers laid an envelope on the little table between them. Then he
+rose up.
+
+"Will you forgive me now," he said, "if I hurry away? I will come and
+see you again, and we will talk this over more thoroughly."
+
+And still John Drage said nothing, but he held out his hand. Matravers
+pressed the thin fingers between his own.
+
+"You must see Freddy," he said eagerly. "I promised him that he should
+come in before you went."
+
+But Matravers shook his head. There was a pain at his heart like the
+cutting of a knife.
+
+"I cannot stay another instant," he declared. "Send Freddy over to my
+rooms any time. Let him come and have tea with me!"
+
+Then they parted, and Matravers walked through a world of strange
+shadows to Berenice's house. Her maid, recognizing him, took him up
+to her room without ceremony. The door was softly opened and shut. He
+stood upon the threshold. For a moment everything seemed dark before
+him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Berenice seemed to dwell always in the twilight. At first Matravers
+thought that the room was empty, and he advanced slowly towards the
+window. And then he stopped short. Berenice was lying in a crumpled
+heap on the low couch, almost within touch of his hands. She was lying
+on her side, her supple figure all doubled up, and the folds of her
+loose gown flowing around her in wild disorder. Her face was half
+hidden in her clasped hands.
+
+"Berenice," he cried softly.
+
+[Illustration: Berenice was lying in a crumpled heap on the low couch]
+
+She did not answer. She was asleep. He stood looking down upon her,
+his heart full of an infinite tenderness. She, too, had suffered,
+then. Her hair was in wild confusion, and there were marks of recent
+tears upon her pale cheeks. A little lace handkerchief had slipped
+from her fingers down on to the floor. He picked it up. It was wet!
+The glow of the heavily-shaded lamp was upon her clasped white fingers
+and her bowed head. He watched the rising and falling of her bosom as
+she slept. To him, so great a stranger to women and their ways, there
+was a curious fascination in all the trifling details of her toilette
+and person, the innate daintiness of which appealed to him with a very
+potent and insidious sweetness. Whilst she slept, he felt as one far
+removed from her. It was like a beautiful picture upon which he was
+gazing. The passion which had been raging within him like an autumn
+storm was suddenly stilled. Only the purely aesthetic pleasure of her
+presence and his contemplation of it remained. It seemed to him then
+that he would have had her stay thus for ever! Before his fixed eyes
+there floated a sort of mystic dream. There was another world--was it
+the world of sleep or of death?--where they might join hands and dwell
+together in beautiful places, and there was no one, not even their
+consciences, to say them nay. The dust of earthly passion and sin, and
+all the commonplace miseries of life, had faded for ever from their
+knowledge. It was their souls which had come together ... and there
+was a wonderful peace.
+
+Then she opened her eyes and looked up at him. There was no more
+dreaming! The old, miserable passion flooded his heart and senses. His
+feet were upon the earth again! The whole world of those strange,
+poignant sensations, stronger because of their late coming, welled up
+within him.
+
+"Berenice!"
+
+She was only half awake, and she held up her soft, white arms to him,
+gleaming like marble through the lace of her wide sleeves. She looked
+up at him with the faint smile of a child.
+
+"My love!"
+
+He stooped down, and her arms closed around him like a soft yoke. But
+he kissed her forehead so lightly that she scarcely realized that this
+was almost his first caress.
+
+"Berenice, you have been angry with me!"
+
+She sat up, and the lamplight fell upon his face.
+
+"You have been ill," she cried in a shocked tone.
+
+"It is nothing. I am well. But to-night--I had a shock; I saw you
+with--Mr. Thorndyke!"
+
+Her eyes met his. The hideous phantom which had been dogging his steps
+was slain. He was ashamed of that awful but nameless fear.
+
+"It is true. Mr. Thorndyke has offered me an apology, which I am
+forced to believe sincere. He has asked me to be his wife! I was
+sorry for him."
+
+"He is a bad man! He has spoken ill of you! He has already a wife!"
+
+"I am glad of it. I can obey my instincts now, and see him no more.
+Personally he is distasteful to me! I had an idea he was honest! It is
+nothing!"
+
+She dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. To her it was
+altogether a minor matter. Then she looked at him.
+
+"Well!"
+
+"You never answered my letter."
+
+"No, there was no answer. I came back."
+
+"You did not let me know."
+
+"You will find a message at your rooms when you get back."
+
+He walked up and down the room. He knew at once that all he had done
+hitherto had been in vain. The battle was still before him. She sat
+and watched him with an inscrutable smile. Once as he passed her, she
+laid her hand upon his arm. He stopped at once.
+
+"Your white flower was born to die and to wither," she said. "A
+night's frost would have killed it as surely as the lowland air. It is
+like these violets." She took a bunch from her bosom. "This morning
+they were fresh and beautiful. Now they are crushed and faded! Yet
+they have lived their life."
+
+She threw them down upon the floor.
+
+"Do you think a woman is like that?" she said softly. "You are very,
+very ignorant! She has a soul."
+
+He held out his hand.
+
+"A soul to keep white and pure. A soul to give back--to God!"
+
+Again she smiled at him slowly, and shook her dark head. "You are like
+a child in some things! You have lived so long amongst the dry bones
+of scholarship, that you have lost your touch upon humanity. And of
+us women, you know--so very little. You have tried to understand us
+from books. How foolish! You must be my disciple, and I will teach
+you."
+
+"It is not teaching," he cried; "it is temptation."
+
+She turned upon him with a gleam of passion in her eyes.
+
+"Temptation!" she cried. "There spoke the whole selfishness of the
+philosopher, the dilettante in morals! What is it that you fear? It is
+the besmirchment of your own ideals, your own little code framed and
+moulded with your own hands. What do you know of sin or of purity,
+you, who have held yourself aloof from the world with a sort of
+delicate care, as though you, forsooth, were too precious a thing to
+be soiled with the dust of human passion and human love! That is where
+you are all wrong. That is where you make your great mistake. You
+have judged without experience. You speak of a soul which may be
+stained with sin; you have no more knowledge than the Pharisees of old
+what constitutes sin. Love can never stain anything! Love that is
+constant and true and pure is above the marriage laws of men; it is
+above your little self-constructed ideals; it is a thing of Heaven and
+of God! You wrote to me like a child,--and you are a child, for until
+you have learnt what love is, you are without understanding."
+
+Suddenly her outstretched hands dropped to her side. Her voice became
+soft and low; her dark eyes were dimmed.
+
+"Come to me, and you shall know. I will show you in what narrow paths
+you have been wandering. I will show you how beautiful a woman's love
+can make your life!"
+
+"If we can love and be pure," he said hoarsely, "what is sin? What is
+that?"
+
+He was standing by the window, and he pointed westwards with shaking
+finger. The roar of Piccadilly and Regent Street came faintly into the
+little room. She understood him.
+
+"You have a great deal to learn, dear," she whispered softly.
+"Remember this first, and before all, Love can sanctify everything."
+
+"But they too loved in the beginning!"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"That they never could have done. Love is eternal. If it fades or
+dies, then it never was love. Then it was sin."
+
+"But those poor creatures! How are they to tell between the true love
+and the false?"
+
+She stamped her foot, and a quiver of passion shook her frame.
+
+"We are not talking about them. We are talking about ourselves! Do you
+doubt your love or mine?"
+
+"I cannot," he answered. "Berenice!"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"Did you ever tell--your husband that you loved him?"
+
+"Never!"
+
+"Did he love you?"
+
+"I believe, so far as he knew how to love anything,--he did."
+
+"And now?"
+
+She waved her hand impatiently.
+
+"He has forgotten. He was shallow, and he was fond of life. He has
+found consolation long ago. Do not talk of him. Do not dare to speak
+of him again! Oh, why do you make me humble myself so?"
+
+"He may not have forgotten. He may have repented. He may be longing
+for you now,--and suffering. Should we be sinless then?"
+
+She swept from her place, and stood before him with flashing eyes.
+
+"I forbid you to remind me of my shame. I forbid you to remind me
+that I, too, like those poor women on the street, have been bought and
+sold for money! I have worked out my own emancipation. I am free. It
+was while I was living with him as his wife that I sinned,--for I
+hated him! Speak to me no more of that time! If you cannot forget it,
+you had better go!"
+
+He stretched out his hands and held hers tightly.
+
+"Berenice, if you were alone in the world, and there was some great
+barrier to our marriage, I would not hesitate any longer. I would take
+you to myself. Don't think too hardly of me. I am like a man who is
+denying himself heaven. But your husband lives. You belong to him. You
+do not know whether he is in prosperity, or whether he has forgotten.
+You do not know whether he has repented, or whether his life is still
+such as to justify your taking the law into your own hands, and
+forsaking him for ever. Listen to me, dear! If you will find out these
+things, if you can say to yourself and to me, and to your conscience,
+'he has found happiness without me, he has ignored and forgotten the
+tie between us, he does not need my sympathy, or my care, or my
+companionship,' then I will have no more scruples. Only let us be sure
+that you are morally free from that man."
+
+She wrenched her hands away from his. There was a bright, red spot of
+colour flaring on her cheeks. Her eyes were on fire.
+
+"You are mad!" she cried; "you do not love me! No man can know what
+love is who talks about doubts and scruples like you do! You are too
+cold and too selfish to realize what love can be! And to think that I
+have stopped to reason, to reason with you! Oh! my God! What have I
+done to be humbled like this?"
+
+"Berenice!"
+
+"Leave me! Don't come near me any more! I shall thrust you out of my
+life! You never loved me! I could not have loved you! Go away! It has
+been a hideous mistake!"
+
+"Berenice!"
+
+"My God! Will you leave me?" she moaned. "You are driving me mad! I
+hate you!"
+
+Her white hand flashed out into the darkness, as though she would have
+struck him! He bowed his head and went.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Matravers knew after that night that his was a broken life. Any future
+such as he had planned for himself of active, intellectual toil had
+now, he felt, become impossible. His ideals were all broken down. A
+woman had found her way in between the joints of an armour which he
+had grown to believe impenetrable, and henceforth life was a wreck.
+The old, quiet stoicism, which had been the inner stimulus of his
+career, was a thing altogether overthrown and impotent. He was too old
+to reconstruct life anew; the fragments were too many, and the wreck
+too complete. Only his philosophy showed him very plainly what the end
+must be. Across the sky of his vision it seemed to be written in
+letters of fire.
+
+Early in the morning, having made his toilette as usual with a care
+almost fastidious, he went out into the sunlit streets, moving like a
+man in a deep dream amongst scenes which had become familiar to him
+day by day. At his lawyer's he made his will, and signed it, thankful
+for once for his great loneliness, insomuch as there was no one
+who could call the disposal of his property to a stranger an
+injustice--for he had left all to little Freddy; left it to him
+because of his mother's eyes, as he thought with a faint smile. Then
+he called at his publisher's and at the office of a leading review to
+which he was a regular contributor, telling them to expect no more
+work from him for a while; he was going abroad to take a long-earned
+holiday. He lunched at his club, speaking in a more than usually
+friendly manner to the few men with whom at times he had found it a
+pleasure to associate, and finally, with that sense of unreality
+growing stronger and stronger, he found himself once more in the Park,
+in his usual chair, looking out with the same keen sympathy upon the
+intensely joyous, beautiful phase of life which floated around him.
+The afternoon breeze rustled pleasantly among the cool green leaves
+above his head, and the sunlight slanted full across the shaded walk.
+On every hand were genial voices, cordial greetings, and light
+farewells. With a sense almost of awe, he thought of the days when he
+had sat there waiting for her carriage, that he might look for a few
+moments upon that pale-faced woman, whose influence over him seemed
+already to have commenced before even any words had passed between
+them. He sat there, gravely acknowledging the salutes of those
+with whom he was acquainted, wearing always the same faint and
+impenetrable smile--wonderful mask of a broken heart. And still the
+memories came surging into his brain. He thought of that grey morning
+when he had sat there alone, oppressed by some dim premonitions of the
+tragedy amongst whose shadows he was already passing, so that even the
+wind which had followed the dawn, and shaken the rain-drops down upon
+him, had seemed to carry upon its bosom wailing cries and sad human
+voices. As the slow moments passed along, he found himself watching
+for her carriage with some remnant of the old wistfulness. But it
+never came, and for that he was thankful.
+
+At last he rose, and walked leisurely back to his rooms. He gave
+orders to his servant to pack all his things for a journey; then, for
+the last time, he stood up in the midst of his possessions, looking
+around him with a vague sorrowfulness at the little familiar objects
+which had become dear to him, both by association and by reason of a
+certain sense of companionship which he had always been able to feel
+for beautiful things, however inanimate. It was here that he had come
+when he had first left Oxford, full of certain definite ambitions, and
+with a mind fixed at least upon living a serene and well-ordered life.
+He had woven many dreams within these four walls. How far away those
+days now seemed to be from him! He would never dream any more; for him
+the world's great dream was very close at hand.
+
+He poured himself out a glass of wine from a quaintly cut decanter,
+and set it down on his writing-desk, emptying into it with scrupulous
+care the contents of a little packet which he had been carrying all
+day in his waistcoat pocket. He paused for a moment before taking up
+his pen, to move a little on one side the deep blue china bowl of
+flowers which, summer and winter alike, stood always fresh upon his
+writing-table. To-day it chanced, by some irony of fate, that they
+were roses, and a swift flood of memories rushed into his tingling
+senses as the perfume of the creamy blossoms floated up to him.
+
+He set his teeth, and, taking out some paper, began to write.
+
+     "Berenice, farewell! To-night I am going on a very long
+     journey, to a very far land. You and I may never meet again,
+     and so, farewell! Farewell to you, Berenice, whom I have
+     loved, and whom I dearly love. You are the only woman who
+     has ever wandered into my little life to teach me the great
+     depths of human passion--and you came too late. But that was
+     not your fault.
+
+     "For what I am doing, do you, at least, not blame me. If
+     there were a single person in the world dependent upon me,
+     or to whom my death would be a real loss, I would remain.
+     But there is no one. And, whereas alive I can do you no
+     good, dead I may! Berenice, your husband lives--in suffering
+     and in poverty; your husband and your little boy. Freddy has
+     looked at me out of your dark eyes, my love, and whilst I
+     live I can never forget it. I hold his little hands, and I
+     look into his pure, childish face, and the great love which
+     I bear for his mother seems like an unholy thing. Leave your
+     husband out of the question--put every other consideration
+     on one side, Freddy's eyes must have kept us apart for ever.
+
+     "And, dear, it is your boy's future, and the care of your
+     stricken husband, which must bring you into closer and more
+     intimate touch with the vast world of human sorrows. Love
+     is a sacrifice, and life is a sacrifice. I know, and that
+     knowledge is the comfort of my last sad night on earth,
+     that you will find your rightful place amongst her toiling
+     daughters. And it is because there is no fitting place for
+     me by your side that I am very well content to die. For
+     myself, I have well counted the cost. Death is an infinite
+     compulsion. Our little lives are but the veriest trifle in
+     the scale of eternity. Whether we go into everlasting sleep,
+     or into some other mystic state, a few short years here more
+     or less are no great matter, Berenice."
+
+Again there came that curious pain at his heartstrings, and the
+singing in his ears. The pen slipped from his fingers; his head
+drooped.
+
+"Berenice!" he whispered. "Berenice!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And as though by a miracle she heard him, for she was close at hand.
+Whilst he had been writing, the door was softly opened and closed, a
+tall, grey-mantled figure stood upon the threshold. It was Berenice!
+
+"May I come in?" she cried softly. Her face was flushed, and her
+cheeks were wet, but a smile was quivering upon her lips.
+
+He did not answer. She came into the room, close to his side. Her
+fingers clasped the hand which was hanging over the side of his chair.
+The lamp had burnt very low; she could scarcely see his face.
+
+"Dear, I have come to you," she murmured. "I am sorry. I want you to
+forgive me. I do love you! you know that I love you!"
+
+The pressure of her fingers upon his hand was surely returned. She
+stood up, and her cloak slipped from her shoulders on to the floor.
+
+"Why don't you speak to me? Don't you hear? Don't you understand? I
+have come to you! I will not be sent away! It is too late! My carriage
+brought me here. I have told my people that I shall not be returning!
+Come away with me to-night! Let us start now! Listen! it is too late
+to draw back! Every one knows that I have come to you! We shall be so
+happy! Tell me that you are glad!"
+
+There was no answer. He did not move. She came close to him, so that
+her cheek almost touched his.
+
+"Tell me that you are glad," she begged. "Don't argue with me any
+more. If you do, I shall stop your mouth with kisses. I am not like
+you, dear! I must have love! I cannot live alone any longer! I have
+touched the utmost limits of my endurance! I _will_ stay with you! You
+_shall_ love me! Listen! If you do not, I swear--but no! You will save
+me from that! Oh, I know that you will! But don't argue with me! Words
+are so cold, and I am a woman--and I must love and be loved, or I
+shall die.... Ah!"
+
+She started round with a little scream. Her eyes, frightened and
+dilated, were fixed upon the door. On the threshold a little boy was
+standing in his night-shirt, looking at her with dark, inquiring eyes.
+
+"I want Mr. Matravers, if you please," he said deliberately. "Will you
+tell him? He don't know that I'm here yet! He will be so surprised!
+Charlie Dunlop--that's where I live--has the fever, and dad sent me
+here with a letter, but Mr. Matravers was out when we came, and nurse
+put me to bed. Now she's gone away, and I'm so lonely. Is he asleep?
+Please wake him, and tell him."
+
+She turned up the lamp without moving her eyes from the little
+white-clad figure. A great trembling was upon her! It was like a voice
+from the shadows of another world. And Matravers, why did he not
+speak?
+
+Slowly the lamp burned up. She leaned forward. He was sitting with his
+head resting upon his hand, and the old, faint smile parting his
+lips. But he did not look up! He did not speak to her! He was sitting
+like a carved image!
+
+"For God's sake speak to me!" she cried.
+
+Then a certain rigidity in his posture struck her for the first time,
+and she threw herself on the ground beside him with a cry of fear.
+She pressed her lips to his, chafed his cold hand, and whispered
+frantically in his ear! But there was no answer--there never could be
+any answer. Matravers was dead, and the wine-glass at his side was
+untasted.
+
+[Illustration: But there was no answer--there never could be any
+answer]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Berenice did not faint! She did not even lose consciousness for a
+moment. Moaning softly to herself, but dry-eyed, she leaned over his
+shoulder and read the words which he had written to her, of which,
+indeed, the ink was scarcely dry. When she had finished, she took
+up the wine-glass in her own fingers, holding it so steadily that not
+a drop was spilt.
+
+Here was the panacea she craved! The problem of her troubled life was
+so easily to be solved. Rest with the man she loved!
+
+Her arms would fold around him as she sank to the ground. Perhaps he
+was already waiting for her somewhere--in one of those mystic worlds
+where the soul might shake itself free from this weary burden of human
+passions and sorrows. Her lips parted in a wonderful smile. She raised
+the glass!
+
+There was a soft patter across the carpet, and a gentle tug at her
+dress.
+
+"I am very cold," Freddy cried piteously, holding out a little blue
+foot from underneath his night-shirt. "If you don't want to wake Mr.
+Matravers, will you take me up to bed, please?"
+
+Through a mist of sudden tears, she looked down into her boy's
+face. She drew a deep, quick breath--her fingers were suddenly
+nerveless. There was a great dull stain on the front of her dress,
+the wine-glass, shattered into many pieces, lay at her feet. She
+fell on her knees, and with a little burst of passionate sobs took
+him into her arms.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were grey hairs in the woman's head, although she was still
+quite young. A few yards ahead, the bath chair, wheeled by an
+attendant, was disappearing in the shroud of white mist, which had
+suddenly rolled in from the sea. But the woman lingered for a moment
+with her eyes fixed upon that dim, distant line, where the twilight
+fell softly upon the grey ocean. It was the single hour in the long
+day which she claimed always for her own--for it seemed to her in
+that mysterious stillness, when the shadows were gathering and the
+winds had dropped, that she could sometimes hear his voice. Perhaps,
+somewhere, he too longed for that hour--a dweller, it might be, in
+that wonderful spirit world of the unknown, of which he had spoken
+sometimes with a curiously grave solemnity. Her hands clasped the iron
+railing, a light shone for a moment in the pale-lined face turned so
+wistfully seawards!
+
+Was it the low, sweet music of the sea, or was it indeed his voice in
+her ears, languorous and soft, long-travelled yet very clear.
+Somewhere at least he must know that hers had become at his bidding
+the real sacrifice! A smile transfigured her face! It was for this she
+had lived!
+
+Then there came her summons. A querulous little cry reached her from
+the bath chair, drawn up on the promenade. She waved her hand
+cheerfully.
+
+"I am coming," she cried; "wait for me!"
+
+But her face was turned towards that dim, grey line of silvery light,
+and the wind caught hold of her words and carried them away over the
+bosom of the sea--upwards!
+
+                              THE END.
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_The Lost Ambassador_
+
+A straightforward mystery story, the plot of which hinges on the sale
+of two battleships.
+
+
+_The Illustrious Prince_
+
+The tale of a world-startling international intrigue.
+
+     Mr. Oppenheim is a past master of the art of constructing
+     ingenious plots and weaving them around attractive
+     characters.--_London Morning Mail_
+
+
+_Jeanne of the Marshes_
+
+An engrossing tale of love and adventure.
+
+     A real Oppenheim tale, abundantly satisfying to the
+     reader.--_New York World_
+
+
+_The Governors_
+
+A romance of the intrigues of American finance.
+
+     The ever welcome Oppenheim.--_Boston Transcript_
+
+
+_The Missioner_
+
+Strongly depicts the love of an earnest missioner and a worldly
+heroine with a past.
+
+     An entrancingly interesting romance.--_Pittsburg Post_
+
+
+_The Long Arm of Mannister_
+
+A distinctly different story that deals with a wronged man's ingenious
+plan of revenge.
+
+     Mannister is a powerfully drawn character.--_Philadelphia
+     Press_
+
+
+_As a Man Lives, or the Mystery of the Yellow House_
+
+Tells of an English curate and his mysterious neighbor.
+
+     Every page in it suggests a mystery.--_Literary World,
+     London_
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_A Maker of History_
+
+A capital story that "explains" the Russian Baltic fleet's attack on
+the North Sea fishing fleet.
+
+     An enthralling tale, with a surprisingly well-sustained
+     mystery, and a series of plots, counterplots, and
+     well-managed climaxes.--_Brooklyn Times_
+
+
+_The Malefactor_
+
+An amazing story of the strange revenge of Sir Wingrave Seton, who
+suffered imprisonment for a crime he did not commit.
+
+     Spirited, aggressive, vigorous, mysterious, and, best of
+     all, well told.--_Boston Transcript_
+
+
+_A Millionaire of Yesterday_
+
+A gripping story of a West African miner who clears his name of a
+great stain.
+
+     A thrilling story throughout.--_Philadelphia Press_
+
+
+_The Man and His Kingdom_
+
+An intensely dramatic tale of love, intrigue, and adventure in a South
+American state.
+
+     A daring bit of fiction, full of vigorous life and
+     unflagging interest._--Chicago Tribune_
+
+
+_The Betrayal_
+
+An enthralling story of treachery of state secrets in high diplomatic
+circles of England.
+
+     The denouement is almost as surprising as the mystery is
+     baffling.--_Public Opinion_
+
+
+_A Daughter of the Marionis_
+
+A melodramatic story of Palermo and London, that is replete with
+action.
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_A Prince of Sinners_
+
+An engrossing story of English social political life, with powerfully
+drawn characters.
+
+     Thoroughly matured, brilliantly constructed, and
+     convincingly told.--_London Times_
+
+     It is rare that so much knowledge of the world, taken as a
+     whole, is set between two covers of a novel.--_Chicago Daily
+     News_
+
+
+_Anna the Adventuress_
+
+A surprising tale of London life, with a most engaging heroine.
+
+     The consequences of a bold deception Mr. Oppenheim has
+     unfolded to us with remarkable ingenuity. The story sparkles
+     with brilliant conversation and strong situations.--_St.
+     Louis Republic_
+
+
+_Mysterious Mr. Sabin_
+
+An ingenious story of a bold international intrigue with an
+irresistibly fascinating "villain."
+
+     Intensely readable for its dramatic force, its absolute
+     originality, and the strength of the men and women who fill
+     its pages.--_Pittsburg Times_
+
+
+_The Yellow Crayon_
+
+Containing the exciting experiences of Mr. Sabin with a powerful
+secret society.
+
+     This stirring story shows unusual originality.--_New York
+     Times_
+
+
+_The Master Mummer_
+
+The strange romance of Isobel de Sorrens and the part a mysterious
+actor played in her life.
+
+     A love tale laden with adventure and intrigue, with a saving
+     grace of humor.--_Philadelphia North American_
+
+
+_The Mystery of Mr. Bernard Brown_
+
+A mystery story, rich in sensational incidents and dramatic
+situations.
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM'S NOVELS
+
+ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH. $1.50 EACH
+
+
+_The Avenger_
+
+Unravels an intricate tangle of political intrigue and private revenge
+with consummate power of fascination.
+
+     A lively, thrilling, captivating story.--_New York Times_
+
+
+_A Lost Leader_
+
+Weaves a realistic romance around a striking personality.
+
+     Mr. Oppenheim is one of the few writers who can make a
+     political novel as interesting as a good detective
+     story.--_The Independent, New York_
+
+
+_The Great Secret_
+
+Deals with a stupendous international conspiracy.
+
+     Founded on a daring invention and daringly carried
+     out.--_The Boston Globe_
+
+
+_Enoch Strone: A Master of Men_
+
+The story of a masterful self-made man who made a foolish marriage
+early in life.
+
+     In no other novel has Mr. Oppenheim created such life-like
+     characters or handled his plot with such admirable force and
+     restraint.--_Baltimore American_
+
+
+_A Sleeping Memory_
+
+The remarkable tale of an unhappy girl who consented to be deprived of
+her memory, with unlooked-for consequences.
+
+     He deals with the curious and unexpected, and displays all
+     the qualities which made him famous.--_St. Louis
+     Globe-Democrat_
+
+
+_The Traitors_
+
+A capital story of love, adventure, and Russian political intrigue in
+a small Balkan state.
+
+     Swift-moving and exciting. The love episodes have freshness
+     and charm.--_Minneapolis Tribune_
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetter errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
+words and intent.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Berenice, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
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