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diff --git a/42771-8.txt b/42771-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 52067bd..0000000 --- a/42771-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10036 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Happy House, by Betsey Riddle, Freifrau von -Hutten zum Stolzenberg - - -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: Happy House - - -Author: Betsey Riddle, Freifrau von Hutten zum Stolzenberg - - - -Release Date: May 22, 2013 [eBook #42771] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY HOUSE*** - - -E-text prepared by Annie McGuire from page images generously made -available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - the Google Books Library Project. See - http://www.google.com/books?id=jE8gAAAAMAAJ - - - - - -HAPPY HOUSE - -The BARONESS VON HUTTEN - - - - -HAPPY HOUSE - -by - -The BARONESS VON HUTTEN - -Author of "Pam," "Pam Decides," "Sharrow," "Kingsmead," etc. - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - -New York -George H. Doran Company - -Copyright, 1920, -By George H. Doran Company - - - - -_TO MISS LILY BETTS_ - - -MY DEAR LILY: _We three, one of us in a chair, and two of us upside down -on the grass-plot, have decided that this book must be dedicated to you, -in memory of how we did not work on it at Sennen Cove, and how we did -work on it here. So here it is, with our grateful love, from_ - - _Your affectionate_ - _Richard, and Hetty, and B. v. H._ - PENZANCE - - - - -HAPPY HOUSE - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Mrs. Walbridge stood at the top of the steps, a pink satin slipper in -her hand, looking absently out into the late afternoon. The July -sunlight spread in thick layers across the narrow, flagged path to the -gate, and the shadows under the may tree on the left were motionless, as -if cut out of lead. The path was strewn with what looked like -machine-made snowflakes, and a long piece of white satin ribbon had -caught on the syringa bush on the right of the green gate, and hung like -a streak of whiter light across the leaves. Someone inside the house was -playing a fox-trot, and sounds of tired laughter were in the air, but -the well-known author, Mrs. Walbridge, did not hear them. She was -leaning against the side of the door, recklessly crushing her new grey -frock, and her eyes were fixed on the gate in the unseeing stare of -utter fatigue. Presently the music stopped and the sudden silence seemed -to rouse her, for, with a deep sigh and a little shake of the head that -was evidently characteristic, she turned and went slowly into the house. - -A few minutes later a brisk-looking young man in a new straw hat came -down the street and paused at the gate, peering up at the fanlight to -verify his whereabouts. Number eighty-eight did not seem to satisfy -him, but suddenly his eyes fell on the gate. On its shabby green were -painted the words, very faded, almost undecipherable, "Happy House," and -with a contented nod the young man opened the gate and went quickly up -the steps. No one answered his ring, so he rang again. Again the silence -was unbroken, but from somewhere far off he heard the sound of laughter -and talking, and, peering forward into the little hall, he took a small -notebook from his pocket and wrote a few words in it, whistling softly -between his teeth. He was a freckled-faced young man with a tip-tilted -nose, not in the least like the petals of a flower, and with a look of -cheery cheekiness. After a moment he went into the passage and thrust -his head into the open drawing-room door. The room was filled with -flowers, and though the windows were wide open, it smelt close, as if it -had already been full of people. The walls were covered with pink and -white moiré paper, whose shiny surface was broken by various pictures. -Watts's "Hope" in a gilt frame dominated the mantelpiece; a copy of "The -Fighting Téméraire" faced it, and there were a good many photographs -elaborately framed, grouped, like little families, in clusters. Between -the windows hung an old, faded photogravure of "The Soul's Awakening," -and "Alone at Last" revealed its artless passion over a walnut -chiffonier laden with small pieces of china. The young man in the straw -hat, which was now pushed far back on his sweat-darkened fair hair, -stood in the middle of the room and looked round, scratching his head -with his pencil. His bright eyes missed nothing, and although he was -plainly a young man full of buoyant matter-of-factness, there was scorn, -not unkindly, but decided, in his merry but almost porcine eyes as he -made mental notes of his surroundings. - -"Poor old girl," he muttered. "Hang that 'bus accident. I wish I'd been -here in time for the party----" Then his shrewd face softened as the -deeper meaning of the room reached him. It was ugly; it was commonplace, -but it was more of a home than many a room his journalistic activities -had acquainted him with. By a low, shabby, comfortable-looking arm-chair -that stood near the flower-filled grate was a dark-covered table on -which stood five photographs, all in shiny silver or leather frames. Mr. -Wick stood over the table tapping his teeth softly with his pencil, and -moving his lips in a way that produced a hollow tune. "So that's the -little lot," he said to himself in a cheerful, confidential voice. -"Three feminines and two masculines, as the Italians say. And very nice -too. Her own corner, I bet. Yes, there's her fountain pen." He took it -up and made a note of its make and laid it carefully down. There was a -little fire-screen in the shape of a banner of wool embroidery on the -table. "That's how she keeps the firelight out of her eyes when she's -working in the winter. Poor old girl. What ghastly muck it is, too---- -Good thing for her the public likes it. Now, then, what about that bell? -Guess I'll go and have another tinkle at it." He started to the door, -when it was pushed further open and the owner of the house came in. Mr. -Wick knew at the first glance that it was the owner of the house. A -fattish, middle-aged man in brand new shepherd's plaid trousers and a -not quite so new braided morning-coat. - -"Hallo! I--I beg your pardon----" the new-comer began, not at all in -the voice of one who begs pardon. Mr. Wick waved his hand kindly. - -"Oliver Wick's my name," he explained. "I come from _Round the Fire_ for -an account of the wedding, but I got mixed up with a rather good 'bus -smash in Oxford Street, and that's why I'm late." - -"Oh, I see. Want a description of the wedding, do you? Clothes and so -on? I'm afraid I'm not much good for that, but if you'll come into the -garden I'll get one of my daughters to tell you. Some of the young -people are still there, as a matter of fact." - -Mr. Walbridge had stopped just short of being a tall man. His -figure had thickened and spread as he grew older and his hips were -disproportionately broad, which gave him a heavy, clumsy look. In his -reddish, rather swollen face were traces of what had been great beauty, -and he had the unpleasant manner of a man who consciously uses his charm -as a means to attain his own ends. - -"Come into the dining-room first and have a glass of the widow," he -suggested, as he led the way down the narrow passage towards an open -door at the back of the house. - -Mr. Wick, who had no inhuman prejudice against conviviality, followed -him into the dining-room and partook, as his quick eyes made notes of -everything on which they rested, of a glass of warmish, rather doubtful -wine. - -"I suppose Mrs. Walbridge will give me five minutes?" the young man -asked, setting down his glass and taking a cigarette from the very shiny -silver case offered him by his host. Mr. Walbridge laughed, showing the -remains of a fine set of teeth artfully reinforced by a skilled -dentist. - -"Oh, yes. My wife will quite enjoy being interviewed. Women always like -that kind of thing, and, between you and me and the gate-post," he -poured some champagne into a tumbler and drank it before he went on, -"interviewers don't come round quite as they used in her younger days." - -Mr. Wick despised the novels of the poor lady he had come to interview, -but he was a youth not without chivalry, and something in his host's -manner irritated him. - -"She has a very good book public, anyhow, has Violet Walbridge. You -mustn't mind me calling her that. I shouldn't call Browning Mr. -Browning, you know, or Victoria Cross Miss Cross." - -Walbridge nodded. "Oh, yes, they're pretty stories, pretty stories, -though I like stronger stuff myself. Just re-reading 'L'Assommoir' -again. Met Zola once when I was living in Paris. Always wondered how he -smashed his nose. Well, if you're ready, let's come down into the garden -where the ladies are." - -The garden of Happy House was a long narrow strip almost entirely -covered by a grass tennis court, and bounded by a narrow, crowded, -neglected herbaceous border. As he stood at the top of the steep flight -of steps leading down to where the group of young people were sprawled -about in dilapidated old deck-chairs or on the grass, Mr. Wick's quick -eyes saw the herbaceous border, and, what is more, they understood it. -It was a meagre, squeezed, depressed looking attempt, and the young man -from Brondesbury knew instinctively that, whereas the tennis court was -loved by the young people of the family, the wild and pathetic flowers -belonged to the old lady he had come to interview. Somehow he seemed to -know, as he told his mother later, quite a lot about Violet Walbridge, -just through looking at her border. - -The sun was setting now, and a little wind had come up, stirring the -leaves on the old elm under whose shade, erratic and scant, the little -group were seated. Three or four young men were there, splendid, if -rather warm, in their wedding garments, and several young women and -girls, the pretty pale colours of their fine feathers harmonising -charmingly with the evening. At the far end of the garden a lady was -walking, with a blue silk sunshade over her shoulder. As the two men -came down the steps Mr. Walbridge pointed to her. - -"There's my wife," he said. "Shall I come and introduce you?" - -"No, thank you. No, no, I'll go by myself," the young man answered -hastily, and as he went down across the lawn he heard a girl's voice -saying laughingly: "Reporter to interview Mrs. Jellaby." The others -laughed, not unkindly, but their laughter lent to Mr. Wick's approach to -Mrs. Walbridge a deference it might otherwise not have had. She had not -heard him coming, and was standing with her back to him, her head and -shoulders hidden by the delphinium-blue sunshade, and when she turned, -starting nervously at the sound of his voice, he realised with painful -acuteness that delphinium blue is not the colour to be worn by daylight -by old ladies. Her thin, worn face, in which the bones showed more than -in any face he had ever seen, was flooded with the blue colour that -seemed to fill all the hollows and lines with indigo, and her large -sunken eyes, on which the upper eyelids fitted too closely, must have -been, the young man noticed, beautiful eyes long ago. They were of that -most rare eye-colour, a really dark violet, and the eyebrows on the very -edge of the clearly defined frontal bone were slightly arched and well -marked over the temples. When he had told her who he was and his errand, -she flushed with pleasure and held out her hand to him, and he, whose -profession is probably second only to that of dentistry in its -unpopularity, was touched by her simple pleasure. - -"My Chief thought the public would be interested in the wedding. He -tells me this daughter--the bride, I mean--was the original of--of--one -of your chief heroines." - -Violet Walbridge led the way to an old, faded green garden seat, on -which they sat down. - -"Yes, she's the original of 'Rose Parmenter,'" she helped him out -gently, without offence at his having forgotten the name. "I wish you -had seen her. But you can say that she was looking beautiful, because -she was----" - -Mr. Wick whipped out his notebook and his beautifully sharpened pencil, -contrived a little table of his knees, and looked up at her. - -"'Rose Parmenter'--oh, yes. That's one of your best-known books, isn't -it?" - -"Yes, that and 'Starlight and Moonlight.' They sold best, though 'One -Maid's Word' has done very well. That," she added slowly, "has been done -into Swedish, as well as French and German. 'Queenie's Promise' has been -done into six languages." - -Her voice was very low, and peculiarly toneless, but he noticed a little -flush of pleasure in her thin cheeks--a flush that induced him, quite -unexpectedly to himself, to burst out with the information that a friend -of his sister--Jenny _her_ name was--just revelled in his companion's -works. "Give me a box o' chocs," Kitty will say, "and one of Violet -Walbridge's books, and I wouldn't change places with Queen Mary." - -Without being urged, Mrs. Walbridge gave the young man details he -wanted--that her daughter's name was Hermione Rosalind; that she was the -second daughter and the third child, and that she had married a man -named Gaskell-Walker--William Gaskell-Walker. - -"He belongs to a Lancashire family, and they've gone to the Lakes for -their honeymoon." The author waved her thin hand towards the group of -young people at the other end of the lawn. "There's the rest of my -flock," she said, her voice warming a little. "The tall man who's -looking at his watch is my other son-in-law, Dr. Twiss of Queen Anne -Street, Cavendish Square. He married my eldest daughter, Maud, four -years ago. Their little boy was page to-day. He's upstairs asleep now." - -As she spoke one of the girls in the group left the others and came -towards her and Wick. - -"This is your daughter, too?" the young man asked, a little throb of -pleasure in his voice. - -"Yes, this," Mrs. Walbridge answered, taking the girl's hand, "is my -baby, Griselda. Grisel, dear, this is Mr.--Mr.----" - -"Wick," said the young man. "Oliver Wick." - -"You've come to interview Mum?" Miss Walbridge asked, a little -good-natured raillery in her voice. - -The young man bowed. "Yes. I represent _Round the Fire_, and my Chief -thought that the public would be interested in an account of the -wedding----" His eyes were glued to the young girl's face. She was very -small, and, he thought to himself, the blackest white girl he had ever -seen; so dark that if he had not known who she was he might have -wondered whether she were not the whitest black girl--her hair was -coal-black and her long eyes like inkwells, and her skin, smooth as -vellum, without a touch of colour, was a rich golden brown. She was -charmingly dressed in canary-coloured chiffon, and round her neck she -wore a little necklet of twisted strands of seed pearls, from which hung -a large, beautifully cut pearl-shaped topaz. - -"I came to tell you, Mum," she went on, glancing over her shoulder at -one of the upper windows, "that Hilary's awake and bawling his head off, -and Maud wants you to go up to him." - -Mrs. Walbridge rose and Wick noticed, although he could not have -explained it, how very different were her grey silk draperies from the -yellow ones of her daughter. She had, moreover, sat down carelessly, and -the back of her frock was crushed and twisted. - -"It's my little grandson," she explained. "He's always frightened when -he wakes up. I'll go to him. Perhaps you'd like my daughter to show you -the wedding presents, Mr. Wick." - -Oliver Wick was very young, and he was an ugly youth as well, but -something about him held the girl's attention, in spite of his being -only a reporter. This something, though she did not know it, was power, -so it was perfectly natural that the little, spoilt beauty should lead -him into the house to the room upstairs where the presents were set -forth. His flowery article in the next number of _Round the Fire_ -expressed great appreciation of the gifts, but there was no detailed -account of them, and that was because, although he looked at them and -seemed to see what he was looking at, he really saw nothing but Miss -Walbridge's enchanting little face. - -"Do you ever read any of Mum's novels?" the girl asked him at last, as -they stood by the window, looking down over the little garden into the -quiet, tree-bordered road. - -The young man hesitated, and she burst out laughing, pointing a finger -of scorn at him. - -"You've not?" she cried. "Own up. You needn't mind. I'm sure I don't -blame you; they're awful rubbish--poor old Mum! I often wonder who it is -_does_ read them." - -As she finished speaking, the door into the back room opened, and Mrs. -Walbridge came out, carrying the little boy who had been crying. His -long, fat legs, ending in shiny patent leather slippers, hung limply -down, and his towsled fair head leant on her shoulder. He was dressed in -cavalier costume of velvet and satin, and his fat, stupid face was -blotted and blurred with tears. He looked so very large and heavy, and -Mrs. Walbridge looked so small and old and tired that the young man went -towards with his arms held out. - -"Let me carry him down for you," he said. "He's too heavy----" - -Griselda laughed. "My mother won't let you," she said gaily. "She always -carries him about. She's much stronger than she looks." - -Mrs. Walbridge didn't speak, but, with a little smile, went out of the -room and slowly downstairs. Her daughter shrugged her shoulders. - -"Mum's not only superannuated as to novels," she announced, smoothing -her hair in front of a glass; "she's the old-fashioned mother and -grandmother. She won't let us do a thing." - -Her bright beauty had already cast a small spell on the young man, but -nevertheless he answered her in a flash: - -"Do you ever try?" - -She stared for a moment. In spite of his journalistic manner and what is -really best described as his cheek, Oliver Wick was a gentleman, and the -girl had instinctively accepted him as such. But at the abrupt, frank -censure in his voice she drew herself up and assumed a new manner. - -"Now that you've seen the presents," she said, in what he knew she -thought to be a haughty tone, "I think I must get back to my friends." - -He grinned. "Righto! Sorry to have detained you. But I haven't quite -finished my talk with Mrs. Walbridge. I'm sure she won't mind giving me -a few tips about her next book. Our people love that kind of -thing--_eat_ it." - -He cast his eye about the pleasant sunny room, and then, as he reached -the door, stopped. - -"I suppose this is _your_ room?" he asked, with bland disregard of her -manner. - -"What do you mean?" - -"Well--different kinds of pictures, you know; brown wallpaper, and -that's a good Kakemono. Hanabosa Iccho, isn't it?" - -Miss Walbridge's face expressed surprise too acute to be altogether -courteous. - -"I--I don't know," she said. "I know it's a very good one. Mother bought -it for Paul--that's my brother--he's very fond of such things--for his -birthday and at Christmas--his room is being painted, so some of his -things are in here." - -The young man looked admiringly at the grey and white study of monkeys -and leaves. - -"I've got an uncle who collects them," he said, "and that's a jolly good -one. I suppose that Mrs. Walbridge goes in for Japanese art too?" - -"Poor mother!" The girl laughed. "She doesn't know a Kakemono from a -broomstick. Paul found that one at some sale and asked her to give it to -him." - -They went slowly down the stairs, the girl's pretty white hand sliding -lightly along the polished rail in a way that put all thought of -Japanese art out of the young man's active mind. He was going to be a -great success, for he had the conquering power of concentrating not only -his thoughts but his feelings on one thing at a time; and for the moment -the only thing in the world was Griselda Walbridge's left hand. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Happy House was a big old house with rooms on both sides of the door, -and a good many bedrooms, but it was old-fashioned in the wrong way, -like a man's straw hat, say, of the early seventies. It was inconvenient -without being picturesque. There was only one bathroom, and the passages -were narrow. Most of the children had been born there, indeed all of -them except Paul, for the prudent Mrs. Walbridge had bought it out of -the proceeds of her first book, "Queenie's Promise"--a book that is even -now dear to thousands of romantic hearts in obscure homes. Paul had been -born in the little house at Tooting Bec, for there it was that the Great -Success had been written. In those days might have been seen walking -under the fine trees of the common, a little dowdy figure with a bustle -and flowing unhygienic draperies, that was the newly married Mrs. -Ferdinand Walbridge, in the throes of literary invention. But just -before the birth of Maud Evelyn the removal had been made; the hastily -gathered, inexpensive household gods had been carried by the faithful -Carter Paterson to Walpole Road and set up in their over-large, rather -dwarfing shrine. Those were the days of limitless ambition and mad, rosy -dreams, when Ferdinand was still regarded by his young wife much in the -way that Antony Trollope's heroines worshipped their husbands a short -time before. The romantic light of the runaway match still hung round -him and his extraordinary good looks filled her with unweakened pride. - -They hung up Mr. Watts's "Hope," the beautiful and touching "Soul's -Awakening" (which, indeed, bore a certain resemblance to Walbridge at -that time), she arranged her little odds and ends of china, and her few -books that her father had sent her after the half-hearted reconciliation -following Paul's birth, and one of the first things they bought was a -gilt clock, representing two little cupids on a see-saw. Mrs. -Walbridge's taste was bad, but it was no worse than the taste of the -greater part of her contemporaries of her own class, for she belonged -body and soul to the Philistines. She hadn't even an artistic uncle -clinging to the uttermost skirts of the pre-Raphaelites to lighten her -darkness, and, behold, when she had made it, her little kingdom looked -good to her. She settled down light-heartedly and without misgivings, to -her quadruple rôle of wife, mother, housekeeper and writer. She had no -doubt, the delicate little creature of twenty, but that she could -"manage" and she had been managing ever since. She managed to write -those flowery sentimental books of hers in a room full of crawling, -experimental, loud-voiced babies; she managed to break in a series of -savage handmaidens, who married as soon as she had taught them how to do -their work; she managed to make flowers grow in the shabby, weed-grown -garden; she managed to mend stair-carpets, to stick up fresh wallpapers, -to teach her children their prayers and how to read and write; she -managed to cook the dinner during the many servantless periods. The fate -of her high-born hero and heroine tearing at her tender heart, while -that fabulous being, the printer's devil, waited, in a metaphorical -sense, on her doorstep. But most of all, she managed to put up with -Ferdinand. She had loved him strongly and truly, but she was a -clear-sighted little woman, and she could not be fooled twice in the -same way, which, from some points of view, is a misfortune in a wife. So -gradually she found him out, and with every bit of him that crumbled -away, something of herself crumbled too. Nobody knew very much about -those years, for she was one of those rare women who have no confidante, -and she was too busy for much active mourning. Ferdinand was an -expensive luxury. She worked every day and all day, believed in her -stories with a pathetic persistence, cherishing all her press -notices--she pasted them in a large book, and each one was carefully -dated. She had a large public, and made a fairly large, fairly regular -income, but there never was enough money, because Walbridge not only -speculated and gambled in every possible way, but also required a great -deal for his own personal comforts and luxuries. For years it was the -joy of the little woman's heart to dress him at one of the classic -tailors in Savile Row; his shirts and ties came from a Jermyn Street -shop, his boots from St. James's Street, and his gloves (he had very -beautiful hands) were made specially for him in the Rue de Rivoli. For -many years Ferdinand Walbridge (or Ferdie, as he was called by a large -but always changing circle of admiring friends) was one of the most -carefully dressed men in town. He had an office somewhere in the city, -but his various attempts at business always failed sooner or later, and -then after each failure he would settle down gently and not ungratefully -to a long period of what he called rest. - -When the three elder children were eight, six and three, a very bad time -had come to "Happy House." Little had been known about it except for the -main fact that Mr. Walbridge was made a bankrupt. But Caroline Breeze, -the only woman who was anything like an intimate friend of the -household, knew that there was, over and above this dreadful business, a -worse trouble. - -Caroline Breeze was one of those women who are not unaffectionately -called "a perfect fool" by their friends, but she was a close-mouthed, -loyal soul, and had never talked about it to anyone. But years -afterwards, when the time had come for her to speak, she spoke, out of -her silent observation, to great purpose. For a long time after his -bankruptcy Ferdie Walbridge walked about like a moulting bird; his -jauntiness seemed to have left him, and without it he wilted and became -as nothing. During this three years Mrs. Walbridge for the first time -did her writing in the small room in the attic--the small room with the -sloping roof and the little view of the tree-tops and sky of which she -grew so fond, and which, empty and desolate though it was, had gradually -grown to be called the study; and that was the time when Caroline Breeze -was of such great use to her. For Caroline used to come every day and -take the children, as she expressed it, off their mother's hands. - -In '94 Mrs. Walbridge produced "Touchstones," in '95 "Under the Elms" -and in '96 "Starlight and Moonlight." It was in '98 that there appeared -in the papers a small notice to the effect that Mr. Ferdinand Walbridge -was discharged from his bankruptcy, having paid his creditors twenty -shillings in the pound. - -Naturally, after this rehabilitation, Mr. Walbridge became once more his -charming and fascinating self, and was the object of many -congratulations from the entirely new group of friends that he had -gathered round him since his misfortune. - -"Most chaps would have been satisfied to pay fifteen shillings in the -pound," more than one of these gentlemen declared to him, and Ferdie -Walbridge, as he waved his hand and expressed his failure to comprehend -such an attitude, really almost forgot that it was his wife and not -himself who had provided the money that had washed his honour clean. - -Caroline Breeze, faithful and best of friends, lived up three pairs of -stairs in the Harrow Road, and one of her few pleasures was the keeping -of an accurate and minute record of her daily doings. Perhaps some -selections from the diary will help to bring us up to date in the story -of "Happy House." - -_October_, 1894--_Tuesday._--Have been with poor Violet. Mr. Walbridge -has been most unfortunate, and someone has made him a bankrupt. It is a -dreadful blow to Violet, and poor little Hermy only six weeks old. -Brought Maud home for the night with me. She's cutting a big tooth. Gave -her black currant jam for tea. Do hope the seeds won't disagree with -her.... - -_Wednesday._--Not much sleep with poor little Maud. Took her round and -got Hermy in the pram, and did the shopping. Saw Mr. Walbridge for a -moment. He looks dreadfully ill, poor man. Told me he nearly shot -himself last night. I told him he must bear up for Violet's sake.... - -_A week later._--Went to "Happy House" and took care of the children -while Violet was at the solicitors. She looks frightfully ill and -changed, somehow. I don't quite understand what it is all about. Several -people I know have gone bankrupt, and none of their wives seem as upset -as Violet.... - -_November 5th._--Spent the day at "Happy House" looking after the -children. Violet had to go to the Law Courts with Mr. Walbridge. He -looked so desperate this morning that I crept in and hid his razors. He -dined at the King's Arms with some of his friends, and Violet and I had -high tea together. She looks dreadfully ill, and the doctor says she -must wean poor little Hermy. She said very little, but I'm afraid she -blames poor Mr. Walbridge. I begged her to be gentle with him, and she -promised she would, but she looked so oddly at me that I wished I hadn't -said it. - -_November 20th._--Violet has moved into the top room next the nursery to -be nearer the children. I must say I think this is wrong of her. She -ought to consider her husband. He looks a little better, but my heart -aches for him. - -_February_, 1895.--Violet's new book doing very well. Third edition out -yesterday. She's getting on well with the one for the autumn. Such a -pretty title--"Under the Elms." It's about a foundling, which I think is -always so sweet. She's very busy making over the children's clothes. -Ferdie (he says it is ridiculous that such an intimate friend as I am -should go on calling him Mr. Walbridge) has gone to Torquay for a few -weeks as he's very run down. Mem.--I lent him ten pounds, as dear Violet -really doesn't seem quite to understand that a gentleman needs a little -extra money when he's away. He was sweet about her. Told me how very -good she was, and said that her not understanding about the pocket money -is not her fault, as, of course, she is not quite so well born as he. He -is very well connected indeed, though he doesn't care to have much to do -with his relations. He's to pay me back when his two new pastels are -sold. They are at Jackson's in Oxford Street, and look lovely in the -window.... - -_November_, 1895.--Violet's new book out to-day--"Under the Elms"--a -sweet story. She gave me a copy with my name in it, and I sat up till -nearly two, with cocoa, reading it. Very touching, and made me cry, but -has a happy ending. I wish I had such a gift. - -_January 13th_, 1896.--Just had a long talk with poor Ferdie. He is -really very unlucky. Had his pocket picked on his way home from the city -yesterday with £86 15s. 4d. in his purse. Does not wish to tell poor -Violet. It would distress her so. He had bought some shares in some kind -of mineral--I forget the name--and they had gone up, and he had been -planning to buy her a new coat and skirt, and a hat, and lovely presents -for all the children. He's such a kind man. He was even going to buy six -pairs of gloves for me. The disappointment is almost more than he can -bear. Sometimes I think Violet is rather hard on him. I couldn't bear to -see him so disappointed, so I am lending him £50 out of the Post Office -Savings Bank. He's going to pay me six per cent. It's better than I can -get in any other _safe_ investment. He's to pay me at midsummer. -_N.B._--That makes £60. - -_February 12th_, 1896.--Paul's birthday. Went to tea to "Happy House." -Violet made a beautiful cake with white icing, and had squeezed little -pink squiggles all over it in a nice pattern. She gave him a fine new -pair of boots and a bath sponge. His daddy gave him a drum--a real -one--and a large box of chocolates. - -_February 13th_, 1896.--Ferdie came round at seven this morning to ask -me to help nurse Paul. He was ill all night with nettle-rash in his -throat, and nearly choked, poor little boy. I've been there all day. -Susan told me Ferdie's grief in the night was something awful. It's a -good thing Violet does not take things so to heart. Odd about the -chocolate. It seems it's always given him nettle-rash. - -_September 4th_, 1896.--Darling Hermy's second birthday. Her mother made -her a really lovely coat out of her Indian shawl. I knitted her a -petticoat. Dear Ferdie gave her a huge doll with real hair, that talks, -and a box of chocolates, which we took away from her, as Paul cried for -some. Ferdie had quite forgotten that chocolates poison Paul. He was -very wonderful this evening after the children had gone to bed. He had -made some money (only a little) by doing some work in the city, and he -had bought Violet a lovely pair of seed-pearl earrings. I suppose she -was very tired, because she was really quite ungracious about them, and -hurt his feelings dreadfully. There was also some trouble about the gas -man, which I didn't quite understand. But afterwards, when I had gone -upstairs to take a last look at the children, they had a talk, and as I -came downstairs I saw him kneeling in front of her with his head in her -lap. He has such pretty curly hair, and when I came in he came to me and -took my hand and said he didn't mind my seeing his tears, as I was the -same as a sister, and asked me to help influence her to forgive him, and -to begin over again. It was very touching, and I couldn't help crying a -little. I was so sorry for him. Violet is really rather hard. I -suggested to her that after all many nice people go bankrupt, and that -other women have far worse things to bear, and she looked at me very -oddly for a moment, almost as if she despised me, though it can't have -been that.... - -_September 30th_, 1896.--Have been helping Violet move her things back -into the downstairs room. Ferdie was so pleased. He brought home a great -bunch of white lilac--in September!--and put it in a vase by the bed. I -thought it was a lovely little attention. - -_July 4th_, 1897.--A beautiful little boy came home this morning to -"Happy House." They are going to call him Guy, which is Ferdie's -favourite name. He was dreadfully disappointed it wasn't a little girl, -so that she could be named Violet Peace. He's so romantic. What a pity -there is no masculine name meaning Peace.... - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Mr. Oliver Wick's ideas of courtship were primitive and unshakable. On -one or two clever, ingenious pretexts he visited "Happy House" twice -within the month after his first visit, in order, as he expressed it to -himself, to look over Miss Walbridge in the light of a possible wife. -That he was in love with her he recognised, to continue using his own -language, "from the drop of the hat," "from the first gun." But although -he belonged to the most romantic race under the sun, Mr. Wick was no -fool, and whereas anything like a help-meet would have displeased him -almost to the point of disgust, he had certain standards to which any -one with claims to be the future Mrs. Oliver Wick must more or less -conform. He didn't care a bit about money--he felt that money was his -job, not the girl's--but she'd got to be straight, she'd got to be a -good looker, and she'd got to be good-tempered. No shrew-taming for -him--at least not in his own domestic circle. - -One evening, shortly after his third visit to "Happy House," the young -man was standing at the tallboys in his mother's room in Spencer -Crescent, Brondesbury, tying a new tie over an immaculate dress shirt. - -"I'm going to do the trick to-night," he declared, filled with pleasant -confidence, "or bust." - -Mrs. Wick, who looked more like her son's grandmother than his mother, -sat in a low basket chair by the window, stretching, with an old, thin -pair of olive-wood glove stretchers, the new white gloves that were to -put the final touch of splendour to the wooer's appearance. - -She was a pleasant-faced old woman, with a strong chin and keen, clear -eyes, and when she smiled she showed traces of past beauty. - -"Well, of course," she said, snapping the glove-stretchers at him -thoughtfully, "you know everything--you always did--and far be it from -me to make any suggestions to you." - -He turned round, grinning, his ugly face full of subtle likeness to her -handsome one. - -"Oh, go on," he jeered, "you wonderful old thing! Some day your pictures -will be in the penny papers as the mother of Baron Wick of Brondesbury. -Of course I know everything! Look at this tie, for instance. A -Piccadilly tie, built for dukes, tied in Brondesbury by Fleet Street. -What's his name--D'Orsay--couldn't do it better. But what were you going -to say?" - -She laughed and held out the gloves. "Here you are, son. Only this. I -bet you sixpence she won't look at you. She'll turn you down; refuse -you; give you the cold hand; icy mit--what d'you call it? And then, -you'll come back and weep on my shoulder." - -Mr. Wick, who had taken the gloves, stood still for a minute, his face -full of sudden thought. - -"She may," he said, "she may. I don't care if she does. I tell you she's -lovely, mother. She'd look like a fairy queen if the idiots who paint -'em realised that fairies ought to be dark, and not tow-coloured. Of -course she'll refuse me a few times, but her father'll be on my side." - -"Why?" - -"Because he's a rather clever old scoundrel, and he'll know that I'm a -succeeder--a getter." - -The old woman looked thoughtful. "I haven't liked anything you told me -about _him_, Olly. But, after all, he has paid up, and lots of good men -have been unfortunate in business." - -The young fellow took up his dress-coat, which was new and richly lined, -and drew it on with care. - -"Oh, I'm not marrying into this family because I admire my future -father-in-law," he answered. "I haven't any little illusions about him, -old lady. It's his wife who's done the paying, or I'm very much -mistaken. She's an honest woman--poor thing." - -There was such deep sympathy in his voice that his mother, who had -risen, and was patting and smoothing the new coat into place on his -broad shoulders, pulled him round till he faced her, and looked down at -him, for she was taller than he. - -"Why are you so sorry for her?" - -He hesitated for a moment, and his hesitation meant much to her. - -"I don't know. She never says anything, of course. She seems happy -enough, but I believe--I believe she's found him out----" - -"God help her," Mrs. Wick answered. - -The young man remembered this episode as he sat opposite his hostess at -dinner an hour and a half later. The dining-room had been re-papered -since he had drunk that glass of luke-warm wine in it the day of -Hermione's wedding, and his sharp eyes noticed the absence of several -ugly things that had been there then. Stags no longer hooted to each -other across mountain chasms over the sideboard, and one or two good -line drawings hung in their place. - -"How do you like it?" Griselda asked him. "Paul and I have been cheering -things up a bit." - -"Splendid," he replied promptly. "I say, how beautiful your sister is!" - -Griselda's rather hard little face softened charmingly as she looked -across the table, where the bride was sitting. Hermione Gaskell-Walker -was a very handsome young woman in an almost classical way, and her -short-sighted, clever-looking husband, who sat nearly opposite her, -evidently thought so too, for he peered over the flowers at her in -adoration that was plain and pleasing to see. - -"They've such a jolly house in Campden Hill. His father was Adrian -Gaskell-Walker, the landscape painter, and collected things." - -Mr. Wick nodded, but did not answer, for he was busy making a series of -those mental photographs, whose keenness and durability so largely -contributed to his success in life. He had an amazing power of storing -up records of incidents that somehow or other might come in useful to -him, and this little dinner party, which he had decided to be a -milestone on his road, interested him acutely in its detail. - -By candlelight, in perfect evening dress, Ferdinand Walbridge's slightly -dilapidated charms were very manifest. On his right sat an elderly lady -about whom Mr. Wick's apparatus recorded only one word--pearls. - -Next to her came Paul Walbridge, looking older than his twenty-nine -years--thin, delicate, rather high shouldered, with remarkably glossy -dark hair and immense soft, dove-coloured eyes. He looked far better -bred, the young man decided, than he had any right to look; his hands, -in particular, might have been modelled by Velasquez. - -"Supercilious----" Wick thought, and then paused, not adding the "ass" -that had come into his mind, for he knew that Paul Walbridge was not an -ass, although he would have liked to call him one. - -Next Paul came the beautiful Hermione, with magnificent shoulders white -as flour, and between her and her mother sat a man named Walter -Crichell, a portrait painter, one of the best in the secondary school--a -man with over-red lips and short white hands with unpleasant, pointed -fingers. - -"That fellow's a stinker," Wick decided, never to change his mind. - -Next came the hostess, thin, worn, rather silent, in the natural -isolation of an old woman sitting between two young men, each of whom -had youth and beauty on his far side. - -Then, of course, came Oliver himself and Grisel. Next to Grisel, -Gaskell-Walker, the lower part of whose face was clever, but who would -probably find himself handicapped by the qualities belonging to too -high, too straight a forehead; and next him, consequently on the host's -left, sat Crichell's wife. Young Wick could not look at her very -comfortably without leaning forward, but he caught one or two glimpses -of her face as Walbridge bent over her, and promised himself a good look -in the drawing-room. She was worth it, he knew. A soft, velvety brown -creature, a little on the fat side, but rather beautiful. It was plain, -too, that the old man admired her. - -Mr. Wick studied his host's face for a moment as he thus completed his -circle of observation, and so strong were his feelings as he looked at -Mr. Walbridge that quite unintentionally he said "Ugh!" aloud. - -"What did you say?" It was Mrs. Walbridge who spoke--her first remark -for quite a quarter of an hour--and in her large eyes was the anxious, -guilty look of one who has allowed herself to wool-gather in public. - -Wick started, blushed scarlet, and then burst out laughing at his -dilemma. - -"I didn't say anything," he answered. "I was only thinking. I beg your -pardon, Mrs. Walbridge." - -Her worn face softened into a kind smile, and he noticed that her teeth -were even and very white. - -"It is awful, isn't it," she said, "to--to get thinking about things -when one ought to be talking? I'm afraid I'm very dull for a young man -to sit next." - -"Oh, come, Mrs. Walbridge," he protested, "when you know how they all -lapped up that article I wrote about you." - -She bridled gently. "It was a very nice article." After a minute she -added anxiously, her thin fingers pressing an old blue enamel brooch -that fastened the rather crumpled lace at her throat: "Tell me, Mr. -Wick, do you--do you really think that--that people like my books as -much as they used to?" - -"You must have a very big public," he answered, wishing she had not put -the question. - -"Yes, I know I have, but--you see, of course I'm not young any more, and -the children--they know a great many people, and bring some of them here -and--I've noticed that while they are all very kind, they don't seem to -have--to have really read my books." - -"Don't they?" said Wick, full of sympathy. "Dear me!" - -She shook her head. "No, they really don't, and I've been wondering -if--if it is that they're beginning to find me--a little old-fashioned." - -What he wanted to say in return for this was: "But, bless your heart, -you _are_ old-fashioned, the old-fashionest old dear that ever lived!" -What he did say was: "Well, I suppose lots of people think Thackeray and -Dickens old-fashioned----" But when Grisel turned just then and fired -some question at him, he felt a weak longing to mop his brow. It had -been a narrow escape, and he would not have hurt the old lady's feelings -for worlds. Something about this faded, exhausted-looking little old -literary bee touched the young fellow in a quite new way. - -"Gosh!" he thought; "now if it was mother, she wouldn't let people think -her old-fashioned; she wouldn't _be_ old-fashioned. My word, wouldn't -she just sit up at night and write something to beat Wells, and Elinor -Glyn, and the rest of them into a cocked hat!" - -Grisel, in white--white that would have done very well, he thought, in -Grosvenor Square or St. James's--was in her best mood that night, and as -they talked he felt himself slipping lower and lower into the -abyss--that pleasant abyss on the edge of which he had hovered so many -times before without letting himself go. - -It was then that the question of Bruce Collier's book rose. It was -Crichell who brought up the subject, and as he described the book he -enthusiastically waved his peculiarly white hands, which Mr. Wick -thought, with some disgust, looked as if they were on the point of -sprouting into horrid white tubers like potatoes in a dark cellar. - -"The finest book I've read for years," he declared. "Magnificent piece -of work." - -"Walter's quite mad about it," his wife put in, leaning forward and -making motions with her hand and throat like those of a sunning pigeon. -"He dined with us last night--Mr. Collier--and he's an extraordinary -creature. Never touched a drug in his life, yet he knows all about -it--and as for the other things----" she shrugged her shoulders and -laughed. Her husband shook his fist at her. - -"Now, Clara," he said, "curb that tongue of yours, my dear, or you'll -shock Mrs. Walbridge. Have you read the book, Mrs. Walbridge, 'Reek'?" - -The little writer shook her head. "No, I haven't very much time for -reading. I've just read 'The Rosary.' What a delightful book it is!" - -Grisel stretched her hand across Wick and took hold of her mother's. - -"Never mind, darling, you shan't be teased, and you mustn't read 'Reek.' -I shouldn't dream of allowing you to." - -Walbridge, in whose handsome, swollen eyes a new little flame was -showing, looked up from a whispered talk with Mrs. Crichell and smiled -at his wife. - -"No, darling," he agreed, "I can't have you reading such books. It would -ruin your style. I'm sure Mr. Wick agrees with me, don't you, Mr. Wick? -Mr. Wick is a great admirer of your books," he added in an insufferable -way. - -She didn't speak, but Wick saw her thin lips quiver a little, and -hastened to answer: - -"I'm only a business man, Mr. Walbridge, and know nothing at all about -literature, but I know this much--I bet the chap who wrote 'Reek' would -give his eye-tooth to have Mrs. Walbridge's sales!" - -Hermione Gaskell-Walker raised her heavy-lidded eyes and smiled at him -gratefully, as she murmured, "Darling mum," and, stimulated by his -success, Mr. Wick ended the conversation by saying firmly, as Mrs. -Walbridge caught the eye of the pearl lady: "Filthy book, anyhow; not -fit to be read by ladies----" - - * * * * * - -Some hours later a not very crestfallen young man sat in the small -dining-room of 11, Spencer Crescent, Brondesbury, and ate poached eggs -on toast--he was always ready for poached eggs--and announced to his -dressing-gowned and beslippered mother that the lady of his choice had -rejected him. - -"Couldn't dream of it," he announced cheerfully, reaching for butter -with his own knife in a way only permissible at such out-of-hour meals. -"She pretended to be surprised, you know, and then, when that didn't -work, she tried to assume that I was mad. Pretty little piece, she is, -mother. Dimples in her lovely face she's got, and eyes like two little -black suns, shining away----" - -His mother coughed drily. "You don't seem remarkably cast down," she -observed, rubbing her nose with her thumb--a broad and capable thumb, -"and here was I wasting my tissue in an agony of fear about my -broken-hearted boy." - -He cocked his head as little snub-nosed dogs do, indeed, he all but -cocked one ear, and his eyes twinkled. - -"You and your tissue, indeed! You don't think I thought she was going -to jump down my throat, do you? I'd hate a girl who took me first time. -I like being refused--looks well. I hope she'll refuse me three or four -times more." - -"If she could see you eat poached eggs in your shirt-sleeves, with all -the varnish off your hair, she'd go on refusing you to the crack o' -doom," retorted the old lady. - -Then they went to bed, and in five minutes the rejected one was snoring -comfortably. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -"Roseleaves and Lavender," Violet Walbridge's last novel, was selling -pretty well, but a few days after the dinner party the author left her -house about half-past eleven, mounted a No. 3 bus, settled herself in -the prow and travelled down to the Strand in answer to a rather pressing -invitation from her publishers. - -It was a fine October morning, with a little tang in the air, so -windless that some early falling leaves left their boughs with an air of -doubt and travelled very slowly, almost hesitatingly, towards the earth. -All the smoke went straight up into the sky, and several caged birds on -the route were singing loudly outside their windows. The bus was full of -people, more or less all of them of the type who made Mrs. Walbridge's -public, and there were, without doubt, several girls sitting almost -within reach of her who would have felt it in the nature of an adventure -to meet the author of "Queenie's Promise" and "One Maid's Word." It is -interesting to think that there are fewer people who would genuinely -thrill at the sight of George Meredith, if he were still alive, than -would thrill at having met such a writer as Violet Walbridge. But no one -knew who the little, dowdily dressed woman was, and her journey to -Charing Cross was uneventful. God, who gives all mercies, gave the gift -of vanity, and Mrs. Walbridge, although very humble-minded, was not -without her innocent share in the consoling fault. More than once she -had given herself the pleasure of telling some casually met stranger -who she was. Once her yearly holiday at Bexhill had been given a glow of -glory by the fact that she had by chance found the chambermaid at the -little hotel, engrossed to the point of imbecility in "Starlight and -Moonlight." Delicately, shyly, she had made known to the girl the fact -of her identity, and the reverence, almost awe, of the poor ignorant -servant in meeting the author of that splendid book had made her very -happy for many hours. - -Another time a working man in a train had been quarrelling with his wife -for the possession of a torn copy of "Aaron's Rod" (a book which Mrs. -Walbridge privately considered a little strong), and as she got out of -the train and the man handed her down her holdall, she had thrown the -exciting information of her identity into his face and run for her life, -feeling herself akin to Dickens, Miss Ethel M. Dell, Robert Louis -Stevenson, and all the other great ones of the earth. But these splendid -events had never been frequent, and of late years they had almost ceased -to occur. And as the little lady got off the bus at Charing Cross and -blundered apologetically into a tall, rosy-faced girl, who clutched _The -Red Magazine_ to her breast, she wondered wistfully if the girl would -have been delighted if she had told her. - - * * * * * - -Messrs. Lubbock & Payne, publishers, had their offices in the Strand, -and Mrs. Walbridge's appointment was for half-past eleven. She felt a -little nervous and depressed as she went up in the lift, for Mr. Lubbock -was a very imposing man, whose fine bay-windowed waistcoat always -overawed her a little. However, it was probably the glory of the golden -autumn day that had got on her nerves. She was always sad on such days, -so she tried to look bold and successful as she passed Wheeler, the old -clerk, Mr. Lubbock's right-hand man, whom she had known for a quarter of -a century. - -Wheeler, however, did not respond to her remarks about the weather as he -had once done, and when she had waited nearly half an hour her -depression had grown still greater, and she was finally ushered into the -inner office with hands and feet icy with fear. - -Harrison Lubbock, a large, abnormally clean-looking old gentleman, with -a ruff of silky white hair round his polished scalp, greeted her kindly, -but without enthusiasm. - -"I've asked you to call, Mrs. Walbridge," he began at once with a -pronounced glance at the clock, "on a little matter of business. Mr. -Payne and I have been talking things over of late--business matters you -understand--and we have come to the conclusion that there are one or two -of our authors to whom a few words of advice might be of use." He -paused, and she looked at him anxiously. - -"I see," she said, her face growing a little paler. "I--I'm one of those -authors?" - -He bowed, and the soft folds of his beautifully shaved double chin -dropped a little lower over his high collar. - -"Yes, yes, quite so. You're a very old, shall I say, client?--of -ours----" - -She would have liked to reply that at that moment the word patient might -be more applicable to her, but she dared not, and after a moment he went -on: - -"I think we may say that we are very old friends." - -This was awful. She was no business woman, and she had little knowledge -of the world, but even she knew that it meant danger, in an interview -avowedly a business interview, when friendship was invoked. She -stammered something, and he went on: - -"Your books have sold--sell--very well, on the whole. We have done our -best for them, and, as you know, the cost of publishing and -advertising--particularly advertising--has nearly doubled since the -war." - -Again he paused, and this time she bowed, being afraid to say that she -knew conditions were such that her percentage on sales had gone down, -while the sale price of her books had gone up to seven and six. She -noticed Mr. Lubbock's sleeve-links; they were new ones and very neat, of -gold and platinum. How she wished she could buy a pair like that for -Paul! In the old days her envy would have been for Ferdie. Mr. Lubbock -cleared his throat, fitted his fat finger-tips neatly together, and -began to be sprightly. - -"Amazing how the output of books of fiction has increased of late years, -isn't it? Dear me, I can remember when 2250 would have been considered a -big output, and now there are so many good writers, so many excellent -writers, Mrs. Walbridge, that we are forced by competition and market -conditions to bring out nearly three times that number. I wonder if you -have kept up with the new writers," he went on after a pause, "Mrs. -Levett, Joan Kelly, Austen Goodheart, and so on--and Wanda Potter. Wanda -Potter's last book sold over a hundred thousand." - -"I haven't read any of them, I'm afraid. I've so little time----" She -tried to smile and felt as if her lips were freezing. - -"Just so, just so; exactly what I was saying to Payne. 'Mrs. Walbridge -is a very busy woman,' I said to Payne. 'She hasn't time--she can't be -_expected_ to have time--to read all these things, so it's quite natural -that--that----'" He broke off, and taking up a little bronze figure of a -poodle, that served as a paper weight, he examined it carefully for a -moment. "I'm sure you understand what I mean, Mrs. Walbridge," he said -at last. - -She was looking at the corner of his polished mahogany writing table; -she was looking at two carefully jointed bits of wood, finely grained -and smoothly welded together, but what she saw was "Happy House"; Ferdie -and his new cedar cigar chest yawning to be filled; of an unpaid -tailor's bill; of his annual cough (Ferdie coughed himself regularly to -Torquay every autumn); she saw Paul and his new edition de luxe of -Swinburne, and the Rowlandson "Horse Fair" he had taken her to see in -King Street, St. James's--the "Horse Fair" that was to cost "only -eighteen guineas." She saw the little sea-green frock that hung in the -great Frenchman's window in Hanover Square, the little frock that would -look so beautiful on Grisel. She saw a vision of a hecatomb of roasts of -beef and saddles of mutton, and oysters, and burgundy, that she was -longing to offer up to her family gods. She saw the natural skunk coat -she had been planning to give to poor dear Caroline for Christmas. She -saw the new bathroom, on which the men were already working, that was to -be Grisel's. Then these things passed away, and the corner of the table -again appeared, and Mr. Lubbock was saying, in that kind, dreadful voice -of his: "I feel quite sure that you understand our position, Mrs. -Walbridge, and, after all, the reduction is not of very great -consequence." - -Before she could speak the telephone bell rang. He took up the receiver -and bent forward, politeness and courtesy expressed in every line of his -big figure as clearly as if the telephone had been a person he was -speaking to. - -"Oh--oh, yes, is that you, Payne?" she heard him say. "Yes, what an odd -coincidence, she's here with me now!" and Mrs. Walbridge knew that it -was no coincidence; that they had planned it all out between them, and -for a moment she had a wild idea of flight. She would run and run down -the narrow, dusty stairs and out into the street, and not hear any of it -said. It seemed that she could bear the reduction of her money, but that -she could not bear it discussed by these two men who held not only her, -but "Happy House" and everybody in "Happy House" in the hollow of their -hands. But she dared not move, and presently Mr. Payne came in. - -Mr. Payne was a little, yellowish-pink man, who looked like a weazel. He -had lashless and browless blue eyes, and his nose was sharp and his -teeth looked very sharp. He was brisk and brusque in his manner, and he -dashed at the subject of the smaller price for the next book with an -abruptness that was only one degree more bearable than Mr. Lubbock's -smoothness. - -"Yes, yes," he declared, shaking hands rather violently. "I knew you -understood, Mrs. Walbridge, didn't I, Lubbock? 'Mrs. Walbridge is a -business woman,' I said, 'and of course she'll understand that the war -has changed things very considerably, to say nothing of the--of -the--ah--inevitable march of time.'" - -"I was telling Mrs. Walbridge," Lubbock joined in, "that I thought it -would be a good plan for her to read some of the new books. Haven't we -got Wanda Potter's 'Rice Paper'? Excellent story, excellent--and sells -well." He called up someone on the telephone, and smiling into it, -working his rough eyebrows genially, he gave orders for someone named -Briggs to get Miss Potter's last book for Mrs. Walbridge. "Wait a -minute, George. What other ones would you suggest? Oh, yes, and Mr. -Goodheart's 'New Odyssey.' Useful book that," to Mrs. Walbridge. "You -take them, with our compliments, and just--just go through them----" - -Mrs. Walbridge had risen and stood before the table, her hands clutching -very hard at her shabby leather bag. - -Mr. Payne was about to speak, when something in her face stopped him. -They had known her for years. They had treated her very well, and they -had made a great deal of money out of her. But both of them felt at that -moment that until then they had never quite known her. Her face was very -white, and her immense hollow eyes were full of almost unbearable -misery. But it was the bravery of her that struck them both. - -"Do I understand," she said quietly, "that you mean that I am -old-fashioned--too old-fashioned?" They did not answer, and she went on, -not realising that they both felt that she had turned the tables on -them. "You mean that my books don't sell so well as they did because -they are not up to date, because I'm--old." - -"Good gracious, Mrs. Walbridge," broke in Mr. Payne, with the horrid -facetiousness of well-meaning vulgarity, "what an idea! We simply mean -that because you are so busy you have not had time to--how shall I say -it?--to keep exactly up to date. But a lady with your gifts and your -great experience is not going to pretend that she finds any difficulty -in changing this----" - -She bowed. "Thank you, Mr. Payne. I think I understand. My new book -would have been ready in a few days, but if you can give me an extra -fortnight, I'll go through it again and try to--to modernise it a -little." - -Then she said good morning, and went quietly out. - -Mr. Lubbock let himself heavily down into his swivel chair. - -"Dear me," he said, being a man of unblemished vocabulary, "that was -very unpleasant, Payne." - -Mr. Payne lit a cigarette. "It was beastly," he retorted, blinking -rapidly through the smoke. "Upon my word, it's quite upset me. Poor old -thing! She'll never be able to do it, Lubbock. Never in this world. By -God, it's quite upset me! I'll have a pint of champagne for my lunch." - - * * * * * - -Violet Walbridge had a little shopping to do. She had to go to -Sketchley's to get some blouses that had been cleaned for Griselda; she -went to Selfridges for a paper box of opened oysters for Paul, who was -at home with a cold; and she had two bills to pay in Oxford Street. When -these things were done, and she had bought a bunch of chrysanthemums -from a flower-girl, she took her place near the kerb and waited for her -bus. And then it was that the malicious gods struck her their final blow -for that day. Two young women stood near her, laden with parcels, -cheerfully talkative. One of them had been to a dance the night before; -the other one's baby had a new tooth, a very remarkable tooth, it -seemed, and both of them were in a state of pleasant turmoil and fret -about frocks that they were having made. Mrs. Walbridge listened to them -innocently, standing first on one foot and then on the other to rest -herself, her various parcels hugged close under her arms, the oysters -borne like a sacred offering in both hands. - -"Dear me," one of the young women said suddenly, "it's after one -o'clock!" - -Mrs. Walbridge started, for one o'clock was her lunch hour, and her -husband was very particular about punctuality in others. - -"I meant to pop in to the _Times_ Book Club and get something to read," -declared the mother of the baby with the new tooth, "but it's too late. -Have you read that thing 'Reek'? I've forgotten who it's by--somebody -new." - -"No. I've been down for it for days and days, but I can't get it. I've -read a splendid new book, though--Wanda Potter's 'Rice Paper'--awfully -clever, and Joan Kelly's 'Ploughshares.'" - -"I had an ulcerated tooth the other day," answered her friend, "and -couldn't go out, and sent Winnie to Boots' with a list of books, and -they were all out, so that nice red-haired girl--_you_ know--picked out -some herself and sent me, and guess what one of them was. Violet -Walbridge's last one--'Rosemary and Lavender'--or something----" - -The other one laughed. "Oh, I know. 'Sage and Onions,' George calls it. -_Awful_ trash--can't stand her nowadays." - -A bus arrived at that moment, and the two young women going on top, Mrs. -Walbridge crept inside, and sat crushed between two large uncomfortable -women, her face bent over the oysters. - -"'Sage and Onions,'" she kept repeating under her breath, "'Sage and -Onions'----" - -Ferdie was very much annoyed because she was late for lunch, and called -her very selfish to be out parading the streets doing idiotic errands -when she ought to be at home. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -"Lord Effingham" was the book on which Mrs. Walbridge was at work, and -she sat the greater part of the next three nights reading the books that -Mr. Lubbock had given her, with a view to freshening up her nearly -finished novel. She could not read during the day, because she had too -much to do. - -The plumbers had played havoc with the house in getting the new bathroom -in, and the cook had to leave even more unexpectedly than cooks -generally leave because her only sister was marrying and she had to go -home and look after her mother. This domestic complication is familiar -to many, but it didn't make it any easier for Mrs. Walbridge. Nor did -things improve when Maud Twiss and her husband went for a second -honeymoon to Ireland, leaving little Hilary at "Happy House." - -Mrs. Walbridge loved her grandson; but he was a querulous, spoilt child, -and at the best of times his presence was upsetting. Now, with no cook, -with plumbers and the dreadful necessity of modernising "Lord -Effingham," the little boy nearly drove her mad. - -One morning, about four weeks after her interview with Mr. Lubbock, she -was sitting in her little attic at the back of the house, surrounded by -closely written sheets of foolscap into which she had red-inked her -desperate efforts at enlivening--Lady Tryx, the heroine, had started on -a new career of endless cigarettes and cocktails, and a hitherto -blameless housemaid, who at first had been dismissed by an unkind -countess on a charge of theft, was now burdened with an illegitimate -baby; but even this failed to brighten up the dull level of decency that -was so discouraging to the publishers. Violet Walbridge was a failure at -illegitimacy and lawless passion, and, what was worse, she knew it. - -It was cold up in the attic, for there was no fireplace, and something -had gone wrong with her oil-stove. Paul had promised to see to it before -going to the City that morning, but he had forgotten, so his mother had -to put an old flannel dressing-gown on over her ordinary clothes and -wrap her aching feet in a shawl. Her hands were covered with red ink, -for her cheap stylographic pen leaked, and her pretty black hair, wavy -and attractively threaded with white, was tumbled and loose. - -She was utterly discouraged and unhappy about the book. "Lord -Effingham," with ridiculous perseverance, insisted on pursuing his so -blightingly blameless career. Her effort had put the book, such as it -was, completely out of shape, and she could have cried with despair as -she sat there staring through the curtainless window at the sky. Her -burden was so very great, and it made it worse, although she had always -prided herself on keeping her secret, that no one knew how utterly -dependent the whole household of "Happy House" was on her books. - -Her husband had an office and regarded himself as a business man; Paul -worked in a bank, and poor Guy had been called up and was in France. (He -had been with some stockbrokers in the City.) But none of them had ever -contributed anything serious to the upkeep of the house. - -Paul's salary was small, and his mother considered that the poor boy -really needed all that he made, because he was one of those people who -are very dependent on beautiful surroundings. He was a poet, too, and -had written some charming verse, most of which was still unpublished, -but every line of which was carefully copied in a vellum covered book -someone had sent to his mother one Christmas from Florence. - -Somehow that morning her mind was full of the now long absent Guy. Guy -was the troublesome one. They were all tabulated in her mind--Hermione -being the beauty, and Maud, "my eldest girl," while Paul was artistic. - -There had been scrapes in Guy's early days (he was only twenty-one now). -Certainly his tendencies had been inherited from his father--full grown -cap-â-pie tendencies they were, sprung whole, it seemed, from Ferdie's -brain, as Pallas Athene sprang from her father, Zeus's. The boy was fond -of billiards and devoted to horses, and there had been a time--a very -tragic time--when he had shown signs of being too fond of whisky and -soda. But that was past. Twice he had been home on leave from the front, -and he had undoubtedly improved in many ways. - -A year ago there had been an Entanglement--(Mrs. Walbridge thought of it -with a capital in her mind)--with a young Frenchwoman in Soho, but that -too seemed to have died down and now that the war was certainly going to -end before long--this dreadful war to which we in England had so -dreadfully become accustomed--he would be coming back. She sighed, for -Guy's return would mean an even severer strain on her resources. He was -rather a dandy and fond of clothes, but he had grown and expanded of -late, and would need new things. - -She looked down with something very much like hatred at the impeccable -"Lord Effingham," whose persistent virtue and the wholesome tendencies -of whose female friends were such drawbacks to her living children. - -She struggled on and wrote a few pages, realising that the -interpolations she had made were as clumsy and damaging to her story as -were the red ink words that expressed them to the fair sheets of her -manuscript. - -Presently she heard footsteps, and a familiar little cough, coming up -the stairs. It was Ferdinand coming, she knew, for a talk with her about -his visit to Torquay. - -"Dear me, Violet, why can't you write downstairs like a Christian," he -began fretfully, turning up his coat collar and plunging his hands into -his trouser pockets. "All this affectation of needing quiet and solitude -for such work as yours is simply ridiculous." - -She glanced up at him without moving. "I'm sorry, Ferdie," she said -gently, "but indeed it isn't affectation. I really can't work when -people are going in and out, and poor little Hilary is so noisy." - -"Poor little Hilary! Damn nonsense! I slept very badly last night, and -had just got nicely off this morning about half-past nine, when he came -into my room and waked me--wanted my boot-jack for a boat, little -beast!" - -"Oh, I _am_ sorry--I told him he mustn't disturb you. I'd just gone down -to show Jessie how to make the mince----" - -"Jessie's cooking is abominable. I don't know why you haven't got -someone by this time." - -When Ferdie's indignation had died away, he began again. - -"What I want to know is about my rooms at Torquay. Has Mrs. Bishop -written?" - -"Yes. Her letter came this morning. I've got it somewhere here"--she -rummaged about, but failed to find the letter. "I must have left it -downstairs. She says she can't let you have the front room, because some -general has got it and is going to stay all winter." - -"Damnation! Just the kind of thing that always happens to me." - -The clear morning light, falling undiluted from the sky, seemed to -expose his mean soul almost cruelly, and his wife turned her eyes -hastily away. She had known him now, as he really was, for many years -and yet somehow the memory of what he had once seemed to be, what he had -been to her, in her loving imagination, came back to her with painful -force, and smote her to the heart. - -"She says there is a very nice room at the back----" - -He rose impatiently, waving his beautiful hands, on which the veins were -beginning to stand out ominously. - -"Oh, of course, you _would_ think it delightful for me to have a room at -the back. Nobody but _you_ ever _does_ appreciate beauty, views or -anything of that kind. When am I to go?" - -"The room will be ready on Wednesday. But, listen, Ferdie, if you think -you can't bear it, why don't you write to Mrs. Bishop yourself and ask -her to look out something for you? You see, she knows you, so she'd take -more pains than if I wrote----" - -A smile that she knew and hated crept round his mouth. "Yes, that's -possible, she might," he answered. "Nice little woman, Mrs. Bishop, and -although she is only a boarding-house keeper, she knows a gentleman when -she sees him." - -At the door he paused. "Well, I'll go and write to her. I suppose you've -got some money, my dear? I paid my last cent to the income-tax man the -other day. I'm sure you needn't have declared all that money to them, -Violet----" - -"I only told them the truth, Ferdie." - -It was an old quarrel, this about the declaration to the income-tax -people, and one in which he was always beaten, so, with a shrug, he went -downstairs. - -After a moment he called, his musical voice hoarse with the effort: -"Violet--I say, Violet, have my new shirts come?" - -"I--I didn't know you had ordered any, dear----" - -"Oh, didn't you? No, I may have forgotten to tell you. Well, I did. -Thought I might as well get two dozen while I was about it. Things are -going up so." - -There was a little pause and then she said, "I hope you got them at that -nice place in Oxford Street?" - -He had begun to whistle, but now he stopped and snarled out, "No, I -didn't then. I suppose it's _my_ business where I order my own shirts? I -got them at my usual shirt-makers in Jermyn Street." - -Mrs. Walbridge went quietly back into her little study and sat down. - - * * * * * - -That afternoon she went by Underground to Oxford Street and from there -walked in a cold grey rain to Queen Anne Street, where her daughter, -Mrs. Twiss, lived. Doctor Twiss lived in one-half of a roomy old house -in Queen Anne Street. His waiting-room and his consulting-room were at -the left of the door, those on the right belonging to a fashionable -dentist--but the rest of his rooms were two flights upstairs, the -dentist, who was a rich man, occupying the whole of the first floor. - -Mrs. Walbridge paused before she rang at the upstairs door, for she was -very tired, and her usually placid thoughts seemed broken and confused. -Maud was her eldest daughter and in some ways the most companionable, -but she was a selfish woman and devotedly fond of her husband and little -boy, so that she had scant room for anyone else in her life. - -"If only Maud would be sympathetic," Mrs. Walbridge thought, as she -finally rang. - -"Mrs. Twiss is in the bedroom," the maid told her, "she ain't very well -to-day. I think the sea voyage upset 'er." - -Mrs. Walbridge nodded to her and went down the narrow rose-walled -passage and knocked. - -Mrs. Twiss was lying down on a divan at the foot of her bed, reading. - -"Oh, Mum," she cried, without getting up, "how sweet of you to come so -soon! How are you, all right? We've had the most glorious -time--Moreton's put on four pounds and never looked better in his life." - -Mrs. Walbridge sat down and looked round at the pleasant, familiar room. -There were plenty of flowers about and piles of new books, and all the -illustrated weeklies, and on a little Moorish table close to the divan -stood a gilt basket full of chocolates. - -"You seem to be having a comfortable afternoon, my dear." - -Maud laughed. - -"I am. I expect we shall have a pretty bad time when we begin to count -up--travelling is fearfully expensive now--Moreton had to send home for -an extra fifty pounds. So we're taking it easy to-day. He's gone to the -hospital, and we're dining at the Carlton and going to see 'Chu Chin -Chow' to-night." - -There was a little pause. Mrs. Walbridge was very unaccustomed to -telling bad news; being told it was more in her line. But she was in -such distress that she had thought she must tell Maud about Lubbock and -Payne. It would have done her good just to talk it over. But now, when -she tried, she found she could not. - -"Caroline had taken Hilary to the Zoo when your telephone message came," -she began, "or I would have brought him along. He's been very good, -Maud, and his appetite is splendid. I got him a bottle of cod liver oil -and malt, because I thought his little ribs stuck out a bit when I -bathed him----" - -"Oh, the pet! I'm longing to see him! We've brought him all sorts of -presents. Oh, Mum, I was going to get you a sweet little bracelet of old -Irish paste--you know--a thing in four little chains. But at the last -minute Moreton found we had spent so much that I had to give him my last -fiver. So you'll take the will for the deed, won't you?" - -"Of course, darling, how sweet of you to think of it. I'm glad Moreton -is so much better," Mrs. Walbridge began after a moment, "I hope he'll -have lots of patients this winter." - -Maud's fair face clouded. She was a big, handsome woman, though less -shapely in her features than her sisters, and already showed signs of -being very fat in a few years' time, although she was only twenty-eight. - -"I hope so, too," she grumbled. "Things are really awfully serious. I -believe all the tradespeople put their prices up when they hear this -address." - -"I suppose it wouldn't--I suppose it wouldn't do for you to go and live -in a cheaper house?" Mrs. Walbridge faltered. - -Maud sat straight up in her horror and dropped a half-bitten chocolate -on the floor. - -"My goodness, mother, what a perfectly poisonous idea! Why, it would -ruin Moreton after having begun here. _Of course_ we can't." - -She came and sat down on a stool near her mother and leaned her head on -her mother's knees. - -"I'm longing to see Hilary," she repeated, playing with a bit of her -silk dressing-gown nervously. "And I have something to tell him, -Mum--he'll--he'll be having a little sister in the spring." - -Poor Mrs. Walbridge sat perfectly still for a moment, her hand on her -daughter's silky brown hair. Another baby, another duty, another worry, -and she would be the only one who would really suffer, although Maud and -her gay, well-meaning young husband would talk a great deal about their -responsibilities. - -"Mum," Maud said coaxingly. "Darling, you've got a new book coming out, -haven't you? Don't go and buy Paul any more of those nasty Japanese -things; those monkeys make me sick anyhow. Be a lamb, and let me have a -hundred pounds to see me through, will you?" - -There was nothing particularly imploring in her voice, for she was quite -used to asking favours of her mother, and repeated favours always turn -into rights sooner or later. When her mother didn't answer, she screwed -round on her stool and looked up. - -"Why, Mum," she cried, "what's the matter? Why do you look like that?" - -Mrs. Walbridge kissed her. "Nothing, dear, I'm tired. I've been working -very hard." - -She rose and her big daughter scrambled to her feet, laughing merrily. - -"Oh, you old pet! Was it working hard at it's psychological masterpiece? -Anybody'd think you were what's-his-name, who wrote 'Elektra'!" She -laughed again, pleasant, full-throated, musical laughter, that yet cut -her hearer to her sore heart. - -"Don't--don't laugh, dear," she said gently. "I know my bodes are awful -rubbish, but----" - -Mrs. Twiss stared and took another chocolate. - -"Oh, darling," she murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. We -all _love_ your books. Well, you'll let me have the hundred, won't you, -pet? We're going to name her Violet." - -The little sad face under the old-fashioned, pheasant-winged hat -softened a little. "I'll do my best, dear," she said. "Now I must go. -Give my love to Moreton." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -It was about a week after Mrs. Walbridge's visit to Mrs. Twiss that -Griselda went to the play with old Mrs. Wick and her son. Greatly to the -girl's astonishment, Mr. Wick turned up two or three days after her -decided rejection of him, and his manner had shown nothing of the -traditional depression of the refused young man. Indeed, he seemed -particularly gay, and had brought her some sweets--sticky balls rolled -in wax paper, that he told her were the best sweets on earth. - -"My mother made 'em," he said. "She's great at making things. These ones -are a sort of nougat. You try one--_you'll_ see----" - -The uncouth looking sweetmeats were indeed delicious, and the two young -people sat at the top of the stairs leading to the garden (for it was -one of those odd, lost summer days that wander along through our island -winters like lonely strayed children), and munched and talked, and -talked and munched, in as friendly a way, Griselda thought, as if he had -never mentioned marriage to her. - -"I don't like your frock," he said suddenly, speaking with difficulty, -for his mother's sweets were sticky. "You're too dark for blue. Makes -you look yellow." - -"Well, upon my word!" The girl was full of innocent airs and graces; -little affectations blossomed all over her, and perhaps they were only -the blossom of future graces. But somehow, this odd reporter person, as -she called him to her mother, clutched at these premature flowerets -like a black frost, and she found herself being as natural as a little -boy with him. - -"You are polite," she remarked. - -He smiled from ear to ear. - -"No, I'm not. I'm very rude, but it's true. You ought to wear green and -brown, or yellow or white. Imagine a buttercup dressed in blue serge!" - -Everyone likes to talk about himself or herself, so for a moment Grisel -enjoyed herself thoroughly, as they gravely discussed the different -kinds of flowers that she might be said to resemble. Then he invited her -to go to the play, and when she refused demurely, he chuckled with -delight. - -"Oh, now you think I'm the ignorant young man," he retorted. "You think -I don't know that you couldn't go with me alone. (Of course, so far as -that's concerned you _could_--all the smart girls, dukes' and earls' -daughters, do)--but I have not invited you to. My mother's coming with -us." - -"Your mother?" - -"Yes. Naturally she's anxious to meet you." - -She looked at him innocently, her eyes like black-heart cherries with -the sun on them. - -"Why should your mother wish to meet me?" - -"Oh," he answered. "Don't you realise that I'm an only son?" - -"What's that got to do with it?" - -He looked at her gravely, his flexible lips steady as iron. "Most -mothers want to know the girl their son's going to marry, don't you -think?" - -Before she could help it, she laughed. "But her sons aren't going to -marry me." - -"No, but her son is. I am. Oh, yes," he went on before she could speak. -"We shan't be married this winter, of course, but in the spring we -shall. You may choose a nice month. It'll be a proud day for you, my -dear, and jolly lucky you'll be to get me!" - -She rose and refused another sweet. "No thanks, we must go in now. I've -got a lot to do. My father's not very well, and I may have to go down to -Torquay to look after him if he doesn't get better." - -"Miss Walbridge," he spoke in a voice that to her was quite new, and -when she turned, looking at him over her shoulder, something in the -dignity of his face forced her to turn completely round and wait. - -"Don't think me a perfect fool," he said. "I can't help teasing you. -You--you're so little and so young. What I'd like to do would be to lift -you up on my shoulder and run round and round the garden with you, and -scare the life out of you, but I daren't do that, so I have to tease -you. Besides, you know," he added very gravely, "it is true that I love -you, and I mean you to marry me." - -Mrs. Walbridge, who was in the dining-room packing some bottles of -home-made beef-tea to send to Torquay, could not help overhearing the -rest of this conversation. She never forgot it, or the young man's face -as he finished speaking to Griselda, who suddenly seemed more -responsible, more grown-up than her mother had ever seen her. - -"Please don't say anything more about that, Mr. Wick," she said gently. -"I like you very much--we all do, even my mother, who's so -old-fashioned--but I can't possibly marry you." - -The four young eyes stared into each other for what seemed a long time, -and then he drew back courteously to let her pass. - -"I'll not say anything more about it for three months," he declared. "I -promise you that." - - * * * * * - -Thus the arrangement about going to the play had been made, and when the -evening came Mr. Wick drove up in a taxi and carried his prize off to -the box at the theatre, where he had already installed his mother. - - * * * * * - -When Grisel came home she went up to her mother's room, slipping out of -her frock and putting on her mother's shabby old dressing-gown, that she -declared to be a perfect disgrace, and sat on the foot of the bed -describing the adventures of the evening. - -"She's a perfect old dear, Mum," the girl declared. "Very large, not -exactly fat, you know, but big. Very little hair, brushed quite flat, -and done up in a tiny bun at the back, and the most beautiful manners, -like some old-fashioned duchess. Like an old duchess in one of your -books, Mum--that kind--not like a _live_ one----" - -"I see," murmured Mrs. Walbridge. "How did you like the play?" - -"Oh, it was very pretty. Mary Grey looked perfectly beautiful. She's -such a dear, but I wish she had sung. _They_ liked it awfully, but -somehow I never understand Shakespeare's plays--never quite know what -they are driving at, I mean. The place was packed, and I saw lots of -people I know. The Murchisons were there, and Dickie Scotts, and that -awful Pellaby woman, _covered_ with pearls and jewels. Johnny Holden -came up just as we were leaving, and told me that he had seen Guy. He's -only just back. He said Guy's awfully fit, and has done some very good -caricatures. He says there's going to be an armistice as sure as eggs is -eggs. The Hun is a dead man according to him. And, oh, Mother, you'll -never guess--Oliver Wick went out on the 28th of August, 1914, and was -all through the Big Push and the retreat from Mons. Fancy his never -telling us! Johnny mentioned it. He was wounded there--during the -retreat. One of his fingers is quite stiff. I never noticed it, did -you?" - -Mrs. Walbridge shook her head. "No, I never did. So he's been out?" - -"Yes, and he only had one leave all the time. He was invalided out last -year--there's a bullet somewhere inside him still. His mother says she -thinks it must be in his brain. She _does_ adore him, Mum." - -Mrs. Walbridge was silent, for she envied this other woman, not exactly -her son, but her love for her son. Her own boys were very dear to her, -but one quality was lacking in her love for them, and that was -adoration. For although she was only a fourth-rate novelist, she had the -sad gift of unswerving clear-sightedness, and no merciful delusion -blinded her when she looked at her own children. - -Grisel had stopped brushing her pretty hair, which lay like two wings -over her young breast, framing her little quick face, and bringing out -its vivid whiteness. She was sitting with the silver brush on her knees, -and in her eyes brooded an unusually deep thought. - -"You like him, my dear, don't you?" - -The girl started. "Who? Oh, Oliver? No--I mean----" She rose and put -the brush on the dressing-table. - -"How nice that you call him Oliver," commented her mother, in a -matter-of-fact voice. "I like him, too. I think he's a delightful young -fellow. So boyish, isn't he?" - -Grisel came to the bed, her momentary embarrassment scattered to the -winds by the sober sense of her mother's words. - -"Yes, he's a dear," she said simply, "but his mother's a perfect pet, -and she's coming to see us. You'll love her, Mum." At the door she -turned. "Good-night, Mum darling. Don't worry about your old book. It's -sure to come out all right. What did you say the name of it was?" - -"'Lord Effingham.'" - -The girl stepped back in surprise at her mother's tone. "Why, good -gracious, Mum, you spoke as if he were a real man and you hated him! I -hope he isn't one of the modern horrors, like that dreadful man in -'Reek.'" She ran back to the bed and gave her mother a little stroke and -shake. "I couldn't dream of allowing you to write horrid modern books -about beastly real people," she said protectingly. Then she went to bed. - - * * * * * - -The next morning a telegram arrived from Torquay, saying that Mr. -Walbridge was no better, and asking his wife to come down and look after -him. She had expected just such a wire (for he was one of those people -who always become ill when they are bored or lonely) and she had already -arranged to send Grisel down. - -The girl liked Torquay and had two or three friends there, and it would -be a pleasant change for her. Besides, her mother thought, if things -were going to be really bad, it would be better to have the children out -of the way. - -So Grisel, much pleased, and not at all worried about her father, went -off, and for several days after her departure Mrs. Walbridge worked -uninterruptedly in the deserted drawing-room. The weather had changed, -and it was intensely stormy and wet, so there was something pleasant in -the shut-in feeling of the firelit room. - -Paul, now the only one at home, was, of course, at the bank all day, and -most evenings he either dined out or went out immediately after dinner. -He was a silent man, very preoccupied with his own thoughts and -possessed of the negative gift of taking no interest whatever in other -people's affairs. He scorned curiosity with all his heart, and never -suspected that curiosity is very often only an expression of human -interest. - -Of late, too, his mother had noticed he had been even more silent and -absent-minded than ever, and she wondered if he was having a love -affair. She dared not ask him, however, and so the long days and longer -evenings passed in almost unending hard work for the little writing -woman, and finally she arrived at a certain amount of success with the -troublesome "Lord Effingham." - -Her book was entirely changed. Such atmosphere as it had ever had she -had destroyed, and, very proud of the illegitimate baby she had -introduced into its innocent pages, she one night packed up the -manuscript and ran out to a greengrocer in the neighbourhood, where -lived an old man who sometimes did errands for her. - -Old Mr. King was at home, and would be delighted to go round the next -morning at half-past nine to take the very valuable parcel safely down -to Messrs. Lubbock & Payne. - -She thanked the greengrocer's wife, who was the old man's daughter, and, -putting up her umbrella, went out again into the wet. - -It was a shiny black night, full of storm noises and unceasing rain, and -when she reached "Happy House" Mrs. Walbridge stood for a moment under -her umbrella, leaning against the little green gate, where the name was -now almost illegible, and looked about her, breathing more freely in the -thought that the book was done; for good or evil; that she had done her -best by it, and that if it failed, it must just fail. - -She felt more cheerful now that "Lord Effingham" was off her hands. -Things _must_ improve, she thought. - -The political news was much better; the armistice might be signed any -day, and perhaps when Guy came back he would, after all, be helpful to -her. - -Ferdie was better. She had had a letter that morning, and little Grisel -was having a happy time with her friends. There was to be a dance, and -she had written for her new white satin frock to be sent down. - -"I must go to Swan & Edgars and get her a new pair of satin slippers," -she thought, as she went up the steps, and opened the door with her -latchkey. "Fancy the little minx dancing her last pair through the other -night!" - -She went down into the kitchen and made herself a cup of extra strong -cocoa to drink in bed. Cocoa in bed with a book is a very cosy thing. - -The boys had always thought her a frump, and Guy in particular hated -her old black velvet evening gown, and, now that he had been in Paris -and seen all the smart clothes, he would despise the black velvet gown -more than ever. If only she could have some kind of a new evening frock. -Grey would do. Iron grey would wear almost as well as black. She set -down her cup of cocoa with a little sigh. Ridiculous to think about that -kind of thing when she only had one hundred and eighty pounds in the -bank. - -Then she read a few pages of "Thomas à Kempis," turned out her light, -and lay still in the dark waiting for sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Paul's room was a large one at the back on the second floor. It looked -into the elm tree, and was very pleasant and quiet. - -A few days after Mrs. Walbridge had sent the manuscript of "Lord -Effingham" to her publishers, she was in Paul's room, helping him hang a -new picture that he had picked up at a sale. His mother thought it a -very ugly picture; in fact, she thought it not nice, but she said -nothing, for her opinion was of no value to him, and she knew it. - -It was a sunshiny day, and the naked boughs of the old tree stirred and -made odd little noises as the east wind attacked it in gusts. The -shadows of the branches danced across the dull green walls and made the -gleams of light on the picture glasses die and come to life again in a -way that gave the large room something the air of a glade in a wood. - -Paul, in his shirt-sleeves, stood on a pair of steps hammering a nail -into the exact spot in the wall that he had decided on after long -measurement and reflection. - -"I do hope you're wearing your thick Jaegers, darling," his mother said, -as she took the hammer from him and held up the picture. - -"Not yet," he said. "I'm going to put them on to-morrow." He hung up the -picture and backed gravely off the ladder, looking up at it, a smile of -pride and satisfaction softening his over-delicate, rather supercilious -face. "A little gem, Mother, though you probably don't think so," he -announced good-naturedly. "Bruce Collier wanted it. He's got a fine -collection." - -"Bruce Collier," Mrs. Walbridge pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I've -heard his name. Who is he, Paul?" - -"The chap who wrote 'Reek.' Crichell was talking about him here one -night in the summer. There's the book an the table. He gave it to me." - -She picked the book up and opened it. "What beautiful paper," she said -slowly, "and I love the print, Paul." - -He nodded. "Oh, yes. Nares publishes him. Now I'm going to put the -Kakemono here, Mother." He indicated a blank space on the wall near his -writing-table. "Will you get it? You won't be sorry to have it out of -the girls' room, will you?" - -She went obediently towards the door, and at it she turned. - -"You'll be surprised, dear, but, do you know, I have got quite used to -those monkeys, and really like them now!" - -He looked up from filling his pipe and smiled at her, his narrow face--a -face of a type so often seen nowadays in very young men--too -small-featured, too clean-cut, too narrow in the brow, too lacking in -the big old British qualities, both good and bad, and yet full of -uncreative cleverness--lighted by whimsical, not unkindly, astonishment. - -"'Violet Walbridge confesses to a passion for Honobosa Iccho,'" he -declaimed, as if quoting a possible headline. "No, no, Mother darling, -that won't do. You must stick to Marcus Stone. Trot along and get it, -there's a dear." - -She trotted along and got it, and brought it back, carefully rolled on -its stick. - -"Grisel will be sorry to find it gone," she said, as he hung it on the -nail and let it slowly slide down the wall. "She loves it." - -"She loves it because Wick knew about the artist. Imitative little -monkey, Grisel." - -His mother stared at him. It was on her lips to say, "So are you--so are -you an imitative monkey," for she realised that these new artistic -tastes of his were derived from some model and not from any instinctive -search for a peculiar kind of beauty. Instead she only said, referring -to an old pet name of her own for her children, "Yes, one of God's -apelets, and so are you, Paul." - -He had backed to the far side of the room and stood surveying the effect -of the Kakemono with much satisfaction. - -"Yes, dear," he murmured, without listening to her. "That's very good, -just there. The light catches it just right." - -As he spoke, Jessie, the maid, came in, still straightening a hastily -tied-on cap and apron. - -"A gentleman downstairs to see you, sir." - -Paul nodded. - -"Oh, Mr. Crichell! We're going to the Grafton Galleries together to see -that 'Moonlight in the Trenches' fellow's pictures." - -"Please, Mr. Paul, it ain't Mr. Crichell." Jessie was still standing by -the door. - -"Oh, who is it?" - -"I don't know, sir. Not at all a nice gentleman. I wouldn't leave him -alone in the drorin'-room if I was you." - -The girl left the room, and Mrs. Walbridge sat down suddenly. Paul's -face had changed, and she was frightened. - -"Look here, Mother," he said, "I'm afraid it's a brute of a fellow on -business. I told him I'd kill him if he came here, but"--the young man -waved his long, nervous hands helplessly--"he's come, you see." - -Her big hollow eyes were fixed on him with a strained, unwinking stare. - -"Oh, Paul," she whispered, "what is it?" - -He moved irresolutely towards the door, came back, took up his coat and -then threw it on to the divan under the Rowlandson "Horse Fair." - -"Look here, Mother," he said, "I must get him out of the house. Suppose -you go and tell him--tell him that I'm not in. Perhaps you'd better say -that I'm out of town." - -"Is it a bill?" she asked tonelessly, without moving. - -"No--that is--not exactly. The fact is, it's a money-lender. Alfred -Brock put me on to a good thing in the City, and it--it went wrong -somehow, so I borrowed fifty pounds of this chap--Somerset's his -name--and I---- But go and tell him I'm out. I'll explain it all to you -afterwards," he broke off nervously. - -She walked to the window and stood looking out, and he thought she was -crying. - -"Don't, Mother, please don't," he exclaimed. "It's quite all right. I -shall have the money next week, and the brute's just got to wait, that's -all." - -But she was not crying, and that was not why she had turned her face -from him. And what she saw, oddly enough, as she looked out into the -empty boughs of the elm tree, was the face of old Mrs. Wick, whose -picture young Wick carried in his pocket, and had once shown her. "What -a happy woman, what a happy woman!" she was saying under her breath. -After a pause she turned round. - -"I'll not say you're out, Paul, and I won't say you're away. I'll see -the man, and I'll tell him you'll pay him next week." - -Across his white face flashed the wild impatience of the man who, -knowing that there is for his ailment only one remedy and that a -desperate one, is offered some homely, perfectly inefficacious -substitute. - -"Don't be a----" he broke out. But she went downstairs without heeding -him. - -The man stood in the middle of the drawing-room, looking round at the -homely furniture. Being what she was, Mrs. Walbridge had, of course, -expected a florid and bediamonded Jew, instead of which the man was a -stocky, red-faced, snub-nosed Englishman, who approached to her innocent -ideal of a prize-fighter. - -"Good morning." - -At her voice he whirled round and about awkwardly. - -"Sorry to trouble you, m'm, I'm sure," he began, grasping the situation -with what to her seemed marvellous quickness. "Young gentleman had -better come down hisself." - -"My son----" she began. - -But he waved her into silence with a small, roughcast looking hand. - -"No good sayin' he's out of town, ma'am, or even spendin' the day on the -river, 'cos he ain't." - -Mrs. Walbridge looked at him, a slow wave of understanding creeping to -her brain. - -"I wasn't going to tell you that my son is out, or away," she returned -quietly. "He's upstairs. He's extremely sorry, but he will not be able -to pay you your--your little account until next week." - -The man stared at her in honest surprise, and then his red face melted -into rather pleasant curves of irrepressible laughter. - -"Well, I'll be--I'll be blowed!" he cried, slapping his knee. "Did he -send you down to tell me that? My governor will laugh at that." - -They talked, this ill-assorted pair, for about half an hour, and then -the man left the house very quietly, bowing at the door with real -respect to the lady who had so amused him. He had heard of Violet -Walbridge all his life, and vaguely remembered having read "Queenie's -Promise" when he was about sixteen, and had the mumps, and to think that -she should be like this! Very much "blowed" and inclined to being -damned, as he told his wife later, he disappeared out of Mrs. -Walbridge's life. - -She went upstairs, and found Paul walking up and down the room, smoking -cigarettes furiously, his neglected pipe on the mantelpiece. - -"Lord, Mother, what an age you've been!" he cried, petulantly. "Was it -Somerset himself?" - -"No, this man's name was Green. He tells me, Paul, that they have -applied to you several times; that the money was due last week." - -He nodded sulkily. "Yes, it was. If Alfred Brock hadn't been a fool, it -wouldn't have happened. Brock shall never see a penny of my money -again." - -"He told me," his mother went on, her hand on the door handle, "that he -knew you had a collection of pictures and things, and he--he was going -to make you sell some of them." - -"The swine! Poor mother," he added carelessly, "a nasty half hour for -you, I'm afraid. What did you say to him to make him go?" - -Mrs. Walbridge looked curiously round the room as if she saw it for the -first time. The Rowlandson, the Kakemono, the exquisite little Muirhead, -the French pastel that shocked her; the beautiful adjustable -reading-chair, with its lectern-like bookrest; the fourteenth century -Persian prayer rug; the odds and ends of good china on the mantelpiece. -All these treasures, so dear to Paul, that she, in her innocence, had -regarded as inexpensive whims, had received a new value through the odd -medium of Mr. Green. - -"I didn't say much to him, Paul," she answered slowly. "I--I paid him." - -She went out and closed the door. The young man took a hasty step -towards it, then hesitated and went back to his arm-chair. It was jolly -decent of her. He'd thank her and give her a kiss for it at tea time. He -must think of something graceful and appropriate to say. Meantime he was -chilly and uncomfortable, so, leaning forward, he lit a match and set -fire to the coal-heaped grate. "Jolly decent of mother," he thought, -leaning back to watch the glowing of the fire. "Those absurd books of -hers really are pretty useful, after all." - - * * * * * - -It was pleasant that evening to have a long letter from Grisel, and Mrs. -Walbridge, who had been busy since Mr. Green's departure in getting off -a basket of beef-tea, home-made potted meat, and red-currant jelly, to -Torquay, and who had been bound by an old promise to take tea with poor -Caroline, found the letter when she came in, and as Paul, after his -hurried thanks, had gone out for the rest of the day and evening, she -changed into her warm dressing-gown, and settled down to her supper tray -in the drawing-room, with a pint of ale and a nicely browned sausage, -and Grisel's letter. - -Grisel wrote a peculiarly delightful hand, each letter small and -well-shaped, and nearly as clear as print. She was also fluent and had a -certain gift for description, so that her letters were a real treat to -her mother. This one, written on several sheets of beautiful pale grey -paper with "Conroy Hall" in one corner, promised to be an unusually -delightful one, for it contained, she saw, glancing through it, a full -description of the ball at which her daughter had worn the new satin -shoes she had sent her from Swan & Edgars. - - "_Darling Mum,_" Griselda began, "_I haven't written for several - days because I've been having such a good time that there wasn't a - minute for anything except frivoling! You'll gather from this that - the poor old Dad is better, and his headaches have gone. I don't - think it was anything but liver myself. And he's been hob-nobbing - with some old friends who have turned up at one of the big - hotels--I forget which._ - - "_I came here the day before yesterday to stay with Elsie, and - I've never had such a good time in my life. Fred has put an awful - lot of money into the place and furnished it splendidly, so it's - really wonderful. He's like a little white rat, it's no good - concealing that, but then he's like such a very_ NICE _white rat, - and he adores Elsie, and thinks nothing's too good for her. - They've lived like fighting cocks all through the war. How they - get the food I can't imagine! Of course, they make their own - butter, and have swindled the Government like anything, which, of - course, is great fun._ - - "_Elsie has just had a lot of new clothes from London, and really - looks a dream, although she's as fat as a little pig. Of course, - they've done a lot of entertaining of wounded for years now, - otherwise I don't think they would have known there is a war. - Elsie says she's awfully glad there's no Vere de Vere blood in - Fred, or he would have minded things more. He really is a typical - nouveau riche out of a novel (not one of your novels, darling)._ - - "_Did I tell you how glad I was that you've got 'Lord Effingham' - into shape? It'll be a relief to your poor mind. I found 'From - Sunlight to Shadow' in the library, and have been reading it, and - I think it's perfectly sweet. I really did enjoy it very much. It - reminded me of Rosa N. Carey. How I used to love her books when I - was a kid!_ - - "_We have no men-servants here, but Fred's going to get a dozen or - so as soon as the Armistice is signed. Meantime there are swarms - of lovely footmanettes, too pretty for words, in violet frocks and - lace caps and aprons. They all look as if George Grossmith had - drilled them, somehow. One rather expects them to burst out into - song, but they don't._ - - "_Well, the ball was a great success. I'm writing in bed. It's - after lunch. We danced till after five, and I was such a belle, - Mum! All the girls down here seem to be six foot tall, and many of - them have that new uniform-walk--I'm sure serving in different - corps made the women's feet all spread; they are big and thick - about the ankles, too--so I appeared as the old-fashioned - Christmas pantomime fairy, done in white and gold. That's what - Fred said. My frock really was as good as anybody's, you darling. - Hundreds of beautiful youths rolled up to contend for the honour - of a dance. It really was fun after the over-femaled parties we - have been to lately, and I felt like Queenie, or that girl in - 'Touchstones,'--the cruel one who broke hearts. Oh, Mother - darling, what a noodle you are not to know that it's the man who - does the heart-breaking nowadays!_ - - "_Lady Sybil Ross was here with her twins. They looked just like - partridge eggs, they're so speckly, but they're nice girls; but - they treated me as if I was a little doll of some kind, as if they - were surprised that I could talk and walk, being so small as I am. - Fanny Ross has been engaged three times, and each time the man has - been killed at the front. Isn't it awful? But I couldn't help - laughing. There didn't seem to be any reason why she should stop - being engaged to one after the other for ever, and it doesn't seem - to hurt her in the least._ - - "_Father came last night, of course, and you would have been proud - of him; he looked such a beautiful old pet. Of course, his diet - and the water wagon have done wonders for his looks. His eyes are - as clear as a child's--or were the first part of the evening, but - rather fell off towards the end (off the water wagon, I mean!) Of - course, he was quite all right, you know, but he was very genial - and his eyes a bit swimmy. Poor old Dad._ - - "_Did I tell you that Clara Crichell's here? She's staying with - her mother, who has taken a house, and she and Dad had the time of - their lives together. She's very pretty, but towards the end of - the evening she looked rather like a squashed tomato, I thought. - Seriously, I think she's quite crazy about father. I'm so glad - you're old-fashioned, darling, and that I don't have to chaperon - you too. A frisky young mother is an awful responsibility for a - girl, and I should hate to have to ask anyone's intentions about - my Mamma!_ - - "_I've just had the most scrumptious lunch--heavenly sweetbreads - in little paper boats, and eggs done in some wonderful French way, - and grape-fruit salad, and a sweet little carafe like a - scent-bottle, full of some divine white wine. I love having my - meals in bed, and I adore having a maid to look after me. If I - marry a rich man, never again as long as I live will I put on my - stockings myself, I swear it!_ - - "_Well, I went to supper with an awfully nice boy (I forget his - name), who urged me to marry him and share his pension as a 2nd - Lieutenant. I've danced my new shoes to ribbons--war satin, of - course--and the next evening frock I have must be black, darling. - Lots of girls younger than I are wearing black, and it's so - becoming._ - - "_I had a ridiculous present from Oliver yesterday--four beautiful - giant kippers tied up in blue ribbon. Of course, he thought I was - at Mrs. Bishop's, but wasn't he a goose to send me kippers?_ - - "_By the way, I've a serious beau--a most charming old man, Sir - John Barclay. He's perfectly delightful. Quite old and frightfully - rich. Snow-white hair and the most lovely tenor voice. He's - staying in the house, and, though I say it as shouldn't, is my - slave. He sang 'The Banks of Allan Water' the other day, and made - me cry. Such a sweet, young-sounding voice it is. He sent me the - loveliest flowers this morning. Really, it looks very much as if - he was going to offer himself and his worldly goods to me! I hope - he doesn't, because he really is a dear, and he looks as if he - might mind being hurt._ - - "_How are you, dearest? You must enjoy being all alone. Do eat - enough; don't live on toast and tea, and don't let Jessie forget - your hot bottle._ - - "_Dearest love to you,_ - - "GRISEL. - - "_P. S.--When you send me a new pair of slippers, please send me a - pair of stockings too, as there are simply no soles left in my last - pair._" - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Mr. Wick, on his way to "Happy House" one very wet afternoon, in the -beginning of November, gave way to pleasant dreams. He knew that the -lady of his affections was still in Torquay, for he had had a letter -from her, but she had bidden him go and see her mother, and collect one -or two books that she wanted, and send them down to her. - -"I'm rather worried about Mum," she had written, "without any particular -reason. I wish you'd go and take a look at her and let me know if -everything's all right." - -Mr. Wick, who had had a serious conflict with his chief a few days -before, and come out with streaming colours, was feeling very happy, in -spite of the pouring rain and the dreadful uniformity of the -wet-November-afternoon faces about him. He was one step farther on -towards his goal, which was nothing less than becoming a great newspaper -proprietor and running the political world from a swivel chair somewhere -in Fleet Street. And it was very sweet to him to be sent in this -intimate way by Griselda Walbridge to inspect and report on her mother. - -And now, under the shelter of his dripping umbrella, he was finishing a -book, which he had read conscientiously, though with incredible -swiftness. Since his meeting with Griselda, he had taken the trouble to -look through half a dozen of Mrs. Walbridge's books, and could see (for -he was unconsciously a very good critic) what the secret of their -success was. - -"Very slow," he explained to his mother. "Nothing much happens and there -are the same people in all of them, with different names. She always has -pretty names for the girls, and the men are usually swells. Kind of book -a woman could read while she's knitting, or boiling the clothes, or -bathing the baby, without either losing the thread of the story or -scamping her work." - -But this new book, he realised, had lost that easy quality. There were -pages of undigested realism scattered through it; several of the stock -characters were missing. There was, for instance, no faithful old family -butler, no sinuous foreign adventuress. (The innocence of Violet -Walbridge's adventuresses was prodigious, in spite of the desperate -epithets she showered on them) and there was a superfluous infant, -nameless, and as unnecessary to the story as it was to his mother, whose -presence was as inappropriate as that of Gaby Deslys at a Quaker -meeting. - -"That baby puts the lid on," the young man thought, stuffing the book in -his mackintosh pocket and feeling in the other pocket for the safety of -the treasure he had put there. "She'll bust the whole show if she goes -on like that. She can't do the new stuff, and her old patients won't -stand such strong doses as this." - -As he got off the bus his mind was engaged with wondering whether Mrs. -Walbridge had any fortune apart from her pen. - -"Strikes me that Paul is something of an _objet de luxe_," he reflected, -as he turned off Albany Street. "Bank clerks oughtn't to go messing about -with stockbrokers, and that fellow Brock is a bad egg. When I've -married Griselda, pretty pet, we shan't have very much to do with -Master Paul. The other one, Guy, the soldier, looks a decent lad. I like -that photograph." - -As he reached the house his pace slackened and over his shrewd -journalistic face came an odd softening as if for a moment his very -thoughts had stopped using slang. The green swing gate with its half -effaced words touched him anew. The more he knew of Mrs. Walbridge and -her family, the greater seemed the pathos of the name of her house. - -"I suppose she named it that years ago when she was young," he thought -gently. "I suppose she kept the paint fresh at first, and then later it -didn't seem worth while." - -A very modern product was this Oliver Wick--the kind of a man that could -not have existed a quarter of a century ago, when young men were either -gentlemen or cads, as the saying went. He had set out to make a great -fortune and he was going to make it. He was conscious to his finger-tips -of his powers and his gift of observation and of managing inferior -minds. His habitual language was a jargon composed of journalistic, -sporting, and society slang, yet his mind was open to the most tender -impressions, his sharp little eyes always ready to soften to a tear, and -he loved and read poetry with avidity. - -Now he stood for a moment in the pouring rain, touched to the quick by -the pathos of the shabby little gate of the unsuccessful, overworked old -novelist. - - * * * * * - -He found Mrs. Walbridge sitting by the fire in her expressionless -drawing-room, reading. She was so engrossed in her book that, after a -hurried greeting, she at once began to talk of it. - -"Oh, Mr. Wick," she cried, forgetting to ask him to sit down, which, -however, he promptly did, "have you read this?" - -He glanced at the book. "Yes, it's the book Mr. Crichell talked about -that night at dinner here." After a second he added a little awkwardly, -"I--I wouldn't read it if I were you, Mrs. Walbridge." - -She closed the book and drew back in her chair with a little flush. - -"I--I've nearly finished it. Everyone's been talking about it, and I -found it in my son's room." - -He was silent for a moment, for he did not know quite what to say to -her, to this old lady whose literary stockpot produced such a harmless -and uniform brew. - -"Reek" was not important enough to be called strong meat; it was just a -thoroughly nasty book whose author dwelt lovingly on obscene side-issues -of ordinary life, and in whose three hundred odd pages of closely -printed matter there was not a word, nor even a suggestion that could -help or even cheer for a moment any conceivable reader. - -"Disgusting rubbish," he declared after a moment. "My old mother read -the first chapter and marched down with it in the tongs and put it in -the kitchen fire." He chuckled at the vision of the old lady's slow -progress down the narrow passage, with the tongs held straight out -before her. "That showed my young sister Jenny what _she_ thought of -it!" He paused and then went on very quickly, with a little flicker of -colour in his thin, white face, "You won't let Grisel read it?" - -Mrs. Walbridge shuddered. "Dear me, no. Not that she would understand -it," she added slowly. - -There was a pause and the young man watched the firelight playing over -the hollowed, haggard face with the deeply-lined white brow, and the -tired violet eyes. It came to him suddenly how very pretty she must have -been in her youth--her youth, so long ago, and before he was born (he -was twenty-six). And then she said slowly, in a hesitating voice: - -"It's such a stupid book. It's so badly put together and the people -aren't real." - -If a six months' old baby had sat up in its cradle and quoted Plato to -him the young journalist could not have been more surprised. That Violet -Walbridge, of all people on earth, should criticise the construction of -a novel by Bruce Collier! Bruce Collier, who was undoubtedly the head of -the new school of writers, and about whom most serious critics wrote -columns in the morning papers. He stared at her in frank, almost -open-mouthed astonishment, and she went on without apparently noticing -his emotion, and speaking modestly, but with a sureness that he had -never observed in her before. - -"You see, if Swithin Cleveland had been in the ruins that time--_you_ -know--he could not possibly have written that letter to Sophia." - -"Why couldn't he?" stammered Wick. - -For a few minutes he listened to her soft, rather unmodulated voice, as -she unfolded her ideas to him, and then suddenly he jumped up and -slapped his knee. - -"By Jove," he shouted, "you're right, you're right, Mrs. Walbridge, and -not one of them--the critics I mean--has seen it!" - -He tramped up and down the room, talking rapidly, brandishing his arms -in a characteristically ungraceful, but expressive way. - -"Why don't you write an article about it? I'll make my chief print it in -one of his decent papers. Not that--not that," he broke off stammering -hopelessly, "_Round the Fire_ isn't very good in its _way_, you -know--but I mean in _Cosmos_ or _The Jupiter_." - -Mrs. Walbridge laughed softly. "Don't apologise for _Round the Fire_," -she said. "I think I know exactly what it is." - -He sat down again. The wind was whipping against the window with a -delightful crackling noise. The corner by the homely hearth in the dim, -inexpressive drawing-room was very pleasant in its way, and he liked, he -very greatly liked, the old-fashioned lady in the shabby grey gown--the -lady whom, if he had to stop the stars in their courses to accomplish -it, was going to be his mother-in-law. He had always liked Mrs. -Walbridge; he had always known that she held qualities that in a -mother-in-law would be shining ones, but she had a personality a little -too like this drawing-room of hers, too like the old mirror that hung -over the mantelpiece and was a little cloudy, a little obscure, and now, -behold, something had breathed on the mirror and it had cleared! Like a -flash he saw the future. Himself England's greatest newspaper king, in a -great, fine, romantic old house somewhere--St. James's Square for -choice, failing that, Manchester Square might do--and by his side was -his lovely little blackest white girl, and beside her, in subdued grey -velvet and lace, the perfect mother-in-law, perfect because, not only -had she been capable of producing a wife fit for the greatest man in -England, and of being herself gently and quietly and modestly -impressive, but she possessed that great blessing to a man in the -position that he would be in, a keenly critical mind, and the mind would -be, he felt, in a way his, because he had discovered it. He was sure -that no one in her household or among her friends even suspected Mrs. -Walbridge of such an astonishing possession. - -"Look here," he said at the end of half an hour or so, when they had -discussed Mr. Collier's rather putrescent masterpiece pretty thoroughly, -"I suppose Grisel's told you that I mean to marry her?" - -"She's told me that you'd asked her." - -"Oh, that's nothing," he waved his hand impatiently, "asking her, I -mean. I have asked her two or three times, just for the sake of form, -you know. But she's got to do it sooner or later. I'm in no hurry." - -"Dear me," murmured his hostess, a little frightened by the novelty of -his point of view. - -"Yes. You mustn't think me cheeky or--dashing, you know," he protested -gravely. "I'm not really. I only mention it now to you so that you would -understand what I'm going to say." - -"Yes?" She spoke very gently, and her eyes were kind and benign. - -"I was going to ask you," he said, his manner suddenly changing to one -that impressed her, unconsciously to both of them. "I was going to ask -you if you don't think you could do something to modernise your style a -little. Just from the business point of view, I mean." - -He saw her wince, but kept on, with benevolent ruthlessness. - -"I've been reading over some of your books since I met you, and I like -'em, and I quite see the reason for their popularity." He broke off -shortly, and asked her, his head cocked on one side, his lips pursed -fiercely: "How are your sales now, compared to what they were, say, ten -years ago?" - -Mrs. Walbridge took up the poker and bent over the fire. He knew she was -doing it to hide her face, and moved slightly so that he could keep on -looking at her, for he meant to have the truth, and knew that this -truthful lady would not hesitate to lie to him on this occasion. - -"About the same, I think," she said in an undertone, poking the fire -destructively. - -He took the poker out of her hand, and by pointing it at her, forced her -slowly back into her chair. - -"Oh, come now," he protested. "Honour bright--man to man, you -know--_business_----" - -There was a pause, after which she said: "Well, then, if you put it like -that, no! my sales have been growing less for some years now, slowly, -until--until quite lately. My last book was really almost a failure. -Don't," she added, clasping her thin hands and bending forward a little, -"don't mention this to Grisel, will you? They none of them know. I--I -didn't like to worry them." - -The young man rose and walked to the window, saying: "Oh, hell!" under -his breath. - -"Of course I won't tell Grisel," he almost shouted from between the lace -curtains; "but doesn't your husband know?" - -"Oh, no--no. They none of them do. It would only worry them, you know." - -"It must worry you, doesn't it?" - -Neither of them noticed that the young man, who might so well have been -one of her younger children, was behaving quite as if he were what he -had destined himself to be, a powerful and experienced king of -journalism. And she, who had written books while he was crawling on his -nursery floor, sat before him with folded hands, answering his questions -with the simplicity and lack of reserve of a child. For once he had -broken her barriers down, he realised how the poor thing was relieved -and glad to talk about her troubles. - -Thus it came that she told him all about that dreadful interview with -Messrs. Lubbock & Payne, and of her struggles with "Lord Effingham." - -"I've modernised it," she said, with hopefulness that made him want to -cry, "but it didn't seem very good to me. But then I don't suppose one's -ever a very good judge of one's own work----" - -"Then one ought to be," he thrust in brutally. "Every man and every -woman ought to be the best judge of his or her work. Any other kind of -talk's nonsense. You ought to know your best book. Don't you? Because if -you don't, I can tell you." - -She trembled as she looked up at him. "I know you're going to say -'Queenie's Promise,'" she said feebly. - -He shook his head. "Well, it isn't, then. It's the 'Under Secretary.' I -read that through from start to finish in the Underground the other day, -and it's--it's got the makings of a real good story." - -At this moment the door opened, and Jessie brought in the tea, and by -doing so changed these two bewitched people back to their real selves, -and the millionaire newspaper king found himself once more only a young -reporter, and the trembling literary aspirant at his feet became, as at -the wave of a wand, again the tired, once mildly successful old -novelist, his hostess and potential mother-in-law. - -They were both embarrassed for a few minutes, and then, as they drank -their tea, Mrs. Walbridge found herself, to her great though gentle -surprise, telling him what she instinctively called the story of her -life. - -"My father was a solicitor," she said, "in Lincoln's Inn, and we lived -in Russell Street. It's a boarding-house now. I went past it the other -day on my way to the Tube, and it brought it all back so clearly! My -mother died when I was a child, and one of my aunts brought me up. She -was very old-fashioned, and rather an invalid, so as a child I saw -hardly anyone but her and my nurse, and once in a long while my father. -For years I never read anything but Miss Yonge's books, and Edna -Lyall's, and _The Girl's Own Paper_. My aunt was very particular about -my books." - -"She must have been," growled the young man, trying to eat his toast -silently, so that he could hear. - -"I never went to school, but had a series of governesses, all very sad -women. Most governesses seem to be sad, don't they? And all oldish, and -not in very good health. I was allowed to read Sir Walter Scott's poems, -and one or two of Dickens as I grew older. But I never liked Dickens; he -writes about such common people. I loved Bulwer, and my aunt allowed me -to read several of his. My aunt died when I was sixteen, and six months -after her death my father went to Mexico on business, which would have -made him a very rich man if it had turned out as he hoped. One of my old -governesses came to stay in the house while he was gone. Her name was -Miss Sweet, and I liked her because she was sentimental and had a soft -voice, and wasn't at all particular about dates. Then it was that I -wrote my first book--or not quite then, for I was nearly eighteen, but -my father was still away." - -She hesitated for a moment. She was allowing her voice more scope since -the gloom had thickened in the quiet room. The young man did not move, -for he feared to disturb her. - -"It was a caretaker in the next house which had long been empty that put -the idea into my head. She was an old woman with a niece, who lived with -her, and the niece was very pretty. The story was a dreadful one--a -tragedy, and the girl committed suicide. I can't quite tell you," the -quiet voice went on, "what it meant to an ignorant girl, sheltered as I -was, to be plunged into the midst of such horrors. Poor old Mrs. Bell -waked us up in the middle of the night when it happened, and I went -alone, as Miss Sweet had a bad attack of asthma." - -She shuddered, and reaching to the back of a chair, took from it and -wrapped round her shoulders a little old red shawl. On and on went the -quiet voice, telling the story with a kind of neat dexterity and absence -of the overburdening adjectives common to such narration. - -Wick was amazed and filled with pity at the thought of what life had -been to this woman to reduce her powers to the deadly level of the tales -that she poured out regularly every autumn. - -"It was a dreadful business, as you see, but somehow after the first it -didn't frighten or upset me much, though it made poor Miss Sweet quite -ill. Afterwards we went down to Lulworth Cove for a change, and it was -while we were down there that I wrote the book. I was very happy then. -Your work," she added, with a touch of innocent vanity, "not being -creative, you may not realise what writing a book really is, but it's -very wonderful. I used to sit on the rocks and scribble away by the -hour. I think it was very good too, and I was proud of it. And the day -after we got home, in the autumn--we had been called back by a telegram -saying that my father had reached Liverpool--I packed up the manuscript -on the dining-room table and addressed it to Mr. Murray. Someone had -spilt a little black currant jam on the tablecloth, and as I arranged -the pages I managed to smear a little of it across the title, and I -remember getting cold water and a bit of cotton-wool and washing it off, -and then drying it before the kitchen fire, and mending the spoilt -letters with a very fine pen, so that it would look nice. 'Hannah' was -the name of it. Not a very good title, but that was the way it came to -me," she added softly, and her voice trailed away into silence. - -The darkness increased suddenly, and the firelight made a lake of colour -on the hearthrug, the only colour left in the room. - -"Well," Wick asked hoarsely, "did John Murray publish it?" - -She laughed. "John Murray never saw it. I left it on the hall table that -night, and was going to register it myself in the morning. When my -father came in late he noticed it, and opened it." - -"Well----?" - -Somehow he never forgot the feel of the room at that moment, or the -chill sound of the next words as they fell on his waiting ears. - -"He burnt it." After a little while she went on: "He was horrified by -it. I suppose it was not very proper, written by a young girl, and he -had never known that I understood about such things, but of course I -did, after the adventure of poor Kitty Bailey. Ring the bell, will you, -Oliver? It's growing very dark." - -He rang, and while the lamp was being brought he knelt on the old -hearthrug and mended the fire. In a few moments the crude, unlovely room -was piteously bright, and the mystery had flown. - -"Weren't you very angry?" Wick asked, as the door closed on the maid. - -"I? Oh, no. It was he who was angry--my father. I think he was too hard -on me, but it didn't matter very much. It was probably very badly -written, though at the time I thought it was good." - -Wick held out his hand. "Well, I must be off. Thank you so much for -telling me, Mrs. Walbridge. Did you go on writing at once then?" - -Her thin, small-boned hand quivered in his as she answered: - -"Oh, no. I didn't write again until--until after my marriage." - -They stood looking very kindly at each other, the old woman and the -young man, and then she said suddenly, as he took up his hat and stick: - -"I don't know why I told you, except, perhaps, that it happened, the -burning of 'Hannah,' I mean, thirty-five years ago to-day. I was -thinking about it before you came." - -As he hurried through the rain towards the 'bus, the young man counted -back. - -"That makes her fifty-two," he said. "I thought she was older than -that." - -As he squeezed into the crowded interior of "everybody's carriage," as -de Amicis calls it, a feeling of great pity swept over him. "How it must -have hurt," he thought, "for her to remember it like that." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -The Gaskell-Walkers returned from their very long honeymoon a few days -later and spent the night at Happy House, their own house being not -quite ready for them. - -It having rained without ceasing for a week at the Lakes, the young man -had taken his bride to North Devon, where he had hired a car and they -had spent a delightful time tearing over the country as fast as they -could go, which happened to be Mr. Gaskell-Walker's higher form of -enjoyment. He had made notes of the distance traversed each separate -day, and to Mrs. Walbridge's bewildered mind, it seemed as if they had -been nowhere, but had spent their time going from or to different -places. However, her pretty daughter was in blooming health, and -displayed her airs and graces in an artless and becoming way like some -pretty bird. Wracked with worry, almost unbearably anxious about her new -work, on which subject her publishers had maintained a silence which -looked ominous. Mrs. Walbridge gave herself up to delight for a few -hours in watching the happiness of these young people and hearing their -comfortable plans for the future. She had never seen the house in -Campden Hill, but Hermione had been taken there shortly before her -wedding, and was delighted with everything about it. The drawing-room -was apparently the only drawing-room in London that was over twenty feet -long, and the art treasures, about which the young woman talked -vaguely, but with immense satisfaction, seemed to be various and -valuable. - -"There is a whole room full of Chinese dragons," Gaskell-Walker told her -at dinner, "wicked-looking, teethy devils of all sizes. I used to be -awfully frightened of them when I was a kid." - -"And the loveliest Indian screens, mother, you know, that dull, -crumbly-looking wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl." - -Mrs. Walbridge had no idea of the exact income of her son-in-law, but -she knew that the young couple intended to keep three servants and that -Billy was partner in a fairly prosperous, though new, stockbroking firm -in Throgmorton Street. He was not so sympathetic to her as Maud's -husband. Moreton Twiss was young and full of boyish high spirits and a -kind of innocent horse-play, that even the arrival of Hilary had in no -wise quieted; and for some reason his untidy black hair and twinkling -eyes were dearer to her than the correct smartness of the more -conventional Gaskell-Walker. - -Gaskell-Walker was ten or twelve years older than the other man, -although he had married the younger daughter, and being extremely -short-sighted, he wore pince-nez, without which his mother-in-law had -never seen him. She was one of those people who prefer eyes to be -unglazed. However, everything pointed to happiness being in store for -Hermy, for she and her husband were very much in love with each other, -he rather more than she was, which her mother felt to be as things -should be. And the little dinner was very pleasant, Paul being at his -best, which was very good, so good that he rarely produced it for family -use, and Hermy, being a daughter for any mother's eyes to rest upon with -pride, in her pretty sapphire-blue frock, with the charming diamond -pendant her husband had given her for her wedding present, blinking on -her lovely bosom. - -"What news from Guy?" the bride asked, as they lingered in the -old-fashioned way over their walnuts and port. - -"I had a beautiful letter from him only this afternoon. I am going to -show it to you. He's very well and seems to have made some nice friends -amongst the officers." - -Gaskell-Walker laughed. "Trust Master Guy to make friends," he said, -cracking a nut with care, his over-manicured nails flashing as he did -so. "Easier to make than to keep them in his case." - -"Like the Governor," commented Paul carelessly. - -"Children, children," Mrs. Walbridge glanced with anxious eyes from the -one to the other, "I do wish you wouldn't speak of your father so--or -Guy either, Paul, if you don't mind." - -Gaskell-Walker bowed courteously. "I am sorry, Mrs. Walbridge," he -answered, plainly meaning what he said, "I was only chaffing. We always -tease the brat about his new intimate friends, and I didn't mean to say -a word against him." - -"Is father really better?" Hermione put in, smiling at her mother over -the top of her glass. "I hear he is carrying on anyhow with Clara -Crichell. Who was it told us so, Billy?" - -"Oh, shut up, Hermy," put in Paul with a glance at his mother, who, -however, had paid no attention to the remark. - -It was a peculiarity of Mrs. Walbridge's children that, while each one -of them individually was capable of hurting her a dozen times a day, not -one of them could bear one of the others to inflict the slightest -scratch on her. - -"The kid's having a grand time," Paul went on to his sister, "with Fred -and Elsie Ford. Balls and dinners every night and adorers by the dozen, -so Archie Pratt told me. He had been down there--he's a cousin of -Elsie's, you know. He says the kid's the success of the place. Seemed -rather smitten himself, I thought." - -"I loathe Archie Pratt," murmured Hermione, "he smells of white rose and -is always talking about biplanes and monoplanes." - -"He is an A1 airman," put in her husband, "they say he is down for a -D. S. O. for that Italian business. By the way, Paul, I hear the -Armistice is most certainly going to be signed next week." - -Paul nodded. "Yes, according to the paper it is, but some of these -duffers will probably put it off." - -"No. I have it pretty straight. It really is going to be. The Hun cannot -possibly hold out any longer. It's funny the way they cling to that -figure-head of the Kaiser. But his nerve seems to be completely broken. -He won't be able to stick it out." - -Mrs. Walbridge pushed back her chair. "Guy says they expect it to be -signed on Monday or Tuesday--the French expect it, I mean." - -"What is Guy going to do then?" asked Gaskell-Walker, as he opened the -door. - -His mother-in-law looked at him vaguely. "Do? I don't know. I suppose -he'll go back to the City. Mr. McCormick promised to take him back, but -I don't know--he hasn't said anything about it. I'll get his letter." - -They went upstairs to the girl's room, for Paul had long since -established his æsthetic inability to sit in "the mausoleum," as he -called the drawing-room, and there, among the pretty modern -knick-knacks and pictures, the mother read her soldier son's letter. - -It was a good letter, unoriginal and typical in its lack of grumbling -and rather artificial cheerfulness. The writer called his friends and -comrades by odd nicknames, vegetable and otherwise; he gave the details -of the food, and the delights of sleeping in a bed once more after -eighteen months of trench life. Then at the last there was something -over which Mrs. Walbridge hesitated for a moment--something which was -plainly very important to her. Billy Gaskell-Walker got up. - -"I'll just go down and get a cigar out of my coat pocket," he said -kindly. - -But Mrs. Walbridge stopped him. "No, no, Billy, don't go," she said, -"I'd like you to hear because you are going to be brothers now." She -could not tell him that it was Paul before whom she had hesitated to -read the more intimate part of the letter. - -Paul sat at the far end of the room, reading a newspaper, his smoothly -brushed hair gleaming over the back of Grisel's favourite chair. - -"Of course, you know that Guy has been rather foolish," his mother went -on after a pause, putting on her spectacles again. "But he is only -twenty-one, after all, and that's not so very old, is it?" - -Curiously enough the stranger, the man who was nothing to her or to her -boy by blood, understood her better and was closer to her at that moment -than either her son or her daughter. Gaskell-Walker drew his chair a -little nearer and took his cigarette out of his mouth, a queer little -unpremeditated act of homage which she noticed and for which she was -grateful. - -"A man of twenty-one," he said slowly, "is not a man at all, he's only -a child, and Guy is so good-looking, he's so full of what women call -charm----" he broke off with an expressive shrug, and after smiling -gratefully at him, and lowering her voice a little that she might not -disturb Paul's study of the _Evening Standard_, his mother-in-law went -on with the letter, reading in a low, moved voice: - - "'_Dear old Mum, I shall be awfully glad to get back. I've been - thinking quite a lot lately and I can see better than I used to - what a selfish young cub I've always been to you. Of course, it's - your own fault that we're all such pigs. You've been too good to - us!_'--That," the reader broke off to say, "is ridiculous.--'_But - then I've just sort of taken everything for granted. It's been part - of nature that you should sit up in the little garret room, slaving - away at writing books to do things and buy things for us. It never - struck me before that you don't have much of a time, but it does - now, and when I come back I'm going to try to be a little more - decent to you. It isn't that I didn't love you----_'" Her voice - fell still lower and she shot another nervous glance at the back of - Paul's immovable head. "'_I always did--we all do, of course. It's - just possible that we're all selfish without meaning to be and I've - been the worst, because, of course, Paul has been working for years - and has no time to do very much, and it's different with the girls. - But I'd give something nice now, when I think about it all out - here, if I hadn't always been such a hound about going upstairs for - you and down to the kitchen and little things like that. Your poor - old feet must have been pretty tired sometimes chasing about doing - things for us, and in future I'm going to do the chasing._'" - -"Bless him," put in Hermione lazily, "he's a good child. We must kill -the fatted calf for him when he comes home. Billy, we'll have a -beautiful party----." - -Gaskell-Walker nodded. "Bravo, Brat," he approved gently. "We mustn't -tease him any more. Perhaps," he added thoughtfully, "I might get him a -job in Throgmorton Street. Don't think much of McCormick, anyway. - -"There's a little more," went on Mrs. Walbridge, who had not listened to -this conversation, but was bending over her letter, partly, it struck -her son-in-law, to hide her eyes, "it's about--about that poor girl--you -know." - -Paul turned round in his chair and rested his chin on its black satin -back. - -"Francine, you mean"--he laughed with a little sneer, "what about her? -The youth seems to be making his soul in earnest, but I have my doubts -as to whether the lady will be satisfied with the rôle he offers her." - -"Oh, shut up, Paul, you're a cat," Hermione almost snapped, in her -unusual vehemence. "Unless, I am very much mistaken you liked the girl -yourself till the Brat came along and wiped your eye." - -"Shut up, you two. Go on, Mrs. Walbridge," interrupted Gaskell-Walker. -"The girl's no worse than most young fellow's first adventure. Go and -chew your bone on the mat, you two, if you've got to squabble. I want to -hear what the Brat says." - -After a pained look at her elder son, Mrs. Walbridge went on with the -letter, Paul walking ostentatiously indifferent to the piano and -turning over the music on top of it as she did so. - - "'_I know you have been worried to death about my silly scrape with - that girl, but it really wasn't so bad as you all thought. I can't - tell you about it in a letter, but I will when I see you and then - you'll see that I wasn't quite such an ass as most people imagined. - Anyhow, I straightened it all out the best way I could before I - went back after my last leave, and I know you'll be glad to hear - that I didn't treat her badly._' That's all he said about her. Then - he asks about his bullfinch--we've not told him it died--and sends - his love to everyone." Her voice shook a little as she read on. - "'_Tell old Paul I'm awfully glad to hear he's doing so well, and - hope he'll soon be able to get out of that cursed bank. I wish he'd - write to me, letters are a great boon out here. Give the girls each - a kiss and tell Billy that a little stick won't do Mrs. Hermy any - harm, when she goes through her manners at home!_' Isn't it a very - nice letter, Billy?" - -"It is indeed, Mrs. Walbridge, there's good stuff in the Brat, and for -one, I'm going to do my best to help it come out. He'll have a good time -at our house--we both like entertaining, and I've done pretty well this -year, and it'll be nice for him to have a cheery place to go to, full of -young people. We must get some pretty flappers to amuse him, Hermy, and -then he won't want to go wasting his time in silly places." - -Paul turned. "I rather think," he drawled, "that we haven't, in spite of -all these virtuous plans, heard the last of the excellent Francine. -Good-night, Gaskell-Walker." He left the room, closing the door very -softly behind him. - -"I do wish," snapped Hermy, "that Paul would slam the door when he's -furious, like a Christian. That cat-footed way of his drives me mad." - -A little later Mrs. Walbridge accompanied her guests to their room, -where everything had been prepared for them with the most minute and -loving care. - -"There's the cold milk, Billy, on your side, and Hermy's hot milk is in -the thermos. The windows are open at the top about a foot. Is that -right?" - -Hermione kissed her mother, who, after a minute's hesitation, kissed her -again. - -"That's poor little Guy's kiss," the elder woman said. "Oh, Hermy, I'm -so glad he's coming home." - -Mrs. Walbridge then held out her hand to her son-in-law. "Good-night. -Billy, it's nice having you here. You've been very kind about Guy. It -has made me happy." - -Gaskell-Walker peered closely into her face, for he had taken his -glasses off. He was a selfish man, and not particularly tender-hearted, -selfishness after forty having a tendency to grow a thick membrane over -the feelings. But something in her face touched him. - -"Good-night, dear Mrs. Walbridge," he said gently. "Will you allow your -new son-in-law to kiss you good-night?" And he bent and kissed her on -her soft cheek. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -At half-past seven on the morning of Armistice Day Caroline Breeze, who -was an early waker, but a late riser, was sitting up in bed reading. Her -small, high up flat was very comfortable, and the good old woman had -only to cross the room to light her gas-ring and prepare her morning -tea. This she had done half an hour before, and was now propped up -against many pillows with a pleasantly furnished tea-tray on her lap, -bread and butter in one hand, which she dipped shamelessly into her tea, -as she read, with avid, dreamy eyes, a new novel. - -Miss Breeze was about sixty, and of irredeemable plainness, being the -victim of that cruel form of indigestion that makes the nose red and the -eyes watery. Her sparse grey hair, the front part of which was by day -covered by a front of grey glossiness with but few pretences at -concealment, that now hung, carefully brushed, on the foot of her bed -like a bloodless and innocently come by war trophy, was screwed up on -top of her big square head. She wore a little flannel jacket of the -wrong shade of pink; her eiderdown, her window curtains, her wallpaper -were pink, all too, of that pathetically wrong shade, but being -comfortably colour blind, or taste blind, she knew nothing of this, and -regarded her room as a bower of beauty and charm. The book she was -reading was intensely interesting; there was in it a most cruelly -treated companion, a revolting lap-dog that had to be taken for walks -in the park, and a handsome nephew who ground his teeth in moments of -emotion, and had designs on Rosamund (that was the governess's name). So -engrossed was the good lady that presently she allowed her bit of bread -and butter to soak too long in the tea, and as she raised it to her -mouth it disintegrated, and fell with a horrid splash on her jacket. - -"Oh, dear, how disgusting!" the old lady said aloud, laying down her -book and removing the tea-soaked and buttery bread with a knife. "I do -hope it's going to end all right." - -When she had rubbed the front of her jacket vigorously with her napkin, -she took up the book, and with a furtive air turned to the last page. -This habit of looking at the end before she got to it was one of which -Miss Breeze was very ashamed, but she was so tender-hearted that when -she saw in the story any signs of possible tragedy, she really could not -resist taking a hasty glance at the ending, just to see if things were -all right. If they were she went back to the tale with undisturbed zest, -and undiminished excitement over the intervening troubles of the -heroine. But if the author had been so foolish as to allow death or -misunderstanding to blight the life of her heroine, Caroline Breeze -closed the book and never opened it again. - -She had just resumed her reading, when a ring came at her door. The -postman did not ring, and she did not receive telegrams, so she was -startled, and sat staring owl-like through her glasses towards the door. -The ring was repeated, followed by a quick tapping of ungloved fingers -on the panel, and she heard a voice: - -"Let me in, Caroline, it's only me." - -"Good gracious. It's Violet!" - -Slipping the tray from her knees to the little bamboo table at the side -of the bed, Miss Breeze wrapped the eiderdown round her, and scuttled -across and opened the door. She kissed her guest and they both went back -into the warm bedroom; for the fire in the little drawing-room would not -be lit until just before Miss Breeze got up, and lying in bed in the -morning was her one self-indulgence. - -"My dear, take your hat off and sit down in the comfortable chair. -Whatever has brought you here at this hour?" - -"Trouble," answered Mrs. Walbridge simply, doing as she was told. "I -want you to do something for me, Caroline, it's a favour. I've very -little time, so I can't explain. I must have some money." - -"Money!" Miss Breeze had known Mrs. Walbridge for many years, but she -had never suspected that her friend had money troubles. - -"Yes, I must have some at once, and I want you to--to pawn these for -me." - -Opening her bag, she took out a little old case into which she had -crowded her two or three old-fashioned diamond rings, and two pairs of -earrings, one of seed pearls, the other of pale sapphires clumsily set -in diamond chips and thick gold. - -Caroline Breeze had never been inside a pawnshop in her life, but she -did not protest against the horrid errand. - -"I'll get up at once and go," she said. "What do you think they ought to -give me?" - -Mrs. Walbridge, who was very pale, and whose eyes looked larger and more -sunken than ever, shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I haven't the -slightest idea," she said. - -"What's that book?" she added sharply, the crimson cover of her friend's -novel catching her eyes. - -Miss Breeze's face, already so red and white in the wrong places, turned -a deep bluish colour of extreme embarrassment. "Oh, it's--it's just a -book," she stammered, laying her hand on it. "I--I thought I'd like to -read it, just to see if it really is good." - -Mrs. Walbridge, who had risen, held out her hand. - -"Let me see it, Caroline," she said quietly, and Miss Breeze gave it to -her. "I thought so--Beryl J. Bell. I've seen it advertised. Jones & -Hayward advertise a great deal. Is it--is it good?" - -Mrs. Walbridge's voice shook a little, and Caroline Breeze turned her -eyes away. - -"Nothing extra," she answered in a voice that tried to be indifferent. -"I suppose they spend a lot of money in advertising her." - -Forgetting her hurry, Mrs. Walbridge sat down again and looked eagerly -through the book. There was a long silence, a flutter of pages being the -only noise in the quiet room. Caroline Breeze's faithful heart ached for -her friend, and in her wisdom she said nothing. But Mrs. Walbridge spoke -after she had closed the book and laid it down on the bed. - -"I suppose you know," her voice was very quiet and the colour had died -away from her face, leaving the shadows and lines in it deeper than -ever. "I suppose you know that 'Lord Effingham' is--a failure?" - -Caroline made a dreadful grimace, rumpling up her nose and protruding -her thick lips two or three times rapidly, a way she had when she was -embarrassed or distressed. - -"Oh, no," she protested, "not a failure. I've noticed that the critics -don't seem to like it _quite_ so much as the others, but----" - -"Don't. It's a failure, Caroline, and it's right that it should be. I -tried to change it, to make it more modern, and I've spoiled it -completely. It's neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring." - -"Oh, Violet!" Poor Miss Breeze's watery eyes overflowed a little, the -tears did not fall, but spread awkwardly, scantily, over her rutted -cheeks, and made her plain face even plainer. "I love your books, and I -love this one too. If they had let you alone it would have been sweet." - -"Yes, but they didn't let me alone, and they were right not to. They -weren't unkind, they were right." - -There was something innocently pathetic in the little figure by the bed. -The plain old felt hat was on one side of her head, and in the -strengthening morning light she looked a really old woman--an unhappy, -hopeless old woman. - -"I'm old-fashioned, Caroline--out of date. That's what it is. These new -people--that woman for instance, Beryl J. Bell--she's young, she -believes in her books, her mind isn't tired like mine. I know." She rose -and moved nervously about the room, speaking in a quick undertone. "I've -always known that my books aren't very good of course--not like Hichens, -I mean, and Mrs. Humphrey Ward, and Arnold Bennett--but they were good -of their kind, and people did like them, I know they did. I've had -letters from people I've never even heard of, showing how much they -liked them, and how they had helped them. But now they're old-fashioned -even among old-fashioned ones. That's it." She stood still to utter the -saddest of cries. "I'm old, Caroline. I'm old." - -Poor Caroline Breeze burst into loud snuffling sobs, and rising from her -bed, her skimpy nightgown clinging to her bony legs, she embraced her -poor friend, and tried to comfort her with love and lies. Violet -Walbridge did not cry. She was never a tearful woman, and at this moment -was far past such a show of feeling. - -"Get back into bed, dear. You'll catch cold," she said gently, patting -her friend's bony shoulder. "I must go now or they'll miss me. Come to -lunch when you've been to the pawnshop. It's good of you to go. I know I -ought to go myself, but somehow I can't, with my own things, and I -thought it would not be so bad for you, because you can _tell_ the man -that it's for a friend." - -This idea she cherished, poor innocent lady, as one of great -originality, and to Miss Breeze as well it appeared valuable. But even -now, grieved as she was for her friend, it never occurred to the -faithful Caroline that the financial situation of "Happy House" could -possibly be one of more than temporary tightness. - -Mrs. Walbridge never talked of money matters and for all Miss Breeze -knew might have a regular income quite apart from her books. So the kind -old maid's assumption was that one of the boys had got into a scrape, -and that Mrs. Walbridge wished to help him without her husband's -knowledge. For, in spite of the fact that Ferdie Walbridge, on the -strength of having once paid back ten pounds of his original loan from -Miss Breeze, had on several occasions borrowed further small sums of -her, to avoid, he said, bothering poor Violet about trifles, Caroline -still cherished her pristine belief that husbands were superior beings, -who ought not to be troubled by small matters by their wives. - -As the friends parted Caroline ventured one question. "There's another -book sold to Lubbock & Payne, isn't there? On that last contract, I -mean." - -Mrs. Walbridge shook her head. "No, this is the last of the three. I--I -dare say I shall hear from them shortly." - -Caroline Breeze went back to her room, and dressed and prepared to go on -her, to her, so strange and adventurous errand. - -No one saw Mrs. Walbridge come home, and the morning dragged along with -its usual round of dull duties, until about half past ten, when Miss -Breeze arrived, her long queer figure, in her tight-fitting jacket edged -with strips of shabby mink, and her oddly rakish hat decorated with a -scrap of gold lace and a big bunch of pink roses. - -"I've been, dear," she burst out eagerly, as she came into the attic -room, where her friend sat at her work-table, "and I've got fifty-two -pounds. Isn't it splendid?" - -Mrs. Walbridge's face fell. "Oh, thanks--that's very good," she said, -"and I'm so grateful to you, Caroline." - -"It wasn't a bit like what I had expected," Miss Breeze explained, -unbuttoning her jacket, and pulling out her cherished lace frill. "I -rather thought there would be little pens, you know, like the ones in -Dickens, with a young man leaning across a counter. But it was exactly -like a shop and there was a very nice little back room, and such a -polite man, a Christian. He said the diamonds were very good, but small, -and he didn't seem to believe me when I told him it was for a friend. -Wasn't it odd of him?" - -Mrs. Walbridge nodded. She had taken up a pencil and was making some -notes on an old envelope, "twenty-six, thirty-six," she murmured. "Are -they really signing the Armistice to-day?" she asked a moment later, -looking up. - -"Yes, I think so. The streets are crowded, everybody seems to be waiting -for something. I don't see why they don't sign the peace at once, and -not waste time over an armistice; it would be far simpler." - -Mrs. Walbridge rose. "Let's go downstairs, dear," she said. - -But at that moment a sudden ringing of bells filled the air--bells from -all sides, bells big, bells small, bells musical and bells harsh. The -two women stared at each other. - -"That must be it," Miss Breeze cried. "I thought they were going to fire -off cannon." - -Mrs. Walbridge went to the little window and opened it. The sun was -shining, and the sky was as clear as if they looked at it from some -empty moor. She stood and looked up. - -"Thank God," she said. "Now all the sons and brothers and lovers will be -coming home--those who are left----" - -"And husbands," agreed Miss Breeze, clasping her hands. - -As the cannon began to roar, Violet Walbridge turned and looked at her -friend with a curious expression in her fine eyes. "And husbands," she -added softly. - - * * * * * - -While the two women were having their simple lunch the house door burst -open and Griselda came running in, glowing with colour and happiness, -looking the picture of youth and beauty, in a little close-fitting fur -cap and stole of the same kind of fur. The Fords had motored her up to -town to see the celebrations and to go to a ball at one of the big -hotels that night. - -"Oh, mother," she cried, "aren't you glad it's over--the war, I mean?" - -She sat down at the table, and leaning her chin in her hand, watched the -two women as they pecked at their bread and cheese. - -"Aren't you surprised to see me? We only came up on the spur of the -moment. Fred said it was a historical event, and we ought not to miss -it, and he telephoned through and got rooms. The prices are perfectly -fearful, but he really doesn't care what he spends. So here we are. They -sent me up here in the car." - -"Where," asked her mother, in an odd, dry little voice, "did you get -those furs?" - -Griselda, who had taken off the stole, glanced down at it carelessly. -"Oh, this. Elsie gave it to me. Fred gave her some heavenly sables the -other day, so she didn't want these any more." - -"I gave you my beaver set." - -The girl glanced curiously at her mother's face. "I know you did, dear, -and it's very nice, of course. But beaver doesn't suit me, and besides -it's very old fashioned." - -Mrs. Walbridge started at the last word, and her wedding ring struck -sharply against a glass. - -"Old fashioned?" she said. "Yes, I suppose it is. Well, come upstairs, -dear, and take your things off in my room. Jessie's turning yours out -to-day, but it'll be ready in a little while." - -Griselda caught up her stole and threw it round her shoulders. "Oh, I'm -not staying," she explained carelessly. "We're at the Ritz. It's only -for two or three days, so I thought I wouldn't--upset things here--and -besides, Elsie wanted me. Sir John Barclay is motoring her and me back -on the day after to-morrow----" - -"Who is Sir John Barclay?" asked Miss Breeze interestedly. Grisel -laughed. - -"Try to bear it, Caroline," she said, "but he's not young and handsome; -he's old. _Very_ nice," she added, patronisingly, "but really old. White -hair and all that. Isn't it a pity, for he's as rich as -Croesus--copper in Africa it is, and sheep and cows in South America. -I wish he'd adopt me as a favourite grandchild." As she spoke a long, -throaty honk of a motor horn was heard. "That's Peters. I promised Elsie -I wouldn't be late, and he's reminding me. We're lunching at the Carlton -with Sir John, so I really _mustn't_ be late. Good-bye, dears." - -She kissed both the women and they all three walked to the hall door -together. - -"Oh, I forgot to tell you," the girl went on, as she opened the door. -"Dad says he's going to stay on for another fortnight. He says his -health's better, but really and truly he's having the time of his life -and is a thoroughly gay old dog. Oh, yes, and he wants you to send him -some new pajamas--only two or three pairs, and you're not to send him -mauve ones. Rather naughty of him to be so particular, isn't it?" - -"Griselda!" Mrs. Walbridge's voice was very stern, and the girl made a -funny little face as she ran down the path. - -They watched her get into the big car, and waved their hands to her as -it bore her quietly away. - -The two women went back into the house and sat down in the drawing-room. -The fire had gone out during the excitement of the morning, and the room -looked more than ever unlovely and uninhabited. Mrs. Walbridge stood for -a moment gazing down at the five photographs. - -"Dear Grisel is having a splendid time, isn't she?" asked Caroline -warmly. "How nice for her to have such rich friends." - -Mrs. Walbridge did not answer. Her eyes were still fixed on the pictures -of her five children. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -A week later Mrs. Walbridge received a letter from her publishers. It -was a very kind letter, for, after all, publishers are human beings, and -Mr. Lubbock and Mr. Payne were really sorry to hurt their poor little -client. - -"'Pon my word, it really makes me feel quite miserable," Mr. Lubbock had -told his partner, with perfect sincerity, as they drew up a rough draft -of the letter for Miss Borlays, their most confidential secretary, to -type. - -Mr. Payne nodded in agreement. "Poor old thing, it'll be an awful blow, -and I half suspect," he added, "that she supports that rascally, -good-looking husband of hers by her earnings." - -"There are a lot of children, too, Payne. I've forgotten how many, but a -great many," added Mr. Lubbock, smoothing his impeccable waistcoat. -"Poor little woman. I wish we didn't have to do it. Of course, she has -grown absolutely out of date, and this last book is disastrous, -positively disastrous." - -However, after some discussion, the two men decided, for the sake of old -times and long friendship, to accept one more book from Mrs. Walbridge. - -"We'll buy outright," Lubbock suggested. "What do you say? Give her a -cheque for five hundred pounds and let her deliver the manuscript when -she likes. That'll let her down a bit easier." - -Mr. Payne nodded. "Five hundred pounds is a lot of money," he protested -feebly. "We shan't sell as many copies either after this last mess. -However, we'll do it." - -When they had finished the rough draft and sent it in to the efficient -Miss Borlays, the two men went out to lunch, and had a bottle of Clos -Vogeot to console themselves, both for what was practically a gift of a -large sum of money, and also for their sincere sympathy with that poor -little superannuated scribbler. After his third glass of the excellent -and mellowing wine, Mr. Lubbock even recalled to his friend how very -pretty Mrs. Walbridge had been twenty years ago. - -"I remember thinking I had never seen such eyes in my life," the good -gentleman murmured reminiscently, "and I was only just married in those -days, too." - - * * * * * - -The letter was less of a blow to Mrs. Walbridge than might have been -expected, for, when faced with absolute ruin, an unexpected five hundred -pounds comes very nearly like manna from heaven. Her relief when she had -cashed the cheque and actually had the notes folded away in her shabby -little old bag was so great that she had to struggle to keep the tears -from her habitually tearless eyes. She did not go straight home from the -bank, and restraining herself with a violent effort from rushing in to -thank Mr. Lubbock and Mr. Payne--a course which she knew would be -extremely distressing to them both--she did an unjustifiable but very -forgivable thing. She went to Peter Robinson's and spent twenty-seven -pounds nineteen and sixpence on a muff and stole for Griselda. This she -had sent straight to her daughter, and, sitting at the counter in the -shop, she wrote a little letter on a bit of paper out of one of her -notebooks. - - "_My darling_," she said, in her beautiful, clear writing, "_here's - a little present for you. I can't bear you to accept things from - anyone but me. Explain to Elsie Ford, and I'm sure she'll - understand your asking her to take back the beautiful furs she so - kindly wanted to give you._ - - "_When are you coming back? I don't want to cut your pleasure - short, but you've been away for a long time now, and I miss you. - Oliver came to see me yesterday, and he has a box for 'Roxana,' - and wants you and me and a friend of his, a young man, to go with - him on Thursday. Guy will be coming back any day now, and - Christmas is near--and in fact I want my baby very badly._ - - "_Your loving mother_, - "VIOLET WALBRIDGE." - -This note she pinned on the muff, and herself folded the soft paper over -it as it lay in the box. The girl who had sold it to her was very -sympathetic and pleasant, and promised that it should go off that very -day. When these things were accomplished, Mrs. Walbridge went on to -Campden Hill, where she was lunching with Hermione. - -Hilltop Road, Campden Hill, is a blind alley, beautifully quiet, with -grass growing between the cobble-stones that pave it. It is a quiet, -sunny, tree-sheltered place, with five or six engardened houses on -either side, the smallest of which belonged to the Gaskell-Walkers. Even -now, in November, a few scraggy roses and some brown-edged hydrangeas -still garnished the sodden garden, and Mrs. Walbridge noticed with -pleasure, as she went up the path, that the painters were evidently out. -The door and windows glittered steadily in the glory of new bottle-green -paint, and the windows themselves had lost the hollow-eyed look -incidental to houses where the housemaids are not yet settled down to a -religious respect for their blinds. - -She was a little late for lunch, but Maud was the only other guest, and, -as Maud was very hungry, they had not waited for her, and she found them -sitting cosily over curried eggs in the pretty dining-room. She had not -seen Maud for about a fortnight, and was pleased to find her looking -well and rosy. Hilary was at the seaside with his Grannie Twiss, and -Maud and Moreton, she was told, had been having a high old time doing -the theatres. - -"We are praying," the young wife added pleasantly, "for bubonic plague, -or cholera, or something. Poor Moreton's only had three patients since -we got back, and one of them only had neuralgia from his tooth, and -Moreton had to send him across the passage to Mr. Burton to pull out a -few. That," she added, reaching for the salt, "was rather bitter." - -Hermione, looking radiantly pretty in her smart trousseau coat and -skirt, was full of simple news about her husband and her house and their -plans. - -"Billy's not forgotten his promise about the Brat," she said, after a -while. "He's asked Mr. Browning, his partner, you know, and he says he -thinks they could make some kind of a place for him--for Guy, I mean." - -"That's very kind of him. I haven't heard from Guy for over a week. I -suppose he'll be coming any day now, bless him." - -Then she was asked and told news of Paul, and this information was given -and accepted rather coldly, for Paul was not a favourite with his -brother and sisters, and their interest was only conventional. - -"I believe he did rather well in something; I forget what, copper or -something, last week," Mrs. Walbridge explained. "He's bought a lovely -teapot with flowers all over it, and a picture--a water-colour of Venice -that he says will be worth double what he paid for it in a few years." - -"Grisel's having a grand time," one of the young women exclaimed towards -the end of the lunch. "Elsie Ford is jolly good to her." - -Her mother's delicate eyebrows stirred a little ruefully. "I don't like -this new custom of taking presents from one's friends," she said. - -"Nonsense, mother. Everybody does it, and Elsie's so rich it doesn't -matter to her what she gives away. Do you remember how we despised her -for marrying Fred Ford, Hermy?" - -Hermione nodded. "Yes; he was dreadful in those days, wasn't he? There -wasn't a decent 'o' in him. Real cockney." - -"She's toned him down a lot, though," put in the other, "and he has a -trick of picking up smart slang--really _good_ slang, you know--that -makes him quite possible. When's the kid coming home, mum?" - -"A few days before Christmas. I had a letter from her yesterday. They -are doing a lot of motoring, which, of course, Grisel loves. There's an -old gentleman named Barclay who is very kind to her," she said. - -Hermione Gaskell-Walker burst out laughing. "You'll be having the kind -old gentleman for a son-in-law if you don't look out, you innocent old -pet," she said, lighting her coffee machine, and blowing out the match. -"Elsie told me--I met her the other day in Harrod's when she came up for -that special performance at His Majesty's--that the old man was crazy -about the kid, and," she added with satisfaction, "rolling--simply -rolling." - -Her mother looked bewildered. "Rolling----?" - -"In money, dear. He's extremely rich--cattle, I think, in Argentina. She -always was the best-looking of the three of us, so it's only fair she -should make the best match." - -Maud interrupted her indignantly. "Best match, indeed! An old man like -that. How sickening of you, Hermy. I wouldn't give up Moreton for all -the millionaires in the world." - -Mrs. Walbridge patted her hand. "That's right, dear," she murmured, and -Mrs. Gaskell-Walker looked a little ashamed of herself. - -"You needn't think I'm not fond of Billy, for I am. He's absolutely -perfect. I was only speaking from the worldly point of view, and it -would be funny if the kid should burst out into a title, and millions, -while Moreton is hunting illusive patients, and Billy worrying himself -dead on the Stock Exchange." - -After lunch Mrs. Walbridge was taken over the house, which was very -comfortable and full of things that she supposed must be beautiful, -although to her they were for the most part grotesque, if not ugly. The -mattresses, and such homely appurtenances, were oldish, she found, and -rather shabby, but everything downstairs was imposing, and that, -Hermione thought, was the chief thing. - -"By the way, mother," the young wife burst out as they came down the -steep staircase, "what about that Wick man? There's not going to be any -trouble with him, I hope?" - -"Trouble?" - -"Yes, with Grisel, I mean. Billy took a fancy to him rather, and asked -him to come and see us, so he turned up the other Sunday for supper. -He's very nice. We both liked him, but there's something very odd about -him, don't you think?" - -Maud laughed. "It's only that he says all the things that most people -only think." - -"I like him," Mrs. Walbridge announced firmly. "I like him very much. -Did he say anything to you about Griselda, Hermy--or to Billy?" - -"No, not exactly. But when he talked about the future, and he always -does talk about the future (I never knew anyone who seemed to have less -use for the past, or even the present), he seemed to assume that she -would always be there, with him, I mean." - -"He's asked her to marry him, and she's refused him." - -"Really? He doesn't seem much cast down by it. I never saw a more cheery -person in my life. Billy says he'll be a great success some day." - -Maud went part of the way home with her mother, and asked her again for -the loan. Mrs. Walbridge hesitated. - -"I don't quite see how I can, dear," she said behind her muff, for they -were in a bus. "My--my last book has not sold quite so well as the -others." - -Maud nodded. "I've seen some of the notices. Awfully sorry, dear. By the -way, why don't you try to brighten up your style a little? They're -awfully sweet and all that, but they are a little old-fashioned, you -know." - -"I--I tried to brighten up 'Lord Effingham,'" her mother faltered, and -Maud laughed with kindly meant amusement that cut deep. - -"'Lord Effingham' really was the limit. That baby was most shocking. We -blushed for you, Moreton and I. Moreton says he thinks you don't read -enough of the new stuff. Oh, I don't mean really good stuff, like Wells -and May Sinclair and that lot, but the second-rate ones that sell so -well--Mrs. Llovitt and Austen Goodheart, and so on. This Bell woman, -too--what's her name?--Beryl J. Bell. I don't think her book is really -better than yours, but every second person one meets is reading it." - -Before they parted she returned again to the question of the loan. - -"If you possibly can you'll let me have it, won't you? We really are -rather at our wits' end. Everyone is so dreadfully healthy just now, and -the rent is pretty bad--quarter-day coming. I do want some pretty things -for little Violet. I should hate her to wear Hilary's left-offs." - -A little smile, that was almost whimsical, touched Mrs. Walbridge's -flexible lips. - -"My children all wore each other's left-offs," she said softly, "and it -didn't seem to hurt them. Grisel looked very sweet in your long robes. -However, I'll see what I can do, darling, and I _can_ let you have -twenty-five--only don't mention it to Paul, will you?" - -She changed buses at Oxford Circus, and after waiting a long time on the -corner, she gave up trying to force her way into the overcrowded buses -(for she hadn't the gift of crowds) and walked home. It was nearly -tea-time when she reached Happy House, and after a hasty cup of tea she -went up to her little attic study and sat down to work. - -When Paul came home at dinner-time he was not unreasonably annoyed to -find his mother still writing. - -"Do come down," he called. "Dinner's on the table, and I'm hungry." - -When she appeared, he looked with distaste at her ruffled hair and -ink-stained finger. - -"Really, mother," he exclaimed irritably, "I do think you might manage -to be in time for meals. It's disgusting to a man to get home and have -to wait for his food." - -"I shan't be a minute, dear," she said. "I must just wash my hands and -brush my hair." - -"Oh, bother your hands and your hair; come along. I'm going to the -play--gallery--with Bruce Collier, to the Coliseum, so I shan't have to -dress, but I've very little time." - -Mrs. Walbridge was a careful housekeeper, but things will go wrong -sometimes in every house, and this was one of those occasions for her. -She had a new cook whom she ought, she knew, to have superintended, but -the call of her book had been too loud and she had forgotten all about -dinner. The soup was lumpy and luke-warm, and the leg of mutton -quivering and purple. Paul watched it as she cut the first slice (she -always did the carving), and threw down his napkin angrily. - -"Raw meat--that's really too much! I'll go to the club and get a -sandwich." - -Tears rose to her eyes. "Oh, Paul, I _am_ sorry, very sorry," she cried, -"and I don't wonder you're annoyed, but don't go. Let me make you a -Welsh rabbit." - -He shook his head and rose. "No, no. I'd rather go." - -"I--I--it was my fault," she went on. "I got so interested in my book -that I utterly forgot dinner." - -At the door he turned and looked back at her pitilessly. - -"Your book! If your books were worth while there'd be some excuse for -artistic absent-mindedness, but considering the stuff you turn out, I -shouldn't think such mundane details as soup and mutton need be so -infinitely beneath you." - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Walbridge sat still for several minutes, staring at the closed -door, a strange look on her pale face. Presently she rose, the look in -her eyes intensifying, almost solidifying, to one that would -immeasurably have astonished her son if he could have seen it. Lighting -a lamp, she went quickly upstairs to her little writing room, and, -unfastening the buttons of her right sleeve, freeing her wrist, she took -up her pen and began to write. Day had begun to light her square of sky -when she crept down quietly to bed the next morning. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -A few days before Christmas Ferdinand Walbridge and his youngest -daughter came home. It, was over two months since his wife had seen him, -and she was very much struck by his look of health and youth. - -"The sea air has done you a world of good, Ferdie," she commented -gently. - -He shot a quick glance at her out of marvellously cleared and unswollen -eyes. - -"Torquay agrees with me," he answered shortly; "always did." - -Then he told her with genuine pleasure--for, like so many men with whom -selfishness is almost a disease, he liked spending money, and was rather -generous than otherwise--that he had made a good thing from a tip in -copper, given him by a friend in Torquay. - -"Sir John Barclay," he explained. "Grisel will have written you about -him." - -She nodded. "Oh, yes. The kind old gentleman." - -"Exactly, the kind old gentleman." He laughed. "He and I are very -friendly, and, as I say, he put me on to this thing, and I cleared a -couple of hundred pounds." - -She was about to ask him if he couldn't manage some of the quarterly -bills with part of the money, when he cut the ground from under her feet -by taking from his pocket five five-pound notes and handing them to her. - -"That's just a little present for you, old girl," he said, "to help you -out with Christmas." - -Before she had finished thanking him, the house door had banged behind -him. - -Grisel had not arrived yet, as she was coming by car with the Fords, who -were spending Christmas at the Savoy, and Mrs. Walbridge ran out and -bought some flowers to decorate the girl's room. - -She had not forgiven Paul for the episode of the underdone mutton. He -had hurt her many times before, but he had never so thoroughly disgusted -her, and her indignation, that she knew to be justified and fair, was in -an odd way a strength to her. She had worked for hours every day on her -new book, and was behindhand in consequence with her Christmas plans, -but Grisel must have flowers. She spent nearly three pounds of the -twenty-five her husband had given her at the beautiful shop in Baker -Street, and then, because she was afraid of crushing them, took a taxi -home, and was met by a look of cold raillery by Paul, who was letting -himself into the house with his latchkey as she drove up. - -"I hope Lubbock & Payne are paying you well for the new masterpiece," he -said, as she came up the steps laden with flowers. He was surprised at -the look she gave him in return. - -"Your father made me a present this morning," she said quietly, "and if -I choose to buy flowers with some of it that doesn't concern you, my -dear Paul." - -Up in the girls' room (as the upstairs sitting-room was still called, -although only one girl was left) she had half an hour of real pleasure, -filling vases with water and arranging flowers to the best advantage. -She was passionately devoted to the pretty things, but for many years -now had had to give up buying them, or trying to keep growing things in -the house. Growing plants need care and time, and Mrs. Walbridge had -little leisure for such delightful attentions. - -But now Grisel was coming home, so she felt perfectly satisfied in -spending such an enormous sum of money as nearly three pounds on -adorning the girl's room. - -Her husband had not known at what time the Fords and their guest would -reach London. They would, no doubt, lunch on the way, and as Sir John -Barclay was coming up with them, they would probably stop to explore any -old churches they might pass. He had a passion for routing about in -chilly, romantic old churches. - -"Fond of arches, and architecture, and flying buttresses and things," he -added, with the pleasant disdain of one to whom those chaste joys make -no appeal. - -So, when the flowers were arranged, and the blinds drawn down, and the -fire lit, Mrs. Walbridge went to her own room and put on her only -afternoon dress. It looked very shabby, she thought, as she stood in -front of the glass. It had never been much of a frock, and she had worn -it and worn it and worn it. It was of black silk, of some thin, papery -kind that looked cracked in a strong light, and the sleeves were very -old-fashioned, with something wrong about the shoulders. She sighed a -little, and then gave her pretty curly hair a last smooth of the brush -and went downstairs. - -She was a little anxious lest one of the children might notice the -absence of her rings, and the seed pearl earrings, which, being one of -her husband's very few gifts, were a part of her immemorial gala attire; -she was almost sure that he would notice their absence, and she felt -that she would die with shame if any of them knew about the pawning. - -The new cook had produced some unexpectedly tempting-looking cakes, and -Jessie, much elated by her reinstatement as a one-job woman, was waiting -in all the glories of new cap and apron, to open the door to Miss -Griselda, while the mistress, in the dreary drawing-room, sat down by -the fire to wait for her daughter. - -She was lost in thought over her new book, which was engrossing her very -deeply. She heard a sudden knocking on the glass panel of the house -door, and jumped up and ran to open the door, flinging out her arms and -crying: - -"Oh, my darling!" - -"Thanks, Mrs. Walbridge. I like being called your darling. You might -kiss me too, if you don't mind. It's Christmas time." - -Oliver Wick laughed cheerfully as the little lady started back in -fright. "That's what I call a nice warm welcome," the young man went on, -following her into the hall and hanging up his hat. - -"Then she hasn't come? May I come in and wait? I've really come to see -her, you know, but I've got a very decent excuse--a note from my mother, -saying how delighted we shall be to dine with you on Christmas Eve." He -produced a letter and followed his hostess into the drawing-room, -carrying something that looked like a small hatbox with great care. - -Mrs. Walbridge read the note and expressed her satisfaction at its -contents. - -"What have you got in that box," she added. - -"Flowers for Grisel," he answered promptly. "Beauties. Just look." He -raised the lid of his box and showed her an enormous bunch of closely -packed Parma violets. "Aren't they lovely?" he asked, beaming with -pleasure, "and won't she love them?" - -"She will indeed. Let's go upstairs and put them in water, shall we?" - -And thus it was that when Griselda Walbridge reached home after having -stayed nearly two months with the Freddie Fords at Conroy Hall, Torquay, -she found Mr. Wick awaiting her with a curious air of belonging to the -household as much, or even more, than she did. - -"You're fatter," he said, looking at her critically, his small eyes shut -as if she were a picture and he an expert, "and you've got that nasty -red stuff on your lips. Oh, fie!" - -Mrs. Walbridge watched them happily, as she leant back in Hermione's -favourite old chair by the fire. There was something in this friendly, -busy youth that she loved. He gave her a safe feeling, and she decided, -as she watched his sparring with her daughter, that she would be glad to -see Grisel safely married to him. He was poor, she knew, but she had -unconsciously accepted his own ideas about his future, and knew that his -poverty was merely a temporary thing, and that he was headed straight -for power and wealth. Besides, power and wealth were not things that she -had ever greatly valued. - -Grisel was thinner, she went on thinking. She looked taller in her -beautifully fitting chestnut brown skirt and chiffon tan blouse. The -girl had changed. She looked more grown up, more of what her mother -innocently characterised as "a society girl." Her manner, too, was -different. She seemed at once a little bored and excited about -something. - -She had opened her dressing-case and taken out a variety of little -belongings and was darting about the room like, her mother thought, a -swallow, settling these things in their old places. A handsomely framed -photograph of her father (his gift on her last birthday) she put on the -mantelpiece, and turned with a little laugh. - -"Isn't Dad looking splendid," she said. "He's been motoring a lot, you -know, and it's done him a world of good." - -"Oh, I didn't know he went with you," her mother observed, surprised. -Grisel took a little silver and enamel cigarette box out of her pocket -and put it on the table. - -"He didn't go with us," she answered carelessly. "The Crichells had -their car, you know, and he and Clara used to knock about a bit." - -"Surely, my dear, you don't call Mrs. Crichell by her Christian name?" - -"Don't I? I call everybody by their Christian names--everyone does. The -old ones hate being 'Miss-ed'--reminds them of their age, you see. Even -Elsie's mother hated being called Mrs. Hulbert, but, of course, I -wouldn't call her Pansy! She really _is_ old. Must be as old as you, -dear, though I must say she doesn't look it." - -Oliver Wick glanced quickly at Mrs. Walbridge, but looked away in -relief, for he saw that she was untouched by the girl's careless remark, -and he realised with a pang of satisfaction that her sensitiveness lay -far from such matters as age and looks. - -"Did you see much of that Mrs. Crichell?" he asked, as she sat down and -lit a cigarette. She laughed. - -"Yes. I know you hate her, but she's really not so bad, and Mr. Crichell -and she entertained a good deal. They had an awfully nice house there." - -"I don't hate her," said Oliver Wick quietly, "but she's vulgar, and too -idle and empty-headed to be much good, or happy. Women like that are -always on the edge of making beasts of themselves, even if they don't do -it." - -"Oh, a Daniel come to judgment!" she jeered. "You seem very wise, this -afternoon." - -"Yes," he answered drily. "I'm always rather sage on Saturdays. Friday's -pay day, you know, at my shop, and nothing makes a man feel so wise as -money in his breeches pocket. You," he added, "have, on the contrary, -gained chiefly in folly, I should say." - -She laughed. "Have I? I'm not at all sure of that." - -There was something thoughtful in her voice and face, and her mother -looked at her wonderingly. - -Oliver's face was imperturbable. "Who's the man?" he asked, and she -actually jumped, so that her cigarette fell out of her amber holder to -the floor. - -"What d'you say?" she asked, as she picked up the cigarette. "Who was -the what?" - -"Man--the man you're contemplating marrying?" - -All that there was of the new and the strange in Griselda seemed to her -mother to flower in her answer to the young man's question. - -She threw back her head and laughed, her pretty throat shown to the best -advantage as she did so. Then coolly looking at Wick from under her -lashes in a consciously attractive way, she drawled: - -"I'm not going to tell you his name, though you're perfectly right, oh -shrewd young knight of the fountain pen." - -Wick was shrewd, but he was also very young, and Mrs. Walbridge felt a -little pang of pain as she saw how white he had grown and what a smitten -look had come to his face. After a second he rallied, and lit a -cigarette, but he had been badly hurt, and his face showed it as he -said, with a laugh: - -"That's a phase all attractive young girls go through--trying to make up -their minds to marry some rich man they don't like, before they have the -sense to settle down with the handsome object of their true affections." - -"The object being you, I suppose?" she retorted. - -"Grisel, Grisel," her mother protested gently. "You really go too far, -my dear." - -The girl laughed. "Poor mother. You're longing to tell me it isn't -womanly, aren't you? But it's very kind of you to have brought me the -violets, Oliver, and I'm glad to see you, and all that----" She held out -her hand carelessly, with something of the air of a stage queen, "but -I'm dining out, and must have a talk with mother before I dress, so I'm -afraid you must go now." - -He rose at once, apologising nervously and sensitively for having stayed -too long, and Mrs. Walbridge went down to the door with him. He was very -slow in getting into his coat, and she purposely did not look at him. -She knew he was suffering, and she had an absurd feeling that he was -hers, that she had written him--that she knew exactly what he was going -through, and what he was going to do. - -Then he opened the door and turned round, grinning broadly and holding -out his hand. - -"She got the first one in that round, didn't she?" he asked. "Never -mind, I'll get her yet, the young minx! Oh, my word," he added, -relapsing suddenly into helpless, conscious pathos: "What a little -beauty she is! My knees feel like wet tissue paper." - -Before she could speak he had bent and kissed her (for though he was not -very tall, he was taller than she), and was gone into the darkness. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -The Christmas Eve dinner party was rather a large one. Hermione and her -husband could not come, as they were obliged to dine with relations of -the Gaskell-Walkers. But the Twiss's were there, and Mr. and Mrs. -Crichell, and Paul and the Wicks, and, to Griselda's joy, the great -Bruce Collier honoured them with his presence. She knew that this -condescension was due to his having once met her coming out of the house -when he was on his way to see Paul. - -Walbridge had, as usual, helped by spending all his available money on -things of a showy and convivial nature. The quarterly gas bill was still -unpaid, and he was having serious trouble with his tailor, but he had -sent in a case of champagne, and a box of the best cigars money could -buy, and all sorts of impressive, though unnecessary dainties, such as -caviare, pâté de foie, brandied cherries, oysters and so on, besides a -fifteen-pound turkey, which quite put out of joint, as Grisel expressed -it, "the pope's nose of the poor little eleven-pounder mother had bought -for the occasion." - -Ferdie had been very fussy and tiresome ever since he came back from -Torquay, and at the last minute, distrustful of the new cook's powers, -he had insisted on getting a woman in for the Christmas Eve dinner. The -permanent cook wept all day, and went through the usual procedure of -reproaches and threats, but she finally quieted down, by the help of a -bottle of port, and the dinner really was excellent. - -At the last minute the table had had to be redecorated, because Ferdie -had been seized with a desire to have orchids. Mrs. Walbridge sat -patiently by and watched him remove her time-honoured design of holly -and mistletoe and smilax, and then arrange the lovely purple and mauve -things that she now saw for the first time in her life without a shop -front between her and them. She dared not ask the price; she dared not -offer to help him, for he was extraordinarily irritable, and in spite of -his look of renewed health and youth, moved to violent invective by the -slightest word or suggestion. She watched him now as he darted from side -to side of the table trying the effect of the different clear-glass -vases, full of the expensive flowers that his wife privately thought so -much less lovely than roses or sweet peas. - -He was looking very handsome, and had certainly renewed his youth in a -way that made her feel, as she raised her eyes to the glass that always -hung opposite his place at table, that she looked older and more dowdy -than ever. And yet there was something in his face that displeased her, -and seemed to give her an odd kind of warning. After a while she rose -and went quietly to the door. - -"Where are you going?" he asked sharply. - -"I'm going up to write a little." - -"Oh, rubbish! Go down to the kitchen and make sure that everything's all -right. That's far more important." - -"I've been down to the kitchen," she answered gently, with something in -her eyes that disconcerted him. "Everything is all right, and as you are -going to arrange the seats I'm going to write for a while." - -She went upstairs and closed the door, and sat down before her -work-table, where her lamp always stood nowadays filled and trimmed, -with a box of matches by its side. - - * * * * * - -Old Mrs. Wick, rather imposing in grey, with some fine lace, and a cap, -and a handsome old brooch of Irish paste and black enamel, necessarily -sat on Ferdie Walbridge's right at dinner. Mrs. Crichell, very handsome -in jade green velvet, sat on his left, as she had sat, Oliver -remembered, from his place on Mrs. Walbridge's left, that night in the -early autumn, when he had first dined at the house. - -Oliver was very proud of his old mother, and with good reason, for her -plain, strong face was by far the most arresting, apart from the mere -fact of superficial beauty, at the table. His little sister too, whose -soft red hair foamed over her head like scarlet soap-suds, bore the -proximity of three very good-looking young women remarkably well. She -was plainly by far the most intelligent of the four, and once or twice -when the celebrated Mr. Collier laid down the law with even more than -his usual cocksureness, little Jenny dashed in, as her delighted brother -thought, and wiped the floor with him. He was a pretentious, posing man, -Mr. Collier, disposing of such writers as Thomas Hardy and Meredith with -a few words of amused contempt. - -"Hardy has talent," he said, screwing his glass in his eye, and studying -Griselda's charming face with relish. "Of course, he writes well, but -he's very old-fashioned, and far too long-winded. There's not one of his -books that would not be better for a little judicious paring down." - -"And who," put in Jenny Wick's high, clear voice, "whom do you suggest -as a parer?" - -Collier glared at her, and Paul who, for some reason, had hardly taken -his eyes off his red-headed _vis-à-vis_, gave a sudden laugh, although -he had had no intention of doing so. - -"I like your sister," Maud Twiss said pleasantly, turning to Oliver, and -speaking in an undertone. "She's a dear little thing." - -"Isn't she," he answered, "very like me, don't you think?" - -And Maud, who knew him less well than the other members of the family, -was a little disconcerted, and blushed. She looked very handsome when -she blushed, and Crichell leant across the table to her, waving those -white hands of his in the way that was so singularly distasteful to -Wick. Once more the young man was reminded of things sprouting in dark -places, and then his quick imagination improved on this crude vision, -and he seemed to catch a glimpse of blind sea-worms writhing in some -sunless cavern. - -"When are you going to sit to me, Mrs. Twiss?" the painter asked. But -Twiss, who sat the other side of Jenny, leant over and answered for his -wife. - -"Never, Mr. Crichell. She's no time for portraits." - -Paul, who disliked his younger brother-in-law, sneered at this, and Maud -saw him. - -"I saw you yesterday, Paul," she said, without lowering her voice. "You -didn't see me, did you?" - -He turned to her with a little snarl. "Yesterday? No, I didn't." - -"I thought not. I was lunching at the Piccadilly Grill with Elynor -Twiss." - -Paul didn't answer, but he turned to Mrs. Wick and made some unimportant -remark to her. The old lady was amused by the situation, and she did not -like Paul, whereas Maud struck her as a kind, pretty young woman who -ought to be aided and abetted in her attack on a disagreeable, -pettish-minded brother. - -"No," she returned, in her sonorous voice, "I never did. Do you often go -to the Piccadilly Grill, Mr. Walbridge? I was there with Oliver the -other day." - -Paul was furious. He didn't mind bear baiting, but he did object to -being the bear, and Oliver, who knew his mother and her wicked ways, and -who had also caught a pained look in Mrs. Walbridge's eyes, leaned -across Maud and made a sign to the old lady. The sign consisted of -slipping the forefinger of his right hand down into his collar and -giving it a jerk as if he felt a little breathless. Mrs. Wick laughed. -She loved teasing, but this was an old signal used only when Oliver felt -that she really had gone far enough. So she nodded good-humouredly at -her son and let the subject of the Piccadilly Grill drop. - -After that the dinner went on pleasantly enough, and Mrs. Walbridge saw -with pleasure that Ferdie really seemed to be enjoying himself. Mr. -Walbridge, like everybody else, had the qualities of his defects, and he -was a very good host. - -Mrs. Wick was old and plain, and did not interest him in the least, but -she was his guest, and he was charming to her--charming, that is, as far -as a man may be said to be charming to a woman who is not at all charmed -by him. Pretty Mrs. Crichell, on his left, talked a good deal to Moreton -Twiss, who admired and took pleasure in her beauty, as every man ought -always to admire and take pleasure in the beauty of any pretty woman. -To do them justice, most of them do. - -Grisel, of all the people at the table, seemed the least amused, Wick -thought. Mr. Collier plainly admired her, but she seemed to derive less -satisfaction from this circumstance than might have been expected, and -he knew that she had never liked Crichell, who sat on her right. When -her brilliant little face was in repose, it had a new look of fatigue -and boredom. Wick watched her constantly throughout dinner, for he was -hampered by no wish to conceal his admiration, and he came to the -conclusion that she was not only preoccupied, but worried about -something. He wondered if Walbridge knew the cause of this worry, for -the girl turned more than once towards her father, and looked at him in -a way that puzzled her observer. - -They went upstairs for coffee, the girls' sitting-room being not only -larger and pleasanter than the drawing-room, but the piano also being -there, and when the men had come in and Oliver made a bee-line for -Grisel, he found that she looked even more nervous and tired than he had -thought. - -"What's the matter?" he asked. - -She shook her head. "Tired. Besides it's very warm in here." - -"Come and sit by the window." - -She obeyed him listlessly, and they sat down in the window seat that -looked down over the little path leading round the house to the kitchen -door. - -"I do wish," the girl burst out suddenly, "that mother wouldn't have the -Crichells here." - -He stared at her. "But I thought you liked her. Why do you call her by -her Christian name if you don't?" - -"I don't say I don't like her. I saw you looking at his hands at dinner. -Aren't they beastly?" - -"Horrid. Has he done anything--anything you don't like?" - -She shook her head. "Oh, no. But I--I wish they hadn't come." - -As she spoke Wick's sister began to play, something very modern, of -which he could make neither head nor tail. But she played brilliantly, -and with what seemed almost unequalled facility, although he knew what -hours of daily hard work went to its perfection. - -Grisel leant back in her corner, and shut her eyes for a minute. She was -really pale, and looked seriously troubled and puzzled. He turned and -watched the listening group round the fire. Mrs. Crichell lay back in a -low chair, her beautiful arms hanging loose over its sides. She was -really lovely, the young man thought--as lovely, that is, as a woman of -forty could possibly be, and Mr. Collier evidently agreed with him, for -his eyes were fixed on her. Crichell had taken up a magazine, folded -back the last page, and was rapidly sketching Maud Twiss, who sat -looking away from him and did not see what he was doing. Twiss had gone -to the telephone and Paul stood near the piano, watching Jenny, as her -red head bobbed funnily over the keys as she played. - -Mrs. Walbridge had left the room, and Walbridge stood leaning against -the door in a pose often drawn by du Maurier in the eighties. - -"I say," Wick whispered to Grisel, hoping to make her laugh, "your -father is most awfully good-looking. Perfectly splendid to-night, isn't -he?" - -She gave a little pettish start. "Oh, do be quiet," she snapped. "If -you knew how sick and tired I was of having father's good looks drummed -into me----" - -She rose and marched over to the chair her mother had left, and sat -down, staring at her father, as if she disliked him intensely. - -Wick sat still, feeling very much injured, for, after all, most girls -would like to hear their father praised--at least, most pretty girls. Of -course, if she had been plain, he reflected gravely, one could -understand her being so shirty. - -As Jenny stopped playing, Mrs. Walbridge came back into the room, and -approached Mrs. Crichell. - -"I'm so sorry," she said kindly, "but someone has just telephoned to -your husband from his mother's house and asked if he's not going on -there." - -Mrs. Crichell unfurled her fan, which was of black feathers like some -big wing. "Dear me, how tiresome!" she said. "He's having such a good -time, sketching Maud, and she doesn't even see him. Walter," she called. - -Crichell turned. "Yes?" - -She gave him the message, and he rose without any comment. "You'll let -me take this magazine with me, Mrs. Walbridge?" he asked. - -Maud turned and stared at him. She was a little annoyed, but plainly -thought the matter not worth making a fuss about, and Mrs. Crichell rose -and took up her gloves, and gave herself a little shake more than ever -like a sleek pigeon that has been sitting in the sun. - -"Oh, need you go too?" Mrs. Walbridge asked, hospitably. - -She hesitated. "No--I don't know--Walter, what d'you think?" - -"I think," he said coldly, "you might as well stay where you are. My -mother is not well," he explained to his hostess, "and she's quite -alone." - -Ferdie Walbridge came forward. "Have a whisky and soda before you go, -old man," he said warmly. "I'll bring Mrs. Crichell home in a taxi. We -want her to sing for us; we couldn't think of letting her go yet." - -Crichell stood with his back towards Oliver Wick, and he had clasped his -hands behind him in a way he had. Wick did not catch what he said in -reply to this remark, but noticed his hands move, and again thought of -the writhing of the unpleasant sea-worms. - -When her husband had gone, Mrs. Crichell sang, accompanying herself; or -rather she cooed little Spanish and Mexican ballads, the words of which -no one present could understand, although their meaning was made fairly -clear by the extreme eloquence of her face and gestures. - -"That's very clever," old Mrs. Wick commented to Moreton Twiss who sat -near her. - -"It's very nearly wonderful," the old woman insisted gently. - -Twiss looked at her, his good-looking, blue-chinned face rather -critical. "Oh, well, if you admire it," he said, "I've nothing more to -say. Personally I don't. In fact," he added, confidentially, leaning -forward, "I can't bear the woman, so probably I'm unfair to her -singing." - -Later in the evening Jenny Wick accompanied Paul, as he sang some old -ballads full of a kind of academic gruesomeness. He had, singularly, a -delightfully warm baritone voice, and sang well. His rendering of "Lord -Edward My Son" was extremely fine, and little Jenny Wick was delighted, -and they arranged to meet during the holidays so that she might show him -a lot of queer Basque songs that her father had collected years ago. - -Mrs. Wick and Mrs. Walbridge had a long talk before the evening was -over, and though they were intensely reserved women in different ways, -the observant Oliver saw with delight that their attitude showed promise -of a real friendship. - -When he said good-night to Mrs. Walbridge, he invited her to kiss him, -but this she refused to do, patting his cheek instead. - -It was late, and the Twisses and Mr. Collier had gone long since. Mrs. -Wick and her daughter and son left at the same time that Mrs. Crichell -and Mr. Walbridge started out on their hunt for a taxi, for none had -been on the rank when they telephoned. - -The Crichells lived in Hamilton Terrace, so the walk would not be very -long, and when finally at the corner a belated taxi did draw up and -showed signs of being willing to accept a fare, Mrs. Crichell refused to -take it. - -"I really live only just round the corner," she said kindly to the old -woman, "and it's a long way to Baker Street. Do take it, Mrs. Wick." - -So the three Wicks said "Good-night," and got into the taxi, and the -other two walked on. - -"Well, mother," the young man asked, putting an arm round each of his -companions as he sat bodkin between them, "did you enjoy your evening?" - -"I did, son," she returned. "What a queer world it is! To think that all -of us will be just a handful of churchyard mould, somewhere, in a few -years' time." - -Jenny burst out laughing. "And may I ask which of the guests to-night -struck you as being particularly mouldy?" - -But Mrs. Wick was serious. "Don't try to be funny, Jenny," she answered -gravely. "It really struck me that it is strange, when you come to think -of it, how important we all feel, and what rubbish we all are." After a -minute she added, with apparent irrelevance, "That Violet Walbridge of -yours is a fine, brave little soul, Olly. I like her." - -"I knew you would. And what," the young man added, "did you think of -your future daughter-in-law?" - -"She's very pretty, but--you'll be annoyed with me for saying so--but I -should like her better if she were more like her mother." - -The young man gave her a little squeeze. "Her mother's twice the woman -she is, of course. But then, on the other hand," he added, "she's young, -and has plenty of time to improve." - -The cab had stopped at Baker Street Station, and as he jumped out and -turned to help the old lady, he added, "You wouldn't like me to marry -Mrs. Walbridge, even if she was free, would you? She really _is_ a -little too old for me!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -The day after Christmas--a day spent by the "Happy House" people at -Campden Hill, where, also, Maud and her husband and little Hilary were -present--Violet Walbridge achieved the business talk with her husband -that she had had in her mind ever since his return, and which, in some -way difficult to define, he seemed to be trying to escape. It was late, -in the afternoon of Boxing Day, and the others had gone to a matinée, -and he was to dine with the Crichells and go to a play in the evening. -He was resting. He seemed to rest a good deal lately, she noticed, and -when she had asked Grisel that morning if it seemed to her to mean that -he was not feeling quite well, the girl had surprised her by laughing in -a new, harsh way, and giving her a hasty, unexpected kiss. - -"It's only a beauty cure, darling," she said. "Can't you see that? He -takes more care of his looks nowadays than any woman, except perhaps -Clara Crichell." - -"How do you mean, dear?" For Mrs. Walbridge was singularly ignorant -about such matters, and in all her life had used no more subtle cosmetic -than ordinary cold cream, and water and soap. - -"Clara! My goodness, I've seen her having it done. A woman comes to her -every morning of her life--a Mrs. Bryant here in town, and a Frenchwoman -at Torquay, and they rub grease into her face and knead it and flap it -with wet cotton wool, and tap it with litch bags full of dried leaves -and herbs soaked in something. Oh, it's a wonderful business." The girl -tossed her head with the contempt of her nineteen years for such -devices. "I don't like her much, mother," she added, suddenly, with a -change of voice, turning to the glass and doing something to her smooth -hair. - -Mrs. Walbridge nodded. "I know. I don't think I like her much either. -But she's very pretty. People enjoy meeting her, and your father seems -to have taken a fancy to her." - -Griselda had said no more, but when the lady's name came up on Boxing -Day between Ferdie and herself, Violet Walbridge remembered what her -daughter had said. Her husband had had a sleep, she knew, but when she -heard him moving about over her head, as she sat in the drawing-room -sewing, she rose, folded her work and went upstairs. He was sitting in -front of the dressing-table pouring some yellow liquid over his hair -with one hand, while, with the other, he rubbed. The room smelt of -orange flowers. - -"Ferdie," she began, sitting down near him, "I want to have a little -talk with you." - -He frowned and set down his bottle. "Oh, dear me," he protested. "I do -wish you'd let me alone. This is holiday time. No one wants to talk -business at Christmas." - -But she was firm, and put on her glasses, and opened the little notebook -she had brought with her. "I'm sorry," she said, "but we really must -settle matters. I'm sure I don't like it any more than you do, Ferdie, -and, besides, what I have to say is--is very unpleasant, and difficult -for me." - -He stopped rubbing his wavy hair, which stood up tumbled all over his -head, giving him an absurdly boyish, helpless look. "Don't tell me this -cook's going to leave!" - -She shook her head. "No, it's worse than that. I've been worried for a -long time now, but I didn't like to trouble you, because you weren't -well--and then--the holidays, and Grisel coming home, and all. But I -really can't put it off any longer." - -So she told him, as he sat there at her little old dressing-table -wrapped in a fine, new, brocaded dressing-gown, that he had bought, he -said, in Torquay, but which, nevertheless, she had seen, in folding it -that morning, had been made by Charvet in Paris. He looked (although the -simile didn't occur to her) like a rather battered Greek statue--rather -injured and scratched old statue, not quite free from mould, and the -effects of damp and sun, but the lines of him were splendid, and the -late afternoon light very favourable. - -She told him--and after the first he listened without comment--about the -gradual decrease of her sales, and her slowly coming to realise that -this was the result not only of the change in the taste of the younger -generation, but of her own basic old-fashionedness. - -"I tried, you know, to brighten up my style in 'Lord Effingham,' and I -failed." - -He looked at her oddly, as he sat with his chin on his breast. "I know," -he said, not unkindly. "I was sorry about that. Of course, we're none of -us as young as we used to be, Violet." - -She was considered by her family to be unobservant, because she rarely -mentioned the little things she saw, but she had always seen a good -deal, and now she did not miss the satisfied little glance he gave to -his face in the mirror. He felt, she knew, that he himself was the -exception to that horrid rule about growing older, and for a moment she -felt the ageing woman's exasperation at the greater stability of men's -looks. Her exasperation, however, was very mild, and quite kindly. - -Then she showed him Messrs. Lubbock & Payne's letter, and explained -about the five hundred pounds. - -"How much have you got left of that?" he asked. - -"Exactly two hundred. There was the quarter's rent, and the man called -twice about the gas, so I had to pay him, and the piano bill came, and -then there were your pyjamas, and Melton came himself about your last -suits, and was really rather unpleasant, so I paid him twenty pounds on -account. Then there was a little matter in which I had to help one of -the boys." - -She waited, expecting him to make some disagreeable remark about her -eternal ability and willingness to go to the boys' rescue, but to her -surprise he said nothing, and sat with folded arms, listening in -silence. - -"Grisel had to have one or two things," she went on, after a moment, -"and then I wanted to help Maud get her things for the new baby, and Guy -wanted ten pounds, poor boy. I've written it all down here. I'll leave -it with you, Ferdie. And then Christmas, you know, was rather expensive, -and I don't," she added honestly, "seem very clever at getting things -cheap." Still he didn't answer, and something in his silence gave her a -little sensation of fear. "Are you listening?" she asked timidly. - -He rose and walked about the room, the tassels of his dressing-gown -trailing after him, his head down. She had expected him to scold, even -to rail at her, and she had gathered up her courage to meet such a -scene, but this queer silence, and the unmistakable look of pity in his -face were harder to bear than any amount of reproaches or anger would -have been. - -She suddenly felt very old, and very tired, and very helpless. She had -been independent and self-reliant for over a quarter of a century, ever -since, in fact, she had first found out what her handsome husband really -was. But now at this crisis she wanted--she longed for some kind, strong -person to take the reins out of her weary hands and drive the coach for -her for a while. - -"You mean then," he said at last, "that if this new book fails, you--you -won't be selling any others?" - -She hesitated. "If this one should be good they _might_ make another -contract," she said. "I don't know. I'm afraid it's very bad, although -it seems to come to me easily and quickly. - -"But what are you going to do?" he asked, turning round and looking at -her, still with that grave, disconcerting kindness that seemed so far -off, as if it had nothing to do with him. She made a little gesture with -her hands. - -"I don't know, Ferdie. What do _you_ think we had better do?" - -"I think," he began slowly--then his face cleared. "There's the -telephone bell," he cried. "It's--it's a man about a speculation. I'll -just go down and see." He hurried downstairs. When he came back he was -smiling, and had an almost silly aspect of happiness. - -She caught her breath. What if, after all, now, when she had failed, -Ferdie was going to be successful and make up for all her years of -struggle! "Is it all right?" she asked. - -"All right? Oh, yes." He sat down again and began to comb his hair, -parting it with infinite care, skilfully avoiding, she noticed, the thin -place at the crown. - -"I'll think all this over, my dear," he said hastily, as the clock -struck half-past six. "I must dress now. We're dining early. By the way, -I hope you aren't encouraging any nonsense with that journalist -fellow--with Grisel, I mean." - -"Oliver Wick? I shouldn't know how to encourage or discourage," she -answered, "even if I wanted to do either. Times have changed since our -day, Ferdie." - -"My God, yes; they have indeed!" he agreed. "But there must be no -nonsense about her marrying that boy. I thought she seemed a little -lackadaisical and dull since we got back, and I heard her talking to him -on the telephone this morning. It would be a great pity to throw her -away on a little nobody like him." This was one of his ducal moments, -and she never protested against his assumption that he belonged to the -great ones of the earth. So she said nothing, and when he had come back -from turning on the water in the bathroom, she got up, knowing that he -wished to be alone. - -"Do you think--do you think you can think of something?" she asked, as -she reached the door. "I was wondering if you would mind if we let the -house and moved to some cheaper one." - -"No, no, no," he burst out. "We'll do nothing of the kind. That's -perfectly impossible." - -A little touched by his unexpected vehemence, she smiled back at him. - -"I didn't know you cared so much for poor old 'Happy House,'" she said. - -"Run along, my dear girl. I must dress. Don't bother your head. Things -will turn out all right. If I'm not very much mistaken, Sir John -Barclay is going to ask Grisel to marry him. If he does, she'll be the -luckiest girl alive." - -Mrs. Walbridge stared at him, her face a sudden, distressing red. "Oh, -Ferdie! But he's an old man!" - -Walbridge, who had reached the bathroom door, drew himself up, playing -shoulders and chest, and his fine, big, muscular throat. "Nonsense! He's -only fifty-four. _I'm_ fifty-four!" - -She nodded and said no more. He was fifty-five, but that didn't matter -one way or the other, she felt. - -As she went downstairs the telephone again rang and she answered it. It -was Grisel, apparently in a great hurry. - -"Mother, darling, I've just met Oliver, and he says he's coming to the -house this evening--and I don't want to see him." - -"Why, dear?" her mother asked, looking gently and kindly at the -telephone. - -"Well--I can't go into it on the telephone--I'm telephoning you from the -Underground. Sir John Barclay is here. He was at the play too, you know, -and I'm dining with him. Yes, alone. Yes I _am_, mother. No, I don't -have to dress, we're going to a grill-room somewhere. Oh, please don't -fuss!" The girl's voice was irritable and sharp. "Do you understand? -Tell Oliver I can't get back." - -"I shall tell him," Mrs. Walbridge said firmly, "that you're dining with -Sir John Barclay." - -Grisel made a little inarticulate sound, and then her mother heard her -sigh impatiently. "All right. Just as you like. It doesn't matter, but -for goodness' sake don't let him stay late. I must go now, darling. -You'll make it all right, won't you? Good-bye." - -She rang off, and her mother stood looking at the telephone as if it -were a human being, as most people have found themselves doing at one -time or other. - -She dined alone, not even seeing Walbridge before he slipped out while -she was in her attic-room writing. Very soon after dinner Oliver -arrived, and although he said little and insisted on being very merry, -telling her some ridiculous stories, she had an unhappy evening. She had -tried to avoid telling him where Grisel was, but it had been impossible, -for there was something uncanny about him, he was such a good guesser, -and as soon as she had explained that Griselda was out, he had known all -about it. - -"Dining with Sir John Barclay, I suppose, in some grill-room," he said -shortly. - -"Yes. He seems," she added, "to be a charming old gentleman." - -"Oh, the devil! Old gentleman indeed!" he went on, without apologising. -"I saw him to-day as they came out of the theatre. I knew where they -were going, you see, and managed to get round there just as the play was -out. He's a fine-looking man, and a gentleman, and I'd like to wring his -neck." - -"Surely," she said, not insincerely, for her husband's impressions were, -she knew, not always very accurate, "why shouldn't an old man--for he is -old compared to Grisel--like to take a pretty girl out to dinner?" - -Wick cocked his head on one side, and deliberately shut one eye in a way -that would have been vulgar if he had been vulgar himself. - -"No, no, Mrs. Walbridge, that won't do, that won't do at all," he said, -in a way that made her laugh. "You know as well as I do that Grisel's a -minx. She's trying to make up her mind to marry Sir John Barclay because -he's rich and she doesn't want to see me because----" he broke off -suddenly and his voice changed to one of great softness, "she's almost -half in love with me already." - -Mrs. Walbridge clasped her hands and looked at him nervously. "I don't -think that's fair," she said, "to say that about a young girl." - -"Oh, my hat! Anything's fair to a man who's fighting for his life--and -that's me. Oh, yes. I know it sounds absurd and anyone but you would -laugh at me. But I _am_ fighting for my life, and what's more," he said -with finality, rising as if to emphasise his speech, "I'm going to win. -I'm going to get her. She's a spoilt, selfish, mercenary little minx, -but I love her and I'm going to change her into an angel." - -Mrs. Walbridge did not like to have her baby called mercenary, and -spoilt, and selfish. Perhaps she liked it less for knowing that it was -true, but the young man swept away her protests by further invective, -and finally she was bound to admit that the girl's long stay with the -rich and luxury-loving Fords had not done her any good. Wick smiled, and -looked at the clock. - -"Done her good! It's nearly ruined her. Most men would give her up in -disgust since she's been back this time--but not me. I'll go now, or -she'll be coming in." - -They shook hands and as he got to the door he looked round with a -comical groan. "If only," he said, "if only she wasn't so easy to look -at." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Griselda, during several days, was hardly at home at all. The Fords were -still in town; she had lunched one day in Queen Anne Street, the next at -Campden Hill, and nearly every night the Fords fetched her to take her -to a play or a party. - -Mrs. Walbridge could, of course, have forced the girl into a -confidential talk, but she was not of the kind who do force people to -talk against their will, and it was very plain to her that her daughter -was avoiding her, although the girl was oddly enough at the same time -full of little sudden bursts of affection and unusually generous in the -matter of little passing hugs and kisses for her mother. - -Mrs. Walbridge was less troubled than she otherwise would have been by -this preoccupation of her daughter, owing to the fact that she herself -was very much taken up with the new book she was writing. She had made -several attempts, for she felt weighed down with gratitude to her -publisher in sending her the cheque before the book was written, and she -had rather lost sight of the fact that this, kind though it was, was in -reality a _douceur_ to sweeten the hard fact of her dismissal from their -list of authors. She had begun and destroyed several novels before she -got really started, and now this new one was filling her mind day and -night, although she felt grave doubts as to whether it was going to be -good. It was dreadful to her to reflect that the book might turn out as -much of a failure as "Lord Effingham" had been, and thus cause pecuniary -loss to Mr. Lubbock and Mr. Payne. So she worked day and night, her pen -flying over the paper in a way that roused Paul's grave doubts as to the -results of her labour. - -"You can't possibly write a book that way, mother," the young man said -one day when he had come up to her study to have her mend a glove that -he had split. "You ought to see the way Collier writes. Works for hours -over one bit, and weighs every word." - -Mrs. Walbridge said nothing, for it would not have been any good, she -thought. She did not express her conviction that the result of Mr. Bruce -Collier's word-weighing was hardly worth while, but, as she stitched at -the glove, the young man, who was in a good mood, went on, not unkindly, -to encourage her, as he expressed it, to take more pains with her work. -He did not know that her contract with Lubbock & Payne had come to an -end, with no prospect of renewal. She had not again referred the matter -to her husband, and he had not mentioned the subject to her. She was -living in the curious isolation of a writer engaged in congenial work. -She was deliberately allowing her mind to rest from pecuniary cares for -a few days, in order that her novel might progress satisfactorily. - -"You ought to work regularly," Paul explained. It was Sunday morning, -and he looked very smart, turned out as he was for a luncheon party -after church parade. "Collier does. And I met Miss Potter, who writes -about mediæval Constantinople--her books sell enormously--and she told -me that she writes as regularly as she eats her meals--two hours in the -morning and two hours in the afternoon. That's what keeps her brain so -fresh." - -Mrs. Walbridge, who had read one of the books in question and did not -consider it remarkable for mental freshness, stitched silently, and bit -off the thread with her sharp little teeth. - -"My dear boy," she said, "when you were children I wrote every afternoon -for four solid hours. I couldn't write in the morning because I had to -help make the beds, and do the marketing, and wash and dress you all, -and get some of you off to school and others out for a walk with either -poor Caroline, or Fanny Perkins. Then I had to cook your father's lunch -myself, because he always had a delicate stomach; and when was I to do -any work in the morning to keep my brain fresh?" - -Paul was surprised. His mother so rarely defended herself, and he felt -under the mild humorousness of her manner, a distinct appreciation of -the fact that he had made rather a fool of himself by his admonition. -Feeling more like a son, and less like a superior being than he had felt -for some years, he drew on the gloves with a little laugh. - -"I daresay you are right," he admitted. "I didn't realise all that. But -whatever you did in those days you're certainly not writing like that on -this book. Twice now when I've come in very late I've seen the light -under this door, and you're looking very tired." - -She _was_ very tired, and her eyes filled with tears at the unexpected -sign of interest. - -"Will you be back to lunch? Oh, no. You told me you wouldn't. I'll walk -over and get Caroline. A little fresh air will do me good." - -He frowned. "Where's Grisel? I've not seen her for days. Doesn't she -ever stay in nowadays?" - -"She's lunching at the Henry Twisses with Moreton and Maud." - -"And where's father?" He glanced sharply at her as he spoke. She took up -her pen and pulled a hair off its nib. - -"I think he said he was lunching with the Crichells." - -"No, he's not. Crichell went to Birmingham yesterday about his one-man -show." - -"Did he?" she said indifferently. "I wasn't really listening. Tell -Jessie to call me at twelve, will you? I lose track of time," she added -apologetically, "when I'm shut away up here." - -The young man went out, and she settled down again to her work. The -holidays were nearly over, and her book was approaching its end. - -"I do hope," she said, as Jessie called her and she went down to dress -for going to fetch Caroline Breeze, "I do hope it'll be good." - -The house was very quiet. It struck her as she went downstairs, with her -jacket and hat on, that it was quieter than a house ought to be with two -young people living in it. She longed suddenly for Guy--her naughty boy. -He was troublesome, but he was pleasantly noisy, and though he had no -voice like Paul, she liked hearing him sing, and even whistle, as he -went up and down the stairs, and his untidy hats and gloves in the hall -looked friendly and hearty somehow. - -She met Miss Breeze as she turned off Albany Street, and they walked -back together. - -"I've seen nothing of you lately," Miss Breeze complained pleasantly. "I -was thinking in church this morning--during the sermon that is--that I -should be glad when the holidays are over." - -"It's more my book than the holidays. Oh, Caroline, I'm so worried about -it." - -Miss Breeze, who was rather pathetically dressed for church in all her -best clothes, looked anxiously down at her friend. - -"Dear me, Violet, I do hope you've not been trying to write one of those -horrid modern books. Mrs. Barker lent me several the other day, and I do -think it's quite wrong to write such books. I read two of Rosa Carey's -after them, just to take the taste out of my mouth." - -Mrs. Walbridge shook her head. "Oh, no, of course I wouldn't do such a -thing as that. But I'm afraid it isn't anything like so good as my best -books, although I must say I'm enjoying writing it." She frowned in a -puzzled way. "If only it could be good, and Mr. Lubbock would make a new -contract with me!" - -The two friends walked quietly on in the mild winter morning, discussing -the probability of the new book pleasing Mr. Lubbock and Mr. Payne. It -never occurred to Miss Breeze to ask to be allowed to look at the -manuscript, nor to Mrs. Walbridge to suggest reading a part of it aloud -to her. Mrs. Walbridge had never read one word of her own work aloud to -a soul since the very early days in Tooting Bec, when she sat on a sofa -with her, as yet, unchipped Greek god beside her, and read him the most -sentimental bits of "Queenie's Promise." - -The two women had a long quiet day together, and then, as no one came in -at supper time, they had a boiled egg and a cup of tea apiece, and went -out for a little walk in the dark, a mild pleasure to which Mrs. -Walbridge was rather attached, although she had been very seldom able to -gratify it, owing to the little trammels of family life. It gave her an -indefinable pleasure to see the lights behind drawn curtains, and to -catch an occasional glimpse of a cosy fire through forgotten windows; -she liked to see people--happy, chattering people--opening their own -house door with keys and going into the shelter and comfort of their own -homes. There was a clear, poetic little thrill for her in a sight that -exasperate many people--that of humble lovers bare-facedly embracing at -street corners. Even overfed old ladies leading frightful pugs and -moth-eaten Scotch terriers seemed to ring a little bell in her heart, -but these, of course, were faces of the morning. However, there were -several openings of doors that happened opportunely that evening for her -benefit, and one charming picture of three white-shod, white-frocked -children racing down a high flight of steps screaming with rapture at -meeting their father who, when his hat was knocked off by their -onslaught, revealed a bald and shining head, and a fat plebeian face, -but whom the children obviously adored. The little Walbridges had never -greeted their father in this way, and she rather envied the protesting -mother, who stood at the top of the steps. - -"It's very pleasant walking at night," the kind Caroline, who really -hated it, exclaimed, as this particular door closed on the happy family. -And Mrs. Walbridge gave her arm a little squeeze and did not speak. - -Caroline's tall and gaunt and forbidding person was yet shy and full of -old-fashioned tremors. It caused her real fear to be out alone after -nightfall, so Mrs. Walbridge accompanied her to her door, and went back -to "Happy House" alone. She had forgotten her key, and so knocked on the -panels of the door with her knuckles. Someone was in the drawing-room -and was, she thought, sure to hear her. No one did hear at first, and, -after a moment, she knocked again. Presently the door opened and -Griselda let her in. The girl had been crying, and her usually smooth -hair was untidy and damp-looking. But when they were in the -drawing-room, and before her mother could ask her what was the matter, -she burst into a little laugh. - -"Well, mother dear, you must give me your blessing, for I'm engaged to -be married." - -Mrs. Walbridge sat down and took off her glasses. She knew that the girl -was on the verge of an uncontrollable breakdown, and it was her nature -to discourage uncontrollable breakdowns. - -"Are you, my dear?" she asked quietly. "Of course you've my blessing. I -suppose it's Sir John Barclay. Haven't I had two daughters married -before, and don't I know the signs?" Her little joke did its duty, and -quieted Grisel. - -"But you've never even seen him--Sir John--John I mean." - -"I've heard about him from your father, and from Mrs. Ford. They say -he's charming." - -The girl rose and began to smooth her hair before the glass. - -"He is," she said. "He's a darling. Oh, I forgot to show you this," and -she held out her little left hand on which hung a huge ruby in a ring -far too big for her. "It's got to be made smaller," she said. "Not the -ruby, but the ring," and she laughed, and the laugh sounded more natural -this time. - -Mrs. Walbridge rose and kissed her. "Well, my dear," she said, "it'll be -very funny to hear you called 'my Lady,' but I don't mind confessing to -you that I think Sir John, however nice he may be, is a very lucky man. -Come along, let's have a cup of cocoa." - -Both maids were out, so they went down into the quiet, clean kitchen, -lit the gas-ring, and had a little feast such as they had had many times -before. - -Violet Walbridge had described hundreds of sentimental scenes between -newly engaged girls and their mothers, but she did not herself behave in -the least as one of her characters would have done, for, instead of -provoking a scene, and confidences and tears, and a display of back -hair, such as she had been rather fond of in her novels, she carefully -avoided all reference to the signs of tears on her daughter's face, and -they talked only of the most matter of fact aspects of the engagement. -Sir John was going to Argentina as soon as the authorities would let -him, it seemed, and wanted the wedding to be in September, immediately -after he returned. - -"I was awfully afraid," the girl added naïvely, "that he was going to -marry me now, and take me with him to South America." - -Her mother sipped her cocoa reflectively, and did not raise the question -of the exact meaning of the word afraid. - -"Oh, no," she said, "much nicer in every way to wait till he comes back. -I think your father will be pleased; he seems to like him very much." - -"Ye-e-e-s." Grisel looked up quickly from her ring, which she was -twisting round her finger in the lamp light. "Oh, yes. Father will be -pleased." - -"They are great friends, aren't they?" her mother asked, as the clock -struck half-past ten. - -Grisel hesitated. "Well, I don't know that they are great friends," she -said in a thoughtful voice. "Sir John is very different from father, you -know. He's very dignified and rather stern, and he couldn't bear the -Crichells. But father likes him, anyhow----" - -"Well, come along, dear, we must get to bed. I don't know where anyone -in the household is, but they've got keys, of course." - -"Poor mother, you've been alone all day." There was sudden compunction -in Grisel's voice as they went up the dark stairs to the ground floor. - -"Oh, no. I haven't. I've not been alone at all," the mother answered -gaily. "Caroline came to lunch and stayed all the afternoon. I just -walked home with her----" - -She would have liked to go into her child's bedroom with her on that -important evening of her life, and help her undress, and even brush her -hair, as one of the mothers in her own books would have done. But though -she was old-fashioned herself, she knew that her daughter was not. So -they kissed on the landing, and separated for the night without any -further display of sentiment. But it was a long, long time before Violet -Walbridge slept that Sunday. At half-past twelve she crept out and saw -the light still burning in Grisel's room, and at two she did the same -thing. Finally, knowing that she could not sleep, she put on her -dressing-gown and padded softly upstairs in her old felt slippers to the -room in the attic, and, having lit her lamp, did two hours hard work, -while the winter sky was gradually drained of its darkness, and the -clear grey that is neither darkness nor light took the place of the -night, to give way slowly, as if reluctantly, to the morning. - -She wrote rapidly, her face white and sharp, bent over the paper. She -had forgotten now her sad conviction of the book's worthlessness. Words -came out in a torrent, as if independently of herself, and her hand -struggled to keep up with her ideas. She knew that this was the wrong -way to write--that the great novelists whom she so admired worked -carefully, measuring their words, weighing each one as if it was a -pearl--her own facility having always been like that of an older child -telling tales by the fire to the little ones. She had connected the -mediocrity of her work with this fatal ease of narration. She had been -scorned kindly (for one of her troubles had never been that horrid one -of envy and bitterness in the minds of others) for this effortless -facility, and she knew it. But now she could no more have held back for -what she called polishing her phrases than a little brook in full -freshet forcing itself into a pool. On and on she wrote, forgetting -fatigue, forgetting her troubles, forgetting everything but the fate of -the people she was describing, and at last, just as the clock struck -five, her pen wrote "finis" to her twenty-third novel, and laid itself -down. She sat for a moment staring at the paper, suddenly very tired, -and conscious that her feet were numb with cold. She went to the window -and looked out into the livid unfriendly light, and then, stuffing the -manuscript into the drawer of her table, she crept downstairs. - -As she went back to her room, it occurred to her that she had not heard -Ferdie come in. He had slept on a camp bed in his dressing-room since -his return, because of his cough, which, he said, troubled him a good -deal at night. - -She opened his door softly. He lay there asleep, with the growing -daylight falling on his face. She stood for a moment, looking at him, -wondering that she had not heard him come in, reproaching herself mildly -for her indifference to him, and deliberately recalling him as he had -been in the old days, when she first knew him. - -How handsome he had been! She remembered the day--it was in winter -too--when she had crept downstairs in the old house in Russell Street, -and joined him in a musty, smelling, old "growler," that took them to -the train for High Wycombe, where they had been married before lunch. -Poor Ferdie! He had failed her utterly; she had suffered, and suffered -silently; but as she looked at him there as he slept, her eyes filled -with tears. He looked very lonely, very pathetic somehow, and helpless. -The thin place shone out from his tumbled hair, and for a moment she was -gripped by the helpless pathos of the briefness of life, of the -inexorable march gravewards of every human being. Poor Ferdie, she -thought again, as she went sadly back to bed. - -She had no doubt failed him, too, and now they were both old. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -As Mrs. Walbridge went down to breakfast the next morning, she was -conscious of a hope that Paul would not be too pleased about his -sister's engagement. She had not stopped to analyse her feeling, but it -was not an unkind one. For Paul to be greatly pleased, would, she knew, -mean that the worst side of his nature was touched by the event. So it -was with some relief that she found the young man and his sister in the -dining-room quarrelling. - -"It's disgraceful," he declared, as she opened the door. "He's nearly -old enough to be your grandfather." - -Mrs. Walbridge's heart gave a thump of pleasure at this speech, not that -she dreamed of his words having any influence on Grisel, but because -honest indignation over an abstract right or wrong was very rarely -roused in her son. - -"Paul, Paul," she said gently, as she rang the bell and sat down behind -the old-fashioned, acorn-topped, silver-plated tea equipage. -"Good-morning, children." - -Grisel kissed her and sat down at her place near the door, the chair -with its back to the fire had always been Paul's. - -"My romantic brother feels that I am wasting my young life in marrying -Sir John Barclay," she declared, laughing lightly. - -Paul grunted, and unfolded the morning paper. "There are plenty of men -who aren't beggars. I _do_ call it disgusting of Grisel to marry an old -man simply because he's rich." - -He looked younger and softer in his unexpected anger, and his mother's -eyes rested on him with an odd expression of surprised relief. "He's -right in theory, you know, darling," she agreed, turning to the girl. -"Everybody'll say the same thing." - -Grisel gave her ring a twist, and said nothing till the door had closed -on the maid. Then she helped herself to butter. "Oh, I know. Crabbed age -and youth--but Sir John--John, I mean--isn't crabbed--that's just the -point. He's a perfectly charming man, and everyone says so, mother, and -he's ever so young in some ways. He's worth," she added, with an odd -little flush of humility, "worth a dozen of me." - -"Nobody denies that," put in Paul, taking his tea from his mother. -"You're a useless little baggage enough, everyone knows that. And I -shouldn't say a word if there was any chance of you even really liking -him, to say nothing of--of----" He broke off, and added gravely, as if -he were making use of words that he feared, "of loving him." - -His mother stared at him. "Why, what _do_ you mean, Paul? You're being -very rude, and it's wrong of you. Of course Grisel likes Sir John, -and--and many women have loved husbands much older than themselves," she -added shamefacedly, aware of her own duplicity, for she was a devoted -believer in the union of youth to youth, and the growing old together of -happy married couples. Whence she drew this romantic belief it would be -hard to say, for the experience had certainly not come her way, and as -it happened several of her married friends had come to grief. But it was -her belief, and probably one of the secrets of the popularity of her -books, for in her heyday people liked pleasant stories about pleasant -people, who suffered, of course, through the machinations of the wicked, -but who made their way steadily, through floods of tears, to the safe -shores of the old-fashioned happy ending. - -"I suppose the old fellow wears a padded coat and stays," Paul went on, -less angry now, and settling down to a solid enjoyment of tormenting his -little sister. - -"Ass! He's only fifty-two, and isn't a bit that kind." - -"What kind?" - -"Oh, well, trying to be young. A stale beau. He seems a mere boy, for -instance, in some ways, beside father." - -Paul scowled and said nothing. His mother had noticed several times of -late that there was some kind of dissension between him and his father, -but they had never been very friendly, no house being big enough for two -absolutely selfish men, and their interests had always clashed. But -during the last few weeks this antagonism had seemed to quicken into -something more definite, and Mrs. Walbridge wondered vaguely, as she ate -her breakfast, what it meant. - -Grisel, who was pale, was yet too young to bear in her face any ugly -traces of her sleepless night, and she went through the meal with a kind -of resolute gaiety. She was full Of her own affairs, and declared her -intention of ringing up the girls as soon as she had finished eating, -and telling them the news. - -"Maud and Moreton will be delighted," she declared. "They liked him so -much that night, and he's giving Billy some kind of work, something in -the City, that Billy says will be awfully useful to him, because Sir -John is so well known. Billy and Hermy were frightfully pleased. Wasn't -it kind of him?--of Sir John, I mean." - -"Oh, now she's experiencing the joys of patronage," commented Paul, -spreading strawberry jam on his toast. "She'll be getting us all little -jobs, mother. Oh, hell!" - -He was not a young man who used bad language, and his mother was -surprised as well as shocked at it. But before she could remonstrate the -door opened, and Ferdie came in, pale and tired-looking, with heavy eyes -and nervous twitching of his eyebrows, that boded evil things for his -companions. - -Grisel looked at him sharply, and Paul, turning, fixed his eyes so -unswervingly on his father's face that his father snapped at him. - -"What the deuce are you glaring at?" - -"You," said the young man, coolly. "It's no good, Guv'nor, you can't -keep it up at your time of life. You'll be as plain as the rest of us if -you go on like this." - -His words were not so offensive to his mother as they would have been to -most women, as addressed by son to father, for Ferdie Walbridge's -character was such that though his children undoubtedly had a certain -pride in him because of his good looks, and a kind of affection that was -not empty of pity, he had never, even when they were very little -children, inspired the least fear or even respect in them. - -She looked, however, anxiously from one to the other of the three faces -round the table, and was relieved when Grisel, with a little determined -air of excitement, held out her left hand, and waved it under her -father's swollen, surly eyes. - -"Look at that, oh beau sabreur," she cried, "and behold the future Lady -Barclay, and rejoice." - -"Hallo, hallo!" His boorishness disappeared like a flash, and a -surprising amount of boyish beauty and delight rested on his face for a -moment, like the light from a passing torch. He kissed her and murmured -a few words of delight and sympathy, and taking up his cup walked about -the room, sipping tea and talking to himself as much as to the others. - -"Good girl, good girl--you'll be very happy--Sir John Barclay's a fine -man. I knew it. I saw it coming! I'm not surprised. Violet, what did I -tell you? Well, are you proud of your baby, old woman?" - -He gave his wife a rough thump on the back as he passed her chair. "He's -a baronet too. Delightful fellow, delightful." He stopped short, drawing -himself up and preening in the way that was half infuriating and half -pathetic. "Fancy his being _my_ son-in-law with that white hair!" - -Mrs. Walbridge really could not bear him when he did that, so she rose, -ashamed of her feeling of disgust, and went out of the room. - -Presently she heard the door slam, and knew that Paul had left. So, -after her daily interview with the cook, she went up to her study, and -sat down to think. Sir John Barclay would be coming to-day to see her, -and the interview would be a difficult one for her, for she was ashamed -of her daughter's decision; she was a bad liar, and she had always -shunned with a kind of fastidious pain, the sight of an old man in love -with a young girl. Then, too, there was Oliver, and her intimate -knowledge of him. Poor Oliver! He would be coming, and he would have to -be told, and his queer face would have that dreadful look of pain in it, -and then he would laugh and be ridiculous, and that would be still -worse. She wished Ferdie would say something to her about their -business affairs, but he hadn't said a word. He seemed able to put -troublesome thoughts clean away out of his mind, but she couldn't. What -was to become of them all? If only this book would please Mr. Lubbock -and Mr. Payne! - -She heard the telephone bell ring faintly, and opening the door after a -moment heard the sound of Grisel's voice a little high and unnatural, it -seemed to her. - -"He's the greatest dear," the girl was saying. "I knew you and Moreton -would be glad." - -Mrs. Walbridge closed the door, and sat down. She was so used to -moulding events in her novels that it seemed to her intolerable and -almost ridiculous that in real life, in this matter of her little -daughter, for instance, events so obstinately refused to be moulded. She -ought to be able to make Oliver Wick suddenly rich enough to snatch her -away from this monstrous old man, who coveted her youth and beauty. -Unconsciously Mrs. Walbridge had fallen into the language of her -novels--and love should triumph among roses in the last chapter. But now -she could no nothing. Grisel had made her choice, and the old monster -was to triumph. Her only comfort in this dreary reverie was that Paul, -selfish, hard Paul, should unconsciously have taken sides with her in -her hatred of the marriage. She had never understood Paul. He was to her -not so much like a closed book as like a book written in a foreign -language of which she knew only a word or two here and there. She had -expected him to be pleased, because of Sir John Barclay's riches, and lo -and behold he was as displeased as she was, and full of a regret that, -though bitterly expressed, was, she knew, based on a genuine -sentimental disapproval of mercenary marriages. - -After a while she opened the drawer of the table and took out the -manuscript, and, more in the hope of forgetting for a while about Grisel -than for anything else she began to read it. How flat it was! How dull! -The people were all unnatural; their language silly and vulgar. Her face -settled into lines of utter misery as she read. Mr. Lubbock and Mr. -Payne would never publish such stuff. She heard a clock strike once or -twice as she sat reading. The sound conveyed nothing to her. On and on -she read, and when finally the page with "finis" caught her eye she -realised that it must be late, and started up guiltily. Her misery was -too deep for tears, but as she closed the door on the failure she spoke -aloud to herself. "Written out," she said slowly. "That's what it is. -I'm old, and I'm written out." - - * * * * * - -Early that afternoon a woman who lived on the same landing as Miss -Breeze, came to "Happy House" with a note. - -Caroline was in bed with a bad go of asthma, and would Violet come to -see her? Mrs. Walbridge went to the girls' room, where Griselda was -writing notes, and told her. - -"Poor Caroline! I suppose I ought to go, dear, but I don't want to miss -Sir John when he comes." - -Grisel, who had been very gay and full of laughter all day, looked up -sombrely. - -"Oh, he won't be here before tea-time, I should think," she said. "He's -very busy, you know. Besides, father's in. Don't stay long. It'll be all -right." - -"Writing letters, are you?" her mother asked foolishly. - -She nodded. "Yes. Ever so many people I've got to tell, of course. Looks -so silly written down. 'I know you will be glad to hear,' 'I'm sure you -will be surprised when I tell you'"--she jabbed viciously at a clean -sheet of paper with her pen, sending a spray of ink across it. - -"Have you written to Oliver Wick?" - -"No, I haven't. He's such a goose. I thought perhaps you would write to -Mrs. Wick." - -"You must write and tell him at once, daughter," Violet Walbridge said -sternly, and Grisel did not answer. - -Caroline Breeze thought her friend looked very tired, and though she -didn't say so, very plain, when she came in to her bedroom, a small -bunch of asters in her hand. Miss Breeze had been ill, but felt better -now, and was sitting up in bed smoking a medicated cigarette, the smell -of which was very dreadful to Mrs. Walbridge. To her surprise, the -sentimental Caroline was rapturous with delight over the news of the -engagement. Darling Grisel, she was sure, would be very happy. "Better -to be an old man's darling than a young man's slave," she cried. - -"No young man wanted her to be his slave," protested Mrs. Walbridge, -with mild horror. - -"That Oliver Wick did." Caroline had never liked the young Mr. Wick, -Violet knew, because, plain and unalluring old woman that she was, she -resented the young man's lack of beauty. He failed in every way to come -up to her standard of a lover, and Grisel, of all the "Happy House" -children, having been her special care and pet, she felt that she had a -kind of right to object to such an unattractive and penniless young man -venturing to approach the girl, who was nearer to her than any young -thing in the world. - -"She'll pay for dressing, too, Grisel will," Caroline declared, shaking -her head vigorously, and inhaling the thick yellow smoke from her -cigarette. "Where are they going to live? I suppose he'll be getting her -a house in one of the swell squares. Berkeley Square would be my -choice," she added. "By the way, Violet, it's a splendid name, Barclay. -I wonder if he's any relation to--isn't there an earldom of that name?" - -Violet shook her head. "I'm sure I don't know," she said indifferently. -"I do wish he was younger. Why, he's older than I am, Caroline!" - -"Fudge and nonsense! Fifteen years younger, to all intents and purposes. -Besides, Ferdie told me one day that he has magnificent health. That -always makes a difference, to say nothing of his money," she added -vaguely. "It'd be lovely to have someone in the family with plenty of -money." - -"It won't make much difference to us," commented Mrs. Walbridge. - -"No, of course not, but still--oh, Violet, I do hope they'll like the -book! By the way, I was reading a paper yesterday about a girl who got a -prize in some competition. She only got the fourth prize, and it was a -hundred pounds! Why don't you try for one of them?" - -Mrs. Walbridge was humbled-minded, but she had her pride. "I saw that -thing. It was some rubbish that they print in pale blue paper -covers--scullery maid's romance!" - -Caroline bridled. "I'm sure I didn't mean to offend you. As far as -that's concerned, there are a lot of competitions, and some very good -writers write for them. Harbottle's offering a thousand pounds for a -good novel, to start off his new five shilling edition." - -But Mrs. Walbridge was not to be beguiled into paths of speculative -dalliance. "I'm writing my book, as you know, for Lubbock & Payne," she -said, "and even if I had a chance of winning a prize, which I haven't, -it wouldn't be honest to offer my book to anybody else." - -The talk then turned again to Grisel and her prospects. - -Somehow, although her dear old friend had done her best to cheer her up, -it was with a very flagging heart that Mrs. Walbridge reached "Happy -House" at tea-time. - -She was afraid to face in her own mind the latent fear she had about -Oliver Wick. But she was tired, and could not put him resolutely out of -her mind, and she looked a very weary, faded little creature, on the -very verge of old age, as she toiled up the steps and opened the door. - -Voices upstairs in the girls' room. She went up a few steps and -listened. Yes, there was a man's voice she had never heard before. Sir -John Barclay had come. - -For a moment she thought of going to her own room and putting on her -afternoon dress. She knew how shabby she looked; she had on her oldest -hat, for the afternoon had looked threatening, and she had not touched -her hair since the early morning. Then, with a little sigh, she went -straight on. It wouldn't matter to this prospective bridegroom that his -lovely little sweetheart's mother was a dowdy old woman; and she was -tired, and wanted a cup of tea more than anything in the world. So, -without pausing, she opened the door and went in. - -Maud and Hermy were both there, and they were all sitting round the -tea-table at which Grisel, very flushed and excited and pretty, -presided. The stranger sat with his back to the door. She had only time -to see that it was a straight, broad, strong back, surmounted by a -well-shaped head, covered with thick white hair, when the girls saw her -and rose in a little covey, fluttering towards her with cries of -excitement and affection. - -"Oh, mother, isn't he delightful?" Maud whispered as she kissed her, and -Hermione's face expressed real unselfish sympathy and happiness. And -then Grisel, taking her by the hand, smiled over her shoulder. - -"Come, John," she said, "this is mother." - -The big man stood still in the middle of his advance, a puzzled, queer -look in his face, which even looked, she noticed, a little pale. - -"Isn't it," he began, and broke off. Then he came up to her and held out -his hands. "Surely," he said, slowly, "you used to be Miss Violet -Blaine?" - -"Yes." She was staring at him with utter amazement, so strange was his -manner, and the three young women were also staring. - -"What do you mean, John?" Griselda burst out, after a pause that seemed -interminable. "What's the matter?" - -Then the man laughed, gave himself a little shake and taking Mrs. -Walbridge's hand, bent and kissed it with a grace that proved that he -had lived long in some Latin country. - -"Nothing's the matter," he said, in a pleasant deep voice, "except that -I knew your mother over thirty years ago, and I hadn't realised that you -were her child." - -They all sat down, the three girls chattering in amazed amusement and -amused amazement. The two elders said little, and then, when Mrs. -Walbridge had been given her cup of tea and drunk a little of it, she -looked up with her big clear eyes at the man who was going to marry her -daughter. - -"It seems very rude," she said gently, "but you know I don't remember -you! Are you quite sure you are not mistaken?" - -"Why, how can he be, Mum, when he knew your name?" laughed Hermione. "Do -tell us about it, Sir John." - -Barclay crossed his knees and folded his arms. He was a man with a fine, -smooth shaven face of the kind that might belong equally well to either -a very fine actor or a judge. His light blue eyes had a fair and level -gaze, and his finest feature, his mouth, was strong and benevolent, with -well-set corners, and firmness without harshness. - -"It's quite natural," he said to Mrs. Walbridge, "that you should not -remember me. We met just before I went to the Argentine, as it was then -called, thirty-one years ago, at the house of some people named Fenwick, -near High Wycombe. You were staying in the house, and my father was the -dean of the parish, and the Fenwick boys and girls were my best friends. -We had a picnic to Naphill, and danced, and we drove on a brake to -Chalfont St. Giles to see Milton's house. Now do you remember?" - -A deep, beautifying flush swept across the face under the deplorable old -hat. "I remember the picnic perfectly. A bottle of cold tea got broken -and ruined somebody's frock, do you remember? And I remember Milton's -house, but," she shook her head a little embarrassed but truthful, "I'm -awfully sorry, but I can't remember you." - -There was a little pause, during which his fine face did not change. - -"You were very preoccupied, I think," he added. "You weren't -particularly happy at the time, and I was only a long-legged loon of a -boy of twenty-one. But I remember," he went on, "I've always -remembered." - -"Well, then, darling, you won't mind having Sir John as a son-in-law, -will you?" - -It was Hermione who spoke. She was always the readiest of speech, being -the least fine of feeling of the three girls, and the slight strain that -lay on them all merged away at her commonplace words. - -Sir John took his leave a few minutes later, and as he shook hands with -Mrs. Walbridge, he looked down at her very kindly, very gently. The -three others had gone into the bedroom on purpose to leave the two -elders alone a moment. - -"She's very young, you know," Violet Walbridge said, without -preliminary. - -"I know. I shall never forget that." And she felt as she went to her own -room that he had made her a solemn and very comforting promise. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -To Mrs. Walbridge's surprise and relief, Oliver Wick made no sign for -several days, although she herself had written to his mother on some -pretext and mentioned the engagement in a casual reference that she -regarded as very dishonest, though necessary, and probably useful. The -morning of New Year's Eve an answer to her note had come from old Mrs. -Wick, and she read it several times. - - "_Dear Mrs. Walbridge,--Thanks very much for your note telling me - of the engagement. I am sure you will be glad to know that that - queer son of mine is not coming to 'Happy House' at present. He's - very unhappy, less I think because he has given up hope of marrying - Grisel, than because he is disappointed in her for becoming engaged - to a man he is convinced she does not love. I can tell you this - quite frankly because he is so fond of you that I am sure you know - him well and will understand._ - - "_He is as much like a fussy old mother as a lover in his attitude - towards your daughter. He does so resent her knowing and liking - people he despises, such as that poor Mr. and Mrs. Ford, for - instance, and the Crichells. I met Mrs. Crichell the other day at - the Leicester Galleries. She's certainly very pretty, but as I saw - from your face that you dislike her, I don't mind telling you that - I do too. There's something very unpleasant about her. However, - it's very rude of me to abuse your acquaintances, so I'll stop._ - - "_Jenny will be seeing your son New Year's Day, as she's going to - accompany him in some songs at Mrs. Gaskell-Walker's, so we hope - to hear good news of you all then._ - - "_Yours sincerely,_ - "FRANCES WICK." - -Oliver carried out his intention, and nothing was seen of him at "Happy -House" for some time. Things went very smoothly. Grisel seemed happy, -and Sir John's devotion to her seemed to her mother exactly what it -should have been--neither slavish nor domineering, without that touch of -patronage, so often seen in old men, however much they may be in love, -towards their young sweethearts. He had never again referred to their -early acquaintance, and Mrs. Walbridge was conscious of a sincere regret -that, do what she would, she could not recall him as a youth to her -memory. - -He was very kind to every one of the family, and Walbridge very often -lunched with him at his Club in the City, and spoke vaguely of good -things he had been put on by his prospective son-in-law. Walbridge never -lost sight of the joke of his (Ferdinand Walbridge) being father-in-law -to a man of Barclay's age. But he seemed very disposed to make every -possible use of Barclay's experience and kindness. - -One day, towards the end of January, Mrs. Walbridge sat by the fire in -the drawing-room, working hard at her new book. It was bitterly cold, so -cold that she had been obliged to come down from her study in the attic. - -Guy, who had been detained in Paris on some regimental business, -greatly to his own disgust, had written that he was coming back in a few -days, and Mrs. Walbridge's feelings as she sat there in the quiet house, -more nearly approached happiness than she had felt for a long time. -Griselda, who had been lunching with Maud at her mother-in-law's house, -had not come in, and apparently a long, quiet afternoon was before Mrs. -Walbridge. Her new book, after all, was going on fairly well, and Mr. -Payne had written her a very kind letter in reply to her explanation -about her failure with the other one, and he had given her an extension -of time that promised to make the completion of "Rosemary" an easy -matter. She wrote on and on, and then suddenly, in the middle of her -work, and rather to her disappointment, Sir John Barclay was announced -by the proud Jessie. - -"I'm afraid I'm disturbing you," he said kindly, sitting down by the -fire and warming his hands. "Are you working on your book? I've just had -news calling me to Scotland. Where's Grisel?" - -She explained, saying that Grisel had gone to Maud. "You're sure to find -her there." - -He nodded. "All right. I'll go and take her out to dinner, and she can -take me down to the station, and then Smith can drive her home." He -looked at his watch. "It's only half-past four. You're sure I'm not -disturbing you? Would you rather have me go?" - -"Oh, no. Ring the bell and I'll give you some tea. Yes, I'm working at -my book," she went on. "I've got to get it done as soon as I can; the -publishers want it." - -He looked very kind and interested as he sat there, his handsome head -turned towards her, his strong hands held up to the fire--so kind, that -suddenly she found herself telling him about her other book, "Lord -Effingham"--the failure. - -"I'd worked so hard at it," she said, "and it seemed to go -well--although I never liked it much; it wasn't a very nice book. And -then when I read it through I saw how hopelessly bad it was." - -He pleased her by accepting her verdict without flattery and -contradiction. - -"Perhaps you were too tired. You seem to me to have a great many -different duties----" - -She shook her head. "No, I wasn't tired, and I've always been used to -writing in a hugger-mugger kind of way," she added, with a simple vanity -that touched him. "I could always concentrate." - -"Who are your publishers?" he asked after a moment. "Oh, yes, good -men--good men. I'm not much of a novel reader myself, but of course I -know their name." - -And then to her own surprise she told him the tragedy of the expired -contract. He listened attentively, his whole mind fixed on her story. -When she had finished he put one or two shrewd questions to her, and -reflected over her answers, after which he said: "I may as well tell you -that I knew this before, Mrs. Walbridge." - -She started. - -"Oh, did you? Do you know them--Mr. Lubbock and Mr. Payne, I mean?" - -"No. Your husband told me several weeks ago." - -Something in his face betrayed to her his distaste either at Walbridge's -confidence or the manner in which it had been made, and she flushed -faintly. For Ferdie had, she knew, often disgusted people. - -He looked at her thoughtfully, and then to her surprise his face -changed, and with a very young smile he broke out: "After all, you've -changed very little!" - -"Oh, Sir John! I'm an old woman," she protested sincerely, "and I was -only a child then." - -He nodded. - -"I know. The outside of you has changed, of course, but you're much the -same in other ways. For instance, you are still worrying to death about -something--that business of the book, I suppose--just as you were then. -I remember one day in the vicarage garden we had been playing tennis, I -tried to persuade you, silly young cub that I was, to confide in me." - -"Oh," she cried suddenly, clasping her hands, "didn't you wear a red -blazer--red and white stripes? And hadn't you some ridiculous nickname?" - -"Good. You've remembered. I am glad." He threw his head back and -laughed, and she liked the shine of his white teeth in the firelight. -"Of course I had. They called me 'Scrags.'" - -She was silent for a little while, and he knew that she was seeing again -the shabby old rectory garden with its roses and hollyhocks, and its -lumpy tennis lawn, and himself, the youth in the scarlet blazer. - -"It was my old school blazer," he told her in a gentle voice, not to -interrupt too much the current of her thoughts. "I remember it was too -short in the arms, and I was rather ashamed of it. I thought," he added -whimsically, "that you might laugh at it." - -"I?" The gentle astonishment in her eyes amused him. - -"Yes, you. Some day I'll tell you about it, but not now. I've a piece of -good news for you," he added. "Your husband and I had a long talk this -morning, and as his present business arrangements seem rather -unsatisfactory, and as I happen to need a--kind of partner in one of my -little business concerns, I've persuaded him to take the position. It's -nothing very brilliant," he went on hurriedly, frightened by the change -in her face. "Only five hundred a year, but he seems to think he would -prefer it to this present work he is doing----" - -The look she turned on him was astonishingly like a look of anger, and -for some reason it delighted him in its contrast to her husband's easy -gratitude. He hated scenes, and was not very well versed in the ways of -women, but for reasons of his own his heart sang as she rose. - -"I understand very little about business," she said coldly. "But it's -very kind of you to give a position to my husband. I think, if you will -excuse me, I will leave you now. I am sure Grisel will be back here -soon, and I've a seamstress upstairs." - -Instead of going to fetch her, he waited there over an hour for Grisel, -walking up and down the room, and without visible impatience. - -When his little sweetheart arrived she ran upstairs for a warmer coat -for they were going to motor. She was gone some time and when they were -in the car and he had tucked her luxuriously up in a big rug of flexible -dark fur she explained to him why she had kept him waiting. - -"It was poor mother. Something's upset her. She was crying--actually -crying. I don't think I've ever seen my mother cry before. There she -was, face down on her bed, just howling like a child----" - -He winced. "You must learn, dearest," he said gently, "not to tell me -things I have no business to know." - -She looked up at him through her long lashes and laughed wickedly. -"Perhaps if you try long enough," she returned, "you'll make a lady of -me." - -But his face remained grave. "Your mother," he said, "is a splendid -woman, my dear. I've a very great admiration for her." - -Griselda loved her mother; most girls do love their mothers, but this -homage, from a man she admired and respected so much, surprised her. - -"Mother? Little old Mum?" she repeated naïvely. "She's a dear, of -course----" - -Barclay looked down at her. - -"You'll think me an awful old fogey," he said slowly, "but I do -seriously wish, my little dear, that you would show a little more--well, -understanding, for your mother--to her, I mean." - -"Oh, it's _you_ who don't understand," she returned as gravely as he. -"_I_ understand, we all do, a great deal more about mother than she -could bear to know. Father's always been a beast, but we have to pretend -to her that we don't know it----" - -They drove on, a little closer together mentally than they had ever been -before. Grisel had been very sweet, very womanly, for that short moment, -and she, for her part, had, for a brief time, been able to regard him -less as the old man she was going to marry for his money, than as a kind -and companionable contemporary. - -Meantime Mrs. Walbridge had another guest. She had gone up to her -writing room, and was working on her new book, when Jessie announced -that Mr. Crichell was in the young ladies' room. - -"Mr. Crichell?" - -"Yes, m'm, and he's in a great hurry." - -"Didn't he ask for master?" - -"No, m'm," the girl returned with decision, "he asked for you, quite -partic'lar, m'm." - -It struck Mrs. Walbridge as odd that Crichell should have asked for her, -for she hardly knew him. But she smoothed her hair and turned down her -sleeve, calling out to Jessie as she went to bring up some more tea. - -"Not for me, Mrs. Walbridge," Crichell began, hearing her last words. -"No tea, thanks. I've come on a--very unpleasant errand." - -She saw that he was very much disturbed, his sleek face being blurred by -queer little dull red patches. Sitting down by the fire she motioned him -to do the same. But he remained standing, his short legs far apart, his -hands behind his back. - -"What I have to say will be painful to you," he went on hurriedly. "But -it's no worse for you than it is for me. In fact, not so bad, for you -must have had some kind of an idea----" - -He broke off, seeing from her face that she had even now no notion of -what he was driving at. - -"I don't understand at all," she said quietly. "Do sit down, Mr. -Crichell." - -"It's no good beating about the bush," he resumed, still standing. "It's -just this. I'm--I'm going to divorce my wife, and Walbridge will be -co-respondent." - -"Walbridge?" she repeated stupidly, staring at him with what he -viciously called to himself, the face of an idiot. "My husband?" - -"Yes, your husband--and my wife's lover. Pretty little story, isn't it?" -As she was about to speak, he went on, purposely lashing himself, it -struck her, into a fury. "I've suspected something for a long time. -Haven't you?" - -She shook her head. "No." But as she spoke she remembered certain -half-forgotten little happenings that might have roused her curiosity -had she been more interested in her husband. - -"Now don't tell me it isn't true, because it is," he snapped, again -interrupting her as she was about to speak. - -She was very sorry for him, and looked at him compassionately as he -stood there twisting and waving his white hands. - -"I'm not going to tell you it isn't true, Mr. Crichell," she answered -gently. "I suppose it is, and I'm very, very sorry for you." - -Swamped as he was by hurt egotism, he did not fail to observe the -peculiarity of her attitude. - -"Very kind of you," he muttered, at a loss. "I--I am sorry for you, too. -In fact, we're in rather a ridiculous position, you and I, aren't we?" -His loud laugh was very shrill, and she held up her hand warningly. - -"Hush." - -Then he sat down and told her the story. How for months, ever since the -late summer, in fact, he had noticed a change in his wife. - -"She always had a lot of boys buzzing about and it never occurred to me -to suspect Walbridge. I--why he's twenty years older than I am--or near -it. I came up and down to town a good deal, and knew they used to see a -good deal of each other, but, as I say, the fact of his age blinded me, -damn him! Then, a week ago, that night here, I--I caught them looking at -each other, and when I got back from seeing my mother--(it was Clara, -by the way, who told my mother where we were going to be, and put her up -to telephoning for me), I took the trouble to find out what time she had -got home, and found that he had come back with her and stayed till three -o'clock." - -Mrs. Walbridge started. That was the morning when she had stood by her -husband's bedside watching him as he lay asleep. - -"So after that--my God, it's only a week ago!--I kept my eyes open, and -to-day I found these." - -He pulled a bundle of letters out of his breast pocket, and tossed them -into her lap. The letters were tied with a piece of yellow ribbon, and -taking hold of them by the ribbons, Mrs. Walbridge held them out to him. - -"I don't want to see them," she said. - -"You'd better--to convince you." - -"But I am convinced." - -He rose solemnly, and put the letters back into his pocket. - -"Then I'll not detain you any longer. I thought I'd better come and tell -you myself." - -At the door he turned. - -"Dirty trick, wasn't it? Seen enough of women to know better. But I -trusted her----" - -They stared at each other for a moment, and then he came back into the -room. - -"I'm very sorry for you, too," he said awkwardly. "You take it so -quietly that I rather forgot----" - -She laughed a little. "Perhaps," she said, "you'll think better of -it--of divorcing her. There are so many things to be considered, Mr. -Crichell." - -But at this his fury rose again, and he shouted that nothing in heaven -or earth would prevent his divorcing her. "And you'll have to do the -same," he added, almost menacingly. - -"Why should I divorce my husband?" - -"Surely you don't want him after this?" - -"I want him," she replied very slowly, as if feeling for the right -words, "exactly as much as I've wanted him for many years, Mr. -Crichell." - -As she spoke they heard the rattle of a latchkey in the front door. - -"That's Ferdie," she said hastily. "Oh, you won't have a quarrel with -him, will you?" - -"No. I've already seen him--I've nothing more to say. How can I get out -without meeting him?" - -With pathetic knowledge of her husband, she bade him stay where he was. - -"I'll tell him you're here, and he'll go into the dining-room." - -At the foot of the stairs she met Walbridge taking off his coat, a -curiously boyish look in his face. "Ferdie," she said quietly, "Mr. -Crichell's in the girls' room." - -With a little smile of almost bitter amusement, she watched him as he -tiptoed into the dining-room and closed the door. - -When Crichell had gone she joined her husband. He was smoking and -walking up and down, a glass of whisky and soda in his hand. - -"Well," he began at once, with the little nervous bluster of the man who -doubts his own courage, "I suppose he's told you." - -"Yes, he's told me," and then she added, without seeing the strangeness -of her words. "I'm so sorry." - -He stared, and then, with a little laugh of relief, drained his glass -and set it down. - -"It had to be," he announced with visible satisfaction at the romantic -element of the situation. "But I'm sorry, too, Violet, very sorry. I've -fought long and hard." - -She looked at him with a little gleam in her eyes that arrested his -attention, although he told himself it could not possibly be a gleam of -amusement. - -"No, Ferdie," she said, "I don't think you fought long and hard. I don't -think you fought at all." - -Looking pitifully like a pricked balloon, he dropped into a chair and -gripped the edge of the dining-room table. - -"What do you mean, Violet? _Really!_" he murmured, with the indignation -of a sensitive man confronted with a feminine lack of delicacy. - -"Oh, I don't want to hurt your feelings, Ferdie, and no doubt you do -feel extremely romantic. But it would save time if you didn't try to be -romantic with me. You see, I know you very well." - -Before he could gather his wits together to answer her, she had gone on -quietly: - -"I won't tell you what I think of your treating Mr. Crichell in this -way, after accepting his hospitality all winter. It would not do any -good, and it wouldn't interest you. But I am wondering if you couldn't -persuade him, in some way, not to make a scandal. Don't interrupt me. -Wait a minute. It will be so dreadful for her--for Mrs. Crichell, I -mean. How could you have been so careless as to let him find out?" - -Walbridge leant across the table towards her, his face almost imbecile -in his open-mouthed amazement. - -"Do you--do you know what you are talking about?" he stammered. "Are you -sane at all? I never heard of such a thing in my born days." - -"Oh, yes, I'm sane enough. But I don't want the children to know. It's -an awfully bad example for Guy; he'll be home in a day or two. Just -think, he's only twenty-one, and he doesn't know--I mean he thinks--oh, -yes, it would be awful if there was a scandal." - -Ferdinand Walbridge made a great effort and managed to scramble to his -feet, mentally as well as physically. - -"My dear," he said, modulating his beautiful voice with instinctive -skill, "you don't understand. This is not an amourette. I _love_ Clara -Crichell. It is the one wish of my life to make her--to marry her." - -For many years her indifference to her husband had been so complete, so -unqualified by anything except a little retrospective pity, that he had -never dreamed of the thoroughness of her knowledge of him. She had never -cared to let him know; she had been busy, and it had not seemed worth -while, and now she found difficulty in making him understand her -position, without unnecessarily hurting his feelings. - -"But you can't marry her," she said slowly. "There's _me_." - -"Surely you'll not be so wicked as to ruin our lives," he went on, -secretly, she knew, rather enjoying himself, "because of an -old-fashioned, obsolete prejudice? What's divorce nowadays? A mere -nothing." - -"I know," she said wearily, for she felt suddenly very tired. "Most -people think so, but I don't." - -"But you don't mean to say that you want a man who no longer loves you?" - -It was nearly six o'clock, and the room was lighted only by firelight. -In the charitable gloom Walbridge looked very handsome, and the attitude -he instinctively struck was not unbeautiful theoretically. She looked -at him for a moment. - -"My dear Ferdie," she said at last, "I can't talk any more now because -Hermy and Billy and Mr. Peter Gaskell-Walker are dining with us at -half-past seven, and I've several things to see to. And as to your -loving me, you know perfectly well that you've not loved me for nearly -thirty years." - -He was too utterly baffled to find a word in reply, and by the time he -could speak she had left the room. - -As he dressed for dinner, having unsuccessfully tried to get into her -room, he reflected with sincere self-pity that it was small wonder he -had fallen in love with a beautiful, sympathetic woman like Clara. -Violet was plainly not quite sane. He gave a vicious jerk to his tie as -he reached this point. - -"Why, damn it all," he muttered, "she doesn't seem to care a hang!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -All this happened on a Thursday, and on the following Wednesday Mrs. -Walbridge went out quietly, and sent a telegram to Oliver Wick's office, -asking him to come and see her that evening. She was to be alone--alone, -it seemed to her distracted mind, for the first time for weeks. For -every day and all day some one or other of her family had been with her, -trying to persuade her to do the thing her soul detested--to divorce her -husband. - -Maud was very vehement. Her indignation with her father knew no bounds, -and Moreton Twiss agreed with his wife. He was a quick-witted man, with -a good gift of words, that he poured out unmercifully over the poor -little lady, until she felt literally beaten to death. - -"It's perfectly disgusting of him," Maud interrupted once. "I should -think you would loathe the sight of him. I'm sure I do." - -But Mrs. Walbridge did not loathe the sight of her husband. That is, she -did not loathe him appreciably more than she had done for years. They -might say what they liked. Billy Gaskell-Walker, too, to her amazement, -broke into the most hideous, strange language the moment the subject of -his father-in-law came up--called him all the names under the heavens. -But nothing made any difference. Paul might sneer and make his most -razorlike remarks about his father and the lady whom he wished to make -their stepmother; Grisel might cry and beg her mother for her sake to -put her father clean away. - -"It's like a bad rat, or something," the girl said in her high -fastidiousness. "He makes the house unpleasant." - -But rail, scorn, revile as they might, Mrs. Walbridge had her -standpoint, and stuck to it. She did not believe in divorce, and she -wasn't going to divorce her husband. What was more, after three days of -exasperated wrangling discussion, she surprised them all by bidding them -be quiet. - -They were having tea, all of them, in the girls' room. The air was thick -with cigarette smoke, and the two sons-in-law and Paul were drinking -whisky and soda. Mrs. Walbridge, looking very small in the corner of the -big sofa, suddenly sat bolt upright and looked angrily round at them. - -"Oh, hold your tongues, all of you," she cried in a voice of authority. -"You mustn't speak of him like that. I won't have it. He's my husband, -not yours. Poor fellow!" - -They all stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses, which, -indeed, one or two of them privately believed she must have done. - -"Oh, mother, how can you?" It was naturally Griselda, the baby, who -dared defy her. "You don't seem to realise what an utter beast he's -been, and how we all loathe him for treating you--yes, _you_--like -this." - -"Poor fellow, indeed! Have a little pride, mother," suggested Paul, as -if he had said "have a little marmalade." But she didn't waver. - -"Yes, poor fellow. I'm extremely sorry for him. You none of you seem to -realise what a pitiful thing it is for an old man, the father of a -family of grown-up children, to be making such a ridiculous spectacle of -himself." - -Literally aghast, they stared, first at her, then at each other, and in -the silence she marched in triumph out of the room. Her misery was very -great, in spite of the queerness of her attitude, for she felt keenly -the pathos of her utter detachment of attitude, and her mind was thrown -back violently into the old days thirty years before, when she had loved -him, when she had believed in him, and defied and given up her whole -little world for his sake. - -Poor Sir John Barclay still remembered her unhappiness and preoccupation -in the old days that summer at High Wycombe, but she had not told him -she had been suffering because she had been sent to the country by her -furious father to get her away from Ferdinand Walbridge. He did not know -how she had hoped against hope that Walbridge would, by some means, find -out where she was and get a letter to her, or manage to see her. She had -almost forgotten these things herself, until this business of Clara -Crichell had brought them back to her memory. It was a tragic, -heart-breaking thing, she felt, that an honest, romantic, deep love such -as hers had been for the beautiful young man her father had so detested, -could ever die so utterly as hers had. - -It was dreadful to her, and seemed a shameful thing, that she could feel -no pang of jealousy or loneliness in the knowledge that her husband, her -companion for thirty years and the father of her five children, was -prepared to give up these children, his home life and her companionship -for another woman. Instead of what she believed would have been normal -emotions, she was conscious of a deep sorrow that he had been such a -fool as to fall in love with a woman of Mrs. Crichell's type, for she -knew with uncanny clearness exactly what Mrs. Crichell was. If only he -had fallen in love with someone who might possibly make him happy, -someone who was companionable and ambitious! But this woman, she knew, -was so like himself in her laziness, mental vacuity and self-centred -one-sidedness, that they were bound to destroy each other. - -The whole family had assumed that her sole reason for refusing the -divorce was a semi-religious objection to that institution. It was true -that, although she was not a religious woman, her innate respect for the -forms of the church gave her the greatest possible horror of the divorce -court, but she knew, though none of the others seemed to suspect it, -that if Clara Crichell had been a different kind of woman, one with whom -she could, so to speak, trust her poor, faulty Ferdie, her objections -would have been bound to give way, in the course of time, to the -combined wishes of her family and friends. And she was afraid to utter -this instinctive fear of Mrs. Crichell because, although she knew little -of real life, she had an uncanny knowledge of the mental workings of the -men and women in books, who are, after all, more or less, like human -beings; and she felt that she could not bear to be misunderstood, as she -was certain to be if she uttered one word of personal objection to Mrs. -Crichell. They would all think she was jealous, and she would be unable -to persuade them that she was not. - -Oliver found her pacing up and down her drawing-room in her afternoon -gown, which she had forgotten to fasten down the back, and which showed -a pathetic strip of merino petticoat. - -"Something's wrong with your back here," he said. "Shall I hook it up? I -often fasten Jenny's new-fangled things, and they hook up to her neck. -Well, here I am, Mrs. Walbridge, _à la disposition di Usted_." - -One of his useful little gifts was a way of keeping in mind, and -reproducing with impeccable inflection, little once-heard scraps of -foreign languages, and somehow it comforted the worried woman to hear -him talking so much in his usual manner; in spite of Grisel's -engagement, his world had not turned over. - -"Have you--have you heard anything about us lately?" she began -nervously, as they sat down, and she nodded at his battered old -cigarette case, held interrogatively up to her. - -"Yes," he answered abruptly, his manner changing. "I hear that Grisel -has a string of pearls, and is growing very fond of her aged suitor." - -"He's not an aged suitor, and you mustn't call him one. - -"Well, then, her gay young spark. It doesn't really matter, and she's -not really happy, and I know it, and so do you." - -"Oh, Oliver, please don't make me unhappy about that. Things are bad -enough without Grisel's coming to grief." - -He pricked his ears. "What do you mean--things are bad enough? What's -happened? I'm not going to worry you. I'm sorry----" - -"It's about--it's about Mr. Walbridge. I don't quite know how to tell -you." - -Oliver looked hastily round the room. "Oh, no, he's not here. He went -away yesterday morning." - -"Gone away? Good heavens! Has he been losing money?" - -"No; he has no money," she answered simply. "It's much worse than that. -It's--it's about a lady." - -He gave a long whistle. "By golly! Is it, though? Then I'll bet it's -that over-ripe woman who sat next him at dinner--the painter's wife." - -"Yes, it is. They have fallen in love with each other." - -The young man threw his cigarette in the fire in his excitement. - -"No! They can't have. Why, bless me, he's an old man--I beg your pardon. -But he isn't _young_, is he?" - -"That doesn't matter. He's fallen in love with her and Mr. Crichell's -found out." - -"My hat! The man with the nasty fingers." - -"Yes. And they're all after me--not a soul stands up for me, Oliver. So -that's why I sent for you. I thought perhaps you would." - -"Of course I will. You want someone to see you through divorcing him. -Well, I'm your boy. Have you got a solicitor? And--excuse me speaking so -plainly--have you got proofs?" - -She laughed forlornly at his mistake. "Oh, my dear, you've got it all -wrong. It's the other way about. It's they that want me to divorce him -and I--I won't." - -His face changed. He looked at her with surprise and commiseration in -his eyes. - -"Oh, I see," he said quietly. "I didn't understand." - -He felt that it would be indecorous for him to ask this old lady, as he -considered her, whether she really cared for the husband he had always -found so unpleasant, but he could in no way account for her refusing to -take the obvious course. - -She saw his perplexity and went straight to the point. "You see," she -said, "I know what you are thinking, but I've known Mr. Walbridge for a -long time, and I know that he couldn't possibly be happy with a woman as -selfish and self-centred as Mrs. Crichell." - -"Then you want him to be happy?" He spoke very gravely, his voice -sounding like that of a man very much older than himself. - -She was grateful to him for not showing any surprise at her attitude. - -"Oh, yes. I should like him to be happy. You're too young to understand, -Oliver. I hope you never will understand. But I'm not at all angry with -him, and I've always disliked Mrs. Crichell very much." - -"So have I. Couldn't bear her, and neither could my mother. But why did -you send for me, Mrs. Walbridge? I'll do any mortal thing for you, but -the better I understand, the more useful I shall be." - -"Oh, I just want you to stand up for me when they all attack me, and try -to make me divorce him." - -"I see. I certainly think the choice ought to be yours. But," he added, -"I don't agree with you. I--I think you're making a mistake. By the way, -has the lady any money?" - -"Oh, yes, she's quite well off." - -There was a pause, at the end of which he said, "Well, I--it beats me. -Why do you suppose she wants him?" Then he added, feeling that he had -failed in tact, in thus speaking of the man who, after all, was his -companion's husband, and whom she wanted, in her queer way, to help. -"Well, it beats me." - -"Mr. Walbridge has always been considered a very handsome man," she -said, in a voice of complete clarity and explanation. And then the door -opened and Griselda came suddenly in, wrapped in a big fur-collared -velvet cloak. - -"Oh!" she exclaimed, on seeing Wick. "I didn't know anyone was here. -They all went on to the opera," she said, sitting down and letting her -cloak slip back, "and my head ached--I think I've a cold coming on--so I -got a taxi and came home. How are you, Oliver, and how is your mother? I -saw Jenny the other day, but I was in a taxi and she didn't see me." - -"They're both well, thanks," he answered. "It's a long time since I saw -you, young lady." - -"Yes, it is." - -There was a pause, and Mrs. Walbridge glanced anxiously from one to the -other of the two painstakingly indifferent faces. - -"No letters, mother?" the girl asked. - -"Yes, there are two for you. One from Sir John." - -"Good, I'll go and get them." She held out her hand to Oliver. "Then -I'll go on up to bed. I really do feel rather bad. Good-night." - -He held her hand closely. "You're a nice young minx," he told her, -laughing. "I suppose you think I ought to congratulate you on your -engagement." - -"It's a matter of complete indifference to me whether you do or not." - -"Grisel, Grisel!" put in her mother. - -Still he held her hand, his critical eyes looking her up and down. - -"Good-night," she said again, trying to withdraw her hand. - -"You're losing your looks," he declared. "You're too thin, and your eyes -are sunk into your head. It won't do, Grisel. You'll have to give in. -You used to be the prettiest thing alive, and unless you own up to your -old gentleman and confess to me that you can't live without me, you'll -soon have to join the sad army of the girls who aren't so pretty as they -feel." - -She was furiously angry--so angry that she could not speak, and when he -suddenly let go her hand, she stumbled back and nearly fell. She left -the room without a word, and he sat down and hid his face for a moment -in his hands. - -Mrs. Walbridge was indignant with him, but somehow she dared not speak, -and after a minute he rose. - -"I'll go now," he said. "I'm done. Little brute!" - -"I'm so sorry for you," she said, which was quite different from what -she had meant to say. - -"I know you are, and I deserve it; I deserve everybody's pity. But damn -it all," he added, with sudden brightness, pushing back the strands of -straight dun-coloured hair that hung down over his damp forehead, "I'll -get her yet." - -She went with him to the door, and they stood on the step in the bitter -cold of the still night. - -"You'll stand by me then? You'll believe," she added earnestly, laying -her hand on his sleeve, "that I'm not just being a cat; that I really am -doing what I know will be best for him in the long run?" - -"If you suddenly spat at me and scratched my eyes out and ran up the -wall there, and sat licking your fur, I shouldn't believe you were a -cat. But, mind you, Mrs. Walbridge, I think you are making a great -mistake. What on earth will you do with him about the house in this -frame of mind?" - -"Oh, don't make it any harder for me. I know that I'm right." - -They parted very kindly, and she went back into the house, knowing that -he would, as she expressed it, take sides with her. But something of the -virtue of her resolution seemed to have gone out of her, for, young as -he was, she respected his shrewdness and his instinct, and it depressed -her to know that he disapproved of her determination. - -The next evening, Wick dined with the Gaskell-Walkers in Campden Hill. -He was the only guest, and Hermione told him at once that they had sent -for him in order to talk over this disgusting business of her father's. -When Gaskell-Walker had laid before him the combined reasons of the -whole tribe for wishing for the divorce, Wick sat down his glass and -looked at his host. - -"I agree with every word you've said," he answered, without unnecessary -words. "It's a great mistake, but I know why she's doing it." - -"That's more than any of _us_ knows," mourned Hermione. "I feel that I -never wish to look my father in the face again." - -"Oh, that's going too far," the young man protested. "He's an awful old -scoundrel, of course, but still, there are plenty more like him." - -Before they parted, Wick uttered a word of wisdom. "She won't give in to -you, or any of you, or to me," he said. "There's nothing so obstinate in -this world as a good woman fighting for a principle, and the fact that -the principle is perfectly idiotic has no bearing on the case. But your -mother's an old-fashioned woman, Mrs. Gaskell-Walker, and she's written -so many sentimental stories that her whole mind is coloured by them. If -you can get Mrs. Crichell to go to your mother and grovel and tear her -hair and cry, your mother would divorce your father." Then he went his -way. - -"By Jove!" Gaskell-Walker said to his wife. "I believe he's right. Stout -fellow! I'll put your father up to this. I'll look him up at lunch at -Seeley's to-morrow." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -Mrs. Walbridge never told any of her children what it was that made her -so suddenly decide, two days after her interview with Oliver Wick, to do -as her husband begged her, and give him his freedom, as he invariably -called it. Freedom is a prettier word than divorce, and he had a natural -instinct for eliminating ugly words from his life, although he had never -been very particular about steering clear of the deeds to which the -words fitted. - -"Very well, Ferdie," she said to him, the Sunday morning when he came to -get his clothes and various little belongings. "You shall have it, your -freedom. I'll give it to you." - -In his muddle-headed gratitude, he nearly kissed her. She drew back, an -irrepressible smile twitching at her lips. He was such a goose! - -"I think," he said, "you had better get Gaskell-Walker to manage things -for you. It--it might be rather awkward for Paul. You see, we can't have -_her_ name brought into it"--there was actual reverence in his voice at -the words--"and I'll have to take certain steps." - -"Oh, I know," she said quietly. "She told us yesterday. Don't have any -more in the papers than you can help, will you?" she added, "it's all so -horrid." - -"Oh, her name won't be mentioned at all--thanks to your kindness," he -added, a little grandiloquently. - -She looked at him with a queer expression. "I wasn't thinking of her -name. I was thinking of ours--yours and mine, and the children's, -Ferdinand." - -He winced when she called him Ferdinand. It reminded him of some -earlier, painful scenes in their life, when she had been unable to -pronounce the shorter version of his name. - -He rose and walked up and down the ugly room. "I hope you believe," he -began, clearing his throat, "that I'm very sorry about all this. Such -things are always unpleasant, but I assure you, Violet, that it--it was -stronger than I." - -"We needn't go into that. Have you enough money to live comfortably till -your marriage?" - -He nodded. "Oh, yes. I signed my papers with Barclay the day he went -away, you know, and have been at the office every day. I--I intend," he -went on, groping for words, "to give you half of my salary; that's two -hundred and fifty a year, and I thought perhaps if you moved into a -smaller house,--there will only be you and Guy then, and he'll soon be -earning something--that--that you might manage to get on all right." - -She nodded. "Oh, yes, I shall manage." She didn't add that up to this -she always had managed to keep, not only herself, but, for the greater -part of their married life, him as well. - -"I'm sorry about that business of your books," he resumed, with another -awkward pause, during which he took a cigarette out of a very beautiful -new gold case, which he hurriedly stuffed back into his pocket. "I hope -this new one will be a success. I do, really, Violet." - -She looked at his nervous, heated face with a queer, incongruous pity -that seemed to her almost undignified. - -"I'm sure you do, Ferdie," she answered kindly. "There's no reason on -earth why you should not wish me well. I certainly wish you every -happiness." - -He was relieved and grateful at her lack of resentment, but at the same -time it piqued him a little. He felt that it was not altogether normal -of her to take things quite like this. He looked at her curiously, and -her face seemed old, very plain, linked as it was to his memory of Clara -Crichell's luscious beauty. He was very sorry for her, not only for -being that most contemptible of creatures, an old woman without charm, -but also because she was losing him. - -They parted in the most friendly way, after he had telephoned for a taxi -and laden it with his various boxes and bags. - -"Where shall I send your letters?" she asked. - -"Oh, you mustn't know where I am," he declared nervously, "or they'll -bring in collusion. Gaskell-Walker will do it all for you." He paused on -the step, looking up at the house into which, thirty years ago, they had -come together, full of hopes and plans, and across his still beautiful, -degenerate face there swept a little cloud of sentimental regret. -"Life's a queer thing, isn't it?" he murmured, taking off his hat and -standing bare-headed. - -She nodded. "Yes, it is." Then she added quickly, "Never mind, Ferdie, -it's all right. The children will come round after a bit. It's natural -they should be annoyed just at first." - -"If ever there's anything I can do for you," he added, incongruously, -"after this business is over, of course, you'll let me know, won't you?" - -He went his way, and she stood looking after him. It was all remarkably -odd, but perhaps oddest of all was that he had failed to understand at -the end of all these years, how little she could miss him; that it had -always been she that had taken care of him, and that therefore that it -was he who would miss the prop for the loss of which he was -conventionally compassionating her. - -For several days after this, nothing at all happened, and the attention -of her little world was turned towards Hermione, whose mother-in-law had -unexpectedly died, leaving her an attractive, though not very valuable, -collection of old jewelry. The inspection and re-designing of these -treasures came as a real boon to the whole family. - -"I feel as if my mind had been washed again after this nasty business of -father's," Maud Twiss declared, after two or three days of excitement. -"I think Hermy's wrong to have those opals set that way, but then -they're her's and not mine, so it doesn't matter. What a pity the old -lady had such a passion for cameos--they don't suit Hermy at all--but -I'd give my head for that star sapphire." - -It was the 12th of February, and Maud had arrived first of the little -group of people invited to dine at "Happy House" in honour of Paul's -birthday. - -Mrs. Walbridge had not felt much inclined for any festivities, but Paul -for some reason insisted on a little party, and the atmosphere being -cleared by the progress of the regular proceedings towards the divorce, -the others had backed him up. Sir John Barclay was still away, and -Moreton Twiss had been obliged to go to an annual Club dinner, but the -Wicks were coming, and Paul had added various delicacies to the menu in -a way that was so like his father, that his mother was a little -saddened by it. Paul too, she knew, would always be able to spend money -on things that pleased him, and she foresaw that he would never have a -penny for dull details like gas bills or cooks. He even brought in an -armful of flowers, and Maud, who had a new tea-gowny garment for the -occasion, arranged them for him, in the very vases his father had bought -to hold his orchids the night of the Christmas Eve party. It seemed -years ago, Mrs. Walbridge thought, and yet it was only about seven -weeks. - -Grisel had objected strongly to the Wicks being invited. She pretended -to be very annoyed with Oliver for what she called his idiotic and -underbred behaviour that night when she had come in after the -dinner-party. - -"He's sure to be tiresome again, mother. His peculiar brand of humour -doesn't happen to appeal to me." But when Mrs. Walbridge had suggested -to Paul that the Wicks were not absolutely necessary to his birthday -party he declared pettishly that there wouldn't be any party if it -wasn't for Jenny Wick. She was the best accompanist he had ever had, and -an extremely nice girl--not a bit like her cub of a brother. - -Grisel might, of course, have dined out, but, like many other families, -although they quarrelled with each other, and did not particularly like -each other, the Walbridges yet hung together in a helpless, uncongenial -kind of way, and always remembered and mildly recognised each other's -birthdays. - -Grisel came downstairs while Maud was putting the last touches to the -red and white roses that had been Paul's choice. The girl had a new -frock of black, with heavy gold embroidery, and though very pale and -heavy-eyed, her beauty was undeniably growing, as the baby curves left -her face and what can only be called the elegance of its bony structure -became more apparent. Her jaw-bone was a thing of real beauty, and the -likeness of her brow to her mother's was very great. - -"Oh, Grisel, what a love of a frock!" Maud cried, kissing her. "Where -_did_ you get it?" - -"Greville and Ross. Glad you like it." - -Maud settled the last Jacquemenot in its place, and put her arm round -her sister's waist. "Let's go into the drawing-room," she said. "I'd -hate going upstairs. Never, never again shall I have another baby." - -"You look beautiful, Maud," the girl assured her earnestly. "It suits -you somehow." - -"Nonsense! But what's the matter with _you_, dear? You look tired out." - -"Yes, I've been making a fool of myself. Three dances in the last five -days." - -"When's John coming home?" - -They sat down on the uncomfortable sofa under the gilt mirror, and -Griselda leant back against a non-existent cushion, and sat up with a -little scowl. - -"Oh, he will be back in a day or two, thank goodness. Oh, Maud, I have -missed him so; you have no idea," she insisted, "how much I have missed -him!" - -Before her marriage Maud Twiss, who, after all, was nine years older -than Grisel, had been rather jealous of her little sister's greater -charm and beauty. But since she had been married her feelings had -changed and the sisters had grown towards each other a little. Hermione -had always been more selfish than Maud, and, besides, she and Grisel had -much the same hair and profiles, so the youngest girl had always been -inclined to like the eldest one best. They sat there on the sofa -discussing things in general, but avoiding two subjects--the divorce -and Oliver Wick. Fortunately the Gaskell-Walkers arrived before the -Wicks, and shortly after the arrival of Jenny and Oliver, Bruce Collier -turned up with a young Frenchman as fifth man. - -Everyone had some kind of present for Paul, who accepted them with -extreme seriousness and regarded himself--most unusual in a young -Englishman--as the legitimate centre of attraction of the evening. Paul -had a disconcerting way, for all his disagreeable mannerisms and -selfishness, of doing certain things that reminded his mother almost -unbearably of his babyhood and little boyhood. And this evening, as he -stood, as pleased as possible, at the little table where all his -presents were spread out, she wondered if the others were as struck as -she was by the incongruity of his manner. Red-headed little Jenny Wick, -who stood near her, read her thoughts. - -"Isn't he funny," the girl said in an undertone, shaking her fat silk -curls and wrinkling up her snow-white but befreckled little nose. "He's -just like a baby. I wish I had brought him a rattle." - -"They're all like babies," murmured Mrs. Walbridge absently, her eyes -fixed on space. "Every one of them." - -"Have you heard the news?" the girl asked, mysteriously, drawing her -hostess a little to one side, under pretence of looking at a picture -near the mantelpiece. - -"News! No, what news?" Poor Mrs. Walbridge started, for, at the present -crisis in her life, all news seemed to point towards her own domestic -trouble. - -Jenny looked very wise. "He'll be telling you himself, no doubt, but I -don't mind telling you first. It's Oliver." - -Mrs. Walbridge looked at young Wick, who was talking, with every -appearance of complete happiness, to Hermione, with whom he was very -good friends. "What is it?" she asked. "I've not seen him for nearly a -fortnight." - -"I know. He's been very busy. The fact is he's engaged to be married, -and we see hardly anything of him, mother and I." - -Mrs. Walbridge felt the ground rock under her feet. How could it be -possible that Oliver Wick was engaged when only a few nights ago he had -sat before her in the room downstairs shaken to the heart by misery -about Grisel? "Are you--are you _sure_?" she faltered. - -Jenny laughed. "Well, I ought to be. We hear nothing but Dorothy from -morning till night--that is, whenever we _do_ see him, he talks of -nothing else. And isn't it ridiculous, her name's Perkins?" - -"Dorothy Perkins! That is a coincidence. I'm sure I hope they'll be very -happy. Does your mother like her?" the poor lady murmured, trying to get -her bearings. - -"Oh, we've never seen her, mother and I. She lives at Chiswick and her -mother's an invalid, so she hardly ever leaves her. We've seen her -picture, though, and she's lovely." - -Dinner was announced at that moment, and Mrs. Walbridge, never as long -as she lived, could remember one thing about the meal, except that young -Latour, who sat next to her and knew not a word of English, had the most -beautiful manners she had ever seen in her life, and really almost made -her believe--almost, but not quite--that the few remaining crumbs of her -schoolgirl French that she was able to scrape together and offer him, -were not only comprehensible but eloquent. He was a very small young man -with black hair, so smooth and glossy that it looked like varnish, and -a long, long white nose, sensitive nostrils and bright darting eyes like -those of an intelligent bird. Bruce Collier, who prided himself on his -perfect French, tried at first to translate the conversation of the -young man and his hostess to each other, but "Mossioo Latour," as Mrs. -Walbridge laboriously called him, waved aside his offered aid with a -cigarette-stained, magnanimous hand. - -"Mais non, mais non, mêlez vous de vos affaires, mon cher," he -protested, "Nous nous entendons parfaitement bien, n'est-ce pas, Madame -Vollbridge?" - -And Mrs. Walbridge nodded and said, "Oh ooee." She said "oh ooee" many -times, also "Je ne say pas" and "N'est-ce pas." And she loved the young -man for his painstaking courtesy. But after a while he drifted naturally -into a more amusing dialogue with Hermione, whom he obviously admired -very much, and Mrs. Walbridge was left to her confused realisation of -the utter perfidy of man. Oliver Wick engaged! She would have been burnt -at the stake for her belief in the reality of his love for Griselda; yet -there he was, radiantly happy, chattering and joking with everyone in -turn, and no doubt, the mother thought, with most unjust and -inconsequent anger, the picture of that Dorothy Perkins in his pocket. -And she looked at Griselda's over-tired, nervous little face and hated -Oliver Wick. - -The Wicks, who were spending the night with some friends in the -neighbourhood, were the last to leave, for Jenny and Paul (who had sung -a great deal and unusually well during the evening) had some new songs -to try. So after all the others had gone, the two went to the piano and -set to work on seriously trying over some rather difficult music of -Ravel and some of the more modern Russians. - -Mrs. Walbridge, Grisel, and Oliver sat by the fire, Oliver extremely -busy roasting chestnuts, which he offered in turn to his hostesses on an -ash-tray. He was squatting in front of the grate, laughing and jesting -with every appearance of an almost silly satisfaction with life, and -when at last, even Mrs. Walbridge refusing to eat any more burnt -chestnuts, he rose with a sigh and sat down between them. - -"What a delightful evening," he said. "That's a lovely gown, Grisel. I -don't think I ever saw you look better." - -"Thanks," she murmured. - -"When's Sir John coming back?" - -She started and looked at him in surprise; it was the first time that he -had mentioned Sir John's name that evening. - -"He'll be back the day after to-morrow." - -"You must be awfully glad," he said sympathetically. - -There was a little pause while the music rose to a loudness greater than -was comfortable as a background to conversation. Then he said gently, -"I'm sorry I made such a fool of myself the last time I saw you, Grisel. -I meant it, you know. I was perfectly serious--puppy love, you know! -Heavens, how I must have bored you! Well, it's all over now and I've -made my manners. And now," he added with a look of proud shyness in his -face, "I've got something to tell you." - -"Yes?" Grisel murmured. - -"It's this. I--I'm engaged to be married to the sweetest girl in all the -world." - -The words seemed vaguely familiar to Mrs. Walbridge, and then she -realised that she had written them often. - -"Her name is Perkins, isn't it?" said Mrs. Walbridge kindly, but with -ludicrous effect. - -"Mother!" said Grisel sharply. - -Wick took a leather case from his pocket. "Here's her picture," he said. -"You're the very first people I've shown it to, except my dear old -mother and my little sister." - -This, too, seemed vaguely familiar to the novelist. Indeed, she had a -feeling that none of the conversation was true--that she was writing it -in one of her own books. - -Grisel took the photograph and held it towards her mother; they looked -at it together. - -"Oh, she's beautiful!" Mrs. Walbridge cried in amazement. - -He nodded. "Isn't she? And this picture isn't half good enough. You see, -her colouring is so wonderful!" - -"She's lovely," Grisel said slowly, "simply lovely. I think I've seen -her somewhere, too." - -He took the photograph and gazed at it in dreamy ecstasy. - -"If you ever had," he said, "you couldn't possibly forget her." Then he -added shyly to Mrs. Walbridge, "Isn't it wonderful that such a girl -could ever have looked at a fellow like me?" - -Paul's beautiful voice, so utterly unlike himself, rose and fell softly -in a charming song of Chausson's about lilacs, and there was a little -silence for a minute. - -"Mrs. Perkins is an invalid," Oliver went on at last, when he had put -the picture away in his left-hand breast pocket, "so my poor girl hardly -ever leaves her. She's a most devoted daughter." - -"_H'm!_" - -"I beg your pardon?" he asked turning deferentially to Grisel. - -"Oh, no--I didn't say anything. Do tell us more about the Perkins -family," she said with a grand air. - -"About the father and mother? Oh, there isn't much to tell. Except that -they have managed to produce Dorothy. The father's a painter--a very bad -painter. A charming old man. Looks like William de Morgan; big forehead, -you know--white hair. They are very poor, but of course that doesn't -matter." - -Mrs. Walbridge was beginning to feel more comfortable, and shook her -head in unqualified assent. - -"Of course it doesn't, as long as you--love each other." - -"Ah!" the young man murmured, his voice ringing unmistakably true, "I -love the girl all right." - -"She'll value your constancy, I should think," Griselda drawled, -"ridiculous creature that you are." - -He gazed at her humbly. - -"You're quite right to laugh at me," he returned, "I did make a perfect -fool of myself about you, but, after all, I'm not so very old, you -know." - -"How can you be sure," she asked, trying to look like a dowager, "that -you really _do_ love now? I should think that you'd be a little nervous -about it." - -The music had ceased, and his sister came forward. - -"Come along, Olly, we must be off. It's frightfully late." - -She began to roll up her music, and Wick answered Griselda's question. - -"I'm perfectly sure," he said gravely, "that I've found my girl--what -poets call my mate. And I shall love her till I die." - -"I hope you will, I'm sure," put in Mrs. Walbridge warmly, to cover -Grisel's unkind air of distance. And when she had let the Wicks out of -the door with Paul, she hurried upstairs to reprove her daughter for her -unsympathetic manner, but Griselda had gone to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -Early the next morning old Mrs. Wick, who also had been spending the -night in town with the friends where her children were staying, was -gratified, while she was still in bed, by a visit from her son, who -burst into the room apparently more than delighted with himself and the -way his particular world was wagging. - -"A most beautiful party, mother," he exclaimed, wrapping himself up in -her eiderdown, for his pyjamas were old, and worn, and chilly. "And the -wretch looked lovelier than ever." - -"I hope you aren't going to backslide, Oliver," she said severely, -taking her spectacles out of their old case and putting them on so that -she might look at him over their tops. - -"Oh, dear no, but I don't mind owning to you, mother, that if it wasn't -for Dorothy, I _might_ be in danger! She used to be a fairy princess, -but now she's a princess of ideal royalty. Such a beautiful gown--worth, -I'm sure, twenty-five guineas, and a little string of lovely -pearls--_his_ gift, and the big ruby. I shall never," he added -thoughtfully, "be able to dress poor Dorothy like that." - -His mother regarded him suspiciously. - -"Oh, go on," she said, "with your Dorothy." - -He rose, and did a few steps of the "Bacchanal à la Mordkin," whistling -the music through his teeth. "Speak not, oh aged one," he then cried, -striking an attitude, "with disrespect of the moon-faced and altogether -irreproachable Dorothy." - -Mrs. Wick shook her head. "I'm really sorry for you, Oliver," she said. -"You're so silly, and as to your Dorothy Perkins, I believe her name's -Harris." - -He grinned. "Well, perhaps it is. After all, there's very little -difference between Perkins and Harris. And it's done the trick. Oh, -mother, you should have seen me! I was an absolute gem of -half-shamefaced love-sickness." - -"I don't see why you had to tell all that rubbish to Jenny and me," the -old woman protested, a little offended, rubbing her nose with her thumb. - -"But of course I had to! Jenny's seeing that soft idiot of a Paul every -day, and would be sure to give it away." He chuckled. "I saw her -whispering it as a great secret to the old lady and she was so surprised -she never ate a bit of dinner--it was a good dinner, too." - -"You're a rascal," his mother declared comfortably, "and you deserve to -have her marry twenty old gentlemen." - -He sat down, his face suddenly grave. - -"Ah no, mother. All's fair in love and war. I haven't yet made up my -mind which of the two this is, but it's one. She's a pig-headed little -brute, my lovely love is, and as obstinate as a mule. She's made up her -mind to marry this man and be rich and comfortable, and I don't think -anything on earth could have stopped her, except----" he grinned -wickedly, "just this--jealousy. She nearly died with jealousy before my -eyes. Ah, if you could have heard her! 'Please tell us more about the -Perkins family,'" he mimicked, "and her little chin went further and -further in the air. She hated me like hell!--but, oh, she loved me!" - -A maid knocked at the door and brought in a little round tray with a cup -of tea on it. - -"Your tea's in your room, sir," she said. And then he sent her to bring -it to him. - -"I want you to go and see them, mother. You aren't to go and tell Jenny, -mind you, that--that her name's Harris, but I want you to go to 'Happy -House'--what a name for it, by the way!--and tell them all sorts of -things about the Perkins. Don't forget that they live at Chiswick, and -that the old man's an unsuccessful artist--miniatures," he added -thoughtfully, "is his line, and Mrs. Perkins is an invalid. - -"Yes, I know. You told us that. What's the matter with her? Heart -disease, I suppose." - -"Not at all. Stomach. She never digests anything except--what do you -call it--koumiss. Yes, she lives on koumiss." - -"When are you going away, Oliver?" the old lady asked presently, between -two sips of what is to Britons closer to nectar than any other liquid on -earth. - -"Either to-night or to-morrow. And oh, I forgot, don't say anything to -them--the 'Happy House' people, I mean--about me and my doings." - -"Why, don't they know about Sparks?" - -"Nope. They don't know anything about what has been happening lately. -They think I'm still the penniless reporter. That's very important, too. -It's the penniless reporter Miss Minx has got to propose to, _not_ the -latest and favourite discovery of the Great Chief." - -"I don't think that's quite fair," his mother said. "After all, it's a -great deal to expect any girl to marry a young man who is penniless as -well as a nobody." - -"But I'm not a nobody, and I'm going to be a very big somebody, and she -ought to _know_ that I shall be a success. Did the girl think," he added -angrily, waving his arm, "that I would let her starve, or send her on -the stage to keep me? No. She ought to have understood, and now she's -got to be punished." - -She felt, this wise and clever old hen, that this hatchling of hers was -not even an ordinary barnyard duck, that he was a wild, alien bird, -capable of almost any flight. - -"Well, my dear, your description of Dorothy Perkins has rather made my -mouth water," she declared, as he rose and took a look out of the -passage to see if he could nip back unobserved to his room (he had -forgotten to bring his dressing-gown). "Such a lovable, home-keeping, -devoted daughter you made her!" - -"Exactly. Where I was canniest though," he returned, "was when I made -her perfectly lovely as well. That little brute would never believe in a -_plain_ girl." - -"But where did you get the photograph? It really is exceptionally -lovely." - -"I bought her at a photographers in Birmingham, when I was there the -week before last. I had to take the man out to lunch to persuade him to -sell it. She's an Irish girl--was governess to some rich Jew in -Edgbaston, and she married a vet. in the army, and has gone to Egypt, so -it's as safe as a church. Now mind, mother," he bent over and kissed -her, and gave her a little hug, "mind you don't give it away to Jenny. I -shall be back in about a week, and you must keep the flag flying for me -while I'm away." - -"All right, dear, I will. I don't like telling lies, but I do it very -well when I want to. Any brothers and sisters--the Perkins's, I mean?" - -"No. Only child. I'm going to lunch to-day," he said, "with some of our -_other_ editors--ahem! I see myself being very chummy with the editor of -the _English Gentleman_. Oh, Lord!" - -"Yes, dear. Wait a minute, Olly. Just suppose," his mother said, looking -at him seriously over her glasses, "just suppose that things did go -wrong, and that after all she married Sir John Barclay." - -He stood still, put his hand on the door, an almost grotesque figure in -his faded pink and white striped flannel pyjamas. - -"I don't know," he said slowly. "It would be pretty bad, mother; worse -than you think." After a pause he shook his head and opened the door -wide. "It isn't going to happen," he said, "and I'm not going to weaken -myself by looking at the bad side of things." Then he went out and she -heard his door close. - -An hour later, as Oliver went downstairs to breakfast, the telephone -bell rang and, as he was expecting a call from the office, he answered -it. The thing buzzed for a minute and then he heard a voice say, "Is--is -that Mr. Catherwood's house?" - -Putting his hand over the receiver and turning his head well away, the -young man answered in a loud and fervid whisper, "Yes, you blessed lamb, -you little darling devil, it _is_ Mr. Catherwood's house!" Then he took -his hand away and said in an affected voice, "Yes, moddom." - -"I have tried three Catherwoods in the book," continued the voice, -struggling witty nervous hesitation. "I don't know the Christian name of -the one I am looking for, but is there a Mr. Wick staying there?" - -"Yes, moddom." - -"Will you please call him to the phone. Tell him it's Miss Griselda--I -mean Miss Walbridge--Bridge--B-r-i-d-g-e." - -Dancing with joy, his voice perfectly steady, he pretended to -misunderstand her. "Miss Burbridge, moddom?" - -"No, no--oh," and a little troubled sigh chased the laughter from his -face. - -"I'll call him," he said, almost forgetting himself and adding "moddom" -spasmodically. Then after a moment he spoke in his own voice. "Hallo, -what is it? Is it you, Grisel?" - -"Yes, oh Oliver, I _have_ had such a time getting you. Listen, we're in -awful trouble. Guy's dying in Paris and they have telegraphed for mother -to come. The telegram came late last night. She's never been out of -England in her life and hasn't the slightest idea how to travel and--and -Paul won't be able to go; he couldn't get a pass now the Peace -Conference is on--a friend of his tried last week in almost the same -circumstances, and he couldn't----" - -"I know, I know." - -"Mother wants you to come round and tell her about things. Paul will go -to the Foreign Office for her, but she knows you know Paris well, and -then you can tell her about getting there--trains, and so on, on the -other side of the channel. Will you come?" - -He came perilously near forgetting the Perkins's at that moment. - -"I'll come at once. Perhaps you'll give me some breakfast?" - -"Oh, yes, anything. Do come." - -Then he added, "What a pity Sir John isn't here. He would have been a -great comfort to you now." - -"Yes," vaguely, "wouldn't he? Oh, we're all so frightened about Guy." - -"What's the matter with him, do you know?" he asked, as Mr. Catherwood -came downstairs and nodded to him through the banisters. Grisel -explained that it was pneumonia following on "flu," and he heard her -blow her poor little nose. - -Promising to come round at once, he went and explained to his host, and -ten minutes later jumped out of his taxi and ran up the steps of "Happy -House." - -Grisel and Mrs. Walbridge were at breakfast, but Paul had hurried off -straight to the house of some minor Foreign Office official whom he -happened to know. Mrs. Walbridge already had her hat on, he noticed, and -anything more helpless and pathetic than her haggard, tear-stained, -bewildered face Oliver thought he had never seen in his life. She kissed -him absent-mindedly as if he had been a son, and he sat down and Grisel -plied him with food. - -Grisel, who had been crying (for she and Guy were nearly of an age and -had always been fond of each other), said, "You never saw him--he is -such a dear! Oh, it's too cruel to have fought all through the war, and -now----" - -"Hush, hush," he said, patting her wrist with a fine imitation of -brotherly detachment, "give the poor boy a chance. Who sent the -telegram?" - -"A nurse." - -"H'm. Where is he?" - -"He's at a private hospital. The telegram's in mother's bag." - -As she spoke, the maid brought in the letters, and Grisel looked through -them listlessly. One, addressed in firm, bold writing to herself, Wick -knew instinctively must come from Sir John. There was only one for Mrs. -Walbridge, and as Grisel handed it to her mother she said: - -"Don't open it, dear. I'm sure it's only a bill." Mrs. Walbridge did not -even look at it. - -"What time does the train start," she asked impatiently. "Oliver, you -must help me. I've never been out of England, and I can't speak French." - -Grisel opened her letter and read it through indifferently. "John will -be back to-morrow night." - -"Oh, then you'll be all right, darling," Mrs. Walbridge returned. "You'd -better go and stay with Hermy. Or would you rather have Miss Wick come -and stay with you here?" - -"I don't want anyone to come and stay with me, and I don't want to go to -Hermy's. I shall stay here, where I belong. Oh, mother, mother, if only -we knew--if only we _knew_." - -She bent down over the table and burst into tears, crying into her poor -little handkerchief, that Wick saw had already received more than its -share of moisture. He took a nice clean handkerchief from his own -pocket, and gave it to her. - -"Take this," he said kindly. "It's got some Florida water on it too." - -She took it, between a laugh and a moan, and buried her face in its -happy folds. Then he took out a notebook and his famous fountain pen, -and began to scribble. - -"Are you writing notes down for me?" Mrs. Walbridge asked. "Put down all -the little things. Remember that I know absolutely nothing about travel. -Oh, if only Paul could have gone with me." - -He noticed that neither of them had mentioned, or apparently so much as -given a thought to the absent husband and father. - -"Paul couldn't get a permit, as you said on the telephone. Things have -tightened up worse than ever now that the Peace Conference has really -begun." - -Mrs. Walbridge nodded. "I know." - -He rose and put his pen in his pocket. "I must be off now," he said. -"I've several things to do. Can you arrange to go by the one-thirty -train?" - -"Yes. Paul rang up this Mr. White, and he said he would manage to pull -it through." - -"Good." The young man went to the desolate little woman and put his hand -on her shoulder. "Cheer up, Mrs. Walbridge," he said. "Lots of people -pull through pneumonia, and I believe Guy's going to. I have a kind of -feeling that he is." - -She smiled at him, a little consoled, as one often is by just such -foolish hopefulness. - -"If only there wasn't that Conference," she said, beautifully -disregarding the world's interests, "then Paul could come with me." - -"Well, Paul can't, but--now, listen to me--I can, and I'm going to." - -She stared at him. "To the station, you mean?" - -"No, I don't. I mean to Paris. Now you mustn't keep me. I've got a -thousand things to do, but I'll be here in a taxi at twelve o'clock. -Shall I get the tickets?" - -"Oh, yes, do. Oh, how good you are!" In her relief and gratitude she -leant her head against his shoulder and cried a little. Grisel looked -on, very pale and tense. "Can--can you leave Miss Perkins?" she asked -forlornly. - -For a moment he trembled on the brink of abject confession. Then he -girded up his loins. - -"Oh, yes," he said. "She'll quite understand. Very understanding girl. -I--I'll ring her up from the office." - -"If--if you'd like to ring her up from here"--Grisel's voice shook a -little, and he bent his face over Mrs. Walbridge's jaded hat to hide a -smile of triumph that he could not repress--"mother and I will be -upstairs in my room--with the door shut." - -"No, thanks. I've got to get to the office anyhow, and I'll ring her up -from there." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Guy Walbridge did not die. He was very ill, and many weeks passed before -his mother could bring him back to England; but after the first part of -her stay in Paris he was out of danger, and her letters, particularly -those she wrote to Caroline Breeze, showed that she was having a happy -time. One of these letters had perhaps better be given, as it explains a -good many things. She went to Paris on the 13th of February. This letter -was written the first Tuesday in March, and was dated at a -boarding-house in the Rue St. Ferdinand. One evening after dinner -Grisel, to whom Caroline had brought the letter in the afternoon, -according to directions in it, read it aloud to Oliver and Jenny Wick -and Sir John Barclay, as they sat round the fire in the girls' room. - -"She really seems to be having a good time," Grisel began, taking the -thin sheets out of the envelope and throwing the end of her cigarette -into the fire. "I'm glad too. She needed a change." - -Barclay smiled at her. "Isn't it," he asked, "the first change your -mother has ever had?" - -She nodded. "Yes. I know you think we're awful, the way we treat her, -John," she added, "but she never wanted to go away. I think her best -holidays have always been when we were all off staying somewhere, and -she had the house to herself." - -"I don't," commented Jenny Wick, with a shrewd little grimace. "I think -she likes best to have you one at a time--all to herself." - -Oliver said nothing. It was the second time that he had been to the -house since his return, but the first in which he had been there quite -in this way--_en famille_--for the two brothers-in-law were there on the -other occasion, and there had been things about the journey to Paris -that he had not cared to tell them. - -"Well, never mind that," he said. "Go on with the letter." - -"'MY DEAR CAROLINE,'--The first part's about--oh, about Caroline's -landlady's twins--not very interesting. Let me see. Oh, here we are: -'_We've been for a long drive in the Bois de Boulogne. You've no idea -how different it is from Hyde Park, but it's very nice, just the -same._'" - -"Speaks the Islander," from Wick. - -"'_It is very cold here, colder, I think, than London, but it's clear -and sunny. I feel very well, and in the last few days I have begun to -get fatter; you'll be surprised to hear, Caroline, that I've had to let -out my afternoon dress. I got a very nice piece of----_' Oh, I won't -read this." - -"Yes, do," shouted Oliver. "I want to know what she got a nice piece -of." - -"'_Of lace at the Galleries Lafayette, and a little woman here has made -me a fichu that quite brightens up the old black satin._' Isn't she a -dear? '_I went to Notre Dame this morning. It's beautiful, and I like -the homely way poor people come in and say their prayers for a few -minutes and then go out again. There were two market baskets full of -vegetables just inside the door this morning, and a flower-girl burning -candles before a statue. Of course it's idolatrous, but it's a very -pretty custom._'" - -Oliver laughed. "Imagine one of the Piccadilly Circus flower-girls -strolling in for a moment's spiritual comfort to Westminster Abbey!" - -"'_I bought some very nice scones at a little shop near the Louvre, and -Guy did enjoy them with his tea. But guess what they cost, my dear. -Fifty centimes apiece--sixpence! The prices here are perfectly dreadful. -Oh, I bought E. V. Lucas's "Wanderer in Paris," and go out for a couple -of hours every day, when Guy doesn't want me, with it, and it's very -delightful. Paris must have changed very much, and no one could call it -gay now, and I never saw such deep mourning in my life. Half the women -are in black, real old-fashioned widows' weeds, not like our war widows' -little ballet skirts._ - -"'_It's quite as east-windy and dusty as London, and the taximen are -perfect fiends. They say that the family of anyone killed by a vehicle -is obliged to pay for obstructing the traffic. Of course if this is -true, it explains why they drive so fast._'" - -Sir John laughed. "This, I take it, is the novelistic imagination of -which we hear so much." - -"'_Thanks very much for sending me "Haycocks" and "Bess Knighthood." -I've read "Haycocks," and like it very much in some ways, but as for -"Bess Knighthood," how could it have taken that prize? Fancy getting a -thousand pounds for such a book! I saw it at Brentano's, and the man -told me everybody was reading it. I think it's rather a cruel book, and -I don't believe any family could really be quite so horrid._'" - -Grisel looked up. "That's true. They were perfect brutes, weren't they? -Poor old Mum! I suppose she's a little jealous. I _loved_ it myself!" - -"It's going to be dramatised. Did I tell you, Grisel?" Wick lighted a -cigarette as he spoke. "It'll make a splendid play. I never heard of the -author before, did you? E. R. East. Man or woman?" - -"Oh, woman, of course. No, I don't think I ever heard of her before. -What a wonderful thing," Grisel added, "to get a thousand pounds prize -just for writing a story." - -"Just for writing a story." Wick grinned. "Philistine!" - -"Oh, mother speaks about that--listen: - -"'_Do you remember that day, Caroline dear, when you wanted me to write -a book for the competition? Just imagine "Sunlight and Shadow" or "One -Maid's Word" being judged by the Committee that awarded that thousand -pounds!_" - -"Poor mother. I mustn't forget to tell her when I write that Mr. Payne -wrote a very nice letter about her new book. It's coming out in a few -days. I do hope it'll be a success, poor darling. You know, it's a -dreadful thing, John, but I can't get through a book of mother's -nowadays." - -"Can't you, my dear?" - -"No. They _are_ about such dull people. I wish I liked them, because she -must know I don't." - -"Oh, she's used to that," he answered. "Paul is remarkably frank about -it. But go on; finish the letter." - -The next page was devoted to a description of the famous pictures and -statues which Mrs. Walbridge was making a point of seeing. It was -plainly a surprise to her that this had turned out to be not altogether -an unpleasant fulfilment of duty. - -"'_I really love some of the pictures_,' she explained naïvely, '_and I -almost forgot to come home for lunch the day I went to the Luxembourg. -Some day I shall try to make time to go to the National Gallery._'" - -Wick groaned. "Oh--oh dear! She's like a child," he said. "Why, do you -know, she positively trembled with excitement when the train stopped and -she first noticed one of those long, straight roads edged with -poplars--the kind that are always in illustrated magazines. She even -thought the fisher wives with their caps picturesque. I'm going to take -her on some sprees in London when she gets back. We're going to the -Tower together, and she wants to see the Cathedral at St. Albans." - -"'_There's a lady in the house_,'" Grisel began again, after an -unamiable glance at the young man, "'_who's been buying clothes to go to -South America with. Yesterday I went with her to two or three -dressmakers, and the things really are lovely, Caroline. Of course they -seem very young, and one or two of this Mrs. Hammerton's would have -looked to me childish on Grisel, but it's the fashion here, and they -certainly do wear their clothes better than we do. I've got a lovely hat -for Grisel--black. (All the prettiest hats seem to be black.) And Hermy -will be delighted with an evening frock I have got for her. Maud's box -went off the other day. You never saw such darling little things in your -life. I wish I could be home to help nurse her, but Dr. Butler won't let -Guy come back for a long time yet, and he wants us to go to Cannes at -the end of next week. Doesn't it seem odd that I should be travelling -about like this at my time of life? I wonder if the Mediterranean really -is as blue as people say! I wish Oliver was going to be here. I rather -dread the journey, although Guy really speaks good French now._ - -"'_I wish, my dear, you would go and see Ferdie and look over his -things. It would be perfectly safe for you to go, as you aren't one of -the family. I had a very nice letter from him the other day--about Guy, -of course--but he seems to feel it rather difficult to look after his -own underclothes, and so on. I don't suppose he has a whole sock to his -name----_'" - -Grisel broke off and looked round her audience. "Isn't that just like -Mum?" she said. "I suppose she'll be mending Mrs. Crichell's--no, Mrs. -Walbridge's--things by this time next year." - -"I saw Crichell to-day," said Sir John gravely. "The case is down one of -the first in the Trinity term. They've got all the evidence and so on. -Ugh! What a beastly business it is! The woman ought to be whipped; and -as for your father, my dear----" He broke off, and Grisel laughed. - -"Oh, go on. Don't spare father. I'm sure I don't mind what you say about -him. Paul saw him dining somewhere with the--lady who has sold herself -as scapegoat. I should think there would be a good deal of money in that -kind of job nowadays. Quite an idea!" she added flippantly. - -"Oh, shut up, Grisel." It was Jenny who spoke. - -But Grisel sat with the letter on her lap. An idea had occurred to -her--an idea that would have occurred to anyone less self-engrossed than -she many weeks before. - -"John," she burst out, "is father still in that office of yours?" - -"Yes." - -"But--but how can he stay? Wouldn't you rather have him go?" - -Barclay came back to his chair. "No," he said quietly. "I prefer to have -him stay." - -"But----" She flushed and rose. "But how can he stay and take your money -when you feel about him as you do?" - -"It's quite all right, my dear. Business is one thing and friendship -another." - -But she over-rode his words. "Nonsense! You only gave him a job--well, -it's a kind of charity now that you're no longer friends." - -"Nonsense, Grisel." It was Wick who spoke. "You don't seriously think -that Sir John would have given your father the job unless he knew he was -going to be useful? Business men don't do that kind of thing. Isn't that -right, sir?" - -Barclay bowed his head. "Yes. It is your father's knowledge of French -that is of value to me. His domestic difficulties have made no change in -that." - -Grisel had forgotten all about little Jenny, with whom she was not very -intimate, and went on rapidly, her pride aflame. - -"Is he going to stay on in your--in your employ, then, after his -marriage to that disgusting woman?" - -"I hope so. You forget," Barclay added in a grave voice, "that if your -father were not working he would be unable to continue to support your -mother and----" he hesitated a little "you." - -She shivered and went to the fire. "I see. Yes, I see," she murmured. -Then she picked up the letter again, and read them a detailed account of -what the doctor had told her mother about Guy's condition. The letter -ended by asking Miss Breeze to take it to "Happy House," as the writer -was too busy to set it all down a second time. - -Grisel folded it up, and put it back into the envelope. - -"My mother had a note from her," Wick remarked, "two or three days ago, -it was. And she sent Jenny two pairs of gloves. I like to think," he -added, "of her there in Paris running about with the E. V. Lucas under -her arm, seeing things she has always heard of. She also," he added, -"wrote a charming note to Miss Perkins." - -"Did she? Has Miss Perkins written to her?" - -He nodded. "Yes. She was awfully touched by the letter. So was Mrs. -Perkins. Your mother's promised to go and see them as soon as she gets -home." - -Grisel smiled with a touch of condescension. "By the way, as she's so -confined to the house by her mother's health, you might take me to see -her one afternoon. Or--or Sir John would let us go in the car." - -Sir John nodded. "Any day you say, my dear." - -Wick was terrified for a moment, and then agreed to the proposal with -becoming enthusiasm. - -"That _would_ be kind of you," he answered. "I've been longing to -suggest it, but didn't quite like to." - -She looked at him sideways, and he saw her knuckles whiten. - -"When can you go?" he went on, pursuing his advantage with a beaming -face. "Could you go to-morrow?" - -"I'm afraid I've got to go to Derby," Sir John put in. "I'm motoring two -men down on rather important business." - -"And on Friday," Grisel added hastily, "I've an engagement." - -"What about Saturday?" he insisted, thoroughly enjoying himself. - -"Saturday I'm going to be with Maud all day." - -He shrugged his shoulders. "There you are! Always busy. But I do want -you to meet Doll. I'm sure you'll like her. She's awfully interested in -you. I think," he added fatuously as his downright little sister stared -at him in amazement approaching open-mouthed astonishment, "she was -inclined to be--well, it sounds ridiculous, but girls are all alike--to -be a little jealous of you just at first, Grisel. But of course that's -all right now." - -Grisel tossed her head. "I should think so," she retorted. - -Sir John watched them with a puzzled look in his clear eyes. Their talk -seemed to him to be in surprisingly bad taste. He had noticed before -that the subject of Miss Perkins seemed to bring out in them both a -quality that he could not define, but that he greatly disliked, and it -was odd that Grisel at such moments displeased him far more than young -Wick. He was a clear-sighted man who had seen a good deal of the world, -and of course it had not escaped him that Wick must only very recently -have been in love with Grisel, for sometimes he had caught in the young -man's eyes a look that was at least reminiscent of a stronger feeling -than Miss Perkins might have approved of. He felt a mild curiosity about -Miss Perkins, whose photograph he had seen, and whose beauty was -undeniable, and he remembered that the last time Wick had been at the -house he had dropped on the floor, and left, a fat letter in a delicate -grey envelope, addressed in a pretty hand, and that Grisel, who had -found it, remarked, as he propped it up against a brass candlestick: -"Chiswick postmark. Miss Perkins, of course." - -Barclay reflected, as he walked home that night, that if it were not for -Miss Perkins he should feel extremely sorry for young Wick. He liked the -boy. He liked him for his initiative and general air of success. -Incidentally he knew through a friend who was high up in the hierarchy -in Fleet Street, of which the head was a man whom Oliver called his -Chief, of this youth's recent and rapid promotion, and the confidential -position to which he had been raised over the heads of dozens of more -experienced and older men. He had said nothing of these things at "Happy -House," and so far as he could judge Oliver was regarded there still as -the unimportant, though pushful reporter, who had been sent to write up -Hermione's wedding in the previous July. Why the young man was -concealing his remarkable advance Barclay had no idea. But he did not -consider it his business to tell what he knew, and even Wick himself had -no idea of his rival's information. "The beautiful Miss Perkins," the -elder man thought, as he walked along in the bright moonlight, "will be -My Lady before she has been married five years, or I'm very much -mistaken." - -Meantime, Wick, who now had a room in a little blind alley off Fleet -Street, was toiling upstairs thoroughly tired in every sense. He had -expected Miss Perkins to effect a quicker revolution than she had been -able to do. He was overworked, for the great man who had taken him in -hand was testing him at every point, and things were not being made easy -for him; that was not the great man's way. He had, moreover, to contend -with the very natural jealousy of a good many men at the office, over -whose resentful heads he had been promoted, and their protests were -none the less bitter because they were forced to be silent ones. -Criticism of the Chief's plans, or even whims, were not tolerated in -Fleet Street. Wick found his work hampered and retarded in every -possible way, but he was too clever to speak a word of protest during -his rare but fruitful interviews with the "Boss," whose eyes twinkled as -he asked him each time that they met: "Well, Mr. Wick, things going -well, I hope?" And Wick, knowing that he knew (for he knew everything), -that things were being made damnably hard for him, invariably answered -with a corresponding twinkle and a pugnacious tightening of the lips: -"Top-hole." But now, after this second evening he had spent at "Happy -House" since his return from Paris, he was worn out and discouraged, and -he sat down on the edge of his bed, the moonlight pouring in through the -uncurtained window, and allowed his face to drop and line without -restraint. - -"I'll go and see mother to-morrow," he said aloud, "and tell her all -about it. She'll set me right, if I'm settable. The only decent thing in -the whole world is that Mrs. Walbridge is having the time of her life in -Paris, bless her! What a stupid letter!" He took a letter from his -pocket and tossed it on to the dressing-table. "I wonder what they would -say if they could read mine! Ah, well." - -As he got into bed and blew out his candle, he groaned heavily. "Damn -Miss Perkins," he said. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -One day in early May Sir John Barclay, who had been lunching at "Happy -House," managed to slip as he went down the steps into the garden and -tore the tendons away from one of his ankles. Grisel telephoned for the -doctor, who bound it up and gave Sir John, who was suffering acute pain, -a quietening draught of some kind, and went away leaving Grisel and her -lover in the dismal drawing-room alone together. - -"Did it hurt much?" she asked anxiously. - -He nodded, "Yes, ridiculously. It is odd how a little injury like that -can hurt so much more than a good many serious ones." After a moment he -added, looking thoughtfully at her as she moved about setting the room -to rights, "It is exactly the same with mental pain, too, my dear. Ever -noticed that?" - -"What do you mean?" She turned at the door, grasping the basin of cold -water in which the bandages had been wetted. - -"I mean that some little annoyance or disappointment," he went on -slowly, feeling his way, "often causes one more real discomfort than a -big blow would." - -She nodded listlessly. "I suppose so. I'll be back in a minute, John." - -The strengthening spring sunshine fell through a window full on his face -as he waited for her to come back, and there was something very -thoughtful and a little sad in his strong blue eyes. In spite of his -white hair he looked very young for his years, and his face, finely -modelled and dignified, held a look of mental clarity and freshness, -that, combined with its dominant expression of quiet energy, was very -striking. But a heat wave had been hovering over London for the last -three days and the humid warmth had tired everyone, and even he looked a -little fagged. - -As Grisel came back and drew together the hideous lace curtains that the -doctor had wrenched to the ends of the poles, he said gently: - -"This heat is exhausting you, my dear. You look fagged and worn." - -"Why not say hideous at once?" she laughed, with a little edge in her -voice and her slim hands moving restlessly as she sat down. - -"For two reasons, the first is that you are not looking or never could -look hideous; the second that I am too old and too old-fashioned for the -brutal frankness that seems so popular nowadays." After a moment he -added quietly, "I leave that kind of downrightness to younger men--such -as Oliver Wick." - -She started. "Oliver Wick's manners are perfectly abominable, and they -seem to get worse. The beautiful Miss Perkins does not appear to have a -very good influence on him." - -John Barclay's blue eyes did not waver from her face. - -"And yet," he said, "there is no doubt, at least to my mind, that the -young man is very much in love." - -"Oh, he's _always_ very much in love," she retorted, the edge in her -voice sharpening. "Why, it is only nine months ago that he was making a -perfect fool of himself about--about a friend of mine." - -Barclay nodded. "Yes, I gathered from something his mother said that -the young lady with the floral name has not the advantage of being his -first love. I suppose the girl--the other girl," he took a cigarette -case from his pocket and lit a cigarette, "didn't care about him." - -Grisel rose. "Oh, give me a cigarette. Care about him? I should think -she didn't. He bored the life out of the poor girl with his -scenes--and--and," she struck a match, "his absurd white face." - -"Dear me, I should have called him rather brown," commented Sir John -mildly. "Quite a brown young man, I should have said." - -"Oh, yes, but he used to turn white, and all those hideous lines in his -face used to look suddenly so sharp and--and so deep." - -"Very emotional he must be. You knew the young lady well, then?" - -Grisel shot a quick glance at him. "Yes--yes, I did. She was a friend of -mine. She has--she is in South America now." - -"I see. But we are digressing. What I started to say was that as you are -looking so tired, and as it is so frightfully hot, and as my foot is -going to make me pretty useless for a few days, suppose we go for a -little motor tour?" - -Her face brightened, "Oh yes, let's. Couldn't we go to the sea, John, -I--I think the sea up north somewhere would brace me--I mean all of us -up and make us feel better." - -"Good! What do you think of Yorkshire, Whitby or Robinhood Bay? Could -you start to-morrow?" - -She flushed with pleasure and came over and kissed his forehead, at -which he smiled a little sadly in his growing wisdom. - -"We can get Caroline to go with us," the girl resumed, sitting down on -the sofa and smoothing the shawl which she had spread over his bandaged -foot. "Poor old Caroline, she never gets any pleasure, and she will love -it." - -"I think perhaps you had better ring up Jackson" (he gave the number) -"and tell him to get the car ready for a long run to-morrow; and if you -and Paul don't mind, and will put me up to-night, you might tell Jackson -to send Bob up with my clothes and things. It would not hurt this foot -to be perfectly quiet till we start, and Bob can make the compresses, -and bandage it, as well as any doctor." - -After a little pause she answered, "Yes, that would be splendid. You can -have mother's room, and Bob can sleep in--in the dressing-room. Shall I -go and tell Caroline?" - -"No, go and telephone." He repeated the number. "Better get Jackson at -once. By the way, Miss Perkins' young man will be coming in this -afternoon, won't he?" - -She nodded, "Yes, oh dear, I had forgotten. He and Jenny are coming to -dinner. Paul has a lot of new Russian music----" - -Barclay sat there and listened to her pretty voice at the telephone, the -thoughtful look in his face deepening though not saddening, and when she -came back he asked her abruptly if she thought Paul and Jenny Wick were -falling in love with each other. - -She stood in a pool of sunlight on the other side of the mantelpiece, -twisting the ruby on her finger. She had grown a little thin during the -hot weather, and her slight, graceful figure looked almost too -unsubstantial in the little dove coloured frock. - -"Paul and Jenny?" she murmured, "I don't know, John, I have been -wondering myself." - -"Would you--would you like it if they did?" he asked. - -"I don't know. I like Jenny very much; she is too good for Paul, -really." - -He nodded, "Yes, I see what you mean, but on the other hand she draws -out the very best that there is in the boy." - -"Paul is not a boy, he's thirty." - -"Thirty is boyhood to fifty-three," he answered smiling. "I like the -little lady with her edible looking curls, and her music is _real_ -music, based on the best things in her; music is no good at all when it -is built only on the emotions. Of course, if they do marry, the -energetic journalist would be almost a member of the family--he and his -wife." - -Grisel laughed and gave a comic shiver. "Oh dear, oh dear, then I should -have to live cheek and jowl with perfection; it would be dreadful." - -"By that time, dear," he said gravely, "you and I will not be living -exactly cheek and jowl with anyone at 'Happy House.'" - -"No, no, of course not. I was only thinking"--she broke off a little -confused, and he laughed. - -"Oh, John," she said, "you are such a dear and I am so fond of you! You -always make everything so much nicer--and so much easier to bear." - -As she spoke Jessie came in with the tea tray, and when she had gone -out, and Grisel was pouring out the tea with sudden gaiety and high -spirits, Barclay went on as if they had not been interrupted: - -"That sounds almost as if you had things to bear." - -Her eyes darkened. "Well, haven't I? After all, it's not very pleasant -to have one's own father make such a ridiculous fool of himself as my -father is doing. I suppose you saw that article in the _Express_ -yesterday?" - -He nodded, "Yes, a very decent little article; the papers have behaved -very well on the whole, considering that he is, well--your mother's -husband." - -She looked at him blankly and then understood. "Oh, mother's books you -mean! Yes, I suppose that does make it a little better known, the -divorce business, I mean--poor mother!" - -"Why poor mother, Grisel?" - -"The books, you know," she returned vaguely, stirring her tea. -"They--they are so awful, John." - -"Are they?" - -She nodded. "Yes. So old-fashioned and sentimental and utterly unreal. I -have not been able to get through one for years." - -"Haven't you?" he answered reflectively. "I read one the other day, and, -thanks I suppose to my own old-fashionedness and sentimentality, I quite -liked it." - -"Not really! What was it?" - -"It was called, I think, 'The Under Secretary.'" - -She nodded, "Yes, that's one of the best ones, and you know it used to -be very popular. The later ones are awful, and, oh, John," the girl's -beautiful face was filled with real sympathy, "'Lord Effingham' was -perfectly dreadful--you know she tried to modernise it--you never read -such hopeless stuff in your life." - -"Yes, I looked at that one day somewhere. It struck me as being very -pathetic, Grisel." - -She shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose so, but then lots of other -writers have changed with the times--advanced I mean--only mother seems -to have stuck back in the eighties somewhere. It is not so much that her -stories are bad," she went on with an air of disinterested criticism -that rather jarred on her hearer, "it is the way she tells them that is -so--so hopelessly out of fashion. Why just look at Marjory Brendon, and -Miss Thirsk and Eugene and Olive Parker, their books are just as -hopeless as mother's from a _literary_ point of view, but they sell like -anything because they're modern." - -"Yes, I am not much of a novel reader," he said, "and when I do read a -novel I like the old ones, Dickens and Thackeray and so on, but I must -say I do not see much of the modern ones that are considered literary. -The two or three I have struck have been either deadly dull in their -wealth of utterly unattractive details, or so filthy that they ought to -be burnt; that book Paul lent me, for instance, 'Reek,' is not fit for -any decent young woman to read." - -Grisel nodded, "Yes, it is horrid. I began it, but mother wouldn't let -me finish it. I love 'Haycocks,' don't you?" - -He shook his head. "No. Of course it is beautifully written, but people -with such undeveloped minds and such lack of knowledge of anything -except turnips and sheep, don't interest me." - -"That is the one my mother likes. Yes, I know what you mean about the -turnips," the girl added thoughtfully, "but I suppose it is a perfect -picture of the lives of such people. It is selling splendidly. I like -'Bess Knighthood' better, only I don't believe any family could be so -horrid to each other. Yet it is told in an odd, attractive way. Mother -couldn't bear it, yet it got the 1,000 dollar prize. 'Young Bears at -Play' was the book I liked best of all. Oliver gave us those two, and I -laughed till I was limp over it. Betterton is a funny man." - -They talked on and on very pleasantly, very cosily, and as the draught -given him by the doctor began to take effect Barclay's eyes grew heavy -and his voice gradually softer; finally his head fell back against the -pillow and he slept. - -Grisel sat for some time looking at him in his unconsciousness, and it -seemed to the girl that she was really seeing for the first time this -man who was to be her husband. She studied his face closely; its well -marked eyebrows and strong serene mouth; a good face it was, she saw, -the best of faces. And then she gave a little shiver and rose, for -somehow the intimacy of the little scene was painful to her. - -After a minute she went quietly out of the room and down into the -garden. A little wind had risen as the sun began to go down, and the -leaves in the big elm tree were stirring with small, brisk sounds, as if -they, too, felt better for the coolness. The sky was unusually bright in -its hard blueness, and the two lilac bushes, one purple and the other -white, that had been gently grilling all day, sent out strong waves of -sweetness as they swayed in the freshening air. Grisel Walbridge sat -down on the steps and gazed out across the garden. One or two of the -earlier rose bushes were starred with half-open buds, and a patch of -some intensely yellow flower in one of the pathetic herbaceous borders -caught her eye--so yellow it was that it looked like a pool of -concentrated light--an altar of sunshine, the girl thought absently. -Then her mind went back to the sleeping man in the drawing-room. "How -handsome he looked," she said to herself resolutely. "How kind his face -is, and how strong. I certainly am a very lucky girl." Yet somehow she -seemed to know better than ever before what it was she was really doing -in marrying this kind powerful man. Strong and placid and handsome as he -undoubtedly was, the relaxation of sleep had revealed one thing very -clearly to her. His face was as smooth, and more unlined than that of -many much younger men whom she knew--the flesh looked firm and sound, -and the muscles were shapely and did not sag, but she moved restlessly -and leaning her head against the handrail on which a climbing rose had -swung its first clumps of thick pink blossom. "He's old," she said, -"old." In her security of perfect solitude she had, without knowing it, -spoken aloud, and Oliver Wick, who had come down the passage -noiselessly, on rubber-soled tennis shoes, heard her, without her having -heard him, and for several minutes he stood in the doorway quite -motionless, his white flannelled figure sharply outlined against the -inner darkness, his tennis racquet in his hand, listening, as it seemed -to him, to the repeated echo of her words. They seemed to go on for a -long time, the words, "He is old--he is old." - -Presently he tiptoed back into the house and a moment later came -bounding out into the sunshine very noisily, so noisily that she turned -with an irritated frown, and on her seeing who it was her frown -deepened. "Oh, it is you," she said ungraciously, "I thought you were -coming to _dinner_, you and Jenny." - -"We are; Jenny is spending the night with Mrs. Gaskell-Walker, and I am -at the Catherwoods." - -"I see. Will you come upstairs? Sir John is asleep in the drawing-room. -He has sprained his ankle and is asleep." - -Wick expressed proper regret at the accident, but declined to go in. - -"I have a message for you," he went on, sitting down, pulling up the -knees of his trousers, "from Dorothy. She's awfully sorry to have missed -you on Tuesday." - -"Yes, I was sorry too, but I thought you quite understood that I was -going to tea with Hermione." - -He shook his head. "No, I muddled it somehow, fool that I am. And about -Monday, I am afraid it is no good after all, for she is going to -Birmingham to see her grandmother, who is ill. She had a wire while I -was there last night." - -"Oh, I am sorry," Grisel said stiffly, picking a cluster of pink roses -and smelling them. "I hope the old lady will soon be better." - -Mr. Wick had apparently great faith in the recuperative powers of his -betrothed's grandmother. - -"Oh, she'll be all right; they are a splendidly healthy family, the -Wandsworths. It is her _mother's_ mother, you see." - -Grisel looked at him. "Mrs. Perkins herself does not seem to be like the -rest of them, then," she suggested maliciously. - -He did not flinch. "No, poor thing, she's the exception that proves the -rule. She's always bemoaning it. However, they are trying massage now, a -peculiar kind of massage and dumb-bells, and I really believe it is -going to do her good." - -Grisel nodded indifferently. "I hope so, I am sure. Have you been -playing tennis?" - -"Yes, Joan Catherwood and I had four sets. She beat me hollow, too. How -pretty these roses are!" - -She nodded. "Yes, aren't they; I love them." Then she stroked her cheek -with a pretty cluster as if it had been a powder puff. - -Wick picked a bunch and smelt it. - -"Lovely things," he murmured in a rather maudlin voice. "I am glad you -like them, Grisel." - -"Glad? Why?" - -His small eyes looked at her reproachfully. - -"My dear girl," he said, "don't you understand, don't you realise why -they are my favourite flowers?" - -She stared for a moment and then rose impatiently. - -"Oh, of course, 'Dorothy Perkins,'" she said shortly. "Come along in, -it's too hot here." - -As he followed her, Mr. Wick treated himself to a silent chuckle, and -kicked over the edge of the veranda the clump of roses she had dropped. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Caroline Breeze's diary at this time contained several items that bear -on the history of that year at "Happy House." Miss Breeze had indeed -been glad to chaperon Griselda to Yorkshire, and the journey and short -stay there was to her delightful in every respect. - -"Sir John," she wrote on one occasion, "is the most chivalrous man, his -manners are perfectly beautiful. One would think by his politeness to me -that it must be me he was engaged to (which, of course, in point of -years might be considered more suitable), and not Grisel at all. He -behaves as if she was not exactly a daughter, but a niece he was very -fond of." - -In another place she gives way to reflection about Grisel herself. "A -very much spoiled girl. I suppose her winter with the Fords at Torquay -has turned her head a little, for I am sure she never used to be so -changeable and hard to please. She is almost fretful sometimes and dear -Sir John is so patient with her. He is a wonderful man. He seems to have -taken a great fancy to that tiresome Mr. Wick, and he has invited him -down here for Sunday. (This was written at Whitby.) I am sorry he is -coming and so is Grisel. She told me yesterday that he bores her to -death. It rather surprises me, for he never struck me as exactly a -bore." - -Then a little later she describes the visit. - -"Mr. Wick has been to Weston-super-Mare to see Miss Perkins, who is -there with some friends, after nursing her grandmother. Grisel was -quite cross with him and although, of course, one sympathises with the -young man's raptures about his sweetheart, I must admit he rather rubs -her in--Miss Perkins, I mean. - -"Sir John seems very much interested in Miss Perkins, and, if she had -come to Scarborough as she intended at first, he was going to take us -over in the car to see her. I am quite sorry her friends decided to go -to Weston-super-Mare instead, for I should love to see her. They are -going to be married in November, and really Mr. Wick's expression when -he talks about her is very nearly ridiculous." - -A week later the diary goes on: - -"We are going back to-morrow, for Paul has had a wire from dear Violet, -saying they are leaving Cauterets and coming to Paris on their way home. -I shall be glad to see Violet, it seems years since she went. Oliver is -going to bring them back from Paris, where he has gone in connection -with the signing of the Peace. Miss Perkins has written a charming -letter to Grisel; she must be a lovely girl. - -"Grisel and Sir John are to be married in October, as he has to go to -the Argentine at the end of that month and she wants to go with him. I -hope the change will do her good, for she really looks ill and doesn't -seem at all herself." - -Mr. Wick about this time writes to his mother from Paris. - - "_It was wildly successful, but I nearly broke down a dozen times, - sometimes into a roar of laughter and sometimes into tears of pity. - She does so hate my poor Dorothy, mother, she is as jealous as a - Turk and so in love with me that I wonder everyone in the world - doesn't see it, but they don't. I rather had some doubts about Sir - John once or twice, he is no fool, and I have caught him looking at - me in a rather understanding way. He displays an almost suspicious - interest in my young woman. I made a little slip and had her headed - for Scarborough, but I saw in his eyes a plan for driving us all - over there to see her, so I had Billy Barnes wire me from - Birmingham that their plans were changed and I packed them all off - to Weston-super-Mare, a place that I am sure Dorothy would enjoy if - she really existed._ - - "_There is only one thing, mother dear, that disturbs me at all, - and that is Sir John Barclay. He is a splendid old fellow and I am - afraid he is going to be upset over our marriage. However, that - can't be helped, and after all a man of his age has no real right - to romance! That belongs to us_"--and so on and so on. - -On the morning after her return Grisel came downstairs to find a -telegram just being handed in at the door. It was addressed to her and -announced that her mother and brother would arrive that night. It was -from Wick, dated Paris. She was a little late that morning, and Paul had -nearly finished his breakfast when she opened the dining-room door. - -"They are coming to-night, Paul," she said. "This wire has just come -from Oliver." - -Paul slew a wasp on the edge of his jam-baited plate and then took the -telegram. - -"Good!" he said. "I shall be glad to see them, and Guy will like those -new songs of mine; we must get Jenny to come in to-morrow night and I -will sing them." - -She sat down. - -"You like Jenny very much, don't you?" she asked gently. - -He looked up, his clever face, sometimes so highly repellent, almost -tender. - -"Jenny is a dear," he declared, "she is the best accompanist I have ever -had and her taste of music is perfect." - -Grisel, who had poured out her coffee, leaned her chin on her clasped -hands and looked at him thoughtfully. - -"It is not only the music, you know," she said, "I think it is her -kindness that I like so much. Although she is so little and quick, her -mind always seems to jump towards the nice things in people instead of -like us--we always jump towards the faults. Instinctively, we seem to, -don't we, Paul?" - -He was silent for a moment, apparently studying with deep interest the -remains of the wasp on his plate. - -"Yes, I suppose we do. You and I and Hermione certainly do. We get that -from our beautiful father, no doubt. Mother and Maud are different, but -then, of course Jenny Wick has had a great pull in her mother. Mrs. Wick -is a fine old----" he paused, and added gravely, "_fellow_. That's what -she is like, a fine old man, whereas our father was always like a -spoilt, and--_not_ fine--woman. By the way," he suddenly felt in his -pocket. "I had a letter from father last night. He seems to be in -trouble of some kind." - -"He would." Grisel answered indifferently. "Perhaps Clara Crichell is -sick of him; I should think she would be by this time." - -Paul tossed the letter to her across the table. - -"All she ever saw in him was his looks," he answered, "and he is looking -particularly handsome just now--or was three weeks ago. Barclay keeps -him pretty busy and he is on the water wagon, so as far as his beauty -goes he is flourishing like a rose." - -Grisel opened the letter, which was written in pencil on a half sheet of -paper. - - "_Dear Paul_," it said, "_let me know when your mother is coming - back, as I must see her. What on earth is she doing in Paris so - long? They say everything is frightfully expensive there now._ - - "_Thanks for sending me my bathing suit, I have had one or two - good swims and feel the better for them. I have been trying to - find new rooms. This is an awful hole I am in, but London is so - full of those beastly Colonials and Americans that I cannot get in - anywhere._ - - "_Is Grisel all right? I saw her sitting in Sir John's car in - front of Solomons the other day, but she did not see me._ I WAS ON - A BUS. _I thought she looked seedy. Do write and tell me the news, - and mind you let me know as soon as you know when your mother and - Guy are coming back; it really strikes me as very odd her - galloping about France like this at her age._ - - "_Your affectionate father_, - "FERDINAND WALBRIDGE." - -"Characteristic, isn't it?" Paul asked. - -She nodded. "Yes, very. Something has happened to upset him. Wouldn't it -be awful, Paul," she added, unconscious of any oddity in her speech, "if -Clara chucked him after all and we had to take him back!" - -"Take him back, indeed!" - -"Yes, mother would, you know, if he came to grief." - -He rose. "Not while I'm alive, she won't," he said, with the amazing -firmness of the powerless. "Well, I must be off. I will send up some -flowers if I can find any that are not a guinea a bloom." He hesitated -and turned at the door. "Will you ring up Jenny and say they are coming, -or shall I? They might dine instead of to-morrow----" - -"You don't want Jenny here the first night they are back, do you?" - -"Well, yes; to-morrow would be better, of course, but I have just -remembered that I have an engagement to-morrow. Mother likes -Jenny--she's never in anybody's way--and it will cheer Guy up to hear -some music after his journey." - -He went out, leaving his sister smiling over the peculiar and highly -characteristic logic of his last speech. How like Paul! She knew that -Oliver Wick would be sure to come straight to "Happy House" with his -charges, because there was luggage to be seen to and carried up, and a -thousand little matters to be settled before he went off to Brondesbury, -so it would be after all only natural for him to stay and have a bit of -dinner before he went on to Brondesbury, and as for Jenny, she was -staying, as she so often did, with Joan Catherwood. - -Barclay, who was going away in a day or two, was to have taken her out -to dinner, but she rang him up at his office and asked him to dine at -"Happy House" instead, he being, as she told herself with decision, one -of the family. She gave the number and after the usual delay a voice -from the office answered her. - -"Hallo, yes, you wish to speak to Sir John. Who is it, please?" - -Grisel started, for it was her father's voice speaking to her. - -"It is Miss----" she began nervously, and then making a face at herself, -she went on, "It is Grisel, father. Is John there?" - -Ferdie Walbridge's soft voice had an unmistakable thrill in it as he -spoke again. - -"Oh, it is you, dear! How are you, Grisel, and when is mother--I mean -your mother--coming home?" - -"They are coming to-night; Paul had a wire this morning from Mr. Wick." - -There was a little pause and she could almost see her father's -beautiful, self-indulgent face sharpen for a moment with surprise. He -had a way at such moments of catching his underlip sharply back with his -white teeth, and inflating his nostrils. This she knew he was doing now. - -"To-night! Dear me, I hope they will have had a good crossing." Then he -added pitifully, "Dear me, Grisel, is it not--strange--that I should not -be there when they come?" - -Grisel laughed. "Well, really, father!" she said. - -"Oh, I know, I know. Of course, it is all my own fault," he was playing -on his voice now, and it was very pleasant to hear, although she -despised him for doing it. "But when you are my age, my child, you will -know that habit is a great thing and that old ties are not easily -broken." - -"I know that already," she snapped, "I thought it was you who didn't." - -After a pause, feeling that he was about to become lyrical, she cut him -short by asking pleasantly: - -"How are--the Crichells?" - -There was a pause and then he nobly replied: - -"Poor Crichell, for whom I am very sorry, is coming back to-day. He has -been in Scotland and--er--Mrs. Crichell----" - -"Oh, don't mind me, father, call her Clara," she interrupted, conscious -of and quite horrified by her own bad taste, and yet somehow unable to -keep back the words. - -"Thank you, my dear. _Clara_ is staying with some friends in -Herefordshire." - -"Well," she went on with a change of tone, "will you tell John I am -here, and want to speak to him?" - -Again she could almost see her father gazing at her with noble reproach. - -"I will tell him," he said with magnificent rhythm and throb in his -voice, "I will tell him, my child, that you are here----" - -Then, knowing that he would add "God bless you," she snatched the -receiver from her ear and held it against her hip so as not to hear the -words. - -During the morning Caroline Breeze came in to see how her recent -travelling companion felt after their journey. The summer winds and sun -that had been so kind to Griselda, painting her delicate face with -mellow brown and dusky crimson, had attacked poor Caroline's plain old -countenance with unkind vehemence. Her lashless eyes looked red and raw, -like Marion's nose in Shakespeare, and her thin and unusual -cartilaginous nose was not only painted scarlet, but highly varnished as -well and there were two little patches on her cheeks that were peeling; -but the good creature had no envy or even the mildest resentment at fate -in her long, narrow body. She was delighted to see the girl looking -brighter, and happier, and gave vent to a curious noise, nearly like a -crow, over the news of the arrival. - -"Oh dear," she kept repeating, rubbing her dry hands together with a -rough scrape, "I shall be glad to see Violet--I _shall_ be glad to see -Violet," and then she went down into the kitchen to undertake all the -more tiresome errands that must be done in order to achieve a really -brilliant reception for the travellers. - -Grisel was busy all day in a pleasant, unwearying manner. She filled her -mother's room with flowers out of the garden and arranged those sent by -Paul in the glasses for the table. - -In the afternoon Jenny Wick arrived, with a basket of green peas that -had been sent to her mother by a friend in the country and that Mrs. -Wick had sent on as a little present to the "Happy House" people. - -Late in the afternoon the cook, who was Grisel's devoted slave, being -very busy with some elaborate confections in the kitchen, the two girls -sat on the back steps where the Dorothy Perkins roses would, before -long, be in their full glory, and shelled the peas, each with a big blue -check apron over her frock. - -"I guess this is the first time that ruby has ever shelled peas," Jenny -exclaimed after a while. "It _is_ a beauty, Grisel." - -Grisel nodded, and her utter indifference struck the other girl. - -"Funny," she remarked shrewdly, "how easily one gets used to things. You -were nearly off your head about that ruby at first, weren't you, and now -you don't care a bit about it." - -"Oh, yes I do. It is very beautiful, but--well, that's just as you say. -One does get used to things--some things that is," she added sombrely. - -Jenny, whose little cream-coloured face was peppered all over with large -pale freckles, like the specks in _eau de vie de Dantzig_, added a -handful of peas to the pan, that glittered like silver in the bright -sun. - -"It's grand that people do get used to things," she reflected, screwing -up her little nose, "almost as good as getting _over_ things. Oh, -Grisel, do you remember how miserable poor Olly used to be about you?" - -"Nonsense! He thought he was, but he wasn't, really." - -"You don't know. He was frightfully unhappy. Mother and I were worried -to death----" - -Grisel laughed. "Poor fellow. But anyhow it didn't last very long, did -it?" - -"No, but it would have done," Jenny agreed with a shrewd shake of her -curls, "if Dorothy had not come along." - -"We were going over to see 'Dorothy,' if she had come to Scarborough." - -"Yes, it was tiresome, their going to that other place. Oliver has been -having such fun in Paris choosing an engagement ring for her; he has got -a beauty, he says, a very old one. An emerald with diamonds around it." - -The two girls were intimate enough for Grisel to be able without -rudeness to exclaim at the obvious expensiveness of this choice. - -"Yes, of course, it is," Jenny agreed, "but naturally he would want to -give her something worth while." - -Grisel glanced at her big ruby and went on shelling peas. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -The various preparations for the dinner that night turned out, however, -to be more or less in vain, for the travellers were delayed and did not -reach the house until nearly ten o'clock. Dinner had been arranged for -eight, and when half past eight had struck Grisel rang and sent word to -cook that they would not wait any longer. - -"The cook," she explained to Sir John, "is a sensitive soul and very -particular about having _her_ things ruined by waiting." - -Sir John laughed. "Well, I am glad, for my part I'm hungry. The sea air -has given me a furious appetite." - -Little Jenny Wick looked at him thoughtfully. She did not think him -looking well and her bright eyes revealed the thought. - -He smiled down at her. "I know what you are thinking, Miss Jenny," he -said, as if speaking to a child. "The heat has fagged me a little, but -I'm really very well. How is your mother?" he added, for he and old Mrs. -Wick had struck up a great friendship and more than once he had taken -her for long rides in his car by himself. - -Although she was the mother of so young a girl as Jenny, Mrs. Wick was -several years older than her new friend, and treated him rather in an -elder-sisterly way that had a great charm for him whose people had been -dead for years, and who at "Happy House" was so very much the elder of -everyone. - -So now he was glad to hear that Mrs. Wick was well, and looking forward -to seeing him before long. - -"We must have a long spin some day before I go away," he answered. "I -always enjoy a talk with your mother." - -Jenny nodded. "So does she with you, Sir John." - -"She's so glad Olly is coming back she doesn't know what to do with -herself," the girl added, giving a little shake in a bird-like way to -her pretty frilly frock, as she rose to go in to dinner. "The way she -prefers that boy to me is simply scandalous." - -Barclay laughed. "You look ill-treated. I suppose," he added as they -crossed the hall _en masse_, "Miss Perkins will be very glad, too, if -she is back yet, that is from Weston-super-Mare!" - -"Yes, she and her mother and father are at Bury St. Edmunds now, with -some relations of Mr. Perkins. Mother went down the other day and spent -a couple of nights, but they could not put me up." - -The dinner was rather silent, for everyone was disappointed by the -non-arrival of the travellers. Paul, who was in good form and the happy -temper that Jenny Wick's presence always produced in him, did most of -the talking, for he was intensely interested in a lot of new songs, -Russian and Spanish, that he had just got and, with the naïvete that was -in his case, as it so often is, only a form of selfishness, he assumed -that everyone else was as deeply interested as he was. - -Grisel, who had not seen her lover that day until he arrived rather late -for dinner, told him in a low voice of her talk with her father on the -telephone. - -"He really was upset about something," she added at the end of the -story. "Of course, he was not so upset as he seemed, but there _is_ -something wrong, I'm sure. I believe mother would take him back if Clara -Crichell did not marry him after all." - -"What on earth makes you think that she won't marry him?" he asked, -puzzled. "No woman alive would go through all this business of the -divorce and the publicity unless she really cared for the man." - -Grisel shrugged her thin shoulders. "Oh, well, I don't know. You see, we -know him so well that I suppose we instinctively fear she may have got -to know him and--and--not liked what she has learnt." - -It struck Barclay as a very sad thing for a man that his own daughter -should judge him in this unrancorous but pitiless way. - -"I rather like your father, you know," he said slowly, "in some ways. He -is very much nicer away from home than he is in it." - -"He must be," she answered, with the charity of utter indifference. "He -must be charming somewhere, and he certainly isn't when he is here!" - -"It struck me the last time I saw him," Barclay went on slowly, "that he -was not--very happy. I suppose he misses your mother." - -Grisel stirred, and he hastened to explain. - -"Oh, yes, I mean just that--misses your mother. She has taken care of -him for years, you know, and I don't imagine Mrs. Crichell would be as -patient with his moods and vagaries as your mother has always been." - -Then suddenly the memory of her father in his less pleasant phases swept -over Grisel, and her face was grim and tight as she answered: - -"No, and I hope she isn't! His hot milk last thing at night, and his -four grades of underclothing, and his trouser-pressing machines, and -his indigestion! His hot bottles in the middle of the night every time -he's dined too well, and poor mother poking around in the kitchen -heating kettles on the gas-ring! Oh, no, Mrs. Crichell won't much _like_ -that side of her beau sabreur, as she calls him." - -After dinner, as they walked in the garden, Sir John told her that he -had met Walter Crichell that morning. - -"The poor wretch looks miserably unhappy," he said. "Those white hands -of his look--look shrunken in their skin--rather as if he had kid gloves -on." - -Grisel shuddered. "Ugh! his hands are loathsome! After all," she added a -moment later, staring at a rose-bush, "there is no reason why the poor -wretch should be hurt like this just because he has horrid hands! Oh! -John," she cried, catching his arm almost as if she were frightened, -"what an awful lot of misery there is in the world." - -He covered her small hand with his big, strong, brown one. - -"Yes, dear, there is. A great deal of it is inevitable and has to be -borne, but the other kind--the kind that can be avoided--ought always, I -think, to be avoided. It is right that it _should_ be avoided." - -She loosed his arm and looked up at him as they walked on. - -"What do you mean?" - -"I mean that when people find they have made mistakes--and everyone does -find that once in a while--I think that no consideration of pride or -advantage ought to stand in the way of open confession and restoration." - -There was a little pause. - -"You are thinking about mother and father. You mean that if Mrs. -Crichell finds she has been mistaken, she ought to say so and go back to -her husband, even though people laughed at her for it." - -"No, I was not thinking of the Crichells or your father." - -The great heat had gathered masses of thick, quilted-looking clouds over -London, and nervous little spurts of wind startled the trees every now -and then and stirred the heavy-headed roses. The air smelt of dust and -drying vegetation. - -Grisel looked up. "There's going to be a storm," she said. "Shall we go -in?" - -"If you like, dear; but the storm won't break yet awhile. Though," he -stood looking up at the sky for a moment, his thick white hair moving, -she thought, just as the leaves on the trees moved in the spasmodic -wind, "there is going to be one." - -They went slowly into the drawing-room, although the others were -upstairs, and Paul's beautiful voice was already heard trying one of the -new songs. - -"Let's stay here," he suggested. "It's cooler on this side of the house, -and I don't feel inclined for music to-night." - -"Neither do I," she said, "but Paul does, so we shall have it! Yes, it -is cool in here. Give me a cigarette, John, will you?" - -He did so, and they sat in almost unbroken silence, smoking. Presently -the door-bell rang, and voices were heard outside. - -"That's Moreton and Maud," Griselda explained, without rising. "They -have motored up from Burnham Beeches to see Guy." - -"You ought to go up to them, oughtn't you?" he asked gently. - -"No; they will be all right, and they'll love hearing the songs, and -Paul will tell them we are in the garden." Again they were silent. - -The air was extremely oppressive in spite of the rising wind, and -Grisel's head ached faintly. Every now and then one of the long lace -curtains would blow into the room and writhe about as if reaching for -something, to sink back listlessly into its place. - -"How heavy the scent of those lilacs is," the girl said after a while, -glancing at a big bowl of them on the table, and Barclay raised his head -suddenly, with a new look in his face. - -"Yes; that brings back to me a story that I've been thinking of telling -you. I think I will tell you now, Grisel," he said. "Something that -happened in my youth. My father was a parson, and there were six of us -children. My mother died when I was about eight, and an old aunt of -ours, my father's sister, came and lived with us and brought us up. She -was a good woman, absolutely without imagination, and she looked rather -like Miss Breeze. When I think of my Aunt Susan I always see her behind -a kind of barricade of baskets full of mending of all kinds. She spent -the greater part of her life with a boy's stocking drawn up over her -left arm and a needle full of wool in her right hand. She did her best -by us, poor woman, but she bored us, every one, and I suppose she could -not have been very wise about our health, because before I left home -four of us had died, two--the twins, who had never been very strong--of -pneumonia, and the other two of diphtheria. It is not very interesting, -but it explains just a little the way I felt that day----" He broke -off. - -"I was just twenty-one," he went on, smiling at her, "an awkward colt of -a boy, too big for my clothes, and too hungry for my father's income, -and one day my sister Celia, the only other one of us who lived to grow -up----" - -"I know--the one who died in New Zealand." - -"Yes. Well, one day Celia and I went up to Coops Hall, our nearest -neighbours, some people named Fenwick, to plan tennis. It was a day like -yesterday, very sunny and hot, and it must have been about this time of -the year, because the white lilacs--a great clump of them of which Mrs. -Fenwick was very proud--were in full bloom, and the air thick with their -scent." - -He glanced at the bowl on the table as he spoke. - -"I remember perfectly well how I felt as we came up the incline of the -lawn to the tulip trees where two or three hammocks were slung and where -the Fenwick girls and their brother were sitting. That is one of the -moments in my life of which I can still always recapture the very -_feel_." After a moment he went on. "She was standing, leaning on a -croquet mallet, with her sideface towards me. Her left profile, which -was always better than the right--and still is for that matter----" He -smiled, his face singularly sweetening at the thought. - -"But, John!" the girl cried in amazement, "you romantic old thing, you -are telling me a love story!" - -He looked at her gravely. "I am, my dear. The only love story I ever had -until I met you." - -She shrank back in her big chair as if drawing away from a too close -physical touch, and he went on. - -"She wore a blue and white striped dress, as it used to be called in -those days, bunched up at the back over a bustle, and, oh dear me, how -her hair shone in the sun! It was rather a saintly face," he went on -after a moment, "but the hair was the hair of a siren, full of waves and -tendrils, and bewitching high lights and shades. Well, I was introduced -to her, and we played croquet together, and then we had tea. And that -was all. Did you ever read a little poem, 'There is a lady sweet and -kind'?" - -She shook her head. "No, John. You know I don't like poetry much." - -"Well, listen. I don't remember the exact words, but it's like this: - - "'There is a lady sweet and kind, - Was never face so pleased my mind; - I did but seeing her pass by, - And yet I loved her until I die. - - "'Cupid has wounded and doth range - Her country and she my love doth change; - But change the earth and change the sky, - But still will I love her till I die.' - -"Well, my dear, I was exactly like that romantic youth. For over a -quarter of a century my mind remained perfectly true to the memory of -that sad-faced girl in the garden. She came once to my father's rectory, -and we played tennis, and after that I didn't see her again for over -thirty years." - -Grisel watched him with wide, fascinated eyes, as if he was someone she -had never seen before. She was trying to do what is so hard for a young -person to do--look back into an old person's youth and really see that -youth face to face. - -"Why was she unhappy?" she asked as he paused and very slowly lit -another cigarette. - -"Oh, that, too, was a romance. Hers, just as she was mine. She had been -sent to the Fenwicks to try to distract her mind and draw her away from -a young man to whom she was attached." - -"Did you ever tell her that you had fallen in love with her?" - -"Good heavens, no! I was not a lover. I was a worshipper, and she was so -beautiful, so perfect----" He broke off. "Ah, my dear, that's the kind -of love that's worth having." - -She watched him, her face changing to one of less detached curiosity. - -"Dear me, John," she said, "you alarm me, for this kind of love is -certainly not what you give me." - -She laughed, but he looked at her very seriously. - -"No," he said, "it is not. I give you the best I have got, but it is not -much for a young creature like you." - -She flushed, and her face contracted for a second. - -"Oh, I hope you don't think I am ungrateful," she stammered. - -He shook his head. "No, it is only that I'm wondering if it was not -wrong of me to persuade you to accept--so little." - -"But, John, I----" - -"Wait a moment, Grisel. I have been thinking about this for a long time -now, and this seems the right moment to say it. Hallo! it's raining!" he -broke off, looking out of the window. - -"It has been raining for a long time," she said dully. "Go on, please." - -The air, quickened by the quiet rush of water, came in refreshingly at -the window, and the music upstairs had ceased, so that the silence was -very perfect. - -"I think," Barclay went on, looking at her with a reassuring -smile, "that it is my duty to advise you to think it all over -again--everything." - -"Oh, John," she faltered, "this is my fault. It is because I have been -dull and moody. You think I'm ungrateful. You _must_ think I am, but, -indeed, I am not." - -"Any marriage that is based on gratitude," he said sharply, leaning -forward in the gloom, "is bound to go smash. I mean exactly what I say, -Grisel: you must think it all over again. I have told you the truth; you -know just how I feel, and, of course, you have known all along that you -do not love me as"--he rose and came slowly towards her--"as, say, Miss -Perkins presumably loves Wick." - -She stood facing him with quickened breath. "Miss Perkins has nothing to -do with it, John," she said with a quiet dignity that touched him. "If -you wish to break our engagement, I--I am quite willing to let you do -so, of course, but _I_ don't wish to break it." She turned and went out -of the room. - -He went to the window and stood looking out into the delightful rain; he -could smell fresh leaves and revived flowers; the very smell of wet dust -was pleasant. - -For a long time he stood there, going over in his mind the scene that -had just passed. It struck him as very odd that Grisel had not guessed -that the girl in his story had been her mother. He could not, in his -well-balanced middle age, realise the savage strength of her youthful -egotism. It seemed strange to him, but it was very plain, that the only -interest in his story lay, to her, in the fact that it explained why he -had not much left to give her--_her_. The story itself seemed to her, he -could see, as remote as if its actors had been contemporaries of Noah. -It was too far off for her to feel it. Quite different, however, it had -been when he mentioned Miss Perkins' name. Half anxiously he had hoped -by mentioning Miss Perkins to precipitate the crisis that he felt to be -on its way, but nothing happened. His gun had missed fire. - -"I shall have to have a talk with Mrs. Walbridge," he said to himself at -last as the clock struck half-past nine. "Something has got to be done, -poor little thing----" Then he went upstairs and joined the others. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -When the taxi drew up at the gate, Maud and Paul and Grisel ran -downstairs. - -Moreton Twiss, who was reading and smoking in the corner, did not come -to the window, and Barclay and Jenny leaned out in the wet, watching the -little scene of greeting in the glistening band of light from the open -door. - -Finally the house door was banged, and the taxi drove away. - -"Shall we go down?" Jenny asked, dancing with excitement. "I do so want -to see Guy!" - -"I think we had better wait where we are. If they want us they will come -up here or send for us. Look here, Miss Wick," Barclay went on, struck -by a sudden idea, "I am worried about Grisel. What do you think of her?" - -Jenny, whose face was contradictory in that it was at once the face of -an elf, and of a very practical modern girl, sat down on the back of a -chesterfield and looked at him thoughtfully. - -"I have been wondering," she said after a pause, "if you noticed it -too." - -"Oh, then you _have_ seen?" - -"Seen? Why, of course. I have never seen anyone change so in my life. -Everybody says she looks so much better for being at the sea, but she -does not. That's nothing but sunburn, and she is as thin as a herring -and as nervous"--she broke off, looking round for a simile--"as a wild -cat. I was speaking to my brother about her only the other day." - -"Ah!" Something in Sir John's voice struck her, and again she looked at -him penetratingly. "What did your brother say?" he went on, meeting her -gaze. "He strikes me as a pretty shrewd fellow." - -"He is--or ought to be--but since he became engaged he seems unable to -think of anyone but his blessed Dorothy. He said he thought Grisel -looked very well and seemed extremely happy." - -Sir John was silent for a moment, but the peculiarity of his expression -did not escape his observant companion. - -"He was very keen on Grisel himself at one time, you know, Oliver was," -she added, "but they always fight nowadays. Of course, she is not -perfect like his Dorothy, but I don't mind telling you, Sir John, that -if it wasn't for _you_ I should be very sorry that he ever met Dorothy." - -"Do you think Grisel could ever have--come to care for your brother?" - -Barclay's voice was very quiet and kind, but the girl hesitated for a -moment, eyeing him in a perplexed way before she answered. - -"Oh, I am sure I don't know! Rather stupid to talk about it to _you_, -anyway. I suppose----" - -"I don't see that at all, and I should really rather like to know your -opinion," he added slowly, "of my defeated rival." After a pause: "I -mean, what do you think would have happened if _he_ had been the -successful one?" - -"Well, then," Jenny said, weighing her words and obviously striving for -the exact expression of her thoughts, "I do not think they would have -got on very well if--if you had not come along. You see," she explained -as she smiled in an encouraging way, "Oliver is as clever as the Old -Nick. He is so silly sometimes, and talks in such an idiotic way that -lots of people think he must be a fool, but he isn't; and although he -was so in love with Grisel--and you can hardly believe it now, from the -way he drivels about Dorothy Perkins--but he was in love with -Grisel--there was never any of the 'love is blind' business about him. -He always saw right through her." - -"Poor little thing!" Barclay murmured with a laugh. "Anyway, she refused -him!" - -"Oh, yes; but he used to go for her about things and tease the life out -of her. That, of course, was good for Grisel. She gets too much -flattery. I do hope," the intelligent little creature went on, so -earnestly that there seemed nothing ridiculous in her assumption of -equality of knowledge and years with her companion, "that you are not -going to spoil her, Sir John!" - -"I hope not. So you think that an occasional wigging does her good." - -"Rather! It does us _all_ good. I know _I_ get on a high horse every now -and then, and start galloping off, and then Master Oliver cracks his -whip, and down we come in the dust, and I know it is good for me." - -He liked her, liked her thoroughly, with her mixture of music and -sharpness; above all, he liked her for not apologising for her perfectly -fair criticism of her friend. He was a man who inclined to be very -impatient of unnecessary apologies. - -"Well, well," he said, as, in answer to a message brought up by Jessie, -they went downstairs. "Miss Perkins seems to have played a rather -important part in all our lives, doesn't she? I am afraid my poor -Grisel could never compete with her in the matter of womanly -perfection." - -"Oh, I don't suppose Dorothy is as bad--as _good_--as Oliver thinks," -the girl laughed. "No girl ever was, but still----" - -The first thing that met Sir John's eyes as he opened the dining-room -door was Oliver Wick's face. Oliver sat opposite him, and as Jenny went -into the room Barclay stood for a moment watching the scene of greeting -and exclamations and introductions, and it struck him that there was -something very odd in Wick's face as he, too, looked on after kissing -his sister. - -The young man looked at once triumphant and touched, and in an odd way, -despite the triumph, hurt. - -Barclay's impression that something very strange was going on in the -room strengthened as he advanced to the table. Then Mrs. Walbridge, -whose back had been towards him, and over whose chair Jenny was leaning, -turned and held out her hand. Barclay stared almost open-mouthed, then -he fell back a step, glanced sharply at Wick, whose complexity of -expression had simplified, he saw, to one of sheer pride of achievement -and delight. - -It was, indeed, Mrs. Walbridge whose hand her old adorer now held in -his, but it was an entirely new Mrs. Walbridge. A beautifully dressed, -much younger, shyly self-possessed woman, whose faint blush of pleasure -in his plainly-shown surprise gave her an oddly reminiscent look of the -girl in the garden of so many years ago. - -Her hair, which since he had found her again had been carelessly -smoothed back, and dulled from lack of care, now shone almost with the -old lustre, and its bewitching curliness was made the highest use of. -Her metamorphosis was so complete and so striking that it would have -been foolish to try to ignore it, and he found himself saying simply as -he released her hand: - -"I never should have known you, Mrs. Walbridge." She laughed and bade -him sit down. - -"I know," she said, "Paul hardly _did_ know me as I got out of the cab, -did you, Paul?" - -"No," the young man answered, "I was never so surprised in my life." - -"It is all Oliver's doing," she went on, as she began her interrupted -dinner. "He would have it. Wait till you see some of the things he has -bought me, Maud! He went to all the dressmakers with me, and was so -fussy about my hats that I nearly threw them in his face." But her smile -at the young man across the table was a very loving one. - -He beamed back at her in a way that struck the new-comer as being -enviable. He himself felt suddenly very old, very isolated. Violet -Walbridge's husband had been a dismal failure, and her children were -selfish, and spoilt, and not one of them, he had always thought, really -appreciated her, but here was this queer journalistic young man whose -odd gifts were certainly more than intelligence and might easily be the -youthful growth of genius, plainly loving and understanding her like the -most perfect of sons. Barclay envied her. - -"I did," Oliver was saying. "With my own hand I did it. With my little -bow and arrow I killed cock sparrow of British clothes and unselfish -indifference! Wait till you see the evening dress we got. My word! And -there's a tea-gown. We had a most unseemly scene over that tea-gown; -nearly came to blows, didn't we, _petite mère_?" - -She laughed. "I shall never dare wear it; it's the most unrespectable -looking garment. I only got it to make him stop talking." She went on, -turning to Griselda. "He talked the two saleswomen nearly into collapse, -and the _premier vendeuse_ went and got Madame Carlier herself. His -words flowed, and flowed, like a dreadful, devastating river, and they -were all nearly drowned." - -"So you got the tea-gown as a plank to save them," Oliver grinned. "Some -day when we are married, Grisel"--Grisel, started violently, and after a -momentary pause, during which he bit his lip, he went on in an injured -voice, "What is the matter? _Aren't_ you going to be married? I -certainly am! I was going to say, when we are _all_ married I can tell -my wife about our dreadful scenes in the lingerie shop and _chez la -corsetière_. Oh, la, la!" - -"Oh, la, la." - -Mrs. Walbridge blushed scarlet, and whispered to Maud, who sat next her, -that he had really been dreadful over her night gowns. "The girl who -served us laughed till she was black. I really don't know _what_ she -thought we were!" - -Guy, who was more like his mother than any of the others, and who -looked, despite his serious illness, particularly fit and well, now took -up the tale and went on with it. - -"He is an awful fellow, really, is Wick, and I can only hope his real -mother has more fight in her than mine." - -"She's mine, too, yours is," Wick interrupted, his voice steady, but his -eyes bright. "She has adopted me, and I have adopted her." - -"How will Miss Perkins like this new relationship and all that it -entails?" Barclay asked, looking away from Mrs. Walbridge for the first -time for several minutes. - -"Oh, she'll be delighted! She's _longing_ to meet Mrs. Walbridge and all -of them, particularly, of course," he added politely, "Grisel." - -For some reason everyone at the table turned and looked at Grisel. She -was leaning back in her chair, her face clearly alarmingly white, and -her nose looked pointed. - -Paul, who sat next to her, took hold of her hand. - -"What is the matter," he asked roughly. - -She moved a little and forced herself to speak. "It's my head. I have -felt rather bad all day, haven't I?" she added, turning to Barclay with -pathetic eagerness. - -He rose. "Yes, dear, your head was bad before dinner, even. Come, I'll -take you out into the air." - -Paul opened the door and Grisel and Barclay went out, and the others -heard the veranda door open and close behind them. - -"Grisel looks like the very deuce," nodded Guy gruffly. "Can't think -what you have all been dreaming of to let her get into such a state." - -"It really has been frightfully hot," Jenny Wick said explanatorily. -"I've felt like a rag all day, and Grisel isn't nearly so strong as I -am." - -Mrs. Walbridge looked anxiously at her eldest daughter. - -"How do _you_ think she is, Maud?" - -Maud shrugged her shoulders. "She certainly looks bad enough to-night, -but, of course, I have seen very little of her--our being down at -Burnham Beeches--what do you think, Moreton?" - -The young doctor hesitated for a moment. "It is her nerves," he said. -"She strikes me as being a bit upset about something. Most probably, -poor kid, it's this affair about--about her father." - -Young Wick had stopped eating, and was rolling a bit of bread absently -between his thumb and first finger. His fair eyebrows were twisted into -an odd frown and his mouth was set. - -Mrs. Walbridge rose. "I'm going to see if she is all right," she -declared anxiously, but Paul put out a detaining hand. - -"Don't, mother, John will look after her. He'll see that she is all -right. Don't worry, she is a bit run down, but that is nothing. I think -I know something that will put everything straight," he added. "I should -have waited for him to tell you himself, but as you are worried he won't -mind my telling you now. You know how anxious he has been to get back to -Argentina?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, he had a letter to-night from some big official, saying that they -would let him go the moment peace is signed. Peace will certainly be -signed this week, and he will get off I should think next week, and I -believe--mind you, I don't know, only think--that he is going to ask -Grisel to marry him at once and go out with him." - -"That's a very good plan," declared Moreton Twiss with all the authority -of the doctor, "the sea journey would put her to rights, better than -anything in the world. Splendid." - -"Did he tell you he was going to suggest this?" Mrs. Walbridge asked in -a faltering voice. "Oh, Paul, I don't want her to go so soon." - -"Nonsense, mother, you must not be selfish," returned Paul, briskly. "I -was very late getting back to-night, and he picked me up at the corner -in his car and showed me the letter. He didn't exactly suggest it, in -fact, I rather think it was I who asked him if he would not be wanting -her to marry him at once under the circumstances, but I'd like to bet £5 -on his doing it at this moment out there in the rain." - -As he spoke they heard the outside door closing again, and after a -moment Barclay came into the dining-room alone. - -"Grisel has gone upstairs," he said. "Her head is pretty bad. She may -come down later." - -They all went up to the girls' room, and shortly after the Twiss' and -the Wicks who were spending the night with the Catherwoods, left, and -the rain having ceased, Paul walked back with them. - -When they had gone Mrs. Walbridge, Sir John and Guy sat on for a while -in the pleasant, flower-filled room, and presently Mrs. Walbridge asked -Guy to leave her alone with Sir John, and the young man said -"Good-night," and went out. - -Mrs. Walbridge sat very slim and graceful-looking in her new clothes, -and, what was still more remarkable, her new bearing, on the black -chesterfield, and Barclay walked up and down the room restlessly, his -hands behind him, his head sunk thoughtfully on his breast. - -Neither of them spoke for a long time, and then Mrs. Walbridge broke the -silence. - -"Sir John," she began abruptly, "I do hope you are not going to want to -take Grisel back with you to South America next week?" - -He turned. "So Paul has told you?" - -"Yes. I hope you don't mind." - -"Not at all. That is why I told him." - -"He thought--he thought you might be asking her to marry you at -once--while you were on the veranda I mean." - -He shook his head. "No, I didn't mention it to her." Then he went on -very deliberately, looking her straight in the face, "Mrs. Walbridge, I -do not wish to marry your daughter." - -As soon as she had grasped that she really had heard the words, she -sprang to her feet, years younger in her anger. - -"What do you mean?" she cried. - -He smiled sadly. "Don't be angry, I have the greatest possible esteem -and admiration for Grisel." - -"But you do not wish to marry her?" - -"No! I do not." - -In those few short days of long ago he had never seen Violet Blaine -angry, and since he had found her again she had seemed so timid, so -flattened by life, that he had been unable to conceive of her in any -mood but that of her daily one of gentle unobtrusive hopelessness; and -now, as she blazed at him, standing there with clenched hands and -shortened breath, he suddenly felt twenty years younger, as if all sorts -of recent things had been only a dream, and that this--this only, was -real. - -He looked at her with such plain-to-be-seen satisfaction and admiration, -that she was startled and drew back, losing her bearings, and then he -spoke. - -"You and I," he said, "are too old to do anything but speak plainly to -each other; affectations and pretty little pretences are part of the -pageant of youth; we have no right to them. So I will be quite short in -telling you what I have to say. Grisel is a delightful girl as well as -a most beautiful one, but I made a mistake in asking her to marry me. I -do not wish to marry her; I do not love her." - -Again her righteous anger blazed up to his curious gratification and -delight, but he went on doggedly. - -"I have been trying this afternoon to make her break off the engagement, -but I have failed, so I shall have to do it myself." - -"But it is outrageous, abominable! You have no right to treat my -daughter so." - -"I have no right," he said, "to treat any woman in the world with less -than entire honesty, and least of all your daughter." - -Something in his voice penetrated through her anger into her mind and -mitigated her glance a little as she answered: - -"What do you mean? Why least of all my daughter?" - -There was a little pause, then his simple words fell very quietly on the -silence. "Because," he said, "for over thirty years I have loved you." - -She could not answer for a moment so deep was her amazement, and then, -as so often is the case, she could only repeat his words. - -"Loved me!" - -"Yes, you. I have never married, never in my life used the word love to -any woman until I met Grisel, and that was because you were always there -in my memory, and there was no room for anyone else." - -"But I did not even remember you!" - -"No! And you have no idea," he added, smiling sadly, "how after thirty -years those words of yours-'that you did not remember me'--hurt me. -Well, there you are. Such as I am I have been absolutely faithful to my -boyish love for you." - -So many different feelings were struggling in her mind that her face was -tremulous with varied fleeting expressions. Her beautiful deep eyes were -wet, and her lips looked fuller and red, more like the lips of a girl -than they had done for years. - -"When I met her at Torquay," he went on, looking away from her with -delicacy, "I had no idea she was your daughter. I had never even heard -your married name, but something in her, particularly a trick she has -with her hands, and then the shape of her ears, always recalled you, and -I encouraged myself, deliberately encouraged myself, to fall in love -with her. I very nearly succeeded too," he added smiling. "Who could -not? Such a charming child." - -There was a little pause. It had begun to rain again and the soft -pattering sound on the windows filled the air. - -"Then I came here and saw you. You, as the years had made you--as the -years of Ferdinand Walbridge had made you," he added, with sudden -firmness. - -She looked up still with the odd air of youth in her face. "Poor -Ferdie," she murmured, "he never meant it, you know." - -"They never do," he answered dryly. "The very worst husbands are those -who did not mean it." - -"Well, then," he went on, after a moment, "I had a good deal of -thinking, one way and another, and it struck me that if I could make her -happy it would make you happy as well. And I tried." - -"Oh, you have, you have; you have been so good," she interrupted, -clasping her hands. "It's only that she is not very well." - -He shrugged his shoulders. "Surely you must see," he asked slowly, "what -is the matter with her?" - -"Then there _is_ something the matter with her?" - -"Of course there is. Why, look at her," he rejoined roughly. "She nearly -fainted under your very noses out of sheer misery to-night, and not one -of you saw the reason." - -She stared at him, her lips moving faintly, and at last she said: - -"What was the reason?" - -"Wick, young Wick. She is madly in love with him, and he is worth it." - -A worldlier woman or a less wise one might have suspected that Barclay -was using young Wick as a means to help him out of an irksome -engagement, but Mrs. Walbridge knew. - -"So I was right," she murmured thoughtfully. "I had begun to think I was -wrong." Then she started, clenching the arms of her chair hard. - -"Oh, dear," she cried, "what about Miss Perkins?" - -He laughed. "That's the question; what about Miss Perkins? There _is_ -something about her; some mystery, I mean. But never mind that now. The -point is this. Grisel has practically refused to break off her -engagement with me, so I shall just have to screw up my courage and -break mine with her. A nasty job." - -"You must not mention Oliver to her. It would not be fair, because of -Miss Perkins." - -He looked at her curiously. "You don't mean to say that you still think -that Wick cares a button about Dorothy Perkins or anyone else except -Grisel?" - -"But if he doesn't--oh, how dreadful it all is--why is he engaged to -her?" - -"That I don't know. I shall know by this time to-morrow." He looked at -his watch. "It is only eleven now. I wonder," he went on slowly, "if I -could get him on the telephone? May as well get it over at once." - -She told him the number, and acting on certain instructions of his went -to Grisel's room while he was telephoning. The girl was sitting by the -window still dressed, but with her hair plaited in a long tail down her -back, which gave her an odd effect of being a child dressed in some one -else's clothes. "My head was so bad," she explained. "I have been -brushing my hair." - -"Good, I am glad you have not gone to bed, darling, for John is still -here and wants to see you in a little while." - -"Oh, mother, it's so late." - -Mrs. Walbridge kissed her smooth, black, old-fashioned, silky hair. "I -know, dear, but he has had an important telegram, and wishes to speak to -you about it. Oh, look, it has stopped raining, and the moon is coming -out!" - -She stood for a while looking out into the delicate gleams of the -rain-soaked garden, and then said gently: - -"Grisel, darling, have you seen Miss Perkins yet?" - -"No, but he--he showed me the ring he has got for her." - -"Yes, I saw it, too. I think that the girl who marries Oliver," the -mother went on, pitifully conscious of the futility of searching for the -most painless words, "will be very, very happy." - -Grisel nodded without speaking. - -"You see, in Paris, and travelling with him, I--I have got to know him -so well. He--he is a splendid fellow, Grisel, under all his nonsense." - -"I know, mother," the girl's voice was very low, and very gentle. - -After a moment Mrs. Walbridge went on, going to the back of her -daughter's chair, and stroking her little head with smooth, regular -movements. - -"Sometimes I have wished, dear, that you--that you could have cared for -him." - -"I!" The girl broke away from her gentle hand and faced her. "What if I -_had_ cared for him? Thank God I didn't; but what if I had? A splendid -kind of love _that_ was to trust--would have been--I mean. Why it was -only a week after--after that time in the drawing-room when he looked so -awful--_not_ a week after that, that he was engaged to this beast of a -Perkins girl. I--I hate him," she cried, suddenly breaking down with an -unreserved voice that at once frightened and relieved her mother. - -Kneeling by the window she cried, cried as her mother knew she had not -done for years, her little shoulders shaking, her forehead on the window -sill. - -"Hush, dear, you must not cry. Better wash your face and sniff some -camphor. Remember John will be wanting to see you in a few minutes." - -Violet Walbridge had forced herself to speak coldly and in a voice -devoid of sympathy, and the effect of this manoeuvre showed in the -girl's rising almost at once and darting into the bathroom. Her mother -heard the roaring of the cold water and stood for a moment listening. -Then, without a word, she went back to Barclay. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -"Have you any idea why I asked you to come back, Wick?" - -Oliver Wick, who had been told to sit down opposite Sir John, looked up -at him for a long minute. The young man's face was white, and seemed -suddenly to have grown thin, but in his still excitement his eyes were -oddly lucent. At last he answered: - -"Well, sir," he said, his voice so tense that while it did not tremble -it vibrated a little. "I do not know exactly _why_, but I think I know -what it's about." - -"Good. Then we need not waste any time." - -The clock struck as he spoke, and Barclay, who was smoking a cigar, -waited until the silence was undisturbed before saying quietly, "It's -about Griselda Walbridge." - -Wick murmured, "I thought as much." - -"I want," Barclay went on, watching the young face very closely, "your -help in a matter of great importance both to Grisel and to me." - -"I'd do a great deal for you, sir. I'd do anything in the -world--for--Griselda." - -"I am glad to hear you say that. Well, what steps would you advise me to -take in order to--to break off my engagement to Griselda?" - -The hot red leaped to Wick's face, and he started violently, but he did -not speak for a time; his surprise was unblemished by his having had any -suspicion that the interview was going to take this turn, and for a -moment he was incapable of sane speech. When he could find his voice it -was to exclaim blandly, "Why do you ask me?" - -"Because," the older man answered in a perfectly even voice, "I know -that she loves you." - -Wick rose. "Oh, you know that!" - -"I do, and because of this I have suggested to her that perhaps, when -she did me the honour of accepting me, she--she made a mistake." - -A sudden grin, as disconcerting as it was irresistible, appeared on the -young man's face, and they both waited for it to disappear much as they -might have waited for the withdrawal of an intruding stranger. - -"Oh, no, she didn't make any mistake," Wick broke out when he could -again control his facial muscles. "She knew perfectly well when she -accepted you; knew--that--well, sir"--he proceeded boldly, yet with a -very charming deference--"that she loved me." - -"Surely she never told you this?" Barclay's voice was stern. - -"Oh, bless my soul, no never; in fact," the grin again quivered on his -lips for a second, "she did some pretty tall lying about it, poor little -minx." - -"I see. Then, to be brief, you have known all along that I was bound to -be disappointed?" - -"Yes, sir." Wick's brightly shining, smiling eyes met his fairly and -squarely. "You see, she meant to marry you and did her best, but--well, -I knew she would break down in the end." - -"Neither of you seem," the elder man said, but with a hint of dryness in -his voice, "to have considered my feelings much." - -But Wick protested, "Oh, yes, we did--I mean to say _I_ did. I thought -a lot about you at one time and another, sir." - -"And to what conclusions did these--reflections--lead you?" - -Wick, who was still standing, took out his cigarette case and snapped it -thoughtfully several times. - -"To this," he returned at last, "that though I was really sorry for you, -it just could not be helped." - -"I see, youth must have its day." - -"Yes, or 'every dog' is better. What I mean is that really, you know, -normally, your day for that particular form of happiness ought to have -been, well--before we--Griselda and I, were even born." - -There was so much odd gentleness in the way he voiced his ruthless -theory that Barclay was touched. - -"You are not far out there," he answered unemotionally, "only my day -never did come. It was a kind of false dawn--and then--ah, well, it is -rather late, so suppose we get to business. As matters stand at present, -this young lady happens to be engaged not to you, but to me, and what is -more, she--she has practically refused to break the engagement, so it is -left to me. And this," he added cheerfully, "is a little hard on me, -don't you think?" - -"I do. Do you want me to do it for you?" - -"No. I want to hear your ideas about the matter. For example, what would -you suggest as a good first step?" - -Wick thought for a moment. "I don't quite see the first step, but the -_end_ is perfectly clear." - -"Yes?" - -"She must propose to me." The young man's voice was full of confidence, -and he appeared to be unconscious of the absurdity of his suggestion. - -"Grisel--Grisel to propose to you? Nonsense, Wick!" - -"But she must. Look here, Sir John." Wick, who had sat down, leaned -forward, his elbows on his knees, and spoke very earnestly. - -"You know nothing about me, sir, so, if you don't mind, I'd better tell -you a little. You see, they--the Walbridges--think that I am still the -little Fleet Street reporter I was when they first knew me, but--I am -not. For several months"--he talked on, explaining his position with a -modest pride that pleased his hearer. - -"So I am actually speaking to the editor of a London newspaper!" Sir -John at last smiled kindly. - -"Yes. _Sparks_ is a rotten paper, but his making me editor of it is only -a trick of the chiefs to find out what I am made of, so I don't mind. -He's a sly old devil, long sighted and crafty, and he has, so to speak, -laid me wide open and is now poking about in my in'ards to find out all -about me." He laughed. "Lord, how the old man is sweating, trying to -tire me out, and I get fresher and fresher! Oh, yes," he went on after -another chuckle, "I am his latest YOUNG MAN and I have got better works -than most of them and I am bound to succeed all right. So that's that." -His mouth set, and he was silent for a moment, plainly looking into the -future. "And by the time I am your age, Sir John," he said slowly, "I -shall be what Fleet Street calls a 'Great Man.' I shall also be a -multi-millionaire. Miss Minx will never starve." - -"Yes, but you forget that she is still engaged to me." - -Wick's eyes lost their far-off look. - -"So she is," he admitted, "so she is. Guess I am going on a bit too -fast. However," he went on with an air of conclusiveness, "she can't -very well marry you if you don't want her, and you don't. So let's get -on." He had rumpled his fine mouse-coloured hair, which stood up -ludicrously, and he now tried to smooth it down, which made it more -absurd than before. - -Sir John watched him with a smile. "Well, now that we understand each -other," the older man began, "suppose you tell me something else. I -think I am not wrong in assuming that you--love Griselda?" - -He had been half afraid to put the question, not that he doubted the -gist of the reply, but that he shrank from a possible awkwardness or -unbeautiful expression of it. He had been wrong. - -Wick dropped his hands and turned to him his symmetrical face excited -and bold looking, his eyes blooming with youth and love. - -"Yes," he said with dignity, "I do. And----" - -"You believe that her love for you is big enough to bring her to the -point of--of--well--foregoing the thing for whose sake she accepted me?" - -"Of course I do, but--you can see for yourself that she has not been -happy. I have made it just as hard for her as I possibly could, too. I -have not told her about _Sparks_, or the chiefs taking a shine to me, or -my rise in salary. I--I wanted her to have a bad time, I--I wanted the -little wretch to feel what she was going to give up in giving up you, -and all your things, just for me. For the penniless, obscure kid I was -at first." - -"And you think that she will do this now?" - -"Yes, poor little thing, oh, yes, she will!" He mused for a moment and -then his face sharpened again and he added testily, "But I won't ask her -to." - -"You mean that she must ask you?" Barclay spoke more gently. "Well, when -she has asked you to marry her--what are you going to do about poor Miss -Perkins?" - -Wick literally bounced to his feet, as if the name had been a bomb -dropped into the room. - -"Oh, Miss Perkins--Miss Perkins," he repeated almost idiotically. - -"Yes. This is bound to be something of a blow to her." Barclay's face -was very grave, but there was a slight quiver in his voice. - -Oliver Wick had, just then, no ear for slight quivers. - -"I--oh, she'll be all right," he murmured feebly. - -"You mean that she won't mind?" - -"Oh, no, she won't mind. She's a remarkably sensible girl----" then he -burst into a roar of laughter. "Look here, Sir John," he gasped, "it's -no good, I have a horrible confession to make to you. I shall have to -murder Miss Perkins!" Again he shouted with childish, almost painfully -loud laughter, and Sir John laughed with him. - -At last Sir John wiped his eyes. "I take it you will be able to kill the -lady without much bloodshed?" he asked. "I--I have been suspecting as -much." - - * * * * * - -The moon was flooding the rain bejewelled garden with light as Griselda -Walbridge came down the steps. She walked slowly, as if her little feet -were heavy, and her smooth dark head was bent. At the foot of the steps -she stopped and looked around. "John," she called softly, "John, are you -there?" - -No one answered, and she shrank back against the rose-festooned -handrail. The moonlight was very bright, but the shadows were black and -solid-looking, and it was later, too, than she had ever been alone in -the garden. - -In the silence she turned and looked up the steps to the open house -door. Her mother had told her that Barclay was waiting for her in the -garden and now where was he, she wondered. In the clear light her small -face, a little hard in reality, looked unusually child-like and -spiritual. She stared up at the sky, and across the garden, and then, -thinking that Barclay for some reason had not waited for her after all, -walked slowly along across the tennis lawn. - -She was dressed in true sapphire blue, the best colour of all for -moonlight, and presently she stopped by a rose tree and pulled a deep -red rose, her big ruby glowing as she tugged at the tough stem and then, -emboldened and soothed by the perfect quiet, she went slowly on, holding -the rose against her cheek. - -Near the old bench where her mother and Oliver had sat on Hermione's -wedding day, she started back frightened and then gave a nervous little -laugh. - -"Oh, here you are," she cried. - -The owner of the cigarette came out of the shadow, and again she cried -out, this time in a very different voice, "Oh, it is _you_." - -"Yes, it is me," Wick answered britannically. "Oh, Grisel, Grisel, do -look at that moon----" - -He drew her hand through his arm and thus old-fashionedly linked they -stood in silence for a moment. - -Then she said, "Where is--Sir John? Mother said he was here waiting for -me." - -Wick stared at the moon a moment longer and then said quietly: - -"Grisel, I love you!" - -"Oliver, you are crazy!" - -"No, sit down on the bench." - -"Thanks, I'd rather not, I must go in----" - -"Sit down----" - -"No, thanks." - -"Grisel, sit down." - -"No." - -"Grisel, sit down!" - -Grisel sat down, and he sat beside her. - -"Did you hear what I said a minute ago?" he went on quietly. - -"Not being deaf, I did. What they call lunal madness, I suppose." Her -voice shook, but her tone was one of awful hauteur. - -"Lunar, no such word as lunal. Grisel, I love you." - -"Really," she protested, "I must go in." - -"Grisel, I----" - -"I," she broke out furiously, "you say that again and I shall--yell." - -"Yell then, it will do you good. Yell like hell. And you love me." - -She sprang to her feet. "I don't. What an abominable thing to say. -How--how----" - -"How dare I? Easy. Almost as easy as looking at you, my pretty. Grisel, -we love each other." - -She burst into nervous, shrill laughter, and then suddenly stopped. - -"I cannot help laughing, you are such an idiot," she said, "but I am -very angry. Have you forgotten that I am--engaged to John----" - -"John be damned." - -Helpless tears crowded into her eyes and her throat swelled suddenly. -"How hateful you are." - -"I am not hateful, darling. I am your true love." - -"Oh, Oliver," she cried in despair, her feelings so varied, and so -entangled, that she could not straighten them out. "What about Dorothy -Perkins?" - -"Dorothy Perkins is a flower." - -"A--a what?" - -"_A flower._ I mean to say, she is a creeper." - -"Oliver," she laid her hand on his arm and peered anxiously into his -face. "What is the matter with you? Aren't you well?" - -"Yes, dear, I am well, but she _is_ a creeper." He stretched out his arm -and pointed. "There she is on the steps." Then he saw that she was -really alarmed for his sanity. - -"Grisel, darling, that rose, that rose climbing on the steps, is the -only Dorothy Perkins I know." - -"But----" - -"No, it is true. I--I made her up, my little darling." - -"How could you make her up?" she wailed. "You could not make up a girl!" - -"But she isn't a girl, sweetheart. I invented her, to make you jealous." - -Suddenly Grisel broke down and their great moment was upon them. When -she had cried herself into exhausted quiet in his arms he wiped her eyes -on his handkerchief. - -"Oh, I--I _have_ hated her so, Oliver. But--whose was the photograph -then?" - -He explained. - -"But _Jenny_ talked about her, and even your mother." - -"Of course, that's what mothers are for." - -Suddenly she sat up and smoothed her hair. "Oh, dear me, what--what will -poor John say?" - -Wick stiffened. Now came the test. "What do you mean?" he asked. - -"Why, when I tell him. Poor John!" - -He stuffed the damp handkerchief back into his pocket, and lit a -cigarette. - -"When you tell him what?" - -"Why, about us." - -Wick very deliberately puffed at his cigarette. "I don't think I would -mention it," he said. - -"Oliver, what do you mean?" - -He rose, and walked up and down in front of her. - -"I mean that because I just lost my head and made a fool of myself there -is no reason that that splendid old fellow should be--worried." - -"Worried!" she almost screamed. "I don't understand you." - -"Well, I mean, my dear, that because--I behaved like a cad and--and -kissed a girl who is going to marry another man--a man a thousand times -my superior in every way--there is no reason for _his_ being troubled by -knowing about it. I am ashamed of myself, and I beg your pardon, and I -am sure you will forgive me." - -The pallor made her in the moonlight look almost unearthly, and he was -obliged to bend his eyes resolutely away from her, during the pause that -ensued. - -"Then you--then you meant nothing by it?" she stammered. - -"No. At least--oh, well--of course you know that I love you, but I quite -agree with you that to marry a penniless young beggar like me would be -madness----" - -She was so amazed, so honestly horrified by his cynical cold-bloodedness -that for a moment she could not speak. - -"How--how can I marry him after _that_?" she gasped. - -"Oh, quite easily, dear. You forgive me, and I will forgive you and we -will both blame--the moon," he waved his hand, "and the roses," and then -she broke down. - -"I can't, I can't," she wailed, "you know I can't. Oh, Oliver, if you -love me you must marry me." - -Wick, though deeply stirred, held his ground. - -"I don't see any _must_," he said morosely, and at last his triumph -came. - -"But you will, won't you?" she cried. "Oh, Oliver, you will marry me?" - - * * * * * - -At about this time Mrs. Walbridge and Sir John Barclay sat together in -the girls' room. Mrs. Walbridge's eyes, strangely youthful-looking, -fixed thoughtfully on her companion. They had had a long talk, and now, -at the end of it, she put a question to him. - -"But you," she said gently, "are you sure you will not be unhappy, -John?" - -And he said, his grave face full of serenity, "Yes. I have always known -that I was too old for her, you know, Violet--I suppose I may call you -Violet now?" - -In the moonlight her little blush gave her face a marvellous look of -girlishness, and his eyes shone as he looked at her. - -"Your--your divorce case is on for Wednesday, isn't it," he asked after -a little pause. - -"Yes. I suppose they will be married in six months time? Oh, John, I -hope so--poor Ferdie, he--he doesn't bear trouble very well. I do hope -it will be all right." - -They talked on, and he told her that he should not stay long in South -America, that in November he would come back to London for good. - -"Oh, I am so glad," she answered. "I am very glad. For I shall be a -little lonely later on. Griselda will go very soon, and Paul really -cares for little Jenny, and I hope--of course I shall have Guy for a -while--I must tell you about Guy, John--the war has--taught him such a -lot. He is changed enormously. Do you know, he and I are better friends -than I have ever been with any of the others? I am so thankful--but -still, he is young, and of course will be full of his own interests, and -I shall be glad to have you near--one of my own age--but will you _like_ -living always in London?" - -Barclay nodded. "Yes, I shall always live in London. Somewhere not too -far from--here." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -It was one o'clock when Mrs. Walbridge at last found herself alone. She -was very tired, but so happy and excited that she did not want to go to -bed, and after walking restlessly about the girls' room, and the -drawing-room, living over again the happenings of the last few crowded -hours, she went softly up two flights of stairs and opened the door of -her little study. - -It was many weeks since she had sat there at the old table, and the -moonlight revealed a thick layer of dust over the inky blotting-paper -and the cheap, china ink-stand. Noiselessly she opened the window and -stood looking out at the night. She had always loved the quiet, dark -hours and the mystery and purity of night had all her life made a strong -appeal to her imagination. The millions of people who lay helpless and -innocent in sleep; the rest from scheming and struggle; the renewal of -strength; and the ebbing towards dawn of enfeebled life. The very fact -that some of the great thoroughfares of London were being washed--laved -she mentally called it--and purified from their accumulation of ugly -unhygienic filth; all these things made night a time of beauty and -romance to this writer of sentimental rubbish. It seemed, she had always -thought, to make the sin-defiled old world young and innocent again for -a few hours, and this night was to be an unforgettable one to her. - -Guy had come back finer, and with greater promises of nobility than -ever before. Grisel had finally come--been dragged--to her senses, and -would worthily fulfil her womanhood with Oliver, whom Mrs. Walbridge -told herself she loved nearly as much as she loved her own sons. In -reality she loved the young journalist far more than even Guy, but this -she did not, and never was, to know. - -She went on counting her blessings. Maud's baby was lovely, and strong, -and patients were really beginning, if not exactly to flock at least, to -come in decent numbers to Moreton Twiss. Hermione was enjoying what to -her mother seemed an almost unparalleled social success, among people -innocently believed by Mrs. Walbridge to be of very high society indeed; -little Jenny Wick seemed to like Paul, and if she married him he seemed -to stand a very good chance of improving in every way, of becoming -kinder and less selfish. - -Thus, standing in the moonlight, Mrs. Walbridge thankfully reviewed the -many good things in her life. - -"To be sure," she thought, her face clouding, "it was very sad about -Ferdie, it was a dreadful, almost tragic thing that their old life, -however trying and disappointing it had been to her, should have been -broken in this way. Like many other women she felt that, though her -husband was a bad one he was, because he had been the lover of her youth -and was the father of her children, a thing of odd pathos and even value -to her. He was like," she thought, "a bit of china--a bowl or a -jug--bought by her in her youth, and though she had been deceived in -thinking it genuine and though it was cracked all over, she yet -preferred to keep it than to lose it." - -Carrying on the simile, the divorce case seemed to her like a public -sale, in which all the blemishes and cracks of her poor jug would be -exposed to indifferent observers. - -All this she felt very sharply, but at the same time there was an -immense relief that never again would Ferdie live under the same roof -with her, that she would never again have to listen to his boasting, to -hear his plausible, usually agreeable lies, to endure his peevish -reproaches when things went wrong. Never again, she told herself with an -odd little smile, need she have fried liver for breakfast. Ferdie -cherished for fried liver a quite impossible ideal of tenderness and -juiciness, and every Sunday morning for a quarter of a century she had -come downstairs praying that the liver might be all right this time. And -it never was all right. No, she would never have fried liver on her -table again. - -Then she thought about Paris. Paris, once Guy was out of danger, had -been wonderful in its freedom from household cares, its lack of -responsibility to anyone. At first she had hardly been able to believe -that no one would ask her where she was going, and instantly suggest her -not going there, but somewhere else. And then Cannes! One of her -favourite literary devices had always been to send the heroines to the -Sunny South. - -She had written lavishly of the tropical heat, the incredible blueness -of the quiet sea, of the wealth of flowers in that vague bepalaced land, -but the reality (although the sea was not quite so blue as she had -expected it to be) overwhelmed her. The best of all had been the gentle, -balmy laziness that gradually wrapped her round and enveloped her, the -laziness that even an occasionally sharp, dusty wind could not dispel. - -Best of all she had had no duties. Not one. And she had sat on her -balcony in a comfortable cane rocking-chair, by the hour. "I just sat, -and sat, and sat," she thought, leaning against the window sill. "How -beautiful it was." And, now that her regret about her cracked jug had -been softened by time, and mitigated by the variety of new joys that had -come to her, she could henceforth, in a more decorous British way, go on -sitting. - -Paul would, of course, continue to bully her and to nag, but if, as she -hoped, little Jenny cared enough about him to marry him, he would turn -his bullying and nagging attentions, in a very modified way, to her. It -was, Mrs. Walbridge reflected innocently, right that a man should give -up tormenting his mother once he had a wife of his own. And little -red-headed Jenny could, she thought with a smile, look after herself. - -As for Mrs. Crichell--once she, too, was Mrs. Ferdie, _she_ would no -doubt look after herself. It was a rather startling thought, that of two -Mrs. Ferdies! "I suppose I shall be Mrs. Violet?" - -The clock on the stairs struck again, and Mrs. Violet started. "Good -gracious," she murmured aloud, "how dreadfully late it is." - -She looked round the little room once more, recalling the hundreds of -hours she had sat there grilling in summer; freezing in winter, working -on her books, and then with a queer little smile she went downstairs. -She told herself resolutely as she went that this was perfectly -ridiculous; that she _must_ go to bed but she didn't want to go to bed, -and, moreover, she suddenly realised that she was hungry. - -In her excitement she had eaten very little dinner, and after locking -the front door she ran down into the kitchen. After a hurried -examination of the larder, and experiencing a new and what she felt to -be un-British distaste for cold mutton, she decided to scramble some -eggs. Lighting the gas-ring, she broke three eggs into a yellow bowl, -and began to beat them briskly with a silver fork. - -The kitchen was a pleasant place, newly painted and whitewashed, and a -row of highly flourishing pink and white geraniums garnished the long -low window. Really, a _very_ nice kitchen, its mistress mused happily. - -When she had whipped the eggs enough, she set the table, spreading a -lace teacloth on one end of it, and reaching down a plate and a cup and -saucer from the rack. She was smiling now, for there was to her gentle -spirit of adventure something rather romantic in this solitary, very -late meal. - -"I do not know," she said as she set the saucepan on the ring and -dropped a big bit of butter into it, "whether it is supper or -breakfast." - -Then a sudden idea came to her. She set the saucepan on the table and -flew to the larder, whence, after a hurried search, she brought back two -large fine tomatoes. She had always been extremely fond of scrambled -eggs with tomatoes, but Ferdie loathed tomatoes, and Paul had inherited -his distaste for them, so she had long since renounced this innocent -gluttony. Now Ferdie had gone, and Paul was asleep, and there was -nothing on earth to prevent her having "Spanish eggs," as she called -them. She turned the savoury mess, very much peppered and salted, out on -to two slices of buttered toast, and sat down with the teapot at hand, -to enjoy herself. - -"I will--I will tell John about this," she reflected gaily. "He'll -laugh." - -She had been so busy up to this, since he had told her, that she had -hardly had time to think about it, but now, as she ate, she went back -over their talk together. It seemed to her very wonderful that such a -man should have cared for her, and her mind was full of pathetic -gratitude to him for what she did not at all realise he must often have -regarded as a perfect nuisance. - -Here she had been, she thought, struggling along at "Happy House" with -Ferdie and the children, losing her youth, and her hopes, and her looks, -and there--somewhere--anywhere--had been that fine, handsome, successful -man, loving her! It was most wonderful. "I hope, though," her thoughts -went on as she began on her delicious hot eggs, "that he didn't _mean_ -anything by what he said about the divorce--and his always living -somewhere near--us." - -She had written nearly two dozen very sentimental novels, and was an -adept at happy endings, but she blushed in her solitude at the thought -that Barclay might possibly be contemplating for her and him anything so -indecorous as in their case it would be, as such a happy ending. - -"Oh, no, I am sure he didn't--but how wonderful it would be to have him -for a friend. For the boys too, with his fine character and his -cleverness." Oh, yes, she was going to be very proud of him, and the -fragrance of the old romance would always hang over their friendship. -And then suddenly she blushed hotly, and laid down her fork. - -"Violet Walbridge," she said severely, precisely as she would have made -one of her own heroines in like case apostrophise herself, "you are not -being honest. You know that he _did_ mean something. You know that he -will--not now, of course, but after a long, long time--ask you--to be -his wife." Feeling very wicked, and very shy, she faced the question for -a moment, and then took a long drink of tea--a long draught of tea her -heroine would have called it--"but if he does," she decided, her eyes -full of tears, "it won't be for ages, and I need not decide now. I can -tell him when the time comes that--that----" as she reached this point -her eyes happened to fall on a pot of white paint that was standing on a -shelf in the corner. Cook, she supposed, had been painting something in -the scullery and the pot had been forgotten. Her face changed. - -It was very odd. She had been meaning for years to have the words "Happy -House" renewed on the gate, but the irony of the name had somehow forced -her into putting it off, and for a long time now she had been dating her -letters just 88, Walpole Road, and not using the name at all; the -romantic, foolish name, it had come to look to her now. She rose with a -smile, and reached down the pot, and stood stirring the thick paint with -the brush. - -"Now," she thought, "it really _is_ 'Happy House'--or it's going to -be"--and she would have the words there again. - -Refreshed by the tea and food, she felt less than ever inclined for bed -and, laughing aloud at her own folly, she decided that she would paint -the words on the gate herself. - -The moon was still shining, yet it was too early for any prying eye to -see her, and it would, she thought, with that novelist's imagination of -hers--the thing without which not even the worst novel could possibly -be written--be a romantic and splendid ending to the most wonderful day -in her life. - -Opening the area door softly she crept up the steps with the pot and -brush in her hand, and went down the flagged path. The moon was paling -and the shadows lay less distinctly on the quiet road, but the general -gloom seemed greater. Not a soul was in sight; not a sound broke the -sleepy stillness; not a light shone in any window. Opening the gate, and -closing it again to steady it, Mrs. Walbridge, forgetting her beautiful -frock, knelt down on the pavement and set to work. The poor old words, -last renewed, she remembered the day Paul came of age, when Ferdie had -given one of his characteristic parties, were nearly obliterated. - -Very carefully the thankful little woman worked, her heart singing. -Darling Grisel, how happy she had looked when she left her lying in bed, -the big ruby gone from her finger, and the little old emerald bought in -Paris for Miss Perkins, in its place. It was really wonderful how well -everything was turning out! Paul and Jenny had certainly advanced a good -deal in their friendship during her absence. Jenny must marry him, oh -dear, and Mrs. Crichell _must_ marry Ferdie, too. John, dear, wise -romantic John thought she would, and, after all, she thought, as her -brush worked, poor Ferdie had lots of good qualities really, and she, -Violet, had always been too dull, too staid for him. - -"Clara Crichell liked entertaining, and really has great talents as a -hostess and I always was dreadful at parties." She dipped the brush in -again and began on the "y." "He is one of those people for whom success -is really good," she went on; "who knows but that he may turn out very -well as the husband of a rich woman, poor Ferdie----" - -"Violet!" She started and ruined the "H" in "House." Poor Ferdie stood -before her. - -"Ferdie, is it you?" she cried stupidly, still kneeling. - -"Yes, of course it is me," he snapped crossly. "What on earth are you -doing out here in the middle of the night?" - -Scrambling to her feet she answered anxiously, "I--I am just painting. -But why are you here?" - -"Let's go into the house and I will tell you," he said. "I have come -home, Violet!" - - * * * * * - -Half an hour later Ferdinand Walbridge sat in the kitchen of "Happy -House," drinking tea and eating scrambled eggs--without tomatoes. He had -on a velvet jacket of Paul's, for he was cold, and the glass out of -which he had drunk a stiff brandy and soda still stood on the table. -Beside him sat his wife, her face full of troubled sympathy. - -"Enough salt?" she asked presently. - -He nodded. "The food at the Rosewarne is beastly, it has played the very -deuce with my digestion----" - -"Did you have hot water every morning?" - -"No, it was luke warm half the time and made me feel sick." - -He went on eating in silence, and she studied his face. That he should -look ill, and unhappy, did not, after what he had told her, surprise her -much; what did strike her was his look of age. She had often seen him -when he was ill, but this was the first time that his face not only -showed his real age, but looked actually older. The lines in it seemed -deeper, and his eyes, under heavy suddenly wrinkled lids, lustreless and -watery. He had cried a good deal of course, she reflected pitifully, but -never before had his easy tears made his eyes look like that. - -"I do think," he murmured resentfully, "that you might have remembered -that I like China tea." - -"I did remember, Ferdie, but there is not any in the house. You know all -the rest of us prefer Ceylon." - -He grunted and went on eating. "Poor china jug," she thought, "his -cracks were very apparent now." - -"Oh, Ferdie," she broke out, "I am really awfully sorry for you." - -He looked up, his haggard face a little softened. - -"Yes, I believe you really are, Violet, and I can tell you one thing, -Clara wouldn't be if she was in your shoes." - -She didn't answer, for she really did not know what to say about -Clara--Clara, who had behaved so cruelly to poor Ferdie. - -"She is a woman," he burst out, "with no heart, absolutely none." - -"Perhaps she--perhaps she is sorry for Mr. Crichell," she suggested -timidly. - -He laughed. "Sorry? Not she. I tell you it is the legacy that has done -it. The legacy. She always could twist Crichell around her little -finger, and the very minute she heard the news, off she went to him and -made up. You mark my words, the greater part of that legacy will be -hanging round her neck before very long." - -"But, Ferdie, she can't be as bad as that. No woman could. People often -make mistakes, you know, and she may have found that--that--after all, -her heart was really his." - -He rose and stared at her rudely. "Like one of the awful women in your -novels! I tell you, it was the legacy that did it. Perfectly revolting, -because, after all," he added with an odious, fatuous laugh, "all other -things being equal, it's _me_ she loves. Why, I never saw a woman----" -he broke off, seeming to realise suddenly the bad taste of his attitude. -"But that's not the point," he went on, nervously--"the point is -this----" - -She drew a long breath and clenched her hands in her lap to fortify -herself for the coming scene. Nothing, she knew, not even the real -suffering he had been through, could induce Ferdie to forego a dramatic -scene. - -"Hum," he cleared his throat violently and Mrs. Walbridge, instinctively -true to her wifely duty, answered: - -"Yes, Ferdinand?" - -"Well," he made a little gesture with his handsome hand, which struck -her as being not quite so clean as usual. "I have done wrong, and--I beg -your pardon." His voice was sonorous and most musical, and as he -finished speaking he dropped his head on his breast in a kind of -splendid compromise between the attitude of shame and a court bow. - -"I--I forgive you, Ferdie, of course, I forgive you," but she knew that -he had not yet got his money's worth out of the situation. - -"Violet," he began again--and then as if for the first time, he looked -at her, not as a refuge, or a feather-bed, or a soothing draught, but as -a woman. "Why, what----" he stammered, staring, "what have you been -doing with yourself? You look--different somehow. You look years -younger, and--and where did you get that gown?" To her dismay he ended -on a sharp note of suspicion. - -"I bought it in Paris," she answered quietly. - -"Bought it? Why, it is worth twenty guineas, if it's worth a penny! -Violet, I--I hope you have not been--forgetting that you are my wife, -while I have been away?" - -She nearly laughed, he was so ridiculous, but her deep eyes filled with -tears over the pathos of it. - -"Listen, Ferdie," she said gently, "you need not worry about me. I am an -old woman now and I have always been a good woman. I bought this dress, -and several others, in Paris, with money that I got as a prize for a -book." - -He stared at her stupidly with his blood-shot eyes. - -"Yes, a book you have probably read. It's called 'Bess Knighthood.'" - -"You--you didn't write 'Bess Knighthood!'" - -"Yes, I did. After 'Lord Effingham' was such a failure, I just--just sat -down and wrote 'Bess Knighthood.' I don't know how I did it--it went so -fast I could hardly remember it, when it was done." A wan smile stirred -her lips, which seemed to have lost their recent fullness and looked -flat and faded, "but I got the prize." - -"Oh." He looked annoyed, and she realised at once that he felt injured, -for it had always given him a pleasant feeling of superiority to laugh -at her looks, and now he could laugh no more. - -"Yes," she resumed, drawing herself up a little in her pride, "and I -have not spent very much--I have got nearly five hundred pounds left, so -if you need some, Ferdie----" - -The early day was by now coming in over the geraniums, and in its wan -light, each of them thought how ruinous the other looked. - -Walbridge gazed at his wife. "You are fagged out," he said pompously. -"It is very late, I think we had better go upstairs," and without a word -she followed him up into the hall. - -"One of your old pyjama suits is in the dressing-room chest-of-drawers," -she said, as he went on up the front stairs, leaning heavily on the -handrail. "I--I have one or two things to do, Ferdie." - -He turned, looking down, dominating her even now in her miserable -triumph. - -"All right," he said, "I--I will sleep in the dressing-room. Don't be -long, Violet," and Ferdinand Walbridge went to bed. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Walbridge took up the pot of paint and the sprawling brush from -where they were lying on the pavement and looked at the words on the -gate. "Happy" stood out neatly, but the "H" in "House" was obliterated -by a great splash, and the remaining letters, untouched by the fresh -paint, looked by contrast more faded and faint than ever. - -"Dear me," she thought, "what a mess." And then, because she was a tidy -woman, as well as to avoid questions and conjectures, she rubbed off the -smear of paint as well as she could with one of the new Paris -handkerchiefs, and resumed her interrupted task. - -In a few moments her work was done, and the words she had chosen for the -new house thirty years ago showed out once more distinctly on the green -gate. She rose to her knees, too tired for thought, sensible only of a -violent longing for sleep; to-morrow, she knew, she must think. She must -think about the turn things were taking; about the coming back of her -husband, and the resumption of the old daily routine; of Ferdie's -fretfulness, of liver for breakfast, and, most of all, she must think -about Sir John Barclay. - -"Poor John," she thought, giving a last look at the words on the gate, -"and poor Ferdie. Oh, how tired I am----" she went into the house and -shut the door. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY HOUSE*** - - -******* This file should be named 42771-8.txt or 42771-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/7/7/42771 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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