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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b478916 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52247 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52247) diff --git a/old/52247-0.txt b/old/52247-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dddda30..0000000 --- a/old/52247-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6205 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52247 *** - -A MAN FROM THE NORTH - -BY - -ARNOLD BENNETT - -AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALE," -"BURIED ALIVE" - -NEW YORK - -GEORGE H. DORAN - -1911 - - - - -TO THE ONE WHOM I MOST HONOUR - - - - -A MAN FROM THE NORTH - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -There grows in the North Country a certain kind of youth of whom it -may be said that he is born to be a Londoner. The metropolis, and -everything that appertains to it, that comes down from it, that goes up -into it, has for him an imperious fascination. Long before schooldays -are over he learns to take a doleful pleasure in watching the exit of -the London train from the railway station. He stands by the hot engine -and envies the very stoker. Gazing curiously into the carriages, he -wonders that men and women who in a few hours will be treading streets -called Piccadilly and the Strand can contemplate the immediate future -with so much apparent calmness; some of them even have the audacity to -look bored. He finds it difficult to keep from throwing himself in the -guard's van as it glides past him; and not until the last coach is a -speck upon the distance does he turn away and, nodding absently to the -ticket-clerk, who knows him well, go home to nurse a vague ambition and -dream of Town. - -London is the place where newspapers are issued, books written, and -plays performed. And this youth, who now sits in an office, reads all -the newspapers. He knows exactly when a new work by a famous author -should appear, and awaits the reviews with impatience. He can tell you -off-hand the names of the pieces in the bills of the twenty principal -West-end theatres, what their quality is, and how long they may be -expected to run; and on the production of a new play, the articles of -the dramatic critics provide him with sensations almost as vivid as -those of the most zealous first-nighter at the performance itself. - -Sooner or later, perhaps by painful roads, he reaches the goal of his -desire. London accepts him--on probation; and as his strength is, so -she demeans herself. Let him be bold and resolute, and she will make -an obeisance, but her heel is all too ready to crush the coward and -hesitant; and her victims, once underfoot, do not often rise again. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The antique four-wheeler, top-heavy with luggage, swung unsteadily -round by Tattersall's and into Raphael Street. Richard thrust down the -window with a sharp bang, indicative of a strange new sense of power; -but before the cab came to a standstill he had collected himself, and -managed to alight with considerable decorum. When the door opened -in answer to his second ring, a faint, sour odour escaped from the -house, and he remembered the friendly feminine warnings which he had -received at Bursley on the subject of London lodgings. The aspect of -the landlady, however, reassured him; she was a diminutive old woman -in ridiculously short skirts, with a yellow, crinkled face, grey eyes, -and a warm, benevolent smile that conquered. As she greeted Richard she -blushed like a girl, and made a little old-fashioned curtsey. Richard -offered his hand, and, after wiping hers on a clean apron, she took it -timidly. - -"I hope we shall get on well together, sir," she said, looking straight -up into her new lodger's eyes. - -"I'm sure we shall," answered Richard, sincerely. - -She preceded him up the narrow, frowsy staircase, which was full of -surprising turns. - -"You'll find these stairs a bit awkward at first," she apologised. -"I've often thought of getting a bit of nice carpet on them, but what's -the use? It would be done for in a week. Now, here's your room, sir, -first floor front, with two nice French windows, you see, and a nice -balcony. Now, about tidying it of a morning, sir. If you'll step out -for a walk as soon as you get up, my daughter shall make the bed, -and dust, and you'll come in and find it all nice and straight for -breakfast." - -"Very well," assented Richard. - -"That's how I generally arrange with my young men. I like them to have -their breakfast in a nice tidy room, you see, sir. Now, what will you -have for tea, sir? A little nice bread and butter...." - -When she was gone Richard formally surveyed his quarters: a long, -rather low room, its length cut by the two windows which were Mrs. -Rowbotham's particular pride; between the windows a table with a faded -green cloth, and a small bed opposite; behind the door an artfully -concealed washstand; the mantelpiece, painted mustard yellow, bore -divers squat earthenware figures, and was surmounted by an oblong -mirror framed in rosewood; over the mirror an illuminated text, -"Trust in Jesus," and over the text an oleograph, in collision with -the ceiling, entitled, "After the Battle of Culloden." The walls were -decorated with a pattern of giant pink roses; and here and there, -hiding the roses, were hung photographs of persons in their Sunday -clothes, and landscapes hand-painted in oil, depicting bridges, trees, -water, and white sails in the distance. But the furnishing of the room -caused Richard no uneasiness; in a few moments he had mentally arranged -how to make the place habitable, and thenceforth he only saw what -should and would be. - -Tea was brought in by a girl whose face proclaimed her to be Mrs. -Rowbotham's daughter. At the sight of her Richard privately winked; he -had read in books about landladies' daughters, but this one gave the -lie to books; she was young, she was beautiful, and Richard would have -sworn to her innocence. With an accession of boldness which surprised -himself, he inquired her name. - -"Lily, sir," she said, blushing like her mother. - -He cut the new, heavy bread, and poured out a cup of tea with the -awkwardness of one unaccustomed to such work, and, having made space -on the tray, set the evening paper against the sugar basin, and began -to eat and read. Outside were two piano organs, children shouting, -and a man uttering some monotonous unintelligible cry. It grew dark; -Mrs. Rowbotham came in with a lamp and cleared the table; Richard -was looking through the window, and neither spoke. Presently he sat -down. That being his first night in London, he had determined to spend -it quietly _at home_. The piano organs and the children were still -strident. A peculiar feeling of isolation momentarily overcame him, and -the noises of the street seemed to recede. Then he went to the window -again, and noticed that the children were dancing quite gracefully; it -occurred to him that they might be ballet children. He picked up the -paper and examined the theatrical advertisements, at first idly, but -afterwards in detail. - -With a long sigh, he took his hat and stick, and went very slowly -downstairs. Mrs. Rowbotham heard him fumbling with the catch of the -front door. - -"Are you going out, sir?" - -"Only just for a walk," said Richard, nonchalantly. - -"Perhaps I'd better give you a latch-key?" - -"Thanks." - -Another moment and he was in the delicious streets, going east. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Although he had visited London but once before, and then only for a few -hours, he was not unfamiliar with the topography of the town, having -frequently studied it in maps and an old copy of Kelly's directory. - -He walked slowly up Park Side and through Piccadilly, picking out as -he passed them the French Embassy, Hyde Park Corner, Apsley House, -Park Lane, and Devonshire House. As he drank in the mingled glare and -glamour of Piccadilly by night,--the remote stars, the high sombre -trees, the vast, dazzling interiors of clubs, the sinuous, flickering -lines of traffic, the radiant faces of women framed in hansoms,--he -laughed the laugh of luxurious contemplation, acutely happy. At last, -at last, he had come into his inheritance. London accepted him. He -was hers; she his; and nothing should part them. Starvation in London -would itself be bliss. But he had no intention of starving! Filled with -great purposes, he straightened his back, and just then a morsel of mud -thrown up from a bus-wheel splashed warm and gritty on his cheek. He -wiped it off caressingly, with a smile. - -Although it was Saturday night, and most of the shops were closed, -an establishment where watches and trinkets of "Anglo-Spanish" gold, -superb in appearance and pillowed on green plush, were retailed at -alluring prices, still threw a brilliant light on the pavement, and -Richard crossed the road to inspect its wares. He turned away, but -retraced his steps and entered the shop. An assistant politely inquired -his wishes. - -"I want one of those hunters you have in the window at 29/6," said -Richard, with a gruffness which must have been involuntary. - -"Yes, sir. Here is one. We guarantee that the works are equal to the -finest English lever." - -"I'll take it." He put down the money. - -"Thank you. Can I show you anything else?" - -"Nothing, thanks," still more gruffly. - -"We have some excellent chains...." - -"Nothing else, thanks." And he walked out, putting his purchase in his -pocket. A perfectly reliable gold watch, which he had worn for years, -already lay there. - -At Piccadilly Circus he loitered, and then crossed over and went -along Coventry Street to Leicester Square. The immense façade of the -Ottoman Theatre of Varieties, with its rows of illuminated windows and -crescent moons set against the sky, rose before him, and the glory of -it was intoxicating. It is not too much to say that the Ottoman held a -stronger fascination for Richard than any other place in London. The -British Museum, Fleet Street, and the Lyceum were magic names, but -more magical than either was the name of the Ottoman. The Ottoman, on -the rare occasions when it happened to be mentioned in Bursley, was a -synonym for all the glittering vices of the metropolis. It stank in -the nostrils of the London delegates who came down to speak at the -annual meetings of the local Society for the Suppression of Vice. But -how often had Richard, somnolent in chapel, mitigated the rigours of a -long sermon by dreaming of an Ottoman ballet,--one of those voluptuous -spectacles, all legs and white arms, which from time to time were -described so ornately in the London daily papers. - -The brass-barred swinging doors of the Grand Circle entrance were -simultaneously opened for him by two human automata dressed exactly -alike in long semi-military coats, a very tall man and a stunted boy. -He advanced with what air of custom he could command, and after taking -a ticket and traversing a heavily decorated corridor encountered -another pair of swinging doors; they opened, and a girl passed out, -followed by a man who was talking to her vehemently in French. At -the same moment a gust of distant music struck Richard's ear. As he -climbed a broad, thick-piled flight of steps, the music became louder, -and a clapping of hands could be heard. At the top of the steps hung -a curtain of blue velvet; he pushed aside its stiff, heavy folds with -difficulty, and entered the auditorium. - -The smoke of a thousand cigarettes enveloped the furthest parts of -the great interior in a thin bluish haze, which was dissipated as -it reached the domed ceiling in the rays of a crystal chandelier. -Far in front and a little below the level of the circle lay a line -of footlights broken by the silhouette of the conductor's head. A -diminutive, solitary figure in red and yellow stood in the centre -of the huge stage; it was kissing its hands to the audience with a -mincing, operatic gesture; presently it tripped off backwards, stopping -at every third step to bow; the applause ceased, and the curtain fell -slowly. - -The broad, semicircular promenade which flanked the seats of the grand -circle was filled with a well-dressed, well-fed crowd. The men talked -and laughed, for the most part, in little knots, while in and out, -steering their way easily and rapidly among these groups, moved the -women: some with rouged cheeks, greasy vermilion lips, and enormous -liquid eyes; others whose faces were innocent of cosmetics and showed -pale under the electric light; but all with a peculiar, exaggerated -swing of the body from the hips, and all surreptitiously regarding -themselves in the mirrors which abounded on every glowing wall. - -Richard stood aloof against a pillar. Near him were two men in evening -dress conversing in tones which just rose above the general murmur of -talk and the high, penetrating tinkle of glass from the bar behind the -promenade. - -"And what did she say then?" one of the pair asked smilingly. Richard -strained his ear to listen. - -"Well, _she_ told _me_," the other said, speaking with a dreamy drawl, -while fingering his watch-chain absently and gazing down at the large -diamond in his shirt,--"_she_ told _me_ that she said she'd do for him -if he didn't fork out. But I don't believe her. You know, of course.... -There's Lottie...." - -The band suddenly began to play, and after a few crashing bars the -curtain went up for the ballet. The rich _coup d'oeil_ which presented -itself provoked a burst of clapping from the floor of the house and the -upper tiers, but to Richard's surprise no one in his proximity seemed -to exhibit any interest in the entertainment. The two men still talked -with their backs to the stage, the women continued to find a pathway -between the groups, and from within the bar came the unabated murmur of -voices and tinkle of glass. - -Richard never took his dazed eyes from the stage. The moving pageant -unrolled itself before him like a vision, rousing new sensations, -tremors of strange desires. He was under a spell, and when at last the -curtain descended to the monotonous roll of drums, he awoke to the fact -that several people were watching him curiously. Blushing slightly, -he went to a far corner of the promenade. At one of the little tables -a woman sat alone. She held her head at an angle, and her laughing, -lustrous eyes gleamed invitingly at Richard. Without quite intending to -do so he hesitated in front of her, and she twittered a phrase ending -in _chéri_. - -He abruptly turned away. He would have been very glad to remain and say -something clever, but his tongue refused its office, and his legs moved -of themselves. - -At midnight he found himself in Piccadilly Circus, unwilling to go -home. He strolled leisurely back to Leicester Square. The front of the -Ottoman was in darkness, and the square almost deserted. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -He walked home to Raphael Street. The house was dead, except for a -pale light in his own room. At the top of the bare, creaking stairs he -fumbled a moment for the handle of his door, and the regular sound of -two distinct snores descended from an upper storey. He closed the door -softly, locked it, and glanced round the room with some eagerness. The -smell of the expiring lamp compelled him to unlatch both windows. He -extinguished the lamp, and after lighting a couple of candles on the -mantelpiece drew a chair to the fireplace and sat down to munch an -apple. The thought occurred to him: "This is my home--for how long?" - -And then: - -"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that girl?" - -Between the candles on the mantelpiece was a photograph of his sister, -which he had placed there before going out. He looked at it with a half -smile, and murmured audibly several times: - -"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that girl, with her _chéri_?" - -The woman of the photograph seemed to be between thirty and forty years -of age. She was fair, with a mild, serious face, and much wavy hair. -The forehead was broad and smooth and white, the cheek-bones prominent, -and the mouth somewhat large. The eyes were a very light grey; they -met the gaze of the spectator with a curious timid defiance, as if to -say, "I am weak, but I can at least fight till I fall." Underneath the -eyes--the portrait was the work of an amateur, and consequently had not -been robbed of all texture by retouching--a few crowsfeet could be seen. - -As far back as Richard's memory went, he and Mary had lived together -and alone in the small Red House which lay half a mile out of Bursley, -towards Turnhill, on the Manchester road. At one time it had been -rurally situated, creeping plants had clothed its red walls, and the -bare patch behind it had been a garden; but the gradual development -of a coal-producing district had covered the fields with smooth, -mountainous heaps of grey refuse, and stunted or killed every tree -in the neighbourhood. The house was undermined, and in spite of iron -clamps had lost most of its rectangles, while the rent had dropped to -fifteen pounds a year. - -Mary was very much older than her brother, and she had always appeared -to him exactly the mature woman of the photograph. Of his parents he -knew nothing except what Mary had told him, which was little and vague, -for she watchfully kept the subject at a distance. - -She had supported herself and Richard in comfort by a medley of -vocations, teaching the piano, collecting rents, and practising the -art of millinery. They had few friends. The social circles of Bursley -were centred in its churches and chapels; and though Mary attended -the Wesleyan sanctuary with some regularity, she took small interest -in prayer-meetings, class-meetings, bazaars, and all the other minor -religious activities, thus neglecting opportunities for intercourse -which might have proved agreeable. She had sent Richard to the -Sunday-school; but when, at the age of fourteen, he protested that -Sunday-school was "awful rot," she answered calmly, "Don't go, then;" -and from that day his place in class was empty. Soon afterwards the -boy cautiously insinuated that chapel belonged to the same category as -Sunday-school, but the hint failed of its effect. - -The ladies of the town called sometimes, generally upon business, and -took afternoon tea. Once the vicar's wife, who wished to obtain musical -tuition for her three youngest daughters at a nominal fee, came in and -found Richard at a book on the hearthrug. - -"Ah!" said she. "Just like his father, is he not, Miss Larch?" Mary -made no reply. - -The house was full of books. Richard knew them all well by sight, but -until he was sixteen he read only a select handful of volumes which had -stood the test of years. Often he idly speculated as to the contents of -some of the others,--"Horatii Opera," for instance: had that anything -to do with theatres?--yet for some curious reason, which when he grew -older he sought for in vain, he never troubled himself to look into -them. Mary read a good deal, chiefly books and magazines fetched for -her by Richard from the Free Library. - -When he was about seventeen, a change came. He was aware dimly, and as -if by instinct, that his sister's life in the early days had not been -without its romance. Certainly there was something hidden between her -and William Vernon, the science master at the Institute, for they were -invariably at great pains to avoid each other. He sometimes wondered -whether Mr. Vernon was connected in any way with the melancholy which -was never, even in her brightest moments, wholly absent from Mary's -demeanour. One Sunday night--Richard had been keeping house--Mary, -coming in late from chapel, threw his arms round his neck as he opened -the door, and, dragging down his face to hers, kissed him hysterically -again and again. - -"Dicky, Dick," she whispered, laughing and crying at the same time, -"something's happened. I'm almost an old woman, but something's -happened!" - -"I know," said Richard, retreating hurriedly from her embrace. "You're -going to marry Mr. Vernon." - -"But how could you tell?" - -"Oh! I just guessed." - -"You don't mind, Dick, do you?" - -"I! Mind!" Afraid lest his feelings should appear too plainly, he asked -abruptly for supper. - -Mary gave up her various callings, the wedding took place, and William -Vernon came to live with them. It was then that Richard began to read -more widely, and to form a definite project of going to London. - -He could not fail to respect and like William. The life of the married -pair seemed to him idyllic; the tender, furtive manifestations -of affection which were constantly passing between Mary and her -sedate, middle-aged husband touched him deeply, and at the thought -of the fifteen irretrievable years during which some ridiculous -misunderstanding had separated this loving couple, his eyes were -not quite as dry as a youth could wish. But with it all he was -uncomfortable. He felt himself an intruder upon holy privacies; if -at meal-times husband and wife clasped hands round the corner of -the table, he looked at his plate; if they smiled happily upon no -discoverable provocation, he pretended not to notice the fact. They -did not need him. Their hearts were full of kindness for every living -thing, but unconsciously they stood aloof. He was driven in upon -himself, and spent much of his time either in solitary walking or -hidden in an apartment called the study. - -He ordered magazines whose very names Mr. Holt, the principal -bookseller in Bursley, was unfamiliar with, and after the magazines -came books of verse and novels enclosed in covers of mystic design, and -printed in a style which Mr. Holt, though secretly impressed, set down -as eccentric. Mr. Holt's shop performed the functions of a club for -the dignitaries of the town; and since he took care that this esoteric -literature was well displayed on the counter until called for, the -young man's fame as _a great reader_ soon spread, and Richard began to -see that he was regarded as a curiosity of which Bursley need not be -ashamed. His self-esteem, already fostered into lustiness by a number -of facile school successes, became more marked, although he was wise -enough to keep a great deal of it to himself. - -One evening, after Mary and her husband had been talking quietly some -while, Richard came into the sitting-room. - -"I don't want any supper," he said, "I'm going for a bit of a walk." - -"Shall we tell him?" Mary asked, smiling, after he had left the room. - -"Please yourself," said William, also smiling. - -"He talks a great deal about going to London. I hope he won't go -till--after April; I think it would upset me." - -"You need not trouble, I think, my dear," William answered. "He talks -about it, but he isn't gone yet." - -Mr. Vernon was not quite pleased with Richard. He had obtained for -him--being connected with the best people in the town--a position as -shorthand and general clerk in a solicitor's office, and had learnt -privately that though the youth was smart enough, he was scarcely -making that progress which might have been expected. He lacked -"application." William attributed this shortcoming to the excessive -reading of verse and obscure novels. - -April came, and, as Mr. Vernon had foretold, Richard still remained -in Bursley. But the older man was now too deeply absorbed in another -matter to interest himself at all in Richard's movements,--a matter in -which Richard himself exhibited a shy concern. Hour followed anxious -hour, and at last was heard the faint, fretful cry of a child in the -night. Then stillness. All that Richard ever saw was a coffin, and in -it a dead child at a dead woman's feet. - -Fifteen months later he was in London. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Mr. Curpet, of the firm of Curpet and Smythe, whose name was painted in -black and white on the dark green door, had told him that the office -hours were from nine-thirty to six. The clock of the Law Courts was -striking a quarter to ten. He hesitated a moment, and then seized the -handle; but the door was fast, and he descended the two double flights -of iron stairs into the quadrangle. - -New Serjeant's Court was a large modern building of very red brick -with terra-cotta facings, eight storeys high; but in spite of its -faults of colour and its excessive height, ample wall spaces and -temperate ornamentation gave it a dignity and comeliness sufficient -to distinguish it from other buildings in the locality. In the centre -of the court was an oval patch of brown earth, with a few trees whose -pale-leaved tops, struggling towards sunlight, reached to the middle of -the third storey. Round this plantation ran an immaculate roadway of -wooden blocks, flanked by an equally immaculate asphalt footpath. The -court possessed its own private lamp-posts, and these were wrought of -iron in an antique design. - -Men and boys, grave and unconsciously oppressed by the burden of the -coming day, were continually appearing out of the gloom of the long -tunnelled entrance and vanishing into one or other of the twelve -doorways. Presently a carriage and pair drove in, and stopped opposite -Richard. A big man of about fifty, with a sagacious red and blue face, -jumped alertly out, followed by an attentive clerk carrying a blue -sack. It seemed to Richard that he knew the features of the big man -from portraits, and, following the pair up the staircase of No. 2, he -discovered from the legend on the door through which they disappeared -that he had been in the presence of Her Majesty's Attorney-General. -Simultaneously with a misgiving as to his ability to reach the standard -of clerical ability doubtless required by Messrs. Curpet and Smythe, -who did business cheek by jowl with an attorney-general and probably -employed him, came an elevation of spirit as he darkly guessed what -none can realise completely, that a man's future lies on his own knees, -and on the knees of no gods whatsoever. - -He continued his way upstairs, but Messrs. Curpet and Smythe's portal -was still locked. Looking down the well, he espied a boy crawling -reluctantly and laboriously upward, with a key in his hand which -he dragged across the bannisters. In course of time the boy reached -Messrs. Curpet and Smythe's door, and opening it stepped neatly over a -pile of letters which lay immediately within. Richard followed him. - -"Oh! My name's Larch," said Richard, as if it had just occurred to him -that the boy might be interested in the fact. "Do you know which is my -room?" - -The boy conducted him along a dark passage with green doors on -either side, to a room at the end. It was furnished mainly with -two writing-tables and two armchairs; in one corner was a disused -copying-press, in another an immense pile of reporters' note-books; on -the mantelpiece, a tumbler, a duster, and a broken desk lamp. - -"That's your seat," said the boy, pointing to the larger table, and -disappeared. Richard disposed of his coat and hat and sat down, trying -to feel at ease and not succeeding. - -At five minutes past ten a youth entered with the "Times" under his -arm. Richard waited for him to speak, but he merely stared and took off -his overcoat. Then he said,-- - -"You've got my hook. If you don't mind I'll put your things on this -other one." - -"Certainly," assented Richard. - -The youth spread his back luxuriously to the empty fireplace and opened -the "Times," when another and smaller boy put his head in at the door. - -"Jenkins, Mr. Alder wants the 'Times.'" - -The youth silently handed over the advertisement pages which were lying -on the table. In a minute the boy returned. - -"Mr. Alder says he wants the inside of the 'Times.'" - -"Tell Mr. Alder to go to hell, with my compliments." The boy hesitated. - -"Go on, now," Jenkins insisted. The boy hung on the door-handle, -smiling dubiously, and then went out. - -"Here, wait a minute!" Jenkins called him back. "Perhaps you'd better -give it him. Take the damn thing away." - -A sound of hurried footsteps in the next room was succeeded by an -imperious call for Jenkins, at which Jenkins slipped nimbly into his -chair and untied a bundle of papers. - -"Jenkins!" the call came again, with a touch of irritation in it, but -Jenkins did not move. The door was thrust open. - -"Oh! You are there, Jenkins. Just come in and take a letter down." The -tones were quite placid. - -"Yes, Mr. Smythe." - -"I never take any notice of Smythe's calls," said Jenkins, when he -returned. "If he wants me, he must either ring or fetch me. If I once -began it, I should be running in and out of his room all day, and I've -quite enough to do without that." - -"Fidgety, eh?" Richard suggested. - -"Fidgety's no word for it, _I_ tell you. Alder--that's the manager, you -know--said only yesterday that he has less trouble with forty Chancery -actions of Curpet's than with one county-court case of Smythe's. I know -I'd a jolly sight sooner write forty of Curpet's letters than ten of -Smythe's. I wish I'd got your place, and you'd got mine. I suppose you -can write shorthand rather fast." - -"Middling," said Richard. "About 120." - -"Oh! We had a man once who could do 150, but he'd been a newspaper -reporter. I do a bit over a hundred, if I've not had much to drink -overnight. Let's see, they're giving you twenty-five bob, aren't they?" - -Richard nodded. - -"The man before you had thirty-five, and he couldn't spell worth a -brass button. I only get fifteen, although I've been here seven years. -A damn shame I call it! But Curpet's beastly near. If he'd give some -other people less, and me a bit more...." - -"Who are 'some other people'?" asked Richard, smiling. - -"Well, there's old Aked. He sits in the outer office--you won't have -seen him because he doesn't generally come till eleven. They give him a -pound a week, just for doing a bit of engrossing when he feels inclined -to engross, and for being idle when he feels inclined to be idle. He's -a broken-down something or other,--used to be clerk to Curpet's father. -He has some dibs of his own, and this just finds him amusement. I bet -he doesn't do fifty folios a week. And he's got the devil's own temper." - -Jenkins was proceeding to describe other members of the staff when the -entry of Mr. Curpet himself put an end to the recital. Mr. Curpet was a -small man, with a round face and a neatly trimmed beard. - -"Good morning, Larch. If you'll kindly come into my room, I'll dictate -my letters. Good morning, Jenkins." He smiled and withdrew, leaving -Richard excessively surprised at his suave courtesy. - -In his own room Mr. Curpet sat before a pile of letters, and motioned -Richard to a side table. - -"You will tell me if I go too fast," he said, and began to dictate -regularly, with scarcely a pause. The pile of letters gradually -disappeared into a basket. Before half a dozen letters were done -Richard comprehended that he had become part of a business machine of -far greater magnitude than anything to which he had been accustomed -in Bursley. This little man with the round face dealt impassively -with tens of thousands of pounds; he mortgaged whole streets, bullied -railway companies, and wrote familiarly to lords. In the middle of one -long letter, a man came panting in, whom Richard at once took for Mr. -Alder, the Chancery manager. His rather battered silk hat was at the -back of his head, and he looked distressed. - -"I'm sorry to say we've lost that summons in Rice _v._ The L. R. -Railway." - -"Really!" said Mr. Curpet. "Better appeal, and brief a leader, eh?" - -"Can't appeal, Mr. Curpet." - -"Well, we must make the best of it. Telegraph to the country. I'll -write and keep them calm. It's a pity they were so sure. Rice will have -to economise for a year or two. What was my last word, Larch?" The -dictation proceeded. - -One hour was allowed for lunch, and Richard spent the first moiety -of it in viewing the ambrosial exteriors of Strand restaurants. With -the exception of the coffee-house at Bursley, he had never been in -a restaurant in his life, and he was timid of entering any of those -sumptuous establishments whose swinging doors gave glimpses of richly -decorated ceilings, gleaming tablecloths, and men in silk hats greedily -consuming dishes placed before them by obsequious waiters. - -At last, without quite knowing how he got there, he sat in a long, -low apartment, papered like an attic bedroom, and odorous of tea and -cake. The place was crowded with young men and women indifferently -well-dressed, who bent over uncomfortably small oblong marble-topped -tables. An increasing clatter of crockery filled the air. Waitresses, -with pale, vacant faces, dressed in dingy black with white aprons, -moved about with difficulty at varying rates of speed, but none of -them seemed to betray an interest in Richard. Behind the counter, on -which stood great polished urns emitting clouds of steam, were several -women whose superior rank in the restaurant was denoted by a black -apron, and after five minutes had elapsed Richard observed one of these -damsels pointing out himself to a waitress, who approached and listened -condescendingly to his order. - -A thin man, rather more than middle-aged, with a grey beard and -slightly red nose, entered and sat down opposite to Richard. Without -preface he began, speaking rather fast and with an expressive vivacity -rarely met with in the ageing,-- - -"Well, my young friend, how do you like your new place?" - -Richard stared at him. - -"Are you Mr. Aked?" - -"The same. I suppose Master Jenkins has made you acquainted with all my -peculiarities of temper and temperament.--Glass of milk, roll, and two -pats of butter--and, I say, my girl, try not to keep me waiting as long -as you did yesterday." There was a bright smile on his face, which the -waitress unwillingly returned. - -"Don't you know," he went on, looking at Richard's plate,--"don't you -know that tea and ham together are frightfully indigestible?" - -"I never have indigestion." - -"No matter. You soon will have if you eat tea and ham together. A young -man should guard his digestion like his honour. Sounds funny, doesn't -it? But it's right. An impaired digestive apparatus has ruined many a -career. It ruined mine. You see before you, sir, what might have been -an author of repute, but for a wayward stomach." - -"You write?" Richard asked, interested at once, but afraid lest Mr. -Aked might be cumbrously joking. - -"I used to." The old man spoke with proud self-consciousness. - -"Have you written a book?" - -"Not a book. But I've contributed to all manner of magazines and -newspapers." - -"What magazines?" - -"Well, let me see--it's so long ago. I've written for 'Cornhill.' I -wrote for 'Cornhill' when Thackeray edited it. I spoke to Carlyle once." - -"You did?" - -"Yes. Carlyle said to me--Carlyle said to me--Carlyle said--" Mr. -Aked's voice dwindled to an inarticulate murmur, and, suddenly ignoring -Richard's presence, he pulled a book from his pocket and began to -finger the leaves. It was a French novel, "La Vie de Bohème." His face -had lost all its mobile expressiveness. - -A little alarmed by such eccentricity, and not quite sure that this -associate of Carlyle was perfectly sane, Richard sat silent, waiting -for events. Mr. Aked was clearly accustomed to reading while he ate; -he could even drink with his eyes on the book. At length he pushed his -plates away from him, and closed the novel with a snap. - -"I see you're from the country, Larch," he said, as if there had been -no lapse in the conversation. "Now, why in God's name did you leave the -country? Aren't there enough people in London?" - -"Because _I_ wanted to be an author," answered Richard, with more -assurance than veracity, though he spoke in good faith. The fact was -that his aspirations, hitherto so vague as to elude analysis, seemed -within the last few minutes mysteriously to have assumed definite form. - -"You're a young fool, then." - -"But I've an excellent digestion." - -"You won't have it if you begin to write. Take my word, you're a young -fool. You don't know what you're going in for, my little friend." - -"Was Murger a fool?" Richard said clumsily, determined to exhibit an -acquaintance with "La Vie de Bohème." - -"Ha! We read French, do we?" - -Richard blushed. The old man got up. - -"Come along," he said peevishly. "Let's get out of this hole." - -At the pay-desk, waiting for change, he spoke to the cashier, a thin -girl with reddish-brown hair, who coughed,-- - -"Did you try those lozenges?" - -"Oh! yes, thanks. They _taste_ nice." - -"Beautiful day." - -"Yes; my word, isn't it!" - -They walked back to the office in absolute silence; but just as they -were going in, Mr. Aked stopped, and took Richard by the coat. - -"Have you anything special to do next Thursday night?" - -"No," said Richard. - -"Well, I'll take you to a little French restaurant in Soho, and we'll -have dinner. Half a crown. Can you afford?" - -Richard nodded. - -"And, I say, bring along some of your manuscripts, and I'll flay them -alive for you." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -An inconstant, unrefreshing breeze, sluggish with accumulated impurity, -stirred the curtains, and every urban sound--high-pitched voices of -children playing, roll of wheels and rhythmic trot of horses, shouts -of newsboys and querulous barking of dogs--came through the open -windows touched with a certain languorous quality that suggested a -city fatigued, a city yearning for the moist recesses of woods, the -disinfectant breath of mountain tops, and the cleansing sea. - -On the little table between the windows lay pen, ink, and paper. -Richard sat down to be an author. Since his conversation with Mr. -Aked of the day before he had lived in the full glow of an impulse -to write. He discerned, or thought he discerned, in the fact that he -possessed the literary gift, a key to his recent life. It explained, -to be particular, the passion for reading which had overtaken him at -seventeen, and his desire to come to London, the natural home of the -author. Certainly it was strange that hitherto he had devoted very -little serious thought to the subject of writing, but happily there -were in existence sundry stray verses and prose fragments written at -Bursley, and it contented him to recognise in these the first tremulous -stirrings of a late-born ambition. - -During the previous evening he had busied himself in deciding upon a -topic. In a morning paper he had read an article entitled "An Island of -Sleep," descriptive of Sark; it occurred to him that a similar essay -upon Lichfield, the comatose cathedral city which lay about thirty -miles from Bursley, might suit a monthly magazine. He knew Lichfield -well; he had been accustomed to visit it from childhood; he loved it. -As a theme full of picturesque opportunities it had quickened his -imagination, until his brain seemed to surge with vague but beautiful -fancies. In the night his sleep had been broken, and several new ideas -had suggested themselves. And now, after a day of excited anticipation, -the moment for composition had arrived. - -As he dipped his pen in the ink a sudden apprehension of failure -surprised him. He dismissed it, and wrote in a bold hand, rather -carefully,-- - - MEMORIES OF A CITY OF SLEEP. - -That was surely an excellent title. He proceeded:-- - - _On the old stone bridge, beneath which the clear, smooth waters of - the river have crept at the same pace for centuries, stands a little - child, alone. It is early morning, and the clock of the time-stained - cathedral which lifts its noble gothic towers scarce a hundred yards - away, strikes five, to the accompaniment of an unseen lark overhead._ - -He sat back to excogitate the next sentence, staring around the room -as if he expected to find the words written on the wall. One of the -gilt-framed photographs was slightly askew; he left his chair to put -it straight; several other pictures seemed to need adjustment, and -he levelled them all with scrupulous precision. The ornaments on the -mantelpiece were not evenly balanced; these he rearranged entirely. -Then, having first smoothed out a crease in the bedcover, he sat down -again. - -But most of the beautiful ideas which he had persuaded himself -were firmly within his grasp, now eluded him, or tardily presented -themselves in a form so obscure as to be valueless, and the useful few -that remained defied all attempts to bring them into order. Dashed by -his own impotence, he sought out the article on Sark, and examined it -afresh. Certain weekly organs of literature had educated him to sneer -at the journalism of the daily press, but it appeared that the man who -wrote "An Island of Sleep" was at least capable of expressing himself -with clearness and fluency, and possessed the skill to pass naturally -from one aspect of his subject to another. It seemed simple enough.... - -He went to the window. - -The sky was a delicate amber, and Richard watched it change to rose, -and from rose to light blue. The gas-lamps glared out in quick -succession; some one lowered the blind of a window opposite his own, -and presently a woman's profile was silhouetted against it for a -moment, and then vanished. A melody came from the public house, sung -in a raucous baritone to the thrumming of a guitar; the cries of the -playing children had now ceased. - -Suddenly turning into the room, he was astonished to find it almost in -darkness; he could distinguish only the whiteness of the papers on the -table. - -He was not in the mood for writing to-night. Some men wrote best in -the evening, others in the morning. Probably he belonged to the latter -class. Be that as it might, he would rise at six the next morning and -make a new beginning. "It's only a question of practice, of course," he -said, half aloud, repressing a troublesome dubiety. He would take a -short walk, and go early to bed. Gradually his self-confidence returned. - -As he closed the front door there was a rustle of silks and a transient -odour of violets; a woman had gone by. She turned slightly at the sound -of the door, and Richard had a glimpse of a young and pretty face -under a spreading hat, a full, ripe bust whose alluring contours were -perfectly disclosed by a tight-fitting bodice, and two small white -hands, in one a dangling pair of gloves, in the other an umbrella. He -passed her, and waited at the corner by Tattersall's till she overtook -him again. Now she stood on the kerb within six feet of him, humming an -air and smiling to herself. Up went the umbrella to signal for a hansom. - -"The Ottoman," Richard heard her say across the roof of the cab, the -driver leaning forward with his hand to his ear. What a child's voice -it seemed, lisping and artless! - -The cabman winked at Richard, and gently flicked his horse. In a moment -the hansom was two dwindling specks of red in a shifting multitude of -lights. - -An hour later he saw her in the promenade of the theatre; she stood -against a pillar, her eyes on the entrance. As their glances met, -she threw her head a little backwards, like one who looks through -spectacles on the end of his nose, and showed her teeth. He sat down -near her. - -Presently she waved her hand to a man who was coming in. He seemed -about thirty, with small, clear eyes, bronzed cheeks, a heavy jaw, and -a closely trimmed brown moustache. He was fashionably garbed, though -not in evening dress, and he greeted her without raising his hat. - -"Shall we have a drink?" she suggested. "I'm so thirsty." - -"Fizz?" the man drawled. She nodded. - -Soon they went out together, the man carelessly stuffing change for a -five-pound note into his pocket. - -"What's the difference between him and me?" Richard reflected as he -walked home. "But just wait a bit; wait till I've...." - -When he reached his lodging the meanness of the room, of his clothes, -of his supper, nauseated him. He dreamed that he was kissing the -Ottoman girl, and that she lisped, "Nice boy," whereupon he cast a -handful of sovereigns on her lap. - -At six o'clock the next morning he was working at his article. In -two days it was finished, and he had despatched it to a monthly -magazine, "together with a stamped directed envelope for its return if -unsuitable," in accordance with the editorial instructions printed -below the table of contents in every number. The editor of the -"Trifler" promised that all manuscripts so submitted, and written on -one side of the paper only, should be dealt with promptly. - -He had been expecting to discuss his work with Mr. Aked at the -proposed dinner, but this had not taken place. On the morning after -the arrangement had been made, Mr. Aked fell ill, and in a few days he -wrote to resign his post, saying that he had sufficient to live on, and -felt "too venerable for regular work." - -Richard held but the frailest hope that "A City of Sleep" would be -accepted, but when the third morning arrived, and the postman brought -nothing, his opinion of the article began to rise. Perhaps it had -merit, after all; he recalled certain parts of it which were distinctly -clever and striking. Hurrying home from the office that afternoon, he -met the landlady's daughter on the stairs, and said casually,-- - -"Any letters for me, Lily?" - -"No, sir." The girl had an attractive blush. - -"I'll take a couple of eggs for tea, if Mrs. Rowbotham has them." - -He remained at home in the evening, waiting for the last delivery, -which occurred about 9:30. The double knocks of the postman were -audible ten or twelve houses away. At last Richard heard him mounting -the steps of No. 74, and then his curt rat-tat shook the house. A -little thud on the bare wooden floor of the hall seemed to indicate a -heavier package than the ordinary letter. - -As, when a man is drowning, the bad actions of a whole lifetime present -themselves to him in one awful flash, so at that moment all the faults, -the hopeless crudities, of "A City of Sleep" confronted Richard. He -wondered at his own fatuity in imagining for a single instant that the -article had the barest chance of acceptance. Was it not notorious that -famous authors had written industriously for years without selling a -line! - -Lily came in with the supper-tray. She was smiling. - -"Warm work, eh, Lily?" he said, scarcely knowing that he spoke. - -"Yes, sir, it's that hot in the kitchen you wouldn't believe." Setting -down the tray, she handed him a foolscap envelope, and he saw his own -handwriting as if in a dream. - -"For me?" he murmured carelessly, and placed the letter on the -mantelpiece. Lily took his orders for breakfast, and with a pleasant, -timid "Good-night, sir," left the room. - -He opened the envelope. In the fold of his manuscript was a sheet -of the best cream-laid note-paper bearing these words in flowing -copperplate: "The Editor presents his compliments to Mr. Larch -[written] and regrets to be unable to use the enclosed article, for the -offer of which he is much obliged." - -The sight of this circular, with the offices of the magazine -illustrated at the top, and the notification in the left-hand corner -that all letters must be addressed to the editor and not to any member -of the staff individually, in some mysterious way mitigated Richard's -disappointment. Perhaps the comfort of it lay in the tangible assurance -it afforded that he was now actually _a literary aspirant_ and had -communications, however mortifying, with _the press_. - -He read the circular again and again during supper, and determined to -re-write the article. But this resolve was not carried out. He could -not bring himself even to glance through it, and finally it was sent to -another magazine exactly as it stood. - -Richard had determined to say nothing in the office about his writing -until he could produce a printed article with his name at the foot; -and frequently during the last few days his mouth had watered as he -anticipated the sweetness of that triumph. But next day he could not -refrain from showing to Jenkins the note from the "Trifler." Jenkins -seemed impressed, especially when Richard requested him to treat the -matter as confidential. A sort of friendship arose between them, and -strengthened as time went on. Richard sometimes wondered how precisely -it had come about, and why it continued. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Albert Jenkins was nineteen years of age, and lived with his parents -and seven brothers and sisters in Camberwell; his father managed a -refreshment bar in Oxford Street. He had been in the employ of Messrs. -Curpet and Smythe for seven years,--first as junior office boy, then -as senior office boy, and finally as junior shorthand clerk. He was -of the average height, with a shallow chest, and thin arms and legs. -His feet were very small--he often referred to the fact with frank -complacency--and were always encased in well-fitting hand-made boots, -brightly polished. The rest of his attire was less remarkable for -neatness; but at intervals an ambition to be genteel possessed him, -and during these recurrent periods the nice conduct of his fingernails -interfered somewhat with official routine. He carried his hat either -at the back of his head or tilted almost upon the bridge of his nose. -In the streets he generally walked with sedate deliberation, his hands -deep in his pockets, his eyes lowered, and an enigmatic smile on his -thin lips. - -His countenance was of a pale yellow complexion just tinged with red, -and he never coloured; his neck was a darker yellow. Upon the whole, -his features were regular, except the mouth, which was large, and -protruded like a monkey's; the eyes were grey, with a bold regard, -which not seldom was excusably mistaken for insolence. - -Considering his years, Jenkins was a highly accomplished person, in -certain directions. Upon all matters connected with her Majesty's mail -and inland revenue, upon cab fares, bus-routes, and local railways, -upon "Pitman outlines," and upon chamber practice in Chancery, he -was an unquestioned authority. He knew the addresses of several -hundred London solicitors, the locality of nearly every street and -square within the four-mile radius, and, within the same limits, the -approximate distance of any one given spot from any other given spot. - -He was the best billiard-player in the office, and had once made a -spot-barred break of 49; this game was his sole pastime. He gambled -regularly upon horse-races, resorting to a number of bookmakers, but -neither winning nor losing to an appreciable extent; no less than three -jockeys occasionally permitted him to enjoy their companionship, and he -was never without a stable-tip. - -His particular hobby, however, was restaurants. He spent half his -income upon food, and quite half his waking hours either in deciding -what he should consume, or in actual drinking and mastication. He had -personally tested the merits of every bar and house of refreshment in -the neighbourhood of the Law Courts, from Lockhart's to Gatti's, and -would discourse for hours on their respective virtues and defects. No -restaurant was too mean for his patronage, and none too splendid; for -days in succession he would dine upon a glass of water and a captain -biscuit with cheese, in order to accumulate resources for a delicate -repast in one of the gilded establishments where the rich are wont to -sustain themselves; and he had acquired from his father a quantity of -curious lore, throwing light upon the secrets of the refreshment trade, -which enabled him to spend the money thus painfully amassed to the best -advantage. - -Jenkins was a cockney and the descendant of cockneys; he conversed -always volubly in the dialect of Camberwell; but just as he was subject -to attacks of modishness, so at times he attempted to rid himself of -his accent, of course without success. He swore habitually, and used -no reticence whatever, except in the presence of his employers and of -Mr. Alder the manager. In quick and effective retort he was the peer -of cabmen, and nothing could abash him. His favourite subjects of -discussion were restaurants, as before mentioned, billiards, the turf, -and women, whom he usually described as "tarts." It was his custom to -refer to himself as a "devil for girls," and when Mr. Alder playfully -accused him of adventures with females of easy virtue, his delight was -unbounded. - -There were moments when Richard loathed Jenkins, when the gross and -ribald atmosphere which attended Jenkins' presence nauseated him, and -utter solitude in London seemed preferable to the boy's company; but -these passed, and the intimacy throve. Jenkins, indeed, had his graces; -he was of an exceedingly generous nature, and his admiration for the -deep literary scholarship which he imagined Richard to possess was -ingenuous and unconcealed. His own agile wit, his picturesque use of -slang, his facility in new oaths, and above all his exact knowledge of -the byways, and backwaters of London life, endowed him, in Richard's -unaccustomed eyes, with a certain specious attractiveness. Moreover, -the fact that they shared the same room and performed similar duties -made familiar intercourse between them natural and necessary. With no -other member of the staff did Richard care to associate. The articled -clerks, though courteously agreeable to everyone, formed an exclusive -coterie; and as for the rest, they were either old or dull, or both. -He often debated whether he should seek out Mr. Aked, who was now -recovered, and had once, unfortunately in Richard's absence, called at -the office; but at length he timidly decided that the extent of their -acquaintance would not warrant it. - -"Where shall we go to lunch to-day?" was almost the first question -which Richard and Jenkins asked each other in the morning, and a -prolonged discussion would follow. They called the meal "lunch," but it -was really their dinner, though neither of them ever admitted the fact. - -Jenkins had a predilection for grill-rooms, where raw chops and -steaks lay on huge dishes, and each customer chose his own meat and -superintended its cooking. A steak, tender and perfectly cooked, with -baked potatoes and half a pint of stout, was his ideal repast, and he -continually lamented that no restaurant in London offered such cheer -at the price of one shilling and threepence, including the waiter. -The cheap establishments were never satisfactory, and Jenkins only -frequented them when the state of his purse left no alternative. In -company with Richard he visited every new eating-house that made its -appearance, in the hope of finding the restaurant of his dreams, and -though each was a disappointment, yet the search still went on. The -place which most nearly coincided with his desires was the "Sceptre," -a low, sombre room between the Law Courts and the river, used by -well-to-do managing clerks and a sprinkling of junior barristers. Here, -lounging luxuriously on red plush seats, and in full sight and hearing -of a large silver grill, the two spent many luncheon hours, eating -slowly, with gross, sensual enjoyment, and secretly elated by the -proximity of men older and more prosperous than themselves, whom they -met on equal terms. - -Richard once suggested that they should try one of the French -restaurants in Soho which Mr. Aked had mentioned. - -"Not me!" said Jenkins, in reply. "You don't catch me going to those -parley-voo shops again. I went once. They give you a lot of little -messes, faked up from yesterday's dirty plates, and after you've eaten -half a dozen of 'em you don't feel a bit fuller. Give me a steak and a -potato. I like to know what I'm eating." - -He had an equal detestation of vegetarian restaurants, but once, during -a period of financial depression, he agreed to accompany Richard, -who knew the place fairly well, to the "Crabtree" in Charing Cross -Road, and though he grumbled roundly at the insubstantiality of the -three-course dinner _à la carte_ which could be obtained for sixpence, -he made no difficulty, afterwards, about dining there whenever -prudence demanded the narrowest economy. - -An air of chill and prim discomfort pervaded the Crabtree, and the -mingled odour of lentils and sultana pudding filled every corner. The -tables were narrow, and the chairs unyielding. The customers were for -the most eccentric as to dress and demeanour; they had pale faces, and -during their melancholy meals perused volumes obviously instructive, or -debated the topics of the day in platitudinous conversations unspiced -by a single oath. Young women with whom their personal appearance was -a negligible quantity came in large numbers, and either giggled to one -another without restraint or sat erect and glared at the males in a -manner which cowed even Jenkins. The waitresses lacked understanding, -and seemed to resent even the most courteous advances. - -One day, just as they were beginning dinner, Jenkins eagerly drew -Richard's attention to the girl at the pay-desk. "See that girl?" he -said. - -"What about her? Is she a new one?" - -"Why, she's the tart that old Aked used to be after." - -"Was she at that A. B. C. shop in the Strand?" said Richard, who began -to remember the girl's features and her reddish brown hair. - -"Yes, that's her. Before she was at the A. B. C. she was cashier at -that boiled-beef place opposite the Courts, but they say she got the -sack for talking to customers too much. She and Aked were very thick -then, and he went there every day. I suppose his courting interfered -with business." - -"But he's old enough to be her father!" - -"Yes. He ought to have been ashamed of himself. She's not a bad kind, -eh?" - -"There wasn't anything between them, really, was there?" - -"_I_ don't know. There might have been. He followed her to the A. B. C, -and I think he sometimes took her home. Her name's Roberts. We used to -have him on about her--rare fun." - -The story annoyed Richard, for his short _tête-à -tête_ with Mr. Aked -had remained in his mind as a pleasant memory, and though he was aware -that the old man had been treated with scant respect by the youngsters -in the office, he had acquired the habit of mentally regarding him -with admiration, as a representative of literature. This attachment to -a restaurant cashier, clearly a person of no refinement or intellect, -scarcely fitted with his estimate of the journalist who had spoken to -Carlyle. - -During the meal he surreptitiously glanced at the girl several times. -She was plumper than before, and her cough seemed to be cured. Her -face was pleasant, and undoubtedly she had a magnificent coiffure. - -When they presented their checks, Jenkins bowed awkwardly, and she -smiled. He swore to Richard that next time he would mention Mr. -Aked's name to her. The vow was broken. She was willing to exchange -civilities, but her manner indicated with sufficient clearness that a -line was to be drawn. - -In the following week, when Richard happened to be at the Crabtree -alone, at a later hour than usual, they had rather a long conversation. - -"Is Mr. Aked still at your office?" she asked, looking down at her -account books. - -Richard told what he knew. - -"Oh!" she said, "I often used to see him, and he gave me some lozenges -that cured a bad cough I had. Nice old fellow, wasn't he?" - -"Yes, I fancy so," Richard assented. - -"I thought I'd just ask, as I hadn't seen him about for a long time." - -"Good afternoon--Miss Roberts." - -"Good afternoon--Mr.----" - -"Larch." - -They both laughed. - -A trivial dispute with Jenkins, a few days later, disclosed the -fact that that haunter of bars had a sullen temper, and that his -displeasure, once aroused, was slow to disappear. Richard dined alone -again at the Crabtree, and after another little conversation with Miss -Roberts, having time at his disposal, he called at the public library -in St. Martin's Lane. In a half-crown review he saw an article, by a -writer of considerable repute, entitled "To Literary Aspirants," which -purported to demonstrate that a mastery of the craft of words was only -to be attained by a regular course of technical exercises; the nature -of these exercises was described in detail. There were references to -the unremitting drudgery of Flaubert, de Maupassant, and Stevenson, -together with extracts chosen to illustrate the slow passage of the -last-named author from inspired incompetence to the serene and perfect -proficiency before which all difficulties melted. After an unqualified -statement that any man--slowly if without talent, quickly if gifted by -nature--might with determined application learn to write finely, the -essayist concluded by remarking that never before in the history of -literature had young authors been so favourably circumstanced as at -that present. Lastly came the maxim, _Nulla dies sine linea_. - -Richard's cooling enthusiasm for letters leaped into flame. He had -done no writing whatever for several weeks, but that night saw him -desperately at work. He took advantage of the quarrel to sever all -save the most formal connection with Jenkins, dined always frugally at -the Crabtree, and spent every evening at his lodging. The thought of -Alphonse Daudet writing "Les Amoureuses" in a Parisian garret supported -him through an entire month of toil, during which, besides assiduously -practising the recommended exercises, he wrote a complete short story -and began several essays. About this time his "City of Sleep" was -returned upon his hands in a condition so filthy and ragged that he was -moved to burn it. The short story was offered to an evening daily, and -never heard of again. - -It occurred to him that possibly he possessed some talent for dramatic -criticism, and one Saturday evening he went to the first performance -of a play at the St. George's theatre. After waiting for an hour -outside, he got a seat in the last row of the pit. Eagerly he watched -the critics take their places in the stalls; they chatted languidly, -smiling and bowing now and then to acquaintances in the boxes and dress -circle; the pit was excited and loquacious, and Richard discovered that -nearly everyone round about him made a practice of attending first -nights, and had an intimate knowledge of the _personnel_ of the stage. -Through the hum of voices the overture to "Rosamund" fitfully reached -him. During whole bars the music was lost; then some salient note -caught the ear, and the melody became audible again until another wave -of conversation engulfed it. - -The conclusion of the last act was greeted with frenzied hand-clapping, -beating of sticks, and inarticulate cries, while above the general -noise was heard the repeated monosyllable "'thor, 'thor." After what -seemed an interminable delay the curtain was drawn back at one side -and a tall man in evening dress, his face a dead white, stepped before -the footlights and bowed several times; the noise rose to a thunderous -roar, in which howls and hissing were distinguishable. Richard shook -from head to foot, and tears unaccountably came to his eyes. - -The whole of Sunday and Monday evening were occupied in writing a -detailed analysis and appreciation of the play. On Tuesday morning he -bought a weekly paper which devoted special attention to the drama, in -order to compare his own view with that of an acknowledged authority, -and found that the production was dismissed in ten curt lines as mere -amiable drivel. - -A few days afterwards Mr. Curpet offered him the position of cashier -in the office, at a salary of three pounds a week. His income was -exactly doubled, and the disappointments of unsuccessful authorship -suddenly ceased to trouble him. He began to doubt the wisdom of making -any further attempt towards literature. Was it not clear that his -talents lay in the direction of business? Nevertheless a large part -of his spare cash was devoted to the purchase of books, chiefly the -productions of a few celebrated old continental presses, which he had -recently learned to value. He prepared a scheme for educating himself -in the classical tongues and in French, and the practice of writing was -abandoned to make opportunity for the pursuit of culture. But culture -proved to be shy and elusive. He adhered to no regular course of study, -and though he read much, his progress towards knowledge was almost -imperceptible. - -Other distractions presented themselves in the shape of music and -painting. He discovered that he was not without critical taste -in both these arts, and he became a frequenter of concerts and -picture-galleries. He bought a piano on the hire-purchase system, and -took lessons thereon. In this and other ways his expenditure swelled -till it more than swallowed up the income of three pounds a week which -not long before he had regarded as something very like wealth. For -many weeks he made no effort to adjust the balance, until his debts -approached the sum of twenty pounds, nearly half of which was owing to -his landlady. He had to go through more than one humiliating scene -before an era of economy set in. - -One afternoon he received a telegram to say that William Vernon had -died very suddenly. It was signed "Alice Clayton Vernon." Mrs. Vernon -was William's stately cousin-in-law, and Richard, to whom she had -spoken only once,--soon after Mary's wedding,--regarded her with awe; -he disliked her because he found it impossible to be at ease in her -imposing presence. As he went into Mr. Curpet's room to ask for leave -of absence, his one feeling was annoyance at the prospect of having -to meet her again. William's death, to his own astonishment, scarcely -affected him at all. - -Mr. Curpet readily granted him two days' holiday, and he arranged to go -down to Bursley the following night for the funeral. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Wearied of sitting, Richard folded his overcoat pillow-wise, put it -under his head, and extended himself on the polished yellow wood. But -in vain were his eyes shut tight. Sleep would not come, though he -yawned incessantly. The monstrous beat of the engine, the quick rattle -of windows, and the grinding of wheels were fused into a fantastic -resonance which occupied every corner of the carriage and invaded his -very skull. Then a light tapping on the roof, one of those mysterious -sounds which make a compartment in a night-train like a haunted room, -momentarily silenced everything else, and he wished that he had not -been alone. - -Suddenly jumping up, he put away all idea of sleep, and lowered the -window. It was pitch dark; vague changing shapes, which might have been -either trees or mere fancies of the groping eye, outlined themselves a -short distance away; far in front was a dull glare from the engine, and -behind twinkled the guard's lamp.... In a few seconds he closed the -window again, chilled to the bone, though May was nearly at an end. - -The thought occurred to him that he was now a solitary upon the face -of the earth. It concerned no living person whether he did evil or -good. If he chose to seek ruin, to abandon himself to the most ignoble -impulses, there was none to restrain,--not even a brother-in-law. For -several weeks past, he had been troubled about his future, afraid -to face it. Certainly London satisfied him, and the charm of living -there had not perceptibly grown less. He rejoiced in London, in its -vistas, its shops, its unending crowds, its vastness, its wickedness; -each dream dreamed about London in childhood had come true; and surer -than ever before was the consciousness that in going to London he had -fulfilled his destiny. Yet there was something to lack in himself. -His confidence in his own abilities and his own character was being -undermined. Nearly a year had gone, and he had made no progress, except -at the office. Resolutions were constantly broken; it was three months -since he had despatched an article to a newspaper. He had not even -followed a definite course of study, and though his acquaintance with -modern French fiction had widened, he could boast no exact scholarship -even in that piquant field. Evening after evening--ah! those long, -lamplit evenings which were to be given to strenuous effort!--was -frittered away upon mean banalities, sometimes in the company of some -casual acquaintance and sometimes alone. He had by no means grasped the -full import and extent of this retrogression; it was merely beginning -to disturb his self-complacence, and perhaps, ever so slightly, his -sleep. But now, hurrying to the funeral of William Vernon, he lazily -laughed at himself for having allowed his peace of mind to be ruffled. -Why bother about "getting on"? What did it matter? - -He still experienced but little sorrow at the death of Vernon. His -affection for the man had strangely faded. During the nine months that -he had lived in London they had scarcely written to one another, and -Richard regarded the long journey to attend William's obsequies as a -tiresome concession to propriety. - -That was his real attitude, had he cared to examine it. - -At about four o'clock it was quite light, and the risen sun woke -Richard from a brief doze. The dew lay in the hollows of the fields but -elsewhere there was a soft, fresh clearness which gave to the common -incidents of the flying landscape a new and virginal beauty--as though -that had been the morn of creation itself. The cattle were stirring, -and turned to watch the train as it slipped by. - -Richard opened the window again. His mood had changed, and he felt -unreasonably joyous. Last night he had been too pessimistic. Life lay -yet before him, and time enough to rectify any indiscretions of which -he might have been guilty. The future was his, to use as he liked. -Magnificent, consoling thought! Moved by some symbolic association of -ideas, he put his head out of the window and peered in the direction of -the train's motion. A cottage stood alone in the midst of innumerable -meadows; as it crossed his vision, the door opened, and a young woman -came out with an empty pail swinging in her left hand. Apparently she -would be about twenty-seven, plump and sturdy and straight. Her hair -was loose about her round, contented face, and with her disengaged -hand she rubbed her eyes, still puffed and heavy with sleep. She wore -a pink print gown, the bodice of which was unfastened, disclosing a -white undergarment and the rich hemispheres of her bosom. In an instant -the scene was hidden by a curve of the line, and the interminable -succession of fields resumed, but Richard had time to guess from her -figure that the woman was the mother of a small family. He pictured her -husband still unconscious in the warm bed which she had just left; he -even saw the impress of her head on the pillow, and a long nightdress -thrown hastily across a chair. - -He was deeply and indescribably affected by this suggestion of peaceful -married love set in so great a solitude. The woman and her hypothetical -husband and children were only peasants, their lives were probably -narrow and their intellects dormant, yet they aroused in him a feeling -of envy which surged about his brain and for the moment asphyxiated -thought.... - -Later on the train slackened speed as it passed through a -shunting-yard. The steam from the light shunting-engine rose with -cloud-like delicacy in the clear air, and an occasional short whistle -seemed to have something of the quality of a bird's note. The men with -their long poles moved blithely among the medley of rails, signalling -one another with motions of the arm. The coupling-chains rang with a -merry, giant tinkle, and when the engine brought its load of waggons to -a standstill, and a smart, metallic bump, bump, bump ran _diminuendo_ -from waggon to waggon, one might have fancied that some leviathan game -was being played. Richard forgot the girl with the pail, and soon after -went to sleep. - -At six o'clock the train reached Knype, where he had to change. Two -women with several children also alighted, and he noticed how white -and fatigued were their faces; the children yawned pitifully. An icy, -searching wind blew through the station; the exhilaration of the -dawn was gone, and a spirit of utter woe and disaster brooded over -everything. For the first time William's death really touched him. - -The streets of Bursley were nearly empty as he walked through the town -from the railway station, for the industrial population was already -at work in the manufactories, and the shops not yet open. Yet Richard -avoided the main thoroughfares, choosing a circuitous route lest he -might by chance encounter an acquaintance. He foresaw the inevitable -banal dialogue:-- - -"Well, how do you like London?" - -"Oh, it's fine!" - -"Getting on all right?" - -"Yes, thanks." - -And then the effort of two secretly bored persons to continue a -perfunctory conversation unaided by a single mutual interest. - -A carriage was driving away from the Red House just as Richard got -within sight of it; he nodded to the venerable coachman, who gravely -touched his hat. The owner of the carriage was Mr. Clayton Vernon, -William's cousin and an alderman of Bursley, and Richard surmised that -Mrs. Clayton Vernon had put herself in charge of the place until the -funeral should be over. He trembled at the prospect of a whole day to -be spent in the company of these excellent people, whom William had -always referred to with a smile, and yet not without a great deal of -respect. The Clayton Vernons were the chief buttress of respectability -in the town; rich, strictly religious, philanthropic, and above all -dignified. Everyone looked up to them instinctively, and had they -possessed but one vice between them, they would have been loved. - -Mrs. Clayton Vernon herself opened the door. She was a stately woman of -advanced middle age, with a suave, imperious manner. - -"I left Clayton to have breakfast by himself," she said, as she led -Richard into the sitting-room; "I thought you would like someone here -to welcome you after your long night journey. Breakfast will be ready -almost directly. How tired you must be! Clayton said it was a pity you -should come by the night train, but of course it is quite right that -you should inconvenience your employers as little as possible, quite -right. And we admire you for it. Now will you run upstairs and wash? -You've not forgotten the way?..." - -The details of the funeral had been settled by Mr. Clayton Vernon, -who was the chief mourner, and Richard had nothing to do but fall in -with preconcerted plans and answer decorously when spoken to. The -arrangement was satisfactory in that it relieved him from duties which -would have been irksome, but scarcely gratifying to his pride. He had -lived nearly all his life in that house, and had known the dead man -perhaps more intimately than anyone else present. However, he found it -convenient to efface himself. - -In the evening there was an elaborate tea at which were present the -Clayton Vernons and the minister who had conducted the funeral service. -The minister and the alderman left immediately afterwards to attend a -meeting, and when they were gone Mrs. Clayton Vernon said,-- - -"Now we are all alone, Richard. Go into the drawing-room and I will -follow. I do want to have a chat with you." - -She came in with needle and thread and scissors. - -"If you will take off your coat, I will stitch on that button that is -hanging by one thread. I noticed it this morning, and then it went -quite out of my mind. I am so sorry!" - -"Oh, thanks!" he blushed hotly. "But I can stitch myself, you know--" - -"Come, you needn't be shy of an old woman seeing you in your -shirt-sleeves. Do as I ask." - -He doffed the coat. - -"I always like young men to be immaculately neat," she said, cutting -off a piece of cotton. "One's personal character is an index to one's -character, don't you think? Of course you do. Here, thread the needle -for me. I am afraid since your dear sister died you have grown a little -careless, eh? She was _most_ particular. Ah, what a mother she was to -you!" - -"Yes," said Richard. - -"I was very grieved to see you go to the funeral in a soft -hat--Richard, really I was. It wasn't respectful to your -brother-in-law's memory." - -"I never thought. You see, I started in rather a hurry." The fact was -that he had no silk hat, nor could he easily afford to buy one. - -"But you _should_ think, my dear boy. Even Clayton was shocked. Are -those your best clothes?" - -Richard answered that they were. He sheepishly protested that he never -bothered about clothes. - -There was a silence, broken by her regular stitching. At last she -handed him the coat and helped him to put it on. He went to the old -green sofa, and somewhat to his dismay she sat down by his side. - -"Richard," she began, in a changed, soft voice, and not without -emotion, "do you know we are expecting great things from you?" - -"But you shouldn't. I'm a very ordinary sort of person." - -"No, no. That you are not. God has given you great talents, and you -must use them. Poor William always used to say that you were highly -gifted and might do great things." - -"Might!" - -"Yes--if you tried." - -"But how am I gifted? And what 'great things' are expected?" he asked, -perhaps angling for further flattering disclosures. - -"I cannot answer that," said Mrs. Clayton Vernon; "it is for you to -answer. You have given all your friends the impression that you would -do something worth doing. You have raised hopes, and you must not -disappoint them. We believe in you, Richard. That is all I can say." - -"That's all very well; but--" He stopped and played with the seal on -his watch-chain. "The fact is, I am working, you know. I want to be an -author--at least a journalist." - -"Ah!" - -"It's a slow business--at first--" Suddenly moved to be confidential, -he went on to give her some account, incomplete and judiciously -edited, of his life during the past year. - -"You have relieved my mind greatly, and Clayton will be so glad. We -were beginning to think--" - -"Why were you 'beginning to think'?" - -"Well, never mind now." - -"But why?" - -"Never mind. I have full confidence in you, and I am sure you will get -on. Poor boy, you have no near connections or relatives now?" - -"No, none." - -"You must look on Clayton and myself as very near relatives. We have no -children, but our hearts are large. I shall expect you to write to me -sometimes and to come and stay with us now and then." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -In the centre of the reading-room at the British Museum sit four men -fenced about by a quadruple ring of unwieldy volumes which are an index -to all the knowledge in the world. The four men know those volumes as -a good courier knows the Continental Bradshaw, and all day long, from -early morning, when the attendants, self-propelled on wheeled stools, -run around the rings arranging and aligning the huge blue tomes, to -late afternoon, when the immense dome is like a dark night and the -arc lamps hiss and crackle in the silence, they answer questions, -patiently, courteously; they are seldom embarrassed and less seldom in -the wrong. - -Radiating in long rows from the central fortress of learning, a -diversified company of readers disposes itself: bishops, statesmen, -men of science, historians, needy pedants, popular authors whose -broughams are waiting in the precincts, journalists, medical students, -law students, curates, hack-writers, women with clipped hair and black -aprons, idlers; all short-sighted and all silent. - -Every few minutes an official enters in charge of an awed group of -country visitors, and whispers mechanically the unchanging formula: -"Eighty thousand volumes in this room alone: thirty-six miles of -bookshelves in the Museum altogether." Whereupon the visitors stare -about them, the official unsuccessfully endeavours not to let it appear -that the credit of the business belongs entirely to himself, and the -party retires again. - -Vague, reverberating noises roll heavily from time to time across the -chamber, but no one looks up; the incessant cannibal feast of the -living upon the dead goes speechlessly forward; the trucks of food are -always moving to and fro, and the nonchalant waiters seem to take no -rest. - -Almost Richard's first care on coming to London had been to obtain -a reader's ticket for the British Museum, and for several months he -had made a practice of spending Saturday afternoon there, following -no special line of study or research, and chiefly contenting himself -with desultory reading in the twenty thousand volumes which could be -reached down without the slow machinery of an order form. After a time -the charm of the place had dwindled, and other occupations filled his -Saturday afternoons. - -But when upon his return from William's funeral he stepped from -Euston Station into Bloomsbury, the old enthusiasms came back in all -their original freshness. The seduction of the street vistas, the -lofty buildings, and the swiftly flitting hansoms once more made mere -wayfaring a delight; the old feeling of self-confident power lifted his -chin, and the failures of the past were forgotten in a dream of future -possibilities. He dwelt with pleasure on that part of his conversation -with Mrs. Clayton Vernon which disclosed the interesting fact that -Bursley would be hurt if he failed to do "things." Bursley, and -especially Mrs. Clayton Vernon, good woman, should not be disappointed. -He had towards his native town the sentiments of a consciously clever -husband who divines an admiring trust in the glance of a little -ignoramus of a wife. Such faith was indeed touching. - -One of the numerous resolutions which he made was to resume attendance -at the British Museum; the first visit was anticipated with impatience, -and when he found himself once more within the book-lined walls of the -reading-room he was annoyed to discover that his plans for study were -not matured sufficiently to enable him to realise any definite part -of them, however small, that day. An idea for an article on "White -Elephants" was nebulous in his brain; he felt sure that the subject -might be treated in a fascinating manner, if only he could put hands -on the right material. An hour passed in searching Poole's Index -and other works of reference, without result, and Richard spent the -remainder of the afternoon in evolving from old magazines schemes -for articles which would present fewer difficulties in working out. -Nothing of value was accomplished, and yet he experienced neither -disappointment nor a sense of failure. Contact with innumerable books -of respectable but forbidding appearance had cajoled him, as frequently -before, into the delusion that he had been industrious; surely it was -impossible that a man could remain long in that atmosphere of scholarly -attainment without acquiring knowledge and improving his mind! - -Presently he abandoned the concoction of attractive titles for his -articles, and began to look through some volumes of the "Biographie -Universelle." The room was thinning now. He glanced at the clock; it -was turned six. He had been there nearly four hours! With a sigh of -satisfaction he replaced all his books and turned to go, mentally -discussing whether or not so much application did not entitle him, in -spite of certain resolutions, to go to the Ottoman that evening. - -"Hey!" a voice called out as he passed the glass screen near the door; -it sang resonantly among the desks and ascended into the dome; a number -of readers looked up. Richard turned round sharply, and beheld Mr. -Aked moving a forefinger on the other side of the screen. - -"Been here long?" the older man asked, when Richard had come round -to him. "I've been here all day--first time for fifteen years at -least. Strange we didn't see each other. They've got a beastly new -regulation about novels less than five years old not being available. I -particularly wanted some of Gissing's--not for the mere fun of reading -'em of course, because I've read 'em before. I wanted them for a -special purpose--I may tell you about it some day--and I couldn't get -them, at least several of them. What a tremendous crowd there is here -nowadays!" - -"Well, you see, it's Saturday afternoon," Richard put in, "and Saturday -afternoon's the only time that most people can come, unless they're men -of independent means like yourself. You seem to have got a few novels -besides Gissing's, though." About forty volumes were stacked upon Mr. -Aked's desk, many of them open. - -"Yes, but I've done now." He began to close the books with a smack and -to pitch them down roughly in new heaps, exactly like a petulant boy -handling school-books. "See, pile them between my arms, and I bet you -I'll carry them away all at once." - -"Oh, no. I'll help you," Richard laughed. "It'll be far less trouble -than picking up what you drop." - -While they were waiting at the centre desk Mr. Aked said,-- - -"There's something about this place that makes you ask for more volumes -than can possibly be useful to you. I question whether I've done any -good here to-day at all. If I'd been content with three or four books -instead of thirty or forty, I might have done something. By the way, -what are you here for?" - -"Well, I just came to look up a few points," Richard answered vaguely. -"I've been messing about--got a notion or two for articles, that's all." - -Mr. Aked stopped to shake hands as soon as they were outside the -Museum. Richard was very disappointed that their meeting should have -been so short. This man of strange vivacity had thrown a spell over -him. Richard was sure that his conversation, if only he could be -persuaded to talk, would prove delightfully original and suggestive; -he guessed that they were mutually sympathetic. Ever since their -encounter in the A. B. C. shop Richard had desired to know more of -him, and now, when by chance they met again, Mr. Aked's manner showed -little or no inclination towards a closer acquaintance. There was of -course a difference between them in age of at least thirty years, but -to Richard that seemed no bar to an intimacy. It was, he surmised, only -the physical part of Mr. Aked that had grown old. - -"Well, good-bye." - -"Good-bye." Should he ask if he might call at Mr. Aked's rooms or -house, or whatever his abode was? He hesitated, from nervousness. - -"Often come here?" - -"Generally on Saturdays," said Richard. - -"We may see each other again, then, sometime. Good-bye." - -Richard left him rather sadly, and the sound of the old man's quick, -alert footsteps--he almost stamped--receded in the direction of -Southampton Row. A minute later, as Richard was turning round by -Mudie's out of Museum Street, a hand touched his shoulder. It was Mr. -Aked's. - -"By the way," the man's face crinkled into a smile as he spoke, "are -you doing anything to-night?" - -"Nothing whatever." - -"Let's go and have dinner together--I know a good French place in Soho." - -"Oh, thanks. I shall be awfully pleased." - -"Half a crown, _table d'hôte_. Can you afford?" - -"Certainly I can," said Richard, perhaps a little annoyed, until -he recollected that Mr. Aked had used exactly the same phrase on a -previous occasion. - -"I'll pay for the wine." - -"Not at all--" - -"I'll pay for the wine," Mr. Aked repeated decisively. - -"All right. You told me about this Soho place before, if you remember." - -"So I did, so I did, so I did." - -"What made you turn back?" - -"A whim, young friend, nothing else. Take my arm." - -Richard laughed aloud, for no reason in particular, except that he felt -happy. They settled to a brisk walk. - - * * * * * - -The restaurant was a square apartment with a low and smoky beamed -ceiling, and shining brass hat-pegs all round the walls; above the -hat-pegs were framed advertisements of liqueurs and French, Italian, -and Spanish wines. The little tables, whose stiff snowy cloths came -near to touching the floor at every side, gleamed and glittered in the -light of a fire. The place was empty save for an old waiter who was -lighting the gas. The waiter turned a large, mild countenance to Mr. -Aked as the two entered, and smiling benignly greeted him with a flow -of French, and received a brief reply in the same language. Richard -failed to comprehend what was said. - -They chose a table near the fire. Mr. Aked at once pulled a book from -his pocket and began to read; and Richard, somewhat accustomed by this -time to his peculiarities, found nothing extraordinary in such conduct. -This plain little restaurant seemed full of enchantment. He was in -Paris,--not the great Paris which is reached _via_ Charing Cross, but -that little Paris which hides itself in the immensity of London. French -newspapers were scattered about the room; the sound of French voices -came musically through an open door; the bread which was presently -brought in with the _hors d'oeuvre_ was French, and the setting of the -table itself showed an exotic daintiness which he had never seen before. - -Outside a barrel organ was piercingly strident in the misty dusk. Above -the ground-glass panes of the window, Richard could faintly descry the -upper storeys of houses on the opposite side of the road. There was a -black and yellow sign, "Umberto Club," and above that a blue and red -sign, "Blanchisserie française." Still higher was an open window from -which leaned a young, negligently dressed woman with a coarse Southern -face; she swung a bird-cage idly in her hand; the bird-cage fell -and was swallowed by the ground glass, and the woman with a gesture -of despair disappeared from the window; the barrel organ momentarily -ceased its melody and then struck up anew. - -Everything seemed strangely, delightfully unsubstantial, even the -meek, bland face of the waiter as he deftly poured out the soup. Mr. -Aked, having asked for the wine list, called "Cinquante, Georges, s'il -vous plait," and divided his attention impartially between his soup -and his book. Richard picked up the "Echo de Paris" which lay on a -neighbouring chair. On the first page was a reference in displayed type -to the success of the feuilleton "_de notre collaborateur distingué_," -Catulle Mendès. How wondrously enticing the feuilleton looked, with its -descriptive paragraphs cleverly diversified by short lines of dialogue, -and at the end "CATULLE MENDÈS, _à suivre. Réproduction interdite!_" -Half Paris, probably, was reading that feuilleton! Catulle Mendès was a -real man, and no doubt eating his dinner at that moment! - -When the fish came, and Georges had gently poured out the wine, Mr. -Aked's tongue was loosed. - -"And how has the Muse been behaving herself?" he began. - -Richard told him, with as little circumlocution as pride would allow, -the history of the last few sterile months. - -"I suppose you feel a bit downhearted." - -"Not in the least!" answered Richard, bravely, and just then his reply -was approximately true. - -"_Never_ feel downhearted?" - -"Well, of course one gets a bit sick sometimes." - -"Let's see, to-day's the 30th. How many words have you written this -month?" - -"How many words!" Richard laughed. "I never count what I do in that -way. But it's not much. I haven't felt in the humour. There was the -funeral. That put me off." - -"I suppose you think you must write only _when the mood is on you_." -Mr. Aked spoke sarcastically, and then laughed. "Quite a mistake. I'll -give you this bit of advice and charge nothing for it. Sit down every -night and write five hundred words descriptive of some scene which has -occurred during the day. Never mind how tired you are; do it. Do it -for six months, and then compare the earlier work with the later, and -you'll keep on." - -Richard drank the wisdom in. - -"Did you do that once?" - -"I did, sir. Everyone does it that comes to anything. I didn't come to -anything, though I made a bit of money at one time. But then mine was -a queer case. I was knocked over by dyspepsia. Beware of dyspepsia. I -was violently dyspeptic for twenty years--simply couldn't write. Then -I cured myself. But it was too late to begin again." He spoke in gulps -between mouthfuls of fish. - -"How did you cure yourself?" - -The man took no notice of the question, and went on:-- - -"And if I haven't written anything for twenty years, I'm still an -author at heart. In fact, I've got something 'in the air' now. Oh! I've -always had the literary temperament badly. Do you ever catch yourself -watching instinctively for the characteristic phrase?" - -"I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean." - -"Eh?" - -Richard repeated what he had said, but Mr. Aked was absorbed in pouring -out another glass of wine. - -"I wish you'd tell me," Richard began, after a pause, "how you first -_began_ to write, or rather to get printed." - -"My dear little friend, I can't tell you anything new. I wrote for -several years and never sold a line. And for what peculiar reason, -should you think? Simply because not a line was worth printing. Then my -things began to be accepted. I sold a story first; I forget the title, -but I remember there was a railway accident in it, and it happened to -come before the editor of a magazine just when everyone was greatly -excited about a railway smash in the West of England. I got thirty -shillings for that." - -"I think I should get on all right enough if only I could sell _one_ -thing." Richard sighed. - -"Well, you must wait. Why, damn it all, man!"--he stopped to drink, and -Richard noticed how his hand shook. "How long have you been working -seriously? Not a year! If you were going in for painting, you surely -wouldn't expect to sell pictures after only a year's study?" Mr. Aked -showed a naïve appreciation of himself in the part of a veteran who -deigns to give a raw recruit the benefit of vast experience. - -"Of course not," assented Richard, abashed. - -"Well, then, don't begin to whine." - -After the cheese Mr. Aked ordered coffee and cognac, and sixpenny -cigars. They smoked in silence. - -"Do you know," Richard blurted out at length, "the fact is I'm not -sure that I'm meant for writing at all. I never take any pleasure -_in_ writing. It's a confounded nuisance." He almost trembled with -apprehension as he uttered the words. - -"You like thinking about what you're going to write, arranging, -observing, etc.?" - -"Yes, I like that awfully." - -"Well, here's a secret. No writer does like writing, at least not one -in a hundred, and the exception, ten to one, is a howling mediocrity. -That's a fact. But all the same they're miserable if they don't write." - -"I'm glad; there's hope." - -When Richard had finished his coffee, it occurred to him to mention -Miss Roberts. - -"Do you ever go to the Crabtree?" he asked. - -"Not of late." - -"I only ask because there's a girl there who knows you. She inquired of -me how you were not long since." - -"A girl who knows me? Who the devil may she be?" - -"I fancy her name's Roberts." - -"Aha! So she's got a new place, has she? She lives in my street. That's -how I know her. Nice little thing, rather!" - -He made no further remark on the subject, but there remained an absent, -amused smile on his face, and he pulled at his lower lip and fastened -his gaze on the table. - -"You must come down sometime, and see me; my niece keeps house for me," -he said before they separated, giving an address in Fulham. He wrung -Richard's hand, patted him on the shoulder, winking boyishly, and went -off whistling to himself very quietly in the upper register. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -The slender, badly hung gate closed of itself behind him with a -resounding clang, communicating a little thrill to the ground. - -In answer to his ring a girl came to the door. She was rather short, -thin, and dressed in black, with a clean white apron. In the half light -of the narrow lobby he made out a mahogany hat-rack of conventional -shape, and on a wooden bracket a small lamp with a tarnished reflector. - -"No," Richard heard in a quiet, tranquil voice, "Mr. Aked has just gone -out for a walk. He didn't say what time he should be back. Can I give -him any message?" - -"He sent me a card to come down and see him this afternoon, and--I've -come. He said about seven o'clock. It's a quarter past now. But perhaps -he forgot all about it." - -"Will you step inside? He may only be away for a minute or two." - -"No, thanks. If you'll just tell him I've called--" - -"I'm so sorry--" The girl raised her hand and rested it against the -jamb of the doorway; her eyes were set slantwise on the strip of -garden, and she seemed to muse an instant. - -"Are you Mr. Larch?" she asked hesitatingly, just as Richard was saying -good-day. - -"Yes," answered Richard. - -"Uncle was telling me he had had dinner with you. I'm _sure_ he'll be -back soon. Won't you wait a little while?" - -"Well--" - -She stood aside, and Richard passed into the lobby. - -The front room, into which he was ushered, was full of dim shadows, -attributable to the multiplicity of curtains which obscured the -small bay window. Carteret Street and the half-dozen florid, tawny, -tree-lined avenues that run parallel to it contain hundreds of living -rooms almost precisely similar. Its dimensions were thirteen feet by -eleven, and the height of the ceiling appeared to bring the walls, -which were papered in an undecipherable pattern of blue, even closer -together than they really were. Linoleum with a few rugs served for -a carpet. The fireplace was of painted stone, and a fancy screen of -South African grasses hid the grate. Behind a clock and some vases -on the mantelpiece rose a confection of walnut and silvered glass. A -mahogany chiffonier filled the side of the room farthest from the -window; it had a marble top and a large mirror framed in scroll work, -and was littered with salt-cellars, fruit plates, and silver nicknacks. -The table, a square one, was covered by a red cloth of flannel-like -texture patterned in black. The chairs were of mahogany and horsehair, -and matched the sofa, which stretched from the door nearly to the -window. Several prints framed in gilt and oak depended by means of -stout green cord from French nails with great earthenware heads. In the -recess to the left of the hearth stood a piano, open, and a song on the -music-stand. What distinguished the room from others of its type was -a dwarf bookcase filled chiefly with French novels whose vivid yellow -gratefully lightened a dark corner next the door. - -"Uncle is very forgetful," the girl began. There was some sewing on the -table, and she had already taken it up. Richard felt shy and ill at -ease, but his companion showed no symptom of discomposure. He smiled -vaguely, not knowing what to reply. - -"I suppose he walks a good deal," he said at length. - -"Yes, he does." There was a second pause. The girl continued to sew -quietly; she appeared to be indifferent whether they conversed or not. - -"I see you are a musician." - -"Oh, no!" She laughed, and looked at his eyes. "I sing a very little -bit." - -"Do you sing Schubert's songs?" - -"Schubert's? No. Are they good?" - -"Rather. They're _the_ songs." - -"Classical, I suppose." Her tone implied that classical songs were -outside the region of the practical. - -"Yes, of course." - -"I don't think I care much for classical music." - -"But you should." - -"Should I? Why?" She laughed gaily, like a child amused. "Hope Temple's -songs are nice, and 'The River of Years,' I'm just learning that. Do -you sing?" - -"No--I don't really sing. I haven't got a piano at my place--now." - -"What a pity! I suppose you know a great deal about music?" - -"I wish I did!" said Richard, trying awkwardly not to seem flattered. - -A third pause. - -"Mr. Aked seems to have a fine lot of French novels. I wish I had as -many." - -"Yes. He's always bringing them in." - -"And this is the latest, eh?" He picked up "L'Abbé Tigrane," which lay -on the table by the sewing. - -"Yes, I fancy uncle got that last night." - -"You read French, of course?" - -"I! No, indeed!" Again she laughed. "You mustn't imagine, Mr. Larch," -she went on, and her small eyes twinkled, "that I am at all like uncle. -I'm not. I've only kept house for him a little while, and we are -really--quite different." - -"How do you mean, 'like uncle'?" - -"Well," the quiet voice was imperceptibly raised, "I'm not a great -reader, and I know nothing of books. I'm not clever, you know. I can't -bear poetry." - -Richard looked indulgent. - -"But you do read?" - -"Yes, sometimes a novel. I'm reading 'East Lynne.' Uncle bought it for -me the other day." - -"And you like it?" - -There was a timid tap at the door, and a short, stout servant with red -hands and a red face entered; her rough, chubby forearms were bare, and -she carried a market basket. "Please, 'm," she ejaculated meaningly and -disappeared. Mr. Aked's niece excused herself, and when she returned -Richard looked at his watch and rose. - -"I'm very sorry about uncle--but it's just like him." - -"Yes, isn't it?" Richard answered, and they exchanged a smile. - -He walked down Carteret Street humming a tuneless air and twirling -his stick. Mr. Aked's niece had proved rather disappointing. She was -an ordinary girl, and evidently quite unsusceptible to the artistic -influences which subtly emanated from Mr. Aked. But with the exception -of his landlady and his landlady's daughter, she was the first woman -whom Richard had met in London, and the interview had been somewhat of -an ordeal. - -Yes, it was matter for regret. Suppose she had been clever, witty, full -of that "nameless charm" with which youths invest the ideal maidens of -their dreams--with which, indeed, during the past week he had invested -her! He might have married her. Then, guided by the experience of a -sympathetic uncle-in-law, he would have realised all his ambitions. A -vision of Mr. Richard Larch, the well-known editor, and his charming -wife, giving a dinner-party to a carefully selected company of literary -celebrities, flitted before him. Alas! The girl's "East Lynne," her -drawing-room ballads, the mean little serving-maid, the complacent -vulgarity of the room, the house, the street, the neighbourhood, -combined effectually to dispel it. - -He felt sure that she had no aspirations. - -It was necessary to wait for a train at Parson's Green station. From -the elevated platform grass was visible through a gently falling mist. -The curving rails stole away mysteriously into a general greyness, -and the twilight, assuaging every crudity of the suburban landscape, -gave an impression of vast spaces and perfect serenity. Save for the -porter leisurely lighting the station lamps, he was alone,--alone, as -it seemed to him, in an upper world, above London, and especially above -Fulham and the house where lived the girl who read "East Lynne." How -commonplace must she be! Richard wondered that Mr. Aked could exist -surrounded by all the banalities of Carteret Street. Even his own -lodging was more attractive, for at least Raphael Street was within -sound of the central hum and beat of the city. - -A signal suddenly shone out in the distance; it might have been a -lighthouse seen across unnumbered miles of calm ocean. Rain began to -fall. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Richard's Sabbaths had become days of dismal torpor. A year ago, on -first arriving in London, he had projected a series of visits to -churches famous either for architectural beauty or for picturesque -ritual. A few weeks, however, had brought tedium. He was fundamentally -irreligious, and his churchgoing proceeded from a craving, purely -sensuous, which sought gratification in ceremonial pomps, twilight -atmospheres heavy with incense and electric with devotion, and dim -perspectives of arching stone. But these things he soon discovered lost -their fine savour by the mere presence of a prim congregation secure in -the brass armour of self-complacency; for him the worship was spoilt -by the worshippers, and so the time came when the only church which he -cared to attend--and even to this he went but infrequently, lest use -should stale its charm--was the Roman Catholic oratory of St. Philip -Neri, where, at mass, the separation of the sexes struck a grateful -note of austerity, and the mean appearance of the people contrasted -admirably with the splendour of the priests' vestments, the elaborate -music, and the gilt and colour of altars. Here deity was omnipotent -and humanity abject. Men and women of all grades, casting themselves -down before the holy images in the ecstatic abandonment of repentance, -prayed side by side, oblivious of everything save their sins and the -anger of a God. As a spectacle the oratory was sublime. - -He visited it about once a month. The mornings of intervening Sundays -were given to aimless perambulation of the parks, desultory reading, -or sleep; there was nothing to prevent him leaving town for the day, -but he was so innocent of any sort of rural lore that the prospect of a -few hours in the country was seldom enticing enough to rouse sufficient -energy for its accomplishment. After dinner he usually slept, and in -the evening he would take a short walk and go early to bed. For some -reason he never attempted to work on Sundays. - -It had rained continuously since he left Parson's Green station on the -previous night, till midday on Sunday, and in the afternoon he was -lounging half asleep with a volume of verse on his knee, considering -whether or not to put on his hat and go out, when Lily entered; Lily -was attired for conquest, and with her broad velvet hat and pink -bows looked so unlike a servant-girl that drowsy Richard started up, -uncertain what fairy was brightening his room. - -"Please, sir, there's a young gentleman as wants to see you." - -"Oh!--who is it?" No one had ever called upon him before. - -"I don't know, sir; it's a young _gentleman_." - -The young gentleman was ushered in. He wore a new black frock coat, and -light grey trousers which fell in rich folds over new patent-leather -boots. The shortcomings of his linen, which was dull and bluish in -tint, were more than atoned for by the magnificence of a new white silk -necktie with heliotrope spots. He carried a silk hat and a pair of -unworn kid gloves in one hand, and in the other a half-smoked cigar and -a stick, with whose physiognomy Richard was quite familiar. - -"Hello, Jenkins!" - -"Good afternoon, Mr. Larch. I was just passing this way, and I thought -I'd look you up." With an inclination of the head more ridiculous even -than he intended, Jenkins placed his hat, stick, and gloves on the bed, -and, nicely adjusting the tails of his coat, occupied a chair. - -The quarrel between Richard and Jenkins had been patched up a few days -before. - -"So this is your digs. Nice large windows!" - -"Yes, decent windows." - -Although these two were on terms of almost brutal familiarity during -office hours, here each felt slightly uncomfortable in the other's -presence. Jenkins wiped his pallid, unhealthy face with a cambric -handkerchief which he unfolded for the purpose. - -"Been to church this morning?" - -Meditatively Jenkins flicked some cigar-ash into the fire-grate, and -then answered, "Yes." - -"I thought so." - -"Why?" - -"Because you're such a swell." - -"Ain't I, just!" Jenkins spoke with frank delight. "Two guineas the -suit, my boy! Won't I knock 'em in the Wal--worth Road!" - -"But where's your ring?" Richard asked, noticing the absence of the -silver ring which Jenkins commonly wore on his left hand. - -"Oh! I gave it to my sister. She wanted to give it to her young man." - -"She's engaged, is she?" - -"Yes--at least I suppose she is." - -"And when are you going to get engaged?" - -Jenkins emitted a sound expressive of scorn. "You don't catch me -entering the holy bonds. Not this child! It ain't all lavender, you -bet. I say, you know Miss Roberts at the veg--red-haired tart." Jenkins -was unaware that Richard had been going regularly to the Crabtree. "I -was passing the place last night just as they were closing, and I -walked down to Charing Cross with her. I asked her to meet me to-day -somewhere, but she couldn't." - -"You mean she wouldn't. Well, and what sort's she?" - -"Devilish nice, _I_ tell you. But not my style. But there's a girl -I know--lives down the Camberwell New Road. She is a treat now,--a -fair treat. About seventeen, and plump as a pigeon. I shall see her -to-night." - -"Oh, indeed!" said Richard, for the hundredth time marvelling that he -should be on a footing of intimacy with Albert Jenkins. The girl at -Carteret Street, whatever her imperfections, did not use the Cockney -dialect. And her smile was certainly alluring. Moreover, she had -dignity. True, she liked "East Lynne" and Hope Temple's songs, but -it occurred to Richard that it might be pleasanter to listen even to -these despised melodies than to remain solitary at Raphael Street or -to accompany Jenkins on a _prowl_. Why should he not go down that -afternoon to see Mr. Aked--and his niece? He immediately decided that -he would do so. - -"It's turned out fine," said Jenkins. "What are you up to to-night? -Will you come and have a turn round with me?" - -"Let me see.... The fact is, I can't." He fought desperately against -the temptation to mention that he proposed to call on a lady, but in -vain. Forth it must come. "I'm going to see a girl." - -"Aha!" exclaimed Jenkins, with a terribly arch look. "So that's the -little game, eh! Who's the mash?" - -Richard smiled reticently. - -"Well, I'll be off." Jenkins rose, and his eye caught Richard's little -bookcase; he scanned the titles of the volumes. - -"Oh! Likewise ah! Zola! Now we're getting at the secret. No wonder -you're so damn studious. Zola, indeed! Well, so long. See you -to-morrow. Give my love to the girl.... I say, I suppose you haven't -got Zola in English, have you?" - -"No." - -"Never mind. So long." - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -The little red-armed servant beamed an amiable recognition. - -"Very hot day!" Richard said. - -"Beg pardon, sir." - -"Very hot day," rather louder. They were in the passage. - -The door of the sitting-room opened, and Mr. Aked's niece stood before -him, her finger on her lips and her eyebrows raised in a gesture of -warning. She suddenly smiled, almost laughed. Richard remembered that -smile for a long time afterwards. It transformed not only a girl's -face, but the whole of Carteret Street. He had never seen anything like -it. Shaking hands in silence, he followed her into the room, and she -gently closed the door. - -"Uncle's not well," she explained. "He's asleep now, and I don't -want you to wake him. In this house, you know, if any one speaks in -the passage, you can hear it even in the attic. Uncle was caught in -the rain last night; he has a very weak chest, and gets bronchitis -directly." - -"I'm awfully sorry I disturbed you," said Richard. "The fact is I -was down this way, and I thought I'd call." It sounded a sufficiently -reasonable excuse, he considered. "I hope you weren't asleep too." - -"Yes, I was dozing in this chair." She put her head back, and drummed -with her fingers lightly on the arms of the chair. "But I'm glad you've -called." - -"Why?" - -"Oh! Because one wants to see some one--some one new, especially after -being in a sick-room." - -"You've been sitting up late." His tone was accusing. It seemed to him -that somehow they were already intimate. - -"Only till three o'clock, and I slept later this morning. How -changeable the sun is to-day!" She moved her chair, and he saw her -in profile. Her hands were on her lap. She coaxed a foot stool into -position with her toes, and placed her feet on it. - -"You look just like a picture in this week's 'Illustrated London -News'--I mean in general pose," he exclaimed. - -"Do I? How nice that sounds! What is it?" - -"Whistler's 'Portrait of his Mother.' But I hope you don't think I -think you look old." - -"How old do I look?" She turned her head slightly towards him. - -"About twenty-three, only I imagine you're much younger." - -Although she did not reply, she made no pretence of being annoyed, nor -did Richard tax himself with a _gaucherie_. - -"It took me years to like Whistler's pictures," she said; and in -response to Richard's surprised question she was beginning to explain -that a large part of her life had been passed in the companionship of -works of graphic art, when a slippered step was heard in the hall and -some one fumbled with the door-handle. Mr. Aked entered. - -"Uncle! You wicked old man!" She sprang up, flushed, and her eyes -sparkled angrily. "Whatever did you get up for? It's enough to kill -you." - -"Calm yourself, my child. I got up because I didn't want to stay in -bed,--exactly that." Mr. Aked paused to take breath and sank into a -chair. "Larch, I heard your voice in the passage. Upon my word, I -quite forgot you yesterday. I suppose Adeline's been telling you I'm -seriously ill, eh? Ah! I've had many a worse attack than this. Put that -antimacassar over my shoulders, child." - -He had given Richard a hot, limp hand, on which the veins formed soft -ridges in the smooth, brittle skin. His grey hair was disarranged, and -he wore a dirty, torn dressing-gown. His face had lost its customary -alert expression; but his sunk, shining eyes glanced with mysterious -restlessness first at Richard, then at Adeline, who, uttering no -further word, covered him well and put the hassock under his feet. - -"Well, well, well!" he sighed and closed his eyes wearily. The other -two sat silent for a time; then Adeline, talking very quietly, and -with a composure not quite unaffected, took up their interrupted -conversation. Richard gathered that her justifiable vexation would -remain in abeyance till he had gone. Soon her tone grew more natural; -she leaned forward with hands clasped round one knee, and Richard felt -like a receiver of confidences as she roughly outlined her life in the -country which had come to an end only two years ago. Were all the girls -so simply communicative, he wondered; it pleased him to decide that -they were not, and that to any other but himself she would have been -more reserved; that there was, in fact, an affinity between them. But -the presence of her uncle, which Adeline seemed able to ignore utterly, -hindered Richard from being himself. - -"How do you like London, after living so long in the country?" he asked -inevitably. - -"I know practically nothing of London, real London," she said; "but I -think these suburbs are horrid,--far duller than the dullest village. -And the people! They seem so uninteresting, to have no character!" - -The hoarse, fatigued voice of Mr. Aked crept in between them. "Child!" -he said--and he used the appellation, not with the proper dignity of -age, but rather like an omniscient schoolboy, home for the holiday, -addressing a sister--"Child!"--his eyes were still closed,--"the -suburbs, even Walham Green and Fulham, are full of interest, for those -who can see it. Walk along this very street on such a Sunday afternoon -as to-day. The roofs form two horrible, converging straight lines I -know, but beneath there is character, individuality, enough to make -the greatest book ever written. Note the varying indications supplied -by bad furniture seen through curtained windows, like ours" (he -grinned, opened his eyes, and sat up); "listen to the melodies issuing -lamely from ill-tuned pianos; examine the enervated figures of women -reclining amidst flower-pots on narrow balconies. Even in the thin -smoke ascending unwillingly from invisible chimney-pots, the flutter -of a blind, the bang of a door, the winking of a fox terrier perched -on a window-sill, the colour of paint, the lettering of a name,--in -all these things there is character and matter of interest,--truth -waiting to be expounded. How many houses are there in Carteret Street? -Say eighty. Eighty theatres of love, hate, greed, tyranny, endeavour; -eighty separate dramas always unfolding, intertwining, ending, -beginning,--and every drama a tragedy. No comedies, and especially no -farces! Why, child, there is more character within a hundred yards of -this chair than a hundred Balzacs could analyse in a hundred years." - -All the old vivacity had returned to his face; he had been rhetorical -on a favourite subject, and he was frankly pleased with himself. - -"You will tire yourself, uncle," said Adeline. "Shall we have tea?" - -Richard observed with astonishment that she was cold and unmoved. -Surely she could not be blind to the fact that Mr. Aked was a very -remarkable man with very remarkable ideas! Why, by the way, had those -ideas never presented themselves to _him_? He would write an article -on the _character_ of Raphael Street. Unwillingly he announced that he -must go; to remain longer would be to invite himself to tea. - -"Sit still, Larch. You'll have a cup of tea." - -Adeline left the room; and when she had gone, Mr. Aked, throwing a -glance after her, said,-- - -"Well, what do you think of my notions of the suburb?" - -"They are splendid," Richard replied, glowing. - -"There's something in them, I imagine," he agreed complacently. "I've -had an idea lately of beginning to scribble again. I know there's a -book waiting to be written on 'The Psychology of the Suburbs,' and I -don't like to see copy lying about wasted. The old war-horse scenting -the battle, you understand." He smiled grandiosely. "'Psychology of the -Suburbs'! Fine title that! See how the silent _P_ takes away all the -crudity of the alliteration; that's because one never listens to words -with the ears alone, but with the eyes also.... But I should need help. -I want a clever chap who can take down from dictation, and assist me in -the details of composition. I suppose you wouldn't care to come here -two or three evenings a week?" - -Richard answered sincerely that nothing would suit him better. - -"I should make you joint author, of course. 'Psychology of the -Suburbs,' by Richard Aked and Richard Larch. It sounds rather catchy, -and I think it ought to sell. About four hundred octavo pages, say -a hundred thousand words. Six shillings--must be popular in price. -We might get a royalty of ninepence a copy if we went to the right -publisher. Sixpence for me and threepence for you. Would that do?" - -"Oh, perfectly!" But was not Mr. Aked running on rather fast? - -"Perhaps we'd better say fivepence halfpenny for me and threepence -halfpenny for you; that would be fairer. Because you'll have to -furnish ideas, you know. 'Psychology of the Suburbs, Psychology of the -Suburbs'! Fine title! We ought to do it in six months." - -"I hope you'll be quite well again soon. Then we--" - -"Quite well!" he repeated sharply. "I shall be as right as a trivet -to-morrow. You don't suppose that I can't take care of myself! We'll -start at once." - -"You're not forgetting, Mr. Aked, that you've never seen any of my -stuff yet? Are you sure I shall be able to do what you want?" - -"Oh, you'll do. I've not seen your stuff, but I guess you've got the -literary habit. The literary habit, that's the thing! I'll soon put you -up to the wrinkles, the trade secrets." - -"What is your general plan of the book?" Richard asked with some -timidity, fearing to be deemed either stupid or inquisitive at the -wrong moment. He had tried to say something meet for a great occasion, -and failed. - -"Oh, I'll go into that at our first formal conference, say next -Friday night. Speaking roughly, each of the great suburban divisions -has, for me at any rate, its own characteristics, its peculiar moral -physiognomy." Richard nodded appreciatively. "Take me blindfold to -any street in London, and I'll discover instantly, from a thousand -hints, where I am. Well, each of these divisions must be described in -turn, not topographically of course, but the inner spirit, the soul -of it. See? People have got into a way of sneering at the suburbs. -Why, the suburbs _are_ London! It is alone the--the concussion of -meeting suburbs in the centre of London that makes the city and West -End interesting. We could show how the special characteristics of the -different suburbs exert a subtle influence on the great central spots. -Take Fulham; no one thinks anything of Fulham, but suppose it were -swept off the face of the earth the effect would be to alter, for the -seeing eye, the character of Piccadilly and the Strand and Cheapside. -The play of one suburb on another and on the central haunts is as -regular, as orderly, as calculable, as the law of gravity itself." - -They continued the discussion until Adeline came in again with a tray -in her hands, followed by the little red-armed servant. The two began -to lay the cloth, and the cheerful rattle of crockery filled the -room.... - -"Sugar, Mr. Larch?" Adeline was saying, when Mr. Aked, looking -meaningly at Richard, ejaculated,-- - -"Friday then?" - -Richard nodded. Adeline eyed her uncle distrustfully. - -For some reason, unguessed by Richard, Adeline left them alone -during most of the evening, and in her absence Mr. Aked continued to -discourse, in vague generalities not without a specious poetical charm, -on the subject upon which they were to collaborate, until Richard was -wholly intoxicated with its fascinating possibilities. When he left, -Adeline would not allow Mr. Aked to go to the door, and went herself. - -"If I hadn't been very firm," she laughed as they were shaking hands in -the passage, "uncle would have stood talking to you in the street for -goodness knows how long, and forgotten all about his bronchitis. Oh, -you authors, I believe you are every one like babies." Richard smiled -his gratification. - -"Mr. Larch, Mr. Larch!" The roguish summons came after him when he was -half-way up the street. He ran back and found her at the gate with her -hands behind her. - -"What have you forgotten?" she questioned. He could see her face but -dimly in the twilight of the gas-lamps. - -"I know--my umbrella," he answered. - -"Didn't I say you were all like--little children!" she said, as she -whipped out the umbrella and gave it to him over the gate. - - * * * * * - -Anxious at once to add something original to the sum of Mr. Aked's -observations, he purposely chose a round-about route home, through the -western parts of Fulham and past the Salisbury hotel. It seemed to him -that the latent poetry of the suburbs arose like a beautiful vapour -and filled these monotonous and squalid vistas with the scent and the -colour of violets, leaving nothing common, nothing ignoble. In the -upturned eyes of a shop-girl who went by on the arm of her lover he -divined a passion as pure as that of Eugénie Grandet; on the wrinkled -countenance of an older woman he beheld only the nobility of suffering; -a youth who walked alone, smoking a cigarette, was a pathetic figure -perhaps condemned to years of solitude in London. When there was no -one else to see, he saw Adeline,--Adeline with her finger on her -lips, Adeline angry with her uncle, Adeline pouring out tea, Adeline -reaching down his hat from the peg, Adeline laughing at the gate. -There was something about Adeline that.... How the name suited her!... -Her past life, judging from the hints she had given, must have been -interesting. Perhaps that accounted for the charm which.... - -Then he returned to the book. He half regretted that Mr. Aked should -have a hand in it at all. He could do it himself. Just as plainly as if -the idea had been his own, he saw the volume complete, felt the texture -of the paper, admired the disposition of the titlepage, and the blue -buckram binding; he scanned the table of contents, and carelessly eyed -the brief introduction, which was, however, pregnant with meaning; -chapter followed chapter in orderly, scientific fashion, and the -last summoned up the whole business in a few masterly and dignified -sentences. Already, before a single idea had been reduced to words, -"The Psychology of the Suburbs" was finished! A unique work! Other -authors had taken an isolated spot here or there in the suburbs and -dissected it, but none had viewed them in their complex entirety; none -had attempted to extract from their incoherence a coherent philosophy, -to deal with them sympathetically as Mr. Aked and himself had done--or -rather were to do. None had suspected that the suburbs were a riddle, -the answer to which was not undiscoverable. Ah, that secret, that key -to the cipher! He saw it as it might be behind a succession of veils, -flimsy obstructions which just then baffled his straining sight, but -which he would rip and rend when the moment for effort came. - -The same lofty sentiments occupied his brain the next morning. He -paused in the knotting of his necktie, to look out of the window, -seeking even in Raphael Street some fragment of that psychology of -environment invented by Mr. Aked. Nor did he search quite in vain. All -the phenomena of humble life, hitherto witnessed daily without a second -thought, now appeared to carry some mysterious meaning which was on the -point of declaring itself. Friday, when the first formal conference -was to occur, seemed distressingly distant. But he remembered that a -very hard day's work, the casting and completing of a gigantic bill of -costs, awaited him at the office, and he decided to throw himself into -it without reserve; the time would pass more quickly. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Every solicitor's office has its great client, whose affairs, -watchfully managed by the senior partner in person, take precedence of -all else, and whom every member of the staff regards with a particular -respect caught from the principals themselves. Messrs. Curpet and -Smythe were London agents to the tremendous legal firm of Pontifex, -of Manchester, said to enjoy the largest practice in the midlands; -and they were excusably proud of the fact. One of the first lessons -that a new clerk learnt in the establishment at New Serjeant's Court -was that, at no matter what expenditure of time and trouble, Pontifex -business, comprising some scores of separate causes, must be transacted -so irreproachably that old Mr. Pontifex, by repute a terrible fellow, -might never have cause of complaint. On those mornings, happily rare, -when a querulous letter did by chance arrive from Manchester, the whole -office trembled apprehensively, and any clerk likely to be charged with -negligence began at once to consider the advisability of seeking a new -situation. - -The Pontifex bill of costs was made up annually in June. As the time -drew near for presenting it, more and more clerks were pressed into its -service, until at the last everyone found himself engaged, in one way -or another, upon this colossal account. - -When Richard arrived at the office, he found the immense pile of -white foolscap sheets upon his table, and next it the still higher -pile of blue sheets forming the draft bill. All was finished except -the checking of the figures and the final castings. As the cashier -and accountant, he was ultimately responsible for this. He parcelled -out the sheets, keeping the largest share for himself, and the work -began. In every room there was a low muttering of figures, broken -by an occasional oath when someone happened to lose the thread of -an addition. The principals hovered about, full of solicitude and -encouragement, and, according to custom on such occasions, lunch was -served on the premises at the firm's expense. Richard continued to -add while eating, keeping his head clear and seldom making a mistake; -nothing existed for him but the column of pounds, shillings, and pence -under his eyes. - -The pile of finished sheets grew, and soon the office boys, commanded -by Jenkins, were passing the earlier portion of the bill through -the copying-press. As the hours went by, the helpers from other -departments, no longer required, went back to their own neglected -duties, and Richard did the last additions alone. At length the bill -was absolutely finished, and he carried it himself to the stationer's -to be sewed. In half an hour it came back, and he laid it ceremoniously -before Mr. Curpet. The grand total went round the office, leaping -from lip to lip like the result of an important parliamentary poll. -It was higher than in any previous year by nearly a thousand pounds. -Each of the clerks took a personal pride in its bigness, and secretly -determined to petition for an increase of salary at the first -opportunity. They talked together in groups, discussing details, while -a comfortable lassitude spread from room to room. - -Richard stood by the open window, absently watching the pigeons and the -cleaners at the Law Courts opposite. In a corner an office boy, new to -his work, was stamping envelopes with slow precision. Jenkins, with one -foot on a table, was tying a shoe lace. It had struck six ten minutes -ago, and everyone was gone except Mr. Smythe, whose departure Jenkins -awaited with impatience. The hot day subsided slowly to a serene and -lovely evening, and the customary noises of the Strand ascended to -Richard like the pastoral hum of a valley to a dweller on a hill, not -breaking but rather completing the stillness of the hour. Gradually his -brain freed itself from the obsession of figures, though he continued -to muse vaguely over the bill, which had just been posted. It would -certainly be settled by cheque within a week, for Messrs. Pontifex were -invariably prompt. That cheque, which he himself would enter and pay -into the bank, amounted to as much as he could earn in twenty years, -if he remained a clerk. He tried to imagine the scene in which, at -some future date, he would give Mr. Curpet notice of his intention to -resign his position, explaining that he preferred to support himself by -literature. The ineffable sweetness of such a triumph! Could he ever -realise it? He could, he must; the alternative of eternal clerkship -was not to be endured. His glance fell on Jenkins. That poor, gay, -careless, vulgar animal would always be a clerk. The thought filled him -with commiseration, and also with pride. Fancy Jenkins writing a book -called "The Psychology of the Suburbs"! - -"I'm going to smoke," Jenkins said; "be blowed to Bertie dear." (Mrs. -Smythe had once addressed her husband in the office as "Bertie dear," -and thenceforth that had been his name among the staff.) Richard made -no answer. When a minute later Jenkins, discreetly directing his puffs -to the open window, asked him for the titles of one or two of Zola's -novels in English, and their price, he gave the required information -without turning round and in a preoccupied tone. It was his wish -at that moment to appear dreamy. Perhaps a hint of the intellectual -difference between them would suggest itself even to Jenkins. Suddenly -a voice that seemed to be Mr. Smythe's came from the other side of the -glass partition which separated the room from the general corridor. - -"Jenkins, what the devil do you mean by smoking in the office?" -The pipe vanished instantly, and Jenkins faced his accuser in some -confusion, only to find that he had been victimised. It was Mr. Aked. - -"You're as gassy as ever, I see," Jenkins said with a shade of -annoyance. Mr. Aked laughed, and then began to cough badly, bending -forward with flushed cheeks. - -"Surely you shouldn't have left the house to-day," Richard said, -alarmed. - -"Why not?" The retort was almost fierce. - -"You're not fit." - -"Fiddlesticks! I've only got a bit of a cough." - -Richard wondered what he had called for. - -Jenkins began to discuss with him the shortcomings of Mr. Smythe as an -employer, and when that fruitful subject had been exhausted there was a -silence. - -"Coming home?" Mr. Aked asked Richard, who at once prepared to leave. - -"By the way, Larch, how's the mash?" Jenkins wore his archest manner. - -"What mash?" - -"Why, the girl you said you were going to see yesterday afternoon." - -"I never said--" Richard began, looking nervously towards Mr. Aked. - -"Oh, no, of course not. Do you know, Mr. Aked, he's begun his little -games with the women. These fellows from the country--so shy and all -that--they're regular cautions when you come to know them." But Mr. -Aked made no response. - -"I was thinking you might as well come down to-morrow night instead of -Friday," he said quietly to Richard, who had busied himself with the -locking of a safe. - -"To-morrow? Certainly, I shall be very glad," Richard answered. -Evidently Mr. Aked was as eager as himself to make a beginning of the -book. No doubt that was why he had called. Surely, together they would -accomplish something notable! - -Jenkins had climbed on a lofty stool. He gave vent to a whistle, -and the other two observed that his features were twisted into an -expression of delirious mirth. - -"Aha! aha!" he grinned, looking at Richard. "I begin to perceive. -You're after the pretty niece, eh, Master Larch? And a nice plump -little thing she is, too! She came here once to fetch uncle home." - -Mr. Aked sprang instantly forward and cuffed Jenkins' ear. - -"It's not the first time I've had to do that, nor the second," he said. -"I suppose you never will learn to behave yourself." Jenkins could -easily have thrashed the old man--he really looked old to-day--and no -consideration for the latter's age would have restrained him from doing -so, had not the habit of submission acquired during those years when -Mr. Aked ruled the outer office proved stronger than his rage. As it -was, he took up a safe position behind the stool and contented himself -with words. - -"You're a beauty, you are!" he began. "How's the red-haired A. B. C. -girl getting on? You know, the one that lost her place at the Courts' -restaurant through you. If she hadn't been a fool, she'd have brought -an action for breach of promise. And how many more are there? I -wonder--" - -Mr. Aked made an uncertain dart after him, but he vanished through -the doorway, only to encounter Mr. Smythe. With a rather servile "'d -afternoon, sir," to the latter, Mr. Aked walked rapidly out of the -office. - -"What the devil are you all up to?" Mr. Smythe inquired crossly. "Is -Aked after money, Larch?" - -"Not at all, Mr. Smythe. He only called to see me." - -"You are a friend of his, are you?" - -"Well, I know him." - -"H'm! Jenkins, come and take a letter." - -As Richard hurried down into the court, he felt exceedingly angry with -Mr. Aked. Why could not the man be more dignified? Everyone seemed to -treat him with contempt, and the cause was not altogether obscure. He -had no dignity. Richard felt personally aggrieved. - -Neither of them spoke of the recent incident as they walked down to -the Temple station. Mr. Aked, indeed, said nothing; a fit of coughing -occupied him. Somehow Richard's faith in "The Psychology of the -Suburbs" had lessened a little during the last half-hour. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -"Is that you, Mr. Larch?" - -He distinctly made out Adeline's head and bust above him. Her white -apron was pressed against the bannisters, as with extended arms and -hands grasping the stair-rail she leaned over to see who was below. - -"It is, Miss Aked," he answered. "The door was open, and so I walked -in. Is anything wrong?" - -"I've just sent Lottie out for the doctor. Uncle is very ill. I wish -you'd see that he comes at once. It's in the Fulham Road, a little to -the left--you'll notice the red lamp." - -As Richard ran out, he met the doctor, a youngish man with a Scots face -and grey hair, hurrying down the street, the servant-girl breathless in -the rear. - -"Master was took ill last night, sir," the latter said, in answer to -Richard's question. "Pneumonia, the doctor says as it is, and something -else, and there's coming a nurse to-night. Master has attacks of it, -sir--he can't get his breath." - -He stood in the passage, uncertain what to do; the doctor had already -gone upstairs. - -"It must be very serious," he murmured. - -"Yes, sir." Lottie began to whimper. Richard said he would call again -later to make inquiries, and presently discovered himself in Fulham -Road, walking slowly towards Putney. - -Mr. Aked's case was hopeless; of that Richard felt sure. The man must -be getting on in years, and his frame, not constitutionally vigorous, -had doubtless been fatally weakened by long-continued carelessness. -What a strange creature of whims and enthusiasms he was! Although there -could be no question as to his age, Richard never regarded him as more -than a few years older than himself. He had none of the melancholy, -the circumspection, the fixity of view, the prudent tendency towards -compromise, the serene contented apathy, which usually mark his time of -life. He was still delicately susceptible to new influences, his ideals -were as fluid as Richard's own. Life had taught him scarcely anything, -and least of all sagacity and a dignified carriage. He was the typical -bachelor, whose deeper feelings have never been stirred. Did regrets -for a possibly happier past, shadows of dead faces, the memory of -kisses, ever ruffle his equanimity? Richard thought not. He must -always have lived in the present. But he was an artist: though somehow -the man had descended in his estimation, Richard clung to that. He -possessed imagination and he possessed intellect, and he could fuse -them together. Yet he had been a failure. Viewed in certain lights, -Richard admitted he was a pitiful figure. What was his true history? -Richard felt instinctively that none could answer that question, even -in outline, except Mr. Aked, and suddenly he discerned that the man's -nature, apparently frank to immodesty, had its own reserves, the -existence of which few ever suspected. And when the worst was said, Mr. -Aked possessed originality; in an incongruous way he still retained -the naïve graces of youthfulness; he was inspiring, and had exerted -influences for which Richard could not but be grateful. - -"The Psychology of the Suburbs" had receded swiftly into the -background, a beautiful, impossible idea! Richard knew now that it -could never have been carried out. A little progress would have been -made, and then, as difficulties increased, both he and Mr. Aked would -have tacitly abandoned their enterprise. They were very much alike, he -thought, and the fancied similarity pleased him. Perhaps at some future -time he might himself carry the undertaking to completion, in which -case he would dedicate his book to the memory of Mr. Aked. He did not -regret that the dream of the last few days was ended. It had been very -enjoyable, but the awakening, since according to his present wisdom -it must have occurred sooner or later, was less unpleasant now than it -could have been at any more advanced stage. Moreover, it was pleasant -to dream of the dream. - -Mr. Aked was dying: he knew it from Adeline's tone. Poor Adeline! To -whom would she turn? She had implied that the only relatives for whom -she cared, these being on her mother's side, were in America. From whom -would she seek assistance? Who would conduct the formalities of the -funeral, and the testamentary business, such as it was? His loathing -for funerals seemed to have vanished, and he was not without hope that -Adeline, though their acquaintance was of the shortest, might engage -his help for her helplessness. And after the funeral, what would she -do? Since she would probably have enough to live upon, she might elect -to remain where she was. In which case he would visit her now and then -of an evening. Her imminent loneliness gave her a pathetic charm, and -he made haste to draw a picture of himself and her on either side the -fireplace talking familiarly while she knitted or sewed. - -Yes, he was actually a grown man, and entitled to his romances. He -might eventually fall in love with her, having discovered in her -character rare qualities now unsuspected. It was improbable, but not -impossible, and he had, in fact, already glanced at the contingency -several times before. Oh for a passion, a glorious infatuation, even -if it ended in disaster and ruin! The difficulty was that Adeline fell -short of the ideal lover. That virginal abstraction was to have been an -artist of some sort, absolutely irreligious, broad in social views, the -essence of refinement, with a striking but not necessarily beautiful -face, soft-spoken, and isolated--untrammelled by friends. Adeline was -no artist; he feared she might be a regular attendant at chapel and -painfully orthodox as to the sexual relations. Was she refined? Had -she a striking face? He said Yes, twice. Her voice was low and full of -pretty modulations. Soon, perhaps, she would be alone in the world. If -only she had been an artist.... That deficiency, he was afraid, would -prove fatal to any serious attachment. Still, it would be good to visit -her. - -He was crossing Putney Bridge. Night had fallen, and the full brilliant -moon showed a narrow stream crawling between two broad flats of mud. -Just below the bridge a barge lay at anchor; the silhouette of a man -moved leisurely about on it, and then a boat detached itself from the -stem of the barge and dropped down river into darkness. On the bridge -busses and waggons rattled noisily. Young men with straw hats and -girls in white blouses and black skirts passed to and fro in pairs, -some chattering, some silent. The sight of these couples gave Richard -an idea for the abandoned "Psychology of the Suburbs." What if Mr. Aked -recovered? He remembered his sister telling him that their grandfather -had survived after having been three times surrendered to death by the -doctors. "The Psychology of the Suburbs" began to attract him. It might -come to completion, if Mr. Aked lived, and then.... But what about -those evenings with the lonely Adeline? The two vistas of the future -clashed with and obscured each other, and he was overcome by vague -foreboding. He saw Mr. Aked struggling for breath in the mean suburban -bedroom, and Adeline powerless at his side. The pathos of her position -became intolerable. - - * * * * * - -When he got back to Carteret Street, it was she who came to the door. - -"How is he?" - -"About the same. The nurse has come. She told me to go to bed at once, -but I don't feel as if I wanted to sleep. You will sit down a little?" - -She took the rocking-chair, and leaning back with a gesture of -lassitude rocked gently; her white face, with the red eyes and -drooping eyelids, gave sign of excessive fatigue, and on her lips there -was a gloomy pout. After she had described Mr. Aked's condition in some -detail and told what the doctor had said, they sat silent for a while -in that tense atmosphere which seems to stifle vitality in a house of -dangerous sickness. Overhead the nurse moved about, making the window -rattle softly now and then. - -"You have known uncle a long time, haven't you?" - -"Not at all," Richard answered. "It's a very funny thing, but though I -seem to know him quite well, I've not met him half a dozen times in my -life. I saw him first about a year ago, and then I met him again the -other day at the British Museum, and after we'd had dinner together we -were just like old friends." - -"I certainly thought from what he said that you _were_ old friends. -Uncle has so few friends. Except one or two neighbours I do believe you -are the first person that has ever called at this house since I came to -live here." - -"At any rate, we have soon got to know each other," said Richard, -smiling. "It isn't a week since you asked me if my name was Larch." She -returned the smile, though rather mechanically. - -"Perhaps my mistake about your being an old friend of Uncle Aked's -explains that," she said. - -"Well, we won't bother about explaining it; there it is, and if I can -help you in any way just now, you must tell me." - -"Thank you, I will." She said it with perfect simplicity. Richard was -conscious of a scarcely perceptible thrill. - -"You must have had an awful time last night, all alone," he said. - -"Yes, but I was too annoyed to feel upset." - -"Annoyed?" - -"Because uncle has brought it all on himself by carelessness. I do -think it's a shame!" She stopped rocking, and sat up, her face full of -serious protest. - -"He's not the sort of man to take care of himself. He never thought--" - -"That's just it. He should have thought, at his age. If he dies, he -will practically have killed himself, yes, killed himself. There's no -excuse, going out as he did, in spite of all I said. Fancy him coming -downstairs last Sunday in the state he was, and then going out on -Monday, though it _was_ warm!" - -"Well, we'll hope he will get better, and it may be a lesson to him." - -"Hark! What was that?" She sprang to her feet apprehensively and -listened, her breast pulsing beneath the tight black bodice and her -startled inquiring eyes fixed on Richard's. A very faint tinkle came -from the rear of the house. - -"Perhaps the front-door bell," he suggested. - -"Of course. How silly of me! I fancied.... Who can it be at this time?" -She went softly into the passage. Richard heard the door open, and then -a woman's voice, which somehow seemed familiar,-- - -"How is Mr. Aked to-night? Your servant told our servant that he was -ill, and I felt anxious." - -"Oh!" Adeline exclaimed, discomposed for a moment, as it seemed to -Richard; then she went on coldly, "Uncle is about the same, thank you," -and almost immediately closed the door. - -"A person to inquire about uncle," she said to Richard, with a peculiar -intonation, on re-entering the room. Then, just as he was saying that -he must go, there was a knock on the ceiling and she flew away again. -Richard waited in the passage till she came downstairs. - -"It's nothing. I thought he was dying! Oh!" and she began to cry freely -and openly, without attempting to wipe her eyes. - -Richard gazed hard at the apron string loosely encircling her waist; -from that white line her trembling bust rose like a bud from its calyx, -and below it the black dress flowed over her broad hips in gathered -folds; he had never seen a figure so exquisite, and the beauty of it -took a keener poignancy from their solitude in the still, anxious -night--the nurse and the sick man were in another sphere. - -"Hadn't you better go to bed?" he said. "You must be tired out and -over-excited." How awkward and conventional the words sounded! - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -In Adeline's idiosyncrasy there was a subtle, elusive suggestion of -singularity, of unexpectedness, which Richard in spite of himself found -very alluring, and he correctly attributed it, in some degree, to the -peculiar circumstances of her early life, an account of which, with -characteristic quaintness, she had given him at their second meeting. - - * * * * * - -The posthumous child of Richard Aked's brother, Adeline, who had -no recollection of her mother, lived at first with her maternal -grandparents and two uncles. She slept alone at the top of the house, -and when she arose in the morning from the big bed with its red -curtains and yellow tassels, she always ran to the window. Immediately -below here were the leads which roofed the great projecting windows -of the shop. It was her practice at night to scatter crumbs on the -leads, and sometimes she would be early enough to watch the sparrows -pecking them; more often all the crumbs had vanished while she was -yet asleep. The Square never failed to interest her in the morning. -In the afternoon it seemed torpid and morose; but before dinner, -more especially on Saturdays and Mondays, it was gaily alert--full -of canvas-covered stalls, and horses and carts, and heaped piles of -vegetables, and pigs grunting amidst straw, and rough rosy-faced men, -their trousers tied at the knees with string, who walked about heavily, -cracking whips. These things arrived mysteriously, before the sun, and -in the afternoon they dwindled imperceptibly away; the stalls were -unthatched, the carts jolted off one by one, and the pigs departed -squeaking, until at five o'clock the littered Square was left deserted -and forlorn. Now and again a new stall, unfolding vivid white canvas, -stood out brightly amid its soiled companions; then Adeline would -run downstairs to her favourite uncle, who had breakfast at 7.30 so -that he might be in charge of the shop while the rest were at table: -"Uncle Mark, Uncle Mark, there is a new stall up at the top of the -Square, near the New Inn!" "Perhaps it is only an old one with its face -washed," Uncle Mark would say; and Adeline, raising her right shoulder, -would put her head on it and laugh, screwing up her eyes. - -In those days she was like a little Puritan girl, with her plain -frocks and prim gait. Her black hair, confined by a semicircular comb -which stretched from ear to ear over the top of her head, was brushed -straight away from her forehead, and fell across the entire width -of her shoulders in glossy, wavy lines. Her grey eyes were rather -large, except when she laughed, and they surveyed people with a frank, -inquiring look which frightened some of the commercial travellers who -came into the shop and gave her threepenny bits; it seemed as if all -one's secret shames stood revealed to that artless gaze. Her nose was -short and flattened, but her mouth happened to be perfect, of exactly -the classic form and size, with delectable lips half hiding the small -white teeth. - -To her the house appeared to be of immense proportions; she had been -told that once, before she was born, it was three houses. Certainly it -possessed more than the usual number of staircases, and one of these, -with the single room to which it gave access, was always closed. From -the Square, the window of the disused chamber, obscured and bare, -contrasted strangely with the clear panes, white blinds, and red pads -of the others. This room was next to her own, the two staircases -running parallel; and the thought of its dread emptiness awed her at -nights. One Saturday night in bed she discovered that grandma, who had -been plaiting her hair for Sunday, had left a comb sticking in it. She -called aloud to grandma, to Uncle Mark, to Uncle Luke, in vain. None -of them came to her; but she distinctly heard an answering cry from the -shut room. She ceased to call, and lay fearfully quiet for a while; -then it was morning, and the comb had slipped out of her hair and down -into the bed. - -Beneath the house were many cellars. One served for kitchen, and -Adeline had a swing there, hung from a beam; two others were larders; -a fourth held coal, and in a fifth ashes were thrown. There were yet -two more under the shop, to be reached by a separate flight of stone -steps. Uncle Mark went down those steps every afternoon to turn on the -gas, but he would never allow Adeline to go with him. Grandma, indeed, -was very cross if, when the door leading to the steps happened to be -open, Adeline approached within a yard of it. Often, chattering to the -shop-girls, who at quiet times of the day clustered round the stove -with their sewing, she would suddenly think of the cellars below, and -her heart would seem to stop. - -If the shutters were up, the shop was even more terribly mysterious -than either the cellars or the disused room. On Sunday afternoons, -when grandpa snored behind a red and yellow handkerchief in the -breakfast-room, it was necessary for Adeline to go through the shop -and up the show-room staircase, in order to reach the drawing-room, -because to get to the house staircase would involve disturbing the -sleeper. How strange the shop looked as she hurried timorously across! -A dim twilight, worse than total darkness, filtered through the cracks -of the shutters, showing faintly the sallow dust-sheets which covered -the merinos and the chairs on the counters, and she always reached -the show-room, which had two large, unobstructed windows, with a sob -of relief. Very few customers were asked into the show-room; Adeline -employed it on weekdays as a nursery; here she nursed her dolls, flew -kites, and read "Little Wideawake," a book given to her by a commercial -traveller; there was a cheval glass near the front window in which she -contemplated herself long and seriously. - -She never had the companionship of other children, nor did she desire -it. Other children, she understood, were rude and dirty; although -Uncle Mark and Uncle Luke taught in the Sunday-school, and grandpa -had once actually been superintendent, she was not allowed to go -there, simply because the children were rude and dirty. But she went -to morning chapel, sitting alone with grandpa on the red cushions of -the broad pew, that creaked every time she moved; Uncle Mark and Uncle -Luke sat away up in the gallery with the rude and dirty Sunday-school -children; grandma seldom went to chapel; the ministers called to see -her instead. Once to her amazement Uncle Luke had ascended the pulpit -stairs, looking just as if he was walking in his sleep, and preached. -It seemed so strange, and afterwards the religious truths which she had -been taught somehow lost their awfulness and some of their reality. On -Sunday evenings she celebrated her own private service, in which she -was preacher, choir, organist, and congregation. Her extempore prayers -were the secret admiration of grandma, who alone heard them. Adeline -stayed up for supper on Sundays. When the meal was over, grandpa opened -the big Bible, and in his rich, heavy voice read that Shem begat -Arphaxad and Arphaxad begat Salah and Salah begat Eber and Eber begat -Pelag, and about the Ammonites and the Jebusites and the Canaanites and -the Moabites; and then they knelt, and he prayed for them that rule -over us, and widows and orphans; and at the word "orphans," grandma, -who didn't kneel like the others but sat upright in her rocking-chair -with one hand over her eyes, would say "Amen, Amen," under her breath. -And after it was all over Adeline would choose whether Uncle Mark or -Uncle Luke should carry her to bed. - -Grandpa died, and then grandma, and Aunt Grace (who was not an aunt -at all, but a cousin) came to stay with Adeline and her uncles, and -one day the shutters of the shop were put up and not taken down again. -Adeline learnt that Uncle Mark and Uncle Luke were going a long way -off, to America, and that she was to live in future with Aunt Grace in -a large and splendid house full of coloured pictures and statues and -books. It seemed odd that Aunt Grace, whose dresses were rather shabby, -should have a finer house than grandpa's, until Uncle Mark explained -that the house did not really belong to Aunt Grace; Aunt Grace merely -kept it in order for a rich young gentleman who had fifteen servants. - - * * * * * - -When she had recovered from the parting with her uncles, Adeline -accepted the change with docility. Long inured as she was to spiritual -solitude (for the closest friendship that can exist between a child and -an adult comprises little more than an affectionate tolerance on either -side, and certainly knows nothing of those intimate psychic affinities -which attract child to child or man to man), she could not, indeed, -have easily found much hardship in the conditions of her new life. One -matter troubled her at first, namely, that Aunt Grace never prayed or -read the Bible or went to chapel; nor, so far as Adeline knew, did -anyone else at the Abbey. But she soon became reconciled to this state -of things. For a time she continued to repeat her prayers; then the -habit ceased. - -The picture-gallery, of which she had heard a great deal, fascinated -her at once. It was a long but not very lofty apartment, receiving -daylight from a hidden source, hung with the finest examples of the -four great Italian schools which flourished during the first half of -the sixteenth century: the Venetian, a revel of colour; the Roman, -dignified and even sedate; the Florentine, nobly grandiose; and the -school of Parma, mysteriously delicate. Opportunity serving, she spent -much of her time here, talking busily to the madonnas, the Christs, -the martyred saints, the monarchs, the knights, the lovely ladies, -and all the naïve mediæval crowd, giving each of them a part in her -own infantile romances. When she grew older, she copied--who shall -say whether consciously or unconsciously?--the attitudes and gestures -of the women; and perhaps in time there passed into Adeline, by some -ineffable channel, at least a portion of their demure grace and -contented quietude. There were pictures also in the square library, -examples of quite modern English and French work, sagaciously chosen -by one whose critical faculty had descended to him through four -generations of collectors; but Adeline had no eyes for these. The -books, however, gorgeous prisoners in glass, were her good friends, -though she might never touch them, and though the narrow, conventional -girl's education assiduously bestowed upon her by her aunt in person, -stifled rather than fostered curiosity with regard to their contents. - -When Adeline was about nineteen, her guardian became engaged to be -married to a middle-aged farmer, a tenant of the Abbey, who made it -clear that in espousing Aunt Grace he was not eager to espouse Aunt -Grace's _protégée_ also. A serious question arose as to her future. She -had only one other relative in England, Mr. Aked, and she passively -accepted his timely suggestion that she should go to London and keep -house for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -On the Wednesday evening Richard took tea at the Crabtree, so that he -might go down by train to Parson's Green direct from Charing Cross. -The coffee-room was almost empty of customers; and Miss Roberts, who -appeared to be in attendance there, was reading in the "cosy corner," -an angle of the room furnished with painted mirrors and a bark bench of -fictitious rusticity. - -"What are you doing up here?" he asked, when she brought his meal. -"Aren't you cashier downstairs any longer?" - -"Oh, yes," she said, "I should just think I was. But the girl that -waits in this room, Miss Pratt, has her half-holiday on Wednesdays, -and I come here, and the governor takes my place downstairs. I do -it to oblige him. He's a gentleman, he is. _That_ polite! I have my -half-holiday on Fridays." - -"Well, if you've nothing else to do, what do you say to pouring out my -tea for me?" - -"Can't you pour it out yourself? Poor thing!" She smiled pityingly, and -began to pour out the tea. - -"Sit down," Richard suggested. - -"No, thank you," she said. "There! If it isn't sweet enough, you can -put another lump in yourself;" and she disappeared behind the screen -which hid the food-lift. - -Presently he summoned her to make out his check. He was debating -whether to tell her that Mr. Aked was ill. Perhaps if he did so she -might request to be informed how the fact concerned herself. He decided -to say nothing, and was the more astonished when she began: - -"Did you know Mr. Aked was very ill?" - -"Yes. Who told you?" - -"Why, I live near him, a few doors away--didn't I tell you once?--and -their servant told ours." - -"Told your servant?" - -"Yes," said Miss Roberts, reddening a little, and with an inflection -which meant, "I suppose you thought _my_ family wouldn't have a -servant!" - -"Oh!" He stopped a moment, and then an idea came to him. "It must have -been you who called last night to inquire!" He wondered why Adeline had -been so curt with her. - -"Were you there then?" - -"Oh, yes. I know the Akeds pretty well." - -"The doctor says he'll not get better. What do you think?" - -"I'm afraid it's a bad lookout." - -"Very sad for poor Miss Aked, isn't it?" she said, and something in the -tone made Richard look up at her. - -"Yes," he agreed. - -"Of course you like her?" - -"I scarcely know her--it's the old man I know," he replied guardedly. - -"Well, if you ask me, I think she's a bit stand-offish." - -"Perhaps that's only her manner." - -"You've noticed it too, have you?" - -"Not a bit. I've really seen very little of her." - -"Going down again to-night?" - -"I may do." - -Nothing had passed between Adeline and himself as to his calling that -day, but when he got to Carteret Street she evidently accepted his -presence as a matter of course, and he felt glad. There was noting in -her demeanour to recall the scene of the previous night. He did not -stay long. Mr. Aked's condition was unchanged. Adeline had watched -by him all day, while the nurse slept, and now she confessed to an -indisposition. - -"My bones ache," she said, with an attempt to laugh, "and I feel -miserable, though under the circumstances there's nothing strange in -that." - -He feared she might be sickening towards influenza, caught from her -uncle, but said nothing, lest he should alarm her without cause. The -next day, however, his apprehension was justified. On his way to the -house in the evening he met the doctor at the top of Carteret Street -and stopped him. - -"You're a friend of Mr. Aked's, eh?" the doctor said, examining -Richard through his gold-rimmed spectacles. "Well, go and do what -you can. Miss Aked is down with the influenza now, but I don't think -it will be a severe attack if she takes care. The old fellow's state -is serious. You see, he has no constitution, though perhaps that's -scarcely a disadvantage in these cases; but when it comes to double -basic pneumonia, with fever, and cardiac complications, pulse 140, -respiration 40, temperature 103 to 104, there's not a great deal of -chance. I've got a magnificent nurse, though, and she'll have her hands -full. We ought really to send for another one, especially as Miss Aked -wants looking after too.... Bless you," he went on, in answer to a -question from Richard, "I can't say. I injected strychnia this morning, -and that has given relief, but he may die during the night. On the -other hand he may recover. By the way, they seem to have no relations, -except a cousin of Mr. Aked's who lives in the north. I've wired to -her. Good evening. See what you can do. I'm due in my surgery in two -minutes." - -Richard introduced himself to the nurse, explained that he had seen -the doctor, and asked if he could render assistance. She was a slender -girl of about twenty-three, with dark, twinkling eyes and astonishingly -small white ears; her blue uniform, made of the same print as a -servant's morning-dress, fitted without a crease, and her immense -apron was snowy. On one linen cuff was a stain; she noticed this while -talking to Richard, and adroitly reversed the wristband under his very -gaze. - -"I suppose you know the Akeds pretty well?" she questioned. - -"Well, pretty well," he answered. - -"Do you know any friends of theirs, women, who happen to live near?" - -"I feel fairly sure they have practically no acquaintances. I have -never met any people here." - -"It is very awkward, now that Miss Aked is taken ill." - -The mention of Adeline gave him an opportunity to make more particular -inquiries as to her condition. - -"There is nothing to be afraid of," the nurse said, "only she must stay -in bed and keep quite quiet." - -"I fancied last night she looked ill," he said sagely. - -"You were here last night?" - -"Yes, and the night before." - -"Oh! I wasn't aware--" The nurse stopped a moment. "Pardon me, if I am -indiscreet, but are you engaged to Miss Aked?" - -"No," said Richard shortly, uncertain whether or not he was blushing. -The nurse's eyes twinkled, but otherwise her impassive gravity suffered -no diminishment. "Not at all," he added. "I am merely a friend, anxious -to do anything I can." - -"I will get you to do some marketing for me," she decided suddenly. -"The maid is sitting with Mr. Aked--he's a little easier for the -moment--and Miss Aked, I think, is asleep. If I give you a list, can -you discover the shops? I am quite ignorant of this neighbourhood." - -Richard thought he could discover the shops. - -"In the meantime I will have a bath. I have had no rest worth -mentioning for twenty-four hours, and I want freshening up. Don't come -back for twenty minutes, or there will be no one to let you in. Stay, -I will give you the latch-key." It was attached to her chatelaine. - -Equipped with written orders and a sovereign, he went out. Though he -was away barely a quarter of an hour, she was dressed and downstairs -again when he came in, her face as radiant as if she had just risen. -She counted the change, and checked the different purchases with the -list. Richard had made no mistakes. - -"Thank you," she said very formally. He had expected a little praise. - -"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, determined not to weary in -good works, however coldly his efforts were received. - -"I think you might sit with Mr. Aked for a while," she said; "I must -positively give some attention to Miss Aked, and half an hour's rest -would not harm me. See, there are some slippers; would you mind taking -off your boots and putting those on instead? Thank you. You may talk to -Mr. Aked if he talks to you, and let him hold your hand--he'll probably -want to. Let him have just a sip of the brandy and milk I will give -you, whenever he asks for it. Don't mind if he grumbles at everything -you do. Try to soothe him. Remember he is very seriously ill. Shall I -take you upstairs?" - -She looked at Richard and then at the door; and Richard, hesitating -for a fraction of a second, stepped past her to open it. He managed -it awkwardly because he had never done such a thing for a lady in his -life, nor could he quite understand what mysterious prompting had -led him to be so punctilious now. The nurse bowed acknowledgment and -preceded him to the sick-room. He felt as a student feels just before -the examination papers are handed round. - -A smell of linseed escaped from the bedroom as the nurse pushed open -the door. - -"Stay outside a moment," she said to Richard. He could see the grate, -on which a kettle was singing over a small fire. In front of the fire -was a board, with a large bowl and spoon, and some pieces of linen. -Then he was conscious of nothing but a loud sound of rapid, painful -breathing, accompanied by moans and a strange rattling which came to -his ears with perturbing distinctness. He knew nothing of sickness -beyond what people had told him, and these phenomena inspired him with -physical dread. He wished to run away. - -"A friend of yours is coming to sit with you, Mr. Aked--you know Mr. -Larch," he heard the nurse say; she was evidently busy about the bed. -"You can go now, Lottie," she went on to the servant. "Wash up the -things I have put in the sink, and then off to bed." - -Richard waited with painful expectancy for the voice of Mr. Aked. - -"Larch--did you say--why--didn't he come--before?" The tones were -less unnatural than he had anticipated, but it seemed that only by -the exercise of a desperate ingenuity could the speaker interject the -fragments of a sentence here and there between his hurrying gasps. - -Then the servant went downstairs. - -"Come in, Mr. Larch," the nurse called pleasantly. - -The patient, supported by pillows, was sitting upright in bed, and -as Richard entered he looked towards the door with the expression of -an unarmed man on the watch for an assassin. His face was drawn and -duskily pale, but on each cheek burned a red flush; at every cruel -inspiration the nostrils dilated widely, and the shoulders were raised -in a frenzied effort to fill the embarrassed lungs. - -"Well, Mr. Aked," Richard greeted him, "here I am, you see." - -He made no reply beyond a weak nod, and signed to the nurse for the -feeding-cup of brandy and milk, which she held to his mouth. Richard -was afraid he might not be able to stay in the room, and marvelled -that the nurse could be unmoved and cheerful in the midst of this -piteous altercation with death. Was she blind to the terror in the -man's eyes? - -"You had better sit here, Mr. Larch," she said quietly, pointing to a -chair by the bedside. "Here is the drink; hold the cup--so. Ring this -bell if you want me for anything." Then she noiselessly disappeared. - -No sooner had he sat down than Mr. Aked seized his shoulder for -support, and each movement of the struggling frame communicated itself -to Richard's body. Richard suddenly conceived a boundless respect for -the nurse, who had watched whole nights by this tortured organism on -the bed. Somehow existence began to assume for him a new and larger -aspect; he felt that till that moment he had been going through the -world with his eyes closed; life was sublimer, more terrible, than -he had thought. He abased himself before all doctors and nurses and -soldiers in battle; they alone tasted the true savour of life. - -Art was a very little thing. - -Presently Mr. Aked breathed with slightly less exertion, and he -appeared to doze for a few moments now and then, though Richard could -scarcely believe that any semblance of sleep was possible to a man in -his condition. - -"Adeline?" he questioned once. - -"She's getting on fine," Richard said soothingly. "Would you like a -sip?" - -He put his grey lips clumsily round the lip of the cup, drank, and then -pushed the vessel away with a gesture of irritation. - -The windows were open, but the air was perfectly still, and the gas -burnt without a tremor between the windows and the door. - -"I'm stifled," the patient gasped. "Are they--doing--all they can--for -me?"--Richard tried to reassure him. - -"It's all over--with me--Larch--I can't--keep it up long--I'm -going--going--they'll have to try--something else." - -His lustrous eyes were fastened on Richard with an appealing gaze. -Richard turned away. - -"I'm frightened--I thought I shouldn't be--but I am. Doctor suggested -parson--it's not that--I said no.... Do you think--I'm dying?" - -"Not a bit," said Richard. - -"That's a lie--I'm off.... It's a big thing,--death--everyone's -afraid--of it--at last.... Instinct!... Shows there's something--awful -behind it." - -If Richard had been murdering the man, he could not have had a sharper -sense of guilt than at that moment oppressed him. - -Mr. Aked continued to talk, but with a growing incoherence which -gradually passed into delirium. Richard looked at his watch. Only -thirty minutes had slipped by, and yet he felt as if his shoulder had -suffered the clutch of that hot hand since before the beginning of -time! Again he experienced the disconcerting sensation of emotional -horizons suddenly widened. - -People were walking down the street; they talked and laughed. How -incongruously mirthful and careless their voices sounded! Perhaps -they had never watched by a sick-bed, never listened to the agonised -breathing of a pneumonia patient. That incessant frantic intake of -air! It exasperated him. If it did not stop soon, he should go mad. He -stared at the gas-flame, and the gas-flame grew larger, larger, till -he could see nothing else.... Then, after a long while, surely the -breathing was more difficult! There was a reverberating turmoil in the -man's chest which shook the bed. Could Richard have been asleep, or -what? He started up; but Mr. Aked clung desperately to him, raising -his shoulders higher and higher in the struggle to inhale, and leaning -forward till he was bent almost double. Richard hesitated, and then -struck the bell. It seemed as if the nurse would never come. The door -opened softly. - -"I'm afraid he is much worse," Richard said to the nurse, striving to -cover his agitation. She looked at Mr. Aked. - -"Perhaps you had better fetch the doctor." - -When he returned, Mr. Aked was lying back unconscious. - -"Of course the doctor can do nothing now," said the nurse, calmly -answering the question in his eyes. "He'll never speak any more." - -"But Miss Aked?" - -"It can't be helped. I shall say nothing to her till morning." - -"Then she won't see him?" - -"Certainly not. It would be madness for her to leave her bed." - -The doctor arrived, and the three talked quietly together about the -alarming prevalence of influenza at that time of the year, and the -fatal results of carelessness. - -"I tell you honestly," the doctor said, "I'm so overworked that I -should be quite satisfied to step into my coffin and not wake again. -I've had three 3 A. M. midwifery cases this week--forceps, chloroform, -and the whole bag of tricks--on the top of all this influenza, and I'm -about sick of it. That's the worst of our trade; it comes in lumps. -What do you say, nurse?" - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -The nurse suggested that Richard should remain at Carteret Street for -the rest of the night, using the sofa in the sitting-room. Contrary -to his expectation, he slept well and dreamlessly for several hours, -and woke up refreshed and energetic. The summer sun was dispersing a -light mist. One thought occupied his mind,--Adeline's isolation and -need of succour. Mentally he enveloped her with tender solicitude; and -the prospect of giving her instant aid, and so earning her gratitude, -contributed to a mood of vigorous cheerfulness to which his sorrow for -Mr. Aked's death formed but a vague and distant background. - -No one seemed to be stirring. He washed luxuriously in the little -scullery, and then, silently unbolting the front door, went out for a -walk. It was just six o'clock, and above the weazen trees which line -either side of Carteret Street the sparrows were noisily hilarious. As -he strode along in the fresh, sunny air, his fancy pictured scene after -scene between himself and Adeline in which he rendered a man's help and -she offered a woman's gratitude. He determined to take upon himself -all the arrangements for the funeral, and looked forward pleasurably -to activities from which under different circumstances he would have -shrunk with dismay. He thought of Adeline's aunt or cousin, distant in -the north, and wondered whether she or any other relatives, if such -existed, would present themselves; he hoped that Adeline might be -forced to rely solely on him. A milkboy who passed with his rattling -cans observed Richard talking rapidly to no visible person, and turned -round to stare. - -When he got back to the house, he noticed that the blinds had been -drawn in the sitting-room. Lottie, the chubby-armed servant, was -cleaning the step; her eyes were red with crying. - -"Is nurse up yet?" he asked her. - -"Yes, sir, she's in the kitchen," the girl whimpered. - -He sprang over the wet step into the passage. As his glance fell on -the stairs leading up to the room where lay the body of Mr. Aked, -separated from the unconscious Adeline only by a gimcrack wall of lath -and plaster, an uncomfortable feeling of awe took hold of him. Death -was very incurable, and he had been assisting at a tragedy. How unreal -and distorted seemed the events of a few hours before! He had a curious -sense of partnership in shame, as if he and the nurse and the doctor -had last night done Adeline an injury and were conspiring to hide their -sin. What would she say when she knew that her uncle was dead? What -would be her plans? It occurred to him now that she would of course act -quite independently of himself; it was ridiculous to suppose that he, -comparatively a stranger, could stand to her in the place of kith and -kin; he had been dreaming. He was miserably disheartened. - -He made his way to the kitchen, and, pushing the door open quietly, -found the nurse engaged in cooking a meal. - -"May I come in, nurse?" - -"Yes, Mr. Larch." - -"You seem to have taken charge of the house," he said, admiring her -quick, neat movements; she was as much at home as if the kitchen had -been her own. - -"We often find it necessary," she smiled. "Nurses have to be ready for -most things. Do you prefer tea or coffee for breakfast?" - -"Surely you aren't getting breakfast for me? I could have had something -in town." - -"Surely I am," she said. "If you aren't fastidious, I'll make tea. -Miss Aked has had a moderately good night ... I've told her.... She -took it very well, said she expected it. Of course there's a lot to be -done, but I can't bother her yet. We ought to have a telegram from Mrs. -Hopkins, her aunt, this morning." - -"I wish you would give Miss Aked a message from me," Richard broke in. -"Tell her I shall be very glad to see after things--the funeral, you -know, and so on--if she cares. I can easily arrange to take a holiday -from the office." - -"I am sure that would relieve her from a lot of anxiety," the nurse -said appreciatively. To hide a certain confusion Richard suggested that -he should be allowed to lay the cloth in the sitting-room, and she -told him he would find it in a drawer in the sideboard. He wandered -off, speculating upon Adeline's probable answer to his proposal. Soon -he heard the rattling of cups and saucers, and the nurse's footstep on -the stair. He laid the cloth, putting the cruet in the middle and the -salt-cellars at opposite corners, and then sat down in front of the -case of French books to scan their titles, but he saw nothing save a -blur of yellow. After a long time the nurse came down again. - -"Miss Aked says she cannot thank you enough. She will leave everything -to you,--everything. She is very much obliged indeed. She doesn't think -Mrs. Hopkins will be able to travel, because of her rheumatism, and -there is no one else. Here is the key of Mr. Aked's desk, and some -other keys--there should be about £20 in gold in the cash box, and -perhaps some notes." - -He took the keys, feeling profoundly happy. - -"I shall just go up to the office first," he decided, "and arrange to -get off, and then come down here again. I suppose you will stay on till -Miss Aked is better?" - -"Oh, of course." - -"She will be in bed several days yet?" - -"Probably. She might be able to sit up an hour or two the day after -to-morrow--in her own room." - -"It wouldn't do for me to see her?" - -"I think not. She is very weak. No, you must act on your own -responsibility." - -He and the nurse had breakfast together, talking with the freedom of -old friends. He told her all he knew of the Akeds, not forgetting -to mention that Mr. Aked and himself were to have collaborated in a -book. When Richard let this out, she showed none of those signs of -timid reverence which the laity are wont to exhibit in the presence of -literary people. - -"Indeed!" she said politely, and then after a little pause: "I actually -write verses myself sometimes." - -"You do? And are they published?" - -"Oh, yes, but perhaps not on their merits. You see, my father has -influence--" - -"A journalist, is he, perhaps?" - -She laughed at the idea, and mentioned the name of a well-known -novelist. - -"And you prefer nursing to writing!" Richard ejaculated when he had -recovered from the announcement. - -"To anything in the world. That is why I am a nurse. Why should I -depend on my father, or my father's reputation?" - -"I admire you for not doing so," Richard replied. Hitherto he had only -read about such women, and had questioned if they really existed. -He grew humble before her, recognising a stronger spirit. Yet her -self-reliance somehow chafed him, and he directed his thoughts to -Adeline's feminine trustfulness with a slight sense of relief. - - * * * * * - -The funeral took place on Sunday. Richard found the formalities to be -fewer and simpler than he had expected, and no difficulties arose of -any kind. Mrs. Hopkins, as Adeline had foreseen, was unable to come, -but she sent a long letter full of advice, and offering her niece a -temporary home. Adeline had not yet been allowed to leave her bed, but -on the Sunday morning the nurse had said that she might sit up for an -hour or two in the afternoon, and would like to see Richard then. - -He returned to Carteret Street on foot when the funeral was over. - -"You are glad it is all finished?" the nurse said. - -"Yes," he answered a little wearily. His mind had dwelt on Mr. Aked -that day, and the lonely futility of the man's life had touched him -with chill, depressing effect. Moreover, now it came to the point, he -rather dreaded than desired that first interview with Adeline after her -uncle's death. He feared that despite any service he had rendered, they -were not much more than acquaintances. He morbidly conjectured what she -would say to him and how he would reply. But he was glad when the nurse -left him alone at the door of Adeline's room. He knocked rather louder -than he had intended, and after hesitating a second walked in. Adeline -was seated in an armchair near the window, fully dressed in black, with -a shawl over her shoulders. Her back was towards him, but he could see -that she was writing a letter on her knee. She looked round suddenly -as the door opened, and gave a little "Oh!" at the same time lifting -her hands. Her face was pale, her hair flat, and her eyes large and -glittering. He went up to her. - -"Mr. Larch!" She held his hand in her thin white one with a soft, weak -pressure, silently gazing at him while tears gathered in her upturned -eyes. Richard trembled in every part of his body; he could not speak, -and wondered what was the matter with him. - -"Mr. Larch, you have been very kind. I shall never be able to thank -you." - -"I hope you won't bother about any thanks," he said. "Are you better?" -And yet he wished her to say more. - -With apparent reluctance she loosed his hand, and he sat down near her. - -"What should I have done without you!... Tell me about to-day. You -can't think how relieved I am now that it is over--the funeral, I mean." - -He said there was nothing to tell. - -"Were there many other funerals?" - -"Yes, a lot." - -He answered her questions one after another; she seemed to be -interested in the least detail, but neither of them mentioned the dead -man. Her eyes seldom left him. When he suggested that she must dismiss -him as soon as she felt tired, she laughed, and replied that she was -not likely to be tired for a very long while, and that he must have tea -with her and nurse. - -"I was writing to my two uncles in San Francisco when you came in," she -said. "They will be terribly upset about me at first, poor fellows, but -I have told them how kind you have been, and Uncle Mark always used -to say I had plenty of sense, so that ought to ease their minds." She -smiled. - -"Of course you have made no definite plans yet?" he asked. - -"No, I sha'n't settle anything at present. I want to consult you about -several things, but some other time, when I am better. I shall have -enough money, I think--that is one solid comfort. My aunt Grace--Mrs. -Hopkins--has asked me to go and stay with her. Somehow I don't want to -go--you'll think it queer of me, I daresay, but I would really prefer -to stop in London." - -He noticed that she said nothing as to joining her uncles in San -Francisco. - -"I fancy I shall like London," she went on, "when I know it." - -"You aren't thinking, then, of going to San Francisco?" - -He waited apprehensively for her answer. She hesitated. "It is so -far--I don't quite know how my uncles are situated--" - -Evidently, for some reason, she had no desire to leave London -immediately. He was very content, having feared that she might pass at -once away from him. - -They had tea on a little round chess-table. The cramped space and -the consequent necessity of putting spare plates of cake on the bed -caused some amusement, but in the presence of the strong, brusque nurse -Adeline seemed to withdraw within herself, and the conversation, such -as it was, depended on the other two. - -"I have been telling Miss Aked," the nurse said after tea was over, -"that she must go to the seaside for a week or two. It will do her an -immense deal of good. What she needs most of all is change. I suggested -Littlehampton; it is rather a quiet spot, not too quiet; there is nice -river scenery, and a quaint old port, and quantities of lovely rustic -villages in the neighbourhood." - -"It would certainly be a good thing," Richard agreed; but Adeline said, -rather petulantly, that she did not wish to travel, and the project was -not discussed further. - -He left soon afterwards. The walk home seemed surprisingly short, -and when he got to Raphael Street he could remember nothing of the -thoroughfares through which he had passed. Vague, delicious fancies -flitted through his head, like fine lines half recalled from a great -poem. In his room there was a smell from the lamp, and the windows -were shut tight. - -"Poor old landlady," he murmured benignantly, "when will she learn to -leave the windows open and not to turn down the lamp?" - -Having unfastened one of the windows, he extinguished the lamp and went -out on to the little balcony. It was a warm evening, with a cloudy -sky and a gentle, tepid breeze. The noise of omnibuses and cabs came -even and regular from Brompton Road, and occasionally a hansom passed -up Raphael Street. He stood leaning on the front of the balcony till -the air of traffic had declined to an infrequent rumble, his thoughts -a smiling, whirling medley impossible to analyze or describe. At last -he came in, and, leaving the window ajar, undressed slowly without a -light, and lay down. He had no desire to sleep, nor did he attempt -to do so; not for a ransom would he have parted with the fine, full -consciousness of life which thrilled through every portion of his -being. The brief summer night came to an end; and just as the sun was -rising he dozed a little, and then got up without a trace of fatigue. -He went to the balcony again, and drank in all the sweet invigorating -freshness of the morning. The sunlit streets were enveloped in an -enchanted silence. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Nearly three weeks later came the following letter from Adeline. In the -meanwhile she had had a rather serious relapse, and he had seen her -only once or twice for a few minutes. - - My dear Mr. Larch,--This time I am _quite_ sure I am well again. Nurse - is obliged to leave to-day, as she is wanted at a hospital, and she - has persuaded me to go to Littlehampton _at once_, and given me the - address of some rooms. I shall leave Victoria to-morrow (Wednesday) by - the 1.10 train; Lottie will go with me, and the house will be locked - up. Good-bye for the present, if I don't see you. We shall not stay - more than a week or ten days. I will write to you from Littlehampton. - - Ever yours most gratefully, - - A. A. - - P. S. I was expecting you down to-night. - -"'If I don't see you'!" he repeated to himself, smiling, and examining -Adeline's caligraphy, which he had not seen before. It was a bold but -not distinguished hand. He read the note several times, then folded it -carefully and put it in his pocket-book. - -By reason of an unexpected delay at the office he almost missed her -at Victoria. The train was due out at least a minute before he rushed -into the station; fortunately trains are not invariably prompt. Adeline -was leaning from a carriage window to hand a penny to a newspaper boy; -the boy dropped the penny, and she laughed. She wore a black hat with -a veil. Her cheeks were a little fuller, and her eyes less unnaturally -brilliant, at any rate under the veil; and Richard thought that he had -never seen her look so pretty. - -"There it is, silly boy, there!" she was saying as he came up. - -"I thought I'd just see if you were all right," he panted. "I should -have been here earlier, only I was detained." - -"How kind of you to take so much trouble!" she said, taking his hand, -and fixing her eyes intently on his. The guard came along to fasten the -doors. - -"Luggage all in?" Richard asked. - -"Yes, thanks. Lottie saw to it while I got the tickets. I find she is -quite an experienced traveller." At which Lottie, effaced in a corner, -blushed. - -"Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself." The whistle sounded, and the -train jerked forward Adeline began to wave a good-bye. - -"I see there's a Sunday league trip to Littlehampton on Sunday," he -said, walking along with the train. - -"Oh! Do come down." - -"You'd like me to?" - -"Very much." - -"I will, then. Send me the address." - -She gave a succession of little nods, as the train carried her away. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -Richard's eye travelled expectantly over the tanned crowd of men -in flannels and gaily attired girls which lined the platform of -Littlehampton station, but Adeline was not to be seen. He felt somewhat -disappointed, and then decided that he liked her the better for not -having come to meet him. "Besides," he thought, "the train being a -special is not in the time-table, and she would not know when it was -due." - -Her lodging was in a long, monotonous terrace which ran at right angles -to the seashore, turning its back upon the river. Noon was at hand, and -the fierce rays of the unclouded sun were untempered by any breeze. The -street lay hushed, for everyone was either at church or on the sands. -In response to his inquiry, the landlady said that Miss Aked was out, -and had left a message that if a gentleman called, he was to follow her -to the jetty. Obeying the directions given to him, Richard soon found -himself by the banks of the swift Arun, with the jetty some distance in -front, and beyond that the sea, which shimmered blindly in the heat. -Throngs of respectably dressed people wandered up and down, and a low, -languid murmur of conversation floated out as it were from the cavities -of a thousand parasols. Perspiring children whose hands were chafed -by gloves full of creases ran to and fro among the groups, shouting -noisily, and heedless of the frequent injunction to remember what day -it was. Here and there nurses pushing perambulators made cool spots -of whiteness in the confusion of colour. On the river boats and small -yachts were continually sweeping towards the sea on the ebbing tide; -now and then a crew of boys would attempt to pull a skiff against the -rapid current, persevere for a few strokes, and then, amid scoffs from -the bank, ignominiously allow themselves to be whirled past the jetty -with the other craft. - -Richard had never seen a southern watering-place before, and he had -fondly expected something different from Llandudno, Rhyl, or Blackpool, -something less stolid and more continental. Littlehampton fell short -of his anticipations. It was unpicturesque as a manufacturing town, -and its summer visitors were an infestive, lower-middle class folk, -garishly clothed, and unlearned in the fine art of enjoyment. The pure -accent of London sounded on every side from the lips of clerks and -shop-girls and their kin. Richard forgot that he was himself a clerk, -looking not out of place in that scene. - -Presently he espied a woman who seemed to belong to another sphere. She -was leaning over the parapet of the jetty, and though a black and white -sunshade entirely hid her head and shoulders, the simple, perfectly -hung black skirt, the neatly shod foot, the small, smoothly gloved hand -with thin gold circlet at wrist, sufficed to convince him that here, -by some strange chance, was one of those exquisite creatures who on -Saturday afternoons drove past the end of Raphael Street on their way -to Hurlingham or Barnes. He wondered what she did there, and tried to -determine the subtleties of demeanour and costume which constituted -the plain difference between herself and the other girls on the jetty. -At that moment she stood erect, and turned round. Why, she was quite -young.... He approached her.... It was Adeline. - -Astonishment was so clearly written on his face that she laughed as -they exchanged greetings. - -"You seem startled at the change in me," she said abruptly. "Do you -know that I positively adore clothes, though I've only just found it -out. The first thing I did when I got here was to go over to Brighton, -and spend terrific sums at a dressmaker's. You see, there wasn't -time in London. You don't despise me for it, I hope? I've plenty of -money--enough to last a long, long time." - -She was dazzling, and she openly rejoiced in the effect her appearance -had made on Richard. - -"You couldn't have done better," he answered, suddenly discovering with -chagrin that his own serge suit was worn and shabby. - -"I'm relieved," she said; "I was afraid my friend might think me vain -and extravagant." Her manner of saying "my friend"--half mockery, half -deference--gave Richard intense satisfaction. - -They walked to the end of the jetty and sat down on a stone seat. - -"Isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed enthusiastically. - -"What--the town, or the people, or the sea?" - -"Everything. I've scarcely been to the seaside before in all my life, -and I think it's lovely." - -"The sea would be splendid if one could see it, but it blinds one even -to glance at it in this heat." - -"You shall have half my sunshade." She put it over him with a -protective gesture. - -"No, no," he demurred. - -"I say yes. Why don't men carry sunshades? It's only their pride that -stops them.... So you don't like the town and the people?" - -"Well--" - -"I love to see plenty of people about. And you would, too, if you'd -been fixed like me. I've never seen a real crowd. There are crushes -when you go into theatres, sometimes, aren't there?" - -"Yes. Women faint." - -"But I shouldn't. I would have given anything not long ago to be in one -of those crushes. Now, of course, I can just please myself. When we are -back in London, do you think I could persuade you to take me?" - -"You might," he said, "if you asked nicely. But young ladies who wear -clothes like yours don't usually patronise the pit, where the crushes -are. Stalls or dress circle would be more in your style. I propose we -take the dress circle. You wouldn't enjoy your crush going in, but at -the Lyceum and some other theatres, there is quite a superior crush -coming out of the stalls and dress circle." - -"Yes, that is better. And I shall buy more clothes. Oh! I will be -shockingly wasteful. If poor old uncle knew how his money was to be -spent--" - -A little child, chased by one still less, fell down flat in front of -them, and began to cry. Adeline picked it up, losing her sunshade, and -kissed both children. Then she took a paper of chocolates from her -pocket and gave several to each child, and they ran away without saying -thank you. - -"Have one?" She offered the bag to Richard. "That's another luxury I -shall indulge in--chocolates. Do have just one, to keep me company," -she appealed. "By the way, about dinner. I ordered dinner for both of -us at my rooms, but we can improve on that. I have discovered a lovely -little village a few miles away, Angmering, all old cottages and no -drains. Let us drive there in a victoria, and picnic at a cottage. I -know the exact place for us. There will be no people there to annoy -you." - -"But you like 'people,' so that won't do at all." - -"I will do without 'people' for this day." - -"And what shall we have for dinner?" - -"Oh! Eggs and bread and butter and tea." - -"Tea for dinner! Not very solid, is it?" - -"Greedy! If you have such a large appetite, eat a few more chocolates; -they will take it away." - -She rose, pointing to a victoria in the distance. - -He looked at her without getting up, and their eyes met with smiles. -Then he, too, rose. He thought he had never felt so happy. An -intoxicating vision of future felicities momentarily suggested itself, -only to fade before the actuality of the present. - -The victoria stopped at Adeline's rooms. She called through the open -window to Lottie, who came out and received orders to dine alone, or -with the landlady if she preferred. - -"Lottie and Mrs. Bishop are great friends," Adeline said. "The silly -girl would sooner stay in to help Mrs. Bishop with housework than go -out on the beach with me." - -"She must indeed be silly. I know which I should choose!" It seemed a -remark of unutterable clumsiness--after he had said it, but Adeline's -faint smile showed no dissatisfaction. He reflected that he would have -been better pleased had she totally ignored it. - -The carriage ran smoothly along the dusty roads, now passing under -trees, and now skirting poppy-clad fields whose vivid scarlet almost -encroached on the highway itself. Richard lay back, as he had seen men -do in the Park, his shoulder lightly touching Adeline's. She talked -incessantly, though slowly, in that low voice of hers, and her tones -mingled with the measured trot of the enfeebled horse, and lulled -Richard to a sensuous quiescence. He slightly turned his face towards -hers, and with dreamy deliberateness examined her features,--the dimple -in her cheek which he had never noticed before, the curves of her ear, -her teeth, her smooth black hair, the play of light in her eye; then -his gaze moved to her large felt hat, set bewitchingly aslant on the -small head, and then for a space he would look at the yellowish-green -back of the imperturbable driver, who drove on and on, little witting -that enchantment was behind him. - -They consumed the eggs and bread and butter and tea which Adeline had -promised; and they filled their pockets with fruit. That was Adeline's -idea. She gave herself up to enjoyment like a child. When the sun was -less strenuous they walked about the village, sitting down frequently -to admire its continual picturesqueness. Time sped with astonishing -rapidity; Richard's train went at twenty-five minutes past seven, and -already, as they stood by the margin of the tiny tributary of the Arun, -some grandfather's clock in a neighbouring cottage clattered five. He -was tempted to say nothing about the train, quietly allow himself to -miss it, and go up by the first ordinary on Monday morning. But soon -Adeline inquired about his return, and they set off to walk back to -Littlehampton; the carriage had been dismissed. He invented pretexts -for loitering, made her sit on walls to eat apples, tried to get lost -in by-paths, protested that he could not keep the pace she set; but -to no purpose. They arrived at the station at exactly a quarter past -seven. The platform was busy, and they strolled to the far end of it -and stood by the engine. - -"I wish to heaven the train didn't leave so early," he said. "I'm sure -the sea air would do me a lot of good, if I could get enough of it. -What a beautiful day it has been!" He sighed sentimentally. - -"I never, never enjoyed myself so perfectly," she said emphatically. -"Suppose we beseech the engine-driver to lie still for a couple of -hours?" Richard's smile was inattentive. - -"You are sure you haven't done too much," he said with sudden -solicitude, looking at her half anxiously. - -"I! not a bit. I am absolutely well again." Her eyes found his and held -them, and it seemed to him that mystic messages passed to and fro. - -"How long do you think of staying?" - -"Not long. It gets rather boring, being alone. I expect I shall return -on Saturday." - -"I was thinking I would run down again on Saturday for the -week-end,--take a week-end ticket," he said; "but of course, if--" - -"In that case I should stay a few days longer. I couldn't allow myself -to deprive you of the sea air which is doing you so much good. By next -Saturday I may have discovered more nice places to visit, perhaps even -prettier than Angmering.... But you must get in." - -He would have given a great deal just then to be able to say firmly: "I -have changed my mind about going. I will stay at a hotel to-night and -take the first train to-morrow." But it required more decision than he -possessed, and in a few moments he was waving good-bye to her from the -carriage window. - -There were several other people in the compartment,--a shy -shop-girl and her middle-aged lover, evidently employés of the same -establishment, and an artisan with his wife and a young child. Richard -observed them intently, and found a curious, new pleasure in all their -unstudied gestures and in everything they said. But chiefly he kept -a watch on the shop-girl's lover, who made it no secret that he was -dwelling in the seventh heaven. Richard sympathised with that man. His -glance fell on him softly, benignantly. As the train passed station -after station, he wondered what Adeline was doing, now, and now, and -now. - - * * * * * - -On the following Saturday he took tea with Adeline at her lodgings. -The train had been late, and by the time they were ready for the -evening walk without which no visitor to the seaside calls the day -complete, it was close upon nine o'clock. The beach was like a fair or -a north-country wake. Conjurers, fire-eaters, and minstrels each drew -an audience; but the principal attraction was a man and woman who wore -masks and were commonly supposed to be distinguished persons to whom -fate had been unkind. They had a piano in a donkey-cart, and the woman -sang to the man's accompaniment. Just as Richard and Adeline came up, -"The River of Years" was announced for performance. - -"Let us listen to this," said Adeline. - -They stood at the rim of the crowd. The woman had a rich contralto -voice and sang with feeling, and her listeners were generous of both -applause and coppers. - -"I wonder who she is," Adeline murmured, with a touch of -melancholy,--"I wonder who she is. I love that song." - -"Oh, probably some broken-down concert-singer," Richard said curtly, -"with a drunken husband." - -"But she sang beautifully. She made me feel--you know--funny.... A -lovely feeling, isn't it?" She looked up at him. - -"Yes," he said, smiling at her. - -"You're laughing." - -"Indeed I'm not. I know what you mean perfectly well. Perhaps I had it -just then, too--- a little. But the song is a bit cheap." - -"_I_ could listen to it every day, and never get tired of listening. -Don't you think that if a song gives _anyone_ that--feeling, there must -be some good in it?" - -"Of course it's far better than most; but--" - -"But not equal to those classical songs you told me about--the first -time I saw you, wasn't it? Yes, Schubert: was that the name? I mean -to get those, and you must show me the best ones, and play the -accompaniments, and then I shall judge for myself." - -"I shall make an awful mess of the accompaniments; they're not -precisely easy, you know." - -"Full of accidentals, are they? I sha'n't like them, then. I never do -like that sort of song." - -"But you will; you must." - -"Must I?" she almost whispered, in tones of gentle, feminine surrender. -And after a second or two: "Then I'll try, if it will keep you in a -good temper." - -They stood fronting the sea. She looked straight ahead into the -darkening distance, and then turned round to him with a mock plaintive -expression, and they both laughed. - -"Wouldn't it be better up by the river," he suggested, "where there are -fewer people?" - -A little to his surprise, she agreed that it was certainly rather noisy -and crowded on the beach on Saturday nights, and they turned their -backs to the shore. The moon had risen, and shone at intervals through -clouds. For a few score yards they walked in silence. Then Adeline -said,-- - -"It's very dull here during the week for a poor single woman like me. I -shall go home on Monday." - -"But think of London in this weather." - -"I do think of it. I think of the parks and the restaurants and the -theatres." - -"The good theatres are closed now." - -"Well, the music-halls. I've never been in one, and if they are very -naughty, then I want to go very much. Besides, there are lots of -theatres open. I've read all the theatrical advertisements in the -'Telegraph,' and there must be plenty of things to see. You mayn't -think them worth seeing, but I should enjoy any theatre." - -"I believe you would," he said. "I used to be like that." - -"Up to now I've had no real pleasure--what I call pleasure--and I'm -just going to have it. I'll settle down afterwards." - -"Didn't your uncle take you out much?" - -"I should say he didn't. He took me to a concert once. That was all--in -nearly two years. I suppose it never occurred to him that I was leading -a dull life." - -She made a movement with her hands, as if to put away from her all the -drab dailiness of her existence in Carteret Street. - -"You can soon recover lost time," Richard said cheerfully. - -His fancy was in the rosy future, vividly picturing the light-hearted -gaieties, Bohemian, unconventional, artistic, in which he and she -should unite. He saw himself and Adeline becoming dearer to each -other, and still dearer, her spirit unfolding like a flower, and -disclosing new beauties day by day. He saw her eyes glisten when they -met his; felt the soft pressure of her hand; heard her voice waver -with tenderness, expectant of his avowal. And then came his own bold -declaration: "I love you, Adeline," and her warm, willing lips were -upon his. God! To dream of such beatitudes! - -She had slightly quickened her step. The quays were silent and -deserted, save for these two. Presently masts rose vaguely against the -sky, and they approached a large ship. Richard leaned over the parapet -to decipher the name on her bows. "Juliane," he spelt out. - -"That is Norwegian or Danish." - -They lingered a few moments, watching the movements of dim figures -on deck, listening to the musical chatter of an unknown tongue, and -breathing that atmosphere of romance and adventure which foreign -vessels carry with them from strange lands; then they walked on. - -"Hush!" exclaimed Adeline, stopping, and touching Richard's arm. - -The sailors were singing some quaint modern strain. - -"What is it?" she asked when they had finished a verse. - -"It must be a Norwegian folk-song. It reminds me of Grieg." - -Another verse was sung. It began to rain,--warm, summer drops. - -"You will be wet," Richard said. - -"Never mind." - -A third verse followed, and then a new air was started. It rained -faster. - -"Come under the shelter of the wall here," Richard urged, timidly -taking her arm. "I think I see an archway." - -"Yes, yes," she murmured, with sweet acquiescence; and they stood -together a long time under the archway in silence, while the Norwegian -sailors, heedless of weather, sang song after song. - -The next morning the sky had cleared again, but there was a mist over -the calm sea. They walked idly on the level sands. At first they -were almost alone. The mist intensified distances; a group of little -children paddling in a foot of water appeared to be miles away. Slowly -the mist was scattered by the sun, and the beach became populous with -visitors in Sunday attire. In the afternoon they drove to Angmering, -Adeline having found no preferable haunt. - -"You have no train to catch to-night," she said; "what a relief! Shall -you start very early to-morrow?" - -"I'm not particular," he answered. "Why?" - -"I was thinking that Lottie and I would go up by the same train as you, -but perhaps you won't care to be bothered with women and their luggage." - -"If you really intend to return to-morrow, I'll wire to Curpet not to -expect me till after lunch, and we'll go at a reasonable hour." - -He left her at her lodging as the clock was striking eleven; but -instead of making direct for his hotel, he turned aside to the river -to have a last look at the "Juliane." Curiously, it began to rain, -and he sheltered under the archway where he had stood with Adeline on -the previous night. Aboard the "Juliane" there was stir and bustle. -He guessed that the ship was about to weigh anchor and drop down with -the tide. Just after midnight she slid cautiously away from the quay, -to the accompaniment of hoarse calls and the rattling of chains and -blocks. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -During the journey to town Adeline would talk of nothing but her -intention to taste all the amusements which London had to offer. She -asked numberless questions with the persistency of an inquisitive -child, while Lottie modestly hid herself behind a copy of "Tit Bits," -which had been bought for her. - -"Now I will read out the names of the plays advertised in the -'Telegraph,'" she said, "and you must tell me what each is like, and -whether the actors are good, and the actresses pretty, and things of -that kind." - -Richard entered with zest into the conversation. He was in a boisterous -mood, and found her very willing to be diverted. Once, when he used -a technical term, she stopped him: "Remember, I have never been to a -theatre." On Sunday she had made the same remark several times. It -seemed as if she liked to insist on the point. - -The morning was delicious, full of light and freshness, and the torpid -countryside through which the train swept at full speed suggested a -gentle yet piquant contrast to the urban, gaslight themes which they -were discussing. Though the sun shone with power, Adeline would not -have the blinds drawn, but sometimes she used the newspaper for a -shade, or bent her head so that the broad brim of her hat might come -between her eyes and the sunshine. After an hour the talk slackened -somewhat. As Richard, from his seat opposite, looked now at Adeline and -now at the landscape, a perfect content stole over him. He wished that -the distance to London could have been multiplied tenfold, and rejoiced -in every delay. Then he began to miss the purport of her questions, and -she had to repeat them. He was examining his heart. "Is this love?" his -thoughts ran. "Do I actually love her now,--_now_?" - -When the train stopped at New Cross, and Richard said that they would -be at London Bridge in a few minutes, she asked when he would go down -to Carteret Street. - -"Any time," he said. - -"To-morrow night?" - -He had hoped she would fix the same evening. "When is the theatre-going -to commence?" he queried. - -She laughed vaguely: "Soon." - -"Suppose I book seats for the Comedy?" - -"We will talk about it to-morrow night." - -It appeared that her desire for the relaxations of town life had -suddenly lost its instancy. - -Immediately he reached the office he wrote a note to Mr. Clayton -Vernon. Some three hundred pounds was coming to him under the will of -William Vernon, and he had purposed to let Mr. Clayton Vernon invest -this sum for him; but the letter asked that a cheque for £25 should be -sent by return of post. Later in the afternoon he went to a tailor in -Holborn, and ordered two suits of clothes. - -He grew restless and introspective, vainly endeavouring to analyse -his feeling towards Adeline. He wished that he had himself suggested -that he should call on her that night, instead of allowing her to -name Tuesday. When he got home, he looked at the letter which he had -received from her a fortnight before, and then, enclosing it in a -clean envelope, put it away carefully in his writing-case. He felt -that he must preserve all her letters. The evening dragged itself out -with desolating tedium. Once he went downstairs intending to go to the -theatre, but returned before he had unlatched the front door. - -Mrs. Rowbotham laid his supper that evening, and he began to tell her -about his holiday, mentioning, with fictitious _naïveté_, that he -had spent it in the company of a young lady. Soon he gave the whole -history of his acquaintance with the Akeds. She warmly praised his -kindness towards Adeline. - -"My Lily is keeping company with a young man," she said, after a pause; -"a respectable young chap he is, a bus-conductor. This is his night -off, and they're gone to the Promenade Concert. I didn't like her going -at first, but, bless you, you have to give in. Young folk are young -folk, all the world over.... But I must be getting downstairs again. I -have to do everything myself to-night. Ah! when a girl falls in love, -she forgets her mother. It's natural, I suppose. Well, Mr. Larch, it -will be your turn soon, I hope." With that she left the room quickly, -missing Richard's hurried disclaimer. - -"So you're engaged, Lily," he said to the girl next morning. - -Lily blushed and nodded; and as he looked at her eyes, he poignantly -longed for the evening. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -They sat by the window and talked till the day began to fade and the -lamplighter had passed up the street. Several matters of business -needed discussion,--the proving of Mr. Aked's will, the tenancy of -the house and the opening of a new banking-account. Richard, who was -acting informally as legal adviser, after the manner of solicitors' -clerks towards their friends, brought from his pocket some papers for -Adeline's signature. She took a pen immediately. - -"Where do I put my name?" - -"But you must read them first." - -"I shouldn't understand them a bit," she said; "and what is the use of -employing a lawyer, if one is put to the trouble of reading everything -one signs?" - -"Well--please yourself. To-morrow you will have to go before a -commissioner for oaths and swear that certain things are true; you'll -be compelled to read the affidavits." - -"That I won't! I shall just swear." - -"But you simply must." - -"Sha'n't. If I swear to fibs, it will be your fault." - -"Suppose I read them out to you?" - -"Yes, that would be nicer; but not now, after supper." - -For a few moments there was silence. She stood up and drew her finger -in fanciful curves across the window-pane. Richard watched her, with a -smile of luxurious content. It appeared to him that all her movements, -every inflection of her voice, her least word, had the authenticity -and the intrinsic grace of natural phenomena. If she turned her head -or tapped her foot, the gesture was right,--having the propriety which -springs from absolute self-unconsciousness. Her mere existence from one -moment to the next seemed in some mysterious way to suggest a possible -solution of the riddle of life. She illustrated nature. She was for -him intimately a part of nature, the great Nature which hides itself -from cities. To look at her afforded him a delight curiously similar to -that which the townsman derives from a rural landscape. Her face had -little conventional beauty; her conversation contained no hint either -of intellectual powers or of a capacity for deep feeling. But in her -case, according to his view, these things were unnecessary, would in -fact have been superfluous. She _was_ and that sufficed. - -Mingled with the pleasure which her nearness gave him, there were -subordinate but distinct sensations. Except his sister Mary, he had -never before been upon terms of close familiarity with any woman, and -he realised with elation that now for the first time the latencies -of manhood were aroused. His friendship--if indeed it were nothing -else--with this gracious, inscrutable creature seemed a thing to be -very proud of, to gloat upon in secret, to contemplate with a dark -smile as one walked along the street or sat in a bus.... And then, with -a shock of joyful, half-incredulous surprise, he made the discovery -that she--she--had found some attractiveness in himself. - -Their loneliness gave zest and piquancy to the situation. On neither -side were there relatives or friends who might obtrude, or whom it -would be proper to consult. They had only themselves to consider. -Not a soul in London, with the exception of Lottie, knew of their -intimacy,--the visit to Littlehampton, their plans for visiting the -theatres, her touching reliance upon him. Ah, that confiding feminine -trust! He read it frequently in her glance, and it gave him a sense of -protective possession. He had approached no closer than to shake her -hand, and yet, as he looked at the slight frame, the fragile fingers, -the tufts of hair which escaped over her ears,--these things seemed to -be his. Surely she had donned that beautiful dress for him; surely she -moved gracefully for him, talked softly for him! - -He left his chair, quietly lighted the candles at the piano, and began -to turn over some songs. - -"What are you doing?" she asked, from the window. - -"I want you to sing." - -"Must I?" - -"Certainly. Let me find something with an easy accompaniment." - -She came towards him, took up a song, opened it, and bade him look at -it. - -"Too difficult," he said abruptly. "Those arpeggios in the bass,--I -couldn't possibly play them." - -She laid it aside obediently. - -"Well, this?" - -"Yes. Let us try that." - -She moved nearer to him, to miss the reflection of the candles on the -paper, and put her hands behind her back. She cleared her throat. He -knew she was nervous, but he had no such feeling himself. - -"Ready?" he asked, glancing round and up into her face. She smiled -timidly, flushing, and then nodded. - -"No," she exclaimed the next second, as he boldly struck the first -chord. "I don't think I'll sing. I can't." - -"Oh, yes, you will--yes, you will." - -"Very well." She resigned herself. - -The first few notes were tremulous, but quickly she gained courage. The -song was a mediocre drawing-room ballad, and she did not sing with much -expression, but to Richard's ear her weak contralto floated out above -the accompaniment with a rich, passionate quality full of intimate -meanings. When his own part of the performance was not too exacting, he -watched from the corner of his eye the rise and fall of her breast, and -thought of Keats's sonnet; and then he suddenly quaked in fear that all -this happiness might crumble at the touch of some adverse fate. - -"I suppose you call that a poor song," she said when it was finished. - -"I liked it very much." - -"You did? I am so fond of it, and I'm glad you like it. Shall we try -another?" She offered the suggestion with a gentle diffidence which -made Richard desire to abase himself before her, to ask what in the -name of heaven she meant by looking to him as an authority, a person -whose will was to be consulted and whose humours were law. - -Again she put her hands behind her back, cleared her throat, and began -to sing.... He had glimpses of mystic, emotional deeps in her spirit -hitherto unsuspected. - - * * * * * - -Lottie came in with a lamp. - -"You would like supper?" Adeline said. "Lottie, let us have supper at -once." - -Richard remembered that when Mr. Aked was alive, Adeline had been -accustomed to go into the kitchen and attend to the meals herself; -but evidently this arrangement was now altered. She extinguished the -candles on the piano, and took the easy-chair with a question about -Schubert. Supper was to be served without the aid of the mistress of -the house. She had been training Lottie,--that was clear. He looked -round. The furniture was unchanged, but everything had an unwonted air -of comfort and neatness, and Adeline's beautiful dress scarcely seemed -out of keeping with the general aspect of the room. He gathered that -she had social aspirations. He had social aspirations himself. His -fancy delighted to busy itself with fine clothes, fine furniture, fine -food, and fine manners. That his own manners had remained inelegant -was due to the fact that the tireless effort and vigilance which any -amelioration of their original crudity would have necessitated, were -beyond his tenacity of purpose. - -The supper was trimly laid on a very white tablecloth, and chairs were -drawn up. Lottie stood in the background for a few moments; Adeline -called her for some trifling service, and then dismissed her. - -"Won't you have some whisky? I know men always like whisky at night." - -She touched a bell on the table. - -"The whisky, Lottie--you forgot it." - -Richard was almost awed by her demeanour. Where could she have learnt -it? He felt not unlike a bumpkin, and secretly determined to live up to -the standard of deportment which she had set. - -"You may smoke," she said, when Lottie had cleared the table after -supper; "I like it. Here are some cigarettes--'Three Castles'--will -they do?" Laughing, she produced a box from the sideboard, and handed -it to him. He went to the sofa, and she stood with one elbow resting on -the mantelpiece. - -"About going to the theatre--" she began. - -"May I take you? Let us go to the Comedy." - -"And you will book seats, the dress circle?" - -"Yes. What night?" - -"Let us say Friday.... And now you may read me those documents." - -When that business was transacted, Richard felt somehow that he must -depart, and began to take his leave. Adeline stood erect, facing him in -front of the mantelpiece. - -"Next time you come, you will bring those Schubert songs, will you not?" - -Then she rang the bell, shook hands, and sat down. He went out; Lottie -was waiting in the passage with his hat and stick. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Seven or eight weeks passed. - -During that time Richard spent many evenings with Adeline, at the -theatre, at concerts, and at Carteret Street. When they were going up -to town, he called for her in a hansom. She usually kept him waiting -a few minutes. He sat in the sitting-room, listening to the rattle -of harness and the occasional stamp of a hoof outside. At length he -heard her light step on the stairs, and she entered the room, smiling -proudly. She was wonderfully well dressed, with modish simplicity and -exact finish, and she gave him her fan to hold while she buttoned -her long gloves. Where she ordered her gowns he never had the least -notion. They followed one another in rapid succession, and each seemed -more beautiful than the last. All were sober in tint; the bodices were -V-shaped, and cut rather low. - -Lottie carefully placed a white wrap over her mistress's head, and then -they were off. In the hansom there was but little conversation, and -that of a trivial character. In vain he endeavoured to entice her into -discussions. He mentioned books which he had read; she showed only a -perfunctory interest. He explained why, in his opinion, a particular -play was good and another bad; generally she preferred the wrong -one, or at least maintained that she liked all plays, and therefore -would not draw comparisons. Sometimes she would argue briefly about -the conduct of certain characters in a piece, but he seldom found -himself genuinely in agreement with her, though as a rule he verbally -concurred. In music she was a little less unsympathetic towards his -ideals. They had tried over several of his favourite classical songs, -and he had seen in her face, as she listened, or hummed the air, a glow -answering to his own enthusiasm. She had said that she would learn one -of them, but the promise had not been kept, though he had reminded her -of it several times. - -These chagrins, however, were but infinitesimal ripples upon the -smooth surface of his happiness. All of them together were as nothing -compared to the sensations which he experienced in helping her out of -the cab, in the full glare of a theatre façade. Invariably he overpaid -the driver, handing him the silver with an inattentive gesture, while -Adeline waited on the steps,--dainty food for the eyes of loiterers and -passers-by. He offered his arm, and they passed down the vestibule and -into the auditorium. With what artless enjoyment she settled herself in -her seat, breathing the atmosphere of luxury and display as if it had -been ozone, smiling radiantly at Richard, and then eagerly examining -the occupants of the boxes through a small, silver-mounted glass! She -was never moved by the events on the stage, and whether it happened to -be tragedy or burlesque at which they were assisting, she turned to -Richard at the end of every act with the same happy, contented smile, -and usually began to make remarks upon the men and women around her. It -was the play-house and not the play of which she was really fond. - -After the fall of the curtain, they lingered till most of the audience -had gone. Sometimes they supped at a restaurant. "It is my turn," -she would say now and then, when the obsequious waiter presented the -bill, and would give Richard her purse. At first, for form's sake, he -insisted on his right to pay, but she would not listen. He wondered -where she had caught the pretty trick of handing over her purse instead -of putting down the coins, and he traced it to a play which they had -seen at the Vaudeville theatre. Yet she did it with such naturalness -that it did not seem to have been copied. The purse was small, and -always contained several pounds in gold, with a little silver. The -bill paid, he gave it back to her with a bow. - -Then came the long, rapid drive home, through interminable lamp-lined -streets, peopled now only by hansoms and private carriages, past -all the insolent and garish splendours of Piccadilly clubs, into -whose unveiled windows Adeline eagerly gazed; past the mysterious, -night-ridden Park; past the dim, solemn squares and crescents of -Kensington and Chelsea, and so into the meaner vicinage of Fulham. -It was during these midnight journeys, more than at any other time, -that Richard felt himself to be a veritable inhabitant of the City of -Pleasure. Adeline, flushed with the evening's enjoyment, talked of -many things, in her low, even voice, which was never raised. Richard -answered briefly; an occasional reply was all she seemed to expect. - -Immediately, on getting out of the cab, she said good-night, and -entered the house alone, while Richard directed the driver back to -Raphael Street. Returning thus, solitary, he endeavoured to define what -she was to him, and he to her. Often, when actually in her presence, he -ventured to ask himself, "Am I happy? Is this pleasure?" But as soon as -he had left her, his doubtfulness vanished, and he began to long for -their next meeting. Little phrases of hers, unimportant gestures, came -back vividly to his memory; he thought how instinct with charm they -were. And yet, was he really, truly in love? Was she in love? Had there -been a growth of feeling since that night at Carteret Street after the -holiday at Littlehampton? He uncomfortably suspected that their hearts -had come nearer to each other that night than at any time since. - -He tried to look forward to the moment when he should invite her to -be his wife. But was that moment approaching? At the back of his mind -lay an apprehension that it was not. She satisfied one part of his -nature. She was the very spirit of grace; she was full of aplomb and -a delicate tact; she had money. Moreover, her constant reliance upon -him, her clinging womanishness, the caressing, humouring tone which her -voice could assume, powerfully affected him. He divined darkly that -he was clay in her hands; that all the future, even the future of his -own heart, depended entirely upon her. If she chose, she might be his -goddess.... And yet she had sharp limitations.... - -Again, was she in love? - -When he woke up of a morning he wondered how long his present happiness -would continue, and whither it was leading him. A scrap of conversation -which he had had with Adeline recurred to him frequently. He had asked -her, once when she had complained of ennui, why she did not become -acquainted with some of her neighbours. - -"I don't care for my neighbours," she replied curtly. - -"But you can't live without acquaintances all your life." - -"No, not all my life," she said with significant emphasis. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -They had been to the National Gallery; it was Saturday afternoon. -Adeline said that she would go home; but Richard, not without a little -trouble, persuaded her to dine in town first; he mentioned a French -restaurant in Soho. - -As they walked up Charing Cross Road, he pointed out the Crabtree, and -referred to the fact that at one time he had frequented it regularly. -She stopped to look at its white-and-gold frontage. In enamel letters -on the windows were the words: "Table d'hôte, 6 to 9, 1/6." - -"Is it a good place?" she asked. - -"The best in London--of that kind." - -"Then let us dine there; I have often wanted to try a vegetarian -restaurant." - -Richard protested that she would not like it. - -"How do you know? If you have been so often, why shouldn't I go once?" -She smiled at him, and turned to cross the street; he hung back. - -"But I only went for economy." - -"Then we will only go for economy to-day." - -He dangled before her the attractions of the French restaurant -in Soho, but to no purpose. He was loth to visit the Crabtree. -Most probably Miss Roberts would be on duty within, and he felt an -inscrutable unwillingness to be seen by her with Adeline.... At last -they entered. Looking through the glass doors which lead to the -large, low-ceiled dining-room on the first floor, Richard saw that -it was nearly empty, and that the cash-desk, where Miss Roberts was -accustomed to sit, was for the moment unoccupied. He led the way in -rather hurriedly, and selected places in a far corner. Although it was -scarcely beginning to be dusk, the table electric lights were turned -on, and their red shades made glimmering islands of radiance about the -room. - -Richard kept a furtive watch on the cash-desk; presently he saw Miss -Roberts take her seat behind it, and shifted his glance to another -quarter. He was preoccupied, and answered at random Adeline's amused -queries as to the food. Between the soup and the entrée they were kept -waiting; and Adeline, Richard being taciturn, moved her chair in order -to look round the room. Her roving eyes stopped at the cash-desk, -left it, and returned to it. Then a scornful smile, albeit scarcely -perceptible, appeared on her face; but she said nothing. Richard saw -her glance curiously at the cash-desk several times, and he knew, too, -that Miss Roberts had discovered them. In vain he assured himself that -Miss Roberts was not concerned in his affairs; he could not dismiss a -sensation of uneasiness and discomfort. Once he fancied that the eyes -of the two girls met, and that both turned away suddenly. - -When the dinner was over, and they were drinking the coffee for which -the Crabtree is famous, Adeline said abruptly,-- - -"I know someone here." - -"Oh!" said Richard, with fictitious nonchalance. "Who?" - -"The girl at the pay-desk,--Roberts, her name is." - -"Where have you met her?" he inquired. - -Adeline laughed inimically. He was startled, almost shocked, by the -harsh mien which transformed her face. - -"You remember one night, just before uncle died," she began, bending -towards him, and talking very quietly. "Someone called while you and -I were in the sitting-room, to inquire how he was. That was Laura -Roberts. She used to know uncle--she lives in our street. He made love -to her--she didn't care for him, but he had money and she encouraged -him. I don't know how far it went--I believe I stopped it. Oh! men are -the strangest creatures. Fancy, she's not older than me, and uncle was -over fifty!" - -"Older than you, surely!" Richard put in. - -"Well, not much. She knew I couldn't bear her, and she called that -night simply to annoy me." - -"What makes you think that?" - -"Think! I know it.... But you must have heard of the affair. Didn't -they talk about it at your office?" - -"I believe it was mentioned once," he said hastily. - -She leaned back in her chair, with the same hard smile. Richard felt -sure that Miss Roberts had guessed they were talking about herself, -and that her eyes were fixed on them, but he dared not look up for -confirmation; Adeline gazed boldly around her. They were antagonistic, -these two women, and Richard, do what he would, could not repress -a certain sympathy with Miss Roberts. If she had encouraged Mr. -Aked's advances, what of that? It was no mortal sin, and he could not -appreciate the reason of Adeline's strenuous contempt for her. He saw a -little gulf widening between himself and Adeline. - -"What tremendously red hair that girl has!" she said, later on. - -"Yes, but doesn't it look fine!" - -"Ye-es," Adeline agreed condescendingly. - -When he paid the bill, on the way out, Miss Roberts greeted him with -an inclination of the head. He met her eye steadily, and tried not to -blush. As she checked the bill with a tapping pencil, he could not help -remarking her face. Amiability, candour, honesty, were clearly written -on its attractive plainness. He did not believe that she had been -guilty of running after Mr. Aked for the sake of his money. The tales -told by Jenkins were doubtless ingeniously exaggerated; and as for -Adeline, Adeline was mistaken. - -"Good evening," Miss Roberts said simply, as they went out. He raised -his hat. - -"You know her, then!" Adeline exclaimed in the street. - -"Well," he answered, "I've been going there, off and on, for a year -or two, and one gets acquainted with the girls." His tone was rather -petulant. With a quick, winning smile, she changed the subject, and he -suspected her of being artful. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -"I am going to America," she said. - -They sat in the sitting-room at Carteret street. Richard had not seen -her since the dinner at the vegetarian restaurant, and these were -almost the first words she addressed to him. Her voice was as tranquil -as usual; but he discerned, or thought he discerned, in her manner a -consciousness that she was guilty towards him, that at least she was -not treating him justly. - -The blow was like that of a bullet: he did not immediately feel it. - -"Really?" he questioned foolishly, and then, though he knew that she -would never return: "For how long are you going, and how soon?" - -"Very soon, because I always do things in a hurry. I don't know for -how long. It's indefinite. I have had a letter from my uncles in San -Francisco, and they say I _must_ join them; they can't do without me. -They are making a lot of money now, and neither of them is married.... -So I suppose I must obey like a good girl. You see I have no relatives -here, except Aunt Grace." - -"You many never come back to England?" - -(Did she colour, or was it Richard's fancy?) - -"Well, I expect I may visit Europe sometimes. It wouldn't do to give -England up entirely. There are so many nice things in England,--in -London especially...." - -Once, in late boyhood, he had sat for an examination which he felt -confident of passing. When the announcement arrived that he failed, he -could not believe it, though all the time he knew it to be true. His -thoughts ran monotonously: "There must be some mistake; there must be -some mistake!" and like a little child in the night, he resolutely shut -his eyes to keep out the darkness of the future. The same puerility -marked him now. Assuming that Adeline fulfilled her intention, his -existence in London promised to be tragically cheerless. But this -gave him no immediate concern, because he refused to contemplate the -possibility of their intimacy being severed. He had, indeed, ceased -to think; somewhere at the back of the brain his thoughts lay in wait -for him. For the next two hours (until he left the house) he lived -mechanically, as it were, and not by volition, subsisting merely on a -previously acquired momentum. - -He sat in front of her and listened. She began to talk of her uncles -Mark and Luke. She described them in detail, told stories of her -childhood, even recounted the common incidents of her daily life with -them. She dwelt on their kindness of heart, and their affection for -herself; and with it all she seemed a little to patronise them, as -though she had been accustomed to regard them as her slaves. - -"They are rather old-fashioned," she said, "unless they have altered. -Since I heard from them, I have been wondering what they would think -about my going to theatres and so on--with you." - -"What should they think?" Richard broke in. "There's nothing whatever -in that. London isn't a provincial town, or even an American city." - -"I shall tell them all about you," she went on, "and how kind you were -to me when I scarcely knew you at all. You couldn't have been kinder if -you'd been my only cousin." - -"Say 'brother,'" he laughed awkwardly. - -"No, really, I'm quite serious. I never thanked you properly. Perhaps I -seemed to take it all as a matter of course." - -He wished to heaven she would stop. - -"I'm disgusted that you are going," he grumbled, putting his hands -behind his head,--"disgusted." - -"In many ways I am sorry too. But don't you think I am doing the right -thing?" - -"How am I to tell?" he returned quickly. "All I know is that when you -go I shall be left all alone by my little self. You must think of me -sometimes in my lonely garret." His tone was light and whimsical, but -she would not follow his lead. - -"I shall often think of you," she said musingly, scanning intently the -toe of her shoe. - -It seemed to him that she desired to say something serious, to justify -herself to him, but could not gather courage to frame the words. - -When he got out of the house, his thoughts sprang forth. It was a -chilly night; he turned up the collar of his overcoat, plunged his -hands deep into the pockets, and began to walk hurriedly, heedlessly, -while examining his feelings with curious deliberation. In the first -place, he was inexpressibly annoyed. "Annoyed,"--that was the right -word. He could not say that he loved her deeply, or that there was a -prospect of his loving her deeply, but she had become a delightful -factor in his life, and he had grown used to counting upon her for -society. Might he not, in time, conceivably have asked her to marry -him? Might she not conceivably have consented? In certain directions -she had disappointed him; beyond doubt her spiritual narrowness had -checked the growth of a passion which he had sedulously cherished and -fostered in himself. Yet, in spite of that, her feminine grace, her -feminine trustfulness, still exercised a strong and delicate charm. She -was a woman and he was a man, and each was the only friend the other -had; and now she was going away. The mere fact that she found a future -with her uncles in America more attractive than the life she was then -leading, cruelly wounded his self-love. He, then, was nothing to her, -after all; he had made no impression; she could relinquish him without -regret! At that moment she seemed above and beyond him. He was the poor -earthling; she the winged creature that soared in freedom now here, now -there, giving her favours lightly, and as lightly withdrawing them. - -One thing came out clear: he was an unlucky fellow. - -He ran over in his mind the people who would remain to him in London -when she had gone. Jenkins, Miss Roberts--Bah! how sickeningly -commonplace were they! _She_ was distinguished. She had an air, a -_je ne sais quoi_, which he had never observed in a woman before. -He recalled her gowns, her gestures, her turns of speech,--all the -instinctive touches by which she proved her superiority. - -It occurred to him fancifully that there was a connection between her -apparently sudden resolve to leave England, and their visit to the -Crabtree and encounter with Miss Roberts. He tried to see in that -incident a premonition of misfortune. What morbid fatuity! - -Before he went to sleep that night he resolved that at their next -meeting he would lead the conversation to a frank discussion of their -relations and "have it out with her." But when he called at Carteret -Street two days later, he found it quite impossible to do any such -thing. She was light-hearted and gay, and evidently looked forward to -the change of life with pleasure. She named the day of departure, and -mentioned that she had arranged to take Lottie with her. She consulted -him about a compromise, already effected, with her landlord as to the -remainder of the tenancy, and said she had sold the furniture as it -stood, for a very small sum, to a dealer. It hurt him to think that she -had given him no opportunity of actively assisting her in the hundred -little matters of business involved in a change of hemisphere. What had -become of her feminine reliance upon him? - -He felt as if some object was rapidly approaching to collide with and -crush him, and he was powerless to hinder it. - -Three days, two days, one day more! - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -The special train for Southampton, drawn up against the main-line -platform at Waterloo, seemed to have resigned itself with an almost -animal passivity to the onslaught of the crowd of well-dressed men and -women who were boarding it. From the engine a thin column of steam -rose lazily to the angular roof, where a few sparrows fluttered with -sudden swoops and short flights. The engine-driver leaned against the -side of the cab, stroking his beard; the stoker was trimming coal -on the tender. Those two knew the spectacle by heart: the scattered -piles of steamer trunks amidst which passengers hurried hither and -thither with no apparent object; the continual purposeless opening and -shutting of carriage doors; the deferential gestures of the glittering -guard as he bent an ear to ladies whose footmen stood respectfully -behind them; the swift movements of the bookstall clerk selling -papers, and the meditative look of the bookstall manager as he swept -his hand along the shelf of new novels and selected a volume which he -could thoroughly recommend to the customer in the fur coat; the long -colloquies between husbands and wives, sons and mothers, daughters and -fathers, fathers and sons, lovers and lovers, punctuated sometimes -by the fluttering of a handkerchief, or the placing of a hand on a -shoulder; the unconcealed agitation of most and the carefully studied -calm of a few; the grimaces of porters when passengers had turned away; -the slow absorption by _their_ train of all the luggage and nearly all -the people; the creeping of the clock towards the hour; the kisses; -the tears; the lowering of the signal,--to them it was no more than a -common street-scene. - -Richard, having obtained leave from the office, arrived at a quarter -to twelve. He peered up and down. Could it be that she was really -going? Not even yet had he grown accustomed to the idea, and at times -he still said to himself, "It isn't really true; there must be some -mistake." The moment of separation, now that it was at hand, he accused -of having approached sneakingly to take him unawares. He was conscious -of no great emotion, such as his æsthetic sense of fitness might have -led him to expect,--nothing but a dull joylessness, the drab, negative -sensations of a convict foretasting a sentence of years. - -There she stood, by the bookstall, engaged in lively talk with the -clerk, while other customers waited. Lottie was beside her, holding a -bag. The previous night they had slept at Morley's Hotel. - -"Everything is all right, I hope?" he said, eyeing her narrowly, and -feeling extremely sentimental. - -"Yes, thank you.... Lottie, you must go and keep watch over our -seats.... Well," she went on briskly, when they were left alone, "I am -actually going. I feel somehow as if it can't be true." - -"Why, that is exactly how I have felt for days!" he answered, allowing -his voice to languish, and then fell into silence. He assiduously -coaxed himself into a mood of resigned melancholy. With sidelong -glances, as they walked quietly down the platform, he scanned her face, -decided it was divine, and dwelt lovingly on the thought: "I shall -never see it again." - -"A dull day for you to start!" he murmured, in tones of gentle concern. - -"Yes, and do you know, a gentleman in the hotel told me we should be -certain to have bad weather, and that made me so dreadfully afraid that -I nearly resolved to stay in England." She laughed. - -"Ah, if you would!" he had half a mind to exclaim, but just then he -became aware of his affectation and trampled on it. The conversation -proceeded naturally to the subject of seasickness and the little joys -and perils of the voyage. Strange topics for a man and a woman about to -be separated, probably for ever! And yet Richard, for his part, could -think of none more urgent. - -"I had better get in now, had I not?" she said. The clock stood at five -minutes to noon. Her face was sweetly serious as she raised it to his, -holding out her hand. - -"Take care of yourself," was his fatuous parting admonition. - -Her hand rested in his own, and he felt it tighten. Beneath the veil -the colour deepened a little in her rosy cheeks. - -"I didn't tell you," she said abruptly, "that my uncles had begged me -to go to them weeks and weeks ago. I didn't tell you--and I put them -off--because I thought I would wait and see if you and I--cared for -each other." - -It had come, the explanation! He blushed red, and stuck to her hand. -The atmosphere was suddenly electric. The station and the crowd were -blotted out. - -"You understand?" she questioned, smiling bravely. - -"Yes." - -He was dimly conscious of having shaken hands with Lottie, of the -banging of many doors, of Adeline's face framed in a receding window. -Then the rails were visible beside the platform, and he had glimpses of -people hurriedly getting out of the train at the platform opposite. In -the distance the signal clattered to the horizontal. He turned round, -and saw only porters, and a few forlorn friends of the voyagers; one -woman was crying. - - * * * * * - -Instead of going home from the office, he rambled about the -thoroughfares which converge at Piccadilly Circus, basking in the -night-glare of the City of Pleasure. He had four pounds in his pocket. -The streets were thronged with swiftly rolling vehicles. Restaurants -and theatres and music halls, in evening array, offered their gorgeous -enticements, and at last he entered the Café Royal, and, ordering -an elaborate dinner, ate it slowly, with thoughtful enjoyment. When -he had finished, he asked the waiter to bring a "Figaro." But there -appeared to be nothing of interest in that day's "Figaro," and he laid -it down.... The ship had sailed by this time. Had Adeline really made -that confession to him just before the train started, or was it a fancy -of his? There was something fine about her disconcerting frankness ... -fine, fine.... And the simplicity of it! He had let slip a treasure. -Because she lacked artistic sympathies, he had despised her, or at -best underestimated her. And once--to think of it!--he had nearly -loved her.... With what astonishing rapidity their intimacy had waxed, -drooped, and come to sudden death!... Love, what _was_ love? Perhaps he -loved her now, after all.... - -"Waiter!" He beckoned with a quaint movement of his forefinger which -brought a smile to the man's face--a smile which Richard answered -jovially. - -"Sir?" - -"A shilling cigar, please, and a coffee and cognac." - -At about nine o'clock he went out again into the chill air, and the -cigar burnt brightly between his lips. He had unceremoniously dismissed -the too importunate image of Adeline, and he was conscious of a certain -devil-may-care elation. - -Women were everywhere on the pavements. They lifted their silk skirts -out of the mud, revealing ankles and lace petticoats. They smiled -on him. They lured him in foreign tongues and in broken English. He -broadly winked at some of the more youthful ones, and they followed -him importunately, only to be shaken off with a laugh. As he walked, -he whistled or sang all the time. He was cut adrift, he explained to -himself, and through no fault of his own. His sole friend had left him -(much she cared!), and there was none to whom he owed the slightest -consideration. He was at liberty to do what he liked, without having -to consider first, "What would _she_ think of this?" Moreover, he must -discover solace, poor blighted creature! Looking down a side street, he -saw a man talking to a woman. He went past them, and heard what they -said. Then he was in Shaftesbury Avenue. Curious sensations fluttered -through his frame. With an insignificant oath, he nerved himself to a -resolve. - -Several times he was on the very point of carrying it out when his -courage failed. He traversed the Circus, got as far as St. James's -Hall, and returned upon his steps. In a minute he was on the north side -of Coventry Street. He looked into the faces of all the women, but in -each he found something to repel, to fear. - -Would it end in his going quietly home? He crossed over into the -seclusion of Whitcomb Street to argue the matter. As he was passing the -entry to a court, a woman came out, and both had to draw back to avoid -a collision. - -"_Chéri_!" she murmured. She was no longer young, but her broad, -Flemish face showed kindliness and good humour in every feature of it, -and her voice was soft. He did not answer, and she spoke to him again. -His spine assumed the consistency of butter; a shuddering thrill ran -through him. She put her arm gently into his, and pressed it. He had no -resistance.... - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -It was the morning of Boxing Day, frosty, with a sky of steel grey; the -streets were resonant under the traffic. - -Richard had long been anticipating the advent of the New Year, when -new resolutions were to come into force. A phrase from a sermon heard -at Bursley stuck in his memory: _Every day begins a new year_. But he -could not summon the swift, courageous decision necessary to act upon -that adage. For a whole year he had been slowly subsiding into a bog -of lethargy, and to extricate himself would, he felt, need an amount -of exertion which he could not put forth unless fortified by all the -associations of the season for such feats, and by the knowledge that -fellow-creatures were bracing themselves for a similar difficult wrench. - -Now that he looked back upon them, the fourteen months which had -elapsed since Adeline's departure seemed to have succeeded one another -with marvellous rapidity. At first he had chafed under the loss of her, -and then gradually and naturally he had grown used to her absence. She -wrote to him, a rather long letter, full of details about the voyage -and the train journey and her uncles' home; he had opened the envelope -half expecting that the letter might affect him deeply; but it did not; -it struck him as a distinctly mediocre communication. He sent a reply, -and the correspondence ended. He did not love her, probably never had -loved her. A little sentiment: that was all. The affair was quite over. -If it had been perhaps unsatisfactory, the fault was not his. A man, -he reflected, cannot by taking thought fall in love (and yet this was -exactly what he had attempted to do!), and that in any case Adeline -would not have suited him. Still, at moments when he recalled her face -and gestures, her exquisite feminality, and especially her fine candour -at their parting, he grew melancholy and luxuriously pitied himself. - -At the commencement of the year which was now drawing to a close he -had attacked the art of literature anew, and had compassed several -articles; but as one by one they suffered rejection, his energy had -dwindled, and in a short time he had again entirely ceased to write. -Nor did he pursue any ordered course of study. He began upon a number -of English classics, finishing few of them, and continued to consume -French novels with eagerness. Sometimes the French work, by its neat, -severe effectiveness, would stir in him a vague desire to do likewise, -but no serious sustained effort was made. - -In the spring, when loneliness is peculiarly wearisome, he had joined -a literary and scientific institution, for young men only, upon whose -premises it was forbidden either to drink intoxicants or to smoke -tobacco. He paid a year's subscription, and in less than a fortnight -loathed not only the institution but every separate member and official -of it. Then he thought of transplanting himself to the suburbs, but -the trouble of moving the library of books which by this time he -had accumulated deterred him, as well as a lazy aversion for the -discomforts which a change would certainly involve. - -And so he had sunk into a sort of coma. His chief task was to kill -time. Eight hours were due to the office and eight to sleep, and eight -others remained to be disposed of daily. In the morning he rose late, -retarding his breakfast hour, diligently read the newspaper, and -took the Park on the way to business. In the evening, as six o'clock -approached, he no longer hurried his work in order to be ready to -leave the office immediately the clock struck. On the contrary, he -often stayed after hours when there was no necessity to stay, either -leisurely examining his accounts, or gossiping with Jenkins or one of -the older clerks. He watched the firm's welfare with a jealous eye, -offered suggestions to Mr. Curpet which not seldom were accepted, and -grew to be regarded as exceptionally capable and trustworthy. He could -divine now and then in the tone or the look of the principals (who were -niggardly with praise) an implicit trust, mingled--at any rate, in -the case of the senior partner--with a certain respect. He grew more -sedate in manner, and to the office boys, over whom he had charge, -he was even forbidding; they disliked him, finding him a martinet -more strict and less suave than Mr. Curpet himself. He kept them -late at night sometimes without quite sufficient cause, and if they -showed dissatisfaction, told them sententiously that boys who were so -desperately anxious to do as little as they could would never get on in -the world. - -Upon leaving the office he would stroll slowly through Booksellers' Row -and up the Strand, with the gait of a man whose time is entirely his -own. Once or twice a week he dined at one of the foreign restaurants in -Soho, prolonging the meal to an unconscionable length, and repairing -afterwards to some lounge for a cigar and a liqueur. He paid particular -attention to his dress, enjoying the sensation of wearing good clothes, -and fell into a habit of comparing his personal appearance with that of -the men whom he rubbed shoulders with in fashionable cafés and bars. -His salary sufficed for these petty extravagances, since he was still -living inexpensively in one room at Raphael Street; but besides what -he earned, his resources included the sum received from the estate of -William Vernon. Seventy pounds of this had melted in festivities with -Adeline, two hundred pounds was lent upon mortgage under Mr. Curpet's -guidance, and the other fifty was kept in hand, being broken into as -infrequent occasion demanded. The mortgage investment did much to -heighten his status not only with the staff but with his principals. - -Seated in a wine-room or lager-beer hall, meditatively sipping from -glass or tankard, and savouring a fragrant cigar, he contrived to -extract a certain pleasure from the contemplation of his equality with -the men around him. Many of them, he guessed with satisfaction, were in -a worse or a less secure position than his own. He studied faces and -made a practice of entering into conversation with strangers, and these -chance encounters almost invariably left him with the impression that -he had met a mental inferior. Steeping himself, as it were, in all the -frivolous, lusory activities of the West End, he began to acquire that -indefinable, unmistakable air of _savoir-faire_ characteristic of the -prosperous clerk who spends his leisure in public places. People from -the country frequently mistook him for the young man-about-town of -the society papers, familiar with every form of metropolitan chicane, -luxury, and vice. - - * * * * * - -After breakfast he went out into the Park with his skates. The -Serpentine had been frozen hard for more than a week, and yesterday, a -solitary unit in tens of thousands, he had celebrated Christmas on the -ice, skating from noon till nearly midnight, with brief intervals for -meals. The exercise and the fresh air had invigorated and enlivened -him, and this morning, as he plunged once more into the loose throng -of skaters, his spirits were buoyant. It had been his intention to -pass yet another day on the Serpentine; but a sudden, surprising fancy -entered his head, flitted away, and returned again and again with such -an increasing allurement that he fell in love with it: Why not commence -to write now? Why, after all, leave the new beginning till the New -Year? Was it true--what he had mournfully taken for granted for a month -past, and so lately as an hour ago--that he lacked the moral strength -to carry a good resolution into effect at any time he chose?... In a -moment, he had sworn to work four hours before he slept that night. - -The decision reached, his humour became unequivocally gay. He shot -forward with longer, bolder strokes, enjoying with a keener zest the -swift motion and the strange black-and-white, sylvan-urban scene about -him. He forgot the year of idleness which lay immediately behind him, -forgot every previous failure, in the passionate exultation of his -new resolve. He whistled. He sang. He attempted impossible figures, -and only laughed when they ended in a fall. A woman, skating alone, -stumbled to her knees; he glided towards her, lifted her lightly, -raised his hat, and was gone before she could thank him: it was neatly -done; he felt proud of himself. As the clock struck twelve he took off -his skates, and walked in a quiet corner of the Park, deliberating -intently upon the plot of a story, which fortunately had been in his -mind for several months. - -When he came in to dinner, he gave Lily five shillings for a Christmas -box, almost without thinking, and though he had no previous intention -of doing so; and inquired when she was to be married. He ordered tea -for four o'clock, so that the evening might be long. In the afternoon -he read and dozed. At a quarter to five the tea-things were cleared -away, the lamp was burning brightly, the blinds drawn, and his -writing-materials arranged on the table. He lit a pipe and sat down by -the fire. At last, at last, the old, long-abandoned endeavours were -about to be resumed! - -The story which he was going to write was called "Tiddy-fol-lol." The -leading character was an old smith, to be named Downs, employed in -the forge of a large iron foundry at Bursley. Downs was a Primitive -Methodist of the narrowest type, and when his daughter fell in love -with and married a sceneshifter at the local theatre, she received -for dowry a father's curse. Once, in the foundry, Downs in speaking -of the matter had referred to his daughter as no better than a -"Tiddy-fol-lol," and for years afterwards a favourite sport of the -apprentice boys was to run after him, at a safe distance, calling -"Tiddy-fol-lol, Tiddy-fol-lol." The daughter, completely estranged -from her parent, died in giving birth to a son who grew up physically -strong and healthy, but half an idiot. At the age of twelve, quite -ignorant of his grandfather's identity, he was sent by his father to -work at the foundry. The other lads saw a chance for fun. Pointing -out Downs to him in the forge, they told him to go close to the man -and say "Tiddy-fol-lol." "What dost thee want?" Downs questioned -gruffly, when the boy stood before him with a vacant grin on his face. -"Tiddy-fol-lol," came the response, in the aggravating, uninflected -tones peculiar to an imbecile. Downs raised his tremendous arm in a -flash of anger, and felled the youngster with a blow on the side of -the head. Then he bade him rise. But the child, caught just under the -ear, had been struck dead. Downs was tried for manslaughter, pronounced -insane, and subsequently released as a harmless lunatic. The Salvation -Army took charge of him, and he lived by selling "War-Cries" in the -streets, still pursued by boys who shouted "Tiddy-fol-lol." - -Properly elaborated, Richard opined, such a plot would make a powerful -story. In his brain the thing was already complete. The one difficulty -lay in the selection of a strong opening scene; that done, he was sure -the incidents of the tale would fall naturally into place. He began to -cogitate, but his thoughts went wool-gathering most pertinaciously, -though time after time he compelled them to return to the subject in -hand by force of knitted brows. He finished his pipe and recharged it. -The fire burnt low, and he put on more coal. Still no suitable opening -scene presented itself. His spirits slowly fell. What ailed him? - -At length, an idea! He was not going to fail, after all. The story must -of course begin with a quarrel between old Downs and his daughter. -He drew up to the table, took a pen, and wrote the title; then a few -sentences, hurriedly, and then a page. Then he read what was written, -pronounced it unconvincing rubbish, and tore it up. Words were -untractable, and, besides, he could not _see_ the scene. He left the -table, and after studying a tale of de Maupassant's, started on a new -sheet, carefully imitating the manner of that writer. But he could by -no means satisfy himself. Mrs. Rowbotham appeared with the supper-tray, -and he laid his writing-materials on the bed. During supper he took up -de Maupassant once more, and at ten o'clock made yet a third attempt, -well knowing beforehand that it would not be successful. The plot -tumbled entirely to pieces; the conclusion especially was undramatic; -but how to alter it?... - -He was disgusted with himself. He wondered what would happen to him if -he lost his situation. Supposing that the firm of Curpet and Smythe -failed! Smythe was a careless fellow, capable of ruining business in a -month if for any reason Curpet's restraining influence was withdrawn. -These and similar morbid fancies assailed him, and he went to bed sick -with misery, heartily wishing that he had been less precipitate in his -attempt to be industrious. He had a superstition that if he had waited -for the New Year, the adventure might have resulted more happily. - -In the night he awoke, to lament upon his solitariness. Why had he -no congenial friends? How could he set about obtaining sympathetic -companionship? He needed, in particular, cultured feminine society. -Given that, he could work; without it he should accomplish nothing. He -reflected that in London there were probably thousands of "nice girls," -pining for such men as he. What a ridiculous civilisation it was that -prevented him from meeting them! When he saw a promising girl in a -bus, why in the name of heaven should he not be at liberty to say to -her, "Look here, I can convince you that I mean well; let us make each -other's acquaintance"?... But convention, convention! He felt himself -to be imprisoned by a relentless, unscaleable wall.... Then he dreamt -that he was in a drawing-room full of young men and women, and that all -were chattering vivaciously and cleverly. He himself stood with his -back to the fire, and talked to a group of girls. They looked into his -face, as Adeline used to look. They grasped his ideals and his aims -without laborious explanations; half a word was sufficient to enlighten -them; he saw the gleam of appreciative comprehension in their eyes long -before his sentences were finished.... - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -The next morning was bright with sunshine; the frost had broken, and -the streets were beginning to be muddy. Richard went out, his mind -empty, and dully dejected. At Sloane Street he mounted a bus, taking -the one vacant front seat on the top. For a little while he stared -absently at the handle of his stick. Presently a chance movement of -the head made him aware that someone's eyes were upon him. He looked -round. In the far corner of the seat opposite was Miss Roberts. She -hesitated, flushing, and then bowed, and he responded. No further -communications were possible just then (and for this, at the moment, -he felt thankful), because they were separated by two young gentlemen -wearing tweed caps, and collars which might have been clean once, who -were arguing briskly over a copy of the "Sportsman." - -For some strange reason of diffidence, Richard had not been to the -Crabtree since his visit there with Adeline. He was sardonically in -search of his motive for staying away when the young gentlemen with -the "Sportsman" left the bus. Miss Roberts grew rosy as he got up and -offered her his hand, at the same time seating himself by her side. -She wore a black jacket and skirt, well worn but in good preservation, -a hat with red flowers, and grey woollen gloves; and any person of -ordinary discernment would have guessed her occupation without a great -deal of difficulty. During the last year she had become stouter, and -her figure was now full rather than slender; her features, especially -the nostrils, mouth, and chin, were somewhat heavy, but she had -prettily shaped ears, and her eyes, of no definable tint, were soft and -tender; her reddish-brown hair was as conspicuous and as splendid as -ever, coiled with tight precision at the back of her head, and escaping -here and there above her ears in tiny flying wisps. The expression of -her face was mainly one of amiability, but passive, animal-like, inert; -she seemed full of good-nature. - -"We haven't seen you at the Crabtree, lately," she said. - -"You are still at the old place, then?" - -"Oh, yes; and shall be, I expect. They've taken another floor now, and -we're the biggest vegetarian restaurant in London." - -There was a note of timid agitation in her voice, and he noticed -besides that her cheeks were red and her eyes shone. Could it be that -this encounter had given her pleasure? The idea of such a possibility -afforded him secret delight.... She, a breathing woman, glad to see -him! He wondered what the other people on the bus were thinking of -them, and especially what the driver thought; the driver had happened -to catch sight of them when they were shaking hands, and as Richard -examined the contour of the man's rubicund face, he fancied he saw -there a glimmer of a smile. This was during a little pause in the -conversation. - -"And how have you spent Christmas?" It was Richard's question. - -"At home," she answered simply, "with father and mother. My married -sister and her husband came over for the day." - -"And I spent mine all alone," he said ruefully. "No friends, no -pudding, no nothing." - -She looked at him compassionately. - -"I suppose you live in rooms? It must be very lonely." - -"Oh!" he returned lightly, yet seizing with eager satisfaction the -sympathy she offered, "it's nothing when you're used to it. This makes -my third Christmas in London, and none of them has been particularly -uproarious. Fortunately there was the skating this year. I was on the -Serpentine nearly all day." - -Then she asked him if skating was easy to learn, because she had been -wanting to try for years, but had never had opportunity. He answered -that it was quite easy, if one were not afraid. - -"I'm going your way," he said, as they both got off at Piccadilly -Circus, and they walked along Coventry Street together. The talk -flagged; to rouse it Richard questioned her about the routine of the -restaurant,--a subject on which she spoke readily, and with a certain -sense of humour. When they reached the Crabtree,-- - -"Why, it's been painted!" Richard exclaimed. "It looks very swagger, -indeed, now." - -"Yes, my! doesn't it? And it's beautiful inside, too. You must come in -sometime." - -"I will," he said with emphasis. - -She shook his hand quite vigorously, and their eyes met with a -curious questioning gaze. He smiled to himself as he walked down -Chandos Street; his dejection had mysteriously vanished, and he even -experienced a certain uplifting of spirit. It occurred to him that he -had never at all understood Miss Roberts before. How different she was -outside the restaurant! Should he go to the Crabtree for lunch that -day, or should he allow a day or two to elapse? He decidedly prudently -to wait. - -He debated whether he should mention the meeting to Jenkins, and said -on the whole that he would not do so. But he found Jenkins surprisingly -urbane, and without conscious volition he was soon saying,-- - -"Guess who I came down with on the bus this morning." - -Jenkins gave it up. - -"Laura Roberts;" and then, seeing no look of comprehension on Jenkins' -face, "You know, the cashier at the Crabtree." - -"Oh--_her_!" - -The stress was a little irritating. - -"_I_ saw her about a fortnight ago," Jenkins said. - -"At the Crabtree?" - -"Yes. Did she say anything to you about me?" The youth smiled. - -"No. Why?" - -"Nothing. We had a talk, and I mashed her a bit,--that's all." - -"Ah, my boy, you won't get far with her." - -"Oh, sha'n't I? I could tell you a thing or two _re_ Laura Roberts, if -I liked." - -Although Jenkins' remark was characteristic, and Richard knew well -enough that there was nothing behind his words, yet his mind reverted -instantly to the stories connecting Miss Roberts with Mr. Aked. - -"Don't gas," he said curtly. "She looks on you as a boy." - -"Man enough for any woman," said Jenkins, twirling the rudiments of a -moustache. - -The discussion might have gone further, had it not been interrupted by -Mr. Smythe, who burst suddenly into the room, as his custom was. - -"Larch, come with me into Mr. Curpet's room." His tone was brusque. He -had none of Mr. Curpet's natural politeness, though on rare occasions, -of which the present was not one, he sought clumsily to imitate it. -Richard felt a vague alarm. - -With a muffler round his throat, Mr. Curpet was seated before the fire, -blowing his nose and breathing noisily. Mr. Smythe went to the window, -and played with the tassel of the blind cord. - -"We are thinking of making some changes, Larch," Mr. Curpet began. - -"Yes, sir." His heart sank. Was he to be dismissed? The next sentence -was reassuring. - -"In future all costs will be drawn and settled in the office, instead -of being sent out. Do you feel equal to taking charge of that -department?" - -Richard had many times helped in the preparation of bills of cost, and -possessed a fair knowledge of this complicated and engaging subject. He -answered very decidedly in the affirmative. - -"What we propose," Mr. Smythe broke in, "is that you should have an -assistant, and that the two of you should attend to both the books and -the costs." - -"Of course your salary will be increased," Mr. Curpet added. - -"Let me see, what do you get now?" This from Mr. Smythe, whose memory -was imperfect. - -"Three pounds ten, sir." - -"Suppose we say four pounds ten," said Mr. Smythe to Mr. Curpet, and -then turning to Larch: "That's very good indeed, you know, young man; -you wouldn't get that everywhere. By Jove, no, you wouldn't!" Richard -was fully aware of the fact. He could scarcely credit his own luck. -"And we shall expect you to keep things up to the mark." - -Mr. Curpet smiled kindly over his handkerchief, as if to intimate that -Mr. Smythe need not have insisted on that point. - -"And you may have to stay late sometimes," Mr. Smythe went on. - -"Yes, sir." - -When the interview was finished, he retraced his career at the office, -marvelling that he should have done anything unusual enough to inspire -his principals to such appreciation, and he soon made out that, -compared with others of the staff, he had indeed been a model clerk. -A delicious self-complacence enveloped him. Mr. Smythe had had the air -of conferring a favour; but Mr. Curpet was at the head of affairs at -No. 2 Serjeant's Court, and Mr. Curpet's attitude had been decidedly -flattering. At first he had a difficulty in grasping his good fortune, -thought it too good to be true; but he ended by believing in himself -very heartily. In the matter of salary, he stood now second only to Mr. -Alder, he a youth not three years out of the provinces. Three years -ago an income of £234 per annum would have seemed almost fabulous. His -notions as to what constituted opulence had changed since then, but -nevertheless £234 was an excellent revenue, full of possibilities. A -man could marry on that and live comfortably; many men ventured to -marry on half as much. In clerkdom he had indubitably risen with ease -to the upper ranks. There was good Northern stuff in Richard Larch, -after all! As he walked home, his brain was busy with plans, beautiful -plans for the New Year,--how he would save money, and how he would -spend his nights in toil. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -There happened to be a room to let on the same floor as Richard's -own. The rent was only five shillings per week, and he arranged to -take it and use it as a bedroom, transforming the other and larger -room into a study. Mrs. Rowbotham was asked to remove all her tables, -chairs, carpets, pictures, ornaments, and accessories from both -rooms, as he proposed to furnish them entirely anew at his own cost. -This did not indicate that a sudden increase of revenue had, as once -on a previous occasion, engendered in him a propensity to squander. -On the contrary, his determination to live economically was well -established, and he hoped to save a hundred pounds per annum with -ease. But the influence of an æsthetic environment upon his literary -work would, he argued, probably be valuable enough to justify the -moderate expenditure involved, and so all the leisure of the last -days of the year was given to the realisation of certain theories in -regard to the furnishing of a study and a bedroom. Unfortunately the -time at his disposal was very limited--- was it not essential that -the place should be set in order by the 31st of December, that work -might commence on the 1st of January?--but he did not spare himself, -and the result, when he contemplated it on New Year's Eve, filled him -with pleasure and pride. He felt that he could write worthily in that -study, with its four autotype reproductions of celebrated pictures -on the self-coloured walls, its square of Indian carpet over Indian -matting, its long, low bookshelves, its quaint table with the elm -top, its plain rush-bottomed chairs, and its broad luxurious divan. -He marvelled that he had contrived so long to exist in the room as it -was before, and complacently attributed his ill-success as a writer to -the lack of harmonious surroundings. By the last post arrived a New -Year's card from Mrs. Clayton Vernon. Twelve months ago she had sent a -similar kind token of remembrance, and he had ignored it; in the summer -she had written inviting him to spend a few days at Bursley, and he -had somewhat too briefly asked to be excused. To-night, however, he -went out, bought a New Year's card, and despatched it to her at once. -He flowed over with benevolence, viewing the world through the rosy -spectacles of high resolve. Mrs. Clayton Vernon was an excellent woman, -and he would prove to her and to Bursley that they had not estimated -too highly the possibilities of Richard Larch. He was, in truth, -prodigiously uplifted. The old sense of absolute power over himself -for good or evil returned. A consciousness of exceptional ability -possessed him. The future, splendid in dreams, was wholly his; and yet -again--perhaps more thoroughly than ever before--the ineffectual past -was effaced. To-morrow was the New Year, and to-morrow the new heaven -and the new earth were to begin. - -He had decided to write a novel. Having failed in short stories and in -essays, it seemed to him likely that the novel, a form which he had -not so far seriously attempted, might suit his idiosyncrasy better. He -had once sketched out the plot of a short novel, a tale of adventure -in modern London, and on examination this struck him as ingenious and -promising. Moreover, it would appeal--like Stevenson's "New Arabian -Nights," which in Richard's mind it distantly resembled--both to the -general and to the literary public. He determined to write five hundred -words of it a day, five days a week; at this rate of progress he -calculated that the book would be finished in four months; allowing two -months further for revision, it ought to be ready for a publisher at -the end of June. - -He drew his chair up to the blazing fire, and looked down the vista of -those long, lamplit evenings during which the novel was to grow under -his hands. How different he from the average clerk, who with similar -opportunities was content to fritter away those hours which would -lead himself, perhaps, to fame! He thought of Adeline, and smiled. -What, after all, did such as he want with women? He was in a position -to marry, and if he met a clever girl of sympathetic temperament, he -emphatically would marry (it did not occur to him to add the clause, -"Provided she will have me"); but otherwise he would wait. He could -afford to wait,--to wait till he had made a reputation, and half a -score of women, elegant and refined, were only too willing to envelop -him in an atmosphere of adoration. - - * * * * * - -It was part of his plan for economy to dine always at the Crabtree, -where one shilling was the price of an elaborate repast, and he went -there on New Year's Day. As he walked up Charing Cross Road, his -thoughts turned naturally to Miss Roberts. Would she be as cordial -as when he had met her on the omnibus, or would she wear the polite -mask of the cashier, treating him merely as a frequenter of the -establishment? She was engaged when he entered the dining-room, but she -noticed him and nodded. He looked towards her several times during his -meal, and once her eyes caught his and she smiled, not withdrawing -them for a few moments; then she bent over her account book. - -His fellow-diners seemed curiously to have degenerated, to have grown -still narrower in their sympathies, still more careless in their -eating, still more peculiar or shabbier in their dress. The young women -of masculine aspect set their elbows on the table more uncompromisingly -than ever, and the young men with soiled wristbands or no wristbands -at all were more than ever tedious in their murmured conversations. It -was, indeed, a bizarre company that surrounded him! Then he reflected -that these people had not altered. The change was in himself. He had -outgrown them; he surveyed them now as from a tower. He was a man with -a future, using this restaurant because it suited him temporarily to -do so, while they would use it till the end, never deviating, never -leaving the rut. - -"So you have come at last!" Miss Roberts said to him when he presented -his check. "I was beginning to think you had deserted us." - -"But it's barely a week since I saw you," he protested. "Let me wish -you a happy New Year." - -"The same to you." She flushed a little, and then: "What do you think -of our new decorations? Aren't they pretty?" - -He praised them perfunctorily, even without glancing round. His eyes -were on her face. He remembered the reiterated insinuations of Jenkins, -and wondered whether they had any ground of fact. - -"By the way, has Jenkins been here to-day?" he inquired, by way of -introducing the name. - -"Is that the young man who used to come with you sometimes? No." - -There was no trace of self-consciousness in her bearing, and Richard -resolved to handle Jenkins with severity. Another customer approached -the pay-desk. - -"Well, good afternoon." He lingered. - -"Good afternoon." Her gaze rested on him softly. "I suppose you'll be -here again _some_ time." She spoke low, so that the other customer -should not hear. - -"I'm coming every day now, I think," he answered in the same tone, with -a smothered laugh. "Ta-ta." - -That night at half-past seven he began his novel. The opening chapter -was introductory, and the words came without much effort. This being -only a draft, there was no need for polish; so that when a sentence -refused to run smoothly at the first trial, he was content to make it -grammatical and leave it. He seemed to have been working for hours when -a desire took him to count up what was already written. Six hundred -words! He sighed the sigh of satisfaction, and looked at his watch, -to find that it was exactly half-past eight. The discovery somewhat -damped his felicity. He began to doubt whether stuff composed at the -rate of ten words a minute could have any real value. Pooh! Sometimes -one wrote quickly, and sometimes slowly. The number of minutes occupied -was no index of quality. Should he continue writing? Yes, he would.... -No.... Why should he? He had performed the task self-allotted for the -day, and more; and now he was entitled to rest. True, the actual time -of labour had been very short; but then, another day the same amount of -work might consume three or four hours. He put away his writing-things, -and searched about for something to read, finally lighting on "Paradise -Lost." But "Paradise Lost" wanted actuality. He laid it aside. Was -there any valid reason why he should not conclude the evening at the -theatre? None. The frost had returned with power, and the reverberation -of the streets sounded invitingly through his curtained windows. He -went out, and walked briskly up Park Side. At Hyde Park Corner he -jumped on an omnibus. - -It was the first night of a new ballet at the Ottoman. "Standing-room -only," said the man at the ticket-office. "All right," said Richard, -and, entering, was greeted with soft music, which came to him like a -fitful zephyr over a sea of heads. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -One Saturday afternoon towards the end of February, he suddenly decided -to read through so much of the draft novel as was written; hitherto -he had avoided any sort of revision. The resolve to accomplish five -hundred words a day had been kept indifferently well, and the total -stood at about fourteen thousand. As he wrote a very bold hand, the -sheets covered made quite a respectable pile. The mere bulk of them -cajoled him, in spite of certain misgivings, into an optimistic -surmise as to their literary quality. Never before had he written so -much upon one theme, and were the writing good or bad, he was, for a -few moments, proud of his achievement. The mischief lay in the fact -that week by week he had exercised less and still less care over -the work. The phrase, "Anything will do for a draft," had come to -be uttered with increasing frequency as an excuse for laxities of -style and construction. "I will make that right in the revision," -he had reassured himself, and had gone negligently forward, leaving -innumerable crudities in the wake of his hurrying pen. During the last -few days he had written scarcely anything, and perhaps it was a hope -of stimulating a drooping inspiration by the complacent survey of work -actually done that tempted him to this hazardous perusal. - -He whistled as he took up the manuscript, as a boy whistles when going -into a dark cellar. The first three pages were read punctiliously, -every word of them, but soon he grew hasty, rushing to the next -paragraph ere the previous one was grasped; then he began shamelessly -to skip; and then he stopped, and his heart seemed to stop also. -The lack of homogeneity, of sequence, of dramatic quality, of human -interest; the loose syntax; and the unrelieved mediocrity of it all, -horrified him. The thing was dry bones, a fiasco. The certainty that -he had once more failed swept over him like a cold, green wave of the -sea, and he had a physical feeling of sickness in the stomach.... It -was with much ado that he refrained from putting the whole manuscript -upon the fire, and crushing it venomously into the flames with a -poker. Then he steadied himself. His self-confidence was going, almost -gone; he must contrive to recover it, and he sought for a way. (Where -were now the rash exultations of the New Year?) It was impossible -that his work should be irredeemably bad. He remembered having read -somewhere that the difference between a fine and a worthless novel was -often a difference of elaboration simply. A conscientious re-writing, -therefore, might probably bring about a surprising amelioration. He -must immediately make the experiment. But he had long since solemnly -vowed not to commence the second writing till the draft was done; -the moral value of finishing even the draft had then seemed to him -priceless. No matter! Under stress of grievous necessity, that oath -must be forsworn. No other course could save him from collapse. - - * * * * * - -He went out into the streets. The weather, fine and bright, suggested -the earliest infancy of spring, and Piccadilly was full of all classes -and all ages of women. There were regiments of men, too, but the gay -and endless stream of women obsessed him. He saw them sitting in -hansoms and private carriages and on the tops of omnibuses, niched in -high windows, shining in obscurity of shops, treading the pavements -with fairy step, either unattended or by the side of foolish, -unappreciative males. Every man in London seemed to have the right to -a share of some woman's companionship, except himself. As for those -men who walked alone, they had sweethearts somewhere, or mothers and -sisters, or they were married and even now on the way to wife and -hearth. Only he was set apart. - -A light descended upon him that afternoon. The average man and the -average woman being constantly thrown into each other's society, custom -has staled for them the exquisite privilege of such intercourse. The -rustic cannot share the townsman's enthusiasm for rural scenery; he -sees no matter for ecstasy in the view from his cottage door; and in -the same way the average man and the average woman dine together, talk -together, walk together, and know not how richly they are therein -blessed. But with solitaries like Richard it is different. Debarred -from fellowship with the opposite sex by circumstances and an innate -diffidence which makes the control of circumstance impossible, their -starved sensibilities acquire certain morbid tenderness. (Doubtless the -rustic discerns morbidity in the attitude of the townsman towards the -view from his cottage door.) Richard grasped this. In a luminous moment -of self-revelation, he was able to trace the growth of the malady. -From its first vague and fugitive symptoms, it had so grown that now, -on seeing an attractive woman, he could not be content to say, "What -an attractive woman!" and have done with it, but he needs must build a -house, furnish a room in the house, light a fire in the room, place -a low chair by the fire, put the woman in the chair, with a welcoming -smile on her upturned lips--and imagine that she was his wife. And it -was not only attractive women that laid the spell upon him. The sight -of any living creature in petticoats was liable to set his hysterical -fancy in motion. Every woman he met was Woman.... Of the millions of -women in London, why was he not permitted to know a few? Why was he -entirely cut off? There they were: their silk skirts brushed him as -they passed; they thanked him for little services in public vehicles; -they ministered to him in restaurants; they sang to him at concerts, -danced for him at theatres; touched his existence at every side--and -yet they were remoter than the stars, unattainable as the moon.... He -rebelled. He sank in despair, and rose to frenzies of anger. Then he -was a pathetic figure, and extended to himself his own pity, smiling -sardonically at fate. Fate was the harder to bear because he was -convinced that, at the heart of him, he was essentially a woman's man. -None could enjoy the feminine atmosphere more keenly, more artistically -than he. Other men, who had those delicious rights for which he longed -in vain, assessed them meanly, or even scorned them.... He looked back -with profound regret to his friendship with Adeline. He dreamt that -she had returned, that he had fallen in love with her and married her, -that her ambitions were leading him forward to success. Ah! Under the -incentive of a woman's eyes, of what tremendous efforts is a clever man -not capable, and deprived of it to what deeps of stagnations will he -not descend! Then he awoke again to the fact that he knew no woman in -London. - -Yes, he knew one, and his thoughts began to play round her caressingly, -idealising and ennobling her. She only gave him his change daily at -the Crabtree, but he knew her; there existed between them a kind of -intimacy. She was a plain girl, possessing few attractions, except the -supreme one of being a woman. She was below him in station; but had -she not her refinements? Though she could not enter into his mental -or emotional life, did she not exhale for him a certain gracious -influence? His heart went forth to her. Her flirtations with Mr. Aked, -her alleged dalliance with Jenkins? Trifles, nothings! She had told him -that she lived with her mother and father and a younger brother, and on -more than one occasion she had mentioned the Wesleyan chapel; he had -gathered that the whole family was religious. In theory he detested -religious women, and yet--religion in a woman ... what was it? He -answered the question with a man's easy laugh. And if her temperament -was somewhat lymphatic, he divined that, once roused, she was capable -of the most passionate feeling. He had always had a predilection for -the sleeping-volcano species of woman. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -Richard was soon forced to the conclusion that the second writing -of his novel was destined to be a failure. For a few days he stuck -doggedly to the task, writing stuff which, as he wrote it, he knew -would ultimately be condemned. Then one evening he stopped suddenly, in -the middle of a word, bit the penholder for a moment, and threw it down -with a "Damn!" This sort of thing could not continue. - -"Better come up and see my new arrangements at Raphael Street -to-night," he said to Jenkins the next day. He wanted a diversion. - -"Any whisky going?" - -"Certainly." - -"Delighted, I'm sure," said Jenkins, with one of his ridiculous polite -bows. He regarded these rare invitations as an honour; it was more than -six months since the last. - -They drank whisky and smoked cigars which Jenkins had thoughtfully -brought with him, and chattered for a long time about office matters. -And then, as the cigar-ash accumulated, the topics became more -personal and intimate. That night Jenkins was certainly in a serious -vein; further, he was on his best behaviour, striving to be sympathetic -and gentlemanly. He confided to Richard his aspirations. He wished -to learn French and proposed to join a Polytechnic Institute for the -purpose. Also, he had thoughts of leaving home, and living in rooms, -like Richard. He was now earning twenty-eight shillings a week; he -intended to save money and to give up all intoxicants beyond half a -pint of bitter a day. Richard responded willingly to his mood, and -offered sound advice, which was listened to with deference. Then the -talk, as often aforetime, drifted to the subject of women. It appeared -that Jenkins had a desire to "settle down" (he was twenty-one). He knew -several fellows in the Walworth Road who had married on less than he -was earning. - -"What about Miss Roberts?" Richard questioned. - -"Oh! She's off. She's a bit too old for me, you know. She must be -twenty-six." - -"Look here, my boy," said Richard, good-humouredly. "I don't believe -you ever had anything to do with her at all. It was nothing but -boasting." - -"What will you bet I can't prove it to you?" Jenkins retorted, putting -out his chin, an ominous gesture with him. - -"I'll bet you half-a-crown--no, a shilling." - -"Done." - -Jenkins took a leather-case from his pocket, and handed Richard a -midget photograph of Miss Roberts. Underneath it was her signature, -"Yours sincerely, Laura Roberts." - -Strange to say, the incident did not trouble Richard in the least. - -He walked down to Victoria with Jenkins towards midnight, and on -returning to his lodging, thought for the hundredth time how futile was -his present mode of existence, how bare of all that makes life worth -living. Of what avail to occupy pretty rooms, if one occupied them -alone, coming into them at night to find them empty, leaving them in -the morning without a word of farewell? In the waste of London, Laura -Roberts made the one green spot. He had lost interest in his novel. On -the other hand, his interest in the daily visit to the Crabtree was -increasing. - -As day succeeded day he fell into a practice of deliberately seeking -out and magnifying the finer qualities in her nature, while ignoring -those which were likely to offend him; indeed he refused to allow -himself to be offended. He went so far as to retard his lunch-hour -permanently, so that, the rush of customers being past, he should -have better opportunity to talk to her without interruption. Then -he timidly essayed the first accents of courtship, and finding his -advances accepted, grew bolder. One Sunday morning he met her as she -was coming out of the Wesleyan chapel at Munster Park; he said the -encounter was due to accident. She introduced him to her relations, who -were with her. Her father was a big, stout, dark man, dressed in black -faced-cloth, with a heavy beard, huge chubby fingers, and jagged grey -finger-nails. Her mother was a spare woman of sorrowful aspect, whose -thin lips seldom moved; she held her hands in front of her, one on the -top of the other. Her brother was a lank schoolboy, wearing a damaged -mortar-board hat. - -Shortly afterwards he called on her at Carteret Street. The schoolboy -opened the door, and after inviting him as far as the lobby, vanished -into a back room only to reappear and run upstairs. Richard heard his -loud, agitated whisper: "Laura, Laura, here's Mr. Larch come to see -you." - -They strolled to Wimbledon Common that night. - -His entity seemed to have become dual. One part of him was willingly -enslaved to an imperious, headstrong passion; the other stood calmly, -cynically apart, and watched. There were hours when he could foresee -the whole of his future life, and measure the bitter, ineffectual -regret which he was laying up; hours when he admitted that his passion -had been, as it were, artificially incited, and that there could be -no hope of an enduring love. He liked Laura; she was a woman, a balm, -a consolation. To all else he obstinately shut his eyes, and, casting -away every consideration of prudence, hastened to involve himself more -and more deeply. Swiftly, swiftly, the climax approached. He hailed it -with a strange, affrighted joy. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -They were upon Chelsea Embankment in the late dusk of a Saturday -evening in May. A warm and gentle wind stirred the budding trees to -magic utterances. The long, straight line of serried lamps stretched -away to an enchanted bridge which with twinkling lights hung poised -over the misty river. The plash of an oar came languorously up from -the water, and the voices of boys calling. At intervals, couples like -themselves passed by, either silent or conversing in low tones that -seemed to carry inner, inarticulate meanings. As for them, they were -silent; he had not her arm, but they walked close together. He was -deeply and indescribably moved; his heart beat heavily, and when he -looked at her face in the gloom and saw that her eyes were liquid, it -beat yet more heavily; then lay still. - -"Let us sit down--shall we?" he said at length, and they turned to an -empty bench under a tree. "What is she thinking?" he wondered, and then -the dominant feeling of the moment possessed him wholly. His ambitions -floated out of sight and were forgotten. He remembered nothing except -the girl by his side, whose maddening bosom rose and fell under his -very gaze. At that moment she belonged to no class; had no virtues, no -faults. All the inessentials of her being were stripped away, and she -was merely a woman, divine, desired, necessary, waiting to be captured. -She sat passive, expectant, the incarnation of the Feminine. - -He took her hand and felt it tremble. At the contact a thrill ran about -him, and for a second a delicious faintness robbed him of all strength. -Then with inexplicable rapidity his mind went unerringly back to that -train-journey to William's funeral. He saw the cottage in the fields, -and the young mother, half robed and with sleep in her eyes, standing -at the door. Exquisite vision! - -He heard himself speaking,-- - -"Laura...." - -The little hand gave a timorous encouragement. - -"Laura ... you are going to marry me." - -The intoxicating pressure of her lips on his was answer. Heedless of -publicity, he crushed her against his breast, this palpitating creature -with the serious face. Ah, she could love! - -It was done. The great irretrievable moment had gone to join a million -other moments of no significance. He felt triumphant, fiercely -triumphant. His frightful solitude was at an end. One woman was his. A -woman ... his, his own! - -See! A tear quivered in her eye. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -Sunday was stiflingly hot. At Sloane Street the roof of every Putney -omnibus was already laden with passengers, and Richard on his way to -Carteret Street to make the acquaintance of Laura's married sister, -Milly Powell, her husband and young child, was forced at last to be -content with a seat inside. The public houses were just closing for -the afternoon, and the footpaths full of holiday-makers, with here and -there a girl or a middle-aged man carrying a Bible. No vehicles were -abroad except the omnibuses and an occasional hired carriage which -passed by with a nonchalant, lazy air. - -At the Redcliffe Arms there got in a little family party consisting of -a stout, seemingly prosperous man, gruffly good-humoured, his wife, and -a boy of about three years, whose puffy face was disfigured by large -spectacles. - -"Sit here, Milly, out of the sun," the man said curtly. - -Richard looked up at the sound of the name. The woman's likeness to -Laura was unmistakable; beyond doubt she must be the sister of his -betrothed. He examined her curiously. She was perhaps slightly under -thirty, of a good height and well set, with a large head and a large, -plain face. Her movements were clumsy. She appeared to be just upon -the line which divides the matron from the young mother. In both her -features and her attire there were faint reminders of girlish grace, or -at least of the charm of the shy wife who nurses her first-born. Her -complexion was clear and fresh, her ears small and delicately pink, her -eyes cool grey. But one did not notice these beauties without careful -inspection, while the heavy jaws, the lax eyelids, the flattened -nose whose tilt unpleasantly revealed the nostrils, were obvious and -repellent. She wore a black gown, which fitted badly, imparting an -ungainliness probably foreign to her proper figure. Her broad hat of -black straw, trimmed with poppies and corn-flowers, was strikingly -modish, and the veil, running at an angle from the extremity of the -brim down to her chin, gave to her face a cloistered quality which -had its own seductiveness. Her small hands were neatly gloved, and -held a cheap, effective parasol. The woman's normal expression was one -of cow-like vacancy, but now and then her eyes would light up as she -spoke to the child, gently restraining it, reassuring it, rallying it -with simple banter. She was still in love with her husband; frequently -she glanced at him with furtive wistfulness. She was able to enjoy -the summer weather. She was not quite dead to the common phenomena of -the roadside. But the last resistances of departing youthfulness and -vivacity against the narcotic of a dull, unlovely domesticity were -taking place. In a year or two she would be the typical matron of the -lower middle-class. - -When Richard had made these observations, he reflected: "Laura will be -like that--soon." Mentally he compared the two faces, and he could, as -it were, see Laura's changing.... - -Then followed a reverie which embraced the whole of his past life. He -recognised that, while he bore all the aspect of prosperity, he had -failed. Why had nature deprived him of strength of purpose? Why could -not he, like other men, bend circumstances to his own ends? He sought -for a reason, and he found it in his father, that mysterious, dead -transmitter of traits, of whom he knew so little, and on whose name lay -a blot of some kind which was hidden from him. He had been born in the -shadow, and after a fitful struggle towards emergence, into the shadow -he must again retire. Fate was his enemy. Mary had died; Mary would -have helped him to be strong. Mr. Aked had died; Mr. Aked's inspiring -influence would have incited and guided his efforts. Adeline had -abandoned him to a fatal loneliness. - -He knew that he would make no further attempt to write. Laura was not -even aware that he had had ambitions in that direction. He had never -told her, because she would not have understood. She worshipped him, he -felt sure, and at times he had a great tenderness for her; but it would -be impossible to write in the suburban doll's-house which was to be -theirs. No! In future he would be simply the suburban husband--dutiful -towards his employers, upon whose grace he would be doubly dependent; -keeping his house in repair; pottering in the garden; taking his wife -out for a walk, or occasionally to the theatre; and saving as much -as he could. He would be good to his wife--she was his. He wanted to -get married at once. He wanted to be master of his own dwelling. He -wanted to have Laura's kiss when he went out of a morning to earn the -bread-and-cheese. He wanted to see her figure at the door when he -returned at night. He wanted to share with her the placid, domestic -evening. He wanted to tease her, and to get his ears boxed and be -called a great silly. He wanted to creep into the kitchen and surprise -her with a pinch of the cheek as she bent over the range. He wanted to -whisk her up in his arms, carry her from one room to another, and set -her down breathless in a chair.... Ah! Let it be soon. And as for the -more distant future, he would not look at that. He would keep his eyes -on the immediate foreground, and be happy while he could. After all, -perhaps things had been ordered for the best; perhaps he had no genuine -talent for writing. And yet at that moment he was conscious that he -possessed the incommunicable imaginative insights of the author.... But -it was done with now. - -The conductor called out their destination, and as Laura's sister -gathered the child in her arms he sprang out and hurried down Carteret -Street in order to reach the house first and so avoid a meeting on -the doorstep. He heard the trot of the child behind him. Children.... -Perhaps a child of his might give sign of literary ability. If so--and -surely these instincts descended, were not lost--how he would foster -and encourage it! - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man from the North, by Arnold Bennett - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52247 *** diff --git a/old/52247-h/52247-h.htm b/old/52247-h/52247-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 7d8032d..0000000 --- a/old/52247-h/52247-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8262 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Man from The North, by Arnold Bennett. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} - - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - visibility: hidden; - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -a:link {color: #000099; text-decoration: none; } - -v:link {color: #000099; text-decoration: none; } - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.figleft { - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-left: 0; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.figright { - float: right; - clear: right; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-bottom: - 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52247 ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>A MAN FROM -THE NORTH</h1> - -<h4>BY</h4> - -<h3>ARNOLD BENNETT</h3> - -<h4>AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALE," -"BURIED ALIVE"</h4> - -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> - -<h5>GEORGE H. DORAN</h5> - -<h4>1911</h4> - -<hr class="full" /> - - -<h5>TO THE ONE -WHOM I MOST HONOUR</h5> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><a href="#TABLE_OF_CONTENTS">Contents</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>A Man from the North</h2> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h4>CHAPTER I</h4> - - -<p>There grows in the North Country a certain -kind of youth of whom it may be said -that he is born to be a Londoner. The -metropolis, and everything that appertains to it, -that comes down from it, that goes up into it, has -for him an imperious fascination. Long before -schooldays are over he learns to take a doleful -pleasure in watching the exit of the London train -from the railway station. He stands by the hot engine -and envies the very stoker. Gazing curiously -into the carriages, he wonders that men and women -who in a few hours will be treading streets called -Piccadilly and the Strand can contemplate the immediate -future with so much apparent calmness; -some of them even have the audacity to look bored. -He finds it difficult to keep from throwing himself -in the guard's van as it glides past him; and not until -the last coach is a speck upon the distance does he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> -turn away and, nodding absently to the ticket-clerk, -who knows him well, go home to nurse a vague ambition -and dream of Town.</p> - -<p>London is the place where newspapers are issued, -books written, and plays performed. And this -youth, who now sits in an office, reads all the newspapers. -He knows exactly when a new work by a -famous author should appear, and awaits the reviews -with impatience. He can tell you off-hand the -names of the pieces in the bills of the twenty principal -West-end theatres, what their quality is, and -how long they may be expected to run; and on the -production of a new play, the articles of the dramatic -critics provide him with sensations almost as -vivid as those of the most zealous first-nighter at the -performance itself.</p> - -<p>Sooner or later, perhaps by painful roads, he -reaches the goal of his desire. London accepts him—on -probation; and as his strength is, so she demeans -herself. Let him be bold and resolute, and -she will make an obeisance, but her heel is all too -ready to crush the coward and hesitant; and her -victims, once underfoot, do not often rise again.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER II</h4> - - -<p>The antique four-wheeler, top-heavy with -luggage, swung unsteadily round by Tattersall's -and into Raphael Street. Richard -thrust down the window with a sharp bang, indicative -of a strange new sense of power; but before the -cab came to a standstill he had collected himself, -and managed to alight with considerable decorum. -When the door opened in answer to his second ring, -a faint, sour odour escaped from the house, and he -remembered the friendly feminine warnings which -he had received at Bursley on the subject of London -lodgings. The aspect of the landlady, however, -reassured him; she was a diminutive old woman in -ridiculously short skirts, with a yellow, crinkled face, -grey eyes, and a warm, benevolent smile that conquered. -As she greeted Richard she blushed like -a girl, and made a little old-fashioned curtsey. -Richard offered his hand, and, after wiping hers on -a clean apron, she took it timidly.</p> - -<p>"I hope we shall get on well together, sir," she -said, looking straight up into her new lodger's eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'm sure we shall," answered Richard, sincerely.</p> - -<p>She preceded him up the narrow, frowsy staircase, -which was full of surprising turns.</p> - -<p>"You'll find these stairs a bit awkward at first," -she apologised. "I've often thought of getting a -bit of nice carpet on them, but what's the use? It -would be done for in a week. Now, here's your -room, sir, first floor front, with two nice French windows, -you see, and a nice balcony. Now, about -tidying it of a morning, sir. If you'll step out for -a walk as soon as you get up, my daughter shall -make the bed, and dust, and you'll come in and find -it all nice and straight for breakfast."</p> - -<p>"Very well," assented Richard.</p> - -<p>"That's how I generally arrange with my young -men. I like them to have their breakfast in a nice -tidy room, you see, sir. Now, what will you have -for tea, sir? A little nice bread and butter...."</p> - -<p>When she was gone Richard formally surveyed -his quarters: a long, rather low room, its length cut -by the two windows which were Mrs. Rowbotham's -particular pride; between the windows a table with a -faded green cloth, and a small bed opposite; behind -the door an artfully concealed washstand; the mantelpiece, -painted mustard yellow, bore divers squat -earthenware figures, and was surmounted by an oblong -mirror framed in rosewood; over the mirror an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -illuminated text, "Trust in Jesus," and over the text -an oleograph, in collision with the ceiling, entitled, -"After the Battle of Culloden." The walls were -decorated with a pattern of giant pink roses; and -here and there, hiding the roses, were hung photographs -of persons in their Sunday clothes, and landscapes -hand-painted in oil, depicting bridges, trees, -water, and white sails in the distance. But the furnishing -of the room caused Richard no uneasiness; -in a few moments he had mentally arranged how to -make the place habitable, and thenceforth he only -saw what should and would be.</p> - -<p>Tea was brought in by a girl whose face proclaimed -her to be Mrs. Rowbotham's daughter. At -the sight of her Richard privately winked; he had -read in books about landladies' daughters, but this -one gave the lie to books; she was young, she was -beautiful, and Richard would have sworn to her innocence. -With an accession of boldness which surprised -himself, he inquired her name.</p> - -<p>"Lily, sir," she said, blushing like her mother.</p> - -<p>He cut the new, heavy bread, and poured out a -cup of tea with the awkwardness of one unaccustomed -to such work, and, having made space on the -tray, set the evening paper against the sugar basin, -and began to eat and read. Outside were two piano -organs, children shouting, and a man uttering some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> -monotonous unintelligible cry. It grew dark; Mrs. -Rowbotham came in with a lamp and cleared the -table; Richard was looking through the window, and -neither spoke. Presently he sat down. That being -his first night in London, he had determined to -spend it quietly <i>at home</i>. The piano organs and the -children were still strident. A peculiar feeling of -isolation momentarily overcame him, and the noises -of the street seemed to recede. Then he went to -the window again, and noticed that the children were -dancing quite gracefully; it occurred to him that they -might be ballet children. He picked up the paper -and examined the theatrical advertisements, at first -idly, but afterwards in detail.</p> - -<p>With a long sigh, he took his hat and stick, and -went very slowly downstairs. Mrs. Rowbotham -heard him fumbling with the catch of the front door.</p> - -<p>"Are you going out, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Only just for a walk," said Richard, nonchalantly.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I'd better give you a latch-key?"</p> - -<p>"Thanks."</p> - -<p>Another moment and he was in the delicious -streets, going east.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER III</h4> - - -<p>Although he had visited London but -once before, and then only for a few hours, -he was not unfamiliar with the topography -of the town, having frequently studied it in -maps and an old copy of Kelly's directory.</p> - -<p>He walked slowly up Park Side and through -Piccadilly, picking out as he passed them the French -Embassy, Hyde Park Corner, Apsley House, Park -Lane, and Devonshire House. As he drank in the -mingled glare and glamour of Piccadilly by night,—the -remote stars, the high sombre trees, the vast, -dazzling interiors of clubs, the sinuous, flickering -lines of traffic, the radiant faces of women framed -in hansoms,—he laughed the laugh of luxurious -contemplation, acutely happy. At last, at last, he -had come into his inheritance. London accepted -him. He was hers; she his; and nothing should part -them. Starvation in London would itself be bliss. -But he had no intention of starving! Filled with -great purposes, he straightened his back, and just -then a morsel of mud thrown up from a bus-wheel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> -splashed warm and gritty on his cheek. He wiped it -off caressingly, with a smile.</p> - -<p>Although it was Saturday night, and most of the -shops were closed, an establishment where watches -and trinkets of "Anglo-Spanish" gold, superb in -appearance and pillowed on green plush, were retailed -at alluring prices, still threw a brilliant light -on the pavement, and Richard crossed the road to -inspect its wares. He turned away, but retraced his -steps and entered the shop. An assistant politely inquired -his wishes.</p> - -<p>"I want one of those hunters you have in the -window at 29/6," said Richard, with a gruffness -which must have been involuntary.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. Here is one. We guarantee that the -works are equal to the finest English lever."</p> - -<p>"I'll take it." He put down the money.</p> - -<p>"Thank you. Can I show you anything else?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, thanks," still more gruffly.</p> - -<p>"We have some excellent chains...."</p> - -<p>"Nothing else, thanks." And he walked out, -putting his purchase in his pocket. A perfectly reliable -gold watch, which he had worn for years, -already lay there.</p> - -<p>At Piccadilly Circus he loitered, and then crossed -over and went along Coventry Street to Leicester -Square. The immense façade of the Ottoman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -Theatre of Varieties, with its rows of illuminated -windows and crescent moons set against the sky, rose -before him, and the glory of it was intoxicating. It -is not too much to say that the Ottoman held a -stronger fascination for Richard than any other -place in London. The British Museum, Fleet -Street, and the Lyceum were magic names, but more -magical than either was the name of the Ottoman. -The Ottoman, on the rare occasions when it happened -to be mentioned in Bursley, was a synonym -for all the glittering vices of the metropolis. It -stank in the nostrils of the London delegates who -came down to speak at the annual meetings of the -local Society for the Suppression of Vice. But how -often had Richard, somnolent in chapel, mitigated -the rigours of a long sermon by dreaming of an -Ottoman ballet,—one of those voluptuous spectacles, -all legs and white arms, which from time to -time were described so ornately in the London daily -papers.</p> - -<p>The brass-barred swinging doors of the Grand -Circle entrance were simultaneously opened for him -by two human automata dressed exactly alike in long -semi-military coats, a very tall man and a stunted -boy. He advanced with what air of custom he -could command, and after taking a ticket and -traversing a heavily decorated corridor encountered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> -another pair of swinging doors; they -opened, and a girl passed out, followed by a man -who was talking to her vehemently in French. At -the same moment a gust of distant music struck -Richard's ear. As he climbed a broad, thick-piled -flight of steps, the music became louder, and a clapping -of hands could be heard. At the top of the -steps hung a curtain of blue velvet; he pushed aside -its stiff, heavy folds with difficulty, and entered the -auditorium.</p> - -<p>The smoke of a thousand cigarettes enveloped -the furthest parts of the great interior in a thin bluish -haze, which was dissipated as it reached the -domed ceiling in the rays of a crystal chandelier. -Far in front and a little below the level of the circle -lay a line of footlights broken by the silhouette of -the conductor's head. A diminutive, solitary figure -in red and yellow stood in the centre of the huge -stage; it was kissing its hands to the audience with -a mincing, operatic gesture; presently it tripped off -backwards, stopping at every third step to bow; the -applause ceased, and the curtain fell slowly.</p> - -<p>The broad, semicircular promenade which -flanked the seats of the grand circle was filled with -a well-dressed, well-fed crowd. The men talked -and laughed, for the most part, in little knots, while -in and out, steering their way easily and rapidly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -among these groups, moved the women: some with -rouged cheeks, greasy vermilion lips, and enormous -liquid eyes; others whose faces were innocent of -cosmetics and showed pale under the electric light; -but all with a peculiar, exaggerated swing of the -body from the hips, and all surreptitiously regarding -themselves in the mirrors which abounded on every -glowing wall.</p> - -<p>Richard stood aloof against a pillar. Near him -were two men in evening dress conversing in tones -which just rose above the general murmur of talk -and the high, penetrating tinkle of glass from the -bar behind the promenade.</p> - -<p>"And what did she say then?" one of the pair -asked smilingly. Richard strained his ear to listen.</p> - -<p>"Well, <i>she</i> told <i>me</i>," the other said, speaking -with a dreamy drawl, while fingering his watch-chain -absently and gazing down at the large diamond -in his shirt,—"<i>she</i> told <i>me</i> that she said she'd do -for him if he didn't fork out. But I don't believe -her. You know, of course.... There's Lottie...."</p> - -<p>The band suddenly began to play, and after a -few crashing bars the curtain went up for the ballet. -The rich <i>coup d'oeil</i> which presented itself provoked -a burst of clapping from the floor of the house and -the upper tiers, but to Richard's surprise no one in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> -his proximity seemed to exhibit any interest in the -entertainment. The two men still talked with their -backs to the stage, the women continued to find a -pathway between the groups, and from within the -bar came the unabated murmur of voices and tinkle -of glass.</p> - -<p>Richard never took his dazed eyes from the -stage. The moving pageant unrolled itself before -him like a vision, rousing new sensations, tremors of -strange desires. He was under a spell, and when at -last the curtain descended to the monotonous roll of -drums, he awoke to the fact that several people were -watching him curiously. Blushing slightly, he went -to a far corner of the promenade. At one of the -little tables a woman sat alone. She held her head -at an angle, and her laughing, lustrous eyes gleamed -invitingly at Richard. Without quite intending to -do so he hesitated in front of her, and she twittered -a phrase ending in <i>chéri</i>.</p> - -<p>He abruptly turned away. He would have been -very glad to remain and say something clever, but -his tongue refused its office, and his legs moved of -themselves.</p> - -<p>At midnight he found himself in Piccadilly Circus, -unwilling to go home. He strolled leisurely back to -Leicester Square. The front of the Ottoman was -in darkness, and the square almost deserted.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER IV</h4> - - -<p>He walked home to Raphael Street. The -house was dead, except for a pale light in -his own room. At the top of the bare, -creaking stairs he fumbled a moment for the handle -of his door, and the regular sound of two distinct -snores descended from an upper storey. He closed -the door softly, locked it, and glanced round the -room with some eagerness. The smell of the expiring -lamp compelled him to unlatch both windows. -He extinguished the lamp, and after lighting a couple -of candles on the mantelpiece drew a chair to the -fireplace and sat down to munch an apple. The -thought occurred to him: "This is my home—for -how long?"</p> - -<p>And then:</p> - -<p>"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that -girl?"</p> - -<p>Between the candles on the mantelpiece was a photograph -of his sister, which he had placed there before -going out. He looked at it with a half smile, -and murmured audibly several times:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that -girl, with her <i>chéri</i>?"</p> - -<p>The woman of the photograph seemed to be between -thirty and forty years of age. She was fair, -with a mild, serious face, and much wavy hair. The -forehead was broad and smooth and white, the -cheek-bones prominent, and the mouth somewhat -large. The eyes were a very light grey; they met -the gaze of the spectator with a curious timid defiance, -as if to say, "I am weak, but I can at least fight -till I fall." Underneath the eyes—the portrait -was the work of an amateur, and consequently had -not been robbed of all texture by retouching—a -few crowsfeet could be seen.</p> - -<p>As far back as Richard's memory went, he and -Mary had lived together and alone in the small Red -House which lay half a mile out of Bursley, towards -Turnhill, on the Manchester road. At one time it -had been rurally situated, creeping plants had -clothed its red walls, and the bare patch behind it -had been a garden; but the gradual development of -a coal-producing district had covered the fields with -smooth, mountainous heaps of grey refuse, and -stunted or killed every tree in the neighbourhood. -The house was undermined, and in spite of iron -clamps had lost most of its rectangles, while the rent -had dropped to fifteen pounds a year.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mary was very much older than her brother, and -she had always appeared to him exactly the mature -woman of the photograph. Of his parents he -knew nothing except what Mary had told him, which -was little and vague, for she watchfully kept the -subject at a distance.</p> - -<p>She had supported herself and Richard in comfort -by a medley of vocations, teaching the piano, -collecting rents, and practising the art of millinery. -They had few friends. The social circles of Bursley -were centred in its churches and chapels; and -though Mary attended the Wesleyan sanctuary with -some regularity, she took small interest in prayer-meetings, -class-meetings, bazaars, and all the other -minor religious activities, thus neglecting opportunities -for intercourse which might have proved -agreeable. She had sent Richard to the Sunday-school; -but when, at the age of fourteen, he protested -that Sunday-school was "awful rot," she answered -calmly, "Don't go, then;" and from that -day his place in class was empty. Soon afterwards -the boy cautiously insinuated that chapel belonged to -the same category as Sunday-school, but the hint -failed of its effect.</p> - -<p>The ladies of the town called sometimes, generally -upon business, and took afternoon tea. Once -the vicar's wife, who wished to obtain musical tuition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> -for her three youngest daughters at a nominal -fee, came in and found Richard at a book on the -hearthrug.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said she. "Just like his father, is he not, -Miss Larch?" Mary made no reply.</p> - -<p>The house was full of books. Richard knew them -all well by sight, but until he was sixteen he read only -a select handful of volumes which had stood the test -of years. Often he idly speculated as to the contents -of some of the others,—"Horatii Opera," for -instance: had that anything to do with theatres?—yet -for some curious reason, which when he grew -older he sought for in vain, he never troubled himself -to look into them. Mary read a good deal, -chiefly books and magazines fetched for her by -Richard from the Free Library.</p> - -<p>When he was about seventeen, a change came. -He was aware dimly, and as if by instinct, that his -sister's life in the early days had not been without its -romance. Certainly there was something hidden between -her and William Vernon, the science master -at the Institute, for they were invariably at great -pains to avoid each other. He sometimes wondered -whether Mr. Vernon was connected in any way with -the melancholy which was never, even in her -brightest moments, wholly absent from Mary's demeanour. -One Sunday night—Richard had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -keeping house—Mary, coming in late from chapel, -threw his arms round his neck as he opened the -door, and, dragging down his face to hers, kissed -him hysterically again and again.</p> - -<p>"Dicky, Dick," she whispered, laughing and crying -at the same time, "something's happened. I'm -almost an old woman, but something's happened!"</p> - -<p>"I know," said Richard, retreating hurriedly from -her embrace. "You're going to marry Mr. Vernon."</p> - -<p>"But how could you tell?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! I just guessed."</p> - -<p>"You don't mind, Dick, do you?"</p> - -<p>"I! Mind!" Afraid lest his feelings should -appear too plainly, he asked abruptly for supper.</p> - -<p>Mary gave up her various callings, the wedding -took place, and William Vernon came to live with -them. It was then that Richard began to read more -widely, and to form a definite project of going to -London.</p> - -<p>He could not fail to respect and like William. -The life of the married pair seemed to him idyllic; -the tender, furtive manifestations of affection which -were constantly passing between Mary and her -sedate, middle-aged husband touched him deeply, -and at the thought of the fifteen irretrievable years -during which some ridiculous misunderstanding had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> -separated this loving couple, his eyes were not quite -as dry as a youth could wish. But with it all he -was uncomfortable. He felt himself an intruder -upon holy privacies; if at meal-times husband and -wife clasped hands round the corner of the table, he -looked at his plate; if they smiled happily upon no -discoverable provocation, he pretended not to notice -the fact. They did not need him. Their -hearts were full of kindness for every living thing, -but unconsciously they stood aloof. He was driven -in upon himself, and spent much of his time either in -solitary walking or hidden in an apartment called the -study.</p> - -<p>He ordered magazines whose very names Mr. -Holt, the principal bookseller in Bursley, was unfamiliar -with, and after the magazines came books -of verse and novels enclosed in covers of mystic -design, and printed in a style which Mr. Holt, -though secretly impressed, set down as eccentric. -Mr. Holt's shop performed the functions of a club -for the dignitaries of the town; and since he took -care that this esoteric literature was well displayed -on the counter until called for, the young man's fame -as <i>a great reader</i> soon spread, and Richard began -to see that he was regarded as a curiosity of which -Bursley need not be ashamed. His self-esteem, already -fostered into lustiness by a number of facile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -school successes, became more marked, although he -was wise enough to keep a great deal of it to himself.</p> - -<p>One evening, after Mary and her husband had -been talking quietly some while, Richard came into -the sitting-room.</p> - -<p>"I don't want any supper," he said, "I'm going -for a bit of a walk."</p> - -<p>"Shall we tell him?" Mary asked, smiling, after -he had left the room.</p> - -<p>"Please yourself," said William, also smiling.</p> - -<p>"He talks a great deal about going to London. -I hope he won't go till—after April; I think it -would upset me."</p> - -<p>"You need not trouble, I think, my dear," -William answered. "He talks about it, but he -isn't gone yet."</p> - -<p>Mr. Vernon was not quite pleased with Richard. -He had obtained for him—being connected with -the best people in the town—a position as shorthand -and general clerk in a solicitor's office, and had -learnt privately that though the youth was smart -enough, he was scarcely making that progress which -might have been expected. He lacked "application." -William attributed this shortcoming to the -excessive reading of verse and obscure novels.</p> - -<p>April came, and, as Mr. Vernon had foretold,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> -Richard still remained in Bursley. But the older -man was now too deeply absorbed in another matter -to interest himself at all in Richard's movements,—a -matter in which Richard himself exhibited a shy -concern. Hour followed anxious hour, and at last -was heard the faint, fretful cry of a child in the -night. Then stillness. All that Richard ever saw -was a coffin, and in it a dead child at a dead woman's -feet.</p> - -<p>Fifteen months later he was in London.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER V</h4> - - -<p>Mr. Curpet, of the firm of Curpet and -Smythe, whose name was painted in -black and white on the dark green -door, had told him that the office hours were from -nine-thirty to six. The clock of the Law Courts -was striking a quarter to ten. He hesitated a moment, -and then seized the handle; but the door was -fast, and he descended the two double flights of iron -stairs into the quadrangle.</p> - -<p>New Serjeant's Court was a large modern building -of very red brick with terra-cotta facings, eight -storeys high; but in spite of its faults of colour and -its excessive height, ample wall spaces and temperate -ornamentation gave it a dignity and comeliness sufficient -to distinguish it from other buildings in the -locality. In the centre of the court was an oval -patch of brown earth, with a few trees whose pale-leaved -tops, struggling towards sunlight, reached to -the middle of the third storey. Round this plantation -ran an immaculate roadway of wooden blocks, -flanked by an equally immaculate asphalt footpath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -The court possessed its own private lamp-posts, and -these were wrought of iron in an antique design.</p> - -<p>Men and boys, grave and unconsciously oppressed -by the burden of the coming day, were continually -appearing out of the gloom of the long tunnelled -entrance and vanishing into one or other of the -twelve doorways. Presently a carriage and pair -drove in, and stopped opposite Richard. A big man -of about fifty, with a sagacious red and blue face, -jumped alertly out, followed by an attentive clerk -carrying a blue sack. It seemed to Richard that he -knew the features of the big man from portraits, -and, following the pair up the staircase of No. 2, he -discovered from the legend on the door through -which they disappeared that he had been in the -presence of Her Majesty's Attorney-General. Simultaneously -with a misgiving as to his ability to -reach the standard of clerical ability doubtless required -by Messrs. Curpet and Smythe, who did -business cheek by jowl with an attorney-general and -probably employed him, came an elevation of spirit -as he darkly guessed what none can realise completely, -that a man's future lies on his own knees, -and on the knees of no gods whatsoever.</p> - -<p>He continued his way upstairs, but Messrs. Curpet -and Smythe's portal was still locked. Looking -down the well, he espied a boy crawling reluctantly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -and laboriously upward, with a key in his hand which -he dragged across the bannisters. In course of time -the boy reached Messrs. Curpet and Smythe's door, -and opening it stepped neatly over a pile of letters -which lay immediately within. Richard followed -him.</p> - -<p>"Oh! My name's Larch," said Richard, as if -it had just occurred to him that the boy might be interested -in the fact. "Do you know which is my -room?"</p> - -<p>The boy conducted him along a dark passage with -green doors on either side, to a room at the end. It -was furnished mainly with two writing-tables and -two armchairs; in one corner was a disused copying-press, -in another an immense pile of reporters' note-books; -on the mantelpiece, a tumbler, a duster, and -a broken desk lamp.</p> - -<p>"That's your seat," said the boy, pointing to the -larger table, and disappeared. Richard disposed of -his coat and hat and sat down, trying to feel at ease -and not succeeding.</p> - -<p>At five minutes past ten a youth entered with the -"Times" under his arm. Richard waited for him -to speak, but he merely stared and took off his overcoat. -Then he said,—</p> - -<p>"You've got my hook. If you don't mind I'll -put your things on this other one."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Certainly," assented Richard.</p> - -<p>The youth spread his back luxuriously to the -empty fireplace and opened the "Times," when -another and smaller boy put his head in at the -door.</p> - -<p>"Jenkins, Mr. Alder wants the 'Times.'"</p> - -<p>The youth silently handed over the advertisement -pages which were lying on the table. In a minute -the boy returned.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Alder says he wants the inside of the -'Times.'"</p> - -<p>"Tell Mr. Alder to go to hell, with my compliments." -The boy hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Go on, now," Jenkins insisted. The boy hung -on the door-handle, smiling dubiously, and then went -out.</p> - -<p>"Here, wait a minute!" Jenkins called him -back. "Perhaps you'd better give it him. Take -the damn thing away."</p> - -<p>A sound of hurried footsteps in the next room was -succeeded by an imperious call for Jenkins, at which -Jenkins slipped nimbly into his chair and untied a -bundle of papers.</p> - -<p>"Jenkins!" the call came again, with a touch of -irritation in it, but Jenkins did not move. The door -was thrust open.</p> - -<p>"Oh! You are there, Jenkins. Just come in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -and take a letter down." The tones were quite -placid.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Smythe."</p> - -<p>"I never take any notice of Smythe's calls," said -Jenkins, when he returned. "If he wants me, he -must either ring or fetch me. If I once began it, -I should be running in and out of his room all day, -and I've quite enough to do without that."</p> - -<p>"Fidgety, eh?" Richard suggested.</p> - -<p>"Fidgety's no word for it, <i>I</i> tell you. Alder—that's -the manager, you know—said only yesterday -that he has less trouble with forty Chancery actions -of Curpet's than with one county-court case of -Smythe's. I know I'd a jolly sight sooner write -forty of Curpet's letters than ten of Smythe's. I -wish I'd got your place, and you'd got mine. I -suppose you can write shorthand rather fast."</p> - -<p>"Middling," said Richard. "About 120."</p> - -<p>"Oh! We had a man once who could do 150, but -he'd been a newspaper reporter. I do a bit over -a hundred, if I've not had much to drink overnight. -Let's see, they're giving you twenty-five bob, aren't -they?"</p> - -<p>Richard nodded.</p> - -<p>"The man before you had thirty-five, and he -couldn't spell worth a brass button. I only get -fifteen, although I've been here seven years. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -damn shame I call it! But Curpet's beastly near. -If he'd give some other people less, and me a bit -more...."</p> - -<p>"Who are 'some other people'?" asked Richard, -smiling.</p> - -<p>"Well, there's old Aked. He sits in the outer -office—you won't have seen him because he doesn't -generally come till eleven. They give him a pound -a week, just for doing a bit of engrossing when he -feels inclined to engross, and for being idle when he -feels inclined to be idle. He's a broken-down -something or other,—used to be clerk to Curpet's -father. He has some dibs of his own, and this just -finds him amusement. I bet he doesn't do fifty -folios a week. And he's got the devil's own temper."</p> - -<p>Jenkins was proceeding to describe other members -of the staff when the entry of Mr. Curpet himself -put an end to the recital. Mr. Curpet was a small -man, with a round face and a neatly trimmed beard.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Larch. If you'll kindly come -into my room, I'll dictate my letters. Good morning, -Jenkins." He smiled and withdrew, leaving -Richard excessively surprised at his suave courtesy.</p> - -<p>In his own room Mr. Curpet sat before a pile of -letters, and motioned Richard to a side table.</p> - -<p>"You will tell me if I go too fast," he said, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -began to dictate regularly, with scarcely a pause. -The pile of letters gradually disappeared into a basket. -Before half a dozen letters were done Richard -comprehended that he had become part of a business -machine of far greater magnitude than anything -to which he had been accustomed in Bursley. -This little man with the round face dealt impassively -with tens of thousands of pounds; he mortgaged -whole streets, bullied railway companies, and wrote -familiarly to lords. In the middle of one long letter, -a man came panting in, whom Richard at once -took for Mr. Alder, the Chancery manager. His -rather battered silk hat was at the back of his head, -and he looked distressed.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry to say we've lost that summons in -Rice <i>v.</i> The L. R. Railway."</p> - -<p>"Really!" said Mr. Curpet. "Better appeal, -and brief a leader, eh?"</p> - -<p>"Can't appeal, Mr. Curpet."</p> - -<p>"Well, we must make the best of it. Telegraph -to the country. I'll write and keep them calm. -It's a pity they were so sure. Rice will have to -economise for a year or two. What was my last -word, Larch?" The dictation proceeded.</p> - -<p>One hour was allowed for lunch, and Richard -spent the first moiety of it in viewing the ambrosial -exteriors of Strand restaurants. With the exception<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> -of the coffee-house at Bursley, he had never been in -a restaurant in his life, and he was timid of entering -any of those sumptuous establishments whose swinging -doors gave glimpses of richly decorated ceilings, -gleaming tablecloths, and men in silk hats greedily -consuming dishes placed before them by obsequious -waiters.</p> - -<p>At last, without quite knowing how he got there, -he sat in a long, low apartment, papered like an attic -bedroom, and odorous of tea and cake. The -place was crowded with young men and women -indifferently well-dressed, who bent over uncomfortably -small oblong marble-topped tables. An -increasing clatter of crockery filled the air. Waitresses, -with pale, vacant faces, dressed in dingy -black with white aprons, moved about with difficulty -at varying rates of speed, but none of them seemed -to betray an interest in Richard. Behind the -counter, on which stood great polished urns emitting -clouds of steam, were several women whose superior -rank in the restaurant was denoted by a black apron, -and after five minutes had elapsed Richard observed -one of these damsels pointing out himself to a waitress, -who approached and listened condescendingly -to his order.</p> - -<p>A thin man, rather more than middle-aged, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> -a grey beard and slightly red nose, entered and sat -down opposite to Richard. Without preface he began, -speaking rather fast and with an expressive vivacity -rarely met with in the ageing,—</p> - -<p>"Well, my young friend, how do you like your -new place?"</p> - -<p>Richard stared at him.</p> - -<p>"Are you Mr. Aked?"</p> - -<p>"The same. I suppose Master Jenkins has made -you acquainted with all my peculiarities of temper -and temperament.—Glass of milk, roll, and two -pats of butter—and, I say, my girl, try not to keep -me waiting as long as you did yesterday." There -was a bright smile on his face, which the waitress unwillingly -returned.</p> - -<p>"Don't you know," he went on, looking at Richard's -plate,—"don't you know that tea and ham together -are frightfully indigestible?"</p> - -<p>"I never have indigestion."</p> - -<p>"No matter. You soon will have if you eat tea -and ham together. A young man should guard his -digestion like his honour. Sounds funny, doesn't -it? But it's right. An impaired digestive apparatus -has ruined many a career. It ruined mine. -You see before you, sir, what might have been an -author of repute, but for a wayward stomach."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You write?" Richard asked, interested at once, -but afraid lest Mr. Aked might be cumbrously joking.</p> - -<p>"I used to." The old man spoke with proud self-consciousness.</p> - -<p>"Have you written a book?"</p> - -<p>"Not a book. But I've contributed to all manner -of magazines and newspapers."</p> - -<p>"What magazines?"</p> - -<p>"Well, let me see—it's so long ago. I've written -for 'Cornhill.' I wrote for 'Cornhill' when -Thackeray edited it. I spoke to Carlyle once."</p> - -<p>"You did?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Carlyle said to me—Carlyle said to me—Carlyle -said—" Mr. Aked's voice dwindled to -an inarticulate murmur, and, suddenly ignoring -Richard's presence, he pulled a book from his pocket -and began to finger the leaves. It was a French -novel, "La Vie de Bohème." His face had lost all -its mobile expressiveness.</p> - -<p>A little alarmed by such eccentricity, and not -quite sure that this associate of Carlyle was perfectly -sane, Richard sat silent, waiting for events. -Mr. Aked was clearly accustomed to reading while -he ate; he could even drink with his eyes on the -book. At length he pushed his plates away from -him, and closed the novel with a snap.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I see you're from the country, Larch," he said, -as if there had been no lapse in the conversation. -"Now, why in God's name did you leave the country? -Aren't there enough people in London?"</p> - -<p>"Because <i>I</i> wanted to be an author," answered -Richard, with more assurance than veracity, though -he spoke in good faith. The fact was that his aspirations, -hitherto so vague as to elude analysis, -seemed within the last few minutes mysteriously to -have assumed definite form.</p> - -<p>"You're a young fool, then."</p> - -<p>"But I've an excellent digestion."</p> - -<p>"You won't have it if you begin to write. Take -my word, you're a young fool. You don't know -what you're going in for, my little friend."</p> - -<p>"Was Murger a fool?" Richard said clumsily, -determined to exhibit an acquaintance with "La Vie -de Bohème."</p> - -<p>"Ha! We read French, do we?"</p> - -<p>Richard blushed. The old man got up.</p> - -<p>"Come along," he said peevishly. "Let's get -out of this hole."</p> - -<p>At the pay-desk, waiting for change, he spoke to -the cashier, a thin girl with reddish-brown hair, who -coughed,—</p> - -<p>"Did you try those lozenges?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes, thanks. They <i>taste</i> nice."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Beautiful day."</p> - -<p>"Yes; my word, isn't it!"</p> - -<p>They walked back to the office in absolute silence; -but just as they were going in, Mr. Aked stopped, -and took Richard by the coat.</p> - -<p>"Have you anything special to do next Thursday -night?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll take you to a little French restaurant -in Soho, and we'll have dinner. Half a crown. -Can you afford?"</p> - -<p>Richard nodded.</p> - -<p>"And, I say, bring along some of your manuscripts, -and I'll flay them alive for you."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER VI</h4> - - -<p>An inconstant, unrefreshing breeze, sluggish -with accumulated impurity, stirred the curtains, -and every urban sound—high-pitched -voices of children playing, roll of wheels and -rhythmic trot of horses, shouts of newsboys and -querulous barking of dogs—came through the open -windows touched with a certain languorous quality -that suggested a city fatigued, a city yearning for -the moist recesses of woods, the disinfectant breath -of mountain tops, and the cleansing sea.</p> - -<p>On the little table between the windows lay pen, -ink, and paper. Richard sat down to be an author. -Since his conversation with Mr. Aked of the day before -he had lived in the full glow of an impulse to -write. He discerned, or thought he discerned, in -the fact that he possessed the literary gift, a key to -his recent life. It explained, to be particular, the -passion for reading which had overtaken him at -seventeen, and his desire to come to London, the -natural home of the author. Certainly it was -strange that hitherto he had devoted very little serious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -thought to the subject of writing, but happily -there were in existence sundry stray verses and prose -fragments written at Bursley, and it contented him -to recognise in these the first tremulous stirrings of -a late-born ambition.</p> - -<p>During the previous evening he had busied himself -in deciding upon a topic. In a morning paper -he had read an article entitled "An Island of -Sleep," descriptive of Sark; it occurred to him that -a similar essay upon Lichfield, the comatose cathedral -city which lay about thirty miles from Bursley, might -suit a monthly magazine. He knew Lichfield well; -he had been accustomed to visit it from childhood; -he loved it. As a theme full of picturesque opportunities -it had quickened his imagination, until his -brain seemed to surge with vague but beautiful fancies. -In the night his sleep had been broken, and -several new ideas had suggested themselves. And -now, after a day of excited anticipation, the moment -for composition had arrived.</p> - -<p>As he dipped his pen in the ink a sudden apprehension -of failure surprised him. He dismissed it, -and wrote in a bold hand, rather carefully,—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>MEMORIES OF A CITY OF SLEEP.</p></blockquote> - -<p>That was surely an excellent title. He proceeded:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>On the old stone bridge, beneath which the clear, -smooth waters of the river have crept at the same -pace for centuries, stands a little child, alone. It -is early morning, and the clock of the time-stained -cathedral which lifts its noble gothic towers scarce -a hundred yards away, strikes five, to the accompaniment -of an unseen lark overhead.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>He sat back to excogitate the next sentence, staring -around the room as if he expected to find the -words written on the wall. One of the gilt-framed -photographs was slightly askew; he left his chair -to put it straight; several other pictures seemed to -need adjustment, and he levelled them all with -scrupulous precision. The ornaments on the mantelpiece -were not evenly balanced; these he rearranged -entirely. Then, having first smoothed out a crease -in the bedcover, he sat down again.</p> - -<p>But most of the beautiful ideas which he had persuaded -himself were firmly within his grasp, now -eluded him, or tardily presented themselves in a -form so obscure as to be valueless, and the useful -few that remained defied all attempts to bring them -into order. Dashed by his own impotence, he sought -out the article on Sark, and examined it afresh. -Certain weekly organs of literature had educated -him to sneer at the journalism of the daily press, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -it appeared that the man who wrote "An Island of -Sleep" was at least capable of expressing himself -with clearness and fluency, and possessed the skill to -pass naturally from one aspect of his subject to another. -It seemed simple enough....</p> - -<p>He went to the window.</p> - -<p>The sky was a delicate amber, and Richard -watched it change to rose, and from rose to light -blue. The gas-lamps glared out in quick succession; -some one lowered the blind of a window opposite -his own, and presently a woman's profile was -silhouetted against it for a moment, and then -vanished. A melody came from the public house, -sung in a raucous baritone to the thrumming of a -guitar; the cries of the playing children had now -ceased.</p> - -<p>Suddenly turning into the room, he was astonished -to find it almost in darkness; he could distinguish -only the whiteness of the papers on the table.</p> - -<p>He was not in the mood for writing to-night. -Some men wrote best in the evening, others in the -morning. Probably he belonged to the latter class. -Be that as it might, he would rise at six the next -morning and make a new beginning. "It's only a -question of practice, of course," he said, half aloud, -repressing a troublesome dubiety. He would take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -a short walk, and go early to bed. Gradually his -self-confidence returned.</p> - -<p>As he closed the front door there was a rustle -of silks and a transient odour of violets; a woman -had gone by. She turned slightly at the sound of -the door, and Richard had a glimpse of a young and -pretty face under a spreading hat, a full, ripe bust -whose alluring contours were perfectly disclosed by -a tight-fitting bodice, and two small white hands, -in one a dangling pair of gloves, in the other an -umbrella. He passed her, and waited at the corner -by Tattersall's till she overtook him again. Now -she stood on the kerb within six feet of him, humming -an air and smiling to herself. Up went the -umbrella to signal for a hansom.</p> - -<p>"The Ottoman," Richard heard her say across -the roof of the cab, the driver leaning forward with -his hand to his ear. What a child's voice it seemed, -lisping and artless!</p> - -<p>The cabman winked at Richard, and gently flicked -his horse. In a moment the hansom was two -dwindling specks of red in a shifting multitude of -lights.</p> - -<p>An hour later he saw her in the promenade of the -theatre; she stood against a pillar, her eyes on the -entrance. As their glances met, she threw her head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -a little backwards, like one who looks through -spectacles on the end of his nose, and showed her -teeth. He sat down near her.</p> - -<p>Presently she waved her hand to a man who was -coming in. He seemed about thirty, with small, -clear eyes, bronzed cheeks, a heavy jaw, and a closely -trimmed brown moustache. He was fashionably -garbed, though not in evening dress, and he greeted -her without raising his hat.</p> - -<p>"Shall we have a drink?" she suggested. "I'm -so thirsty."</p> - -<p>"Fizz?" the man drawled. She nodded.</p> - -<p>Soon they went out together, the man carelessly -stuffing change for a five-pound note into his pocket.</p> - -<p>"What's the difference between him and me?" -Richard reflected as he walked home. "But just -wait a bit; wait till I've...."</p> - -<p>When he reached his lodging the meanness of the -room, of his clothes, of his supper, nauseated him. -He dreamed that he was kissing the Ottoman girl, -and that she lisped, "Nice boy," whereupon he cast -a handful of sovereigns on her lap.</p> - -<p>At six o'clock the next morning he was working -at his article. In two days it was finished, and he -had despatched it to a monthly magazine, "together -with a stamped directed envelope for its return -if unsuitable," in accordance with the editorial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -instructions printed below the table of contents in -every number. The editor of the "Trifler" -promised that all manuscripts so submitted, and -written on one side of the paper only, should be -dealt with promptly.</p> - -<p>He had been expecting to discuss his work with -Mr. Aked at the proposed dinner, but this had not -taken place. On the morning after the arrangement -had been made, Mr. Aked fell ill, and in a -few days he wrote to resign his post, saying that he -had sufficient to live on, and felt "too venerable for -regular work."</p> - -<p>Richard held but the frailest hope that "A City -of Sleep" would be accepted, but when the third -morning arrived, and the postman brought nothing, -his opinion of the article began to rise. Perhaps it -had merit, after all; he recalled certain parts of it -which were distinctly clever and striking. Hurrying -home from the office that afternoon, he met the -landlady's daughter on the stairs, and said casually,—</p> - -<p>"Any letters for me, Lily?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir." The girl had an attractive blush.</p> - -<p>"I'll take a couple of eggs for tea, if Mrs. Rowbotham -has them."</p> - -<p>He remained at home in the evening, waiting for -the last delivery, which occurred about 9:30. The -double knocks of the postman were audible ten or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -twelve houses away. At last Richard heard him -mounting the steps of No. 74, and then his curt rat-tat -shook the house. A little thud on the bare -wooden floor of the hall seemed to indicate a heavier -package than the ordinary letter.</p> - -<p>As, when a man is drowning, the bad actions of a -whole lifetime present themselves to him in one -awful flash, so at that moment all the faults, the -hopeless crudities, of "A City of Sleep" confronted -Richard. He wondered at his own fatuity in imagining -for a single instant that the article had the -barest chance of acceptance. Was it not notorious -that famous authors had written industriously for -years without selling a line!</p> - -<p>Lily came in with the supper-tray. She was smiling.</p> - -<p>"Warm work, eh, Lily?" he said, scarcely knowing -that he spoke.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, it's that hot in the kitchen you wouldn't -believe." Setting down the tray, she handed him a -foolscap envelope, and he saw his own handwriting -as if in a dream.</p> - -<p>"For me?" he murmured carelessly, and placed -the letter on the mantelpiece. Lily took his orders -for breakfast, and with a pleasant, timid "Good-night, -sir," left the room.</p> - -<p>He opened the envelope. In the fold of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> -manuscript was a sheet of the best cream-laid note-paper -bearing these words in flowing copperplate: -"The Editor presents his compliments to Mr. Larch -[written] and regrets to be unable to use the enclosed -article, for the offer of which he is much obliged."</p> - -<p>The sight of this circular, with the offices of the -magazine illustrated at the top, and the notification -in the left-hand corner that all letters must be addressed -to the editor and not to any member of the -staff individually, in some mysterious way mitigated -Richard's disappointment. Perhaps the comfort of -it lay in the tangible assurance it afforded that he -was now actually <i>a literary aspirant</i> and had communications, -however mortifying, with <i>the press</i>.</p> - -<p>He read the circular again and again during supper, -and determined to re-write the article. But -this resolve was not carried out. He could not -bring himself even to glance through it, and finally it -was sent to another magazine exactly as it stood.</p> - -<p>Richard had determined to say nothing in the office -about his writing until he could produce a printed -article with his name at the foot; and frequently during -the last few days his mouth had watered as he -anticipated the sweetness of that triumph. But next -day he could not refrain from showing to Jenkins -the note from the "Trifler." Jenkins seemed impressed, -especially when Richard requested him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -treat the matter as confidential. A sort of friendship -arose between them, and strengthened as time went -on. Richard sometimes wondered how precisely it -had come about, and why it continued.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER VII</h4> - - -<p>Albert Jenkins was nineteen years of -age, and lived with his parents and seven -brothers and sisters in Camberwell; his -father managed a refreshment bar in Oxford Street. -He had been in the employ of Messrs. Curpet and -Smythe for seven years,—first as junior office boy, -then as senior office boy, and finally as junior shorthand -clerk. He was of the average height, with -a shallow chest, and thin arms and legs. His feet -were very small—he often referred to the fact with -frank complacency—and were always encased in -well-fitting hand-made boots, brightly polished. -The rest of his attire was less remarkable for neatness; -but at intervals an ambition to be genteel possessed -him, and during these recurrent periods the -nice conduct of his fingernails interfered somewhat -with official routine. He carried his hat either at -the back of his head or tilted almost upon the bridge -of his nose. In the streets he generally walked with -sedate deliberation, his hands deep in his pockets, -his eyes lowered, and an enigmatic smile on his thin -lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> - -<p>His countenance was of a pale yellow complexion -just tinged with red, and he never coloured; his neck -was a darker yellow. Upon the whole, his features -were regular, except the mouth, which was large, and -protruded like a monkey's; the eyes were grey, with -a bold regard, which not seldom was excusably mistaken -for insolence.</p> - -<p>Considering his years, Jenkins was a highly accomplished -person, in certain directions. Upon all -matters connected with her Majesty's mail and inland -revenue, upon cab fares, bus-routes, and local -railways, upon "Pitman outlines," and upon chamber -practice in Chancery, he was an unquestioned authority. -He knew the addresses of several hundred -London solicitors, the locality of nearly every street -and square within the four-mile radius, and, within -the same limits, the approximate distance of any one -given spot from any other given spot.</p> - -<p>He was the best billiard-player in the office, and -had once made a spot-barred break of 49; this game -was his sole pastime. He gambled regularly upon -horse-races, resorting to a number of bookmakers, -but neither winning nor losing to an appreciable extent; -no less than three jockeys occasionally permitted -him to enjoy their companionship, and he was -never without a stable-tip.</p> - -<p>His particular hobby, however, was restaurants.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -He spent half his income upon food, and quite half -his waking hours either in deciding what he should -consume, or in actual drinking and mastication. He -had personally tested the merits of every bar and -house of refreshment in the neighbourhood of the -Law Courts, from Lockhart's to Gatti's, and would -discourse for hours on their respective virtues and -defects. No restaurant was too mean for his -patronage, and none too splendid; for days in succession -he would dine upon a glass of water and a -captain biscuit with cheese, in order to accumulate -resources for a delicate repast in one of the gilded -establishments where the rich are wont to sustain -themselves; and he had acquired from his father a -quantity of curious lore, throwing light upon the -secrets of the refreshment trade, which enabled him -to spend the money thus painfully amassed to the -best advantage.</p> - -<p>Jenkins was a cockney and the descendant of -cockneys; he conversed always volubly in the dialect -of Camberwell; but just as he was subject to attacks -of modishness, so at times he attempted to rid himself -of his accent, of course without success. He -swore habitually, and used no reticence whatever, except -in the presence of his employers and of Mr. -Alder the manager. In quick and effective retort -he was the peer of cabmen, and nothing could abash<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> -him. His favourite subjects of discussion were -restaurants, as before mentioned, billiards, the turf, -and women, whom he usually described as "tarts." -It was his custom to refer to himself as a "devil for -girls," and when Mr. Alder playfully accused him -of adventures with females of easy virtue, his delight -was unbounded.</p> - -<p>There were moments when Richard loathed -Jenkins, when the gross and ribald atmosphere which -attended Jenkins' presence nauseated him, and utter -solitude in London seemed preferable to the -boy's company; but these passed, and the intimacy -throve. Jenkins, indeed, had his graces; he was of -an exceedingly generous nature, and his admiration -for the deep literary scholarship which he imagined -Richard to possess was ingenuous and unconcealed. -His own agile wit, his picturesque use of slang, his -facility in new oaths, and above all his exact knowledge -of the byways, and backwaters of London life, -endowed him, in Richard's unaccustomed eyes, with -a certain specious attractiveness. Moreover, the fact -that they shared the same room and performed similar -duties made familiar intercourse between them -natural and necessary. With no other member of -the staff did Richard care to associate. The articled -clerks, though courteously agreeable to everyone, -formed an exclusive coterie; and as for the rest, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -were either old or dull, or both. He often debated -whether he should seek out Mr. Aked, who was now -recovered, and had once, unfortunately in Richard's -absence, called at the office; but at length he timidly -decided that the extent of their acquaintance would -not warrant it.</p> - -<p>"Where shall we go to lunch to-day?" was almost -the first question which Richard and Jenkins -asked each other in the morning, and a prolonged -discussion would follow. They called the meal -"lunch," but it was really their dinner, though -neither of them ever admitted the fact.</p> - -<p>Jenkins had a predilection for grill-rooms, where -raw chops and steaks lay on huge dishes, and each -customer chose his own meat and superintended its -cooking. A steak, tender and perfectly cooked, with -baked potatoes and half a pint of stout, was his ideal -repast, and he continually lamented that no restaurant -in London offered such cheer at the price of one -shilling and threepence, including the waiter. The -cheap establishments were never satisfactory, and -Jenkins only frequented them when the state of his -purse left no alternative. In company with Richard -he visited every new eating-house that made its appearance, -in the hope of finding the restaurant of his -dreams, and though each was a disappointment, yet -the search still went on. The place which most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> -nearly coincided with his desires was the "Sceptre," -a low, sombre room between the Law Courts and the -river, used by well-to-do managing clerks and a -sprinkling of junior barristers. Here, lounging luxuriously -on red plush seats, and in full sight and -hearing of a large silver grill, the two spent many -luncheon hours, eating slowly, with gross, sensual -enjoyment, and secretly elated by the proximity of -men older and more prosperous than themselves, -whom they met on equal terms.</p> - -<p>Richard once suggested that they should try one -of the French restaurants in Soho which Mr. Aked -had mentioned.</p> - -<p>"Not me!" said Jenkins, in reply. "You don't -catch me going to those parley-voo shops again. I -went once. They give you a lot of little messes, -faked up from yesterday's dirty plates, and after -you've eaten half a dozen of 'em you don't feel a -bit fuller. Give me a steak and a potato. I like -to know what I'm eating."</p> - -<p>He had an equal detestation of vegetarian restaurants, -but once, during a period of financial depression, -he agreed to accompany Richard, who knew the -place fairly well, to the "Crabtree" in Charing -Cross Road, and though he grumbled roundly at the -insubstantiality of the three-course dinner <i>à la carte</i> -which could be obtained for sixpence, he made no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -difficulty, afterwards, about dining there whenever -prudence demanded the narrowest economy.</p> - -<p>An air of chill and prim discomfort pervaded the -Crabtree, and the mingled odour of lentils and sultana -pudding filled every corner. The tables were -narrow, and the chairs unyielding. The customers -were for the most eccentric as to dress and demeanour; -they had pale faces, and during their melancholy -meals perused volumes obviously instructive, -or debated the topics of the day in platitudinous conversations -unspiced by a single oath. Young women -with whom their personal appearance was a negligible -quantity came in large numbers, and either -giggled to one another without restraint or sat erect -and glared at the males in a manner which cowed -even Jenkins. The waitresses lacked understanding, -and seemed to resent even the most courteous advances.</p> - -<p>One day, just as they were beginning dinner, -Jenkins eagerly drew Richard's attention to the girl -at the pay-desk. "See that girl?" he said.</p> - -<p>"What about her? Is she a new one?"</p> - -<p>"Why, she's the tart that old Aked used to be -after."</p> - -<p>"Was she at that A. B. C. shop in the Strand?" -said Richard, who began to remember the girl's features -and her reddish brown hair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, that's her. Before she was at the A. B. C. -she was cashier at that boiled-beef place opposite -the Courts, but they say she got the sack for talking -to customers too much. She and Aked were very -thick then, and he went there every day. I suppose -his courting interfered with business."</p> - -<p>"But he's old enough to be her father!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. He ought to have been ashamed of himself. -She's not a bad kind, eh?"</p> - -<p>"There wasn't anything between them, really, -was there?"</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> don't know. There might have been. He -followed her to the A. B. C, and I think he sometimes -took her home. Her name's Roberts. We -used to have him on about her—rare fun."</p> - -<p>The story annoyed Richard, for his short <i>tête-à -tête</i> -with Mr. Aked had remained in his mind as a -pleasant memory, and though he was aware that the -old man had been treated with scant respect by the -youngsters in the office, he had acquired the habit of -mentally regarding him with admiration, as a representative -of literature. This attachment to a restaurant -cashier, clearly a person of no refinement or intellect, -scarcely fitted with his estimate of the -journalist who had spoken to Carlyle.</p> - -<p>During the meal he surreptitiously glanced at the -girl several times. She was plumper than before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -and her cough seemed to be cured. Her face was -pleasant, and undoubtedly she had a magnificent coiffure.</p> - -<p>When they presented their checks, Jenkins bowed -awkwardly, and she smiled. He swore to Richard -that next time he would mention Mr. Aked's name -to her. The vow was broken. She was willing to -exchange civilities, but her manner indicated with -sufficient clearness that a line was to be drawn.</p> - -<p>In the following week, when Richard happened to -be at the Crabtree alone, at a later hour than usual, -they had rather a long conversation.</p> - -<p>"Is Mr. Aked still at your office?" she asked, -looking down at her account books.</p> - -<p>Richard told what he knew.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she said, "I often used to see him, and -he gave me some lozenges that cured a bad cough -I had. Nice old fellow, wasn't he?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I fancy so," Richard assented.</p> - -<p>"I thought I'd just ask, as I hadn't seen him -about for a long time."</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon—Miss Roberts."</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon—Mr.——"</p> - -<p>"Larch."</p> - -<p>They both laughed.</p> - -<p>A trivial dispute with Jenkins, a few days later, -disclosed the fact that that haunter of bars had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> -sullen temper, and that his displeasure, once aroused, -was slow to disappear. Richard dined alone again -at the Crabtree, and after another little conversation -with Miss Roberts, having time at his disposal, -he called at the public library in St. Martin's Lane. -In a half-crown review he saw an article, by a writer -of considerable repute, entitled "To Literary Aspirants," -which purported to demonstrate that a -mastery of the craft of words was only to be attained -by a regular course of technical exercises; the nature -of these exercises was described in detail. There -were references to the unremitting drudgery of Flaubert, -de Maupassant, and Stevenson, together with -extracts chosen to illustrate the slow passage of the -last-named author from inspired incompetence to the -serene and perfect proficiency before which all difficulties -melted. After an unqualified statement -that any man—slowly if without talent, quickly if -gifted by nature—might with determined application -learn to write finely, the essayist concluded by -remarking that never before in the history of literature -had young authors been so favourably circumstanced -as at that present. Lastly came the maxim, -<i>Nulla dies sine linea</i>.</p> - -<p>Richard's cooling enthusiasm for letters leaped -into flame. He had done no writing whatever for -several weeks, but that night saw him desperately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -at work. He took advantage of the quarrel to -sever all save the most formal connection with -Jenkins, dined always frugally at the Crabtree, and -spent every evening at his lodging. The thought of -Alphonse Daudet writing "Les Amoureuses" in a -Parisian garret supported him through an entire -month of toil, during which, besides assiduously practising -the recommended exercises, he wrote a complete -short story and began several essays. About -this time his "City of Sleep" was returned upon -his hands in a condition so filthy and ragged that -he was moved to burn it. The short story was -offered to an evening daily, and never heard of -again.</p> - -<p>It occurred to him that possibly he possessed some -talent for dramatic criticism, and one Saturday evening -he went to the first performance of a play at -the St. George's theatre. After waiting for an hour -outside, he got a seat in the last row of the pit. -Eagerly he watched the critics take their places in -the stalls; they chatted languidly, smiling and bowing -now and then to acquaintances in the boxes and -dress circle; the pit was excited and loquacious, and -Richard discovered that nearly everyone round about -him made a practice of attending first nights, and had -an intimate knowledge of the <i>personnel</i> of the stage. -Through the hum of voices the overture to "Rosamund"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -fitfully reached him. During whole bars -the music was lost; then some salient note caught the -ear, and the melody became audible again until another -wave of conversation engulfed it.</p> - -<p>The conclusion of the last act was greeted with -frenzied hand-clapping, beating of sticks, and inarticulate -cries, while above the general noise was heard -the repeated monosyllable "'thor, 'thor." After -what seemed an interminable delay the curtain was -drawn back at one side and a tall man in evening -dress, his face a dead white, stepped before the footlights -and bowed several times; the noise rose to a -thunderous roar, in which howls and hissing were -distinguishable. Richard shook from head to foot, -and tears unaccountably came to his eyes.</p> - -<p>The whole of Sunday and Monday evening were -occupied in writing a detailed analysis and appreciation -of the play. On Tuesday morning he bought -a weekly paper which devoted special attention to -the drama, in order to compare his own view with -that of an acknowledged authority, and found that -the production was dismissed in ten curt lines as mere -amiable drivel.</p> - -<p>A few days afterwards Mr. Curpet offered him the -position of cashier in the office, at a salary of three -pounds a week. His income was exactly doubled, -and the disappointments of unsuccessful authorship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> -suddenly ceased to trouble him. He began to doubt -the wisdom of making any further attempt towards -literature. Was it not clear that his talents lay in -the direction of business? Nevertheless a large -part of his spare cash was devoted to the purchase of -books, chiefly the productions of a few celebrated old -continental presses, which he had recently learned to -value. He prepared a scheme for educating himself -in the classical tongues and in French, and the practice -of writing was abandoned to make opportunity -for the pursuit of culture. But culture proved to be -shy and elusive. He adhered to no regular course -of study, and though he read much, his progress towards -knowledge was almost imperceptible.</p> - -<p>Other distractions presented themselves in the -shape of music and painting. He discovered that he -was not without critical taste in both these arts, and -he became a frequenter of concerts and picture-galleries. -He bought a piano on the hire-purchase system, -and took lessons thereon. In this and other -ways his expenditure swelled till it more than swallowed -up the income of three pounds a week which -not long before he had regarded as something very -like wealth. For many weeks he made no effort to -adjust the balance, until his debts approached the -sum of twenty pounds, nearly half of which was owing -to his landlady. He had to go through more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -than one humiliating scene before an era of economy -set in.</p> - -<p>One afternoon he received a telegram to say that -William Vernon had died very suddenly. It was -signed "Alice Clayton Vernon." Mrs. Vernon was -William's stately cousin-in-law, and Richard, to whom -she had spoken only once,—soon after Mary's wedding,—regarded -her with awe; he disliked her because -he found it impossible to be at ease in her imposing -presence. As he went into Mr. Curpet's -room to ask for leave of absence, his one feeling was -annoyance at the prospect of having to meet her -again. William's death, to his own astonishment, -scarcely affected him at all.</p> - -<p>Mr. Curpet readily granted him two days' holiday, -and he arranged to go down to Bursley the following -night for the funeral.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER VIII</h4> - - -<p>Wearied of sitting, Richard folded his -overcoat pillow-wise, put it under his -head, and extended himself on the -polished yellow wood. But in vain were his eyes -shut tight. Sleep would not come, though he -yawned incessantly. The monstrous beat of the engine, -the quick rattle of windows, and the grinding -of wheels were fused into a fantastic resonance which -occupied every corner of the carriage and invaded -his very skull. Then a light tapping on the roof, -one of those mysterious sounds which make a compartment -in a night-train like a haunted room, momentarily -silenced everything else, and he wished that -he had not been alone.</p> - -<p>Suddenly jumping up, he put away all idea of -sleep, and lowered the window. It was pitch dark; -vague changing shapes, which might have been either -trees or mere fancies of the groping eye, outlined -themselves a short distance away; far in front was a -dull glare from the engine, and behind twinkled the -guard's lamp.... In a few seconds he closed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> -the window again, chilled to the bone, though May -was nearly at an end.</p> - -<p>The thought occurred to him that he was now a -solitary upon the face of the earth. It concerned no -living person whether he did evil or good. If he -chose to seek ruin, to abandon himself to the most -ignoble impulses, there was none to restrain,—not -even a brother-in-law. For several weeks past, he -had been troubled about his future, afraid to face it. -Certainly London satisfied him, and the charm of living -there had not perceptibly grown less. He rejoiced -in London, in its vistas, its shops, its unending -crowds, its vastness, its wickedness; each dream -dreamed about London in childhood had come true; -and surer than ever before was the consciousness that -in going to London he had fulfilled his destiny. Yet -there was something to lack in himself. His confidence -in his own abilities and his own character was -being undermined. Nearly a year had gone, and he -had made no progress, except at the office. Resolutions -were constantly broken; it was three months -since he had despatched an article to a newspaper. -He had not even followed a definite course of study, -and though his acquaintance with modern French -fiction had widened, he could boast no exact scholarship -even in that piquant field. Evening after evening—ah!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -those long, lamplit evenings which were to -be given to strenuous effort!—was frittered away -upon mean banalities, sometimes in the company of -some casual acquaintance and sometimes alone. He -had by no means grasped the full import and extent -of this retrogression; it was merely beginning to disturb -his self-complacence, and perhaps, ever so -slightly, his sleep. But now, hurrying to the funeral -of William Vernon, he lazily laughed at himself for -having allowed his peace of mind to be ruffled. -Why bother about "getting on"? What did it -matter?</p> - -<p>He still experienced but little sorrow at the death -of Vernon. His affection for the man had strangely -faded. During the nine months that he had lived -in London they had scarcely written to one another, -and Richard regarded the long journey to attend -William's obsequies as a tiresome concession to propriety.</p> - -<p>That was his real attitude, had he cared to examine -it.</p> - -<p>At about four o'clock it was quite light, and the -risen sun woke Richard from a brief doze. The dew -lay in the hollows of the fields but elsewhere there -was a soft, fresh clearness which gave to the common -incidents of the flying landscape a new and virginal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -beauty—as though that had been the morn of creation -itself. The cattle were stirring, and turned to -watch the train as it slipped by.</p> - -<p>Richard opened the window again. His mood -had changed, and he felt unreasonably joyous. -Last night he had been too pessimistic. Life lay -yet before him, and time enough to rectify any indiscretions -of which he might have been guilty. The -future was his, to use as he liked. Magnificent, consoling -thought! Moved by some symbolic association -of ideas, he put his head out of the window and -peered in the direction of the train's motion. A -cottage stood alone in the midst of innumerable -meadows; as it crossed his vision, the door opened, -and a young woman came out with an empty pail -swinging in her left hand. Apparently she would be -about twenty-seven, plump and sturdy and straight. -Her hair was loose about her round, contented face, -and with her disengaged hand she rubbed her eyes, -still puffed and heavy with sleep. She wore a pink -print gown, the bodice of which was unfastened, disclosing -a white undergarment and the rich hemispheres -of her bosom. In an instant the scene was -hidden by a curve of the line, and the interminable -succession of fields resumed, but Richard had time to -guess from her figure that the woman was the mother -of a small family. He pictured her husband still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -unconscious in the warm bed which she had just -left; he even saw the impress of her head on the -pillow, and a long nightdress thrown hastily across -a chair.</p> - -<p>He was deeply and indescribably affected by this -suggestion of peaceful married love set in so great -a solitude. The woman and her hypothetical husband -and children were only peasants, their lives were -probably narrow and their intellects dormant, yet -they aroused in him a feeling of envy which surged -about his brain and for the moment asphyxiated -thought....</p> - -<p>Later on the train slackened speed as it passed -through a shunting-yard. The steam from the light -shunting-engine rose with cloud-like delicacy in the -clear air, and an occasional short whistle seemed to -have something of the quality of a bird's note. The -men with their long poles moved blithely among the -medley of rails, signalling one another with motions -of the arm. The coupling-chains rang with a merry, -giant tinkle, and when the engine brought its load -of waggons to a standstill, and a smart, metallic -bump, bump, bump ran <i>diminuendo</i> from waggon to -waggon, one might have fancied that some leviathan -game was being played. Richard forgot the girl -with the pail, and soon after went to sleep.</p> - -<p>At six o'clock the train reached Knype, where he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -had to change. Two women with several children -also alighted, and he noticed how white and fatigued -were their faces; the children yawned pitifully. An -icy, searching wind blew through the station; the exhilaration -of the dawn was gone, and a spirit of -utter woe and disaster brooded over everything. -For the first time William's death really touched -him.</p> - -<p>The streets of Bursley were nearly empty as he -walked through the town from the railway station, -for the industrial population was already at work in -the manufactories, and the shops not yet open. Yet -Richard avoided the main thoroughfares, choosing a -circuitous route lest he might by chance encounter -an acquaintance. He foresaw the inevitable banal -dialogue:—</p> - -<p>"Well, how do you like London?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's fine!"</p> - -<p>"Getting on all right?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, thanks."</p> - -<p>And then the effort of two secretly bored persons -to continue a perfunctory conversation unaided by a -single mutual interest.</p> - -<p>A carriage was driving away from the Red House -just as Richard got within sight of it; he nodded to -the venerable coachman, who gravely touched his -hat. The owner of the carriage was Mr. Clayton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -Vernon, William's cousin and an alderman of Bursley, -and Richard surmised that Mrs. Clayton Vernon -had put herself in charge of the place until the -funeral should be over. He trembled at the prospect -of a whole day to be spent in the company of -these excellent people, whom William had always referred -to with a smile, and yet not without a great -deal of respect. The Clayton Vernons were the -chief buttress of respectability in the town; rich, -strictly religious, philanthropic, and above all dignified. -Everyone looked up to them instinctively, and -had they possessed but one vice between them, they -would have been loved.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Clayton Vernon herself opened the door. -She was a stately woman of advanced middle age, -with a suave, imperious manner.</p> - -<p>"I left Clayton to have breakfast by himself," she -said, as she led Richard into the sitting-room; "I -thought you would like someone here to welcome you -after your long night journey. Breakfast will be -ready almost directly. How tired you must be! -Clayton said it was a pity you should come by the -night train, but of course it is quite right that you -should inconvenience your employers as little as possible, -quite right. And we admire you for it. -Now will you run upstairs and wash? You've not -forgotten the way?..."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> - -<p>The details of the funeral had been settled by Mr. -Clayton Vernon, who was the chief mourner, and -Richard had nothing to do but fall in with preconcerted -plans and answer decorously when spoken to. -The arrangement was satisfactory in that it relieved -him from duties which would have been irksome, but -scarcely gratifying to his pride. He had lived nearly -all his life in that house, and had known the dead -man perhaps more intimately than anyone else present. -However, he found it convenient to efface himself.</p> - -<p>In the evening there was an elaborate tea at which -were present the Clayton Vernons and the minister -who had conducted the funeral service. The -minister and the alderman left immediately afterwards -to attend a meeting, and when they were gone -Mrs. Clayton Vernon said,—</p> - -<p>"Now we are all alone, Richard. Go into the -drawing-room and I will follow. I do want to have -a chat with you."</p> - -<p>She came in with needle and thread and scissors.</p> - -<p>"If you will take off your coat, I will stitch on that -button that is hanging by one thread. I noticed it -this morning, and then it went quite out of my mind. -I am so sorry!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, thanks!" he blushed hotly. "But I can -stitch myself, you know—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Come, you needn't be shy of an old woman seeing -you in your shirt-sleeves. Do as I ask."</p> - -<p>He doffed the coat.</p> - -<p>"I always like young men to be immaculately -neat," she said, cutting off a piece of cotton. "One's -personal character is an index to one's character, -don't you think? Of course you do. Here, thread -the needle for me. I am afraid since your dear -sister died you have grown a little careless, eh? She -was <i>most</i> particular. Ah, what a mother she was to -you!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"I was very grieved to see you go to the funeral -in a soft hat—Richard, really I was. It wasn't -respectful to your brother-in-law's memory."</p> - -<p>"I never thought. You see, I started in rather -a hurry." The fact was that he had no silk hat, nor -could he easily afford to buy one.</p> - -<p>"But you <i>should</i> think, my dear boy. Even Clayton -was shocked. Are those your best clothes?"</p> - -<p>Richard answered that they were. He sheepishly -protested that he never bothered about clothes.</p> - -<p>There was a silence, broken by her regular stitching. -At last she handed him the coat and helped him -to put it on. He went to the old green sofa, and -somewhat to his dismay she sat down by his side.</p> - -<p>"Richard," she began, in a changed, soft voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -and not without emotion, "do you know we are expecting -great things from you?"</p> - -<p>"But you shouldn't. I'm a very ordinary sort of -person."</p> - -<p>"No, no. That you are not. God has given you -great talents, and you must use them. Poor William -always used to say that you were highly gifted -and might do great things."</p> - -<p>"Might!"</p> - -<p>"Yes—if you tried."</p> - -<p>"But how am I gifted? And what 'great things' -are expected?" he asked, perhaps angling for further -flattering disclosures.</p> - -<p>"I cannot answer that," said Mrs. Clayton Vernon; -"it is for you to answer. You have given all -your friends the impression that you would do something -worth doing. You have raised hopes, and you -must not disappoint them. We believe in you, -Richard. That is all I can say."</p> - -<p>"That's all very well; but—" He stopped and -played with the seal on his watch-chain. "The fact -is, I am working, you know. I want to be an author—at -least a journalist."</p> - -<p>"Ah!"</p> - -<p>"It's a slow business—at first—" Suddenly -moved to be confidential, he went on to give her some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> -account, incomplete and judiciously edited, of his life -during the past year.</p> - -<p>"You have relieved my mind greatly, and Clayton -will be so glad. We were beginning to think—"</p> - -<p>"Why were you 'beginning to think'?"</p> - -<p>"Well, never mind now."</p> - -<p>"But why?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind. I have full confidence in you, and -I am sure you will get on. Poor boy, you have no -near connections or relatives now?"</p> - -<p>"No, none."</p> - -<p>"You must look on Clayton and myself as very -near relatives. We have no children, but our hearts -are large. I shall expect you to write to me sometimes -and to come and stay with us now and then."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER IX</h4> - - -<p>In the centre of the reading-room at the British -Museum sit four men fenced about by a quadruple -ring of unwieldy volumes which are an index -to all the knowledge in the world. The four -men know those volumes as a good courier knows the -Continental Bradshaw, and all day long, from early -morning, when the attendants, self-propelled on -wheeled stools, run around the rings arranging and -aligning the huge blue tomes, to late afternoon, when -the immense dome is like a dark night and the arc -lamps hiss and crackle in the silence, they answer -questions, patiently, courteously; they are seldom embarrassed -and less seldom in the wrong.</p> - -<p>Radiating in long rows from the central fortress -of learning, a diversified company of readers disposes -itself: bishops, statesmen, men of science, historians, -needy pedants, popular authors whose broughams -are waiting in the precincts, journalists, medical -students, law students, curates, hack-writers, women -with clipped hair and black aprons, idlers; all short-sighted -and all silent.</p> - -<p>Every few minutes an official enters in charge of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> -an awed group of country visitors, and whispers mechanically -the unchanging formula: "Eighty thousand -volumes in this room alone: thirty-six miles of -bookshelves in the Museum altogether." Whereupon -the visitors stare about them, the official unsuccessfully -endeavours not to let it appear that the -credit of the business belongs entirely to himself, and -the party retires again.</p> - -<p>Vague, reverberating noises roll heavily from time -to time across the chamber, but no one looks up; the -incessant cannibal feast of the living upon the dead -goes speechlessly forward; the trucks of food are always -moving to and fro, and the nonchalant waiters -seem to take no rest.</p> - -<p>Almost Richard's first care on coming to London -had been to obtain a reader's ticket for the British -Museum, and for several months he had made a -practice of spending Saturday afternoon there, following -no special line of study or research, and -chiefly contenting himself with desultory reading in -the twenty thousand volumes which could be reached -down without the slow machinery of an order form. -After a time the charm of the place had dwindled, -and other occupations filled his Saturday afternoons.</p> - -<p>But when upon his return from William's funeral -he stepped from Euston Station into Bloomsbury, -the old enthusiasms came back in all their original<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> -freshness. The seduction of the street vistas, the -lofty buildings, and the swiftly flitting hansoms once -more made mere wayfaring a delight; the old feeling -of self-confident power lifted his chin, and the failures -of the past were forgotten in a dream of future -possibilities. He dwelt with pleasure on that part -of his conversation with Mrs. Clayton Vernon which -disclosed the interesting fact that Bursley would be -hurt if he failed to do "things." Bursley, and especially -Mrs. Clayton Vernon, good woman, should -not be disappointed. He had towards his native -town the sentiments of a consciously clever husband -who divines an admiring trust in the glance of a little -ignoramus of a wife. Such faith was indeed touching.</p> - -<p>One of the numerous resolutions which he made -was to resume attendance at the British Museum; -the first visit was anticipated with impatience, and -when he found himself once more within the book-lined -walls of the reading-room he was annoyed to -discover that his plans for study were not matured -sufficiently to enable him to realise any definite part -of them, however small, that day. An idea for an -article on "White Elephants" was nebulous in his -brain; he felt sure that the subject might be treated -in a fascinating manner, if only he could put hands -on the right material. An hour passed in searching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -Poole's Index and other works of reference, without -result, and Richard spent the remainder of the afternoon -in evolving from old magazines schemes for -articles which would present fewer difficulties in -working out. Nothing of value was accomplished, -and yet he experienced neither disappointment nor a -sense of failure. Contact with innumerable books of -respectable but forbidding appearance had cajoled -him, as frequently before, into the delusion that he -had been industrious; surely it was impossible that a -man could remain long in that atmosphere of scholarly -attainment without acquiring knowledge and improving -his mind!</p> - -<p>Presently he abandoned the concoction of attractive -titles for his articles, and began to look through -some volumes of the "Biographie Universelle." -The room was thinning now. He glanced at the -clock; it was turned six. He had been there nearly -four hours! With a sigh of satisfaction he replaced -all his books and turned to go, mentally discussing -whether or not so much application did not entitle -him, in spite of certain resolutions, to go to the Ottoman -that evening.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" a voice called out as he passed the glass -screen near the door; it sang resonantly among the -desks and ascended into the dome; a number of -readers looked up. Richard turned round sharply,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> -and beheld Mr. Aked moving a forefinger on the -other side of the screen.</p> - -<p>"Been here long?" the older man asked, when -Richard had come round to him. "I've been here -all day—first time for fifteen years at least. -Strange we didn't see each other. They've got a -beastly new regulation about novels less than five -years old not being available. I particularly wanted -some of Gissing's—not for the mere fun of reading -'em of course, because I've read 'em before. I -wanted them for a special purpose—I may tell you -about it some day—and I couldn't get them, at -least several of them. What a tremendous crowd -there is here nowadays!"</p> - -<p>"Well, you see, it's Saturday afternoon," Richard -put in, "and Saturday afternoon's the only time -that most people can come, unless they're men of -independent means like yourself. You seem to have -got a few novels besides Gissing's, though." About -forty volumes were stacked upon Mr. Aked's desk, -many of them open.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I've done now." He began to -close the books with a smack and to pitch them down -roughly in new heaps, exactly like a petulant boy -handling school-books. "See, pile them between -my arms, and I bet you I'll carry them away all at -once."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, no. I'll help you," Richard laughed. -"It'll be far less trouble than picking up what you -drop."</p> - -<p>While they were waiting at the centre desk Mr. -Aked said,—</p> - -<p>"There's something about this place that makes -you ask for more volumes than can possibly be useful -to you. I question whether I've done any good -here to-day at all. If I'd been content with three -or four books instead of thirty or forty, I might have -done something. By the way, what are you here -for?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I just came to look up a few points," Richard -answered vaguely. "I've been messing about—got -a notion or two for articles, that's all."</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked stopped to shake hands as soon as they -were outside the Museum. Richard was very disappointed -that their meeting should have been so -short. This man of strange vivacity had thrown a -spell over him. Richard was sure that his conversation, -if only he could be persuaded to talk, would -prove delightfully original and suggestive; he -guessed that they were mutually sympathetic. Ever -since their encounter in the A. B. C. shop Richard -had desired to know more of him, and now, when -by chance they met again, Mr. Aked's manner -showed little or no inclination towards a closer acquaintance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -There was of course a difference between -them in age of at least thirty years, but to -Richard that seemed no bar to an intimacy. It was, -he surmised, only the physical part of Mr. Aked that -had grown old.</p> - -<p>"Well, good-bye."</p> - -<p>"Good-bye." Should he ask if he might call at -Mr. Aked's rooms or house, or whatever his abode -was? He hesitated, from nervousness.</p> - -<p>"Often come here?"</p> - -<p>"Generally on Saturdays," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"We may see each other again, then, sometime. -Good-bye."</p> - -<p>Richard left him rather sadly, and the sound of the -old man's quick, alert footsteps—he almost stamped—receded -in the direction of Southampton Row. -A minute later, as Richard was turning round by -Mudie's out of Museum Street, a hand touched his -shoulder. It was Mr. Aked's.</p> - -<p>"By the way," the man's face crinkled into a -smile as he spoke, "are you doing anything to-night?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing whatever."</p> - -<p>"Let's go and have dinner together—I know a -good French place in Soho."</p> - -<p>"Oh, thanks. I shall be awfully pleased."</p> - -<p>"Half a crown, <i>table d'hôte</i>. Can you afford?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Certainly I can," said Richard, perhaps a little -annoyed, until he recollected that Mr. Aked had used -exactly the same phrase on a previous occasion.</p> - -<p>"I'll pay for the wine."</p> - -<p>"Not at all—"</p> - -<p>"I'll pay for the wine," Mr. Aked repeated decisively.</p> - -<p>"All right. You told me about this Soho place -before, if you remember."</p> - -<p>"So I did, so I did, so I did."</p> - -<p>"What made you turn back?"</p> - -<p>"A whim, young friend, nothing else. Take my -arm."</p> - -<p>Richard laughed aloud, for no reason in particular, -except that he felt happy. They settled to a brisk -walk.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The restaurant was a square apartment with a low -and smoky beamed ceiling, and shining brass hat-pegs -all round the walls; above the hat-pegs were -framed advertisements of liqueurs and French, Italian, -and Spanish wines. The little tables, whose stiff -snowy cloths came near to touching the floor at every -side, gleamed and glittered in the light of a fire. -The place was empty save for an old waiter who was -lighting the gas. The waiter turned a large, mild -countenance to Mr. Aked as the two entered, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -smiling benignly greeted him with a flow of French, -and received a brief reply in the same language. -Richard failed to comprehend what was said.</p> - -<p>They chose a table near the fire. Mr. Aked at -once pulled a book from his pocket and began to -read; and Richard, somewhat accustomed by this -time to his peculiarities, found nothing extraordinary -in such conduct. This plain little restaurant seemed -full of enchantment. He was in Paris,—not the -great Paris which is reached <i>via</i> Charing Cross, but -that little Paris which hides itself in the immensity -of London. French newspapers were scattered -about the room; the sound of French voices came musically -through an open door; the bread which was -presently brought in with the <i>hors d'oeuvre</i> was -French, and the setting of the table itself showed -an exotic daintiness which he had never seen before.</p> - -<p>Outside a barrel organ was piercingly strident in -the misty dusk. Above the ground-glass panes of -the window, Richard could faintly descry the upper -storeys of houses on the opposite side of the road. -There was a black and yellow sign, "Umberto -Club," and above that a blue and red sign, "Blanchisserie -française." Still higher was an open window -from which leaned a young, negligently dressed -woman with a coarse Southern face; she swung a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> -bird-cage idly in her hand; the bird-cage fell and was -swallowed by the ground glass, and the woman with -a gesture of despair disappeared from the window; -the barrel organ momentarily ceased its melody and -then struck up anew.</p> - -<p>Everything seemed strangely, delightfully unsubstantial, -even the meek, bland face of the waiter as -he deftly poured out the soup. Mr. Aked, having -asked for the wine list, called "Cinquante, Georges, -s'il vous plait," and divided his attention impartially -between his soup and his book. Richard picked up -the "Echo de Paris" which lay on a neighbouring -chair. On the first page was a reference in displayed -type to the success of the feuilleton "<i>de notre -collaborateur distingué</i>," Catulle Mendès. How -wondrously enticing the feuilleton looked, with its -descriptive paragraphs cleverly diversified by short -lines of dialogue, and at the end "<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">CATULLE MENDÈS</span>, -<i>à suivre. Réproduction interdite!</i>" -Half Paris, probably, was reading that feuilleton! -Catulle Mendès was a real man, and no doubt eating -his dinner at that moment!</p> - -<p>When the fish came, and Georges had gently -poured out the wine, Mr. Aked's tongue was loosed.</p> - -<p>"And how has the Muse been behaving herself?" -he began.</p> - -<p>Richard told him, with as little circumlocution as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> -pride would allow, the history of the last few sterile -months.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you feel a bit downhearted."</p> - -<p>"Not in the least!" answered Richard, bravely, -and just then his reply was approximately true.</p> - -<p>"<i>Never</i> feel downhearted?"</p> - -<p>"Well, of course one gets a bit sick sometimes."</p> - -<p>"Let's see, to-day's the 30th. How many words -have you written this month?"</p> - -<p>"How many words!" Richard laughed. "I -never count what I do in that way. But it's not -much. I haven't felt in the humour. There was -the funeral. That put me off."</p> - -<p>"I suppose you think you must write only <i>when -the mood is on you</i>." Mr. Aked spoke sarcastically, -and then laughed. "Quite a mistake. I'll give you -this bit of advice and charge nothing for it. Sit -down every night and write five hundred words descriptive -of some scene which has occurred during -the day. Never mind how tired you are; do it. Do -it for six months, and then compare the earlier work -with the later, and you'll keep on."</p> - -<p>Richard drank the wisdom in.</p> - -<p>"Did you do that once?"</p> - -<p>"I did, sir. Everyone does it that comes to anything. -I didn't come to anything, though I made a -bit of money at one time. But then mine was a queer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -case. I was knocked over by dyspepsia. Beware -of dyspepsia. I was violently dyspeptic for twenty -years—simply couldn't write. Then I cured myself. -But it was too late to begin again." He -spoke in gulps between mouthfuls of fish.</p> - -<p>"How did you cure yourself?"</p> - -<p>The man took no notice of the question, and went -on:—</p> - -<p>"And if I haven't written anything for twenty -years, I'm still an author at heart. In fact, I've got -something 'in the air' now. Oh! I've always had -the literary temperament badly. Do you ever catch -yourself watching instinctively for the characteristic -phrase?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean."</p> - -<p>"Eh?"</p> - -<p>Richard repeated what he had said, but Mr. Aked -was absorbed in pouring out another glass of wine.</p> - -<p>"I wish you'd tell me," Richard began, after a -pause, "how you first <i>began</i> to write, or rather to -get printed."</p> - -<p>"My dear little friend, I can't tell you anything -new. I wrote for several years and never sold a -line. And for what peculiar reason, should you -think? Simply because not a line was worth printing. -Then my things began to be accepted. I sold -a story first; I forget the title, but I remember there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -was a railway accident in it, and it happened to come -before the editor of a magazine just when everyone -was greatly excited about a railway smash in -the West of England. I got thirty shillings for -that."</p> - -<p>"I think I should get on all right enough if only -I could sell <i>one</i> thing." Richard sighed.</p> - -<p>"Well, you must wait. Why, damn it all, man!"—he -stopped to drink, and Richard noticed how his -hand shook. "How long have you been working -seriously? Not a year! If you were going in for -painting, you surely wouldn't expect to sell pictures -after only a year's study?" Mr. Aked showed a -naïve appreciation of himself in the part of a veteran -who deigns to give a raw recruit the benefit of vast -experience.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," assented Richard, abashed.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, don't begin to whine."</p> - -<p>After the cheese Mr. Aked ordered coffee and -cognac, and sixpenny cigars. They smoked in -silence.</p> - -<p>"Do you know," Richard blurted out at length, -"the fact is I'm not sure that I'm meant for writing -at all. I never take any pleasure <i>in</i> writing. It's -a confounded nuisance." He almost trembled with -apprehension as he uttered the words.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You like thinking about what you're going to -write, arranging, observing, etc.?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I like that awfully."</p> - -<p>"Well, here's a secret. No writer does like writing, -at least not one in a hundred, and the exception, -ten to one, is a howling mediocrity. That's a fact. -But all the same they're miserable if they don't -write."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad; there's hope."</p> - -<p>When Richard had finished his coffee, it occurred -to him to mention Miss Roberts.</p> - -<p>"Do you ever go to the Crabtree?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Not of late."</p> - -<p>"I only ask because there's a girl there who knows -you. She inquired of me how you were not long -since."</p> - -<p>"A girl who knows me? Who the devil may she -be?"</p> - -<p>"I fancy her name's Roberts."</p> - -<p>"Aha! So she's got a new place, has she? She -lives in my street. That's how I know her. Nice -little thing, rather!"</p> - -<p>He made no further remark on the subject, but -there remained an absent, amused smile on his face, -and he pulled at his lower lip and fastened his gaze -on the table.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You must come down sometime, and see me; -my niece keeps house for me," he said before they -separated, giving an address in Fulham. He wrung -Richard's hand, patted him on the shoulder, winking -boyishly, and went off whistling to himself very -quietly in the upper register.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER X</h4> - - -<p>The slender, badly hung gate closed of itself -behind him with a resounding clang, communicating -a little thrill to the ground.</p> - -<p>In answer to his ring a girl came to the door. -She was rather short, thin, and dressed in black, with -a clean white apron. In the half light of the narrow -lobby he made out a mahogany hat-rack of conventional -shape, and on a wooden bracket a small lamp -with a tarnished reflector.</p> - -<p>"No," Richard heard in a quiet, tranquil voice, -"Mr. Aked has just gone out for a walk. He -didn't say what time he should be back. Can I give -him any message?"</p> - -<p>"He sent me a card to come down and see him -this afternoon, and—I've come. He said about -seven o'clock. It's a quarter past now. But perhaps -he forgot all about it."</p> - -<p>"Will you step inside? He may only be away for -a minute or two."</p> - -<p>"No, thanks. If you'll just tell him I've -called—"</p> - -<p>"I'm so sorry—" The girl raised her hand and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -rested it against the jamb of the doorway; her eyes -were set slantwise on the strip of garden, and she -seemed to muse an instant.</p> - -<p>"Are you Mr. Larch?" she asked hesitatingly, -just as Richard was saying good-day.</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Richard.</p> - -<p>"Uncle was telling me he had had dinner with -you. I'm <i>sure</i> he'll be back soon. Won't you wait -a little while?"</p> - -<p>"Well—"</p> - -<p>She stood aside, and Richard passed into the lobby.</p> - -<p>The front room, into which he was ushered, was -full of dim shadows, attributable to the multiplicity -of curtains which obscured the small bay window. -Carteret Street and the half-dozen florid, tawny, tree-lined -avenues that run parallel to it contain hundreds -of living rooms almost precisely similar. Its dimensions -were thirteen feet by eleven, and the height of -the ceiling appeared to bring the walls, which were -papered in an undecipherable pattern of blue, even -closer together than they really were. Linoleum -with a few rugs served for a carpet. The fireplace -was of painted stone, and a fancy screen of South -African grasses hid the grate. Behind a clock and -some vases on the mantelpiece rose a confection of -walnut and silvered glass. A mahogany chiffonier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> -filled the side of the room farthest from the window; -it had a marble top and a large mirror framed in -scroll work, and was littered with salt-cellars, fruit -plates, and silver nicknacks. The table, a square -one, was covered by a red cloth of flannel-like texture -patterned in black. The chairs were of mahogany -and horsehair, and matched the sofa, which stretched -from the door nearly to the window. Several prints -framed in gilt and oak depended by means of stout -green cord from French nails with great earthenware -heads. In the recess to the left of the hearth -stood a piano, open, and a song on the music-stand. -What distinguished the room from others of its type -was a dwarf bookcase filled chiefly with French -novels whose vivid yellow gratefully lightened a dark -corner next the door.</p> - -<p>"Uncle is very forgetful," the girl began. There -was some sewing on the table, and she had already -taken it up. Richard felt shy and ill at ease, but -his companion showed no symptom of discomposure. -He smiled vaguely, not knowing what to reply.</p> - -<p>"I suppose he walks a good deal," he said at -length.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he does." There was a second pause. -The girl continued to sew quietly; she appeared to -be indifferent whether they conversed or not.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I see you are a musician."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" She laughed, and looked at his -eyes. "I sing a very little bit."</p> - -<p>"Do you sing Schubert's songs?"</p> - -<p>"Schubert's? No. Are they good?"</p> - -<p>"Rather. They're <i>the</i> songs."</p> - -<p>"Classical, I suppose." Her tone implied that -classical songs were outside the region of the -practical.</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course."</p> - -<p>"I don't think I care much for classical music."</p> - -<p>"But you should."</p> - -<p>"Should I? Why?" She laughed gaily, like -a child amused. "Hope Temple's songs are nice, -and 'The River of Years,' I'm just learning that. -Do you sing?"</p> - -<p>"No—I don't really sing. I haven't got a -piano at my place—now."</p> - -<p>"What a pity! I suppose you know a great deal -about music?"</p> - -<p>"I wish I did!" said Richard, trying awkwardly -not to seem flattered.</p> - -<p>A third pause.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Aked seems to have a fine lot of French -novels. I wish I had as many."</p> - -<p>"Yes. He's always bringing them in."</p> - -<p>"And this is the latest, eh?" He picked up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> -"L'Abbé Tigrane," which lay on the table by the -sewing.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I fancy uncle got that last night."</p> - -<p>"You read French, of course?"</p> - -<p>"I! No, indeed!" Again she laughed. "You -mustn't imagine, Mr. Larch," she went on, and her -small eyes twinkled, "that I am at all like uncle. -I'm not. I've only kept house for him a little while, -and we are really—quite different."</p> - -<p>"How do you mean, 'like uncle'?"</p> - -<p>"Well," the quiet voice was imperceptibly raised, -"I'm not a great reader, and I know nothing of -books. I'm not clever, you know. I can't bear -poetry."</p> - -<p>Richard looked indulgent.</p> - -<p>"But you do read?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sometimes a novel. I'm reading 'East -Lynne.' Uncle bought it for me the other -day."</p> - -<p>"And you like it?"</p> - -<p>There was a timid tap at the door, and a short, -stout servant with red hands and a red face entered; -her rough, chubby forearms were bare, and she carried -a market basket. "Please, 'm," she ejaculated -meaningly and disappeared. Mr. Aked's niece excused -herself, and when she returned Richard looked -at his watch and rose.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'm very sorry about uncle—but it's just like -him."</p> - -<p>"Yes, isn't it?" Richard answered, and they exchanged -a smile.</p> - -<p>He walked down Carteret Street humming a tuneless -air and twirling his stick. Mr. Aked's niece had -proved rather disappointing. She was an ordinary -girl, and evidently quite unsusceptible to the artistic -influences which subtly emanated from Mr. Aked. -But with the exception of his landlady and his landlady's -daughter, she was the first woman whom -Richard had met in London, and the interview had -been somewhat of an ordeal.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was matter for regret. Suppose she had -been clever, witty, full of that "nameless charm" -with which youths invest the ideal maidens of their -dreams—with which, indeed, during the past week -he had invested her! He might have married her. -Then, guided by the experience of a sympathetic -uncle-in-law, he would have realised all his ambitions. -A vision of Mr. Richard Larch, the well-known -editor, and his charming wife, giving a dinner-party -to a carefully selected company of literary -celebrities, flitted before him. Alas! The girl's -"East Lynne," her drawing-room ballads, the mean -little serving-maid, the complacent vulgarity of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> -room, the house, the street, the neighbourhood, combined -effectually to dispel it.</p> - -<p>He felt sure that she had no aspirations.</p> - -<p>It was necessary to wait for a train at Parson's -Green station. From the elevated platform grass -was visible through a gently falling mist. The curving -rails stole away mysteriously into a general greyness, -and the twilight, assuaging every crudity of the -suburban landscape, gave an impression of vast -spaces and perfect serenity. Save for the porter -leisurely lighting the station lamps, he was alone,—alone, -as it seemed to him, in an upper world, above -London, and especially above Fulham and the house -where lived the girl who read "East Lynne." How -commonplace must she be! Richard wondered that -Mr. Aked could exist surrounded by all the banalities -of Carteret Street. Even his own lodging was more -attractive, for at least Raphael Street was within -sound of the central hum and beat of the city.</p> - -<p>A signal suddenly shone out in the distance; it -might have been a lighthouse seen across unnumbered -miles of calm ocean. Rain began to fall.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XI</h4> - - -<p>Richard's Sabbaths had become days of -dismal torpor. A year ago, on first arriving -in London, he had projected a series of -visits to churches famous either for architectural -beauty or for picturesque ritual. A few weeks, however, -had brought tedium. He was fundamentally -irreligious, and his churchgoing proceeded from a -craving, purely sensuous, which sought gratification -in ceremonial pomps, twilight atmospheres heavy -with incense and electric with devotion, and dim perspectives -of arching stone. But these things he soon -discovered lost their fine savour by the mere presence -of a prim congregation secure in the brass armour of -self-complacency; for him the worship was spoilt by -the worshippers, and so the time came when the only -church which he cared to attend—and even to this -he went but infrequently, lest use should stale its -charm—was the Roman Catholic oratory of St. -Philip Neri, where, at mass, the separation of the -sexes struck a grateful note of austerity, and the mean -appearance of the people contrasted admirably with -the splendour of the priests' vestments, the elaborate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -music, and the gilt and colour of altars. Here deity -was omnipotent and humanity abject. Men and -women of all grades, casting themselves down before -the holy images in the ecstatic abandonment of repentance, -prayed side by side, oblivious of everything -save their sins and the anger of a God. As a -spectacle the oratory was sublime.</p> - -<p>He visited it about once a month. The mornings -of intervening Sundays were given to aimless perambulation -of the parks, desultory reading, or sleep; -there was nothing to prevent him leaving town for -the day, but he was so innocent of any sort of rural -lore that the prospect of a few hours in the country -was seldom enticing enough to rouse sufficient energy -for its accomplishment. After dinner he usually -slept, and in the evening he would take a short walk -and go early to bed. For some reason he never attempted -to work on Sundays.</p> - -<p>It had rained continuously since he left Parson's -Green station on the previous night, till midday on -Sunday, and in the afternoon he was lounging half -asleep with a volume of verse on his knee, considering -whether or not to put on his hat and go out, when -Lily entered; Lily was attired for conquest, and with -her broad velvet hat and pink bows looked so unlike -a servant-girl that drowsy Richard started up, uncertain -what fairy was brightening his room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Please, sir, there's a young gentleman as wants -to see you."</p> - -<p>"Oh!—who is it?" No one had ever called -upon him before.</p> - -<p>"I don't know, sir; it's a young <i>gentleman</i>."</p> - -<p>The young gentleman was ushered in. He wore -a new black frock coat, and light grey trousers which -fell in rich folds over new patent-leather boots. -The shortcomings of his linen, which was dull and -bluish in tint, were more than atoned for by the -magnificence of a new white silk necktie with heliotrope -spots. He carried a silk hat and a pair of -unworn kid gloves in one hand, and in the other a -half-smoked cigar and a stick, with whose physiognomy -Richard was quite familiar.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Jenkins!"</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon, Mr. Larch. I was just passing -this way, and I thought I'd look you up." With -an inclination of the head more ridiculous even than -he intended, Jenkins placed his hat, stick, and gloves -on the bed, and, nicely adjusting the tails of his coat, -occupied a chair.</p> - -<p>The quarrel between Richard and Jenkins had -been patched up a few days before.</p> - -<p>"So this is your digs. Nice large windows!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, decent windows."</p> - -<p>Although these two were on terms of almost brutal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> -familiarity during office hours, here each felt slightly -uncomfortable in the other's presence. Jenkins -wiped his pallid, unhealthy face with a cambric handkerchief -which he unfolded for the purpose.</p> - -<p>"Been to church this morning?"</p> - -<p>Meditatively Jenkins flicked some cigar-ash into -the fire-grate, and then answered, "Yes."</p> - -<p>"I thought so."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because you're such a swell."</p> - -<p>"Ain't I, just!" Jenkins spoke with frank delight. -"Two guineas the suit, my boy! Won't I -knock 'em in the Wal—worth Road!"</p> - -<p>"But where's your ring?" Richard asked, noticing -the absence of the silver ring which Jenkins commonly -wore on his left hand.</p> - -<p>"Oh! I gave it to my sister. She wanted to give -it to her young man."</p> - -<p>"She's engaged, is she?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—at least I suppose she is."</p> - -<p>"And when are you going to get engaged?"</p> - -<p>Jenkins emitted a sound expressive of scorn. -"You don't catch me entering the holy bonds. Not -this child! It ain't all lavender, you bet. I say, -you know Miss Roberts at the veg—red-haired -tart." Jenkins was unaware that Richard had been -going regularly to the Crabtree. "I was passing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> -the place last night just as they were closing, and I -walked down to Charing Cross with her. I asked -her to meet me to-day somewhere, but she couldn't."</p> - -<p>"You mean she wouldn't. Well, and what sort's -she?"</p> - -<p>"Devilish nice, <i>I</i> tell you. But not my style. -But there's a girl I know—lives down the Camberwell -New Road. She is a treat now,—a fair treat. -About seventeen, and plump as a pigeon. I shall -see her to-night."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed!" said Richard, for the hundredth -time marvelling that he should be on a footing of -intimacy with Albert Jenkins. The girl at Carteret -Street, whatever her imperfections, did not use the -Cockney dialect. And her smile was certainly alluring. -Moreover, she had dignity. True, she -liked "East Lynne" and Hope Temple's songs, but -it occurred to Richard that it might be pleasanter to -listen even to these despised melodies than to remain -solitary at Raphael Street or to accompany Jenkins -on a <i>prowl</i>. Why should he not go down that -afternoon to see Mr. Aked—and his niece? He -immediately decided that he would do so.</p> - -<p>"It's turned out fine," said Jenkins. "What are -you up to to-night? Will you come and have a turn -round with me?"</p> - -<p>"Let me see.... The fact is, I can't."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> -He fought desperately against the temptation to mention -that he proposed to call on a lady, but in vain. -Forth it must come. "I'm going to see a girl."</p> - -<p>"Aha!" exclaimed Jenkins, with a terribly arch -look. "So that's the little game, eh! Who's the -mash?"</p> - -<p>Richard smiled reticently.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll be off." Jenkins rose, and his eye -caught Richard's little bookcase; he scanned the -titles of the volumes.</p> - -<p>"Oh! Likewise ah! Zola! Now we're getting -at the secret. No wonder you're so damn -studious. Zola, indeed! Well, so long. See you -to-morrow. Give my love to the girl.... I -say, I suppose you haven't got Zola in English, have -you?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Never mind. So long."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XII</h4> - - -<p>The little red-armed servant beamed an amiable -recognition.</p> - -<p>"Very hot day!" Richard said.</p> - -<p>"Beg pardon, sir."</p> - -<p>"Very hot day," rather louder. They were in -the passage.</p> - -<p>The door of the sitting-room opened, and Mr. -Aked's niece stood before him, her finger on her lips -and her eyebrows raised in a gesture of warning. -She suddenly smiled, almost laughed. Richard remembered -that smile for a long time afterwards. It -transformed not only a girl's face, but the whole of -Carteret Street. He had never seen anything like -it. Shaking hands in silence, he followed her into the -room, and she gently closed the door.</p> - -<p>"Uncle's not well," she explained. "He's asleep -now, and I don't want you to wake him. In this -house, you know, if any one speaks in the passage, -you can hear it even in the attic. Uncle was caught -in the rain last night; he has a very weak chest, and -gets bronchitis directly."</p> - -<p>"I'm awfully sorry I disturbed you," said Richard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> -"The fact is I was down this way, and I thought -I'd call." It sounded a sufficiently reasonable excuse, -he considered. "I hope you weren't asleep -too."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I was dozing in this chair." She put her -head back, and drummed with her fingers lightly on -the arms of the chair. "But I'm glad you've -called."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! Because one wants to see some one—some -one new, especially after being in a sick-room."</p> - -<p>"You've been sitting up late." His tone was accusing. -It seemed to him that somehow they were -already intimate.</p> - -<p>"Only till three o'clock, and I slept later this morning. -How changeable the sun is to-day!" She -moved her chair, and he saw her in profile. Her -hands were on her lap. She coaxed a foot stool into -position with her toes, and placed her feet on it.</p> - -<p>"You look just like a picture in this week's 'Illustrated -London News'—I mean in general pose," -he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Do I? How nice that sounds! What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Whistler's 'Portrait of his Mother.' But I -hope you don't think I think you look old."</p> - -<p>"How old do I look?" She turned her head -slightly towards him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<p>"About twenty-three, only I imagine you're much -younger."</p> - -<p>Although she did not reply, she made no pretence -of being annoyed, nor did Richard tax himself with -a <i>gaucherie</i>.</p> - -<p>"It took me years to like Whistler's pictures," -she said; and in response to Richard's surprised question -she was beginning to explain that a large part -of her life had been passed in the companionship -of works of graphic art, when a slippered step was -heard in the hall and some one fumbled with the -door-handle. Mr. Aked entered.</p> - -<p>"Uncle! You wicked old man!" She sprang -up, flushed, and her eyes sparkled angrily. "Whatever -did you get up for? It's enough to kill you."</p> - -<p>"Calm yourself, my child. I got up because I -didn't want to stay in bed,—exactly that." Mr. -Aked paused to take breath and sank into a chair. -"Larch, I heard your voice in the passage. Upon -my word, I quite forgot you yesterday. I suppose -Adeline's been telling you I'm seriously ill, eh? Ah! -I've had many a worse attack than this. Put that -antimacassar over my shoulders, child."</p> - -<p>He had given Richard a hot, limp hand, on which -the veins formed soft ridges in the smooth, brittle -skin. His grey hair was disarranged, and he wore a -dirty, torn dressing-gown. His face had lost its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> -customary alert expression; but his sunk, shining eyes -glanced with mysterious restlessness first at Richard, -then at Adeline, who, uttering no further word, -covered him well and put the hassock under his feet.</p> - -<p>"Well, well, well!" he sighed and closed his eyes -wearily. The other two sat silent for a time; then -Adeline, talking very quietly, and with a composure -not quite unaffected, took up their interrupted conversation. -Richard gathered that her justifiable vexation -would remain in abeyance till he had gone. -Soon her tone grew more natural; she leaned forward -with hands clasped round one knee, and Richard -felt like a receiver of confidences as she roughly outlined -her life in the country which had come to an -end only two years ago. Were all the girls so simply -communicative, he wondered; it pleased him to decide -that they were not, and that to any other but -himself she would have been more reserved; that -there was, in fact, an affinity between them. But the -presence of her uncle, which Adeline seemed able -to ignore utterly, hindered Richard from being himself.</p> - -<p>"How do you like London, after living so long in -the country?" he asked inevitably.</p> - -<p>"I know practically nothing of London, real -London," she said; "but I think these suburbs are -horrid,—far duller than the dullest village. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -the people! They seem so uninteresting, to have no -character!"</p> - -<p>The hoarse, fatigued voice of Mr. Aked crept -in between them. "Child!" he said—and he used -the appellation, not with the proper dignity of age, -but rather like an omniscient schoolboy, home for -the holiday, addressing a sister—"Child!"—his -eyes were still closed,—"the suburbs, even Walham -Green and Fulham, are full of interest, for those who -can see it. Walk along this very street on such a -Sunday afternoon as to-day. The roofs form two -horrible, converging straight lines I know, but beneath -there is character, individuality, enough to -make the greatest book ever written. Note the -varying indications supplied by bad furniture seen -through curtained windows, like ours" (he grinned, -opened his eyes, and sat up); "listen to the melodies -issuing lamely from ill-tuned pianos; examine the -enervated figures of women reclining amidst flower-pots -on narrow balconies. Even in the thin smoke -ascending unwillingly from invisible chimney-pots, -the flutter of a blind, the bang of a door, the winking -of a fox terrier perched on a window-sill, the colour -of paint, the lettering of a name,—in all these things -there is character and matter of interest,—truth -waiting to be expounded. How many houses are -there in Carteret Street? Say eighty. Eighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -theatres of love, hate, greed, tyranny, endeavour; -eighty separate dramas always unfolding, intertwining, -ending, beginning,—and every drama a tragedy. -No comedies, and especially no farces! Why, child, -there is more character within a hundred yards of -this chair than a hundred Balzacs could analyse in a -hundred years."</p> - -<p>All the old vivacity had returned to his face; he -had been rhetorical on a favourite subject, and he -was frankly pleased with himself.</p> - -<p>"You will tire yourself, uncle," said Adeline. -"Shall we have tea?"</p> - -<p>Richard observed with astonishment that she was -cold and unmoved. Surely she could not be blind to -the fact that Mr. Aked was a very remarkable man -with very remarkable ideas! Why, by the way, -had those ideas never presented themselves to <i>him</i>? -He would write an article on the <i>character</i> of -Raphael Street. Unwillingly he announced that he -must go; to remain longer would be to invite himself -to tea.</p> - -<p>"Sit still, Larch. You'll have a cup of tea."</p> - -<p>Adeline left the room; and when she had gone, -Mr. Aked, throwing a glance after her, said,—</p> - -<p>"Well, what do you think of my notions of the -suburb?"</p> - -<p>"They are splendid," Richard replied, glowing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<p>"There's something in them, I imagine," he -agreed complacently. "I've had an idea lately of -beginning to scribble again. I know there's a book -waiting to be written on 'The Psychology of the Suburbs,' -and I don't like to see copy lying about -wasted. The old war-horse scenting the battle, you -understand." He smiled grandiosely. "'Psychology -of the Suburbs'! Fine title that! See how -the silent <i>P</i> takes away all the crudity of the alliteration; -that's because one never listens to words with -the ears alone, but with the eyes also.... But -I should need help. I want a clever chap who can -take down from dictation, and assist me in the details -of composition. I suppose you wouldn't care -to come here two or three evenings a week?"</p> - -<p>Richard answered sincerely that nothing would -suit him better.</p> - -<p>"I should make you joint author, of course. -'Psychology of the Suburbs,' by Richard Aked and -Richard Larch. It sounds rather catchy, and I think -it ought to sell. About four hundred octavo pages, -say a hundred thousand words. Six shillings—must -be popular in price. We might get a royalty -of ninepence a copy if we went to the right publisher. -Sixpence for me and threepence for you. Would -that do?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, perfectly!" But was not Mr. Aked running -on rather fast?</p> - -<p>"Perhaps we'd better say fivepence halfpenny for -me and threepence halfpenny for you; that would be -fairer. Because you'll have to furnish ideas, you -know. 'Psychology of the Suburbs, Psychology of -the Suburbs'! Fine title! We ought to do it in -six months."</p> - -<p>"I hope you'll be quite well again soon. Then -we—"</p> - -<p>"Quite well!" he repeated sharply. "I shall be -as right as a trivet to-morrow. You don't suppose -that I can't take care of myself! We'll start at -once."</p> - -<p>"You're not forgetting, Mr. Aked, that you've -never seen any of my stuff yet? Are you sure I shall -be able to do what you want?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you'll do. I've not seen your stuff, but I -guess you've got the literary habit. The literary -habit, that's the thing! I'll soon put you up to the -wrinkles, the trade secrets."</p> - -<p>"What is your general plan of the book?" Richard -asked with some timidity, fearing to be deemed -either stupid or inquisitive at the wrong moment. -He had tried to say something meet for a great occasion, -and failed.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'll go into that at our first formal conference,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -say next Friday night. Speaking roughly, each -of the great suburban divisions has, for me at any -rate, its own characteristics, its peculiar moral -physiognomy." Richard nodded appreciatively. -"Take me blindfold to any street in London, and -I'll discover instantly, from a thousand hints, where -I am. Well, each of these divisions must be -described in turn, not topographically of course, -but the inner spirit, the soul of it. See? People -have got into a way of sneering at the suburbs. -Why, the suburbs <i>are</i> London! It is alone the—the -concussion of meeting suburbs in the centre -of London that makes the city and West End -interesting. We could show how the special -characteristics of the different suburbs exert a -subtle influence on the great central spots. Take -Fulham; no one thinks anything of Fulham, but suppose -it were swept off the face of the earth the effect -would be to alter, for the seeing eye, the character -of Piccadilly and the Strand and Cheapside. -The play of one suburb on another and on the central -haunts is as regular, as orderly, as calculable, as the -law of gravity itself."</p> - -<p>They continued the discussion until Adeline came -in again with a tray in her hands, followed by -the little red-armed servant. The two began to lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -the cloth, and the cheerful rattle of crockery filled -the room....</p> - -<p>"Sugar, Mr. Larch?" Adeline was saying, when -Mr. Aked, looking meaningly at Richard, ejaculated,—</p> - -<p>"Friday then?"</p> - -<p>Richard nodded. Adeline eyed her uncle distrustfully.</p> - -<p>For some reason, unguessed by Richard, Adeline -left them alone during most of the evening, and in -her absence Mr. Aked continued to discourse, in -vague generalities not without a specious poetical -charm, on the subject upon which they were to collaborate, -until Richard was wholly intoxicated with -its fascinating possibilities. When he left, Adeline -would not allow Mr. Aked to go to the door, and -went herself.</p> - -<p>"If I hadn't been very firm," she laughed as they -were shaking hands in the passage, "uncle would -have stood talking to you in the street for goodness -knows how long, and forgotten all about his bronchitis. -Oh, you authors, I believe you are every -one like babies." Richard smiled his gratification.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Larch, Mr. Larch!" The roguish summons -came after him when he was half-way up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -street. He ran back and found her at the gate with -her hands behind her.</p> - -<p>"What have you forgotten?" she questioned. -He could see her face but dimly in the twilight of -the gas-lamps.</p> - -<p>"I know—my umbrella," he answered.</p> - -<p>"Didn't I say you were all like—little children!" -she said, as she whipped out the umbrella -and gave it to him over the gate.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Anxious at once to add something original to the -sum of Mr. Aked's observations, he purposely chose -a round-about route home, through the western parts -of Fulham and past the Salisbury hotel. It seemed -to him that the latent poetry of the suburbs arose -like a beautiful vapour and filled these monotonous -and squalid vistas with the scent and the colour of -violets, leaving nothing common, nothing ignoble. -In the upturned eyes of a shop-girl who went by on -the arm of her lover he divined a passion as pure as -that of Eugénie Grandet; on the wrinkled countenance -of an older woman he beheld only the nobility -of suffering; a youth who walked alone, smoking -a cigarette, was a pathetic figure perhaps condemned -to years of solitude in London. When there was no -one else to see, he saw Adeline,—Adeline with her -finger on her lips, Adeline angry with her uncle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> -Adeline pouring out tea, Adeline reaching down his -hat from the peg, Adeline laughing at the gate. -There was something about Adeline that.... -How the name suited her!... Her past life, -judging from the hints she had given, must have been -interesting. Perhaps that accounted for the charm -which....</p> - -<p>Then he returned to the book. He half regretted -that Mr. Aked should have a hand in it at all. He -could do it himself. Just as plainly as if the idea had -been his own, he saw the volume complete, felt the -texture of the paper, admired the disposition of the -titlepage, and the blue buckram binding; he scanned -the table of contents, and carelessly eyed the brief -introduction, which was, however, pregnant with -meaning; chapter followed chapter in orderly, -scientific fashion, and the last summoned up the whole -business in a few masterly and dignified sentences. -Already, before a single idea had been reduced to -words, "The Psychology of the Suburbs" was -finished! A unique work! Other authors had -taken an isolated spot here or there in the suburbs -and dissected it, but none had viewed them in their -complex entirety; none had attempted to extract from -their incoherence a coherent philosophy, to deal with -them sympathetically as Mr. Aked and himself had -done—or rather were to do. None had suspected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> -that the suburbs were a riddle, the answer to which -was not undiscoverable. Ah, that secret, that key -to the cipher! He saw it as it might be behind a -succession of veils, flimsy obstructions which just then -baffled his straining sight, but which he would rip -and rend when the moment for effort came.</p> - -<p>The same lofty sentiments occupied his brain the -next morning. He paused in the knotting of his -necktie, to look out of the window, seeking even in -Raphael Street some fragment of that psychology of -environment invented by Mr. Aked. Nor did he -search quite in vain. All the phenomena of humble -life, hitherto witnessed daily without a second -thought, now appeared to carry some mysterious -meaning which was on the point of declaring itself. -Friday, when the first formal conference was to occur, -seemed distressingly distant. But he remembered -that a very hard day's work, the casting and -completing of a gigantic bill of costs, awaited him at -the office, and he decided to throw himself into it -without reserve; the time would pass more quickly.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XIII</h4> - - -<p>Every solicitor's office has its great client, -whose affairs, watchfully managed by the -senior partner in person, take precedence of -all else, and whom every member of the staff regards -with a particular respect caught from the principals -themselves. Messrs. Curpet and Smythe were London -agents to the tremendous legal firm of Pontifex, -of Manchester, said to enjoy the largest practice in -the midlands; and they were excusably proud of the -fact. One of the first lessons that a new clerk learnt -in the establishment at New Serjeant's Court was that, -at no matter what expenditure of time and trouble, -Pontifex business, comprising some scores of separate -causes, must be transacted so irreproachably that old -Mr. Pontifex, by repute a terrible fellow, might -never have cause of complaint. On those mornings, -happily rare, when a querulous letter did by chance -arrive from Manchester, the whole office trembled -apprehensively, and any clerk likely to be charged -with negligence began at once to consider the advisability -of seeking a new situation.</p> - -<p>The Pontifex bill of costs was made up annually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -in June. As the time drew near for presenting it, -more and more clerks were pressed into its service, -until at the last everyone found himself engaged, in -one way or another, upon this colossal account.</p> - -<p>When Richard arrived at the office, he found the -immense pile of white foolscap sheets upon his table, -and next it the still higher pile of blue sheets forming -the draft bill. All was finished except the -checking of the figures and the final castings. As the -cashier and accountant, he was ultimately responsible -for this. He parcelled out the sheets, keeping the -largest share for himself, and the work began. In -every room there was a low muttering of figures, -broken by an occasional oath when someone happened -to lose the thread of an addition. The principals -hovered about, full of solicitude and encouragement, -and, according to custom on such occasions, -lunch was served on the premises at the firm's expense. -Richard continued to add while eating, keeping -his head clear and seldom making a mistake; -nothing existed for him but the column of pounds, -shillings, and pence under his eyes.</p> - -<p>The pile of finished sheets grew, and soon the office -boys, commanded by Jenkins, were passing the -earlier portion of the bill through the copying-press. -As the hours went by, the helpers from other departments, -no longer required, went back to their own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> -neglected duties, and Richard did the last additions -alone. At length the bill was absolutely finished, and -he carried it himself to the stationer's to be sewed. -In half an hour it came back, and he laid it ceremoniously -before Mr. Curpet. The grand total -went round the office, leaping from lip to lip like the -result of an important parliamentary poll. It was -higher than in any previous year by nearly a thousand -pounds. Each of the clerks took a personal pride in -its bigness, and secretly determined to petition for -an increase of salary at the first opportunity. They -talked together in groups, discussing details, while -a comfortable lassitude spread from room to room.</p> - -<p>Richard stood by the open window, absently watching -the pigeons and the cleaners at the Law Courts -opposite. In a corner an office boy, new to his work, -was stamping envelopes with slow precision. -Jenkins, with one foot on a table, was tying a shoe -lace. It had struck six ten minutes ago, and everyone -was gone except Mr. Smythe, whose departure -Jenkins awaited with impatience. The hot day subsided -slowly to a serene and lovely evening, and the -customary noises of the Strand ascended to Richard -like the pastoral hum of a valley to a dweller on a -hill, not breaking but rather completing the stillness -of the hour. Gradually his brain freed itself -from the obsession of figures, though he continued to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> -muse vaguely over the bill, which had just been -posted. It would certainly be settled by cheque -within a week, for Messrs. Pontifex were invariably -prompt. That cheque, which he himself would -enter and pay into the bank, amounted to as much as -he could earn in twenty years, if he remained a clerk. -He tried to imagine the scene in which, at some future -date, he would give Mr. Curpet notice of his intention -to resign his position, explaining that he preferred -to support himself by literature. The ineffable -sweetness of such a triumph! Could he ever -realise it? He could, he must; the alternative of -eternal clerkship was not to be endured. His glance -fell on Jenkins. That poor, gay, careless, vulgar -animal would always be a clerk. The thought filled -him with commiseration, and also with pride. Fancy -Jenkins writing a book called "The Psychology of -the Suburbs"!</p> - -<p>"I'm going to smoke," Jenkins said; "be blowed -to Bertie dear." (Mrs. Smythe had once addressed -her husband in the office as "Bertie dear," and -thenceforth that had been his name among the staff.) -Richard made no answer. When a minute later -Jenkins, discreetly directing his puffs to the open window, -asked him for the titles of one or two of Zola's -novels in English, and their price, he gave the required -information without turning round and in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -preoccupied tone. It was his wish at that moment -to appear dreamy. Perhaps a hint of the intellectual -difference between them would suggest itself even -to Jenkins. Suddenly a voice that seemed to be Mr. -Smythe's came from the other side of the glass partition -which separated the room from the general -corridor.</p> - -<p>"Jenkins, what the devil do you mean by smoking -in the office?" The pipe vanished instantly, and -Jenkins faced his accuser in some confusion, only to -find that he had been victimised. It was Mr. -Aked.</p> - -<p>"You're as gassy as ever, I see," Jenkins said with -a shade of annoyance. Mr. Aked laughed, and then -began to cough badly, bending forward with flushed -cheeks.</p> - -<p>"Surely you shouldn't have left the house to-day," -Richard said, alarmed.</p> - -<p>"Why not?" The retort was almost fierce.</p> - -<p>"You're not fit."</p> - -<p>"Fiddlesticks! I've only got a bit of a cough."</p> - -<p>Richard wondered what he had called for.</p> - -<p>Jenkins began to discuss with him the shortcomings -of Mr. Smythe as an employer, and when that fruitful -subject had been exhausted there was a silence.</p> - -<p>"Coming home?" Mr. Aked asked Richard, who -at once prepared to leave.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> - -<p>"By the way, Larch, how's the mash?" Jenkins -wore his archest manner.</p> - -<p>"What mash?"</p> - -<p>"Why, the girl you said you were going to see -yesterday afternoon."</p> - -<p>"I never said—" Richard began, looking nervously -towards Mr. Aked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, of course not. Do you know, Mr. -Aked, he's begun his little games with the women. -These fellows from the country—so shy and all -that—they're regular cautions when you come to -know them." But Mr. Aked made no response.</p> - -<p>"I was thinking you might as well come down to-morrow -night instead of Friday," he said quietly to -Richard, who had busied himself with the locking of -a safe.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow? Certainly, I shall be very glad," -Richard answered. Evidently Mr. Aked was as -eager as himself to make a beginning of the book. -No doubt that was why he had called. Surely, together -they would accomplish something notable!</p> - -<p>Jenkins had climbed on a lofty stool. He gave -vent to a whistle, and the other two observed that his -features were twisted into an expression of delirious -mirth.</p> - -<p>"Aha! aha!" he grinned, looking at Richard. -"I begin to perceive. You're after the pretty niece,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -eh, Master Larch? And a nice plump little thing -she is, too! She came here once to fetch uncle -home."</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked sprang instantly forward and cuffed -Jenkins' ear.</p> - -<p>"It's not the first time I've had to do that, nor the -second," he said. "I suppose you never will learn -to behave yourself." Jenkins could easily have -thrashed the old man—he really looked old to-day—and -no consideration for the latter's age would -have restrained him from doing so, had not the habit -of submission acquired during those years when Mr. -Aked ruled the outer office proved stronger than his -rage. As it was, he took up a safe position behind -the stool and contented himself with words.</p> - -<p>"You're a beauty, you are!" he began. -"How's the red-haired A. B. C. girl getting on? -You know, the one that lost her place at the Courts' -restaurant through you. If she hadn't been a fool, -she'd have brought an action for breach of promise. -And how many more are there? I wonder—"</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked made an uncertain dart after him, but -he vanished through the doorway, only to encounter -Mr. Smythe. With a rather servile "'d afternoon, -sir," to the latter, Mr. Aked walked rapidly out of -the office.</p> - -<p>"What the devil are you all up to?" Mr. Smythe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -inquired crossly. "Is Aked after money, Larch?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all, Mr. Smythe. He only called to see -me."</p> - -<p>"You are a friend of his, are you?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I know him."</p> - -<p>"H'm! Jenkins, come and take a letter."</p> - -<p>As Richard hurried down into the court, he felt exceedingly -angry with Mr. Aked. Why could not -the man be more dignified? Everyone seemed to -treat him with contempt, and the cause was not altogether -obscure. He had no dignity. Richard felt -personally aggrieved.</p> - -<p>Neither of them spoke of the recent incident as -they walked down to the Temple station. Mr. -Aked, indeed, said nothing; a fit of coughing occupied -him. Somehow Richard's faith in "The Psychology -of the Suburbs" had lessened a little during -the last half-hour.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XIV</h4> - - -<p>"Is that you, Mr. Larch?"</p> - -<p>He distinctly made out Adeline's head -and bust above him. Her white apron -was pressed against the bannisters, as with extended -arms and hands grasping the stair-rail she leaned -over to see who was below.</p> - -<p>"It is, Miss Aked," he answered. "The door -was open, and so I walked in. Is anything wrong?"</p> - -<p>"I've just sent Lottie out for the doctor. Uncle -is very ill. I wish you'd see that he comes at once. -It's in the Fulham Road, a little to the left—you'll -notice the red lamp."</p> - -<p>As Richard ran out, he met the doctor, a youngish -man with a Scots face and grey hair, hurrying down -the street, the servant-girl breathless in the rear.</p> - -<p>"Master was took ill last night, sir," the latter -said, in answer to Richard's question. "Pneumonia, -the doctor says as it is, and something else, and -there's coming a nurse to-night. Master has attacks -of it, sir—he can't get his breath."</p> - -<p>He stood in the passage, uncertain what to do; the -doctor had already gone upstairs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It must be very serious," he murmured.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." Lottie began to whimper. Richard -said he would call again later to make inquiries, and -presently discovered himself in Fulham Road, walking -slowly towards Putney.</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked's case was hopeless; of that Richard -felt sure. The man must be getting on in years, -and his frame, not constitutionally vigorous, had -doubtless been fatally weakened by long-continued -carelessness. What a strange creature of whims -and enthusiasms he was! Although there could be -no question as to his age, Richard never regarded -him as more than a few years older than himself. -He had none of the melancholy, the circumspection, -the fixity of view, the prudent tendency towards compromise, -the serene contented apathy, which usually -mark his time of life. He was still delicately susceptible -to new influences, his ideals were as fluid as -Richard's own. Life had taught him scarcely anything, -and least of all sagacity and a dignified carriage. -He was the typical bachelor, whose deeper -feelings have never been stirred. Did regrets for -a possibly happier past, shadows of dead faces, the -memory of kisses, ever ruffle his equanimity? Richard -thought not. He must always have lived in the -present. But he was an artist: though somehow the -man had descended in his estimation, Richard clung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -to that. He possessed imagination and he possessed -intellect, and he could fuse them together. Yet he -had been a failure. Viewed in certain lights, Richard -admitted he was a pitiful figure. What was -his true history? Richard felt instinctively that -none could answer that question, even in outline, -except Mr. Aked, and suddenly he discerned that -the man's nature, apparently frank to immodesty, -had its own reserves, the existence of which few ever -suspected. And when the worst was said, Mr. -Aked possessed originality; in an incongruous way he -still retained the naïve graces of youthfulness; he -was inspiring, and had exerted influences for which -Richard could not but be grateful.</p> - -<p>"The Psychology of the Suburbs" had receded -swiftly into the background, a beautiful, impossible -idea! Richard knew now that it could never have -been carried out. A little progress would have -been made, and then, as difficulties increased, both -he and Mr. Aked would have tacitly abandoned -their enterprise. They were very much alike, he -thought, and the fancied similarity pleased him. -Perhaps at some future time he might himself carry -the undertaking to completion, in which case he -would dedicate his book to the memory of Mr. -Aked. He did not regret that the dream of the last -few days was ended. It had been very enjoyable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> -but the awakening, since according to his present -wisdom it must have occurred sooner or later, was -less unpleasant now than it could have been at any -more advanced stage. Moreover, it was pleasant to -dream of the dream.</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked was dying: he knew it from Adeline's -tone. Poor Adeline! To whom would she turn? -She had implied that the only relatives for whom she -cared, these being on her mother's side, were in -America. From whom would she seek assistance? -Who would conduct the formalities of the funeral, -and the testamentary business, such as it was? His -loathing for funerals seemed to have vanished, and -he was not without hope that Adeline, though their -acquaintance was of the shortest, might engage his -help for her helplessness. And after the funeral, -what would she do? Since she would probably have -enough to live upon, she might elect to remain where -she was. In which case he would visit her now and -then of an evening. Her imminent loneliness gave -her a pathetic charm, and he made haste to draw a -picture of himself and her on either side the fireplace -talking familiarly while she knitted or sewed.</p> - -<p>Yes, he was actually a grown man, and entitled -to his romances. He might eventually fall in love -with her, having discovered in her character rare -qualities now unsuspected. It was improbable, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> -not impossible, and he had, in fact, already glanced -at the contingency several times before. Oh for a -passion, a glorious infatuation, even if it ended in -disaster and ruin! The difficulty was that Adeline -fell short of the ideal lover. That virginal abstraction -was to have been an artist of some sort, -absolutely irreligious, broad in social views, the essence -of refinement, with a striking but not necessarily -beautiful face, soft-spoken, and isolated—untrammelled -by friends. Adeline was no artist; he -feared she might be a regular attendant at chapel -and painfully orthodox as to the sexual relations. -Was she refined? Had she a striking face? He -said Yes, twice. Her voice was low and full of -pretty modulations. Soon, perhaps, she would be -alone in the world. If only she had been an artist.... -That deficiency, he was afraid, would -prove fatal to any serious attachment. Still, it -would be good to visit her.</p> - -<p>He was crossing Putney Bridge. Night had -fallen, and the full brilliant moon showed a narrow -stream crawling between two broad flats of mud. -Just below the bridge a barge lay at anchor; the -silhouette of a man moved leisurely about on it, and -then a boat detached itself from the stem of the -barge and dropped down river into darkness. On -the bridge busses and waggons rattled noisily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -Young men with straw hats and girls in white -blouses and black skirts passed to and fro in pairs, -some chattering, some silent. The sight of these -couples gave Richard an idea for the abandoned -"Psychology of the Suburbs." What if Mr. Aked -recovered? He remembered his sister telling him -that their grandfather had survived after having -been three times surrendered to death by the doctors. -"The Psychology of the Suburbs" began to -attract him. It might come to completion, if Mr. -Aked lived, and then.... But what about -those evenings with the lonely Adeline? The two -vistas of the future clashed with and obscured each -other, and he was overcome by vague foreboding. -He saw Mr. Aked struggling for breath in the mean -suburban bedroom, and Adeline powerless at his -side. The pathos of her position became intolerable.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When he got back to Carteret Street, it was she -who came to the door.</p> - -<p>"How is he?"</p> - -<p>"About the same. The nurse has come. She -told me to go to bed at once, but I don't feel as if -I wanted to sleep. You will sit down a little?"</p> - -<p>She took the rocking-chair, and leaning back with -a gesture of lassitude rocked gently; her white face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -with the red eyes and drooping eyelids, gave sign of -excessive fatigue, and on her lips there was a gloomy -pout. After she had described Mr. Aked's condition -in some detail and told what the doctor had -said, they sat silent for a while in that tense atmosphere -which seems to stifle vitality in a house of -dangerous sickness. Overhead the nurse moved -about, making the window rattle softly now and -then.</p> - -<p>"You have known uncle a long time, haven't -you?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all," Richard answered. "It's a very -funny thing, but though I seem to know him quite -well, I've not met him half a dozen times in my -life. I saw him first about a year ago, and then I -met him again the other day at the British Museum, -and after we'd had dinner together we were just -like old friends."</p> - -<p>"I certainly thought from what he said that you -<i>were</i> old friends. Uncle has so few friends. Except -one or two neighbours I do believe you are the -first person that has ever called at this house since I -came to live here."</p> - -<p>"At any rate, we have soon got to know each -other," said Richard, smiling. "It isn't a week -since you asked me if my name was Larch." She -returned the smile, though rather mechanically.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Perhaps my mistake about your being an old -friend of Uncle Aked's explains that," she said.</p> - -<p>"Well, we won't bother about explaining it; there -it is, and if I can help you in any way just now, -you must tell me."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, I will." She said it with perfect -simplicity. Richard was conscious of a scarcely perceptible -thrill.</p> - -<p>"You must have had an awful time last night, all -alone," he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I was too annoyed to feel upset."</p> - -<p>"Annoyed?"</p> - -<p>"Because uncle has brought it all on himself by -carelessness. I do think it's a shame!" She -stopped rocking, and sat up, her face full of serious -protest.</p> - -<p>"He's not the sort of man to take care of himself. -He never thought—"</p> - -<p>"That's just it. He should have thought, at his -age. If he dies, he will practically have killed himself, -yes, killed himself. There's no excuse, going -out as he did, in spite of all I said. Fancy him -coming downstairs last Sunday in the state he was, -and then going out on Monday, though it <i>was</i> -warm!"</p> - -<p>"Well, we'll hope he will get better, and it may -be a lesson to him."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Hark! What was that?" She sprang to her -feet apprehensively and listened, her breast pulsing -beneath the tight black bodice and her startled inquiring -eyes fixed on Richard's. A very faint tinkle -came from the rear of the house.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps the front-door bell," he suggested.</p> - -<p>"Of course. How silly of me! I fancied.... -Who can it be at this time?" She went -softly into the passage. Richard heard the door -open, and then a woman's voice, which somehow -seemed familiar,—</p> - -<p>"How is Mr. Aked to-night? Your servant told -our servant that he was ill, and I felt anxious."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Adeline exclaimed, discomposed for a -moment, as it seemed to Richard; then she went on -coldly, "Uncle is about the same, thank you," and -almost immediately closed the door.</p> - -<p>"A person to inquire about uncle," she said to -Richard, with a peculiar intonation, on re-entering -the room. Then, just as he was saying that he -must go, there was a knock on the ceiling and she -flew away again. Richard waited in the passage -till she came downstairs.</p> - -<p>"It's nothing. I thought he was dying! Oh!" -and she began to cry freely and openly, without attempting -to wipe her eyes.</p> - -<p>Richard gazed hard at the apron string loosely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> -encircling her waist; from that white line her -trembling bust rose like a bud from its calyx, and -below it the black dress flowed over her broad hips -in gathered folds; he had never seen a figure so exquisite, -and the beauty of it took a keener poignancy -from their solitude in the still, anxious night—the -nurse and the sick man were in another sphere.</p> - -<p>"Hadn't you better go to bed?" he said. -"You must be tired out and over-excited." How -awkward and conventional the words sounded!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XV</h4> - - -<p>In Adeline's idiosyncrasy there was a subtle, -elusive suggestion of singularity, of unexpectedness, -which Richard in spite of himself found -very alluring, and he correctly attributed it, in some -degree, to the peculiar circumstances of her early -life, an account of which, with characteristic quaintness, -she had given him at their second meeting.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The posthumous child of Richard Aked's brother, -Adeline, who had no recollection of her mother, -lived at first with her maternal grandparents and -two uncles. She slept alone at the top of the house, -and when she arose in the morning from the big bed -with its red curtains and yellow tassels, she always -ran to the window. Immediately below here were -the leads which roofed the great projecting windows -of the shop. It was her practice at night to -scatter crumbs on the leads, and sometimes she -would be early enough to watch the sparrows pecking -them; more often all the crumbs had vanished -while she was yet asleep. The Square never failed -to interest her in the morning. In the afternoon it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> -seemed torpid and morose; but before dinner, more -especially on Saturdays and Mondays, it was gaily -alert—full of canvas-covered stalls, and horses and -carts, and heaped piles of vegetables, and pigs -grunting amidst straw, and rough rosy-faced men, -their trousers tied at the knees with string, who -walked about heavily, cracking whips. These -things arrived mysteriously, before the sun, and in -the afternoon they dwindled imperceptibly away; -the stalls were unthatched, the carts jolted off one -by one, and the pigs departed squeaking, until at -five o'clock the littered Square was left deserted and -forlorn. Now and again a new stall, unfolding vivid -white canvas, stood out brightly amid its soiled companions; -then Adeline would run downstairs to her -favourite uncle, who had breakfast at 7.30 so that -he might be in charge of the shop while the rest -were at table: "Uncle Mark, Uncle Mark, there -is a new stall up at the top of the Square, near the -New Inn!" "Perhaps it is only an old one with -its face washed," Uncle Mark would say; and Adeline, -raising her right shoulder, would put her head -on it and laugh, screwing up her eyes.</p> - -<p>In those days she was like a little Puritan girl, -with her plain frocks and prim gait. Her black -hair, confined by a semicircular comb which stretched -from ear to ear over the top of her head, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -brushed straight away from her forehead, and fell -across the entire width of her shoulders in glossy, -wavy lines. Her grey eyes were rather large, except -when she laughed, and they surveyed people -with a frank, inquiring look which frightened some -of the commercial travellers who came into the shop -and gave her threepenny bits; it seemed as if all -one's secret shames stood revealed to that artless -gaze. Her nose was short and flattened, but her -mouth happened to be perfect, of exactly the classic -form and size, with delectable lips half hiding the -small white teeth.</p> - -<p>To her the house appeared to be of immense proportions; -she had been told that once, before she -was born, it was three houses. Certainly it possessed -more than the usual number of staircases, and -one of these, with the single room to which it gave -access, was always closed. From the Square, the -window of the disused chamber, obscured and bare, -contrasted strangely with the clear panes, white -blinds, and red pads of the others. This room was -next to her own, the two staircases running parallel; -and the thought of its dread emptiness awed her at -nights. One Saturday night in bed she discovered -that grandma, who had been plaiting her hair for -Sunday, had left a comb sticking in it. She called -aloud to grandma, to Uncle Mark, to Uncle Luke,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -in vain. None of them came to her; but she distinctly -heard an answering cry from the shut room. -She ceased to call, and lay fearfully quiet for a while; -then it was morning, and the comb had slipped out -of her hair and down into the bed.</p> - -<p>Beneath the house were many cellars. One -served for kitchen, and Adeline had a swing there, -hung from a beam; two others were larders; a -fourth held coal, and in a fifth ashes were thrown. -There were yet two more under the shop, to be -reached by a separate flight of stone steps. Uncle -Mark went down those steps every afternoon to turn -on the gas, but he would never allow Adeline to go -with him. Grandma, indeed, was very cross if, -when the door leading to the steps happened to be -open, Adeline approached within a yard of it. -Often, chattering to the shop-girls, who at quiet -times of the day clustered round the stove with their -sewing, she would suddenly think of the cellars below, -and her heart would seem to stop.</p> - -<p>If the shutters were up, the shop was even more -terribly mysterious than either the cellars or the -disused room. On Sunday afternoons, when -grandpa snored behind a red and yellow handkerchief -in the breakfast-room, it was necessary for -Adeline to go through the shop and up the show-room -staircase, in order to reach the drawing-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -because to get to the house staircase would involve -disturbing the sleeper. How strange the shop -looked as she hurried timorously across! A dim -twilight, worse than total darkness, filtered through -the cracks of the shutters, showing faintly the sallow -dust-sheets which covered the merinos and the -chairs on the counters, and she always reached the -show-room, which had two large, unobstructed windows, -with a sob of relief. Very few customers -were asked into the show-room; Adeline employed -it on weekdays as a nursery; here she nursed her -dolls, flew kites, and read "Little Wideawake," a -book given to her by a commercial traveller; there -was a cheval glass near the front window in which -she contemplated herself long and seriously.</p> - -<p>She never had the companionship of other children, -nor did she desire it. Other children, she understood, -were rude and dirty; although Uncle -Mark and Uncle Luke taught in the Sunday-school, -and grandpa had once actually been -superintendent, she was not allowed to go -there, simply because the children were rude -and dirty. But she went to morning chapel, -sitting alone with grandpa on the red cushions of -the broad pew, that creaked every time she moved; -Uncle Mark and Uncle Luke sat away up in the gallery -with the rude and dirty Sunday-school children;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -grandma seldom went to chapel; the ministers called -to see her instead. Once to her amazement Uncle -Luke had ascended the pulpit stairs, looking just as -if he was walking in his sleep, and preached. It -seemed so strange, and afterwards the religious -truths which she had been taught somehow lost their -awfulness and some of their reality. On Sunday -evenings she celebrated her own private service, in -which she was preacher, choir, organist, and congregation. -Her extempore prayers were the secret -admiration of grandma, who alone heard them. -Adeline stayed up for supper on Sundays. When -the meal was over, grandpa opened the big Bible, -and in his rich, heavy voice read that Shem begat -Arphaxad and Arphaxad begat Salah and Salah begat -Eber and Eber begat Pelag, and about the Ammonites -and the Jebusites and the Canaanites and -the Moabites; and then they knelt, and he prayed -for them that rule over us, and widows and orphans; -and at the word "orphans," grandma, who didn't -kneel like the others but sat upright in her rocking-chair -with one hand over her eyes, would say -"Amen, Amen," under her breath. And after it -was all over Adeline would choose whether Uncle -Mark or Uncle Luke should carry her to bed.</p> - -<p>Grandpa died, and then grandma, and Aunt -Grace (who was not an aunt at all, but a cousin)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -came to stay with Adeline and her uncles, and one -day the shutters of the shop were put up and not -taken down again. Adeline learnt that Uncle Mark -and Uncle Luke were going a long way off, to America, -and that she was to live in future with Aunt -Grace in a large and splendid house full of coloured -pictures and statues and books. It seemed odd -that Aunt Grace, whose dresses were rather shabby, -should have a finer house than grandpa's, until -Uncle Mark explained that the house did not really -belong to Aunt Grace; Aunt Grace merely kept it in -order for a rich young gentleman who had fifteen -servants.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When she had recovered from the parting with -her uncles, Adeline accepted the change with docility. -Long inured as she was to spiritual solitude -(for the closest friendship that can exist between a -child and an adult comprises little more than an -affectionate tolerance on either side, and certainly -knows nothing of those intimate psychic affinities -which attract child to child or man to man), she -could not, indeed, have easily found much hardship -in the conditions of her new life. One matter -troubled her at first, namely, that Aunt Grace never -prayed or read the Bible or went to chapel; nor, so -far as Adeline knew, did anyone else at the Abbey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -But she soon became reconciled to this state of -things. For a time she continued to repeat her -prayers; then the habit ceased.</p> - -<p>The picture-gallery, of which she had heard a -great deal, fascinated her at once. It was a long -but not very lofty apartment, receiving daylight -from a hidden source, hung with the finest examples -of the four great Italian schools which flourished -during the first half of the sixteenth century: the -Venetian, a revel of colour; the Roman, dignified -and even sedate; the Florentine, nobly grandiose; -and the school of Parma, mysteriously delicate. -Opportunity serving, she spent much of her time -here, talking busily to the madonnas, the Christs, -the martyred saints, the monarchs, the knights, the -lovely ladies, and all the naïve mediæval crowd, -giving each of them a part in her own infantile romances. -When she grew older, she copied—who -shall say whether consciously or unconsciously?—the -attitudes and gestures of the women; and -perhaps in time there passed into Adeline, by some -ineffable channel, at least a portion of their demure -grace and contented quietude. There were pictures -also in the square library, examples of quite modern -English and French work, sagaciously chosen by one -whose critical faculty had descended to him through -four generations of collectors; but Adeline had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> -eyes for these. The books, however, gorgeous -prisoners in glass, were her good friends, though -she might never touch them, and though the narrow, -conventional girl's education assiduously bestowed -upon her by her aunt in person, stifled rather than -fostered curiosity with regard to their contents.</p> - -<p>When Adeline was about nineteen, her guardian -became engaged to be married to a middle-aged -farmer, a tenant of the Abbey, who made it clear -that in espousing Aunt Grace he was not eager to -espouse Aunt Grace's <i>protégée</i> also. A serious -question arose as to her future. She had only one -other relative in England, Mr. Aked, and she passively -accepted his timely suggestion that she should -go to London and keep house for him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XVI</h4> - - -<p>On the Wednesday evening Richard took -tea at the Crabtree, so that he might go -down by train to Parson's Green direct -from Charing Cross. The coffee-room was almost -empty of customers; and Miss Roberts, who appeared -to be in attendance there, was reading in the -"cosy corner," an angle of the room furnished with -painted mirrors and a bark bench of fictitious rusticity.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing up here?" he asked, when -she brought his meal. "Aren't you cashier downstairs -any longer?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," she said, "I should just think I was. -But the girl that waits in this room, Miss Pratt, -has her half-holiday on Wednesdays, and I come -here, and the governor takes my place downstairs. -I do it to oblige him. He's a gentleman, he is. -<i>That</i> polite! I have my half-holiday on Fridays."</p> - -<p>"Well, if you've nothing else to do, what do you -say to pouring out my tea for me?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Can't you pour it out yourself? Poor thing!" -She smiled pityingly, and began to pour out the tea.</p> - -<p>"Sit down," Richard suggested.</p> - -<p>"No, thank you," she said. "There! If it -isn't sweet enough, you can put another lump in -yourself;" and she disappeared behind the screen -which hid the food-lift.</p> - -<p>Presently he summoned her to make out his check. -He was debating whether to tell her that Mr. Aked -was ill. Perhaps if he did so she might request to -be informed how the fact concerned herself. He -decided to say nothing, and was the more astonished -when she began:</p> - -<p>"Did you know Mr. Aked was very ill?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Who told you?"</p> - -<p>"Why, I live near him, a few doors away—didn't -I tell you once?—and their servant told -ours."</p> - -<p>"Told your servant?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Miss Roberts, reddening a little, and -with an inflection which meant, "I suppose you -thought <i>my</i> family wouldn't have a servant!"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" He stopped a moment, and then an -idea came to him. "It must have been you who -called last night to inquire!" He wondered why -Adeline had been so curt with her.</p> - -<p>"Were you there then?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. I know the Akeds pretty well."</p> - -<p>"The doctor says he'll not get better. What do -you think?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid it's a bad lookout."</p> - -<p>"Very sad for poor Miss Aked, isn't it?" she -said, and something in the tone made Richard look -up at her.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he agreed.</p> - -<p>"Of course you like her?"</p> - -<p>"I scarcely know her—it's the old man I -know," he replied guardedly.</p> - -<p>"Well, if you ask me, I think she's a bit stand-offish."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps that's only her manner."</p> - -<p>"You've noticed it too, have you?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit. I've really seen very little of her."</p> - -<p>"Going down again to-night?"</p> - -<p>"I may do."</p> - -<p>Nothing had passed between Adeline and himself -as to his calling that day, but when he got to Carteret -Street she evidently accepted his presence as a -matter of course, and he felt glad. There was noting -in her demeanour to recall the scene of the -previous night. He did not stay long. Mr. Aked's -condition was unchanged. Adeline had watched by -him all day, while the nurse slept, and now she confessed -to an indisposition.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<p>"My bones ache," she said, with an attempt to -laugh, "and I feel miserable, though under the circumstances -there's nothing strange in that."</p> - -<p>He feared she might be sickening towards influenza, -caught from her uncle, but said nothing, -lest he should alarm her without cause. The next -day, however, his apprehension was justified. On -his way to the house in the evening he met the doctor -at the top of Carteret Street and stopped him.</p> - -<p>"You're a friend of Mr. Aked's, eh?" the doctor -said, examining Richard through his gold-rimmed -spectacles. "Well, go and do what you -can. Miss Aked is down with the influenza now, -but I don't think it will be a severe attack if she -takes care. The old fellow's state is serious. You -see, he has no constitution, though perhaps that's -scarcely a disadvantage in these cases; but when it -comes to double basic pneumonia, with fever, and -cardiac complications, pulse 140, respiration 40, -temperature 103 to 104, there's not a great deal of -chance. I've got a magnificent nurse, though, and -she'll have her hands full. We ought really to -send for another one, especially as Miss Aked wants -looking after too.... Bless you," he went -on, in answer to a question from Richard, "I can't -say. I injected strychnia this morning, and that has -given relief, but he may die during the night. On<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -the other hand he may recover. By the way, they -seem to have no relations, except a cousin of Mr. -Aked's who lives in the north. I've wired to her. -Good evening. See what you can do. I'm due in -my surgery in two minutes."</p> - -<p>Richard introduced himself to the nurse, explained -that he had seen the doctor, and asked if he -could render assistance. She was a slender girl of -about twenty-three, with dark, twinkling eyes and -astonishingly small white ears; her blue uniform, -made of the same print as a servant's morning-dress, -fitted without a crease, and her immense apron was -snowy. On one linen cuff was a stain; she noticed -this while talking to Richard, and adroitly reversed -the wristband under his very gaze.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you know the Akeds pretty well?" -she questioned.</p> - -<p>"Well, pretty well," he answered.</p> - -<p>"Do you know any friends of theirs, women, -who happen to live near?"</p> - -<p>"I feel fairly sure they have practically no acquaintances. -I have never met any people here."</p> - -<p>"It is very awkward, now that Miss Aked is taken -ill."</p> - -<p>The mention of Adeline gave him an opportunity -to make more particular inquiries as to her condition.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<p>"There is nothing to be afraid of," the nurse -said, "only she must stay in bed and keep quite -quiet."</p> - -<p>"I fancied last night she looked ill," he said -sagely.</p> - -<p>"You were here last night?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and the night before."</p> - -<p>"Oh! I wasn't aware—" The nurse stopped -a moment. "Pardon me, if I am indiscreet, but -are you engaged to Miss Aked?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Richard shortly, uncertain whether -or not he was blushing. The nurse's eyes twinkled, -but otherwise her impassive gravity suffered -no diminishment. "Not at all," he added. "I -am merely a friend, anxious to do anything I -can."</p> - -<p>"I will get you to do some marketing for me," -she decided suddenly. "The maid is sitting with -Mr. Aked—he's a little easier for the moment—and -Miss Aked, I think, is asleep. If I give you a -list, can you discover the shops? I am quite ignorant -of this neighbourhood."</p> - -<p>Richard thought he could discover the shops.</p> - -<p>"In the meantime I will have a bath. I have -had no rest worth mentioning for twenty-four hours, -and I want freshening up. Don't come back for -twenty minutes, or there will be no one to let you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> -in. Stay, I will give you the latch-key." It was -attached to her chatelaine.</p> - -<p>Equipped with written orders and a sovereign, -he went out. Though he was away barely a quarter -of an hour, she was dressed and downstairs again -when he came in, her face as radiant as if she had -just risen. She counted the change, and checked -the different purchases with the list. Richard had -made no mistakes.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," she said very formally. He had -expected a little praise.</p> - -<p>"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, determined -not to weary in good works, however -coldly his efforts were received.</p> - -<p>"I think you might sit with Mr. Aked for a -while," she said; "I must positively give some attention -to Miss Aked, and half an hour's rest would -not harm me. See, there are some slippers; would -you mind taking off your boots and putting those on -instead? Thank you. You may talk to Mr. Aked -if he talks to you, and let him hold your hand—he'll -probably want to. Let him have just a sip of -the brandy and milk I will give you, whenever he -asks for it. Don't mind if he grumbles at everything -you do. Try to soothe him. Remember he -is very seriously ill. Shall I take you upstairs?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<p>She looked at Richard and then at the door; and -Richard, hesitating for a fraction of a second, -stepped past her to open it. He managed it awkwardly -because he had never done such a thing for -a lady in his life, nor could he quite understand what -mysterious prompting had led him to be so punctilious -now. The nurse bowed acknowledgment and -preceded him to the sick-room. He felt as a student -feels just before the examination papers are -handed round.</p> - -<p>A smell of linseed escaped from the bedroom as -the nurse pushed open the door.</p> - -<p>"Stay outside a moment," she said to Richard. -He could see the grate, on which a kettle was singing -over a small fire. In front of the fire was a board, -with a large bowl and spoon, and some pieces of -linen. Then he was conscious of nothing but a loud -sound of rapid, painful breathing, accompanied by -moans and a strange rattling which came to his ears -with perturbing distinctness. He knew nothing of -sickness beyond what people had told him, and these -phenomena inspired him with physical dread. He -wished to run away.</p> - -<p>"A friend of yours is coming to sit with you, Mr. -Aked—you know Mr. Larch," he heard the nurse -say; she was evidently busy about the bed. "You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> -can go now, Lottie," she went on to the servant. -"Wash up the things I have put in the sink, and -then off to bed."</p> - -<p>Richard waited with painful expectancy for the -voice of Mr. Aked.</p> - -<p>"Larch—did you say—why—didn't he come—before?" -The tones were less unnatural than -he had anticipated, but it seemed that only by the -exercise of a desperate ingenuity could the speaker -interject the fragments of a sentence here and there -between his hurrying gasps.</p> - -<p>Then the servant went downstairs.</p> - -<p>"Come in, Mr. Larch," the nurse called pleasantly.</p> - -<p>The patient, supported by pillows, was sitting upright -in bed, and as Richard entered he looked towards -the door with the expression of an unarmed -man on the watch for an assassin. His face was -drawn and duskily pale, but on each cheek burned a -red flush; at every cruel inspiration the nostrils dilated -widely, and the shoulders were raised in a -frenzied effort to fill the embarrassed lungs.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. Aked," Richard greeted him, "here -I am, you see."</p> - -<p>He made no reply beyond a weak nod, and signed -to the nurse for the feeding-cup of brandy and -milk, which she held to his mouth. Richard was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -afraid he might not be able to stay in the room, and -marvelled that the nurse could be unmoved and -cheerful in the midst of this piteous altercation with -death. Was she blind to the terror in the man's -eyes?</p> - -<p>"You had better sit here, Mr. Larch," she said -quietly, pointing to a chair by the bedside. "Here -is the drink; hold the cup—so. Ring this bell if -you want me for anything." Then she noiselessly -disappeared.</p> - -<p>No sooner had he sat down than Mr. Aked seized -his shoulder for support, and each movement of the -struggling frame communicated itself to Richard's -body. Richard suddenly conceived a boundless -respect for the nurse, who had watched whole nights -by this tortured organism on the bed. Somehow existence -began to assume for him a new and larger -aspect; he felt that till that moment he had been going -through the world with his eyes closed; life was -sublimer, more terrible, than he had thought. He -abased himself before all doctors and nurses and -soldiers in battle; they alone tasted the true savour -of life.</p> - -<p>Art was a very little thing.</p> - -<p>Presently Mr. Aked breathed with slightly less -exertion, and he appeared to doze for a few moments -now and then, though Richard could scarcely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -believe that any semblance of sleep was possible to a -man in his condition.</p> - -<p>"Adeline?" he questioned once.</p> - -<p>"She's getting on fine," Richard said soothingly. -"Would you like a sip?"</p> - -<p>He put his grey lips clumsily round the lip of the -cup, drank, and then pushed the vessel away with a -gesture of irritation.</p> - -<p>The windows were open, but the air was perfectly -still, and the gas burnt without a tremor between -the windows and the door.</p> - -<p>"I'm stifled," the patient gasped. "Are they—doing—all -they can—for me?"—Richard -tried to reassure him.</p> - -<p>"It's all over—with me—Larch—I can't—keep -it up long—I'm going—going—they'll -have to try—something else."</p> - -<p>His lustrous eyes were fastened on Richard with -an appealing gaze. Richard turned away.</p> - -<p>"I'm frightened—I thought I shouldn't be—but -I am. Doctor suggested parson—it's not that—I -said no.... Do you think—I'm dying?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"That's a lie—I'm off.... It's a big -thing,—death—everyone's afraid—of it—at -last.... Instinct!... Shows there's -something—awful behind it."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<p>If Richard had been murdering the man, he -could not have had a sharper sense of guilt than at -that moment oppressed him.</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked continued to talk, but with a growing -incoherence which gradually passed into delirium. -Richard looked at his watch. Only thirty minutes -had slipped by, and yet he felt as if his shoulder had -suffered the clutch of that hot hand since before the -beginning of time! Again he experienced the disconcerting -sensation of emotional horizons suddenly -widened.</p> - -<p>People were walking down the street; they talked -and laughed. How incongruously mirthful and -careless their voices sounded! Perhaps they had -never watched by a sick-bed, never listened to the -agonised breathing of a pneumonia patient. That -incessant frantic intake of air! It exasperated him. -If it did not stop soon, he should go mad. He -stared at the gas-flame, and the gas-flame grew -larger, larger, till he could see nothing else.... -Then, after a long while, surely the breathing was -more difficult! There was a reverberating turmoil -in the man's chest which shook the bed. Could -Richard have been asleep, or what? He started up; -but Mr. Aked clung desperately to him, raising his -shoulders higher and higher in the struggle to inhale, -and leaning forward till he was bent almost double.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -Richard hesitated, and then struck the bell. It -seemed as if the nurse would never come. -The door opened softly.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid he is much worse," Richard said to -the nurse, striving to cover his agitation. She -looked at Mr. Aked.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you had better fetch the doctor."</p> - -<p>When he returned, Mr. Aked was lying back unconscious.</p> - -<p>"Of course the doctor can do nothing now," said -the nurse, calmly answering the question in his eyes. -"He'll never speak any more."</p> - -<p>"But Miss Aked?"</p> - -<p>"It can't be helped. I shall say nothing to her -till morning."</p> - -<p>"Then she won't see him?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly not. It would be madness for her to -leave her bed."</p> - -<p>The doctor arrived, and the three talked quietly -together about the alarming prevalence of influenza -at that time of the year, and the fatal results of carelessness.</p> - -<p>"I tell you honestly," the doctor said, "I'm so -overworked that I should be quite satisfied to step -into my coffin and not wake again. I've had three -3 A. M. midwifery cases this week—forceps, chloroform,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> -and the whole bag of tricks—on the top of -all this influenza, and I'm about sick of it. That's -the worst of our trade; it comes in lumps. What do -you say, nurse?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XVII</h4> - - -<p>The nurse suggested that Richard should remain -at Carteret Street for the rest of the -night, using the sofa in the sitting-room. -Contrary to his expectation, he slept well and dreamlessly -for several hours, and woke up refreshed and -energetic. The summer sun was dispersing a light -mist. One thought occupied his mind,—Adeline's -isolation and need of succour. Mentally he enveloped -her with tender solicitude; and the prospect of -giving her instant aid, and so earning her gratitude, -contributed to a mood of vigorous cheerfulness to -which his sorrow for Mr. Aked's death formed but -a vague and distant background.</p> - -<p>No one seemed to be stirring. He washed luxuriously -in the little scullery, and then, silently unbolting -the front door, went out for a walk. It was -just six o'clock, and above the weazen trees which -line either side of Carteret Street the sparrows were -noisily hilarious. As he strode along in the fresh, -sunny air, his fancy pictured scene after scene between -himself and Adeline in which he rendered a -man's help and she offered a woman's gratitude.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> -He determined to take upon himself all the arrangements -for the funeral, and looked forward pleasurably -to activities from which under different circumstances -he would have shrunk with dismay. He -thought of Adeline's aunt or cousin, distant in the -north, and wondered whether she or any other relatives, -if such existed, would present themselves; he -hoped that Adeline might be forced to rely solely -on him. A milkboy who passed with his rattling -cans observed Richard talking rapidly to no visible -person, and turned round to stare.</p> - -<p>When he got back to the house, he noticed that -the blinds had been drawn in the sitting-room. Lottie, -the chubby-armed servant, was cleaning the step; -her eyes were red with crying.</p> - -<p>"Is nurse up yet?" he asked her.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, she's in the kitchen," the girl whimpered.</p> - -<p>He sprang over the wet step into the passage. -As his glance fell on the stairs leading up to the -room where lay the body of Mr. Aked, separated -from the unconscious Adeline only by a gimcrack -wall of lath and plaster, an uncomfortable feeling of -awe took hold of him. Death was very incurable, -and he had been assisting at a tragedy. How unreal -and distorted seemed the events of a few hours -before! He had a curious sense of partnership in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -shame, as if he and the nurse and the doctor had -last night done Adeline an injury and were conspiring -to hide their sin. What would she say when -she knew that her uncle was dead? What would be -her plans? It occurred to him now that she would -of course act quite independently of himself; it was -ridiculous to suppose that he, comparatively a -stranger, could stand to her in the place of kith and -kin; he had been dreaming. He was miserably disheartened.</p> - -<p>He made his way to the kitchen, and, pushing the -door open quietly, found the nurse engaged in cooking -a meal.</p> - -<p>"May I come in, nurse?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Larch."</p> - -<p>"You seem to have taken charge of the house," -he said, admiring her quick, neat movements; she -was as much at home as if the kitchen had been her -own.</p> - -<p>"We often find it necessary," she smiled. -"Nurses have to be ready for most things. Do -you prefer tea or coffee for breakfast?"</p> - -<p>"Surely you aren't getting breakfast for me? I -could have had something in town."</p> - -<p>"Surely I am," she said. "If you aren't fastidious, -I'll make tea. Miss Aked has had a moderately -good night ... I've told her....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -She took it very well, said she expected it. Of -course there's a lot to be done, but I can't bother -her yet. We ought to have a telegram from Mrs. -Hopkins, her aunt, this morning."</p> - -<p>"I wish you would give Miss Aked a message -from me," Richard broke in. "Tell her I shall be -very glad to see after things—the funeral, you -know, and so on—if she cares. I can easily arrange -to take a holiday from the office."</p> - -<p>"I am sure that would relieve her from a lot of -anxiety," the nurse said appreciatively. To hide a -certain confusion Richard suggested that he should -be allowed to lay the cloth in the sitting-room, and -she told him he would find it in a drawer in the -sideboard. He wandered off, speculating upon -Adeline's probable answer to his proposal. Soon he -heard the rattling of cups and saucers, and the -nurse's footstep on the stair. He laid the cloth, -putting the cruet in the middle and the salt-cellars -at opposite corners, and then sat down in front of -the case of French books to scan their titles, but he -saw nothing save a blur of yellow. After a long -time the nurse came down again.</p> - -<p>"Miss Aked says she cannot thank you enough. -She will leave everything to you,—everything. -She is very much obliged indeed. She doesn't think -Mrs. Hopkins will be able to travel, because of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -rheumatism, and there is no one else. Here is the -key of Mr. Aked's desk, and some other keys—there -should be about £20 in gold in the cash box, -and perhaps some notes."</p> - -<p>He took the keys, feeling profoundly happy.</p> - -<p>"I shall just go up to the office first," he decided, -"and arrange to get off, and then come down here -again. I suppose you will stay on till Miss Aked -is better?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, of course."</p> - -<p>"She will be in bed several days yet?"</p> - -<p>"Probably. She might be able to sit up an hour -or two the day after to-morrow—in her own room."</p> - -<p>"It wouldn't do for me to see her?"</p> - -<p>"I think not. She is very weak. No, you must -act on your own responsibility."</p> - -<p>He and the nurse had breakfast together, talking -with the freedom of old friends. He told her all -he knew of the Akeds, not forgetting to mention -that Mr. Aked and himself were to have collaborated -in a book. When Richard let this out, she showed -none of those signs of timid reverence which the -laity are wont to exhibit in the presence of literary -people.</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" she said politely, and then after a little -pause: "I actually write verses myself sometimes."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You do? And are they published?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, but perhaps not on their merits. You -see, my father has influence—"</p> - -<p>"A journalist, is he, perhaps?"</p> - -<p>She laughed at the idea, and mentioned the name -of a well-known novelist.</p> - -<p>"And you prefer nursing to writing!" Richard -ejaculated when he had recovered from the announcement.</p> - -<p>"To anything in the world. That is why I am -a nurse. Why should I depend on my father, or -my father's reputation?"</p> - -<p>"I admire you for not doing so," Richard replied. -Hitherto he had only read about such women, and -had questioned if they really existed. He grew -humble before her, recognising a stronger spirit. -Yet her self-reliance somehow chafed him, and he -directed his thoughts to Adeline's feminine trustfulness -with a slight sense of relief.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The funeral took place on Sunday. Richard -found the formalities to be fewer and simpler than -he had expected, and no difficulties arose of any -kind. Mrs. Hopkins, as Adeline had foreseen, was -unable to come, but she sent a long letter full of advice, -and offering her niece a temporary home. -Adeline had not yet been allowed to leave her bed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -but on the Sunday morning the nurse had said that -she might sit up for an hour or two in the afternoon, -and would like to see Richard then.</p> - -<p>He returned to Carteret Street on foot when the -funeral was over.</p> - -<p>"You are glad it is all finished?" the nurse said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he answered a little wearily. His mind -had dwelt on Mr. Aked that day, and the lonely -futility of the man's life had touched him with chill, -depressing effect. Moreover, now it came to the -point, he rather dreaded than desired that first interview -with Adeline after her uncle's death. He -feared that despite any service he had rendered, -they were not much more than acquaintances. He -morbidly conjectured what she would say to him and -how he would reply. But he was glad when the -nurse left him alone at the door of Adeline's room. -He knocked rather louder than he had intended, and -after hesitating a second walked in. Adeline was -seated in an armchair near the window, fully dressed -in black, with a shawl over her shoulders. Her -back was towards him, but he could see that she was -writing a letter on her knee. She looked round suddenly -as the door opened, and gave a little "Oh!" -at the same time lifting her hands. Her face was -pale, her hair flat, and her eyes large and glittering. -He went up to her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Mr. Larch!" She held his hand in her thin -white one with a soft, weak pressure, silently gazing -at him while tears gathered in her upturned eyes. -Richard trembled in every part of his body; he could -not speak, and wondered what was the matter with -him.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Larch, you have been very kind. I shall -never be able to thank you."</p> - -<p>"I hope you won't bother about any thanks," he -said. "Are you better?" And yet he wished her -to say more.</p> - -<p>With apparent reluctance she loosed his hand, -and he sat down near her.</p> - -<p>"What should I have done without you!... -Tell me about to-day. You can't think how relieved -I am now that it is over—the funeral, I mean."</p> - -<p>He said there was nothing to tell.</p> - -<p>"Were there many other funerals?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, a lot."</p> - -<p>He answered her questions one after another; she -seemed to be interested in the least detail, but -neither of them mentioned the dead man. Her -eyes seldom left him. When he suggested that she -must dismiss him as soon as she felt tired, she -laughed, and replied that she was not likely to be -tired for a very long while, and that he must have -tea with her and nurse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I was writing to my two uncles in San Francisco -when you came in," she said. "They will be terribly -upset about me at first, poor fellows, but I have -told them how kind you have been, and Uncle Mark -always used to say I had plenty of sense, so that -ought to ease their minds." She smiled.</p> - -<p>"Of course you have made no definite plans yet?" -he asked.</p> - -<p>"No, I sha'n't settle anything at present. I want -to consult you about several things, but some other -time, when I am better. I shall have enough money, -I think—that is one solid comfort. My aunt -Grace—Mrs. Hopkins—has asked me to go and -stay with her. Somehow I don't want to go—you'll -think it queer of me, I daresay, but I would -really prefer to stop in London."</p> - -<p>He noticed that she said nothing as to joining her -uncles in San Francisco.</p> - -<p>"I fancy I shall like London," she went on, "when -I know it."</p> - -<p>"You aren't thinking, then, of going to San Francisco?"</p> - -<p>He waited apprehensively for her answer. She -hesitated. "It is so far—I don't quite know how -my uncles are situated—"</p> - -<p>Evidently, for some reason, she had no desire to -leave London immediately. He was very content,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -having feared that she might pass at once away from -him.</p> - -<p>They had tea on a little round chess-table. The -cramped space and the consequent necessity of putting -spare plates of cake on the bed caused some amusement, -but in the presence of the strong, brusque nurse -Adeline seemed to withdraw within herself, and the -conversation, such as it was, depended on the other -two.</p> - -<p>"I have been telling Miss Aked," the nurse said -after tea was over, "that she must go to the seaside -for a week or two. It will do her an immense deal -of good. What she needs most of all is change. I -suggested Littlehampton; it is rather a quiet spot, -not too quiet; there is nice river scenery, and a quaint -old port, and quantities of lovely rustic villages in -the neighbourhood."</p> - -<p>"It would certainly be a good thing," Richard -agreed; but Adeline said, rather petulantly, that she -did not wish to travel, and the project was not discussed -further.</p> - -<p>He left soon afterwards. The walk home seemed -surprisingly short, and when he got to Raphael -Street he could remember nothing of the thoroughfares -through which he had passed. Vague, delicious -fancies flitted through his head, like fine lines -half recalled from a great poem. In his room there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> -was a smell from the lamp, and the windows were -shut tight.</p> - -<p>"Poor old landlady," he murmured benignantly, -"when will she learn to leave the windows open and -not to turn down the lamp?"</p> - -<p>Having unfastened one of the windows, he extinguished -the lamp and went out on to the little -balcony. It was a warm evening, with a cloudy sky -and a gentle, tepid breeze. The noise of omnibuses -and cabs came even and regular from Brompton -Road, and occasionally a hansom passed up Raphael -Street. He stood leaning on the front of the balcony -till the air of traffic had declined to an infrequent -rumble, his thoughts a smiling, whirling -medley impossible to analyze or describe. At last -he came in, and, leaving the window ajar, undressed -slowly without a light, and lay down. He had no -desire to sleep, nor did he attempt to do so; not for -a ransom would he have parted with the fine, full -consciousness of life which thrilled through every -portion of his being. The brief summer night came -to an end; and just as the sun was rising he dozed a -little, and then got up without a trace of fatigue. -He went to the balcony again, and drank in all the -sweet invigorating freshness of the morning. The -sunlit streets were enveloped in an enchanted silence.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XVIII</h4> - - -<p>Nearly three weeks later came the following -letter from Adeline. In the meanwhile -she had had a rather serious relapse, -and he had seen her only once or twice for a few -minutes.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>My dear Mr. Larch,—This time I am <i>quite</i> sure I -am well again. Nurse is obliged to leave to-day, as she is -wanted at a hospital, and she has persuaded me to go to -Littlehampton <i>at once</i>, and given me the address of some -rooms. I shall leave Victoria to-morrow (Wednesday) by -the 1.10 train; Lottie will go with me, and the house will -be locked up. Good-bye for the present, if I don't see you. -We shall not stay more than a week or ten days. I will -write to you from Littlehampton.</p> - -<p>Ever yours most gratefully,</p> - -<p>A. A.</p> - -<p>P. S. I was expecting you down to-night.</p></blockquote> - -<p>"'If I don't see you'!" he repeated to himself, -smiling, and examining Adeline's caligraphy, which -he had not seen before. It was a bold but not distinguished -hand. He read the note several times,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -then folded it carefully and put it in his pocket-book.</p> - -<p>By reason of an unexpected delay at the office he -almost missed her at Victoria. The train was due -out at least a minute before he rushed into the station; -fortunately trains are not invariably prompt. -Adeline was leaning from a carriage window to hand -a penny to a newspaper boy; the boy dropped the -penny, and she laughed. She wore a black hat with -a veil. Her cheeks were a little fuller, and her eyes -less unnaturally brilliant, at any rate under the veil; -and Richard thought that he had never seen her -look so pretty.</p> - -<p>"There it is, silly boy, there!" she was saying as -he came up.</p> - -<p>"I thought I'd just see if you were all right," he -panted. "I should have been here earlier, only I -was detained."</p> - -<p>"How kind of you to take so much trouble!" she -said, taking his hand, and fixing her eyes intently on -his. The guard came along to fasten the doors.</p> - -<p>"Luggage all in?" Richard asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, thanks. Lottie saw to it while I got the -tickets. I find she is quite an experienced traveller." -At which Lottie, effaced in a corner, blushed.</p> - -<p>"Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself." The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> -whistle sounded, and the train jerked forward -Adeline began to wave a good-bye.</p> - -<p>"I see there's a Sunday league trip to Littlehampton -on Sunday," he said, walking along with -the train.</p> - -<p>"Oh! Do come down."</p> - -<p>"You'd like me to?"</p> - -<p>"Very much."</p> - -<p>"I will, then. Send me the address."</p> - -<p>She gave a succession of little nods, as the train -carried her away.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XIX</h4> - - -<p>Richard's eye travelled expectantly over -the tanned crowd of men in flannels and -gaily attired girls which lined the platform -of Littlehampton station, but Adeline was not to be -seen. He felt somewhat disappointed, and then decided -that he liked her the better for not having -come to meet him. "Besides," he thought, "the -train being a special is not in the time-table, and she -would not know when it was due."</p> - -<p>Her lodging was in a long, monotonous terrace -which ran at right angles to the seashore, turning -its back upon the river. Noon was at hand, and the -fierce rays of the unclouded sun were untempered -by any breeze. The street lay hushed, for everyone -was either at church or on the sands. In response -to his inquiry, the landlady said that Miss -Aked was out, and had left a message that if a -gentleman called, he was to follow her to the jetty. -Obeying the directions given to him, Richard soon -found himself by the banks of the swift Arun, with -the jetty some distance in front, and beyond that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -sea, which shimmered blindly in the heat. Throngs -of respectably dressed people wandered up and down, -and a low, languid murmur of conversation floated -out as it were from the cavities of a thousand -parasols. Perspiring children whose hands were -chafed by gloves full of creases ran to and fro among -the groups, shouting noisily, and heedless of the -frequent injunction to remember what day it was. -Here and there nurses pushing perambulators made -cool spots of whiteness in the confusion of colour. -On the river boats and small yachts were continually -sweeping towards the sea on the ebbing tide; -now and then a crew of boys would attempt to pull -a skiff against the rapid current, persevere for a few -strokes, and then, amid scoffs from the bank, ignominiously -allow themselves to be whirled past the jetty -with the other craft.</p> - -<p>Richard had never seen a southern watering-place -before, and he had fondly expected something -different from Llandudno, Rhyl, or Blackpool, -something less stolid and more continental. Littlehampton -fell short of his anticipations. It was unpicturesque -as a manufacturing town, and its summer -visitors were an infestive, lower-middle class -folk, garishly clothed, and unlearned in the fine art -of enjoyment. The pure accent of London sounded -on every side from the lips of clerks and shop-girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> -and their kin. Richard forgot that he was himself -a clerk, looking not out of place in that scene.</p> - -<p>Presently he espied a woman who seemed to belong -to another sphere. She was leaning over the -parapet of the jetty, and though a black and white -sunshade entirely hid her head and shoulders, the -simple, perfectly hung black skirt, the neatly shod -foot, the small, smoothly gloved hand with thin gold -circlet at wrist, sufficed to convince him that here, -by some strange chance, was one of those exquisite -creatures who on Saturday afternoons drove -past the end of Raphael Street on their way to Hurlingham -or Barnes. He wondered what she did -there, and tried to determine the subtleties of demeanour -and costume which constituted the plain difference -between herself and the other girls on the -jetty. At that moment she stood erect, and turned -round. Why, she was quite young.... He -approached her.... It was Adeline.</p> - -<p>Astonishment was so clearly written on his face -that she laughed as they exchanged greetings.</p> - -<p>"You seem startled at the change in me," she said -abruptly. "Do you know that I positively adore -clothes, though I've only just found it out. The -first thing I did when I got here was to go over to -Brighton, and spend terrific sums at a dressmaker's. -You see, there wasn't time in London. You don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> -despise me for it, I hope? I've plenty of money—enough -to last a long, long time."</p> - -<p>She was dazzling, and she openly rejoiced in the -effect her appearance had made on Richard.</p> - -<p>"You couldn't have done better," he answered, -suddenly discovering with chagrin that his own serge -suit was worn and shabby.</p> - -<p>"I'm relieved," she said; "I was afraid my -friend might think me vain and extravagant." Her -manner of saying "my friend"—half mockery, half -deference—gave Richard intense satisfaction.</p> - -<p>They walked to the end of the jetty and sat down -on a stone seat.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed enthusiastically.</p> - -<p>"What—the town, or the people, or the sea?"</p> - -<p>"Everything. I've scarcely been to the seaside -before in all my life, and I think it's lovely."</p> - -<p>"The sea would be splendid if one could see it, -but it blinds one even to glance at it in this heat."</p> - -<p>"You shall have half my sunshade." She put -it over him with a protective gesture.</p> - -<p>"No, no," he demurred.</p> - -<p>"I say yes. Why don't men carry sunshades? -It's only their pride that stops them.... So -you don't like the town and the people?"</p> - -<p>"Well—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I love to see plenty of people about. And you -would, too, if you'd been fixed like me. I've never -seen a real crowd. There are crushes when you go -into theatres, sometimes, aren't there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Women faint."</p> - -<p>"But I shouldn't. I would have given anything -not long ago to be in one of those crushes. Now, of -course, I can just please myself. When we are back -in London, do you think I could persuade you to -take me?"</p> - -<p>"You might," he said, "if you asked nicely. But -young ladies who wear clothes like yours don't -usually patronise the pit, where the crushes are. -Stalls or dress circle would be more in your style. I -propose we take the dress circle. You wouldn't enjoy -your crush going in, but at the Lyceum and some -other theatres, there is quite a superior crush coming -out of the stalls and dress circle."</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is better. And I shall buy more -clothes. Oh! I will be shockingly wasteful. If -poor old uncle knew how his money was to be -spent—"</p> - -<p>A little child, chased by one still less, fell down -flat in front of them, and began to cry. Adeline -picked it up, losing her sunshade, and kissed both -children. Then she took a paper of chocolates from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> -her pocket and gave several to each child, and they -ran away without saying thank you.</p> - -<p>"Have one?" She offered the bag to Richard. -"That's another luxury I shall indulge in—chocolates. -Do have just one, to keep me company," she -appealed. "By the way, about dinner. I ordered -dinner for both of us at my rooms, but we can improve -on that. I have discovered a lovely little village -a few miles away, Angmering, all old cottages -and no drains. Let us drive there in a victoria, and -picnic at a cottage. I know the exact place for us. -There will be no people there to annoy you."</p> - -<p>"But you like 'people,' so that won't do at all."</p> - -<p>"I will do without 'people' for this day."</p> - -<p>"And what shall we have for dinner?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! Eggs and bread and butter and tea."</p> - -<p>"Tea for dinner! Not very solid, is it?"</p> - -<p>"Greedy! If you have such a large appetite, eat -a few more chocolates; they will take it away."</p> - -<p>She rose, pointing to a victoria in the distance.</p> - -<p>He looked at her without getting up, and their -eyes met with smiles. Then he, too, rose. He -thought he had never felt so happy. An intoxicating -vision of future felicities momentarily suggested -itself, only to fade before the actuality of the present.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<p>The victoria stopped at Adeline's rooms. She -called through the open window to Lottie, who came -out and received orders to dine alone, or with the -landlady if she preferred.</p> - -<p>"Lottie and Mrs. Bishop are great friends," Adeline -said. "The silly girl would sooner stay in to -help Mrs. Bishop with housework than go out on -the beach with me."</p> - -<p>"She must indeed be silly. I know which I -should choose!" It seemed a remark of unutterable -clumsiness—after he had said it, but Adeline's -faint smile showed no dissatisfaction. He reflected -that he would have been better pleased had she totally -ignored it.</p> - -<p>The carriage ran smoothly along the dusty roads, -now passing under trees, and now skirting poppy-clad -fields whose vivid scarlet almost encroached on the -highway itself. Richard lay back, as he had seen -men do in the Park, his shoulder lightly touching -Adeline's. She talked incessantly, though slowly, in -that low voice of hers, and her tones mingled with -the measured trot of the enfeebled horse, and lulled -Richard to a sensuous quiescence. He slightly -turned his face towards hers, and with dreamy deliberateness -examined her features,—the dimple in -her cheek which he had never noticed before, the -curves of her ear, her teeth, her smooth black hair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> -the play of light in her eye; then his gaze moved -to her large felt hat, set bewitchingly aslant on the -small head, and then for a space he would look at the -yellowish-green back of the imperturbable driver, -who drove on and on, little witting that enchantment -was behind him.</p> - -<p>They consumed the eggs and bread and butter and -tea which Adeline had promised; and they filled their -pockets with fruit. That was Adeline's idea. She -gave herself up to enjoyment like a child. When -the sun was less strenuous they walked about the village, -sitting down frequently to admire its continual -picturesqueness. Time sped with astonishing rapidity; -Richard's train went at twenty-five minutes past -seven, and already, as they stood by the margin of -the tiny tributary of the Arun, some grandfather's -clock in a neighbouring cottage clattered five. He -was tempted to say nothing about the train, quietly -allow himself to miss it, and go up by the first -ordinary on Monday morning. But soon Adeline -inquired about his return, and they set off to walk -back to Littlehampton; the carriage had been dismissed. -He invented pretexts for loitering, made -her sit on walls to eat apples, tried to get lost in by-paths, -protested that he could not keep the pace she -set; but to no purpose. They arrived at the station -at exactly a quarter past seven. The platform<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -was busy, and they strolled to the far end of it and -stood by the engine.</p> - -<p>"I wish to heaven the train didn't leave so early," -he said. "I'm sure the sea air would do me a lot -of good, if I could get enough of it. What a beautiful -day it has been!" He sighed sentimentally.</p> - -<p>"I never, never enjoyed myself so perfectly," she -said emphatically. "Suppose we beseech the engine-driver -to lie still for a couple of hours?" Richard's -smile was inattentive.</p> - -<p>"You are sure you haven't done too much," he -said with sudden solicitude, looking at her half anxiously.</p> - -<p>"I! not a bit. I am absolutely well again." Her -eyes found his and held them, and it seemed to him -that mystic messages passed to and fro.</p> - -<p>"How long do you think of staying?"</p> - -<p>"Not long. It gets rather boring, being alone. -I expect I shall return on Saturday."</p> - -<p>"I was thinking I would run down again on Saturday -for the week-end,—take a week-end ticket," -he said; "but of course, if—"</p> - -<p>"In that case I should stay a few days longer. I -couldn't allow myself to deprive you of the sea air -which is doing you so much good. By next Saturday -I may have discovered more nice places to visit,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -perhaps even prettier than Angmering.... -But you must get in."</p> - -<p>He would have given a great deal just then to be -able to say firmly: "I have changed my mind about -going. I will stay at a hotel to-night and take the -first train to-morrow." But it required more decision -than he possessed, and in a few moments he -was waving good-bye to her from the carriage window.</p> - -<p>There were several other people in the compartment,—a -shy shop-girl and her middle-aged lover, -evidently employés of the same establishment, and an -artisan with his wife and a young child. Richard -observed them intently, and found a curious, new -pleasure in all their unstudied gestures and in everything -they said. But chiefly he kept a watch on the -shop-girl's lover, who made it no secret that he was -dwelling in the seventh heaven. Richard sympathised -with that man. His glance fell on him -softly, benignantly. As the train passed station after -station, he wondered what Adeline was doing, now, -and now, and now.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On the following Saturday he took tea with Adeline -at her lodgings. The train had been late, and -by the time they were ready for the evening walk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> -without which no visitor to the seaside calls the day -complete, it was close upon nine o'clock. The beach -was like a fair or a north-country wake. Conjurers, -fire-eaters, and minstrels each drew an audience; but -the principal attraction was a man and woman who -wore masks and were commonly supposed to be distinguished -persons to whom fate had been unkind. -They had a piano in a donkey-cart, and the woman -sang to the man's accompaniment. Just as Richard -and Adeline came up, "The River of Years" was -announced for performance.</p> - -<p>"Let us listen to this," said Adeline.</p> - -<p>They stood at the rim of the crowd. The woman -had a rich contralto voice and sang with feeling, -and her listeners were generous of both applause and -coppers.</p> - -<p>"I wonder who she is," Adeline murmured, with -a touch of melancholy,—"I wonder who she is. I -love that song."</p> - -<p>"Oh, probably some broken-down concert-singer," -Richard said curtly, "with a drunken husband."</p> - -<p>"But she sang beautifully. She made me feel—you -know—funny.... A lovely feeling, -isn't it?" She looked up at him.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, smiling at her.</p> - -<p>"You're laughing."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Indeed I'm not. I know what you mean perfectly -well. Perhaps I had it just then, too—- a -little. But the song is a bit cheap."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> could listen to it every day, and never get tired -of listening. Don't you think that if a song gives -<i>anyone</i> that—feeling, there must be some good in -it?"</p> - -<p>"Of course it's far better than most; but—"</p> - -<p>"But not equal to those classical songs you told -me about—the first time I saw you, wasn't it? -Yes, Schubert: was that the name? I mean to get -those, and you must show me the best ones, and play -the accompaniments, and then I shall judge for myself."</p> - -<p>"I shall make an awful mess of the accompaniments; -they're not precisely easy, you know."</p> - -<p>"Full of accidentals, are they? I sha'n't like -them, then. I never do like that sort of song."</p> - -<p>"But you will; you must."</p> - -<p>"Must I?" she almost whispered, in tones of -gentle, feminine surrender. And after a second or -two: "Then I'll try, if it will keep you in a good -temper."</p> - -<p>They stood fronting the sea. She looked straight -ahead into the darkening distance, and then turned -round to him with a mock plaintive expression, and -they both laughed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Wouldn't it be better up by the river," he suggested, -"where there are fewer people?"</p> - -<p>A little to his surprise, she agreed that it was -certainly rather noisy and crowded on the beach on -Saturday nights, and they turned their backs to the -shore. The moon had risen, and shone at intervals -through clouds. For a few score yards they walked -in silence. Then Adeline said,—</p> - -<p>"It's very dull here during the week for a poor -single woman like me. I shall go home on Monday."</p> - -<p>"But think of London in this weather."</p> - -<p>"I do think of it. I think of the parks and -the restaurants and the theatres."</p> - -<p>"The good theatres are closed now."</p> - -<p>"Well, the music-halls. I've never been in one, -and if they are very naughty, then I want to go very -much. Besides, there are lots of theatres open. -I've read all the theatrical advertisements in the -'Telegraph,' and there must be plenty of things to -see. You mayn't think them worth seeing, but I -should enjoy any theatre."</p> - -<p>"I believe you would," he said. "I used to be -like that."</p> - -<p>"Up to now I've had no real pleasure—what I -call pleasure—and I'm just going to have it. I'll -settle down afterwards."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Didn't your uncle take you out much?"</p> - -<p>"I should say he didn't. He took me to a concert -once. That was all—in nearly two years. I -suppose it never occurred to him that I was leading -a dull life."</p> - -<p>She made a movement with her hands, as if to put -away from her all the drab dailiness of her existence -in Carteret Street.</p> - -<p>"You can soon recover lost time," Richard said -cheerfully.</p> - -<p>His fancy was in the rosy future, vividly picturing -the light-hearted gaieties, Bohemian, unconventional, -artistic, in which he and she should unite. He saw -himself and Adeline becoming dearer to each other, -and still dearer, her spirit unfolding like a flower, -and disclosing new beauties day by day. He saw -her eyes glisten when they met his; felt the soft -pressure of her hand; heard her voice waver with -tenderness, expectant of his avowal. And then came -his own bold declaration: "I love you, Adeline," -and her warm, willing lips were upon his. God! -To dream of such beatitudes!</p> - -<p>She had slightly quickened her step. The quays -were silent and deserted, save for these two. Presently -masts rose vaguely against the sky, and they approached -a large ship. Richard leaned over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -parapet to decipher the name on her bows. -"Juliane," he spelt out.</p> - -<p>"That is Norwegian or Danish."</p> - -<p>They lingered a few moments, watching the -movements of dim figures on deck, listening to the -musical chatter of an unknown tongue, and breathing -that atmosphere of romance and adventure which -foreign vessels carry with them from strange lands; -then they walked on.</p> - -<p>"Hush!" exclaimed Adeline, stopping, and touching -Richard's arm.</p> - -<p>The sailors were singing some quaint modern -strain.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked when they had finished -a verse.</p> - -<p>"It must be a Norwegian folk-song. It reminds -me of Grieg."</p> - -<p>Another verse was sung. It began to rain,—warm, -summer drops.</p> - -<p>"You will be wet," Richard said.</p> - -<p>"Never mind."</p> - -<p>A third verse followed, and then a new air was -started. It rained faster.</p> - -<p>"Come under the shelter of the wall here," Richard -urged, timidly taking her arm. "I think I see -an archway."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," she murmured, with sweet acquiescence;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> -and they stood together a long time under -the archway in silence, while the Norwegian sailors, -heedless of weather, sang song after song.</p> - -<p>The next morning the sky had cleared again, but -there was a mist over the calm sea. They walked -idly on the level sands. At first they were almost -alone. The mist intensified distances; a group of -little children paddling in a foot of water appeared -to be miles away. Slowly the mist was scattered by -the sun, and the beach became populous with visitors -in Sunday attire. In the afternoon they drove to -Angmering, Adeline having found no preferable -haunt.</p> - -<p>"You have no train to catch to-night," she said; -"what a relief! Shall you start very early to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not particular," he answered. "Why?"</p> - -<p>"I was thinking that Lottie and I would go up -by the same train as you, but perhaps you won't care -to be bothered with women and their luggage."</p> - -<p>"If you really intend to return to-morrow, I'll -wire to Curpet not to expect me till after lunch, and -we'll go at a reasonable hour."</p> - -<p>He left her at her lodging as the clock was striking -eleven; but instead of making direct for his -hotel, he turned aside to the river to have a last look -at the "Juliane." Curiously, it began to rain, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -he sheltered under the archway where he had stood -with Adeline on the previous night. Aboard the -"Juliane" there was stir and bustle. He guessed -that the ship was about to weigh anchor and drop -down with the tide. Just after midnight she slid -cautiously away from the quay, to the accompaniment -of hoarse calls and the rattling of chains and -blocks.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XX</h4> - - -<p>During the journey to town Adeline -would talk of nothing but her intention to -taste all the amusements which London -had to offer. She asked numberless questions with -the persistency of an inquisitive child, while Lottie -modestly hid herself behind a copy of "Tit Bits," -which had been bought for her.</p> - -<p>"Now I will read out the names of the plays advertised -in the 'Telegraph,'" she said, "and you -must tell me what each is like, and whether the actors -are good, and the actresses pretty, and things of -that kind."</p> - -<p>Richard entered with zest into the conversation. -He was in a boisterous mood, and found her very -willing to be diverted. Once, when he used a technical -term, she stopped him: "Remember, I have -never been to a theatre." On Sunday she had made -the same remark several times. It seemed as if she -liked to insist on the point.</p> - -<p>The morning was delicious, full of light and freshness, -and the torpid countryside through which the -train swept at full speed suggested a gentle yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -piquant contrast to the urban, gaslight themes which -they were discussing. Though the sun shone with -power, Adeline would not have the blinds drawn, but -sometimes she used the newspaper for a shade, or -bent her head so that the broad brim of her hat -might come between her eyes and the sunshine. -After an hour the talk slackened somewhat. As -Richard, from his seat opposite, looked now at -Adeline and now at the landscape, a perfect content -stole over him. He wished that the distance to -London could have been multiplied tenfold, and rejoiced -in every delay. Then he began to miss the -purport of her questions, and she had to repeat -them. He was examining his heart. "Is this -love?" his thoughts ran. "Do I actually love her -now,—<i>now</i>?"</p> - -<p>When the train stopped at New Cross, and Richard -said that they would be at London Bridge in a -few minutes, she asked when he would go down to -Carteret Street.</p> - -<p>"Any time," he said.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow night?"</p> - -<p>He had hoped she would fix the same evening. -"When is the theatre-going to commence?" he -queried.</p> - -<p>She laughed vaguely: "Soon."</p> - -<p>"Suppose I book seats for the Comedy?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - -<p>"We will talk about it to-morrow night."</p> - -<p>It appeared that her desire for the relaxations of -town life had suddenly lost its instancy.</p> - -<p>Immediately he reached the office he wrote a note -to Mr. Clayton Vernon. Some three hundred -pounds was coming to him under the will of William -Vernon, and he had purposed to let Mr. Clayton -Vernon invest this sum for him; but the letter asked -that a cheque for £25 should be sent by return of -post. Later in the afternoon he went to a tailor in -Holborn, and ordered two suits of clothes.</p> - -<p>He grew restless and introspective, vainly endeavouring -to analyse his feeling towards Adeline. -He wished that he had himself suggested that he -should call on her that night, instead of allowing her -to name Tuesday. When he got home, he looked -at the letter which he had received from her a fortnight -before, and then, enclosing it in a clean envelope, -put it away carefully in his writing-case. He -felt that he must preserve all her letters. The evening -dragged itself out with desolating tedium. Once -he went downstairs intending to go to the theatre, -but returned before he had unlatched the front door.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rowbotham laid his supper that evening, -and he began to tell her about his holiday, mentioning, -with fictitious <i>naïveté</i>, that he had spent it in the -company of a young lady. Soon he gave the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> -history of his acquaintance with the Akeds. She -warmly praised his kindness towards Adeline.</p> - -<p>"My Lily is keeping company with a young man," -she said, after a pause; "a respectable young chap -he is, a bus-conductor. This is his night off, and -they're gone to the Promenade Concert. I didn't -like her going at first, but, bless you, you have to -give in. Young folk are young folk, all the world -over.... But I must be getting downstairs -again. I have to do everything myself to-night. -Ah! when a girl falls in love, she forgets her mother. -It's natural, I suppose. Well, Mr. Larch, it will -be your turn soon, I hope." With that she left the -room quickly, missing Richard's hurried disclaimer.</p> - -<p>"So you're engaged, Lily," he said to the girl -next morning.</p> - -<p>Lily blushed and nodded; and as he looked at her -eyes, he poignantly longed for the evening.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXI</h4> - -<p>They sat by the window and talked till the -day began to fade and the lamplighter had -passed up the street. Several matters of -business needed discussion,—the proving of Mr. -Aked's will, the tenancy of the house and the opening -of a new banking-account. Richard, who was -acting informally as legal adviser, after the manner -of solicitors' clerks towards their friends, brought -from his pocket some papers for Adeline's signature. -She took a pen immediately.</p> - -<p>"Where do I put my name?"</p> - -<p>"But you must read them first."</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't understand them a bit," she said; -"and what is the use of employing a lawyer, if one -is put to the trouble of reading everything one -signs?"</p> - -<p>"Well—please yourself. To-morrow you will -have to go before a commissioner for oaths and -swear that certain things are true; you'll be compelled -to read the affidavits."</p> - -<p>"That I won't! I shall just swear."</p> - -<p>"But you simply must."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Sha'n't. If I swear to fibs, it will be your -fault."</p> - -<p>"Suppose I read them out to you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, that would be nicer; but not now, after supper."</p> - -<p>For a few moments there was silence. She stood -up and drew her finger in fanciful curves across the -window-pane. Richard watched her, with a smile -of luxurious content. It appeared to him that all -her movements, every inflection of her voice, her -least word, had the authenticity and the intrinsic -grace of natural phenomena. If she turned her -head or tapped her foot, the gesture was right,—having -the propriety which springs from absolute -self-unconsciousness. Her mere existence from one -moment to the next seemed in some mysterious way -to suggest a possible solution of the riddle of life. -She illustrated nature. She was for him intimately -a part of nature, the great Nature which hides itself -from cities. To look at her afforded him a delight -curiously similar to that which the townsman derives -from a rural landscape. Her face had little conventional -beauty; her conversation contained no hint -either of intellectual powers or of a capacity for deep -feeling. But in her case, according to his view, -these things were unnecessary, would in fact have -been superfluous. She <i>was</i> and that sufficed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mingled with the pleasure which her nearness -gave him, there were subordinate but distinct sensations. -Except his sister Mary, he had never before -been upon terms of close familiarity with any -woman, and he realised with elation that now for -the first time the latencies of manhood were aroused. -His friendship—if indeed it were nothing else—with -this gracious, inscrutable creature seemed a -thing to be very proud of, to gloat upon in secret, to -contemplate with a dark smile as one walked along -the street or sat in a bus.... And then, with -a shock of joyful, half-incredulous surprise, he made -the discovery that she—she—had found some attractiveness -in himself.</p> - -<p>Their loneliness gave zest and piquancy to the -situation. On neither side were there relatives or -friends who might obtrude, or whom it would be -proper to consult. They had only themselves to -consider. Not a soul in London, with the exception -of Lottie, knew of their intimacy,—the visit to Littlehampton, -their plans for visiting the theatres, her -touching reliance upon him. Ah, that confiding -feminine trust! He read it frequently in her glance, -and it gave him a sense of protective possession. -He had approached no closer than to shake her -hand, and yet, as he looked at the slight frame, the -fragile fingers, the tufts of hair which escaped over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -her ears,—these things seemed to be his. Surely -she had donned that beautiful dress for him; surely -she moved gracefully for him, talked softly for -him!</p> - -<p>He left his chair, quietly lighted the candles at -the piano, and began to turn over some songs.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing?" she asked, from the window.</p> - -<p>"I want you to sing."</p> - -<p>"Must I?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Let me find something with an -easy accompaniment."</p> - -<p>She came towards him, took up a song, opened it, -and bade him look at it.</p> - -<p>"Too difficult," he said abruptly. "Those arpeggios -in the bass,—I couldn't possibly play -them."</p> - -<p>She laid it aside obediently.</p> - -<p>"Well, this?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Let us try that."</p> - -<p>She moved nearer to him, to miss the reflection of -the candles on the paper, and put her hands behind -her back. She cleared her throat. He knew she -was nervous, but he had no such feeling himself.</p> - -<p>"Ready?" he asked, glancing round and up into -her face. She smiled timidly, flushing, and then -nodded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No," she exclaimed the next second, as he boldly -struck the first chord. "I don't think I'll sing. I -can't."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, you will—yes, you will."</p> - -<p>"Very well." She resigned herself.</p> - -<p>The first few notes were tremulous, but quickly -she gained courage. The song was a mediocre -drawing-room ballad, and she did not sing with much -expression, but to Richard's ear her weak contralto -floated out above the accompaniment with a rich, -passionate quality full of intimate meanings. When -his own part of the performance was not too exacting, -he watched from the corner of his eye the rise -and fall of her breast, and thought of Keats's sonnet; -and then he suddenly quaked in fear that all -this happiness might crumble at the touch of some -adverse fate.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you call that a poor song," she said -when it was finished.</p> - -<p>"I liked it very much."</p> - -<p>"You did? I am so fond of it, and I'm glad you -like it. Shall we try another?" She offered the -suggestion with a gentle diffidence which made -Richard desire to abase himself before her, to ask -what in the name of heaven she meant by looking -to him as an authority, a person whose will was to -be consulted and whose humours were law.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> - -<p>Again she put her hands behind her back, cleared -her throat, and began to sing.... He had -glimpses of mystic, emotional deeps in her spirit -hitherto unsuspected.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Lottie came in with a lamp.</p> - -<p>"You would like supper?" Adeline said. "Lottie, -let us have supper at once."</p> - -<p>Richard remembered that when Mr. Aked was -alive, Adeline had been accustomed to go into the -kitchen and attend to the meals herself; but evidently -this arrangement was now altered. She extinguished -the candles on the piano, and took the -easy-chair with a question about Schubert. Supper -was to be served without the aid of the mistress of -the house. She had been training Lottie,—that -was clear. He looked round. The furniture was -unchanged, but everything had an unwonted air of -comfort and neatness, and Adeline's beautiful dress -scarcely seemed out of keeping with the general aspect -of the room. He gathered that she had social -aspirations. He had social aspirations himself. -His fancy delighted to busy itself with fine clothes, -fine furniture, fine food, and fine manners. That -his own manners had remained inelegant was due to -the fact that the tireless effort and vigilance which -any amelioration of their original crudity would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -have necessitated, were beyond his tenacity of purpose.</p> - -<p>The supper was trimly laid on a very white tablecloth, -and chairs were drawn up. Lottie stood in -the background for a few moments; Adeline called -her for some trifling service, and then dismissed her.</p> - -<p>"Won't you have some whisky? I know men always -like whisky at night."</p> - -<p>She touched a bell on the table.</p> - -<p>"The whisky, Lottie—you forgot it."</p> - -<p>Richard was almost awed by her demeanour. -Where could she have learnt it? He felt not unlike -a bumpkin, and secretly determined to live up to -the standard of deportment which she had set.</p> - -<p>"You may smoke," she said, when Lottie had -cleared the table after supper; "I like it. Here are -some cigarettes—'Three Castles'—will they do?" -Laughing, she produced a box from the sideboard, -and handed it to him. He went to the sofa, and -she stood with one elbow resting on the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>"About going to the theatre—" she began.</p> - -<p>"May I take you? Let us go to the Comedy."</p> - -<p>"And you will book seats, the dress circle?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. What night?"</p> - -<p>"Let us say Friday.... And now you -may read me those documents."</p> - -<p>When that business was transacted, Richard felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> -somehow that he must depart, and began to take his -leave. Adeline stood erect, facing him in front of -the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>"Next time you come, you will bring those Schubert -songs, will you not?"</p> - -<p>Then she rang the bell, shook hands, and sat -down. He went out; Lottie was waiting in the -passage with his hat and stick.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXII</h4> - - -<p>Seven or eight weeks passed.</p> - -<p>During that time Richard spent many -evenings with Adeline, at the theatre, at concerts, -and at Carteret Street. When they were going -up to town, he called for her in a hansom. She -usually kept him waiting a few minutes. He sat in -the sitting-room, listening to the rattle of harness -and the occasional stamp of a hoof outside. At -length he heard her light step on the stairs, and she -entered the room, smiling proudly. She was wonderfully -well dressed, with modish simplicity and -exact finish, and she gave him her fan to hold while -she buttoned her long gloves. Where she ordered -her gowns he never had the least notion. They followed -one another in rapid succession, and each -seemed more beautiful than the last. All were sober -in tint; the bodices were V-shaped, and cut -rather low.</p> - -<p>Lottie carefully placed a white wrap over her -mistress's head, and then they were off. In the -hansom there was but little conversation, and that of -a trivial character. In vain he endeavoured to entice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> -her into discussions. He mentioned books -which he had read; she showed only a perfunctory -interest. He explained why, in his opinion, a particular -play was good and another bad; generally -she preferred the wrong one, or at least maintained -that she liked all plays, and therefore would not -draw comparisons. Sometimes she would argue -briefly about the conduct of certain characters in a -piece, but he seldom found himself genuinely in -agreement with her, though as a rule he verbally -concurred. In music she was a little less unsympathetic -towards his ideals. They had tried over several -of his favourite classical songs, and he had seen -in her face, as she listened, or hummed the air, a -glow answering to his own enthusiasm. She had said -that she would learn one of them, but the promise -had not been kept, though he had reminded her of -it several times.</p> - -<p>These chagrins, however, were but infinitesimal -ripples upon the smooth surface of his happiness. -All of them together were as nothing compared to -the sensations which he experienced in helping her -out of the cab, in the full glare of a theatre façade. -Invariably he overpaid the driver, handing him the -silver with an inattentive gesture, while Adeline -waited on the steps,—dainty food for the eyes of -loiterers and passers-by. He offered his arm, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> -they passed down the vestibule and into the auditorium. -With what artless enjoyment she settled -herself in her seat, breathing the atmosphere of luxury -and display as if it had been ozone, smiling radiantly -at Richard, and then eagerly examining the -occupants of the boxes through a small, silver-mounted -glass! She was never moved by the -events on the stage, and whether it happened to be -tragedy or burlesque at which they were assisting, -she turned to Richard at the end of every act with -the same happy, contented smile, and usually began -to make remarks upon the men and women around -her. It was the play-house and not the play of -which she was really fond.</p> - -<p>After the fall of the curtain, they lingered till -most of the audience had gone. Sometimes they -supped at a restaurant. "It is my turn," she would -say now and then, when the obsequious waiter presented -the bill, and would give Richard her purse. -At first, for form's sake, he insisted on his right to -pay, but she would not listen. He wondered where -she had caught the pretty trick of handing over her -purse instead of putting down the coins, and he -traced it to a play which they had seen at the Vaudeville -theatre. Yet she did it with such naturalness -that it did not seem to have been copied. The -purse was small, and always contained several<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -pounds in gold, with a little silver. The bill paid, -he gave it back to her with a bow.</p> - -<p>Then came the long, rapid drive home, through -interminable lamp-lined streets, peopled now only -by hansoms and private carriages, past all the insolent -and garish splendours of Piccadilly clubs, into -whose unveiled windows Adeline eagerly gazed; -past the mysterious, night-ridden Park; past the dim, -solemn squares and crescents of Kensington and -Chelsea, and so into the meaner vicinage of Fulham. -It was during these midnight journeys, more than at -any other time, that Richard felt himself to be a -veritable inhabitant of the City of Pleasure. Adeline, -flushed with the evening's enjoyment, talked of -many things, in her low, even voice, which was never -raised. Richard answered briefly; an occasional reply -was all she seemed to expect.</p> - -<p>Immediately, on getting out of the cab, she said -good-night, and entered the house alone, while -Richard directed the driver back to Raphael Street. -Returning thus, solitary, he endeavoured to define -what she was to him, and he to her. Often, when -actually in her presence, he ventured to ask himself, -"Am I happy? Is this pleasure?" But as soon -as he had left her, his doubtfulness vanished, and he -began to long for their next meeting. Little phrases -of hers, unimportant gestures, came back vividly to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> -his memory; he thought how instinct with charm -they were. And yet, was he really, truly in love? -Was she in love? Had there been a growth of -feeling since that night at Carteret Street after the -holiday at Littlehampton? He uncomfortably suspected -that their hearts had come nearer to each -other that night than at any time since.</p> - -<p>He tried to look forward to the moment when -he should invite her to be his wife. But was that -moment approaching? At the back of his mind lay -an apprehension that it was not. She satisfied one -part of his nature. She was the very spirit of grace; -she was full of aplomb and a delicate tact; she had -money. Moreover, her constant reliance upon him, -her clinging womanishness, the caressing, humouring -tone which her voice could assume, powerfully -affected him. He divined darkly that he was clay -in her hands; that all the future, even the future of -his own heart, depended entirely upon her. If she -chose, she might be his goddess.... And yet -she had sharp limitations....</p> - -<p>Again, was she in love?</p> - -<p>When he woke up of a morning he wondered how -long his present happiness would continue, and -whither it was leading him. A scrap of conversation -which he had had with Adeline recurred to him frequently. -He had asked her, once when she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -complained of ennui, why she did not become acquainted -with some of her neighbours.</p> - -<p>"I don't care for my neighbours," she replied -curtly.</p> - -<p>"But you can't live without acquaintances all your -life."</p> - -<p>"No, not all my life," she said with significant -emphasis.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIII</h4> - - -<p>They had been to the National Gallery; it -was Saturday afternoon. Adeline said that -she would go home; but Richard, not without -a little trouble, persuaded her to dine in town -first; he mentioned a French restaurant in Soho.</p> - -<p>As they walked up Charing Cross Road, he -pointed out the Crabtree, and referred to the fact -that at one time he had frequented it regularly. She -stopped to look at its white-and-gold frontage. In -enamel letters on the windows were the words: -"Table d'hôte, 6 to 9, 1/6."</p> - -<p>"Is it a good place?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"The best in London—of that kind."</p> - -<p>"Then let us dine there; I have often wanted to -try a vegetarian restaurant."</p> - -<p>Richard protested that she would not like it.</p> - -<p>"How do you know? If you have been so often, -why shouldn't I go once?" She smiled at him, and -turned to cross the street; he hung back.</p> - -<p>"But I only went for economy."</p> - -<p>"Then we will only go for economy to-day."</p> - -<p>He dangled before her the attractions of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -French restaurant in Soho, but to no purpose. He -was loth to visit the Crabtree. Most probably Miss -Roberts would be on duty within, and he felt an inscrutable -unwillingness to be seen by her with Adeline.... -At last they entered. Looking -through the glass doors which lead to the large, low-ceiled -dining-room on the first floor, Richard saw -that it was nearly empty, and that the cash-desk, -where Miss Roberts was accustomed to sit, was for -the moment unoccupied. He led the way in rather -hurriedly, and selected places in a far corner. Although -it was scarcely beginning to be dusk, the -table electric lights were turned on, and their red -shades made glimmering islands of radiance about -the room.</p> - -<p>Richard kept a furtive watch on the cash-desk; -presently he saw Miss Roberts take her seat behind -it, and shifted his glance to another quarter. He -was preoccupied, and answered at random Adeline's -amused queries as to the food. Between the soup -and the entrée they were kept waiting; and Adeline, -Richard being taciturn, moved her chair in order to -look round the room. Her roving eyes stopped at -the cash-desk, left it, and returned to it. Then a -scornful smile, albeit scarcely perceptible, appeared -on her face; but she said nothing. Richard saw her -glance curiously at the cash-desk several times, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> -he knew, too, that Miss Roberts had discovered -them. In vain he assured himself that Miss Roberts -was not concerned in his affairs; he could not -dismiss a sensation of uneasiness and discomfort. -Once he fancied that the eyes of the two girls met, -and that both turned away suddenly.</p> - -<p>When the dinner was over, and they were drinking -the coffee for which the Crabtree is famous, -Adeline said abruptly,—</p> - -<p>"I know someone here."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Richard, with fictitious nonchalance. -"Who?"</p> - -<p>"The girl at the pay-desk,—Roberts, her name -is."</p> - -<p>"Where have you met her?" he inquired.</p> - -<p>Adeline laughed inimically. He was startled, almost -shocked, by the harsh mien which transformed -her face.</p> - -<p>"You remember one night, just before uncle died," -she began, bending towards him, and talking very -quietly. "Someone called while you and I were in -the sitting-room, to inquire how he was. That was -Laura Roberts. She used to know uncle—she -lives in our street. He made love to her—she -didn't care for him, but he had money and she encouraged -him. I don't know how far it went—I -believe I stopped it. Oh! men are the strangest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -creatures. Fancy, she's not older than me, and -uncle was over fifty!"</p> - -<p>"Older than you, surely!" Richard put in.</p> - -<p>"Well, not much. She knew I couldn't bear her, -and she called that night simply to annoy me."</p> - -<p>"What makes you think that?"</p> - -<p>"Think! I know it.... But you must -have heard of the affair. Didn't they talk about it -at your office?"</p> - -<p>"I believe it was mentioned once," he said hastily.</p> - -<p>She leaned back in her chair, with the same hard -smile. Richard felt sure that Miss Roberts had -guessed they were talking about herself, and that her -eyes were fixed on them, but he dared not look up -for confirmation; Adeline gazed boldly around her. -They were antagonistic, these two women, and -Richard, do what he would, could not repress a certain -sympathy with Miss Roberts. If she had encouraged -Mr. Aked's advances, what of that? It -was no mortal sin, and he could not appreciate the -reason of Adeline's strenuous contempt for her. He -saw a little gulf widening between himself and Adeline.</p> - -<p>"What tremendously red hair that girl has!" she -said, later on.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but doesn't it look fine!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Ye-es," Adeline agreed condescendingly.</p> - -<p>When he paid the bill, on the way out, Miss -Roberts greeted him with an inclination of the head. -He met her eye steadily, and tried not to blush. -As she checked the bill with a tapping pencil, he -could not help remarking her face. Amiability, -candour, honesty, were clearly written on its attractive -plainness. He did not believe that she had -been guilty of running after Mr. Aked for the sake -of his money. The tales told by Jenkins were -doubtless ingeniously exaggerated; and as for Adeline, -Adeline was mistaken.</p> - -<p>"Good evening," Miss Roberts said simply, as -they went out. He raised his hat.</p> - -<p>"You know her, then!" Adeline exclaimed in the -street.</p> - -<p>"Well," he answered, "I've been going there, -off and on, for a year or two, and one gets acquainted -with the girls." His tone was rather petulant. -With a quick, winning smile, she changed the subject, -and he suspected her of being artful.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIV</h4> - - -<p>"I am going to America," she said.</p> - -<p>They sat in the sitting-room at Carteret -street. Richard had not seen her -since the dinner at the vegetarian restaurant, and these -were almost the first words she addressed to him. -Her voice was as tranquil as usual; but he discerned, -or thought he discerned, in her manner a consciousness -that she was guilty towards him, that at least -she was not treating him justly.</p> - -<p>The blow was like that of a bullet: he did not immediately -feel it.</p> - -<p>"Really?" he questioned foolishly, and then, -though he knew that she would never return: -"For how long are you going, and how soon?"</p> - -<p>"Very soon, because I always do things in a -hurry. I don't know for how long. It's indefinite. -I have had a letter from my uncles in San Francisco, -and they say I <i>must</i> join them; they can't do without -me. They are making a lot of money now, and -neither of them is married.... So I suppose -I must obey like a good girl. You see I have no -relatives here, except Aunt Grace."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You many never come back to England?"</p> - -<p>(Did she colour, or was it Richard's fancy?)</p> - -<p>"Well, I expect I may visit Europe sometimes. -It wouldn't do to give England up entirely. There -are so many nice things in England,—in London -especially...."</p> - -<p>Once, in late boyhood, he had sat for an examination -which he felt confident of passing. When -the announcement arrived that he failed, he could -not believe it, though all the time he knew it to be -true. His thoughts ran monotonously: "There -must be some mistake; there must be some mistake!" -and like a little child in the night, he resolutely -shut his eyes to keep out the darkness of the -future. The same puerility marked him now. Assuming -that Adeline fulfilled her intention, his existence -in London promised to be tragically cheerless. -But this gave him no immediate concern, because he -refused to contemplate the possibility of their intimacy -being severed. He had, indeed, ceased to -think; somewhere at the back of the brain his -thoughts lay in wait for him. For the next two -hours (until he left the house) he lived mechanically, -as it were, and not by volition, subsisting merely -on a previously acquired momentum.</p> - -<p>He sat in front of her and listened. She began -to talk of her uncles Mark and Luke. She described<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -them in detail, told stories of her childhood, -even recounted the common incidents of her daily -life with them. She dwelt on their kindness of -heart, and their affection for herself; and with it all -she seemed a little to patronise them, as though she -had been accustomed to regard them as her slaves.</p> - -<p>"They are rather old-fashioned," she said, "unless -they have altered. Since I heard from them, I -have been wondering what they would think about -my going to theatres and so on—with you."</p> - -<p>"What should they think?" Richard broke in. -"There's nothing whatever in that. London isn't -a provincial town, or even an American city."</p> - -<p>"I shall tell them all about you," she went on, -"and how kind you were to me when I scarcely knew -you at all. You couldn't have been kinder if you'd -been my only cousin."</p> - -<p>"Say 'brother,'" he laughed awkwardly.</p> - -<p>"No, really, I'm quite serious. I never thanked -you properly. Perhaps I seemed to take it all as a -matter of course."</p> - -<p>He wished to heaven she would stop.</p> - -<p>"I'm disgusted that you are going," he grumbled, -putting his hands behind his head,—"disgusted."</p> - -<p>"In many ways I am sorry too. But don't you -think I am doing the right thing?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> - -<p>"How am I to tell?" he returned quickly. "All -I know is that when you go I shall be left all alone by -my little self. You must think of me sometimes in -my lonely garret." His tone was light and whimsical, -but she would not follow his lead.</p> - -<p>"I shall often think of you," she said musingly, -scanning intently the toe of her shoe.</p> - -<p>It seemed to him that she desired to say something -serious, to justify herself to him, but could not -gather courage to frame the words.</p> - -<p>When he got out of the house, his thoughts sprang -forth. It was a chilly night; he turned up the collar -of his overcoat, plunged his hands deep into the -pockets, and began to walk hurriedly, heedlessly, -while examining his feelings with curious deliberation. -In the first place, he was inexpressibly annoyed. -"Annoyed,"—that was the right word. -He could not say that he loved her deeply, or that -there was a prospect of his loving her deeply, but -she had become a delightful factor in his life, and -he had grown used to counting upon her for society. -Might he not, in time, conceivably have asked her to -marry him? Might she not conceivably have consented? -In certain directions she had disappointed -him; beyond doubt her spiritual narrowness had -checked the growth of a passion which he had sedulously -cherished and fostered in himself. Yet, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -spite of that, her feminine grace, her feminine -trustfulness, still exercised a strong and delicate -charm. She was a woman and he was a man, and -each was the only friend the other had; and now she -was going away. The mere fact that she found a -future with her uncles in America more attractive -than the life she was then leading, cruelly wounded -his self-love. He, then, was nothing to her, after -all; he had made no impression; she could relinquish -him without regret! At that moment she seemed -above and beyond him. He was the poor earthling; -she the winged creature that soared in freedom now -here, now there, giving her favours lightly, and as -lightly withdrawing them.</p> - -<p>One thing came out clear: he was an unlucky fellow.</p> - -<p>He ran over in his mind the people who would -remain to him in London when she had gone. -Jenkins, Miss Roberts—Bah! how sickeningly -commonplace were they! <i>She</i> was distinguished. -She had an air, a <i>je ne sais quoi</i>, which he had never -observed in a woman before. He recalled her -gowns, her gestures, her turns of speech,—all the -instinctive touches by which she proved her superiority.</p> - -<p>It occurred to him fancifully that there was a -connection between her apparently sudden resolve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> -to leave England, and their visit to the Crabtree -and encounter with Miss Roberts. He tried to see -in that incident a premonition of misfortune. What -morbid fatuity!</p> - -<p>Before he went to sleep that night he resolved -that at their next meeting he would lead the conversation -to a frank discussion of their relations and -"have it out with her." But when he called at Carteret -Street two days later, he found it quite impossible -to do any such thing. She was light-hearted -and gay, and evidently looked forward to the -change of life with pleasure. She named the day of -departure, and mentioned that she had arranged to -take Lottie with her. She consulted him about a -compromise, already effected, with her landlord as -to the remainder of the tenancy, and said she had -sold the furniture as it stood, for a very small sum, -to a dealer. It hurt him to think that she had given -him no opportunity of actively assisting her in the -hundred little matters of business involved in a -change of hemisphere. What had become of her -feminine reliance upon him?</p> - -<p>He felt as if some object was rapidly approaching -to collide with and crush him, and he was powerless -to hinder it.</p> - -<p>Three days, two days, one day more!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXV</h4> - - -<p>The special train for Southampton, drawn up -against the main-line platform at Waterloo, -seemed to have resigned itself with an almost -animal passivity to the onslaught of the crowd -of well-dressed men and women who were boarding -it. From the engine a thin column of steam rose -lazily to the angular roof, where a few sparrows -fluttered with sudden swoops and short flights. The -engine-driver leaned against the side of the cab, -stroking his beard; the stoker was trimming coal on -the tender. Those two knew the spectacle by heart: -the scattered piles of steamer trunks amidst which -passengers hurried hither and thither with no apparent -object; the continual purposeless opening and -shutting of carriage doors; the deferential gestures -of the glittering guard as he bent an ear to ladies -whose footmen stood respectfully behind them; the -swift movements of the bookstall clerk selling papers, -and the meditative look of the bookstall manager -as he swept his hand along the shelf of new -novels and selected a volume which he could thoroughly -recommend to the customer in the fur coat;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> -the long colloquies between husbands and wives, sons -and mothers, daughters and fathers, fathers and -sons, lovers and lovers, punctuated sometimes by the -fluttering of a handkerchief, or the placing of a hand -on a shoulder; the unconcealed agitation of most -and the carefully studied calm of a few; the grimaces -of porters when passengers had turned away; the -slow absorption by <i>their</i> train of all the luggage and -nearly all the people; the creeping of the clock towards -the hour; the kisses; the tears; the lowering of -the signal,—to them it was no more than a common -street-scene.</p> - -<p>Richard, having obtained leave from the office, -arrived at a quarter to twelve. He peered up and -down. Could it be that she was really going? Not -even yet had he grown accustomed to the idea, and -at times he still said to himself, "It isn't really true; -there must be some mistake." The moment of separation, -now that it was at hand, he accused of having -approached sneakingly to take him unawares. -He was conscious of no great emotion, such as his -æsthetic sense of fitness might have led him to expect,—nothing -but a dull joylessness, the drab, negative -sensations of a convict foretasting a sentence of -years.</p> - -<p>There she stood, by the bookstall, engaged in -lively talk with the clerk, while other customers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> -waited. Lottie was beside her, holding a bag. The -previous night they had slept at Morley's Hotel.</p> - -<p>"Everything is all right, I hope?" he said, eyeing -her narrowly, and feeling extremely sentimental.</p> - -<p>"Yes, thank you.... Lottie, you must go -and keep watch over our seats.... Well," -she went on briskly, when they were left alone, "I -am actually going. I feel somehow as if it can't be -true."</p> - -<p>"Why, that is exactly how I have felt for days!" -he answered, allowing his voice to languish, and -then fell into silence. He assiduously coaxed himself -into a mood of resigned melancholy. With -sidelong glances, as they walked quietly down the -platform, he scanned her face, decided it was divine, -and dwelt lovingly on the thought: "I shall never -see it again."</p> - -<p>"A dull day for you to start!" he murmured, in -tones of gentle concern.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and do you know, a gentleman in the hotel -told me we should be certain to have bad weather, -and that made me so dreadfully afraid that I nearly -resolved to stay in England." She laughed.</p> - -<p>"Ah, if you would!" he had half a mind to exclaim, -but just then he became aware of his affectation -and trampled on it. The conversation proceeded -naturally to the subject of seasickness and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> -little joys and perils of the voyage. Strange topics -for a man and a woman about to be separated, probably -for ever! And yet Richard, for his part, could -think of none more urgent.</p> - -<p>"I had better get in now, had I not?" she said. -The clock stood at five minutes to noon. Her face -was sweetly serious as she raised it to his, holding -out her hand.</p> - -<p>"Take care of yourself," was his fatuous parting -admonition.</p> - -<p>Her hand rested in his own, and he felt it tighten. -Beneath the veil the colour deepened a little in her -rosy cheeks.</p> - -<p>"I didn't tell you," she said abruptly, "that my -uncles had begged me to go to them weeks and weeks -ago. I didn't tell you—and I put them off—because -I thought I would wait and see if you and I—cared -for each other."</p> - -<p>It had come, the explanation! He blushed red, -and stuck to her hand. The atmosphere was suddenly -electric. The station and the crowd were -blotted out.</p> - -<p>"You understand?" she questioned, smiling -bravely.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>He was dimly conscious of having shaken hands -with Lottie, of the banging of many doors, of Adeline's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> -face framed in a receding window. Then the -rails were visible beside the platform, and he had -glimpses of people hurriedly getting out of the train -at the platform opposite. In the distance the signal -clattered to the horizontal. He turned round, and -saw only porters, and a few forlorn friends of the -voyagers; one woman was crying.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Instead of going home from the office, he rambled -about the thoroughfares which converge at Piccadilly -Circus, basking in the night-glare of the City -of Pleasure. He had four pounds in his pocket. -The streets were thronged with swiftly rolling vehicles. -Restaurants and theatres and music halls, in -evening array, offered their gorgeous enticements, -and at last he entered the Café Royal, and, ordering -an elaborate dinner, ate it slowly, with thoughtful -enjoyment. When he had finished, he asked the -waiter to bring a "Figaro." But there appeared to -be nothing of interest in that day's "Figaro," and he -laid it down.... The ship had sailed by this -time. Had Adeline really made that confession to -him just before the train started, or was it a fancy -of his? There was something fine about her disconcerting -frankness ... fine, fine.... -And the simplicity of it! He had let slip a treasure. -Because she lacked artistic sympathies, he had despised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> -her, or at best underestimated her. And -once—to think of it!—he had nearly loved her.... -With what astonishing rapidity their intimacy -had waxed, drooped, and come to sudden -death!... Love, what <i>was</i> love? Perhaps -he loved her now, after all....</p> - -<p>"Waiter!" He beckoned with a quaint movement -of his forefinger which brought a smile to the -man's face—a smile which Richard answered jovially.</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"A shilling cigar, please, and a coffee and cognac."</p> - -<p>At about nine o'clock he went out again into the -chill air, and the cigar burnt brightly between his -lips. He had unceremoniously dismissed the too -importunate image of Adeline, and he was conscious -of a certain devil-may-care elation.</p> - -<p>Women were everywhere on the pavements. -They lifted their silk skirts out of the mud, revealing -ankles and lace petticoats. They smiled on him. -They lured him in foreign tongues and in broken -English. He broadly winked at some of the more -youthful ones, and they followed him importunately, -only to be shaken off with a laugh. As he walked, -he whistled or sang all the time. He was cut adrift, -he explained to himself, and through no fault of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> -own. His sole friend had left him (much she -cared!), and there was none to whom he owed the -slightest consideration. He was at liberty to do -what he liked, without having to consider first, -"What would <i>she</i> think of this?" Moreover, he -must discover solace, poor blighted creature! Looking -down a side street, he saw a man talking to a -woman. He went past them, and heard what they -said. Then he was in Shaftesbury Avenue. Curious -sensations fluttered through his frame. With -an insignificant oath, he nerved himself to a resolve.</p> - -<p>Several times he was on the very point of carrying -it out when his courage failed. He traversed -the Circus, got as far as St. James's Hall, and returned -upon his steps. In a minute he was on the -north side of Coventry Street. He looked into the -faces of all the women, but in each he found something -to repel, to fear.</p> - -<p>Would it end in his going quietly home? He -crossed over into the seclusion of Whitcomb Street -to argue the matter. As he was passing the entry -to a court, a woman came out, and both had to draw -back to avoid a collision.</p> - -<p>"<i>Chéri</i>!" she murmured. She was no longer -young, but her broad, Flemish face showed kindliness -and good humour in every feature of it, and her -voice was soft. He did not answer, and she spoke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> -to him again. His spine assumed the consistency of -butter; a shuddering thrill ran through him. She -put her arm gently into his, and pressed it. He had -no resistance....</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVI</h4> - - -<p>It was the morning of Boxing Day, frosty, with -a sky of steel grey; the streets were resonant -under the traffic.</p> - -<p>Richard had long been anticipating the advent of -the New Year, when new resolutions were to come -into force. A phrase from a sermon heard at Bursley -stuck in his memory: <i>Every day begins a new -year</i>. But he could not summon the swift, courageous -decision necessary to act upon that adage. For -a whole year he had been slowly subsiding into a bog -of lethargy, and to extricate himself would, he felt, -need an amount of exertion which he could not put -forth unless fortified by all the associations of the -season for such feats, and by the knowledge that fellow-creatures -were bracing themselves for a similar -difficult wrench.</p> - -<p>Now that he looked back upon them, the fourteen -months which had elapsed since Adeline's departure -seemed to have succeeded one another with marvellous -rapidity. At first he had chafed under the loss -of her, and then gradually and naturally he had -grown used to her absence. She wrote to him, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> -rather long letter, full of details about the voyage -and the train journey and her uncles' home; he had -opened the envelope half expecting that the letter -might affect him deeply; but it did not; it struck him -as a distinctly mediocre communication. He sent a -reply, and the correspondence ended. He did not -love her, probably never had loved her. A little -sentiment: that was all. The affair was quite over. -If it had been perhaps unsatisfactory, the fault was -not his. A man, he reflected, cannot by taking -thought fall in love (and yet this was exactly what he -had attempted to do!), and that in any case Adeline -would not have suited him. Still, at moments when -he recalled her face and gestures, her exquisite feminality, -and especially her fine candour at their parting, -he grew melancholy and luxuriously pitied himself.</p> - -<p>At the commencement of the year which was now -drawing to a close he had attacked the art of literature -anew, and had compassed several articles; but -as one by one they suffered rejection, his energy had -dwindled, and in a short time he had again entirely -ceased to write. Nor did he pursue any ordered -course of study. He began upon a number of English -classics, finishing few of them, and continued to -consume French novels with eagerness. Sometimes -the French work, by its neat, severe effectiveness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -would stir in him a vague desire to do likewise, but no -serious sustained effort was made.</p> - -<p>In the spring, when loneliness is peculiarly wearisome, -he had joined a literary and scientific institution, -for young men only, upon whose premises it was -forbidden either to drink intoxicants or to smoke -tobacco. He paid a year's subscription, and in less -than a fortnight loathed not only the institution but -every separate member and official of it. Then he -thought of transplanting himself to the suburbs, but -the trouble of moving the library of books which by -this time he had accumulated deterred him, as well -as a lazy aversion for the discomforts which a change -would certainly involve.</p> - -<p>And so he had sunk into a sort of coma. His -chief task was to kill time. Eight hours were due -to the office and eight to sleep, and eight others remained -to be disposed of daily. In the morning he -rose late, retarding his breakfast hour, diligently -read the newspaper, and took the Park on the way to -business. In the evening, as six o'clock approached, -he no longer hurried his work in order to be ready -to leave the office immediately the clock struck. On -the contrary, he often stayed after hours when there -was no necessity to stay, either leisurely examining -his accounts, or gossiping with Jenkins or one of the -older clerks. He watched the firm's welfare with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> -a jealous eye, offered suggestions to Mr. Curpet -which not seldom were accepted, and grew to be regarded -as exceptionally capable and trustworthy. -He could divine now and then in the tone or the look -of the principals (who were niggardly with praise) -an implicit trust, mingled—at any rate, in the case -of the senior partner—with a certain respect. He -grew more sedate in manner, and to the office boys, -over whom he had charge, he was even forbidding; -they disliked him, finding him a martinet more strict -and less suave than Mr. Curpet himself. He kept -them late at night sometimes without quite sufficient -cause, and if they showed dissatisfaction, told them -sententiously that boys who were so desperately anxious -to do as little as they could would never get on -in the world.</p> - -<p>Upon leaving the office he would stroll slowly -through Booksellers' Row and up the Strand, with -the gait of a man whose time is entirely his own. -Once or twice a week he dined at one of the foreign -restaurants in Soho, prolonging the meal to an unconscionable -length, and repairing afterwards to -some lounge for a cigar and a liqueur. He paid -particular attention to his dress, enjoying the sensation -of wearing good clothes, and fell into a habit of -comparing his personal appearance with that of the -men whom he rubbed shoulders with in fashionable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> -cafés and bars. His salary sufficed for these petty -extravagances, since he was still living inexpensively -in one room at Raphael Street; but besides what he -earned, his resources included the sum received from -the estate of William Vernon. Seventy pounds of -this had melted in festivities with Adeline, two hundred -pounds was lent upon mortgage under Mr. Curpet's -guidance, and the other fifty was kept in hand, -being broken into as infrequent occasion demanded. -The mortgage investment did much to heighten his -status not only with the staff but with his principals.</p> - -<p>Seated in a wine-room or lager-beer hall, meditatively -sipping from glass or tankard, and savouring -a fragrant cigar, he contrived to extract a certain -pleasure from the contemplation of his equality with -the men around him. Many of them, he guessed -with satisfaction, were in a worse or a less secure position -than his own. He studied faces and made a -practice of entering into conversation with strangers, -and these chance encounters almost invariably left -him with the impression that he had met a mental -inferior. Steeping himself, as it were, in all the -frivolous, lusory activities of the West End, he began -to acquire that indefinable, unmistakable air of -<i>savoir-faire</i> characteristic of the prosperous clerk -who spends his leisure in public places. People -from the country frequently mistook him for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> -young man-about-town of the society papers, familiar -with every form of metropolitan chicane, luxury, and -vice.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After breakfast he went out into the Park with -his skates. The Serpentine had been frozen hard -for more than a week, and yesterday, a solitary unit -in tens of thousands, he had celebrated Christmas -on the ice, skating from noon till nearly midnight, -with brief intervals for meals. The exercise and the -fresh air had invigorated and enlivened him, and this -morning, as he plunged once more into the loose -throng of skaters, his spirits were buoyant. It had -been his intention to pass yet another day on the Serpentine; -but a sudden, surprising fancy entered his -head, flitted away, and returned again and again -with such an increasing allurement that he fell in -love with it: Why not commence to write now? -Why, after all, leave the new beginning till the New -Year? Was it true—what he had mournfully -taken for granted for a month past, and so lately as -an hour ago—that he lacked the moral strength to -carry a good resolution into effect at any time he -chose?... In a moment, he had sworn to -work four hours before he slept that night.</p> - -<p>The decision reached, his humour became unequivocally -gay. He shot forward with longer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -bolder strokes, enjoying with a keener zest the swift -motion and the strange black-and-white, sylvan-urban -scene about him. He forgot the year of idleness -which lay immediately behind him, forgot -every previous failure, in the passionate exultation -of his new resolve. He whistled. He sang. He -attempted impossible figures, and only laughed when -they ended in a fall. A woman, skating alone, -stumbled to her knees; he glided towards her, lifted -her lightly, raised his hat, and was gone before she -could thank him: it was neatly done; he felt proud -of himself. As the clock struck twelve he took off -his skates, and walked in a quiet corner of the Park, -deliberating intently upon the plot of a story, which -fortunately had been in his mind for several months.</p> - -<p>When he came in to dinner, he gave Lily five -shillings for a Christmas box, almost without thinking, -and though he had no previous intention of doing -so; and inquired when she was to be married. -He ordered tea for four o'clock, so that the evening -might be long. In the afternoon he read and dozed. -At a quarter to five the tea-things were cleared -away, the lamp was burning brightly, the blinds -drawn, and his writing-materials arranged on the -table. He lit a pipe and sat down by the fire. At -last, at last, the old, long-abandoned endeavours were -about to be resumed!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> - -<p>The story which he was going to write was called -"Tiddy-fol-lol." The leading character was an old -smith, to be named Downs, employed in the forge -of a large iron foundry at Bursley. Downs was a -Primitive Methodist of the narrowest type, and -when his daughter fell in love with and married a -sceneshifter at the local theatre, she received for -dowry a father's curse. Once, in the foundry, -Downs in speaking of the matter had referred to his -daughter as no better than a "Tiddy-fol-lol," and -for years afterwards a favourite sport of the apprentice -boys was to run after him, at a safe distance, -calling "Tiddy-fol-lol, Tiddy-fol-lol." The -daughter, completely estranged from her parent, -died in giving birth to a son who grew up physically -strong and healthy, but half an idiot. At the age of -twelve, quite ignorant of his grandfather's identity, -he was sent by his father to work at the foundry. -The other lads saw a chance for fun. Pointing out -Downs to him in the forge, they told him to go -close to the man and say "Tiddy-fol-lol." "What -dost thee want?" Downs questioned gruffly, when -the boy stood before him with a vacant grin on his -face. "Tiddy-fol-lol," came the response, in the -aggravating, uninflected tones peculiar to an imbecile. -Downs raised his tremendous arm in a flash -of anger, and felled the youngster with a blow on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> -the side of the head. Then he bade him rise. But -the child, caught just under the ear, had been struck -dead. Downs was tried for manslaughter, pronounced -insane, and subsequently released as a harmless -lunatic. The Salvation Army took charge of -him, and he lived by selling "War-Cries" in the -streets, still pursued by boys who shouted "Tiddy-fol-lol."</p> - -<p>Properly elaborated, Richard opined, such a plot -would make a powerful story. In his brain the -thing was already complete. The one difficulty lay -in the selection of a strong opening scene; that done, -he was sure the incidents of the tale would fall -naturally into place. He began to cogitate, but his -thoughts went wool-gathering most pertinaciously, -though time after time he compelled them to return -to the subject in hand by force of knitted brows. -He finished his pipe and recharged it. The fire -burnt low, and he put on more coal. Still no suitable -opening scene presented itself. His spirits -slowly fell. What ailed him?</p> - -<p>At length, an idea! He was not going to fail, -after all. The story must of course begin with a -quarrel between old Downs and his daughter. He -drew up to the table, took a pen, and wrote the -title; then a few sentences, hurriedly, and then a -page. Then he read what was written, pronounced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> -it unconvincing rubbish, and tore it up. Words -were untractable, and, besides, he could not <i>see</i> the -scene. He left the table, and after studying a tale -of de Maupassant's, started on a new sheet, carefully -imitating the manner of that writer. But he -could by no means satisfy himself. Mrs. Rowbotham -appeared with the supper-tray, and he laid -his writing-materials on the bed. During supper he -took up de Maupassant once more, and at ten -o'clock made yet a third attempt, well knowing beforehand -that it would not be successful. The plot -tumbled entirely to pieces; the conclusion especially -was undramatic; but how to alter it?...</p> - -<p>He was disgusted with himself. He wondered -what would happen to him if he lost his situation. -Supposing that the firm of Curpet and Smythe -failed! Smythe was a careless fellow, capable of -ruining business in a month if for any reason Curpet's -restraining influence was withdrawn. These -and similar morbid fancies assailed him, and he went -to bed sick with misery, heartily wishing that he had -been less precipitate in his attempt to be industrious. -He had a superstition that if he had waited for -the New Year, the adventure might have resulted -more happily.</p> - -<p>In the night he awoke, to lament upon his solitariness. -Why had he no congenial friends? How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> -could he set about obtaining sympathetic companionship? -He needed, in particular, cultured feminine -society. Given that, he could work; without it -he should accomplish nothing. He reflected that in -London there were probably thousands of "nice -girls," pining for such men as he. What a ridiculous -civilisation it was that prevented him from meeting -them! When he saw a promising girl in a bus, -why in the name of heaven should he not be at liberty -to say to her, "Look here, I can convince you -that I mean well; let us make each other's acquaintance"?... -But convention, convention! He -felt himself to be imprisoned by a relentless, unscaleable -wall.... Then he dreamt that he -was in a drawing-room full of young men and -women, and that all were chattering vivaciously and -cleverly. He himself stood with his back to the -fire, and talked to a group of girls. They looked -into his face, as Adeline used to look. They -grasped his ideals and his aims without laborious explanations; -half a word was sufficient to enlighten -them; he saw the gleam of appreciative comprehension -in their eyes long before his sentences were finished....</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVII</h4> - - -<p>The next morning was bright with sunshine; -the frost had broken, and the streets were -beginning to be muddy. Richard went out, -his mind empty, and dully dejected. At Sloane -Street he mounted a bus, taking the one vacant front -seat on the top. For a little while he stared absently -at the handle of his stick. Presently a chance -movement of the head made him aware that someone's -eyes were upon him. He looked round. In -the far corner of the seat opposite was Miss Roberts. -She hesitated, flushing, and then bowed, and he responded. -No further communications were possible -just then (and for this, at the moment, he felt -thankful), because they were separated by two -young gentlemen wearing tweed caps, and collars -which might have been clean once, who were arguing -briskly over a copy of the "Sportsman."</p> - -<p>For some strange reason of diffidence, Richard -had not been to the Crabtree since his visit there with -Adeline. He was sardonically in search of his motive -for staying away when the young gentlemen -with the "Sportsman" left the bus. Miss Roberts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> -grew rosy as he got up and offered her his hand, at -the same time seating himself by her side. She -wore a black jacket and skirt, well worn but in good -preservation, a hat with red flowers, and grey woollen -gloves; and any person of ordinary discernment -would have guessed her occupation without a great -deal of difficulty. During the last year she had become -stouter, and her figure was now full rather -than slender; her features, especially the nostrils, -mouth, and chin, were somewhat heavy, but she had -prettily shaped ears, and her eyes, of no definable -tint, were soft and tender; her reddish-brown hair -was as conspicuous and as splendid as ever, coiled -with tight precision at the back of her head, and escaping -here and there above her ears in tiny flying -wisps. The expression of her face was mainly one -of amiability, but passive, animal-like, inert; she -seemed full of good-nature.</p> - -<p>"We haven't seen you at the Crabtree, lately," -she said.</p> - -<p>"You are still at the old place, then?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes; and shall be, I expect. They've taken -another floor now, and we're the biggest vegetarian -restaurant in London."</p> - -<p>There was a note of timid agitation in her voice, -and he noticed besides that her cheeks were red and -her eyes shone. Could it be that this encounter had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> -given her pleasure? The idea of such a possibility -afforded him secret delight.... She, a -breathing woman, glad to see him! He wondered -what the other people on the bus were thinking of -them, and especially what the driver thought; the -driver had happened to catch sight of them when -they were shaking hands, and as Richard examined -the contour of the man's rubicund face, he fancied -he saw there a glimmer of a smile. This was during -a little pause in the conversation.</p> - -<p>"And how have you spent Christmas?" It was -Richard's question.</p> - -<p>"At home," she answered simply, "with father -and mother. My married sister and her husband -came over for the day."</p> - -<p>"And I spent mine all alone," he said ruefully. -"No friends, no pudding, no nothing."</p> - -<p>She looked at him compassionately.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you live in rooms? It must be very -lonely."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" he returned lightly, yet seizing with -eager satisfaction the sympathy she offered, "it's -nothing when you're used to it. This makes my -third Christmas in London, and none of them has -been particularly uproarious. Fortunately there -was the skating this year. I was on the Serpentine -nearly all day."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then she asked him if skating was easy to learn, -because she had been wanting to try for years, but -had never had opportunity. He answered that it -was quite easy, if one were not afraid.</p> - -<p>"I'm going your way," he said, as they both -got off at Piccadilly Circus, and they walked along -Coventry Street together. The talk flagged; to -rouse it Richard questioned her about the routine of -the restaurant,—a subject on which she spoke readily, -and with a certain sense of humour. When -they reached the Crabtree,—</p> - -<p>"Why, it's been painted!" Richard exclaimed. -"It looks very swagger, indeed, now."</p> - -<p>"Yes, my! doesn't it? And it's beautiful inside, -too. You must come in sometime."</p> - -<p>"I will," he said with emphasis.</p> - -<p>She shook his hand quite vigorously, and their -eyes met with a curious questioning gaze. He -smiled to himself as he walked down Chandos Street; -his dejection had mysteriously vanished, and he even -experienced a certain uplifting of spirit. It occurred -to him that he had never at all understood -Miss Roberts before. How different she was outside -the restaurant! Should he go to the Crabtree -for lunch that day, or should he allow a day or two -to elapse? He decidedly prudently to wait.</p> - -<p>He debated whether he should mention the meeting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> -to Jenkins, and said on the whole that he would -not do so. But he found Jenkins surprisingly urbane, -and without conscious volition he was soon -saying,—</p> - -<p>"Guess who I came down with on the bus this -morning."</p> - -<p>Jenkins gave it up.</p> - -<p>"Laura Roberts;" and then, seeing no look of -comprehension on Jenkins' face, "You know, the -cashier at the Crabtree."</p> - -<p>"Oh—<i>her</i>!"</p> - -<p>The stress was a little irritating.</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> saw her about a fortnight ago," Jenkins said.</p> - -<p>"At the Crabtree?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Did she say anything to you about me?" -The youth smiled.</p> - -<p>"No. Why?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing. We had a talk, and I mashed her a -bit,—that's all."</p> - -<p>"Ah, my boy, you won't get far with her."</p> - -<p>"Oh, sha'n't I? I could tell you a thing or two -<i>re</i> Laura Roberts, if I liked."</p> - -<p>Although Jenkins' remark was characteristic, and -Richard knew well enough that there was nothing -behind his words, yet his mind reverted instantly to -the stories connecting Miss Roberts with Mr. -Aked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Don't gas," he said curtly. "She looks on you -as a boy."</p> - -<p>"Man enough for any woman," said Jenkins, -twirling the rudiments of a moustache.</p> - -<p>The discussion might have gone further, had it -not been interrupted by Mr. Smythe, who burst suddenly -into the room, as his custom was.</p> - -<p>"Larch, come with me into Mr. Curpet's room." -His tone was brusque. He had none of Mr. Curpet's -natural politeness, though on rare occasions, of -which the present was not one, he sought clumsily -to imitate it. Richard felt a vague alarm.</p> - -<p>With a muffler round his throat, Mr. Curpet was -seated before the fire, blowing his nose and breathing -noisily. Mr. Smythe went to the window, and -played with the tassel of the blind cord.</p> - -<p>"We are thinking of making some changes, -Larch," Mr. Curpet began.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." His heart sank. Was he to be dismissed? -The next sentence was reassuring.</p> - -<p>"In future all costs will be drawn and settled in -the office, instead of being sent out. Do you feel -equal to taking charge of that department?"</p> - -<p>Richard had many times helped in the preparation -of bills of cost, and possessed a fair knowledge of -this complicated and engaging subject. He answered -very decidedly in the affirmative.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What we propose," Mr. Smythe broke in, "is -that you should have an assistant, and that the two -of you should attend to both the books and the -costs."</p> - -<p>"Of course your salary will be increased," Mr. -Curpet added.</p> - -<p>"Let me see, what do you get now?" This -from Mr. Smythe, whose memory was imperfect.</p> - -<p>"Three pounds ten, sir."</p> - -<p>"Suppose we say four pounds ten," said Mr. -Smythe to Mr. Curpet, and then turning to Larch: -"That's very good indeed, you know, young man; -you wouldn't get that everywhere. By Jove, no, -you wouldn't!" Richard was fully aware of the -fact. He could scarcely credit his own luck. "And -we shall expect you to keep things up to the mark."</p> - -<p>Mr. Curpet smiled kindly over his handkerchief, -as if to intimate that Mr. Smythe need not have insisted -on that point.</p> - -<p>"And you may have to stay late sometimes," -Mr. Smythe went on.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>When the interview was finished, he retraced his -career at the office, marvelling that he should have -done anything unusual enough to inspire his principals -to such appreciation, and he soon made out -that, compared with others of the staff, he had indeed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> -been a model clerk. A delicious self-complacence -enveloped him. Mr. Smythe had had the -air of conferring a favour; but Mr. Curpet was at -the head of affairs at No. 2 Serjeant's Court, and -Mr. Curpet's attitude had been decidedly flattering. -At first he had a difficulty in grasping his good fortune, -thought it too good to be true; but he ended -by believing in himself very heartily. In the matter -of salary, he stood now second only to Mr. Alder, -he a youth not three years out of the provinces. -Three years ago an income of £234 per annum -would have seemed almost fabulous. His notions -as to what constituted opulence had changed since -then, but nevertheless £234 was an excellent revenue, -full of possibilities. A man could marry on that -and live comfortably; many men ventured to marry -on half as much. In clerkdom he had indubitably -risen with ease to the upper ranks. There was good -Northern stuff in Richard Larch, after all! As he -walked home, his brain was busy with plans, beautiful -plans for the New Year,—how he would save -money, and how he would spend his nights in toil.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVIII</h4> - - -<p>There happened to be a room to let on the -same floor as Richard's own. The rent was -only five shillings per week, and he arranged -to take it and use it as a bedroom, transforming -the other and larger room into a study. Mrs. Rowbotham -was asked to remove all her tables, chairs, -carpets, pictures, ornaments, and accessories from -both rooms, as he proposed to furnish them entirely -anew at his own cost. This did not indicate -that a sudden increase of revenue had, as once on a -previous occasion, engendered in him a propensity -to squander. On the contrary, his determination to -live economically was well established, and he hoped -to save a hundred pounds per annum with ease. -But the influence of an æsthetic environment upon -his literary work would, he argued, probably be valuable -enough to justify the moderate expenditure -involved, and so all the leisure of the last days of the -year was given to the realisation of certain theories -in regard to the furnishing of a study and a bedroom. -Unfortunately the time at his disposal was -very limited—- was it not essential that the place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> -should be set in order by the 31st of December, that -work might commence on the 1st of January?—but -he did not spare himself, and the result, when he -contemplated it on New Year's Eve, filled him with -pleasure and pride. He felt that he could write -worthily in that study, with its four autotype reproductions -of celebrated pictures on the self-coloured -walls, its square of Indian carpet over Indian matting, -its long, low bookshelves, its quaint table with -the elm top, its plain rush-bottomed chairs, and its -broad luxurious divan. He marvelled that he had -contrived so long to exist in the room as it was before, -and complacently attributed his ill-success as a -writer to the lack of harmonious surroundings. By -the last post arrived a New Year's card from Mrs. -Clayton Vernon. Twelve months ago she had sent -a similar kind token of remembrance, and he had -ignored it; in the summer she had written inviting -him to spend a few days at Bursley, and he had -somewhat too briefly asked to be excused. To-night, -however, he went out, bought a New Year's -card, and despatched it to her at once. He flowed -over with benevolence, viewing the world through -the rosy spectacles of high resolve. Mrs. Clayton -Vernon was an excellent woman, and he would prove -to her and to Bursley that they had not estimated -too highly the possibilities of Richard Larch. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> -was, in truth, prodigiously uplifted. The old sense -of absolute power over himself for good or evil returned. -A consciousness of exceptional ability possessed -him. The future, splendid in dreams, was -wholly his; and yet again—perhaps more thoroughly -than ever before—the ineffectual past was -effaced. To-morrow was the New Year, and to-morrow -the new heaven and the new earth were to -begin.</p> - -<p>He had decided to write a novel. Having failed -in short stories and in essays, it seemed to him likely -that the novel, a form which he had not so far seriously -attempted, might suit his idiosyncrasy better. -He had once sketched out the plot of a short novel, -a tale of adventure in modern London, and on examination -this struck him as ingenious and promising. -Moreover, it would appeal—like Stevenson's -"New Arabian Nights," which in Richard's -mind it distantly resembled—both to the general -and to the literary public. He determined to write -five hundred words of it a day, five days a week; at -this rate of progress he calculated that the book -would be finished in four months; allowing two -months further for revision, it ought to be ready for -a publisher at the end of June.</p> - -<p>He drew his chair up to the blazing fire, and -looked down the vista of those long, lamplit evenings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -during which the novel was to grow under his -hands. How different he from the average clerk, -who with similar opportunities was content to fritter -away those hours which would lead himself, perhaps, -to fame! He thought of Adeline, and smiled. -What, after all, did such as he want with women? -He was in a position to marry, and if he met a clever -girl of sympathetic temperament, he emphatically -would marry (it did not occur to him to add the -clause, "Provided she will have me"); but otherwise -he would wait. He could afford to wait,—to -wait till he had made a reputation, and half a score -of women, elegant and refined, were only too willing -to envelop him in an atmosphere of adoration.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was part of his plan for economy to dine always -at the Crabtree, where one shilling was the -price of an elaborate repast, and he went there on -New Year's Day. As he walked up Charing Cross -Road, his thoughts turned naturally to Miss Roberts. -Would she be as cordial as when he had met -her on the omnibus, or would she wear the polite -mask of the cashier, treating him merely as a frequenter -of the establishment? She was engaged -when he entered the dining-room, but she noticed -him and nodded. He looked towards her several -times during his meal, and once her eyes caught his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -and she smiled, not withdrawing them for a few -moments; then she bent over her account book.</p> - -<p>His fellow-diners seemed curiously to have degenerated, -to have grown still narrower in their sympathies, -still more careless in their eating, still more -peculiar or shabbier in their dress. The young -women of masculine aspect set their elbows on the -table more uncompromisingly than ever, and the -young men with soiled wristbands or no wristbands -at all were more than ever tedious in their murmured -conversations. It was, indeed, a bizarre company -that surrounded him! Then he reflected that these -people had not altered. The change was in himself. -He had outgrown them; he surveyed them now as -from a tower. He was a man with a future, using -this restaurant because it suited him temporarily to -do so, while they would use it till the end, never -deviating, never leaving the rut.</p> - -<p>"So you have come at last!" Miss Roberts said -to him when he presented his check. "I was beginning -to think you had deserted us."</p> - -<p>"But it's barely a week since I saw you," he protested. -"Let me wish you a happy New Year."</p> - -<p>"The same to you." She flushed a little, and -then: "What do you think of our new decorations? -Aren't they pretty?"</p> - -<p>He praised them perfunctorily, even without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -glancing round. His eyes were on her face. He -remembered the reiterated insinuations of Jenkins, -and wondered whether they had any ground of -fact.</p> - -<p>"By the way, has Jenkins been here to-day?" he -inquired, by way of introducing the name.</p> - -<p>"Is that the young man who used to come with -you sometimes? No."</p> - -<p>There was no trace of self-consciousness in her -bearing, and Richard resolved to handle Jenkins -with severity. Another customer approached the -pay-desk.</p> - -<p>"Well, good afternoon." He lingered.</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon." Her gaze rested on him -softly. "I suppose you'll be here again <i>some</i> -time." She spoke low, so that the other customer -should not hear.</p> - -<p>"I'm coming every day now, I think," he answered -in the same tone, with a smothered laugh. -"Ta-ta."</p> - -<p>That night at half-past seven he began his novel. -The opening chapter was introductory, and the -words came without much effort. This being only -a draft, there was no need for polish; so that when -a sentence refused to run smoothly at the first trial, -he was content to make it grammatical and leave it. -He seemed to have been working for hours when a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> -desire took him to count up what was already written. -Six hundred words! He sighed the sigh of -satisfaction, and looked at his watch, to find that it -was exactly half-past eight. The discovery somewhat -damped his felicity. He began to doubt -whether stuff composed at the rate of ten words a -minute could have any real value. Pooh! Sometimes -one wrote quickly, and sometimes slowly. The -number of minutes occupied was no index of quality. -Should he continue writing? Yes, he would.... -No.... Why should he? He had performed -the task self-allotted for the day, and more; -and now he was entitled to rest. True, the actual -time of labour had been very short; but then, another -day the same amount of work might consume -three or four hours. He put away his writing-things, -and searched about for something to read, -finally lighting on "Paradise Lost." But "Paradise -Lost" wanted actuality. He laid it aside. -Was there any valid reason why he should not conclude -the evening at the theatre? None. The -frost had returned with power, and the reverberation -of the streets sounded invitingly through his -curtained windows. He went out, and walked -briskly up Park Side. At Hyde Park Corner he -jumped on an omnibus.</p> - -<p>It was the first night of a new ballet at the Ottoman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> -"Standing-room only," said the man at the -ticket-office. "All right," said Richard, and, entering, -was greeted with soft music, which came to him -like a fitful zephyr over a sea of heads.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIX</h4> - - -<p>One Saturday afternoon towards the end of -February, he suddenly decided to read -through so much of the draft novel as was -written; hitherto he had avoided any sort of revision. -The resolve to accomplish five hundred words a day -had been kept indifferently well, and the total stood -at about fourteen thousand. As he wrote a very -bold hand, the sheets covered made quite a respectable -pile. The mere bulk of them cajoled him, in -spite of certain misgivings, into an optimistic surmise -as to their literary quality. Never before had -he written so much upon one theme, and were the -writing good or bad, he was, for a few moments, -proud of his achievement. The mischief lay in the -fact that week by week he had exercised less and -still less care over the work. The phrase, "Anything -will do for a draft," had come to be uttered -with increasing frequency as an excuse for laxities -of style and construction. "I will make that right -in the revision," he had reassured himself, and had -gone negligently forward, leaving innumerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -crudities in the wake of his hurrying pen. During -the last few days he had written scarcely anything, -and perhaps it was a hope of stimulating a drooping -inspiration by the complacent survey of work actually -done that tempted him to this hazardous perusal.</p> - -<p>He whistled as he took up the manuscript, as a -boy whistles when going into a dark cellar. The -first three pages were read punctiliously, every word -of them, but soon he grew hasty, rushing to the next -paragraph ere the previous one was grasped; then -he began shamelessly to skip; and then he stopped, -and his heart seemed to stop also. The lack of -homogeneity, of sequence, of dramatic quality, of -human interest; the loose syntax; and the unrelieved -mediocrity of it all, horrified him. The thing was -dry bones, a fiasco. The certainty that he had once -more failed swept over him like a cold, green wave -of the sea, and he had a physical feeling of sickness -in the stomach.... It was with much ado -that he refrained from putting the whole manuscript -upon the fire, and crushing it venomously into the -flames with a poker. Then he steadied himself. -His self-confidence was going, almost gone; he must -contrive to recover it, and he sought for a way. -(Where were now the rash exultations of the New -Year?) It was impossible that his work should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> -irredeemably bad. He remembered having read -somewhere that the difference between a fine and a -worthless novel was often a difference of elaboration -simply. A conscientious re-writing, therefore, might -probably bring about a surprising amelioration. He -must immediately make the experiment. But he -had long since solemnly vowed not to commence the -second writing till the draft was done; the moral -value of finishing even the draft had then seemed to -him priceless. No matter! Under stress of -grievous necessity, that oath must be forsworn. No -other course could save him from collapse.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He went out into the streets. The weather, fine -and bright, suggested the earliest infancy of spring, -and Piccadilly was full of all classes and all ages of -women. There were regiments of men, too, but -the gay and endless stream of women obsessed him. -He saw them sitting in hansoms and private carriages -and on the tops of omnibuses, niched in high -windows, shining in obscurity of shops, treading the -pavements with fairy step, either unattended or by -the side of foolish, unappreciative males. Every -man in London seemed to have the right to a share -of some woman's companionship, except himself. As -for those men who walked alone, they had sweethearts -somewhere, or mothers and sisters, or they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> -were married and even now on the way to wife and -hearth. Only he was set apart.</p> - -<p>A light descended upon him that afternoon. The -average man and the average woman being constantly -thrown into each other's society, custom has -staled for them the exquisite privilege of such intercourse. -The rustic cannot share the townsman's enthusiasm -for rural scenery; he sees no matter for -ecstasy in the view from his cottage door; and in the -same way the average man and the average woman -dine together, talk together, walk together, -and know not how richly they are therein -blessed. But with solitaries like Richard it is -different. Debarred from fellowship with the -opposite sex by circumstances and an innate -diffidence which makes the control of circumstance -impossible, their starved sensibilities acquire -certain morbid tenderness. (Doubtless the rustic -discerns morbidity in the attitude of the townsman -towards the view from his cottage door.) Richard -grasped this. In a luminous moment of self-revelation, -he was able to trace the growth of the malady. -From its first vague and fugitive symptoms, it -had so grown that now, on seeing an attractive -woman, he could not be content to say, "What an -attractive woman!" and have done with it, but he -needs must build a house, furnish a room in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> -house, light a fire in the room, place a low chair by -the fire, put the woman in the chair, with a welcoming -smile on her upturned lips—and imagine that she -was his wife. And it was not only attractive women -that laid the spell upon him. The sight of any living -creature in petticoats was liable to set his hysterical -fancy in motion. Every woman he met was -Woman.... Of the millions of women in -London, why was he not permitted to know a few? -Why was he entirely cut off? There they were: -their silk skirts brushed him as they passed; they -thanked him for little services in public vehicles; -they ministered to him in restaurants; they sang to -him at concerts, danced for him at theatres; touched -his existence at every side—and yet they were remoter -than the stars, unattainable as the moon.... -He rebelled. He sank in despair, and -rose to frenzies of anger. Then he was a pathetic -figure, and extended to himself his own pity, smiling -sardonically at fate. Fate was the harder to bear -because he was convinced that, at the heart of him, -he was essentially a woman's man. None could enjoy -the feminine atmosphere more keenly, more artistically -than he. Other men, who had those delicious -rights for which he longed in vain, assessed -them meanly, or even scorned them.... He -looked back with profound regret to his friendship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> -with Adeline. He dreamt that she had returned, -that he had fallen in love with her and married her, -that her ambitions were leading him forward to success. -Ah! Under the incentive of a woman's eyes, -of what tremendous efforts is a clever man not -capable, and deprived of it to what deeps of stagnations -will he not descend! Then he awoke again -to the fact that he knew no woman in London.</p> - -<p>Yes, he knew one, and his thoughts began to play -round her caressingly, idealising and ennobling her. -She only gave him his change daily at the Crabtree, -but he knew her; there existed between them a kind -of intimacy. She was a plain girl, possessing few attractions, -except the supreme one of being a woman. -She was below him in station; but had she not her -refinements? Though she could not enter into his -mental or emotional life, did she not exhale for him -a certain gracious influence? His heart went forth -to her. Her flirtations with Mr. Aked, her alleged -dalliance with Jenkins? Trifles, nothings! She -had told him that she lived with her mother and -father and a younger brother, and on more than one -occasion she had mentioned the Wesleyan chapel; -he had gathered that the whole family was religious. -In theory he detested religious women, and yet—religion -in a woman ... what was it? He -answered the question with a man's easy laugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> -And if her temperament was somewhat lymphatic, -he divined that, once roused, she was capable of the -most passionate feeling. He had always had a predilection -for the sleeping-volcano species of woman.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXX</h4> - - -<p>Richard was soon forced to the conclusion -that the second writing of his novel was -destined to be a failure. For a few days -he stuck doggedly to the task, writing stuff which, as -he wrote it, he knew would ultimately be condemned. -Then one evening he stopped suddenly, in the middle -of a word, bit the penholder for a moment, and threw -it down with a "Damn!" This sort of thing could -not continue.</p> - -<p>"Better come up and see my new arrangements -at Raphael Street to-night," he said to Jenkins the -next day. He wanted a diversion.</p> - -<p>"Any whisky going?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly."</p> - -<p>"Delighted, I'm sure," said Jenkins, with one of -his ridiculous polite bows. He regarded these rare -invitations as an honour; it was more than six months -since the last.</p> - -<p>They drank whisky and smoked cigars which Jenkins -had thoughtfully brought with him, and chattered -for a long time about office matters. And -then, as the cigar-ash accumulated, the topics became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -more personal and intimate. That night Jenkins -was certainly in a serious vein; further, he was on -his best behaviour, striving to be sympathetic and -gentlemanly. He confided to Richard his aspirations. -He wished to learn French and proposed to -join a Polytechnic Institute for the purpose. Also, -he had thoughts of leaving home, and living in -rooms, like Richard. He was now earning twenty-eight -shillings a week; he intended to save money -and to give up all intoxicants beyond half a pint of -bitter a day. Richard responded willingly to his -mood, and offered sound advice, which was listened -to with deference. Then the talk, as often aforetime, -drifted to the subject of women. It appeared -that Jenkins had a desire to "settle down" (he was -twenty-one). He knew several fellows in the Walworth -Road who had married on less than he was -earning.</p> - -<p>"What about Miss Roberts?" Richard questioned.</p> - -<p>"Oh! She's off. She's a bit too old for me, -you know. She must be twenty-six."</p> - -<p>"Look here, my boy," said Richard, good-humouredly. -"I don't believe you ever had anything -to do with her at all. It was nothing but boasting."</p> - -<p>"What will you bet I can't prove it to you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> -Jenkins retorted, putting out his chin, an ominous -gesture with him.</p> - -<p>"I'll bet you half-a-crown—no, a shilling."</p> - -<p>"Done."</p> - -<p>Jenkins took a leather-case from his pocket, and -handed Richard a midget photograph of Miss Roberts. -Underneath it was her signature, "Yours sincerely, -Laura Roberts."</p> - -<p>Strange to say, the incident did not trouble Richard -in the least.</p> - -<p>He walked down to Victoria with Jenkins towards -midnight, and on returning to his lodging, thought -for the hundredth time how futile was his present -mode of existence, how bare of all that makes life -worth living. Of what avail to occupy pretty -rooms, if one occupied them alone, coming into them -at night to find them empty, leaving them in the -morning without a word of farewell? In the waste -of London, Laura Roberts made the one green spot. -He had lost interest in his novel. On the other -hand, his interest in the daily visit to the Crabtree -was increasing.</p> - -<p>As day succeeded day he fell into a practice of -deliberately seeking out and magnifying the finer -qualities in her nature, while ignoring those which -were likely to offend him; indeed he refused to allow -himself to be offended. He went so far as to retard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> -his lunch-hour permanently, so that, the rush of customers -being past, he should have better opportunity -to talk to her without interruption. Then he timidly -essayed the first accents of courtship, and finding -his advances accepted, grew bolder. One Sunday -morning he met her as she was coming out of the -Wesleyan chapel at Munster Park; he said the encounter -was due to accident. She introduced him to -her relations, who were with her. Her father was -a big, stout, dark man, dressed in black faced-cloth, -with a heavy beard, huge chubby fingers, and jagged -grey fingernails. Her mother was a spare woman -of sorrowful aspect, whose thin lips seldom moved; -she held her hands in front of her, one on the top of -the other. Her brother was a lank schoolboy, wearing -a damaged mortar-board hat.</p> - -<p>Shortly afterwards he called on her at Carteret -Street. The schoolboy opened the door, and after -inviting him as far as the lobby, vanished into a back -room only to reappear and run upstairs. Richard -heard his loud, agitated whisper: "Laura, Laura, -here's Mr. Larch come to see you."</p> - -<p>They strolled to Wimbledon Common that night.</p> - -<p>His entity seemed to have become dual. One -part of him was willingly enslaved to an imperious, -headstrong passion; the other stood calmly, cynically -apart, and watched. There were hours when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> -could foresee the whole of his future life, and -measure the bitter, ineffectual regret which he was -laying up; hours when he admitted that his passion -had been, as it were, artificially incited, and that -there could be no hope of an enduring love. He -liked Laura; she was a woman, a balm, a consolation. -To all else he obstinately shut his eyes, and, -casting away every consideration of prudence, hastened -to involve himself more and more deeply. -Swiftly, swiftly, the climax approached. He hailed -it with a strange, affrighted joy.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXI</h4> - - -<p>They were upon Chelsea Embankment in the -late dusk of a Saturday evening in May. A -warm and gentle wind stirred the budding -trees to magic utterances. The long, straight line -of serried lamps stretched away to an enchanted -bridge which with twinkling lights hung poised over -the misty river. The plash of an oar came languorously -up from the water, and the voices of boys -calling. At intervals, couples like themselves passed -by, either silent or conversing in low tones that -seemed to carry inner, inarticulate meanings. As -for them, they were silent; he had not her arm, but -they walked close together. He was deeply and indescribably -moved; his heart beat heavily, and when -he looked at her face in the gloom and saw that her -eyes were liquid, it beat yet more heavily; then lay -still.</p> - -<p>"Let us sit down—shall we?" he said at length, -and they turned to an empty bench under a tree. -"What is she thinking?" he wondered, and then -the dominant feeling of the moment possessed him -wholly. His ambitions floated out of sight and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> -were forgotten. He remembered nothing except -the girl by his side, whose maddening bosom rose -and fell under his very gaze. At that moment she -belonged to no class; had no virtues, no faults. All -the inessentials of her being were stripped away, -and she was merely a woman, divine, desired, necessary, -waiting to be captured. She sat passive, expectant, -the incarnation of the Feminine.</p> - -<p>He took her hand and felt it tremble. At the -contact a thrill ran about him, and for a second a -delicious faintness robbed him of all strength. -Then with inexplicable rapidity his mind went unerringly -back to that train-journey to William's -funeral. He saw the cottage in the fields, and the -young mother, half robed and with sleep in her eyes, -standing at the door. Exquisite vision!</p> - -<p>He heard himself speaking,—</p> - -<p>"Laura...."</p> - -<p>The little hand gave a timorous encouragement.</p> - -<p>"Laura ... you are going to marry me."</p> - -<p>The intoxicating pressure of her lips on his -was answer. Heedless of publicity, he crushed her -against his breast, this palpitating creature with the -serious face. Ah, she could love!</p> - -<p>It was done. The great irretrievable moment -had gone to join a million other moments of no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> -significance. He felt triumphant, fiercely triumphant. -His frightful solitude was at an end. One -woman was his. A woman ... his, his own!</p> - -<p>See! A tear quivered in her eye.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXII</h4> - - -<p>Sunday was stiflingly hot. At Sloane Street -the roof of every Putney omnibus was already -laden with passengers, and Richard on his way -to Carteret Street to make the acquaintance of Laura's -married sister, Milly Powell, her husband and young -child, was forced at last to be content with a seat -inside. The public houses were just closing for the -afternoon, and the footpaths full of holiday-makers, -with here and there a girl or a middle-aged man -carrying a Bible. No vehicles were abroad except -the omnibuses and an occasional hired carriage which -passed by with a nonchalant, lazy air.</p> - -<p>At the Redcliffe Arms there got in a little family -party consisting of a stout, seemingly prosperous -man, gruffly good-humoured, his wife, and a boy of -about three years, whose puffy face was disfigured by -large spectacles.</p> - -<p>"Sit here, Milly, out of the sun," the man said -curtly.</p> - -<p>Richard looked up at the sound of the name. -The woman's likeness to Laura was unmistakable; -beyond doubt she must be the sister of his betrothed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> -He examined her curiously. She was perhaps -slightly under thirty, of a good height and well set, -with a large head and a large, plain face. Her -movements were clumsy. She appeared to be just -upon the line which divides the matron from the -young mother. In both her features and her attire -there were faint reminders of girlish grace, or at -least of the charm of the shy wife who nurses her -first-born. Her complexion was clear and fresh, her -ears small and delicately pink, her eyes cool grey. -But one did not notice these beauties without careful -inspection, while the heavy jaws, the lax eyelids, -the flattened nose whose tilt unpleasantly revealed -the nostrils, were obvious and repellent. She wore -a black gown, which fitted badly, imparting an ungainliness -probably foreign to her proper figure. -Her broad hat of black straw, trimmed with poppies -and corn-flowers, was strikingly modish, and the veil, -running at an angle from the extremity of the brim -down to her chin, gave to her face a cloistered quality -which had its own seductiveness. Her small -hands were neatly gloved, and held a cheap, effective -parasol. The woman's normal expression was one -of cow-like vacancy, but now and then her eyes would -light up as she spoke to the child, gently restraining -it, reassuring it, rallying it with simple banter. She -was still in love with her husband; frequently she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> -glanced at him with furtive wistfulness. She was -able to enjoy the summer weather. She was not -quite dead to the common phenomena of the roadside. -But the last resistances of departing youthfulness -and vivacity against the narcotic of a dull, unlovely -domesticity were taking place. In a year or -two she would be the typical matron of the lower -middle-class.</p> - -<p>When Richard had made these observations, he -reflected: "Laura will be like that—soon." -Mentally he compared the two faces, and he could, -as it were, see Laura's changing....</p> - -<p>Then followed a reverie which embraced the -whole of his past life. He recognised that, while he -bore all the aspect of prosperity, he had failed. -Why had nature deprived him of strength of purpose? -Why could not he, like other men, bend -circumstances to his own ends? He sought for a -reason, and he found it in his father, that mysterious, -dead transmitter of traits, of whom he knew so -little, and on whose name lay a blot of some kind -which was hidden from him. He had been born in -the shadow, and after a fitful struggle towards emergence, -into the shadow he must again retire. Fate -was his enemy. Mary had died; Mary would have -helped him to be strong. Mr. Aked had died; Mr. -Aked's inspiring influence would have incited and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> -guided his efforts. Adeline had abandoned him to -a fatal loneliness.</p> - -<p>He knew that he would make no further attempt -to write. Laura was not even aware that he had -had ambitions in that direction. He had never told -her, because she would not have understood. She -worshipped him, he felt sure, and at times he had a -great tenderness for her; but it would be impossible -to write in the suburban doll's-house which was to be -theirs. No! In future he would be simply the -suburban husband—dutiful towards his employers, -upon whose grace he would be doubly dependent; -keeping his house in repair; pottering in the garden; -taking his wife out for a walk, or occasionally to the -theatre; and saving as much as he could. He would -be good to his wife—she was his. He wanted to -get married at once. He wanted to be master of -his own dwelling. He wanted to have Laura's kiss -when he went out of a morning to earn the bread-and-cheese. -He wanted to see her figure at the -door when he returned at night. He wanted to -share with her the placid, domestic evening. He -wanted to tease her, and to get his ears boxed and -be called a great silly. He wanted to creep into -the kitchen and surprise her with a pinch of the -cheek as she bent over the range. He wanted to -whisk her up in his arms, carry her from one room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -to another, and set her down breathless in a chair.... -Ah! Let it be soon. And as for the -more distant future, he would not look at that. He -would keep his eyes on the immediate foreground, -and be happy while he could. After all, perhaps -things had been ordered for the best; perhaps he -had no genuine talent for writing. And yet at that -moment he was conscious that he possessed the incommunicable -imaginative insights of the author.... -But it was done with now.</p> - -<p>The conductor called out their destination, and -as Laura's sister gathered the child in her arms he -sprang out and hurried down Carteret Street in -order to reach the house first and so avoid a meeting -on the doorstep. He heard the trot of the child -behind him. Children.... Perhaps a child -of his might give sign of literary ability. If so—and -surely these instincts descended, were not lost—how -he would foster and encourage it!</p> - - -<h4>THE END</h4> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<h4><a id="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS"></a>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h4> - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="4" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="left">Page</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER I</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER II</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER III</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER V</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER X</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXXI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXXII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - - - - - - - - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52247 ***</div> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/52247-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/52247-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fb276df..0000000 --- a/old/52247-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/52247-8.txt b/old/old/52247-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0122805..0000000 --- a/old/old/52247-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6594 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man from the North, by Arnold Bennett - -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/license - - -Title: A Man from the North - -Author: Arnold Bennett - -Release Date: June 6, 2016 [EBook #52247] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN FROM THE NORTH *** - - - - -Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at -http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made -available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -A MAN FROM THE NORTH - -BY - -ARNOLD BENNETT - -AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALE," -"BURIED ALIVE" - -NEW YORK - -GEORGE H. DORAN - -1911 - - - - -TO THE ONE WHOM I MOST HONOUR - - - - -A MAN FROM THE NORTH - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -There grows in the North Country a certain kind of youth of whom it -may be said that he is born to be a Londoner. The metropolis, and -everything that appertains to it, that comes down from it, that goes up -into it, has for him an imperious fascination. Long before schooldays -are over he learns to take a doleful pleasure in watching the exit of -the London train from the railway station. He stands by the hot engine -and envies the very stoker. Gazing curiously into the carriages, he -wonders that men and women who in a few hours will be treading streets -called Piccadilly and the Strand can contemplate the immediate future -with so much apparent calmness; some of them even have the audacity to -look bored. He finds it difficult to keep from throwing himself in the -guard's van as it glides past him; and not until the last coach is a -speck upon the distance does he turn away and, nodding absently to the -ticket-clerk, who knows him well, go home to nurse a vague ambition and -dream of Town. - -London is the place where newspapers are issued, books written, and -plays performed. And this youth, who now sits in an office, reads all -the newspapers. He knows exactly when a new work by a famous author -should appear, and awaits the reviews with impatience. He can tell you -off-hand the names of the pieces in the bills of the twenty principal -West-end theatres, what their quality is, and how long they may be -expected to run; and on the production of a new play, the articles of -the dramatic critics provide him with sensations almost as vivid as -those of the most zealous first-nighter at the performance itself. - -Sooner or later, perhaps by painful roads, he reaches the goal of his -desire. London accepts him--on probation; and as his strength is, so -she demeans herself. Let him be bold and resolute, and she will make -an obeisance, but her heel is all too ready to crush the coward and -hesitant; and her victims, once underfoot, do not often rise again. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The antique four-wheeler, top-heavy with luggage, swung unsteadily -round by Tattersall's and into Raphael Street. Richard thrust down the -window with a sharp bang, indicative of a strange new sense of power; -but before the cab came to a standstill he had collected himself, and -managed to alight with considerable decorum. When the door opened -in answer to his second ring, a faint, sour odour escaped from the -house, and he remembered the friendly feminine warnings which he had -received at Bursley on the subject of London lodgings. The aspect of -the landlady, however, reassured him; she was a diminutive old woman -in ridiculously short skirts, with a yellow, crinkled face, grey eyes, -and a warm, benevolent smile that conquered. As she greeted Richard she -blushed like a girl, and made a little old-fashioned curtsey. Richard -offered his hand, and, after wiping hers on a clean apron, she took it -timidly. - -"I hope we shall get on well together, sir," she said, looking straight -up into her new lodger's eyes. - -"I'm sure we shall," answered Richard, sincerely. - -She preceded him up the narrow, frowsy staircase, which was full of -surprising turns. - -"You'll find these stairs a bit awkward at first," she apologised. -"I've often thought of getting a bit of nice carpet on them, but what's -the use? It would be done for in a week. Now, here's your room, sir, -first floor front, with two nice French windows, you see, and a nice -balcony. Now, about tidying it of a morning, sir. If you'll step out -for a walk as soon as you get up, my daughter shall make the bed, -and dust, and you'll come in and find it all nice and straight for -breakfast." - -"Very well," assented Richard. - -"That's how I generally arrange with my young men. I like them to have -their breakfast in a nice tidy room, you see, sir. Now, what will you -have for tea, sir? A little nice bread and butter...." - -When she was gone Richard formally surveyed his quarters: a long, -rather low room, its length cut by the two windows which were Mrs. -Rowbotham's particular pride; between the windows a table with a faded -green cloth, and a small bed opposite; behind the door an artfully -concealed washstand; the mantelpiece, painted mustard yellow, bore -divers squat earthenware figures, and was surmounted by an oblong -mirror framed in rosewood; over the mirror an illuminated text, -"Trust in Jesus," and over the text an oleograph, in collision with -the ceiling, entitled, "After the Battle of Culloden." The walls were -decorated with a pattern of giant pink roses; and here and there, -hiding the roses, were hung photographs of persons in their Sunday -clothes, and landscapes hand-painted in oil, depicting bridges, trees, -water, and white sails in the distance. But the furnishing of the room -caused Richard no uneasiness; in a few moments he had mentally arranged -how to make the place habitable, and thenceforth he only saw what -should and would be. - -Tea was brought in by a girl whose face proclaimed her to be Mrs. -Rowbotham's daughter. At the sight of her Richard privately winked; he -had read in books about landladies' daughters, but this one gave the -lie to books; she was young, she was beautiful, and Richard would have -sworn to her innocence. With an accession of boldness which surprised -himself, he inquired her name. - -"Lily, sir," she said, blushing like her mother. - -He cut the new, heavy bread, and poured out a cup of tea with the -awkwardness of one unaccustomed to such work, and, having made space -on the tray, set the evening paper against the sugar basin, and began -to eat and read. Outside were two piano organs, children shouting, -and a man uttering some monotonous unintelligible cry. It grew dark; -Mrs. Rowbotham came in with a lamp and cleared the table; Richard -was looking through the window, and neither spoke. Presently he sat -down. That being his first night in London, he had determined to spend -it quietly _at home_. The piano organs and the children were still -strident. A peculiar feeling of isolation momentarily overcame him, and -the noises of the street seemed to recede. Then he went to the window -again, and noticed that the children were dancing quite gracefully; it -occurred to him that they might be ballet children. He picked up the -paper and examined the theatrical advertisements, at first idly, but -afterwards in detail. - -With a long sigh, he took his hat and stick, and went very slowly -downstairs. Mrs. Rowbotham heard him fumbling with the catch of the -front door. - -"Are you going out, sir?" - -"Only just for a walk," said Richard, nonchalantly. - -"Perhaps I'd better give you a latch-key?" - -"Thanks." - -Another moment and he was in the delicious streets, going east. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Although he had visited London but once before, and then only for a few -hours, he was not unfamiliar with the topography of the town, having -frequently studied it in maps and an old copy of Kelly's directory. - -He walked slowly up Park Side and through Piccadilly, picking out as -he passed them the French Embassy, Hyde Park Corner, Apsley House, -Park Lane, and Devonshire House. As he drank in the mingled glare and -glamour of Piccadilly by night,--the remote stars, the high sombre -trees, the vast, dazzling interiors of clubs, the sinuous, flickering -lines of traffic, the radiant faces of women framed in hansoms,--he -laughed the laugh of luxurious contemplation, acutely happy. At last, -at last, he had come into his inheritance. London accepted him. He -was hers; she his; and nothing should part them. Starvation in London -would itself be bliss. But he had no intention of starving! Filled with -great purposes, he straightened his back, and just then a morsel of mud -thrown up from a bus-wheel splashed warm and gritty on his cheek. He -wiped it off caressingly, with a smile. - -Although it was Saturday night, and most of the shops were closed, -an establishment where watches and trinkets of "Anglo-Spanish" gold, -superb in appearance and pillowed on green plush, were retailed at -alluring prices, still threw a brilliant light on the pavement, and -Richard crossed the road to inspect its wares. He turned away, but -retraced his steps and entered the shop. An assistant politely inquired -his wishes. - -"I want one of those hunters you have in the window at 29/6," said -Richard, with a gruffness which must have been involuntary. - -"Yes, sir. Here is one. We guarantee that the works are equal to the -finest English lever." - -"I'll take it." He put down the money. - -"Thank you. Can I show you anything else?" - -"Nothing, thanks," still more gruffly. - -"We have some excellent chains...." - -"Nothing else, thanks." And he walked out, putting his purchase in his -pocket. A perfectly reliable gold watch, which he had worn for years, -already lay there. - -At Piccadilly Circus he loitered, and then crossed over and went -along Coventry Street to Leicester Square. The immense façade of the -Ottoman Theatre of Varieties, with its rows of illuminated windows and -crescent moons set against the sky, rose before him, and the glory of -it was intoxicating. It is not too much to say that the Ottoman held a -stronger fascination for Richard than any other place in London. The -British Museum, Fleet Street, and the Lyceum were magic names, but -more magical than either was the name of the Ottoman. The Ottoman, on -the rare occasions when it happened to be mentioned in Bursley, was a -synonym for all the glittering vices of the metropolis. It stank in -the nostrils of the London delegates who came down to speak at the -annual meetings of the local Society for the Suppression of Vice. But -how often had Richard, somnolent in chapel, mitigated the rigours of a -long sermon by dreaming of an Ottoman ballet,--one of those voluptuous -spectacles, all legs and white arms, which from time to time were -described so ornately in the London daily papers. - -The brass-barred swinging doors of the Grand Circle entrance were -simultaneously opened for him by two human automata dressed exactly -alike in long semi-military coats, a very tall man and a stunted boy. -He advanced with what air of custom he could command, and after taking -a ticket and traversing a heavily decorated corridor encountered -another pair of swinging doors; they opened, and a girl passed out, -followed by a man who was talking to her vehemently in French. At -the same moment a gust of distant music struck Richard's ear. As he -climbed a broad, thick-piled flight of steps, the music became louder, -and a clapping of hands could be heard. At the top of the steps hung -a curtain of blue velvet; he pushed aside its stiff, heavy folds with -difficulty, and entered the auditorium. - -The smoke of a thousand cigarettes enveloped the furthest parts of -the great interior in a thin bluish haze, which was dissipated as -it reached the domed ceiling in the rays of a crystal chandelier. -Far in front and a little below the level of the circle lay a line -of footlights broken by the silhouette of the conductor's head. A -diminutive, solitary figure in red and yellow stood in the centre -of the huge stage; it was kissing its hands to the audience with a -mincing, operatic gesture; presently it tripped off backwards, stopping -at every third step to bow; the applause ceased, and the curtain fell -slowly. - -The broad, semicircular promenade which flanked the seats of the grand -circle was filled with a well-dressed, well-fed crowd. The men talked -and laughed, for the most part, in little knots, while in and out, -steering their way easily and rapidly among these groups, moved the -women: some with rouged cheeks, greasy vermilion lips, and enormous -liquid eyes; others whose faces were innocent of cosmetics and showed -pale under the electric light; but all with a peculiar, exaggerated -swing of the body from the hips, and all surreptitiously regarding -themselves in the mirrors which abounded on every glowing wall. - -Richard stood aloof against a pillar. Near him were two men in evening -dress conversing in tones which just rose above the general murmur of -talk and the high, penetrating tinkle of glass from the bar behind the -promenade. - -"And what did she say then?" one of the pair asked smilingly. Richard -strained his ear to listen. - -"Well, _she_ told _me_," the other said, speaking with a dreamy drawl, -while fingering his watch-chain absently and gazing down at the large -diamond in his shirt,--"_she_ told _me_ that she said she'd do for him -if he didn't fork out. But I don't believe her. You know, of course.... -There's Lottie...." - -The band suddenly began to play, and after a few crashing bars the -curtain went up for the ballet. The rich _coup d'oeil_ which presented -itself provoked a burst of clapping from the floor of the house and the -upper tiers, but to Richard's surprise no one in his proximity seemed -to exhibit any interest in the entertainment. The two men still talked -with their backs to the stage, the women continued to find a pathway -between the groups, and from within the bar came the unabated murmur of -voices and tinkle of glass. - -Richard never took his dazed eyes from the stage. The moving pageant -unrolled itself before him like a vision, rousing new sensations, -tremors of strange desires. He was under a spell, and when at last the -curtain descended to the monotonous roll of drums, he awoke to the fact -that several people were watching him curiously. Blushing slightly, -he went to a far corner of the promenade. At one of the little tables -a woman sat alone. She held her head at an angle, and her laughing, -lustrous eyes gleamed invitingly at Richard. Without quite intending to -do so he hesitated in front of her, and she twittered a phrase ending -in _chéri_. - -He abruptly turned away. He would have been very glad to remain and say -something clever, but his tongue refused its office, and his legs moved -of themselves. - -At midnight he found himself in Piccadilly Circus, unwilling to go -home. He strolled leisurely back to Leicester Square. The front of the -Ottoman was in darkness, and the square almost deserted. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -He walked home to Raphael Street. The house was dead, except for a -pale light in his own room. At the top of the bare, creaking stairs he -fumbled a moment for the handle of his door, and the regular sound of -two distinct snores descended from an upper storey. He closed the door -softly, locked it, and glanced round the room with some eagerness. The -smell of the expiring lamp compelled him to unlatch both windows. He -extinguished the lamp, and after lighting a couple of candles on the -mantelpiece drew a chair to the fireplace and sat down to munch an -apple. The thought occurred to him: "This is my home--for how long?" - -And then: - -"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that girl?" - -Between the candles on the mantelpiece was a photograph of his sister, -which he had placed there before going out. He looked at it with a half -smile, and murmured audibly several times: - -"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that girl, with her _chéri_?" - -The woman of the photograph seemed to be between thirty and forty years -of age. She was fair, with a mild, serious face, and much wavy hair. -The forehead was broad and smooth and white, the cheek-bones prominent, -and the mouth somewhat large. The eyes were a very light grey; they -met the gaze of the spectator with a curious timid defiance, as if to -say, "I am weak, but I can at least fight till I fall." Underneath the -eyes--the portrait was the work of an amateur, and consequently had not -been robbed of all texture by retouching--a few crowsfeet could be seen. - -As far back as Richard's memory went, he and Mary had lived together -and alone in the small Red House which lay half a mile out of Bursley, -towards Turnhill, on the Manchester road. At one time it had been -rurally situated, creeping plants had clothed its red walls, and the -bare patch behind it had been a garden; but the gradual development -of a coal-producing district had covered the fields with smooth, -mountainous heaps of grey refuse, and stunted or killed every tree -in the neighbourhood. The house was undermined, and in spite of iron -clamps had lost most of its rectangles, while the rent had dropped to -fifteen pounds a year. - -Mary was very much older than her brother, and she had always appeared -to him exactly the mature woman of the photograph. Of his parents he -knew nothing except what Mary had told him, which was little and vague, -for she watchfully kept the subject at a distance. - -She had supported herself and Richard in comfort by a medley of -vocations, teaching the piano, collecting rents, and practising the -art of millinery. They had few friends. The social circles of Bursley -were centred in its churches and chapels; and though Mary attended -the Wesleyan sanctuary with some regularity, she took small interest -in prayer-meetings, class-meetings, bazaars, and all the other minor -religious activities, thus neglecting opportunities for intercourse -which might have proved agreeable. She had sent Richard to the -Sunday-school; but when, at the age of fourteen, he protested that -Sunday-school was "awful rot," she answered calmly, "Don't go, then;" -and from that day his place in class was empty. Soon afterwards the -boy cautiously insinuated that chapel belonged to the same category as -Sunday-school, but the hint failed of its effect. - -The ladies of the town called sometimes, generally upon business, and -took afternoon tea. Once the vicar's wife, who wished to obtain musical -tuition for her three youngest daughters at a nominal fee, came in and -found Richard at a book on the hearthrug. - -"Ah!" said she. "Just like his father, is he not, Miss Larch?" Mary -made no reply. - -The house was full of books. Richard knew them all well by sight, but -until he was sixteen he read only a select handful of volumes which had -stood the test of years. Often he idly speculated as to the contents of -some of the others,--"Horatii Opera," for instance: had that anything -to do with theatres?--yet for some curious reason, which when he grew -older he sought for in vain, he never troubled himself to look into -them. Mary read a good deal, chiefly books and magazines fetched for -her by Richard from the Free Library. - -When he was about seventeen, a change came. He was aware dimly, and as -if by instinct, that his sister's life in the early days had not been -without its romance. Certainly there was something hidden between her -and William Vernon, the science master at the Institute, for they were -invariably at great pains to avoid each other. He sometimes wondered -whether Mr. Vernon was connected in any way with the melancholy which -was never, even in her brightest moments, wholly absent from Mary's -demeanour. One Sunday night--Richard had been keeping house--Mary, -coming in late from chapel, threw his arms round his neck as he opened -the door, and, dragging down his face to hers, kissed him hysterically -again and again. - -"Dicky, Dick," she whispered, laughing and crying at the same time, -"something's happened. I'm almost an old woman, but something's -happened!" - -"I know," said Richard, retreating hurriedly from her embrace. "You're -going to marry Mr. Vernon." - -"But how could you tell?" - -"Oh! I just guessed." - -"You don't mind, Dick, do you?" - -"I! Mind!" Afraid lest his feelings should appear too plainly, he asked -abruptly for supper. - -Mary gave up her various callings, the wedding took place, and William -Vernon came to live with them. It was then that Richard began to read -more widely, and to form a definite project of going to London. - -He could not fail to respect and like William. The life of the married -pair seemed to him idyllic; the tender, furtive manifestations -of affection which were constantly passing between Mary and her -sedate, middle-aged husband touched him deeply, and at the thought -of the fifteen irretrievable years during which some ridiculous -misunderstanding had separated this loving couple, his eyes were -not quite as dry as a youth could wish. But with it all he was -uncomfortable. He felt himself an intruder upon holy privacies; if -at meal-times husband and wife clasped hands round the corner of -the table, he looked at his plate; if they smiled happily upon no -discoverable provocation, he pretended not to notice the fact. They -did not need him. Their hearts were full of kindness for every living -thing, but unconsciously they stood aloof. He was driven in upon -himself, and spent much of his time either in solitary walking or -hidden in an apartment called the study. - -He ordered magazines whose very names Mr. Holt, the principal -bookseller in Bursley, was unfamiliar with, and after the magazines -came books of verse and novels enclosed in covers of mystic design, and -printed in a style which Mr. Holt, though secretly impressed, set down -as eccentric. Mr. Holt's shop performed the functions of a club for -the dignitaries of the town; and since he took care that this esoteric -literature was well displayed on the counter until called for, the -young man's fame as _a great reader_ soon spread, and Richard began to -see that he was regarded as a curiosity of which Bursley need not be -ashamed. His self-esteem, already fostered into lustiness by a number -of facile school successes, became more marked, although he was wise -enough to keep a great deal of it to himself. - -One evening, after Mary and her husband had been talking quietly some -while, Richard came into the sitting-room. - -"I don't want any supper," he said, "I'm going for a bit of a walk." - -"Shall we tell him?" Mary asked, smiling, after he had left the room. - -"Please yourself," said William, also smiling. - -"He talks a great deal about going to London. I hope he won't go -till--after April; I think it would upset me." - -"You need not trouble, I think, my dear," William answered. "He talks -about it, but he isn't gone yet." - -Mr. Vernon was not quite pleased with Richard. He had obtained for -him--being connected with the best people in the town--a position as -shorthand and general clerk in a solicitor's office, and had learnt -privately that though the youth was smart enough, he was scarcely -making that progress which might have been expected. He lacked -"application." William attributed this shortcoming to the excessive -reading of verse and obscure novels. - -April came, and, as Mr. Vernon had foretold, Richard still remained -in Bursley. But the older man was now too deeply absorbed in another -matter to interest himself at all in Richard's movements,--a matter in -which Richard himself exhibited a shy concern. Hour followed anxious -hour, and at last was heard the faint, fretful cry of a child in the -night. Then stillness. All that Richard ever saw was a coffin, and in -it a dead child at a dead woman's feet. - -Fifteen months later he was in London. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Mr. Curpet, of the firm of Curpet and Smythe, whose name was painted in -black and white on the dark green door, had told him that the office -hours were from nine-thirty to six. The clock of the Law Courts was -striking a quarter to ten. He hesitated a moment, and then seized the -handle; but the door was fast, and he descended the two double flights -of iron stairs into the quadrangle. - -New Serjeant's Court was a large modern building of very red brick -with terra-cotta facings, eight storeys high; but in spite of its -faults of colour and its excessive height, ample wall spaces and -temperate ornamentation gave it a dignity and comeliness sufficient -to distinguish it from other buildings in the locality. In the centre -of the court was an oval patch of brown earth, with a few trees whose -pale-leaved tops, struggling towards sunlight, reached to the middle of -the third storey. Round this plantation ran an immaculate roadway of -wooden blocks, flanked by an equally immaculate asphalt footpath. The -court possessed its own private lamp-posts, and these were wrought of -iron in an antique design. - -Men and boys, grave and unconsciously oppressed by the burden of the -coming day, were continually appearing out of the gloom of the long -tunnelled entrance and vanishing into one or other of the twelve -doorways. Presently a carriage and pair drove in, and stopped opposite -Richard. A big man of about fifty, with a sagacious red and blue face, -jumped alertly out, followed by an attentive clerk carrying a blue -sack. It seemed to Richard that he knew the features of the big man -from portraits, and, following the pair up the staircase of No. 2, he -discovered from the legend on the door through which they disappeared -that he had been in the presence of Her Majesty's Attorney-General. -Simultaneously with a misgiving as to his ability to reach the standard -of clerical ability doubtless required by Messrs. Curpet and Smythe, -who did business cheek by jowl with an attorney-general and probably -employed him, came an elevation of spirit as he darkly guessed what -none can realise completely, that a man's future lies on his own knees, -and on the knees of no gods whatsoever. - -He continued his way upstairs, but Messrs. Curpet and Smythe's portal -was still locked. Looking down the well, he espied a boy crawling -reluctantly and laboriously upward, with a key in his hand which -he dragged across the bannisters. In course of time the boy reached -Messrs. Curpet and Smythe's door, and opening it stepped neatly over a -pile of letters which lay immediately within. Richard followed him. - -"Oh! My name's Larch," said Richard, as if it had just occurred to him -that the boy might be interested in the fact. "Do you know which is my -room?" - -The boy conducted him along a dark passage with green doors on -either side, to a room at the end. It was furnished mainly with -two writing-tables and two armchairs; in one corner was a disused -copying-press, in another an immense pile of reporters' note-books; on -the mantelpiece, a tumbler, a duster, and a broken desk lamp. - -"That's your seat," said the boy, pointing to the larger table, and -disappeared. Richard disposed of his coat and hat and sat down, trying -to feel at ease and not succeeding. - -At five minutes past ten a youth entered with the "Times" under his -arm. Richard waited for him to speak, but he merely stared and took off -his overcoat. Then he said,-- - -"You've got my hook. If you don't mind I'll put your things on this -other one." - -"Certainly," assented Richard. - -The youth spread his back luxuriously to the empty fireplace and opened -the "Times," when another and smaller boy put his head in at the door. - -"Jenkins, Mr. Alder wants the 'Times.'" - -The youth silently handed over the advertisement pages which were lying -on the table. In a minute the boy returned. - -"Mr. Alder says he wants the inside of the 'Times.'" - -"Tell Mr. Alder to go to hell, with my compliments." The boy hesitated. - -"Go on, now," Jenkins insisted. The boy hung on the door-handle, -smiling dubiously, and then went out. - -"Here, wait a minute!" Jenkins called him back. "Perhaps you'd better -give it him. Take the damn thing away." - -A sound of hurried footsteps in the next room was succeeded by an -imperious call for Jenkins, at which Jenkins slipped nimbly into his -chair and untied a bundle of papers. - -"Jenkins!" the call came again, with a touch of irritation in it, but -Jenkins did not move. The door was thrust open. - -"Oh! You are there, Jenkins. Just come in and take a letter down." The -tones were quite placid. - -"Yes, Mr. Smythe." - -"I never take any notice of Smythe's calls," said Jenkins, when he -returned. "If he wants me, he must either ring or fetch me. If I once -began it, I should be running in and out of his room all day, and I've -quite enough to do without that." - -"Fidgety, eh?" Richard suggested. - -"Fidgety's no word for it, _I_ tell you. Alder--that's the manager, you -know--said only yesterday that he has less trouble with forty Chancery -actions of Curpet's than with one county-court case of Smythe's. I know -I'd a jolly sight sooner write forty of Curpet's letters than ten of -Smythe's. I wish I'd got your place, and you'd got mine. I suppose you -can write shorthand rather fast." - -"Middling," said Richard. "About 120." - -"Oh! We had a man once who could do 150, but he'd been a newspaper -reporter. I do a bit over a hundred, if I've not had much to drink -overnight. Let's see, they're giving you twenty-five bob, aren't they?" - -Richard nodded. - -"The man before you had thirty-five, and he couldn't spell worth a -brass button. I only get fifteen, although I've been here seven years. -A damn shame I call it! But Curpet's beastly near. If he'd give some -other people less, and me a bit more...." - -"Who are 'some other people'?" asked Richard, smiling. - -"Well, there's old Aked. He sits in the outer office--you won't have -seen him because he doesn't generally come till eleven. They give him a -pound a week, just for doing a bit of engrossing when he feels inclined -to engross, and for being idle when he feels inclined to be idle. He's -a broken-down something or other,--used to be clerk to Curpet's father. -He has some dibs of his own, and this just finds him amusement. I bet -he doesn't do fifty folios a week. And he's got the devil's own temper." - -Jenkins was proceeding to describe other members of the staff when the -entry of Mr. Curpet himself put an end to the recital. Mr. Curpet was a -small man, with a round face and a neatly trimmed beard. - -"Good morning, Larch. If you'll kindly come into my room, I'll dictate -my letters. Good morning, Jenkins." He smiled and withdrew, leaving -Richard excessively surprised at his suave courtesy. - -In his own room Mr. Curpet sat before a pile of letters, and motioned -Richard to a side table. - -"You will tell me if I go too fast," he said, and began to dictate -regularly, with scarcely a pause. The pile of letters gradually -disappeared into a basket. Before half a dozen letters were done -Richard comprehended that he had become part of a business machine of -far greater magnitude than anything to which he had been accustomed -in Bursley. This little man with the round face dealt impassively -with tens of thousands of pounds; he mortgaged whole streets, bullied -railway companies, and wrote familiarly to lords. In the middle of one -long letter, a man came panting in, whom Richard at once took for Mr. -Alder, the Chancery manager. His rather battered silk hat was at the -back of his head, and he looked distressed. - -"I'm sorry to say we've lost that summons in Rice _v._ The L. R. -Railway." - -"Really!" said Mr. Curpet. "Better appeal, and brief a leader, eh?" - -"Can't appeal, Mr. Curpet." - -"Well, we must make the best of it. Telegraph to the country. I'll -write and keep them calm. It's a pity they were so sure. Rice will have -to economise for a year or two. What was my last word, Larch?" The -dictation proceeded. - -One hour was allowed for lunch, and Richard spent the first moiety -of it in viewing the ambrosial exteriors of Strand restaurants. With -the exception of the coffee-house at Bursley, he had never been in -a restaurant in his life, and he was timid of entering any of those -sumptuous establishments whose swinging doors gave glimpses of richly -decorated ceilings, gleaming tablecloths, and men in silk hats greedily -consuming dishes placed before them by obsequious waiters. - -At last, without quite knowing how he got there, he sat in a long, -low apartment, papered like an attic bedroom, and odorous of tea and -cake. The place was crowded with young men and women indifferently -well-dressed, who bent over uncomfortably small oblong marble-topped -tables. An increasing clatter of crockery filled the air. Waitresses, -with pale, vacant faces, dressed in dingy black with white aprons, -moved about with difficulty at varying rates of speed, but none of -them seemed to betray an interest in Richard. Behind the counter, on -which stood great polished urns emitting clouds of steam, were several -women whose superior rank in the restaurant was denoted by a black -apron, and after five minutes had elapsed Richard observed one of these -damsels pointing out himself to a waitress, who approached and listened -condescendingly to his order. - -A thin man, rather more than middle-aged, with a grey beard and -slightly red nose, entered and sat down opposite to Richard. Without -preface he began, speaking rather fast and with an expressive vivacity -rarely met with in the ageing,-- - -"Well, my young friend, how do you like your new place?" - -Richard stared at him. - -"Are you Mr. Aked?" - -"The same. I suppose Master Jenkins has made you acquainted with all my -peculiarities of temper and temperament.--Glass of milk, roll, and two -pats of butter--and, I say, my girl, try not to keep me waiting as long -as you did yesterday." There was a bright smile on his face, which the -waitress unwillingly returned. - -"Don't you know," he went on, looking at Richard's plate,--"don't you -know that tea and ham together are frightfully indigestible?" - -"I never have indigestion." - -"No matter. You soon will have if you eat tea and ham together. A young -man should guard his digestion like his honour. Sounds funny, doesn't -it? But it's right. An impaired digestive apparatus has ruined many a -career. It ruined mine. You see before you, sir, what might have been -an author of repute, but for a wayward stomach." - -"You write?" Richard asked, interested at once, but afraid lest Mr. -Aked might be cumbrously joking. - -"I used to." The old man spoke with proud self-consciousness. - -"Have you written a book?" - -"Not a book. But I've contributed to all manner of magazines and -newspapers." - -"What magazines?" - -"Well, let me see--it's so long ago. I've written for 'Cornhill.' I -wrote for 'Cornhill' when Thackeray edited it. I spoke to Carlyle once." - -"You did?" - -"Yes. Carlyle said to me--Carlyle said to me--Carlyle said--" Mr. -Aked's voice dwindled to an inarticulate murmur, and, suddenly ignoring -Richard's presence, he pulled a book from his pocket and began to -finger the leaves. It was a French novel, "La Vie de Bohème." His face -had lost all its mobile expressiveness. - -A little alarmed by such eccentricity, and not quite sure that this -associate of Carlyle was perfectly sane, Richard sat silent, waiting -for events. Mr. Aked was clearly accustomed to reading while he ate; -he could even drink with his eyes on the book. At length he pushed his -plates away from him, and closed the novel with a snap. - -"I see you're from the country, Larch," he said, as if there had been -no lapse in the conversation. "Now, why in God's name did you leave the -country? Aren't there enough people in London?" - -"Because _I_ wanted to be an author," answered Richard, with more -assurance than veracity, though he spoke in good faith. The fact was -that his aspirations, hitherto so vague as to elude analysis, seemed -within the last few minutes mysteriously to have assumed definite form. - -"You're a young fool, then." - -"But I've an excellent digestion." - -"You won't have it if you begin to write. Take my word, you're a young -fool. You don't know what you're going in for, my little friend." - -"Was Murger a fool?" Richard said clumsily, determined to exhibit an -acquaintance with "La Vie de Bohème." - -"Ha! We read French, do we?" - -Richard blushed. The old man got up. - -"Come along," he said peevishly. "Let's get out of this hole." - -At the pay-desk, waiting for change, he spoke to the cashier, a thin -girl with reddish-brown hair, who coughed,-- - -"Did you try those lozenges?" - -"Oh! yes, thanks. They _taste_ nice." - -"Beautiful day." - -"Yes; my word, isn't it!" - -They walked back to the office in absolute silence; but just as they -were going in, Mr. Aked stopped, and took Richard by the coat. - -"Have you anything special to do next Thursday night?" - -"No," said Richard. - -"Well, I'll take you to a little French restaurant in Soho, and we'll -have dinner. Half a crown. Can you afford?" - -Richard nodded. - -"And, I say, bring along some of your manuscripts, and I'll flay them -alive for you." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -An inconstant, unrefreshing breeze, sluggish with accumulated impurity, -stirred the curtains, and every urban sound--high-pitched voices of -children playing, roll of wheels and rhythmic trot of horses, shouts -of newsboys and querulous barking of dogs--came through the open -windows touched with a certain languorous quality that suggested a -city fatigued, a city yearning for the moist recesses of woods, the -disinfectant breath of mountain tops, and the cleansing sea. - -On the little table between the windows lay pen, ink, and paper. -Richard sat down to be an author. Since his conversation with Mr. -Aked of the day before he had lived in the full glow of an impulse -to write. He discerned, or thought he discerned, in the fact that he -possessed the literary gift, a key to his recent life. It explained, -to be particular, the passion for reading which had overtaken him at -seventeen, and his desire to come to London, the natural home of the -author. Certainly it was strange that hitherto he had devoted very -little serious thought to the subject of writing, but happily there -were in existence sundry stray verses and prose fragments written at -Bursley, and it contented him to recognise in these the first tremulous -stirrings of a late-born ambition. - -During the previous evening he had busied himself in deciding upon a -topic. In a morning paper he had read an article entitled "An Island of -Sleep," descriptive of Sark; it occurred to him that a similar essay -upon Lichfield, the comatose cathedral city which lay about thirty -miles from Bursley, might suit a monthly magazine. He knew Lichfield -well; he had been accustomed to visit it from childhood; he loved it. -As a theme full of picturesque opportunities it had quickened his -imagination, until his brain seemed to surge with vague but beautiful -fancies. In the night his sleep had been broken, and several new ideas -had suggested themselves. And now, after a day of excited anticipation, -the moment for composition had arrived. - -As he dipped his pen in the ink a sudden apprehension of failure -surprised him. He dismissed it, and wrote in a bold hand, rather -carefully,-- - - MEMORIES OF A CITY OF SLEEP. - -That was surely an excellent title. He proceeded:-- - - _On the old stone bridge, beneath which the clear, smooth waters of - the river have crept at the same pace for centuries, stands a little - child, alone. It is early morning, and the clock of the time-stained - cathedral which lifts its noble gothic towers scarce a hundred yards - away, strikes five, to the accompaniment of an unseen lark overhead._ - -He sat back to excogitate the next sentence, staring around the room -as if he expected to find the words written on the wall. One of the -gilt-framed photographs was slightly askew; he left his chair to put -it straight; several other pictures seemed to need adjustment, and -he levelled them all with scrupulous precision. The ornaments on the -mantelpiece were not evenly balanced; these he rearranged entirely. -Then, having first smoothed out a crease in the bedcover, he sat down -again. - -But most of the beautiful ideas which he had persuaded himself -were firmly within his grasp, now eluded him, or tardily presented -themselves in a form so obscure as to be valueless, and the useful few -that remained defied all attempts to bring them into order. Dashed by -his own impotence, he sought out the article on Sark, and examined it -afresh. Certain weekly organs of literature had educated him to sneer -at the journalism of the daily press, but it appeared that the man who -wrote "An Island of Sleep" was at least capable of expressing himself -with clearness and fluency, and possessed the skill to pass naturally -from one aspect of his subject to another. It seemed simple enough.... - -He went to the window. - -The sky was a delicate amber, and Richard watched it change to rose, -and from rose to light blue. The gas-lamps glared out in quick -succession; some one lowered the blind of a window opposite his own, -and presently a woman's profile was silhouetted against it for a -moment, and then vanished. A melody came from the public house, sung -in a raucous baritone to the thrumming of a guitar; the cries of the -playing children had now ceased. - -Suddenly turning into the room, he was astonished to find it almost in -darkness; he could distinguish only the whiteness of the papers on the -table. - -He was not in the mood for writing to-night. Some men wrote best in -the evening, others in the morning. Probably he belonged to the latter -class. Be that as it might, he would rise at six the next morning and -make a new beginning. "It's only a question of practice, of course," he -said, half aloud, repressing a troublesome dubiety. He would take a -short walk, and go early to bed. Gradually his self-confidence returned. - -As he closed the front door there was a rustle of silks and a transient -odour of violets; a woman had gone by. She turned slightly at the sound -of the door, and Richard had a glimpse of a young and pretty face -under a spreading hat, a full, ripe bust whose alluring contours were -perfectly disclosed by a tight-fitting bodice, and two small white -hands, in one a dangling pair of gloves, in the other an umbrella. He -passed her, and waited at the corner by Tattersall's till she overtook -him again. Now she stood on the kerb within six feet of him, humming an -air and smiling to herself. Up went the umbrella to signal for a hansom. - -"The Ottoman," Richard heard her say across the roof of the cab, the -driver leaning forward with his hand to his ear. What a child's voice -it seemed, lisping and artless! - -The cabman winked at Richard, and gently flicked his horse. In a moment -the hansom was two dwindling specks of red in a shifting multitude of -lights. - -An hour later he saw her in the promenade of the theatre; she stood -against a pillar, her eyes on the entrance. As their glances met, -she threw her head a little backwards, like one who looks through -spectacles on the end of his nose, and showed her teeth. He sat down -near her. - -Presently she waved her hand to a man who was coming in. He seemed -about thirty, with small, clear eyes, bronzed cheeks, a heavy jaw, and -a closely trimmed brown moustache. He was fashionably garbed, though -not in evening dress, and he greeted her without raising his hat. - -"Shall we have a drink?" she suggested. "I'm so thirsty." - -"Fizz?" the man drawled. She nodded. - -Soon they went out together, the man carelessly stuffing change for a -five-pound note into his pocket. - -"What's the difference between him and me?" Richard reflected as he -walked home. "But just wait a bit; wait till I've...." - -When he reached his lodging the meanness of the room, of his clothes, -of his supper, nauseated him. He dreamed that he was kissing the -Ottoman girl, and that she lisped, "Nice boy," whereupon he cast a -handful of sovereigns on her lap. - -At six o'clock the next morning he was working at his article. In -two days it was finished, and he had despatched it to a monthly -magazine, "together with a stamped directed envelope for its return if -unsuitable," in accordance with the editorial instructions printed -below the table of contents in every number. The editor of the -"Trifler" promised that all manuscripts so submitted, and written on -one side of the paper only, should be dealt with promptly. - -He had been expecting to discuss his work with Mr. Aked at the -proposed dinner, but this had not taken place. On the morning after -the arrangement had been made, Mr. Aked fell ill, and in a few days he -wrote to resign his post, saying that he had sufficient to live on, and -felt "too venerable for regular work." - -Richard held but the frailest hope that "A City of Sleep" would be -accepted, but when the third morning arrived, and the postman brought -nothing, his opinion of the article began to rise. Perhaps it had -merit, after all; he recalled certain parts of it which were distinctly -clever and striking. Hurrying home from the office that afternoon, he -met the landlady's daughter on the stairs, and said casually,-- - -"Any letters for me, Lily?" - -"No, sir." The girl had an attractive blush. - -"I'll take a couple of eggs for tea, if Mrs. Rowbotham has them." - -He remained at home in the evening, waiting for the last delivery, -which occurred about 9:30. The double knocks of the postman were -audible ten or twelve houses away. At last Richard heard him mounting -the steps of No. 74, and then his curt rat-tat shook the house. A -little thud on the bare wooden floor of the hall seemed to indicate a -heavier package than the ordinary letter. - -As, when a man is drowning, the bad actions of a whole lifetime present -themselves to him in one awful flash, so at that moment all the faults, -the hopeless crudities, of "A City of Sleep" confronted Richard. He -wondered at his own fatuity in imagining for a single instant that the -article had the barest chance of acceptance. Was it not notorious that -famous authors had written industriously for years without selling a -line! - -Lily came in with the supper-tray. She was smiling. - -"Warm work, eh, Lily?" he said, scarcely knowing that he spoke. - -"Yes, sir, it's that hot in the kitchen you wouldn't believe." Setting -down the tray, she handed him a foolscap envelope, and he saw his own -handwriting as if in a dream. - -"For me?" he murmured carelessly, and placed the letter on the -mantelpiece. Lily took his orders for breakfast, and with a pleasant, -timid "Good-night, sir," left the room. - -He opened the envelope. In the fold of his manuscript was a sheet -of the best cream-laid note-paper bearing these words in flowing -copperplate: "The Editor presents his compliments to Mr. Larch -[written] and regrets to be unable to use the enclosed article, for the -offer of which he is much obliged." - -The sight of this circular, with the offices of the magazine -illustrated at the top, and the notification in the left-hand corner -that all letters must be addressed to the editor and not to any member -of the staff individually, in some mysterious way mitigated Richard's -disappointment. Perhaps the comfort of it lay in the tangible assurance -it afforded that he was now actually _a literary aspirant_ and had -communications, however mortifying, with _the press_. - -He read the circular again and again during supper, and determined to -re-write the article. But this resolve was not carried out. He could -not bring himself even to glance through it, and finally it was sent to -another magazine exactly as it stood. - -Richard had determined to say nothing in the office about his writing -until he could produce a printed article with his name at the foot; -and frequently during the last few days his mouth had watered as he -anticipated the sweetness of that triumph. But next day he could not -refrain from showing to Jenkins the note from the "Trifler." Jenkins -seemed impressed, especially when Richard requested him to treat the -matter as confidential. A sort of friendship arose between them, and -strengthened as time went on. Richard sometimes wondered how precisely -it had come about, and why it continued. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Albert Jenkins was nineteen years of age, and lived with his parents -and seven brothers and sisters in Camberwell; his father managed a -refreshment bar in Oxford Street. He had been in the employ of Messrs. -Curpet and Smythe for seven years,--first as junior office boy, then -as senior office boy, and finally as junior shorthand clerk. He was -of the average height, with a shallow chest, and thin arms and legs. -His feet were very small--he often referred to the fact with frank -complacency--and were always encased in well-fitting hand-made boots, -brightly polished. The rest of his attire was less remarkable for -neatness; but at intervals an ambition to be genteel possessed him, -and during these recurrent periods the nice conduct of his fingernails -interfered somewhat with official routine. He carried his hat either -at the back of his head or tilted almost upon the bridge of his nose. -In the streets he generally walked with sedate deliberation, his hands -deep in his pockets, his eyes lowered, and an enigmatic smile on his -thin lips. - -His countenance was of a pale yellow complexion just tinged with red, -and he never coloured; his neck was a darker yellow. Upon the whole, -his features were regular, except the mouth, which was large, and -protruded like a monkey's; the eyes were grey, with a bold regard, -which not seldom was excusably mistaken for insolence. - -Considering his years, Jenkins was a highly accomplished person, in -certain directions. Upon all matters connected with her Majesty's mail -and inland revenue, upon cab fares, bus-routes, and local railways, -upon "Pitman outlines," and upon chamber practice in Chancery, he -was an unquestioned authority. He knew the addresses of several -hundred London solicitors, the locality of nearly every street and -square within the four-mile radius, and, within the same limits, the -approximate distance of any one given spot from any other given spot. - -He was the best billiard-player in the office, and had once made a -spot-barred break of 49; this game was his sole pastime. He gambled -regularly upon horse-races, resorting to a number of bookmakers, but -neither winning nor losing to an appreciable extent; no less than three -jockeys occasionally permitted him to enjoy their companionship, and he -was never without a stable-tip. - -His particular hobby, however, was restaurants. He spent half his -income upon food, and quite half his waking hours either in deciding -what he should consume, or in actual drinking and mastication. He had -personally tested the merits of every bar and house of refreshment in -the neighbourhood of the Law Courts, from Lockhart's to Gatti's, and -would discourse for hours on their respective virtues and defects. No -restaurant was too mean for his patronage, and none too splendid; for -days in succession he would dine upon a glass of water and a captain -biscuit with cheese, in order to accumulate resources for a delicate -repast in one of the gilded establishments where the rich are wont to -sustain themselves; and he had acquired from his father a quantity of -curious lore, throwing light upon the secrets of the refreshment trade, -which enabled him to spend the money thus painfully amassed to the best -advantage. - -Jenkins was a cockney and the descendant of cockneys; he conversed -always volubly in the dialect of Camberwell; but just as he was subject -to attacks of modishness, so at times he attempted to rid himself of -his accent, of course without success. He swore habitually, and used -no reticence whatever, except in the presence of his employers and of -Mr. Alder the manager. In quick and effective retort he was the peer -of cabmen, and nothing could abash him. His favourite subjects of -discussion were restaurants, as before mentioned, billiards, the turf, -and women, whom he usually described as "tarts." It was his custom to -refer to himself as a "devil for girls," and when Mr. Alder playfully -accused him of adventures with females of easy virtue, his delight was -unbounded. - -There were moments when Richard loathed Jenkins, when the gross and -ribald atmosphere which attended Jenkins' presence nauseated him, and -utter solitude in London seemed preferable to the boy's company; but -these passed, and the intimacy throve. Jenkins, indeed, had his graces; -he was of an exceedingly generous nature, and his admiration for the -deep literary scholarship which he imagined Richard to possess was -ingenuous and unconcealed. His own agile wit, his picturesque use of -slang, his facility in new oaths, and above all his exact knowledge of -the byways, and backwaters of London life, endowed him, in Richard's -unaccustomed eyes, with a certain specious attractiveness. Moreover, -the fact that they shared the same room and performed similar duties -made familiar intercourse between them natural and necessary. With no -other member of the staff did Richard care to associate. The articled -clerks, though courteously agreeable to everyone, formed an exclusive -coterie; and as for the rest, they were either old or dull, or both. -He often debated whether he should seek out Mr. Aked, who was now -recovered, and had once, unfortunately in Richard's absence, called at -the office; but at length he timidly decided that the extent of their -acquaintance would not warrant it. - -"Where shall we go to lunch to-day?" was almost the first question -which Richard and Jenkins asked each other in the morning, and a -prolonged discussion would follow. They called the meal "lunch," but it -was really their dinner, though neither of them ever admitted the fact. - -Jenkins had a predilection for grill-rooms, where raw chops and -steaks lay on huge dishes, and each customer chose his own meat and -superintended its cooking. A steak, tender and perfectly cooked, with -baked potatoes and half a pint of stout, was his ideal repast, and he -continually lamented that no restaurant in London offered such cheer -at the price of one shilling and threepence, including the waiter. -The cheap establishments were never satisfactory, and Jenkins only -frequented them when the state of his purse left no alternative. In -company with Richard he visited every new eating-house that made its -appearance, in the hope of finding the restaurant of his dreams, and -though each was a disappointment, yet the search still went on. The -place which most nearly coincided with his desires was the "Sceptre," -a low, sombre room between the Law Courts and the river, used by -well-to-do managing clerks and a sprinkling of junior barristers. Here, -lounging luxuriously on red plush seats, and in full sight and hearing -of a large silver grill, the two spent many luncheon hours, eating -slowly, with gross, sensual enjoyment, and secretly elated by the -proximity of men older and more prosperous than themselves, whom they -met on equal terms. - -Richard once suggested that they should try one of the French -restaurants in Soho which Mr. Aked had mentioned. - -"Not me!" said Jenkins, in reply. "You don't catch me going to those -parley-voo shops again. I went once. They give you a lot of little -messes, faked up from yesterday's dirty plates, and after you've eaten -half a dozen of 'em you don't feel a bit fuller. Give me a steak and a -potato. I like to know what I'm eating." - -He had an equal detestation of vegetarian restaurants, but once, during -a period of financial depression, he agreed to accompany Richard, -who knew the place fairly well, to the "Crabtree" in Charing Cross -Road, and though he grumbled roundly at the insubstantiality of the -three-course dinner _à la carte_ which could be obtained for sixpence, -he made no difficulty, afterwards, about dining there whenever -prudence demanded the narrowest economy. - -An air of chill and prim discomfort pervaded the Crabtree, and the -mingled odour of lentils and sultana pudding filled every corner. The -tables were narrow, and the chairs unyielding. The customers were for -the most eccentric as to dress and demeanour; they had pale faces, and -during their melancholy meals perused volumes obviously instructive, or -debated the topics of the day in platitudinous conversations unspiced -by a single oath. Young women with whom their personal appearance was -a negligible quantity came in large numbers, and either giggled to one -another without restraint or sat erect and glared at the males in a -manner which cowed even Jenkins. The waitresses lacked understanding, -and seemed to resent even the most courteous advances. - -One day, just as they were beginning dinner, Jenkins eagerly drew -Richard's attention to the girl at the pay-desk. "See that girl?" he -said. - -"What about her? Is she a new one?" - -"Why, she's the tart that old Aked used to be after." - -"Was she at that A. B. C. shop in the Strand?" said Richard, who began -to remember the girl's features and her reddish brown hair. - -"Yes, that's her. Before she was at the A. B. C. she was cashier at -that boiled-beef place opposite the Courts, but they say she got the -sack for talking to customers too much. She and Aked were very thick -then, and he went there every day. I suppose his courting interfered -with business." - -"But he's old enough to be her father!" - -"Yes. He ought to have been ashamed of himself. She's not a bad kind, -eh?" - -"There wasn't anything between them, really, was there?" - -"_I_ don't know. There might have been. He followed her to the A. B. C, -and I think he sometimes took her home. Her name's Roberts. We used to -have him on about her--rare fun." - -The story annoyed Richard, for his short _tête-à-tête_ with Mr. Aked -had remained in his mind as a pleasant memory, and though he was aware -that the old man had been treated with scant respect by the youngsters -in the office, he had acquired the habit of mentally regarding him -with admiration, as a representative of literature. This attachment to -a restaurant cashier, clearly a person of no refinement or intellect, -scarcely fitted with his estimate of the journalist who had spoken to -Carlyle. - -During the meal he surreptitiously glanced at the girl several times. -She was plumper than before, and her cough seemed to be cured. Her -face was pleasant, and undoubtedly she had a magnificent coiffure. - -When they presented their checks, Jenkins bowed awkwardly, and she -smiled. He swore to Richard that next time he would mention Mr. -Aked's name to her. The vow was broken. She was willing to exchange -civilities, but her manner indicated with sufficient clearness that a -line was to be drawn. - -In the following week, when Richard happened to be at the Crabtree -alone, at a later hour than usual, they had rather a long conversation. - -"Is Mr. Aked still at your office?" she asked, looking down at her -account books. - -Richard told what he knew. - -"Oh!" she said, "I often used to see him, and he gave me some lozenges -that cured a bad cough I had. Nice old fellow, wasn't he?" - -"Yes, I fancy so," Richard assented. - -"I thought I'd just ask, as I hadn't seen him about for a long time." - -"Good afternoon--Miss Roberts." - -"Good afternoon--Mr.----" - -"Larch." - -They both laughed. - -A trivial dispute with Jenkins, a few days later, disclosed the -fact that that haunter of bars had a sullen temper, and that his -displeasure, once aroused, was slow to disappear. Richard dined alone -again at the Crabtree, and after another little conversation with Miss -Roberts, having time at his disposal, he called at the public library -in St. Martin's Lane. In a half-crown review he saw an article, by a -writer of considerable repute, entitled "To Literary Aspirants," which -purported to demonstrate that a mastery of the craft of words was only -to be attained by a regular course of technical exercises; the nature -of these exercises was described in detail. There were references to -the unremitting drudgery of Flaubert, de Maupassant, and Stevenson, -together with extracts chosen to illustrate the slow passage of the -last-named author from inspired incompetence to the serene and perfect -proficiency before which all difficulties melted. After an unqualified -statement that any man--slowly if without talent, quickly if gifted by -nature--might with determined application learn to write finely, the -essayist concluded by remarking that never before in the history of -literature had young authors been so favourably circumstanced as at -that present. Lastly came the maxim, _Nulla dies sine linea_. - -Richard's cooling enthusiasm for letters leaped into flame. He had -done no writing whatever for several weeks, but that night saw him -desperately at work. He took advantage of the quarrel to sever all -save the most formal connection with Jenkins, dined always frugally at -the Crabtree, and spent every evening at his lodging. The thought of -Alphonse Daudet writing "Les Amoureuses" in a Parisian garret supported -him through an entire month of toil, during which, besides assiduously -practising the recommended exercises, he wrote a complete short story -and began several essays. About this time his "City of Sleep" was -returned upon his hands in a condition so filthy and ragged that he was -moved to burn it. The short story was offered to an evening daily, and -never heard of again. - -It occurred to him that possibly he possessed some talent for dramatic -criticism, and one Saturday evening he went to the first performance -of a play at the St. George's theatre. After waiting for an hour -outside, he got a seat in the last row of the pit. Eagerly he watched -the critics take their places in the stalls; they chatted languidly, -smiling and bowing now and then to acquaintances in the boxes and dress -circle; the pit was excited and loquacious, and Richard discovered that -nearly everyone round about him made a practice of attending first -nights, and had an intimate knowledge of the _personnel_ of the stage. -Through the hum of voices the overture to "Rosamund" fitfully reached -him. During whole bars the music was lost; then some salient note -caught the ear, and the melody became audible again until another wave -of conversation engulfed it. - -The conclusion of the last act was greeted with frenzied hand-clapping, -beating of sticks, and inarticulate cries, while above the general -noise was heard the repeated monosyllable "'thor, 'thor." After what -seemed an interminable delay the curtain was drawn back at one side -and a tall man in evening dress, his face a dead white, stepped before -the footlights and bowed several times; the noise rose to a thunderous -roar, in which howls and hissing were distinguishable. Richard shook -from head to foot, and tears unaccountably came to his eyes. - -The whole of Sunday and Monday evening were occupied in writing a -detailed analysis and appreciation of the play. On Tuesday morning he -bought a weekly paper which devoted special attention to the drama, in -order to compare his own view with that of an acknowledged authority, -and found that the production was dismissed in ten curt lines as mere -amiable drivel. - -A few days afterwards Mr. Curpet offered him the position of cashier -in the office, at a salary of three pounds a week. His income was -exactly doubled, and the disappointments of unsuccessful authorship -suddenly ceased to trouble him. He began to doubt the wisdom of making -any further attempt towards literature. Was it not clear that his -talents lay in the direction of business? Nevertheless a large part -of his spare cash was devoted to the purchase of books, chiefly the -productions of a few celebrated old continental presses, which he had -recently learned to value. He prepared a scheme for educating himself -in the classical tongues and in French, and the practice of writing was -abandoned to make opportunity for the pursuit of culture. But culture -proved to be shy and elusive. He adhered to no regular course of study, -and though he read much, his progress towards knowledge was almost -imperceptible. - -Other distractions presented themselves in the shape of music and -painting. He discovered that he was not without critical taste -in both these arts, and he became a frequenter of concerts and -picture-galleries. He bought a piano on the hire-purchase system, and -took lessons thereon. In this and other ways his expenditure swelled -till it more than swallowed up the income of three pounds a week which -not long before he had regarded as something very like wealth. For -many weeks he made no effort to adjust the balance, until his debts -approached the sum of twenty pounds, nearly half of which was owing to -his landlady. He had to go through more than one humiliating scene -before an era of economy set in. - -One afternoon he received a telegram to say that William Vernon had -died very suddenly. It was signed "Alice Clayton Vernon." Mrs. Vernon -was William's stately cousin-in-law, and Richard, to whom she had -spoken only once,--soon after Mary's wedding,--regarded her with awe; -he disliked her because he found it impossible to be at ease in her -imposing presence. As he went into Mr. Curpet's room to ask for leave -of absence, his one feeling was annoyance at the prospect of having -to meet her again. William's death, to his own astonishment, scarcely -affected him at all. - -Mr. Curpet readily granted him two days' holiday, and he arranged to go -down to Bursley the following night for the funeral. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Wearied of sitting, Richard folded his overcoat pillow-wise, put it -under his head, and extended himself on the polished yellow wood. But -in vain were his eyes shut tight. Sleep would not come, though he -yawned incessantly. The monstrous beat of the engine, the quick rattle -of windows, and the grinding of wheels were fused into a fantastic -resonance which occupied every corner of the carriage and invaded his -very skull. Then a light tapping on the roof, one of those mysterious -sounds which make a compartment in a night-train like a haunted room, -momentarily silenced everything else, and he wished that he had not -been alone. - -Suddenly jumping up, he put away all idea of sleep, and lowered the -window. It was pitch dark; vague changing shapes, which might have been -either trees or mere fancies of the groping eye, outlined themselves a -short distance away; far in front was a dull glare from the engine, and -behind twinkled the guard's lamp.... In a few seconds he closed the -window again, chilled to the bone, though May was nearly at an end. - -The thought occurred to him that he was now a solitary upon the face -of the earth. It concerned no living person whether he did evil or -good. If he chose to seek ruin, to abandon himself to the most ignoble -impulses, there was none to restrain,--not even a brother-in-law. For -several weeks past, he had been troubled about his future, afraid -to face it. Certainly London satisfied him, and the charm of living -there had not perceptibly grown less. He rejoiced in London, in its -vistas, its shops, its unending crowds, its vastness, its wickedness; -each dream dreamed about London in childhood had come true; and surer -than ever before was the consciousness that in going to London he had -fulfilled his destiny. Yet there was something to lack in himself. -His confidence in his own abilities and his own character was being -undermined. Nearly a year had gone, and he had made no progress, except -at the office. Resolutions were constantly broken; it was three months -since he had despatched an article to a newspaper. He had not even -followed a definite course of study, and though his acquaintance with -modern French fiction had widened, he could boast no exact scholarship -even in that piquant field. Evening after evening--ah! those long, -lamplit evenings which were to be given to strenuous effort!--was -frittered away upon mean banalities, sometimes in the company of some -casual acquaintance and sometimes alone. He had by no means grasped the -full import and extent of this retrogression; it was merely beginning -to disturb his self-complacence, and perhaps, ever so slightly, his -sleep. But now, hurrying to the funeral of William Vernon, he lazily -laughed at himself for having allowed his peace of mind to be ruffled. -Why bother about "getting on"? What did it matter? - -He still experienced but little sorrow at the death of Vernon. His -affection for the man had strangely faded. During the nine months that -he had lived in London they had scarcely written to one another, and -Richard regarded the long journey to attend William's obsequies as a -tiresome concession to propriety. - -That was his real attitude, had he cared to examine it. - -At about four o'clock it was quite light, and the risen sun woke -Richard from a brief doze. The dew lay in the hollows of the fields but -elsewhere there was a soft, fresh clearness which gave to the common -incidents of the flying landscape a new and virginal beauty--as though -that had been the morn of creation itself. The cattle were stirring, -and turned to watch the train as it slipped by. - -Richard opened the window again. His mood had changed, and he felt -unreasonably joyous. Last night he had been too pessimistic. Life lay -yet before him, and time enough to rectify any indiscretions of which -he might have been guilty. The future was his, to use as he liked. -Magnificent, consoling thought! Moved by some symbolic association of -ideas, he put his head out of the window and peered in the direction of -the train's motion. A cottage stood alone in the midst of innumerable -meadows; as it crossed his vision, the door opened, and a young woman -came out with an empty pail swinging in her left hand. Apparently she -would be about twenty-seven, plump and sturdy and straight. Her hair -was loose about her round, contented face, and with her disengaged -hand she rubbed her eyes, still puffed and heavy with sleep. She wore -a pink print gown, the bodice of which was unfastened, disclosing a -white undergarment and the rich hemispheres of her bosom. In an instant -the scene was hidden by a curve of the line, and the interminable -succession of fields resumed, but Richard had time to guess from her -figure that the woman was the mother of a small family. He pictured her -husband still unconscious in the warm bed which she had just left; he -even saw the impress of her head on the pillow, and a long nightdress -thrown hastily across a chair. - -He was deeply and indescribably affected by this suggestion of peaceful -married love set in so great a solitude. The woman and her hypothetical -husband and children were only peasants, their lives were probably -narrow and their intellects dormant, yet they aroused in him a feeling -of envy which surged about his brain and for the moment asphyxiated -thought.... - -Later on the train slackened speed as it passed through a -shunting-yard. The steam from the light shunting-engine rose with -cloud-like delicacy in the clear air, and an occasional short whistle -seemed to have something of the quality of a bird's note. The men with -their long poles moved blithely among the medley of rails, signalling -one another with motions of the arm. The coupling-chains rang with a -merry, giant tinkle, and when the engine brought its load of waggons to -a standstill, and a smart, metallic bump, bump, bump ran _diminuendo_ -from waggon to waggon, one might have fancied that some leviathan game -was being played. Richard forgot the girl with the pail, and soon after -went to sleep. - -At six o'clock the train reached Knype, where he had to change. Two -women with several children also alighted, and he noticed how white -and fatigued were their faces; the children yawned pitifully. An icy, -searching wind blew through the station; the exhilaration of the -dawn was gone, and a spirit of utter woe and disaster brooded over -everything. For the first time William's death really touched him. - -The streets of Bursley were nearly empty as he walked through the town -from the railway station, for the industrial population was already -at work in the manufactories, and the shops not yet open. Yet Richard -avoided the main thoroughfares, choosing a circuitous route lest he -might by chance encounter an acquaintance. He foresaw the inevitable -banal dialogue:-- - -"Well, how do you like London?" - -"Oh, it's fine!" - -"Getting on all right?" - -"Yes, thanks." - -And then the effort of two secretly bored persons to continue a -perfunctory conversation unaided by a single mutual interest. - -A carriage was driving away from the Red House just as Richard got -within sight of it; he nodded to the venerable coachman, who gravely -touched his hat. The owner of the carriage was Mr. Clayton Vernon, -William's cousin and an alderman of Bursley, and Richard surmised that -Mrs. Clayton Vernon had put herself in charge of the place until the -funeral should be over. He trembled at the prospect of a whole day to -be spent in the company of these excellent people, whom William had -always referred to with a smile, and yet not without a great deal of -respect. The Clayton Vernons were the chief buttress of respectability -in the town; rich, strictly religious, philanthropic, and above all -dignified. Everyone looked up to them instinctively, and had they -possessed but one vice between them, they would have been loved. - -Mrs. Clayton Vernon herself opened the door. She was a stately woman of -advanced middle age, with a suave, imperious manner. - -"I left Clayton to have breakfast by himself," she said, as she led -Richard into the sitting-room; "I thought you would like someone here -to welcome you after your long night journey. Breakfast will be ready -almost directly. How tired you must be! Clayton said it was a pity you -should come by the night train, but of course it is quite right that -you should inconvenience your employers as little as possible, quite -right. And we admire you for it. Now will you run upstairs and wash? -You've not forgotten the way?..." - -The details of the funeral had been settled by Mr. Clayton Vernon, -who was the chief mourner, and Richard had nothing to do but fall in -with preconcerted plans and answer decorously when spoken to. The -arrangement was satisfactory in that it relieved him from duties which -would have been irksome, but scarcely gratifying to his pride. He had -lived nearly all his life in that house, and had known the dead man -perhaps more intimately than anyone else present. However, he found it -convenient to efface himself. - -In the evening there was an elaborate tea at which were present the -Clayton Vernons and the minister who had conducted the funeral service. -The minister and the alderman left immediately afterwards to attend a -meeting, and when they were gone Mrs. Clayton Vernon said,-- - -"Now we are all alone, Richard. Go into the drawing-room and I will -follow. I do want to have a chat with you." - -She came in with needle and thread and scissors. - -"If you will take off your coat, I will stitch on that button that is -hanging by one thread. I noticed it this morning, and then it went -quite out of my mind. I am so sorry!" - -"Oh, thanks!" he blushed hotly. "But I can stitch myself, you know--" - -"Come, you needn't be shy of an old woman seeing you in your -shirt-sleeves. Do as I ask." - -He doffed the coat. - -"I always like young men to be immaculately neat," she said, cutting -off a piece of cotton. "One's personal character is an index to one's -character, don't you think? Of course you do. Here, thread the needle -for me. I am afraid since your dear sister died you have grown a little -careless, eh? She was _most_ particular. Ah, what a mother she was to -you!" - -"Yes," said Richard. - -"I was very grieved to see you go to the funeral in a soft -hat--Richard, really I was. It wasn't respectful to your -brother-in-law's memory." - -"I never thought. You see, I started in rather a hurry." The fact was -that he had no silk hat, nor could he easily afford to buy one. - -"But you _should_ think, my dear boy. Even Clayton was shocked. Are -those your best clothes?" - -Richard answered that they were. He sheepishly protested that he never -bothered about clothes. - -There was a silence, broken by her regular stitching. At last she -handed him the coat and helped him to put it on. He went to the old -green sofa, and somewhat to his dismay she sat down by his side. - -"Richard," she began, in a changed, soft voice, and not without -emotion, "do you know we are expecting great things from you?" - -"But you shouldn't. I'm a very ordinary sort of person." - -"No, no. That you are not. God has given you great talents, and you -must use them. Poor William always used to say that you were highly -gifted and might do great things." - -"Might!" - -"Yes--if you tried." - -"But how am I gifted? And what 'great things' are expected?" he asked, -perhaps angling for further flattering disclosures. - -"I cannot answer that," said Mrs. Clayton Vernon; "it is for you to -answer. You have given all your friends the impression that you would -do something worth doing. You have raised hopes, and you must not -disappoint them. We believe in you, Richard. That is all I can say." - -"That's all very well; but--" He stopped and played with the seal on -his watch-chain. "The fact is, I am working, you know. I want to be an -author--at least a journalist." - -"Ah!" - -"It's a slow business--at first--" Suddenly moved to be confidential, -he went on to give her some account, incomplete and judiciously -edited, of his life during the past year. - -"You have relieved my mind greatly, and Clayton will be so glad. We -were beginning to think--" - -"Why were you 'beginning to think'?" - -"Well, never mind now." - -"But why?" - -"Never mind. I have full confidence in you, and I am sure you will get -on. Poor boy, you have no near connections or relatives now?" - -"No, none." - -"You must look on Clayton and myself as very near relatives. We have no -children, but our hearts are large. I shall expect you to write to me -sometimes and to come and stay with us now and then." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -In the centre of the reading-room at the British Museum sit four men -fenced about by a quadruple ring of unwieldy volumes which are an index -to all the knowledge in the world. The four men know those volumes as -a good courier knows the Continental Bradshaw, and all day long, from -early morning, when the attendants, self-propelled on wheeled stools, -run around the rings arranging and aligning the huge blue tomes, to -late afternoon, when the immense dome is like a dark night and the -arc lamps hiss and crackle in the silence, they answer questions, -patiently, courteously; they are seldom embarrassed and less seldom in -the wrong. - -Radiating in long rows from the central fortress of learning, a -diversified company of readers disposes itself: bishops, statesmen, -men of science, historians, needy pedants, popular authors whose -broughams are waiting in the precincts, journalists, medical students, -law students, curates, hack-writers, women with clipped hair and black -aprons, idlers; all short-sighted and all silent. - -Every few minutes an official enters in charge of an awed group of -country visitors, and whispers mechanically the unchanging formula: -"Eighty thousand volumes in this room alone: thirty-six miles of -bookshelves in the Museum altogether." Whereupon the visitors stare -about them, the official unsuccessfully endeavours not to let it appear -that the credit of the business belongs entirely to himself, and the -party retires again. - -Vague, reverberating noises roll heavily from time to time across the -chamber, but no one looks up; the incessant cannibal feast of the -living upon the dead goes speechlessly forward; the trucks of food are -always moving to and fro, and the nonchalant waiters seem to take no -rest. - -Almost Richard's first care on coming to London had been to obtain -a reader's ticket for the British Museum, and for several months he -had made a practice of spending Saturday afternoon there, following -no special line of study or research, and chiefly contenting himself -with desultory reading in the twenty thousand volumes which could be -reached down without the slow machinery of an order form. After a time -the charm of the place had dwindled, and other occupations filled his -Saturday afternoons. - -But when upon his return from William's funeral he stepped from -Euston Station into Bloomsbury, the old enthusiasms came back in all -their original freshness. The seduction of the street vistas, the -lofty buildings, and the swiftly flitting hansoms once more made mere -wayfaring a delight; the old feeling of self-confident power lifted his -chin, and the failures of the past were forgotten in a dream of future -possibilities. He dwelt with pleasure on that part of his conversation -with Mrs. Clayton Vernon which disclosed the interesting fact that -Bursley would be hurt if he failed to do "things." Bursley, and -especially Mrs. Clayton Vernon, good woman, should not be disappointed. -He had towards his native town the sentiments of a consciously clever -husband who divines an admiring trust in the glance of a little -ignoramus of a wife. Such faith was indeed touching. - -One of the numerous resolutions which he made was to resume attendance -at the British Museum; the first visit was anticipated with impatience, -and when he found himself once more within the book-lined walls of the -reading-room he was annoyed to discover that his plans for study were -not matured sufficiently to enable him to realise any definite part -of them, however small, that day. An idea for an article on "White -Elephants" was nebulous in his brain; he felt sure that the subject -might be treated in a fascinating manner, if only he could put hands -on the right material. An hour passed in searching Poole's Index -and other works of reference, without result, and Richard spent the -remainder of the afternoon in evolving from old magazines schemes -for articles which would present fewer difficulties in working out. -Nothing of value was accomplished, and yet he experienced neither -disappointment nor a sense of failure. Contact with innumerable books -of respectable but forbidding appearance had cajoled him, as frequently -before, into the delusion that he had been industrious; surely it was -impossible that a man could remain long in that atmosphere of scholarly -attainment without acquiring knowledge and improving his mind! - -Presently he abandoned the concoction of attractive titles for his -articles, and began to look through some volumes of the "Biographie -Universelle." The room was thinning now. He glanced at the clock; it -was turned six. He had been there nearly four hours! With a sigh of -satisfaction he replaced all his books and turned to go, mentally -discussing whether or not so much application did not entitle him, in -spite of certain resolutions, to go to the Ottoman that evening. - -"Hey!" a voice called out as he passed the glass screen near the door; -it sang resonantly among the desks and ascended into the dome; a number -of readers looked up. Richard turned round sharply, and beheld Mr. -Aked moving a forefinger on the other side of the screen. - -"Been here long?" the older man asked, when Richard had come round -to him. "I've been here all day--first time for fifteen years at -least. Strange we didn't see each other. They've got a beastly new -regulation about novels less than five years old not being available. I -particularly wanted some of Gissing's--not for the mere fun of reading -'em of course, because I've read 'em before. I wanted them for a -special purpose--I may tell you about it some day--and I couldn't get -them, at least several of them. What a tremendous crowd there is here -nowadays!" - -"Well, you see, it's Saturday afternoon," Richard put in, "and Saturday -afternoon's the only time that most people can come, unless they're men -of independent means like yourself. You seem to have got a few novels -besides Gissing's, though." About forty volumes were stacked upon Mr. -Aked's desk, many of them open. - -"Yes, but I've done now." He began to close the books with a smack and -to pitch them down roughly in new heaps, exactly like a petulant boy -handling school-books. "See, pile them between my arms, and I bet you -I'll carry them away all at once." - -"Oh, no. I'll help you," Richard laughed. "It'll be far less trouble -than picking up what you drop." - -While they were waiting at the centre desk Mr. Aked said,-- - -"There's something about this place that makes you ask for more volumes -than can possibly be useful to you. I question whether I've done any -good here to-day at all. If I'd been content with three or four books -instead of thirty or forty, I might have done something. By the way, -what are you here for?" - -"Well, I just came to look up a few points," Richard answered vaguely. -"I've been messing about--got a notion or two for articles, that's all." - -Mr. Aked stopped to shake hands as soon as they were outside the -Museum. Richard was very disappointed that their meeting should have -been so short. This man of strange vivacity had thrown a spell over -him. Richard was sure that his conversation, if only he could be -persuaded to talk, would prove delightfully original and suggestive; -he guessed that they were mutually sympathetic. Ever since their -encounter in the A. B. C. shop Richard had desired to know more of -him, and now, when by chance they met again, Mr. Aked's manner showed -little or no inclination towards a closer acquaintance. There was of -course a difference between them in age of at least thirty years, but -to Richard that seemed no bar to an intimacy. It was, he surmised, only -the physical part of Mr. Aked that had grown old. - -"Well, good-bye." - -"Good-bye." Should he ask if he might call at Mr. Aked's rooms or -house, or whatever his abode was? He hesitated, from nervousness. - -"Often come here?" - -"Generally on Saturdays," said Richard. - -"We may see each other again, then, sometime. Good-bye." - -Richard left him rather sadly, and the sound of the old man's quick, -alert footsteps--he almost stamped--receded in the direction of -Southampton Row. A minute later, as Richard was turning round by -Mudie's out of Museum Street, a hand touched his shoulder. It was Mr. -Aked's. - -"By the way," the man's face crinkled into a smile as he spoke, "are -you doing anything to-night?" - -"Nothing whatever." - -"Let's go and have dinner together--I know a good French place in Soho." - -"Oh, thanks. I shall be awfully pleased." - -"Half a crown, _table d'hôte_. Can you afford?" - -"Certainly I can," said Richard, perhaps a little annoyed, until -he recollected that Mr. Aked had used exactly the same phrase on a -previous occasion. - -"I'll pay for the wine." - -"Not at all--" - -"I'll pay for the wine," Mr. Aked repeated decisively. - -"All right. You told me about this Soho place before, if you remember." - -"So I did, so I did, so I did." - -"What made you turn back?" - -"A whim, young friend, nothing else. Take my arm." - -Richard laughed aloud, for no reason in particular, except that he felt -happy. They settled to a brisk walk. - - * * * * * - -The restaurant was a square apartment with a low and smoky beamed -ceiling, and shining brass hat-pegs all round the walls; above the -hat-pegs were framed advertisements of liqueurs and French, Italian, -and Spanish wines. The little tables, whose stiff snowy cloths came -near to touching the floor at every side, gleamed and glittered in the -light of a fire. The place was empty save for an old waiter who was -lighting the gas. The waiter turned a large, mild countenance to Mr. -Aked as the two entered, and smiling benignly greeted him with a flow -of French, and received a brief reply in the same language. Richard -failed to comprehend what was said. - -They chose a table near the fire. Mr. Aked at once pulled a book from -his pocket and began to read; and Richard, somewhat accustomed by this -time to his peculiarities, found nothing extraordinary in such conduct. -This plain little restaurant seemed full of enchantment. He was in -Paris,--not the great Paris which is reached _via_ Charing Cross, but -that little Paris which hides itself in the immensity of London. French -newspapers were scattered about the room; the sound of French voices -came musically through an open door; the bread which was presently -brought in with the _hors d'oeuvre_ was French, and the setting of the -table itself showed an exotic daintiness which he had never seen before. - -Outside a barrel organ was piercingly strident in the misty dusk. Above -the ground-glass panes of the window, Richard could faintly descry the -upper storeys of houses on the opposite side of the road. There was a -black and yellow sign, "Umberto Club," and above that a blue and red -sign, "Blanchisserie française." Still higher was an open window from -which leaned a young, negligently dressed woman with a coarse Southern -face; she swung a bird-cage idly in her hand; the bird-cage fell -and was swallowed by the ground glass, and the woman with a gesture -of despair disappeared from the window; the barrel organ momentarily -ceased its melody and then struck up anew. - -Everything seemed strangely, delightfully unsubstantial, even the -meek, bland face of the waiter as he deftly poured out the soup. Mr. -Aked, having asked for the wine list, called "Cinquante, Georges, s'il -vous plait," and divided his attention impartially between his soup -and his book. Richard picked up the "Echo de Paris" which lay on a -neighbouring chair. On the first page was a reference in displayed type -to the success of the feuilleton "_de notre collaborateur distingué_," -Catulle Mendès. How wondrously enticing the feuilleton looked, with its -descriptive paragraphs cleverly diversified by short lines of dialogue, -and at the end "CATULLE MENDÈS, _à suivre. Réproduction interdite!_" -Half Paris, probably, was reading that feuilleton! Catulle Mendès was a -real man, and no doubt eating his dinner at that moment! - -When the fish came, and Georges had gently poured out the wine, Mr. -Aked's tongue was loosed. - -"And how has the Muse been behaving herself?" he began. - -Richard told him, with as little circumlocution as pride would allow, -the history of the last few sterile months. - -"I suppose you feel a bit downhearted." - -"Not in the least!" answered Richard, bravely, and just then his reply -was approximately true. - -"_Never_ feel downhearted?" - -"Well, of course one gets a bit sick sometimes." - -"Let's see, to-day's the 30th. How many words have you written this -month?" - -"How many words!" Richard laughed. "I never count what I do in that -way. But it's not much. I haven't felt in the humour. There was the -funeral. That put me off." - -"I suppose you think you must write only _when the mood is on you_." -Mr. Aked spoke sarcastically, and then laughed. "Quite a mistake. I'll -give you this bit of advice and charge nothing for it. Sit down every -night and write five hundred words descriptive of some scene which has -occurred during the day. Never mind how tired you are; do it. Do it -for six months, and then compare the earlier work with the later, and -you'll keep on." - -Richard drank the wisdom in. - -"Did you do that once?" - -"I did, sir. Everyone does it that comes to anything. I didn't come to -anything, though I made a bit of money at one time. But then mine was -a queer case. I was knocked over by dyspepsia. Beware of dyspepsia. I -was violently dyspeptic for twenty years--simply couldn't write. Then -I cured myself. But it was too late to begin again." He spoke in gulps -between mouthfuls of fish. - -"How did you cure yourself?" - -The man took no notice of the question, and went on:-- - -"And if I haven't written anything for twenty years, I'm still an -author at heart. In fact, I've got something 'in the air' now. Oh! I've -always had the literary temperament badly. Do you ever catch yourself -watching instinctively for the characteristic phrase?" - -"I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean." - -"Eh?" - -Richard repeated what he had said, but Mr. Aked was absorbed in pouring -out another glass of wine. - -"I wish you'd tell me," Richard began, after a pause, "how you first -_began_ to write, or rather to get printed." - -"My dear little friend, I can't tell you anything new. I wrote for -several years and never sold a line. And for what peculiar reason, -should you think? Simply because not a line was worth printing. Then my -things began to be accepted. I sold a story first; I forget the title, -but I remember there was a railway accident in it, and it happened to -come before the editor of a magazine just when everyone was greatly -excited about a railway smash in the West of England. I got thirty -shillings for that." - -"I think I should get on all right enough if only I could sell _one_ -thing." Richard sighed. - -"Well, you must wait. Why, damn it all, man!"--he stopped to drink, and -Richard noticed how his hand shook. "How long have you been working -seriously? Not a year! If you were going in for painting, you surely -wouldn't expect to sell pictures after only a year's study?" Mr. Aked -showed a naïve appreciation of himself in the part of a veteran who -deigns to give a raw recruit the benefit of vast experience. - -"Of course not," assented Richard, abashed. - -"Well, then, don't begin to whine." - -After the cheese Mr. Aked ordered coffee and cognac, and sixpenny -cigars. They smoked in silence. - -"Do you know," Richard blurted out at length, "the fact is I'm not -sure that I'm meant for writing at all. I never take any pleasure -_in_ writing. It's a confounded nuisance." He almost trembled with -apprehension as he uttered the words. - -"You like thinking about what you're going to write, arranging, -observing, etc.?" - -"Yes, I like that awfully." - -"Well, here's a secret. No writer does like writing, at least not one -in a hundred, and the exception, ten to one, is a howling mediocrity. -That's a fact. But all the same they're miserable if they don't write." - -"I'm glad; there's hope." - -When Richard had finished his coffee, it occurred to him to mention -Miss Roberts. - -"Do you ever go to the Crabtree?" he asked. - -"Not of late." - -"I only ask because there's a girl there who knows you. She inquired of -me how you were not long since." - -"A girl who knows me? Who the devil may she be?" - -"I fancy her name's Roberts." - -"Aha! So she's got a new place, has she? She lives in my street. That's -how I know her. Nice little thing, rather!" - -He made no further remark on the subject, but there remained an absent, -amused smile on his face, and he pulled at his lower lip and fastened -his gaze on the table. - -"You must come down sometime, and see me; my niece keeps house for me," -he said before they separated, giving an address in Fulham. He wrung -Richard's hand, patted him on the shoulder, winking boyishly, and went -off whistling to himself very quietly in the upper register. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -The slender, badly hung gate closed of itself behind him with a -resounding clang, communicating a little thrill to the ground. - -In answer to his ring a girl came to the door. She was rather short, -thin, and dressed in black, with a clean white apron. In the half light -of the narrow lobby he made out a mahogany hat-rack of conventional -shape, and on a wooden bracket a small lamp with a tarnished reflector. - -"No," Richard heard in a quiet, tranquil voice, "Mr. Aked has just gone -out for a walk. He didn't say what time he should be back. Can I give -him any message?" - -"He sent me a card to come down and see him this afternoon, and--I've -come. He said about seven o'clock. It's a quarter past now. But perhaps -he forgot all about it." - -"Will you step inside? He may only be away for a minute or two." - -"No, thanks. If you'll just tell him I've called--" - -"I'm so sorry--" The girl raised her hand and rested it against the -jamb of the doorway; her eyes were set slantwise on the strip of -garden, and she seemed to muse an instant. - -"Are you Mr. Larch?" she asked hesitatingly, just as Richard was saying -good-day. - -"Yes," answered Richard. - -"Uncle was telling me he had had dinner with you. I'm _sure_ he'll be -back soon. Won't you wait a little while?" - -"Well--" - -She stood aside, and Richard passed into the lobby. - -The front room, into which he was ushered, was full of dim shadows, -attributable to the multiplicity of curtains which obscured the -small bay window. Carteret Street and the half-dozen florid, tawny, -tree-lined avenues that run parallel to it contain hundreds of living -rooms almost precisely similar. Its dimensions were thirteen feet by -eleven, and the height of the ceiling appeared to bring the walls, -which were papered in an undecipherable pattern of blue, even closer -together than they really were. Linoleum with a few rugs served for -a carpet. The fireplace was of painted stone, and a fancy screen of -South African grasses hid the grate. Behind a clock and some vases -on the mantelpiece rose a confection of walnut and silvered glass. A -mahogany chiffonier filled the side of the room farthest from the -window; it had a marble top and a large mirror framed in scroll work, -and was littered with salt-cellars, fruit plates, and silver nicknacks. -The table, a square one, was covered by a red cloth of flannel-like -texture patterned in black. The chairs were of mahogany and horsehair, -and matched the sofa, which stretched from the door nearly to the -window. Several prints framed in gilt and oak depended by means of -stout green cord from French nails with great earthenware heads. In the -recess to the left of the hearth stood a piano, open, and a song on the -music-stand. What distinguished the room from others of its type was -a dwarf bookcase filled chiefly with French novels whose vivid yellow -gratefully lightened a dark corner next the door. - -"Uncle is very forgetful," the girl began. There was some sewing on the -table, and she had already taken it up. Richard felt shy and ill at -ease, but his companion showed no symptom of discomposure. He smiled -vaguely, not knowing what to reply. - -"I suppose he walks a good deal," he said at length. - -"Yes, he does." There was a second pause. The girl continued to sew -quietly; she appeared to be indifferent whether they conversed or not. - -"I see you are a musician." - -"Oh, no!" She laughed, and looked at his eyes. "I sing a very little -bit." - -"Do you sing Schubert's songs?" - -"Schubert's? No. Are they good?" - -"Rather. They're _the_ songs." - -"Classical, I suppose." Her tone implied that classical songs were -outside the region of the practical. - -"Yes, of course." - -"I don't think I care much for classical music." - -"But you should." - -"Should I? Why?" She laughed gaily, like a child amused. "Hope Temple's -songs are nice, and 'The River of Years,' I'm just learning that. Do -you sing?" - -"No--I don't really sing. I haven't got a piano at my place--now." - -"What a pity! I suppose you know a great deal about music?" - -"I wish I did!" said Richard, trying awkwardly not to seem flattered. - -A third pause. - -"Mr. Aked seems to have a fine lot of French novels. I wish I had as -many." - -"Yes. He's always bringing them in." - -"And this is the latest, eh?" He picked up "L'Abbé Tigrane," which lay -on the table by the sewing. - -"Yes, I fancy uncle got that last night." - -"You read French, of course?" - -"I! No, indeed!" Again she laughed. "You mustn't imagine, Mr. Larch," -she went on, and her small eyes twinkled, "that I am at all like uncle. -I'm not. I've only kept house for him a little while, and we are -really--quite different." - -"How do you mean, 'like uncle'?" - -"Well," the quiet voice was imperceptibly raised, "I'm not a great -reader, and I know nothing of books. I'm not clever, you know. I can't -bear poetry." - -Richard looked indulgent. - -"But you do read?" - -"Yes, sometimes a novel. I'm reading 'East Lynne.' Uncle bought it for -me the other day." - -"And you like it?" - -There was a timid tap at the door, and a short, stout servant with red -hands and a red face entered; her rough, chubby forearms were bare, and -she carried a market basket. "Please, 'm," she ejaculated meaningly and -disappeared. Mr. Aked's niece excused herself, and when she returned -Richard looked at his watch and rose. - -"I'm very sorry about uncle--but it's just like him." - -"Yes, isn't it?" Richard answered, and they exchanged a smile. - -He walked down Carteret Street humming a tuneless air and twirling -his stick. Mr. Aked's niece had proved rather disappointing. She was -an ordinary girl, and evidently quite unsusceptible to the artistic -influences which subtly emanated from Mr. Aked. But with the exception -of his landlady and his landlady's daughter, she was the first woman -whom Richard had met in London, and the interview had been somewhat of -an ordeal. - -Yes, it was matter for regret. Suppose she had been clever, witty, full -of that "nameless charm" with which youths invest the ideal maidens of -their dreams--with which, indeed, during the past week he had invested -her! He might have married her. Then, guided by the experience of a -sympathetic uncle-in-law, he would have realised all his ambitions. A -vision of Mr. Richard Larch, the well-known editor, and his charming -wife, giving a dinner-party to a carefully selected company of literary -celebrities, flitted before him. Alas! The girl's "East Lynne," her -drawing-room ballads, the mean little serving-maid, the complacent -vulgarity of the room, the house, the street, the neighbourhood, -combined effectually to dispel it. - -He felt sure that she had no aspirations. - -It was necessary to wait for a train at Parson's Green station. From -the elevated platform grass was visible through a gently falling mist. -The curving rails stole away mysteriously into a general greyness, -and the twilight, assuaging every crudity of the suburban landscape, -gave an impression of vast spaces and perfect serenity. Save for the -porter leisurely lighting the station lamps, he was alone,--alone, as -it seemed to him, in an upper world, above London, and especially above -Fulham and the house where lived the girl who read "East Lynne." How -commonplace must she be! Richard wondered that Mr. Aked could exist -surrounded by all the banalities of Carteret Street. Even his own -lodging was more attractive, for at least Raphael Street was within -sound of the central hum and beat of the city. - -A signal suddenly shone out in the distance; it might have been a -lighthouse seen across unnumbered miles of calm ocean. Rain began to -fall. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Richard's Sabbaths had become days of dismal torpor. A year ago, on -first arriving in London, he had projected a series of visits to -churches famous either for architectural beauty or for picturesque -ritual. A few weeks, however, had brought tedium. He was fundamentally -irreligious, and his churchgoing proceeded from a craving, purely -sensuous, which sought gratification in ceremonial pomps, twilight -atmospheres heavy with incense and electric with devotion, and dim -perspectives of arching stone. But these things he soon discovered lost -their fine savour by the mere presence of a prim congregation secure in -the brass armour of self-complacency; for him the worship was spoilt -by the worshippers, and so the time came when the only church which he -cared to attend--and even to this he went but infrequently, lest use -should stale its charm--was the Roman Catholic oratory of St. Philip -Neri, where, at mass, the separation of the sexes struck a grateful -note of austerity, and the mean appearance of the people contrasted -admirably with the splendour of the priests' vestments, the elaborate -music, and the gilt and colour of altars. Here deity was omnipotent -and humanity abject. Men and women of all grades, casting themselves -down before the holy images in the ecstatic abandonment of repentance, -prayed side by side, oblivious of everything save their sins and the -anger of a God. As a spectacle the oratory was sublime. - -He visited it about once a month. The mornings of intervening Sundays -were given to aimless perambulation of the parks, desultory reading, -or sleep; there was nothing to prevent him leaving town for the day, -but he was so innocent of any sort of rural lore that the prospect of a -few hours in the country was seldom enticing enough to rouse sufficient -energy for its accomplishment. After dinner he usually slept, and in -the evening he would take a short walk and go early to bed. For some -reason he never attempted to work on Sundays. - -It had rained continuously since he left Parson's Green station on the -previous night, till midday on Sunday, and in the afternoon he was -lounging half asleep with a volume of verse on his knee, considering -whether or not to put on his hat and go out, when Lily entered; Lily -was attired for conquest, and with her broad velvet hat and pink -bows looked so unlike a servant-girl that drowsy Richard started up, -uncertain what fairy was brightening his room. - -"Please, sir, there's a young gentleman as wants to see you." - -"Oh!--who is it?" No one had ever called upon him before. - -"I don't know, sir; it's a young _gentleman_." - -The young gentleman was ushered in. He wore a new black frock coat, and -light grey trousers which fell in rich folds over new patent-leather -boots. The shortcomings of his linen, which was dull and bluish in -tint, were more than atoned for by the magnificence of a new white silk -necktie with heliotrope spots. He carried a silk hat and a pair of -unworn kid gloves in one hand, and in the other a half-smoked cigar and -a stick, with whose physiognomy Richard was quite familiar. - -"Hello, Jenkins!" - -"Good afternoon, Mr. Larch. I was just passing this way, and I thought -I'd look you up." With an inclination of the head more ridiculous even -than he intended, Jenkins placed his hat, stick, and gloves on the bed, -and, nicely adjusting the tails of his coat, occupied a chair. - -The quarrel between Richard and Jenkins had been patched up a few days -before. - -"So this is your digs. Nice large windows!" - -"Yes, decent windows." - -Although these two were on terms of almost brutal familiarity during -office hours, here each felt slightly uncomfortable in the other's -presence. Jenkins wiped his pallid, unhealthy face with a cambric -handkerchief which he unfolded for the purpose. - -"Been to church this morning?" - -Meditatively Jenkins flicked some cigar-ash into the fire-grate, and -then answered, "Yes." - -"I thought so." - -"Why?" - -"Because you're such a swell." - -"Ain't I, just!" Jenkins spoke with frank delight. "Two guineas the -suit, my boy! Won't I knock 'em in the Wal--worth Road!" - -"But where's your ring?" Richard asked, noticing the absence of the -silver ring which Jenkins commonly wore on his left hand. - -"Oh! I gave it to my sister. She wanted to give it to her young man." - -"She's engaged, is she?" - -"Yes--at least I suppose she is." - -"And when are you going to get engaged?" - -Jenkins emitted a sound expressive of scorn. "You don't catch me -entering the holy bonds. Not this child! It ain't all lavender, you -bet. I say, you know Miss Roberts at the veg--red-haired tart." Jenkins -was unaware that Richard had been going regularly to the Crabtree. "I -was passing the place last night just as they were closing, and I -walked down to Charing Cross with her. I asked her to meet me to-day -somewhere, but she couldn't." - -"You mean she wouldn't. Well, and what sort's she?" - -"Devilish nice, _I_ tell you. But not my style. But there's a girl -I know--lives down the Camberwell New Road. She is a treat now,--a -fair treat. About seventeen, and plump as a pigeon. I shall see her -to-night." - -"Oh, indeed!" said Richard, for the hundredth time marvelling that he -should be on a footing of intimacy with Albert Jenkins. The girl at -Carteret Street, whatever her imperfections, did not use the Cockney -dialect. And her smile was certainly alluring. Moreover, she had -dignity. True, she liked "East Lynne" and Hope Temple's songs, but -it occurred to Richard that it might be pleasanter to listen even to -these despised melodies than to remain solitary at Raphael Street or -to accompany Jenkins on a _prowl_. Why should he not go down that -afternoon to see Mr. Aked--and his niece? He immediately decided that -he would do so. - -"It's turned out fine," said Jenkins. "What are you up to to-night? -Will you come and have a turn round with me?" - -"Let me see.... The fact is, I can't." He fought desperately against -the temptation to mention that he proposed to call on a lady, but in -vain. Forth it must come. "I'm going to see a girl." - -"Aha!" exclaimed Jenkins, with a terribly arch look. "So that's the -little game, eh! Who's the mash?" - -Richard smiled reticently. - -"Well, I'll be off." Jenkins rose, and his eye caught Richard's little -bookcase; he scanned the titles of the volumes. - -"Oh! Likewise ah! Zola! Now we're getting at the secret. No wonder -you're so damn studious. Zola, indeed! Well, so long. See you -to-morrow. Give my love to the girl.... I say, I suppose you haven't -got Zola in English, have you?" - -"No." - -"Never mind. So long." - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -The little red-armed servant beamed an amiable recognition. - -"Very hot day!" Richard said. - -"Beg pardon, sir." - -"Very hot day," rather louder. They were in the passage. - -The door of the sitting-room opened, and Mr. Aked's niece stood before -him, her finger on her lips and her eyebrows raised in a gesture of -warning. She suddenly smiled, almost laughed. Richard remembered that -smile for a long time afterwards. It transformed not only a girl's -face, but the whole of Carteret Street. He had never seen anything like -it. Shaking hands in silence, he followed her into the room, and she -gently closed the door. - -"Uncle's not well," she explained. "He's asleep now, and I don't -want you to wake him. In this house, you know, if any one speaks in -the passage, you can hear it even in the attic. Uncle was caught in -the rain last night; he has a very weak chest, and gets bronchitis -directly." - -"I'm awfully sorry I disturbed you," said Richard. "The fact is I -was down this way, and I thought I'd call." It sounded a sufficiently -reasonable excuse, he considered. "I hope you weren't asleep too." - -"Yes, I was dozing in this chair." She put her head back, and drummed -with her fingers lightly on the arms of the chair. "But I'm glad you've -called." - -"Why?" - -"Oh! Because one wants to see some one--some one new, especially after -being in a sick-room." - -"You've been sitting up late." His tone was accusing. It seemed to him -that somehow they were already intimate. - -"Only till three o'clock, and I slept later this morning. How -changeable the sun is to-day!" She moved her chair, and he saw her -in profile. Her hands were on her lap. She coaxed a foot stool into -position with her toes, and placed her feet on it. - -"You look just like a picture in this week's 'Illustrated London -News'--I mean in general pose," he exclaimed. - -"Do I? How nice that sounds! What is it?" - -"Whistler's 'Portrait of his Mother.' But I hope you don't think I -think you look old." - -"How old do I look?" She turned her head slightly towards him. - -"About twenty-three, only I imagine you're much younger." - -Although she did not reply, she made no pretence of being annoyed, nor -did Richard tax himself with a _gaucherie_. - -"It took me years to like Whistler's pictures," she said; and in -response to Richard's surprised question she was beginning to explain -that a large part of her life had been passed in the companionship of -works of graphic art, when a slippered step was heard in the hall and -some one fumbled with the door-handle. Mr. Aked entered. - -"Uncle! You wicked old man!" She sprang up, flushed, and her eyes -sparkled angrily. "Whatever did you get up for? It's enough to kill -you." - -"Calm yourself, my child. I got up because I didn't want to stay in -bed,--exactly that." Mr. Aked paused to take breath and sank into a -chair. "Larch, I heard your voice in the passage. Upon my word, I -quite forgot you yesterday. I suppose Adeline's been telling you I'm -seriously ill, eh? Ah! I've had many a worse attack than this. Put that -antimacassar over my shoulders, child." - -He had given Richard a hot, limp hand, on which the veins formed soft -ridges in the smooth, brittle skin. His grey hair was disarranged, and -he wore a dirty, torn dressing-gown. His face had lost its customary -alert expression; but his sunk, shining eyes glanced with mysterious -restlessness first at Richard, then at Adeline, who, uttering no -further word, covered him well and put the hassock under his feet. - -"Well, well, well!" he sighed and closed his eyes wearily. The other -two sat silent for a time; then Adeline, talking very quietly, and -with a composure not quite unaffected, took up their interrupted -conversation. Richard gathered that her justifiable vexation would -remain in abeyance till he had gone. Soon her tone grew more natural; -she leaned forward with hands clasped round one knee, and Richard felt -like a receiver of confidences as she roughly outlined her life in the -country which had come to an end only two years ago. Were all the girls -so simply communicative, he wondered; it pleased him to decide that -they were not, and that to any other but himself she would have been -more reserved; that there was, in fact, an affinity between them. But -the presence of her uncle, which Adeline seemed able to ignore utterly, -hindered Richard from being himself. - -"How do you like London, after living so long in the country?" he asked -inevitably. - -"I know practically nothing of London, real London," she said; "but I -think these suburbs are horrid,--far duller than the dullest village. -And the people! They seem so uninteresting, to have no character!" - -The hoarse, fatigued voice of Mr. Aked crept in between them. "Child!" -he said--and he used the appellation, not with the proper dignity of -age, but rather like an omniscient schoolboy, home for the holiday, -addressing a sister--"Child!"--his eyes were still closed,--"the -suburbs, even Walham Green and Fulham, are full of interest, for those -who can see it. Walk along this very street on such a Sunday afternoon -as to-day. The roofs form two horrible, converging straight lines I -know, but beneath there is character, individuality, enough to make -the greatest book ever written. Note the varying indications supplied -by bad furniture seen through curtained windows, like ours" (he -grinned, opened his eyes, and sat up); "listen to the melodies issuing -lamely from ill-tuned pianos; examine the enervated figures of women -reclining amidst flower-pots on narrow balconies. Even in the thin -smoke ascending unwillingly from invisible chimney-pots, the flutter -of a blind, the bang of a door, the winking of a fox terrier perched -on a window-sill, the colour of paint, the lettering of a name,--in -all these things there is character and matter of interest,--truth -waiting to be expounded. How many houses are there in Carteret Street? -Say eighty. Eighty theatres of love, hate, greed, tyranny, endeavour; -eighty separate dramas always unfolding, intertwining, ending, -beginning,--and every drama a tragedy. No comedies, and especially no -farces! Why, child, there is more character within a hundred yards of -this chair than a hundred Balzacs could analyse in a hundred years." - -All the old vivacity had returned to his face; he had been rhetorical -on a favourite subject, and he was frankly pleased with himself. - -"You will tire yourself, uncle," said Adeline. "Shall we have tea?" - -Richard observed with astonishment that she was cold and unmoved. -Surely she could not be blind to the fact that Mr. Aked was a very -remarkable man with very remarkable ideas! Why, by the way, had those -ideas never presented themselves to _him_? He would write an article -on the _character_ of Raphael Street. Unwillingly he announced that he -must go; to remain longer would be to invite himself to tea. - -"Sit still, Larch. You'll have a cup of tea." - -Adeline left the room; and when she had gone, Mr. Aked, throwing a -glance after her, said,-- - -"Well, what do you think of my notions of the suburb?" - -"They are splendid," Richard replied, glowing. - -"There's something in them, I imagine," he agreed complacently. "I've -had an idea lately of beginning to scribble again. I know there's a -book waiting to be written on 'The Psychology of the Suburbs,' and I -don't like to see copy lying about wasted. The old war-horse scenting -the battle, you understand." He smiled grandiosely. "'Psychology of the -Suburbs'! Fine title that! See how the silent _P_ takes away all the -crudity of the alliteration; that's because one never listens to words -with the ears alone, but with the eyes also.... But I should need help. -I want a clever chap who can take down from dictation, and assist me in -the details of composition. I suppose you wouldn't care to come here -two or three evenings a week?" - -Richard answered sincerely that nothing would suit him better. - -"I should make you joint author, of course. 'Psychology of the -Suburbs,' by Richard Aked and Richard Larch. It sounds rather catchy, -and I think it ought to sell. About four hundred octavo pages, say -a hundred thousand words. Six shillings--must be popular in price. -We might get a royalty of ninepence a copy if we went to the right -publisher. Sixpence for me and threepence for you. Would that do?" - -"Oh, perfectly!" But was not Mr. Aked running on rather fast? - -"Perhaps we'd better say fivepence halfpenny for me and threepence -halfpenny for you; that would be fairer. Because you'll have to -furnish ideas, you know. 'Psychology of the Suburbs, Psychology of the -Suburbs'! Fine title! We ought to do it in six months." - -"I hope you'll be quite well again soon. Then we--" - -"Quite well!" he repeated sharply. "I shall be as right as a trivet -to-morrow. You don't suppose that I can't take care of myself! We'll -start at once." - -"You're not forgetting, Mr. Aked, that you've never seen any of my -stuff yet? Are you sure I shall be able to do what you want?" - -"Oh, you'll do. I've not seen your stuff, but I guess you've got the -literary habit. The literary habit, that's the thing! I'll soon put you -up to the wrinkles, the trade secrets." - -"What is your general plan of the book?" Richard asked with some -timidity, fearing to be deemed either stupid or inquisitive at the -wrong moment. He had tried to say something meet for a great occasion, -and failed. - -"Oh, I'll go into that at our first formal conference, say next -Friday night. Speaking roughly, each of the great suburban divisions -has, for me at any rate, its own characteristics, its peculiar moral -physiognomy." Richard nodded appreciatively. "Take me blindfold to -any street in London, and I'll discover instantly, from a thousand -hints, where I am. Well, each of these divisions must be described in -turn, not topographically of course, but the inner spirit, the soul -of it. See? People have got into a way of sneering at the suburbs. -Why, the suburbs _are_ London! It is alone the--the concussion of -meeting suburbs in the centre of London that makes the city and West -End interesting. We could show how the special characteristics of the -different suburbs exert a subtle influence on the great central spots. -Take Fulham; no one thinks anything of Fulham, but suppose it were -swept off the face of the earth the effect would be to alter, for the -seeing eye, the character of Piccadilly and the Strand and Cheapside. -The play of one suburb on another and on the central haunts is as -regular, as orderly, as calculable, as the law of gravity itself." - -They continued the discussion until Adeline came in again with a tray -in her hands, followed by the little red-armed servant. The two began -to lay the cloth, and the cheerful rattle of crockery filled the -room.... - -"Sugar, Mr. Larch?" Adeline was saying, when Mr. Aked, looking -meaningly at Richard, ejaculated,-- - -"Friday then?" - -Richard nodded. Adeline eyed her uncle distrustfully. - -For some reason, unguessed by Richard, Adeline left them alone -during most of the evening, and in her absence Mr. Aked continued to -discourse, in vague generalities not without a specious poetical charm, -on the subject upon which they were to collaborate, until Richard was -wholly intoxicated with its fascinating possibilities. When he left, -Adeline would not allow Mr. Aked to go to the door, and went herself. - -"If I hadn't been very firm," she laughed as they were shaking hands in -the passage, "uncle would have stood talking to you in the street for -goodness knows how long, and forgotten all about his bronchitis. Oh, -you authors, I believe you are every one like babies." Richard smiled -his gratification. - -"Mr. Larch, Mr. Larch!" The roguish summons came after him when he was -half-way up the street. He ran back and found her at the gate with her -hands behind her. - -"What have you forgotten?" she questioned. He could see her face but -dimly in the twilight of the gas-lamps. - -"I know--my umbrella," he answered. - -"Didn't I say you were all like--little children!" she said, as she -whipped out the umbrella and gave it to him over the gate. - - * * * * * - -Anxious at once to add something original to the sum of Mr. Aked's -observations, he purposely chose a round-about route home, through the -western parts of Fulham and past the Salisbury hotel. It seemed to him -that the latent poetry of the suburbs arose like a beautiful vapour -and filled these monotonous and squalid vistas with the scent and the -colour of violets, leaving nothing common, nothing ignoble. In the -upturned eyes of a shop-girl who went by on the arm of her lover he -divined a passion as pure as that of Eugénie Grandet; on the wrinkled -countenance of an older woman he beheld only the nobility of suffering; -a youth who walked alone, smoking a cigarette, was a pathetic figure -perhaps condemned to years of solitude in London. When there was no -one else to see, he saw Adeline,--Adeline with her finger on her -lips, Adeline angry with her uncle, Adeline pouring out tea, Adeline -reaching down his hat from the peg, Adeline laughing at the gate. -There was something about Adeline that.... How the name suited her!... -Her past life, judging from the hints she had given, must have been -interesting. Perhaps that accounted for the charm which.... - -Then he returned to the book. He half regretted that Mr. Aked should -have a hand in it at all. He could do it himself. Just as plainly as if -the idea had been his own, he saw the volume complete, felt the texture -of the paper, admired the disposition of the titlepage, and the blue -buckram binding; he scanned the table of contents, and carelessly eyed -the brief introduction, which was, however, pregnant with meaning; -chapter followed chapter in orderly, scientific fashion, and the -last summoned up the whole business in a few masterly and dignified -sentences. Already, before a single idea had been reduced to words, -"The Psychology of the Suburbs" was finished! A unique work! Other -authors had taken an isolated spot here or there in the suburbs and -dissected it, but none had viewed them in their complex entirety; none -had attempted to extract from their incoherence a coherent philosophy, -to deal with them sympathetically as Mr. Aked and himself had done--or -rather were to do. None had suspected that the suburbs were a riddle, -the answer to which was not undiscoverable. Ah, that secret, that key -to the cipher! He saw it as it might be behind a succession of veils, -flimsy obstructions which just then baffled his straining sight, but -which he would rip and rend when the moment for effort came. - -The same lofty sentiments occupied his brain the next morning. He -paused in the knotting of his necktie, to look out of the window, -seeking even in Raphael Street some fragment of that psychology of -environment invented by Mr. Aked. Nor did he search quite in vain. All -the phenomena of humble life, hitherto witnessed daily without a second -thought, now appeared to carry some mysterious meaning which was on the -point of declaring itself. Friday, when the first formal conference -was to occur, seemed distressingly distant. But he remembered that a -very hard day's work, the casting and completing of a gigantic bill of -costs, awaited him at the office, and he decided to throw himself into -it without reserve; the time would pass more quickly. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Every solicitor's office has its great client, whose affairs, -watchfully managed by the senior partner in person, take precedence of -all else, and whom every member of the staff regards with a particular -respect caught from the principals themselves. Messrs. Curpet and -Smythe were London agents to the tremendous legal firm of Pontifex, -of Manchester, said to enjoy the largest practice in the midlands; -and they were excusably proud of the fact. One of the first lessons -that a new clerk learnt in the establishment at New Serjeant's Court -was that, at no matter what expenditure of time and trouble, Pontifex -business, comprising some scores of separate causes, must be transacted -so irreproachably that old Mr. Pontifex, by repute a terrible fellow, -might never have cause of complaint. On those mornings, happily rare, -when a querulous letter did by chance arrive from Manchester, the whole -office trembled apprehensively, and any clerk likely to be charged with -negligence began at once to consider the advisability of seeking a new -situation. - -The Pontifex bill of costs was made up annually in June. As the time -drew near for presenting it, more and more clerks were pressed into its -service, until at the last everyone found himself engaged, in one way -or another, upon this colossal account. - -When Richard arrived at the office, he found the immense pile of -white foolscap sheets upon his table, and next it the still higher -pile of blue sheets forming the draft bill. All was finished except -the checking of the figures and the final castings. As the cashier -and accountant, he was ultimately responsible for this. He parcelled -out the sheets, keeping the largest share for himself, and the work -began. In every room there was a low muttering of figures, broken -by an occasional oath when someone happened to lose the thread of -an addition. The principals hovered about, full of solicitude and -encouragement, and, according to custom on such occasions, lunch was -served on the premises at the firm's expense. Richard continued to -add while eating, keeping his head clear and seldom making a mistake; -nothing existed for him but the column of pounds, shillings, and pence -under his eyes. - -The pile of finished sheets grew, and soon the office boys, commanded -by Jenkins, were passing the earlier portion of the bill through -the copying-press. As the hours went by, the helpers from other -departments, no longer required, went back to their own neglected -duties, and Richard did the last additions alone. At length the bill -was absolutely finished, and he carried it himself to the stationer's -to be sewed. In half an hour it came back, and he laid it ceremoniously -before Mr. Curpet. The grand total went round the office, leaping -from lip to lip like the result of an important parliamentary poll. -It was higher than in any previous year by nearly a thousand pounds. -Each of the clerks took a personal pride in its bigness, and secretly -determined to petition for an increase of salary at the first -opportunity. They talked together in groups, discussing details, while -a comfortable lassitude spread from room to room. - -Richard stood by the open window, absently watching the pigeons and the -cleaners at the Law Courts opposite. In a corner an office boy, new to -his work, was stamping envelopes with slow precision. Jenkins, with one -foot on a table, was tying a shoe lace. It had struck six ten minutes -ago, and everyone was gone except Mr. Smythe, whose departure Jenkins -awaited with impatience. The hot day subsided slowly to a serene and -lovely evening, and the customary noises of the Strand ascended to -Richard like the pastoral hum of a valley to a dweller on a hill, not -breaking but rather completing the stillness of the hour. Gradually his -brain freed itself from the obsession of figures, though he continued -to muse vaguely over the bill, which had just been posted. It would -certainly be settled by cheque within a week, for Messrs. Pontifex were -invariably prompt. That cheque, which he himself would enter and pay -into the bank, amounted to as much as he could earn in twenty years, -if he remained a clerk. He tried to imagine the scene in which, at -some future date, he would give Mr. Curpet notice of his intention to -resign his position, explaining that he preferred to support himself by -literature. The ineffable sweetness of such a triumph! Could he ever -realise it? He could, he must; the alternative of eternal clerkship -was not to be endured. His glance fell on Jenkins. That poor, gay, -careless, vulgar animal would always be a clerk. The thought filled him -with commiseration, and also with pride. Fancy Jenkins writing a book -called "The Psychology of the Suburbs"! - -"I'm going to smoke," Jenkins said; "be blowed to Bertie dear." (Mrs. -Smythe had once addressed her husband in the office as "Bertie dear," -and thenceforth that had been his name among the staff.) Richard made -no answer. When a minute later Jenkins, discreetly directing his puffs -to the open window, asked him for the titles of one or two of Zola's -novels in English, and their price, he gave the required information -without turning round and in a preoccupied tone. It was his wish -at that moment to appear dreamy. Perhaps a hint of the intellectual -difference between them would suggest itself even to Jenkins. Suddenly -a voice that seemed to be Mr. Smythe's came from the other side of the -glass partition which separated the room from the general corridor. - -"Jenkins, what the devil do you mean by smoking in the office?" -The pipe vanished instantly, and Jenkins faced his accuser in some -confusion, only to find that he had been victimised. It was Mr. Aked. - -"You're as gassy as ever, I see," Jenkins said with a shade of -annoyance. Mr. Aked laughed, and then began to cough badly, bending -forward with flushed cheeks. - -"Surely you shouldn't have left the house to-day," Richard said, -alarmed. - -"Why not?" The retort was almost fierce. - -"You're not fit." - -"Fiddlesticks! I've only got a bit of a cough." - -Richard wondered what he had called for. - -Jenkins began to discuss with him the shortcomings of Mr. Smythe as an -employer, and when that fruitful subject had been exhausted there was a -silence. - -"Coming home?" Mr. Aked asked Richard, who at once prepared to leave. - -"By the way, Larch, how's the mash?" Jenkins wore his archest manner. - -"What mash?" - -"Why, the girl you said you were going to see yesterday afternoon." - -"I never said--" Richard began, looking nervously towards Mr. Aked. - -"Oh, no, of course not. Do you know, Mr. Aked, he's begun his little -games with the women. These fellows from the country--so shy and all -that--they're regular cautions when you come to know them." But Mr. -Aked made no response. - -"I was thinking you might as well come down to-morrow night instead of -Friday," he said quietly to Richard, who had busied himself with the -locking of a safe. - -"To-morrow? Certainly, I shall be very glad," Richard answered. -Evidently Mr. Aked was as eager as himself to make a beginning of the -book. No doubt that was why he had called. Surely, together they would -accomplish something notable! - -Jenkins had climbed on a lofty stool. He gave vent to a whistle, -and the other two observed that his features were twisted into an -expression of delirious mirth. - -"Aha! aha!" he grinned, looking at Richard. "I begin to perceive. -You're after the pretty niece, eh, Master Larch? And a nice plump -little thing she is, too! She came here once to fetch uncle home." - -Mr. Aked sprang instantly forward and cuffed Jenkins' ear. - -"It's not the first time I've had to do that, nor the second," he said. -"I suppose you never will learn to behave yourself." Jenkins could -easily have thrashed the old man--he really looked old to-day--and no -consideration for the latter's age would have restrained him from doing -so, had not the habit of submission acquired during those years when -Mr. Aked ruled the outer office proved stronger than his rage. As it -was, he took up a safe position behind the stool and contented himself -with words. - -"You're a beauty, you are!" he began. "How's the red-haired A. B. C. -girl getting on? You know, the one that lost her place at the Courts' -restaurant through you. If she hadn't been a fool, she'd have brought -an action for breach of promise. And how many more are there? I -wonder--" - -Mr. Aked made an uncertain dart after him, but he vanished through -the doorway, only to encounter Mr. Smythe. With a rather servile "'d -afternoon, sir," to the latter, Mr. Aked walked rapidly out of the -office. - -"What the devil are you all up to?" Mr. Smythe inquired crossly. "Is -Aked after money, Larch?" - -"Not at all, Mr. Smythe. He only called to see me." - -"You are a friend of his, are you?" - -"Well, I know him." - -"H'm! Jenkins, come and take a letter." - -As Richard hurried down into the court, he felt exceedingly angry with -Mr. Aked. Why could not the man be more dignified? Everyone seemed to -treat him with contempt, and the cause was not altogether obscure. He -had no dignity. Richard felt personally aggrieved. - -Neither of them spoke of the recent incident as they walked down to -the Temple station. Mr. Aked, indeed, said nothing; a fit of coughing -occupied him. Somehow Richard's faith in "The Psychology of the -Suburbs" had lessened a little during the last half-hour. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -"Is that you, Mr. Larch?" - -He distinctly made out Adeline's head and bust above him. Her white -apron was pressed against the bannisters, as with extended arms and -hands grasping the stair-rail she leaned over to see who was below. - -"It is, Miss Aked," he answered. "The door was open, and so I walked -in. Is anything wrong?" - -"I've just sent Lottie out for the doctor. Uncle is very ill. I wish -you'd see that he comes at once. It's in the Fulham Road, a little to -the left--you'll notice the red lamp." - -As Richard ran out, he met the doctor, a youngish man with a Scots face -and grey hair, hurrying down the street, the servant-girl breathless in -the rear. - -"Master was took ill last night, sir," the latter said, in answer to -Richard's question. "Pneumonia, the doctor says as it is, and something -else, and there's coming a nurse to-night. Master has attacks of it, -sir--he can't get his breath." - -He stood in the passage, uncertain what to do; the doctor had already -gone upstairs. - -"It must be very serious," he murmured. - -"Yes, sir." Lottie began to whimper. Richard said he would call again -later to make inquiries, and presently discovered himself in Fulham -Road, walking slowly towards Putney. - -Mr. Aked's case was hopeless; of that Richard felt sure. The man must -be getting on in years, and his frame, not constitutionally vigorous, -had doubtless been fatally weakened by long-continued carelessness. -What a strange creature of whims and enthusiasms he was! Although there -could be no question as to his age, Richard never regarded him as more -than a few years older than himself. He had none of the melancholy, -the circumspection, the fixity of view, the prudent tendency towards -compromise, the serene contented apathy, which usually mark his time of -life. He was still delicately susceptible to new influences, his ideals -were as fluid as Richard's own. Life had taught him scarcely anything, -and least of all sagacity and a dignified carriage. He was the typical -bachelor, whose deeper feelings have never been stirred. Did regrets -for a possibly happier past, shadows of dead faces, the memory of -kisses, ever ruffle his equanimity? Richard thought not. He must -always have lived in the present. But he was an artist: though somehow -the man had descended in his estimation, Richard clung to that. He -possessed imagination and he possessed intellect, and he could fuse -them together. Yet he had been a failure. Viewed in certain lights, -Richard admitted he was a pitiful figure. What was his true history? -Richard felt instinctively that none could answer that question, even -in outline, except Mr. Aked, and suddenly he discerned that the man's -nature, apparently frank to immodesty, had its own reserves, the -existence of which few ever suspected. And when the worst was said, Mr. -Aked possessed originality; in an incongruous way he still retained -the naïve graces of youthfulness; he was inspiring, and had exerted -influences for which Richard could not but be grateful. - -"The Psychology of the Suburbs" had receded swiftly into the -background, a beautiful, impossible idea! Richard knew now that it -could never have been carried out. A little progress would have been -made, and then, as difficulties increased, both he and Mr. Aked would -have tacitly abandoned their enterprise. They were very much alike, he -thought, and the fancied similarity pleased him. Perhaps at some future -time he might himself carry the undertaking to completion, in which -case he would dedicate his book to the memory of Mr. Aked. He did not -regret that the dream of the last few days was ended. It had been very -enjoyable, but the awakening, since according to his present wisdom -it must have occurred sooner or later, was less unpleasant now than it -could have been at any more advanced stage. Moreover, it was pleasant -to dream of the dream. - -Mr. Aked was dying: he knew it from Adeline's tone. Poor Adeline! To -whom would she turn? She had implied that the only relatives for whom -she cared, these being on her mother's side, were in America. From whom -would she seek assistance? Who would conduct the formalities of the -funeral, and the testamentary business, such as it was? His loathing -for funerals seemed to have vanished, and he was not without hope that -Adeline, though their acquaintance was of the shortest, might engage -his help for her helplessness. And after the funeral, what would she -do? Since she would probably have enough to live upon, she might elect -to remain where she was. In which case he would visit her now and then -of an evening. Her imminent loneliness gave her a pathetic charm, and -he made haste to draw a picture of himself and her on either side the -fireplace talking familiarly while she knitted or sewed. - -Yes, he was actually a grown man, and entitled to his romances. He -might eventually fall in love with her, having discovered in her -character rare qualities now unsuspected. It was improbable, but not -impossible, and he had, in fact, already glanced at the contingency -several times before. Oh for a passion, a glorious infatuation, even -if it ended in disaster and ruin! The difficulty was that Adeline fell -short of the ideal lover. That virginal abstraction was to have been an -artist of some sort, absolutely irreligious, broad in social views, the -essence of refinement, with a striking but not necessarily beautiful -face, soft-spoken, and isolated--untrammelled by friends. Adeline was -no artist; he feared she might be a regular attendant at chapel and -painfully orthodox as to the sexual relations. Was she refined? Had -she a striking face? He said Yes, twice. Her voice was low and full of -pretty modulations. Soon, perhaps, she would be alone in the world. If -only she had been an artist.... That deficiency, he was afraid, would -prove fatal to any serious attachment. Still, it would be good to visit -her. - -He was crossing Putney Bridge. Night had fallen, and the full brilliant -moon showed a narrow stream crawling between two broad flats of mud. -Just below the bridge a barge lay at anchor; the silhouette of a man -moved leisurely about on it, and then a boat detached itself from the -stem of the barge and dropped down river into darkness. On the bridge -busses and waggons rattled noisily. Young men with straw hats and -girls in white blouses and black skirts passed to and fro in pairs, -some chattering, some silent. The sight of these couples gave Richard -an idea for the abandoned "Psychology of the Suburbs." What if Mr. Aked -recovered? He remembered his sister telling him that their grandfather -had survived after having been three times surrendered to death by the -doctors. "The Psychology of the Suburbs" began to attract him. It might -come to completion, if Mr. Aked lived, and then.... But what about -those evenings with the lonely Adeline? The two vistas of the future -clashed with and obscured each other, and he was overcome by vague -foreboding. He saw Mr. Aked struggling for breath in the mean suburban -bedroom, and Adeline powerless at his side. The pathos of her position -became intolerable. - - * * * * * - -When he got back to Carteret Street, it was she who came to the door. - -"How is he?" - -"About the same. The nurse has come. She told me to go to bed at once, -but I don't feel as if I wanted to sleep. You will sit down a little?" - -She took the rocking-chair, and leaning back with a gesture of -lassitude rocked gently; her white face, with the red eyes and -drooping eyelids, gave sign of excessive fatigue, and on her lips there -was a gloomy pout. After she had described Mr. Aked's condition in some -detail and told what the doctor had said, they sat silent for a while -in that tense atmosphere which seems to stifle vitality in a house of -dangerous sickness. Overhead the nurse moved about, making the window -rattle softly now and then. - -"You have known uncle a long time, haven't you?" - -"Not at all," Richard answered. "It's a very funny thing, but though I -seem to know him quite well, I've not met him half a dozen times in my -life. I saw him first about a year ago, and then I met him again the -other day at the British Museum, and after we'd had dinner together we -were just like old friends." - -"I certainly thought from what he said that you _were_ old friends. -Uncle has so few friends. Except one or two neighbours I do believe you -are the first person that has ever called at this house since I came to -live here." - -"At any rate, we have soon got to know each other," said Richard, -smiling. "It isn't a week since you asked me if my name was Larch." She -returned the smile, though rather mechanically. - -"Perhaps my mistake about your being an old friend of Uncle Aked's -explains that," she said. - -"Well, we won't bother about explaining it; there it is, and if I can -help you in any way just now, you must tell me." - -"Thank you, I will." She said it with perfect simplicity. Richard was -conscious of a scarcely perceptible thrill. - -"You must have had an awful time last night, all alone," he said. - -"Yes, but I was too annoyed to feel upset." - -"Annoyed?" - -"Because uncle has brought it all on himself by carelessness. I do -think it's a shame!" She stopped rocking, and sat up, her face full of -serious protest. - -"He's not the sort of man to take care of himself. He never thought--" - -"That's just it. He should have thought, at his age. If he dies, he -will practically have killed himself, yes, killed himself. There's no -excuse, going out as he did, in spite of all I said. Fancy him coming -downstairs last Sunday in the state he was, and then going out on -Monday, though it _was_ warm!" - -"Well, we'll hope he will get better, and it may be a lesson to him." - -"Hark! What was that?" She sprang to her feet apprehensively and -listened, her breast pulsing beneath the tight black bodice and her -startled inquiring eyes fixed on Richard's. A very faint tinkle came -from the rear of the house. - -"Perhaps the front-door bell," he suggested. - -"Of course. How silly of me! I fancied.... Who can it be at this time?" -She went softly into the passage. Richard heard the door open, and then -a woman's voice, which somehow seemed familiar,-- - -"How is Mr. Aked to-night? Your servant told our servant that he was -ill, and I felt anxious." - -"Oh!" Adeline exclaimed, discomposed for a moment, as it seemed to -Richard; then she went on coldly, "Uncle is about the same, thank you," -and almost immediately closed the door. - -"A person to inquire about uncle," she said to Richard, with a peculiar -intonation, on re-entering the room. Then, just as he was saying that -he must go, there was a knock on the ceiling and she flew away again. -Richard waited in the passage till she came downstairs. - -"It's nothing. I thought he was dying! Oh!" and she began to cry freely -and openly, without attempting to wipe her eyes. - -Richard gazed hard at the apron string loosely encircling her waist; -from that white line her trembling bust rose like a bud from its calyx, -and below it the black dress flowed over her broad hips in gathered -folds; he had never seen a figure so exquisite, and the beauty of it -took a keener poignancy from their solitude in the still, anxious -night--the nurse and the sick man were in another sphere. - -"Hadn't you better go to bed?" he said. "You must be tired out and -over-excited." How awkward and conventional the words sounded! - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -In Adeline's idiosyncrasy there was a subtle, elusive suggestion of -singularity, of unexpectedness, which Richard in spite of himself found -very alluring, and he correctly attributed it, in some degree, to the -peculiar circumstances of her early life, an account of which, with -characteristic quaintness, she had given him at their second meeting. - - * * * * * - -The posthumous child of Richard Aked's brother, Adeline, who had -no recollection of her mother, lived at first with her maternal -grandparents and two uncles. She slept alone at the top of the house, -and when she arose in the morning from the big bed with its red -curtains and yellow tassels, she always ran to the window. Immediately -below here were the leads which roofed the great projecting windows -of the shop. It was her practice at night to scatter crumbs on the -leads, and sometimes she would be early enough to watch the sparrows -pecking them; more often all the crumbs had vanished while she was -yet asleep. The Square never failed to interest her in the morning. -In the afternoon it seemed torpid and morose; but before dinner, -more especially on Saturdays and Mondays, it was gaily alert--full -of canvas-covered stalls, and horses and carts, and heaped piles of -vegetables, and pigs grunting amidst straw, and rough rosy-faced men, -their trousers tied at the knees with string, who walked about heavily, -cracking whips. These things arrived mysteriously, before the sun, and -in the afternoon they dwindled imperceptibly away; the stalls were -unthatched, the carts jolted off one by one, and the pigs departed -squeaking, until at five o'clock the littered Square was left deserted -and forlorn. Now and again a new stall, unfolding vivid white canvas, -stood out brightly amid its soiled companions; then Adeline would -run downstairs to her favourite uncle, who had breakfast at 7.30 so -that he might be in charge of the shop while the rest were at table: -"Uncle Mark, Uncle Mark, there is a new stall up at the top of the -Square, near the New Inn!" "Perhaps it is only an old one with its face -washed," Uncle Mark would say; and Adeline, raising her right shoulder, -would put her head on it and laugh, screwing up her eyes. - -In those days she was like a little Puritan girl, with her plain -frocks and prim gait. Her black hair, confined by a semicircular comb -which stretched from ear to ear over the top of her head, was brushed -straight away from her forehead, and fell across the entire width -of her shoulders in glossy, wavy lines. Her grey eyes were rather -large, except when she laughed, and they surveyed people with a frank, -inquiring look which frightened some of the commercial travellers who -came into the shop and gave her threepenny bits; it seemed as if all -one's secret shames stood revealed to that artless gaze. Her nose was -short and flattened, but her mouth happened to be perfect, of exactly -the classic form and size, with delectable lips half hiding the small -white teeth. - -To her the house appeared to be of immense proportions; she had been -told that once, before she was born, it was three houses. Certainly it -possessed more than the usual number of staircases, and one of these, -with the single room to which it gave access, was always closed. From -the Square, the window of the disused chamber, obscured and bare, -contrasted strangely with the clear panes, white blinds, and red pads -of the others. This room was next to her own, the two staircases -running parallel; and the thought of its dread emptiness awed her at -nights. One Saturday night in bed she discovered that grandma, who had -been plaiting her hair for Sunday, had left a comb sticking in it. She -called aloud to grandma, to Uncle Mark, to Uncle Luke, in vain. None -of them came to her; but she distinctly heard an answering cry from the -shut room. She ceased to call, and lay fearfully quiet for a while; -then it was morning, and the comb had slipped out of her hair and down -into the bed. - -Beneath the house were many cellars. One served for kitchen, and -Adeline had a swing there, hung from a beam; two others were larders; -a fourth held coal, and in a fifth ashes were thrown. There were yet -two more under the shop, to be reached by a separate flight of stone -steps. Uncle Mark went down those steps every afternoon to turn on the -gas, but he would never allow Adeline to go with him. Grandma, indeed, -was very cross if, when the door leading to the steps happened to be -open, Adeline approached within a yard of it. Often, chattering to the -shop-girls, who at quiet times of the day clustered round the stove -with their sewing, she would suddenly think of the cellars below, and -her heart would seem to stop. - -If the shutters were up, the shop was even more terribly mysterious -than either the cellars or the disused room. On Sunday afternoons, -when grandpa snored behind a red and yellow handkerchief in the -breakfast-room, it was necessary for Adeline to go through the shop -and up the show-room staircase, in order to reach the drawing-room, -because to get to the house staircase would involve disturbing the -sleeper. How strange the shop looked as she hurried timorously across! -A dim twilight, worse than total darkness, filtered through the cracks -of the shutters, showing faintly the sallow dust-sheets which covered -the merinos and the chairs on the counters, and she always reached -the show-room, which had two large, unobstructed windows, with a sob -of relief. Very few customers were asked into the show-room; Adeline -employed it on weekdays as a nursery; here she nursed her dolls, flew -kites, and read "Little Wideawake," a book given to her by a commercial -traveller; there was a cheval glass near the front window in which she -contemplated herself long and seriously. - -She never had the companionship of other children, nor did she desire -it. Other children, she understood, were rude and dirty; although -Uncle Mark and Uncle Luke taught in the Sunday-school, and grandpa -had once actually been superintendent, she was not allowed to go -there, simply because the children were rude and dirty. But she went -to morning chapel, sitting alone with grandpa on the red cushions of -the broad pew, that creaked every time she moved; Uncle Mark and Uncle -Luke sat away up in the gallery with the rude and dirty Sunday-school -children; grandma seldom went to chapel; the ministers called to see -her instead. Once to her amazement Uncle Luke had ascended the pulpit -stairs, looking just as if he was walking in his sleep, and preached. -It seemed so strange, and afterwards the religious truths which she had -been taught somehow lost their awfulness and some of their reality. On -Sunday evenings she celebrated her own private service, in which she -was preacher, choir, organist, and congregation. Her extempore prayers -were the secret admiration of grandma, who alone heard them. Adeline -stayed up for supper on Sundays. When the meal was over, grandpa opened -the big Bible, and in his rich, heavy voice read that Shem begat -Arphaxad and Arphaxad begat Salah and Salah begat Eber and Eber begat -Pelag, and about the Ammonites and the Jebusites and the Canaanites and -the Moabites; and then they knelt, and he prayed for them that rule -over us, and widows and orphans; and at the word "orphans," grandma, -who didn't kneel like the others but sat upright in her rocking-chair -with one hand over her eyes, would say "Amen, Amen," under her breath. -And after it was all over Adeline would choose whether Uncle Mark or -Uncle Luke should carry her to bed. - -Grandpa died, and then grandma, and Aunt Grace (who was not an aunt -at all, but a cousin) came to stay with Adeline and her uncles, and -one day the shutters of the shop were put up and not taken down again. -Adeline learnt that Uncle Mark and Uncle Luke were going a long way -off, to America, and that she was to live in future with Aunt Grace in -a large and splendid house full of coloured pictures and statues and -books. It seemed odd that Aunt Grace, whose dresses were rather shabby, -should have a finer house than grandpa's, until Uncle Mark explained -that the house did not really belong to Aunt Grace; Aunt Grace merely -kept it in order for a rich young gentleman who had fifteen servants. - - * * * * * - -When she had recovered from the parting with her uncles, Adeline -accepted the change with docility. Long inured as she was to spiritual -solitude (for the closest friendship that can exist between a child and -an adult comprises little more than an affectionate tolerance on either -side, and certainly knows nothing of those intimate psychic affinities -which attract child to child or man to man), she could not, indeed, -have easily found much hardship in the conditions of her new life. One -matter troubled her at first, namely, that Aunt Grace never prayed or -read the Bible or went to chapel; nor, so far as Adeline knew, did -anyone else at the Abbey. But she soon became reconciled to this state -of things. For a time she continued to repeat her prayers; then the -habit ceased. - -The picture-gallery, of which she had heard a great deal, fascinated -her at once. It was a long but not very lofty apartment, receiving -daylight from a hidden source, hung with the finest examples of the -four great Italian schools which flourished during the first half of -the sixteenth century: the Venetian, a revel of colour; the Roman, -dignified and even sedate; the Florentine, nobly grandiose; and the -school of Parma, mysteriously delicate. Opportunity serving, she spent -much of her time here, talking busily to the madonnas, the Christs, -the martyred saints, the monarchs, the knights, the lovely ladies, -and all the naïve mediæval crowd, giving each of them a part in her -own infantile romances. When she grew older, she copied--who shall -say whether consciously or unconsciously?--the attitudes and gestures -of the women; and perhaps in time there passed into Adeline, by some -ineffable channel, at least a portion of their demure grace and -contented quietude. There were pictures also in the square library, -examples of quite modern English and French work, sagaciously chosen -by one whose critical faculty had descended to him through four -generations of collectors; but Adeline had no eyes for these. The -books, however, gorgeous prisoners in glass, were her good friends, -though she might never touch them, and though the narrow, conventional -girl's education assiduously bestowed upon her by her aunt in person, -stifled rather than fostered curiosity with regard to their contents. - -When Adeline was about nineteen, her guardian became engaged to be -married to a middle-aged farmer, a tenant of the Abbey, who made it -clear that in espousing Aunt Grace he was not eager to espouse Aunt -Grace's _protégée_ also. A serious question arose as to her future. She -had only one other relative in England, Mr. Aked, and she passively -accepted his timely suggestion that she should go to London and keep -house for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -On the Wednesday evening Richard took tea at the Crabtree, so that he -might go down by train to Parson's Green direct from Charing Cross. -The coffee-room was almost empty of customers; and Miss Roberts, who -appeared to be in attendance there, was reading in the "cosy corner," -an angle of the room furnished with painted mirrors and a bark bench of -fictitious rusticity. - -"What are you doing up here?" he asked, when she brought his meal. -"Aren't you cashier downstairs any longer?" - -"Oh, yes," she said, "I should just think I was. But the girl that -waits in this room, Miss Pratt, has her half-holiday on Wednesdays, -and I come here, and the governor takes my place downstairs. I do -it to oblige him. He's a gentleman, he is. _That_ polite! I have my -half-holiday on Fridays." - -"Well, if you've nothing else to do, what do you say to pouring out my -tea for me?" - -"Can't you pour it out yourself? Poor thing!" She smiled pityingly, and -began to pour out the tea. - -"Sit down," Richard suggested. - -"No, thank you," she said. "There! If it isn't sweet enough, you can -put another lump in yourself;" and she disappeared behind the screen -which hid the food-lift. - -Presently he summoned her to make out his check. He was debating -whether to tell her that Mr. Aked was ill. Perhaps if he did so she -might request to be informed how the fact concerned herself. He decided -to say nothing, and was the more astonished when she began: - -"Did you know Mr. Aked was very ill?" - -"Yes. Who told you?" - -"Why, I live near him, a few doors away--didn't I tell you once?--and -their servant told ours." - -"Told your servant?" - -"Yes," said Miss Roberts, reddening a little, and with an inflection -which meant, "I suppose you thought _my_ family wouldn't have a -servant!" - -"Oh!" He stopped a moment, and then an idea came to him. "It must have -been you who called last night to inquire!" He wondered why Adeline had -been so curt with her. - -"Were you there then?" - -"Oh, yes. I know the Akeds pretty well." - -"The doctor says he'll not get better. What do you think?" - -"I'm afraid it's a bad lookout." - -"Very sad for poor Miss Aked, isn't it?" she said, and something in the -tone made Richard look up at her. - -"Yes," he agreed. - -"Of course you like her?" - -"I scarcely know her--it's the old man I know," he replied guardedly. - -"Well, if you ask me, I think she's a bit stand-offish." - -"Perhaps that's only her manner." - -"You've noticed it too, have you?" - -"Not a bit. I've really seen very little of her." - -"Going down again to-night?" - -"I may do." - -Nothing had passed between Adeline and himself as to his calling that -day, but when he got to Carteret Street she evidently accepted his -presence as a matter of course, and he felt glad. There was noting in -her demeanour to recall the scene of the previous night. He did not -stay long. Mr. Aked's condition was unchanged. Adeline had watched -by him all day, while the nurse slept, and now she confessed to an -indisposition. - -"My bones ache," she said, with an attempt to laugh, "and I feel -miserable, though under the circumstances there's nothing strange in -that." - -He feared she might be sickening towards influenza, caught from her -uncle, but said nothing, lest he should alarm her without cause. The -next day, however, his apprehension was justified. On his way to the -house in the evening he met the doctor at the top of Carteret Street -and stopped him. - -"You're a friend of Mr. Aked's, eh?" the doctor said, examining -Richard through his gold-rimmed spectacles. "Well, go and do what -you can. Miss Aked is down with the influenza now, but I don't think -it will be a severe attack if she takes care. The old fellow's state -is serious. You see, he has no constitution, though perhaps that's -scarcely a disadvantage in these cases; but when it comes to double -basic pneumonia, with fever, and cardiac complications, pulse 140, -respiration 40, temperature 103 to 104, there's not a great deal of -chance. I've got a magnificent nurse, though, and she'll have her hands -full. We ought really to send for another one, especially as Miss Aked -wants looking after too.... Bless you," he went on, in answer to a -question from Richard, "I can't say. I injected strychnia this morning, -and that has given relief, but he may die during the night. On the -other hand he may recover. By the way, they seem to have no relations, -except a cousin of Mr. Aked's who lives in the north. I've wired to -her. Good evening. See what you can do. I'm due in my surgery in two -minutes." - -Richard introduced himself to the nurse, explained that he had seen -the doctor, and asked if he could render assistance. She was a slender -girl of about twenty-three, with dark, twinkling eyes and astonishingly -small white ears; her blue uniform, made of the same print as a -servant's morning-dress, fitted without a crease, and her immense -apron was snowy. On one linen cuff was a stain; she noticed this while -talking to Richard, and adroitly reversed the wristband under his very -gaze. - -"I suppose you know the Akeds pretty well?" she questioned. - -"Well, pretty well," he answered. - -"Do you know any friends of theirs, women, who happen to live near?" - -"I feel fairly sure they have practically no acquaintances. I have -never met any people here." - -"It is very awkward, now that Miss Aked is taken ill." - -The mention of Adeline gave him an opportunity to make more particular -inquiries as to her condition. - -"There is nothing to be afraid of," the nurse said, "only she must stay -in bed and keep quite quiet." - -"I fancied last night she looked ill," he said sagely. - -"You were here last night?" - -"Yes, and the night before." - -"Oh! I wasn't aware--" The nurse stopped a moment. "Pardon me, if I am -indiscreet, but are you engaged to Miss Aked?" - -"No," said Richard shortly, uncertain whether or not he was blushing. -The nurse's eyes twinkled, but otherwise her impassive gravity suffered -no diminishment. "Not at all," he added. "I am merely a friend, anxious -to do anything I can." - -"I will get you to do some marketing for me," she decided suddenly. -"The maid is sitting with Mr. Aked--he's a little easier for the -moment--and Miss Aked, I think, is asleep. If I give you a list, can -you discover the shops? I am quite ignorant of this neighbourhood." - -Richard thought he could discover the shops. - -"In the meantime I will have a bath. I have had no rest worth -mentioning for twenty-four hours, and I want freshening up. Don't come -back for twenty minutes, or there will be no one to let you in. Stay, -I will give you the latch-key." It was attached to her chatelaine. - -Equipped with written orders and a sovereign, he went out. Though he -was away barely a quarter of an hour, she was dressed and downstairs -again when he came in, her face as radiant as if she had just risen. -She counted the change, and checked the different purchases with the -list. Richard had made no mistakes. - -"Thank you," she said very formally. He had expected a little praise. - -"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, determined not to weary in -good works, however coldly his efforts were received. - -"I think you might sit with Mr. Aked for a while," she said; "I must -positively give some attention to Miss Aked, and half an hour's rest -would not harm me. See, there are some slippers; would you mind taking -off your boots and putting those on instead? Thank you. You may talk to -Mr. Aked if he talks to you, and let him hold your hand--he'll probably -want to. Let him have just a sip of the brandy and milk I will give -you, whenever he asks for it. Don't mind if he grumbles at everything -you do. Try to soothe him. Remember he is very seriously ill. Shall I -take you upstairs?" - -She looked at Richard and then at the door; and Richard, hesitating -for a fraction of a second, stepped past her to open it. He managed -it awkwardly because he had never done such a thing for a lady in his -life, nor could he quite understand what mysterious prompting had -led him to be so punctilious now. The nurse bowed acknowledgment and -preceded him to the sick-room. He felt as a student feels just before -the examination papers are handed round. - -A smell of linseed escaped from the bedroom as the nurse pushed open -the door. - -"Stay outside a moment," she said to Richard. He could see the grate, -on which a kettle was singing over a small fire. In front of the fire -was a board, with a large bowl and spoon, and some pieces of linen. -Then he was conscious of nothing but a loud sound of rapid, painful -breathing, accompanied by moans and a strange rattling which came to -his ears with perturbing distinctness. He knew nothing of sickness -beyond what people had told him, and these phenomena inspired him with -physical dread. He wished to run away. - -"A friend of yours is coming to sit with you, Mr. Aked--you know Mr. -Larch," he heard the nurse say; she was evidently busy about the bed. -"You can go now, Lottie," she went on to the servant. "Wash up the -things I have put in the sink, and then off to bed." - -Richard waited with painful expectancy for the voice of Mr. Aked. - -"Larch--did you say--why--didn't he come--before?" The tones were -less unnatural than he had anticipated, but it seemed that only by -the exercise of a desperate ingenuity could the speaker interject the -fragments of a sentence here and there between his hurrying gasps. - -Then the servant went downstairs. - -"Come in, Mr. Larch," the nurse called pleasantly. - -The patient, supported by pillows, was sitting upright in bed, and -as Richard entered he looked towards the door with the expression of -an unarmed man on the watch for an assassin. His face was drawn and -duskily pale, but on each cheek burned a red flush; at every cruel -inspiration the nostrils dilated widely, and the shoulders were raised -in a frenzied effort to fill the embarrassed lungs. - -"Well, Mr. Aked," Richard greeted him, "here I am, you see." - -He made no reply beyond a weak nod, and signed to the nurse for the -feeding-cup of brandy and milk, which she held to his mouth. Richard -was afraid he might not be able to stay in the room, and marvelled -that the nurse could be unmoved and cheerful in the midst of this -piteous altercation with death. Was she blind to the terror in the -man's eyes? - -"You had better sit here, Mr. Larch," she said quietly, pointing to a -chair by the bedside. "Here is the drink; hold the cup--so. Ring this -bell if you want me for anything." Then she noiselessly disappeared. - -No sooner had he sat down than Mr. Aked seized his shoulder for -support, and each movement of the struggling frame communicated itself -to Richard's body. Richard suddenly conceived a boundless respect for -the nurse, who had watched whole nights by this tortured organism on -the bed. Somehow existence began to assume for him a new and larger -aspect; he felt that till that moment he had been going through the -world with his eyes closed; life was sublimer, more terrible, than -he had thought. He abased himself before all doctors and nurses and -soldiers in battle; they alone tasted the true savour of life. - -Art was a very little thing. - -Presently Mr. Aked breathed with slightly less exertion, and he -appeared to doze for a few moments now and then, though Richard could -scarcely believe that any semblance of sleep was possible to a man in -his condition. - -"Adeline?" he questioned once. - -"She's getting on fine," Richard said soothingly. "Would you like a -sip?" - -He put his grey lips clumsily round the lip of the cup, drank, and then -pushed the vessel away with a gesture of irritation. - -The windows were open, but the air was perfectly still, and the gas -burnt without a tremor between the windows and the door. - -"I'm stifled," the patient gasped. "Are they--doing--all they can--for -me?"--Richard tried to reassure him. - -"It's all over--with me--Larch--I can't--keep it up long--I'm -going--going--they'll have to try--something else." - -His lustrous eyes were fastened on Richard with an appealing gaze. -Richard turned away. - -"I'm frightened--I thought I shouldn't be--but I am. Doctor suggested -parson--it's not that--I said no.... Do you think--I'm dying?" - -"Not a bit," said Richard. - -"That's a lie--I'm off.... It's a big thing,--death--everyone's -afraid--of it--at last.... Instinct!... Shows there's something--awful -behind it." - -If Richard had been murdering the man, he could not have had a sharper -sense of guilt than at that moment oppressed him. - -Mr. Aked continued to talk, but with a growing incoherence which -gradually passed into delirium. Richard looked at his watch. Only -thirty minutes had slipped by, and yet he felt as if his shoulder had -suffered the clutch of that hot hand since before the beginning of -time! Again he experienced the disconcerting sensation of emotional -horizons suddenly widened. - -People were walking down the street; they talked and laughed. How -incongruously mirthful and careless their voices sounded! Perhaps -they had never watched by a sick-bed, never listened to the agonised -breathing of a pneumonia patient. That incessant frantic intake of -air! It exasperated him. If it did not stop soon, he should go mad. He -stared at the gas-flame, and the gas-flame grew larger, larger, till -he could see nothing else.... Then, after a long while, surely the -breathing was more difficult! There was a reverberating turmoil in the -man's chest which shook the bed. Could Richard have been asleep, or -what? He started up; but Mr. Aked clung desperately to him, raising -his shoulders higher and higher in the struggle to inhale, and leaning -forward till he was bent almost double. Richard hesitated, and then -struck the bell. It seemed as if the nurse would never come. The door -opened softly. - -"I'm afraid he is much worse," Richard said to the nurse, striving to -cover his agitation. She looked at Mr. Aked. - -"Perhaps you had better fetch the doctor." - -When he returned, Mr. Aked was lying back unconscious. - -"Of course the doctor can do nothing now," said the nurse, calmly -answering the question in his eyes. "He'll never speak any more." - -"But Miss Aked?" - -"It can't be helped. I shall say nothing to her till morning." - -"Then she won't see him?" - -"Certainly not. It would be madness for her to leave her bed." - -The doctor arrived, and the three talked quietly together about the -alarming prevalence of influenza at that time of the year, and the -fatal results of carelessness. - -"I tell you honestly," the doctor said, "I'm so overworked that I -should be quite satisfied to step into my coffin and not wake again. -I've had three 3 A. M. midwifery cases this week--forceps, chloroform, -and the whole bag of tricks--on the top of all this influenza, and I'm -about sick of it. That's the worst of our trade; it comes in lumps. -What do you say, nurse?" - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -The nurse suggested that Richard should remain at Carteret Street for -the rest of the night, using the sofa in the sitting-room. Contrary -to his expectation, he slept well and dreamlessly for several hours, -and woke up refreshed and energetic. The summer sun was dispersing a -light mist. One thought occupied his mind,--Adeline's isolation and -need of succour. Mentally he enveloped her with tender solicitude; and -the prospect of giving her instant aid, and so earning her gratitude, -contributed to a mood of vigorous cheerfulness to which his sorrow for -Mr. Aked's death formed but a vague and distant background. - -No one seemed to be stirring. He washed luxuriously in the little -scullery, and then, silently unbolting the front door, went out for a -walk. It was just six o'clock, and above the weazen trees which line -either side of Carteret Street the sparrows were noisily hilarious. As -he strode along in the fresh, sunny air, his fancy pictured scene after -scene between himself and Adeline in which he rendered a man's help and -she offered a woman's gratitude. He determined to take upon himself -all the arrangements for the funeral, and looked forward pleasurably -to activities from which under different circumstances he would have -shrunk with dismay. He thought of Adeline's aunt or cousin, distant in -the north, and wondered whether she or any other relatives, if such -existed, would present themselves; he hoped that Adeline might be -forced to rely solely on him. A milkboy who passed with his rattling -cans observed Richard talking rapidly to no visible person, and turned -round to stare. - -When he got back to the house, he noticed that the blinds had been -drawn in the sitting-room. Lottie, the chubby-armed servant, was -cleaning the step; her eyes were red with crying. - -"Is nurse up yet?" he asked her. - -"Yes, sir, she's in the kitchen," the girl whimpered. - -He sprang over the wet step into the passage. As his glance fell on -the stairs leading up to the room where lay the body of Mr. Aked, -separated from the unconscious Adeline only by a gimcrack wall of lath -and plaster, an uncomfortable feeling of awe took hold of him. Death -was very incurable, and he had been assisting at a tragedy. How unreal -and distorted seemed the events of a few hours before! He had a curious -sense of partnership in shame, as if he and the nurse and the doctor -had last night done Adeline an injury and were conspiring to hide their -sin. What would she say when she knew that her uncle was dead? What -would be her plans? It occurred to him now that she would of course act -quite independently of himself; it was ridiculous to suppose that he, -comparatively a stranger, could stand to her in the place of kith and -kin; he had been dreaming. He was miserably disheartened. - -He made his way to the kitchen, and, pushing the door open quietly, -found the nurse engaged in cooking a meal. - -"May I come in, nurse?" - -"Yes, Mr. Larch." - -"You seem to have taken charge of the house," he said, admiring her -quick, neat movements; she was as much at home as if the kitchen had -been her own. - -"We often find it necessary," she smiled. "Nurses have to be ready for -most things. Do you prefer tea or coffee for breakfast?" - -"Surely you aren't getting breakfast for me? I could have had something -in town." - -"Surely I am," she said. "If you aren't fastidious, I'll make tea. -Miss Aked has had a moderately good night ... I've told her.... She -took it very well, said she expected it. Of course there's a lot to be -done, but I can't bother her yet. We ought to have a telegram from Mrs. -Hopkins, her aunt, this morning." - -"I wish you would give Miss Aked a message from me," Richard broke in. -"Tell her I shall be very glad to see after things--the funeral, you -know, and so on--if she cares. I can easily arrange to take a holiday -from the office." - -"I am sure that would relieve her from a lot of anxiety," the nurse -said appreciatively. To hide a certain confusion Richard suggested that -he should be allowed to lay the cloth in the sitting-room, and she -told him he would find it in a drawer in the sideboard. He wandered -off, speculating upon Adeline's probable answer to his proposal. Soon -he heard the rattling of cups and saucers, and the nurse's footstep on -the stair. He laid the cloth, putting the cruet in the middle and the -salt-cellars at opposite corners, and then sat down in front of the -case of French books to scan their titles, but he saw nothing save a -blur of yellow. After a long time the nurse came down again. - -"Miss Aked says she cannot thank you enough. She will leave everything -to you,--everything. She is very much obliged indeed. She doesn't think -Mrs. Hopkins will be able to travel, because of her rheumatism, and -there is no one else. Here is the key of Mr. Aked's desk, and some -other keys--there should be about £20 in gold in the cash box, and -perhaps some notes." - -He took the keys, feeling profoundly happy. - -"I shall just go up to the office first," he decided, "and arrange to -get off, and then come down here again. I suppose you will stay on till -Miss Aked is better?" - -"Oh, of course." - -"She will be in bed several days yet?" - -"Probably. She might be able to sit up an hour or two the day after -to-morrow--in her own room." - -"It wouldn't do for me to see her?" - -"I think not. She is very weak. No, you must act on your own -responsibility." - -He and the nurse had breakfast together, talking with the freedom of -old friends. He told her all he knew of the Akeds, not forgetting -to mention that Mr. Aked and himself were to have collaborated in a -book. When Richard let this out, she showed none of those signs of -timid reverence which the laity are wont to exhibit in the presence of -literary people. - -"Indeed!" she said politely, and then after a little pause: "I actually -write verses myself sometimes." - -"You do? And are they published?" - -"Oh, yes, but perhaps not on their merits. You see, my father has -influence--" - -"A journalist, is he, perhaps?" - -She laughed at the idea, and mentioned the name of a well-known -novelist. - -"And you prefer nursing to writing!" Richard ejaculated when he had -recovered from the announcement. - -"To anything in the world. That is why I am a nurse. Why should I -depend on my father, or my father's reputation?" - -"I admire you for not doing so," Richard replied. Hitherto he had only -read about such women, and had questioned if they really existed. -He grew humble before her, recognising a stronger spirit. Yet her -self-reliance somehow chafed him, and he directed his thoughts to -Adeline's feminine trustfulness with a slight sense of relief. - - * * * * * - -The funeral took place on Sunday. Richard found the formalities to be -fewer and simpler than he had expected, and no difficulties arose of -any kind. Mrs. Hopkins, as Adeline had foreseen, was unable to come, -but she sent a long letter full of advice, and offering her niece a -temporary home. Adeline had not yet been allowed to leave her bed, but -on the Sunday morning the nurse had said that she might sit up for an -hour or two in the afternoon, and would like to see Richard then. - -He returned to Carteret Street on foot when the funeral was over. - -"You are glad it is all finished?" the nurse said. - -"Yes," he answered a little wearily. His mind had dwelt on Mr. Aked -that day, and the lonely futility of the man's life had touched him -with chill, depressing effect. Moreover, now it came to the point, he -rather dreaded than desired that first interview with Adeline after her -uncle's death. He feared that despite any service he had rendered, they -were not much more than acquaintances. He morbidly conjectured what she -would say to him and how he would reply. But he was glad when the nurse -left him alone at the door of Adeline's room. He knocked rather louder -than he had intended, and after hesitating a second walked in. Adeline -was seated in an armchair near the window, fully dressed in black, with -a shawl over her shoulders. Her back was towards him, but he could see -that she was writing a letter on her knee. She looked round suddenly -as the door opened, and gave a little "Oh!" at the same time lifting -her hands. Her face was pale, her hair flat, and her eyes large and -glittering. He went up to her. - -"Mr. Larch!" She held his hand in her thin white one with a soft, weak -pressure, silently gazing at him while tears gathered in her upturned -eyes. Richard trembled in every part of his body; he could not speak, -and wondered what was the matter with him. - -"Mr. Larch, you have been very kind. I shall never be able to thank -you." - -"I hope you won't bother about any thanks," he said. "Are you better?" -And yet he wished her to say more. - -With apparent reluctance she loosed his hand, and he sat down near her. - -"What should I have done without you!... Tell me about to-day. You -can't think how relieved I am now that it is over--the funeral, I mean." - -He said there was nothing to tell. - -"Were there many other funerals?" - -"Yes, a lot." - -He answered her questions one after another; she seemed to be -interested in the least detail, but neither of them mentioned the dead -man. Her eyes seldom left him. When he suggested that she must dismiss -him as soon as she felt tired, she laughed, and replied that she was -not likely to be tired for a very long while, and that he must have tea -with her and nurse. - -"I was writing to my two uncles in San Francisco when you came in," she -said. "They will be terribly upset about me at first, poor fellows, but -I have told them how kind you have been, and Uncle Mark always used -to say I had plenty of sense, so that ought to ease their minds." She -smiled. - -"Of course you have made no definite plans yet?" he asked. - -"No, I sha'n't settle anything at present. I want to consult you about -several things, but some other time, when I am better. I shall have -enough money, I think--that is one solid comfort. My aunt Grace--Mrs. -Hopkins--has asked me to go and stay with her. Somehow I don't want to -go--you'll think it queer of me, I daresay, but I would really prefer -to stop in London." - -He noticed that she said nothing as to joining her uncles in San -Francisco. - -"I fancy I shall like London," she went on, "when I know it." - -"You aren't thinking, then, of going to San Francisco?" - -He waited apprehensively for her answer. She hesitated. "It is so -far--I don't quite know how my uncles are situated--" - -Evidently, for some reason, she had no desire to leave London -immediately. He was very content, having feared that she might pass at -once away from him. - -They had tea on a little round chess-table. The cramped space and -the consequent necessity of putting spare plates of cake on the bed -caused some amusement, but in the presence of the strong, brusque nurse -Adeline seemed to withdraw within herself, and the conversation, such -as it was, depended on the other two. - -"I have been telling Miss Aked," the nurse said after tea was over, -"that she must go to the seaside for a week or two. It will do her an -immense deal of good. What she needs most of all is change. I suggested -Littlehampton; it is rather a quiet spot, not too quiet; there is nice -river scenery, and a quaint old port, and quantities of lovely rustic -villages in the neighbourhood." - -"It would certainly be a good thing," Richard agreed; but Adeline said, -rather petulantly, that she did not wish to travel, and the project was -not discussed further. - -He left soon afterwards. The walk home seemed surprisingly short, -and when he got to Raphael Street he could remember nothing of the -thoroughfares through which he had passed. Vague, delicious fancies -flitted through his head, like fine lines half recalled from a great -poem. In his room there was a smell from the lamp, and the windows -were shut tight. - -"Poor old landlady," he murmured benignantly, "when will she learn to -leave the windows open and not to turn down the lamp?" - -Having unfastened one of the windows, he extinguished the lamp and went -out on to the little balcony. It was a warm evening, with a cloudy -sky and a gentle, tepid breeze. The noise of omnibuses and cabs came -even and regular from Brompton Road, and occasionally a hansom passed -up Raphael Street. He stood leaning on the front of the balcony till -the air of traffic had declined to an infrequent rumble, his thoughts -a smiling, whirling medley impossible to analyze or describe. At last -he came in, and, leaving the window ajar, undressed slowly without a -light, and lay down. He had no desire to sleep, nor did he attempt -to do so; not for a ransom would he have parted with the fine, full -consciousness of life which thrilled through every portion of his -being. The brief summer night came to an end; and just as the sun was -rising he dozed a little, and then got up without a trace of fatigue. -He went to the balcony again, and drank in all the sweet invigorating -freshness of the morning. The sunlit streets were enveloped in an -enchanted silence. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Nearly three weeks later came the following letter from Adeline. In the -meanwhile she had had a rather serious relapse, and he had seen her -only once or twice for a few minutes. - - My dear Mr. Larch,--This time I am _quite_ sure I am well again. Nurse - is obliged to leave to-day, as she is wanted at a hospital, and she - has persuaded me to go to Littlehampton _at once_, and given me the - address of some rooms. I shall leave Victoria to-morrow (Wednesday) by - the 1.10 train; Lottie will go with me, and the house will be locked - up. Good-bye for the present, if I don't see you. We shall not stay - more than a week or ten days. I will write to you from Littlehampton. - - Ever yours most gratefully, - - A. A. - - P. S. I was expecting you down to-night. - -"'If I don't see you'!" he repeated to himself, smiling, and examining -Adeline's caligraphy, which he had not seen before. It was a bold but -not distinguished hand. He read the note several times, then folded it -carefully and put it in his pocket-book. - -By reason of an unexpected delay at the office he almost missed her -at Victoria. The train was due out at least a minute before he rushed -into the station; fortunately trains are not invariably prompt. Adeline -was leaning from a carriage window to hand a penny to a newspaper boy; -the boy dropped the penny, and she laughed. She wore a black hat with -a veil. Her cheeks were a little fuller, and her eyes less unnaturally -brilliant, at any rate under the veil; and Richard thought that he had -never seen her look so pretty. - -"There it is, silly boy, there!" she was saying as he came up. - -"I thought I'd just see if you were all right," he panted. "I should -have been here earlier, only I was detained." - -"How kind of you to take so much trouble!" she said, taking his hand, -and fixing her eyes intently on his. The guard came along to fasten the -doors. - -"Luggage all in?" Richard asked. - -"Yes, thanks. Lottie saw to it while I got the tickets. I find she is -quite an experienced traveller." At which Lottie, effaced in a corner, -blushed. - -"Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself." The whistle sounded, and the -train jerked forward Adeline began to wave a good-bye. - -"I see there's a Sunday league trip to Littlehampton on Sunday," he -said, walking along with the train. - -"Oh! Do come down." - -"You'd like me to?" - -"Very much." - -"I will, then. Send me the address." - -She gave a succession of little nods, as the train carried her away. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -Richard's eye travelled expectantly over the tanned crowd of men -in flannels and gaily attired girls which lined the platform of -Littlehampton station, but Adeline was not to be seen. He felt somewhat -disappointed, and then decided that he liked her the better for not -having come to meet him. "Besides," he thought, "the train being a -special is not in the time-table, and she would not know when it was -due." - -Her lodging was in a long, monotonous terrace which ran at right angles -to the seashore, turning its back upon the river. Noon was at hand, and -the fierce rays of the unclouded sun were untempered by any breeze. The -street lay hushed, for everyone was either at church or on the sands. -In response to his inquiry, the landlady said that Miss Aked was out, -and had left a message that if a gentleman called, he was to follow her -to the jetty. Obeying the directions given to him, Richard soon found -himself by the banks of the swift Arun, with the jetty some distance in -front, and beyond that the sea, which shimmered blindly in the heat. -Throngs of respectably dressed people wandered up and down, and a low, -languid murmur of conversation floated out as it were from the cavities -of a thousand parasols. Perspiring children whose hands were chafed -by gloves full of creases ran to and fro among the groups, shouting -noisily, and heedless of the frequent injunction to remember what day -it was. Here and there nurses pushing perambulators made cool spots -of whiteness in the confusion of colour. On the river boats and small -yachts were continually sweeping towards the sea on the ebbing tide; -now and then a crew of boys would attempt to pull a skiff against the -rapid current, persevere for a few strokes, and then, amid scoffs from -the bank, ignominiously allow themselves to be whirled past the jetty -with the other craft. - -Richard had never seen a southern watering-place before, and he had -fondly expected something different from Llandudno, Rhyl, or Blackpool, -something less stolid and more continental. Littlehampton fell short -of his anticipations. It was unpicturesque as a manufacturing town, -and its summer visitors were an infestive, lower-middle class folk, -garishly clothed, and unlearned in the fine art of enjoyment. The pure -accent of London sounded on every side from the lips of clerks and -shop-girls and their kin. Richard forgot that he was himself a clerk, -looking not out of place in that scene. - -Presently he espied a woman who seemed to belong to another sphere. She -was leaning over the parapet of the jetty, and though a black and white -sunshade entirely hid her head and shoulders, the simple, perfectly -hung black skirt, the neatly shod foot, the small, smoothly gloved hand -with thin gold circlet at wrist, sufficed to convince him that here, -by some strange chance, was one of those exquisite creatures who on -Saturday afternoons drove past the end of Raphael Street on their way -to Hurlingham or Barnes. He wondered what she did there, and tried to -determine the subtleties of demeanour and costume which constituted -the plain difference between herself and the other girls on the jetty. -At that moment she stood erect, and turned round. Why, she was quite -young.... He approached her.... It was Adeline. - -Astonishment was so clearly written on his face that she laughed as -they exchanged greetings. - -"You seem startled at the change in me," she said abruptly. "Do you -know that I positively adore clothes, though I've only just found it -out. The first thing I did when I got here was to go over to Brighton, -and spend terrific sums at a dressmaker's. You see, there wasn't -time in London. You don't despise me for it, I hope? I've plenty of -money--enough to last a long, long time." - -She was dazzling, and she openly rejoiced in the effect her appearance -had made on Richard. - -"You couldn't have done better," he answered, suddenly discovering with -chagrin that his own serge suit was worn and shabby. - -"I'm relieved," she said; "I was afraid my friend might think me vain -and extravagant." Her manner of saying "my friend"--half mockery, half -deference--gave Richard intense satisfaction. - -They walked to the end of the jetty and sat down on a stone seat. - -"Isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed enthusiastically. - -"What--the town, or the people, or the sea?" - -"Everything. I've scarcely been to the seaside before in all my life, -and I think it's lovely." - -"The sea would be splendid if one could see it, but it blinds one even -to glance at it in this heat." - -"You shall have half my sunshade." She put it over him with a -protective gesture. - -"No, no," he demurred. - -"I say yes. Why don't men carry sunshades? It's only their pride that -stops them.... So you don't like the town and the people?" - -"Well--" - -"I love to see plenty of people about. And you would, too, if you'd -been fixed like me. I've never seen a real crowd. There are crushes -when you go into theatres, sometimes, aren't there?" - -"Yes. Women faint." - -"But I shouldn't. I would have given anything not long ago to be in one -of those crushes. Now, of course, I can just please myself. When we are -back in London, do you think I could persuade you to take me?" - -"You might," he said, "if you asked nicely. But young ladies who wear -clothes like yours don't usually patronise the pit, where the crushes -are. Stalls or dress circle would be more in your style. I propose we -take the dress circle. You wouldn't enjoy your crush going in, but at -the Lyceum and some other theatres, there is quite a superior crush -coming out of the stalls and dress circle." - -"Yes, that is better. And I shall buy more clothes. Oh! I will be -shockingly wasteful. If poor old uncle knew how his money was to be -spent--" - -A little child, chased by one still less, fell down flat in front of -them, and began to cry. Adeline picked it up, losing her sunshade, and -kissed both children. Then she took a paper of chocolates from her -pocket and gave several to each child, and they ran away without saying -thank you. - -"Have one?" She offered the bag to Richard. "That's another luxury I -shall indulge in--chocolates. Do have just one, to keep me company," -she appealed. "By the way, about dinner. I ordered dinner for both of -us at my rooms, but we can improve on that. I have discovered a lovely -little village a few miles away, Angmering, all old cottages and no -drains. Let us drive there in a victoria, and picnic at a cottage. I -know the exact place for us. There will be no people there to annoy -you." - -"But you like 'people,' so that won't do at all." - -"I will do without 'people' for this day." - -"And what shall we have for dinner?" - -"Oh! Eggs and bread and butter and tea." - -"Tea for dinner! Not very solid, is it?" - -"Greedy! If you have such a large appetite, eat a few more chocolates; -they will take it away." - -She rose, pointing to a victoria in the distance. - -He looked at her without getting up, and their eyes met with smiles. -Then he, too, rose. He thought he had never felt so happy. An -intoxicating vision of future felicities momentarily suggested itself, -only to fade before the actuality of the present. - -The victoria stopped at Adeline's rooms. She called through the open -window to Lottie, who came out and received orders to dine alone, or -with the landlady if she preferred. - -"Lottie and Mrs. Bishop are great friends," Adeline said. "The silly -girl would sooner stay in to help Mrs. Bishop with housework than go -out on the beach with me." - -"She must indeed be silly. I know which I should choose!" It seemed a -remark of unutterable clumsiness--after he had said it, but Adeline's -faint smile showed no dissatisfaction. He reflected that he would have -been better pleased had she totally ignored it. - -The carriage ran smoothly along the dusty roads, now passing under -trees, and now skirting poppy-clad fields whose vivid scarlet almost -encroached on the highway itself. Richard lay back, as he had seen men -do in the Park, his shoulder lightly touching Adeline's. She talked -incessantly, though slowly, in that low voice of hers, and her tones -mingled with the measured trot of the enfeebled horse, and lulled -Richard to a sensuous quiescence. He slightly turned his face towards -hers, and with dreamy deliberateness examined her features,--the dimple -in her cheek which he had never noticed before, the curves of her ear, -her teeth, her smooth black hair, the play of light in her eye; then -his gaze moved to her large felt hat, set bewitchingly aslant on the -small head, and then for a space he would look at the yellowish-green -back of the imperturbable driver, who drove on and on, little witting -that enchantment was behind him. - -They consumed the eggs and bread and butter and tea which Adeline had -promised; and they filled their pockets with fruit. That was Adeline's -idea. She gave herself up to enjoyment like a child. When the sun was -less strenuous they walked about the village, sitting down frequently -to admire its continual picturesqueness. Time sped with astonishing -rapidity; Richard's train went at twenty-five minutes past seven, and -already, as they stood by the margin of the tiny tributary of the Arun, -some grandfather's clock in a neighbouring cottage clattered five. He -was tempted to say nothing about the train, quietly allow himself to -miss it, and go up by the first ordinary on Monday morning. But soon -Adeline inquired about his return, and they set off to walk back to -Littlehampton; the carriage had been dismissed. He invented pretexts -for loitering, made her sit on walls to eat apples, tried to get lost -in by-paths, protested that he could not keep the pace she set; but -to no purpose. They arrived at the station at exactly a quarter past -seven. The platform was busy, and they strolled to the far end of it -and stood by the engine. - -"I wish to heaven the train didn't leave so early," he said. "I'm sure -the sea air would do me a lot of good, if I could get enough of it. -What a beautiful day it has been!" He sighed sentimentally. - -"I never, never enjoyed myself so perfectly," she said emphatically. -"Suppose we beseech the engine-driver to lie still for a couple of -hours?" Richard's smile was inattentive. - -"You are sure you haven't done too much," he said with sudden -solicitude, looking at her half anxiously. - -"I! not a bit. I am absolutely well again." Her eyes found his and held -them, and it seemed to him that mystic messages passed to and fro. - -"How long do you think of staying?" - -"Not long. It gets rather boring, being alone. I expect I shall return -on Saturday." - -"I was thinking I would run down again on Saturday for the -week-end,--take a week-end ticket," he said; "but of course, if--" - -"In that case I should stay a few days longer. I couldn't allow myself -to deprive you of the sea air which is doing you so much good. By next -Saturday I may have discovered more nice places to visit, perhaps even -prettier than Angmering.... But you must get in." - -He would have given a great deal just then to be able to say firmly: "I -have changed my mind about going. I will stay at a hotel to-night and -take the first train to-morrow." But it required more decision than he -possessed, and in a few moments he was waving good-bye to her from the -carriage window. - -There were several other people in the compartment,--a shy -shop-girl and her middle-aged lover, evidently employés of the same -establishment, and an artisan with his wife and a young child. Richard -observed them intently, and found a curious, new pleasure in all their -unstudied gestures and in everything they said. But chiefly he kept -a watch on the shop-girl's lover, who made it no secret that he was -dwelling in the seventh heaven. Richard sympathised with that man. His -glance fell on him softly, benignantly. As the train passed station -after station, he wondered what Adeline was doing, now, and now, and -now. - - * * * * * - -On the following Saturday he took tea with Adeline at her lodgings. -The train had been late, and by the time they were ready for the -evening walk without which no visitor to the seaside calls the day -complete, it was close upon nine o'clock. The beach was like a fair or -a north-country wake. Conjurers, fire-eaters, and minstrels each drew -an audience; but the principal attraction was a man and woman who wore -masks and were commonly supposed to be distinguished persons to whom -fate had been unkind. They had a piano in a donkey-cart, and the woman -sang to the man's accompaniment. Just as Richard and Adeline came up, -"The River of Years" was announced for performance. - -"Let us listen to this," said Adeline. - -They stood at the rim of the crowd. The woman had a rich contralto -voice and sang with feeling, and her listeners were generous of both -applause and coppers. - -"I wonder who she is," Adeline murmured, with a touch of -melancholy,--"I wonder who she is. I love that song." - -"Oh, probably some broken-down concert-singer," Richard said curtly, -"with a drunken husband." - -"But she sang beautifully. She made me feel--you know--funny.... A -lovely feeling, isn't it?" She looked up at him. - -"Yes," he said, smiling at her. - -"You're laughing." - -"Indeed I'm not. I know what you mean perfectly well. Perhaps I had it -just then, too--- a little. But the song is a bit cheap." - -"_I_ could listen to it every day, and never get tired of listening. -Don't you think that if a song gives _anyone_ that--feeling, there must -be some good in it?" - -"Of course it's far better than most; but--" - -"But not equal to those classical songs you told me about--the first -time I saw you, wasn't it? Yes, Schubert: was that the name? I mean -to get those, and you must show me the best ones, and play the -accompaniments, and then I shall judge for myself." - -"I shall make an awful mess of the accompaniments; they're not -precisely easy, you know." - -"Full of accidentals, are they? I sha'n't like them, then. I never do -like that sort of song." - -"But you will; you must." - -"Must I?" she almost whispered, in tones of gentle, feminine surrender. -And after a second or two: "Then I'll try, if it will keep you in a -good temper." - -They stood fronting the sea. She looked straight ahead into the -darkening distance, and then turned round to him with a mock plaintive -expression, and they both laughed. - -"Wouldn't it be better up by the river," he suggested, "where there are -fewer people?" - -A little to his surprise, she agreed that it was certainly rather noisy -and crowded on the beach on Saturday nights, and they turned their -backs to the shore. The moon had risen, and shone at intervals through -clouds. For a few score yards they walked in silence. Then Adeline -said,-- - -"It's very dull here during the week for a poor single woman like me. I -shall go home on Monday." - -"But think of London in this weather." - -"I do think of it. I think of the parks and the restaurants and the -theatres." - -"The good theatres are closed now." - -"Well, the music-halls. I've never been in one, and if they are very -naughty, then I want to go very much. Besides, there are lots of -theatres open. I've read all the theatrical advertisements in the -'Telegraph,' and there must be plenty of things to see. You mayn't -think them worth seeing, but I should enjoy any theatre." - -"I believe you would," he said. "I used to be like that." - -"Up to now I've had no real pleasure--what I call pleasure--and I'm -just going to have it. I'll settle down afterwards." - -"Didn't your uncle take you out much?" - -"I should say he didn't. He took me to a concert once. That was all--in -nearly two years. I suppose it never occurred to him that I was leading -a dull life." - -She made a movement with her hands, as if to put away from her all the -drab dailiness of her existence in Carteret Street. - -"You can soon recover lost time," Richard said cheerfully. - -His fancy was in the rosy future, vividly picturing the light-hearted -gaieties, Bohemian, unconventional, artistic, in which he and she -should unite. He saw himself and Adeline becoming dearer to each -other, and still dearer, her spirit unfolding like a flower, and -disclosing new beauties day by day. He saw her eyes glisten when they -met his; felt the soft pressure of her hand; heard her voice waver -with tenderness, expectant of his avowal. And then came his own bold -declaration: "I love you, Adeline," and her warm, willing lips were -upon his. God! To dream of such beatitudes! - -She had slightly quickened her step. The quays were silent and -deserted, save for these two. Presently masts rose vaguely against the -sky, and they approached a large ship. Richard leaned over the parapet -to decipher the name on her bows. "Juliane," he spelt out. - -"That is Norwegian or Danish." - -They lingered a few moments, watching the movements of dim figures -on deck, listening to the musical chatter of an unknown tongue, and -breathing that atmosphere of romance and adventure which foreign -vessels carry with them from strange lands; then they walked on. - -"Hush!" exclaimed Adeline, stopping, and touching Richard's arm. - -The sailors were singing some quaint modern strain. - -"What is it?" she asked when they had finished a verse. - -"It must be a Norwegian folk-song. It reminds me of Grieg." - -Another verse was sung. It began to rain,--warm, summer drops. - -"You will be wet," Richard said. - -"Never mind." - -A third verse followed, and then a new air was started. It rained -faster. - -"Come under the shelter of the wall here," Richard urged, timidly -taking her arm. "I think I see an archway." - -"Yes, yes," she murmured, with sweet acquiescence; and they stood -together a long time under the archway in silence, while the Norwegian -sailors, heedless of weather, sang song after song. - -The next morning the sky had cleared again, but there was a mist over -the calm sea. They walked idly on the level sands. At first they -were almost alone. The mist intensified distances; a group of little -children paddling in a foot of water appeared to be miles away. Slowly -the mist was scattered by the sun, and the beach became populous with -visitors in Sunday attire. In the afternoon they drove to Angmering, -Adeline having found no preferable haunt. - -"You have no train to catch to-night," she said; "what a relief! Shall -you start very early to-morrow?" - -"I'm not particular," he answered. "Why?" - -"I was thinking that Lottie and I would go up by the same train as you, -but perhaps you won't care to be bothered with women and their luggage." - -"If you really intend to return to-morrow, I'll wire to Curpet not to -expect me till after lunch, and we'll go at a reasonable hour." - -He left her at her lodging as the clock was striking eleven; but -instead of making direct for his hotel, he turned aside to the river -to have a last look at the "Juliane." Curiously, it began to rain, -and he sheltered under the archway where he had stood with Adeline on -the previous night. Aboard the "Juliane" there was stir and bustle. -He guessed that the ship was about to weigh anchor and drop down with -the tide. Just after midnight she slid cautiously away from the quay, -to the accompaniment of hoarse calls and the rattling of chains and -blocks. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -During the journey to town Adeline would talk of nothing but her -intention to taste all the amusements which London had to offer. She -asked numberless questions with the persistency of an inquisitive -child, while Lottie modestly hid herself behind a copy of "Tit Bits," -which had been bought for her. - -"Now I will read out the names of the plays advertised in the -'Telegraph,'" she said, "and you must tell me what each is like, and -whether the actors are good, and the actresses pretty, and things of -that kind." - -Richard entered with zest into the conversation. He was in a boisterous -mood, and found her very willing to be diverted. Once, when he used -a technical term, she stopped him: "Remember, I have never been to a -theatre." On Sunday she had made the same remark several times. It -seemed as if she liked to insist on the point. - -The morning was delicious, full of light and freshness, and the torpid -countryside through which the train swept at full speed suggested a -gentle yet piquant contrast to the urban, gaslight themes which they -were discussing. Though the sun shone with power, Adeline would not -have the blinds drawn, but sometimes she used the newspaper for a -shade, or bent her head so that the broad brim of her hat might come -between her eyes and the sunshine. After an hour the talk slackened -somewhat. As Richard, from his seat opposite, looked now at Adeline and -now at the landscape, a perfect content stole over him. He wished that -the distance to London could have been multiplied tenfold, and rejoiced -in every delay. Then he began to miss the purport of her questions, and -she had to repeat them. He was examining his heart. "Is this love?" his -thoughts ran. "Do I actually love her now,--_now_?" - -When the train stopped at New Cross, and Richard said that they would -be at London Bridge in a few minutes, she asked when he would go down -to Carteret Street. - -"Any time," he said. - -"To-morrow night?" - -He had hoped she would fix the same evening. "When is the theatre-going -to commence?" he queried. - -She laughed vaguely: "Soon." - -"Suppose I book seats for the Comedy?" - -"We will talk about it to-morrow night." - -It appeared that her desire for the relaxations of town life had -suddenly lost its instancy. - -Immediately he reached the office he wrote a note to Mr. Clayton -Vernon. Some three hundred pounds was coming to him under the will of -William Vernon, and he had purposed to let Mr. Clayton Vernon invest -this sum for him; but the letter asked that a cheque for £25 should be -sent by return of post. Later in the afternoon he went to a tailor in -Holborn, and ordered two suits of clothes. - -He grew restless and introspective, vainly endeavouring to analyse -his feeling towards Adeline. He wished that he had himself suggested -that he should call on her that night, instead of allowing her to -name Tuesday. When he got home, he looked at the letter which he had -received from her a fortnight before, and then, enclosing it in a -clean envelope, put it away carefully in his writing-case. He felt -that he must preserve all her letters. The evening dragged itself out -with desolating tedium. Once he went downstairs intending to go to the -theatre, but returned before he had unlatched the front door. - -Mrs. Rowbotham laid his supper that evening, and he began to tell her -about his holiday, mentioning, with fictitious _naïveté_, that he -had spent it in the company of a young lady. Soon he gave the whole -history of his acquaintance with the Akeds. She warmly praised his -kindness towards Adeline. - -"My Lily is keeping company with a young man," she said, after a pause; -"a respectable young chap he is, a bus-conductor. This is his night -off, and they're gone to the Promenade Concert. I didn't like her going -at first, but, bless you, you have to give in. Young folk are young -folk, all the world over.... But I must be getting downstairs again. I -have to do everything myself to-night. Ah! when a girl falls in love, -she forgets her mother. It's natural, I suppose. Well, Mr. Larch, it -will be your turn soon, I hope." With that she left the room quickly, -missing Richard's hurried disclaimer. - -"So you're engaged, Lily," he said to the girl next morning. - -Lily blushed and nodded; and as he looked at her eyes, he poignantly -longed for the evening. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -They sat by the window and talked till the day began to fade and the -lamplighter had passed up the street. Several matters of business -needed discussion,--the proving of Mr. Aked's will, the tenancy of -the house and the opening of a new banking-account. Richard, who was -acting informally as legal adviser, after the manner of solicitors' -clerks towards their friends, brought from his pocket some papers for -Adeline's signature. She took a pen immediately. - -"Where do I put my name?" - -"But you must read them first." - -"I shouldn't understand them a bit," she said; "and what is the use of -employing a lawyer, if one is put to the trouble of reading everything -one signs?" - -"Well--please yourself. To-morrow you will have to go before a -commissioner for oaths and swear that certain things are true; you'll -be compelled to read the affidavits." - -"That I won't! I shall just swear." - -"But you simply must." - -"Sha'n't. If I swear to fibs, it will be your fault." - -"Suppose I read them out to you?" - -"Yes, that would be nicer; but not now, after supper." - -For a few moments there was silence. She stood up and drew her finger -in fanciful curves across the window-pane. Richard watched her, with a -smile of luxurious content. It appeared to him that all her movements, -every inflection of her voice, her least word, had the authenticity -and the intrinsic grace of natural phenomena. If she turned her head -or tapped her foot, the gesture was right,--having the propriety which -springs from absolute self-unconsciousness. Her mere existence from one -moment to the next seemed in some mysterious way to suggest a possible -solution of the riddle of life. She illustrated nature. She was for -him intimately a part of nature, the great Nature which hides itself -from cities. To look at her afforded him a delight curiously similar to -that which the townsman derives from a rural landscape. Her face had -little conventional beauty; her conversation contained no hint either -of intellectual powers or of a capacity for deep feeling. But in her -case, according to his view, these things were unnecessary, would in -fact have been superfluous. She _was_ and that sufficed. - -Mingled with the pleasure which her nearness gave him, there were -subordinate but distinct sensations. Except his sister Mary, he had -never before been upon terms of close familiarity with any woman, and -he realised with elation that now for the first time the latencies -of manhood were aroused. His friendship--if indeed it were nothing -else--with this gracious, inscrutable creature seemed a thing to be -very proud of, to gloat upon in secret, to contemplate with a dark -smile as one walked along the street or sat in a bus.... And then, with -a shock of joyful, half-incredulous surprise, he made the discovery -that she--she--had found some attractiveness in himself. - -Their loneliness gave zest and piquancy to the situation. On neither -side were there relatives or friends who might obtrude, or whom it -would be proper to consult. They had only themselves to consider. -Not a soul in London, with the exception of Lottie, knew of their -intimacy,--the visit to Littlehampton, their plans for visiting the -theatres, her touching reliance upon him. Ah, that confiding feminine -trust! He read it frequently in her glance, and it gave him a sense of -protective possession. He had approached no closer than to shake her -hand, and yet, as he looked at the slight frame, the fragile fingers, -the tufts of hair which escaped over her ears,--these things seemed to -be his. Surely she had donned that beautiful dress for him; surely she -moved gracefully for him, talked softly for him! - -He left his chair, quietly lighted the candles at the piano, and began -to turn over some songs. - -"What are you doing?" she asked, from the window. - -"I want you to sing." - -"Must I?" - -"Certainly. Let me find something with an easy accompaniment." - -She came towards him, took up a song, opened it, and bade him look at -it. - -"Too difficult," he said abruptly. "Those arpeggios in the bass,--I -couldn't possibly play them." - -She laid it aside obediently. - -"Well, this?" - -"Yes. Let us try that." - -She moved nearer to him, to miss the reflection of the candles on the -paper, and put her hands behind her back. She cleared her throat. He -knew she was nervous, but he had no such feeling himself. - -"Ready?" he asked, glancing round and up into her face. She smiled -timidly, flushing, and then nodded. - -"No," she exclaimed the next second, as he boldly struck the first -chord. "I don't think I'll sing. I can't." - -"Oh, yes, you will--yes, you will." - -"Very well." She resigned herself. - -The first few notes were tremulous, but quickly she gained courage. The -song was a mediocre drawing-room ballad, and she did not sing with much -expression, but to Richard's ear her weak contralto floated out above -the accompaniment with a rich, passionate quality full of intimate -meanings. When his own part of the performance was not too exacting, he -watched from the corner of his eye the rise and fall of her breast, and -thought of Keats's sonnet; and then he suddenly quaked in fear that all -this happiness might crumble at the touch of some adverse fate. - -"I suppose you call that a poor song," she said when it was finished. - -"I liked it very much." - -"You did? I am so fond of it, and I'm glad you like it. Shall we try -another?" She offered the suggestion with a gentle diffidence which -made Richard desire to abase himself before her, to ask what in the -name of heaven she meant by looking to him as an authority, a person -whose will was to be consulted and whose humours were law. - -Again she put her hands behind her back, cleared her throat, and began -to sing.... He had glimpses of mystic, emotional deeps in her spirit -hitherto unsuspected. - - * * * * * - -Lottie came in with a lamp. - -"You would like supper?" Adeline said. "Lottie, let us have supper at -once." - -Richard remembered that when Mr. Aked was alive, Adeline had been -accustomed to go into the kitchen and attend to the meals herself; -but evidently this arrangement was now altered. She extinguished the -candles on the piano, and took the easy-chair with a question about -Schubert. Supper was to be served without the aid of the mistress of -the house. She had been training Lottie,--that was clear. He looked -round. The furniture was unchanged, but everything had an unwonted air -of comfort and neatness, and Adeline's beautiful dress scarcely seemed -out of keeping with the general aspect of the room. He gathered that -she had social aspirations. He had social aspirations himself. His -fancy delighted to busy itself with fine clothes, fine furniture, fine -food, and fine manners. That his own manners had remained inelegant -was due to the fact that the tireless effort and vigilance which any -amelioration of their original crudity would have necessitated, were -beyond his tenacity of purpose. - -The supper was trimly laid on a very white tablecloth, and chairs were -drawn up. Lottie stood in the background for a few moments; Adeline -called her for some trifling service, and then dismissed her. - -"Won't you have some whisky? I know men always like whisky at night." - -She touched a bell on the table. - -"The whisky, Lottie--you forgot it." - -Richard was almost awed by her demeanour. Where could she have learnt -it? He felt not unlike a bumpkin, and secretly determined to live up to -the standard of deportment which she had set. - -"You may smoke," she said, when Lottie had cleared the table after -supper; "I like it. Here are some cigarettes--'Three Castles'--will -they do?" Laughing, she produced a box from the sideboard, and handed -it to him. He went to the sofa, and she stood with one elbow resting on -the mantelpiece. - -"About going to the theatre--" she began. - -"May I take you? Let us go to the Comedy." - -"And you will book seats, the dress circle?" - -"Yes. What night?" - -"Let us say Friday.... And now you may read me those documents." - -When that business was transacted, Richard felt somehow that he must -depart, and began to take his leave. Adeline stood erect, facing him in -front of the mantelpiece. - -"Next time you come, you will bring those Schubert songs, will you not?" - -Then she rang the bell, shook hands, and sat down. He went out; Lottie -was waiting in the passage with his hat and stick. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Seven or eight weeks passed. - -During that time Richard spent many evenings with Adeline, at the -theatre, at concerts, and at Carteret Street. When they were going up -to town, he called for her in a hansom. She usually kept him waiting -a few minutes. He sat in the sitting-room, listening to the rattle -of harness and the occasional stamp of a hoof outside. At length he -heard her light step on the stairs, and she entered the room, smiling -proudly. She was wonderfully well dressed, with modish simplicity and -exact finish, and she gave him her fan to hold while she buttoned -her long gloves. Where she ordered her gowns he never had the least -notion. They followed one another in rapid succession, and each seemed -more beautiful than the last. All were sober in tint; the bodices were -V-shaped, and cut rather low. - -Lottie carefully placed a white wrap over her mistress's head, and then -they were off. In the hansom there was but little conversation, and -that of a trivial character. In vain he endeavoured to entice her into -discussions. He mentioned books which he had read; she showed only a -perfunctory interest. He explained why, in his opinion, a particular -play was good and another bad; generally she preferred the wrong -one, or at least maintained that she liked all plays, and therefore -would not draw comparisons. Sometimes she would argue briefly about -the conduct of certain characters in a piece, but he seldom found -himself genuinely in agreement with her, though as a rule he verbally -concurred. In music she was a little less unsympathetic towards his -ideals. They had tried over several of his favourite classical songs, -and he had seen in her face, as she listened, or hummed the air, a glow -answering to his own enthusiasm. She had said that she would learn one -of them, but the promise had not been kept, though he had reminded her -of it several times. - -These chagrins, however, were but infinitesimal ripples upon the -smooth surface of his happiness. All of them together were as nothing -compared to the sensations which he experienced in helping her out of -the cab, in the full glare of a theatre façade. Invariably he overpaid -the driver, handing him the silver with an inattentive gesture, while -Adeline waited on the steps,--dainty food for the eyes of loiterers and -passers-by. He offered his arm, and they passed down the vestibule and -into the auditorium. With what artless enjoyment she settled herself in -her seat, breathing the atmosphere of luxury and display as if it had -been ozone, smiling radiantly at Richard, and then eagerly examining -the occupants of the boxes through a small, silver-mounted glass! She -was never moved by the events on the stage, and whether it happened to -be tragedy or burlesque at which they were assisting, she turned to -Richard at the end of every act with the same happy, contented smile, -and usually began to make remarks upon the men and women around her. It -was the play-house and not the play of which she was really fond. - -After the fall of the curtain, they lingered till most of the audience -had gone. Sometimes they supped at a restaurant. "It is my turn," -she would say now and then, when the obsequious waiter presented the -bill, and would give Richard her purse. At first, for form's sake, he -insisted on his right to pay, but she would not listen. He wondered -where she had caught the pretty trick of handing over her purse instead -of putting down the coins, and he traced it to a play which they had -seen at the Vaudeville theatre. Yet she did it with such naturalness -that it did not seem to have been copied. The purse was small, and -always contained several pounds in gold, with a little silver. The -bill paid, he gave it back to her with a bow. - -Then came the long, rapid drive home, through interminable lamp-lined -streets, peopled now only by hansoms and private carriages, past -all the insolent and garish splendours of Piccadilly clubs, into -whose unveiled windows Adeline eagerly gazed; past the mysterious, -night-ridden Park; past the dim, solemn squares and crescents of -Kensington and Chelsea, and so into the meaner vicinage of Fulham. -It was during these midnight journeys, more than at any other time, -that Richard felt himself to be a veritable inhabitant of the City of -Pleasure. Adeline, flushed with the evening's enjoyment, talked of -many things, in her low, even voice, which was never raised. Richard -answered briefly; an occasional reply was all she seemed to expect. - -Immediately, on getting out of the cab, she said good-night, and -entered the house alone, while Richard directed the driver back to -Raphael Street. Returning thus, solitary, he endeavoured to define what -she was to him, and he to her. Often, when actually in her presence, he -ventured to ask himself, "Am I happy? Is this pleasure?" But as soon as -he had left her, his doubtfulness vanished, and he began to long for -their next meeting. Little phrases of hers, unimportant gestures, came -back vividly to his memory; he thought how instinct with charm they -were. And yet, was he really, truly in love? Was she in love? Had there -been a growth of feeling since that night at Carteret Street after the -holiday at Littlehampton? He uncomfortably suspected that their hearts -had come nearer to each other that night than at any time since. - -He tried to look forward to the moment when he should invite her to -be his wife. But was that moment approaching? At the back of his mind -lay an apprehension that it was not. She satisfied one part of his -nature. She was the very spirit of grace; she was full of aplomb and -a delicate tact; she had money. Moreover, her constant reliance upon -him, her clinging womanishness, the caressing, humouring tone which her -voice could assume, powerfully affected him. He divined darkly that -he was clay in her hands; that all the future, even the future of his -own heart, depended entirely upon her. If she chose, she might be his -goddess.... And yet she had sharp limitations.... - -Again, was she in love? - -When he woke up of a morning he wondered how long his present happiness -would continue, and whither it was leading him. A scrap of conversation -which he had had with Adeline recurred to him frequently. He had asked -her, once when she had complained of ennui, why she did not become -acquainted with some of her neighbours. - -"I don't care for my neighbours," she replied curtly. - -"But you can't live without acquaintances all your life." - -"No, not all my life," she said with significant emphasis. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -They had been to the National Gallery; it was Saturday afternoon. -Adeline said that she would go home; but Richard, not without a little -trouble, persuaded her to dine in town first; he mentioned a French -restaurant in Soho. - -As they walked up Charing Cross Road, he pointed out the Crabtree, and -referred to the fact that at one time he had frequented it regularly. -She stopped to look at its white-and-gold frontage. In enamel letters -on the windows were the words: "Table d'hôte, 6 to 9, 1/6." - -"Is it a good place?" she asked. - -"The best in London--of that kind." - -"Then let us dine there; I have often wanted to try a vegetarian -restaurant." - -Richard protested that she would not like it. - -"How do you know? If you have been so often, why shouldn't I go once?" -She smiled at him, and turned to cross the street; he hung back. - -"But I only went for economy." - -"Then we will only go for economy to-day." - -He dangled before her the attractions of the French restaurant -in Soho, but to no purpose. He was loth to visit the Crabtree. -Most probably Miss Roberts would be on duty within, and he felt an -inscrutable unwillingness to be seen by her with Adeline.... At last -they entered. Looking through the glass doors which lead to the -large, low-ceiled dining-room on the first floor, Richard saw that -it was nearly empty, and that the cash-desk, where Miss Roberts was -accustomed to sit, was for the moment unoccupied. He led the way in -rather hurriedly, and selected places in a far corner. Although it was -scarcely beginning to be dusk, the table electric lights were turned -on, and their red shades made glimmering islands of radiance about the -room. - -Richard kept a furtive watch on the cash-desk; presently he saw Miss -Roberts take her seat behind it, and shifted his glance to another -quarter. He was preoccupied, and answered at random Adeline's amused -queries as to the food. Between the soup and the entrée they were kept -waiting; and Adeline, Richard being taciturn, moved her chair in order -to look round the room. Her roving eyes stopped at the cash-desk, -left it, and returned to it. Then a scornful smile, albeit scarcely -perceptible, appeared on her face; but she said nothing. Richard saw -her glance curiously at the cash-desk several times, and he knew, too, -that Miss Roberts had discovered them. In vain he assured himself that -Miss Roberts was not concerned in his affairs; he could not dismiss a -sensation of uneasiness and discomfort. Once he fancied that the eyes -of the two girls met, and that both turned away suddenly. - -When the dinner was over, and they were drinking the coffee for which -the Crabtree is famous, Adeline said abruptly,-- - -"I know someone here." - -"Oh!" said Richard, with fictitious nonchalance. "Who?" - -"The girl at the pay-desk,--Roberts, her name is." - -"Where have you met her?" he inquired. - -Adeline laughed inimically. He was startled, almost shocked, by the -harsh mien which transformed her face. - -"You remember one night, just before uncle died," she began, bending -towards him, and talking very quietly. "Someone called while you and -I were in the sitting-room, to inquire how he was. That was Laura -Roberts. She used to know uncle--she lives in our street. He made love -to her--she didn't care for him, but he had money and she encouraged -him. I don't know how far it went--I believe I stopped it. Oh! men are -the strangest creatures. Fancy, she's not older than me, and uncle was -over fifty!" - -"Older than you, surely!" Richard put in. - -"Well, not much. She knew I couldn't bear her, and she called that -night simply to annoy me." - -"What makes you think that?" - -"Think! I know it.... But you must have heard of the affair. Didn't -they talk about it at your office?" - -"I believe it was mentioned once," he said hastily. - -She leaned back in her chair, with the same hard smile. Richard felt -sure that Miss Roberts had guessed they were talking about herself, -and that her eyes were fixed on them, but he dared not look up for -confirmation; Adeline gazed boldly around her. They were antagonistic, -these two women, and Richard, do what he would, could not repress -a certain sympathy with Miss Roberts. If she had encouraged Mr. -Aked's advances, what of that? It was no mortal sin, and he could not -appreciate the reason of Adeline's strenuous contempt for her. He saw a -little gulf widening between himself and Adeline. - -"What tremendously red hair that girl has!" she said, later on. - -"Yes, but doesn't it look fine!" - -"Ye-es," Adeline agreed condescendingly. - -When he paid the bill, on the way out, Miss Roberts greeted him with -an inclination of the head. He met her eye steadily, and tried not to -blush. As she checked the bill with a tapping pencil, he could not help -remarking her face. Amiability, candour, honesty, were clearly written -on its attractive plainness. He did not believe that she had been -guilty of running after Mr. Aked for the sake of his money. The tales -told by Jenkins were doubtless ingeniously exaggerated; and as for -Adeline, Adeline was mistaken. - -"Good evening," Miss Roberts said simply, as they went out. He raised -his hat. - -"You know her, then!" Adeline exclaimed in the street. - -"Well," he answered, "I've been going there, off and on, for a year -or two, and one gets acquainted with the girls." His tone was rather -petulant. With a quick, winning smile, she changed the subject, and he -suspected her of being artful. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -"I am going to America," she said. - -They sat in the sitting-room at Carteret street. Richard had not seen -her since the dinner at the vegetarian restaurant, and these were -almost the first words she addressed to him. Her voice was as tranquil -as usual; but he discerned, or thought he discerned, in her manner a -consciousness that she was guilty towards him, that at least she was -not treating him justly. - -The blow was like that of a bullet: he did not immediately feel it. - -"Really?" he questioned foolishly, and then, though he knew that she -would never return: "For how long are you going, and how soon?" - -"Very soon, because I always do things in a hurry. I don't know for -how long. It's indefinite. I have had a letter from my uncles in San -Francisco, and they say I _must_ join them; they can't do without me. -They are making a lot of money now, and neither of them is married.... -So I suppose I must obey like a good girl. You see I have no relatives -here, except Aunt Grace." - -"You many never come back to England?" - -(Did she colour, or was it Richard's fancy?) - -"Well, I expect I may visit Europe sometimes. It wouldn't do to give -England up entirely. There are so many nice things in England,--in -London especially...." - -Once, in late boyhood, he had sat for an examination which he felt -confident of passing. When the announcement arrived that he failed, he -could not believe it, though all the time he knew it to be true. His -thoughts ran monotonously: "There must be some mistake; there must be -some mistake!" and like a little child in the night, he resolutely shut -his eyes to keep out the darkness of the future. The same puerility -marked him now. Assuming that Adeline fulfilled her intention, his -existence in London promised to be tragically cheerless. But this -gave him no immediate concern, because he refused to contemplate the -possibility of their intimacy being severed. He had, indeed, ceased -to think; somewhere at the back of the brain his thoughts lay in wait -for him. For the next two hours (until he left the house) he lived -mechanically, as it were, and not by volition, subsisting merely on a -previously acquired momentum. - -He sat in front of her and listened. She began to talk of her uncles -Mark and Luke. She described them in detail, told stories of her -childhood, even recounted the common incidents of her daily life with -them. She dwelt on their kindness of heart, and their affection for -herself; and with it all she seemed a little to patronise them, as -though she had been accustomed to regard them as her slaves. - -"They are rather old-fashioned," she said, "unless they have altered. -Since I heard from them, I have been wondering what they would think -about my going to theatres and so on--with you." - -"What should they think?" Richard broke in. "There's nothing whatever -in that. London isn't a provincial town, or even an American city." - -"I shall tell them all about you," she went on, "and how kind you were -to me when I scarcely knew you at all. You couldn't have been kinder if -you'd been my only cousin." - -"Say 'brother,'" he laughed awkwardly. - -"No, really, I'm quite serious. I never thanked you properly. Perhaps I -seemed to take it all as a matter of course." - -He wished to heaven she would stop. - -"I'm disgusted that you are going," he grumbled, putting his hands -behind his head,--"disgusted." - -"In many ways I am sorry too. But don't you think I am doing the right -thing?" - -"How am I to tell?" he returned quickly. "All I know is that when you -go I shall be left all alone by my little self. You must think of me -sometimes in my lonely garret." His tone was light and whimsical, but -she would not follow his lead. - -"I shall often think of you," she said musingly, scanning intently the -toe of her shoe. - -It seemed to him that she desired to say something serious, to justify -herself to him, but could not gather courage to frame the words. - -When he got out of the house, his thoughts sprang forth. It was a -chilly night; he turned up the collar of his overcoat, plunged his -hands deep into the pockets, and began to walk hurriedly, heedlessly, -while examining his feelings with curious deliberation. In the first -place, he was inexpressibly annoyed. "Annoyed,"--that was the right -word. He could not say that he loved her deeply, or that there was a -prospect of his loving her deeply, but she had become a delightful -factor in his life, and he had grown used to counting upon her for -society. Might he not, in time, conceivably have asked her to marry -him? Might she not conceivably have consented? In certain directions -she had disappointed him; beyond doubt her spiritual narrowness had -checked the growth of a passion which he had sedulously cherished and -fostered in himself. Yet, in spite of that, her feminine grace, her -feminine trustfulness, still exercised a strong and delicate charm. She -was a woman and he was a man, and each was the only friend the other -had; and now she was going away. The mere fact that she found a future -with her uncles in America more attractive than the life she was then -leading, cruelly wounded his self-love. He, then, was nothing to her, -after all; he had made no impression; she could relinquish him without -regret! At that moment she seemed above and beyond him. He was the poor -earthling; she the winged creature that soared in freedom now here, now -there, giving her favours lightly, and as lightly withdrawing them. - -One thing came out clear: he was an unlucky fellow. - -He ran over in his mind the people who would remain to him in London -when she had gone. Jenkins, Miss Roberts--Bah! how sickeningly -commonplace were they! _She_ was distinguished. She had an air, a -_je ne sais quoi_, which he had never observed in a woman before. -He recalled her gowns, her gestures, her turns of speech,--all the -instinctive touches by which she proved her superiority. - -It occurred to him fancifully that there was a connection between her -apparently sudden resolve to leave England, and their visit to the -Crabtree and encounter with Miss Roberts. He tried to see in that -incident a premonition of misfortune. What morbid fatuity! - -Before he went to sleep that night he resolved that at their next -meeting he would lead the conversation to a frank discussion of their -relations and "have it out with her." But when he called at Carteret -Street two days later, he found it quite impossible to do any such -thing. She was light-hearted and gay, and evidently looked forward to -the change of life with pleasure. She named the day of departure, and -mentioned that she had arranged to take Lottie with her. She consulted -him about a compromise, already effected, with her landlord as to the -remainder of the tenancy, and said she had sold the furniture as it -stood, for a very small sum, to a dealer. It hurt him to think that she -had given him no opportunity of actively assisting her in the hundred -little matters of business involved in a change of hemisphere. What had -become of her feminine reliance upon him? - -He felt as if some object was rapidly approaching to collide with and -crush him, and he was powerless to hinder it. - -Three days, two days, one day more! - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -The special train for Southampton, drawn up against the main-line -platform at Waterloo, seemed to have resigned itself with an almost -animal passivity to the onslaught of the crowd of well-dressed men and -women who were boarding it. From the engine a thin column of steam -rose lazily to the angular roof, where a few sparrows fluttered with -sudden swoops and short flights. The engine-driver leaned against the -side of the cab, stroking his beard; the stoker was trimming coal -on the tender. Those two knew the spectacle by heart: the scattered -piles of steamer trunks amidst which passengers hurried hither and -thither with no apparent object; the continual purposeless opening and -shutting of carriage doors; the deferential gestures of the glittering -guard as he bent an ear to ladies whose footmen stood respectfully -behind them; the swift movements of the bookstall clerk selling -papers, and the meditative look of the bookstall manager as he swept -his hand along the shelf of new novels and selected a volume which he -could thoroughly recommend to the customer in the fur coat; the long -colloquies between husbands and wives, sons and mothers, daughters and -fathers, fathers and sons, lovers and lovers, punctuated sometimes -by the fluttering of a handkerchief, or the placing of a hand on a -shoulder; the unconcealed agitation of most and the carefully studied -calm of a few; the grimaces of porters when passengers had turned away; -the slow absorption by _their_ train of all the luggage and nearly all -the people; the creeping of the clock towards the hour; the kisses; -the tears; the lowering of the signal,--to them it was no more than a -common street-scene. - -Richard, having obtained leave from the office, arrived at a quarter -to twelve. He peered up and down. Could it be that she was really -going? Not even yet had he grown accustomed to the idea, and at times -he still said to himself, "It isn't really true; there must be some -mistake." The moment of separation, now that it was at hand, he accused -of having approached sneakingly to take him unawares. He was conscious -of no great emotion, such as his æsthetic sense of fitness might have -led him to expect,--nothing but a dull joylessness, the drab, negative -sensations of a convict foretasting a sentence of years. - -There she stood, by the bookstall, engaged in lively talk with the -clerk, while other customers waited. Lottie was beside her, holding a -bag. The previous night they had slept at Morley's Hotel. - -"Everything is all right, I hope?" he said, eyeing her narrowly, and -feeling extremely sentimental. - -"Yes, thank you.... Lottie, you must go and keep watch over our -seats.... Well," she went on briskly, when they were left alone, "I am -actually going. I feel somehow as if it can't be true." - -"Why, that is exactly how I have felt for days!" he answered, allowing -his voice to languish, and then fell into silence. He assiduously -coaxed himself into a mood of resigned melancholy. With sidelong -glances, as they walked quietly down the platform, he scanned her face, -decided it was divine, and dwelt lovingly on the thought: "I shall -never see it again." - -"A dull day for you to start!" he murmured, in tones of gentle concern. - -"Yes, and do you know, a gentleman in the hotel told me we should be -certain to have bad weather, and that made me so dreadfully afraid that -I nearly resolved to stay in England." She laughed. - -"Ah, if you would!" he had half a mind to exclaim, but just then he -became aware of his affectation and trampled on it. The conversation -proceeded naturally to the subject of seasickness and the little joys -and perils of the voyage. Strange topics for a man and a woman about to -be separated, probably for ever! And yet Richard, for his part, could -think of none more urgent. - -"I had better get in now, had I not?" she said. The clock stood at five -minutes to noon. Her face was sweetly serious as she raised it to his, -holding out her hand. - -"Take care of yourself," was his fatuous parting admonition. - -Her hand rested in his own, and he felt it tighten. Beneath the veil -the colour deepened a little in her rosy cheeks. - -"I didn't tell you," she said abruptly, "that my uncles had begged me -to go to them weeks and weeks ago. I didn't tell you--and I put them -off--because I thought I would wait and see if you and I--cared for -each other." - -It had come, the explanation! He blushed red, and stuck to her hand. -The atmosphere was suddenly electric. The station and the crowd were -blotted out. - -"You understand?" she questioned, smiling bravely. - -"Yes." - -He was dimly conscious of having shaken hands with Lottie, of the -banging of many doors, of Adeline's face framed in a receding window. -Then the rails were visible beside the platform, and he had glimpses of -people hurriedly getting out of the train at the platform opposite. In -the distance the signal clattered to the horizontal. He turned round, -and saw only porters, and a few forlorn friends of the voyagers; one -woman was crying. - - * * * * * - -Instead of going home from the office, he rambled about the -thoroughfares which converge at Piccadilly Circus, basking in the -night-glare of the City of Pleasure. He had four pounds in his pocket. -The streets were thronged with swiftly rolling vehicles. Restaurants -and theatres and music halls, in evening array, offered their gorgeous -enticements, and at last he entered the Café Royal, and, ordering -an elaborate dinner, ate it slowly, with thoughtful enjoyment. When -he had finished, he asked the waiter to bring a "Figaro." But there -appeared to be nothing of interest in that day's "Figaro," and he laid -it down.... The ship had sailed by this time. Had Adeline really made -that confession to him just before the train started, or was it a fancy -of his? There was something fine about her disconcerting frankness ... -fine, fine.... And the simplicity of it! He had let slip a treasure. -Because she lacked artistic sympathies, he had despised her, or at -best underestimated her. And once--to think of it!--he had nearly -loved her.... With what astonishing rapidity their intimacy had waxed, -drooped, and come to sudden death!... Love, what _was_ love? Perhaps he -loved her now, after all.... - -"Waiter!" He beckoned with a quaint movement of his forefinger which -brought a smile to the man's face--a smile which Richard answered -jovially. - -"Sir?" - -"A shilling cigar, please, and a coffee and cognac." - -At about nine o'clock he went out again into the chill air, and the -cigar burnt brightly between his lips. He had unceremoniously dismissed -the too importunate image of Adeline, and he was conscious of a certain -devil-may-care elation. - -Women were everywhere on the pavements. They lifted their silk skirts -out of the mud, revealing ankles and lace petticoats. They smiled -on him. They lured him in foreign tongues and in broken English. He -broadly winked at some of the more youthful ones, and they followed -him importunately, only to be shaken off with a laugh. As he walked, -he whistled or sang all the time. He was cut adrift, he explained to -himself, and through no fault of his own. His sole friend had left him -(much she cared!), and there was none to whom he owed the slightest -consideration. He was at liberty to do what he liked, without having -to consider first, "What would _she_ think of this?" Moreover, he must -discover solace, poor blighted creature! Looking down a side street, he -saw a man talking to a woman. He went past them, and heard what they -said. Then he was in Shaftesbury Avenue. Curious sensations fluttered -through his frame. With an insignificant oath, he nerved himself to a -resolve. - -Several times he was on the very point of carrying it out when his -courage failed. He traversed the Circus, got as far as St. James's -Hall, and returned upon his steps. In a minute he was on the north side -of Coventry Street. He looked into the faces of all the women, but in -each he found something to repel, to fear. - -Would it end in his going quietly home? He crossed over into the -seclusion of Whitcomb Street to argue the matter. As he was passing the -entry to a court, a woman came out, and both had to draw back to avoid -a collision. - -"_Chéri_!" she murmured. She was no longer young, but her broad, -Flemish face showed kindliness and good humour in every feature of it, -and her voice was soft. He did not answer, and she spoke to him again. -His spine assumed the consistency of butter; a shuddering thrill ran -through him. She put her arm gently into his, and pressed it. He had no -resistance.... - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -It was the morning of Boxing Day, frosty, with a sky of steel grey; the -streets were resonant under the traffic. - -Richard had long been anticipating the advent of the New Year, when -new resolutions were to come into force. A phrase from a sermon heard -at Bursley stuck in his memory: _Every day begins a new year_. But he -could not summon the swift, courageous decision necessary to act upon -that adage. For a whole year he had been slowly subsiding into a bog -of lethargy, and to extricate himself would, he felt, need an amount -of exertion which he could not put forth unless fortified by all the -associations of the season for such feats, and by the knowledge that -fellow-creatures were bracing themselves for a similar difficult wrench. - -Now that he looked back upon them, the fourteen months which had -elapsed since Adeline's departure seemed to have succeeded one another -with marvellous rapidity. At first he had chafed under the loss of her, -and then gradually and naturally he had grown used to her absence. She -wrote to him, a rather long letter, full of details about the voyage -and the train journey and her uncles' home; he had opened the envelope -half expecting that the letter might affect him deeply; but it did not; -it struck him as a distinctly mediocre communication. He sent a reply, -and the correspondence ended. He did not love her, probably never had -loved her. A little sentiment: that was all. The affair was quite over. -If it had been perhaps unsatisfactory, the fault was not his. A man, -he reflected, cannot by taking thought fall in love (and yet this was -exactly what he had attempted to do!), and that in any case Adeline -would not have suited him. Still, at moments when he recalled her face -and gestures, her exquisite feminality, and especially her fine candour -at their parting, he grew melancholy and luxuriously pitied himself. - -At the commencement of the year which was now drawing to a close he -had attacked the art of literature anew, and had compassed several -articles; but as one by one they suffered rejection, his energy had -dwindled, and in a short time he had again entirely ceased to write. -Nor did he pursue any ordered course of study. He began upon a number -of English classics, finishing few of them, and continued to consume -French novels with eagerness. Sometimes the French work, by its neat, -severe effectiveness, would stir in him a vague desire to do likewise, -but no serious sustained effort was made. - -In the spring, when loneliness is peculiarly wearisome, he had joined -a literary and scientific institution, for young men only, upon whose -premises it was forbidden either to drink intoxicants or to smoke -tobacco. He paid a year's subscription, and in less than a fortnight -loathed not only the institution but every separate member and official -of it. Then he thought of transplanting himself to the suburbs, but -the trouble of moving the library of books which by this time he -had accumulated deterred him, as well as a lazy aversion for the -discomforts which a change would certainly involve. - -And so he had sunk into a sort of coma. His chief task was to kill -time. Eight hours were due to the office and eight to sleep, and eight -others remained to be disposed of daily. In the morning he rose late, -retarding his breakfast hour, diligently read the newspaper, and -took the Park on the way to business. In the evening, as six o'clock -approached, he no longer hurried his work in order to be ready to -leave the office immediately the clock struck. On the contrary, he -often stayed after hours when there was no necessity to stay, either -leisurely examining his accounts, or gossiping with Jenkins or one of -the older clerks. He watched the firm's welfare with a jealous eye, -offered suggestions to Mr. Curpet which not seldom were accepted, and -grew to be regarded as exceptionally capable and trustworthy. He could -divine now and then in the tone or the look of the principals (who were -niggardly with praise) an implicit trust, mingled--at any rate, in -the case of the senior partner--with a certain respect. He grew more -sedate in manner, and to the office boys, over whom he had charge, -he was even forbidding; they disliked him, finding him a martinet -more strict and less suave than Mr. Curpet himself. He kept them -late at night sometimes without quite sufficient cause, and if they -showed dissatisfaction, told them sententiously that boys who were so -desperately anxious to do as little as they could would never get on in -the world. - -Upon leaving the office he would stroll slowly through Booksellers' Row -and up the Strand, with the gait of a man whose time is entirely his -own. Once or twice a week he dined at one of the foreign restaurants in -Soho, prolonging the meal to an unconscionable length, and repairing -afterwards to some lounge for a cigar and a liqueur. He paid particular -attention to his dress, enjoying the sensation of wearing good clothes, -and fell into a habit of comparing his personal appearance with that of -the men whom he rubbed shoulders with in fashionable cafés and bars. -His salary sufficed for these petty extravagances, since he was still -living inexpensively in one room at Raphael Street; but besides what -he earned, his resources included the sum received from the estate of -William Vernon. Seventy pounds of this had melted in festivities with -Adeline, two hundred pounds was lent upon mortgage under Mr. Curpet's -guidance, and the other fifty was kept in hand, being broken into as -infrequent occasion demanded. The mortgage investment did much to -heighten his status not only with the staff but with his principals. - -Seated in a wine-room or lager-beer hall, meditatively sipping from -glass or tankard, and savouring a fragrant cigar, he contrived to -extract a certain pleasure from the contemplation of his equality with -the men around him. Many of them, he guessed with satisfaction, were in -a worse or a less secure position than his own. He studied faces and -made a practice of entering into conversation with strangers, and these -chance encounters almost invariably left him with the impression that -he had met a mental inferior. Steeping himself, as it were, in all the -frivolous, lusory activities of the West End, he began to acquire that -indefinable, unmistakable air of _savoir-faire_ characteristic of the -prosperous clerk who spends his leisure in public places. People from -the country frequently mistook him for the young man-about-town of -the society papers, familiar with every form of metropolitan chicane, -luxury, and vice. - - * * * * * - -After breakfast he went out into the Park with his skates. The -Serpentine had been frozen hard for more than a week, and yesterday, a -solitary unit in tens of thousands, he had celebrated Christmas on the -ice, skating from noon till nearly midnight, with brief intervals for -meals. The exercise and the fresh air had invigorated and enlivened -him, and this morning, as he plunged once more into the loose throng -of skaters, his spirits were buoyant. It had been his intention to -pass yet another day on the Serpentine; but a sudden, surprising fancy -entered his head, flitted away, and returned again and again with such -an increasing allurement that he fell in love with it: Why not commence -to write now? Why, after all, leave the new beginning till the New -Year? Was it true--what he had mournfully taken for granted for a month -past, and so lately as an hour ago--that he lacked the moral strength -to carry a good resolution into effect at any time he chose?... In a -moment, he had sworn to work four hours before he slept that night. - -The decision reached, his humour became unequivocally gay. He shot -forward with longer, bolder strokes, enjoying with a keener zest the -swift motion and the strange black-and-white, sylvan-urban scene about -him. He forgot the year of idleness which lay immediately behind him, -forgot every previous failure, in the passionate exultation of his -new resolve. He whistled. He sang. He attempted impossible figures, -and only laughed when they ended in a fall. A woman, skating alone, -stumbled to her knees; he glided towards her, lifted her lightly, -raised his hat, and was gone before she could thank him: it was neatly -done; he felt proud of himself. As the clock struck twelve he took off -his skates, and walked in a quiet corner of the Park, deliberating -intently upon the plot of a story, which fortunately had been in his -mind for several months. - -When he came in to dinner, he gave Lily five shillings for a Christmas -box, almost without thinking, and though he had no previous intention -of doing so; and inquired when she was to be married. He ordered tea -for four o'clock, so that the evening might be long. In the afternoon -he read and dozed. At a quarter to five the tea-things were cleared -away, the lamp was burning brightly, the blinds drawn, and his -writing-materials arranged on the table. He lit a pipe and sat down by -the fire. At last, at last, the old, long-abandoned endeavours were -about to be resumed! - -The story which he was going to write was called "Tiddy-fol-lol." The -leading character was an old smith, to be named Downs, employed in -the forge of a large iron foundry at Bursley. Downs was a Primitive -Methodist of the narrowest type, and when his daughter fell in love -with and married a sceneshifter at the local theatre, she received -for dowry a father's curse. Once, in the foundry, Downs in speaking -of the matter had referred to his daughter as no better than a -"Tiddy-fol-lol," and for years afterwards a favourite sport of the -apprentice boys was to run after him, at a safe distance, calling -"Tiddy-fol-lol, Tiddy-fol-lol." The daughter, completely estranged -from her parent, died in giving birth to a son who grew up physically -strong and healthy, but half an idiot. At the age of twelve, quite -ignorant of his grandfather's identity, he was sent by his father to -work at the foundry. The other lads saw a chance for fun. Pointing -out Downs to him in the forge, they told him to go close to the man -and say "Tiddy-fol-lol." "What dost thee want?" Downs questioned -gruffly, when the boy stood before him with a vacant grin on his face. -"Tiddy-fol-lol," came the response, in the aggravating, uninflected -tones peculiar to an imbecile. Downs raised his tremendous arm in a -flash of anger, and felled the youngster with a blow on the side of -the head. Then he bade him rise. But the child, caught just under the -ear, had been struck dead. Downs was tried for manslaughter, pronounced -insane, and subsequently released as a harmless lunatic. The Salvation -Army took charge of him, and he lived by selling "War-Cries" in the -streets, still pursued by boys who shouted "Tiddy-fol-lol." - -Properly elaborated, Richard opined, such a plot would make a powerful -story. In his brain the thing was already complete. The one difficulty -lay in the selection of a strong opening scene; that done, he was sure -the incidents of the tale would fall naturally into place. He began to -cogitate, but his thoughts went wool-gathering most pertinaciously, -though time after time he compelled them to return to the subject in -hand by force of knitted brows. He finished his pipe and recharged it. -The fire burnt low, and he put on more coal. Still no suitable opening -scene presented itself. His spirits slowly fell. What ailed him? - -At length, an idea! He was not going to fail, after all. The story must -of course begin with a quarrel between old Downs and his daughter. -He drew up to the table, took a pen, and wrote the title; then a few -sentences, hurriedly, and then a page. Then he read what was written, -pronounced it unconvincing rubbish, and tore it up. Words were -untractable, and, besides, he could not _see_ the scene. He left the -table, and after studying a tale of de Maupassant's, started on a new -sheet, carefully imitating the manner of that writer. But he could by -no means satisfy himself. Mrs. Rowbotham appeared with the supper-tray, -and he laid his writing-materials on the bed. During supper he took up -de Maupassant once more, and at ten o'clock made yet a third attempt, -well knowing beforehand that it would not be successful. The plot -tumbled entirely to pieces; the conclusion especially was undramatic; -but how to alter it?... - -He was disgusted with himself. He wondered what would happen to him if -he lost his situation. Supposing that the firm of Curpet and Smythe -failed! Smythe was a careless fellow, capable of ruining business in a -month if for any reason Curpet's restraining influence was withdrawn. -These and similar morbid fancies assailed him, and he went to bed sick -with misery, heartily wishing that he had been less precipitate in his -attempt to be industrious. He had a superstition that if he had waited -for the New Year, the adventure might have resulted more happily. - -In the night he awoke, to lament upon his solitariness. Why had he -no congenial friends? How could he set about obtaining sympathetic -companionship? He needed, in particular, cultured feminine society. -Given that, he could work; without it he should accomplish nothing. He -reflected that in London there were probably thousands of "nice girls," -pining for such men as he. What a ridiculous civilisation it was that -prevented him from meeting them! When he saw a promising girl in a -bus, why in the name of heaven should he not be at liberty to say to -her, "Look here, I can convince you that I mean well; let us make each -other's acquaintance"?... But convention, convention! He felt himself -to be imprisoned by a relentless, unscaleable wall.... Then he dreamt -that he was in a drawing-room full of young men and women, and that all -were chattering vivaciously and cleverly. He himself stood with his -back to the fire, and talked to a group of girls. They looked into his -face, as Adeline used to look. They grasped his ideals and his aims -without laborious explanations; half a word was sufficient to enlighten -them; he saw the gleam of appreciative comprehension in their eyes long -before his sentences were finished.... - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -The next morning was bright with sunshine; the frost had broken, and -the streets were beginning to be muddy. Richard went out, his mind -empty, and dully dejected. At Sloane Street he mounted a bus, taking -the one vacant front seat on the top. For a little while he stared -absently at the handle of his stick. Presently a chance movement of -the head made him aware that someone's eyes were upon him. He looked -round. In the far corner of the seat opposite was Miss Roberts. She -hesitated, flushing, and then bowed, and he responded. No further -communications were possible just then (and for this, at the moment, -he felt thankful), because they were separated by two young gentlemen -wearing tweed caps, and collars which might have been clean once, who -were arguing briskly over a copy of the "Sportsman." - -For some strange reason of diffidence, Richard had not been to the -Crabtree since his visit there with Adeline. He was sardonically in -search of his motive for staying away when the young gentlemen with -the "Sportsman" left the bus. Miss Roberts grew rosy as he got up and -offered her his hand, at the same time seating himself by her side. -She wore a black jacket and skirt, well worn but in good preservation, -a hat with red flowers, and grey woollen gloves; and any person of -ordinary discernment would have guessed her occupation without a great -deal of difficulty. During the last year she had become stouter, and -her figure was now full rather than slender; her features, especially -the nostrils, mouth, and chin, were somewhat heavy, but she had -prettily shaped ears, and her eyes, of no definable tint, were soft and -tender; her reddish-brown hair was as conspicuous and as splendid as -ever, coiled with tight precision at the back of her head, and escaping -here and there above her ears in tiny flying wisps. The expression of -her face was mainly one of amiability, but passive, animal-like, inert; -she seemed full of good-nature. - -"We haven't seen you at the Crabtree, lately," she said. - -"You are still at the old place, then?" - -"Oh, yes; and shall be, I expect. They've taken another floor now, and -we're the biggest vegetarian restaurant in London." - -There was a note of timid agitation in her voice, and he noticed -besides that her cheeks were red and her eyes shone. Could it be that -this encounter had given her pleasure? The idea of such a possibility -afforded him secret delight.... She, a breathing woman, glad to see -him! He wondered what the other people on the bus were thinking of -them, and especially what the driver thought; the driver had happened -to catch sight of them when they were shaking hands, and as Richard -examined the contour of the man's rubicund face, he fancied he saw -there a glimmer of a smile. This was during a little pause in the -conversation. - -"And how have you spent Christmas?" It was Richard's question. - -"At home," she answered simply, "with father and mother. My married -sister and her husband came over for the day." - -"And I spent mine all alone," he said ruefully. "No friends, no -pudding, no nothing." - -She looked at him compassionately. - -"I suppose you live in rooms? It must be very lonely." - -"Oh!" he returned lightly, yet seizing with eager satisfaction the -sympathy she offered, "it's nothing when you're used to it. This makes -my third Christmas in London, and none of them has been particularly -uproarious. Fortunately there was the skating this year. I was on the -Serpentine nearly all day." - -Then she asked him if skating was easy to learn, because she had been -wanting to try for years, but had never had opportunity. He answered -that it was quite easy, if one were not afraid. - -"I'm going your way," he said, as they both got off at Piccadilly -Circus, and they walked along Coventry Street together. The talk -flagged; to rouse it Richard questioned her about the routine of the -restaurant,--a subject on which she spoke readily, and with a certain -sense of humour. When they reached the Crabtree,-- - -"Why, it's been painted!" Richard exclaimed. "It looks very swagger, -indeed, now." - -"Yes, my! doesn't it? And it's beautiful inside, too. You must come in -sometime." - -"I will," he said with emphasis. - -She shook his hand quite vigorously, and their eyes met with a -curious questioning gaze. He smiled to himself as he walked down -Chandos Street; his dejection had mysteriously vanished, and he even -experienced a certain uplifting of spirit. It occurred to him that he -had never at all understood Miss Roberts before. How different she was -outside the restaurant! Should he go to the Crabtree for lunch that -day, or should he allow a day or two to elapse? He decidedly prudently -to wait. - -He debated whether he should mention the meeting to Jenkins, and said -on the whole that he would not do so. But he found Jenkins surprisingly -urbane, and without conscious volition he was soon saying,-- - -"Guess who I came down with on the bus this morning." - -Jenkins gave it up. - -"Laura Roberts;" and then, seeing no look of comprehension on Jenkins' -face, "You know, the cashier at the Crabtree." - -"Oh--_her_!" - -The stress was a little irritating. - -"_I_ saw her about a fortnight ago," Jenkins said. - -"At the Crabtree?" - -"Yes. Did she say anything to you about me?" The youth smiled. - -"No. Why?" - -"Nothing. We had a talk, and I mashed her a bit,--that's all." - -"Ah, my boy, you won't get far with her." - -"Oh, sha'n't I? I could tell you a thing or two _re_ Laura Roberts, if -I liked." - -Although Jenkins' remark was characteristic, and Richard knew well -enough that there was nothing behind his words, yet his mind reverted -instantly to the stories connecting Miss Roberts with Mr. Aked. - -"Don't gas," he said curtly. "She looks on you as a boy." - -"Man enough for any woman," said Jenkins, twirling the rudiments of a -moustache. - -The discussion might have gone further, had it not been interrupted by -Mr. Smythe, who burst suddenly into the room, as his custom was. - -"Larch, come with me into Mr. Curpet's room." His tone was brusque. He -had none of Mr. Curpet's natural politeness, though on rare occasions, -of which the present was not one, he sought clumsily to imitate it. -Richard felt a vague alarm. - -With a muffler round his throat, Mr. Curpet was seated before the fire, -blowing his nose and breathing noisily. Mr. Smythe went to the window, -and played with the tassel of the blind cord. - -"We are thinking of making some changes, Larch," Mr. Curpet began. - -"Yes, sir." His heart sank. Was he to be dismissed? The next sentence -was reassuring. - -"In future all costs will be drawn and settled in the office, instead -of being sent out. Do you feel equal to taking charge of that -department?" - -Richard had many times helped in the preparation of bills of cost, and -possessed a fair knowledge of this complicated and engaging subject. He -answered very decidedly in the affirmative. - -"What we propose," Mr. Smythe broke in, "is that you should have an -assistant, and that the two of you should attend to both the books and -the costs." - -"Of course your salary will be increased," Mr. Curpet added. - -"Let me see, what do you get now?" This from Mr. Smythe, whose memory -was imperfect. - -"Three pounds ten, sir." - -"Suppose we say four pounds ten," said Mr. Smythe to Mr. Curpet, and -then turning to Larch: "That's very good indeed, you know, young man; -you wouldn't get that everywhere. By Jove, no, you wouldn't!" Richard -was fully aware of the fact. He could scarcely credit his own luck. -"And we shall expect you to keep things up to the mark." - -Mr. Curpet smiled kindly over his handkerchief, as if to intimate that -Mr. Smythe need not have insisted on that point. - -"And you may have to stay late sometimes," Mr. Smythe went on. - -"Yes, sir." - -When the interview was finished, he retraced his career at the office, -marvelling that he should have done anything unusual enough to inspire -his principals to such appreciation, and he soon made out that, -compared with others of the staff, he had indeed been a model clerk. -A delicious self-complacence enveloped him. Mr. Smythe had had the air -of conferring a favour; but Mr. Curpet was at the head of affairs at -No. 2 Serjeant's Court, and Mr. Curpet's attitude had been decidedly -flattering. At first he had a difficulty in grasping his good fortune, -thought it too good to be true; but he ended by believing in himself -very heartily. In the matter of salary, he stood now second only to Mr. -Alder, he a youth not three years out of the provinces. Three years -ago an income of £234 per annum would have seemed almost fabulous. His -notions as to what constituted opulence had changed since then, but -nevertheless £234 was an excellent revenue, full of possibilities. A -man could marry on that and live comfortably; many men ventured to -marry on half as much. In clerkdom he had indubitably risen with ease -to the upper ranks. There was good Northern stuff in Richard Larch, -after all! As he walked home, his brain was busy with plans, beautiful -plans for the New Year,--how he would save money, and how he would -spend his nights in toil. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -There happened to be a room to let on the same floor as Richard's -own. The rent was only five shillings per week, and he arranged to -take it and use it as a bedroom, transforming the other and larger -room into a study. Mrs. Rowbotham was asked to remove all her tables, -chairs, carpets, pictures, ornaments, and accessories from both -rooms, as he proposed to furnish them entirely anew at his own cost. -This did not indicate that a sudden increase of revenue had, as once -on a previous occasion, engendered in him a propensity to squander. -On the contrary, his determination to live economically was well -established, and he hoped to save a hundred pounds per annum with -ease. But the influence of an æsthetic environment upon his literary -work would, he argued, probably be valuable enough to justify the -moderate expenditure involved, and so all the leisure of the last -days of the year was given to the realisation of certain theories in -regard to the furnishing of a study and a bedroom. Unfortunately the -time at his disposal was very limited--- was it not essential that -the place should be set in order by the 31st of December, that work -might commence on the 1st of January?--but he did not spare himself, -and the result, when he contemplated it on New Year's Eve, filled him -with pleasure and pride. He felt that he could write worthily in that -study, with its four autotype reproductions of celebrated pictures -on the self-coloured walls, its square of Indian carpet over Indian -matting, its long, low bookshelves, its quaint table with the elm -top, its plain rush-bottomed chairs, and its broad luxurious divan. -He marvelled that he had contrived so long to exist in the room as it -was before, and complacently attributed his ill-success as a writer to -the lack of harmonious surroundings. By the last post arrived a New -Year's card from Mrs. Clayton Vernon. Twelve months ago she had sent a -similar kind token of remembrance, and he had ignored it; in the summer -she had written inviting him to spend a few days at Bursley, and he -had somewhat too briefly asked to be excused. To-night, however, he -went out, bought a New Year's card, and despatched it to her at once. -He flowed over with benevolence, viewing the world through the rosy -spectacles of high resolve. Mrs. Clayton Vernon was an excellent woman, -and he would prove to her and to Bursley that they had not estimated -too highly the possibilities of Richard Larch. He was, in truth, -prodigiously uplifted. The old sense of absolute power over himself -for good or evil returned. A consciousness of exceptional ability -possessed him. The future, splendid in dreams, was wholly his; and yet -again--perhaps more thoroughly than ever before--the ineffectual past -was effaced. To-morrow was the New Year, and to-morrow the new heaven -and the new earth were to begin. - -He had decided to write a novel. Having failed in short stories and in -essays, it seemed to him likely that the novel, a form which he had -not so far seriously attempted, might suit his idiosyncrasy better. He -had once sketched out the plot of a short novel, a tale of adventure -in modern London, and on examination this struck him as ingenious and -promising. Moreover, it would appeal--like Stevenson's "New Arabian -Nights," which in Richard's mind it distantly resembled--both to the -general and to the literary public. He determined to write five hundred -words of it a day, five days a week; at this rate of progress he -calculated that the book would be finished in four months; allowing two -months further for revision, it ought to be ready for a publisher at -the end of June. - -He drew his chair up to the blazing fire, and looked down the vista of -those long, lamplit evenings during which the novel was to grow under -his hands. How different he from the average clerk, who with similar -opportunities was content to fritter away those hours which would -lead himself, perhaps, to fame! He thought of Adeline, and smiled. -What, after all, did such as he want with women? He was in a position -to marry, and if he met a clever girl of sympathetic temperament, he -emphatically would marry (it did not occur to him to add the clause, -"Provided she will have me"); but otherwise he would wait. He could -afford to wait,--to wait till he had made a reputation, and half a -score of women, elegant and refined, were only too willing to envelop -him in an atmosphere of adoration. - - * * * * * - -It was part of his plan for economy to dine always at the Crabtree, -where one shilling was the price of an elaborate repast, and he went -there on New Year's Day. As he walked up Charing Cross Road, his -thoughts turned naturally to Miss Roberts. Would she be as cordial -as when he had met her on the omnibus, or would she wear the polite -mask of the cashier, treating him merely as a frequenter of the -establishment? She was engaged when he entered the dining-room, but she -noticed him and nodded. He looked towards her several times during his -meal, and once her eyes caught his and she smiled, not withdrawing -them for a few moments; then she bent over her account book. - -His fellow-diners seemed curiously to have degenerated, to have grown -still narrower in their sympathies, still more careless in their -eating, still more peculiar or shabbier in their dress. The young women -of masculine aspect set their elbows on the table more uncompromisingly -than ever, and the young men with soiled wristbands or no wristbands -at all were more than ever tedious in their murmured conversations. It -was, indeed, a bizarre company that surrounded him! Then he reflected -that these people had not altered. The change was in himself. He had -outgrown them; he surveyed them now as from a tower. He was a man with -a future, using this restaurant because it suited him temporarily to -do so, while they would use it till the end, never deviating, never -leaving the rut. - -"So you have come at last!" Miss Roberts said to him when he presented -his check. "I was beginning to think you had deserted us." - -"But it's barely a week since I saw you," he protested. "Let me wish -you a happy New Year." - -"The same to you." She flushed a little, and then: "What do you think -of our new decorations? Aren't they pretty?" - -He praised them perfunctorily, even without glancing round. His eyes -were on her face. He remembered the reiterated insinuations of Jenkins, -and wondered whether they had any ground of fact. - -"By the way, has Jenkins been here to-day?" he inquired, by way of -introducing the name. - -"Is that the young man who used to come with you sometimes? No." - -There was no trace of self-consciousness in her bearing, and Richard -resolved to handle Jenkins with severity. Another customer approached -the pay-desk. - -"Well, good afternoon." He lingered. - -"Good afternoon." Her gaze rested on him softly. "I suppose you'll be -here again _some_ time." She spoke low, so that the other customer -should not hear. - -"I'm coming every day now, I think," he answered in the same tone, with -a smothered laugh. "Ta-ta." - -That night at half-past seven he began his novel. The opening chapter -was introductory, and the words came without much effort. This being -only a draft, there was no need for polish; so that when a sentence -refused to run smoothly at the first trial, he was content to make it -grammatical and leave it. He seemed to have been working for hours when -a desire took him to count up what was already written. Six hundred -words! He sighed the sigh of satisfaction, and looked at his watch, -to find that it was exactly half-past eight. The discovery somewhat -damped his felicity. He began to doubt whether stuff composed at the -rate of ten words a minute could have any real value. Pooh! Sometimes -one wrote quickly, and sometimes slowly. The number of minutes occupied -was no index of quality. Should he continue writing? Yes, he would.... -No.... Why should he? He had performed the task self-allotted for the -day, and more; and now he was entitled to rest. True, the actual time -of labour had been very short; but then, another day the same amount of -work might consume three or four hours. He put away his writing-things, -and searched about for something to read, finally lighting on "Paradise -Lost." But "Paradise Lost" wanted actuality. He laid it aside. Was -there any valid reason why he should not conclude the evening at the -theatre? None. The frost had returned with power, and the reverberation -of the streets sounded invitingly through his curtained windows. He -went out, and walked briskly up Park Side. At Hyde Park Corner he -jumped on an omnibus. - -It was the first night of a new ballet at the Ottoman. "Standing-room -only," said the man at the ticket-office. "All right," said Richard, -and, entering, was greeted with soft music, which came to him like a -fitful zephyr over a sea of heads. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -One Saturday afternoon towards the end of February, he suddenly decided -to read through so much of the draft novel as was written; hitherto -he had avoided any sort of revision. The resolve to accomplish five -hundred words a day had been kept indifferently well, and the total -stood at about fourteen thousand. As he wrote a very bold hand, the -sheets covered made quite a respectable pile. The mere bulk of them -cajoled him, in spite of certain misgivings, into an optimistic -surmise as to their literary quality. Never before had he written so -much upon one theme, and were the writing good or bad, he was, for a -few moments, proud of his achievement. The mischief lay in the fact -that week by week he had exercised less and still less care over -the work. The phrase, "Anything will do for a draft," had come to -be uttered with increasing frequency as an excuse for laxities of -style and construction. "I will make that right in the revision," -he had reassured himself, and had gone negligently forward, leaving -innumerable crudities in the wake of his hurrying pen. During the last -few days he had written scarcely anything, and perhaps it was a hope -of stimulating a drooping inspiration by the complacent survey of work -actually done that tempted him to this hazardous perusal. - -He whistled as he took up the manuscript, as a boy whistles when going -into a dark cellar. The first three pages were read punctiliously, -every word of them, but soon he grew hasty, rushing to the next -paragraph ere the previous one was grasped; then he began shamelessly -to skip; and then he stopped, and his heart seemed to stop also. -The lack of homogeneity, of sequence, of dramatic quality, of human -interest; the loose syntax; and the unrelieved mediocrity of it all, -horrified him. The thing was dry bones, a fiasco. The certainty that -he had once more failed swept over him like a cold, green wave of the -sea, and he had a physical feeling of sickness in the stomach.... It -was with much ado that he refrained from putting the whole manuscript -upon the fire, and crushing it venomously into the flames with a -poker. Then he steadied himself. His self-confidence was going, almost -gone; he must contrive to recover it, and he sought for a way. (Where -were now the rash exultations of the New Year?) It was impossible -that his work should be irredeemably bad. He remembered having read -somewhere that the difference between a fine and a worthless novel was -often a difference of elaboration simply. A conscientious re-writing, -therefore, might probably bring about a surprising amelioration. He -must immediately make the experiment. But he had long since solemnly -vowed not to commence the second writing till the draft was done; -the moral value of finishing even the draft had then seemed to him -priceless. No matter! Under stress of grievous necessity, that oath -must be forsworn. No other course could save him from collapse. - - * * * * * - -He went out into the streets. The weather, fine and bright, suggested -the earliest infancy of spring, and Piccadilly was full of all classes -and all ages of women. There were regiments of men, too, but the gay -and endless stream of women obsessed him. He saw them sitting in -hansoms and private carriages and on the tops of omnibuses, niched in -high windows, shining in obscurity of shops, treading the pavements -with fairy step, either unattended or by the side of foolish, -unappreciative males. Every man in London seemed to have the right to -a share of some woman's companionship, except himself. As for those -men who walked alone, they had sweethearts somewhere, or mothers and -sisters, or they were married and even now on the way to wife and -hearth. Only he was set apart. - -A light descended upon him that afternoon. The average man and the -average woman being constantly thrown into each other's society, custom -has staled for them the exquisite privilege of such intercourse. The -rustic cannot share the townsman's enthusiasm for rural scenery; he -sees no matter for ecstasy in the view from his cottage door; and in -the same way the average man and the average woman dine together, talk -together, walk together, and know not how richly they are therein -blessed. But with solitaries like Richard it is different. Debarred -from fellowship with the opposite sex by circumstances and an innate -diffidence which makes the control of circumstance impossible, their -starved sensibilities acquire certain morbid tenderness. (Doubtless the -rustic discerns morbidity in the attitude of the townsman towards the -view from his cottage door.) Richard grasped this. In a luminous moment -of self-revelation, he was able to trace the growth of the malady. -From its first vague and fugitive symptoms, it had so grown that now, -on seeing an attractive woman, he could not be content to say, "What -an attractive woman!" and have done with it, but he needs must build a -house, furnish a room in the house, light a fire in the room, place -a low chair by the fire, put the woman in the chair, with a welcoming -smile on her upturned lips--and imagine that she was his wife. And it -was not only attractive women that laid the spell upon him. The sight -of any living creature in petticoats was liable to set his hysterical -fancy in motion. Every woman he met was Woman.... Of the millions of -women in London, why was he not permitted to know a few? Why was he -entirely cut off? There they were: their silk skirts brushed him as -they passed; they thanked him for little services in public vehicles; -they ministered to him in restaurants; they sang to him at concerts, -danced for him at theatres; touched his existence at every side--and -yet they were remoter than the stars, unattainable as the moon.... He -rebelled. He sank in despair, and rose to frenzies of anger. Then he -was a pathetic figure, and extended to himself his own pity, smiling -sardonically at fate. Fate was the harder to bear because he was -convinced that, at the heart of him, he was essentially a woman's man. -None could enjoy the feminine atmosphere more keenly, more artistically -than he. Other men, who had those delicious rights for which he longed -in vain, assessed them meanly, or even scorned them.... He looked back -with profound regret to his friendship with Adeline. He dreamt that -she had returned, that he had fallen in love with her and married her, -that her ambitions were leading him forward to success. Ah! Under the -incentive of a woman's eyes, of what tremendous efforts is a clever man -not capable, and deprived of it to what deeps of stagnations will he -not descend! Then he awoke again to the fact that he knew no woman in -London. - -Yes, he knew one, and his thoughts began to play round her caressingly, -idealising and ennobling her. She only gave him his change daily at -the Crabtree, but he knew her; there existed between them a kind of -intimacy. She was a plain girl, possessing few attractions, except the -supreme one of being a woman. She was below him in station; but had -she not her refinements? Though she could not enter into his mental -or emotional life, did she not exhale for him a certain gracious -influence? His heart went forth to her. Her flirtations with Mr. Aked, -her alleged dalliance with Jenkins? Trifles, nothings! She had told him -that she lived with her mother and father and a younger brother, and on -more than one occasion she had mentioned the Wesleyan chapel; he had -gathered that the whole family was religious. In theory he detested -religious women, and yet--religion in a woman ... what was it? He -answered the question with a man's easy laugh. And if her temperament -was somewhat lymphatic, he divined that, once roused, she was capable -of the most passionate feeling. He had always had a predilection for -the sleeping-volcano species of woman. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -Richard was soon forced to the conclusion that the second writing -of his novel was destined to be a failure. For a few days he stuck -doggedly to the task, writing stuff which, as he wrote it, he knew -would ultimately be condemned. Then one evening he stopped suddenly, in -the middle of a word, bit the penholder for a moment, and threw it down -with a "Damn!" This sort of thing could not continue. - -"Better come up and see my new arrangements at Raphael Street -to-night," he said to Jenkins the next day. He wanted a diversion. - -"Any whisky going?" - -"Certainly." - -"Delighted, I'm sure," said Jenkins, with one of his ridiculous polite -bows. He regarded these rare invitations as an honour; it was more than -six months since the last. - -They drank whisky and smoked cigars which Jenkins had thoughtfully -brought with him, and chattered for a long time about office matters. -And then, as the cigar-ash accumulated, the topics became more -personal and intimate. That night Jenkins was certainly in a serious -vein; further, he was on his best behaviour, striving to be sympathetic -and gentlemanly. He confided to Richard his aspirations. He wished -to learn French and proposed to join a Polytechnic Institute for the -purpose. Also, he had thoughts of leaving home, and living in rooms, -like Richard. He was now earning twenty-eight shillings a week; he -intended to save money and to give up all intoxicants beyond half a -pint of bitter a day. Richard responded willingly to his mood, and -offered sound advice, which was listened to with deference. Then the -talk, as often aforetime, drifted to the subject of women. It appeared -that Jenkins had a desire to "settle down" (he was twenty-one). He knew -several fellows in the Walworth Road who had married on less than he -was earning. - -"What about Miss Roberts?" Richard questioned. - -"Oh! She's off. She's a bit too old for me, you know. She must be -twenty-six." - -"Look here, my boy," said Richard, good-humouredly. "I don't believe -you ever had anything to do with her at all. It was nothing but -boasting." - -"What will you bet I can't prove it to you?" Jenkins retorted, putting -out his chin, an ominous gesture with him. - -"I'll bet you half-a-crown--no, a shilling." - -"Done." - -Jenkins took a leather-case from his pocket, and handed Richard a -midget photograph of Miss Roberts. Underneath it was her signature, -"Yours sincerely, Laura Roberts." - -Strange to say, the incident did not trouble Richard in the least. - -He walked down to Victoria with Jenkins towards midnight, and on -returning to his lodging, thought for the hundredth time how futile was -his present mode of existence, how bare of all that makes life worth -living. Of what avail to occupy pretty rooms, if one occupied them -alone, coming into them at night to find them empty, leaving them in -the morning without a word of farewell? In the waste of London, Laura -Roberts made the one green spot. He had lost interest in his novel. On -the other hand, his interest in the daily visit to the Crabtree was -increasing. - -As day succeeded day he fell into a practice of deliberately seeking -out and magnifying the finer qualities in her nature, while ignoring -those which were likely to offend him; indeed he refused to allow -himself to be offended. He went so far as to retard his lunch-hour -permanently, so that, the rush of customers being past, he should -have better opportunity to talk to her without interruption. Then -he timidly essayed the first accents of courtship, and finding his -advances accepted, grew bolder. One Sunday morning he met her as she -was coming out of the Wesleyan chapel at Munster Park; he said the -encounter was due to accident. She introduced him to her relations, who -were with her. Her father was a big, stout, dark man, dressed in black -faced-cloth, with a heavy beard, huge chubby fingers, and jagged grey -finger-nails. Her mother was a spare woman of sorrowful aspect, whose -thin lips seldom moved; she held her hands in front of her, one on the -top of the other. Her brother was a lank schoolboy, wearing a damaged -mortar-board hat. - -Shortly afterwards he called on her at Carteret Street. The schoolboy -opened the door, and after inviting him as far as the lobby, vanished -into a back room only to reappear and run upstairs. Richard heard his -loud, agitated whisper: "Laura, Laura, here's Mr. Larch come to see -you." - -They strolled to Wimbledon Common that night. - -His entity seemed to have become dual. One part of him was willingly -enslaved to an imperious, headstrong passion; the other stood calmly, -cynically apart, and watched. There were hours when he could foresee -the whole of his future life, and measure the bitter, ineffectual -regret which he was laying up; hours when he admitted that his passion -had been, as it were, artificially incited, and that there could be -no hope of an enduring love. He liked Laura; she was a woman, a balm, -a consolation. To all else he obstinately shut his eyes, and, casting -away every consideration of prudence, hastened to involve himself more -and more deeply. Swiftly, swiftly, the climax approached. He hailed it -with a strange, affrighted joy. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -They were upon Chelsea Embankment in the late dusk of a Saturday -evening in May. A warm and gentle wind stirred the budding trees to -magic utterances. The long, straight line of serried lamps stretched -away to an enchanted bridge which with twinkling lights hung poised -over the misty river. The plash of an oar came languorously up from -the water, and the voices of boys calling. At intervals, couples like -themselves passed by, either silent or conversing in low tones that -seemed to carry inner, inarticulate meanings. As for them, they were -silent; he had not her arm, but they walked close together. He was -deeply and indescribably moved; his heart beat heavily, and when he -looked at her face in the gloom and saw that her eyes were liquid, it -beat yet more heavily; then lay still. - -"Let us sit down--shall we?" he said at length, and they turned to an -empty bench under a tree. "What is she thinking?" he wondered, and then -the dominant feeling of the moment possessed him wholly. His ambitions -floated out of sight and were forgotten. He remembered nothing except -the girl by his side, whose maddening bosom rose and fell under his -very gaze. At that moment she belonged to no class; had no virtues, no -faults. All the inessentials of her being were stripped away, and she -was merely a woman, divine, desired, necessary, waiting to be captured. -She sat passive, expectant, the incarnation of the Feminine. - -He took her hand and felt it tremble. At the contact a thrill ran about -him, and for a second a delicious faintness robbed him of all strength. -Then with inexplicable rapidity his mind went unerringly back to that -train-journey to William's funeral. He saw the cottage in the fields, -and the young mother, half robed and with sleep in her eyes, standing -at the door. Exquisite vision! - -He heard himself speaking,-- - -"Laura...." - -The little hand gave a timorous encouragement. - -"Laura ... you are going to marry me." - -The intoxicating pressure of her lips on his was answer. Heedless of -publicity, he crushed her against his breast, this palpitating creature -with the serious face. Ah, she could love! - -It was done. The great irretrievable moment had gone to join a million -other moments of no significance. He felt triumphant, fiercely -triumphant. His frightful solitude was at an end. One woman was his. A -woman ... his, his own! - -See! A tear quivered in her eye. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -Sunday was stiflingly hot. At Sloane Street the roof of every Putney -omnibus was already laden with passengers, and Richard on his way to -Carteret Street to make the acquaintance of Laura's married sister, -Milly Powell, her husband and young child, was forced at last to be -content with a seat inside. The public houses were just closing for -the afternoon, and the footpaths full of holiday-makers, with here and -there a girl or a middle-aged man carrying a Bible. No vehicles were -abroad except the omnibuses and an occasional hired carriage which -passed by with a nonchalant, lazy air. - -At the Redcliffe Arms there got in a little family party consisting of -a stout, seemingly prosperous man, gruffly good-humoured, his wife, and -a boy of about three years, whose puffy face was disfigured by large -spectacles. - -"Sit here, Milly, out of the sun," the man said curtly. - -Richard looked up at the sound of the name. The woman's likeness to -Laura was unmistakable; beyond doubt she must be the sister of his -betrothed. He examined her curiously. She was perhaps slightly under -thirty, of a good height and well set, with a large head and a large, -plain face. Her movements were clumsy. She appeared to be just upon -the line which divides the matron from the young mother. In both her -features and her attire there were faint reminders of girlish grace, or -at least of the charm of the shy wife who nurses her first-born. Her -complexion was clear and fresh, her ears small and delicately pink, her -eyes cool grey. But one did not notice these beauties without careful -inspection, while the heavy jaws, the lax eyelids, the flattened -nose whose tilt unpleasantly revealed the nostrils, were obvious and -repellent. She wore a black gown, which fitted badly, imparting an -ungainliness probably foreign to her proper figure. Her broad hat of -black straw, trimmed with poppies and corn-flowers, was strikingly -modish, and the veil, running at an angle from the extremity of the -brim down to her chin, gave to her face a cloistered quality which -had its own seductiveness. Her small hands were neatly gloved, and -held a cheap, effective parasol. The woman's normal expression was one -of cow-like vacancy, but now and then her eyes would light up as she -spoke to the child, gently restraining it, reassuring it, rallying it -with simple banter. She was still in love with her husband; frequently -she glanced at him with furtive wistfulness. She was able to enjoy -the summer weather. She was not quite dead to the common phenomena of -the roadside. But the last resistances of departing youthfulness and -vivacity against the narcotic of a dull, unlovely domesticity were -taking place. In a year or two she would be the typical matron of the -lower middle-class. - -When Richard had made these observations, he reflected: "Laura will be -like that--soon." Mentally he compared the two faces, and he could, as -it were, see Laura's changing.... - -Then followed a reverie which embraced the whole of his past life. He -recognised that, while he bore all the aspect of prosperity, he had -failed. Why had nature deprived him of strength of purpose? Why could -not he, like other men, bend circumstances to his own ends? He sought -for a reason, and he found it in his father, that mysterious, dead -transmitter of traits, of whom he knew so little, and on whose name lay -a blot of some kind which was hidden from him. He had been born in the -shadow, and after a fitful struggle towards emergence, into the shadow -he must again retire. Fate was his enemy. Mary had died; Mary would -have helped him to be strong. Mr. Aked had died; Mr. Aked's inspiring -influence would have incited and guided his efforts. Adeline had -abandoned him to a fatal loneliness. - -He knew that he would make no further attempt to write. Laura was not -even aware that he had had ambitions in that direction. He had never -told her, because she would not have understood. She worshipped him, he -felt sure, and at times he had a great tenderness for her; but it would -be impossible to write in the suburban doll's-house which was to be -theirs. No! In future he would be simply the suburban husband--dutiful -towards his employers, upon whose grace he would be doubly dependent; -keeping his house in repair; pottering in the garden; taking his wife -out for a walk, or occasionally to the theatre; and saving as much -as he could. He would be good to his wife--she was his. He wanted to -get married at once. He wanted to be master of his own dwelling. He -wanted to have Laura's kiss when he went out of a morning to earn the -bread-and-cheese. He wanted to see her figure at the door when he -returned at night. He wanted to share with her the placid, domestic -evening. He wanted to tease her, and to get his ears boxed and be -called a great silly. He wanted to creep into the kitchen and surprise -her with a pinch of the cheek as she bent over the range. He wanted to -whisk her up in his arms, carry her from one room to another, and set -her down breathless in a chair.... Ah! Let it be soon. And as for the -more distant future, he would not look at that. He would keep his eyes -on the immediate foreground, and be happy while he could. After all, -perhaps things had been ordered for the best; perhaps he had no genuine -talent for writing. And yet at that moment he was conscious that he -possessed the incommunicable imaginative insights of the author.... But -it was done with now. - -The conductor called out their destination, and as Laura's sister -gathered the child in her arms he sprang out and hurried down Carteret -Street in order to reach the house first and so avoid a meeting on -the doorstep. He heard the trot of the child behind him. Children.... -Perhaps a child of his might give sign of literary ability. If so--and -surely these instincts descended, were not lost--how he would foster -and encourage it! - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man from the North, by Arnold Bennett - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN FROM THE NORTH *** - -***** This file should be named 52247-8.txt or 52247-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/2/4/52247/ - -Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at -http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made -available by the Internet Archive.) - - -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. 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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/license - - -Title: A Man from the North - -Author: Arnold Bennett - -Release Date: June 6, 2016 [EBook #52247] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN FROM THE NORTH *** - - - - -Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at -http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made -available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>A MAN FROM -THE NORTH</h1> - -<h4>BY</h4> - -<h3>ARNOLD BENNETT</h3> - -<h4>AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALE," -"BURIED ALIVE"</h4> - -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> - -<h5>GEORGE H. DORAN</h5> - -<h4>1911</h4> - -<hr class="full" /> - - -<h5>TO THE ONE -WHOM I MOST HONOUR</h5> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><a href="#TABLE_OF_CONTENTS">Contents</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>A Man from the North</h2> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h4>CHAPTER I</h4> - - -<p>There grows in the North Country a certain -kind of youth of whom it may be said -that he is born to be a Londoner. The -metropolis, and everything that appertains to it, -that comes down from it, that goes up into it, has -for him an imperious fascination. Long before -schooldays are over he learns to take a doleful -pleasure in watching the exit of the London train -from the railway station. He stands by the hot engine -and envies the very stoker. Gazing curiously -into the carriages, he wonders that men and women -who in a few hours will be treading streets called -Piccadilly and the Strand can contemplate the immediate -future with so much apparent calmness; -some of them even have the audacity to look bored. -He finds it difficult to keep from throwing himself -in the guard's van as it glides past him; and not until -the last coach is a speck upon the distance does he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> -turn away and, nodding absently to the ticket-clerk, -who knows him well, go home to nurse a vague ambition -and dream of Town.</p> - -<p>London is the place where newspapers are issued, -books written, and plays performed. And this -youth, who now sits in an office, reads all the newspapers. -He knows exactly when a new work by a -famous author should appear, and awaits the reviews -with impatience. He can tell you off-hand the -names of the pieces in the bills of the twenty principal -West-end theatres, what their quality is, and -how long they may be expected to run; and on the -production of a new play, the articles of the dramatic -critics provide him with sensations almost as -vivid as those of the most zealous first-nighter at the -performance itself.</p> - -<p>Sooner or later, perhaps by painful roads, he -reaches the goal of his desire. London accepts him—on -probation; and as his strength is, so she demeans -herself. Let him be bold and resolute, and -she will make an obeisance, but her heel is all too -ready to crush the coward and hesitant; and her -victims, once underfoot, do not often rise again.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER II</h4> - - -<p>The antique four-wheeler, top-heavy with -luggage, swung unsteadily round by Tattersall's -and into Raphael Street. Richard -thrust down the window with a sharp bang, indicative -of a strange new sense of power; but before the -cab came to a standstill he had collected himself, -and managed to alight with considerable decorum. -When the door opened in answer to his second ring, -a faint, sour odour escaped from the house, and he -remembered the friendly feminine warnings which -he had received at Bursley on the subject of London -lodgings. The aspect of the landlady, however, -reassured him; she was a diminutive old woman in -ridiculously short skirts, with a yellow, crinkled face, -grey eyes, and a warm, benevolent smile that conquered. -As she greeted Richard she blushed like -a girl, and made a little old-fashioned curtsey. -Richard offered his hand, and, after wiping hers on -a clean apron, she took it timidly.</p> - -<p>"I hope we shall get on well together, sir," she -said, looking straight up into her new lodger's eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'm sure we shall," answered Richard, sincerely.</p> - -<p>She preceded him up the narrow, frowsy staircase, -which was full of surprising turns.</p> - -<p>"You'll find these stairs a bit awkward at first," -she apologised. "I've often thought of getting a -bit of nice carpet on them, but what's the use? It -would be done for in a week. Now, here's your -room, sir, first floor front, with two nice French windows, -you see, and a nice balcony. Now, about -tidying it of a morning, sir. If you'll step out for -a walk as soon as you get up, my daughter shall -make the bed, and dust, and you'll come in and find -it all nice and straight for breakfast."</p> - -<p>"Very well," assented Richard.</p> - -<p>"That's how I generally arrange with my young -men. I like them to have their breakfast in a nice -tidy room, you see, sir. Now, what will you have -for tea, sir? A little nice bread and butter...."</p> - -<p>When she was gone Richard formally surveyed -his quarters: a long, rather low room, its length cut -by the two windows which were Mrs. Rowbotham's -particular pride; between the windows a table with a -faded green cloth, and a small bed opposite; behind -the door an artfully concealed washstand; the mantelpiece, -painted mustard yellow, bore divers squat -earthenware figures, and was surmounted by an oblong -mirror framed in rosewood; over the mirror an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -illuminated text, "Trust in Jesus," and over the text -an oleograph, in collision with the ceiling, entitled, -"After the Battle of Culloden." The walls were -decorated with a pattern of giant pink roses; and -here and there, hiding the roses, were hung photographs -of persons in their Sunday clothes, and landscapes -hand-painted in oil, depicting bridges, trees, -water, and white sails in the distance. But the furnishing -of the room caused Richard no uneasiness; -in a few moments he had mentally arranged how to -make the place habitable, and thenceforth he only -saw what should and would be.</p> - -<p>Tea was brought in by a girl whose face proclaimed -her to be Mrs. Rowbotham's daughter. At -the sight of her Richard privately winked; he had -read in books about landladies' daughters, but this -one gave the lie to books; she was young, she was -beautiful, and Richard would have sworn to her innocence. -With an accession of boldness which surprised -himself, he inquired her name.</p> - -<p>"Lily, sir," she said, blushing like her mother.</p> - -<p>He cut the new, heavy bread, and poured out a -cup of tea with the awkwardness of one unaccustomed -to such work, and, having made space on the -tray, set the evening paper against the sugar basin, -and began to eat and read. Outside were two piano -organs, children shouting, and a man uttering some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> -monotonous unintelligible cry. It grew dark; Mrs. -Rowbotham came in with a lamp and cleared the -table; Richard was looking through the window, and -neither spoke. Presently he sat down. That being -his first night in London, he had determined to -spend it quietly <i>at home</i>. The piano organs and the -children were still strident. A peculiar feeling of -isolation momentarily overcame him, and the noises -of the street seemed to recede. Then he went to -the window again, and noticed that the children were -dancing quite gracefully; it occurred to him that they -might be ballet children. He picked up the paper -and examined the theatrical advertisements, at first -idly, but afterwards in detail.</p> - -<p>With a long sigh, he took his hat and stick, and -went very slowly downstairs. Mrs. Rowbotham -heard him fumbling with the catch of the front door.</p> - -<p>"Are you going out, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Only just for a walk," said Richard, nonchalantly.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I'd better give you a latch-key?"</p> - -<p>"Thanks."</p> - -<p>Another moment and he was in the delicious -streets, going east.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER III</h4> - - -<p>Although he had visited London but -once before, and then only for a few hours, -he was not unfamiliar with the topography -of the town, having frequently studied it in -maps and an old copy of Kelly's directory.</p> - -<p>He walked slowly up Park Side and through -Piccadilly, picking out as he passed them the French -Embassy, Hyde Park Corner, Apsley House, Park -Lane, and Devonshire House. As he drank in the -mingled glare and glamour of Piccadilly by night,—the -remote stars, the high sombre trees, the vast, -dazzling interiors of clubs, the sinuous, flickering -lines of traffic, the radiant faces of women framed -in hansoms,—he laughed the laugh of luxurious -contemplation, acutely happy. At last, at last, he -had come into his inheritance. London accepted -him. He was hers; she his; and nothing should part -them. Starvation in London would itself be bliss. -But he had no intention of starving! Filled with -great purposes, he straightened his back, and just -then a morsel of mud thrown up from a bus-wheel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> -splashed warm and gritty on his cheek. He wiped it -off caressingly, with a smile.</p> - -<p>Although it was Saturday night, and most of the -shops were closed, an establishment where watches -and trinkets of "Anglo-Spanish" gold, superb in -appearance and pillowed on green plush, were retailed -at alluring prices, still threw a brilliant light -on the pavement, and Richard crossed the road to -inspect its wares. He turned away, but retraced his -steps and entered the shop. An assistant politely inquired -his wishes.</p> - -<p>"I want one of those hunters you have in the -window at 29/6," said Richard, with a gruffness -which must have been involuntary.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. Here is one. We guarantee that the -works are equal to the finest English lever."</p> - -<p>"I'll take it." He put down the money.</p> - -<p>"Thank you. Can I show you anything else?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, thanks," still more gruffly.</p> - -<p>"We have some excellent chains...."</p> - -<p>"Nothing else, thanks." And he walked out, -putting his purchase in his pocket. A perfectly reliable -gold watch, which he had worn for years, -already lay there.</p> - -<p>At Piccadilly Circus he loitered, and then crossed -over and went along Coventry Street to Leicester -Square. The immense façade of the Ottoman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -Theatre of Varieties, with its rows of illuminated -windows and crescent moons set against the sky, rose -before him, and the glory of it was intoxicating. It -is not too much to say that the Ottoman held a -stronger fascination for Richard than any other -place in London. The British Museum, Fleet -Street, and the Lyceum were magic names, but more -magical than either was the name of the Ottoman. -The Ottoman, on the rare occasions when it happened -to be mentioned in Bursley, was a synonym -for all the glittering vices of the metropolis. It -stank in the nostrils of the London delegates who -came down to speak at the annual meetings of the -local Society for the Suppression of Vice. But how -often had Richard, somnolent in chapel, mitigated -the rigours of a long sermon by dreaming of an -Ottoman ballet,—one of those voluptuous spectacles, -all legs and white arms, which from time to -time were described so ornately in the London daily -papers.</p> - -<p>The brass-barred swinging doors of the Grand -Circle entrance were simultaneously opened for him -by two human automata dressed exactly alike in long -semi-military coats, a very tall man and a stunted -boy. He advanced with what air of custom he -could command, and after taking a ticket and -traversing a heavily decorated corridor encountered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> -another pair of swinging doors; they -opened, and a girl passed out, followed by a man -who was talking to her vehemently in French. At -the same moment a gust of distant music struck -Richard's ear. As he climbed a broad, thick-piled -flight of steps, the music became louder, and a clapping -of hands could be heard. At the top of the -steps hung a curtain of blue velvet; he pushed aside -its stiff, heavy folds with difficulty, and entered the -auditorium.</p> - -<p>The smoke of a thousand cigarettes enveloped -the furthest parts of the great interior in a thin bluish -haze, which was dissipated as it reached the -domed ceiling in the rays of a crystal chandelier. -Far in front and a little below the level of the circle -lay a line of footlights broken by the silhouette of -the conductor's head. A diminutive, solitary figure -in red and yellow stood in the centre of the huge -stage; it was kissing its hands to the audience with -a mincing, operatic gesture; presently it tripped off -backwards, stopping at every third step to bow; the -applause ceased, and the curtain fell slowly.</p> - -<p>The broad, semicircular promenade which -flanked the seats of the grand circle was filled with -a well-dressed, well-fed crowd. The men talked -and laughed, for the most part, in little knots, while -in and out, steering their way easily and rapidly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -among these groups, moved the women: some with -rouged cheeks, greasy vermilion lips, and enormous -liquid eyes; others whose faces were innocent of -cosmetics and showed pale under the electric light; -but all with a peculiar, exaggerated swing of the -body from the hips, and all surreptitiously regarding -themselves in the mirrors which abounded on every -glowing wall.</p> - -<p>Richard stood aloof against a pillar. Near him -were two men in evening dress conversing in tones -which just rose above the general murmur of talk -and the high, penetrating tinkle of glass from the -bar behind the promenade.</p> - -<p>"And what did she say then?" one of the pair -asked smilingly. Richard strained his ear to listen.</p> - -<p>"Well, <i>she</i> told <i>me</i>," the other said, speaking -with a dreamy drawl, while fingering his watch-chain -absently and gazing down at the large diamond -in his shirt,—"<i>she</i> told <i>me</i> that she said she'd do -for him if he didn't fork out. But I don't believe -her. You know, of course.... There's Lottie...."</p> - -<p>The band suddenly began to play, and after a -few crashing bars the curtain went up for the ballet. -The rich <i>coup d'oeil</i> which presented itself provoked -a burst of clapping from the floor of the house and -the upper tiers, but to Richard's surprise no one in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> -his proximity seemed to exhibit any interest in the -entertainment. The two men still talked with their -backs to the stage, the women continued to find a -pathway between the groups, and from within the -bar came the unabated murmur of voices and tinkle -of glass.</p> - -<p>Richard never took his dazed eyes from the -stage. The moving pageant unrolled itself before -him like a vision, rousing new sensations, tremors of -strange desires. He was under a spell, and when at -last the curtain descended to the monotonous roll of -drums, he awoke to the fact that several people were -watching him curiously. Blushing slightly, he went -to a far corner of the promenade. At one of the -little tables a woman sat alone. She held her head -at an angle, and her laughing, lustrous eyes gleamed -invitingly at Richard. Without quite intending to -do so he hesitated in front of her, and she twittered -a phrase ending in <i>chéri</i>.</p> - -<p>He abruptly turned away. He would have been -very glad to remain and say something clever, but -his tongue refused its office, and his legs moved of -themselves.</p> - -<p>At midnight he found himself in Piccadilly Circus, -unwilling to go home. He strolled leisurely back to -Leicester Square. The front of the Ottoman was -in darkness, and the square almost deserted.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER IV</h4> - - -<p>He walked home to Raphael Street. The -house was dead, except for a pale light in -his own room. At the top of the bare, -creaking stairs he fumbled a moment for the handle -of his door, and the regular sound of two distinct -snores descended from an upper storey. He closed -the door softly, locked it, and glanced round the -room with some eagerness. The smell of the expiring -lamp compelled him to unlatch both windows. -He extinguished the lamp, and after lighting a couple -of candles on the mantelpiece drew a chair to the -fireplace and sat down to munch an apple. The -thought occurred to him: "This is my home—for -how long?"</p> - -<p>And then:</p> - -<p>"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that -girl?"</p> - -<p>Between the candles on the mantelpiece was a photograph -of his sister, which he had placed there before -going out. He looked at it with a half smile, -and murmured audibly several times:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why the dickens didn't I say something to that -girl, with her <i>chéri</i>?"</p> - -<p>The woman of the photograph seemed to be between -thirty and forty years of age. She was fair, -with a mild, serious face, and much wavy hair. The -forehead was broad and smooth and white, the -cheek-bones prominent, and the mouth somewhat -large. The eyes were a very light grey; they met -the gaze of the spectator with a curious timid defiance, -as if to say, "I am weak, but I can at least fight -till I fall." Underneath the eyes—the portrait -was the work of an amateur, and consequently had -not been robbed of all texture by retouching—a -few crowsfeet could be seen.</p> - -<p>As far back as Richard's memory went, he and -Mary had lived together and alone in the small Red -House which lay half a mile out of Bursley, towards -Turnhill, on the Manchester road. At one time it -had been rurally situated, creeping plants had -clothed its red walls, and the bare patch behind it -had been a garden; but the gradual development of -a coal-producing district had covered the fields with -smooth, mountainous heaps of grey refuse, and -stunted or killed every tree in the neighbourhood. -The house was undermined, and in spite of iron -clamps had lost most of its rectangles, while the rent -had dropped to fifteen pounds a year.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mary was very much older than her brother, and -she had always appeared to him exactly the mature -woman of the photograph. Of his parents he -knew nothing except what Mary had told him, which -was little and vague, for she watchfully kept the -subject at a distance.</p> - -<p>She had supported herself and Richard in comfort -by a medley of vocations, teaching the piano, -collecting rents, and practising the art of millinery. -They had few friends. The social circles of Bursley -were centred in its churches and chapels; and -though Mary attended the Wesleyan sanctuary with -some regularity, she took small interest in prayer-meetings, -class-meetings, bazaars, and all the other -minor religious activities, thus neglecting opportunities -for intercourse which might have proved -agreeable. She had sent Richard to the Sunday-school; -but when, at the age of fourteen, he protested -that Sunday-school was "awful rot," she answered -calmly, "Don't go, then;" and from that -day his place in class was empty. Soon afterwards -the boy cautiously insinuated that chapel belonged to -the same category as Sunday-school, but the hint -failed of its effect.</p> - -<p>The ladies of the town called sometimes, generally -upon business, and took afternoon tea. Once -the vicar's wife, who wished to obtain musical tuition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> -for her three youngest daughters at a nominal -fee, came in and found Richard at a book on the -hearthrug.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said she. "Just like his father, is he not, -Miss Larch?" Mary made no reply.</p> - -<p>The house was full of books. Richard knew them -all well by sight, but until he was sixteen he read only -a select handful of volumes which had stood the test -of years. Often he idly speculated as to the contents -of some of the others,—"Horatii Opera," for -instance: had that anything to do with theatres?—yet -for some curious reason, which when he grew -older he sought for in vain, he never troubled himself -to look into them. Mary read a good deal, -chiefly books and magazines fetched for her by -Richard from the Free Library.</p> - -<p>When he was about seventeen, a change came. -He was aware dimly, and as if by instinct, that his -sister's life in the early days had not been without its -romance. Certainly there was something hidden between -her and William Vernon, the science master -at the Institute, for they were invariably at great -pains to avoid each other. He sometimes wondered -whether Mr. Vernon was connected in any way with -the melancholy which was never, even in her -brightest moments, wholly absent from Mary's demeanour. -One Sunday night—Richard had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -keeping house—Mary, coming in late from chapel, -threw his arms round his neck as he opened the -door, and, dragging down his face to hers, kissed -him hysterically again and again.</p> - -<p>"Dicky, Dick," she whispered, laughing and crying -at the same time, "something's happened. I'm -almost an old woman, but something's happened!"</p> - -<p>"I know," said Richard, retreating hurriedly from -her embrace. "You're going to marry Mr. Vernon."</p> - -<p>"But how could you tell?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! I just guessed."</p> - -<p>"You don't mind, Dick, do you?"</p> - -<p>"I! Mind!" Afraid lest his feelings should -appear too plainly, he asked abruptly for supper.</p> - -<p>Mary gave up her various callings, the wedding -took place, and William Vernon came to live with -them. It was then that Richard began to read more -widely, and to form a definite project of going to -London.</p> - -<p>He could not fail to respect and like William. -The life of the married pair seemed to him idyllic; -the tender, furtive manifestations of affection which -were constantly passing between Mary and her -sedate, middle-aged husband touched him deeply, -and at the thought of the fifteen irretrievable years -during which some ridiculous misunderstanding had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> -separated this loving couple, his eyes were not quite -as dry as a youth could wish. But with it all he -was uncomfortable. He felt himself an intruder -upon holy privacies; if at meal-times husband and -wife clasped hands round the corner of the table, he -looked at his plate; if they smiled happily upon no -discoverable provocation, he pretended not to notice -the fact. They did not need him. Their -hearts were full of kindness for every living thing, -but unconsciously they stood aloof. He was driven -in upon himself, and spent much of his time either in -solitary walking or hidden in an apartment called the -study.</p> - -<p>He ordered magazines whose very names Mr. -Holt, the principal bookseller in Bursley, was unfamiliar -with, and after the magazines came books -of verse and novels enclosed in covers of mystic -design, and printed in a style which Mr. Holt, -though secretly impressed, set down as eccentric. -Mr. Holt's shop performed the functions of a club -for the dignitaries of the town; and since he took -care that this esoteric literature was well displayed -on the counter until called for, the young man's fame -as <i>a great reader</i> soon spread, and Richard began -to see that he was regarded as a curiosity of which -Bursley need not be ashamed. His self-esteem, already -fostered into lustiness by a number of facile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -school successes, became more marked, although he -was wise enough to keep a great deal of it to himself.</p> - -<p>One evening, after Mary and her husband had -been talking quietly some while, Richard came into -the sitting-room.</p> - -<p>"I don't want any supper," he said, "I'm going -for a bit of a walk."</p> - -<p>"Shall we tell him?" Mary asked, smiling, after -he had left the room.</p> - -<p>"Please yourself," said William, also smiling.</p> - -<p>"He talks a great deal about going to London. -I hope he won't go till—after April; I think it -would upset me."</p> - -<p>"You need not trouble, I think, my dear," -William answered. "He talks about it, but he -isn't gone yet."</p> - -<p>Mr. Vernon was not quite pleased with Richard. -He had obtained for him—being connected with -the best people in the town—a position as shorthand -and general clerk in a solicitor's office, and had -learnt privately that though the youth was smart -enough, he was scarcely making that progress which -might have been expected. He lacked "application." -William attributed this shortcoming to the -excessive reading of verse and obscure novels.</p> - -<p>April came, and, as Mr. Vernon had foretold,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> -Richard still remained in Bursley. But the older -man was now too deeply absorbed in another matter -to interest himself at all in Richard's movements,—a -matter in which Richard himself exhibited a shy -concern. Hour followed anxious hour, and at last -was heard the faint, fretful cry of a child in the -night. Then stillness. All that Richard ever saw -was a coffin, and in it a dead child at a dead woman's -feet.</p> - -<p>Fifteen months later he was in London.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER V</h4> - - -<p>Mr. Curpet, of the firm of Curpet and -Smythe, whose name was painted in -black and white on the dark green -door, had told him that the office hours were from -nine-thirty to six. The clock of the Law Courts -was striking a quarter to ten. He hesitated a moment, -and then seized the handle; but the door was -fast, and he descended the two double flights of iron -stairs into the quadrangle.</p> - -<p>New Serjeant's Court was a large modern building -of very red brick with terra-cotta facings, eight -storeys high; but in spite of its faults of colour and -its excessive height, ample wall spaces and temperate -ornamentation gave it a dignity and comeliness sufficient -to distinguish it from other buildings in the -locality. In the centre of the court was an oval -patch of brown earth, with a few trees whose pale-leaved -tops, struggling towards sunlight, reached to -the middle of the third storey. Round this plantation -ran an immaculate roadway of wooden blocks, -flanked by an equally immaculate asphalt footpath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -The court possessed its own private lamp-posts, and -these were wrought of iron in an antique design.</p> - -<p>Men and boys, grave and unconsciously oppressed -by the burden of the coming day, were continually -appearing out of the gloom of the long tunnelled -entrance and vanishing into one or other of the -twelve doorways. Presently a carriage and pair -drove in, and stopped opposite Richard. A big man -of about fifty, with a sagacious red and blue face, -jumped alertly out, followed by an attentive clerk -carrying a blue sack. It seemed to Richard that he -knew the features of the big man from portraits, -and, following the pair up the staircase of No. 2, he -discovered from the legend on the door through -which they disappeared that he had been in the -presence of Her Majesty's Attorney-General. Simultaneously -with a misgiving as to his ability to -reach the standard of clerical ability doubtless required -by Messrs. Curpet and Smythe, who did -business cheek by jowl with an attorney-general and -probably employed him, came an elevation of spirit -as he darkly guessed what none can realise completely, -that a man's future lies on his own knees, -and on the knees of no gods whatsoever.</p> - -<p>He continued his way upstairs, but Messrs. Curpet -and Smythe's portal was still locked. Looking -down the well, he espied a boy crawling reluctantly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -and laboriously upward, with a key in his hand which -he dragged across the bannisters. In course of time -the boy reached Messrs. Curpet and Smythe's door, -and opening it stepped neatly over a pile of letters -which lay immediately within. Richard followed -him.</p> - -<p>"Oh! My name's Larch," said Richard, as if -it had just occurred to him that the boy might be interested -in the fact. "Do you know which is my -room?"</p> - -<p>The boy conducted him along a dark passage with -green doors on either side, to a room at the end. It -was furnished mainly with two writing-tables and -two armchairs; in one corner was a disused copying-press, -in another an immense pile of reporters' note-books; -on the mantelpiece, a tumbler, a duster, and -a broken desk lamp.</p> - -<p>"That's your seat," said the boy, pointing to the -larger table, and disappeared. Richard disposed of -his coat and hat and sat down, trying to feel at ease -and not succeeding.</p> - -<p>At five minutes past ten a youth entered with the -"Times" under his arm. Richard waited for him -to speak, but he merely stared and took off his overcoat. -Then he said,—</p> - -<p>"You've got my hook. If you don't mind I'll -put your things on this other one."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Certainly," assented Richard.</p> - -<p>The youth spread his back luxuriously to the -empty fireplace and opened the "Times," when -another and smaller boy put his head in at the -door.</p> - -<p>"Jenkins, Mr. Alder wants the 'Times.'"</p> - -<p>The youth silently handed over the advertisement -pages which were lying on the table. In a minute -the boy returned.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Alder says he wants the inside of the -'Times.'"</p> - -<p>"Tell Mr. Alder to go to hell, with my compliments." -The boy hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Go on, now," Jenkins insisted. The boy hung -on the door-handle, smiling dubiously, and then went -out.</p> - -<p>"Here, wait a minute!" Jenkins called him -back. "Perhaps you'd better give it him. Take -the damn thing away."</p> - -<p>A sound of hurried footsteps in the next room was -succeeded by an imperious call for Jenkins, at which -Jenkins slipped nimbly into his chair and untied a -bundle of papers.</p> - -<p>"Jenkins!" the call came again, with a touch of -irritation in it, but Jenkins did not move. The door -was thrust open.</p> - -<p>"Oh! You are there, Jenkins. Just come in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -and take a letter down." The tones were quite -placid.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Smythe."</p> - -<p>"I never take any notice of Smythe's calls," said -Jenkins, when he returned. "If he wants me, he -must either ring or fetch me. If I once began it, -I should be running in and out of his room all day, -and I've quite enough to do without that."</p> - -<p>"Fidgety, eh?" Richard suggested.</p> - -<p>"Fidgety's no word for it, <i>I</i> tell you. Alder—that's -the manager, you know—said only yesterday -that he has less trouble with forty Chancery actions -of Curpet's than with one county-court case of -Smythe's. I know I'd a jolly sight sooner write -forty of Curpet's letters than ten of Smythe's. I -wish I'd got your place, and you'd got mine. I -suppose you can write shorthand rather fast."</p> - -<p>"Middling," said Richard. "About 120."</p> - -<p>"Oh! We had a man once who could do 150, but -he'd been a newspaper reporter. I do a bit over -a hundred, if I've not had much to drink overnight. -Let's see, they're giving you twenty-five bob, aren't -they?"</p> - -<p>Richard nodded.</p> - -<p>"The man before you had thirty-five, and he -couldn't spell worth a brass button. I only get -fifteen, although I've been here seven years. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -damn shame I call it! But Curpet's beastly near. -If he'd give some other people less, and me a bit -more...."</p> - -<p>"Who are 'some other people'?" asked Richard, -smiling.</p> - -<p>"Well, there's old Aked. He sits in the outer -office—you won't have seen him because he doesn't -generally come till eleven. They give him a pound -a week, just for doing a bit of engrossing when he -feels inclined to engross, and for being idle when he -feels inclined to be idle. He's a broken-down -something or other,—used to be clerk to Curpet's -father. He has some dibs of his own, and this just -finds him amusement. I bet he doesn't do fifty -folios a week. And he's got the devil's own temper."</p> - -<p>Jenkins was proceeding to describe other members -of the staff when the entry of Mr. Curpet himself -put an end to the recital. Mr. Curpet was a small -man, with a round face and a neatly trimmed beard.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Larch. If you'll kindly come -into my room, I'll dictate my letters. Good morning, -Jenkins." He smiled and withdrew, leaving -Richard excessively surprised at his suave courtesy.</p> - -<p>In his own room Mr. Curpet sat before a pile of -letters, and motioned Richard to a side table.</p> - -<p>"You will tell me if I go too fast," he said, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -began to dictate regularly, with scarcely a pause. -The pile of letters gradually disappeared into a basket. -Before half a dozen letters were done Richard -comprehended that he had become part of a business -machine of far greater magnitude than anything -to which he had been accustomed in Bursley. -This little man with the round face dealt impassively -with tens of thousands of pounds; he mortgaged -whole streets, bullied railway companies, and wrote -familiarly to lords. In the middle of one long letter, -a man came panting in, whom Richard at once -took for Mr. Alder, the Chancery manager. His -rather battered silk hat was at the back of his head, -and he looked distressed.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry to say we've lost that summons in -Rice <i>v.</i> The L. R. Railway."</p> - -<p>"Really!" said Mr. Curpet. "Better appeal, -and brief a leader, eh?"</p> - -<p>"Can't appeal, Mr. Curpet."</p> - -<p>"Well, we must make the best of it. Telegraph -to the country. I'll write and keep them calm. -It's a pity they were so sure. Rice will have to -economise for a year or two. What was my last -word, Larch?" The dictation proceeded.</p> - -<p>One hour was allowed for lunch, and Richard -spent the first moiety of it in viewing the ambrosial -exteriors of Strand restaurants. With the exception<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> -of the coffee-house at Bursley, he had never been in -a restaurant in his life, and he was timid of entering -any of those sumptuous establishments whose swinging -doors gave glimpses of richly decorated ceilings, -gleaming tablecloths, and men in silk hats greedily -consuming dishes placed before them by obsequious -waiters.</p> - -<p>At last, without quite knowing how he got there, -he sat in a long, low apartment, papered like an attic -bedroom, and odorous of tea and cake. The -place was crowded with young men and women -indifferently well-dressed, who bent over uncomfortably -small oblong marble-topped tables. An -increasing clatter of crockery filled the air. Waitresses, -with pale, vacant faces, dressed in dingy -black with white aprons, moved about with difficulty -at varying rates of speed, but none of them seemed -to betray an interest in Richard. Behind the -counter, on which stood great polished urns emitting -clouds of steam, were several women whose superior -rank in the restaurant was denoted by a black apron, -and after five minutes had elapsed Richard observed -one of these damsels pointing out himself to a waitress, -who approached and listened condescendingly -to his order.</p> - -<p>A thin man, rather more than middle-aged, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> -a grey beard and slightly red nose, entered and sat -down opposite to Richard. Without preface he began, -speaking rather fast and with an expressive vivacity -rarely met with in the ageing,—</p> - -<p>"Well, my young friend, how do you like your -new place?"</p> - -<p>Richard stared at him.</p> - -<p>"Are you Mr. Aked?"</p> - -<p>"The same. I suppose Master Jenkins has made -you acquainted with all my peculiarities of temper -and temperament.—Glass of milk, roll, and two -pats of butter—and, I say, my girl, try not to keep -me waiting as long as you did yesterday." There -was a bright smile on his face, which the waitress unwillingly -returned.</p> - -<p>"Don't you know," he went on, looking at Richard's -plate,—"don't you know that tea and ham together -are frightfully indigestible?"</p> - -<p>"I never have indigestion."</p> - -<p>"No matter. You soon will have if you eat tea -and ham together. A young man should guard his -digestion like his honour. Sounds funny, doesn't -it? But it's right. An impaired digestive apparatus -has ruined many a career. It ruined mine. -You see before you, sir, what might have been an -author of repute, but for a wayward stomach."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You write?" Richard asked, interested at once, -but afraid lest Mr. Aked might be cumbrously joking.</p> - -<p>"I used to." The old man spoke with proud self-consciousness.</p> - -<p>"Have you written a book?"</p> - -<p>"Not a book. But I've contributed to all manner -of magazines and newspapers."</p> - -<p>"What magazines?"</p> - -<p>"Well, let me see—it's so long ago. I've written -for 'Cornhill.' I wrote for 'Cornhill' when -Thackeray edited it. I spoke to Carlyle once."</p> - -<p>"You did?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Carlyle said to me—Carlyle said to me—Carlyle -said—" Mr. Aked's voice dwindled to -an inarticulate murmur, and, suddenly ignoring -Richard's presence, he pulled a book from his pocket -and began to finger the leaves. It was a French -novel, "La Vie de Bohème." His face had lost all -its mobile expressiveness.</p> - -<p>A little alarmed by such eccentricity, and not -quite sure that this associate of Carlyle was perfectly -sane, Richard sat silent, waiting for events. -Mr. Aked was clearly accustomed to reading while -he ate; he could even drink with his eyes on the -book. At length he pushed his plates away from -him, and closed the novel with a snap.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I see you're from the country, Larch," he said, -as if there had been no lapse in the conversation. -"Now, why in God's name did you leave the country? -Aren't there enough people in London?"</p> - -<p>"Because <i>I</i> wanted to be an author," answered -Richard, with more assurance than veracity, though -he spoke in good faith. The fact was that his aspirations, -hitherto so vague as to elude analysis, -seemed within the last few minutes mysteriously to -have assumed definite form.</p> - -<p>"You're a young fool, then."</p> - -<p>"But I've an excellent digestion."</p> - -<p>"You won't have it if you begin to write. Take -my word, you're a young fool. You don't know -what you're going in for, my little friend."</p> - -<p>"Was Murger a fool?" Richard said clumsily, -determined to exhibit an acquaintance with "La Vie -de Bohème."</p> - -<p>"Ha! We read French, do we?"</p> - -<p>Richard blushed. The old man got up.</p> - -<p>"Come along," he said peevishly. "Let's get -out of this hole."</p> - -<p>At the pay-desk, waiting for change, he spoke to -the cashier, a thin girl with reddish-brown hair, who -coughed,—</p> - -<p>"Did you try those lozenges?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes, thanks. They <i>taste</i> nice."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Beautiful day."</p> - -<p>"Yes; my word, isn't it!"</p> - -<p>They walked back to the office in absolute silence; -but just as they were going in, Mr. Aked stopped, -and took Richard by the coat.</p> - -<p>"Have you anything special to do next Thursday -night?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll take you to a little French restaurant -in Soho, and we'll have dinner. Half a crown. -Can you afford?"</p> - -<p>Richard nodded.</p> - -<p>"And, I say, bring along some of your manuscripts, -and I'll flay them alive for you."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER VI</h4> - - -<p>An inconstant, unrefreshing breeze, sluggish -with accumulated impurity, stirred the curtains, -and every urban sound—high-pitched -voices of children playing, roll of wheels and -rhythmic trot of horses, shouts of newsboys and -querulous barking of dogs—came through the open -windows touched with a certain languorous quality -that suggested a city fatigued, a city yearning for -the moist recesses of woods, the disinfectant breath -of mountain tops, and the cleansing sea.</p> - -<p>On the little table between the windows lay pen, -ink, and paper. Richard sat down to be an author. -Since his conversation with Mr. Aked of the day before -he had lived in the full glow of an impulse to -write. He discerned, or thought he discerned, in -the fact that he possessed the literary gift, a key to -his recent life. It explained, to be particular, the -passion for reading which had overtaken him at -seventeen, and his desire to come to London, the -natural home of the author. Certainly it was -strange that hitherto he had devoted very little serious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -thought to the subject of writing, but happily -there were in existence sundry stray verses and prose -fragments written at Bursley, and it contented him -to recognise in these the first tremulous stirrings of -a late-born ambition.</p> - -<p>During the previous evening he had busied himself -in deciding upon a topic. In a morning paper -he had read an article entitled "An Island of -Sleep," descriptive of Sark; it occurred to him that -a similar essay upon Lichfield, the comatose cathedral -city which lay about thirty miles from Bursley, might -suit a monthly magazine. He knew Lichfield well; -he had been accustomed to visit it from childhood; -he loved it. As a theme full of picturesque opportunities -it had quickened his imagination, until his -brain seemed to surge with vague but beautiful fancies. -In the night his sleep had been broken, and -several new ideas had suggested themselves. And -now, after a day of excited anticipation, the moment -for composition had arrived.</p> - -<p>As he dipped his pen in the ink a sudden apprehension -of failure surprised him. He dismissed it, -and wrote in a bold hand, rather carefully,—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>MEMORIES OF A CITY OF SLEEP.</p></blockquote> - -<p>That was surely an excellent title. He proceeded:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>On the old stone bridge, beneath which the clear, -smooth waters of the river have crept at the same -pace for centuries, stands a little child, alone. It -is early morning, and the clock of the time-stained -cathedral which lifts its noble gothic towers scarce -a hundred yards away, strikes five, to the accompaniment -of an unseen lark overhead.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>He sat back to excogitate the next sentence, staring -around the room as if he expected to find the -words written on the wall. One of the gilt-framed -photographs was slightly askew; he left his chair -to put it straight; several other pictures seemed to -need adjustment, and he levelled them all with -scrupulous precision. The ornaments on the mantelpiece -were not evenly balanced; these he rearranged -entirely. Then, having first smoothed out a crease -in the bedcover, he sat down again.</p> - -<p>But most of the beautiful ideas which he had persuaded -himself were firmly within his grasp, now -eluded him, or tardily presented themselves in a -form so obscure as to be valueless, and the useful -few that remained defied all attempts to bring them -into order. Dashed by his own impotence, he sought -out the article on Sark, and examined it afresh. -Certain weekly organs of literature had educated -him to sneer at the journalism of the daily press, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -it appeared that the man who wrote "An Island of -Sleep" was at least capable of expressing himself -with clearness and fluency, and possessed the skill to -pass naturally from one aspect of his subject to another. -It seemed simple enough....</p> - -<p>He went to the window.</p> - -<p>The sky was a delicate amber, and Richard -watched it change to rose, and from rose to light -blue. The gas-lamps glared out in quick succession; -some one lowered the blind of a window opposite -his own, and presently a woman's profile was -silhouetted against it for a moment, and then -vanished. A melody came from the public house, -sung in a raucous baritone to the thrumming of a -guitar; the cries of the playing children had now -ceased.</p> - -<p>Suddenly turning into the room, he was astonished -to find it almost in darkness; he could distinguish -only the whiteness of the papers on the table.</p> - -<p>He was not in the mood for writing to-night. -Some men wrote best in the evening, others in the -morning. Probably he belonged to the latter class. -Be that as it might, he would rise at six the next -morning and make a new beginning. "It's only a -question of practice, of course," he said, half aloud, -repressing a troublesome dubiety. He would take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -a short walk, and go early to bed. Gradually his -self-confidence returned.</p> - -<p>As he closed the front door there was a rustle -of silks and a transient odour of violets; a woman -had gone by. She turned slightly at the sound of -the door, and Richard had a glimpse of a young and -pretty face under a spreading hat, a full, ripe bust -whose alluring contours were perfectly disclosed by -a tight-fitting bodice, and two small white hands, -in one a dangling pair of gloves, in the other an -umbrella. He passed her, and waited at the corner -by Tattersall's till she overtook him again. Now -she stood on the kerb within six feet of him, humming -an air and smiling to herself. Up went the -umbrella to signal for a hansom.</p> - -<p>"The Ottoman," Richard heard her say across -the roof of the cab, the driver leaning forward with -his hand to his ear. What a child's voice it seemed, -lisping and artless!</p> - -<p>The cabman winked at Richard, and gently flicked -his horse. In a moment the hansom was two -dwindling specks of red in a shifting multitude of -lights.</p> - -<p>An hour later he saw her in the promenade of the -theatre; she stood against a pillar, her eyes on the -entrance. As their glances met, she threw her head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -a little backwards, like one who looks through -spectacles on the end of his nose, and showed her -teeth. He sat down near her.</p> - -<p>Presently she waved her hand to a man who was -coming in. He seemed about thirty, with small, -clear eyes, bronzed cheeks, a heavy jaw, and a closely -trimmed brown moustache. He was fashionably -garbed, though not in evening dress, and he greeted -her without raising his hat.</p> - -<p>"Shall we have a drink?" she suggested. "I'm -so thirsty."</p> - -<p>"Fizz?" the man drawled. She nodded.</p> - -<p>Soon they went out together, the man carelessly -stuffing change for a five-pound note into his pocket.</p> - -<p>"What's the difference between him and me?" -Richard reflected as he walked home. "But just -wait a bit; wait till I've...."</p> - -<p>When he reached his lodging the meanness of the -room, of his clothes, of his supper, nauseated him. -He dreamed that he was kissing the Ottoman girl, -and that she lisped, "Nice boy," whereupon he cast -a handful of sovereigns on her lap.</p> - -<p>At six o'clock the next morning he was working -at his article. In two days it was finished, and he -had despatched it to a monthly magazine, "together -with a stamped directed envelope for its return -if unsuitable," in accordance with the editorial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -instructions printed below the table of contents in -every number. The editor of the "Trifler" -promised that all manuscripts so submitted, and -written on one side of the paper only, should be -dealt with promptly.</p> - -<p>He had been expecting to discuss his work with -Mr. Aked at the proposed dinner, but this had not -taken place. On the morning after the arrangement -had been made, Mr. Aked fell ill, and in a -few days he wrote to resign his post, saying that he -had sufficient to live on, and felt "too venerable for -regular work."</p> - -<p>Richard held but the frailest hope that "A City -of Sleep" would be accepted, but when the third -morning arrived, and the postman brought nothing, -his opinion of the article began to rise. Perhaps it -had merit, after all; he recalled certain parts of it -which were distinctly clever and striking. Hurrying -home from the office that afternoon, he met the -landlady's daughter on the stairs, and said casually,—</p> - -<p>"Any letters for me, Lily?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir." The girl had an attractive blush.</p> - -<p>"I'll take a couple of eggs for tea, if Mrs. Rowbotham -has them."</p> - -<p>He remained at home in the evening, waiting for -the last delivery, which occurred about 9:30. The -double knocks of the postman were audible ten or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -twelve houses away. At last Richard heard him -mounting the steps of No. 74, and then his curt rat-tat -shook the house. A little thud on the bare -wooden floor of the hall seemed to indicate a heavier -package than the ordinary letter.</p> - -<p>As, when a man is drowning, the bad actions of a -whole lifetime present themselves to him in one -awful flash, so at that moment all the faults, the -hopeless crudities, of "A City of Sleep" confronted -Richard. He wondered at his own fatuity in imagining -for a single instant that the article had the -barest chance of acceptance. Was it not notorious -that famous authors had written industriously for -years without selling a line!</p> - -<p>Lily came in with the supper-tray. She was smiling.</p> - -<p>"Warm work, eh, Lily?" he said, scarcely knowing -that he spoke.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, it's that hot in the kitchen you wouldn't -believe." Setting down the tray, she handed him a -foolscap envelope, and he saw his own handwriting -as if in a dream.</p> - -<p>"For me?" he murmured carelessly, and placed -the letter on the mantelpiece. Lily took his orders -for breakfast, and with a pleasant, timid "Good-night, -sir," left the room.</p> - -<p>He opened the envelope. In the fold of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> -manuscript was a sheet of the best cream-laid note-paper -bearing these words in flowing copperplate: -"The Editor presents his compliments to Mr. Larch -[written] and regrets to be unable to use the enclosed -article, for the offer of which he is much obliged."</p> - -<p>The sight of this circular, with the offices of the -magazine illustrated at the top, and the notification -in the left-hand corner that all letters must be addressed -to the editor and not to any member of the -staff individually, in some mysterious way mitigated -Richard's disappointment. Perhaps the comfort of -it lay in the tangible assurance it afforded that he -was now actually <i>a literary aspirant</i> and had communications, -however mortifying, with <i>the press</i>.</p> - -<p>He read the circular again and again during supper, -and determined to re-write the article. But -this resolve was not carried out. He could not -bring himself even to glance through it, and finally it -was sent to another magazine exactly as it stood.</p> - -<p>Richard had determined to say nothing in the office -about his writing until he could produce a printed -article with his name at the foot; and frequently during -the last few days his mouth had watered as he -anticipated the sweetness of that triumph. But next -day he could not refrain from showing to Jenkins -the note from the "Trifler." Jenkins seemed impressed, -especially when Richard requested him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -treat the matter as confidential. A sort of friendship -arose between them, and strengthened as time went -on. Richard sometimes wondered how precisely it -had come about, and why it continued.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER VII</h4> - - -<p>Albert Jenkins was nineteen years of -age, and lived with his parents and seven -brothers and sisters in Camberwell; his -father managed a refreshment bar in Oxford Street. -He had been in the employ of Messrs. Curpet and -Smythe for seven years,—first as junior office boy, -then as senior office boy, and finally as junior shorthand -clerk. He was of the average height, with -a shallow chest, and thin arms and legs. His feet -were very small—he often referred to the fact with -frank complacency—and were always encased in -well-fitting hand-made boots, brightly polished. -The rest of his attire was less remarkable for neatness; -but at intervals an ambition to be genteel possessed -him, and during these recurrent periods the -nice conduct of his fingernails interfered somewhat -with official routine. He carried his hat either at -the back of his head or tilted almost upon the bridge -of his nose. In the streets he generally walked with -sedate deliberation, his hands deep in his pockets, -his eyes lowered, and an enigmatic smile on his thin -lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> - -<p>His countenance was of a pale yellow complexion -just tinged with red, and he never coloured; his neck -was a darker yellow. Upon the whole, his features -were regular, except the mouth, which was large, and -protruded like a monkey's; the eyes were grey, with -a bold regard, which not seldom was excusably mistaken -for insolence.</p> - -<p>Considering his years, Jenkins was a highly accomplished -person, in certain directions. Upon all -matters connected with her Majesty's mail and inland -revenue, upon cab fares, bus-routes, and local -railways, upon "Pitman outlines," and upon chamber -practice in Chancery, he was an unquestioned authority. -He knew the addresses of several hundred -London solicitors, the locality of nearly every street -and square within the four-mile radius, and, within -the same limits, the approximate distance of any one -given spot from any other given spot.</p> - -<p>He was the best billiard-player in the office, and -had once made a spot-barred break of 49; this game -was his sole pastime. He gambled regularly upon -horse-races, resorting to a number of bookmakers, -but neither winning nor losing to an appreciable extent; -no less than three jockeys occasionally permitted -him to enjoy their companionship, and he was -never without a stable-tip.</p> - -<p>His particular hobby, however, was restaurants.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -He spent half his income upon food, and quite half -his waking hours either in deciding what he should -consume, or in actual drinking and mastication. He -had personally tested the merits of every bar and -house of refreshment in the neighbourhood of the -Law Courts, from Lockhart's to Gatti's, and would -discourse for hours on their respective virtues and -defects. No restaurant was too mean for his -patronage, and none too splendid; for days in succession -he would dine upon a glass of water and a -captain biscuit with cheese, in order to accumulate -resources for a delicate repast in one of the gilded -establishments where the rich are wont to sustain -themselves; and he had acquired from his father a -quantity of curious lore, throwing light upon the -secrets of the refreshment trade, which enabled him -to spend the money thus painfully amassed to the -best advantage.</p> - -<p>Jenkins was a cockney and the descendant of -cockneys; he conversed always volubly in the dialect -of Camberwell; but just as he was subject to attacks -of modishness, so at times he attempted to rid himself -of his accent, of course without success. He -swore habitually, and used no reticence whatever, except -in the presence of his employers and of Mr. -Alder the manager. In quick and effective retort -he was the peer of cabmen, and nothing could abash<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> -him. His favourite subjects of discussion were -restaurants, as before mentioned, billiards, the turf, -and women, whom he usually described as "tarts." -It was his custom to refer to himself as a "devil for -girls," and when Mr. Alder playfully accused him -of adventures with females of easy virtue, his delight -was unbounded.</p> - -<p>There were moments when Richard loathed -Jenkins, when the gross and ribald atmosphere which -attended Jenkins' presence nauseated him, and utter -solitude in London seemed preferable to the -boy's company; but these passed, and the intimacy -throve. Jenkins, indeed, had his graces; he was of -an exceedingly generous nature, and his admiration -for the deep literary scholarship which he imagined -Richard to possess was ingenuous and unconcealed. -His own agile wit, his picturesque use of slang, his -facility in new oaths, and above all his exact knowledge -of the byways, and backwaters of London life, -endowed him, in Richard's unaccustomed eyes, with -a certain specious attractiveness. Moreover, the fact -that they shared the same room and performed similar -duties made familiar intercourse between them -natural and necessary. With no other member of -the staff did Richard care to associate. The articled -clerks, though courteously agreeable to everyone, -formed an exclusive coterie; and as for the rest, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -were either old or dull, or both. He often debated -whether he should seek out Mr. Aked, who was now -recovered, and had once, unfortunately in Richard's -absence, called at the office; but at length he timidly -decided that the extent of their acquaintance would -not warrant it.</p> - -<p>"Where shall we go to lunch to-day?" was almost -the first question which Richard and Jenkins -asked each other in the morning, and a prolonged -discussion would follow. They called the meal -"lunch," but it was really their dinner, though -neither of them ever admitted the fact.</p> - -<p>Jenkins had a predilection for grill-rooms, where -raw chops and steaks lay on huge dishes, and each -customer chose his own meat and superintended its -cooking. A steak, tender and perfectly cooked, with -baked potatoes and half a pint of stout, was his ideal -repast, and he continually lamented that no restaurant -in London offered such cheer at the price of one -shilling and threepence, including the waiter. The -cheap establishments were never satisfactory, and -Jenkins only frequented them when the state of his -purse left no alternative. In company with Richard -he visited every new eating-house that made its appearance, -in the hope of finding the restaurant of his -dreams, and though each was a disappointment, yet -the search still went on. The place which most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> -nearly coincided with his desires was the "Sceptre," -a low, sombre room between the Law Courts and the -river, used by well-to-do managing clerks and a -sprinkling of junior barristers. Here, lounging luxuriously -on red plush seats, and in full sight and -hearing of a large silver grill, the two spent many -luncheon hours, eating slowly, with gross, sensual -enjoyment, and secretly elated by the proximity of -men older and more prosperous than themselves, -whom they met on equal terms.</p> - -<p>Richard once suggested that they should try one -of the French restaurants in Soho which Mr. Aked -had mentioned.</p> - -<p>"Not me!" said Jenkins, in reply. "You don't -catch me going to those parley-voo shops again. I -went once. They give you a lot of little messes, -faked up from yesterday's dirty plates, and after -you've eaten half a dozen of 'em you don't feel a -bit fuller. Give me a steak and a potato. I like -to know what I'm eating."</p> - -<p>He had an equal detestation of vegetarian restaurants, -but once, during a period of financial depression, -he agreed to accompany Richard, who knew the -place fairly well, to the "Crabtree" in Charing -Cross Road, and though he grumbled roundly at the -insubstantiality of the three-course dinner <i>à la carte</i> -which could be obtained for sixpence, he made no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -difficulty, afterwards, about dining there whenever -prudence demanded the narrowest economy.</p> - -<p>An air of chill and prim discomfort pervaded the -Crabtree, and the mingled odour of lentils and sultana -pudding filled every corner. The tables were -narrow, and the chairs unyielding. The customers -were for the most eccentric as to dress and demeanour; -they had pale faces, and during their melancholy -meals perused volumes obviously instructive, -or debated the topics of the day in platitudinous conversations -unspiced by a single oath. Young women -with whom their personal appearance was a negligible -quantity came in large numbers, and either -giggled to one another without restraint or sat erect -and glared at the males in a manner which cowed -even Jenkins. The waitresses lacked understanding, -and seemed to resent even the most courteous advances.</p> - -<p>One day, just as they were beginning dinner, -Jenkins eagerly drew Richard's attention to the girl -at the pay-desk. "See that girl?" he said.</p> - -<p>"What about her? Is she a new one?"</p> - -<p>"Why, she's the tart that old Aked used to be -after."</p> - -<p>"Was she at that A. B. C. shop in the Strand?" -said Richard, who began to remember the girl's features -and her reddish brown hair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, that's her. Before she was at the A. B. C. -she was cashier at that boiled-beef place opposite -the Courts, but they say she got the sack for talking -to customers too much. She and Aked were very -thick then, and he went there every day. I suppose -his courting interfered with business."</p> - -<p>"But he's old enough to be her father!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. He ought to have been ashamed of himself. -She's not a bad kind, eh?"</p> - -<p>"There wasn't anything between them, really, -was there?"</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> don't know. There might have been. He -followed her to the A. B. C, and I think he sometimes -took her home. Her name's Roberts. We -used to have him on about her—rare fun."</p> - -<p>The story annoyed Richard, for his short <i>tête-à-tête</i> -with Mr. Aked had remained in his mind as a -pleasant memory, and though he was aware that the -old man had been treated with scant respect by the -youngsters in the office, he had acquired the habit of -mentally regarding him with admiration, as a representative -of literature. This attachment to a restaurant -cashier, clearly a person of no refinement or intellect, -scarcely fitted with his estimate of the -journalist who had spoken to Carlyle.</p> - -<p>During the meal he surreptitiously glanced at the -girl several times. She was plumper than before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -and her cough seemed to be cured. Her face was -pleasant, and undoubtedly she had a magnificent coiffure.</p> - -<p>When they presented their checks, Jenkins bowed -awkwardly, and she smiled. He swore to Richard -that next time he would mention Mr. Aked's name -to her. The vow was broken. She was willing to -exchange civilities, but her manner indicated with -sufficient clearness that a line was to be drawn.</p> - -<p>In the following week, when Richard happened to -be at the Crabtree alone, at a later hour than usual, -they had rather a long conversation.</p> - -<p>"Is Mr. Aked still at your office?" she asked, -looking down at her account books.</p> - -<p>Richard told what he knew.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she said, "I often used to see him, and -he gave me some lozenges that cured a bad cough -I had. Nice old fellow, wasn't he?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I fancy so," Richard assented.</p> - -<p>"I thought I'd just ask, as I hadn't seen him -about for a long time."</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon—Miss Roberts."</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon—Mr.——"</p> - -<p>"Larch."</p> - -<p>They both laughed.</p> - -<p>A trivial dispute with Jenkins, a few days later, -disclosed the fact that that haunter of bars had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> -sullen temper, and that his displeasure, once aroused, -was slow to disappear. Richard dined alone again -at the Crabtree, and after another little conversation -with Miss Roberts, having time at his disposal, -he called at the public library in St. Martin's Lane. -In a half-crown review he saw an article, by a writer -of considerable repute, entitled "To Literary Aspirants," -which purported to demonstrate that a -mastery of the craft of words was only to be attained -by a regular course of technical exercises; the nature -of these exercises was described in detail. There -were references to the unremitting drudgery of Flaubert, -de Maupassant, and Stevenson, together with -extracts chosen to illustrate the slow passage of the -last-named author from inspired incompetence to the -serene and perfect proficiency before which all difficulties -melted. After an unqualified statement -that any man—slowly if without talent, quickly if -gifted by nature—might with determined application -learn to write finely, the essayist concluded by -remarking that never before in the history of literature -had young authors been so favourably circumstanced -as at that present. Lastly came the maxim, -<i>Nulla dies sine linea</i>.</p> - -<p>Richard's cooling enthusiasm for letters leaped -into flame. He had done no writing whatever for -several weeks, but that night saw him desperately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -at work. He took advantage of the quarrel to -sever all save the most formal connection with -Jenkins, dined always frugally at the Crabtree, and -spent every evening at his lodging. The thought of -Alphonse Daudet writing "Les Amoureuses" in a -Parisian garret supported him through an entire -month of toil, during which, besides assiduously practising -the recommended exercises, he wrote a complete -short story and began several essays. About -this time his "City of Sleep" was returned upon -his hands in a condition so filthy and ragged that -he was moved to burn it. The short story was -offered to an evening daily, and never heard of -again.</p> - -<p>It occurred to him that possibly he possessed some -talent for dramatic criticism, and one Saturday evening -he went to the first performance of a play at -the St. George's theatre. After waiting for an hour -outside, he got a seat in the last row of the pit. -Eagerly he watched the critics take their places in -the stalls; they chatted languidly, smiling and bowing -now and then to acquaintances in the boxes and -dress circle; the pit was excited and loquacious, and -Richard discovered that nearly everyone round about -him made a practice of attending first nights, and had -an intimate knowledge of the <i>personnel</i> of the stage. -Through the hum of voices the overture to "Rosamund"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -fitfully reached him. During whole bars -the music was lost; then some salient note caught the -ear, and the melody became audible again until another -wave of conversation engulfed it.</p> - -<p>The conclusion of the last act was greeted with -frenzied hand-clapping, beating of sticks, and inarticulate -cries, while above the general noise was heard -the repeated monosyllable "'thor, 'thor." After -what seemed an interminable delay the curtain was -drawn back at one side and a tall man in evening -dress, his face a dead white, stepped before the footlights -and bowed several times; the noise rose to a -thunderous roar, in which howls and hissing were -distinguishable. Richard shook from head to foot, -and tears unaccountably came to his eyes.</p> - -<p>The whole of Sunday and Monday evening were -occupied in writing a detailed analysis and appreciation -of the play. On Tuesday morning he bought -a weekly paper which devoted special attention to -the drama, in order to compare his own view with -that of an acknowledged authority, and found that -the production was dismissed in ten curt lines as mere -amiable drivel.</p> - -<p>A few days afterwards Mr. Curpet offered him the -position of cashier in the office, at a salary of three -pounds a week. His income was exactly doubled, -and the disappointments of unsuccessful authorship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> -suddenly ceased to trouble him. He began to doubt -the wisdom of making any further attempt towards -literature. Was it not clear that his talents lay in -the direction of business? Nevertheless a large -part of his spare cash was devoted to the purchase of -books, chiefly the productions of a few celebrated old -continental presses, which he had recently learned to -value. He prepared a scheme for educating himself -in the classical tongues and in French, and the practice -of writing was abandoned to make opportunity -for the pursuit of culture. But culture proved to be -shy and elusive. He adhered to no regular course -of study, and though he read much, his progress towards -knowledge was almost imperceptible.</p> - -<p>Other distractions presented themselves in the -shape of music and painting. He discovered that he -was not without critical taste in both these arts, and -he became a frequenter of concerts and picture-galleries. -He bought a piano on the hire-purchase system, -and took lessons thereon. In this and other -ways his expenditure swelled till it more than swallowed -up the income of three pounds a week which -not long before he had regarded as something very -like wealth. For many weeks he made no effort to -adjust the balance, until his debts approached the -sum of twenty pounds, nearly half of which was owing -to his landlady. He had to go through more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -than one humiliating scene before an era of economy -set in.</p> - -<p>One afternoon he received a telegram to say that -William Vernon had died very suddenly. It was -signed "Alice Clayton Vernon." Mrs. Vernon was -William's stately cousin-in-law, and Richard, to whom -she had spoken only once,—soon after Mary's wedding,—regarded -her with awe; he disliked her because -he found it impossible to be at ease in her imposing -presence. As he went into Mr. Curpet's -room to ask for leave of absence, his one feeling was -annoyance at the prospect of having to meet her -again. William's death, to his own astonishment, -scarcely affected him at all.</p> - -<p>Mr. Curpet readily granted him two days' holiday, -and he arranged to go down to Bursley the following -night for the funeral.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER VIII</h4> - - -<p>Wearied of sitting, Richard folded his -overcoat pillow-wise, put it under his -head, and extended himself on the -polished yellow wood. But in vain were his eyes -shut tight. Sleep would not come, though he -yawned incessantly. The monstrous beat of the engine, -the quick rattle of windows, and the grinding -of wheels were fused into a fantastic resonance which -occupied every corner of the carriage and invaded -his very skull. Then a light tapping on the roof, -one of those mysterious sounds which make a compartment -in a night-train like a haunted room, momentarily -silenced everything else, and he wished that -he had not been alone.</p> - -<p>Suddenly jumping up, he put away all idea of -sleep, and lowered the window. It was pitch dark; -vague changing shapes, which might have been either -trees or mere fancies of the groping eye, outlined -themselves a short distance away; far in front was a -dull glare from the engine, and behind twinkled the -guard's lamp.... In a few seconds he closed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> -the window again, chilled to the bone, though May -was nearly at an end.</p> - -<p>The thought occurred to him that he was now a -solitary upon the face of the earth. It concerned no -living person whether he did evil or good. If he -chose to seek ruin, to abandon himself to the most -ignoble impulses, there was none to restrain,—not -even a brother-in-law. For several weeks past, he -had been troubled about his future, afraid to face it. -Certainly London satisfied him, and the charm of living -there had not perceptibly grown less. He rejoiced -in London, in its vistas, its shops, its unending -crowds, its vastness, its wickedness; each dream -dreamed about London in childhood had come true; -and surer than ever before was the consciousness that -in going to London he had fulfilled his destiny. Yet -there was something to lack in himself. His confidence -in his own abilities and his own character was -being undermined. Nearly a year had gone, and he -had made no progress, except at the office. Resolutions -were constantly broken; it was three months -since he had despatched an article to a newspaper. -He had not even followed a definite course of study, -and though his acquaintance with modern French -fiction had widened, he could boast no exact scholarship -even in that piquant field. Evening after evening—ah!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -those long, lamplit evenings which were to -be given to strenuous effort!—was frittered away -upon mean banalities, sometimes in the company of -some casual acquaintance and sometimes alone. He -had by no means grasped the full import and extent -of this retrogression; it was merely beginning to disturb -his self-complacence, and perhaps, ever so -slightly, his sleep. But now, hurrying to the funeral -of William Vernon, he lazily laughed at himself for -having allowed his peace of mind to be ruffled. -Why bother about "getting on"? What did it -matter?</p> - -<p>He still experienced but little sorrow at the death -of Vernon. His affection for the man had strangely -faded. During the nine months that he had lived -in London they had scarcely written to one another, -and Richard regarded the long journey to attend -William's obsequies as a tiresome concession to propriety.</p> - -<p>That was his real attitude, had he cared to examine -it.</p> - -<p>At about four o'clock it was quite light, and the -risen sun woke Richard from a brief doze. The dew -lay in the hollows of the fields but elsewhere there -was a soft, fresh clearness which gave to the common -incidents of the flying landscape a new and virginal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -beauty—as though that had been the morn of creation -itself. The cattle were stirring, and turned to -watch the train as it slipped by.</p> - -<p>Richard opened the window again. His mood -had changed, and he felt unreasonably joyous. -Last night he had been too pessimistic. Life lay -yet before him, and time enough to rectify any indiscretions -of which he might have been guilty. The -future was his, to use as he liked. Magnificent, consoling -thought! Moved by some symbolic association -of ideas, he put his head out of the window and -peered in the direction of the train's motion. A -cottage stood alone in the midst of innumerable -meadows; as it crossed his vision, the door opened, -and a young woman came out with an empty pail -swinging in her left hand. Apparently she would be -about twenty-seven, plump and sturdy and straight. -Her hair was loose about her round, contented face, -and with her disengaged hand she rubbed her eyes, -still puffed and heavy with sleep. She wore a pink -print gown, the bodice of which was unfastened, disclosing -a white undergarment and the rich hemispheres -of her bosom. In an instant the scene was -hidden by a curve of the line, and the interminable -succession of fields resumed, but Richard had time to -guess from her figure that the woman was the mother -of a small family. He pictured her husband still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -unconscious in the warm bed which she had just -left; he even saw the impress of her head on the -pillow, and a long nightdress thrown hastily across -a chair.</p> - -<p>He was deeply and indescribably affected by this -suggestion of peaceful married love set in so great -a solitude. The woman and her hypothetical husband -and children were only peasants, their lives were -probably narrow and their intellects dormant, yet -they aroused in him a feeling of envy which surged -about his brain and for the moment asphyxiated -thought....</p> - -<p>Later on the train slackened speed as it passed -through a shunting-yard. The steam from the light -shunting-engine rose with cloud-like delicacy in the -clear air, and an occasional short whistle seemed to -have something of the quality of a bird's note. The -men with their long poles moved blithely among the -medley of rails, signalling one another with motions -of the arm. The coupling-chains rang with a merry, -giant tinkle, and when the engine brought its load -of waggons to a standstill, and a smart, metallic -bump, bump, bump ran <i>diminuendo</i> from waggon to -waggon, one might have fancied that some leviathan -game was being played. Richard forgot the girl -with the pail, and soon after went to sleep.</p> - -<p>At six o'clock the train reached Knype, where he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -had to change. Two women with several children -also alighted, and he noticed how white and fatigued -were their faces; the children yawned pitifully. An -icy, searching wind blew through the station; the exhilaration -of the dawn was gone, and a spirit of -utter woe and disaster brooded over everything. -For the first time William's death really touched -him.</p> - -<p>The streets of Bursley were nearly empty as he -walked through the town from the railway station, -for the industrial population was already at work in -the manufactories, and the shops not yet open. Yet -Richard avoided the main thoroughfares, choosing a -circuitous route lest he might by chance encounter -an acquaintance. He foresaw the inevitable banal -dialogue:—</p> - -<p>"Well, how do you like London?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's fine!"</p> - -<p>"Getting on all right?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, thanks."</p> - -<p>And then the effort of two secretly bored persons -to continue a perfunctory conversation unaided by a -single mutual interest.</p> - -<p>A carriage was driving away from the Red House -just as Richard got within sight of it; he nodded to -the venerable coachman, who gravely touched his -hat. The owner of the carriage was Mr. Clayton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -Vernon, William's cousin and an alderman of Bursley, -and Richard surmised that Mrs. Clayton Vernon -had put herself in charge of the place until the -funeral should be over. He trembled at the prospect -of a whole day to be spent in the company of -these excellent people, whom William had always referred -to with a smile, and yet not without a great -deal of respect. The Clayton Vernons were the -chief buttress of respectability in the town; rich, -strictly religious, philanthropic, and above all dignified. -Everyone looked up to them instinctively, and -had they possessed but one vice between them, they -would have been loved.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Clayton Vernon herself opened the door. -She was a stately woman of advanced middle age, -with a suave, imperious manner.</p> - -<p>"I left Clayton to have breakfast by himself," she -said, as she led Richard into the sitting-room; "I -thought you would like someone here to welcome you -after your long night journey. Breakfast will be -ready almost directly. How tired you must be! -Clayton said it was a pity you should come by the -night train, but of course it is quite right that you -should inconvenience your employers as little as possible, -quite right. And we admire you for it. -Now will you run upstairs and wash? You've not -forgotten the way?..."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> - -<p>The details of the funeral had been settled by Mr. -Clayton Vernon, who was the chief mourner, and -Richard had nothing to do but fall in with preconcerted -plans and answer decorously when spoken to. -The arrangement was satisfactory in that it relieved -him from duties which would have been irksome, but -scarcely gratifying to his pride. He had lived nearly -all his life in that house, and had known the dead -man perhaps more intimately than anyone else present. -However, he found it convenient to efface himself.</p> - -<p>In the evening there was an elaborate tea at which -were present the Clayton Vernons and the minister -who had conducted the funeral service. The -minister and the alderman left immediately afterwards -to attend a meeting, and when they were gone -Mrs. Clayton Vernon said,—</p> - -<p>"Now we are all alone, Richard. Go into the -drawing-room and I will follow. I do want to have -a chat with you."</p> - -<p>She came in with needle and thread and scissors.</p> - -<p>"If you will take off your coat, I will stitch on that -button that is hanging by one thread. I noticed it -this morning, and then it went quite out of my mind. -I am so sorry!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, thanks!" he blushed hotly. "But I can -stitch myself, you know—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Come, you needn't be shy of an old woman seeing -you in your shirt-sleeves. Do as I ask."</p> - -<p>He doffed the coat.</p> - -<p>"I always like young men to be immaculately -neat," she said, cutting off a piece of cotton. "One's -personal character is an index to one's character, -don't you think? Of course you do. Here, thread -the needle for me. I am afraid since your dear -sister died you have grown a little careless, eh? She -was <i>most</i> particular. Ah, what a mother she was to -you!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"I was very grieved to see you go to the funeral -in a soft hat—Richard, really I was. It wasn't -respectful to your brother-in-law's memory."</p> - -<p>"I never thought. You see, I started in rather -a hurry." The fact was that he had no silk hat, nor -could he easily afford to buy one.</p> - -<p>"But you <i>should</i> think, my dear boy. Even Clayton -was shocked. Are those your best clothes?"</p> - -<p>Richard answered that they were. He sheepishly -protested that he never bothered about clothes.</p> - -<p>There was a silence, broken by her regular stitching. -At last she handed him the coat and helped him -to put it on. He went to the old green sofa, and -somewhat to his dismay she sat down by his side.</p> - -<p>"Richard," she began, in a changed, soft voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -and not without emotion, "do you know we are expecting -great things from you?"</p> - -<p>"But you shouldn't. I'm a very ordinary sort of -person."</p> - -<p>"No, no. That you are not. God has given you -great talents, and you must use them. Poor William -always used to say that you were highly gifted -and might do great things."</p> - -<p>"Might!"</p> - -<p>"Yes—if you tried."</p> - -<p>"But how am I gifted? And what 'great things' -are expected?" he asked, perhaps angling for further -flattering disclosures.</p> - -<p>"I cannot answer that," said Mrs. Clayton Vernon; -"it is for you to answer. You have given all -your friends the impression that you would do something -worth doing. You have raised hopes, and you -must not disappoint them. We believe in you, -Richard. That is all I can say."</p> - -<p>"That's all very well; but—" He stopped and -played with the seal on his watch-chain. "The fact -is, I am working, you know. I want to be an author—at -least a journalist."</p> - -<p>"Ah!"</p> - -<p>"It's a slow business—at first—" Suddenly -moved to be confidential, he went on to give her some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> -account, incomplete and judiciously edited, of his life -during the past year.</p> - -<p>"You have relieved my mind greatly, and Clayton -will be so glad. We were beginning to think—"</p> - -<p>"Why were you 'beginning to think'?"</p> - -<p>"Well, never mind now."</p> - -<p>"But why?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind. I have full confidence in you, and -I am sure you will get on. Poor boy, you have no -near connections or relatives now?"</p> - -<p>"No, none."</p> - -<p>"You must look on Clayton and myself as very -near relatives. We have no children, but our hearts -are large. I shall expect you to write to me sometimes -and to come and stay with us now and then."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER IX</h4> - - -<p>In the centre of the reading-room at the British -Museum sit four men fenced about by a quadruple -ring of unwieldy volumes which are an index -to all the knowledge in the world. The four -men know those volumes as a good courier knows the -Continental Bradshaw, and all day long, from early -morning, when the attendants, self-propelled on -wheeled stools, run around the rings arranging and -aligning the huge blue tomes, to late afternoon, when -the immense dome is like a dark night and the arc -lamps hiss and crackle in the silence, they answer -questions, patiently, courteously; they are seldom embarrassed -and less seldom in the wrong.</p> - -<p>Radiating in long rows from the central fortress -of learning, a diversified company of readers disposes -itself: bishops, statesmen, men of science, historians, -needy pedants, popular authors whose broughams -are waiting in the precincts, journalists, medical -students, law students, curates, hack-writers, women -with clipped hair and black aprons, idlers; all short-sighted -and all silent.</p> - -<p>Every few minutes an official enters in charge of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> -an awed group of country visitors, and whispers mechanically -the unchanging formula: "Eighty thousand -volumes in this room alone: thirty-six miles of -bookshelves in the Museum altogether." Whereupon -the visitors stare about them, the official unsuccessfully -endeavours not to let it appear that the -credit of the business belongs entirely to himself, and -the party retires again.</p> - -<p>Vague, reverberating noises roll heavily from time -to time across the chamber, but no one looks up; the -incessant cannibal feast of the living upon the dead -goes speechlessly forward; the trucks of food are always -moving to and fro, and the nonchalant waiters -seem to take no rest.</p> - -<p>Almost Richard's first care on coming to London -had been to obtain a reader's ticket for the British -Museum, and for several months he had made a -practice of spending Saturday afternoon there, following -no special line of study or research, and -chiefly contenting himself with desultory reading in -the twenty thousand volumes which could be reached -down without the slow machinery of an order form. -After a time the charm of the place had dwindled, -and other occupations filled his Saturday afternoons.</p> - -<p>But when upon his return from William's funeral -he stepped from Euston Station into Bloomsbury, -the old enthusiasms came back in all their original<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> -freshness. The seduction of the street vistas, the -lofty buildings, and the swiftly flitting hansoms once -more made mere wayfaring a delight; the old feeling -of self-confident power lifted his chin, and the failures -of the past were forgotten in a dream of future -possibilities. He dwelt with pleasure on that part -of his conversation with Mrs. Clayton Vernon which -disclosed the interesting fact that Bursley would be -hurt if he failed to do "things." Bursley, and especially -Mrs. Clayton Vernon, good woman, should -not be disappointed. He had towards his native -town the sentiments of a consciously clever husband -who divines an admiring trust in the glance of a little -ignoramus of a wife. Such faith was indeed touching.</p> - -<p>One of the numerous resolutions which he made -was to resume attendance at the British Museum; -the first visit was anticipated with impatience, and -when he found himself once more within the book-lined -walls of the reading-room he was annoyed to -discover that his plans for study were not matured -sufficiently to enable him to realise any definite part -of them, however small, that day. An idea for an -article on "White Elephants" was nebulous in his -brain; he felt sure that the subject might be treated -in a fascinating manner, if only he could put hands -on the right material. An hour passed in searching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -Poole's Index and other works of reference, without -result, and Richard spent the remainder of the afternoon -in evolving from old magazines schemes for -articles which would present fewer difficulties in -working out. Nothing of value was accomplished, -and yet he experienced neither disappointment nor a -sense of failure. Contact with innumerable books of -respectable but forbidding appearance had cajoled -him, as frequently before, into the delusion that he -had been industrious; surely it was impossible that a -man could remain long in that atmosphere of scholarly -attainment without acquiring knowledge and improving -his mind!</p> - -<p>Presently he abandoned the concoction of attractive -titles for his articles, and began to look through -some volumes of the "Biographie Universelle." -The room was thinning now. He glanced at the -clock; it was turned six. He had been there nearly -four hours! With a sigh of satisfaction he replaced -all his books and turned to go, mentally discussing -whether or not so much application did not entitle -him, in spite of certain resolutions, to go to the Ottoman -that evening.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" a voice called out as he passed the glass -screen near the door; it sang resonantly among the -desks and ascended into the dome; a number of -readers looked up. Richard turned round sharply,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> -and beheld Mr. Aked moving a forefinger on the -other side of the screen.</p> - -<p>"Been here long?" the older man asked, when -Richard had come round to him. "I've been here -all day—first time for fifteen years at least. -Strange we didn't see each other. They've got a -beastly new regulation about novels less than five -years old not being available. I particularly wanted -some of Gissing's—not for the mere fun of reading -'em of course, because I've read 'em before. I -wanted them for a special purpose—I may tell you -about it some day—and I couldn't get them, at -least several of them. What a tremendous crowd -there is here nowadays!"</p> - -<p>"Well, you see, it's Saturday afternoon," Richard -put in, "and Saturday afternoon's the only time -that most people can come, unless they're men of -independent means like yourself. You seem to have -got a few novels besides Gissing's, though." About -forty volumes were stacked upon Mr. Aked's desk, -many of them open.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I've done now." He began to -close the books with a smack and to pitch them down -roughly in new heaps, exactly like a petulant boy -handling school-books. "See, pile them between -my arms, and I bet you I'll carry them away all at -once."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, no. I'll help you," Richard laughed. -"It'll be far less trouble than picking up what you -drop."</p> - -<p>While they were waiting at the centre desk Mr. -Aked said,—</p> - -<p>"There's something about this place that makes -you ask for more volumes than can possibly be useful -to you. I question whether I've done any good -here to-day at all. If I'd been content with three -or four books instead of thirty or forty, I might have -done something. By the way, what are you here -for?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I just came to look up a few points," Richard -answered vaguely. "I've been messing about—got -a notion or two for articles, that's all."</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked stopped to shake hands as soon as they -were outside the Museum. Richard was very disappointed -that their meeting should have been so -short. This man of strange vivacity had thrown a -spell over him. Richard was sure that his conversation, -if only he could be persuaded to talk, would -prove delightfully original and suggestive; he -guessed that they were mutually sympathetic. Ever -since their encounter in the A. B. C. shop Richard -had desired to know more of him, and now, when -by chance they met again, Mr. Aked's manner -showed little or no inclination towards a closer acquaintance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -There was of course a difference between -them in age of at least thirty years, but to -Richard that seemed no bar to an intimacy. It was, -he surmised, only the physical part of Mr. Aked that -had grown old.</p> - -<p>"Well, good-bye."</p> - -<p>"Good-bye." Should he ask if he might call at -Mr. Aked's rooms or house, or whatever his abode -was? He hesitated, from nervousness.</p> - -<p>"Often come here?"</p> - -<p>"Generally on Saturdays," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"We may see each other again, then, sometime. -Good-bye."</p> - -<p>Richard left him rather sadly, and the sound of the -old man's quick, alert footsteps—he almost stamped—receded -in the direction of Southampton Row. -A minute later, as Richard was turning round by -Mudie's out of Museum Street, a hand touched his -shoulder. It was Mr. Aked's.</p> - -<p>"By the way," the man's face crinkled into a -smile as he spoke, "are you doing anything to-night?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing whatever."</p> - -<p>"Let's go and have dinner together—I know a -good French place in Soho."</p> - -<p>"Oh, thanks. I shall be awfully pleased."</p> - -<p>"Half a crown, <i>table d'hôte</i>. Can you afford?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Certainly I can," said Richard, perhaps a little -annoyed, until he recollected that Mr. Aked had used -exactly the same phrase on a previous occasion.</p> - -<p>"I'll pay for the wine."</p> - -<p>"Not at all—"</p> - -<p>"I'll pay for the wine," Mr. Aked repeated decisively.</p> - -<p>"All right. You told me about this Soho place -before, if you remember."</p> - -<p>"So I did, so I did, so I did."</p> - -<p>"What made you turn back?"</p> - -<p>"A whim, young friend, nothing else. Take my -arm."</p> - -<p>Richard laughed aloud, for no reason in particular, -except that he felt happy. They settled to a brisk -walk.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The restaurant was a square apartment with a low -and smoky beamed ceiling, and shining brass hat-pegs -all round the walls; above the hat-pegs were -framed advertisements of liqueurs and French, Italian, -and Spanish wines. The little tables, whose stiff -snowy cloths came near to touching the floor at every -side, gleamed and glittered in the light of a fire. -The place was empty save for an old waiter who was -lighting the gas. The waiter turned a large, mild -countenance to Mr. Aked as the two entered, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -smiling benignly greeted him with a flow of French, -and received a brief reply in the same language. -Richard failed to comprehend what was said.</p> - -<p>They chose a table near the fire. Mr. Aked at -once pulled a book from his pocket and began to -read; and Richard, somewhat accustomed by this -time to his peculiarities, found nothing extraordinary -in such conduct. This plain little restaurant seemed -full of enchantment. He was in Paris,—not the -great Paris which is reached <i>via</i> Charing Cross, but -that little Paris which hides itself in the immensity -of London. French newspapers were scattered -about the room; the sound of French voices came musically -through an open door; the bread which was -presently brought in with the <i>hors d'oeuvre</i> was -French, and the setting of the table itself showed -an exotic daintiness which he had never seen before.</p> - -<p>Outside a barrel organ was piercingly strident in -the misty dusk. Above the ground-glass panes of -the window, Richard could faintly descry the upper -storeys of houses on the opposite side of the road. -There was a black and yellow sign, "Umberto -Club," and above that a blue and red sign, "Blanchisserie -française." Still higher was an open window -from which leaned a young, negligently dressed -woman with a coarse Southern face; she swung a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> -bird-cage idly in her hand; the bird-cage fell and was -swallowed by the ground glass, and the woman with -a gesture of despair disappeared from the window; -the barrel organ momentarily ceased its melody and -then struck up anew.</p> - -<p>Everything seemed strangely, delightfully unsubstantial, -even the meek, bland face of the waiter as -he deftly poured out the soup. Mr. Aked, having -asked for the wine list, called "Cinquante, Georges, -s'il vous plait," and divided his attention impartially -between his soup and his book. Richard picked up -the "Echo de Paris" which lay on a neighbouring -chair. On the first page was a reference in displayed -type to the success of the feuilleton "<i>de notre -collaborateur distingué</i>," Catulle Mendès. How -wondrously enticing the feuilleton looked, with its -descriptive paragraphs cleverly diversified by short -lines of dialogue, and at the end "<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">CATULLE MENDÈS</span>, -<i>à suivre. Réproduction interdite!</i>" -Half Paris, probably, was reading that feuilleton! -Catulle Mendès was a real man, and no doubt eating -his dinner at that moment!</p> - -<p>When the fish came, and Georges had gently -poured out the wine, Mr. Aked's tongue was loosed.</p> - -<p>"And how has the Muse been behaving herself?" -he began.</p> - -<p>Richard told him, with as little circumlocution as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> -pride would allow, the history of the last few sterile -months.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you feel a bit downhearted."</p> - -<p>"Not in the least!" answered Richard, bravely, -and just then his reply was approximately true.</p> - -<p>"<i>Never</i> feel downhearted?"</p> - -<p>"Well, of course one gets a bit sick sometimes."</p> - -<p>"Let's see, to-day's the 30th. How many words -have you written this month?"</p> - -<p>"How many words!" Richard laughed. "I -never count what I do in that way. But it's not -much. I haven't felt in the humour. There was -the funeral. That put me off."</p> - -<p>"I suppose you think you must write only <i>when -the mood is on you</i>." Mr. Aked spoke sarcastically, -and then laughed. "Quite a mistake. I'll give you -this bit of advice and charge nothing for it. Sit -down every night and write five hundred words descriptive -of some scene which has occurred during -the day. Never mind how tired you are; do it. Do -it for six months, and then compare the earlier work -with the later, and you'll keep on."</p> - -<p>Richard drank the wisdom in.</p> - -<p>"Did you do that once?"</p> - -<p>"I did, sir. Everyone does it that comes to anything. -I didn't come to anything, though I made a -bit of money at one time. But then mine was a queer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -case. I was knocked over by dyspepsia. Beware -of dyspepsia. I was violently dyspeptic for twenty -years—simply couldn't write. Then I cured myself. -But it was too late to begin again." He -spoke in gulps between mouthfuls of fish.</p> - -<p>"How did you cure yourself?"</p> - -<p>The man took no notice of the question, and went -on:—</p> - -<p>"And if I haven't written anything for twenty -years, I'm still an author at heart. In fact, I've got -something 'in the air' now. Oh! I've always had -the literary temperament badly. Do you ever catch -yourself watching instinctively for the characteristic -phrase?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean."</p> - -<p>"Eh?"</p> - -<p>Richard repeated what he had said, but Mr. Aked -was absorbed in pouring out another glass of wine.</p> - -<p>"I wish you'd tell me," Richard began, after a -pause, "how you first <i>began</i> to write, or rather to -get printed."</p> - -<p>"My dear little friend, I can't tell you anything -new. I wrote for several years and never sold a -line. And for what peculiar reason, should you -think? Simply because not a line was worth printing. -Then my things began to be accepted. I sold -a story first; I forget the title, but I remember there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -was a railway accident in it, and it happened to come -before the editor of a magazine just when everyone -was greatly excited about a railway smash in -the West of England. I got thirty shillings for -that."</p> - -<p>"I think I should get on all right enough if only -I could sell <i>one</i> thing." Richard sighed.</p> - -<p>"Well, you must wait. Why, damn it all, man!"—he -stopped to drink, and Richard noticed how his -hand shook. "How long have you been working -seriously? Not a year! If you were going in for -painting, you surely wouldn't expect to sell pictures -after only a year's study?" Mr. Aked showed a -naïve appreciation of himself in the part of a veteran -who deigns to give a raw recruit the benefit of vast -experience.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," assented Richard, abashed.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, don't begin to whine."</p> - -<p>After the cheese Mr. Aked ordered coffee and -cognac, and sixpenny cigars. They smoked in -silence.</p> - -<p>"Do you know," Richard blurted out at length, -"the fact is I'm not sure that I'm meant for writing -at all. I never take any pleasure <i>in</i> writing. It's -a confounded nuisance." He almost trembled with -apprehension as he uttered the words.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You like thinking about what you're going to -write, arranging, observing, etc.?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I like that awfully."</p> - -<p>"Well, here's a secret. No writer does like writing, -at least not one in a hundred, and the exception, -ten to one, is a howling mediocrity. That's a fact. -But all the same they're miserable if they don't -write."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad; there's hope."</p> - -<p>When Richard had finished his coffee, it occurred -to him to mention Miss Roberts.</p> - -<p>"Do you ever go to the Crabtree?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Not of late."</p> - -<p>"I only ask because there's a girl there who knows -you. She inquired of me how you were not long -since."</p> - -<p>"A girl who knows me? Who the devil may she -be?"</p> - -<p>"I fancy her name's Roberts."</p> - -<p>"Aha! So she's got a new place, has she? She -lives in my street. That's how I know her. Nice -little thing, rather!"</p> - -<p>He made no further remark on the subject, but -there remained an absent, amused smile on his face, -and he pulled at his lower lip and fastened his gaze -on the table.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You must come down sometime, and see me; -my niece keeps house for me," he said before they -separated, giving an address in Fulham. He wrung -Richard's hand, patted him on the shoulder, winking -boyishly, and went off whistling to himself very -quietly in the upper register.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER X</h4> - - -<p>The slender, badly hung gate closed of itself -behind him with a resounding clang, communicating -a little thrill to the ground.</p> - -<p>In answer to his ring a girl came to the door. -She was rather short, thin, and dressed in black, with -a clean white apron. In the half light of the narrow -lobby he made out a mahogany hat-rack of conventional -shape, and on a wooden bracket a small lamp -with a tarnished reflector.</p> - -<p>"No," Richard heard in a quiet, tranquil voice, -"Mr. Aked has just gone out for a walk. He -didn't say what time he should be back. Can I give -him any message?"</p> - -<p>"He sent me a card to come down and see him -this afternoon, and—I've come. He said about -seven o'clock. It's a quarter past now. But perhaps -he forgot all about it."</p> - -<p>"Will you step inside? He may only be away for -a minute or two."</p> - -<p>"No, thanks. If you'll just tell him I've -called—"</p> - -<p>"I'm so sorry—" The girl raised her hand and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -rested it against the jamb of the doorway; her eyes -were set slantwise on the strip of garden, and she -seemed to muse an instant.</p> - -<p>"Are you Mr. Larch?" she asked hesitatingly, -just as Richard was saying good-day.</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Richard.</p> - -<p>"Uncle was telling me he had had dinner with -you. I'm <i>sure</i> he'll be back soon. Won't you wait -a little while?"</p> - -<p>"Well—"</p> - -<p>She stood aside, and Richard passed into the lobby.</p> - -<p>The front room, into which he was ushered, was -full of dim shadows, attributable to the multiplicity -of curtains which obscured the small bay window. -Carteret Street and the half-dozen florid, tawny, tree-lined -avenues that run parallel to it contain hundreds -of living rooms almost precisely similar. Its dimensions -were thirteen feet by eleven, and the height of -the ceiling appeared to bring the walls, which were -papered in an undecipherable pattern of blue, even -closer together than they really were. Linoleum -with a few rugs served for a carpet. The fireplace -was of painted stone, and a fancy screen of South -African grasses hid the grate. Behind a clock and -some vases on the mantelpiece rose a confection of -walnut and silvered glass. A mahogany chiffonier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> -filled the side of the room farthest from the window; -it had a marble top and a large mirror framed in -scroll work, and was littered with salt-cellars, fruit -plates, and silver nicknacks. The table, a square -one, was covered by a red cloth of flannel-like texture -patterned in black. The chairs were of mahogany -and horsehair, and matched the sofa, which stretched -from the door nearly to the window. Several prints -framed in gilt and oak depended by means of stout -green cord from French nails with great earthenware -heads. In the recess to the left of the hearth -stood a piano, open, and a song on the music-stand. -What distinguished the room from others of its type -was a dwarf bookcase filled chiefly with French -novels whose vivid yellow gratefully lightened a dark -corner next the door.</p> - -<p>"Uncle is very forgetful," the girl began. There -was some sewing on the table, and she had already -taken it up. Richard felt shy and ill at ease, but -his companion showed no symptom of discomposure. -He smiled vaguely, not knowing what to reply.</p> - -<p>"I suppose he walks a good deal," he said at -length.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he does." There was a second pause. -The girl continued to sew quietly; she appeared to -be indifferent whether they conversed or not.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I see you are a musician."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" She laughed, and looked at his -eyes. "I sing a very little bit."</p> - -<p>"Do you sing Schubert's songs?"</p> - -<p>"Schubert's? No. Are they good?"</p> - -<p>"Rather. They're <i>the</i> songs."</p> - -<p>"Classical, I suppose." Her tone implied that -classical songs were outside the region of the -practical.</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course."</p> - -<p>"I don't think I care much for classical music."</p> - -<p>"But you should."</p> - -<p>"Should I? Why?" She laughed gaily, like -a child amused. "Hope Temple's songs are nice, -and 'The River of Years,' I'm just learning that. -Do you sing?"</p> - -<p>"No—I don't really sing. I haven't got a -piano at my place—now."</p> - -<p>"What a pity! I suppose you know a great deal -about music?"</p> - -<p>"I wish I did!" said Richard, trying awkwardly -not to seem flattered.</p> - -<p>A third pause.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Aked seems to have a fine lot of French -novels. I wish I had as many."</p> - -<p>"Yes. He's always bringing them in."</p> - -<p>"And this is the latest, eh?" He picked up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> -"L'Abbé Tigrane," which lay on the table by the -sewing.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I fancy uncle got that last night."</p> - -<p>"You read French, of course?"</p> - -<p>"I! No, indeed!" Again she laughed. "You -mustn't imagine, Mr. Larch," she went on, and her -small eyes twinkled, "that I am at all like uncle. -I'm not. I've only kept house for him a little while, -and we are really—quite different."</p> - -<p>"How do you mean, 'like uncle'?"</p> - -<p>"Well," the quiet voice was imperceptibly raised, -"I'm not a great reader, and I know nothing of -books. I'm not clever, you know. I can't bear -poetry."</p> - -<p>Richard looked indulgent.</p> - -<p>"But you do read?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sometimes a novel. I'm reading 'East -Lynne.' Uncle bought it for me the other -day."</p> - -<p>"And you like it?"</p> - -<p>There was a timid tap at the door, and a short, -stout servant with red hands and a red face entered; -her rough, chubby forearms were bare, and she carried -a market basket. "Please, 'm," she ejaculated -meaningly and disappeared. Mr. Aked's niece excused -herself, and when she returned Richard looked -at his watch and rose.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'm very sorry about uncle—but it's just like -him."</p> - -<p>"Yes, isn't it?" Richard answered, and they exchanged -a smile.</p> - -<p>He walked down Carteret Street humming a tuneless -air and twirling his stick. Mr. Aked's niece had -proved rather disappointing. She was an ordinary -girl, and evidently quite unsusceptible to the artistic -influences which subtly emanated from Mr. Aked. -But with the exception of his landlady and his landlady's -daughter, she was the first woman whom -Richard had met in London, and the interview had -been somewhat of an ordeal.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was matter for regret. Suppose she had -been clever, witty, full of that "nameless charm" -with which youths invest the ideal maidens of their -dreams—with which, indeed, during the past week -he had invested her! He might have married her. -Then, guided by the experience of a sympathetic -uncle-in-law, he would have realised all his ambitions. -A vision of Mr. Richard Larch, the well-known -editor, and his charming wife, giving a dinner-party -to a carefully selected company of literary -celebrities, flitted before him. Alas! The girl's -"East Lynne," her drawing-room ballads, the mean -little serving-maid, the complacent vulgarity of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> -room, the house, the street, the neighbourhood, combined -effectually to dispel it.</p> - -<p>He felt sure that she had no aspirations.</p> - -<p>It was necessary to wait for a train at Parson's -Green station. From the elevated platform grass -was visible through a gently falling mist. The curving -rails stole away mysteriously into a general greyness, -and the twilight, assuaging every crudity of the -suburban landscape, gave an impression of vast -spaces and perfect serenity. Save for the porter -leisurely lighting the station lamps, he was alone,—alone, -as it seemed to him, in an upper world, above -London, and especially above Fulham and the house -where lived the girl who read "East Lynne." How -commonplace must she be! Richard wondered that -Mr. Aked could exist surrounded by all the banalities -of Carteret Street. Even his own lodging was more -attractive, for at least Raphael Street was within -sound of the central hum and beat of the city.</p> - -<p>A signal suddenly shone out in the distance; it -might have been a lighthouse seen across unnumbered -miles of calm ocean. Rain began to fall.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XI</h4> - - -<p>Richard's Sabbaths had become days of -dismal torpor. A year ago, on first arriving -in London, he had projected a series of -visits to churches famous either for architectural -beauty or for picturesque ritual. A few weeks, however, -had brought tedium. He was fundamentally -irreligious, and his churchgoing proceeded from a -craving, purely sensuous, which sought gratification -in ceremonial pomps, twilight atmospheres heavy -with incense and electric with devotion, and dim perspectives -of arching stone. But these things he soon -discovered lost their fine savour by the mere presence -of a prim congregation secure in the brass armour of -self-complacency; for him the worship was spoilt by -the worshippers, and so the time came when the only -church which he cared to attend—and even to this -he went but infrequently, lest use should stale its -charm—was the Roman Catholic oratory of St. -Philip Neri, where, at mass, the separation of the -sexes struck a grateful note of austerity, and the mean -appearance of the people contrasted admirably with -the splendour of the priests' vestments, the elaborate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -music, and the gilt and colour of altars. Here deity -was omnipotent and humanity abject. Men and -women of all grades, casting themselves down before -the holy images in the ecstatic abandonment of repentance, -prayed side by side, oblivious of everything -save their sins and the anger of a God. As a -spectacle the oratory was sublime.</p> - -<p>He visited it about once a month. The mornings -of intervening Sundays were given to aimless perambulation -of the parks, desultory reading, or sleep; -there was nothing to prevent him leaving town for -the day, but he was so innocent of any sort of rural -lore that the prospect of a few hours in the country -was seldom enticing enough to rouse sufficient energy -for its accomplishment. After dinner he usually -slept, and in the evening he would take a short walk -and go early to bed. For some reason he never attempted -to work on Sundays.</p> - -<p>It had rained continuously since he left Parson's -Green station on the previous night, till midday on -Sunday, and in the afternoon he was lounging half -asleep with a volume of verse on his knee, considering -whether or not to put on his hat and go out, when -Lily entered; Lily was attired for conquest, and with -her broad velvet hat and pink bows looked so unlike -a servant-girl that drowsy Richard started up, uncertain -what fairy was brightening his room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Please, sir, there's a young gentleman as wants -to see you."</p> - -<p>"Oh!—who is it?" No one had ever called -upon him before.</p> - -<p>"I don't know, sir; it's a young <i>gentleman</i>."</p> - -<p>The young gentleman was ushered in. He wore -a new black frock coat, and light grey trousers which -fell in rich folds over new patent-leather boots. -The shortcomings of his linen, which was dull and -bluish in tint, were more than atoned for by the -magnificence of a new white silk necktie with heliotrope -spots. He carried a silk hat and a pair of -unworn kid gloves in one hand, and in the other a -half-smoked cigar and a stick, with whose physiognomy -Richard was quite familiar.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Jenkins!"</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon, Mr. Larch. I was just passing -this way, and I thought I'd look you up." With -an inclination of the head more ridiculous even than -he intended, Jenkins placed his hat, stick, and gloves -on the bed, and, nicely adjusting the tails of his coat, -occupied a chair.</p> - -<p>The quarrel between Richard and Jenkins had -been patched up a few days before.</p> - -<p>"So this is your digs. Nice large windows!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, decent windows."</p> - -<p>Although these two were on terms of almost brutal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> -familiarity during office hours, here each felt slightly -uncomfortable in the other's presence. Jenkins -wiped his pallid, unhealthy face with a cambric handkerchief -which he unfolded for the purpose.</p> - -<p>"Been to church this morning?"</p> - -<p>Meditatively Jenkins flicked some cigar-ash into -the fire-grate, and then answered, "Yes."</p> - -<p>"I thought so."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because you're such a swell."</p> - -<p>"Ain't I, just!" Jenkins spoke with frank delight. -"Two guineas the suit, my boy! Won't I -knock 'em in the Wal—worth Road!"</p> - -<p>"But where's your ring?" Richard asked, noticing -the absence of the silver ring which Jenkins commonly -wore on his left hand.</p> - -<p>"Oh! I gave it to my sister. She wanted to give -it to her young man."</p> - -<p>"She's engaged, is she?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—at least I suppose she is."</p> - -<p>"And when are you going to get engaged?"</p> - -<p>Jenkins emitted a sound expressive of scorn. -"You don't catch me entering the holy bonds. Not -this child! It ain't all lavender, you bet. I say, -you know Miss Roberts at the veg—red-haired -tart." Jenkins was unaware that Richard had been -going regularly to the Crabtree. "I was passing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> -the place last night just as they were closing, and I -walked down to Charing Cross with her. I asked -her to meet me to-day somewhere, but she couldn't."</p> - -<p>"You mean she wouldn't. Well, and what sort's -she?"</p> - -<p>"Devilish nice, <i>I</i> tell you. But not my style. -But there's a girl I know—lives down the Camberwell -New Road. She is a treat now,—a fair treat. -About seventeen, and plump as a pigeon. I shall -see her to-night."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed!" said Richard, for the hundredth -time marvelling that he should be on a footing of -intimacy with Albert Jenkins. The girl at Carteret -Street, whatever her imperfections, did not use the -Cockney dialect. And her smile was certainly alluring. -Moreover, she had dignity. True, she -liked "East Lynne" and Hope Temple's songs, but -it occurred to Richard that it might be pleasanter to -listen even to these despised melodies than to remain -solitary at Raphael Street or to accompany Jenkins -on a <i>prowl</i>. Why should he not go down that -afternoon to see Mr. Aked—and his niece? He -immediately decided that he would do so.</p> - -<p>"It's turned out fine," said Jenkins. "What are -you up to to-night? Will you come and have a turn -round with me?"</p> - -<p>"Let me see.... The fact is, I can't."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> -He fought desperately against the temptation to mention -that he proposed to call on a lady, but in vain. -Forth it must come. "I'm going to see a girl."</p> - -<p>"Aha!" exclaimed Jenkins, with a terribly arch -look. "So that's the little game, eh! Who's the -mash?"</p> - -<p>Richard smiled reticently.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll be off." Jenkins rose, and his eye -caught Richard's little bookcase; he scanned the -titles of the volumes.</p> - -<p>"Oh! Likewise ah! Zola! Now we're getting -at the secret. No wonder you're so damn -studious. Zola, indeed! Well, so long. See you -to-morrow. Give my love to the girl.... I -say, I suppose you haven't got Zola in English, have -you?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Never mind. So long."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XII</h4> - - -<p>The little red-armed servant beamed an amiable -recognition.</p> - -<p>"Very hot day!" Richard said.</p> - -<p>"Beg pardon, sir."</p> - -<p>"Very hot day," rather louder. They were in -the passage.</p> - -<p>The door of the sitting-room opened, and Mr. -Aked's niece stood before him, her finger on her lips -and her eyebrows raised in a gesture of warning. -She suddenly smiled, almost laughed. Richard remembered -that smile for a long time afterwards. It -transformed not only a girl's face, but the whole of -Carteret Street. He had never seen anything like -it. Shaking hands in silence, he followed her into the -room, and she gently closed the door.</p> - -<p>"Uncle's not well," she explained. "He's asleep -now, and I don't want you to wake him. In this -house, you know, if any one speaks in the passage, -you can hear it even in the attic. Uncle was caught -in the rain last night; he has a very weak chest, and -gets bronchitis directly."</p> - -<p>"I'm awfully sorry I disturbed you," said Richard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> -"The fact is I was down this way, and I thought -I'd call." It sounded a sufficiently reasonable excuse, -he considered. "I hope you weren't asleep -too."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I was dozing in this chair." She put her -head back, and drummed with her fingers lightly on -the arms of the chair. "But I'm glad you've -called."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! Because one wants to see some one—some -one new, especially after being in a sick-room."</p> - -<p>"You've been sitting up late." His tone was accusing. -It seemed to him that somehow they were -already intimate.</p> - -<p>"Only till three o'clock, and I slept later this morning. -How changeable the sun is to-day!" She -moved her chair, and he saw her in profile. Her -hands were on her lap. She coaxed a foot stool into -position with her toes, and placed her feet on it.</p> - -<p>"You look just like a picture in this week's 'Illustrated -London News'—I mean in general pose," -he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Do I? How nice that sounds! What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Whistler's 'Portrait of his Mother.' But I -hope you don't think I think you look old."</p> - -<p>"How old do I look?" She turned her head -slightly towards him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<p>"About twenty-three, only I imagine you're much -younger."</p> - -<p>Although she did not reply, she made no pretence -of being annoyed, nor did Richard tax himself with -a <i>gaucherie</i>.</p> - -<p>"It took me years to like Whistler's pictures," -she said; and in response to Richard's surprised question -she was beginning to explain that a large part -of her life had been passed in the companionship -of works of graphic art, when a slippered step was -heard in the hall and some one fumbled with the -door-handle. Mr. Aked entered.</p> - -<p>"Uncle! You wicked old man!" She sprang -up, flushed, and her eyes sparkled angrily. "Whatever -did you get up for? It's enough to kill you."</p> - -<p>"Calm yourself, my child. I got up because I -didn't want to stay in bed,—exactly that." Mr. -Aked paused to take breath and sank into a chair. -"Larch, I heard your voice in the passage. Upon -my word, I quite forgot you yesterday. I suppose -Adeline's been telling you I'm seriously ill, eh? Ah! -I've had many a worse attack than this. Put that -antimacassar over my shoulders, child."</p> - -<p>He had given Richard a hot, limp hand, on which -the veins formed soft ridges in the smooth, brittle -skin. His grey hair was disarranged, and he wore a -dirty, torn dressing-gown. His face had lost its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> -customary alert expression; but his sunk, shining eyes -glanced with mysterious restlessness first at Richard, -then at Adeline, who, uttering no further word, -covered him well and put the hassock under his feet.</p> - -<p>"Well, well, well!" he sighed and closed his eyes -wearily. The other two sat silent for a time; then -Adeline, talking very quietly, and with a composure -not quite unaffected, took up their interrupted conversation. -Richard gathered that her justifiable vexation -would remain in abeyance till he had gone. -Soon her tone grew more natural; she leaned forward -with hands clasped round one knee, and Richard -felt like a receiver of confidences as she roughly outlined -her life in the country which had come to an -end only two years ago. Were all the girls so simply -communicative, he wondered; it pleased him to decide -that they were not, and that to any other but -himself she would have been more reserved; that -there was, in fact, an affinity between them. But the -presence of her uncle, which Adeline seemed able -to ignore utterly, hindered Richard from being himself.</p> - -<p>"How do you like London, after living so long in -the country?" he asked inevitably.</p> - -<p>"I know practically nothing of London, real -London," she said; "but I think these suburbs are -horrid,—far duller than the dullest village. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -the people! They seem so uninteresting, to have no -character!"</p> - -<p>The hoarse, fatigued voice of Mr. Aked crept -in between them. "Child!" he said—and he used -the appellation, not with the proper dignity of age, -but rather like an omniscient schoolboy, home for -the holiday, addressing a sister—"Child!"—his -eyes were still closed,—"the suburbs, even Walham -Green and Fulham, are full of interest, for those who -can see it. Walk along this very street on such a -Sunday afternoon as to-day. The roofs form two -horrible, converging straight lines I know, but beneath -there is character, individuality, enough to -make the greatest book ever written. Note the -varying indications supplied by bad furniture seen -through curtained windows, like ours" (he grinned, -opened his eyes, and sat up); "listen to the melodies -issuing lamely from ill-tuned pianos; examine the -enervated figures of women reclining amidst flower-pots -on narrow balconies. Even in the thin smoke -ascending unwillingly from invisible chimney-pots, -the flutter of a blind, the bang of a door, the winking -of a fox terrier perched on a window-sill, the colour -of paint, the lettering of a name,—in all these things -there is character and matter of interest,—truth -waiting to be expounded. How many houses are -there in Carteret Street? Say eighty. Eighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -theatres of love, hate, greed, tyranny, endeavour; -eighty separate dramas always unfolding, intertwining, -ending, beginning,—and every drama a tragedy. -No comedies, and especially no farces! Why, child, -there is more character within a hundred yards of -this chair than a hundred Balzacs could analyse in a -hundred years."</p> - -<p>All the old vivacity had returned to his face; he -had been rhetorical on a favourite subject, and he -was frankly pleased with himself.</p> - -<p>"You will tire yourself, uncle," said Adeline. -"Shall we have tea?"</p> - -<p>Richard observed with astonishment that she was -cold and unmoved. Surely she could not be blind to -the fact that Mr. Aked was a very remarkable man -with very remarkable ideas! Why, by the way, -had those ideas never presented themselves to <i>him</i>? -He would write an article on the <i>character</i> of -Raphael Street. Unwillingly he announced that he -must go; to remain longer would be to invite himself -to tea.</p> - -<p>"Sit still, Larch. You'll have a cup of tea."</p> - -<p>Adeline left the room; and when she had gone, -Mr. Aked, throwing a glance after her, said,—</p> - -<p>"Well, what do you think of my notions of the -suburb?"</p> - -<p>"They are splendid," Richard replied, glowing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<p>"There's something in them, I imagine," he -agreed complacently. "I've had an idea lately of -beginning to scribble again. I know there's a book -waiting to be written on 'The Psychology of the Suburbs,' -and I don't like to see copy lying about -wasted. The old war-horse scenting the battle, you -understand." He smiled grandiosely. "'Psychology -of the Suburbs'! Fine title that! See how -the silent <i>P</i> takes away all the crudity of the alliteration; -that's because one never listens to words with -the ears alone, but with the eyes also.... But -I should need help. I want a clever chap who can -take down from dictation, and assist me in the details -of composition. I suppose you wouldn't care -to come here two or three evenings a week?"</p> - -<p>Richard answered sincerely that nothing would -suit him better.</p> - -<p>"I should make you joint author, of course. -'Psychology of the Suburbs,' by Richard Aked and -Richard Larch. It sounds rather catchy, and I think -it ought to sell. About four hundred octavo pages, -say a hundred thousand words. Six shillings—must -be popular in price. We might get a royalty -of ninepence a copy if we went to the right publisher. -Sixpence for me and threepence for you. Would -that do?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, perfectly!" But was not Mr. Aked running -on rather fast?</p> - -<p>"Perhaps we'd better say fivepence halfpenny for -me and threepence halfpenny for you; that would be -fairer. Because you'll have to furnish ideas, you -know. 'Psychology of the Suburbs, Psychology of -the Suburbs'! Fine title! We ought to do it in -six months."</p> - -<p>"I hope you'll be quite well again soon. Then -we—"</p> - -<p>"Quite well!" he repeated sharply. "I shall be -as right as a trivet to-morrow. You don't suppose -that I can't take care of myself! We'll start at -once."</p> - -<p>"You're not forgetting, Mr. Aked, that you've -never seen any of my stuff yet? Are you sure I shall -be able to do what you want?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you'll do. I've not seen your stuff, but I -guess you've got the literary habit. The literary -habit, that's the thing! I'll soon put you up to the -wrinkles, the trade secrets."</p> - -<p>"What is your general plan of the book?" Richard -asked with some timidity, fearing to be deemed -either stupid or inquisitive at the wrong moment. -He had tried to say something meet for a great occasion, -and failed.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'll go into that at our first formal conference,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -say next Friday night. Speaking roughly, each -of the great suburban divisions has, for me at any -rate, its own characteristics, its peculiar moral -physiognomy." Richard nodded appreciatively. -"Take me blindfold to any street in London, and -I'll discover instantly, from a thousand hints, where -I am. Well, each of these divisions must be -described in turn, not topographically of course, -but the inner spirit, the soul of it. See? People -have got into a way of sneering at the suburbs. -Why, the suburbs <i>are</i> London! It is alone the—the -concussion of meeting suburbs in the centre -of London that makes the city and West End -interesting. We could show how the special -characteristics of the different suburbs exert a -subtle influence on the great central spots. Take -Fulham; no one thinks anything of Fulham, but suppose -it were swept off the face of the earth the effect -would be to alter, for the seeing eye, the character -of Piccadilly and the Strand and Cheapside. -The play of one suburb on another and on the central -haunts is as regular, as orderly, as calculable, as the -law of gravity itself."</p> - -<p>They continued the discussion until Adeline came -in again with a tray in her hands, followed by -the little red-armed servant. The two began to lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -the cloth, and the cheerful rattle of crockery filled -the room....</p> - -<p>"Sugar, Mr. Larch?" Adeline was saying, when -Mr. Aked, looking meaningly at Richard, ejaculated,—</p> - -<p>"Friday then?"</p> - -<p>Richard nodded. Adeline eyed her uncle distrustfully.</p> - -<p>For some reason, unguessed by Richard, Adeline -left them alone during most of the evening, and in -her absence Mr. Aked continued to discourse, in -vague generalities not without a specious poetical -charm, on the subject upon which they were to collaborate, -until Richard was wholly intoxicated with -its fascinating possibilities. When he left, Adeline -would not allow Mr. Aked to go to the door, and -went herself.</p> - -<p>"If I hadn't been very firm," she laughed as they -were shaking hands in the passage, "uncle would -have stood talking to you in the street for goodness -knows how long, and forgotten all about his bronchitis. -Oh, you authors, I believe you are every -one like babies." Richard smiled his gratification.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Larch, Mr. Larch!" The roguish summons -came after him when he was half-way up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -street. He ran back and found her at the gate with -her hands behind her.</p> - -<p>"What have you forgotten?" she questioned. -He could see her face but dimly in the twilight of -the gas-lamps.</p> - -<p>"I know—my umbrella," he answered.</p> - -<p>"Didn't I say you were all like—little children!" -she said, as she whipped out the umbrella -and gave it to him over the gate.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Anxious at once to add something original to the -sum of Mr. Aked's observations, he purposely chose -a round-about route home, through the western parts -of Fulham and past the Salisbury hotel. It seemed -to him that the latent poetry of the suburbs arose -like a beautiful vapour and filled these monotonous -and squalid vistas with the scent and the colour of -violets, leaving nothing common, nothing ignoble. -In the upturned eyes of a shop-girl who went by on -the arm of her lover he divined a passion as pure as -that of Eugénie Grandet; on the wrinkled countenance -of an older woman he beheld only the nobility -of suffering; a youth who walked alone, smoking -a cigarette, was a pathetic figure perhaps condemned -to years of solitude in London. When there was no -one else to see, he saw Adeline,—Adeline with her -finger on her lips, Adeline angry with her uncle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> -Adeline pouring out tea, Adeline reaching down his -hat from the peg, Adeline laughing at the gate. -There was something about Adeline that.... -How the name suited her!... Her past life, -judging from the hints she had given, must have been -interesting. Perhaps that accounted for the charm -which....</p> - -<p>Then he returned to the book. He half regretted -that Mr. Aked should have a hand in it at all. He -could do it himself. Just as plainly as if the idea had -been his own, he saw the volume complete, felt the -texture of the paper, admired the disposition of the -titlepage, and the blue buckram binding; he scanned -the table of contents, and carelessly eyed the brief -introduction, which was, however, pregnant with -meaning; chapter followed chapter in orderly, -scientific fashion, and the last summoned up the whole -business in a few masterly and dignified sentences. -Already, before a single idea had been reduced to -words, "The Psychology of the Suburbs" was -finished! A unique work! Other authors had -taken an isolated spot here or there in the suburbs -and dissected it, but none had viewed them in their -complex entirety; none had attempted to extract from -their incoherence a coherent philosophy, to deal with -them sympathetically as Mr. Aked and himself had -done—or rather were to do. None had suspected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> -that the suburbs were a riddle, the answer to which -was not undiscoverable. Ah, that secret, that key -to the cipher! He saw it as it might be behind a -succession of veils, flimsy obstructions which just then -baffled his straining sight, but which he would rip -and rend when the moment for effort came.</p> - -<p>The same lofty sentiments occupied his brain the -next morning. He paused in the knotting of his -necktie, to look out of the window, seeking even in -Raphael Street some fragment of that psychology of -environment invented by Mr. Aked. Nor did he -search quite in vain. All the phenomena of humble -life, hitherto witnessed daily without a second -thought, now appeared to carry some mysterious -meaning which was on the point of declaring itself. -Friday, when the first formal conference was to occur, -seemed distressingly distant. But he remembered -that a very hard day's work, the casting and -completing of a gigantic bill of costs, awaited him at -the office, and he decided to throw himself into it -without reserve; the time would pass more quickly.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XIII</h4> - - -<p>Every solicitor's office has its great client, -whose affairs, watchfully managed by the -senior partner in person, take precedence of -all else, and whom every member of the staff regards -with a particular respect caught from the principals -themselves. Messrs. Curpet and Smythe were London -agents to the tremendous legal firm of Pontifex, -of Manchester, said to enjoy the largest practice in -the midlands; and they were excusably proud of the -fact. One of the first lessons that a new clerk learnt -in the establishment at New Serjeant's Court was that, -at no matter what expenditure of time and trouble, -Pontifex business, comprising some scores of separate -causes, must be transacted so irreproachably that old -Mr. Pontifex, by repute a terrible fellow, might -never have cause of complaint. On those mornings, -happily rare, when a querulous letter did by chance -arrive from Manchester, the whole office trembled -apprehensively, and any clerk likely to be charged -with negligence began at once to consider the advisability -of seeking a new situation.</p> - -<p>The Pontifex bill of costs was made up annually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -in June. As the time drew near for presenting it, -more and more clerks were pressed into its service, -until at the last everyone found himself engaged, in -one way or another, upon this colossal account.</p> - -<p>When Richard arrived at the office, he found the -immense pile of white foolscap sheets upon his table, -and next it the still higher pile of blue sheets forming -the draft bill. All was finished except the -checking of the figures and the final castings. As the -cashier and accountant, he was ultimately responsible -for this. He parcelled out the sheets, keeping the -largest share for himself, and the work began. In -every room there was a low muttering of figures, -broken by an occasional oath when someone happened -to lose the thread of an addition. The principals -hovered about, full of solicitude and encouragement, -and, according to custom on such occasions, -lunch was served on the premises at the firm's expense. -Richard continued to add while eating, keeping -his head clear and seldom making a mistake; -nothing existed for him but the column of pounds, -shillings, and pence under his eyes.</p> - -<p>The pile of finished sheets grew, and soon the office -boys, commanded by Jenkins, were passing the -earlier portion of the bill through the copying-press. -As the hours went by, the helpers from other departments, -no longer required, went back to their own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> -neglected duties, and Richard did the last additions -alone. At length the bill was absolutely finished, and -he carried it himself to the stationer's to be sewed. -In half an hour it came back, and he laid it ceremoniously -before Mr. Curpet. The grand total -went round the office, leaping from lip to lip like the -result of an important parliamentary poll. It was -higher than in any previous year by nearly a thousand -pounds. Each of the clerks took a personal pride in -its bigness, and secretly determined to petition for -an increase of salary at the first opportunity. They -talked together in groups, discussing details, while -a comfortable lassitude spread from room to room.</p> - -<p>Richard stood by the open window, absently watching -the pigeons and the cleaners at the Law Courts -opposite. In a corner an office boy, new to his work, -was stamping envelopes with slow precision. -Jenkins, with one foot on a table, was tying a shoe -lace. It had struck six ten minutes ago, and everyone -was gone except Mr. Smythe, whose departure -Jenkins awaited with impatience. The hot day subsided -slowly to a serene and lovely evening, and the -customary noises of the Strand ascended to Richard -like the pastoral hum of a valley to a dweller on a -hill, not breaking but rather completing the stillness -of the hour. Gradually his brain freed itself -from the obsession of figures, though he continued to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> -muse vaguely over the bill, which had just been -posted. It would certainly be settled by cheque -within a week, for Messrs. Pontifex were invariably -prompt. That cheque, which he himself would -enter and pay into the bank, amounted to as much as -he could earn in twenty years, if he remained a clerk. -He tried to imagine the scene in which, at some future -date, he would give Mr. Curpet notice of his intention -to resign his position, explaining that he preferred -to support himself by literature. The ineffable -sweetness of such a triumph! Could he ever -realise it? He could, he must; the alternative of -eternal clerkship was not to be endured. His glance -fell on Jenkins. That poor, gay, careless, vulgar -animal would always be a clerk. The thought filled -him with commiseration, and also with pride. Fancy -Jenkins writing a book called "The Psychology of -the Suburbs"!</p> - -<p>"I'm going to smoke," Jenkins said; "be blowed -to Bertie dear." (Mrs. Smythe had once addressed -her husband in the office as "Bertie dear," and -thenceforth that had been his name among the staff.) -Richard made no answer. When a minute later -Jenkins, discreetly directing his puffs to the open window, -asked him for the titles of one or two of Zola's -novels in English, and their price, he gave the required -information without turning round and in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -preoccupied tone. It was his wish at that moment -to appear dreamy. Perhaps a hint of the intellectual -difference between them would suggest itself even -to Jenkins. Suddenly a voice that seemed to be Mr. -Smythe's came from the other side of the glass partition -which separated the room from the general -corridor.</p> - -<p>"Jenkins, what the devil do you mean by smoking -in the office?" The pipe vanished instantly, and -Jenkins faced his accuser in some confusion, only to -find that he had been victimised. It was Mr. -Aked.</p> - -<p>"You're as gassy as ever, I see," Jenkins said with -a shade of annoyance. Mr. Aked laughed, and then -began to cough badly, bending forward with flushed -cheeks.</p> - -<p>"Surely you shouldn't have left the house to-day," -Richard said, alarmed.</p> - -<p>"Why not?" The retort was almost fierce.</p> - -<p>"You're not fit."</p> - -<p>"Fiddlesticks! I've only got a bit of a cough."</p> - -<p>Richard wondered what he had called for.</p> - -<p>Jenkins began to discuss with him the shortcomings -of Mr. Smythe as an employer, and when that fruitful -subject had been exhausted there was a silence.</p> - -<p>"Coming home?" Mr. Aked asked Richard, who -at once prepared to leave.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> - -<p>"By the way, Larch, how's the mash?" Jenkins -wore his archest manner.</p> - -<p>"What mash?"</p> - -<p>"Why, the girl you said you were going to see -yesterday afternoon."</p> - -<p>"I never said—" Richard began, looking nervously -towards Mr. Aked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, of course not. Do you know, Mr. -Aked, he's begun his little games with the women. -These fellows from the country—so shy and all -that—they're regular cautions when you come to -know them." But Mr. Aked made no response.</p> - -<p>"I was thinking you might as well come down to-morrow -night instead of Friday," he said quietly to -Richard, who had busied himself with the locking of -a safe.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow? Certainly, I shall be very glad," -Richard answered. Evidently Mr. Aked was as -eager as himself to make a beginning of the book. -No doubt that was why he had called. Surely, together -they would accomplish something notable!</p> - -<p>Jenkins had climbed on a lofty stool. He gave -vent to a whistle, and the other two observed that his -features were twisted into an expression of delirious -mirth.</p> - -<p>"Aha! aha!" he grinned, looking at Richard. -"I begin to perceive. You're after the pretty niece,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -eh, Master Larch? And a nice plump little thing -she is, too! She came here once to fetch uncle -home."</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked sprang instantly forward and cuffed -Jenkins' ear.</p> - -<p>"It's not the first time I've had to do that, nor the -second," he said. "I suppose you never will learn -to behave yourself." Jenkins could easily have -thrashed the old man—he really looked old to-day—and -no consideration for the latter's age would -have restrained him from doing so, had not the habit -of submission acquired during those years when Mr. -Aked ruled the outer office proved stronger than his -rage. As it was, he took up a safe position behind -the stool and contented himself with words.</p> - -<p>"You're a beauty, you are!" he began. -"How's the red-haired A. B. C. girl getting on? -You know, the one that lost her place at the Courts' -restaurant through you. If she hadn't been a fool, -she'd have brought an action for breach of promise. -And how many more are there? I wonder—"</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked made an uncertain dart after him, but -he vanished through the doorway, only to encounter -Mr. Smythe. With a rather servile "'d afternoon, -sir," to the latter, Mr. Aked walked rapidly out of -the office.</p> - -<p>"What the devil are you all up to?" Mr. Smythe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -inquired crossly. "Is Aked after money, Larch?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all, Mr. Smythe. He only called to see -me."</p> - -<p>"You are a friend of his, are you?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I know him."</p> - -<p>"H'm! Jenkins, come and take a letter."</p> - -<p>As Richard hurried down into the court, he felt exceedingly -angry with Mr. Aked. Why could not -the man be more dignified? Everyone seemed to -treat him with contempt, and the cause was not altogether -obscure. He had no dignity. Richard felt -personally aggrieved.</p> - -<p>Neither of them spoke of the recent incident as -they walked down to the Temple station. Mr. -Aked, indeed, said nothing; a fit of coughing occupied -him. Somehow Richard's faith in "The Psychology -of the Suburbs" had lessened a little during -the last half-hour.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XIV</h4> - - -<p>"Is that you, Mr. Larch?"</p> - -<p>He distinctly made out Adeline's head -and bust above him. Her white apron -was pressed against the bannisters, as with extended -arms and hands grasping the stair-rail she leaned -over to see who was below.</p> - -<p>"It is, Miss Aked," he answered. "The door -was open, and so I walked in. Is anything wrong?"</p> - -<p>"I've just sent Lottie out for the doctor. Uncle -is very ill. I wish you'd see that he comes at once. -It's in the Fulham Road, a little to the left—you'll -notice the red lamp."</p> - -<p>As Richard ran out, he met the doctor, a youngish -man with a Scots face and grey hair, hurrying down -the street, the servant-girl breathless in the rear.</p> - -<p>"Master was took ill last night, sir," the latter -said, in answer to Richard's question. "Pneumonia, -the doctor says as it is, and something else, and -there's coming a nurse to-night. Master has attacks -of it, sir—he can't get his breath."</p> - -<p>He stood in the passage, uncertain what to do; the -doctor had already gone upstairs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It must be very serious," he murmured.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." Lottie began to whimper. Richard -said he would call again later to make inquiries, and -presently discovered himself in Fulham Road, walking -slowly towards Putney.</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked's case was hopeless; of that Richard -felt sure. The man must be getting on in years, -and his frame, not constitutionally vigorous, had -doubtless been fatally weakened by long-continued -carelessness. What a strange creature of whims -and enthusiasms he was! Although there could be -no question as to his age, Richard never regarded -him as more than a few years older than himself. -He had none of the melancholy, the circumspection, -the fixity of view, the prudent tendency towards compromise, -the serene contented apathy, which usually -mark his time of life. He was still delicately susceptible -to new influences, his ideals were as fluid as -Richard's own. Life had taught him scarcely anything, -and least of all sagacity and a dignified carriage. -He was the typical bachelor, whose deeper -feelings have never been stirred. Did regrets for -a possibly happier past, shadows of dead faces, the -memory of kisses, ever ruffle his equanimity? Richard -thought not. He must always have lived in the -present. But he was an artist: though somehow the -man had descended in his estimation, Richard clung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -to that. He possessed imagination and he possessed -intellect, and he could fuse them together. Yet he -had been a failure. Viewed in certain lights, Richard -admitted he was a pitiful figure. What was -his true history? Richard felt instinctively that -none could answer that question, even in outline, -except Mr. Aked, and suddenly he discerned that -the man's nature, apparently frank to immodesty, -had its own reserves, the existence of which few ever -suspected. And when the worst was said, Mr. -Aked possessed originality; in an incongruous way he -still retained the naïve graces of youthfulness; he -was inspiring, and had exerted influences for which -Richard could not but be grateful.</p> - -<p>"The Psychology of the Suburbs" had receded -swiftly into the background, a beautiful, impossible -idea! Richard knew now that it could never have -been carried out. A little progress would have -been made, and then, as difficulties increased, both -he and Mr. Aked would have tacitly abandoned -their enterprise. They were very much alike, he -thought, and the fancied similarity pleased him. -Perhaps at some future time he might himself carry -the undertaking to completion, in which case he -would dedicate his book to the memory of Mr. -Aked. He did not regret that the dream of the last -few days was ended. It had been very enjoyable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> -but the awakening, since according to his present -wisdom it must have occurred sooner or later, was -less unpleasant now than it could have been at any -more advanced stage. Moreover, it was pleasant to -dream of the dream.</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked was dying: he knew it from Adeline's -tone. Poor Adeline! To whom would she turn? -She had implied that the only relatives for whom she -cared, these being on her mother's side, were in -America. From whom would she seek assistance? -Who would conduct the formalities of the funeral, -and the testamentary business, such as it was? His -loathing for funerals seemed to have vanished, and -he was not without hope that Adeline, though their -acquaintance was of the shortest, might engage his -help for her helplessness. And after the funeral, -what would she do? Since she would probably have -enough to live upon, she might elect to remain where -she was. In which case he would visit her now and -then of an evening. Her imminent loneliness gave -her a pathetic charm, and he made haste to draw a -picture of himself and her on either side the fireplace -talking familiarly while she knitted or sewed.</p> - -<p>Yes, he was actually a grown man, and entitled -to his romances. He might eventually fall in love -with her, having discovered in her character rare -qualities now unsuspected. It was improbable, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> -not impossible, and he had, in fact, already glanced -at the contingency several times before. Oh for a -passion, a glorious infatuation, even if it ended in -disaster and ruin! The difficulty was that Adeline -fell short of the ideal lover. That virginal abstraction -was to have been an artist of some sort, -absolutely irreligious, broad in social views, the essence -of refinement, with a striking but not necessarily -beautiful face, soft-spoken, and isolated—untrammelled -by friends. Adeline was no artist; he -feared she might be a regular attendant at chapel -and painfully orthodox as to the sexual relations. -Was she refined? Had she a striking face? He -said Yes, twice. Her voice was low and full of -pretty modulations. Soon, perhaps, she would be -alone in the world. If only she had been an artist.... -That deficiency, he was afraid, would -prove fatal to any serious attachment. Still, it -would be good to visit her.</p> - -<p>He was crossing Putney Bridge. Night had -fallen, and the full brilliant moon showed a narrow -stream crawling between two broad flats of mud. -Just below the bridge a barge lay at anchor; the -silhouette of a man moved leisurely about on it, and -then a boat detached itself from the stem of the -barge and dropped down river into darkness. On -the bridge busses and waggons rattled noisily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -Young men with straw hats and girls in white -blouses and black skirts passed to and fro in pairs, -some chattering, some silent. The sight of these -couples gave Richard an idea for the abandoned -"Psychology of the Suburbs." What if Mr. Aked -recovered? He remembered his sister telling him -that their grandfather had survived after having -been three times surrendered to death by the doctors. -"The Psychology of the Suburbs" began to -attract him. It might come to completion, if Mr. -Aked lived, and then.... But what about -those evenings with the lonely Adeline? The two -vistas of the future clashed with and obscured each -other, and he was overcome by vague foreboding. -He saw Mr. Aked struggling for breath in the mean -suburban bedroom, and Adeline powerless at his -side. The pathos of her position became intolerable.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When he got back to Carteret Street, it was she -who came to the door.</p> - -<p>"How is he?"</p> - -<p>"About the same. The nurse has come. She -told me to go to bed at once, but I don't feel as if -I wanted to sleep. You will sit down a little?"</p> - -<p>She took the rocking-chair, and leaning back with -a gesture of lassitude rocked gently; her white face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -with the red eyes and drooping eyelids, gave sign of -excessive fatigue, and on her lips there was a gloomy -pout. After she had described Mr. Aked's condition -in some detail and told what the doctor had -said, they sat silent for a while in that tense atmosphere -which seems to stifle vitality in a house of -dangerous sickness. Overhead the nurse moved -about, making the window rattle softly now and -then.</p> - -<p>"You have known uncle a long time, haven't -you?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all," Richard answered. "It's a very -funny thing, but though I seem to know him quite -well, I've not met him half a dozen times in my -life. I saw him first about a year ago, and then I -met him again the other day at the British Museum, -and after we'd had dinner together we were just -like old friends."</p> - -<p>"I certainly thought from what he said that you -<i>were</i> old friends. Uncle has so few friends. Except -one or two neighbours I do believe you are the -first person that has ever called at this house since I -came to live here."</p> - -<p>"At any rate, we have soon got to know each -other," said Richard, smiling. "It isn't a week -since you asked me if my name was Larch." She -returned the smile, though rather mechanically.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Perhaps my mistake about your being an old -friend of Uncle Aked's explains that," she said.</p> - -<p>"Well, we won't bother about explaining it; there -it is, and if I can help you in any way just now, -you must tell me."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, I will." She said it with perfect -simplicity. Richard was conscious of a scarcely perceptible -thrill.</p> - -<p>"You must have had an awful time last night, all -alone," he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I was too annoyed to feel upset."</p> - -<p>"Annoyed?"</p> - -<p>"Because uncle has brought it all on himself by -carelessness. I do think it's a shame!" She -stopped rocking, and sat up, her face full of serious -protest.</p> - -<p>"He's not the sort of man to take care of himself. -He never thought—"</p> - -<p>"That's just it. He should have thought, at his -age. If he dies, he will practically have killed himself, -yes, killed himself. There's no excuse, going -out as he did, in spite of all I said. Fancy him -coming downstairs last Sunday in the state he was, -and then going out on Monday, though it <i>was</i> -warm!"</p> - -<p>"Well, we'll hope he will get better, and it may -be a lesson to him."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Hark! What was that?" She sprang to her -feet apprehensively and listened, her breast pulsing -beneath the tight black bodice and her startled inquiring -eyes fixed on Richard's. A very faint tinkle -came from the rear of the house.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps the front-door bell," he suggested.</p> - -<p>"Of course. How silly of me! I fancied.... -Who can it be at this time?" She went -softly into the passage. Richard heard the door -open, and then a woman's voice, which somehow -seemed familiar,—</p> - -<p>"How is Mr. Aked to-night? Your servant told -our servant that he was ill, and I felt anxious."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Adeline exclaimed, discomposed for a -moment, as it seemed to Richard; then she went on -coldly, "Uncle is about the same, thank you," and -almost immediately closed the door.</p> - -<p>"A person to inquire about uncle," she said to -Richard, with a peculiar intonation, on re-entering -the room. Then, just as he was saying that he -must go, there was a knock on the ceiling and she -flew away again. Richard waited in the passage -till she came downstairs.</p> - -<p>"It's nothing. I thought he was dying! Oh!" -and she began to cry freely and openly, without attempting -to wipe her eyes.</p> - -<p>Richard gazed hard at the apron string loosely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> -encircling her waist; from that white line her -trembling bust rose like a bud from its calyx, and -below it the black dress flowed over her broad hips -in gathered folds; he had never seen a figure so exquisite, -and the beauty of it took a keener poignancy -from their solitude in the still, anxious night—the -nurse and the sick man were in another sphere.</p> - -<p>"Hadn't you better go to bed?" he said. -"You must be tired out and over-excited." How -awkward and conventional the words sounded!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XV</h4> - - -<p>In Adeline's idiosyncrasy there was a subtle, -elusive suggestion of singularity, of unexpectedness, -which Richard in spite of himself found -very alluring, and he correctly attributed it, in some -degree, to the peculiar circumstances of her early -life, an account of which, with characteristic quaintness, -she had given him at their second meeting.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The posthumous child of Richard Aked's brother, -Adeline, who had no recollection of her mother, -lived at first with her maternal grandparents and -two uncles. She slept alone at the top of the house, -and when she arose in the morning from the big bed -with its red curtains and yellow tassels, she always -ran to the window. Immediately below here were -the leads which roofed the great projecting windows -of the shop. It was her practice at night to -scatter crumbs on the leads, and sometimes she -would be early enough to watch the sparrows pecking -them; more often all the crumbs had vanished -while she was yet asleep. The Square never failed -to interest her in the morning. In the afternoon it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> -seemed torpid and morose; but before dinner, more -especially on Saturdays and Mondays, it was gaily -alert—full of canvas-covered stalls, and horses and -carts, and heaped piles of vegetables, and pigs -grunting amidst straw, and rough rosy-faced men, -their trousers tied at the knees with string, who -walked about heavily, cracking whips. These -things arrived mysteriously, before the sun, and in -the afternoon they dwindled imperceptibly away; -the stalls were unthatched, the carts jolted off one -by one, and the pigs departed squeaking, until at -five o'clock the littered Square was left deserted and -forlorn. Now and again a new stall, unfolding vivid -white canvas, stood out brightly amid its soiled companions; -then Adeline would run downstairs to her -favourite uncle, who had breakfast at 7.30 so that -he might be in charge of the shop while the rest -were at table: "Uncle Mark, Uncle Mark, there -is a new stall up at the top of the Square, near the -New Inn!" "Perhaps it is only an old one with -its face washed," Uncle Mark would say; and Adeline, -raising her right shoulder, would put her head -on it and laugh, screwing up her eyes.</p> - -<p>In those days she was like a little Puritan girl, -with her plain frocks and prim gait. Her black -hair, confined by a semicircular comb which stretched -from ear to ear over the top of her head, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -brushed straight away from her forehead, and fell -across the entire width of her shoulders in glossy, -wavy lines. Her grey eyes were rather large, except -when she laughed, and they surveyed people -with a frank, inquiring look which frightened some -of the commercial travellers who came into the shop -and gave her threepenny bits; it seemed as if all -one's secret shames stood revealed to that artless -gaze. Her nose was short and flattened, but her -mouth happened to be perfect, of exactly the classic -form and size, with delectable lips half hiding the -small white teeth.</p> - -<p>To her the house appeared to be of immense proportions; -she had been told that once, before she -was born, it was three houses. Certainly it possessed -more than the usual number of staircases, and -one of these, with the single room to which it gave -access, was always closed. From the Square, the -window of the disused chamber, obscured and bare, -contrasted strangely with the clear panes, white -blinds, and red pads of the others. This room was -next to her own, the two staircases running parallel; -and the thought of its dread emptiness awed her at -nights. One Saturday night in bed she discovered -that grandma, who had been plaiting her hair for -Sunday, had left a comb sticking in it. She called -aloud to grandma, to Uncle Mark, to Uncle Luke,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -in vain. None of them came to her; but she distinctly -heard an answering cry from the shut room. -She ceased to call, and lay fearfully quiet for a while; -then it was morning, and the comb had slipped out -of her hair and down into the bed.</p> - -<p>Beneath the house were many cellars. One -served for kitchen, and Adeline had a swing there, -hung from a beam; two others were larders; a -fourth held coal, and in a fifth ashes were thrown. -There were yet two more under the shop, to be -reached by a separate flight of stone steps. Uncle -Mark went down those steps every afternoon to turn -on the gas, but he would never allow Adeline to go -with him. Grandma, indeed, was very cross if, -when the door leading to the steps happened to be -open, Adeline approached within a yard of it. -Often, chattering to the shop-girls, who at quiet -times of the day clustered round the stove with their -sewing, she would suddenly think of the cellars below, -and her heart would seem to stop.</p> - -<p>If the shutters were up, the shop was even more -terribly mysterious than either the cellars or the -disused room. On Sunday afternoons, when -grandpa snored behind a red and yellow handkerchief -in the breakfast-room, it was necessary for -Adeline to go through the shop and up the show-room -staircase, in order to reach the drawing-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -because to get to the house staircase would involve -disturbing the sleeper. How strange the shop -looked as she hurried timorously across! A dim -twilight, worse than total darkness, filtered through -the cracks of the shutters, showing faintly the sallow -dust-sheets which covered the merinos and the -chairs on the counters, and she always reached the -show-room, which had two large, unobstructed windows, -with a sob of relief. Very few customers -were asked into the show-room; Adeline employed -it on weekdays as a nursery; here she nursed her -dolls, flew kites, and read "Little Wideawake," a -book given to her by a commercial traveller; there -was a cheval glass near the front window in which -she contemplated herself long and seriously.</p> - -<p>She never had the companionship of other children, -nor did she desire it. Other children, she understood, -were rude and dirty; although Uncle -Mark and Uncle Luke taught in the Sunday-school, -and grandpa had once actually been -superintendent, she was not allowed to go -there, simply because the children were rude -and dirty. But she went to morning chapel, -sitting alone with grandpa on the red cushions of -the broad pew, that creaked every time she moved; -Uncle Mark and Uncle Luke sat away up in the gallery -with the rude and dirty Sunday-school children;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -grandma seldom went to chapel; the ministers called -to see her instead. Once to her amazement Uncle -Luke had ascended the pulpit stairs, looking just as -if he was walking in his sleep, and preached. It -seemed so strange, and afterwards the religious -truths which she had been taught somehow lost their -awfulness and some of their reality. On Sunday -evenings she celebrated her own private service, in -which she was preacher, choir, organist, and congregation. -Her extempore prayers were the secret -admiration of grandma, who alone heard them. -Adeline stayed up for supper on Sundays. When -the meal was over, grandpa opened the big Bible, -and in his rich, heavy voice read that Shem begat -Arphaxad and Arphaxad begat Salah and Salah begat -Eber and Eber begat Pelag, and about the Ammonites -and the Jebusites and the Canaanites and -the Moabites; and then they knelt, and he prayed -for them that rule over us, and widows and orphans; -and at the word "orphans," grandma, who didn't -kneel like the others but sat upright in her rocking-chair -with one hand over her eyes, would say -"Amen, Amen," under her breath. And after it -was all over Adeline would choose whether Uncle -Mark or Uncle Luke should carry her to bed.</p> - -<p>Grandpa died, and then grandma, and Aunt -Grace (who was not an aunt at all, but a cousin)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -came to stay with Adeline and her uncles, and one -day the shutters of the shop were put up and not -taken down again. Adeline learnt that Uncle Mark -and Uncle Luke were going a long way off, to America, -and that she was to live in future with Aunt -Grace in a large and splendid house full of coloured -pictures and statues and books. It seemed odd -that Aunt Grace, whose dresses were rather shabby, -should have a finer house than grandpa's, until -Uncle Mark explained that the house did not really -belong to Aunt Grace; Aunt Grace merely kept it in -order for a rich young gentleman who had fifteen -servants.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When she had recovered from the parting with -her uncles, Adeline accepted the change with docility. -Long inured as she was to spiritual solitude -(for the closest friendship that can exist between a -child and an adult comprises little more than an -affectionate tolerance on either side, and certainly -knows nothing of those intimate psychic affinities -which attract child to child or man to man), she -could not, indeed, have easily found much hardship -in the conditions of her new life. One matter -troubled her at first, namely, that Aunt Grace never -prayed or read the Bible or went to chapel; nor, so -far as Adeline knew, did anyone else at the Abbey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -But she soon became reconciled to this state of -things. For a time she continued to repeat her -prayers; then the habit ceased.</p> - -<p>The picture-gallery, of which she had heard a -great deal, fascinated her at once. It was a long -but not very lofty apartment, receiving daylight -from a hidden source, hung with the finest examples -of the four great Italian schools which flourished -during the first half of the sixteenth century: the -Venetian, a revel of colour; the Roman, dignified -and even sedate; the Florentine, nobly grandiose; -and the school of Parma, mysteriously delicate. -Opportunity serving, she spent much of her time -here, talking busily to the madonnas, the Christs, -the martyred saints, the monarchs, the knights, the -lovely ladies, and all the naïve mediæval crowd, -giving each of them a part in her own infantile romances. -When she grew older, she copied—who -shall say whether consciously or unconsciously?—the -attitudes and gestures of the women; and -perhaps in time there passed into Adeline, by some -ineffable channel, at least a portion of their demure -grace and contented quietude. There were pictures -also in the square library, examples of quite modern -English and French work, sagaciously chosen by one -whose critical faculty had descended to him through -four generations of collectors; but Adeline had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> -eyes for these. The books, however, gorgeous -prisoners in glass, were her good friends, though -she might never touch them, and though the narrow, -conventional girl's education assiduously bestowed -upon her by her aunt in person, stifled rather than -fostered curiosity with regard to their contents.</p> - -<p>When Adeline was about nineteen, her guardian -became engaged to be married to a middle-aged -farmer, a tenant of the Abbey, who made it clear -that in espousing Aunt Grace he was not eager to -espouse Aunt Grace's <i>protégée</i> also. A serious -question arose as to her future. She had only one -other relative in England, Mr. Aked, and she passively -accepted his timely suggestion that she should -go to London and keep house for him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XVI</h4> - - -<p>On the Wednesday evening Richard took -tea at the Crabtree, so that he might go -down by train to Parson's Green direct -from Charing Cross. The coffee-room was almost -empty of customers; and Miss Roberts, who appeared -to be in attendance there, was reading in the -"cosy corner," an angle of the room furnished with -painted mirrors and a bark bench of fictitious rusticity.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing up here?" he asked, when -she brought his meal. "Aren't you cashier downstairs -any longer?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," she said, "I should just think I was. -But the girl that waits in this room, Miss Pratt, -has her half-holiday on Wednesdays, and I come -here, and the governor takes my place downstairs. -I do it to oblige him. He's a gentleman, he is. -<i>That</i> polite! I have my half-holiday on Fridays."</p> - -<p>"Well, if you've nothing else to do, what do you -say to pouring out my tea for me?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Can't you pour it out yourself? Poor thing!" -She smiled pityingly, and began to pour out the tea.</p> - -<p>"Sit down," Richard suggested.</p> - -<p>"No, thank you," she said. "There! If it -isn't sweet enough, you can put another lump in -yourself;" and she disappeared behind the screen -which hid the food-lift.</p> - -<p>Presently he summoned her to make out his check. -He was debating whether to tell her that Mr. Aked -was ill. Perhaps if he did so she might request to -be informed how the fact concerned herself. He -decided to say nothing, and was the more astonished -when she began:</p> - -<p>"Did you know Mr. Aked was very ill?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Who told you?"</p> - -<p>"Why, I live near him, a few doors away—didn't -I tell you once?—and their servant told -ours."</p> - -<p>"Told your servant?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Miss Roberts, reddening a little, and -with an inflection which meant, "I suppose you -thought <i>my</i> family wouldn't have a servant!"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" He stopped a moment, and then an -idea came to him. "It must have been you who -called last night to inquire!" He wondered why -Adeline had been so curt with her.</p> - -<p>"Were you there then?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. I know the Akeds pretty well."</p> - -<p>"The doctor says he'll not get better. What do -you think?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid it's a bad lookout."</p> - -<p>"Very sad for poor Miss Aked, isn't it?" she -said, and something in the tone made Richard look -up at her.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he agreed.</p> - -<p>"Of course you like her?"</p> - -<p>"I scarcely know her—it's the old man I -know," he replied guardedly.</p> - -<p>"Well, if you ask me, I think she's a bit stand-offish."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps that's only her manner."</p> - -<p>"You've noticed it too, have you?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit. I've really seen very little of her."</p> - -<p>"Going down again to-night?"</p> - -<p>"I may do."</p> - -<p>Nothing had passed between Adeline and himself -as to his calling that day, but when he got to Carteret -Street she evidently accepted his presence as a -matter of course, and he felt glad. There was noting -in her demeanour to recall the scene of the -previous night. He did not stay long. Mr. Aked's -condition was unchanged. Adeline had watched by -him all day, while the nurse slept, and now she confessed -to an indisposition.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<p>"My bones ache," she said, with an attempt to -laugh, "and I feel miserable, though under the circumstances -there's nothing strange in that."</p> - -<p>He feared she might be sickening towards influenza, -caught from her uncle, but said nothing, -lest he should alarm her without cause. The next -day, however, his apprehension was justified. On -his way to the house in the evening he met the doctor -at the top of Carteret Street and stopped him.</p> - -<p>"You're a friend of Mr. Aked's, eh?" the doctor -said, examining Richard through his gold-rimmed -spectacles. "Well, go and do what you -can. Miss Aked is down with the influenza now, -but I don't think it will be a severe attack if she -takes care. The old fellow's state is serious. You -see, he has no constitution, though perhaps that's -scarcely a disadvantage in these cases; but when it -comes to double basic pneumonia, with fever, and -cardiac complications, pulse 140, respiration 40, -temperature 103 to 104, there's not a great deal of -chance. I've got a magnificent nurse, though, and -she'll have her hands full. We ought really to -send for another one, especially as Miss Aked wants -looking after too.... Bless you," he went -on, in answer to a question from Richard, "I can't -say. I injected strychnia this morning, and that has -given relief, but he may die during the night. On<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -the other hand he may recover. By the way, they -seem to have no relations, except a cousin of Mr. -Aked's who lives in the north. I've wired to her. -Good evening. See what you can do. I'm due in -my surgery in two minutes."</p> - -<p>Richard introduced himself to the nurse, explained -that he had seen the doctor, and asked if he -could render assistance. She was a slender girl of -about twenty-three, with dark, twinkling eyes and -astonishingly small white ears; her blue uniform, -made of the same print as a servant's morning-dress, -fitted without a crease, and her immense apron was -snowy. On one linen cuff was a stain; she noticed -this while talking to Richard, and adroitly reversed -the wristband under his very gaze.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you know the Akeds pretty well?" -she questioned.</p> - -<p>"Well, pretty well," he answered.</p> - -<p>"Do you know any friends of theirs, women, -who happen to live near?"</p> - -<p>"I feel fairly sure they have practically no acquaintances. -I have never met any people here."</p> - -<p>"It is very awkward, now that Miss Aked is taken -ill."</p> - -<p>The mention of Adeline gave him an opportunity -to make more particular inquiries as to her condition.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<p>"There is nothing to be afraid of," the nurse -said, "only she must stay in bed and keep quite -quiet."</p> - -<p>"I fancied last night she looked ill," he said -sagely.</p> - -<p>"You were here last night?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and the night before."</p> - -<p>"Oh! I wasn't aware—" The nurse stopped -a moment. "Pardon me, if I am indiscreet, but -are you engaged to Miss Aked?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Richard shortly, uncertain whether -or not he was blushing. The nurse's eyes twinkled, -but otherwise her impassive gravity suffered -no diminishment. "Not at all," he added. "I -am merely a friend, anxious to do anything I -can."</p> - -<p>"I will get you to do some marketing for me," -she decided suddenly. "The maid is sitting with -Mr. Aked—he's a little easier for the moment—and -Miss Aked, I think, is asleep. If I give you a -list, can you discover the shops? I am quite ignorant -of this neighbourhood."</p> - -<p>Richard thought he could discover the shops.</p> - -<p>"In the meantime I will have a bath. I have -had no rest worth mentioning for twenty-four hours, -and I want freshening up. Don't come back for -twenty minutes, or there will be no one to let you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> -in. Stay, I will give you the latch-key." It was -attached to her chatelaine.</p> - -<p>Equipped with written orders and a sovereign, -he went out. Though he was away barely a quarter -of an hour, she was dressed and downstairs again -when he came in, her face as radiant as if she had -just risen. She counted the change, and checked -the different purchases with the list. Richard had -made no mistakes.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," she said very formally. He had -expected a little praise.</p> - -<p>"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, determined -not to weary in good works, however -coldly his efforts were received.</p> - -<p>"I think you might sit with Mr. Aked for a -while," she said; "I must positively give some attention -to Miss Aked, and half an hour's rest would -not harm me. See, there are some slippers; would -you mind taking off your boots and putting those on -instead? Thank you. You may talk to Mr. Aked -if he talks to you, and let him hold your hand—he'll -probably want to. Let him have just a sip of -the brandy and milk I will give you, whenever he -asks for it. Don't mind if he grumbles at everything -you do. Try to soothe him. Remember he -is very seriously ill. Shall I take you upstairs?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<p>She looked at Richard and then at the door; and -Richard, hesitating for a fraction of a second, -stepped past her to open it. He managed it awkwardly -because he had never done such a thing for -a lady in his life, nor could he quite understand what -mysterious prompting had led him to be so punctilious -now. The nurse bowed acknowledgment and -preceded him to the sick-room. He felt as a student -feels just before the examination papers are -handed round.</p> - -<p>A smell of linseed escaped from the bedroom as -the nurse pushed open the door.</p> - -<p>"Stay outside a moment," she said to Richard. -He could see the grate, on which a kettle was singing -over a small fire. In front of the fire was a board, -with a large bowl and spoon, and some pieces of -linen. Then he was conscious of nothing but a loud -sound of rapid, painful breathing, accompanied by -moans and a strange rattling which came to his ears -with perturbing distinctness. He knew nothing of -sickness beyond what people had told him, and these -phenomena inspired him with physical dread. He -wished to run away.</p> - -<p>"A friend of yours is coming to sit with you, Mr. -Aked—you know Mr. Larch," he heard the nurse -say; she was evidently busy about the bed. "You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> -can go now, Lottie," she went on to the servant. -"Wash up the things I have put in the sink, and -then off to bed."</p> - -<p>Richard waited with painful expectancy for the -voice of Mr. Aked.</p> - -<p>"Larch—did you say—why—didn't he come—before?" -The tones were less unnatural than -he had anticipated, but it seemed that only by the -exercise of a desperate ingenuity could the speaker -interject the fragments of a sentence here and there -between his hurrying gasps.</p> - -<p>Then the servant went downstairs.</p> - -<p>"Come in, Mr. Larch," the nurse called pleasantly.</p> - -<p>The patient, supported by pillows, was sitting upright -in bed, and as Richard entered he looked towards -the door with the expression of an unarmed -man on the watch for an assassin. His face was -drawn and duskily pale, but on each cheek burned a -red flush; at every cruel inspiration the nostrils dilated -widely, and the shoulders were raised in a -frenzied effort to fill the embarrassed lungs.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. Aked," Richard greeted him, "here -I am, you see."</p> - -<p>He made no reply beyond a weak nod, and signed -to the nurse for the feeding-cup of brandy and -milk, which she held to his mouth. Richard was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -afraid he might not be able to stay in the room, and -marvelled that the nurse could be unmoved and -cheerful in the midst of this piteous altercation with -death. Was she blind to the terror in the man's -eyes?</p> - -<p>"You had better sit here, Mr. Larch," she said -quietly, pointing to a chair by the bedside. "Here -is the drink; hold the cup—so. Ring this bell if -you want me for anything." Then she noiselessly -disappeared.</p> - -<p>No sooner had he sat down than Mr. Aked seized -his shoulder for support, and each movement of the -struggling frame communicated itself to Richard's -body. Richard suddenly conceived a boundless -respect for the nurse, who had watched whole nights -by this tortured organism on the bed. Somehow existence -began to assume for him a new and larger -aspect; he felt that till that moment he had been going -through the world with his eyes closed; life was -sublimer, more terrible, than he had thought. He -abased himself before all doctors and nurses and -soldiers in battle; they alone tasted the true savour -of life.</p> - -<p>Art was a very little thing.</p> - -<p>Presently Mr. Aked breathed with slightly less -exertion, and he appeared to doze for a few moments -now and then, though Richard could scarcely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -believe that any semblance of sleep was possible to a -man in his condition.</p> - -<p>"Adeline?" he questioned once.</p> - -<p>"She's getting on fine," Richard said soothingly. -"Would you like a sip?"</p> - -<p>He put his grey lips clumsily round the lip of the -cup, drank, and then pushed the vessel away with a -gesture of irritation.</p> - -<p>The windows were open, but the air was perfectly -still, and the gas burnt without a tremor between -the windows and the door.</p> - -<p>"I'm stifled," the patient gasped. "Are they—doing—all -they can—for me?"—Richard -tried to reassure him.</p> - -<p>"It's all over—with me—Larch—I can't—keep -it up long—I'm going—going—they'll -have to try—something else."</p> - -<p>His lustrous eyes were fastened on Richard with -an appealing gaze. Richard turned away.</p> - -<p>"I'm frightened—I thought I shouldn't be—but -I am. Doctor suggested parson—it's not that—I -said no.... Do you think—I'm dying?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit," said Richard.</p> - -<p>"That's a lie—I'm off.... It's a big -thing,—death—everyone's afraid—of it—at -last.... Instinct!... Shows there's -something—awful behind it."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<p>If Richard had been murdering the man, he -could not have had a sharper sense of guilt than at -that moment oppressed him.</p> - -<p>Mr. Aked continued to talk, but with a growing -incoherence which gradually passed into delirium. -Richard looked at his watch. Only thirty minutes -had slipped by, and yet he felt as if his shoulder had -suffered the clutch of that hot hand since before the -beginning of time! Again he experienced the disconcerting -sensation of emotional horizons suddenly -widened.</p> - -<p>People were walking down the street; they talked -and laughed. How incongruously mirthful and -careless their voices sounded! Perhaps they had -never watched by a sick-bed, never listened to the -agonised breathing of a pneumonia patient. That -incessant frantic intake of air! It exasperated him. -If it did not stop soon, he should go mad. He -stared at the gas-flame, and the gas-flame grew -larger, larger, till he could see nothing else.... -Then, after a long while, surely the breathing was -more difficult! There was a reverberating turmoil -in the man's chest which shook the bed. Could -Richard have been asleep, or what? He started up; -but Mr. Aked clung desperately to him, raising his -shoulders higher and higher in the struggle to inhale, -and leaning forward till he was bent almost double.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -Richard hesitated, and then struck the bell. It -seemed as if the nurse would never come. -The door opened softly.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid he is much worse," Richard said to -the nurse, striving to cover his agitation. She -looked at Mr. Aked.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you had better fetch the doctor."</p> - -<p>When he returned, Mr. Aked was lying back unconscious.</p> - -<p>"Of course the doctor can do nothing now," said -the nurse, calmly answering the question in his eyes. -"He'll never speak any more."</p> - -<p>"But Miss Aked?"</p> - -<p>"It can't be helped. I shall say nothing to her -till morning."</p> - -<p>"Then she won't see him?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly not. It would be madness for her to -leave her bed."</p> - -<p>The doctor arrived, and the three talked quietly -together about the alarming prevalence of influenza -at that time of the year, and the fatal results of carelessness.</p> - -<p>"I tell you honestly," the doctor said, "I'm so -overworked that I should be quite satisfied to step -into my coffin and not wake again. I've had three -3 A. M. midwifery cases this week—forceps, chloroform,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> -and the whole bag of tricks—on the top of -all this influenza, and I'm about sick of it. That's -the worst of our trade; it comes in lumps. What do -you say, nurse?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XVII</h4> - - -<p>The nurse suggested that Richard should remain -at Carteret Street for the rest of the -night, using the sofa in the sitting-room. -Contrary to his expectation, he slept well and dreamlessly -for several hours, and woke up refreshed and -energetic. The summer sun was dispersing a light -mist. One thought occupied his mind,—Adeline's -isolation and need of succour. Mentally he enveloped -her with tender solicitude; and the prospect of -giving her instant aid, and so earning her gratitude, -contributed to a mood of vigorous cheerfulness to -which his sorrow for Mr. Aked's death formed but -a vague and distant background.</p> - -<p>No one seemed to be stirring. He washed luxuriously -in the little scullery, and then, silently unbolting -the front door, went out for a walk. It was -just six o'clock, and above the weazen trees which -line either side of Carteret Street the sparrows were -noisily hilarious. As he strode along in the fresh, -sunny air, his fancy pictured scene after scene between -himself and Adeline in which he rendered a -man's help and she offered a woman's gratitude.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> -He determined to take upon himself all the arrangements -for the funeral, and looked forward pleasurably -to activities from which under different circumstances -he would have shrunk with dismay. He -thought of Adeline's aunt or cousin, distant in the -north, and wondered whether she or any other relatives, -if such existed, would present themselves; he -hoped that Adeline might be forced to rely solely -on him. A milkboy who passed with his rattling -cans observed Richard talking rapidly to no visible -person, and turned round to stare.</p> - -<p>When he got back to the house, he noticed that -the blinds had been drawn in the sitting-room. Lottie, -the chubby-armed servant, was cleaning the step; -her eyes were red with crying.</p> - -<p>"Is nurse up yet?" he asked her.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, she's in the kitchen," the girl whimpered.</p> - -<p>He sprang over the wet step into the passage. -As his glance fell on the stairs leading up to the -room where lay the body of Mr. Aked, separated -from the unconscious Adeline only by a gimcrack -wall of lath and plaster, an uncomfortable feeling of -awe took hold of him. Death was very incurable, -and he had been assisting at a tragedy. How unreal -and distorted seemed the events of a few hours -before! He had a curious sense of partnership in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -shame, as if he and the nurse and the doctor had -last night done Adeline an injury and were conspiring -to hide their sin. What would she say when -she knew that her uncle was dead? What would be -her plans? It occurred to him now that she would -of course act quite independently of himself; it was -ridiculous to suppose that he, comparatively a -stranger, could stand to her in the place of kith and -kin; he had been dreaming. He was miserably disheartened.</p> - -<p>He made his way to the kitchen, and, pushing the -door open quietly, found the nurse engaged in cooking -a meal.</p> - -<p>"May I come in, nurse?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Larch."</p> - -<p>"You seem to have taken charge of the house," -he said, admiring her quick, neat movements; she -was as much at home as if the kitchen had been her -own.</p> - -<p>"We often find it necessary," she smiled. -"Nurses have to be ready for most things. Do -you prefer tea or coffee for breakfast?"</p> - -<p>"Surely you aren't getting breakfast for me? I -could have had something in town."</p> - -<p>"Surely I am," she said. "If you aren't fastidious, -I'll make tea. Miss Aked has had a moderately -good night ... I've told her....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -She took it very well, said she expected it. Of -course there's a lot to be done, but I can't bother -her yet. We ought to have a telegram from Mrs. -Hopkins, her aunt, this morning."</p> - -<p>"I wish you would give Miss Aked a message -from me," Richard broke in. "Tell her I shall be -very glad to see after things—the funeral, you -know, and so on—if she cares. I can easily arrange -to take a holiday from the office."</p> - -<p>"I am sure that would relieve her from a lot of -anxiety," the nurse said appreciatively. To hide a -certain confusion Richard suggested that he should -be allowed to lay the cloth in the sitting-room, and -she told him he would find it in a drawer in the -sideboard. He wandered off, speculating upon -Adeline's probable answer to his proposal. Soon he -heard the rattling of cups and saucers, and the -nurse's footstep on the stair. He laid the cloth, -putting the cruet in the middle and the salt-cellars -at opposite corners, and then sat down in front of -the case of French books to scan their titles, but he -saw nothing save a blur of yellow. After a long -time the nurse came down again.</p> - -<p>"Miss Aked says she cannot thank you enough. -She will leave everything to you,—everything. -She is very much obliged indeed. She doesn't think -Mrs. Hopkins will be able to travel, because of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -rheumatism, and there is no one else. Here is the -key of Mr. Aked's desk, and some other keys—there -should be about £20 in gold in the cash box, -and perhaps some notes."</p> - -<p>He took the keys, feeling profoundly happy.</p> - -<p>"I shall just go up to the office first," he decided, -"and arrange to get off, and then come down here -again. I suppose you will stay on till Miss Aked -is better?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, of course."</p> - -<p>"She will be in bed several days yet?"</p> - -<p>"Probably. She might be able to sit up an hour -or two the day after to-morrow—in her own room."</p> - -<p>"It wouldn't do for me to see her?"</p> - -<p>"I think not. She is very weak. No, you must -act on your own responsibility."</p> - -<p>He and the nurse had breakfast together, talking -with the freedom of old friends. He told her all -he knew of the Akeds, not forgetting to mention -that Mr. Aked and himself were to have collaborated -in a book. When Richard let this out, she showed -none of those signs of timid reverence which the -laity are wont to exhibit in the presence of literary -people.</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" she said politely, and then after a little -pause: "I actually write verses myself sometimes."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You do? And are they published?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, but perhaps not on their merits. You -see, my father has influence—"</p> - -<p>"A journalist, is he, perhaps?"</p> - -<p>She laughed at the idea, and mentioned the name -of a well-known novelist.</p> - -<p>"And you prefer nursing to writing!" Richard -ejaculated when he had recovered from the announcement.</p> - -<p>"To anything in the world. That is why I am -a nurse. Why should I depend on my father, or -my father's reputation?"</p> - -<p>"I admire you for not doing so," Richard replied. -Hitherto he had only read about such women, and -had questioned if they really existed. He grew -humble before her, recognising a stronger spirit. -Yet her self-reliance somehow chafed him, and he -directed his thoughts to Adeline's feminine trustfulness -with a slight sense of relief.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The funeral took place on Sunday. Richard -found the formalities to be fewer and simpler than -he had expected, and no difficulties arose of any -kind. Mrs. Hopkins, as Adeline had foreseen, was -unable to come, but she sent a long letter full of advice, -and offering her niece a temporary home. -Adeline had not yet been allowed to leave her bed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -but on the Sunday morning the nurse had said that -she might sit up for an hour or two in the afternoon, -and would like to see Richard then.</p> - -<p>He returned to Carteret Street on foot when the -funeral was over.</p> - -<p>"You are glad it is all finished?" the nurse said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he answered a little wearily. His mind -had dwelt on Mr. Aked that day, and the lonely -futility of the man's life had touched him with chill, -depressing effect. Moreover, now it came to the -point, he rather dreaded than desired that first interview -with Adeline after her uncle's death. He -feared that despite any service he had rendered, -they were not much more than acquaintances. He -morbidly conjectured what she would say to him and -how he would reply. But he was glad when the -nurse left him alone at the door of Adeline's room. -He knocked rather louder than he had intended, and -after hesitating a second walked in. Adeline was -seated in an armchair near the window, fully dressed -in black, with a shawl over her shoulders. Her -back was towards him, but he could see that she was -writing a letter on her knee. She looked round suddenly -as the door opened, and gave a little "Oh!" -at the same time lifting her hands. Her face was -pale, her hair flat, and her eyes large and glittering. -He went up to her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Mr. Larch!" She held his hand in her thin -white one with a soft, weak pressure, silently gazing -at him while tears gathered in her upturned eyes. -Richard trembled in every part of his body; he could -not speak, and wondered what was the matter with -him.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Larch, you have been very kind. I shall -never be able to thank you."</p> - -<p>"I hope you won't bother about any thanks," he -said. "Are you better?" And yet he wished her -to say more.</p> - -<p>With apparent reluctance she loosed his hand, -and he sat down near her.</p> - -<p>"What should I have done without you!... -Tell me about to-day. You can't think how relieved -I am now that it is over—the funeral, I mean."</p> - -<p>He said there was nothing to tell.</p> - -<p>"Were there many other funerals?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, a lot."</p> - -<p>He answered her questions one after another; she -seemed to be interested in the least detail, but -neither of them mentioned the dead man. Her -eyes seldom left him. When he suggested that she -must dismiss him as soon as she felt tired, she -laughed, and replied that she was not likely to be -tired for a very long while, and that he must have -tea with her and nurse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I was writing to my two uncles in San Francisco -when you came in," she said. "They will be terribly -upset about me at first, poor fellows, but I have -told them how kind you have been, and Uncle Mark -always used to say I had plenty of sense, so that -ought to ease their minds." She smiled.</p> - -<p>"Of course you have made no definite plans yet?" -he asked.</p> - -<p>"No, I sha'n't settle anything at present. I want -to consult you about several things, but some other -time, when I am better. I shall have enough money, -I think—that is one solid comfort. My aunt -Grace—Mrs. Hopkins—has asked me to go and -stay with her. Somehow I don't want to go—you'll -think it queer of me, I daresay, but I would -really prefer to stop in London."</p> - -<p>He noticed that she said nothing as to joining her -uncles in San Francisco.</p> - -<p>"I fancy I shall like London," she went on, "when -I know it."</p> - -<p>"You aren't thinking, then, of going to San Francisco?"</p> - -<p>He waited apprehensively for her answer. She -hesitated. "It is so far—I don't quite know how -my uncles are situated—"</p> - -<p>Evidently, for some reason, she had no desire to -leave London immediately. He was very content,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -having feared that she might pass at once away from -him.</p> - -<p>They had tea on a little round chess-table. The -cramped space and the consequent necessity of putting -spare plates of cake on the bed caused some amusement, -but in the presence of the strong, brusque nurse -Adeline seemed to withdraw within herself, and the -conversation, such as it was, depended on the other -two.</p> - -<p>"I have been telling Miss Aked," the nurse said -after tea was over, "that she must go to the seaside -for a week or two. It will do her an immense deal -of good. What she needs most of all is change. I -suggested Littlehampton; it is rather a quiet spot, -not too quiet; there is nice river scenery, and a quaint -old port, and quantities of lovely rustic villages in -the neighbourhood."</p> - -<p>"It would certainly be a good thing," Richard -agreed; but Adeline said, rather petulantly, that she -did not wish to travel, and the project was not discussed -further.</p> - -<p>He left soon afterwards. The walk home seemed -surprisingly short, and when he got to Raphael -Street he could remember nothing of the thoroughfares -through which he had passed. Vague, delicious -fancies flitted through his head, like fine lines -half recalled from a great poem. In his room there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> -was a smell from the lamp, and the windows were -shut tight.</p> - -<p>"Poor old landlady," he murmured benignantly, -"when will she learn to leave the windows open and -not to turn down the lamp?"</p> - -<p>Having unfastened one of the windows, he extinguished -the lamp and went out on to the little -balcony. It was a warm evening, with a cloudy sky -and a gentle, tepid breeze. The noise of omnibuses -and cabs came even and regular from Brompton -Road, and occasionally a hansom passed up Raphael -Street. He stood leaning on the front of the balcony -till the air of traffic had declined to an infrequent -rumble, his thoughts a smiling, whirling -medley impossible to analyze or describe. At last -he came in, and, leaving the window ajar, undressed -slowly without a light, and lay down. He had no -desire to sleep, nor did he attempt to do so; not for -a ransom would he have parted with the fine, full -consciousness of life which thrilled through every -portion of his being. The brief summer night came -to an end; and just as the sun was rising he dozed a -little, and then got up without a trace of fatigue. -He went to the balcony again, and drank in all the -sweet invigorating freshness of the morning. The -sunlit streets were enveloped in an enchanted silence.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XVIII</h4> - - -<p>Nearly three weeks later came the following -letter from Adeline. In the meanwhile -she had had a rather serious relapse, -and he had seen her only once or twice for a few -minutes.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>My dear Mr. Larch,—This time I am <i>quite</i> sure I -am well again. Nurse is obliged to leave to-day, as she is -wanted at a hospital, and she has persuaded me to go to -Littlehampton <i>at once</i>, and given me the address of some -rooms. I shall leave Victoria to-morrow (Wednesday) by -the 1.10 train; Lottie will go with me, and the house will -be locked up. Good-bye for the present, if I don't see you. -We shall not stay more than a week or ten days. I will -write to you from Littlehampton.</p> - -<p>Ever yours most gratefully,</p> - -<p>A. A.</p> - -<p>P. S. I was expecting you down to-night.</p></blockquote> - -<p>"'If I don't see you'!" he repeated to himself, -smiling, and examining Adeline's caligraphy, which -he had not seen before. It was a bold but not distinguished -hand. He read the note several times,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -then folded it carefully and put it in his pocket-book.</p> - -<p>By reason of an unexpected delay at the office he -almost missed her at Victoria. The train was due -out at least a minute before he rushed into the station; -fortunately trains are not invariably prompt. -Adeline was leaning from a carriage window to hand -a penny to a newspaper boy; the boy dropped the -penny, and she laughed. She wore a black hat with -a veil. Her cheeks were a little fuller, and her eyes -less unnaturally brilliant, at any rate under the veil; -and Richard thought that he had never seen her -look so pretty.</p> - -<p>"There it is, silly boy, there!" she was saying as -he came up.</p> - -<p>"I thought I'd just see if you were all right," he -panted. "I should have been here earlier, only I -was detained."</p> - -<p>"How kind of you to take so much trouble!" she -said, taking his hand, and fixing her eyes intently on -his. The guard came along to fasten the doors.</p> - -<p>"Luggage all in?" Richard asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, thanks. Lottie saw to it while I got the -tickets. I find she is quite an experienced traveller." -At which Lottie, effaced in a corner, blushed.</p> - -<p>"Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself." The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> -whistle sounded, and the train jerked forward -Adeline began to wave a good-bye.</p> - -<p>"I see there's a Sunday league trip to Littlehampton -on Sunday," he said, walking along with -the train.</p> - -<p>"Oh! Do come down."</p> - -<p>"You'd like me to?"</p> - -<p>"Very much."</p> - -<p>"I will, then. Send me the address."</p> - -<p>She gave a succession of little nods, as the train -carried her away.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XIX</h4> - - -<p>Richard's eye travelled expectantly over -the tanned crowd of men in flannels and -gaily attired girls which lined the platform -of Littlehampton station, but Adeline was not to be -seen. He felt somewhat disappointed, and then decided -that he liked her the better for not having -come to meet him. "Besides," he thought, "the -train being a special is not in the time-table, and she -would not know when it was due."</p> - -<p>Her lodging was in a long, monotonous terrace -which ran at right angles to the seashore, turning -its back upon the river. Noon was at hand, and the -fierce rays of the unclouded sun were untempered -by any breeze. The street lay hushed, for everyone -was either at church or on the sands. In response -to his inquiry, the landlady said that Miss -Aked was out, and had left a message that if a -gentleman called, he was to follow her to the jetty. -Obeying the directions given to him, Richard soon -found himself by the banks of the swift Arun, with -the jetty some distance in front, and beyond that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -sea, which shimmered blindly in the heat. Throngs -of respectably dressed people wandered up and down, -and a low, languid murmur of conversation floated -out as it were from the cavities of a thousand -parasols. Perspiring children whose hands were -chafed by gloves full of creases ran to and fro among -the groups, shouting noisily, and heedless of the -frequent injunction to remember what day it was. -Here and there nurses pushing perambulators made -cool spots of whiteness in the confusion of colour. -On the river boats and small yachts were continually -sweeping towards the sea on the ebbing tide; -now and then a crew of boys would attempt to pull -a skiff against the rapid current, persevere for a few -strokes, and then, amid scoffs from the bank, ignominiously -allow themselves to be whirled past the jetty -with the other craft.</p> - -<p>Richard had never seen a southern watering-place -before, and he had fondly expected something -different from Llandudno, Rhyl, or Blackpool, -something less stolid and more continental. Littlehampton -fell short of his anticipations. It was unpicturesque -as a manufacturing town, and its summer -visitors were an infestive, lower-middle class -folk, garishly clothed, and unlearned in the fine art -of enjoyment. The pure accent of London sounded -on every side from the lips of clerks and shop-girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> -and their kin. Richard forgot that he was himself -a clerk, looking not out of place in that scene.</p> - -<p>Presently he espied a woman who seemed to belong -to another sphere. She was leaning over the -parapet of the jetty, and though a black and white -sunshade entirely hid her head and shoulders, the -simple, perfectly hung black skirt, the neatly shod -foot, the small, smoothly gloved hand with thin gold -circlet at wrist, sufficed to convince him that here, -by some strange chance, was one of those exquisite -creatures who on Saturday afternoons drove -past the end of Raphael Street on their way to Hurlingham -or Barnes. He wondered what she did -there, and tried to determine the subtleties of demeanour -and costume which constituted the plain difference -between herself and the other girls on the -jetty. At that moment she stood erect, and turned -round. Why, she was quite young.... He -approached her.... It was Adeline.</p> - -<p>Astonishment was so clearly written on his face -that she laughed as they exchanged greetings.</p> - -<p>"You seem startled at the change in me," she said -abruptly. "Do you know that I positively adore -clothes, though I've only just found it out. The -first thing I did when I got here was to go over to -Brighton, and spend terrific sums at a dressmaker's. -You see, there wasn't time in London. You don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> -despise me for it, I hope? I've plenty of money—enough -to last a long, long time."</p> - -<p>She was dazzling, and she openly rejoiced in the -effect her appearance had made on Richard.</p> - -<p>"You couldn't have done better," he answered, -suddenly discovering with chagrin that his own serge -suit was worn and shabby.</p> - -<p>"I'm relieved," she said; "I was afraid my -friend might think me vain and extravagant." Her -manner of saying "my friend"—half mockery, half -deference—gave Richard intense satisfaction.</p> - -<p>They walked to the end of the jetty and sat down -on a stone seat.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed enthusiastically.</p> - -<p>"What—the town, or the people, or the sea?"</p> - -<p>"Everything. I've scarcely been to the seaside -before in all my life, and I think it's lovely."</p> - -<p>"The sea would be splendid if one could see it, -but it blinds one even to glance at it in this heat."</p> - -<p>"You shall have half my sunshade." She put -it over him with a protective gesture.</p> - -<p>"No, no," he demurred.</p> - -<p>"I say yes. Why don't men carry sunshades? -It's only their pride that stops them.... So -you don't like the town and the people?"</p> - -<p>"Well—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I love to see plenty of people about. And you -would, too, if you'd been fixed like me. I've never -seen a real crowd. There are crushes when you go -into theatres, sometimes, aren't there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Women faint."</p> - -<p>"But I shouldn't. I would have given anything -not long ago to be in one of those crushes. Now, of -course, I can just please myself. When we are back -in London, do you think I could persuade you to -take me?"</p> - -<p>"You might," he said, "if you asked nicely. But -young ladies who wear clothes like yours don't -usually patronise the pit, where the crushes are. -Stalls or dress circle would be more in your style. I -propose we take the dress circle. You wouldn't enjoy -your crush going in, but at the Lyceum and some -other theatres, there is quite a superior crush coming -out of the stalls and dress circle."</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is better. And I shall buy more -clothes. Oh! I will be shockingly wasteful. If -poor old uncle knew how his money was to be -spent—"</p> - -<p>A little child, chased by one still less, fell down -flat in front of them, and began to cry. Adeline -picked it up, losing her sunshade, and kissed both -children. Then she took a paper of chocolates from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> -her pocket and gave several to each child, and they -ran away without saying thank you.</p> - -<p>"Have one?" She offered the bag to Richard. -"That's another luxury I shall indulge in—chocolates. -Do have just one, to keep me company," she -appealed. "By the way, about dinner. I ordered -dinner for both of us at my rooms, but we can improve -on that. I have discovered a lovely little village -a few miles away, Angmering, all old cottages -and no drains. Let us drive there in a victoria, and -picnic at a cottage. I know the exact place for us. -There will be no people there to annoy you."</p> - -<p>"But you like 'people,' so that won't do at all."</p> - -<p>"I will do without 'people' for this day."</p> - -<p>"And what shall we have for dinner?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! Eggs and bread and butter and tea."</p> - -<p>"Tea for dinner! Not very solid, is it?"</p> - -<p>"Greedy! If you have such a large appetite, eat -a few more chocolates; they will take it away."</p> - -<p>She rose, pointing to a victoria in the distance.</p> - -<p>He looked at her without getting up, and their -eyes met with smiles. Then he, too, rose. He -thought he had never felt so happy. An intoxicating -vision of future felicities momentarily suggested -itself, only to fade before the actuality of the present.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<p>The victoria stopped at Adeline's rooms. She -called through the open window to Lottie, who came -out and received orders to dine alone, or with the -landlady if she preferred.</p> - -<p>"Lottie and Mrs. Bishop are great friends," Adeline -said. "The silly girl would sooner stay in to -help Mrs. Bishop with housework than go out on -the beach with me."</p> - -<p>"She must indeed be silly. I know which I -should choose!" It seemed a remark of unutterable -clumsiness—after he had said it, but Adeline's -faint smile showed no dissatisfaction. He reflected -that he would have been better pleased had she totally -ignored it.</p> - -<p>The carriage ran smoothly along the dusty roads, -now passing under trees, and now skirting poppy-clad -fields whose vivid scarlet almost encroached on the -highway itself. Richard lay back, as he had seen -men do in the Park, his shoulder lightly touching -Adeline's. She talked incessantly, though slowly, in -that low voice of hers, and her tones mingled with -the measured trot of the enfeebled horse, and lulled -Richard to a sensuous quiescence. He slightly -turned his face towards hers, and with dreamy deliberateness -examined her features,—the dimple in -her cheek which he had never noticed before, the -curves of her ear, her teeth, her smooth black hair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> -the play of light in her eye; then his gaze moved -to her large felt hat, set bewitchingly aslant on the -small head, and then for a space he would look at the -yellowish-green back of the imperturbable driver, -who drove on and on, little witting that enchantment -was behind him.</p> - -<p>They consumed the eggs and bread and butter and -tea which Adeline had promised; and they filled their -pockets with fruit. That was Adeline's idea. She -gave herself up to enjoyment like a child. When -the sun was less strenuous they walked about the village, -sitting down frequently to admire its continual -picturesqueness. Time sped with astonishing rapidity; -Richard's train went at twenty-five minutes past -seven, and already, as they stood by the margin of -the tiny tributary of the Arun, some grandfather's -clock in a neighbouring cottage clattered five. He -was tempted to say nothing about the train, quietly -allow himself to miss it, and go up by the first -ordinary on Monday morning. But soon Adeline -inquired about his return, and they set off to walk -back to Littlehampton; the carriage had been dismissed. -He invented pretexts for loitering, made -her sit on walls to eat apples, tried to get lost in by-paths, -protested that he could not keep the pace she -set; but to no purpose. They arrived at the station -at exactly a quarter past seven. The platform<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -was busy, and they strolled to the far end of it and -stood by the engine.</p> - -<p>"I wish to heaven the train didn't leave so early," -he said. "I'm sure the sea air would do me a lot -of good, if I could get enough of it. What a beautiful -day it has been!" He sighed sentimentally.</p> - -<p>"I never, never enjoyed myself so perfectly," she -said emphatically. "Suppose we beseech the engine-driver -to lie still for a couple of hours?" Richard's -smile was inattentive.</p> - -<p>"You are sure you haven't done too much," he -said with sudden solicitude, looking at her half anxiously.</p> - -<p>"I! not a bit. I am absolutely well again." Her -eyes found his and held them, and it seemed to him -that mystic messages passed to and fro.</p> - -<p>"How long do you think of staying?"</p> - -<p>"Not long. It gets rather boring, being alone. -I expect I shall return on Saturday."</p> - -<p>"I was thinking I would run down again on Saturday -for the week-end,—take a week-end ticket," -he said; "but of course, if—"</p> - -<p>"In that case I should stay a few days longer. I -couldn't allow myself to deprive you of the sea air -which is doing you so much good. By next Saturday -I may have discovered more nice places to visit,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -perhaps even prettier than Angmering.... -But you must get in."</p> - -<p>He would have given a great deal just then to be -able to say firmly: "I have changed my mind about -going. I will stay at a hotel to-night and take the -first train to-morrow." But it required more decision -than he possessed, and in a few moments he -was waving good-bye to her from the carriage window.</p> - -<p>There were several other people in the compartment,—a -shy shop-girl and her middle-aged lover, -evidently employés of the same establishment, and an -artisan with his wife and a young child. Richard -observed them intently, and found a curious, new -pleasure in all their unstudied gestures and in everything -they said. But chiefly he kept a watch on the -shop-girl's lover, who made it no secret that he was -dwelling in the seventh heaven. Richard sympathised -with that man. His glance fell on him -softly, benignantly. As the train passed station after -station, he wondered what Adeline was doing, now, -and now, and now.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On the following Saturday he took tea with Adeline -at her lodgings. The train had been late, and -by the time they were ready for the evening walk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> -without which no visitor to the seaside calls the day -complete, it was close upon nine o'clock. The beach -was like a fair or a north-country wake. Conjurers, -fire-eaters, and minstrels each drew an audience; but -the principal attraction was a man and woman who -wore masks and were commonly supposed to be distinguished -persons to whom fate had been unkind. -They had a piano in a donkey-cart, and the woman -sang to the man's accompaniment. Just as Richard -and Adeline came up, "The River of Years" was -announced for performance.</p> - -<p>"Let us listen to this," said Adeline.</p> - -<p>They stood at the rim of the crowd. The woman -had a rich contralto voice and sang with feeling, -and her listeners were generous of both applause and -coppers.</p> - -<p>"I wonder who she is," Adeline murmured, with -a touch of melancholy,—"I wonder who she is. I -love that song."</p> - -<p>"Oh, probably some broken-down concert-singer," -Richard said curtly, "with a drunken husband."</p> - -<p>"But she sang beautifully. She made me feel—you -know—funny.... A lovely feeling, -isn't it?" She looked up at him.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, smiling at her.</p> - -<p>"You're laughing."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Indeed I'm not. I know what you mean perfectly -well. Perhaps I had it just then, too—- a -little. But the song is a bit cheap."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> could listen to it every day, and never get tired -of listening. Don't you think that if a song gives -<i>anyone</i> that—feeling, there must be some good in -it?"</p> - -<p>"Of course it's far better than most; but—"</p> - -<p>"But not equal to those classical songs you told -me about—the first time I saw you, wasn't it? -Yes, Schubert: was that the name? I mean to get -those, and you must show me the best ones, and play -the accompaniments, and then I shall judge for myself."</p> - -<p>"I shall make an awful mess of the accompaniments; -they're not precisely easy, you know."</p> - -<p>"Full of accidentals, are they? I sha'n't like -them, then. I never do like that sort of song."</p> - -<p>"But you will; you must."</p> - -<p>"Must I?" she almost whispered, in tones of -gentle, feminine surrender. And after a second or -two: "Then I'll try, if it will keep you in a good -temper."</p> - -<p>They stood fronting the sea. She looked straight -ahead into the darkening distance, and then turned -round to him with a mock plaintive expression, and -they both laughed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Wouldn't it be better up by the river," he suggested, -"where there are fewer people?"</p> - -<p>A little to his surprise, she agreed that it was -certainly rather noisy and crowded on the beach on -Saturday nights, and they turned their backs to the -shore. The moon had risen, and shone at intervals -through clouds. For a few score yards they walked -in silence. Then Adeline said,—</p> - -<p>"It's very dull here during the week for a poor -single woman like me. I shall go home on Monday."</p> - -<p>"But think of London in this weather."</p> - -<p>"I do think of it. I think of the parks and -the restaurants and the theatres."</p> - -<p>"The good theatres are closed now."</p> - -<p>"Well, the music-halls. I've never been in one, -and if they are very naughty, then I want to go very -much. Besides, there are lots of theatres open. -I've read all the theatrical advertisements in the -'Telegraph,' and there must be plenty of things to -see. You mayn't think them worth seeing, but I -should enjoy any theatre."</p> - -<p>"I believe you would," he said. "I used to be -like that."</p> - -<p>"Up to now I've had no real pleasure—what I -call pleasure—and I'm just going to have it. I'll -settle down afterwards."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Didn't your uncle take you out much?"</p> - -<p>"I should say he didn't. He took me to a concert -once. That was all—in nearly two years. I -suppose it never occurred to him that I was leading -a dull life."</p> - -<p>She made a movement with her hands, as if to put -away from her all the drab dailiness of her existence -in Carteret Street.</p> - -<p>"You can soon recover lost time," Richard said -cheerfully.</p> - -<p>His fancy was in the rosy future, vividly picturing -the light-hearted gaieties, Bohemian, unconventional, -artistic, in which he and she should unite. He saw -himself and Adeline becoming dearer to each other, -and still dearer, her spirit unfolding like a flower, -and disclosing new beauties day by day. He saw -her eyes glisten when they met his; felt the soft -pressure of her hand; heard her voice waver with -tenderness, expectant of his avowal. And then came -his own bold declaration: "I love you, Adeline," -and her warm, willing lips were upon his. God! -To dream of such beatitudes!</p> - -<p>She had slightly quickened her step. The quays -were silent and deserted, save for these two. Presently -masts rose vaguely against the sky, and they approached -a large ship. Richard leaned over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -parapet to decipher the name on her bows. -"Juliane," he spelt out.</p> - -<p>"That is Norwegian or Danish."</p> - -<p>They lingered a few moments, watching the -movements of dim figures on deck, listening to the -musical chatter of an unknown tongue, and breathing -that atmosphere of romance and adventure which -foreign vessels carry with them from strange lands; -then they walked on.</p> - -<p>"Hush!" exclaimed Adeline, stopping, and touching -Richard's arm.</p> - -<p>The sailors were singing some quaint modern -strain.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked when they had finished -a verse.</p> - -<p>"It must be a Norwegian folk-song. It reminds -me of Grieg."</p> - -<p>Another verse was sung. It began to rain,—warm, -summer drops.</p> - -<p>"You will be wet," Richard said.</p> - -<p>"Never mind."</p> - -<p>A third verse followed, and then a new air was -started. It rained faster.</p> - -<p>"Come under the shelter of the wall here," Richard -urged, timidly taking her arm. "I think I see -an archway."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," she murmured, with sweet acquiescence;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> -and they stood together a long time under -the archway in silence, while the Norwegian sailors, -heedless of weather, sang song after song.</p> - -<p>The next morning the sky had cleared again, but -there was a mist over the calm sea. They walked -idly on the level sands. At first they were almost -alone. The mist intensified distances; a group of -little children paddling in a foot of water appeared -to be miles away. Slowly the mist was scattered by -the sun, and the beach became populous with visitors -in Sunday attire. In the afternoon they drove to -Angmering, Adeline having found no preferable -haunt.</p> - -<p>"You have no train to catch to-night," she said; -"what a relief! Shall you start very early to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not particular," he answered. "Why?"</p> - -<p>"I was thinking that Lottie and I would go up -by the same train as you, but perhaps you won't care -to be bothered with women and their luggage."</p> - -<p>"If you really intend to return to-morrow, I'll -wire to Curpet not to expect me till after lunch, and -we'll go at a reasonable hour."</p> - -<p>He left her at her lodging as the clock was striking -eleven; but instead of making direct for his -hotel, he turned aside to the river to have a last look -at the "Juliane." Curiously, it began to rain, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -he sheltered under the archway where he had stood -with Adeline on the previous night. Aboard the -"Juliane" there was stir and bustle. He guessed -that the ship was about to weigh anchor and drop -down with the tide. Just after midnight she slid -cautiously away from the quay, to the accompaniment -of hoarse calls and the rattling of chains and -blocks.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XX</h4> - - -<p>During the journey to town Adeline -would talk of nothing but her intention to -taste all the amusements which London -had to offer. She asked numberless questions with -the persistency of an inquisitive child, while Lottie -modestly hid herself behind a copy of "Tit Bits," -which had been bought for her.</p> - -<p>"Now I will read out the names of the plays advertised -in the 'Telegraph,'" she said, "and you -must tell me what each is like, and whether the actors -are good, and the actresses pretty, and things of -that kind."</p> - -<p>Richard entered with zest into the conversation. -He was in a boisterous mood, and found her very -willing to be diverted. Once, when he used a technical -term, she stopped him: "Remember, I have -never been to a theatre." On Sunday she had made -the same remark several times. It seemed as if she -liked to insist on the point.</p> - -<p>The morning was delicious, full of light and freshness, -and the torpid countryside through which the -train swept at full speed suggested a gentle yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -piquant contrast to the urban, gaslight themes which -they were discussing. Though the sun shone with -power, Adeline would not have the blinds drawn, but -sometimes she used the newspaper for a shade, or -bent her head so that the broad brim of her hat -might come between her eyes and the sunshine. -After an hour the talk slackened somewhat. As -Richard, from his seat opposite, looked now at -Adeline and now at the landscape, a perfect content -stole over him. He wished that the distance to -London could have been multiplied tenfold, and rejoiced -in every delay. Then he began to miss the -purport of her questions, and she had to repeat -them. He was examining his heart. "Is this -love?" his thoughts ran. "Do I actually love her -now,—<i>now</i>?"</p> - -<p>When the train stopped at New Cross, and Richard -said that they would be at London Bridge in a -few minutes, she asked when he would go down to -Carteret Street.</p> - -<p>"Any time," he said.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow night?"</p> - -<p>He had hoped she would fix the same evening. -"When is the theatre-going to commence?" he -queried.</p> - -<p>She laughed vaguely: "Soon."</p> - -<p>"Suppose I book seats for the Comedy?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - -<p>"We will talk about it to-morrow night."</p> - -<p>It appeared that her desire for the relaxations of -town life had suddenly lost its instancy.</p> - -<p>Immediately he reached the office he wrote a note -to Mr. Clayton Vernon. Some three hundred -pounds was coming to him under the will of William -Vernon, and he had purposed to let Mr. Clayton -Vernon invest this sum for him; but the letter asked -that a cheque for £25 should be sent by return of -post. Later in the afternoon he went to a tailor in -Holborn, and ordered two suits of clothes.</p> - -<p>He grew restless and introspective, vainly endeavouring -to analyse his feeling towards Adeline. -He wished that he had himself suggested that he -should call on her that night, instead of allowing her -to name Tuesday. When he got home, he looked -at the letter which he had received from her a fortnight -before, and then, enclosing it in a clean envelope, -put it away carefully in his writing-case. He -felt that he must preserve all her letters. The evening -dragged itself out with desolating tedium. Once -he went downstairs intending to go to the theatre, -but returned before he had unlatched the front door.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rowbotham laid his supper that evening, -and he began to tell her about his holiday, mentioning, -with fictitious <i>naïveté</i>, that he had spent it in the -company of a young lady. Soon he gave the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> -history of his acquaintance with the Akeds. She -warmly praised his kindness towards Adeline.</p> - -<p>"My Lily is keeping company with a young man," -she said, after a pause; "a respectable young chap -he is, a bus-conductor. This is his night off, and -they're gone to the Promenade Concert. I didn't -like her going at first, but, bless you, you have to -give in. Young folk are young folk, all the world -over.... But I must be getting downstairs -again. I have to do everything myself to-night. -Ah! when a girl falls in love, she forgets her mother. -It's natural, I suppose. Well, Mr. Larch, it will -be your turn soon, I hope." With that she left the -room quickly, missing Richard's hurried disclaimer.</p> - -<p>"So you're engaged, Lily," he said to the girl -next morning.</p> - -<p>Lily blushed and nodded; and as he looked at her -eyes, he poignantly longed for the evening.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXI</h4> - -<p>They sat by the window and talked till the -day began to fade and the lamplighter had -passed up the street. Several matters of -business needed discussion,—the proving of Mr. -Aked's will, the tenancy of the house and the opening -of a new banking-account. Richard, who was -acting informally as legal adviser, after the manner -of solicitors' clerks towards their friends, brought -from his pocket some papers for Adeline's signature. -She took a pen immediately.</p> - -<p>"Where do I put my name?"</p> - -<p>"But you must read them first."</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't understand them a bit," she said; -"and what is the use of employing a lawyer, if one -is put to the trouble of reading everything one -signs?"</p> - -<p>"Well—please yourself. To-morrow you will -have to go before a commissioner for oaths and -swear that certain things are true; you'll be compelled -to read the affidavits."</p> - -<p>"That I won't! I shall just swear."</p> - -<p>"But you simply must."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Sha'n't. If I swear to fibs, it will be your -fault."</p> - -<p>"Suppose I read them out to you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, that would be nicer; but not now, after supper."</p> - -<p>For a few moments there was silence. She stood -up and drew her finger in fanciful curves across the -window-pane. Richard watched her, with a smile -of luxurious content. It appeared to him that all -her movements, every inflection of her voice, her -least word, had the authenticity and the intrinsic -grace of natural phenomena. If she turned her -head or tapped her foot, the gesture was right,—having -the propriety which springs from absolute -self-unconsciousness. Her mere existence from one -moment to the next seemed in some mysterious way -to suggest a possible solution of the riddle of life. -She illustrated nature. She was for him intimately -a part of nature, the great Nature which hides itself -from cities. To look at her afforded him a delight -curiously similar to that which the townsman derives -from a rural landscape. Her face had little conventional -beauty; her conversation contained no hint -either of intellectual powers or of a capacity for deep -feeling. But in her case, according to his view, -these things were unnecessary, would in fact have -been superfluous. She <i>was</i> and that sufficed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mingled with the pleasure which her nearness -gave him, there were subordinate but distinct sensations. -Except his sister Mary, he had never before -been upon terms of close familiarity with any -woman, and he realised with elation that now for -the first time the latencies of manhood were aroused. -His friendship—if indeed it were nothing else—with -this gracious, inscrutable creature seemed a -thing to be very proud of, to gloat upon in secret, to -contemplate with a dark smile as one walked along -the street or sat in a bus.... And then, with -a shock of joyful, half-incredulous surprise, he made -the discovery that she—she—had found some attractiveness -in himself.</p> - -<p>Their loneliness gave zest and piquancy to the -situation. On neither side were there relatives or -friends who might obtrude, or whom it would be -proper to consult. They had only themselves to -consider. Not a soul in London, with the exception -of Lottie, knew of their intimacy,—the visit to Littlehampton, -their plans for visiting the theatres, her -touching reliance upon him. Ah, that confiding -feminine trust! He read it frequently in her glance, -and it gave him a sense of protective possession. -He had approached no closer than to shake her -hand, and yet, as he looked at the slight frame, the -fragile fingers, the tufts of hair which escaped over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -her ears,—these things seemed to be his. Surely -she had donned that beautiful dress for him; surely -she moved gracefully for him, talked softly for -him!</p> - -<p>He left his chair, quietly lighted the candles at -the piano, and began to turn over some songs.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing?" she asked, from the window.</p> - -<p>"I want you to sing."</p> - -<p>"Must I?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Let me find something with an -easy accompaniment."</p> - -<p>She came towards him, took up a song, opened it, -and bade him look at it.</p> - -<p>"Too difficult," he said abruptly. "Those arpeggios -in the bass,—I couldn't possibly play -them."</p> - -<p>She laid it aside obediently.</p> - -<p>"Well, this?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Let us try that."</p> - -<p>She moved nearer to him, to miss the reflection of -the candles on the paper, and put her hands behind -her back. She cleared her throat. He knew she -was nervous, but he had no such feeling himself.</p> - -<p>"Ready?" he asked, glancing round and up into -her face. She smiled timidly, flushing, and then -nodded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No," she exclaimed the next second, as he boldly -struck the first chord. "I don't think I'll sing. I -can't."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, you will—yes, you will."</p> - -<p>"Very well." She resigned herself.</p> - -<p>The first few notes were tremulous, but quickly -she gained courage. The song was a mediocre -drawing-room ballad, and she did not sing with much -expression, but to Richard's ear her weak contralto -floated out above the accompaniment with a rich, -passionate quality full of intimate meanings. When -his own part of the performance was not too exacting, -he watched from the corner of his eye the rise -and fall of her breast, and thought of Keats's sonnet; -and then he suddenly quaked in fear that all -this happiness might crumble at the touch of some -adverse fate.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you call that a poor song," she said -when it was finished.</p> - -<p>"I liked it very much."</p> - -<p>"You did? I am so fond of it, and I'm glad you -like it. Shall we try another?" She offered the -suggestion with a gentle diffidence which made -Richard desire to abase himself before her, to ask -what in the name of heaven she meant by looking -to him as an authority, a person whose will was to -be consulted and whose humours were law.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> - -<p>Again she put her hands behind her back, cleared -her throat, and began to sing.... He had -glimpses of mystic, emotional deeps in her spirit -hitherto unsuspected.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Lottie came in with a lamp.</p> - -<p>"You would like supper?" Adeline said. "Lottie, -let us have supper at once."</p> - -<p>Richard remembered that when Mr. Aked was -alive, Adeline had been accustomed to go into the -kitchen and attend to the meals herself; but evidently -this arrangement was now altered. She extinguished -the candles on the piano, and took the -easy-chair with a question about Schubert. Supper -was to be served without the aid of the mistress of -the house. She had been training Lottie,—that -was clear. He looked round. The furniture was -unchanged, but everything had an unwonted air of -comfort and neatness, and Adeline's beautiful dress -scarcely seemed out of keeping with the general aspect -of the room. He gathered that she had social -aspirations. He had social aspirations himself. -His fancy delighted to busy itself with fine clothes, -fine furniture, fine food, and fine manners. That -his own manners had remained inelegant was due to -the fact that the tireless effort and vigilance which -any amelioration of their original crudity would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -have necessitated, were beyond his tenacity of purpose.</p> - -<p>The supper was trimly laid on a very white tablecloth, -and chairs were drawn up. Lottie stood in -the background for a few moments; Adeline called -her for some trifling service, and then dismissed her.</p> - -<p>"Won't you have some whisky? I know men always -like whisky at night."</p> - -<p>She touched a bell on the table.</p> - -<p>"The whisky, Lottie—you forgot it."</p> - -<p>Richard was almost awed by her demeanour. -Where could she have learnt it? He felt not unlike -a bumpkin, and secretly determined to live up to -the standard of deportment which she had set.</p> - -<p>"You may smoke," she said, when Lottie had -cleared the table after supper; "I like it. Here are -some cigarettes—'Three Castles'—will they do?" -Laughing, she produced a box from the sideboard, -and handed it to him. He went to the sofa, and -she stood with one elbow resting on the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>"About going to the theatre—" she began.</p> - -<p>"May I take you? Let us go to the Comedy."</p> - -<p>"And you will book seats, the dress circle?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. What night?"</p> - -<p>"Let us say Friday.... And now you -may read me those documents."</p> - -<p>When that business was transacted, Richard felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> -somehow that he must depart, and began to take his -leave. Adeline stood erect, facing him in front of -the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>"Next time you come, you will bring those Schubert -songs, will you not?"</p> - -<p>Then she rang the bell, shook hands, and sat -down. He went out; Lottie was waiting in the -passage with his hat and stick.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXII</h4> - - -<p>Seven or eight weeks passed.</p> - -<p>During that time Richard spent many -evenings with Adeline, at the theatre, at concerts, -and at Carteret Street. When they were going -up to town, he called for her in a hansom. She -usually kept him waiting a few minutes. He sat in -the sitting-room, listening to the rattle of harness -and the occasional stamp of a hoof outside. At -length he heard her light step on the stairs, and she -entered the room, smiling proudly. She was wonderfully -well dressed, with modish simplicity and -exact finish, and she gave him her fan to hold while -she buttoned her long gloves. Where she ordered -her gowns he never had the least notion. They followed -one another in rapid succession, and each -seemed more beautiful than the last. All were sober -in tint; the bodices were V-shaped, and cut -rather low.</p> - -<p>Lottie carefully placed a white wrap over her -mistress's head, and then they were off. In the -hansom there was but little conversation, and that of -a trivial character. In vain he endeavoured to entice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> -her into discussions. He mentioned books -which he had read; she showed only a perfunctory -interest. He explained why, in his opinion, a particular -play was good and another bad; generally -she preferred the wrong one, or at least maintained -that she liked all plays, and therefore would not -draw comparisons. Sometimes she would argue -briefly about the conduct of certain characters in a -piece, but he seldom found himself genuinely in -agreement with her, though as a rule he verbally -concurred. In music she was a little less unsympathetic -towards his ideals. They had tried over several -of his favourite classical songs, and he had seen -in her face, as she listened, or hummed the air, a -glow answering to his own enthusiasm. She had said -that she would learn one of them, but the promise -had not been kept, though he had reminded her of -it several times.</p> - -<p>These chagrins, however, were but infinitesimal -ripples upon the smooth surface of his happiness. -All of them together were as nothing compared to -the sensations which he experienced in helping her -out of the cab, in the full glare of a theatre façade. -Invariably he overpaid the driver, handing him the -silver with an inattentive gesture, while Adeline -waited on the steps,—dainty food for the eyes of -loiterers and passers-by. He offered his arm, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> -they passed down the vestibule and into the auditorium. -With what artless enjoyment she settled -herself in her seat, breathing the atmosphere of luxury -and display as if it had been ozone, smiling radiantly -at Richard, and then eagerly examining the -occupants of the boxes through a small, silver-mounted -glass! She was never moved by the -events on the stage, and whether it happened to be -tragedy or burlesque at which they were assisting, -she turned to Richard at the end of every act with -the same happy, contented smile, and usually began -to make remarks upon the men and women around -her. It was the play-house and not the play of -which she was really fond.</p> - -<p>After the fall of the curtain, they lingered till -most of the audience had gone. Sometimes they -supped at a restaurant. "It is my turn," she would -say now and then, when the obsequious waiter presented -the bill, and would give Richard her purse. -At first, for form's sake, he insisted on his right to -pay, but she would not listen. He wondered where -she had caught the pretty trick of handing over her -purse instead of putting down the coins, and he -traced it to a play which they had seen at the Vaudeville -theatre. Yet she did it with such naturalness -that it did not seem to have been copied. The -purse was small, and always contained several<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -pounds in gold, with a little silver. The bill paid, -he gave it back to her with a bow.</p> - -<p>Then came the long, rapid drive home, through -interminable lamp-lined streets, peopled now only -by hansoms and private carriages, past all the insolent -and garish splendours of Piccadilly clubs, into -whose unveiled windows Adeline eagerly gazed; -past the mysterious, night-ridden Park; past the dim, -solemn squares and crescents of Kensington and -Chelsea, and so into the meaner vicinage of Fulham. -It was during these midnight journeys, more than at -any other time, that Richard felt himself to be a -veritable inhabitant of the City of Pleasure. Adeline, -flushed with the evening's enjoyment, talked of -many things, in her low, even voice, which was never -raised. Richard answered briefly; an occasional reply -was all she seemed to expect.</p> - -<p>Immediately, on getting out of the cab, she said -good-night, and entered the house alone, while -Richard directed the driver back to Raphael Street. -Returning thus, solitary, he endeavoured to define -what she was to him, and he to her. Often, when -actually in her presence, he ventured to ask himself, -"Am I happy? Is this pleasure?" But as soon -as he had left her, his doubtfulness vanished, and he -began to long for their next meeting. Little phrases -of hers, unimportant gestures, came back vividly to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> -his memory; he thought how instinct with charm -they were. And yet, was he really, truly in love? -Was she in love? Had there been a growth of -feeling since that night at Carteret Street after the -holiday at Littlehampton? He uncomfortably suspected -that their hearts had come nearer to each -other that night than at any time since.</p> - -<p>He tried to look forward to the moment when -he should invite her to be his wife. But was that -moment approaching? At the back of his mind lay -an apprehension that it was not. She satisfied one -part of his nature. She was the very spirit of grace; -she was full of aplomb and a delicate tact; she had -money. Moreover, her constant reliance upon him, -her clinging womanishness, the caressing, humouring -tone which her voice could assume, powerfully -affected him. He divined darkly that he was clay -in her hands; that all the future, even the future of -his own heart, depended entirely upon her. If she -chose, she might be his goddess.... And yet -she had sharp limitations....</p> - -<p>Again, was she in love?</p> - -<p>When he woke up of a morning he wondered how -long his present happiness would continue, and -whither it was leading him. A scrap of conversation -which he had had with Adeline recurred to him frequently. -He had asked her, once when she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -complained of ennui, why she did not become acquainted -with some of her neighbours.</p> - -<p>"I don't care for my neighbours," she replied -curtly.</p> - -<p>"But you can't live without acquaintances all your -life."</p> - -<p>"No, not all my life," she said with significant -emphasis.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIII</h4> - - -<p>They had been to the National Gallery; it -was Saturday afternoon. Adeline said that -she would go home; but Richard, not without -a little trouble, persuaded her to dine in town -first; he mentioned a French restaurant in Soho.</p> - -<p>As they walked up Charing Cross Road, he -pointed out the Crabtree, and referred to the fact -that at one time he had frequented it regularly. She -stopped to look at its white-and-gold frontage. In -enamel letters on the windows were the words: -"Table d'hôte, 6 to 9, 1/6."</p> - -<p>"Is it a good place?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"The best in London—of that kind."</p> - -<p>"Then let us dine there; I have often wanted to -try a vegetarian restaurant."</p> - -<p>Richard protested that she would not like it.</p> - -<p>"How do you know? If you have been so often, -why shouldn't I go once?" She smiled at him, and -turned to cross the street; he hung back.</p> - -<p>"But I only went for economy."</p> - -<p>"Then we will only go for economy to-day."</p> - -<p>He dangled before her the attractions of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -French restaurant in Soho, but to no purpose. He -was loth to visit the Crabtree. Most probably Miss -Roberts would be on duty within, and he felt an inscrutable -unwillingness to be seen by her with Adeline.... -At last they entered. Looking -through the glass doors which lead to the large, low-ceiled -dining-room on the first floor, Richard saw -that it was nearly empty, and that the cash-desk, -where Miss Roberts was accustomed to sit, was for -the moment unoccupied. He led the way in rather -hurriedly, and selected places in a far corner. Although -it was scarcely beginning to be dusk, the -table electric lights were turned on, and their red -shades made glimmering islands of radiance about -the room.</p> - -<p>Richard kept a furtive watch on the cash-desk; -presently he saw Miss Roberts take her seat behind -it, and shifted his glance to another quarter. He -was preoccupied, and answered at random Adeline's -amused queries as to the food. Between the soup -and the entrée they were kept waiting; and Adeline, -Richard being taciturn, moved her chair in order to -look round the room. Her roving eyes stopped at -the cash-desk, left it, and returned to it. Then a -scornful smile, albeit scarcely perceptible, appeared -on her face; but she said nothing. Richard saw her -glance curiously at the cash-desk several times, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> -he knew, too, that Miss Roberts had discovered -them. In vain he assured himself that Miss Roberts -was not concerned in his affairs; he could not -dismiss a sensation of uneasiness and discomfort. -Once he fancied that the eyes of the two girls met, -and that both turned away suddenly.</p> - -<p>When the dinner was over, and they were drinking -the coffee for which the Crabtree is famous, -Adeline said abruptly,—</p> - -<p>"I know someone here."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Richard, with fictitious nonchalance. -"Who?"</p> - -<p>"The girl at the pay-desk,—Roberts, her name -is."</p> - -<p>"Where have you met her?" he inquired.</p> - -<p>Adeline laughed inimically. He was startled, almost -shocked, by the harsh mien which transformed -her face.</p> - -<p>"You remember one night, just before uncle died," -she began, bending towards him, and talking very -quietly. "Someone called while you and I were in -the sitting-room, to inquire how he was. That was -Laura Roberts. She used to know uncle—she -lives in our street. He made love to her—she -didn't care for him, but he had money and she encouraged -him. I don't know how far it went—I -believe I stopped it. Oh! men are the strangest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -creatures. Fancy, she's not older than me, and -uncle was over fifty!"</p> - -<p>"Older than you, surely!" Richard put in.</p> - -<p>"Well, not much. She knew I couldn't bear her, -and she called that night simply to annoy me."</p> - -<p>"What makes you think that?"</p> - -<p>"Think! I know it.... But you must -have heard of the affair. Didn't they talk about it -at your office?"</p> - -<p>"I believe it was mentioned once," he said hastily.</p> - -<p>She leaned back in her chair, with the same hard -smile. Richard felt sure that Miss Roberts had -guessed they were talking about herself, and that her -eyes were fixed on them, but he dared not look up -for confirmation; Adeline gazed boldly around her. -They were antagonistic, these two women, and -Richard, do what he would, could not repress a certain -sympathy with Miss Roberts. If she had encouraged -Mr. Aked's advances, what of that? It -was no mortal sin, and he could not appreciate the -reason of Adeline's strenuous contempt for her. He -saw a little gulf widening between himself and Adeline.</p> - -<p>"What tremendously red hair that girl has!" she -said, later on.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but doesn't it look fine!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Ye-es," Adeline agreed condescendingly.</p> - -<p>When he paid the bill, on the way out, Miss -Roberts greeted him with an inclination of the head. -He met her eye steadily, and tried not to blush. -As she checked the bill with a tapping pencil, he -could not help remarking her face. Amiability, -candour, honesty, were clearly written on its attractive -plainness. He did not believe that she had -been guilty of running after Mr. Aked for the sake -of his money. The tales told by Jenkins were -doubtless ingeniously exaggerated; and as for Adeline, -Adeline was mistaken.</p> - -<p>"Good evening," Miss Roberts said simply, as -they went out. He raised his hat.</p> - -<p>"You know her, then!" Adeline exclaimed in the -street.</p> - -<p>"Well," he answered, "I've been going there, -off and on, for a year or two, and one gets acquainted -with the girls." His tone was rather petulant. -With a quick, winning smile, she changed the subject, -and he suspected her of being artful.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIV</h4> - - -<p>"I am going to America," she said.</p> - -<p>They sat in the sitting-room at Carteret -street. Richard had not seen her -since the dinner at the vegetarian restaurant, and these -were almost the first words she addressed to him. -Her voice was as tranquil as usual; but he discerned, -or thought he discerned, in her manner a consciousness -that she was guilty towards him, that at least -she was not treating him justly.</p> - -<p>The blow was like that of a bullet: he did not immediately -feel it.</p> - -<p>"Really?" he questioned foolishly, and then, -though he knew that she would never return: -"For how long are you going, and how soon?"</p> - -<p>"Very soon, because I always do things in a -hurry. I don't know for how long. It's indefinite. -I have had a letter from my uncles in San Francisco, -and they say I <i>must</i> join them; they can't do without -me. They are making a lot of money now, and -neither of them is married.... So I suppose -I must obey like a good girl. You see I have no -relatives here, except Aunt Grace."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You many never come back to England?"</p> - -<p>(Did she colour, or was it Richard's fancy?)</p> - -<p>"Well, I expect I may visit Europe sometimes. -It wouldn't do to give England up entirely. There -are so many nice things in England,—in London -especially...."</p> - -<p>Once, in late boyhood, he had sat for an examination -which he felt confident of passing. When -the announcement arrived that he failed, he could -not believe it, though all the time he knew it to be -true. His thoughts ran monotonously: "There -must be some mistake; there must be some mistake!" -and like a little child in the night, he resolutely -shut his eyes to keep out the darkness of the -future. The same puerility marked him now. Assuming -that Adeline fulfilled her intention, his existence -in London promised to be tragically cheerless. -But this gave him no immediate concern, because he -refused to contemplate the possibility of their intimacy -being severed. He had, indeed, ceased to -think; somewhere at the back of the brain his -thoughts lay in wait for him. For the next two -hours (until he left the house) he lived mechanically, -as it were, and not by volition, subsisting merely -on a previously acquired momentum.</p> - -<p>He sat in front of her and listened. She began -to talk of her uncles Mark and Luke. She described<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -them in detail, told stories of her childhood, -even recounted the common incidents of her daily -life with them. She dwelt on their kindness of -heart, and their affection for herself; and with it all -she seemed a little to patronise them, as though she -had been accustomed to regard them as her slaves.</p> - -<p>"They are rather old-fashioned," she said, "unless -they have altered. Since I heard from them, I -have been wondering what they would think about -my going to theatres and so on—with you."</p> - -<p>"What should they think?" Richard broke in. -"There's nothing whatever in that. London isn't -a provincial town, or even an American city."</p> - -<p>"I shall tell them all about you," she went on, -"and how kind you were to me when I scarcely knew -you at all. You couldn't have been kinder if you'd -been my only cousin."</p> - -<p>"Say 'brother,'" he laughed awkwardly.</p> - -<p>"No, really, I'm quite serious. I never thanked -you properly. Perhaps I seemed to take it all as a -matter of course."</p> - -<p>He wished to heaven she would stop.</p> - -<p>"I'm disgusted that you are going," he grumbled, -putting his hands behind his head,—"disgusted."</p> - -<p>"In many ways I am sorry too. But don't you -think I am doing the right thing?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> - -<p>"How am I to tell?" he returned quickly. "All -I know is that when you go I shall be left all alone by -my little self. You must think of me sometimes in -my lonely garret." His tone was light and whimsical, -but she would not follow his lead.</p> - -<p>"I shall often think of you," she said musingly, -scanning intently the toe of her shoe.</p> - -<p>It seemed to him that she desired to say something -serious, to justify herself to him, but could not -gather courage to frame the words.</p> - -<p>When he got out of the house, his thoughts sprang -forth. It was a chilly night; he turned up the collar -of his overcoat, plunged his hands deep into the -pockets, and began to walk hurriedly, heedlessly, -while examining his feelings with curious deliberation. -In the first place, he was inexpressibly annoyed. -"Annoyed,"—that was the right word. -He could not say that he loved her deeply, or that -there was a prospect of his loving her deeply, but -she had become a delightful factor in his life, and -he had grown used to counting upon her for society. -Might he not, in time, conceivably have asked her to -marry him? Might she not conceivably have consented? -In certain directions she had disappointed -him; beyond doubt her spiritual narrowness had -checked the growth of a passion which he had sedulously -cherished and fostered in himself. Yet, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -spite of that, her feminine grace, her feminine -trustfulness, still exercised a strong and delicate -charm. She was a woman and he was a man, and -each was the only friend the other had; and now she -was going away. The mere fact that she found a -future with her uncles in America more attractive -than the life she was then leading, cruelly wounded -his self-love. He, then, was nothing to her, after -all; he had made no impression; she could relinquish -him without regret! At that moment she seemed -above and beyond him. He was the poor earthling; -she the winged creature that soared in freedom now -here, now there, giving her favours lightly, and as -lightly withdrawing them.</p> - -<p>One thing came out clear: he was an unlucky fellow.</p> - -<p>He ran over in his mind the people who would -remain to him in London when she had gone. -Jenkins, Miss Roberts—Bah! how sickeningly -commonplace were they! <i>She</i> was distinguished. -She had an air, a <i>je ne sais quoi</i>, which he had never -observed in a woman before. He recalled her -gowns, her gestures, her turns of speech,—all the -instinctive touches by which she proved her superiority.</p> - -<p>It occurred to him fancifully that there was a -connection between her apparently sudden resolve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> -to leave England, and their visit to the Crabtree -and encounter with Miss Roberts. He tried to see -in that incident a premonition of misfortune. What -morbid fatuity!</p> - -<p>Before he went to sleep that night he resolved -that at their next meeting he would lead the conversation -to a frank discussion of their relations and -"have it out with her." But when he called at Carteret -Street two days later, he found it quite impossible -to do any such thing. She was light-hearted -and gay, and evidently looked forward to the -change of life with pleasure. She named the day of -departure, and mentioned that she had arranged to -take Lottie with her. She consulted him about a -compromise, already effected, with her landlord as -to the remainder of the tenancy, and said she had -sold the furniture as it stood, for a very small sum, -to a dealer. It hurt him to think that she had given -him no opportunity of actively assisting her in the -hundred little matters of business involved in a -change of hemisphere. What had become of her -feminine reliance upon him?</p> - -<p>He felt as if some object was rapidly approaching -to collide with and crush him, and he was powerless -to hinder it.</p> - -<p>Three days, two days, one day more!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXV</h4> - - -<p>The special train for Southampton, drawn up -against the main-line platform at Waterloo, -seemed to have resigned itself with an almost -animal passivity to the onslaught of the crowd -of well-dressed men and women who were boarding -it. From the engine a thin column of steam rose -lazily to the angular roof, where a few sparrows -fluttered with sudden swoops and short flights. The -engine-driver leaned against the side of the cab, -stroking his beard; the stoker was trimming coal on -the tender. Those two knew the spectacle by heart: -the scattered piles of steamer trunks amidst which -passengers hurried hither and thither with no apparent -object; the continual purposeless opening and -shutting of carriage doors; the deferential gestures -of the glittering guard as he bent an ear to ladies -whose footmen stood respectfully behind them; the -swift movements of the bookstall clerk selling papers, -and the meditative look of the bookstall manager -as he swept his hand along the shelf of new -novels and selected a volume which he could thoroughly -recommend to the customer in the fur coat;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> -the long colloquies between husbands and wives, sons -and mothers, daughters and fathers, fathers and -sons, lovers and lovers, punctuated sometimes by the -fluttering of a handkerchief, or the placing of a hand -on a shoulder; the unconcealed agitation of most -and the carefully studied calm of a few; the grimaces -of porters when passengers had turned away; the -slow absorption by <i>their</i> train of all the luggage and -nearly all the people; the creeping of the clock towards -the hour; the kisses; the tears; the lowering of -the signal,—to them it was no more than a common -street-scene.</p> - -<p>Richard, having obtained leave from the office, -arrived at a quarter to twelve. He peered up and -down. Could it be that she was really going? Not -even yet had he grown accustomed to the idea, and -at times he still said to himself, "It isn't really true; -there must be some mistake." The moment of separation, -now that it was at hand, he accused of having -approached sneakingly to take him unawares. -He was conscious of no great emotion, such as his -æsthetic sense of fitness might have led him to expect,—nothing -but a dull joylessness, the drab, negative -sensations of a convict foretasting a sentence of -years.</p> - -<p>There she stood, by the bookstall, engaged in -lively talk with the clerk, while other customers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> -waited. Lottie was beside her, holding a bag. The -previous night they had slept at Morley's Hotel.</p> - -<p>"Everything is all right, I hope?" he said, eyeing -her narrowly, and feeling extremely sentimental.</p> - -<p>"Yes, thank you.... Lottie, you must go -and keep watch over our seats.... Well," -she went on briskly, when they were left alone, "I -am actually going. I feel somehow as if it can't be -true."</p> - -<p>"Why, that is exactly how I have felt for days!" -he answered, allowing his voice to languish, and -then fell into silence. He assiduously coaxed himself -into a mood of resigned melancholy. With -sidelong glances, as they walked quietly down the -platform, he scanned her face, decided it was divine, -and dwelt lovingly on the thought: "I shall never -see it again."</p> - -<p>"A dull day for you to start!" he murmured, in -tones of gentle concern.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and do you know, a gentleman in the hotel -told me we should be certain to have bad weather, -and that made me so dreadfully afraid that I nearly -resolved to stay in England." She laughed.</p> - -<p>"Ah, if you would!" he had half a mind to exclaim, -but just then he became aware of his affectation -and trampled on it. The conversation proceeded -naturally to the subject of seasickness and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> -little joys and perils of the voyage. Strange topics -for a man and a woman about to be separated, probably -for ever! And yet Richard, for his part, could -think of none more urgent.</p> - -<p>"I had better get in now, had I not?" she said. -The clock stood at five minutes to noon. Her face -was sweetly serious as she raised it to his, holding -out her hand.</p> - -<p>"Take care of yourself," was his fatuous parting -admonition.</p> - -<p>Her hand rested in his own, and he felt it tighten. -Beneath the veil the colour deepened a little in her -rosy cheeks.</p> - -<p>"I didn't tell you," she said abruptly, "that my -uncles had begged me to go to them weeks and weeks -ago. I didn't tell you—and I put them off—because -I thought I would wait and see if you and I—cared -for each other."</p> - -<p>It had come, the explanation! He blushed red, -and stuck to her hand. The atmosphere was suddenly -electric. The station and the crowd were -blotted out.</p> - -<p>"You understand?" she questioned, smiling -bravely.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>He was dimly conscious of having shaken hands -with Lottie, of the banging of many doors, of Adeline's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> -face framed in a receding window. Then the -rails were visible beside the platform, and he had -glimpses of people hurriedly getting out of the train -at the platform opposite. In the distance the signal -clattered to the horizontal. He turned round, and -saw only porters, and a few forlorn friends of the -voyagers; one woman was crying.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Instead of going home from the office, he rambled -about the thoroughfares which converge at Piccadilly -Circus, basking in the night-glare of the City -of Pleasure. He had four pounds in his pocket. -The streets were thronged with swiftly rolling vehicles. -Restaurants and theatres and music halls, in -evening array, offered their gorgeous enticements, -and at last he entered the Café Royal, and, ordering -an elaborate dinner, ate it slowly, with thoughtful -enjoyment. When he had finished, he asked the -waiter to bring a "Figaro." But there appeared to -be nothing of interest in that day's "Figaro," and he -laid it down.... The ship had sailed by this -time. Had Adeline really made that confession to -him just before the train started, or was it a fancy -of his? There was something fine about her disconcerting -frankness ... fine, fine.... -And the simplicity of it! He had let slip a treasure. -Because she lacked artistic sympathies, he had despised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> -her, or at best underestimated her. And -once—to think of it!—he had nearly loved her.... -With what astonishing rapidity their intimacy -had waxed, drooped, and come to sudden -death!... Love, what <i>was</i> love? Perhaps -he loved her now, after all....</p> - -<p>"Waiter!" He beckoned with a quaint movement -of his forefinger which brought a smile to the -man's face—a smile which Richard answered jovially.</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"A shilling cigar, please, and a coffee and cognac."</p> - -<p>At about nine o'clock he went out again into the -chill air, and the cigar burnt brightly between his -lips. He had unceremoniously dismissed the too -importunate image of Adeline, and he was conscious -of a certain devil-may-care elation.</p> - -<p>Women were everywhere on the pavements. -They lifted their silk skirts out of the mud, revealing -ankles and lace petticoats. They smiled on him. -They lured him in foreign tongues and in broken -English. He broadly winked at some of the more -youthful ones, and they followed him importunately, -only to be shaken off with a laugh. As he walked, -he whistled or sang all the time. He was cut adrift, -he explained to himself, and through no fault of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> -own. His sole friend had left him (much she -cared!), and there was none to whom he owed the -slightest consideration. He was at liberty to do -what he liked, without having to consider first, -"What would <i>she</i> think of this?" Moreover, he -must discover solace, poor blighted creature! Looking -down a side street, he saw a man talking to a -woman. He went past them, and heard what they -said. Then he was in Shaftesbury Avenue. Curious -sensations fluttered through his frame. With -an insignificant oath, he nerved himself to a resolve.</p> - -<p>Several times he was on the very point of carrying -it out when his courage failed. He traversed -the Circus, got as far as St. James's Hall, and returned -upon his steps. In a minute he was on the -north side of Coventry Street. He looked into the -faces of all the women, but in each he found something -to repel, to fear.</p> - -<p>Would it end in his going quietly home? He -crossed over into the seclusion of Whitcomb Street -to argue the matter. As he was passing the entry -to a court, a woman came out, and both had to draw -back to avoid a collision.</p> - -<p>"<i>Chéri</i>!" she murmured. She was no longer -young, but her broad, Flemish face showed kindliness -and good humour in every feature of it, and her -voice was soft. He did not answer, and she spoke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> -to him again. His spine assumed the consistency of -butter; a shuddering thrill ran through him. She -put her arm gently into his, and pressed it. He had -no resistance....</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVI</h4> - - -<p>It was the morning of Boxing Day, frosty, with -a sky of steel grey; the streets were resonant -under the traffic.</p> - -<p>Richard had long been anticipating the advent of -the New Year, when new resolutions were to come -into force. A phrase from a sermon heard at Bursley -stuck in his memory: <i>Every day begins a new -year</i>. But he could not summon the swift, courageous -decision necessary to act upon that adage. For -a whole year he had been slowly subsiding into a bog -of lethargy, and to extricate himself would, he felt, -need an amount of exertion which he could not put -forth unless fortified by all the associations of the -season for such feats, and by the knowledge that fellow-creatures -were bracing themselves for a similar -difficult wrench.</p> - -<p>Now that he looked back upon them, the fourteen -months which had elapsed since Adeline's departure -seemed to have succeeded one another with marvellous -rapidity. At first he had chafed under the loss -of her, and then gradually and naturally he had -grown used to her absence. She wrote to him, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> -rather long letter, full of details about the voyage -and the train journey and her uncles' home; he had -opened the envelope half expecting that the letter -might affect him deeply; but it did not; it struck him -as a distinctly mediocre communication. He sent a -reply, and the correspondence ended. He did not -love her, probably never had loved her. A little -sentiment: that was all. The affair was quite over. -If it had been perhaps unsatisfactory, the fault was -not his. A man, he reflected, cannot by taking -thought fall in love (and yet this was exactly what he -had attempted to do!), and that in any case Adeline -would not have suited him. Still, at moments when -he recalled her face and gestures, her exquisite feminality, -and especially her fine candour at their parting, -he grew melancholy and luxuriously pitied himself.</p> - -<p>At the commencement of the year which was now -drawing to a close he had attacked the art of literature -anew, and had compassed several articles; but -as one by one they suffered rejection, his energy had -dwindled, and in a short time he had again entirely -ceased to write. Nor did he pursue any ordered -course of study. He began upon a number of English -classics, finishing few of them, and continued to -consume French novels with eagerness. Sometimes -the French work, by its neat, severe effectiveness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -would stir in him a vague desire to do likewise, but no -serious sustained effort was made.</p> - -<p>In the spring, when loneliness is peculiarly wearisome, -he had joined a literary and scientific institution, -for young men only, upon whose premises it was -forbidden either to drink intoxicants or to smoke -tobacco. He paid a year's subscription, and in less -than a fortnight loathed not only the institution but -every separate member and official of it. Then he -thought of transplanting himself to the suburbs, but -the trouble of moving the library of books which by -this time he had accumulated deterred him, as well -as a lazy aversion for the discomforts which a change -would certainly involve.</p> - -<p>And so he had sunk into a sort of coma. His -chief task was to kill time. Eight hours were due -to the office and eight to sleep, and eight others remained -to be disposed of daily. In the morning he -rose late, retarding his breakfast hour, diligently -read the newspaper, and took the Park on the way to -business. In the evening, as six o'clock approached, -he no longer hurried his work in order to be ready -to leave the office immediately the clock struck. On -the contrary, he often stayed after hours when there -was no necessity to stay, either leisurely examining -his accounts, or gossiping with Jenkins or one of the -older clerks. He watched the firm's welfare with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> -a jealous eye, offered suggestions to Mr. Curpet -which not seldom were accepted, and grew to be regarded -as exceptionally capable and trustworthy. -He could divine now and then in the tone or the look -of the principals (who were niggardly with praise) -an implicit trust, mingled—at any rate, in the case -of the senior partner—with a certain respect. He -grew more sedate in manner, and to the office boys, -over whom he had charge, he was even forbidding; -they disliked him, finding him a martinet more strict -and less suave than Mr. Curpet himself. He kept -them late at night sometimes without quite sufficient -cause, and if they showed dissatisfaction, told them -sententiously that boys who were so desperately anxious -to do as little as they could would never get on -in the world.</p> - -<p>Upon leaving the office he would stroll slowly -through Booksellers' Row and up the Strand, with -the gait of a man whose time is entirely his own. -Once or twice a week he dined at one of the foreign -restaurants in Soho, prolonging the meal to an unconscionable -length, and repairing afterwards to -some lounge for a cigar and a liqueur. He paid -particular attention to his dress, enjoying the sensation -of wearing good clothes, and fell into a habit of -comparing his personal appearance with that of the -men whom he rubbed shoulders with in fashionable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> -cafés and bars. His salary sufficed for these petty -extravagances, since he was still living inexpensively -in one room at Raphael Street; but besides what he -earned, his resources included the sum received from -the estate of William Vernon. Seventy pounds of -this had melted in festivities with Adeline, two hundred -pounds was lent upon mortgage under Mr. Curpet's -guidance, and the other fifty was kept in hand, -being broken into as infrequent occasion demanded. -The mortgage investment did much to heighten his -status not only with the staff but with his principals.</p> - -<p>Seated in a wine-room or lager-beer hall, meditatively -sipping from glass or tankard, and savouring -a fragrant cigar, he contrived to extract a certain -pleasure from the contemplation of his equality with -the men around him. Many of them, he guessed -with satisfaction, were in a worse or a less secure position -than his own. He studied faces and made a -practice of entering into conversation with strangers, -and these chance encounters almost invariably left -him with the impression that he had met a mental -inferior. Steeping himself, as it were, in all the -frivolous, lusory activities of the West End, he began -to acquire that indefinable, unmistakable air of -<i>savoir-faire</i> characteristic of the prosperous clerk -who spends his leisure in public places. People -from the country frequently mistook him for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> -young man-about-town of the society papers, familiar -with every form of metropolitan chicane, luxury, and -vice.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After breakfast he went out into the Park with -his skates. The Serpentine had been frozen hard -for more than a week, and yesterday, a solitary unit -in tens of thousands, he had celebrated Christmas -on the ice, skating from noon till nearly midnight, -with brief intervals for meals. The exercise and the -fresh air had invigorated and enlivened him, and this -morning, as he plunged once more into the loose -throng of skaters, his spirits were buoyant. It had -been his intention to pass yet another day on the Serpentine; -but a sudden, surprising fancy entered his -head, flitted away, and returned again and again -with such an increasing allurement that he fell in -love with it: Why not commence to write now? -Why, after all, leave the new beginning till the New -Year? Was it true—what he had mournfully -taken for granted for a month past, and so lately as -an hour ago—that he lacked the moral strength to -carry a good resolution into effect at any time he -chose?... In a moment, he had sworn to -work four hours before he slept that night.</p> - -<p>The decision reached, his humour became unequivocally -gay. He shot forward with longer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -bolder strokes, enjoying with a keener zest the swift -motion and the strange black-and-white, sylvan-urban -scene about him. He forgot the year of idleness -which lay immediately behind him, forgot -every previous failure, in the passionate exultation -of his new resolve. He whistled. He sang. He -attempted impossible figures, and only laughed when -they ended in a fall. A woman, skating alone, -stumbled to her knees; he glided towards her, lifted -her lightly, raised his hat, and was gone before she -could thank him: it was neatly done; he felt proud -of himself. As the clock struck twelve he took off -his skates, and walked in a quiet corner of the Park, -deliberating intently upon the plot of a story, which -fortunately had been in his mind for several months.</p> - -<p>When he came in to dinner, he gave Lily five -shillings for a Christmas box, almost without thinking, -and though he had no previous intention of doing -so; and inquired when she was to be married. -He ordered tea for four o'clock, so that the evening -might be long. In the afternoon he read and dozed. -At a quarter to five the tea-things were cleared -away, the lamp was burning brightly, the blinds -drawn, and his writing-materials arranged on the -table. He lit a pipe and sat down by the fire. At -last, at last, the old, long-abandoned endeavours were -about to be resumed!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> - -<p>The story which he was going to write was called -"Tiddy-fol-lol." The leading character was an old -smith, to be named Downs, employed in the forge -of a large iron foundry at Bursley. Downs was a -Primitive Methodist of the narrowest type, and -when his daughter fell in love with and married a -sceneshifter at the local theatre, she received for -dowry a father's curse. Once, in the foundry, -Downs in speaking of the matter had referred to his -daughter as no better than a "Tiddy-fol-lol," and -for years afterwards a favourite sport of the apprentice -boys was to run after him, at a safe distance, -calling "Tiddy-fol-lol, Tiddy-fol-lol." The -daughter, completely estranged from her parent, -died in giving birth to a son who grew up physically -strong and healthy, but half an idiot. At the age of -twelve, quite ignorant of his grandfather's identity, -he was sent by his father to work at the foundry. -The other lads saw a chance for fun. Pointing out -Downs to him in the forge, they told him to go -close to the man and say "Tiddy-fol-lol." "What -dost thee want?" Downs questioned gruffly, when -the boy stood before him with a vacant grin on his -face. "Tiddy-fol-lol," came the response, in the -aggravating, uninflected tones peculiar to an imbecile. -Downs raised his tremendous arm in a flash -of anger, and felled the youngster with a blow on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> -the side of the head. Then he bade him rise. But -the child, caught just under the ear, had been struck -dead. Downs was tried for manslaughter, pronounced -insane, and subsequently released as a harmless -lunatic. The Salvation Army took charge of -him, and he lived by selling "War-Cries" in the -streets, still pursued by boys who shouted "Tiddy-fol-lol."</p> - -<p>Properly elaborated, Richard opined, such a plot -would make a powerful story. In his brain the -thing was already complete. The one difficulty lay -in the selection of a strong opening scene; that done, -he was sure the incidents of the tale would fall -naturally into place. He began to cogitate, but his -thoughts went wool-gathering most pertinaciously, -though time after time he compelled them to return -to the subject in hand by force of knitted brows. -He finished his pipe and recharged it. The fire -burnt low, and he put on more coal. Still no suitable -opening scene presented itself. His spirits -slowly fell. What ailed him?</p> - -<p>At length, an idea! He was not going to fail, -after all. The story must of course begin with a -quarrel between old Downs and his daughter. He -drew up to the table, took a pen, and wrote the -title; then a few sentences, hurriedly, and then a -page. Then he read what was written, pronounced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> -it unconvincing rubbish, and tore it up. Words -were untractable, and, besides, he could not <i>see</i> the -scene. He left the table, and after studying a tale -of de Maupassant's, started on a new sheet, carefully -imitating the manner of that writer. But he -could by no means satisfy himself. Mrs. Rowbotham -appeared with the supper-tray, and he laid -his writing-materials on the bed. During supper he -took up de Maupassant once more, and at ten -o'clock made yet a third attempt, well knowing beforehand -that it would not be successful. The plot -tumbled entirely to pieces; the conclusion especially -was undramatic; but how to alter it?...</p> - -<p>He was disgusted with himself. He wondered -what would happen to him if he lost his situation. -Supposing that the firm of Curpet and Smythe -failed! Smythe was a careless fellow, capable of -ruining business in a month if for any reason Curpet's -restraining influence was withdrawn. These -and similar morbid fancies assailed him, and he went -to bed sick with misery, heartily wishing that he had -been less precipitate in his attempt to be industrious. -He had a superstition that if he had waited for -the New Year, the adventure might have resulted -more happily.</p> - -<p>In the night he awoke, to lament upon his solitariness. -Why had he no congenial friends? How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> -could he set about obtaining sympathetic companionship? -He needed, in particular, cultured feminine -society. Given that, he could work; without it -he should accomplish nothing. He reflected that in -London there were probably thousands of "nice -girls," pining for such men as he. What a ridiculous -civilisation it was that prevented him from meeting -them! When he saw a promising girl in a bus, -why in the name of heaven should he not be at liberty -to say to her, "Look here, I can convince you -that I mean well; let us make each other's acquaintance"?... -But convention, convention! He -felt himself to be imprisoned by a relentless, unscaleable -wall.... Then he dreamt that he -was in a drawing-room full of young men and -women, and that all were chattering vivaciously and -cleverly. He himself stood with his back to the -fire, and talked to a group of girls. They looked -into his face, as Adeline used to look. They -grasped his ideals and his aims without laborious explanations; -half a word was sufficient to enlighten -them; he saw the gleam of appreciative comprehension -in their eyes long before his sentences were finished....</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVII</h4> - - -<p>The next morning was bright with sunshine; -the frost had broken, and the streets were -beginning to be muddy. Richard went out, -his mind empty, and dully dejected. At Sloane -Street he mounted a bus, taking the one vacant front -seat on the top. For a little while he stared absently -at the handle of his stick. Presently a chance -movement of the head made him aware that someone's -eyes were upon him. He looked round. In -the far corner of the seat opposite was Miss Roberts. -She hesitated, flushing, and then bowed, and he responded. -No further communications were possible -just then (and for this, at the moment, he felt -thankful), because they were separated by two -young gentlemen wearing tweed caps, and collars -which might have been clean once, who were arguing -briskly over a copy of the "Sportsman."</p> - -<p>For some strange reason of diffidence, Richard -had not been to the Crabtree since his visit there with -Adeline. He was sardonically in search of his motive -for staying away when the young gentlemen -with the "Sportsman" left the bus. Miss Roberts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> -grew rosy as he got up and offered her his hand, at -the same time seating himself by her side. She -wore a black jacket and skirt, well worn but in good -preservation, a hat with red flowers, and grey woollen -gloves; and any person of ordinary discernment -would have guessed her occupation without a great -deal of difficulty. During the last year she had become -stouter, and her figure was now full rather -than slender; her features, especially the nostrils, -mouth, and chin, were somewhat heavy, but she had -prettily shaped ears, and her eyes, of no definable -tint, were soft and tender; her reddish-brown hair -was as conspicuous and as splendid as ever, coiled -with tight precision at the back of her head, and escaping -here and there above her ears in tiny flying -wisps. The expression of her face was mainly one -of amiability, but passive, animal-like, inert; she -seemed full of good-nature.</p> - -<p>"We haven't seen you at the Crabtree, lately," -she said.</p> - -<p>"You are still at the old place, then?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes; and shall be, I expect. They've taken -another floor now, and we're the biggest vegetarian -restaurant in London."</p> - -<p>There was a note of timid agitation in her voice, -and he noticed besides that her cheeks were red and -her eyes shone. Could it be that this encounter had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> -given her pleasure? The idea of such a possibility -afforded him secret delight.... She, a -breathing woman, glad to see him! He wondered -what the other people on the bus were thinking of -them, and especially what the driver thought; the -driver had happened to catch sight of them when -they were shaking hands, and as Richard examined -the contour of the man's rubicund face, he fancied -he saw there a glimmer of a smile. This was during -a little pause in the conversation.</p> - -<p>"And how have you spent Christmas?" It was -Richard's question.</p> - -<p>"At home," she answered simply, "with father -and mother. My married sister and her husband -came over for the day."</p> - -<p>"And I spent mine all alone," he said ruefully. -"No friends, no pudding, no nothing."</p> - -<p>She looked at him compassionately.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you live in rooms? It must be very -lonely."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" he returned lightly, yet seizing with -eager satisfaction the sympathy she offered, "it's -nothing when you're used to it. This makes my -third Christmas in London, and none of them has -been particularly uproarious. Fortunately there -was the skating this year. I was on the Serpentine -nearly all day."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then she asked him if skating was easy to learn, -because she had been wanting to try for years, but -had never had opportunity. He answered that it -was quite easy, if one were not afraid.</p> - -<p>"I'm going your way," he said, as they both -got off at Piccadilly Circus, and they walked along -Coventry Street together. The talk flagged; to -rouse it Richard questioned her about the routine of -the restaurant,—a subject on which she spoke readily, -and with a certain sense of humour. When -they reached the Crabtree,—</p> - -<p>"Why, it's been painted!" Richard exclaimed. -"It looks very swagger, indeed, now."</p> - -<p>"Yes, my! doesn't it? And it's beautiful inside, -too. You must come in sometime."</p> - -<p>"I will," he said with emphasis.</p> - -<p>She shook his hand quite vigorously, and their -eyes met with a curious questioning gaze. He -smiled to himself as he walked down Chandos Street; -his dejection had mysteriously vanished, and he even -experienced a certain uplifting of spirit. It occurred -to him that he had never at all understood -Miss Roberts before. How different she was outside -the restaurant! Should he go to the Crabtree -for lunch that day, or should he allow a day or two -to elapse? He decidedly prudently to wait.</p> - -<p>He debated whether he should mention the meeting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> -to Jenkins, and said on the whole that he would -not do so. But he found Jenkins surprisingly urbane, -and without conscious volition he was soon -saying,—</p> - -<p>"Guess who I came down with on the bus this -morning."</p> - -<p>Jenkins gave it up.</p> - -<p>"Laura Roberts;" and then, seeing no look of -comprehension on Jenkins' face, "You know, the -cashier at the Crabtree."</p> - -<p>"Oh—<i>her</i>!"</p> - -<p>The stress was a little irritating.</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> saw her about a fortnight ago," Jenkins said.</p> - -<p>"At the Crabtree?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Did she say anything to you about me?" -The youth smiled.</p> - -<p>"No. Why?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing. We had a talk, and I mashed her a -bit,—that's all."</p> - -<p>"Ah, my boy, you won't get far with her."</p> - -<p>"Oh, sha'n't I? I could tell you a thing or two -<i>re</i> Laura Roberts, if I liked."</p> - -<p>Although Jenkins' remark was characteristic, and -Richard knew well enough that there was nothing -behind his words, yet his mind reverted instantly to -the stories connecting Miss Roberts with Mr. -Aked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Don't gas," he said curtly. "She looks on you -as a boy."</p> - -<p>"Man enough for any woman," said Jenkins, -twirling the rudiments of a moustache.</p> - -<p>The discussion might have gone further, had it -not been interrupted by Mr. Smythe, who burst suddenly -into the room, as his custom was.</p> - -<p>"Larch, come with me into Mr. Curpet's room." -His tone was brusque. He had none of Mr. Curpet's -natural politeness, though on rare occasions, of -which the present was not one, he sought clumsily -to imitate it. Richard felt a vague alarm.</p> - -<p>With a muffler round his throat, Mr. Curpet was -seated before the fire, blowing his nose and breathing -noisily. Mr. Smythe went to the window, and -played with the tassel of the blind cord.</p> - -<p>"We are thinking of making some changes, -Larch," Mr. Curpet began.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." His heart sank. Was he to be dismissed? -The next sentence was reassuring.</p> - -<p>"In future all costs will be drawn and settled in -the office, instead of being sent out. Do you feel -equal to taking charge of that department?"</p> - -<p>Richard had many times helped in the preparation -of bills of cost, and possessed a fair knowledge of -this complicated and engaging subject. He answered -very decidedly in the affirmative.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What we propose," Mr. Smythe broke in, "is -that you should have an assistant, and that the two -of you should attend to both the books and the -costs."</p> - -<p>"Of course your salary will be increased," Mr. -Curpet added.</p> - -<p>"Let me see, what do you get now?" This -from Mr. Smythe, whose memory was imperfect.</p> - -<p>"Three pounds ten, sir."</p> - -<p>"Suppose we say four pounds ten," said Mr. -Smythe to Mr. Curpet, and then turning to Larch: -"That's very good indeed, you know, young man; -you wouldn't get that everywhere. By Jove, no, -you wouldn't!" Richard was fully aware of the -fact. He could scarcely credit his own luck. "And -we shall expect you to keep things up to the mark."</p> - -<p>Mr. Curpet smiled kindly over his handkerchief, -as if to intimate that Mr. Smythe need not have insisted -on that point.</p> - -<p>"And you may have to stay late sometimes," -Mr. Smythe went on.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>When the interview was finished, he retraced his -career at the office, marvelling that he should have -done anything unusual enough to inspire his principals -to such appreciation, and he soon made out -that, compared with others of the staff, he had indeed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> -been a model clerk. A delicious self-complacence -enveloped him. Mr. Smythe had had the -air of conferring a favour; but Mr. Curpet was at -the head of affairs at No. 2 Serjeant's Court, and -Mr. Curpet's attitude had been decidedly flattering. -At first he had a difficulty in grasping his good fortune, -thought it too good to be true; but he ended -by believing in himself very heartily. In the matter -of salary, he stood now second only to Mr. Alder, -he a youth not three years out of the provinces. -Three years ago an income of £234 per annum -would have seemed almost fabulous. His notions -as to what constituted opulence had changed since -then, but nevertheless £234 was an excellent revenue, -full of possibilities. A man could marry on that -and live comfortably; many men ventured to marry -on half as much. In clerkdom he had indubitably -risen with ease to the upper ranks. There was good -Northern stuff in Richard Larch, after all! As he -walked home, his brain was busy with plans, beautiful -plans for the New Year,—how he would save -money, and how he would spend his nights in toil.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVIII</h4> - - -<p>There happened to be a room to let on the -same floor as Richard's own. The rent was -only five shillings per week, and he arranged -to take it and use it as a bedroom, transforming -the other and larger room into a study. Mrs. Rowbotham -was asked to remove all her tables, chairs, -carpets, pictures, ornaments, and accessories from -both rooms, as he proposed to furnish them entirely -anew at his own cost. This did not indicate -that a sudden increase of revenue had, as once on a -previous occasion, engendered in him a propensity -to squander. On the contrary, his determination to -live economically was well established, and he hoped -to save a hundred pounds per annum with ease. -But the influence of an æsthetic environment upon -his literary work would, he argued, probably be valuable -enough to justify the moderate expenditure -involved, and so all the leisure of the last days of the -year was given to the realisation of certain theories -in regard to the furnishing of a study and a bedroom. -Unfortunately the time at his disposal was -very limited—- was it not essential that the place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> -should be set in order by the 31st of December, that -work might commence on the 1st of January?—but -he did not spare himself, and the result, when he -contemplated it on New Year's Eve, filled him with -pleasure and pride. He felt that he could write -worthily in that study, with its four autotype reproductions -of celebrated pictures on the self-coloured -walls, its square of Indian carpet over Indian matting, -its long, low bookshelves, its quaint table with -the elm top, its plain rush-bottomed chairs, and its -broad luxurious divan. He marvelled that he had -contrived so long to exist in the room as it was before, -and complacently attributed his ill-success as a -writer to the lack of harmonious surroundings. By -the last post arrived a New Year's card from Mrs. -Clayton Vernon. Twelve months ago she had sent -a similar kind token of remembrance, and he had -ignored it; in the summer she had written inviting -him to spend a few days at Bursley, and he had -somewhat too briefly asked to be excused. To-night, -however, he went out, bought a New Year's -card, and despatched it to her at once. He flowed -over with benevolence, viewing the world through -the rosy spectacles of high resolve. Mrs. Clayton -Vernon was an excellent woman, and he would prove -to her and to Bursley that they had not estimated -too highly the possibilities of Richard Larch. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> -was, in truth, prodigiously uplifted. The old sense -of absolute power over himself for good or evil returned. -A consciousness of exceptional ability possessed -him. The future, splendid in dreams, was -wholly his; and yet again—perhaps more thoroughly -than ever before—the ineffectual past was -effaced. To-morrow was the New Year, and to-morrow -the new heaven and the new earth were to -begin.</p> - -<p>He had decided to write a novel. Having failed -in short stories and in essays, it seemed to him likely -that the novel, a form which he had not so far seriously -attempted, might suit his idiosyncrasy better. -He had once sketched out the plot of a short novel, -a tale of adventure in modern London, and on examination -this struck him as ingenious and promising. -Moreover, it would appeal—like Stevenson's -"New Arabian Nights," which in Richard's -mind it distantly resembled—both to the general -and to the literary public. He determined to write -five hundred words of it a day, five days a week; at -this rate of progress he calculated that the book -would be finished in four months; allowing two -months further for revision, it ought to be ready for -a publisher at the end of June.</p> - -<p>He drew his chair up to the blazing fire, and -looked down the vista of those long, lamplit evenings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -during which the novel was to grow under his -hands. How different he from the average clerk, -who with similar opportunities was content to fritter -away those hours which would lead himself, perhaps, -to fame! He thought of Adeline, and smiled. -What, after all, did such as he want with women? -He was in a position to marry, and if he met a clever -girl of sympathetic temperament, he emphatically -would marry (it did not occur to him to add the -clause, "Provided she will have me"); but otherwise -he would wait. He could afford to wait,—to -wait till he had made a reputation, and half a score -of women, elegant and refined, were only too willing -to envelop him in an atmosphere of adoration.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was part of his plan for economy to dine always -at the Crabtree, where one shilling was the -price of an elaborate repast, and he went there on -New Year's Day. As he walked up Charing Cross -Road, his thoughts turned naturally to Miss Roberts. -Would she be as cordial as when he had met -her on the omnibus, or would she wear the polite -mask of the cashier, treating him merely as a frequenter -of the establishment? She was engaged -when he entered the dining-room, but she noticed -him and nodded. He looked towards her several -times during his meal, and once her eyes caught his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -and she smiled, not withdrawing them for a few -moments; then she bent over her account book.</p> - -<p>His fellow-diners seemed curiously to have degenerated, -to have grown still narrower in their sympathies, -still more careless in their eating, still more -peculiar or shabbier in their dress. The young -women of masculine aspect set their elbows on the -table more uncompromisingly than ever, and the -young men with soiled wristbands or no wristbands -at all were more than ever tedious in their murmured -conversations. It was, indeed, a bizarre company -that surrounded him! Then he reflected that these -people had not altered. The change was in himself. -He had outgrown them; he surveyed them now as -from a tower. He was a man with a future, using -this restaurant because it suited him temporarily to -do so, while they would use it till the end, never -deviating, never leaving the rut.</p> - -<p>"So you have come at last!" Miss Roberts said -to him when he presented his check. "I was beginning -to think you had deserted us."</p> - -<p>"But it's barely a week since I saw you," he protested. -"Let me wish you a happy New Year."</p> - -<p>"The same to you." She flushed a little, and -then: "What do you think of our new decorations? -Aren't they pretty?"</p> - -<p>He praised them perfunctorily, even without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -glancing round. His eyes were on her face. He -remembered the reiterated insinuations of Jenkins, -and wondered whether they had any ground of -fact.</p> - -<p>"By the way, has Jenkins been here to-day?" he -inquired, by way of introducing the name.</p> - -<p>"Is that the young man who used to come with -you sometimes? No."</p> - -<p>There was no trace of self-consciousness in her -bearing, and Richard resolved to handle Jenkins -with severity. Another customer approached the -pay-desk.</p> - -<p>"Well, good afternoon." He lingered.</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon." Her gaze rested on him -softly. "I suppose you'll be here again <i>some</i> -time." She spoke low, so that the other customer -should not hear.</p> - -<p>"I'm coming every day now, I think," he answered -in the same tone, with a smothered laugh. -"Ta-ta."</p> - -<p>That night at half-past seven he began his novel. -The opening chapter was introductory, and the -words came without much effort. This being only -a draft, there was no need for polish; so that when -a sentence refused to run smoothly at the first trial, -he was content to make it grammatical and leave it. -He seemed to have been working for hours when a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> -desire took him to count up what was already written. -Six hundred words! He sighed the sigh of -satisfaction, and looked at his watch, to find that it -was exactly half-past eight. The discovery somewhat -damped his felicity. He began to doubt -whether stuff composed at the rate of ten words a -minute could have any real value. Pooh! Sometimes -one wrote quickly, and sometimes slowly. The -number of minutes occupied was no index of quality. -Should he continue writing? Yes, he would.... -No.... Why should he? He had performed -the task self-allotted for the day, and more; -and now he was entitled to rest. True, the actual -time of labour had been very short; but then, another -day the same amount of work might consume -three or four hours. He put away his writing-things, -and searched about for something to read, -finally lighting on "Paradise Lost." But "Paradise -Lost" wanted actuality. He laid it aside. -Was there any valid reason why he should not conclude -the evening at the theatre? None. The -frost had returned with power, and the reverberation -of the streets sounded invitingly through his -curtained windows. He went out, and walked -briskly up Park Side. At Hyde Park Corner he -jumped on an omnibus.</p> - -<p>It was the first night of a new ballet at the Ottoman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> -"Standing-room only," said the man at the -ticket-office. "All right," said Richard, and, entering, -was greeted with soft music, which came to him -like a fitful zephyr over a sea of heads.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIX</h4> - - -<p>One Saturday afternoon towards the end of -February, he suddenly decided to read -through so much of the draft novel as was -written; hitherto he had avoided any sort of revision. -The resolve to accomplish five hundred words a day -had been kept indifferently well, and the total stood -at about fourteen thousand. As he wrote a very -bold hand, the sheets covered made quite a respectable -pile. The mere bulk of them cajoled him, in -spite of certain misgivings, into an optimistic surmise -as to their literary quality. Never before had -he written so much upon one theme, and were the -writing good or bad, he was, for a few moments, -proud of his achievement. The mischief lay in the -fact that week by week he had exercised less and -still less care over the work. The phrase, "Anything -will do for a draft," had come to be uttered -with increasing frequency as an excuse for laxities -of style and construction. "I will make that right -in the revision," he had reassured himself, and had -gone negligently forward, leaving innumerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -crudities in the wake of his hurrying pen. During -the last few days he had written scarcely anything, -and perhaps it was a hope of stimulating a drooping -inspiration by the complacent survey of work actually -done that tempted him to this hazardous perusal.</p> - -<p>He whistled as he took up the manuscript, as a -boy whistles when going into a dark cellar. The -first three pages were read punctiliously, every word -of them, but soon he grew hasty, rushing to the next -paragraph ere the previous one was grasped; then -he began shamelessly to skip; and then he stopped, -and his heart seemed to stop also. The lack of -homogeneity, of sequence, of dramatic quality, of -human interest; the loose syntax; and the unrelieved -mediocrity of it all, horrified him. The thing was -dry bones, a fiasco. The certainty that he had once -more failed swept over him like a cold, green wave -of the sea, and he had a physical feeling of sickness -in the stomach.... It was with much ado -that he refrained from putting the whole manuscript -upon the fire, and crushing it venomously into the -flames with a poker. Then he steadied himself. -His self-confidence was going, almost gone; he must -contrive to recover it, and he sought for a way. -(Where were now the rash exultations of the New -Year?) It was impossible that his work should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> -irredeemably bad. He remembered having read -somewhere that the difference between a fine and a -worthless novel was often a difference of elaboration -simply. A conscientious re-writing, therefore, might -probably bring about a surprising amelioration. He -must immediately make the experiment. But he -had long since solemnly vowed not to commence the -second writing till the draft was done; the moral -value of finishing even the draft had then seemed to -him priceless. No matter! Under stress of -grievous necessity, that oath must be forsworn. No -other course could save him from collapse.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He went out into the streets. The weather, fine -and bright, suggested the earliest infancy of spring, -and Piccadilly was full of all classes and all ages of -women. There were regiments of men, too, but -the gay and endless stream of women obsessed him. -He saw them sitting in hansoms and private carriages -and on the tops of omnibuses, niched in high -windows, shining in obscurity of shops, treading the -pavements with fairy step, either unattended or by -the side of foolish, unappreciative males. Every -man in London seemed to have the right to a share -of some woman's companionship, except himself. As -for those men who walked alone, they had sweethearts -somewhere, or mothers and sisters, or they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> -were married and even now on the way to wife and -hearth. Only he was set apart.</p> - -<p>A light descended upon him that afternoon. The -average man and the average woman being constantly -thrown into each other's society, custom has -staled for them the exquisite privilege of such intercourse. -The rustic cannot share the townsman's enthusiasm -for rural scenery; he sees no matter for -ecstasy in the view from his cottage door; and in the -same way the average man and the average woman -dine together, talk together, walk together, -and know not how richly they are therein -blessed. But with solitaries like Richard it is -different. Debarred from fellowship with the -opposite sex by circumstances and an innate -diffidence which makes the control of circumstance -impossible, their starved sensibilities acquire -certain morbid tenderness. (Doubtless the rustic -discerns morbidity in the attitude of the townsman -towards the view from his cottage door.) Richard -grasped this. In a luminous moment of self-revelation, -he was able to trace the growth of the malady. -From its first vague and fugitive symptoms, it -had so grown that now, on seeing an attractive -woman, he could not be content to say, "What an -attractive woman!" and have done with it, but he -needs must build a house, furnish a room in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> -house, light a fire in the room, place a low chair by -the fire, put the woman in the chair, with a welcoming -smile on her upturned lips—and imagine that she -was his wife. And it was not only attractive women -that laid the spell upon him. The sight of any living -creature in petticoats was liable to set his hysterical -fancy in motion. Every woman he met was -Woman.... Of the millions of women in -London, why was he not permitted to know a few? -Why was he entirely cut off? There they were: -their silk skirts brushed him as they passed; they -thanked him for little services in public vehicles; -they ministered to him in restaurants; they sang to -him at concerts, danced for him at theatres; touched -his existence at every side—and yet they were remoter -than the stars, unattainable as the moon.... -He rebelled. He sank in despair, and -rose to frenzies of anger. Then he was a pathetic -figure, and extended to himself his own pity, smiling -sardonically at fate. Fate was the harder to bear -because he was convinced that, at the heart of him, -he was essentially a woman's man. None could enjoy -the feminine atmosphere more keenly, more artistically -than he. Other men, who had those delicious -rights for which he longed in vain, assessed -them meanly, or even scorned them.... He -looked back with profound regret to his friendship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> -with Adeline. He dreamt that she had returned, -that he had fallen in love with her and married her, -that her ambitions were leading him forward to success. -Ah! Under the incentive of a woman's eyes, -of what tremendous efforts is a clever man not -capable, and deprived of it to what deeps of stagnations -will he not descend! Then he awoke again -to the fact that he knew no woman in London.</p> - -<p>Yes, he knew one, and his thoughts began to play -round her caressingly, idealising and ennobling her. -She only gave him his change daily at the Crabtree, -but he knew her; there existed between them a kind -of intimacy. She was a plain girl, possessing few attractions, -except the supreme one of being a woman. -She was below him in station; but had she not her -refinements? Though she could not enter into his -mental or emotional life, did she not exhale for him -a certain gracious influence? His heart went forth -to her. Her flirtations with Mr. Aked, her alleged -dalliance with Jenkins? Trifles, nothings! She -had told him that she lived with her mother and -father and a younger brother, and on more than one -occasion she had mentioned the Wesleyan chapel; -he had gathered that the whole family was religious. -In theory he detested religious women, and yet—religion -in a woman ... what was it? He -answered the question with a man's easy laugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> -And if her temperament was somewhat lymphatic, -he divined that, once roused, she was capable of the -most passionate feeling. He had always had a predilection -for the sleeping-volcano species of woman.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXX</h4> - - -<p>Richard was soon forced to the conclusion -that the second writing of his novel was -destined to be a failure. For a few days -he stuck doggedly to the task, writing stuff which, as -he wrote it, he knew would ultimately be condemned. -Then one evening he stopped suddenly, in the middle -of a word, bit the penholder for a moment, and threw -it down with a "Damn!" This sort of thing could -not continue.</p> - -<p>"Better come up and see my new arrangements -at Raphael Street to-night," he said to Jenkins the -next day. He wanted a diversion.</p> - -<p>"Any whisky going?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly."</p> - -<p>"Delighted, I'm sure," said Jenkins, with one of -his ridiculous polite bows. He regarded these rare -invitations as an honour; it was more than six months -since the last.</p> - -<p>They drank whisky and smoked cigars which Jenkins -had thoughtfully brought with him, and chattered -for a long time about office matters. And -then, as the cigar-ash accumulated, the topics became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -more personal and intimate. That night Jenkins -was certainly in a serious vein; further, he was on -his best behaviour, striving to be sympathetic and -gentlemanly. He confided to Richard his aspirations. -He wished to learn French and proposed to -join a Polytechnic Institute for the purpose. Also, -he had thoughts of leaving home, and living in -rooms, like Richard. He was now earning twenty-eight -shillings a week; he intended to save money -and to give up all intoxicants beyond half a pint of -bitter a day. Richard responded willingly to his -mood, and offered sound advice, which was listened -to with deference. Then the talk, as often aforetime, -drifted to the subject of women. It appeared -that Jenkins had a desire to "settle down" (he was -twenty-one). He knew several fellows in the Walworth -Road who had married on less than he was -earning.</p> - -<p>"What about Miss Roberts?" Richard questioned.</p> - -<p>"Oh! She's off. She's a bit too old for me, -you know. She must be twenty-six."</p> - -<p>"Look here, my boy," said Richard, good-humouredly. -"I don't believe you ever had anything -to do with her at all. It was nothing but boasting."</p> - -<p>"What will you bet I can't prove it to you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> -Jenkins retorted, putting out his chin, an ominous -gesture with him.</p> - -<p>"I'll bet you half-a-crown—no, a shilling."</p> - -<p>"Done."</p> - -<p>Jenkins took a leather-case from his pocket, and -handed Richard a midget photograph of Miss Roberts. -Underneath it was her signature, "Yours sincerely, -Laura Roberts."</p> - -<p>Strange to say, the incident did not trouble Richard -in the least.</p> - -<p>He walked down to Victoria with Jenkins towards -midnight, and on returning to his lodging, thought -for the hundredth time how futile was his present -mode of existence, how bare of all that makes life -worth living. Of what avail to occupy pretty -rooms, if one occupied them alone, coming into them -at night to find them empty, leaving them in the -morning without a word of farewell? In the waste -of London, Laura Roberts made the one green spot. -He had lost interest in his novel. On the other -hand, his interest in the daily visit to the Crabtree -was increasing.</p> - -<p>As day succeeded day he fell into a practice of -deliberately seeking out and magnifying the finer -qualities in her nature, while ignoring those which -were likely to offend him; indeed he refused to allow -himself to be offended. He went so far as to retard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> -his lunch-hour permanently, so that, the rush of customers -being past, he should have better opportunity -to talk to her without interruption. Then he timidly -essayed the first accents of courtship, and finding -his advances accepted, grew bolder. One Sunday -morning he met her as she was coming out of the -Wesleyan chapel at Munster Park; he said the encounter -was due to accident. She introduced him to -her relations, who were with her. Her father was -a big, stout, dark man, dressed in black faced-cloth, -with a heavy beard, huge chubby fingers, and jagged -grey fingernails. Her mother was a spare woman -of sorrowful aspect, whose thin lips seldom moved; -she held her hands in front of her, one on the top of -the other. Her brother was a lank schoolboy, wearing -a damaged mortar-board hat.</p> - -<p>Shortly afterwards he called on her at Carteret -Street. The schoolboy opened the door, and after -inviting him as far as the lobby, vanished into a back -room only to reappear and run upstairs. Richard -heard his loud, agitated whisper: "Laura, Laura, -here's Mr. Larch come to see you."</p> - -<p>They strolled to Wimbledon Common that night.</p> - -<p>His entity seemed to have become dual. One -part of him was willingly enslaved to an imperious, -headstrong passion; the other stood calmly, cynically -apart, and watched. There were hours when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> -could foresee the whole of his future life, and -measure the bitter, ineffectual regret which he was -laying up; hours when he admitted that his passion -had been, as it were, artificially incited, and that -there could be no hope of an enduring love. He -liked Laura; she was a woman, a balm, a consolation. -To all else he obstinately shut his eyes, and, -casting away every consideration of prudence, hastened -to involve himself more and more deeply. -Swiftly, swiftly, the climax approached. He hailed -it with a strange, affrighted joy.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXI</h4> - - -<p>They were upon Chelsea Embankment in the -late dusk of a Saturday evening in May. A -warm and gentle wind stirred the budding -trees to magic utterances. The long, straight line -of serried lamps stretched away to an enchanted -bridge which with twinkling lights hung poised over -the misty river. The plash of an oar came languorously -up from the water, and the voices of boys -calling. At intervals, couples like themselves passed -by, either silent or conversing in low tones that -seemed to carry inner, inarticulate meanings. As -for them, they were silent; he had not her arm, but -they walked close together. He was deeply and indescribably -moved; his heart beat heavily, and when -he looked at her face in the gloom and saw that her -eyes were liquid, it beat yet more heavily; then lay -still.</p> - -<p>"Let us sit down—shall we?" he said at length, -and they turned to an empty bench under a tree. -"What is she thinking?" he wondered, and then -the dominant feeling of the moment possessed him -wholly. His ambitions floated out of sight and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> -were forgotten. He remembered nothing except -the girl by his side, whose maddening bosom rose -and fell under his very gaze. At that moment she -belonged to no class; had no virtues, no faults. All -the inessentials of her being were stripped away, -and she was merely a woman, divine, desired, necessary, -waiting to be captured. She sat passive, expectant, -the incarnation of the Feminine.</p> - -<p>He took her hand and felt it tremble. At the -contact a thrill ran about him, and for a second a -delicious faintness robbed him of all strength. -Then with inexplicable rapidity his mind went unerringly -back to that train-journey to William's -funeral. He saw the cottage in the fields, and the -young mother, half robed and with sleep in her eyes, -standing at the door. Exquisite vision!</p> - -<p>He heard himself speaking,—</p> - -<p>"Laura...."</p> - -<p>The little hand gave a timorous encouragement.</p> - -<p>"Laura ... you are going to marry me."</p> - -<p>The intoxicating pressure of her lips on his -was answer. Heedless of publicity, he crushed her -against his breast, this palpitating creature with the -serious face. Ah, she could love!</p> - -<p>It was done. The great irretrievable moment -had gone to join a million other moments of no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> -significance. He felt triumphant, fiercely triumphant. -His frightful solitude was at an end. One -woman was his. A woman ... his, his own!</p> - -<p>See! A tear quivered in her eye.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXII</h4> - - -<p>Sunday was stiflingly hot. At Sloane Street -the roof of every Putney omnibus was already -laden with passengers, and Richard on his way -to Carteret Street to make the acquaintance of Laura's -married sister, Milly Powell, her husband and young -child, was forced at last to be content with a seat -inside. The public houses were just closing for the -afternoon, and the footpaths full of holiday-makers, -with here and there a girl or a middle-aged man -carrying a Bible. No vehicles were abroad except -the omnibuses and an occasional hired carriage which -passed by with a nonchalant, lazy air.</p> - -<p>At the Redcliffe Arms there got in a little family -party consisting of a stout, seemingly prosperous -man, gruffly good-humoured, his wife, and a boy of -about three years, whose puffy face was disfigured by -large spectacles.</p> - -<p>"Sit here, Milly, out of the sun," the man said -curtly.</p> - -<p>Richard looked up at the sound of the name. -The woman's likeness to Laura was unmistakable; -beyond doubt she must be the sister of his betrothed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> -He examined her curiously. She was perhaps -slightly under thirty, of a good height and well set, -with a large head and a large, plain face. Her -movements were clumsy. She appeared to be just -upon the line which divides the matron from the -young mother. In both her features and her attire -there were faint reminders of girlish grace, or at -least of the charm of the shy wife who nurses her -first-born. Her complexion was clear and fresh, her -ears small and delicately pink, her eyes cool grey. -But one did not notice these beauties without careful -inspection, while the heavy jaws, the lax eyelids, -the flattened nose whose tilt unpleasantly revealed -the nostrils, were obvious and repellent. She wore -a black gown, which fitted badly, imparting an ungainliness -probably foreign to her proper figure. -Her broad hat of black straw, trimmed with poppies -and corn-flowers, was strikingly modish, and the veil, -running at an angle from the extremity of the brim -down to her chin, gave to her face a cloistered quality -which had its own seductiveness. Her small -hands were neatly gloved, and held a cheap, effective -parasol. The woman's normal expression was one -of cow-like vacancy, but now and then her eyes would -light up as she spoke to the child, gently restraining -it, reassuring it, rallying it with simple banter. She -was still in love with her husband; frequently she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> -glanced at him with furtive wistfulness. She was -able to enjoy the summer weather. She was not -quite dead to the common phenomena of the roadside. -But the last resistances of departing youthfulness -and vivacity against the narcotic of a dull, unlovely -domesticity were taking place. In a year or -two she would be the typical matron of the lower -middle-class.</p> - -<p>When Richard had made these observations, he -reflected: "Laura will be like that—soon." -Mentally he compared the two faces, and he could, -as it were, see Laura's changing....</p> - -<p>Then followed a reverie which embraced the -whole of his past life. He recognised that, while he -bore all the aspect of prosperity, he had failed. -Why had nature deprived him of strength of purpose? -Why could not he, like other men, bend -circumstances to his own ends? He sought for a -reason, and he found it in his father, that mysterious, -dead transmitter of traits, of whom he knew so -little, and on whose name lay a blot of some kind -which was hidden from him. He had been born in -the shadow, and after a fitful struggle towards emergence, -into the shadow he must again retire. Fate -was his enemy. Mary had died; Mary would have -helped him to be strong. Mr. Aked had died; Mr. -Aked's inspiring influence would have incited and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> -guided his efforts. Adeline had abandoned him to -a fatal loneliness.</p> - -<p>He knew that he would make no further attempt -to write. Laura was not even aware that he had -had ambitions in that direction. He had never told -her, because she would not have understood. She -worshipped him, he felt sure, and at times he had a -great tenderness for her; but it would be impossible -to write in the suburban doll's-house which was to be -theirs. No! In future he would be simply the -suburban husband—dutiful towards his employers, -upon whose grace he would be doubly dependent; -keeping his house in repair; pottering in the garden; -taking his wife out for a walk, or occasionally to the -theatre; and saving as much as he could. He would -be good to his wife—she was his. He wanted to -get married at once. He wanted to be master of -his own dwelling. He wanted to have Laura's kiss -when he went out of a morning to earn the bread-and-cheese. -He wanted to see her figure at the -door when he returned at night. He wanted to -share with her the placid, domestic evening. He -wanted to tease her, and to get his ears boxed and -be called a great silly. He wanted to creep into -the kitchen and surprise her with a pinch of the -cheek as she bent over the range. He wanted to -whisk her up in his arms, carry her from one room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -to another, and set her down breathless in a chair.... -Ah! Let it be soon. And as for the -more distant future, he would not look at that. He -would keep his eyes on the immediate foreground, -and be happy while he could. After all, perhaps -things had been ordered for the best; perhaps he -had no genuine talent for writing. And yet at that -moment he was conscious that he possessed the incommunicable -imaginative insights of the author.... -But it was done with now.</p> - -<p>The conductor called out their destination, and -as Laura's sister gathered the child in her arms he -sprang out and hurried down Carteret Street in -order to reach the house first and so avoid a meeting -on the doorstep. He heard the trot of the child -behind him. Children.... Perhaps a child -of his might give sign of literary ability. If so—and -surely these instincts descended, were not lost—how -he would foster and encourage it!</p> - - -<h4>THE END</h4> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<h4><a id="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS"></a>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h4> - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="4" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="left">Page</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER I</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER II</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER III</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER V</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER X</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXV</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXX</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXXI</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXXII</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man from the North, by Arnold Bennett - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN FROM THE NORTH *** - -***** This file should be named 52247-h.htm or 52247-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/2/4/52247/ - -Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at -http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made -available by the Internet Archive.) - - -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. 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