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diff --git a/5636-0.txt b/5636-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b106c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/5636-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15786 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Winding Paths, by Gertrude Page + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Winding Paths + +Author: Gertrude Page + +Release Date: July 27, 2002 [eBook #5636] +[Most recently updated: January 29, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: W. Debeuf + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINDING PATHS *** + + + + +Winding Paths + +by Gertrude Page + + +Contents + + CHAPTER I. + CHAPTER II. + CHAPTER III. + CHAPTER IV. + CHAPTER V. + CHAPTER VI. + CHAPTER VII. + CHAPTER VIII. + CHAPTER IX. + CHAPTER X. + CHAPTER XI. + CHAPTER XII. + CHAPTER XIII. + CHAPTER XIV. + CHAPTER XV. + CHAPTER XVI. + CHAPTER XVII. + CHAPTER XVIII. + CHAPTER XIX. + CHAPTER XX. + CHAPTER XXI. + CHAPTER XXII. + CHAPTER XXIII. + CHAPTER XXIV. + CHAPTER XXV. + CHAPTER XXVI. + CHAPTER XXVII. + CHAPTER XXVIII. + CHAPTER XXIX. + CHAPTER XXX. + CHAPTER XXXI. + CHAPTER XXXII. + CHAPTER XXXIII. + CHAPTER XXXIV. + CHAPTER XXXV. + CHAPTER XXXVI. + CHAPTER XXXVII. + CHAPTER XXXVIII. + CHAPTER XXXIX. + CHAPTER XL. + CHAPTER XLI. + CHAPTER XLII. + CHAPTER XLIII. + CHAPTER XLIV. + CHAPTER XLV. + CHAPTER XLVI. + + + + +“So many gods, so many creeds, +So many paths that wind and wind, +And just the art of being kind +Is all the sad world needs.” + + + + +WINDING PATHS + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +There were several interesting points about Hal Pritchard and Lorraine +Vivian, but perhaps the most striking was their friendship for each +other. From two wide-apart extremes they had somehow gravitated +together, and commenced at boarding-school a friendship which only +deepened and strengthened after their exit from the wise supervision of +the Misses Walton, and their entrance as “finished” young women into +the wide area of the world at large. + +Lorraine went first. She was six years older than Hal, and under +ordinary circumstances would hardly have been at school with her at +all. As it was, she went at nineteen because she was not very strong, +and sea air was considered good for her. She was a sort of +parlour-boarder, sent to study languages and accomplishments while she +inhaled the sea air of Eastgate. Why, among all the scholars, who for +the most part regarded her as a resplendent, beautifully dressed being +outside their sphere, she should have quickly developed an ardent +affection for Hal, the rough-and-ready tomboy, remained a mystery; but +far from being a passing fancy, it ripened steadily into a deep and +lasting attachment. + +When Hal was fifteen, Lorraine left; and it has to be admitted that the +anxious, motherly hearts of the Misses Walton drew a deep breath of +relief, and hoped the friendship would now cease, unfed by daily +contact and daily mutual interests. But there they under-estimated the +depth of affection already in the hearts of the girls, and their +natural loyalty, which scorned a mere question of separation, and +entered into one another’s interests just as eagerly as when they were +together. + +Not that they, the Misses Walton, had anything actually against +Lorraine, beyond the fact that she promised a degree of beauty likely, +they felt, coupled as it was with a charming wit and a fascinating +personality, to open out some striking career for her, and possibly +become a snare and a temptation. + +On the other hand, Hal was just a homely, nondescript, untidy, riotous +type of schoolgirl, with a very strong capacity for affection, and an +unmanageable predilection for scrapes and adventures, that made her +more likely to fall under the sway of Lorraine, should it promise any +chance of excitement. + +And one had only to view Lorraine among the other “young ladies” of the +seminary to fear the worst. Miss Emily Walton would never have admitted +it; but even she, fondly clinging to the old tradition that the terms +“girls” or “women” are less impressive than “young ladies”, felt +somehow that the orthodox nomenclature did not successfully fit her two +most remarkable pupils. Of course they were ladies by birth and +education, else they would certainly not have been admitted to so +select a seminary; but whereas the rest of the pupils might be said +more or less to study, and improve, and have their being in a milk and +biscuit atmosphere, Hal and Lorraine were quite uncomfortably more like +champagne and good, honest, frothing beer. + +No amount of prunes and prism advice and surroundings seemed to dull +the sparkle in Lorraine, nor daunt nor suppress fearless, outspoken, +unmanageable Hal. In separate camps, with a nice little following each, +to keep an even balance, they might merely have livened the free hours; +but as a combination it soon became apparent they would waken up the +embryo young ladies quite alarmingly, and initiate a new atmosphere of +gaiety that might become beyond the restraining, select influence even +of the Misses Walton. + +The first scare came with the new French mistress, who had a perfect +Parisian accent, but knew very little English. Of course Lorraine +easily divined this, and, being something of a French scholar already, +she soon won Mademoiselle’s confidence by one or two charmingly +expressed, lucid French explanations. + +Then came the translation lesson, and choosing a fable that would +specially lend itself, she started the class off translating it into an +English fabrication that convulsed both pupils and mistress. Hal, of +course, followed suit, and the merriment grew fast and furious after a +few positively rowdy lessons. + +Mademoiselle herself gave the fun away at the governesses’ dinner, a +very precise and formal meal, which took place at seven o’clock, to be +followed at eight by the pupils’ supper of bread-and-butter with +occasional sardines. She related in broken English what an amusing book +they had to read, repeating a few slang terms, that would certainly +not, under any circumstances, have been allowed to pass the lips of the +young ladies. + +After that it was deemed advisable Lorraine should translate French +alone, and Hal be severely admonished. + +Then there was the dreadful affair of the Boys’ College. It was not +unusual for them to walk past the school on Sunday afternoons; but it +was only after Lorraine came that a system was instituted by which, if +the four front boys all blew their noses as they passed, it was a +signal that a note, or possibly several, had been slipped under the +loose brick at the school entrance. + +Further, it was only Lorraine who could have sent the answers, because +none of the other girls had an uncle often running down for a breath of +sea air, when, of course, he needed his dear niece’s company. He was +certainly a very attentive uncle, and a very generous one too, judging +by the Buszard’s cakes and De Brei’s chocolates, and Miss Walton could +not help eyeing him a little askance. + +But then, as Miss Emily said, he was such a very striking, +distinguished-looking gentleman, people had already been interested to +learn he had a niece at the Misses Walton’s seminary. Besides, one +could not reasonably object to a relative calling, and he had seemed so +devoted to Lorraine’s handsome mother when they had together brought +her to school. + +But of course, after the disgraceful episode of the notes that blew +into the road, the windows had to be dulled at once, so that no one +could see the boys pass. It was a mercy the thing had been discovered +so soon. + +Then shortly after came the breaking-up dances, one for the +governesses, when the masters from the college were invited, and one +the next night for the girls, when the remains of the same supper did +duty again, and with reference to which Miss Walton gently told them +she had not been able to ask any of the boys from the school, as she +was afraid their parents would not approve; she hoped they were not +disappointed, and that the big girls would dance with the little ones, +as it pleased them so. + +Lorraine immediately replied sweetly that none of them cared about +dancing with boys, and some of the children would be much more amusing. +She made herself spokeswoman, because Miss Walton had +half-unconsciously glanced at her at the mere mention of the word boys, +fondly believing that the other well-brought-up pupils would prefer +their room to their company, whereas Lorraine might think the party +very tame. Her answer was a pleasant surprise. + +But then, who was to know that the night of the governesses’ dance she +had bribed the three girls in the small dormitory to silence, and after +some half-dozen of them had gone to bed with their night-gowns over +their dresses, had given the signal to arise directly the dance was in +full swing. After that they adjourned to the small dormitory and spread +out a repast of sweets and cakes, to which such of the younger masters +as were brave enough to risk detection slipped away up the school +staircase at intervals, to be more than rewarded by Lorraine’s +inimitable mimicry. + +“There will be no boys for you to dance with, dear girls,” she told +them gently, “as your parents might not approve,” then added, with +roguish lights in her splendid eyes: “No boys, dear girls, only a few +masters to supper in the small dormitory.” + +Hal’s misdemeanours were of a less subtle kind. Neither boys nor +masters interested her particularly as yet; but there were a +thousand-and-one other ways of livening things up, and she tried them +all, sometimes getting off scot free, and sometimes finding herself +uncomfortably pilloried before the rest of the school, to be +cross-questioned and severely admonished at great lenght before being +“sent to Coventry” for a stated period. + +But, had she only known it, there were many chicken-hearted girls who +envied her even her disgrace, for the sake of the dauntless, shining +spirit of her that nothing ever crushed. And as for being “sent to +Coventry”, well, Hal and Lorraine easily coped with that through the +twopennyworth system. + +If an offender was sent to Coventry, any other girl who spoke to her +had to pay a fine of twopence, and if either of these two gay spirits +found themselves doomed to silence, they persuaded such of the others +as were “game” enough, to have occasional “twopennyworths”. + +Of the two, Hal was far the greater favourite; she was in fact the +popular idol; for though the girls were full of admiration for +Lorraine, and not a little proud of her, they were also a little afraid +of a wit that could be sharp-edged, and perhaps resentful too of that +nameless something about her striking personality that made them feel +their inferiority. + +Hal was quite different, and her unfailing spirits, her vigorous +championing of the oppressed, or scathing denunciation of anything +sneaky and mean, made them all look up to her, and love her, whether +she knew or not. + +Even the governess felt her compelling attraction, and would often, by +a timely word, save her from the consequences of some forgetful moment. +At the same time, the one who warned Miss Walton against the possible +ill results of the girl’s growing love for Lorraine little understood +the nature she had to deal with. + +When Hal found herself in the private sanctum, being gently admonished +concerning a friendship that was thought to be growing too strong, she +was quick instantly to resent the slur on her chum. She had been sent +for immediately after “evening prep.,” and having, as usual, inked her +fingers generously, and rubbed an ink-smudge across her face, to say +nothing of really disgracefully tumbled hair, she looked a comical +enough object standing before the impressive presence of the head +mistress. + +“Really, Hal,” Miss Walton remonstrated, “can’t you even keep tidy for +an hour in the evening?” + +“Not when it’s German night,” answered outspoken Hal; “where to put the +verbs, and how to split them, makes my hair stand on end, and the ink +squirm out of the pot.” + +Miss Walton tried to look severe, remarking: “Don’t be frivolous here, +my dear”; but, as Hal described it later, “she looked as if having so +often to be sedate was beginning to make her tired.” + +But when she proceeded to explain to Hal that neither she nor her +sister were easy in their minds about her growing devotion to Lorraine, +Hal’s expressive mouth began to look rather stern, and neither the +ink-smudges nor the tousled hair could rob her of a certain naïve +dignity as she asked, “Are you implying anything against Lorraine?” + +“No, no, my dear, certainly not,” Miss Walton replied, feeling slightly +at a loss to express herself, “but I have never encouraged a violent +friendship between two girls that is apt to make them hold aloof from +the others, and be continually in one another’s society. And in this +instance, Lorraine being so much older than you, and of a temperament +hardly likely to appeal to your brother, as a desirable one in your +great friend—” + +“I am not asking Dudley to make her his great friend—” + +“Don’t interrupt me, dear. I am only speaking of what I am perfectly +aware are your brother’s feeling concerning you; and seeing you have +neither father nor mother, I feel my responsibility and his the +greater.” + +“But what is the matter with Lorraine?” Hal cried, growing a little +exasperated. “She is not nearly so frivolous as I am, and works far +harder.” + +Miss Walton hesitated a little. “We feel she is naturally rather +worldly-minded and ambitious, whereas you—” She paused. + +“Whereas I am a simpleton,” suggested Hal, with a mischievous light in +her eyes. “Well, then, dear Miss Walton, how fortunate for me that some +one clever and briljant is willing to give me her friendship and help +to lift me out of my slough of simpletondom!” + +Miss Walton looked up with a reproof on her lips, but it died away, and +a new expression came into her eyes as she seemed to see something in +this unruly pupil she had not before suspected. Hal still looked as if +a smothered sense of injustice might presently explode into hot words; +but in the meantime the air of dignity stood its ground in spite of +smudges and untidiness. + +Neither spoke for a moment, and then Miss Walton remarked: “You do not +mean to be guided by me in this matter?” + +“Lorraine is my friend,” Hal answered. “I cannot let myself listen to +anything that suggests a slur upon her.” + +“Not even if your brother expressed a wish on the subject?” + +“I do not ask Dudley to let me choose his friends.” + +“That is quite a different matter. He is fifteen years your senior.” + +Hal was silent. She stood with her hands behind her, and her head held +high, and her clear eyes very straight to the front; well-knit, +well-built, with a promise of that vague something which is so much +stronger a factor in the world than mere beauty. + +Miss Walton, who necessarily saw much of the mediocre and commonplace +in her life-work of turning growing girls into presentable young women, +felt her feelings undergo a further change. She also had the tact to +see an appeal would go farther than mere advice. + +“I was only thinking of you, Hal,” she said, a trifle tiredly. “I have +nothing against Lorraine, except that she is dangerously attractive if +she likes, and her love of admiration and excitement does not make her +a very wise friend for a girl of your age. You are different, and your +paths are likely to lead far apart in the future. It did not seem to me +desirable you should grow too fond of each other.” + +Even as she spoke she found herself wondering what Hal would say, and +in an unlooked-for way interested. + +Hal answered promptly: + +“I do not think our lives will lie apart. Both of us will have to be +breadwinners at any rate, and that will be a bond.” + +Her mobile face seemed to change. “Miss Walton, I’m devoted to +Lorraine. I always shall be. But you needn’t be anxious. The stronger +influence is not where you think. I can bend Lorraine’s will, but she +cannot bend mine. It will always be so. And nothing that you nor any +one can say will make me change to her.” + +They said little more, but when she was alone the head mistress stood +silently for some minutes looking into the dying embers of her fire. +Then she uttered to herself an enigmatical sentence: + +“Beauty will give to Lorraine the great career; but the greater woman +will be Hal.” + +Shortly after that Lorraine departed, and about a year later embarked +in the theatrical world. + +No one was surprised, but very adverse opinions were expressed among +the girls concerning her success or otherwise; those who were jealous, +or who had felt slighted during her short reign as school beauty, +condemning any possible likelihood of a hit. + +Hal said very little. She was already reaching out tentacles to the +wider world, where schoolgirl criticisms would be mere prattle; and it +was far more serious to her to wonder what Brother Dudley would think +of her having an actress for her greatest friend. + +She foresaw rocks ahead, but smiled humorously to herself in spite of +them. + +“What a tussle there’ll be!” was her thought, “and how in the world am +I to convince Dudley that Lorraine does not represent a receptacle for +all the deadly sins? Heigho! The mere fact of my disagreeing will +persuade him I am already contaminated, and he will see us both +heading, like fire-engines, for the nethermost hell.” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +If Dudley Pritchard’s imagination did not actually picture the lurid +and violent descent Hal suggested, it certainly did view with the +utmost alarm his lively young sister’s friendship with a fully fledged +actress. + +As a matter of fact, Miss Walton’s prognostications concerning his +attitude to Lorraine Vivian, even as a schoolgirl, had been instantly +confirmed upon their first meeting. + +For no particular reason he disapproved of her. That was rather typical +of Dudley. He disapproved of a good many things without quite knowing +why, or being at any particular pains to find out. + +Not that it made him bigoted. He could in fact be fairly tolerant; but +as Hal affectionately observed, Dudley was so apt to pat himself on the +back for his toleration towards things that it would never have occured +to most persons needed tolerating. + +She knew perfectly well that he considered himself very tolerant +towards much that was to be deprecated in her, but, far from resenting +his attitude, she saw chiefly the humorous side, and managed to glean a +good deal of quiet amusement from it. + +Considering the fifteen years’ difference in their ages, and the fact +that Dudley was a hard-working architect in London, seeing life on all +sides, while Hal was still a hoydenish schoolgirl, it was really +remarkable how thoroughly she grasped and understood his character, and +a great deal concerning the world in general, while he seemed to remain +at his first decisions concerning her and most things. + +It was just perhaps the difference between the book-student and the +life-student. Dudley had always had a passion for books and for his +profession. His clever brain was a well of knowledge concerning ancient +architectures and relics of antiquity. He studied them because he loved +them, and, before all things else, to him they seemed worth while. + +He loved his sister also—he loved her better than any one, but it would +never have occured to him that she should be studied, or that there was +anything in her to study. To him she was quite an ordinary girl, rather +nice-looking when she was neat, but with a most unfortunate lack of the +sedate dignity and discretion that he considered essential to the +typically admirable woman. + +That there might be other traits in their place, equally admirable, did +not occur to him. They ware not at any rate the traits he most admired. + +Hal, on the other hand, was different in every respect. She loathed +books, and learning, and what she called “dead old bones and rubbish.” +But she loved human nature, and studied it in every phase she could. + +Left at a very tender age to Dudley’s sole care and protection, she had +to grow up without the enfolding, sympathetic love of a mother, or the +gay companionship of brothers and sisters. Not in the least depressed, +she started off at an early age in quest of adventure to see what the +world was like outside the four walls of their home. + +Brought back, sometimes by a policeman, with whom she had already +become on the friendliest terms, sometimes in a cab in which some one +else had placed her, sometimes by a kindly stranger, she would yet slip +away again on the first opportunity, into the crush of mankind. +Punishment and expostulation were alike useless; Hal was just as +fascinated with people as Dudley was with books, and where her nature +called she fearlessly followed. + +Through this roving trait she picked up an amount of commonplace, +everyday knowledge that would have dumbfoundered the clever young +architect, had he been in the least able to comprehend it. But while he +dipped enthusiastically into bygone ages, and won letters and honours +in his profession, she asked questions about life in the present, and +grappled with the problem of everyday existence and the peculiarities +of human nature, in a way that made her largely his superior, despite +his letters and honours. + +And best of all was her complete understanding of him. Dudley fondly +imagined he was fulfilling to the best possible endeavours his +obligations of love and guardianship to his young sister. The young +sister, with her tender, quizzical understanding, regarded him as a +mere child, with a deliciously humorous way of always taking himself +very seriously; a brilliant brain, an irritating fund of superiority, +and something altogether apart that made him dearer than heaven and +earth and all things therein to her. + +Hal might be dearer than all else to Dudley, without finding herself +loved in any way out of the ordinary, seeing how little he cared much +about except his profession; but to be the beloved of all, to an eager, +passionate, intense nature like hers, meant that in her heart she had +placed him upon a pedestal, and, while fondly having her little smile +over his shortcomings, yet loved him with an all-embracing love. He did +not suspect it, and he would not have understood it if he had; being +rather of the opinion that, considering all he had tried to be to her, +she might have loved him enough in return to make a greater effort to +please him. + +Her obdurate resistance during the first stage of his disapproval of +Lorraine Vivian increased this feeling considerably. He felt that if +she really cared for him she should be willing to be guided by his +judgment; and while perceiving, just as Miss Walton had done, that she +meant to have her own way, he had less perspicacity to perceive also +that nameless trait which, for want of a better word, we sometimes call +grit, and which dimly proclaimed she might be trusted to follow her own +strength of character. + +When, later, his attitude of displeasure increased a thousandfold. + +He was not told of it just at first. Hal was then in the throes of +convincing him that her particular talents lay in the direction of +secretarial work and journalism, rather than governessing or idleness, +and persuading him to make arrangements at once for her to learn +shorthand and typewriting with a view to becoming the private secretary +of a well-known editor of one of the leading newspapers. + +The editor in question was a distant connection, and quite willing to +take her if she proved herself capable, recognising, through his skill +at reading character, that she might eventually prove invaluable in +other ways than mere letter-writing. + +Dudley, seeing no farther than the fact of the City office, set his +face resolutely against it as long as he could; but, of course, in the +end Hal carried the day. Then came the shock of the knowledge that +Lorraine had gone on the stage; and if, as had been said before, he did +not actually picture the lurid exit to the lower regions Hal gave him +credit for, he was sufficiently upset to have wakeful nights and many +anxious, worried hours. + +And to make it worse, Hal would not even be serious. + +“Oh, don’t look like that, Dudley!” she cried; “we really are not in +any immediate danger of selling our souls to the Prince of Darkness. +You dear old solemnsides! Just because Lorraine is going on the stage, +I believe you already see me in spangles, jumping through a hoop. Or +rather ‘trying to’, because it is a dead cert. I should miss the hoop, +and do a sort of double somersault over the horse’s tail.” + +Dudley shut his firm lips a little more tightly, and looked hard at his +boots, without vouchsafing a reply. + +“As a matter of fact,” continued the incorrigible, “you ought to +perceive how beautifully life balances things, by giving a dangerously +attractive person like Lorraine a matter-of-fact, commonplace pal like +myself to restrain her, and at the same time ward off possible dangers +from various unoffending humans, who might fall hurtfully under her +spell.” + +“It is only the danger to you that I have anything to do with.” + +“Oh fie, Dudley! as if I mattered half as much as Humanity with a +capital H.” + +“To me, personally, you matter far more in this particular case.” + +“And yet, really, the chief danger to me is that I might unconsciously +catch some reflection of Lorraine’s charm and become dangerously +attractive myself, instead of just an outspoken hobbledehoy no one +takes seriously.” + +“I am not afraid of that,” he said, evoking a peal of laughter of which +he could not even see the point; “but since you are quite determined to +go into the City as a secretary, instead of procuring a nice +comfortable home as a companion, or staying quietly here to improve +your mind, I naturally feel you will encounter quite enough dangers +without getting mixed up in a theatrical set. Though, really,” in a +grumbling voice, “I can’t see why you don’t stay at home like any +sensible girl. If I am not rich, I have at least enough for two.” + +“But if I stayed at home, and lived on you, Dudley, I should feel I had +to improve my mind by way of making you some return; and you can’t +think how dreadfully my mind hates the idea of being improved. And if I +went to some dear old lady as companion, she would be sure to die in an +apoplectic fit in a month, and I should be charged with manslaughter. +And I can’t teach, because I don’t know anything. The only serious +danger I shall run as Mr. Elliott’s secretary will be putting an +occasional addition of my own to his letters, in a fit of exasperation, +or driving his sub-editor mad; and he seems willing to risk that.” + +“You are likely to run greater dangers than that if you allow yourself +to be drawn into a theatrical circle.” + +“What sort of dangers?… Oh, my dear, saintly episcopal architect, what +foundations of darkness are you building upon now, out of a little +old-fashioned, out-of-date prejudice which you might have dug up from +some of your studies in antiquity books? There are just as many dangers +outside the theatrical world as in it, for the sort of woman dangers +are attractive to; and little Sunday-school teachers have come to +grief, while famous actresses have won through unscathed.” + +Dudley’s face expressed both surprise and distaste. + +“I wonder what you know about it anyway. I think you are talking at +random. Certainly no dangers would come near you if you listened to my +wishes and settled down quietly at home. If you don’t care about living +in Bloomsbury, I will take a small house in the suburbs, and you can +amuse yourself with the housekeeping, and tennis, and that sort of +thing.” + +“And when you want to marry?” + +“I shall not want to marry. I am wedded to my profession.” + +“O Dudley!… Dudley!…” She slipped off the table where she had been +jauntily seated, and came and stood beside him, passing her arm through +his. “Can’t you see I’d just die of a little house in the suburbs, +looking after the housekeeping: it’s the most dreadful and awful thing +on the face of the earth. I’m not a bit sorry for slaves, and +prisoners, and shipwrecked sailors, and East-end starvelings; every bit +of sympathy I’ve got is used up for the girls who’ve got to stay in +hundrum homes, and be nothing, and do nothing, but just finished young +ladies. Work is the finest thing in the world. It’s just splendid to +have something real to do, and be paid for it. Why, they can’t even go +to prison, or be hungry, or anything except possible wives for possible +men who may or may not happen to want them.” + +“Of course you are talking arrant nonsense,” Dudley replied frigidly. +“I don’t know where in the world you get all your queer ideas. Woman’s +sphere is most decidedly the home; you seem to—” but a small hand was +clapped vigorously over his mouth, and eyes of feigned horror searching +his. + +“Do you know, I’m half afraid you’ve lived in your musty old books so +long, Dudley,” with mock seriousness, “that you’ve lost all count of +time. It is about a thousand years since sane and sensible men believed +all that drivel about women’s only sphere being the home, and since +women were content to be mere chattels, stuck in with the rest of the +furniture, to look after the children. Nowadays the jolly, sensible +woman that a man likes for wife or pal, is very often a busy worker.” + +“Let her work busily at home, then!” + +“Why, you’ll want me to crochet antimacassars next, or cross-stitch a +sampler! Just imagine the thing if I tried! It would have dreadful +results, because I should be sure to use bad language—I couldn’t help +it; and the article I should concoct would make people faint, or turn +cross-eyed or colour-blind. I shan’t do nearly so much harm in the end +as a City secretary with an actress pal.” + +“One thing is quite certain: you mean, as usual, to have your own way, +and my feelings go for nothing at all.” + +He turned away from her, and took up his hat to go out. + +“Your protestations of affection, Hal, are apt to seem both insincere +and out of place.” + +The tears came swiftly to her eyes, and she took a quick step towards +him, but he had gone, and closed the door after him before she could +speak. She watched his retreating figure, with the tears still +lingering, and then suddenly she smiled. + +“Anyhow, I haven’t got to be sweet and gentle and housekeepy,” was her +comforting reflection. “I’m going to be a real worker, earning real +money, and have Lorraine for my pal as well. Some day Dudley will see +it is all right, and I’m only about half as black as he supposes, and +that I love him better than anything else at heart. In the meantime, as +I’m likely to get a biggish dose of dignified disapproval over this +theatre business, I’d better ask Dick to come out to tea this afternoon +to buck me up for what lies ahead. Goodness! what a boon a jolly cousin +is when you happen to have been mated with your great-aunt for a +brother.” + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +For a few years after that particular disagreement nothing of special +note happened. Hal got quickly through her course of shorthand and +typewriting and became Mr. Elliott’s private secretary and general +factotum, which last included an occasional flight into journalism as a +reporter. Naturally, since this sometimes took her to out-of-the-way +places, and brought her in contact with human oddities, she loved it +beyond all things, and was ever ready for a jaunt, no matter whither it +took her. + +Brother Dudley was discreetly left a little in the dark about it, +because nothing in the world would ever have persuaded him that a girl +of Hal’s age could run promiscuously about London unmolested. Hal knew +better. She was perfectly well able to acquire a stony stare that +baffled the most dauntless of impertinent intruders; and she had, +moreover, an upright, grenadier-like carriage, and an air of +business-like energy that were safeguards in themselves. + +A great deal of persuasive tact was necessary, however, to win Dudley’s +consent to a year in America, whither Mr. Elliott had to go on +business; but on Mrs. Elliott calling upon him herself to explain that +she also was going, and would take care of Hal, he reluctantly +consented. + +Curiously enough, it was that year in a great measure that changed the +current of Lorraine’s life. She came to the cross-roads, and took the +wrong turn. + +Perhaps Miss Walton, with her knowledge of girls, could have foretold +it. She might have said, in that enigmatical way of hers, “If Lorraine +comes to the cross-roads, where life offers a short cut to fame, +instead of a long, wearisome drudgery, she will probably take it. Hal +will score off her own bat, or not at all. Lorraine will only care +about gaining her end.” + +Anyhow the cross-roads came, and Hal, the stronger, was not there. As a +matter of fact, for some little time the two had not seen much of each +other. Lorraine was touring in the provinces, and rarely had time to +come to London. Hal was tied by her work, and could not spare the time +to go to Lorraine. + +There was for a little while a cessation of intercourse. Neither was +the least bit less fond, but circumstances kept them apart, and they +could only wait until opportunity brought them together again. Both +were too busy for lengthy correspondence, and only wrote short letters +occasionally, just to assure each other the friendship held firm, and +absence made no real difference. + +Then Hal went off to America, and while she was away Lorraine came to +her cross-roads. + +It is hardly necessary to review in detail what her life had been since +she joined the theatrical profession. It is mostly hard work and +disillusion and disappointment for all in the beginning, and only a +very small percentage ever win through to the forefront. + +But for Lorraine, on the top of all the rest, was a mercenary, +unscrupulous, intriguing mother, who added tenfold to what must +inevitably have been a heavy burden and strain—a mother who taxed her +utmost powers of endurance, and brought her shame as well as endless +worry; and yet to whom, let it be noted down now, to her everlasting +credit, no matter in what other way she may have erred, she never +turned a deaf ear nor treated with the smallest unkindness. + +It would be impossible to gauge just what Lorraine had to go through in +her first few years on the stage. She seemed to make no headway at all, +and at the end of the third year she felt herself as far as ever from +getting her chance. + +That she was brilliantly clever and brilliantly attractive had not so +far weighed the balance to her side. There were many others also clever +and attractive. She felt she had practically everything except the one +thing needed—influence. + +Thus her spirits were at a very low ebb. She was still touring the +provinces, and heartily sick of all the discomfort involved. Dingy +lodgings, hurried train journeys, much bickering and jealousy in the +company with which she was acting, and a great deal of domestic worry +over that handsome, extravagant mother, who had once taken her, in +company with the so-called uncle, to the select seminary of the Misses +Walton. + +How her mother managed to live and dress as if she were rich had +puzzled Lorraine many times in those days; but when she left the +shelter of those narrow, restricting walls, where windows were +whitewashed so that even boys might not be seen passing by, she learnt +many things all too quickly. + +She learnt something about the uncles too. One of them was at great +pains to try and teach her, but with hideous shapes and suggestions +trying to crowd her mind, the thought of Hal’s freshness still acted as +a sort of protection and kept her untainted. + +A little later, after she had commenced to earn a salary, she found +that directly the family purse was empty, and creditors objectionably +insistent, she herself had to come to the rescue. + +There were some miserable days then. It was useless to upbraid her +mother. She always posed as the injured one, and could not see that in +robbing her child of a real home she was strewing her path with dangers +as well, by placing her in an ambiguous, comfortless position, from +which any relief seemed worth while. + +Then at last came the welcome news that Mrs. Vivian had procured a post +as lady-housekeeper to a rich stockbroker in Kensington, who had also a +large interest in a West-end theatre. + +Lorraine read the glowing terms in which her mother described her new +home and employer with a deep sense of relief, seeing in the new +venture a probable escape for herself from those relentless demands +upon her own scanty purse. A month later came the paragraph, in a +voluminous epistle: + +“Mr. Raynor says you are to make his house your home whenever you are +free. He insists upon giving you a floor all to yourself, like a little +flat, where you can receive your friends undisturbed, and feel you have +a little home of your own. I am quite certain also that he will try to +help you in your career through his interest in the Greenway Theatre.” + +If Lorraine wondered at all concerning this unknown man’s interest in +her welfare she kept it to herself. + +A home instead of the dingy lodgings she had grown to hate, and the +prospect of influential help, were sufficiently alluring to drown all +other reflections. + +When the tour was over she went direct to Kensington, to make her home +with her mother until her next engagement. She was already too much a +woman of the world not to notice at once that her mother and her host’s +relations seemed scarcely those of employee and employer, and there was +a little passage of arms between herself and Mrs. Vivian the next +morning. + +In reply to a long harangue, in which that lady set forth the +advantages Lorraine was to gain from her mother’s perspicacity in +obtaining such a post, she asked rather shortly: + +“And why in the world should Mr. Raynor do all this for me, simply +because you are his housekeeper?” + +A red spot burned in Mrs. Vivian’s cheek as she replied: “He does it +because he wants me to stay; and I have told him I cannot do so unless +he makes it possible for me to give you a comfortable, happy home +here.” + +Lorraine’s lips curled with a scorn she did not attempt to conceal, but +she only stood silently gazing across the Park. + +She had already decided to make the best of her mother’s deficiencies, +seeing she was almost the only relative she possessed, but she had a +natural loathing of hypocrisy, and wished she would leave facts alone +instead of attempting to gloss them over. Ever since she left school +she had been obliged to live in lodgings, because her mother would not +take the trouble to try and provide anything more of a home. + +It was a little too much, therefore, that she should now allude to her +maternal solicitude because it happened to suit her purpose. She felt +herself growing hard and callous and bitter under the strain of the +early struggle to succeed, handicapped as she was; and because of one +or two ugly experiences that came in the path of such a warfare. She +was losing heart also, and feeling bitterly the stinging whip of +circumstances. As she stood gazing across the Park, some girls about +her own age rode past, returning from their morning gallop, talking and +laughing gaily together. + +Lorraine found herself wondering what life would be like with her +beauty and talent if there were no vulgarly extravagant, unprincipled +mother in the background, no insistent need to earn money, no gnawing +ambition for a fame she already began to feel might prove an empty joy. + +She had not seen Hal for a year, and she felt an ache for her. In the +shifting, unreliable, soul-numbing atmosphere of her stage career, she +still looked upon Hal as a City of Refuge; and when she had not seen +her for some time she felt herself drifting towards unknown shoals and +quicksands. + +And, unfortunately, Hal was away in America, with the editor to whom +she was secretary and typist, and not very likely to be back for three +months. + +No; there was nothing for it but to make the best of her mother’s +explanation and the comfortable home at her feet. + +As for Mr. Raynor himself, though he seemed to Lorraine vulgarly proud +of his self-made position, vulgarly ostentatious of his wealth, and +vulgarly familiar with both herself and her mother, she could not +actually lay any offence to his charge. And in any case, he undoubtedly +could help her, if he chose, to procure at last the coveted part in a +London theatre. With this end in view, she laid herself out to please +him and to make the most of her opportunity. + +And in this way she came to those cross-roads which had to decide her +future. + +Before she had been a week in the house, Frank Raynor deserted his +housekeeper altogether, and fell in love with the housekeeper’s +daughter. Within a fortnight he had laid all his possessions at +Lorraine’s feet, promising her not only wealth and devotion, but the +brilliant career she so coveted. + +The man was generous, but he was no saint. Give him herself, and she +would have the world at her feet if he could bring it there. Give any +less, and he would have no more to say to her whatsoever. + +It was the cross-roads. + +Lorrain struggled manfully for a month. She hated the idea of marrying +a man better suited in every way to her mother. She dreaded and hated +the thought of what had perhaps been between them; yet she was afraid +to ask any question that might corroborate her worst fears. + +All that was best in her of delicate and refined sensitiveness surged +upward, and she longed to run away to some remote island far removed +from the harsh realities of life. + +Yet, how could she? Without money, without influence, without rich +friends, what did the world at large hold for her? + +How much easier to go with the tide—seize her opportunity—and dare Fate +to do her worst. + +At the last there was a bitter scene between mother and daughter. + +“If you refuse Frank Raynor now, you ruin the two of us,” was Mrs. +Vivian’s angry indictment. “What can we expect from him any more? How +are you ever going to get another such chance to make a hit?” + +“And what if it ruins my life to marry him?” Lorraine asked. + +“Such nonsense! The man can give you everything. What in the world more +do you want? He is good enough looking; he could pass as a gentleman, +and he is rich.” + +A sudden nauseous spasm at all the ugliness of life shook Lorraine. She +turned on her mother swiftly, scarcely knowing what she said, and +asked: + +“You are anxious enough to sell me to him. What is he to you anyway? +What has he ever been to you?” + +Mrs. Vivian blanched before the suddenness of the attack, but she held +her ground. + +“You absurd child, what in the world could he be to me? It is easy +enough to see he has no eyes for any one but you.” + +“And before I came?” + +Lorraine took a step forward, and for a moment the two women faced each +other squarely. The eyes of each were a little hard, the expressions a +little flinty; but behind the older woman’s was a scornful, +unscrupulous indifference to any moral aspect; behind the younger’s a +hunted, rather pitiful hopelessness. The ugly things of life had caught +the one in their talons and held her there for good and all, more or +less a willing slave, the soul of the younger was still alive, still +conscious, still capable of distinguishing the good and desiring it. + +The mother turned away at last with a little harsh laugh. + +“Before you came he was nothing to me. He never has been anything.” + +Without waiting for Lorraine to speak, she turned again, and added: + +“If you weren’t a fool, you would perceive he is treating you better +than ninety-nine men in a hundred. He has suggested marriage. The +others might not have done.” + +“Oh! I’m not a fool in that way,” came the bitter reply, “but I’ve +wondered once or twice what your attitude would have been, +supposing—er—he had been one of the ninety-nine!” + +Mrs. Vivian was saved replying by the unexpected appearance of Frank +Raynor himself. Entering the room with a quick step, he suddenly +stopped short and looked from one to the other. Something in their +expressions told him what had transpired. He turned sharply on the +mother. + +“You’ve been speaking to Lorraine about me. I told you I wouldn’t have +it. I know your bullying ways, and I said she was to be left to decide +for herself.” + +Lorraine saw an angry retort on her mother’s lips, and hurriedly left +the room. She put on her hat and slipped away into the Park. What was +she to do?… where, oh where was Hal! + +Within three months the short cut was taken. Lorraine was engaged to +play a leading part at the Greenway Theatre, and she was the wife of +Frank Raynor. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +When Hal came back from America and heard about Lorraine’s marriage, it +was a great shock to her. At first she could hardly bring herself to +believe it at all. Nothing thoroughly convinced her until she stood in +the pretty Kensington house and beheld Mrs. Vivian’s pronounced air of +triumph, and Lorraine’s somewhat forced attempts at joyousness. + +It was one of the few occasions in her life when Lorraine was nervous. +She did not want Hal to know the sordid facts; and she did not believe +she would be able to hide them from her. + +When Hal, from a mass of somewhat jerky, contradictory information, had +gleaned that the new leading part at the London theatre had been gained +through the middle-aged bridegroom’s influence, her comment was +sufficiently direct. + +“Oh, that’s why you did it, is it? Well, I only hope you don’t hate the +sight of him already.” + +“How absurd you are, Hal!... Of course I don’t hate the sight of him. +He’s a dear. He gives me everything in the world I want, if he possibly +can.” + +“How dull. It’s much more fun getting a few things for oneself. And +when the only thing in all the world you want is your freedom, do you +imagine he’ll give you that?” + +Lorraine got up suddenly, thrusting her hands out before her, as if to +ward off some vague fear. + +“Hal, you are brutal today. What is the use of talking like that +now?... Why did you go to America?... Perhaps if you hadn’t gone—” + +“Give me a cigarette,” said Hal, with a little catch in her voice, “I +want soothing. At the present moment you’re a greater strain than +Dudley talking down at me from a pyramid of worn-out prejudices. I +don’t know why my two Best-Belovèds should both be cast in a mould to +weigh so heavily on my shoulders.” + +Sitting on the table as usual, she puffed vigorously at her cigarette, +blowing clouds of smoke, through which Lorraine could not see that her +eyes were dim with tears. For Hal’s unerring instinct told her that, at +a critical moment, Lorraine had taken a wrong path. + +Lorraine, however, was not looking in Hal’s direction. She had moved to +the window, and stood with her back to the room, gazing across the +Park, hiding likewise misty, tell-tale eyes. + +Suddenly, as Hal continued silent, she turned to her with a swift +movement of half-expressed protest. + +“Hal! you shan’t condemn me, you shan’t even judge me. Probably you +can’t understand, because your life is so different—always has been so +different; but at least you can try to be the same. What difference has +it made between you and me anyhow?... What difference need it make? I +have got my chance now, and I am going to be a brilliant success, +instead of a struggling beginner. What does the rest matter between you +and me?” + +“It doesn’t matter between you and me. But it matters to you. I feel +I’d give my right hand if you hadn’t done it.” + +“How could I help doing it? Oh, I can’t explain; it’s no use. We all +have to fight our own battles in the long run—friends or no friends. +Only the friends worth having stick to one, even when it has been a +nasty, unpleasant sort of battle.” + +That hard look, with the hopelessness behind it, was coming back into +Lorraine’s eyes. She was too loyal to tell even Hal what her mother had +been like the last few months before the critical moment came, and at +the critical moment itself. She could not explain just how many +difficulties her marriage had seemed a way out from. + +There had been other men who had not proposed marriage. There had been +insistent creditors—her mother’s as well as her own. There had been +that deep hunger for something approaching a real home, and for a sense +of security, in a life necessarily full of insecurities. + +Obdurate, difficult theatre managers, powerful, jealous +fellow-actresses, ill health, bad luck! Behind the glamour and the +glitter of the stage, what a world of carking care, of littleness, +meanness, jealousy, and intrigue she had found herself called upon to +do battle with. + +And now, if only her husband proved amenable, proved livable with, how +different everything would be? But in any case Hal must be there. +Somehow nothing of all this showed in her face as she fronted the +smoker, still blowing clouds of smoke before her eyes. + +“What has become of Rod?” Hal asked suddenly. + +Lorraine winced a little, but held her ground steadily. + +“Rod had to go. What could Rod and I have done with £500 a year?” + +“My own”—from the blunt-speaking one—“it surely seems as if you might +have thought of that before you allowed Rod to run all over the country +after you, and get ‘gated’, and very nearly ‘sent down’, and spend a +year or two’s income ahead in trying to give you pleasure.” + +Lorraine flung herself down on the sofa with a callous air, and beat +her foot on the ground impatiently. The parting with Rod was another +thing she did not propose to describe to Hal. It had hurt too badly, +for one thing. + +“When you moralise, Hal, you are detestable. Besides, it’s so cheap. +Any one can sit on a table and hurl sarcasm about. I daresay in my +place you would have married Rod, from a sense of duty or something, +and ruined all the rest of his life. Or perhaps, after gently breaking +the news, you’d have let him come dangling round to be ‘mothered’. +Well, I don’t say I haven’t been a bit of a brute to him; but anyhow I +tried to do the square thing in the end. I cut the whole affair dead +off. I told him I would not see him nor write to him again. I’ve since +sent two letters back unopened, and though you mightn’t think it, I was +just eating my heart out for a sight of him. But what’s the good! He’s +got to follow in the footsteps of whole centuries of highly +respectable, complacent, fat old bankers. His father and mother would +have a fit if he didn’t develop into the traditional fat old banker +himself, and beget another of the same ilk to follow on. + +“I daresay with me he would have developed a little more soul, and a +little less stomach—but what of it?” with a graceful shrug. “For the +good of his country it is written that he shall acquire weight and +stolidity, instead of an ideal soul, and for the benefit of posterity I +sentenced him to speedy rotundity, and dull respectability, and the +begetting of future bankers. He will presently marry some one named +Alice or Annie, and invite me to the first christening in a spirit of +Christian forgiveness.” + +Hal smiled more soberly than was her wont. + +“And what of you?” + +“What of me?... Oh, I don’t come into that sort of scheme. I never +ought to have been there at all. Still, I’m glad I showed him he’d got +something in himself beside the stale accumulations of many banker +ancestors; if it’s only for the sake of the next little banker, who may +want to lay claim to an individual soul.” + +“But it hurt, Lorraine?... don’t tell me it didn’t hurt after... +after—” + +“Oh yes, it hurt,” with a low, bitter laugh; “but what of that either? +It’s generally the woman who gets hurt; but I suppose I knew I was +riding for a fall.” + +“I don’t suppose you are any more hurt than he is. You know he +worshipped you.” + +“Yes; only presently it will be easy for him to get back into the old, +orthodox groove with ‘Alice’, and persuade himself that I was only a +youthful infatuation, whereas I— Oh, what does it matter, Hal! Come out +of that ‘great-aunt’ mood, and let’s be jolly while we can. I’ll ring +for coffee and liqueurs, and then we’ll make lots of ripping plans to +see everything in England worth seeing—until I can find time to go +abroad.” + +Hal sprang off her table. + +“Oh, very well,” she rejoined, “Let’s get rowdy and sing the song ‘Love +may go hang.’ When I’ve got it over with Dudley, we’ll just go straight +on, keeping a good look out for the next fence. You’d better tell me +something about this paternal husband of yours, just to prepare me for +our meeting. He doesn’t put his knife in his mouth, and that sort of +thing, does he?” + +“No; not quite so bad. His worst offence at present, I think, is to +call me ‘wifey’.” + +“Wifey!” in accents of horror. “Lorraine, how awful!” + +“Yes; but I’m breaking him of it by degrees: that and his fondness for +a soft felt hat.” + +They sat on chatting together with apparent gayness, but Hal’s heart +was no lighter after she had duly been presented to the paternal +husband, as she called him, and she journeyed solemnly home on a bus, +feeling rather as if she had been to a funeral. She tried at first to +hide her feelings from Dudley—no difficult matter at all, since he +usually contributed little but a slightly absent “yes” and “no” to the +conversation, and if the conversation languished he took small notice. + +However, he had to be told, and Hal rarely troubled to do much beating +about the bush, so, in order to rouse him speedily and thoroughly, just +as he was settling down to his newspaper she hurled the news at his +head without any preliminary preparation. + +“What do you think Lorraine has done now? Been and gone and married a +man old enough to be her father!” + +“Married!... Lorraine Vivian married!” + +Dudley’s newspaper went down suddenly on to his knee. + +Hal had squatted on the hearthrug, tailor fashion, before the fire, and +she gave a little swaying movement backward and forward, to signify the +affirmative. He looked at her a moment as if to make sure she was not +joking, and then said, with sarcastic lips: + +“A man old enough to be her father?... then it isn’t even Rod Burrell!” + +“No; it isn’t even Rod Burrell.” + +“Some one with more money and influence, I suppose? Well, I don’t know +that Burrell needs any one’s condolences.” + +“He does, badly.” + +“He won’t for long. The Burrells are a sensible lot, and no sensible +man frets over a heartless woman.” + +“Lorraine is not a heartless woman. She has too much heart.” + +“She is certainly very generous with it.” + +“I don’t know which is the more detestable, a sarcastic man or a +sensible one.” Hal shut her lips tightly, and stared at the fire. + +“I imagine you hardly expect any sort of man to admire Miss Vivian’s +action.” + +“It doesn’t matter in the least what ‘any sort of man’ thinks. I am +only concerned with the possibility that she will weary of matrimony +quickly and be miserable. I told you, because I wanted you to hear it +from me instead of from a newspaper.” + +Dudley suddenly grew more serious, as he realised how it must in a +measure affect Hal also. + +“Who is he?” + +“He is a stockbroker, named Frank Raynor, aged fifty.” + +“And of course she married him for his money?” + +“I suppose so. Also he partly owns the Greenway Theatre.” + +“Pshaw . . . it’s a mere bargain.” + +Hal was silent. She had rested her chin on her hands, and was now +gazing steadily at the embers. + +“Of course if he is not a gentleman, you will have to leave off seeing +so much of her.” + +“Not at all. She would need me all the more.” + +“That is quite possible,” drily; “but you owe something to yourself and +me.” + +“I couldn’t owe failing a friend to any one. But he is a gentleman +almost—a self-made one, and he doesn’t let you forget it.” + +“Then you’ve seen him?” + +“Yes, today.” Her lips suddenly twitched with irresistible humour. “He +called me ‘Hal’ and Lorraine ‘wifey.’ We bore it bravely.” + +“What business had he to call you by your Christian name?” + +“None. I suppose he just felt like it. He also alluded to my new hat as +a bonnet. Also he used to be an office-boy or something. He seemed +inordinately proud of it.” + +“I loathe a self-made man who is always cramming it down one’s throat. +I don’t see how you can have much in common with either of them any +more.” + +Hal got up, as if she did not want to pursue the subject. + +“It won’t make the smallest difference to Lorraine and me,” she said. + +Dudley knit his forehead in vexation and perplexity, remarking: + +“Of course you mean to be obstinate about it.” + +“No,” with a little laugh; “only firm.” She came round to his chair and +leant over the back it. + +“Dear old long-face, don’t look so worried. None of the dreadful things +have happened yet that you expected to come of my friendship with +Lorraine. The nearest approach to them was the celebrated young author +I interviewed, who asked me to go to Paris with him for a fortnight, +and he was a clergyman’s son who hadn’t even heard of Lorraine. Next, I +think, was the old gentleman who offered to take me to the White City. +I don’t seem much the worse for either encounter, do I? and it’s silly +to meet trouble halfway.” + +She bent her head and kissed him on the forehead. + +“Dudley,” she finished mischievously, “what are you going to give +Lorraine for a wedding-present?” + +“I might buy her the book, ‘How to be Happy though Married,’” he said +dilly, “or write her a new one and call it ‘Words of Warning for +Wifey.’” + +“We’ll give her something together,” Hal exclaimed triumphantly, +knowing that, as usual, she had won the day. + +Then she went off to bed, feigning a light-heartedness she was far from +feeling, and dreading, with vague misgivings, what the future might +bring forth. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +It was a little over two years later that the crash came. There was +first a commonplace, sordid tale of bickering and quarrelling, with +passionate jealousy on the part of the middle-aged husband, and +callous, maddening indifference on the part of the now successful and +brilliant actress. + +To do Lorraine justice, she was not actively at fault. Her sense of +fair play made her try sincerely to make the best of what had all along +been an inevitable fiasco. She did not sin in deed against the man to +whom she had sold herself, but in thought it was hardly possible for +her to give him anything but tolerance, or to feel much beyond the +callous indifference she purposely cultivated, to make their life +together endurable. The things that at first only irritated her grew +almost unbearable afterwards. + +Lorraine’s father had been a gentleman by birth, breeding, and nature. +If she inherited from her mother an ambitious, calculating spirit, she +also inherited from her father refinement, and tone, and a certain +fineness character, that showed itself chiefly in unorthodox ways, for +the simple reason that her life and conditions were entirely removed +from a conventional atmosphere. + +As a man she might merely have lived a double life, conforming to the +conventions when advisable, and following her own ambitions and bent in +secret, without ever apparently stepping over the line. + +As a woman she could but cultivate callous indifference to a great +deal, and satisfy her soul by “playing fair” according to her lights, +in the path before her, but nothing could save her from a mental nausea +of the things in her husband which belonged to his plebeian origin and +nature, and which crossed with a shrivelling, searing touch her own +inherent refinement and high-born spirit. + +The objectionable friends he brought to the house she found it easier +to bear than the things he said about them behind their backs; neither, +again, was his addiction to drink so trying as his mental coarseness. A +man who had drank too much could be avoided, but the lowness of Frank +Raynor’s mind seemed to follow and drag hers down. + +Yet for two years she held bravely on, cultivating a hard spirit, and +throwing herself heart and soul into the first delicious joy of +success. This last surprised even her friends and admirers. A moderate +hit was quite expected, but not a triumph which placed her almost in +the first rank, and was due not merely to her acting, but to a bigness +of spirit and comprehension she had never before had an opporturnty to +reveal. + +It was, indeed, the justification of Hal’s devotion. Hal, by her very +nature, could not love a small-minded woman. What she so unceasingly +loved and admired in Lorraine was a hidden something she alone had had +the perspicacity to perceive, and could so instinctively rely upon. It +was the something which, given once a fair opening, carried her quickly +through the company of the lesser successes, and placed her on that +high plane which demands soul as well as skill. + +Then came the dreadful climax. In a drunken, mad moment her husband +hurled at her that he had been her mother’s lover, and proposed to +return to his old allegiance—had, in fact, already done so. + +Lorraine immediately packed up her own special belongings and left his +roof for ever. + +Expostulations, promises, threats, passionate assurances that he had +not been responsible for what he said failed alike to move her. She +knew that whether responsible or not he had spoken the truth, and that +everything else either he or her mother could say was false. + +Finding her obdurate, he swore to ruin them both; but she told him she +would sing for bread in the streets before she would go back to him; +and he knew she meant it. + +Fearing his influence against her and his sworn revenge, she went to +Italy for a year, and hid in quiet villages until his passion should +somewhat have died, finding herself in the dreadful position, not only +of being betrayed by her mother, but quite unable to obtain any sort of +freedom without revealing the black stain upon her only near relation. + +She could not seek a divorce under the terrible circumstances, and she +was far too proud and spirited to touch a farthing of her husband’s +money. It was like a dreadful chapter in her life, of which she could +only turn down the page; never, never, obliterate nor escape from. + +In the black days and weeks of despair which followed, she often felt +she must have lost her reason without Hal, and even to her she could +not tell the actual truth. Hal asked once, and then no more. Afterwards +it was like a secret, unnamed horror between them, from which the +curtain must not be raised. + +For the rest there was the usual but intenser scene of remonstrance +between Dudley and Hal with the usual resentful and obdurate +termination. This time Dudley even got seriously angry, unable to see +anything but a foolish, unprincipled woman reaping a just reward of her +own sowing; and for nearly a week his displeasure was such that he +addressed no single word to Hal if he could help it. + +Hal, for once, was too wretched about everything to resent his +attitude, and merely waited for the sun to shine again and the black, +enveloping clouds to roll away. + +She saw Lorraine everyday, in the apartments whence she had fled, and +helped her to make the necessary arrangements to cancel the short +remainder of an engagement and get away. She even had one interview +with the irate husband, but no one ever knew what took place, except +that Raynor sought no repetition, and seemed afterwards to have a +respectful awe of Hal’s name which spoke volumes. + +Accustomed to intimidating women with a curse and an oath, he had found +himself unexpectedly dealing with two who could scorch him with a scorn +and contempt far more withering than a vulgar tirade of blasphemous +language. + +Finally the break was made complete. Lorraine got safely away to Italy, +her mother retired to an English village, and Raynor departed to +America for good. + +For him it was merely a case of fresh pastures for fresh money-making +and fresh intrigues. + +For Mrs. Vivian only a passing exile from the gaieties and extravagance +she loved. + +For Lorraine it meant a hideous memory, a hideous, overwhelming +catastrophe, and a hideous tie from which she could not hope to free +herself. + +She went away in a state of nervous prostration that was an illness, +feeling the horror of it all in her very bones, and clinging with a +silent hopelessness to Hal in a way that was more heart-rending than +any hysterical outburst. + +Yet that Hal was there was good indeed. Hal, who, though only +twenty-one, could look out on an ugly world with those clear eyes of +hers, and while seeing the ugliness undisguised, see always as it were +beside it the ultimate good, the ultimate hope, the silver lining +behind the blackest cloud. Hal, who could criticise unerringly, with +direct, outspoken humour,and yet scorn to judge; who had learnt, by +some strange instinct, the precious art of holding out a friendly hand +and generous friendship, even to those condemned of the orthodox, +sufferers probably through their own wild and foolish actions, without +in any way becoming besmirched herself, or losing her own inherent +freshness and purity. + +It was not in the least surprising that a man as wedded to his books +and profession as Dudley should fail to realise what was, in a measure, +phenomenal. By the simple rule of A B C, he argued that ill necessarily +contaminates, if the one to come in contact is of young and +impressionable years. There might of course be exceptions, but hardly +among those as frivolous and obstinate as Hal. + +He worried himself almost ill about it all, until Lorraine was safely +out of England, adding seriously to poor Hal’s troubled mind, seeing +she must stand by the one while longing to soothe and please the other, +and fretting silently over his anxious expression. But once back in +their old groove, he quickly recovered his spirits, and even tried to +make up to Hal a little for what she had lost. Unfortunately, however, +he hit upon an unhappy expedient. + +He tried to persuade her to make a friend of a certain Doris Hayward, +instead of Lorraine. + +Doris’s brother had been Dudley’s great friend in the days when both +were articled to the same profession, but a terrible accident had later +lain him on an invalid couch for the rest of his life. + +When clerk of the works of one of London’s great buildings, a heavy +crane had slipped and swung sideways, flinging him into the street +below. He was picked up and carried into the nearest hospital, +apparently dead, but he had presently come back, almost from the grave, +to drag out a weary life as an incurable on an invalid sofa. + +Soon afterwards his father died, leaving Basil and his two sisters the +poor pittance of £50 a year between them. + +Ethel, the elder, was already a Civil Service clerk at the General Post +Office, earning £110 a year, and on these two sums they had to subsist +as best they could. + +Basil earned occasional guineas for copying work, when he was well +enough to stand the strain, and Doris remained at home with him in the +little Holloway flat, as nurse and housekeeper. + +Dudley, with his usual lack of comprehension where women were +concerned, evolved what seemed to him an admirable plan, in which Hal +and Doris became great friends, thereby brightening poor Doris’s dull +existence, and weaning Hal from her allegiance to the unstatisfactory +Lorraine. + +His plans, however, quickly met with the discouragement and downfall +inevitable from the beginning. At first he tried strategy, and Hal, in +a good-tempered, careless way, merely listened, while easily avoiding +any encounter. + +Then Dudley went a step too far. + +“I have to be out three evenings this week, so I asked Doris Hayward to +come and keep you company, as I thought you might be dull.” + +“You asked Doris to come and keep _me_ company!” repeated Hal, quite +taken aback. + +“Yes; why not? She is such a nice girl, and just your age. I can’t +think why you are not greater friends.” + +“It’s pretty apparent,” with a little curl of her lips. + +“We haven’t anything in common: that’s all.” + +“But why haven’t you? You can’t possibly know if you never meet. She +seems such a far more sensible friend for you than Lorraine Vivian,” +with a shade of irritation. + +“Probably that is exactly why I don’t want her friendship,” with a +light laugh. + +“But you might try to be reasonable just once in a way. Try to be +friendly tomorrow evening.” + +Hal, with her quick, light gracefulness, crossed to him, and playfully +gave him a little shake. + +“Dudley, you dear old idiot. I don’t know about being reasonable, but I +can certainly be honest; and it’s honest I’m going to be now. I think +it is almost a slur on Lorraine to mention a little, silly, +dolly-faced, conceited creature like Doris in the same breath; and as +for being friendly to her tomorrow evening, that’s impossible, because +I shall not be here. I’m going to the Denisons, and I don’t intend to +postpone it. You will have to write and tell her I am engaged.” + +Dudley’s mouth quickly assumed the rigidity which denoted he was +greatly displeased, and his voice was frigid as he replied: + +“You are very injust to Doris. You scarcely know her, and yet you +condemn her offhand: the fault you are always finding in me. As for any +comparison between her and Miss Vivian, it is very certain she would +not sell herself to a man, and then run away from him because things +did not turn out as she wanted them.” + +Hal turned away, with a slight shrug and a humorous expression as of +helplessness. + +“We won’t argue, _mon frère_, because, since you always read books +instead of people, you are not very well up in the subject. To put it +both candidly and vulgarly, I haven’t any use for Doris Hayward at all. +Ethel I admire tremendously, though I don’t think she likes me; and +Basil is a saint straight out of heaven, suffering martyrdom for no +conceivable reason, but Doris is like a useless ornamental china +shepherdess, which ought to be put on a high shelf where it can’t get +itself nor any one else into trouble. I’m really dreadfully afraid if I +had to spend a whole evening alone with her, I should drop her and +break her to relieve my feelings.” + +“Well, you needn’t worry”—moving coldly away. “I have far too much +respect for Doris to allow her to come here just to be criticised by +you. I will explain that you are unexpectedly engaged,” and he opened a +paper in a manner to close the conversation. + +Hal made a little grimace at him behind it, and retired discreetly to +prepare for her daily sojourn in the City. + +It happened, however, when, a year later, Lorraine came back to take up +her theatrical career again in England, there was some vague change in +her that made Dudley less severe in his criticisms. Trouble had not +hardened her, nor softened her, but it had made her a little less sure +of herself, and a little more willing to please. + +Hitherto she had taken rather a pleasure in shocking Dudley, under the +impression that it would do him good and open his mind a little. Now +she had a greater respect for his sterling side, and could smile kindly +at his little foibles and fads. The result was that Dudley admitted, a +trifle grudgingly, she had changed for the better, and rather looked +forward to the occasional evenings she spent with Hal at their +Bloomsbury apartments. + +He also had to admit that success had in no wise spoilt her, that it +probably never would. The year of absence, it was soon seen, had not +injured her reputation in the least. She came back to the stage renewed +and invigorated, and with still more of that depth of feeling and +atmosphere of soul which had so enriched her personations before. + +She became, very speedily, without any question, one of the leading +actressess of the day; and the veil of mystery that hung over the +sudden termination of her short married life, if anything, enhanced her +charm to a mystery-loving public. And all the time, as Dudley could not +but see, she never changed to Hal. + +From adulation and adoration, from triumphs that might easily turn any +head she always came quickly back to the little Bloomsbury sitting-room +when she could, to have one of their old gay gossips and merry laughs. +She seemed in some way to find a rest there that she could not get +elsewhere, in the company of people who expected her to live up to a +recognised standard of individuality. + +And the change in Lorraine was a change for the better in Hal too, who +began now to tone down a little, and at the same time to strengthen and +deepen in character. + +They were, in fact, a pair it was good to see and good to know. In the +first few years after the break-up of her home Lorraine was at her +handsomest. Her dark, thick hair had a gloss on it that in some lights +showed like a bronze glow, and she wore it in thick coils round her +small head, free from any exaggerated fashion, and yet with a +distinction all its own. Her dark eyes once more showed the roguish +lights of her schooldays, and her alluring red mouth twitched +mischievously when she was in a gay mood. + +A little below the medium height, she was so perfectly built as to +escape any appearance of shortness, and carried herself so well, she +sometimes appeared almost tall. + +Considering what her life had been, she looked strangely young for her +years, seeming to combine most alluringly the knowledge and sympathy of +a woman of thirty-five with the freshness and capacity for enjoyment of +twenty-five. The irrevocable tie so far had not clashed with any new +affection; her husband remained in America and made no sign; and her +art was all-sufficing. + +Hal was built on quite different lines. Tall, and slender, and well +knit, she moved with the surging grace of the athlete, and looked out +upon the world with a joyfulness and humorous kindliness that won her +friends everywhere. She was not beautiful in any sense that could be +compared with Lorraine, but she had pretty brown hair, and fine eyes, +and a clear, warm skin that made up for other defects, and helped to +produce a very attractive whole. + +Lorraine had taught her how to dress—an art of far deeper significance +than many women trouble to realise; and wherever Hal went, if she did +not create a sensation, at least she carried a distinction and +pleasingness that were rarely overlooked. Her daily sojourn in the +City, among the bread-winners, had made her large-hearted and +generously tolerant, without hurting in any degree her own innate +womanliness and charm. + +She showed in her every gesture and action how it was possible to be of +those who must scramble for buses, and press for trams, and live daily +in the midst of panting, struggling, working, grasping humans, without +losing tone, or gentleness, or a radiant, fearless spritit. + +At the office of the newspaper where she filled the post of secretary +and typist, she was a sort of cheerful institution to smooth worried +faces and call up a smile amidst the irritability and frowns. + +Blunderers went to her with their troubles, and felt fairly secure if +she would break the news of the blunder or mistake to the irritable and +awe-inspiring chief. He, in his turn, would be irritable before her, +but never with her; and it was a recognised fact among the staff that +she was almost the only one who could make him laugh. + +Thus a few intervening years passed happily enough, briging Lorraine to +her thirty-first birthday and Hal to her twenty-fifth, without any +further upheavals to strike a discordant note across the daily round, +except such inevitable trials as Lorraine continued to meet through her +mother, and Hal through her devotion to a non-comprehending brother. +Only, while they had each other and their work, such difficulties were +not hard to cope with; and life sang a gayer, happier song to them than +she usually sings to the mere pleasure-seekers. + +For work in a wide interesting sphere is a priceless boon, and the men +who would condemn women solely to pleasure-seeking and the four walls +of their home are showing the very acme of selfishness, in that they +are endeavouring to keep solely and entirely for themselves one of the +best things life has to give. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +It will be remembered, perhaps, that an occasion has already occured +when Hal had cause to congratulate herself upon the possession of a +cousin, named Dick, who acted as an antidote to a brother who sometimes +resembled a great-aunt. + +Dick, or to give him his full name, Richard Alastair Bruce, was indeed +her best friend and boon companion next to Lorraine. He was her +earliest playmate, and likewise her latest. For many months together +they had been companions in the wildest of wild escapades as children, +at Dick’s country home; and now that they were both responsible members +of the community, in the world’s greatest city, they were equally +attached. + +If Hal was down on her luck, she telephoned Dick to come instantly to +the rescue, and if it was humanly possible he came. If Dick wanted a +sympathetic or gay companion, either to go out with him or to listen to +his latest inspirations, he telephoned to Hal, and little short of an +urgent, important engagement would delay her. + +At the time he becomes of any importance in this narrative he was +established in a flat in the Cromwell Road, as one of a trio sometimes +known as the Three Graces. The other two were Harold St. Quintin and +Alymer Hermon. + +The appellation was first given to them when they were freshmen at New +College, Oxford; partly because they were inseparable, partly because +they were a particularly good-looking trio, and partly because they all +three came up from Winchester with great cricket reputations. Within +two years they were all playing for the ‘Varsity’ and one of them was +made captain. + +Three years from the term of their leaving, after each had gone his own +way for a season, they gravitated together again, and finally became +established in the Cromwell Road flat, once more on the old +affectionate terms. + +Dick Bruce was following a literary career, of a somewhat ambiguous +nature. He wrote weird articles for weird papers, under weird +pseudonyms, verses, under a woman’s name, for women’s papers, usually +of the _Home Dressmaker_ type; occasional lines to advertise some +patent medicine or soap; one or two Salvation Army hymns of a +particularly rousing nature: and sometimes a weighty, brilliant article +for a first-class paper, duly signed in his own name. + +Besides all this he visited a publisher’s office most days, where he +was supposed to be meditating the acquirement of a partnership. Hal was +very apt at terse, concise definitions, and she was quite up to her +best form when she described him as “the maddest of a mad clan run +amok.” + +Harold St. Quintin, or Quin, as every one called him, was idealist, +etherealist, and dreamer. His original intention had been to enter the +Church, but having gone down into East London to give six months to +slum work, he had remained two years without showing any inclination to +give it up. Sometimes he lived at the flat, and sometimes he was lost +for a week at a time somewhere east of St. Paul’s, where one might as +well have looked for him as for the proverbial needle in a haystack. + +Alymer Hermon, after a sojourn on the continent to study languages, was +now established with a barrister, waiting, it must be confessed, +without much concern, for his first brief. + +Of the three he was the most striking. Dick Bruce was only ordinarily +good-looking, with a very white skin, a fine forehead, and an arresting +pair of eyes—eyes that were like an index to a brain that held volumes +of original observations and whimsicalities, and revealed only just as +much or little as the author chose. + +Harold St. Quintin was small and rather delicate, with never-failing +cheerfulness on his lips, and eyes that seemed always to have behind +them the recollection of the pitiful scenes among which he voluntarily +moved. + +Alymer Hermon was Adonis returned to earth. He stood six foot five and +a half inches in his socks, and was as perfectly proportioned as a man +may be; with a head and face any sculptor might have been proud to copy +line by line for a statue of masculine beauty. + +When he was captain of the Oxford Eleven, people spoke of his beauty +more than his cricket, although the latter was quite sufficiently +striking in itself. There were others who had sweepstakes on his +height, before the score he would make, or the men he would bowl. + +The ‘Varsity’ was proud of him, as they had never been proud of a +captain before, because he upheld every tradition of manliness and +manhood at its best. And they only liked him the better that so far his +attitude to his own comeliness was rather that of boredom than anything +else. Certainly it weighed as nothing in the balance against the joy of +scoring a century and achieving a good average with his bowling. + +He was equally bored with the young girls who gazed at him in +adoration, and the women who petted him, and it was a considerable +source of worry to him that he might appear effeminate, because of his +blue eyes and golden hair, and fresh, clear complexion, when in reality +he was as manly as the plainest of hard-sinewed warriors, though the +indulgence of a slightly aesthetic manner and way of speech, learnt at +the University, increased rather than counteracted the suggestion of +effeminacy. + +But, taking all things into consideration, he was singularly unspoilt +and unassuming; and sometimes blended with an old-fashioned, paternal +air a boyishness and power of enjoyment that could not fail to charm. + +The first time that Lorraine met the trio was when Hal took her to +spend the evening at the flat one Sunday, by arrangement with her +cousin. She herself knew all three well, having been to the flat many +times, but it had taken some little persuasion to get Lorraine to go +with her. + +“Of course they are just boys,” said grandiloquent twenty-five, “but +they are quite amusing, and they will be proud of it all their lives if +they can say they once had Lorraine Vivian at the flat as a guest.” + +“What do you call boys?” asked Lorraine, looking amused; “I thought you +said they had all left college,” + +“So they have, but that’s nothing. Dick is only twenty-five, and the +others are about twenty-four.” + +“A much more irritating age than mere boyhood as a rule.” + +“Decidedly; but they really are a little exceptional. Dick, of course, +is quite mad—that’s what makes him interesting. Alymer Hermon is a +giant with a great cricket reputation, and Harold St. Quintin is a sort +of modern Francis Assisi with a sense of humour.” + +“The giant sounds the dullest. I hope he doesn’t want to talk cricket +all the time, because I don’t know anything about it, except that if a +man stands before the wicket he is out, and if he stands behind it he +is not in.” + +“Oh no; he doesn’t talk cricket. He mostly talks drivel with Dick, and +St. Quintin laughs.” + +“Dick sounds quite the best, in spite of his madness. A cricketer who +talks drivel, and a future clergyman working in the East End, don’t +suggest anything that appeals to me in the least.” + +Nevertheless, when Lorraine, looking very lovely, entered the small +sitting-room of her three hosts, her second glance, in spite of +herself, strayed back to the young giant on the hearth-rug. He was +looking at Hal sideways, with a quizzical air; and she heard him say: + +“It may be new, but it’s not the very latest fashion, because it +doesn’t stick out far enough at the back, and it doesn’t cover up +enough of your face.” + +“Oh well!” said Hal jauntily, “if I had as much time as you to study +the fashions, I daresay I should know as much about them. But I have to +_work_ for my living,” with satirical emphasis. + +“What a nuisance for you,” with a delightful smile. “I only pretend to +work for mine.” + +“We all know that. You sit on a stool, and look nice, and wait for a +brief to come along and beg to be taken up.” + +“It’s a chair. I’m not one of the clerks. And I shouldn’t get a brief +any quicker if I went and shouted on the housetops that I wanted one.” + +“Besides, you don’t want one. You know you wouldn’t know what to do +with it if you got it. Well, how’s East London?…” and Hall crossed to +the slum-worker, with a show of interest she evidently did not feel for +the embryo barrister. Lorraine smiled at him, however, and he moved +leisurely forward to take the vacant seat beside her on the sofa. + +“Is Hal trying to sharpen her wit at your expense?” she asked him, in a +friendly, natural way. + +“Yes; but it’s a very blunt weapon at the best. People who always think +they are the only ones to work are very tiring; don’t you think so?” + +“Decidedly; and I don’t suppose she does half s much as you and I in +reality.” + +“Oh well, I could hardly belie myself so far as to assert that. You +see, it takes a long time to make people understand what a good +barrister you would be if you got the chance to prove it.” + +Hal could not resist a timely shot. + +“Personally, I shoud advise you to try and prove it without the chance. +The chance might undo the proving, you see.” + +“What a rotten, mixed-up, meaningless remark!” he retorted. “Is it +because you find I am so dull, you still have to talk to me?” + +“Quin is never dull, he is only depressing. Dick, do hurry up and begin +supper. I always feel horribly hungry here, because I know Quin has +just come away from some starving family or other, and I have to try +and eat to forget.” + +Lorraine leant across to the dreamy-eyed first-class circketer, +voluntarily giving his life to the slums. + +“Why do you do it?” she asked with sudden interest. “It seems, somehow, +unnatural in a—” she hesitated, then finished a little lamely, “a man +like you.” + +“Oh no, not at all,” he hastened to assure her. “It’s the most +fascinating work in the world. It’s full of novelty and surprises for +one thing.” + +She shuddered a little. + +“But the misery and want and starvation. The … the… utter hopelessness +of it all.” + +“But it isn’t hopeless at all. Nothing is hopeless. And then, knowing +the misery is there, and doing nothing, is far worse than seeing it and +doing what one can.” + +“Oh no, because one can forget so often.” + +“Some can. I can’t. Therefore I can only choose to go and wrestle with +it.” + +“Of course it is heroic of you, but still!—” + +Harold St. Quintin gave a gay laugh. + +“It is not a bit more heroic than your work on the stage to give people +pleasure. I get as much satisfaction in return as you do; and that is +the main point. Slum humanity is seething with interest, and it is by +no means all sad, nor all discouraging. There is probably more humour +and heroism there per square mile than anywhere else.” + +“And no doubt more animal life also,” put in Dick Bruce. “It’s the +superfluous things that put me off, not the want of anything.” + +“It’s feeling such an ass puts me off,” added Hermon; “they’re all so +busy and alert about one thing or another down there, they make me feel +a mere cumberer of the earth. A woman manages a husband, and a family, +and some sort of a home, and does the breadwinning as well. The +children try to earn pennies in their playtime; and the men work at +trying to get work.” + +“Whereas you?…” suggested Hal with a twinkle, “work at trying not to +get work.” + +“Come to supper, and don’t be so personal, Hal,” said her cousin. “I +wrote a poem on you last week, and called it ‘Why Men Die Young.’ It is +in a rag called _The Woman’s Own Newspaper_. It is also in _The Youth’s +Journal_, with the pronouns altered, and a different title; but I +forget what.” + +“What a waste of time—writing such drivel,” Hal flung at him. “Why +don’t you compose a masterpiece, and scale Olympus?” + +“Too commonplace. Lots of men have done that. Very few are positive +geniuses at writing drivel. I claim to be in the front rank.” + +They sat down to a lively repast, and Lorraine found herself, instead +of an awe-inspiring, distinguished guest, treated with a frank +camaraderie that was both amusing and refreshing. They all made a butt +of Hal, who was quite equal to the three of them; and when the giant +paraphrased one of her (Lorraine’s) most tragic utterances on the stage +into a serio-comic dissertation on a fruit salad they were eating, +lacking in wine, she laughed as gaily as any, and felt she had known +them for years. + +Then Hal insisted upon playing a game she had that moment invented, +which consisted of each one confessing his or her greatest failing, and +the gaiety grew. + +She led off by informing them that she found she always jumped eagerly +at any excuse to avoid her morning bath. Dick Bruce followed it up with +a confession that he found he was never satisfied with fewer than four +“best girls”, because he liked to compare notes between them, and write +silly verses on his observations; while Harold St. Quintin owned to an +objectionable fancy for bull’s-eye peppermints and blowing eggs. + +Alymer Hermon confessed that he loved giving advice to people years +older than himself, concerning things he knew nothing whatever about. + +Lorraine tried to cry off, but, hard pressed, she admitted that she +liked the excitement of spending money she had not got, and then having +to pawn something to satisfy her creditors. “Spending money you will +not miss,” she finished, “is very dull beside spending money you do not +possess.” + +Alymer Hermon then suggested they should tell each other of besetting +faults, and at once informed Hal her colossal opinion of herself and +all she did was only equalled by its entire lack of foundation. + +Hal hurled back at him that every inch in height after six feet +absorbed vitality from the brain, and that, though his dense stupidity +was most trying, the reason for it claimed their compassion. + +“You pride yourself beyond all reason on your stature,” she said, “and +are too dense to perceive it is your undoing.” + +Lorraine leant towards him and said: + +“Inches give magnanimity: big men are always big-hearted; you can +afford to forgive her, and retaliate that too much brain-power sinks +individuality into mere machinery. I should say Hal’s besetting fault +was rapping every one on the knuckles, as if they were the keys of a +typewriting machine.” + +“And yours, my dear Lorraine, is smiling into every one’s eyes, as if +the world held no others for you. Were I a man, and you smiled at me +so, I would strangle you before you had time to repeat the glance on +some one else.” + +“And Dick’s besetting sin,” murmured St. Quintin plaintively, “is a +persistent fancy for other people’s ties and other people’s boots. I +have cause to bless the benign and other people’s boots. I have cause +to bless the benign providence who fashioned my shoulders sufficiently +smaller than his to prevent his wearing my coats.” + +“And yours, Quin,” broke in Hermon, “is a fond and loathsome affection +for pipes so seasoned that the Board of Trade ought to prohibit their +use.” + +“After all,” Hal rapped out at him, “that’s not so bad as love of a +looking-glass.” + +“And love of a looking-glass is no worse than love of throwing stones +from glass houses,” he retorted. + +“Of course it isn’t, Hal,” broke in her cousin, “and probably if you +had anything nice to look at in your glass—” + +Hal stood up. + +“The meeting is adjourned,” she announced solemnly, “and the honourable +member who was just spoken has the president’s leave to absent himself +on the occasion of the next gathering.” + +“Excellent,” cried Quin, while Hermon in great glee rapped the table +with his knife handle and exclaimed, “Capital, Dick!... That drew +her... I think you might say it took the middle stump.” + +“Oh, thank goodness he’s got on to cricket,” breathed Hal. “He does +know a little about that, and may possibly talk sense for ten minutes. +Come along, Lorraine, and don’t address Baby at present, for fear you +distract him from his game and start him off struggling to be clever +again. As it is Sunday night, perhaps Dick would like to read us his +latest effusions in the way of boisterous hymns!” + +She led the way back to the bachelor sitting-room, and for some little +time Dick amused them greatly with his experiences over editors and +magazines, and then the two went off together to Lorraine’s flat. + +At this time she was living at the bottom of Lower Sloane Street, with +windows looking over the river, and it was generally supposed that her +mother lived with her. + +As a matter of fact, Mrs. Vivian only occupied the ground floor flat in +company with a friend. Lorraine give her an income on condition she +should live there, and so, in a sense, act as a sort of chaperone to +silence the tongues ever ready to find food for scandal in the fact of +brilliance and beauty living alone; but mother and daughter had never +again been on terms of cordiality. + +So Hal was often Lorraine’s companion for several nights, coming and +going as she fancied, always sure of a welcome. To her the flat was a +constant delight, and in the evening she loved to sit on the verandah +and watch the gliding river—not to sentimentalise and dream, but +because she loved London with all her heart and soul and strength, and +to her the river was as the city’s pulsing heart. + +The moist freshness of the air coming across from Battersea Park was +only the more refreshing after Bloomsbury, and the vicinity of several +well-known names in the world of art and letters appealed porwerfully +to her imagination. Lorraine usually sat just inside the long French +window, taking care of her voice, and listening contentedly to Hal’s +chatter. + +They sat thus for a little while after their return from Cromwell Road, +and it was noticeable that Lorraine was even more silent than usual. +Hal told her something about each of their three hosts in turn, while +showing an unmistakable preference for the slum-worker and her cousin. +At last Lorraine interrupted her. + +“Why do you say so little about Mr. Hermon?... you merely told me he +was a cricketer, which doesn’t, as a matter of fact, describe him at +all.” + +Hal shrugged her shoulders. + +“I suppose he doesn’t interest me except in that way.” + +“But it is a mere side issue. If he weren’t a cricketer he would be +just as remarkable.” + +“But he isn’t remarkable. He’s only exceptionally big.” + +“He’s one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever seen, anyway.” + +“Oh, nonsense, Lorraine. Besides, he is hardly a man yet. He’s only +twenty-four.” + +“I can’t help that,” with a little laugh. “I’ve seen a great many men +in my life, but I’ve never seen any one before like Alymer Hermon.” + +“Why in the world not? What do you mean?” + +“Well, to begin with, he’s the most perfect specimen of manhood I’ve +ever beheld. He’s abnormally big without the slightest suggestion of +being either too big or awkward. He’s simply magnificent. Most men of +that size are just leggy and gawky: he is neither. Again, other men +built as he, are usually rather brainless and weak, or probably made so +much of by women that they become wrapped up in themselves, and are +always expecting admiration. Alymer Hermon has the freshness of a +delightful boy, with the fine face and courtly manners of a charming +man. If you can’t see this, it’s because you don’t know men as well as +I do.” + +Hal stepped over the window sill into the room. + +“Pooh!” she said impatiently. “What in the world has happened to you? +He’s just a stuffed blue-and-gold Apollo.” + +Lorraine got up also. + +“He’s more than that. Some day you will see; unless... unless....” + +“Well, unless what?” + +“Oh, nothing, only a man like that can’t expect to escape being spoilt. +A certain type of woman will inevitably mark him down for her prey, and +ruin all his freshness.” + +“Then you had better take him under your wing,” Hal laughed. “It would +be a pity for such a paragon to be lost to society. Personally, stuffed +blue-and-gold Apollos don’t interest me in the least. Come along to +bed. I’m dead tired,” and she dragged Lorraine away. + +But instead of sleeping, the actress lay silently watching a star that +shone in at her window, and thinking a little sadly about the man +nature had chosen to endow so bountifully. In a few weeks she would be +thirty-two and he was twenty-four. + +Supposing it had been twenty-two instead of thirty-two, and out of his +splendour he had given his heart to her dark beauty, what a tale it +might have been—what a fairy-tale of sweet, impossible things, with a +golden-haired prince and a dark-eyed princess. + +She awoke from her day-dream with a touch of impatience, apostrophising +herself for her folly. After all, what had a beautiful, successful +woman at her prime to do with a youth of twenty-four, who played +foolish games at a supper-table, and was only just beginning to know +his world? Of course he would bore her intolerably at a second +interview, and, closing her eyes resolutely, she drove his image from +her mind. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The second interview, however, by a mere coincidence, took place at +Lorraine’s flat. She was walking leisurely down Sloane Street one +afternoon, after visiting her milliner’s, when she ran into the young +giant going in the opposite direction. + +“How so?...” she asked gaily, as is face lit up with a pleased smile, +and he stopped in front of her. “Whither away at this hour? Are you +chasing a brief?” + +“Much too brief,” he told her. “I had to carry some important papers to +a certain well-known Cabinet Minister; and he did not even vouchsafe me +a glance of his countenance. I was given an acknowledgment of them by +the footman, as if I had been a messenger boy.” + +“Too bad. I think you deserve that another celebrity should give you a +cup of tea, to redeem your opinion of the immortals. My flat is quite +near, and I am now returning. Will you come?” + +“Oh, won’t I?” he said boyishly, and turned back. + +It was the fashionable hour in Sloane Street, when many well-dressed, +well-known people are often seen walking, and when the road is full of +private motors and carriages. Lorraine found herself moving still more +slowly. She was accustomed to being gazed at herself, had in fact grown +a little blasé of it, but the frank admiration bestowed on her giant +amused and pleased her. + +Covertly she watched, as she chatted up to him, for the tell-tale +consciousness and perhaps heightened colour. But when he was looking +back into her face he looked straight before him, over the heads of the +admiring eyes, and paid no smallest heed to them. Neither was he in the +least self-conscious with her. She wondered if he even realised that +the tête-à-tête he accepted so simply would have been a joy of heaven +to many. Anyhow, far from resenting his seeming want of due +appreciation, she found it made him more interesting. + +She spoke of Hal, and he immediately exclaimed: “Hal is a ripper, isn’t +she? I can’t help teasing her, you know; it’s the best fun in the +world.” + +“Do you usually tease your feminine friends?” she asked. “I’ve no doubt +you have a great many.” + +“Oh, no, I haven’t. Men pals are far jollier.” + +“Still, I expect your inches bring you many fair admirers.” + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and looked a trifle bored, and she +divined that he disliked flattery and probably the subject of his +appearance. She adroitly turned the conversation back to Hal, and spoke +of her until they reached the block of flats. + +“Is this where you live? What a ripping situation!” he exclaimed. “I +would sooner be near the river than near Knightsbridge, even if it is +not so classy.” + +He followed her into the lift, and then into her charming home, full of +enthusiasm, and still without exhibiting a shade of self-consciousness. + +Lorraine found her interest growing momentarily, as he took up his +stand on her hearth and gazed frankly around, with undisguised +pleasure. + +“What a jolly nice room. It’s one of the prettiest I’ve seen. You have +the same color-scheme as the Duchess of Medstone in her boudoir, but I +like your furniture better.” + +Lorraine glanced up a little surprised. + +“Do you know the Duchess of Medstone?” + +“Well, yes”—a trifle bashfully. “You see, those sort of people ask me +to their houses because of my cricket. Private cricket weeks are rather +fashionable, and I get invitations as the late Oxford captain.” + +“And do you go to people you don’t know?” + +“Yes, rather, if I can raise the funds. The nuisance is the tipping. +There’s always such a rotten lot of servants; and I’m too much afraid +of them to give anything but gold.” + +The tea came in, and she saw him glance round for the chair best suited +to his bulk. + +“My chairs were not designed for giants,” she told him laughingly; “you +will have to come and sit on the settee.” + +He came at once, stretching his long legs out before him, with lazy +ease, and then drawing his knees up sharply, as if in sudden +remembrance that he was a guest and they were comparative strangers. +Lorraine liked him, both for the moment’s forgetfulness and the sudden +remembrance, and as she glanced again at his beautiful head and +splendid shoulders, she was conscious of a sudden thrill of +appreciative admiration. + +Hal was right in naming him Apollo. The Sun God might have been +fashioned just so, when first he ravished the eyes of Venus. + +“And so the duchess took you into her boudoir?” she asked, with an +unaccountable twinge of jealousy. “I do not know her. I’m afraid my +friends are not so aristocratic as yours. But I believe she is +considered very handsome.” + +“Hard,” he said, with an old-fashioned air. “Handsome enough, but very +hard. I did not like her nearly so much as Lady Moir, her sister.” + +“Still no doubt she was very nice to you?” + +Lorraine rather hated herself for the question. The ways of +aristocratic ladies, whose idle hours often supply a field of labour +for the Evil One, were perfectly well known to her; and she wondered a +little sharply how far he was still unspoilt. The majority of big, +strong, full-blooded young men in his place would assuredly have sipped +the cup of pleasure pretty deeply by now, even at his years, but with +that fine, strong face, and the clear, frank eyes was he of these? She +believed not, and was glad. + +He did not treat her question as if it implied any special favours, and +merely replied jocularly: + +“Well, I suppose, since her blood is very blue and mine merely tinged, +she was rather gracious, but of course the really ‘blue’ people +generally are.” + +“Tell me who you happen to be?” Lorraine leant back against her +cushions, with her slow, easy grace, asking the question with a +lightness that robbed it of all pointedness or snobbery. + +He seemed amused, for he smiled as he answered frankly: + +“I happen to be Alymer Hadstock Hermon, one fo _the_ Hermons all right, +but not the drawing-room end, so to speak; at the same time tinged with +her family shadiness—‘blue’ of course I mean—though no doubt it applies +in other ways as well. Does that satisfy your curiosity, or do you want +to know more?” + +She loved looking at him, particularly with that humorous little smile +on his lips, so she said: + +“Not half. I want to know all the rest.” + +“Very well. It’s quite an open book. I was born twenty-four years ago. +I am an only child, and, as usual, the apple of my mother’s eye and the +terror of my father’s pocket. He, my father, is not much else just now +except a recluse. He was recently a member of parliament, a Liberal +member, and, God knows, that’s little enough. I believe he even climbed +in by a Chinese pigtail. + +“My grandfather was a Judge in the Divorce Court, which doesn’t somehow +sound quite respectable, and my great-grandfather was a writer of law +books, for which, personally, I think he ought to have been hanged. I +can’t go any farther back; at any rate I don’t want to, because I’m +certain it’s all so correct and dull there isn’t even a family +skeleton.” + +“Is it the women or the men of the family that are beautiful?” + +“Oh, both,” with humorous eagerness. “Skeletons and ghosts we sought, +and clamoured for, but ugliness, never.” + +“Well, it’s a pity you were not a woman. Looks are wasted in a man. +Give a man a ready tongue and a taking manner, and he can usually get +what he wants, if he’s as ugly as a frog. With you, on the other hand, +things will come too easily. You will miss all the fun of the chase. On +my soul I’m sorry for you.” + +“The briefs don’t come anyway, nor the ‘oof’: that’s all I can see to +be sorry for.” + +“You don’t want them badly enough, that’s all. If you want the one, +you’ll make love to an influential woman who can get them, and if you +want the other, you’ll marry an heiress.” + +“I say, you’re giving me rather a rotten character, aren’t you?” + +He faced her suddenly, and a new expression dawned in his eyes, as if +he were only just awakening to the fact that she was beautiful. + +“Do you really think I’m such a rotter as all that?” + +She glanced away, lowering her eyelids, so that her long lashes swept +the warm olive cheeks, and with a little callous shrug answered: + +“Why should you be a rotter for doing what all the rest of the world +does? Four-fifths of mankind would give anything for your chances.” + +“But you just said you were sorry for me?” + +“So I am. So I should be for the four-fifths of mankind, if they got +all they wanted just for the asking.” + +He smiled with a sudden, charming whimsicality. + +“I don’t feel much in need of sympathy, you know. It’s a ripping old +world, as long as you can indulge a few mild fancies, and be left +alone.” + +“Mild fancies!” + +She turned on him suddenly. + +“What have you to do with mild fancies? Why, you can have the world at +your feet with a little exertion. Haven’t you any ambition? Don’t you +even want to plead in the greatest law court in the world as one of the +first barristers in Europe?” + +“Not particularly. Why should I? It would be no end of a fag. I’d far +rather be left alone.” + +“You… you… sluggard,” breaking into a laugh. “If I were Fate, I’d just +take you by the shoulders and shake you till you woke up. Then I’d go +on shaking to keep you awake. You shouldn’t be wasted on mere nonentity +if I held the threads.” + +But his blue eyes only smiled whimsically back at her. + +“I’m jolly glad you haven’t a say in the matter. Why, I should have to +give up cricket, and take to working! You’re as bad as Quin with his +slumming, and Dick with his rotten verses.” + +“You don’t know yet that I haven’t a say in the matter,” she remarked +daringly. “Have a cigarette. I’m awfully sorry I didn’t remember +sooner.” + +“Indeed, you ought to be,” was the gay rejoinder. “I’ve been just dying +for the moment when you would remember.” + +An electric bell rang out as they were lighting their cigarettes, and a +moment later Hal danced into the room with shining eyes and glowing +cheeks. A few paces from the door she stopped suddenly. + +“Hullo, Baby,” she said, addressing Hermon, “where have you sprung +from?” + +“I found it wandering alone in Sloane Street,” Lorraine remarked, “and +now we’ve been teaing together.” + +Alymer did not look any too pleased at Hal’s frank appellation, but +former remonstrance had only been met with derision, and he knew he had +no choice but to submit with a good grace. + +“I might ask the same question, Lady-Clerk,” he replied. + +“Don’t call me a lady-clerk—I hate the term. I’m a typist, secretary, +bachelor-girl, city-worker, anything you like, not a lady-clerk—bah!…” + +“Then don’t call me Baby.” + +Hal’s face broke into the most attractive of smiles. + +“I can’t help it. Everything about you, your size, your face, your ways +just clamour to be called ‘Baby’. Of course if you’d rather be Apollo—” + +“Good Lord, no: is that the only alternative?” + +“I’m afraid so; you needn’t go if you don’t want to,” as he prepared to +depart. “We are not going to talk grown-up secrets.” + +“If I were Mr. Hermon, I’d give you one good shaking, Hal,” put +Lorraine. “I’m sure you deserve it.” + +“Not a bit. Nothing could do him more good than regular interviews with +me, to undo all the harm he has received in between from silly, idiotic +women, who make him think he is something out of the ordinary. Isn’t +that so, Baby? Aren’t you labouring under the delusion that you’re a +remarkable fine specimen of humanity? And all the time, Heaven knows, +you’ve about as much honest purpose and brains as a big over-grown +school-boy.” + +“I hope you are not intending to imply he is more richly endowed with +dishonest purpose?” said Lorraine. + +“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that,” Hal declared, “so long as it was energy and +purpose of some kind.” + +“Even to giving you that good shaking,” he asked, coming forward a step +menacingly. + +“Not in here,” in alarm; “you and I scrapping in Lorraine’s +drawing-room would cost a hundred pounds or so in valuables. I’ll cry +‘pax’,” as he still advanced. “Of course you are rather a fine boy +really, I was only pulling your leg.” + +Hermon subsided with a laugh, and Hal proceeded to explain that she had +come on business, having been asked by the editor of one of their small +magazines to write up an interview with the actress for him. + +“I shall say I found you having a cosy tête-à-tête with a young +barrister of many inches and little brains,” she laughed. “Come, +Lorraine, spout away. What is your favourite _hors d’œuvre?_ Did you +feel like a boiled owl at your first appearance? And which horse do you +back for next year’s Derby?” + +She started scribbling, to the amusement of the other two, carrying on +a desultory conversation meanwhile. + +“This isn’t anything to do with my department, but I like Mr. Hadley, +and he was keen about it, and offered me three guineas, so I said I’do +do it… Are your eyes yellow or green? For the life of me, I don’t know. +Which would you rather I called them? … I’ve got to go to Marlboro’ +House tomorrow to get up a short and vivid account of a garden party, +because Miss Alton, who generally does it, is down with ‘flu’. Were you +a prodigal as a kid? no; I mean a prodigy… Fancy me at Marlboro’ House! +Awful thought, isn’t it? How they dare? + +“What is your favourite pastime? Shall I put down shooting? I know you +don’t know one end of a gun from the other, but it doesn’t matter; and +it reads rather well—something unique about it in an actress.” + +“Why not put angling, and give some of my dear enemies a chance to ask +what for?” + +“Or jam-making,” suggested Alymer, “and redeem the stage in the eyes of +the British matron.” + +“Oh, don’t talk… how can I write? Shall I bring myself in, and dig up +the dear old chestnut of David and Jonathan?… or shall I describe +Dudley’s disapproval melting into undisguised worship,” she rippled +with laughter as she scribbled on. “Oh dear, think if Dudley were to +find it, and read it, because he hasn’t even discovered yet that he has +ceased to disapprove. + +“Who’s your favourite poet? I might say Dick Bruce; he would write a +book of poems at once. And Quin might be your hero in real life. Do you +know where you were born? Up in the Himalayas sounds nice and airy, and +it might as well have been there as anywhere.” + +“If you want anymore you must get it while I eat my dinner,” said +Lorraine, rising. “I have to try and be at the theatre at seven just +now. You may as well both dine with me, and you can come to my +dressing-room afterwards if you like, Hal.” + +“No, thank you”; and Hal pulled a wry face. “I’ve seen quite enough of +the wings, and the green-room, and all the rest of it. You might take +Baby, just to show him the real thing, and put him off it once for +all.” + +She turned to Hermon. + +“Have you ever been behind the scenes? I used to go sometimes, just for +the fun of it, while it was a novelty; but it quite cured me of any +possible taste of the stage. Most of the performers were so nervous +they could hardly speak, their teeth just chattered with cold and +fright mingled, and the gloom of it was like a vault. And then all the +gaping, staring faces in rows, looking out of the darkness. You can’t +think how idiotic people look seen like that. It always suggested to me +that both stage and stalls were like children playing at being +lunatics.” + +“That’s only your dreadfully prosaic, unromantic mind, Hal. You just +like to write newspaper articles, and type letters, and smother your +imagination under dry-and-dust facts.” + +“Smother my imagination,” echoed Hal, with a laugh. “Why, it would take +the imaginations of fifty ordinary people to concoct some of the +paragraphs we fix up during the week. My imagination is a positive +goldmine at the office, at least it would be if they dare print all +that I suggest.” + +“You should run a paper yourself,” suggested Hermon; “a few libel +actions would made it pay like anything.” + +“Ah, you haven’t seen Dudley,” with a little grimace. “Dudley would +have a fit and die before the first action had had time to reach its +interesting stage. I’d take you home to see him now, but he happens to +have gone up to Holloway to dinner.” + +“I’m dining out myself, so I must fly.” He turned to Lorraine, with a +gay smile. “I say, may I come and dine with you some other time?” + +“Come to the Carlton on Sunday, will you?” + +Lorraine hardly knew why she made the sudden decision; she only knew +perfectly well she would have to break another engagement to keep it, +and that she was foolishly glad when he accepted. + +“It’s all right; you needn’t ask me,” volunteered Hal, as her friend +glanced at her. “I’m going motoring with Dick, and I shall insist upon +staying out until ten or eleven. I always try and fill my Sundays full +of fresh air. “Where are you going tonight, Baby?” she added, with a +charmingly impudent smile. + +“The Albert Hall, with Lady Selon”; and a twinkle shone in his eyes. + +“Goodness gracious! What in the world are you going to the Albert Hall +for? and who is Lady Selon?” + +“She is Soccer Selon’s sister-in-law, and she asked me to take her to a +concert. Is there anything else you would like to know?” + +“Her age?” archly. + +“Somewhere about thirty-five, I should imagine.” + +“Oh! your grandmother, or thereabouts. Well, skip along. Tell Dick to +call for me early on Sunday.” + +When he had said good-bye to Lorraine and departed, Hal held up her +hand, hanging in a limp fashion. + +“I wish you’d teach him to shake hands, Lorry. It feels like shaking a +blind cord and tassel. Are you going to mother him? What an odd idea +for you to bother with a boy! You surely don’t mean to tell me he +interests you?” + +“I like to look at him. He’s such a splendid young animal. I feel—oh, I +don’t know what I feel.” + +“Lots of London policemen are splendid young animals, but you don’t +want tête-à-tête teas with them if they are.” + +“You absurd child! Is there any reason why I shouldn’t have tea with +Mr. Hermon, if it amuses me?” + +“None specially; but if it’s just a splendid young animal to look at, +you want, I daresay it would be safer to import a polar bear from the +Zoo.” + +Lorraine felt a spot of colour burn in her cheeks, but she only laughed +the subject aside, and alluded to it no more before they parted at the +theatre door. + +Only at a late supper-party that night she was quieter than was her +wont; and, contrary to her habit, one of the first to leave. A +well-known rising politician, who had been paying her much attention of +late, prepared, as usual, to escort her home. She wished he would have +stayed behind, but had no sufficient reason for refusing his company. +He taxed her with silence as they spun westwards, and she pleaded a +headache, wondering a little why all he said, and looked, and did, +somehow seemed banal and irritating tonight. + +He was so sure of himself, so fashionably blasé, so carelessly clever, +so daringly frank, with all the finished air of the modern smart man, +basking callously in the assured fact of his own brilliance and +superiority. She knew that most women would envy her the attentions of +such a one, and that his interest was undoubtedly a great compliment, +as such compliments go; but tonight she found herself remembering all +the other women who had reigned before her, all those who would +presently succeed her, and she was conscious of an impatient disgust of +all the shallowness and insincerety of the fashionable, successful man. + +“May I come in?” he asked, when they reached the flat, looking rather +as if he were conferring a favour than soliciting one. + +“No; it is too late. Good-night.” + +“Too late!…” he laughed a little, and Lorraine felt her temper rising. +“It is not exceptionally late, a little earlier than usual in fact. Why +mayn’t I come in?” + +“Because I don’t want you,” she said coldly, and she saw him bite his +lip in swift vexation. + +“I shall certainly not press you,” he retorted, and turned away. + +At the window of her drawing-room Lorraine lingered a few moments, +gazin with a half-longing expression at the gleam of the lights on the +dark flowing river. What was it that gave her that strange sense of +heartache tonight? Why had her usual companions bored and irritated +her? Why did Alymer Hermon’s fine, boyish, refreshing face come so +often to her mind? + +She was certainly not in love with him. The mere idea was ridiculous, +but it was equally certain that something about him had given rise to +this vague unrest and longing. Was it perhaps that he called to her +mind the youth she had never known, the young splendid, whole-hearted +years, when it was so easy to believe and hope and enjoy that which +life had never given her time for? + +True, the world was at her feet now, just as much as it would ever be +at his, but with what a difference? For her, with the work and stain of +the knowledge of much evil, and little good. For him, at present, with +all the glorious freshness of the morning. + +She glanced back into the dim room, and among the shadows she saw him +standing there again, towering up upon her hearthrug, before her +hearth, with that youthful, frank assurance that was so attractive. Of +a truth he was unspoilt yet, unspoilt and splendid as the dawn of the +morning—but for how long? + +What would they make of him presently, the women of the world, who must +needs worship such a man, and strew their charms before him. How was he +to keep his freshness, when temptation hemmed him in on every side? + +She felt a sudden yearning as of hungry mother-love towards him. If he +had been her son, her very own son, how she would have fought the whole +world to help him keep his armour bright, and his colours flying high. + +And instead?... + +The wave of hungry mother-love was followed by one as of swift and +angry protest. Who had ever cared whether she kept her armour bright +and her colours flying high? Had not life itself mocked at her early +aspirations, and trampled jeeringly on her untutored, unformed high +desires? What chance had she ever had, long as she might, to keep the +morning freshness? + +Well, what of it? She had sought and striven for fame, and fame had +come; she was a poor creature if she could not look life in the face +now, and laugh above her wounds. + +And in the meantime perhaps she could help him fight some of those +other women still; the women who would drag him down for their own +satisfaction, and care nothing for the hurt to him. + +Anyhow, she would try to be a good pal to him, and not a temptress. For +once she would fight for some one else’s hand instead of her own, and +gain what satisfaction she could in feeling herself a true friend. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +About the time that the three in the Chelsea flat were leave-taking, a +stream of women-clerks in the long passages of the General Post Office +proclaimed that pressure of work had again meant “overtime” to these +energetic City-workers. + +In consequence, there was a lack of elasticity in the many passing +feet, and the suggestion of a tired silence in the cloak-room; for +though the girls hastened to get away from the dreary monotony of the +huge building, they were, many of them, too tired to depart as joyfully +as was their wont. + +Yet most of them, behind the tiredness, looked out upon the world with +clear, capable eyes, and strong, self-reliant faces, that spoke well +for the spirit of their set. Up there in the big office-rooms, year in +year out, these refined, well-educated women kept ledgers and accounts +and did the general office work of the Civil Service with a precision +and neatness and correctness equal to the work of any men, and +invariably to the astonishment of any interested visitor who was +permitted to inquire into the system. + +Yet the majority of their salaries ranged from £90 a year to £210, and +they were obliged to pas an examination of no mean stamp to attain a +post. Small wonder that many of them, having to help support others as +well as keep themselves, had the delicate, listless, anaemic appearance +of underfed women badly in need of fresh air, good food, and wholesome +exercise. + +The policy of Great Britain towards her women workers is surely one of +the greatest contradictions of our enlightened age. Even putting aside +the vexed question of suffragism, how little has she ever done to try +and cope with the needs of working womanhood? + +In some Government departments, as, for instance, the Army Clothing +Department, it is a known fact that the women are actually sweated; and +that in the higher branches, employing gentlewomen, they pay them the +lowest possible wage, not because the work is ill-done, but because, +owing to present conditions, plenty of gentlewomen are found to accept +the offer. + +Many of these gentlewomen lose their health in their struggle to obtain +good food, decent lodging, and a neat appearance on Government +salaries, knowing full well that the moment they fall out of the ranks +numbers will be waiting to fill their places. + +And in the meantime enlightened authors and politicians write articles, +and make speeches, holding forth upon the charm and beauty of the Home +Woman, and drawing unflattering comparisons between her and the worker. + +Comfortable elderly gentlemen, who have had successful careers and can +now afford to dine unwisely every night, and keep their daughters in +well-dressed indolence, self-satisfied, self-aggrandising, +self-advertising young politicians, who, having obtained an attentive +public, delight to cant about the rights of the citizen and the good of +the Empire, clever, intuitive, charming novelists, who apparently +possess an unaccountable vein of dense non-comprehension on some +points—all harp upon this theme of the Home Woman, and the Home Sphere, +and the infinite superiority, in their own lordly eyes, of the gentle, +domesticated scion of the family hearth. + +As if one-fourth of the women wage-earners, gentle or otherwise, in +England today had any choice in the matter whatever. The rapidity with +which a vacant place in the ranks is filled and the numbers waiting for +it is surely sufficient proof of that; to say nothing of the pitiful +conditions under which many, gentle and otherwise, cling to their posts +long after a merciful fate should have given them the opportunity to +save the remnants of their shattered health amidst country breezes. + +It is useless to cry out to the woman that work and competition with +men is unbecoming to her. She _must_ work, and she _must_ compete, and +seeing this, it is surely time the British Government accepted the fact +magnanimously, and took more definite steps to assure her welfare. + +If it can only be done through woman’s suffrage, then woman’s suffrage +must surely come, because, whether British legislators care for the +good of women or not, nature does care, and as the race moves forward +the working woman will have to be protected. + +It has been seen over and over again that no band of politicians, nor +powerful men, nor tape-bound State can long defy any advancing good for +the needs of the whole. + +Whether women work or not, they are the mothers of the future; and +because this fact is greater than the sum of all other facts brought +forward by the narrowness and short-sightedness of men, we may safely +believe that, since they _must_ work, nature will see to it that they +work under the most favourable conditions, no matter what rich men have +to go the poorer for it. + +Pity is that the hour is so delayed; that narrowness, and selfishness, +and self-aggrandisement still flourish, to the eternal cost of those of +England’s mothers who bring weaklings into the world, through the hard +conditions of their enforced labour. + +The _true patriot_ of today will agitate not only for the highest +possible efficiency in the Navy and Army; but, with no less resolve and +sincerity, for the best possible conditions obtainable for all +women-workers, that the Empire may not later sink suddenly to decay, in +spite of her defences, through the impoverished, feeble, sickly +off-spring who are all the men she has left. + +The _true patriot_ will accept the ever-strengthening fact, however +unpalatable, that the development and emancipation of womanhood has +brought women to the front as workers, _to stay_; and he will perceive +that therefore it is incumbent upon the men to endeavour to find that +happy mean, where they can work together to the advantage of both, and +to the stability and greatness of a beloved country. + +Only now the women-workers toil bravely on, heartening each other with +jests under conditions in which it is extremely likely men would merely +cavil and sulk and fill the air with their complainings; dressing +themselves daintily through personal effort in spite of meagre purses; +throwing themselves with a splendid joyousness into their few precious +days of freedom; banding themselves together often and often to wring +occasional hours of gaiety from the months of toil; keeping brave eyes +to the front and brave hearts to the task, while they wait steadfastly +for the day when their worth shall be appreciated and their claims +recognised. + +Hastening to the office in the morning, or hastening home (probably to +cook their own dinner) at night, they read those clever, carefully +worded articles and speeches by the men of power and weight, harping +upon the charm and beauty and superiority of the Home Woman; and they +laugh across to each other with a frank, rather pitying, rather +irritated laughter, at the extraordinary dull-wittedness of some +brilliant brains. + +They wonder gaily how these enlightened, clever gentlemen would like it +if they all became sweet Home women in the workhouses, cultivating +elegant gardens, and floating round in flowing gowns at their expense. + +The men call them “new women” with derision, or mannish, or unsexed; +but those who have been among them, and known them as friends, know +that they hold in their ranks some of the most generous-hearted, +unselfish, big-souled women to exist in England today; and that it is +just because of that they are able to plod cheerfully on, and laugh +that indulgent, pitying little laugh, when an outraged man swells with +virtuous indignation, and waxes eloquent upon their want of womanly +attributes. + +Of such as the best of these was Ethel Hayward. Among the crowd now +hurrying more or less tiredly into the open air, she might not have +been noticed. So many had white faces, dark-circled eyes, +shabby-genteel clothing, and just a commonplace fairness, that in the +throng it was difficult to discover distinguishing attributes. + +One had to see her apart, and note the quick, urgent step, the +independent, lofty poise of her head, and the steadfastness of the +tired eyes, and firm, strong mouth, to feel that life had given her a +heavy burden, which only a noble soul could have supported with +heroism. + +As she left the portals of the General Post Office she hesitated a few +seconds as to her direction. “Should she go straight back to the little +flat in Holloway, or should she go west, and get the drawing-paper +Basil was wanting?” + +Doris could easily get the drawing-paper the next day, if she chose; +and at the flat Dudley Pritchard would have arrived for the evening. +She surmised hastily that it was extremely probable Doris had made some +other engagement for herself that she would be unwilling to delay, and +that Dudley would in no wise regret her own tardy return. + +The last thought caused her eyes to grow a little strained, as she +walked quickly westwards—strained with the determination to face the +fact unflinchingly, and try to overcome the deep, insistent ache it +caused. + +But the love of a lifetime is not dismissed at will, and looking a +little pitifully backward, though she was but twenty-eight, Ethel felt +she could not remember the time when she did not love Dudley Pritchard, +though it had perhaps only crystallised into the great feature of her +life at the time when, in silent, heroic endeavour, he had given of all +he had to win his friend back to life and health. + +It was Dudley’s careful savings that he had paid for the great +specialist and the big operation; Dudley’s courage and devotion that +had nerved the stricken man to take up the awful burden of perpetual +invalidism; Dudley’s never-failing encouragement and friendship that +helped him still to bear the dreary months of utter weariness, in the +little home kept together by his sister’s salary. + +High up in the dreary-looking block of flats in Holloway, attended +through the day by the erratic ministrations of Doris, and at night by +the yearning tenderness of Ethel, Basil Hayward dragged out a weary +martyrdom, that prayed only for release. In vain Ethel murmured over +him, that to work for him was a glory compared to what it would be to +live without him; in the silent, tedious hours of her absence, his soul +broke itself in hopeless, passionate protest against the decree that +compelled him to accept his daily bread at the hands of the sister he +would gladly have striven for day and night. + +It as a martyrdom across which one can but draw a curtain, and stand +“eyes frontt”. Look this way, look that, what answer is there, what +reason, what explanation, of the hidden martyrdoms of the work-a-day +world, which the blank wall of heaven seems to regard with utter +unconcern? + +Mankind today is less disposed than ever of yore to calmly fold the +hands and say, “It is the will of God.” They can no longer do so +honestly without either blaming or criticising the Divine Will that not +merely permits, but is said to send, such martyrdoms. + +Better surely to accept bravely the enigma of the universe, and strive +to lessen the suffering in our own little sphere, believing that same +Divine Will is striving with us to mitigate the ills humanity has +brought upon itself through blind disobedience and careless +indifference to the laws of nature. + +Uncomplaining resignation may help by its example, but the resignation +which sits with folded hands and makes no effort to amend, is only a +form of feebleness. The strong soul accepts life silently as a field of +battle, asking for energy, resource, courage, and that fine spirit +which obeys the unseen general in unquestioning faith. + +It was only in such a spirit, through those years of pain and mystery, +that Ethel was able to witness her passionately loved brother’s +martyrdom, and give all the years of her youth to earn that pour salary +from a wealthy Empire, to keep some sort of a home for the three of +them in the little, dingy Holloway flat. + +For even if Doris had been capable of sustained endeavour, the +bedridden man could not have been left alone for long, and no choice +was left them but to eke out Ethel’s pitiful £110 salary between them. + +Often perhaps a passionate resentment burned in her heart concerning +the heavy handicaps under which a woman achieves work equal to a man’s; +but she had no time to lend herself to any open protest, and toiled on, +silently fighting her individual daily battle the better encouraged by +those brave women taking all the opprobrium of the warfare upon their +own shoulders, for the sake of working womanhood as a whole. + +Only, of late a fresh burden had been added in the fear that Dudley was +growing to care for her sister Doris. + +It was not that she grudged Doris the happiness, nor the prospect of a +home in which she and Dudley might together take care of Basil; but she +saw ahead the tragedy of the awakening, when Dudley learnt of the +shallow, selfish little heart behind Doris’s charming exterior. + +That he, of all people, should be drawn to such an one was only the +contradiction seen on all sides in life. Because he had that +old-fashioned distrust of the independent, self-reliant woman, he must +needs go to the opposite extreme, and let himself be drawn to one +capable of little else in the world but ornamentation. Doris, she knew, +was fitted only to be a rich man’s plaything. Dudley, she felt +instinctively, would start off by expecting of her things she had never +had to give, and in his dismay and disappointment might wreck both +their lives. + +Yet she felt powerless to take any step that might save them from each +other, knowing full well that Doris, bored with her life at the flat, +had decided that even life with Dudley would be better. And even as +Ethel hastened westwards, instead of towards home, Doris with infinite +pains put the finishing touches to her pretty hair, and took a last +survey of her dainty person before the well-known step should sound on +the stone staircase outside their unpretentious little door. + +She had been very irritable with the invalid, because he was trying to +get a plan copied quickly, and wanted a special arrangement of light, +just when she was ready to go and dress after preparing the dinner; but +when at last Dudley knocked on the door, Doris opened it to him with a +face of such charming innocence and smiles that irritability would +never have been imagined in the répertoire of her characteristics. A +little helpless, a little childish, she might be, but what clever man +does not love a clinging woman? + +“It was so nice of you to come,” she said. “It is such a dreary place +to turn out to after your long day at the office.” + +“But I love coming,” he answered simply. “You know I do.” + +He looked at her with unconscious admiration, and Doris noted for the +hundredth time that although he was not particularly tall, nor +particularly good-looking, nor particularly anything, yet his thin, +clean-shaven face had a clever, distinguished air, and he had +unmistakably the cut and breeding of a gentleman. She knew that even if +he were only moderately well off, and could not afford the dash she +loved, he was at least good to be seen with, and a man who might one +day make his mark. So, though she deprecated most of the qualities +which were in reality his best points, she decided in her calculating +little head she would seriously contemplate becoming Mrs. Dudley +Pritchard. + +His greeting with the invalid was, for Dudley, a little boisterous—the +result of a hint from Ethel. He would probably never have had time to +see for himself that such a man as Basil Hayward would hate a pitying +air or invalid manner, but he was sympathetic enough to respond quickly +to a suggestion that the latest cricket or football news, gaily +imparted, was far more pleasing to the invalid than a sympathetic +inquiry after his health. + +For Basil Hayward, sufferer and martyr, was prouder of his near +relationship to a celebrated international cricketer than he would ever +had been of his own sublime courage had it been lauded to the skies. +Life had left him little enough, but “give me the power still to glory +in every manly and athletic achievement of my countrymen,” was his +unspoken request. + +So they discussed the latest sporting news of the world, and then had a +great argument on a plan of Dudley’s for a competition for a +grand-stand and pavilion on a celebrated aviation ground, while they +waited for Ethel. + +The small flat had only one sitting-room, and while they talked Doris +flitted gracefully about, putting the finishing touches to the table. +Afterwards she sat on a low chair under the lamp, so that the light +fell full on her pretty hair, while she bowed her head with unwonted +industry over a piece of sewing. + +Occasionally she glanced up at the two men, meeting Dudley’s eyes with +a pretty confiding look that only added to her charm. + +“Ethel is so late. I wonder if we had better wait,” she said at last. +“She told me on no account to do so.” + +Basil glanced at the clock a little anxiously. + +“It is too bad,” he murmured; “they have no right to expect so much +overtime work. She is sure to come soon.” + +“Yes; but I think she would like us to begin”; and Doris rose slowly. +“It will save time when she does come in.” + +It was plain Basil disapproved, but she pretended not to see it, and in +a short time she and Dudley were seated tête-à-tête, while the invalid +remained on his couch. They were gay from spontaneity of pleasure, and +Hal would have been surprised at the cheeriness of her grave brother, +had she seen how he responded to Doris’s playful mood. + +Then Ethel’s key sounded in the door, and it was as though a slight +shadow fell upon them. Doris wished she had been later still; Dudley +seemed to grow grave again, from habit, and Basil watched the door like +a big devoted dog, with eyes of hungry love. + +As she entered her first glance was for him, and her nod and smile ere +she turned to greet the visitor hid all her own weariness, and was +reflected in a light of glad welcome on the sick man’s face. + +“I’m so glad you didn’t wait,” she said; “I stayed to get the +drawing-paper.” + +“But why did you, dear?” he asked, with quick remonstrance. “Doris +could easily have gone tomorrow.” + +“Of course I could”; and Doris skilfully threw a hurt tone in her +voice, which Dudley was quick to detect. + +“I wanted to walk,” was all Ethel said, as she moved away to take off +her hat and coat. + +But in spite of her efforts the gaiety did not return, and Doris grew a +little pensive and sad. + +Dudley, with his surface reasoning, saw in her attitude something that +suggested the other two were in the habit of being entirely wrapped up +in each other, to the exclusion of the young sister. + +Ethel might be a remarkably clever and capable woman; he knew perfectly +well that she was just as able with her fingers as her brain, and did +nearly all the upholstering and dressmaking of the household in her +evening free time; but wasn’t she just a little superior and +self-satisfied also—just a little unkindly indifferent to the monotony +and dullness of her young sister’s existence? + +Dudley found his sympathy go out more and more to those childlike eyes, +and the pretty, clinging ways; and a sort of half-fledged resentment +grew up against the elder sister. He could not choose but admire her, +if it were only for her devotion to her brother, but he felt a vague +something, in his thoughts of her, that he could not express, and +remained grave. + +Ethel, watching them both covertly while she moved about helping Doris +to clear away the dinner things, guessed at much that was passing in +his mind, and unconsciously grew a little strained in her manner to +him. That he should pity Doris and blame her seemed at last irony, but +it could not be helped; and not even to win his love could she attempt +to change her natural manner, and appear what might better please him. + +She even said “good-night” a little coldly, and remained beside Basil +while Doris went out into the tiny hall with him to get his hat and +coat. + +Doris seemed to Dudley a lonely little figure out there in the dim +light, with just the suggestion of a droop about her lips and +wistfulness in her eyes. He believed that she found herself left out in +the cold with those other two, but was too proud to complain. He felt a +tenderness springing up in his heart and spreading to his eyes as he +leaned towards her with a protecting air. + +She was small and fragile. It made him feel big and protective; and he +liked it. Hal was so tall and straight and slim and boyish—not in the +least the sort of person one could really feel protective to; and he +liked clinging women… His head bent down quite near to hers as he said +in a low tone: “I suppose they are like lovers, those two, and you feel +a little out of it, eh?” + +“Yes”—confidingly and gratefully—“and it makes me very unhappy, because +I love to slave for Basil just as much as Ethel does. But he does not +want me…” with a little sad air. + +“Oh, I think you are mistaken. It could never be that. It is only that +they have always been so devoted, and I expect it is too lonely for you +here. You do not get enough change. Would you care to go to the White +City with me on Thursday evening?” + +“Oh, I should love it!” and there was a quick gleam in her eyes. + +“Very well, I will arrange it.” His hand closed over hers lingeringly. +“Good-bye. Don’t be despondent. I will let you know where to meet me. +We might have dinner at a restaurant first; shall we?” + +Again she expressed her delight, and Dudley went off with a glow of +pleasure that was a surprise to him. + +But behind the closed door Doris smiled a little smile in the darkness, +that had none of the artless innocence of the smiles reserved for him. + +“Ethel would just give her head to go with him,” was her first thought; +and then, “I hope he won’t go to a cheap restaurant.” + +In the sitting-room Ethel was putting the last touches to the invalid’s +comfort for the night, moving about busily. Doris leaned against the +table, and made no attempt to help her. + +“Dudley wants me to go to the White City with him on Thursday evening. +I said I would.” + +“Thursday is the night I have to go and see Dr. Renshaw”; and Ethel +glanced round with a shadow of vexation on her face. + +“I know it is, but you will not be very late.” She paused, then added, +“I do not get so many treats that I can afford to miss one.” + +“Dudley could probably have gone any other night. Did you ask him?” + +Ethel spoke a little quickly, and Doris looked ready with a sharp +retort, when Basil interposed. + +“Thursday will be all right, chum. Doris won’t leave before six and you +will get in by half-past seven. I shall have nearly two whole hours in +which to do any silly thing I like, without getting scolded”; and his +smile was very winsome. + +“I don’t like you to have to wait so long for your dinner. You always +get faint. Perhaps Dr. Renshaw would see me another evening... I—” + +“Oh, nonsense, chum”—in the same cheery voice—“I’ll have a tin of +sardines, and eat one every ten minutes until you come.” + +Ethel let the matter drop, seeing it would please him best, and Doris +retired to their room with a slightly sulky air. + +“There always seems to be something to damp it if I am to have a +treat,” was her complaint. + +“I don’t think you will feel damped after you start,” Ethel replied +quietly, and they went to bed in silence. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +When Dudley got back he found Hal waiting up for him, with an +expression of shining eagerness on her face. + +“Oh, Dudley, such fun!” she began, “Lorraine has got the royal box for +me for Thursday evening. We must have a little dinner-party. Who shall +we take? It holds four comfortably, and two men could stand at the +back.” + +“Thursday evening!” looking a little taken aback. “I am engaged.” + +“Engaged! Well, you must put it off. Why didn’t you tell me? I thought +you said you had any night free except Friday.” + +“I only made the engagement this evening.” + +“Are you going to see Basil again? He won’t mind being put off.” + +“No. It isn’t Basil.” + +“What then?” + +Dudley turned away, threw his gloves carelessly down on a sidetable, +and picked up some letters. + +“I asked Doris to go to the White City with me.” + +“You—you asked Doris to go to the White City?...” she repeated +incredulously. “What in the world for?” + +“To see it, of course. What else should I ask her for?” + +“Oh, Heaven only knows! Why ask her at all? I should certainly upset +her into the canal from sheer irritation if she came with me.” + +“Such nonsense.” He knit his forehead into a decided frown. “You are so +unfair to Doris. You used to complain that I was unfair to Lorraine. I +was never as unfair as you are now. You don’t really know Doris at all; +and she has never done anything to hurt you.” + +“It doesn’t follow that she wouldn’t if she had the chance. You’re so +awfully dense about women, Dudley. Why didn’t you invite Ethel instead? +She is worth a hundred Dorises. Then we could have taken her to the +theatre.” + +His voice and manner grew very cold. + +“I don’t agree with you, but it is not a subject I care to discuss. Is +there any reason why Doris should not be invited to the theatre?” + +“None whatever, except that I don’t propose to ask her.” + +They faced each other a moment almost angrily, except that whereas +Dudley was distinctly vexed, Hal was a little scornful, and +half-laughing. + +“Then I cannot come either, and”—he paused a moment, to add with +decision—“I object to your going unchaperoned.” + +“Do you mean that you wish me to give up the box?” + +“You know what I mean.” + +Hal was thoughtful a moment, and then remarked with sudden glee: + +“I know what I’ll do. I’ll take the Three Graces, and persuade Quin’s +aunt to come as chaperone. Then we’ll all have supper with Lorraine +afterwards. You shall have a nice, quiet, interesting evening with +Doris, and I’ll get two stalls for you for another night.” + +She moved about, gathering up her things. + +“You don’t know Quin’s aunt, Lady Bounce, do you? She’s the dearest old +soul, and she loves a theatre. Night-night, old boy; don’t keep Doris +too long near the canal, in case you are taken with my inclination”; +and she went gaily off, humming a popular air. + +Dudley read through his letters without grasping any of their contents. +For the first time Hal’s attitude to Doris seriously worried him, and +he felt vaguely there was trouble ahead. + +But when Thursday came, and they were together, she again had the same +pleasing effect upon his senses, and he let himself be persuaded that +if Hal grew to know her better, she could not choose but grow fond of +her. + +In the meantime a group in the royal box at the Greenway Theatre was +causing no small interest to a crowded house. + +There was Hal, with her smart, well-groomed air, gleaming white neck +and arms, and her white, even teeth that looked so attractive even in +the distance when she smiled. + +Dick Bruce, spruce and scholarly, hugely pleased with himself, because +he had an article in _The National Review_, on the strength of the +colonies in war time; and some lines entitled “Baby’s Boredom” in +_Fireside Chat_, concerning which he had already announced his +intention of standing the champagne for their supper with the cheque. + +Of the other two occupants it would be difficult to say which attracted +the most attention. Alymer Hermon, with his immense stature and +splendid head, or Quin’s aunt, Lady Bounce, who presented so striking a +resemblance to another well-known little old lady sometimes seen at the +theatre, that friends of the last-mentioned were utterly puzzled. + +Surely only one little lady in London wore that early Victorian dress, +with the ringlets and “grande dame” air, and sat with such genuine +delight and enjoyment through a play? And yet why did she not look out +for her numerous friends, down there in the stalls, and recognise them? + +And who in the world was she with? If that were indeed Lady Phyllis +Fenton—and it seemed incredible it should not be—who was the splendid +young giant, and who the white-faced girl with the brilliant smile? + +And all the time, absorbed in the play and her companions, the little +old lady smiled and talked, calmly indifferent to the many eyes below +waiting for the expected bow of recognition. + +Quin, apparently, had not been willing to desert his slummers for a gay +West-end theatre; so Hal was only escorted by two Graces instead of +three, but the light in her eyes, for any one near enough to see, +suggested she was enjoying herself to the utmost in spite of it. + +Then came the final sensation, of the little old lady in her strange +costume and ringlets, passing through the vestibule, on the arm of the +young giant, followed by the sleek-looking, well-groomed pair of +cousins, who chatted to each other with an air of the utmost unconcern +towards the curious glances now levelled at them upon all sides. + +“It _must_ be Lady Phyllis Fenton,” said some. “It _can’t_ be,” said +others. “Then who the devil is it?” asked the men. + +And still the little group passed on, smiling and unconcerned, though a +red spot burned in the giant’s smooth cheeks, and he carefully avoided +any possibility of meeting Hal’s gleaming eyes. + +A roomy electric brougham was awaiting them, and then the watchers said +it glided away: “Surely that is Lady Phyllis’s car and liveries?” + +But what they would have made of the scene inside the car it is +difficult to say, for the dear little old lady suddenly collapsed +backwards on her seat, with a howl of laughter, and shot into the air a +pair of trousered legs. + +“Oh my conscience!” gasped Quin, amid choking laughter. “It will be the +sensation of the season; and when Aunt Phyllis gets to hear about it +she’ll first have a fit with wrath and then laugh until she’s ill.” + +“I’d no idea you were such an actor, Quin,” Hal exclaimed admiringly +when she could speak; “you ought be holding crowded houses enthralled, +instead of slumming.” + +“Heaven preserve me. Theatres are mostly mummies looking at mummies. +Down east I get in touch with flesh and blood—the real thing; and I +prefer it. But I wouldn’t have missed tonight for something. Oh, +lord!... just think of the people who know Aunt Phyllis that I must +have cut; and all the fuss there will be when aunt is admonished for +supping at the Savoy with an actress! We aren’t half through the fun +yet.” + +With which they all went off into fresh peals of laughter, at various +reminiscences, and were bordering upon a condition of imbecility when +Lorraine at last joined them with the latest news. + +“It’s positively immense,” she said. “The manager told me Lady Phyllis +Fenton had come with Miss Pritchard, and tomorrow every paper will +announce it, and the mystery will grow. I ’phoned for a private room at +the Savoy, to keep the puzzle up. She must only be seen passing through +on Mr. Hermon’s arm. How splendid they must look. I almost wish I +wasn’t in the secret.” + +“Oh, they do!” Hal cried. “Alymer ought to have had knee breeches and +silk stockings, and they would look just perfect. I have to talk fast +to Dick, or I should give it all away in my face.” + +“You’ll have to settle with your aunt,” Lorraine laughed to Quin. “I +hope she won’t cut you off with a shilling.” + +“She will be furiously angry and terrifically interested,” he said. “I +expect I shall have to take you all to dinner to show her what the +party looked like. Of course, Bonne, her maid, will give it away, +because I borrowed the garments from her, and said they were for a play +I was getting up in the East End.” + +“You’ll have a bad half-hour with Dudley,” Dick remarked to Hal, with +enjoyment. “He is sure to hear of it somewhere.” + +“Quite sure,” resignedly; “but if it were a bad two hours it would +still have been worth it. It reminds me of the old days at school, +Lorraine, when we used to get into scrapes on purpose, if the fun made +it worth while.” + +There was no gayer supper party in the Savoy that night, and the +champagne paid for with the proceeds of “Baby’s Boredom” proved none +the less vivifying for the insipidity of its source. Dick insisted upon +reciting his doggerel, and Quin was not only much toasted as “Lady +Bounce”, but carried kicking round the room by the giant, because in a +moment of forgetfulness he used a swear-word, which they all insisted +was a reflecton upon the conversation of his illustrious aunt. + +Lorraine, in most amusing form herself, laughed until she was tired +out, and wondered why she was not bored. She asked the question of +Alymer Hermon, who was privileged to see her home, while Dick returned +with Hal, and Quin beat a hasty retreat to get rid of his disguise. + +“After all, you are only boys,” she said, with a little smile, “and +I’m... well, I’m Lorraine Vivian.” + +The giant gazed thoughtfully out of the brougham window a moment, and +from her corner Lorraine looked long, and a little sadly, at the finely +modelled head and profile. + +“Perhaps,” he said at length, “a great many people you meet make a +special effort to please you, and try to make an impression on you. We +being all so young, and just nobodies, realise the uselessness of +wasting our efforts, and are merely natural.” + +She smiled in the shadow, and glanced away from him with the sadness +deepening. + +“I feel tonight I should like to be one of you—so young and just +nobody. It would be a pleasant change.” + +“I don’t think you would like it at all.” + +He looked at her with a slightly puzzled air. + +“Only the other day you were speaking to me of achievement and +ambition. You seemed to care so much. You must be glad.” + +“Oh yes, yes,” wearily; “but it isn’t enough by itself. There is +something I have missed, and tonight I feel that it might outweight all +the rest—something to do with being young, and careless, and fresh, and +just nobody.” + +Still looking at her with slightly puzzled, very kindly eyes, he +answered simply, “I’m so sorry.” + +She seemed to shrink away suddenly into her corner. The very simplicity +of his sympathy, and the quiet, natural friendliness in his face, +stirred some strange chord in her heart with a swift, unaccountable +ache. He looked so big and strong and splendid there in the shadow, +with his freshness and his charm; and she felt very brain-fagged and +world-weary; and without in the least knowing why, or what led up to +the desire, she wanted to feel his arms about her, and his freshness +soothing her spirit. + +And instead he was not even attempting to make love to her, not even +flirting with her. Would any other man she knew have ridden beside her +thus after the gentleness she had shown? Was that perhaps the very +secret of his attraction? Or was it a physical allurement—the +irresistible charm of bigness and strength, independent of anything +else, drawing with its time-old sway? + +She had no time to probe further, as the brougham stopped at her door. +He handed her out with the deference so often met with in big men, +remarking with an old-fashioned air that suited him to perfection: + +“I’m afraid we have all tired you very much. It was good of you to come +with us. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it.” + +“Oh, indeed no; you refreshed me. Good-night. Stevens will run you +home. Don’t forget Sunday”, and she moved away. + +“It must be his bigness,” was her last thought as her head touched the +pillow. “When I am used to it, no doubt the novelty will pass, and I +shall find him merely boyish, and be rather bored.” + +“I wonder if it is her dainty smallness,” Dudley was musing, away in +his Bloomsbury lodging, feeling still, with a pleasant thrill, the +touch of Doris’s small hand on his arm, and seeing again the upward, +confiding expression in her wide blue eyes. “Odd that Hal should be so +far astray in her judgment, when she is usually so clever; but if she +knew her better she would change her mind.” + +As for Hal herself, she hastily tumbled into bed, still chuckling in +huge enjoyment over her evening. + +“Those boys are just dears,” was her thought, “and I wouldn’t have +missed Lady Bounce for the world. What a good thing Dudley was taken +with paternal affection for that little fool Doris, and I had to have a +chaperone. Heigh-ho! what a scene there will be if he hears about it; +but what’s the odds so long as you’re happy? And oh dear! what will +Lady Phyllis Fenton say when she finds out”; and once more the even +teeth flashed an irresistible smile into the darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +It was force of habit chiefly that caused Lorraine, as a rule, to sleep +long and late on Sunday mornings; and it was greatly to her advantage +that for so many months, and even years, no mental anxiety had robbed +her of a splendid capacity to rest. She seemed to have a faculty for +limiting her worrying hours to the daylight, and being able to lay them +aside, like her correspondence, at night. + +Yet on the following Sunday morning she found herself early awake, with +a brain only too ready to begin probing restlessly, and having little +of the calm friendliness she intended it should have towards her guest +of the evening. + +To add to her unrest, her mother paid her an early visit, of a sort +that had been growing too frequent of late. It was not enough that +Lorraine paid her rent, and gave her a handsome allowance; when there +chanced to be no one else to pay her debts, these came upon Lorraine’s +shoulders also. + +T-day it was a long, rambling tale of a hard-hearted dressmaker who, +having had a new frock back for alteration, had taken upon herself to +return the skirt, without the bodice, with an intimation that she was +retaining the delayed portion until her long account was settled. Hence +Mrs. Vivian found herself with what she called a most important +engagement, without the equally important new frock to go in. + +Lorraine lay under the bedclothes, with only her head showing, and +watched her a little coldly, as she moved restlessly about the room +airing her woes. She had promised Madame Luce, over and over again, to +settle in a week or two; and who would have believed the odious woman +would serve her such a trick? + +Never again, if she had to go naked, would she order a garment from her +of any description whatever. And the friends she had sent to her as +customers! Why, half the woman’s trade was owing to her introduction. + +“Perhaps the friends don’t pay their bills,” Lorraine suggested in a +tired voice. + +Mrs. Vivian drew herself up a little haughtily. + +“I do not think there is any occasion to cast reflections on my +friends, even if you do not choose to be sociable to them,” which +remark was intended as a dignified hit at Lorraine’s invincible +determination to maintain friendly relations with her mother, without +having anything whatever to do with her mother’s friends. + +As many previous hits, it fell quite harmlessly; it was doubtful if +Lorraine even heard it, half hidden there in the bedclothes with her +tired eyes. + +“I suppose it isn’t any use reminding you that your personal +expenditure exceeds mine?” she hinted, “and that you have already far +overstepped the allowance we stipulated?” + +“You do not have time to go about as much as I do, and it makes a great +difference not having hosts of friends.” + +“You don’t seem to get much pleasure out of them,” Lorraine could not +resist saying, knowing as she did how much of her salary went into the +pockets of these so-called friends, in order to buy their adherence. + +“Do I get much pleasure out of anything?” irritably. “My only child is +one of the first actresses in London, and what is it to me? Do I have +the pleasure of going about with her? or living with her? or taking any +part in her success?” + +“I suppose it isn’t such a small thing to live by her. If I were not +successful, we could certainly not live here. It might have been +Islington and omnibuses,” and she smiled. + +“As if that were all. Probably, as real companions we might have been +even happier in Islington.” + +Lorraine stiffened. “Companions!… Ah, I, with whom else ever dancing +attendance, and changing in identity every few months?” + +But she made no comment, for the days of her hot-headed, deep-hearted +judging were over; and from behind inscrutable eyes she looked upon the +things that one sees without seeming to see them, and accepted facts +that hurt her very soul, with a callous, cynical air that defied the +keenest shafts of probing. + +It was her armour in an envious, merciless world, that would have +rejoiced before her eyes if it could have driven in a barbed arrow even +through her mother. + +More than once a jealous enemy had tried and failed, routed utterly by +Lorraine’s cynical, cool treatment of a fact that she knew no +persuasion nor arguing could have helped her to refute. She did not +even weep about it now in secret. + +It was as though she had shed all the tears she had to shed during that +year of utter revulsion spent in the Italian Riviera, companied by the +passionless solitudes of snowtopped mountains. Something of a great +patience and a great gentleness had come to her then, helping her to +hide the loathing she could not crush, and place the fact of motherhood +first of all. + +As her mother, she had taken Mrs. Vivian back into her heart, and given +her generously of what worldly possessions she had. And she had done it +with a wondrous quiet and absence of all ostentation either outwardly +or inwardly. It had never occured to Lorraine that, whether it was a +duty or not, after what had passed it was certainly a fine act upon her +part. + +She had not questioned about it at all. To her mother’s apologetic gush +she had merely turned calm eyes and a strong face. + +“It isn’t worth while to remember the past at all,” she had said; “we +will just begin again on rather different lines. I’ll always let you +have as much money as I can spare.” + +Mrs. Vivian had been a little taken aback by the new Lorraine who +returned from Italy; and not a little afraid before the calm, +inscrutable eyes; so that she had secretly rejoiced at the arrangement +which gave her a separate establishment of her own; but none the less, +in bursts of righteous indignation supposed to emanate from her +outraged feelings as a mother, she usually chose to make it her pet +grievance. + +And still Lorraine only smiled the tired smile, and glanced carelessly +aside with the inscrutable eyes until the tirade was over, the coveted +cheque made out, and her own little sanctum once again in peaceful +possession. + +Only just occasionally, if the interview had been specially trying, she +might have been seen afterwards to glance whimsically across to the +picture, recently enlarged from an old photograph, of a fine-looking +man in full hunting-rig standing beside a favourite hunter. + +“Poor old dad,” she murmured once; “I don’t wonder you couldn’t keep up +the old place. I don’t know how you got along at all without my +salary.” + +Once when she was feeling the drag of it all a little keenly she told +the man in the picture: “Mother is splendidly handsome, and I daresay I +owe her a good deal; but thank God you were there with your fine old +name and family to give me the things that matter most. It sometimes +seems as if we had got each other still, dad, and, for the rest, some +are frail in one way and some another, and fretting doesn’t help any +one.” The fine eyes had grown more whimsically wistful looking into the +face of the huntsman as she finished: “Anyhow, the last favourite is +second cousin to a duke, and she pointed out to me, he might have been +only a butcher.” + +How much Hal knew of her mother’s life Lorraine had never been able to +gauge, but she had reason to think she knew something and was sporting +enough to pretend otherwise. If so, she blessed her for it, feeling +that by that generous non-acknowledgment she rendered a service both to +her and her dead father. + +Yet it seemed strange that any one so young and fresh as Hal should be +able to act thus, instead of suffering a violent repulsion. Was it the +depth of her splendid friendship; or was it a naturally adaptable, +common-sense nature; or was it non-comprehension? + +As time passed and she grew to know Hal yet better, she felt +instinctively it was the first of these, coupled with that true +sportsman-spirit which was one of her strongest attributes. + +Lorraine was not the only one who felt that whether Hal had any +religion or not, or any faith, through good and ill, by easy paths and +difficult, one might be absolutely sure that she would “play the game.” +It made her feel herself richer with her one friend than with her +mother’s admitted hosts, and though she seemed to hesitate and reason +on that Sunday morning, both knew the cheque would finally be written, +and the coveted garment rescued in time for the important lunch. + +Only, afterwards, a shadow seemed to linger today that heretofore would +have vanished with the departing figure. The sunshine crept through the +drawn curtains, lying like a shaft of hope across the gloom, but it +brought no answering gleam into the beautiful eyes, with their tired, +far-off gaze. + +It was all very well for Hal to be a main feature in her life, blessing +it with her friendship, while she turned kindly, unseeing eyes away +from the corners where the murky shadows lay: Hal, who knew about the +mad, discreditable marriage and its violent termination, and probably +also of her mother’s insatiable thirst for admiration and excitement at +any cost. + +There was something about Hal in herself that was as a shining armour, +against which unkind barbs fell harmlessly, and enabled her to go on +her serene and joyful way in blissful non-attention. + +But could it be the same with this treasured only son, who was +doubtless destined for a high place in the world by doting parents, and +other proud bearers of the same old name? Of course he might sup and +trifle with certain denizens of the theatrical world galore; it would +only be part of his education, and a thing to wink at, but she already +doubted whether such a slight companionship would have any attraction. + +In spite of his youthfulness, there was something in him that would +naturally and quickly respond to the fine shades in herself, and grow +into a friendship that had no part with the casual, gay +acquaintanceships of the theatre and the world. + +In a sense he was like Hal, and she knew that just as she attracted +Hal’s devotion in spite of all disparity of years and circumstances, +so, if she chose, she could make this young giant more or less her +slave. + +But was it worht it? + +What did she, on her high pedestal, want with his young admiration? +What did she want with a companion so undeveloped that she herself must +awaken his strongest forces? + +Through the gloom, unheeding the shaft of sunlight, she saw him again, +towering up there on her hearth, with his young splendour, so +extraordinarily unspoilt as yet; and she knew that, reasonable or +unreasonable, she was attracted far beyond her wont. + +And then she thought of his easy-going temperament, his lack of +ambition, his half-sleepy attitude towards life. + +What if the wheels ran so smoothly for him that the latent forces were +never aroused, and little achieved of all that might be? + +If love came at his asking, and a sufficiency of success to satisfy an +easy-going nature, what would there ever be to stir depths which she +truly believed were worth stiring? Was it so small a thing to help a +fine soul forward to its best attainment?... was such an aim not worth +some going aside for both? + +She felt there were things she could teach him, which without her he +might entirely miss; and if without her he were the better according to +a conventional standard, he might yet be far the poorer in the big, +deep things of life. + +Well, no doubt circumstances would end by suiting themselves, with or +without her agency. In the meantime why worry, in a world that it would +seem worked out its own ends, sublimely indifferent to the individual? + +They were going to dine together tonight anyhow; their first +tête-à-tête dinner and evening: time enough to probe and worry when she +was more sure a mutual attraction existed; wiser at present to seek a +counter attraction for her own sake, that she might not uselessly build +a castle without foundations. + +Prompt as ever, she reached out for the receiver beside her bed and +rang up the Albany to know if Lord Denton were awake yet. + +“I’m not awake,” came back a sleepy answer. “I am asleep, and dreaming +of Lorraine Vivian. If my man wakes me now, I shall curse him solidly +for half an hour.” + +“Well, will you dream you are going to take her for a spin into the +country shortly? I happen to know she is fainting for the longing to +breathe country air.” + +“In my dream I am already waiting at her door, with the Yellow Peril +spluttering its heart out with delight, and eagerness to be off. I have +even dreamt she managed to put a motor bonnet on in half-an-hour—is it +conceivable—or should it be half a day?” + +“No, your dream is right. Be outside the door in half an hour, and you +will see.” + +An hour later they were spinning out into Surrey at an alarming pace, +both silently revelling in the freshness and motion and the fact that +they were too old friends to need to trouble about conversation. When +they dived into the lanes he slowed down, remarking: + +“I suppose we mustn’t risk scrunching any one up.” + +Lorraine only smiled, remaining silent a little longer, and then she +suddenly asked him: + +“When you feel yourself inclined to fall in love foolishly what do you +do?” + +“Well… as a rule…” he began slowly and humorously, “I either cut and +run, or I hurry to see so much of her that I am bound to get bored.” + +“The first plan sounds the safest, but would often be the most +difficult of execution. Supposing the second miscarries and you don’t +get bored?” + +“Well, then I think—usually—there is an awful moment when I have to +tell her I can’t afford both a motor and a wife; and to be motorless +would kill me.” + +A sudden little twitching at the corners made Lorraine’s mouth +dangerously fascinating. + +“Evidently you have never fallen in love with me,” she said, “for you +have not been driven to either way of escape.” + +He looked into her face with an answering humour, and a twinkle in his +eyes as alluring as her smilling lips. + +“Because when I fell in love with you I did it sensibly, and not +foolishly,” was his answer; “instinct told me I couldn’t have you for +my wife however much I wished it, so I said myself: ‘Flip, old boy, +she’ll make a thundering good pal, you close with it,’ and I did.” + +She made no comment, and he went on more seriously: + +“You see, even if you became marriageable and I cut out the motor, you +wouldn’t be attracted to an ordinary sort of cove like me. I suit you +down to the ground as a pal, but it wouldn’t go any farther.” + +“I wonder why you think that?” + +“I don’t exactly _think_ it—thinking is too much bother—but it’s just +there, like a commonplace fact. You are all temperament, and +high-strung nerves, and soul, and enthusiasm, and that sort of thing, +which makes you a great actress. I’m just a two-legged, superior sort +of animal, who hasn’t much brain, but knows what he likes, and usually +does it without wasting time on pros and cons. Consequently, I’m just +as likely to end in prison as anywhere else, and take it without much +concern as all in the day’s work. You are more likely to end in a +nunnery, as the most devout of all the nuns.” + +“What an odd idea! Why a nunnery?” + +“Oh, because it’s an extreme of one sort or another, and you are made +for extremes. You’ll perhaps be very wicked first”—he smiled +delightfully—“after which, of course, you’d have to be very good. It’s +the way you’re made. I’m cut out on quite a different plan. I can’t be +‘very’ anything, unless it’s very drunk after the Oxford and Cambridge +at Lord’s.” + +“Do you think I could be very wicked?” She asked the question with a +thoughtfulness that amused him greatly, and he answered at once: + +“I haven’t a doubt of it. You are probably plotting the particular form +of wickedness at this very moment.” + +She laughed, and he went on in the same serio-comic mood: + +“I quite envy you. It must be very thrilling to think to oneself, ‘I’ve +dared to be desperately wicked.’ You cease to be a nonentity at once +and become a force. You get right to hand-grips with the big elemental +things. Of course that is interesting, but it usually means a +confounded lot of bother.” + +“You are as bad as Hal Pritchard. She announced the other day she would +rather have a dishonest purpose than no purpose at all.” + +“It’s the same idea, only Miss Pritchard lives up to her creed by being +full of energy and purpose; whereas I can’t be anything but a mediocre +waster. I’ve neither the pluck to be wicked, not the energy to be good, +nor enough purpose to regret it. I believe I’m best described as an +aristocratic ‘stiff’, a ‘stiff’ being a person who spends his life +trying to avoid having to do things. + +“I fill a niche all the same,” he finished, “because I make such an +excellent foil for the other chaps, who like to pride themselves on +their superiority and hard work. It’s nice for them to be able to say +contemptuously, ‘Look at Denton,’ and it’s nice for me to be able to +feel I’m of some use, without the bother of making an effort.” + +“You are certainly quite incorrigible as an idler, if that can be +called a purpose, and, Flip, don’t change; I love you for it; you are +one of the most restful things I have ever known.” + +He glanced into her face with a keenness that somewhat belied his +professed incapacity to be in earnest, and remarked with seeming +lightness: + +“Feeling a bit down on your luck, eh? Are you thinking of falling in +love foolishly?” + +“I’m thinking of trying to guard against doing so.” + +“You ought not to find it difficult. Crowd him out with other +admirers.” + +“It seems as if he were going to do the crowding out.” + +“Why, is he so big?” jocularly. + +“There’s six foot five-and-a-half of him.” + +“Whew! And thin as a lathe, I suppose; a sort of animated telegraph +pole.” + +“No; broad in proportion, cut to measure absolutely.” + +“Then he is a fine fellow,” with conviction. + +Lorraine felt a swift glow of pride, and then inwardly admonished +herself for being silly. What, after all, was size? As Hal had +trenchantly remarked, plenty of London policemen were just as big and +fine. Half in self-defence she added: + +“He has brains as well, and he is as handsome as Apollo.” + +“Then run,” was the laconic response; “don’t stop to buy a ticket; pay +the other end.” + +She smiled, but grew suddenly serious. Leaning forward with eyes +straining hard to the horizon, she said: “Flip, I’ve had a hard life, +in spite of the success. Shall I run?... or... shall I stay, and snatch +joy, while there is still time?” + +He looked at her with a growing interest. + +“If I were you I should run,” he said; “but, all the same, I think +you’ll stay.” + +“No; I don’t think I shall. There are other reasons. He is a good deal +younger than I—and—well, I’ve a fair amount on my soul already.” + +The tired shadow was coming back to her eyes, but she laughed suddenly +with an attempt at gaiety. + +“You ought to have heard Hal Pritchard on the subject. She remarked +there were plenty of London policemen just as big, and suggested if I +wanted a fine young animal to play with, I should be safer with a polar +bear from the Zoo.” + +“Well done, Hal. We ought to have brought her. Where is she today?” + +“Careering across England in a haphazard fashion with her cousin Dick +Bruce. Do you mind turning towards home now? I’m dining out, and have +some letters to write.” + +“Who’s the happy man tonight?... I thought of course I was to have the +whole day.” + +“With a view to getting wholesomely bored! No, Flip, I don’t propose to +let you find that way out just yet.” + +“I should have found it for myself long ago if it were possible. As it +is, I have grown resigned, and accept what crumbs fall to my portion.” +He paused a moment and then asked, “Is it Goliath tonight?” + +“It is.” + +“Rash woman; and just when I have advised you to run.” + +“But it is not in the least serious yet. I only asked you in view of it +becoming so.” + +“Which means you will try and start to run, _after_ you are firmly in +the trap.” + +“Not at all. I won’t go near the trap. I’ll tell him I’m old enough to +be his mother, and talk down to him from years of detestable common +sense and sagacity.” + +“Which sounds as if it would be even duller than dining with me.” + +“Oh no. It holds novelty anyway. You are never dull, but likewise you +are no longer novel.” + +They made for the high roads again, and spun along mostly in silence +until the car once more came to a standstill at Lorraine’s door. + +“Come in,” she said, “I’ve lots of time.” + +“No,” with a little smile. “I’ve had my crumbs for the day. I’m going +to have a good solid crust now to keep the balance. Do you know Lottie +Bird?… Fourteen stone, if she’s an ounce, and a tongue like a +sixty-horse-power motor. There are times when she’s so damned practical +and overpowering she does me good. This is one of them. Good-bye. Don’t +kill the giant with a glance; and don’t be silly enough to get hurt +yourself.” + +“All right. I’ll go in full armour,” and she nodded gaily enough as he +moved off down the street. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +What Lorraine exactly meant by full armour she did not quite know, but +it might very well have been taken to mean the shining armour of her +own best loveliness. Certainly after no small consideration she chose +what she believed to be her most becoming gown, and she was unusually +critical about the dressing of her hair. + +All the same, at 7.45 she was ready, and her cavalier had not yet +arrived. She waited five minutes until he came, and then it was +necessary to wait another five minutes that he might not know she had +been more up to time than he. Then she entered the drawing-room in a +little bit of a hurry, and cut short his simple, direct apologies by +regretting her own tardiness, and saying she had been out motoring +until late. + +But she had time to note quickly that he also had dressed himself with +special care, plastering down resolutely the unruly determination of +his fair hair to curl. That was good. Any suggestion of a curl must +have produced an effect of effeminacy, whereas that neat, plastered +wave showed the shapeliness of his head, and gave him a touch of manly +decision. Her electric brougham was at the door, but she kept it +waiting a few minutes, that they might be later than the majority of +diners, and pass up a well-filled room. + +In the end their arrival was equal to her best expectations. She led +the way slowly, with a queenly grace that was one of her best +attributes; but as she nodded casually to an acquaintance here and +there, she had plenty of time to observe the curious eyes from all +around, looking with undisguised admiration, not so much at her +faultless appearance, which was more or less known, but at her striking +cavalier. + +She had engaged a small table at one of the top corners and arranged +the seats sideways, so that both could look over the room if they +wanted to, and at the same time be easily seen by others. She did this +because it amused her to see people gazing at him, and to watch his +quiet self-possession. She almost wondered if he even realised how much +attention he attracted, but perceived that he could hardly help doing +so, though he took it all with so simple and unabashed an air. + +She watched also to see if, as most of the strikingly handsome men she +had known, he courted tell-tale glances from other eyes, and sipped +honey from any flower within reach, as well as from his own particular +flower. And when she found that his absolute and undivided attention +was given to her, and that all the power of entertaining he could +muster was called into her service, she felt a glow of gratitude to him +that he had not disappointed her, but proved himself the simple, +high-bred gentleman she longed to find him. + +It made her show herself to him at her very best. Not showily witty, +nor callously gay, nor fashionably original, but just her own self of +light humour and dainty speech and kindly sympathy, the true, best self +that held Hal’s unswerving devotion through good account and ill. + +Unconsciously she left the time-worn paths of beauty and success, and +became young, and fresh, and whole-hearted as he; tackling abstruse +problems with a childlike, vigorous air; holding him spell-bound with +her own charm of conversation one moment, and leading him on to talk +with ease and frankness the next. + +The other diners got up and retired to the lounge, and still they sat +on; no hint of boredom, no note of disparity, no need of other +companionship. As they were preparing to rise, she told him lightly +that he talked amazingly well for his tender years. + +“Only twenty-four,” he answered; “it does seem a kiddish age, doesn’t +it!” + +“Dreadfully kiddish. It makes me feel old enough to be your +grandmother.” + +He glanced up, half-questioning, half-deprecating. + +“That would be the oddest thing of all, unless I really appear to be +about twenty years before my time.” + +For a reason she could not have fathomed, she looked into his eyes with +a sudden seriousness and said: + +“I was thirty-two last week.” + +She saw a quick look of surprise he did not attempt to hide, followed +by a very charming smile, as he asserted: + +“It is impossible. You could not sit there and look like that if you +were thirty-two.” + +“The impossible is so often the true. I’m glad you don’t think I seem +old. It is nice to believe one can keep young at heart, in spite of the +years. Shall we go to the lounge?” + +Again they moved through the admiring crowd, but this time Lorraine +felt less idle interest and more inward wonder; and without any +misgiving she steered to a quiet alcove, where they could talk without +again being the cynosure of many eyes. + +Here, in a pleasant, friendly way, she led him once again to talk of +the future, and was glad to find, in answering sincerity with +sincerity, he was ready to admit that he was a little sorry about his +own lack of ambition and want of application. He did not pretend now +that it was of no moment. He told her he would like to achieve, only +somehow he always found his attention wander to other things, and his +desire grow slack after a week of rigid application. + +She recognised that the motive-power was missing, and that unless +something deeper than mere desire of achievement stirred him, he would +probably never attain. He needed a goal that should make everything +else in the world pale before it, and something that seemed almost as +life and death to hang on his success. But how get it for him? If he +loved, and was bidden wait until he had prospered, the end was all too +sure and the love too easy. + +It was something different that was needed; something that would bring +him up with dead abruptness against a blank wall, and leave him with a +taste of life that was dust and ashes unless he found a way through. +Either that or some sweet, wild, unattainable desire, that might drive +him to work and ambition by way of escape. + +And there again, where should he encounter such a desire? One had only +to look into his calm, fine face to feel that the unattainable in the +form of love, barred by marriage vows as lightly made as broken, would +never stir the depths of his heart, nor appeal to his real self in any +way whatever. + +He would not love such a woman, however for a time she might fascinate +him; and afterwards there would only be the nausea and the memory that +was like an unpleasant taste. Such a woman might teach him many things +it is no harm for a man to know; but she would never call to the best +in him, nor help him to realise himself. + +“Have you seen your friend the duchess lately?” she asked, with a +disarming smile, not wishing to appear merely curious. + +“Yes; I saw her on Friday, at a ball. She was in great form.” + +“You danced with her?” + +“Yes. She’s not a good dancer.” + +“Then you only had one, I suppose?” + +“No, three.” He smiled a little. “We sat out two.” + +“You ought to have felt highly honoured.” + +“Oh, I don’t know. She is very amusing. A very funny thing happened +last week. Out of sheer devilry, she and a friend and two men went to +the Covent Garden Fancy Dress Ball, disguised of course, and just for +an hour or two. To their horror, after the procession, the friend was +handed a large glass-and-silver salad bowl, as a prize for being the +best ‘twostep’ dancer in the room. Of course she had to go off with the +beastly thing; but she was so proud of winning it, she couldn’t resist +giving their escapade away, and it got round everywhere.” + +“I wonder if our escapade with Lady Bounce is out yet? I haven’t seen +Hal since Thursday.” + +“Oh yes, it is,” eagerly; “the duchess had heard about it. She was +pumping me to know who was in the joke. We are longing to see Quin and +hear the latest, but he is down east.” + +“What an oddity he is!” thoughtfully. “I liked him so much: but it is +difficult to reconcile him with slumming.” + +“He’s one of the best. Every one loves him. And he does his slumming in +quite a way of his own. I’ve been with him sometimes, and he just goes +among the rough characters down there as if he hated being a swell and +wanted to be one of them. He positively asks them for sympathy, and of +course it takes their fancy and he is friends with them all.” + +“I think you are a remarkable trio altogether. Hal’s cousin Dick is +just as original in his way as St. Quintin. And you, of course, are +somehow different to the majority. I wonder how you will each end? St. +Quintin will perhaps become a bishop. Dick Bruce will write an +astounding, weird novel, and bound into fame. And you? …” + +He flushed a little. “I shall be left far behind by both of them, +futilely wishing to catch up.” + +“I hope not. Your chance is just as good as theirs, if you choose to +make it so,” + +“I fail to see that I have any chance at all.” + +“Most chances rest chiefly with ourselves. It’s a great thing to be +ready for them if they come. I hope you’ll be that.” + +“I hope so too, but it would be easier if one were more sure they were +coming,” and he laughed with a lightness that jarred a little. + +She rose to go, as it was getting late, feeling slightly disappointed +in some vague way; and when they parted she noticed that his handshake +was slightly limp, as of one who would not grasp life tightly enough to +compel it to surrender its good things to him. + +But in her own sanctum she rallied herself, and hardened her heart, +asking what had it to do with her after all, and how could his success +or non-success in any way concern her. + +Doubtless in the end he would share the fate of the great majority and +attain only mediocrity; having missed that one great blinding shaft of +pain or joy that might have stabbed him into tense, pulsing life, and +spurred him up the heights of fame and glory. + +She let her evening-cloak slide to a chair, turning to glance at a +calling card on the table, with a renewal of the old, callous, cynical +air. The practical force of Flip Denton’s conversation was making +itself felt. Of course it was an absurdity for her to imagine herself +in love with a youth of twenty-four—almost the dullest of all ages—be +he never so good to look at. She might very well keep a motherly eye on +him, and show him a side of life he might perhaps not see otherwise, +but it must end there. + +No doubt a certain novelty had made the evening unusually pleasant: +after two or three more they would certainly pall, and then she would +go back to her old chums; the men of the world who had paid their +footing and won their experience, and come through, careless enough +devils at best in their own phraseology, but non the worse for a fall +or two, and a win or two, and a self-taught hardihood for most things +life was likely any more to send. + +She smiled a little as she remembered how calmly he had thanked her and +said good-night. Of a surety he took his fruits quietly and +unconcernedly enough. She wondered if he were secretly in love with +some pink-and-white débutante, who flushed and smiled when he spoke, +and gazed up at him with fond, adoring eyes. It was likely enough. + +No doubt he would tell her all about it soon, as a very young man tells +a favourite sister, or a jolly, not too elderly aunt. She rather hoped +he would. It would be an anti-climax humorous enough to cure her all in +a moment of seeming anything to him other than that jolly, not too +elderly aunt. Then she would invite Flip to dinner, and they would be +gay together—she could imagine the tone in which he would call her +“aunty”—and her folly would fall from her like an outgrown chrysalis, +leaving her sane, and cynical, and wordly, and whole again. + +The train of thought pleased her, and soothed in some way an +indefinable rasping sense of the general futility of all feeling and +all striving. Surely she, with her young-old heart, her world-worn +memories, and her youth that never was, should know that worldly-wise +dictum full well. + +Of course she kew it. + +The things that mattered were beauty and brilliance and success; and +these she had in good measure, brimming over. Her mood made her cross +suddenly to the many-sided mirror, and switch on a blaze of light that +would brook no feigning. + +In its searching gleams she looked at herself with clear, fearless +eyes. Yes; it was all there still, untouched and unimpaired by those +thirty-two years: the colouring, the skin, the rounded, supple +figure—all the things for which men loved her and the world gave her +fame. + +She gave herself a little mocking salute, and then turned away to hurry +into her pretty, cosy bed. + +But what the blaze of light had not seen the mothering darkness hid +tenderly. Two bright tear-drops, filling tired eyes that had tried so +often to fool themselves into blind and callous content. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +“Dick Bruce will write an astounding, weird novel, and bound into +fame,” Lorraine had remarked to her companion, and away somewhere down +in Kent, an hour or so earlier, Dick had remarked to Hal as they spun +along: + +“I’ve got the maddest idea for a novel you ever heard of. I’m going to +make the hit of next season.” + +“I hope it’s not about babies,” said Hal, thinking of his doggerel. + +“Yes, it is—babies and vegetables.” + +“Oh, nonsense. You can’t make a novel out of babies and vegetables.” + +“You see if I can’t. The vegetables are all to be endowed with life, +and of course the scene of my tale will be the vegetable kingdom.” + +“And where do the babies come in?” + +“The babies will represent mankind.” + +“I never heard such rot. Why should mankind be represented by babies? +Much better let them be represented by green peas or gooseberries.” + +“Not at all. Mankind can only properly be represented by babies; +mankind being in its infancy.” + +“But it isn’t. It’s much older than vegetables.” + +“It is not. Man was made last, and instead of developing into a +reasonable, rational object, like a potato or a cabbage, he has strayed +away into all manner of wild side-issues, and is still nothing but a +very much perplexed infant.” + +“And do you propose to try and help him to emulate the reasonable, +rational condition of the potato and cabbage?” + +“I propose to show him his inferiority to these delectable creations.” + +“Then if he has any sense he will just duck you in the Serpentine and +make you apologise. Personally I consider myself anything but a baby, +and far superior to any of the cabbage tribe.” + +“Ah!...” he cried gleefully. “You are actually proving my theory. I +can’t explain now, but just wait till that book is written.” + +“Are you taking rooms at Colney Hatch while you do it?” + +“I have thought about it. You show more understanding in that remark +than in any of the others.” + +“It doesn’t require much effort of understanding to think that out. Is +the onion or the mangel-wurzel to be your hero?” + +“You are unsympathetic. I shall not tell you any more.” + +“Not at all. I am most interested really. I should make the cabbage +your hero, and the onion your heroïne, then she can weep on his +breast.” They swerved violently, and with a little gasp she added, “All +the same, I’ve no desire to weep on the highway underneath a motor-car. +What _are_ you doing?” + +“I don’t know. The steering-wheel seems a bit odd.” + +They stopped to examine the wheel, and almost immediately, out of the +gathering darkness behind shot another car, hooting violently to them +to get out of the way. Unable to stop the oncoming car in time, Dick +tried to move aside, failed, and in less than a minute the newcomer, in +spite of brakes swiftly adjusted, crashed into them, smashing their +lamp, and badly damaging the back near-side wheel of the car. + +“Well, I’m blowed!” said Dick, “that’s the only moment in the whole day +you shouldn’t have been on that particular square yard of the entire +globe. Any other moment, I could either have moved aside or stopped you +in time.” + +The occupant of the other car, who was driving alone, sprang out and +came briskly forward. + +“What the devil!...” he began, then noticed the lady, and stopped +short. + +“It was certainly the devil,” said Dick, ruefully examining his +battered wheel, and “I always thought he was credited with the deceny +to look after his own. How have you fared?” + +“Well, he seems to have looked after me all right,” in a cheery voice; +“there’s nothing that will prevent my going on to town. But if you will +pardon my curiosity, why take root in the middle of the road and ask +for trouble?” + +Hal’s smile suddenly flashed out in the lamp-light irresistibly. + +“It’s a new theory about vegetables being wiser than mankind, but of +course we took root too soon.” + +A pair of grey eyes looked quizzically at her in the darkness, +discerning only the gleam of a white face in a close-fitting bonnet, +and the flash of white, even teeth. + +“The blasted steering wheel wouldn’t act,” said Dick. “We had just that +second slowed down to examine it. You might have come along here to all +eternity and not have been as inopportune.” + +“You take it very well.” The big-coated apparition, in motor-cap with +the ear-flaps down, and motor-goggles, and the suggestion of a +rotundity about the centre, was not at all engaging to look at, but he +had a charming voice. + +“I’m taking it so ill that I daren’t express myself out loud,” said +Hal. “What in the world are we to do? Is there a train anywhere near?” + +“I’m afraid not, but there is a decent enough inn close by.” + +“An inn isn’t much use to me.” She paused, then added solemnly: “I’ve +got a strait-laced brother.” + +Hal’s voice was rather deep and rich for a woman, and it had a +dangerous allurement in the darkness. The stranger took off his goggles +and tried again to see her face, while Dick took a minute stock of his +damage. + +“Well,” he suggested, a little daringly, “if he is able to chaperone +you at the inn himself?—” + +“He isn’t,” said Hal; “he’s somewhere east of Piccadilly, studying +Phœnician Architecture, and the herringbone pattern on antique +masonry.” + +“Oh, damn!” intercepted Dick, “the old man has let me down badly this +time; this car won’t move before daybreak. It means a red light burning +all night, and we must go to the inn.” + +“But, Dick,” Hal exclaimed in quick alarm. “How can I let Dudley know? +He’ll have a fit at the idea of my being out all night like that.” + +“He ought to be too thankful you are safe and sound to mind anything +else.” + +“But he won’t; because he is always grumbling at my not getting back +before dark. There must surely be a train from somewhere?” + +Her voice had grown seriously alarmed as she began to realise what sort +of a fix she was in. The stranger came forward to lend his aid to the +inspection, and after a cursory glance added his verdict to Dick’s. + +“You won’t move her before morning; and there are no trains anywhere +near here on Sunday night. I am going to London myself; you must let me +give you both a lift.” + +Dick stood up with an air of finality. + +“I can’t leave her. She isn’t exactly all my own, you see. I must stay +at the inn, but if you wouldn’t mind taking Miss Pritchard—” he looked +at Hal a little anxiously. + +“I shall be delighted,” came the brisk response from the stranger. + +Hal for once was nonplussed, but her habitual humour reasserted itself. + +“I don’t know which Dudley will think the most dreadful,” she remarked +comically, “for me to stay at the inn unchaperoned, or motor back with +a stranger. I seem to be fairly between the devil and the deep sea.” + +The men laughed, but Dick made the decision. + +“You had better go back,” he said. “He will at least have you safe +under lock and key by midnight that way and not lie awake worrying all +night himself.” + +“Then let me run you to the inn first,” said the stranger, and after +fixing his red lights, Dick went off with them in search of help to +make the car safer for the night. + +A little later the stranger’s motor turned Londonwards with two +occupants only, one in front and one behind. After a few miles he +stopped. + +“Won’t you come and sit in front? It seems so unsociable to travel like +this.” + +“Most unsociable,” said Hal, “but it would please Brother Dudley.” + +“Never mind Brother Dudley now.” The voice was very attractive. “Mind +me, instead. I’m very dull here, and I hate driving in the dark. My +chauffeur is down with the ‘flu’, and I couldn’t beg, borrow, nor steal +any one else’s.” + +“Are you a doctor?” she asked, taking her seat beside him. + +“Why do you think I should be a doctor?” tucking a warm rug cosily +round her, in a leisurely fashion. + +“Only because I thought perhaps you were obliged to go, in spite of +your chauffeur being ill.” + +“I was obliged to go, but I’m not a doctor.” + +They started forward again, but the pace was noticeably slower. + +“I hope you don’t mind going slowly, it is so difficult to steer in te +dark?” + +Hal was perfectly aware he had not found it so difficult before, but +she only said lightly: + +“Anything to keep safe from another mishap. I might have to walk home +next time.” + +“Or stay at an inn with me!...” with an amused laugh. “What would +Brother Dudley do then?” + +“Have brain fever first, I expect, then creeping paralysis, then +sleeping sickness.” + +He chuckled with enjoyment, and presently remarked: “I don’t think you +treat Dudley respectfully enough if he is an affectionate elder +brother.” + +“Oh, yes I do. I sort of leaven the lump. Without me he’d be just a +clever prig; he couldn’t help it. With me he is only better than most +men; and his lofty ideas don’t get top-heavy, because I keep him in +touch with commonplace humanity.” + +“Why is he better than most men? What is the matter with the rest of +us?” + +“The rest of you don’t bother to have lofty ideas at all, much less +struggle to live up to them.” + +“You are a little sweeping. Do you like men to have lofty ideas, and be +priggish?” + +“They don’t necessarily go together. It’s only Dudley who thinks all +the rest of the world ought to be good too.” + +“And don’t you agree with him?” + +“I look at things from a different standpoint. I admire him +tremendously, and feel his superiority; but it is more natural to me to +take things as I find them and make the best of them as they are.” + +“You are evidently a very sensible young lady. You can find a warm spot +in your heart even for a sinner, for instance!” + +“I rather like them,” and she gave a low laugh. + +“Of course you do, if you’re a true woman.” + +“Oh, I’m a true woman right enough. I like a man to have a spice of the +devil in him; and I like playing with fire; and I love getting into +mischief.” + +“Capital!... you and I must be friends. I’m beginning to think it was a +lucky mishap for me at all events.” + +“I haven’t finished my qualifications yet. You may change your mind. I +like all those sort of things, but at the same time I like the big +things as well. Also I’m told I’m most annoyingly practical, and most +irritatingly capable of taking care of myself, and never getting burnt, +so to speak.” + +“Who told you that?” + +“I think it was some one at the office.” + +“What office?” + +She mentioned the name of one of the leading London papers. + +“Oh, you’re a working young lady, are you?” He asked the question with +a new note in his voice, though it would have been difficult to tell +just how the information struck him. + +Hal gave another laugh. + +“A working young lady! How awful! I shall not be friends with you if +you call me anything so dreadful as that.” + +“What do you call it?” + +“Well, I think I like ‘Breadwinner’ best, as that is what I do it +for—but I don’t mind working woman.” + +The stranger looked hard into the darkness a few moments, then he asked +suddenly, sitll with the new note in his voice: + +“And I suppose you want the vote?” + +Mentally he was wondering whether, if she knew who he was, she would +attack him physically or insist upon writing in chalk all over his car. + +“I don’t want it for myself, because I shouldn’t know what to do with +it, and I haven’t much time to find out. But I want fair play for +women-workers generally, and if that is the only way to get it, I hope +it will come quickly.” + +“What do you mean by fair play?” + +“Just whatever is fair play. I don’t think women ought to be making +iron chains at Cradley Heath for a penny a yard, for instance, and that +sort of thing. I think it is a slur on the men who govern the country +that it is possible. If you were one of them, and drove about in this +beautiful car, not caring twopence whether starving women were sweated +or not, I should—” she hesitated. + +“Well, what should you—” + +Detecting the mysterious note in his voice, she added with mischievous, +half-serious intent: + +“I should want to scratch you, and bite you, and push you into the +first available ditch, for a poor coward, who was afraid to take care +of the interests of woman, in case she got too well able in the end to +take care of herself—so there.” + +He could not help laughing, and when he subsided she added: + +“I suppose you are one.” + +“Why do you suppose it?” + +“Never mind. Are you?” + +“You promise you won’t scratch me and bite me?” + +“I’ll give you a sporting chance to run away.” + +“I’m not very likely to run away from you, I think.” + +They had reached the well-lit roads now, and he turned and looked +keenly into her face, partly to see if by chance he might recognise +her, and partly to get a cleaner idea of her appearance. + +“You look too nice to be a suffragette,” he said. + +“Such rot! Do I look too nice to care whether working women and outcast +women are fairly treated or not?” + +“That’s only the bluff of the movement. What they really want is power +and notoriety.” + +Hal tossed her head. + +“You’re a positive worm,” she told him frankly. + +Again his engaging laugh rang out. + +“That’s a nice thing to say to a man who has brought you all the way +from Millington to London, and helped you out of a tight corner.” + +The white teeth gleamed suddenly. + +“I’ll qualify it if you like, and call you a cross between a worm and a +brick.” + +“Not good enough. I won’t pass the worm at all. If you don’t retract it +wholly I shall put you down at the first tram, and let you get back to +Bloomsbury on your own.” + +“I’ll retract, if you’ll tell me who you are.” + +“I’ll tell you afterwards.” + +She shook her head. + +“Perhaps you are going to Downing Street even now, to plan a crushing +blow to the Cause.” + +“I am going to Downing Street, but it has nothing to do with the Cause, +as you call it.” + +It was her turn to glance round, but she only saw that he was +clean-shaven, and somewhat lined. His grey, quizzical eyes met hers +full of humour. + +“I wonder who we both are?” he said. + +“I can easily tell you who I am, as I’m so comfortably of no account. +My name is Harriet Pritchard, and my friends call me Hal. I live with +Brother Dudley, who is an architect; and if the world isn’t any the +better for me, I hope it is sometimes a little gayer, that’s all.” + +“And are you engaged to the young man whose steering gear went wrong?” + +“No; I am not engaged to any one at all.” + +“Very nearly perhaps?” + +“No; not even within sight of it. Being engaged, and always having to +go out with the same pal, would bore me to tears.” + +“I see.” There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. In the brighter +lights he had observed that the warm ulster clung to a very shapely +figure, and covered a pair of fine shoulders, and even if she was not +pretty, for he could not be quite sure on the point, she was certainly +very attractive, and had a delightfully engaging smile. + +“I wonder if there is room for another in the ranks.” + +Something a little condescending in the way he made the suggestion +nettled Hal. + +“Aren’t you a rather old?” she asked. + +Again his ready laugh rang out. + +“I’ll give frankness for frankness. I am forty-eight.” + +“Goodness!… and I am twenty-five.” + +“Is that all? Then allow me to say you are a remarkably clever young +woman.” + +“A good many breadwinners are; they have to be. Some of them are too +clever even for Cabinet Ministers,” and she chuckled joyfully. + +In the darkness, she did not see the quick gleam in his eyes, as he +retorted: + +“I don’t think many Cabinet Ministers have the luck to meet a +breadwinner who is as attractive as she is clever.” + +“And if they did,” sarcastically, “I suppose they would drop the +notoriety yarn and find time to consider whether the working woman is +treated fairly or not. The weakness in her defence at present seems +solely that not enough pretty women make up her defenders. Bah! You all +ought to have kittens to play with, and nanny goats and woolly lambs.” + +“I don’t know why you include me. What have I done?” + +“Well, if you’re going to Downing Street?” + +“Why shouldn’t I be going to a dinner-party?” + +She turned and glanced up with a daredevil light in her eyes that +delighted him. + +“I not only think you a member of Parliament, but, judging by your +fatuous air of superiority, I should imagine you are positively a +full-blown Cabinet Minister.” + +He busied himself with his steering wheel, while little chuckles of +enjoyment came out of his muffler. + +“And supposing I were?” he said at last. + +“Goodness!… I hope you’re not?…” in quick alarm. + +“Why do you hope so?” + +“Oh, I don’t know, except that I’ve never known a Cabinet Minister in +my life, and I never expected, if I met one, to treat him like… like—” + +“An old and fatuous lump of superiority!” with a gay laugh. “Well, +little woman, you needn’t be in the least sorry. I don’t know that I’ve +ever enjoyed a motor ride more. When will you come again?” + +“_Are_ you a Cabinet Minister?…” she asked helplessly. + +“Well, I hope you won’t disapprove, for I have to plead guilty to being +Sir Edwin Crathie.” + +“Sir Edwin Crathie?” in abashed tones. + +“They called me Squib at school.” He said it in a whimsical, humorous +voice, looking down at her with very friendly eyes. + +But Hal had grown silent. + +“I’m afraid by your manner you do disapprove?” + +“It is certainly embarrassing. I would rather you had been… well, just +any one.” + +“You’ll get used to it,” still with the twinkle in his eyes. “In the +meantime you haven’t answered my question. When will you come for +another ride?” + +She did not reply, and he leaned a little closer. + +“You will come again?” + +“I’m afraid Brother Dudley wouldn’t like it”; and then they both +laughed. + +“Will you come in?” as they drew up before her door. + +“I’m afraid I haven’t time; and besides, I’m a little afraid of Brother +Dudley. I only feel equal to the Prime Minister this evening.” + +She held out her hand. + +“Well, thank you ever so much. You saved me from a dreadfully tight +corner.” + +“The thanks should be all mine; you saved me from unmitigated boredom. +I cursed my chauffeur for going down with ‘flu’ today, but now I feel +ready to raise his salary for it.” + +He had pulled of his thick motoring-glove, and was holding her hand in +a firm, lingering clasp, which she quickly cut short, tucking both her +hands into her ulster pockets, and standing up very straight and slim +in the lamplight. + +“I’ll have to go though the confessional now,” she told him, “and sit +on the stool of repentance for supper.” + +“No; don’t repent; come again.” He moved nearer. + +“I’m naturally a very busy man, and I can’t make engagements offhand, +but I can easily get at you on the telephone. Will you come some +afternoon, about half-past four?” + +“I think you are very rash. How do you know I shall not bring the +colours, and wave them wildly down the street, shouting ‘Votes for +Women’?” + +“I’ll risk it. Will you come?” + +She moved away, latch-key in hand. + +“I don’t know. I won’t promise, anyway. Good-bye, and my best thanks.” + +There was a rush of light through an open door, a last bright smile, +and he found himself alone in the street. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +When Hal entered the sitting-room and met Dudley’s eyes she felt, as +she afterwards described it to Lorraine, that she was in for it. Yet it +was not so very late, barely half-past nine. On the table her supper +was still waiting for her. + +“We’ve had a slight accident,” she said, taking the bully by the horns; +“something went wrong with the steering gear, and it delayed us. Have +you had supper?” noticing the table was still laid for two. + +“I always have supper at eight on Sundays, because Mrs. White has to +clear it away herself, as you know. Isn’t Dick coming in?” + +“No. He’s—” Hall stopped short, considering the advantages of +prevarication. + +“I wanted to see him,” testily. “He said he would give me a particular +address tonight. Why is he in such a hurry?” + +“It wasn’t Dick who brought me.” + +She took off her motor-bonnet and threw it on the sofa, running her +hands through her bright hair, and rubbing her cheeks, which were a +little cold. + +“Not Dick?...” Dudley looked up from his book peremptorily. “Who did +bring you?” + +Hal took her seat at the table. + +“Well, you see, we had a slight accident. We had just stopped to +examine the steering gear, when another car came round a curve and +crashed into us. Dick’s car was damaged, and...” she reached across for +the salad, and helped herself with as unconcerned an air as she could +muster... “Oh!... onions!... how scrumptious!... Mrs. White always +remembers my plebeian tastes, but not my patrician ones.” + +“Well!” he suggested coldly. “Dick’s car was damaged, and—” + +“Dick had to stay and nurse it.” + +“Then did you come home by train?” + +“There was no train. There was nothing else.” + +“Nothing else than what?” + +“Nothing but the car that run into us, or going to an inn for the night +with Dick. I was afraid you wouldn’t like that,” with a mischievous +gleam. + +“My likes and dislikes are not, apparently, of the smallest moment to +you, or you would not have been motoring late on Sunday at all.” + +“Dick can’t go other days.” + +“Who was in this other car?” + +“A man.” + +Again he glanced up quickly. + +“Any one else?” + +“No. His chauffeur is down with ‘flu’.” + +“Was it some one you knew, then?” + +“No. He told me on the way in.” + +“Am I to gather that you returned to London alone, in a motor-car, with +a perfect stranger?” + +“I’m afraid you are.” + +“Why didn’t Dick come with you? Surely if he takes you out for the day +he might at least see you safely home. I never heard of such +proceedings in my life. The man might have been a positive blackguard. +Had you any idea who he was?” + +“No, none; but what’s the use of making a fuss! It’s all right now, and +I’m safely at home; which is surely better than being in some weird +village all night, and you wondering what on earth had become of me.” + +“That is not the question. It’s the whole circumstance from beginning +to end. I consider Dick’s behaviour most reprehensible.” + +“He couldn’t leave his car alone there in the middle of a Kentish high +road. He had to stay somewhere near.” + +“I think he should have considered you of more importance than the car. +To let you return alone, at that hour, with a perfect stranger, is the +most unheard of proceeding. I shall certainly tell Dick what I think of +him.” + +“It wasn’t Dick’s fault,” loyally. “I just took the matter into my own +hands and came. Dick had nothing to do with it. In fact, I insisted +upon his remaining behind.” + +“Oh, of course you would. You only seem to be happy when you are flying +in the face of some convention or other. But Dick is older than you, +and he knows my views on these matters. He owed it to me to see you +safely home.” + +“But since I am safely home!...” obstinately. + +“You very well might not have been. What the stranger himself must +think of you I don’t know. Have you any idea who he was?” + +“Yes. Sir Edwin Crathie?” + +“Sir Edwin Crathie! Do you mean the Cabinet Minister?” + +“So he said.” + +“And did you tell him who you were?” + +Again there was a gleam under the lowered lashes. + +“I did; but I can’t say he either recognised our historie name or +seemed much impressed. I really don’t believe he had ever heard of me.” + +Dudley refused to smile. Instead the frown deepened on his face. + +“That is probably just as well. Your actions of late cannot be said to +be entirely to your credit. What is this tale about Thursday night? I +met St. Quintin’s father with Uncle Bruce this morning in the Park. You +told me Quin’s aunt was going to chaperone you. Did she or did she +not?” + +“I told you Lady Bounce was going to chaperone me. Lady Bounce _did_ +chaperone me.” + +“Is Lady Bounce Quin’s aunt?” + +“That depends.” Hal pushed away her chair, wishing vaguely that fathers +and uncles would mind their own business. Either incident alone she +could have coped with, but it was a distinct imposition to expect her +to manage both at once, and on Sunday night into the bargain. + +“I can only presume you lent yourself to such a vulgar proceeding as +Quin dressing up as a woman and acting chaperone. Is that the truth?” + +“Not entirely. You see, he wasn’t an ordinary woman. He went as his +aunt, Lady Phyllis Fenton. His personification was a masterpiece.” + +Dudley began to pace the room. His thin lips were compressed into a +straight line, and his whole air distincly worried. + +“What you seem quite unable to perceive is the way in which these +incidents reflect upon your good taste and upon my guardianship.” + +Hal grew suddenly nettled. + +“It is nonsense to talk of guardianship now. I am twenty-five, and I +earn my own living. I am perfectly well able to take care of myself.” + +“No; that is just what you are not. You are so rash and inconsequent.” + +“Well, anyhow I get a good deal out of my life, while you—” + +He remembered his own Thursday evening and intercepted: + +“It is possible to get a great deal out of life without outraging every +convention. Do you imagine either Ethel or Doris Hayward would do the +wild things you do?” + +“Ethel Hayward is a brick. She couldn’t be straitlaced anyhow, nor +narrow-minded. Doris would do anything under the sun that suited her +own ends.” + +She got up, and turned away without perceiving his frown, beginning to +gather up her paraphernalia. He stopped short in his walk. + +“If it really was Sir Edwin Crathie who brought you home, I must write +and thank him, I think.” + +“I shouldn’t bother; probably it wasn’t him at all; only some +third-rate actor.” + +Dudley tried to see her face, not sure if she was serious or not, but +she kept her head averted as she added: + +“Quite possibly it was Lord Bounce.” + +“You are always treating a serious subject with levity,” he complained. +“What am I to think? Do you or do you not believe your escort was Sir +Edwin Crathie?” + +“Well, as he was awfully afraid I might be a militant suffragette, I +think he really was a Cabinet Minister.” + +“I hope you entirely undeceived him on that score,” drily. + +“Not at all. I told him I was tingling to scratch him and bite him,” +and the ghost of a smile crossed her lips. + +Dudley relapsed into silent displeasure, and for a few moments neither +spoke. Then Hal, with her garments on her arm, came round to him with a +frank, affectionate air. + +“Dudley, don’t make mountains out of molehills over nothing. I know I +am a little wild. I can’t help it—we seem to have got mixed up somehow. +You’ve got all the decorum and nice, refined feelings of a charming +woman, and I’ve got the enterprise and ‘don’t-care’ spirit of a man. It +isn’t any use fighting against facts. You must take me as I am, and +make the best of it. I can’t change now; and I don’t know that I would +if I could.” + +“I don’t suppose you would. You positively glory in the very traits +that I deplore”; but his voice sounded mollified. + +“Oh well, old man, you wouldn’t like me to be helpless, and foolish, +and woolly-lambified, would you? It wouldn’t be half so interesting. +Just fancy if you had a sister like Doris Hayward, can you imagine +anything tamer?” + +He stiffened again, but she did not notice it. + +“As for Thursday night, you never ought to have heard about it, and you +never would have done if Uncle Bruce had not been such an old telltale. +Just wait till I get him alone; that’s all. Anyhow, he didn’t think it +a heinous crime did he? I expect he gave a great laugh that startled +every one within hearing.” + +As that was exactly what had happened, Dudley made no comment. + +“And Sir Edwin Crathie would only have thought me a fool if I had been +afraid to come back with him. These things will happen occasionally. +They are not worth worrying about. You are too anxious over trifles, +Dudley.” She moved away towards the door. “Well, good-night, don’t +forget to return thanks that anyhow I am not in a hospital, generally +smashed up.” + +She left him, and retired to bed, feeling a little depressed. Of course +he had not forgiven her, nor would he see things from her point of +view. She almost wished he did not mind; but all her life she had had +an affection that was almost adoration for her one brother, and it +always depressed her to displease him, however indifferent she might +seem. + +She awoke next morning with the sense of depression still lingering, +and set off for the City in far from her usual spirits. The office +seemed dingy and dull, and the routine wearisome. It felt like ages and +ages since she had driven home through the darkness in Sir Edwin’s +beautiful car. She wondered if it was real at all; only what else +should make all the old friends at the office appear so uninteresting +and commonplace. + +She speculated a little forlornly as to whether she would ever be +likely to see him again, and decided it was most unlikely, and that +probably he had already forgotten the whole incident. + +And just when she had reached that point in her meditations, the +telephone boy came to tell her some one was asking for her. She asked +him dispiritedly who it was, and he replied that the gentleman had +declined to give a name. + +Hal shut herself into the case, took down the receiver, and, still +dispiritedly, asked: “Hullo! Are you there?” + +“Is that Miss Pritchard?” asked a voice that made her pulses hasten. + +“Yes? Who is that?” + +“The mere worm,” came back the cheery answer. + +“What’s the matter? You sound somewhat funereal. Was Brother Dudley +very angry?” + +“Terrible. I am still recovering. He seemed to have grave doubts as to +whether you really were the eminent person you professed to be!” + +“Oh, he did, did he? And what did you say?” + +“That it was quite possible you were only a third-rate actor all the +time.” + +“Thanks. I shall not grow vain on your compliments. Have you any grave +doubts yourself?” + +“I don’t mind either way.” + +“Thanks again. Well, I am speaking to you from my own private sanctum +at the House of Commons; and if you want to make sure, you can take my +number, and ring up the Exchange and inquire.” + +“I’ll take your word for it.” + +“Good girl. You don’t sound quite so obstreperous as you were last +night. What’s the matter?” + +“I’m only Mondayfied. The office is always boring on a Monday.” + +“I’m sorry I can’t suggest a spin this afternoon, but I’m too much +engaged until Wednesday. Will you come on Wednesday? Well?” as Hal, +appeared to be meditating. + +“Where do you propose going?” she asked. + +“Anywhere you like. I’d better not fetch you from the office though. +I’ll pick you up just casually in St. Jame’s Park. Will you be there at +five, near the Archway?” + +“All right, if I can get away. How shall I let you know if I change my +mind?” + +“Don’t do anything so childish. The run will do you good after a stuffy +office. I’ll be there to the minute. Good-bye,” and he rang off without +waiting for a reply. + +Hal went back to her work, with a pleasurable sensation that instead of +grey stuffiness there was joyful sunshine. She had never imagined for a +moment he would actually carry out his suggestion of a meeting; and +here they were with an actual appointment. + +It was so odd, too, that they had not properly seen each other yet; +only having met in the light of street lamps; and she fell to wondering +eagerly what he was like in broad daylight. A voice whispered, “Perhaps +you won’t like him at all, and will wish you had not gone”; but her +love of adventure easily silenced it, and she looked forward to her +outing without any misgivings. + +Once she thought she would go an tell Lorraine about it first, but +later decided it would be more enjoyable to do so afterwards, and kept +her own counsel; which perhaps was not entirely wise, seeing how much +more cause Lorraine had to know the world than she had. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Sir Edwin Crathie had come to the front very rapidly under the auspices +of the Liberal Government. Without having any special worth, he was +sufficiently brilliant and unscrupulous to brush obstacles aside +without compunction, and assert himself in a manner that impressed his +hearers with the notion that he was very clever, very thorough, and +very reliable. + +Those who knew him superficially believed him extra-ordinarily clever. +Those who knew him intimately sometimes shrugged their shoulders. He +was possessed undoubtedly of a certain flashy sort of cleverness, but +some of his greatest skill existed in imposing it upon others as +strength and insight. + +As may be imagined, such a man was not much troubled with principles. +If a step was likely to help him forward with his ambitions, he took it +without considering the moral aspect. If no help was likely to follow, +he only took it if it happened to please his fancy. To say that he had +climbed by women was to put it mildly. + +Many of his steps he had taken on women’s hearts, trampling them +mercilessly in the process. And since he was admittedly unscrupulous, +it was not surprising, for he was possessed not only of an attractive +appearance, but of great personal magnetism when he chose to exert it. + +He was a bachelor because so far he had considered the single state +best forwarded his aims, but a growing and imperative need for money +was now causing him to look round among the richest heiresses for some +one to pay his debts in consideration of being made Lady Crathie. + +In the meantime Hal’s independent spirit and freshness suggested an +entertaining interlude; and as she attracted him more strongly than any +woman had done of late, he decided to follow up their chance friendship +just for the amusement of it. + +In consequence, he felt quite boyishly eager for the hours to pass on +Wednesday, and when at last it was time to start, dismissed his +chauffeur with a curt sentence, and started off alone. The chauffeur, +it may be mentioned, merely glanced after him, and with a shrug of his +shoulders wondered “what the master was up to now.” + +When Sir Edwin reached the meeting-place he was not particularly +surprised to find no signs of Hal. He believed she would come; but +evidently she liked being perverse, and would purposely keep him +waiting. He ran the car slowly back again, scanning each pedestrian +ahead with a certain anxious eagerness, wondering how he would like her +in broad daylight. + +On returning to the Archway, and still finding no one waiting, he +alighted with a pretence of examining some part of the car, and looked +back over the paths leading down from Piccadilly. + +And something in his mental regions felt rather foolishly glad when he +recognised her afar off. + +He had never seen her walk, but his instinct told him Hal would move +with just the graceful, swinging stride of the tall, slim figure coming +towards him, and carry her head and shoulders with just such a +dauntless, grenadier attitude. + +He found himself standing quite still, with his hands deep in his +overcoat pockets, watching her. Her costume, too, pleased his +fastidious taste. Of course a first-class tailor had cut a coat and +skirt with a fit and hang like that; and the small hat, if it had +nothing Parisian about it, anyhow suited the wearer and dress to +perfection. + +He noted with quiet pleasure that she showed no signs of embarrassment +when she met his watching gaze, merely crossing the road with the same +jaunty, upright walk, and a gleam of fun in her eyes. + +“Hullo!” was her greeting. “Hope I haven’t kept you waiting. I’ve had a +busy afternoon helping my chief to give you and The Right Honourable +Hayes Matheson a good slanging.” + +“Oh, you have, have you?” + +The grey eyes were growing more and more approving, as he noted each +detail most likely to appeal to a man who had made a study of women for +many years. The shapely little ears with the glossy hair curling round +them, the full, rounded throat, the determined little chin, the frank, +fearless eyes. + +He still hardly knew whether she was pretty or not, but he discerned +wery quickly that she was amply blessed with that rare gift of +personality and humour that is so much more durable than a pretty face. + +Hal, for her part, was no less interested in him, but she found little +else than that she had already seen: humorous, quizzical grey eyes, a +face a good deal lined, and a mouth and chin suggesting a nature fond +of enjoyment and self-indulgence, which it had never seen any cause to +deny itself. She saw that he was very grey about the temples, and a +trifle inclined to stoutness, but tall enough and broad enough to carry +it off. + +A fine figure of a man, though one, she felt instinctively, belonging +to a very different world to hers. Because she felt his careful +scrutiny, and because she wanted to assert her indifference to it, she +remarked suddenly, after a moment: + +“Well, how do you like me by daylight?” + +“How do you like me?” he retorted, and laughed. + +She shook her head, and her eyes grew mischievous. + +“Old,” she said; “quite old and grey.” + +“Old be damned! Forty-eight is the prime of life.” + +She was taking her seat, and gave a low chuckle of enjoyment at having +drawn him. + +“Ah, you may laugh now,” he said, “but I’ll soon show you forty-eight +is far more attractive than twenty-eight. Where shall we go?” + +“I don’t mind in the least, but I should prefer to steer for tea and +buns.” + +“Tea and buns!… how like a woman!… How can you expect to get the vote +on tea and buns?” + +They were spinning along the Broughton Road now, heading for Putney and +Richmond, and Hal felt her spirits rising momentarily with the joy of +the motion and comfort and fresh air. + +“We don’t expect to get in on tea and buns; we expect to get it on +whisky and beer. That is to say, we expect the course of events to +prove that tea and buns conduce to a frame of mind better able to cope +with the questions of the day than the whisky and beer drained in such +quantities by men.” + +“And when you’ve got it you’ll all vote for the man who happens to be +good-looking, and who can pay you the prettiest compliments.” + +“A few will vote that way, no doubt, but not the majority. Women are +not so fond of pretty men as they were”; and her lips curled +significantly. + +“Pretty men!…” he echoed, with enjoyment. + +“Little woman, you have a neat way of putting things.” + +He was silent a few minutes, then added: + +“I suppose, down at that office they are all in love with you?” + +“I don’t know. I haven’t asked them,” with twinkling eyes. “I’m a bit +in love with the chief myself.” + +“Oh, your are, are you? And what aged man might he be?” + +“Oh, he’s quite old,” she laughed; “somewhere about forty-eight.” + +“And is he in love with you?” + +“It just depends. Sometimes he’s rather fond of me on a Saturday; but +on Mondays he loathes me.” + +“I see. And are you as changeable?” + +“No, I love him always; but on Mondays it’s mostly from habit. On +Saturdays it’s from choice.” + +He looked down at her, and it was on the tip of his tongue to state +some commonplace about being jealous. Then suddenly he looked back to +his steering wheel, and the commonplace sentence died unspoken. Quite +unaccountably he felt less inclined to flirt and more inclined to be +really friendly, and for some distance they skimmed along in silence. + +They had tea at the Star and Garter, both chatting volubly on the most +interesting topics of the day. Hal’s newspaper work had made her +cognisant of many subjects very few girls of her age would even have +heard of, and her original criticisms delighted him. It was a gay +little tea-table, and the time slipped by with extraordinary rapidity. +Hal noticed it first. + +“Do you know it is half-past six?” she said, “and I’m dining out +tonight. We must fly.” + +“Is it really past six?…” in astonishment. “How the time has flown! You +know, you are such an entertaining little woman, you make me forget +everything but yourself.” He looked at her hard, and the force of habit +caused him to add: “I doubt if any other woman I know today could have +given me so much pleasure.” + +“Well, you needn’t thank me,” with her low, fresh laugh, “because I +came entirely to give myself pleasure.” + +“Then I hope you have succeeded. I see it is quite hopeless to expect +any sort of a complimentary speech from you.” + +“Quite; though I don’t mind admitting I have been very enjoyably +entertained as well.” + +“That is something, anyhow. And now I suppose you are going straight +off home to dress, and dine with some one else, and forget about me?” + +“I don’t suppose I shall forget you. It happens to be a journalist +dinner, and probably we shall tear you to pieces between us before we +have finished.” + +“Well, I’d rather you did that than forget me.” + +She felt him looking hard into her face, with something a little +sinister in his expression, and she got up and turned away. + +“Why do you turn away when I am interested? Don’t you think you might +be a little pleased that I don’t want you to forget me?” + +He asked the question with a humorous twinkle, though she felt that he +meant it seriously as well. This last, however, she was clever enough +to ignore, and merely threw him a mischievous glance over her shoulder +as she answered: + +“Well, I have to consider Brother Dudley’s attitude, you see; and I’ve +a notion he would be best pleased for both the incident and motorist of +Sunday evening to be forgotten.” + +He got up slowly, looking amused. + +“I suppose he would be horrified at this outing?” + +“I strongly suspect he would.” + +“What if he hears you were out motoring at Richmond with me?” + +“Oh, well, I shall tell him you are old enough to be my father, and not +to be absurd.” + +“Why do you harp on my age so?… If I am old enough to be your father, +it doesn’t follow that I’m too old to be your lover?” + +He was standing close to her now, looking down into her face, and Hal +felt a little conscious tremor run through her blood. She faced him +squarely, however, and answered in a gay, careless voice: + +“Of course it doesn’t, only, as I don’t happen to want a lover, it’s a +contingency not worth considering.” + +“Perhaps the post is already filled?” he suggested, refusing likewise +to be daunted. + +“Quite filled. It’s a case for a placard stating ‘House Full’, and +you,” she finished, “would naturally be at the tail end of the queue +which has to go away.” + +He laughed with relish, and gave it up. + +“I can see you will take some taming,” he said, as he handed her into +the car. “My weighty and important position evidently does not impress +you in the least.” + +“Of course not, as you’re a Liberal. They have so few really good men, +they have to take anything they can get. Back up the Budget and the +Chancellor, and exhibit a colossal amount of impudence, and there you +are!” + +“Well, there isn’t much to boast of in the way of men on the +Conservative side, is there? Chiefly a collection of cousins, and +second-cousins, and cousins by marriage, shoved in by a few interfering +old aunts. You don’t need me to tell an enlightened young woman like +you that even impudence might serve the country better than +cousin-ship.” + +“I wonder sometimes if any of you honestly put the country first at any +time; or whether it is just a popular name for a very big ‘me’?” + +“You are such a little sceptic. Do you always credit people with +self-interested motives?” + +“I don’t know that I do; but if you are a city-worker it is a fairly +safe basis to work upon, until you can find proof that you are wrong.” + +He looked down at her with amusement. + +“What a wise little head it is! Do you know, I don’t think I ever met +any one quite like you before,” + +“What you have missed!” was the gay rejoinder, and they both laughed. + +“I suppose I mustn’t take you home?” as they neared Piccadilly. +“Brother Dudley might see us?” + +“No, thanks. If you will drop me at Hyde Park Corner I will take a +homely bus, and return to my Bloomsbury level.” + +“Until my next free afternoon, I hope. Will you come again soon?” + +“Perhaps.” + +“What do you do on Sundays?” + +“I generally go out with Dick Bruce.” + +“Does Dick Bruce consider himself entitled to every Sunday?” + +“Well, I consider myself entitled to Dick!…” laughing. + +“You’re evidently very fond of Dick.” + +“Very,” with enthusiasm. “I have been for twenty-five years. We were +like the two babies in _Punch_ which said, ‘Help yourself and pass the +bottle.’” + +“Dick’s a lucky devil. Does he take Saturday afternoons as well?” + +“No; he plays cricket or hockey then.” + +“Then may I have a Saturday afternoon?” + +“It would be jolly;” and a swift gleam in her eyes told him she meant +it. + +“Very well. I shall consider that a promise. The first Saturday I can +arrange, we’ll run down to some little place on the coast, and get some +sea air. And if you feel inclined to write me a letter between now and +then, send it to York Chambers, Jermyn Street.” + +He pulled up, and instantly she exclaimed in haste: + +“Oh, there’s my bus. Good-bye, thanks awfully; I must fly”; and before +he could get in another word, he saw her clambering on to a +motor-omnibus, with the utmost unconcern for his sudden, astonished +solitariness. + +“Gad!… what a woman she’ll be one day,” was his comment. “If she’d a +hundred thousand pounds I wouldn’t mind marrying her myself; she’d +never let a chap get bored. I’ll warrant,” He moved slowly down +Piccadilly. “Most of them do,” he cogitated; “it doesn’t seem as if +there were one woman in a thousand who didn’t soon become a bore. +Heigh-ho, but debts are more boring still sometimes, and I want a +fifty-thousand cheque badly.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +When Hal went to tell Lorraine of her adventure she found her a victim +of the prevailing malady, kept indoors two days with influenza. She was +not in bed, but lying on a sofa, by a small fire, looking very frail +and ill. Hal did not say much, as Lorraine disliked fussing, but her +heart smote her to think she had been absent two days while her friend +was a prisoner. + +“Why didn’t you tell Jean to ’phone me?” she asked. “I would have got +here somehow.” + +Instead of answering, Lorraine nestled down into her cushions, and +said: + +“It’s dreadful nice to see you, chummy.” + +Hal drew up a footstool, and sat down with her head against the sofa. + +“What does the court physician say, Lorry? Of course he is generally +fathering and brothering and mothering you as well as doctoring?” + +“Yes; he is taking care of me in a sort of all-round, comprehensive +fashion. I don’t know what I should do without him.” + +“Do!…” with a little laugh. “Why, just have another court physician +instead.” Hal’s eyes strayed round the room. “What loverly flowers, +Lorraine! Don’t they almost make you feel a corpse?” + +“They would if they were white, I dare say.” + +On a little table by the sofa was a bowl of violets, looking very sweet +and homely among the beautiful exotics filling all the other vases. Hal +buried her nose in them. + +“How delicious! Who ventured to send your royal highness anything so +homely as violets?” + +Lorraine’s eyes rested on them with a look of tenderness. “Some one not +very well off,” she said, “who had the perspicacity to know I should +value them from him more than the choicest blooms.” + +“It sounds as if it might have been Dick. Was it?” + +“No.” + +Lorraine replied in a careless tone, suggesting there was no special +interest attached to the giver, but, for some unknown reason, Hal chose +to be inquisitive. + +“The Three Graces are your only ‘hard-up’ friends, and Quin is down +east, so he would not know you were ill. Surely Baby didn’t think it at +all out by himself, and actually go into a shop and buy them?” + +“You shouldn’t call Mr. Hermon Baby, Hal; it isn’t quite fair.” + +“Oh, yes it is, as long as he is so objectless and purposeless. +Besides, his face is so cherubic I can’t help it.” + +“I call his face very manly.” + +“Well, so it is—in a way: but it’s cherubic also; and then he’s so +dreadfully placid. If he’d only wake up, and boil over about +something.” + +She was silent a few moments, and then said suddenly; + +“Do you know Sir Edwin Crathie, Lorraine?” + +“No; why? I now of him.” + +“What do you know of him?” + +“Oh, nothing much. I believe he is a great lady’s man.” + +“I’ve met him,” said Hal; and she proceeded to tell of the motor mishap +and subsequent meeting. + +Lorraine was interested and amused, but for some strange reason Hal did +not tell the tale with her usual gusto, and nothing in her voice or +manner suggested it was more than the most casual of meetings. +Lorraine, a little preoccupied with her own feelings, for a wonder did +not discern that Hal treated the incident with a lightness not quite +natural, considering how exceedingly unlooked-for it was, and before +the recital was quite finished Jean looked in to inquire if Lorraine +would see Mr. Hermon. Lorraine replied in the affirmative, and a moment +later Alymer Hermon entered the room. + +“I’m so sorry you are not well,” he said, in his frank, pleasant way. +“I only heard of it last night.” + +“And then you sent me violets. It was nice of you. I appreciate them so +much.” + +“I guessed Dick,” put in Hal, who had not risen from her stool. “I did +not think you would have the energy to think of them.” + +“I have been feeling rather exhausted since,” he told her lightly. + +“Take the arm chair,” said Lorraine smilingly, “and have a good rest.” + +“Do,” echoed Hal. “I’m sure you are tired out with your day’s work.” + +“Don’t be so superior,” he retorted. “Just because you can type a +certain number of words per minute, you give yourself such airs.” + +“Well, that’s a better reason than the fact of being a few inches +longer than most people.” + +“Now you two,” put in Lorraine, “don’t start quarrelling in such a +hurry. Try and be nice and polite to each other for a few minutes.” + +“Baby doesn’t like me when I’m polite,” said Hal. + +“I’ve never had a chance to judge.” + +“Liar. What about the first time we met?” + +“I thought you were rather nice in those days. Your offensive attitude +is only of comparatively recent date.” + +“Oh, don’t sit there like a stodgy old book-worm, reeling off nicely +rounded sentences.” + +“I hope it might impress you with the incongruity of addressing me as +an infant.” + +Hal looked up from her lowly seat with a mischievous, engaging +expression. + +“You know you really are rather clever in a useless sort of fashion,” +she informed him. + +“Thank you,” making a bow. + +“Can’t you tell him how to be clever in a useful sort of fashion, with +all your practical experience?” suggested Lorraine. + +“Oh, I _could_; but what’s the use? he doesn’t want to know. It would +mean hard work.” + +“Give him the benefit of a suggestion, anyhow.” + +“Well, other briefless barristers peg away at journalism, and political +agency work, and coaching, and studying. Baby just sits down and looks +nice, as if he thought the briefs would come fluttering round him like +all the silly, pink-cheeked, wide-eyed girls. You ought to have seen +our little maid the night he dined with us. When she first saw him she +seemed to mutter ‘O my’ in a breathless fashion, and when she handed +him his plate, she spilt all the gravy on to his knee, gazing into his +face.” + +Hermon looked a little annoyed. “Very few people can talk absolute rot +in a clever way,” he aimed at her. + +Hal laughed. + +“Why, that drew you, Baby! You look quite ruffled. I was only pulling +your leg: the pink-cheeked girls don’t really flutter round, they run +away in terror at your scowl. You know he can scowl, Lorraine. At least +it isn’t exactly a scowl; it’s more a cast-iron solemnity of such +degree that it has a Medusa-like effect and freezes the poor little +peach-blossom girls into putty images.” + +“I’m sure Mr. Hermon never gives his personal appearance a thought,” +Lorraine replied, “except when you insist upon harping on it.” + +“I can’t help it. I feel he’s hemmed in with such a sticky, treacly, +simpering amount of youthful adoration generally, that I simply have to +rag him for his good!” + +“It’s very kind of you to be so interested in my welfare”—a twinkle +gleamed suddenly in his blue eyes—“I certainly like your way of adoring +the best.” + +“Ah”—with an answering twinkle—“I didn’t think you had guessed my +secret. How embarrassing of you! You have positively driven me away.” +She rose to her feet. “I must go, Lorry. I can’t sit out any more. He +has discovered that I adore him.” + +“You both seem rather imbecile tonight,” Lorraine commented; “but +surely it needn’t drive you away, Hal.” + +“I must go all the same. We have visitors coming. I shall run in again +tomorrow. Be sure and ’phone me if there is anything I can do for you.” +She kissed Lorraine, and turned to Hermon. “Good-bye. Don’t display all +your best allurements to Lorraine this evening, because she isn’t +strong enough for it. Remember my unhappy plight, and let one victim +satisfy you for the present.” + +“What about your victims?” he asked. “Dick is kicking the toes of his +boots thin because he saw you yesterday with Sir Edwin Crathie.” + +Hal coloured up, much to her own disgust, and greatly to Hermon’s +enjoyment, who immediately followed up his advantage with: + +“I suppose we shall all have to cry small now, because of the right +honourable gentleman.” + +“It will be a puzzler for you to cry small,” was her rather feeble +retort, as she passed out. + +Hermon came back and reseated himself in the big arm chair. + +“May I stay?” he asked, and Lorraine answered: + +“Yes, do,” in the frank spirit she had told herself must be her +attitude towards him. + +So he sat on with an air of content, seeming to fill some place in the +pretty room by right of an old comradeship, or some blood-tie, or a +mutual understanding—an intangible, indefinable attitude that had +sprung into being between them of itself. + +Lorraine did not talk much, because she was tired, but she let the +goodly sight of him, and the quiet rest of him, lull and soothe her +senses for the passing moment without any disturbing questioning. +Hermon likewise did not question. He liked being there, and she seemed +willing for him to stay, and it seemed enough. + +Once or twice lately he was conscious that he had been rather foolish +with different admiring friends of the fair sex; and though he was no +prig, and knew most men took kisses and caressess when offered, and +would have thought it a needless throwing away of good things to +refuse, he yet felt a little irritated with himself and the givers +without quite knowing why. + +And there was another trying incident over a girl he had met at various +country-houses the previous summer, and greatly enjoyed a flirtation +with. Unfortunately, she appeared not to have understood it in the +light of a flirtation; and now she was writing him miserable, +reproachful love-letters which had at any rate succeeded in making him +wish he had been more circumspect. It soothed his ruffled feelings to +be with Lorraine; and it flattered his vanity to feel that she liked +him there. + +They had been sitting quietly some little time when the front-door bell +announced another caller, and Jean came to inquire if her mistress +would see Lord Denton. Lorraine half unconsciously glanced at Hermon, +and seeing an expression of disappointment on his face, said quietly. +“Ask him to come tomorrow, Jean. I am very tired tonight.” + +Jean went away, and presently returned with a loverly bouquet of +malmaisons, and three or four new books. “His lordship will call about +twelve,” she said: “and he hopes, if you feel able to go out, you will +let him take you in his motor.” Then she went out, leaving them alone +again. + +In the pause that followed, Lorraine lay silently watching him for some +minutes, wondering what was passing in his mind. Although it was only +September still, the evenings were drawing in quickly, and there was +little light in the room except the flickering glow of cheerful flames +on the hearth. They caught the glint of his hair and shone on his face, +throwing the delicate, aristocratic features with cameo-like +dinstinctness on the black shadow beyond. + +Lorraine looked again, with the eyes of a connoisseur, and she knew +that in very truth no merely handsome face and form were here, but a +nature and character corresponding to the outward beauty of line and +lineament. She wondered once more as she lay there what it must be to +have borne such a son; and a surging, aching, tearing pain filled her +heart for the longing to have known from experience. She felt she could +have been a saint among women for very joy, and an ideal companion, as +well as a mother to such as he. + +And instead?— + +Well, there were murky corners in the background for her as well as her +mother, but never from actual seeking. When necessity had not driven +her, loneliness had, and the gnawing ache of a fine, fearless soul to +grasp some satisfaction from the sorry scheme of things. And always the +satisfaction had passed so quickly... so quickly, driving the starved +soul back on itself again, with a little extra weight added to its +burden of bitter knowledge. + +Was there then no counterpart for her—no twin soul—no strong, true +comrade, to say “You and I” when sorrow and disillusion came, and so +rob pain of its deepest sting? + +Then, as if he felt her scrutiny, he turned his face to her slowly, and +looked into her eyes. + +“You know you are looking rather bad,” he said a little awkwardly and +shyly. “I’m awfully sorry. I hope you are taking care of yourself.” + +“I don’t suppose I should worry much if left to myself,” she told him, +with a touch of lightness; “but a very stern physician, and a most +resolute maid, insist upon giving me every possible attention.” + +“It doesn’t tire you… my being here?…” + +“No; I like it.” + +“I wonder why?” + +“Do you always want to know the why of things?” + +“I’m afraid I don’t as a rule bother much, but this is a little +amazing, isn’t it?” + +“I don’t see why you should think so.” + +He studied the fire again. + +“Only that you are at the top of the ladder, and I am at the bottom.” + +“I was once there too.” + +“And did it seem as if it would be impossible ever to reach the top?” + +“Yes, often. I don’t think anything but resolute, iron determination +ever takes any one up. Influence helps a good many up the lower rungs, +and saves them a lot of the drudgery, but it cannot do much else, and +unless one is full of grit and purpose at heart, one sticks there.” + +“Still, it must be a great help to be pulled through the drudgery.” + +“It may mean a good deal of loss also.” + +“How?” + +“I don’t suppose success that is won through favour means half so much +to the winner as success that is wrenched from Fate by one’s own +resolute hands. The only thing is, one wonders so often afterwards if +it has been worth while.” + +“Do you wonder that?” + +“Ah!… don’t I?” + +He said nothing, and she went on: + +“All the same, I imagine I had to succeed or die. I was built that way. +Nothing less than success would have satisfied me. I often crave for +quiet, restful happiness now, but if it had been offered then I should +have passed it by and struggled blindly for fame. Still, it is hard to +think how easily one can take a false step, and suffer for it till the +end.” + +“Did you do that?” + +He turned his eyes to her again, and she saw as sympathy in them that +was deeper than any feeling he had shown her yet. + +“Yes. I was in a very tight corner, and I took a short cut out. I +married for money and influence. The step brought me all I anticipated, +but it brought other things as well, that I had chosen not to remember: +nausea, ennui, self-disgust, loneliness, emptiness. I think I should +never have won through without Hal.” + +“And is your husband living?” + +“Yes. In America. We have not troubled each other for a long time. I +suppose I am fortunate in being left alone.” She was silent a few +minutes, and then she told him kindly: “Hal says they always chaff you +about marrying an heiress, for the sake of being rich without any need +to work; but take my advice, and don’t force the hand of Fate before +she has had time to give you good things in her own time.” + +He turned to her with a very engaging smile as he answered: + +“They chaff me about a good many things, but most of them are a little +wide of the mark. I haven’t any leaning at present towards a paid post +as husband.” + +“I’m glad; but I didn’t for a moment suppose you had seriously. I +wonder what you have a leaning towards?” she added. + +“I should like to succeed.” He sat forward suddenly and leaned his chin +on his hands, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared hard at the +flames. “I care a great deal more about succeeding really than any one +believes; but I’m afraid I’m not cut out for it.” + +“I should like to help you,” she said simply. + +“You are very good,” he answered, still looking hard into the fire. + +Lorraine got up and moved slowly about the room, touching a flower +here, and a flower there, and rearranging them with deft fingers. She +turned on an electric light with a soft shade, and glanced at the books +Flip Denton had brought her. + +Hermon sat back in his chair and watched her. He thought he had never +seen her lovelier than she looked in the homely simplicity of a +graceful tea-gown, and her thick black hair coiled in a large loose +knot low on her neck. It gave her an absurdly youthful air, that +somehow seemed far removed from the brilliant star as he knew her on +the stage. + +Then she came towards him, and stood beside him, resting one foot on +the fender and one hand on the mantelpiece; and he saw, with swift +seeing, the shapeliness of the long, thin fingers and the graceful, +rounded arm. + +“You are thoughtful, _mon ami_,” she said, with a soft lightness. “Tell +me what you are thinking of.” + +“I don’t know. I don’t think I am thinking at all. I feel rather as if +I were sunning myself in your smiles, like a cat.” + +“You like being here, like this?” + +“I love it.” + +“Then come often. Why not?” + +“I shall bore you.” + +“I think not. It is pleasant to me also to have some one keeping me +company in such a natural, homely way. You see, I am very much alone. I +have no women friends except Hal, who is nearly always engaged; and +there are not many men one can invite to come and sit by one’s +fireside. You seem to come so naturally and simply. It is clever of +you. Very few men could. It is difficult to believe you are only +twenty-four.” + +“I fancy years often do not go for very much. I have travelled about +alone a great deal. Anyhow, you are just as young for thirty-two as I +am old for twenty-four.” + +“Hal has helped to keep me young. She restores me like some patent +elixir. I suppose I love her more than any one in the world.” + +“I’m not surprised,” he answered. “A good many people love Hal. Dick +and Quin just dote on her.” + +She looked at him keenly a moment. + +“I am spared wasting my affection,” he added, “by her obvious contempt +for me.” + +“She doesn’t mean any of it. She only wants to rouse you.” + +“Still, she succeeds in making me feel rather a worm.” + +Lorraine made no comment, but she could not resist a little inward +smile at the thought of any one making such a man feel a worm. She +realised there might be no harm in the leavening influence. + +The clock struck seven, and he gave a start, rising quickly to his feet +beside her. Lorraine was a little under medium height if anything, and +as they stood together he seemed to tower above her like some splendid +prehistoric human, while she appeared as some exquisite miniature, or +frail and perfect piece of Dresden china. + +And again it seemed as if his physical beauty acted upon her with some +irresistible magnetism, flowing round her and over her and through her, +till she was enveloped and obsessed by him. + +His age was nothing, years are mere detail; she felt only that he was a +splendid creature, and everything in her gloried in it. She rested her +hand lightly on his arm. + +“How big you are. You almost overpower me.” + +He smiled down at her, but it was just a quiet, friendly smile, and she +could not tell if her touch stirred him. + +“I’m afraid I am rather a monster. It is sometimes a nuisance.” + +“Ah, don’t say that. I am quite sure the first Adam was as big as you, +and Eve was frightened and ran away, but she wouldn’t for the world +have had him an inch smaller. And every true Eve since has gloried in +the man who towered above her, and was a little terrifying in his +strength. Don’t let them spoil you,” she added with a note of +wistfulness, “all the Eves who must needs follow with or without your +bidding.” + +“I imagine Hal will counteract much of that; and the feeling, when I am +with you, that I am just a great, brainless, useless animal.” + +“No; you are not that; and you are quite extraordinarily unspoilt as +yet. Come and see me again soon, when you’ve nothing better to do.” + +“How soon?” + +He was looking hard into her face now, almost as if he were only just +fully realising her beauty, and she flushed a little as she met his +ardent eyes and answered: + +“As soon as you like.” + +“Friday is my first free evening.” + +“The come and dine here quietly. I shall not act this week at all. I +shall run down to the sea from Saturday to Monday.” + +She had intended to go on Friday afternoon, but with his nearness all +Flip Denton’s sage advice vanished from her mind, and instead of +running away as he urged, she went a step nearer to the temptation. + +When he had gone she sat down in the arm chair he had used, and stared +hard at the fire. Jean came in to urge her to go to bed, but she only +said: + +“No; I like this room and the fire. Bring me the fish, or whatever it +is, here. I will go to bed about half-past eight if you like, but not +before.” + +So she sat on, and in her heart she saw still the fine face, with its +unspoiled freshness, and felt his presence still filling the room. + +It would seem Fate had brought her and Hal together into the arena of +new happenings and new feelings, for among the crowded houses of +Bloomsbury, in a little high-up bedroom near the sky, Hal sat on the +edge of her bed leisurely brushing her long, bright hair, and pondering +a telephone message that had asked her to go for a motor ride the +following Saturday. + +“It means putting Amy off,” was her final cogitation, “but I think I’ll +go. It will be such fun, and I’m rather sick of work.” + +So, in spite of strong wills and common-sense warning, we still, as +ever, let our footsteps follow the alluring paths, and go boldly forth +to meet a joy, ever careless of the following sorrow that may accompany +it, until the hour of shunning is past. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The following Friday afternoon Lorraine went out with Flip Denton in +his motor, and among his first questions was: + +“Well, how is the foolish falling in love progressing?” + +“It is stationary. I’ve got another friend I want to keep, Flip; +another friend like you.” + +“Ah, I can’t pass that. You were never even remotely in sight of +falling in love with me. And you know what Kipling says: ‘Love’s like +line-work; you can’t stand still, you must go backward or forward.’ You +don’t propose to take my advice and run away from it?” + +“Not before I am sure there is danger, anyhow.” + +They were silent some moments, then she asked him: + +“Do men ever run away, Flip?... My experience has been that the average +man always has a good try to get what he wants, without much +consideration for outside things, or for youth, or for harm.” + +“That’s because beautiful women necessarily come up against the worst +in men. It is their fate: one of the balancing conditions perhaps to +make things more even with the less-favoured women.” + +“I suppose great beauty generally undoes a woman. Is it the same with +men too? It seems a pity when Nature produces anything beautiful she +should not guard it better—beautiful flowers, beautiful birds, +beautiful creatures all ravished the quickest; while the little, +comfortable daisies, and sparrows, and homely people go serenely on +unharmed.” + +He did not reply, and they sped along in the understanding silence they +were both so fond of. + +Denton was thinking, as a man may, of various pretty faces that had +been the undoing of their owners, and wondering a little dimly and +confusedly about the paradoxical contrariness of Nature, who gives a +man his strongest desires nearly always towards forbidden ends. Why +create a beautiful thing, and then create a longing for it, and then +probably descend in wrath upon both heads which did but follow the bent +she herself had given them? + +Lorraine was wondering a little bitterly why a man may taste forbidden +fruit again and again and go unpunished; and why a woman, so often set +amid sterner temptations, was yet left so strangely unprotected: the +one so quickly able to put an incident aside, and seek fresh fields for +conquest; the other so terribly liable to be branded for life in that +same incident. + +It made a bitterness surge up in her soul for her own unprotected +girlhood and struggling youth; and for all they had brought her to +learn of the tree of knowledge. No doubt she had been callous enough +about it at the time; eager only to dare, and triumph, and achieve; but +how should it have been otherwise, since no kindly guiding hand had +told her she was wasting her powers and her substance to achieve an end +that would never satisfy her soul? + +Did she even know she had a soul that would presently crave a +satisfaction found only among the higher and better things, and turn +away with infinite scorn from the petty triumphs of an hour or a day? + +Well, she had fought her fight with the rest, and triumphed greatly in +the world’s eyes; and now she must abide by the path she had chosen, +and glean the best satisfaction she could out of it. + +And yet— + +Later in the afternoon, when she sat drinking a lonely cup of tea by a +lonely fireside, the questioning, probing mood returned again; the +significant “and yet” still left the last conclusion without any +finality. Looking backward, a sense of resentment seemed to creep over +her; a combative desire to get even with Fate about many things while +there was time and opportunity. + +She remembered particularly the first man who had tried to lead her +astray. He had been considerably more than twice her age, a hardened +sinner without any compunction, with a devilish cunning at breaking +down defences without any seeming over-persuasion, and at whitewashing +his actions into passionate devotion to youngn inexperienced years. She +remembered how she had struggled to resist him. It was good to remember +now that she had not been his victim. + +And yet, what of it, while such men could triumph again and again and +go seemingly unpunished, and young, eager, ambitious souls were often +so pitifully stranded at the beginning of a career? + +Men of his age and his character usually did triumph. How often had she +seen it since! The first wrong step not a generous-hearted, hot-headed +youth; but a hardened sinner who had wearied of other hardened sinners +and turned his evil designs to youth and freshness, hoping perchance to +be rejuvenated thereby. + +And Nature stood by with folded hands, and saw her fairest creations +soiled and ravished before they had reached maturity, without +apparently the smallest compunction. + +Her first wrong step had been her marriage, and though it had given her +a good deal in the beginning, in the end how it had robbed her!... ah! +how it had robbed her of those things that could never be won back. + +And now, by an unlooked-for turn of events, she found herself among the +world-wearied ones, asking for the divine freshness of youth. If she +chose to make him love her she believed she could. + +And yet?— + +She stood beside the window and leaned her head against the framework, +gazing at the river. It was gliding smoothly along now, beautified and +glorified by the reflected light of a setting sun. How light +transfigured! + +The murky, muddy, sullen Thames, so often going with its countless +burdens, as one enslaved unwillingly to the needs of commerce, now +flashing, shining, silver waters hastening joyfully out to sea. She +felt that often and often her life had been as the shadowed, murky +waters, enslaved unwillingly by bonds that circumstances had created. + +She thought how his life, the life of this man who was beginning to +fill her soul, was still like the joyous, shining, waters reflecting +sunlight. Was it possible she wanted to bring the shadows and dim its +silver radiance for her own gratifications? + +And even so, was it in any case likely to go undimmed much longer? The +shadows were certain enough to come, if not through her, perhaps +through some one with less soul, and less fineness of aim, who would do +him far greater harm. Her love for him was not, at least, entirely +selfish. + +She knew that she cared very much for his future. She cared very much +that life should give him a chance to fulfill the best of his promise. + +And if the chance came by shadows, well, across the river of a man’s +life they flitted lightly enough as a rule, chasing each other away, +and leaving the waters still flowing joyfully. It was only for a woman, +apparently, the shadows left a stain that even the sunlight could not +chase away. + +It would seem woman was made a helpmeet for man in many ways beside +that of keeping his home and bearing his children. How often did he owe +his best development and best achievements to her, absorbing light from +her in some mysterious ordering, and soaring away afterwards while she +was left among the shadows. + +Yet, by some equally mysterious compensation, a woman was often so +fashioned that if she could feel the upward flight was won through her, +she might rest statisfied even though him she loved had soared away. It +was the mother-love blending strangely with the wife-love; the +protecting, inspiring, unselfish, mothering instinct, lying in the soul +of every true-hearted woman. + +Standing gazing at the flashing river, Lorraine, in the midst of her +probing, knew that it was his ultimate success and good she wanted, as +well as his freshness to sweeten her own life. + +And yet?— + +What if she brought a shadow where there would otherwise have been no +shadow, dimmed a brightness that, without her, had gone undimmed? She +knew he was not weak naturally. He did not need any strengthening; only +impetus, ambition, aim, and some safeguarding by the way. + +She smiled a little drearily at the recollection that it was from her, +herself, that probably his own people would think he needed +safeguarding. She could foresee that they would likely enough hurl +themselves between him and her, oblivious that by doing so they might +very possibly be the cause of driving him to far worse. But that, of +course, no one could help; as how should they know the fine shades +between the women who lived outside the conventions? + +But then again, they need not know that the great friendship +existed—why should they? After all, few would credit the celebrated, +beautiful actress with anything beyond a passing fancy for the +youthful, briefless barrister. + +And yet?— + +Across every fresh pathway she turned her thoughts along, was still +that arresting, intangible, “and yet”. + +The pity of it! At least he was strong, and true, and unspoilt now. Why +not give life a chance to leave him so? + +Why not give Fate a chance to endow him quickly with the rich, blessed +love that kept a man walking straight and strong along his steadfast +way? + +But again the thought came back of what he would lose, what he must +inevitably lose, if he missed the storm and stress and struggle that +are as the mill and furnace through which the gold is refined, and +hardened, and separated from the dross. + +She went back to the fireside feeling that her probing had brought her +nowhither, and that she was only very tired and very depressed. + +Then she went slowly away to dress, and chose, somewhat to Jean’s +surprise, one of the simplest evening frocks she possessed. Jean, +knowing the tall, beautiful new friend was coming to dinner, had laid +out an elaborate dinner-dress, and arranged the jewel cases for +selection. + +“Put them away at once,” was all her mistress said, with one sweeping +glance round. “I shall wear that little blue Liberty gown and a single +row of pearls.” + +When Alymer came he found her already seated by the fire, engaged with +some knitting. + +“How nice and homely,” he said. “I never associated you with anything +so commonplace as sewing.” + +“I’m afraid I can’t sew very well,” with a little smile. “I can knit +this, and that is about all.” + +“Are you better?” and he scanned her face critically, in an +old-fashioned way that gave her secret joy. + +“Yes, sir, thank you,” with a low laugh. + +He laughed too, and took up his stand on the hearthrug, with his hands +behind his back, in a natural, quite-at-home way, that seemed to come +easily to him. + +“How jolly it is to see a fire. My mater always seems afraid of +beginning too soon. I think she has a sort of feeling that if winter +sees fires started he will hurry.” + +“I never leave them off. My fire is one of my staunchest companions. An +empty grate always depresses me, because if it is sunny and hot I want +to be out-of-doors, and if it is not, I want my fire. Let us go to +dinner, then we can get back and purr over it to our hearts’ content.” + +Because it pleased her to make him an honoured guest, Lorraine had been +at considerable pains in ordering her dinner, and she was gratified to +observe that it was not wasted on him. + +Certainly, among other things at Oxford he had learnt to know a good +dinner and good wine, and enjoy them as a connoisseur. It amused her +also to observe that the old-fashioned air with which he had inquired a +little masterfully after her health, grew upon him as the evening +progressed. + +She thought he must be a little bit of a tyrant to his mother, and any +one he was specially fond of. Not dictatorially so, but with a +humorous, half-satirical insistence that was very engaging. + +When the sat over the fire together, later, she found herself telling +him many things about her early struggles, and first successes, not in +the least in a “talking down” attitude, but as to a very sympathetic +companion of her own age. + +It was evident he was truly interested, and this made him a charming +listener. And he told her yet further of his own hopes, and +disappointments, and discouragements. Several times since he took his +degree, one friend or another had held out hopeful expectations of +being able to put him on to this case of that, which might bring a +brief. And always the hope had failed, and the promise ended in smoke. + +She gave him sympathy in her turn, and said she would not raise his +expectations unkindly, but she believed she could really help him to +get a start. She would speak to Lord Denton about it. He was always +ready to do a little thing like that for her. + +“He is one of those dear people,” she told him, “who seem to try to +make up for their own incorrigible laziness by going out of their way +to put some one else in the way of a start.” + +She saw the colour deepen in his face, and a subdued light shine in his +eyes, as he thanked her rather haltingly. The little show of diffidence +was very charming. How far removed, how amazingly far removed he was +from the average good-looking youth of twenty-four, who was usually so +anxious to impress every one with his attributes and his powers. + +And he was not even average. Every time she saw him she wondered afresh +at his extraordinary wealth of attraction. One could have forgiven him +a few airs and mannerisms; but no forgiveness was asked: in every +single phrase she found him always the modest, unassuming, high-bred +gentleman. + +So they sat on and talked, and for the time being the warfare of the +afternoon passed from her mind. Probing seemed suddenly out of place. +Why probe?... Their friendship had slipped of itself into an old +companionship. What need for more? She knew instinctively he would come +often to fill her lonely hours, and tell her all about his work and his +doings. + +And sometimes they would go out together on little jaunts. If they did, +who need know, or who, at any rate, need gossip? She felt a gladness +grow in her mind at the thought of the happy friendship they might +have; guarded perhaps from harm by the disparity in their years, and at +the same time of inestimable benefit to him, and pleasure to her. She +felt almost motherly as she laid her fingers lightly on his arm, with a +little laughing jest, as they stood together before parting. + +“I have enjoyed my evening of invalidism so much. Come and see me again +soon, won’t you?” + +“I should love to. You are very good to me.” + +“Oh, no; I’m not. Don’t let us talk of goodness in that way. I like +your company; and it is good to have what one likes. I shall expect you +again soon, Alymer—I may call you Alymer, mayn’t I?... Mr. Hermon is so +overpowering.” + +“I wish you would. I would have asked you, only I was afraid you might +think it cheek.” + +“Very well then, _Alymer_,” with emphasis, “when I have spoken to Lord +Denton I will telephone you; and I hope he will be able to start you +off on a road that will very nearly end in a verdict of ‘Suffocated +with briefs.’” + +“Or ‘briefly suffocated’,” he laughed, and beat a hasty retreat, for +fear of a reprisal. + +When he had gone, Lorraine sat again in the firelight, and it seemed as +if the stress and unrest had fallen from her, and only the memory of a +pleasant companionship remained. They were going to be the best of +pals—why not—and why seek to probe any further? + +Apparently he was not susceptible, and cared more for his profession +than any one supposed, and so, since she liked to have him there to +glory in his comeliness, they could form a mutual benefit society, and +no one need be hurt at all. It was all quite simple, and she went to +bed feeling rested and refreshed, and looking forward hopefully for the +pleasant meetings to come? + +Flip Denton was running down to Brighton for the weekend also, to take +her out on the Sunday in his car; and he noticed at once that a shadow +which had hovered over her eyes of late had vanished. + +“You are looking topping,” he told her. “What about the love affair, is +it all satisfactorily off? It has been worrying you a little of late.” + +“It is not exactly off,” she replied, “but it is more satisfactorily +placed. We are going to be real good pals. He is going to keep me +company in some of my lonely hours, and I am going to try and help him +to get briefs. I am relying on you for the first one, Flip.” + +“The dickens you are. My dear girl, why should I put myself out to +acquire a brief for a rival?” + +“Oh, just because you are you. You know you will love it, Flip! You +will get him a brief, and then you will pat yourself on the back and +say: ‘I know I’m a lazy dog myself, but I’m a devil of a good chap at +getting other fellows work.’” + +“So I am”—enjoying her thrust—“and it’s a splendid line, and gives far +more satisfaction in the end. If I tried to work I should only make a +mess of it, and drive some one nearly crazy, whereas, in putting +another chap on to a job I give such a lot of folks pleasure, I feel I +am getting square with the Almighty.” + +“Then you’ll try, Flip?” + +“It is humanly possible, he shall have a brief of his very own within +the next month.” + +“You are a dear. Sometimes I think you are the most adorable person I +know.” + +“You don’t think it long enough at a time, Lorry. You are too prone to +go off suddenly after false gods measuring six-foot-five-and-a-half +inches and with the faces of Apollo Belvederes.” + +“Probably it is a merciful precaution on the part of our guardian +angels, Flip; and, anyhow, you know you like a little variation +yourself in the way of bulk, and sound, practical, indecorous chorus +girldom.” + +“I do,” was his unabashed affirmative. “Nice, comfortable, elevating +palliness with you; and a right down rollicking bust-up occasionally +with the ladies of the unpretending school of wild oats.” + +“I want my giant for the present to be satisfied with his palliness +with me and his work. Do you think he will?” + +“As I haven’t seen him I can’t say. If I get the chance, however, I’ll +tell him that ‘wild oats’ are the very devil, and I’d give all I’ve got +to have stuck to work and had naught to do with ’em.” + +“You know you wouldn’t, Flip,” with a little laugh. + +“I know I couldn’t, you mean; but I never admit it to juniors.” + +“Well, you shall come to the flat to meet him. If he gets a brief, +we’ll have a little dinner party, and I’ll ask Hal and her cousin and +St. Quintin.” + +“Right you are. I haven’t seen Miss Pritchard for ages. Shall we turn +now, and go back by Rottingdean?” + +“Let us go whichever way has the best view of the sea. I feel I want to +look at wide, breezy spaces for a while, and not talk at all.” + +“You shall,” he promised, and they sped along in silence. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +When Hall sat on the side of her bed, brushing her hair and meditating +on her irritation, she had not misjudged when she anticipated great +enjoyment from an afternoon run with her new friend. + +It would have been difficult indeed to say who enjoyed it the most. Hal +was in great form, and Sir Edwin Crathie half unconsciously took his +tone from her, dropping his usual attitude towards women he liked, and +adopting instead one as gay and careless and inconsequent as hers. + +It was not in the nature of the man to desist from flirting with her, +but his pretty speeches were coupled with a humour and chaff that +robbed them of any pointedness, and merely resulted in an amusing +amount of parry and thrust, over which they both laughed +whole-heartedly. + +“You are an absolute witch,” he told her as they sat enjoying a big tea +at an hotel on the south coast; “ever since we started you have made me +behave more or less like a school-boy, and a tea like this is the +climax.” + +“It’s a good thing I am the only witness,” she laughed. “The poorness +of your jokes alone would have horrified your colleagues, but to see +you eating such a tea must have meant a request for your resignation—it +is so incompatible with the dignity of a Cabinet Minister.” + +“I had almost forgotten I was a Cabinet Minister. Gad! but it’s nice to +get right away from the cares of office occasionally like this. When +will you come again?” + +“Oh, I don’t think I must come any more,” roguishly. “I’m sure Brother +Dudley will not consent.” + +“What has Brother Dudley go to do with it?… Did he consent this time?” + +“Not exactly. I anticipated his willingness.” + +“You little fibber. You mean you anticipated his firm refusal, and took +French leave, so that you need not disobey him.” + +“It is true that Dudley and I differ occasionally, but I do not disobey +him… if I can help it.” + +“Well, if you took French leave this time, you can easily do it again.” + +“But this time it was a novelty. I was curious to find out how I should +enjoy an afternoon with you?” + +“Rubbish. You knew perfectly well you would enjoy it immensely. So did +I. Two people who like each other always know those kind of things at +once.” + +Hal leaned back in her chair, and her expressive mouth twitched in a +way that made him long to kiss it hard. + +“There are occasions when I don’t like you at all,” she said. + +“Fibber again. When don’t you like me?” + +“Chiefly when you are quite positive certain sure that I do.” + +“Well, that is never; so you are a fibber.” + +“I thought you seemed particularly confident nine seconds ago.” + +“I was only teasing you. I could hardly have been serious after you +have called me a worm, and an old man. So now—when will you come +again?” + +“In about a month. Let’s go out as Guys on the fifth of November.” + +“A month be blowed! I want to know which day next week?” + +“I am full up next week.” + +“Full up of what?” + +“Lorraine Vivian, Dick Bruce, Quin, the Beloved Chief, and the Baby.” + +“What a list! Is Lorraine Vivian the actress? Who are Quin and the +Baby?” + +“She is… and they are!…” + +“Who does the Baby belong to?” + +“It would be difficult to say. About a dozen probably claim him.” + +“And doesn’t he know his own mother?” + +“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of mothers.” + +“Who were you thinking of?” + +“The ladies who have lost their hearts to him.” + +“I see. Are you one of them?” + +“I am not. You see, his beauty has never struck me all of a heap, +because I’ve got so used to it.” + +“Is he a beautiful baby, or a youth, or a man?” + +“A bit of all three. He stands 6 ft. 5 ½ in., and is superbly handsome. +I call him sometimes, for variation, the stuffed blue-and-gold Apollo.” + +“Well, that’s better than ‘a positive worm’,” laughing, “but I don’t +mind him. Who is Quin?” + +“Quin is a philanthropist, sentimentalist, and hero. He spends his life +working in the East End.” + +“I don’t mind him either, and Dick Bruce I’ve seen. The actress doesn’t +count, and your precious chief you see every day. Now, then, when will +you come again?” + +He got up from his seat and came round to her side of the table. He had +a vague intention of imprisoning her hand, and perhaps her waist, but +some indescribable quality held him off. It was difficult to suppose +she did not half guess what was in his mind, and yet, without showing +the smallest consciousness or shyness, she faced him with a look so +boyishly frank and open it utterly disarmed him. + +“I am not a bit more persuasive on my right side than my left, and I +have promised next Saturday to the Three Graces—who are Dick and Quin +and Baby. We are going to the Crystal Palace to see a football match.” + +“Then what about Sunday?” + +“Oh, I can’t come on Sunday.” + +“Why not?” + +“I hardly know, except that it usually belongs to Dudley or Dick.” + +“Next Sunday needn’t.” + +“Well, that’s what I don’t know.” + +“Yes you do.” He moved a little nearer. “You’ve got to keep next Sunday +for me. It’s my turn. We’ll have a splendid day. We’ll take Peter, and +we’ll start early and fly down to the New Forest. It’s glorious in the +autumn. We’ll have a picnic-lunch, and tea at an hotel on the way back. +So that’s settled.” He got up, and lifted her ulster from the back of a +chair. “Now come along, and we’ll slip home before it gets late enough +to cause trouble.” + +Hal let it pass for the time, and got into her ulster. She was clever +enough to see the advantage of retaining a way of escape if she changed +her mind, or accepting the invitation if she wanted to later on. + +She knew perfectly well a girl did not always go out for a whole day +with a man like Sir Edwin with impunity; but she had also something of +contempt for a girl who missed a great treat for want of pluck. She +preferred to leave the question open, and if she badly wanted to go at +the end of the week she would not, at any rate, stay away because she +was afraid. + +As it happened, circumstances played into Sir Edwin Crathie’s hands. +About Wednesday, with a diffidence that made Hal secretly amused and +secretly curious, Dudley asked her if she would mind if he was away for +the whole day on Sunday. As she was generally away herself as long as +the summer lasted, she wondered why he should ask her in that manner. +It was just as they had finished breakfast, and he busied himself with +his pipe-rack as he made the announcement. + +“Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “Are you going into the country?” + +“Ye-es.” He seemed about to add something further, but changed his +mind. Hal, with a little inward chuckle, divined by his manner he must +be going somewhere with a lady, and she was pleased, as she liked a man +to have woman friends, believing they made him more broad-minded and +tolerant and generous-hearted if well-chosen. + +She asked no further question, however, and Dudley commenced to whistle +softly as he drew on his boots. Evidently his mind was somewhat +relieved after the sentence was said. + +So now it remained to discover Dick’s attitude. She could, of course, +quite easily put him off; but she was not quite prepared to do this of +her own initiative, as he had so generously placed all his Sundays at +her disposal. On Friday, however, he was speaking to her through the +telephone. + +“I say, Hal, you’re coming to the Footer match tomorrow, aren’t you?” + +“Yes, of course I am. Why?...” + +“Well, it’s just this way. I was going to motor the pater to Aunt +Judith’s, and I forgot all about it. He wants me to take him on Sunday +instead. What shall I do?... Would you care to come too?” + +Hal had not the smallest wish to go to Aunt Judith’s, who belonged to +the old school, and disapproved in a most outspoken manner of +lady-clerks of every sort and description. It was a constant grievance +to her, when she set eyes on Hal,that she did not gratefully accept £20 +as secretary to a well-known, interesting editor. + +In consequence, Hal encountered her as little as possible, accepted +gratefully her interesting, easy billet, and consigned the imaginary +young children to a Hades peopled with nursery governesses. + +“Awfully sweet and good and kind of you, Dicky dear,” she called back +to him mockingly, “but I think I’ll practise a little self-denial this +time, and stay away.” + +“Odd you should say that,” he laughed, “because I consider I’m +practising a little self-denial in going. What shall you do with +yourself? Will Dudley be at home?” + +“No; he’s going somewhere for the day, that has a nervous, apologetic +sort of air about it. I didn’t press for particulars, but I’m dying to +know. I can’t believe he would really take a gay young person out, and +yet, judging by his manner, it might be a real flyer from Daly’s.” + +“Good old Dudley!... Then I suppose you will go to Lorraine?” + +“Yes, I daresay I shall. Good-bye, see you Saturday.” + +Hal returned to her work in a meditative mood. She was beginning to +wonder why she had not had any message from Sir Edwin all the week. Had +he changed his mind, or had he possibly forgotten? If he rang her up +presently what was she going to say? + +The notion that he had perhaps forgotten was not pleasing; and yet, +with all he must have to think about during the week, it was equally +not surprising. As a matter of fact, it had been a most trying week for +all Ministers. + +The party was emphatically growing into disfavour, and all brains had +to be utilised to find the most efficacious remedy. Sir Edwin had been +very useful in his suggestions, for he had had considerable practice in +getting what he wanted by artfulness if no straighter mode offered. + +His suggestions to His Majesty’s Cabinet were masterpieces of political +trickery, and their adoption was a foregone conclusion in spite of the +Ministers who raised objections. The party had to win back favour +somehow, and at any rate his were the best plans that offered. + +But all through the stirring meetings of the week he never once forgot +Hal. His silence was merely an adaptation of the policy he was urging +upon his colleagues. “If I leave her alone till Friday she will get +piqued,” was his thought, “and then she will come.” + +Accordingly, soon after the luncheon hour he rang her up. + +“Hullo,” he called. “At last I have got a moment to speak to you.” + +“What has happened to all the other moments?” she asked. + +“We’ve had a very anxious, worrying week in the House. I’ve scarcely +had time to get my meals. You surely didn’t suppose I had forgotten +you—did you?” + +“I didn’t suppose either way. It didn’t matter.” + +The man at the other end of the wire smiled openly in his empty room. +“Prevaricator,” was his thought “but, by Gad, she’s game.” + +“Well, anyhow I hadn’t, and I wasn’t likely to. I only hope you haven’t +made another engagement for Sunday? I’m badly in need of a long day in +the country. Are you still free?” + +“It depends—” + +“Oh, nonsense; you can’t desert me at the last moment. If I can’t get +that day off to run down to the New Forest, I shall have to go to a +tiresome political luncheon party. Now, be patriotic, and serve your +country by attending to the needs of one of her harassed Ministers.” + +“I am always patriotic.” + +“Then that settles it. I suppose I’d better not call for you. I’ll pick +you up at South Kensington Station at 9.30. Peter will make an +excellent chaperone, so you needn’t worry—good-bye”; and he rang off, +leaving Hal to hang up the receiver, not quite sure whether she had +been trapped or not. + +At his end he moved across to a window with the smile still lingering +on his face. + +“Nothing like making up a woman’s mind for her,” he mused; “they’re all +alike when they are on the edge of the stream, hesitating about the +plunge. Give ’em a little shove, and once they’re in they swim out +boldly enough. The trouble is, when they want to keep the whole river +for themselves and will not brook any other swimmers. + +“I expect I’m going to have a devil of a time with Gladys, and she’ll +take a lot of squaring. Women are the deuce when you’re short of funds. +But I can’t help being susceptible, and Hal has caught my fancy +altogether. Dear little girl, I expect she’ll want a big shove yet +before she’ll take the real plunge. But it’s interesting, by Jove! it’s +interesting; and when she looks a veiled defiance at me with those +candid, mischievous eyes of hers, I know I’ve got to win somehow.” + +Hal went back to her work, feeling a little as if she had been swept +off her feet; and she was not entirely without misgivings. The possible +impropriety of going out alone with a man for the whole day did not +trouble her, but the nature of the man, she was shrewd enough to +perceive, was a doubtful point. + +Of course she was perfectly aware that Aunt Judith, for instance, and +Dudley, and probably her mother, had she been alive, would have been +scandalised at such a proceeding; but then she had pluckily fended for +herself so long, she did not consider she was any longer called upon to +mould her actions according to their views. She belonged to the large +army of women who have to spend so much of their time on office chairs +that their comparatively few hours of pleasure have no room for the +ordinary conventions that hem round the leisured, home-walled maiden. + +If a treat offered, and it was reasonably within bounds, they took it +and were thankful and gave no thought to the possibly uplifted hands of +horror among possibly restricted relatives. She was one of those who +enjoy the freedom of the American girl, without being of those who, +unfortunately, often fall short of her level-headed characteristics; +largely perhaps through those very uplifted hands which suggest harm, +where harm otherwise might never have been thought of. + +It was not, now, any suggestions born of uplifted hands that gave Hal +that faint misgiving. It was that growing doubt concerning the nature +of the man, and a consciousness that she was unduly pleased the treat +was actually to take place—a growing consciousness that in spite of the +doubt she cared more about seeing Sir Edwin Crathie than most men, with +a like recognition that this might seriously endanger her own peace of +mind. + +It was all very well to go out together on a basis of good-fellowship +and mutual enjoyment, so long as neither cared anything beyond; but +what if this unmistakable attraction he exercised over her deepened and +widened? What if the commonplace, middle-class Hal Pritchard, secretary +and typist, fell in love with Sir Edwin Crathie, the Cabinet Minister, +and nephew of Lord St. Ives? + +But she thrust the thought away, and apostrophised herself for a silly +goose, who deserved to get hurt if she had not more sense. Was he not +twice her age, and brilliantly clever (so his own party said), and so +obviously out of her range altogether that it would be sheer stupidity +to allow herself to feel anything beyond the frank fellow-ship they now +enjoyed? She insisted vigorously to herself that it would, and went off +to have dinner with Lorraine, who was once more delighting her London +audience nightly. + +It was a curious thing which occured to both afterwards, that there had +been some indefinable change, observable in each to each, dating from +that particular evening. + +Lorraine was more contentedly gay than she had been for some time—a +quiet, natural light-heartedness, born of some attainment that was +giving her joy. Hal was not clever enough to actually perceive this, +but she did perceive that a certain restless, anxious indecision of +manner and plans had passed away. For the time being Lorraine was happy +in a sense she had not been over her success. That Alymer Hermon had +anything to do with it never entered Hal’s head. She had treated the +whole matter of Lorraine’s attraction to him with the lightness that +seemed its only claim, and scarcely remembered it at all. + +And yet, all the time, it was the young giant who was bringing the +soothing and restfulness into the actress’s storm-tossed life. He was +beginning to be with her constantly—to come to her with all his doings, +and his imagings, and his hopes. And, as she had suspected, natural or +unnatural, he was the companion of all others who gave her the most +pleasure at the time. + +World-wearied and brain-wearied with her own unsatisfying successes, +she found a new interest in entering into his projects, and scheming +and dreaming for his future instead of her own. + +She was quite open to herself about the probability that she would have +felt nothing of the kind had he been merely a giant, or had he been +plain. It was the rare, and indeed remarkable combination of such +physical attributes, with brains, and nobility and an utter absence of +all assumption. + +She forgot about his youth and a certain natural crudity; and what he +lacked in experience and development she easily balanced with the +extraordinary physical attraction that had never ceased to sway her. + +For the rest, the future might go. Her friendship would not hurt him, +and his had become necessary to her. If they dreamed over a volcano, +what of it? Most dreams for such lives as hers usually were in close +proximity to sudden destruction. Waves from nowhere came up and +overwhelmed them. Rocks from unseen heights fell on them and crushed +them. If she was wise she would take what the present offered, and +leave the future alone. + +For Hal, on the other hand, had developed something of the restlessness +that had fallen from Lorraine. The new element dawning in her life was +not a restful one; neither did it lend itself to her usual spontaneous +chaff and gay badinage. + +She told Lorraine about her afternoon drive, without giving half the +particulars she would have done ordinarily; and when Lorraine asked her +about Sunday, she only said she was perhaps going for another run with +Sir Edwin. Lorraine did not press the point, because she was having a +day with Alymer, and was chiefly glad that Hal was happily provided +with a companion to take Dick’s place. + +Then she went off to her theatre, and Hal went home, wishing the next +day were Sunday. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Dudley hardly knew, himself, why he spoke diffidently about his plans +for Sunday, and why he did not tell Hal outright that he was taking +Doris Hayward to a picnic at Marlow, given by mutual friends of his and +theirs—friends of the old vigorous days, when he and Basil Hayward had +gone everywhere together, and Hal had still been a boisterous +schoolgirl. Perhaps he felt she might seem to have been rather unkindly +left out. + +As a matter of fact, an invitation to include his sister had been +given; but, for reasons he hardly stopped to face, he chose not to +mention it. That was after he had learnt from a visit to the little +Holloway flat that nothing would persuade Ethel to leave her brother, +who had been ailing more than usual of late, and Doris would accompany +him alone. + +It had been with a curious mixture of feelings he had heard this. +Things were very pitiful up at the little flat, and though his inmost +sympathy had gone out generously enough to both girls, with a +perversity born of narrow insight he had reserved the deepest of it for +Doris. + +It seemed to him that she was so young to face such circumstances, and +at such an early age to become saddened by the vicissitudes of life. In +the depths of her wide blue eyes he saw unshed tears, and the little +droop of her pretty mouth went straight to his heart. He wanted to +gather her up in his arms, and kiss her and pet her till she was again +all sunshine and smiles. + +He was not unaware that Ethel probably suffered more, but her way of +showing it, or perhaps hiding it, appealed to him less. Instead of that +mute distress of unshed tears, her quiet eyes wore an inscrutable veil. +It was as if the anguish behind the veil were something too terrible +and too sacred to be looked upon by a workaday world; but Dudley only +knew that a wall of reserve was between him and her trouble. + +And her firm, strong mouth had no engaging droop at the corners. It was +only if anything a little firmer, almost to sternness. + +Dudley believed that Basil was dying at last, after his weary +martyrdom, and he believed that Ethel knew it; and in some vague way it +hurt him that she gave no sign, and refused to be drawn into any speech +concerning his increased weakness. + +Doris, on the other hand, spoke of it in a faltering, tearful voice, +adding a little pitifully that it made it harder for her that Ethel was +so distant and unsympathetic. + +In a sense the circumstances nonplussed Dudley altogether. Some inner +voice told him that such a depth of wondrous, unselfish devotion as +Ethel showed to her invalid brother could not live in the same heart +with hardness and want of sympathy; and yet there was the evidence of +the swimming, melting eyes and drooping lips of the younger sister left +out in the cold. + +Perhaps it was unfortunate that on that very evening of Dudley’s visit +Ethel had come home rather earlier than her wont, to find Doris not yet +returned from her daily outing, and, in consequence, the fire out and +the sick man shivering with cold. He had looked so dreadfully ill that +she had hastened first to get some brandy to revive him, only to find +Doris had forgotten her promise to get the empty bottle replaced that +morning. + +In desperation she had hastened to the other little flat on the same +floor, hoping its inmate might chance to have a little to lend. + +The tenant was a lonely, harsh-featured spinster, who eked out a +precarious living by teaching music. Ethel knew her slightly, as a +gaunt woman who usually toiled up the stairs with a sort of scornful +weariness of herself and everything else. + +She knew that because she was not fashionable, nor striking, nor +well-dressed, she taught mostly in rather second-rate schools, and +often had to take long journeys to her pupils, coming home tired and +worn at night to an empty, comfortless little dwelling, to light her +own fire and cook her own evening meal. + +She knew, too, that she was a gentlewoman, the daughter of a poor +clergyman, left penniless, to fight a hard world alone. Had her own +home been happier, she would gladly have asked her to join them +sometimes; but the weight of Basil’s illness, and her own usual +condition of weariness, had left the invitation always unspoken. + +“A little brandy,” the music-teacher echoed, with a quick note of +concern; “yes, I believe I have a drop. Is it your brother? Let me come +and see if I can help?” + +“Thank you,” Ethel had replied, trying not to allow her voice to show +how much she would have preferred not to accept the proffered help. “I +think I can manage quite well.” + +But the gaunt spinster followed her across the little landing +obstinately. She had seen Doris out half an hour before, and knew that +she had not yet returned. + +“Ah, you have no fire,” she said, in her somewhat grating voice; “if +you will let me I will light it,” and without more ado she had procured +coals and wood for herself, and was down on her knees before the empty +grate. + +Ethel turned away with a sick, helpless feeling over Doris’ +selfishness, and after administering a few drops of brandy, chafed the +sick man’s hands and feet. When Basil felt better he glanced up +curiously at the strange, dried-up-looking female who had just +succeeded in persuading a cheerful blaze to brighten the room. She +looked back into his face frankly. + +“You needn’t mind me,” she informed him; “I’m only the music-teacher +from the opposite flat.” + +“You seem to be rather a kind sort of music-teacher,” he said, with his +winsome smile, “even if you do only come from the opposite flat.” + +The hard face relaxed a very little, and she shrugged her shoulders. + +“Oh, well, it isn’t easy to be kind,” she answered, “when you don’t +stand for much else in the universe but a letter of the alphabet.” She +turned back to her grate and commenced sweeping up the ashes. + +Basil roused himself a little further and looked interested. + +“What letter do you stand for?” + +“Just G.” She gave a low, harsh laugh. “G is the letter that +distinguishes my flat from the others, and it is all I stand for to God +or man.” + +“I see.” His white, pain wrung face looked extraordinarily kind. “Well, +G, I’m very deeply grateful to you for coming across to light my fire; +and I’m glad there happened to be a G in the universe this afternoon.” + +She turned her head away sharply, that neither of them might see the +sudden, swift mist that dimmed her eyes, but she only answered: + +“All the same, if there had been no G, and no you, the universe would +have had an atom less pain in it, and no one have been any the worse.” + +“That’s where you’re wrong,” he told her, “because Ethel couldn’t have +done without me, and if you put your head in at my door occasionally, +and just remark to F that G is across the passage, F will be glad the +universe didn’t decide to leave G out of the alphabet.” + +The woman looked at him a moment with a curious expression in her eyes. +Then she said: + +“Well, if _you_ can take the insult of a maimed, or joyless, or cursed +life like that, it oughtn’t to be so very hard for me to be glad I +happened to be able to come over and light your fire.” + +“Nor so very hard to come again.” + +“Ah!…” she hesitated, then said to him, looking half-defiantly towards +Ethel: “Time after time, when I thought you were alone, I’ve wanted to +just look in and see if you were all right. But I didn’t like to. +People don’t take to me as a rule, and I’m… I’m… well, I’m not an +ingratiating sort of person, and I guessed, probably, you’d all rather +do without any help I had to give.” + +“It was kind of you to think of us at all,” Ethel said, not quite sure +whether Basil would like her to come in or not. + +“You guessed wrong,” was his answer. “_I_ think it would be very nice +of you to look in occasionally. It certainly seems rather absurd for +you to be all alone there, and I all alone here, when we both want a +little company. I’m sure the alphabet was not meant to be so +unsociable.” + +“It just depends.” + +She got up from her kneeling posture on the hearth, and stood, a +grotesque apparition enough, looking at him with her greenish, +nondescript eyes. Her hay-coloured hair was tightly drawn back from a +high, bulging forehead, her eyebrows were so light they scarcely showed +at all, while her nose, which started in a nice straight line, had +failed her at the last moment by suddenly taking an upward turn in an +utterly incongruous fashion. She had high cheek-bones, a parchment +skin, and a mouth that was not much more than a slit; the grotesque +effect of the whole being heightened by a long, thin neck, which she +made no effort to cover with a neat high collar, but accentuated by a +half-and-half untidily loose one. + +She wore a cheap, ready-made blouse, with absurd little bows tacked on +down the front, which Ethel longed to abolish with one sweep, and her +skirt, which had shrunk considerably in front, sagged in a dejected +fashion behind. + +Yet to Basil’s kindly eyes, there was something behind it all that was +attractive. For one thing, she was so eminently sincere. One felt she +had no delusions whatever, concerning her appearance or her oddities; +and though she looked out upon life with that scornful, resentful air, +she had yet a keener sense of humour and a clearer brain than most +women. Under different circumstances she might have been a success. + +As it was, she appeared to have got into a wrong groove altogether, +and, unable to extricate herself, to have merely become an oddity. +Basil, from his couch, looked up at her with friendly eyes, and she +finished: + +“One may want a little company, without wanting just any company.” + +“You think you will find me even duller than nothing?” and his eyes +twinkled. + +“You know I didn’t mean that. You are clever, and well-read, and +probably fastidious. I’m… well, you see what I am! and no good for +anything except trying to restrain horrible children from thumping till +they break the notes.” + +“I thought you said you were a music-teacher?” + +“That’s what they call it,” with a dry grimace; “but when I dare to be +honest, I have too much respect for music.” + +“Well, you won’t have to weary your soul restraining me from thumping +anything, so it will be a change to come and talk to me. We’ll turn the +tables, and I’ll try and restrain you from thumping the universe too +hard.” + +“It would be much more to the point if we thumped together: I, because +I’m not wanted, and it’s an insult to foist me on to mankind whether I +like it or not; and you, because… well, because you are a strong man +cursed with helplessness.” + +“Very well, if you come in that particular mood, we’ll just play +football with the bally old universe, so to speak. The main point to me +is, that we take a rise out of the powers that be, by being a source of +entertainment occasionally to each other. As our alphabetical +significance in the general scheme is next door to each other, we may +as well get what we can out of the circumstance.” + +She turned aside, looking half humorous and half satirical. + +“It sounds well enough as you say it, but I expect the powers are +sneering diabolically at us both. However, if you’ll let me try to be +some sort of company, I’ll come across again soon—” + +A latch-key was heard in the door, and a moment later Doris entered. +When she saw the two women she looked taken aback, and stammered +something about not knowing the time. + +“When I got in Basil’s fire was out, and he was perished with cold,” +Ethel said coldly; “and as I had to go to Miss... Miss -” + +“Call it G,” put in the music-teacher, with a comical twist of her +mouth. + +“—for brandy, she came over and lit the fire for me.” + +“I couldn’t help not knowing the time,” Doris murmured in a low, +grumbling voice, and went away to take her hat off. + +The music-teacher glanced from one to the other, as if about to say +something, but changed her mind and moved towards the door. On the +threshold she looked back, and said in her short, dry way: + +“If F wants anything of G, G will be ready to come instantly.” + +“Thank you,” Basil and Ethel replied together, the former adding, “And +don’t forget to put your head in at the door occasionally, by way of a +reminder.” + +Ethel said no more to Doris, because she felt it useless, but her +silence as they prepared the evening meal together signified her +disapproval. She was deeply worried about Basil’s failing strength, and +longed to speak of it to someone who could understand; but felt such +selfish forgetfulness as Doris showed shut her out from any sympathetic +discussion. + +Then Dudley came, and while Doris looked woebegone and sad, Ethel’s +face was a little stern with stress and anxiety. Basil tried valiantly +to be cheerful enough for all three, but the effort cost him almost +more strength than he could muster. + +After Dudley had gone, carrying with him the image of Doris’s plaintive +prettiness and pathetic solitariness, and thinking gladly of the +pleasure it would be to take her to Marlow on Sunday, Ethel slipped on +her knees beside Basil’s couch, overcome for a moment by the burden of +his suffering, and the difficulties of their lives. + +Often after Dudley had been, and some little act or glance or word had +seemed to emphasise the barrier between them, her yearning over Basil +had broken down her courage. When she had lost them both, what would +become of her then? was the question that utterley undid her, finding +no reply beyond a sense of empty darkness. + +She told herself she would go right away to another land—to some far +colony—where she could begin life afresh, with her haunting memories +kept in the background. She would not stay to see the awakening come to +Dudley, if Doris were his wife, nor struggle through the long months at +the General Post Office, when the end of each day’s labour brought no +welcoming smile from Basil. + +She would not settle down alone in a dingy little flat as their +opposite neighbour, to become a mere letter of the alphabet to God and +man, surrounded by countless other cyphers of as little meaning and +account. She would go away to some new, young land, with her vigour and +her courage, and carve out a path with some semblance of reality and +value. + +Only, could she ever get away from the awful emptiness that would come +to her with the loss of Basil, and the utter lack of any incentive to +carry on the unequal struggle? + +Basil laid his hand on her bowed head, and for a little while seemed +unable to speak. Then he steadied his voice, and rallied her with his +brave, whimsical thoughts. + +“Wouldn’t the dear old pater have enjoyed G? She’s just the kind of +oddity he doted on. Fancy her teaching music of all things. It must be +only scales and exercises. I think she’s splendid to see the +incongruity herself, and refuse to call it music when she dare be +honest. What a grotesque figurehead she looks, chum, doesn’t she? I +thoroughly enjoyed talking to her.” + +But Ethel could not answer to his cheeriness just yet. + +“Basil, why are so many humans just mere letters of the alphabet in the +general scheme?” + +She had slid into a sitting posture now, and leaned her head against +his arm. + +“It doesn’t matter so much about the men; they can go out into the +world and make friends by the way, and become something more if they +wish; but what of the single women, who have to work for their living, +and have nothing much to look forward to but a sort of terror as to +what will become of them when they can work no more? If you could see +some of them at the office, with that drawn, dried-up, joyless look, +scraping and saving and starving for dread of the years ahead: it’s so +unfair, so grossly, hideously, cruelly unfair.” + +“It perhaps won’t be when you see all round it, chum. It is so obvious +we only see one side of things here. When we see the other side it will +all look so different.” + +“Perhaps, but in the meantime they are here, now, in our very midst, +all _these unwanted_ women. If you saw as much of them as I do, I think +you would feel even the letter had better not have been supplied. A +blank would have meant so much less suffering. A penniless woman +without attractiveness, and with neither husband, child, nor father +wanting her, is such an anomaly. She just drags on, hating her +loneliness, dreading and fearing the future or illness, merely existing +because she is called upon to do so for no apparent reason.” + +“But she can always make friends, chum. If she is kind and cheerful and +hopeful she will soon win love of some sort.” + +“Yes… yes… but, Basil, to be all that, when one is weighed down with the +inequality of chance and a horror of the future calls for a heroine; +and Life didn’t bother to make many of them heroines. She doesn’t seem +to have paid much attention to them at all. Orphans and widows and sick +people she remembers; but the lonely, ageing, hardened, unwanted +spinster! It sometimes seems to me it is just sentimentality to be +persuaded everything is all right. + +“I don’t believe it is all right. There’s too much useless, silent +aching, and useless, passionate resentment over circumstances that it +seems should either never have been, or should be remedied if any +Guiding Hand has power. I have determination and I’m strong, Basil; the +future doesn’t frighten me badly yet, but when you are gone, I feel as +if the loneliness might half kill me, and as if then I ought to have +the right to become a blank if I wish, since I was never consulted +about becoming a letter in the great alphabet.” + +He did not seek to stay her, knowing with his deep insight that to get +such thoughts spoken was better than to brood inwardly; and because of +his unshakable faith in her courage, he was not alarmed by them. + +Yet he could not offer any comfort. Had not the enigma of useless pain +racked and torn his soul piteously through the long years of his +illness, leaving him indeed with a wonderful courage, but not with a +theory that would fit the needs of suffering mankind? He could bear his +own ills, because he had trained and taught himself to take them as a +soldier takes the miseries of a hard campaign; but the general sum of +suffering was another matter; and he shrank from saying either that +suffering was sent by God to do good, or that it was necessary to the +human race. + +All he knew was simply that ills bravely borne seemed aided by some +mysterious power outside their bearers; whereas the craven and the +grumbler seemed but to add to their own burden. For the rest, though he +would not say it for the pain it gave her, the knowledge of his growing +weakness was already a solace to him, and he watched with hidden +eagerness for the day that should set him free. At least a corpse was +no drain upon the slender purse of a beloved sister; and the gnawing +ache of his helplessness and uselessness would be stilled for ever. + +If only Dudley had cared for her? From his vantage-ground of the +looker-on, with his unnaturally sharpened sensitiveness, he knew +perfectly how matters stood and how hopeless the desire seemed. + +Dear old Dudley, his life-long friend, would probably marry Doris and +learn his mistake too late; and Ethel, with her fine nature, would go +to some one else. + +Well, one could not change either one’s own little circle of fate, or +the universe, just to suit oneself; one could only hope for the best, +while there was still room for hope, and cultivate that soldier-spirit, +undaunted even in a losing fight. + +In the meantime there was the lonely, unwanted spinster opposite, with +her immediate claim of nearness and loneness; and, as if to direct her +thoughts into another channel, he said: + +“You know, chum, I believe G was quite serious about wanting to come in +here sometimes. Why not find out which afternoons she comes home early, +and let her come and get tea and have it with me here. Then Doris need +not worry about getting back in time.” + +“But if you are feeling weak it will tire you so, Basil, to have a +stranger. You will feel obliged to talk to her.” + +“No, I don’t think I shall; and it would be nice to feel she was rather +glad not to be a blank after all. Let her come one afternoon and try. +Perhaps one way of grappling with the problem of human suffering—the +best way—is to try and alleviate the atom of pain that is nearest each +one of us.” + +She assented to please him, and then kissed his forehead with a +lingering, adoring tenderness, marvelling that such a sufferer could so +think for others. Then she went quietly to bed, feeling, as the gaunt +spinster had tried to put it, “If _you_ can bear your ills so, surely I +might manage to bear mine more courageously.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +The next evening Ethel crossed the little landing to the lonely flat, +and gave the invitation from F to G. + +A good deal to her amusement, she found the gaunt spinster knitting +babies’ socks, with a basket containing several completed pairs beside +her. She picked a pair up, and said with a kind little smile: + +“I hardly expected to find you doing this.” + +“Of course not,” in a short way, that sounded uncivil without being so. +“It’s an occupation about as much suited to me as teaching music.” + +“I wonder why you do it?” + +“I do it for bread, naturally. They bring in a few shillings. It is +just a fluke that I can make them at all. I know as much about a needle +ordinarily as a flying-machine; but I learnt to knit once under +protest. I sprained my ankle and was laid up for some weeks, and I told +the doctor I should go stark, staring mad if he kept me shut up in a +house doing nothing. He said knitting was a very good preventive to +madness, and he’d send his wife along. She was a great missionary +worker, and she pounced on me like a hawk, and started me off knitting +socks for little gutta-percha babies somewhere in the Antipodes, almost +before I knew where I was. Such insanity!… as if white babies wanted to +be bothered with socks, much less black ones! I told the doctor it was +adding insult to injury to allow it to appear I hadn’t more common +sense than to occupy my time with garments for the heathen. As if there +weren’t too many garments in the world already, half the community +over-dressed, and ready to sell its soul for more. ‘Leave them clean +and healthy and naked, that’s my advice, doctor,’ I told him; ‘and if +you weren’t afraid of your wife you’d agree.’” + +Ethel leaned against the table, enjoying the rugged face and comically +twisted mouth. + +“But I thought you were a clergyman’s daughter?” she said. + +“So I am; but I don’t see why I shouldn’t be credited with a little +common sense even then. I know they haven’t much as a rule; what with +their sewing-classes, and praying-classes, and mothers’ meetings +smothering up their minds till they can’t see beyond their noses. I +never had much to do with that part of it. They didn’t like me well +enough in the village to want to pray with me nor sew with me; which +was just as well, for if I’d prayed, I should have implored the +Almighthy to open their minds a little, and widen their views, and give +them each a good thick slab of devilry to counteract their general +soppiness and short-sighted stupidity. Ugh!… to hear some of those +soppy folks praying to be delivered from the Evil One, and to have +strength given them to cast the devil from their hearts! Just as if the +devil had time to bother with that sanctimonious, chicken-hearted crew. +He wasn’t very likely to do them the compliment of acknowledging their +existence.” + +“Did no one do any parish work then?” + +“Oh, yes, the doctor’s wife did most of it. And when a new doctor came +they daren’t for the life of them have a word to say to him, for fear +of the next prayer-meeting, when she would preside. You see, she’d pray +for the lost sheep in the fold for about half an hour, and how he went +to the wolf for healing, which was the new doctor—instead of the +saviour, which was her husband, the old one, and drew lurid pictures of +the fiery poisons and deadly draughts the wolf gave the poor sheep to +kill him instead of cure him.” + +“And what became of the new doctor?” + +“Oh, of course he had to go—which was a pity, as he was the first +person with a sense of humour who ever entered that village as a +resident. One could positively talk sense to him, without being +regarded as a lunatic. As a rule, you had to feign imbecility there if +you didn’t want to be considered mad. I had just made up my mind to +learn to knit men’s ties, instead of babies’ socks, when he +departed”—and she looked at Ethel with a grimness, and at the same time +a lurking humour, that made it quite impossible for Ethel to keep her +face. + +“And did you change your mind then?” seeing the gaunt spinster was not +in the least annoyed at her for laughing. + +“Yes; I stuck to the babies’ socks. I thought on the whole it was less +incongruous for a woman with a face like mine to work for a baby than a +man. And that’s the nearest I ever got to a love affair. Just to wonder +if I’d knit a man a tie, and change my mind, and knit socks for a +little black heathen whelp instead.” + +“O dear!” said Ethel, with a little smothered gasp, “you don’t mind if +I laugh, do you? You really are very amusing.” + +“Amusing!…” with a little humorous snort. “Well, I don’t mind amusing +you; but I do think it’s about the most monstrous thing in the way of a +practical joke I know, for Nature to create a creature like me, with a +natural inclination to want a mate. Just as if any man could bear to +get up every morning of his life and see me there.” + +“Nonsense,” Ethel exclaimed. “Basil thinks you are very attractive.” + +“Does he?” drily. Then, with a sudden, swift humour, “Perhaps it’s a +pity I didn’t learn to knit ties after all!” + +“Tell him about why you didn’t instead—and about the village and the +doctor’s wife. He’ll be so interested. You will be a positive godsend +to him. May I tell him to expect you to tea tomorrow?” + +“Yes. Tell him, to add to the humour of the situation, I’ll bring +across a baby’s sock to knit. We’re both so likely to have a mutual +interest in babies.” + +Ethel kept Basil entertained most of the evening with the account of +her interview, rather to the annoyance of Doris, who, for some vague +reason, was not at all pleased about the new acquaintance. + +Perhaps it was because, on one or two occasions when she had remained +out later than she should, she had met the music-teacher and +encountered a fierce and disapproving glare. Doris was quite willing to +be relieved of her charge occasionally, but she did not at all +appreciate the idea of a strong-minded individual, who would certainly +not hesitate not only to condemn her selfishness, but to look her scorn +of it. + +On the evening of Dudley’s visit, when she first found the gaunt +spinster at the flat, she had gone to bed feeling out of sorts with +herself and all the world. + +She hated having been caught in her selfish forgetfulness; she hated +the idea of the opposite tenant coming in to help Ethel; she hated +being Doris Hayward and living in a stuffy Holloway flat. It caused her +to turn her thoughts more seriously to a way of escape, and, as a +natural sequence, to how much Dudley’s attentions might mean. + +And further, if they were meant in earnest, how she would feel about +marrying him. She made no pretence to herself of loving him; +personally, she thought love mostly sentimental nonsense; but she liked +being with him, and she liked going about with him. + +On the other hand, he was not rich, and she hated poverty. If she +waited a little longer, a richer man might turn up?… or, again, he +might not, and Dudley might change his mind. Certainly it was very +awkward to know which was the wisest course, but in the meantime it +would be just as well to keep Dudley attracted. + +To this end she gave her hair an extra curl on Saturday evening, and +arose betimes on Sunday morning for further preparations. Ethel took a +bow off her hat, ironed, and remade it, and finally put the finishing +touches to her appearance. + +“You look very nice,” she said. “I hope you’ll have a splendid day. Run +and show yourself to Basil.” + +Basil told her she would certainly be the belle of the luncheon party, +and finally she departed feeling very pleased with herself. + +Dudley was waiting for her at Paddington, and his eyes showed plainly +that he echoed Basil’s opinion, though he did not actually express it +in words. + +“How did you leave Basil?” he asked. “I wish I felt happier about him.” + +“He is much brighter altogether. I really think Ethel might have come, +as the tenant of the opposite flat would have been only too pleased to +go and sit with him. She never seems to have any pleasure, does she? +But it is really her own fault. I would have stayed at home today if +she would have let me.” + +“I think I’m rather glad she wouldn’t; though I am sorry she could not +have had the treat as well. We are going to have a lovely day, in spite +of its being so late in the year.” + +As it was only a small birthday luncheon, and the others of the party +had either gone overnight or lived near, they were easily able to get a +compartment to themselves, and Dudley was conscious of a pleasurable +quickening of his pulses at the prospect of the long tête-à-tête. + +And indeed it was not surprising, for Doris looked adorably pretty and +winsome, and many a wiser man might have shared his pleased +anticipation. Moreover, Doris was not in the least stupid or vapid, +however selfish and shallow her nature; and if she chose she could be a +very pleasant companion. + +And today she did so choose, hovering still in indecision over the +subject that had filled her thoughts often of late. + +Finally, it chanced that during much of the day they were thrown +together, and all the time she thought how nice it was to be of so much +consequence to any one; while he enjoyed again the sense of her +clinging, engaging dependence. + +And when they were once more alone in a compartment, steaming back to +town, it was not in the least surprising that, almost before he knew +it, Dudley was pouring into her ears a tale of love. + +True, it was a very calm and collected tale, but it was none the less +genuine for that; and from the bottom of his heart he believed that +she, above all women, was the one he desired as his wife. Transports of +any description were foreign to his nature. He imagined they always +would be. + +Joyous excitement and enthusiasm he left to Hal, except such enthusiasm +as he kept for old ruins and ancient architecture. Still, it warmed all +his blood and quickened all his pulses to have his way at last, and +hold Doris in his arms, and try to kiss away the unshed tears and the +little droop from her lips. + +He took her home from the station, but did not go in because of the +lateness of the hour, and the probability that Basil was just getting +off to sleep; only kissing her again with a certain old-fashioned, +deferential air and promising to come in the course of a day or two to +see Ethel and Basil. + +Doris let herself in with somewhat mixed feelings. + +She had had a delightful day and thoroughly enjoyed it, but, now that +the die was cast, and the difficult point settled, she found herself +beginning to be more critical of Dudley. + +She wished he were not quite so old-fashioned, nor so good. She was a +little afraid she would find his sterling qualities distinctly boring, +and his high standard a difficult and tiresome one to bother with. + +And then, of course, there was Hal. Hal never had liked her and +probably never would. Not that it mattered very much. In fact, it was +rather pleasant than otherwise to think of Hal’s discomfiture and +dismay, Doris wondered if she would expect to live with them, and made +up her mind then and there, very decisively, that she would never agree +to anything of the kind. + +She had suffered quite enough from Ethel’s superiority, without +encountering a second edition in Hal. As she thought of it, and of how +she would checkmate Hal’s possible plans to make her home with them, +she smiled to herself a little cruelly in the darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +It was Hal also who filled Dudley’s thoughts as he made his way +homeward. In her attitude to his engagement he was afraid she was going +to personate what is known as a “tough nut to crack.” He wondered if +she would be waiting up for him, and what in the world she would say +when he told her. + +As it happened, she was waiting, sitting over the remains of a little +fire she had lighted for company. The reason she felt the need of +company, and the reason she was waiting, was the fact of a perturbed +frame of mind she was endeavouring to soothe, until he came in to give +the final touch. + +She was perturbed because of the change in Sir Edwin Crathie, and the +closing scene of a somewhat eventful day. Until tea-time he had been as +gay and lighthearted and inconsequent as ever. + +Their lunch in the New Forest had been an immense success, and both had +enjoyed it thoroughly. On their way home they further enjoyed a big tea +at an hotel. + +Moreover, the drive had been delightful. The glory of the autumn tints; +the delicious stillness of the autumn weather, and the sunny coolness +of the atmosphere had all contributed to make the day perfect. After +her long hours of office work and monotony, Hal was only the better +tuned to enjoy it, and as she leant back in blissful ease in the +luxurious motor, she thought what a goose she would have been to let +prudish thoughts influence her to forgo it. + +Then, once more, after tea, he had deliberately moved his chair nearer +to hers, and struck a personal note that she found it difficult to +combat. + +“Do you know,” he told her blandly, “you’re the dearest little woman +I’ve met for a long time? I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a whole day +with any one so much as this.” + +“It’s just the novelty,” she said, adopting a note of unconcern to head +him off; “most of your friends flatter and try to please you. It amuses +me more to contradict you; that’s all.” + +“Oh, that’s all, is it! Well, I dare say if I found a special joy in +being contradicted, I could easily humour the fancy without going for a +whole day into the country.” + +“Ver likely—only, since you wanted your day in the country, you kill +two birds with one stone, don’t you see?” + +“And supposing I badly wanted something else from you besides +contradiction!… a little affection, for instance!” + +“Oh, I’m giving you a lot of that thrown in,” gaily, but she pushed her +chair a little farther away; “if I didn’t rather like you I shouldn’t +bother to contradict you.” + +“Rather like me!… that’s very cold—I, a great deal more than _rather_ +like you.” + +“That, of course, is different,” with a jaunty air, that made them both +laugh. + +“Still, I don’t think we can stop at ‘rather liking’, now—do you?” + +“I don’t see why we shouldn’t; we are getting on very nicely.” + +He got up suddenly, and walked away to the window. In his heart of +hearts he was a little nonplussed. Of course they couldn’t stop where +they were, he argued; but how, with a girl of Hal’s practical +level-headedness get any farther? + +Then he remembered he was a firm believer in swift and sudden measures, +and usually found they fitted all contingencies. So he swung round, +crossed the room, put his hand on her shoulders, and boldly kissed her. + +“There,” he said—“that is how I ‘rather like’ you.” + +Hal was quite taken aback—almost too taken aback to speak; but a red +spot burned in each cheek, and a sudden flash seemed to gleam angrily +in her eyes. Her quick brain, however, took in the position instantly. +If she grew indignant and melodramatic, he would merely laugh at her. + +Of course he knew she must be perfectly aware that men often kissed a +girl who stood to them in her position, without thinking much of it. To +make a fuss would be rather absurd. On the other hand, of course, he +had to be disillusioned concerning what he apparently supposed would be +her feelings on the subject. + +“I call that bad taste,” she said coolly. “You might have given me a +sporting chance to let you know beforehand I should object.” He looked +about to repeat the action, but she edged away from him. “Of course I +know lots of girls don’t mind, but that’s nothing to do with you and +me. I do.” + +“Why do you mind?” He felt rather small before the directness of her +eyes, and tried to bluster himself on to his former level. “It’s very +silly of you, especially nowadays. There’s no harm in a kiss, is +there?” + +“None that I know of, but I think we were getting on very nicely +without it. We won’t risk spoiling things. Come along, I’m longing to +be off”; and she moved towards the door. + +“Are you angry with me?” he asked. + +“Yes; very; but if you’ll promise not to do it again I’ll try to +forget. If you transgress further, we shall just have to leave off +being friends—that’s all.” + +He took his seat in the motor beside her in silence, and Peter whizzed +them away at a good speed. + +Hal, enjoying the motion, kept her face averted, and drank in the +lovely, fresh country air. + +Presently a hand stole firmly over hers. + +“You’re not to be angry with me any more, little woman. I’m afraid I +was rather a cad, but you’ve got such a fascinating mouth. I’m sorry.” + +She looked frankly into his eyes. + +“Well, don’t do it again, then.” + +He tried to look no less frankly back, but it was as if some forbidden +thought flashed across his mind. + +“I’ll try not,” he said, a trifle lamely, and looked away. + +He still kept possession of her hand, however, until she resolutely +drew it from him. + +“Will Brother Dudley be in?” he asked, when they drew up in Bloomsbury. + +“No; he won’t get back much before nine.” + +He took her latch-key from her, and opened the door, entering himself, +instead of taking her proffered hand. + +“Which way?” he asked, and she opened the door into their sitting-room. + +“I’ll show you Brother Dudley’s photograph now you’re here,” she said +in a frank voice—“and the very latest of Lorraine Vivian. I wish I had +one of Apollo; but I’ve never asked for one, because I always make a +point of pretending not to admire him.” + +“It’s only pretence, then?” he asked, glancing at the others as if his +thoughts were elsewhere. + +“It can only be. One is bound to admire him at heart. Nature seldom +made a fairer gentleman, and it would be mere perversity to deny it, +except, as I do, for his good.” + +Then suddenly she saw he was scarcely listening to her, and looking at +the photographs without seeing them, and instinctively she moved away, +feeling a little at loss. The next moment he had caught her shoulders, +and kissed her again. + +“I said I’d try, and so I have, but it’s no use. Little woman, don’t be +prudish; kiss me back again.” + +But she pushed him away, and in the firelight he saw she was very white +and determined. + +“I asked you not to. It is much worse taste still now.” + +“No, it isn’t—don’t be silly. Why shouldn’t I kiss you? I... I... have +got awfully fond of you, and I know you like me somewhere down in your +heart.” + +“I shall cease to do so from this moment.” + +“I dare you to. Hal, if you like me, why not take the sweets that +offer? I’ll be bound you’ve never been kissed in your life as I will +kiss you. Don’t be prudish. Let me teach you.” + +She seemed to hesitate a second, in indecision as to what was her best +course to withstand him, and, seizing the opportunity, he suddenly +caught her in his arms and kissed her on the lips with swift, eager +kisses. Then, not giving her time to speak her resentment, he snatched +up his hat and moved to the door. + +“Don’t be angry,” he said. “I did try, honour bright, but it’s no use; +good-bye. I must see you again soon”; and he went out, closing the door +behind him. + +For some minutes Hal stood quite still, feeling a little dazed. She saw +him cross the pavement, give some directions to Peter, and then drive +away without a backward glance. She stood still a little longer, then +slowly took off her hat, threw it on the sofa, ran her fingers through +her hair and sat down. + +After a little, the emptiness of the room seemed to oppress her, for +though it was not cold, she jumped up and put a match to the fire. Then +the landlady came in with her supper. + +“’Ad a nice day, miss?” she asked pleasantly. + +“Very nice. How’s Johnnie? Did you get to see him?” alluding to a small +son boarded out at Highgate for his health. + +“Yes; I went up to tea with ’im. ’E looks years better already.” + +“I’m very glad.” + +Hal sat down to her supper with a preoccupied air, and instead of +having a little chat, she relapsed into silence, and the landlady +departed. She felt vaguely that something had upset entirely the even +tenor of her mind, and she wanted to think. Any other Sunday evening +she would have told the landlady something about her motor-ride, for +she and Dudley had now been in the same rooms for seven years, and it +is quite a fallacy to condemn all London landladies as grasping, +bad-tempered tyrants. + +Hal was quite fond of Mrs. Carr, and had found her unwearingly +thoughtful and attentive. But tonight she wanted to think, and was glad +to be alone again, almost immediately returning to her arm chair over +the fire. + +She was conscious, in a vague, uncertain way, that though Sir Edwin had +kissed her because he cared for her, he could not have acted so had he +cared in an upright, honest-hearted manner. She attracted him, and he +wanted all the pleasure he could get out of the attraction, but there, +no doubt, it ended. + +For the rest, he was Sir Edwin Crathie, Cabinet Minister, and member of +a proud, patrician family. She was Hal Pritchard, secretary, typist, +and occasional journalist at the office of a leading London paper. + +She grew restless, and commenced roaming round the room. Her knowledge +of life, as it is lived near its teeming, throbbing, working centre, +warned her that the new turn of their friendship held danger. If she +was wise, she would shun the danger, and go back to her old life before +he had come into it. She would firmly and resolutely refuse to see him +again. + +To do so without regret was impossible. Now that the friendship seemed +about to cease, she realised it had meant more than she knew. She held +her face in her hands, and her cheeks tingled at the memory of the last +eager kiss. + +She was woman enough to know it was good to be kissed like that by a +man who, even if his morals and principles left much to be desired, was +still very much a man, and had won a distinction that made most women +proud of far less attention than he had shown her. + +Still?— + +In a different sense she was struggling in a net of circumstances +something like Lorraine’s. Lorraine wanted to do the right thing, or, +at any rate, the sporting thing. + +So did Hal. + +In a world full of temptations, and backsliding, and much suffering +thereby, the sporting thing for the strong woman is to stand to her +guns. If Hal dallied with Sir Edwin now, she felt she would be +deserting her post. At the judgment-bar of her own heart, which, after +all, matters far more than the judgment-bar of public opinion, she +would be allowing herself to compromise for the sake of the fleeting, +dangerous pleasure. + +She stopped short by the window, and stared out into the gloomy, +lamplit street. And it crossed her mind to remember the bitter price so +many women had paid for that dalliance and compromise, so many now +probably gazing out with dull eyes into gloomy streets, hopeless, +reckless, and joyless. + +Yes; dalliance and compromise were mistakes. The real pluck was the +sporting spirit that stood to its guns, even if it cost a big and +wearisome effort. She would not dally. She would answer to her own +Best, and try to go on her steadfast way. + +After all, she had Dudley and Lorraine. It was good to have a brother +all to oneself, who was incontestably a dear, in spite of a little +priggishness and narrowness. He would be home soon, and then they would +have a last chat over the fire together; and that would help to renew +her in her determination to cut the dangerous friendship adrift. + +She leaned back in the chair a little wearily, and waited for the +welcome sound of his key in the latch. She wished he would come +quickly, because she did not quite like the way her mind kept reverting +to those eager kisses. The memory had the danger of making most other +thoughts seem thin and dull; and she wondered how she was going to +replace a friendship that had been so full of interest and enjoyment. + +If she had dared, she would like to have persuaded herself that he +cared for her in the real way; and her cheeks glowed, and her heart +thumped a little at the thought of all the real way meant. But her +practical side told her only too decidedly that this was not the case. + +Perhaps he was not the sort of man who could care in the real way at +all. He was too selfish, and grasping, and ambitious by nature. That he +was interesting and a delightful companion as well did not help +matters. Men were very often all these things together, but the +selfish, ambitious, unscrupulous side usually outweighed all the rest +in big questions that affected their whole lives. + +Then she remembered that many of the girls she knew—quite nice, jolly +girls—would have taken the fun that offered, and not bothered about +anything beyond the present. Still, that did not affect her own +particular case. + +One had to try and live up to one’s own ideals, not other people’s, and +in her inmost heart she knew that she thought but poorly of the girls +who run foolish risks for the sake of a little extra pleasure and +gratification, just as she thought poorly of the man who amused +himself, trifling with a girl’s affections, to pass a little time. + +Then came the welcome sound of Dudley’s key, and she sat up and turned +an eager face to the door to greet him. + +He came in quietly, and returned the greeting with his usual calm, +undemonstrative appreciation; only, he did not look at her, nor ask her +any questions about her day. + +The supper was still waiting for him, and he took a few mouthfuls, in a +preoccupied manner, with his face turned away. Hal asked him about the +day’s outing, wondering not a little at his manner. He seemed anxious, +and somewhat ill at ease, and she observed that he did not eat anything +to speak of. + +At last he got up and came to her side near the fire. + +“Aren’t you going to sit down?” she asked. “I thought a little fire +looked so cosy.” + +He did not seem to hear her, for instead of replying he coughed +nervously, cleared his throat, and said: + +“I’ve something to tell you, Hal—a piece of news.” + +She waited, watching him with a puzzled, curious air. Then, without any +further preamble, he finished abruptly: + +“I’m—I’m—engaged to be married.” + +Hal gave a gasp, and became suddenly taut with amazement and +incredulity. “You’re—engaged—to—be—married!” + +“Yes; you’re not very surprised, are you?” + +A sudden, awful fear seemed to envelop and clutch at her. + +“Who to?” she asked, a little hoarsely? + +“To Doris Hayward.” + +For some reason he seemed unable to look at her. Vaguely he knew he had +dealt her a blow, and that it was of a nature he could not soften. + +Hal stared hard at the fire, then suddenly started to her feet. + +“You can’t mean it,” she exclaimed, forgetting to be circumspect. “You +couldn’t possibly think seriously of marrying Doris Hayward?” + +Instantly he stiffened. + +“I don’t know why you speak of it in that way. Certainly I am serious. +It is hardly a question I should joke about.” + +There was a tense silence, then Hal turned to the sofa and picked up +her hat as if she were a little dazed. She seemed suddenly to have +nothing to say, and she knew herself to be no good at prevarication. To +congratulate him seemed an impossibility just yet. + +“Of course I know you have never cared for Doris,” he said; “but +probably you did not know her well enough. I hope you will soon see you +have misjudged her.” + +“I hope so,” she said lamely. “Good-night—I—I—hadn’t thought about your +getting married. I must get used to the idea. I—” she paused in sudden, +swift distress. “Good-night; of course I hope you’ll be happy, and all +that,” and she went hurriedly out, and up to her own room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +When Hal reached her room she sat down on the bed in the dark, and +stared at the dim square of the window. She was feeling stunned, and as +if her brain would not work properly. It grasped the significance of +old, familiar objects as usual, but seemed quite unable to grip and +understand the something strange and new which had suddenly come into +being. She remembered she had waited for Dudley to come with soothing +for a perturbed frame of mind, and instead, he had brought her—_this_. + +What could it mean? Surely, surely, not that Doris Hayward was to rob +her of her brother. + +A wave of swift and sudden loneliness seemed to envelop her. The +blackness of the night closed in upon her, and desolation swept across +her soul. + +“If only it had been Ethel,” was the vague, uncertain thought: “any one +in the world almost but Doris.” + +And again, + +“Why had Dudley been so incredibly blind to Doris’s real nature? Why +had he of all men been caught by a pretty face? Was it possible he +thought his life would need no other help and comfort but that of a +charming exterior in his wife?” + +How childlike he seemed again to his young sister’s practical, worldly +knowledge. Of course he knew almost nothing of women, buried in his +musty old architectural lore, and giving most of his brain to the +contemplation of ancient ruins and edifices. + +He had looked up from his books, and Doris had smiled at him, that +diabolically winsome, innocent smile of hers; and something in his +heart, not quite smothered and likewise not healthily developed, had +warmed into sudden, surprised pleasure, and straightway he thought +himself in love. Hal was sure of one thing, that if Doris had not +decided it would suit her plans to be Dudley’s wife, the idea would not +have occured to him. + +After all, what did he want with a wife for years to come, going along +so contentedly and placidly with his books and his thirst for +knowledge, and the peacefulness of their sojourn with Mrs. Carr? No +servant troubles, no housekeeping worries, no taxes, no gas and +electric-light bills; everything done for them, and for company each +other. + +Oh, of course, it was all Doris’s doing. She wanted to get away from +the dingy flat and the poverty, and she had hit upon Dudley as a way +out. + +Hal got up suddenly with a bursting feeling. Of course she did not even +love him, would not even try to change her nature to become more in +touch with his, would not trouble in the least what obstacles stood +between any real and deep understanding. Perhaps she was not even +capable of love, but in any case her affections could not have been +given to any one as quiet, and studious, and old-fashioned as Dudley. + +She went to the window and threw it open that she might lean out and +breathe the open air. Her head burned and ached, and her eyes smarted +with a smouldering fire in her brain. She felt more and more how +entirely it must have been Doris’s doing. Doris had smiled at him, and +confided in him, and managed first to convey a pathetic picture of her +own loneliness, and then to suggest how happy her life might be with +him. + +And of course Dudley was all chivalry at heart, and trusting, and +tender-hearted; that was one reason why he had always deplored her, +Hal’s, boyish independence and determination to fend for herself. He +did not understand the vigorous, enterprising, working woman. + +Immersed in his books and his studies, he had allowed himself to be +influenced largely by caricatures, and by the noisy stir of the +platform woman. But he understood the Doris type, or thought he did, +and placed their engaging dependence before such spirited resolution as +her own and Ethel’s. + +And how to help him? How, now, to thwart the carrying out of Doris’ +cleverly carried scheme. + +Her first thought was Ethel and Basil. She would go to them, and appeal +to them to help her. + +And then she remembered that “blood is thicker than water.” How could +they thwart their own sister; and in any case what would Dudley ever +see in it but a persecution that would intensify his affection? One +hint that Doris was victimised, and she knew Dudley well enough to +realise he would only marry her the more quickly, whether he had +learned the truth or not. + +Opposition of any sort would probably do far more harm than good at +present. There was nothing for it but to meet the blow with the best +face possible, and hope time might yet bring release. + +Then her thoughts went back to Sir Edwin, and quite suddenly and +unaccountably she longed to tell him about it. He would be interested +for her sake, and he would cheer her up, and make her hopeful in spite +of herself. + +And yet— + +No; to see him again, feeling as she felt now, would only mean to see +him in a mood of weakness, that might make her less able to withstand +him. + +She must rely only on Lorraine and Dick, and try to stand by her +previous determination. She would see Lorraine directly she left the +office the next day, and in the meantime she would try and hide from +Dudley the extent of her dismay. + +But in spite of her resolve, when she rested her head on the pillow, +the hot tears squeezed through her closed eyelids, and in dumb misery +she told herself Dudley was lost to her for ever. + +She awoke the next morning with a dull, aching sense of misery that had +robbed the sunshine of its warmth, and the day of its brightness; but +as she dressed she strengthened herself in a resolve to try and hide +her chagrin, and make some amends to Dudley for her reception of the +news. + +“I suppose you felt pretty disgusted with me last night,” she said at +the breakfast-table. “I’m sorry, but you took me so violently by +surprise.” + +He had taken his seat, looking grave and displeased, but his face +relaxed as he replied: + +“I’m afraid I was rather sudden. It seemed the easiest”—he hesitated, +then added—“I hope you’ll try to get on with Doris.” + +“Of course.” Hal turned away on some slight pretext. “I’d hate giving +you up to any one—you know I would—we’ve—we’ve—been very happy together +here, and—” but her voice broke suddenly. + +Dudley looked unhappy, but he steadied his voice and said cheerfully: + +“Well, it needn’t be very different. If you and Doris will get fond of +each other, it will be the same, only better. Of course you will live +with us.” + +“Oh no”; and she tried to smile lightly—“I couldn’t—possibly live +without Mrs. Carr now. I should never be properly dressed, for one +thing, and I should always be forgetting important engagements.” She +changed the subject quickly, seeing he was about to remonstrate. “Have +you seen Ethel and Basil since—since—” + +“No; I’m going to see Basil this afternoon, after taking Doris to +Wimbledon to see Langfier fly, and I shall stay to dinner. Will you +come up this evening?” + +“No; I’m going out. Perhaps tomorrow—” she hesitated, as if swallowing +a lump in her throat. “You might give my love to Doris, and say I’ll +come soon.” She saw Dudley glance at her inquiringly, and recklessly +dashed into another subject, talking at random until she left. + +In the afternoon she hurried straight off to Lorraine’s flat, arriving +a few minutes after Lorraine had come in from a walk in the Park. She +was standing by the window, drawing off some long gloves, and even Hal +was struck by a sort of newness about her—a bloom and a quiet radiance +that was like a renewal of youth. + +She was beautifully dressed as ever, but with a far simpler note than +usual—something which suggested she wished to look charming, without +attracting attention; something which suppressed the actress in favour +of the woman. + +It was as if, surrounded with success and attention night after night, +and for several years, she had wearied of the rôle, and put it aside +voluntarily whenever opportunity offered. She had been wont to be very +fashionable and striking in her dress and general appearance, but now +Hal noticed vaguely a simpler note all through. + +Her face and expression seemed to have changed also. A certain hardness +and callousness had gone. Her smile was more genuine, and her eyes +kinder. In some mysterious way, it was as though Lorraine had won from +the past some gleaming of the woman she might have been under happier +circumstances, and without certain harsh experiences. + +And it was all owing to her feeling for Alymer Hermon and his youthful +pride in her. + +They met continually now. Her flat was open to him whenever he liked. +He came to her when he had anything interesting to relate—when he was +depressed and when he was hopeful. With the inconsequent acceptance of +youth, he took from her what an older man would have regarded a little +shyly, and perhaps feared to take. + +She was his pal, his excellent friend, who gave him such sympathy and +interest and encouragement as she could find nowhere else. Because he +was young, he drank deep and asked no questions. + +He did not imagine for a moment that she was in love with him. True, +other women were; but then they told him so, and alarmed him with their +attentions. Lorraine was more inclined to laugh at him and make fun of +him, in a jolly, pally sort of way, which made him feel perfectly at +home with her, and successfully banish any questions. + +She was more like a man friend, only better, because a man would have +wanted an equal share of interest, whereas Lorraine seemed content to +be interested in him. She never encouraged him to talk about her +triumphs and her other friends. She rather implied they were so public +and apparent already she did not want to hear any more of them. + +But she was always ready to talk of his hopes and aspirations, and help +him to build foundations to his aircastles. And already, under her +tuition and help, he had made immense strides. His work and his objects +had become real to him, ambition had taken root and begun to push out +little upward shoots. He saw himself one of the leading lights at the +Bar, and instead of lazily scoffing, he liked the picture. He wanted to +get there, and if Lorraine was ready to help him, why should she not? +Why bother to ask questions? + +Of course she must be fond of him, or she would not do it; but then he +was fond of her too—very fond—and why not? The mere suggestion of +danger did not occur to him. She was so many years his senior, and so +celebrated, it never crossed his mind to suppose she could have any +feeling for him beyond the jolly palliness that seemed to have sprung +up naturally between them. + +So he came and went between the Temple and her flat and his own +quarters, and life began to assume a bigness of possibility that +drowned all else, and kept him eager and hard working and safe from the +hurtful influences and actions that attend idle hours. + +And Lorraine, for the present, walked in her fool’s paradise and was +content. She watched him slowly and surely fill out both physically and +mentally into the promise of his splendid manhood. + +She saw his youthful beauty solidifying into the beauty of a man, and +carefully watered and tended those budding shoots of ambition that were +to help him attain his best promise. + +For the time being the thwarted mother-love that is in every woman +satisfied her with the evidence of his progress, and she lulled any +other into quiescence, hugging to herself the knowledge that it was she +alone to whom he would owe greatness, if he won it, and that even his +own doting mother had not done, and never could do, the half that she +was doing to start him on a steadfast way that should lead to fame and +usefulness. + +She made it her excuse for ignoring the questions which her wider +knowledge could not entirely banish. To what other results the +friendship might lead she turned a deaf ear. The other results must +take care of themselves, was her thought; it was enough for her that +she could help to make him great. + +She smiled a little at the thought of the women she had won him from. +He talked to her now freely and openly, though always with that +unassuming modesty which was so attractive. She knew what he had +already had to combat. What a life of self-pleasing and gay-living lay +open to him if he chose to take it. She knew that, if he chose it, +though he might still win a certain amount of fame, it would never be +the well-grounded, staunch, reliable success that she could spur him +to. + +And so she drew a curtain over the dangers her course might hold, and, +in a light and airy way, threw over him the glow and the warm +attractiveness of her many fascinations and allurements, that she might +keep him free from any foolish engagement or low entanglement, to +concentrate all his mind and his heart upon his work and her. + +How long such an aim was likely to satisfy her, or how natural or +unnatural her course, she left with all the other questions, to be +faced, if necessary, later on, or to pass with the swift joy into +oblivion. + +At least it was not the first time a woman, scarcely young, and having +her full measure of success, had turned unaccountably to a man very +much her junior, for something she apparently sought in vain from men +of her own age. It might be strange, but it was not unique; and for the +rest, were not the ways of the little god Love like the ways of many +events—“stranger than fiction”? + +His magnificent physique, his extraordinarily beautiful head, and his +no less extraordinary, unassuming modesty, attracted and held her with +links that grew stronger and stronger, and her happiest hours now were +those in which he made himself delightfully at home in her flat, and +added to his charm by talking to her with the old-fashioned, +grandfatherly air she had enjoyed from the first. + +And so Hal found a younger and softer Lorraine than she had known for a +long time, waiting to hear the burden of her tale of woe. + +They talked it over in every aspect, Hal sitting in her favourite +attitude on a stool at Lorraine’s feet; but very little light could be +won through the clouds. All the consolation Lorraine could suggest was +a possibility that to be engaged and married to a man like Dudley might +change Doris altogether for the better; but Hal, beyond feeling +brighter for having spoken out her dismay, felt there was little indeed +hope of that. + +“Have you seen Sir Edwin Crathie again?” Lorraine asked presently, and +she was surprised to see a spot of colour instantly flame into Hal’s +cheeks. + +“I’ve had a long motor ride with him,” she said, speaking as if it were +a mere detail. + +“_Have you_?” was Lorraine’s very expressive rejoinder. + +“Why do you say it like that?” Hal laughed with seeming lightness. “He +just took me for a treat. He’s rather sorry for me, being boxed up in +an office, as he calls it.” + +“I see. Well, don’t forget he has the reputation for being rather a +dangerous man, old girl.” + +Hal laughed again. + +“I’ll tell him so, and go armed with a revolver next time.” She noticed +an inquiring look in Lorraine’s eyes, and added: “Don’t look so +serious, Lorry; he is old enough to be my father. He likes a little +amusement, the same as you and Baby Hermon.” + +She turned away as she spoke, and did not see the swift deepening of +the look of inquiry, nor a certain strange expression that flitted +across Lorraine’s face; and almost immediately the door opened, and +Alymer Hermon walked in unannounced. + +“Hullo, Hal!” he exclaimed—“it’s quite a long time since I ran into you +here.” + +“Hullo, Baby!” she retorted. “Why, I declare, you are beginning to look +quite a man.” + +“If you don’t mind I’ll pick you up and carry you all the way down the +stairs to the street; then you’ll see if I’m a man or not.” + +“Tut; any big creature could do that! Got any briefs yet?” + +“I have.” + +Lorraine looked up instantly with an eager, questioning glance—while +Hal asked gaily: + +“What is it?... I suppose the original holder is sick, or dead, or +something, and you are a stop-gap.” + +“You are wrong, Miss Sharp-tongue. I hold the brief entirely on my own. +It hasn’t even anything to do with any one in Waltham’s Chambers.” + +And still Lorraine, with shining eyes, watched his face. + +“I suppose,” said Hal, “the other side have got a very small man, and +they wanted a big one to frighten him?” + +“Wrong again. The other side has Pym, and he is quite six feet in +height.” + +“Then perhaps he looks clever, and they believe in contrasts.” + +“I shall carry you down to the street yet,” threateningly; “you are +running grave risks.” + +“So is the poor man trusting his defence to you.” + +“It happens to be a lady.” + +Hal clapped in her hands. + +“Of course,” she cried; “now we are getting at it. The lady chose you +because she thought your wig and gown becoming. How many interviews +shall you be having with her?” + +“I couldn’t say, but we had one this afternoon.” + +“And was she very charming? Did she call you Baby?” + +He shrugged his shoulders and turned to Lorraine. + +“I only waste my substance trying to cope with any one as obtuse as +Hal. Is she going to stay to dinner?” + +“I’m afraid so,” smilingly. + +He took up his stand on the rug, with his back to the fire and looked +down at Hal on her footstool. + +“It’s a pity about the obtuseness,” he commented, “because she is +really rather nice to look at. She has improved so much lately.” + +“Oh no, I haven’t,” tilting her nose in the air. “I am exactly the +same; but you have acquired better taste. Is _he_ going to stay to +dinner, Lorraine?” “I’m afraid so. You will have to call a truce, +because I want to hear all about the brief; and I shall hear nothing if +you persist in wrangling.” + +“It isn’t my fault,” he said. “I always try to be friends.” + +“Well, as far as that goes, I always _try_ to like you,” Hal retorted +with a laugh. + +“You would find it much easier if you did not hurl insults at me. Begin +another plan altogether.” + +“Come along to dinner,” put in Lorraine, rising, “and let us hear about +this brief.” + +She led the way to the dining-room, and they had a merry little meal, +arranging all about the congratulatory dinner Lorraine proposed to give +for Alymer to celebrate the important occasion of his first brief. + +Afterwards Hal drove to the theatre with her, and stayed a short time +in her room while, as Lorraine phrased it, she put on her war-paint. + +Then she went rather sadly home alone, feeling lost and unhappy about +Dudley. It crossed her mind once that Lorraine and Alymer Hermon seemed +be on very much more familiar terms than previously, but she paid +little heed to the thought, merely supposing that it amused Lorraine to +help him in his profession. + +She sat over the fire and tried to read, but presently the book went +down into her lap, and her eyes sought the cheery flicker of the +flames. Only there was no answering glow in her usually bright face, +rather a sad uneasiness and perplexity, as if circumstances she hardly +knew how to cope with were closing in upon her. + +She felt she had come to a difficult path in life she would have to +face alone; for in her friendship with Sir Edwin Crathie neither Dudley +nor Lorraine could help her. + +And, gazing into the fire with serious, thoughtful eyes, it was neither +Dudley and Doris, nor Lorraine and Alymer who finally held her +thoughts, but sir Edwin Crathie himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +The first time Sir Edwin rang up the newspaper office after the +memorable Sunday it happened that Hal had gone into the country to +report an opening ceremony, graced by Royalty, so she was saved the +necessity of framing a reply. + +One of the usual reporters being ill, the news editor had asked her if +she would like to take his place, and she had eagerly accepted the +chance. It meant a day in the country, travelling by special train, and +the writing of the report did not worry her at all, as she had already +served her apprenticeship to journalism, and knew how to seize on the +most interesting points and condense them into a small space. + +She had a genius for making friends also, and after an excellent +champagne lunch, and a cup of tea captured for her by a pleasant-faced +man whom she afterwards discovered to be the Earl of Roxley, she +motored back to the railway station with a well-known aeronaut, who +promised to take her for a “fly” some day. They travelled up to town in +the same compartment, and as Hal had to have her article ready for +press when she reached the office, it was necessary to write it in the +train. + +The “flying man” wished to turn his hand to journalism too, and +attempted to help her, without much success, though with a good deal of +entertainment for himself. He was specially amused at her determination +to lay considerable stress on the fact that one of the horses in the +royal carriage fell down between the station and the park. + +“What’s the good of putting that in?” he argued; “it is of no +importance.” + +“Why, it’s almost the most important thing of all,” she declared. “You +evidently don’t know much about journalism. The Public will not be half +as interested in the King’s speech as in the information that one of +the horses fell down, and that the King then put his hands on the +Queen’s, and told her not to be frightened.” + +“But he didn’t; and the horse only slipped.” + +“But you’re too dense!” she cried, “and, anyhow, you can’t be certain +that he didn’t. It’s what he ought to have done, and the British Public +will be awfully pleased to know that he did. They’ll be frightfully +interested in the horse falling down, too. I suppose you would leave it +out, and give dates of the building of the edifice, and the different +styles of architecture, and the names of illustrious people connected +with it. As if any one wanted to know that! The horse will make far +better reading, though I daresay I ought to work in a few costs of +things. The B.P. loves to know what a thing costs.” + +“Well, why not value the horse, as you think so much of it? or say that +it snapped a trace in half which cost two guineas, and was bought in +Bond Street?” + +They both laughed, and then Hal said seriously: + +“I think I’ll make it kick over the centre pole, only then perhaps some +of the other reporters will catch it for not having seen the kick also. +I once wrote an account of a garden party, and left out that the horses +of the Prime Minister’s carriage shied and swerved, and one wheel +caught against the gate-post. As a matter of fact, it did not do much +more than graze it, but some journalist wrote a thrilling account of +how the carriage nearly turned over; and I’ve never forgotten the +chief’s face when he asked me why I hadn’t mentioned the accident to +the Prime Minister’s carriage. I said there wasn’t an accident, and he +snapped: ‘Well you’d better have turned them all in a heap in the road +than left it out altogether!’ + +“I’ve never made the same mistake since,” she finished, “and now, if +the chief sees my paragraphs, he has to ring some one up occasionally, +and make sure I haven’t gone out of bounds altogether.” + +“Well, if you’re quite determined to lie... I mean romance... why not +do it thoroughly? Let the King leap out of the carriage, with the Queen +in his arms, and the royal coachman fall backwards off the +box—and—and—both the horses burst out laughing?” + +“I’d get the sack for that,” Hal spluttered, busily plying her pencil, +“and then I’d break my heart, because I’m in love with the chief.” + +“Oh”—with a low laugh, “and is it quite hopeless?” + +“Quite. The most hopeless _grande passion_ that ever was. He’s been +married twice already, and the second is still very much alive. Did the +Queen wear a black hat, or a dark purple one?” + +“Dark purple, of course, like her dress. Why, I could write the thing +better than you.” + +“I’m sure you could, if you might have half the newspaper. I don’t know +where you’d be in thirty-six lines!” + +“By Jove! Have you got to squeeze it all into thirty-six lines?” + +“Less, if possible. There’s been a row in Berlin, and we have to allow +for thrilling developments, which may crowd out lots of other +paragraphs.” + +“And supposing you want it a few lines longer?” + +“Then the compiler will add a bit on about the weather, or throw in +another dress description, or something. I’m putting you in now,” +scribbling on; “but I don’t know your name?” + +“And I’m not going to tell it to you for your precious paragraph, so +you’ll have to cross that bit out again.” + +“Not at all,” airily: “a well-known aeronaut, who has recently beaten +the distance-record, and is looking remarkably well in spite of his +advanced years, was among the distinguished guests!” + +He had to cry “pax” then. + +“I give you up,” he said; “you’re too much for me! But I’ll take you +for a fly the first opportunity I get. Will you come?” + +“Will I come!...” in eager tones. “Oh, won’t I?” + +And he promised to arrange it. + +When they reached Euston, Hal had to dash for the first taxi, and tear +to the office with her report, and it was not until she was leaving +that the call boy told her a gentleman had asked for her on the +telephone in the afternoon. + +“Did he give any name?” she asked. + +“Yes, Mr. Crathie.” + +Hal suppressed a smile. “I suppose you told him I was out.” + +“Yes, miss. He wanted to know when you would be back, and I asked Mr. +Watson, and he told me to say ‘Not before evening.’” + +Hal climbed to the top of a bus, and journeyed homewards with a +thoughtful air. Of course he would ring her up again the next day, and +then what was she to say? + +In the meantime, looming big in her immediate horizon was the visit to +be paid to Holloway that evening. She was going up without Dudley, +having expressed a wish to do so, with which he had willingly complied. +She felt it would be easier not to appear forced without him, and would +be fairer on Doris also. Yet she dreaded the visit very much, and +longed that it was over. + +Ethel opened the door to her, as she happened to be in the little +kitchen close beside it, and Hal thought she looked very ill as she +grasped her hand with warm friendliness, saying: + +“How nice of you to come and see Doris so soon.” + +“What are you doing in the kitchen?” said Hal. “I want to come and +help.” + +“I’m only making a salad, and shall not be long. You must go to the +parlour”; and she laughed at the quaint, old-fashioned word. + +“No, I’m coming to help,” and Hal walked past her, through the open +door. “How’s Basil? Dudley spoke as if he was not quite so well just +now.” + +“I’m afraid he isn’t,” with sudden, hardly veiled anxiety; “but it may +only be the foggy weather.” + +To any one else Ethel would probably have asserted that he was well as +usual, and changed the subject; but she liked Hal specially, and showed +it by being quite honest with her. She also knew perfectly well that +Dudley’s engagement must have been a great shock to his only sister, +not solely because she had nothing whatever in common with Doris, but +because she herself must love him; and her heart felt very tender and +friendly over her. + +Although Hal had come to see Doris, she did not refrain from following +her inclination, and seating herself on the kitchen table to chat to +Ethel while she made the salad. Doris would keep, was her rapid mental +conclusion, and they two might not get another chance of a few words +alone. + +Chatting thus, it was interesting to note the similarity that existed +between these wielders of the pen, each daily immersed in a City +office. + +Each had the same clear, frank eyes, the same independent poise of +head, the same air of capable energy and self-dependence. Each, too, +had the same rather colourless skin, from lack of fresh air, though +whereas Ethel looked tired and worn, Hal seemed strong and fresh and +wore no air of delicacy. + +Then Doris came, with her pink-and-white daintiness, and spoke to them +both with a little triumphant air of condescension; for was not she +engaged to be married, whereas clever, working women usually became +“old maids”? + +Hal tried not to seem too offhand, but it was quite impossible for her +to gush, and she could not pretend a sudden affection just because of +the engagement. So she just said something about Dudley being very +happy, and hoped they would have good luck, and then went to the +sitting-room to talk to Basil, entertaining him immensely with her +account of the day’s ceremony, and her haphazard friendship with the +“flying man”, who was going to take her in his aeroplane. + +“Who was he?” Basil asked. “Has he won any prizes?” + +“I don’t know. He did not tell me. I did not discover his name either, +but he was some relation of the ‘Lord-of-the-Manor’ person who received +the King.” + +“You don’t know his name?” asked Doris in a shocked voice. “Weren’t you +introduced?” + +“Never a bit of it,” laughed Hal. “I was left behind when the last fly +had gone to the station, and he heard me asking anxiously how soon one +would get back again, and immediately offered me a seat in the motor he +was going in. Another man was with him, a much be-medalled officer, who +was somewhat heavy in hand to talk to, and at the station we gave him +the slip.” + +“How can he take you for a fly if you don’t know who he is?” + +“Well, I dare say he won’t; quite likely he didn’t mean it; but if he +did, he can easily find me at the office. He knew my name, and what +paper I was there for. They both knew, which probably accounts for the +gentleman with the medals being somewhat ponderous—soldiers are usually +snobbish—and he may not have liked having to ride to the station with a +newspaper woman.” + +“But if the other man was the Lord of the Manor’s brother?” + +“Oh, that wouldn’t make any difference. He might very well be less +self-important than anything in a bit of scarlet and medals if he had +been the Lord of the Manor himself. Why, the Earl of Roxley got tea for +me, and was most attentive.” + +Doris’s eyes opened wider. She had always secretly entertained rather a +superior attitude towards Hal and her sister, and was glad she was not +an office clerk. The big, breezy, working world, where the individual +is taken on his or her merits apart from birth, or standing, or +occupation, was quite unknown to her; and that Hal’s original, +attractive personality might open doors for ever shut to her mediocre, +pretty young-ladyhood, would never enter her mind. + +“I don’t think I should care to talk to any one without being +introduced,” she remarked a little affectedly, to which Hal shrugged +her shoulders and commented: + +“It’s just as well you haven’t to knock about in the world, then. Any +one with an ounce of common sense and perspicacity knows when it is +safe, and when it is sheer folly.” + +Basil watched her with an amused air. + +“I’m sure you do,” he said. + +“Yes.” She smiled infectiously. “I’ve only once been spoken to +unpleasantly in London, after knocking about for seven years, and then +I offered the man a sixpence. I said: ‘I’m sorry I haven’t any more, +and I can’t spare that, but if you are hungry!...’ He looked as if he +would like to slay me, and vanished.” + +Doris still looked slightly disapproving, and when at last Hal rose to +go, she half-unconsciously asked Ethel with her eyes to accompany her +to get her hat, instead of her prospective sister-in-law. And when they +were alone, Ethel looked into Hal’s expressive face, and guessing +something of what she carefully hid, said sympathetically: + +“You and Dudley have always been so much to each other; I am afraid you +must feel it a little having to share him already with another.” + +Suddenly and inexplicably Hal’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned +away quite unable to answer. + +Ethel pretended not to notice, but her heart bled for her, knowing how +much worse it was than just the fact of the engagement. + +“I’m so wrapped up in Basil,” she went on, “that if it had happened to +me I should have felt quite heartbroken, however much I told myself I +wanted his happiness.” + +Hal dabbed her eyes a little viciously. + +“Of course I want him to be happy,” she managed to say; “but it is nice +of you to understand.” + +“There’s one thing,” Ethel continued, “you will become a sort of +relation, and you’ve no idea how pleased Basil and I will be about +that.” + +“Will you?” Hal smiled through her tears, “I rather wonder at it.” + +“Of course we shall. Basil and I think you are one of the finest +characters we have ever known. You’ve no idea how proud we are when you +come to see us,” which proved Ethel’s understanding heart, for a little +generous praise is a kind healer to a sore spirit. + +Hal looked into her eyes, with a pleased light in her own. + +“You are too generous, but it’s nice to be thought well of by any one +like you and Basil. I shall remember it when I am silly enough to be +downhearted, and it will cheer me up.” + +She had to hurry away then to catch a train, and as she went her mind +was full of the thought: + +“Why, oh why, had Dudley, in his blindness, wooed the younger sister?” + +“Well?” he said, as she entered their sitting-room, where he was +reading over the fire. “How did you get on?” + +“Oh, splendidly”—trying to throw a little enthusiasm into her voice. +“Doris looked amazingly pretty.” + +She show a soft light in his eyes, and because it rather maddened her, +she hastened to add: “But I see a great change in Basil.” + +“Yes?... I wondered if you would. I was afraid he did not seem so +well.” + +“Dudley”—with sudden seriousness—“when Basil dies, it will just about +break Ethel up. She idolises him.” + +“I know; but she can hardly wish him to live on if he continues to grow +worse.” + +“I suppose not; but it’s rather awful to think of what it will mean to +her to lose him. And she’s so sympathetic and tender-hearted.” Hal +stood a moment looking gravely at the fire—“you know, I think she’s the +most splendid person I’ve ever known.” + +“Splendid!...” a trifle testily. “Why? Splendid seems an odd word to +use.” + +“It’s the one that suits Ethel Hayward best of all. Anything else would +be too commonplace. When I think what her life is—the endless struggle +to make both ends meet—work morning, noon, and night—and on the top of +it all the brother she adores a helpless, suffering invalid, it quite +overawes me. If she were bitter and complaining it would be different, +but she is nearly always cheerful and hopeful and ready to think of +some one else’s troubles. And yet she isn’t goody-goody—nor what one +describes as ‘worthy’; she’s just human through and through.” + +“She sometimes seems to me a little severe,” he said. + +“Severe!... Oh, Dudley, she is the kindest soul alive.” + +“Perhaps she was tired; but it seemed to me, considering Doris’s youth, +she expected rather a lot of her.” + +“Ah!...” + +Hal turned away, and picked up an evening paper. The exclamation might +have meant anything, yet Dudley half knew it meant that in some way Hal +believed Doris had wilfully misrepresented her sister, and, naturally +resenting the inference, he returned to his book and said no more. + +Hal lingered a little longer, passed one or two remarks on the evening +news, told him of her day in the country, and then went to bed. + +Yet, in spite of her soreness towards Doris, something in her evening +with Ethel had unaccountably cheered and refreshed her—the kindly +praise, the warm-hearted affection, the sight of the strong, womanly +face, unembittered by its heavy sorrow. + +Hal stood at her window, and glanced out over the City, and felt +renewed in her determination to withstand Sir Edwin Crathie’s advances. +She knew that he was treating her with a lack of respect he would not +have dared to show a woman in his own circle. + +He was treating her as a City typist; and however much she wished to +prolong it, she knew she owed it to herself to cut it adrift. + +And the next day, when the anticipated telephone call came, her +resolution was firm and unshaken. + +“Tell the gentleman I am engaged,” she told the call boy. + +He came back again a moment later to know what time she would be +disengaged, and she gave the message: “It is quite impossible to say. I +have some most important work on hand.” + +The small boy grinned in a way that made Hal long to box his ears, but +she returned to her work, and pretended not to see. + +At the other end of the wire the speaker sat back in his chair and +muttered an oath; then for some moments he stared gloomily at his desk. + +“Damn it! I like her pluck,” ran his thoughts; “but I don’t mean to be +put off like that. I’ve got to see her again somehow, if it’s only to +prove I’m not the cad she thinks me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +The following afternoon when Hal left the office about half-past four +she saw a motor she recognised a little way down the street, and was +almost immediately accosted by Sir Edwin himself. + +“I knew you left at this time,” he said frankly, “so I came to meet +you.” + +Hal looked a little taken aback. + +“I wonder why you did that,” was all she found to say. + +“Well, it was the only way, since you won’t come to the telephone, and +I am afraid to call on you in Bloomsbury. I want to talk to you. Come +along and have some tea.” + +Hal hesitated, looking doubtfully at the motor, but he urged her on. + +“Come; surely you’re not afraid to have a cup of tea with me. We’ll go +to the Carlton—or the Ritz if you prefer it—and take a conspicuous +table.” + +“In my office garments!” with a low laugh. “I don’t want to be taken +for your housekeeper.” + +“My housekeeper is a deuce of a swell,” laughing in his turn. “She +certainly wouldn’t be seen in a last year’s frock; but you’re one of +the lucky people who manage to look smart, even in office clothes, as +you call them—so come along.” + +Hal got into the motor. + +“Which is it to be? Ritz or Carlton?” + +“Oh, Carlton—and not the centre table.” + +“How do you manage it?” he said, as they glided off, looking at her +with critical, admiring eyes. + +“Manage what? I wish you wouldn’t look at me like a doctor studying my +health. I shall put my tongue out in a minute.” + +“Don’t do that. A colleague or an opponent would be sure to be looking, +and I don’t know which would be worse. Manage to look smart in +anything, of course I mean.” + +“Oh, it’s Lorraine Vivian and her maid; they loathe to see me dowdy.” + +“With a little help from the Almighty, who gave you a haughty little +nose and a short upper lip,” he told her laughingly. “You’re been very +angry with me, I’m afraid, and no doubt I deserved it, but I’m going to +make you be friends again and forgive me.” + +“You won’t find it easy.” + +“I dare say not; but I’m going to try all the same. Shall I begin with +a humble apology?” + +“You couldn’t be humble. I shouldn’t believe in it.” + +“I believe I could with you—which means a great deal. Tell me, were you +fully determined not to speak to me on the telephone, and not to see me +again?” + +“Most certainly I was.” + +“What nonsense! And did you really suppose I should submit without +making an effort to see you, and persuade you to be friends again?” + +Hal tilted her nose up a little, and glanced away as she replied a +trifle scathingly: + +“I supposed, having found I was not the sort of girl you imagined, and +not one you could take liberties with, that possibly our friendship +would cease to interest you.” + +He coloured slightly. + +“You hit hard, but I suppose I have deserved it. I shall now have to +prove to you that I’ve turned over a new leaf, and deserve it no +longer.” + +They stopped before the Carlton as he spoke, and he led the way into +the lounge, and to a side table. + +“I’m sure you’ll trust me this far,” he said; “people stare so when one +is in the middle of the room.” + +Hal sat down and drew off her gloves, feeling, in spite of herself, +unmistakably happy. It was good to be there, instead of trudging home +to Bloomsbury; and it was specially good to be chatting to him again. + +A dear friend may be always a dear friend, and yet not just the one one +wants at the moment. When things are difficult, and irritating, and +disappointing, the pleasantest companion is apt to be one with so much +individual regard for us at the time that we can hold forth upon our +troubles without any fear of boring our listener. + +When Hal had poured her tale of woe into Lorraine’s ear, she had known +that Lorraine was genuinely interested and sorry—and yet, also, that +something else occupied her mind at the same time. Sitting now, +opposite to Sir Edwin Crathie, it was perfectly apparent for the time +being that his mind was entirely at her service. + +This was further shown by the fact that he realised something was +worrying her before she told him. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked abruptly; “you look as if something very +boring had happened.” + +“It has.” + +Hal kept her eyes lowered a moment, with a thoughtful air, and the +corners of the fascinating mouth drooped a little. + +“What has happened?... Tell me what is bothering you.” + +He spoke peremptorily, yet with an evident concern for her that made +the peremptory tone dangerously alluring. Hal remained silent, though +she felt her pulses quicken, and he added: + +“Come, we are going to be friends again; aren’t we? I’ve told you I’m +very sorry; I can’t do more. You will really have to forgive me now.” + +She looked into his face, and something in his eyes told her he was +quite genuine for the time. Of course it might be rash, and unwise, and +various other things, but it had been a difficult, trying week, and his +sympathy was passing good now. Sir Edwin met her gaze for a moment, and +then lowered his. + +He thought it was chiefly when her eyes laughed that he wanted to kiss +her, but when they had that serious, rather appealing expression, he +began to feel they were more disturbing still. Mastering his +unmanageable senses with an effort, he looked up again, and said: + +“Well, what is it? Of course you must tell me.” + +“Brother Dudley is going to be married,” said Hal with her usual +directness. + +“When?” And Sir Edwin gave a low exclamation of surprise. “Isn’t it +rather sudden?” + +“Very,” in dry tones. + +“And I suppose you don’t want to love your prospective sister-in-law +all in a hurry.” + +“I don’t want to love her at all.” + +“Then I don’t suppose you will,” with a little laugh. “Presumably you +know her.” + +“I have known her a long time. If I had been asked, she is the last +girl I could have believed Dudley would care for. I don’t believe he +does care for her in the real sense. She is very pretty, and she wanted +to marry him, and she just played on his feelings.” + +“What do you call ‘in the real sense’?” he asked pointedly. + +A pink spot burned in Hal’s cheeks; she felt the question a little +beside the mark, and did not want to answer it. + +“She has rather a dull home, and is very poor, and I think she thought +on the whole life would be improved if she were Dudley’s wife.” + +“And that is not the real sense?” insistently. + +“It certainly is not love.” + +“Well, you haven’t yet told me what is?” + +“I don’t know much about it, and”—hastily—“I don’t want to. When it’s +real it hurts, and when it isn’t real it’s just feebleness.” + +“Still, you must know some day.” + +He liked to see the spot of colour spreading in her cheeks, and the +frank eyes growing a little defiant as he pressed her against her will. + +“It doesn’t follow that I must. Perhaps I shall just be feeble, and +marry for a home and luxuries.” + +“Never,” with conviction. “You’ll—Hal, you’ll get it badly when once +you’re caught.” + +“I never said you might call me ‘Hal’.” + +“Didn’t you? Well, I apologise. May I?” + +She could not help laughing. + +“You evidently mean to; and I suppose you usually have your own way.” + +“Very often. That’s sensible of you. Of course you are sometimes +annoying sensible and practical. I don’t know that I ever liked any one +quite so level-headed before. It never appealed to me. Yet, somehow, I +think you could lose your head. You’ve got it in you to do so. I +wouldn’t give tuppence for a woman who hadn’t.” + +Hal was silent, and, as usual, he pressed his point. + +“Do you think you could lose your head?” + +“I don’t think I shall,” was the evasive answer. + +“I wonder,” he said. + +She felt him looking hard into her face, and moved restlessly beneath a +scrutiny that quickened her pulses and warmed her blood in a way that +was altogether new. Then suddenly she looked up. + +“Don’t you think we are rather talking drivel? Let’s get back to the +original subject. I don’t want to lose my head—it’s rather a nice +one—sound and reliable and all that.” + +He sat back in his chair with a laugh. + +“You’re very clever,” he told her admiringly. “I always seem to be +out-flanked in the end. Very well then, Brother Dudley has got engaged +foolishly, and Hal has been quietly fretting, instead of being a +sensible little woman, and telling her friend all about it straight +away. What are you going to do now?” + +“I can’t do anything. He won’t get married for a few months anyway.” + +“And when he does?” + +“Then I shall stay where I am, and make the best of it, I suppose... +but... but”—her voice broke a little—“I’m a positive fool about Dudley. +I can’t bear to lose him.” + +“Poor little woman. Well, I’ll be good to you if you’ll let me. I dare +say I can brighten things up a little. Every cloud has a silver lining, +you know.” + +“I don’t know where Dudley’s will be,” with a wintry smile. “It +wouldn’t be so hard if I thought there was any chance of his being +happy. But there isn’t. He doesn’t in the least know her real +character.” + +They sat on until seven o’clock, and then Hal rose to go, feeling +happier than she had done ever since they last met. + +“Well, am I forgiven?” he asked, as she buttoned her gloves. + +“You are, for the present,” with an arch glance; “but I reserve the +right to retract at a moment’s notice.” + +“And in the meantime you will prove it by coming out to lunch on +Sunday? We might go to the Zoo afterwards, and make friends with some +of the animals.” + +At the first suggestion of lunch Hal had been ready to shy away, but +the idea of the Zoo on Sunday afternoon was too much for her, and she +said with unmistakable longing: + +“I should simply love the Zoo.” Then, after a pause: “Couldn’t I meet +you there about three?” + +“But why wait until three? It is not very friendly of you to refuse to +lunch with me.” + +“I usually go to Lorraine”—somewhat lamely. + +“Why not bring Miss Vivian with you?” + +“Oh, could I?” eagerly; “that would be splendid—if she is disengaged.” + +A curious little half smile crossed his eyes at her eagerness; but he +only said: + +“Certainly, and if she cares to bring a friend, to make the party an +even number, I shall be only too pleased. Shall we say the Piccadilly, +for a change, at 1.30?” + +Hal thanked him, and as she sped homewards in a taxi he had procured +for her, she viewed the prospect with real delight. + +Dudley, of course, would be spending his Sunday with Doris, and she and +Lorraine, supposing the latter were disengaged, might have found the +afternoon a little long alone. The evening was the occasion of the +dinner-party to commemorate Alymer Hermon’s first brief, so it was very +likely Lorraine would be free at midday. + +She thought it was nice of Sir Edwin to invite her friend as well, and +as she reviewed the afternoon meeting, her heart was foolishly glad +over his apology, and insistent determination to be friends. It was +evident, she believed, that if she adhered to her resolute resistance +of familiarity, she would be able to keep him at a discreet distance, +and they might enjoy a really delightful friendship. + +Her eyes were smiling and glad at the little upper window that night. +She had hated cutting off their friendship. The days had been dull and +dragging without even a telephone chat with him; and though she still +told herself it was chiefly because of the shock of Dudley’s +engagement, she knew it was a little for his sake also. + +And she thought further, if they might now include Lorraine in some of +their meetings, it would be an added safeguard, and very entertaining +as well. She meant to telephone to her the first thing in the morning +to fix up their Sunday engagement. + +Inquiries on the telephone, however, the next morning, elicited the +information that Lorraine had already arranged to go out to lunch; and +thus Hal found herself unexpectedly thrown on her own resources. A +little note from Ethel asking her to accompany Dudley if she had +nothing better to do, placed her in a further awkward position. + +She did not want to go to Holloway, to swell the number of mouths to be +fed out of Ethel’s slender housekeeping purse, and add one more to be +cooked for, etc., on Ethel’s one free day. Finally, because it was the +simplest, as well as the pleasantest thing to do, she telephoned Sir +Edwin, and told him Lorraine could not accompany her on Sunday, but she +would be there herself, and afterwards go to the Zoo. + +And at the other end of the wire Sir Edwin smiled, an enigmatical smile +that was unmistakably pleased, as he put back the receiver, and glanced +towards the cosy fire in his grate. + +“I wonder,” he said to himself meditatively, “if one could make her +care, whether she could care enough to lose her head.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +It was rather a curious circumstance, that on the occasion of +Lorraine’s dinner-party, Alymer Hermon was the first to notice an +indefinable change in Hal. To the others she was only gayer than usual, +more sparkling, better-looking. + +From the Zoological Gardens Sir Edwin had taken her home in a taxi, and +after being a delightful companion all the afternoon, had said good-bye +in just the friendly, pally spirit that Hal wished, without exhibiting +any alarming symptoms whatever to disturb her peace of mind. He had +indeed been at his very best; far nicer than ever before; and together +they had thoroughly enjoyed their intercourse, through iron bars, with +the animals they both loved. + +Moreover, his knowledge on most subjects did not exclude zoology, and +he was able to tell her numberless little details of the ways and +habits of beasts that Hal rejoiced to hear, because she loved all +four-footed things. + +And then there had been the pleasant consciousness of a new winter +costume, that was not only very up to date, but remarkably becoming; +and Hal was true woman enough to enjoy the knowledge that she looked +her best. Neither was it in any degree a mediocre “best”; and even Sir +Edwin was a little surprised to find himself with a companion who +attracted nearly as many admiring glances as various lady friends who +were recognised beauties. + +Her slim, graceful figure was singularly perfect, and, as he observed +with fresh pleasure each time they met, she walked with a natural +elegance and grace that were a delight to the eye. And happiness gave a +faint pink flush to her cheeks and a light to her eyes, that somehow +seemed to radiate gaiety; and her intense power of enjoyment +communicated itself to others in a way that was wholly delightful. + +So they spent a gay afternoon, which cemented the former +acquaintanceship into a firmer bond of friendship, and because of it he +vowed within himself he would play fair with her, and make no more +advances he was not prepared to follow up in an honourable spirit. + +For Hal, it was enough that the past mistake seemed genuinely regretted +and wiped out, and that all his manner to her now held deference and +respect. And she was intensely glad—almost alarmingly glad, if she had +stopped to consider; only that would have cast a shadow on the +sunshine; and she preferred to take the sunshine while it offered, and +leave the future to take care of itself. + +And in the meantime there was Lorraine’s dinner-party, instead of a +lonely evening, and once more she dressed herself with care and skill; +and later stood up straight and slim in Lorraine’s pretty drawing-room, +radiating happiness, and surprising even old friends with her good +looks. + +Alymer Hermon remarked it first. He was standing beside her on the +hearth, and he looked down from his great height with laughing, +quizzical eyes and said: + +“You’re looking astonishingly pretty tonight. Have you been consulting +a beauty specialist?” + +Dick Bruce and Quin laughed delightedly. + +“Why, of course!” cried Dick, digging his hands deep into his pockets, +and giving himself a little gleeful shake, “I’ve been puzzling my head +to grasp what it was. I’d forgotten all about the beauty specialists. +It must have cost an awful lot, Hal.” + +“It did,” she told them; “but you’ve no idea how clever they are. They +can renovate the most hopeless faces. I’m sure you’d all find it worth +while running to the expense.” + +“Now, come Hal,” objected Quin laughingly. “We can’t have the ornament +of our flat insulted like that. The rising barrister needs no beauty +specialist, you must admit.” + +Hal looked up at the giant with twitching lips. + +“I was going to suggest a brain specialist for him. It won’t be much +use getting lots of briefs because he looks nice in his wig and gown if +he hasn’t the brains to win his cases.” + +Hermon caught her by the shoulders to shake her, and at that moment +Lord Denton quietly entered the room. + +Lorraine had met him in the hall, while hastening across for something +she had forgotten, and told him to go in, so that he entered +unannounced, and saw the group before they knew of his presence. + +Especially he seemed to see the two on the hearthrug. Hal, with her +shining eyes, rising coulour, and laughing lips, and Hermon with a sort +of answering glow in his face, boyishly gripping her shoulders as if to +shake her. He stood and looked at them a moment without speaking, then +Hal espied him, and thinking he had that instant entered, exclaimed: + +“Help!... Help!... Lord Denton, I am caught in the clutches of +Leviathan.” + +He came forward smillingly. + +“Leviathan does not look as if he meant to eat you; and even if he did, +I don’t believe my courage would run to closing with +six-foot-five-and-a-half.” + +“Awful, isn’t it?” she said, releasing herself and giving him her hand. +“He is like those lanky pieces of corn which are all stalk and no head. +Have you seen him before?” + +“Once,” offering his hand to Hermon. “Delighted to see you again. I +hear you’ve made a hit already. My cousin tells me his friend is +charmed with your way of grappling with her case.” + +“Did you take her by the shoulders?” asked Hal wickedly, rubbing her +own. + +“No,” Lord Denton told her. “He was very grave indeed. You must give +him his due, Miss Pritchard. You’ve seen him grave yourself, haven’t +you now?” + +“Yes; and he looked like a boiled owl. On the whole, I prefer him +imbecile.” + +Alymer turned on her threateningly, but she slipped behind the other +two, saying: + +“Have you met these also, Lord Denton. Mr. St. Quintin, of Shoreditch, +and my cousin, Dick Bruce, poet, novelist, and mother’s help.” + +Denton shook hands with them genially, and then Lorraine came back, and +they all followed her to the dining-room. + +The repast was a very gay one. Every one was in the best of spirits, +and, which is more important still, all were in attune, and there was +no dissentient note. Hal was perhaps the gayest, and Lord Denton found +himself watching her almost if he were seeing her for the first time. +She seemed to him to have developed amazingly in the few months since +he last met her, but he supposed girls of her age often developed +quickly. + +Yet even then it seemed a little strange that the merry, rather crude +young typist, as he had regarded her before, should so easily appear a +sparkling, distinguished guest. He could not help a little mental +comparision with Lorraine, not in any way to the latter’s detriment, +but with a vague thought at the back of his mind concerning her and +Hermon. + +Lorraine would always be beautiful: her whole face and form were +modelled on lines that would stand the ravages of many years; and for +him she would ever be one of the dearest of women; but could she match +Hal’s young, vigorous, independence, that was very likely to prove more +attractive than a generously given devotion? + +Men, like women, are drawn to an indifference that piques them; and he, +man of the world that he was, foresaw a strong irresistible attraction +about Hal’s spirited independence. + +But, on the other hand, Lorraine was intensely sympathetic and +understanding, as well as beautiful; and it seemed strange indeed if +any man she chose to enslave could resist her. + +He watched Hermon bend his fair head down to her dark one, with an +affectionate, protective air, that was very becoming to him; and +observed that with Hal it was all sparring, and told himself Lorraine +had nothing to fear. + +They toasted Hermon on his brief, and on the laurel wreath Dick +announced he already perceived sprouting on his manly brow. Hal said it +was only a daisy chain, or the halo of a cherubim; and the laurels were +rightly sprouting on Dick’s brow as a novelist. + +Hermon returned thanks in a witty, clever little speech, during which +Lorraine seemed scarcely able to take her eyes from his face, and Lord +Denton recognised more fully the extraordinary attraction such a man +must wield, whether by intention or quite unconsciously. + +He pictured him towering a head and shoulders above nearly every one +around at the law courts, with his clear-cut, fine face, looking yet +more striking in the severe setting of a wig and gown; and he knew that +Lorraine had made no mistake when she said he only wanted impetus and a +chance to make a name for himself. If he could rap out a dainty little +speech like this at a moment’s notice, wearing just that air of +unpretentious, boyish humour, his path ought undoubtedly to be a path +of roses, petted by women, admired and appreciated by men. + +“In conclusion,” he was saying, “may I suggest a toast to Miss +Pritchard? I am sure you will all join me in offering her our warmest +congratulations upon her sudden and unlooked-for promotion, from a +somewhat nondescript young person to a brilliant and beautiful society +belle.” + +“Speech! speech!” cried Dick and Quin to her gleefully, noisely +rattling their glasses, and Hal got to her feet. + +“Ladies and gentlemen and Baby Alymer Hermon,” she began. “You must +allow me to acknowledge your kind toast by congratulating you all, in +return, upon the sudden and swift development of you powers of vision +and perspicacity: equalled only, I may say, by your extraordinary +dullness in not having observed long ago those traits for which you are +pleased, at this late hour, to offer me your congratulations. Before I +sit down I should like to suggest we all drink the healths of the +celebrated actress who is our hostess, of a bishop in the making—” +signifying Quin; “a great novelist in the brewing, and a gentleman +justly celebrated for the eloquence and ease with which he does nothing +at all”—and she bowed to Lord Denton. + +“Capital!” he exclaimed. “I am evidently dining in very distinguished +company tonight”; a little later, turning to Dick, he added: “How soon, +may I ask, will this great novel be procurable by the general public?” + +Before Dick could reply, Hal intercepted gaily: + +“Well, I think the carrots and turnips have fallen out as to which +takes precedence at a dinner-party: isn’t that so, Dick? And until the +difficult question is settled, progress halts.” + +“Something of the kind,” agreed Dick promptly; “and there is also +discord among the vegetable marrows and pumpkins on a similar question; +but when the Baby Brigade has settled the views of the Trade Unions, +and reversed the Osborne Judgment, we shall be able to proceed +smoothly.” + +“It sounds a very extraordinary type of novel,” said Lorraine. + +“It is. I wanted, if possible, to write something even more imbecile +than has ever yet been written. I have not the patience for great +length; nor the wit for brilliant satire; nor the imagination for the +popular, spicy, impossible, ill-flavoured romance; so I have chosen the +other line, adopted by the great majority, and aim at purposeless, +pointless imbecility.” + +“And is Hal the model for your heroine?” asked Hermon. + +When Hal’s indignation and epithets had subsided, Quin remarked that he +supposed the book fairly bristled with mothers, and with paragraphs of +good advice to them. + +“Well, yes,” Dick admitted. “There are certainly a good many +mothers—far more mothers than wives, in fact.” + +“Oh, naughty!” put in Lord Denton. + +“Not at all. It has to do with a theory. It is to bring out the common +sense of vegetables compared to humans. Humans condemn millions of +women, specially born for motherhood, to purposeless, joyless +spinsterhood, all on account of a prejudice. No green, brainless, +commonplace vegetable would be guilty of such unutterable folly as +that.” + +“Don’t be too sweeping,” quoth Quin. “In the East End women are still +mothers from choice; and given decent, healthy conditions, they would +proudly raise an army to protect their country from her threatening +foes. It is not their fault that 50 per cent of their offspring are +sickly, anaemic little weeds.” + +“It sounds as if your book has a serious side in spite of its +imbecility?” suggested Lorraine. + +“Imbecility and madness are usually full of seriousness,” Dick told +her—“far more so than commonplace rationalism.” + +“And do you want to revolutionise society?” + +“Oh dear no; what an alarming idea!” + +“Then what do you want?”—they asked him. + +“I want to see all the superfluous unemployed spinsters busy, happy +mothers, patriotically contributing to raise a splendid fighting-force, +for one thing, which will certainly be regarded as an utterly imbecile +idea by a magnificently rational world.” + +“And have you any theory about it?” asked Lord Denton. + +“Nothing but the worn-out, commonplace, absurdly natural theories of +the vegetable and animal kingdoms. My only chance is that, being so +ancient, and so absurdly natural, the modern world may mistake them for +something entirely new, and seize upon them with the fasionable avidity +for novelties.” + +“Or they may lock you up,” suggested Quin. + +“In any case I’m afraid you’ll be too late,” Hal commented, with a half +grave, half sarcastic air; “for before your theories can make any +headway, England is likely to have given all her life-blood to systems, +and restrictions, and cut-and-dried conventions, utterly regardless of +her need for a strong protecting force to maintain her existence at +all. Taken in the aggregate, she never has bothered much about the +primary necessity for the best possible conditions for the mothers of +the future.” + +“What a learned sentence, Hal,” put in Lorraine, looking amused. “Quite +worthy of a militant suffragette.” + +“The announced suffragettes are not the only ones who care for +England’s future,” she said. “I suppose I care a good deal because I’m +in the newspaper world, and I know something of what she has to contend +against in the way of petty party spirit and the self-aggrandising of +some of her so-called leaders, who haven’t an ounce of true patriotism, +and only want to shout something outrageous in a very loud voice, just +to attract public attention.” + +“I think Bruce is right up to a certain point,” remarked Lord Denton. +“We can hardly contemplate the reinstitution of polygamy, but it +certainly ought to be the business of the State to see that every child +born into the country is given the best possible conditions in which to +become a good citizen and, if necessary, a good soldier.” + +“Isn’t there a Poor Law for that express purpose?” asked Lorraine. + +“Don’t speak of it,” commented Quin sadly. “Our Poor Law, like so many +excellent institutions, is mostly run on a wrong basis. Huge sums of +money are expended in procuring homes for homeless children, and the +last thing that seems to be considered is the suitability of the home. +Applications are accepted in a perfunctory, business-like way by +guardians and others—and perhaps an inspector takes a casual glance +round; but the moral aspect of the whole matter, as to character and +habits, is mostly left to chance. We, who are on the spot, often have +to rescue children from the homes the State has provided for them.” + +“It is more supervision, then, that you want?” asked Lord Denton. + +“It is a different sort of supervision altogether. It ought to be +woman’s work, not man’s—women who are paid and encouraged and helped.” + +“But that might be defying some of the precious conventions,” put in +Hal with a touch of scorn—“making women too important, don’t you know; +and encouraging them to be something more than household ornaments. We +can’t have that, even for the sake of the future. It would be too +alarming. No; England will continue in her cast-iron rut of prejudice, +until most of her soul-power is dried up, and only the husk of a great +nation is left, to follow in the way of other husks.” + +“Then I will go to the new, young, strong nation, and watch her +splendid rise,” quoth Dick. + +“Traitor!” they threw at him, but he was quite imperturbed. “Strength +and vigour are better than old traditions and an enfeebled race; and +somebody, somewhere on the globe, had got to listen to what I am bound +to teach.” + +“You dear old Juggins,” said Hal, “when England has passed her zenith, +and gone under to the new, strong race, you will be found sitting +meditating among cabbages and green peas, like Omar Khayyám in his rose +garden. The rest of us will have died in the fighting-line—except Baby, +and they will put him under a glass case, and preserve him as one of +the few fine specimens left of a decadent race—in spite of his +brainlessness.” + +“Are we a decadent race?” asked Lorraine thoughtfully. + +“Only the House of Lords and a few leading Conservatives,” said Lord +Denton with flippancy. “The workingman who has the courage to refuse to +work, and the Liberal members who have the grit to demand salaries for +upsetting the Constitution, led by a few eminent Ministers who delight +to remove their neighbour’s landmark, and relieve his pocket, are the +splendid fellows of the grand new opening era of prosperity and +greatness.” + +“Still,” put in Quin hopefully, “it is very fashionable to go big-game +shooting nowadays, and an African lion may yet chew up a few of them.” + +“Poor lion!” quoth Lorraine; “but what a fine finale for the king of +beasts, to chew up the despoilers of kings. Shall we go to the +drawing-room?” And she rose to lead the way. + +A Bridge table was arranged in an alcove for Hal and three of the men, +and Lorraine and Hermon sat over the fire for preference. They were far +enough away from the players to be able to speak of them unheard, and +Hermon, in the course of their conversation, mentioned that he saw +something different in Hal tonight to what he had noticed before. + +Lorraine thought she was only very lively, but Hermon looked doubtful. +He could not express what he seemed to see, but in some way her +liveliness held a new note. He thought she had more tone and a new kind +of assurance, and he tried to explain it to Lorraine. + +“I expect she’s had a jolly afternoon,” was all Lorraine said, with a +smile. “She has been to the Zoo with Sir Edwin Crathie.” + +“Has she?” significantly, and Hermon raised his eyebrows. “Are they +still friends, then? I thought she only knew him slightly.” + +“That was at the beginning,” and Lorraine glanced at him with the smile +deepening in her eyes. “There always has to be a beginning—doesn’t +there?” + +But no answering smile shone in Alymer Hermon’s face, rather a slight +shade of anxiety as he glanced across the room at Hal. “I should not +like a sister of mine to have much to do with Sir Edwin Crathie,” he +said gravely. + +“Perhaps not, you dear old Solemn-acre,” giving his arm a gentle pat; +“but a sister of yours would not have learned early to battle with the +world as Hal has.” + +“But surely if she is less protected than a sister of mine would have +been, there is the greater cause for caution.” + +“There is no comparision. A sister of yours would always have known +protection, and always rely on it, and if it failed her she might find +herself in difficulties and dangers she hardly knew how to cope with. +Hal faced the difficulties and the dangers early, and learnt to be her +own defence and protector. Some women have to, you see. It is necessary +for them to wield weapons and armour out of their own strength, and be +prepared to be buffeted by a heartless world, and not be afraid. If you +had a sister, you would want to keep her in cotton-wool, and never let +any rough, enlightening experience come near her. If I had a daughter, +I should like her to have the enlightening experience early, and learn +to be strong and self-dependent like Hal; then I shouldn’t be afraid of +her future.” + +She was silent a few moments, then added thoughtfully: “I think it +would be better for society in general if the girls of the leisured +classes knew more about the world, and were better able to take care of +themselves; meaning, of course, with a pride like Hal’s in going +straight because it’s the game.” + +Hermon’s eyes again strayed to Hal’s pretty head, with its glossy brown +hair, and Lorraine continued after a pause: + +“If I’m afraid of anything with Hal, it is that she might let herself +get to care for some one who isn’t worth her little finger, or some one +who is out of her reach, or something generally impossible. She +wouldn’t care lightly; and she’d get dreadfully hurt.” + +“But surely she couldn’t actually fall in love with a man like Edwin +Crathie?” he remonstrated. + +“I wasn’t thinking of Sir Edwin specially. She goes about a great deal, +you know, and meets many people. She has a strong vein of romance too. +I always feel I shall be very glad when she is safely anchored, if only +it is to the right man.” + +They were interrupted then by the Bridge players, who had finished +their first rubber, and Lord Denton persuaded Hermon to change places +with him for a time, and came to sit over the fire with Lorraine. +Presently he too mentioned Hal. + +“She is the best woman Bridge player I have ever met,” he said. “She +seems to be developing into something rather out of the ordinary. +Hasn’t she grown much better-looking?” + +Lorraine smiled, a slow, sweet smile. + +“Alymer Hermon has just been praising Hal too,” she said; “I like to +hear you men admire her; it shows you can appreciate sterling worth as +well—well—shall we call it daring impropriety?” + +“You are a little severe.” + +“Am I? Well, you see, I know a good many men pretty intimately; and I +have gleaned from various confiding moments that it is not the working +woman chiefly, relying only on her own protection, who strays into the +murky byways and muddy corners of life. It is surprisingly often the +direction of the idle, home-guarded, bored young lady. Flip, if it came +to a choice, I believe I would put my money on the worker. It’s such a +splendid, healthy, steadying thing to have a real purpose and a real +occupation; instead of just days and weeks of idle enjoyment. And as +for temptations! Well, they abound pretty fully in both cases; it isn’t +the amount of temptation likely to be encountered that matters, so much +as the quality of the individual armour to meet it with.” + +“Still, when it comes to being hungry and cold and having no money?” he +argued. + +“It doesn’t make much difference in the long run, except that one hopes +The Man Above will surely find a wider forgiveness for the woman who +was hungry and cold than for the woman who was just bored, but hadn’t +the grit to find an aim and purpose to renew and invigorate a +purposeless life. All the same, I’d like to see Hal safely anchored to +a real good fellow. Flip, if you could persuade her to try, she’d make +you a splendid wife.” + +“And what in the world should I do with a splendid wife?” laughing +frankly into her face—“what an appalling possession! Lorry, old girl, +I’ve got a splendid woman pal, and that’s good enough for me. If I ever +want a wife you shall have the privilege of finding me one: but it +won’t be until I am old and gouty, and then she had better be a +hospital nurse, inured to irritability.” + +“You are quite hopeless,” shaking her head at him, “but I don’t +particularly want to lose you as a friend, unless it is for Hal; so +we’ll say no more.” + +“Sensible woman! And now I must really be off. I like your friends, +Lorry. They’re very fresh. And of course Hermon is tremendous. You +haven’t overdrawn him at all. Only to be careful. Remember the burnt +child. A man like that ought to be made to wear a mask and hideous +garments, for the protection of susceptible females.” + +“He would need to speak through a grating trumpet as well.” + +“Yes, I suppose he would. Even I can hear the attraction in his voice. +It will be splendid when he begins to feel his feet in the law courts. +We’ll make a celebrity of him, shall we—just for the interest of it. +But it’s to be only a hobby, Lorraine, no entanglements, mind”—and he +laughed his low, pleasant laught. + +“Very well, call it a hobby, or what you like—only keep him in mind +now, Flip. I’ve got him into an ambitious spirit that means everything, +if there is enough fuel at the beginning to keep it alight until it is +a glowing pile quite capable of burning gaily alone.” + +“Right you are. I like him. You fan the flame, and I’ll rake up the +fuel. I’ll speak to Hodson about him tomorrow. He’s always ready to +lend a hand to a promising junior.” + +When they had all gone, Lorraine lingered a few moments by her +fireside. + +“A hobby!” she breathed; “yes, why not? Man-making is almost equal to +man-bearing. I have no son to spur up the Olympian heights; but what +might I not do for Alymer, if… if—” + +She placed her hands on the mantelshelf, and leaned her forehead down +on them. + +“Alymer,” she whispered, a little brokenly, “I wonder if I ought to be +ready to give you all, and ask nothing? Perhaps make you all the +splendid man you might be, just for some one else, and get nothing +myself but a heart-ache?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +The winter months passed more or less uneventfully and pleasantly. The +case in which Hermon had held his first brief, though in only a very +secondary position, was rather splendidly won. An unlooked-for +development in it roused public interest, and filled the Hall with +spectators. Lord Denton went out of curiosity, and was present when +Hermon, as an unknown junior, made his first public appearance. + +He was not the only man specially interested either; senior counsel on +both sides had its grandiloquent eye on the new-comer, so to +speak—interested to know how he would acquit himself. Afterwards they +congratulated him very warmly, and Denton went to tell Lorraine he had +made a hit. + +“He looked splendid,” he declared enthusiastically; “and he was +delightfully calm and self-possessed. He’ll soon get another brief now. +You see.” + +He did; and the future began to look very full of promise to this +favourite of fortune. + +As Lorraine had predicted, his growing success filled his mind, and +kept him safe from many pitfalls; while her sympathetic companionship +satisfied him in other respects, and formed a substantial bulwark +between him and the women who would have tried to spoil him. + +He had other women friends as well, but Lorraine felt they were not +dangerous, by the way he talked of them. As long as he did not get +foolishly engaged, and cripple his career at the very outset, as he +easily might while he had no income to rely on, she did not fear. Lord +Denton advised her to marry him to an heiress as soon as possible, but +Lorraine knew better than to risk an impeding millstone of gold, and +insisted he must just win his way through on the allowance his father +gave him. + +In the meantime they were a great deal together, and though they seldom +went to any public place alone, they occasionally broke their rule; and +it was known, at any rate in theatrical circles, that Lorraine rarely +went out with her own old set, and had grown reserved and quiet. Hal +knew something of the absorbing friendship, but she still made light of +it, and sparred with Hermon whenever she saw him—“for his good.” + +As a matter of fact, she did not go quite so much to Lorraine’s as +usual herself; for many of the hours she had been accustomed to spend +there she now spent with Sir Edwin Crathie. All through the winter they +continued to take motor rides into the country; and often they went +together to a quiet, unfashionable golf club, where they were both +learning to overcome the intricacies and trials of that absorbing +pastime. + +It was easy for Sir Edwin to silence curious tongues. He spoke of her +quite frankly as his niece, and Hal more or less acquiesced, because it +was simpler to arrange an afternoon’s golf, for Dudley had managed to +become very thoroughly absorbed in Doris, and she asked no questions. + +The only two to raise any real objections were Dick and Alymer Hermon. +Dick had to be talked round, and thoroughly impressed with Sir Edwin’s +great age (of forty-eight), and though Hal did not state the actual +years, she was perfectly correct in insisting that he was old enough to +be her father; though she need not perhaps have said it in quite such a +tone of ridiculing an absurd idea. + +Anyhow, Dick was pacified up to a certain point, and obliged to see +that the new friendship did her good, keeping her cheerful and hopeful +in spite of her bitter disappointment about Dudley’s engagement, and +generally brightening the whole of the winter routine for her. + +With Hermon it was rather different. He was less cosmopolitan than +Dick, and he insistently adhered to his first idea concerning what he +would have felt had Hal been his sister. + +Why she should have been specially interested did not occur to him. +Dick, of course, actually was a sort of brother, being much more so in +a sense than many real brothers, as far as personal interest and +protection went. + +When Has was first left an orphan she had been a great deal with him, +at his own home, and they had always been special friends both then and +since. + +But Hermon was in no sense either a brother or a special friend. They +had never done anything else but spar, however, good-naturedly; and +Lorraine, in consequence, twitted him once or twice about looking grave +over Hal’s doings. + +And Hermon had laughed, and coloured a little, saying something about a +feeling at the flat that they all had a sort of right in Hal, and he +didn’t see what that brute, Crathie—a Liberal into the bargain—wanted +to be taking her about for. + +He even went so far as to say something to Hal herself about it; one +day, when they were alone in Lorraine’s drawing-room, waiting for her +to come in, Hal had just told him frankly she had played golf with Sir +Edwin the previous day; and in a sudden burst of indignation Hermon +exclaimed: + +“I can’t think how you can be so friendly with the man. Surely you know +what he is? He has about as much principle as my foot.” + +Hal had turned round and stared at him in blank astonishment. + +“Goodness gracious!” she exclaimed, “what an outburst! What has Sir +Edwin done to hurt you?” + +But he stood his ground steadily. + +“You know it isn’t that. If you were my sister, I wouldn’t let you go +out with him as you do.” + +“Then what a comfort for me, I’m not. And really, Baby dear! I’m much +more adapted to be your mother.” + +“Rot!” + +He looked at her almost fiercely for a moment, scarcely aware of it +himself, but with a sudden, swift, unaccountable resentment of the old +joke. Hal, surprised again, backed away a little, eyeing him with a +quizzical, roguish expression that made him want desperately to shake +her. + +“Grandpapa,” she murmured, with a mock, apologetic air, “you really +mustn’t get so worked up at—at your advanced years.” + +His face relaxed suddenly into laughter. + +“I don’t know whether I want to shake you or kiss you… you… you—” + +“Thanks, I’ll take the shake,” she interrupted promptly. “I certainly +haven’t deserved such severe punishment as a kiss.” + +He took a step towards her, but she stood quite still and laughed in +his face; and he could only turn away, laughing himself. + +Yet he was conscious that her attitude riled him. He was not in the +least vain, but all the same it was absurd that Hal should persist in +being the one woman who was not only utterly indifferent to his +attractions, but seemed almost to scorn him for them. In some of the +others it would not have mattered in the least—at any rate he thought +so—but in Hal it was sheer nonsense. + +He liked her better than any one, except perhaps Lorraine, and he +always enjoyed their sparring; but of course there was a limit, and she +really might be seriously friendly sometimes; and anyhow he hated Sir +Edwin Crathie. + +While he thought all this more or less vaguely, Hal watched him with +undisguised amusement. + +“Don’t think so hard,” she said; “it spoils the line of your profile.” + +“Hang my profile!” he exclaimed, almost crossly. “Can’t you be serious +for five minutes, you’re always so—so—” + +“Not at all. I’m perfectly serious. A frown doesn’t suit you one little +bit. Imagine a scowl on one of Raphael’s cherubim.” + +“I don’t want to imagine anything so silly, and I’m not in the least +like a cherub. It would be more sensible if you want to do some wise +imagining, to think of Sir Edwin Crathie, and imagine yourself in the +devil’s clutches.” + +“But I’ve not the smallest wish to be in Sir Edwin’s clutches, so why +should I try to imagine it?… and you’re not at all polite, are you?” + +“I’m honest anyway; and I’ll warrant that’s more than he can rise to.” + +“But really, dear Alymer,” reverting again to the mocking tone, “at +what period of your friendship with him have you had occasion to find +him out?” + +“Your sarcasm won’t frighten me. A man knows more about this sort of +thing than a girl. Of course he is all right in an ordinary way, but +you are so often with him… Considering his political career, it is +positively unpatriotic of you to be such close friends.” + +“Such nonsense! Do you want me to be as bigoted and narrow-minded as +those Conservatives who are continually holding the party back, because +they are quite incapable of realising there are two sides to a +question? I don’t hold the same views as Sir Edwin at all. I’m not +likely to, being on the staff of the _Morning Mail_; but that isn’t any +reason why I should object to him as a friend.” + +“No; but his reputation might be.” + +Hal stamped her foot. + +“Oh, don’t stand there and talk about a man’s reputation in that +superior, self-satisfied fashion. What is it to you anyhow? My +friendship can’t possibly be any concern of yours.” + +She moved away with a restless, ruffled manner, and threw back at him: + +“Of course I’m awfully grateful to you for being so interested in my +welfare, but your concern is a little misplaced. I am quite capable of +taking care of myself, and have been for at least seven years.” + +He looked hurt, and about to retort, but at that moment Lorraine’s +latch-key sounded in the door, and Hal went out into the hall to meet +her. + +“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she remarked, as they re-entered together. +“Baby is in one of his insufferable, superior moods, and is lecturing +me on my friendship with Sir Edwin. And all because I casually +mentioned I had had a game of golf with him.” + +Lorraine looked a little surprised, but she only remarked laughingly: + +“It’s a little fad of his to lecture. I rather like it; but I wonder he +had the temerity to lecture you.” + +“Unfortunately, lecturing doesn’t instill common sense,” put in Hermon, +“and it only requires common sense to understand Sir Edwin Crathie +isn’t very likely to prove a satisfactory friend.” + +“You mean it only requires dense, narrow-minded self-satisfaction. +Really, Baby, if you are so good to look at, there is surely a limit +even to your permissible airs and graces”; and Hal tossed her head. + +“Now come, you two,” interposed Lorraine; “I don’t want quarreling over +my tea. Give her some of that sticky pink-and-white cake, Alymer, and +have some yourself, and you will soon both grow amiable again.” + +“He hasn’t got his bib,” Hal snapped, “and he knows his mother told him +he was to have bread-and-butter first. You are not to spoil him, Lorry. +Spoilt children are odious.” + +“So are conceited women,” he retorted. “It’s only that new hat that is +making you so pleased with yourself.” + +“It’s a dear hat,” she commented. “You have to pin a curl on with it, +else there’s a gap. I’m in mortal dread I shall lose the curl, or find +it hanging down my back.” + +No more was said on the subject of Sir Edwin, but when Hal was about to +leave, and found that Hermon was staying on, she pursed up her lips +with an air of sanctimonious disapproval and said: + +“I don’t want to hurt any one’s feelings, but I’m not at all sure _Mr_. +Hermont is quite a nice friend for you, Lorraine. His conversation is +neither elevating nor improving, and I hardly like to go off now and +leave you alone with him.” + +“Don’t worry,” Lorraine laughed. “He is improving every day under my +tuition. I hope you can say as much for Sir Edwin.” + +“I can,” she answered frankly. “He has learnt quite a lot since I took +him in hand; especially about women and the vote. He has positively +made the discovery that they don’t all want it just for notoriety, and +novelty; but I’m afraid he won’t succeed in convincing the other dense +old gentlemen in the Cabinet. Good-bye!” + +“Be circumspect, O Youth and Beauty. And don’t let him over-eat +himself, Lorry,” she finished, as she departed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +When Hermon was finding fault with Hal’s friendship for Sir Edwin +Crathie, it had not apparently occured to him that his own friends and +relations were likely enough to take precisely the same view of his +friendship with Lorraine Vivian. He did not want to think it, any more +than Hal had done, and therefore he conveniently ignored the +probability, and indulged in the reflection that anyhow they were never +likely to hear of it. + +Yet it was through them, and their ill-chosen mode of interference, +that the first trouble arose, when that quiet, peaceful winter was +over, and the spring arrived with renewing and vigour, and with new +happenings in other beside the natural world. + +It was as though the one gladsome winter of pleasant companionship and +firesides was given to them all—Dudley and Hal, Ethel and Basil, +Lorraine and Hermon—before the wider issues of the future stepped in +and claimed their toll of sorrow before they gave the deeper joys. + +Alymer Hermon’s father and mother were at this time living in a +charming house at Sevenoaks, whither he went at least once a week to +see them. + +His father had become more or less of a recluse, enjoying a quiet old +age with his books; but his mother was an energetic, bigoted lady of +the old school, who had allowed much natural kindliness to become +absorbed in her devotion to church precepts and church works. + +When it first reached her ears that her only son, of boundless hopes +and dreams, was continually with the actress Lorraine Vivian, she was +horrified beyond words. + +Undoubtedly the story had been much magnified and embroidered, and +accepted as a scandalous liaison or entanglement without any inquiry. +To make matters worse, Mrs. Hermon belonged so thoroughly to the old +school that she could not even distinguish between a clever celebrated +actress and a chorus girl. + +The stage, to her, was a synonym which included all things theatrical +in one comprehensive ban of immorality and vice, with degrees, of +course, but in no case without deserving censure from the eminently +respectable, well-born British matron. She could not have been more +upset had the heroine of the story been the under housemaid; and indeed +she placed actressess and housemaids in much the same category. + +Of course the friendship must be stopped, and stopped instantly. What a +mercy of mercies she had discovered it so soon, and that now it might +be nipped in the bud. Just at the very outset of his career, too, which +had so astonishingly developed of late, and caused her such proud +delight. + +That that surprising development, both in the career and the beloved +son, might have anything to do with this dreadful entanglement was not +to be thought of for a moment; and when Alymer’s father ventured to +suggest thoughtfully and a little wonderingly that the friendship had +certainly not harmed the boy, she turned on him with bitterness, ending +up with the dictum that men were all alike when there was a woman in +the case, and could not possibly form an unbiased opinion. + +After which, she went off to church to a week-day service, partly to +pray for guidance in a matter in which she had already firmly decided +what line to take, and partly to unburden her mind to her pet +clergyman. Of course she must speak to Alymer that very evening. How +fortunate that it was one of the nights he almost always came to +Sevenoaks. + +If only he had lived at home it would never have happened. It was all +that hateful little flat where he lived with Bruce and St. Quintin. She +ought never to have given way so easily. If his father had docked his +allowance, in order to compel him to live at home, he would soon have +got used to the daily train journey, and it would have been far better +for him. + +Now, of course, he was not likely to hear of it; and since he was +making such good headway in his profession, it certainly did seem a +pity to risk upsetting him. But no doubt a little quiet talk would +convince him of the unwisdom of allowing his name to be associated with +an actress just now; and once more she congratulated herself that she +had heard in time. + +The Rev. Hetherington listened to her story with all the sympathetic +horror she could wish, and she felt buoyed up in her adamantine +decision, although she still harped on the intention of praying for +guidance. + +The Rev. Hetherington, of morbid and woeful countenance, was one who +looked across a world glorious with spring sunshine, as if he saw +nothing but the earwigs, and black-beetles, and creepy, crawly things +of existence, and he promised readily to pray also: and perhaps God +smiled the smile He keeps for the good people who so often ask to be +guided by His Will, when they have long before decided exactly what +that Will shall be. + +The pastor accompanied his parishioner to her door, walking slowly with +her through a garden bursting into a joyous splendour of crocuses, and +snowdrops, and promise of laughing daffodils in warm corners; and +together they lamented the terrible temptations of wicked sirens that +beset the paths of splendid young men in the world. + +“Not that he isn’t a good, affectionate son,” she finished, “but he has +always been made so much of—which is not in the least surprising, and +no doubt he has grown lax. Still, he might have remembered how proud a +name he bore, and, at least, have drawn the line at a frivolous, +painted actress. His father says she is very clever and quite well +known, but even he cannot deny she probably paints her face; and surely +that is enough to show what her mind is! How Alymer could endure it, I +don’t know. He has been used to such perfect ladies all his life, and +the mere sight of paint should disgust him.” + +“Of course, of course,” murmured the mournful parson, who had great +hopes of a big subscription for his Young Women’s Bible Class, and was +in two minds as to whether to regard the present moment as auspicious, +and introduce the need of educating all young women in high and holy +thoughts; or whether it was wiser to wait until his companion were in a +less perturbed frame of mind. + +And the crocuses nodded and laughed, holding up their little yellow +staves gaily to the sunshine, and shouting to each other that it was +spring, clamouring to make the most of their great day, before the +flowers came in battalions to crowd them out of sight and mind. + +And the gentle little snowdrops whispered secrets to each other, which +only themselves could hear, about warmth and sunshine and the beauty of +the new spring world—too old in the wisdom of nature to pay any heed to +the two humans who would rather have had a world all maxims and rules, +and rigid straight lines from which no gladsome young hearts ever +strayed. + +Finally the mournful clergyman went away without asking for his +subscription, having made mental decision that there would be far more +trouble to come over the painted woman, and yet more propitious +occasion was likely to arise. + +And Alymer’s mother went into the house with set, severe lips; and +pulled down all the blinds that were letting in sunlight, for fear some +of the carpets got spoiled. + +She did not, however, venture into the library, where her husband sat +in a large bow window reading, with sunlight flooding all round him, +and sunshine in his quiet eyes, and the sunshine of a great man’s +thoughts filling his mind. + +He was too much of a philosopher to worry about his son, and, moreover +he knew Alymer well, and had great faith in his good sense; but he +realised a mother would take fright more quickly, and that it was as +well to let her have her talk with the boy, and comfort herself with +the belief that she had saved him. As long as she did not shut out his +library sunlight, nor bring her pet clergyman into his sanctum, he +found it easy to balance her sterling companionable qualities against +certain others of a trying nature, and go serenely on his philosophical +way. + +Undoubtedly Alymer was a well-selected mixture of both parents. To his +mother he owed his fine features and his power of resolve when he chose +to exert it; and to his father his splendid stature, his quiet little +humours, and the old-fashioned, courtly protectiveness that had so +quickly won Lorraine’s heart. + +Yet it was a mixture that might have borne no practical results if left +to itself, but rather a retarding. + +As Lorraine had so clearly seen, the spur of ambition, and a resolute +determination to succeed in other walks than that of the casual, +charming, petted favourite of fortune, were indispensable to bring his +traits into a harmony with each other that would achieve. + +It was to this end that she had given him of her best encouragement and +help; too old and too wise not to have seen that whatever her own +personal feelings towards him, it was extremely probable that she had +helped him towards realising his highest promise, for some one else to +reap the deepest joy of it. + +Well, at any rate she had had the interest and the companionship, and +these had not been small things. He had come into her life just when it +was wearying of triumph and adulation; when lovely frocks and jewels, +and hosts of admirers—the very things she had craved for a few years +earlier—had commenced to pall in the light of the little real +satisfaction to be won from them. With some women perhaps they never +palled. Perhaps each fresh conquest renewed them, and each fresh +triumph invigorated. + +In Lorraine’s complex character, the love of success was blended with a +love of the deeper and richer things of life. She was of those to whom, +at times, wide spaces, and fresh breezes, and the big, sweeping, +elemental things call loudly, above the noise of the world of fashion; +and she knew what it was to be filled with an aching nausea of all she +had practically sold her soul to win, and a yearning _nostalgia_ for +something that might satisfy the finer instincts of her nature. + +And in a measure her interest in Hermon had filled the void. Whatever +her feeling had been in the beginning, it had undoubtedly merged now +into a definite purpose for his good, from which she meant to +eliminate—if the time came when he wanted to be free of her—any claim +her heart might clamour to assert. + +Her dealings with him were, for the time being, on a par with the +generous unselfishness she had shown towards her mother. For both of +them she found the courage and resolution to thrust herself in the +background and give of her best as the hour required. + +If the friendship had been permitted to develop quietly along these +lines, a future day might have witnessed Lorraine quite naturally +outgrowing her infatuation, and happily satisfied with the result of +her unwearying interest and effort; while Hermon, from his proud +pinnacle of success, would still have felt her his best friend. + +But at the critical moment the blundering, disturbing hand was +permitted to jar the harmony of the strings and spoil the melody. To +what end?… who knows?… Perhaps to some unseen, mysterious widening, and +deepening, and learning necessary to the onward march of Humanity +towards its goal of Perfection. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Alymer knew directly he entered the house, and saw his mother, that +something had upset her, but he did not associate it with Lorraine, and +kissed her with his usual warm affection. + +It was not until after dinner, when they were alone in the +drawing-room, that the subject was broached, and then, with very little +preliminary, Mrs. Hermon—bending Divine Guidance to her own will—made a +merciless attack on “the painted woman.” + +It was no doubt the most unwise course of action conceivable; but Mrs. +Hermon, with her quiet and philosophical husband, and her only son, had +led a sheltered, smoothly flowing married life, after a yet more +sheltered girlhood, far removed from the passionate upheavals of +society, and she had neither practical worldly knowledge nor experience +to aid her. + +She told him the story that had reached her ears through the jealousy +of a sister, whose only son was very plain, and a scapegrace, and who +had been fiendishly glad to have an opportunity to cast a slur upon the +doings of the successful, handsome, steady young barrister. + +“Douglas says he is always with her,” had been her sister’s +conclusion—“and that every one is talking about it, and there is a +dreadful lot of scandal. I thought it was only kind to tell you, as if +he goes on in the same way he will certainly ruin his career.” + +Then had come the parting shot. + +“We all think so much of Alymer, that I would not believe such a story +of him without proof. Douglas said he usualy went to her flat in +Chelsea about five, when he leaves Chambers, and I went twice to see if +he came; and on each occasion he strode along, and swung into the +building almost as if he lived there.” + +Mrs. Hermon did not at first tell her son the source of her +information, and he did not ask her. Neither, somewhat to her surprise, +did he attempt to exculpate himself, nor to make any denial. + +He stood up on the hearth with that straight, strong look he had, when +all his faculties were acute, and heard her through to the end. Then +she said in a hurt voice: “You don’t deny it, Alymer. I have been +hoping you went to the flat on business, and there was some mistake.” + +“I deny everything that you have implied against Miss Vivian. The story +of the friendship is true.” + +His quiet self-possession seemed to disconcert her a little. She was +prepared for indignant denial, or angry remonstrance even; but this +calm self-possession was something almost new to her. True, he had +always been calm and philosophical, like his father; but this was +something deeper and stronger than she had yet known in him. + +“The fact is, mother,” he went on after a pause, “you have run away +with a totally wrong idea of Miss Vivian. If she were the sort of +actress you picture, you might perhaps be anxious; but all the same I +think you might have given me credit for rather better taste.” + +“My dear, an actress is an actress—and everyone knows what that is; and +the mere fact of her calling, or whatever you like to name it, is +sufficient to seriously hurt your position.” + +He smiled a little. + +“I dispute the dictum that everyone knows whant an actress is, in the +sweeping sense you mean. I do not think you know, for one. I shall have +to try and persuade Miss Vivian to come and see you.” + +“Indeed I hope you will do no such thing.” + +Again he smiled. + +“In any case I should not succeed. She is very proud, and would resent +patronage even more than you.” + +Mrs. Hermon gave a significant sniff of incredulity, but she only said: + +“Well, Alymer dear, you will give me a promise not to see her any +more—won’t you?” + +“I can’t do that, mother.” + +“Why not?” + +“It is out of the question. For one thing, I owe too much to Miss +Vivian; and for another, I am too fond of her.” + +“All the more reason you should try to break off the friendship at +once, before she has succeeded in any of her schemes to entangle you.” + +“She has no schemes to entangle me, as you put it. She has been a +splendid friend. I owe my first brief to her, and a good deal else +beside.” + +“Well, and no doubt you have already given her a good deal in return. +Quite as much as she deserves. There is no necessity for you to ruin +your whole career, just because she happens to like being seen out with +you.” + +There was a silence, in which Alymer seemed to be cogitating how best +to disarm his mother’s fears; and also to be reminding himself of her +natural ignorance on theatrical matters, and his own need to be patient +therefore. At last he said quietly: + +“Miss Vivian only wants to help me in my profession; and I can only +tell you again she has been a splendid friend to me. Aunt Edith has +told you a great deal of nonsense. She has always been glad to pick +holes in me if she could. Most of it is lies, and you must take my word +for it. It is useless to discuss the matter. I am sorry you have been +so worried, but I don’t know how to make you understand.” + +“I understand far better than you think; and I know you ought to end +the friendship at once. I want you to do so.” + +“It is out of the question. But you need not worry. You must just +forget. No...” as she attempted further remonstrance; “don’t go on. I +cannot listen to any more against Miss Vivian. I think I will go and +smoke a pipe with the pater. Shall you come and sit with us?” And a +certain expression in his eyes that reminded her of his father in his +most decisive moods told her he meant to say no more. She rose at once. + +She had failed, and she knew it, but she had not the smallest intention +of giving in. She had started on the wrong tack, that was all. Of +course the boy was too chivalrous to go back on a friend, particularly +as he believed he was under some obligation to her. Her plan of +mercilessly tearing the lady to pieces had not been a good one, but she +would think of something else, and save him in spite of himself. + +And comforting herself with this reflection, she allowed the subject to +drop, and went with him to the library. Her next plan should be a more +sure one. She would work in secret with an agent to help her, who could +see the enormity of the danger, and appreciate more thoroughly than his +father the urgent need to interfere. She had already a vague plan in +her head that she believed an excellent one, and which she could put +into execution immediately. + +It was an old-fashioned, time-worn plan, but Mrs. Hermon was a woman of +old-fashioned ideas, and she did not know but that she was the +originator. She had not the least idea that quite the commonplace +course of action in these questions was to send a secret emissary to +the lady, to reason with her, or plead with her, or bribe her, +according to her status, on behalf of the innocent young victim of her +charms. The great thing, she imagined, was to find a suitable agent. + +Now, besides the sister who was jealous, she had a bachelor brother of +a certain well-known stamp. A good-looking, aristocratic, +well-preserved man of independent means; and though over sixty years of +age, still a gallant, with not much in his handsome head beyond a +pathetic desire to continue to captivate, and a belief that he was as +invincible as ever. + +Very shady stories had more than once been written down to his account, +but he had the wit always to rise above them and sail serenely on to do +more mischief. + +His sister rightly surmised that he would have considerable knowledge +concerning actressess and the theatrical world, and without troubling +to consult her husband, she took him into her confidence and unburdened +all her trouble. + +“Phew!” murmured the elderly beau, “so the young scamp has got +entangled with an actress, has he? Shocking!… shocking!… But don’t +worry, Ailsa; we’ll soon square the lady one way or another. Do +you—er—happen to know if she is of the nature one can offer money to?” + +“I think not. Alymer insists she is a lady in the real sense; though, +if so, why did she go on the stage?” + +“Love of excitement, I dare say. Is she, by any chance, a chorus girl?” + +“No, not exactly; though really I fail to see any difference in degree +between one actress and another. They are all on the stage; and no +doubt they all paint their faces and snare good-looking young men.” + +“No doubt,” agreed the man, who had more than once made it his business +to snare an unsuspecting, trusting girl. + +“And you will go to see her, and persuade her to drop him; won’t you, +Percy? It is no use talking to his father; he does not see the matter +in a serious enough light. He believes Alymer will soon tire of her. So +he may, but in the meantime she may irredeemably injure his career. Of +course, if it is a question of money we will find it all right; but +whatever it is, try to cut the whole matter off entirely. Make love to +her yourself, Percy, if that is what she wants—you know you have always +been rather good at that sort of thing”; and she smiled at her own +astonishing wordly wisdom, feeling almost rakish at having framed such +a sentence. + +“Ah!” with a deprecatory shake of his head, that did not, however, hide +a certain fitful gleam in his eyes, “I am getting too old for those +kinds of pranks now, but I will do my best to—er—” For a moment he +wondered whether he meant to do his best to make love to the actress +himself, or try to rescue Alymer, and finally finished: “follow out +your wishes and suggestions.” + +“I knew you would, Percy. It was a good idea of mine to ask you. Don’t +mince matters at all, will you? Make her thoroughly understand she has +got to give him up under any circumstances, or we shall, well—er—take +proceedings if it is possible. Anyhow, Alymer must be guarded against +himself, and his father is too unpractical to help, so we must do it +alone.” + +“I quite agree. Alymer is an exceptionally fine fellow, with an +exceptionally promising future; and if he cannot see for himself how +foolish a scandal would be just at the outset, we must, as you say, +save him on our own account. I am fond of Alymer, very fond, and very +proud, and I will do all in my power over the matter. What is the +actress’s name, did you say?” + +“I don’t think I mentioned it; but Edith told me in her letter. I will +look for it.” + +She went to a writing-table, and returned with the epistle in her hand, +glancing through it until she came to the required information, when, +without looking up, she read, “Lorraine Vivian.” + +At the same time a sudden, curious, startled expression crossed the +faded eyes of the white-haired gallant, and he turned quickly aside, +stroking his moustache with a slightly nervous air. + +“Eh? Do you mean the well-known celebrity?” he asked. “Surely not Miss +Vivian of the Queen’s Theatre?” + +“I suppose so. I never go to the theatre, so I never hear these names. +Edith certainly writes as if she were well known. Does it makes any +difference?” she asked, as he was silent. “Don’t you want to go? If you +don’t I must find some one else; that is all.” + +“But certainly I will go. I was only a little surprised. She must be a +good deal older than Alymer.” + +“That only makes it worse. No doubt she is no longer pretty enough for +older men, so she has to set her cap at young ones, who are flattered +by her attention. I certainly thought Alymer had more sense—but +there—one never knows, and these women are very clever, I believe.” + +“D—d—I mean—extraordinarily clever; but we can be clever too, and I +dare say we can contrive to outwit her.” + +A little later he went away to catch a train back to town, leaving his +sister reassured and hopeful; but as he went he repeated to himself in +a low, incredulous voice: “Lorraine Vivian… Lorraine Vivian… How +strange that I should be asked to undertake a mission that will cause +us to meet again. I wonder if you will recognise me quickly? I flatter +myself, even white hair has not destroyed my claims to a woman’s +favour.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Lorraine had not the smallest idea of what was coming upon her. She +knew perfectly well herself that it would be most unwise for a rising +young barrister to get talked about with an actress known to have a +husband living, and it had made her a great deal more cautious than she +would otherwise have bothered to be. + +Moreover, Alymer, seeing nothing to gain by making known his mother’s +fears, preferred not to annoy her with any account of them. To say that +he was wholly unaffected by it, however, would be to say too much. He +was, indeed, exceedingly and bitterly annoyed with his interfering +aunt, who had obviously tried to make trouble for some petty motive of +jealousy. He only hoped that his mother would take her line from him +and his father, and maintain a dignified front, unmoved by his aunt’s +tale-bearing gossip. + +He was slightly affected in another way also. It was almost the first +time he had seriously considered what the world might say if their +great friendship was known. He knew it well enough to believe it would +be in haste to put the worst construction on it, though their own +immediate friends might stand by them loyally. + +It caused him to consider that construction in a light he had hitherto +been protected from by circumstances, for it thrust forward an aspect +they had successfully kept in the background. It made him ask the +question, What was he prepared to do if his aunt continued her +persecution, and some sort of change had to be made in the friendly, +delightful intercourse? + +He wondered a good deal what Lorraine’s own attitude would be. Would +she, perhaps, now that she had given him his start, cut all the +friendship off for his good, and return to her old friends and +admirers? He shrank from the contemplation of such a solution +undisguisedly, and meant to continue their pleasant relations if +possible. + +He certainly wished no change whatever, if it could be avoided. +Lorraine meant everything to him just then, and he could not but know +how much his companionship and affection had come to mean to her. + +So the next day he paid his customary visit, and talked as usual of +many things, but said no word of what had passed the previous night. + +Lorraine’s room was full of violets and snowdrops, cushions of them on +every side, in lovely array. He moved about looking at them, and she +watched him from a low chair by the fire, clad in some new spring gown +of an exquisite mauve shade, that seemed to tone with the +violet-bedecked room. + +It gave her dark eyes something of a violet tint, and her hands looked +as white and delicate as the snowdrops. Moving about from mass of +blossoms, Alymer, glancing at her, thought she looked younger and +lovelier than ever. + +“You have a spring air about you,” he said, “and all the room seems +full of spring. There is something about it all I like better than the +lilies and roses and malmaisons usually making a display.” + +“I sent them all to the dining-room,” she told him. “Every spring is +such a beautiful new thing, it has to be allowed to reign supreme for a +little while in here. It gives me rather an ache to see them, all the +same”—after a pause—“they make me dream of the smell of the new +woodland, that delicious, damp, earthy smell of spring, and all the +young, joyful bursting of buds and springing of seeds and the mating +birds, and the showers that make the leaves glisten. I feel as if I +should like to tramp out across the country in such a shower, and get +healthily wet, and be a real bit of the spring for just one week.” + +“Why don’t you go? You are not looking very well, and the country air +would probably do you no end of good.” + +“I don’t want to go alone, and I do not know who I could take. Hal is +not able to leave, and mother would merely be bored to tears, and Flip +Denton is at Monte Carlo. There is no one really but you and Hal and +Flip who would fit in with my spring mood. Any one else would strike a +discordant note.” + +“I wish I could come.” + +The wish escaped him almost involuntarily, as, with the sight of the +spring flowers and the spring scent in his nostrils, he too felt the +call of the fresh, wild, vigorous things in his blood. + +Lorraine looked at him with a curious expression on her face. Why, she +wondered, did he not seriously contemplate coming? Why did he so +steadily pursue, as far as she was concerned, his serene and +passionless path? She believed he cared more for her than for any one +else; and, if so, was it possible the ache sometimes in her heart for a +closer bond and resolutely strangled, had no counterpart in his hot, +vigorous youth? + +Then he looked suddenly into her eyes, as if to see whether she had +heard his wish, and what she thought of it. And as their gaze met, she +saw the blood mantle to his face, and a half-shamed expression creep +into it, as if he had been discovered in a thought that should never +have been permitted. + +He looked away again to the flowers, and Lorraine turned her eyes to +the fire, with a swift wonder in her mind. She felt that something had +transpired since they last parted—something she did not know of, and +that was entirely different to anything that had crossed their path +before. Some new thought had been put into his mind. Something that +made him give her that half-shy, half-wondering look. + +She gazed hard at the fire, and her pulses began to beat a little +fitfully. She knew instinctively that something had come suddenly into +being between them, which neither might name, and which was the oldest +thing in the world. + +And then across her mind, as once before, swept with swift pitilessness +a vision of what might have been; of what life might have held for her +had she been among the blessed—an aching, tearing longing for a +youthful hour she had irretrievably missed. She drew her hand across +her eyes, ignoring his presence, shutting him out, seeing only the +heavenly joy she had missed. + +Supposing such a moment had come to her with such a man, when she, like +him, was in the first flush of youth and beauty; of dreams and hopes, +and rich believing. What a knight for a lovely maid! What a lover to +dream of bashfully and fearfully; and with all her soul one thought of +him. + +From her vantage ground of much doing and much knowing, she looked back +yearningly to the bloom and springtide of life, when all splendid +things are possible, and any day may bring the splendid knight. + +And instead had come... ah, what? + +Well! For her it had been the wolf in sheep’s clothing, who, beside all +he had robbed her of, had taken all her chance of the one great +awakening to blinding joy. Now she could only look upon the joy from +afar, seeing a barrier of fateful years, and, like a drawn sword at the +gate of her dream, the stern, unyielding decree that has echoed +unchanged down the long centuries: “Thou shalt not—” + +Alymer was silent too, standing with the thoughtful expression on his +face that was so attractive, probing a little nervously into that wish +he had expressed, and wondering a little uncertainly just what it +meant. + +Then Lorraine got up. + +“You are grave, _mon ami_; and it is the springtime. Grave thoughts are +for the autumn of life—recklessness better becomes the joyful spring.” + +“Are you ever reckless nowadays?” he asked, watching her graceful +movements as she bent down and buried her face in a cushion of violets. + +“I am when I smell violets. They may be modest and retiring little +flowers, but they hold spring rapture and spring lavishness and spring +desiring in their scent all the same.” + +“Then you are reckless now?” + +What was it made him dally thus upon dangerous ground? What was it made +him speak to Lorraine as he had never spoken before, on the very day +after his mother’s admonition? Why did his immense height and strength +and the young vigour in his blood suddenly blot out the years that lay +between them, and sweep into his soul, the knowledge of his masculinity +and might, which of its own nature possessively dominated her +femininity? + +They seemed all at once to have strayed into an atmosphere, born of +that warning admonition, and of their talk, of the reckless, creative +spring; and because, in spite of his youth, he was very much a man, and +she was a dangerously attractive woman, his pulses leapt fitfully and +eagerly with the swift ache that has existed ever since God made man +and woman. + +Without looking up, Lorraine felt this. The very air about them seemed +charged with it, and she too, under some spell of springtime, moved +into closer proximity to the splendid knight. She brushed against his +arm unconsciously; and looking down on the top of her dark head, he +said half-shyly: + +“You somehow seem such a little thing today, Lorraine, I feel as if I +could pick you up, as one does a small child.” + +“Please don’t,” with a low laugh—“just think of my dignity.” + +“But you are not dignified today. You seem as young and light-hearted +as the springtime. I feel as if I must be years older than you.” + +She raised her face suddenly, with yearning eyes: + +“Oh, let us emulate the spring this once—let us both be young and +foolish and real, and pretend there isn’t any one else in the world.” + +For one second he looked at her with wondering incredulity, then, with +a tender little laugh he suddenly bent down and folded his arms round +her till she seemed to vanish altogether into his embrace, and kissed +her on the lips. + +“The scent of violets has intoxicated us,” he said, and kissed her +again. + +Then he gently pushed her into her big, deep chair. + +“I’m going now. I only ran in to see how you were after that bad +headache. You must bring the lilies and malmaisons back tomorrow, or I +shall be offending so grievously you will forbid me the flat. +Good-bye!” And without another word he went away out of the room. + +Lorraine sat quite still, and let the spell wrap her round for the +precious moments that she could yet hold it. Of course it could not +stay. In an hour at most she would be her old, brain-weary self again, +with the best of her youth behind her; while he was still there on the +threshold, young and strong and free. But even this one short hour was +good. Life had not given her many such. She would fence it round with +silence, and solitude, and the scent of violets. + +Alymer went out into the streets wondering at himself vaguely, and yet +with a pleasant glow of memory. He felt it bewildering that Lorraine +Vivian, whose favours were so eagerly sought by men, should have +allowed him to kiss her. + +It seemed something apart altogether from her generous friendship and +helpful influence. It made him pleased with himself, and filled his +mind with a yet greater tenderness to her. He knew so much now of her +early difficulties and following troubles—of the frivolous, +unprincipled mother, and the long, uphill fight. She had honoured him +with her confidence in spite of his youth, and now— + +He quickened his steps, and his pulses leapt yet more fitfully. Spring +was in the air and in his blood, and one of the recognised beauties of +London had been gracious to him beyond all dreaming. + +It was enough for the present hour. Why ask any inconvenient questions +and spoil it all? Let the future look after itself. + +Only one thought for a moment cast a little shadow upon his ardour. It +crossed his mind, for no accountable reason, to wonder what Hal would +think. He was a little afraid she would strongly disapprove. + +But, after all, if she did, what matter? He owed nothing to Hal, and +there was no reason why her views should disturb him in the least. Of +course it did not… and yet… Hal’s good opinion was a thing worth +having; and, in short, he hoped she would not know. + +It was not that she was straight-laced. She was too near the heart of +humanity through her daily toil to be other than a generous judge; but +she was also a creature of ideals for herself and for those who would +be among her best friends; and she would have known unerringly that no +great, consuming love had drowned his reason and filled his senses. + +It was for that she would have judged him; and for that he would have +stood before her direct gaze ashamed. One might be gay and +irresponsible and merry, but there were just one or two things which +must not be allowed in that category. Instinctively, he knew that in +Hal’s view he would have transgressed—not because he felt too much, but +because he felt too little to be justified. + +But why need she know? Why need any one know? He did not think his +mother would follow up any further the story she had been told, and he +would see his aunt about it personally. It was better to have it out +with her, lest she took upon herself to interview Lorraine, and make +more trouble still. + +He ran up the stairs to the flat, two steps at a time; and scrambled to +get changed for the dinner to which he was going, still feeling a +pulsing thrill that, among all men, he was Lorraine Vivian’s chosen +friend. + +In another flat—a bachelor one in Ryder Street—an elderly beau, +likewise dressed for a dinner-party, though with the utmost care and +precision, instead of a scramble. And to himself he said, as he took a +long, last look at the image he loved: + +“I must go tomorrow morning and settle this little matter about Alymer. +No doubt Lorraine will be amazed to see how well-preserved I am. She +cannot have any real feeling for such a boy, and, after all, a +good-looking man of the world—” + +He smiled to himself as over a thought that pleased him, and rang for +his servant to go out and hail a taxi. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +It was not difficult for Alymer to persuade himself that a little +diplomacy on his part would probably assuage his aunt’s wish to upset +his friendship, and incidentally allay his mother’s fears; but, as it +happened no one having his welfare so exceedingly at heart over this +matter with the actress was in any degree as amenable or as quietly +pacified as he imagined. + +Another interview took place between his mother and his aunt, in which +the latter advised writing to Miss Vivian direct to tell her what his +father and mother thought of the friendship, and that an uncle of his +would call upon her at once. + +To say that the letter was an insult is to put it mildly, though at the +same time it was not so much through intention as ignorance. + +Lorraine read it with silent amazement, and thought the writer must be +mad. It seemed quite incredible that any lady in the twentieth century +should apparently be so ignorant concerning the status of a celebrated +actress. It was evidently taken for granted that she was an adventuress +of the worst type. + +She was naturally somewhat angry and indignant, but decided it was not +worth while to take any notice, and merely awaited with some curiosity +the visit of the uncle who was to expostulate with her, and, +practically, offer her terms. + +He came at about twelve o’clock, and he did not give his name, merely +asking to see Miss Vivian on a matter of business. + +Lorraine dressed with special care, and looked her best when she +quietly entered the drawing-room. She gave an order to her maid with +the door half opened, in the most casual and imperturbed of voices, +then she came slowly in, closed the door behind her, and advanced +towards the figure standing on the hearth. + +When she had taken two steps she stood still suddenly, and in a voice +that was rasping and harsh, exclaimed: + +“_You_!—” Alymer’s uncle squared his shoulders, stroked his white +moustache with a gallant air, and replied: + +“Yes—er—Lorraine. We meet again, you see. I may say—er—I am very glad +indeed that it is so,” and he advanced a step with outstretched hand. + +But Lorraine was rooted to the spot where she stood, and a sudden, +sharp fierceness seemed to burn in her eyes. + +“Have—_you_—come—about—Alymer—Hermon?” she asked in slow, cutting +tones, as if each word was hammered out of a seething whirlpool of +suppressed emotions. + +“Alymer is my nephew, and his mother asked me to come and—er—talk to +you about him. She is a good deal perturbed on his behalf—er—because—” + +“I do not want to know any more than I am able to gather from the +extraordinary epistle I received from her this morning. What I should +like to know is, did you agree to come here on this errand, knowing who +I was?” + +The faded blue eyes of the carefully dressed old roué began to look +uncomfortably from one object to another; anywhere, indeed, but into +those scorching orbs, with their suppressed fires. + +Then he took his courage in his hands, and tried again. + +“My dear Lorraine, you seem to be taking rather a theatrical view of a +very commonplace matter. Of course it is bad for the boy to get mixed +up in a scandal, just at the beginning of his career, or, for the +matter of that, talked about with a celebrated actress whose husband is +known to be living somewhere. I have come to you as a man of the world, +to ask you as a woman of the world to be generous in the matter, and +help me to set the minds of his parents at rest at once—” + +“Ah! It was as a man of the world you came to me before; but then +I—I”—she gave a low, unpleasant laugh—“I wasn’t a woman of the world, +you see, until you had taught me, and left me.” + +He did not quite know what the laugh meant, but now his old eyes were +roaming over the beauty that was yet hers, and memory was stirring, and +something made him reckless. + +“Don’t speak of it like that,” he pleaded drawing a little nearer. “I +know I didn’t perhaps treat you quite well; but if there are any amends +I can make now?—If you will let us be friends again?—” + +“Amends—amends. What do I want with amends from such as you?” And her +eyes flashed dangerously. He retreated quickly, with a hurt, rather +cowed expression. + +“Well, Fate has thrown us together again and I am still a bachelor—and +I have money—” + +“Do please try not to insult me any further.” + +Lorraine had grown calmer, though the dangerous look was still in her +eyes, and she moved away to the window, leaving a large space between +them, and half-turned her back to him. + +“I have already burnt the epistle I received from Mrs. Hermon—its +insults were too utterly foolish to notice. You may go back and tell +her her son has never received any harm from me, and I absolutely +decline to discuss the question any further. As for yourself—you will +doubtless find a taxi on the rank, just outside.” + +“But, my dear lady, I cannot go back leaving the matter like that.” + +He grew emboldened again, now that he could not see her eyes. + +“I am here to plead on Alymer’s behalf. If you are fond of him, you +must at least listen to reason for his sake.” + +“Not from you. And who are his people that they dare to treat me like +this? . . . First an insulting letter, and then an emissary such as +you—” + +“Alymer is my nephew, and his mother is my sister, and therefore I am a +most suitable emissary, except for a certain incident of long ago, +which has long been consigned to oblivion by both of us, I am sure. The +boy is young. He is on the threshold of life and a great career. What +will be the result, do you think, if you refuse to listen, and perhaps +ruin his prospects for your own pleasure?” + +She turned back to him a moment, and the smouldering fires leaped up. + +“I was young. I was on the threshold of life. What did you care for my +youth or my future? What do other men like you care? My mother was lax, +and you knew it. I believe you gave her diamonds. And now you come to +me and ask me to spare your nephew—_you_ come—_you_!...” and the scorn +in her voice lashed him like a stinging whip. + +But he tried valiantly to stand his ground, though all his fine attire +and air of bravado could not save his visible shrinking into a faded, +dissipated, worthless-looking old rogue. + +“If you won’t listen to any plea from me, will you permit me to make +one from his mother, and appeal to the woman in you to realise her +anxiety?” Lorraine turned again to the window and looked out upon the +silver, shining river. And suddenly it was as though all her soul rose +up in arms. She felt with swift passion that it seemed to matter so +much in the world that a young man with a promising future should not +run any risk of harm from an older woman. + +But if it was a young woman, and an older man, what did it matter then! +Why, the very man who would have hurt her could allow himself to plead +for another young thing, if that other were a man. + +Doubtless he would argue, as all the rest of them, that years in men +craved the freshness and revivifying of youth it was only natural, and +a woman mattered so much less. But the mature woman herself, she has no +right to indulge in any longing for that same freshness and +revivifying. + +Ten years ago this man had been just at the age, and with just the +handsome, aristocratic appearance, in spite of iron-grey hair, that so +often attracts a girl in the early twenties. She scorns boys at that +age, and feels the compliment of being chosen by a man of the world +before the many older women she cannot choose but see would gladly be +in her place. That it is her youth and not herself that holds the +attraction is unknown to her, and a clever man may often dupe her young +affections. + +Lorraine, with her romantic, imaginative temperament, had grown to +believe herself in love with him, and then had followed the old, sordid +story of insult and her consequent disillusionment. The memories stung +her now with a bitter stinging heightened by the feeling that life +cared so much more for Alymer’s welfare than it had ever done for hers. + +And then that appeal to her woman’s feeling to sympathise with the +perturbed mother. + +Well, because she was his mother, surely she was blessed enough. What +had she—Lorraines—to place against that great fact? She felt painfully +that in spite of her success her life was pitifully, hopelessly barren, +scarred this way and that, torn and rent and damaged by mistake upon +mistake which could never now be rectified. + +A nausea of it all made her feel in those tense moments, gazing at the +serenely flowing river, that had she a child she would be borne away on +the smooth silver water with her little one, out of the fret and +turmoil, to some quiet nest in the cliffs at its mouth; and there for +the years that were left her she would fill her days with the peaceful, +homely joys that had never yet been hers. + +But how could she go alone? Only in the uneventful days to find her +loneness intensified a thousand times, and without escape. + +No; the river would flow on to that serene haven; but never for ever +would she and a little one of her own be borne on its motherly bosom to +the country of little things and peacefulness. + +And the thought only stung her afresh; driving the sting in deep and +sharp while this man remained under her roof. + +“Well,” he said at last; and in the interval his voice seemed to have +regained some of its polished, self-possessed satisfaction. “I see you +are deep in thought. You were always tender-hearted, and I felt I +should not appeal to your womans heart in vain.” + +Her face was turned away, so that he could not see her expression, nor +read what was in her eyes, and purposely she let him go on. + +“You will, I know, let me go back with the message Mrs. Hermon is +waiting for so anxiously. It will be quite simple. No doubt you have +countless admirers, and if you summon another, and let Alymer think he +is replaced, after the first hot-headed wrath he will quickly become +normal again, and apply all his faculties to his profession. I know you +are too clever not to appreciate just everything involved, and too +generous not to give the young man his best chance.” + +Then he cleared his throat, stroked his moustache, and waited, +wondering a little why she did not speak. He squared his shoulders +again, and glanced round to catch a reflection of himself in the +overmantel, then once more stroked his moustache with a sleek air of +growing satisfaction. + +It had certainly been a most ticklish undertaking, and but for his +diplomacy, he believed one foredoomed to failure. But of course +Lorraine was a woman of the world, with a larger mixture of the other +kind of womanliness, perhaps, than was usual, and he in his +perspicacity had deftly appealed to both. + +Then Lorraine turned round, and at the first glimpse of her face his +own fell, and suddenly he seemed to be shrinking visibly; as if he +would not ungladly have vanished through the floor. + +She took a step or two forward, and stood in front of him with her head +held high, and those same scorching fires in her eyes; and there was +something almost over-awing in the taut intensity of her whole +attitude, mental and physical. + +“No,” she said, in a cold, firm voice. “You may not go back and tell +Alymer’s mother that I agree to cease my friendship with him for you +and for her. You may go back and tell her that because when I was young +you had no thought of my future, and no consideration for my youth, I +refuse absolutely to parley in the matter at all. I shall not change my +course of action by one iota. I shall not take any single thought for +the future. The future may take care of itself. If you can estrange +Alymer from me, that is your affair. Rather than estrange him myself, I +will bind him closer. That is my answer to you, and to the _lady_,” +with fine scorn, “who sat down yesterday and penned that unheard-of +letter to a fellow-woman she knew nothing whatever against. Yet I think +I could have charged that to her evident ignorance concerning +theatrical matters, and forgiven her, if a monstrous irony had not sent +you to plead her cause—” + +“My dear Lorraine,” he interposed, but she stopped him with an +imperious gesture and continued: + +“There is nothing for you to say, nothing that I am in the least likely +to listen to. You have evidently misunderstood my character from first +to last. Probably you even credited me with wantonness in those far-off +days when I was fool enough to believe all you swore to me of love and +devotion. However that may be, you tried to set my feet in the wrong +path, and when it suited you, gave me a push that further evil might +conveniently widen the breach between us. Probably you have done much +the same again since, and with as little compunction. What I have to +say to you now is just this, once again. Your mission today is not +merely useless; it has considerably aggravated any danger there may +have been. Because of every girl a middle-aged man has treated as you +sought to treat me I shall hold Alymer to his friendship if I can, and +use any influence I may have to increase rather than decrease his +visits. + +“It may be fiendish of me. I don’t know. I am no angel; not even the +obliging soft-hearted fool you and Alymer’s mother seem to have +concluded I might be. And what is more, if I had a vein of kindliness +and unselfish consideration, you have done your utmost to stamp it out. + +“Most of us are half good, and half bad. Today, you have given the +devil in me an impetus such as it has seldom had before. That is your +affair. Go back and explain the real truth if you dare. Tell Mrs. +Hermon you found the low adventuress a devil, and one that you yourself +had tried to help to make. Tell her”—again with that low, unpleasant +laugh—“that you fear the worst for Alymer. + +“That is all. Now you can go.” + +Once more he futilely tried to speak, but she only waved him aside, and +walked with a haughty, scornful step ahead of him. + +“Jean,” she called to her maid, as she passed through the little hall, +“Will you open the door for this gentleman?” + +In her own room, she slid down into a large cushioned chair and sobbed +her heart out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +It was there Hal found her. By the merest chance she had run up to the +flat at her midday hour, to ask a question about Sir Edwin Crathie, and +a rumour concerning him that she felt an imperative need to have +answered. When she saw Lorraine in tears the question was instantly +banished for the moment. + +Had Lorraine been in her normal condition, she could hardly have failed +to notice that the “Hal” who came up in haste to ask this urgent +question was not the “Hal” of a few months, a few weeks ago. She would +probably have observed that the vague, indefinable change Alymer had +seen in her had grown more marked and more defined. + +She seemed to have sprung suddenly into womanhood. + +It was no light-hearted, careless, rather boisterous girl who appeared +unexpectedly at the flat, to give her one or two eager hugs, tell her +the latest news of her doings in gay, gossipy fashion, and eat an +unconscionable amount of chocolates, usually kept for her special +delectation. + +The old, bright look was there on the surface, the ready, laughing +speech, but there was also, with it, something that approached a +dignified phase, and suggested a new reserve. She was also distinctly +better-looking likewise, in some vague, incomprehensible way. + +But Lorraine had not time to take any note of the change, for all her +faculties were bent upon shielding herself. + +Of course it was useless to hide that she had been crying, but at least +Hal must not know that the crying had been soul-racking sobs. + +With a look of consternation and dismay she, Hal, was across the room +in a bound, kneeling beside the big chair. + +“My dear old girl, what in the world is the matter?” + +Lorraine contrived to smile with some appearance of reality, as she +dried her eyes, and said: + +“I don’t quite know. It’s idiotic of me, isn’t it? If you hadn’t come +and stopped me, I should never have been able to appear tonight for +swollen eyes.” But Hal was not so easily put off. She grasped both +Lorraine’s hands in hers and said resolutely: + +“Why are you crying, Lorry?” + +Feeling it hopeless to avoid some sort of a reason, she replied: + +“I had a letter this morning that upset me rather. It is silly of me to +take any notice, and I shouldn’t if I were well. I’ve been wretchedly +nervy lately, and it makes me silly about things.” + +“What was the letter about?” + +“Oh, only some one who is jealous, I suppose; trying to get a little +satisfaction out of saying a few things that may hurt me. It is so +silly of me to mind.” + +Hal’s mind immediately flew to Mrs. Vivian, and instead of inquiring +any further she just said: + +“Poor old Lorry,” and kissed her affectionately. + +Then with a little laugh: + +“I suppose you weren’t going to have any lunch at all, but I’m +frightfully hungry. I hope to goodness there is something in the +house.” + +“Run and tell Jean to see cook about it, there’s a dear. I must bathe +my eyes and try to look presentable.” + +While they lunched Hal chatted of many things, but she noted that +Lorraine was looking thin, and seemed to have something on her mind, +while she made no attempt to eat what was placed on her plate. + +When she was pulling her gloves on later she asked: + +“Why don’t you take a week’s holiday and go into the country, Lorry?… +It is no use going on until you are ill, as you did before.” + +“I think I must ask about it. I feel as if one week would do me a world +of good. How is Sir Edwin? Have you seen him lately?” + +“We played golf on Saturday.” + +A white look came suddenly into Hal’s face, and she riveted her +attention on an apparently tiresome fastener as she asked, with the +greatest show of unconcern she could muster, the question that brought +her there. + +“Have you heard a rumour that he is going to marry Miss Bootes?” naming +one of the richest heiresses of the day. + +“No; I hadn’t heard it.” + +Lorraine gave a quick glance at her face, but saw only the look of +concentration on the fractious fastener. + +“Well,” Hal said in level tones, “I suppose she is worth about half a +million, and I don’t think he is rich.” + +“Probably he has only been seen speaking to her, or taking her to +supper at a big reception. That would be quite enough to make some +people link them at once, and fix the date of the wedding.” + +“There’s a bun-fight at the Bruces’ tonight,” Hal ran on, “with Llaney +to play the violin, and Lascelles to sing—quite an elaborate affair: so +it is sure to be very boring; but I suppose Alymer will be there, +looking adorably beautiful, and all the women gazing at him. It will be +entertaining to chaff him, anyhow.” + +“Well, don’t tell him you found me weeping,” with a little laugh. “He +might not realise it was only nerves.” + +“I’ll tell him he’s to take you away for a week’s holiday,” Hal replied +lightly. “Goodness knows, you’ve done enough for him.” + +She went back to the office and settled down to her work with resolute +determination, but any one who knew her well would have seen that some +cloud seemed to have descended upon her, and that all the time she +stuck to her work she was wrestling to appear normal, in the face of +some enshrouding worry. + +Through all the letter she was writing, and over the proofs she read to +aid the chief, there seemed to be one sentence dancing in letters of +glee, like a war-dance executed by little black devils on the foolscap +of her mind. It was last night she had heard it, that ominous piece of +news that took her violently by surprise, in spite of her practical +common sense. Some one had said it quite casually in the motor bus—one +man to another, as an item of news of the day. + +“They say Sir Edwin Crathie is to marry Miss Bootes the heiress.” + +“What! The Right Honourable Sir Edwin Crathie?” + +“So they say. He’s very heavily in debt, I believe—over some bad +speculations—and an heiress is about the only thing to float him. +Besides, the party wants rich men, and it would be a good move on his +part.” + +That was all, and then the two silk-hatted, frock-coated men had got +out. Eminently well-to-do men—probably both stockbrokers, but men who +looked as if they would know. + +Hal had gone on home in a sudden torment of feeling. Of course he was +free to marry the heiress if be wished, but why, if so, had he dared +once again to drop the mask of companiable friendliness with her and +grow lover-like? The change had been coming slowly of late, wrought +with infinite caution and care. He had not meant to frighten her again, +and find himself in disgrace, so he had taken each step very leisurely, +and made sure of his ground before trusting himself upon it. The next +time he kissed her, he had determined she should like it too well to +resent his action. + +And the safe moment, as he deemed it, had come the previous Saturday +after a delightful afternoon at golf. They had motored down to the +Sundridge Park Links, and stayed afterwards to dine at the club-house, +then back to Bloomsbury, and into the pretty sitting-room, where Dudley +was not likely to appear until late, because he had gone to a theatre +with Doris. + +And then for the second time he had kissed her. + +But this was quite a different kiss. It was a climax to one of the best +days he had ever had—a day in which, besides playing golf, they had +talked of State secrets and State affairs. He had paid her the +compliment of talking to her as if she were a man, and Hal, being +exceptionally well informed on most questions of the day, was able to +hold her own with him, and to make the conversation of genuine +interest. + +And his quick, observant brain greatly admired her power of argument, +and her woman’s directness of method, confirming the view that while a +man usually indulges in a good deal of preamble, with many doubts and +side-lights, a woman trusts to her instinct and arrives at the same +conclusion in half the time. Of late, too, he had talked to her of +interesting modern problems; and what had been frivolous in their +earlier friendship had solidified into a real companionship. + +And now as he stood on the hearth with his back to the fire, looking +with rather critical eyes round the pretty room that Hal had contrived +to rob of nearly all its lodging-house aspect, she stood quite +naturally and unconcernedly beside him drawing off her gloves. + +“It was a good game,” she was saying, “if you had not messed up that +sixth hole. It’s a brute, isn’t it. I was lucky to escape that marshy +bit.” + +“You are getting too good for me. Your drives out-classed mine nearly +every time.” + +“But I can’t approach. I never, never, shall be able to hit a ball just +far enough. If I loft on to the green at all it is always the far side, +with a roll.” + +“You’ll soon master that. A little more practice, and you’ll be in form +for matches. I think we’ll have to go away somewhere and have a +fortnight’s golfing! Why not to some little French place? You would +finish up a first-class player.” + +Hal laughed lightly. + +“Just imagine Brother Dudley’s face when I told him I was going to +France for a fortnight with you!” + +“You wouldn’t have to tell him anything about me,” watching her with a +sudden keenness in his eyes. “I should have to be personated by Miss +Vivian or some one.” + +“Oh, I dare say Lorry would come for the matter of that. We might teach +her to play too.” + +“Well, I hardly meant she should actually be there,” he went on in a +meaning voice. “She’d be rather in the way, wouldn’t she? I don’t know +that I could do with any one else but you.” + +He stepped closer to her, and slipped his arm round her shoulders. “A +third person will always be in the way when I am with you, Hal.” + +She changed colour, and breathed fitfully, moving as if to disengage +herself from his arm. + +“No, don’t go. This is very harmless, and I’ve been exceedingly good +for a long time, now, haven’t I?” + +“All the greater pity to spoil your record,” putting up her hand to +remove his. + +But he only clasped her fingers tightly, and drew her closer, till he +could feel her heart palpitating a little wildly; and that gave him +courage. + +“It has been far harder than you have the remotest idea of. I deserve +one kiss, if only by way of encouragement.” + +His face was close to hers now, and with a little murmuring sound of +gladness he kissed her cheek. + +“Little woman,” he murmured, “I’ve grown desperately fond of you. I +hardly know how to do without you. Be a sensible little girl, won’t +you?” + +She disengaged herself resolutely then, but she was not angry, and her +eyes were shining. + +“You are transgressing flagrantly—as I should express it in a newspaper +report. Collect your forces, and retire gracefully, O transgressor.” + +“I suppose I really must go now. It’s been such a splendid day, hasn’t +it?” + +He seemed to speak with a shadow of regret; and there was a shadow of +regret in his eyes also as he riveted them on her face. Then he turned +suddenly and picked up his cap. + +“Well—the best of friends must part—and the best of days come to an +end. Good-bye, little girl.” + +With his cap in his hand, he suddenly put both his arms round her and +kissed her with the old passionate eagerness—then he loosed her and +turned to the door. + +“I’m in love with you, Hal—head over ears in love; but it’s a devilish +hard world, and Heaven only knows what’s to come of it.” + +With which enigmatical sentence he let himself out and departed. + +When he had gone Hal stood quite still where he had left her, and +looked into vacancy. About her lips there was the ghost of a smile. In +her ears was only the recollection of the words, “I’m head over ears in +love with you.” + +So, it was coming at last—the great, glad day of love and fulfilment. +If he had set out to trifle with her at first, at least he was serious +enough now. She, too, had only trifled in the beginning, seizing a +little fun and adventure in her workaday world. There had been no +reason to suppose it need hurt any one. Now, she, too, was serious. + +Perhaps the things detrimental to him that she had heard previously had +some truth in them then, but he was changed now. Love had changed him. +He was like another man. She had seen and felt it in a thousand ways +that could not be translated into speech or writing. It was just that +he was different, and in every particular it was to his advantage. + +She was different too. She did not resent the kiss, because she knew +that he honestly cared for her. And she knew, too, that she honestly +cared for him. The end of the enigmatical sentence rankled a little, +but she did not led herself dwell upon it. + +She chose instead to remember how he had kissed her; and that he had +confessed he was head over ears in love with her. Which only showed +that Hal—for all her worldly wisdom and practical common sense—could be +as blind and as romantic as anyone when her heart was touched, and her +pulses romping feverishly at a memory that thrilled all her being. + +Three days later she had heard the conversation. + +Of course it was absurd—manifestly so—and yet, and yet— + +After a miserable twenty-four hours of fighting against her own +uneasiness, she paid the flying visit to Lorraine, to see if she could +glean any light on the gossip from her, only to return to the office +baffled and tormented. + +It was the enigmatical sentence that pressed forward now, instead of +the thrilling confession that he loved her. Was it possible he was +indeed so base as to love her and tell her in the very same week that +he had asked another woman to be his wife? + +And if so, what had prompted him? What was in his mind? Why had he not +left things as they were, and refrained both from the kiss and the +confession? + +And then above her tortured feelings rose the triumphant thought, +goading and pleasing at the same time: “Whether it is true or not, he +loves _me_—not her, the heiress, but me—Hal Pritchard—the peniless City +worker.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +In the evening came the party at Dick Bruce’s home, and it was +necessary, she knew, to thrust all recollection of Sir Edwin aside, in +order to give rise to no questioning and appear as usual. + +So she dressed herself with special care, rubbed a pink tinge on to her +white cheeks, bathed and refreshed eyes dulled by worry and shadows, +and made her appearance, looking, if anything, a little more radiant +than usual. + +“By Jove! you look stunning, Hal,” was her jovial uncle’s warm +greeting. “Who’d ever have thought, to see the ugly little imp of a +small child you were, that you would grow up into a fashionable, +striking woman? I congratulate you. When’s the happy man coming along?” + +“When I’m tired of enjoying of myself,” she laughed, “and feel equal to +coping with anything as trying as a husband. At present a brother keeps +me quite sufficiently occupied,” and she passed on. + +Across the large, well-lit room, towering above every one around him, +she saw the head and shoulders of Alymer Hermon. All about her, as she +moved towards him, she heard the low-voiced query: “Who is he?” + +No society beauty at her zenith could have caused greater interest. He +was looking grave, too, and thoughtful, which suited him better than +laughter, giving him something of a look apart, and banishing all +suggestion of the conceit and self-satisfaction that would have spoilt +him. Then he caught sight of Hal, and instantly all his face lit up, +and a twinkle shone in his eyes as he edged towards her. + +“How late you are! I thought you were never coming. Did your hair +require an extra half-hour? I suppose you’ve been tearing it out by the +roots over your faithless swain.” + +“I don’t know what you mean, and anyhow I shouldn’t be such a fool as +to tear my own hair out by the roots for any one. If hair is coming out +in that fashion, it shall be his roots.” + +“Come and sit down. I’ll soon find you a chair.” + +“What’s the good of that? We can’t converse unless you sit on the +floor. I work too hard to spend my evening shouting banalities at the +ceiling.” + +“Well, let’s hunt for a couch; there are plenty here on ordinary +occasions. Isn’t it a poser where all the furniture goes to at a +‘beano’ like this! There’s nothing in the hall, nor in the dining-room; +and there doesn’t seem to be much here. Let’s make for the lounge.” + +“But I can’t take you away. I shall get my face scratched. You were +made to be looked at, and half these silly people are staring their +eyes out in your direction. I don’t know how you put up with it so +serenely. I should want to bite them all. If I were a man, and had been +burdened with an appearance like yours, I should want to hit Life in +the face for it.” + +“Don’t be silly. What does it matter? It pleases them, and it doesn’t +hurt me. I get my own back a little anyway... when I want to”—with a +low, significant laugh. + +“Oh of course lots of women are in love with you,”—with a contemptuous +sniff; “but if I were a man I wouldn’t give tuppence for the woman who +made me a present of her affections. You miss all the fun of the chase, +and the victory. It must be deadly dull.” + +“That’s what Lorraine has sometimes said; but what can I do? Shall I +paint my face black?” + +“Oh, I’ve seen you look black enough, but it’s rather becoming than +otherwise. Anyhow, it isn’t insipid. But you’ve grown quite manly +lately, I suppose. I hear about you occasionally positively working +hard. Heavens!—what you owe to Lorraine!” + +“I do,” fervently. + +“Then why in the world don’t you look after her a bit? I turned up +unexpectedly at half-past one today, and found her sobbing her eyes +out.” + +“You found Lorraine sobbing her eyes out...” incredulously. + +“I did. She told me not to tell you, as it was only nerves—but of +course it wasn’t. You know as well as I that Lorraine doesn’t suffer +from weepy nerves. It’s worry again; and she is looking thoroughly +ill.” + +“Why again?...” + +He was looking grave enough now, and there was anxiety in his voice. + +“Oh, because there’s often something to worry her—either her mother, or +her memories, or the future. I suppose you haven’t bothered to go and +see her lately to cheer her up? Been too busy with your briefs!” + +“I was there yesterday, to inquire how she was after a bad sick +headache. The room was all violets and snow-drops”; and his eyes grew +soft. + +“And did she sight of her robust health knock you backwards?” + +Hal was irritable from the strain on her own nerves, and it pleased her +to hurl sarcasms at him, feeling somehow angry at his calm, +smoothly-flowing path to success. + +“I thought she looked ill, and I advised her to go away for a week.” + +“That was kind of you. And why won’t she take your safe advice?” + +“She won’t go alone, and she said there was no one to go with her.” + +“Too many briefs, eh?” + +“What have my briefs to do with it?” + +“Oh, nothing. She’s given hours and hours to you and your future; but +of course you couldn’t risk sparing a week—” + +“But!...” he began with raised eyebrows. + +“Oh, don’t ‘but’ in that inane fashion. If you say it isn’t proper I +shall scream. Lorraine is nearly old enough to be your mother, and she +has far too much sense to be in love with you; and you wouldn’t be so +idiotic as to imagine it any use for you to be in love with her. +Therefore it’s only a companion she wants to keep her from moping and +dwelling on sad thoughts; and you seem to be able to do that—as well as +any of us; so why can’t you get another man, or boy if you prefer it, +to go for a run into the country with you? Flip would take her by the +next train if he were there. He wouldn’t care a farthing for +scandalmongers. But I suppose he can do that sort of thing because he’s +a man. And, anyhow, I don’t suppose she would go with you, even with a +third person. She might think a whole week of you too much of a good +thing.” + +His face has grown still more thoughtful, and he paid small heed to her +taunts. + +Lorraine sobbing, Lorraine ailing, Lorraine unhappy, filled his mind. +What could have happened to upset her so? True, she had not been +looking well for some weeks, and had complained of headaches and +weariness; but he felt sure something quie apart had transpired to +upset her so thoroughly. + +Neither did he think it was Hal’s version of the usual worries. He +greatly feared his own people had made some move of which he was in +ignorance. He contemplated with deep vexation the probability that he +himself was indirectly the cause of her new trouble, and he mentally +decided then and there to go to considerable lengths, if she wished it, +on her behalf. + +Probably if he travelled down to some seaside place and saw her +comfortably settled, and later on ran down to fetch her, she would be +more easily induced to go. At any rate he would call the very next day +and see, if his proposition simplified matters at all. + +Hal watched him a little impatiently, and at length remarked: + +“You seem to be thinking rather hard. Are you meditating upon +Lorraine’s trouble, or my suggestion, that it is unlikely she could +endure a whole week of you, unadulterated?” + +“Both,” with a humorous glance at her. “I’m thinking it would be +interesting to find out the truth in both cases.” + +“Well, you won’t do that. Lorraine never tells her troubles. Not even +to me. And she’s too tender-hearted to hurt your feelings on the other +question.” + +“I’m not afraid of that.” + +His face grew a little brighter, and, as if satisfied with the result +of his cogitations, he changed the subject. + +“What’s making you so ratty tonight? Is it the faithless swain?” + +“I don’t know what you mean.” + +“Perhaps you haven’t seen the evening paper.” + +“I haven’t. I’m sick to death of papers by six o’clock.” + +“Well, you oughtn’t to have missed it tonight, and then you’d have had +the pleasure of seeing the announcement of the faithless swain’s +engagement to the rich heiress.” + +Hal bit her lip suddenly, and felt her blood run cold, but she kept her +outward composure perfectly, and merely commented: + +“Oh, you mean about Sir Edwin Crathie and Miss Bootes!… that’s very old +news.” + +“Well, it was only in the paper tonight anyhow; and only given as a +rumour then. I was going to ask you if it is true. They say he’s in the +dickens of a mess for money. But of course you know all about it.” + +He was enjoying himself now, feeling that he was getting a little of +his own back, and it made him unconsciously merciless. + +“It must have been rather a trying moment when you had to break to him +that you couldn’t possibly pay any of his debts, and that therefore you +must part?” + +“I don’t know anything about his debts. They don’t interest me. I can +beat him at golf, playing level, and that’s far more to the point.” + +“Then you are going to play golf with him, while Miss Bootes bears his +proud name in return for paying his debts! Sure, it sounds a nice handy +arrangement for him.” + +Then Hal got up. + +“I don’t want to _talk_ to you, because you are talking such drivel; +and I don’t want to _look_ at you, because your pink and white and blue +and gold irritate me beyond words, so you’d better go and stand in the +middle of the room for the benefit of those who delight to gaze; and +I’ll go in search of a refreshingly ugly person who can talk sense!” + +Hermon gave a low chuckle of enjoyment, and continued to chuckle to +himself until she was lost to sight and his hostess was introducing +some charming débutante to him. The débutante was pink and white and +blue and gold likewise, and gazed up at him adorably under long curling +lashes; but he might have expressed a fellow-feeling with Hal, for he +found himself merely bored, and longed to go in search, not of a +refreshingly ugly person, but of the refreshingly irritable, snappy, +unappreciative one who had just left him. + +When at last he was free, however, he found Hal had complained of a +headache and gone home early, unattended. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +On her way home Hal stopped the taxi and bought an evening paper. When +she got it, however, she found Dudley there, so she merely held it +under her cloak. + +“You are back early,” he said, in a surprised voice. + +“Yes. It was very formal and very dull, and I was tired.” + +He glanced up with questioning eyes. It was something new for Hal not +to stay untill the last moment at a festivity. He thought she looked a +little paler than usual, and there were shadows about her eyes, but she +interrupted any comment he might make by an inquiry after Doris. + +“She is very well.” + +He stopped short rather suddenly, and seemed thoughtful. He had been +urging Doris to fix the date of their wedding, and let him see about +taking a house or a flat, but she had seemed to avoid the subject +lately, and he was a little troubled. + +“I suppose poor Basil is much the same?” + +“Yes. He and Ethel were both asking what had become of you. They said +you hadn’t been up for a long time.” + +“I haven’t. I’ll go tomorrow. Good-night,” and she kissed him, and went +upstairs. + +In her own room she sat on the bed, and read the evening paper. + +Yes, it was there sure enough, but it was only given as a rumour. “We +understand there is a rumour…” How well she knew the phrase, with its +dangerous suggestiveness, and safe retreat. She wondered who had +started the rumour, and how the paper had got it. + +But, again, insistently she asserted it could not be true. If it had +not been for last Saturday she might have believed it. But after that… +no, he could not be so base. She put the thought away from her, and +tried to sleep, but her eyes would look out into the blackness, and her +brain ask questions. + +“What if it were true?” She clenched her hands and fought the question. +It could not be true; why worry? Yet he had never made the slightest +suggestion of marrying her. She remembered that, but scorned it. + +Why should he? There had been nothing lover-like between them until the +previous Saturday; and of course had there been any one else, it would +have been so easy to go on the same and make no change that particular +afternoon. + +Finding what comfort she could out of these thoughts, she fell at last +into a troubled sleep. + +The following afternoon, in fulfilment of her promise, she went up to +Holloway from the office. Doris was out, and Ethel not home yet, but +the door was opened to her by a gaunt stranger, who said: + +“Come in. This is one of my days. I’m in charge this afternoon.” + +Hal looked into the angular face, which appeared to her as if it had +been roughly hewn with a chisel, by some one who was a mere amateur, +and she could not repress a little smile. + +“I don’t think I’ve met you before. Are you—are you—a friend of Mr. +Hayward’s?” + +“Well, he’s a friend of mine, if that will do as well. I’m generally +know here as G. The letter isn’t stamped on my face, but it’s on the +door of my flat, and that’s much the same.” + +She stood aside for Hal to pass down the passage, adding grimly as Hal +loitered, with rather an amused, engaging expression: + +“I don’t stand for much more than a door, with a G on it, as I often +tell Mr. Hayward, but I suppose it’s all right.” + +“A little more occasionally,” suggested Hal. “A door wouldn’t be much +use to Mr. Hayward, anyhow.” + +“That’s what he says. Won’t you go down to his room?” + +“What are you going to do?” + +“Get the tea. It’s one of the few things I can do passably well.” + +“Let me come and help. It won’t take long. I’m interested in that door. +You see, I’m not even G; and I don’t possess a front door.” + +The music-teacher looked searchingly into her face, and was evidently +pleased with what she saw, for she adopted a friendly note, and seemed +ready to chat. Hal followed her into the little kitchen, and commenced +to take off her hat. + +“I’m an old friend,” she volunteered, “and I often leave my hat in +here. Are both Mr. Hayward’s sisters out?” + +“Miss Hayward will be late tonight, and her sister is uncertain. It +depends somewhat upon which young man she is out with,” in acid tones. + +Hal glanced up in astonishment, but her companion was busy with the +cups and saucers, and did not notice the look. + +“All I can say is, I’m sorry for that nice gentleman who is fool enough +to think of marrying her. Lord! he’d be safer with some one with a face +like a door-knocker, such as mine. But there, they’re all the same; and +the nicest of them are generally the biggest fools.” + +Hal grasped the situation at once, and instead of enlightening her +concerning her own identity, said casually: + +“There’s another young man as well, is there?” + +“There is so. A pawnbroker I should take him to be, who wears the +jewellery left in his care on his person for safety. As a matter of +fact, I believe he is a South African millionaire. He brought her home +one day, and Blakde—that’s the housekeeper’s husband down +below—recognised him. He was out in South Africa in the war, and he saw +him then.” + +Hal drummed on the table with her fingers to assume nonchalance. + +“Does Miss Hayward know?” + +“Know? Of course she doesn’t. How should she know, particularly if that +artful monkey did not want her to? I don’t know where the poor sick man +would be now but for me. She’s always off somewhere—that minx—and I +rush back from my music pupils, because I can’t rest for the thought of +him here all alone. I’ve given one up, who wanted a lesson at half-past +four every day. That’s the time he needs his tea.” + +“Why do you do all this for him?” Hal found herself asking, a little +unaccountably. “He is nothing to you, is he—no relation, I mean?” + +“Nothing to me!… Oh, isn’t he though! I’d like to know what is +anything, if he’s nothing?” + +She rattled the cups and saucers a little restlessly, and Hal, with +growing interest, waited for her to go on. + +“Before I knew him, I was nothing in the world but a door with a letter +on it, as I’ve just told you. That’s all I stood for, a mere letter of +the alphabet who paid a monthly rent. I told him so, when I first came +across, and he said, ‘Well, I’m very glad they didn’t leave G out of +the alphabet.’ That’s all.” + +“But I’m his slave now. Nobody cared whether there was a G or not +before. It isn’t pleasant to feel you’re a mere cypher, with no +particular meaning to any one; just shot in haphazard to fill up a +blank—a mere creature, useful to teach exercises and scales to odious +children one only longs to slap. + +“Fancy being expected to keep yourself alive in a dingy little flat, +for ever alone, just to do that!” The cups rattled more restively +still. “I say, the universe is the grimmest jester there ever was. Me +to teach music to keep life in a body that doesn’t want it! If I’d been +employed laying out corpses in their grave-clothes there’d have been +some sense in it. I’m not much more that a figurehead of an old hulk +myself. But music!… music!… Oh Lord, and I haven’t one real note of it +in my whole composition.” + +Hal seated herself on the table. With her quick intuition she perceived +at once entertainment of an original kind was before her, and she +promptly laid herself out to obtain all she could. + +“Why do you teach music? I don’t think you do quite suggest a +musician?” + +“Of course I don’t.” + +The gaunt spinster was cutting some bread-and-butter now with a savage +air. + +“Do I suggest anything, except perhaps a butcher or an undertaker? Yet +I can only keep myself alive with music. That’s the jest of the Arch +Humorist. My father was a clergyman. He droned out services for fifty +years in a hamlet, with a little square church like a wooden money-box. +I was taught music so that I could—well—make the tin-pot organ groan, I +used to call it. I had twenty-five years of that, with never a break. I +got so that, to keep myself from turning into a stone gargoyle on the +organ seat, I must have my little jest too. + +“One way I had it was by making the organ groan dismallest at weddings +and christenings, and squeak hilariously at funerals. Father never +noticed, he’d already turned gargoyle, you see, and as for the village +people! well, it suited them, because they always wept at weddings, and +overate themselves at funerals.” + +“And then?…” Hal was so thoroughly enjoying herself now, she had almost +forgotten the invalid. + +“Well, then the gargoyle died, or ran down, or something. I should +think he got tired of sing-song the tender mercies of God to the devout +people, and His judgments on the wicked. It always seemed to me the +good folks got the nastiest knocks; and the wicked, well, they fairly +left the green bay tree behind. + +“Anyhow, I’d been devout enough, as far as sinning goes, for forty +years. I wasn’t even blessed with the chance to be anything else. Then +a new parson came, an underdone young man with new fal-da-dal ideas. I +wonder how soon _he’d_ become a gargoyle? I defy him to stand out long +against the cast-iron nonentity of that village. But he didn’t take +kindly either to me or my music. Hadn’t any sense of humour at all. I +don’t know what I ever knew a clergyman who had. Perhaps a man couldn’t +very well go on being a clergyman if he possessed such a trait. + +“Anyhow, this particular one did not think I put enough expression into +the tunes. He said they hardly sounded like sacred tunes at all; which +wasn’t surprising, when you come to think that sometimes a low note and +sometimes a high note on that little tin-pot organ would take it into +its head to stick, and would either boom or squeak all through the +thing I was playing.” Hal burst out laughing, quite unable to contain +herself any longer, but the spinster went on calmly: “The tune might +just as well have been ‘Down by the Old Bull and Bush’ then, but it +wasn’t my fault, because when your hands and arms and feet and eyes and +ears are all struggling to keep time with a village choir that varies +its pace every few bars, you’ve got nothing left to release a stuck +note with.” + +“I hope you didn’t tell the under-done young parson about ‘The Old Bull +and Bush’?” said Hal, still rocking with enjoyment and bent chiefly +upon leading her on. + +“I’d never heard of it then, or I might have. Even that won’t reach the +village I’m thinking of for a hundred years; and then they’ll play it +until the very birds lose heart, and think they are uncannily up to +date. So they are if you count it when things come round the second +time. I told him if the organ seemed to be playing ‘Yankee Doodle,’ I +supposed it was because it felt like it; as, for twenty-five years, it +had more or less pleased itself at my expense. + +“But he’ll be a gargoyle soon, and then he won’t notice, and it will +boom and squaek to its heart’s content. Of course I ought to have +stayed on because I matched it all, and I didn’t mind the booming and +squeaking as long as the choir didn’t get convulsed, and stop +altogether—because that was liable to catch father’s attention. A +gargoyle is out of place in London. It’s as mad for me to be here as +that I’m here to teach music. After I became fossilised I ought to have +stayed on till I died, and then that self-willed organ could have +fairly squeaked itself out over my corpse. Come along and have some tea +now. Poor Mr. Hayward will be getting faint.” + +“But you’re too perfectly delicious for anything!” Hal cried, springing +off the table. “Why haven’t I known you for years? Why haven’t I known +you all my life? You must meet my cousin Dick Bruce. You absolutely +_must_, with the least possible delay. He’ll simply dote on you. Come +along to Basil, and tell me heaps and heaps more”; and she caught her +by the arm in the friendliest fashion, and half-pulled her along to the +little sitting-room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +“What a gossip you two have been having!” Basil said, and, seeing the +laughter in Hal’s eyes, he added, “has G been telling you some of her +amazing theories, or tearing the existing order of the universe to +shreds?” + +“Oh, I don’t know, but she’s simply immense. Have you heard about the +tin-pot organ that will play its own way, and the choir that gets +convulsed, and the underdone young parson? She’s simply got to know +Dick. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.” + +“Yes; I’ve heard most of it. She plays an organ of laughter for me +nowadays, that makes me bless the day she was born.” + +The gaunt spinster positively blushed. + +“Oh, that’s just your way,” she snapped, bashfully trying to hide her +pleasure. “If I hadn’t been G, a pretty, charming young woman with real +music in her might have been, and you’d have liked that much better.” + +“No, I shouldn’t. She’d have played ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ with +variations, and ‘The Maiden’s Prayer’—I know her at a glance. If you do +only play scales and exercises I’m sure you manage to put a lot of +character into them.” + +“That’s only thumping; and who wants thumping?” + +“I do, when it’s the universe. I’m just as much askew with it as you +are, only I haven’t got the wit to thump it so satisfactorily. You are +going it for the two of us now.” + +“Still, you’re not a gargoyle…” with a queer twist of her face that +delighted Hal. + +“I shall positively take you to Dick myself,” she said, “or bring him +here to you. He’ll talk to you about a mother’s patience, and babies; +and you’ll talk to him about gargoyles and organs, and Heaven only +knows where you’ll both get to; but I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” + +“I don’t know who Dick may be, but if he talks to me about mothers and +babies”—grimly—“I shall groan like that organ did at christenings. They +may be useful in the general scheme, but beyond that I don’t know how +any one can put up with them at all; with their potsy-wotsy, and +pucksie-ducksie, and general stickiness. It’s quite enough for me that +I have to knit stupid little socks for their silly little feet, for +bread-and-butter. The most I can say for it is, that it’s a more +satisfactory plan than casting your bread on the waters, on the +off-chance some kindly Elijah will butter it.” + +“Where are the socks, G?” Basil asked, looking round. “I should like +Hal to enjoy the edifying spectacle of your knitting babies’ socks.” + +“You don’t mean that,” interrupted Hal comically. “I can’t believe it.” + +“It’s the horrible truth,” asserted the spinster, calmly going on with +her tea—“most of them go to little black whelps in the Antipodes. After +all, it isn’t any more incongruous than the music—is it?” + +“But you don’t do it for the under-done young parson, surely?” + +“Goodness gracious, no. What an idea! He wiped his hands of me long +ago. The wildest stretch of imagination, you see, could not picture me +ever looking like an angel; so he left me to my fate!” And again the +humorous twisted smile delighted her small audience. + +“Have you seen Splodgkins lately?” Basil asked. “You say all babies are +sticky and objectionable; but you must admit that sticky imp down below +is better than two-thirds of the other babies in the world shining with +soap polish.” + +“So he is”; and the grim face relaxed still further. “He was sitting in +my way on the stairs this morning, and as I could not get by, I said, +‘Make room, please, Master Splodgkins; you don’t own the universe.’ +‘Eth oi doth,’ he lisped. ‘Noime ain’t thplodums. Damn th’ ooniverth.’” + +It was good to hear Basil’s whole-hearted laughter. + +“We ought to have had him to tea,” he said regretfully. “He would have +delighted Hal. He’s two-and-a-half years old”—turning to her—“this +remarkable person-age; and, like most gutter snipes, has developed as +an ordinary child of four. He and G have debates occasionally. He +wishes to be called D, because that is the letter on his front door, +and ‘Splodgkins’ hurts his dignity but he’s so funny when he is +indignant we can’t resist teasing him.” + +A little wistful smile crept into the invalid’s eyes. “We have lots of +fun in this dingy old barrack between us,” he told Hal. “We are rarely +silly enough to be dull, with so many queer, interesting folks under +the same roof.” + +Hal felt something like a sudden lump in her throat, but she smiled +brightly as she looked from one to the other, feeling somehow the +better for knowing such waifs of life and circumstance, who could yet +baffle Fate’s pitilessness with genuine laughter. + +“Dick is writing a most weird and incomprehensible book on vegetables +and babies. I’m quite certain you could give him lots of ideas,” she +remarked to G. + +“He’d better put Splodgkins in if he wants to make it sell,” said she. +“Only they mightn’t allow it at the libraries. Splodgkins’s vocabulary +is fortunately sometimes indistinguishable for his lisp.” + +“Splodgkins couldn’t be translated,” put in Basil. “He sometimes comes +to tea with me and G; but he is almost too exhausting. I think he knows +every bad word in the English language; but one has to forgive him +because he always saves half his cake for his baby sister, and hurls +violent abuse at any one who dares to disparage her. + +“Are you going?...” as G got up. “I’m sure Miss Pritchard doesn’t want +you to leave us.” + +“Miss Pritchard!...” In a horrified voice. + +“Never mind,” said Hal quickly. “It didn’t matter.” Then to Basil, in +explanation: “G said something about Doris’s fiancé, not knowing I was +his sister, but I quite forget what it was. Good-bye, G,” holding out a +frank hand. “I think you’re a delightful person, and I’m just as glad +as Basil that you weren’t left out of the alphabet.” + +A few minutes later Doris came in, looking flushed and stealthy, and +the first thing Hal noticed was a loverly little diamond brooch she had +not seen before. + +“What a darling brooch,” she exclaimed, after their greeting. “Did +Dudley give you that? He might have shown it to me.” + +“No...” stammered Doris, turning red. “I’ve had it a long time. It’s +not real.” + +“Well, it’s a wonderful imitation, then” said Hall a little drily—and +remembered the man like a pawnbroker’s shop. + +Then Ethel joined them, and Hal’s quick eyes saw the still increasing +anxiety, just as surely as she saw the increased furtiveness in Doris’s +side-long glances. And because of all that she felt for Ethel, she +trust her own care into the background resolutely, and made the evening +as gay as she could while she was there. + +Only afterwards she went home through the lamp-lit darkness, feeling as +if some vague shadow had descended silently upon her little world. + +What was this insistent, nameless fear at her own heart? Why was +Lorraine weeping when she found her yesterday? Why was trouble steadily +gathering on Ethel’s face? What was this gossip about Doris?— + +The gloom of a foggy night added to her depression. Why, in the tube +railway, did all these people about her look so white and tired and +lifeless? Did they just go on in their niches, in the same way that the +grotesque music-teacher had gone on in hers for all those monotonous +years; only to become like an uncared-for, unwanted letter of the +alphabet pushed in to fill up a blank in a big city at last? + +Were they all gargoyles-fixed, rigid, joyless, carved things, fastened +in their respective niches, not for ornament, or for use specially, but +just because the general machine seemed to require them? + +And if so—why?... why?... why?— + +It was so easy to be joyous if one was made for it. Such a little would +make every one gay, if they were fashioned accordingly. What could be +the good of disfiguring a beautiful world with all these vacant, +expressionless, hopeless masks? + +Hal did not read poetry. She was perfectly frank about being utterly +bored with it. When she had anything to say, she liked to say it +straight out, she explained, without twisting it about to make it rhyme +with something just shoved in to fill up the line; and she preferred +other people to do the same. + +Yet, perhaps, at that particular moment, had she seen the lines: + +“Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire +To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, +Would not we shatter it to bits—and then +Remould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?” + + +In her present mood she might have recognised also the stateliness and +the beauty of a thought transcribed into verse. + +Or possibly she would have obstinately asserted there was no occasion +to introduce the word Love at all—and it was no one’s Heart’s Desire +she wanted, but just a common-sense, reasonable amount of pleasure for +all, and a spring-cleaning of all the gloomy, wooden faces. + +In the sitting-room at Bloomsbury she threw her hat down on the sofa, +and ran her fingers through her hair with an almost petulant air. + +“I just feel tonight as if it was a rotten old world after all,” she +said. + +Dudley, sitting poring over some plans with a reading-lamp, looked up +in mild surprise. + +“And what has made you feel all that?—not Basil, I’m sure.” + +“Well, there’s no occasion to be so very sure. I think it’s decidedly +rotten where Basil is concerned.” + +She came and half-sat on one of the arms of his chair, and rested her +hand on his coat-collar. + +“I wonder what G would think of a sane man spending his evening ruling +pointless-looking lines on a big sheet of paper?” + +“And who may ‘G’ be?” + +“I hardly know—except that she’s the quaintest person I’ve ever struck +yet—and I’ve seen some funny ones.” + +“Oh, I know who you mean. Yes; she is an oddity. Well, how was every +one. How was Doris?” + +“I hardly know. She was not there when I arrived, and she did not come +in until a few minutes before Ethel.” + +“I wonder where she was?” thoughtfully. “I asked her to come for tea +and a walk in the Park today, and she said she could not leave Basil.” + +Hal looked keenly into his face, and immediately he smiled and said: + +“I suppose the tenant opposite was free unexpectedly, and Doris was +able to get out after all. Poor little girl. I’m glad. But I wonder she +didn’t telephone me.” + +Hal turned away, feeling a little sick at heart. + +Were they all then in the maelstrom of this gloomy sense of an +engulfing cloud? What could be the meaning of Doris’s behaviour? Did +Dudley suspect anything? Certainly he had been a good deal preoccupied +of late, and spoken very little of the future. + +She looked out of her window across the blue of London lights, and her +thoughts roved a little pitifully across the wide reaches of her own +small world. From Sir Edwin, with his high post in the nation’s +councils, and Lorraine with her brilliant atmosphere of success and +triumph, to the dingy block of flats in Holloway, where, in spite of +almost tragic circumstances, to quote Basil, they had “lots of fun” +among themselves. + +She believed he meant it, too. It was no empty phrase. Rather something +in touch with Life’s great scheme of compensations, which she +manipulates in her own great way, beyond the comprehension of puny +humans. + +Certainly neither Sir Edwin nor Lorraine could boast of “lots of fun.” +Rather, instead, much care and worry and brain-weary grappling with +problems of modern succesful conditions. + +She wondered, with a still further sinking at heart, if perhaps the +time had come when she would have to grapple too. Was it very likely, +after their delightful friendship, and after that confession of his the +previous Saturday, Sir Edwin was prepared tamely to give her up? In her +heart, she knew him better. + +And yet, if the rumour was not false, what else could result? Vaguely +she felt it might be one of those problems of modern society, coming +across the evenly flowing river of her life, to demand solution. Not +the solution of the crowd—to follow a beaten track is rarely +difficult—but her own individual solution, which might mean much +warfare of spirit and weary heartache. The foregoing of an alluring +pleasure she deeply longed to take—not for any reward nor any gain, but +solely for the sake of the mysterious power abroad in the world which +is called Good; and which demands of the Present Hour that it is ready +to crucify itself and its deep desires for the sake of the Future. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +As the days of that new spring-time crept on, it appeared that the +shadow descending upon Hal’s little world had come to stay. + +Things happened with surprising quickness, and each happening was of +that particular order which presents itself enshrouded in gloom, and, +with a pitilessness which is almost wanton, refuses to allow one gleam +of the sunshine, carefully wrapped up in its gloomy folds, to send a +single glad ray of hope to those wrestling in its sinister grip. + +One knows the sunshine may possibly be hidden there somewhere—sunshine +always is hidden in each event somewhere—but what is the use of +expecting it weeks or months or years hence, when it seems that one +single ray now would be of more help than a whole sun in some vague, +distant future? + +May it not be that in the development needed to fit the individual for +the full and glad enjoyment of the sunshine to come, a ray of light +would blur the film, and spoil the picture instead of producing one +that is strong, clear and beautiful? + +So, a dauntless belief in the sunshine to come, without a ray to +promise it, may make for greater perfectness through steadfast courage +than had one beam crept through to lessen the need for effort and for +strong enduring. + +Yet it was strange that the grim hand of destiny should strike at so +many in that little world at the same time, and that its blows should +be of that intimate nature which allows of no speech, even to one’s +dearest friend. + +Lorraine knew that the rumour of Sir Edwin Crathie’s engagement was an +admitted fact; but she did not know how hard it hit Hal. She could only +have learnt by accident, and, because of events in her own life, she +was out of the line of such a discovery. + +Hal knew that Lorraine, after a nervous breakdown, had gone somewhere +into the country for a week or so, and that Alymer Hermon had run down +later to see how she was getting on, and if he could do anything for +her, but of the almost tragic circumstances that led up to his action +she knew nothing, and imagined the merest generous attention. + +She saw also the preoccupied, aged look growing on Dudley’s face, and +knew that the shadow was over him too. + +Ethel saw the change creeping over Basil as no one else saw it, and +knew that not even the far future could shed a single gleam for her +upon the darkness coming. + +Yet—for life is oversad to dwell upon rayless darkness even in +books—bright, enduring, beautiful sunshine was wrapped up in those +black clouds to flood the little world with joy at the appointed hour. + +It was Lorraine’s life that events moved first. After Hal left her, she +spent a wretched, restless, brain-racking afternoon, and was only just +able to struggle through her part at night. + +And afterwards she became suddenly sickened with the need to struggle. +She was not extravagant by nature, and had saved enough money from her +enormous salaries to live very comfortably if she chose. + +A nausea of the theatrical world and its incessant demands began to +obsess her. She felt that from the first day she stood in a manager’s +office, seeking the chance to start, it had given her everything except +happiness. + +Money, success, position, jewels, fine clothes, admirers, friends, +adventures, gaieties—all these had come, if by slow degrees, but not +one single gift had contained the kernel of happiness. + +Perhaps it was her own fault. Perhaps the trouble lay in the wrong +start she had made and never been able to retrieve. But at least there +was time to try another plan yet. + +Finally, feeling the nerve strain of recent events was seriously +affecting her health, she decided to arrange a week’s holiday to think +the matter out. + +But then what of Alymer? + +Nothing had changed her mood since his uncle paid his ill-chosen visit. +She did not actually intend to try to influence Alymer against his +people, but she did intend that he should not change to her, nor pass +out of her life, if she could help it. + +Because she, and she alone, had started him off on his promising +career, she meant to be there to watch it for some time to come. Her +influence might not any longer be actually needed. The devine fire to +achieve had already lit into a steady flame in his soul, and her +presence would make very little difference in future. He had tasted the +sweets of success, and ambition would not let him reject all that the +future might hold. + +But she must be there to see. In her lonely life he meant everything +now. There was no need for him to think of marriage for years yet; and +in the meantime she felt her claim upon him was as strong as any +mother’s fears. + +So she waited for his next visit, wondering much what would transpire +if he had heard of his uncle’s call. + +As it happened, he had. In the interview he had sought with his aunt, +to request her not to interfere in his affairs, the indignant lady +hurled at him the story of the visit; or such garbled account of it as +she had received from the participator himself. + +That was quite enough for Alymer—that and Hal’s account of Lorraine in +tears. He felt that his benefactress, his great friend, had been +abominably insulted, and he hastened in all the warmth of his ardour to +her side. + +Lorraine was waiting for him in her low, favourite chair, and when he +first saw her he could not suppress an exclamation to see how frail she +seemed suddenly to have grown. + +Her skin of ivory whiteness, enhanced by the tinge of colour in her +cheeks, and there were shadows round her eyes placed there by no +cosmetic art. + +All that was most chivalrous, most protective, most affectionate in his +nature rose uppermost, and shone in his face as he said: + +“Lorraine, it is too feeble just to say I am sorry. I heve been cursing +the blunder with all my heart ever since I knew.” + +“That was dear of you,” she said; “but of course I knew that you +would.” + +“I hoped so. I told myself over and over, you must know it had all +happened without my knowledge.” + +Lorraine had no mind to make light of the matter. She felt she would +hold him better by simply leaving it alone, and letting his own +feelings work on her side. + +She knew of course that his uncle had probably tried to injure her +case; but then, Alymer was a man of the world, and she trusted him, +knowing what he must about his uncle, to judge her kindly. + +But all this seemed to fade into nothingness when she saw the distress +and the affection in his eyes—the anger that any one had dared to hurt +her, and the eager wish to make amends. It made all her smouldering +love leap up into flame, and the strength of the suddenly roused +passion almost frightened her. She felt there was desperation in it, +the desperation of the drowning man who catches at a straw, of the +condemned man who seizes a last joy. + +Quite unexpectedly a reckless, surging desire began to take possession +of her soul. She had lost so much already; been hit so many times; +missed so many things. + +A picture came back to her, with a new allurement. The picture of +herself with a little one of her own, floating down the peacefully +flowing river to some quiet haven, far removed from the glare of the +footlights. Should she make a bold bid to win that much from the years +that were left? + +She sat quiet, looking into the heart of the fire while the thoughts +coursed through her brain, and her long lashes hid from the man above +her the glowing dreamlights in her eyes. + +Then he too pulled up a low chair and sat down, so that his head was +more nearly on a level with hers, and still his eyes looked at her with +that regretful, protecting expression. + +“You must go away, Lorry,” he said, using Hal’s pet name; “you are +beginning to look thoroughly ill.” + +“I don’t feel well, but I haven’t the heart to go alone. I should only +get melancholia.” + +“Hal seemed to think I ought to offer you a little companionship.” He +said it with a slightly bashful air. + +“Hal?…” in a sharp, questioning voice. “What has Hal been saying to +you?” + +“Not much. She was in great form at the Bruces’ last night. She rubbed +it into me finely on various subjects, and finally went off with her +head in the air to find some one refreshingly ugly who could talk +sense.” + +They both laughed, but Lorraine’s eyes were thoughtful. + +“And what did she say about your companionship?” + +“Oh, that it was only some one to talk to and be company you wanted if +you went away, and that I seemed to fill the post better than any one +just now.” He paused, then added: “Do I?” + +She felt him looking hard into her face, and kept her eyes lowered. She +did not want him to know that the thought of his companionship in the +country was like the straw to the drowning man—the last joy to the +condemned one. + +“You always make me forget the years, and feel young,” she said slowly +and thoughtfully, “and I dare say that is a very good tonic in itself.” + +“You oughtn’t to need help from any one for that”; and she knew there +was genuine admiration in his voice. “You never look anything but +young. I suppose it is temperament.” + +“Temperatment doesn’t erase lines,” with a little sad smile. + +“Perhaps not, but it makes them, in some way, suit you; and they add to +the character in a face.” + +“It is sweet of you to say so, Alymer, but it sounds a fairy tale. I +don’t so very much mind growing old, if only it were not so… +empty-handed.” + +“But surely you have so much!” + +“Not very much that counts. Anyhow, I hope some day you will have a +great deal more.” + +“You are depressed. You must really get away somewhere at once.” + +He was grandfatherly now, the mood she always loved and laughed at, and +her pulses quickened to it. He placed one of his large, strong-looking +hand over hers—it covered them both out of sight—and he leaned a little +nearer as he said: + +“I can see I shall have to take the ordering of it all. You have done +worlds for me. Now I shall have to take you in hand.” + +A harsh expression crossed her face for a moment, thinking of what his +mother had written her. + +“And go straight to perdition!” she said bitterly. + +He winced a little. + +“I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to make excuses for my own mother,” he +remarked, with the quiet dignity that was already winning his name in +the Law Courts, side by side with his gift for light satire. “You +cannot but know in your heart just how far removed her outlook on the +world is from ours.” + +She wanted to ask him if any outlook gave one woman the right to insult +another at her pleasure, but she remembered Mrs. Hermon probably did +not realise that she would have the fineness to see the insult, and was +not even aware that she had been insulting. + +“I should like you to know my father,” he went on. “He is a very +understanding man.” + +“But surely he…” + +“No; he knew nothing about it. When my mother spoke to him he asked her +not to interfere.” + +“Ah!” + +For a few swift moments the generous treatment called to her own +generosity, and for the sake of the understanding father she was almost +ready to let go the straw. Only then again came the recollection of the +uncle, and his impudent offer to substitute himself, and make amends at +the same time; and again the smouldering fires leaped up, fed by the +strong, protecting touch of the hand upon hers. + +“I think Hal was right,” Alymer was saying. “If my companionship, just +to run down and see how you are, wherever you may be, will help to +cheer you up and amuse you, there is no reason why I shouldn’t manage +it.” + +She knew he was making a concession of which he was half-afraid, +because of what he owed her, and while one half of her longed to be +self-sacrificing and release him, the other half fiercely demanded the +straw that yet might save. And still she said nothing, gazing, gazing, +into the flames. + +“What do you think?” he asked. + +“I hardly know,” with a tired smile. “Of course I want you, but if—” + +“Never mind the ‘if’,” cheerfully. “If I promise to run down and see +you, will you go away at once, and try to get well again quickly?” + +“It would make a lot of difference.” + +“Then that settles it. Can you start tomorrow?” + +“I think I could.” + +Her pulses were leaping fitfully now—leaping and bounding with a swift +delight. Perhaps he felt it, for he withdrew his hand, and gave himself +a little shake, as if warding off something dangerous. + +“Where will you go?” in a matter-of-fact voice. + +“I hardly know, but I like the sea. Any little place that is warm in +the spring. I might as well motor down, so it doesn’t matter about +trains, and the motor can come back for you.” + +“Shall I bring any one else?” his eyes searched her face. + +“Just as you like.” She leant forward and casually stirred the fire. +“Anyhow, there is sure to be plenty of room at this time of year.” + +“Plenty of room, but not plenty of available companion chaperones,” +with a little laugh. + +“Then we should have to make Sydney serve,” naming her chauffeur. She +got up from her seat. + +“I suppose I must think about dinner,” glancing at the clock. “Are you +joining me this evening?” + +“I can’t; I have to go to Morrison’s.” + +“How gay you are!” + +“It is diplomatic. Morrison could get me a brief tomorrow if he liked.” + +“There is a very pretty daughter, just out; isn’t there?” + +“Yes.” + +“And is she so strikingly lovely?” + +“I suppose she is; but she is so full of airs and graces she irritates +one almost past endurance.” + +“I’m afraid you are a severe critic. The way is made too smooth for +you.” + +She had moved near to him again, and stood beside him with one hand +resting lightly on the mantelpiece, and one foot on the fender. He was +standing as usual with his back to the fire. He looked down into her +upturned face, fascinating now from a touch of roguishness. + +“The splendid knight is hard to please; mere beauty is too +commonplace.” + +“Isn’t it sure to be?” a little smile played round his lips as he made +his gallant retort. “How can mere beauty ever appeal to me, who have +been accustomed to all you have besides?” + +“Ah, flatterer!…” she said softly, and smiled into the fire. + +There was a tense moment in which he longed to bend down and kiss her +as he had done when the room was full of violets, but instead he pulled +himself up sharply and moved away. + +“Well, I must be off. Perhaps tonight I shall have the luck to be able +to look at her from a distance, and not strike the jarring note. I’ll +try to come in tomorrow to see what you have decided, and then I’ll run +down on Friday afternoon for a long weekend, to see that you are taking +decent care of yourself.” As an afterthought he added: “I suppose Hal +couldn’t get off?” + +“I’ll ask her if you like. She would love it, if she could.” + +“And keep us amused too. I should get my head bitten off, but you could +put it on again for me. Good-bye. Anyhow, it is a promise that you will +go”; and with rather a hurried farewell, he was gone. + +Lorraine remained some moments gazing into the fire, and there was a +softness in her eyes. She knew perfectly well that he had hurried at +the last moment because when they stood together on the hearth he had +wanted to kiss her. + +And she could not help comparing his strength in refraining with what +would have been the action of most of the men she had known, who would +have professed more, and meant less. She leaned her head down on her +hand, and wondered a little pitifully: + +“Why had the best she had ever known come to her too late?” + +And then followed the dangerous thought: “Is it indeed too late?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +Lorraine was not able to see Hal, but she talked to her on the +telephone, and told her she was going into the country at once, and +Alymer was coming down for the weekend. “We wondered if you could get +off too. Do try,” she said. + +Hal answered at once that she could not manage it this week, but +possibly the next, if Lorraine were still away. + +“I’ve only arranged for a week’s holiday,” Lorr aine replied. “What a +nuisance you should be unable to come this week.” + +As a matter of fact, Hal was only going out for the day with her cousin +on Sunday, but an urgent little note from Sir Edwin had begged her to +keep Saturday free for him; and because the suspense was becoming +unendurable, she granted his request, determined to know the truth. + +So it happened that Lorraine motored down alone to a quaint little +fishing-village on the south coast, where there was a charming, +old-fashioned, creeper-decked hotel, too far from the railway for the +ordinary weekend tourists, and patronised mainly by motorists in the +summer. + +And on Friday the motor went back to town to fetch Alymer, bringing him +down about four o’clock, unaccompanied. + +“So Sydney will have to be chaperone after all,” Lorraine said lightly. +“Now, what should you like to do tomorrow?” + +“Is there any chance of fishing?” + +He asked the question with some diffidence, fearing that it might only +bore her. + +Lorraine clapped her hands. + +“Exactly what I thought. We’re going to have the jolliest little +fishing-smack imaginable for the whole day; and Sunday too, if you +like; and take our lunch with us, and fish until we are tired.” + +A glad light leapt to Alymer’s eyes. + +“By gad! You are a trump,” he said. + +In the meantime Hal waited a little feverishly for Saturday. They were +to have one of their long outings. Meet at twelve, motor for two hours, +lunch at two, then a walk; back to town to dine, without changing, in +some grill room. + +Sir Edwin had mapped it all out beforehand, sitting at his desk, with +an anxious, unhappy expression, unrelieved by the evidences all around +him of what he had achieved—of the proud position that was his. Indeed +he almost wished he could will it all away, and be just an independent, +moderately successful solicitor, able to please himself in all things; +instead of bound by the demands of party and position. + +And those demands just now were very exacting. It was not an easy party +to serve, and the less so in that its ranks numbered many soldiers of +fortune of the swashbuckler type, who meant to hold the power they had +attained partly on the exploitation of a lie, by fair means or +otherwise; even if necessary by further lies—lies upon lies—but clever, +carefully manipulated ones; not bald, childish, outspoken ones. + +One of their most prominent office-holders had recently perpetrated a +lie of the latter type. Such a barefaced, impudent, obvious lie, that +there was no possibility of covering it up, and the whole country +talked of it. Music halls laughed at it, comic papers and comic songs +rang with it, election platforms bristled with it. + +Naturally the party was very annoyed. One could imagine them saying +indignantly to the offender: “Lie as much as you like, but for +goodness’ sake have the common sense to lie cleverly. If you can’t do +that, better confine yourself to merely distorting facts.” + +The official in question held a post in the same department as Sir +Edwin—which meant that quite enough opprobrium had been recently hurled +at the Law without risk of any further scandal. + +The party was not sufficiently strong for that. They had fright enough +over a paragraph in the _Church Gazette_, hinting at a lady in +connection with one of their Ministers—where there should be no lady; +but prompt action had steered the ship through those shoals in safety. + +But all the same, this business of The Right Honourable Sir Edwin +Crathie and the Stock Exchange had got to be attended to at once. Under +no possible consideration must it leak out that a Cabinet Minister had +been speculating so heavily, and lost to such an extent, that nothing +but an immense sum of money could save him from disgrace, bankruptcy, +and ruin. + +One friend and another had tided him over for some little time, but he +had continued to be reckless and incautious, relying with an unpleasant +sneer upon his title. + +“Oh well!” had been his conclusion; “if the worst comes to the worst, I +can always sell my name to an heiress.” + +Finally, that unhappy condition had arrived. It had further chosen the +worst possible moment—the moment when the music halls and comic papers +were waxing hilarious over the badly executed lie. + +Sir Edwin had been summoned to a consultation that had been the reverse +of pleasant. The only thing was that the way of escape had been +thoughtfully planned for him. He had no need to hunt up the heiress for +himself. She was considerately provided. + +Miss Bootes’ father was a wealthy Liberal, who had more than once +generously supplied funds to the party, in return for some small favour +he craved. Now he wanted a celebrity, with a title, for his daughter. +Sir Edwin hardly came up to the required standard, but Mr. Bootes was +easily persuaded that there was absolutely no limit to his +possibilities, were he once set on his feet as far as money was +concerned. + +The Prime Ministership, followed by a Peerage, were in his certain +grasp, had he but the necessary money to back him. + +Papa Bootes said over an over to himself: “My daughter, Lady Elizabeth +Crathie” (it was really Eliza, but had been discreetly changed to suit +the fashion), and came to the conclusion that a Cabinet Minister for a +son-in-law sufficiently banished the odorous flavour patent manures had +given to his fortune. + +Finally he inquired the amount of Sir Edwin’s debts, and promised a +cheque if the delicate little matter were settled. + +Hence the consultation, and the polite but firm intimation that Sir +Edwin must close with the offer—that he had not even the right to +choose ruin instead, because of its effect on the party. + +And of course, now the crisis had come, Sir Edwin did not want to close +with the offer. In his own mind he consigned the party, and all +belonging to it, to the very worst hell of Dante’s Inferno. + +But, beyond relieving his mind a little, their imaginary exodus did not +help him in the least. He found himself in the very undesirable +position of furnishing a telling example of the utter impossibility of +serving two masters. + +To do his common sense justice he had never had the least intention of +attempting to. Without any prevarication as far as his own feelings +were concerned, he had quite honestly chosen to serve Mammon. Having +decided thus far, he banished the very memory of any other possible +master. He did not exist for him. Mammon, in that it meant place, and +power, and money, was the only god he wanted to serve. + +And now?— + +Well, of course, the Little Girl must go. At first he said it harshly, +shrugging his shoulders and pursing his lips. It had only been a +pastime all through, and, thanks to her own pluck and sense, it had +been one of those rare, delightful pastimes that, ended suddenly, might +leave only a gracious, enjoyable memory behind. He was glad of that. + +Somewhere in his heart, that was mostly impressionless India rubber, +there had proved to be a healthy, flesh-and-blood spot after all. She +had found it quickly—gone straight to it with the unerring directness +of a little child. It existed still—would always exist for her. + +But in future the India rubber would have to close over it, and hide it +from all chance of discovery. In future he must not even remember it +himself. For that way lay weakness. No serving of Mammon could be +achieved, whichever way he turned, with the frank, candid, clever +Little Girl. + +And so she must go; and since it was inevitable, the sooner the better. + +Then had come the afternoon’s golf; and, without asking himself why, he +had hidden from her that there was any change. Afterwards, because the +impending finale made him desire her as he had never desired her +before, he went into the pretty little sitting-room and kissed her. + +When he hurriedly departed, he remembered only that the kiss had been +sweet. Also that evidently no rumour had reached her yet. But of course +it would. Any moment of any day her newspaper office might get the news +and publish it. + +He spent a wretched week, torn mercilessly by his desire to serve two +masters. In the end, because he was a man who hated to be thwarted, he +swore a violent oath, and said that he would. + +Then he sent Hal the urgent little note, and made his plans for the +day. They all hinged largely upon his hope to get her to go to his flat +in Jermyn Street, after that grill-room dinner. That was why when they +met he cleverly took the bull by the horns directly he saw in her eyes +that she had heard the news. He appealed, with insight, to her sense of +humour. + +“If you look at me like that,” he said, “I shall punish you by sitting +down here, in St. James’s Park, on the curbstone, and giving you an +explanation before all London that lasts an hour.” + +“I’ve a great mind to keep you to it,” with her low, musical laugh, +“and send Peter to bring a phonograph man with a blank record to take +it down.” + +“And a dozen journalists with snap-shot cameras, and biograph +apparatus, to link us in notorious publicity to all eternity.” + +“No; I couldn’t stand that. What is your alternative?” + +“A long, perfect day in this heavenly sunshine, pretending anything in +the world you like that will make us forget the stale, boresome, old +week-day world. Then, at the end of it, the unfolding of a glorious +plan that is an explanation in itself.” + +Hal looked doubtful, and seemed to cogitate. He waited in an anxiety he +could scarce conceal, watching her mobile, sensitive face. Finally the +sunshine and the light-hearted carelessness made the strongest appeal, +and she gave in. + +“Very well. If it had been dull and cloudy I would not have agreed. But +one daren’t trifle with sunshine. We’ll take our fill of it while it +lasts.” + +So it happened that their last long day was one of the best they had +known—each being clever enough to carry out the suggested programme and +banish the following cloud for the time. + +Hal was a little feverish—a little gayer than usual, with some hidden +strain; a little pathetically anxious to act an indifference she could +not possibly feel, concerning that rumour, and throw herself heart and +soul into their compact of forgetting everything for a little while +except the sunshine and the exhilarating dash through a spring-decked +England. + +In some places the hedges were white with hawthorn; and in sheltered +nooks they sped past primroses, like pale stars in the grass. There +were plantations of feathery, exquisite larch trees, their lovely green +enhanced by tall dark pines, standing among them like sentinels. In gay +gardens joyous daffodils nodded and laughed to them as they whirled +past. Sir Edwin ventured an appreciative remark. + +“Don’t talk,” Hal said. “Pretend you are in a worldwide cathedral, and +it is the great annual festival of spring.” + +“May I sing?” he asked humorously. + +“No; not as you value your life. We have only to listen to the choir. +Hush, don’t you hear the birds singing the grand spring ‘Te Deum’!” + +But after a time she spoke herself. + +“Was it all like this on Thursday night—all these delicious scents and +sights and sounds cast broadcast, for all who passed to enjoy?” + +“I expect so. Why?” + +The kindliness in the quizzical grey eyes was amazing, as he sat back, +watching her with covert insistence, instead of the spring glories. How +the divine spark changes a man for the brief moments when it reigns! +Banishing utterly Stock Exchange scandals, convenient heiresses, +exacting parties, the merciless claims of the god Mammon. He might have +looked just so, years and years ago, before he entered that hard +service, and buried all his best under layer upon layer of harsh, +deadening, world-wise grasping. Pity that the best is so frail to +withstand the onslaught of the demons of power and place—so easily +overcome and thrust away probably for ever. + +“I was up in Holloway. I suppose you know it? And there was a strong +man dying a helpless invalid, and his sister breaking her heart, and a +woman from the opposite flat, who said she stood for nothing in the +world but a letter of the alphabet. And all round was gloom, and murk, +and shabbiness, and hard, pitiless facts. I came home in the tube, and +all the passengers seemed to look like lifeless, starved, white-faced +mummies. They made me feel frightened. I wondered where joy had fled +to. + +“And here, was it just like this all the time?... flowers, and sweet +scents, and spring, and hopefulness?... And scarcely any one to enjoy +it all; while those white-faced, vacant mummies were journeying +foolishly to and fro in that stuffy, detestable tube.” + +“You shouldn’t go to such places. What have you to do with Holloway, +and shabbiness, and starving people? If you belonged to me, I wouldn’t +let you go.” + +“Of course I have to do with them. We all have. But I don’t know what. +And it frightens me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt frightened before. It +was like being brought up sharp against a stone wall.” + +His lips were suddenly a little stern. Stone walls had to be broken +down. That was the use of being strong. One was not frightened; one +just got a battering-ram, and forced a passage through. He would tell +her soon, but not out here. Not just yet. + +“You are forgetting our compact. I’m surprised at you, Hal. I call it a +slight on the sunshine.” + +“Why, so it is!... Avaunt, and leave my mind, Holloway! This day +belongs to the spring.” + +And until they drew up outside the Criterion Grill, she kept her +spirits high, and gave herself to the joy of the hour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +When they were half-way through dinner Hal asked, a trifle abruptly: + +“Now, what about this piece of news? What does it mean?” + +He looked away, unable to meet her candid eyes, and said: + +“I will tell you presently.” + +“Where? Why not now? Why all this secrecy?” + +“Because it is rather a big matter. You have sometimes said you would +like to see the horns and trophies I brought back from my shooting-trip +in Canada. Come and see them this evening.” + +“At your flat?” doubtfully. + +“Yes. Why not?” + +Hal knit her forehead and looked perplexed. She had so insistently +declined to go hitherto, that she was loath now to change her mind. Yet +she felt it was rather silly to have any fear of him now. + +In the end she went. + +It was only eight o’clock, and he promised to take her home about nine. +Besides, something in his manner was baffling her, and she wanted to +understand how they stood. + +Once in the sumptuous, beautifully furnished flat, however, he seemed +to change. He came up to her suddenly, put his arms round her, and +kissed her. + +“At last,” he breathed. “At last I’ve got you absolutely to myself.” + +“Don’t do that.” + +Hal disengaged herself and held him at arm’s length. For a moment she +looked steadily into his eyes, and then she asked: + +“How has this report of your engagement got into the papers?” Her lips +curled a little. “I presume you would hardly act to me like this if it +is true.” + +“It is true in one sense, and not another.” + +“Oh...” She seemed a little taken aback. “In what way is it true. Are +you engaged to Miss Bootes?” + +“Yes.” + +“Indeed!” + +She lifted her eyebrows, and moved a pace or two farther away. + +“Don’t move away from me,” he said a little thickly. “It isn’t the part +that’s true which matters, but the part that is not true.” + +“I don’t understand.” + +“I brought you here to explain. I can do so very quickly. I am in a +tight corner. The tightest corner I ever was in my life. Only one thing +can save me. I must have money. Miss Bootes, or at any rate her father, +wants a title. I haven’t the shadow of a choice. I have got to sell her +mine.” + +Again Hal’s lips curled, and a little spark of fire shone in her eyes. + +“Oh, I can understand all that!” She tossed her head +half-unconsciously. “But why”—her lips quivered a little—“did you think +it necessary to insult both of us by, at the same time, becoming +lover-like to me?” + +“I told you why; because I love you.” + +He stepped up to her, and caught both her hands in an iron grip. + +“Now, listen to me, Hal. Don’t try to break away, for I won’t let you +go. I tell you it’s a matter of life and death. In your heart you know +quite well that I love you. You knew it when I kissed you last +Saturday, and you were glad. I don’t know when you read that +announcement, but whenever it was, your heart said to you ‘Whether it’s +true or not, he loves _me_’. Probably you didn’t believe it was true, +because you knew nothing whatever about the devilish mess I was in. But +in any case, your heart told you right. I do love you. I love you with +every bit of me that knows how to love. If I have to be hers in name, I +am at any rate yours at heart, and shall be all my life. Now, what have +you to say?” + +She tried to drag her hands away, but he gripped them tightly, forcing +her to feel his strength, his resolve, and his masterfulness. + +“I have nothing to say. What should I have? You have elected to sell +yourself, to let a woman”—with swift scorn—“buy you out of a tight +corner. I… I…” in a low tense voice, “am sorry we ever met.” + +“Why?—” + +He hurled the monosyllable at her, now almost crushing her hands in his +grasp, as he waited, silently compelling her to reply. + +“Because the friendship was pleasant. It has meant a good deal. And now +for it to end like this!… for me to have to scorn you.” + +“Why need it end?… Why should you scorn me?… Wouldn’t every second man +you know in my place act exactly as I am acting? I have no choice. I +ought not to tell you, but my political chiefs have issued an ultimatum +to me, and I have got to obey it. Do you suppose I would consider it +for a moment if I could find any other way out? Do you suppose I would +risk losing you, would even dream of giving you up, if I were not +driven to it by the very hell-hounds of circumstance? + +“To have felt love at all is the most wonderful thing in my life: I, +who have always mocked and jeered and disbelieved. Well, anyhow it is +there now. Listen, Hal. I love you. I love you? _I love you_.” + +He tried again to kiss her, but she wrenched at her hands, held in his +grip. + +“Let me go. You… you… to talk of love. You don’t know what it is. Let +me go… let me go—” + +“I won’t. By God, you shan’t speak to me like that. I won’t endure it.” + +He was evidently losing control of himself a little, and the sight of +it steadied her. Behind all her bravado and pluck there was a terrible +ache. Caught in a mesh of circumstances, she knew she could not +struggle out without being grievously hurt at heart. She knew that, +however she loathed his action now, she could not unlove him all in a +moment. + +When he scorched and seared her with his passionate declaration, her +heart cried out that she wanted him to love her, that she wanted to be +his. And yet stronger and higher and better than all, was that woman’s +instinct in her soul which loathed his action and clung wildly in the +stress of the moment to its own best ideal. + +In the swift sense of hopelessness that followed, great tears gathered +in her eyes, and welled over onto her cheeks. They had an immediate +effect upon him. He let go her hands. + +“Don’t cry, Hal, don’t cry,” he said a little huskily. + +“I can’t stand that.” + +She brushed the tears away almost angrily, but, ignoring his motion to +draw up an arm chair, remained standing, straight and slim beside the +hearth, trying to recover her composure. + +Sir Edwin commenced to pace the room. He had succeeded in his scheme so +far as to get Hal to the flat to discuss the projects in his mind, but +now that she was there he felt at a loss to proceed. He wished she +would sit down; he changed his mind and almost wished she would cry; +standing there, like a soldier on guard, with that direct, fearless +expression, she disconcerted him, by making him feel mean and paltry +and small. + +And all the time he could not choose but admire her more and more. He +wished with all his heart in those moments that he could throw his +position and his party overboard, and go to her with a clean slate, and +say: + +“I have done with serving Mammon. Come to me as my wife, and I will +serve you instead.” + +And instead he had brought her there to say: + +“I cannot give up serving Mammon. I must marry the heiress, but let me +be your lover and I will serve you as well.” + +And all the time Hal stood there with those resolute, set lips, as +erect as a young grenadier. + +But all the same he meant to have her if he could, and he remembered of +old how often he had found a swift, bold attack won. So he stopped +short beside her, and said: + +“You know that whatever circumstances compel me to do, all my heart is +yours, Hal, and you care a little bit about me. You know you do. Don’t +condemn me to outer darkness. Come to me like the sensible little woman +you are. No one will ever know, and I can make your life gayer and +happier just as long as ever you like.” + +She looked at him with a startled, perplexed expression. + +“What do you mean?” she asked slowly. + +“Now, don’t get angry.” + +He laid his hand on her arm, with a caressing touch. + +“You’ve knocked about the world too much not to know what I mean. You +know perfectly well half the girls you know would let themselves be +persuaded. But that isn’t what I want. I’ve too much respect for your +strength of character. Come to me because you can be strong enough to +rise above conventions and because you dare to be a law unto yourself. +It is the courage I expect of you. Hal, my darling, who is ever to be +any the wiser if you and I are lovers? Think what I can do for you to +make life gay and interesting and fresh. Don’t decide in a hurry. If no +one ever knows, no one need be hurt.” + +She moved away from him, and went and stood by the window, looking down +at the passing lights in St. James’s Street; looking at the lights in +the windows opposite, looking at the faint light of the stars overhead. + +It was characteristic of her that she did not grow angry and indignant; +nor, in a theatrical spirit, immediately attempt to impress him with +the fact that she was a good, virtuous woman, and that his suggestion +filled her with horror. Her knowledge of life was too wide, her +understanding too deep. + +She knew that to such a man as he a proposal of this kind did not +present any shocking aspect whatever. When he said, “Be a sensible +little woman,” he meant it to the letter. He actually believed she +would show common sense in yielding to him, and taking what joy out of +life she could. + +But, unfortunately for the world in general, it is not only the +horror-struck, conventional, shocked women who resolutely turn their +eyes from the primrose path. There are plenty of large-hearted, +broad-minded women, who, seeing the world as it is, instead of how the +idealists would have it, are content to go on their own strong way, +fighting their own battle for themselves without saying anything, and +without judging the actions of others, content in striving to live up +to their own best selves. + +Hal was one of these. If another girl in her place had yielded to the +alluring prospect of possessing such an interesting lover as Sir Edwin, +to brighten the commonplace, daily round, she would not have blamed +her, she would have tried not to judge her. + +But she would have been sorry for her in many ways, knowing how apt the +primrose path is to turn suddenly to thorns and stones; and in an hour +of need she would have stood by her if she could. + +But the fact of possessing these wide sympathies did not lessen any +obligation she felt to herself. It was her creed to “play the game” as +far as in her lay, and according to her own definition. + +That definition did not admit of any irregularity of this kind. It +called, instead, sternly and insistently for absolute denial. It told +her now, without the smallest shadow of doubt, that from tonight she +must never see Sir Edwin again. She must take whatever interest he had +brought out of her life, and go back to the old, monotonous round. + +It was useless to question or reason. The decree was there in her own +heart. The insistent call to keep her colours flying high, as she +fought her way through the pitfalls of life to the Highest and Best. + +As she paced the room behind her, disclosing a carefully thought-out +plan, now pleading, now expostulating, she heard him rather as one afar +off. + +The plan did not matter one way or another. If she could have let +herself go at all she would not have troubled about plans. His pleading +and expostulating she scarcely heard. + +She was looking out at all the lights, and her mind was grappling with +problems. How harsh the glare of the streets appeared tonight. How far, +far away the pin points that were stars. Hal liked a city. + +Constellations hanging like great lamps in wonderful, wilderness skies +would have wearied her quickly. She loved people, and she liked them +all about her. But tonight she felt suddenly very near to the dark, +shadowy side of life—very far from the stars of light. + +She glanced up at the pin points a little wistfully. If perhaps they +were nearer with their message of high striving; if perhaps the glare +at hand were less harsh, there might be so much more steadfast courage +in the world; so much less weak acceptance of conditions that led to +pain and misery and disaster. + +At last he stood beside her, and implored her to tell him, once for +all, that she would yield and come. + +But when he saw into the clear depths of her eyes, he knew his hopes +were vain. + +Suddenly, with swift self-distrust, his mood softened. + +“I suppose I’ve shocked you past forgiveness now,” he said miserably. +“You’ll think I’ve been a brute to you, and you’ll never forget it.” + +“No; I shan’t think that; but I should like to go home at once.” + +“But surely that is not your last word!” + +“What else is there so say? I... I... can’t do that sort of thing. That +is all. From today you must go your way, and I must go mine. It is +useless to discuss it. Let me go home.” + +“But you can’t mean it,” he cried. “Surely we are not to part like +this.” + +She had moved back into the room now, and was pulling on her gloves. + +“What else can we do?” + +“But you care for me, Hal. You can’t deny it. You do care a little; +don’t you?” + +She looked into his eyes without a tremor, but with a pain at the back +of hers that made him flinch. + +“Yes, I care,” she said very quietly. + +“Ah!” + +Suddenly he sat down, and buried his face in his arms on the table. +Every good, honest trait he possessed called to him to throw “Mammon” +to the winds, and make her happy. Let the party take care of itself. It +was not for his nobility of character they had taken him into the +Cabinet. Let his creditors do their worst—a strong man could win +through anything. But the mood did not last. There was not enough room +in that India rubber heart for it to expand and grow. It died for want +of breathing-space. + +“If you care, why can’t you have the courage to come to me?” he asked a +little fiercely. + +“Because I have the courage to stay away.” + +And he knew—hardened sinner that he was—that she named the greater +courage. + +But his goaded feelings called to him, and drove him, making him mad +with the knowledge he must lose her. + +“Heroics!…” he said—“heroics!… Don’t talk like a bread-and-butter miss, +Hal. It is unthinkable of you.” + +He got up from his chair and took a step towards her, but stood +irresolute—daunted by the calm strength in her face. + +“The world is too old for heroics any more. Every one laughs at them. +Where is the politician today who cares tuppence for anything but the +main chance? We blazon our way into office, and we blazon louder still +to keep there. It is the spirit of the age. The strong man takes what +he wants, and holds it by right of his strength. In primeval times we +used fists and clubs. Now we hit with brains and words or hard cash. +That is all the difference. The strong man is still the one who takes +what he wants, and keeps it. And I want you, Hal. It is mere +feebleness—childishness—to be thwarted by convention and circumstance. +Hoodwink convention, and stamp on circumstance. Go through stone walls +with a battering-ram. As long as the world doesn’t know—who cares? +Those are my sentiments. They have been for years. When I want a thing, +I go for it bald-headed, and take it.” + +He drew nearer boldly, refusing to be daunted, putting all his strength +and determination against hers. + +“And I want you, Hal. Do you understand? Don’t be a little fool. Come.” + +She backed away from him towards the door. + +“I understand well enough,” she said quietly, “and I shall never see +you again if I can help it. All that you say does not appeal to me in +the least. I am not a politician—thank God—and I am still old-fashioned +enough to possess an ideal. I am going now. Good-bye.” + +But when he saw she was already in the little hall, a wave of fierce +desire seemed to catch him by the throat. + +“Not yet,” he exclaimed hoarsely: “Not yet… I care and you care—you +cannot go yet—” + +But before he reached her, she had slipped through the front door, and +shut it behind her, and run down the stairs out into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +All through the next day, while motoring with her cousin Dick Bruce, +Hal made a valiant effort to appear exactly as usual; but all the fresh +spring countryside now seemed to mock her with its sudden emptiness, +and the very engine of the motor throbbed out to her that something had +gone from her life which would not come back any more. + +She chatted away to Dick manfully, about all manner of things, but in +the pauses of their chatter she was silent and still in a manner quite +unlike her old self—reattending with a start, and sometimes so distrait +she did not hear when he spoke to her. + +After a time Dick began to notice, and then purposely to watch, and +finally he perceived all her gaiety was forced, and sometimes was +weighing heavily on her mind. + +It was useless to say anything while they motored, so he gave all his +attention to his driving, and purposely allowed the conversation to +drop. + +When they returned to Bloomsbury he went in to supper with her, as was +his habit, and, as he hoped, Dudley was away up at Holloway. It was not +until they had finished their meal, and the landlady had cleared away, +that he attacked the subject; then, with characteristic directness, he +said: + +“Now, Hal, what’s the matter?” + +“The matter?…” in surprise. “What can you mean, Dick? Why should +anything be the matter?” + +She tried to meet his eyes frankly, but before the searching inquiry in +them her gaze dropped to the fire. + +“Something is the matter, Hal. Just as if I shouldn’t know.” + +She was thoughtful a moment or two, thinking how best to put him off +the right scent; then with overpowering suddenness came the +recollection of all the pleasure and interest and delight the lost +friendship had stood for, and her eyes filled with tears. It was +useless to attempt to hide them, so she contrived to say as steadily as +possible: + +“I am a bit down on my luck about something; but it’s nothing to worry +about. Don’t take any notice; there’s a dear boy. I shall soon forget.” + +“But why shouldn’t I take any notice? Don’t be a goose, Hal. Tell me +what’s the matter.” + +She was silent, and after a pause he added: + +“I suppose it is Sir Edwin?” + +Hal felt it useless to prevaricate, and so she said, with assumed +lightness: + +“Well, it has been a little sudden, and we had some jolly times +together.” + +“Then he is engaged?” + +“Yes.” + +She told him briefly why. Dick watched her with a question in his eyes. + +“Did he deliberately get engaged to the other girl, knowing he cared +for you?” he asked. + +Hal tried to lie. + +“Oh, there was nothing of that sort between him and me. We were just +good pals. But of course it can’t go on the same.” + +“You’re not a clever liar, Hal,” he said, with a little smile. + +She coloured and bit her lip, with an uneasy laugh. Then the tears +shone again. + +“Better tell me about it. Perhaps I can lend a hand to get through +with.” + +Hal placed her hands on the mantelshelf, and leaned her forehead down +on them. + +“Tell me something funny, Dick, or I shall howl in a few seconds. Don’t +be serious. Be idiotic. Have the carrots and turnips decided which take +precedence yet? Is her ladyship, the onion, weeping upon the cabbage’s +lordly bosom? Are the babies talking philosophy over their bottles? For +Heaven’s sake, Dick, be idiotic, and make me laugh.” + +“I think it would do you more good to cry.” + +“Oh, no, no: I hate to cry. Do help me not to.” + +But Dick understood the relief it was to a woman to have it out, and he +just sat down in Dudley’s big arm chair, and reached the favourite +footstool for Hal. + +“Sit on the stool of confessional, and I’ll make you laugh later on. If +you don’t cry now, you will when I’ve gone.” + +Hal sat on the footstool, and leaning against his knee, cried quietly +for several minutes. He played with an unruly strand of hair until she +dried her eyes, and then said: + +“When we were kids, you always told me when things went wrong with you. +Tell me all about it now.” + +“I left off being a kid about a month ago. I’m ancient history now”; +and she tried to smile through her tears. + +“Why?” + +“Oh, just because—” and then her voice broke suddenly. + +“I suppose Sir Edwin was in love with you?” + +She did not reply. + +“And he was obliged to marry the other woman for the money.” + +He was thoughtful for some moments, and then added: + +“All the same, when a man like that goes so far as to love a woman, +which must be a pretty novel experience for him, he doesn’t let her go +lightly. He won’t let you go lightly, Hal.” + +“I shall not see him again.” + +“Has it come to that already?” + +“It had to. There was no other course.” + +“It sounds rather sudden and drastic.” He watched her keenly. “A man +like that would try to get both of you. Did he try, Hal?” + +The hot blood rushed to her face, and she turned her head away. + +“Well, he would think it the obvious, sensible course, I suppose, and +perhaps a good many women would, too. What did you think, Hal?” + +“I didn’t think. I hurried away. I shall not see him any more at all.” + +He looked at her with a light in his eyes. + +“Bravo,” he said; and there was a low thrill in his voice. “He’ll think +the world more of you, Hal.” + +“I’m not sure; anyhow, it doesn’t help very much.” + +“Then you wanted to go.” + +She stared into the fire and was silent. + +“I see,” he said simply. “You are one of the women who would have +dared, only… of course I knew you wouldn’t, Hal. And, if you had, I +shouldn’t have been the one to blame you.” + +“Yes,” she told him, still staring at the fire. “I could have dared +under some circumstance. But not these. Never under pretty, ignoble +ones. I think that all makes it worse. There were two Sir Edwins. There +was one I knew, and another the world knew. It was the other that +triumphed. Mine will never come back. It is all finished.” + +She bowed her head down on her arms. + +“Oh, Dick,” she said. “I shall miss him badly.” + +“But I’m glad you let him go, Hal.” He spoke in a quiet voice full of +feeling. “Most men are pretty casual and indifferent nowadays, and we +often say we like a woman to be broad-minded, and daring, and all that; +but, by Jove! when we know she’s straight as a die, without being a +prude, we’re ready to kneel down to her. + +“Stand to your guns, Hal. I... I... want to go on knowing that you are +among those one wants to kneel down to. If he is very persistent and +persevering, and it gets harder, I dare say I can help. You can always +’phone me at a moment’s notice, and I shall consider myself at your +beck and call.” + +“You are a dear, Dick, but I shall not see him. He can only wait for me +at the office, and I shall go out the back way.” + +“Still, if you’re rather lost there are lots of things we might do to +fill up the time. I’ve been going down East with Quin lately. It’s +awfully interesting. Especially with him—he’s so splendid with the most +hopeless characters. There’s a sing-song at one of the clubs on +Wednesday eve. Come down with us. You’ll see Quin at his very best.” + +“I’d love to come. Will you fetch me?” + +“I’ll fetch you from the office, and we’ll have a sort of meat-tea meal +at the Cheshire Cheese. Perhaps Quin will join us.” + +So they sat on and talked in the firelight till it was time for Dick to +go; and all the time Hal was unconsciously drawing strength and +resolution from him for the fight that lay ahead of her. + +Many years ago when she broke her dolls he had tried to mend them and +comfort her. And now, because he was a simple, manly gentleman, blessed +with the precious gift of understanding—when she was feeling +heart-broken he tried with all the old, generous affection to help to +heal the wound, and bring her consolation. + +And away on the southern shore, where a little fishing-village nestled +in the cliffs, and a creeper-covered hotel awaited sleepily the coming +of the summer and the summer visitors, Lorraine came to what she deemed +her hour—the one great hour left—and, as a drowning man, caught at her +straw. Two long perfect days they had spent on the sea, with an old +fisherman, full of anecdote, and his young grandson to sail the boat. + +Then came the dreamy twilight hour, and their utter loneness; and +Alymer, with the strong, swift blood in his veins, and the strong lust +of life in his heart, lost himself, as she meant that he should, in the +intoxicating atmosphere of her charm and fascination. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +When Hal and her cousin emerged from the office the following Wednesday +evening, the first thing Hal saw was Sir Edwin’s motor, and Sir Edwin +himself standing waiting for her. A disengaged taxi was just moving +off, having deposited a fare, and instantly, without a word to Dick, +she sprang into it. Dick gave a sharp glance round and followed her. + +“Tell him where to go,” she said. + +He directed the chauffeur, and then looked anxiously into her face. She +had turned very pale, and seemed for the moment overcome. + +“Sir Edwin’s motor?” he asked, and she nodded. + +“Shall I call for you every day?” he said at once. + +“No. He can’t possibly see me if I go out the other way.” Then she +added: “He won’t go on for long. He was there yesterday, but he did not +see me; and after today I dare say he will give it up.” + +Finally she added, with an effort: + +“I heard this morning the wedding is already fixed for June. It’s to be +one of the weddings of the season”; and her lips curled somewhat. + +“I’m more sorry for her than for you, Hal,” he said quietly. “You’ve a +lot of splendid years before you yet. Heaven only knows what’s ahead of +her. I doubt he’ll not give her much beside his name for his share of +the bargain.” + +She made no comment, leaning back in her corner, white and tired. It +was difficult to imagine anything ever being splendid again just then; +or any man ever seeming other than tame, after Sir Edwin’s clever, +virile, interesting personality. + +But Dick had judged wisely in suggesting the trip down East. Anything +West would merely have recalled painful memories. The East of London +was new to her, and could not fail to be interesting to any one with +Hal’s love of her fellows. + +They went to a large parish hall, where Quin was in charge for a social +evening of dancing and music. Factory girls were there in all their +tawdry finery to dance; rough, boisterous youths mostly made fun of +them; tired, white-faced, over-worked middle-aged women sat round the +walls, laughing weakly, but forgetting the drudgery for a little while. +At one end of the room older men sat and smoked, and looked at +illustrated periodicals. + +Hal entered with Quin and Dick on either side of her, and was +immediately accosted by a young lady, with a longer and straighter +feather than most of them, with the remark: + +“Hullo, miss!… which of ’em’s yer sweet’eart?” + +A burst of laughter greeted this sally, but Hal, not in the least +disconcerted, replied: + +“Why, both, of course… I’ll be bound you’ve had two at a time often +enough.” + +The repartee delighted all within hearing, and from that moment Hal was +a brilliant succes at the social evenings. She only wondered she had +never thought to go before; but perhaps no other moment would have been +just so propitious. + +The sudden blank in her life craved some interest that was entirely +new, and made her more ready to receive fresh impressions and create +fresh occupations. She quickly found real pleasure in teaching the +girls to dance properly, in listening to their outspoken humour, and +soon developed an interest in their varied and vigorous personalities. + +As she and Dick went home together that evening he noted joyfully that +a little colour had come back to her face, and there was once more a +genuine gleam in her eyes. + +“You liked it?” he asked. + +“Immensely.” + +“It grows on one. You’ll like it better still yet. Alymer and I have +always rather laughed at Quin, and regarded him as a crank. But he’s +not. It’s just that he loves humanity, and he gets quite close up to +the core of it down there, even if it is half-smothered in vice and +dirt. I don’t believe he’ll ever take orders. It’s partly because he’s +not a clergyman, and they know it, he’s such a success. Tonight, for +instance, there was a big bullying chap trying to spoil all the fun for +the men who wanted to smoke peacefully and look at the books. Quin +remonstrated, and he turned round and swore violently at him. To my +surprise, Quin, if anything, outdid him. I wouldn’t have believed Quin +could swear like that. I’m sure I couldn’t myself. The chap just looked +at him, and tried another oath or two doubtfully. And Quin said: + +“Go on if you like, I’m not nearly through yet. I can’t be a blank, +blank, blank bully, and I don’t want to be—it’s nothing to be proud of; +but I’m as much of a man as you any day.” + +“The other chaps laughed then, and the brute slunk off to the other +side of the room.” + +“I asked Quin about it later, and he said: + +“‘Oh well, you’ve got to talk to them in their own language, or they +don’t listen. That’s the best of not being a clergyman. Of course one +couldn’t very well curse and swear then. But it’s the way to manage +them. That chap will come to heel in an evening or two, and be +reasonably quiet.’ + +“You hit the right note straight off, Hal. Quin was awfully pleased. +Talk to them on their own level first, and presently you’ll be getting +them struggling up to yours almost without knowing it. He’s frightfully +keen for you to go again.” + +“I’m going every Wednesday,” she said, “and other times as well.” + +They parted at the door, and Hal went in alone. + +The moment she stood in the sitting-room she knew that something had +happened. Dudley was sitting in his big chair by the fire, holding +neither book nor paper, gazing silently at the flames. + +At the table she stood still. + +“What’s the matter, Dudley?… What has happened?” + +There were a few moments’ silence, then, scarcely looking round, he +replied: + +“She’s gone. Run away with another man.” + +“Gone!…” she echoed. “Gone… with another man! … Do you mean Doris?” + +“Yes. She was married at a Registry Office this morning. A messenger +boy took the letter up this evening, after they had left for the +Continent.” + +Hal sat down. It was so violently sudden she felt stunned. After a +moment Dudley got up and moved aimlessly about the room. + +“It’s no use attempting to say anything, Hal. There’s nothing to say. +Of course I know you’re sorry, and all that, but I’d rather you didn’t +say it. You never liked the engagement, and you never liked Doris. +Probably you were justified, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me +now.” + +“Who has she gone with?” + +“I believe he’s a South African millionaire.” + +“Ah!—” + +“You had heard of him?…” sharply. + +“Only last week, from the tenant opposite. She did not know I was your +sister, and said something about Doris having two young men, and one of +them was a South African millionaire.” + +He made no comment, but continued his aimless walk. + +“What about Ethel and Basil?” she could not help asking. + +“They are terribly upset. As soon as I had been shown the letter I went +out to make inquiries. Ethel could not rest for fear everything was not +square. She wanted to go off after her at once. But it’s all correct. I +saw the Registrar. They were properly married, and they left for Dover +at eleven, bound for Paris.” + +“What in the world will become of Basil?” + +He winced visibly. Doris’s flagrant selfishness to Basil hurt almost +more than her faithlessness to himself. + +“She stated in the letter that her husband was allowing her a thousand +a year for herself, and she was prepared to pay a housekeeper to look +after Basil and the flat.” + +“Little beast,” Hal breathed under her breath. “What are they going to +do?” she said aloud. + +“The tenant opposite insists upon taking Doris’s place. She was sitting +with him when Ethel got home, and the letter arrived about the same +time. Nothing else will satisfy her. She is going to be with him all +day, and only teach in the evenings after Ethel has got back.” + +“How splendid of her!” involuntarily. + +“She hardly seems the kind of person Basil would like, but he appeared +quite pleased. It may have been a little quixotism. All he said was: + +“What in the world should we have done without you, G; and there! only +a few weeks ago you were wishing you had not been born.” + +“How like Basil. All gratitude and understanding as usual. But it must +have hit him rather hard, Dudley. Is he all right?” + +“I don’t know.” The gloom on Dudley’s face deepened. “I thought he +looked very ill, but I could not get Ethel to say much. She seemed +rather to avoid me. I don’t think she likes me.” + +Hal was conscious of a little inward smile of gladness. She had guessed +Ethel’s secret long enough ago, and she knew the power of uncertainty +and a little thwarting. Dudley would naturally try to break down +Ethel’s dislike; and perhaps in doing so he would grow to know her +better. + +“I think I must try and get up tomorrow,” was all she said. “Ethel is +so reserved. She will get ill herself if she broods and frets on the +top of all her work and anxiety.” + +“Will you?” he asked, with some eagerness. “Basil loves to see you; and +if he is really worse, I shall get Sir John Maitland to go up and see +him again.” + +“Of course I’ll go. We may be able to help them between us.” + +She was just going away upstairs to bed, when the forlorness of +Dudley’s attitude, and the thought of her own sore heart before Dick +comforted her, made her lay down her hat again and cross the room to +him. + +“Dudley, don’t forget you’ve got me still. I know I’m very trying +sometimes, but I love you so much more than Doris ever could have.” + +She sat on the arm of his chair, and played with the lapel of his coat. + +“Don’t forget about me, Dudley. If you are just only miserable, I shall +be miserable too.” + +He looked at her with a sudden greater depth of affection than she had +ever seen. + +“I don’t forget, Hal. If it weren’t for you, what in the world should I +do now?… It’s no use talking about it, is it? You will understand that; +but thank God you’re still here with me, and we can go on the same +again.” + +She stooped and kissed him hurriedly, and then left the room, that he +might not see the tears brimming over in her eyes. + +The next morning she rang up Lorraine’s flat, to know if she had come +back yet. She was rather surprised when Jean her maid answered. It was +not like Lorraine to go away without her maid. + +“You don’t know when to expect her?…” she repeated uncertainly. + +“No; Miss Vivian said she might come any day, or she might stay over +another Sunday. She has the motor with her.” + +“Is she far from a station?” Hal asked, contemplating the possibility +of joining her on Saturday if she had not returned. + +“About seven miles, I think. She went down in the car, and is coming +back in it. I have had one letter, in which she says she is having +lovely weather, and absolute rest, and feeling much better.” + +“That’s good. Well, if she comes back suddenly will you ask her to +’phone me? I want to see her.” + +But neither the next day nor the one after was there any call, and in +reply to a second query on Saturday, Jean said she had only received a +wire that morning saying she was staying until Tuesday. + +Hal was a little puzzled that she had not been invited down for the +second weekend, but decided Lorraine must have meant to return and +changed her mind at the last moment, leaving no time to get a message +to her. + +A later encounter with Dick, however, puzzled her more than ever. + +“Old Alymer is taking quite a long holiday,” he said. “We were +expecting him on Tuesday or Wednesday, but he never turned up. He was +at the Temple on Thursday, but went away again in the evening.” + +“I hope Lorraine isn’t ill?” she said anxiously; “but of course if she +is, she would have sent for Jean.” + +“Is he away with Miss Vivian?” Dick asked in some surprise. + +“Yes; I made him go,” loyally. “He had scruples, but really they seemed +too silly, and Lorraine looked so ill, and he always has the knack of +cheering her up and doing her good.” + +Dick looked at her doubtfully. + +“I hope you were wise,” he said; “but they are rather fascinating +people, you know.” + +“Oh, nonsense! Lorraine is quite eleven years older than Alymer, and +she only likes to look at him.” + +Dick had it in his mind to suggest there had been a far greater +disparity between her and Sir Edwin, but he only said: + +“Well, he is good to look at, isn’t he?… and such a dear old chap. +Nothing seems to spoil him. And of course Miss Vivian has done an awful +lot for him. If she wanted him to go, he could hardly refuse.” + +“That’s just what I said,” with a little note of triumph. “And Jean +told me Lorraine had said in a letter she was having absolute rest, and +feeling much better.” + +Yet, when Hal was alone she wondered a little again why Lorraine, after +inviting her for the first Sunday, had said nothing about the second. +It was quite unusual for her not to go for a weekend when Lorraine was +at the sea. + +She felt suddenly that they wanted to be alone, yet persuaded herself +it was only because Lorraine had been so tired. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +Hal’s uneasiness concerning Lorraine and Alymer Hermon was swallowed up +almost immediately on Lorraine’s return, by a sudden alarming change in +Basil Hayward. The first time she went to Holloway after Doris’s +elopement, she saw the decided symptoms of change, and her report to +Dudley caused the latter once more, on his own responsibility, to +request Sir John Maitland to pay a visit to the little flat. + +Sir John’s report was the reverse of reassuring, and they all felt the +end was at hand. Dudley went to Holloway nearly every evening, and +sometimes stayed until the middle of the night, to sit up with the sick +man. + +Hal went from the office in the afternoons, two or three days each +week. When she was there the tenant from Flat G went home to snatch a +short rest, in case a bad night lay ahead. + +Ethel went quietly on her way, looking as if already a sorrow had +wrapped her round before which human aid and human sympathy were +powerless. + +She went to the office as usual, and did her usual work, in nervous +dread from hour to hour lest a telephone call should summon her in +haste. She scarcely spoke to any one but Hal; and not very much to her; +but it was evident in a thousand little ways that she liked to have her +near. + +With Dudley a new sort of coldness seemed to have sprung up. He was +self-conscious ill at ease with her now; anxious to show his sympathy, +yet made awkward by his self-sown notion that he was antagonistic to +her. Ethel did not notice it very much. All her thoughts were with +Basil. + +Hal saw it and was troubled. She was afraid the slight misunderstanding +might grow into a barrier that it would be extremely difficult to break +down later on. However, she could only watch anxiously at present, and +try in small ways to smooth out the growing difficulty. + +Basil himself was the most consistently cheerful of all. He believed +that he was near the end of his long martyrdom, and that in another +sphere he would be given back his health and strength. + +He had seemed very worried at first about Doris and Dudley, but +gradually he became philosophical over it, and hoped the future would +bring united happiness to Dudley and Ethel. He consigned her to +Dudley’s care and Hal’s. + +To Dudley he merely said: + +“I know you’ll always be a good friend to chum. I’m thankful she will +at least have you.” + +Dudley did not say much in reply, but he looked sufficiently unhappy, +and withal so glad of the service, that it spoke volumes. + +To Hal he said: + +“Chum is very fond of you, Hal. You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you? +Perhaps there is no one else but you who can.” + +Quick tears shone in Hal’s eyes. + +“Of course I will… two eyes.. I don’t know that I shall let her out of +my sight at all.” + +Other evening, because Dudley was so often at Holloway, Hal went to +dinner with the Three Graces. Dick often fetched her from the office, +and they went back together. Now that she had become interested in the +East End, they had schemes to talk over, and she and Quin were never +weary of discussing odd characters there, and odd histories, and plans +for different amusements. + +Dick joined in a times, but was very busy with his new book. + +Alymer Hermon had grown strangely quiet. At intervals, for the sake of +old times, he and Hal had sparring matches, but if, as was not very +usual, he happened to be at home, he was inclined to do little else but +lounge and smoke, and watch her while presumably reading a paper. + +Hal did not notice it particularly. She had many other things on her +mind just then, and Alymer only filled a very small corner. She was +glad he was progressing so satisfactorily. He was well started up the +ladder now, and though he had had no single big chance to distinguish +himself once for all, it was generally regarded as merely a matter of +time. She fancied she did not meet him so much at Lorraine’s, but as +she did not go nearly so often herself, on account of the Holloway +visits, she could not really know. + +But she noticed that Lorraine also was a little different—a little more +reserved and likewise quieter. She seemed still to be ailing a good +deal, and to have lost interest in her profession. + +Yet she did not seem unhappy. On the contrary, Hal thought her happier +than usual in an undemonstrative, dreamy sort of way. She was +interested in the East End social evenings, and on one occasion went +herself. + +She was also interested in Basil Hayward, and motored up with lovely +flowers for him; but she talked far less of the theatre, and seemed +indisposed to consider a new part. + +“I want a real long rest this summer,” she had said, “free from +rehearsals and everything.” + +In mid-June Sir Edwin was married, with a great deal of display, and +much paragraphing of newspapers. The day before the wedding, Hal +received a beautiful gold watch and chain from him. + +“Do not be angry, and do not send it back,” he wrote. “Keep it and wear +it in memory of some one who was known to you only, and who has since +died. To me, it is like honouring the memory of my best self if I can +persuade you thus to perpetuate it. Good-bye, Little Girl; and God +bless you.” + +Hal kept the watch and wore it, and the only one who demurred was +Alymer Hermon. It was spoken of at the Cromwell Road flat one evening, +when he was present but taking no part in the conversation. Dick +admired it, and she told him it had been given to her recently. + +Quin was not there, and a moment later Dick was called away to speak to +some one at the telephone. Alymer looked up at Hal suddenly, with a +very direct gaze. + +“Lorraine told me Sir Edwin gave you the watch the other day. I don’t +know how you can keep it, much less wear it. You ought to throw it into +the Thames.” + +Hal flushed up angrily. + +“Of course I’m interested in your opinion on the matter,” she said, +“but I had not thought of asking for it.” + +Hermon flushed too, but he stood his ground. + +“It would be the opinion of most men.” + +“‘Most men’ don’t appeal to me in the least. I am quite satisfied with +my own opinion in this matter.” + +“Still, I wish you wouldn’t wear it,” he urged, a little boyishly. “The +man has shown himself a cad. He was in a tight corner, and he let a +woman buy him out.” + +“And don’t most men take help from a woman at some time or other?” + +He winced, but answered sturdily: + +“Not monetary help. Besides, he didn’t worry much about getting you +talked of, did he?” + +Hal was just going to make a sarcastic retort, when Dick reappeared, +and the matter was dropped. + +But when she came to think of it afterwards, she could not but be a +little struck at Alymer’s attitude, and wondered why he had taken so +much interest in her action. + +A few days later Basil Hayward died. + +Hal was not there at the time, but Dudley had not come home at all the +previous night, and she was afraid that his friend was worse. In the +afternoon she had been detained at the office, and she hardly liked to +go up to Holloway in the evening without knowing if she was wanted. + +So she sat anxiously waiting for Dudley. When at last he arrived he +looked haggard and worn and ill. Hal stood up when he came in, and +waited for him to speak. + +“It’s all over,” he said, and sank into his chair as if he were +dead-beat. + +Hal’s hart ached with sympathy. She felt instinctively there was more +here than grief for a friend whose death could only be regarded as a +merciful release. + +She was right. For the last three weeks Dudley and Ethel had been in +almost daily contact beside the dying man’s bed. Silently, devotedly +they had served him together. + +But while Ethel was occupied only with the sufferer, Dudley, in the +long night-watches, had seen at last what manner of woman it was he had +passed by for the pretty, shallow, selfish little sister. + +Ever since the elopement, three months ago, he had been changing. It +had been the bitter blow that had stabbed him awake. In some mysterious +way new aspects, new ideas, new understanding, began to develop, where +before had been chiefly a narrow outlook and rigid conformity. + +It was though in the fulfilling of her work, Life had harrowed his soul +with a bitter harrowing, that it might bring forth the better fruit in +its season. The harrowing had seared and scarred, but already the new +richness was showing, the new promise of a nobler future. + +The All-wise Mother works very much in human life as she does in +nature—topping off a hope here, and a hope there; ploughing, pruning, +harrowing the soil and branches of the mind and spirit, that they may +bring forth rich fruit in due season. + +The life that she passes by unheeded, leaving it only to the sunshine +and wind and rain, often grows little else but rank vegetation, and +develops rust and mould—never the crops that are life-giving and +life-sustaining to the world; never the great thoughts, great deeds, +wide sympathies, that raise mankind to the skies. + +But for Dudley the harrowing was not yet finished. Perhaps, indeed, no +moment of all had been quite so bitter as the sense of his utter +unworthiness and utter incapability to help Ethel in her hour of direst +need. + +The mere thought unnerved him for the little he might have done. He was +so imbued with the idea of his helplessness, that he could only stammer +a few broken sentences she seemed scarcely capable of hearing. + +He had but one consolation. Towards the end, the sick man, suddenly +opening his eyes, looked round for his sister, and seeing she was +absent, had regarded Dudley with his whole face full of a question. + +Dudley leant down to him. + +“Yes, old chap,” he asked tenderly. “What is it?” + +“Ethel… chum… you will try and help her?” + +Then Dudley, with his new understanding, had grasped all that the dying +man hoped. + +“I love her,” he said very simply. “I have been a blind fool, but I am +awake now. I shall give my life to trying to win her.” + +“Oh! thank God… thank God,” Basil whispered. “It is certain to come +right some day—don’t lose heart. You have made me very happy.” + +He sank into stupor after that, and spoke no more, except for a +whispered “Chum”, just before he died. + +Then it was that the full flood of Dudley’s bitterness seemed to close +in upon him, for his tortured mind translated Ethel’s stunned grief +into veiled antipathy to his presence; and when there was nothing left +for him to see to, he went home for Hal. + +In his chair, with his head bowed on his hands, Hal thought he had aged +years in the last three months. + +“What shall I do?” she asked. “Shall I go to Ethel?” + +“Yes—will you? She doesn’t want me. I feel as if she hated my being +there now. But if you would go—?” + +“It is your imagination, Dudley. Things have all got a little +topsy-turvy since Doris went, but presently you will see you were +mistaken. Don’t lose heart too quickly.” + +But he refused to be comforted, and merely shook his head in silent +desolation. + +“You’ll stay with her if she wants you?” he asked. + +“Yes, I’ll stay”; and she went away to get her hat. + +As she mounted the stairs in Holloway, the door of Flat G opened as if +some one within had been listening for her, and a stealthy head peeped +out. Then a hand beckoned. + +Hal crossed the landing and went inside the door. The poor +music-teacher’s face was swollen almost past recognition with crying. + +“What am I to do?… what am I to do?” she moaned, rocking herself +backwards and forwards. “There was only one thing in all the world that +made my life worth living, and now it is gone.” + +She sobbed bitterly for a few minutes, softened by Hal’s sympathetic +presence, then she told her brokenly: + +“They’re all mourning. Every single soul in this dreary building. +Considering he never left the flat, it’s wonderful—wonderful; but he +knew all the children, and they all knew him. And if you know the +children you know the fathers and mothers. + +“Little Splodgkins, as we always called him, has been sitting like a +small stone effigy on the stairs outside his door. He has patrolled the +whole staircase for days, keeping the other children quiet. I told Mr. +Hayward, and he sent him a message. He said, ‘Tell him to grow up a +fine man, and fight for his country, and not to forget me before we +meet again.’ The little chap fought back his tears when I gave him the +message, and he said: ‘Tell him, I thaid dammit, tho I will.’ + +“But they’re young, and they’ve got each other, most of the other folks +here, and I’ve got nothing—nothing. Miss Pritchard, I can’t go on again +the same—I can’t—I can’t.” + +“You must help Miss Hayward, at any rate for a time,” Hal told her; “if +you didn’t you would be failing him now; and even little Splodgkins +doesn’t mean to do that.” + +“No, of course you’re right. I can light the fire for her in the +afternoon and put the kettle on. It isn’t much to be alive for, but +he’d say it was worth while. He’d say, ‘What would she do without a G +in the alphabet?’ wouldn’t he? I must remember. And now you must go to +her. It’s worse for her than me, only that she’s still got all her life +before her, and she’s very attractive, while I never seemed to please +any one in my life but him.” + +“Yes; I must go now,” Hal said; “but I’ll come and see you again. Come +down east with me next Wednesdayn evening, to a social evening in the +slums, will you? They’re so interesting. We’ll have tea together first. +I’ll arrange to take you, and then you’ll meet Dick.” + +“Good-bye for the present.” + +Then she crossed the landing, wondering with a sinking heart how she +could ever hope to comfort Ethel. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +It was not until a spell of exhaustingly hot weather set in in early +July that Hal saw a still more noticeable frailty in Lorraine. + +She was quite unable to act, and spent a great deal of time on her sofa +near the window, where she could just distinguish the river through the +trees. It seemed to have a growing fascination for her. + +“I’ve always thought,” she told Hal one day, “how I’d like to go away +from the fret and worry of London, smoothly down the river to a haven +of sunshine and sea.” + +“Why don’t you go, Lorry. Why not go at once, before you get any +weaker?” + +“I think I must. This sultry heat is too much for me, and I’m very +tired of London and everything belonging to it. I should like to have +gone to my old haven on the Italian Riviera, but it would be too hot.” + +“Why so far?” + +Lorraine glanced at Hal with a strange expression in her eyes, as she +said: + +“It is a greater rest to get right away. I shall try some little place +in Brittany. Switzerland is so overrun with tourists in the summer.” + +When she was alone, some of the quiet went out of Lorraine’s face and a +restless look of pain crept in. She shaded her eyes and gazed long at +the river. + +That old spirit of recklessness, which had caused her to hurl scorn and +defiance at Mrs. Hermon’s emissary, and afterwards allow Alymer to +visit her at the little fishing-village, against his wiser judgment, +had passed away now, and given place to one of poignant questioning—a +spirit of questioning concerning that mad action of hers, and its +results. She could not find it in her heart to regret it, not for one +moment; but nevertheless her mind was sore troubled concerning the +future for Alymer and herself. + +And at the back of all the questioning there sounded ever an insistent +call to renounce—something above and beyond all desire and all seeming, +which told her she must not remain in his life, that, as far as she was +concerned, he must be free for the great work of his future. + +And yet how hard it was to go! Ever and anon her longing whispered, +“Why seek a crisis yet? Why not go on the same a little longer?” + +But since, before long, she would be compelled to go, and since the +nausea of London was gaining upon her, she began to feel it would +certainly be wiser to start at once, and find some homely, quiet spot +where she could remain in privacy, with her identity unknown for some +months. + +And always that quiet voice in the background insisted that she must +cut herself off from Alymer Hermon. + +Soon after Hal had left her he came in, and, standing as usual upon the +hearth, regarded her with grave eyes. He was nearly always grave now, +as with some recollection that weighed heavily on his mind. + +Lorraine tried to rally him, but without much success; and a pitiless +thought that had sometimes assailed her of late—that he regretted their +friendship and everything connected with it, struck icily on her heart. + +He was too loyal to show it, and yet, that strong instinct of +womanhood, which reads closed books as if they were spread open to the +light, sounded its warning note. He would never blame her openly, but +in his heart he was already beginning to find it a little difficult not +to do so secretly. + +“You can’t go away alone, Lorry,” he said unhappily, “and I can’t +possibly come with you.” + +“Of course you can’t,” cheerfully. “It isn’t to be thought of for a +moment. I don’t know whether you can even come and see me. You +certainly mustn’t run any risks just now. Flip tells me Hall is +interested, and you may get your big chance shortly through him.” + +“Still, I shall feel rather a beast.” + +“You mustn’t do anything so silly.” + +She got up and came and stood near him, leaning her face against his +arm. + +“If you will write to me often, dearie, I shall be all right. If you +worry I shall be miserable. Try to understand that you have done +nothing to make me unhappy. A little while ago I had a dream of how I +longed to go away with a little one of my own, to some quiet spot far +removed from all I have ever known. If I am to realise my dream, how +should I not be happy? It is what I asked life to give me.” + +But his eyes lost none of their gravity. It was evident, in the midst +of his dawning success, some cloud had descended upon his horizon, and +shrouded much of the sunlight. + +Lorraine’s sensitive temperament read it quickly, and she decided, for +his sake, to hasten her departure. She thought her continued presence +in London under the circumstances was a continual anxiety to him, and +that he would only breathe freely when she was safe in Brittany. + +She did not know—how should she—that after that week’s madness on the +southern coast there had come rather a terrible revelation to the man +whom fortune seemed to be smothering with favours. + +It had not come all at once. It had been there, or at any rate the gist +of it, for some time. But when it was present in full force, it had the +power to make all the adulation, triumph, and hopefulness of his career +seem but a small thing and of little account, because of one great +desire beyond his reach. + +It came definitely into being during those many evenings Hal spent at +the Cromwell Road flat, when Dudley was away in Holloway with his +friend. + +It reached a climax of realisation when she openly wore the watch and +chain Sir Edwin had sent to her. The night he asked her not to wear it, +and she tautingly refused, saw him, with all his success and favours, +one of the most perplexed and unhappy men in London. + +It was just the waywardness of the little god Love. The fair débutantes +with money and influence had left him untouched. No older woman but +Lorraine had disturbed his peace, or appealed to his deepest +affections. + +It was left to Hal, the mocker, the outspoken, the impatient of giant +inches and splendid head, to awaken his heart to all its richness of +strong, enduring love. + +And what did it mean to her? + +The sunshine and the joy might go out of all he was winning and +achieving, if it might not be won and achieved for her—but what did she +care—what was she ever likely to care? + +Had she not always dealt him laughter and careless scorn where other +women bowed down? Had she not, over and over, weighed him in the +balance, in that quiet, direct way of hers, and seen the weak strain +that had always been there? First the lack of purpose, the idle +indifference, which, in a different guise, had led up to a memory which +now tortured his mind—the memory of a mad week; of love that was not +love, because his whole soul was not given with it—nay, worse, was +actually given in unconsciousness elsewhere. If she ever knew of that, +what must her indignation and scorn be then?… Would it not indeed +separate them for ever? + +And even if it did, could it make him unlove her?… Why should it, since +he had waited no encouragement before he gave her all? If he knew why +he loved her, it might. + +But he did not even know that. It was a thing outside questioning; +something he seemed to have had no free will about. It was just there—a +strong, undeniable fact. + +Why reason? It did not _need_ reasoning. He loved her. He would always +love her—simply because she was Hal—and as Hal, to him, was the one +woman who filled his heart. + +No; Lorraine did not know just what fire of repentance and +self-condemnation and hopeless aching her recklessness had lit for him; +but it was enough that his gravity grew and deepened, and she believed +she could lighten it. + +She made immediate plans; cancelled her present engagement at +considerable monetary loss to herself, and almost before any of them +realised it, had vanished to a little out-of-the-way spot in Brittany, +alone with Jean. + +Hal was quite unhappy that she could not go to her for her own summer +holiday, but Dick Bruce’s people were taking her to Norway with them, +and she would not have a day to spare. + +She made Alymer promise to run across and see how she was, if possible, +and then departed without any suspicions or forebodings, with Dudley +and Dick to join the rest of the party at Hull, whence they were to +start for the Fiords. + +When she returned early in September, Lorraine was still away, and her +letters gave no hint of returning. Still a little anxious, she sought +an interview with Alymer, asking him to meet her for tea the following +day. + +The instant they met, Hal saw the change in him, and exclaimed in +surprise: + +“Haven’t you had a holiday? You don’t look very grand.” + +Unable to meet her eyes, he turned away towards a small table. + +“Oh yes, I’ve had a holiday. I’ve been in France studying the language. +I can talk like a French froggy now.” + +“Then of course, you saw Lorraine?” + +“Yes.” + +“I wanted to see you about Lorry,” with direct, straight gaze. + +He steadied his features with an effort. + +“I guessed so.” + +“Well, what is the matter with her?” + +“Nothing very much. She got thoroughly low I think, and is not pulling +up very quickly.” + +“I don’t understand it,” with puzzled, doubtful eyes. “Lorry is not +like that. She is quite strong really. She has only once before gone +under like this, and then it was a mental strain. I wonder if it is +anything the same again? Did you see much of her?” + +“I saw her four or five times.” + +“And she didn’t tell you anything?” + +“Anything about what?” + +“Well—about her husband, for instance. He isn’t worrying her again, is +he?” + +“She did not speak of him at all.” + +“Then what is it?… I wish she had not gone so far away. I wish I could +get to her. Did she say when she might be coming back?” + +“Not at present. She likes being there. She does not want to come +back.” + +“That’s what I can’t understand. Something odd seems to have changed +her. Have you thought so.” + +“I don’t think it odd in Lorraine to fancy a long spell of country +life. She was always loved the country.” + +“Not alone,” with decision, “except for a good reason. I feel there is +a reason now, and I do not know it.” + +Suddenly she gave him another direct look. + +“You are changed too. You are years older. Is it your advancing +success, or what? … I don’t say it isn’t becoming,” with a dash of her +old banter—“but it seems sudden.” + +He raised his eyes slowly and looked into her face with an expression +that in some way hurt her. It was the look of a devoted dog, craving +forgiveness. + +She pushed her cup away impatiently, half laughing and half serious. + +“Don’t look at me like that, Baby,” striving blindly to rally him—“you +make me feel as if I had smacked you.” + +He laughed to reassure her, and changed the subject to Norway, trying +to keep her mind from further questioning concerning himself and +Lorraine. + +After tea she left him to go down to Shoreditch with Dick, first +meeting him and the forlorn “G” at the Cheshire Cheese for their usual +high tea. + +It had become quite an institution now that “G” should join them, and, +as Hal had predicted, she and Dick were firm friends. It was the +brightest spot of the music-teacher’s life since Basil Hayward died, +and neither of them would have disappointed her for the world if they +could help it. + +Tonight Quin was there also, so Hal was able to get a few words +privately with Dick. + +“What in the world is the matter with Alymer?” she asked. “I had tea +with him this afternoon. He seems awfully down on his luck.” + +“I don’t know what it is,” Dick answered. “He is certainly not very +gay—yet that last case he won before the Law Courts closed should have +put him in fine feather for the whole vacation. Did you ask him if +anything was wrong?” + +“Yes; but he would only prevaricate. He has been in France, you know, +studying the language, and he saw Lorraine, but he says very little +about her. I wish I had time to go over and see her. Why, in the name +of goodness, is she not acting this winter?” + +But Dick could not help her to any solution, and an accumulation of +work kept her too busy to brood on the puzzle. + +It was at the end of October the shock came. + +Hal reached home before Dudley that evening, and found a foreign letter +awaiting her, written in an unfamiliar handwriting, and bearing the +post mark of the little village where Lorraine so obstinately remained. +With an instant sense of apprehension, she tore open the envelope, and +read its contents with incredulity, amazement, and anxiety struggling +together in her face. + +Then she sat down in the nearest chair with a gasp, and stared blankly +at the window, as if she could not grasp the import of the bewildering +news. + +The letter was from Jean, partly in French, and partly in English. It +informed Hal, in somewhat ambiguous phrases, that La Chère Madame was +very ill, and daily growing weaker, and she, Jean, was very worried and +unhappy about her. She thought if mademoiselle could possibly get away, +she should come at once. It then went on to make a statement which took +Hal’s breath away. + +“L’enfant!... l’enfant!...” she repeated in a gasping sort of +undertone, and stared with bewildered eyes at the window. + +What could have happened?... What did it all mean? + +Then with a rush all the full significance seemed to come to her. +Lorraine, ill and alone in that little far-away village, and this +incomprehensible thing coming upon her; no one but a paid, though +devoted maid to take care of her; no friend to help her in the +inevitable hours of dread, and perhaps painful memories and +apprehensions. + +All her quick, warm-hearted sympathy welled up and filled her soul. Of +course she must go at once, tonight if possible, or early tomorrow. + +Yet as she struggled to collect her thoughts and form plans, she was +conscious of a dumb, nervous cry: “What will Dudley say?... What in the +world will Dudley say?” + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +He came in while she was still trying to compose herself for the +struggle she anticipated; and because she had not yet made any headway, +he saw at once that something alarming had happened. + +He glanced at the envelope lying on the table, then at the open letter +in her hand, and then at her face. + +“What is the matter?... Have you had bad news?” + +For one dreadful moment, observing the foreign stamp, he thought +something might have happened to Ethel, who was taking her month’s +holiday on the Continent. When Hal looked blankly into his face, as if +quite unable to tell him, he added hurriedly: + +“Is your letter about Ethel?... Is she ill?” + +“No, it is not Ethel,” Hal answered, noticing, in spite of her +distress, his unconcealed anxiety. “Some one is ill, but it is not +Ethel.” + +“Is it Lorraine?” + +He spoke with quiet, kindly concern now, being reassured concerning the +swift dread that had sized him. + +“Yes,” Hal said nervously. “She is very ill. Dudley, I must go to her +at once.” + +She got up as if she could not bear the strain seated, and moved away +to the window. + +“It’s all rather terrible,” speaking hurriedly; “but don’t... don’t... +be upset about it. I can’t bear it. I _must_ go, whatever you say, and +I want you to help me.” + +“What is the matter?” He came close to her and tried to see her face. +“What has happened, Hal?” + +“Lorry is in trouble.” She was half crying now; “I have had a letter +from Jean. She has told me something I did not know. I did not even +suspect it. But I must go. You will surely see that I must go, Dudley.” + +“Tell me what it is,” he said, in a voice so kind, she turned and +looked into his face, almost in surprise. He met her eyes, and, reading +all the distress there, he added: + +“Don’t be afraid, Hal. I know I was an awful prig a little while ago, +but... but... it’s not the same since Doris jilted me, and since Basil +died. I see many things differently now. Tell me Lorraine’s trouble.” + +“She is so ill, because if she lives until next December she will have +a little one. Oh, do you understand, Dudley? She is there all alone, +because she made a mess of her life and is obliged to hide. I must go +to her. You will help me, won’t you?” + +She glanced at him doubtfully, and then a swift relief seemed to fill +her face. + +“Yes, certainly you must go,” he said gravely; “if Jean says she is ill +now, I think you should go at once, and see for yourself just how +things are.” + +“Oh, how good of you. I was afraid you would be angry and object.” + +He smiled a little sadly. + +“I’ve enough money in hand for your ticket. You can catch the early +boat train, and I’ll send some more by tomorrow’s post. Had you better +see Mr. Elliott about being absent from the office for a day or two, or +shall I see him in the morning?” + +“He won’t mind. I’ve got everything straight since I came back, and +Miss White will do my work for a day or two. If you would see him in +the morning, and just tell him Miss Vivian is very ill and I was sent +for. He knows what friends we are, and would understand.” + +“Very well. Now you must have some dinner, and get to bed, for you will +have a long, anxious day tomorrow.” + +In a sudden rush of feeling, she put her hands on his shoulders and +kissed him. + +“I’m so grateful,” she said, in a quivering voice. “I can’t tell you. +It has all come upon me as a shock. I had not the faintest suspicion.” + +It was not natural to him to be demonstrative, and he only turned away +with a slight embarrassment, saying: + +“I’m sure you hadn’t. But I feel I can trust you now, Hal, to be +discreet as well as quixotic. Your mission, if one can call it such, +will need both.” + +Then he sought to distract her mind for the present, and while they +dined he talked of many things to interest her. + +“Do you know that Alymer Hermon has just got the chance of his life?” +he told her, before they rose. “I heard today he is to appear with Hall +in this big libel case. Sir James Jameson told me at the Club. He said +Hall had taken a great fancy to him, and if he does really well over +this case he’s going to take him up. He is very fortunate. Not one man +in a thousand would get such a chance at his age. I hope he will do +well; I like him; and if he isn’t a success over this he may never get +such an opportunity again.” + +“When does the case come on?” + +“Almost at once, I think, but it probably will not last more than two +or three days.” + +When Hal said good-night to him, she remarked shyly: + +“I heard from Ethel last night. She loves the Austrian Tyrol. She said +she hoped you were better for your trip to Norway.” + +His forehead contracted a little, and he did not look up from the book +he had just opened. + +“Is she better herself? Is she any happier?” + +Hal looked thoughtfully into the fire. + +“I think she is very lonely. I don’t think she will be much happier +until... until... there is some one to take Basil’s place.” + +“No one can do that.” He spoke a little shortly. “Basil was a hero. I +do not know how she is ever to love a lesser man.” + +“If she loved a man, she would easily see heroic qualities in him. She +could not love a man who was without them; but that does not mean he +need actually be a hero by any means.” + +She longed to say more, but was diffident of doing greater harm than +good. At last she ventured: + +“I have sometimes thought she has a warm corner in her heart for you, +Dudley.” + +“For me!...” He gave a low, harsh laugh for very misery. “No; she +despises me. She has done for some time. I’m sorry. I’d change it if I +could, but it’s too late now.” + +Hal moved towards the door. + +“It is rather a slur on Ethel to suggest that she could possibly +despise Basil’s best friend. Don’t let an idea like that take root, +Dudley. ‘Lookers on see most of the game,’ you know, and what I have +seen has suggested quite differently. Good-night.” + +“Good-night. Try to sleep. I’ll take you to Charing Cross myself.” + +The next morning Hal started off alone, to find her way to Lorraine’s +hiding-place, and give her what comfort of friendship she could. + +And all the time she asked herself with harried thoughts, “Who has +brought this trouble into Lorraine’s life?” + +And at the back of her mind was the dread premonition “Was it indeed +Alymer Hermon?” + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +When Hal first saw her old friend she was almost too shocked for words +at the swift change in her. Lorraine tried hard to smile cheerfully, +but she could not hide any longer from herself how seriously ill she +had grown, and she felt it useless to try and hide it from Hal. + +Jean had not told her of the letter, and she knew nothing of Hal’s +coming until she was actually in the house. When she saw her, she could +have cried for gladness. + +“How good of you, Hal… how good of you!” she breathed, and Hal, on her +knees by the couch, in an unsteady voice replied: + +“Oh, why didn’t you send for me sooner? Why didn’t you let me come here +instead of going to Norway?” + +An hour later she went out to the little post office, and wired to +London to know if she might remain away for a week. + +It was evident Lorraine was very ill indeed and needing the utmost +care. + +During the day she seemed to grow steadily worse, and she could not +bear Hal out of her sight. + +“I don’t know whether you are shocked or not,” she said to her once, +“but if everything goes all right I shall not regret what I have done +for one moment. I wanted something more real for the rest of my life +than I have had in its beginning.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I +wanted his child to live for.” + +With a caressing hand on the sick woman’s, Hal asked in a low voice: + +“Why isn’t he here taking care of you now? Where is your child’s +father?” + +A swift surprise passed through Lorraine’s eyes, as if it had not +occured to her Hal would not know the truth. Then she said, very +softly, “Alymer.” + +“Ah!” + +The exclamation seemed wrung from Hal unconsciously, and after it her +lips grew strangely rigid. + +“Hal,” Lorraine said weakly, “I’ve loved Alymer almost ever since I +first saw him. I swore I would not harm his career, and I have not. I +will not in future. But the child is his, and I thank God for it. I do +not believe an illegitimate child with a devoted mother is any worse +off than the legitimate child with a selfish, unloving one. That there +is love enough matters the most. What can any child have better than a +life’s devotion?” + +Later on she said: + +“This is his great week, Hal. In his last letter he tells me his big +chance has come at last through Sir Philip Hall. We always hoped it +would. It is the big libel case, and if Sir Philip chooses he can let +him take a very prominent part. He will, I am sure of it. He is very +interested in him, and he has given him this chance on purpose. Flip +thinks it will lead to a great deal; and of course if so it is splendid +for him.” + +Hal said very little. She was overcome at the revelation Lorraine had +made, and seemed quite unable to grasp it. + +Meanwhile she waited fearfully for the crisis the doctor had told her +was impending. She was expecting him to call again, and was relieved +when at last he arrived bringing a pleasant-faced French nurse with +him. + +She relinquished her post then, and waited for him anxiously +downstairs. When he came he told her he must have another opinion at +once, and Hal knew that something serious was wrong, and that he feared +the worst. + +The next morning, when she saw Lorraine again, she understood that they +had saved her life, but probably only for a few days at the most. + +Lorraine was almost too weak to speak, but she looked into Hal’s eyes, +and in her own there was a dumb imploring. Hal leant down and murmured: + +“What is it, Lorry?… Do you want Alymer?” + +“Yes,” was the faint whisper. “I feel it is the end. I want so much to +see him once more.” + +“I will go to London myself, and fetch him,” Hal said, and a look of +rest crept into the dying woman’s eyes. + + +So it happened that the day before the great libel case Hal stood in +Hermon’s chambers, and delivered her message. + +It was a tense moment—a moment of warring instincts, warring +inclinations, conflicting fates. It was surely the very irony of +ironies, that within sight of his goal, with all this woman had +manoeuvred to give him almost in his hands, she should be the one to +step suddenly between him and the realisation of everything his life +had striven for. + +To fail Sir Philip Hall at the eleventh hour, under such circumstance, +could only mean an irreparable disaster. He would lose, as far as his +profession was concerned, in every single way. It would strike a blow +at his progress, from which it might never wholly recover. + +No wonder, confronted with the sudden demand life had flung at him, he +stood stock still, with rigid face, almost overcome by the swift +sword-thrust of fate, and made no reply. + +Since Hal told him, in a few, rather abrupt words, her story, he had +scarcely looked at her. When she first entered his room so +unexpectedly, his eyes had searched her face as if he would read +instantly what she had come for?… what she had learnt?… Before hers, +his gaze fell. + +“I have come from Lorraine,” she said, and he understood that she knew +all. + +A dull red crept over his face and neck, and then died away, leaving +him of an ashy paleness. He was standing by his desk, and he reached +out one hand and rested it on some books, gripping the backs of them +with a grip that made his knuckles stand out like white knots. He did +not ask Hal to sit down. Commonplace amenities died in the stress of +the moment. + +She stood in the middle of the room, very straight and very still. In a +close-fitting travelling-dress she looked unusually slim, almost +boyish, and something about her attitude rather suggested a youthful +knight, sword in hand, come with vengeance to the Transgressor. Yet, +even in his shame and stunned perplexity, Hermon lost no shred of +dignity. + +He towered above her, with bend head, rigid, white face, grave, +downcast eyes, and in spite of every reproach her attitude seemed to +hurl at him, he yet wore the look of nobility that was his birthright. + +“When do you think I should go?” he asked at last, with difficulty. + +“We ought to cross tonight.” + +“Tonight!—I—I—have a very important case tomorrow. It will not last +long. It matters a great deal.” + +“I know,” was the short, uncompromising answer. + +He looked up with a swift glance of inquiry. Then he said quietly: + +“Do you know that it may wreck my future to leave London tonight?” + +“Yes,” said Hal. “I know.” + +“And after all Lorraine did not help me to this hour of success, am I +to throw away my chance?” + +“Lorraine is dying. Her dying wish is to see you once more. Is it +necessary to discuss anything else?” + +Again there was silence between them—silence so intense, so poignant, +it was like a live thing present in the room. Through the double +windows came a far-off, muffled sound of the traffic in the Strand, but +it seemed to have nothing whatever to do with the life of that quiet +room. It did not disturb the silence, in which one could almost hear +pulse beats. It belonged to another world. + +Once Alymer raised his head and looked hard into her face. In his eyes +there was an expression of utter hopelessness. She had not spoken any +word of reproach or scorn, yet everything about her as she stood there +erect and passionless, and without one grain of sympathy for his +struggle, told him that, just as far as her natural broadness allowed +her to condemn any one, she condemned him. + +For a moment a sort of savage recklessness seized him. He felt suddenly +he was stranded high-and-dry on a barren rock, with nothing at all any +more in his world but his profession. He had lost all hope of ever +winning Hal, which seemed to be all hope of anything worth having. +Nothing remained but the hollow interest of a great name, and the lust +of power. He had it in his mind for those brief, passionate moments, +because he had lost all else, to insist upon taking his chance. + +Even one day’s grace might save him. The trial would perhaps last not +more than two, but in any case, a wire reaching him in the middle, +which he could show to Sir Philip, might mean all the difference +between success and failure. The wire could be worded to hide what was +truly involved, and the plea of a life-and-death urgency would set him +free without any awkward questioning. + +He glanced up to speak, and once again Hal’s attitude arrested him. She +looked so young, so fresh, so true, so vaguely splendid, in spite of +the rigid lips that seemed to have closed down tightly upon all she +must have suffered in the last forty-eight hours. + +She was not looking at him now, but, with her head thrown back a +little, she gazed silently and fatefully at the clock on his +mantelpiece. + +And something about her called to him, with the calling of the great, +mysterious things, a calling that shamed and scorned that spirit of +savage recklessness; that swift, relentless lust of power. + +“What is anything in the world,” it seemed to cry, “compared to being +true to one’s friend; true to one’s word; true to one’s love?” + +He saw suddenly that in any case success and triumph would bring him +little enough to gladden his heart; that whichever way he turned was +gloom and darkness; that in that gloom a possible ray of light might +still linger, if he could keep always the consciousness that, at the +most critical hour of his life, he had rung true. + +He raised his eyes suddenly, and straightened himself. + +“What time does the next train leave?” he said. “I am coming.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +After Hal had left, Lorraine sank into a stupor from weakness, and +remained thus until towards evening. Then she revived, and seemed to +comprehend better all that had happened; all that was happening still. + +She knew that the child she had dreamed of would never lie in her arms +and look up at her with Alymer’s eyes. She knew that in the first awful +moments of realisation, and deathly weakness, her whole soul had so +craved to see Alymer again that she had asked for him. + +A few moments later the stupor had come down upon her exhausted senses, +and without any further word or thought from her, Hal had gone on her +errand. + +At first, in the darkened room where she had suffered so much, she +remembered only that very soon Alymer might be with her. And the +thought, while it quickened her pulses, yet made her feel almost faint +with the longing for him to come quickly. What if they were delayed, +and this terrible weakness took her away from him without a last +meeting. + +The thought that death was approaching did not frighten her. She rather +welcomed it. When she left London in the summer, she had felt that she +could never go back. She had already fixed in her mind the picture of +the quiet haven, where she would live restfully with Alymer’s child—far +away from the turmoil that had marked her life almost from its earliest +beginning, and safe from slander. + +She did not mind for herself. The things that most women valued, no +longer held much meaning for her. She had experienced more than most; +learned more than most how empty success and triumph may become; +sounded for herself the shallowness of many things that society regards +as prizes. + +She had been tired for a long time. Now the tiredness had reached a +climax. If the quiet haven might not bless her life, it was, on the +whole, better that she should die. + +This quiet fatalism only increased her longing to see Alymer once more. +It was the one thing in all existence left to long for. It merged every +remaining faculty into one desire. And Hal would bring him. Hal never +failed any one. + +Then came the night, and instead of a quiet sleep, restlessness seized +her. The recollection of the lawsuit which was to make Alymer’s name +once for all, came back again and again with merciless insistence, +fighting like some desperate thing that last, one, great desire. Try as +she would to smother it, after a little period of rest it came back +stronger than ever. + +In vain she told herself that when he knew she was dying he would have +no wish but to hasten to her. In vain, she said also, that success +would no longer mean all it had done; that with love crying to him from +a death-bed, he would understand its emptiness and scorn it. + +Another voice, the voice of her truest self, answered: “Ah! but he is +young. Remember he is young—young—young—and you, when you were his age, +cared terribly to succeed. You say now that success is empty, but at +least you had the satisfaction of learning the fact for yourself. You +did not have to take another’s word for it, and let your chance pass +you by, just at the moment of grasping it. If he is to be left without +you, what will he have then to make up for the great moment lost? + +“Nay, worse—what will he have left to spur him to try and regain his +proud position, and go on up the heights of fame? And for you, of all +people, to deal this blow to his future—the ambitious future which you +yourself have fostered and nourished with such care.” + +The hours wore on, and still, in spite of the awful physical +exhaustion, the mental battle raged, draining away strength that should +have been carefully nursed for each bad hour of many days ahead. The +nurse watched beside her with growing alarm, seeing the feverishness +and restlessness, where absolute quiet was imperative. + +At last she went to her softly, and said, in a sweet, low voice: + +“Madame is in trouble. Madame is fretting. It is not good. Madame must +try to rest.” + +Lorraine turned her feverish, pain-driven eyes to the kindly face, with +a look of beseeching, but she made no reply. + +The nurse laid her cool hand on the burning forehead. + +“Madame is not a Catholic, but the priest brings healing to all. Shall +I ask him to come and pray, that peace may be given to the sick mind?” + +“I cannot confess,” Lorraine breathed a little gaspingly. “I could not +bring myself to it.” + +“It is not necessary. The priest will come to pray if madame wishes.” + +“Yes,” was the low response; “please ask him.” + +The little old man who took care of the souls of the little old-world +village, and had done for three parts of a century, came to her at +once, with a womanly tenderness in his face. In a low voice he blessed +her, and then knelt down and prayed quietly. + +After a time, some of the anguish died out of Lorraine’s eyes. She +turned to him weakly and said: + +“I am not a Catholic. I do not know if I am anything, but I want to ask +you something. If one has sinned, and led another astray, might an act +of renunciation perhaps save that other from the consequences of the +sin that was not his?” + +“Self-sacrifice and renunciation are ever pleasing to God,” he told her +simply. “He knows that whatever else there is in a heart, with +self-sacrifice there is also purity and nobility.” + +“If I thought I alone need bear the consequences, I think I could do +anything,” she whispered—“bear anything, renounce anything.” + +Again the quiet soothing of a prayer fell on her ears. She listened, +and heard the old priest praying God and the Holy Virgin to help her to +find the courage for the sacrifice her heart called for, that if she +were about to enter the presence of the Most High, she might take with +her the cleansing of repentance and a self-sacrificing spirit. + +She lay still for some little time listening to the soft cadence of his +voice, and then she opened her eyes and looked at him with a full, +sweet look. + +“I will do it, Father,” she said to him. “Perhaps, if God understands +everything, He will let my anguish of renunciation absolve that other +from all sin. It is the most I have to ask of all the powers in heaven +and earth.” + +“The Holy Mother comfort you, my child,” he said; and with an earnest +benediction left her. + +Then Lorraine motioned to the French nurse that she wanted her, and +gathering all her remaining strength asked for a telegraph form and +pencil. The nurse supported her in her arms, while with a trembling +hand she traced faintly the words of her message. It ran: + +“Marked change for the better. No need for haste. Come in a few +days.—LORRAINE.” + + +It was addressed to Alymer Hermon, at The Middle Temple. + +“Please take it now at once,” she said. She knew that the Frenchwoman +could not read English, and that Jean was not yet awake. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + +In Alymer’s room at the Middle Temple he and Hal were making their +arrangements to catch the next boat. + +The moment he had spoken his decision she had turned to him with a +swift expression of approval, but, for the rest, her manner was +somewhat curt and business-like, and showed little of the old +friendliness. + +It made him feel that, as far as she was concerned, he had sinned past +forgiveness; and he knew with that unerring instinct that sometimes +illumines a wrong action, that she judged him harshly because she knew +he had not loved Lorraine with all his strength. How then could he ever +hope to tell her that one reason he had not loved Lorraine thus was +because, unconsciously, another woman had won his heart; further, that +that other woman was herself? + +No; of course the day would never dawn when he would dare to tell her +that. An eternity separated them. + +But he tried not to think of it now; to remember only that Lorraine, +his best friend and his benefactress, was dying, and that she had sent +Hal to fetch him to her side. + +His face was very grave, and he looked white and ill as Hal explained +what time he must meet her at the station, but he gave no sign of +flinching; no triumph in the world could now weaken his resolution. + +“Very well, that is all arranged,” said Hal, and at that moment there +was a knock at the door. Alymer crossed the room and opened it himself, +and was handed a telegram. He read it, looked for a moment as if he +could not grasp it, then, telling the bearer there was no reply, closed +the door, went back to Hal, and handed it to her without a word. + +Hal read, half aloud: + +“Marked change for the better. No need for haste. Come in a few +days.—LORRAINE.” + + +For some moments there was only silence, and then she looked at him +with troubled, perplexed eyes, and said: + +“I don’t quite know what to make of it.” + +“Doesn’t it mean that she has passed some crisis and will live?” he +suggested. “I think it must.” + +Hal still looked doubtful; and at that moment there was another knock +at the door. + +Again Alymer opened it himself. “Lord Denton particularly wishes to see +you,” he was told. + +“Show him in at once,” he replied, and turned to tell Hal who was +coming. + +Flip Denton had come to inquire for more detailed news of Lorraine than +he could get from her letters. He gathered from them that she was +remaining away for the whole winter theatrical season, because her +health was bad; but any suggestion on his part to run over to Brittany +and see her was persistently negatived. Finally he had come to Alymer. + +The moment he saw them he knew that something serious was wrong, and +that it concerned Lorraine. But when, after learning she was very ill, +he asked Hal what was the matter, and saw the scarlet blood flame into +her face, he said no more. + +“I was with her yesterday,” she told him, “and the doctor said he +feared she would not live many days. She wanted Alymer, and I came over +to fetch him.” + +“And you are going at once?” Denton asked him, with a curious +expression in his eyes. + +“I have arranged to.” + +“Doesn’t your great case come on this afternoon, or tomorrow morning?” + +“Yes.” + +Denton’s grave face did not change. “I see,” he said, and turned a +little aside. + +Then Hal, who had the telegram in her hand, held it out to him. + +“This has just come.” + +He read it, and his face cleared joyously. + +“Why, that is splendid news—don’t you think so?” And he regarded Hal +with a slightly puzzled air. + +“I hardly know what to think,” Hal said. “Yesterday she was very ill.” + +“Ah, but you had to leave early,” reassuringly, “and she may have been +gaining strength all the afternoon, and had a very good night. What are +you going to do?” looking at Alymer. + +Alymer looked at Hal, and waited for her decision. + +Hal only looked doubtful and troubled. + +“I think you should stay for the lawsuit,” Denton said, to help her. +“It is evident that Lorraine wished it, and she of all people would not +have Hermon miss such a chance if possible. I understood Hall it was +only likely to last two or three days. He has some clinching evidence, +I think.” + +“That is so,” Alymer answered gravely; but he still waited to take his +cue from Hal. + +“You think he should stay for it?” Hal asked Lord Denton. + +“I certainly think that is what Lorraine would wish him to do.” + +“Very well.” + +Hal commenced to pull on her gloves as if there were no more to say, +and then Denton asked her: + +“Will you wait too?” + +“No; I am going back by the next boat.” + +“I will come with you.” + +She glanced at him with slight alarm, and then at Alymer. Denton saw +the look and seemed surprised. Hal’s eyes asked Alymer what they were +to do. He spoke with an effort. + +“I expect Miss Vivian would be glad to see so old and great a friend as +Lord Denton.” + +“Of course she would,” he said decidedly—and to Hal: + +“What time do we leave Charing Cross?” + + +Hal spoke very little on the journey. A nameless dread weighed on her +spirit, and a haunting fear for Lorraine. She was oppressed by a sense +of deep sadness for the brilliant, succesful woman she had loved since +her school days, who was now, after all her triumphs, alone in that +little foreign village, caught in a maze of tangles and perplexities +which offered no peaceful solution. + +She could not understand Alymer’s part at all, but she was convinced +Lorraine’s absorbing devotion to him was not reciprocated in like +manner. If Lorraine learnt this as soon as she recovered, what did the +future hold for her again but more vain dreams, and bitter hopes that +could never see fulfilment? + +She felt a little pitifully that life was very hard and difficult, even +when one had a fine courage and will to face it; and a leaden pall of +sorrow seemed to fold itself round her. + +What of Dudley and his hopeless love? Ethel and her inconsolable grief? +Sir Edwin, and his secret bitterness? the gaunt music-teacher and her +barren, joyless life? + +Across her mind passed some lines, that had a strong attraction for +her: + +“So many gods, so many creeds, +so many paths that wind and wind, +And just the art of being kind +Is all the sad world needs.” + + +Ah! in truth it was a sad world first of all; a sad, sad world in need +of kindness and comfort. One could but go on trying to be kind, trying +to be strong. + +It was the only thing in a life of pitfalls and easily made mistakes, +to just march straight forward—eyes front—and not let anything daunt +permanently. She felt, more profoundly than ever, it was not wise to +turn aside, looking to right and left, questioning overmuch of right +and wrong, probing into the actions of others. + +Each human being was as a soldier in a vast army, and all were there +under the same colours, led by the same general, to bear, with what +courage they could, the fortunes of war. Two might be standing +together, and one be wounded and the other untouched; many disabled, +and many unhurt; some left on the field to die, others found and nursed +back to life. + +But the soldier was not there to question. If a comrade fell, it was no +concern of his how he fell—his concern was to try and help him to +safety, then go back and fight again, undismayed if his place was but a +little insignificant one in the smoke and dust, unseen by any but a +near neighbour perhaps as insignificant as himself. + +That was the true spirit of the great soldier, whether he was in the +ranks, lost in the smoke, or whether, on a magnificent charger, he led +gloriously for all the world to see. + +She remembered the change in Dudley, which had led him so quickly to +respond to her cry, and refrain from judging. He was seeing things in +that light also, learning to fight his own fight as pluckily as he +could, and only to look upon the warfare of others as one ready to help +them if it chanced that he was able—learning in place of rules and +precepts, “just the art of being kind.” + +Well, together perhaps they could help Lorraine—if she came out of this +last encounter bruised and broken. + +Then they arrived, and she and Lord Denton hastened down the short road +to the little green-shuttered house. At the sound of the latch on the +gate the door opened quietly, and Jean, with tears streaming down her +face, came towards them, choking back gasping sobs. + +Hal stood still a second, and then ran forward blindly with +outstretched hands. + +“She is better, Jean—say she is better. Oh, she must be, she must; she +wired yesterday to say there was great improveent.” + +Jean broke down into helpless weeping as she sobbed out: + +“She died this morning at six o’clock.” + +For one moment Hal seemed too stunned to understand; then she swayed, +and fell heavily into Denton’s arms. + +Later when she had recovered, Jean told them of the restless, +nerve-racking night; of the priest’s visit, and of the fast-ebbing +strength gathered together to write some message the nurse had taken to +the post office. After that extreme exhaustion had set in, greatly +aggravated by the mental stress, and they could only watch her sinking +from hour to hour. + +“She only roused once more,” Jean said, “and that was to try and write +a message for you. I have it there,” and she produced a little folded +note. + +In faint, tremulous words Hal read: + +“Good-bye, darling Hal. It is hard to be without you now, but you will +inderstand why I sent the message. I want to tell you it has never been +Alymer’s fault; do not blame him. I ask it of you. At the last hour I +have made what reparation I could. Don’t grieve for me. I have made so +many mistakes, and now I am too tired to go on. Give my dear, dear love +to Alymer, and say good-bye to Flip and mother. I am not unhappy +now—only very, very tired. + + +“Your own +“LORRY.” + + +For the first time since she had recovered from her faint, Hal broke +down, and Jean and Denton went quietly away, knowing it would be better +for her afterwards, and left her sobbing her heart out over her letter. + +Two days later, flying the colours of a great victory, and flushed with +the pleasure of warm congratulations poured upon him from all sides, +Alymer Hermon stepped out upon the little station. + +He had never doubted the truth of the message, and he carried his head +a little higher and his shoulders a little squarer, proud and glad to +come to Lorraine with the news of his greatest success, and tell her of +the proud position he had won almost solely through her. For had she +not first imbued him with ambition and the real desire to achieve, and +then, at exactly the right moment, procured him the first little +success that meant so much? + +The instant he knew the great case was won, he had dashed out of the +court, scribbled her a hurried wire, and driven frantically to Charing +Cross, meditating a special train to Dover, if he were too late. He was +not, though the guard was just about to give the signal for departure, +and the boat-train bore him from the station, full of that glad +consciousness of a great achievement, to carry the news instantly to +her feet. + +On the little station in Brittany Denton was waiting for him. And when +Alymer saw him the light faded out of his eyes, and the smile from his +lips. + +“She died before we got there,” Denton told him. “We daren’t let you +know, because she sent that message, on purpose to give you your chance +in the case.” Then, very kindly: “Sit down, old chap. There’s no hurry. +Wait and rest a while here.” + +Alymer sat down on the little wooden station bench, and buried his face +in his hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + + +It would seem sometimes that Life has a way of keeping the balance +between joy and pain, by making that which is a source of deepest +sorrow to one the unlooked-for instrument of great joy to another. + +It was so with the sorrow that came down like a cloud upon Hal’s +spirit, while she was yet striving bravely not to allow herself to fret +over Sir Edwin’s perfidy. + +It was not until after Hermon’s arrival that the announcement of +Lorraine’s death was sent to the papers. After an anxious consultation, +Hal and Denton had decided she would have expressly wished nothing to +be done which might bring the news to Alymer before his case was over, +and so, while making all preparations for the funeral, they refrained +from any announcement in the home papers. Directly he arrived, the +notice was dispatched. + +Ethel Hayward, returning from her holiday to the dreary, empty Holloway +flat, read it in the train as she journeyed. Instantly her mind was +full of Hal. She felt that in losing the one great woman friend of her +life Hal would seem to have lost mother, sister, and friend in one. + +She went home to the emptiness of the flat, with her heart so full of +aching sympathy that some of the bitterness of her own loss was +softened. On her sitting-room table was a beautiful array of flowers. +She looked at them with soft eyes, believing Hal had sent them, and her +tenderness made her long to hold the girl in her arms and try to bring +her a little comfort. + +After a restless, troubled half-hour, she decided to go to her. She +remembered it was the evening Dudley usually spent at the Imperial +Institute, and she thought it almost certain Hal would be alone. + +She dreaded going if Dudley was likely to be there, as the constraint +between them was a misery to her, but she believed he was obliged to be +out, remembering how he had always been engaged on Fridays during his +engagement, and she took her courage in her hands for Hal’s sake, and +went to the Bloomsbury rooms for the first time. + +The maid who opened the door was just going out, and being somewhat +hurried, did not trouble to note whether she asked for Mr. Pritchard or +Miss Pritchard, merely standing for her to come in, and then showing +her into the sitting-room without properly announcing her, she hastened +away. + +So Ethel unexpectedly found herself face to face with Dudley, alone. + +He was so astonished, that for a moment he seemed unable to rise, +merely gazing at her with incredulous eyes, as if he thought he must be +dreaming. + +For the past hour he had sat with a book on his knee, without having +read a line, for all the time his thoughts had been with her. He knew +she had returned that night to her empty, desolate home. He had sent +the flowers up himself, to try and mitigate the emptiness and lack of +welcome. + +He had longed to go to the station to meet her, if only to look after +her luggage and see her safely into a cab. He hated to think of her +arriving alone, and departing alone to that empty flat. His utter +helplessness to do anything for her, when all his soul ached to do all, +tore at his heart, and thrust mercilessly upon him again and again his +blindness and folly in the past. + +And then suddenly, in the midst of it, without any warning, she stood +there in the room, looking at him with startled, abashed eyes. + +No wonder, with a sense of non-comprehension, joy leapt to his own, +transforming the white, unhappy gravity of his face to swift, +questioning eagerness; while at the same time he breathed tensely, +“Ethel!… you!” + +It was the first time he had ever used her Christian name, and in spite +of her confusion she could not fail to hear the ring of gladness, of +intense, almost unbelievable joy. + +It sent the blood rushing to her white cheeks, and made her heart beat +wildly. She moved forward a little unsteadily. + +“I saw about Miss Vivian’s death today, and I was afraid Hal would be +all alone fretting… so I came to see—” + +She broke off. Something like a sudden appeal in his eyes was unnerving +her. + +Dudley only heard vaguely what she said. + +As she came forward he had seen that she was rather overcome; he had +seen the quick scarlet in her face, followed by a striking parlor, and +the bewildered surprise in her eyes. + +What was it Hal had said that evening before she left? He could not +remember, but he knew it meant that she did not think Ethel indifferent +to him as he believed. + +He knew she had meant more, but he had not dared to dwell upon it. + +He stood up, but did not move towards her. Instead, he just stood +looking, looking into her eyes. Hers fell, and again the quick colour +came and went. + +“Hal is not here,” he said simply; “she went to Miss Vivian last week.” + +“Oh, I am glad. I was afraid she had not had time. I thought, when I +saw the flowers…” An idea seemed to strike her suddenly. She looked at +him, and her eyes were full of a question she could not ask. “I thought +only Hal knew I should be returning today.” + +“I knew,” he said simply. + +“Did you… did you…” she was at a loss to finish. + +This hesitating nervousness was new to him. He had never seen her +before other than calmly self-possessed. It called, with swift-calling, +to his natural masculine strength and masculine protectiveness. It +enabled him to grow sure of himself, and strong. + +“Yes, I sent the flowers,” he answered. “I wanted badly to come to the +station to meet you, but I was afraid you might think it an +impertinence.” He came a little nearer. “Sould you have thought so?” + +He seemed to be waiting for an answer, and she said shyly: + +“I should have thought it very kind of you.” + +“I am always wanting to do things for you,” he said, “and I am always +afraid I shall only vex you. And I wouldn’t vex you for the world,” in +a low, fervent voice. + +Again she gave him a swift, shy, questioning glance, and he grew bolder +still. + +He came closer, and stood beside her. + +“Most of all, I want to tell you that I love you with all my heart and +soul and strength, and, until this moment, I have been afraid that that +would vex you too.” + +She raised her eyes then, swimming in sudden tears of gladness. + +“But it doesn’t?…” he said eagerly, “you… you… Oh, Ethel! is it +possible you would like me to say it?” + +“It has been possible a long time, Dudley, but I did not think it would +ever be said.” + +He took her hands in his and kissed first one and then the other. For +the moment he was too overwhelmed at the suddenness of his joy to +understand it. + +“I thought you despised me,” he breathed. “It did not seem possible you +could do anything else; but Hal said I was wrong.” + +She smiled faintly. + +“Yes; Hal knew,” she told him. “I think she has known some time.” Then +she seemed to sway a little. + +“You are tired out,” he exclaimed in quick commiseration. “What a brute +I am, letting you stand all this time, after your long journey too! I +have told myself over and over how I would take care of you if I might, +and this is how I begin! Forgive me—.” + +He gently pushed her towards his own big chair, and when she had sunk +down in it, fetched a cushion and a footstool. She leaned back wearily, +looking up at him with eyes that were full of deep joy, if not yet +emancipated from their long, long vigil of sorrow. + +“Is this all true, or am I dreaming? Yesterday—an hour ago—I thought it +could never happen at all.” + +“I too.” + +He was kneeling on one knee beside her now, holding her hand against +his face for the comfort of it. + +“I was thinking of you when you came. I am always thinking of you. My +whole life is like a long thought of you. I was afraid it would never +become any more. Since I grew to know myself better, it has never +seemed possible any one like you could care for such as I.” + +She gave him her other hand confidingly. + +“I think I have always cared, Dudley. Beside Basil, there has never +been any one else who counted very much at all.” + +It was good to be sitting there together by a fireside. So good indeed +that it swept everything away that had stood between them, with swift, +generous sweeping. There had been nothing real in the barrier, scarcely +anything that needed explaining, only the foolish imaginings of two +hearts that had become imbued with wrong impressions. + +“I thought I loved Doris,” he told her, still caressing her hand; “but +afterwards it was like a pale fancy to my love for you.” + +“I was terrified lest she should wreck both your lives,” She answered. +“She cared so much for money, and the things money can buy. Without it, +she might have grown bitter and hard and reckless. With it, she wil +grow kinder, I think. She felt Basil’s death very much. She shed the +most genuine tears she has ever shed in her life. Dudley, if Basil had +known that this was coming, it would have been a great comfort to him.” + +“He did know.” + +“He knew!…” in surprise. “How could he?” + +“I told him. I saw he was fretting very much about you, and I guessed +what was in his mind. I told him I loved you better than my life; and +he said: ‘Thank God, it will all come right some day.’” + +“Ah, I am glad that he knew. Dear Basil, dear Basil. If he had been +less splendid, Dudley, I think I should have taken my own life when he +died and left me alone. But in the face of courage like his, one could +not be a coward.” + +Later Dudley took her home. At the door he asked her pleadingly: + +“May I came in for a moment? I want to see the flat as it looks now.” + +She led the way, and they stood together in the little sitting-room +where Basil had lived and died, and where Dudley’s flowers now shed a +fragrance of welcome. + +She buried her face in the delicate petals, with memories, and +thoughts, and feelings too deep for words. + +“It feels almost as if his spirit were here with us now,” he said +softly. “He was so sure he was only going to a grander and wider life. +I think he must have been right; and that tonight he _knows_.” + +Tears were in her eyes again. The loss was so recent still—the memory +so painful. He drew her to him, and kissed them away. + +“That night, Ethel, that first, terrible night when you were alone, it +nearly killed me to have to go away and leave you, to feel I could not +do anything at all. You must let me comfort you doubly now to make up +for it. You must come to me quickly.” She smiled softly, and he added: +“It would have been Basil’s wish, too. He hated the office as much as I +do. Tell them tomorrow that you’re not coming any more.” + +Her smile deepened at his boyishness. + +“There are certain hard-and-fast rules to be observed about leaving. +I’m afraid they won’t waive them for you.” + +“Well, tell them you are going to be married… You _are_ going to be +married, aren’t you?…” for a moment he was almost like Hal. “Well, why +don’t you answer? I want to know.” + +“I haven’t made up my mind sufficiently yet,” with a low, happy laugh. + +“Then I must make it up for you.” + +His manner changed again to one of wondering, absorbing tenderness. Hal +had been right, as usual. Under the man’s surface-narrowness and +superiority was a deep, true heart that had only been waiting the hour +of its great emancipation. He took her in his arms and kissed her again +and again. + +“Child,” he breathed, “haven’t I waited long enough? Every hour of the +last few months, since I knew, has been like a year. Don’t make me +leave you here alone one moment longer than is necessary.” + + +So it happened that when Hal came back to a dreary, empty, joyless +London, an unexpected gladness was waiting for her. + +The last few days had almost broken her spirit. The pathos of that +lonely, far-off grave, in the little alien churchyard, where they +tenderly left the remains of the beautiful, brilliant woman who had +been so much in her life for so long, seemed more than she could bear. + +They three had stood together, representing her richness in friendship, +her poverty in blood ties. The wire to her mother had only brought the +reply from some one in London that she was travelling in the South of +Italy, and could not possibly arrive in time. + +Alymer still seemed almost stunned. He had scarcely spoken since Danton +told him what had happened. At first Hal had declined to see him at +all, but in the end Denton, with his shrewd common sense, had talked +her into a kindlier mood. + +When they came back from the churchyard she had gone to him in the +little sitting-room, where he sat alone, with bowed head. He stood up +when she came in, but he did not speak. He waited for her to say what +she would, with a look of quiet misery in his eyes that touched her +heart. + +For the first time she saw how changed he was. There seemed nothing of +the old boyishness left. Only a quiet, grave, deeply suffering man. + +She had no conception that she, personally, added every hour and every +moment to that suffering. She did not know he was enduring a bitter +sense of having lost her for ever, as well as the friend and +benefactress he had undoubtedly loved very dearly, if not with the same +passionate love that she had known for him. + +But he only stood before her there, very straight and very still, and +with that old, quiet, ineradicable dignity which never failed him. + +“Lorraine left a little written message for me,” she said to him. + +She paused a moment, and her eyes wandered away out to the little +garden, with its last fading summer beauty yielding already to autumn. +And so she did not see the expression in his fine face when he ventured +to look at her. She did not know that because of his hopeless love, and +withal his quiet courage and quiet pain, at that moment he looked even +more splendidly a man than perhaps he had ever done before. + +Had life been kinder, he would have crossed the space between them in +one step, and folded her in such an embrace as would have lost her slim +form entirely in his enfolding bigness. He would have given her a love, +and a lover, such as falls to the lot of but few women. + +And she stood there, with her head half turned away; with sad eyes and +drooping lips that went to his heart; her mind full of her dead friend, +and scarcely a glance for him. + +“She said I was not to blame you for anything, and she told me to give +you her dear, dear love.” + +He winced visibly, but stood his ground. + +“Thank you,” he said, in a very low voice. + +Then, with a sudden, longing triumphing over all: + +“I prefer to take the blame upon myself, but even then I hope some day +you will find it possible to forgive me.” + +“I shall never forget how much Lorraine loved you,” was all the poor +hope she gave him. + +“Will that make it possible for us to remain friends?” + +“Yes; I hope so.” She gave him her hand with an old-fashioned +solemnity. “For Lorraine’s sake,” she said very simply, and then left +him. + +He turned with a stifled groan, and, leaning his elbows on the +mantelpiece, buried his face in his hands. + +Yet in that painful hour, out of all the tragic mistakes of her life, +Lorraine might have gleaned this gladness. In that hour he was nearer +than he had ever been before to the man she had striven to make him; +for, mercifully for all mankind, there is a “power outside ourselves,” +which out of wrong, and weakness, and pain can bring forth good. + +The sad trio returned to London the following day, and Hal wondered +forlornly if Dudley would leave his office early to come and meet her. + +When she stepped out on the platform he and Ethel were standing +together, looking for her. Then they saw her, and Ethel came forward +first, holding out both hands, with a subdued light in her face, that +made Hal pause and wonder. + +“How did you know? It was nice of you to come,” she said, with another +question in her eyes. + +“Dudley told me, dear. I have been thinking of you so much.” + +Then Dudley stepped up to them, and in his face, too, was this subdued +gladness. + +Hal looked from one to the other. + +“Have you?…” she began, and paused uncertainly. + +“Yes, dear”; and Ethel blushed charmingly. “I am going to be your +sister, so I thought you would let me begin at once, and come to meet +you, and try to comfort you a little.” + +“Oh,” said Hal, drawing a deep breath; “and I thought I was never going +to be glad about anything again.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + + +It is necessary to take but a cursory glance at the events that +followed. Life flowed smoothly enough in its way, but it flowed towards +higher and greater achievements for some, and that can only mean a +story of obstacles, and drawbacks and difficulties sturdily overcome. + +For the three inmates of the Cromwell Road flat it held many prizes. + +Alymer Hermon’s career continued to advance by leaps and bounds. The +“taking up” by Sir Philip Hall became quickly an actual fact, and he +was soon easily first among the juniors. What he lacked in years and +experience his striking presence and personal charm supplied, and his +calm gravity and self-possession went far to counteract his youthful +appearance. + +Dick Bruce finished his great novel, and though it was not quite the +jumble about vegetables and babies he had prophesied, it was considered +the most original book of the year, and brought him instantaneous +recognition and fame. + +Quin inherited some money, and built a wonderful East End Club House +that is all his own, and is as the apple of his eye. + +If the great solution of life is to find one’s true environment, he has +at any rate found his; and in finding it knows a happiness, even amid +the squalid poverty of Shoreditch, such as is found by few. + +In the meantime Hal continued to work and be independent. When Ethel +and Dudley married, they tried hard to persuade her to live with them, +but she had already bespoken a smaller sitting-room with her old +landlady, Mrs. Carr, and made up her mind to live there. + +Later, when Dudley began to add to his income, they begged her to give +up her work, but she was obdurate, again expressing certain views on +the boon of steady occupation they could not gainsay. + +“It is so boring sometimes,” Ethel remonstrated, and she answered: + +“Not so boring as idleness in the long run, and having to make up your +mind each day what you are going to do next. The girls who only enjoy +themselves without work little know what they miss in never waking up +in the morning to say, ‘Hurray! this is a holiday.’ No! give me my work +and my play well balanced, and I’ll turn them into happiness.” + +It was months before Alymer dared to speak to her of love. It had taken +him long to win her to the old fooling again; and in a sudden gladness +at some little remark or touch that seemed to show him he was truly +forgiven for his own sake, he told her the story of his love, and his +long waiting. + +Hal was very taken aback, and a little unhappy, but when she had +convinced him it was really quite hopeless, he forced himself back to +the old comradeship, and took up his self-imposed burden of waiting +once more. + +Then followed a period of rapid successes, during which Hal told him +seriously he must now make a choice among the bevy of beauty, wealth, +and lineage at his disposal. + +“You really ought, you know,” she said, “out of consideration for all +the poor things left hoping against hope, and the numbers that are +yearly added to them!” + +“I have made my choice,” he answered; “it is not my fault about the +vain hopes. It is the obstinacy of one woman, who is keeping the others +in the unfortunate condition you describe.” + +But she only smiled lightly, and put him off again, concluding with: + +“I should be frightened out of my life at possessing anything so +beauteous and attractive in the way of a husband.” + +So Hermon worked on, and waited, believing in his star. + +Yet there were times when the apparent hopelessness of it weighed +heavily on his mind—times when the very lustre of his success seemed +only to mock him, because of that one thing he craved in vain. + +It was so when the greatest achievement of his life came to his hands. + +It was given him to plead for a woman’s life against a charge of +poisoning her husband, pitting his youth and slender experience against +the greatest advocate of the Crown. The case caused a great stir, and +with a growing wonderment and pride she hardly dared to account for. +Hal followed the newspaper reports day by day. + +The evening before the speech for the defence he came to her. She +greeted him as usual, saying little about his present notoriety, but +she noticed that he looked careworn, as if the strain were becoming too +much for him; and then suddenly he stated his errand. + +“I want you to come to the court tomorrow, Hal. I—I—have a feeling I +want you to be there when I am speaking. Will you come?” + +She looked up doubtfully. + +“Why do you want me?” + +“I hardly know. I mean to save this woman if I can. She did not give +the poison. I am quite certain of it; but we can’t prove it absolutely. +We can only appeal in such a way to the jury that they will feel the +case is not merely not proven against her, but that she is innocent. I +think it would inspire me more than anything if you were there.” He +paused, then added: “I love you so much, Hal, I feel as if I shall save +her life if you are there.” + +Hal looked touched, and agreed to go if he would arrange everything, +and telephone to her what time to arrive. + +The next day she went to the court with the card he had given, and +found herself received with the utmost deference, and ushered at once +to a seat reserved for her. + +A few minutes afterwards Alymer stood up to make his great speech, and +then Hal heard a subdued murmur around her, and saw that the judge was +watching him with some interest and expectancy. + +It was the first time she had seen him in his wig and gown, in court, +and her heart began to beat strangely. She felt suddenly and +unaccountably incensed with the women all round, who whispered and +gazed. “What was he to them anyway! How idiotic of them to murmur to +each other how splendid he looked! What did he care for their +approval?” + +Her heart carried her a little farther. “What is he to you?...” it +asked. She felt a sudden warm glow of pride, and her eyes grew very +soft as she watched him. + +Then he began to speak, and it seemed as if everything in heaven and +earth has paused to listen. Surely there was no big thoroughfare with +hurrying multitudes just outside, no continual stream of noisy, +hurrying traffic; no busy newspaper offices awaiting each flying +message—nothing anywhere but that crowded hall, that white-faced +accused woman waiting for death or freedom, that man in his beauty of +manhood and power straining every nerve to save her. + +An hour passed. No one spoke, no one moved. Sometimes a sob, hastily +stifled, broke the oppresive hush, sometimes a stifled cough. + +Alymer rarely raised his voice, for his was no impassioned, heated +declaration. It was a magnificent piece of quiet oratory, which carried +every one along by its earnestness and convincing calm, and was +intensified by the look upon his noble, resolute face. + +After a time every one knew instinctively that he had won. The tension +grew less taut and more emotional. Women began to weep softly and +restrainedly. Men cleared their throats again and again. Some one +sitting next to Hal apparently knew him, and knew her. + +“My God,” he breathed in her ear, “he’s magnificent. He’s saved her. I +wouldn’t have missed this for anything. I’m proud to be his friend.” + +Hal’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. She began to feel dazed and +faint. It had been too much for her, and the relief was overwhelming. + +She thought of Lorraine, and her heart swelled to think he had so +gloriously fulfilled her vast hopes, and crowned all she had done for +him. She longed that she might have been there, and then felt +mysteriously that she not only was there, but was speaking to her. In a +vague, unreal, mystical way, Lorraine was pleading with her to give him +his happiness. + +She looked again, confusedly, at the big, strong, calm man; and +something that had been growing in her heart for months took shape and +form. + +What did the other women matter? He was hers—hers—hers. Why stop to +question or demur? What did anything matter but that he had loved her +so long and faithfully; and that at last she loved him? + +In a stress of unendurable emotion, she got up unsteadily, and left the +court. + +A quarter of an hour later, Alymer finished his speech, and sat down +instantly turning his head to look for her. Instead of the familiar, +eager face of the first hour, he saw the empty space, and his +overwrought mind sank to a dull level of bitter disappointment. + +She was not impressed, then—not even interested enough to stay until +the end. Oh, what did it matter? She was hard—hard, he was a fool to +love her so. + +The jury went away and came back with their verdict of “Not guilty.” + +There was a rush and buzz of congratulations. He smiled, because he had +to smile, and grasped outstretched hands because he had to grasp them. +The moment it was possible to get away, he walked blindly and hurriedly +to the entrance, and got into a taxi, before the waiting crowd had had +time to recognise him. + +“Where to?” a policeman asked him, and for a moment he was at a loss to +know. Then he gave Hal’s address. “Better have it out and done with,” +was his thought. Once for all he would make her tell him if it was +hopeless, and if she said yes, he would go away and try to forget her +in another country. + +When he was shown into Hal’s little sitting-room, he found her +crouching on a footstool in the firelight, before the fire. He stood a +moment or two and looked at her, and then he said in a slightly harsh +voice: + +“I suppose you hurried away because you were bored. I thought you would +have stayed until the end. I was a fool. Nothing I do ever has +interested you, or ever will.” + +Hal did not look round. She was staring into the flames, with her chin +resting in her hands. When he paused she said calmly: + +“I can’t hear what you say so far away.” + +He moved across the room and stood on the hearth beside her, towering +above her, with his eyes on the opposite wall. + +“I don’t know why I came here at all,” he continued; “but it didn’t +seem any use going anywhere else. Why did you run away in the middle! +Did you want to punish my presumption for wishing to try and +distinguish myself before you, as well as save a woman’s life and +honour?” + +A little smile shone in Hal’s eyes, where the firelight caught them. + +“I can’t hear what you say, right up there, near the ceiling.” + +He looked down at the dark shapely head, and something in her poise and +in her voice made his heart suddenly begin to thump rather wildly. + +“I haven’t got a beanstalk,” she added. + +He leaned a little towards her. + +“And if you had?” he asked tensely. + +“If I had, I would perhaps climb up it.” + +He leaned lower still, his heart thumping yet more wildly. + +“If you climbed up a ladder like that, you would be bound to climb into +my arms.” + +“Well—and what if I did?” she said. + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINDING PATHS *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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